Sequel to IRONY

12

WARNING : Sexual content XD Here's the promised warning ;)

To all my readers and reviewers, thank you! Take these oatmeal sandwiches made with love. I hope you like them :D

First sentence is from Jerry Spinelli's novel, Stargirl. This author is a bloody genius. I highly recommend this book..

Okay go :p

"I was sixteen years old. In that time, how many thousands of smiles had been aimed at me?

So why did this one feel like the first?"
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They had reached the gates of the enormous Wayne mansion. Marinette found herself being dragged along the long pathway towards his large estate. His grip on her was like an iron fist, as if he was anxious that if he loosened, she would drift too far away for him to reach.

His long legs took lengthy strides, giving her minimal time to observe the sinister surroundings. The outside was no longer a garden that once held flowers and plant sculptures when she had first been here. It was now a forest studded with tall trees that cloaked the grounds with darkness. Thrice, she had tripped on her feet due to his quick pace and thrice he had slowed down, steadying her gently and breaking her fall.

He always did that; act so inconsiderate and wicked one moment, protective and affectionate the next.

Marinette suddenly remembered her odd conversations with Rose, how the clever girl had insisted that Damian Wayne indeed knew how to love.

He just had a different way of showing it.

'Different,' when it came to Damian, meant using any means necessary: his power, influence and cunning— a Wayne through and through.

Different meant becoming a brilliant mastermind behind carefully planned schemes to ensure her surrender. He had known all the details and loopholes and made sure he'd sealed them tight too, ensuring that there would be no means of escape. He had used her insecurities, her conscience, and the people she cared about against her. He had lulled her into a false sense of security, if only for a while.

After that, he'd retaliated with a vengeance.

Despite all this, Marinette still didn't want to believe Rose's absurd theory—that Damian Wayne had wasted so much of his time and effort, scheming and setting up such ingenious traps—just because he loved her.

Rose had had a hidden message beneath her words. Something only Marinette could ever understand.

From the very beginning he had lived in a place where love was seen as a flaw, a secret to be buried deep within one's heart and never to be spoken of again. His parents, though they had loved him dearly, loved criminals and his older brothers to a greater extent. Damian had been forced to conceal every feeling, that in the end he was left with a hollow shell and nothing more.

Rose had reminded her that Damian was not Hawkmoth. Damian's 'different' way of showing his feelings was spiteful and cruel simply because it was the only way he'd known how...

Damian hadn't rang the doorbell. They merely stood in the exquisite front porch hand in hand, staring at the front doors. She tried to ignore the shivers running down her spine as his thumb massaged her hand lightly, tracing little circles in her skin. After several minutes of awkward silence, she finally looked up at him in annoyance.

"Aren't you going to ring that?"

He looked like a stunning statue, one that might have been displayed in an art gallery. He was flawless and refined in his impressive stillness.

He didn't answer.

His lack of response raised her suspicions. Immediately, her thoughts turned to all the possible tragic situations she might encounter once he opened the doors. She thought of seeing dead bodies, criminals, bats. She even imagined Damian's parents back from the dead, waiting to meet her and then invite her over for dinner. The disturbing mental image was enough to make her queasy. If she had to wait a second longer, she would undeniably go bonkers.

She hysterically moved to ring the blasted doorbell but his threatening voice stopped her before she could even reach it.

"Ring it and I'll rip your arm off," he drawled warningly, not even bothering to spare her a glance.

She scoffed and dropped her hand to her side. She wanted to cross her arms over her chest petulantly, but he was still holding her other hand so she settled for glaring at him instead.

"I reckon you've read about this dark art," he said wearily, still not looking at her, "Created by the early gaurdians to protect their miraculous traditions."

"The Traditionem Art?" she said hotly. "Used properly, the Traditionem Curse can be cast on a certain tradition and all who break that tradition will die. It was removed by Master Fu on 1757."

Damiancouldn't help but roll his eyes as she recited the words precisely as they were told by Master Fu. Despite all the misery he'd put her through, her sanity and morals were still intact. She was still the same heroic Marinette Dupain Cheng; strong-minded and unbroken.

"All hail the ladybug," he muttered darkly.

"What does the art have to do with any of this?" she demanded, her voice rising. She moved to ring the doorbell again but he grabbed her other hand roughly and glared at her.

"We're married, need I remind you? You are a Wayne now. Our family has ... traditions to uphold."

He stared at the doors impatiently again. Marinette studied his expressionless face and wondered what he was thinking of. She had a feeling that the doorbell wasn't the problem at all; something else was obviously dampening his mood.

"Your family used the Traditionem Art," she said, more as a statement rather than a question.

"Yes. Ring that doorbell and you'll be killed to oblivion," he said, grimacing. "Don't even think about it."

"I wasn't going to!" she responded loudly.

"Good. Because if you die, love, I'll make sure everyone you care about dies with you," he added leisurely as an afterthought. "You wouldn't want that, do you?"

He was serious about this. It was clear by the tone of his voice.

She started fidgeting hysterically. Who knew what kind of disturbing traditions the Wayne family had?

He must have noticed her uneasiness because he turned his pretty brown head, boring his stormy crimson eyes into her once more. She determinedly held his gaze and tried not to squirm under his brutal scrutiny.

"You put on a believable brave front, Dupain Cheng," he said in bored voice. "Relax. You'll be fine."

At that moment, Marinette swore that somewhere on the revolving earth, pigs were now flying to the vast blue skies... because Damian Wayne had actually smiled.

It was a very small smile, barely an upward tug of his left cheek. She'd almost thought she had imagined it, because it disappeared in a blink of an eye and he returned to gazing at the doors again. It had looked nothing like the cruel, sadistic smiles he usually threw her way. It had been real.

One minuscule smile from him and her knees became incredibly weak.

Sweet Bug.

As if his smile hadn't been bad enough, she felt him give her hand a light squeeze, a gesture of reassurance. She was so shocked and astonished by the sudden uncharacteristic niceness, she didn't even notice the double doors creak open.

"Welcome," said a deep, raspy voice.

Marinette tore her eyes away from Damian and almost fainted at the sight before her.

The voice belonged to an old man, a butler, clad in traditional butler uniform, complete with white gloves too. Her jaw dropped so low that she was sure it would touch the ground.

She heard a small pop and confetti sprinkled into the air.

Several people wearing black and white maid outfits stood behind the butler, waiting for them. They formed two straight lines, aligning the path to the grand staircases, facing each other. They bowed at the same time, remarkably synchronized. She couldn't stop gawking at them.

Maids? In the Wayne Manor? All alive?

"Lord and Lady Wayne, welcome to the Wayne Manor," they said in perfect harmony.

L-Lady Wayne?

"Surprise," Damian whispered in her ear teasingly. Then she felt Damian's hand on her waist, giving her a slight push forward. Had it been any other occasion, she would have punched him straight on his undeserving face, but at the moment she was too preoccupied.

Everyone was quiet. All eyes were on her.

"Uh—hi—"

What the bloody hell was she supposed to say?

He smirked as Marinette stiffly took a few steps away from him (with a little push, of course. No, he hadn't just groped her). He could actually feel her face burning as she stood nervously in front of everyone. She turned her head to him, silently begging him for support, in which he only responded with his best smug smile. Merlin, he really enjoyed annoying the hell out of Dupain Cheng.

Besides, it was tradition that the servants of the household welcome the new Lord of the Manor and his wife.

After a few minutes of silence, he cleared his throat loudly making Marinette wince.

"I—er—t-thanks everyone," she choked out ungracefully. He couldn't help but chuckle at her distress.

She was just too adorable, that one.
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It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in the Alya and Rose' front garden. Rose was currently kneeling over a bed of colorful flowers, digging a hole with a shovel that was oddly shaped. There was dirt all over her unusual lavender dress. Her short blonde hair highlighted with streaks of pink was falling on her face gracefully. There were mud-stains on her nose and cheeks.

She looked very pretty— stunning, actually—but Alya wasn't here to mull over that right now.

She wanted answers.

"Oh hello, Alya," she said in her naturally dreamy voice. However she didn't get up to hug her as usual. She must've noticed her sour mood. "I'm afraid my hands are dirty and I can't make—"

"Damian took her," she said quietly. She closed his eyes shut to control her raging emotions, threatening to break loose and cloud his judgment once again. "You told me not to send him to jail—and he just... took her."

She didn't say anything, didn't even look startled. Instead she just buried the roots of an odd plant into the hole she had dug. Alya waited, clenching and unclenching her fists.
"I'm glad you listened to me when I told you to send Marinette to her highschool. I was a little worried about her when I saw her after your little argument. She looked a right mess. That place did her a lot of good, you kno—"
"I'm bloody well aware it did her good!" Alya snapped back furiously. "What I want to know is why we hadn't arrested the reason she got in such a mess in the first place!"
Rose only ignored Alya's abrupt outburst and smiled serenely at her. It caught her off guard for a moment, but it did nothing to lessen her anger.
"Are you going to explain or—" she said through gritted teeth. "Just tell me what's going on!"
She couldn't help himself. She was still worried knowing that Marinette was now in Wayne's domain, alone and unprotected. What if she ends up like Adrien? She couldn't bear the thought of losing a best friend again.
"I know how worried you are," Rose said calmly. "It's perfectly norma—"
"Do you?" she asked loudly, irritated. "Have you any idea—"
"Marinette is safe, I'm sure," she said with all certainty, she was almost inclined to believe her. "Damian will keep her safe."
"Right, because he's done such a good job of it in the past," Alya said sarcastically.
Despite her scathing remarks, she remained quite calm.
She gestured for him to come closer. When she moved to kneel in front of her, she held her hand gently to comfort her. Alya felt the mud pressed in her palms as she did so. She loved the feel of her hand on hers.
She always knew how to calm her down.
She stared at the flower firmly rooted to the ground.
"Very extraordinary plants, Dragon flowers are. One plant costs a hundred Dollars."
"Not to sound rude or anything, dear, but I don't —"
"It was a gift from a fan of mine," she continued serenely, completely ignoring her interruption. "We wrote an article about Dragon flowers a few years back."
She was probably finding the best way to explain this to her. The best she could do now was to trust her and listen. She let out an exasperated sigh.
"Fine then," She inhaled deeply, regaining his composure. "What's so special about them?"
Rose gave her an appreciative glance, thankful that she was willing to listen.
"Oh they have a lot of uses. They kill weeds and protect the other plants. They also tend to breathe fire... hence the name."
Alya watched the odd 'Venus flytrap-like' flower as wisps of smoke surrounded the flower when it opened its mouth. She could probably fit her whole fist inside it.
"But they tend to get lonely. Dragon flowers are very rare, you see. Only a few grow every year and most of them shrivel up and die if they have the misfortune of growing alone. The Dragon flowers that die out of loneliness mourn and breathe fire before their deaths, killing every other plant within proximity." She started planting another flower beside the first one. "The ones that live longer, the ones that die in peace, always come in pairs."
Once she finished planting the two Dragon flowers, Alya watched in fascination as both flowers extended their vines and wrapped themselves around each other. They no longer looked like two separate plants. They became one. It was rather beautiful. She felt a curious need to touch them.
"As individuals, they're brilliant. But together..." She threw a rock at the entwined flowers but they sprouted fire, protecting each other. "No one can harm them."
"So what you're saying is—er—" Alya said unsurely. "Marinette is—"
"Damian's beloved Dragon flower," she finished for him happily. "And if we take her away from Damian, I'm afraid he might explode, taking us all with him."
"S-sorry?" she blurted out, disbelief marring her features.
Rose's eyes were still trancelike but there was a melancholic tinge in them now. She was frowning.
"Metaphorically speaking, Alya." She stood abruptly and helped her up. She dusted off the dirt on her dress, straightened her shirt and fixed Alya's glasses. She did all this with a far-away look in her eyes, as if she wasn't aware of what she was doing. "Marinette blames herself because people have died because of her. She's not looking at the bigger picture at all."
Alya wiped the dirt on her cheeks and nodded. He knew she was in her own world again. She hugged her and closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the sound of her soft voice.
"If it weren't for her, Damian would have forgotten how to feel. He kills because he loves her. He kills those who he thinks might get in the way of his being with her. It's wrong but she can still fix it. She can fix him."
Alya thought back to the events that had taken place atop the Whitehall Tower once more. Five years ago, at the Winter Masquerade Massacre, Alya had been there when Marinette had screamed Damian's name. The look on his face had been unexplainable, something close to being scared, amused, confused and angry all at the same time. And then different emotions had flashed before his once cold eyes. He had looked as though he'd just woken up after being numb and dead for so long. Back then, Alya had never fully understood what had really happened to Damian Wayne—why he had jumped to his death.
This was one of the things she loved about Rose, her ability to see things other people could not. Alya knew now...
Damian Wayne was alive when he was with Marinette.
Up to now, every decision he had ever made, every person he had killed, all pointed back to her. He had done all this for her. If she stayed with him, he wouldn't find a reason to kill anymore.
If anyone could change Wayne, it was Marinette. And to do that, she needed to understand him. She needed to stay with him.
"Alya?"
Alya snapped out of her musings and looked at Rose again. Her protuberant eyes stared back at him in all seriousness.
"Imagine if he never loved her at all, or if by some unknown force, they get permanently separated. He would kill so many more people. He would be empty and he would kill just because he can. He won't have any reasons. He would have nothing to live for, nothing to lose. He would live his life yearning, never satisfied with his material possessions, always wanting more. Without her, he would want the world and everything in it, anything to replace her with..."
She leaned her head on the crook of her neck and wrapped her arms around her too.
"He would start another war, a bigger one, resulting to more bloodbaths than anyone could count just so he could rule. He would have no remorse because he would have forgotten what it felt like. And he'd have no one to teach him how. He has no one. And Hawkmoth—" Her voice cracked slightly. Alya hugged her tighter. "Hawkmoth would win even if he's already dead... because his heir still lives. If he never loved her, Damian's soul would have belonged to him, not Marinette..."
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He dragged her up the grand staircases, past doors and doors until they reached the end of the hall. She couldn't stop to explore. The place was bigger than she'd thought... so many twists and turns, so many rooms.
Next thing she knew, they were inside an enormous room and he was locking the door.
"D-Damian," she warned, eyeing him nervously.
Ignoring her, he stepped forward and she automatically took two steps back. She reached to grab her earings but he was faster. He summoned it using a chant and threw it carelessly over his shoulder. Horrified, she swallowed a dry lump in her throat.
"You've had your fun, Angel," he said seriously, taking another threatening step towards her. "What was that phrase you used again? Oh yes—enough games."
"I'm not playing!" She looked around frantically, searching for a way out, telling herself not to panic. "You just— stay away from me!"
"I'm afraid I can't do that, love," his voice sounded misleadingly tender, as if he meant her no harm. He eyed her up and down and licked his lips. She didn't miss the desire etched in his features. "You see, I've been holding back for far too long. You've absolutely no clue how hard it is to control myself around you."
"N-no. You wouldn't—"
"Is that a challenge?" he drawled menacingly.
"This is rape, Damian!" she bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at him. Desperate, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find: an expensive-looking vase. She hurled it at him, missing him by a few inches. "You-you're going to force me to have unwanted sexual intercourse!"
He stopped and raised an eyebrow.
"I know what rape means, Marinette. And that—" he said while glaring daggers at her and nudging his head at the broken vase. "—was a family heirloom."
He continued stepping closer... too close for comfort. "Besides, it's not rape if you're going to like it."
His seductive voice made her stomach flutter. She fidgeted in fear and anticipa—UGH NO. Bullocks! She was not in any way or form anticipating anything. She was not anticipating him sweeping her off her feet and shagging her senseless. She was not anticipating, period. She was not!
Keep telling yourself that and maybe you'll actually believe it.
Good lord, who was she fooling! How was she supposed to resist this beautiful man who looked like he was 'painted by the gods themselves', walking purposely towards her? He was too tempting. And his mysteriousness attracted her more than she cared to admit.
And did he really have to look like that? Why can't he just look like a hideous troll for once?
"I'll be gentle, I promise," he said, smirking deviously. It was one of those smirks, the kind that made all the other girls swoon.
"And you say I'm the liar," she said while snorting.
Funny how completely contrasting they looked at the moment. She was flailing, on the verge of hysteria, while he, on the other hand, was absolutely calm and at ease, hands tucked on his pockets.
In one swift move he had sauntered in front of her. She didn't have time to think. All she felt was being pushed roughly against the wall. She gasped as pain lanced through her back. It all happened so fast, she almost felt like she was dreaming.
She hated it. She hated him for making her feel this way. And she hated herself for wanting him, loving him.
Damian's tongue invaded her mouth relentlessly and explored every inch, every corner. She tasted like honey, all sweet and warm. He heard her sigh in defeat against his lips. And then, in a slow, gentle manner, she started kissing him back, letting her tongue move and sway with his. He let out an animalistic growl at her impulsive submission. He kissed her more hungrily, brutal and persistent and she kissed back with the same forceful passion.
She did not remember how they got tangled in the soft green sheets or how they had removed the thin fabric that separated their skins. All she remembered was him; all she saw was him, the softness of his lips as he kissed her in all tenderness and fervor. His mouth was warm and amazingly sweet. He tasted like cigarettes, like expensive wine, and she couldn't get enough.
She did not think to fight him off this time, not even once.
She was finally giving into her cravings, finally admitting to herself that she wants this.
He kissed her chin, her jaw, her neck and marked the sensitive spot there. She felt his sturdy hands all over her and each pleasant touch sent shivers down her spine. He aligned himself on top of her, her hardened nipples pressed against his chest. Their bodies clung desperately to each other in a warm embrace, skin on skin, and she couldn't decide whether his body was soft or hard, or maybe both if that was even possible. She was losing her mind just thinking about it.
She reached out to brush her fingers through his soft hair.
A part of her, (the sane, reasonable part) screamed at her to stop this but she just didn't want to listen. Just this once, she wanted to do this for herself. She didn't want to deny her desire for him anymore. She wanted to let go, to lose control.
To hell with the consequences.
Damian heard her gasp loudly when he shoved a finger between her legs. She was so tight. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, arched her back when he inserted another finger, pumping in and out, stroking, pinching her, and rubbing her. He would make her feel things she'd never thought possible, make her enjoy this as much as he would. Her lust-filled moans made him grow harder. His other arm snaked around her back possessively and he positioned his hardened length at her wet entrance.
His deep voice, a low and gentle hum, muttered soothing words into her ear.
"Do you love me?"
Marinette felt his hand leave her tight entrance and move up to her stomach. Then he cupped her breast and squeezed it, brushing his wet fingers over the mound. She moaned louder from the overwhelming sensations. He covered her mouth with his lips again, devouring her with more obsessive kisses. Then he pushed the head of his member at her tight opening, but he hadn't pushed all the way.
She groaned. She wanted all of him inside her now. Right now.
"Do you?" His warm breath touched her sensitive flesh before he leaned forward again. His lips were tender as it caressed hers this time. The sincerity of his words pulled her heartstrings, made her shiver. It sounded like a desperate need. It was as though his whole world depended on her answer.
Marinette have never felt so wanted by anyone, not like this.
When Damian didn't hear her respond he felt his heart clench. He wanted her to say something, anything. Annoyed, he suddenly bit her hard, making her cry out. The metallic taste of her blood intoxicated him and he licked and sucked each drop. She pulled away and pressed her hands to his cheeks, like she had done to the kid before they left. It made him feel... elated. It made him feel like she cared about him too, if not more.
She stared straight into his soul. They were so close that her forehead was pressed against his own and her warm breaths tickled his face. He was perplexed by the gravity of her gaze, the blueness of her eyes.
The corners of her lips curled upward, and Damian was awestruck, speechless. He was blessed, once again, with the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
...her smile.
"Yes," she said breathlessly, roughly pulling his hair hard, so she could kiss him again. He groaned at the painful tug of his scalp, but he didn't care. For the first time in his life, he was overwhelmed.
This time he was sure she hadn't been lying.
She kissed him gently once more, so gentle in fact, that he never expected the abrupt pain he felt when she suddenly bit his lower lip in retaliation. He pulled back in time to see his little minx stick her tongue out and chuckle. He rolled his eyes.
Honestly, even in bed they wanted to best each other.
Marinette would have laughed harder but he was kissing her again, harder, teasing her, punishing her, as if her little stunt thrilled him all the more. His abrupt cheerful mood was rather contagious. She felt it flowing through her veins, an effect of their bond. Then he smiled against her lips.
"I love you too."
And suddenly she was being stretched and filled up entirely as he pushed his hard length completely inside her wet core. Her heart pounded out of her chest, both from his truthful words and his physical plunge. She felt euphoric. She felt wonderful. She felt completely blissful. Her body burned and tingled from the pleasurable contact. She met him in each overwhelming, lust-filled thrusts.
The intense heat burned through her aggressively as she reached her peak, heightening the delightful sensations, pushing her viciously over the edge.
And soon her vision blurred and she was seeing stars... and so was he...
They felt a jolt of bliss spreading through every inch of their bodies at the same time. They were drowning in the sweetest pleasures, panting, gasping for breath.
And then they lost themselves in each other's arms...
Being safe, as she had told herself so many times before, was one of the best feelings she had ever felt in her entire existence. She couldn't describe it in exact words; only compare it to similar sensations. It was like walking down an alley late at night without having to worry about being mugged. It was like flying and feeling the wind on your face without having to worry about falling to your death. It was like... being fearless. It was sureness. It was invincibility, freedom, even.
Marinette was absolutely certain she was feeling it at present.
She rubbed her eyes, still not fully awake, her vision still blurred. The place between her legs was sore. Her whole body was sore, in fact. Despite this, Marinette had never felt so terribly rested and satiated. The last moments of sleep left her and her lids fluttered open to welcome the morning light.
She stared questioningly at the bed she was lying on, wondering why it felt so unfamiliar. It was clearly not hers. The room she was in wasn't hers either.
When she found an arm wrapped possessively on her stomach, she let out a quiet gasp.
Her brain finally started working again.Damian.
Like an unwelcomed mental flashback, the events of last night unfolded very quickly in her mind.
Marinette felt herself blushing furiously at the thought of how they'd made love again and again, until they were completely spent. She regretted nothing of it, of course. It had been one of the best nights of her life.
But right now she had to get out of here.
Very carefully, she held his arm up so she could maneuver herself away from him. He must've sensed the absence of the warmth beside him because he groaned in his sleep and pulled her back, crushing her to his hard chest.
She whispered obscenities in the air and glared at his strong arm. Even in unconsciousness, Damian Wayne still managed to annoy her. It was truly a rare gift.
She forced herself not think about his body pressed against her back or his warm breaths at the back of her neck. Her comfortable place in his arms tempted her to close her eyes and fall asleep again. It disturbed her how they fitted each other so perfectly.
This was exactly what she had been so afraid of. If she stayed with him for too long, she would lose all sense and snap.
She decided to try again, carefully maneuvering herself through the tangled limbs and sheets. After a good 30 minutes, she managed to get off the bed, with her husba... with Damian still out cold. She allowed herself to stare at him for a while, admiring him in his unguarded state.
He looked so angelic without his usual mask of indifference. She couldn't help but smile.
She started searching for her clothes and shoes, but unfortunately, she could only find her knickers. She could see the strap of her bra peaking out on the bed just beneath Damian. She imagined her other clothes were probably there too.
So 10 minutes later she was dressed haphazardly in her knickers, his oversized shirt that was long enough to be a mini dress on her, and a pair of old, green, knee-high socks she'd found while rummaging through his enormous walk-in closet. She couldn't find her shoes, and Damian's shoes were much too big on her. So the socks would have to do.
She looked dreadful.
She could fix her appearance once she went back to her flat.Putting her earings securely to her ears, she gave one last longing look at Damian before turning the doorknob and opening the door as quietly as she possibly could.
She poked her head out and looked both ways, checking for any signs of movement. When she saw no one in the halls, she stepped out and closed the door. And then she walked to the right.
After a total of twelve very quiet steps, she heard an odd, whooshing sound. She stopped to listen closer.
And then she screamed.
Several vines appeared out of the ceilings, wrapping themselves around every part of her body and hauling her up. Next thing she knew she was suspended in mid-air, bound at her waist, arms and legs.
Dear god, the house was alive.
Very faintly, she heard the creaking sound of a door being opened and a series of pounding footsteps but she didn't have time to wonder where they came from. The vice-like grip was tightening fast, constricting her body painfully. She recognized the unfamiliar-looking vines and shut her eyes tight.
She reached for her earrings, stretching her arm as close to it as possible. Then she blasted them off, causing them to loosen their crushing grip on her body. She braced herself for the impact of the fall...
Surprisingly it never came.
"Trying to escape so soon?"
For Merlin's sake it was like the whole blasted universe was conspiring against her. She had found herself in Damian Wayne's arm, again!
And why the hell was he only wearing his pants?
He didn't even look surprised at her attempt to escape. In fact he looked like he'd been expecting it. She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered up at him, resisting the urge to run her hands on his bare torso.
"Well you can't expect me to stay here just because you want me to," she snapped back. "I want out."
He ignored her and started walking back to the room.
"This house is trying to kill me!"
He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.
"I already told you— I won't let anything bad happen to you, love." He opened the door without any difficulty, even though he was still carrying her. "It's built with traps so no one can break in."
"So the prisoners won't escape, more like," she retorted, snorting. "I can't believe this."
"The Manor?" he asked, while setting her down gently and gracing her with his rare, killer smile again. Her legs immediately felt like jelly. He had to stop smiling like that. "Or the fact that you had sex with me repeatedly and enjoyed it?"
She fought the blush that was creeping up her cheeks and smacked him hard on the arm.
"Oh, shut up."
"I like this look on you, you know." He leaned closer, letting his lips brush her cheek. She felt his breath on her ear. "You look like you've just been thoroughly fuc—"
"Ugh! Damian!"
Suddenly they heard a loud tapping sound from the window. A large black bat was hovering outside, flapping his enormous wings. Marinette recognized him at once. He belonged to his brother.
Once Damian received the letter, he quickly flew off.
Marinette eyed the letter curiously. Damian read it, grabbed both her wrists effortlessly with one hand and kept her at arm's length when she tried to look. She couldn't break free, even though he was just using one hand to subdue her. She scowled in annoyance, thinking of biting his hand while he wasn't looking.
But he had already finished reading. He crumpled it in his fist, threw it on the floor and burned it. His face was a blank canvas once again, devoid of all emotions.
"What is it? What did he say?"
He gave her a look of utmost contempt and irritation. "He?"
"Jason," she said condescendingly, as if he was being stupid. "That was his owl."
Fear seeped through her and ebbed in her veins when his hold on her wrists brutally tightened. He pulled her petite form so close, invading her personal space. His heavenly scent plagued her senses.
"Been writing him love letters, have you?" he hissed accusingly.
"What! No!" she said in outrage, feeling the need to defend herself. "His wife sent me letters with that bat. Not him!"
For a while, he studied her features. Convinced, he released his grip and turned his back on her, searching for his robes. Marinette let out a sigh of relief.
But why is he still bothered? What was in that letter?
"Damian?" she whispered, out of genuine concern.
Damian forced himself not to look. He might not be able to restrain his desires if he did. All thoughts of leaving would surely vanish from his mind if that happened.
"Damian?"
"I have to do something," he said blankly. "It can't wait. Please just stay here, won't you?" When he finally found his suit, he started getting dressed.
Marinette had stiffened behind him, stunned by what she'd just heard. Did—did he just say please? Sincerely? She blinked twice, rubbed her eyes roughly and stared at him to make sure he was real.
He was real, alright—Damian Wayne, in the flesh—and he hadn't even noticed he'd said it!
Rose was right. Like the porcelain vase Marinette had hurled at him last night, Damian was undeniably shattered and broken. Rose wanted Marinette to fix him and now, Marinette had finally decided to do it, no matter the high risk of being wounded.
She would glue him back together again — just because she loved him too.
When Damian was fully dressed, his gaze stubbornly fell on her again. Sweet heavens, she was already tempting him to do unimaginable things to her person just by standing there and looking like that. She was so alluring and so fucking irresistible. The look of concern on her face pleased him further.
He couldn't stop himself from grabbing her and kissing her hungrily, tasting her again, leaving her breathless. The kiss lasted longer than it should have. His self-restraint was dwindling—he had to stop. Now.
Sighing deeply, he forced himself away from her.
Those insufferable Hawkmoth's goons had the absolute worst timing. Someone was going to pay.
Once he was outside the room he gave her one last pointed look.
"You better be here when I get back, Angel."
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Soooo ...
I know a smut scene, finally! I've been getting a lot of messages about it but I've been putting it off because I've never written anything like this before. We never had to write smut scenes in poetry. Did I do it right? Be nice to me please D:
Traditionem Art – popped into my mind one day.
Dragon flower – wtf XD Seriously, the things I come up with :))
I hope I hear from you :) *hug*