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mcdonaldsnumberone · 3 years

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pocky

pocky day headcanons! also west country cuz i want taku dead

gender neutral reader

Rituals of love are always such a funny thing to Shylock. Never has he stopped loving the world for a moment, always looking towards the next joy in his life whenever Fate had nothing but despair for him, so seeing the way humans come up with all sorts of small activities to keep the sadness at bay reminds him that behind every seemingly frivolous moment lies a deep longing for love that goes beyond his own understanding. That’s why he grows to almost revere moments like that, smiling to himself as he watches couples all around him giggling and enjoying the sweet treats while he settles in for another quiet evening in his bar.

Maybe that’s why he’s so open to the idea when you swing around, a box of Pocky in your hands. His crimson eyes simmer with the same color of sweet potpourri spreading through the room, drawing you in like a siren’s song. He accepts your invitation with the sultriest voice you’ve ever heard, as if he’s trying to melt the chocolate off of the biscuit itself. He might as well have made you melt instead from the way his long slender fingers picked up the treat. His lips parted slightly, almost as if he would lean in to kiss you, before slipping one end of the Pocky between his teeth and offering you the other end.

He nibbles peacefully and almost expertly at the treat, carefully closing the gap between the two of you. There’s something satisfying to him about watching you go from being so confident about winning the game to your expression slowly changing as your faces inch closer and closer. You’re so precious, with your wide eyes trembling as you debate between breaking the fragile Pocky and risking another bite, rendering you closer to the man who’s captured your heart, closer to the man who’s a mere breath away from you, closer to the man who sits there, waiting for your next action.

Shylock closes his eyes, not sure whether to expect the tremor of the biscuit breaking or the sensation of your lips on his. His answer comes soon, when you exhale over his skin and close the tantalizing space between the two of you. He tastes like something deep, like sweet chocolate and bitter wine, like the space that fills the universe and encapsulates the moon in a passionate tango. His hands are immediately by your face, cupping the outline of your jaw and ghosting all over your skin, his lips moving against yours as if he’s whispering a million words of love that you’ll never fully translate. But that’s the magic of a kiss on Pocky Day, taking something so common and turning it into something so beautiful for the two of you to share in private.

When the two of you pull away after what seems like a lifetime, Shylock can’t help but gaze at the dazed expression on your face for a bit. You look so stunned yet so happy, the sloppy grin on your face betraying the haughty confidence from earlier. Well, the bartender already knew from the start what you were hoping to gain from this; it never hurt to go along with that fleeting play of yours. Besides, things like Pocky taste so much sweeter when it’s delivered from the lips of the one person he loves more than he loves love itself, and he’s sure to laugh to himself when he notices you eagerly ripping another biscuit from the shiny packaging.

“My, asking me to play the Pocky Game with you? Is a kiss what you desire from me? If so, you could have simply asked… Who am I to deny you such sweet trysts of love?”

Love of anyone else save for the moon is but a secondary thought to someone like Murr. He must seem like a lunatic to everyone else, hopelessly pining after a figure in the sky that would squash him like it did the countless lives wasted away in facing off one calamity after another. But you—alongside everyone else who has met Murr—know that the fickle magician continues to pursue the moon even after having his own soul shattered, love beyond logic or reason is simply what defines Murr at his best and worst. That stubbornness and delusionally romantic dedication is what makes your heart yearn for him so much more: a devastating parallel to the bond that Murr chases after with the moon.

All this to say, Murr’s the one to suggest playing the Pocky Game with you. The game is right up his alley: there’s a million different ways the tomfoolery could end, and each one is just as thrilling as the last! It gives him the same rush that he gets out of gambling. Will he choose to continue taking the precarious line of nibbling at the biscuit and grow dangerously close to kissing you? Or will he break it away, the crumbs falling like the shards of his soul by his feet? Hell, maybe you might be the one to break it first, the pressure going to your head rather than his. The outcomes are enough to make his mischievous eyes sparkle with a devilish delight, so won’t you be a dear and play along with his desires?

He doesn’t miss a single detail on your face. The subtle tremble of your eyelids, the way your breath escapes your parted lips, the curve of your cheeks, every part of you displayed right before him. The treat is but an afterthought to him in the moment, his turquoise eyes never wavering from your as he inches closer and closer to you. His heart is racing so fast that it feels like it might jump out of his chest and start dancing around, and he’s sure that the thrill you’re feeling—that compels you to keep chewing on your end—must be the same dramatic edge that keeps him entranced to you. And before either of you know it, there’s only so much of the Pocky left.

Before you can say anything, Murr jerks his head back and snaps it violently. You recoil instinctively, blinking rapidly and whipping your head back at him as if to scold him, but Murr gives one triumphant laugh before swooping in to press his lips against yours. Any complaint you had bubbling up inside of you is immediately drowned out at the sensation of his mouth moving against yours, his greedy hands flying to your shoulders to pull you close to his chest. That’s your cue to melt into the dreamy gesture, your own hands snaking around his slender waist as if it were the most natural thing for you to do at that moment.

His eyes shine with the same splendor that gemstones do when the two of you finally part from one another. Murr sticks his tongue out at you and grins, completely ignoring the way you punch his arm and tell him that he played the game wrong. It doesn’t matter, does it? You wanted a kiss, and he gave you one. He’d much rather mess around with you like this; the exasperation in your voice is too cute for him to pass up, and besides, aren’t unexpected touches like this one the best way to cement them into your memories? Murr wants to remember these happy moments, like sugar dissolving on the tip of his tongue, before everything fades back to the same rock and stone of the moon and mana stones that he chases perpetually.

“Did you like it? That was fun, wasn’t it? Don’t look so mad, there’s lots of Pocky still left in the box! That means there’s a lot more kisses still left for me to give you!”

Love is so fleeting, so magical to Rustica. Some days he wants to dance with the world, declaring boldly his own fondness for everything good in it, and other days, he prefers to quietly soak in the serendipity of his warm sheets and welcoming sunlight, wordlessly opening his heart. That’s the kind of person Rustica is: a bit nonsensical and a bit idealistic but someone who’s willing to pour as much love as he can into the world, even if that world might not be so willing to return that same love. But Rustica knows that love is not a quantitative thing, so as long as he can feel the comforting cadence of love in his chest and a reason to look forward to tomorrow, he doesn’t mind loving the world one-sidedly.

He accepts your invitation to the Pocky Game in a stride, like he would as if you offered him snacks for tea time. If such a lovely game exists for couples, who is he to deny it? His entire worldview is about love, and a kiss game like this is right up his alley. He’ll even do you the honors of brewing some accompanying tea with the pocky, delighting your senses with the fine image of him standing by a picturesque tea table with decorated cups in hand, ready to serve you up a delectable drink. The calming scent of herbs hits your nose, and you can’t help but smile to yourself as you observe Rustica sipping his own tea across from you, his rosy lips curving alongside the graceful rim of the porcelain teacup.

It takes a few tries to get the point of the Pocky Game across to him and even more tries to actually get it into action. No matter how many times the pocky snaps or you fumble, Rustica laughs good-naturedly and helps you pick up the pieces. He believes it’s all part of the fun, and he even mentions how refreshingly acoustic the snaps of the pocky are. Perhaps after the two of you have finished playing the game, he’ll whisk you away to where his piano is to compose a song based off of the sound, and if it turns out to your liking, he’ll even invite the other wizards to partake in the newly composed song and ask you to dance along to it hand-in-hand.

The wind rustles in a gentle breeze, and you can’t help but notice how some of the scattered flower petals on the ground have begun ballooning up in a waltz with the wind. There’s a distant fondness in Rustica’s eyes, the blue color reminiscent of a nostalgic azure sky from a memory long gone. Beneath the well-mannered politeness of this eccentric wizard, you can taste the desperate longing for his bride as you bite closer to him, and when it comes for his final approach, the way he reaches out to you is the way an ardent bridegroom reaches for his bride when they walk up to him at the altar: the fervent need in his fingertips transferred across your skin in a blur of heartache, hope, and the love he promises to indulge his bride with.

He doesn’t let you go for a long time. After the kiss, he presses his forehead against yours and cups your face in his gloved hands, the beautifully pained look in his eyes the most exquisite trap you had ever seen before. There’s no denying that Rustica’s want for love is a tour-de-force that nothing in the world can truly encapsulate, but it resonates so deeply in your soul that for a moment, you see the image flutter against the inside of your mind. The delicate curve of a shining arch, the sunlight streaming in against translucent curtains, Rustica cooing at you in a way only a lover would: to you, inside of his little birdcage.

“You taste so sweet, my dearest lark. I wonder why that would be. Would you entertain this foolish thought of mine, and kiss me once more?”

It makes Chloe so happy to be out and about. Every day is a new adventure for him, whether it be trying to curb the eccentricities of his fellow Western wizards or trying new things with his friends in the Sage’s Wizards. Chloe does his best to put his best foot forward: just like how “clothes maketh the man”, attitudes make the wizard. Especially on a day like Pocky Day, where he sees so many couples in all their finery going out on dates and playfully messing around with their sweet games. Chloe’s heart is filled with joy at such a sight, and he makes a very careful mental note to preserve this feeling for when he can go back in his studio and craft gorgeous outfits inspired by the happiness that soars through him.

Chloe finds himself trailing after you, torn between wanting to work up the courage to ask you to play the Pocky Game with him versus not wanting to bother you with something that seems so silly. He knows that you have a high opinion of him, and he doesn’t want you to think that he’s childish for wanting this. But he remembers that you would never think badly of him for something as innocent as a game for couples on a day for couples, so Chloe takes a deep breath to calm his beating heart and shyly asks you to play with him, his cheeks as equally as pink as the plaid jacket he always wears. And of course, you’re quick to accept his proposal.

Chloe’s awfully nervous about the whole deal, but he’s determined to get it just right! Despite his nerves, as a tailor, he’s great at keeping himself under control, so no matter how brightly he’s blushing, he’ll do everything he can to get to the center of the treat. It’s adorable to see how much his eyes are focused on getting closer to you, his mouth slowly inching closer to yours. As the distance on the pocky lessens, his heart pounds even more wildly, his mind frenzied with the thought that he might actually succeed in kissing you like this.

You’re the one to kiss him first, practically launching yourself on top of him. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, capturing him in a deep kiss. Chloe’s hands fly to hold you, holding you so tightly as if you would run away if he loosened his grip and letting his eyes flutter shut with a dreamy sigh, fully enjoying the warmth of your mouth on his. All of his nerves from earlier are but an afterthought now, too enchanted by the love that entangles both of you like golden thread, caught within limbs and soft lips and thundering hearts. Everything about kissing him is lovely, like a dream you don’t want to wake up from, and the way both of you practically fumble to snap more pocky out afterwards draws a hearty laugh.

Eventually the two of you give up on the pocky and go straight to kissing. Chloe’s adorable—giggling breathlessly in your arms while the two of you occupy a quiet corridor to press kisses all over each others’ faces. His kisses are like a butterfly’s delicate wings against your skin, and all you can do is melt into his touch and return every single kiss with one your own. It’s only when another wizard walks in on the two of you that you two jump apart, both of you stuttering out a bashful apology before running away to his studio to pick up right where you left off. Your happy place is in his arms, being pampered with his attention, and your purpose is to shower him with as much love as you can, encouraging him to be the most adoring version of himself he can be.

“Ah… Did you like that? I-I liked it a lot… You wouldn’t mind if we kept going, right? I want to kiss you, over and over, so I can remember exactly what it feels like.”

#mahoutsukai no yakusoku #mahoyaku #mhyk #shylock bennett #murr hart #rustica ferucci #chloe collins #x reader #my writing #why do i always like . write so well and then turn fucking insane when i write for rustica #this was so supposed to be cute pocky day headcanons where did i go WRONG #also my ass did not pace myself well in writing this LOL #i wrote so much for each chara like . i was fighting demons w my fatigue towards the end #pls i promise i can write like . in a not-fucked-up way i just need someone to hit me with a rock #its abt drive its abt power we stay hungry we devour put in the work put in the hours and take whats ours (AWOOO)

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burningkittypoet · 3 years

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I’ve been thinking...

I’ve been writing love letters to my darling. I profess my love for her through words and eloquent speech. I show her how I love her through letters written in pen, unfading. I tell her why I love her; her eyes, her skin, her laugh, her smile, her kisses, her embrace. As I write, I realize that I’ve never felt this way about anyone ever before. I don't want to lose her, my darling, my beloved.

She’s changed the way I see so many things. She doesn't need me to change in order for her love to push through, she loves me for me. I’ve grown so much with her help and companionship. I cannot lose this person. She is one of a kind. I don't think a person like her has ever walked this earth before. If someone has, they would be amazing, but would pale in comparison to my darling.

Love like this makes one fearful. Does she love me as much or more than I do? Is my love for her unrequited? Is she simply using me for a pastime? No, it cannot be. A girl like her could simply never fall in love with a wretch like me.

I see the way that she looks, her eyes light up as they set on my image. I have solid proof of her love for me. Why, then, do I doubt? I have problems. She knows that. She has problems too. Problems are what make you you. I love her for every flaw and crack and hole. Every part of her is beautiful to me.

I know she loves me. I know she does. I fear I may break her, with the passion of our love.

We sit side by side. Arm in arm. I never want to let go of her. I know why I love her and my fears can no longer hide.

I stare at them, my fears, not blinking. They may run if I look away. They are pain, anguish, past memories. Where did they come from? How were they created? Looking at the big one, I believe I have an inkling.

I chase it down, pin it to the ground. I have captured my fear. It sits up, knowing it cannot flee. Down my cheek slips a single tear.

This is Eker, the root of all I fear. I see things while l touch it. I see things I don't want to remember. Things I don't want to see, things I cannot bear. Things I must never share.

But I see my darling, I see her standing there in the midst of it all. She is there, looking watching, seeing my walls fall.

I catch her gaze. She looks at the wreckage at our feet. Tears stream down her porcelain face. She mourns for my past, though hers may be worse. We walk through the rubble, hand in hand, tears streaming, leaving footprints in the sand.

We walk away, leaving my fear stomped down in the dirt. Hand in hand, hearts tied together. And I know that no matter the time, no matter the situation, being loved by someone could never feel better...

#love #romance #lgbt #gf #didnt mean for this to be poetry but it just kinda happened #itll be awkward if my gf sees this and knows I'm talking abt her #its about drive its about power we stay hungry we devour put in the work put in the hours and take whats ours #you can't take my gf away #my gf not yours #christmas #open when #ur mom #lesbian #ur mom gay #mental disorder #fear #cry #hashtag

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