#deathstroke x reader

Bane:

Bane returned home after another long meeting. He was a mercenary, one of the smartest and strongest, and these feeble minded, idiotic men made his head hurt. He wanted nothing more than to get home to you and listen to your voice. You never bored him or wasted his time.

It was quiet when the door opened, which wasn’t uncommon, but something was wrong...it was too quiet, the silence bouncing off the walls.

“Carina? Mi Vida? Where are you querida?” He felt panicked, a gnawing sensation that made him want to dig deep into his chest and pull it out.

He passed the counter, stopping to see the brightly colored envelope placed so nicely on top of it, accompanied by glitter and confetti scraps. It angered him to think how violently they had probably taken you. Bane grabbed the letter and tore it open, reading quickly, feeling his blood boil. How dare someone take you from him, from his own home!

Bane needed nothing but the address provided. Whoever had stolen you needed more than hope and prayers. He wouldn't show forgiveness...how quickly sentences were carried out would depend on the state you were in when he found you.

He made his way quickly to your location, wasting little time. And broke down the door at the back of the abandoned factory. Stalking through he stopped once he saw the bodies of goons scattered around you. You looked exhausted, bloodied, and dirty, stumbling around as a voice cheered from somewhere.

He ran over to you, the heavy sound of his boots scaring you as you turned around quickly with a rusty pipe swinging. He caught it with one hand, slowly lowering it, looking you over, “oh, Mi Vida…” he said softly as you looked on the verge of tears, or possibly collapse.

There was a small cut on your cheek and upper arm, your knuckles looked black and blue and were caked with blood. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your eyes were red, you looked so scared and he wanted nothing more than to scoop you up and take you away.

But he was proud of you, you had taken out so many goons on your own, with your wits and strength, it filled him with a weird feeling...although he always knew you were strong, it made him sickened with grief and anger that you had to go through this.

That he hadn't been there to protect you.

“Who did this to you? Who took you?”

There was a voice and another and he could hear the scuffling of feet running away. He perked up, scoping out the area. He wanted to run after them, but what would he do with you? He couldn’t bear to leave you alone again or bring you into more danger.

You looked so tired, roughed up, but he still found you adorable and gorgeous. You were strong...even when that was his job. It made his heart swell even more for you. He took your hands into his, kissing your knuckles tenderly.

He then scooped you up into his arms, taking you with him to find your kidnappers. He wouldn’t let them get away...get away to hurt you again, take up space in your mind or his with worry. He didn’t want you in harm's way, but you’d be safer with him than away, that had been proven.

Bane quickly tracked down the room your kidnappers had run off to, the door was barricaded shut, and he could hear whispering inside. How predictable.

He set you down to the side, kissing your forehead before quickly taking a boot to the door, knocking it in instantly. He stalked into the room, taking up every inch of space. His demeanor was calm, but the veins in his neck bulged.

Your two kidnappers sat huddled in the corner, giggling, out of nerves or fear he couldn’t tell, and that irritated him more. How dare they treat your pain and suffering as a joke...as a game. Even if you had proved yourself, he wasn’t willing to gamble your life anymore.

For a man his size his speed was alarmingly swift, he grabbed the pair by their throats, bringing them to his face, “Cobarde, you come into my home, hurt Mi Amor, and have the gall to make jokes? I should end your life slowly and painfully. You should feel her pain, her suffering...but I am in no mood to waste my strength as she did in your game.”

You could hear sharp breaths, then a sickening crunch. Bane dropped the bodies to the floor and then came back to where you waited.

“I’m sorry for not protecting you, and I’m sorry for my actions now,” he kissed your forehead again, thumb on your cheek, “let us go. I look forward to your tale of bravery.”

Deathstroke/Slade Wilson:

Slade groaned, rolling over to pull you closer to him, he liked having you near. You calmed him, and he wasn’t around often, so he wanted to make up for his absence.

His arm roamed around, searching for you, but instead he felt your spot was warm...and wet?

He bolted upright, his arm covered in the all too familiar feeling of blood. He could suddenly smell smoke and there was no denying you were gone, “fuck!” Who could've gotten in here without his knowledge?

He ran for the door, slipping into a pair of boots next to the entrance, not bothering to put on a shirt, his pants would do, besides he had to get to you...that’s when he saw the note stapled to the door.

“A ransom letter? Cute,” he crumpled up the letter with his hand, as if that would be enough to relieve his anger.

He slung his favorite rifle and guns over his shoulders and into their holsters, then grabbed a knife and Kitana. You weren’t far according to the letter, but he wasn’t in the mood to play games with these punks.

It enraged him that he couldn’t wake up to your pretty face, spend time with you on his chest caressing your face. It irritated him how his instincts had failed him. Failed to sense you in danger and strangers in his home!

Slade grumbled as he made his way to you, anyone bothering to come up to him swiftly meeting the curb or wall, he would simply shoot them for their inconvenience, but he couldn’t be messy.

He came to the building, slinking around the back and up a fire escape. He looked down through the window, looking for you to be tied to a chair or hung up for him to see, but instead a small smirk graced his lips.

You stood in the middle of a ring of bodies strewn all over. It made him relieved that you didn’t look too hurt, but also proud.

He crashed down through the window, and you jumped a little bit, before turning instinctively with a gun raised...one of his. He smirked at the blood dotted along your cheeks and lips. Your poor knuckles and the hilt of the gun also covered, the blood doing little to hide the bruises forming.

He couldn’t deny he was slightly turned on, but he put a finger to the gun’s barrel, knowing no ammo was left (since you used the hilt as a hammer), pushing it away so he could look at you. You looked terrified, as if you didn’t know you were capable, or maybe couldn’t believe what you had just done.

“Hey Babydoll,” he practically purred, pulling you close to him by the waist, “who taught you to do all this?”

You didn’t answer, but he knew. He hugged you tightly to himself, rubbing circles on your back to try and calm your trembling form.

He was still mad, he was imagining what he would do to the bastard in charge, whoever took you, but he knew to stay calm for your sake.

“Hmm, Baby, let me take you home, clean you up. You did so good, but I can’t have you around for the finale,” He kissed the top of your head, a sick grin on his face.

You stood firmly, knowing the leader was watching you from nearby. Scared if he left you alone so soon, they would just come back. Slade understood, or maybe he was still awestruck by you, “Very well.”

You walked beside him as he stalked towards the corner, he knew the leader was hiding, from you or him, it was a little hard to tell.

Slade’s eyes seemed to gleam, and his teeth flashed a predatory grin as he ripped the door off the hinges, uncovering a cowering man. He smirked as the man looked between the two of you, inspecting the blood on you and the composed anger spreading across Slade’s demeanor. He had no weapon, or maybe he had dropped it.

Slade picked the man up by the neck, grinning as he grabbed his knife with the other, he growled into the man’s face, “you come into my home, you take my lady...bruise her up and traumatize her, and for what? To send a message? Try and get under my skin? Hurt her?!”

He tutted and the man squirmed and choked. Slade squeezed tighter with each syllable, bringing the knife to his chest and slicing down, “No one. Hurts. What’s mine. And gets away.”

The man shouted and you looked away quickly as Slade dropped the body to the ground. He turned to you and moved so suave for a man who's bare chest was now covered in blood. A man who had just murdered your kidnapper so easily.

He kissed the top of your head, his hand finding the small of your back to guide you outside, “Let’s go home, Doll.”

TwoFace:

Harvey exited the shower, pissed off that his goons had been making so much noise. What could they have possibly been doing? He already hated how the water felt on his bad side, and the fact he couldn’t relax paired with the noise...he wanted to shoot one of them and make a point.

But he had promised you a little movie night, and was excited to jump into bed with you and see what you had planned. Whatever they had done could wait until morning.

Harvey wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out into his large bedroom to find it absolutely wrecked...well more than it already had been from previous outbursts and its age.

“Sweetheart?” he asked, feeling sick to his stomach as he ran over to the bed.

Pillows were on the ground, feathers bursting from them and falling around the room like snow. There was wine staining the carpet while a tray of treats was strewn all over the bed. The TV and windows were smashed, the blankets crumpled all over, and DVD’s and Records were broken or sticking out of the walls.

There was no doubt this is what he had been hearing. But wouldn’t it have been louder? He didn’t have time to think about the legitimacies of the whole thing, you were gone! Your perfect night ruined...still a small black envelope caught his eye on a pile of white feathers.

He crumpled up the note, anger taking over him. TwoFace quickly dressed and grabbed his best guns, no need to ask the coin, for once he knew exactly what he wanted to do, but often when it came to you he didn’t feel compelled by the coin.

He made his way quickly to the abandoned warehouse you were in, looking for the nicest part, no doubt in an old office within it. He hoped you weren’t injured or at worst mangled, it would be his fault for being so negligent, and there was a part in his split brain that kept asking why he didn’t hear you or the room be trashed louder.

There were a few stray guards posted around that he quickly took care of, a smile of satisfaction on the corner of his lips as the barrels unloaded, but he still needed to find you before he could feel relief.

TwoFace could hear gunfire and shouting in a room towards the end of the hall. He came to a set of doors and kicked it open, finding sets of bodies laid around the small office. There he saw you turn a gun towards him while keeping another one raised toward the desk in the corner. You seemed to relax and finally breathe as you ran over to him almost collapsing.

He holstered his guns and took you into his arms, you looked exhausted, bruises on your arms and your knuckles were cracked from your fight.

“Doll what’s wrong? What happened, who took you?” he was angry, but Harvey’s hands on your face were gentle as he looked over your injuries, before the guns in your hands. “Are those my guns?”

You smiled softly, apologizing for the blood on them. But he could care less, at least in a way he was there to protect you. He’d get you cleaned up later, and the guns. He kissed your forehead, “my little sharpshooter.”

He then took his guns out again, nudging you to get behind him. You hadn’t been shot or killed yet and he wasn’t taking the risk as he moved over to the desk he assumed your kidnapper was hiding under.

He shot at the desk and then at the wall, his teeth gritted and voice pained, “come on out coward, so I can blow your brains out properly.”

“You’ve gone soft,” the man said standing up slowly, hands raised sheepishly, the tone in his voice sly but shaky, “she’s soft too. Say, why is she with a freak like you? Hmm?”

Had he planned to hold you as a ransom? What for? Did he not know what he would do?

You watched Harvey raise his gun with practiced precision, knowing his shot would kill. He wasn’t in the mood for games or talking. He was angry that you were kidnapped, he was angry at himself for his lack of awareness and care, and he was irritated anyone would use you as ransom and bait and not think there would be consequences.

He heard the man breathe, no doubt ready to make another sick remark about you. Harv’s teeth were gritted as he fired a single shot at the man, spraying his brains onto the wall behind him. But he couldn't stop, he unloaded the barrel of his first gun and then the second, shooting every spot this man had left bruises on you and ones he couldn’t see just yet.

The world needed cleaning, and you were willing to hold the garbage bag.

Unfortunately, you were biased when it came to Slade Wilson - were you really upholding the law when you were currently sucking a mercenary's cock into your mouth?

You couldn't answer that, not with that way your eyes were glossed over while Slade held your head in place, thrusting into your mouth with practiced, deep movements, "You're good, but you know that." Slade hummed, his one eye narrowed at you while he continued to move his hips and fuck your mouth carefully.

Precise as always, whether it was with a blade or making you gag just enough to make your throat tighten just the way he liked.

Your vision was a flushed haze of red and other hues from the heat in your body.

Drool covered your swollen lips, wrapped around Slade's dick like the erotic form of a candy wrapper while your tongue slurped and twisted around the tip, tracing veins as the man used your throat for his own pleasure.

He wasn't rushing you though, he was being rather careful. That was one thing you'd underestimated when you'd first met Slade.

That he'd do everything to hurt you for his own gain.

Yet that was one of the very few things Slade hadn't done. Physically hurt you.

Deep down in that twisted soul of yours, one used to violence and risking your life, coming home in pain with multiple contusions, bruises, and injuries from a rough night or a close to death experience - it bothered you.

Why wasn't he hurting you?

Sure, you didn't sign up for that in the relationship but the very fact that the man whose very job was to hurt people, wasn't hurting you? It was a huge irk.

Slade could see the crease in your brow; a habit you did when you were thinking deep, and of course he was only human..he was curious.

Disregarding his need to cum, he pulled his cock out of your wet mouth and watched the way saliva connected your pretty lips to the blushing head, "What's on your mind, hm?" He inquired.

You coughed a bit, more startled about the sudden emptiness in your mouth before your eyes narrowed softly, blinking back the threat of tears from having your throat opened like that.

"What? I'm not thinking about anything." You muttered, massaging the tent in your own sweatpants absentmindedly as Slade stared, "You know, you were never the best liar," He stroked your hair with an affection that made you melt and flare up all the same, "so tell me really, what is it?"

Hesitation danced over your countenance before you frowned, "Why're you so- gentle?" You sounded bitter when you said it, and though you felt bad, you knew Slade wasn't made of glass, "Do you think I'm weak or something? You're never rough, you just- you're too careful with me."

Slade took in your words, understanding seeming to flit over his own face, "Is that how you feel?"

You seemed reluctant all of a sudden at his question, scratching the back of your neck, "..I mean, yeah."

Silence lingered in the air while you two played an unsettling game of don't blink. You wondered if you'd turned the man above you off with your complaint - maybe you should've kept your mouth shut, maybe you-

"You should've said something earlier, I would've heeded to it." Slade interrupted your train of worrisome thoughts, standing up with his cock bobbing slightly and walking over to where his katanas rested against the wall.

Something akin to nervousness filled you when he reached for one, grasping the Tsuka of it and coming back to your knelt form.

He looked down at you as the tip of the blade grazed your jaw, "You want to feel something?" He started, "Because I assure you.." something dark seemed to settle right then and there in Slade's eye, "..I can make you feel something."

Your breath caught, eyes wide with anticipation.

Was he serious? The katana, would he-

"You gonna stab me?" You asked out of pure nervousness, and Slade couldn't help a snide smile, "..No. A simple graze was what I had in mind."

Again, that hesitation came right back to you. Graze you? Like draw blood? Sure, you could handle it..it was just grazing - you'd dealt with much worse before..considering you were a cop in Gotham City of all places to live Hell on earth in.

"Okay," You agreed, "I'm down."

Slade hummed, the absence of light in the room mixed with the city's nightlife glow outside highlighting every feature on Slade's naked body, carving every deep ab and the tone of his muscles perfectly, "Good. Stand then, and we can get to it."

Without a second, you stood and crawled over to the bed when Slade jutted his head towards it.

Another feeling accompanied your nervousness - excitement. Adrenaline from trying something dangerous yet so, so new. You wanted to feel something expecting, or merely..

You wanted to feel how dangerous the man you loved could become.

Settling onto your hands and knees, Slade came up behind you on his own knees, the katana in his hand. He analyzed you, trying to see what would be the best start to this.

Eventually, he pressed your upper back into the mattress so you could arch towards him, and he brought the tip of the blade between your shoulder blades, "Maybe I should carve my name right behind you, so everytime I have you..knelt like this and aching for me," He leaned into your ear as he began to slowly drag the blade, "I'll always know you belong to me."

A shaky grunt left with a wince as you felt the blade just barely slicing through your skin barrier, and a warm trickle was felt. Precision that no doubt was mastered over years, now tracing down your spine in an intimate display of harm.

The type of concoction of physical injury and love only Slade could give, and it made you sick with desire.

Slade watched the way the deep red of your blood slowly seeped down your back, and he leaned down to lick slowly up the fluid, a shiver and a surprised little moan leaving, "Slade-"

"Hm?" He hummed while he lapped slowly, going towards the plane of your neck before kissing behind your ear slowly.

Every word you'd had disappeared with the touch of his lips behind that spot, biting back a groan as your dick hardened impossibly - he knew every way to work you, no matter how minuscule it was.

Slade dragged his hand down your side, massaging with big hands before he palmed at your ass and squeezed the flesh there too, "Obedient." He said simply. before he grasped your waist with his arm and dragged the katana to slice gently at your waist, making you whimper, "Ah!"

"Shh," he hushed, "..just feel." He muttered, licking the edge of your ear as he drew calculate cuts along your body, each one giving you a sharp sensation that lasted long enough to feel good. It should've hurt, it should've hurt so bad; multiple stinging cuts all over your front that scattered from your hips to your collarbone.

Yet it brought you higher and higher to that cloud of endless bliss.

Slade knew you by now; your job wasn't for the soft of heart, you were tough and you could handle your own, and you weren't afraid to hurt yourself for what you needed to pursue.

It's why he'd chosen to love you - it's why he'd chipped a layer of his cold heart to allow you to warm it with love he shouldn't deserve.

Slade's cock dragged along your ass, nudging at the rim and making you stiffen. You weren't stupid, Slade was huge and you usually took a damn while to get adjusted to him. Slade hesitated, before he brought the flat slide of the katana to your lips, "Open."

You obeyed immediately, opening your mouth as Slade slid the blade in, "Good..now bite. And don't let it fall."

A nod was all you could manage as Slade slid a finger into your ass, twisting to hit that spot in you that had you jerking a bit, a little groan. He pumped it carefully, before a second one followed, both digits rubbing your sweet spot while stretching you open.

You were moaning softly around the blade, brows scrunched together before a third finger had your eyes widening, "Mff!"

"Relax, you know you can handle it." Slade stated firmly, working the three fingers and massaging at the spot that had you leaking pre-cum onto your guys' sheets.

After a minute, Slade pulled his fingers out and replaced it with the tip of his cock, "Don't choke." Was all he said as he began to push in, stretching you like nothing ever could. You whimpered, a pathetic sound from your likeliness but oh, you couldn't do anything else.

You desperately tried to keep your mouth clamped around the blade, teeth grazing the forged steel as Slade worked his way in, heavy breaths slowly becoming audible as the man used palpable effort to keep sane, "Tight..real fuckin' tight." He growled rawly, making you clench and elicit a loud groan from the man behind you, "Fuck."

It felt like eternity had passed when Slade had finally bottomed out, hitting your prostate with no form of struggle and making your back arch, the sting from the earlier breaking of skin on your spine making the experience all the more present to your brain.

Slade panted, having a moment to himself before he carefully grabbed the Tsuka of the katana, and took it out of your mouth, "Good..you did good," he praised gruffly, his eyes narrowed before he pulled back, and thrusted forward in a snap that made you cry out - an unnatural reaction, "Slade!"

"Calling my name like that isn't making this any slower." Slade stated, starting a pace that was slow enough to make you feel every single slam into your guts, your prostate being smashed effortlessly.

You couldn't sob now, you guys had just started.

Slade was silent, the katana resting on your back as he took in the way your hole, already becoming puffy and red, stretched around his thickness in a damn near pornographic way. "You're tiny," He started, his voice holding no form of sarcasm - but there was dark satisfaction, an arousal he couldn't deny, "compared to me, at least. You can barely even take my cock."

He thrusted in at that last sentence, hard and making you moan loudly, "Fuck!" Your voice cracked, before Slade began speeding up out of nowhere, "Take what you're given. You asked for it after all."

Every single thrust felt like he was splitting you open, the subtle changes in speed making you spiral out of control and quickly into a babbling, moaning mess with tears trying to come out.

"Oh! Shit, shit you're s-so..big!" You hoarsed, all shame absent in your body as Slade took you fiercely, keeping a controlled pace that was breaking you apart and making you into something you had never even dreamed of.

The way he seemed to push against your walls, your prostate practically throbbing with every spark against your nerves; it was ecstasy.

You were overwhelmed, and you were already feeling your cock throb and pulse with your impending orgasm, "Slade!! Fuck, fuck I can't take it!" You rasped with misty eyes, unaware that the tears had already fallen down your face, clinging to your lashes, "I'm gonna cum, please- please! S'too soon!!"

Really, you were trying to save face, but Slade only chuckled, "No, no. You ask, I gave. Now fucking take it," his hand not holding the katana raised, and in a quick motion he made a cut, his own blood, an almost black shade, began to leak down his palm.

The sting was non-existent, especially not when he moved the cut hand to your mouth, clapping it closed, "Look at how beautiful you are when you bleed. You were made for it." He encouraged lowly, hearing your moans of pleasure and soft cries had him rushing to his own orgasm.

The blood on Slade's palm had your brain melting - the urge to taste, the smell. What the fuck was wrong with you?

Yet, Slade's raspy voice cut through before you could even begin to conjure up an answer, "Taste it. Do it- taste the blood of the man who kills. The corrupt blood of a killer who does it all for you." He slammed into you as hard as he could with that, making you sob out and scream against his hand, a muffled sound.

The katana was forgotten on the bed Slade's other hand raised to grasp your hips, pushing you back onto his cock. You were dizzy and seeing triple, but you opened your mouth to let the ichor flow onto your tongue, and you moaned shakily. The iron taste filled you, flooding your every waking sense before you were cumming hard with your eyes rolling back, crying out and clenching tight around Slade's length.

Thick, white ropes ruined the sheets as Slade followed right after with an animalistic groan, filling you and panting harshly.

You both collapsed onto the bed, staining with drops of blood and your cum, the two of you opting to not move. Boneless, you were damn boneless - that had been the best orgasm of your fucking life.

Blood was smeared like lip tint on your swollen lips, and Slade's bloodied palm moved to ruffle your hair, "..Now go to bed." He gruffed out.

*

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    Slade Wilson....

Who fucks you better than anyone else you've ever been with. His cock is thick and long, hitting every sensitive inch inside of you as he holds you down by your hips, keeping you stuck in place. His body so much bigger than yours, so much stronger, as he looms over you. He laughs meanly as you squirm and gasp, as your fists clench in the sheets and your hips buck in his grasp, like you're trying to get him deeper. "Greedy little thing," He'd murmur, gripping your hips harder. Hard enough to leave bruises you'd admire for days. He'd make sure he was the only man you'd think about after this, he always did. He'd fuck you till your legs are jelly, till every inch of you aches in the best sort of way. Until the only thought left in your head is him and how fucking good he makes you feel.

Slade Wilson...

Who thinks it's pathetically adorable when you shyly mention something new you want to try. Who slips a collar around your neck like it fucking belongs there. Who attaches a leash like it's second nature and bends you over the bed, using the leash as leverage to make your back arch, to make you keep your head up as he fucks you from behind. He fucks you through not one and not two, but three orgasms before he even comes once, the collar tight around your throat and his grip on the leash never faltering. He leans over you, lips pressing a rough kiss just above the collar where it digs into your throat and says, "Should have put one of these on you a long fuckin' time ago."

Slade Wilson...

Who fucks you anywhere he pleases. Against the shower wall when he slips into your shower without waiting for permission (you'd never dream of telling him no). Your legs around his waist as he holds you up like you weigh nothing as his cock fucks up into you under the spray of the hot water. In the kitchen, bent over the counter. His fingers fucking into your soaked cunt inside your cute little shorts while his chest presses against your back, keeping you in place. Thumb circling your clit every so often, just to listen to you whimper. In the dressing room of that store you like to shop at, when you didn't even know he'd been following you (he likes to follow you sometimes, just to watch you during your day). His hand over your mouth as his cock presses into your cunt, that cute little dress you were trying on bunched up around your hips as he breathes out, "Better not make a mess before you even buy that dress, sweetheart." (He buys you the dress, despite your attempts to tell him not to after).

Slade Wilson...

Who isn't that loud in bed when it comes to moaning, he's more of a grunter if anything, but who talks you through it every time. Smirking down at you as he eases his cock down your throat, his thumb stroking along your stretched out mouth as he says, "There you go. Don't you look so pretty when you put that mouth to better use?". One hand stroking through your hair a few times before he grips it tightly, guiding your mouth onto his cock, over and over, and breathes out, "That's it. Just like that. Take every inch, sweet thing; I know you can. My perfect little slut." Who listens to you moan and gasp as you ride his cock, his hands roaming over your skin, palming your tits and pinching your nipples hard enough to make you whine as he grins, "Come on, you can ride cock better than that. Didn't I teach you how to do this?" and the words are followed by a sharp slap to your ass. Who doesn't stop fucking you even when you're exhausted and over sensitive, who speaks into your ear as you cling to him while he chases after his own pleasure after wringing yours out of you again and again, "Be good and let me use you, sweetheart. Just like that. Doesn't it feel so good to let me use you? Feel good being my perfect little toy, all fucked out and sensitive and still letting me fuck you?"

Slade Wilson...

Who's strangely good at aftercare, even if he's not the emotional and soft type. Who cleans you up with a warm washcloth. He already has water and a snack ready for you, pushing them into your still shaking hands once he deems you clean enough. He brushes out your messy hair. He looks you over, running his hands over every bruise and mark. He smirks when you wince, but only because he's sure nothing actually really hurts. He slips under the blankets with you and tugs you against him, uncaring what you do now. Not that you can do much, trapped in his embrace and exhausted like you are. There are no soft words or assurances that you did well. You're here aren't you, and so is he, so clearly you did something right. No, he just presses a rough kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder before falling asleep, already thinking about how he'll have you next.

So when you were trying to chat up a guy that worked as a security guard at some dingy bar, to get some details about the complex he worked at that was suspected to be used by human traffickers, you had to double take when you saw Slade Wilson himself approaching your table. He wore a black cap, red plaid jacket, jeans and boots, looking every bit a trucker desperate for a night cap after a long work day. His hair was longer than the photos you'd seen of him. He looked. . .extremely attractive, regardless of the fact that his clothes covered up his build and made him seem much less muscular than he actually was.

Slade walked right up to the guy you were chatting to before leaning in close, making himself seem as intimdating as possible.

"You should move before I do it for you," he spoke low, his intimidating tone filled with promise.

"Who the fuck do you think you are man?" The guy retorted back, that had earned him some of your respect. Slade then rose to his full height.

"I'm the husband." You blinked at him in total shock. Did Deathstroke just say that he was your husband? The guy quickly shuffled out of the booth, taking his drink with him and not giving you a second glance. You gritted your teeth when you gained back composure. You'd been listening to that guy complain about his job for forty minutes straight, you were so close to getting what you needed, and this asshole comes in and fucks it all up.

"This better be an emergency," you grunted at him, managing to stop yourself from clenching your fists.

"You think I'd ever need your help?"

"We've worked together before."

"You've worked in my vicinity, when it was useful. Don't get ahead of yourself."

"What do you want."

"A drink." He took your glass and downed what was left in it before heading straight to the bar and sitting down at a stool, completely ignoring you. That fucking asshole. You considered pulling out your phone and bringing up the app that would produce a high-pitched noise that only Slade would hear. The noise would be extremely loud for him, loud enough to deafen him supposedly, or at least piss him off. It would be wasteful however, you couldn't give that away now despite how much you wanted to get back at him.

When the bartender poured him out a drink, you plucked it right out of Slade's hand as he went to drink it and spat in the glass before setting it down on the bar. Giving him an obnoxious smile, it fell from your face as Slade brought the glass to his lips and started drinking, holding eye contact with you the whole time as he drained every last drop. What the fuck? You couldn't help but stare at him. Was this some psychological warfare bullshit? Why were you getting turned on by this? Fuck. He licked the inside of the glass when he finished it all, your eyes fixating on the movement of his tongue.

"Mmm," he hummed, bringing the glass away from his mouth as his eye roamed down your body. A smirk pulled at his lips.

"That desperate for me huh, kid?" He teased and you looked away in shame, realising how much you were embarrassing yourself. Was your attraction to him so obvious? Could he smell the arousal on you? No wonder why he never respected you. Unable to think of a coherent reply, you pathetically turned away from him without a word and made a beeline for the exit.