#rustica x reader

[stupendouspizzacomputer]

INSANITY (Hellaverse x isekai male reader) Abel's Bodyguards:

•Akira (Promiseofwizard) (Male Version) (Angel/Angels)

•Akira (Promiseofwizard) (Female Version) (Angel/Angels)

•Oz (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Arthur (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Cain (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Riquet (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Snow (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•White (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Mithra (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Owen (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Bradley (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Faust (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Shino (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Heathcliff (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Nero (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Shylock (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Murr (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Chloe (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Rustica (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Figaro (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Rutile (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Lennox (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

•Mitile (Promiseofwizard) (Angel/Angels)

[inviberu]

everlasting vows

Faced by the question and decision of swearing their devotion and love to you, what do they do? A promise that will bind them to you for eternity... Are they willing to go to such lengths for you?

Characters: Everyone (with the exception of riquet and mitile)

Note: I tried making everyone cute to the best of my abilities but some kind of just... slipped. Happy June Bride!

— Oz!

Oz pauses for a moment. He doesn't know what to say. He almost doesn't want to say anything in the moment after letting the thought sink into his mind. He was the most powerful wizard in the world—he already has enough weaknesses as it is with his injury and his love for Arthur but he already knew that you were one of them the moment he realised how helpless he was when it came to you. Asking him to promise you his unwavering loyalty and love was akin to making yourself a target for all his enemies to pounce on just to get a hold over him. He doesn't doubt his feelings for you. He knows that he'll be able to love you till the end of time and beyond but he wanted to make sure: are you certain? You kiss his doubts away gently and that's all he needed.

"Very well. If that is what you wish… I am yours for all eternity."

— Arthur!

He doesn't hesitate. Arthur treated you like his whole world; you were the most important thing to him and having him promise you such a thing brought him immense joy that it almost brings him to tears as he grasps your hands lovingly under the moonlight. He ran his thumb across the back of your palm gently and looked at you with a gaze so soft you could hardly believe that someone could love you this much. There was no one else present in this moment but you in his eyes as he lifted your hand and pressed his lips to your fingers.

"You don't need to ask. My heart has always been ready to love you forevermore."

— Cain!

He's surprised but his expression quickly broke into a huge smile. Sometimes, Cain acted as if he was human, forgetting that his words—his promises—held so much weight behind them. You thought this was one of those instances but Cain merely shook his head and gave you his reassurance. Human, wizard, unicorn, or whatever entity he might be—it doesn't matter to him. In every universe he's in with you, with every version of himself that might exist out there, he'll always take your hand and vow to you. Like a knight swearing that he's hopelessly devoted to you for life.

"I'll protect you. I promise this—I will never leave your side."

— Snow!

He didn't think you were serious the first time you asked him. He was sure you were doing it in the spur of the moment and got carried away by shallow desires that brought sadness to him when all he felt was pure unaltered love and desire to be by your side. He loved you, yes, but if you were asking him with even just a little smidge of doubt—he'll turn you away. He wanted you to be certain. Snow always liked living in certainty; for things to remain constant once he's committed. He doesn't bode well with change and if there's just a small part of you that doubted him, he gets scared. He doesn't want things with you to end terribly. He already experienced far too much grief and pain that change brought to him.

"I'll wait for you. Be it a hundred years or another thousand—I want to see that your feelings for me will not change. But know that I hold you closer to my heart than anyone else… That is the reason why I want to be certain. I do not wish for an unhappy ending for both of us."

— White!

He's overjoyed but it was difficult to miss the hint of bitterness in his expression and tone when he replies to you. He wants to—so badly; so desperately to the point that he felt his heart ache despite being dead. He's driven by his emotions but the weight of reality is heavy on his shoulders and he couldn't help but laugh bitterly. He is not the same man he once was. He felt like he's merely a shadow of himself. A fragment of himself that he can't even tell if it's truly him or not. He wants to—He can. But, are you prepared to accept him for everything he is as he stands? Even if this form of his is fleeting? If you are, then he'll take your hand and never let you go.

"If you're willing to have me for all that I am… I will respond to your feelings with much more fervour. Truly, I love you. I promise you nothing but my heart to be yours."

— Mithra!

Promises; Mithra knew not to make them. He thinks it's troublesome—an unnecessary risk and a waste of time. However, when you asked him, he couldn't help but wonder if this was the equivalent of what marriage was to Tiletta when she was alive. A promise to love someone forevermore… His feelings are not one to waver. His feelings aren't fickle. They were stubborn just as he is and he couldn't help but think to himself that maybe promising himself to you wasn't as bad as it sounds. However, he wanted to make sure that you'd do the same for him. He doesn't want to love so passionately and be responded to by a lukewarm romance. He'd take it if he was desperate but he wants—Northern wizards when they want are terrifying.

"Your unwavering devotion and love. I want it. It's only fair if you promise me that too."

— Owen!

He wanted to dodge the question and disappear into mist but his body couldn't move and he couldn't bring himself to bark out another insult or a snarky comment to mock you. It was a futile question but you asked him anyway, you knew that he would always turn away and try to deny himself of his feelings to protect himself from such a vulnerability. But seeing him hesitate this much made your breath hitch because that proved that there was a part of him that was considering it—that there was a part of him that wanted to swear his love to you, even if it's small. He thought for another minute and that's when it hit him. Why not bind you to himself instead? He wouldn't feel as vulnerable and your desire to be together for eternity will be fulfilled.

"What made you think I'd let myself be chained to you? Let's put it like this… Why don't I put a chain around your neck and bind you to me instead? Come on, promise me."

— Bradley!

He sputtered out incoherent noises for a moment and tried to make sure his ears weren't betraying him. The thought never occurred to him and thinking about it now was something he never thought he would do. Promising his eternal love for someone was heavy—far too heavy for someone like him who liked the feeling of being free. Though it wasn't like he wasn't considering it. He loved you. Dearly. Passionately. Desperately. But a promise can be lethal to a wizard and he's reckless—what if he messes up? What if they take you to have something to hold over his head? What if he puts you in danger? What if he loses his magic and both of you end up getting killed? He doesn't know. He doesn't wanna know. He gives you a ring wordlessly as he slips it into your finger. He'll do this much.

"This ain't what yer probably expectin' but… Take it. I don't want ya to feel like I'm just half-assin' my feelings for ya."

— Faust!

Faust freezes and for a moment he allows himself to hope; to dream of a future with you by his side. He stopped himself and brought himself back to reality and looked at you with a difficult expression. He wanted to but a part of him was afraid—coming to terms with his feelings for you was already difficult as it is but admitting that he wants to believe in something he feels like is out of his reach is something that makes him take a step back. His love was pure but uncertainty was something that stayed in his heart from years before.

"Please… Don't ask me such a difficult question next time. I cannot give you the answer I want to say."

— Nero!

It takes him a moment to process everything but once he did, he covered his face with his hands to try and cover the huge smile that took over his face. He was beyond happy—someone wanted to spend the rest of their life with him? The words may not be exact but he took them as words akin to a marriage proposal and all of a sudden he's left fantasising about what could be. A future with you… It doesn't sound so bad (he's ecstatic). He manages to face you with a calmer expression and gives you a smile.

"If you'll have me, I'd be glad to stay by your side. I'll stay for as long as you want me to—Actually, no, scratch that. You'll be stuck with me for the rest of your life."

— Heathcliff!

His first reaction was his embarrassment telling him to run away but the sincere look in your eyes made him stay in place as he looked at you with an expression just as sincere as yours. He didn't want to respond to your feelings and questions half-heartedly—he didn't want to hurt you. Though how could he ever hurt you when his heart was already set on loving you for the rest of his life? It was difficult for him to say his answer but with the way he took your hand and placed it on his chest, just over where his heart was, you already knew his answer without another word from his lips.

"Of course… I can no longer see myself not being by your side. I love you—that's a promise."

— Shino!

It didn't occur to him that it was a question you have to ask him. In his mind, it was already set to default. He didn't think that there was any need to ask. When he fell in love with you and when you accepted his heart, he already knew that he was bound to you for life. His love and devotion is yours for all time; his blade will have another purpose—to protect you. He just looked at you blankly and raised an eyebrow. All of a sudden the serious atmosphere between the two of you broke when he tilted his head.

"I thought that was already a given, though? No? Well, I'll say it for you if you want me to. My love, loyalty, and devotion… It's all yours forever."

— Shylock!

Shylock was no stranger to indulging selfish requests from all people but there was always a clear line he wouldn't cross unless it was for certain people. He yearned with all of his heart—desperately and passionately. Asking him such a question was akin to asking him to walk straight into his doom. He knew that promising himself to you for all eternity will bring him immense happiness; he'll get addicted. It was as if he was tasting the finest wine he's ever had for the first time. How will he bear to let you go if those unspoken promises finally come to fruition? He'll never let you go. Not even after death.

"Fufu… After hearing such a passionate declaration of love for me, how could I bring myself to refuse you? Prepare yourself—I won't hold back any longer."

— Murr!

His expression didn't change in the slightest. Or perhaps it did, a very miniscule one that escaped your eye. Murr was a mystery no one could solve; he was a constant unpredictable variable. Every word he said to you, every touch he left on your skin, and every kiss he gave you—they were all mysteries. Even his answer to your question was a mystery. Not because he gave you a confusing response as usual but because he was silent. He didn't say anything and just continued smiling at you. For a split moment, you don't know if his eyes were downcast or it was just your eyes playing tricks on you.

"Really, really? You want me? Haha! Maybe that's a love that isn't so fruitless~!"

— Rustica!

Devoted; Rustica was a man full of undying love and devotion. He searched for his missing brides for years without any qualms. There might be a few hiccups here and there but it was undeniable that when Rustica loves, he loves wholeheartedly. Loving you was like a melody he couldn't get enough of—everything he does seems to remind him of you and he thinks to himself: so this is what it feels like to be in love with you.

"I can already hear the bells ringing for both of us. It's a precious melody meant for us… Love suits us well, doesn't it?"

— Chloe!

Chloe wasn't fully aware of the heavy weight of a promise is to a wizard. But his love is pure and he loved innocently, all he knew is how he wanted to be with you and nothing else. And that was enough reason for him to respond to you with a smile on his face as he nodded enthusiastically. He knew this is what he wanted—with a wave of his hand, he'll create the perfect attire for the both of you for your ceremony. Oh? Was he being too hasty?

"Oh! I already know what we'd wear. You'd like a traditional white theme, right—Ah, wait! I never properly responded to you… Yes, a million times, yes! I love you!"

— Figaro!

He thought it was funny that you asked him, an elusive character, such a question. Tying him down to you with a promise of eternal love and unwavering devotion? He was hoping that your positions were switched where he's the one asking you that instead. He found himself unable to answer you as he ran a finger through his hair and let out a deep sigh. He avoided looking into your gaze but when his eyes finally wandered and saw yours, he felt a little bit of his resolve break—he felt like he was going crazy. Maybe he is going crazy. A smile crept up his face.

"Do you want me that much? It feels nice to be wanted… by you. Haha, I don't know anymore. Maybe I will. Take responsibility for me, okay?"

— Lennox!

He doesn't speak much but his actions said more than his words ever could. He knelt down on one knee as he took your hand and placed a kiss on your fingers. You know exactly what he meant and no trace of doubt was evident in your expression as your absolute trust and faith was placed on him. In turn, you raised his hand closer to your lips as well and kissed the back of his palm. You wanted him to know that you'd do the same for him.

"I love you, forever and always. You have my promise."

— Rutile!

He thinks of this moment as something that came out of a fairytale or a storybook he used to read to children. There was a time when he wondered if he'll ever have this kind of moment and he felt wonderful knowing it's you he was with when it happened. He let himself smile and broke into a fit of joyful laughter and giggles. The words you wanted to hear left his lips like honey you couldn't get enough of—one more time, you want to hear his answer once more.

"Nothing would make me happier… I treasure you, I really do. I'd make a thousand promises if it meant making you happy."

[solaris-cafe]

uuuuuuuuuuuu mr rustica 👉👈 what kind of cologne do you use? it always smells so nice and rhhrhtjrrjhthhtj it makes me wanna linger around u for a bit more ����🤡😳😳

Rustica settles into a delighted smile. "Thank you, this cologne is a special kind that I've collected over time. It quite reminds me of the anticipation of love, like the scent of spring in the air..."

Pulling himself of out his reverie, Rustica's long-forgotten that he was supposed to be working. "How beautiful. For someone to have such an intimate appreciation... You must be my bride."

He's stopped by a flustered co-worker before he can cast his spell, being reminded that he mustn't let the tea go cold. "Ah, right..."

His eyes are so pure and gentle that you can't help but feel your heartstrings yearn for his smile. "It would be lovely to speak to you more after you're done. May I invite you to a teatime of my hosting?" I don't want you to fly away just yet...

[yumeno-hotaru]

When you're sick (Ft. Rustica)

Rustica Ferucci

When Rustica hears that you're not feeling well from the other wizards, he goes to your room immediately. His face would contort into a worried frown once he sees how pale and haggard you looked, twisting and turning under your blankets.

There was no way he would leave you be in your current state despite your protests, and so you've gained your own personal nurse until you get better.

Keep in mind that Rustica is rather clumsy and might mess up a few times in the process of taking care of you. He'll apologize if he makes any mistakes and ask for some help from the others when he needs it.

Teaching Rustica how to cook was a rather...unique experience for Nero. He had assured Rustica that he can prepare the meal by himself, but the western wizard refused, saying that he had promised to make you a meal himself. Rustica will take off his pristine, white coat and gloves, and roll up his sleeves before putting on one of the spare aprons. Chloe will volunteer to help as well. He knows how his teacher is a bit of an airhead at times.

"W-Why is the food moving?!"

"What the hell?! What did you put into that soup?!"

It took a lot of tries, but eventually, Rustica managed to make a decent meal. Nero gave it a pass with a relieved look on his face before shooing him out of the kitchen so he and Chloe could clean up.

He then pays a visit to Figaro. The doctor had already given you a check up before hand and had already prepared some medicine. After that it's back to your side.

If you want to stay up and talk to him, then he'll entertain you, telling you stories of his travels. (You would most likely fall asleep soon due to how relaxing his voice is.)

If you want to rest, then he tucks you in and starts playing some music on his harpsichord to lull you to sleep. He would even sing for you, just say the word.

"I'll sing for as long as you want me to, my beloved. Think of me as your little songbird."

Once you wake up the next day, you'll find Rustica asleep on your bedside, holding your hand. His eyes flutter open once he feels you shift. He'll look up and greet you with a smile, sleepiness still lingering in his eyes with his hair sticking up in random places. "Good morning, my dove. Did you sleep well?"

After you're feeling better, Rustica organizes a tea party to celebrate. One of his most precious people returning to good health is something worth celebrating after all.

If you thank him, he'll smile, take hold of your hand and give it a kiss. His eyes linger on your ring finger, hoping that a wedding ring will adorn it one day. What ring would suit you, he wonders. He'll make sure to find the perfect ring one day. Or perhaps he should make it himself? A beautiful ring for his beautiful bride. "But of course. Whether in sickness or in health, I will be with you."

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

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.”

[ocvtis]

Matchup for @hanaposa12

_

I match you with...

Rustica and Shuichi Saihara 💋

Rustica admires your personality and finds you extremely reliable; it reassures him that he can always count on you!

As an eccentric person who often gets into trouble, it is up to you to keep an eye on him, especially to prevent anyone from taking advantage of his excessive goodness

When he first laid eyes on you for Rustica it was love at first sight! If it hadn't been for Chloe's intervention you would have found yourself trapped in a birdcage lmao

Rustica is totally devoted to you and wouldn't let you go for anything in the world, he likes you so much that he can't help but talk about you and how much he loves you to his disciple Chloe, who is now privy to every detail of your relationship emwnds

Since Rustica is a person with a very bad memory he would like it if you helped him remember important details, since he is so forgetful that he tends to forget even the most common things, he would reward you with much affection <3

He finds your humour charming and considers it one of your most interesting traits, along with the hard work you put into things and your ambitions, know that he will always root for you.

In spite of being a free spirit who doesn't care about the judgements of others, he understands that for some it may not be the same. In fact he always tries to reassure you, claiming that it is impossible that someone as lovely as you could have given a negative impression

He would ask Chloe to make a matching outfit for you two, so you can show it off on your dates, which are most often at cafes or clothes shops

You are lucky to have Rustica as your partner, who is in fact an amazing musician! Playing happy songs for you is one of the things that makes him happiest <3

-

Shuichi has low self-esteem so he finds comfort in your unconditional support, and your compliments as long as they cause him some embarrassment put him in a good mood, even though he claims he doesn't deserve such kind words

Your honesty and determination are the qualities that made him fall in love with you, plus your leadership skills in his eyes make you very reliable and trustworthy

Your excellent memory can come in very handy, especially in investigations, in fact Shuichi would be delighted if you decided to contribute to one of the cases he plans to solve

Shuichi is the type who takes relationships seriously, so he is extremely loyal and eager to spend as much time with you as possible, so you will have no reason to feel lonely

Since you don't like cloudy/rainy days Shuichi would try to make them more enjoyable for you, such as reading a book together in his room or listening to music snuggled up on the couch

In general even though Shuichi is a shy and serious person he would do his best to make you feel appreciated, and your air of positivity fills him with confidence

Other potential match: Oz

[serendiquity]

Reverie

Synopsis: When Rustica looks at you, all he can see is the shadow of a ghost, long gone and never to return again. 

When Rustica murmurs words of love, they’re not meant for you. You can tell from the way his eyes glaze over and how he looks over your shoulder at someone you can’t see. “I love you,” he says, and you want to believe him. But, how can you when you know you are nothing more than a placeholder, a substitute for his bride? “I love you too,” you respond, and you actually mean it. Yet, you know that no matter how much of your feelings you pour out, you’ll never get anything back. 

Rustica’s kisses are loving and passionate as if he’s trying to make up for centuries of lost time. He leaves light, lingering touches, constantly gloved fingers gliding over your skin, afraid this dream will shatter if he gets too close. When he gazes at you, his eyes overflow with warmth, fondness, and a blazing love no amount of distance or time can ever put out. Yet, at the same time, they hold so much sorrow and nostalgia, because you’re not her. You’re not the one he wants, not the one he loves. 

Before you know it, he’s woven a cage around your heart, one made of honeyed lies that you’ll never be able to escape from. The soft timbre of his laugh pulls you in, tender eyes wrap you into a trance, and the sweet poison in his words seals your fate. 

Sometimes, bitter thoughts seep into your mind, and you can’t help but wonder. Why? What makes his bride so much better than me? Was his love for her really that great, that he continues to chase after her even when his memories of her are long gone? When he can’t remember her face, what she was like, or even something as simple as her name? 

It makes you want to scream at him, “Why won’t you just look at me? She’s gone, I’m the only one here! So why?” But you never say a thing, too scared that if you ever do, he’ll vanish without a trace. 

Despite everything, you can’t help but continue to dream, to hope that maybe one day he’ll look and actually see you. Please come to my birthday, you pen, leaving the letter on his desk. I made sure your schedule was clear beforehand, so you won’t have to worry about any missions like last time. So, if you have the time, I’d love it if you come. 

The days pass in a static blur, far too quickly and way too slowly at the same time. Rustica barely replies, vaguely nodding, “I’ll try.” The night before, you find yourself unable to sleep, tossing and turning as you reassure yourself that he’ll come. The morning of, you can’t stay still, fussing over the decorations and making sure everything is perfect even though you’ve done both many times before. 

Outside, you hear the quiet thump of footsteps approaching, mirroring the rapid beating of your heart. Your breath catches in your chest as you spring up from your seat, smoothing out your shirt and fixing your hair. It can only be Rustica or Chloe behind that door, either congratulations or an apology. Unable to pull your gaze away, you stare as the doorknob turns, taking an unconscious step back. 

“Y/N,” a voice begins, and in that moment, you realize exactly who it is.

[chopper-witch]

Honey, Where is My Super Suit one-shot series: Loki

Pairing: Loki x reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: some angst, poor Loki’s dinner gets ruined, implied smut

Word count: 2,927

Summary: Loki has your special dinner all planned out and is more than a little upset when it ends up disturbed.

____

“When you said you were glad we finally got to have dinner together because you set up something special I expected… I’m not sure. But not this!” You exclaim, gesturing towards the set up. 

Three weeks ago was your and Loki’s three year anniversary but any plans that may have been were canceled by a last-minute mission you were needed on that started three days before your anniversary and ended eight days after. 

But that was a pattern you and Loki were accustomed to: plans were never guaranteed. Whether it was you being whisked away due to an emergency mission or him being called in due to an 084 they needed help with, it became apart of your life. 

Or if plans weren’t interrupted by last-minute calls, then they were interrupted by surprise visits from friends and co-workers who love to just show up and don’t need a key to get inside, like Natasha or Tony. No matter what security (or spells) you two installed, they always find their way in. 

So tonight you were assured by Fury, Coulson, and several others up the chain of command that you would not be needed tonight and if there were any issues with 084s they would handle it the way they did before the Asgardians landed on Earth.

Which is how you walked back into your apartment after Loki telling you to stay out until 7 PM to this scene. 

Candles lit nearly everywhere: on the table by the couch, on the kitchen counter, and a few larger ones on the tiny table you wedge near the window. An obscene amount of food, all things Loki has called his specialties ever since he learned how to cook down here on Earth: alfredo bowtie pasta, panelle with goat cheese and salsa rustica, arancini, saltimbocca, and the most delicious chocolate cake you have ever had (Loki became partial it Italian food and you still have yet to figure out why). And the best part, of course, is Loki, standing nervously by the table. 

“So is it alright?”

Your eyes flit back to him in his perfectly tailored all black suit. “It’s perfect, Loki.”

“Well then stop staring at it and come enjoy it.”

“So pushy.” 

But you comply, dropping your bag beside the door and walking over to your absolutely perfect boyfriend. 

“Alright,” you smile, grabbing the lapels of his suit, “what is first of the menu chef.” 

Loki releases a small chuckle. “First is a kiss.” 

He presses his lips to yours lightly, barely even touching your lips fully with his chaste kiss. Nonetheless the softness of his lips never fails to make you smile, so any kiss is a good kiss with him.

“And now, it’s whatever you’d like to start with.” 

You bite you lip. Everything he makes always ends up perfect somehow. “How about a little of everything?” 

“Anything for you.” 

But Loki, being the true (yet suspiciously well-behaved) gentleman he is, pulls your chair for you at the tiny table wedge near the window. It’s sweet so you comply, normally not keen on letting him to things for you. 

Once everything is settled the two of you can legitimately talk. Your plate is full of far too much food and the wine Loki got is definitely something special. Him being so sweet is always lovely, so you don’t mind.

You take a sip of the red wine. It’s surprisingly sweet on your tongue and amazing. 

“Who woulda thought you’d fall in love with your baby sitter?” You muse.

Loki leans back in his chair, peering over to you. “I believe you were the one who said not to call you a baby sitter.”

“True,” you shrug, “but that is basically what I was while they figured out what to do with you.” You shrug and swirl the glass of wine around. “Anything interesting happen besides you cooking earlier? I have a hard time believing you didn’t use your magic.” 

“Oh, I didn’t. What did end up happening is -” 

A long, light familiar buzz emanates from your watch. Mission alert. 

10 second pause. “And then I couldn’t find where you kept the larger things pans.”

Three short but equally light vibrations. Meet at curb of current location. 

15 second pause. “- going to the store to get the wine I want to cook with. That took far too lo-” 

Two short vibrations followed by one equal to both combined. 25 minutes. 

5 second pause. “- is how the panelle ended up so perfect.” 

Three heartbeat-like vibrations. Sam? 

You are dead last on Sam’s list of mission partners meaning it really is important if you are being called in. Literally every single Avenger followed by six other agents come before you. 

“Hey, love,” you say, placing your glass of wine down on the table, “I’m sorry to interrupt your story, but I really need to pee.” 

Though the excuse is poor and weird and horribly said, you stand, hoping he will take it.

The door clicks shut behind you, your hands pressing the lock simultaneously so it doesn’t sound off after the door closes. You really do need to pee; your main objective, however, is to get your second suit that’s hidden in the wall for emergencies like this. Also to find the proper words to apologize to Loki. But it’s just another dinner ruined after all. Just like every single one so far over the past few months. 

After doing your business (and washing your hands extra loudly to keep Loki distracted from thinking something suspicious) you pull on the lever along the vent on the ground. The panel slides open, the section of the wall well hidden due to it being tiled. 

It’s empty. No pants, no shirt, no jacket, no boots, no weaponry. Not even the pepper spray is in there. 

Your hands feel around inside. Maybe things are just hidden in the shadows? 

No. 

It’s entirely empty.

Loki.

“You alright love?” 

You pull open the door, a sickly sweet smile on your face. Loki is leaning casually against the end of your bed frame, hands curled around the wood. He has that stupid satisfied smirk on his face that you’ve gladly kicked off more than once. 

“Loki, where did you put my suit?” You ask through clenched teeth. 

“I don’t know what you speak of?” He shrugs. 

“Honey, dear, love, where is my suit? There is an emergency situation and Sam will be at the curb in 20 minutes.” 

“I think the real emergency here is the danger you put our dinner in.” 

“Loki, this isn’t a joke!” Your voice is beginning to raise. 

“You promised me a night off.” Loki pushes himself forward, taking the two steps it takes to get to you. “Fury and Coulson assured you of a night off. The only joke here is thinking I would let you go.” He rests his right hand along your jaw, thumb gently tracing along your cheek. 

“Loki where did you put it? And how do you even know about it?”

“You are not as sneaky as you believe.” He grins.

“Where is it?” 

“That is not important.” 

“Not important?” You shove him back. “Loki there is an emergency somewhere that they called me as Sam’s partner. That’s really fucking important.” 

“Nothing is as important as this dinner.” His voice is still tempered, calm. 

And it is utterly infuriating. 

“We can have thousands of dinners Loki.” You sigh, closing your eyes a moment to try and calm your voice.“If I don’t go help people down there, they may never have any more. Where is my goddamn suit?” 

“Finish our dinner and I’ll tell you.” 

“I don’t have that kind of time.” You shake your head at him. Your phone vibrates twice on the counter. “And look, there is more of the mission information. Goddamnit Loki this is important!” It comes out more like a whine than a shout, your anger reaching a breaking point at his complete and utter calm.

“I am more important than some foolish mission that will turn upside down like it always does!” He huffs. “I am your significant other and this is the first time we are finally getting a night together without interruptions.” 

“They wouldn’t call me if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.” Your posture relaxes and you walk a bit closer to him. Your right hand reaches to rest at the nape of his neck, your left resting gently on his chest. “You are one of the most important people in the world to me, but helping those who need it is important as well. We will get a night off at some point, I promise.” You look down before releasing him reluctantly, turning to grab your phone. 

He is stoic in his spot half way between the bed at the bathroom door, forcing you to push past him as you dial Sam. 

Loki chooses not to try and convince you to stay and leans back against the bed, listening to your voice as it trails off. 

“Hey, any chance you have my suit or an extra one that might fit me? Oh awesome, thanks Sam. That reminds me...” 

His hands squeeze the bed frame; the wood cracks beneath his grip and is immediately iced over. 

—

One week and a far too long debrief later, Sam is parked back in front of your apartment complex. You look up at the building against the night sky, happy to be home, nervous about what is to come. 

“How mad do you think he is?” You quietly ask. 

Sam laughs. “Your paycheck for the next year is gonna be spent on making it up to that drama king up there. Good luck.” 

“It’s gonna take more than luck for me to survive whatever is waiting for me up there. Til next time bird brains.” 

“Nuh uh, you know I only let one person call me that and even then...” 

“Yeah, whatever. Night!” 

-

With a shaky exhale you unlock your apartment door. You know Loki is still there, he never stays at the place they set up for him in the compound even when you both fight. 

“Loki?” You call out. 

There’s no response. 

On the table of your living room is a tipped vase of your favorite flowers, the water long evaporated. The kitchen is almost entirely clean of any indication the two of you were supposed to have a romantic evening or any sort of evening at all save the now re-corked bottle of wine on the center of the counter. 

“Loki?” You call out again, dropping your tactical bag to the bench beside the door. “I know you’re here. I’m sorry.” 

The door of your bedroom opens, the sound loud compared to the relative silence of the rest of your apartment. Loki creeps quietly through the short hallway. He comes into the light looking arguably better, and worse, than you. And it isn’t like he hasn’t be taking care of himself; he rather looks like he’s been mentally beating himself up over your fight. Eyes slightly sunken, hair a little more messy than normal and an actual sweatshirt instead of just a zip-up hoodie like he normally wear if he is going to be in relaxed clothing.

“I’m so sorry for ruining our night,” you begin to apologize, moving forward towards him. “Everything was set up so nicely too, you even made dinner, like a full five course meal. I didn’t want to go but... I had to. I really did need to go.” 

Loki had been making his way towards you as you spoke. His head tilts down once he reaches you, hands pulling up into his sweatshirt to make sweater paws, a nervous habit of his. He quickly removes the fabric from his hands. It’s just you, he reminds himself. 

“I’m sorry for trying to make you try to choose between your job and me.” Loki lifts up his hands so his palms face you. You smile, threading your fingers through his, the feeling of his skin against yours a nice change of pace from the craziness of this past week. “I just spent so long trying to make it perfect since we finally had a night without any distractions. I even went out of my way to get a ring so I could do it the way you mortals in this part of the world do it…” he trails off, looking up with eyes widening as realization of his admission hits him. 

You drop your head down, resting the top on his chest. “You were going to propose. That’s why, ah…” You tilt your head back and smile. “That’s why not only did you actually legitimately cook for once without magic but you were also legitimately upset. Well… I’m free now.”

Loki frowns. “Aren’t proposals supposed to be romantic and special?”

You shake your head. “I’m an agent that works for an organization that ranges from completely covert operations to straight up public as hell. Special I appreciate. Romantic is sort of no longer in my vocabulary. Where’s the ring?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Where’s the ring?”

Loki sighs, releasing his right hand and conjuring a small velvet green box in a flash of green. Your fingers unthread from his left, allowing you to pluck the box from his hand and open it. Inside sits a thin gold band complete with an inset of three gems: one emerald in the center, larger than the two diamonds on the outside of it. You pick it up from the box. It’s simple and pretty and definitely going to need to go on a necklace or be left behind for field missions. Regardless, you slide it onto your left ring finger and toss the box back to Loki who catches it, but barely.

You shrug. “There, all done.” 

“Is that you saying yes?” 

“That’s me saying yes. I hope you got yourself a matching one because we are both very officially off the market, not just me. Oh! I got you something while I was gone to make up for missing our dinner...” you dig around in your jacket, fishing inside both pockets until you find the paper. “Here we go.” 

Loki peers at skeptically as he grabs it. It’s folded and worn due to it being stuck in there for a good three days and definitely suspicious. 

“You read that, I’m going to eat something. Sam has horrible taste and I was stuck with them for a whole damn week.” 

Loki sits down on the couch as you walk over to the kitchen. A giant perk of Loki’s magic is how he extends the expiration date of food so everything he cooked from dinner last week is still perfectly preserved and just needs to be warmed up. You grab out the container full of his signature Alfredo bowtie pasta and reach for a fork in the drawer beside the fridge, closing both with ease. Post-mission flexibility is a real thing. 

You hop up onto the counter facing the couch and pry open the container. The smell wafts up to you. Butter, milk, cheese and gooey goodness is so much better than Sam’s combo of fast-food and healthy breakfast cereals. Your eyes flutter shut to take a moment just to appreciate how much better your fiancé’s cooking is compared to whatever Sam tried to poison you with. 

“Is this what I think it is?” Loki asks. 

“Well...” you begin, taking a forkful of pasta. “I have no idea what you think it is. If you think it’s an official document providing both of us three months leave then yes, it’s what you think it is.” 

“Is this really going to do anything? They promised you a night off and we saw how that went.” 

“That isn’t a ‘we promise we will leave you alone’ text,” you explain through your bite of pasta, “that’s a ‘we cannot contact you even if the world is going to end’ document. For three months. So whatever you want to do we can do for three months.” 

Loki tosses the paper onto the coffee table and stands. You watch as he walks towards you, still mostly focused on eating. No more bird food. It’s as he nears the counter do you finally notice his sparkling predatory gaze - the one he uses when he has an idea that is likely not the best but always ends up being interesting nonetheless. 

His arm wraps around your waist and tugs you to the edge of the counter, eyes staring lustfully down at you.

“Three months, huh?” 

“Plenty of time to elope. We could hop on a plane tonight if you’d like.” 

He grabs the container of pasta and places it beside you. “Or a three month vacation of the world, maybe even the galaxy. Explore it all.” Loki presses a soft kiss to your neck just below your left ear. 

You shudder slightly. “I don’t know about the galaxy, but the world does sound nice.” 

“The world it is then,” he murmurs against your lips. “But I think I want take some time re-exploring you tonight.” 

His lips finally capture yours in a deep, slow kiss. He grabs your arms with his right hand, pushing the wrists together and slowly pulling them up over your head. His left hand remains on your waist, squeezing it hard as the kiss intensifies. 

If this is how every ruined proposal is going to end, maybe you’ll keep ruining them. 

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

a reprise for a coy spirit

“even imagining it is sweet.”

owen x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: what could a joyous occasion to celebrate a dear wizard entail?

a/n: happy birthday owen! good luck to anyone rolling for him!

He licks the frosting from his fingertips like a kitten, shallow laps that leave trails of sweetness like the foghorn of a train in its wake on his skin. Imagining the gazes staring at him isn’t a difficult task—intrigue, fear, annoyance all mingling together in the atmosphere of his own birthday party. 

It would be so, so easy for him to drawl at them and to say that their blood would taste sweeter, but Owen holds his tongue; it isn’t polite to bite the hand that quite literally is feeding you.

Everything around him shimmers and sparkles so radiantly, evidently the handiwork of you alongside the rest of the Sage’s wizards. How kind of you, to arrange a party, only for him to leer at you with bloodlust in his eyes as he devours the treats around him. Teeth sinking into the cake as if it were your flesh, the black mark on his tongue a fatal reminder that his soul is inevitably tied together with yours…

You don’t flinch. Not even once. Neither do the wizards all around you, his imagination contrasted with the excitement and love that his peers hold for him on his special day. 

What a jarring difference. Even the Northern wizards who might have tried to kill him yesterday mutter happy wishes and leave him be to do as his fickle heart wants to.  

Owen doesn’t mind—seeing everyone in such delight would only make it sweeter for him to bring it all down whenever he pleases.

The hand that frosted his cake must have been so delicate, and the preparation everyone took part in must have been done with care. Owen cooly laps at the disgustingly honeyed cake again, the sugary words smearing over in a mix of gratitude and begrudging love.

Happy Birthday, Owen!

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

for something that never was

love headcanons bc i want taku of yaki dead

gender neutral reader

How does Shylock love? Shylock loves exactly as his craft demands him to—sometimes passionately, like falling in love with a fine wine and learning how to crave it and tame the craving like the treacherously hedonistic beast it is—sometimes violently, like the wrath of an old god from legend, akin to the sound of glass shattering when it slips from someone’s hands—sometimes tentatively, the hesitance in his fingers before he pops the cork of a bottle and the faint aroma of alcohol stains the room once more.

How does Shylock love? Shylock loves in a way like no other. He claims that he doesn’t let love cling to him too long; after all, life is too short and far too turbulent for him to be the kind of man to be hung up over something when there are far more entertaining things out there for him to spend his attention over. He loves the concept of love. It’s what brings humans and wizards alike together, a captive to the longing and misery that equals the beggar with the king.

How does Shylock love? When he realizes he’s falling for you, he dismisses it as nothing more than one of his many loves he must have had over the years. He loves liberally, freely, truly, cherishing even the most ephemeral of attractions as genuinely as the sort of love that could move mountains and part seas. All emotions are beautiful and worthy of celebration in their own right, and he drinks to you: cherishing you through your smiling reflection wobbling in the sepia-colored lights beamed in the ruby red wineglass of his.

How does Shylock love? Love to him is a give-and-take. The flutters of your eyelashes are exchanged for fleeting touches from his end. The tilt in your voice when you sing hello to him is traded for the wry chuckle he gives towards you when you crack a bad joke. A bartender and his client, stuck in a tryst of want and economy, and sometimes he wonders if the pressure in your hand when you press a bag of coins into his palm holds something more than mere numerical value for your drink. It clings to him like the remainder of a ghost, of memories past, of a deep stirring in his heart.

How does Shylock love? He loves as if he’s burning. He loves as if you’ve lit him on fire. He loves as if you’re the air, and he’s a drowning man, flailing and falling and feeling the sea called you. Your name rests like a prayer on his sinful lips, and he wants nothing more than to chant it over and over, until you’ll grant him a taste of Heaven by placing his head in your lap and condemning him to an instantaneous eternity of proximity. You’re within his grasp yet so far, and his love tastes like poison in the inside of his mouth—he swallows anyway.

How does Shylock love? He reaches out for you every day, every night. Shylock props the door to his bar open not so that he can entice more wizards into the comforting labyrinth of his bar, but so that he can meet your eyes when you quaintly walk in, your silhouette the same touch of a spell that makes his ancient heart race. He savors this feeling, his eyes falling upon you in a shower of enchantment, the same way he did when you first stumbled across his little haven.

How does Shylock love? Dizzyingly, as if he’ll disappear like sand between your fingers. Breathtakingly, capturing your mouth in wine-flavored and hushed “I love you”s whenever the bar closes and the night hour deepens with moonlit stains. Sincerely, with the heart of someone who had loved and lost for years beyond your own ability to think. Truly, yearning for you with a fervor that could only be matched by the love that licks at the sides and core of your own heart.

“Don’t say that we’re a lost cause. Saying that we’re a lost cause merely tells me that we are indeed a cause. And to me, a lost cause is still a cause worth fighting for, if it means you’ll stay with me for a second longer.”

x

[inviberu]

to the unfortunate me

Wanting your own pair of glass slippers was something Rustica can understand. Why not throw a prince charming into the mix as well?

Cinderella's glass slippers were made so that it would fit her perfectly and only her—anyone that tried the slipper on in the kingdom resulted in a failure and yet another day for the prince to look for his Cinderella. You wondered how such a pair of shoes would be able to exist. No doubt you think they would be stunning if done with intricate handiwork by a skilled craftsman, yet at the same time, you wondered if such shoes would be comfortable. Did Cinderella put up with the discomfort for her love? Or, perhaps, magic made it comfortable?

You stared at the pair of worn-out shoes in front of you, feeling pity for yourself and the shoes when you saw the terrible condition it was in. You let out a sigh, letting the disappointment sink in as you wondered if there'll be a time you'd be graced with a pair of your own glass slippers. Of course, there was the settling feeling in your stomach that made it churn when you realize such fantasies will only remain fantasies.

"So much for having a crush on someone beyond my reach," you smiled bitterly as you sat down on the velvet seats of the parlour. The "prince charming" in your story was none other than a nearly married man from the West on a search for his missing bride. You had hoped that maybe—just maybe—fate would be a little kind to you and grant you an impossible wish. You muttered under your breath, "how nice would it be to be Cinderella…"

"Pardon?" A voice interrupts your thoughts, a voice that was all too familiar to the point you felt your hair rise up and the cheeks travel to your cheeks at a speed faster than light. You quickly hid away the pair of shoes behind you and straightened your back, eyes gazing at anywhere but him. Though your body always seemed to like to betray you at the worst possible moments when your eyes wandered to his figure.

And there he was standing in front of you, leaning towards you slightly with his eyes brimming with curiosity and his smile that made you feel like your heart grew wings and made its way into his cage. The slight blush decorating his cheeks and his long lashes did nothing but make you want to push him away to calm your hammering heart—he felt like a siren to you, luring you in with his honeyed voice and captivating smiles before pulling you down, drowning in his azure eyes until it's all you could see and feel.

"R-Rustica!" Startled as you were, you tried your best to stay calm despite the sudden intrusion, or so you would call it if you hadn't liked his presence to this extent. You pondered if he caught sight of those shoes you tried to hide or if he heard you mumble about a single fairy tale. You felt the words get stuck in your throat for a moment, feeling all the words jumble up inside your head just from one look at him and suddenly you feel yourself wanting to run away.

"Oh dear, I apologize if I startled you." Rustica chuckled, and you felt as if you were being bewitched once more as you tried to fight the urge to let the corners of your lips curl up into a huge grin. There was nothing more melodic than the sound of his voice and his innocent laughter ringing in your ears. "You were so lost in thought I was wondering what was so captivating to catch your attention like this."

"Ahaha… D-Did I really look that way?" You wanted to pull your hair, trying to give a nonchalant and normal response but even letting out a voice in front of him was a big accomplishment. Rustica merely smiled and nodded at you.

"I heard something about Cinderella?" The moment that word left Rustica's lips you felt as if you were just told that the world was ending in a minute. Your hands went sweaty and you started thinking of every possible excuse to worm your way out of this situation lest you wanted him to question you more about those fantasies of yours judging by the curious look in his eyes. Though the more you looked at him, the more you felt the need to answer him and keep the conversation flowing—unconsciously putting away the rocks that blocked the river's flow.

"Do you know the tale?" You asked, each word carefully articulated so as to not trip over them. You bit your lip unconsciously, waiting for an answer.

"I'm familiar." Rustica sighed dreamily as if reminiscing an old memory. "It's such a romantic tale, isn't it? To spend an evening ball with your beloved is a dream come true."

"But it's only until the clock strikes midnight. After that, Cinderella will go back to normal." The slight disappointment in your tone was something you failed to cover up.

"Precious memories of those we love will always stay in our hearts no matter what." You didn't know if it was your eyes playing nasty tricks on you, but the flicker of sadness in his eyes was something you wished was only a trick of your vision. "Even if she did not leave her glass slipper by the stairs, I'm sure that memory is something she can cherish for a lifetime." He carried himself with the grace of an aristocrat and his words held poise that could sway anyone.

"That's also true…" You admitted, chin resting atop the back of your palm, eyes closed. Rustica's eyes never left your figure.

"So, what about the tale?" Your eyes snapped open upon the realization you did not answer his question at all. You felt the heat crawl up your face once more, wanting to go back to being a cocoon as you realized you still had the pair of shoes behind you. Reluctantly, you brought it out and showed it for him to see.

"I was just saying how nice it would be if I were Cinderella," bashfully, you admitted. "Maybe I would have a pair of my own glass slippers."

Rustica's gaze fell to the pair, his gaze softening as he knelt down. You almost jumped in place, heart thumping violently as if it was about to jump out of your ribcage. His gloved hands made their way to yours as he wrapped his fingers around your own, and he was as cautious as one could get yet so bold all the same. If anyone were to come into the room, they would immediately assume you were lovers—as much as you'd like that, Rustica was already a problem for you on his own. Your mind blanked out. You didn't know how to react to such actions and you eagerly wanted to ask him what you should act like in this situation.

"If you were Cinderella," his thumb made shapes over your hand, the gesture making you freeze up and his voice melting you like gentle fire. A cycle that you desperately wanted to break out from. "Would you allow me to be your prince charming? Would you allow me to invite you to a ball of my own? Maybe then we could re-enact that tale."

And there it was, the pang in your heart that made you want to explode. Rustica's words repeated themselves inside your head like a mantra—Rustica? A prince? Your prince? Forget the glass slippers! You almost cried out. You had no more room inside your head for those thoughts as he nestled himself inside your head uninvited. You cursed yourself inside your head, he must've felt your hands tremble ever so slightly.

"Forgive me! Was that perhaps too brazen of me?" He apologized profusely, yet his hands never left yours. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

"Then, my dear prince…" such words would've never left your lips normally but an invisible force pulled it out unwillingly, like the cruel hands of fate. "P-please have some patience."

"Hm?" A clueless expression decorated his face.

"I-I want to face you when I'm a little bit cuter!" A painfully straightforward answer like that was asking for a lifetime's worth of embarrassment. Rustica merely let out a hearty laugh at the response, seemingly amused at how things played out. You were in a terrible state thanks to Rustica, you looked like you just fought with a wild boar in the forest.

"You're already plenty charming as you are right now." He brought your fingers up to his lips, your fingertips dancing atop the delicate skin as he pressed a gentle kiss.

"But, for you, I'll wait for a lifetime and more."

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

crimson smear

“every time the color changes, i fall for you.”

rustica x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: what happens when the same color on his lips, dyed red from an alluring berry cocktail, smears across your skin?

content warning(s): alcohol, slight risque content

placed under cut for sensitive topic area!

At first, his lips were dyed with nothing more than a bashful shade of pink. The same color of spring flowers, a newborn baby’s cheeks, the same blush hue that would dust Rustica’s cheeks whenever talk of his bride arose. It was fascinating for you to watch, the pink spreading across his lips whenever he would take tentative sip after sip of Shylock’s cocktail.

But as the night went on, and the level of the drink slowly descended into a comfortable haziness, the color grew deeper. With his tongue slipping out and dragging across his bottom lip tantalizingly, capturing every drop of the blood-colored cocktail budding up on his mouth, the pink transforms into a more intense, a more deep shade of wine red.

When the moon soared high in the sky, Rustica went from kissing the rim of the drink to kissing you. The merlot color spreads like honeyed poison everywhere: your lips, your cheeks, your throat, your neck, your collarbones, your chest, your wrists. 

“Rustica…”

“The color of my mouth looks breathtaking on you.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t kiss me like this.”

He leans in to drink you in some more, his breath fanning out against your bare skin and his fingers slinking around your wrists as the rose red color blooms once more on another unmarked patch of your body. The two of you must look debauched to the underworld and back, the spitting image of scandal. His lip marks all over you, his hair tousled, your clothes crumpled, your breathing heavy…

“A gentleman would shower a beautiful person like you with as much love as they could.”

You’re undoubtedly enchanted, entranced, enamored with him. Rustica laughs again, his voice low and deep and dangerous. 

“Let me get drunk on you a little more tonight, my dear bride.”

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

eau de parfum

“seep into my body deeply.”

rustica x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: it doesn’t take much for rustica to win your heart, and his intensely bewitching scent does nothing to calm your heart. you ask him to reveal his secret with you, only to end up revealing your deepest emotions instead...

placed under cut for length!

The allure of one human being to another rested somewhere deep inside the heart, enough to draw souls of all walks of life together under the mysterious masquerade known as love, and this fundamental axiom of life was the very notion that many wizards were drawn to. Loving to love was a way of conquering the mind and the soul in it of itself, and you learned that lesson very quickly during your stay at the quaint manor with the Sage’s Wizards.

Some made their fondness for the world more apparent than others. Be it Shylock’s quiet monologues about the low roll of clouds or even Arthur’s animated adoration towards his foster father, their own appreciation for their lives made you love the world and your own life even harder. Of course, some were more hesitant on bearing their hearts to the world, but you could tell: Owen’s puffed out cheeks whenever he wolfed down a freshly prepared fruit tart, Mithra watching over the Flores brothers, or Faust entertaining a pair of stray kittens.

But the thing that entranced your heart the most was something else entirely.

It was a common, almost everyday thing for you at this point. It wasn’t anything new to you, it wasn’t anything that particularly exceptional to anyone else, and it certainly wasn’t anything magical in nature.

Rustica’s cologne.

The aroma drove you wild. You smelled it often, given that you would exchange a few words with him on an almost daily basis, and each and every time, it felt like the charming gentleman had cast a calming spell on you that made your mind go both blank and into overdrive at the same time.

He smelled so good. He smelled like love personified (there was no better way to personify him than to describe him like that). Like pine trees swaying amongst themselves in a beautiful waltz, like the soft pastel flicks of color on an old master’s canvas, like coffee shared between a couple on an autumn afternoon, like the light whiffs of a cream puff stuck onto someone’s bottom lip.

In essence, you had fallen hard for Rustica, and his cologne wasn’t helping you one bit. You wanted to earn some peace of mind for your racing heart, which was why you were also quick to corner Rustica the moment you had made up your mind.

“Master Sage, it’s good to see you. May I help you with something?” The carefree man asked, the corners of his lips turning upwards into a graceful grin at the sight of you. You felt your breath hitch in your throat, and you pinched the inside of your wrist.

The telltale scent of his cologne washed over your nose and coated the roof of your mouth. Akin to that of a delicate dance, it felt like you were being lured in by a siren’s song.

Be still, my beating heart!

You bit back the scream bubbling up in the back of your throat and forced what you hoped was a natural smile to your face. “Yes, actually. I hope I’m not bothering you. Are you busy?”

Rustica shook his head. “Not at all. What can I help you with? If I can be of any assistance to you, it would bring me great joy.”

“I just… uh… wanted to know more about your cologne,” you breathed out, your heartbeat pounding like wild in your ears. “You smell so nice, and I thought I might ask about it.”

Rustica fell quiet, and you immediately wondered if you had gotten a bit too personal too quick. Swallowing rapidly, you glanced up at the mage, laughing awkwardly. “W-Well, you’re not obligated to tell me about it if you don’t want to! I know things like personal care routines can be sort of a private topic for some-”

“Oh, worry not about it, Master Sage. If it was for you, I would spill all of the world’s secrets without hesitation,” he chuckled, stepping closer to you. “Come along with me to my room then. I would be more than happy to share with you some of my cologne.”

You wanted to pinch yourself again to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Rustica placed his hand on the small of your back, carefully urging you forward, and you took that sensation to anchor yourself back to reality. You prayed that any signs of your obvious infatuation weren’t surfacing, and you blindly followed the charming wizard into the warm confines of his room.

Every part of his room perfectly embodied him, and even the atmosphere clung heavily with his scent. You let your mind wander a little, wondering what it would be like to live every waking moment of your life with his delightful presence all of you.

Gods. You were starting to sound as creepy as the previous sage.

“Forgive me if my room is a tad bit unruly,” he laughed airily. “I’m afraid that Chloe has always been the more organized one between the two of us. Take a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll grab you some of my dear cologne.”

“Oh! Don’t mind me then,” you replied. You stayed close to the walls, slinking like a shadow to a nearby loveseat and descending upon it like a stiff shrimp. Rustica paid your clunkiness no mind, humming a soft tune to himself as he hastily rearranged his room. He deftly opened up a window with his long fingers (“For fresh air. It wouldn’t do if you were to get a headache from all the stimuli, Master Sage.”) before stepping over to his dresser.

“The best time to apply cologne would ideally be right after washing up. Cologne sticks best to bare skin,” he observed, selecting a small bottle. Rustica cast you a teasing glance, a smile dancing on his lips. “Of course, I won’t ask you to do such a thing at this moment. Consider this a piece of advice for the future, Master Sage.”

You swallowed nervously, laughing weakly. “I-I’ll keep that in mind!”

Rustica responded to your hazy laughter with another well-timed chuckle of his own. He closed the dresser’s drawer before heading over to where you were, seating himself right next to you. You froze instinctively, your heartbeat speeding up at how close he was all of the sudden.

He uncapped the cologne. “The best places to apply cologne are to pulse points. But like art and magic and love, recommendations are not the absolute way, so if you’d like to apply the scent elsewhere on your body, you are free to do so.”

“I’ll take your advice,” you mumbled out, shyly gazing up at him. Rustica’s face was calm and poised, the demure smile on his face making your stomach do backflips. You exhaled deeply, trying to keep yourself together. “Um… Where exactly are the pulse points?”

“Would you like me to demonstrate?” 

You blinked absentmindedly. “Sure…?”

“One is the neck.”

Rustica pointed to his throat. The upper part of his midnight black crest peeked out from above his red sweater, a reminder of his loyalty and bond to you.

“Another is the chest.”

He pointed at his heart, his fingertips resting right next to his golden pendant. 

“The shoulders.”

Your eyes followed his hands, admiring the gorgeous curve of his body. 

“Inner elbows.”

Rustica turned his arms to reveal the area, or at least, as much as you could see with his white coat covering his skin.

“And finally, the wrists.”

He playfully held his wrists up, tapping the veins appearing on his pale skin as if to make sure you understood perfectly. You nodded in response.

Bare skin in warm areas… The wry thought of Rustica fresh out of a shower and spraying cologne on his damp skin entered your head as if to taunt you, and you pinched yourself again to keep your focus.

“Is this your first time working with scents like these?” Rustica innocently asked, oblivious to your inner plight. You sprang back to life at his words, and you nodded once more.

“Stuff like this exists in my world too, but I’m far from being an expert on them like you are,” you meekly squeaked out. “I’ve ventured into perfume shops before, but it’s not like I put cologne or perfume on everyday.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, before he melted into another warm laugh. “No need to fret then. You flatter me, calling me an expert on cologne. I’m simply someone who appreciates the finer things in life.”

“Still. You know more than I do.”

“If you insist then, Master Sage. Since you have deemed me the ‘expert’ in this field, would you like me to help apply the cologne?” He offered sweetly. You froze once more, your mind racing.

Rustica. Rustica helping you. Apply cologne.

You momentarily forgot that you were even the one who approached him first.

“I promise it won’t hurt,” he added on, as if he noticed your hesitation.

“Oh! Sorry-,” you gasped out, mentally slapping yourself. “I just spaced out a little. It’s not everyday that I have someone as dashing as you offer to help.”

“You consider me dashing?”

There went another mental slap.

Before you could respond, Rustica’s hands slipped under your chin and rested below your ears, cupping your jaw tenderly. He expertly balanced the cologne bottle in between his fingertips, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. His gloves felt cool yet present against your skin, and your eyes shook at the realization that he was touching you.

“Stay still, Master Sage. Normally, you’d only apply cologne to one or two pulse spots to make sure the scent doesn’t get too overwhelming,” he continued, almost like the conversation merely seconds ago didn’t occur. “You wouldn’t mind if I applied my scent to the same places as I do?”

Gods. If lightning struck you this instant, you would have died the happiest Sage in the world.

“Go ahead,” you rasped out, unable to muster the courage to shake your head when he was holding you so tenderly. One hand slid out away from you, but the other kept you still. You wondered if he could feel your panicked pulse through his gloves, but he made no sign of acknowledging it if he did. 

Something cold kissed the underside of your throat, right where Rustica’s crest would have been on his own neck, and you tensed up at the foreign sensation. A strong wave of Rustica’s dreamy cologne washed over you instantaneously. 

You felt like a little sparrow caught within his grasp, your wings stilled by his honeyed voice and his charm, your heart resting inside of his birdcage and within his gentlemanly touches.

“There we go,” he whispered, tilting your face from side to side to approve of his own work. “Your wrists next, Master Sage.”

You blinked emptily when he completely drew his hands away from you. You held up your hands obediently, like a dog following commands. Rustica chuckled once more, a hand grasping one of your wrists tightly while the other prepared the cologne bottle once more.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he observed. “Are you enjoying the experience?”

You almost flinched. “Er- Yeah, I guess you can say that. It feels wrong to be so chatty during something so intimate.”

“I know how you feel. If you wish to soak up the moment, then I humbly invite you to be the audience to the symphony of scents,” he lightly responded. His thumb rubbed over your wrist before he sprayed your bare skin once more. You sighed lovingly, your heart singing like the angels.

He took your other hand, repeating the same action of rubbing your skin before spraying a moderate helping of his own cologne. Satisfied, he let go of you altogether, capping the perfume bottle before giving you an expectant gaze. 

“Well? Was I of any help to you, Master Sage?”

You nodded, still a bit dumbfounded. You were on cloud nine, trying to process everything happening all at once. From the welcoming nature of Rustica’s room to all of his sweet, slightly capricious touches, you couldn’t blame yourself for falling for him. No one could dream of resisting someone as romantic in nature as him.

“Yes, you helped me a lot,” you breathed, smiling brightly. “Thank you, Rustica. I’ll cherish this scent for as long as it lasts.”

“Think nothing of it,” he replied, the serene smile on his face setting your heart aflutter once more. “And if you need any more to keep yourself company…”

You stared at him, as he leaned in, ducking his head down to take a careful whiff of his own scent lingering on your neck. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the sudden brazenness of his actions, and you sucked in a nervous breath.

Rustica chuckled, the contrast between his gentle nature and his closeness to you making your head spin.

“I’m all yours.”

[inviberu]

overheat

"If you do, let's just overheat together."

The sound of Rustica's piano echoed inside the room and the moon above shined brightly as it cast its light upon the two of you. The sweet yet oddly bitter melody made you lean closer to him, wrapping your arms around him as you laid your chin on his shoulder. He stopped playing the keys for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to strengthen his weakening resolve. You had to stop yourself from looking disappointed—Rustica was never one to let those slide.

You knew Rustica was looking for his missing bride. No matter how friendly he was to you—there was no reason for you to think he would abandon his mission so easily for you. He couldn't remember her face, her name, her voice, or anything aside from the fact that she was beautiful. Could you truly call that love? Or has time simply eroded his memories to the point that all he has left was his absolute devotion?

No matter the case, your feelings for him remained unchanging. He was a poem you loved to read over and over, no matter how tragic it is—it simply drew you in like a line with a hook. Once, he had mistaken you to be his bride and trapped you in his birdcage only to release you shortly after realizing you weren't what he sought out for. Even though you were no longer trapped in his cage, why does freedom feel more suffocating than being in his grasp?

Was it the certainty that Rustica would think of you as his bride when you're in the cage? Was it the hope you felt that you could stay with him just for a while longer as long as you're in his cage as a bird? The worst part of it all is that even when Rustica knew you weren't his bride, he continued to treat you so sweetly—as if you were his only lover amidst a passionate dream destined to overheat with him.

The sweetest of wine could never compare to him as he gazes fondly upon you, gently taking a strand of your hair and bringing it to his lips as he whispers how beautiful you looked under the moonlight and how afraid he was of the moon taking you away from him one day.

You were drowning in him and you could do nothing but let him drag you further down.

Rustica's resolve crumbled bit by bit. As if you were dragging him down along with you. No matter, there was always the option to pretend. He'll do it for as long as he likes—and for as long as you allow him to trap you inside his invisible birdcage that is slowly eating your rationality away. He'll trap you… bit by bit until he is present in every part of you. Will you let him? The question rang inside your head as you let out a defeated laugh.

If it meant having him to yourself a little while longer, you didn't mind if this relationship suffocates you.

"You look absolutely stunning under the moonlit night… You must be my bride." He takes your hand, pulling you closer to him until your bodies are pressed together. Despite his words, he took no action to take out his birdcage.

"... What an odd fellow you are. Claiming me as his bride… What would you do if I wasn't?"

A pause. A moment of hesitation. Rustica's mouth was agape.

"If you tell me you aren't my bride, then I will let you go as you please."

You wonder: What does this relationship truly mean to Rustica?

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

a reprise for a timid tailor

“everything with you feels like a dream in this moment.”

chloe x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: what could a joyous occasion to celebrate a dear tailor entail?

a/n: happy (belated) birthday chloe! good luck to anyone rolling for him!

Birthdays are an anomaly to Chloe. He’s certainly not as old as the wizards he’s associated with; if anything, he’s a budding soul wandering on the cusp of adulthood. Birthdays once were nothing more than another day cowering in his small room, wondering if things might have been different for him had this day never come. It’s only been 7 years for him since he’s been able to learn what a birthday truly means, why it’s a day of personal celebration.

He remembers the first time he celebrated his birthday out in the world. Rustica had insisted on baking him a cake by hand, and he remembers being a befuddled 13-year-old desperately trying to put out an oven that was on fire, mopping up traces of whipped cream from the walls, laughing alongside his mentor as he chowed down on the edible remains of the cake. To anybody else, the cake was probably just a failed attempt, but Chloe still can’t find a flavor that can compare to how sweet the love he had felt tasted.

He remains grateful for every birthday he has. Chloe continues to thank everyone as they surprise him with gifts, even to the point that his voice grows hoarse. Both Heathcliff and Rutile offer him their handkerchiefs when his eyes get watery, and his Western wizard friends tease him for being such a lovable crybaby. Chloe takes in the sight all around him: shining confetti, colorful food, smiles plastered on the faces of those he calls friends and family.

7 years ago, a scene like this might have been nothing more than a fleeting mirage in his sweetest dreams. But today, that scene is real, and Chloe couldn’t be more joyed knowing that he’s found his place to learn and flourish in. 

Happy Birthday, Chloe!

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

silk and satin

“even if i’m surprised, i don’t dislike it.”

chloe x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: when chloe shyly asks for your assistance, half-spurred on by his own and half-encouraged by rustica, you take the chance to learn more about his craft. but dreams tucked away can’t stay hidden forever, and chloe shares his heart with you.

placed under cut for length!

“-ut it would be wrong of me to trouble the Master Sage like that…”

“Wrong of you to trouble me with what?”

A pair of vastly different eyes greeted you when you quietly slunk into the room, surprised to see Rustica and Chloe whispering amongst themselves as if they were secretly indulging in a surprise no one else was supposed to know about. Whereas Rustica welcomed you with open arms and a warm smile that could melt even the harshest of winters, Chloe appeared far more anxious. 

The young tailor fidgeted with his fingertips, averting his gaze from you as he hid his typically clear amethyst eyes behind his dark pink hair. He swallowed nervously, biting down on his bottom lip as you tried to gain his attention.

“What wonderful timing, Master Sage! We were just talking about you,” the older Western wizard hummed, clasping his hands together over his heart. 

You nodded, giving a warm smile at the two. “I can tell. If there’s anything you two need help with, I’m more than willing to lend a hand. I mean, putting aside the fact that it’s my job as the Sage, I don’t want any of you two to struggle on your own if I could do anything about it.”

“It’s fine! Really, it’s nothing much. I’m sure there’s more pressing things for you to tend to than my fickle worries, Master Sage,” Chloe laughed weakly, attempting to wave you off. “I can always ask Rustica to help me! Or… maybe even someone like Cain, if I want a change!”

You shook your head. “Saying that will only worry me more. Why don’t you at least tell me what it is that’s on your mind?”

Chloe glanced at Rustica as if looking for validation, and in sync with his pupil, Rustica nodded encouragingly at Chloe. The tailor fidgeted with his hands once more before taking a breath and meeting your own eyes.

“Well… You’re not from this world, so I thought that it would be interesting to get your thoughts on some of the materials I had gathered. I wanted to make some new clothes for everybody here, but I wasn’t sure which one would be the best!” Chloe replied. Despite his initial doubt, from the happy tone of his voice to the way his cloudy eyes began sparkling like the sunny sky on a cloudless afternoon, it was clear that he loved what he did with his entire heart. 

You tilted your head, grinning. “That sounds fun! You’re so thoughtful, Chloe.”

He smiled brightly back at you, scratching the back of his head. “Thank you very much! But still… I can’t help but feel bad from distracting you from whatever it is you must need to do day-to-day over something so small like this.”

“Now, that’s not the attitude you should have, dear Chloe! I’m sure the Sage will be delighted to help you. Look at how happy they seem, knowing that you valued their opinion so much!” Rustica remarked, patting Chloe passionately on the back. “It’s okay to be selfish with your craft sometimes. Nothing but the finest for your work, yes?”

The young man took a deep breath before turning to you, as if gathering up his spirits. He flashed an apologetic smile. “...Alright. I’m sorry for causing a fuss, Master Sage. It really would be a lot if I could get your opinion on these fabrics.”

“Of course! Lead the way, Chloe! Whisk me away to the wondrous world of your workshop!” You giggled. Chloe was always so kind and thoughtful, wanting to get to know everyone better despite their differences and diligently keeping the feelings of others wizards in check. It was a refreshing change to see him so thrilled with his new project, especially to the point that he’d even turn to you for help.

Chloe gave a final, thankful glance at Rustica before beckoning for you to follow him. The two of you effortlessly wove through the inner workings of the spacious mansion like fish swimming in a river, ducking past doors and clambering up stairs with pounding hearts and expectant smiles.

“Here we are! My room’s a bit of a mess, but I hope it isn’t too bad! You can take a seat there, and I’ll bring you a blindfold,” Chloe announced, escorting you gently inside. You turned your head to stare at him, sliding slowly down into a chair he grabbed for you.

“A-A blindfold?”

Chloe gasped, realization dawning on him. “Ah! Don’t worry about it too much, Master Sage! I didn’t want anything like appearance to cloud your judgement, because I only want to get your opinion about how it feels. If you don’t want it though, I can always use magic to change things up-”

You waved him off. “It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything like that, that’s all. I trust you, and besides, I wonder if the blindfold you’ll get me will be a super special one from the best tailor in the West…?”

The young mage blushed, mumbling (“Master Sage, I still have a long way to go!”) before scurrying off to his desk, scrambling around before returning to you with a long strip of lilac ribbon. You stayed still as you let him tie it around your eyes, the vibrancy of his room turning into an unknowing yet lively darkness.

“I’ll be right back with the first fabric, Master Sage! Let me know what you think of it honestly, okay? I won’t get offended at all if you don’t like anything!” Chloe remarked cheerfully. You gave him a thumbs-up, unable to stop yourself from smiling. You could faintly make out the sound of his footsteps against the carpeted ground and the shuffling of textiles, before the footsteps approached you.

“Here’s our first one! Hold out your hands for me, please!” Chloe called out. You felt like a kindergartener being guided by a well-mannered teacher, and you obediently held your hands out. Without another word, Chloe slipped the first fabric in between your fingers. 

Your initial finding was that it was cool to the touch. It felt like magic was dancing at your fingertips, reminding you of the dainty material that would make up the translucent curtains of a fairytale princess’ bed or even the wispy makeup of the dreamy clouds on a lazy day. There weren't any bumps nor noticeable patterns you could feel, and just touching it made you feel light and giddy inside, like you had just stolen a sip of citrusy soda.

“Ooh! I like this one,” you laughed. “Um… It feels really lighthearted. It’s not super heavy, and it’s easy on my hands. I think we have something that feels similar to this in my world. I don’t know if you guys have it, but it’s called silk! It’s super fancy!”

You could envision Chloe cocking his head slightly and taking good note of your words. “Is that so?”

“Yeah! I think material like this would suit someone like Heathcliff well! It’s elegant but still approachable,” you explained.

“Okay! Should I get you the next one then?”

“Yes, please!”

After a few more moments of shuffling and holding your hands up, Chloe carefully pressed his next pick into your hands. You took a second to feel its weight before noting your mental observations. Chloe was probably watching your every movement, every inhale and exhale, every little twitch of your hands, with bated breath to gauge your reaction.

This material felt much heavier. Even without holding it up to your nose, you could make out a comforting, almost earthy smell to it. By moving your fingertips around, you identified a robust woven pattern. The feeling conjured up the thought of rolling hills and dark forest leaves, like hiking up a mountain with friends and laughing through all of the sweat and hard work it took to reach the summit of your journey.

“Definitely different from the last one,” you laughed, holding it up. “But it isn’t bad either! This one’s a lot homier, and I like the simplicity it has. It’s a bit rougher to the touch, so maybe it wouldn’t be best on bare skin? Although I’m sure as the tailor, you’re more well-versed in that.”

“I don’t mind hearing your thoughts! It’s always nice to see what others can make of the same things I have, and I did bring you here for your opinion,” Chloe responded happily, evidently enjoying his time with you.

“Either way, it’s a very charming material. Maybe for someone like Lennox? I think Murr would be quite taken with it too,” you offered up light-heartedly. Chloe replied back with a quick word of thanks before taking the fabric, and you were left alone as he dug around for another.

“Uh…! I have this, and… just one more thing, and we should be all set!” The tailor hesitatingly began. His voice changed from his chipper tone to a softer one, and you turned your head in the general direction you were hearing Chloe from.

“Is everything okay? If you need me longer, I don’t mind,” you remarked, hoping you could soothe Chloe’s nerves a little. 

“The last one… is entirely self-indulgent. Would you still be okay with that?”

You laughed, nodding. “Please, Chloe! You could burn down the world, and I’d still love you all the same.”

Chloe gasped in horror, and you envisioned him shaking his hands and fretting over you. “Master Sage! You shouldn’t say such reckless things! Here- Let me go get the next one quickly, so you don’t have such violent thoughts!”

The second-to-last textile was something new. It felt like fur, or at least, something close to that, and the fuzzy sensation immediately lit you up. It was so soft, it felt like it would slip away and disappear in between your palms, so you held on to it with care. You wondered what kind of powerful charisma someone in this could strike up: that of a dashing movie star reveling under the spotlight, of a dauntless explorer braving the most unforgiving climates using the fur a shield, maybe even that of an elderly person reminiscing on past glory as they touched the material.

“It’s soft! Fuzzy too! Did you make this yourself, Chloe?” You asked. “My initial thoughts are that it’s made of fur, but I don’t know how fur production works here…”

“I did make it myself! I observed some of the animals here with help from people like Owen and Shino, and I recreated their fur using things like plant parts and leftover fabric scraps!” He proudly announced. “It took a lot of effort, but I really like how it turned out!”

Your jaw dropped. “That’s super impressive! I can definitely feel all the love you’re poured into this fabric. It’s probably my favorite out of the three. It’s regal but flexible, and I can already think of a variety of situations where you could wear something like this.”

“Thank you very much! Your support and your comments mean a lot, Master Sage!” He replied. “And then… I suppose it’s time for the last one.”

You waited patiently for Chloe to return. Despite the blindfold obscuring your sight, you wondered what Chloe’s expression would be now. Perhaps his brilliant eyes would be brimming with ideas, his hands itching to weave and sow and draw out new patterns and measurements. Maybe he would be talking to himself, turning obscure concepts into tangible work, working his very own love for everyone he knew into each individual part.

“Are you ready?” His voice broke you out of your thoughts.

You held your hands up like always. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The final “fabric” wasn’t fabric at all. You made out warm hands, calloused fingertips and plump ridges, the outline of fingers and the careful thrum of life underneath skin. Chloe’s hands fit into yours perfectly, and you suddenly understood the reason for his hesitation, all the way from the start to the very moment you were in right now. 

These were the hands that had seen so much cruelty from the world without reason. These were the hands that fostered the kindlings of a dream unraveling into reality. These were the hands that continued to love the world and everything around him unconditionally, filtering out the darkness with a radiance that no one else could replicate.

Chloe swallowed. “Master Sage…? What are your thoughts?”

You let your lips curve into a loving smile. “Let’s see… I don’t think mere words could sum up how I feel, but… I did say I’d be honest with you, so I’ll do what I can.”

You rubbed your thumbs over his. “Firstly, I can feel a source of amazing power. I can feel love and friendship, despair and longing, great expectations and even greater ambitions all here. It’s very humbling yet inspiring, and I don’t think anything can ever come close to the amount of altruism and hope gathered here.”

You shifted your hands to cup his palms. “Next, I feel toil. Things like sleepless nights and drafts that don’t feel just right. I feel things like frustration over a part that won’t fit or colors not meshing or hours and hours of work just to make sure every detail of a project is as stellar as you envisioned it to be. But I also feel things like joy. The success of an outfit completed, the pride when you see your loved ones wearing your work, the connection you feel knowing that you’ve bonded and given part of your heart to someone who’ll cherish your work with everything they have.”

“Oh… Master Sage… You’re- You’re too-”

You intertwined your fingers with his, enjoying the warmth of his touch. There was so much--way too much--you wanted to tell Chloe. You wished you could stay with him forever: to see through every up and down of his journey together, to cheer him on and shower him with all the support and faith he needed to keep going, to watch his dreams come true.

You would never be able to physically verbalize everything, so you prayed and prayed that Chloe could feel your genuine longing for his happiness. You squeezed his hands tightly, pouring your own heart into your connected hands.

“I feel the hands of the greatest tailor in the West.”