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romance-rambles · 5 months

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godheim clarence | because it's you

On a seemingly normal day, as he's braiding your hair in the morning, your husband asks you if he should cut his hair. You try to be brave about it.

1.6k, post-clarence epilogue, misunderstandings + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

"SHALL I CUT MY HAIR short too?"

You register your husband's words as a joke at first. Why would you not? It flows so seamlessly from your own, after all—about how he might actually thank you for freeing up his time in the mornings if you chop off your long hair.

You know full well Clarence will not.

It is not enough to prevent you from chasing after your favorite kind of high. The one where he huffs exasperatedly and tells you as much, as a lovely but faint scarlet hue spreads across his cheek. The one that leaves you with the singleminded desire to kiss him, which you waste no time in doing—because you can.

So, expecting to see a hint of mirth in his blue eyes, you roll your eyes and watch him through the vanity's mirror with an unfaltering grin.

There is none.

Instead, the mirror reflects only the almost clumsy seriousness you've come to expect in his endeavors to prove himself worthy of being your husband. It is both flattering and worrying.

And sometimes, it makes you wonder if you were too harsh on him in the early days of your time together in the void, when you demanded apology after apology from him. Then, you remember that he's the same man who catches fishes only to free them in the end—and that this is simply sort of endearing idiot he is.

It helps immensely.

"Would you like to?" you ask carefully, concealing your silent insults with a half-awkward smile.

You would not like him to.

But it is rare for Clarence to express an interest in his appearance outside of what you make of it. His most frequently worn coat is the one you once complimented him, under a brightly-lit street lamp as he wrapped his scarf around you instead. He always buys the same fragrance, and only when it runs out, with a polite explanation of My wife likes this one the most that drives most merchants mad.

The only response he's ever offered when shopping for clothes is: If you like it, I'm fine with wearing it.

Biting back a scowl, you add, "I think you'd look good with short hair."

Of course he would. Even putting aside his hairstyle when he was younger, your husband is handsome enough to pull anything off.

You are, of course, very biased—it's an accusation you've never tried to deny.

"I see." With a pleased hum, Clarence ties off your braid. "Then I'll pick out a date. Would you like to come along?"

He's careful to adjust the hair tie first, concealing any stubborn tufts hair poking through between the gaps before he reaches for your usual red ribbon. Then, with a practiced ease that comes only with years' worth of repetition, he loops it through the hair tie and twists into a proper bow.

Today, you cannot find it in yourself to admire his careful movements through the mirror.

"I'm never going to hear the end of it if I do that," you answer, shuddering a little at the thought. The people at this village are mostly kind, but a few of the louder ones tend to comment on Clarence's tendencies a bit too frequently for your liking. "You remember what happened last time, don't you?"

Your fingers traverse down the full length of your neatly-braided hair to pull it over your shoulder. Their grasp on the end of it lasts for only a second before your hand falls to the edge of your stool. Gulping, you swivel around and soon find yourself properly face to face with your husband.

He smiles faintly. "In a sense, they weren't wrong."

To properly hold onto his face, you have to scoot closer to the edge. Clarence bends down slightly, further easing the burden on your arms. Your eyes narrow fondly at him before you ruin the moment by smushing his cheeks.

"They were insulting you," you correct him, indignation fueling your flat tone. "I'd say they were very wrong."

His expression grows helpless and fond. Wrapping his hands around your own, he settles down onto the hardwood floor. In doing so, he ignores your chiding entirely; instead, he looks at you with a hint of reverence in his gaze.

"Perhaps," Clarence agrees softly. "I've heard worse."

Inhaling sharply, you press your foreheads together. When you next speak up, your tone is softer. "Do you have a cut in mind?"

"The same as it was when I was younger, I suppose," he says, sounding a bit uncertain.

You do your best approximation of a nod. You're not entirely certain what brought this on, but that won't stop you from being the most supportive wife to ever be supportive. As you squeeze his hands gently, you hope he can sense your resolve.

"Alright," you say, a bit forcefully, as you press a kiss to his forehead. "—now get off the floor. It's my turn to do your hair."

IT'S WHEN YOU'RE CAREFULLY UNTANGLING your braid at night that you remember the conversation from that morning.

"Did you decide on a date?" you ask curiously.

Clarence hums. "I didn't get the chance to quite yet."

He's watching you from his side of the bed, both hands occupied by a book he stopped reading the moment you walked in after your nighttime routine. When you shake your hair back to normal and settle under the blankets, he wordlessly turns the lamps off, with only a flick of his hand.

Accepting his answer, you snuggle up against his chest, fully intent on going to sleep—

Except you can't.

Curiosity nags at you, offering you the same question over and over again in the hopes that you'll break. And break you do as you call out your husband's name.

You can't quite make out what his expression is, but you know he isn't asleep. It's only been a few years—just a little over a decade, to be precise—since they've reunited. Adjusting to a life within the bounds of time, you know, takes some time, especially for someone like Clarence who had seemingly outgrown the need to sleep even before he entered the nothingness.

"Clarence," you whisper, "what made you want to cut your hair?"

For a moment, he remains silent. You can hear his beating heart, and that is enough to let you know that he's flustered.

"Clarence?"

"You said I looked very handsome," he says finally. "The other day."

Upon hearing those words, your mind offers you nothing noteworthy. To you, calling your husband handsome is no different making sure your heart's intact. You think you might actually die if you don't tell him, but you haven't tested it before.

Your heart, however, is filled to the brim with affection for this man, the one you've searched nearly your entire life for.

Even if you do want to throttle him a little bit.

"You'll have to be more specific, dear," you tell him, gently touching his cheek. He's warm, you think. You're tempted to turn the lights back on. "I'm sure I say that every day. And why would that make you want to cut your hair?"

Clearing his throat, he adds, "To be more specific, you didn't say it to me necessarily. You were—" Clarence pauses, a hint of uncertainty to his next words. "—talking about my younger self."

Oh.

The gears in your head start to turn. Now, you can faintly recall the memory of you waxing poetically about the man whose image remains in use on one of the most popular and frequently sold-out stamps even now, centuries later. Mostly, you remember smiling through a comment about how carefully you must've chosen your husband—as if she hadn't pressured into picking a man other than your husband to gush about.

You would've chosen the Archmage who seemingly had no relation to your husband regardless, but it would've been nice to know ahead of time.

Because you do have eyes, Eliza. That's how you know there isn't a man alive that's more attractive than Clarence.

Still, there hadn't been any deeper meaning when you chose his younger self specifically. There'd been a stamp nearby and you'd used it as a reference, in the hopes that it would help the other ladies downplay your incredible knowledge of his features.

You're almost certain they think you're deranged.

"Clarence." You giggle, suddenly amused. "Clarence. You look very handsome today."

Clumsily, you press a loving kiss to his forehead. Then, to the mole under his eye, to the tip of his nose, to his other cheek, until finally, you kiss him on the lips. At some point, while you're busy being productive, he goes from laying on his side to laying on his back.

"What brought this on?"

He sounds bewildered. You think it's cute.

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you begin to explain. Throughout, he's mostly silent, save for the occasional acknowledgement. Still, you don't have to worry about whether he's listening or not.

Until the very end, his hands—still wrapped around you—give him away.

"I like your long hair just as much, because—" You give him another peck on the lips. "—I love you. No matter what, you're always the best-looking man in the room."

Clarence wastes no time in answering you, though he very nearly chokes on his words. "And I...you."

"Good." Feeling satisfied, you rest your head against his chest. "Do you still want to cut your hair? ...Clarence?"

"I think," he says, clearing his throat. "It's fine the way it is."

You don't try to point out why.

#fics by aya #lovebrush chronicles #lovebrush chronicles x reader #for all time #for all time x reader #clarence clayden #clarence clayden x reader #lbc clarence #lbc clarence x reader #lovebrush clarence #lovebrush clarence x reader #rambles from here on ->#my time as a blue name was extremely productive i have *checks notes* at least clarence four WIPs #um but yeah this is just. super self-indulgent #it is a bit weird to write archmage as a normal husband because he's such an extreme. like he's very unique #because he's basically done saving the world. he's free to be with mc now and there's def this underlying guilt #that makes him a bit more softer than the other two because. the void.#this entire time i was like damn i hope i'm not accidentally writing alkaid #i didn't have that problem with modern clarence so idk. i think it might because i chose mc's pov #also writing this made me realize how awkward i love you too sounds in a more serious context #as for the actual fic...people thinking immortals are weird is 100/10 #i just go feral for the thought that they have an agreed upon historical figure they'd leave each other for...#and it's THEMSELVES?? and some people think it's sweet particularly when they model themselves as childhood friends #when they don't people are like “hmm that doesn't sound right”. they feel bad for clarence because he's less likely to reveal his devotion

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