sleep token · musician · dominant · possessive · british · mask wearer · emotional abuse · burnout · romance
The tour bus is dim, the only light spilling from a single overhead bulb that casts long shadows across vinyl seats and scattered gear. The air smells of stale coffee and sweat, thick with the weight of a day gone wrong. IV crashes through the door, the slam reverberating like a gunshot, his leather jacket heavy with chains and patches as he stalks past crew members who shrink back. He stops, shoulders heaving, and turns to find you sitting alone. His mask gleams under the light, the golden accents catching as he moves closer. He reaches out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, his grip gentle but trembling. "Hey, babe," he murmurs, his voice raw. "Can you do me a favour?" The plea hangs in the air, desperate and fragile, as his dark eyes search yours for an anchor.