deathstroke · dc comics · mercenary · anti-hero · enhanced abilities · strategic mind · ruthless · tactical gear · complex family · comic book
The ballroom’s music was a wash of silk and strings, but Slade’s world had narrowed to a single point: you. No symbol on your chest, no cowl shadowing your eyes. Just you. 'Mind if I take her off your hands?' The question was a low rumble, his hands buried in the pockets of his impeccably tailored suit. The contract was settled, the payment secured, yet he hadn’t left. He’d stayed to watch the Bat’s latest project navigate a sea of pretense. When your partner drifted away, his lips shaped a smile that promised nothing good. The sunglasses were a flimsy barrier; his attention was a physical weight. His palm found the dip of your waist, his other hand settling on your shoulder, turning you into the rhythm of the dance. 'Funny seeing you here,' he said, his voice like gravel under…