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bunnies-p1tst0p · 1 day ago

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YESSSS!!! They finally talked (except about the kissing 🙄) but we’ll take what we can get!

Also who’s gonna take down Ward?? Cause that man gets on my nerves no matter what fanfic I’m reading.

Glad Rafe stood his ground though! It’s been a slow process but process nonetheless. I hope he stays cool when he sees JJ with Liliana and reader cause I also believe he should know his daughter but not if he’s gonna be a problem for everyone else!

Love this fanfic sooo much (I know I already said that but I’ll continue to do so!)

❝FIDELITY❞ |part16

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: Quick perspective transitions. Mentioning abortion. Daddy issues.

Songs : Like him - Tyler, The Creator / Everything I wanted - Billie Eilish

previous - next

Two days ago, Cameron Estate.

Rafe knew his father was returning from his business trip today. Ward Cameron ran on a schedule as precise as a Swiss watch. The man liked every minute of his day to be planned down to the last detail. His flight time, the exact minute he’d walk through the door, even when he’d unpack his suitcase and step into the shower—it was all set in stone.

Once upon a time, Rafe had a set schedule for stepping into this house too. But that was years ago. And back then, his timing never quite fit into his father’s plans.

This time, Ward Cameron wasn’t the one in control.

As he stepped out of the car, Rafe shoved his hands deep into his pockets. A cigarette might’ve helped take the edge off, but his hands might start shaking. He took a deep breath, feeling the knot tightening in his stomach. He’d replayed this moment in his head a thousand times, calculated every possible reaction. But looking the man in the eye and actually saying the words— That was something else entirely.

He picked up his pace.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by the familiar, suffocating perfection inside. The Cameron estate was always like this—grand, ostentatious, and cold. The walls were lined with expensive paintings, but none of them had any life. Just like the people who lived here.

His eyes swept across the room quickly.

There he was.

Ward Cameron, seated at his usual spot at the desk. An open laptop in front of him, a pen in his hand. His brows were slightly furrowed, completely focused on the screen. So deep into his work that he hadn’t even noticed his son walking in.

Across from him, Rose scribbled something into a notebook, occasionally glancing up to speak. Conversations in the Cameron family were never really conversations. They were business meetings.

Rafe held his breath.

Facing Ward Cameron was like slamming your head against a brick wall. The man listened with an emotionless, judgmental silence, dissected every word, found the weakest point—then struck. Rafe knew the drill.

But this time, he wasn’t backing down.

This wasn’t just about him. It was about his daughter, too.

He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the room. “Hey—can we talk for a minute?”

Rose’s head snapped up immediately. Ward, on the other hand, didn’t react at all. His eyes stayed glued to the screen. Rafe knew exactly what that meant—his father had already decided this was a conversation not worth his time.

He’d heard him, obviously. But acknowledging his presence? That was a step too far.

As always, to Ward Cameron, Rafe was a ghost.

Rose gave him a quick glance, arching an eyebrow. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, she set her notebook down in her lap. That sigh? That wasn’t just impatience. That was because she saw him. “Rafe, We are really busy. Is this important?”

His father’s voice finally echoed through the room, forcing Rafe to take a steadying breath.

He didn’t even look up.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. How had this become a routine? Every conversation started with "Is this really important?" As if he’d ever show up here for something trivial.

Not that it mattered.

If he had a problem, they wouldn’t fix it. Unless it was financial, of course. Because the only thing they truly understood was money.

Even if it was their own son.

“It is.” Rafe’s voice came out sharp, like a blade.

That, at last, got Ward to look up. Though there wasn’t a shred of interest in his eyes. He exhaled slowly. “Is this about business? What happened?”

Of course.

If Ward Cameron cared, it had to be about money or the company.

Rafe used to be hurt by that. Used to get angry. But by now, he was used to being invisible—to being treated like something disposable, something to be brushed aside.

Didn’t mean it didn’t piss him off.

His brows drew together. “No—”

Rose sighed dramatically, cutting him off. “Rafe, if this isn’t urgent, your father and I are in the middle of something.”

Oh, of course.

Business.

Rafe was interrupting the sacred Cameron work schedule. Couldn’t possibly be anything more important than that.

He let out a humorless breath, lifting his brows as his eyes locked onto Rose.

Sometimes, he swore she was messing with him. The only time he ever set foot in this house was when he had a damn reason. He hadn’t been here in months, and yet, the second he arrived, it was like he was an inconvenience.

It was almost easy to forget when he wasn’t around them for a while.

Almost.

“Rose,” he said slowly, voice edged with irritation, “if it wasn’t important, do you think I’d drop everything and come straight here?”

She looked like she was about to respond, but Ward held up a hand, signaling her to stop. Finally, his father actually looked at him. “Alright. I’m listening.”

About damn time.

Rafe tried to steady his breathing. This wasn’t easy to say. But putting it off wouldn’t make it any easier. He just wanted to get it over with.

“I’m not gonna lie—this isn’t easy for me—”

“Oh my God.” Rose cut him off again, exasperation dripping from her voice.

Rafe’s eyes squeezed shut for a second.

Her voice cracked through the room like a whip. Then, in th next breath, she turned to Ward, her face sharp with disappointment. “I told* you. And you didn’t listen. He’s back on drugs.”

Rafe’s breath caught. What?

His head shook quickly, side to side.

That’s what she jumped to? That’s where her mind immediately went? After everything—after clawing his way out of it, after fighting to prove himself—this was still the first assumption?

Ward let out a slow breath.

Disappointment.

That was the only thing on his face. His eyes shut for a moment, fingers pushing his laptop slightly away.

Rafe’s teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.

He hated their assumptions. He hated this family.

“I’ve been clean for three years.” The words ground out between his teeth.

“And you know that.” He exhaled sharply.

Ward shook his head from side to side before turning to Rose. “Rose, please.” Like even having this conversation was a waste of time.

Rafe clenched his fists. There was no point in dragging this out. The longer he stalled, the weaker he’d look. So he just said it. Even though it wasn’t easy, the words slipped out as if they were. “I have a daughter.”

Silence.

Nothing happened at first.

But then, the cold, emotionless mask on Ward Cameron’s face cracked—fast. Rafe knew how rarely his father was caught off guard. Ward Cameron was always in control. Nothing ever truly rattled him.

But this did.

Ward locked eyes with his son. “What did you just say?” There was real surprise in his voice. He wasn’t angry yet—he was still in shock. Of course he was.

Rafe pushed forward, fast. Because if he stopped, if Ward got a word in first, this conversation would be over before it even began. His father would rip him to shreds before he got the chance to explain. So Rafe took his shot.

“You remember my ex girlfriend. She was pregnant before she left the island. And before you start yelling, Dad—she didn’t tell me. Well, she did. But I—” he exhaled sharply, “I did things I regret. And she left. Didn’t tell me where she was going. And now she’s back in the Outer Banks—”

BAM!

Ward slammed his fist against the table. Even Rose jumped at the sudden outburst, but Rafe only shut his eyes for a moment. Of course, his father wasn’t going to take this news and wrap it up in a nice little bow. He wasn’t going to pull him in for a hug and celebrate.

“What the fuck are you talking about?!” Ward’s voice boomed through the house, echoing so loudly it almost sounded like it came from another room.

Rose rolled her eyes, letting out a dry, sarcastic laugh. “Jesus—are you actually determined to embarrass us in front of the entire island?”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. His face remained unreadable. His father yelling at him wasn’t surprising. He’d expected nothing else.

But then Ward twisted the knife. “How hard was it to get rid of a baby?!”

Rafe froze.

For a moment, all he could hear was his own breathing. His chest tightened. His fists clenched even harder. He didn’t even know what to say.

The words had left his father’s mouth so effortlessly, like it was that simple. Like it had ever been his decision to make.

“She didn’t want to.”

Didn’t want to. You didn’t want to. You and him disagreed, and this is what happened. What the hell else was he supposed to do? Force you?

He would never do that.

Ward ground his teeth, stepping closer. His face twisted with a fury that would’ve terrified most people. But Ward was his father. Rafe had grown up with that look.

“And you just accepted it?! Like some weak little coward?!”

The air in the room turned suffocating.

The sharp rage in Ward Cameron’s eyes sliced through the room like a blade. His glare was the same as it had always been—decades of disappointment staring right back at him. And if there had been even the smallest shred of hope left in his father, Rafe was watching it disappear in real time.

But he didn’t look away. He wasn’t a kid anymore.

“What the hell was I supposed to do, Dad?” His voice was steady, firm—but underneath, there was a rage that had been building for years. A rage he had buried, silenced, ignored. And now, it was boiling over. “Drag her by the arm and force her into a clinic?”

His fingers curled tighter at the thought. The very idea made his stomach churn.

Forcing you to go to a clinic. Seeing the hatred in your eyes. Doing something you’d never forgive him for.

The thought made him sick.

Not to mention, you wouldn’t have let him. If he’d even tried, you would’ve fought him off, and he wouldn’t put it past you to run him over with a car right after.

“You’re forgetting something,” Rafe said, without hesitation. “She is the woman I’m in love.”

Love.

When was the last time he’d actually said that out loud? He could barely remember. For years, he had barely spoken about you to anyone. But now, standing in front of his father, he didn’t waver.

Saying it felt strange. Almost foreign.

Ward let out a slow breath, shaking his head. His eyes held a cold, almost amused expression. He didn’t even care that his son was standing his ground. To him, Rafe was still that same pathetic little kid. Still nothing.

“How do you still manage to surprise me?” Ward said, tilting his head slightly. “You keep making the dumbest goddamn choices—do you have any idea how exhausting it is to clean up your messes?”

Clean up.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. His father had never seen him as a person. Just a problem to fix. A mess that needed to be dealt with. And Ward Cameron’s number one priority in life was making sure nothing stained his perfect little world.

But this time, Rafe wasn’t going to let him erase this. This wasn’t a problem. And he hadn’t come here for his father to handle it.

“Dad—” Rafe started, but Ward cut him off.

“Shut up!” Ward’s voice snapped through the air like a whip.

Rafe lifted his head. His father was closer now, his face twisted with anger. And in his eyes, just beneath the surface, there was that familiar flicker of something more dangerous—something Rafe had known since childhood.

But he wasn’t afraid anymore.

Ward’s voice dropped, turning cold. “What’s her name?”

Rafe hesitated. He hadn’t expected him to ask that. He had expected more yelling, more insults, more dismissals. But this—this was calculated.

This meant she wasn’t even a person to him. She was a number. A problem to eliminate.

Rafe swallowed. He didn’t want to tell him.

“Dad, listen—” he tried again.

But Ward’s voice cut through the room, even sharper.

“I asked for a name, Rafe.” His voice carried an impatient growl. It was a warning. A threat. His father saw his silence as defiance.

Rafe narrowed his eyes, straightening his posture just enough to show he wasn’t the obedient son he used to be. But he exhaled slowly, keeping his tone measured—no need to set fire to the whole house just yet.

“Liliana.” He came here to say it. To stop holding back. To stop hiding it.

Ward nodded, considering it for a few seconds. Then, with that same ice-cold tone, he asked, “Does she carry the family name?”

Rafe’s breath hitched. He knew exactly why that mattered. The name was ownership.

And Liliana… she didn’t have his last name.

“No.”

Ward’s eyes narrowed. “Does she want it?”

For the first time, Rafe genuinely hesitated.

He didn’t know.

They had never talked about it. That wasn’t his decision to make. Giving Liliana his last name—claiming her in that way—wasn’t something he could just decide on a whim. It wasn’t his right. Hell, she barely even knew him yet.

So, he couldn’t lie.

“I—I don’t know.”

Ward exhaled sharply, shaking his head in instant disapproval. The look in his eyes was disgust.

“I can’t believe I’m still cleaning up after you like you’re a goddamn child.” Then, just as fast, he turned to Rose. A plan was already forming in his eyes. “Rose.” His voice was crisp, final. “Sort it out. Write a check to the mother. Whatever it takes—let’s put an end to this nonsense.”

Rafe’s eyes widened. His breath quickened. Just hearing it made his stomach churn. “The hell are you talking about?!” He stepped forward, gaze locked on his father. “That’s not why I came here.”

Ward raised an eyebrow, as if truly surprised. “Excuse me?” His voice dripped with condescension, like he was warning Rafe to watch his next words carefully.

Rose looked at Rafe now. The only thing in her eyes was disappointment.

Rafe shook his head, hands running through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t come here so you could write a damn check.”

He really didn’t get it. His father still thought money could fix everything.

Buy out his mistakes. Sweep them under the rug.

But this wasn’t a mistake. Liliana wasn’t a mistake.

“And what other possible reason could you have for being here?” Ward asked, voice sharp.

Rafe met his father’s gaze, unwavering. And then, with steady defiance, he answered. “I’m going to meet her.”

A silence settled in the room.

Rafe didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. “I’m going to be her father. I’ll be there for her and—”

Ward scoffed, shaking his head in mock amusement before letting out a bitter laugh. “Oh, fuck off.” It was dismissal. Pure and simple.

Rose sighed, her voice soft, coaxing. “Rafe… you’re not thinking this through. Do you realize what this could do to us? To the company? She’s an illegitimate child.”

Something inside Rafe cracked.

Ward let out an irritated breath. He turned to Rose with a sharp, almost amused glare. “Oh, look at you. Talking to him like he has the capacity to understand.” His jaw clenched. “If he had a shred of intelligence, he wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”

“That’s enough.” Rafe shot back instantly, voice firm—but before he could continue, his father cut him off.

“No, what’s enough is you.” Ward stepped forward, eyes dark and menacing. “None of what you just said is happening. Do you understand me? None of it.”

But Rafe didn’t lower his gaze. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had fully stepped out of his father’s shadow.

This wasn’t his decision to make. Liliana wasn’t his to control.

Rafe is her father. And when it came to her—any decisions, any choices—he would be the one making them. Not Ward.

“You don’t hold my leash anymore. Not now. Not ever.” His voice was low, steady, unwavering.

If there was any decision to be made about Liliana, it would be his. Not this man’s.

To hell with his reputation.

“I’m telling you because I gave my word.”

Ward’s eyes darkened. He stepped closer, tension crackling between them like a live wire. “If this damages our reputation in any way—”

Rafe didn’t even let him finish. His voice was deadly quiet. “If you ever try to threaten them again—” He held his father’s gaze, his own filled with something darker, sharper. “That’s when things will really get messy, Dad.”

Ward exhaled harshly. A dry, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. He stared at Rafe with pure disdain. That look—the one that told him he was a disappointment—wasn’t new. And it wouldn’t be the last time.

“You,” Ward muttered, voice dripping with disgust. “You are my biggest regret.”

Rafe smiled. It wasn’t a smirk of victory. It wasn’t smug satisfaction. It was quieter. Smaller. Like something had finally settled inside him. Like years of resentment had finally burned away into something else. Indifference. No expectations. No fear.

Just the cold, quiet certainty that he no longer cared.

"Pathetic." His voice was quiet, but sharp. The weight of that single word settled into the room like a heavy fog. When Rafe looked at his father’s face, he realized he didn’t even care whether the regret in his voice was genuine. It didn’t matter. Ward Cameron could regret, he could hate, he could burn with rage or act as if he couldn’t care less. But none of it reached Rafe anymore.

"But that regret isn't strong enough to erase my existence. I, however, am." He stepped forward, closing the already narrow space between them.

There was no fear in his expression. No anger, either. Just something resolute, something unwavering. And in Rafe’s eyes, there was something Ward had never been accustomed to seeing—perhaps something he had never wanted to see. Confidence.

Ward lifted his chin slightly, his face as hard as stone. The man who had spent years speaking with sharp authority and smug indifference was now standing in front of a son who refused to cower, his brows furrowed as he tried to suppress his irritation. But it was there. The frustration seethed just beneath his controlled exterior, slipping through the cracks in his composure.

"I'm the one who put you in charge of the company, Rafe," Ward said, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. "I can just as easily take it away."

Rafe let out a breath of amusement—low, dismissive. He tilted his head just slightly, studying his father with something akin to pity.

How many times had he heard that exact threat? How many times had he believed it?

He remembered the panic it used to stir in him, the way it used to feel like a noose tightening around his neck. Back then, he had thought his father could destroy him, wipe him from existence with a snap of his fingers. But now?

Now, he only smiled.

"Not while I own shares."

His voice was calm. Unshaken. There was no challenge in his tone, no outburst of defiance—just a simple, immovable fact.

Ward’s frown deepened, as if trying to comprehend the shift. As if only now realizing that Rafe wasn’t just arguing with him—he was drawing a line in the sand. A real one.

"I'm telling you this," Rafe said, his voice firm. "Not asking for your permission." The air in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. "I have a daughter."

A barely perceptible flicker crossed Ward’s expression, but he said nothing.

Rafe, however, felt something tighten in his throat the second the words left his mouth. Saying it out loud—especially to his father—made it real in a way he hadn’t fully prepared for. It made it final. There was no taking it back. And once that truth had been spoken into existence, he knew nothing would ever be the same again.

But he wouldn't take it back.

"And I won’t ignore her," Rafe continued, swallowing hard but refusing to waver. His voice, steady and sure, sliced through the heavy silence.

Ward inhaled deeply. He didn't break eye contact, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.

"I’m not you," Rafe added. His voice didn’t rise, didn’t falter. He just stated it as it was. "That’s the difference between us."

Ward’s expression went completely cold. The anger was there, of course—but beneath it, beneath the hard lines of his face, was something else. A realization. The unmistakable recognition that he had lost control of his son. Completely.

Finally, Ward clenched his jaw and spoke, voice razor-sharp. "Get out."

The words hung in the air, less of a command and more of a curse. A punctuation mark to a conversation that had just rewritten the rules between them.

Rafe tilted his head slightly, let his gaze linger on his father for just a second longer. Then, without losing that faint, knowing smile, he answered.

"Gladly."

And without looking back, he walked out the door.

That was never the point. Not from the start.

It wasn’t the fights or the way things kept spiraling between them. No matter how much of a mess things became, it had never been about that.

He couldn’t react properly. He had no idea what the hell was wrong with him, but JJ just... didn't know what to do. Not once in his life had he dealt with something like this. This was a first.

Catching feelings for his best friend.

He had no idea how to handle it. Every time he tried to fix things, that stupid part of him kicked in and somehow made everything worse. Even when he just wanted to sit down and talk things out, it always turned into a disaster. And he knew—he fucking knew—that it was all on him.

He just couldn’t do it. It was too much. His mind felt like it was playing tricks on him, like he couldn’t think straight. Every time he so much as thought about you and that idiot, his entire perspective shifted.

But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the real fear.

JJ had been with you for five years. Every single day. Under the same roof, in the same home. You cooked together, you ate together—you raised a child together.

He got used to you. So used to your presence that he couldn’t function without it. And it wasn’t just about getting used to you. You became a part of his life. The missing piece that finally clicked into place. You weren’t just there—you were whole. You, JJ, and Liliana.

And he was terrified of losing you. Of losing Liliana, of watching her warm up to Rafe and realizing she didn’t need JJ anymore. Of seeing that look in your eyes again—the one you used to have at parties five years ago when you looked at Rafe like he was your entire world.

Because he remembered.

JJ remembered what you and Rafe had been like. The way you looked at each other, the way you kissed. Back then, it hadn’t even registered to him. But the closer he got to you, the clearer those memories became.

And he hated remembering every single one of them.

Because you loved him. You loved Rafe. And there wasn’t a single soul on that island who didn’t know it. Not just you. No matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise, Rafe loved you too.

That was the scary part. If it had happened once, it could happen again. You had felt that way before—what was stopping you from feeling it again?

In Asheville, it had been just you, Liliana, and JJ.

But ever since you came back here, JJ felt like he was losing his mind.

Ever since you kissed him, he hadn’t been able to focus. He was getting lost in you. Every second that he didn’t tell you, it ate away at him—but he just couldn’t say it.

You were air, and he needed to breathe.

You were water, and he was parched.

JJ needed you to survive, but he was so fucking stupid.

He always had been. Always. His entire life. But for the past five years, he must’ve been extra stupid.

How the hell did someone mistake being in love with their best friend for something else?

How was he supposed to see you as just a friend when he could barely breathe without you? You weren’t just his best friend. You were his closest person. His safest place. But to JJ, you were something more. You had been for years. You were the woman he loved and his best friend all in one.

And he was so fucking blind. So unbelievably stupid.

It didn’t sit right with him. Loving you felt wrong somehow. Like he was—what? Taking advantage of you? But he wasn’t.

All JJ ever wanted was for you to be at peace. And yet, he was the one messing with that peace.

He had been such an emotionally stunted idiot that he practically turned himself into a fucking rock just to avoid admitting his feelings. And the second he stepped out of that house, he regretted it. But what the hell was he even supposed to say?

‘You kissed me. It felt weird because, actually, I’m in love with you, and you definitely only see me as your best friend. So instead of telling you, I’m just running away from you?’

Maybe.

Well, yeah. Maybe that was exactly it.

Shit.

Of course, he should’ve talked to you. It was just really fucking hard.

He was scared of losing you. Not just to Rafe—but of losing what you had altogether.

When he walked out of that house that night, he wasn’t thinking. He had no plan, no idea where he was even going. It wasn’t like he had meant to stay away for three days. He just... didn't know how to talk to you.

“You’re the dumbest man I’ve ever met. You know that, right?”

JJ lowered his head as Cleo grabbed his beer and stood up. He didn’t look at her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pope clear his throat and shoot Cleo a warning look. He didn’t need Pope to warn her. JJ was already painfully aware of everything.

“And a coward.” Cleo scoffed. “Don’t look at me like that, Pope. If there’s someone who needs to hear it, it’s JJ. He’s our friend too. And I think he deserves better than being a pathetic idiot who can’t admit his feelings.”

She turned to walk off the porch without looking back.

JJ lifted his head, about to argue, but Cleo was already gone—like a storm passing through before you even had the chance to take cover.

And the worst part?

She was right. He hadn’t said a single damn thing about his feelings. Not a single word about what was going on in his head.

And yet, she knew. Of course, she did.

Because this?

This was exactly the kind of shit a coward would do.

“Don’t mind Cleo. You know she just wants the best for both of you.” Pope placed a reassuring hand on JJ’s back, giving it a small pat. JJ’s shoulders slumped.

He shook his head. He didn’t think he deserved any sympathy. “Cleo’s right. I’m just—a fucking idiot. That’s what this is.”

His phone buzzed on the table, the notification lighting up the screen. But when JJ glanced at it, the message wasn’t what caught his attention. It was the wallpaper. The one photo he could never bring himself to change. You and Liliana.

“Even when it comes to feelings?” Pope’s voice reached him, but honestly, JJ just wanted to keep looking at the photo for a little longer. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and Liliana.

The way you were smiling at the camera—it almost made his lips twitch into a smile, too. You were happy. Just like before you came back here.

“Yes.” The word slipped out before he could stop it. He didn’t even try to. Maybe because, for once, he wanted to stop lying about this. To himself, to anyone. What was the point?

“You know that’s not wrong, right—”

JJ was already shaking his head before Pope could finish. But Pope straightened up, refusing to let it go.

“Cleo and I were best friends. Sarah and John B were best friends. There’s nothing wrong with—”

“It’s not the same.” JJ shook his head harder this time. There was a scream inside him, clawing to get out. At who, at what, he didn’t know. He just wanted to let it out. When Pope opened his mouth to argue again, JJ turned to him sharply.

“I’ve lived with her for five years, you guys caught feelings in a few months. I never once looked at her that way. Never once even had the thought of—of touching her cross my mind. They’re my family.” JJ’s lips pressed into a hard line. The tip of his nose stung.

When no one else was there, you were. And when you had no one else, he was there. You chose each other. You weren’t just friends. You weren’t just people who happened to live together. You were a family. You were built for this. JJ’s family was never his father. And sure, for a long time, his family had been the Pogues, but the bond he built with you—somewhere along the way, that changed everything.

“So don’t stand there and tell me this isn’t wrong. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve never had a real family—not in the way I should have. No offense. And now that I do, I’m not about to lose it just because of a few stupid feelings.” JJ clenched his fists, trying to keep his frustration in check. He wasn’t mad at Pope. He was mad at himself.

Pope’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He leaned in closer, resting his arms on the table. “Just so you know—you’re not gonna lose them. But if you do, it’s not gonna be because of your ‘few stupid feelings.’ It’s gonna be because you’re acting like a blind idiot.”

Pope tapped on JJ’s phone screen, making it light up again. Your and Liliana’s picture glowed in the dim light of the porch. “If you don’t wanna lose them, then stop acting like you do. Because you’ve been here for two fucking days—and hey, I don’t mind, you’re always welcome. But every day you stay here instead of going home is another step closer to losing them. Open your eyes.”

JJ looked up, locking eyes with his friend. Pope’s expression was unreadable, but his voice left no room for argument.

JJ swallowed hard. He had nothing to say. Not because he didn’t want to. But because he didn’t know how to.

Even with how much of a goddamn idiot he’d been these past few days, he had no idea how to fix any of this.

His gaze flickered back toward the house he’d left behind.

Funny, how leaving could become a habit. This was the second time he’d walked out of that house after a fight. Again, both of you ended up hurt. Again, neither of you deserved it.

His fingers curled into fists at Pope’s words echoing in his head. Of course he was right. Everyone was right these days—everyone but JJ. Pope was always right. Always the one with the advice, always the one who never seemed to screw up.

JJ wished he could be like that. Maybe if he had even a little bit of Pope’s level-headedness, he wouldn’t have made half the mistakes he had. He didn’t regret his past mistakes—not really. They made him who he was.

But the mistakes he made after meeting you? He regretted every single one.

And this latest one? The biggest one?

Kissing you.

Again.

One week later, he’d kissed you again. And not once did it feel wrong. It felt complete.

But it shouldn’t have been like that. Not after a fight. Not out of anger, not out of frustration. If he was ever going to kiss you, it should’ve been because he told you how he felt. Because you wanted him to. Because you felt the same way.

His hands were trembling. He looked down at them, sucking in a shaky breath.

Leaving the house had been a mistake—just like every word that had ever come out of his mouth.

When his gaze lifted from the ground and met the door once again, the weight of everything inside him became unbearable. He wasn't going to let this happen again.

He took quick steps toward the door, retracing the path he'd just walked. He wasn’t leaving this house again. He wasn’t leaving you and Liliana again. This wasn’t just hurting him—it was hurting you too. Not again.

He swung the door open and stepped inside. He knew the way by heart.

And when he reached the kitchen, he saw you again.

Your hands were gripping the edge of the counter so tightly it looked like you needed it to stay upright. If you let go, you’d collapse. You looked so fragile—like you’d shatter the second you lost your hold. And when he saw the silent tears slipping between your tightly shut eyelids, JJ’s heart clenched in his chest.

Your lips were pressed together, trembling slightly. It was like you were trying to keep any sound from escaping, crying in the quietest way possible.

JJ’s breath caught in his throat. He knew he’d let you down in every possible way, but seeing you like this? It felt like someone had poured boiling water down his spine.

He wanted to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to do anything—everything—to make you forgive him. Fuck love—he didn’t care about love anymore. If staying by your side as a friend for the rest of his life meant you’d never have to cry again, he’d take it. If letting Rafe back into your life meant you’d be happy, he’d accept it.

Just so you’d smile again. Just so you’d never cry because of him again.

He took a step forward without thinking, but the second the wooden floor creaked beneath his foot, your eyes fluttered open. One of your hands lifted from the counter, moving toward your face as your gaze locked with his.

JJ’s mind blanked the second he saw your tear-streaked, flushed face. Every thought, every word he had lined up in his head vanished in an instant. That was the effect you had on him—your gaze, your presence, your touch. Everything else faded away.

You were the only thing that was real. The only thing that stayed white in a world drowning in black. And no matter what anyone said, no matter how much darkness tried to creep in, that wouldn’t change. You were untouchable.

Then your lips curled—not into a smile, but something bitter, something that twisted a knife in his chest. "What is it now? Thinking of some other words to tear me apart?"

Your voice shook. Because of him. Because he had made you cry.

JJ nearly dropped his head in shame. He never should've left. Not again. "No," he murmured, barely above a whisper. His head shook on its own, as if trying to erase every mistake, every word that had brought you to this moment. If he could take it all back, he would.

But he couldn’t.

So he stood there, waiting for a miracle—knowing damn well miracles didn’t exist.

He had to let it go. Every ounce of anger, every bit of resentment. He had to let it all go.

You had to know the truth.

“No?” A hollow laugh slipped through your lips, your arms wrapping tightly around yourself. Your head dropped for a second, but when you lifted it again, the brief moment of humor was gone. Your face twisted with nothing but fury. “No? Are you fucking kidding me? Then why are you still here?”

You stormed forward, shoving him in the chest. JJ stumbled back. And you did the same, like you had to put as much distance between you as possible.

JJ didn’t know what to do.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose Liliana. He couldn’t.

“I—”

“You what? What the hell are you gonna say this time? First, you come home and ruin my entire mood! You pick a fight with me, and then—and then—” Your voice cracked, but it didn’t stop you. It only made your anger burn hotter. You ran your hands through your hair, pacing in the kitchen like you had no idea what to do with yourself.

“I didn’t know what to do—I’m sorry. I messed up—” JJ tried, but you didn’t let him finish.

“Oh, fuck off! Messed up?! Who the hell do you think you’re fooling? You think this is some tiny little mistake? A fight we can just get over, just brush under the rug?” You stepped back, leaning against the counter as your eyes burned holes into him.

JJ wanted to say something, anything, but he just clenched his jaw.

The tears on your face were still fresh. Your eyes were red, raw, and swollen. And knowing that he was the reason for it? That he was the one who had broken you like this? It was disgusting.

He hadn’t realized it would go this far. He hadn’t realized he could hurt you this much.

A dry, humorless laugh escaped your lips, and JJ inhaled sharply. He stood there, listening, because he knew you needed to let it out.

“And the worst part? You’re not even apologizing for any of that,” you spat, voice dripping with venom. “Not for the fights. Not for the last week of absolute hell. Not for all the shit you put me through. No. You’re apologizing because—because you kissed me? That’s what’s too much for you?”

JJ shook his head frantically, wanting to cut in, to explain himself, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“That’s your fucking line?” you yelled. “That’s the thing that crossed the line for you?! Not hurting me, not leaving Liliana waiting for you every damn day, but that? Kissing me?”

Your voice was so loud it felt like it shook the whole house.

JJ knew he had no right to be concerned, but he was. He wanted to tell you to breathe, to calm down—but he didn’t. He just looked at you. He accepted every word.

“No—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you screamed. Your hands moved as if you were going to grab him, but at the last second, you stopped yourself, pulling back like even touching him was a mistake.

JJ… he just accepted your anger. If anything, he preferred you lashing out at him rather than enduring silence.

"I'm sorry for everything. Just— not for the kiss." JJ's voice came out hoarse. Your back was turned to him. He watched your whole body tremble. Even as you clung tightly to the counter, you didn’t look okay.

You were shaking. Crying. But it was so silent that if the house weren’t dead quiet, JJ wouldn’t have heard a thing.

He took a step forward and reached out a hand. But before he could touch you, you wiped your tears away and turned. JJ immediately took a step back.

"Why… What did I do to you?" Watching the tears slowly roll down your cheeks was hard. JJ averted his gaze. The heaviness in his chest—his guilt—was suffocating. And he knew it.

Your tears were for him. Because of him.

You were hurting. Because of him.

JJ opened his mouth, but not a single sound came out. The man who had been shouting just moments ago had gone completely quiet.

"Leave..." Your voice was so weak that JJ's heart stuttered. He shook his head instantly, firm in his stance.

"Not this time." His voice was steady, resolute—just like him. He wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t running away.

And finally, it happened. Your fists landed against his chest. But it was weak. Like you had no strength left in you. JJ stumbled back a little but held his ground.

"You had no problem leaving the last two times, so why not go again—" JJ couldn’t even look at your face. Every weak punch against his chest dug into his soul.

No, it didn’t hurt. It was you who was hitting him. Even if he wanted it to hurt, it wouldn’t.

"Get out!" The moment you screamed in his face, JJ’s eyes squeezed shut. Somewhere deep inside, maybe he knew he should leave. But he wasn’t going to.

Even if you wanted him gone, even if you hit him to make him leave, he wouldn’t budge an inch. Not until you gave him a real explanation.

"I'm not going." He shook his head, your fists still pressing against his chest.

"You are! You’re going to get the hell out! And— And you’re going to take your stuff with you—" Your punches stopped. You turned away, heading toward the stairs, but JJ moved fast, grabbing your wrists.

"I don’t want to leave." He spoke while looking straight into your eyes, as if trying to show you how serious he was. But you? You weren’t having it. "I don’t want to do this. So please—please stop trying to push me away."

You struggled, trying to free your wrists, but JJ held on tight. "You’re selfish! Selfish and a coward! You didn’t even have the guts to apologize! Not even after coming home three nights late! I waited for you! Like an idiot! I waited!" Your voice was shaking. You were crying so hard it was difficult to even talk, to breathe.

Your eyes were squeezed shut. You weren’t even looking at him. The tears wouldn’t stop. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I’m jealous!" The words shot out of JJ’s mouth, and suddenly, the only sound left in the house was your ragged sobs.

Your eyes were still closed. But as your crying began to slow, you slowly opened them.

"I lost control. The thought of losing you—of leaving Liliana—I lost everything."

Finally, saying it out loud, JJ felt the weight in his chest ease. Just a little. Even if he still hadn’t admitted why he did it, at least acknowledging the emotions that came with it felt like a small relief.

But was he brave enough to tell you he loved you? He didn’t know. He could lose both you and Liliana, and he wasn’t the kind of man to gamble with things like that.

As much as he liked to play games, he would never play with you.

That would cross a line.

"So that’s why you fucked the last two weeks of my life… Was it really that hard to just talk to me?" When you looked at him with tear-filled eyes, JJ swore his heart stopped for a second. He could try to change the subject, pretend it wasn’t what it was, but he was so damn tired of running.

And you? You were tired of this game too. You didn’t have the energy for it anymore. Not when you looked so exhausted standing in front of him.

"It was hard," he admitted without thinking. Even though a part of him told him to shut up, he didn’t. He didn’t want to keep silent anymore. He didn’t want to keep hurting you. No, he wasn’t brave enough to bring up the wedding night just yet, but he wanted to fix things.

Even if this was just an excuse, it was the truth. JJ was hiding things, but only because he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already had.

"I’m jealous. I hate that asshole. I hate that Liliana has to meet with him. The thought of you looking at him the way you used to look at me—it drives me insane. I hate that you might believe him—"

You shook your head. You tried once more to pull your wrists free. "You never really knew me, did you? Not at all."

"I didn’t think… I just— I couldn’t do it. Thinking about the two of you—it messes with my head." JJ’s eyes searched yours. He just wanted you to understand. Even if you didn’t forgive him, he just wanted you to understand.

"Is that why you kissed me?" You sniffled. Until now, you hadn’t even realized how close you were. Barely a breath apart, his hands still wrapped around your wrists, holding them close to his chest.

"No." JJ blurted it out so fast. Like he wasn’t even thinking. Like the confidence in his voice from earlier had completely vanished.

"Then why?"

Your tears had dried up. You were looking deep into his eyes, searching for answers. Even though there were so many things you wanted him to explain, you couldn't erase the feelings he had stirred in you.

"Because I wanted to."

"That’s it? You just felt like it in the moment and—"

Before you could finish, JJ slowly let go of your wrists. He hoped—really hoped—you wouldn’t start hitting his chest again. But he didn’t move an inch from where he stood.

"It wasn’t just a feeling. I wanted it."

Your eyes narrowed. It still felt like he was toying with you. Like he’d walk away again—just like he always did.

"So, what? Do you just kiss people whenever you feel like it?" You wiped the last of your drying tears from your cheeks, keeping your stance firm.

As much as his excuse didn’t justify the hell he’d put you through for the past week, you wanted to trust that he wouldn’t leave again. You wanted to believe him.

"No." JJ shook his head, his voice steady.

Your brows raised slightly. You sniffled.

"I haven’t kissed anyone in two years. No one but you."

Saying it out loud wasn’t easy. Maybe your only kiss should have stayed in the past—on your wedding night. Maybe there shouldn’t have been another.

And yet, here he was, still feeling the ghost of your lips against his. He had come back to apologize, to explain himself—but somehow, he had completely forgotten that the two of you would have to talk about the kiss.

Of course, you were going to talk about it.

JJ had kissed you.

And now, as you stood there in front of him, lips still swollen, he had to force himself to look at anything but your mouth. He focused on you. Only you.

On this conversation, on every single word you said.

He wouldn’t interrupt you again. He wouldn’t disrespect you again.

Today, you were going to talk.

"How am I supposed to forgive you?"

The words stung. Because the truth was, JJ didn’t know.

Not only did he not know how you could forgive him—he didn’t even know how to explain himself.

What if it had been the other way around?

If you had done this to him, how would he have forgiven you? What could you have said to make him move past it?

There was a sharp pain in the center of his chest. Like a knife had been lodged there.

If falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness would fix this, he would have done it in a heartbeat.

But he wouldn’t lie to you.

"I don’t know." His voice was barely above a whisper. He exhaled sharply, head dropping forward.

"I don’t know either."

Your voice was hoarse, but you didn’t look away. You kept your eyes on him. Your lips trembled slightly downward.

"I’ll wait." JJ spoke carefully, watching your reaction. "I’m not leaving, but I’ll wait… If you let me."

His words wavered, like he was trying to gauge your response even as he spoke them.

You said nothing.

That wasn’t the reaction he had expected, and honestly, your silence was worse than anything else you could’ve said.

Not knowing what to do, he took a step closer.

He felt helpless—because he was.

Pope had been right about everything. JJ was so afraid of losing you that he had been the one pushing you away all along.

He wanted to take back every fight, every argument. He regretted hurting you more than anything, but the anger inside him still hadn’t disappeared.

Even now, a part of him still burned with jealousy over Rafe.

But this time, he wasn’t going to let that anger hurt you again.

Not again.

Fixing this wasn’t going to be easy.

JJ took another quick step forward, his movements deliberate.

This time, he was asking for permission to stay.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.

"If you don’t want me here, I get it. But I can’t—I can’t do this without you. Without Liliana." His voice was almost emotionless, but deep down, he was hoping you’d accept it. Even though he was technically leaving the choice to you, he was desperate for you to say yes.

He stood still, waiting.

The occasional sniffle was the only remaining sign of your crying, aside from your red-rimmed eyes.

JJ replayed your voice in his head, remembering the moment you told him to leave. The longer you stayed silent now, the longer time stretched on.

It probably hadn’t been that long—maybe just a few seconds. But for JJ, it felt endless.

Every second you didn’t answer, his heart pounded harder.

He used to be so sure of you. Before all this, he would’ve known exactly what your response would be.

But now? Now, he had no clue.

You weren’t the kind of people who fought like this. Sure, you bickered sometimes, but it never lasted more than a few minutes. And then things would go back to normal.

This was different.

This was your first real fight.

Okay, maybe the third. But since they had all been about the same thing, it felt like the first.

JJ tried to keep his gaze on you, but you wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Your lips parted slightly—then closed again.

He could tell you were struggling to make a decision.

And that terrified him.

You could tell him to stay.

But you could just as easily tell him to leave.

Finally, you lifted your gaze, sniffling once more before clearing your throat. You took a deep breath.

It almost felt like you were dragging it out just to make him suffer. And it was working.

JJ was dying inside waiting for your answer.

Straightening your posture, you spoke.

"If you walk out that door one more time… there’s no coming back. You need to know that."

His words were like drinking ice-cold water on a scorching day or stepping into warmth after being out in the cold—refreshing, comforting. It felt like a weight had been lifted off JJ’s shoulders.

He straightened up quickly, a small smirk tugging at his lips. This was something. You hadn’t outright said you forgave him, but this was still a step forward. Maybe it was even a step toward him.

JJ found himself nodding almost too eagerly.

Before you could change your mind or take back your words, he blurted out, "I won’t." The words were rushed, almost tumbling over themselves.

Unlike him, you simply nodded—slow, measured. You wanted him to know that you heard him, that you understood. Your hands clasped in front of you, your gaze locked onto his. And yet, you still felt like you were processing everything that had just happened.

Had you decided too quickly? Should you have thought this through more? Was making a decision in the heat of the moment ever the right thing to do?

Your eyes stayed on him as you swallowed hard.

You weren’t sure you could forgive him just yet, but if he walked away again…

You weren’t sure you’d be able to piece yourself back together.

You didn’t let it show, but you were relieved he had stepped back inside. Because if he had walked out that door one more time, you had no idea how you would’ve mended the wound he had left in you.

"I want to trust you."

God, what a ridiculous sentence. Especially to say to someone who had been closer to you than anyone else ever had. Could a person really change their feelings this much in just one week?

But then again, JJ hadn’t exactly taken anything from you and refused to give it back.

If he hadn’t hurt you, if your heart wasn’t aching like this, would you have lost your trust in him?

You hated that sentence. Because the truth was, you had always trusted him more than you trusted yourself.

Even when you had no idea what to do, he always did.

He completed you. And you completed him.

And now, you couldn’t trust him.

You had actually said those words to him. You were actually going to try to trust him again. It felt like meeting him all over again.

Like being back on that stupid beach, standing there, heart ready to pour out everything you felt—yet hesitant, nervous.

Afraid.

Because you didn’t know how he’d react. Because you couldn’t predict his response.

Just like that first day.

And yet, even back then, you had trusted him enough to open up.

He hadn’t been a stranger, not really. He had known about Liliana from the very beginning, hadn’t he?

He had figured it out in the pharmacy, and then at the beach, you had told him everything.

Even back then, you had trusted him. Because deep down, you knew he was someone who would keep your secrets safe.

Even in those early days, though, he had still managed to break your trust.

How ironic.

That you had been able to spill your heart to him on a beach when you barely knew him, and now—after five years of being by his side every single day—you were struggling to believe in him.

"I swear I won’t break your trust again."

JJ’s voice was steady, firm.

He wasn’t just trying to convince you—he was convincing himself.

When you realized you couldn’t keep looking at him any longer, you dropped your gaze to the floor, shifting your weight slightly.

You simply nodded. No words. Just a quiet acknowledgment.

You didn’t need to say anything else.

JJ was still JJ.

But your silence rattled him.

He cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair, restless.

"I know I didn’t handle things right. I know I acted like an idiot, but—" He exhaled sharply. "I’ve never dealt with something like this before. I’ve never felt like I was actually going to lose someone. And if I ever have… it wasn’t you and Liliana."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw your head snap up.

Instant panic flashed through him.

Had he said the wrong thing?

That tiny bit of confidence he had mustered up while speaking vanished in an instant.

Once again, he was lost in the unknown, unsure of where he stood.

A hollow smile tugged at your lips, but it wasn’t happiness.

You almost couldn’t believe him. He was still talking about the same thing.

Still clinging to whatever story he had told himself, believing in it so fiercely that nothing else could get through.

"I never told you I loved Rafe," you said, your voice eerily calm.

"I never said I was going to be with him. I never even mentioned anything even remotely close to something like that. JJ, I came to you about a decision. About Liliana’s future. As her parents, I wanted to discuss it with you."

You kept your tone composed. There was no need to turn this into another fight.

Not when JJ had practically waved a white flag.

Not when he, like you, was finally ready to talk.

JJ opened and closed his mouth, shifting uncomfortably in place. "I know, but—doesn’t him seeing Liliana mean you’ll have to see him too? You know, back then, years ago… everyone saw the way you two looked at each other—"

He hadn’t really thought the words through before saying them.

His eyes had drifted away from you, lost in memories from years ago.

But you had no patience for this conversation. Especially not when he was acting like he didn’t even know you.

You cut him off.

You weren’t even sure what exactly he believed anymore, but whatever it was, he was holding onto it so tightly that he refused to hear anything else.

"We, JJ.”

Your voice was firm.

You pointed between the two of you, emphasizing your words.

JJ inhaled deeply, eyes following your finger before slowly shifting back up to your face.

*"If Rafe is seeing Liliana, that means he’s seeing us. As her parents. Not just me, but you too. You’re just as much a part of this as I am."* When you finished speaking, JJ shook his head. You let out a breath.

Even Liliana understood things faster than he did. She could be a handful, sure—but at least dealing with her wasn’t this exhausting.

He was so obsessed with the whole you-and-Rafe thing that, whether you wanted to or not, your mind kept drifting. He’d admitted he was jealous, sure—but could it really be true?

And it wasn’t just that.

You cleared your throat as memories surfaced, one after the other.

You had kissed.

Right? Of course. You had kissed.

Blinking rapidly, you forced the thought away. Impossible. If something were going to happen, it would’ve happened in the past five years.

“You’re still going to be close to him—”

His words rattled around in your head, but you refused to focus on them. No way. No way. If it were true, then Rachel, Yasmin, or whatever that other girl’s name was—he wouldn’t have dated them. He just wouldn’t have.

Right?

You cut yourself off before the thought could spiral. You were convincing yourself of stupid things. Could something like that really be true?

You wanted to strangle him. Especially when he acted like he hadn’t been by your side for years. “You want me to trust you, but you don’t trust me. I’m not stupid. I haven’t forgotten anything. It’s all still fresh in my mind—especially with Liliana as a constant reminder. So stop saying that. This isn’t about me and Rafe. This is about Liliana’s future.”

“I never said I don’t trust you.” JJ shook his head. How could he not trust you? You were the only person in this world he’d put his life in the hands of.

“I thought we were past this. I thought you were done treating me like an idiot. When I said I was done playing games, I wasn’t bluffing.”

JJ exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sometimes, he really had no idea what to say. Even when he tried to choose his words carefully, they still came out wrong. Like he was screwing everything up, one sentence at a time.

He nodded, resigned. Of course, you were right. You were always right. He was being an idiot. And all because of these ridiculous feelings that had turned him into one. He could barely even look at you. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I—of course, I trust you. But you don’t get to choose how you feel about someone.”

You let out a slow breath, taking a step closer to him. You knew exactly what you were doing, but you needed him to believe it too. Because he had already played out this entire scenario in his head, and that wasn’t fair. “I could be with anyone in the world, and it still wouldn’t be Rafe.”

The second the words left your lips, you regretted them.

A lie.

It wasn’t just Rafe—it wasn’t anyone. You weren’t the kind of person who could just casually talk to multiple people. The thought of being with someone you felt nothing for was disgusting. Especially when your mind was already so clearly set on one person.

JJ didn’t respond. He just… went quiet.

And for a moment, you wondered if he was asking himself the same thing—was he included in that "anyone"? His mind screamed the question, but he bit it back, refusing to let it slip.

His silence made you realize that it was finally time to talk about what had started this whole fight in the first place. Even though your argument had pushed it to the back burner, it was still important. “I need to give Rafe an answer. We’re heading back this weekend. As much as I’d love to keep arguing with you, I have to put Liliana first. And I know you will too.”

You hated that nearly a full week of your two-week break had been wasted. You were supposed to be here for Cleo’s wedding, to enjoy your time off—and yet, all you had left was a mess of frustration and disappointment.

JJ slowly pulled out a chair and sat down, rubbing his nose absentmindedly. Knowing you were leaving this weekend exhausted him. You had come here to relax, but somehow, he felt even more drained than before. More miserable. That’s how it always was when he wasn’t with you. And the worst part? He had no one to blame but himself.

“Are you sure this is what you want? I mean… You’re her mom. You understand how she feels better than I do.”

JJ spoke carefully this time. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He wasn’t going to let the words slip out—the words that implied he wasn’t her parent. Because he had only said that out of anger.

JJ was Liliana’s parent too.

And when he saw the faintest trace of a smile on your lips, even if it was fleeting, he knew you’d caught that. The acknowledgment. That, to him, he wasn’t just some extra figure in Liliana’s life.

And that tiny, barely-there smile? God, it made him ridiculously happy.

“She’s not asking questions yet, but one day, she will. When she starts school, she’ll wonder why every other kid calls the man in their life ‘Dad,’ but she calls you JJ. Or Uncle.”

JJ didn’t hesitate. “If she wants to—she can call me Dad.”

The words left him before he could even process them, but he meant it. Even with his mind in a million different places, even with Rafe hovering like a storm cloud in the background, he meant it. If Liliana wanted him to be that person, he’d give her the world. If she called him Dad—well, then, he’d have the whole damn universe.

The thought alone filled his chest with something warm and unshakable.

Sure, he was happy being Uncle JJ. But… whatever.

He could’ve sworn he saw the surprise on your face. Your lips parted slightly, but you spoke quickly, like you didn’t want to dwell on it. “Of course she can, but she knows you’re not her father.” You shook your head.

JJ didn’t take offense. You had both made that decision a long time ago. You had both told her to call him Uncle. This wasn’t just on you—it was on him too. So, no, he didn’t argue.

You were right. Again. As always.

“Do you want this?” JJ asked, voice laced with uncertainty. “Liliana meeting Rafe?”

You hesitated before shrugging. “I don’t know. I guess… I think she deserves better.”

JJ shook his head. He hated the guy. But if he was the right choice for Liliana—shit. He just couldn’t think about this in a positive way. No matter how much he tried to get used to the idea, it wasn’t working. He hated Rafe. Every time he saw his face, he wanted to throw a punch, but—he couldn’t. Not this time.

“Do you trust Rafe?”

The moment he asked, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any hesitation, any sign of uncertainty.

“For myself? Absolutely not. For Liliana? Yes. No matter how badly things ended between us, this is her right. And besides—I have you. And if you and Rafe had switched places, I would’ve given you a chance to see her too.”

Your voice was as firm as your stance. No room for negotiation. No hesitation.

JJ squeezed his eyes shut.

Every time he saw that man, he was going to have to keep his hands to himself. Because there was a part of him—one that had been waiting for five years—that wanted nothing more than to knock him to the ground.

With a defeated sigh, he exhaled sharply, opening his eyes again. He could only hope he wouldn’t regret this. “If you really think this is the right thing to do, if you’re sure you won’t regret it—then fine. I approve. Okay.”

But if Rafe hurt Liliana again, JJ wouldn’t hold back. He’d make damn sure he never came near them again. He wasn’t going to say that to you, though. No need to start another fight.

“Are you sure?” you asked one last time, curiosity laced in your voice.

JJ repeated the question in his head. No, he wasn’t sure. Not at all. But he trusted you.

“Yes. For Liliana.”

You nodded, visibly surprised. Maybe you had expected another argument. Maybe you thought he’d start yelling. JJ wasn’t sure. What he did know was that you clearly hadn’t expected him to actually agree. Well, neither had he.

“Do you want me to text him, or—do you want to call him yourself? I don’t know how things ended when you ran into him at the beach but—”

JJ stood up, looking at you. He rubbed his eyes because, for some damn reason, they kept wandering to your lips. And that was getting frustrating. And—he was grateful you hadn’t dragged out the whole kissing thing. Because he could come up with an excuse for almost anything, but that? That, he couldn’t explain away.

“Text him,” he said. “But when he meets Liliana, I want to be there too.”

Your eyes widened. Even your reaction gave him some relief.

“Of course, we’ll both be there.”

JJ smiled. He had missed this—talking to you like this. He couldn’t exactly say you’d waved a white flag, but just being near you again was something he’d missed. Even the faint trace of your perfume in the air.

“Okay. And can we talk later? I—” He hesitated. “I really missed you.”

Watching you was his favorite thing to do. It always had been.

“I’m still mad. But we’ll talk.”

JJ nodded quickly, agreeing without hesitation.

As long as it meant you’d let him stay.

#jj maybank series #rafe cameron series #jj mayback x reader #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks fanfiction #bun rec

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bunnies-p1tst0p · 3 months ago

Text

MY TWO FAVORITE SLYTHERIN’S!!!

OHHH I CAN’T

OPENING MY LEGS AS I TYPE!!!

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 28th. theodore nott. lorenzo berkshire — humiliation / degradation

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: never let enzo berkshire find out about one of your kinks. unless….

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, halloween ghostface costumes, threesome, fwb!theo, bestfriend!enzo, reader is involved in a bet unbeknownst to her, mask kink, humiliation on high, degradation, fingering, denied orgasm, oral m!rec, PIV, dirty talk, manipulation.

"Black cat mask?"

You shake your head, barely sparing the thing a glance.

"Mm, no. Too unoriginal."

"Right," Enzo sucks his teeth, tossing the mask back into the bin you're both half-heartedly rifling through. "Orange cat, then? That's far more fitting for you anyways."

"Enzo—no cats, please," you mutter, running a hand through your hair, staring down at the disheveled heap of plastic. None of it catches your eye, none of it sparks anything. "It's Halloween. I want something...scarier."

"Of course. Only day of the year you get to pretend you're as terrifying as me." He croons—half-laughing through the words. The tease itches in your mind, and you're halfway to some retort when he's already holding up another mask. "How about this one?"

You glance up, ready to dismiss whatever nonsense he's holding this time, but the sight of it stills the air in your lungs. A Ghostface mask. Stark white, hollow eyes staring back at you—it's grimace cast in a faded glow under tired shop lights. It's nothing—just a mask, just a piece of cheap plastic in Enzo’s hand—but your heart skips, stumbles, clutches at your ribs, and you can't look away.

And there's no goddamn reason for it, no logic—but you're already seeing it, aren't you? Your current fwb—Theo, standing over you; his face hidden, mask in place of those half-lidded eyes that you’ve learned to read so well. And you know—you know the thought is fucking absurd—yet, it knots something in your stomach, spreading heat like a fuse just lit.

"You alright there?" Enzo's teasing pulls you out of your thoughts, and you realize he'd been staring at you that entire time. "You're looking a little...hot."

Hot. Right. Of course he'd notice—of course your best friend would notice the way you went still, frozen in place as if someone struck you with Glacius. You're no good at lying to him, not even on a good day—and right now, your mind is in shambles, already too far gone into the fantasy and—

No. No more of this.

You tear away, fumbling for the edge of a cloak that suddenly seems like the most fascinating thing you've ever seen, your fingers tracing the fabric as if it can save you.

"It's...fine—it's nice," you blurt out, too quickly, too forced, the words tumbling over themselves. "Just—no, not really my thing."

But Enzo knows better. He can spot your lies from miles away. You hear him shift, the quiet rustle of the mask in his hands—and then, he's pulling it over his face, tilting his head just to spite you.

You don't have to look to know he's smirking behind it.

"Bullshit." He steps closer, casually closing the distance, but you know it's deliberate. "You're into this, aren't you?"

The warmth on your face feels like fire now, prickling heat across your skin. He shifts closer again, and for a moment you consider jinxing him—mind scattering into dark, unbidden places—filthy, wild things, flashing behind your eyes, too real. Enzo tilts his head the other way now, letting the mask catch the light, letting it grin.

"Should I get it?" He asks, as innocent as a serial killer. "For Nott, of course."

"No."

It scrapes out of your throat, barely audible, far too small to hold truth. You’re sure he can read you right now—all your depraved thoughts in the rasp of your voice, painfully transparent.

There’s a huff, a snort of sorts. "Are you sure? I think he'd love it."

Despite his insufferableness, he’s probably right. Theo has never shied away from indulging your kinks before. That’s what no strings is about. Maybe he would love it, you know you certainly would—gods how you’d love it—even if you’d rather die before admitting it.

The cloak—you focus on the deep purple velvet, the dark lace edging. "I'm sure. Put it back."

"You don't sound so sure." Gods, he's such an asshole—point only proved further as he takes another step closer. "Does this...does this turn you on?"

"Enzo—For Godric's sake, stop." The humiliation is suffocating. This is just a glimpse at your future should you ever decide to disclose this information to him. Relentless and bloody insufferable. "Let's just—pick something and go. Please?"

A pause, then, and you don't dare look up. The mask slips from his face with another soft, satisfied hum—you don't need to see him to feel the damage done. He knows.

"Sure, angel," he says, trailing as he turns. "Whatever you want."

————

"Matt—have you seen Theo?"

"Uh—not since earlier." Mattheo replies without even looking up, his focus on pouring another dangerous looking drink rather than on you. "He's probably just out for a smoke."

Yeah. Right. Forsure—because his smoke breaks last all bloody day. Doubt twists your stomach, but you nod anyway, grabbing your own drink—something bubbling, far too bright a green to be safe, but it burns down easy all the same. The room spins in a foggy haze, lights bleeding together over costumes, wizard and Muggle and something in between—and you struggle to tell who's who.

Theo had refused to tell you what he was dressing up as—claimed he wanted it to be a surprise. Now, that surprise is nowhere to be found.

"What are you supposed to be?" You raise a brow at Mattheo's striped inmate costume. “Your future?"

Riddle's eye flash as he pretends to be offended for about two seconds until his gaze drops to your own costume and his tongue darts over his lips, taking it in. Beer-maid, tight bodice, shorter than preferred. It's not what you were going for, not in the slightest, but it's all Pansy had in her closet to save you after you and Enzo failed to find anything interesting at the shop the other day.

"Maybe. But you definitely aren't dressed as yours." His attention shifts back to the crowd, a failed attempt at hiding his grin. "Way too much fabric."

You scoff, but that's just how Mattheo is—always a sly comment, always pushing. You roll your eyes and swat at him, but he sticks his tongue out at you and steps back, slipping off into the crowd with a final goodbye wink—and just as you lose track of him, Draco saddles up next to you, prattling on about something you don't care to listen to.

Great, that’s two annoying Slytherins accounted for. Where the fuck is Theo?

Five seconds into pretending to be interested in whatever Malfoy is babbling on about, you give up, turning back to the drink table and skimming over the options when someone new brushes up behind you—

"Enzo told me," the words barely register before you feel it—a hand settling low at your hip. "About your kink."

With lightening speed you twist your neck, glancing over your shoulder—only to fucking gasp at what you find there. That mask. The mask. The Ghostface one from the shop; the one Enzo hasn't let you forget, hasn't stopped teasing you about—you blink, your heart barrelling out of the room, fingers tightening around your cup until it hurts—

The mask tilts, just slightly. "Looks like he was right."

"Theo—"

"Go." His voice is muffled, but sweet Merlin—the sound of it makes your knees threaten to buckle right then and there. His hand slips lower, teasing against the ruffles of your dress. "Run, Bella. Let's play."

Your body locks up, muscles tense and poised on the edge of something feral. You can't look away. Can't think. Can't breathe. His fingers slip lower, lower, until you feel it—cold leather against the heat of your skin and your throat tightens, words dying dead on your tongue.

Run.

A slight lean, and the mask brushes your neck. "Now."

He steps back, a slow retreat, but it feels like he's tugging you with him. You spin to face him, smirking, your voice barely above a whisper—

"And when you catch me?"

"Find out." His head tilts toward the door. It's your cue.

Your feet move before your mind even catches up, slipping through the rowdy crowd, darting through the half-drunk revelers in their costumes—everything blurring into an afterthought as you push past the cobwebs, pumpkins, fake spiders, all the other Halloween decor filling the fogged ballroom. Your fingertips buzz from the adrenaline—pulse echoing in your ears as you dart down one hall after another, not quite sure where you're going, but knowing you need to keep moving.

Theo told you to run—so you run.

You sprint through the castle, the corridors empty save for your hurried footsteps and the scattered Halloween decorations lunging at you from the shadows. You round a corner, making for the dungeons. It's as good a place as any, right? Dark, quiet, somewhere to hide.

Few more minutes and you make it, lungs burning as you stumble into the dreary main hall. You realize the detention room is empty—and it's perfect. You take two steps inside, already thinking you'll be able to catch your breath when—

You slam headlong into something solid.

Head swirling, your vision barely refocuses before you feel a grip on your wrists, pulling you forward with enough force to make you gasp. Everything happens so fast you don't have enough time to process what's occurring before you're forced to focus on the thing you're seeing—ghostface. Staring down at you with those empty, gaping eyes. Unreadable.

It's then that you realize you're caught.

Something shifts behind the mask, an almost imperceptible movement of his head. You'd almost think you imagined it but given that there's nothing else to look at you know it's impossible. The silence is ballooning and you wonder if this is part of the game, if Theo is just savouring the moment, relishing in your reaction. The way you're trembling, your breath stuttering, the way you've gone still—waiting.

You swallow, throat drier than the Sahara, but something about this has you emboldened, the fact he's playing into your fantasy like this—so you decide to tease him, breaking the silence with a soft, breathless laugh as you pull one of your hands free from his grip.

He wanted to play. It's your turn to act the part.

"Looks like you caught me...Mr. Ghostface..." you purr—the silence sticks heavy, making the space between you feel thick, electric. All you can feel are his eyes devouring you. "And now...now that you've caught me...what are you gonna' do with me...hm?"

Gods—the thrill of this is so real, one your certain is more addictive than any drug. An adrenaline rush—not knowing what he's thinking, what he's about to do. Not being able to read him like you normally could. It makes your thighs quake—and there’s half a second where you wonder how much Enzo would pay to see this, how much he’d fucking taunt you for it.

But just as quickly as it came, you shake that thought—focused on Theo, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and sink to your knees, fingertips teasing from his chest to his abdomen, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes.

"...please don't punish me." You giggle—and the debauched absurdity of it all makes you nearly choke. "I'll be so good—I'll do anything, Theo—"

You feel him huff, tense, and when your fingers graze the front of his pants—just barely touching his crotch— his hand snaps down like a vice, gripping your wrist, stopping you dead in your tracks.

And then, you hear it. "Salazar sakes—shit—"

Your heart plummets. That voice—it's like being thrown into ice-cold water. No, that's not—it can't be—

"Enzo?"

Your voice cracks as you all but screech, your head whipping up so fast you feel dizzy. No, no, no—

Enzo, who you previously thought was Theo, pulls the mask off and all but verbally confirms it. Your nightmare born to life. Spooling to fruition right in front of you. He smiles, lips curled into something thoroughly entertained, and gods, how his eyes glint with pure assholery—you could fucking kill him.

"Enzo—" you stammer, horror flushing through you, burning through the mortification lodged in your throat. "Gods—what the fuck—"

"Surprise," he breathes, like this is the most casual thing in the world to him.

You scramble back, knees scraping against cold stone—mind spiralling in every direction at once—shame collides with shock and it all burns under your skin, the kind of heat that never settles. You know Theo's voice. You could never mistake it. You know for a fact that was him back at the party— but this, this makes no sense.

"What...what the hell-" your voice stumbles like you're trying to outrun the words. "Why would you—what were you—"

"Relax," he is all too fucking calm. "It was a prank."

"A prank?" You're still on the floor, and for some reason that makes everything worse. "You call that a prank? A—a funny little joke?"

"That's usually the definition—"

"No." You hiss between clenched teeth, anger strangling any hope for composure. "What were you doing in here? This— this isn't—you were trying to-"

"Trying to what?" He sounds so goddamn innocent but you know better. He's toying with you, making sure you know it. He's been your best friend since you were kids but you never said it was by choice. He steps closer. "I was trying to what, angel?"

Your blood boils, the heat spreading fast—pooling low in your core against all specks of your sanity. He's relishing this, drinking in your mortification like it's fine wine—and for some reason, it makes you weak.

"You—" words die with another one of his steps, the toes of his shoes brushing against your skin as he crouches down in front of you, elbows resting casually on his knees. You sit back, ass meeting cold stone. "Enzo—"

"Yeah?" He cocks an eyebrow. "You just gonna' parrot my name all night? Maybe you're too embarrassed to speak?"

The constant mocking feels like ice and you want to slap that smug look right off his face but instead your fucking thighs tense. You have nothing to say—can only stare at him, lungs seizing further as you notice the smirk fading from his lips, something darker replacing it—

"You didn't even know who was under that mask, and you were ready to suck me off," he's whispering, but he may as well be screaming. "You'd do anything for anyone with a mask, huh? I wish I knew about this kink of yours sooner."

He leans in closer, his knees pushing yours apart—you and Enzo had never been strangers to toying the line of friendship one too many times while drunk, but this—

You blink. Staring at him. "You...you're enjoying this way too much."

"Guilty as charged." His smile spreads wider, cockier, his eyes dipping to your lips, then lower. You shiver involuntarily. "I know I should have stopped you sooner, but seeing you on your knees...in front of me...I just..."

He shakes his head before he slowly stands back up—and his eyes flicker to your chest, lingering on your fucking tits and not even trying to be subtle about it.

Then, there’s a sound—the sound of the door creaking open.

You barely hear it, the faint shuffle of footsteps, but it's enough to pull the grin from Enzo's face as he looks up. You're not sure your heart can handle anymore of this—plummeting to the stone beneath you as Theo steps into the room, dressed just like Enzo—black robes, black gloves, Ghostface mask.

"Nott." Enzo's voice is too casual, too easy. "Great timing, mate."

Theo’s silent as he takes in the scene. You—still on the floor, dress hitched up, legs spread. Enzo standing over you, smug, unbothered. Theo's presence fills the room as he shuts the door behind him and locks it, stoking your humiliation into something even hotter, something impossible to escape.

Theo's voice is flat, his tone too even. "Looks like you got caught."

Wait—

"You—" your gaze jumps between them, a wild panic bubbling up inside you. You're so fucking confused. "What is this? You two—"

"Like I said, a prank." Enzo says as he steps toward Theo, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "A bet, really.”

Theo doesn't respond. He doesn't move. He doesn't look away from you.

"A bet?" You choke out, trying to piece everything together. "What bet?"

"Well, you see, angel," Enzo pushes away from Theo and slumps down into a chair just off to the side of you. You feel the dread rolling in like a storm. "I bet big Theo here you'd get so weak in the knees over the mask, you wouldn't even notice the switch. As usual, I was right."

Andddd, there’s the dread. Yup. As expected whenever Enzo is fucking involved in anything.

"Oh, wow—" you'd laugh if you weren't this utterly mortified by the entire situation. "You guys are—gods. You’re going after a whole new high score in the prick olympics, aren't you—"

"Oh, I don't know if you believe that, topolina...I think you're just being shy." Theo cuts through your rambling and you flinch at the sound of his voice. "It's clear this is a fantasy of yours."

Your head tilts up, eyes widening as they meet the empty, hollow eyes of the mask drawing closer.

"I bet you're just embarrassed," Theo's pressing—he's fucking pressing and you don’t think you’ve breathed since he walked in. "Embarrassed that you got on your knees for your best friend...or maybe you're afraid I'd be mad." He pauses, and his gaze sweeps down over you. "Which, to that I'd have to say, I'm far from."

You swallow hard, your mouth dry. "You're...you're not mad?"

Perhaps you were afraid of that—even if you and Theo are unofficial in every aspect.

His answer is instant. "No."

He crouches in front of you, gloved fingers finding your chin, tipping your head up so he can look at you— really look at you.

"In fact...I think you should let him watch..." his thumb ghosts over your lower lip, so soft, so slow—without thinking, your tongue flicks out, barely grazing the leather covered tip, and you hear the soft exhale he releases in response. "After all, this was his idea. He deserves some fun too, don't you think?"

Heat floods your cunt, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You glance at Enzo, sitting back now with his mask on—legs spread wide, leather hands clasped, calm—you wanted to kill him five minutes ago, but now—

Oh gods—you're really losing it.

"Yeah," you whisper, barely managing the word. "He probably does."

Theo's hand slides down to your thigh, leather fingers curling into the soft skin, pulling your legs open further.

"Mhm." He mutters. "You like being watched, don't you?"

Your breath catches, your pulse thundering in your ears as you nod, your eyes glued to Enzo. "Yes..."

"Say it." His fingers trail higher, teasing the soft skin beneath your dress, fingertips grazing closer—too close—just below the lace hem of your panties.

Salazar save you.

You bite your lip, and the air between you feels like it's thickening, growing too dense to breathe in. That fucking mask. You've fantasized over it. And now, there's two of them. Two sets of eyes—faceless, emotionless, and watching you. It's like something out of your fucking dreams.

"I—I like being watched," you manage to whisper, voice breaking between building lust.

"Louder," Theo growls this time like he's pulling it from somewhere deep in his chest—it sends liquid heat spilling through you. "Louder, topolina. He can't hear you if you're whispering."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and Enzo—gods, Enzo is still watching—stays silent, the mask concealing whatever reaction he might have, but his posture speaks volumes. Stillness, dark fabric of his trousers tight across his thighs, a coiled tension that radiates off him, permeates the space between you.

"I—fuck—" a breathless moan cracks through your words as Theo's leather-clad fingers slip under your panties, grazing your slick slit. "—love it. I love being watched."

Theo hums, the sound vibrating low in his throat, and rewards you by pushing two fingers into your dripping heat. So slow, the pace of his strokes torturous—slick sounds of leather working you open filling the room, mingling with your quiet, shuddering breaths. His thumb brushes your clit, teasing over it until you moan—hard and shameless—

"So loud," Theo mocks, your spine arching into him as his fingers curl inside you. "Eager, filthy little thing. You love being on display, don't you?"

A whimper catches in your throat, your gaze still locked on Enzo, watching him watch you.

You're shaking. You're close. Too close.

Your voice cracks again, nothing more than a whisper caught in a moan. "Theo...fuck—"

"You're so wet, bellissima," Theo breathes behind the mask. You're burning, every nerve sizzling. "You want to cum, don't you?"

You can't speak. Words don't exist anymore, only the pressure—only the way Theo's fingers curl inside you, the way your thighs tremble and ache from holding yourself open, from being watched, from being this goddamn humiliated.

"Y-yes," you choke out, desperate. "Yes, please, I—"

"Ask him." Theo's cuts you off. "Ask Enzo to let you cum."

The room spins. The air thickens into something cloying.

Ask him. Ask Enzo—

You swallow hard, your eyes darting between the two masks. Enzo is silent, still motionless, but he tilts his head slightly, the only indication that he's heard. That he's waiting.

"Please, Enzo—" the humiliation is sickening but you force past it. It’s a broken prayer, vulnerability in verbal form. "Please...let me cum—please—"

Time stretches. It feels like hours, an eternity where nothing exists but the weight of their hidden eyes on you, the way Enzo's fingers twitch, curl over the thick ridge at his crotch, leather knuckles tensing as if he's restraining himself from something primal. You're being devoured whole by this moment—by the unbearable tension, by Theo's fingers inside you, relentless in their assault, and gods—you're going to die if they don't let you—

"Yeah," Enzo finally murmurs, breaking the silence. Theo's gaze flickers to him, waiting. "Yeah, you can cum, angel…”

But as he says it, he shakes his head, and Theo—the absolute bastard—pulls his fingers out without a word.

"…just not yet." Enzo finishes.

The sound that leaves your throat isn't even human, some guttural, helpless whine torn straight from your throbbing, empty cunt. Theo shushes you.

"You'll get to cum, Bella," he coos, standing up slowly. "It'll be soon."

They're toying with you, playing you like a goddamn puppet on strings and it's infuriating in its deliciousness. You've known these men for years, yet it's almost laughable—the way they feel so foreign, so terrifyingly new.

"Oh, Enzo," you sigh, feeling your arousal cool, your body suddenly aware of the icy stone beneath you, of the wet heat slicking down your thighs. "I'm going to kill you tomorrow."

Enzo snorts. "You're welcome to try."

Theo exhales a half-chuckle, helping you off the floor and onto a desk, his hands firm on your thighs as he spreads you open like he's done a hundred times within the last few months.

A moment passes before he moves to loosen his belt and you realize just how close Enzo is now—his chair right beside the desk, his hand palming the bulge in his pants, shameless in his observation. The sight makes you fucking dizzy with filth. Surely, you've lost your mind. This is madness. Every line between friendship and lust—between restraint and indulgence—has blurred and bled into something you can't define, and the thrill of it is intoxicating.

"This is insane," you hiss, breathless, feeling the way Theo's gloves scrape over your skin, two thick digits dragging in your slick. "You're both fucking insane."

"Too much talking," Theo mutters, so infuriatingly calm, even as he drags the head of his dick over your folds, teasing your clit. "So much attitude for someone dripping down their thighs. You want to stop?" The silence stretches, your eyes locked on his, and you can feel the smirk behind the mask. He nods. "That's what I thought. Now shut up and let me fuck this wet cunt."

His hands grip either side of the desk, his body looming over you—the scene from your fantasy you've envisioned a million times. Ghostface—dominant and rough—gods, you want it. So bad it fucking hurts.

Your head lolls to the side, eyes immediately finding Enzo's again—forgetting for half a second that he was even there. His jeans are unbuttoned now, his hand moving rhythmically beneath the denim, mask locked onto you with a single-minded focus that makes your breath stutter.

"Enz-ohhh—" you go to say something to him, but then Theo pushes into you—no warning, no slow build—just a deep, unforgiving thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs, and your voice cracks on his name, the syllables lost in the moan that spills out of you.

"Shit." Enzo groans in response. "Did you just—"

"She did," Theo snarls, his grip on your hips punishing as he slams into you again, harder this time. "The little slut just moaned your name."

There's cursing, from both of them, but it's all a blur in your ears, drowned out by the sound of Theo's hips slamming into yours, the fevered slap of skin on skin, the obscene sounds you can't help but make—

"Yeah, I noticed," Enzo mutters, and fuck, he sounds ruined, completely lost in the sight of you—his best friend, getting fucked by his other best friend. "Fuck."

Theo's hand finds your jaw, forcing your head back to face him, Ghostface mask looming above you like a delicious nightmare.

"Who's fucking you?" His voice is caught somewhere between a snarl and a purr. "Is it Enzo?"

"N-no—" you manage, trembling with every thrust.

"Of course it's not," Theo hisses, driving into you with punctual thrusts to make you feel him, making you cry out when he slams your cervix. "So why'd you moan his name? When it's—fuck—my cock inside you?"

"I—I didn't mean—" you whimper, eyes squeezed shut, but there's no escape. Not from the relentless pace of Theo's dick, not from the way Enzo's eyes never leave you, burning into you like fire. You can't form words.

"Mm—don't be shy now, topolina," Theo purrs, his voice thick with effort. His hips snap forward, and your back arches, a broken sound escaping you. "I think you just love having him in your mouth—his name, his—"

"Fuck, Nott, shut up," Enzo cuts in, his head thrown back, chest tense. "I don't want to hear your voice—"

You can hear the strain, the way he's barely holding it together—

"Look at him," Theo ignores Enzo's words. He lets go of your jaw. "He wants you. He's always wanted you."

Your eyes dart between them, head spinning, unable to form a coherent thought—Theo's fucking relentless, pushing you closer and closer to the edge—and every time you glance at Enzo, you see the way he's breaking, hand moving faster, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths—

"I never knew you were such a voyeur, Nott," Enzo spits, trying to sound casual. "Never took you for being such a filthy bastard."

"What can I say?" Theo groans in response, propping your legs up over his shoulders to drive into you deeper. "Just discovered a new interest, you should try it sometime."

They're still bantering, like this is some kind of fucked-up competition, like you're not about to shatter into a million fucking pieces while your best friend watches—after he got you here and humiliated you with a fucking bet—gods, you'd laugh if you weren't so utterly lost to the pleasure ripping through you.

"And watch you get off on it?" Enzo spits back, voice rough. "I'll—"

Theo snorts, cutting him off. "I think there's more than one person getting off on—"

"Shut the-fffuck up—please-" you manage to moan, the words barely intelligible. You look to Enzo, eyes wide and pleading. "Enz...come here."

"Yeah...?" Enzo breathes out, his voice catching, tipping his head back forward to look at you. “What?”

"Come here," you moan again, trembling, fraying under the pleasure that's building inside you from Theo’s insistent dick. "Let me help you."

For a moment, he hesitates, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking because the goddamn mask hides everything. He's always been the calm one between you—always stopping your drunk kisses, always refraining from taking things too far. But tonight, there’s no more of that calm left in him—

He stands.

Each step he takes feels like a lifetime, but when he's standing next to your head on the desk, towering above where you're laid out like a feast, you don't know whether it's the mask or the situation itself that has your pulse racing. Erotic and terrifying, the not-knowing—a power exchange in its purest form. Theo growls infront of you, his thrusts growing harder, more vicious, as you reach out to pull Enzo's hips closer.

You're already eyeing the throbbing bulge in his jeans, your mouth practically watering as you stare.

"Go on," you rasp, lips parting as you look up through your lashes. "Take it out."

The breath Enzo sucks in is sharp, a hitch in the darkness. His fingers tremble, just barely, as he pushes his pants down his thighs, and the noise that escapes him when his cock slips out and smacks his stomach—low, strangled—makes you moan and clench in response—he's huge.

Your breath catches, a soft exhale of, "oh, fuck."

And the words are barely out of your mouth before both Theo and Enzo respond—low growls and breathless groans that echo in the shadowed room, vibrating through you like electricity.

"Open your pretty mouth," Enzo whispers and you obey without hesitation, tongue slipping out, wanting, eager. His breath shudders, and you wish you could see his eyes. "Good girl."

And then he's pushing into you, sliding hot and thick over your tongue, and at that exact moment, Theo thrusts harder, deeper, and suddenly you're overwhelmed—both of them inside you, filling you, consuming every breath. Moans ripple through the dungeon air, a chorus of sin, and you shake with the sheer intensity of it all.

Theo's thumb finds your clit, starts swirling over it, and you keen—eyes rolling back in your head, Enzo’s leather hands in your hair to hold you still. Tears stream down your face as you gag, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, but neither of them stop—if anything, they're both lost in it, in the wrecked, messy beauty of it all. Your hands claw at the desk, desperate for something to hold on to as the pleasure builds, tightens, spirals out of control.

Time collapses. It's been moments—it's been hours.

And then it happens—all three of you tipping over the edge at once, crashing into a release so fierce it shatters you. Your climax rips through you, violent, leaving you shaking, milking Theo until he's spent—until he's pouring his cum deep inside your cunt at the same time Enzo groans deep and spills his own over your tongue. A moment passes, and then Theo is the first to pull away, panting, tearing off his mask and dropping into the chair beside the desk, and Enzo follows, tugging his jeans back up before slumping into another chair, mask still on—

Both of them are sprawled there, utterly spent, just as wrecked as you.

And then, after a few long, tense moments, you hear it—the clink of Galleons exchanged. You don't even need to look up for it to register. Theo tosses the coins into Enzo’s greedy palm because he was the true fucking winner here. The sound cuts through the stillness, and with it, that smug, unmistakable sneer in Enzo's voice.

"Told you she'd love it."

Asshole.

You roll your eyes. Your limbs feel like they're moving through molasses as you stand, your hands mechanically fixing your costume, adjusting the fabric against your thighs.

"You know, Enzo, if you wanted to watch Theo fuck me that bad, all you had to do was ask."

"What can I say," he shrugs, lazy, like he's discussing the weather. "I enjoy a bit of gambling."

Theo snorts, adjusting his collar, as if none of this fazes him. His eyes flick from you to Enzo. "Next time you'll be paying me."

"Next time?" You cock an eyebrow. "How generous of you."

"There will be a next time," Enzo says, flipping one of the Galleons between his fingers, that same smirk playing on his lips. "And I'll get my turn."

Your pulse quickens at the sheer arrogance of it, the way he says it like it's not even up for debate. You hate how much you like this side of him.

"Maybe next time you should."

They nod, both of them wearing their smirks like crowns. "Until next time, then."

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