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blueberrybirdsworld · 6 days ago

Note

I would LOVE a story about a teacher and Lando. Like she brings her class to the race and meet.

Title: Lost & Found

Summary : Having to take care of twenty eight-year-olds student through the Monaco Grand Prix paddock was never going to be easy. Between roaring engines, flashing cameras, and a sea of distracted little minds, Y/N's just trying to survive the day with her sanity intact.

But when one curious kid slips away into the chaos, panic sets in fast, until an unexpected rescue from someone in papaya orange turns the worst moment into something, unexpectedly unforgettable.

Genre : request, fluff, oneshot

Pairing : Lando Norris x teacher!Y/N

Author note: thank you for your request, it have been in my draft for a very long time I'm sorry, hope you like it :)

Main Masterlist

The Monaco sun was already relentless by the time Y/N stepped onto the paddock with twenty very excited kids buzzing around her like bees on sugar. With their paddock yellow passes, they should’ve been easy to keep track of. Should’ve.

But the Grand Prix paddock was an absolute madhouse. Engines roared in the distance, cameras flashed, and team members darted back and forth in branded uniforms. The kids were eating it up.

And Y/N, was barely keeping it together.

"Guys! Stay in pairs!" she shouted, waving her clipboard in the air like a traffic officer. "I want eyes on your buddies at all times, understood?"

A wave of “Yes, Miss Y/N!” chorused back, half-hearted and scattered as they peered around with wide eyes.

Her co-teacher, Mr. Dupont, leaned toward her. “I have to take Louis to the toilet. We’ll meet you at the hospitality, yes?”

“Okay, but be quick,” Y/N nodded. “Please.”

And then she was alone. One woman. Nineteen kids. A sea of media passes and chaos.

She did a quick scan of the group: Ella, Noah, Jules, Maelys, Clément...

Her blood turned cold.

Where is Sara?

She blinked, once, twice. Did a full-body scan again.

No Sara.

“Sara?” she called, voice loud but even. No answer. “Sara, sweetheart? Where are you?”

She moved through the group. “Has anyone seen Sara? Anyone?”

Ella looked up at her with wide eyes. “She was next to me… but then I think she saw a car and get excited.”

Y/N’s heart began to race, but she didn’t allow herself to panic just yet.

“Okay. Everyone stay together,” she said, already scanning ahead.

With a firm but quick pace, she guided the remaining children through the crowd toward their next scheduled stop: the hospitality. Thankfully, just ahead, she spotted their designated paddock host, Léa, the official guest coordinator for the school groups. The woman stood confidently, speaking into a radio near the entrance.

“Léa!” Y/N called out as they approached.

Léa turned, immediately concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“I lost one,” Y/N said in a low voice, pulling her aside. “Sara. She must’ve slipped away in the crowd. I think she got distracted.”

“Do you want me to alert security?”

“Not yet,” Y/N replied quickly. “She can’t have gone far. I’ll look around nearby. But please, can you keep an eye on the rest of the group while I go?”

“Of course,” Léa said, already scanning the students. “Go. I’ve got them.”

Y/N turned back to the kids. “Everyone, stay here with Léa. You’ll wait here for Mr. Dupont. No one moves without an adult. Got it?”

A nervous but obedient chorus of nods and 'yes' followed.

“Good,” she said, trying to keep her tone steady, even as her pulse thundered in her ears.

Then she turned and started running.

The paddock had grown busier in just minutes, people pressing in from every direction, staff members and guests weaving through the maze of garages and barriers. She stood on her toes, eyes darting frantically.

“Sara?!” she called again, louder this time. “Sara, please answer me!”

No response.

She pushed further down the alley, ignoring the eyes on her. She must’ve looked wild: disheveled, flushed, panic all over her face. She didn’t care.

Images swirled in her head: the girl crying in a corner somewhere, or worse, what if she wandered into a restricted area? What if she got hurt?

Oh God. Oh God.

She was going to lose her job. She was going to have to call Sara’s parents and tell them she lost their daughter during a school outing to the Monaco Grand Prix. Who thought it was a good idea to bring twenty 8 year-olds into the middle of a Formula 1 race weekend?

“Sara!” she cried, weaving through a group of media personnel. “Sara, please...”

Then she stopped.

Frozen mid-step, heart still hammering, lungs burning.

There, at the far end of the paddock, just in front of the McLaren hospitality area : a little girl with her yellow pass.

Sara.

Her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement, her curls bouncing as she tilted her head back in laughter. In front of her crouched a man, smiling wide, holding out something in his hand.

Y/N narrowed her eyes.

A cap. A McLaren cap.

He was handing it to her like he was gifting her the moon. And Sara, her missing student, was beaming like the happiest kid in the world.

Y/N felt a wave of overwhelming relief crash into her chest. She ran, pushing past two engineers and a cameraman, not caring who she was bumping into.

“Sara!” she shouted, voice thick with emotion.

The girl turned at the sound of her name, eyes lighting up as she spotted her teacher.

She dashed into her arms like she’d never been more thrilled to see her in her life. Y/N dropped to her knees, catching her in a tight hug, burying her face into the girl’s shoulder.

“Oh my God. Oh, sweetheart. I was so scared,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Where did you go?”

“I’m sorry,” Sara said, breathless. “I just saw a papaya car, and then people moved, and I didn’t know where you were anymore!”

Y/N pulled back just enough to look her over. “You’re not hurt?”

Sara shook her head.

Once the initial wave of relief passed, Y/N leaned back just slightly and gave Sara a firmer look.

“I’m really happy you’re okay,” she said gently, brushing a curl from the girl’s cheek, “but sweetheart, you can’t ever walk away like that again. You had me worried sick.”

“I know…” Sara murmured, looking down.

“And you absolutely shouldn’t talk to people you don’t know,” Y/N added, voice low but firm. “Even if they seemed nice.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sara replied with a wobble in her voice. “I just got pushed a bit and then everyone moved and I couldn’t find you. I was scared. But he...he helped me.”

“She really was careful,” came a warm voice behind them.

Y/N’s eyes finally lifted to the man who was now standing just a few feet away. Still smiling. Curls peeking out from under his cap, which had a small logo and number : 4.

Her breath caught.

It wasn’t just a McLaren staff member.

It was Lando, Lando fucking Norris.

“There’s no need to scold her too much,” he said gently. “She didn’t run off on purpose. And for the record, I’m not just any stranger.”

Y/N blinked, still shock. “Right. I guess most strangers don’t get their faces printed on full-size garage banners.”

He laughed, a quick, boyish sound that made Sara giggle too.

“I think your little girl might be a fan,” he added, giving the child a wink.

“Oh, she’s not my daughter,” Y/N said quickly. “She’s one of my students. I’m a teacher. We brought a group here for a school outing.”

Lando raised his brows. “You brought kids… here? To the paddock? During race weekend?”

She let out a long sigh. “Yes. Twenty of them. Which is, in hindsight, a terrible idea.”

“That sounds like an actual nightmare.”

“You have no idea.”

“Let me guess. This one slipped away the moment she saw something shiny?”

“She has a radar for trouble,” Y/N muttered fondly, glancing down at Sara, who now wore the McLaren cap proudly like it was a crown. “But seriously… thank you. For keeping her safe. And calm. And away from the chaos.”

He tilted his head. “I couldn’t just leave her. She looked a little overwhelmed.”

“Because she was,” Y/N said honestly, softening. “This place is like a sensory overload machine for kids.”

“For adults too,” he added with a smirk. “Some of us just pretend we’re not overwhelmed.”

Y/N smiled, finally letting her shoulders relax. “Well, I appreciate you not pretending to ignore a lost child. That was… very decent of you.”

“Decent is my middle name.” he said, eyes sparkling. “And I don’t usually make it a habit to flirt with stressed-out teachers in the middle of the paddock, but you’re kind of making it difficult not to.”

Y/N stared at him for a second, unsure if she’d just imagined the flirtation in his voice.

Sara didn’t miss a beat.

“Miss Y/N doesn’t have a boyfriend!” she announced proudly, tugging Lando’s sleeve. “Maybe you can be her boyfriend!”

Y/N felt her soul leave her body.

Lando burst out laughing. “Oh really?” he asked, glancing at Y/N. “Is that so?”

“I...Sara!” Y/N’s voice was strangled. “That’s not something we say out loud.”

“But it’s true!” Sara insisted innocently. “And you said you like boys with curly hair.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Curly hair, huh? I think I might be in the running.”

“She tells us that one day in class!” Sara added helpfully.

Y/N groaned, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Okay, wow. This has gone completely off the rails.”

Lando crouched back down to Sara’s level. “Tell you what,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “How about we don’t jump straight to boyfriend, but maybe… a date? Would that be okay with Miss Y/N?”

Y/N crossed her arms, but she was smiling. “You’re seriously asking me out in front of a child right now?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be honest. And brave. Kids appreciate bravery, right?” He looked at Sara.

She nodded solemnly.

Y/N sighed, fighting the grin growing on her lips. “I guess I do owe you one for finding my student and saving me from a heart attack.”

“Perfect,” he said, standing up again, cocky grin fully intact. “Maybe we could see each other again after race ?”

Sara gasped. “Can I come?!”

Lando gave her a smile. “You already got the cap, little legend. Let me win over your teacher now, okay?”

He looked up at Y/N again, his voice gentler. “So… what do you say? Can I take you out sometime? You know, when you’re not managing a small army.”

Y/N hesitated, caught between her professional boundaries and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“I mean…” she exhaled a small laugh, “as long as you promise not to charm all my students before you charm me.”

“No promises,” Lando replied smoothly, “but I do have stickers in the motorhome.”

Sara gasped. “You do?!”

Y/N gave him a warning look, but she was smiling.

Later, when she rejoined the group with Sara in tow, cap on her head, cheeks glowing, Léa gave her a knowing glance.

“Everything alright?”

“More than alright,” Y/N said, her eyes catching a flash of papaya suit disappearing around the corner.

Sara tugged on her sleeve again. “So… are you going to kiss him?”

“Sara!”

“What? That’s what happens at the end of movies!”

Y/N groaned. “We are never watching movies in class ever again.”

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Let me know if you want to be add or removed from the taglist :)

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incloudcity · 25 days ago

Note

could you write a fic with quinn where he's dating a reporter but they keep the relationship in secret specially because of her carrer but accidently in a post game interview he slips a "thanks princess" or any other cute thing, while they are on live, n that makes her blushes and suddenly the whole hockey world knows they are together

off the record | qh43

requests are open

a/n: guys i’m sooooo sick i think im dying so this is all you get for tonight. hopefully i can catch up on drafts and requests in a little bit once im better

You’d been covering the Canucks for just over a month when Quinn Hughes became your problem.

On camera, he was a dream for a reporter — short answers, eye contact, always polite. Off camera? A menace. Quiet, smirky, and way too comfortable leaning just a bit too close.

“Nice question,” he said under his breath one night, handing back your recorder. “You practice in the mirror, sweetheart?”

You arched a brow, lips twitching. “Do you actually answer the media’s questions, or do you just flirt with them until they leave you alone?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Depends. Is it working?”

You walked away without replying.

He caught up with you later with a cup of coffee, one you hadn’t asked for, in his hand.

“Two sugars, no cream, right?” he asked.

You stared. “That better not be a guess.”

He just smiled, leaned against the hallway wall like he had nowhere else to be. “I’m observant.”

“Uh-huh. And completely unprofessional.”

He tilted his head. “So are you saying you want me to stop?”

You took the coffee. Didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t say no, either.

Over the next few weeks, the game continued. Quinn made it subtle — he never crossed the line where someone else might catch on. But you noticed. The playful jabs. The way he’d tap the table once for everyone, then twice more just for you. When you asked something tough in a presser, he’d sigh like you were personally attacking him — but always with a glint in his eye.

“You’re ruthless,” he said once after a particularly pointed question about power play production.

You smirked. “Maybe stop turning the puck over and I’ll go easier on you.”

“Ohhh,” he groaned, clutching his chest. “Brutal. And you still won’t go out with me?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re exhausting, Hughes.”

“You’ll miss me when I stop trying.”

“Looking forward to it.”

But you weren’t. Not really.

The night you finally caved, it wasn’t a grand moment. Just a quiet run-in after practice, late, both of you tired. He looked at you for a second too long. You looked back. No one else was around.

“You wanna grab something to eat?” he asked, softer this time. No smirk. No show.

You hesitated.

“Just dinner,” he added quickly. “No pressure.”

You should’ve said no. Should’ve reminded him that if anyone found out, you’d both get torn apart.

But you didn’t.

After that, everything changed — and nothing did. You kept it private. No one knew about the way he pressed kisses behind your ear when you were brushing your teeth. Or how he’d text you “media availability just got way more interesting” before games.

He never said anything on the record. Until he did.

It was a standard post-game scrum, packed with reporters. You were in your usual spot, notebook in hand, asking about third-period adjustments.

Quinn glanced at you, gave his usual answer — then added, too casually:

“We adjusted in the third, like you said, babe.”

Babe.

It was a split second. One syllable. But it echoed.

Your pen paused mid-sentence. The PR guy blinked like he’d misheard. A few reporters looked around.

You didn’t flinch. Your voice was even. “Noted. Thanks, Hughes.”

But inside, you were screaming.

Later that night, Quinn was pacing your apartment like he was being traded.

“I can’t believe I said that,” he muttered. “I’m so—so sorry. You’re gonna get in trouble. Shit, I didn’t even think. It just—slipped. Like an idiot.”

You sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed, watching him spiral.

“I literally train my whole life to stay calm under pressure and I blew it with one word—”

“Quinn.”

He froze. His face glazed over with panic.

You stood, walked over, leaned against the counter, and gave him a slow once-over.

“I’m not mad.”

He blinked. “You’re… not?”

“No.” You cracked a grin. “But you should be. Twitter thinks you’re engaged now. You’re a whole meme.”

He groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Oh my god.”

You pulled out your phone. “Someone edited your post-game quote over a Bridgerton clip.”

“I’m never showing my face again.”

“You’re adorable when you panic.”

He looked up at you, exasperated. “Why are you not freaking out?”

“Because if you think I didn’t screenshot the second it happened, you don’t know me at all.”

He groaned again — and this time you reached up, pulling him in by his hoodie.

“I’ll handle PR,” you said, brushing a kiss over his jaw. “But you’re doing media training again. Just in case.”

He smiled, finally, against your mouth. “Worth it.”

#quinn hughes x reader #nhl x reader #vancouver canucks x reader

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shaiyasstuff · 3 months ago

Text

petty | sylus

synopsis : You thought a harmless prank—some red dye, a little glitter—would be funny. But Sylus, your cold, calculating boyfriend, doesn’t get mad. He gets petty.

content : fluff, chaos, N109 Zone au, just sylus being petty af, imagine: rom-com and slapstick comedy

writer’s note : i had this sitting in my drafts for so long LOL

You have no idea how you ended up here.

It was just a silly prank. One you decided—no, more like bullied—into pulling on Sylus.

Luke had that look in his eye, Kieran had that grin, and between the two of them, you’d made a series of very poor decisions.

It started out harmless.

Overheating the dryer until his clothes shrunk just enough to make him glare at his reflection in irritation.

Switching out his toothpaste with mint chip ice cream—cold, foamy, oddly sweet.

Juvenile, yes, but survivable.

But then Luke, bored of mild chaos, decided to up the ante.

Red dye. In Sylus’ face wash.

You should’ve stopped him.

You really should’ve.

Now you’re backed up against the cold steel wall of the corridor outside your shared quarters.

Sylus stands in front of you, arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. His body radiates heat like he’s just stepped out of hell itself.

And his face?

Still damp.

Streaked red.

A slow, uneven flush blooming down his jaw and neck like a war paint disaster.

You press your lips together to stifle the laugh climbing your throat.

Not because you’re afraid—well, okay, maybe a little—but because if you so much as snort, you know he’ll make you regret it.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you.

That unreadable, razor-edged stare.

Like he’s measuring the weight of your existence against the trouble you’re worth.

“Sylus,” you start, trying for innocent. “It was—”

“A prank,” he finishes for you, voice low, smooth. The kind of calm that usually precedes mass destruction. “I gathered.”

You open your mouth again, but the words die as he leans in closer, the tips of his silver hair grazing your forehead. His breath ghosts against your cheek.

“You find this funny?” he murmurs, voice like smoke and ice. “My face. My dignity.”

You hold your breath, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“I mean,” you squeak, “you do pull off crimson rather well…”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile.

He just tilts his head slightly, gaze trailing down to your lips.

“I see,” he says.

You swallow.

“Sylus?”

He shifts forward, just enough that your bodies nearly touch, and then—click.

You glance down. He’s handcuffed your wrist to the pipe behind you.

One-handed. Effortless.

“What—wait, Sylus!”

He steps back, unhurried, brushing red-streaked water off his jaw with the back of his hand. He looks so composed now, it’s almost unfair.

“I’ll be in the lab,” he says casually, already turning away. “Don’t worry. Luke and Kieran are next. But you…”

He pauses at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder, “You can stay there and think about what you’ve done.”

“Sylus.”

“I’ll come back when I’ve decided how to retaliate.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not serious—!”

He disappears around the corner, his footsteps fading.

You stare after him, wrist tugging against the cuff. “You petty, beautiful menace!”

And somewhere down the hall, you swear you hear him laugh.

You struggle against the pipe for a solid five minutes.

Nothing.

Sylus had apparently decided that if he was going to cuff you, it would be with reinforced titanium-grade handcuffs.

Because of course he would.

You’re still trying to twist your wrist free when two familiar figures round the corner, arguing loudly.

“—I told you he’d murder us, Kieran.”

“No, you said he’d probably murder us. I figured we had a 20% survival rate if we ran fast enough—oh.”

They freeze when they see you.

You, handcuffed to a wall like some criminally adorable hostage. Hair slightly tousled.

A vein twitching in your temple.

Luke whistles low. “Damn. He actually cuffed you?”

“What was your first clue, Sherlock?” you snap, yanking on the cuff. “The literal metal restraint on my wrist or the rage in my eyes?”

Kieran winces. “Hey, hey, don’t be mad at us—we didn’t put the dye in the face wash.”

“You told Luke to do it!”

Luke, affronted, points at Kieran. “You told me you cleared it with her!”

“I said it would be funny! That’s not the same thing!”

You groan and let your head thump back against the wall. “I’m going to kill both of you. Slowly. With a spoon.”

Luke bites back a grin. “I don’t think Sylus is done with you yet.”

“Un-cuff me before I scream loud enough to summon the Onychinus agents.”

Kieran rummages through his pockets. “You think he left a key?”

“Oh yeah,” you deadpan. “I’m sure Sylus, the most paranoid man alive, just happened to leave a key to his special-grade cuffs on me.”

Luke pulls something out of his jacket and grins. “Good thing I have my trusty lockpick set.”

You squint at him. “Why do you have that?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Kieran leans in beside him, watching like this is a group project. “Careful, if you scratch her wrist again she’s going to throw you into traffic.”

“I will throw you into traffic,” you mutter.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry,” Kieran beams.

“Touch me and I’ll break your fingers.”

Luke finally clicks the lock open with a satisfying snap. Your wrist comes free, and you stretch it, rubbing the sore spot with a glare that could melt steel.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. “Now run.”

“Run?” Luke blinks.

“Yes. Run. Before he comes back.”

The overhead lights flicker.

The three of you freeze.

“…That’s him, isn’t it?” Kieran whispers.

You look up slowly, the temperature in the corridor dropping by a few ominous degrees.

“I think he’s coming to check if I’ve learned my lesson,” you murmur.

Luke’s already halfway down the hall. “NOPE. I’M OUT—”

Kieran grabs your hand and drags you after him. “We live in fear now. This is our life.”

Behind you, the sound of measured footsteps echoes through the corridor.

And somewhere between breathless laughter and panic, you realise, this isn’t over.

Not even close.

You bolt through the corridor with Luke and Kieran like you’re fleeing an exploding reactor.

“He’s definitely tracking us,” you gasp.

“He has cameras everywhere!” Kieran hisses. “We’re screwed!”

You dive into the living quarters and slam the door shut behind you. Luke immediately ducks behind the couch. Kieran throws himself dramatically into the pantry.

You stand there for a beat, hands on your hips.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever been involved in.”

“You’re welcome,” Luke’s muffled voice replies from under a throw blanket that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide his legs.

You sigh, yank open a cabinet, and cram yourself inside.

There’s a broom, a vacuum hose, and a suspicious packet of cookies you’re pretty sure expired last year.

“Kieran,” you call through the cabinet slats. “Are you eating?”

“…No,” he says with his mouth full.

“I swear to every celestial body—”

Footsteps. Slow. Measured.

Near.

All three of you freeze like a trio of amateur criminals hiding from a prison warden.

The door creaks open.

You hold your breath.

Nothing.

No words. No movement.

Just the sound of the wind outside the window and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I know you’re hiding,” Sylus calls out. Calm. Even. Like he’s enjoying this.

Luke lets out a soft, wheezing squeak from under the blanket.

You slap your palm over your mouth.

Kieran drops a packet of crackers and panics. “Shit, he’s bluffing! He’s bluffing!”

You burst out of the cabinet. “He’s NOT bluffing!”

All three of you scramble again, crashing into each other like some bootleg spy movie.

Kieran ends up tangled in curtain strings, Luke slams into a chair, and you leap over the kitchen counter and miss, landing with a loud thud.

You’re wheezing on the floor when Sylus walks in.

Unbothered. Unhurried.

Looking like an avenging angel with red-streaked remnants still faintly staining his jawline.

He folds his arms and surveys the disaster with something suspiciously close to amusement.

He walks past Kieran, still suspended in the curtains like a very dumb chandelier.

Past Luke, now pretending to be unconscious on the floor.

Past you.

He doesn’t say a word.

Not a glare. Not a threat. Not even a smirk.

Just a quiet, “Clean up after yourselves,” as he heads into his study.

The door shuts with a soft click.

“…That’s so much worse than yelling,” you whisper.

Kieran groans. “He’s plotting. He’s going to take us out one by one.”

Luke peeks from behind the couch. “He knows we’re scared. That’s why he’s letting us marinate.”

“I hate both of you so much right now,” you mutter, collapsing into the nearest armchair.

Kieran flops beside you and steals the remote. “We should lie low. Maybe bake him something.”

“Cookies fix everything,” Luke nods solemnly.

You glare at them both. “If I die, I’m haunting you in shifts.”

—•

It takes you two hours to gather the courage.

Two hours of Luke stress-eating cereal straight from the box while Kieran googled “how to tell if your boyfriend is planning your murder.”

Two hours of internal debates and spiraling scenarios, most of which ended with your disappearance and Sylus calmly denying any knowledge of your existence.

So now you’re standing in front of his office door like you’ve come to face a firing squad.

You raise your hand, hesitate, lower it again.

Then knock. Once. Softly.

“Come in,” comes his voice, smooth as always.

You open the door slowly. He’s seated behind his desk, glasses on, sleeves rolled up, looking for all the world like a man deep in some technical report.

But you know better.

His eyes flick up to you—and stay there.

“I brought tea,” you say weakly, holding up the mug like a peace offering. Or a shield. “And… a cookie. But Luke sat on it.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you, unreadable.

You inch forward, placing the mug on the corner of his desk. “Look, I didn’t know about the dye. I mean I did, but I didn’t think he’d actually—okay, no, that’s a lie. I thought it would be funny.”

Silence.

“I was wrong.”

Still nothing.

You shift awkwardly, gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Finally, he sets his pen down and leans back slightly, eyes still fixed on you.

Then, just when the tension starts to crack your spine.

A small smile.

A smile.

Sharp. Amused.

Dangerous.

“It’s okay,” he says.

You blink. “It… is?”

He nods. “Of course.”

Too easy. Way too easy.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re not mad?”

“Not at all.”

“Really?”

“Mm.”

You inch back a step. “Why does that sound like a trap?”

His smile widens—just a fraction. “I said it’s okay. That’s all.”

You stare at him. He stares right back, like he can hear every thought racing through your brain. Like he’s already playing the long game and you just stepped into it without even knowing.

“Right,” you mutter. “Okay. Cool. Um. I’ll go now.”

You turn on your heel and walk—more like run—out of the room.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you press your back against it, eyes wide.

“He’s going to destroy me.”

And from behind the door, faint and unmistakably amused, comes the sound of Sylus quietly sipping his tea.

You return to the living quarters with the kind of haunted expression usually reserved for horror movie survivors.

Luke looks up from the couch, one leg slung over the backrest like a human pretzel.

Kieran’s on the floor with a blanket cape, eating cereal with a fork.

“Are we dead?” Kieran asks between mouthfuls.

“Not yet,” you mutter.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “That bad?”

“He smiled at me.”

Both twins flinch.

“Was it… the smile?” Luke asks, lowering his voice.

“The ‘I know exactly where your corpse would never be found’ smile?” Kieran whispers.

You throw yourself onto the couch and groan into a pillow. “No. It was worse. It was the ‘It’s okay’ smile.”

Luke gasps dramatically. “No. He went full passive-aggressive Zen reaper?”

“He said it like it was fine. Like I’m fine. Like life is fine. Nothing is fine.”

Kieran crawls up beside you. “That’s psychological warfare. He’s gonna lull you into a false sense of security. Then, boom—next week your toothbrush explodes.”

“I wouldn’t even be mad,” you say into the pillow. “I’d respect the commitment.”

Luke drops beside you, flinging a cushion over your back like a blanket. “You know what this means, right?”

“That I need to sleep with one eye open?”

“No,” he says solemnly. “It means we go deeper.”

You lift your head slowly. “What?”

“He’s playing mind games. So we play worse mind games.”

“I’m sorry, did you hit your head on the stupid stick this morning?”

Kieran grins. “He’s got fear. But we have unpredictable chaos. Sylus doesn’t know how to handle us when we’re not even handling ourselves.”

“Oh, he knows. He just hasn’t decided which part of the house he’ll burn down first.”

Luke leans in. “Okay, hear me out. What if… next prank, we frame someone else?”

“Kieran,” you snap, “Luke is spiraling again.”

Kieran slurps his cereal louder. “Let him spiral. I want to see where it goes.”

You sit up, rubbing your temples. “You two are the reason I’m probably going to end up in some Sylus-designed containment cube labeled ‘Idiot No. 3.’”

Luke perks up. “That means he already made one for you.”

You chuck a pillow at his face. “I hate you.”

Kieran laughs so hard he chokes on his cereal.

And somewhere in the walls—behind silent security panels—you know Sylus is watching.

Letting you run your mouths.

Letting you think you’re safe.

Which is so much worse.

—•

Dinner is suspiciously… normal.

Too normal.

The lighting is warm. The dining room pristine.

The food? Already served and plated like a five-star meal—elegant, balanced, perfectly portioned.

Which is already unsettling, because Sylus doesn’t cook. He commands kitchens into order.

But tonight, he did everything himself.

You sit stiffly at the table, trying not to choke on the silence.

Kieran sits across from you, eyes darting from his fork to Sylus like he’s waiting for the plate to detonate. Luke hasn’t even touched his food.

Which says a lot, because Luke once ate nachos that had been on fire.

Sylus, meanwhile, is the picture of grace.

Calm, composed, every movement deliberate as he cuts into his food with a quiet snick of silverware.

“How’s the meal?” he asks lightly.

You all jump a little.

“It’s great!” Kieran blurts. “So great. Best thing I’ve ever had. Better than oxygen.”

You nudge your plate with the fork. “Um. What exactly is this?”

Sylus smiles—just enough to show it’s a trap. “Roasted pepper-glazed poultry with herb foam.”

“…Foam?” Luke whispers. “Like… bubbles?”

Sylus turns to him. “Yes. But gourmet.”

Luke nods solemnly. “Tastes expensive.”

You take a careful bite. It tastes incredible, which only makes things worse.

Sylus never does anything without intent. You feel like each bite is a move in a game you didn’t know you were playing.

“Is that saffron?” Kieran asks.

Sylus doesn’t look up. “Would I use saffron so early in the week?”

Kieran panics. “No! Obviously not. What a stupid question. Forget I said it. I never even heard of saffron.”

You sip your water. Pause. Sip again.

“Why does the water taste like mint?”

Luke sniffs his glass. “Mine tastes like fear.”

Sylus hums. “I thought I’d try infusing it. Cleansing properties. Refreshing.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re being nice.”

He looks at you. “Am I not allowed to be?”

“Not like this. You’re being suspiciously serene.”

Luke whispers to Kieran, “He’s baking the tension. Like a soufflé of dread.”

Kieran whispers back, “I’m scared to chew too loudly.”

Sylus finishes his plate, sets his utensils down with the softest clink, and dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Don’t worry. I’m not angry.”

You all freeze.

“I already told you,” he says, folding his hands neatly, “It’s okay.”

You grip the edge of the table.

“No, see, when you say that, it sounds okay, but it feels like I’m about to get smothered in my sleep with a silk pillow.”

Sylus smiles, serene as a saint. “You wound me.”

“Oh my god,” Kieran mutters. “He wants us to feel safe.”

“That’s when he’ll strike,” Luke hisses.

Sylus stands, slow and elegant. “I’ve had a long day. You three can clean up.”

And with that, he walks off—leisurely, utterly calm—leaving behind his perfectly empty plate and three very nervous idiots still staring at their forks like they might be poisoned.

“I think he put lavender in the bread,” Luke says hollowly.

“That’s a threat,” Kieran nods.

You don’t speak. You just slowly lower your fork onto your plate and say, voice soft with realisation.

“We’re already losing.”

—•

It starts the next morning.

Small things.

You wake up and stumble bleary-eyed into the bathroom, only to find your toothbrush… gone. In its place is a child’s pink glittery toothbrush with a tiny bow on the handle and a smug little unicorn printed across it.

You stare at it.

It stares back.

“…Sylus.”

You brush anyway. Because fear is temporary, but oral hygiene is forever.

Down the hall, you hear a scream. Luke.

You race to his room, bursting in just in time to see him holding up a shirt—his favorite shirt—now three sizes too small and bright neon orange.

“He sabotaged the laundry!” Luke wails. “It looks like a highlighter threw up on it!”

Kieran stumbles in a moment later, face pale. “Okay. You know the coffee machine?”

You all pause.

“…What about it?” you ask warily.

“I pressed ‘brew’ and it played classical music. Loudly. Very loudly. And then dispensed chamomile tea.”

Luke gasps. “Decaf?”

Kieran nods. “Herbal.”

You all stand there in silence, the full horror of that registering.

“Okay,” you say slowly, “He’s escalating. This is psychological warfare disguised as hospitality.”

Luke grabs your shoulders. “We have to go off-grid.”

You shake him off. “We live in his grid. He built the grid.”

Kieran paces. “Okay. Okay. So he’s playing the long game. Fine. We stay strong. We don’t break.”

You return to your room to get dressed, trying to reclaim some sense of normalcy.

Your closet is empty.

No. Not empty.

Reorganized.

Everything is sorted by color, occasion, emotional state, and the lunar cycle.

There are even handwritten labels.

LUNAR-ALIGNED NIGHTWEAR.

MILDLY ANNOYED LOUNGE SETS.

IF YOU MUST INTERACT WITH PEOPLE.

You stare.

It’s… kind of impressive.

Still terrifying.

Later that day, your comm device pings with a message.

Hope the toothbrush is to your liking. Unicorns are symbols of purity. Thought it was fitting. —S.

You don’t respond. You can’t.

You sit there in silence, chewing your unsatisfying herbal tea and wondering how one man could be so elegant and so unhinged at the same time.

Back in the kitchen, Luke is attempting to pick the lock on the pantry door—now password protected and voice activated.

Kieran sits on the floor, whispering sweetly to the coffee machine in the hopes it will forgive him.

And all the while, somewhere deep in his office, Sylus watches the surveillance feed with a slight, satisfied smile.

Checkmate? Not yet.

But the pieces were moving.

And he was always ten steps ahead.

—•

It’s late.

Too late for anyone else to be awake. The halls are quiet, dimly lit, the kind of silence that feels intentional.

You creep into the kitchen, determined to retrieve your emergency stash of chocolate hidden behind the vitamin supplements Sylus refuses to acknowledge.

You’ve earned this.

After a day of psychological warfare and sentient appliances, you deserve sugar and solitude.

But the moment you open the cabinet, you hear it.

“Looking for something?”

You jump, nearly drop the jar, and spin around.

Sylus leans casually against the doorframe. Half in shadow. White shirt slightly unbuttoned. Sleeves rolled. Watching you like you’re the most amusing thing he’s seen all day.

You swallow. “Just… needed a snack.”

He hums, low and thoughtful, stepping into the room. “You always get hungry when you’re anxious.”

“I’m not anxious.”

“Of course you’re not.”

He steps closer. Not fast. Not threatening.

Just… there.

Slowly closing the distance until he’s in your space. His eyes flick down to the jar in your hands, then back to you.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he murmurs.

You shrug, heart in your throat. “You’ve been… rearranging my life like an episode of The Big Bang Theory.”

He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.

“You should be grateful. I improved your morning routine, your closet, and your toothpaste. Not many people get this level of attention from me.”

“You replaced my shampoo with glitter gel.”

“I thought you liked shimmer.”

You glare. “Okay, what is this? Revenge lite? Psychological torment with a smile?”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering with that infuriating calm. “Do you think I’d waste my time with petty revenge?”

You hesitate. “…Yes?”

He chuckles. “Fair.”

He leans in just slightly—close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the way his gaze flickers to your lips and back with deliberate slowness.

“But here’s the thing,” he says softly. “I’m not doing this because I’m angry.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what is this?”

His voice drops lower, velvet and ice. “This is a warning.”

You blink. “A warning?”

He raises a brow. “You see, I’m not interested in getting even. I’m not even interested in winning.”

He leans in fully now, mouth near your ear, voice like silk dragged over steel.

“I’m interested in reminding you… that you don’t play games with someone who invented the board.”

Your breath catches.

Then he steps back. Casual.

Smiling.

Completely composed, like he didn’t just dismantle your spine with a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he says smoothly, already turning to leave.

“Sylus—”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes cool, mouth curved in that infuriatingly perfect smirk.

“Sleep well, sweetie. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you in the kitchen, heart pounding, chocolate jar forgotten in your hands.

You stare at the door, then mutter to yourself:

“Okay. Yep. We’re all going to die.”

—•

You don’t sleep.

Not really.

Not after that.

You toss. Turn.

Stare at the ceiling.

Replay his words on a loop in your mind.

You don’t play games with someone who invented the board.

You shouldn’t be thinking about the way he said it. Or the way he’d leaned in—close enough to smell your shampoo, the glitter one, traitorous and lemon-sweet.

Or how his voice had dipped low like he wanted to taste the words.

But you are.

And it’s driving you insane.

You last until just before sunrise.

Then you march down the hall in bare feet and defiance, fully intending to demand an end to this madness.

Maybe yell. Maybe shake him.

Definitely not… whatever this fluttering in your chest is.

You stop outside his office.

The door is open.

He’s seated at the far end, back to you, reading something on a tablet. He doesn’t look up when you enter, but he says, “You’re up early.”

Your jaw tightens. “You planned that.”

“I plan everything.”

You walk in, arms crossed. “The glitter. The water. The closet. The toothbrush. You knew it would get in my head.”

He finally turns in his chair, tablet abandoned. “And yet… you came to me.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

It’s silent.

That heavy, brittle kind of silence where something has to break.

“You’re impossible,” you say quietly.

He tilts his head. “You’re the one who dyed my face red.”

You blink. “That wasn’t me! That was Luke!”

“But you knew.” He stands now, slow and deliberate, each step toward you heavier than the last. “And you laughed.”

“That was after the shock wore off.”

He stops in front of you, so close your breath hitches.

“You like testing me,” he says, almost gently.

Your voice is soft. “You like watching me squirm.”

His lips curve. “Only when you’re cornered.”

Your heart kicks up. “You don’t scare me.”

“No?” he murmurs, leaning in. “Then why do you look like you’re about to run?”

“I’m not—”

He reaches out—slow, precise—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your skin like a dare.

You forget how to breathe.

“You know what the real game is?” he says, voice low enough to curl around your spine. “It’s not about revenge. Not anymore.”

You stare at him, pulse racing.

“It’s about seeing how long we can keep pretending this tension is just about pranks.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

He leans in closer, mouth inches from yours. “So go ahead,” he whispers. “Run. Or…”

His breath brushes your skin.

“…stop pretending.”

And in that moment, the air between you threatens to collapse entirely.

Your heart is hammering.

You can hear it—feel it—each thud echoing through your ribs like a countdown.

But nothing moves. Not him. Not you.

Just that impossible closeness and the weight of everything left unsaid pressing in like gravity.

Sylus doesn’t touch you again.

He doesn’t need to.

He’s right there, his presence overwhelming in its stillness, in the way his eyes never leave yours. Not even to blink.

Not even for air. It’s like he’s daring you to look away first.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

The tension is a live wire between you, buzzing, pulsing, dangerously taut.

You could lean in.

He could close the distance. Just one breath more.

One slip.

One break in control.

And everything would unravel.

But neither of you moves.

Because this isn’t about the kiss.

It’s about the pause before it.

The ache of proximity. The heat of restraint.

The mutual, wordless recognition that something’s changed, tilted—irrevocably—but no one wants to name it yet.

His voice, when it comes, is almost a whisper. “Still not scared?”

You swallow, your voice quieter still. “Should I be?”

He leans in just enough for your foreheads to almost touch. “Terrified.”

And there it is again—that exquisite push and pull. That dangerous promise wrapped in affection, mischief, and a power you’ll never quite untangle.

You feel the breath leave your lungs. “Then why haven’t you done anything?”

Sylus doesn’t smile this time. Not quite.

Instead, his gaze drops—briefly—to your lips, then lingers there.

“Because I like this,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“This moment,” he murmurs, voice velvet-dark. “Where you’re still trying to pretend you have the upper hand.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And when I finally take it from you,” he continues, “you’ll know it wasn’t by force.”

His eyes lift back to yours—slowly, intently.

“It’ll be because you gave it.”

Your breath hitches.

And still, he doesn’t move.

Not forward. Not back. Just there.

Waiting.

Like he can stay in this moment forever, balanced at the edge of something dangerous and devastating.

Just to watch you fall first.

He’s still watching you.

Still waiting.

Like he’s reading your every thought, every twitch of hesitation, every part of you that wants to lean in and the part that still clings to the illusion of control.

You don’t speak.

You just look at him.

And that’s all it takes.

Because Sylus moves with the precision of someone who’s already planned this moment ten steps ahead.

One hand rises—fingers brushing your jaw, your cheek, slow as silk.

The other curls gently around your waist, pulling you forward, not forcefully, but with the promise of no escape.

You barely get the chance to gasp before his mouth captures yours.

It’s not a gentle kiss.

It’s deliberate. Consuming.

Like he’s reminding you exactly who you’ve been playing games with.

There’s heat, yes, but more than that—there’s command.

The way his lips move against yours, the way his hand tilts your chin just so, the way your breath disappears entirely beneath his—all of it says, you’ve lost.

And god, you let him.

Your hands curl into his shirt, trying to hold on—anchor yourself.

But he deepens the kiss and everything tilts with it.

The pressure of his body, the taste of him, the sound you make without meaning to—it all blends together in something dangerous.

And then, you feel it.

A faint, thrumming pulse in the air.

A crackle of invisible tension winding around your wrists.

You pull back just barely, lips parted, dizzy. “What—”

Too late.

Energy winds up your arms like silken thread—cool, weightless, until it suddenly binds.

A shimmer of red-black tendrils coils around your wrists, tugging them behind your back, smooth as liquid steel.

Your breath catches. “Sylus—?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He rests his forehead against yours, breathing steady, unbothered. “You like playing with fire,” he murmurs, voice low and calm. “But you forget—I am the fire.”

With a flick of his fingers, the energy coils tighten. Your arms are pulled behind you, secured to the low railing of the console desk behind you—elegant, efficient, inescapable.

Then, as if that weren’t enough—he slides a metal cuff into place around your right wrist.

You freeze the second it locks.

You know that cuff.

Dull black, sleek. Lined with tech that silences Evol abilities like a mute button pressed against your skin.

It hums to life with a faint click.

And suddenly, you’re still.

Held.

Caged.

Disarmed.

Your eyes widen. “That’s—”

“—the containment cuff from Tartarus, yes,” he finishes, calmly brushing your hair from your face. “You didn’t think I’d forget to prepare for retaliation, did you?”

You stare at him. “You kissed me just to—?”

He tilts your chin up again, eyes sharp, amused, infuriatingly tender.

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he says. “Cuffing you was just… a bonus.”

Your mouth opens in protest, but he leans in again, this time slower, deliberate, brushing his lips over yours like a threat.

“Now,” he whispers, “let’s see how long you can behave… without your tricks.”

Then he steps back, leaving you bound to the desk, breathless and flushed, completely and utterly at his mercy.

And he smiles.

Not the cold, amused smile from before.

Something darker. Possessive. Knowing.

“You started this,” he says, voice velvet. “Now you get to see how I finish it.”

You tug against the energy binding your wrists. It doesn’t budge.

The cuff hums faintly at your pulse point, Evol completely silenced.

He stands before you, not gloating—no, that would be too easy.

Too human. He just watches.

Calm. Composed.

Like a man who could undo you in a thousand ways and hasn’t even begun.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice like poured velvet.

You narrow your eyes. “This is so far beyond revenge.”

“Is it?” he muses, brushing a thumb under your chin. “You did challenge me. Repeatedly. In public. With unicorns.”

You glare. “You’re enjoying this.”

He leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “Immensely.”

And then—crash.

Followed by a shout.

And another crash.

You both freeze.

Sylus exhales, long-suffering, and turns his head just as the door to the control room swings wide open.

Luke bursts in, holding a smoking toaster. “Okay! Who set the oven to incinerate? I was making waffles—”

He stops.

Stares.

Kieran skids in behind him, carrying a fire extinguisher. “We may or may not have caused a minor electrical—”

Also stops.

Stares.

The three of you hold in silence.

You, flushed, cuffed, and restrained against the desk.

Sylus, standing in front of you with the casual elegance of a villain who’s definitely in charge.

Luke, blinking rapidly.

Kieran, slowly lowering the extinguisher.

“Oh my god,” Luke whispers. “Did we walk in on a—”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you bark.

Kieran’s already backing out. “It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Sylus doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. He just looks over his shoulder at them and says, calm as ever.

“Leave. Before I make it permanent.”

Luke raises both hands, stepping back. “Okay! Yep. Carry on. Nothing to see. Just… us. Not here.”

Kieran salutes. “We were never here.”

They vanish.

The door slams.

You exhale through your nose. “I hate them.”

“You encouraged them,” Sylus replies.

“I was peer pressured!”

He hums, reaching for your jaw again, thumb brushing your lower lip. “You always have an excuse.”

“I wasn’t the one who turned revenge into a bondage scene—”

He cuts you off with a low chuckle. “Are you uncomfortable?”

You open your mouth.

Then close it.

Then hiss, “…Yes. In the worst way.”

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing his lips barely—barely—against yours. “Sit in that discomfort. Feel it.”

He steps back again, and your body instinctively leans forward—straining just slightly against the binds.

His smile turns wicked. “That’s one.”

You blink. “One what?”

“One slip.”

You frown. “What is this, a score counter—?”

“Two.”

You shut your mouth. Scowl.

He watches you with open amusement now. “You’re very expressive when you’re trying not to be.”

“Sylus.”

He leans down, gaze inches from yours, voice soft.

“Be good, and I’ll let you go.”

You don’t respond.

His eyes glitter. “Or don’t. I’m patient.”

And he turns to leave. Leaves you there—bound, breathless, and burning.

“Oh my god!” you shout after him. “You’re the worst!”

From down the hall, Luke’s voice echoes faintly, “Is it safe to make waffles again?”

You scream, “NO!”

And Sylus’s laugh—low, dangerous, victorious—follows you like a storm rolling in.

masterlist

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arixella · 2 months ago

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Don’t Leave Me Too

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x female! reader

a/n: : I have so many drafts to post lol

summary: After nearly losing you in battle, Luffy is forced to confront his deepest fears — but this time, he holds on and refuses to let you slip away.

wc: 730

contains: angst turn into fluff, post-battle, desperate promises, traumatic flashbacks, and emotionally wrecked Luffy.

The battle was over.

Smoke curled into the sky, the distant island city still crackling from the aftermath. The enemy was down, the objective secured, and the crew was alive — mostly.

Except… you weren’t with them.

“(Y/N) should’ve been right behind me,” Zoro said, his brows furrowed as the crew regrouped at the Sunny’s edge.

“She probably got pushed back by the explosion near the tower,” Sanji muttered, scanning the horizon with narrowed eyes. “We need to find her. Now.”

Luffy stood silently at the railing, his knuckles white as he gripped it.

“She’s strong,” Nami said softly, more for herself than anyone else.

“She wouldn’t just disappear,” Robin added, though even her calm tone wavered slightly.

Luffy didn’t say anything. He just stared at the burning skyline, jaw clenched, body shaking with tension. His haki had flared without him meaning to — it always did when his emotions boiled too hot. And right now, he was scared.

He told himself over and over again: She’s fine. She’s okay. She promised she wouldn’t die.

But then he saw you.

Stumbling out of the smoke, hand pressed against your side, shirt soaked with blood.

Time froze.

His heart dropped.

He was already sprinting toward you, the world a blur. “(Y/N)!!”

You looked up, forcing a smile — a weak one, but a smile nonetheless. “I’m okay,” you lied, voice raspy.

But he could see it. You were pale. Shaking. Bleeding. Barely standing.

You collapsed into his arms.

The moment you touched him, the memories hit him like a wave.

Ace’s blood. Ace saying it didn’t hurt. Ace falling.

“No,” Luffy whispered, his voice breaking as he sank to his knees with you in his arms. “No. Not again. Please.”

“Luffy…” you tried to speak, but it was too much. Your body was done pretending.

“CHOPPER!!” His scream tore through the air like thunder. “SOMEBODY HELP HER!”

Chopper was already running, the rest of the crew behind him, but Luffy couldn’t focus on anything except you. His arms wrapped around you tighter, like he could physically hold your soul in place.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said quickly, desperately. “You have to be okay. You can’t die. You promised.”

Your lips trembled. “I’m not—gonna—”

“Don’t say anything,” he begged, his face buried against your neck. “Don’t talk. Just stay. Stay with me. Please.”

His shoulders were shaking now, full-on trembling as Chopper began working on the wound. “Massive blood loss… internal bleeding—shit—she held this in too long—”

Nami knelt next to Luffy, hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong, Luffy. Let Chopper do his job.”

“She’s going to make it,” Robin added firmly. “But you have to breathe. You’re scaring her.”

“She was bleeding this whole time,” Luffy muttered, eyes wide and unfocused. “She was hurting, and I didn’t see it. I didn’t see it.”

“She didn’t want you to worry,” Zoro said lowly, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Just like someone else we knew.”

Luffy flinched.

Ace again. Smiling through the pain. Dying with a grin.

“She’s not him,” Sanji said gently, lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers. “Don’t put her in that grave.”

Luffy looked down at you, your hand still holding onto his shirt.

Alive.

Still warm.

Still here.

He let out a shaky breath and touched his forehead to yours.

“You’re not leaving me,” he whispered. “Not like that. Not ever.”

You blinked up at him weakly. “Wouldn’t… dream of it…”

He cracked the faintest smile through his tears.

You woke up later in the infirmary, sore but safe.

Luffy hadn’t left your side.

His hat was resting on your pillow. His hand never let go of yours. And the crew was sleeping in chairs and corners all around the room, refusing to leave either of you alone.

When you stirred, Luffy jolted awake instantly.

“Hey,” you rasped.

“Hey.” His voice was rough, but his smile was warm — and real. “You scared the crap outta me.”

“Guess I’m making it up to you with extra cuddles, huh?”

“Damn right you are,” he said, crawling up next to you gently, arms wrapping around you like he’d never let go again.

Because he wouldn’t.

♡♡♡

#anime #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece luffy #monkey d. luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #luffy angst #luffy fluff

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lustlovehart · 11 months ago

Text

You Gotta Kiss The One

A/n: This isn’t my usually writing, so this is more short scenario rather than actual story, so sorry if it isn’t my best. Anyways, I was in need of some fluff for the twst men so here we are. (This came out a bit cheesy honestly) Also, unfortunately no Jamil because i went through 7 drafts for his part and hated absolutely all of them.

Pairing: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Vil, Idia, Malleus, Rollo x Reader

Summary: [Fluff] In a turn of events, it seems you’ve lost your voice, and it’s up to the one you love to give out the cure, a kiss from their lips to yours.

Warnings: Cheesy Fluff, Reader wasn’t meant to be Yuu but they’re friends with Grim so, 50% Yuu.

Unfortunately, making potions with Grim never goes right. One moment, you’re carefully adding in the newt that assists in projecting a beautiful singing voice to its recipient, and in the next your head gets shoved in the concoction. When you finally emerge, your throat attempts to sound out your criticisms of Grim's recklessness. But, your lips are the only thing that moves in motion, your voice not even croaking out a word.

“Why ain’t yah talkin'?” Your hands quickly grab onto the recipe book pointing at the bold disclaimer at the bottom of the page.

If the potion is consumed before the newt is added, it will have the opposite effects.

Before you can read the rest of the text, your companion snatches the book from your hands, reading the rest of it on his own. When Grim reads out the instructions, your eyes narrow when you hear a slight chuckle escape from him when he tells you your only solutions. It’s either never talk again or...

Of course, never talking again has its pros, but, if you don’t have your voice, however will you tell… Him, about your feelings…? Of course, you could just write your confession, but that doesn’t have quite the kick words spoken from your chest do—

"Uhh... seems you gotta kiss your little crush [Name]!"

…

"What."

Before you're allowed to interject, Grim is already reaching his paw up and taking you by the hand, not even allowing you to tell Crewel about your situation. You’re quite sure if you had just told him you could’ve avoided the whole dilemma. Alas, Grim’s very eager in bathing in your embarrassment.

—————

Riddle is fuming at Grim's carelessness, it’s already bad enough that you have no magic in this faraway land, but to be subjected to a potion that doesn’t have a real cure? That’s even worse. He most definitely beheads the feline after he hears about the situation, immediately sending him onto a time-off corner, prattling on about how he should’ve been listening to the rules and acting accordingly in class.

His lecture is cut short at the sound of scribbling, his head turning to look at you furiously writing down on a piece of paper. Your lips are straight-lined as you lift the words to his face.

“Grim said the cure is a kiss.”

Oh… his mouth opens to question you more about this so-called cure, though the heart shape you form with your hands, however, is all the information he needs. It’s unfortunate that it only works if you kiss whoever it is you “love”, he could’ve gotten away with kissing you under the guise of helping if it was just anyone who could kiss you—

Who’s he kidding his face is close to turning red at such a thought. Of course the cure is something so basic, true love. Ah, no not true love, just simply a crush. Yes, a crush.

A crush that can’t be him.

He stays composed externally but internally he can’t deny he’s a little disappointed, it doesn’t matter however, he’ll help you get this kiss from your mystery student, even if it hurts a little to watch. The sound of flipping paper attracts his attention once again.

“So kiss me. Please.”

… What…? What…?! What?!

His eyes widen at the words, his mouth agape at the statement, his skin quickly flushing at the thought. You. Him. You and him. Him and you.

He’s essentially frozen in place. But, the extremely quiet sound of a broken up “okay” signals to you his permission. The feeling of soft lips being placed on his own snapped him out of his trance. He blinks a few times at your face, a smile invading your mouth.

“Thanks Riddle.”

—————

Your hands are furiously shaking Leona's shoulders, despite your relentless attempts at awakening him from his slumber, he doesn't even tell you to stop.

He didn’t even show any signal of stirring when Grim practically shouts to you about getting that kiss from him to “fix yah up”. Didn’t show any sign when you threw one of his shoes at the cat either.

He might be dead, he’s pretty still, like a corpse… Nah, he’s just being a douche.

Carefully, you drop down to his level, your face smooshed into his mattress as you look at his sleeping face. He looks a lot more peaceful in his sleep, his face is less serious and a bit more softer. He does look like a prince from a fairytale when he’s asleep, actually, maybe more of a princess with how pretty he is.

If you had your voice, you’re sure there would be hushed chuckles leaving your throat as you take out your phone. Your fingers are quick to swipe open your camera, lifting the device to Leona's face. Your joy doesn’t last long though, as when you’re just about to take a picture, the sight of Leona stares back at you on your screen, the subdued expression he previously held replaced with his usual face.

“What do you think you’re doin?”

…He’s awake! You’re quick to open the notes app, ready to explain the whole thing to him, along with indirectly confessing your feelings, unfortunately. But, he seems to think differently, as your phone is swiftly snatched from your palms and placed on his nightstand. When you reach over to grab it, his arm pulls you back down, your head buried into his chest, essentially being used as a secondary pillow for him.

“That typing’s loud, i’m tryna sleep.” … and I’m trying to get my voice back.

No matter how much you struggle, he doesn’t let you go. After a few minutes of trying to get your phone back, you give up, becoming his human-sized plushie in your defeat. Maybe he’ll be in the mood when he’s awake. So, your eyes gradually shut themself, sleep taking you over as you wrap your arms around the lion next to you.

…

“Hey, quit talking in your sleep.”

“Hmm…? Oh sorry— Wait what…?!” His palm flies of your mouth as words get muffled in his skin.

Appears you missed the Leona Kingscholar, kissing you. That’s unfortunate.

—————

“Hmm…? You need my help yes? Well then just sign here and I’ll get you that kiss you need!” Azul slips the golden contract across the table, the con man smiling as you read through the fine print.

In the corner, you notice the extremely tiny text saying how you’ll be obligated to stand by his side for the next month and do whatever tasks he needed to be done from you.

You swiftly slide the paper back to him as your head vigorously shakes a firm “No”.

“Oh? Do my terms not satisfy you? Your situation sounds very similar to our princess from the Coral Sea, having to kiss her prince for her voice back. I wonder how you’ll get that princely kiss…” he shrugs his shoulders before sighing, grabbing a stack of papers along with a pen, waving you off before looking at the sales revenue from this week. “No matter, if you don’t need my help please exit, I am a busy man—“

Your hand slams on the surface of his desk, his pupils widening at the sudden outburst. He stays silent for a moment, the glimmer of his glasses covering your view of his eyes. If you had, you would’ve seen the slightest hint of longing in him.

“A very determined soul you are… I'll change your conditions if you want your voice back so bad.” His fingers snap, the old contract disintegrating as a new one forms in his hands. “No fine print, I’ll help you get your kiss, and you work for the Monstro lounge for 2 weeks. Just 2 weeks. Is that a deal?” You squint, looking to make sure there really is no fine print. When you’re assured there really is none, you take a pen from his gloved palm, writing your signature on the line.

“It’s a deal it seems, now, tell me who it is you have affections for, and I’ll make sure you get that kiss—-“The sudden pull of his collar stops him mid-sentence, your lips connecting to his own before pulling away.

He’s extremely flustered, his cheeks blushed, his hat lopsided, eyes the widest you've ever seen them. He did agree to get you that kiss, but… he truly wasn’t expecting you to kiss him…! Of all possible candidates at the school…

“Wha… I’m… Huh…!?”

You straighten your posture before rolling your sleeves up, “So when do I start Azul?”

—————

Your eyes watch Vil meticulously crush, stir, and drop different ingredients into the cauldron, each one changing the color of the liquid inside. To be honest, you’re a little disappointed he knows a cure, you’ll have to wait another time before really confessing to him. His well manicured fingers take the ladle into his hand, carefully pouring the bright drink into a bowl, handing it to you as his eyes await for you to drink it up.

When you do, you set the bowl down, ready to speak, but no sound comes out. Your eyes stare into his, confusion set in your irises.

“I thought you had a dry throat?” Oh, you shake your head, your index finger pointing toward the cauldron and signaling poorly acted-out explosions and screams. “So it was a failed potion?” You pause for a moment before remembering what unit you were on in class. “It was that singing potion wasn’t it?” He contemplates for a moment before grabbing a small vile on the shelf, a potion the was already premade.

He pops it open, ready to pour it down your throat, but before he does, he pulls it back, quickly replacing the concoction with his extremely soft lips the taste of something good invading your taste buds, you assume it to be his chapstick. He stills for a moment, letting your lips lock and exchange touches. When he releases, he doesn’t give you the chance to interject, making you chug the drink down your throat, some of it escaping the corner of your lips, his gloved thumb wiping it off your chin.

“Vi… Vil…? Why’d you do that…?”

“How did Grim tell you to lift it?” He backs away from you, putting the empty glass in the sink.

“He said I… Had to kiss someone I liked. Why?”

“That’s what he said? Huh, I see.” He takes out his own brand of chapstick, reapplying it to his lips. You stay leant on the shelf of the rooms, watching as Vil’s silhouette moves towards the door. “No reason. Now, I have to get back to filming. Take better care of your lips, [Name].” He’s already out the door by the time you work up the courage to say anything else.

As he walks in the hallway, the leather of his gloves clench. It seems Grim did correctly tell you the cure. It doesn’t matter though, whether it was his kiss or that potion that worked, all he cared about was getting you fixed. He’s an actor, he’s keen to notice the presentations of people around him. He was sure you liked him, and even Rook fed into such a delusion. But, there was always a gnawing feeling of not being fair enough to you. So just in case, if you never really did like him, he won’t know.

He’s a good actor, but even actors can’t lie to themself. He really hopes it was his lips that cured you and not that potion.

…

The next day, when Vil finishes applying his makeup, the door to his room is knocked on, albeit very quickly. By the time he finally opens it, nobody is found, only a gift basket filled with fruits and low-grade beauty care, well low grade to him. If his suspicions about who this came from are correct, he can’t blame them for not having enough money to afford proper skin care.

When he looks in, all he sees is a card with a small smiley face and a heart. But he already knows who his secret sender truly is.

—————

Your knocking on Idias door gets harder and harder with every strike. You know he’s in there, but chances are he’s too absorbed in a game to notice your frantic hits. You’re about to hit the wood one more time before the door swings open and your fist is only an inch away from his nose.

“I… I only heard you just now…”

You’ve been out there for 10 minutes.

“You didn’t text me beforehand like usual… Is… Is there something you need…?” He steps to the side allowing you in his room, immediately having you sit on his bed before shutting the entrance. You look around a moment before handing him the note you had pre-written on your phone.

“No voice. Cure is a kiss from person I like. I like you, Idia. Please kiss me.”

It isn’t exactly the confession you wished to give him, but by the time you were typing it, you had deleted so much of the text you originally had from embarrassment, and by the time you looked up, you were already at his door… and Ortho was beaming in excitement behind you, you couldn’t possibly disappoint him by just walking away again.

He essentially shortcircuits the moment he reads the words off the screen.

He doesn’t speak, not even a panicked screech. The only sign of embarrassment he shows you is the sight of his hair turning pink.

“Wha… Wha… What…?”

You expected that, so you lifted your finger, signaling him to scroll down.

“You don’t need to like me back, just kiss me and i’ll leave.”

“No no, If we were in like… like a game… that type of game… you would have… ughhh…. You would have my… affection bar… filled— not filled maybe like 110%… up…” he struggled to get the words out he didn’t even make eye contact with you once in his speech. But, you understand what he’s trying to say to you. “Nevermind, forget it…! Just find someone… someone else… you deserve like a prince of something…”

His posture is hunched over, and he’s quick to turn away from you. You’re sure if he was closer to the wall he would curl into the corner and attempt to hide from you.

You’re pretty sure he’s about to do just that, he’s already slowly making his way to the corner. He’s only narrowly stopped when he feels you tug on his sleeve, pulling his face into your own.

His mouth was slightly open from shock, so his razor sharp teeth poked you, but even then it was still a nice feeling. When you part, he stares at you for an entire minute. His hair was already pink, but somehow it must’ve gotten even pinker.

“You… You won the game…”

“Did I…? What does that mean…?”

“Forget I said that. I’m gonna die now”

—————

It’s been at least half an hour since you’ve met up with Malleus, and he seems to not have noticed you don’t have a voice to reply. But at the same time, it��s nice listening to him ramble on and on about his Gargoyle studies—

“You have not spoken.” Your head is quick to turn, your body slightly jolting at the sight of Malleus’s face mere inches away from your own. Sometimes, you forget he doesn’t have any sense of space. This point is further proven when he moves his face away but your shoulders are still in contact. “Why is that?”

Your hand reaches down to your side attempting to take out your phone, but, it only grasps air. You look back down into your pocket, not noticing any holes for it to fall out of.

What? Did… Did I loose it or something?!

“This thing…” your head flips back to the man in front of you, his gloved fingers turning the phone with narrowed eyes. “I don’t understand, why not just talk to me? Would you rather use this phone than converse with me…?” You can spot early signs of Malleus’s emotional turmoils. It doesn’t take long for you to see the hint of disappointment in his eyes at the mere notion of you not even wanting to talk to him.

Along with that, clouds are beggining to form in the sky

You immediately shake your head at him, your fingers pointing to your throat while forming an x. Though your movements are so quick from the sheer panic of lightning striking, he doesn’t understand what you’re doing until you slow down.

“Ah, you did talk about that potion unit didn’t you.” You nod your head, ready to perform a collection of poorly acted-out charades to showcase your cure. You only got as far as the heart in your hands before he interrupts. “If I remember correctly, the fix to that is a kiss from the one who holds your affections… is it not?” The boom of thunder increases at an incredible rate, and even the pout Malleus holds on his face gets more obvious. “Have you come here to ask for my aide?” You can tell, it’s very obvious he’s trying to hide his dispiritedness beside a veneer of support. “Then… I will help a dear… friend.”

At his words, you shake your head the hardest you’ve probably ever shaken it to disagree with someone. You’re sure you must’ve swayed your brain too hard, by the time you stop you honestly feel a little dizzy.

“Ah, do you not want my help?” The lightning in the air starts fading, but in exchange, it’s like the clouds have gotten darker. “Am I, not allowed the see the object of your desire?” You wish you just had your phone out from the beginning, it would’ve made things so much easier. You bring your arm up, pointing at him.

Malleus is smart, he needs it if he will be Briar Valley’s ruler. Yet, he’s a bit dense in terms of human emotions and relationships.

“I thought you didn’t want my help…?” You’re sure if you could make any sound, pure screams of frustration would’ve left you. “I’m left in confusion as to how it is I can help you. I want to assist you Child of man but, I don’t wish to see you kiss anyone else—“Your hands immediately take him by the tie, dragging him into you as your lips practically smash together. If anyone saw you, such a scene would be quite the scandal for the heir. Minutes go by when you finally release him, and when you look up, the sky is the clearest it's been for the past month. “So it was me.” The look in his eyes is fond, it’s a warm sight.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner, I didn’t hide it…”

“You didn’t?”

“I confessed to you twice before this Malleus…”

—————

(This is self indulgent cuz i’m unfortunately a Rollo fan…)

Considering how far away Noble Bell is from Night Raven, you have no doubt you’d be stuck voiceless for quite awhile before you get to see Rollo again. Grim is just left to watch you sulk as your head falls in disappointment. You honestly don’t know how to tell Rollo about your situation either, you could always text him, but how do you even tell him you need to kiss him as your cure? Along with that… over text? That’s just pathetic. He’d probably shame you for being so ungraceful with your feeling towards him.

“Quit moppin’ and tell him already! I’m gettin' depressed just watchin’ ya…” with your head buried into your arms you can feel Grim practically shaking you out of your ball of shame with his tiny paws. “Come… on…! You’re not gonna get your voice back doin' nothin’!” He’s… unfortunately, completely correct.

With a soundless groan, you reach for your phone and open your contacts, drafting the text you’ll send to Rollo.

Rollo, I need to tell you something… your fingers continuing to vigorously type your paragraph.

Three knocks disperse your attention.

“[Name] are you there?” The familiar voice immediately strikes panic in your body as you accidentally throw your phone into the air, pathetically catching it as you stumble towards the door with a loud thud. On the other side, the door can be seen harshly shaking at an impact from within the room, Rollo glancing to each side of him in confusion. “Are you okay?” The lack of a reply makes worry bubble inside of him.

Before he’s given the chance to open the entrance himself, the door swings inward, allowing him to peak in through the crevice. He looks inside with initial confusion before hurriedly shuffling towards the room, the sight of your body on the floor making him even more puzzled with every passing second.

He lifts your upper body, having you sit face to face with him in such close proximity. Your eyes are dazed, looking directly into his eyes before looking around as if you didn’t even notice this was the genuine Rollo Flamme and not just a product of your imagination.

Damn you Grim… Leaving me as soon as you opened the door…

“Your room… is very disorderly [Name].” I was on the floor and you’re focused on how messy my room is? “I did tell you about how messy it was last time I was here too didn’t I?” I get it, I’m messy, so stop rubbing it in… A moment of silence passes before he quirks up an eyebrow, suspicions of his growing by the minute. “No witty comeback this time? Have you finally decided to start listening to me?” Your lack of reply Honestly worries him. Your eyes take a glance at your phone, making his tired face look over as well.

When he moves to grab it, he pauses his hand frozen in place. Your text is still displayed on your screen, as well as the current predicament you find yourself in. Realization hits you in waves as you quickly crawl over to snatch your phone from his palm. When you tried, his hand moves away in time to avoid your reach.

“It’s quite distasteful to admit such a thing through text.” I knew it… your head leans down, once more, in defeat. But, that's quickly changed when his nimble fingers take your face and lead them to his own. Honestly, it felt as if it lasted for eternity when in reality, the exchange only lasted for a couple of seconds. It was as if, Rollo finally felt the need to indulge himself in a little sin, only a little. When you finally separate, you're both left on the floor of your room, awkwardly glancing at the material.

“So… why’d you come here, Rollo? I thought after everything that happened at Fleur City you wouldn’t wanna come here again…”

“I do. I still don’t wanna be here.”

“Then why are you—“

“There’s a holiday at Noble Bell, we have a day off. I came to spend it with you.”

A/n: If anyone has like, any thoughts for the twst characters pls share them!! I may not be doing requests right now but I might write something short of you send in an ask!! Honestly, I just really enjoy when people ramble in my inbox. Also, I’m not too familar with writing Idia and Leona so i’m sorry if they weren’t written good!

#vesperwrites #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #rollo flamme x reader #twst fluff #twst x yuu #twisted wonderland x yuu

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mixingandmelting · 5 months ago

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If it's not a bother for you, can you please write batfam (including Bruce) and superfam getting jealous when reader subtly mentions her ex when they do something similar to her ex bf. (e.g. reading a book/watching a show/an activity that her ex used to love etc.)

Thank you!!!

A/N: Hello Anon! Sorry that this was sitting in my drafts for so long... 😔 I wasn't sure if you were meaning literally everyone in both families (batboys, batgirls, Jace Fox, supergirls, superboys, etc.) which would've made this post even longer and taken more time... If there are characters not written here you specifically would like, let me know

BATFAM FEAT:

Bruce:

Everything he does is subtle. The stiffness in his muscles, the tick in his jaw. All you did was mention how the way he readjusted his Rolex around his wrist reminded you of your ex. But since when did the things he did remind you of the other guy?

“Must be a thing.” He chuckles, the grip around on his mug tightening as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Bits and pieces of his control over his emotions continue to chip off. There’s irritation building up from sensing nostalgia in your voice when he casually asks about your ex. Under the pretext of curiosity, of course. A scowl set on his face hidden behind a newspaper without him knowing he’s making one. It’s to the point where he fails to school his expression on time when you push down the newspaper. For a moment you stare at him, shock and awe meeting cold and stormy.

“Playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne… is jealous?”

His eyes widen for a second. To think he was that jealous to where he couldn’t keep up a facade…

He frowns when your lips curl up into a grin. Let’s just say the two of you made up real quickly afterwards when he suddenly pulls your wrist towards him.

Jason:

Sure, people can be reminded of their ex but come on. He reminded you of yours over how he shakes his hair out after taking off his helmet? That’s way too oddly specific.

“From what? Riding a street bike?” He snorts, placing his helmet on the bench next to him with a thud from restrained strength.

His mind knows there’s nothing to think too hard about; your ex is an ex and he’s currently yours. But clearly his heart doesn’t, churning and coiling with awful emotions he’s all too familiar with. He goes to grab a rag and wrench for “extra maintenance” when it’s actually him finding it hard to keep himself cool-headed if he doesn’t keep himself busy.

“Jason? Jason. Look at me. It’s not what you’re thinking of.” The only indication that he’s listening is the glance he tosses over his shoulder, still unamused and an eyebrow raised.

“I-,” The eyebrow raises higher from your sigh, “You just do it so naturally and still manage to make it attractive, okay? My ex had to try, forcing a Justin Bieber’s hair flip. That’s all.”

He gets you to break into laughter when he grabs you by the waist and cuddles you, grumbling how you should’ve said so from the start.

Tim:

His fingers hover over the keys for a second. Then he goes back typing. Nothing is amiss albeit the sounds of the mouse and keyboard clicking a tiny bit louder. He’s not bothered. Nope. Even if it was over how he cracked open his can of energy drink with a single hand, he’s not overthinking it whatsoever.

“Yeah?”

His voice stays steady, masking his questions as curiosity while in a small corner of the monitor, he’s pulling up and scrolling through the file on your ex. Net worth? Minimal. Job? Mediocre. There’s nothing about your ex sharing this habit or any other habits with him. But he considers that his fault, having brushed the other as unnoteworthy (which he does with anyone who breaks your heart). He can feel annoyance bubbling inside of him from your reminiscence with the other and his inability to pass it off as a simple talk about exes. Wait. Was this why? Because of the one time he mentioned about his past relationships?

“...Tim? Are you jealous?”

“W-what? No.”

He flushes when he catches your unimpressed expression on the reflection of the screen. Instantly, he’s turned around, surprised to comforted when you start showering him with affection. Later on, he gives in and quit trying to get back at your ex for hurting you.

Minkhoa Khan/"Ghost-Maker":

Many had purposely brought up their exes to him before, trying to poke him for attention or gauge for a reaction. And most often he’d smirk and indulge them, finding the action as “cute”.

But right now, his lips are set into a straight line. Constantly swirling the champagne in his flute rather than drinking it down.

“Oh, I reminded you of your ex?”

Lacking the feeling for empathy or fear, he’s never had found himself feeling jealous especially over an old flame of his partner. Right now? His mind is filled with irrationality and possessiveness. More than peeved for such a small thing to trigger an unneeded memory.

He’s not one to usually filter or hold back on his opinion. However, currently, there’s twice as much sass and bluntness as he shares his thoughts on the other in response to how fond you sounded when talking about your ex’s shared habit with him where your eyes widen from how out of character he was behaving.

“Oh my god, you’re so jealous!”

He refuses to give you the satisfaction, choosing to stay quiet and finish his glass. But when you don’t stop gloating, his hand slowly makes its way towards your shoulder to have you stop in a more… efficient way.

SUPERFAM FEAT:

Clark Kent:

“O-oh, really? I didn’t know your ex wore glasses…”

It’s bothering him so much. He doesn’t like it that your ex does the same thing as him with the whole pushing up glasses if they were to slide down ever so slightly. It goes from him clasping his hands in his lap to resting them on his thighs in fists. More from him trying to stop said habit than anything else.

Frustration and restlessness is how he gets, shuffling every few seconds so he’d at least feel comfortable on the bench he shares with you. His smile more awkward and his voice more strained. He wants to be the good boyfriend that would support you in every way: emotionally, mentally, and physically. So he tries to stay empathetic but his response stays as half-hearted caused by the ugly emotion coursing in his heart and brain.

“Clark…? You’re not possibly jealous, are you?”

Instantly flusters, cheeks matching his Superman suit while he denies that he is.

“No! I’m not jealous whatsoever!” He tries to endure your stare, only to sigh and wave the white flag. “Yeah…. I actually am.”

He lets out a grunt when you wrap your arms around him, finally breaking into a smile when you call him a silly man and that you’re stuck to him with superglue.

Conner Kent:

He stops and turns towards you, an eyebrow cocked up.

“Uh, no. I don’t think so. This?” He flicks up the collar of his leather jacket in front you. “Is a Superboy signature move originating from yours truly.”

So obviously your ex was copying him. Not similar or “doing the same thing”. But apparently, you beg to differ. He keeps brushing his hair back and fiddle with his shades, trying to suppress his irk of you continuing to push that he is similar to the other. Huffing at every point you make and rolling his eyes.

He just doesn’t get it. Why he’s feeling this way and why he can’t act like normal. It’s not his first time hearing something like this from others, taking it in stride and joking how he’s that amazing that everyone wants to be him. But That’s not what’s happening right now. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, toying with a can near his foot.

“You’re jealous.”

“No???”

Jealous? Him? No. No way. He’s Superboy, why would he be jealous? Despite his denial, his face starts to resemble his pants as you accurately guess what was running through his mind. At least part of his dignity gets restored when you kiss his cheek, calling him cute to which he cheekily replies with a duh.

Kong Kenan:

The baseball lands into his hand with a satisfying plot while he’s looking at you with a confused gaze.

“Me tossing baseballs… reminds you of your ex…” He’s careful and slowly enunciating each word, making sure he didn’t (more like he hopes) misheard you.

He goes back tossing the baseball with pursed lips and blowing air through his nose. It’s only concern. Worry. There’s nothing that he and your ex share in common. So he’d think you wouldn’t stretch it that far about getting reminded over something mundane as tossing a baseball.

His tosses get harder, his eyes straining from keeping them trained on the ball. He makes an effort to at least voice out that he gets it, quite literally saying exactly that as he proceeds to explain why you’re wrong E.g., he’s smarter. He’s skilled. He’s Superman-

“Kenan, you know you’re jealous. Right?”

He startles, snapping his head towards you.

“What do you mean? I’m just saying-”

Trust for it to happen as soon as he takes his eyes off, the baseball would come falling on his head. Coiling over, he yelps then scowls with tinted cheeks. At least you comfort him in the midst of your laughter, rubbing circles on his back which releases the tension in him as you promise you have no intentions of leaving him.

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