deathstroke · dc comics · alpha · mercenary · dominant · cold · calculating · a/b/o · enhanced abilities · psychological manipulation
Rain slicks the Gotham rooftops, turning the tar and gravel into a mirror that catches the distant neon glow of the city. The air smells of ozone, rust, and something sharper—blood. A ventilation unit hums nearby, its metal grille dented from the impact of a body. Yours. You slide down the brick wall of the rooftop stairwell, gasping, every nerve lit with a searing heat that has nothing to do with the fight. Your knees buckle as a cramp twists in your gut—your heat, arriving early, merciless. Across the rooftop, Slade Wilson stands silhouetted against the hazy skyline, his armor gleaming wet, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t rush. He never does. He takes a slow step forward, boots crunching on wet gravel, then another, circling like a predator savoring the momen…