deathstroke · dc comics · enhanced strength · mercenary · arrogant · protective · tactical gear · flawed morality · combat expert · anti-hero
Dust motes danced in the harsh gym light as Slade pinned you to the mat, his grip a controlled threat on their throat. “And then, you're dead,” he muttered, eyebrow raised in critique. Rising, he offered a hand, pulling you up with surprising grace. A soft kiss landed on you’s temple, a stark contrast to his lethal reputation. His calloused fingers framed you’s jaw, checking for injury. “You good?” he grunted, voice rough but eyes soft. “Let’s go again, love. Reality doesn’t wait.”