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“Hey, Marinette!” Damian called from the doorway.
“What?” she hollered back.
“Do you have a bandaid?”
Marinette quickly turned around. Was Damian hurt? Then, she paused. The raven-haired boy was infamous for pulling tricks. She narrowed her eyes. “No, why?”
“Because I scraped my knee running away from you.”
Marinette blinked. Once. Twice. “Damian,” came her reply, tone threatening.
“Yes honey?”
“You have approximately three seconds to run away before I chuck my clothes iron at you.”
And Damian ran at the speed of light.
…
It was a surprisingly normal day with the bat family. Everybody was doing what everybody was doing. Well, all except Damian, who was trying very hard to get marinette to shove tissues down his throat. Well, he didn’t explicitly state that out loud, but it was clear that Damian was really trying to piss Marinette off. His strategy? Being extremely egoistic.
“I am a better fighter than half this family, no?” and other egotistical statements were giving Marinette a migraine.
“Out of everybody who lives within a ten-mile radius of me, I am the best-looking.” To prove his point, Damian picked up a handheld mirror that was lying on a table near the two.
Holding the mirror up to his face, he exclaimed, “I’ve been blinded!”
“It’s just my studio light,” Marinette deadpanned, snatching the mirror away from Damian.
Ignoring the offended gasp behind her, Marinette walked away triumphantly.
Damian: 1
Marinette: 1
…
Marinette loved designing. It was her passion; her dream. So, there she was, in her room, sketching a design of a skirt that she was planning on making. The process would be quicker, though, if Damian wasn’t being a total pain in the ass.
“I don’t like this color,” Damian pointed at the dull yellow that covered Marinette’s sketch.
“This color doesn’t like you either.” Marinette continued to shade the sketch with the yellow.
“I think your sense of color sucks,” Damian retorted.
“I think you need to get your eyes checked.”
“At least I have eyes. Yours disappears when you smile.”
“I actually like it most when I smile. Then I don’t have to look at your ugly face anymore.”
“When you are angry, your face is like the sun; a burning ball of gas.”
“Would you guys stop bickering like a married couple?!” Jason yelled from across the hall. Then, he muttered, “Just get together already; I’m tired of third-wheeling in a platonic relationship. A fucking PLATONIC RELATIONSHIP!” Marinette could almost hear Jason throw his hands up in exasperation and stalking away like a drenched cat.
They got together…just not yet.
Damian: 4
Marinette: 4
…
“Hey Marinette,” Damian called one day during dinner, “you make me so happy every day-”
“Ooh,” Dick crooned, “the two lovebirds are flirting.”
“It’s not what you think,” Jason muttered, stabbing his chicken as if it weren’t already dead.
“-by getting out of my sight,” Damian finished, smirking evilly at Marinette’s glare.
Dick spit out his drink. Jason quietly excused himself from the table. Alfred looked like Alfred. The rest of the family was nonexistent.
“Hey Damian,” Marinette called.
“What?”
“Are you a light? Because you’re the dimmest one I’ve ever seen.”
“You shine like the sun. So get 93 million miles away from me.”
It was Dick’s turn to excuse himself from the table.
Damian: 6
Marinette: 5
…
Christmas cards are not a usual tradition in the batfamily. So after days of coercing, bribing, crying, and not thriving, they managed to get everybody in one room at the same time with minimal kicking and screaming. It seemed that only three people in the “family” actually came there willingly, Damian not included.
After the picture was printed out (courtesy to Alfred), Damian shoved the picture at Marinette’s face.
“How do my eyes look in this picture?” Damian mumbled, looking away. It was a surprising question, one that many people didn’t expect, judging by their surprised looks.
What was not to their surprise, however, was Marinette’s response. Her reply was almost on instinct. “They are like the stars; they’re so dim and far apart.”
The eleven words uttered acted as the knife, cutting a rope pulled taut. Suddenly, the two were bickering again.
“At least I have eyes,” Damian retorted.
“You might as well not have any with how dead inside they look,” Marinette rolled her eyes.
“Didn’t you compliment my eyes a few days ago?”
“Yes, but it’s because you are like a weed: I can never seem to get rid of you.”
Everybody in the room stared at the two with different variations of the “they fight like an old couple but I cherish living another day so I won’t laugh or bring it up” look.
“Are you a priest? Because I need holy water whenever I see you.”
“Did you steal my heart? Because I don’t feel anything for you.”
Damian was the one to end the anti-pick up lines…thing, whatever it was. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Because your face is the most messed up thing I’ve ever seen.”
Marinette sighed.
Damian: 9
Marinette: 9
…
Marinette sighed in contentment.
It was times like this that makes Marinette remember exactly why she’s dating the rude, bratty, and nonetheless lovable, Damian.
A nightingale sang a lullaby in the distance, perched on the ugly pine tree planted by the city for landscaping purposes. Little black ants sprinted with all their six thin legs, escaping the scurrying critters running to their burrows. Sharp blades of grass tickled her palm, damp and glistening from the late evening dew. There she lay next to Damian, her lover, her partner in crime, ignoring the growing wet patch on the back of her shirt.
It was almost comical how domesticated the other looked, considering his normally murderous nature. He lay there, the warmth of his side pressed next to her, eyes closed, lashes resting on sharp cheekbones, breathing deeply.
And Marinette fell in love all over again.
Damian was and is and, hopefully, forever will be, the only person she loved in this way. It was unlike her silly childhood crush over a boyband in her elementary school years, and it was unlike her fascination over the green-eyed blonde Adrien. No, this crush was deeper. So much deeper. Marinette loved Damian in a different way than she had loved anybody else. Her life after she confessed, purely by accident, on a whimsical rampage about her stressful life, is and will be one of the best days, months, and years of her life. Sure, they bickered, and sure, they fought. Yet, each old-married-couple-like, love-filled fights (if you could even call them that), just brought them closer. They never had actual harsh feelings towards each other, and Marinette felt comfortable in Damian’s presence. He knew her beyond her face and insults, with a knowledge deeper than understanding. Next to him, pressed against his side, she felt at home, warm.
She felt…loved.
A few feet away, a yellow leaf detached itself from a tree (also planted by the city) and danced in the wind. It skidded across the wet grass before being picked up by the cool evening breeze once again, eastward bound.
“Hey Damian.” Marinette was first to break the comfortable silence.
“What?” came the expected reply.
“Your severe memory problems must be contagious.”
“...what…?”
“Because I can’t seem to remember when I fell this hard for you.” Marinette’s lips quirked upwards in a soft smile.
Damian blinked. “That’s--that is somehow sweet and insulting at the same time.”
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“Aw, I love you too.”
“Love you too…idiot.” It was as soft as a whisper. But it was there, and that’s all that mattered.
(Also
Damian: 9
Marinette: 10
MARINETTE WINS (like she always does))