"stop looking at me like that."
"like what?"
they can't help but stare at you.
luka, jing yuan, gepard, dan heng ♡ gn!reader
warnings: graphic descriptions of love (crude imagery), pre-established relationship, reader is a nameless (dan heng's part)
notes: Can u tell my fav based on how much i write for them? (Its luka)
no matter where you are, luka's azure gaze will always find its way to you. even when he's in the midst of one of his matches, luka can't help but sneak a tiny (that, in reality, is not so tiny) glance at you, eager for your approval.
such a "tiny" glance lands him on the floor, his opponent landing a punch square on luka's jaw. pain reverberates throughout his body, sending waves of heat rushing to his face.
"ouch," he groans, narrowly avoiding another hit. he recovers quickly, his gaze now fixated wholly on his opponent.
adrenaline courses through his veins, his movements smoother than usual as luka apprehends his opponent in a matter of seconds. even as he's in the midst of putting someone in a headlock, his vision blinded by the lights of the fighting rink, luka's eyes find you.
he doesn't know how to explain it—his eyes are just naturally drawn to you. no matter where you are, luka will find you, and he will adore you. even if the spotlights blur his vision, just your silhouette is enough to satisfy him.
(maybe, when he was created, and when the aeons pieced together bits of his eyes, they carved his irises with the intention of beholding you. maybe, when luka was blessed with sight, it was because the aeons wanted him to witness you.)
even now, as the referee raises his arm in order to declare his victory, luka searches for you in the crowd. his grin widens as he waves at you with his free, mechanical hand. luka adores you; it's evident in the glimmer of his azure eyes and the way he immediately rushes to celebrate with you.
"i didn't think you'd come,"—but he'd still search for you anyway—"i'm so glad you did!" luka rubs the back of his head bashfully, the adrenaline pumping throughout his body beginning to wear off. only now does luka realize you're there, and that you just watched him fight!
his eyes never leave your frame. luka observes you under the muted lights, fluorescent bulbs flickering as if they became anxious in your presence. he supposes that he's not your only admirer, with the way the lights dim and the crowd's cheers fall silent, the way the world quiets to heed your words.
(what he doesn't realize is that the lights never dimmed, that the crowd never quieted. luka felt things that never happened, he envisioned a spotlight on you that never existed—but to him, it did. the world really did wait for you.)
"you were great out there, luka!"
you smile, and luka feels something flutter within him. his heartbeat travels from his chest, suddenly echoing throughout his body, making itself known even in the tips of his fingers and the rush of his ears.
something flutters within him, and luka thinks he's fallen for you. again.
"interesting move," jing yuan states. he rests his cheek against the palm of his hand, his lips curling into the slightest of smiles as he stares at you shamelessly.
"you weren't even looking at the board."
he chuckles. "you got me."
despite being caught red-handed, jing yuan's amber gaze never leaves your face. his eyes trace over the flutter of your lashes, the bridge of your nose, memorizing the features he's already so used to. the features that you're sure he's seen a thousand times before.
even with your piercing glare, jing yuan continues to marvel at you, not bothering to hide the way his pupils scrutinize your frame. he stares at you like he can see your soul, like—within the depths of your irises—he can see your dreams, your wishes.
"move a piece," you say, unamused. "and stop staring."
"i'm not staring," jing yuan responds matter-of-factly. he continues to observe you, never tearing his gaze away. you shrink under the general's gaze, suddenly becoming self-conscious of the way you sit and the way you exist.
jing yuan notices this, and he frowns.
"why are you doing that?" he asks. his index finger comes up to poke your forehead, urging you to ease the furrow of your brows.
"'cause the so-called chess master isn't making a move," you comment blandly. jing yuan chuckles.
"just pretend the so-called chess master,"—he still doesn't look down at the board—"is thinking. and isn't looking at you."
"you're making it kind of difficult to do so," you respond, unamused.
"give me five minutes." jing yuan pauses. "actually, ten will do."
"make a move!" you exclaim impatiently, pointing at the table in order to redirect jing yuan's attention. he feigns ignorance to your frustration, opting to observe the pout of your lips instead.
"cute," he mutters, not caring if you hear.
"are you even listening?"
"yeah," he says; it comes out more like a dreamy sigh rather than a proper response. with soft, adoring irises and a sickly sweet smile that makes you wonder if it's fake, jing yuan looks as if he has been possessed by cupid himself.
"ugh, why do i even try with you?"
jing yuan hums. "twenty minutes."
gepard swears he isn't staring at you on purpose.
but the more he looks at you, the more he notices. he notices the way you furrow your brows whenever you concentrate, the way your eyes twinkle when talking about something you enjoy. gepard notices the way you bite your bottom lip whenever you're frustrated, the way you tilt your head when you listen to someone speak.
aeons, he thinks, watching you exist, aeons. gepard swears he isn't staring at you on purpose—it just so happens that his gaze is on you. it just so happens that his gaze is always on you.
it's not his fault, really!
"hello? geppie?" serval says, waving her hand in front of the man's awestruck eyes. he blinks in embarrassment, his mouth hanging slightly agape as he looks down at the countertop, observing the splinters of wood with utmost attention.
"yes, serval?" he replies, struggling to find his voice. he winces at the way it sounds, the way his voice seems to dismember itself in your presence. gepard hates the way he acts around you, the way he becomes conscious of things like the way he walks, the way he talks.
it's humiliating, really, the way you reduce gepard to a flustered mess. he hates the way your eyes make him weak in his knees, the way you smile at him with that smile of yours. it makes him want to love you and love you, loving 'till the end of time, 'till the stars fall.
gepard wants to love you so much it hurts. he wants to love you to the point where his love turns into a knife, carving his heart out, taking it apart by its chambers. he gives you one chamber, then two, then three, then four, and all of a sudden, he's missing a heart—but what does it matter, whether or not he has a heart? in the end, it belongs to you.
"looks like someone's got a crush," serval says with a smirk. her vibrant cerulean eyes follow her brother's, fixating on your expression as you flip through pages of a travel guide gifted by the nameless. she doesn't notice how your lips tug into a frown, how your brows furrow ever so slightly.
gepard does, though. gepard seems to notice everything about you.
"don't say it here...!" gepard exclaims, trying to keep his volume low. serval, on the other hand, has no regards for secrecy. she slaps her hand against the counter, getting a good, hearty chuckle from her brother's beet red face and the way his eyes are wide with panic.
"right, right!" she laughs, clutching her stomach (gepard doesn't get why she's acting like he just made the best joke in the universe—it's not that funny). the floorboards creak with her movements, as if they too were finding amusement in gepard's predicament. the captain's gaze is not lingering in front of him for long, though, because in a matter of seconds, he finds himself staring at you. again.
he thinks you look ethereal basking in the daylight, the golden glow clinging to your skin. gepard thinks that, like him, the sun adores you. it's in the way its rays trace over your features, adorning your eyes with fragmented light, slipping your irises in between its shattered reflections and making you its own.
your eyes glimmer.
"dan heng!" march 7th yells, slapping the aforementioned man's back harshly. "stop staring and get working! [name] doesn't like useless men!"
dan heng bites his tongue, swallowing his words (and insults) as he returns to wiping down the train's furniture. it was your idea to help pom pom out by dedicating a day to clean up the express, which dan heng thought was admirable.
they're thoughtful, he muses, absentmindedly scrubbing at a coffee stain left by one of himeko's five thousand mugs. really thoughtful. but dan heng already knows that—it's in the way your voice drops to a whisper whenever he's reading, the way you always buy him souvenirs and beverages from places you visit.
although you're a nameless like him, you often travel on your own accord, making stops as you please and wandering the universe as if it were yours.
(maybe it is, dan heng thinks, entertaining the idea, maybe the world really is yours. frankly, he wouldn't be surprised if it was. it would make a lot of sense, actually. how is it possible for things to be so beautiful, if not belonging to you?)
"useless men?" you suddenly echo from down the hall, appearing around the corner with a mop in hand and a bucket in the other. dan heng rushes to you, his palm outstretched as he urges you to give him the bucket and split the weight.
"o-oh," march stutters, suddenly becoming speechless, "f...fancy seeing you here!"
you raise a brow. "i live here?"
"is that so?" march echoes, laughing stiffly to herself. "how funny! i didn't know you could hear what i was saying..."
"only the 'useless men' part," you say, shaking your head. "what's wrong with useless men?"
"well, for starters," dan heng answers, "they're useless."
"that's okay," you respond. "sometimes, being useless is fun."
is their type useless men? dan heng wonders to himself, suddenly feeling insecure. should he put this bucket down? will you find him useless, then?
"so... you like useless men?!" march asks, pointing accusingly at you. dan heng grimaces—just why does march have to be astute in the worst of times? why did she figure out who dan heng liked, if she usually struggles adding decimals?
you blink owlishly. "uh, not really? i'm just saying they're not that bad."
dan heng's grip tightens around the bucket's handle. i can work with that, he thinks, suddenly strategizing.
"what's your type, then?" march questions, stepping closer to you. "blonde, perhaps? ginger? blue?"
she didn't say black hair, dan heng thinks, about to reach for a tuft of his own.
"maybe dark hair?" you respond, your eyes narrowed in thought. "i like it when they make it obvious they like me, though."
"like if they stare at you a lot?" march asks, leaning in.
"yeah!" you reply. "that'd be cute!"
"oh, good!" march exclaims, pleased with herself. "dan heng here does a lot of that!"
"what?" both you and dan heng say in unison. while your tone is confused, dan heng's tone is disbelieving, as if he really did not believe that march just outed him like that.
(march did, in fact, just out him like that.)
you exchange glances with the man, but much to your surprise, he's already staring.
something tells you he's been staring for a while, it's just that you only noticed now.
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