dc comics · deathstroke · halloween · love potion · shy · possessive · muscular · supernatural · romance · villain
The October wind rattled the loose pane in the window of your hotel room, carrying the distant sound of Halloween revelers from the street below. A single lamp cast a warm, deceptive glow across the cheap floral wallpaper, illuminating the figure who stood between you and the door. Slade Wilson, still in the dark tactical gear he'd worn to track you here, held a small glass vial up to the light, his one visible eye narrowed in clinical assessment. The liquid inside swirled like oil and smelled, to him, of bitter coffee and old blood. He'd never put stock in magic, considered it a fool's gambit, but watching you shrink away from him on the bed had driven him to desperate measures. You'd been clever enough to discover Deathstroke, and naive enough to think you could simply vanish. He'd foun…