celmian - Tumblr blog

celmian · 7 months ago

Note

imagine damian and the reader at the wayne gala. he gets jealous when he sees her flirting with someone else. he ends up pulling her into a bathroom and fucking her in front of a mirror while saying that other person can’t treat her like he does

and that’s how the reader finds out damian has feelings for her. all this time he acted like he hates her because he’s in denial

Title: More Than They Ever Said

Paring: Robin!Damian (18+) / Canary!Reader

Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, bathroom sex, slight underage drinking (reader is like 20 lol), mentions of golf.

Word Count: 7150

Notes: sooooo.... this def evolved beyond a drabble lol. the way gala sex kills me every time 😭 I was a little mushy w Dami here bc I miss his sweet side. This also sounded a lot like goldenspecs12's request from Wattpad, so I hope you don't mind that I meshed the two together 😚 I leaned toward Damian liking the reader more than being in denial, but that’s the only thing I sacrificed between the two requests. This one is my fluffiest and most romantic yet 💖

"can I request Damian w a Queen reader, like she's Oliver and Dinah's child? say the reader is a hero but not very active, like she comes in when her parents can't. so when she and Damian meet, they hit it off. The main request is that they sneak away at a gala held by Oliver and the reader and Damian have sex."

Ask to be added to my taglist for future posts!

The party was more fun than you thought it would be.

Benefits were usually chalk-full of old, wealthy people that thought they made good conversationalists. The board members of Queen Industries were tired of Oliver trying to escape their claws, so you’d been recruited in his place. While your dad got to play minigolf in the penthouse’s massive party floor, you were confined to the lounge, playing up what an intelligent, capable business partner you’d be when you were CEO. Fellow businessmen gruffed about their plans with you while their wives cooed and drank, pinching your cheeks.

You thought that you’d hate it, but the attention and the praise was nice. It made you feel like you were helping your dad and your family’s company, which was constantly criticized and judged for it’s choice in CEO. Everyone called your father a lazy silver-spooned idiot, but he was one of the only men in Star City who actually cared. By the time you had Q.I’s biggest donors laughing out of their seats, Dinah’s hands slipped over your shoulders and you were kissed on the side of the face. Thank you, she mouthed, and your position as family support-beam was covered.

Since most of the benefit-goers were at least forty years your senior, you gravitated to your dad. From the penthouse’s upper balcony, you could see his friends circling around the tiny green mats they were using as a makeshift golf course. Usually, Ollie made sure his public persona’s aim was as garbage as his taste in drink was. But tonight, he played as Green Arrow, who never missed. Not once. Especially when it came to Bruce Wayne, who’s golf game was abysmal at best.

But like Oliver, Bruce was a new man tonight. It looked like he was ready to break out the batarangs any minute now. The two men were barely civil about the viciousness of their competition, and if the view of the game from the balcony was interesting, then from below it must’ve been the greatest show of fragile masculinity ever displayed. You had to make fun of them.

The only opening in the circle of men, who all had their hands on their chins as Bruce lined up his next shot, was by the floor-to-ceiling windows to one side of the game. Just one man stood there, hands in his pockets. You slid next to him, unbothered, and squinted at the game.

Everyone in the crowd was dead silent. Bruce was lining up his golf ball so it would roll into a mug a couple of feet away, so you helpfully provided, “A little to the left, Mr. Wayne.”

Your words overlapped with someone else’s. Where you had said Mr. Wayne, they had said Father. Then the man next to you was his son, but...

You would have never guessed it would be him.

Reasonably, you knew that Robin was Damian Wayne. Oliver could be a little loose-lipped at times, and by his judgment you’d been a teenager just a year ago - what could a twenty year old do to Batman’s secret identity? Not much.

Until you saw Robin without his mask.

Damian was achingly beautiful. He was your age, but he stood and talked like he was much older. There was an angle to his shoulder that made him seem astute and sexy. His eyes fixed on you when you spoke at the same time, and they were a surprising mossy color that jumped out against his tan skin, like plants flourishing out of rich soil. There was just enough blue in them to make him seem haunting. Any moment, you felt like he was going to corner you and whisper your future throatily in your ear.

Looking into them, those piercing eyes, for longer than a second made you want to blurt, “You’re much prettier without your mask.”

But that would expose his secret to every golf-loving idiot in earshot, so Oliver had been wrong. A twenty-year-old like you could do fatal damage to Batman’s secret identity, but for Damian, the short-tempered, snappish leader of the Teen Titans, you would risk anything.

Damian stared, and you stared. He squinted, wet his lips, then turned back to the game. This was your only acknowledgment that he recognised you. His voice was deeper, smoother, than you remember it. “Queen.”

You shifted in your shoes, almost laughing in shock. “...Wayne.”

The game grew boring and Damian didn’t say anything else, so you said nothing too, sneaking glances at him. The last time you’d spoken to Robin had been in costume, when he’d thanked you for assisting with a mission. He’d really been thanking you for standing up for him. You didn’t team up often with the Titans, but when you did, you found that they were unusually snappy and mean with their leader. Not necessary on purpose, but you could tell that Damian couldn’t take as many bites as he pretended to. Standing up for him had been a simple thing. The good thing to do. Now, with that look in his eyes, it almost felt like he still thought about it.

He must have, because the kiss you shared at the end of that mission had glowed with heat. To be fair, you both may have believed you were going to die (before the team pulled through and saved you), so it could’ve been a heat-of-the-moment thing. But this was Robin - if he didn't want to kiss you, he wouldn't. And yet he did.

You’d kissed. And the energy of that kiss lingered between you now, drawing you closer together, putting tiny smiles on your faces. He was cute. Cuter without that mask on.

You stood in the stupid golf silence, feeling foolish. Flirting with boys was much easier in fishnets. It didn’t help how fine Damian’s profile was. He had soft, feathery lashes that occasionally touched down on beauty marked cheeks. His lips were even fuller from the side, forever drawn in a curious line. And those eyes, when they caught yours and danced away again, were much too nice to hide behind a mask. You couldn’t get that thought out of your mind.

When Bruce finally made his move, you leaned in to whisper something to each other at the same time, accidentally knocking shoulders.

“I - apologies,” Damian flushed.

“Oh, um, my bad,” you rubbed awkwardly at the spot where you’d collided. “...You were going to say something?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to your fathers, then to you, unimpressed. He lowered his voice so only you could hear. “They’re awfully hypocritical, don’t you think? Father snaps at me everytime I use my skills in public, and yet he’s putting with perfect aim like it’s not the very same.”

Chuckling, you rolled your eyes and scooted closer, ducking your voice into the bubble between your bodies. “My dad’s the same way. Don’t aim in the house, he says, unless it’s him trying to beat Bruce Wayne.”

Your company’s shoulders turned sideways, leaning into you. His breath ghosted the hair on your neck, standing it on end, and again that silky voice sent tingles down your spine. Damian must change his voice as Robin, because he never spoke like this then. So huskily, so low.

He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

You watched him. He watched you. You ran your tongue over your teeth, and Damian subtly adjusted his slacks from his pockets.

At the same time, you asked each other, “Would you like to get a drink?”

Your hiding place was a loveseat in the lounge, between more businessmen and their ditzy heirs. The bartender was your family’s, so he smiled and turned down your request for a drink, courtesy of your dad’s strictness. Luckily, he didn’t recognise Damian. You watched him order it at the bar, his rings catching the light, the muscle in his arms peeking out from under his blazer.

“I think he suspected I wasn’t of age, so he only gave me one.” He took the place next to you, propping his ankle on one knee and lounging out like a panther. Damian offered the cocktail to you, once he’d decided the coast was clear. It was a cute gesture. “Is that acceptable?”

You fished a five dollar bill out of your purse. “Only if you take this for paying. Don’t think I didn’t see you try and sneakily get that past me.”

Damian scrutinized the bill, then you, somehow managing to be a smartass without opening his mouth. Instead of thinking about how nice it would feel to kiss the slight crease between his brows, you traded hands with him so the bill was in his and the drink was in yours. The gentle brush of you palm to his knuckles put way too many butterflies in your belly.

You talked about everything and anything. About home, family life, your cities. The best of it was when Damian dipped his head so only you could hear him, keeping your secrets close and your bodies closer. This was the only way he talked about Robin, so you circled back to any vigilante subject you could think of just so Damian would keep purring into your ear like that. Better yet, he was smart. Talking to him was engaging, and within minutes he'd entranced you, so you sat there talking for more than an hour. Around you, the party rotated and went on.

At one point, you took a drink of the cocktail and passed it to him to share. Damian placed his lips right where yours had been, licking up the cocktail salt and gulping it down slow, adam’s apple bobbing, like it wasn’t the taste of the vodka he was savoring.

Eventually, your bliss was broken. Damian was called over to his father, again, to discuss business, and he left you with your remaining cocktail and the memory of that mission. You couldn’t find a reason to move from your seat. When you’d realized that you and Robin had been led into a trap on that mission, it’d been too late, and your efforts to escape became more and more futile. All you could do was pray the Titans got to you on time. Robin had offered you his glove as the walls closed in, and you’d watched up-close as he assumed you were both about to die. The fear in his eyes was strange - like it was familiar to him. At the same time, you cupped his neck and he held your upper back, and you’d kissed fervently, sweetly.

Damian had put his forehead to yours, and promised even as the trap shrunk around you, “You were excellent. More excellent than they ever said.”

In the big picture, it was a strange last remark to make, and afterwards you’d been too happy about surviving to think about it. But in the moment, you understood. You were understood. Somehow, Damian had reached into your soul and gouged out the words you’d been dying to hear, from your parents, from anyone, and uttered them to you with burning conviction. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he meant it. Damian found you excellent. Someone, somewhere, didn’t think you were a failure.

Odd, how you’d never seen the face of the man you thought you’d die with (until now), and yet he saw you so easily. You watched him follow his father into the party crowd now, wondering. The Titans had saved you before you could ask what he’d meant. More importantly, before you could tell him the same. He was excellent.

Once you’d finished off your drink, you left it at the bar and grinned evilly at your family bartender. He rolled his eyes and slyly delivered you another, which, on your superhero schedule, would not have you drunk yet. Another heir to some big company was seated at your right, ignored by his father enough to look for some small talk with you.

He was one of the cute, nerdy types that were usually in awe of you. Girls, available girls, were typically rare at these kinds of parties, so he took you not having a boyfriend as permission to flirt with you. Unfortunately for him, your seat gave a perfect angle on Damian across the party floor. He was impressing the wives of Wayne business partners, who flocked around him like they’d flocked around you, pinching his cheeks. You could almost read their lips enough to guess what they were saying. What a handsome young man you are! Oh, Bruce must be so proud.

“...and then my father flipped over his kayak! Would you believe it? Two thousand dollars, thrown right in our family’s lake.” Your company snickered, howling at his own story.

You circled the rim of your glass, watching how Damian tried to teach some of the women phrases in Arabic. Unknown to them, they were some pretty funny swear words. It threw you into a bout of giggles, and the man next to you kept talking, spurred on by the noise.

The flock of hens around Damian receded, and his shoulders slouched in relief. That was cute, too. It wasn’t often that people understood how draining these parties were, but for people like you and Damian, it was a racetrack of endless, boring circles. Everything was a formality. Few things were genuine. Damian turned, and you caught his eye to let him know you were going to meet him. He nodded toward a side hall, his mouth a curious line again. If you looked at it long enough, it felt like a smile when he mouthed, escape?

Your company was still talking. He stopped when you grabbed his tie and planted a pity-kiss on his cheek, waving to him as you bounced away. “Sorry, kid. Not my type.”

You planned to bring Damian to the secluded balcony on the second floor to unwind, but instead, you were taken by the wrist and maneuvered into an empty powder room. It was colder than the steaming party air and smelled like champagne, with couches to sit on and mirrors to powder at. For a bathroom, the lights were warm and low. The noise of the party went quiet the instant the door was shut, like you and Damian had entered your own little world. No more circles. No more back and forth.

“Here,” Damian said, noting the mirrors. He tilted his head as he asked, like he was nervous, “Is this acceptable?”

“It is the ladies powder room, but I’ll give you a pass, since you’re cute.” You joked. Damian didn’t make a move to relax on one of the couches yet, hanging in front of you like there was more he wanted to say. There was more you wanted to say, too, but no good words came to mind.

But the silence wasn’t awkward. Again, Damian stared, and you stared. The glass he brought with him was set down. He put one fist on the counter beside the door, and like honey had been poured on your nerves, you realized how easy it would be for him to push you up against it. Kiss you senseless. Heat drooled off of him this close, and you wondered if he’d still lean in to whisper to you even if you were alone.

The lack of words drew to a point where something had to be said, anything, but his eyes felt so good on your skin and it was interesting to see him nervous. Something strange told you that Damian liked the silence, too.

You wet your lips with your tongue. Damian cleared his throat, and took a sip from his glass. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Between me and that guy?” You smiled gently, like you were reassuring him, and laughed to yourself. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen it, Damian. Poor kid really thought I was flirting with him. He’d totally convinced himself, it was hilarious.”

His profile was tense in the mirror, which you stole glances at to watch how the amber light played on his handsome skin. When Damian swallowed his drink, his throat rolled in the sexiest way, and immediately your mind fed you with visions of suckling, kissing, tonguing his neck.

“Why’d you ask?” Your eyes sparkled. Damian drew a step closer, and you used the opportunity to swipe a drop of alcohol from the corner of his lip with your thumb. “You jealous?”

It was the touch or the suggestion that made Damian pause. He didn’t stutter, but lagged over what to say, eyes vast and wanting as they raked over your face. “I don’t get jealous,” he clarified, “but… I do intend to be the only man to kiss you tonight.”

Damian’s hand took your chin. Your belly exploded with instant arousal, hitting you like a bullet of liquid lust. “You’re the only man who’s kissed me like that,” you whispered, taking his tie in hand. “I hope that’s always true.”

His voice had gone throaty. “May I kiss you again?”

Again, he reminded you.The two of you had kissed before, and it had been spectacular, terrifying, and excellent.

“Please,” you said, and Damian rushed to your aid.

Not a moment more was wasted. Curling his tie into your fist, you drew him in, slow and deep and wonderfully. Damian’s cologne hit you before his lips did, and both made your core throb for friction. Two broad hands slammed your hips into the door. His fingertips smoothed up the fabric of your dress, pressing you back and squeezing you in until you could feel his belt buckle against your belly. Damian was a sweet, magnetic kisser, chasing your lips like he was on a crusade to save them. Each time they met, he swam deeper. The point of his nose bumped against your cheek. You hummed your laugh against his lips, and Damian groaned as he pulled away, readjusting, twisting, testing the limits of the kiss. And you followed him at every step or more, revelling in his taste.

You didn’t want him to think you wanted the kiss to end, so you drew the hands braced under his blazer around his neck. Soon, that didn’t feel close enough, so you cupped each side of his face and pecked Damian until you were breathless. He brought you in until your arms were flat to his chest, the kiss almost vertical in its intensity.

He groaned when you parted, gasping and blinking just inches from your face. Your mouths were still connected by a thick string of drool, which hung until it split and clung to Damian’s chin and fell, marking a wet strip down into his collar. You panted, watching it go.

Damian left your waist to hold your wrists, keeping your hands around his face. He settled warmly into your touch, basking in it, and the pure enjoyment on his face made you smile. You wondered if anyone else had cared for him like this. If Damian had ever felt someone hold his face and treasure it. The thought gave you a strange urge, so you followed it.

You brought Damian’s brow level with your mouth and sweetly kissed his forehead. Then his nose bridge, then his temples. His face was so quickly warm that you giggled. In the most unsubtle way possible, Damian drew back his hips so you couldn’t feel the heat there, and closed his eyes, begging you to continue.

“I want you,” you whispered against his jaw.

Damian shivered. “You have me.”

You shifted one hand to his shoulder, giving yourself more room to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The line of drool was still there, so you cupped his skin and tilted his jaw up, and in one stroke, licked all the way to his earlobe. Damian’s moan poured from his mouth like a growing flood. You even felt his thighs press together between you, and pleasure tingled in your throat when he choked at the glide of your tongue.

He released your wrists, reached beside you, and locked the door with an audible click.

Then, Damian devoured you. Both hands hooked around your back, arching your chest into his, and finally, bringing his bulge between your hips. You clung to him for dear life, helpless as his teeth pressed into your neck like a vampire. Damian fed like one, too, suckling the skin there like he was starved. Your panties were so wet that you were desperate to get out of them, grinding your core against his.

Damian retreated, gasping. He licked the spit off of his lips and glared into your eyes. Bluntly, he said, “I want to eat you out.”

Once more, you kissed him, delirious with excitement. Your lungs burned for air, but your core burned harder for him. “Take off that suit and you can do whatever you want to me.”

His eyes gleamed. “I plan to.”

Quickly, you shoved your hands into his sleeves and pushed them off his shoulders, giving you a crisp glimpse at his carved shoulders. Damian's fingers blurred from button to button, but he saved the last for you on purpose. You worked in tandem and with little thought. If he could, Damian would steal a kiss, and you would bite his lip and chase him into more. When that last button was popped, his white button-down parted for a gorgeous plane of hard-earned muscle. His abs, ribs and pecs were pockmarked with scars, shrapnel marks and in some places, bullet holes. You stopped.

At your staring, Damian pressed his lips together.

“It's.. not appealing, I know,” he monotoned.

“No,” you disagreed, palming his stomach, “it’s impressive. All these do is show how strong you are, how long you've survived. You're so… built...” you didn't hide your thorough examination of him, “...I mean, we have to be to do what we do, but still… It suits you. It's sexy.”

You worried you'd ruined the moment with your babbling, but he glimmered under your praise. Damian brightened in the way only Damian could, smirking devilishly and towering over you like a supervillain.

“Sexy?” He pressed his naked chest into yours, whispering hotly in your ear. You could feel his silk tie pinned between you. “Does that mean I'm your type?”

You rolled your eyes. “Eavesdropper.”

“Temptress,” Damian replied, just as easily.

To claim your title, you found Damian's belt and pulled on it until the clasp gave. It made a satisfying whipping noise as you ripped it off of him, shouldered into his space to grab his waist in one hand, and cupped his throbbing boxers in the other. Damian's sigh came hoarsely and wanton from his mouth.

“Fuck me,” you demanded, grinning with delight.

Instead of wasting time on a response, Damian fell to his knees, a faithful worshipper. He did the gentlemanly thing and helped you kick off your heels. The tile was icy on your bare feet, but it only mattered until Damian ran his hands up your thighs. Sliding his fingers underneath the fabric, he bunched it up your middle, peering up at you smugly through his lashes. You could feel the debauchery of it - Damian, on his knees, tie hanging still from his neck, pinning you to the door. You, your legs spread and wanting.

Damian sucked in a breath. Your panties had an obvious wet patch, put there by him. He thumbed it carefully, watching your brows tense and your eyes close, basking in your initial whine. All of it enchanted him. You were soaking because of him, trembling because of him, marked because of him. There was not one place he would rather be than here.

Damian collected your sweetness and sampled the taste on his thumb, trapping it behind his smug smile. He ran his tongue over his teeth, spreading the flavor around his mouth, savoring it. As Damian rolled your underwear down your legs, his cock twitched in his open fly. You were beautiful. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

“Put your leg over my shoulder,” Damian ordered, smirking, “I want to taste you.”

Warmth exploded in your cheeks. “G-go ahead.”

Gradually, you situated your leg across his back, pussy tensing at the touch of the cooler air. This didn't matter for long. Damian's warm lips nuzzled and kissed the thigh closest to him, painting messy reflective circles on your skin with his kiss. Even that made your legs tense wildly, so Damian shoving his wet, blazing tongue into the folds of you cunt pumped moan after moan from your mouth.

“Damian!” You yelped.

Oh, he definitely liked that. Damian pinched your ass and used his mouth so passionately that his head shook back and forth. He darted right for your clit, sucking it until his cheeks were hollow and humming smugly between your legs with every squeal. Parting your folds with one hand, Damian kissed your core just as dirtily as he'd kissed you. The dangerous glint in his eye never faded. He plunges his tongue inside you in earnest, slurping obscenely, purposefully. There's no need for Damian to shoot you cute looks or put on a show - his skill was the performance, because that skill was unbeatable. Your pussy was already tender, fucked nerveless by Damian's filthy mouth. He vibrated your cunt with a deep groan before he drew away, face dripping with slick like a pornstar’s.

“You're suitably wet,” he said, matter-of-factly, “would you like me to use my fingers?”

All the strength you had went into a weak, pleading nod.

Damian was polite enough to grant you your bearings first, letting you grip his hair and squeeze the counter before he resumes. You give him the sweetest, most precious whine when Damian licks you open again. He wisely starts with one finger and builds from there, earning you with pumps and curls of his digits. Damian's talents quickly become a currency, one that you exchange with mewls and pants of praise.

“So good,” you whine, “oh, fuck - fuck, just like that…”

Damian smirks between your legs, jamming his fingers faster into your sore pussy. Lust sizzles low in your gut, ramped up again and again by his thrusting. It’s so powerful that you roll and buck off the door, your hips in his face. You want him - want him more than you want anything.

“You're ravaging,” Damian hums between licks. His eyes are closed, but that only gives the way he touches you more meaning.

It’s so surprising from his mouth that your hold on his hair slips, setting Damian free. He pants, catching his breath, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. The effort has slouched him from his knees to his calves, further spreading his legs and opening up the fly of his pants. A solid bulge has formed and spilled out there, straining to escape his briefs like an arm in a sling that’s too small, way too small, for someone of his size. Three of Damian’s fingers are still twisting inside of you.

Slowly, Damian tipped back his head and hung down, arranging himself beneath your cunt. “So beautiful.” His free hand splayed where your leg met your hip. “May I touch you?”

“I-I get it’s the gentleman thing to do, to - to keep asking, but fuck, Damian,” you cursed, “you can do whatever you want to me.”

Damian’s intense jade eyes were so dilated that you could barely make out the color. He dragged his cheek against your thigh, fingers still circling inside you, and grinned like a shark. It was probably a bad idea to give the heir to the Demon’s Head that much power over you.

His other hand squeezed your skin, slow to passionate, from your belly to your breasts beneath your dress. It’s clear by the way Damian looks at you that he loves what he sees. The texture of his veiny, calloused hands feels good on your waist and ass, dragging you closer to him. He chuckles when your back arches, when your nails press into his hands, his back muscles, throwing himself into his task. Damian’s nose prods your folds as he licks you clean, tongue dipping and sliding against your sore clit. It’s like he’s done this for you before, in this exact way. Though he utilizes his tongue the most, his lips too are brutal, matched perfectly to fit your pussy lips.

But that tongue - how Damian’s jaw isn’t tired, you don’t know. He parts your folds and latches onto your clit, flicking his tongue at superspeed until drool and cum bubbles from your sensitive core. Your back winds tighter at every vibrating lick, paralyzing the muscles in your legs with glorious pleasure. It’s so exquisite you start to melt to the floor like warm clay, only to be bolstered back up by Damian, both hands viciously squeezing your ass. He keeps going not for you, but himself, sucking down every last drop of your juices.

Shattered, you twist hopelessly into his mouth, chasing the strained feeling like it’s the last you’ll ever glimpse. “Fuck, fuck - D-Damian, ah…”

“Did it feel good when I made you cum?” He teases, “It certainly tastes good. All those filthy little noises you make for me…” Damian shakes his head at himself, like it’s too fantastic to indulge again. He leaves your clit with a satisfied kiss. “Beautiful.”

Once more, the words are surprising to hear from him. You always considered Damian the prude type, but here he is, on his knees for you, mouth and chin glittering with your juices while he teases you in low, sexy tones. At your surprised look, Damian has the gall to blush.

With his ring finger in his mouth, he ponders, “If a man has never said that to you before...” pop, “consider me surprised.”

“Never while finger-fucking me, at least,” you admited, legs still trembelling. “It was sweet. You… you meant that?”

It was hard to imagine Damian Wayne finding anything beautiful. Even you, who was pretty enamored with him, figured he would judge by quality or skill, not beauty. The words tasted new on his tongue.

Slowly, Damian stood and stretched, his shoulders tight after staying in the strange position for so long. Lifting his arms coincidentally let his waistband sit lower on his hips, flashing his green boxers your way while showing off the huge, carved muscles of his arms. Truly, Damian’s subtlety was unmatched. You didn’t mind his miniature bragging fest - not when he had so much to brag about. Eating you out had put an excited shimmer in his skin, so the gold-toned lights of the room reflected sexily off his sweat, already accenting his kissable tan.

“I did,” he told you, moving on to his sucking middle finger. His other hand played on your thigh, stroking it. “I’ve always been… drawn to you. Every mission we’ve had together. I have a profound feeling that we are very similar.”

You laughed. Not at what he said, but the timing of it. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same way?”

Damian made a face like his heart was doing jumping jacks. “A few hours ago? No. But now…” he barricaded you against the door, first with his hands and then his hips, closed in so tightly that you had to look past your nose to meet his eyes. “Your crush is adorably obvious. I’m annoyed that I didn’t see it before.”

Your rounded your hands against Damian’s shoulders, then his tie. It twisted nicely around your fingers, silky and cold in comparison to your flushed skin. You were tempted to fix your dress, but nothing, not even the world ending, could make you leave this room.

“My crush is obvious? Damian, all you’ve done for the last two hours is sneak me drinks and imply how much easier it is to be around me.” You grinned, “What’d you say earlier? There you are, Queen. Finally, someone intelligent enough to speak to me.”

Damian shrugged. “It’s true. Your knowledge of bioluminescent ocean life is fascinating.”

“I can’t believe you said that after giving me head for ten minutes.”

“It’s actually been closer to twelve,” Damian smirked.

Playfully, you pinched Damian’s cheek, then pulled him by the tie into a starved, energetic kiss. He must’ve been praying for your permission to continue, because the plan he’d been forming is quickly put into action. You’re hugged, arms scooped under your back as you kiss him. Damian surrenders his mouth to a bit of revenge tonguing while undoing your dress. No amount of kissing will pull him from his task, but your hand is a special case - it smooths down the front of his boxers and Damian melts.

“Y/N,” he groans.

Damian petulantly resists the temptation to close his eyes, but your touch is soft and sweet, demanding him to yield. Your lips suckle on his neck and Damian’s knees buckle. If getting his mouth between your legs didn’t turn him on, then this will finish him for sure.

“I missed you. Kissing you.” You purr into his throat. “One could never be enough for me.”

Is this what it’s like to be wanted? Damian asked himself. The only possible answer thrilled him, and he found himself pouring even more passion into the kiss, into you, wanting to share that rush of affection. You respond to his every touch with vigor. Damian’s heart stalls each time your thumb strokes his face, each time the other strokes him through his slacks.

“Me either,” he rasped, and helped you out of your dress. His tone was shy, but his words held too much depth to be meaningless. I want a wealth of them. I always want to kiss you, was what he wanted to say, but Damian was too embarrassed to raise the words. This moment was too special to ruin with his hopeless romanticism. He kissed you again and again, and to his amazement, you kissed him right back.

“Fuck me,” you begged him between breaths. “Right here. I don’t care if we’re caught.”

I don’t care if we’re seen together. I want to be seen with you, I’m not ashamed of you.

Damian cupped your face and almost knocked you both over with the strength of his kiss. Nose-to-nose, eyes closed, he commanded, “Bend over the fucking counter.”

In a blink, Damian turned and there you were, open and waiting for him. The sink was hip-level, so the bend was nothing but perfect - Damian could fuck you from behind and watch your lust-blown reflection without issue. Your perfect pussy drooled leftover cum down your legs, making your sex shine in the light.

In the mirror, you watched Damian’s eyes darken in delight. His pupils followed the line of your ass to your back, appreciating it like an artist would, like he intended to paint you later and needed to memorize the greatest shapes of your figure. The marble was icy against your hard nipples, which Damian had exposed when he’d impatiently shoved down your bra. Now, he cupped one of your breasts as he bent over you, kissing and suckling his way down your back.

“Perfect,” Damian hissed.

Shyly pressing your butt back against him, you buried your face in your arms and bit your lip, waiting for him to open you up. Damian’s shadow came to hover over you, and in the mirror his eyes were vicious, pools of circling sharks. “Are you ready?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Take your time.”

Though you weren’t being sarcastic, Damian took it that way and pinched one cheek of your ass. “With you? I will.” Then, with the same smoothness, Damian asked, “Condom?”

“Pill,” you replied, and Damian nodded his approval.

His pants rustled as they fell down his legs. Where you couldn’t see, Damian committed the sight to memory - his cock in hand, your pussy spread open, all for him. You squeaked when his hot tip touched your cooling clit, and squeaked again when it glided down your pussy and tested your opening. He knew he’d found the way when you winced.

In an unsurprising moment of compassion (for those who truly knew him), Damian kissed the top of your head and offered you his hand. “Would you like to hold it while I…?”

You took his hand and squeezed it to your chest, squeezing him closer in the process, too. “Thank you. Go slow, for this part…”

Damian complied. His sweat-sticky chest hovered warmly over your back. Even if Damian was big, you were wetter than you’d ever been in your entire life - any pain would quickly slide into pleasure. He braced himself with a deep inhale, and a hot, sharp sensation told you that he’d entered you. Where you choked in a needy gasp, Damian poured out his version of a whimper. You both held it. Then, breath by breath, you were struck with the realization that you’d been dying to feel this for weeks, for months, and only now was that heat being satisfied. Damian’s tongue and fingers had come close, but this is what would cure that aching emptiness - his big, girthy cock.

The deathgrip you had on Damian’s hand loosened. “You look perfect,” he murmured into your hair, instantly making your core flutter. “Oh,” he chuckled filthily, “you like that? Funny, how badly that idiot at the bar wanted to be in my place right now…but it’s me who gets to pound into—”

“Damian,” you warned.

He smiled smugly against your neck. “Nothing.”

Dutifully, Damian withdrew his hips, taking all of the heat with him. When he rolled back in, a hot, tingling sensation roared over all of your senses, and you let the moan at the top of that tsunami loose. It was clear that he couldn’t fuck you like he wanted to with one hand fished down at your side, so he glued both to the base of your back and started to thrust in earnest.

“So full...” You mewled, and Damian became a human pile-driver.

Your head seemed to roll off your shoulders with every crazed, rhythmic slam, so you grabbed the faucet and held on for dear life. Every slap was so loud, so powerful, that you prayed this one random bathroom in the penthouse was soundproofed. Anyone walking past would know you were getting railed out of your mind. You tried to compensate by moaning and squeaking quietly, but with force came volume. It didn’t matter how silent you were, Damian’s hips, your ass, the squelch of him inside you - each noise filled the bathroom, echoing off the tile.

The only way you could think to describe him was filling. First, there was the hot, cinching tension of his hands fused to your waist. Then there was his cock, which begged to be squeezed more and more with every pass. You responded to each throb with a mighty clench, which bent Damian over you like an animal, gasping for breath. His balls were painted with your slick. The closer you came to orgasm together, the closer Damian came to you. His hands migrated to higher on your sides, then up by your shoulders, then around you, where Damian kissed your back and rubbed your belly while he made love to you. He talked more than he moaned. Your ear was filled with sweet nothings, with vicious promises of what he would do with a whole night alone with you.

Damian’s reflection was wild with lust. He met your eyes as he fucked you, whispering how beautiful you are, how good you take his dick. His deep green eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out the brown in them anymore. The long muscles on his arms drew taut with each thrust, making his biceps bulge and pin your hips to the sink. Soon enough, a bruise would form from the pressure. One of many treasures from tonight - you would be thinking about Damian in his crisp suit for months to come, and the mess he’d become with you now even longer. Your pleasure built and built and built, like a nail struck further into the ground with a hammer. A very, very big hammer.

“M’ cumming,” Damian husked, slowing his plowing to a sloppy glide. Even his endurance was spent, and you were glad he’d spent it all on you. “Where d’ you…?”

You braced your hands on the counter, then on one of Damian’s. Together, you smoothed his digits down your stomach and between your soft, abused folds. “Inside me, please, please please—” you begged him, “fuck, a-as deep as you can go.”

As a test of your flexibility, Damian turned in and kissed you. Just as he parted your lips with his tongue, he parted your folds with his fingertips, overriding your clit as his cock throbbed inside you to the hilt. He took the invitation as a command. Damian pressed in until you could feel his abs mold to your ass, then stuttered his hips in quick, agonized dips to get himself there. With his fingers and his cock putting stars in your eyes, you finished first.

The white marble counter fizzed in your vision, until all you could see was that powerful, endless white, humming in your mind’s eye. Still, Damian wasn’t finished yet. You bumped your temple against his chin and hummed, “Cum for me, baby… fuck, a-ah!”

Your pussy’s throb raced and raced until it spilled over, pulling Damian right under the current. One clench and he was done for, so the velvety, periodic squeeze of your cunt emptied his store. You hung there, spasming in unison, until that overwhelming heat spurted in a ring around Damian’s cock and flooded out of you. Only then did his fingers stop on your clit, and you settled warmly in each other's arms and tried to remember your names and who you were.

Damian pulled out, then snuggled back in. He would’ve been nervous any other time, but he’d just put his dick inside you, so a little instinctive cuddling could be forgiven. On shaky legs, you turned around and sunk into him. You could tell by how he was eyeing the sink that he was desperate to get clean again, so with one kiss (on the cheek), you set Damian loose.

In companionable silence, Damian cleaned up and you collected the clothes abandoned on the floor. Staring at the corner where you’d just had the best sex of your life put an embarassingly pleasant warmth in your chest. Interesting, how one terrifying moment could become something as special as this. Fascinating, how you’d felt like you’d known him all your life.

“You know… I think you’re excellent, too.” You told him, finishing off the knot for his tie.

Damian dipped his head to hide his smile, but something so bright was impossible to hide.

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celmian · 7 months ago

Text

"Cooking for Alfred" Damian Wayne x OC's short fanfic.

/Adult Damian (University)

/warnings/ Dirty joke, (18+) language/

Hi, first of all this is just one of the part of the main fanfic I have been written. The oc is now dating Damian and she wants to cook for Alfred on his birthday. You can follow-up the main story in AO3. The fanfic is called 'Damian Wayne x OC : Hunting the witch'. English is not my first languages so, I hope I didn’t mess up anything.

Also, the oc name is Celine Constantine. She is John Constantine's daughter. Hope you enjoy.

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“…Celine, didn’t you used to tell me that you know how to cook?” “Well, cooking is not baking...” A picture of two teenagers approaching adulthood walking chaotically in the kitchen… Around the counter island there was powder and the egg panels all over were probably a strange sight that happened in Wayne Manor…a sight that Alfred Pennyworth would not have allowed to happen in normal situations because he wouldn't have to bother cleaning up the mess later.

...but today is Alfred's birthday.

So Celine has a crazy idea. As a resident, she wanted to give him a surprise. So, they have Bruce take the old man into town while the two young men,Celine and Damian, prepare a homemade birthday cake for the butler. The witch Constantine claims to have worked behind the stove at Fine Dining restaurant before...Damian doesn't know in which position. But from the looks of it, she isn't a dessert chef definitely...

“...Okay, I'm just one of those people who helps prepare the cold kitchen where they serve appetizers and such...but back when I'm in London, I always cook for myself. I just never made dessert. That’s all.” The girl immediately defended her cooking skills. “The pasta with grilled vegetables that you ate the other day was made by me...” With that, both of her hands are now placed on the hips.. “Really?” Damian Wayne had known that his girlfriend liked to help Alfred prepare food…but he thought she might just be chopping vegetables, preparing meats, whatever like that. Instead of making her own menu like she claimed.

…The other day, the pasta that Damian packed to eat at university for lunch was so delicious that he asked Alfred to make it a daily menu. The old man smiled suspiciously. It wasn't him who made it, but it was the witch.

“…Shall we make pasta instead then?” the young man suggested as his head recalled the rich flavor of the fresh pasta and grilled mushrooms, he had eaten the day before… “It's Alfred's birthday, Damian. We must make a cake...”

“But the others will come here soon…we have to prepare other kind of food anyway. Why don't you go take care of the savory and leave me here with the cake?” Both Richard Starfire, Raven the witch, and Stephanie Brown...including Tim Drake will be here today for the old man’s birthday. So, if they both waste time on one cake, they won't get anything done into pieces. The young man waved his hand and chased his girlfriend away from his dessert making area, earning a look of pouty face from Celine Constantine.

"..You? Are you sure you know how to bake?" The girl looked at her boyfriend's face judgmentally...

“Better than you do.” His hand moved towards the first cake that had been baked, which was so crumbly and incomplete that the whole thing had to be thrown into the trash… Only then the black-haired witch calms down and walked away to do her own duties as well...

A long time had passed and the whole kitchen was quiet…no sound except the sound of boiling water, the sound of beating eggs, and other sounds of cooking. Celine walked back around to find her boyfriend in the dessert kitchen area, which was also quiet. She saw him in an apron Standing and squeezing cream into a round disc of something. With diligence and expert look. The young girl watched as those slender, beautiful fingers gently put the round plates together. so, she couldn't help but tease him about how skilled he was.

“You make macarons? Wow. I didn't know that I slept with the Master Chef of dessert every day.” ...This French dessert is so hard to make. Even Celine couldn't make it through just baking a cake...but this Baby Bat showed off his skills in making macarons? Why he’s so annoyingly talented?

Damian didn't answer…he shook his head and wiped the sweat from his chin. That's when the young girl came to help. using the handkerchief that was placed on his shoulder to wipe away the sweat that was flowing down the small frame of his chin before smiling at the face's owner. “..Does this mean that if we get married you will be the househusband? Hmm? Dami?”

“Dream on.” Damian shook his head, expanding his words as he looked proudly at the work on the table. “...Housework is a duty that we must help on both sides. And I have to go to work…Father's company will soon be mine. If I only act as your butler, who will run the company? Hmm, Celine?” Those words weren't very serious... The young man kissed his girlfriend's head as a thank you for helping him wipe his face before walking off to explore the savory side.. “…You....You make a heck lot of pasta.” Deep voice hurriedly commented on the amount of fresh pasta that the young girl had prepared in a pot for the people coming to the party to eat. “Well, don't you remember the last time Dick ate the entire pot of meatballs by himself?” Celine reminded the young man of Bruce's birthday back in the middle of the year when the eldest of the family accidentally ate a meatball that Alfred had made for everyone all by himself. “You’re right. Richard must have eaten it all by himself.” Damian Wayne immediately agreed…he nodded before quickly helping his girlfriend clean up the kitchen. Prepare a plate for the guests who will be coming to the old butler's birthday dinner in a few hours.

In the evening, Bruce, Alfred and Stephanie, who went to help Bruce, arrive at the manor with Damian, Dick, the two girls from Titans, and Tim Drake is waiting. Of course, Damian briefly relents with Tim to stop his eldest brother from eating all the food before the birthday owner arrives. The old man walked into the house, filled with joy. Starfire and Raven were the ones who brought out the cake. The remaining people sang songs of blessing to the talented butler. Damian stood and applauded silently. Dick sings off-key and loses his voice as Stephanie tries to save the song from crisis but failed. And after Alfred blew out the candles, they all gathered around the grand dining table of the mansion that was full of guests today… “..This pasta is very delicious. Miss Celine, did you do it yourself?” The old butler was happy… that today he didn't have to prepare huge quantities of food himself. But what will the condition of the kitchen be like? This is something to worry about. “Yes.” Celine smiled as she proudly watched Richard gobble down her pasta from the pot…

“...What about macarons? Did you make it yourself? It's just as delicious as the one my friend brought from France.” Tim tried to compliment the new girl in the Bat House that he hadn't talked to much before Damian put down his fork and a smile curled his lips. It was then that Red Robin knew exactly who the person that made this tray of macarons was. “Oh my gosh…” Tim shook his head, his hand hurriedly put down the dessert… but after a while he reluctantly picked it up and ate it again. “Wanna bet on who made the cake?” On Dick's side, his hand was still holding the fork around the pasta. Turning to Bruce, who had been eating quietly by himself for a long time… The Dark Knight shook his head. Looking at the large chocolate cake with candles that had been sliced up by Raven and Starfire for the party. Those blue eyes looked at the cake for just a moment and then responded immediately.

“It’s Damian, obviously.” “But I think it’s Celine,” Dick quickly bets against… “..Ahem, Master Bruce, Master Richard. Gambling is not a good behavior to do on this kind of celebration....” The birthday man sitting next to Bruce couldn't help but cough after hearing that conversation… He took the cake from Starfire and held it in his hand before considering it without tasting it. “I think they both do it together.” “Accept the bets” Nightwing gave the old man a challenging smile before turning and asking to the two young men who the winner of this bet would be… “Hey! Little D! Celine! Who made this cake?” “It’s Damian.” …and the answer from the young witch made Alfred stunned because even though he was the one who taught Damian how to bake, he had no idea that the boy would be able to use what he had taught him to do it all by himself. Dick was annoyed but managed to get a smile from Bruce as the old butler and Nightwing took a cash from their pockets and paid the manor a bill each.

…and soon after the cakes, pasta, macarons, and all sorts of food were eaten by the people in the house, most of whom was Dick, the guests gradually left. They left Alfred a gift. Stephanie left the baking equipment. Damian gives him a cookbook. Dick gives him a new suit. Raven and Starfire buy him a new portable oven. Bruce gave him gloves and a winter coat, but Celine unexpectedly gave the same book as her boyfriend…

“Damn, I didn't know we were going to buy the same book... and it's the exact same one but in a different language,” the young witch complained about when Alfred has to have the exact same gifts but in difference language without nobody knowing it beforehand. “...And why are you buying a Chinese text cookbook? Shouldn't those things have to be transported by ship?” The two young men were cleaning up the house while Alfred was sent to sleep by Damian. Meanwhile, Bruce handles company work before leaving on late-night patrol. And Celine complains loudly about the gift she has just given the old butler.

“...Chinese recipes should be read in Chinese. Do you think Pennyworth couldn’t read Mandarin?” Damian frowned at the witch's question. She usually likes to buy books about the same story but in different versions or sometimes in different languages. But today she suddenly complains to him about it… “You can't read Chinese? Can’t you?” So, the young man made this assumption. …and damn, Damian Wayne really has good instincts for matters that don't matter.

The girl rolled her eyes, and the young man knew immediately that she was complaining about the whole Mandarin language stuff because she couldn't read it herself… “I swear to you. Damian…if you start speaking Chinese to me. I'm going to suck your dick until it's rotten-” “-下流 (Xia Liu)” …and of course, the mouthy young man wasn't easily fazed by that threat. He chuckled before starting to spit Chinese at the other person after knowing that she wasn't good at it...well, he's always been like this...loves competition like a psychopath. “坏蛋 (Huai Dan)” But then the black-haired witch immediately shot back… she put down the powder box she was holding and put it on the countertop with a look of trouble on her face amidst the young man's bewildered expression. “..I thought you couldn't speak Chinese?” “When did I say I couldn't speak Chinese? I just couldn't read it.” Celine raised her eyebrows with a defiant expression on her face… “Then from now on, I'll send you a text in Chinese-” -wad! And then the box of powder that had been put down in the first place flew towards Damian Wayne immediately as he continued to annoy her. The witch already knew that an ex-assassin like him would definitely be able to catch that thin cardboard box. So, she crossed her arms over her chest, as her boyfriend caught it with precision and looked towards her. “Did you know…one of your bad habits is throwing things when you don't get what you want?” Damian had seen Celine throw a pillow or sometimes an entire cigarette box at her father...sometimes she had a good reason for doing that. Sometimes there is no reason at all. Celine Constantine was spoiled rotten by her irresponsible father. But she is a spoiled person who knows that she has a bad personality…so Damian can accept it in somewhat of of way.

Because he's like that too. “..So? Do you want me to describe your bad habits too?” The girl folded her arms across her chest and raised her head to look at her boyfriend with another look of trouble.

“Go on…” The young man looked at those expressions. He didn't feel annoyed. Instead, he slowly walked towards his lover... a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as his girlfriend smiled back and knew that he was definitely going to find something to get back at her...

“Let's start with what? The size of your dick? I think it should be illegal-”

“-Celine, we are talking about my bad personality, not what you like but denies that you don't like...” Damian, on the other hand, quickly used his strong hands to gather his girlfriend's mischievous body into an embrace...watching her laughing, pretending to run away but not getting anywhere. “..So... What about your competitive personality? I swear, if I say I like a horse's cock, you will definitely going to lengthen it to compete with the hoarse-”

Phew!! ...and Celine's foul mouth made the arrogant boyfriend unable to bear it anymore. He took the box of powder in his hand that his girlfriend had thrown and dumped it on her head. He knew that Alfred would definitely curse him if he saw the kitchen floor right now. But believe him, it was very satisfying to see a person with a good mouth become silent because of the amount of flour stuck in her throat. She choked, the powders are now all over the sweet face attached to that bad mouth...

But Celine Constantine wasn't the type to give in even in the most demanding situations… She turned and smeared the powder on her boyfriend's face. Smeared white powder on his perfect body. Damian is inferior. His hands scooped up the powders that had flown onto the counter and threw them all over his girlfriend's face, causing a small war in the kitchen. The one that ended up with Alfred walking in… The old man wanted to come get some water to quench his thirst after waking up late at night. Before coming to see his nightmare come true. Two young people threw cooking flour at each other. Rubbing each other's hair like it was a fun idea...Even Richard, at his most naughty age, had never done anything like this before...Then both young adults get warned by Alfred. Damian Wayne, who even used to be a child with a loudmouth that caused a lot of troubles, but he never caused any mischief like this before. So, he gets warned too.

…but hey! At least this time Celine didn't start it. Didn’t she? “I got 1 point, and you got 0…”

After fighting until they both were satisfied, the two young people came to take a dip in the water to clean themselves together after the war ended before Damian had to go on patrol with his father... Celine acts like a little kid who likes to play with a duck. She lets the plastic ducky float on the water in the tub. Damian was forced to watch her play with it while having his lover sit on his lap in the tub.

“Why did I get 0 points when I really am the one who started it?” His thin lips gently kissed the shoulder of the person on his lap. His eyes looking at his wet girlfriend, he is frowning while asking... "..It's easy because I'm the one giving the scores." Celine pinches her boyfriend's nose at the same time as squeezing the duck in her hand...it very well triggers a feeling of annoyance from her lover. A strong hand squeezed that round cheek, causing her to scrunch up until he had to let go before the two of them could continue their war in this bathroom. “I think Pennyworth looks very happy… I have to thanks you for organizing this event for him today.” After pounding his girlfriend's face until he was satisfied, Damian Wayne hurriedly changed the conversation to the serious subject before Celine could react… Her expressions changed and nodded her head softly. Continue squeezing the duck in her hand instead of getting revenge on Damian... probably because she was thrilled that her idea made the old man smile this much.

“...Come on, don’t act like you guys have never done this before…” Celine pouted a little while Damian's smile twitched slightly at the corners of his mouth before he looked away.

“Actually… Normally we are all busy that no one takes the lead in this matter. Richard and Drake would just stop by for lunch on the day. Gave things to Pennyworth and left… We never got together like this. Until you are the one who suggested it.” ...It was probably the nature of Bat House to always forget the most important matters outside of their night duties… They often forgot the daily lives of those around them. It's something that almost every Bat member been. “..So, I'm glad you chose to be a normal person and stay here with Pennyworth.” Ever since Celine Constantine entered the mansion, things had started to change a little… Even though she is that kind of person who don't celebrate her own birthday but she did it for others. After receiving Damian's first birthday present. She organizes a party for Bruce. And this time it was Alfred. She comes from the house of an occult detective but doesn't want to continue being the occult detective. Like she knew how lonely their careers were…she chose to be a normal person and spent her time doing things that Damian and the other Bats couldn't. Both are things that John Constantine couldn't do either.

She chooses to spend time with those who she loves. Celine gently touched her lover's face when she heard that. Her hand slid down his face before embracing it.

“...Don't worry. Damian…Whatever you feel like you can't do or find it difficult to do. I will do it for you. You don't have to say or express everything to me. Just be with me, be happy…and I will do whatever you want to do for you.” A sweet voice whispered softly, kissing her boyfriend's forehead once...it was a voice that the young man felt calm after listening to. It felt like he didn't have to try so hard anymore…it felt natural. That would be more accurate to say...

…Damian Wayne closed his eyes and immersed himself in that embrace for as long as he could.

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P.s.: Damian in this fanfic became softer after dating Celine and she moved in his manor because she decides to study at Gotham's university. Her back story made her father doesn’t celebrated her birthday because John Constantine didn’t celebrate his own birthdays too. Hopefully I will post more of them in the future.

P.s.2 : Yes, She has a foul mouthed like her dad lol

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