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summary: your cute upstairs neighbour holds many secrets. you're willing to close one eye to his secrecy or the way he looks at you as if you hung the stars, till you accidentally uncover letters upon letters nedpeterâs kept in his apartmentâall addressed to you.
pairing: peter parker x reader
content: slight angst, flufff, comfort, no major movie spoilers!!, yes peter fumbled by using ned as his fake name, yearner peter parker!!
Hey! Itâs Peter, your Peter.
Peterâclearly, Ned wasn't even his real name. Ned, the friendly neighbour from 28B who was a secretive, genius oddballâwhom you suspect to be some sort of undercover agent after catching a glimpse of the ridiculously high-end tech flooding his apartment.
Overly sweet Ned, who never failed to offer a hand with your laundry basket or delivery packages, or dropping off your exact coffee order at the front door before your morning shifts, just because he could. Ned, who snaps his neck up half the time looking around with a widened, hopeful gaze when you do address him in the laundry roomâas if looking for some other Ned that meant a greater deal to him than himself.
You had suspected he was likely involved in illegal activities, but when the temptation of finding his laundry basket unattended remained, you finally took the chance to return those little favours. Maybe he was the kindest stranger you've ever known, or maybe he just looked like he could use a helping handâwith how his shoulders drooped low whenever he thought no one was looking in the dingy hallways. He seemedâlonely.
Not like you were one to judge. You had always felt like a piece of you was missing, and that gaping hole behind your ribs didn't magically stitch itself closed when you grabbed your degree with crippling student loans biting at your heels, and a lousy job in the nearest soul-sucking company you could find within train distance to your apartment.
So, maybe Ned's smile that crinkled the corners of his hazel eyes flashed more than once in your thoughts, and you decided it was time to get to know the man who lived one floor above you. You expected his smile to greet you when you climbed up the rickety stairs to his apartment, not his door left ajar with webs sticking out the hingesâor letters all addressed to you scattered across the floorboards.
You didn't know what you had expected when you walked into his mess of an apartment. More so than usual, enough for you to sense the abnormality of webs upon webs coating his furniture. Stepping into what seems to be a genuine crime scene, it's as if the culprit was one massive spider that decided to make its hive in Ned's apartment.
"Ned?" You call out, worry raised in your tone as you look aroundâcatching no sight of him through the thick layers of webbing. His large monitor screens are all left online, files left unclosed on the window tab, with no sign of their user.
You're one step away from the monitor, tempted to call the cops when you catch sight of crumpled papers upon papers scattered on the wooden floors beneath the desk. Brows furrowed, you crouch down, brushing away the loosened cobwebs coating the papers. They areâ letters.
Your first instinct as your fingers trace over his handwriting, paper crumpled at the edges, is to leave it alone as it's most definitely personalâbefore your eyes catch sight of your name. Noâyou weren't imagining it. The letters were most definitely, addressed to you.
Hey! Itâs Peter, your Peter.
Earlier was bad. Like, really bad. I can't believe I said 'Oh no!' to your face, like what kind of idiot does that as their first impression? Well, technically that wouldn't be our first meeting, though I doubt you'll remember me. I was anything but smooth on all the other occurences either.
Just talking with you in the hallway and carrying your boxesâI nearly forgot myself. I still can't decide if it's a curse or some cruel joke of a blessing that you moved into my apartment complex of all places. It's like the world's trying to tell me to just say the truth.
I should be going out there and telling you this instead of writing this stupid note or letter, but a letter should come in one of those fancy envelopes, so I guess I should call this a note? Anyways, I'm getting off track.
I miss being with you, and Iâm so scared Iâm starting to forget how it iswas between us, and talking to you again like everything was normal justâI had the urge to sit down and write to you, before I did anything stupid. So I could talk to you, in some way, without hiding behind 'Ned'. How stupid can I be, using Ned's name, like was that seriously all I could think of? I donât know if this note will be worth anything by the end, but I think itâll hurt worse if I just let what happened simmer in my brain.
I miss you so, so much. It feels like it's killing me sometimes, and I don't know what to do with myself now that you're here, so close to me, for what could be a really long time. I don't know what hurts worse, being apart from you or this, and I don't know what I'm going to do. You'd know what to say, and I wish you could tell me. I miss you ordering me around. I just miss you.
Love,
Your Peter.
Your heart thumps painfully against your ribcage, fingers tightening over the crinkled edges, digging deeper into the forming lines. What kind of sick joke was this? Had he known you for longerâsince before you moved into this apartment?
His strange reaction when he had bumped into you in the hallway for the first time reformed in your memory, the intensity of a stranger that came off as more than usual awkwardness.
"Sorry for bumping into youâ" You huff, a cramped smile peeking through the many boxes you're carrying. "Not my best line of sight right now."
Past the boxes, is possibly the cutest potential neighbour you've ever seen. With wettened curls drooping over his forehead, a towel draped around his neck, in his grey sweats and baggy hoodieâthis stranger looks like a dream. Or maybe you're just in desperate help to ease the load on your arms that carries your entire future life in this new apartment complex.
"What are you doing here?"
You blink, stunned by his sudden interrogation. That wasânot what you expected. You run faces through your mind, anyone you may have accidentally pissed off in the last four years of your university life, but his doesn't come to mind at all. You would remember that face.
Especially if he's staring at you like the existence of you in this cramped hallway was a signal that the world was collapsing on him and his perfect curls.
"Uhm, I live here?" You answer, shuffling the boxes awkwardly between your two palms. "Well, starting todayâI do."
Your words register slowly for him, and you feel it in the strain of your arms under the boxes, as the fact that you're his actual neighbour slowly kicks in to his senses.
"Oh." His lips part in genuine anguish. "Oh no."
"Yikes." You wince. "That's a warm welcome."
He's panicking. The cute stranger looks like he's one miscalculated breath away from passing out in the hallway, and you're in no position to assist him when you're clearly winded yourself.
"NoâI didn't meanâ" His voice stutters, catching at the tail-ends and running out of breath. "Oh, this is not how it's supposed to go."
"No, I don't think I've ever caused genuine pain to a neighbour just from my mere existence." You snort, offering a lighter tone. "Though Margeret may disagree."
His lips quirk up slightly, involuntary even if he has no idea who Margeretâyour old neighbour, is supposed to be. "No, I'm sorry. That was rude of me." He tries again, voice sincerely apologetic. "Can I please help you with the boxes to make up for it?"
You open your mouth to brush off his request, but the boxes tilt right as you make another forward step. "Fine." You oblige. "Just don't start spreading rumours about me taking advantage of your kindness. I really need a new start here."
"Had personal experience with that?" He raises a brow, almost teasingâsofter than he had been earlier in his initial shock. His hands come up under your boxes, brushing over your fingers almost tentatively.
The warmth of his touch lingers for a second longer than it should, but you're too focused on the relief of the heavy weight being lifted off your palms as he carries it into his own arms, clearly handling the boxes with more ease than you had.
"Ask Margeret." You shrug, rolling your shoulders to ease the cramping. "Thanks..."
His lips part and close, realising he's supposed to introduce himself. It takes him awhile to gather the syllables of his name, before he offers it. "..Ned."
"Thanks, Ned." Your smile deepens, and he stares at you long enough, gaze tracing over the curve of your lips for it to teeter towards awkward.
He keeps doing that, registering your presence as something otherworldly, as if it was the last thing he expected in his path. Maybe the complex has few new tenants to explain his abnormal reaction.
"Oh, my door's 13B."
"Whatâoh, right!" He blinks, still looking stunned and turning with such an abrupt motion towards the direction of your new studioâand somehow, you're fond of it immediately.
Fond of Ned, even if your arrival seems to have jumbled his senses into a frenzy, and you have only known him for approximately four minutes.
Hey, it's Peter again!
It's two in the morning, my ribs are aching from Scorpion, and talking with you in the laundry room was easily the best ten minutes of my life since everything changed. My smile refuses to be wiped and it's been nearly an hour, and I can't sleep cause I'm thinking about you. You genuinely work better than painkillers, and I love you. I love you so much that I have never wished so desperately...
I wish I wasn't Peter Parker. That I wasn't the person who took your love for granted, who reassured you that I'd always make it back to you and that I'd help you remember. I can't even protect the people I love, not without ruining their lives just by letting them in. Being able to keep you safe from me, is the only reason that's enough to keep me from barging in and fulfilling my promise. From reminding you of what I used to mean to you, and what we used to be. I am a coward, but I can only hope that I won't be a selfish one. I've created enough reasons for why I can't stand being me, but I refuse to list another which involves hurting you.
That's enough for tonight. I just wish that if the universe ever gives me the chance to make things right, without making everything else much much worse, I just want you to know that I would never take anything for granted ever again. Over anything. Over pineapple on pizza, or the supremacy of rock bands, or the Lego pieces I stuffed under my bed, or me being Spiderman. I miss you so much, and I hope you're having a better night that I am.
Love,
Your Peter.
âNed, are you okay?â You ask, watching as he limped forward towards the washing machine, one hand gripped right at his ribcage.
Your own batch is tumbling along, and you're seated cross-legged across your machine as he slumps forward to sit right next to you, hand going towards the cover of the conjoined machine beside yours.
âPeachy.â The crinkles of his eyes deepen, tossing you a wayward smile with a barely concealed wince. âTripped and slammed into the washing machine yesterday.â
âThatâs like the third time this month.â You raise a brow, expression contorting in concern.
âIs it?â He chuckles self-deprecatingly. âMust be really off my game.â
âOf making amends with the washing machine?â You tease.
âYeah, I suppose.â His smile softens, gazing up at you.
He does that a lot, go soft at the edges, as if heâs peeling back something fuzzy over his expressionâand revealing something honest.
"My advice is to make an offer." You whisper conspiratorially. "Throw in your most favourite shirt or something, and the laundry gods will be kinder on you."
He snorts, and it feels strangely familiar to talk to him this way, under the dim lighting of the flickering lamp, surrounded by the scent of detergent. You barely get to see Ned as is, not like you're expecting a practical stranger to make up much of your socialising hours, aside from the quick friendly nods and occasional 'how's your day's' when brushing past each other in the hallway.
He's a busy guy, and the laundry mat has become a sacred space where the two of you existed in each other's worlds for just a few minutes, till the timer runs out.
"I don't really have anything of mine that'll please the gods." He whispers back.
"I could give you something." You shrug non-comittally.
His gaze widens, staring at you as you dig around in your inner pocket, before tugging something out. One of your favourite scrunchies in hand, you offer it to him.
"Here." You gesture. "Just toss it in with the pile, I guarantee you that the gods will leave you alone."
His gaze flickers between the scrunchie in your hand to you. He's about to say something, brows furrowing together in brief conflict, but chooses not to divulge as his hand reaches for the scrunchie. You note the bruises forming along his knuckles as his fingers loop around the silk, and your lips press together further in concern.
By the time your gaze meets his, he's already turned his head and placed the scrunchie gently on top of his pile of clothes. When he sets the settings and presses the button, the machine runs smoothly, beeping along with yours as his clothes begin to turn and tumble without fault.
"Wow, you really do make everything better." He mutters to himself.
Your smile softens. "It's just a scrunchie."
He shakes his head loosely, his curls falling to his forehead before he turns back to face you. His gaze pours over your features, the crinkles in the corner of his hazel eyes so soft in the dimmed lighting. "No, I think itâs you."
Peter here!
I just wanted to say happy birthday to the smartest, beautiful, kindest, most awesome human to ever exist! I ran out of other big words, but you make up the whole dictionary of synonyms for amazing in every language possible. Iâm really sorry I couldnât be there, you have no idea how sorry. I have many other things to be sorry for, but this week, thatâs definitely going top of the list. I should really stop with these letters, but I really wanted to give you a proper wish just this once.
It kills me that I canât celebrate with you, and I know youâd end me yourself if you remembered my promise with the camera. You always did like the grain. You still look absolutely beautiful even without it. Iâm so proud of youâfor being you, and existing, and just killing it out there in the world. I did something a little sad, and not even close to what you deserve, but I bought a cupcake from Delmar's earlier, and I even have the candle right in front of me.
I wish for you to live the most happiest, fulfilling life, and that danger will never come close to you. I wish that you will achieve everything you've ever dreamed of, and that you'll have people who will look after you and love you just as much as I do. I wishâthat you'll live a life worth remembering.
I love you, and I think this will be my last letter. I think it'll be nearly impossible for me to let you go, but I think it's time I accepted that for you to live the life I wished for, I have to try.
I love you,
Your Peter.
P.S. Sorry, just had to add this in one last time. You're always beautiful, and I'm not saying this because I only get to see you from a distance, but because I don't think I ever got to tell you that enough.
"Ned?" Your voice croaked out. "Is that you?"
You hear shuffling, before his left shoulder peeks out from the doorframe, slowly entering into view as he takes the lower step into the laundry room. He's staring down at you as if you've handed him an atomic bomb, and you're a sure mess, nose stuffy and eyebags swollen from crying.
"Hey." His soft call is close to making you lose it. "I didn't know if you wanted me intruding on yourâ"
"Date with the washing machine?" You huff, amusement dry as you turn back to look at your tumbling laundry. "By all means, join in. This current option isn't really doing it for me."
You spot the turn of his lips into a smile in your peripheral vision, before he eventually drops his weight beside you. His knee brushes against yours, and that contact registers like lightning to your senses, before he pulls back to that appropriate distance he always sets between the two of you.
You have no idea why it frustrates you so, even if you have nothing you should expect from him. Your gaze drops to his hand resting over his knee, bouncing slightly with a restless energyâand you spot your scrunchie over his wrist.
Your breath shortens, pulling your attention to his face only to find him already looking at you with unbridled concern.
"You okay?" He asks gently.
Your lip trembles, and you steady yourself as much as you are able. "Fine, just a real shit week."
"I'm so sorry to hear that." He's honest, you can hear it even without really looking him in the eye. "If you want, you can rant to me. I'm a real good listening ear. No mouthing off, just a still statue for your needs."
Your lips quirk up slightly at his attempt at minimising his presence, without even knowing how much it mattered to you that he came in hereâor that he stood by the door for a solid ten minutes before you called him out. That he didn't leave, even if any normal stranger would.
"It's my birthday." You shrug, wiping at the tearstain at your cheeks. "And I just lost my job."
His lips part, brows pulling togetherâbut he doesn't interrupt you.
"I was supposed to have a party today, and my college friends cancelled last minute." You mutter weakly. "Not that we were super close, but close enough that it mattered, y'know? I wasn't their first pick, or anyone's for the matter, so it really shouldn't have come as a surprise."
"No, you'reâ" His voice raises almost in frustration, and you meet his gaze. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, and his tone softens into an admission. "You're definitely my first pick."
Your laugh bubbles out of you, finding his statement absurd. "For what? You barely know me."
"I know you're extremely kind." He starts. "That you'd offer your favourite scrunchie to a stranger just to please the laundry gods. That you're funny, and beautifulâand my first pick for who I'd always want to run into."
You stare at him, unable to suppress your shock. He just called you kind, and funny, and beautifulâthings people who've known you for longer hasn't thought to mention in years.
"That'sâthe nicest thing anyone's ever said to me in awhile." You confess, licking at your lips. "Thank you, Ned."
"It's only the truth." He presses. "I shouldn't be the only person to see that, and I know I'm not the only one who does."
"I don't know." You shrug uselessly. "My birthday hasn't even ended, and I feel completely unseen in my own life. I know it's a stupid thing, but I wish I had someone to take my picture, at least to comemorate that I've completed another spin around the Earth or something."
"You could use my camera." He offers almost instinctively.
"You have a camera?" You blink, before a slow smile spreads across your lips. "Of course you do. Do I need to be a tech-savvy to use those too, secret hacker?"
You're no stranger to the many monitors that crowd his apartment, courtesy to the many curious glances past the few times he's left his door ajar, into the premises of his own studio of what looked to be a completely different realm.
His smile deepens. "No, you just need to press two buttons. I could teach you how to work it out."
"You're into photography?" You ask.
His expression stiffens, thoughts trailing off. "Yeah, something like that. My aunt used to love taking physical photos, and I sorta inherited that trait. There was someoneâwho used to love using my film camera too. So, yeahâI guess I have some experience."
"You could teach me photography." You offer, almost tentatively. "Not just for the sad, lone birthday picture, I mean."
"Oh." He stares at you, and you see it then. Conflictâa pure, unmasked internal battle. "IâI don't know if I'm the right person."
You shrink slightly, less confident than you had been a few seconds ago. This really wasn't your day. "Right, sorry. I know you're a really busy person."
"No, Iâ" He winces, jaw clenching tight. "I would really love to. It's just that I'mâ"
He pauses, staring at you with a nearly broken expression. Your brows furrow together, waiting for his answerâheart thumping in what could only be anticipation. Rejection is close at hand, and you hate that you find yourself waiting still, for something different. For him to fulfill something even you couldn't quite understand.
"Busy." He eventually settles on, voice trailing off in defeat.
You can't take it to heart. You don't allow yourself to, because disappointment is the last thing you wanted a taste of on a day like this. Ned was still nice enough to sit down here with you while you moped, and you shouldn't expect anything more. Even if you liked him, and the crinkles in the corners of his warm, brown eyes, and the sweet sound of his voiceâmore than you'd ever admit to yourself.
"That's not very creative." You mumble, presenting him with a weakened attempt of a smile. "I gave you that excuse, thief."
His own softened smile rises to meet yours, equally shattered. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you."
You know he means it, you just don't know why your heart churns so painfully when you hear those words coming out of his mouth. You don't know if you have faith in promises lately. You haven't believed in those for a really long time.
You don't know how many letters you've gone through, flipping through confessions scribbled in secrecy, of mind-spells, and magic, and vigilantesâa life you don't even remember to be a fraction of your world.
A loud crash resounds behind you and you instinctively rise, tripping over your feetâalmost frightened, lashes wet at the corner of your eyes when you turn and see Ned. No, Peterâdressed in a black tank-top much too short for his defined torso and⌠Juicy Couture pants?
Heâs clearly disoriented, and youâre not sure if itâs the chronic migraines he usually getsâor something heavier he keeps hidden past the pile of letters thatâs just spilled everything. You can barely look at him without feeling like youâre going to burst at the seams, and he hasnât even noticed your presence in his apartment.
âWhat is this?â Your voice eventually breaks through.
His head snaps up, expression scrunched in tensionâand he freezes. That same tentative smile he always tossed to you, always sweet and somehow all-too-knowing, locks in place as his lips partâassuming youâre talking about his outfit. Or the state of his apartment, thereâs just too much about him that you could never quite put a finger on.
âWrong laundry basket.â He huffs, churning out an attempt of a laugh to play it off. âFell asleep in the laundry room, and I didn't even think to take a look at what's inside. I promise I'm not a thief.â
âStop.â Your stern expression is caught by him immediately, and his attempt of a smile falters. Slowly, your hand raises the letters to his line of vision. "Peter."
His gaze snaps to the letters creased between your shaking fingers. You can't remember what breathing looks like, especially not when his own chest stutters visibly beneath the tank top, as if all the oxygen's been sucked out of him.
He knows, that you know.
"Ohâno." He whispers weakly, because that is the only appropriate thing to say. Youâre struck with dĂŠjĂ vu, back to the first time you ever crossed paths with him in the hallway, when he had looked you with so much painâone you couldnât decipher.
He takes a step forward towards you, both hands raised with his lips parting to come up with an explanation. You instinctively take a step back, not on purpose, but the distance you've created lands all the same.
He flinches as if you've struck him, his expression shattered to pieces of that raw agony you've felt slip up from him once or twice. That same gaping sadness beneath his gaze, that he always covered up with a bandaged smile meant more for show.
"I'm sorry." His voice breaks weakly, hands clenching into a fist before dragging back down to his sides. "I didn't mean to scare you. Oh god, this was not how this was supposed to go."
"How was this supposed to go?" You echo back to him. "From your letters, it didn't seem like you were ever going to tell me."
It didn't mean to sound accusatory, but you're high on the precipice of a reality broken to pieces, and you're unsure if you're left alone in apartment with an actual lunatic, or with a truth you weren't suppose to discover.
"No, Iâ" He sucks in a breath, desperation seeping into his tone. "I swear I was going to, but then I found you and you looked soâ"
His hands that have begun to brush through his curls fall flatly to the sides, defeated. "So peacefulâand safe. I felt so selfish to take that away from you. To drag you back into my world, knowing that all you'd face was danger or worse."
"And the truth is that hurt the people I love." He admits, his eyes squinting together as something wet flickers over his lashes, and you can tell he believes it. This so-called truth he tells himself. "Nothing good comes out of being close to me, and I couldn't lose you."
"I had to be okay with it." His gaze meets yours, broken. "Not being in your life will always be better than a world without you in it. I had to protect you, somehowâeven if it meant leaving you alone."
"It was easier before you came." He huffs out, pained. "To keep a distance before I saw you everyday, just out of reach. I can't count the amount of times I nearly told you. I was just afraid, that if you didn't remember me, I don't think I canâlive with hearing it. I'm a coward, and I took the only path I knew, which was to pretend. Like everything was fine, and that seeing you from a distance was enough."
You see it, the way his brain registers his actions as protection, but you don't feel protected. You feel isolated, locked out of your own memories and faced with a man you're supposed to know, someone your body is pleading for you to recognise past the fog in your brain.
âListenâwhatever worked worked, and I canât remember.â You breathe out, exhale shaky from your lips. âI canât remember what we had, but I know myself. I don't let people make promises to me, not unless I trust them so much that IâIf you promised youâd find me, that youâd help me remember.â Your fist clenches tighter around the letters. "You should've known that I'd never be okay with leaving you alone to deal with thisâ"
"How could you know that?" He snaps.
You blink, stunned.
"I meanâyou never had a normal life from the moment you met me." He goes on. "You never experienced a life without hoping I'd make it back home safe, without looking over your shoulder when I became the world's public enemy, or having to deal with stitches and blood and worrying about survivalâinstead of school!"
"You don't see the difference but I do." He confesses. "You're living a good life now, and I already screwed it up by entering it again."
"Peter." You cut him off, nearly pleading. "Stop it."
His jaw locks, lips clamping shut before he lets out a huff, one closer to a panic attack than frustration. "I'm sorry." He mutters, clenching his jaw. Something wet pries behind his lashes, and he runs his palms over them, covering his face. "I don't want to fight."
Your heart cracks a little, because there's something so heartbreakingly earnest in the way he says it, as if he's beating himself up over a million thoughts you can't uncover. Your steps inch closer, almost instinctively your body knowing the rhythm at the sight of a distraught Peter before you even have the chance to piece together the 'why'.
"We're not fighting, Peter." You reassure him, your hands tentatively lifting to rest atop his palm.
He freezes, unable to comprehend your touch. You peer through the gaps of his fingers, and find his gaze staring back at you, fractured and pained.
"I knew something wasn't right." You sigh. "I felt it this whole time. Like there was an absence of somethingâsomeone important. It gnawed at me, that emptiness, and it nearly drives me insane some nights."
He recognises the feeling, you know he does with the way his expression draws tighterâin understanding, in regret.
"I wish you came to me." You whisper. "I wish you told me, so you wouldn't have to go through this alone."
His lip trembles, as if he never expected you to hear the truth and stay. As if you'd pick the exit over him, when he clearly needs you now.
"If I had promised I'd be there for you, you should've let me keep that promise." You scold gently. "Even if it meant starting over. Youâre not meant to deal with life alone, much less one as heavy as yours.â
His gaze is shaken, staring at you with his pupils blown wide. Waiting for reality to hit, or for you to take back your wordsâbut you remain. You stand there, close enough for him to feel you. You don't falter.
Something in Peter givesâshatters completely, and itâs a mere blink before his arms are completely wrapped around you, squashing you into his chest. His fingers are shaking, tremblingâa relieved exhale pressed against your shoulder blade before he buries himself deep into the crook above your collarbone.
âI missed you.â Wet tears pool at your skin. âSo, so much. It felt like I was dying a little inside every single day, knowing I wasn't keeping your promise. I couldn'tâI really tried letting go and it didn't work, not when you mean everything to me."
"I know you don't remember me or what happened between us butâ" His voice shakes, muffled from his tight hold. "I love you and Iâm sorryâIâm so sorry for everything.â
You can't answer him, not with the words he wants or deserves to hear with full honesty backing it, not without the memories you used to share. Yet, the hold of him is familiar, the way you run your fingers through his curls like memory work. His entire body caves in deeper to your touch, as if heâd been waiting this whole time since your arrival to let himself fall into you.
"From the first day I saw you." You admit. "I felt like I was meant to know you, Peter. I wouldn't have given you my scrunchie if it didn't mean something, if I didn't want to tie myself to you in some way."
Pulling back slightly so he meets your gaze, you find yourself mesmerised by the familiarity of him, the way his gaze pours over you automatically as if memorising you is all he wishes to do.
"I want to get to know you, Peter." You confess. "And I want to do it without you pushing me away, pretending like my life is happier without you when laundry nights are what I look forward to the most, because of you."
His breath halts, short-circuiting with your words. Something bright and warm bleeds into his face, and you recognise it to be happiness. Genuine, unconditional reliefâbefore his forehead presses against yours, his lashes fluttering to a close as he embraces you.
"I can do that." He mutters softly. "I'll do anything you ask me to."
It's nice, to be held so tightly and finally feel whole. To have that gap in your chest you've never truly stitched up fade into something mind-numbingly warm and fuzzy, in the arms of the one person your body still commits to memory, past even some stupid mind spell.
âAlso.." You murmur, still wrapped in his embrace. "Seriously, what is this outfit?"
A surprised chuckle escapes his lips, a little wet-sounding as he clears his throat. "I wasn't lying about the laundry mishap. I swear I don't dress like this normally."
You hum. "I don't know, I kind of like it."
The silence stretches for a brief second. "I'll buy more if you want me to."
a/n: this movie was everything i needed. much more peter parker fics to come!
likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated! <3333
My insecurities surround me like lions in the den
And I feel like I'm losing touch with what I am again
And slowly I remember why I cannot pretend
That I never think of you and all this screaming silence
Oh God I wish you were here
So won't you fall for me?
Won't you fall for me?
Through a fractured existence
Won't you fall for me?
Won't you fall for me
From reality?
To the rhythm of eternity
Won't you fall for me?
I apologize for the spelling mistakes; English is not my native language.
I think the biggest mistake people make when writing fanfic is insistingâand swearingâthat their work is strictly based on the original series, anime, manga, comic, or book, when in reality, it is merely an interpretation (and sometimes a superficial one at that).
It is better to state from the start that it is an interpretationâyour own visionâand to show how you develop that character and their story.
Why do I mention this? Because many people boast about being "based on the source material," yet the entire fanfic turns out to be based on a fandom interpretation or a very superficial understanding of the work.
Truly understanding a work means interpreting, questioning, and developing the elements that catch our attention; it means recognizing that there is more than what meets the eye. After all, what makes fanfic so special is the opportunity to develop characters further and question the choices made within the story.
It isn't about copy-pasting the original plot or strictly adhering to the source material; it is about interpreting the story we readâand the story we want to tell about a character we loveâin a better way.
Yes, interpretations that aren't entirely faithful are also valid, provided they work well and allow youâwhether as a reader or a writerâto have fun and enjoy the experience.
What isn't right is claiming your fanfic is "faithful to the source material" when you know full well it is actually your own interpretation, or one adopted from the fandom.
(The tags are from the fandoms where I've read the most fanfics)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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i'm pretty sure you've drawn fem jay before, and maybe you have done this, but like if you ever wanted to do jason as a butch lesbian there is a market for it (me, a femme lesbian who loves jason todd)
in fact I've always said that my fem jason is a butch lesbian 𫡠since the first drawing actually!!đŤś
THIS IS A HUMAN TOY STORY AU: Not the original pic I wanted to post đ but hey! This is from a doodle set l've been working on, I will fix it up a lot more later but I felt it fit Jessie during her pregnancy with Emily, she ain't giving up that sheriff badge that easily, she might not be able to ride horse back but you can bet your ass she's gonna take care of her town still đ¤Ł
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
summary: when you struck the arrangement with damian wayne to act as your fake boyfriend for a party hosted by your ex and ex-best friendâyou thought your choice made perfect sense. choosing damian wayne, the most logical, unattainable person you knew, removes the complication of feelings being involved. till of course, damian stops pretending.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: flufff, damian wayne is a yearner and takes his role of being your pretend boyfriend very seriously.
"You are suggesting I partake in a fake relationshipâ" Damian Wayne stares down at you, still dressed in his lab coat, with what may be the closest to genuine concern you've ever seen on him, all cramped into the crease of his brows. "To help with your dilemma?"
"Exactly." Your grin is the only positive staple throughout this entire exchange, after your successful cornering of only the most unattainable medical student of Gotham University. "It's like a fancy title for an assignment partner but removing the word 'assignment', right?"
"Assuming that your ambitious plan would even work." Crossing his arms, Damian looks more unimpressed over your carefully planned spreadsheet titled 'Fake-Dating Operation' than the earlier assigned pairings by Dr. Lake. "Do humour me on your astounding confidence that I would even offer my assistance."
"We're already assigned together for the semester." You shrug. "What's one reunion party, and an hour spent pretending you don't hate my guts like you do with everyone else?"
He stares at you for a long beat, before his lips twitch into the smallest smirk. "I appreciate your attempts at lowering my expectations further on how idlers are able to accomplish wasting hours in a day. I expect your section of the report to be done by Sunday."
"Wait!" Your hand reaches out to grab at the ends of his sleeve as he moves past you. "I am an amazing fake partner. I provide free dog walks, cookies, amazing work ethicâit's practically a free service just for a little acting on your part!"
"I appreciate the desperation, and the answer is still a no."
"Wayne!" You call out as his sleeve slips out of your fingers, stopping in your tracks right in front of himâblocking the exit. "Damian, please."
His head tilts to cast you a disapproving expression. "My word of advice, is to gain enough respect for yourself to not be bothered by what others think."
Your lips pull together into a frown, but you refuse to be dissuaded, not when you've already laid all your cards on the table. You didn't expect it to be easy, and you had already prepared yourself for his vicious tongue.
"My self-respect has already been trampled on when they decided to send me the invitation." You state honestly. "It's scheduled for its revival in five weeks, after the party. I'll be a changed person by then, scout's honour."
His brow pulls higher, as if silently questioning if you had even part of the Gotham Scouts, but you're not done.
"But before then, I plan on being the pettiest, deranged person in all of Gotham University." You declare. "And that includes you in my plans, because you, Damian Wayne, are the only person who checks all my requirements of a fake boyfriend."
"I'm honoured." He mocks, gaze flickering past towards the hallway.
"You are Walter's role-model, he would kiss the test tubes you lay your fingers on. Paige has a Pinterest folder labelled with your name, and it has all your news sightings saved by colour coordination."
"Sounds like your issues derive more from the company you keep." He mutters, expression pulled together in disgust.
"Point besides, I want it to be you, Damian Wayne." You confess.
It sounds ridiculous, but this was fully concerning your pride and something you've forgotten in your years of working yourself away for your dreams, which was the taste for controlled chaos. He blinks once, staring at you incredulously as if deciding where to place you in his ranking of newly discovered lunatics.
"You're the only person who will drive them as insane as they've made me." Your voice chokes, filled with determination or buried rage, the difference didnât seem to matter. "You could walk in there for just an hour to save my life, and I know that you won't have the slightest chance of complicating things, or falling in love with meâand that's what makes this perfect. This may sound crazy to you, but you're the only person that's made sense to me ever since my life was turned upside-down."
Your chest heaves, and your arms are still outstretched to stop him from leaving the lab. You're nothing like thisâimpulsive, frantic, verging on insanityâbut you're also done being complacent. Of letting things go just because it's the right thing to do.
After what feels like eternity, Damian's expression flickers. Implicit and almost undetectable, but his gaze is on you as if he's finally registering your existence and trying to catalogue you into a different box than the one he's placed you in.
"Send the spreadsheet to my email." He answers apprehensively, as if he can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "I will review through the calendar on its... feasibility. Expect a response by eight p.m.."
You let out a held breath, a smile finally breaking through. "Thank you, reallyâ"
"On the condition that I expect you to finish your section by tonight."
Your expression freezes. "Tonight?"
"To prove your desperation's worth considering." He tosses you a mocking smile, all sharp edge and nothing considerable of warmth. "You have ten more hours before my interest wanes."
Your smile weakens, blinking rapidly as you calculate your remaining time to draft something of substance. "Okay, sureâ that's not going to be a problem."
It's worth it. Dealing with Damian Wayne is going to be worth it.
I have reviewed through your spreadsheet in detail. Do answer my enquiries on my comments below.
- I believe watching romance comedy as 'theory practice' is highly inefficient and prone to fantastical expectations. Do amend this.
- As for my 'meeting' availabilities, I am free on Thursdays and Fridays at noon to two, on the condition that at least an hour be reserved for actual assignment discussions. You are required to provide evidence of actual progress for the assignment, or this arrangement will be considered void.
- Provide me a list summary on details for answers regarding possible interrogation questions during the party. It will be more efficient as compared to you providing me the details in person.
As for the assignment, your section draft is acceptable, and I expect our lab findings to be updated into your table by the following lab session next week.
Regards,
Damian.
You can barely contain your grin, kicking into the sheets despite the exhaustion that plagues your bones from grueling non-stop over the section and multiple tabs later. He had looked through your multi-coloured spreadsheet calendar, and actually considered it with his own enquiries. Typing out your own response, you give serious thought into his enquiries.
To: [email protected]
Subject: Reply: 'Fake-Dating Operation' Spreadsheet Review
Thank you for your detailed consideration of my spreadsheet. Your efforts are acknowledged and appreciated.
- I believe we are required to watch at least one rom-com that involves fake-dating. Neither of us have had previous experience in this department (unless you'd like to share valuable information), and it will boost our success rate.
- Perfect! I'm available on Fridays, and scout's honour, I promise to have my progress brought for each meeting session.
- As for the list, I will provide you possible answers, but some may require in-person explanations. I'll explain more this Friday!
Can't even express my thanks on how grateful I am, you're the best Wayne in history!
Signing off your name, you close your laptop with the giddiest smile you've had sinceâat the reminder, your grin falters. Your chest thuds faintly, as if reminding you that the fun you've just experienced can still be dampened by reality. No, you refuse to let it ruin your enjoyment.
This is the most alive you've felt in weeks, and you're going to make the most of it. If your life feels like it's finally picking up through colourful spreadsheet rows and columns, and waiting on an email reply from the most terrifying student in Gotham Universityâso be it.
Damian slides your extremely lengthy list across the lunch table, and you can barely hide your shock that he actually printed it outâbefore you catch sight of many red circles marked neatly around your points.
"Your least favourite vigilante is Robin?" He interrogates.
You blink in surprise, not expecting him to start there. "Well, he's not exactly originalâI mean, câmon, theyâre multiple versions of him."
His lips part, aghast in a half-caught scoff. "He's one of the most prominent vigilante figures in Gotham."
You shrug. "Spoiler's cooler."
He clicks at his tongue. "You have horrible taste."
"You are not telling me that you, Damian Wayne, have a favourite and that is Robin?"
He doesn't blink. "There are several other questionable details in your list."
"Yes, I can see that." Peering back at your list, your brows furrow. "What's wrong with liking Gotham's Pizza?"
"Only that you're clearly fond of days-old grease and artificial cheese."
"Hey, that's where it gets its flavour."
He shakes his head, disgusted. "I refuse to be associated with someone who has non-functioning taste buds."
"Fineâwe'll say we often have dates at Romeo's instead." You shrug. "Not like I'll be caught there after our agreement's expired."
He raises a brow. "Expired?"
Pointing at your open tab, you reference a newly added row. "Our break-up, scheduled for Monday after the party."
He stares at the date, before his gaze roams over you with a questioning look. "Despite my lack of experience, should you not consider the likely suspicions if you were to end a relationship three days after the party?"
Your lips part into an 'oh'. "I thought you would want to get it over and done with as quickly as possible."
His expression closes in, gaze narrowing. "I will not put my reputation at stake by agreeing to this facade, if it means having our efforts go down the drain because of an obvious flaw.â
Your grin slips out uncontrollably. âYou just said âourâ efforts. Look at us, the perfect team.â
His expression remains impassive, before he raises a slow brow. âSwitch to the assignment tab.â
âYes, sir.â
Resting below a willow tree, your third Friday with Damian is spent resting below the shade on your picnic clothâone you used to share with Paige. The sight of its red plaid, stuffed behind your piles of clothes in your wardrobe, was getting sadâeven for you.
Damianâs back is resting against the tree bark, shoulders nearly taking up the widthâbrows impossibly furrowed as his gaze narrows on your laptop displaying âTo All The Boys I Loved Beforeâ.â
âThis movie is non-sensical.â
âI think itâs romantic.â You shrug.
He tosses you a judgmental glance. âHaving your own blood betray you by revealing your own personal letters, is your idea of romance?â
âI mean Lara Jean and Peter, Damian.â You snort. âThatâs our main source of inspiration.â
âHeâs hardly appealing.â He scoffs, arms crossing over the other. âIs this the standards you expect from our arrangement?â
âIf this is mediocreââ You respond, aghast. âYou have no idea how dire love can be nowadays.â
His frown deepens. âYou are not expecting me to perform in this manner?â
âWhatâfalling in love with me?â You grin. âNo, I do not expect you to be Peter Lavinsky.â
He stares at you with barely concealed frustration. Before you can tease him further, something purple is tossed into your face.
A yelp escapes your mouth, the light weight of an object falling into your lap.
âThatâsâthe discontinued, limited edition Spoiler cap!â You gasp, eyes widening in realisation. âHow did you get this?â
He shrugs begrudgingly. âMy sister used to be a collector. She doesnât mind giving it away.â
âGiving it away?â You mutter incredulously. âThis is actual gold. Your sister is my favourite person on Earth.â
His brow twitches. âI bargained for that cap.â
You snort. âWhat did you exchange it for, your dignity?â
âYou have no clue on my sacrifice." He grimaces.
âYour sacrifice is acknowledged." You tease, before letting out another huff of amazement. âThis is the best day of my life.â
When your gaze falls back to the cap, tracing your fingers over the logoâyou miss the twitch of his lips into a semblance of a smile.
You missed todayâs meeting without prior notice. Not that your absence has affected my ability to resume our assignment, but after your frequent reminders to not miss on our mandatory meetingsâit leaves me with doubt that you intentionally missed our sessions on your end. Do update me as soon as possible on your status.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent yesterday, 1.20 p.m.)
Subject: Reply: Reminder on Friday Meetings
I feel I must reinstate that my previous email regarding your absence, as well as this reply, should not be twisted in its meaning as more than a mere enquiry. Given previous evidence of the average speed of your responses, a full 24 hours with a lack of response prompts me to send another email. Do respond when you are able.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent today, 1.32 p.m.)
Three respectable knocks resound against your dormitoryâs door. A groan escapes your lips, your head pounding from the cold youâve caught from a late night running through pouring rain. You had missed the bus and had to make it back before curfew, and now your body is reminding you of its frail mortality, chills shaking throughout your limbs and rendering you heavily immobile.
The knocks echo again when you shift your head deeper into the pillows. You muffle curses into the cotton, gripping at your sheets to steady yourself as you force your body upright. The world sways on its axis as you make your wayâshifting pathetically with every step, towards the door.
Missing your lock a few times, you finally grab a hold of the chain and slide it off, clicking the door open. Youâre immediately faced with a broad chest, donning a familiar black sweater. Shifting your gaze up, youâre met with Damian Wayneâs narrowed gaze, sweat trailing down his temple.
âDamian?â Your voice croaks, and even the attempt of speaking hurts. âWhat are you doing here?â
He takes one glance, and immediately, his expression contorts in⌠concern? You barely have time to explain about the cold, or an apology for missing the meeting, when you feel the warmth of his palm press against your forehead.
You blink, stunned as he measures your temperature. He shakes his head slightly in a disapproving manner. âYour temperature is too high.â His tongue clicks with his observation.
You suppose he was right. You did feel one wrong step from keening over and lying on your welcome mat.
âI got caught in the rain.â You explain, trying your best to pull together a more reassuring expression, one less filled with nausea-induced tension. âIâll be fineâjust need rest.â
His frown creases deeper. âHave you taken medicine?â
You try shaking your head, but that loses whatever balance you had left. The world actually tilts, or maybe you are the one who's obeying gravityâbut strong arms catch you before you collapse.
âLook at your state.â Damian grits, pulling you back upright but closer. There's barely any space left between the two of you. âThis fever, has it worsened considerably?â
âYeahâbut I didnât have anyone to call.â You mutter in truth, cheek still smushed against his chest as support. âI ran out of medicine a while ago, and by the time I woke upâI couldnât get out of bed.â
You feel his arms tense around you. Above the crown of your head, you feel a soft sigh. âYou have me.â He mutters, almost reprimanding.
Your brows furrow in confusion. âYou would get me medicine?â
âThat would be a start.â He states, his grip shifting with his words.
The world shifts again when his hands wrap around the under of your thighs, lifting you into his arms gently to not worsen your state. If your mind wasnât completely swarmed by the symptoms of your cold, youâd stop to think of how strangely sweet it was that Damian had come all the way to your dormitory, and that he was carrying you bridal-style towards your bed.
âItâs not usually this messy.â You feel the need to point out, words muffled against his sweater. âYou just have impeccable timing.â
His lip twitches involuntarily as he sets you down against the thrashed sheets. âOrganised according to your system?â
You smile weakly at the thought of your colour-coded spreadsheet. âExactly.â
He places his palm against your forehead again, and you subconsciously find yourself leaning into his touch. âYouâre likeâreally warm.â You murmur. âDo you always run hot?â
He swallows, touch lingering on your skin. âYour temperature is dysregulated. Iâll return soon with medicine. Rest. I wonât be gone long.â
âOkay.â Your lids fall shut, the pounding lessening with your head burrowed into the pillows, and his touch a gentle anchor. âYou knowâyouâd be a great boyfriend for someone one day.â
You donât hear a response, and your honest thoughts continue to tumble out from your skull like a cracked jar. âYouâre really nice, Dami.â The shortening of his name feels like cotton candy stuffed in your mouth, and you barely register the stiffening of his fingers. âFierce, but I like that about you. I like you a lot, actually. Not in a swooning way, but in aâIâm really glad I met you kind of way.â
He doesnât pull away when your lips finally clamp shut, but the silence is almost deafening. You peek open with one eye, catching his expression. Heâs staring at you⌠as if no oneâs ever said that to his faceâever.
âDonât make it weird.â You tease softly, voice tethered with exhaustion. âIâm just giving you your deserved five stars.â
You hear the soft echo of his scoff, withheld from its usual bite, but you donât hear much else after. Only that the lingering touch of his fingers over your skin stays put till sleep catches up on you, and the world falls silent under the weight of Damianâs gaze. Okay, maybe you were lying a little about the swooning.
Fevers fade, but the warmth that lingers seems to seep past the well-defined borders of a spreadsheet, or the predictable order of a listâlike the one currently in your hand.
"Favourite vigilante?" You quiz, red pen bitten between your lips as you laid stretched on the wooden bench.
"Spoiler." He answers, tossing you an expression as if to convey that he couldn't believe you even bothered with such a question.
"Good job." You tease, fiddling with the cap of your pen, attached at the end. "Favourite date spot?"
"Gotham's Pizza." He huffs.
You blink. "Hey, it's supposed to be Romeo's."
"You prefer Gotham's." He mutters.
"But you don't." You remind him.
Averting his gaze to your lips, his fingers loop around the red pen, dragging it gently out from your teeth's grip, and adjusting the answer with a cross. "That's irrelevant. I'm merely pointing out an inconsistency."
Your lips quirk up into a smile. "You don't even need this list anymore. Why bother keeping it?"
Tension pulls briefly at his jaw, but it relaxes before you can trace it to an emotion. "You haven't tested me on all the questions."
You lean in, the crinkled paper resting below your fingers as you gaze into his eyes. "Alright? Something off the books." You hum. "What do I think of Damian Wayne?"
He blinks, surprised. You wait patiently, the warmth of summer carrying the scent of grass blades past the picnic table, the world narrowing into the space between the two of you.
His lips part after a moment. "Fierce." He answers. "Though you're one of the few who doesn't run from it."
"What's there to run from?" You hum. "I think he's nice, you should give him some credit for that."
His brow raises, amusement flickering in his gaze. "That's not a common perception."
"Yeah, but no one else gets to experience him being their partner." You tease. "He even offers to rearrange your dormitory to a better system if you're lucky."
He scoffs lightly. "That's only considering if the existing system barely works."
"Just say you hate colour-coding, Dami." You snort. "I know you're itching to fix our spreadsheet."
His expression flickers for a moment. "Not exactly."
You tilt your head, questioning. His gaze averts to the open spreadsheet, something familiar after the weeks spent together. "It's grown on me."
Grown on himâdespite it being everything he initially found horrendous, from the many details pasted in long paragraphs into the comments, and the bright colours for the special shared Fridays between you two. Something warm pools in your chest, and you find your gaze trailing to the red pen held between his fingers instead.
"You're more prepared for this party than I am." You admit softly.
You feel his attention switch onto you, trained on the nervous tick you have where you hyper-focus on something brightly coloured. He twirls the pen once, considering.
"You don't have to go through with this." He says. "Just say the word. I'll honour whatever decision you make."
His reassurance makes you consider it, you really do. With the dreaded anticipation finally reaching its peak, with the party being tonightâyou have stopped to think if it was worth it. To show up in a room where the story's long gone sour, and your presence is more likely to be a blight than a welcomed gift.
Then again, you hadn't prepared this all for nothing. You hadn't gotten to know Damianâfor nothing.
"No, it'll be fun." You smile, meeting his gaze. "We'll be just like Lara Jean and Peter, but with better standards."
Damian's mouth twitches, almost imperceptible. "Agreed."
Your fingers catch onto the silk-like fabric of your dress. Once bought as a birthday present, you never had the chance to wear something like this. Walter had called it overkill, and you convinced yourself that youâd eventually find a day to wear the gorgeous shade without feeling inadequate for it. Nothing required overkill more than tonight.
Damian's promised to pick you up, even when you had reassured him that meeting at the venue was fine. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and something quivers in your gut.
You don't feel as brave as you'd like, not even in your favourite dress. The thought of the two people you once trusted most being together, exchanging normal niceties with you as if nothing had ever happenedâyou're seriously beginning to overthink just how horribly awkward this situation was going to be.
What if it wasn't like the movies? What if Damian saw tooâjust how horribly small you feltâand decided you weren't worth the spreadsheets and lists and medicine kit he over-splurged on when you caught that cold?
The party was going to be over in an hour, you had promised Damian the both of you would be present for no more than that durationâand now, you feel ridiculous in your own skin. You're tempted to text him if he wanted to ditch and just head to Romeo's insteadâwhen you hear the signature three knocks of his against your door.
You swallow your fear-induced nausea back into your gut, and force yourself to open the door with something akin to a smile. Your expression freezes in place at the sight... of Damian tidied up.
You knew he was handsome, you obviously had eyes, but to see him in that white collared shirt that made his green eyes pop, loosened at the buttons, with his hair pulled back and justâwow. Damian Wayne, you were seriously going to the party with this guy? As your fake boyfriend?
You don't notice the way his own expression completely falters at the sight of you. Nor the way his fingers tightened into a fist, digging into his palms.
You only notice how the silence stretched out between the two of you lingers long enough to matter.
"Hey, handsome." You start, trying to regain your composure. "You cleaned up nice."
He blinks, as if stunned. His response comes out delayed, brows pinching together into something honest. "You are beautiful."
Not you lookâas if he's only noticed. No, he emphasised the 'are', as if he's always seen it. Your heart doesn't quite know what to do with that information, or how to catalogue the way he's looking at you as if he'sânot pretending.
"Thank you." Your voice comes out weaker than you intended, because for all his intensity, Damian being soft is what renders you stunned. "I still don't know if I should do this."
His gaze clears, something steady offered to you when you return it. "You don't need to be sure." He answers, offering his hand. "That's what I'm here forâso you will not be alone."
He's right. Despite your doubts, seeing him in front of you reminds you of the steady presence he's offered from the very beginning. Through your nonsensical email threads, the Friday lunches, the rom-com binging, rushing to the store to buy you cold medicineâyour fears always quieted when Damian was near. Your smile brightens, taking his hand in yours. "Let's get this operation over with."
Walter catches sight of you first. His vision is perfectly facing the entrance, your ex's gaze meeting yours as soon as you step through the doorwayâand he immediately taps on Paigeâs shoulder. An insincere smile arrives on his expression, but it freezes in place the moment Damian enters with you.
He isn't the only one to notice. You knew the effect Damian had on others, standing out without even meaning to, much less in an environment like this. Damian doesn't seem bothered at all, because you feel his attention acutely trained on you instead. His hand rubs a soothing notion over your lower back, as if you're the only person he's aware that exists in the room.
Walter's gaze drifts, from the dress he hated to Damianâs hand wrapping around your waist. He puts the facts together, faster than you had when he and Paige had approached you with the news. The warmth leaves his welcoming expression, and he whispers something into Paige's ear.
Damian registers this entire exchange in under a second, and his hand tightens briefly on your waist, as if reassuring you that he was right beside you.
The distance closes in between you and the two people your life once revolved around, and you train your gaze on Walter, because you can tell immediately that Paige is struck by Damian's appearance, more so by his hand on your waist.
"It's been a while." Walter starts off, though his gaze barely lingers on you before switching to Damian. "Wayne, I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"There hasn't been a need." Damian shuts him down.
The atmosphere turns icy the moment Walter registers the tone of Damian's voice. He laughs, astonishedâand embarrassed. Paige finally recovers in an attempt to salvage the situation, pulling together her best smile.
"Well, it's lovely to have you both here." Paige starts, and her voice is distantânothing like the girl you used to know, hidden under the blankets of your beaten IKEA sofa when watching Scream for the tenth time. "You look amazing, andâsorry, I'm just curious on how the two of you know each other?"
Her question is directed towards you, but Damian takes the lead. "She's my partner."
"Partner?" Walter chokes on his breath. "As inâ"
You finally find your voice to speak. "We are seeing each other." It comes out levelled, matching Damian's.
Their shock registers in different levels. Walter's nears disbelief, while Paigeâlooks at you, betrayed.
"I didn't know about this." Paige stammers.
"Yes, you didn't." You answer shortly.
She stares at you as if she's seeing a stranger. "Right. I guess it's been a long time since we've caught up."
You're tempted to laugh. A long time is an understatement. You can feel Damian's low scoff against your shoulder, and the absurdity of the situation feels less gut-wrenching with him by your side.
"You know she's a real mess." Walter speaks involuntarily. "Like her apartment's an actual hazard. Isn't that right, Paige?"
Paige freezes, lips parting into a gap, but Damian's faster.
"I am awareâthat she has her own unique system." Damian states, gaze narrowing in discontent. "It didn't take long for me to understand it, or to appreciate it."
"Appreciate it?" Walter sneers. "Are you sure you're talking about the right person?"
"Yes." Damian doesn't hesitate, eyes steady, fixing yours. As if he was conveying it to you instead of the audience, he answers. "I'm sure."
You swallow dryly, unable to hide the softened smile you usually reserved for him only when it was the two of you. Both of them catch sight of it, and you can sense the question becoming less of whether it was real, and more of the how.
It's easy to act in love when Damian's this close, muttering words like that, with his familiar warmth grounding you through the stagnant conversation. So instinctive, that you think it's easier than breathing.
You sense Paige shifting closer and you force yourself to focus, and casting her another glance, only to finally catch a glimpse of the girl who used to be your closest person.
âHey, can we talk?â Her expression is vulnerable, tentative in her offer. "Y'know, catch up in private."
Damian immediately shifts you back slightly with his weight, but you place a hand tentatively on his arm. His gaze locks onto you, reading into your expression. His brow raises as if to ask, 'You're sure?'. You give him a nod.
"Fine by me." You murmur, because despite everythingâmaybe a part of you still wanted to hear the honest truth. For her decision, on when she decided you shouldâve been cut out of the picture then forcefully glued back into what they envisioned to be the perfect way to continue their lives. Maybe you just wanted to see if the Paige you knew still existed.
The moment you enter an unoccupied bathroom, Paige presses the door shut and immediately turns to you. "You have to spill."
Your brows furrow. "On?"
"Damian Wayne." She points out as if it's obvious. "You don't even know him."
You blink once then twice, and something colder settles in the cavity of your chest. "Things change, Paige."
âIâm just worried. It's all just so sudden.â Her hand reaches out to grasp yours, and you resist the instinctive flinch. âYouâve always been sensitive, and a guy like him is just bad news. I meanâDamian Wayne? I get that it feels exciting, but he barely knew of your existence before and now, he's suddenly dating you? I just want us to be on the same page here, that it doesn't really make sense."
A scoff rises up your throat, barely constrained as she continues on, her softened voice a perfect replica of how she had been when you first made your decision to break up with Walter.
âYou know Iâll always support you if you need me.â She reassures. âYou can tell me anything.â
The anger bubbles so violently, and it hits you. That despite everything, you had came into this party hoping that maybe a fraction of the girl you knewâwho cried with you on bathroom floors when you experienced homesickness, who celebrated when you managed to pass your first year of medical school, who was there for your entire life in Gothamâwould still exist. That something would give way, and her leaving would make sense, to have a reason. You realise now, that you've only been giving her excuses on the basis of what she used to mean to you.
Your wrath gives way to something cold, absent of griefâonly the need to rip your hand out of hers. You do just that, and her shock barely registers before you open your mouth. âNo.â Your voice carries a finality, strength youâve been trying to garner since the day you lost her. âYou donât get to define my relationship with Damian, when you never addressed ours.â
She blinks, affronted. âIs this about Walter? We've already explainedâwe only felt what we did after the two of you broke upââ
âNo, this isnât about Walter. This is about us.â The coldness in your tone finally strikes something honest in her expression. âYou broke my trust, Paige, and then you invite me to this party cause you thought it would help make amends? I thought you brought me in here, to at least explain to me on what happened to us."
"You should've told me." She says, a frown stretched at her lips. "If you weren't comfortable being around me and Walter, we wouldn't have forced you to come."
Weâthe word runs through your mind like a tire screech.
âYes, I wasn't comfortableâI nearly died inside when it happened." You raise your head. "I lost my best friend, who drove me to karaoke night whenever I needed to forget about home. I lost the girl who swore to re-watch all rom-coms that ever existed in the 90s before we both turned fifty. I lost the only person I trusted since I moved into this city, over whatâa man? Was it worth it, was our friendship worth it?â
She swallows thickly, and you see a fracture of the girl you recognise under the glitter, and the tears collecting at her lower lashes. âI thought you understoodâthat I love him differently than you did.â
Your gaze doesnât flinch at the admission. âYou were by my side when he broke up with me, when I told you that he called my dresses ugly, when he said my attitude was too much, when he made me smaller because it was more convenient for him when I was quieter, and you still got together with him. Maybe I thought you loved me enough too, to understand why I wasn't comfortable with it.â
Her expression shatters, and tears drip down her cheeks before she harshly wipes at them, smearing her eyeshadow. âYou donât get to say that.â She spits out. âMaking it seem like I chose Walter over you, when you brought in Damian Wayne.â
Your brows contort. âWhat are you talking about?â
âYou decided to come to the party toâprove you suddenly became better than us just by being with a Wayne?â She snaps. âYou're acting like this because you think he's going to stayâbut you donât seriously believe itâll actually last when Walter could barely stand you?â
That anger, buried deep, comes alive with a roar. You take a step forward, causing her to inch backward as you close in. âThat's all your taking from this?" Your scoff resounds coldly. "Damian was the one who was there for me when you leftâso yeah, I have more trust in him to treat me like an actual person."
She flinches, her lips parting in the same way she had done earlier when Walter tried to make you small. Silent, and unable to do anything but lay there in her guilt of absorbing an idea of who you are in Walter's head, and erasing what made you human in her eyes.
"Rest assured. You will never gain my trust again to even know whatâs going on in my life and the people in it, and you never will.â
Taking a step back, you look at her one last time. Of the mess of her makeup, the same puffy eyes whenever she cries that you used to immediately follow up with the instinct to comfort her. You feel none of that now. âGoodbye, Paige.â
She doesnât call out your name when you turn your back on her, and she doesnât come after you. You needed that, more than you needed her to be the person you thought she was. To be blunt, and truthful to yourselfâeven if no one but you believed in it.
The euphoric lightness of your body from finally severing the bond doesnât last long, when a rough hand grabs at your wrist. Being twisted around, youâre faced with Walterâs accusing expression.
âWhat did you say to her?â
âWhat I discussed with Paige stays between us.â You answer coldly, tugging at your wrist.
His hand tightens more, almost bruising. âYouâre bringing in that attitude of yours, when we were kind enough to think of you? To let you stick around our lives?"
Youâre sick of this narrative, of acting like you shouldâve been grateful they thought to include you into this sick little group from your past life as if they hadnât completely burnt it into flames.
âWalter, get your hands off before I shoveââ
A fist slams into the side of Walterâs face before you even have a chance to finish your sentence. Screams erupt from the crowd, or cheersâyou can barely tell because your eyes are locked onto Damian, whoâs grabbing Walter by the collar with chafed knuckles.
Multiple eyes are on them, but your own gaze is fixed on Damianâs expression, who has gone completely cold. Nearly murderous, and filled with uncontained wrath. His glare, almost deadly, is trained on his target in a way youâve never seen him before. The composed, distant Damianâis nowhere to be found.
"You stay away from her." Damian growls.
"What the hell, man!" Walter spits, blood sprayed over his nose. "Do you seriously think she's worthâ"
Damian drags him closer by the collar, and something inhuman flashes past his concentrated gaze. "She's worth more than you ever will dream of trying to be. You are nothing, and even daring to lay a hand on her is something you will pay for."
âDamian!â You shout.
That finally reaches him, past the simultaneous gawking and murmurs. Itâs as if heâs reentered his own body, and Damian immediately drops Walter to the ground with a loud thud. Walter lands embarrassingly on his bottom, and his entire face has gone red with shame.
His gaze switches to you, and his wrath fades immediately into concern. His eyes fall onto your bruising skin, and his emotions fall apart into something colder. You have a feeling if you donât get him out of this room, this fight may escalate into something much worse.
Pushing through the forming crowd, you reach out. âLetâs get out of here.â You plead, holding out your hand.
His gaze drops to your fingers, then back to the forming outline of a hand gripped around your wrist, and you see his calculating assessment. Damian leans lower, muttering something low into Walterâs ear. It is quick, but you see the way Walter completely freezes in placeâhis struggle evading from his body like a statue. When Damianâs eyes meet your frightened ones once more, he doesnât hesitate a second longer before grabbing your hand.
Damian doesn't waste time in leading you through the crowd, towards the exit and away from the escalating noiseâand into the night breeze. When the cold wind finally hits your skin, his hand remains firmly intertwined with yours as he guides you somewhere far awayâthe fact still lingers that Damian, perfect track record and Wayne prodigy, just punched someone for you.
âYou punched him.â You mutter faintly, seated at a bench youâve both found, crisp leaves surrounding you with the faint singing of crickets.
âHe was hurting you.â
âDamian, the whole schoolâs going to talk about this.â You stress. âYouâre going to get in trouble, possibly a suspension.â
His jaw clenches. âI am your partner.â
Damianâs agitated. Over the situation, despite there no longer being any witnesses to his supposed protection. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched and his gazeâyou recall how he had looked at Walter when he landed that first hit, the pure anger that seized him.
âNot a real one.â
He flinches, as if struck, and you knew immediately that your words landed wrongly. His emotions topple over the other, and youâre unable to name any that arises before it all falls apart like his bodyâs regained consciousness. Concealed, and distant.
âMy mistake.â He mutters. âIâve forgotten my standing.â
âDamianââ
âI do not wish to inconvenience you.â He states, words leaving in a bitter rush. âI have overstepped, I realise that.â
âDamian.â You call out for the second time, fingers reaching for hisâand he finally breathes when your warmth seeps through his skin. Youâre relieved he doesnât pull away. âThat came out wrong. Iâm not mad you punched the jerk, I wouldâve done it myself. I am glad you stood up for me, but Iâm just confused on why you did it, because there's nothing at stake for you, only something to lose.â
His expression stiffens at the verbal admission of his visible frustration. This conversation sounds much too real, and the lines that have been carefully drawn are erasing themselves, leaving behind uncharted territory. One you werenât sure how to navigate.
âYou do matter to me, as more than a role.â You plead. âI donât want you to think youâre someone I chose out of convenience. Please donât believe that.â
His breath exhales low, controlled. His gaze flickers with the briefest uncertainty, and you realise how selfish youâve been. This arrangement had been perfect for you, that you simply assumed it was the same for him.
âNo, you are not at fault.â He mutters after a moment. âIt is not your responsibility to handle the consequence of my actions. We had agreed on no complications, and I have done exactly that.â
His jaw tightens, before he finally spits it out. âI punched him because the boundaries of what was was real or imagined between us has never made a difference to me. He had hurt you, not only physicallyââ His gaze shifts to your reddened wrist, and it darkens completely. ââbut he is a culprit to your existing pain. I was angry, because I couldnât comprehend that I was finally faced with the two morons who thought losing you was even a consideration, and to see them hold no remorse for it made me forget my place.â
âIâve always excelled in being what others expected of me.â He mutters. âWhen you approached me, it was the first time I had not wanted to be confined to a role. I did not want to partake in a façade, becauseâI had wanted your request to be for something real. Then, you mentioned that you picked me because I had not the slightest chance of falling for you. It was ironic, and I knew then that I should've rejected your request."
"But I started to earnestly believeâthat I could separate emotion and duty. I could be in your presence, and not feel the consequences if the arrangement endedâbecause nothing would be real.â
âTill I realisedâhow much it affected me to not have you truly at all.â He confesses. âI shouldâve been honest, that this arrangement had become the opposite of what weâve agreed upon. But I was afraid, of admitting that I wasnât capable of control, of driving you away."
âDamian." Your frown deepens. "Youâre not going to lose me.â
âI donât know.â He blurts honestly. âI do not know how to handle want. I am built of structure, of worth to prove why I deserve to keep my position, that has always been what Iâve provided. I do not know how to want without providing substance to covet a person.â
âBut I want you.â He exhales. âNot once has it been pretend for me, not when it had already existed before our arrangement. Every moment I reached for your hand, every time I checked that horrendous shaded calendar of yours. I rushed over the moment you went missing when you were sick, because I had wanted to look for you. I have never once hesitated in calling myself your partner, even knowing the role was temporary. I want you, in the real, complicated wayâthat I've failed in being what you needed me to be."
"That's not true." You break. "That's not what I need you to be at all, Damian."
He finally looks at you, a little less restrainedâand almost startled at your words.
"If you had been real about this the entire time, Damian, then so have I." You admit. "I chose you because I thought you wouldn't have fallen for me, that is trueâbut that is because I also thought it was safe because I knew I was going to fall for you."
"I wasn't kidding when I said I like you." You confess. "In all of the complicated, real sense of the word, and you were always going be the one I was going to choose. Even if you had said no, I wouldn't have asked anyone else. I wanted you from the start, Damian, and that hasn't changed. I was going to ask you at freaking Romeo's after this, if you wanted this to be real too."
The moment those words leave your lips, Damian closes in. His fingers tug you by your waist, his hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, and his lips are on yours. Damian Wayne, who still has forming bruises at his knuckles from a fight he landed in to defend you, is kissing you on a park bench in the middle of the nightâand you're not dreaming.
It's clearly his first, but there's something so tenderly sweet about it that your heart trembles uncontrollablyâenough to render something wet at your lashes by the time he's pulled back.
He pulls apart just to meet your gaze, and you've never seen him this relieved. "This is real." He restates, as if he can't quite truly believe it.
âWe did just have our first official fight.â You murmur, cheek pressed to his chest.
"Official." He hums in acknowledgement. "I like that."
Your smile teethers into something soft when you feel the soft press of his mouth against the shell of your ear. "Yeah, guess our operation tonight ended in a success."
summary: when you struck the arrangement with damian wayne to act as your fake boyfriend for a party hosted by your ex and ex-best friendâyou thought your choice made perfect sense. choosing damian wayne, the most logical, unattainable person you knew, removes the complication of feelings being involved. till of course, damian stops pretending.
pairing: damian wayne x fem! reader
content: flufff, damian wayne is a yearner and takes his role of being your pretend boyfriend very seriously.
"You are suggesting I partake in a fake relationshipâ" Damian Wayne stares down at you, still dressed in his lab coat, with what may be the closest to genuine concern you've ever seen on him, all cramped into the crease of his brows. "To help with your dilemma?"
"Exactly." Your grin is the only positive staple throughout this entire exchange, after your successful cornering of only the most unattainable medical student of Gotham University. "It's like a fancy title for an assignment partner but removing the word 'assignment', right?"
"Assuming that your ambitious plan would even work." Crossing his arms, Damian looks more unimpressed over your carefully planned spreadsheet titled 'Fake-Dating Operation' than the earlier assigned pairings by Dr. Lake. "Do humour me on your astounding confidence that I would even offer my assistance."
"We're already assigned together for the semester." You shrug. "What's one reunion party, and an hour spent pretending you don't hate my guts like you do with everyone else?"
He stares at you for a long beat, before his lips twitch into the smallest smirk. "I appreciate your attempts at lowering my expectations further on how idlers are able to accomplish wasting hours in a day. I expect your section of the report to be done by Sunday."
"Wait!" Your hand reaches out to grab at the ends of his sleeve as he moves past you. "I am an amazing fake partner. I provide free dog walks, cookies, amazing work ethicâit's practically a free service just for a little acting on your part!"
"I appreciate the desperation, and the answer is still a no."
"Wayne!" You call out as his sleeve slips out of your fingers, stopping in your tracks right in front of himâblocking the exit. "Damian, please."
His head tilts to cast you a disapproving expression. "My word of advice, is to gain enough respect for yourself to not be bothered by what others think."
Your lips pull together into a frown, but you refuse to be dissuaded, not when you've already laid all your cards on the table. You didn't expect it to be easy, and you had already prepared yourself for his vicious tongue.
"My self-respect has already been trampled on when they decided to send me the invitation." You state honestly. "It's scheduled for its revival in five weeks, after the party. I'll be a changed person by then, scout's honour."
His brow pulls higher, as if silently questioning if you had even part of the Gotham Scouts, but you're not done.
"But before then, I plan on being the pettiest, deranged person in all of Gotham University." You declare. "And that includes you in my plans, because you, Damian Wayne, are the only person who checks all my requirements of a fake boyfriend."
"I'm honoured." He mocks, gaze flickering past towards the hallway.
"You are Walter's role-model, he would kiss the test tubes you lay your fingers on. Paige has a Pinterest folder labelled with your name, and it has all your news sightings saved by colour coordination."
"Sounds like your issues derive more from the company you keep." He mutters, expression pulled together in disgust.
"Point besides, I want it to be you, Damian Wayne." You confess.
It sounds ridiculous, but this was fully concerning your pride and something you've forgotten in your years of working yourself away for your dreams, which was the taste for controlled chaos. He blinks once, staring at you incredulously as if deciding where to place you in his ranking of newly discovered lunatics.
"You're the only person who will drive them as insane as they've made me." Your voice chokes, filled with determination or buried rage, the difference didnât seem to matter. "You could walk in there for just an hour to save my life, and I know that you won't have the slightest chance of complicating things, or falling in love with meâand that's what makes this perfect. This may sound crazy to you, but you're the only person that's made sense to me ever since my life was turned upside-down."
Your chest heaves, and your arms are still outstretched to stop him from leaving the lab. You're nothing like thisâimpulsive, frantic, verging on insanityâbut you're also done being complacent. Of letting things go just because it's the right thing to do.
After what feels like eternity, Damian's expression flickers. Implicit and almost undetectable, but his gaze is on you as if he's finally registering your existence and trying to catalogue you into a different box than the one he's placed you in.
"Send the spreadsheet to my email." He answers apprehensively, as if he can't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "I will review through the calendar on its... feasibility. Expect a response by eight p.m.."
You let out a held breath, a smile finally breaking through. "Thank you, reallyâ"
"On the condition that I expect you to finish your section by tonight."
Your expression freezes. "Tonight?"
"To prove your desperation's worth considering." He tosses you a mocking smile, all sharp edge and nothing considerable of warmth. "You have ten more hours before my interest wanes."
Your smile weakens, blinking rapidly as you calculate your remaining time to draft something of substance. "Okay, sureâ that's not going to be a problem."
It's worth it. Dealing with Damian Wayne is going to be worth it.
I have reviewed through your spreadsheet in detail. Do answer my enquiries on my comments below.
- I believe watching romance comedy as 'theory practice' is highly inefficient and prone to fantastical expectations. Do amend this.
- As for my 'meeting' availabilities, I am free on Thursdays and Fridays at noon to two, on the condition that at least an hour be reserved for actual assignment discussions. You are required to provide evidence of actual progress for the assignment, or this arrangement will be considered void.
- Provide me a list summary on details for answers regarding possible interrogation questions during the party. It will be more efficient as compared to you providing me the details in person.
As for the assignment, your section draft is acceptable, and I expect our lab findings to be updated into your table by the following lab session next week.
Regards,
Damian.
You can barely contain your grin, kicking into the sheets despite the exhaustion that plagues your bones from grueling non-stop over the section and multiple tabs later. He had looked through your multi-coloured spreadsheet calendar, and actually considered it with his own enquiries. Typing out your own response, you give serious thought into his enquiries.
To: [email protected]
Subject: Reply: 'Fake-Dating Operation' Spreadsheet Review
Thank you for your detailed consideration of my spreadsheet. Your efforts are acknowledged and appreciated.
- I believe we are required to watch at least one rom-com that involves fake-dating. Neither of us have had previous experience in this department (unless you'd like to share valuable information), and it will boost our success rate.
- Perfect! I'm available on Fridays, and scout's honour, I promise to have my progress brought for each meeting session.
- As for the list, I will provide you possible answers, but some may require in-person explanations. I'll explain more this Friday!
Can't even express my thanks on how grateful I am, you're the best Wayne in history!
Signing off your name, you close your laptop with the giddiest smile you've had sinceâat the reminder, your grin falters. Your chest thuds faintly, as if reminding you that the fun you've just experienced can still be dampened by reality. No, you refuse to let it ruin your enjoyment.
This is the most alive you've felt in weeks, and you're going to make the most of it. If your life feels like it's finally picking up through colourful spreadsheet rows and columns, and waiting on an email reply from the most terrifying student in Gotham Universityâso be it.
Damian slides your extremely lengthy list across the lunch table, and you can barely hide your shock that he actually printed it outâbefore you catch sight of many red circles marked neatly around your points.
"Your least favourite vigilante is Robin?" He interrogates.
You blink in surprise, not expecting him to start there. "Well, he's not exactly originalâI mean, câmon, theyâre multiple versions of him."
His lips part, aghast in a half-caught scoff. "He's one of the most prominent vigilante figures in Gotham."
You shrug. "Spoiler's cooler."
He clicks at his tongue. "You have horrible taste."
"You are not telling me that you, Damian Wayne, have a favourite and that is Robin?"
He doesn't blink. "There are several other questionable details in your list."
"Yes, I can see that." Peering back at your list, your brows furrow. "What's wrong with liking Gotham's Pizza?"
"Only that you're clearly fond of days-old grease and artificial cheese."
"Hey, that's where it gets its flavour."
He shakes his head, disgusted. "I refuse to be associated with someone who has non-functioning taste buds."
"Fineâwe'll say we often have dates at Romeo's instead." You shrug. "Not like I'll be caught there after our agreement's expired."
He raises a brow. "Expired?"
Pointing at your open tab, you reference a newly added row. "Our break-up, scheduled for Monday after the party."
He stares at the date, before his gaze roams over you with a questioning look. "Despite my lack of experience, should you not consider the likely suspicions if you were to end a relationship three days after the party?"
Your lips part into an 'oh'. "I thought you would want to get it over and done with as quickly as possible."
His expression closes in, gaze narrowing. "I will not put my reputation at stake by agreeing to this facade, if it means having our efforts go down the drain because of an obvious flaw.â
Your grin slips out uncontrollably. âYou just said âourâ efforts. Look at us, the perfect team.â
His expression remains impassive, before he raises a slow brow. âSwitch to the assignment tab.â
âYes, sir.â
Resting below a willow tree, your third Friday with Damian is spent resting below the shade on your picnic clothâone you used to share with Paige. The sight of its red plaid, stuffed behind your piles of clothes in your wardrobe, was getting sadâeven for you.
Damianâs back is resting against the tree bark, shoulders nearly taking up the widthâbrows impossibly furrowed as his gaze narrows on your laptop displaying âTo All The Boys I Loved Beforeâ.â
âThis movie is non-sensical.â
âI think itâs romantic.â You shrug.
He tosses you a judgmental glance. âHaving your own blood betray you by revealing your own personal letters, is your idea of romance?â
âI mean Lara Jean and Peter, Damian.â You snort. âThatâs our main source of inspiration.â
âHeâs hardly appealing.â He scoffs, arms crossing over the other. âIs this the standards you expect from our arrangement?â
âIf this is mediocreââ You respond, aghast. âYou have no idea how dire love can be nowadays.â
His frown deepens. âYou are not expecting me to perform in this manner?â
âWhatâfalling in love with me?â You grin. âNo, I do not expect you to be Peter Lavinsky.â
He stares at you with barely concealed frustration. Before you can tease him further, something purple is tossed into your face.
A yelp escapes your mouth, the light weight of an object falling into your lap.
âThatâsâthe discontinued, limited edition Spoiler cap!â You gasp, eyes widening in realisation. âHow did you get this?â
He shrugs begrudgingly. âMy sister used to be a collector. She doesnât mind giving it away.â
âGiving it away?â You mutter incredulously. âThis is actual gold. Your sister is my favourite person on Earth.â
His brow twitches. âI bargained for that cap.â
You snort. âWhat did you exchange it for, your dignity?â
âYou have no clue on my sacrifice." He grimaces.
âYour sacrifice is acknowledged." You tease, before letting out another huff of amazement. âThis is the best day of my life.â
When your gaze falls back to the cap, tracing your fingers over the logoâyou miss the twitch of his lips into a semblance of a smile.
You missed todayâs meeting without prior notice. Not that your absence has affected my ability to resume our assignment, but after your frequent reminders to not miss on our mandatory meetingsâit leaves me with doubt that you intentionally missed our sessions on your end. Do update me as soon as possible on your status.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent yesterday, 1.20 p.m.)
Subject: Reply: Reminder on Friday Meetings
I feel I must reinstate that my previous email regarding your absence, as well as this reply, should not be twisted in its meaning as more than a mere enquiry. Given previous evidence of the average speed of your responses, a full 24 hours with a lack of response prompts me to send another email. Do respond when you are able.
Regards,
Damian. (Sent today, 1.32 p.m.)
Three respectable knocks resound against your dormitoryâs door. A groan escapes your lips, your head pounding from the cold youâve caught from a late night running through pouring rain. You had missed the bus and had to make it back before curfew, and now your body is reminding you of its frail mortality, chills shaking throughout your limbs and rendering you heavily immobile.
The knocks echo again when you shift your head deeper into the pillows. You muffle curses into the cotton, gripping at your sheets to steady yourself as you force your body upright. The world sways on its axis as you make your wayâshifting pathetically with every step, towards the door.
Missing your lock a few times, you finally grab a hold of the chain and slide it off, clicking the door open. Youâre immediately faced with a broad chest, donning a familiar black sweater. Shifting your gaze up, youâre met with Damian Wayneâs narrowed gaze, sweat trailing down his temple.
âDamian?â Your voice croaks, and even the attempt of speaking hurts. âWhat are you doing here?â
He takes one glance, and immediately, his expression contorts in⌠concern? You barely have time to explain about the cold, or an apology for missing the meeting, when you feel the warmth of his palm press against your forehead.
You blink, stunned as he measures your temperature. He shakes his head slightly in a disapproving manner. âYour temperature is too high.â His tongue clicks with his observation.
You suppose he was right. You did feel one wrong step from keening over and lying on your welcome mat.
âI got caught in the rain.â You explain, trying your best to pull together a more reassuring expression, one less filled with nausea-induced tension. âIâll be fineâjust need rest.â
His frown creases deeper. âHave you taken medicine?â
You try shaking your head, but that loses whatever balance you had left. The world actually tilts, or maybe you are the one who's obeying gravityâbut strong arms catch you before you collapse.
âLook at your state.â Damian grits, pulling you back upright but closer. There's barely any space left between the two of you. âThis fever, has it worsened considerably?â
âYeahâbut I didnât have anyone to call.â You mutter in truth, cheek still smushed against his chest as support. âI ran out of medicine a while ago, and by the time I woke upâI couldnât get out of bed.â
You feel his arms tense around you. Above the crown of your head, you feel a soft sigh. âYou have me.â He mutters, almost reprimanding.
Your brows furrow in confusion. âYou would get me medicine?â
âThat would be a start.â He states, his grip shifting with his words.
The world shifts again when his hands wrap around the under of your thighs, lifting you into his arms gently to not worsen your state. If your mind wasnât completely swarmed by the symptoms of your cold, youâd stop to think of how strangely sweet it was that Damian had come all the way to your dormitory, and that he was carrying you bridal-style towards your bed.
âItâs not usually this messy.â You feel the need to point out, words muffled against his sweater. âYou just have impeccable timing.â
His lip twitches involuntarily as he sets you down against the thrashed sheets. âOrganised according to your system?â
You smile weakly at the thought of your colour-coded spreadsheet. âExactly.â
He places his palm against your forehead again, and you subconsciously find yourself leaning into his touch. âYouâre likeâreally warm.â You murmur. âDo you always run hot?â
He swallows, touch lingering on your skin. âYour temperature is dysregulated. Iâll return soon with medicine. Rest. I wonât be gone long.â
âOkay.â Your lids fall shut, the pounding lessening with your head burrowed into the pillows, and his touch a gentle anchor. âYou knowâyouâd be a great boyfriend for someone one day.â
You donât hear a response, and your honest thoughts continue to tumble out from your skull like a cracked jar. âYouâre really nice, Dami.â The shortening of his name feels like cotton candy stuffed in your mouth, and you barely register the stiffening of his fingers. âFierce, but I like that about you. I like you a lot, actually. Not in a swooning way, but in aâIâm really glad I met you kind of way.â
He doesnât pull away when your lips finally clamp shut, but the silence is almost deafening. You peek open with one eye, catching his expression. Heâs staring at you⌠as if no oneâs ever said that to his faceâever.
âDonât make it weird.â You tease softly, voice tethered with exhaustion. âIâm just giving you your deserved five stars.â
You hear the soft echo of his scoff, withheld from its usual bite, but you donât hear much else after. Only that the lingering touch of his fingers over your skin stays put till sleep catches up on you, and the world falls silent under the weight of Damianâs gaze. Okay, maybe you were lying a little about the swooning.
Fevers fade, but the warmth that lingers seems to seep past the well-defined borders of a spreadsheet, or the predictable order of a listâlike the one currently in your hand.
"Favourite vigilante?" You quiz, red pen bitten between your lips as you laid stretched on the wooden bench.
"Spoiler." He answers, tossing you an expression as if to convey that he couldn't believe you even bothered with such a question.
"Good job." You tease, fiddling with the cap of your pen, attached at the end. "Favourite date spot?"
"Gotham's Pizza." He huffs.
You blink. "Hey, it's supposed to be Romeo's."
"You prefer Gotham's." He mutters.
"But you don't." You remind him.
Averting his gaze to your lips, his fingers loop around the red pen, dragging it gently out from your teeth's grip, and adjusting the answer with a cross. "That's irrelevant. I'm merely pointing out an inconsistency."
Your lips quirk up into a smile. "You don't even need this list anymore. Why bother keeping it?"
Tension pulls briefly at his jaw, but it relaxes before you can trace it to an emotion. "You haven't tested me on all the questions."
You lean in, the crinkled paper resting below your fingers as you gaze into his eyes. "Alright? Something off the books." You hum. "What do I think of Damian Wayne?"
He blinks, surprised. You wait patiently, the warmth of summer carrying the scent of grass blades past the picnic table, the world narrowing into the space between the two of you.
His lips part after a moment. "Fierce." He answers. "Though you're one of the few who doesn't run from it."
"What's there to run from?" You hum. "I think he's nice, you should give him some credit for that."
His brow raises, amusement flickering in his gaze. "That's not a common perception."
"Yeah, but no one else gets to experience him being their partner." You tease. "He even offers to rearrange your dormitory to a better system if you're lucky."
He scoffs lightly. "That's only considering if the existing system barely works."
"Just say you hate colour-coding, Dami." You snort. "I know you're itching to fix our spreadsheet."
His expression flickers for a moment. "Not exactly."
You tilt your head, questioning. His gaze averts to the open spreadsheet, something familiar after the weeks spent together. "It's grown on me."
Grown on himâdespite it being everything he initially found horrendous, from the many details pasted in long paragraphs into the comments, and the bright colours for the special shared Fridays between you two. Something warm pools in your chest, and you find your gaze trailing to the red pen held between his fingers instead.
"You're more prepared for this party than I am." You admit softly.
You feel his attention switch onto you, trained on the nervous tick you have where you hyper-focus on something brightly coloured. He twirls the pen once, considering.
"You don't have to go through with this." He says. "Just say the word. I'll honour whatever decision you make."
His reassurance makes you consider it, you really do. With the dreaded anticipation finally reaching its peak, with the party being tonightâyou have stopped to think if it was worth it. To show up in a room where the story's long gone sour, and your presence is more likely to be a blight than a welcomed gift.
Then again, you hadn't prepared this all for nothing. You hadn't gotten to know Damianâfor nothing.
"No, it'll be fun." You smile, meeting his gaze. "We'll be just like Lara Jean and Peter, but with better standards."
Damian's mouth twitches, almost imperceptible. "Agreed."
Your fingers catch onto the silk-like fabric of your dress. Once bought as a birthday present, you never had the chance to wear something like this. Walter had called it overkill, and you convinced yourself that youâd eventually find a day to wear the gorgeous shade without feeling inadequate for it. Nothing required overkill more than tonight.
Damian's promised to pick you up, even when you had reassured him that meeting at the venue was fine. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and something quivers in your gut.
You don't feel as brave as you'd like, not even in your favourite dress. The thought of the two people you once trusted most being together, exchanging normal niceties with you as if nothing had ever happenedâyou're seriously beginning to overthink just how horribly awkward this situation was going to be.
What if it wasn't like the movies? What if Damian saw tooâjust how horribly small you feltâand decided you weren't worth the spreadsheets and lists and medicine kit he over-splurged on when you caught that cold?
The party was going to be over in an hour, you had promised Damian the both of you would be present for no more than that durationâand now, you feel ridiculous in your own skin. You're tempted to text him if he wanted to ditch and just head to Romeo's insteadâwhen you hear the signature three knocks of his against your door.
You swallow your fear-induced nausea back into your gut, and force yourself to open the door with something akin to a smile. Your expression freezes in place at the sight... of Damian tidied up.
You knew he was handsome, you obviously had eyes, but to see him in that white collared shirt that made his green eyes pop, loosened at the buttons, with his hair pulled back and justâwow. Damian Wayne, you were seriously going to the party with this guy? As your fake boyfriend?
You don't notice the way his own expression completely falters at the sight of you. Nor the way his fingers tightened into a fist, digging into his palms.
You only notice how the silence stretched out between the two of you lingers long enough to matter.
"Hey, handsome." You start, trying to regain your composure. "You cleaned up nice."
He blinks, as if stunned. His response comes out delayed, brows pinching together into something honest. "You are beautiful."
Not you lookâas if he's only noticed. No, he emphasised the 'are', as if he's always seen it. Your heart doesn't quite know what to do with that information, or how to catalogue the way he's looking at you as if he'sânot pretending.
"Thank you." Your voice comes out weaker than you intended, because for all his intensity, Damian being soft is what renders you stunned. "I still don't know if I should do this."
His gaze clears, something steady offered to you when you return it. "You don't need to be sure." He answers, offering his hand. "That's what I'm here forâso you will not be alone."
He's right. Despite your doubts, seeing him in front of you reminds you of the steady presence he's offered from the very beginning. Through your nonsensical email threads, the Friday lunches, the rom-com binging, rushing to the store to buy you cold medicineâyour fears always quieted when Damian was near. Your smile brightens, taking his hand in yours. "Let's get this operation over with."
Walter catches sight of you first. His vision is perfectly facing the entrance, your ex's gaze meeting yours as soon as you step through the doorwayâand he immediately taps on Paigeâs shoulder. An insincere smile arrives on his expression, but it freezes in place the moment Damian enters with you.
He isn't the only one to notice. You knew the effect Damian had on others, standing out without even meaning to, much less in an environment like this. Damian doesn't seem bothered at all, because you feel his attention acutely trained on you instead. His hand rubs a soothing notion over your lower back, as if you're the only person he's aware that exists in the room.
Walter's gaze drifts, from the dress he hated to Damianâs hand wrapping around your waist. He puts the facts together, faster than you had when he and Paige had approached you with the news. The warmth leaves his welcoming expression, and he whispers something into Paige's ear.
Damian registers this entire exchange in under a second, and his hand tightens briefly on your waist, as if reassuring you that he was right beside you.
The distance closes in between you and the two people your life once revolved around, and you train your gaze on Walter, because you can tell immediately that Paige is struck by Damian's appearance, more so by his hand on your waist.
"It's been a while." Walter starts off, though his gaze barely lingers on you before switching to Damian. "Wayne, I don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"There hasn't been a need." Damian shuts him down.
The atmosphere turns icy the moment Walter registers the tone of Damian's voice. He laughs, astonishedâand embarrassed. Paige finally recovers in an attempt to salvage the situation, pulling together her best smile.
"Well, it's lovely to have you both here." Paige starts, and her voice is distantânothing like the girl you used to know, hidden under the blankets of your beaten IKEA sofa when watching Scream for the tenth time. "You look amazing, andâsorry, I'm just curious on how the two of you know each other?"
Her question is directed towards you, but Damian takes the lead. "She's my partner."
"Partner?" Walter chokes on his breath. "As inâ"
You finally find your voice to speak. "We are seeing each other." It comes out levelled, matching Damian's.
Their shock registers in different levels. Walter's nears disbelief, while Paigeâlooks at you, betrayed.
"I didn't know about this." Paige stammers.
"Yes, you didn't." You answer shortly.
She stares at you as if she's seeing a stranger. "Right. I guess it's been a long time since we've caught up."
You're tempted to laugh. A long time is an understatement. You can feel Damian's low scoff against your shoulder, and the absurdity of the situation feels less gut-wrenching with him by your side.
"You know she's a real mess." Walter speaks involuntarily. "Like her apartment's an actual hazard. Isn't that right, Paige?"
Paige freezes, lips parting into a gap, but Damian's faster.
"I am awareâthat she has her own unique system." Damian states, gaze narrowing in discontent. "It didn't take long for me to understand it, or to appreciate it."
"Appreciate it?" Walter sneers. "Are you sure you're talking about the right person?"
"Yes." Damian doesn't hesitate, eyes steady, fixing yours. As if he was conveying it to you instead of the audience, he answers. "I'm sure."
You swallow dryly, unable to hide the softened smile you usually reserved for him only when it was the two of you. Both of them catch sight of it, and you can sense the question becoming less of whether it was real, and more of the how.
It's easy to act in love when Damian's this close, muttering words like that, with his familiar warmth grounding you through the stagnant conversation. So instinctive, that you think it's easier than breathing.
You sense Paige shifting closer and you force yourself to focus, and casting her another glance, only to finally catch a glimpse of the girl who used to be your closest person.
âHey, can we talk?â Her expression is vulnerable, tentative in her offer. "Y'know, catch up in private."
Damian immediately shifts you back slightly with his weight, but you place a hand tentatively on his arm. His gaze locks onto you, reading into your expression. His brow raises as if to ask, 'You're sure?'. You give him a nod.
"Fine by me." You murmur, because despite everythingâmaybe a part of you still wanted to hear the honest truth. For her decision, for when she decided that you should be cut out of the picture then forcefully glued back into what they envisioned to be the perfect way to continue their lives. Maybe you just wanted to see if the Paige you knew still existed.
The moment you enter an unoccupied bathroom, Paige presses the door shut and immediately turns to you. "You have to spill."
Your brows furrow. "On?"
"Damian Wayne." She points out as if it's obvious. "You don't even know him."
You blink once then twice, and something colder settles in the cavity of your chest. "Things change, Paige."
âIâm just worried. It's all just so sudden.â Her hand reaches out to grasp yours, and you resist the instinctive flinch. âYouâve always been sensitive, and a guy like him is just bad news. I meanâDamian Wayne? I get that it feels exciting, but he barely knew of your existence before and now, he's suddenly dating you? I just want us to be on the same page here, that it doesn't really make sense."
A scoff rises up your throat, barely constrained as she continues on, her softened voice a perfect replica of how she had been when you first made your decision to break up with Walter.
âYou know Iâll always support you if you need me.â She reassures. âYou can tell me anything.â
The anger bubbles so violently, and it hits you. That despite everything, you had came into this party hoping that maybe a fraction of the girl you knewâwho cried with you on bathroom floors when you experienced homesickness, who celebrated when you managed to pass your first year of medical school, who was there for your entire life in Gothamâwould still exist. That something would give way, and her leaving would make sense, to have a reason. You realise now, that you've only been giving her excuses on the basis of what she used to mean to you.
Your wrath gives way to something cold, absent of griefâonly the need to rip your hand out of hers. You do just that, and her shock barely registers before you open your mouth. âNo.â Your voice carries a finality, strength youâve been trying to garner since the day you lost her. âYou donât get to define my relationship with Damian, when you never addressed ours.â
She blinks, affronted. âIs this about Walter? We've already explainedâwe only felt what we did after the two of you broke upââ
âNo, this isnât about Walter. This is about us.â The coldness in your tone finally strikes something honest in her expression. âYou broke my trust, Paige, and then you invite me to this party cause you thought it would help make amends? I thought you brought me in here, to at least explain to me on what happened to us."
"You should've told me." She says, a frown stretched at her lips. "If you weren't comfortable being around me and Walter, we wouldn't have forced you to come."
Weâthe word runs through your mind like a tire screech.
âYes, I wasn't comfortableâI nearly died inside when it happened." You raise your head. "I lost my best friend, who drove me to karaoke night whenever I needed to forget about home. I lost the girl who swore to re-watch all rom-coms that ever existed in the 90s before we both turned fifty. I lost the only person I trusted since I moved into this city, over whatâa man? Was it worth it, was our friendship worth it?â
She swallows thickly, and you see a fracture of the girl you recognise under the glitter, and the tears collecting at her lower lashes. âI thought you understoodâthat I love him differently than you did.â
Your gaze doesnât flinch at the admission. âYou were by my side when he broke up with me, when I told you that he called my dresses ugly, when he said my attitude was too much, when he made me smaller because it was more convenient for him when I was quieter, and you still got together with him. Maybe I thought you loved me enough too, to understand why I wasn't comfortable with it.â
Her expression shatters, and tears drip down her cheeks before she harshly wipes at them, smearing her eyeshadow. âYou donât get to say that.â She spits out. âMaking it seem like I chose Walter over you, when you brought in Damian Wayne.â
Your brows contort. âWhat are you talking about?â
âYou decided to come to the party toâprove you suddenly became better than us just by being with a Wayne?â She snaps. âYou're acting like this because you think he's going to stayâbut you donât seriously believe itâll actually last when Walter could barely stand you?â
That anger, buried deep, comes alive with a roar. You take a step forward, causing her to inch backward as you close in. âThat's all your taking from this?" Your scoff resounds coldly. "Damian was the one who was there for me when you leftâso yeah, I have more trust in him to treat me like an actual person."
She flinches, her lips parting in the same way she had done earlier when Walter tried to make you small. Silent, and unable to do anything but lay there in her guilt of absorbing an idea of who you are in Walter's head, and erasing what made you human in her eyes.
"Rest assured. You will never gain my trust again to even know whatâs going on in my life and the people in it, and you never will.â
Taking a step back, you look at her one last time. Of the mess of her makeup, the same puffy eyes whenever she cries that you used to immediately follow up with the instinct to comfort her. You feel none of that now. âGoodbye, Paige.â
She doesnât call out your name when you turn your back on her, and she doesnât come after you. You needed that, more than you needed her to be the person you thought she was. To be blunt, and truthful to yourselfâeven if no one but you believed in it.
The euphoric lightness of your body from finally severing the bond doesnât last long, when a rough hand grabs at your wrist. Being twisted around, youâre faced with Walterâs accusing expression.
âWhat did you say to her?â
âWhat I discussed with Paige stays between us.â You answer coldly, tugging at your wrist.
His hand tightens more, almost bruising. âYouâre bringing in that attitude of yours, when we were kind enough to think of you? To let you stick around our lives?"
Youâre sick of this narrative, of acting like you shouldâve been grateful they thought to include you into this sick little group from your past life as if they hadnât completely burnt it into flames.
âWalter, get your hands off before I shoveââ
A fist slams into the side of Walterâs face before you even have a chance to finish your sentence. Screams erupt from the crowd, or cheersâyou can barely tell because your eyes are locked onto Damian, whoâs grabbing Walter by the collar with chafed knuckles.
Multiple eyes are on them, but your own gaze is fixed on Damianâs expression, who has gone completely cold. Nearly murderous, and filled with uncontained wrath. His glare, almost deadly, is trained on his target in a way youâve never seen him before. The composed, distant Damianâis nowhere to be found.
"You stay away from her." Damian growls.
"What the hell, man!" Walter spits, blood sprayed over his nose. "Do you seriously think she's worthâ"
Damian drags him closer by the collar, and something inhuman flashes past his concentrated gaze. "She's worth more than you ever will dream of trying to be. You are nothing, and even daring to lay a hand on her is something you will pay for."
âDamian!â You shout.
That finally reaches him, past the simultaneous gawking and murmurs. Itâs as if heâs reentered his own body, and Damian immediately drops Walter to the ground with a loud thud. Walter lands embarrassingly on his bottom, and his entire face has gone red with shame.
His gaze switches to you, and his wrath fades immediately into concern. His eyes fall onto your bruising skin, and his emotions fall apart into something colder. You have a feeling if you donât get him out of this room, this fight may escalate into something much worse.
Pushing through the forming crowd, you reach out. âLetâs get out of here.â You plead, holding out your hand.
His gaze drops to your fingers, then back to the forming outline of a hand gripped around your wrist, and you see his calculating assessment. Damian leans lower, muttering something low into Walterâs ear. It is quick, but you see the way Walter completely freezes in placeâhis struggle evading from his body like a statue. When Damianâs eyes meet your frightened ones once more, he doesnât hesitate a second longer before grabbing your hand.
Damian doesn't waste time in leading you through the crowd, towards the exit and away from the escalating noiseâand into the night breeze. When the cold wind finally hits your skin, his hand remains firmly intertwined with yours as he guides you somewhere far awayâthe fact still lingers that Damian, perfect track record and Wayne prodigy, just punched someone for you.
âYou punched him.â You mutter faintly, seated at a bench youâve both found, crisp leaves surrounding you with the faint singing of crickets.
âHe was hurting you.â
âDamian, the whole schoolâs going to talk about this.â You stress. âYouâre going to get in trouble, possibly a suspension.â
His jaw clenches. âI am your partner.â
Damianâs agitated. Over the situation, despite there no longer being any witnesses to his supposed protection. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched and his gazeâyou recall how he had looked at Walter when he landed that first hit, the pure anger that seized him.
âNot a real one.â
He flinches, as if struck, and you knew immediately that your words landed wrongly. His emotions topple over the other, and youâre unable to name any that arises before it all falls apart like his bodyâs regained consciousness. Concealed, and distant.
âMy mistake.â He mutters. âIâve forgotten my standing.â
âDamianââ
âI do not wish to inconvenience you.â He states, words leaving in a bitter rush. âI have overstepped, I realise that.â
âDamian.â You call out for the second time, fingers reaching for hisâand he finally breathes when your warmth seeps through his skin. Youâre relieved he doesnât pull away. âThat came out wrong. Iâm not mad you punched the jerk, I wouldâve done it myself. I am glad you stood up for me, but Iâm just confused on why you did it, because there's nothing at stake for you, only something to lose.â
His expression stiffens at the verbal admission of his visible frustration. This conversation sounds much too real, and the lines that have been carefully drawn are erasing themselves, leaving behind uncharted territory. One you werenât sure how to navigate.
âYou do matter to me, as more than a role.â You plead. âI donât want you to think youâre someone I chose out of convenience. Please donât believe that.â
His breath exhales low, controlled. His gaze flickers with the briefest uncertainty, and you realise how selfish youâve been. This arrangement had been perfect for you, that you simply assumed it was the same for him.
âNo, you are not at fault.â He mutters after a moment. âIt is not your responsibility to handle the consequence of my actions. We had agreed on no complications, and I have done exactly that.â
His jaw tightens, before he finally spits it out. âI punched him because the boundaries of what was was real or imagined between us has never made a difference to me. He had hurt you, not only physicallyââ His gaze shifts to your reddened wrist, and it darkens completely. ââbut he is a culprit to your existing pain. I was angry, because I couldnât comprehend that I was finally faced with the two morons who thought losing you was even a consideration, and to see them hold no remorse for it made me forget my place.â
âIâve always excelled in being what others expected of me.â He mutters. âWhen you approached me, it was the first time I had not wanted to be confined to a role. I did not want to partake in a façade, becauseâI had wanted your request to be for something real. Then, you mentioned that you picked me because I had not the slightest chance of falling for you. It was ironic, and I knew then that I should've rejected your request."
"But I started to earnestly believeâthat I could separate emotion and duty. I could be in your presence, and not feel the consequences if the arrangement endedâbecause nothing would be real.â
âTill I realisedâhow much it affected me to not have you truly at all.â He confesses. âI shouldâve been honest, that this arrangement had become the opposite of what weâve agreed upon. But I was afraid, of admitting that I wasnât capable of control, of driving you away."
âDamian." Your frown deepens. "Youâre not going to lose me.â
âI donât know.â He blurts honestly. âI do not know how to handle want. I am built of structure, of worth to prove why I deserve to keep my position, that has always been what Iâve provided. I do not know how to want without providing substance to covet a person.â
âBut I want you.â He exhales. âNot once has it been pretend for me, not when it had already existed before our arrangement. Every moment I reached for your hand, every time I checked that horrendous shaded calendar of yours. I rushed over the moment you went missing when you were sick, because I had wanted to look for you. I have never once hesitated in calling myself your partner, even knowing the role was temporary. I want you, in the real, complicated wayâthat I've failed in being what you needed me to be."
"That's not true." You break. "That's not what I need you to be at all, Damian."
He finally looks at you, a little less restrainedâand almost startled at your words.
"If you had been real about this the entire time, Damian, then so have I." You admit. "I chose you because I thought you wouldn't have fallen for me, that is trueâbut that is because I also thought it was safe because I knew I was going to fall for you."
"I wasn't kidding when I said I like you." You confess. "In all of the complicated, real sense of the word, and you were always going be the one I was going to choose. Even if you had said no, I wouldn't have asked anyone else. I wanted you from the start, Damian, and that hasn't changed. I was going to ask you to freaking Romeo's after this, if you wanted this to be real too."
The moment those words leave your lips, Damian closes in. His fingers tug you by your waist, his hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, and his lips are on yours. Damian Wayne, who still has forming bruises at his knuckles from a fight he landed in to defend you, is kissing you on a park bench in the middle of the nightâand you're not dreaming.
It's clearly his first, but there's something so tenderly sweet about it that your heart trembles uncontrollablyâenough to render something wet at your lashes by the time he's pulled back.
He pulls apart just to meet your gaze, and you've never seen him this relieved. "This is real." He restates, as if he can't quite truly believe it.
âWe did just have our first official fight.â You murmur, cheek pressed to his chest.
"Official." He hums in acknowledgement. "I like that."
Your smile teethers into something soft when you feel the soft press of his mouth against the shell of your ear. "Yeah, guess our operation tonight ended in a success."
Sorry, the Paige and Reader scene reminded me of this part of the song:
Came in like a dream, put it down like a smoke
We used to be a team, now we let each other go
Your cigarette ash still clinging to my clothes
I don't wanna stick around, I just wanna let you know
And the final part of Damian and Reader is:
I wanna be a provider
Your guiding hand, your final decide
That bit of fuel to your fire
Stoke your desire
Just let me know that you're mine
I wanna be a provider
I apologize for the spelling mistakes; English is not my native language.
One of the greatest strengths of modern fanfiction is its ability to problematize what the canon dictates or what the fandom itself proposesâto question what "ought to be" or to alter it, creating a narrative arc superior to the one originally presented by the canon or the fandom.
The way fanfiction interrogates actions, attitudes, and eventsâwhether regarding characters, the plot, or the execution of the storyâis remarkable. It demonstrates an awareness that things might be wrong, poorly handled, or more complex than initially presented, and it seeks to view them from a different perspective. Character development and the handling of events are also incredible in fanfiction; the medium allows for change and expansion while simultaneously fostering a critical approach to the material established by the canon or the fandom.
There is also the freedom to ignore or alter situations. As an audience, we know we can accept or modify the narrative; fanfiction excels at this, reinterpreting the source material, imbuing it with new meaning, and making it the author's own.
Fanfiction goes further; it is not merely about following the plot to the letter or deferring to the original author. It is about problematizing, questioning, andâwhen appropriateâchanging the material. It is a reinterpretation of a work, regardless of the specific approach taken.
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