Damian loves his weird arty partner more than he’d like to admit.
For my 1k event ◞ DC masterlist ◞ For this request!
The art studio smelled like turpentine, fresh paint, and the faint vanilla of the candle you always lit when you worked late.
You were a mess — as usual. Paint smeared across your cheek, charcoal on your fingers, oversized overalls covered in colorful splatters. Your hair was tied up with a pencil, and you were humming off-key while adding the final touches to a large canvas that had taken over three easels.
You didn’t hear the door open.
Damian Wayne stepped inside quietly, arms crossed, green eyes scanning the chaos you called “organised creativity.” He was in his usual dark clothes — crisp button-down, slacks, looking far too put-together for the mess of an art studio at 11pm.
He stopped a few feet away, watching you with that familiar mix of exasperation and fondness he only ever showed you.
“You’re going to get paint in your hair again,” he said dryly.
You jumped, nearly knocking over a jar of brushes. “Damian! You scared me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You left the door unlocked. Again. In Gotham. At night.”
You grinned, wiping your hands on your overalls. “I knew you’d come find me eventually. You always do when I work too late.”
He huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He crossed the room and stopped in front of your canvas, studying it with the same intense focus he gave everything.
“It’s… not terrible,” he said after a moment.
You laughed. “High praise from the great Damian Wayne.”
He turned to you, eyes softening as he took in your paint-splattered face. Without a word, he reached out and gently wiped a streak of blue from your cheek with his thumb. The touch was surprisingly tender.
“You’re a disaster,” he muttered, but his voice was warm. “How do you function like this?”
You leaned into his hand, smiling. “I function because you keep showing up to remind me to eat and sleep and not burn the studio down.”
He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he stepped closer, hands settling on your waist as he looked down at you.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said quietly. “Running around covered in paint like some chaotic muse. Making me worry every time you stay here past midnight.”
You tilted your head up, grinning. “But you like it. Admit it.”
Damian’s ears went faintly pink. He looked away for half a second, then back at you with that rare, soft smile he saved only for you.
“I like you,” he corrected. “Even when you’re a walking paint palette.”
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pulled you closer, careful not to get paint on his clothes, and kissed you — slow and sweet, like he’d been waiting all day for this moment.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Come home with me. I’ll make you tea. And you can shower before you track paint all over my floors.”
You smiled, brushing your nose against his. “Only if you let me draw you again. You make a very good model when you’re not scowling.”
He huffed, but his arms tightened around you. “Only for you.”
The two of you left the studio hand in hand, the city lights of Gotham twinkling far below. Damian Wayne — the serious, disciplined son of Bruce Wayne — walked beside the messy art student who somehow made his carefully ordered world feel brighter.
And for once, he didn’t mind the paint on his shirt when you hugged him goodbye at the door.
Because with you, even the mess felt like home.
a/n : sorry for no fics once again, been so freaking busy.
cw: they freaky, no plot im js ovulating, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv (shes on the pill), lots and lors of kissing, clark has alien peen, squirt lowkey
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klark cent put his lil krypton in ur mouth and he squirts and it taste of apple 🍎 (my headcanon)
then he put it in ur phagina and he make u cum a lot
becos clark is a alain he can keep going and his alein peen grows a second one and its just hangin out oh and also its a lot of inch like maybe 9 and it glows green whcih is actually why kryptonite is so bad for him. bc it makes his peenie a monsyer and it bite his lil meteors whih hirts a lot.
bruce comes home after a long patrol to his loving wife, seeking her warmth and comfort.. as well as other things
MDNI!’n
cw: again, no outright smut (i cant write two people doing it for the life of me) but they get fairly close to it
(a/n how do people title their wee drabbles im so lost i cant just keep writing the pairing)
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bruce come home and he sleepy. also he not wearing cloths becos he was in his batman suit and so he take it off and now hes coming yo hed. u are sleeping but not any more
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