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drabblesandimagines · 4 months

Text

Imperfections

Leon Kennedy x female reader Fluffy festive nonsense

Leon squints at the small piece of paper, trying to decipher the name upon it. It’s not the handwriting he’s struggling with, more the fact he probably does need reading glasses and he hates to admit it. He looks around, making sure no-one is looking in his direction and holds it aloft, trying to find the perfect spot where the blurry squiggles will finally transform into a name.

A name he knows all too well, it turns out.

Yours.

You’ve been working for the department just shy of a year – a new recruit in February – and had been partnered with him on a fair few missions. He’d underestimated you at first, mistakeably deemed you too sweet a thing to be wrapped up in this sort of business, but you’d shown him your mettle from the off and especially when things had got dicey – held your own, got the job done, saved his ass a couple of times and all usually with that beautiful smile on your face.

God, Kennedy, he chides himself, smitten or what?

He folds up the slip of paper, sticks it in his wallet for safe-keeping and his mind begins to whirl - what in the hell is he going to get you?

Secret Santa at the DSO – a bit of holiday nonsense put forward as a suggestion to ‘boost morale’ and apparently the President had loved it, has thrown together a whole Holiday Mixer around having the exchange. Everyone working here isn’t depressed due to a lack of Christmas spirit, more the state of the world itself and the dark depths they’re forced to confront…

But, hey, Leon S Kennedy will do as he’s told as far as the President’s concerned, and so he’d stuck his hand in the Santa hat when it had been thrust in his direction, full of his colleagues’ names.

There’s rules – has to be in government-officiated fun – gifts to be exchanged at the Holiday Mixer in a week’s time and, to try and avoid an influx of gift cards and novelty socks, it must include a handmade element, with a $25 limit.

“So,” you plonk yourself down on his desk - right on a pile of manilla folders that were left there earlier for his upcoming briefing and he’d yet to tackle - and lean in, “who’d you get?”

He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and sits back a little in his chair to take you all in. “Uh-uh, that’s against the rules.” You roll your eyes at that. “And since when has Leon Kennedy been a stickler for the rules?”

“I just don’t wanna be on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Fine.” You pout, crossing your arms in fake annoyance. “I won’t tell you who I got either.”

“Good, cos I don’t remember asking... And don't make an old man joke."

“Wasn't gonna." He gives you a look and you can't help but smile. "Okay, but seriously - I get the handmade rule, I do,” you shuffle back a little more on his desk, making yourself comfortable as you get to your point, “but what I don’t get is why it’s mandatory to participate in the whole thing.”

“It’s not really mandatory. We’re a small operation – you don’t participate, you’ll show up on the President’s radar for not being a team player. You know he’s all about that.”

“Well, make us do a team building exercise - build a bridge out of newspaper, do trust falls or something besides try and be crafty.”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not doing a trust fall with you – not after last time.”

You open your mouth to reply – that was most definitely not meant to be a trust fall, Leon had just straight up fell - when Hunnigan pops her head around the cubicle, not even surprised to see you sitting on his desk, and gives the two of you a polite smile.

“Kennedy – intel briefing set for 1200. You prepped?”

“Sure am.”

Hunnigan eyes the pile of folders she clearly remembered placing on his desk first thing this morning, the exact ones which are nestled underneath your thighs.

“Uh-huh… Conference room seven. See you there.” She turns on her heels and departs, and you feel Leon’s hand ghost your thigh.

You look down, a little startled – sure there’s been flirtatious touches here and there, a time where you would’ve bet that month’s pay check that he was gonna kiss you after a particularly close call but swerved for your cheek at the last moment – and realise he’s tugging at the corner of a folder.

“Whilst I won’t deny that you’re an awful pretty paperweight, mind if I get back to work now?”

You slide off – managing not to take the folders down with you - and mock a salute. “Yes, sir.”

The briefing is dull, which should be a good thing, really. No current BOW threats on the radar, though the threat level remains at orange. Leon can’t remember the last time they lowered it to yellow, so it seems a pointless system to him but he still throws in his two cents when called upon. He’s got another few weeks of desk duty to get through after Alcatraz after his medical - knows he’s not getting any younger and that’s why it’s taking him a little longer to recover after quite the beating.

Dismissed from the briefing, Leon swings by your desk on the way back to his, only to feel a little silly when he’s disappointed at the lack of you at it. There’s a shoebox sat on your desk though, lid taped on with a few rounds of parcel tape, but overall it looks a more than just a little worse for wear - crumpled corners and scuff marks all over the cardboard.

“Snooping, Kennedy?”

He can’t help the smile when you come to his side, your laptop tucked under your arm – must’ve had a meeting of your own. He holds up his mug, waving it from side to side in demonstration. “Was gonna see if you wanted a coffee, actually. That package looks a little suspect to get through the security check, right?”

You place your laptop down beside it and frown, before reading the return address. “Oh, no. It’s just some things that I asked my ex to send on. I forgot them in the move, only realized when I went to put my tree up last week…”

You trail off as you move the box towards you ever so slightly and there’s a horrible clinking sound that makes your stomach sink.

You grab a biro, jamming it through the tape lined around the edge as a make-shift knife and tentatively pull off the lid, bracing yourself for what you might discover within. Whilst you had safely stored them away in layers of bubble wrap, each in its own bo, he seems to have dumped them all out into the shoe box, one layer of bubble wrap on the bottom, another on top and they’ve obviously cracked together in transit, resulting in the shattered mess before you.

“Shit.” He comments, softly, watching as you pick up shards. “What are they?”

“My grandmother’s baubles.” Your voice goes flat as you pick up pieces of what once were precious memories and his heart aches. “She was a really talented artist before the arthritis got bad… Used to paint these and sell them at Christmas fairs.”

He’s silent as you continue picking through the pieces. There’s one that seems mostly intact, a smaller one but after further investigation there’s a big chunk missing from the side and you drop it back down in the box in defeat. Leon lays his hand on your shoulder then, seeing how you almost deflate in front of his very eyes, and he hopes to give you a reassuring squeeze – to let you know he’s here, he's always here for you, even if he’s not going to say it aloud. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” But he knows it’s not by how tight your voice is. You’ve never got emotional in front of him before, not even when you’d been injured had you let that stupid, gorgeous smile falter. “I… I have to head out. I’ll see you later.”

You place the lid back on the shoebox and shove it off the desk. It lands in the waste basket with another awful sound of broken ceramic.

“Whoa, wait, don’t you wan-?” He begins to protest but you shrug his hand off your shoulder, shaking your head and now keeping your eyes downcast.

“Sorry, I really have to go.” He swears you just about jog out of his sight, no real destination in mind.

Leon doesn’t see you the rest of the day, though he swings by your desk a few more times when he gets up to stretch his legs. The maintenance team will be in later – dispose of the shredded paperwork, wipe down surfaces empty the waste baskets… so he doesn’t think twice when he picks up the shoebox as he leaves, holding it tightly in the crook of his arm as if it were the broken pieces of your heart.

Later that evening after dinner, he sits on his sofa, changed into his sweats rather than stuffy shirt and suit trousers, a soda on the table in a heavy-bottomed glass – doesn’t drink anymore, isn’t worth it, but he still likes the weight of a good glass in his hand – with his laptop perched on his knees.

The cursor blinks in place before he slowly types in the search bar.

How to fix a broken ceramic bauble.

He’s good with his hands from weapons maintenance, can handle delicate stuff, so why couldn’t he glue some bits of ceramic back together into a sphere?

He scrolls down the search results – various how-to articles and videos. He reads through a few, learns that it can depend on such factors of where the break occurred, if it’s clean break or not, how thick the ceramic is and, after all that, there’s the danger it could look like a kid put it together for their mom at kindergarten with a pot of PVA glue and got bored halfway through.

He’s not put off, though, as he continues his scroll until something bright and gold catches his eye…

Kintsugi?

Huh. Sounds… promising.

He does a test first. Practice makes perfect, and he’s determined he will make them as close to perfect again as he can… once he’s sure he’s got the hang of it. He buys a box of six ceramic baubles from a nearby department store, whacks one off the table edge gently until it shatters into reasonable-sized pieces, then sets about setting it back together with the kit he’d bought online – paid for express next-day delivery as well, no time to sit and wait around for 3-5 working days, longer in the Christmas build-up.

You’d not mentioned the baubles the next day in the office or how you’d rushed off, just came and sat on his desk with a coffee, had the usual back and forth banter but he can tell you’re a little flat, the light isn’t quite reaching your eyes as it once was and he hates it. You’d been excited for Christmas – even brought in a Christmas mug on the 1st of December – but it’s all been extinguished, now a DSO-logo stamped black mug in your hands.

It takes him the entire box over the next few evenings until he’s confident enough to tackle one of your prized possessions. Each bauble is unique – swirling patterns of pastel colours on all-white ceramic, but he treats the pieces like a puzzle as he slowly divides the piles into category of each bauble – four in total – and gently works out which piece belongs to which. There are bits that aren’t going to be a clean seam but he’s prepared for this in his practice rounds, still a little shake in his hand as he finally puts two and two together.

He likes the meaning behind the practice - embracing imperfections, not trying to hide the cracks or broken bits, but instead highlighting it, making it a feature with bright and beautiful gold. Lord knows he isn’t perfect, far from it, and he will never be the man he was before Raccoon City. A few years ago, when he was at his darkest, he would’ve described himself as beyond repair – too smashed up to ever be whole again.

Slowly but surely, he’s began to piece himself back together, embracing the fact that whilst he’s not quite whole and might never be, held together by his friends, his will and some glue and now your presence in his life giving him a little bit of sparkle.

He shakes his head, leans forward and switches off the made-for-TV Christmas movie.

Friday evening is here before he knows it and, frustratingly, an intel mission he’s on runs a little long – gets caught up in traffic. He needs to swing by his apartment to pick up your gift and needs to get changed while he’s at it – the dress code quite clear. He enters the hotel ball room in a shirt, suit jacket and trousers, sans tie, an over an hour and a bit late, carrying the gift bag as carefully as he would a baby or a bomb. The mixer already seems to be in full swing - there’s half a dozen round tables, discarded wrapping paper scattered across the tops of them as well as empty champagne glasses and he realizes he must’ve missed the gift exchange.

“There you are! I thought you were a no-show.” You tease, appearing at his side a little too quick to not have been waiting for him. You’re looking beautiful in your black cocktail dress, the one that hugs all the right places and your hair half up and half down, held in place with a red bow.

“Duty called. Did I miss the exchange?”

“Eh, kinda. It wasn’t a whole big thing. The President’s not coming – double booked himself, so everyone’s just been awkwardly exchanging gifts and downing more and more free drink.”

He tugs at the ribbon hanging down off your shoulder ever so gently.

“Well, you certainly look as pretty as a present. Please tell me you didn’t panic and gift yourself…”

You ignore him, loop your arm through his instead and guide him over to an empty table – there’s a large queue at the open bar and hopefully a few more minutes of privacy before making endless small talk – and encourage him to take a seat. As he does, you crouch besides another chair and fish for something underneath, pulling out a red and gold gift bag, an embarrassed smile as you hold it out to him.

“Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.”

He raises an eyebrow but still accepts the bag, placing it on the table. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Why?”

“You’re my Secret Santa?”

“Can you at least hold in the disappointment until after you open it?” You pout.

“No, I mean… I got you. We got each other.”

“What? That’s… weird.” You sit down heavily in the chair, looking a bit bemused. “What’s the statistics on that even happening?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to demand a re-count.” He rolls his eyes and holds out his own gift bag. “Ladies first.”

You smile, brushing your fingers with his as you take it, before placing the gift bag down on the table and see four small cardboard boxes nestled within. You take out the first one and unfold the tabs, carefully, before removing the piece of red tissue paper he’d nestled on top.

What lies below it makes your heart stop.

It’s your grandmother’s baubles, or one of them, now held back in one piece and held together with threads of beautiful gold.

You look at him and then back down at the bauble.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah.”

“Leon, I…”

He sees the tears in your eyes as you take out the remaining boxes with a shaking hand, lining them up on the table and revealing each one in turn.

“I hope they aren’t an insult to your grandmother’s memory.” He blurts out after sitting in silence, unsure of what to make of yours. “They were just about to be tossed and so I took them, did some research on repair techniques and, well…”

“Did you do this?” There it is – the smile, the real smile that lights up your eyes.

“What, you think this old dog can’t learn new tricks? Everything’s on the internet these days.” He shrugs off – he won’t tell you the hours he spent, the headaches he got from squinting as he pieced parts together. Hell, he’d do it all again if he had to.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful. I… I can’t believe you did this for me. I… I just, I mean…”

He places a hand on your knee, gives you a soft smile.

“There’s a lot I’d do for you, you know, if you’d let me.”

There’s a moment as your eyes meet that you feel perhaps your cheeks have gone as red as the bow on top of your head and quickly try to deflect, nodding your head at his unopened gift bag.

“You should’ve let me go first - this is going to be such a disappointment in comparison.”

Leon gives your knee a squeeze before he peers into this gift bag, digging out a small gift box. He places it down on the table and tugs off the lid to find there’s a beautiful ridged glass nestled in red tissue paper, heavy-bottomed – you know his preference all right - but there’s something within the glass too. A mass of what appears to be red and green yarn, a little loop of black string at the top… He picks it up between two fingers.

“It’s…” He trails off, looking at the colours. “It’s certainly festive.”

“Okay, I can’t knit but I tried and that’s the important thing here, right?”

“No, no, it’s… cute.” He smiles. “And the glass – I love it. Just my style.”

You bite your lip, looking a little flustered and unsure, but he assumes you’re still feeling a little emotional over his present… until you try and yank the yarn from his hands.

“Hey!” He gets to his feet out of instinct of being attacked and clutches whatever it is closely to his chest.

“Look, if you just give me it, I can try some other craft thing. Just I was in a pity party all week and I stayed up all night doing that and it shows.” You get to your feet then, trying to weasel through fingers into his to retrieve it. “I can’t leave you with that, it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s mine.”

You don’t give up your attempt to wrestle it back, though Leon’s grip never falters. “You don’t even know what it’s meant to be!”

“Sure I do. It’s…” He retaliates, whipping it quickly above his head and yours – too high for you to snatch out of his hands despite your heels – and squints once more, comparing it against some of the festive décor in the hall.

“Oh.”

“It’s so dumb.” You begin your protest again, now trying to grab it from above your heads. “I just tho-” Leon wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you forward firmly against his chest, before he finally drops his other arm and cups your cheek, knitted mistletoe still in his fingers and kisses you firmly on the lips, swallowing down the rest of your sentence. He can’t help but grin as he feels you relax into his embrace, pressing your palm now flat against his chest. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, poking ever so gently to seek permission and-

“About goddamn time, Kennedy!” The shout of an inebriated agent causes the two of you to pull apart and you feel flustered by both the overdue kiss and what feels like the eyes of the entire DSO on the two of you.

Leon takes it all in his stride though, keeps a warm palm right on your lower back as he smiles and nods at whoever the hell it was that had interrupted, before pressing a sweet, solitary kiss to your cheek.

“Now, seeing as I’ve got this mistletoe, how about we go back to my place and try it out a little more, beautiful?”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

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wilwheaton · 3 months

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In 2017, Michael Copps, the George W. Bush-appointed former chairman of the Federal Communications Commission, called Sinclair “the most dangerous company most people have never heard of.” The media empire got its start in Baltimore when Smith’s father purchased a local radio station and later launched TV news station WBFF in 1971. Under the younger Smith’s leadership, it became a conservative media giant. Sinclair now owns or operates more than 180 local television stations in 86 local media markets across the country. Despite its rapid expansion, the company flew largely under the radar for years, even as its leadership used station airwaves to push right-wing politics. Sinclair stations ran attack ads against Barack Obama that other networks (including Fox News) declined “amid legal questions,” aired regular “Terrorism Alert Desk” segments filled with xenophobic fearmongering, provided favorable coverage of former President Donald Trump after purportedly striking a deal with his son-in-law, and even drew an FCC fine in 2007 for failing to disclose a conflict of interest with the second Bush administration.

Sinclair Executive Chairman David D. Smith Acquires the Baltimore Sun: Why this is dangerous

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writingmeraki · 1 month

Text

unsaid, unkept, ugly emotions.

a seventeen hip hop unit imagines !

IN WHICH, the uglier side of feeling too much getting more messier than it already is for both parties involved.

(or in which for different reasons, it just seems you aren't meant to be.)

pairing : svt!hiphop!unit x gn!reader, friend's crush!seungcheol, best friend's other best friend!wonwoo, rival's friend!mingyu, rockstar! vernon.

genre : angst, no comfort. ( for now )

warnings : mentions of injuries, inaccurate basketball terms, cussing, messy, heartbreak, contemplation, arguments, miserable people, miscommunication, everyone gets hurt, a lot of unspoken feelings, like emphasis on that you may get annoyed. ( not proofread ; we die like hyyh yoonkook )

author's note : i tried so hard to make gyu's messy but i just couldn't ( you'll find out ) these plots are soo random and specific pls but so funnn to write! also me uploading this much is trying to make up for very less updates for the last months of 2023. I missed milestones and I want to make up for those soon too! gahh anyways let me know what you think of these, im actually nervous abt this ngl ( also i just noticed soo much friend drama oof-)

VOCAL UNIT VER. | PERFOMANCE UNIT VER.

word count : 4.1k ( they are getting longer...)

ᯓ★ | seungcheol.

He was off limits.

From the moment you knew your best friend, Haewon, had a crush on him, he was not supposed to ever be in your radar of romantic boundaries as per the rules of being a best friend.

Seeing her going crazy for a boy like him at first really made you question if there was something wrong with you because you just couldn’t quite see it.

Sure he was literally the definition of tall, blonde and gorgeous. Sure he had adorable dimples that made him look less intimidating than you thought he initially was. Sure he was also the frat president as well as the captain of the soccer team making you wonder how he was able to still balance getting great grades.

Well. There was a slight possibility you could see what others saw.

Maybe even more when the time you tried to play wingman for Haewon at a party where you lost her because apparently she was looking for him but said guy turned up right beside you as you were contemplating on what would least likely not kill your liver if you had it resulting in having conversations about cherries ( you don’t even know ) and him trying to convince (gaslight) you into soccer being one of the greatest games of all time.

You didn’t get convinced but for the time it felt right to agree to what he said if it meant those adorable dimples would show up when you did.

You were so screwed.

Another thing Choi Seungcheol had was a great memory, because he seemed to remember you when he saw you walking down the hallway with Haewon as he smiled so widely at you in greeting.

“Haha yeah hey! um…This is Haewon by the way! Haewon, Seungcheol.” You had to nudge her to snap out of her daze and she extended her hand in greeting as he politely shook her hand.

“That reminds me, I forgot to ask you last night but uh can I have your-”

“Oh would you look at that! We’re getting late for class! I’m so sorry Seungcheol, we’ll have to leave!”

That moment you think you were so going to hell when you saw how quickly his smile fell and how his sparkly eyes dimmed down because it felt like you committed a sin then and there. You think you saved yourself from committing a sin but it didn’t feel less dreadful as you grabbed her hand and rushed as quickly as you could.

In the opposite direction of where your class was.

“WHAT WAS THAT-”

“Listen- when you were looking for him last night- I swear I don’t know how but he was right where I ended up sitting and he-well, we talked I suppose-?”

Her eyes widened at your words and you raised your hands in surrender,

“I promise I didn’t even know when he showed up, I tried to message you and even find you but you seemed gone until the moment we were leaving.”

“Plus the reason I didn’t tell you last night was I was tired! I was here trying to play wingman while the person in love was seemingly gone-”

She sighed and nodded at you, “You don’t have to explain, I know he’s not your type, you made that clear a lot of times actually it’s kinda hilarious.” She giggled as she recalled the countless times you chastised her for daydreaming about him. But now, you couldn’t stop the stupid tinge of bitterness in your heart.

Right. Not my type.

Suddenly her eyes widened as an idea struck her, “That’s it! He was gonna ask for your number right? You can try and set me up then!”

“I well- I don’t know-”

“Please! You know how I have been trying to get to know him even.”

You didn’t want to say it then but you thought about how trying meant actually doing something rather than just gazing from afar. At least become friends with him was the words you told her countless times but she paid no heed, retorting how it was not that easy.

But it was easy because what’s the worst that could happen? Him having a partner? So it wasn’t the end of the world, others existed!

Too bad you were easy to persuade, questionably easy because all it took were her doe eyes pleading at you to agree.

“Fine- I’ll try- but no promises.”

As she hugged you and squealed words of gratefulness to you, you couldn’t quite put a finger on it then but,

You didn’t understand why it felt a part of you couldn’t seem to share the same happiness, conceivably a lingering dread there that knew something was surely going to go wrong.

✮⋆˙ | wonwoo.

Everytime Jeon Wonwoo had the ever so unfortunate ( according to him ) time to exist in the same room as you, it seemed like an impending doom for him.

His heart felt weird, his stomach dropped, his throat parched.

He hated it.

He was an individual who knew what they wanted in life. Never unsure nor second guessing, always able to classify their emotions in proper ways. Systematic is the right word. Able to know what exactly he wants to do in his career, how to behave with his friends, when to be serious and when to have ‘fun’.

So what happens when you completely throw him off the rocks with your mere existence?

He hates you. That’s how he tags the emotions he feels when he sees you and what does hatred sprout? Indifference.

Too many questions asked but it’s what Wonwoo declares.

Though, he thinks the first mistake is to think he’d be able to avoid you considering the fact that you were his best friend/roommate’s good friend. Meaning you spent around twenty to twenty two hours at their place (Yes he counted) and he absolutely hated it.

He hated how your giggles would ring out in the entire apartment when Mingyu said a half-assed joke, it literally made his chest feel uneasy. He hated how your eyes would always twinkle when you would be talking to Mingyu, it made his stomach drop and sigh in disbelief.

Was Mingyu that oblivious to how much you liked him?

Now this was a question that made Wonwoo almost throw up. Odd.

“You know if you don’t make a move, he won’t even know right? I know you think he’s one of the smartest but in the romance field, I think even fucking Jihoon beats him at that.”

Or perhaps Wonwoo was just very oblivious to how much you liked him.

You shook your head at Mingyu’s words as you both walked up to his apartment, the butterflies in your stomach already churning at the thought that Wonwoo was likely home.

“And also it’s getting concerning how much time you spend in my apartment for the sake of him, like at this point just move in you creep—HEY!Ow!— that hurt you ass!”

“It’s not that easy,Gyu,he’s – he’s Wonwoo for God’s sake!”

“That’s exactly why it’s easy! It’s Wonwoo! Be direct with him. I’ve known him for years and trust me, he won’t know until you spit it out to him!”

Maybe…maybe he was right. Afterall he had been friends with Wonwoo before even knowing you.

“What if he doesn’t even feel the same–”

“Be serious. He literally looks like a lovesick fool when you’re over–”

“Maybe he’s just sick of me coming over.”

Mingyu stopped walking and you didn’t even realize until you were a few steps ahead. Pausing when you finally saw he wasn’t beside you.

His expression was like he was close to ripping out his hair from frustration while also being flabbergasted. It was kinda hilarious and you had to gulp to prevent laughing because you were sure he might just kill you.

“Okay! Okay, fine– I'll listen to you– maybe not confess today! But I'll ask if we can hangout or something,happy?”

“Very.”

You rolled your eyes at his words as you both began climbing up the stairs, telling him to shush with his teasing as the tips of your ears began to feel warm and the blood rushed to your cheeks with every scenario you imagined.

Maybe if you thought that the upcoming scenario would ever occur. it would have hurt less.

As you waited for Mingyu to pull out his keys, you could feel your nerves igniting through your skin and your stomach churning. But before Mingyu could insert the key, the door opened.

You wouldn’t have questioned anything, if it weren’t for the obvious messy hair, hickey marks trailing down her exposed neck and of course, the star of your daydreams right behind her, standing with a surprised face.

It was obvious what had occurred, the confirmation lying in the bruises on his neck.

“Woah–uh.” Mingyu stuttered awkwardly, and you could feel his sympathy as he glanced at you. You couldn’t think of anything else other than how…right you were and how wrong Mingyu was.

You didn’t know who she was but it wasn’t her fault. Or anyone’s. Maybe yours. So as a weird tension simmered through the air, you looked away from them and just turned to Mingyu.

And for the first time in his life probably, he was lost. Jeon Wonwoo was lost because why did he just feel like he committed a crime when he wasn’t even yours anyways?

He hated the way you looked away, not missing the hurt that flashed across your eyes as you realized what he probably was doing.

You didn’t even notice she’d already left, smiling at Wonwoo and signing him to call her back, again. Probably not the first time, you thought.

“Uh-Gyu- I’ll go now, It’s getting late for me anyways,”

You really tried to stop your voice from cracking, the lump in your throat making you want to choke and die then and there. So you just looked at Mingyu, purposefully ignoring the way he looked at you in sympathy.

His stare seemed to burn into your side profile. The words on the tip of his tongue, but what? It all felt like a lot but nothing at the same time. Wonwoo didn’t know what to say.

Nodding goodbye to Mingyu and glancing at Wonwoo, offering a tight lipped smile as you waved, and then without saying anything you turned around.

Mingyu frowned. His best friend couldn’t own up to his feelings for you and just when you were about to take a step forward, he somehow ended up fucking it up completely.

What a mess.

“Come on, we need to talk.”

Mingyu said seriously, putting an arm over Wonwoo’s shoulders, albeit a little forcefully which caused the other boy to almost stumble over.

It seemed it was now up to him now to sort out this mess and hopefully it doesn’t get worse from here.

✩₊˚. | mingyu.

Being the new captain of the basketball team had its perks. Sure, you now officially got tagged as a ‘jock’, a title in itself that held its own benefits, probably more than just when you were another player in the team.

But its disadvantages seemed more at the moment when you found yourself under the angered gaze of none other than Yoon Jiwoo. Another player of the basketball team. Shooting guard was the position.

By all means, it wasn’t your fault she was not captain, it was her own actions that did not get her the position. And plus, it wasn’t like it was bad not being a captain, Yeri was a small forward, yet probably the best one at it. So it was at the end of the day, nothing to you but just more responsibilities with the title.

Plus, it was also voted by the rest of the players that you deserved to be captain this time when it was time to appoint a new captain. Jiwoo had been a captain before Lisa became that year, but she left and so there had to be a new choice made.

With Jiwoo’s unfair hatred towards you, also came a similar animosity from her group of friends. Well you think Jiwoo wants them to share the same feelings as she does but you doubt they care enough, usually neutral towards you or sympathetic even as they tried to reason her animosity being useless.

They were five or six if you could remember correctly from the times they’d drop her to practice or come to pick her up sometimes. Apparently one of them was her cousin Yoon Jeonghan and you could surely see the similarities in them from the way unrealistically attractive they both looked.

But the one that stuck out most to you was Kim Mingyu. Her best friend. And the one who supposedly hated you the most, after her that is.

Then why did he feel anything but hate? He couldn’t stop looking at you during your practice when he stuck around to wait for Jiwoo, as if in a trance as his gaze remained on you.

He couldn’t stop the way his heart sped up when you grinned so widely as you scored, tackling your teammate in a hug. Why was he suddenly envious of the people who got to experience your joy?

In his defense, he liked you way before you were even captain. It was probably since the day he first saw you try for the teams and he thinks it was fate that he got to stumble onto you that one sunny afternoon.

You were nervous for your trials and he was nervous from the way your hair prettily rested on your cheeks and made you almost glow in the sun. Yeah, he was convinced it was love at first sight.

Though he feels liking his best friend’s rival was…confusing. He didn’t know if he could take a side or if he should even question taking a side.

“You pushed them on purpose Jiwoo!” Yeri yelled at her as she held you upright. You couldn’t even make out some of the words as you focused on the pain shooting up your ankle from the way it twisted.

“We all saw it, stop acting like you did nothing!”

“Exactly, you have this weird hate boner for them since you couldn’t get your stupid captain title!”

You were sure the first voice was Chaewon while the other was Yeri.

“Why are you all ganging up on me? It wasn’t on purpose! Ask-ask someone else as well!” Her voice got louder and louder as she finished her sentence. She didn’t expect people to take your side. Although her plan was just a little shove to keep you off balance as she got the ball in her hand, she did not expect you to twist your ankle completely.

“It’s fine- just- just leave it. It was a mistake, I just-” Your words were cut off as you hissed out in pain again as you attempted to get up, only to tumble down again, luckily held up by Yeri and Chaewon.

They sat you down on the bench as they huddled around you in a panic. You pulled off your shoes, scrunching your nose from the smell but the pain quickly took your focus from that.

“Hey! What’s going on?” You heard someone say as they entered, their voice familiar to you. Mingyu had come to pick up Jiwoo as usual, not knowing she left sneakily when they were focused on you, when he saw everyone huddled together, confused when he couldn’t see you amongst the first few he saw.

He didn’t need to peek over due to his well…giant form, but he saw you sat down in the middle as he got closer, caressing your leg. His eyes widened when he saw your ankle swollen up and an angry red shade that was definitely not natural.

“Shit that looks bad.” You looked up and you swore you thought you were hallucinating. Because no way was Kim Mingyu out of everyone looking at you with nothing but worry and concern. He still looked…good. As always. Per usual. You think you got distracted from your pain for just a minute as you stared at him for a few seconds, him seemingly not noticing as he kept his eyes on your ankle.

“Blame your girlfriend.” Yeri scowled as she spitefully retorted, as Chaewon dug her elbow into her side to which she yelped and glared at her.

“Girlfriend?” He turned his attention towards her, resembling a confused puppy as he raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Yeri.” You spoke up firmly before she could say anything, looking at her with a look that told her to keep her mouth shut,not wanting to make this a bigger scene than it already was. She sighed and rolled her eyes, ultimately not saying anything.

You moved your leg around for a bit, deciding you should give it a go again to stand up, and drag yourself to the infirmary. And when you did stand up, it seemed you really overestimated yourself or perhaps underestimated your injury because next thing you knew you lost balance again.

But lucky for you, instead of landing right on the wooden floors and having a blistered lip, you landed right on Kim Mingyu. It only occurred to you now just how much taller than you he was when his whole form almost engulfed you.

“Woah. Take it easy, you’ll get hurt more.” He had wrapped one hand on your waist while the other held your arm. You think his touch burnt you more than anything because you felt yourself begin to warm up.

“How about I take you to the infirmary? Sorry I didn’t say it sooner, I was just confused on what Yeri said and-”

“It’s-uh-it’s fine- I’ll go by myself-”

“Are you crazy?! You can’t even stand!”

You blinked, taken aback by his words, even more so with just how concerned he seemed,his eyes glistening with it.

Kim Mingyu was someone you thought you knew but apparently you did not because a few minutes later, you found yourself being piggy-backed by him to the infirmary as he was scolding you about taking better care of yourself.

You tried to reason that Yeri and Chaewon would take you but they both were adamant on Mingyu taking you, while they would go and look for a certain someone ( You prayed they would not be kicked out of the team).

His grip on your thighs, his shampoo that you could smell, his shoulders that were just so…so broad you couldn’t even fully wrap your arms around them…just him felt so overwhelming. Your pain was long forgotten as you tried not to freak out over how you were currently feeling over him.

But with the way he seemed, the way he acted, was it wrong to assume that perhaps, there was a possibility these feelings weren’t so one-sided?

Well, only one way to find out.

₊˚⊹⋆ | vernon.

They say people shine their best when they are in their element doing what they love. But to you, Chwe Vernon shone even in the dimmest lights as he sat down in front of you.

It was just a few minutes before their gig. Him and his friends ; Jungkook, Mingyu and Eunwoo from what you remember, were all a part of an upcoming rock band. They were actually gaining more fame as time passed and you were proud to be one of the few who witnessed their growth from the beginning.

They began from your small bar right in the downtown area where you worked as a bartender, you remembered their first performance, you were told it was their first gig actually. Now they are close to being signed up by a company, still wanting to perform one last time at the place where it all began.

To you, he was the boy you’d always admire from afar, knowing there was no actual probability of him seeing you in that light. Even now, considering their gaining fame, you’d see the type of people that would swoon over him, even a few celebrities and models you remember.

He was…a star. Far away and admirable but never in your reach. And stars are better to admire than seek anyways.

Though, it seemed your star wasn’t that far away from you as you thought. In fact he was much closer to you than you could even comprehend.

In other words, Chwe Vernon was head over heels from you. Since the first time he performed and spotted you when you were busy serving drinks, since the time you told him how great they performed as he sat down in front of you while you talked about what interested you, your eyes gleaming under the dim bar light. And he thinks it was very much obvious what felt when he saw your wide grin, dimples poking out as you finally served him his drink.

Whisky wasn’t something he liked, but you had recommended a certain combination with it and he thinks nothing else tasted sweeter that day.

Sadly everyone around you but you saw that. Too focused on how you weren’t ever going to be a possibility because you thought he was just unattainable instead of thinking of the probability of just how much he may have liked you.

“Nervous?” You smiled at him as you finished setting up the remaining glasses for the night, ready to serve knowing it would be a very busier night than usual due to them performing.

Yes, yes he was nervous but not because of performing but because he was about to confess.

“Haha- yeah- no! I mean uhm no- we’re- we’ll be fine.” He wanted to cuss at himself for stuttering, probably looking foolish, but he thought it was fine when he heard your giggle as you shook your head.

“Oh you are. You’re already the best and I assume and hope it’ll only get better from now on.”

With you. It would get better with you because anything feels better with you.

He wishes he could say it out loud, but maybe soon enough. That is if you don’t reject him. Yeah he doesn’t know what he’ll do if you do. Throw up probably. Or die. Dying seems good actually, he thinks.

“Vernon? Here.” He snapped out of his thoughts as he blinked, looking down at the drink in front of him, confused because he didn’t order anything.

“On the house, from me. It’s my favorite drink actually. I-uh hope you like it.” He thinks even if you served him garbage he’d still be delighted, extreme but meh it was close to how he fell for you. Extreme and down bad.

“Oh then I’ll love it for sure.” Because I love you.

Your grin grew wider as you were about to say something, you heard your name being called by your co-worker.

“Oh- I’m sorry I have to go now! I’ll be here when you perform for sure! Good luck!”

“It’s okay, you’ll be here afterward.”

You looked at him apologetically as he shook his head, knowing you were just doing your job and nodding to you to go, to which you waved goodbye at him.

Perhaps you really underestimated your own words because apparently you couldn’t make it there. You were called by your mother who had gotten sick at home and needed someone to take care of her.

You thought about whether you should inform Vernon but figured it wouldn’t be too much of a big deal, telling your co-worker to let him know in case he asked afterwards but you doubt he would, probably exhausted after the long night. You forgot your co-worker was switching shifts mid-way with another one, one who would obviously not know your whereabouts.

And now as he got ready to sing the song he’d written for you, for you with very obvious lyrics about you, the moments with you, he searched for you but…you were nowhere.

You weren’t there.

Did you find out? Did you know? Did you think it was too much?

All the questions arose in his mind as he shut his eyes and breathed in to calm himself. He couldn’t lose his cool on stage when there were so many fans waiting for him to perform.

He looked at his bandmates, and shook his head, not wanting to look at them again as they looked at him sympathetically.

“That’s it for tonight! We hope you continue supporting us in the future! Have a goodnight Seoul!”

He said and this time as he felt anything but content, his heart heavier than ever and mind in a haze.

Maybe in this lifetime, you’d both remain two separate stars. Far and never-crossing.

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri. do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

feedback is always appreciated 💌

links : main navi ! | svt masterlist !

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the-ace-with-spades · 9 months

Text

The year is 1995 and Mav disappears off radars on a mission overseas. He's declared MIA and then when satellite pictures of an F-14's wreck show up, declared KIA.

It's a hot August evening when Ice opens his front doors to see a Navy officer with a precisely folded flag in his arms and a JAG lawyer with a suitcase full of documents. Baby Goose should be already sleeping upstairs, preparing for their planned camping trip the day after.

Ice lets them in without a word.

They walk past the living room where Ice had been checking their tent for rust, straight to the kitchen table. They don't sit down.

"On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Navy—"

"Spare me the bullshit."

He's still holding the flag, letter on top of it, seal unbroken.

"Why are you even here? I'm not his—" Loved one. Ice was just—there. A close friend. A wingman. It doesn't matter whether he loves Mav or not, he will always be just someone in his life, not his loved one. "I'm just his best friend."

"Commander Mitchell stated this address as Bradley Bradshaw's main residence during deployment."

Jesus Christ. He can't—Bradley. What was he going to tell Bradley?

"Commander Mitchell's sole beneficiary is Bradley Bradshaw, and since he's a minor, we need to execute his will alongside our condolences." Bradley lost another parent. And all he has left is a will. "You've been named as Bradley Bradshaw's legal guardian if Commander Mitchell was—unable to take care of him."

"He's never told me that."

He didn't. Not even a word. He knew Mav had a will, they all did. But he never thought enough to make sense of the details.

It couldn't be Ice. He couldn't exist on paper in Mav's life or in Bradley's life.

"You can refuse—"

Ice phases out the words that come after — Mav can't be gone, Mav couldn't have left Bradley to him, Mav couldn't have thought he would be able to care for Bradley alone, without Mav's help and guidance. He couldn't have left them both there with broken hearts.

Ice doesn't believe this. It can't be true. If he stares long enough, the two officers in front of him are going to disappear and he will get a late night call from Mav from the ship and will wake up Baby Goose so they could chat and—

"Ice, I know I should be asleep but can we check if we got enough jars for bugs? I really want to—"

Ice finally comes back to the surroundings.

Bradley stands in the kitchen door, noticing the two people in there, in uniforms. "I'm sorry, sirs, I didn't know—"

At that exact moment, Bradley notices the flag and the unopen letter. He can see it nice and clear — his face falls and he doesn't look at anything but the goddamn flag and the stupid letter made on behalf of the President.

Ice stops breathing. "Bradley—"

"No," he says, shaking his head, so quiet. "Not again, no—"

Before Ice can say anything, Bradley is running back up the stairs.

#mav is fine btw #he's in siberia trying to get back to the usa without getting found out #it'll take him two years to go to the usa via alaska but he'll come back #ice just won't be able to not be a dad by the time he comes back #yes this is kinda a buddie au because both eddie and mav are idiots with kids #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #bradley rooster bradshaw #tg86 #fic ideas #written in a bus trying not to fall asleep #shoulf be a tag it happens so often #q #op #charlie writes

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aernx · 11 months

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꧔ UNDER THE RADAR — ! ❪엔하❫

secret relationships w enha hyung line (separate) non idol! university au （ maknae line ver ）

꒰ warnings ꒱ none i think, mentions of strict parents in jakes part

001. lee heeseung — ❪이희승❫ ᝰ

Subtle glances, quiet “i love you”s as you bumped into each other in the hallway becomes a daily routine for you and Heeseung. Decided to keep your relationship under the radar, you two had no other options but remain intimate behind closed doors. Heeseung has always been an avid believer to PDA and it killed him to not be able to hold you in the eyes of public. But he knew that there were consequences held under his name.

Being the ace of the university’s football team meant being the talk of the university, and you weren’t pleased at the thought of unwanted attention. You love your boyfriend, you really do. But with him being the centre of what’s happening around your university, you can’t help but feel unease if your relationship had been under the lights.

Though, that doesn’t stop Heeseung from loving you any less and vice versa. You know that out of all the attention and support he receives from the public, only yours matters. And in a crowd full of people chanting his name, his eyes will always be on you, only you.

002. Park Jongseong — ❪박종성❫ ᝰ

Jay looks at you with stars in his eyes and his friends wonder how people around you never seem to notice. With you sitting two seats away from him in your economy lecture, it’s hard to pay attention to the professor speaking in front. Especially when the middle seat amidst you, remains vacant.

It took all of his self control to not move over and sit next to you. Holding your hand through the lecture as his other free hand jots down notes of the subject. It was unfortunate that your relationship was kept in the dark, or Jay would be calling your name every time scores a goal for the university’s soccer team.

It’s not that you care about other people’s thoughts that’s why you decided to keep it a secret. But with you being the student council president and him the star player of your university’s soccer team, you both didn’t want to start any unnecessary rumors.

After all, PDA has never been a subject that strongly matters to you and Jay. And you both preferred the privacy. With your relationship being known only to your closest friends and relatives, you feel secure and out of pressure. Away from the prying eyes of others, and the heavy weight of responsibility under your positions.

003. Sim Jaehyun — ❪심재휸❫ ᝰ

The love Sim Jaehyun has for you outweighs any love he has for his grades and for sports. The thought of holding you hand as you both venture the hallways, sitting next to you in lecture halls and in the cafeteria, and overall public display of affection made him giddy to the heart. But he knew better.

He knew it wasn’t possible due to your strict parents. Your parents that loved their child so much that they try so hard to shield you from getting your heart broken by guys. Too bad you were a bit of a rebel.

Jake was your highschool academic rival. And it didn’t change now that you guys are in college and are dating. You knew that if news of your relationship spilled throughout your university, it’ll reach the ears of your parents. After all with your father being the chancellor of the university you both are studying in, it would be hard to keep something like this away from him.

The wrath of your parents was something that you and Jake needed to take count. If your parents ever found out, you fear that they will force you two apart or worse—they will take away Jake’s scholarship.

So you both agreed to keep things lowkey. Only being able to express the love you have for each other behind closed doors. Behind all the cameras set in every hallway in your university, behind the close watch your parents have all over you. Just you and Jake, alone in your own world.

004. Park Sunghoon — ❪박성훈❫ ᝰ

Your friends think that it’s obvious. His accidental shoulder brushes, his occasional glances, and the way his head snaps when he hears your name, it’s painfully obvious.

It’s not as if you guys are trying that hard to hide it anyways. With your position as the star player of the girls basketball, and his as the star player of the boys basketball, you guys can’t really avoid each other that much.

And unfortunately for you, Sunghoon can’t stop straining his eyes on you (not that you mind). It was a silly mission to keep your relationship from your team captains (and the others). The two of you bet on each other that whoever’s captain figured out the first will win and the loser will treat the other for ice cream.

It pains Sunghoon to see that his leader isn’t catching up to his little mission. Whereas on the other hand, Jungwon just shrugged him off thinking that his Sunghoon hyung was just being his odd self.

This bet went over for the span of two months before your captain figured it out. And gosh, Sunghoon doesn’t even care about the ice cream anymore. He’ll buy you all the ice cream you want if it means he’ll be able to hold you in public. If it wasn’t for you being stern on continuing the bet, he would’ve just given up in the middle. But now that it’s over, he can finally embrace you freely, before the news of your relationship spread like a wildfire.

#enhanet #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #sunghoon x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jake #enha fluff #enha x reader

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milksnake-tea · 1 year

Text

5 + 1

"The 5 times he thought he loved you, and the 1 time he knew."

rollo flame x gn!reader

contains: fluff, pining (a lot of it like oh my god), strangers to friends to lovers, rollo being emotionally constipated, lots of POV changes, slight spoilers for rollo's backstory

word count: 6.3k

note: i can't defend myself </3 my legacy is just rollo at this point and i can't stop it

tags: @crysangria

———

Rollo doesn’t fall in love.

He’s well aware of its existence; the City of Flowers is renowned for its rather romantic aspects. Since the beginning of time, newly budding couples somehow always managed to hide in every corner of the city - tucked away from the overall public, but obvious enough for any local. Anyone who’s lived in the city for longer than a month learns to avoid the bridges, the alleyways, and of course, any bench at night.

While he has never understood the reasonings behind lovers’ touches and dreamy stares, even Rollo is unable to deny that the affections they displayed didn’t sound so bad… If he didn’t spend his first year in the city running into couples making out at every corner.

Noble Bell was no different.

In his three years at the institution, Rollo had quickly become accustomed to scolding the couples he found in the closets, under the staircases, and in empty classrooms. He learned to tune out the swoonings and fawnings that even his fellow council members fell victim to.

When his peers fell in and out of love, Rollo remained impartial - a stone-cold statue of a president, unswayed by human emotion.

That was, until he met you.

—[1]—

A friend of a friend, that was who you were. A fellow third year who stayed just under the radar: never aiming too high, but never stooping too low. Just another face in the crowd, no one whom he would need to ever speak with.

The first time he sees you is in the library, during a study session between him, his secretary, and his vice president. Despite being part of the student council and already having a lot on their shoulders, Rollo’s top priority was education - and naturally, he would not let his peers fall.

It was obvious from the way their table was isolated that no one dared to even be near them. There were three other chairs at the table, but not a single soul dared to touch them, even if the library was overrun due to the upcoming exams.

Well, apparently you were not one of those souls.

“Um… Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Even if your voice was silenced to a whisper, the library’s murmurs skidded to a halt, as though someone had pressed a pause button. Suddenly, it was as if everyone in the world was holding their breath, their piercing gazes lining your back. Even Rollo’s friends looked afraid for your safety, his secretary giving you the most incredulous of looks.

And if asking to sit at their table wasn’t bad enough, you’d made the poor choice to choose the seat directly next to Rollo himself.

You were already regretting your decision, but you’d already committed to the act. Right now, your need to study was stronger than your fear of Rollo, and you were not going to join the poor souls on the floor.

Rollo was probably the only one who seemed unaffected by your request. He only glanced up from his paper for a moment, his striking green eyes meeting your own before he gave you a curt nod and returned to his work.

To say he was surprised was an understatement. His shock only deepened when you sat down, unloading your bag and taking out all of your study materials after a quick wave to his secretary. In only three minutes, you had settled into your work - as if you weren’t sitting next to the most feared and respected man in all of Noble Bell.

It was refreshing.

Soon enough, the library forgot you, and the hushed whispers rose back up again - both with gossip and with the frustrated grumblings of struggling students. As Rollo reviewed his lessons, studiously jotting down important notes and underlining key concepts, he couldn’t help but find his gaze drifting over to you.

Although you didn’t say anything (why would you, you were in a library), he could tell that you were stressed - even more so than usual. The frustration in your eyes was one that he was familiar with, the eraser shavings and the scrambled calculations a key signal that you were having trouble.

Looking at what you were struggling with, he recognized the practice test for your upcoming chemistry test. Being the responsible student council president he was, he naturally stepped in to assist.

“You forgot to use the formula.”

“Huh.” You startled, your voice coming out strained and irritated at the sudden interruption. Rollo points at your calculations.

“Look here,” he explained, pointing at the rate table. “When they give you the Kc, the temperature, and the balanced equation, you use this to find Kp.”

Without any sense of shame, he reaches over and writes a formula next to your calculations. His handwriting is absurdly neat - almost as though it had been printed. You blank at the formula, recognizing it as the one you’d learned in the first lesson of this unit.

You groan in frustration as you erased your writing one more time. “By the Seven… I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t belittle yourself,” Rollo comments offhandedly, returning to his notes. “It happens to the best of us. Rather than a matter of intelligence, it’s an issue in memory and sleep deprivation.”

“You’re the one with eyebags,” you instinctively mutter. Instantaneously, the world freezes as you register your snip. Your eyes widen, and you’re already spewing apologies while Rollo stands still, caught off guard. “Sorry, that wasn’t my-”

“Are you always this straightforward with strangers?” he asks, and without thinking, you shoot back a retort.

“No, are you?” Immediately, you slap a hand over your mouth, horrified. “Oh my God, I am so sorry-”

His face is turned away from you, but you swear that you caught the corners of his lips twitching - quirking up into the slightest of smiles. “Be careful with your words.”

“O-Of course," you sigh. “My bad.”

“Take care not to do it again.” Just as quickly as it came, Rollo’s smile disappeared, returning to neutrality. Perhaps he had never smiled at all. Thinking logically, you’re more inclined to believe the latter option.

Even his fellow council members are shocked. Rollo raises a brow at the way you rub your eyes, trying to make sense of what you saw. You’re so expressive, unlike the other students who kept it all hidden behind a mask of professionalism. It was refreshing, endearing even.

“You’d better get back to work now,” he advises (although it sounds like an order), his pen moving once more. “Exams are not meant to be taken lightly.”

“Right,” you mutter. Rollo’s eyes crinkle at the blatant distaste on your face as you reluctantly return to chemistry. You weren’t the only student who hated studying, far from it, but you were definitely the most open about it - especially in front of Rollo, who was infamous for his strict personality.

It’s not long before you test the waters and lightly tug at Rollo’s sleeve. Wordlessly, he glances over, and you show him your newly formed calculations - almost like a child showing off their newest drawing to their parents.

“Is this right?”

Rollo peers over at your shoulder, scanning the work you’ve written. He nods in satisfaction, looking over at you with something akin to pride.

“Good work,” he praises.

“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. You smile up at him. “It’s mainly because you helped me, though. So thanks for that, President.”

“Just Rollo is fine,” he assures calmly. You blink.

“You sure?”

“I prefer my name rather than my status,” Rollo explains. You hum in understanding.

“Gotcha. Thanks, Rollo.”

Rollo’s pen stills. You shoot him a questioning look, but he brushes it off and continues studying. He didn’t expect you to say it so easily - maybe he’d thought you’d be more hesitant.

But he doesn’t hate it.

Rather, a small part of him finds that he rather likes the way his name rolls off your tongue.

—[2]—

You don’t expect to see Rollo again after that encounter, but it seems that fate had other plans.

Magical History wasn’t your favorite class, but it wasn’t the worse. You didn’t mind learning about the wars and inventions, and if anything, that made it all the more interesting to you. But your favorite part of it was how different people took up different sides and perspectives on each part of history.

You tapped your pencil impatiently against your notebook, eyes flicking from the chalkboard and to the clock. Class wasn’t starting for another five minutes, but you were anxious to get started. Today’s lecture was primarily for review, and Lord knows you needed it.

You glance over when someone sits next to you, only to choke on your spit when you see it’s Rollo Flamme himself. You rapidly scan the lecture hall, only to become more confused when you see that there was a multitude of seats open - in fact, the room was rather vacant.

“At ease,” Rollo says, his monotone voice not helping him in the slightest. You cough, smiling at him weakly. Suddenly, his tall stature was all the more apparent. “The view from here is the best in the room.”

“Yep…” You rub your arms awkwardly, suddenly cold despite the warm uniform you don. Now you were really praying that your teacher would show up quicker.

“Are you alright?” Rollo asks, noticing your demeanor. The subtle concern in his voice would’ve surprised you if you weren’t already freaked out of your wits. “Are you perhaps cold?”

“Nope!” You hastily reply, startling him with your raised voice. “I’m just peachy.”

“Peachy?” Rollo questions, but it seems like the Seven had been looking over you that day. You’ve never been more relieved in your life to see your teacher, today’s savior, walking through the door.

You have no idea how you manage to focus on the lecture with Rollo right next to you. Just his presence enough is intimidating, suffocating even, as though he was watching, judging your every move. He doesn’t even do anything special - he’s just listening to the lecture like every other student.

Sometimes, you think you see him staring at you, but whenever you look over, he’s quick to avert his gaze. It’s almost impressive, and you almost say something about it - except even you know better than to antagonize the student council president during a lecture.

For the first half hour of the lecture, you’re stuck in this state of constant edge, barely able to relax with this 6-foot giant practically looming over your shoulder. He wasn’t even doing anything in particular, but he didn’t need to. Just being there is enough to put you into fight-or-flight mode.

Sometimes you wonder if he’s just a sadist and likes watching you squirm.

You’re very correct.

Rollo’s only half paying attention to the lecture - he knows all of the content already. Rather, he finds entertainment and peeking over at you, seeing you freeze and stiffen up whenever you catch him in the act. It’s a game of cat and mouse for him, something he finds adorable.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” you whisper from the corner of your mouth. Rollo raises a brow.

“We shouldn’t be talking in class,” he replies simply, pretending to be paying attention. You roll your eyes.

“Nice dodge,” you scoff playfully, and Rollo smiles. It’s not much - just a quirk of the lips, so small that you’d have to squint to see it. It’s a smile whose warmth is subdued, like a little match in a snowstorm. You can’t put your finger on it; it’s almost like fondness, except that doesn’t sound right for the Rollo Flamme.

"You’re smiling," you state the obvious. Yet there's a certain awe in it - someone would've thought that Rollo had grown two heads by the way you were looking at him.

Rollo’s pen stops in its movements. He seems to lag for a moment, surprised and unsure, before his lips straighten and he’s back to normal.

“Is there an issue?”

“No,” you laugh. The initial fear you had felt has dissipated. Rollo’s smile, despite being so small you'd have to look at it through a microscope, was still a smile. “Just didn’t expect it from you, y’know? Since you’re all big and serious around here.”

“I see,” Rollo says quietly, turning away. If it weren’t for his stone-cold face, you would’ve compared him akin to a kicked puppy.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you say. “I think it looks nice on you.”

Rollo remains silent, but the slight widening of his eyes is key enough. It's enough to bring a smile onto your face as you return your attention to the lecture.

Rollo doesn’t say anything after that, but he doesn’t need to. Any tension that had existed between you two had evaporated, the invisible wall opening its gates. Your body has visibly relaxed, and you’re able to fully concentrate on the lesson again.

In the corner of your eye, although you’re almost certain you imagine it, you think you see Rollo’s eyes soften.

—[3]—

When you’re not studying your sanity away at school, you’re working.

You work part-time at one of the many bakeries in the City of Flowers, famed for their pastries. You also sell coffee and tea for the many tired students from the college (such as yourself), so you’re used to seeing many of your classmates coming in the morning.

Around a month has passed since your little moment with Rollo. To put it simply, the two of you have gotten closer.

Studying together in the library became a common occurrence as you found yourself frequenting Rollo’s table more often. Apparently, Rollo’s standards wouldn’t let you study in peace, so he opted to personally tutor you to appease his own state of mind. In his own words, he couldn’t stand by and watch a classmate struggle in front of him.

Safe to say, Rollo was a strict teacher. He wasn’t afraid to point out the inconsistencies in your work, and often gave you tips on what to do. You were afraid that he’d get irritated with how much you overthought everything, but the most he’d give you would be a gentle tug on the cheek whenever you got ahead of yourself.

You look over at your shoulder at the modules you had left to complete. Thankfully, the number of papers had drastically decreased, thanks to a certain someone. Unknowingly, a smile slips onto your face at the thought of him.

The bell rings, and you’re immediately in work mode. You plaster on a customer service smile, straightening behind the counter.

“Hello, how can I help you- Oh hey, Rollo!” Your face breaks out in a grin at the sight of your study partner. “What’re you doing here?”

Honestly, it’s weird to see him without that uniform of his. Seeing him in a casual turtleneck and coat feels almost illegal, like you’re looking at something that only certain people should see.

“Oh, it’s you,” he briefly acknowledges, bright green eyes meeting your own before scanning the vast amount of display pastries. A month ago, you would’ve taken his apathetic greeting as coldness. But having been in his presence for quite a while now, you’ve learned to pick up the smallest of ques.

“Can I get you anything?”

Rollo tears his eyes away from the tempting pastries. “A medium black coffee, please.”

You nod, nimble fingers already moving to ring him up. “Will that be all?”

“Yes,” Rollo confirms, digging into his coat pocket for his wallet. As you tell him the price, you take out a coffee cup, writing Rollo’s name on it in sharpie. Turning your back to him, you opt to add a little message alongside it.

While you make the coffee, Rollo sets himself down in the corner of the bakery, taking out his study materials. You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on the croissants, almost longingly. In the back of your head, you remember one of your conversations (you’d tried distracting him so that you could get a break. It lasted 3 minutes).

“So, what kind of food do you eat?”

“The same as everyone else.”

“No, like when you’re out. You know, like in your free time?”

“Oh. I suppose… Croissants. I’m rather fond of them.”

“Eh, makes sense.”

You figure that he’d probably skipped breakfast again, knowing him. Apparently, breakfast was optional to him. Despite being only 18, Rollo was already living the life of an overworked salaryman, always worried about his council and studying his life away.

But being the good friend you were, you weren’t letting that slide. Rollo was going to take care of himself, whether he liked it or not.

“Rollo?”

Right on cue, he stands up, walking to the counter to retrieve his drink. By all means, you give it to him, but right before he leaves, you call out to him.

“Oh, you forgot this!”

Rollo’s brows crinkled at your exclaim. How could he have forgotten anything? The only thing he ordered was currently in his hands right now. Still, he returns to the counter, ready to call you out on your mistake.

He doesn’t get the chance to.

You press something wrapped and warm into his free hand. Looking down, Rollo’s pleasantly surprised with a freshly baked croissant. He jerks his face up to meet your gaze, confusion written all over his typically stoic face. It’s nice, to finally surprise him for a change.

“I know you didn’t eat breakfast today,” you explain cheerfully, leaning on your forearms on the bakery counter. “You didn’t think I would let you spend your day with just a coffee in your stomach, did you?”

“I can’t take this,” Rollo protested, already moving to hand you back the croissant. You click your tongue.

“Nope, you are,” you push his hand back. His hands are cold, you note. “It’s on the house, trust me. And if the owners have a problem with it, I can always pay for you.”

“But-”

“No buts,” you smile cheekily up at him, propping your head onto your hand. Rollo’s ears flush at just the tips. “I know you want it anyways, so stop being stubborn and just take the thing, okay? It’s fine, don’t worry.”

Rollo stares at you, conflict flickering in his eyes. To an outsider, he’s outright glaring at you, but you know there’s no malice.

You can already imagine the inner turmoil fighting in his mind. On one hand, he wants the croissant - he’s been eyeing it for a good ten minutes - and he’s hungry. On the other hand, his moral righteousness won’t let him take anything without paying.

But in the end, his hunger (and you) wins him over. He sighs, reluctantly giving in.

“If you insist,” he says cooly, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest. “I’d best be going now. I’ll see you in class.”

“See you,” you wave, straightening yourself. Rollo turns to leave, but right before he does, you hear a faint murmur.

“Oh, and… thank you. For the croissant.”

—[4]—

“Every day, without fail, the president climbs the tower to clean the Bell of Salvation.”

It’s pouring outside when you remember the words of your friend, Rollo’s secretary. Looking outside your dorm’s window, the streets are dark as rain cascades from the sky and onto the city. Even from inside your warm room, you can feel the cold from the outside.

You can’t help but wonder if Rollo was also out there, still cleaning that Bell.

You wouldn’t put it past him, to be honest. That man was nothing if not a workaholic. Your friends in the student council had told you of how he spent countless all-nighters just to put together school events, and that wasn’t including his work as a student. But you didn’t need them to tell you any of that. Rollo’s constant eyebags and coffee addiction told you plenty enough.

You sigh to yourself, leaning onto the window. Your friend notices your sulking, sighing to himself as he walks over. You’ve been like that for a good twenty minutes now.

“President Flamme will be fine,” he says, sitting across the windowsill from you. “He always is.”

“In this weather?” you ask, barely sparing him a glance. “He’d catch a cold before he gets any cleaning done.”

“You’d be surprised,” your friend laughs. “He can be pretty persistent when he wants to be.”

You chuckle, eyes softening with the memories. “You've got that right. I still remember how he made me stay up for two hours until I could get a problem right. He even got food so that I couldn’t use it as an excuse for a break.”

“He did that for you?” Your friend’s eyes widen in surprise. You nodded sheepishly, a fond smile creeping on your face.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect it either.”

Your friend snickers knowingly. You shoot him a look, only for him to brush it off.

“Anyway, if you’re that worried over him,” he suggests, “why don’t you go up and check on him? You’re the least likely to get yelled at if you do.”

“That’s what you say,” you roll your eyes playfully. “But you have a point. Unfortunately.”

“Always do,” your friend huffs pridefully. He winks at you as he lightly pushes you toward the exit. “Don’t worry about sneaking out. I’ll cover you.”

That’s how you found yourself scaling the old bell tower, holding an extra coat in your arms, a small flame dancing in the palm of your hand for light. You were careful to keep the flame from fanning out of control, as the tower was made from wood.

Your legs ached by the time you neared the top. You had no idea how Rollo did this on a daily basis, much less in the raging storm.

The wind battered at your face the second you reached the highest story, blowing rain into your eyes and nearly putting your flame out. Struggling to shield yourself from the wild tempest, you squint through the raindrops for Rollo. Thankfully, you didn’t have to look too far.

“Rollo?” you call out, your voice straining against the wind. Faintly you can spot the tall silhouette of your friend, somehow completely fine and still dutifully polishing the bell. “Rollo!”

The silhouette freezes, and turns to meet your gaze. You sigh in relief when you see the familiar green of his eyes, pushing your way through the storm to meet him.

“What are you doing here?” Rollo asks, caught off guard by your appearance. His gaze wanders over your body, noticing how drenched you were getting. “The storm is dangerous, you’ll catch a cold.”

“That’s what I should be saying!” you huff, lightly hitting his chest. “You’ve been out here cleaning the Bell for how long again?”

“Only an hour, the rain helps-”

You roll your eyes, putting your hands on your hips. “Only an hour?! You’re the one who’s going to get sick at this rate!”

“But I’m not-”

“Yeah, yeah, no, we’re going inside,” you retort, grabbing his hand. Rollo surprisingly doesn’t protest, allowing you to drag him off his precious bell and back into the safety of the tower. It’s by no means warmer, but it’s definitely drier.

You sit down on one of the many tables inside the tower, cringing as the walls shake from the wind. But you know that the tower won’t fall. It’s old, yes, but it has prevailed through storms like this before. The Bell of Salvation’s magic still runs strong.

“Your hands are freezing,” you comment, Rollo’s hand still intertwined with your own. His hands were always cold, but today they were like blocks of ice. You run your thumbs over the palms of his hands, cupping both of them before whispering a small spell.

Warmth tickles your palms like little embers, providing you and Rollo solace in the freezing winter. You let out a breath of contentment, before realizing just what you were doing. Snatching your hand away, you frantically apologize - not noticing the dejected look in Rollo’s eyes as you do so.

“Great Seven, I am so sorry-”

“I don’t mind,” Rollo says quietly, purposely avoiding your gaze. He silently thanks the darkened room for preventing you from seeing his flushed ears.

“You don’t?” you question, looking up at him. Briefly, you saw a glimpse of red before Rollo hastily looked away, lightly shaking his head. You feel your face warm, but decide to blame it on the magic. Hurriedly, you look for a way to change the conversation.

“So… I didn’t notice it earlier, but how are you perfectly dry in that storm?” you ask, rubbing your arms, cringing when you noticed how soaked you were. Rollo looks relieved from the change of subject.

“Magic,” he explains easily, as if it were obvious. And it kind of was. You laugh nervously, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Oh, right,” you chuckle, glancing down at your ringed finger. You hummed, waving your hand and blasting yourself with a gust of hot air, effectively drying yourself. “It really solves everything, doesn’t it.”

Rollo’s face visibly sours at your comment. “Is that how you really feel?”

The coldness in his voice surprises you. You’ve never heard such hatred and malice from him before. Had you said something wrong?

You swallow nervously. “What do you mean?”

“Do you truly think that magic solves everything?” Rollo crosses his arms, a scowl twisting his face.

“Well, it depends,” you say carefully, not wanting to set him off. You can already hear the warning bells in his tone. “The way I see it, magic’s a tool.”

“Even if it’s evil?” Rollo questions angrily. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself against him.

“I don’t think it’s evil,” you say firmly, yet softly. “I mean, look at this city. The Bell’s magic protects us, doesn’t it?”

“It didn’t protect-” Rollo cuts himself off. You give him a look, but don’t pry. It isn’t your business to ask nor to know what had happened to him for him to despise magic this much. He hadn’t said much, but it’s obvious to you.

“Like I said, magic is a tool,” you continue, facing him fully. “It’s like a knife. When you’re stabbed, you don’t blame the knife, but the person holding it.”

Rollo doesn’t say anything, but you can see the turmoil twisting in his eyes. You’re challenging something that had been in his life longer than you have, something that you’ve never seen.

You decide to take a risk, a step forward. Reaching out, you cup his hands in yours once again. Rollo only watches, confusion and anticipation keeping him curious.

You whisper your spell once again, except this time, the embers blossom into fire. Sparks of flame surround the two of you like fireflies, dancing daintily in the wind. Warmth like a mother’s embrace envelops the two of you as you hold a flickering flame in your intertwined palms.

The glow of the fire illuminates Rollo’s face, entranced by the blaze. Something moves in your chest, and you find yourself scooting closer to him so that you can bask in more of this warmth.

“Magic can be dangerous,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re right beside him at this point, your shoulders nearly brushing together. Rollo turns to look at you, his face uncharacteristically gentle. You don’t notice, keeping your gaze on your flame. “And you don’t have to like it. But it can also be beautiful.”

You laugh to yourself, sighing as you lay your head on Rollo’s shoulder. You hope he doesn’t hear how loudly your heart beats. He doesn’t react, but he also doesn’t protest.

“You know, you worried the hell out of me earlier,” you suddenly confess, the flames dancing in your eyes. “I mean, you already do, with your sleeping habits and how much pressure you put on yourself. But today was… Well, it wasn’t our best day.”

“...I’m sorry,” Rollo whispers, and you almost don’t hear it. But it’s genuine, heartfelt, and sincere. You feel an arm wrap around your waist, bringing you closer together.

You smile, relaxing into his hold.

“As long as you’re okay.”

Neither of you acknowledges the position you’re in, nor the intimacy of it. You don’t have to. For now, all you do is rest, and enjoy each other’s touch.

You don’t see it, but eventually, Rollo closes his eyes, and leans his head onto yours.

It’s the most relaxed he’s ever been.

—[5]—

Rollo thinks he’s going to die.

Not literally, of course, but he was pretty close.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing out here, taking a leisurely walk around the city streets with you. He has no idea how you managed to drag him out of his uptight uniform, or how you convinced him to enjoy the snow and the festivities.

He sighs, pulling up his scarf to warm his face. You already made him layer up quite a bit, but just to be safe, you also wrapped that around him to make sure he didn’t accidentally die from touching a snowflake.

He chuckles at the thought, his breath fogging in the cold winter air. The way you constantly fretted over him, overthinking everything and taking care of him… His cheeks warmed at the thought, a fond smile overtaking his lips without him noticing.

“I’m back! God, that line was so long and I swear this lady cut in front of me and I’ve never wanted to strangle someone so badly-”

Speak of the devil, and they shall appear. Rollo’s breath clogs in his throat when you run up to him, two steaming cups of hot chocolate in your hands. He can’t help but think of how cute you were in your winter apparel, all cozy and warm.

He mindlessly tunes out your rantings, only half listening as he simply stares at your lips. Even when he takes one of the cups you offer him, he only watches. Eventually, he sees you running out of air and reaches out, patting your head to shut you up.

“Are you done?” he asks. You huff, sipping your hot chocolate to make yourself feel better - nearly burning yourself in the process.

“Yeah, I’m done,” you giggle, sticking out your tongue to cool it. “Sorry about that.”

“I like hearing you talk,” Rollo assures, effectively flustering you. Reaching out, he lightly tugs your cheek. “And be careful when you drink that. You could’ve burned yourself.”

“But I didn’t,” you mutter, rubbing your cheek with a pout. Rollo raises a brow, but you brush it off. “Anyways, how’s the chocolate?”

“Hot,” Rollo says bluntly, making you snort. “But also sweet.”

“Do you like it?” Rollo nods.

“It’s perfect for a night like this,” he observes, looking out towards the bright lights that litter the snow-covered city.

“Right?” you hum cheerfully, the snow fluttering around you prettily. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”

The two of you quickly found a bench to seat yourselves on. You lean back onto the wooden chair, happily drinking away at your chocolate. You only stopped when you feel a presence at your shoulder.

Looking up, you let out a sound when you found Rollo’s face mere inches away from yours. Your breath hitched at the sudden proximity as you froze in place, becoming a mere statue.

You only snapped out of your phase when you felt something soft pressing up to the corner of your lips. Rollo dabs at you with one of his many handkerchiefs. The pure concentration on his face only manages to fluster you more until he pulls his hand back, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork.

“You had chocolate on your lips,” he explains, not noticing the way you stare at him, blood rushing to your face.

“...Oh,” you manage out, your voice small.

You can practically feel Rollo’s breath ghosting on your lips. Subconsciously, you held your breath, watching him carefully for his next move. Rollo seemed to have the same idea, uncertainty taking hold of him for the first time.

The two of you waited with bated breath, waiting for the other to take that risk. For a moment, the rest of the world disappeared into a flash of white.

But you both hesitated too long.

Rollo jumps as something tugs on his coat, effectively breaking the spell. He looks down to see one of the city goats staring up at him cutely, bleating for his attention. Begrudgingly, he sighs and reaches down to pet it.

The goat unfortunately uses that to jump on him. It attempts a bite at his cup, but thankfully, Rollo has quicker reflexes than one would think. His height also means that he’s able to hold the cup far out of the goat’s reach.

“No, you don’t,” he grits out, the goat’s weight heavy on him. “You can’t eat chocolate, fool.”

Something about Rollo unironically calling a goat a fool was just too ridiculous for you.

You break out laughing, your eyes crinkling. Rollo’s chest constricts at the sight, his arm relaxing for a second as he stares at you in awe - barely noticing when the goat tries again for his cup.

There are few things that he could call precious. But your smile, this moment, your laughter… He would say that they were the brightest treasures in the world.

—[ + 1 ]—

Rollo isn’t stupid.

He isn’t oblivious.

He knows the way he feels isn’t normal. He knows the way he wants you, craves you, needs you, is anything but. He always knew.

But what sets it in for him, is when he sees those couples in the streets of the city. When he sees those loving gazes towards one another, the way they hold hands, and how comfortable they are with each other, he’s no longer filled with indifferent disgust.

Rather, he wonders how it would feel to do that with you.

What would it be like, to be able to hold you and call you his own?

He’s wondered for a while. When you cup his hands in your own, he relishes in your warmth, but finds himself wanting more. When you look at him, he becomes lost in your eyes. When you smile, he sees your lips, wondering how they’d feel pressed up against his.

It’s a strange thing for him, to want something so badly.

So when he finds himself nestled in your arms, finally resting, he’s conflicted.

With his head laying gently on your chest, he practically melts into your hold. Your fingers thread through his hair, softly petting and massaging his scalp as you do. His eyes are closed, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist.

He's able to let go with you. He allows himself this small moment of vulnerability. He lets you hold him, finding redamancy in your touch. For in your arms, he is safe - this is his home.

"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice muffled by your clothes. You hum, playing with his hair.

"Of course," you shift the delicate locks between your fingers. "That's what friends are for."

Friends. He finds that the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Friends, yes, that was what you were. A month or two ago, he would've been fine, delighted even, to be called such a thing.

But is it so wrong to be longing for something more?

You must've felt him stiffen, as you look down at him in concern.

"You okay, Rollo?"

He really isn't. Slowly blinking his eyes open, he raises his head to look at you.

Your hand falls from his hair to cradle his face, your thumb tenderly swiping over his cheek. Rollo closes his eyes in contentment, nuzzling into your palm - almost like a kitten, you'd comment later.

"You're unfair," he mumbles, peering at you once again. You tilt your head, prompting him to continue. He reaches up, covering your hand with his own. "You dare to hold me like this, and yet you still only call me 'friend'."

You hum, looking away bashfully. "I was afraid to call you something else."

"You were afraid of nothing." Rollo lifts his head, moving your hand so that he could press a kiss to your palm. His eyes stayed trained on yours, waiting to see any reaction - as if he was asking for permission.

The look you give him is nothing short of loving. It's what pushes him to test the boundaries even further, to push himself up. You look up at him with hidden intrigue, knowing, and even anticipation - as if you knew just what was coming ahead.

Rollo lets go of your hand, taking a hold of your chin instead, tilting it up to face him. His eyes search yours carefully, still hesitant even now.

You nod your head, silently giving your approval. Your words have lost you, unable to make it past the lump in your throat.

Rollo leans forward, close enough so that your noses brush against each other. Taking one last breath, he takes the dive, closing his eyes and gently pressing his lips to yours.

Instantly, your eyes shut as if falling into a trance. Your hand trails up to the back of his head, holding him there as the other reaches to wrap around his waist - bringing him impossibly closer.

It’s over before you know it. When Rollo finally pulls away, you instinctively follow, chasing him. It’s only when Rollo lightly pushes you back that you peek your eyes open.

In the swirling forest of his eyes, you see amusement, adoration, and most importantly, gratitude.

Not a word is spoken when Rollo falls back into your arms, and you are there to welcome him, as you always have.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #disney twst #twst x reader #disney twst x reader #x reader #y/n #twst rollo #rollo flamme #rollo flamm #rollo #roro flamme #twst rollo x reader #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamm x reader #reader insert #oneshot #archives 🏵️

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reasonsforhope · 9 months

Text

"After its first-ever left-wing presidential administration took charge of negotiating permanent peace with the socialist FARC rebels, Colombia’s forests are feeling the effects with a 26% reduction in deforestation in the conflict areas.

These dense, biodiverse rainforests that are a part of the Amazon in places, and independent of it in others, have been one of the many victims of the country’s civil war.

However, President Gustavo Petro is conducting peace negotiations that put the environment first with around 20 splinter factions of the FARC guerillas, who have responded positively.

De-facto leadership in the conflict areas in the forested state of Gauviare has instituted its own deforestation moratorium, and an estimated 50,000 hectares of rainforest have been saved as a result.

“This is really dramatic,” conservationist Rodrigo Botero told The Guardian. “It’s the highest reduction in deforestation and forest fires that there has been in two decades.”

The Guardian recently covered these peace negotiations alongside a delegation from Norway which included that country’s environment minister, Espen Barth Eide.

“What I’m hearing, seeing, and feeling in these meetings is that there is an enhanced understanding that you cannot build a new Colombia on the basis of the further deterioration of nature, so you have to find an economic, social, political, inclusive process that is more respectful towards nature than before,” Barth told the English paper.

Often flying under the radar when compared to its neighbor Brazil, Colombia is the second-most biodiverse country on Earth, and the most biodiverse in terms of bird life.

It’s the 25th-highest country in the world for Forest Integrity Index score (8.26) and boasts twice as many square miles of highly-intact forest than of poorly-intact forest, almost all of which resides in the conflicted states of Amazonia, Caquetá, and Putumayo.

If the Petro government can really put the brakes on the conversion of forests into pastureland for cattle, it would be helping to save one of the most valuable tropical forest ecosystems on Earth."

-via Good News Network, 7/14/23

#colombia #latin america #amazon #amazon rainforest #amazonia #putumayo #petro government #civil war #conservation #biodiversity #good news #hope #hope posting

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buzzkillers · 10 months

Text

WHITE HOUSE DOWN

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Black!Reader

Summary: You and Hobie fuck after he kills the President of the United States: Norman Osborne.

Tags|Warnings: Happy 4th of July (sarcastic), public oral sex, cum facials, enemies to enemies that fuck, exhibitionism, bratty reader, graphic violence, bad British slang, UNEDITED

WC:4k

In under an hour Fascism, Capitalism and President Norman Osborne died in the same way: pathetically and in a roaring beat of gunfire and raging anarchy.

It was so punk metal that Hobie reckoned he could've cried.

Maybe even let out a blood curdling scream before he joined his mates in celebration; in a fight that continued to roar beyond the thick walls of this stupid building. Of the world's now fallen symbol of false freedom, colonization and white supremacy.

All of it was dead now anyway, all of it was gone. So yeah Hobie reckoned he should’ve cried; maybe he even was crying but he was too pent up on adrenaline and rock and roll to notice. Who fucking knew. Who fucking cared?

What mattered was that Osborne’s head was detached, that his guitar was covered in guts and brain and enough idiocratic bullshit that it had clattered to the floor.

His weapon stained against the fancy White House carpet. He didn’t mind though, it added to the decor. You didn’t seem to give a shit either. For you, blood still stained your locs and your lips stayed wrapped around his cock.

And well Hobie didn't follow rules. They were barely a suggestion in his radar. Yet apart of him knew this was off kilter, even for him. Even for Spider Punk.

Spider Punk, the not-hero and the now killer who instead of killing capitalist and fighting corporate drones was here. Here with black nails that dug into your back and wicks that kissed the skin of your cheek.

It felt good.

This reward, you told him as you guided him towards the pigs desk. Your hands already at the buckle of his jeans before you looked up at him; eyes hazy and murderously dark.

It reminded him of foggy London nights, of polluted air and days where he gasped for his inhaler. Something that tried to be something else. It made Hobe feel triumphant, out of breath.

And yet this was ‘His reward.’ You growled again as if this was normal and you weren't you but something different, something new.

At that, Hobie couldn’t help but laugh. It was a pretty comedy after all, a neat joke as your palm— shaking and slick with sweat wrapped itself around his cock and your knees dug into the floor. The blood stained floor.

He inhaled sharply, either from the adrenaline or the genuine need to breathe before his smile slipped into something wide, dangerous. You shot a glare at him.

"Something funny?" You mouthed, as if your eyes weren't muggy, as if there wasn't a revolution going on a wall away. Hobie of course simply looked down at you, his own eyes liquid dark, but alight with adrenaline and fire and everything that made a corporate pig like Osborne underestimate him.

“Fuck yeah,” he rolled his hips up.

"Everything's a bit funny right now, love"

Below him, you only scoffed as if what he said wasn’t sick given the circumstances.

As if this was simply another one of those nights; those long nights where this would be your signal to leave. To keep your distance from Hobie Brown, the Spider Punk with too much venom on his tongue and righteous anger in his every word. But you didn’t, you simply looked at him, calculative, nervous.

Around them, the war raged on and the sounds of corporate drones getting their ass beat made the floors vibrate. None of them aware of their leader's demise before his team crushed them into dust. Below him you sighed, that gleam still in your eyes. (murky puddles and polluted skylines.)

"Of course you'd make this hard,"

"Can't just let me suck you off and shut up huh, SP?" You muttered, and you see Hobie would respond. There was always an excuse to be barked, a word to be said. But music still thrummed through his veins, the air was singing (screaming) and you were here.

Not with Osborne. Not in a lab, cooped up but here.

He smiled. "I'm not known for consistency,"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you rolled your eyes, "I've heard the speech,”

"can't be consistent, can't be bought, can't shut up,"

Shut up?

He licked his lips and tasted the metal, the blood. 'Im gettin’ tired of your mouth, boy.’ Osborne had sneered before Hobie broke his face in.

Yeah, he didn't listen to him either. He shrugged his shoulders. "Nah, I don't think so,"

You rolled your eyes. “Spider-”

“Aw, am I ruining your fantasy love?" You cut him a look.

“Catchin me off guard like this, you must’ve planned it, no?”

Your grimace deepened. Which was cute. Very cute. “So you’re just gonna keep talking?”

“—I mean I'm not against you knowin' your onions and all that, but between you being stuck in your lab and arguing with us who knew you had the time,” he whispered, before your eyes went sharp and your nails dug into his thighs. A warning, that only made his cock hard and his hands crack the lip of the desk. Cute. He thought again.

So bloody cute that he blinked and his heart raced like a drum, like a rip of his pick against his guitar.

‘Lay on your back’ you said, ‘drop the guitar.’ and he did.

You had demanded it with a trained nonchalance. Completely unbothered as if he didn't hear the way your lungs sharply inhaled when his guitar separated Osborne's head from his spine. Cartilage, tendons and a thick spinal cord crushed into dust beneath his rebellion before you pounced on him.

You gave him that same look now and it was wicked hot. He couldn't deny it. A fun mix of cheekiness and nerves before you cocked your head and, “You know what, fine,”

In a blink, his back was shoved harder against the desk. His hands twisted into your locs, while your mouth wet, hot and slick like honey, like blood enveloped him, turned him inside out and made him want to curl over and actually cry.

Not cause it felt good or spectacular or amazing but because it was you. Only cause it was you.

Below him you sucked him off like you had something to prove. Like it was a challenge. It would be a crime to look away. To not match rebellion with rebellion, your hatred with his faux indifference while your lips remained dry, your handwork sloppy and your rhythm off. It was honestly the worst blowjob he’s ever had.

But you were enthusiastic and you looked up at him as if you expected more. Like Hobie was supposed to fall to his knees and thank you. Of course, a flicker of frustration came out when he gave you the opposite: a slick smile and his eyes wide in wonder.

"Leave it to you too give someone an angry blow job," He cocked his head, "Reckon you’re overthinkin’ it, love?”

You choked in response. Your mouth off his cock and looking as if you were about to spit on the floor before you paused and Hobie watched you swallow instead. Something hot shot in his core.

“Never,” you sneered as if this was just another part of the battle, your own personal fight.

Hobie just snickered, a gleam in his eyes even as you went still, embarrassment hot on your face.

“Yeah that's what I guessed," he whispered, before gloved hands gripped your jaw. Tight and restrictive.

“Quick tip? You’re too rough with it love, let me guess didn’t watch enough videos?” he teased, before he realized where exactly his dick was.

You gave him a sharp smile, "want to repeat that?" No, not particularly. He rolled his shoulders.

“Slow down,”

“Where's the rush,” he teased before there was a thump and a scream and oh, he guess they've found the bloke's head. Took them long enough.

If Hobie remembered how hard he kicked it correctly; The fuckers skull was three rooms away with thick walls and flimsy doors in each of them.

His smile turned giddy, "We all the time in the world,"

"Please tell me you're joking," and there it was again, that look. That need for order and propriety. Hobie patted your cheek.

"What, getting nervous?" Your eyes shot to the door. To the distant footsteps that only got closer to the currently unlocked room.

"Hobie,"

"Fine," he shot the hinges up with webbing. It wouldn't last. But you didn't need to know that.

"See? Good,"

Quickly, your shoulders relaxed; your nape warm beneath his hand, prickled and covered in sweat till he gripped it harder, guiding you down until your mouth was on him again. He shuddered.

“Make it wet,” you looked confused, your eyebrows twitching before your mouth went agape and he felt it.

Something hot and sticky that dripped down his cock. Your lips were now sheen, a messy mix of precum, sweat and everything that would never normally be in a pretty mouth like that.

Of course, you still managed to glare at him. And yeah nah, he wasn't gonna think about why that made his mouth dry before he angled his hips up and up until the tip of him was at the rim of your lips; he took a deep breath.

“Grip the desk for me,”

You frowned again, harder if that was possible. And Hobie couldn't have that.

"Wh--" in a blink he's already bullied his thumb passed plush lips and sharp teeth. Expertly, rubbing his painted nails against the soft flesh of your cheek until drool and spit slicked down his wrist and,

"That's wicked," he whispered.

"You’re so fucking pretty like this," You shot him a look. Your eyes still shakingly looking towards the door. The soldiers have gotten louder, they've must've bursted pass the first room. But Hobie only sighed, unbothered

“Is this why you've been so nice to me lately? Been wanting to give me this," he rambled, his eyes back on yours before his smile melted into a smirk. The last thing Osborne ever saw, before his head rolled down the stairs.

Now, the funny thing about trying to tell a punk what to do was that you shouldn't actually expect them to listen. Osborne learned that the hard way. But you weren’t like the rest of them. No matter what the team said about you turning your back on your upbringing for the cause. You weren’t like them. Clean and simple.

It was written in the cracks of your face, in the corners of your eyes. That want for order that battled with the need to rebel and make things right.

It's probably why you continued to look at him like that; your eyes slitted, red and angry.

You hated it but you wanted it too. Which meant that it took no effort to grip your jaw, keeping it still as you moved to chop your teeth onto his thumb. Light work.

But it was another thing to dodge the whistle of your studded fist and the gleam of spikes on your knuckles before they're webbed to the dead Pigs desk. You were smart not to try again. Still your face stayed twisted in anger.

Hobie couldn't help but laugh again, all sharp teeth and youthful indignation in his voice.

“I'm not good with mixed signals love, you hate me, you don't, you want to give me a reward about a job well done and then whine about it,”

“This is still a reward right?” he whispered, his voice deep and molten. It dragged you into a spell, made you nod. “Good,”

"Now, why don't we start stickin’ to our words, yeah," you made no room to reply, just continued to look up at him with that fire in your eyes that reminded him of madness, of a man whose body could be found in various parts of this makeshift castle. For the first time, Hobies face went stern, his body hands suddenly on your nape gripping tight.

"Yeah?" He repeated.

That madness in your eyes only take a moment to flicker, a moment to wick and out before your face twisted again, "Yeah,"

"There we go,"

You made no room to stop him. As his prodded his cock against your lips again, against that slick heat, hellfire, glory, his reward that was found in the tightens of your throat. "Good,"

He gripped the back of your neck tighter. “There we go,”

“Breathe through your nose,” Then you squeezed your eyes shut, prepared to choke, for Hobie to bruise your throat, for your jaw to ache while he used you like you prepared to use him.

Then he hummed, like a thrum of his guitar, like the flutter of a hummingbird. It was your only warning before he brought you down, slow, sluggish. He made you feel the weight of him, the way it pressed against your tongue, expanded your throat.

You couldn’t help it really, the way your eyes closed. The hazy sensation that made your vision blur. Hobie fucked your throat as if he had all the time in the world. As if a world leader wasn’t rotting in the next room.

And this would be a great time to joke. For Hobie to make you regret bringing him here and not give the secrets to ruining him but nah, this was better. This was more satisfying. Worth the shock in your eyes as you tried to keep them open. Your cunt not so subtly grinding against his boot.

“Don't look so surprised love”

“Let me guess, you expected me to go hard?” he whispered, voice ragged.

“Wanted me to bruise your pretty throat?” He dragged himself out again. Withdrew his hips, until your lips were once again at the tip of him. A thick residue of spit left behind.

Good.

Perfect even.

But below him you struggled to remain composed. Your mind was a fog that thickened, and your ears roared with the music that was Hobie Brown. The sounds of his shockwaves still in the air. On a better day, you'd remain aloof. You'd look at hobie with bored eyes and tell him to do his worse.

Clearly, that day wasn't today.

Your eyes were still closed after all, and the taste of him still stained your throat. You wanted more. You wanted-

His hand tightened on your neck.

“Now when did I say you could do that?” You blinked up, teary eyed with more of Hobie’s cock in your mouth than he previously allowed.

Suddenly, your cheeks burned and Hobie watched embarrassment wash over you. Watched you drown in it, in an attempt to cover up the desperate move before you just sat there, unable to go forward, unable to move back. “Cute,”

And then he jerked forward, cock hitting your throat until tears brimmed in your eyes and well Hobie was only a man at the end of the day. He unwebbed you, “Use your hands wrap them around me,”

Quickly, you complied. “Yeah love like that,"

You didn’t need further instruction. You continued the slow tempo he set. And for a moment, it stayed like that: you swallowing him with a sloppy mouth and tears in your eyes, your hands now slick with well, everything. Snot, spit and tears.

He laughed again, a bit more choked up and bit more delirious as your tongue dragged against the undervein of his cock. Sharp pleasure blinded him, he felt like it was too much, not enough. Like his heart was gonna burst from the adrenaline, the heat.

For a moment, he craved something on his lips too. Something just as hot and slick and you. He reckoned you'd like that. Want to shut him up with your thighs locked around his head and your cunt slick on his studded tongue. If you were gonna do this, you might as well do it right, do it in the worst way possible while Osborne's corpse rotted in the next room.

Below him, you gripped him tighter. Suckled your lips at the head of him until he shuddered and groaned. His palms slicked in blood gripping right at your face. If he knew this would be the reaction to winning the war— he'd bring Osborne back to life himself.

Let you watch him kill him again, again and again if it meant you looked at him like that. Like a drunkard, like the feeling he got when he strummed his guitar just right, just perfectly against his pick. Until you were like this: your lips, tight and harsh. Sucking him off as if it was another fight, your eyes red hot with anger and tears.

He was close.

He couldn’t even be embarrassed, if they knew what a pretty picture you made no regular bloke would be either before he felt it. That liquid hot build up; like something molten that grew and morphed and dripped in his belly before his thighs trembled, his fist cracked the desk and you looked marvelous.

He tried to draw away, cause he was proper and raised right but he couldn't get far. Not against someone who looked like they wanted to prove something. You started this for a reason after all. So of course, your hands pressed into his hips, kept him still. Fucking brat.

Before the room became an echo chamber of gasps and whines and— he lurched forward, hands on your shoulders, a sharp cry of your name.

The orgasm was just as violent as the murder. It ripped through him and rearranged his insides until it felt painful, overwhelming. Like he was stuck in his own shockwave, pulled at the seams, the points of musical notes at his ears.

Then he whimpered, sharp and inaudible. But it made your eyes glitter all the same before you pulled off him with a satisfying grin as the violence in him transcended to a soft shudder.

Both of you didn't talk for a minute. Just let everything settle. Until slowly the world trickled back in and Hobie watched half amused and half delirious as across your face, emotions flickered too fast for him to dissect.

What he did know was that you were looking at him, at the floor and then randomly at the door. Oh yeah, the goons. He should focus on that, but you were still on your knees, looking pretty and fucked out and well Hobie couldn't help it. He suddenly had the taste for something sweet.

"Up, c’mon"

You looked at him, leg kneeled. "Fuck you,” you coughed, throat dry. “Where do you think I was doing?"

He shook his head, and with little effort, he towered over you. You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips plush and the corner of your mouth twinkling with beads of white and shit, shit. Hobie did not wait for you to get up.

In a blur of red white and blue, the two of you switched places. It was like carrying a stack of paper, a bag of groceries before you plopped into the desk; your eyes wide, legs spread and cunt wet through your trousers.

"Hobie come on—"

His thumb dug into the seam of your jeans, ripped them in two until you were cunt hit cold air. You dripped on the desk. "Don't be selfish,”

“I thought this was a reward,” And then hobie’s tongue was on you, desperate and hot.

Studded fingers pressed into your hips, digging,digging and "Hobie, what-” Hobie pressed you further into the desk.

His tongue was slick and sticky against your folds. The pleasure that was white and hot grinded you to a halt. Your brain morphed into mush. You weren't going to last. This, you can admit with a certainty as your thighs wrapped around hobie’s head anyway.

You looked towards the door, but Hobie with his freakishly long arms gripped your jaw and forced your eyes back on him. Pay attention, they said. Until your eyes went wide, frantic; and your hips fought the battle of jerking away from Hobie and against him while he flicked your clit; his finger prodding against your entrance.

It's almost embarrassing how fast you came.

Even worse how you tried to hide it. With teeth the bit into your wrist, and moans that you tried to choke down while your hips moved on him with a grind that only made it worst, made it last.

You grunted and swore, the flat palms of your hand slammed into the desk. Once twice and then Hobie got up, looked at you splayed out on Osbornes desk, jeans pooled to your knees, the hairs of your cunt glistening.

"Good?”

With a gasp, you could only focus on the sound of the door as the screams of soldiers bulged against the doors frames.

Your blood was pulsing but you couldn’t feel your throat. Couldn’t feel the scratches and bruises that later you won't be able to tell was from Hobie or from the fight.

The wooden door bent beneath the weight of the army. Before eventually it popped and you threw the spider a smile.

“Good,”

#hobie brown smut #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black!reader #atsv x reader #atsv x black reader #atsv smut #hobie brown lemon #tw: smut #hobie brown imagine #spiderpunk smut #spider punk x reader #spiderpunk x y/n #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you

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lizzaneia-elizalde · 6 months

Note

Male Yandere Husband x Pregnant Female Stepford Wife Reader

(I don’t think you’ve done anything like this yet? So if not, think you can try?)

I want him to be a master manipulator, but really delusional in a loving/devoted sense. Believing that what he’s doing is for our best interest, as well as the baby’s. That includes confining us at home, always being with us 24/7 when we’re outside our home, etc. And generally getting us to be 100% dependent on him, (like we already weren’t heavily dependent on him before…)

Thank you!!! 💝

Yandere! Husband! Politician x Pregnant! Fem! Stepford! Wife! Reader

SORRY IT TOOK ME LONG TO GET THIS REQUEST DONE!

I got busy with University that I only got to write right now. I'm so tired lol

Journalism is... Something...

I had a hard time incorporating the yandere stuff with such a willing reader, but I tried LOL.

This one's only got two sections, since the both of you are married already, so it went straight to the yandere-ness.

But here ya go! Requests will be back on once more!

BTW, the master list is up now! It's my pinned post.

Yandere! Politician name: Maximus

Maximus.

Just like his name, he was the greatest Politician out there. Whatever that means.

He's charming, intuitive, generous, kind, and compassionate.

Every election season, if you ask people who will they vote as a mayor or whatever position Maximus ran as, they'll say

"Isn't it obvious? Of course it's Maximus!"

So it didn't faze the people that he won whenever he ran.

As young as he is, he's always been active in the political sphere. From the student council, he's always been in the highest positions out there. Secretary, Vice President, and President.

Hell, if you ask him to do treasury, then he'll gladly accept and do it much better than the current treasurer or auditor. No specks, no crumbs, a clean liquidation sheet.

And when he graduated as the University president, local parties flocked towards him to invite him in their political party.

So many choices for the great Maximus.

After many days of researching and finding out the dirt, secrets, strengths, and weaknesses of each political party, he chose a party suited for the straight laced man.

That, and that you were there.

You were the unlisted assistant of your father, who was running as vice mayor, and is finding a mayor to be with.

This was perfect.

Maximus has always liked you.

Scratch that.

He always loved you.

You were the daughter of a well known governor inside your city. Pristine, shy, quiet, and always had a smile in your face, everyone back in school liked you. You were the epitome of etiquette and manners. If parents want somebody to compare to their child to belittle them, it would be you, little miss perfect.

Both of you live in a small city, almost a town size. So everyone knew each other, and you both lived in the same district.

it's just that he didn't fly under your radar from how busy he is.

Unlike your father, you never joined politics. You just sat there, studied, did some small knitting projects or sewing. Maybe even drawing if you felt like it.

At first, Maximus didn't really pay you any attention, until he heard your conversation with your friends.

"What? Seriously?"

"I am serious." Your melodious laugh echoed through the empty halls. It was already 5pm, and only a handful of students are left.

"But... That's so traditional lol."

"I know, but really. I just want to stay at home, serve my husband, take care of our kids... You know, the gist."

"But, you said you'll do Social work, Home eco, or culinary in Uni. So what's up with that?"

You just smiled at your friends until they said "oh..." in understanding.

Those courses can help develop your home rearing skills.

"I mean, sure. If you're happy with that." One of your friends finally broke the silence, followed by "meh's..." "eh..." and grunts of approval.

"Thank you for accepting for who I am." You smiled once more at them and they gave you an understanding grin.

Then and there, Maximus became curious about you.

Maximus also had a traditional way of thinking. Not all women, but his wife should just be staying pretty in his home, while taking care of their children...

He knew that only a small percentage of people would be open to that notion, and he was fine with it.

It did made him feel lonely sometimes. He's always dreamt of a domestic life, but the woman is always a faceless grey glob. He just can't see somebody in his life who would be willing to be like that.

So when he heard your conversation, that night in his dreams, he woke up sweating and confused when the faceless glob greeted him. But rather than the glob, it was you. Smiling with two children who looked like the exact perfect mix of the both of you.

"What the fuck..." He breathed out of his mouth, shaking his head.

Now, every night, his dreams were infiltrated with you.

And that started in highschool, all throughout University, up until you both graduated.

Your paths never crossed once more, since he's in AP classes most of the time, both of you were on different blocks in senior highschool despite having the same strand, and he chose Political Science in University while you did BS in Home Economics. But he always peeled his eyes for you. Dismissal, lunch, even breaks.

His friends teased him for having such a long time crush, and he just laughed and waved his hand.

And when the both of you graduated, he's about to confess his feelings when he saw you talking with a man, with eyes so wide and filled with adoration.

He felt his heart break.

He was numb, standing there and looking at you interact with the man who was smiling down at you with a ruffle on your hair.

He felt irrationally jealous.

Wait, him? Jealous?

He never felt jealous.

Did he?

He doesn't know anymore.

All he could see is you holding a bouquet of lilies and smelling it while the man hugged you.

He wants to rip the man limb from limb, desecrate his body, and feed it to the alligators.

Why is he wrapping his arms around you like that? He never heard you getting a boyfriend?

And he has a lot of connections to know.

Then he scoffed, like a breath of fresh air rushing into his lungs.

He needed a break.

When did he act like this? When did he become so...

He doesn't even know what it's called.

He's always been a good man. One that doesn't know anger, jealousy, possessiveness...

But what's this? Feelings that stirred inside him threatened to spill out.

So he ran away before it would get worse.

Years later, seeing your name in that certain partylist, he knew he had to join it. Just for a one sided closure he needed.

"Hello! You're Y/N right? You went to the same... School as me!" Maximus said, leaning his upper body to meet your face. His face soft, gentle, and mellow.

"O-oh! Hello sir Maximus! I knew we did, but I didn't know you knew me..." You shyly answered, your thumb brushing against the back of your other hand.

Maximus gulped.

He didn't realize how much he is missing you.

His eyes scanned towards your desk and his eyes widened a bit when he saw the man once more with you in a photo, but this time, with your father and mother.

So, with his trembling lips from the sudden hope bubbling inside him, he pointed.

"Is that your family?" He whispered and you nodded with a soft smile of adoration.

"Yes. I love them a lot." You said, caressing the photo. "That's my dad, mom, and my big brother."

"Oh! That's amazing. It's rare to see a tight knit family nowadays. I mean, families falling left and right, can't people just communicate and--" Maximus rambled, not even caring if the things he's saying is insensitive. He was just so happy that he actually has a chance to woo you.

"Is that so? I mean, my family had fallouts, and sometimes communication is not enough. Actions speak louder than words, of course." You said, carrying the conversation further.

Maximus grinned before taking a seat beside you and talking about deep, familial stuff. With him sprinkling hints of him being a traditional man.

You didn't miss the hints, evident from the blush forming on your cheeks and the shyness emanating from your words faltering.

And he found it adorable.

Once you both ran out of things to debate, he held your hand gently.

"Hey, y/n, what do you think about going on a date with me?"

The rest is history.

"Darling, I'm home!" Maximus yelled once he got inside the mansion. "Today was a bit of a mess..."

Maximus heard an excited gasp and shuffling before he saw you waddling towards him, with a 7 month pregnant belly.

"Welcome home, darling." You greeted him with the smile he loves.

You took off his coat and hung it on the rack, before guiding him towards the kitchen.

"I helped cook today! The dinner for this night is lamb ch... Maximus?"

Maximus has a frown on his face, looking at you with such a disapproving look.

"Darling, why are you working in the kitchen?" He gently asked, caressing your belly. "You're pregnant, you need to rest always!"

You shrunk down a bit, sad.

"But I want to serve you again..."

Maximus' eyes softened at your words before giving you a loving kiss on your forehead.

"I know, darling. But that's what the chefs are for right? The servants too. I hired them to take care of you. Of us." He said, guiding you to the couch and gently sitting you down. "I don't want you getting tired. You're already being burdened by being pregnant and nurturing our child."

You nodded, easily swayed by his words.

"I know... Give me a kiss?" You asked, tilting your head up. He chuckled and gave you a soft peck.

"There. Now stay there, alright? We'll be eating here in the living room. You're already walking too much." Maximus said before hugging you and going to the kitchen.

Once he got to the kitchen, he grabbed a knife and threw it at the chef that was already cowering in the corner.

"Why did you let Y/N work?" He growled out, his eyes sharp, deadly, and authoritative.

Ever since you got married to Maximus, his protectiveness shot through the roof. He doesn't like it when he doesn't know where you are, he doesn't know when he doesn't know what you are doing, he doesn't like it if you talked to people he doesn't know personally.

He installed cameras, mics, and planted people around you that he knew he can scare into submission.

Especially now you're pregnant, he's making sure you always stayed beside him.

When did he become so twisted, from the nice, generous, and kind politician, to something like... Him?

"S-sir, the madam insisted on cooking for you!" The chef trembled out.

You were a rare type of woman who was so open to just being at home, and be the wife he needed to see every time he goes home.

He can't let you go.

Ever.

Maximus sneered and bit his nail, eyes sharp with thoughts.

"I need to drill in more thoughts into her pretty head..." Maximus grumbled.

You were already so willing just being inside the mansion, and so open to his manipulation that you weren't aware of.

He told you that you don't need to go out, that the world was a scary place for a wife like you. And that whenever you go out, you needed to be by his side.

He's already working so hard serving the city, and serving you is a bonus, and a privilege.

He's so occupied with taking care of the place both of you growing up, yet had the time, love, affection, and care to single you out and shower you with his attention. Why would you need to do anything other than serving him as his wife? That's blasphemy, and selfish.

He drilled that in your mind.

And you were so accepting of the fact too.

"If she insisted on helping in the kitchen once more, tell her 'what would sir think?', okay?" He spat out at the poor chef before suddenly smiling. "Don't tell anybody this, or else your family gets it."

He walked away with a triumphant smile and grabbed the food from the counter.

He walked towards you, and saw you scratching your cheek softly confused and scared, almost.

"What's wrong, darling?" Maximus asked, worry etched on his face as he sat down beside you.

"Oh, uh, I just..." You gave him your phone, which was ringing with the number of the exclusive nursery room designer he hired. "C-can you talk to him? I don't know what to do..."

Maximus shivered, seeing you so dependent on him.

Clueless on what to do, on what to say.

He smiled before taking the call for you, with his hand holding yours.

You didn't even start eating yet, waiting for his words to start.

His cute little wife can't even eat by herself.

How... perfect.

This was his perfect life.

With the perfect wife.

And he'll be damned if he didn't protect this.

If he didn't protect you.

So just be swayed with his words and put yourself in his palm.

He will make sure you are well taken care of, and that your pretty little brain will not hurt from thinking too much.

That's a promise.

#yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #male yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

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