Made In Japan. — Damian Wayne x Y/N · Y/n story by @katsukiaddict

The long mahogany table in the Wayne family dining room was laden with the remains of a roast, glazed carrots, and Alfred’s famous Yorkshire puddings. The air hummed with the low-grade chaos of a family dinner. At the far end, Jason Todd was leaning halfway out of his chair, fingers inches from the last chocolate-chip cookie on a silver tray.

Jason Todd

I called it, Dickhead. My fork was there first.

Dick Grayson

Your fork was in the mashed potatoes two seconds ago. That’s not calling it, that’s poor hygiene.

Tim Drake, seated to Bruce’s left, didn’t look up from his tablet. His fingers flew across the screen, and he muttered under his breath about stock fluctuations and a discrepancy in the Gotham power grid.

Tim Drake

The spike correlates with the outage in the Bowery, but the timing’s off by 4.7 seconds. Could be a capacitor failure, or…

Bruce Wayne sat at the head of the table, methodically cutting his beef. His eyes, sharp and blue, flickered between his sons—tracking Jason’s grab, Dick’s defending swipe, Tim’s absorbed analysis—with a look that was both weary and deeply fond.

Damian Wayne

Must I get everyone’s attention?

The words were stiff, overly formal. He paused, his jaw tightening. The usual arrogant set of his shoulders was gone, replaced by a rigid, uncomfortable posture.

Damian Wayne

I require… He paused, An advice. From… School.

The room froze.