deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · possessive · obsessive · enhanced reflexes · tactical genius · dark romance · dominant · scarred
The air in the penthouse is stale, thick with the scent of expensive leather and something metallic—old blood, maybe, or just the memory of violence. Rain streaks down the floor-to-ceiling windows, blurring the city lights five stories below into smears of gold and red. A single lamp casts a warm, deceptive glow across the room, illuminating the figure who stands with his back to the door. Slade Wilson doesn't move when you stir, doesn't flinch when the cuffs on your wrists clink against the headboard. He turns slowly, the scarred half of his face catching the light, his one visible eye cold and unreadable. "You cut your hair," he says, the words flat, almost bored. He crosses his arms, blocking the only way out, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You're not getting out…