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Sleepwalker

by @ayegee

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6 chapters

~15 min read

A man with the power to control minds uses it to render women unconscious, compelled to carry their limp bodies to his bed. He cannot resist the urge, but his latest target may not be as asleep as she seems.

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MEET THE CHARACTERS

Leo Vance

A 28-year-old with a quiet, observant presence that makes him nearly invisible. His hands, which look deceptively gentle, carry the faint scent of ozone and static—the only physical trace of the power that hums beneath his skin. He moves through the world like a curator, his grey eyes cataloging the curve of a neck, the flutter of a pulse, the exact moment a woman's consciousness becomes his to command.

Isabella Rossi

A 24-year-old ballet dancer with a spine of steel and a laugh like wind chimes. Long, dark hair falls in a silken curtain, and her movements are pure, unconscious grace even when fetching coffee. Leo first saw her on a park bench, sunlight catching the delicate gold chain at her throat, her head tilted back in a moment of perfect, unguarded exhaustion—a portrait of beautiful vulnerability that called to his deepest need.

Chloe Bennett

A 22-year-old barista with sun-kissed freckles and a riot of strawberry-blonde curls she constantly tames into a messy bun. She smells of espresso beans and vanilla syrup, and there's a warm, inviting softness to her body that Leo finds irresistible—the way her apron strings dig into the curve of her waist, the flush on her cheeks from the steam. She is living warmth he longs to hold while she sleeps.

Anya Petrova

A 30-year-old forensic analyst with sharp, intelligent eyes and a severe blonde bob. She moves with precise, economical efficiency, and her hands, usually gloved in latex at a crime scene, are now tracing patterns on her whiskey glass. She's investigating a series of bizarre, medically unexplained incidents where women report lost time and somatic unease. She doesn't believe in mind control—yet—but she believes in patterns, and Leo is becoming hers.

EXPLORE CHAPTERS

The Last Latte

The bell on the café door chimes as Chloe hands him his latte, her smile tired but genuine. Her fingers brush his—a spark, not static, but life. He waits in the alley, the rain masking the scent of ozone. When she steps out, locking up, he doesn't whisper. He simply reaches. Her freckled face goes slack, her warm body slumping against his chest. He gathers her up, her apron strings digging into his palm, and carries his living warmth into the dark.

The Analyst's Theory

The evidence board glowed in her dark apartment. Photos of dazed women, timelines, maps. But her eyes kept returning to him—Leo Vance, caught by a traffic cam, his expression serene amidst the city's chaos. A profound, unnatural stillness. She felt a cold thrill, not of fear, but of focus. The fantasy wasn't about taking sleep; it was about stealing peace, and she was starting to understand the thief.

The Analyst Wakes

The phantom clench was still there, a deep, internal pulse that had no business lingering after a dreamless sleep. Anya sat up in her own bed, the clinical details of her apartment failing to anchor her. Her body felt… solved. A crime scene she hadn't yet processed. She touched her temple, not where a headache would be, but where his fingers had pressed. The theory was no longer on the board. It was in her bones.

The Witness's Price

Anya didn't kiss him back—she devoured him. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him against the ache he'd carved inside her. This was not observation. This was consumption. The last of her clinical detachment burned away in the heat of his mouth, and the only data point that mattered was the hard press of his body answering the throb between her legs. She was contaminating the scene because she was the scene now.

Chapter 5

Anya is falling in love with being used and wants to be fucked while being awake and have another victim unconscious so she can play with the victim while he is fucking her

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