I never meant for the fanfic to leak, but once it did, everything changed between me and my brother. We were both in the spotlight—him the brooding action star with that square jaw and the body that made tabloids drool, me the rising actress known for playing the innocent girl-next-door. Our last names matched, our faces too similar for anyone to miss the family resemblance, and that only made the secret dirtier when the stories started spreading online.
It began as a joke between us.
Late one night after a red-carpet event, we were alone in his hotel suite, half-drunk on champagne, scrolling through the wild fanfiction people wrote about celebrity siblings. “Look at this one,” he laughed, shoving his phone at me. The story had us fucking in a dressing room, him bending me over the makeup table while cameras flashed outside. I read it out loud, voice shaking a little, and felt my thighs press together.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he muttered, adjusting himself. His eyes met mine and the joke died. We both knew the line we were crossing.
That night we didn’t cross it, but the next weekend we did. I showed up at his house under the excuse of running lines for a project we were both attached to. The script was innocent enough—brother and sister fighting over an inheritance—but the tension in the room wasn’t. He read his lines low and rough. I answered soft and breathy. When the scene called for a hug, he pulled me in tight, his cock already hard against my stomach.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice raw.
I didn’t. Instead I reached down and squeezed him through his jeans. “Keep going.”
He spun me around, bent me over the kitchen island like the fanfic had described, and yanked my dress up. No foreplay, no slow build—just the wet sound of him spitting on his fingers and rubbing them over my pussy before he shoved inside. I gasped, gripping the marble edge while he fucked me hard and fast, the same way the anonymous writer had imagined. Every thrust made the island creak. Every filthy word he growled—“tight little sister cunt,” “been wanting this since the premiere”—matched the dirtiest comments under the story.
We came like that, him flooding me while I shook and moaned his name. Afterward we didn’t talk about it. We just cleaned up and went back to the script like nothing happened.
But the fanfics kept coming. New ones appeared every day, each one more explicit. We started reading them together, me on his lap, his fingers lazily circling my clit while I narrated. One story had us at a family reunion, sneaking off to the barn. We recreated that one the following weekend, hay scratching my bare back while he ate me out until my legs gave out. Another had us on a private jet, me riding him in first class with the flight attendant just outside the curtain. We booked the next available flight and made it real.
The more we read, the rougher we got. He liked when I called him “big brother” while he pounded me from behind. I liked when he pulled my hair and told me the fans would lose their minds if they knew the real story was hotter than anything they could write. We started leaving comments under the fics ourselves, egging the writers on, feeding them details only we could know.
One night he filmed us. Not for the internet—just for us. The video showed me on my knees in his trailer between takes, sucking him while he read a new chapter out loud. My mascara ran, spit dripped down my chin, and when he came I swallowed every drop and smiled at the camera. We watched it later in bed, fucking again to the sound of our own recorded moans.
Eventually the stories got darker, more possessive. One had him breeding me, keeping me full until I couldn’t hide the bump anymore. We tried that too—him coming inside me every night for a week, both of us reckless and addicted. The risk only made it better.
We never got caught. The fanfics kept multiplying, each one a mirror of what we were already doing behind closed doors. Sometimes I wonder if the writers somehow sensed the truth, if the chemistry we showed on screen bled into the words they typed. All I know is that every new story gave us another excuse to lock the door and lose ourselves again.
And when the next chapter drops tonight, I already know exactly how we’re going to act it out.
