Work Text:
Dinner’s Ready... or Something
The Wayne Manor dining room was unusually quiet, save for the faint clinking of plates as Bruce set the table with an absent-minded focus. Alfred was busy in the kitchen, leaving the task of herding the family to Bruce. Unfortunately, that meant delegating one specific task to Jason, who was lounging on the couch in a very Jason-like manner—feet up, book in hand, and zero intention of moving.
“Jason,” Bruce called without looking up from his task.
“No,” Jason replied automatically.
Bruce sighed. “Damian’s in his room. Go get him for dinner.”
Jason groaned, letting his head fall back dramatically. “Why me? Send Tim or something.”
“Tim’s still changing since he just got back from patrol, and you’re literally not doing anything.”
Jason muttered something under his breath about being unappreciated but finally heaved himself off the couch. “Fine. But if he stabs me, it’s on YOU.”
The Walk to Doom
Jason trudged up the stairs, muttering as he went. “Go get Damian. Sure, Bruce. Why not? It’s not like he’s a walking, talking murder weapon trapped in a kid’s body or anything.”
Reaching Damian’s room, he raised his hand to knock but froze.
From inside, there were... noises. Strange noises. Wet noises.
Jason’s brow furrowed. “What the—?”
He leaned closer to the door, pressing his ear against it. The noises were unmistakable now, a combination of muffled grunts and something that sounded suspiciously like... lips smacking.
“Oh my God,” Jason muttered under his breath, a wave of realization washing over him. His eyes widened in horror. “Is the Damian making out with someone?!”
“Are you kidding me?”, his face cycling between horror, disbelief, and begrudging amusement.
He debated walking away, pretending he hadn’t heard a thing. But Jason Todd was nothing if not a chaos agent.
Behind the Door
The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of Gotham's streetlights filtering through the heavy curtains. Damian leaned against the edge of his desk, his arms crossed, his usual composed demeanor undone by the presence of Marinette standing so close to him.
“I can’t believe you,” she murmured, her voice low but edged with laughter, her eyes alight with mischief.
“I wasn’t the one who suggested sneaking in through the manor instead of the front door,” Damian countered, his lips twitching in a rare smirk.
Marinette rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “I just wanted to avoid Alfred giving me that knowing look. He always knows.”
Damian’s expression softened, and he reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. “He’s too observant for his own good.”
Her breath caught at the simple touch, her usual quick wit faltering as his hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her gently toward him. Their foreheads rested together for a moment, the tension of their stolen moments easing into something softer, something undeniable.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered, her hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips.
“And yet you’re here,” he replied, his voice quieter now, almost reverent.
Marinette smiled faintly before closing the distance between them. The kiss started soft, exploratory, but it quickly deepened, passion igniting as Damian’s hands slipped to her waist, pulling her closer. Marinette’s fingers tangled in his hair, and she tipped her head back, letting him take the lead for once—a rare concession she only gave him.
The kiss became fervent, desperate, as though the outside world didn’t exist. Damian’s control, usually so precise, began to fray as he backed them against the wall, his lips never leaving hers. Marinette gasped softly when his hands moved to cup her face, his thumb brushing her jaw with surprising tenderness.
“You’re going to ruin me,” he murmured between kisses, his voice husky and raw.
“Maybe you need a little ruining,” Marinette shot back, her lips curling into a mischievous smile before capturing his again.
They were so lost in each other that neither heard the faint creak of footsteps outside the door.
Jason didn’t even bother to knock. He shoved the door open with his foot, leaning dramatically against the frame. “Hey, Demon Spawn, Alfred said—”
The rest of the sentence died on his lips as his brain caught up to what his eyes were seeing.
Damian and Marinette were practically plastered to each other, their lips locked, hands tangled, and the look of absolute shock on their faces when the door swung open was something Jason would treasure forever.
“Well, well, well,” Jason drawled, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “What do we have here?”
Marinette immediately tried to pull away, but Damian’s hand on her waist kept her grounded. He stepped in front of her slightly, his glare murderous.
“Todd,” Damian growled, his voice low and dangerous, “Get. Out.”
Jason smirked, clearly unfazed by the threat. “Oh, I’m going, alright. But not before I commit this to memory.”
Marinette covered her face with her hands, groaning. “This isn’t happening.”
“Oh, it’s happening alright,” Jason said with a laugh, already stepping out of the room. “And I’m making sure everyone knows.”
Damian lunged for him, but Jason was quicker, darting out of the room and down the hall, cackling like a madman. “ALFRED! BRUCE! You’re NOT gonna believe this!”
The Aftermath
The door clicked shut, leaving Marinette and Damian alone again. She looked at him, her cheeks still red, and burst into laughter despite herself.
“This is your fault,” she teased.
“My fault?” Damian repeated, his tone incredulous. “You’re the one who insisted we stay here instead of going out tonight.”
She shrugged, stepping closer and resting her hands on his chest. “Worth it.”
He sighed, his usual composure returning as he placed a hand over hers. “Jason won’t let this go.”
“Let him have his fun,” she said with a smirk. “He can’t make this any less true.”
Damian’s gaze softened, and he pulled her into a kiss, ignoring the distant sound of Jason’s laughter echoing through the manor.
At the Dinner Table
By the time Jason reached the dining room, he was grinning like a cat that had caught a particularly juicy canary.
Bruce looked up from his seat, frowning. “What’s so funny?”
Jason slid into his chair, grabbing a roll from the bread basket. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering how you’re gonna react when you find out that Damian’s got a girlfriend.”
The entire table went silent.
Bruce’s fork froze mid-air. Tim choked on his drink. Dick’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Even Alfred peeked his head out from the kitchen, clearly intrigued.
“What?” Bruce finally said, his voice low and dangerous.
Jason leaned back, savoring the moment. “Oh yeah. Caught him and Marinette upstairs. Tonguing. Real classy, by the way.”
“Jason!” Damian’s furious voice boomed from the doorway, but it was too late.
The family dinner was officially ruined.