“You can’t just waltz into my house and start bossing me around, Mari. I don’t care if my mom hired you—you’re not in charge here.” Mari tilted her head, her dark curls framing her face like a perfectly composed painting. Her lips curled into a sly smile, the kind that made my stomach twist in a way I didn’t want to admit. Damn her. She leaned against the kitchen counter, her librarian-chic outfit—tight pencil skirt, white blouse, and glasses perched on her nose—somehow managing to look both professional and dangerous. “Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, her voice low and velvety, “you’re not the one paying me. So if I say your sister goes to bed by eight, she goes to bed by eight. And if I say you need to stop acting like a brat, well…” She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air like a dare. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to steady my breathing. Why did she have to look like that? Why did she have to sound like that? She wasn’t even that much older than me—maybe five years, tops—but she carried herself with the confidence of someone who’d been running the world since birth. “You’re not my mom,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended. “No,” she agreed, stepping closer. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor, each step deliberate, controlled. “But I am the one who decides whether or not to tell her about the little stash of cigarettes I found in your sock drawer.” My heart skipped a beat. Shit. “How did you—” She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Please. I’ve been babysitting since I was sixteen. You’re not exactly a master of subtlety, sweetheart.” I glared at her, but the truth was, I couldn’t hold her gaze for long. There was something about the way she looked at me—like she could see right through me, like she knew things about me I hadn’t even figured out yet. It was unnerving. And, if I was being honest with myself, it was kind of thrilling. “So,” she said, her tone shifting, becoming softer, almost playful, “are you going to make this difficult, or are you going to behave?” I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. She was so close now I could smell her perfume—something floral and expensive, with a hint of spice. It was intoxicating. “I…” I started, but I didn’t know how to finish. She smiled, and this time it wasn’t smug or condescending. It was almost kind. “That’s what I thought,” she said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of my face. Her fingers lingered for just a moment, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “Now, why don’t you go check on your sister while I finish up in here?” I nodded, too stunned to do anything else, and turned to leave the kitchen. But as I reached the doorway, her voice stopped me. “Oh, and Y/N?” I glanced back over my shoulder. “Behave,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “Or I might have to punish you.” The way she said it—so calm, so matter-of-fact—made my pulse race. I forced myself to keep walking, but I could feel her eyes on me the entire time. ---It all started a week ago, when my mom announced she was hiring a new babysitter. “She’s wonderful,” Mom had gushed, scrolling through her phone to show me a picture. “She’s a librarian during the day, and she’s done some nannying on the side. Very responsible.” I’d barely glanced at the photo. “Mom, I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of Emma myself.” Mom had sighed, the way she always did when she thought I was being dramatic. “I know you can, honey, but with all the extra hours I’m working, I just feel better knowing there’s someone here to help out. Besides, it’ll be nice for you to have some company.” “Company,” I’d muttered under my breath. “Right.” The first time Mari showed up, I’d been… unprepared. She’d knocked on the door precisely at six, wearing that same damned outfit, and introduced herself with a firm handshake and a smile that made me feel like I was being interviewed for a job I didn’t even want. “So,” she’d said, setting her bag down by the door, “where’s the little one?” “Emma’s upstairs,” I’d replied, trying to sound indifferent. “She’s probably drawing or something.” Mari had nodded, her eyes scanning the room like she was assessing it for potential hazards. “And you are…?” “Y/N.” “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” she’d said, her tone polite but distant. “I’m Mari. I’ll be looking after you and your sister while your mom’s at work.” “Looking after,” I’d repeated, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Great.” She’d raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t say anything. Instead, she’d headed upstairs to find Emma, leaving me standing in the living room feeling like I’d just been dismissed. The days that followed were a blur of passive-aggressive comments, stolen glances, and a growing tension that I couldn’t quite place. Mari was strict—Emma’s bedtime was non-negotiable, homework had to be done before dinner, and there was no such thing as too much hand sanitizer. But there was something else, something simmering beneath the surface. Like the way she’d always seem to find a reason to linger when I was in the room, or the way her eyes would follow me when she thought I wasn’t looking. And then there was the way she’d look at me—like she was daring me to make a move, like she wanted me to challenge her. ---And now, here I was, standing in the doorway of Emma’s room, my mind racing. “Everything okay?” Emma asked, looking up from her coloring book. “Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… checking on you.” She nodded, content to go back to her drawing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Something big. “Y/N?” Mari’s voice floated down the hallway, soft but firm. “Come here for a moment.” I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. What now? “Y/N,” she said again, her tone sharper this time, “I don’t like to repeat myself.” I took a deep breath and stepped into the hallway, where Mari was waiting, her arms crossed over her chest and a look in her eyes that made my knees weak. “What is it?” I asked, trying to sound brave. She smiled, slow and deliberate. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”

Mari, the new babysitter, confronts me about the cigarettes she found in my room and tells me I need to behave or else she will tell my mom.  I am shocked and confused by her confident and almost threatening demeanor.  Mari tells me to go check on Emma, but then calls me back to say she wants to talk to me.

“You can’t just *waltz* into my house and start bossing me around, Mari. I don’t care if my mom hired you—you’re not in charge here.”  

Mari tilted her head, her dark curls framing her face like a perfectly composed painting. Her lips curled into a sly smile, the kind that made my stomach twist in a way I didn’t want to admit. *Damn her.* She leaned against the kitchen counter, her librarian-chic outfit—tight pencil skirt, white blouse, and glasses perched on her nose—somehow managing to look both professional and *dangerous.*  

“Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, her voice low and velvety, “you’re not the one paying me. So if I say your sister goes to bed by eight, she goes to bed by eight. And if I say *you* need to stop acting like a brat, well…” She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air like a dare.  

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to steady my breathing. *Why did she have to look like that? Why did she have to sound like that?* She wasn’t even *that* much older than me—maybe five years, tops—but she carried herself with the confidence of someone who’d been running the world since birth.  

“You’re not my mom,” I shot back, my voice sharper than I intended.  

“No,” she agreed, stepping closer. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor, each step deliberate, controlled. “But I *am* the one who decides whether or not to tell her about the little stash of cigarettes I found in your sock drawer.”  

My heart skipped a beat. *Shit.*  

“How did you—”  

She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Please. I’ve been babysitting since I was sixteen. You’re not exactly a master of subtlety, sweetheart.”  

I glared at her, but the truth was, I couldn’t hold her gaze for long. There was something about the way she looked at me—like she could see right through me, like she *knew* things about me I hadn’t even figured out yet. It was unnerving. And, if I was being honest with myself, it was kind of thrilling.  

“So,” she said, her tone shifting, becoming softer, almost playful, “are you going to make this difficult, or are you going to behave?”  

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. She was so close now I could smell her perfume—something floral and expensive, with a hint of spice. It was intoxicating.  

“I…” I started, but I didn’t know how to finish.  

She smiled, and this time it wasn’t smug or condescending. It was almost *kind.* “That’s what I thought,” she said, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of my face. Her fingers lingered for just a moment, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “Now, why don’t you go check on your sister while I finish up in here?”  

I nodded, too stunned to do anything else, and turned to leave the kitchen. But as I reached the doorway, her voice stopped me.  

“Oh, and Y/N?”  

I glanced back over my shoulder.  

“Behave,” she said, her tone light but her eyes serious. “Or I might have to punish you.”  

The way she said it—so calm, so matter-of-fact—made my pulse race. I forced myself to keep walking, but I could feel her eyes on me the entire time.  

---

It all started a week ago, when my mom announced she was hiring a new babysitter.  

“She’s wonderful,” Mom had gushed, scrolling through her phone to show me a picture. “She’s a librarian during the day, and she’s done some nannying on the side. Very responsible.”  

I’d barely glanced at the photo. “Mom, I’m not a kid anymore. I can take care of Emma myself.”  

Mom had sighed, the way she always did when she thought I was being dramatic. “I know you can, honey, but with all the extra hours I’m working, I just feel better knowing there’s someone here to help out. Besides, it’ll be nice for you to have some company.”  

“Company,” I’d muttered under my breath. “Right.”  

The first time Mari showed up, I’d been… *unprepared.* She’d knocked on the door precisely at six, wearing that same damned outfit, and introduced herself with a firm handshake and a smile that made me feel like I was being interviewed for a job I didn’t even want.  

“So,” she’d said, setting her bag down by the door, “where’s the little one?”  

“Emma’s upstairs,” I’d replied, trying to sound indifferent. “She’s probably drawing or something.”  

Mari had nodded, her eyes scanning the room like she was assessing it for potential hazards. “And you are…?”  

“Y/N.”  

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” she’d said, her tone polite but distant. “I’m Mari. I’ll be looking after you and your sister while your mom’s at work.”  

“Looking after,” I’d repeated, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Great.”  

She’d raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t say anything. Instead, she’d headed upstairs to find Emma, leaving me standing in the living room feeling like I’d just been dismissed.  

The days that followed were a blur of passive-aggressive comments, stolen glances, and a growing tension that I couldn’t quite place. Mari was *strict*—Emma’s bedtime was non-negotiable, homework had to be done before dinner, and there was no such thing as too much hand sanitizer. But there was something else, something simmering beneath the surface.  

Like the way she’d always seem to find a reason to linger when I was in the room, or the way her eyes would follow me when she thought I wasn’t looking.  

And then there was the way she’d look at me—like she was daring me to make a move, like she *wanted* me to challenge her.  

---

And now, here I was, standing in the doorway of Emma’s room, my mind racing.  

“Everything okay?” Emma asked, looking up from her coloring book.  

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… checking on you.”  

She nodded, content to go back to her drawing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to happen. Something *big.*  

“Y/N?” Mari’s voice floated down the hallway, soft but firm. “Come here for a moment.”  

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. *What now?*  

“Y/N,” she said again, her tone sharper this time, “I don’t like to repeat myself.”  

I took a deep breath and stepped into the hallway, where Mari was waiting, her arms crossed over her chest and a look in her eyes that made my knees weak.  

“What is it?” I asked, trying to sound brave.  

She smiled, slow and deliberate. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”

A forbidden dynamic unfolds between a young adult and their new nanny, Mari, as she asserts her authority in a way that is both challenging and alluring. The narrative explores themes of power dynamics, age gap, and the complexities of desire, as Mari’s confident and commanding presence sparks a mix of frustration and intrigue in the protagonist.

Forbidden Nanny Games

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