Chapter Text
Chapter 1: The Search History of an Assassin
Damian Wayne did not simp. The word itself was a grating piece of modern colloquialism that Tim used whenever he wanted to get stabbed.
But as Damian sat in the backseat of a sleek black town car navigating the chaotic streets of Paris, his thumb hovered over his phone screen. He looked at the photo he had taken three days ago. It was a completely candid, slightly blurry shot of a girl with midnight-blue hair tied back in pigtails, covered in a light dusting of flour, waving a rolling pin aggressively at a disgruntled customer who had tried to cut the line at Boulangerie Patisserie Dupain-Cheng.
She had looked fierce. Terrifying, even, in a way that resonated deeply with someone raised by the League of Assassins. When Damian had stepped up to the counter, expecting the usual fawning or intimidation his aura typically commanded, she had simply wiped her brow, looked him dead in the eye, and said, "If you're here to complain about the macaron shortage, you can talk to the rolling pin. Otherwise, what can I get you, handsome?"
Damian had blinked. His brain, usually a hyper-efficient supercomputer, had short-circuited. He had bought twelve croissants he didn't want, left a three-hundred-euro tip, and walked out feeling like he’d been hit by the Batmobile.
He had been back to the bakery four times in seventy-two hours. His mission for Wayne Enterprises had concluded two days ago. He was supposed to be in Gotham.
Instead, he opened his browser.
[Search: Dupain-Cheng bakery opening hours] [Search: What kind of flowers do French bakers prefer] [Search: Is it legally permissible to buy a bakery in Paris as an individual] [Search: How to tell if a girl thinks you are a brooding American tourist or if she is just polite]
Damian closed the tab, his face burning a light shade of crimson. He stared out the window, completely oblivious to the fact that his phone was connected to the Wayne Enterprises secure cloud network.
A network heavily monitored by a very bored Tim Drake.
[TWITTER / X]
Tim Drake @not_robin
Uh... guys? I think the demon brat’s mainframe has completely melted down. Someone check the Paris grid.
Dick Grayson @night_winging_it
@not_robin What did he do? Did he execute a corporate rival?
Tim Drake @not_robin
Worse. I just checked the secure server logs for our Paris IP addresses. Someone has been googling "how to woo a baker" and "price of wholesale flour in France" from Damian's encrypted phone.
Jason Todd @book_and_bullets
NO WAY. THE ICE PRINCE IS THIRSTING FOR A PASTRY CHEF? 😂😂😂
Stephanie Brown @waffle_queen
OH MY GOD. Screen caps or it didn't happen @not_robin!!
Tim Drake @not_robin
[Attached Image: A blurred screenshot of Damian's search history showing "Dupain-Cheng bakery delivery radius" and "how to smile naturally without looking like a serial killer."]
Jason Todd @book_and_bullets
I AM LITERALLY CRYING. "HOW TO SMILE NATURALLY." HE HAS NO GAME.
Dick Grayson @night_winging_it
Pack your bags, everyone. We’re going to Paris. We have a ship to launch. #Daminette
Meanwhile, back in the town car...
Damian’s phone began to vibrate violently. It wasn't a standard ringtone. It was the specific, high-pitched alert he had set for when his siblings were breaching a security firewall.
He unlocked his phone. A notification from Twitter popped up.
@night_winging_it tagged you in a tweet: "Hey @DWayne_Official, do you prefer croissants or pain au chocolat? Asking for a friend who is currently booking a flight to Paris. #Daminette"
Damian’s chest tightened. His eyes widened in absolute, unadulterated panic. His breath hitched as another notification slid down his screen.
Trending in France: #Daminette — 12.4k Tweets Damian Wayne — Trending with: Bakery, Paris, Mystery Girl
"Drake," Damian hissed under his breath, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his phone. "I am going to flay you alive."
He quickly opened Twitter, his heart hammering against his ribs. A fan account called @Daminette_Is_Real had already been created, featuring a paparazzi photo of him standing outside the Dupain-Cheng bakery, looking longingly at the pastry display while Marinette smiled at him through the glass.
The top comment was from Jason Todd: @Daminette_Is_Real look at his posture. He’s completely whipped. Someone save the baker girl, he doesn't know how to act in public.
Damian felt a cold sweat break out on his neck. It was fine if his family knew. He could handle the teasing; he could stab them later. But if she saw this—if Marinette, with her bright eyes and her fierce, independent spirit, realized that a billionaire's son was tracking her bakery hours and causing an international internet circus—she would ban him from the premises permanently. Or worse, she'd hit him with the rolling pin.
His phone buzzed again. A text message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hey, Damian? It's Marinette from the bakery. You left your wallet on the counter today. Also... why is my name trending next to yours on Twitter? Are you okay?
Damian Wayne, trained by the world's deadliest killers to survive torture and war, stared at the text message and completely forgot how to breathe.