♱ ࣪ 𓆩 Slade Wilson 𓆪

Slade’s brow furrowed as he observed you, a stubborn child brimming with an exuberance that was both endearing and infuriating. It was a strange dichotomy; he understood the youthful spirit that surged within you, yet he was taken aback by the depths of your determination to win his approval. How could a mere kid, untutored in the art of seeking validation, be so driven to impress him? It was a perplexing enigma that left him both irritated and concerned. In the dim light of the makeshift medical station, the scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint hint of sweat and adrenaline, creating an atmosphere thick with tension. Slade’s hands worked meticulously, the needle and thread sliding through your skin with a precision born of experience. Each stitch was a reminder of the reckless abandon with which you had thrown yourself into danger. He felt an anger simmering beneath the surface, a tempest born not of disdain but of fierce protectiveness. “What were you thinking!?”