I WANNA DO BAD THINGS TO YOU — private

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    ugh, the rogues. she's never liked the rogues and even a year later, disgust sinks into her gut while twin orbs of amethyst shimmy up and down the familiar landscape. if she knew that this was where deathstroke would eventually come to reside, she might've thought twice that night she followed him to his bed. it's far too late to go back on that decision now though, so she merely rolls with it. swampy snow muddies her paws a sickly brown and with a thoughtful flourish chicagocrimes eases herself into a sitting position. she's no mind reader, telepathy most definitely not a quirk of hers, so all she can do is hope her words reach the right pair of ears, "slade? ya out there? i better not be talkin' ta thin air man, where are ya?" and why in the hell is she whispering? it's not like she's doing anything wrong, is she? the man ought to know he's going to be a father, right? her eyes flutter down to the small, hardly noticeable, bump that riots across her stomach. right.

    Deathstroke




    DEATHSTROKE


    With super senses pretty much permanently running it did not take long for Deathstroke to clock onto the familiar female and her call for him. The hellhound oozed from his bed, leaving his slumbering boyfriend behind before teleporting into the scene before Chicago. The hellhound angled his ears forward and locked that intense one-eyed gaze upon her.

    "Yes, Chica? Why have you called for me?"





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    she is left with her thoughts for but a moment as in the next he is there, sudden as the jump in her bones. she shifts back, a slight movement of her paws and a soft tensing of her muscles before the beast of ash and smoke makes sense of who stands ahead of her, and the notion is lost. chicagocrimes's shoulders droop, eyes lidding half-mass as they flutter over the hulking figure in one fell swoop of her steady gaze. her memories of him pale in comparison to present day, a soft blush of words departing from a crackling voice, "hey, you." deathstroke, this is deathstroke, a man who was merely meant to be a night-time fling, a shrivel of weakness, the chink in her and jade's armor, has become far more within the passing days- and only she knows this, but not for long. "i'm uh, well, pregnant." lacking a poet's tongue, she doesn't dabble in subtlety often for the woman has never waxed lyrical, the river that are her words straightforward, "an' yer the father. jus' thought ta let ya know." him, before her girlfriend. she tries not to think on that bit.




    DEATHSTROKE


    The hellhound is suspicious at first, not many came chasing after him after encounters unless seeking revenge for something, the desire for some misplaced justice. Though he was soon greeted with surprise which flashed across his facial features as the news came. She was pregnant, and he was the father. Deathstroke's gaze softened as he took a step towards her, ears pricking forward with heightened interest.

    "So you and I are to have a litter together? The news pleases me greatly, how long until you are due? I am eager to be involved in their life."

    He could hardly hide the excitement lacing his tone, but he loved being a parent. His only positive quality, he was the type who would do anything for his young, hell, he'd even die for them.





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