Lost in the Void, Found in the Stars | Damian Wayne Oneshots

Copycat | Reader

Summary: You hated how he always managed to copy you, until now.

.・。.・゜✭・»»——⍟——««.・✫・゜・。.

It started off as some kind of benign annoyance, a harmless irritation that could ruin your whole morning. There you'd be, picking out an outfit you felt confident in, ready to step out into the world with a little extra swagger. Then you’d turn the corner and—bam—Damian Wayne would show up wearing something almost identical.

Denim jacket and black jeans? Check.
Dark hoodie with a star emblem? Check.

You had brushed it off—the first few times—but it wouldn't stop happening, like some kind of cosmic joke. You’d wear dark red, and he’d stroll in with the exact same shade on his shirt. A casual leather jacket day? Guess who else decided to break one out. And, of course, he always looked completely unfazed, striding past you like he hadn’t just stolen your look.

One day, you finally snapped, catching up to him as he was heading out of a meeting. “Are you doing this on purpose?” you demanded, arms crossed, glaring at his very similar sweater.

Damian looked at you with mild confusion. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “Are you, like, stalking my outfits or something?”

He raised a brow, barely holding back a smirk. “I have better things to do than plan my wardrobe around yours, believe me.”

The absolute nerve. He brushed past you as you stood there, fuming. But sure enough, the pattern kept on, as if the universe had decided you two were fated to wear the same color palette each day. 

That's when something weird started happening. Slowly—against your better judgment—you started seeing him a little differently. Sure, he could be irritatingly obtuse, but he also had this distinct confidence, an assuredness only he could muster. And he looked... well, annoyingly good in basically everything he wore.

It was a late night at the office, and Damian was in his usual spot at his desk, focused on something with that intensity he never seemed to let go. You had tossed on a burgundy hoodie this morning, figuring it would be a chill day—and yet here was Damian, also in burgundy, paired with a black jacket.

This time, though, it was different. You could feel his presence from across the room, his steady arrogance somehow making the place feel safe. You’d always told yourself that Damian was aloof, that he was just another coworker, but right now, you realized... you didn’t want that.

It started slipping into your mornings, when you’d catch yourself wondering what he’d be wearing that day. Not that you’d admit it, but there was a kind of thrill in glancing down and seeing that, once again, you two had somehow ended up coordinating.

So one day, you figured, why not? You threw on a navy sweater you’d seen him wear a couple of times, pairing it with the same kind of jacket he’d worn just the other day. You looked in the mirror, feeling oddly excited. Hoping that it would catch his eye again.

And it did. 

When you walked into the office, Damian looked up—and for the first time, he actually noticed. Leaning against the wall with that not-so-subtle confidence he carried so well, his gaze drifted down to your shirt, then back up to meet your eyes.

“Matching on purpose now, are we?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You tried to shrug it off, even though your face was definitely giving you away. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just coincidence.”

“Sure.” He stepped closer, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “Because I believe in coincidences.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you crossed your arms as you rolled your eyes, hoping he wouldn't catch the heat slowly creeping up your neck. Damian’s expression softened, his hands slipping around your waist, guiding you gently toward him

Your heart raced as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “If you wanted to match, you could’ve just asked. I’d be happy to make it a regular thing.”

You swallowed, trying not to react as his hands held you in place, his gaze holding a glint of something that made your heart flutter. And then, just as you were about to respond, his lips brushed against yours in a quick, soft peck that left you breathless.

He pulled back, still gleaming with an amused look. “Next time,” he said, “try a shade that’s a little less obvious. I don’t mind, but I might end up actually stealing your look.”

End