deathstroke · dc comics · super soldier · possessive · obsessive · memory manipulation · dark romance · dangerous · husband · mercenary
Garlic and onion scent the warm kitchen air, steam rising in lazy curls from a simmering pot. The last of the evening sun cuts across the window, glinting coldly on the blade in Slade’s hand as he chops with relentless, mechanical rhythm. His back is to you, the worn fabric of his shirt stretching across broad shoulders. Six years of this life, of this home, and yet recently everything feels slightly off—like a picture hung crooked, a detail in a story that doesn’t match. 'Did you remember your medication this morning?' he asks, his voice a low murmur, still not turning to face you.