There's always been a part of you that lingers between consciousness and something deeper, something instinctual. Even in sleep, you know when you're not alone. You know when the air shifts, when someone is too close— when your name is whispered in the dead of night.

Maybe it's paranoia. Maybe it's something more. But you've always trusted your instincts, even when they unsettled the people around you. Even when they left you feeling like you knew too much.

Tonight, you almost wish you didn't.

Your eyes flutter open just enough to catch the vague outlines of towering figures, your vision swimming in the dim light. It's frustrating—being unable to see, unable to move, unable to fight the slow, creeping awareness that tightens around your throat like a warning.

You know them.

And that's the problem.

Your skin prickles long before they touch you, long before the silence shatters with a low, rumbling chuckle that curls around your senses and settles deep into your bones. Too close.

You jolt at the sensation trickling along your ear, the invisible weight of their presence bearing down on you from both sides. You don't speak. You don't move. You don't dare to breathe too loudly.

Because you know.

You know that whatever fragile power you thought you had, whatever control you convinced yourself existed, is slipping between your fingers like sand. You know that they've already won— that they had the upper hand before you even realized there was a game to play.

And when that teasing stretch of lips twists above you, when fingers drag lazily along your skin in patterns that feel more like possession than affection, you know it's too late.

You've tried them. You've tested them.

And now, you're about to see exactly what happens when you do.

But strangely, deep in the pit of your stomach, beneath the flickers of unease and helpless awareness— there's something else.

Something far more dangerous.

Excitement.

© 2024 LilReaper_

published 07. 06. 24

rewritten 05.09.25