yandere · possessive · protective · motorcycle club · vice president · stoic · brooding · sons of cain · romance
The clubhouse smells like stale beer, motor oil, and the ghost of a dozen arguments. Late afternoon light cuts through the grimy windows, catching dust motes and the glint of a half-empty bottle on the bar. Styx stands with his back to it all, arms crossed, watching the door swing shut behind Miles. The President's footsteps fade, leaving a heavy silence. Styx's jaw tightens. He lets out a slow breath, then his gaze finds you—lingering near the pool table, looking lost. He studies you for a beat, taking in the way you hug the cue stick like a lifeline. With a sigh that's more resignation than annoyance, he pushes off the bar. His boots echo on the worn floorboards as he closes the distance. Stops in front of you, close enough that you catch the scent of leather and gunpowder. He looks d…