Could I request Edward Nashton x reader but they're just roommates 👀 Eddie loves the attention but is also being driven crazy by how casually affectionate and kind reader is.
He's used to a life of quite literally no warmth and suddenly he's living in this homely apartment with someone who treats him like he matters.
He's in deep and reader is completely oblivious lol
A/N: Heyy!!!! I'm genuinely so sorry that this took forever, I try to write my fics one at a time so I don't get distracted by anything, and then irl inconveniences got in the way, so this took FOREVER for me to finish. Womp. (Also, sorry about the spacing, I'm still trying to figure it out womp, womp.) But still, I try to write my fics with as much care as I can manage, so hopefully this will be worth it, maybe not, either way, I hope someone will like this, and feel free to let me know if you want something - I'll see what I can do💕
TW: Mentions of limerence, avoidant attachment, mental illness, childhood trauma, hurt-comfort, such and such, yap, yap, yap, all that sad but yummy shii
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Edward Nashton distrusts kindness on sight.
Ever since Edward was a child he never trusted it because he knew that kindness was what people gave him when they wanted something from him. It was an artificial exchange that was always temporary or a mockery of goodwill. Besides, Edward knew so many people who were never kind, and if they weren't being cruel, why would they be kind unless they gained something from it?
Edward seen it his whole life, he was just a name in the system, another mouth to feed - that orphanage was anything but warm, and he learned early on in life to not have hope for thoses things because it was just a scam.
He thought he knew better, but then he met you.
At first he thought you were just sucking up to him to gain his favor when he put out an ad for his apartment, looking for a roomate to help pay the bills - Edward knew the risk of having a complete stranger live with him in his apartment in a city like Gotham, and he would never turn to this option if he could afford it, but he couldn't. Though, once you settled in and made your own little adjustments on the apartment the two of you now shared, that kindness didn't go away, and there was nothing to prepare him for the mental whiplash he was about to experience when you came into his life.
He'd start to notice things.
Like how you would always thank him for small tasks as if they’re favors instead of obligations, or when you would go out of your way to make extra food for him to make sure he ate, or even wanting to be around him at all when the two of you were up late at night, wanting his company and sitting close enough where your shoulders could touch and never flinching away from him when they did. Even the way you said his name felt like an act of kindness from the way you said it and found value in it.
It would follow him to bed, he'd lie awake as it kept replaying in his head. The rise and fall of your voice when you spoke, the exact curve of your smile when you spoke. He reconstructs your conversations piece by piece for hours, testing it for hidden meanings or misunderstandings. There was none. His chest tightens anyway.
Why would you ever be so kind to him? It wasn't necessary, and it certainly wasn't like he had this easy-going and charming personality for you to be swooning over his amazing social skills, so why? Edward waited for the other shoe to drop but it never did, he waited for the impending switch of when you expected payment for your thoughtful acts, but it never came. You weren't just polite, you were sweet, sensitive, sincere - how? How could anyone like you be possible in a place like this? Someone who saw strangers as human beings to connect with, someone who was open to life and all it's possibilities regardless of the danger all around you, someone who treated kindness as something that wasn't limited but something that was natural to give.
Edward didn't trust your kindness, not because it wasn't genuine, but because it gave him hope. And that terrified him.
Edward thought hope was supposed to feel better than this, he thought it was supposed to feel like relief, like warmth, like reassurance. He thought conviction would quiet the anxiety about the world. It didn’t. It felt like waking up without anesthesia, it felt like clarity without comfort, it felt like standing in a collapsing structure and refusing to lie about the cracks anymore. Because the world is unstable. And the last time he believed in hope, he watched the ceiling collapse, and now he doesn't risk the foundation, he just decorated the rubble.
Getting closer to you feels like stepping onto ice he knows he won’t survive if he fell through. He pulls away because your kindness doesn’t register as comfort - it registers as risk. He learned early to shrink fast, read the room, don't break the silence - to be invisible. Safety for Edward was never about being seen, it was about being less visible then the threat in the room, and that room was the whole world. That smiles are borrowed. That attention expires. So when you offer him those things so steadily and genuinely, his system doesn’t relax. It pulls the fire alarms before the fire could find him.
If he lets himself lean in - if he lets himself believe the way you say his name means something - then he becomes vulnerable to losing it. If he stops it just in time, he doesn't have to feel what it's like to give everything and still not be chosen.
The last time he felt hope like this, he hoped it killed him. Hope was like a loaded weapon pointed in his mouth, so he flinches everytime he tries to speak the possibility of joy into existence because it threatens to harm him with it. So why get caught off gaurd again? Why not fail on his own terms? End it before it holds?
There’s also the limerence. The fucking limerence.
He knows he’s thinking about you too much. Spending everyday thinking about seeing you at the end of it when he goes home, suffering in anticipation just to see you in passing moments, fighting off the urge to soak in your company when you offer it to him so easily, replaying your conversations at night like sacred text he traces with his fingertips with more reverence than he probably should. That scares him because he knows that's not normal for most people - to think about you someone all the time, wishing and hoping that maybe that you think about him too, but Edward knows better than to let himself be so delusional just because he wants it so badly. He doesn’t want to become dependent on you. He doesn’t want you to feel watched, or crowded, or consumed. You deserve someone emotionally stable - someone who doesn’t have to actively regulate how much they care, someone who doesn't spiral, someone who doesn’t always feel like they're holding on by a thread. That should never be your burden. You deserved so much better than he could ever give you.
So he pulls away to contain himself, not because he doesn’t want you - God, he wishes he could let himself want something good in his life - but because he wants you so intensely it feels destabilizing. Distance, to him, is control. Control feels safe. And safe has always meant for him to be alone.
The rain was pouring down - heavy, cold, persistent - the weather forecast said that it would be raining all night in Gotham city, followed by thunder and lightning storm warning. By the time Edward got back to his apartment building after work, his umbrella hardly did anything to keep him dry. His glasses were freckled with water droplets and fogged up on the lenses, making it harder to see as he used his damp sleeve to try and wipe it clear before he unlocked the door and stepped inside the apartment, letting out a heavy breath of exhaustion and overwhelmed tension from the day.
The apartment was illuminated with the soft warm twinkling glow of string lights you had set up in the living room when you first moved in so it wouldn't be so dark, music was playing low in the background that felt mellow and welcoming, and the smell of herbal spices and something savory drifted through the air from the kitchen.
You were already home, the apartment always felt more soothing when you were there.
You peaked your head around the corner of the kitchen to see him shrugging off his wet jacket after he locked the door.
“Hi Eddie! I got home early! Well, they let us all leave early today because of the storm, they were worried about flash flooding." You chirped, smiling at him before slinking back into the kitchen, stirring a wooden spoon in a pot filled with various ingredients. “I was just making soup, I was thinking a sandwich would go nice with it too... Toasted. Yeah, that sounds good. Did you want some? We can hang out for a bit,”
The question was casual, simple, not a big deal, and yet, his pulse quickens at the thought, already calculating the risks in his head before he can even enjoy the idea that was offered to him.
“I actually have work I need to finish up on tonight..." He adjusted his glasses as he told you a small lie, whatever hurts your feelings less, the better.
“Oh okay. Rain check, then." You simply nodded before letting out a little bit a chuckle at the pun you clicked in your head. "You can still get some soup if you want, I made enough so we can have leftovers."
"Thank you..." Edward mumbled while hanging up his jacket, smiling softly at the sounds of you humming and the soft clatter of you moving around the kitchen.
Your inviting energy made him want to linger, to stay. Though he retreats to his room instead.
Edward sat in front of his computer as he tried to keep his mind busy with old habits and hobbies he's clung to for so long now, scrolling through online forums and solving crossword puzzles, trying to pretend that it would be enough to satisfy him over being around you.
He imagined how comfortable it would've been to sit next to you on the couch as the steam from the soup circled up from their bowls, you smiling at him like you genuinely enjoyed his company.
His jaw tightens with a regret, a part of him wished that he'd just be normal and was able to just hang out without making it so complicated. The distance is safer.
Though, it wouldn't even be an hour later before the lights started flickering throughout the apartment before they went out completely, making the whole apartment pitch black. A small yelp came from you at the sudden darkness as the refrigerator dies with a soft click and the hum of the heater disappears.
After trying the light switches and looking out your apartment door into the hallway and windows, it seemed like the whole district lost power due to the storm. The landlord sent an email to all the tenets that the power would be back up sometime in the morning.
Edward was prepared to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling all night, replaying the constant loop of bad thoughts and thinking of moments with you he's never had, no doubt staying up all night until he can see dawn peaking through his window, you know, like he always does.
You, however, you were nervous. You reminded yourself that weren't a child and that it was just the dark, but standing alone in the kitchen with your phone flash on in the eerie silence of the apartment made you feel like you were in a horror movie. With a little shiver, you make your way towards Edward's room, hesitating to knock as you lifted your hand, not wanting to disturb him while he was working, but you figured that he wouldn't be busy since the power outage. After a moment, you finally knocked on his door, softer than you meant.
The door opened just enough for you to see his face in the dark, backlit by the weak glow of the streetlight outside the window as his glasses catching a dull reflection. "Yes?”
You hesitated, suddenly embarrassed. “Hey, I - so the power’s out, you probably noticed, and the landlord said it’ll be a few hours before it came back on...” You forced a small laugh. “I, uh, I don’t really like the dark, and I was wondering if maybe... I don't know, maybe I could stay with you? Just until the power comes back on, it's okay if not."
Edward stared at you a second too long. His brain running through the reasons he should say no to you, but seeing you in the dark all by yourself, asking to stay with him overrides any reason he could come up with.
“Sure,” he said quietly, nodding his head befor stepping aside for you to come in.
Relief flickers across your face as you smiled, thankful. "Oh my gosh, thank you so much." You slip past him into his bedroom. The only light comes from the pale green streetlamp that barely reach through the blinds, his room looks cluttered with books and papers, and some leftover dishes on his desk and shelf.
Edward closes the door before looking around at his room, a bit self-conscious as he took some of his laundry off the bed and tossed it into a basket. "Sorry, it's a mess."
"No, it's okay. My room isn't any better," You reassured him as you sat on the edge of his bed, watching him move around his room to at least organize his mess so it would look neater.
Suddenly, a flash of bright light from beyond the blinds in a sharp, immediate, and aggressive crack, then followed a loud thunderous roar, shaking the windows from the intensity of the storm - causing the both of you to flinch.
Edward looked at you and seen how you automatically held onto one of his pillows, fiddling with the corner of the pillow case nervously as you tried to keep your face composed.
"It's just the thunder," Edward said, but his voice is softer than usual, looking a bit awkward as he stood some distance away from you on the bed, trying to find something to do with his hands before pushing them into his pockets.
"I know, it just sounds so nearby." You let out a bit of a jittery laugh, not trying to be so scared from how violent the storm sounded outside.
There was a stretch of silence besides the loud drumming of consistent rain on the window and the occasional rumbling of the storm outside.
You couldn't help but notice how stiff Edward was, standing there while his eyes kept flickering to the ground and everywhere else.
"Did you want to sit down?" You asked softly, feeling a bit guilty for staying in his space. "I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable-"
"No, no, it's not your fault..." Edward was quick to correct you, though lowering his head and mumbling. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"I'm not uncomfortable, Eddie," You reassured him, smiling lightly at the thought. You knew he didn't have the best social skills, but that's not something you ever judged or pitied him for by any means. You gently pat the space besides you, trying to be open with him. "You don't have to, but you could sit down if you want to."
The invitation makes Edward hesitant for a moment before sitting down besides you, leaving a careful gap between the two of you as the mattress dips where he sat down.
Another aggressive rumble of window echos through the sky outside and causes the window, making you flinch towards Edward, causing your shoulders to brush against his, and he goes still. The grumbling storm goes on as you don't pull away from him, leaning in just slightly just until your side rests against his.
You're so warm, he feels it as his breath catches in his throat, and the contact is so much in the darkness of his room that always feels so isolating. You're warmth grounds something in him.
“Sorry,” you murmured. “Is this okay?”
He nodded before he trusts his voice to speak “Yes.”
You relaxed at the answer, tension draining from your shoulders as you find yourself settling besides him, the simple trust of it makes something inside him tighten painfully.
"When I was a kid, I used to hide under my covers at night because I swore I would see shadowy figures standing in my room..." You spoke like you were careful not to disturb the moment, something about it felt fragile, and you didn't want it to shatter. A soft grin went across your face as you really thought about it. "I mean, I still do that. My brain still plays tricks on me. Did you ever do that?"
The question itself was simple but it made him think back to a time where he was stuck in that orphanage, back to when he would go under his covers most nights to hide from the darkness with a chemical-filled jar he made that glowed when he shook it, lighting up enough so he could read. Most nights were like that... cold and dark...
The lightning flashes and thunder followed too fast after it. Without thinking, your hand held onto his arm, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt sleeve, not gripping it hard but just holding onto him. His nervous system spikes - that old system set in place for survival, screaming that the closeness is exposure, that softness is dangerous. But you’re trembling, and you're not dangerous.
Carefully, slowly, as if one wrong touch would make this moment crumble, Edward lifted his hand and rested it on your back in between your shoulders. He almost expects your immediate disgust or discomfort, that you would pull away from him, ruining the moment between you.
Instead, you exhaled, long and relieved as you let your weight settle into him, leaning your head against his shoulder like it belongs there.
“You’re warm,” you hummed softly.
He's hyperaware of everything - the rise and fall of your breathing, the way your hair brushes his jaw and the scent of the shampoo and conditioner you use, the rhythm of your heartbeat underneath his hand as he gently pressed his hand closer to your back. The storm continues outside, but inside the room the darkness feels less hostile than it ever has before.
You turned to look up at him, looking sheepish as you asked him, "Do you think that we could... lay down? Just until the power goes back on?"
He felt a sudden hitch in his chest, his lungs momentarily stalling before he nods softly.
You smiled at him before moving back on his bed, pushing the blankets back as Edward crawled into the bed with you, pulling the blankets over the two of you.
Edward laid down stiffly at first, unsure where to put his hands, how to exist in this moment without ruining it. You solve that for him as your hand moves - tentatively at first - sliding from his chest up to the curve of his shoulder, fingers slipping into the collar of his shirt until your palm rests warm against the side of his neck. It’s not sexual, nor demanding, it was affectionate, and it felt dangerously intimate. His breath stuttered once before he steadies it.
“Is this okay?” you whispered as you tilted your face up slightly in the dark. The fact that you even asked nearly undoes him.
He nodded at first before he realized you couldn't really see that. “Yeah,” he murmured. Quieter now. Closer. “It’s okay.”
His hand slid more deliberately around your waist, palm flattening against your back, drawing you fully into him instead of letting you hover in that polite space between. Your bodies lined up, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, the warmth was immediate and undeniable.
You exhaled gently when he pulled you closer. Not surprised, just relieved. You tucked your face into his chest like it was instinct, and he feels everything: the softness of your stomach against him, the slow brush of your breath through the cotton of his shirt, the way your knee fits perfectly between his legs like you’ve always known where to settle.
He shifted slightly, bringing his other hand up to cradle the back of your head carefully. His fingers comb gently through your hair, slow and absentminded, like he’s memorizing the shape of you through touch. You melt, pressing your forehead into the hollow beneath his chin, your leg sliding higher over his hip, anchoring yourself fully to him. There’s no gap anymore. No hesitation. You trust him with your whole weight.
His throat tightens. He’s never been held like this, he never even thought he was worth your kindness, let alone your affection - and you didn't want anything from him. You weren't trying to lead him anywhere, you just felt safe with him. He shifted again, slowly, until his nose brushed your hair, inhaling without meaning to. His thumb began tracing slowly, rhythmic lines up and down your spine, not even consciously, just instinctively. A steady pattern.
You sighed softly against him, content. Your fingers curled lightly into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding onto the strands like you needed to know he was there.
“I like being in here with you,” you told him honestly, already sleepy.
Edward could feel his heart beating against his ribs. You didn’t know what that does to him. You didn't know that every time you said something like that, it rewrites the story he’s told himself his entire life. He tightened his arms around you, not crushing you, just tight enough that you couldn't possibly doubt it.
Another rumble of thunder echoed through the city, but you don’t flinch this time, your breathing evens out and your body goes heavy in his arms. And Edward lies there in the dark, holding you closer than he ever intended to let himself, his hand still stroking slow, steady paths along your back. He could feel your pulse under his fingertips, warm and alive, real. And for the first time in a very long time, the dark doesn’t feel like something waiting to swallow him whole.
The darkness wraps around the both of you, soft and safe, your breathing slowly syncing with his. Edward stared at the ceiling he could barely see, knowing that this is the kind of moment he would have distrusted, something he would've avoided before, but you made him feel something other than dread. You gave him hope. And it feels solid enough to keep holding you through the storm.
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A/N: Okay, that's that. I really am sorry this took me so long, but I have the tendency to overthink everything and take forever to settle on something that I think fits the request well. Still, I'm happy how this turned out. And remember guys, hope isn't a trap in the present, the traps are built in the past from the hurt before. Bye💕
