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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 friend—you 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 relationship—" 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 ethic—it'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 him—blocking 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 didn’t 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 me—and 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 this—impulsive, frantic, verging on insanity—but 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, really—"
"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, sure— 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 since—at 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 University—so be it.
Damian slides your extremely lengthy list across the lunch table, and you can barely hide your shock that he actually printed it out—before 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 original—I mean, c’mon, they’re 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."
"Fine—we'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.”
Your grin slips out uncontrollably. “You just said ‘our’ efforts. Look at us, the perfect team.”
His expression remains impassive, before he raises a slow brow. “Switch to the assignment tab.”
“Yes, sir.”
Resting below a willow tree, your third Friday with Damian is spent resting below the shade on your picnic cloth—one you used to share with Paige. The sight of its red plaid, stuffed behind your piles of clothes in your wardrobe, was getting sad—even for you.
Damian’s back is resting against the tree bark, shoulders nearly taking up the width—brows impossibly furrowed as his gaze narrows on your laptop displaying ‘To All The Boys I Loved Before’.”
“This movie is non-sensical.”
“I think it’s romantic.” You shrug.
He tosses you a judgmental glance. “Having your own blood betray you by revealing your own personal letters, is your idea of romance?”
“I mean Lara Jean and Peter, Damian.” You snort. “That’s our main source of inspiration.”
“He’s hardly appealing.” He scoffs, arms crossing over the other. “Is this the standards you expect from our arrangement?”
“If this is mediocre—” You respond, aghast. “You have no idea how dire love can be nowadays.”
His frown deepens. “You are not expecting me to perform in this manner?”
“What—falling in love with me?” You grin. “No, I do not expect you to be Peter Lavinsky.”
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.
“That’s—the discontinued, limited edition Spoiler cap!” You gasp, eyes widening in realisation. “How did you get this?”
He shrugs begrudgingly. “My sister used to be a collector. She doesn’t mind giving it away.”
“Giving it away?” You mutter incredulously. “This is actual gold. Your sister is my favourite person on Earth.”
His brow twitches. “I bargained for that cap.”
You snort. “What did you exchange it for, your dignity?”
“You have no clue on my sacrifice." He grimaces.
“Your sacrifice is acknowledged." You tease, before letting out another huff of amazement. “This is the best day of my life.”
When your gaze falls back to the cap, tracing your fingers over the logo—you miss the twitch of his lips into a semblance of a smile.
You missed today’s 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 meetings—it 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 dormitory’s door. A groan escapes your lips, your head pounding from the cold you’ve 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 way—shifting 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. You’re immediately faced with a broad chest, donning a familiar black sweater. Shifting your gaze up, you’re met with Damian Wayne’s narrowed gaze, sweat trailing down his temple.
“Damian?” Your voice croaks, and even the attempt of speaking hurts. “What are you doing here?”
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. “Your temperature is too high.” 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.
“I got caught in the rain.” You explain, trying your best to pull together a more reassuring expression, one less filled with nausea-induced tension. “I’ll be fine—just need rest.”
His frown creases deeper. “Have you taken medicine?”
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 gravity—but strong arms catch you before you collapse.
“Look at your state.” Damian grits, pulling you back upright but closer. There's barely any space left between the two of you. “This fever, has it worsened considerably?”
“Yeah—but I didn’t have anyone to call.” You mutter in truth, cheek still smushed against his chest as support. “I ran out of medicine a while ago, and by the time I woke up—I couldn’t get out of bed.”
You feel his arms tense around you. Above the crown of your head, you feel a soft sigh. “You have me.” He mutters, almost reprimanding.
Your brows furrow in confusion. “You would get me medicine?”
“That would be a start.” 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 wasn’t completely swarmed by the symptoms of your cold, you’d 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.
”It’s not usually this messy.” You feel the need to point out, words muffled against his sweater. “You just have impeccable timing.”
His lip twitches involuntarily as he sets you down against the thrashed sheets. “Organised according to your system?”
You smile weakly at the thought of your colour-coded spreadsheet. “Exactly.”
He places his palm against your forehead again, and you subconsciously find yourself leaning into his touch. “You’re like—really warm.” You murmur. “Do you always run hot?”
He swallows, touch lingering on your skin. “Your temperature is dysregulated. I’ll return soon with medicine. Rest. I won’t be gone long.”
“Okay.” Your lids fall shut, the pounding lessening with your head burrowed into the pillows, and his touch a gentle anchor. “You know—you’d be a great boyfriend for someone one day.”
You don’t hear a response, and your honest thoughts continue to tumble out from your skull like a cracked jar. “You’re really nice, Dami.” The shortening of his name feels like cotton candy stuffed in your mouth, and you barely register the stiffening of his fingers. “Fierce, but I like that about you. I like you a lot, actually. Not in a swooning way, but in a—I’m really glad I met you kind of way.”
He doesn’t pull away when your lips finally clamp shut, but the silence is almost deafening. You peek open with one eye, catching his expression. He’s staring at you… as if no one’s ever said that to his face—ever.
“Don’t make it weird.” You tease softly, voice tethered with exhaustion. “I’m just giving you your deserved five stars.”
You hear the soft echo of his scoff, withheld from its usual bite, but you don’t 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 Damian’s 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 list—like 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 him—despite 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 tonight—you 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 Damian—for 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 you’d 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 happened—you'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 too—just how horribly small you felt—and 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 duration—and 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 instead—when 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 just—wow. 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 look—as 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's—not 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 for—so 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 medicine—your 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 doorway—and he immediately taps on Paige’s 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 Damian’s 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, astonished—and 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 distant—nothing 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, and—sorry, 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 in—"
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 Paige—looks 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 aware—that 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.
“Hey, can we talk?” 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 everything—maybe a part of you still wanted to hear the honest truth. For her decision, on when she decided you should’ve 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."
“I’m just worried. It's all just so sudden.” Her hand reaches out to grasp yours, and you resist the instinctive flinch. “You’ve always been sensitive, and a guy like him is just bad news. I mean—Damian 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.
“You know I’ll always support you if you need me.” She reassures. “You can tell me anything.”
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 knew—who 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 Gotham—would 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 grief—only the need to rip your hand out of hers. You do just that, and her shock barely registers before you open your mouth. “No.” Your voice carries a finality, strength you’ve been trying to garner since the day you lost her. “You don’t get to define my relationship with Damian, when you never addressed ours.”
She blinks, affronted. “Is this about Walter? We've already explained—we only felt what we did after the two of you broke up—”
“No, this isn’t about Walter. This is about us.” The coldness in your tone finally strikes something honest in her expression. “You 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."
We—the word runs through your mind like a tire screech.
“Yes, I wasn't comfortable—I 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 what—a man? Was it worth it, was our friendship worth it?”
She swallows thickly, and you see a fracture of the girl you recognise under the glitter, and the tears collecting at her lower lashes. “I thought you understood—that I love him differently than you did.”
Your gaze doesn’t flinch at the admission. “You 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.”
Her expression shatters, and tears drip down her cheeks before she harshly wipes at them, smearing her eyeshadow. “You don’t get to say that.” She spits out. “Making it seem like I chose Walter over you, when you brought in Damian Wayne.”
Your brows contort. “What are you talking about?”
“You decided to come to the party to—prove you suddenly became better than us just by being with a Wayne?” She snaps. “You're acting like this because you think he's going to stay—but you don’t seriously believe it’ll actually last when Walter could barely stand you?”
That anger, buried deep, comes alive with a roar. You take a step forward, causing her to inch backward as you close in. “That's all your taking from this?" Your scoff resounds coldly. "Damian was the one who was there for me when you left—so 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 what’s going on in my life and the people in it, and you never will.”
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. “Goodbye, Paige.”
She doesn’t call out your name when you turn your back on her, and she doesn’t 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 yourself—even if no one but you believed in it.
The euphoric lightness of your body from finally severing the bond doesn’t last long, when a rough hand grabs at your wrist. Being twisted around, you’re faced with Walter’s accusing expression.
“What did you say to her?”
“What I discussed with Paige stays between us.” You answer coldly, tugging at your wrist.
His hand tightens more, almost bruising. “You’re bringing in that attitude of yours, when we were kind enough to think of you? To let you stick around our lives?"
You’re sick of this narrative, of acting like you should’ve been grateful they thought to include you into this sick little group from your past life as if they hadn’t completely burnt it into flames.
“Walter, get your hands off before I shove—“
A fist slams into the side of Walter’s face before you even have a chance to finish your sentence. Screams erupt from the crowd, or cheers—you can barely tell because your eyes are locked onto Damian, who’s grabbing Walter by the collar with chafed knuckles.
Multiple eyes are on them, but your own gaze is fixed on Damian’s 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 you’ve never seen him before. The composed, distant Damian—is 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 worth—"
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."
“Damian!” You shout.
That finally reaches him, past the simultaneous gawking and murmurs. It’s as if he’s 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 don’t get him out of this room, this fight may escalate into something much worse.
Pushing through the forming crowd, you reach out. “Let’s get out of here.” 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 Walter’s ear. It is quick, but you see the way Walter completely freezes in place—his struggle evading from his body like a statue. When Damian’s eyes meet your frightened ones once more, he doesn’t 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 noise—and 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 away—the fact still lingers that Damian, perfect track record and Wayne prodigy, just punched someone for you.
“You punched him.” You mutter faintly, seated at a bench you’ve both found, crisp leaves surrounding you with the faint singing of crickets.
“He was hurting you.”
“Damian, the whole school’s going to talk about this.” You stress. “You’re going to get in trouble, possibly a suspension.”
His jaw clenches. “I am your partner.”
Damian’s agitated. Over the situation, despite there no longer being any witnesses to his supposed protection. His shoulders are tense, jaw clenched and his gaze—you recall how he had looked at Walter when he landed that first hit, the pure anger that seized him.
“Not a real one.”
He flinches, as if struck, and you knew immediately that your words landed wrongly. His emotions topple over the other, and you’re unable to name any that arises before it all falls apart like his body’s regained consciousness. Concealed, and distant.
“My mistake.” He mutters. “I’ve forgotten my standing.”
“Damian—”
“I do not wish to inconvenience you.” He states, words leaving in a bitter rush. “I have overstepped, I realise that.”
“Damian.” You call out for the second time, fingers reaching for his—and he finally breathes when your warmth seeps through his skin. You’re relieved he doesn’t pull away. “That came out wrong. I’m not mad you punched the jerk, I would’ve done it myself. I am glad you stood up for me, but I’m just confused on why you did it, because there's nothing at stake for you, only something to lose.”
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 weren’t sure how to navigate.
“You do matter to me, as more than a role.” You plead. “I don’t want you to think you’re someone I chose out of convenience. Please don’t believe that.”
His breath exhales low, controlled. His gaze flickers with the briefest uncertainty, and you realise how selfish you’ve been. This arrangement had been perfect for you, that you simply assumed it was the same for him.
“No, you are not at fault.” He mutters after a moment. “It is not your responsibility to handle the consequence of my actions. We had agreed on no complications, and I have done exactly that.”
His jaw tightens, before he finally spits it out. “I 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 physically—“ His gaze shifts to your reddened wrist, and it darkens completely. “—but he is a culprit to your existing pain. I was angry, because I couldn’t 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.”
“I’ve always excelled in being what others expected of me.” He mutters. “When 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, because—I 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 believe—that I could separate emotion and duty. I could be in your presence, and not feel the consequences if the arrangement ended—because nothing would be real.”
“Till I realised—how much it affected me to not have you truly at all.” He confesses. “I should’ve been honest, that this arrangement had become the opposite of what we’ve agreed upon. But I was afraid, of admitting that I wasn’t capable of control, of driving you away."
“Damian." Your frown deepens. "You’re not going to lose me.”
“I don’t know.” He blurts honestly. “I 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 I’ve provided. I do not know how to want without providing substance to covet a person.”
“But I want you.” He exhales. “Not 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 way—that 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 restrained—and 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 true—but 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 night—and you're not dreaming.
It's clearly his first, but there's something so tenderly sweet about it that your heart trembles uncontrollably—enough 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.
“We did just have our first official fight.” 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."
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
art :: @/narutoss.ramen, @/to0fu, @/thatsallitchief . dividers :: @/cafekitsune .
synopsis :: following every generic romance media known to man—there’s always a set of troupes that you’ll come across. now what if you relived them, only with a group of insufferably handsome men?
s. gojo :: academic rivals to lovers.
synopsis :: top of his class, and the campus’ star student, satoru gojo is used to being number 1. that was, until a scholarship student fucked with all his plans—the most unfortunate thing being that you were just his type. smart, witty and mean, you’re everything he’s ever wanted, if only his pride wasn’t in the way.
r. sukuna :: accidental roommates.
synopsis :: a registration mishap leaves you rooming with the university’s most notorious frat president—and now the two of you are stuck in a place you could barely call an apartment. together. so, it’s only fair you find something to agree on, right?
k. nanami :: fake dating.
synopsis :: hell bent on making your ex, gojo, jealous you found yourself wrapped in the hot valedictorian’s arms—in exchange for your connections he’s willing to play your little game to help make the white haired loser regret breaking up with you, only you find yourself drawn closer and closer to the mysterious blonde.
f. toji :: jock x nerd.
synopsis :: stellar athlete and captain of the ice hockey team, fushiguro toji is used to everybody knowing exactly who he is. everybody except the wallflower, the nerdy girl at the front of his class that seems to have no interest in him—only for toji, she happens to be the most interesting person alive.
waaaa tysm for 5k my babies :’D never ever ever did i ever think id get this far or this many people would gaf about my writing but im so eternally grateful for every single one of you guys & u mean the world to me 👩❤️💋👩 ty for being part of my stupid corner of the internet 🐇 !!
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
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a/n: hi this oneshot is super self indulgent because I'm such a botw nerd and of course, we're going to write it on kenma! this is so dedicated to my beta-reader (you know who you are). so I hope I captured kenma's essence & character in this :) it's very important that canon characterisation stays in my fics :")
note: proof-read, but mistakes may still be present. you've been warned.
⋆˚࿔ tags: oneshot, nerds (botw fanatics), fluff, subtle yearning (but it isn't really there), more than friends/less than lovers, acts of service (AGAIN), light humour (from kuroo...)
✦ ݁˖ word count: ~1.8k-2.2k words (subject to change to be exact)
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
click. click. click.
you lean to your plethora of pillows and plushies, blanket draped around your legs while your hands held your nintendo switch, moving the joysticks on either ends. you were going another hour of your new game that you bought on a whim (and kenma's encouragement).
at first, you were quite skeptical whether breath of the wild would appeal to you. after all, you were much more keen to get other switch games, but kenma managed to convince you with the open world mechanics.
here you were, heading straight to a bokoblin camp. you equipped the knight’s broadsword and a soldier's shield, pressing the left joystick to crouch. you sneak your way into an enemy camp, before switching to your stealth gear and climbing the skull above the mobs.
you switched to the bomb rune, dropping a round bomb on the skull's eyesockets. you pressed detonate, and an explosion shook the ground to the core. you hear groans and screams from the mobs and half their health bars diminished.
you were just about to glide down and enter bullet time, equipping your bow to shoot down the remaining enemies before the door behind you clicked open.
"hey," kenma called out. "can't believe this is the same person who claimed they wouldn't enjoy the game?"
you scrunched your face. "well, neither did I. but you were right. it is fun."
"mmm," he mumbled. "what part are you up to?"
"part?" you frowned. "oh, do you mean the quests?"
"yes," he replied, grabbing his switch and turning it on. similar to yours, he had a nintendo switch, but it was larger and had a sleek, charcoal-grey design to it.
"oh, I think I'm up to divine beast rudania," you said casually. "but, I'm not up to it right now. that's why I'm grinding out enemy camps."
"hmm," kenma nodded. "well, botw isn't a multiplayer game, so I can't help. but, I can show you some tips if you want."
"that'd be nice," you beamed. "do you know how to get more hearts? I keep dying to lynels when I try to grind them out."
you got out of bed, blanket and switch in hand, and sat on the wooden floorboards with kenma.
your eyes wandered over to his switch, which was loading up the game. breath of the wild's loading screen showed different pictures of link and the champions. then, kenma loaded his recent save file, which was in a random shrine location.
"a shrine in the middle of nowhere? really?" you asked in confusion. "I mean, wouldn't it better if you had loaded in a shrine near a stable or a city shop like hateno village.”
kenma frowned. "I was farming koroks near this area, and finishing up the shrine's puzzle before I got frustrated."
"oh sorry," you apologised. "just curious."
"it's fine," he replied. he inched closer and showed you the orange hue on his shrine. "see how it's still orange? that means I haven't completed the puzzle and got the shrine orb."
you nodded in response. "how much more do you have left?"
"only a couple of shrines, but a lot of koroks," he shook his head. "I've been trying to grind in between practices, but kuroo insists I could use that time to do something more productive."
"and that is?" you laughed.
"team-bonding..." he groaned. "I don't really mind, it's just I wanted to recharge. but, I try my best to be there for the team and kuroo."
"of course," you chuckled.
"what's there to laugh about?" his brows furrowed.
"nothing," you replied.
kenma sighed silently, fondling with the joysticks, moving link around.
you remained quiet, unsure how to break the awkwardness between the both of you. you decided to open your inventory and browse through it to look busy.
"to get more hearts, you have to complete your shrines." he said, breaking his silence.
"ugh," you groaned. "no other way? I don't have the time to grind them all out, kenma."
"yeah, but you have the time to grind out mob camps." he retorted. "sorry, didn't mean it to come off that way."
"all good," you replied, moving the joysticks on your switch, and shooting arrows at the remaining mobs of the monster camp you were trying to clear.
"you can grind out hearty durians," kenma explained, pressing the + button on his switch, opening his inventory. he swiped his right joystick, moving through his weapons, shields, and arrows before landing onto his material inventory.
you looked over at the material stats. it seemed that it only healed three hearts. you frowned in confusion.
"uh, if I cook this, how much would I get?" you inquired. "I mean, is this really efficient?"
"yes, it is," he replied bluntly. "let me check your inventory and see what dishes you have."
he placed his switch down beside him, and grabbed yours. he looked into your eyes, silently asking if it was okay. you simply nodded, and he opened your inventory, swiping until he reached the dishes section.
kenma sighed.
"what now?" you groaned.
"have you been eating all your food raw?" he asked, eyes slightly shocked.
"yes? am I supposed to cook them? well, obviously, I cooked the meat, but for fruits, I simply just eat them directly."
"you can't be serious," he stared at you in pure disbelief. "that's such a waste. yes, eating it only gives you three full hearts. but cooking them gives you a full restore and adds temporary hearts."
he moved back to your material inventory, checking how many durians you have left. "you're throwing away free stats."
"sorry, expert," you retored. "sorry for being bad at the game."
kenma frowned. "you still have a couple. I'll show you what I mean." he pressed on the hearty durians, and an animation of link holding one, then two, then three appeared on your inventory.
"that's a cool animation," you murmured.
kenma silently nodded, putting the durians away. he opened your map, and fast travelled to a stable for a cooking pot. again, he opened your inventory and equipped one hearty durian. he exited out of the tab, and pressed a to cook.
you watched the cooking animation, seeing how link makes a happy expression after the dish has been cooked as well as a fun, little tune that played afterwards.
"I normally skip the animation," he stated. "but, since you normally don't cook, I thought I'd want you to see it."
you flushed, heat rising up in your cheeks. as the cutscene finished, kenma opened your inventory and clicked on the complete dish. your eyes sparkled in amazement as a full recovery with four extra golden hearts lining the top left of your screen.
"whoa," you gushed, genuinely impressed. "I didn't know you could do that."
"see? told you," kenma murmured, a tiny ghost of a smile appearing on his face.
"is that all we can do?" you asked, leaning closer to kenma. your shoulders brushed against his, but to your surprise (and amusement), he remained unfazed, still grasping your switch in his hand.
"there's other dishes that can boost your attack and defense," he replied. "but that can wait for another day."
he placed the switch on your lap gently, and grabbed his switch once more. you hear grunts and clicks beside you. it seemed that kenma was trying to clear his own mobs too.
you two sat in silence, only accompanied by link's grunts, screams from the mobs, clicks from your joysticks, and the chimes whenever a chest is opened or a shrine is completed.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
how long has it been? an hour? two?
but, your eyes began to flicker shut. your switch began slipping away from your fingers' grasp. you yawned, leaning your head on kenma's shoulder before quickly pulling away.
"sorry," you stammered. "I know how you don't like physical contact."
kenma shook his head. "it's fine, you're tired."
"you sure?" you rubbed your eyes, the glare from your switch suddenly feeling too bright from the dim light surrounding your room. "the floor's cold. my legs are numbing."
you groaned, head leaning back to kenma's shoulder. he seemed unfazed, fingers clicking and moving at a steady pace on his joysticks. a bright flare shined on his face, and you could barely make out a figure holding a bomb rune over his head.
a quiet voice shook you awake the moment you tried to close your eyes.
"then go back to bed," kenma murmured, his fingers still rhythmically tapping against his pro-controller. "the blankets are up there anyway."
you didn't need to be told twice. your eyelids flickered, and you yawned over and over. you scrambled back onto your mattress, dragging your heavy duvet with you and nesting yourself back into your fortress of plushies. you propped your switch up against a stuffed animal, your fingers loosely hovering over the controls.
kenma watched you out of the corner of his eye before picking up his own switch and moving to sit at the edge of your bed. he didn't climb all the way in. he always respected people's boundaries, distancing himself, but if he feigned concern, he remains there at a distance. just like now, sitting close enough that you could vaguely hear the faint, ambient wind sounds from his game.
you blink in and out of consciousness, before slowly and softly settling in your sleep. you envelope your plushie between your hands, drifting away into your dreams. you don’t know if you imagined it as you slept, but you felt fingers run through your hair, tucking loose strands away, making sure you wouldn’t wake up with hair in your mouth. even so, it calmed you down and you slept as if there were no tomorrow.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
your eyes fluttered awake. you don’t know if it was still the same day or the next day, but by the sounds of birds chirping outside and the soft sunlight streaming from outside your bedroom curtains, it seemed it was the next morning.
“mmm,” you mumbled. “what time is it, kenma?”
kenma? wouldn’t he go home by then after you had went to bed. surely, he didn’t sleep in.
you got up, not leaving your bed, checking for any signs of kenma. unfazed, he wasn’t there. you lay back on your soft mattress, gazing at the ceiling. you glanced towards the side of your bed, switch still atop your plushie.
you opened your switch, and you see that the game has been left open. curious, you opened and you gasped.
on your inventory, you see new weapons you haven’t seen before. lynel weapons, shields, and bows. your arrow inventory grew from only having regular arrows to having an assortment from fire, ice, shock, and bomb arrows. you couldn’t believe it.
did kenma do this?
you continued to explore your inventory, fingers moving the right joystick. your material inventory doubled in amounts. monster parts? you got them. your eyes widened, seeing lynel guts and hooves in your inventory. the very enemy you struggled to beat. swiping again, you moved to your dishes which had a plethora of different images of meals you hadn’t seen before.
attack up dishes? you had them. you checked what it was. obviously, you hadn’t seen these before. it read mighty simmered fruit. you saw it had three swords. “maybe the level of attack percentage?” you concluded. still curious, you clicked a and an option to 'eat' or 'recipe' popped up.
an echo of kenma's reminder and remark not to eat your food mindlessly repeated at the back of your mind, so you decided to brush your thumb on the left joystick and click a to check the recipe.
four mighty bananas and a dragon horn.
you read again.
"a dragon horn?!" you froze in shock, dropping the switch to the floor. you didn't know if it was kenma's doing or you magically got better half-asleep.
even then, you swiped back to your material inventory and saw a stack of mighty bananas and dragon horns you'd never seen before. it seemed the attack boost also lasted thirty minutes. maybe it was the dragon horn?
even so, you continued to browse through your inventory. checking again, you had defense up dishes, plenty of elixers from attack and defense boosts, and roasted poultry and meat.
you heaved a sigh, confused but amused. you placed your switch down and walked over to your closet. you open the handles, and grabbed your jacket and placed casualwear.
you placed your phone on your jacket pocket as well as grabbing your house keys and switch. you opened your bedroom door and ran down the stairs, nearly slipping in your rush.
your mum called out to you, asking if you wanted a quick bite for breakfast. you politely declined, saying you'll be back soon and just needed to run some errands (truth be told, you needed answers from kenma. and fast.)
her eyebrows furrowed in worry and curiosity, but she obliged. she reminded you that you needed to be back in an hour for something important. you nod frantically and absent-mindedly before pecking your mum on the cheek and running out the door, waving a goodbye.
you rushed out, looking left and right before running towards kenma's street. you desperately needed to know if he went through the extra mile for your gaming experience or someone (un)fortunately hacked your game. you hope it was the latter.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
you burst kenma's bedroom door open. your eyes widened in shock, seeing kenma and kuroo on the floor, holding uno cards in hand.
"hey!" kuroo called out, grinning. "look what the cat dragged in!"
"hi," kenma said, fingers fidgeting between his cards, before placing a red card down on the deck.
"kenma, I need to talk to you." you urged. "it's important." you waved your switch, trying to call his attention.
"sure?" he looked confused, but you had a feeling he knew something about your switch. "let me just finish the game with kuroo and-"
"well, it can wait," kuroo chimed. "it'll be quick, right?" his eyes glanced towards you, sparkling. "I'll be waiting, you two."
"don't make this weird, kuroo." kenma said bitterly. "but yes, it'll be quick."
"you know I'm joking," kuroo chuckled. "well, off you go. I'll be rearranging my cards."
kenma frowned, but he chucked his cards in his jacket pocket and strided over to where you stood.
"let's go outside," kenma said casually.
︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶
once the bedroom door closed, you and kenma stood outside the door awkwardly.
"kenma," you broke the silence, flashing the switch's screen on his face. it showed your inventory, stacked with loot and meals. "did you do this?"
kenma looked away, flushed. "yes," he whispered. "I did."
"what?" you looked confused, but amused. "really? that's awesome. and sweet too. can't believe you'd do that."
"it's nothing," he said sheeplishly. "just wanted to help."
"it's not nothing. it's everything." you smiled. "thank you, kenma."
kenma remained silent, but a faint smile itched on his lips.
"show me your inventory again," he instructed softly. "I'll prepare you for your next lynel fight."
a/n: hi! it's the author. please be nice. this is my first haikyuu oneshot posted on tumblr. I tried to be character accurate as possible. some parts may feel self-indulgent, but I hope this oneshot still resonates with you. 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
note: not proof-read, you've been warned. (hopefully, it still makes sense)
⋆˚࿔ tags: friends to lovers, fluff/comfort, library dates, established friendship, subtle themes of self-acceptance, soft akaashi keiji, acts of service, light humour
.✦ ݁˖ word count: 2.8k
────୨ৎ────
you heaved a sigh, brushing your knuckles across your face, gazing up at the ceiling. you melted into the soft mattress, blanket draping over your body. "it's cold," you mumbled. "it's best to stay home today."
you turned towards your apartment window, curtains closed, where no sunlight dared to enter. a bored look itched on your face. a day off alongside a chilly atmosphere in your room was a recipe for laziness.
you groaned, twisting and turning. you close your eyes.
dot. dot. dot.
your mind remained. empty. blank.
nothing.
you grabbed your phone from your bedside table. it's not fully charged, but it's enough for you to use it. you unlocked the lock screen. your wallpaper was a mirror of yourself. a blank canvas. nothing in mind.
you decided to go on social media, scrolling through your mutuals' posts and stories. every click, you're shown countless pictures of delicious angles of your favourite foods. every button, you're shown snapshots of selfies and matching outfits. every swipe, catchy tunes echo in the quiet corners of your room.
you swiped down, checking your notifications. as always, you have nothing. well, what were you expecting? the moment you decide to swipe down to continue your scrolling madness, a distinct notification pops up.
akaashi: hey, you there?
akaashi. out of all people.
you hesitated for a moment. maybe he mistook you for bokuto or a teammate from fukurōdani. it can't be you he's texting, right? well, whatever. you wanted to get out of a freezing chamber and a cycle of doomscrolling. maybe a conversation with akaashi could help. after all, you were friends.
...
your hands clasped your phone, fingers typing and erasing a response. you've never been texted first before. this is new. really new.
yeah.. I am. why?
you manage to click send. you put your phone down beside you. afraid that you replied to no avail. you groan, frustrated that you got your hopes up again. but your phone shook and vibrated. surely not—
akaashi: oh, nothing much. it's your day off, right?
one thing about akaashi is that he remembers dates. birthdays. anniversaries. events. everything. you don't know if he has them written down on a planner, a calendar of sticky notes, or saved in his phone. knowing him, he'd probably have a section in his brain solely for them. however, you find it endearing someone remembered something about you. even if it's something as mundane as a day off.
you began typing a response, but stopped. a second bubble followed after the first one. your eyes widened, eyebrows furrowed.
akaashi: if you're not busy, would you like to visit the library with me?
it's a day off. you have nothing better to do. obviously, you'd say yes. but how do you phrase it to someone you barely talk to? even if you call each other friends?
I don't mind. are you already downstairs?
you cringed at your response. don't mind? really? out of everything you could've said. you quickly type out a second bubble, afraid he might think you don't care. you really do.
and thank you, akaashi. I'd love to go.
you placed your phone down, closing your eyes. you ran your fingers through your hair, tucking loose strands away. a bright smile washed up your face. you were going out of a solemn, dark apartment, out in the autumn atmosphere waiting for you outside.
your phone vibrated again. you grabbed it and swiped down to check your notifications.
akaashi: no problem. not yet, I'm still on my way. I'll meet you in a couple of minutes. don't worry. take your time. I'll wait as long as I need to.
you smiled. akaashi's patience was admirable. he was the type to wait for you as you tied your shoelaces on the sidewalk, stopping in his tracks to check in. the type to check in on his teammates, making sure everyone was good to go before practice. the type who was willing to reteach you a difficult concept again and again, because he wants you at your best. because he knows you can be at your best.
you got up from your bed, walked over to your apartment window, and opened the curtains. the cold air swept through your face, and yet, it didn't faze you. today, you were facing it head on.
in the bathroom, you splashed your face with cold water. you washed with your cleanser, wiped your face with a clean towel, and applied your skincare with a toner and moisturiser. you looked at the reflection in your mirror, and for the first time in a while, you were happy to see this version of yourself.
you got dressed and tied up your hair into a sleek ponytail. you placed on your favourite scarf around your neck and wore jewellery. shiny, silver earrings hung on your ears while a necklace lined your neck. oh, before you forget, you wore your watch, placing it on your right hand.
you grabbed your phone, keys, and your wired earphones before looking at yourself one more time in the mirror. you placed your socks and boots on, and headed out the door. once you heard the door behind you close, you opened your phone to check for akaashi's notification.
you couldn't keep him waiting. bile began to rise to your throat as you walked towards the apartment elevator. you pressed the elevator buttons hastily, afraid akaashi'd be disappointed at you for taking too long. yes, he's patient, but you wouldn't want to risk that, wouldn't you?
you were alone in this elevator, so you leaned towards the cool, silver walls. you checked your phone again and again, no new notification. your fingers opened the messages app, and began typing a frantic message.
...
you stopped. "it's fine, it's fine," you mumbled to yourself. "don't stress."
the moment the elevator doors opened, you scampered away. you bolted towards the exit of your apartment, frantically looking left and right for akaashi. you pulled your phone out once more, typing a "where are you?" message to akaashi before a small nudge to your shoulder grabbed your attention.
"hey," akaashi said, smiling. "you're here early."
"early?" you frowned in confusion. "I thought I was-"
"late? no?" akaashi shook his head. "there's no set meeting time to this. I asked you out of the blue, so you could've taken your time."
"it's okay," you replied. "oh? you got some hot chocolates."
"yes," akaashi nodded. "I grabbed one for the both of us. I know how chilly it gets. I wasn't sure if you liked yours with cream or less sugar, so I left it be. sorry for that."
"no, it's okay," you smiled. "I can't believe you got hot chocolates in the first place. I mean, I'd normally just get coffee."
"well, this is a way to decaffinate," akaashi said, sipping his hot chocolate. "I got mine with less sugar. but, to each their own."
"thank you," you replied. "how much was it? I'll pay my share."
"no, no," he blurted. "it's okay, I'll cover it this time. for now, enjoy your drink."
your eyebrows furrowed. you aren't surprised by the little acts of services akaashi gives you, because, well, he does that to everyone. buying everyone cold drinks after practice. escorting you to your classes. and, of course, he's the type to notice whenever someone's amiss.
your heart skipped a beat whenever you watch in the sidelines during his matches as he comforts his team captain, bokuto. you can't help, but feel a sense of admiration for akaashi whenever he becomes a listening ear and a comforting shoulder to those around him. furthermore, you know that he'd be willing to be one for you too.
"shall we go?" akaashi said, breaking you out of your train of thoughts. "are you okay?" he asked, concerned.
"yes, I'm fine," you replied hastily. "where's the library?"
"it's just a couple of blocks straight down here," he explained. "don't worry, I've been here plenty of times." a smug smile appeared in the corner of his mouth.
your face flushed, gripping your hot chocolate for warmth. though, you didn't know if it were the chilly wind or akaashi's presence. perhaps, a mix of both?
you sipped your hot chocolate, its warm aroma surrounding your tongue while whiff of faint steam curled upward from the cup.
"is it good?" he asked, a curious tone followed his voice. "I mean, I want to remember it for the next time we go out."
"perfect excuse, akaashi," you thought.
but, was it really? that's just who akaashi was. your mind's playing with you again. you always overestimate your closeness with the people around you. surely, akaashi has plenty of people he keeps tabs with. you just happen to be one of them.
"yes, it is," you thanked akaashi. "just how I like it, actually."
"I'm glad," he beamed. "let's go."
to your surprise, he wrapped his fingers around your hand.
"don't want you to get lost," he said, pink flushes lined his cheeks. "is this your first time going to this library?"
"yes, it is," you replied. "well, I normally don't go to libraries."
"that's surprising," he remarked, a comforting smile itched on his face. "I'll make sure you have a great time then. maybe, you'll accompany more on my library browses."
heat rushed up to your cheeks. "thank you, really," you managed to mumble.
"it's my pleasure," akaashi smiled.
────୨ৎ────
the public library, even if you've never been there before, offered a sense of comfort. it seemed like the right place for you. warm lights lined the ceilings, faint chatter followed through the halls, and towers of books tucked away in bookshelves surrounded the space.
"anything catch your eye?" akaashi asked. "I'm sorry if this is all new to you."
"no, it's fine," you replied. "what are your recommendations since you brought me here?"
your eyes widened at your words. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to phrase it like that."
"don't worry about it," he said, nodding his head. "I did bring you here. well, I tend to read an assortment of things. but right now, I've been reading classics."
"typical," you teased. "would you like to read me some?"
"maybe some other time," he mused.
"what other books do you like to read?" you asked, browsing through the shelves. you grabbed a book for its cover, and flicked through the pages. it seemed it had been here for a while, because a yellow hue lined its edges, and the front cover had numerous writings for those who had borrowed it before.
"dark academia," he went on, grabbing a book from the shelves, and adjusting his reading glasses. he opened the book, checking through its table of contents, and flicked through chapter one.
"have you read the secret history by donna tratt or babel by r.f. kuang before?" akaashi inquired. "I'd say babel's critique of colonialism piqued my interest, and exceeded my expectations."
you nod, covering your face with the book in your hand. you pretend to look busy, scouring through the pages, but really, you were looking at akaashi, who continued talking about the books he had read.
heat rose to your cheeks once more. you weren't used to chatty akaashi, but rather, reserved akaashi. the one who would normally be the listening ear. but it seemed the tables have turned. you wanted to be the same to akaashi.
akaashi whose exterior seems cold upfront, but the more you spend time with him, the more you realise he cares more than what meets the eye. first, he remembered your day off. second, he buys you hot chocolate that (coincidentally) matched your taste. and lastly, he carefully asked if you were comfortable to join him on a library browse.
"well?" he wondered. "what books do you read?"
you gulped. what's with you and losing yourself in the valley of your mind when you went out with anyone? and especially, with akaashi?
"I typically read fantasy," you explained. "and, occasionally, young adult romances."
he nodded in response.
"sorry, it seems we have different tastes," you joked. did you mess up your chance to bond with akaashi? especially in a place where he's in his element?
"again, don't be sorry," he reassured. "sometimes, I find myself reading them too."
"really?" your eyes widened. "that's awesome."
"which authors do you read from?" he asked. "don't worry, I'm open to recommendations."
"in the past, I used to read from plenty of authors. but right now, I'm drawn to ann liang's prose. I love how she writes personal struggles and how they're resolved in the end. they're really realistic too," you started, only stopping to look at akaashi, whose eyes remained fixated on you and your words.
"continue," he urged, eyes widening. "sorry, I've just never heard of this author before. she seems interesting. what's your favourite book of hers?"
"personally, everything." you blurt. "I mean, all her books are addicting."
he nodded, closing his book and placing it back on the shelf. "would you like to show me some of her titles? I'm sure the library has some."
your heart jumped. really?
"of course," you hummed in response. "I'd love to."
he beamed. "okay, lead the way."
────୨ৎ────
you guided akaashi to the second floor of the public library, even if you've never been here before. guess that's what adrenaline does to you because you managed to find the bookshelf that housed young adult fiction.
"here," you said excitedly. your fingers brushed through the spines of the book covers until you read a familiar coloured spine with the title you've read again and again.
you grabbed it gently, and handed it over to akaashi, whose eyes wandered to the title.
"if you could see the sun," he hummed. "I see why you like it. it's catchy and the cover itself is pretty." he turned to the back of the book, reading the blurb.
you looked anxiously, afraid it wouldn't interest him. it seemed akaashi caught on because he inched closer, slipped his fingers in between yours, and smiled.
"don't worry," he reassured. "this seems interesting. I'll pick it up and let you know my thoughts by the end of the week."
"really?" you stammered.
"really." he beamed.
────୨ৎ────
the rest of the week flew by in a blur of cold mornings, heavy blankets, and the lingering warmth of akaashi's fingers slipped between yours. you recalled how he walked you back to your apartment, a soft smile painted on his face. the nerdy exchanges between titles both of you didn't expect to like. and of course, checking out the title you suggested to him.
"are you sure?" you asked.
"yes, I'm sure." akaashi replied. "to be honest, even a little excited. this isn't a genre I typically read.
that memory felt like a catchy song you listen to once that you would continuously loop again and again. normally, you'd get sick of it after a while. but, it seemed you wouldn't get sick of akaashi for a very long time.
you found yourself checking your phone a little too often, staring at your blank canvas wallpaper, waiting. waiting for the notification. waiting for another day to spend with akaashi.
then, late on sunday evening, your phone finally vibrated against your counter. you were busy slurping a cup of instant noodle, its salty aroma lining your kitchen. you were mid-swallowing a strand lined with soy sauce and green onions, before you swiped down to check your notifications.
it was from akaashi.
you nearly choked on your food. you pressed hard on your chest, trying to calm yourself down. you rushed to grab a glass of water, and drank to clear the weird sensation in your stomach.
you eagerly open the notification, dropping your fork to the half-eaten noodle bowl.
it read:
akaashi: I finished the book.
you rushed to reply, fingers typing away.
what'd you think? hopefully, it wasn't too bad.
your eyes wandered to the bubble on the left hand corner of your screen. he was typing a response. while you waited, you slurped another handful of noodles, enveloping your tongue with its salty taste.
akaashi: it was unsurprisingly good. you were right. ann liang's prose is beautiful. the way she captured alice and henry's dynamic alongside alice's personal struggles academically and at home. it was beautifully written and realistic.
you beamed.
yay!! I thought the same when I first read it.
you put your phone down, finishing the last bit of your noodles before it vibrated again. you placed the dirty bowl on the sink, before washing your hands. after wiping your hands with a towel, you grabbed your phone and walked to your couch.
you hugged your pillow, watching akaashi's chat bubble go off again.
akaashi: I thought so. thank you for the recommendation. I'd love to hear more. are you free again later next week?
your eyes sparkled in excitement. you rush to type a response.
bruce wayne would almost always slip back into that paparazzi obsessed brucie wayne persona when he’s truly drunk.
an arm around you at all times, even at home. breathless giggles and flushed cheeks pressed against your neck. sloppy kisses with all the tongue.
if one of the kids comes downstairs to the living room late one night after the two of you have gone out, they’re traumatized for life.
“ew!”
“bruce!” you whisper, although it’s filled with giggles of your own. you gently push him away to look at whoever’s now scarred for life.
“m’sorry, honey. you okay?”
“not anymore. just.. there’s already enough of us in this house okay? geez..”
but bruce is back on you in seconds. eyes crinkling and shining with playfulness he keeps buried deep down. teeth pulling on his lower lip as he looks at you and tries to keep from laughing. slurred declarations of love and whispers of forever.
SUMMARY 🎧 as someone with the best grades, transferring to a new school can make everyone intimidated! not kei tsukishima though. when the two of you seated together, he does everything in his power to downplay your achievements. so much so, the two of you decide to make a bet. whoever has the highest grades by the end of the semester can torment the other as much as they want and they'd have to take it with no complaint. that's until you don't feel like tormenting each other anymore. . .
PAIRING 🎧 kei tsukishima x fem!reader
GENRE / WARNINGS 🎧 smau + written chapters, academic rivals to lovers trope, tsukishima is a pain MY GOD, vulgar, nsfw jokes, highschool au, kys, kms jokes, holy slowburn, very fun school field trip arc, yearn, yearn, yearn, UNDERAGED ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (i don't condone this omg pls don't do it, it's just for the story)
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SUMMARY 🎧 as someone with the best grades, transferring to a new school can make everyone intimidated! not kei tsukishima though. when the two of you seated together, he does everything in his power to downplay your achievements. so much so, the two of you decide to make a bet. whoever has the highest grades by the end of the semester can torment the other as much as they want and they'd have to take it with no complaint. that's until you don't feel like tormenting each other anymore. . .
PAIRING 🎧 kei tsukishima x fem!reader
GENRE / WARNINGS 🎧 smau + written chapters, academic rivals to lovers trope, tsukishima is a pain MY GOD, vulgar, nsfw jokes, highschool au, kys, kms jokes, holy slowburn, very fun school field trip arc, yearn, yearn, yearn, UNDERAGED ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (i don't condone this omg pls don't do it, it's just for the story)
the bet spread through school like a wildfire. your homeroom class watches with a fixed eye on you and tsukishima, located at the back of class, postures straight and full focus on the teacher and your books. it's common for high schoolers to gossip about who likes who, what teachers are mean and what teachers are nice, but at karasuno high, in this past week, the gossip train involved just you and tsukishima's bet.
you don't think tsukishima knows about the exchanges behind his back. how his own classmates are making bets behind his back on who would win. you asked a classmate recently on how many people are involved and what the ratio is. safe to say, you've got most people putting money on your name.
today, your history pop quiz results are out. you receive it at your seat, a satisfied hum coming from your teacher, "keep up the good work."
the 98% at the top of your page causes a major ego boost to flood you. however, it quickly dissipates when you wonder where the other two marks are lost.
easy marks you've lost again.
you glance over at tsukishima.
"how many did you miss?" you ask casually.
he lifts his eye from his paper, meeting your glance with that same boring look he always has, "you did worse, didn't you?"
he shows you his 100%. you could feel anger, but it's worse than that. tsukishima's mark only causes a new drive to unleash within you. you had to beat his cockiness. that's the only way you'll win.
so, you smile, passive-aggressively, "good on you. must've skipped lunch to study 'cos you're so scared of losing."
"i don't skip lunch," he debates.
you haven't heard such rumours. but it's fun to mess with his head.
"that's not what i hear."
the final bell of the school day rings and the shuffle and scraping of chairs follows it. you're still taking notes from the board, determined to finish the last bit. this is the final push, the last boost before the weekend starts. you had to absorb it all.
you're scrawling over your notebook when a tall shadow falls over your table, darkening the page. you grip your pen tighter and peer over your shoulder.
"what?" you ask.
tsukishima has his eyes on your page, not you.
"if you spend that much time making your notes pretty, it’s no wonder you can't beat me," he smirks.
you drop your pen, "mind your business."
"can't do that when you copied the notes incorrectly," he shrugs, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
you look down at your notes. everything looks fine to you.
"i did not," you argue, crossing your arms.
"it's 7.2%, not 2.7%," he says, pointing to one of your notes, far too close for you to feel comfortable. his face makes an appearance near yours as he leans down to you.
you quickly look from the board back to your page.
oh.
he's right.
this time, you do feel anger.
like you said, it's none of his business.
"why do you care so much?" you ask.
he stands up to his full height, "i don't. just noticed."
and, before you can argue, he walks off, leaving you questioning his behaviour and how much audacity he can truly have.
PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT
SUMMARY 🎧 as someone with the best grades, transferring to a new school can make everyone intimidated! not kei tsukishima though. when the two of you seated together, he does everything in his power to downplay your achievements. so much so, the two of you decide to make a bet. whoever has the highest grades by the end of the semester can torment the other as much as they want and they'd have to take it with no complaint. that's until you don't feel like tormenting each other anymore. . .
PAIRING 🎧 kei tsukishima x fem!reader
GENRE / WARNINGS 🎧 smau + written chapters, academic rivals to lovers trope, tsukishima is a pain MY GOD, vulgar, nsfw jokes, highschool au, kys, kms jokes, holy slowburn, very fun school field trip arc, yearn, yearn, yearn, UNDERAGED ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (i don't condone this omg pls don't do it, it's just for the story)
AUTHOR'S NOTE 🎧 IK IM SORRY IM LATE GUYS BUT I'LL TRY AND FINISH THIS </333
SUMMARY 🎧 as someone with the best grades, transferring to a new school can make everyone intimidated! not kei tsukishima though. when the two of you seated together, he does everything in his power to downplay your achievements. so much so, the two of you decide to make a bet. whoever has the highest grades by the end of the semester can torment the other as much as they want and they'd have to take it with no complaint. that's until you don't feel like tormenting each other anymore. . .
PAIRING 🎧 kei tsukishima x fem!reader
GENRE / WARNINGS 🎧 smau + written chapters, academic rivals to lovers trope, tsukishima is a pain MY GOD, vulgar, nsfw jokes, highschool au, kys, kms jokes, holy slowburn, very fun school field trip arc, yearn, yearn, yearn, UNDERAGED ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (i don't condone this omg pls don't do it, it's just for the story)
karasuno high school has proven to be a wonderworld of chaos. you eat lunch with some of your classmates, walk home together and cherish how welcoming they've been the last two weeks. you're grateful for their warm, open arms.
then why would it be so chaotic?
the answer is none other than tsukishima kei. a nuisance designed to make your every interaction a living hell. he's cynical, audacious, a natural pessimist—oh, the list could go on. you can't with him. there's something in the surrounding his height of air, the furrow in his brow that unsettles you entirely.
the day drags on.
when lunch time comes around, your classmates and you eat lunch together. however, on this particular day, they decide to buy something from the canteen too, leaving you alone in the classroom 'cos little mama has no funds right now. trust, we will be up soon.
anyways, you're looking out the window, chin perched on your hand. absentmindedly staring into the abyss of the blue sky, minding your own business.
until—
"a fly's gonna go in your mouth."
your head snaps to the right, finding a looming tsukishima staring down at you.
you frown immediately, "mind your own, stinkyshima."
"as stupid as your nicknames," he mumbles, getting into his seat beside you.
that should've been the end of it. but there's so much you have to say to his face.
"do you enjoy this?" you ask.
"what?" he shoots back, arranging the pens on his desk.
"starting something with me...you know, i think you're just scared to lose your rank, 'cos someone who can take it from you is finally here," you explain. "and you can't handle that."
tsukishima blinks. then, laughs. laughs so loud that everyone in the classroom peers into the conversation.
"why are you laughing?!" you yell.
"it's embarrassing how much you actually think you deserve first place," he answers blatantly.
that did it for you.
you step up from your seat and lean against your table. your temper ignited immediately. but under the flames, a brilliant idea rises from within you.
"i'll show you," you say. "and i'll rub it in your face the rest of your life."
"what?"
"listen," you begin. "whoever gets the better overall grade amongst all subjects by the end of the semester would win this feud—agreed?"
"duh," he says, leaning back against his seat and crossing his arms. "where are you going with this, genius?"
"whoever gets the better overall grade gets to rub it in the other's face for the rest of our life. the loser cannot complain, just has to take it," you explain.
a glint perfectly hits tsukishima's glasses as he smirks. evil lurks in his face and you can't wait to put it into its cage. sure, there's a part of you that thinks of the consequences if you lose, but there's no way finding out until you actually lose. right now, you're in game. you're in the field.
you have to play the game and drag tsukishima kei's ass to hell.
PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT
SUMMARY 🎧 as someone with the best grades, transferring to a new school can make everyone intimidated! not kei tsukishima though. when the two of you seated together, he does everything in his power to downplay your achievements. so much so, the two of you decide to make a bet. whoever has the highest grades by the end of the semester can torment the other as much as they want and they'd have to take it with no complaint. that's until you don't feel like tormenting each other anymore. . .
PAIRING 🎧 kei tsukishima x fem!reader
GENRE / WARNINGS 🎧 smau + written chapters, academic rivals to lovers trope, tsukishima is a pain MY GOD, vulgar, nsfw jokes, highschool au, kys, kms jokes, holy slowburn, very fun school field trip arc, yearn, yearn, yearn, UNDERAGED ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (i don't condone this omg pls don't do it, it's just for the story)
SUMMARY 🎧 as someone with the best grades, transferring to a new school can make everyone intimidated! not kei tsukishima though. when the two of you seated together, he does everything in his power to downplay your achievements. so much so, the two of you decide to make a bet. whoever has the highest grades by the end of the semester can torment the other as much as they want and they'd have to take it with no complaint. that's until you don't feel like tormenting each other anymore. . .
PAIRING 🎧 kei tsukishima x fem!reader
GENRE / WARNINGS 🎧 smau + written chapters, academic rivals to lovers trope, tsukishima is a pain MY GOD, vulgar, nsfw jokes, highschool au, kys, kms jokes, holy slowburn, very fun school field trip arc, yearn, yearn, yearn, UNDERAGED ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (i don't condone this omg pls don't do it, it's just for the story)
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.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SUMMARY 🎧 as someone with the best grades, transferring to a new school can make everyone intimidated! not kei tsukishima though. when the two of you seated together, he does everything in his power to downplay your achievements. so much so, the two of you decide to make a bet. whoever has the highest grades by the end of the semester can torment the other as much as they want and they'd have to take it with no complaint. that's until you don't feel like tormenting each other anymore. . .
PAIRING 🎧 kei tsukishima x fem!reader
GENRE / WARNINGS 🎧 smau + written chapters, academic rivals to lovers trope, tsukishima is a pain MY GOD, vulgar, nsfw jokes, highschool au, kys, kms jokes, holy slowburn, very fun school field trip arc, yearn, yearn, yearn, UNDERAGED ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (i don't condone this omg pls don't do it, it's just for the story)
SUMMARY 🎧 as someone with the best grades, transferring to a new school can make everyone intimidated! not kei tsukishima though. when the two of you seated together, he does everything in his power to downplay your achievements. so much so, the two of you decide to make a bet. whoever has the highest grades by the end of the semester can torment the other as much as they want and they'd have to take it with no complaint. that's until you don't feel like tormenting each other anymore. . .
PAIRING 🎧 kei tsukishima x fem!reader
GENRE / WARNINGS 🎧 smau + written chapters, academic rivals to lovers trope, tsukishima is a pain MY GOD, vulgar, nsfw jokes, highschool au, kys, kms jokes, holy slowburn, very fun school field trip arc, yearn, yearn, yearn, UNDERAGED ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION (i don't condone this omg pls don't do it, it's just for the story)
