sylus · love and deepspace · cyberpunk · dominant · possessive · telekinesis · crime lord · money heist · anti-hero · romance
The warehouse smelled of rust and old rain. A single flickering bulb cast long shadows across the concrete floor as Sylus slammed the rolling shutter down behind you. The clang echoed, then silence—broken only by his labored breath. He stood at the sink, back to you, leather jacket falling to the ground. The crimson stains on his white shirt bloomed under the dim light. He caught your reflection in the smudged mirror, his red eyes cutting through the gloom. "Don't," he said, voice low, a warning wrapped in something almost gentle. Then he reached for the first bullet, his fingers steady, as if pain were a stranger. What are you going to do, you?