S.L Gray

No Save Point

Copyright © 2025 by S.L Gray

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Dedicated to the baddies who saw the twin brothers trope and immediately added this to their tbr, and for the ones who understand that sometimes love is a a game you win by letting yourself be seen.

Foreword

No Save Point is book one in the Co-Op Corrupted Duet, a high-heat, why-choose romance featuring twin brothers. There’s no sword-crossing, but if the idea of siblings being involved with the same woman at the same time isn’t your vibe, consider this your warning — reader discretion is advised. This book contains explicit sexual content, filthy language, and kink elements including mask play, dom/sub dynamics, light choking, somnophilia, a DVP attempt, praise and degradation, and overstimulation. It’s messy and unapologetically smutty. One brother is soft and sweet. The other is chaotic and unhinged. The FMC takes both enthusiastically, repeatedly, and without any regret.

Preface

Playlist:

More than friends - Isabel LaRosa

Me And U - Swelavin

Test Drive - Artemas

All On You - Mos Elian

Pretty Boy - Isabel LaRosa

Velvet Glow - LAGXNA

Sinners - Ari Abdul (ft. Thomas LaRosa)

Wet Dreams - Artemas

Worship - Ari Abdul

Undress - WesGhost

Scream my name - Thomas LaRosa

Red Velvet - Jutes

HELLGIRL - Ari Abdul

Wicked Game - Witchz

Heaven - Isabel LaRosa

1

Haven

The moment my screen fades to black, my fingers go still on my keyboard, my breath stuck somewhere between rage and resignation. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I deadpan, glaring at the bold red Defeat flashing across my monitor. My chat erupts in chaos. My eyes narrow in on a username.

Him again, he’s like a virus in my killfeed. The bane of my streaming existence. Equal parts shadow and showboat, he slips into lobbies like he’s god’s gift to killcams and somehow always ends up being the one who finishes me off, either with a sniper shot I didn’t see coming or some humiliating melee takedown that chat replays for days. It’s personal now, has been for months. But sometimes, despite it all, I find myself enjoying the taunts. They pull at something deeper in me, sparking a competitive fire that I can’t ignore. Keyword there, sometimes.

A low groan crawls up my throat as I slam my mouse down and narrow my eyes at the chat log. “I’m sorry, did I miss the part where this was a 1v1 tournament and not a battle royale?” I snap, leaning into my mic. “Did my teammates suddenly disappear, or was it just my ass getting dropped while everyone else mysteriously survived?”

My chat spams the skull emoji in response, and because my luck is absolute trash, I hear the telltale chime of a direct message popping up in my Discord.

NoOneGhost: Try harder next time, pretty girl.

Oh, this motherfu—

I mute myself for a second so my several hundred viewers don’t hear the string of profanity currently spewing from my mouth. Unmuting with the sweetest, most sarcastic voice I can manage I lean closer to my mic. “Hey, Ghost?” I purr. “Catch me in a 1v1, no backup, no cheap shots, and we’ll see who gets wrecked.”

NoOneGhost: Pass.

NoOneGhost: Watching you rage is way more fun pretty.

My head drops onto my desk. The audacity of this man. The absolute GALL. I should block him. I should report him for emotional damages. I should—

Wait. I sit up, rereading his last message, my irritation briefly taking a backseat to confusion. Watching? Does he mean watching the stream too? I didn’t even know he was in my chat. I tab over, scanning the list of viewers, but there’s no NoOneGhost. Weird. Maybe he’s just lurking under a different username. Not important, murder is more important.

I shake it off and straighten in my chair. “Alright, chat, enough distractions. I have a tournament to win, and if Ghost tries that shit again, I’m reporting him for crimes against my sanity.”

Two hours later and several near rage-quits in, the tournament finally ends with my pride in tatters and my kill/death ratio looking like a tragic comedy.

Carter, who never misses a stream, is sweet about it though. He sends me a $25 donation with a message that just says: “You’re still my MVP, babe.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. Carter’s easily one of my favorite people on the internet. He’s a little older than me at twenty-four, and stupidly nice in that soft, golden retriever kind of way. He lives in some tiny town not far from mine, and even though we exchanged numbers months ago, he’s never been pushy.

Unlike some people. I check my Discord messages again. Still nothing from NoOneGhost. Figures.

He dropped in, wrecked my night like a devil, and then ghosted. No apology. No explanation. Coward. I yawn, stretching in my gaming chair. “Alright, I’m logging off for the night. If anyone needs me, I’ll be on tomorrow, same time as usual.”

Chat spams the “goodnight queen” messages, and Carter sends one last donation followed by a text before I log off.

Carter: Sleep well, sweetheart

Sometimes, I catch myself wondering what Carter actually looks like, not in the vague way you wonder about a stranger online, but in the intimate, dangerous way your brain starts building someone into something they never promised to be. He’s been in my chat almost a year now. A constant that’s never once overstepped.

No late-night selfie fishing. No “accidental” thirst traps. Just hype messages, quiet check-ins, and that calm energy that makes you feel like you’re standing in the sun without realizing you were cold. He’s not like Ghost.

Ghost is sharp edges and antagonism, the kind of gamer who lives to poke at my soft spots and smirk when I snap. He’s friction, a dumb challenge. A chaos I’ve never been able to ignore.

But Carter? Carter is ease. He’s soft-spoken in messages and over-the-top in his support, but never in a way that feels performative. He notices things like when I’m off my game, when I laugh differently, when my hands shake just a little too much on stream. Sometimes that feels more intimate than any flirtation.

In my head, he’s got that unassuming kind of hot, the kind that doesn’t hit you until he smiles, and then it’s all over. Easy eyes. Soft grin. It’s ridiculous. We live fifty miles apart and have never shared a room, let alone a moment.

Sometimes, when the stream ends and the world is quiet, I find myself wondering what it would feel like to have that warmth in person. And if I’m being honest… maybe I don’t just want to meet him. Maybe I want to matter to him.

I shut my PC down, rub my eyes, and finally take a good look around my apartment. Yeah. It’s bad.

There’s an empty energy drink can teetering dangerously close to the edge of my desk, three plates stacked on my nightstand, and I’m pretty sure that’s a sock on my lamp shade for some reason.

How did I let it get this bad? Oh, right. Because I spent the whole weekend glued to my screen, screaming at strangers, and getting absolutely obliterated by a man in a neon mask.

I groan and shove away from my desk, rolling my shoulders as I stand. The second I do, my back cracks like I just aged twenty years, and I wince. “Okay, no more ten-hour gaming binges without breaks,” I mutter to myself, stepping over a pile of unfolded laundry on my way to the kitchen.

As soon as I grab a trash bag, my phone buzzes on the counter. Cassie.

I swipe to answer and put her on speaker. “Hey, I was just about to call you.”

“Bullshit, you were gonna sit in your own filth for at least another day before I bullied you into doing something about it.”

I snort. “First of all, rude. Second of all, I am actively cleaning as we speak, thank you very much.”

“Oh, wow. Mark the calendar. Haven actually did something productive.”

I roll my eyes and shove a handful of takeout boxes into the trash. “Are you calling just to roast me, or…?”

Cassie hums. “Mostly, but also to tell you that you need to get laid.”

I nearly drop the trash bag. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, please. I watched your whole stream. You were way too worked up over that Ghost dude, again.”

I groan, shoving the bag down into the trash can with unnecessary force. “Cass. He’s the worst.”

“He’s obviously into you.”

“He’s into ruining my life.” She ignores me. “And let’s talk about Carter, again.”

I pause. “What about Carter?”

“You do realize he’s, like, wildly in love with you, right?”
I snort. “He is not in love with me.”

“Babe. The man throws money at you and calls you pet names every time you log on.”

“It’s just his personality!” I say with a tone that I can’t even convince myself.

“Okay, but you guys still haven’t video chatted have you?”
I hesitate. “…No.”

“Exactly. And yet, he wants you to drive all the way to his tiny-ass town to meet him. Alone.”

I huff. “He’s sweet.”

“He’s a man you met on the internet.” I rub my temple, leaning against the counter. “I know. That’s why I’m still debating it.”

Cassie sighs. “I just want you to be careful. He seems nice, but until you see him in person, you don’t actually know him.”

She’s right, but something about Carter has always felt… safe. Familiar, even. Maybe I’m a little too curious for my own good.

Cassie hangs up after extracting a promise from me that I won’t, under any circumstances, get murdered by a man I met online. Which, you know. Fair.

I toss my phone onto the couch, eyeing the mess around me. The problem with ignoring your responsibilities for two straight days is that, eventually, they gang up on you.

I start in the kitchen, cleaning up mystery crumbs from the counter and tackling the leaning tower of coffee mugs in my sink. As I clean, I let my brain replay the night’s events the tournament, Carter’s flirting, Ghost’s absolute menace behavior.

I hate how much real estate NoOneGhost takes up in my head. There’s just something about him that just grates on me in a way I can’t shake.

The arrogance. The way he always has a response ready, never rattled, never unsure. The way he calls me pretty girl like he owns the words.

I scrub a little harder than necessary, gripping the sponge. Whatever. He’s not my problem.

Carter, on the other hand… I glance at my phone again. I haven’t responded to his last message.

Carter: Sleep well Haven.

It’s so casual, but it still makes my stomach dip in a way I can never ignore.

I shake my head and force myself to focus on the dishes. I finish in the kitchen, wipe down the counters, and move to the disaster zone that is my bedroom. The worst of the mess is my bedside table, which is currently covered in empty snack wrappers, a half-drunk iced coffee from two days ago, and a tangle of charging cables that may or may not be a fire hazard.

I grab the iced coffee and sip. Regret, instant regret.

I gag, racing to the sink to spit it out. The taste is somewhere between expired milk and disappointment. “Holy fuck,” I mutter, soul leaving my body. “That was a near-death experience.”

New plan, no more iced coffee hoarding. I spend another half-hour cleaning, tossing my laundry into a basket I’ll definitely forget about tomorrow, and finally flop onto my bed with a dramatic sigh.

Okay. Decisions.

Carter’s invite shouldn’t make me this nervous, fifty miles isn’t far. Barely an hour’s drive, and it’s not like he’s a total stranger. I know his messages, his timing, the way he types when he’s excited versus the way he lingers when something’s wrong. I know the way he listens, really listens. He’s been around long enough that a visit shouldn’t feel like such a leap. But it does.

Maybe because it’s not just some casual meetup. Not to me. This isn’t a hey, we should hang sometime. It’s a line drawn between the safety of a screen and the messy, terrifying intimacy of real life. And the second I cross it, I can’t go back. I stare at his message longer than I should. My thumb hovers. My stomach flips.

Me: Okay. Let’s do it! I’ll come visit :)

Before I can second-guess myself, I hit send. The reply comes almost immediately.

Carter: You just made my night :)

It’s too easy to picture him smiling when he typed that. I lock my phone and toss it onto my nightstand, pushing down the weird, fluttery feeling in my stomach. Instead of over analyzing, I roll my shoulders and force myself into self-care mode.

After an entire weekend of gaming chaos, my body feels like it’s been fused to my desk chair, and my skin is in desperate need of moisture. I strip off my worn-out sweatpants and oversized hoodie, shuffling toward the bathroom.

I crank the water too hot and step under the spray, sighing as the heat melts away the stiffness in my muscles. Steam curls around me as I shampoo away the regrets of my life choices, my mind still drifting back to Carter. The fact that he’s wanted to meet me for months, and I’m finally saying yes.

My stomach twists but not in a bad way. Just… anticipation.

I finish up, towel off, and head back to my room, pulling on soft pajama shorts and a tank top. My hair is wrapped in a towel, and I grab my favorite cinnamon chai scented lotion, slathering it over my legs as I settle onto my bed. The weight of the weekend finally drags at me.

Tomorrow, I’ll start packing. Tomorrow, I’ll overthink. For now I need rest. I pull the blankets over my shoulders, burrow deep into my pillows, and let my eyes drift shut.

2

Carter

I step out onto the narrow balcony just off my bedroom, the early air still cool enough to raise goosebumps across my arms. It’s quiet out here but my brain’s already loud and running a million miles a minute.

I lean into the railing, stretch until my spine cracks, and pull my phone from the hoodie pocket like I haven’t already checked it a dozen times this morning. Haven’s text from last night is still open on the screen.

After months of watching her stream, of laughing over inside jokes no one else would get, of letting her absolutely destroy me in chat while I pretended not to be grinning like an idiot, she’s actually coming here. In real life, to see me.

I scrub a hand through my hair, trying to temper the giddy flutter in my chest, but it’s useless. She’s not just some crush anymore. She’s her. All fire and heart and chaos in a headset.

For some wild and crazy reason, she’s agreeing to drive fifty miles just to be in my orbit.

I open our texts again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

We’ve always been easy, flirty and effortless. She makes it feel like I don’t have to try too hard to be funny, or cool, or whatever the hell guys are supposed to be when they like someone.

With Haven, I can just be. And I think that’s why this feels like such a big deal, because it’s not nerves I’m feeling. I’ve been waiting for this moment longer than I want to admit.

So I type out a message. Something stupid that might make her laugh before she even gets out of bed.

Me: Morning, sweetheart. What’s the ETA on your arrival? I need time to warn the town about the hurricane that is Haven.

It takes her a few minutes to respond. Probably still asleep. Or ignoring my texts a little on purpose to get a rise out of me. Honestly, I love when she does it.

She always knows how to keep me guessing—knows exactly when to go quiet, when to flirt, when to come in with something that makes my stomach flip or my brain melt.

She hasn’t even touched me yet. But she’s already under my skin. Already got her fingerprints all over the way I think, the way I talk, the way I want.

While I wait, I step back inside, grab a T-shirt off my dresser, and tug it on before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

Tate’s already up, leaning against the counter, he doesn’t look up when I walk in. Just keeps staring at his phone, like if he focuses hard enough, it’ll save him from human interaction.

I chuckle lightly. “You look like you had a great night.”

He mutters something under his breath, too low to catch and definitely meant to be ignored.

I let it go, I’m used to this part. I open the fridge, pull out the carton of orange juice, and twist the cap off like I haven’t been navigating this exact cold war since we were twelve. “You know, you could just admit you’re pissed about Haven coming.”

That gets me a reaction. A sharp glance, quick and annoyed, before he goes back to his phone. “She’s coming to see you,” he says flatly. “Not my fucking problem.”

“Uh-huh.” I pour the juice, eyeing him over the rim of my glass. “Right. Totally. That’s why you’ve been extra moody since last night.”

He just keeps scrolling like I didn’t say a word, you’d think sharing a womb would make you similar. That being born minutes apart would at least give you some of the same wiring. But sometimes I look at Tate and wonder how the hell we came from the same house, let alone the same mother.

Our house was loud in the wrong ways and quiet when it shouldn’t have been like walking a tightrope between chaos and cold. We learned how to survive it differently.

Tate built walls. Thick ones. He learned early that if you never let anyone close, they can’t hurt you. Can’t leave bruises if they never touch you. So he pushes first, cuts deep, masks up.

Me? I went the other way. I learned to fill the silence. To make things easy, to smooth it over with a smile. To be soft where everything else was sharp. Somebody had to be.

I set my glass down with a little too much force, just to be annoying. “You could emotionally unmask, you know.”

He gives me a slow, one of those are you done? glares he’s perfected over the years. It’s like talking to a brick wall that lives on playing first-person shooters.

I sigh. Exaggerated, dramatic, just to twist the knife a little more. “She’d lose her mind if she realized she’s been playing with you this whole time.”

Still nothing, no flinch. No rebuttal, just the slightest clench of his jaw tight and fast. But it’s enough. He pushes off the counter. “Like I said,” he mumbles. “Not my damn problem.”

Then he’s gone, just walks out like the conversation never happened. I shake my head, smirking into my orange juice. He’s so full of shit. I know him, better than anyone. I’ve seen him when he’s pissed, when he’s interested, when he’s spinning and pretending he’s not.

I know that little jaw tic, he feels something. Whether he wants to admit it or not. Maybe it’s because she’s coming here.

Maybe it’s because she’s real now. Not just a screen name, not just a voice through a headset. Maybe it’s because he knows she likes me.

I’m not letting anyone, especially him, fuck that up. Haven finally texts back while I’m sitting at the table.

Haven: Sorry, just woke up. You know I don’t function before noon!!

Haven: I can probably head out in the morning?

Tomorrow. That’s so close and still not soon enough. I grin and type back.

Me: Perfect. I’ll roll out the red carpet, or at least sweep my front porch steps

I don’t hit send right away. Instead, I hesitate. There’s something I want to say but I delete the message I almost sent and type something else instead.

Me: Can’t wait to see you, sweetheart.

I send it, and hope like hell she knows I mean it. Every fucking word. I drum my fingers against the tabletop, staring at my phone like it might fill the silence for me. Like maybe she’ll text again. Like maybe just hearing from her again will calm this chaos in my chest.

Not that I’m counting the seconds or anything.

The restless energy hasn’t left me since she agreed to come. It’s been riding me hard all morning, making it impossible to sit still, to think straight, to do anything except replay every message we’ve sent over the last year in my head like some hopeless idiot.

Maybe I am, I’ve been falling for her since the first time she laughed at one of my stupid jokes in chat. Maybe I never stood a chance the second she called me her favorite with that grin in her voice.

All I know is that tomorrow, I finally get to see her. Truthfully, I’m scared shitless I won’t be enough.

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