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Damian walked (if you asked anyone else, they would have told you he stormed in rather than calmly walked) into the shop with a scowl on his face, mostly to escape from the horrible weather outside. The bell chimed above his head as he pushed the door open, and immediately he could sense the air in the shop was both sweet and bitter as it enveloped him.
“Hello and welcome to Aroma Mocha! What can I get for you today, sir?” the young woman behind the counter said, a wide smile on her face. Damian could definitely see why it was called the Aroma Mocha, the entire space was filled with different aromas. Somehow, none of them clashed with each other.
“Hi… I’d like to have a mochaccino, please,” he decided rather quickly, quite sure that was what his brother had called the coffee he got Damian last time they were in a coffee shop.
“Sure! Name?”
“Damian.”
“Great! You want to drink it here or are you going to take it with you?”
Damian noted the strong French accent the woman had. She’d probably moved here only lately. Maybe if she seemed to struggle with English at all, he’d change to French for her.
“I’ll have it here, thanks.”
“Alright. That would be five dollars, please.”
Damian took out his wallet and gave her the amount she asked for, putting the same amount of money to the tips jar on the counter. She flashed a bright smile at him, and he really wasn’t sure whether it was the most annoying or the most wonderful thing he’d seen all day. Perhaps it was both.
“Great. You can either wait here ot find yourself a table, I’ll call your name soon, monsieur.”
And there was the first slip-up with languages. Goodness. It’s not like it never happened to him, but it was regardless a little frustrating. He decided he was going to pay attention to her English and change to French if it continued for too long.
(Spoiler alert, he never did.)
After a few minutes of waiting and going through his new notifications, the woman was back.
“A mochaccino for… Daemon!”, the barista called and set the cup on the counter before she went back to her job.
And did she really just call him “Daemon”? No, that was unlikely. Maybe it was just her accent that made him hear thi— aaaaannnd she totally said Daemon. That was the name written on the cup.
Well, that was fine. Maybe she just heard something wrong. It’s not like she did it out of spite or anything. Besides, the coffee was quite good, so that compensated for it.
A few days later, he came back to Aroma Mocha. He’d all of a sudden found himself craving the mochachino the barista had made — though Damian would never admit that to any soul, especially not a living one and perhaps not even a dead one — and hoped she was there to make him more of it.
“Oh hi, welcome back! What can I get you this time?” the young woman said, spinning around to see who had entered the shop. She seemed to recognise him immediately.
“I’d like the same kind of mochaccino as last time, please. Again, my name is Damian,” he said, his tone rather cold. He was irritated from having to deal with his brothers for the entire day and right now, even the idea of getting called by the wrong name was more than a little annoying. If he was taking it out a little on the barista, well, it didn't matter to him.
A strained (and yet somehow bright — Damian was sure any normal person would consider it a genuine one) smile on her face, the barista replied, “Yes, of course, sir.”
He nearly missed the flashing smirk on her face, gone as soon as it had appeared. If Damian had been someone else and not as used to having to pay attention to the shifts in others’ expressions, if he wasn’t sure he’d seen it on her face, he would have likely convinced himself he was just seeing things. But, as it was, he knew it had been there, even if only for the mere second. Well, maybe it didn’t mean anything.
“A coffee for Daymein!”
And yes, there was definitely a wrong name on the cup, but as no one else made a move to get it either, he decided it was his. Once again, the drink was heavenly. The woman’s ability to spell his name was not .
But, two was still just a coincidence. He didn’t pay much mind to it aside from his light annoyance.
Third time was definitely a pattern.
“Deymun!”
He was getting more and more irritated. He’d been to the coffee shop thrice now, and every time the same barista got his name wrong. Even so, he was too stubborn to leave since she made excellent coffee (though Drake wouldn’t agree with him on that, he said it was rather a milkshake than actual coffee), and besides, now that she’d done it already three times, Damian was determined to make sure she called him by his actual name at least once. He would not leave before that, not even if it took him months.
“So, the same as last time? Or do you want to try something else this time?” the barista asked, smiling at him like she always did. Damian checked her name from the nametag. “Mari,” it said.
“Well, what would you recommend, Marie ?” he asked, revelling in the offended look he got from her. What was bad was that seconds later it turned into a smirk and there was mischievous laughter in her eyes, and Damian was sure that meant he was in it now.
“Do you prefer the sugary, less coffee-like things more, or would you like to try an actual coffee for once?” she asked, her tone teasing. Drake would probably love her and get along with her faster than he could say coffee. Yeah, he was not going to let them meet. Mari arched her eyebrow, her stance clearly challenging him. Well, who was he to turn down a challenge? No real Wayne and no true Al Ghul would ever turn down a challenge, no way.
“I would like to have more of an actual coffee, as you called it, miss.”
“Would you rather get an americano or a long black? Or perhaps something else?”
He was certain she made sure he would catch on the way she mentioned the — long black, was it? — coffee earlier, daring him to try. He wouldn’t back down now, no way.
“A long black sounds good.”
“Great, I’ll have your drink prepared as soon as possible.”
A guy with blue hair took over the counter as she whispered something to him and started making the coffee. The guy looked over to him with a nearly unnoticeable smirk on his face before he turned to the new customer, his tone sweet but strong. The girl ordering the drink nearly swooned.
“A long black for Damodar ,” she called.
Oh it was on.
This time Damian had to admit the victory was Mari’s as he nearly spit out his coffee, hating every second of it. He was simply unable to not drink it as he could feel her shooting glances and gloating grins disguised as sweet smiles his way every now and then. He had no other choice.
When he came in for the fourth time, he decided to take the same drink, simply asking for an even stronger version of it. Marinette raised her brow, surprised and suspicious of him. He was sure she knew how it had affected him the previous time, but there was no way he was admitting he couldn’t stand it. Maybe he would just dumb a whole lot of sugar in there when she wasn’t looking so he could handle it better.
“Et mademoiselle Marilène , for the record, my name’s Damian.”
Her eye twitched even as she kept on smiling. “I’m sorry, D’occasion, what was that you were saying? I couldn’t hear you properly because you spoke so quietly.”
Damian couldn’t remember the last time he got as strong of an urge to turn on his heel and march away as he did right then and there. He didn’t, though, as he was not ready to admit victory to the girl now, if ever. If it meant he was going to keep coming there until she quit her job or called him by the correct name, he was not going to give up. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money to keep doing so anyway.
The fifth time Damian asked for a new drink.
“Oh, pretty boy couldn’t take his drink after all? Luka, tu me dois 10 euros, j'ai gagné.”
The blue haired man groaned though there was still a smile on his face. “D’accord, Ma-Ma-Marinette.”
So both of them were French. How great.
Damian ended up cutting off the two of them and tried to make himself sound like he really hadn’t minded the strong, disgusting coffee, all the while noting the way the other barista had called Mari. Maybe he could use it one day? “I would simply like to try something new. Anything else you’d like to suggest?”
Mari smiled, a knowing glint dancing in her eyes. “Well, since you clearly didn’t enjoy strong black coffee, I’m gonna propose you try vienna. It is still strong, but it has whipped cream in it so it smoothes out the taste a little. How’s that sound?”
Damian bit back from commenting on her grammar (it was difficult, but he managed, somehow) as he considered her suggestion. It did sound more enjoyable than the previous one anyway. “Alright, I’ll take that.”
The woman looked victorious as he accepted her suggestion before she went to make his coffee. She also seemed so thoughtful he was sure she was trying to come up with a new name to call him. This time he was prepared though. As she picked up a pen, he opened his mouth, “I’m sure you have a hard time spelling my name, seeing as you aren’t from around here, but I can help you. It’s spelled D-A-M-I-A-N. Damian. Should be very simple and easy even with your brain, miss barista.”
So, maybe he was being an asshole, but this woman had misspelled his name enough many times to justify it, alright. If she was offended, she managed to conceal it very well.
“A vienna for Dandin,”, she called out a few minutes later.
It was his turn to be offended. She was holding out the drink instead of leaving it on the counter this time, and as he took it from her, she leaned forwards and whispered so quietly even he could only barely hear, “payback, you crétin.” He couldn’t even say anything back anymore, his pride wouldn’t allow him. Besides, maybe he deserved it.
Maybe .
Yeah, but even so, he was not letting it go.
It went on and on, and she came up with a lot of new names while at it. Somehow, she’d even gotten the man with hair dyed blue in it, as the few times Mari hadn’t been there and this Luka had, he’d called out Dandy, Danail and Damijan. At least those were closer to his actual name.
That once when he’d told her his name was Damian Wayne and managed to got all of the attention of the cafe, she’d simply laughed and written Devin Wayne on his cup, muttering something about a “Lila”... or was it a “liar”? He hadn’t been able to tell (he did make a mental note to investigate it later, though). Instead, he’d come fuming back to the manor and thrown one of their less valuable mugs against a wall. Alfred hadn’t been happy or impressed but let him go soon after he had cleaned up his mess.
Then there was that one time when his family insisted on coming with him because of how much time he liked to spend in the cafe at Aroma Mocha at this point.
(“If you, who couldn’t stand actual coffee like a month and a half ago are now craving so much coffee that you go to that coffee shop like every day and even then end up stealing my coffee, I have to know what they serve you there,” Drake had decided and then called the rest of the family over, informing them of his plan. They agreed in a blink and went to dress up. He didn’t stand a chance for a second.)
As soon as they entered, Mari smiled at them with the smile she’d worn on her face when they first met, only letting Damian see behind that mask, only letting him know how she truly felt at the moment. He scowled. She was winning and she knew it .
And she knew that he knew it as well.
“Hello and welcome to Aroma Mocha! It’s nice to see new faces come with older every once in a while! Is this your family, Dames ?” she asked with an overly sweet tone and tilted her head to the side, smiling all the while.
“Oohh, is she the reason you just keep coming here?”, Grayson asked while Todd was staring at him with eyes wide before voicing everyone’s thought of “ Dames?! ” out loud in disbelief. The only one that looked more shocked about it than Todd was his father. It was understandable — no one else could call him by any nicknames, but somehow this small French girl was able to do that without losing the use of both or at least one of her wrists right then and there.
He was never going to hear the end of this.
“Shut up. I didn’t ask any of you to come.”
“What can I get you all?”
As they listed off their orders (Cass got a mocha by pointing at it on the menu, a triple espresso for Tim (at that point she had wondered out loud whether he was actually related to “Dames” or not as he couldn’t drink that much espresso even if he tried — and he had tried, alright — to which she’d been immediately told they were adopted siblings, Tim being the adopted one), Duke ordered a freddo, Jason wanted a ca phe sua da, Dick asked for a galao, his father requested to get a ristretto, Stephanie wanted an iced americano and ended up joking something about Captain America, an iced coffee with salted caramel for Barbara, and Alfred, well. Alfred told Mari he would like to have an Irish coffee after he took one look at the idiots that were the Wayne family), Damian stayed in the back, grumbling and arms crossed over his chest.
“Alright, are you all going to pay for your respective drinks, do you pay in groups or will one of you pay for all of them?”, she asked, ready with the debit card device in her hand.
“But— Damian didn’t order yet?”
The woman looked at Damian and arched her eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. It needed to come from him, they both knew that, as she was still a barista and the worker here. Sighing, Damian resigned to his fate and told his family what it was about. “ Marielle and I at some point ended up going with her just making something for me based on how I’ve liked the previous ones until I decide something was what I wanted more of. It probably happened after the sixth time I changed what I wanted.”
Damian smirked as Mari frowned and looked offended. What reassured him she still was definitely in the game (and unlikely to complain to his family at any point) was the snicker he could hear as she was writing one of the names to a cup. Likely his.
“Well, I guess that’s fine then. I’ll pay for all of them”, his father said and took out his card, ready to pay. Once he was done, she waved her colleague (this time it was an Asian young woman with black hair and a neutral expression on her face instead of the blue-haired guy — unfortunately, she too spoke French, which meant he had to endure even more of them now) to help her. Understandable, as they had ordered a lot. Neither seemed to either care about who they were or they didn’t even recognise them. He wasn’t sure which option was more amusing.
And surely, when they were calling them to get their drinks, Mari left his drink the last and made sure he was looking at her in the eye as she called his name. “A raf coffee with extra milk to Dennis !”
The receipt in Damian’s hands crumbled as he heard the name. No matter how horrible the other names had been, this one took the cake. He couldn’t believe she’d thought that Dennis of all the names would fit him in the least. It wasn’t even close to his own name. And, of course, as his luck would have it, none of the other names were misspelled, and they were all written with elegant calligraphy except for his, that was simply written well enough for him to know she had done it again. Totally on purpose.
(Damian wasn’t sure whether the first time they had met she had actually simply heard his name wrong or if she’d already decided back then that she would call him with any names she could come up with. Considering it had been quite the while since, he decided it was probably that she’d gotten better at spelling names unfamiliar to her.)
The flabbergasted expressions on his family’s faces were delightful to see though. They had been talking about how sweet the girl was and how nice it was of her to make their cups look so nice (all of them also had a small doodle on them, courtesy of his barista — wait, his ? — as the other woman had given them to Mari for her to scribble something on them), only for them to hear her call Damian “Dennis”.
And he didn’t get mad at her, he didn’t yell at her, he didn’t even correct her. He only scowled and with a grunt, went to get his coffee (Mari winked at him. Goddamnit. Judging by his Grayson’s knowing smile, they had also seen that). The drink was amazing once again, though.
“What… what did you do to the girl if she calls you that ?”, Barbara asked after a beat of silence.
Leave it to his family to take the side of a girl they’ve met for the first time over their family member of many years.
“I didn’t do anything to he—”, he insisted but got cut off by Brown who shook her head in disappointment.
“Damian, you’re like a little brother to me and all, but I can’t believe you’d offend a girl so horribly that she calls you by the wrong name on purpose. You didn’t even protest, so you must understand you did something to her as well.”
Damian groaned and swore he was never coming back here with his family again.
It continued on and on.
“How does a cafe affogato sound?”, she asked without lifting her eyes when he arrived one day. How she knew it was him without looking, he wasn’t sure, but that was fine. He was getting used to it.
“Sure, Marybell.”
“What ice cream?”
“Whatever you think fits the best.”
Somehow, their routine of Damian ordering a coffee Mari chose for him and then her writing down a wrong name once again had become comfortable even though he still tried to get her to write his real name on the cup at least once. He needed that victory since Mari had won so many times. Well, she won most of the time, if he was being honest. By that point he knew that he would still keep coming by even if he did win for once.
“A cafe affogato for Deneb!”
“Thanks, Marine.”
“Hey, you got close to my name for once.”
“Damn it.”
And then there was that one day when she’d called him “Dami”. Upon arriving home, he’d stormed in, bringing the attention of everyone in the manor in the vicinity to him.
“I can’t believe her!”
“What did Teacup do now?”
“She— Wait, Grayson, what do you mean Teacup?”
“I became friends with her a while back. She’s cool. Bakes way better than anyone her age should. Loves and values designing more than her own life. Anyway, continue your story.”
Damian spluttered (and he could swear that was the most mortifying moment in his life even after years to come) before composing himself. “She called me Dami today. Dami !”
“You— you sound way too scandalised about this. What’s the problem? It’s way closer to your name than, say, Dennis , and sounds like a nice nickname in general”, Drake said, chugging down his (umpteenth cup of) coffee as he walked past (only god knows how many he’d already had). “Also I agree with Dick, Cupcake’s great. She makes the best coffee — sorry Alfred,” he said, smiling sheepishly.
“That is quite alright, Master Tim. Her skills at making it are truly limitless.”
Drake beamed at him. Beamed .
“You’re only friends with her because she knows how to brew good coffee.”
“That is so not true , Duke!”
“Oh yeah, Pixie Pop’s definitely the best,” Todd declared from where he was sitting and reading yet another book.
“ Are all of you friends with her ?”
“Yep”, Brown told him, suddenly appearing from behind him and then promptly plopping down on the couch next to Todd. “We all decided to get to know her after that encounter in the shop. But do explain why her calling you Dami is so horrible? Like Tim said, it’s closer to your actual name than many of the others she’s called you, shouldn’t you be happy? Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to get her to do for ages now?”
“But that’s precisely the problem!”
Everyone and everything around him stopped, slowly turning to face him.
“What?”
“She never misses an opportunity to call me by some random name that is only remotely close to my own, yet she didn’t take it. There must be something wrong with her! Maybe she’s sick or someone must have truly offended her or she’s dying or—”
A beat.
“Are you fucking serious ? You interrupted a perfectly good book because you were worried about Pixie Pop? God, Demon Spawn, I’m glad you’ve finally developed a crush on someone and as long as you don’t hurt her, go off and ask her out, but this is Jon’s job. He’s your best friend. You can fret about your crush to him.”
“A crush?”
“A crush, Damian. You like her. Romantically,” Dick explained on the behalf of Todd.
“No I don’t— Oh my god I like Mari why did none of you tell me ?”
“ We just did! ”
Mari was back to calling him weird names the next day. Damian breathed out a sigh of relief. She was alright.
(And Jon had had a field day when Damian had called him because finally his best friend was crushing on someone and he couldn’t wait to try and help him come up with plans to woo said crush.)
One day he had stepped into Aroma Mocha barely awake and simply went straight to a table and nearly fallen asleep there. He had even forgotten to order a coffee. Three minutes later, someone walked up to him and placed a coffee in front of him along with a cupcake. Damian lifted his eyes to the stranger, ready to tell them to fuck off and go away, only for him to meet the eyes of Mari above him.
“I didn’t… order these?” It came out more as a question than a statement, much to Damian’s dismay. Oh well.
“I know, Dalimil, but you need to get something to stay here. Also you look like you got run over by a bus and like you haven’t slept in three weeks, worse than Tim usually does, which is precisely why here’s a salted caramel cupcake and a chai latte with added caffeine in it.” Her voice remained stern as she pushed the cup closer to him. “You’re welcome, by the way, Damir.”
“I’ll come pay soon—”
“No you won’t. It’s on me, because that’s what friends do. You can give me good tips some day to make up for it though if you want to.”
Friends…?
Oh.
That sounded nice.
Damian made sure he gave Mari three times the amount of money he had to pay for his coffee the next time he came by as tips. She had stared at him like she’d seen a ghost but to her credit, she never said anything about it or tried to refuse it.
After another few weeks, Damian finally gave up on getting his favourite (when had that happened anyway?) barista to spell his name correctly. If he only got her to spell some name correctly he gave her, that would be good enough. He’d once told her his name was Han Solo (in his defense, Dick had made the entire family watch all of the Star Wars movies in two days and that was the first name he could think of), and well, she had most definitely not disappointed and once again had twisted the name.
Mari had ended up writing ‘Handsome Squidward on his cup. Damian had barely managed to groan before he shaking his head fondly at her. He’d been far too tired to be able to react more strongly. Once again she had ended up putting extra caffeine shots in his coffee. Damian was no longer sure whether he was addicted to the caffeine or seeing Mari — or perhaps both. ‘Both’ was a likelier correct answer.
“Soo, what’s it today? You’ve gone through just about everything in our menu by now. Do you want to have something you’ve already tasted before or do you want me to still find a new thing I think you might like?”
“Maybe something you think I may like. Thank you, Mary.”
He noticed the fond smile on her face right away, though it took a few seconds to actually register. For once, he couldn’t see mischief in her eyes, nor did she look like she was planning on some grand scheme like she usually did. It was nice, he decided, seeing her like this.
“Name?”
(They both knew it was just for show at this point.)
Damian considered it for a second. He wanted her to spell the name — any name — he gave her correctly at least once, but it took him a moment to come up with one. While he enjoyed their routine of calling one another by weird, incorrect names, but he still needed that damned victory at least this one time. After that, he wouldn’t care.
“Batman.”
She couldn’t misspell that one unless she decided to mess with him even more and use a completely different name — after all, only a handful of people would dare to even accidentally disrespect Batman in Gotham, and she didn’t seem to be one to do so.
Mari rolled her eyes and told him to go wait for his drink. He did.
“A special coffee for Batman,” she called, trying to contain her laughter. Damian decided it was kind of adorable. At least she used the name he’d given her for once. Victory .
“Here you go, Mister ‘Yes I definitely am Batman himself, I even wear the correct ever present scowl on my face, there’s no way I’m not him’. I hope you enjoy it,” she said chuckling and handed him his drink. She was warm as their hands brushed against each other and Damian could have almost sworn that there was a spark between them at the touch.
“I am fairly sure I will, Miss ‘I can never make a bad coffee unless it’s black and I try to make you suffer as much as possible on purpose’. Thank you very much.”
Damian went to sit down and drank it, finding it was better than anything he’d tasted before. This was what he wanted to have more of. It was just sweet enough to make him want more, but not too sweet so he could easily have a dessert alongside it if he wanted to. It also tasted more like coffee than the mochaccino he had started with had tasted like. Bitter, but not enough to make him gag.
In short, he absolutely loved it.
Then he noticed scribbles on the cup from the corner of his eye. Damian turned it around in his hands and flushed red as he read the text written on it.
Damian W. <3
Call/text me *** ***-**** xoxo
— Marinette
To put it simply, he was irritated. Not only had she not written down the name he’d given her again , but she had also written his actual name which was something he’d been trying to make her do for months now. To make it more complicated, yes, he was irritated but also absolutely smitten with her.
And god if he wasn’t ecstatic to find out she liked him back.
So, seeing as Damian liked her a lot even if he was frustrated with her and it was her that took initiative, he took his phone out of his pocket and texted the number he gave her. It didn’t take long before his phone went off and he got a reply. A quick glance at her confirmed she was on her phone and smiling at it.
DW: Hello. (12.18 pm)
MDC: heya ! i’m glad you decided to message me ! (12.20 pm)
DW: Of course I did. You’re my friend and I also like you. (12.21 pm)
DW: Although I doubt you should be on your phone during work. (12.21 pm)
MDC: your fault for texting me during work (12.24 pm)
MDC: anyway (12.24)
DW: Your fault for giving me your number and not telling me when your shift ends. (12.25 pm)
MDC: ANYWAY (12.25 pm)
MDC: did you like the coffee I made you ? (12.26 pm)
DW: Yes, I did. What was that? I would like to have it again, although not right now, since I just finished it. (12.27 pm)
MDC: I made it specially for you. can’t find it on the menu. I’m glad to hear you liked it ! (12.36 pm)
DW: I am honored that you decided to do that. I truly appreciate it, Angel. (12.37 pm)
DW: Or should I call you Marinette? Or Mari? Please tell me I am not making you uncomfortable. (12.39 pm)
MDC: dw about it ! you can call me whatever you want as long as I get to call you mine ! (12.42 pm)
MDC: wai t what (12.42 pm)
MDC: hey anyway I had an actual reason to give you my number (12.43 pm)
MDC: date today at 6 ? we could meet up here once my shift’s done and over with (12.46 pm)
Damian looked over to the counter, only to find Marinette already looking at him — and, with a smile ( that damned smile that was too adorable for her own good ), she winked at him. She was going to be the death of him if she kept on being like this.
Smiling, he turned back to his phone and started typing.
DW: A date sounds great. I’ll see you at 6, then, Angel. (12.51 pm)