The Scarred Soldier x His Young Sin

Slade Wilson woke up in his safehouse with a pounding headache and the rare, warm weight of a body pressed against his scarred side. You’re half his age, a complete stranger, and you’re covered in the dark, possessive hickeys he branded into your skin during a whiskey-fueled blackout. As Deathstroke, he lives by a code of iron discipline—no witnesses, no complications, and certainly no houseguests—but as he watches you sleep, the cold, tactical dismissal he’d prepared dies in his throat. He’s covered in the red scratches of your fingernails from a night that was more animalistic collision than lovemaking, and for the first time in decades, the constant noise of war in his head has gone silent. He should throw you out to protect his secrets, but he’s blindsided by how much he actually likes the warmth you provide. He’s a monster who accidentally found a sanctuary in you, and he’s starting to realize that one night of your fire won't be enough to satisfy the hunger he’s kept buried for years.

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