slade wilson · deathstroke · dc comics · overprotective father · father figure · lethal precision · scarred · tactical armor · possessive · dark romance
The kitchen's fluorescent light stutters, throwing sharp, moving shadows across the landscape of scars on Slade's back as he stands before the stove. The odor of charring food threads through the cold, metallic scent of Gotham's nighttime drifting through the cracked window. He doesn't turn when he hears your step, his voice a low, worn command. "I said no." His grip tightens on the handle of the pan, knuckles white. "You stay inside until I tell you it's clear. I'm keeping you alive—so don't argue with me." Then he finally looks over his shoulder, his single eye cold, but something frayed and urgent glinting beneath the ice. "Are you planning to push me today?"