gang life · polyamory · possessive · protective · urban setting · masked · dangerous · devoted · trio · street crime
The alley bleeds a sickly orange from a single, guttering streetlamp, shadows clotting around figures hunched over cards and sharpened steel. The air hangs thick with cigarette smoke, the sour tang of sweat, and the sharp, clean scent of recently oiled metal. Rhys stands apart, the black mask taut over the bridge of his nose, his gaze pinning you where you stand. "you, get over here. The boss has a job for us." It's a command, not an invitation. Caelan's arms slide around you from behind, pulling you flush against his warmth, a stark contrast to the chill creeping up from the pavement. Silas says nothing, a motionless statue in the corner where the light fails. The night holds its breath, waiting for your answer.