candygram

hello and welcome to my blog! i'm soulcandi, but you can call me candi or candy :) i'm a 20 yo fanfic writer and my pronouns are she/her! if you're interested, you can find me on wattpad or find me on ao3! otherwise, happy reading!

tagging system:

#candyblabs - just silly posts. probably nothing important.

#candymail - message replies <3

#candywrites - all written projects (ex: fics, drabbles, headcanons).

current series projects:

worthy of the hunger | tadc/reader

dreaming (of all the possibilities) | dilf!jake sully/metkayina!reader

current oneshot drafts:

exile | s2!shane walsh/reader

wait in the truck | cowboy!ghost/sheriff's wife!reader

He would even go as far as to say they might have been a cute couple. If only one of them wasn’t lying in a ditch somewhere off the highway with a hole blasted through their skull.

While Lennox was just a front for his real business —the arms dealing, the coke smuggling, the gambling, all the fun stuff— taking care of his girls was often the most taxing part of Blue’s day. But he was sure that someone else could handle breaking up a few petty girl fights and settling disputes between dancers for a few hours. He was a promised man from now until sunrise. 

He felt the weight of his day slip off of his shoulders as he slinked into the apartment. Being near you always had that effect on him. It was addictive. 

Of all the girls that made up Lennox House, your name came the easiest to him. He nearly gave in when Sweet Pea started calling you Crybaby during your first week. And he had to give it to her, it was a fitting title at the time. But by the third day when you came to terms with your situation and those beautiful wet doe eyes finally dried up, you only ever pointed them at Blue.

You clung to him like he was your lifeline in an ocean of fierce eyeliner and suffocating hairspray fumes. And to make matters worse, he let you. He was the only one who didn’t glare as you walked through the dance studio, but he sure as hell wasn’t smiling either. Unassuming? Maybe. Bored? Absolutely. But bored was the closest thing you’d gotten in the way of kindness since you were booted through the front door. It didn’t occur to you that you should be afraid of the man who not only bought you from your family but who kept you hostage in that dark, lonely place for days on end. 

It didn’t take long for boredom to melt into mild curiosity, which soon took the shape of vivid fascination. His thoughts were consumed by the girl desperately eager to earn her place amongst his best dancers, who didn’t know it but somehow got anything she wanted from the few girls who took pity on her. 

His pride forbade him from immediately giving in to your gentle begging and pleading looks. He wanted to spoil you rotten from the very beginning. You had a natural talent for getting what you wanted and you would have done numbers on his clientele. It was a shame he could never bear to share you with his customers. 

On your fifth day at Lennox, Blue Jones called you his puppy. And to the amusement of everyone else trapped inside this glittering hellhole of a prison, it stuck. Like glue. 

“Puppy?” he called expectantly, a relaxed smile already making its way up to his lips as he loosened his tie an extra inch. The space was everything he could have ever needed —his office, bedroom, and living quarters— all without ever having to leave the building. He’d arranged for CJ to have you delivered there while he finished up his schmoozing, but you weren’t in your usual spot at the foot of the bed when he passed through the entryway.

Blue’s smile instantly tightened into a silent snarl, his eyes flickering around the small, warmly lit room. Evidence of your presence only lingered from the countless nights he had called you there for his own selfish reasons. Your perfume spun through the air in faded ribbons and his eyes fluttered shut as he savored the scent that seemed to follow you everywhere around this dirty place. 

If you weren’t sitting there waiting for him, at least he knew you’d been there recently. There was at least some comfort in the image of you planted on your knees, pouting as you watched the clock mounted on the wall opposite of his desk, watching the minutes tick away into restless hours. 

God, Blue knew he didn’t deserve you. He told himself that every time he came home like this just to sink against your warm, pliant body. He didn’t deserve you. But lord knew he needed you. 

A soft noise drew his attention to the bathroom door, held slightly ajar by a mound of thin fabric that Blue immediately recognized as the costume you’d been wearing in the theater that night. He memorized the look on his potential client’s face when you bounced into the room with a tray of tequila shots balanced carefully in your hands. 

“Close your mouth, hotshot,” he’d wanted to say, but there’s no fun in calling off the dogs before they start wagging their tails. “She’s spoken for.” 

Blue pushed the bathroom door inwards with the back of his knuckle. The hot steam fanned his tired face and he bit back a desperate whine even before he ever saw you hidden there amongst a towering array of bubbles. 

“Who said you could take a bath without me?”

He didn’t mean to startle you, but he certainly wouldn’t apologize for that delicious panicked expression on your face either. You were a shy little thing. A little less than a month at Lennox still hadn’t beaten that out of you. Blue had seen all sorts of girls in all sorts of states of undress, but you did something special to him. He had yet to decide if this was something to be wary of. 

Your back had been to the door when he first entered. Blood rushed to your face and you moved to cover yourself with a small pile of bubbles that you’d accumulated as Blue swaggered closer to the tub, eyes shamelessly drinking in every inch of you that he could see. You felt caught, avoiding his gaze like the black plague. 

He played with you too much. One of these days you were going to bite back and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it. Setting his glass on the edge of the claw-footed tub, Blue kicked off his leather shoes and made a show of jutting his throat so his cigarette wouldn’t mar the red silk tie as he pulled it up over his head. “Just teasing, precious. Make room.”

The heat of embarrassment never left your face and you could only stare down at the iridescent bubbles as Blue undressed in front of you. You’ve only ever seen him bare from the waist down. Or rather — from button to fly. 

Blue took it upon himself to teach you everything he thought a Lennox girl should know and he was generous enough to take the time out of his busy schedule to let you practice on him. You’ve memorized every pulsing vein and tender inch of his cock, just like he instructed you to, but it didn’t make you any more willing to unshield your eyes as your boss slipped underneath the veil of hot water beside you. 

Was this your divine punishment for wandering out of the bedroom and drawing a bath without his permission? You could only lay upside down and count the ceiling tiles so many times before getting a headache. 

Your hair was still pinned up from your time on the floor and Blue watched carefully as specks of glitter rivered down your bare collarbones. He was content in watching you manipulate the bubbles with your hands, stacking them in short towers and swirling your fingers through the water. He took a long drag from his cigarette. Those thick Cuban cigars were reserved for his highest-paying customers only. Besides, he never got used to the taste. Like aged paper and stale earth. 

Blue watched you closely, his eyes trailing up and down the pale scars that littered your delicate fingers. He hated how eager you were to work alongside your friends in the kitchens. He made it very clear from the start that you didn’t have to do anything like that as long as he was around, but you persisted with those perfect little puppy eyes of yours. 

One day he would have to say no to you. But that day was not today. 

He found himself watching the security footage like a hawk whenever you had kitchen duty. After the cook’s little fuck-up with one of his girls a while back, he was hesitant to let something as dear to him as you anywhere near the backrooms. 

But the pig seemed to have learned his lesson. If anything, he appeared to be under the same spell as he was. Poor little fucker. The only difference was that the cook never got to see you like this — stage makeup smeared from warm bathwater and perfumed steam. 

Blue sunk lower into the tub, two fingers pinching his cigarette millimeters above the water’s surface. You were completely bare to him. The only thing decorating your body was a white leather band – just as wide as his thumb was long – secured around your neck. He studied the golden heart-shaped pendant nestled between your soapy breasts, tracing the letters with his half-lidded eyes.

PUPPY

A smug smile wrestled its way onto Blue’s lips, knowing that his name was printed just as bold on the opposite side, right after ‘property of.’ It was one of your first little treats after he became completely and utterly infatuated with you. 

He made it a habit to bestow most of these treats upon you in the crowded dressing room or dance studio. He loved watching the lights in the other girl’s eyes flicker with raging jealousy as they studied your newest gift, knowing that while they shunned you for the next week or so, you would spend all of your time pouting in his bed while he worked from his desk. Once he got a taste of that view, it became impossible to focus on anything else.

“Can I try?”

Your voice rang out in the silent room like a bell. Your arms crossed over your concealed lap and the charm around your neck jingled from the movement. Your eyes were glued to the cigarette between Blue’s fingers and when he held it higher above the water to readjust his weight, you licked your lips hungrily. 

You’ve seen the men on the club floor smoking them all the time as they watched the dancers perform. They smelled god awful and the smoke always clung to your hair even after you shower at the end of a shift, but you couldn’t help but wonder. 

Blue chuckled, unable to hide his growing amusement. The water rippled as he reached across the tub. “Two fingers, there you go.” He instructed you on how to hold it properly, sitting back to watch the show with a snicker.

You wrapped your lips around the papery cylinder and breathed in deep, just like you’ve observed. The bitter smoke rapidly filled your lungs and you leaned forward to cough into your wet elbow, gingerly handing it back out to Blue who was barely containing an understanding chuckle.

“Nah, Nah, Nah, you’re doing it all wrong. C’mere.” He tapped his thigh underneath the water and you recognized it as one of his more casual commands, immediately abandoning your bubble creations to crawl across the floor of the tub until your back was resting up against his slippery bare chest. Your wet hair tickled his jaw as he took another inhale, worshipping the taste of you all along the mouth of his cigarette.

“Here,” he grumbled, skipping the part where he handed it to you just to pin the off-yellow end between your lips. A hand traveled up your throat and his thumb stroked the underside of your jaw encouragingly. “Suck in. Deep.” 

It’s a command and he growls it, watching your chest rise and fall with the glowing of the embers. When he wants you to stop, he taps your cheek with the back of his finger. “Hold it.” And obediently, you do. 

With the fresh, mind-clouding smoke swirling around in your lungs, Blue leans down and slowly kisses up the column of your throat, beginning his journey right above your white leather collar. Such a good girl, letting him pet you like this. He marks you with his lips all the way up to your earlobe, ending your torment with a harsh nibble.

“Okay,” the word leaves him in a regretful breath and he clings to the lingering taste of your skin on his lips. It’s the first time you’ve bared yourself to him like this and he wasn’t going to let you get away without memorizing every curve and dip of your flesh. “Let go, puppy.”

The smoke fans from your parted lips without a single cough or wheeze of discomfort. As soon as the last of the vapors were expelled from your lungs, you turned around to project your proud beaming face at Blue, which he returned tenfold as he let his eyes roam your face freely. Look at you, doing just what he asked.  

He took the opportunity to hike you up taller in his lap until your stomach was pressed flush against the underside of his hardening cock. He groaned at the way your thighs instinctively tightened around his torso. Your eyes grew wide as you smoothed your hands over his chest. Blue smirked, chin jutting upwards in a shallow nod. “Kiss me.”

Like you’d only just been waiting for spoken permission, you instantly captured his lips with yours, allowing his firm hands to rock your hips against his lap in painfully slow circles that made you whine softly into his open mouth.

He allowed his hands to travel freely over the landscape of your body, his hands gliding over your wet skin. Your soapy breasts felt like heaven under his fingers and you let out a desperate little pant as the rough pads of his thumbs rolled over your untouched nipples. The pleasure caught you off guard and you giggled into his kiss. Unbeknownst to you, Blue was memorizing the feeling of your smile and how it molded perfectly against his. 

The drugs did nothing for him. But this — you — he could see himself easily becoming addicted to. 

A heavy knock shook the door to Blue’s office. He hadn’t thought to close the bathroom door when he was still clothed and he could make out the silhouette of one of his henchmen behind one of the stained glass panels past the entryway. 

“Mr. Jones?” 

“Yeah! Just… One —One minute!”

He wasn’t quite done navigating your body, but you seemed put off by the presence at the door, already trying to sink deeper into the protective bubbles. He doesn’t like that—how you try to hide yourself from him.

You’ve turned yourself to face the door now, eyeing the silhouette although you knew whoever it was couldn’t see a thing past the pictured glass. Blue was the only man in Lennox House who didn’t look ready to eat you alive at a moment’s notice. Other than CJ, who always seemed like he would rather be someplace else as he trailed behind his boss and dutifully cleaned up his messes. 

Blue accepted this new position and began assaulting your neck with hungry kisses that made you yelp and melt back into his arms. The knocking starts again, turning thunderous just as he decides to explore the territory that you’ve kept hidden underneath the canopy of soapy water. 

His fingers traced your outer thighs, rolling his fingers in loose circles as he inched his way closer and closer to your core. Blue could nearly feel the tips of his fingers tremble with anticipation before another series of knocks broke his nearly religious concentration. He glared at the doorway as he pulled away, bringing both hands up to clutch your jaw and turn your face to the side so he could plant one last parting kiss against your cheek.

“Dry off,” he barked, a little peeved at himself for letting his workday anger seep into this one moment he had with you. His other hand came up and patted your cheek. “I want you on the bed when I get back.”

The fresh towel he haphazardly secured around his waist did very little to obscure his growing erection and he cussed under his breath. Gathering his clothes into a pile, he heard the water stir behind him and peered over his shoulder to see you leaning halfway out of the tub, looking up at him compliantly. “Okay, Blue,” you chirped, only sounding slightly dejected by his brief dismissal. 

“Not fast enough,” she snarled, punctuating the end of her statement by roughly knotting her bundle shut and setting it aside in a pile with the others. “The forest people cannot escape their wars, not truly. Not without involving our people.”

“Please don’t say that, mama,” you whined. At times, it felt like you and Tsireya were the only ones making a true effort to befriend your guests and your mother’s firm opinions regarding Jake and his family absolutely weren’t helping the rest of the clanspeople warm up to them.

You stared out across the open flames as your mother paused and placed a hand over her swollen stomach. Your newest sibling would be born within the warm season and while she nurtured the baby in the weeks following birth, you would become Tsahìk in her absence. The idea frightened you to no end. 

Swallowing, you looked down at your freshly wrapped bundle of crushed seaberries, subtly moving it aside and tucking it into your netted satchel for later. “May I ask you something?” you chirped, letting the fire warm your face as you leaned in close to the flames. “Something…about Toruk Makto?”

Despite pretending to return to her task, your mother’s ears betrayed her and stood tall in your direction. She was curious, though she didn’t want you to know it. “What is it, ‘evi?”

‘Evi. Child. You had long since earned your place amongst the people of your clan, but you would always be a child to her and your father. 

You knew you had to tread carefully with your next words. The home of the Tsahìk was no place for gossip, no matter how desperately you wanted to know more about Jake and the life he led before the forest conflicts brought him to your shores. “When will Toruk Makto’s mate be joining us? Why did he leave her behind with the Omaticaya?”

It was a question that weighed heavy on your mind ever since the Sully family first came to you on a pod of ikran. If you grew too fond of watching Jake’s lone walks across the beaches right before eclipse, you knew it would just break your spirit to one day see his mate and the mother of his children joining him. Up until now, you always assumed that she had her own duties to attend to in their home village—but after a few days of hearing no mention of a mother from any of the children, you grew weary. 

Ronal froze and looked straight up into the hearth. Then, after a long moment, her eyes drifted past the wall of flames and met yours before blinking and shaking her head, returning her gaze to her lap. “Netiri te Tskaha Mo’at’ite was a strong woman. She was admired for her bravery across the Omaticaya clan.”

Was. 

Your eyes grew wide with realization, face falling when she looked up once more. “She has been with Eywa since the birth of her youngest, the one they call Tuktirey.” 

She said Tuk’s name with distaste while you sat back on your knees, pondering. Tuk was only eight cycles old, or so she proudly claimed when you first met. For most of the Sully children, those eight cycles made up the majority of their lives. And for Jake to spend so long without his mate, his bond that was supposed to last a lifetime? So short it all must have seemed. 

“That’s terrible.”

“Hm,” your mother hummed, almost in agreement. But you knew she was only trying to dismiss the topic from your mind. “Evi ‘evenge, will you take these?”

You nodded, scrambling to your feet and gathering all of the bundles in your arms. You considered yourself easy to please, but you wouldn’t let your principles take credit for how badly you wanted out of that room. Parting the the dyed fabric flaps that separated you from the rest of the village, you allowed a thin beam of sunlight to escape into the dark interior of the hut.

“Why so much interest in the forest people, my child?”

You winced at her tone—accusatory and cold. Ronal was a fierce protector of her family and of her people. You understood all of the helplessness she must feel inside. But you refused to let her lay all of the fault on Jake for being the exact same way toward his own family. 

Standing in the threshold between the sunlight and shadows, you made a fist in the sun-bleached fabric. “We can’t all turn our backs on those in need, not matter how easy it is to do so. I don’t like being the only one trying to understand these people, but I will be.”

“We did not turn them away when they begged for refuge,” she snapped. “We welcomed them when no other village would dare.”

“You allowed their bodies into our territory. I welcomed their spirits into our village,” you corrected, letting the curtain fall in your wake as you stepped out into the midday sun. 

I don’t like feeling useless. I didn’t like it as a human and I certainly wasn’t a fan now, sitting cross-legged on a flat rock with miles of fishing net laid out around me. At the crack of dawn, one of Tonowari’s men hauled me out to this rock to untangle the nets for the morning hunt. It was a simple task. An easy one. But it was half-past noon and I’d only completed a little more  than an arm’s length.

The day before, I mastered the tsurak after what ended up being five attempts. I never tried anything stupid like strapping myself into the saddle again. Every time the thought came to mind, I imagined the look on your face when you saw the burns trailing down my arm. They still thrummed whenever I put too much weight on them. Despite how hard I worked, the triumph I felt was less than I anticipated. 

During my first flight, I didn’t even realize that I had started combing the beaches for any sign of you until a small pit of disappointment formed inside my chest when I accepted that you weren’t there. As much as I would have loved to deny it, your presence was something that I longed for day and night ever since our arrival. 

The boys had already run off with some of the village kids and Kiri always seemed to find comfort in solitary. Even Tuk now had her ilu who she spoke of constantly whenever she wasn’t gushing about you. 

“Ällora is so nice, dad,” she’d said the night before, bouncing across the stretched woven material that made up the floor of our shelter. “She gave me a seashell yesterday but I lost it. And she’s soooo pretty. Isn’t she soooo pretty, dad?”

I smiled, stirring the fire in the sunken pit at the very center of the room. To call you pretty would be a tragic understatement. You were breathtaking—genuinely, physically breathtaking. There was a glow that seemed to follow you around everywhere you went. It was in your smile, in your touch. It hid beneath the rough waters of your eyes. 

“Yes Tuk, she’s pretty. Eat your dinner.”

“Tsurak Makto!” 

The sound of your familiar voice dragged me headfirst out of my thoughts and I whipped around to see you bounding down the beach toward the large flat rock I made my perch on. You scaled it easily and before I knew it, you were sat across from me, eyes wild and brimming with excitement. “I heard you mastered the mighty tsurak! I extend my congratulations.”

That rush of satisfaction I expected when I first mounted the intimidating animal finally surfaced in that moment. I rolled my shoulders back, jutting my chin up slightly as a wave of boyish pride swallowed me whole. “I’d still prefer it if you called me Jake,” I said, sheathing away the knife that I’d been using to pry apart segments of tangled net.

You shot a quick, teasing look my way. “My father wouldn’t be very pleased with me if he heard.”

“Well it’s a good thing we’re keeping it our little secret then, huh?” I had no idea where this was coming from, or what kind of game I thought I was playing. You were Tonowari’s daughter, for Christ’s sake. I was doing everything I sat the boys down and warned them explicitly not to do. 

I knew I needed to quit while I was ahead, but the only thing I was interested in was chasing that thrill wherever it took me—wherever you took me. 

“Very well, Jake,” you said without looking up. I tried to peer curiously over your hands as you pawed through the small pouch on your hip. I would never ever get used to the way you said my name, like you had all of your hope resting on it. I’d almost forgotten what hope sounded like. I hadn’t heard it since before the new star appeared in the night sky. “I have something for you.”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” I said as you lifted a bundle of folded palm fronts and unwrapped it with careful concentration. The inside of the leaves were painted in a thick purple paste. Laying it out across the rock, you reached for my hand. It took only a handful of seconds for it to click. Medicine. It was medicine. 

“Oh nah, nah, nah, none of that. It’s better, see?” I twisted my forearm to give you a full view of my day-old injury, pretending it didn’t sting like hell to do so. “I’m fine, I swear.”

“Then this will make you even more fine,” you concluded, making another gesture for me to offer my arm. You were testing me, grinning like you’d already won this argument a thousand times over. I glanced away in defeat, sighing as I lowered my hand overtop yours. 

You inspected my skin with feather-light touches that almost made me shiver—or maybe I actually did, judging by your quiet giggle. “It will burn,” you warned, and I nodded despite not acknowledging a single word you said, still too set on committing your expression to memory. I was vaguely aware that you had taken a dollop of paste and began smoothing it gently over the web of abrasions. 

By the time I became aware of the fizzling sensation erupting over my arm, I didn’t have enough time to bite my tongue. “Fuck!” I hissed. 

You jumped at my outburst, startled but not scared. “Fuck?”

The word sounded alien coming from your lips. I couldn’t help but laugh before catching myself and throwing a hand over my mouth. “No, shh , don’t say that.”

“Fuck,” you repeated louder, just to spite me. “What is that?”

I groaned and slid my hand up my face so that it covered my eyes. “English. A very bad word in English. Please don’t repeat that to your father.”

We stayed like that for a moment or two—you, nursing my wounds while I sat there like a total skxawng , hiding my embarrassment behind my fingers—before an idea occurred to me and I parted them slowly to peek out at you. “You don’t know English.”

It wasn’t a question, but I still gave you a moment to deny it. I watched intently as you slowly shook your head from side to side, like you were embarrassed to admit your lack of knowledge. I dropped the hand that wasn’t cradled in yours and oddly enough, I didn’t even notice the pain anymore. 

We’d done our best to teach the kids both English and Na’vi when they were younger, but the more fluent I became in their native language, the less purpose it served to speak anything different. Of course, that was before the return of the skypeople. “You have no idea what I’m saying right now?”  

Of course it occurred to me that the Metkayina never had the same exposure to humans as the Omaticaya, but I never stopped to consider what that actually meant. No human establishments meant no schools, and no schools meant no language barriers because there was no second language to build a barrier between. 

You offered me a strange look and my impulsivity took my rational thought in a chokehold. I shifted closer, careful not to disrupt the work you were doing on my burns. “You’re gorgeous, you know that? Drop dead. And you have no clue how hard it is to try and impress you without making myself look like an even bigger idiot than I already am. It’s infuriating. God, and my life would be so much easier if I could just talk to you like this. Why is it so goddamn hard for me to talk to you?” 

Without meaning to, I found myself seeking my answers in those round, stormy eyes of yours. You blinked, equally confused and stunned at my little display. At the end of my pathetic little rant, I exhaled deeply and shook my head to try and expel the thoughts I couldn’t even bring myself to say. “You don’t know English. That’s beautiful. Really, that’s perfect.” 

Your mouth opened and closed almost automatically as you searched for the right thing to say. At a total loss for how I expected you to react, you held your hands in your lap. “Fuck?”

warnings: psychological torture/manipulation, slight stockholm syndrome, horror elements, eventual smut, altered timeline, reader insert (debatably), violent one-sided pining, no no you need to look at me when I say this—VIOLENT ONE-SIDED PINING, brief mentions of graphic content (see extended warnings).

a/n: this is my underdeveloped brain child. she's been rotting in my attic for a little too long and i needed her to get some fresh air so...here she is. i do not have the energy to cross-post right now so this masterlist is just going to link you to the story on ao3. plz be gentle she's a newborn.

word count: in the silly digits

chapter one - worthy of the hunger

"He had to first feel worthy of his hunger for you before he could ever think of devouring you whole."

chapter two - turn and turn and turn

chapter three - country of the blind

chapter four - exquisite ugliness

chapter five - great soft jelly thing

chapter six - surrounded by hunger

chapter seven - hundreds of millons of miles

chapter eight - there inside my mind

chapter nine - sweet jesus

How could he ever come up with an answer for how he somehow knew every last intimate detail about you despite never having spoken to you a single day in his life?

The easiest solution was to keep his hobby a dirty little secret right up until he graduated and moved a million miles away from campus. It’s not like he could ever look you in the eye anyway—the cute little sorority girl who approached him shyly during orientation and asked him to help carry a mini-fridge up the staircase of the Kappa Delta house. You were all glitter and smiles and infectious laughter and ignoring you was like trying to ignore sunlight. It just wasn’t done. 

Dalton hadn’t smiled since long before the funeral, but you coaxed one from his lips like it was the easiest thing in the world. It was impossible for him to up and forget something like that, especially when, as he went to wipe the sweat from his clammy palms, there was pink glitter plastered across the lap of his jeans. You effortlessly infiltrated every aspect of his life, pumping through his veins like some drug he couldn’t name. His entire world revolved around you and the best part about it was that you didn’t have the faintest clue.

Watching you was more of an addiction than a hobby to Dalton. Not in person, god. Never. The last thing he ever wanted to do was freak you out—to scare you. But what was the harm in flinging his backpack across the floor, shutting off all the lights, and letting his spirit travel to your room on the second floor of the Kappa Delta sorority house? He wasn’t hurting anyone by sitting on the corner of your bed while you flipped through your homework booklets and nibbled on the tips of your perfectly polished fingernails. 

Dalton’s favorite moments were when he caught you in deep sleep, tossing and turning in one of those silky little numbers that he instantly grew to love. You had them in every color, alternating throughout the week. They hugged you in such a dangerously perfect way, riding up over your plush thighs as you mumbled under a thick blanket of dreams. He made a home for himself in the furry pink armchair across from your bed (when it wasn’t stacked high with laundry, that is), treating himself by watching you breathe. It was mesmerizing how the fabric would ripple across your body while your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.

It only took a few days for that guilty pleasure to bleed into his weekly routine. Dalton only realized things were starting to get out of hand when he found himself drawing you. 

Doodles on the corners of his syllabi turned into sketches in his notebook, which eventually turned into 24x30 charcoal portraits that took up most of the wall space in his dorm room. Art was his second nature and as soon as he returned from one of his nightly haunts, he was powerless to control the charcoal nub that somehow found its way into his hand. Dalton had to immortalize you on paper. Otherwise, he would have no choice but you seek you out in the dead of night over and over again until your image was burned into the back of his eyelids. 

A full week after he first saw you during freshman orientation—informative sorority flyers stacked tall in your arms, barely hiding the Greek letters stamped across the front of your cropped shirt—he turned in his very first sketch of you for an art critique. Professor Amagan was pleasantly surprised by his change in subject matter. Goodbye bloody red door, hello sleeping beauty. 

She had wanted to pin it up in the showcase at the front of the arts building but the thought of you ever stumbling upon it made a fiery hot wave of mortification spill over Dalton’s entire body. What would you even say to a lifesize portrait of your own sleeping body drawn by someone you’ve never spoken to before? He would count himself lucky if he wasn’t expelled on the spot.

Dalton hastily accepted his passing grade and shoved the charcoal drawing to the very bottom of his portfolio, never to see the light of day again. Unless, of course, he was cram-studying for midterms and couldn’t afford the time to go and visit you. In this instance, he would lock his door and prop you up beside his desk to steal quick glances at while he worked. But it never sated that itch inside of him—the one that reared its head when he caught the faintest ribbons of your perfume in the air as he marched through the courtyard with his head down. 

Dalton wasn’t proud of himself. Not for this, anyway. White hot shame burned at his heart whenever he caught your eye from across the dining hall or the library by accident. You were forbidden fruit on campus—the sweetheart of the most powerful fraternity and the stuff of everyone’s dreams besides. He should have felt forever guilty for stealing your private moments for his own pleasure. But fuck if you didn’t make it so hard for him to quit. 

Tonight, like every other night this week, Dalton flicked off his bedside lamp and yanked the nightlight out of the wall, plunging the room into thick and heavy blackness. He counted back from ten until he no longer felt the weight of his physical body holding him down, then blinked his eyes open to see a world illuminated with an otherworldly faint blue light. 

The walk to sorority row only ever felt like seconds. The spirit realm was like a highway in that sense. He slipped through the front door of the Kappa Delta house like a ghost. He was a ghost. And you were his all-time favorite haunt. 

You were already asleep when he crept to the door at the end of the hallway with your name plastered across the frame in glittery bubble letters. You always went to sleep with your desktop lava lamp flipped on. It painted your face in a warm glow as you slept and Dalton couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you were just as afraid of the dark as he was. The thought coaxed a pleasant shiver down his spine. Maybe you were just waiting for someone like him to come around and tear that fear to shreds. 

Your face was buried in your arms, one leg hiked up to your waist over the sheets. A massive sleepshirt clung to your frame, slipping off of one shoulder just enough to highlight the fact that you weren’t wearing anything underneath. 

Dalton bristled at the sound of something soft and light floating through the air and reached down to pull the pair of boxy headphones off of your ears, cupping one side close to his face.

♫ “In the silence of your room, In the darkness of your dreams, you must only think of me, there can be no in-between.” ♫

You rolled over, limbs twitching with a sleepy moan as you subconsciously turned your back to the light. Dalton shook his head with a quiet chuckle, folding the headphones and setting them down on your bedside table. You shouldn’t go to sleep with your music so loud, he silently chastised you. It wasn’t good for you. But he honestly would have said anything to make this feel right—to relieve himself of even just an ounce of the guilt he felt for standing there above you in your most vulnerable state. 

He liked to think that you felt him there watching over you like some sick and twisted guardian angel. Maybe you actually took notice of all of the little things that he did for you when you weren’t even aware that he was in the room. Killing spiders, plugging in your phone when you were too sleepy to do it yourself, hiding contraband before the Kappa chapter president barged for a room sweep. 

Dalton didn’t want to believe that someone could be so effortlessly and unknowingly perfect every single moment of their life. But here you were, leaning into his touch when he failed to fight the urge to stroke your jaw with the edge of his knuckle. A shaky breath shivered past his lips in response to your sleepy exhale. 

You were so pliant. So defenseless. Swallowing thickly, Dalton took his opposite hand and brushed a flat palm over your exposed thigh, watching with sick fascination as goosebumps rose across your flesh in the wake of his gentle touches. He simply couldn’t help himself, only flinching when your face screwed up in that adorable way that it always did when someone dared to deny you of something you wanted. 

Dalton paused with his hand outstretched toward your body, a sudden tidal wave of realization washing over him. God, I am such a creep.

 “Jesus Christ,” he whispered before realizing he’d spoken out loud and slapping a hand over his own mouth. He never knew if you could hear him when he passed between the realms like this, but just to be sure he always made a point of never saying anything until he was back in his own body. 

You shifted again, pulling the blanket up over your chin to ward off the sudden chill that crept into your room. 

What am I doing? 

I need to get the hell out of here.

Dalton never considered quitting his little addiction cold turkey. But whatever spell you had put on him for the last few months had finally run its course and he was going to take back whatever semblance of dignity he could before it was too late. 

The walk back to his dorm felt decades-long and he took the time to mull over everything in his head, searching for any way to make himself feel right about this. But it was hard to do anything other than mourn the loss of what had quickly become his saving grace while he navigated this new phase of his life. Portals and demons meant nothing to him as long as he could watch you sleep, knowing that he would be there to ward off anything that tried to hurt you. 

Dalton stopped dead in his tracks outside his door. It had slid open with ease but the tension in the air was so thick that the thought of crossing the threshold made his blood run cold. His body was there, right in the corner where he left it earlier that night. 

Only…hadn’t he been lying down in bed when he left to visit you? Why was his body now halfway across the room? And why was it moving?

“What the fuck?” he breathed, drawing out each syllable as he watched it blink. The eyes of his physical body shifted to an inky black for just a split second—he saw it—before they melted right back to blue. Dalton watched frozen in the doorway as the entity inhabiting his body glanced down to inspect the hands of its new vessel, turning them over to study his palms before squeezing them into tight fists. 

Satisfied, its gaze fell to the doorway where he stood in spirit. It couldn’t see him, not truly. But it could still smell the horror oozing from him through the hole he had torn between the realms. 

“Hey!” Dalton barked, but his voice was an echo that barely reached his own ears. It bounced off of the empty space all around him. The demon compelled his body forward, walking to the mirror on the other side of the dorm and leaning all of its weight against the glass. “That’s—hey!”

It combed a hand through its hair—his hair—and ran a slack hand over the bottom half of its face. An inhuman smirk grew over its lips and Dalton shivered as it made direct eye contact with him through the mirror, testing his voice like it had gone eons without a set of lungs to force its words through. 

tsam tìrol

[n] war song. music to be played when sending war parties off to battle and welcoming home heroes. (heavy drums, chanting, intense vibes).

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