when did damian get hot [dcu]
pairing: damian wayne (aged up) x reader
synopsis: you meet damian wayne, the boy you hated as a ten year old, again after years and suddenly heâs the hottest thing youâve ever laid your eyes on, so might as well get laid by him too
warnings: [nsfw] - smut (sex) long ahead in the story - both of you hate each other as kids - he grows up way too hot - you are thirsting almost the entire time - very intimate damian - they do the deed - idk how to put warnings - enjoy!!!
a/o: oof 4.3k this is a little long but i hope itâs good i love writing dami like this + pfft who am i to not jump on the sabrina carpenter bandwagon so here u go, inspired by âwhen did you get hot?â
you had met damian wayne as a kid.
back then, he was the embodiment of everything you hated. arrogant, cold, and undeniably lethal. he had been, quite frankly, a brat and a demon spawn the moment he arrived at wayne manorâ unable to follow batmanâs staunch moral code, always desperate to prove himself, and always fighting with everyone. you included.
he was just plain point blank annoying. the second youâd see his grimacing face with those thick arched eyebrows complimented by his scrunched small button nose, and that chubby with baby fat chin, and his full lips that were always frowned, with his big, always narrowed almond shaped hazel eyesâ green by the irises and brown around the edgesâ decorated with unfairly long eyelashes, somewhere in the manorâ youâd scowl; wanting to hit his stupid little entitled face; wanting to tug at his dark wavy brown hair, which was short but enough for you to grab and drag him around the manor with.
he wasnât even that big nor tall, so itâd be easy to fight his 4â8 frame, with his tiny arms and tiny shoulders and tiny legsâ though deep inside you knew better than to provoke the literal ticking assassin who grew up with the lack of a moral compass.
you didnât understand, living under bruce too at that timeâ since your parents were big business owners who worked in tandem with wayne enterprises, thus living abroad often, leaving you here in gothamâhow someone so similar in age to you (and circumstance, but you only thought that because you didnât know much about what he had gone through at the league), could act so differently to you.
you despised him for the way he acted; for the way he treated bruce, idolising him yet arguing with him all the time, as if that wasnât your guardian figure first; the way he was entitled and cocky, arguing with dick, tim, and jason about how he was the blood sonâ how he was superior to them.
there were absolutely no redeeming qualities of damian wayne, and so, as a childâ you hated him. you had every reason to.
but then you had moved to a different country for boarding school when you were fourteen, and you didnât have to see him again. not for years.
your jaw drops when you do see him again.
youâre in the batcave, eyes wide, trying to glue your jaw shut. your flight had landed about an hour ago and alfred had come to pick you up, bringing you to the wayne manor where youâd be residing during the period of applying to colleges and such.
but bruce, or well, batman, was out on a mission, and so the man of the house to greet you was unfortunatelyâ or maybe fortunatelyâ his son.
damian had grown into his disproportionate scowl. his eyebrows had become bushier, furrowed as usual, yet there was something about them that made them so natural on his tan, brown face.
you gulp, the spit barely making it down your dry throat when his dark emerald eyes meet yours. you did not remember them being that detailed. he had grown much taller of course, some height akin to his fatherâs, maybe 5â11. definitely, unfortunately, much taller than you.
his hair, still clipped but longer and wavier, framed the structure of his face perfectly. there was, of course, no longer any baby fatâ or well, fat at allâ instead stood a lean, domineer figure with the prettiest features and face youâd ever seen.
there is a quiet grace and calculation in the way he walks up to you: not his old arrogance, but rather a disciplined outwardly lookâ straightened back, hands by his sides, lips flat.
âwelcome back,â his voice is smooth, almost like silk, but it still has that rough undertone it had from his childhood. zero inflection. the sound of your name at the end of the sentence feels foreign and almost authoritative on his lips.
his eyes move over you once and once only, and it makes your cheeks heat up. your fingers tighten around your luggage.
âlet me take your luggage to your room.â itâs not a question: itâs a blank statement. heâs indifferent as he reaches over, brushing your fingers on the handle and you pull away as if his hand burns. he doesnât acknowledge, simply tilting the suitcase and dragging it along him as he turns to walk towards your old room.
oh god. when did damian wayne get hot?
it had been four months since that encounter.
four months of pure agony and torture. at first it was seeing damian almost every other night for family dinners with the bats. he was often uninvolved in the discussions, simply eating and going back to his room or training. then, when family dinners fizzled out, it was mostly running into damian by accident.
you were constantly tormented by the beautiful sight of him. most times, he was eye candy from afar. when heâd come out of the training room, all sweaty and bothered, rubbing himself off with his towel while you were in the kitchen in your pyjamas, sandwich mid-bite in your mouth, eyes wide and staring abashedly as he passed by the hallway to his room. or it was seeing him work away in the batcave, eyebrows furrowed in focus on some mission data or files or somethingâ you didnât care. he looked annoyingly good, all serious and preoccupied, leaning forward with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
what was extra brutal were the awkward conversations. the blurted out âgood morningâs to which heâd simply acknowledge with the nod of his head. the casual âhow was your day?âs when heâd come back, tending to his wounds in the batcave at 3 am while youâd come out of your room to make yourself coffee to power through applications. often you felt unemployed in comparison to his almost daily missions and patrols, but you were too distracted by his stupidly good looking scowling face; lean, chiselled body; and meticulously maintained short hair, to take it personal.
the first time you saw him in his robin suit your legs pressed together themselves.
and then came his birthday. you knew there was some sort of celebration at night with cake for him with the batfamily, but you had already made a commitment with friends you hadnât met for years (you canât blame you for forgetting his birthday, it had four years), and so were out most of the night. when you return to the wayne manor, itâs just half an hour before midnight. just enough time for you to rush upstairs, knock on damianâs door, crossing your fingers in prayer that heâs in a good mood and also doesnât look delicious so you donât lose it.
the door clicks open and your open mouth, which was prepared to blurt out the wish, cannot let out words. this has to be some sort of joke.
damianâs dark, emerald eyes are almost lazily openâ slightly tired, mostly unimpressed. his eyebrow raises leisurely, hand gripping the knob of the door. his hair is slightly disheveled from it being the end of the day, but still mostly neat, lips flat in a line. heâs wearing a casual black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his veiny forearms, and loose pants. he doesnât say anything, waiting for you to speak first. your throat feels dry.
âhappy birthday,â you blurt out haphazardly, lips pursed, looking at him with slightly wide, wary eyes. your voice is a little awkward, unsure of how to interact with the boy youâd spent your entire childhood fighting and arguing with, and then not even conversing let alone seeing for years.
damian looks at you, expression controlled and disguised as always. all you can see to get a hint of his emotion is the slightly elevated rise of his chest when he breaths. instead of a normal âthank youâ in response to your wish, his eyes linger on your face until his mouth finally opens.
âwhen we were children,â his lips purse in between phrases, voice flat. âfather forced me to have a fourteenth birthday party with my classmates.â
you blink. okay. totally unexpected, but sure. you remember. this was probably your first normal conversation with damian during your entire stay here, and also in, well.. four years.
your heart is beating so fast you swear youâre going to pass out if he doesnât get to the point of his story quicker.
âthey were all so frustratingly childish,â he mutters, realising how petulant he sounds. âi hated it, so i fought and threw a tantrum on my own birthday. everyone had to go home.â he sounds almost indignant as he recalls. your heart skips a beat. âyou must remember.â
you do. vividly. you remember damian had one of his worst fights with bruce that day. it was the first time you had seen damian as something other that entitled, because he had..
damian looks away. âi had gone to my room and cried.â he sucks in a deep breath. âyou know this because you came in. i tried to shout at you. you hugged me instead.â
your eyes feel almost glossy for some stupidly pathetic reason. you remember. you had never seen damian cry before that, not even after. just that once. you remember how he struggled against your grip. how you had forcibly held him until he finally gave in and cried in your tiny arms on the floor. that was the first time you ever saw him as what he wasâ a kid. that was the first time anyone ever truly saw him. thatâs why he hadnât forgotten. neither had you.
you pitifully stare at his side profile with twisted eyebrows while he looks away from you, his own indifferent expression cracking.
âi knew you hated me growing up,â his eyes finally find yours again, dry and controlled once more. âbut i couldnât hate you anymore after that.â
you look away. you canât bear to look at him again. you had moved away after that, not to see him again for years.
your lips are sealed together, unsure, and also too scared to say anything in return. your eyes finally return to his face, lingering for a long moment.
âyouâre not as annoying grown up,â you finally breathe out, deciding that if you spoke even a word of vulnerability, either youâd cry or heâd cringe.
he lets out an amused scoff, almost grateful you didnât say anything sappy about his story. he hated being pitied, and yet he knew you got the message he was delivering by the retelling. âright back at you.â
your jaw drops in offence. âi was never annoying as a kidââ
your freeze, words still on your lips when damian gently leans forward, hand delicately placing on your cheek, tipping your face closer and pressing the softest kiss in the world to your mouth. his own eyes are closed, while you stare at him in shock, his lips holding the fuzzy kiss against your mouth for a moment before pulling away with a soft mch sound.
youâre a blushing, frazzled, panicked mess. and well.. damian had gotten hot, okay? it wasnât your fault that he had just practically confessed that he didnât hate you, and that he still vividly remembered the first time you were nice to him, while looking slightly tired and horribly attractive. it wasnât your fault that you felt the need to press your thighs together.
damian raises an eyebrow, fingers still delicately placed on your cheek as his casual, emerald eyes finding yours. âyou didnât kiss back, but i assume you enjoyed that.â
you wish you could melt into a puddle and escape this situation. he had noticed.
âitâs not my fault you got insanely hot,â you look away, cheeks red and blazing. âlikeâ you were just normal then. but now..â
damianâs eyebrows raise in surprise and he scoffs, coated with humour, but thereâs a slight telling pink tint on his cheeks. âi was ten.â
you blush. âyeah well i was ten too. never had a crush or anything back then. but now youâre likeââ you suck in a breath, realising how stupid you must sound, blurting out random pathetic confessions. you gulp, hard in your throat.
damian watches you gulp, his other hand reaching out so his finger can trace down your throat.
he bends a bit and leans in, much further, lips by your ear. âyouâre yet to give me a present,â he breathes out, and your whole body lights on fire.
you dare to ask. âwhatâ what do you want?â your voice is shaky despite your best efforts.
he lets out a soft breath, yet his voice lacks any inflection. âmaybe some catching up.â he whispers it plainly, as if this is normal, as if that doesnât make you pool in your underwear.
âitâs been four years..â his hand moves down your throat, over your curves to your lower back, and in one graceful move he steps back while pulling you into his room, using his other hand to close the door and simultaneously back you up against it.
your whole body ignites. his hands are nimble and big on your body, sliding from your lower back to your abdomen, tickling up your sides, mapping out your frame.
he leans closer, pressing a hovering kiss to your jaw. it barely touches your burning skin. your eyelashes flutter as your eyes struggle to remain open, heart beating insanely fast, thrumming against your ribs.
âhow was school there?â damian has the audacity to ask, his lips peppering kisses from your jaw down to your throat, down to your nape, over your pulse point.
you blush. âf-fine,â you breathe, chest heaving up and down, back against his door, hands hovering over his arms before firmly gripping his biceps for support, since your legs feel like jelly. âk-kind of.. boring.. with lots of studying,â your breath hitches as damianâs mouth lingers over a spot on your neck, his tongue moving out to kitty lick over your skin.
he hums absentmindedly, eyebrows furrowed in focus as his hands slide up and down your waist, and then rest at your hips. he pulls away, just enough to whisper in your ear.
âiâm going to touch you,â he states plainly, eyelashes fluttering against your skin when he presses a peck to your burning ear. âtell me now if you donât want it.â
you can barely breathe, fingers tightening around his biceps. âiâve been ogling you for months,â you confess, way past shame because youâre sure youâre dripping down there. âshoot me if i ever say no.â
damian, who maybe smiles once a year, lets out a short, breathy chuckle against your ear.
destroy this earth for not letting you get a visual of his face during that.
damianâs long fingers move down your abdomen, lifting your shirt with his thumb just a bit before he slides his hand underneath your pants. you try to control your ragged breathing.
his knee moves in between your legs, resting against the door behind from in between as he keeps your thighs apart. his hand finds the fabric of your underwear, and you pray that he doesnât taunt you for how soaked it is.
instead, he presses the pads of his fingers over your clothed clit, rubbing up and down. dissatisfied by the feeling, he moves his hand back up to your waistband, and directly shoves his hand down your underwear.
you canât help but gasp when two fingers slide up and down in between your folds, gathering your slick in between his digits.
âthatâs better,â he whispers, kissing your jaw. and then. casually. âwas the standard of education satisfactory there? was the city pleasant?â
your mind is a jumbled mess and heâs questioning you like youâre giving an interview, while his index and and middle finger hold your folds apart, his thumb rubbing and toying against your clit.
you have no idea what youâre saying, honestly, because you mumble out something about it being good. ân-yeah,â you whimper, eyelids falling down for a moment as your lips part to let out a shaky breath. âpretty place.. f-fun, but testsââ his thumb presses hard against your clit, and you shiver. âall the time..â
he hums, pulling away to look at your fucked out face. your eyes open to meet his concentrated eyes, and itâs almost annoying how serious he looks. same lazy eyes, creased brows, flat, pink lips. but his cheeks are darker, and that propels you to ask.
âdid you ever think about me while i was gone?â you find yourself blurting out, a little pathetic, but thereâs nothing more pathetic than the sound you let out from your throat when a long, nimble finger buries deep inside your hole, down to his knuckle.
he thinks for a moment, eyes on your parted lips as you let out a string of shaky breaths.
âsometimes,â he finally confesses, finger sliding in and out of your hole. âfather showed me a picture of you once, a few months before you came back. told me you would be returning,â he explains, and you try to listen while he slips another finger inside your aching cunt. he continues, voice flat and unbothered:
âtouched myself that night.â
your jaw drops, eyes comically wide. he raises an eyebrow at your reaction, as if he hadnât just said the hottest, most confusing thing ever.
âexcuse me?!â you rasp out, mouth agape. he bites the inside of his cheek, and you blush when you notice heâs hiding a smile.
this whole time youâve been finding damian hot without ever considering that he could also find you hot.
âyou looked good,â he shrugs, shiny eyes finding your own bewildered ones.
your face tints hotter, remembering the picture you had sent bruce as an update. remembering the tight top you were wearing. the cleavage. you look away.
âyouâve grown up into such a boy,â you whisper-scoff, feeling shy.
he sneers, eyebrows raised, plunging his two fingers in deeper.
âas if you didnât confess to ogling over me.â
you melt into the door behind you, pouting slightly, legs beginning to tremble from the feeling of his fingers working you up.
and then your eyes drop to his pants.
âdonât,â he says simply, unknowingly chivalrous, eyes on yours. âyou donât have to think about that.â
your body tingles, clenching around his fingers at the thought. âi want to,â you analyse the bulge, straining against his pants. âifâ if that wonât, you know, make things weird between us,â you mumble shyly.
âi made it weird first,â he reassures, voice still casual, never vulnerable. your eyes land on his.
âkissed you first,â he breaths against your mouth. âtouched you first,â another kiss, right at the centre of your lips.
in a second youâre wrapping your arms around his neck, wrapping your legs around his waist. damianâs a little surprised but he wastes not a second before one arm is snug under your ass, one around your waist, leisurely taking you to his bed. he gently places you down on it, crawling up over you.
âif youâve done this before, tell me now,â he breathes, leaning back on his knees and unbuttoning his pants while you kick off your own.
you raise an eyebrow, a little thrown off by the question. âthe question is usually âif you donât want to do this, tell me nowâ,â you smile a little, confused.
he looks down at you, suddenly a little serious, hands pausing at his zipper. he exhales sharply before looking away.
âi havenât done this before, so if you have, i would be offended.â
you blink. oh. your heart skips a beat.
you sit up, tugging him closer by his waistband, hands moving to unzip his pants for him.
âyeah, thereâs not a lot of hot guys where i went to study,â your eyes are focused on his thighs as he lifts his hips to help you tug down his pants. âyouâve got nothing to worry about.â
he blushes. damian wayne actually blushes. your eyes move up to his face, and your eyes soften, a small grin on your lips.
you think for a moment for teasing him before you instead tug him closer by his jaw, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.
he melts into the kiss, hands already on your body, over your curves. his hand moves down to pull off your panties, tossing them irrelevantly to the side. he uses his free hand to part your thighs, still kissing you.
still precautionary, he pushes two fingers into you, moving them in and out of your dripping, clenching hole whilst he tugs his boxers down, his hard length springing free. you stare shamelessly, and he groans, embarrassed.
âitâs better if you gawk when i donât notice,â he pulls his fingers out and you clench around nothing, cheeks turning crimson.
âyeah,â you breathe. âmore used to that anyway.â
he gives you a small, intimate smile. just the hint of one, the slight curvature of his lips.
your heart thumps in your chest. âyouâre fuckinâ beautiful,â you blurt out by accident, and his smile drops, eyebrows furrowing in irritation as his cheeks heat up.
âthatâs supposed to be my line,â he whispers, a blushing mess as he strokes himself twice. he leans over, opening his drawer to quickly pull a condom out of the side-table. his heart speeds up when he sees you notice the whole pack in his drawer, your jaw dropping, and he quickly comes to his own defence.
âit was a gag gift from jason,â he rushes to explain, face hot. âsome.. stupid joke about how iâd never get a girlfriend,â he flushes as he fumbles to put on the rubber, and you can tell heâs telling the truth by his inexperience. who are you to judge? youâre as confused as you watch his roll it over himself. you bite your lower lip, concealing a genuine smile.
he grumbles at your smile, narrowing his eyes at you in disdain while lining his covered yet leaking mushroom tip against your puffy cunt.
suddenly things are a little serious.
you whimper. âdamian,â you breathe out, arms reaching out to grab his forearm. he hums as if to reassure you heâs there, before gently pushing just the tip inside. heâs long, thick too of course, but longer, and it takes a few minutes of whining and gripping the sheets until he snuggly adjusts himself in you, his neat, trimmed base hitting your pelvis.
âgood?â he asks simply, eyebrows furrowed, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. his arms are on either side of your head, leaning down to kiss your cheek in a rare moment of intimacy. his chest heaves up and down with heavy breaths, lips parted. when you nod rapidly, he pulls out a bit, thrusting himself back inside.
when he finds a pace thatâs good based on your moans and whimpers, and the way your eyes roll back, he begins to rock back and fourth, pounding with the perfect rhythm. itâs almost smart and calculated, the way heâs perfected even having sex.
youâre a moaning, vocal mess when you come. damian is the opposite. you wouldnât even think heâd have reached his high if it wasnât for the most unhinged breathing youâve ever heardâ heâs panting heavily, still mostly silent except for a few awkward grunts, but his chest is rising up and down so fast youâd be concerned if you werenât busy shaking and whining yourself.
damian is gentle when he slides himself out, and your hole aches from the emptiness, missing the stretch. heâs careful when he pulls the condom off, a little more focused on disposing it off properly than on you, but he does make sure to come back to ask if youâre okay, pressing a shy kiss to your cheek.
damian, who is also a little bit of a neat freak, isnât comfortable until he cleans himself up in the bathroom with a shower (also bringing a towel to wipe in between your legs while you complain and claw at his biceps about how heâs âcruelâ) and clothes himself in a shirt and shorts (also of course throwing your own clothes for wash and bringing you one of his own large t-shirts)â youâre still complaining about him being mean when he crawls into his bed beside you, raising an eyebrow.
when your big eyes and pouty lips meet his slightly judgemental raised eyebrow, you flush, looking away. âyes i too am realising i am slightly clingy after sex,â your voice is muffled as you bury your face into the sheets. âiâm discovering this for the first time too, so donât judge.â
damian scoff-chuckles. ânot just slightly,â he comments condescendingly, but still reaches out to slide an arm under your waist (you of course accommodate by lifting your back off the bed for him), tugging your body beside his to cater to your clinginess, despite him classifying himself as a non-physical touch person.
you sigh, finding your spot on his shoulder. itâs comfortably silent for a long moment, your head on his shoulder, your fingers toying with his fingers, his arm around you and resting on your chest.
âitâs a little weird to think about how we grew up together and then didnât see each other for four years and then lost our virginities to each other the moment you turnedââ your voice becomes strangled when damianâs hand cups your mouth, physically shutting you up, palm against your lips.
he cringes. âdonât,â he says simply, his other hand rubbing his forehead while he winces.
âdo not make me think about that. i might want to do this again in the future.â
you smile against his hand, cheeks hot. honestly, you couldnât breathe with his hand cupping your mouth, but oh boy would suffocating like this be a good way to go, especially because damian wayne had gotten exceptionally hot, and you couldnât get enough of it. you knew damn well youâd be taking full advantage of this new development in you twoâs relationship.
