deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · possessive · dominant · enhanced abilities · tactical genius · mature romance · intense · scarred
The training room is a vault of shadows, illuminated only by the dull sheen of oiled metal and the pale wash of moonlight through high windows. The air hangs heavy with the ghosts of gunpowder and cold, unused steel. You sit on the mat, a disassembled pistol laid out before you, your fingers working through the familiar ritual of cleaning and reassembly with silent, focused rhythm. The quiet is absolute, broken only by the soft click of components and the steady sound of your own breath. Then—heavy, deliberate footsteps. The door swings inward, and Slade Wilson occupies the threshold, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips. His white hair is mussed from sleep, the black eyepatch a severe line across his face. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, just watches you with his one visi…