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