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Your beloved second cousin — or better yet, first cousin once removed, because he's definitely not going to be in your life if he keeps bringing up this topic — Dick Grayson, pauses the movie for what seems to be the fourth time that night. “I still can’t believe it.” Jason groans and rests his arms behind his head. “C’mon, let’s just watch the movie in peace.” Rolling your eyes you bury yourself deeper in Bruce’s armchair, here we go again.
“What are you even talking about?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him, tone dripping with irony.
You know exactly what he’s talking about, the thing is, you simply can’t take it anymore. It's almost dawn and you just came back from patrol, you were supposed to be having some fun as a family.
Ugh.
Unfortunately, since discovering about you and Slade, peace in this house seems nonexistent.
Snapping your eyes shut you massage your temples, already starting to feel a pounding inside your skull. This headache is now a normal occurrence in your life, you feel it every time someone brings up your relationship with a certain mercenary. Dick makes sure to talk about it at least once a day.
He squints at you. “You know very well what I’m talking about.” He leans in as if telling you a secret, but doesn't make any effort to lower his voice. “You and Deathstroke” The house is dead silent so his question bounces around the room and echoes through the whole manor, definitely not the volume you use when talking about something that was supposed to be a secret.
“Oh my God, Dick! Shut up!” You bury your head in your hands.
Whatever.
At this rate probably the whole Gotham no, the whole country, already knows about it.
Still, you nervously perk up and look around to make sure no one accidentally heard him while going to the kitchen or something. “Couldn’t you be louder? This way you’re going to wake up everyone!” You hiss, shaking your head disapprovingly.
“I’m just shocked, okay?” He shrugs. “Didn’t expect you to stab me in the back like this—”
“What—Stab you in the back—” Your mouth hangs open at his accusation, but Dick simply raises one of his eyebrows. “He tried to kill me several times, and you know it.”
You avert your eyes to a random point around the room. You know he’s only telling the truth, Slade also has never tried to pretend to be sorry about what he did. But the way he says it kind of hurts.
Jason slowly smirks. “I hate to do this but… I’m with him in this one.”
You scoff, slapping your hands loudly on the leather arms of the recliner you’re sitting on. “Great! Let’s all pretend I’m the only one in this family who’s ever dated someone with questionable morals.” When you say it you’re not even thinking about someone specifically, but Jason takes it personally.
“We’re talking about you here, all right? You’re not going to distract us with these cheap tricks.” You snicker, fighting the urge to playfully stick your tongue out at him
“How’d you guys even met anyways?” Dick tests the water, trying again to extract information from you, but your only answer is a nauseatingly sugary smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Jason dramatically tries to back him up. “C’mon, don’t dodge the question, alright? We’re curious! We thought you had never fought him before.”
“I never said I did.” You answer cryptically to their dismay.
“Sorry, we forgot.” Dick drags the words dramatically. “With Slade everything has to be, ohhh, so mysterious.”
After so many days of them wearing you out, you finally snap. “Alright! I’ll tell you everything!”
They look at each other like two kids in a candy store.
Feining irritation, you have your index finger pointed directly at Dick’s chest. “You know what? It’s actually your fault I’ve met him.”
“Hey! How’s that my fault?” He seems genuinely shocked, and, with both hands, vaguely gestures to himself in disbelief.
“We met at that party you made me go!”
After having spent so much time fighting to keep everything under wraps, it feels nice to be able to talk about him with people you care about.
“What? What party?” Jason sits at the end of his seat expectantly. Sometimes you wonder if in another life he was an old lady who used to peep behind the curtain of her room to know what the neighbors were doing.
“The charity one, remember? The one where that Vickers guy almost killed Dick.”
Jason, with mouth half open, stares at you in disbelief. “Wait, seriously?” He blinks at you slowly. “We didn’t even notice he was there!”
“Yeah, well…” You laugh breathlessly. “You were pretty busy.”
Dick shakes his head slowly. “Still can’t believe he tried to shoot me in the middle of— Wait there, young lady! We know what you’re doing!” Extending one of his arms accusingly in your direction. “C’mon, spill!”
Crossing your arms over your chest, you sigh defeated.
This is going to be a long night.
“I want to take this off! It’s itching!” Jason puts his two fingers inside his collar and pulls forcefully, trying to loosen his tie. “Tsk” You sneer, tightening it again but with way more force than necessary. Making an exaggerated choking sound he bats your hands away swiftly. “Alright! Jesus! I’ll stop squirming.” A victorious smile starts to form in your face as you hum in agreement. “You better.”
The warm yellow of the ballroom’s lavish illumination makes your eyes glint mischievously.
“C’mon, let’s have some fun.”
You link your arms. Partly to look good on the newspaper pictures tomorrow, and partly to be able to force him down the staircase if necessary.
You feel when your cousin, who has finally stopped fighting with the sleeves of his jacket, slips fully into vigilante mode. In your peripheric vision you see him check all the entrances and estimate the number of people present. Together with his father and brothers, he’s here to watch Sean Vickers, a famous politician who, recently, is suspected to be involved with some serious drug dealing business.
When uncle Bruce discovered that the man would be attending he didn’t think twice before accepting the invitation he received — and bringing all of your cousins with him.
As you reach the bottom of the steps you ignore the camera flashes, and all the people near them staring. There is no need to look around to know all eyes are on you two, being the first Waynes to be seen arriving after the patriarch of the family.
And, of course, there’s also the factor that you two make a beautiful pair.
Jason is not in his element, but the suit compliments him perfectly. The sleeves of his jacket tighten around his muscles when he moves the perfect amount to make all women around you sigh. Hair is neatly secured in place, his silently brooding gives him a mysterious aura. To put it simply, he looks devilishly handsome.
You have to say though, he’s not the only one who’s attracting all those looks.
The dress you’re wearing is relatively modest, but it’s completely backless apart from two thin straps connecting the front to the back. It leaves just enough to the imagination. The emerald green silk pools around your feet, elegantly swaying as you walk. You hold your head high, completely conscious of how well it compliments your figure.
The crowd opens up for your passage.
Bruce spots you first, champagne in hand, he laughs along some old geezer in an obnoxiously rich way and excuses himself. You gently put your hand on his shoulder and kiss his right cheek. “Uncle.” “Hello, darling.” He pats his son on the back softly. “I see you managed to shove him inside the suit.” “Yes, but I have to say, it was no easy feat.” That was, honestly, an enormous understatement.
“Yeah, whatever…” Jason rolls his eyes, but you notice the way the corners of his mouth curve upwards in a reluctant smirk.
Your light banter is interrupted when Bruce turns around, locking eyes with something on a distant corner of the room. Probably one of the hiding spots the boys are using right now, waiting impatiently for Vickers' arrival. “Dick has just confirmed, he’s here.” he says low enough for just you and Jason to listen. “You can come down now. Tell your brothers.” he mutters while his hands are hovering near his ear, activating the earpiece.
“You’re sure you guys don’t need any help?” You ask expectantly, and for a moment hope fills your chest, B just crosses his arms, “Thank you, darling. But you don’t need to, tonight is surveillance only, the boys can manage it alright. Have some fun.” you nod in agreement feigning indifference at the rejection.
“Well, since work has started early tonight, I’ll leave you boys to it.” You playfully jab, but already thinking about hitting the bar and sulking, but before you manage to walk away Jason catches your wrist. “Be careful, okay? We’re all here, but he’s dangerous.” Your gaze softens. “You know I’m always careful.” You smile at him before slipping away.
Despite your apparent positive demeanor just a few seconds ago, when you’re out of sight you pout slightly, usually these parties are fun, but these charity ones are always a drag. Somewhere the members of Gotham's ‘high society’ gather, pretending for the night that they actually care about what happens to the people of the city. It’s mostly a formality, no actual changes are ever agreed upon and everything always stays the same. Because of that, the presence of uncle Bruce and some other member of your family — decided by a very mature drawing of straws — is usually enough, but after finding out about Vickers, Bruce insisted that all of the Waynes had to come.
Well, except you.
You were actually going to happily stay at home, but Dick convinced you to come, saying they desperately needed someone to act as a back up. The thing is, you didn’t expect that by ‘backup’ he meant just waiting around helplessly like a sitting duck.
Angrily, you puff air out of your nose. He didn’t even get you a comm.
Now, where’s that bar?
You walk around the room in the direction you think the alcoholic beverages are, mindlessly looking for some moderately familiar face, maybe a friend dragged by a relative, or someone from college trying to get into politics.
Yeah, no, just old condescending assholes everywhere.
Without any of your cousins to pester you slowly circle the dance floor.
The ballroom glows beautifully. Tall arches are sculpted in the white stone wall, forming windows that, for the night, are adorned by long patches of a delicate fabric to obscure the view of the city. Chandeliers drip a faint glow and violins hum, everything has a sweet flowery smell that makes the air seem like velvet. Gotham’s elite swirling in silk and secrets.
It’s absurdly excessive in every sense of the word.
Couples sway in the middle of the vast space to an instrumental version of some old song, some people are watching them on the side lines, waiters dance around the crowd equilibrating champagne flutes in shiny silver platters. Nothing particularly interesting.
You can’t deny it’s very pretty, still everything is terribly monotonous.
Another party amidst a thousand. Organized by some shady politician or socialite you hardly remember, and, quite honestly, don’t care about.
You’d think the bored grimace plastered on your face would be enough to grant you peace for the night.
Clearly, you thought wrong.
A sweaty hand touches your shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl, “Hey there.” you turn around with a robotic smile on your face. “Hello.”
He looks pathetic. Five or more years younger than you. Maybe he’s somebody's son. Still, what really catches your attention is the confidence that only people of a certain class have. The confidence that everyone around him is there to please him. The confidence that nobody would ever dream to say no to him.
A confidence he exudes.
The smell of it sickens you.
Perfectly slicked back hair, but it’s weirdly greasy. Perfectly pressed suit, but it’s a little too tight. Perfectly white teeth, but the smile feels staged. You’re already irritated, and he seems to be costume-made to give the last push you need to actually explode.
Still, you’re a Wayne, you’ve got to behave. You can’t bite, at least, not yet.
You raise a brow, waiting for him to start speaking, not bothering to hide your impatience.
“I was looking your way, and thought you needed somebody to show you a good time.”
“Well, I’m very thankful, but no.” The tone is so aggressively sugary you’re scared of becoming diabetic.
At your answer he frowns, but to your dismay it doesn't seem to be enough to make him back off.
He smiles again, like an incredibly bright thought has crossed his otherwise empty head. “Don’t pretend you weren’t looking at me from across the room”. Your mouth flattens into a straight line, arms crossed defensively over your chest .
“I can assure you I wasn't." You try giving him a tight lipped smile, but it comes off more like a grimace than anything else. “Now if you excuse me.”
You’re already a few steps away from him when he grabs you by the forearm, forcibly pulling you in his direction. “Drop the act, honey.” He drags the pet name on his tongue, like it belongs there.
It makes the blood inside your veins boil, and you imagine how it would feel to sink your fist in the middle of his face.
“Please, let go of me.” You hiss venomously.
You don’t want to make a scene, but he’s leaving you with no other choice.
Suddenly, you notice a large figure approaching the slimy boy from behind.
The man clasps a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“I believe the lady asked for you to leave.” He seems visibly taken back by the sheer force of the grip but still insists. “Look dude, I wasn't talking to— Uh—” As soon as he turns around he freezes, the owner of the voice towers over him, wearing a smirk that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else but danger.
He’s suspiciously stealth for someone this big, how could you not notice him arriving?
Soon this thought dissipates from your head when the boy starts babbling uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry— So sorry Mr. —” “Just go.” You hiss, interrupting the word vomit leaving his mouth. The way he was actually attempting to apologize to the man behind him, and not to you, who he was actually bothering is unbelievable.
He doesn't waste a second before following your command, your eyes follow his figure scurrying off and disappearing in the middle of the crowd.
“Thank you for that,” You say to the man who came to your rescue, you try to remain calm but now you’re too fucking irritated. “But I can take care of myself.” You let slip out in a moment of weakness.
You visibly recoil. That’s not something you should have said somewhere like this.
He doesn't seem to mind though you realize, observing a low rumble that resembles a laugh leave his chest.
“Never thought you couldn’t.” You drop your hands to your sides, anger lessening at his words. Surprisingly, you actually think that he sounds sincere. “Just thought,” You look at him. “I could make you get rid of him faster, that’s all.”
Like, really look at him.
It’s like all the air inside your lungs has been knocked out in a single punch.
The black suit is perfectly tailored, his slicked back grey hair paired with the black eyepatch gives an indescribable alluring edge to his appearance. And he is tall, very tall. He doesn't look like he belongs here, he has everything to fit in, but it’s like you can see the wolf fur slipping under the disguise of the lamb.
He looks like trouble, undoubtedly so.
Still, your heart can’t help but to skip a beat when he offers his hand to you. “Could I ask you for a dance, then?” He smirks, “To apologize for underestimating you.” at his request you feel your face heating up.
You shouldn’t.
You really shouldn’t.
Hesitantly your fingers hover over his, only for a second— Then he closes the space, slowly pulling you to the dance floor. He skillfully navigates around the moving couples. You catch yourself meditating about how his hands are incredibly warm and steady, and way more calloused than you thought they would be.
Finally he stops in an empty space in the middle of the room.
Music fills your ears, it’s slow and orchestral, the kind that wraps around your ribs and pulls. Champagne glasses are clinking and laughter is echoing. Oh, how they were irritating to you before, but now, they are a part of the melody.
His hand settles at your waist and yours at his shoulder, you’re surprised when you suddenly feel your fingers brush a scar beneath the soft fabric.
He guides you around the first step and you move together like you’ve done this countless times before.
Like your bodies remember something that your minds don’t.
His thumb brushes your naked back, barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch and your body shiver. He smirks, slow and condescending, he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. "Everybody's looking.”
You breathlessly respond, “I think It’s because I don’t do this too often.” His smile widens and something glints in his eye. “I guess that makes me special, huh?”
“Maybe.”
Without ever taking your eyes from each other you spin around the room, “Or maybe… I was just bored, and you’re proving yourself to be the perfect distraction.” you smile up at him, teasingly.
By the look on his face, he’s pleasantly surprised at your playful answer.
Biting the inner corner of your cheek you ask, “Are they still looking?” eye contact for a moment becoming a little too intense for you. “Of course they are.”
He leans in. “They can’t take their eyes off you, sweetheart.”
You blush profusely and you like the way he seems to enjoy that very much. Usually you would hate a stranger calling you by some sort of pet name, but the way he says it just makes your heart beat faster.
You simply don’t want this moment to end, but you feel the way the last notes of the song are slowly arriving.
In sync with the music he dips you.
It’s like there’s no one else in the room, except for you two.
The musicians stop, a few scattered notes echoing around the large space, and everybody starts clapping. He brings you back slowly like he’s trying to make the moment last longer, you’re still a little out of balance, so he puts both of his hands on your waist, securing you in place. Your breathing is shallow and you feel like your heart is about to explode.
You lean in, just enough to feel the heat radiating from him.
“I don’t think I got your name.” You ask from behind your eyelashes.
“Wilson.” You furrow your brows, pondering where you have heard this name before. “Slade Wilson.”
Oh.
Oh.
Shit.
It’s like a bucket of ice cold water has just been thrown over you.
Wide eyed you try to push him away, “You’re— You’re Deathstroke?” he smirks and effortlessly pulls you flush against him, his grip around you begins to feel bruising. “Now, you don’t want to make a scene, do you?” He looks borderline predatory.
“What do you say we stay for one last dance?” He asks, but you know it’s not really a question.
You two are frozen in place, you don’t dare to move a muscle with the way his hands are tightening around your body in a threatening manner. When the first chords of the next songs begin to resonate around the ballroom, he resumes his movement, guiding you along forcefully.
You don’t try to hide the way your gaze moves over the crowd, attempting to locate a familiar face. He has to know you’re not alone in here.
He shakes his head in disbelief. “Don’t need to look around.” He huffs out a laugh. “They’re not here.” His whole demeanor changed after revealing himself, but not the way he looks at you, and you don’t really know what to do with this information.
“How can you be so certain?” You seethe, he, on the other hand, simply laughs at your anger. “I’m not stupid, kid. I only came here when I was sure they wouldn’t bother us.”
You scoff. “You underestimate them. As soon as they see you, you’re gone.”
“I don’t. They really are good,” Maybe it’s the light, but when he widens his smirk his teeth look sharper than before, at the sight you feel something stir deep inside you. “but I’m better.” You roll your eyes at his self-agrandizing. You know he’s good and terribly dangerous, but you can’t admit this, not in front of him.
You lock eyes with the man while refusing to say anything else, you’re not sure why you’re still softly swaying to the music, because now he’s merely guiding your steps. You could just run, but you don’t. Maybe it’s because you’re scared of him, yes, it must be it, even if a small part of you is not so sure. “I was surprised when I found out you’d be attending. Didn’t think this type of place would be your style.” He fills in the silence.
“I only came here to help them.” You respond trying not to give him too much insight in your plans, considering you’re not so sure of what he knows, or what he’s doing here.
He looks around theatrically, directing your attention to where you actually stand. “I’m sure you’re helping them a whole lot.” You blush.
“I’m here as back up, okay?” You shoot at him swiftly, starting to grow uncomfortable with where this conversation is heading.
“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” You freeze, surely he didn’t just say that.
Surely.
“What— What do you mean by this?” He sees right through you. “C’mon, kid. They didn’t even get you a comm.”
“I—” You hesitate. You can’t let him know how much his words are affecting you, so you reformulate your thoughts. “I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t think I could help them.”
“If they wanted your help, you wouldn’t be here with me, and you know it.” You try not to flinch at his harsh words. Despite his aggressive tone, by the way he’s staring you don’t think he’s ridiculing you.
“You’re trying to prove yourself to them.” You look at your feet that are still moving in sync to a tune you’re not paying attention to. You prefer to stay silent, he’ll know if you lie. He hesitantly adds. “But kid, I’ve seen the way you fight.”
“What— You’ve been stalking me?” You don’t pay attention to what he's actually trying to say, just that, what do you mean Deathstroke has been following you around?
Your heart skips a beat.
You’re beginning to grow painfully aware that you shouldn’t be feeling a lot of the things you’re feeling right now.
“Just wanted to see you in action.” He smirks at your disbelief.
“That’s repulsive—”
You’re so concerned about him following you, you don’t even register his words until he’s already saying them. “Might be because of this your cousins don’t really trust you enough to put you in the missions—”
You look at him, mouth hanging open, but before you can even start speaking he cuts you off.
“You’re not a hero, sweetheart. You’re a fucking killer.”
He steps over a line he shouldn’t have, and your eyes immediately darken, your voice gaining a cutting edge it didn’t have before.
“You didn’t come here just to talk. What do you want, Slade?”
He notices the change in your demeanor, and sighs disappointed. “Ah— You were the only little bat I hadn't talked to before.” He’s so close you can feel his hot breath brushing your ear. You feel the anger boiling inside of you, anger and something else. “I was just curious.”
“You really are just like they say.”He smirks and his eyes glide over you
Why are you feeling this way?
He should disgust you, every word that leaves his mouth should make you frightened, but you’re electrified. Every cell of your being seems to pulse when you feel his muscles shifting under his skin.
“You’re—.” Immediately you stop when his eyes flicker to your mouth.
“Be careful, you’re already becoming my favorite one.”
The effect he has on you is already pathetically obvious, so you try to salvage some of your honor. “If that’s all you had to do here… You’ve already seen me, you can leave now.”
“And I here thought we were having fun.”
You laugh ironically. “You’re a monster, Slade, I can’t tolerate having you near me.”
"Doesn't seem like it” His grip experimentally tightens around your waist. “By the way you’re looking at me right now.”
Only when he points out you notice you’re looking at the way his mouth is forming the words he’s saying, your neck starts to grow hot for what seems to be the thousandth time that night. You look away.
“I’m going to kill you.” His hand on your back dips lower and your breath gets stuck in your throat. He notices, because of course he notices.
“Good luck with that one, kid.” He says smirking.
If you tilted your head in that moment, your lips would touch.
Suddenly, a gun shot. People are screaming. Some are already starting to run to the nearest entrance.
He takes his hands off you, but you don’t really register it because instinctively your head whips around trying to locate the source of the commotion.
What you do notice is the way he takes a few steps back, and in a surprisingly gentle manner he puts a strand of hair behind your ear and whispers. His hot breath tickles the crook of your neck.
“I can’t wait to see you again.”
You turn, expecting to see him behind you, mouth half open ready to ask the meaning of his words.
But there’s only empty air. He’s gone.
The only sign he was actually there with you is your racing heartbeat and the warmth spreading across your body like a disease.
Well, fuck.