Cal thought he knew the game: late-night queues, banter over headsets, and a partner who never revealed more than her voice. But when one private stream opens a door into something deeper—and far more risky—he’s forced to ask whether he’s still playing, or being played in this steamy gaming romance.
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The sound of her voice came through the headset—low, smoky, amused.
It wasn’t what she said that made Cal's chest tighten—it was how she said it. That offhand confidence, casually laced with heat, like she’d seen him coming before he even moved. Her tone was velvet wrapped in laughter, lingering like the faint scent of something rich and unfamiliar.
The killcam played his defeat in excruciating clarity: her crosshair snapping to his head with a flick, her Operator’s shot ringing out like punctuation. Defeat pulsed on the screen in soft red. A whisper. A taunt. A hush.
Cal leaned back in his chair, the worn leather groaning beneath him. The soft blue hue from his monitor cast the room in underwater light, making his walls feel farther away than they were. It was midnight, but his pulse thudded like it was the middle of a match.
Six months of duo-queuing with her, and she still found new ways to make him feel off-balance.
Nova.
She never used her real name. Never turned on her camera. Rarely talked beyond clipped callouts—until recently. But tonight was… different.
He reached for his water bottle, misjudged the cap, and spilled a trickle down his shirt. He cursed softly and wiped at it with his sleeve, though the sudden chill did little to quiet the heat creeping up his neck.
He should’ve logged off. Walked away. Taken a cold shower and laughed it off like every other night he thought maybe—just maybe—she was flirting.
Instead, he opened Discord.
She was already typing.
Good game. You’re cute when you lose.
His fingers hovered above the keys.
Cute.
From anyone else, it might’ve been a throwaway line. But from Nova? She didn’t do compliments. She barely did banter. It was always controlled. Cool. Unbothered.
This was new.
That’s the first time you’ve called me cute.
You gonna send me another POV of you wrecking me? Or is this your new kink—humiliation?
He instantly regretted the message after he hit send.
Too much.
But she replied without hesitation:
I like watching you squirm.
Cal blinked.
Was she serious? His pulse spiked. His stomach flipped, and not from nerves—not exactly. It was the uncertainty. The tension. The fact that he didn’t know if she meant it, or if she was playing a game, a level deeper than he knew how to read.
And then—ping.
Private stream invite.
Password: friendlyfire
He stared at the notification.
For a full ten seconds, he didn’t move. His cursor hovered. His breathing went shallow.
This was either a prank—or it was something else. He clicked.
Black screen. Then a flicker of light. Then—
Her.
His breath caught.
She was reclining on a bed, surrounded by pillows that looked comically oversized against the lean lines of her body. She wore a hoodie, slightly oversized, its hem resting at the tops of her thighs. No pants. No obvious shorts. Her long legs were bent slightly at the knee, shifting against the blanket in slow, thoughtless motions.
The hoodie slipped slightly off one shoulder.
Cal forgot how to blink.
Her lighting was warm, diffuse. Soft yellows and ambers that kissed her skin in ways fluorescent gaming setups never could. She looked like a painting come to life—casual, yes, but curated. Framed. Intentional.
She didn’t speak. Just watched him through the camera, as if waiting to see how long it would take for him to say something.
“Hey,” he managed, mic crackling with how dry his throat was.
She smirked.
He hadn’t seen her face in six months of gaming together—not properly. She’d kept it hidden. Until now. Now, her lips quirked in a knowing smile, one that made him shift in his chair, tugging slightly at his collar.
She reached beside her, picked up a controller, and tapped a few buttons. A new window appeared on his screen—her screen, now open to a white sketchpad. Pen tool selected.
“Draw something,” she said, voice low.
He stared, dumbfounded.
“I—what?”
“Draw,” she repeated. “Anything. I want to see how you see me.”
His pulse jumped. He opened the sketchpad and gripped the stylus, trying not to fumble it. He sketched quickly—stick figure, hoodie, giant headphones, a little heart beside it.
“That’s you,” he said. “Murdering me. Again.”
She smiled.
“Try harder.”
So he did.
He sketched her real pose. The bare legs. The hoodie. The shadow of a collarbone. It was crude, basic—but unmistakably her.
She studied it on her screen. Then met his gaze again.
“You forgot something,” she said.
And in one fluid motion, she lifted the hem of her hoodie two inches higher.
Cal’s lungs stalled.
There was no underwear.
Just skin. Smooth. Intentional. Framed by the gentle curve of her hipbone. It wasn’t a full reveal—just a glimpse. A suggestion.
But it was enough.
He opened his mouth, closed it again. She watched him flounder with the satisfaction of someone who knew exactly the effect she was having.
Her eyes sparkled with something dangerous. Something... thrilled.
Was it real? Was this just a power play? He suddenly questioned every moment they’d shared—every late-night strategy session, every careless laugh, every inside joke. Had they always been flirting? Had she always known he wanted her?
She moved closer to the camera. Her face filled the frame. Her lips—full, slightly parted—hovered near the lens.
“I’ll be at DreamCon next weekend,” she said. Her voice had gone intimate. Whisper-close.
He swallowed.
“I have a pass.”
Her smile deepened.
“I’ll DM you the room number,” she murmured. “But if you’re late…”
A pause.
“I won’t be wearing the hoodie when you arrive.”
The stream ended.
The screen faded to black.
Cal sat there, stunned, his hand clenched tight around the mouse, the other fisting unconsciously in his lap. His whole body buzzed with tension—arousal, yes—but also something more dangerous.
Hope.
He didn’t know if it was real. He didn’t know what any of it meant.
But he knew one thing for sure.
He couldn’t be late.