Not in the dramatic, alarm-blaring, Gotham-is-doomed way.
No.
In the Jon Kent complaining while floating upside-down in the hallway way.
“He’s impossible! He’s being impossible!” Jon ranted as he drifted after Marinette, arms thrown wildly in the air.
She carried a small first-aid kit, walking briskly. “Jon, what happened?”
“HE happened! He got scratched by some stupid meta-cat-thing, and now he refuses—REFUSES—to let Alfred patch him up. He’s barricaded himself in the training room!”
Marinette blinked. “He’s… hiding?”
“Brooding,” Jon corrected. “He says it’s ‘not a wound worth treating’ and ‘I have more discipline than to require assistance.’” Jon dropped into a dramatic impression of Damian’s gravelly tone. “He practically growled.”
Marinette sighed.
Yep. That sounded like him.
“Where is he now?”
“In there—” Jon pointed to the training room door, “—acting like he wasn’t literally bleeding on the mat.”
Marinette marched up and knocked.
“Damian? It’s me.”
Silence.
She knocked again.
“Damian Wayne. Open this door or I’ll tell Alfred you refused medical care.”
A sharp scoff came through the door.
Then shuffling.
Then finally—
The lock clicked.
Damian opened the door just enough for her to slip inside, then shut it behind her like he was afraid Jon would sneak in.
He looked… awful.
Or at least awful by perfectionist Damian standards.
His suit was partly off, his right arm held carefully against himself. A long, angry scratch ran from shoulder to bicep, still oozing slightly. His face was tight, jaw clenched, eyes stubbornly avoiding hers.
Marinette exhaled slowly. “Damian… why didn’t you let Alfred treat that?”
“It is superficial,” he muttered, sitting heavily on the mat.
“Uh-huh.” She knelt in front of him, opening the kit. “And do superficial wounds normally bleed like someone slashed you with barbed wire?”
His ears went pink.
“…It caught me off guard.”
She scooted closer. “Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
“You’re vibrating with irritation.”
“That is Jon’s fault.”
She bit back a smile as she snapped on gloves.
“Lift your arm.”
He hesitated—just a moment—but did it. The wound stretched, and he winced despite trying not to.
Marinette softened.
“Why didn’t you come get me?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t wish to trouble you.”
“Damian,” she scolded, “I literally live here half the week. You’re allowed to need help.”
His jaw flexed.
She dabbed disinfectant across the scratch.
He hissed softly.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“It’s fine.”
His voice was low, rougher than usual.
She worked carefully, close enough that her knee brushed his thigh, close enough that she could feel his breath warm the space between them. Close enough to smell the faint scent of leather, metal, and cold Gotham air clinging to him.
Damian swallowed—not subtly.
She tried not to notice.
Tried.
But Damian was looking at her now.
Really looking.
With the kind of focused intensity that made her hands shake.
“Marinette,” he said suddenly.
She blinked. “Yes?”
“You… shouldn’t come into the training room alone when I’m injured.”
“Why not?”
“It could be dangerous.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re sitting on the floor bleeding. The only danger you pose right now is bleeding through your shirt.”
He scowled. “It’s hardly—”
“Hold still.”
He shut his mouth.
She applied a thin layer of salve. “You know, you let me do this easier than you let Alfred.”
“Alfred is… persistent.”
“And I’m not?”
“You are…”
He paused, searching for the right word.
“…unavoidable.”
She choked on a laugh. “Is that a compliment?”
“Yes.”
Her cheeks warmed.
She finished wrapping the bandage, smoothing the tape gently.
“There,” she murmured. “All done.”
Damian looked at her.
Really looked.
“…Thank you.”
Her heart fluttered.
Before she could respond, the door burst open.
“HEY—are you alive or—”
Jon froze upon seeing the proximity between them.
“Ah. You’re being tended to.”
He floated upside-down again, pointing accusingly.
“You let her patch you up but not Alfred?!”
Damian glared. “Kent. Leave.”
Jon floated closer, whisper-shouting to Marinette:
“Seriously, what’s up his ass?”
Without missing a beat, she whispered back:
“Whatever it is… it’s sideways.”
Jon snorted loudly.
Damian’s eye twitched.
“Both of you OUT.”
Marinette giggled as she packed up the kit. “Okay, okay—he’s fine now.”
“Am I?” Damian muttered darkly.
She touched his uninjured shoulder gently.
His muscles instantly relaxed.
“Yes,” she said softly. “You are.”
Jon floated out, still laughing.
Marinette followed—but paused at the doorway.
“Damian?”
He looked up.
“You don’t have to hide when you’re hurting,” she said. “Not from me.”
His expression softened—barely, but unmistakably.
“…Understood.”
She smiled.
Then closed the door behind her.
On the other side, Damian let out a slow exhale, staring at the bandage she’d wrapped around his arm.
It didn’t hurt anymore.
It also wasn’t the wound that had left him unsteady.
Marinette didn't understand why her teacher had gotten them a trip for Gotham in Winter! No matter how much she asked, her teacher refused to let her step inside anywhere for a hot drink. She hadn't been feeling well and all she wanted to do was pass out.
Damian Wayne took quick notice that one member of the French class was lagging behind. She also seemed to be shivering, even though she was bundled up.
"Are you okay?" he questioned, falling in step with her.
She nodded and continued to walk along with the class. Obviously, she was not fine.
"Hey." he spoke, grabbing her arm, "Where are you?"
"Gotham?" she responded.
"Where are we going right now?" he pushed.
"Um...tour?" she answered, not really sure.
"What day is it?" Damian asked.
This time he stumped her. She couldn't answer and she wasn't even trying to guess. Something was wrong.
"Dupain-Cheng, hurry up!" shouted a blonde girl, "Stop flirting with the tour guide!"
Damian ignored her and waved off the tour guide his father had sent. Marinette began to cough. She was doubled-over, covering her mouth.
"You're ill." Damian stated.
She pulled her jacket tighter around herself.
"You should be somewhere warm; not out in the cold." he continued.
"I'm the class president. I have to be responsible and be an example to the class." she said, rubbing her head.
"Did your teacher inform you of these expectations?" he questioned.
The girl nodded.
"Does she know you are ill?" Damian pushed.
The girl blinked confused for awhile, but nodded. He growled and pulled out his phone, quick.
"Alfred, I need you to pick up myself and a student in the French class." Damian demanded, "She is ill and I'm not sure for how long. We need her to be checked out."
He heard a noise behind him and turned around quickly.
"Hurry! She just collapsed in the snow!" he cried before hanging up.
He pulled Marinette into his arms, and brushed the snow off of her. He took off his gloves and pressed his hand to her forehead.
'She's as cold as ice!'
Alfred appeared suddenly with the car.
"Take us to the cave; immediately!" he shouted, yanking off his jacket, put it around her and brought her into his arms.
The Wayne family was shocked to see Alfred pulling in a town car into the cave. They were even more surprised to see Damian carrying an unconscious girl.
Damian immediately hit the console for medical use and brought her to the table.
"Her temperature is low." he said, turning to Alfred, "She's as cold as Freeze. I think she has hypothermia."
Alfred quickly rushed over.
"She was falling behind the class and shivering. Her teacher knew she was ill and still made her go out. She told her that since she was class president, she had to be responsible and set an example to the other students. " Damian announced, "She was slurring her speech, couldn't answer my questions. She didn't know where we were going or even the day. She seems exhausted."
"Watch over her, Master Damian." Alfred suggested, "I'll fetch the heating blankets."
"Tim, call her parents." Bruce demanded, "Get her name from Damian. Dick and I are going to speak with her class. Jason grab her things from the hotel. Keep me updated every step of the way!"
Bruce and Dick quickly met up with the class at Wayne Enterprise before their scheduled tour.
"Something happened earlier today and we felt you all had the right to know. Your classmate, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, was taken to a nearby hospital." declared Dick.
"Wow. I didn't think that Marinette was that big of an attention seeker." Lila whispered a bit loud to Alya.
Dick looked up from his phone and stomped over to the brunette.
"Marinette is not an attention seeker, Miss." he berated, "How dare you imply that! Marinette was diagnosed with hyperthermia. Do you think that something that can kill her is just for attention?"
Lila shook her head and kept it down. Bruce immediately turned to their teacher.
"My son spoke with your student. It was during that time that he realized something was wrong. You are not allowed to single out your students and demand for them to be a 'perfect example' for the rest of the class! You knew she was ill!" Bruce shouted, "Marinette's condition could have possibly worsened drastically from being out in the cold. Knowing that a child was sick, you could have informed the desk or called ahead to let us know a student would be staying behind. We easily could have done something. You never tell a child that they are to be responsible for someone else! If Marinette dies, it will be your fault and I will gladly help her parents sue you for malpractice and get your teacher's license revoked! Have I made myself clear?"
Caline nodded, close to tears.
"If there is one more incident due to your incompitance, I will cancel your trip." he declared.
"What about Marinette?" questioned Rose.
"One of my sons has already contacted her parents. They feel you are incapable of being a suitable guardian for their daughter. She is now in my care. Another son of mine has gone to gather her belongings from the hotel." Bruce spoke.
"I will be your tour guide from now on as we no longer trust you to do your job." Dick announced, "You will all be returning to your hotels today. I will use today to organize your plans, on my terms."
As the class began to head to the bus, Lila turned to look for Adrien. She found him speaking with the Waynes.
"I can't believe he yelled at me." she whimpered to Alya.
Alya nodded, ignoring Lila's problem, "I'm going to check on Miss Bustier. We can talk when we get back to our room."
"How is Marinette?" Adrien asked, "Can I visit her?"
"Not right now." Bruce answered, "My youngest is with her right now, keeping me updated."
"Do you know how this could have happened?" questioned Dick.
"Marinette gets cold easily. I'm not really sure why. During the winter, she is usually seen with a hot drink. At her house, she has a heated blanket with her constantly." he explained.
"Thank you." smiled Dick, "If you think of anything else, let me know. I'm gonna let my brother know so he can tell the nurses."
"Wait!" Adrien shouted.
"Something else?" the eldest brother asked.
"Um, she'll be in and out of sleep afterwards, so maybe keep the lights off or dimmed. I've only seen it once, where she's passed out from the cold, but just keep her warm. Keeping her warm is the main concern. Warm blankets and hot drinks; soup if possible." he continued.
Chat, I'm fine. I just need some hot soup or a hot drink when I'm cold.
Are you sure M'Lady?
I'll admit that Winter is hard on me, but my family knows. I stay bundled up throughout school. I take warm drinks with me everyday and I have a very nice heated blanket with me at all times at home. Don't worry; I know what to do so I don't hibernate. Tikki taught me.
Marinette!
What happened?
I don't know! She collapsed and won't wake up!
He watched as her mother checked her body temperature.
She's freezing. Adrien, can you help me get her to her room and under her heating blanket?
Yeah! Is she gonna be okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?
No; she'll be fine. She won't be going to school tomorrow and she'll be a bit in and out of it, but she'll be fine with some rest.
I don't understand; is she sick?
No, Dear. Marinette doesn't do well with cold weather. She passes out when she gets too cold. Some soup and hot tea and she'll be back to normal on Monday.
'Marinette is...Ladybug!'
Adrien was shaken from his thoughts as Dick placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Thank you." he smiled, "You are a very good friend to Marinette to be so concerned for her and know so much about her condition. It seems like the others have no clue."
"Sh-She tried to keep to herself now." Adrien stuttered, still coming to his own realization.
"The girl that said she was an attention seeker?" he asked.
Adrien nodded, frowning. He watched the Waynes walk away, realizing how much of a fool he had been. He had pushed his lady away. He had made her suffer with Lila, constantly. Of course she was against giving Lila a second chance as Ladybug; she saw what happened in class.
You'd never want me as a civilian, Chat.
You don't know that!
I do. Everyone loves the hero, but me, who I really am; I'm nothing. I'm no one special. I see that now more then ever.
"Plagg, I...I messed up. I messed up big time." Adrien whispered, feeling his eyes cloud over, "I know her identity and I've only made her life harder!"
"Kid, it'll be fine." Plagg whispered back.
Adrien wiped his tears away, "Yeah. I'll prove to her how great I can be. First things first, call out Lila like she wanted me to do!"
Plagg purred happily in his kitten's pocket. He knew his charge would transform into who he was meant to be.
"Adrien! It's time to get on the bus!" Ms. Bustier cried out.
As Lila grabbed his arm, he shoved her off. He quickly grabbed Nino's arm and pulled him into a seat on the bus.
"We need to talk." he told Nino.
Jason returned with the girl's belongings and set them down in the parlor. He went back down to the cave to find Damian, asleep, with the girl in his arms, under the heated blankets. As he opened his mouth, Alfred motioned for him to follow him upstairs.
"Aren't you worried?" Jason questioned.
"We'll move her up here shortly, Master Jason." Alfred stated, "We are monitoring her health, right now."
"And Demon Spawn?" he asked.
"Body heat helps warm another body. We can keep her bundled up with the heated blanket, but it will only do so much." Alfred informed him, "Master Damian is seeing that she warms up faster so we can move her out of the cave."
Jason sighed, "Dick asked me to meet with him tomorrow for added security for her class. I'm gonna get some sleep. They sound like a pain."
Alfred nodded as he finished the soup and poured some hot chamomile tea in a thermos. He took the tray and left it near them, for when she woke up. Alfred looked back and smiled at his adoptive grandchild. He wasn't sure who the young girl was or what she had done to gain the ex-assassin's attention, but he was witnessing Damian's growth as a person. It only left him feeling proud.
Marinette blinked herself awake to find herself surrounded by darkness.
"Where?" she asked out loud, wondering where she was.
"Shhhh." Damian shushed her, "Lay down. You're at Wayne Enterprises. I'm Damian Wayne. You collapsed earlier." thankful that the lights in the cave were all off.
"I'm sorry!" Mari spoke.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. My brother spoke with Adrien. He said you get cold easily." Damian replied, "I noticed you were unwell earlier and brought you here to rest."
Marinette could feel the heat in her cheeks rise.
"Why are you holding on to me?" Marinette questioned.
"You were showing symptoms of hypothermia. I needed to warm you up quick." he answered, "I apologize if your uncomfortable."
"Oh! Th-Thank you!" Marinette exclaimed, "I was just curious, actually. It's so dark."
"Adrien explained you would be in and out of sleep. We just wanted you to be comfortable." Damian stated.
"Thank you." she yawned.
"Before you sleep, we have some tea and soup. Would you like something warm?" he asked.
"Tea, please." Mari spoke.
Damian gently eased her up and held the lid of the thermos to her lips.
"You were really cold." he stated.
"I'm sorry." she replied.
"You have nothing to be sorry for." Damian remarked.
Marinette leaned closer and could feel her eyelids getting heavier.
"I can leave if you prefer. I wouldn't want your boyfriend getting upset." Damian suggested.
Marinette yawned and leaned closer, enjoying the calming scent that was on him.
"No boyfriend." she yawned, "So warm." nuzzling right under his chin.
Damian could feel his cheeks warm as he held her close, lowering them back to rest. As he fell asleep, he was thankful the lights in the cave were off.
Marinette blinked away, adjusting to the brightness of the room. She looked around and saw she wasn't in an office building, but a bedroom. Next to her was Damian Wayne. Panicking, she backed up against the wall. Damian sat up and saw her slowly moving away.
"You shouldn't move." he spoke.
"Where are we?" Mari asked, keeping her distance.
"You are at Wayne Manor. We moved you here. My father no longer sees you teacher as an adequate supervisor for your trip. You parents agreed once they were informed of her decision to venture outside while you were ill. This will be your room, while you stay here." Damian stated, casually, getting out of the bed, "Feeling better?"
"I think so?" Marinette replied, still a bit confused.
"I'll get some soup and tea for you." Damian declared, leaving the room.
Marinette blushed as Damian returned with a carry tray. He sat it down next to her and handed her the hot tea. She took small sips. Damian noticed her wobbly hands and quickly grabbed the cup.
Damian took ahold of her hands, "I want you to squeeze my hands as hard as possible."
"What?" she asked.
"Squeeze my hands hard." he stated.
Marinette focused on his hands and squeezed, but even she could tell there wasn't much behind her grip. Damian slid his hands out of hers and got the bowl of soup. He took the spoon and dipped it into the broth, before presenting it to her. Marinette looked at him and blushed, before taking a bite.
'Damn my hands! Why does he have to have really dreamy green eyes?'
Marinette continued to eat. When she yawned, Damian immediately stopped and placed the spoon back in the bowl.
"Damian?" Mari whispered, "Why are you doing this? Not that I'm ungrateful or anything! I just..."
"Stay in bed." he spoke and left to return the tray to Alfred.
'Why am I doing all this? I'm compelled by some force to stay by her side, to keep her safe. She couldn't possibly understand that.'
When he returned, they began to play twenty questions: learning each others likes and dislikes. Damian found himself smiling more and more. As Marinette drifted off to sleep, he stayed by her side.
When she woke up once again, the room was dark. She could see a shadow slumped over by the edge of the bed.
'Damian?'
Marinette tapped him and wiggled closer towards the wall. She lifted the blanket and patted the space next to her. Damian crawled into the bed and pulled her close against his body.
'Warm.'
She wasn't sure why he cared so much about what happened to her, but she wouldn't let him sleep in a chair. He was going out of his way for her and it wasn't something she had felt for a long time; this amount of kindness.
Marinette returned to class a week later with a shadow next to her. The class could immediately see that the Waynes were extremely protective of her, especially the youngest. Damian stayed by her side constantly. He would buy her hot drinks, scarves, mittens, and beanies.
"Damian, you don't have to." Mari spoke, taking another hot chocolate from him, "You have no reason to spend money on me."
"What if that is my desire, My Little Bug?" he asked.
Adrien froze at the hidden meaning.
'Had she told him?'
" 'Little Bug'?" she questioned, "You know, most girl would find that offensive."
"You seem to get cold very easily, from what I heard, and when you do get cold, you hibernate. My motion stands." he declared.
Marinette pouted.
"But your cute so..... You can be.....My Ladybug." Damian stated.
Mari turned as red as her suit and gasped.
"Oh, did I strike a nerve?" he asked, "Has someone else called you that before?"
"Wh-What would that make you then?" Mari pondered, out loud, "If I'm.....'your bug', what are you to me?"
"You tell me." the young Wayne smirked, leaving her blushing.
Adrien quickly hurried to the front of the class. He couldn't bear to hear her call him 'her Chat Noir'. Somehow it hurt even more when he heard her call Damian, 'My Dove, My Saving Grave' the next day.
Damian wore a smug smile and began to call her 'My Angel'.
"What happened to 'Little Bug'? Marinette asked, blushing.
"Someone already claimed that and I want my own name for you." he answered.
Marinette never strayed far from his side after that.
"I upgraded your seat to first class. I figured you could use a break from the riff-raff and your uneducated teacher." he stated, carrying her bag through the airport.
"You didn't have to do that, but thank you." Marinette smiled.
Damian cleared his throat, "I'd like to keep getting to know you better."
"I'd like that too, Dami. That's why I gave you my number and email." Mari spoke.
"No. It seems I was unclear, Angel." he spoke, pulling her against his frame, "I'd like to get to know you as someone I see by my side in the future. Be mine, Habibiti?"
"I'd love to, Dami." Marinette smiled.
Adrien could feel his heart break. He was too late.
"I don't know how I'll be able to sleep without you by my side. You're much better then a heated blanket." she giggled.
Damian chuckled and kissed her forehead, "For now, one day at a time."
Their flight was called and first class was the first to board. Marinette quickly kissed his cheek and ran to the flight attendant. Damian watched her board and then walked over to Bustier.
"We have contacted your school board and they now know exactly what kind of teacher you are. Don't expect to be there long." the young Wayne declared before leaving the airport.
Lila immediately began to panic. Bustier was the only person who let her slide on things. If she left, she'd actually have to put in effort for her work. As it was, she hadn't been able to do anything to Marinette since she was taken away because she was sick. Then, she had her own security team. Now, she was in first class!
Lila began to form a plan and latched onto Adrien.
"Lila, get the fuck off me!" he shouted, loudly.
She could feel everyone's eyes on her as she loosed her grip on his arm. He immediately jerked it out of her grip.
"Adrien?" she questioned, with a smile.
"Stop clinging to me. It's annoying and I hate it. Go find someone to date if you want to cling to someone!" he declared before moving away from her entirely.
Alya patted her back as they began to board.
"Adrien has never been a touchy person. He runs away from fans all the time. Give him some space and ask next time." Alya stated, before heading to talk to Alix.
Lila could feel everything crumble around her. She was losing her biggest supporter's attention, Adrien was tossing her to the side after the deal they made, and now her 'friends' weren't listening to her? They were talking to each other instead of hanging off her every word! She knew one thing for certain. It was Marinette's fault, she just didn't know how.
Daminette December 2025: 15 "Enemies? No We're Lovers"
Paris was unusually tense.
Not because of an akuma—those were practically scheduled at this point—but because there was a Robin on the rooftops.
And Ladybug did not like him.
She landed lightly on the edge of a chimney, yo-yo retracting back into place as she scanned the street below. The investigation board she’d set up inside her head was already cluttered: Hawkmoth sightings, suspicious patterns, false leads—
—and one very irritating Gotham vigilante who kept showing up where she least expected him.
“Still glaring, I see.”
Ladybug spun, yoyo immediately snapping into her hands out of instinct.
Robin stood a few feet away, cape fluttering slightly in the night breeze. His green mask glinted under the Parisian moonlight, sharp eyes far too perceptive for her comfort.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” she snapped.
“You shouldn’t leave blind spots in your patrol routes,” he shot back.
She scowled. “You’re not even from here. Why are you still interfering?”
“I am assisting,” Robin corrected coolly. “Your investigation into Hawkmoth is inefficient.”
Her eye twitched. “Excuse me?”
“You have redundant data points and emotional bias,” he continued. “If you would simply listen—”
Ladybug stepped forward. “You show up out of nowhere, criticize my work, question my leadership, and somehow you think you’re helping?”
Robin folded his arms. “Yes.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Unbelievable. You clearly don’t like me.”
That gave him pause.
“…What?”
“You’ve been hostile since day one,” Ladybug continued, counting on her fingers. “You argue with me, contradict me, glare at me like I personally insulted your ancestors—”
“You do insult my methods regularly.”
“—and you call me names,” she finished triumphantly.
Robin blinked. “Habibiti is not an insult.”
“Oh really?” she snapped. “Because where I come from, mysterious nicknames usually mean ‘annoying enemy I tolerate.’”
He stared at her.
Then—of all things—he frowned.
“That is not… Ladybug, I call you that because—” He stopped, jaw tightening. “Because it is a term of affection.”
She froze.
“…A what?”
He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Habibiti. It means ‘my beloved.’”
The rooftop went very, very quiet.
Ladybug’s brain completely blue-screened.
“Your—your what?”
“My beloved,” he repeated, voice firm now. “My partner. Someone I trust.”
Her face felt like it was on fire. “You… think we’re—”
“Close,” Robin said. “Yes.”
“Partners?” she squeaked.
“Obviously.”
“Friends?”
“Certainly.”
She gestured wildly between them. “We argue constantly!”
“Yes.”
“You criticize everything I do!”
“Because you are capable of improvement.”
“That’s NOT ROMANTIC.”
Robin tilted his head. “In Gotham, it is.”
She stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “I thought you hated me.”
His eyes widened just slightly. “I would not argue with someone I hate.”
“…That makes zero sense.”
“I think I know my own feelings,” Robin said sharply.
Ladybug crossed her arms. “I highly doubt that.”
He bristled. “I am perfectly aware of my emotional state.”
“Oh yeah?” she challenged. “Then explain why you get annoyed every time Chat Noir compliments me.”
Robin opened his mouth.
Closed it.
“…Irrelevant.”
She gasped. “YOU’RE JEALOUS.”
“I am not—”
“You are!”
“This conversation is unproductive.”
She stepped closer, peering up at him. “You like me.”
His shoulders stiffened. “That is not—”
“You absolutely do.”
He exhaled slowly, like someone conceding defeat in a battle he never intended to fight.
“…Perhaps.”
Her heart skipped.
“Oh.”
They stood there, the Paris skyline humming quietly around them.
“…So,” Ladybug said carefully, “you don’t see me as your enemy.”
He looked genuinely offended. “Never.”
“…And you don’t dislike me.”
“No.”
“…And you’ve been calling me ‘my beloved’ this whole time.”
“Yes.”
She groaned, covering her face. “I thought you were insulting me.”
“I was flirting,” he said flatly.
She dropped her hands. “You are terrible at flirting.”
He was perfectly capable of handling social situations, tactical confrontations, emotional restraint, and—
…Apparently—asking a girl out.
Unfortunately, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not a tactical problem.
She was worse.
She smiled too brightly. She laughed too easily. And ever since the gala, Damian’s chest did that unacceptable thing every time she looked at him.
Which is why he found himself standing in the Batcave, arms crossed, glaring at Jon Kent.
“This is a mistake,” Damian said flatly.
Jon, sprawled on a crate with a soda, grinned. “Buddy, if your voice gets any tighter, you’re gonna snap in half. Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re vibrating.”
Damian scowled. “I require information.”
“Ohhh,” Jon leaned forward. “This about Marinette?”
Damian did not answer.
Jon’s grin widened. “It’s about Marinette.”
“Tt. I wish to inviter her to an event that I believe she will find pleasure in.” Damian snapped. “And I am not… experienced in this sort of thing.”
Jon blinked. Then slowly says "so... you want to ask her out."
Damian begrudgingly nods his head.
Then his face lit up.
“Oh my GOD. Yes. Finally. Okay. Rule one—confidence.”
“I have confidence.”
“Not murder confidence. Romantic confidence.”
“…Explain.”
Jon hopped off the crate. “You need a pick-up line.”
Damian stiffened. “Absolutely not.”
“C’mon! Girls love pick-up lines.”
“Girls love sincerity,” Damian countered. “And competence.”
Jon winced. “You sound like Batman.”
Damian smirked faintly. “Genetics.”
Jon waved him off. “Just try one. Like—classic stuff.”
Damian sighed. “Fine. Provide an example.”
Jon grinned wickedly.
“Did it hurt… when you fell from heaven?”
Damian stared at him.
“…That is the worst sentence I have ever heard.”
“Trust me,” Jon said. “It works.”
Damian did not trust him.
Later — Wayne Manor
Marinette sat cross-legged on the couch, sketchbook balanced on her knees, pencil tapping absentmindedly as she hummed to herself. Sunlight filtered through the windows, warming the room.
She looked peaceful.
Damian paused in the doorway.
This was it.
He squared his shoulders, walked in with purpose, and stopped directly in front of her.
Marinette looked up, startled—and then smiled.
“Oh! Hi, Damian.”
His heart immediately tried to escape his ribcage.
“Hello,” he said stiffly.
She tilted her head. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
Pause.
“No.”
She laughed softly. “What’s up?”
This was it. Pick-up line. Execute.
Damian took a breath.
“Did it hurt,” he said seriously, “when you fell from heaven?”
Marinette blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then she burst out laughing.
“I—what?”
Damian’s ears burned. “That was ill-advised.”
She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh harder. “I’m sorry! I just—wow, I didn’t expect that from you.”
“It was recommended,” he muttered darkly. “By Jon.”
“Ohhh,” she giggled. “That explains everything.”
Damian groaned. “I knew I should have consulted Grayson.”
She smiled warmly. “It was… kind of cute though.”
His head snapped up. “It was?”
“Yeah,” she said, eyes bright. “Very ‘trying really hard but failing adorably.’”
“I do not fail adorably.”
She grinned. “You do today.”
He sighed, defeated. “May I try again?”
She nodded. “Go for it.”
Damian straightened, abandoned the script entirely.
“Marinette,” he said, voice lower, steadier, “I find your presence… enjoyable. I think about you more than is efficient. And I would like to spend time with you. Alone. Voluntarily.”
She blinked—then smiled slowly.
“That,” she said, “was much better.”
His shoulders loosened slightly. “So…?”
She closed her sketchbook and stood. “So, are you asking me out?”
“Yes.”
Her smile softened. “I’d like that.”
His breath left him in a rush. “You would?”
“I would,” she confirmed.
A beat.
Then, teasingly, she added,
“But for the record—”
She stepped closer, eyes sparkling.
“I didn’t fall from heaven.”
Damian tilted his head. “No?”
“No,” she said. “I tripped over a very intense boy with green eyes.”
His lips twitched despite himself.
“…Did it hurt?”
She laughed, reaching for his hand.
“Only a little.”
And for once—
Damian Wayne felt like he’d said exactly the right thing. 💚
Daminette December 2025: 29 “Compromising Positions”
Titans Tower was supposed to be calm.
That was the expectation.
The theory.
The lie.
Marinette had believed it too—right up until she found herself half-balanced on a rolling ladder in the Tower’s library, one knee braced against a shelf, arms stretched high above her head while Damian Wayne stood far too close behind her.
“This,” Marinette muttered, trying not to wobble, “was a bad idea.”
“It was your idea,” Damian replied evenly, one hand gripping the ladder to keep it steady. “You insisted the book could only be reached from this angle.”
“I insisted because you said climbing the shelves like a gargoyle was ‘inefficient.’”
“It is,” he said. “And undignified.”
She snorted. “You’re literally named after a gargoyle.”
“That is not relevant.”
Marinette reached higher, fingers brushing the spine of the book she’d been hunting for since Raven mentioned it earlier. “Okay—okay—almost got it—”
The ladder shifted.
She squeaked.
Damian moved instantly, reflexes honed by years of training. His arms snapped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest before gravity could win.
The book slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a dull thump.
So did the conversation.
Marinette froze.
She was suddenly aware of everything.
The warmth of Damian’s hands at her waist.
The solid press of his chest against her back.
The way her foot had slipped and was now hooked awkwardly around his thigh.
Oh.
Oh no.
“This,” Marinette said faintly, “is… not ideal.”
Damian did not answer.
Which was concerning.
She turned her head just enough to look back at him.
His face was very close. Too close. Emerald eyes dark, focused—not on the ladder, or the book, or anything remotely responsible—but on her.
“We are,” he said slowly, “in a compromising position.”
She let out a nervous laugh. “You don’t say.”
His grip tightened—just a fraction. Protective. Careful.
“You are secure,” he added. “I will not let you fall.”
Her heart stuttered. “I wasn’t… worried.”
He hesitated. “…You should be.”
“Damian.”
“Yes?”
“You’re staring.”
“I am assessing.”
“Assessing what?”
“…The situation.”
Marinette raised an eyebrow. “Your face is very close for an assessment.”
“So is yours.”
They stared at each other.
The air between them felt charged—like the second before lightning struck.
Marinette swallowed. “You can put me down now.”
“I cannot,” Damian said.
“Why not?”
“Because,” he admitted stiffly, “if I release you too quickly, you will lose balance.”
“That makes sense,” she said softly. “But also—”
“Yes?”
“You’re kind of… holding me like you don’t want to let go.”
His breath hitched.
“That,” he said quietly, “is… also possible.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Damian…”
“I am aware this is inappropriate,” he continued, voice lower now. “But I find that I do not wish to change it.”
Her pulse jumped.
She shifted just enough for her foot to find the floor again. Slowly, carefully, she turned in his arms until she was facing him—still close, still caught.
Neither of them moved away.
“So,” Marinette said, attempting casual and failing, “successful date, huh?”
“Yes,” Damian said immediately. Then paused. “…Very.”
“And now we’re tangled in a library.”
“An unfortunate but acceptable development.”
She laughed softly. “Only you would say that.”
His expression softened at the sound.
Damian lifted one hand—hesitated—then brushed his thumb against her knuckles. “The others,” he said quietly, “will undoubtedly mock us.”
“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed. “They’re probably watching the security feed right now.”
He scowled faintly. “I will have words with them.”
“Later,” Marinette said gently.
He met her gaze. Searching. Careful.
“Do you object?” he asked.
Her smile was small. Warm. Certain.
“No.”
Something in Damian eased—like tension he hadn’t realized he was holding finally let go.
“Then,” he said, voice soft but sure, “I consider this… acceptable.”
She leaned in, resting her forehead against his. “You’re doing great, you know.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if committing the feeling to memory.
Then—slowly, deliberately—he kissed her.
Not rushed. Not clumsy.
Just sure.
When they pulled back, both a little breathless, Marinette smiled.
“Well,” she said, “worth the risk.”
Damian glanced at the ladder, then back at her. “Next time,” he said solemnly, “we use a step stool.”
She laughed. “Deal.”
Behind them, the book remained forgotten on the floor.
Not Gotham-quiet—never that—but softer than usual. The city hummed below them, distant traffic and glowing windows stretching endlessly into the night. Above, the sky was clear, scattered with stars that looked sharper than Marinette remembered seeing in Paris.
She lay flat on her back atop a blanket Damian had wordlessly placed down, hands folded on her stomach, staring upward.
“They look brighter here,” she murmured.
Damian sat beside her, one knee drawn up, cape discarded nearby. “Gotham’s light pollution is… selective,” he said. “Certain rooftops avoid it.”
She smiled. “You sound like you planned this.”
He didn’t deny it.
Marinette turned her head slightly to look at him. Moonlight caught in his emerald eyes, making them glow faintly—almost unreal.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“Am I not allowed?” she teased.
He considered that. “You are… permitted.”
She laughed softly and rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “You know, back home, when I couldn’t sleep, I used to imagine the stars were watching over me. Like little reminders that I wasn’t alone.”
Damian’s gaze softened. “And did it help?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Other times it just made me feel small.”
He was quiet for a moment, then lay down beside her, mirroring her position so they faced each other.
“You are not small,” he said firmly. “You are… remarkable. You alter outcomes simply by existing.”
Her cheeks warmed. “That’s a very dramatic way to say ‘you matter.’”
“It is accurate,” he replied. “Drama is incidental.”
She smiled, then glanced back up at the sky. “Do you ever think about where you’d be if things were different?”
“Yes,” Damian said immediately. “And I dislike those thoughts.”
She hummed. “Me too.”
The stars blinked quietly above them, distant and patient.
After a moment, Marinette spoke again, softer this time. “When I’m with you… everything feels calmer. Like the noise fades.”
Damian’s breath hitched, just slightly.
“That is… mutual,” he said. “When you are near, my thoughts become less… combative.”
She turned back to him, eyes gentle. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
He frowned faintly. “It is insufficient.”
Before she could respond, he reached up and brushed his thumb lightly against her cheek, tentative but sincere.
“You are like starlight,” Damian said. “Constant. Quietly powerful. Even when obscured, you remain.”
Marinette’s heart fluttered.
“Damian,” she whispered, voice barely there, “you’re really good with words when you don’t try so hard.”
His lips curved just a little. “Do not tell anyone.”
She leaned closer, their foreheads touching. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
They stayed like that, breathing the same air, the city forgotten.
Above them, the stars shone on—unchanging, steady.
The penthouse was quiet in the way only Gotham nights ever were—distant sirens far below, city lights bleeding through the tall windows, the hum of something powerful and alive outside while the world inside felt suspended in time.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood barefoot on the cool marble floor, turning the engagement ring on her finger for what had to be the hundredth time.
It still didn’t feel real.
Damian Wayne—her Damian—was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, tie long abandoned, moving with the restless energy he always had when his emotions were too big to sit comfortably in his chest. He kept glancing at her like he needed to confirm she was still there.
Still his.
She smiled softly and walked toward him, silk robe brushing her thighs. “You know,” she said lightly, “you’re pacing.”
“I am not pacing,” Damian replied without looking up.
“You’ve walked the length of the kitchen six times.”
“That is not pacing,” he insisted. “That is… recalibrating.”
She laughed quietly and stepped into his space, resting her hands against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat—fast, strong, just a little unsteady.
“You okay?” she asked gently.
He finally looked down at her, emerald eyes intense and warm all at once. “I am engaged,” he said. “To you.”
“Yes,” she teased. “I noticed.”
“I am experiencing an excess of… emotion,” he admitted stiffly. “It is distracting.”
Marinette’s smile turned slow and knowing. “I can help with that.”
She leaned in, brushing her lips against his jaw instead of his mouth. Damian sucked in a sharp breath despite himself.
“Marinette,” he warned.
She hummed innocently, fingers sliding under his shirt, tracing warm skin. “What?”
“You are doing that on purpose.”
“Doing what?” she asked, lips ghosting over his ear.
“This,” he said, voice already lower.
She grinned and kissed him properly this time—soft at first, then deeper, lingering until his hands came up to her waist like he couldn’t stop himself anymore.
“That’s better,” she murmured against his mouth.
He exhaled shakily. “You are a menace.”
“And you love me.”
“Yes,” he said instantly. “Deeply.”
That made her laugh, soft and fond, as she tugged him toward the living room. The city stretched out behind them like a backdrop made just for this moment.
Damian backed her gently against the couch, hands framing her face like she was something precious. His kiss slowed, reverent, like he was memorizing her. Marinette responded in kind—then deliberately slid her knee between his legs.
He froze.
“…You are doing it again,” he said hoarsely.
“Relax,” she whispered. “I’m just unwrapping my fiancé.”
His breath stuttered at the word.
Before he could respond, a loud, aggressive knock echoed through the penthouse.
BANG BANG BANG.
“DAMIAN!” Jason’s voice boomed through the door. “OPEN UP, RICH BOY.”
Marinette stiffened. Damian’s soul visibly left his body.
Another knock. Louder.
“We brought champagne,” Dick added cheerfully. “And inappropriate jokes.”
Tim’s muffled voice followed. “I told you we should’ve texted.”
Damian closed his eyes. Slowly. Like he was praying for patience.
“They are here,” he said flatly.
“Yes,” Marinette said, trying not to laugh. “I gathered.”
Jason knocked again. “C’mon, demon spawn! We know you’re in there!”
Damian leaned his forehead against hers. “I apologize.”
“For what?” she asked.
“For what I am about to do to my brothers.”
She giggled. “Let me fix my robe first, assassin.”
He helped her adjust it—very deliberately keeping his hands where they should be—and then stalked to the door, yanking it open.
Jason immediately smirked. “Wow. That took longer than expected.”
Dick’s grin faded as he took in the scene—Damian flushed, shirt rumpled, Marinette behind him glowing and very clearly not surprised.
“Oh,” Dick said. “…Oh.”
Tim’s eyes widened in horror. “No. No no no—”
Damian crossed his arms. “State your business.”
Jason looked past him at Marinette and laughed. “Damn, sorry to interrupt, Pixie.”
She smiled sweetly. “You’re forgiven.”
Jason winked.
Tim made a choking sound. “WHY DID YOU WINK.”
Dick coughed into his hand. “Okay! Congratulations! Very happy for you! We will—uh—leave!”
Jason backed away slowly, still grinning. “You two enjoy… whatever we just ruined.”
They retreated down the hall at record speed.
Damian shut the door and leaned against it, mortified.
“I am never forgiving them,” he muttered.
Marinette walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I think it was kind of funny.”
He turned, burying his face against her shoulder. “I was emotionally prepared for many things tonight. This was not one of them.”
She kissed his temple. “We have all the time in the world.”
He looked at her then—soft, certain, utterly in love. “We do.”
She smiled and tugged him back toward the couch. “Now… where were we?”
The gala glittered like a constellation brought to earth—gold chandeliers dripping light, champagne bubbling in crystal flutes, and Gotham’s elite gliding across the ballroom floor in shimmering gowns and tailored suits.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng smoothed her dress, a midnight-blue gown she’d designed herself, soft fabric brushing her calves as she moved. She stuck close to the wall for the moment, not quite ready to step into the swirl of dancing couples.
Her adoptive uncle, Jagged Stone, had brought her as his guest.
Correction: He dragged her here as his “rockin’ designer niece,” proudly telling anyone who would listen that she was the future of fashion.
Right now, he was across the room chatting with a tall man in a black tux.
Marinette admired the decorations, the musicians, the architecture… anything to keep from feeling out of place among Gotham’s wealthiest families.
“Marinette!” Jagged Stone waved her over wildly. “Come here, sweetheart! I want you to meet an old friend of mine!”
She hurried over, cheeks warm. “Uncle Jagged, you don’t have to yell—”
But the words fell away when she saw who he was standing with.
Bruce Wayne.
The Bruce Wayne.
Gotham’s richest man, most photographed bachelor, and—apparently—Jagged’s friend.
Bruce smiled politely. “Jagged’s told me a lot about you, Marinette. It’s lovely to finally meet the famous designer he keeps bragging about.”
“Oh! I’m not famous, I just—uh—sew a lot,” Marinette stammered.
Jagged slung an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t let her fool you! She’s brilliant. And—” he nudged Bruce, “—she’s exactly Damian’s age.”
Marinette blinked. “Damian?”
Bruce turned, and that was when she noticed the boy standing beside him—hands shoved in the pockets of his dress pants, posture rigid, expression thoroughly unimpressed with the universe.
Damian Wayne.
Sharp green eyes.
Perfectly combed hair.
A tuxedo that fit him too well.
Then Bruce’s hand rested on the shoulder of a boy beside him—sharp-featured, dark-haired, his posture stiff as stone. His eyes scanned everything, analyzing, calculating.
“This is my youngest,” Bruce said. “Damian.”
Damian Wayne gave the smallest, stiffest nod. Marinette returned it shyly.
Bruce leaned in closer to his son, voice low but not low enough.
“Ask her for the first dance.”
Damian’s eyes widened. “Father, no.”
“Yes.”
“This is unnecessary.”
“It’s polite.”
“I refuse.”
“You will ask her.”
“It’s archaic—”
“Damian.”
A long, painful pause.
Damian’s jaw twitched. Then, slowly, he turned to Marinette.
“…Would you care to dance?” he said, stiff as a board.
Marinette blinked, startled. “I—um—sure. Yes.”
Damian looked almost… relieved? He extended a hand, and she placed hers gently in it. His touch was warm, careful in a way she hadn’t expected.
They stepped toward the dance floor just as the lights dimmed and the opening notes of Golden Hour drifted through the ballroom.
Marinette bit back a laugh at the sheer pain on his face. “Sure.”
He offered his hand. She took it.
And the music shifted—
It was just two lovers… Sitting in the car, listening to Blonde, fallin’ for each other
They stepped onto the dance floor.
Damian’s hand rested lightly at her waist, cautious, as if afraid she’d shatter. Marinette placed her free hand in his and felt the slightest tension in his fingers.
“You look uncomfortable,” she whispered.
“I am,” Damian admitted bluntly. “I do not… enjoy crowds.”
“Me neither,” she said softly.
His eyes flicked to hers—sharper now, curious.
“You hide it better.”
She smiled a little. “Years of practice.”
The melody swelled around them, warm and dreamy. They swayed automatically, their steps syncing quicker than either expected.
I was all alone with the love of my life… She’s got glitter for skin… My radiant beam in the night
“You dance well,” Marinette said.
Damian blinked. “I was trained.”
“Like… ballroom lessons?”
“And combat footwork.”
She snorted before she could stop herself. Damian’s lips twitched—the ghost of a smile.
“I didn’t mean to amuse you.”
“Oh no, you absolutely did,” she teased.
He looked at her again, really looked. Marinette felt heat bloom in her cheeks.
They turned slightly, and Marinette caught sight of the Wayne family across the room—Dick elbowing Jason, Tim whispering something to Duke, Barbara trying (and failing) not to grin. Even Alfred was watching, fond amusement in his eyes.
Jagged was right beside them, phone out, recording gleefully.
I don’t need no light to see you shine… It’s your golden hour
The lights dimmed to a golden wash, and Marinette’s dark hair glowed beneath it. Damian stared longer than was polite, struck by something he couldn’t identify.
Marinette felt his gaze and shifted nervously. “You’re staring.”
He didn’t look away.
“I know.”
And something in his voice—soft, low—sent a flutter through her chest.
They kept dancing, steps gliding, movements slowing.
Marinette rested her hand lightly against his shoulder. Damian’s fingers pressed a little firmer at her waist.
We were just two lovers... Feet up on the dash, drivin' nowhere fast
“Your uncle is loud,” Damian murmured.
“You have no idea.”
“My family is… observing us.”
Marinette glanced over Damian’s shoulder, having already seen them.
Every Wayne.
Every single one of them.
Staring.
And Jagged was right there tearing up as he continued to record.
Burnin' through the summer... Radio on blast, make the moment last She got solar power
Marinette flushed bright red. Embarrassed by everyone watching them
“They have no concept of subtlety.” Damian sighed.
“Your father forced you to dance with me.” Marinette clarified.
“My father forced me to do many things tonight,” Damian muttered, “but this… is not the worst.”
Her heart skipped again.
Minutes feel like hours... She knew she was the baddest, can you even imagine... Fallin' like I did?
Their awkward small talk faded.
Their steps slowed even more.
Marinette felt it first—the shift, the soft click between them, the way the world dimmed around the edges.
Damian felt it next.
He looked at her again, and this time there was no guarded glare, no stiffness—just something warm and startled, like he’d stumbled into sunlight without meaning to.
A glorious look in her eyes... My angel of light
They didn’t stop dancing when the song ended.
They didn’t even notice.
It was the next song starting and the applause around them that finally broke the spell.
My radiant beam in the night... I don't need no light to see you Shine
Marinette blinked, breath shaky. “The song… ended.”
“So it did.”
They still hadn’t let go.
Damian slowly lowered his hand from her waist, suddenly unsure.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“For the dance?”
“For not stepping on my foot.”
She laughed softly. “Anytime.”
It's your Golden Hour
Their families continued to stare.
Jagged whispered, far too loudly:
