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merakiui · 1 year

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cannot stop thinking about enemies to lovers with rollo, but you’re each other’s secret santa.

Your plan is to get Rollo something he’ll never need or use (a really petty revenge on your part, but you don’t like him and in the midst of your hatred it sounds reasonable), while Rollo genuinely wants to get you something meaningful. Putting differences aside, he realizes he doesn’t know much about your preferences, so he tries to ask around without seeming too suspicious. As troublesome of a disruption as you are, everyone deserves a lovely gift for the holidays. You’ve given Rollo nothing but headaches and irritation, but since it’s the festive season he can be softer and forgive past disagreements. Anything after the holiday break is fair game, though, so it’s best to cause mischief while the holidays are in full swing because he’s prone to be only slightly less overbearing (depending on his mood as the festivities become more apparent).

Somehow, with all of his asking around, rumor spreads throughout Noble Bell that President Rollo is planning to ask you out on the eve of the holidays at exactly midnight under the bell tower. How such an absurd rumor started is beyond him, and Rollo is fully ready to refute every gossiping comment that’s boldly thrown his way, both in passing conversations and from his fellow Vice President and student aide. He cannot believe the school assumes he would even think of asking you—Noble Bell’s most notorious troublemaker—out! And during the holidays, too! He’d much rather burn to death than do something like that. He can’t stand you. How anyone thinks he’d like you enough to want to pursue romance with you is absolutely ridiculous.

But then the idea suddenly becomes less ridiculous and more advantageous when his Vice President suggests he go on an actual date (or friendly outing; Rollo’s expression is sharp enough to kill when he hears the word ‘date’) in order to learn about what it is you like. Word of mouth isn’t as reliable as hearing it from the source. Rollo, after much consideration, supposes it isn’t terrible, but (once again) he’d rather do anything else than punish himself with a date with you, of all students. He’s so stubborn when he claims he’ll find another way, and his Vice President can only utter a soft sigh.

As the deadline for Secret Santa approaches and Rollo overhears how the others around him have all found perfect presents, he begins to fear that he won’t ever find a gift that’s good enough for you. But why is he even trying so hard? It’s not as if he looks forward to seeing your bright smile when you unwrap it. It’s not as if he’s doing this to make you happy. This is just common courtesy. An act of goodwill from student to student, if you will. Or, in less sweet terms, an obligation he must fulfill due to the misfortune of a lottery draw.

So he thinks nothing of it when his Vice President and student aide invite him to a café off campus as a final outing before everyone goes home for the holidays. When he walks through the door, the bell welcoming him with a cheery jingle, and he sees you sitting there he promptly turns and is ready to walk out. But you call out to him, wave with that pretty hand of yours, and he can’t stop himself from sighing. His peers lied to him; this is not an outing to celebrate the end of the semester. It’s the date he was dreading. He only stays because it’s the polite thing to do—because you’re whining about how he lacks manners and has the gall to leave a dear friend all alone after he had invited them out.

Rollo really can’t stand you, but he must for the time being. So he slides into the chair across from you, where you’ve already ordered his favorites (he’s certain his troublesome Vice President arranged this, too). If he has to stomach an entire afternoon with you, he might as well get something out of it, so he uses the time he spends with you to learn about your preferences in hopes of getting inspiration for a gift.

Things are awkward in the beginning. Both of you are so accustomed to bickering over rules and Noble Bell’s student code of conduct that civil conversation is actually much harder to fall into. You broach the subject of that rumor that’s been going around and that’s what gets him talking. Rollo scoffs around a bite of croissant, muttering about how it’s nonsensical rubbish and that people will believe anything nowadays so long as it’s interesting. When you laugh out of relief and tell him you’re glad he doesn’t like you because that would’ve made things awkward, he feels an odd sting. Your feelings have never mattered to him, so why does he hate those words?

And why, while he talks of holiday plans with you, does he find himself smiling? Thankfully he’s brought his handkerchief along to hide his pleased expression. He’s not sure what he’d say if you were to make note of his obvious enjoyment, for even he wouldn’t be able to explain it.

By the end of it, Rollo feels as though he’s gleaned a better understanding of you. When you aren’t actively causing a ruckus, you’re actually quite pleasant to be around. Who would have thought? Despite this, he’s still ready to head back to campus with you after a draining afternoon. But you point to a sweets shop on the way and ask if he’s ever had their winter-themed treats before. He narrows his eyes at you, as if to say, “What are you playing at?” You’re seizing his wrist and dragging him in the direction of the confectionery before he can say anything.

It feels like he’s in a cheesy holiday film, what with how you energetically peer into the jars of candies and sweets, all arranged neatly on the shelves, and the soundtrack in the shop plays festive tunes on repeat. Rollo tries to hurry you along; if anyone from school sees him with you, they’ll think the rumors are true and it’ll cause even more trouble. You yank on his scarf to keep him close, and he’s so tempted to yank you in return. But he finds that you don’t have a scarf for him to tug, and so he has to fester in his displeasure with a scowl.

The two of you walk out with snowflake-shaped marshmallows, bell-shaped cookies, and candy canes of all flavors and colors. Rollo supposes he’s earned a sweet after dealing with your spontaneity, but then you insist on getting hot chocolate to go along with the marshmallows and now he’s being dragged to a little shop nearby. On the way there, the two of you pass a craft store and something catches his eye. He tells you to go ahead while he steps inside. You raise your brow at him but continue along, and when the two of you meet up he’s holding a bag. You question it, and he tells you to stop being so nosy. Your curiosity is quickly snuffed when you spy another storefront with windows decorated so adorably.

At some point, in the midst of popping in and out of stores—where he continues to remind you that the both of you ought to be getting back—it begins to snow. Tiny flakes flutter to the ground, and you stick your tongue out to catch a few. They melt immediately upon contact. Rollo doesn’t realize he’s not hiding his expression until you’re gaping at him.

“What?” he asks slowly, dubiously, his eyes narrowing once more.

“You’re smiling,” you say in awe. “I’ve never seen you smile before...”

“This smile is not for you,” he assures you with a scoff. “Stop ogling. It’s rude.”

“But you look so nice and approachable when you smile like that.”

He glares at you and the smile vanishes behind an irritated countenance and that trademark handkerchief of his.

“I suppose,” he admits after a moment of awkward silence, “you aren’t so terrible to be around when you aren’t acting like a menace to the entirety of the student body.”

“Why, thank you, President Flamm! That’s high praise coming from you.” You lower into a dramatic bow. He rolls his eyes, but his heart skips a beat. “And you aren’t so bad either. To be honest, I thought I was done for when your VP told me you wanted to meet at the café. I thought you’d chew me out or hex me or...something.”

The mere notion that he’d do such things to you is irksome. He isn’t entirely bad or frightening. You just seem to bring those sides out when you run through the halls, pick fights, and cause disorder amongst the students.

“Is that right?” He lowers the handkerchief, smirking. His fingers find your chin and he tilts your head to meet his stare. “Maybe you should try being less of a pain. I might show you some mercy the next time we cross paths.”

He pulls away, leaving you stunned, and turns on his heel. “Now then, we should return to campus. It’s getting late and cold, and I’d rather not get stuck in the snow.”

Rollo doesn’t realize what he did until hours later, when he’s sitting at his desk knitting snowflake patterns into a scarf from the yarn he purchased at the craft shop. The memory has his face gradually heating up, so red and hot you could mistake it for a wavering flame.

He can’t stand you, or so he once thought.

The gift bag sits innocently in front of your dorm door. There’s a card attached, but the sender’s true name isn’t written. Rather, a lovely message has been penned in curling script: Happy holidays. Do take care to bundle up. It gets rather cold around this time of year. I would hate to see you frostbitten and ill the next time we meet. Sincerely, your Secret Santa. Inside the bag are a scarf, a bag of assorted candies from a confectionery in the city, hot chocolate mix, and a mug with moon and star patterns. It’s a very comfortable gift, and you can’t help but admire the handmade scarf’s quality.

You have your suspicions, but there’s no way such a kind gift could come from Rollo. He’s made it quite clear that he dislikes you, and you feel the same way. It’s probably from his VP, right? He did ask you a few questions about gift preferences, so it’s quite plausible that he’s your Secret Santa.

Rollo is in the middle of penning his thoughts in his diary when there’s a sharp knock at his door. And then frantic footsteps echo down the hall. He opens the door in hopes of catching the culprit, but he finds emptiness instead. His gaze travels down to the gift box that rests at his feet. It’s been wrapped in blue and white paper and has been taped rather sloppily. With raised brows, he gathers the gift in his arms and shuts the door, curiosity mounting.

The card taped to it is the first thing he opens. It reads: I really don’t know you that well and I have no idea what you like or what you do in your free time, so if you ever learn my identity please don’t give me another detention for this gift. I tried my best! In any case, happy holidays, Rollo. You deserve a break. See you next year! From, your super cool and super secretive secret santa!!! When he unwraps the gift and peels the lid back, an amused smile pulls at his lips. Inside the box is a croissant plush with beady, little eyes and a cute smile. There’s also a sugar cookie-scented candle and an astronomy-themed stationery kit.

Rollo sets the gifts on his desk, lowers into his chair, and flips to a new page in his diary. His heart feels oddly light as he scribbles a fresh entry.

I think I’m falling in love, are the first words that stain the page. And it isn’t a terrible feeling.

#meraki mumbles #rollo flamm x reader #many soft rollo thoughts orz #i like to think rollo confides in the gargoyles #and they always hype him up #he has to continuously remind them that he’s *not* in love with you (a lie)#he hates you with a passion #and the gargoyles tell him each time: ‘you are in love please stop denying the obvious’#rollo's search history is: what is the best gift to get my mortal enemy????#he catalogues his struggles in his diary like:#day 1 of finding a secret santa for the worst person in the world: no luck gargoyles give terrible advice i am not in love this is the worst #omg and imagine if you find his diary after some snooping AAAAAAA #you learn that not only is rollo your secret santa and that he's really trying his best to find a perfect gift for you #he's also started recording some of his blossoming feelings #now you realize your lousy gift is definitely not going to look good #when rollo's planning to go all out with his

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good-beanswrites · 8 months

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Could I request "cooking is an art form" with mahiru and presumbly orekoto? I read your Night drabble of those 2 and now the idea of a potential friendship has been stuck in my mind for days, that was probably the sweetest interpretation of him I've seen! Mahiru can't cook in the current state she's in though so I guess orekoto could act as her hands...?

Ah thank you so much!! I was so worried about doing Orekoto justice, that's so exciting you enjoyed 😭 We still don't have a ton of characterization for him, so bear with me, but I absolutely loved writing this. Thank you so much for the request -- with food playing such an important role in Mahiru's story/symbolism, and the pair's unique relationship, this made me so crazy to think about !!!

The knife twirled through Mikoto’s hands. He brought it down with a grunt. Emotion pulsed through his veins. He went back for another swipe, much harder than necessary. He wiped spatter from his face.

“You’re making a mess.” Mahiru observed from behind.

He glanced back to find her scowling at the tomato he was taking out his frustration on. “Who gives a shit? We’re not on cleanup duty.”

He wasn’t supposed to be on cooking duty, either. It was Mahiru’s night according to their usual rotation, but she was in no shape to do any physical activity. Mikoto must have volunteered, and also gotten into some fight about it, because now there he stood: angry at an unknown source, full of adrenaline, and worst of all, in charge of tonight’s curry.

“I suppose…” Mahiru said. “I think that’s Muu tonight, I’ll apologize to her later.”

It was unsettling, how she remained positively cheery as she walked him through each step of the recipe, despite her current condition and his bad attitude. Not that he’d ever turn his anger on her. Mikoto approved of her, and that was enough for him. She’d been going through so much at the hands of their common enemy, he wouldn’t say a single thing against her. Even as she tested his temper with her cooking instructions.

“No, no!” With her good hand, she tugged on the side of his uniform. “You have to turn the carrot as you cut it. Like -- yes, like that!”

Mikoto rolled his eyes as he did what he was told. “It’s all going to get cooked together anyways, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is! You have to take your time with things like this.” She placed her hand over her heart. “It’s about the process, not just the final product. Cooking is an art form!”

“It’s about the final product to me. I’m fucking starving.”

She was briefly distracted with the next set of instructions, telling him how to combine everything over how much heat. When she returned to the topic, her lighthearted voice was laced with a bit of desperation. “I mean it, there’s something magical about pouring your heart into something for someone else. Putting in your time. A little finesse here and there.”

“I know what it’s like to do something for someone else -- and there is absolutely no finesse involved. Or potatoes.” He gestured to the cut pieces before dumping everything into the pot over the stove.

“One of the most universal love languages is food, you know? People make meals and treats for their loved ones in every culture, in every time.”

“They do a lot of other things, too.”

“You went to art school, you understand. This is an expression of yourself!”

“It’s a waste of time.”

“It’s the surest way to help someone!”

“That’s a load of bullshit.”

There was a pause. Then a nervous laugh. Then, “yeah.” As she dropped into more uncharacteristic silence, he stole a glance at her.

Tears poured from her eyes.

“Mahiru?” Fuck, he didn’t mean to make her cry.

“It is.” she hiccuped. “I thought… I thought it could save him. I made this big meal… I thought… But I was so stupid…”

She buried her face in her hands, offering weak apologies for the sudden outburst. He threw the lid over the pot before stepping back to her.

“Hey, hey. Come on. Don’t cry.” It was a command rather than a comfort.

She didn’t listen. She just continued sobbing and blubbering on. “It was all stupid, worthless… I should have known…”

He crouched by the wheelchair. There didn’t even seem to be anything wrong, they’d just been talking about food. Why was she such a mess? He gave an impatient sigh. No reaction. What was Mikoto’s nickname for her again? “Listen, Mappi --”

She snapped her head up to look at him.

Her teary eyes flicked all over his face, making him scowl. “What?”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, though her breath still hitched. “Sorry. You said… and well… I thought you’d gone away. I want you to stay.” She took his hand. “You.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because you understand me.”

He did not. Like, at all. But he kept his mouth shut.

Thankfully, she was too talkative not to explain herself. “You love someone very much. That love turned out to be dangerous -- deadly. And you weren’t forgiven for it.” She pressed her lips together, suppressing the wave of emotion that almost overcame her. “And now we’re both getting what we deserve for it.”

“Like hell we are.” He felt the spark of rage again. “Neither of us deserve any of this shit, okay?”

“But --”

“No.” He glared at her. That familiar fire rose up inside him. “I’m tired of all your speeches and optimistic crap. You’re always falling over yourself for others. You’re pathetic. This place is hell, so you need to get your shit together and act like it. You might be willing to forgive the others, you might be able to treat them with that stupid sweetness all the time, but no one’s going to do the same for you. Stop letting them fuck with you.”

She gaped at him. He realized he’d leaned in very close. He prepared himself for more tears, or maybe some cowering away from him. Good. Mikoto didn’t need people like her who would convince him this verdict was deserved. He didn’t need any of these people. It was fine to push them all away.

Mahiru surprised him by leaning over. Her head rested on his chest. “It’s hard. It’s so hard, Mikoto. But… I’ll try.”

His attention was quickly ripped away by a hissing behind him. He yanked himself away from her to run to the curry, which was bubbling and burning and spilling out of the pan all over the stovetop.

With an outpouring of profanities and clattering of dishes, he cleaned the sad remains of dinner off the burner. When he looked back at Mahiru, she had dabbed at her eyes and composed herself slightly.

“It’s okay,” she said, “I’ll pick something easier you can make instead.”

“Nah, I’ll make more curry. Tell me how much of everything again.”

“A-alright.”

His agitation slowly faded as she began her gentle instructions again. Though he had just tore her apart for it, he was grateful for her patience with everyone around her. He probably could have left, then, seeing how calm the kitchen became. But he wasn’t risking ruining the meal a second time with an unexpected switch.

And maybe Mahiru’s words still played through his mind.

The food was back on the stove in no time. He stood diligently next to it. They’d lapsed into a content silence. He still didn’t know what had set her off earlier, but wasn’t about to ask questions.

Mahiru had regained her usual bright smile. “Hey, when I get better, I’ll cook something for you, okay? I think you don’t appreciate cooking because no one’s made something special for you before. I want to do that.”

He sneered. “Heh, sure. And I’ll let you in on my preferred art form.” His words were layered with sarcasm. By now, she could guess that included destroying things by putting all of one’s might behind a powerful swing.

But she giggled, completely unfazed. “Well, friendship is about give and take, right? I’d love to try.”

#milgram #mikoto kayano #mahiru shiina #trying to find a balance between his canon violent temper and harsh mannerisms #while showing hes not uncontrollable/frightening and is very protective of his friends as well as himself #he cares but he can only communicate very simply/bluntly #hes used to people being afraid of him specifically so hes suspicious of kindness (but still it means a lot to him)#i wasnt able to articulate it here but i think mahiru likes him so much because of his honesty #when she thought he looked like a cheater it was because she could pick up on his secrets/lies (even if he was unintentionally keeping it)#that and the fact she thinks theyre very similar #i mention he loves bokukoto -- this genuinely could be platonic or romantic depending on your thoughts #but mahiru definitely assumes its romantic asdfsdfds #omg the mental gymnastics i was going through when i first got this request because i wanted this exact setup but knew milgram wouldnt allo #prisoners to just be around all the dangerous utensils and kitchen items -- they could just steal a knife after all!#so i had all these meticulous plans to make it work and then amanes vd was like 'yeah anyone can just pick up a blade whenever' -_- ok #thank you again!! it really did make me crazy to think about it was such a good combination 👀👀👀#and i really was so relieved to do his character some justice ;-; thank you for your kind words!#drabbles

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