Description: "Please," he said, looking at you with unwavering hope which you had never seen him wear so powerfully, "I need your help." 

Requests: Can ya girl get a fluffy Damian x reader where Damian has loved the reader for a while and one night the reader falls asleep on his chest and he admits feelings buts she actually awake?

"We REALLY hate each other but you're the only one in our group close to my age so when my family comes to visit and ask if I'm dating anyone, I panic and say you since the others are all too old to be convincing so we have to pretend we're dating for just a little bit and oh no why are we kissing against a wall?" Okay but iMAGiNE DAMIAN

Could you write a fic with just...a lot of touching. Like, not even in a sexual fashion, bc I'm a smol pure bean and I try to avoid smut. Just like... Damian will not stop touching the reader (e.g arm over shoulder, fingers tracing collar bone, hand on her back trailing up and down her spine, etc.), and she doesn't know why, but she kinda likes it. With lots of cute nicknames please? J'ADORE you. -Sunshine Anon

ok so after a really long and emotionally taxing mission laying with damian in bed after cleaning up and what not, face to face and making sure you guys are ok and talking about anything you need to get of your chest/anything that was upsetting about the mission. Just really soft, cuddly, and fluffy, but also a little sad.

Words: 3998

Notes: I wrote this half as a stress reliever and half because my inbox is 99% Damian, and I want to work out all my Dami feels and make some room for our other good bois. I hope you enjoy =D

_

"Please," Damian said.

The words come out of his mouth in a single sharp whisper, a bullet shot into the dark, illuminating your world with sparks that die in your chest as you realize exactly what he's asking. He's down on his knees, for one thing. His head is bowed and he's waiting for an answer. You have all become debris of the remains of Titan's Tower, and your teammates are going through the rubble not far off. Maybe he's trying to be funny, trying to make the situation better, but Damian Wayne has never been very purposefully humorous before.

You took in a breath, the corner of your mouth still trying to determine if this was something you were supposed to laugh at. Every part of you seems to be fighting itself. Laugh or frown, quiet or speak, celebrate or mourn. Your home had just been taken from you. Damian is now making jokes, possibly to make you feel better. Because this has to be a joke.

"Let me get this straight," you said, casting a look at your teammates. None of them are looking at you. "Our tower has just been taken from us. You've tried the League for another base of operations, where the rest of the team will be staying, but you want me to stay with you at the Manor... so I can pretend to be your significant other?"

Repeating it to yourself made it all the more real. You had gained the ability to look at Damian without becoming a blush-ridden mess, not to mention you could control your reactions to his touch. The crush you had on him was being reined in harder by the day. Soon, you could be in the same room with him and not show any outward romantic attraction to him. Though you hoped the same could be said for your emotional state, there was no way...

Researching wasn't one of your talents, but you had done so in the last weeks with much more investment than you would put into a school project. Scientifically, a crush lasts around four months. That was seventeen weeks of thinking about Damian, one-twenty-one days of blushing when he walked into the room, and two-thousand-nine-hundred-and-twenty-one hours of hoping he shared some form of what you felt for him at all. That was one hundred seventy-five thousand, three-hundred-sixteen minutes of your life that you had liked Damian Wayne. But, the truth is, you had gone through those months. In fact, you'd gone through a lot of months. You'd gone through two years worth of months—you'd had this crush on him six times over. According to your research, that now put you into the "in love" stage.

"I lied to my father, Y/N. I told him that I had found someone just to get him to stop pestering me," Damian explained, pushing himself off of a piece of your kitchen wall, "At the news, everyone was so pleased and excited to meet this person that I knew I couldn't disappoint. You don't... have to, if that would make you... uncomfortable, but I am truly desperate and you have always been very important... To my family, I mean."

"Please," he said, looking at you with unwavering hope which you had never seen him wear so powerfully, "I need your help."

With his eyes, with the mask off, that thought comes again. You're in love with Damian Wayne.

You've been in love with Damian Wayne, for two years now. There are so many numbers involved that it makes you sick, enough variables and questions to make you dizzy. And even after all this time, no matter how hard you try to look away and deny his requests, you're still here. It's what you do. You give. Coffee when he tires, food when he forgets, comfort when he doubts. So, there's no way you can't now.

"Of course I'll help you, Damian," you said.

He goes off to brief the team on the new quarters. As he goes, he brushes your shoulder with his hand but misses just barely enough for his thumb to stroke your jaw. When he whispers thank you, his shoulders relax.

You hate the sincerity in your voice, "Anytime."

The moment he leaves, you feel a familiar heat crawl up your neck and leech upon the place where he touched you. It's a blush that you should be well-versed in pressing down, an urge you had been an expert at holding back for so long, but it's too late now. He has you again. You unsure if this is a good or a bad thing anymore, and it terrifies you.

____

"Don't do any of it if you don't feel like it," Damian pressed for the millionth time.

The winter makes Damian's icy retorts look like affectionate cooing. She has painted nature with a layer of glass, frosting windows with frozen lace and your breath into fog, all of it glinting underneath the sun like layered sugar. Regardless of her beauty, she is deadly; the dead trees reach skyward for light, icicles shining with the same flicker of sunshine that knives do. She reminds you of Damian.

He is in his element, but regardless of the weather that always seems to be the case. He traverses the snow like he was carved from it, walking with the grace of fallen snowflakes, but still somehow treading with a gait like an oncoming blizzard. His eyes are more blue than green, a frozen lake cracking beneath your feet in a glaze of trepidation. He is the master of this domain. Winter's icy eyes turn to him in search of warmth. Only you have found it first.

"I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable," you whispered.

You have agreed that touching will be necessary to your lie. Cassandra Cain spoke body language before any other, and Bruce shows affection through touch exclusively. He tells you that they're excited enough to be up waiting for your arrival, and he certainly wasn't exaggerating: curious heads peer out of the corners of seemingly every window of the house.

"Never," Damian promised. He looks away from you when he says it.

People are already scrambling for the door, and a series of yelling and booming barks meet your ears once you reach the top stair. Damian took your hand. It was sly and easy like he had done it a thousand times, but the warmth of his hand is blissfully new life and calm washes over you like his warmth does. You looked at one another like you were about to kiss. Then the moment is gone, even if your hands are still intertwined and you're being greeted by his family.

"No way," Tim says. The smile you get from him reminds you of the days where he lead the Titans. "Y/N, you're the person Damian's been talking about? I don't believe this..."

"Believe it." Damian cuts in, curt and tight as usual. He turns back to you.

The transition is sharp enough to give you whiplash. He had to have practiced, had to have felt this way before, because the love in his eyes is suddenly suffocatingly sweet and his tone is nothing but simple adoration. Damian pulls your palm to his lips and lays a kiss there. "Beloved, why don't you go store your bag in my room? I'll move our car."

You don't have much time to register everything you are feeling. Your skin is steaming beneath his fingertips, his grip is light and gentle, and your mind has become a muddy soup which you can barely navigate. The moment you gather yourself is when you sink into his touch.

"Sure thing, Damian," you smiled. The one clear thought you have before this mess begins is: god, I'm not going to make it to tomorrow.

____

You have become very good at counting months, hours, and minutes. Damian had brought you into his charade four months ago. You've had a crush on him seven times over now. That's also thirty-four weeks of entwining fingers, two-hundred-and-forty-three days of embracing longer than necessary, and five-thousand-eight-hundred-and-forty-three hours of lying and telling the world that you are dating Damian Wayne. The thing is, you don't know if it's a lie anymore.

Your stays at the Manor become more and more frequent, even if Titan's Tower is nearly restored. Damian had planned for you to keep up the act for whenever it was truly needed, then act like he mostly wanted to keep your relationship away from family. It would be a way of backing out. But after the dinner you had, after Bruce pulled Damian aside and told him how proud of him he was, there was no way to back out.

Over the period in which your fake relationship had instilled, you'd agreed upon a couple rules. If there was a person in which you wanted to reveal the truth to, you needed to decide upon it together. That meant that Jon Kent was the only one who knew. (Or, sort of, anyway. When you told him that you weren't actually together, he only laughed and nodded, "Oh, sure.") You would tap each other in some way if you were uncomfortable with what was happening. (This only occurred once, when Jason tried to rope you into talking about your sex-life. You stood there tapping each other's backs rapidly for the next twenty minutes). Then, the most important rule: no kissing.

Mouth-kissing, anyway. Damian seemed to think that kissing was the only form of affection that one could express. When it seemed that someone was suspicious of how little lovey-dovey you were being, he would kiss the nearest part of you in which he could reach. Your shoulders, cheeks, nose-bridge, nose, eyelids, forehead, chin, jaw, knuckles, palm, and even down your arms once. You had restricted yourself to kissing his face alone, but every time you kissed him at all he blew up like a scarlet balloon (he was a very good actor, so much so that you swore it was real sometimes). Everywhere but your lips and neck were okay. That was the rule.

But you're both rule breakers. It's a Teen Titans thing.

After playing video games in Damian's room for a couple of hours, he decided to venture off downstairs to get some food. Seeing as it was now given that you follow each other everywhere, you clasped hands at the top of the stairs and descended them with the intention of gorging on junk food.

"I don't really believe that Damian could ever find someone, to be honest with you," Dick said softly.

Damian stopped so abruptly that you almost ran straight into the line of the open doorway to the parlor, alerting them that you were in the hall. He pulled you back by your entwined hands. You didn't fail to notice how he put you behind him like there was danger ahead that he was guarding you against. Together, you crouched against the banister of the smaller stairwell and began to listen in.

"What? Like, you think they're faking?" Stephanie asked.

"No, no... I mean, I'm really happy for them, but I always imagined that Damian was more of a lone-wolf." Dick said, more to himself than to the others in the room. He chuckled, "Or maybe that's just me not wanting him to grow up."

"You and me both," agreed Bruce.

"Well, they've never kissed before," Stephanie said, sound a little grossed-out by the thought, "And, like, I've met Y/N's previous significant others. They've told me that they prefer to kiss to show affection with them—it was for Truth or Dare—and so I'm a little surprised they haven't yet. Maybe it's just a Damian thing?"

"I'm with Steph on this one," said Tim, equally disgusted, "I bet they're faking. He's okay with every other kind of affection in the book, with how gross they are around each other, so why wouldn't he be okay with actual stuff?"

"But we've seen them kiss before. Remember the library incident?" Dick proposed.

You cast Damian a look. They were referring to the time where you were discussing if you thought anyone had found out yet, but then Dick walked in to get you both for a mission. As you had to practice getting caught much too often, you quickly pushed him over between the shelves and straddled him. Despite your attempts to block out the memory out of embarrassment, you had at least succeeded in looking like you had been making out for the last ten minutes. Your hair and clothes were both wild and messy, and Damian had been blushing too hard for it to be fake. Ever since Dick had regarded it as indisputable proof that you and Damian were together.

"We saw them almost kiss," said Stephanie.

"They could have been faking it," Tim said, more determined now. "Now that I think about it, there's a bunch of other pieces of evidence to support this. I bet if we go up to his room right now, they'll be sitting five feet apart on their phones and doing the most platonic thing we can think of. Hate to say it, B, but Damian probably just put this together to get you to stop bothering him about it. And Y/N's... well, y'know. Of course they would help him."

Bruce hummed, thinking.

With the realization that your secret was falling apart at your feet, desperate times had been called upon. You moved together, like you had been doing this for years (which it felt like you had been), so fast and so smoothly that there was no need for talking at all. Damian's hands came to hook underneath your thighs. You jumped with the motion, fastening your legs around his slender hips and your arms around his neck. Heart hammering by the mile, butterflies singing in wild chorus, you locked your bodies intimately close and began making out like your life depended on it.

Damian didn't relent. He shoved you both into the wall hard enough to make the paintings shudder, and suddenly you knew everything about him. With your fingers tugging on his hair and his plump lips slanted against yours, you knew Damian, deeply, intimately, and there was no way of denying it. You knew what his voice sounded like during late-night talks. You knew what his eyes looked like when full of adoration, what they looked like when clutched by fear. You knew what his kiss was like now, too: it was heaven. A very, very desperate heaven. Then he began to preach.

"I love you," he said, just loud enough for the others to hear. They arrived, all freezing solid with Damian's words and watching the scene, definitely feeling like they'd walked in on something.

Even you were moved by the conviction in his voice, almost to the point where you were unsure if he was lying at all. His tone didn't convince, it demanded that you know, wove the understanding so deep within you that it was impossible to misinterpret. You lost yourself in his kiss as he dove for it again, just long enough to retain a blissful ignorance. His kissing slowed down, and he spoke between each one as if he was whispering to the stars themselves.

"More than anyone, anything," he whispered. His nose trailed lightly up your jaw, tilting your head back and making room for his artful magic. There was a sourness in his expression that the others couldn't see, something that didn't like revealing these things, something that didn't want to open up that box. You taped him once, inquiring, but he never tapped back. He only turned his head just in view of the others, smiling mischievously into your cheek. "My most beautiful, what have you done to me?"

"I've brainwashed you into falling in love with me," you snickered in jest, hoping that it sounded just as real and affectionate as Damian's confession did. "I'm actually an old hag in disguise and I'm after your money, rich boy."

Damian's lip quirked, and an actual smile made itself clear as he neared your faces, "Take whatever you want from me. I already have everything I want, my love..." He glanced down at your mouth, watching you flush with a devious smirk, "right here."

"Nevermind," Tim said, upper lip curling. You jumped apart, and you were proud of the surprised yelp you gave. He shook his head when Stephanie began to cackle, "I think they're good."

Damian set you down. The shyness you now displayed was no act; you shrunk back into his shirt, blushing like a mad-man and trying not to keel in on yourself. Maybe it would be best if you just faded out of existence. Right here.

Damian's smirk evaporated just as sharply as it all came. He growled and started fixing his hair, half-hiding you behind him. "What do you want, Drake? I am clearly in the middle of something."

("That was pretty good. Where'd you get all that from?" You asked him later, wiping off your face to calm down.)

("I just came up with it," Damian dismissed, eagerly turning away from you. You didn't miss the redness crawling up his neck.)

____

"Can we just... watch a movie and lie down together?"

Damian raised an eyebrow. He tried to be playful, tried to be the Robin everyone wanted him to be. You needed it more than anyone right now. Encountering villains who had killed or scarred teammates always meant for more taxing Titans missions, especially for the two co-leaders of the group. He felt the guilt and hatred stirring in his chest even now at the thought of what he had just gone through, what you had just gone through, but it was now boiling underneath something else.

He had reclined on his bed, staring up at you as you paced the length of his room, rubbing your eyes and sighing. Your efforts to work out of the mission's funk was wearing away at you faster than the actual mission was. Damian longed to do something about it, but he didn't... he didn't know how. He knew what he would have done in front of the others; gathered you up in his arms, cooed until you mimed brushing aside your worries in favor of being with him. But this was real, so the comfort needed to be equally felt.

"I mean... not like, together, but... could we just watch a movie, please?" You asked him.

Damian powered on his flatscreen. It was silly, really. You flit around saying it, you both dance around labels and admitting the truth, even if it was right in front of you. Even if you couldn't ask him to lie with you without going rosy, Damian could turn his head at this very moment and find you changing into your pajamas. He had never imagined himself to be a man of words or action when it came to affection, and