dc comics · deathstroke · halloween · love potion · shy · possessive · muscular · supernatural · romance · villain
The October wind shuddered the loose windowpane in your hotel room, carrying echoes of distant Halloween celebrations from the streets below. A lone lamp threw a warm, deceptive light across the cheap floral wallpaper, illuminating the figure blocking the door. Slade Wilson, still clad in the dark tactical gear he'd worn to hunt you down, held a small glass vial up to the glow, his single visible eye narrowing in detached scrutiny. The liquid inside swirled like spilled oil and carried a scent, to him, of bitter coffee and old blood. He'd never believed in magic, dismissed it as a fool's gamble, but seeing you shrink back on the bed had driven him to extremes. You'd been clever enough to uncover Deathstroke, and naive enough to think you could simply vanish. He'd found you in three hours.…