#the road to righteousness | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myladysapphire · 11 months ago

Text

To Gwayne, with love

tired of being ingored and undervalued, you take your dragon and leave to find the one person who sees you for who you really are; your uncle, Gwayne Hightower

based of this request

word count: 5,086

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, oral (f reciving), incest, angts, love letters (if the title wasnt a hint), fluff, love confessions, not proofread!

Gwayne Hightower x neice!reader

Masterlist

Growing up as the eldest child, and eldest daughter of Alicent and Viserys you had long felt unwanted and overlooked.

Where your twin, Aegon, was seen as a future king, the rightful heir, you were seen as only a daughter, pushed to the side and out of the limelight.

Always looked over, even when it came to marriage. Where it made sense for you to marry Aegon, Heleana married him instead.

You were overlooked, and often forgotten.

Even events held in your honour were overshadowed, be it by your twin or your eldest sister Rhaenrya.

Countless nights tears had filled your eyes as you were pushed aside in favour of another sibling.

It was a funny thing really, you were the eldest daughter and yet were the last to be betrothed, excluding Daeron that was. And yet you had once been dubbed the Realms heart, you had been kind and sweet. But years of neglect, being undervalued and ignored had turned you cold and restless and made you a rebel. Where your uncle Daemon was the rouge prince, you were the defiant princess.

You had stopped waiting by the sidelines, stopped keeping too yourself and your thoughts stopped being quiet. you become outspoken, even more so when your brother was crowned king.

But all that seemed for nought as you were now meet with roll of eyes and the sound of the key locking your chambers from the outside.

You couldn’t say you were surprised, not when your mother seemed to hate you more than Aegon.

She never understood you, only one person had.

Gwayne Hightower, your uncle.

You and he had an understanding that others could only envy, you couldn’t put it into words but ever since you had meet him you felt inexplicitly drawn to him.

And yet you had only meet him thrice.

But those three times amounted into countless letters.

When one was sent two would follow, even on the road Gwayne never failed to write.

Until now.

You were sat in your chambers and an ache in your chest as you read through the last of Gwayne letters. Near two weeks had passed since his last had arrived, and these past two weeks had been when you had needed his letters the most.

dearest niece,

Words cannot describe the joy I felt upon seeing you the other, even if only for a few hours before my departure.

You have grown ever so beautiful, and I envy those who got to watch you became the beauty you are today, though I envy them more for the endless pleasure of your company.

Who knew your wit was even more compelling in person, dear niece?

I sure did not and yet your endless humour is known what I crave as I am stuck of this endless rode with ser Criston as the most interesting of my companions.

And let me tell you he is far duller than you painted. (Not that you painted him to have much of a personality aside form swords and a love for oranges.)

Perhaps it his cockiness or the self-righteousness he has as the new lord hand, which makes his so dull. He seems to love to point out his new station to us all, especially my Hightower knights, as if that will win him any favours.

Though I truly believe he thinks himself funny, though his voice is always far to monotone to decipher what is an attempt at a joke or what is orders and commands.

Gods, I wish I had stolen you away with me, even just to share the looks at Criston ‘jokes’ as he calls them.

Honestly, he is perhaps the dullest man I have ever met, what your mother sees in him I’ll never know.

But I must admit little of my time is spent completing his joke when I cannot stop thinking of you.

Tomorrow, we ride to rook’s rest, he says he has some plan, I do not quite believe it will be a good one, but I shall prey to the seven that we will be victorious, and I may see you again.

Yours, Gwayne.

You had replied far to quickly though being locked n your chamber after yelling you would ride your dragon to meet your uncle would of course leave you with little to do.

To Gwayne,

I am truly sorry you are stuck with such a dreadful man, if I had gone with you I can assure you however there would not have been much time to dwell of Cristons joke attempts, I would steal far to much of your attention, perhaps enough were you were unable to fight in this silly little war.

I do hope your thoughts of me do not distract you too much.

I wish you great luck in at rook’s rest though I fear you may have to face Meleys, and in which case I pray my mother sees sense and allows me to ride out and join the fight on moonfyers, though I Highley doubted.

But from Aegon’s visit to my prison cell (my chamber’s), it seems he is quite egar to fight, though seeing as how the small council so easily sway his mind, I doubt he will, unless he drinks himself into a false sense of courage that is.

But I pray you do not repeat those words, especially to my mother.

I too crave for your presence; it is a misery that despite years of letters we have met thrice! And the third was only days ago.

Perhaps when you go, we can make your visits permanent.

I pray for your victory uncle, and your next letter.

With love, your dearest niece.

You had sent that letter 12 days ago; rooks rest was 10 days ago.

Of course, the journey back must be accounted for, but no one had any news, besides the death of Meleys and the princess Rhaneys, the queen who never was.

You had rather liked her, in fact you hoped to model yourself of her in some way. Though you had no right to morn you suppose, you had never spoken to her bar the common pleasantries.

You stood starting out of the window, craving the day you could smash them down and make your escape. Though where you would go, you did not know. Before the war you had one destination in mind, oldtown. Now there was no one there for you, just as there wasn’t anyone here.

The forgotten daughter. No matter how defiant you became you would only be tolerated and ignored. Your actions simple receive a tolled eye and of course, the action of yet gain being locked in your chamber.

Perhaps if your mind hadn’t been so caught up in your loathing and thoughts of jumping from your window onto the back of moonfyers you would have noticed the door opening and the feel of hands slowly covering your eyes.

You jumped in shock as your eyes were covered, only to calm down when a voice spoke.

“Guess who?” a mans voice teased, though it was the voice you had ingrained into your memory.

“Gwayne” you breathed turning around.

He laughed as you hugged him.

“When did you get back?” you asked, arms still wrapped around him.

“Only moments ago,” he sighed, “did you miss me?” he teased.

Slapping his arm lightly, you stepped back “of course not”.

“Hmm…really?” he tilted his head, clicking his tongue, “I could have sworn your letter said- “

“Stop it!” you said hitting his shoulder again.

“Fine!” he said raising his hands up in mock surrender, “only if you top hitting my arm, your poor uncle has just fought a battle”.

You rolled your eyes “and am I to presume you were victorious uncle?”

“If you could call it that”.

“What do you mean?”

He looked nervous, an expression you had never seen on him before, “your brother Aegon- “

“Aegon went! That fool”

“a fool who got himself injured”.

“what” you asked, voice full of concern. Though an outcast, overshadowed by your twin, you still cared for him greatly, even if he never showed care for you in return.

He explained what had happened and your mind spun, no one had said a thing to you and yet your twin brother lay dying in his rooms.

“I must go see him” you rushed out, heading towards the door, only for Gwayne to grip your arm.

“Go later.” He insisted, “for now stay with me! and here my woeful tales of battle”.

Shaking your head with a laugh you sit back down, listening to tales of Gwanye’s journey and of the battle, and all thoughts of Aegon were forgotten.

You woke up finding yourself wrapped in Gwayne arms on your settee. You didn’t remember falling asleep, only talking and watching the sunset and rise once more.

It must have been past noon and yet no one had knocked or come to see you, not that they had before now.

You looked over at Gwayne, he was tired, even after hours of sleep he still had bags under his yes.

Removing yourself from his arms slowly, you made your way out of your rooms and towards your brothers.

Aegon lay alone. The room dark and empty, bar his aching, unconscious body, half his body covered in bandages, his body deadly slit and his breath shaky.

You moved closer to the bed, coming forward and placing a soft kiss on his brow.

He may be terrible, drunken whoremonger but he was still your brother.

“Aegon” you breathed heavily, taking his unburnt hand in yours, “I- “ the doors opened, and your mother barged in, “get out!” she demanded.

“Mother, I- “you said standing up.

“Get out” she said once more, coming to sit by Aegon’s side.

Standing up and moving towards the door slowly, “he’s my brother, I have every right to be here!”

She looked at you, scoffing “that matters not, now leave and go back to your rooms”.

Rolling your eyes you left and stormed back to your rooms.

“Gwayne” you breathed, seeing him now awake and sitting up, reading a book.

“How Is Aegon” he asked, as you approached.

“a sleep? I do not know my mother sent me out only a few moments after I had entered.”

He kissed his teeth, “your mother has changed much recently”.

“Recently? She has always been liked this, with me at least”

“I know, my darling… I think she- “he stopped himself, looking at you, “I am not sure what she thinks actually, me and her where never close growing up”.

You huffed, looking over at him and realising that the book he was reading was in fact your diary.

“Is that my diary!”

“no” he said dragging out the word as he moved the book out of your reach.

“Where did you- how did you”

“Do not worry how your “beautiful and daring uncle” found it”.

You gasped, crawling over him to try and reach your diary.

He laughed, as you grasped at the book, “give it back” you insisted.

“But Gwayne would be never- “

You reached the book, slapping it out of his hand, “how much of it did you read?”

“Why did you not want me to read of how much you missed me?”

“Gwayne” you sighed, looking at him, you were practically lying on him, your hands leaning on chest as you reached for your diary of the floor.

“darling” he replied, before looking at you sadly, his hand reaching to caress your cheek, “I have to go soon”.

“To your chambers or to oldtown?” you asked sadly.

“Oldtown, I – “

You interrupted him, “when?”

“We leave after dinner, we thought it best to travel at night, out of sight of dragons”.

“I see” you said moving off of him. He reached for you, trying to draw you back towards him.

Everyone always leaves or ignored you. It seemed no matter how close you got you were so easily abandoned, never once had someone stayed.

“I would ask you to come, but your mother would never allow it” he said shaking his head.

Why would she allow it? It would make you happy and the gods know how much your mother craved your misery.

“Do you think there will ever be a time when-when we can spend limitless time together?��

“I hope so, I- “he always stopped himself from saying it, saying the one thing they both craved.

“As do I”

The rest of the day was spent together craving to spend every second that they could together, but in the end, he had to leave. He was bound by duty and honour.

Saying goodbye this time was harder than the few times before it. You both stood in the courtyard, his men stood the side, their own conversations distracting them.

Your mother having said her goodbyes, and had left the courtyard already, leaving you both to say your goodbyes.

“I hope it is not to long before I can see you again” you said looking down to thew ground and kicking at the gravel.

“As do I” Gwayne said grabbing your hand and kissing it gently.

Your eyes shared a look, a look saying everything you both couldn’t.

“I’ll miss you” you breathed heavily, eyes never leaving his.

you both stepped closer, now inches apart.

You moved your lips to kiss his cheek, only for Gwayne to move his head and capture your lips with his, in a soft delicate kiss.

The shadows of the keep kept you had hidden from wandering eyes as you kissed.

It was short but sweet and left you both wanting more as he was forced to step back from you.

He whispered softly “I will think of you, always”.

“As will I” you said, reaching into you hem and pulling out your handkerchief, you had sown the initial of your name and his ono it, and placed it in the palm of his hand.

Closing is hand you softly placed a kiss onto it.

“goodbye” he spoke, before moving to his horse and riding off, sending you a final look before he left.

The days tricked by, blurring together. Aegon’s recovering slow and with little change.

You stayed in your room, much to your mother’s delight.

Letters were exchanged between you and Gwayne. But this time the letters seemed different, this time they were bolder, your feelings no longer hidden.

Dearest,

I left you only moments ago and yet I miss you already.

That kiss was everything and more, I cannot believe it took us so long to do it, even of it happened by a mistake.

I am sorry our reunion was so brief, and I wish I was bound to you and not duty.

I shall write again soon, but in the meantime, I hope the thought of you in my thoughts will tide you over.

Yours, Gwyane.

Dear Gwayne,

You just left my side and yet apart of me left with you.

I hope your thoughts are filled with me as mine are of you.

The walk back to my room was a long one, longer than it had ever taken me as I had to drag myself away from you, away from moonfyers as thoughts of chasing after you filled my mind.

My mind was a mess all night, much to my mother’s disappointment. Though I doubt she noticed my mind was with you and not in the keep.

This morrow I was awoken absurdly early and summoned to the small council!

And before you say anything I am not sure as to why, even after attending it.

I seemed to be there as a way to boost Aemond’s moral? Or should I say the prince regents.

I was simple them to watch plans be made, and to be told of an alliance, a marriage between me and some lords son, I believe some Tully.

I refused and they demanded.

I offered my dragon, they refused, and I demanded.

They claimed a woman in battle would only lead to a loss. Even if moonfyers is bigger than most for her age and even rivals Caraxes.

Anything else was ignored and dismissed and I was quickly ushered to my chambers and forced to plan a wedding.

A wedding I wish was with you.

I do not know what to do, uncle.

Please tell me to come to you, and I will.

Yours always.

My love,

The days are endlessly long, and I find myself craving you by myside more than ever.

You chase my every though both awake and asleep.

And forgive me for beings bold, niece, but I can, no will not hold back what I have longed to crave any longer.

I wished I had placed you upon my horse and ridden of with you into the night, defying your mother and brothers’ commands.

But I want you, more than I need air to breath. And for so long I have defied myself and held back my desires, my love for you.

I beg you, come to me.

Forget their plans and demands, come to me and marry me.

I am set to arrive in old town in two days, leaving you plenty of time to come to me.

With love, Gwyane.

To Gwyane,

I will come to you, it may take a few days, but I cannot stay here. And I will not stay away from you any longer.

With love, your heart.

you sat in your chambers, contemplation how you to leave.

Though there were secret passageways in your room, you had never used them. They were like a labyrinth in truth and the one time you had speed in them you feared you would get lost.

And the guards stationed outside of your door were stationed for the exact reason you were event you were currently planning.

your other would never let you go willingly, not now especially.

But then again you doubted she would notice you were gone, at least for a day or two.

Heleana may notice, but she wouldn’t say a thing.

Aemond had just been given what he always wanted and would flaunt his power as much as he could, meaning he’d keep put of your way, in fear you would ‘act up’, as he called it, and embarrass him.

This meant that the guards were your only issue, and perhaps Larys spy’s. though you cared not for them for what could they do to stop you? Tattle to Larys who would sell the information for the sight of your mother’s feet? Even then you would have a few hours.

Luckly for you however, you knew your guards. And they had a penchant for wine.

“Steffon, Gregor” you whispered opening your door a bottle of Dornish red in hand.

“Princess” they nodded, tuning around to ignore you.

“You must be bored” you started, “perhaps you can join me for a drink?” you said, fluttering your eyelashes.

They turned to face each other unsure of what to do, “oh come on, know one will care. You’ll still be guarding me, won’t you?”

Their eyes wandered to the bottle of wine “is that the only bottle, princess?”

You scoffed, “of course not”.

They smiled and ushered you in to your chamber.

It was funny, you must have done this a dozen time before and they still fell for it every time.

And being such lightweights, they were quick to fall into a drunken sleep, allowing you to grab your bag and make a run for the dragon pit.

Running through the streets of Kingslanding at night were dan, especially in your rich clothes and jewels.

And seeing as you had only walked to the dragon pit once or twice, with the company of a dozen guards, the run was a lot longer than expected.

Getting lost in the never-ending streets of flea bottom was easy, and before you knew it you had somehow ended up on the streets of silk.

“gods” you mumbled, looking around in search of a sign to lead you in the right direction.

You could see the dragon pit, so at least you weren’t too far away, only issue is the brothel with the name ‘Chantaya’s’ seemed to stand in the way of a quick exit.

“sister” you heard someone say, and the sight of Aemond exiting said brothel, through you into a sprint once again.

You were sure you looked like some pick pocket as you ran through the street, Aemond hot on your tale.

And with being such a stranger to kings landing you found yourself meeting an end and Aemond catching up to you.

“Let go of me” you muttered trying to pull yourself free from Aemond’s grasp.

“Who let you out” he sneered.

“Does it matter?” you sneered in return, “what are you even doing here?” you asked, and Aemond face dropped.

“I could ask you the same”.

“I wanted to go to the dragon pit” “the dragon pit” he reiterated, not believing you. “To what? Declare for the usurper?”

“Gods no” you near yelled, “I- “you were hesitant to tell him, having never got on along with him and never having much to say to him at all, this was honestly the most you and he had spoken since the start of the war. “I wish to go to oldtown”.

“why”

“To…to see Gwyane”.

“Our uncle?”

“Do you know of another Gwyane I could possibly wish to see in oldtown?” you said snidely.

He hummed, looking at you with a smirk, “I am your prince regent, I command you know” he said, “one word from me and I could have you locked in the black cells, or I could command you to go to oldtown to gather forces, with Gwayne”

You hated that you looked at him hopeful and hated even more that if he asked you would beg.

“But why, dear sister? Should I command you to oldtown? You are the future lady Tully after all”.

You scoffed, “oh please, we both know the Tullys are hardly loyal now and the second old Grover Tully dies they’ll declare for the black’s”.

“true”

“And why would you want me here anyway? I do not listen, and I defy your every move, sending me a way would better your rule, would it not?”

“Oh sister, you truly have been undervalued. Fine I shall take you to the dragon pit and order you to oldtown.”

Order you? As if there was a single part of you that did not already crave to be there, with him.

The walk to the dragon pit was a quiet and awkward, with Aemond pulling you by the hand, a tight grip as if you would try to escape.

Not a word was exchanged even as you entered, only your words commanding the dragon keepers to fetch you moonfyers and Aemond stood beside you in his usual stance.

He gave you a taunting wave as you took flight, and you never looked back.

It took five hours for you to reach oldtown.

A storm thundered as you entered the reach, rain dowsing your and obstructing your vison. Had it not been for the bright blue scales of your brother’s dragon, Tesserion you were sure you would have flown into the Hightower.

Landing, you were quickly greeted with guards and the face of your brother Daeron.

“Brother” you greeted as you slide of your dragon, “a pleasure to see you!”

“And you, Gwayne said you were coming” he nodded, hand raised to stop rain pouring over his face, “come in, quickly”

The Hightower, was exactly as you envisioned, filled with riches and symbols of the seven. It looked like a museum almost.

You were brough into a room lined with seats and walls filled with books. Painting filled with the faces of old lords and ladies, and tapestry depicting Aegon s landing in oldtown and his coronation.

“niece” you heard a voice breath, causing your inspection to come to a halt as you turned and faced Gwayne,

“uncle” you breathed in return and not a moment later were you running into his arms and your lips meeting once more.

This kiss was different than the one in the courtyard, this one was filled with longing, filled with pure love and desire.

Years of want filling you mouths your lips moved against each other.

“Gwayne” you whispered against his lips, as you both breathed heavily, your heads leant against each others.

He whispered your name in return, “you came” he breathed, not quite believing it.

“of course, you asked…and the prince regent commanded it”

He laughed “what?”

“when I was making my mistake i came across Aemond leaving a brothel” you laughed, “and somehow he decided to command me to oldtown to gather forces”

“oh?” he said, head tilting, “I see…does that mean you now command me?”

“do I not anyway?” you asked tauntingly.

He laughed, grabbing you to him once more and pulling you into another kiss, “I believe we command each other, my love” he said breaking the kiss.

“my love?”

“my love” he agreed, caressing your cheek, “I love you” he finally admitted.

And you smiled. Looking at him as he always looked at you.

He always had seen you, understood you when no one else did.

And the look in his yes, it was pure love and you had never felt more seen than in this moment.

“I love you” you replied, and he smiled.

“come with me” he said taking your hand and leading you up to his room.

His room, though perhaps smaller than others, was still large and full of all things Gwayne. With his own mural and tapestry.

“do you like it?” he asked, taking note of your eyes that had not left the tapestry he had commissioned.

“is that?” you asked, unsure if you were seeing it right.

“Moonfyer and you, yes”

“gods, Gwyane” you said breathlessly, a mural of you riding moonfyers for the first time, your second time meeting Gwyane and the first time you and he realised the bond between you both.

You turned to face him, and kissed him once more.

Unlike before this kiss was heated, passionate and full of lust.

His hands moved to your waist, as you slowly moved towards the bed, your hands reaching and pulling at his clothes, taking them of and leaving him in only his small clothes.

Your dress wet and soaked was quickly torn of you intern, leaving you only in your soaked chemise.

Their lips broke apart as her legs hit the bed. Taking each other in Gwayne moaned at the sight of your breast peeking out through the now sheer chemise.

“can i?” Gwayne breathed, hand coming to toy with the strap of your chemise.

You nodded, allowing your chemise to slip and leaving you bare before him.

“gods” he breathed, “ you are beautiful” he said, before pushing you down on the bed, his lips connecting with yours.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, nipping at your skin, causing you to moan softly.

He kissed his way down your body, before he reached your cunt.

“can i?” he asked once more, eager to taste her cunt.

“yes” you said, not quite sure what he intended to do until you felt his nose nudge between your thighs and a slow lick alone the length of your cunt.

groaning at the taste, he quickly went back licking and tasting your cunt, like a man starved. You moaned pleasure, hands moving to tug his hair as he found your clit.

Touching yourself had never felt like this, the sheer pleasure you felt as he sucked your clit into his mouth was better than any orgasm you had brought yourself to before, even more so when you felt his fingers toying with your entrance.

You tensed as his fingers entered you. They were thicker and longer than your own and you started to feel the stretch as he pumped you full of his two fingers.

You moaned, your body moving off the bed as you his fingers pumped in and out.

His hand moved to your waist gripping you down as he continued to fill you, your moans filling the room as his third finger entered you and you soon reached your peak.

He slowly backed away from you, pulling down his small clothes to revel his hard, thick cock.

“oh!” you spoke, at the sight of him.

“oh? Not good enough niece?” he asked teasingly.

“gods, it, yes” you nodded, reaching out to him.

He laughed, before slowly crawling onto the bed, his body covering yours. Taking your lips his, in a passionate and heated kiss, as his legs slowly parted yours as he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Are you sure?” he breathed against your lips, hand holding your waist as his cock teased your entrance.

You nodded, reaching forward to kiss him again, “yes”.

At the word he entered you slowly.

You groaned at the stretch but found no pain as he entered you.

His long cock filling you, a bulge appearing in your stomach as he allowed time for you to adjust.

“gods, you feel amazing” he groaned, moving his head to the nape of your neck “can I move?” he groaned, as your walls wrapped around him.

Nodding, “yes” you breathed. And wasting no time he began to slowly pump in and out of you.

You moaned as he thrusted into you, your hips moving to meet his as he picked up the pace.

He groaned at the feel of you moving against him, has hands gripping your waist as he started to thrust into you faster, he soon found that sweet spot inside you, that quickly turned you into a moaning mess. And soon you were wrapping your arms around him, clawing at his back as you felt your peak it washes over you and the feel if his seed filling you.

Your breath was heavy, his even heavier as he lay on you, his face still in your neck leaving soft kisses as he started to move of you slightly.

“marry me” he said, giving you soft kisses between his words. “this place is filled with septon’s it will be easy to find one to marry us.”

“okay” you said, looking into his yes.

“okay?”

You laughed, “yes, Gwyane I will marry you.”

taglist

@apollonshootafar @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @dark-night-sky-99 @zillahvathek @leavesmealobe @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunbl0gs @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @RAYNE TARGARYEN 2 @littlebirdgot @eddieslut69 @beebeechaos @jennifer0305 @rosedurin @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @cloboboo @aegonswife @nessjo @helo1281917 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @perla434 @lilah102-blog @scorpiosmalfoy @random-human02 @f1wh0recom

to be added to taglist

#house of the dragon #hotd #gwayne hightower x fem!reader #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower #house hightower #gwayne x niece!reader #gwayne x targaryen!reader #freddie fox #gwayne x reader #ser gwayne #hotd season 2 #hotd spoilers #sacha writes ✍️

2K notes · View notes

vibelladonna · 2 months ago

Text

❛ 𝓇𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝒶𝒻𝒶𝒷!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You were never meant to fall—never meant to kneel before something unholy, with bloodied hands and a soul stretched thin between heaven and hell.

But the devil saw you for what you were. He peeled back your skin, traced the rot beneath, and smiled. He whispered sins like lullabies, carved damnation into your spine, and when the time came—you didn’t run.

Now, the chains are too tight. The air is too thick. And when he pulls you close, lips brushing against yours, his voice is a promise, a prayer, a curse.

"Our love is God, after all."

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: I was inspired by Heathers movie (maybe a little from the musical, too), @prince-silver-lining’s beautiful art (above), and now here I am, ruining it by writing this shit. My ideas always come in the oddest ways.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: sol x afab! reader, smut?? forced intimacy, mind games, worship kink, psychological horror, dark romance, manipulation, toxic relationship, yandere, religious symbolism, guilt, and desire, the morally gray protagonist, obsession, possessive love, emotional turmoil, and… god won’t save you, but he will.

When people think of angels, they imagine something pure—beings bathed in golden light, untouched by sin, cradled in the hands of God Himself.

You used to believe you were one of them.

A soul untainted, moving through this world with purpose, with righteousness. You carried yourself like a disciple, holding fast to the belief that goodness was enough, that virtue would shield you from the rot infesting this earth.

But God’s kingdom does not extend to places like this.

This college is not a temple but a pit—a den of indulgence, cruelty, and corruption where the wicked thrive, where the privileged few sit atop thrones of deceit. Their words drip with venom, their laughter echoes like hymns of the damned, and their eyes watch you like scavengers circling something already dying.

You clutch the rosemary around your neck, something you swore would protect you. A reminder that once, long ago, you thought you could remain untouched by the filth of this place.

However angels are not made for a world like this. Because once the devil came—red-orange eyes burning, voice like a whispered prayer—you didn’t run. You didn’t fight.

Even the holiest of creatures can fall.

You once dressed for yourself, for the joy of feeling like you controlled your own image—soft, free, unburdened by the expectations of a world that had no place for your kind.

But that was before you learned the rules.

Before you learned that kindness is a weakness, and empathy, a quick road to being chewed up and spat out. Before you realized that in this world, standing out only made you a target, while blending in could keep you alive.

So, you changed.

The first thing to go was your individuality. The clothes you used to wear, those that felt like a part of you, became buried beneath layers of the uniform—the colors, the styles, the things that said “I belong here.”Your rosemary cross, once proudly displayed, now lies hidden under your clothes like a secret prayer—its power still there, but buried.

Because the world doesn’t care about purity.

It rewards power.

You learned quickly that the game was rigged, and that if you wanted to survive, you needed to manipulate the pieces. You couldn’t be the angel anymore, not in a place like this.

You needed to be something else.

So, you joined the shady girl group—the ones who ruled the social scene. They didn’t care about you, not really. They cared about what you could do—your journals, your perfect hand, your ability to forge anything. They gave you what they thought you wanted: new outfits, extra attention, an easy way in.

They turned you into their project, their doll to dress up, but you didn’t mind. Because you knew something they didn’t: you were the one holding the cards.

You played the game but on your terms.

It used to bother you—the pretending, the act of slipping into a world that wasn’t yours. But you learned to let it go. You learned to embrace it, because this was how it worked. People didn’t give unless they wanted something in return. And you knew how to make them give.

And when you looked up, you saw it—God. Not the one you were taught to pray to, but one of power, one who existed in the shadows of this world. The god who didn’t care for morals, only for domination. And you realized—you were always meant to wield that power.

In a world where devils walk free, you’re not here to survive.

You’re here to reign.

But even power has its limits. And sooner or later, the game will come for you, too. It wasn’t long before the leader of your old girl group that entitled bitch—decided you were done the second you threw up all over her precious dress at that fancy party. As if it was your fault, she made you drink a gallon of cheap vodka just to fit in.

Monday morning rolls around, and the verdict is: You’re out of the group.

She doesn’t even have the decency to look you in the eye when she says it. But to say you didn’t care? You’d be lying. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting a little, even if you never really felt like you belonged there.

But losing that power?

That influence you had over everyone?

The way they looked at you because they thought you were one of them? Nah. That’s not happening. You’re not going back to being just another faceless girl getting bullied by these assholes who don’t know how to shut their mouths.

Who needs a god when you’ve got someone like Sol?

Solivan Brugmansia.

The weird, quiet artist kid who’s cold as hell—he’s the kind of guy who only wears green and black, which just screams ‘I’m deep’ and ‘I don’t give a damn.’ Everyone in school knows him for one thing:

He’s the perfect target.

The bullies at the school use him like a punching bag. You’ve seen the videos. The ones where they throw punches at him so hard his face becomes a canvas of purple and red, like a twisted work of art. It’s a damn shame, honestly. They think it breaks him, but somehow, he always gets back up.

Every punch he throws back looks like it comes from a place of pure rage. You’ve caught yourself watching him sometimes, walking to class. Every time, that little flutter in your stomach as you see him throw a punch, standing tall like he’s untouchable despite everything they do to him.

What was it about him?

Well…

Let’s just say, after that party, you ended up with your head nestled into his flat-ass pillow as his scent filled the air—green, metal, something almost intoxicating. You can feel the weight of his presence even though he's barely moving.

Yeah, you hooked up with him. And the whole thing was... well, weirdly comforting. You’ve never felt more alive, more real, than when he was there with you, holding you in a way that made you forget all the shit the world tried to throw your way. Not that you’d ever admit that to him, or anyone for that matter.

It didn’t feel like a transaction. It didn’t feel like some pity hookup. For the first time, you didn’t feel like you were just pretending to be something for someone else’s amusement. You felt seen and heard—even if it was just for a moment. It felt dangerous, but in a way that turned you on more than anything ever had before.

And maybe that’s exactly what you needed.

Someone who wasn’t afraid to fight back, who didn’t need you to fit into some mold. Someone who could see the world as messed up as it is and yet still have the guts to stand tall.

Lying in Sol’s bed felt like a damn drug—every second wrapped in a haze of heat, of fire, of something you couldn’t name but needed desperately. It wasn’t just his bed. It was him—the way he was, the way his presence felt like it could pull you under, drown you in something deeper than just physical need.

You hadn’t planned on it.

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

After you left said lame-ass rich party, you walked by a late open convenience store, minding your own business—going home that’s when you saw him.

The way he stood outside, staring off into the distance with that same disaffected look he always wore like the world didn’t matter. And for some fucking reason, you couldn't help yourself. You had to pull him into your orbit.

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d convinced him to follow you back to his place.

One moment, you were laughing too loud under neon bar lights, the tequila in your veins making the world tilt just enough to feel weightless. The next, you were stumbling into the dim warmth of his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you like a secret being sealed. The air smelled like him—clean linen and something darker, something alive—and your pulse thundered in your ears.

“You sure about this?”

His voice was rough, frayed at the edges like he was clinging to the last thread of his self-control. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because the truth was stupid, embarrassing—you were a goddamn virgin—but tonight, that didn’t matter.

Tonight, you needed to feel something real, even if it burned.

So you stepped into him, your body moving with a liquid courage you didn’t recognize. The alcohol still hummed under your skin, blurring the lines between bravery and recklessness. His hands came up to push you away, but the contact was weak, his fingers trembling against your waist.

“You’ve been drinking,” he murmured, but it sounded like a plea—to himself, not to you.

You didn’t let him finish. Your mouth found him, and the second your lips touched, his resolve cracked. A sharp inhale. A low groan. His kiss was softer than you expected, almost hesitant, but his body betrayed him—his heart pounded against your chest, wild and frantic, and the heat of him pressed into your thigh, hard and wanting.

You climbed onto him, knees sinking into the mattress, and his hands finally stopped resisting. They gripped your hips like he was drowning like you were the only thing keeping him anchored.

You needed this.

And God help him, he was done fighting it.

You slid your hands down his chest, feeling the solid, warm muscle beneath your fingertips, “You want me,” you muttered against his lips, a playful, teasing smirk curling on your face. “Don’t pretend like you don’t.”

His eyes flickered shut, and for a moment, he looked like he was trying to convince himself he didn’t want this. “I…” he trailed off, his voice shaky. But then his hands moved, gripping your waist, pulling you closer, and you felt it—the way his control shattered beneath you.

The moment you took control, it was like you were commanding every piece of him. He was trying so damn hard to resist, but when you moved, when you rode him, there was no pretending. He groaned, his hands tightening on your skin, and you couldn’t help but laugh, a low, sultry sound that sent chills down your spine.

“Say no now,” Your voice was a challenge, a smirk curling your lips as you hovered over him, your thighs bracketing his hips. His chest rose and fell beneath you, his breath already ragged.

"You’re not fooling anyone."

Sol’s eyes—burning like embers in the dim light—locked onto yours. There was something terrifyingly open in his gaze, something that made your stomach twist.

Not fear. No hesitation.

Hunger.

But not just the kind that devoured. The kind that worshiped.

His hands slid up your sides, rough palms skimming your skin like he was memorizing you. Every touch was deliberate, reverent as if you were something sacred he was afraid to break. You rolled your hips, taking him deeper, and his breath hitched—sharp, unsteady. His fingers dug into your waist, but he didn’t move, didn’t thrust up into you.

He let you take. Let your claim.

And God, the way he felt—thick and hot inside you, stretching you in a way that bordered on pain but tipped so easily into pleasure. You moved slowly, savoring the drag of him, the way his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his composure.

"Fuck," he gritted out, his voice wrecked.

You grinned, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear. "That’s It."

His restraint snapped.

One hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip as he finally, finally met your movements. But even then, it wasn’t frantic. Wasn’t rough. It was deep, every roll of his hips deliberate, like he was trying to fuse himself to you. His mouth found yours again, kissing you like he was starving for it like he’d die if he didn’t taste you.

And the way he looked at you—

Eyes dark, lips parted, his entire body trembling beneath you like he was coming undone. Like you were unraveling him.

You haven’t been with others before. But this?

This was the first time either of you had ever really fucked.

There was no rush, no mindless chasing of pleasure. Just the two of you, tangled in sheets and sweat and something too heavy to name. His hands never left you, tracing your spine, cupping your face, pulling you closer like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.

And when he finally spilled into you, it was with a broken groan, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath mingling with yours. You followed him over the edge, your body clenching around him, your nails biting into his shoulders.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then your thumb brushed Sol’s cheek, his voice barely audible.

"…Good boy."

It was a sinful saying. And you knew that.

But in that moment, you didn’t care. You could’ve stayed in his bed forever, lost in the fire of it all, and maybe—just maybe—you didn’t ever want to leave. But you knew, deep down, you couldn’t afford to get too lost.

There were things to worry about.

Like, for one, the fact that you had a sneaking suspicion Sol had something to do with the sudden, suspicious death of your former group leader. The one you just so happened to throw up on at that goddamn party.

Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t.

After all, when she asked you to get her something to cure her hangover, you didn’t give a damn. Couldn’t have cared less if she lived or died. You weren’t about to drop any more of your pathetic leftover cash on her. You were broke. Besides, it wasn’t like you had a reason to play nice. You were done with her, done with the group, done with their petty little games.

You complained to Sol, slouched across his bed, half-dressed, staring at the ceiling like it was the only thing keeping you sane. He didn’t care, though. He didn’t need your complaints. Instead, he offered something simple, something that felt like a lifeline to cling to when everything around you felt like it was crumbling: "You can use my kitchen," he said, voice low and calm, the sound almost soothing. "I’ll take you to drop it off."

You couldn’t help but smile a little, amused by how nonchalant he was about everything. How even now, after what happened between you two, he was still so calm. So unaffected.

And so, you went.

You used Sol’s kitchen, not giving a damn about what you were making, the motions mechanical, the noise of the pot stirring a dull soundtrack to the mess of thoughts crowding your head.

You needed to do something.

Anything to shake off the constant tension clawing at your insides. Your stomach churned, but it wasn’t from hunger—it was from the gnawing confusion and dread eating away at you, as if your body already knew something bad was coming.

The thought of her—the bitch—lingered in the back of your mind like a thorn you couldn’t shake. But you shoved it down. Focused instead on stirring, on the repetitive movement of the spoon, anything to drown out the thoughts swirling in your brain. The smell of the ingredients wasn’t comforting, but it was something to focus on, something that made the moment feel mundane, even if it was anything but.

You tossed things into the pot like you didn’t care what came of it—this wasn’t about cooking, after all. You’d made this concoction a thousand times before, for yourself and for the others when you went out drinking, those long nights where the world blurred into something hazy and forgettable.

It had become a ritual, a way to get through, but tonight it felt more like a mask. You were just going through the motions, trying not to think too hard about what was really hanging over you.

You thought about her again, the leader, the one who had always looked down on you, the one who thought she was better than everyone else. You didn’t care that she’d caught you throwing up on her dress at the party—she was just another problem you didn’t have the energy to solve.

But now? Now, she was gone.

The weight of that truth hit you harder than expected, but you pushed it away. Not yet.

You finished the drink and dropped it off with Sol, who was waiting outside, casual as ever, his posture relaxed like nothing was wrong. You handed him the drink, but as he walked over to the leader, the thought of what she might do with it made your stomach tighten.

The entire thing felt wrong like something was off, but there wasn’t time to second-guess yourself.

And then it happened.

A few slips. A few moments, and then—boom. Dead.

Like, what the actual fuck?

The death wasn’t natural. The first thing you noticed was the color of her tongue—blue. And not just any shade of blue, but something sickly, unnatural. It looked wrong in the worst way. It twisted your insides, but there was no time to linger on it.

Because now, she was dead. And that meant you had to act. Fast.

You didn’t want to be anywhere near the mess that was about to unfold. The last thing you needed was to be connected to a rich girl’s death. Hell, the media would have your neck if they even got a whiff of your involvement. You didn’t care about her death—she was just a footnote in your life—but your survival?

Now that was a whole different story.

Sol, ever the calm presence, suggested the only thing that made sense: write a suicide note. Quickly, and convincingly.

You didn’t hesitate. You had to write that note fast, your hands trembling with the weight of it, the words coming out in a rushed stream of desperate lies. You didn’t care what you wrote, as long as it kept your name out of it. You had to move carefully—no fingerprints, no mistakes. Everything had to be flawless.

The cops would be swarming any minute now, so you and Sol slipped out, making sure to leave no trace of your presence. You didn’t want to leave anything behind that could tie you to her. You weren’t going to be the one to pay for her mistakes.

It wasn’t about caring for the girl or feeling anything for her death. No, it was about making sure your own skin stayed clean. You didn’t have the luxury of being caught up in a mess like this. You’d been through too much already, and the last thing you wanted was for this to be the thing that pulled you under.

Survival. That’s what mattered now.

Now, you might be thinking—why the hell would you assume Sol had anything to do with it? Your bitch of a leader wound up dead, yeah, but you were the one who made the damn hangover concoction. That was your little trick, your go-to remedy for long nights and regret-filled mornings.

So, shouldn’t you be the one to blame? Not exactly.

Because you saw him, Sol.

You saw him lingering by the counter, careful not to make any noise while you went to the bathroom to change before heading out. You saw the way his fingers moved, casual—too casual—as he fiddled with the cup. And then you saw the switch, so quick it was almost imperceptible.

The blue cleaner. A few drops, maybe more. A slip of a hand, a glance in your direction. And yet—

Did you ever bring it up? No.

Because you were already too fucking deep in this.

You and Sol, like it or not, we’re in this together. And with that bitch dead, the school needed a new god. The natural order should’ve pointed to the last two girls in the group—the ones who used to worship at her feet, waiting for their turn to take the crown.

But the moment the leader’s body went cold, one of them was already off somewhere else, building her empire with the fame of her dead leader, shaking off the past like a snake shedding its skin. And the other? She folded. Gave up. Ran off to follow the next rising star.

That left you.

Because whether you wanted it or not, people had always compared you two. Same energy, the same pull, same effortless way of drawing attention without even trying. You used to be second best.

Well, not anymore. But this wasn’t what you wanted.

You just wanted to go to class, pass your exams, maybe get through the day without being dragged into some social bullshit. That was the goal. But instead, here you were—the most followed person in the student body.

This wasn’t high school. This was college.

And yet, somehow, it felt just as fucking stupid.

Every waking moment, every damn day, all you wanted was to go to class, take notes, and leave. But no—some dude, some random fucking guy, always had to try his luck, like they were programmed to shoot their shot no matter how many times you said no, no matter how many times you muttered, I have a boyfriend.

Didn’t matter.

They’d still try, still hover, still think they had a chance like you owed them something just because you existed.

And honestly? It made you sick.

Sometimes, in the back of your mind, you swore you could hear that bitch of a leader laughing at you from the afterlife. Oh, you wanted to be me so bad? Enjoy it, sweetheart.

It was all so fucking overwhelming

You hated this. You hated this dead-end college. And sometimes—just sometimes—you wished the whole place would fucking blow up. Just poof—gone. Then maybe you could run away, transfer somewhere new, start over, and live a normal life, away from all this bullshit.

Instead, here you were—outside late, making your way back from some lecture you were forced to take at night because all the earlier ones had filled up before you could even register.

And of course—of course—the universe just had to make things worse.

Because there they were.

Fucking Abel and Cain.

The pretty boys. The well-known bops—two fine ass bastards every woman on campus either wanted or knew to stay the hell away from.

And yet, here they were, standing on the sidewalk, their gazes locking onto you like wolves spotting a lone rabbit. You didn’t look at them. You didn’t acknowledge them. Just keep walking, picking up your pace, focusing on your apartment’s front door in the distance.

You hate it.

Hate how people think they have a right to you now. Hate that the moment your old leader took their final breath, the weight of the world shifted onto your shoulders, crowning you the new god of this campus. But of course, they called your name.

And of course, they followed.

"Yo, you deaf now?" Abel scoffed, his voice dripping with faux amusement.

"Yeah, what, you ain't getting our messages?" Cain added, tone lower, sharper.

You felt their eyes burning into you, felt the heat of their presence as they got closer, their footsteps heavy against the pavement.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t dare look back.

Just kept walking. Because if you did, you knew this night would take a turn you really didn’t have the energy to deal with.

You kept your pace steady, ignoring them like they were nothing more than background noise—like their words, their presence, their very existence didn’t fucking matter. Because to you? They didn’t.

But, of course, they didn’t like that.

“Damn, she’s really tryna act like she don’t hear us,” Abel muttered, just loud enough for you to catch.

Cain chuckled, a low, amused sound that made your stomach churn. “Maybe she’s shy.”

You weren’t shy. You just didn’t give a fuck.

But they weren’t letting this go.

Next thing you knew, Abel was right next to you, keeping pace, that cocky smirk already stretched across his face like this was some kind of game. Cain was a step behind, like they had this whole routine practiced like they knew how to trap people in conversations they didn’t want to have.

“Damn, you in a rush or somethin’?” Abel grinned, leaning in slightly like that’d make you break. “Where you headed, mama? Lemme walk you home.”

You finally spared them a glance—just enough to give him the most deadpan expression you could manage. “Nah.”

Cain whistled, all smug like he thought this was cute. “Cold as hell. I like it.”

Abel laughed, but there was something mean behind it. “C’mon, don’t be like that. We just tryna talk. You really don’t be seeing our DMs?”

“Oh, I see ‘em,” you said flatly. “I just ignore ‘em.”

That shut him up for a second.

Cain let out a little ooooh like you just roasted his boy in a rap battle. Abel, though? His smirk twitched. “That’s kinda rude,” he said, tilting his head like he was trying to figure you out.

“And?”

Cain barked out a laugh. “Damn, you got a mouth on you.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your bag and picking up your pace again. “Yeah, and it’s saying leave me the fuck alone.”

You weren’t scared. Not really. Just annoyed.

But they didn’t fall back. If anything, that just made them more persistent.

“Y’know, most girls would kill to have us hitting them up,” Abel said, his tone dipping slightly. Less playful. More... annoyed?

"Then go hit them up instead," you shot back, eyes locked on your apartment complex in the distance. Almost there. Just a few more steps.

“But we want you,” Cain added, voice lower, smooth like oil, like he actually thought he could charm you. “You really turned us both down? That’s wild.”

“Y’all are wild for not taking the hint,” you muttered, stopping just at the front of your apartment gate.

They both stopped, too.

Abel crossed his arms, looking you over like you were some puzzle he couldn’t crack. “For real, though. You got a man or somethin’?”

“Yeah. And he’s crazy as fuck,” you said, not missing a beat.

Cain raised a brow, clearly amused. “Yeah? What, he gonna pull up on us?”

Fools.

They didn’t realize they were speaking to something untouchable. Something already claimed. So you exhaled, slow and deliberate, before tilting your head slightly, voice smooth as silk, dripping with something just shy of amusement.

"He’s already watching”

Abel and Cain followed your gaze, and for a moment—just a split second—you swore you saw something ancient flicker across their faces. A primal instinct whispering to them that they had fucked up. Because there—perched on the second-floor railing like a god overlooking his domain—stood Sol.

His presence was undeniable. Absolute.

His red-orange eyes burned through the darkness like twin embers in the void, glowing with an unnatural light that made the streetlamp look like a cheap imitation of fire. He wasn’t leaning lazily anymore. No, now he was upright, hands stuffed in his pockets, his gaze locked directly on them.

Watching. Waiting. Judging.

Cain clicked his tongue, but his cocky smirk faltered just a bit, as if the weight of Sol’s stare pressed against his chest like a blade. “Tch. Guess we’ll see you around then.”

Abel lingered half a second longer like he was considering saying something else—but then Sol moved.

Not fast, not aggressively, just the slow, deliberate shift of his shoulders, the lazy tilt of his head. But it was enough. Enough to send an unspoken message.

Run along, little boys.

And so they did.

You didn’t turn to watch them go. Didn’t need to. You just stepped through the gate and let it slam shut behind you, the metallic clang ringing out like the closing of a coffin.

But as you climbed the stairs, you could feel it. The way Sol’s eyes dragged over you, heat crawling up your spine—not just watching, but seeing. When you reached him, his fingers were already curling around your wrist, warm, and firm, pulling you close. His touch was casual, lazy even, but his grip?

Almost Possessive.

His voice, low and edged with amusement, sent a shiver down your spine. "Have fun?"

You huffed, pressing a hand against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of it beneath your palm. “Oh, loads.”

He smirked. But it wasn’t just a smirk—it was something deeper, something more dangerous. Like a god deciding the fate of his worshippers. Like a storm rolling in before the first crack of thunder. Then he leaned in, breath warm against your ear, voice dropping into something almost reverent.

"Want me to kill ‘em?”

You held your breath, watching Sol’s expression carefully, searching for the telltale twitch of amusement in his features, the playful glint in his eye that usually came when he joked about something questionable.

But there was none. He just looked at you, unreadable, that lazy, knowing smirk resting on his lips like he already knew the answer. Surely, he was joking. Right?

For someone who had such an appreciation for horror movies, you hated it when he joked about killing people—only for right now. Not when that memory was still lurking in the back of your mind. The memory of your hands gripping a pen, scrawling out a suicide note as quickly as possible, while Sol stood over your dead leader’s body with that smile.

That damn smile.

A shiver crept up your spine, but you shook it off, exhaling sharply before rolling your eyes, masking your unease with a playful sigh. You gave him a light punch to the shoulder, a simple motion that masked too much, that tried to communicate things you weren’t ready to say.

"Don’t joke about that, dumbass," you muttered, forcing out a laugh. "Especially not when we’re already in the hole. Deep in the fucking pit."

Sol hummed, tilting his head slightly. "You think we’re in a pit?" His fingers ghosted over your wrist, his voice smooth, too calm. "Nah. A pit means we can’t get out. We’re just…" His grip tightened slightly like he was anchoring you. "Visiting the bottom."

You scoffed, brushing past him. "That’s some pretentious artist bullshit."

"And yet, you love it," he teased, following close behind as you made your way to the bathroom.

You ignored him, flipping on the sink and splashing cold water onto your face, letting the sharp chill jolt your senses back to reality. You needed to wash off the weight of tonight—the tension, the stares, the suffocating presence of everyone watching you as if waiting for you to snap.

Sol leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you through the mirror with an unreadable expression.

"You tired?" he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

You exhaled, grabbing a towel and pressing it against your face. "I’m always tired."

He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, voice softer this time. "You don’t look like you."

You frowned, lowering the towel slightly to glance at him through the mirror. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means," Sol said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer, "that I remember you before all this. Before them."His gaze burned into you, intense in a way that made your throat tighten. This wasn’t his usual teasing arrogance, the lazy smirks and smooth words meant to make you roll your eyes.

No, this was different. This was something else.

"You were free." His voice was low, almost nostalgic, but there was an edge to it—something sharp, something almost bitter. "You dressed how you wanted. Acted how you wanted."

He gestured vaguely, eyes dragging over you, taking in the perfectly curated image you had become—the safe version of yourself. The version that blended in. The version that followed the rules.

Now, you looked… normal.

Plain. Society’s definition of acceptable.

The clothes that once made you feel like yourself—the bold choices, the personal touches, the outfits that turned heads and made statements—were gone, replaced with something neutral, something designed not to offend, not to stand out.

The makeup you once wore to highlight what you liked about yourself had been swapped for whatever the trend was. Your hair, once styled in whatever way you felt like at the time, now fell in the safest way possible, effortless but calculated.

You had stripped yourself down to something palatable.

"This isn’t you."

Your jaw tightened. You met his gaze in the mirror, the weight of his words pressing against your ribs, making it just a little harder to breathe.

"I had to survive." Your voice was firm, clipped.

Sol was quiet.

Then he sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah. I get that."

You exhaled sharply and turned off the sink, gripping the edge of the counter, your eyes flickering downward. Your reflection stared back at you—polished, presentable, a perfect product of adaptation.

Unrecognizable.

Sol watched you for a moment, his gaze heavy with something unreadable. Then, in a voice softer than before, he murmured, "You're still pretty."

For some reason, that irritated you more than anything else.

You scoffed. "Gee, thanks."

"But it’s not about that," he continued, stepping closer until he was right behind you, his hands resting on either side of the counter, boxing you in. His voice dipped, lower now, careful, yet firm. "I liked you better when you liked yourself more."

Your breath hitched.

His words clung to you, wrapping around your ribs like vines, refusing to let go. They settled deep, sinking into that part of you you’d tried so damn hard to bury.

You swallowed hard, hating the way he saw you—really saw you—like his fire-red-orange eyes could peel back the layers of armor you had so carefully constructed and lay you bare without even trying.

"I don’t want to talk about this," you muttered, shaking him off as you grabbed your toothbrush as if the simple act of brushing your teeth could drown out the weight of everything pressing down on you.

But Sol just chuckled, low and knowing. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin, his presence an anchor you weren’t sure if you wanted to hold onto or escape from.

"Don’t worry," he murmured, voice like embers in the dark. "I’m not going anywhere." Then, softer. More deliberate.

"Use me if you need to."

The words sent something sharp down your spine. Something dangerous. You wanted to pretend they didn’t sink in. You wanted to pretend that they didn’t make something inside you snap. But they did. Because Sol was right here. Warm. Solid. Real. And you—

You were so fucking angry.

Not just at Abel and Cain. Not just at the dead social media apps that kept your name in their mouths. Not just at the way your classmates looked at you today like they knew you—like they had any fucking clue.

You were angry at everything.

At this school. At life, you have to build for yourself just to survive. At the fact that no matter what you did, no matter how quiet you stayed, the world still found a way to put its hands on you.

And Sol?

Sol was offering himself up like he always did, and fuck, you were selfish enough to take it.

You turned, grabbed the front of his shirt, and yanked him toward you. His body hit yours with a force that should’ve knocked you both off balance, but Sol just let out a sharp breath, his hands already finding your waist like he’d been waiting for this.

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

Your lips crashed against his, open-mouthed, desperate.

Sol let you take control at first, let you kiss him like you needed to rip something out of him, let you take and take and take—but he wasn’t passive. No, he met you head-on, groaning into your mouth as he walked you back until your hips hit the bathroom counter.

"This what you need?" he muttered, voice rough as his hands dug into your sides.

You didn’t answer. Just pull him closer, press yourself against him like he was the only thing holding you together.

Because right now, he was.

You let him lift you onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The mirror behind you reflected the scene at you—your lips swollen, your eyes unfocused, your expression raw. You almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Maybe that was the point.

Maybe you didn’t want to.

Sol’s hands trailed up your thighs, the warmth of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes, grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. His lips brushed your neck, sending a jolt of electricity through your body, his breath hot against your skin as he moved lower, his hands anchoring you to the counter with a firm grip that almost felt possessive.

"Tell me what you want," his voice came a low hum that seemed to vibrate through you, reaching places you didn’t know you could feel.

You squeezed your eyes shut, unwilling to face the war raging inside you.

God, you needed this—needed him to drown out everything that had been gnawing at your insides, clawing at your thoughts. But even as you pressed yourself closer, even as your hands gripped the back of his shirt like you were trying to pull him inside you, you knew it wasn’t enough.

The whispers kept creeping in, insistent and ugly.

The rumors.

Abel’s smug voice, practically oozing with triumph.

Cain’s laugh, that mocking, arrogant chuckle that you couldn’t escape, no matter how far you ran.

And the whole campus? They all thought they had the right to claim you. To dictate your life, your choices, your body. They were already filling in the blanks, deciding who you were, and who you should be.

It wasn’t long before you and Sol collapsed into your bed again, tangled in the kind of desperation that felt more like drowning than desire.

He was already between your thighs, his breath hot against your skin, murmuring words you barely processed—“Let me, please, just let me make you feel good.” And you did.

You let him.

Because even if it wouldn’t fix anything, even if the hollowness in your chest refused to be filled, at least his mouth on you was something real.

His lips were soft, his tongue relentless, tracing patterns you’d long memorized but still made your back arch off the mattress. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him deeper as if you could press him straight through your skin and into the parts of you that ached.

The pleasure was sharp, bright—too bright, like staring into the sun until your eyes burned. You wanted it to blind you.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, each one shuddering out of you like a sob. Sol knew your body better than anyone, his touch so familiar it should’ve been a comfort. But instead, you felt untethered, floating somewhere outside yourself, watching as your hips rolled against his mouth on pure instinct.

Closer. You needed him closer, needed to disappear into the heat of him, the weight of him. But the more he gave, the more you realized—no amount of him would be enough. The storm inside you wasn’t something he could fuck or kiss or worship away.

“Please… more—”

The words spill from Sol’s lips in a broken whisper, his mouth still searing against your clit like he’s starving. You barely have time to process the plea before his fingers curl just so inside you—a merciless twist that sends your back arching off the bed. A gasp rips from your throat, raw and unfiltered, as your hips jerk against his face.

“Fuck—” Your moan is half-snarl, half-prayer, fingers twisting in the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering you to earth. His touch is relentless, every stroke deliberate, studied—as if he’s mapping the way you flutter around him, the way your body betrays you with every slick, tightening pulse.

“Look at you,” You moan, “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

The accusation sends heat flooding Sol’s cheeks—because you’re right. You felt yourself already close, teetering on the edge, and he’s barely started. His thumb brushes your clit in a slow, filthy circle, and you jolt, a whimper catching in your throat like a sob.

“Tell me,” he rasps, grip tightening on your thigh to spread you wider. His other hand doesn’t stop—if anything, his fingers plunge deeper, crooking to drag against that spot that makes your vision whiten. “Please. Tell me what you want, pumpkin.”

You can’t.

The words clot in your chest, stolen by every ragged breath, every electric scrape of his calloused fingers. All you can do is feel—the ache he’s stoking into an inferno, the way your hips grind shamelessly against his mouth, the sound of him—low, hungry groans vibrating against your skin as he drinks you down like something holy.

And when his teeth graze your clit—gentle, so gentle—you finally shatter, his name a shattered scream on your lips. It was violent, overwhelming, your thighs clamping around his head as you choked back something too raw to be a moan. Sol didn’t let up, licking you through it until you shoved him away, oversensitive and raw.

He looked up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark with something like concern. You turned your face away before he could see it—the tears, the fracture—it was for the silence, for the absence of everything that was suffocating you.

But even in the heat of the moment, your mind refused to let go.

You knew. You knew.

This wasn’t going to fix anything. Nothing ever did.

Because People—people with nothing better to do—had decided that their life was the perfect subject for gossip, and of course, they had to drag it across every dead social media app that nobody even bothered with anymore, unless it was for the filters. And this time?

It wasn’t just petty rumors. No, this was a different beast entirely.

You had to hear it from everyone. Every fucking hallway. Every class.

Every goddamn second spent looking at your phone or stepping outside your apartment—it was all whispers, side-eyes, and those insufferable, smug smirks from people who thought they knew you, who thought they knew what happened.

And it all led back to two names.

Abel and Cain.

It was always them, wasn’t it? The infamous duo—the campus it-boys, the ones who somehow got away with everything, every time, with no consequences. They were untouchable, always looking so clean, so perfect in their shit-eating grin ways, while everyone else got swept up in their chaos.

And what were they saying this time?

That they had a threesome with a “special girl” they ran into.

No names. No specifics. But you didn’t need specifics. Everyone knew exactly who they were talking about. You. You.

Your actual friends—your real friends—began asking questions. Concern was written all over their faces, voices shaking with uncertainty.

They wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Are you okay?”

“Did something happen?”

“Why are they saying this?”

You couldn’t even look them in the eye. You couldn’t answer. Instead, you sat there, frozen, staring at your phone, the screen burning your eyes. The words blurred together in a haze of pain and fury. A ringing noise drowned out everything else as your fingers clenched around the device like it was the only thing anchoring you to the present.

Fuck this.

Every inch of you felt like it was going to crack, like the anger and disgust were going to bleed out of your skin. It was a lie, a fucking straight-up lie. But it didn’t matter. No one cared about the truth. Not when they already had a story to tell.

The worst part? It wasn’t just the lies—they were believing it. The campus didn’t just buy into it; they were savoring it like it was the juiciest piece of gossip to ever grace their empty little lives. People who barely even knew your name were now looking at you like they had some kind of claim to your life.

Every time you stepped outside, it was like the world was watching, whispering about you, judging you, reducing you to some fucking scandal. And you?

You were just trapped in the middle of it all.

No matter how many times you told them it wasn’t true, how many times you tried to explain, they didn’t care. The perception was everything. Once a story like this had legs, it ran wild. It didn’t need the truth to keep moving—it only needed people to keep talking.

And that was all anyone was doing now. …Talking.

After your last class, you couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. It felt like the walls were closing in with every step, suffocating you as you walked through the crowded halls, your classmates' whispers and looks searing into your skin. Every footstep felt like it echoed too loudly in your ears, a constant reminder of the gossip, the rumors, and the lies that were now following you like a shadow you couldn’t escape.

No. No, no. You weren’t going to let this happen.

You couldn’t.

You wouldn’t.

You kept repeating it in your mind, the words like a mantra, trying to drown out the noise, trying to drown out the sick, twisted feeling clawing at your chest. You didn’t have time for this. Not when you still had so much left to do, so many plans that needed to be carried out.

This?

This wasn’t part of the plan.

You rushed back to your place, heart hammering in your chest, your mind spinning with what to do next. How to fix this. How to make it stop.

You opened the door to your apartment and slammed it shut behind you, locking it as quickly as you could. But the feeling of being trapped didn’t go away. You paced back and forth in your small space, your mind racing, plotting your next move. You had to do something—anything—to get the control back.

You couldn’t let them get away with this.

Suddenly, the window beside you creaked open, and before you could even react, a figure slid through, startling the hell out of you. “Fuck!” You yelped, barely managing to keep your phone from smashing into his face as you whipped around.

Sol. Of course, it was him. He stood there, grinning like it was any other day as if he hadn’t just scared the shit out of you. "Woah, woah, easy there," he said, holding up his hands to stop you from swinging again, his usual cocky smile plastered on his face.

"You okay?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your shaking hands. "Stop climbing through my window. It's a crime, Sol. Not the time for this."

He shrugged nonchalantly, not at all bothered by the fact that he had literally just broken into your apartment. "You’re still alive, aren’t you?" he said, voice soft and smooth. "I figured you could use the company."

You took a step back, barely even registering his words as you continued to pace. You couldn’t stop moving. Not with all the chaos swirling in your head, not with the weight of the entire situation pressing down on you.

Sol watched you, his expression softening, the cocky grin falling away for a moment. "You’re really losing it, huh?"

“Losing it?” You let out a sharp laugh, but it was humorless, edged with frustration. "No, Sol. I’m not losing it. I’m trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do now. These people—" You gestured wildly, your voice rising. "They think they know everything about me, and they’re lying. It’s all lies!"

Sol stepped closer, slowly, like he was giving you space, but you didn’t want the space.

You needed to move. You needed to think.

You couldn’t stand still.

"Look, I get it," he said quietly, his voice steady as he reached out and placed a hand on your arm. "I know it sucks. But you can’t keep running from it. You gotta deal with it, or it’s just gonna keep eating at you."

You jerked away from his touch, irritation flaring. "I don’t need you telling me what to do, Sol. I know how to deal with my own shit."

His gaze stayed on you, unwavering, like he wasn’t going to back down. "Then what? What’s the plan? Are you gonna sit in here and hope it all goes away? Or you gonna take control back?"

You stopped walking, turning sharply to face him, the heat rising in your chest. "I’m not just gonna sit here and let them tear me apart," you snapped. "I’m gonna make it stop. I don’t care what it takes."

Sol raised an eyebrow, stepping forward again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Then let me help."

You paused. Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to tell him to get the hell out, but somewhere in that moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You were angry and frustrated, but deep down, you knew this was something you couldn’t do alone.

"I don’t need your help," you muttered, but even as you said the words, you felt the cracks in your resolve begin to show. "I’ll handle it. I’ll fix it."

Sol tilted his head, giving you a look that said he didn’t believe you for a second. "Yeah, sure. You’re really great at handling things on your own."

You shot him a glare, but deep down, he was right.

You had been trying to handle it all by yourself, trying to keep everything together, but now it felt like it was slipping through your fingers, like no matter how much you fought, it wasn’t enough.

"I don’t know what to do, Sol." The words left you before you could stop them, the exhaustion in your voice more apparent than you wanted it to be.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, letting the silence fill the space between you. Then, he took a step closer, his eyes softening, his usual arrogance gone. "I know you don’t. But you don’t have to figure it out by yourself."

You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell him to leave. But something in his voice—something in the way he was looking at you—stopped you.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a small glimmer of something that wasn’t rage or frustration. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was just the fact that someone, anyone, was standing there with you, not turning their back.

“All right,” you muttered, voice low, still shaky, but more resolute than before. "Help me. But we do this on my terms."

You sat there, phone pressed against your ear, trying to ignore the fact that your heart was hammering in your chest. Sol sat beside you, arms crossed, watching you with a look that was equal parts concern and curiosity.

You could feel his presence, like a weight behind you, but right now, you needed to focus.

You had to do something—anything—to reclaim control of the narrative. So, you borrowed his phone. You didn’t want to make this call, but you had already told yourself it was too late to back out.

The number had come from one of the girls who’d been all too eager to share Abel’s contact when they found out what was being said about you. It was all too easy—far too easy—and that made it all the more unsettling.

You took a breath, your fingers slightly trembling as you dialed the number.

Ring… ring… ring…

The phone in your hand felt heavier with each second.

"Hello?" Abel’s voice broke through the static, and you straightened, your heart jumping in your throat as if the sound of his voice was a physical blow.

"Hi, Abel," you said, your voice soft but steady. You weren’t sure if it was the shock or the fact that you were doing this that made your voice sound even more controlled than you felt. "This is me. You know, the girl you and Cain were talking about."

You could practically hear his smirk through the phone as he laughed, the arrogant bastard. "Oh, so it’s you. What’s up?"

You paused, trying to gather your thoughts, knowing this was a game you were playing, but you didn’t quite know the rules. "I, uh, heard about what you said on those social media apps," you started, swallowing the lump in your throat. "

The... rumors. The ones about me. It’s not true, by the way, but, uh..." You faltered, but only for a moment. "I guess I’m kind of into it. It’s... kind of a fantasy of mine. Two guys, you know?"

The words felt like they were burning on the tip of your tongue, but you pushed them out anyway, watching Sol as he stood there, tense, his lips pressed into a thin line. You could feel him tense as you spoke, his arms crossing tighter, his eyes narrowing.

“Wait, so you’re saying you’re into it?” Abel’s voice came through, mocking. "Guess I didn’t think you’d be this easy." His words made you sick, but you bit your tongue, holding it together.

"Yeah, I’m into it," you said again, your voice quieter now, but the lie was out there. "You and Cain. So, is that something you want to make happen? Or was it just talk?"

Sol shifted behind you, stepping closer, but his arms didn’t reach for you. He didn’t touch you, not yet. You could feel the tension, the strain in his muscles, but you had already committed to this. His hands were at his sides, fingers flexing as if wanting to grab you but also knowing he couldn’t interfere.

On the phone, Abel’s laugh was low and smug. "I like the way you think. I knew you were different from the rest of those girls." He continues, “So, when’s this gonna happen?" Abel asked, clearly already thinking about his next move.

You took another breath, steadying yourself. "In the woods behind campus," you said, making sure your voice was clear. "Dawn. Don’t forget Cain."

There was a pause on the line. It lasted too long, long enough for you to wonder if you’d lost him, but then Abel’s voice returned, smooth as ever. "All right. Dawn. I’ll be there."

You hung up the phone before he could say anything else before you heard his usual mocking laughter. The second the line went dead, you threw Sol’s phone onto the bed, not even looking at him as you sat there, hands shaking slightly.

He moves forward, his voice low. "What the hell was that?"

You ignored him, crossing your legs crossed, your head spinning. Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, none of them making any sense. You needed to think, to figure out what the hell you were doing, but the pressure was suffocating. You couldn't back out now, not with everything on the line, but you also couldn’t go through with it.

It was a mess, a disaster, and the worst part was, you had no idea how to clean it up.

Sol sat there, watching you, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the tension in the room. He was waiting for you to say something, anything, but all you could do was stare at your hands, clenched in your lap. The phone call was still fresh in your mind, Abel’s smug voice echoing in your ears.

You couldn’t believe you had just made that call. You’d thrown yourself into a situation you didn’t fully understand, and now it was too late to undo it.

"Hold on a sec," you muttered, your voice shaky as you crossed your legs tighter, hoping that physical discomfort might distract you from the chaos in your mind.

Sol, sensing the urgency, nodded but couldn’t help himself from speaking up. "Are you done yet?"

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling up inside you. "No. Shut up. Hold on."

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. You could hear his breathing, steady but loud in the silence that followed, like he was trying to figure you out. You didn't want him to figure you out. Not now. Not with everything crashing down around you.

"You know," Sol started again, voice careful, almost hesitant.

"I have an idea."

You immediately shot him a look. "I said, shut up," you snapped, trying to focus, trying to ignore the growing panic in your chest. "Just... hold on, okay?"

He was quiet for a second, probably biting back whatever retort he had, but then his voice came again a little sharper this time. "I don’t like it when you tell me to shut up, you know."

You didn’t want to hear it. Not now.

Not when your entire world felt like it was crumbling in on you. "Well, I don’t give a fuck right now, Sol," you growled. "Okay? Just shut the hell up and let me think."

Sol’s eyes softened then, but there was still a hardness in them. He wasn’t buying it anymore. "Fine," he said, stepping back, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. "But I’m here if you need me."

You heard the unspoken question in his voice—what the hell is going on with you?

But you didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t even know what was happening anymore.

The tears came then, slowly at first, one slipping down your cheek, then another, until they were falling freely, soaking the sleeves of your hoodie. You buried your face in your hands, your body trembling. You couldn’t stop.

You couldn’t think. You were just... overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed by everything—by the lies, by the rumors, by your own stupid decisions.

This was all your fault. You'd fucked up.

You’d gotten so lost in the need to take control that you didn’t stop to think about the consequences. And now you were stuck in a nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from.

Sol didn’t say anything for a while. He just stood there, watching you with a mixture of frustration and concern. He wasn’t the type to offer comforting words, but you could feel his presence, steady and unwavering behind you.

But you couldn’t even look at him.

You were too ashamed. Too angry at yourself.

"You really fucked yourself over, didn’t you?" Sol said quietly after a while, his voice low, almost like he was talking to himself. "All this for what? To get back at them? To prove something?"

You didn't respond. You couldn’t.

The weight of everything was crushing you. Your mind felt like it was constantly spiraling, a mess of self-loathing and regret that you couldn't escape, no matter how hard you tried. The guilt gnawed at you, relentless and suffocating, leaving you with nothing but frustration and confusion.

"I told you not to do this," Sol's voice broke through your thoughts, softer now but still thick with frustration. "I knew this was a bad idea, but you—" He paused as if deciding not to push you further. You could almost hear him biting back his words, but it was too late.

You spun around to face him, the anger and tension finally breaking free. "Just fuck off, okay?!" you snapped, the words sharp and laced with all the bottled-up emotion you hadn't let out yet.

"You don't listen to me. Maybe quiet the box dye, it’s fucking your brain up." You couldn’t hold back anymore. “You don’t get it, okay? You don’t get what it’s like to feel like you have no control. Like everyone is just… talking about you, deciding who you are and what you’ve done. I didn’t want this, Sol. I didn’t want to get caught up in this shit, but here I am!"

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Sol just stood there, staring at you, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his red-orange eyes—something that made you hesitate, made your anger fizzle out for a split second. It was like a flicker of something deep, something that made you pause, unsure of what to do with it.

“Oh shit…” you mumbled, the weight of the words you’d just thrown at him hitting you harder than you expected.

Sol let out a breath, his tone quieter now. "Look, I’m sorry for not respecting your boundaries," he said, his voice soft, calm, but carrying that underlying sincerity you never expected from him. "And I promise it won’t happen again. You’re not alone in this." He stepped forward slightly, his eyes steady on yours.

"I’m here, whether you want me to be or not."

You didn’t know how to respond. His words were unexpected, but there was something so honest in them, something that made your stomach twist. You didn’t even know if you could trust yourself to speak. His actions, his words, they didn’t make sense to you right now. You didn’t even understand what he was doing or what he wanted, but somehow, you knew he meant it.

“What…?” you muttered, still not sure if you were hearing him right. You frowned as Sol gave you a half-pitying look like he knew something you didn’t. "I was totally in the wrong, pushing you like that…” He said it with an almost apologetic tone, but before you could reply, he suddenly moved forward and hugged you.

You froze, caught off guard by the sudden closeness, his face pressing into your chest. His arms wrapped around you in a way that felt far too familiar, far too intimate, and for a moment, everything hit you like a wave.

His words, his actions—none of it made sense. Sure, he always let you push him around, always let you fuck him whenever you needed to blow off steam.

But this? This was different.

You’d never seen him act like this, not in the way that felt… obsessive. So why, then, did it all feel so wrong and yet, so right at the same time?

His voice came muffled from your chest. “You had every right to say that to me…” His words were softer now, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected from him.

You shifted awkwardly, still thrown off by the way he was holding you. "Well…" you mumbled, still trying to process everything, your words coming out uneven. "As long as you’re sorry, you asshole."

“I know I’m an asshole,” Sol replied with a sigh, a little smile tugging at his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something different there, something that made the space between you feel... softer, in a way.

For a moment, you both just sat there, the silence settling in, only the sound of your shaky breaths filling the room. Sol held you, letting you calm down, and slowly, you felt your body relax into him, even if you were still trying to make sense of everything.

His warmth was a strange comfort, and as he kept you in his arms, you couldn’t ignore the sense of safety that washed over you despite how lost and confused you still felt inside.

You pulled away just enough to wipe the tears from your face, your hands trembling slightly as you did. You let out a shaky breath and pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them.

"I... I fucked up, Sol," you muttered, the words bitter on your tongue. It felt like you were admitting to something too big for you to truly grasp. "I thought I could control it, but now I’m just... stuck. And I don’t know how to fix it."

Sol didn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes studying you, not offering any immediate solution, but his presence felt reassuring. He was there, steady, not pushing, not trying to fix it for you, just letting you be. His words finally came, quiet and unassuming.

"I’ll help you figure it out," he said softly, and for once, it didn’t feel like a hollow promise. It felt like something he meant.

You didn’t push him away. For once, you didn’t feel the need to. Maybe it was because, deep down, you knew there was no easy way out of this anymore. Again, you were in too deep. The mess you’d created wasn’t something that could be cleaned up overnight. But maybe, just maybe, with him there, it wouldn’t be so bad.

But still, a part of you knew—there was no going back. Not now. Not after everything that had already been set in motion. The weight of it pressed into your chest like a vice, but all you could do was watch as Sol, ever reckless, ever smug, sat there with a gun in his lap like it was just another piece of the game you were playing.

You stared at him, then at the gun, then back at him.

You were deadass over it.

"Sol." Your voice came out flat, caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion. "You can’t be serious."

That smirk didn’t waver. If anything, it deepened, that usual glint of mischief in his eyes sharpening into something unreadable. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers ghosting over the grip of the gun.

"Dead serious."

A sigh pushed past your lips, heavy with frustration. You dragged a hand through your hair, nails digging into your scalp for a brief moment, like maybe if you pressed hard enough, you could force your brain to make sense of this.

"Our Bonnie and Clyde days are over," you muttered, the words coming out bitter like they left a bad taste in your mouth. "We already took care of the bitch-ass leader…" The unspoken part of that sentence hung in the air between you.

Because you know it was him that caused that.

Sol didn’t even try to defend himself. He just shrugged, casual as ever, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t confirmed, but he wasn’t denying it either. He never did.

That was the thing about Sol—he always left just enough room for doubt. Just enough space for you to wonder whether you were paranoid or if he was just that good at covering his tracks.

You exhaled sharply, jaw tightening, and reached forward, taking the gun from him with careful hands. You weren’t afraid of it—not really—but something about the way it felt in your grasp made your stomach turn. Cold metal, heavier than you expected.

You moved to stand from your bed, trying to piece together just how insane this whole thing had become, but before you could even get your feet off the mattress, Sol’s fingers wrapped around your wrist.

His grip was firm but not forceful—just enough to make you stop.

"Wait a sec," Sol said, his voice shifting into something unreadable, something that made you pause. His fingers tapped idly against the gunmetal, his eyes flicking toward you with a glint of amusement. "Do you know German?"

You blinked, thrown off. "What?"

His grin widened like he was enjoying some inside joke only he understood. "Right, right," he mused, almost like he was talking more to himself than to you. "This uni has all the majors except computer science and engineering. And they force you to take a language to ‘keep the culture alive.’ But you—" He pointed lazily at you. "You tested out of your requirements, didn’t you?"

Your confusion deepened, a chill creeping up your spine. "Yes—?"

How the fuck does he even know that?

Sol reached into his bag again, rummaging for a second before pulling out a handful of small, polished bullets. He let them clatter onto the bedspread between you both, the dim light catching on the brass casings.

"Echt Luger rounds," he said, the German words rolling off his tongue with casual precision. His fingers traced one idly, spinning it between his thumb and forefinger.

You narrowed your eyes. "WWII-era. Scored them as a decorative piece—because you know—”

"You’re a dirtbag. Emo and all." You cut him off, deadpan.

Sol looked up, caught off guard for a fraction of a second. "Really?"

You just nodded. "Yes."

He rolled his eyes but let it slide, too preoccupied with whatever he was scheming. "Anyway…" He lifted one of the bullets again, twirling it lightly. "They’re basically like tranquilizers. Just enough force to break the skin, draw some blood, but no real damage. No organ penetration, no fatal wounds—just enough to make it look like a kill shot."

Your brows furrowed as you studied the rounds, turning one over between your fingers. It was unsettling how something so small could carry so much weight in the right hands.

"So…" you started, tilting your head slightly, arms crossing. "It looks like someone’s been shot and killed, but really, they’re just unconscious and bleeding?"

Sol nodded, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Exactly. When we shoot Abel and Cain, it'll look like they shot each other. By the time they wake up? They’ll be the laughingstock of the whole damn campus. Possibly even kicked out of school. Not to mention—" he leaned in slightly, smirking, "—no one’s gonna fuck with you after this."

He wasn’t wrong. It was an airtight setup. Humiliation, expulsion, and a clear message to the entire school—don’t cross you two. But there was still a piece missing.

"The note’s the punchline. How’d that turn out?" Sol asked, nodding toward your bag.

You didn’t answer right away, instead reaching for your bookbag and yanking it onto the bed. From inside, you pulled out one of Abel’s old papers, along with a separate sheet covered in your scrawled handwriting.

"First, tell me the similarity isn’t incredible," you said, placing them side by side.

Sol leaned in, scanning the papers with a slow grin creeping across his face. "Shit." He exhaled, shaking his head. "It’s almost perfect. Just make sure to rewrite it clean—don’t leave any fingerprints on the final note."

You nodded, already mentally noting the steps. "Okay…"

Sol’s gaze flicked to you, suddenly skeptical. "Also, how the hell did you even get his paper?"

You met his stare, deadpan. "None of your business."

He chuckled under his breath but didn’t push. Instead, he gestured toward the note, waiting for you to explain.

"Suicide notes have to be believable," you began, fingers drumming against the paper. "So I made it all dramatic—Abel and Cain, forced to live a lie, unable to reveal their forbidden love because they’re expected to be the ultimate straight heartthrobs." You read a few lines aloud in an overly serious tone before side-eyeing Sol.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "That’s fucking ridiculous."

"That’s the point," you shot back. "The note is just enough to make people speculate, but not enough for anyone to outright disprove it."

Sol leaned back against the bedpost, nodding in approval. "Dumb it down a bit, make it digestible for the idiots, and we’re golden."

You agreed, already reaching for a fresh sheet of paper.

"Oh," he added, reaching into his bag once more. "Almost forgot—brought some props to sell the scene."

You raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a handful of small, folded love notes, a cheap-looking heart-shaped locket, and a half-empty pack of cigarettes.

“The evidence,” he smirked. “Gotta hammer it in."

You stared at him, then at the items, a slow exhale pushing past your lips. "You’re fucking insane."

His smirk only widened, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. "And you love it."

Do you?

Yeah, Sol is a bit weird sometimes—lowkey emo scary tall dude—but still, he cares about you. Maybe in a fucked-up, possessive way, but caring nonetheless. The kind of care that made your chest tighten, made you wonder if you should be wary of it or melt into it.

You sighed, the tension between you thick and electric, before shifting onto your knees. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as his hands instinctively settled at your hips, gripping you like he had no intention of letting go.

His gaze burned into yours, intense and unreadable, but beneath the chaos of his mind, there was something raw there—something unspoken.

Without a word, he took your hand in his, flipping it over and pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the inside of your wrist. His lips were warm against your skin, his breath featherlight, but the way his grip tightened on you sent a shiver crawling down your spine.

Then he moved.

Before you could fully process it, Sol had you pinned beneath him, his body pressing you into the mattress as his mouth crashed onto yours. The kiss was deep, consuming—desperate. His fingers dug into your hips as he kissed you like he needed it, like he was starving for you.

And god, he was.

Every time he touched you, it was like he was trying to memorize the feeling, like he was terrified you’d slip away.

His lips left yours only to trail lower, dragging along your jaw before settling at your neck. He inhaled, and fuck—rosemary. You always smelled like fresh rosemary. He didn’t know why it drove him insane, but it did. His teeth grazed your skin, and then—bite.

A sharp gasp slipped from your lips, and god, he fucking loved that sound. That lovely, breathy noise that only he could pull from you. His tongue flicked over the fresh mark before he bit again, harder this time, feeling you squirm beneath him.

Fuck.

Every little sound you made, every breathy exhale, every shiver that ran through you because of him—it was all his doing.

And he was going to make damn sure you never forgot that.

The night blurred into something feverish, something tangled in sheets and desperate hands. Sol made sure to fuck your brains out, so deep, so rough, so unbearably good that your nails raked down his back, leaving angry red scratches in their wake. He didn’t care—if anything, he welcomed the sting, craved the proof of it, and reveled in the way your body clung to his like it was made to take him.

Your moans, the way you whimpered his name, the way you fucking trembled under him—it was enough to send him over the edge, enough to make him lose himself in you entirely.

And when it was over, when your body finally went limp beneath him, exhausted and spent, Sol didn’t move. He stayed pressed against you, chest rising and falling in sync with yours, fingers still gripping your thighs like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Not yet.

Not ever.

But sleep? Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

Sol lay awake long after you’d knocked out, your breaths slow and even, face buried in the pillows. He couldn’t help it—he just watched you. So soundly, so peacefully… so pretty. All the words really.

The bruises you’d left on him—teeth marks at his collarbone, nail marks at his ribs—they ached, but he didn’t mind. So what if it looked like you were just using him for his body? If that’s what you wanted, that’s what he’d give. He didn’t care.

Not when he got to have you like this, not when you were his.

With a quiet sigh, Sol finally sat up, pushing off the sheets and heading to your bathroom. The dim light flickered on, casting sharp angles over his tired face as he leaned against the sink, exhaling slowly. His red-orange eyes traced the marks you left on him in the mirror, fingers brushing over the fresh scratches down his back, his sides.

Red. Deep. Yours.

Then, his gaze dropped to his hand.

The rosemary necklace—your necklace—dangling from his fingers.

For a moment, he just stared at it, rolling the small pendant between his fingertips. His grip tightened, then loosened. Then, with slow deliberation, he brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the cool metal. His eyes fluttered shut.

You’d need it.

He’d need it.

Because you, this, everything—it was in God’s hands now.

And God help anyone who tried to take you away from him.

It wasn’t long before dawn came in. The night air was thick, clinging to your skin like a second layer, the scent of damp earth and pine filling your lungs. You stood in the woods, tired but ready, eyes sharp despite the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Your fingers flexed against the cool metal of the gun in your hands before you tucked it behind your back, pressing it firmly against your spine.

Are you ready for this?

A voice snapped you from your thoughts. "Hey, babe. You really here?"

You turned slowly, masking every bit of tension behind something effortless—something playful.

Abel and Cain. Right on time.

"Hey," you greeted, lips curling into a teasing smirk. "Glad you could make it."

They grinned, stepping closer, oblivious to the tension humming beneath your skin. The three of you stood there for a moment, suspended in the night, the setup almost awkward in its anticipation.

Then Cain huffed, running a hand through his hair. "So… what now? Should I whip it out?"

You bit back a laugh, playing along with ease. "Yeah, go ahead. Right here. Let’s see what you’re working with."

Cain smirked, his posture relaxed, a hint of cockiness lacing his stance. Abel, beside him, shook his head, lips tugging into something between amusement and exasperation.

Men. Always so easy.

"So, what now?" Abel drawled, brow arching as he sized you up. "You want us to just—take our clothes off? Right in front of you?"

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, letting the silence stretch just long enough for anticipation to settle in.

Then, with slow deliberation, you nodded. "Mhm. Every last piece."

They hesitated, just for a beat, before exchanging glances. But it wasn’t hesitation out of uncertainty—it was intrigue. A silent, unspoken challenge.

How far would you go?

Cain chuckled first, his fingers already moving to his belt, metal clinking softly as he loosened it. "All right," he muttered, clearly unbothered, the smugness never leaving his voice. "You’re the boss."

Abel followed suit, reaching for the hem of his hoodie before tugging it over his head in one swift motion. The dim light caught on the sharp lines of his muscles, his toned frame flexing slightly in the cool air.

Jesus fucking Christ. You hadn’t expected them to be this built. At least they had the decency to keep their boxers on.You smirked, tilting your head as if admiring your work. Too easy.

"Abel, stand to the right, in front of me. Cain, to the left." They obeyed without question, their movements fluid, eager to see where this was going. The way they adjusted their stances, the way their eyes never left yours—it was almost laughable how predictable they were.

Abel smirked as he looked you over, a knowing glint in his gaze. "And what about you?" he asked, voice dipping into something lower, something teasing. "You gonna strip for us too? Or just watching?"

Your lips curled into a slow grin, eyes gleaming as you stepped closer, letting your presence pull them in further.

Closer. Just a little more.

"Oh, I’m definitely getting undressed," you murmured, watching how their eyes trailed you. "But I want you two to do it for me." You let the words linger, letting them feel the weight of it before adding, voice smooth as silk—

"Rip my clothes right off."

Their expressions flickered—excitement, amusement, interest twisting into something sharper. Their grins widened, their bodies tensed in anticipation. They barely spared each other a glance before shifting forward, ready to take the bait.

Right where you wanted them.

And just like that—the pieces fell into place.

The woods swallowed every sound except the rustling of leaves under your feet and the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing. You could hear the faint chirping of crickets, and the occasional distant hoot of an owl, but in this clearing, nothing else moved—except for the three of you.

Abel and Cain stood before you, their smirks widening, the hunger in their eyes unmistakable.

Like lions ready to pounce.

You lifted your hands slightly, fingers curling, drawing them in. "All right, boys," you murmured, voice dropping into something sultry, teasing. "On three."

They nodded, anticipation thrumming between them.

"One."

Their muscles tensed, Abel rolling his shoulders, Cain shifting his weight.

"Two."

A flicker of something in their eyes—excitement, impatience.

They were ready.

"Three."

The word barely left your lips before the night erupted.

CRACK.

Two gunshots shattered the fragile quiet, ringing through the trees like the voice of God itself. The impact was immediate. Abel’s smirk melted into pure shock as his body jerked, violently convulsing as the bullet struck home—right in the neck, just a breath away from his heart.

A sick, wet gurgle bubbled up from his throat, eyes wide and uncomprehending as his knees buckled beneath him.

Then—dead weight. The forest floor held him now.

Cain hesitated, just for a heartbeat, before instincts overrode whatever stupidity had kept him standing. “Shit!” he muttered, his breath catching before his feet moved.

He ran.

And you? You laughed.

A sharp, breathless burst of amusement tore through you, so abrupt and visceral that you had to clamp a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sheer delight curling through your ribs. God, that was good.

Abel—pass out.

Cain—running like a scared little bitch he was.

You doubled over slightly, shoulders shaking. "Oh my god—" you wheezed between giggles, eyes flicking from Cain’s retreating figure back to Abel’s crumpled body.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Sol, who appeared from behind the tree, however, was not entertained. His sigh cut through the night like a blade, dark eyes narrowing in unmistakable irritation. "Did you miss him completely or something?" His voice carried over to you, exasperation curling around every syllable.

You tilted your head at him, still grinning beneath your fingers, breathless from laughter. "Yeah, but—" Another laugh bubbled up as you pointed at the direction Cain ran in. "Don’t worry, it was worth it just to see the look—"

"Don't move, pumpkin," Sol snapped, already turning away, his patience thin. "I’ll get him back."

He didn’t wait for your reply. His long, steady strides carried him into the trees, his dark figure melting into the shadows of the forest as if he belonged there. The gun in his hand—so much bigger than yours—glinted under the pale light filtering through the canopy, black and menacing.

With a sharp click, he cocked it.

And then—gone. Just like that.

The woods swallowed him whole, leaving you alone in the quiet aftermath, your laughter still lingering like a ghost in the cold air.

The silence wrapped around you. The wind slithered through the trees, rustling the leaves with ghostly fingers, whispering secrets you couldn’t quite catch. Somewhere in the distance, an morning dove called out—a slow, drawn-out sound that sent an eerie shiver down your spine.

You exhaled, long and steady, but the cold still settled deep into your bones. The adrenaline that had once thrummed in your veins, hot and electric, was fading now—leaving behind something heavier. Something quieter.

Your arms folded around yourself, a subconscious attempt at warmth.

And then—your gaze dropped.

Abel.

He lay sprawled on the forest floor, motionless, starkly contrasting to the wild energy that had filled the space just moments ago. His body was unnaturally still, limbs twisted where they had fallen, his mouth slightly parted as if caught mid-breath. The pool of blood beneath him was thick, seeping into the earth, dark and viscous under the slivers of moonlight breaking through the canopy.

It looked… too dark.

Your fingers twitched.

His chest. Was it rising?

Your breath caught in your throat. You swore—just for a second—there had been a flicker of movement. A barely-there shift in his ribs, a whisper of breath that shouldn’t exist.

No. That wasn’t possible.

Sol didn’t lie to you. Right?

Your fingers curled, nails pressing into your palms. Sol knew what he was doing. He never missed. And yet…

A sudden gust of wind swept through the trees, rustling Abel’s blood-matted hair. You flinched.

The forest was alive with motion—branches snapping, leaves rustling, heavy footfalls pounding against the earth. The adrenaline that had begun to fade roared back to life as you listened, heart thrumming in your ears.

Oh… no.

You heard Sol from afar, “Fuckin’—hold still, asshole!” His voice rang out through the trees, frustration sharp like a knife’s edge. Cain was running like his life depended on it—because it did. His breath came ragged, his legs burning as he wove through the undergrowth, trying to lose Sol in the tangle of trees.

But Sol was faster, relentless, his boots striking the dirt with the precision of a hunter closing in on his prey.

They circled back—Cain, desperate, Sol, determined.

And then—you.

Kneeling beside Abel’s body, frozen, watching. Cain burst into view first, panic flashing across his face as his gaze locked onto you. He skidded slightly, trying to correct his path, but the split-second hesitation cost him.

CRACK.

A gunshot ripped through the air once more. Sol had fired his gun, but the bullet barely grazed Cain’s shoulder. A clean shot was impossible—he was still moving too fast.

"Shoot!" Sol’s voice cut through the chaos, raw, commanding. His eyes snapped to yours, burning with urgency. “Fucking shoot!”

Your breath stuttered, but your fingers didn’t.

BANG.

Your gun kicked back, the force jolting up your arm, but your aim was true. The silver bullet struck Cain square in the chest. He let out a strangled sound—something between a gasp and a whimper—before his body collapsed to the ground with a dull, lifeless thud.

Everything went still. Your hands were trembling.

What have you done…?

Sol exhaled a sharp, satisfied breath. “Thank fucking god.” He strode over, as composed as ever, as if this were just another night.

You barely registered his words, your eyes locked onto Cain’s unmoving form. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and spreading, just like Abel’s.

Sol crouched beside the body, reaching for his gun. He didn’t hesitate. With practiced ease, he placed it in Cain’s limp hand, curling his fingers around the grip.

Then he turned to you, holding out his palm expectantly.

You stared at him.

His eyes met yours, unwavering. "Your gun, pumpkin."

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the silver weapon still warm in your grasp.

Sol’s voice softened—just slightly.

A reminder. A reassurance. A warning.

"They shot each other, remember?"

The cold air bit at your skin, every inhale sharp, laced with the scent of damp earth and blood. Your pulse thundered a wild rhythm that refused to settle.

The weight of what you had just done clung to you like a second skin—Cain’s body hitting the ground, the way Abel’s hand now gripped the gun Sol had placed there, the sickening realization of what you had done.

But there was no time to wait. Silly silly…

Then—sirens. Distant but growing louder.

Your head snapped up, breath hitching. Red and blue lights flashing quick beyond the tree line, flashes of color bleeding through the dim lighting. A voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. "We got something!" Panic shot through you like ice in your veins.

Sol moved before you could. With one smooth motion, he grabbed you—arms locked firm around your waist, hoisting you up before you could protest. "Shit—hold on, pumpkin."

And then he ran.

Sol moved with purpose, every footstep controlled, every breath steady. It should have been impossible—how quickly he reacted, how effortlessly he carried you through the trees. He knew these woods. The paths, the turns, the dips in the earth. As if he’d studied them, traced every possible escape route long before this night.

Was it always supposed to be like this?

The voices behind you faded into the distance, but they were still there—too close. The snap of twigs, the rustling of disturbed underbrush.

They were searching for you two.

Sol didn’t slow down nor didn’t hesitate. Even as the trees thinned and the open road came into view, he kept moving, his grip unwavering, his body a shield between you and whatever threat lurked behind.

And then—you saw it.

The car you guys took, just parked just off the side of the road. Sol reached it in seconds, yanking the door open with one hand, and setting you down with the other. His movements were fluid, and practiced.

Again, like he’d done this before.

"Get in." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—something sharp, something unreadable.

You hesitated, only for a second. Your hands trembled as you slid into the passenger seat, fingers gripping the edge of your clothes. The adrenaline was wearing off now, the weight of what had just happened settling in.

Sol slammed the door shut behind him, “Make out with me.” he somewhat ordered.

Your head snapped toward him, breath still uneven. “What?”

Sol had already pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere into the backseat. For the first time since the gunshot rang out, you looked at him—really looked at him. Like you don’t mean his well built body that you ever so tempted to kiss.

His jaw was tight, his brows furrowed in focus. But beneath that… there was something else. Something cold.

No fear.

No guilt.

Something far more dangerous. Satisfaction.

And that terrified you.

“Make out with me,” he repeated, reaching for you, hands already settling against your thighs. His grip was firm—assured.

Your pulse stuttered, confusion mixing with the lingering adrenaline in your veins. “Sol, this isn’t—”

“They’re coming,” he murmured, voice steady but low. “And if they see two kids sucking face instead of suspects covered in gunpowder, they won’t think twice about letting us go.”

The realization struck you like ice water.

Your stomach twisted, but you nodded.

Before you could overthink it, his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was deep, consuming. His body pressed against yours, hands sliding up your waist, heat radiating between you in the confined space. His breath was warm, lips urgent against yours, but even as he kissed you—whispering how much he loved you between every stolen gasp—something felt… off.

Like you weren’t being kissed. Like you were being swallowed.

Like this was never about love—only survival.

You let it happen anyway.

You didn’t resist when he shifted, pulling you closer, his hoodie long forgotten as your fingers tangled in his hair. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the way his touch demanded you be his—but you felt like you were losing yourself.

Then—a knock on the window.

Your entire body went rigid.

Sol moved before you could react, his arms pulling his hoodie over you, shielding you from view before his head turned, eyes flicking toward the window. The cop stood there, face already turning red as he coughed into his fist, looking anywhere but at the two of you. Sol took his time rolling the window down, his expression unreadable. “Yes?”

The officer cleared his throat, still avoiding eye contact. “Uh—gunshots were reported in the area. Just need you guys to clear out, all right?”

Sol barely blinked. “Yeah. Sure.”

The officer nodded stiffly, clearly eager to leave, but just as he turned away, his radio crackled to life. “Status update. What’s going on down there?”

“Nothing,” the cop responded quickly, walking back into the woods. “Just some young adults getting carried away. The area’s clear.” The second the officer disappeared, Sol exhaled, his body finally relaxing against the seat.

You barely moved. You could still hear your pulse in your ears.

Sol glanced at you from the driver’s seat, something smug flickering behind his eyes. He reached over, running a hand down your thigh—almost reassuring, almost possessive.

“See?” he murmured. “Told you I got you.”

You forced yourself to swallow, gripping his hoodie tighter around your body.

You weren’t sure if that was meant to make you feel better.

Your hands trembled as you looked down at them, barely recognizing the fingers, the skin, and the way they clenched into fists like they belonged to someone else. The phantom weight of the gun still pressed against your palm, and the recoil still echoed in your bones.

“Take me home,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sol’s hands tightened on the wheel, his knuckles flexing before he turned to you. “Pumpkin…” His voice was low, coaxing, but you felt the shift—the tension rolling off him, the way he wasn’t going to let you just leave this moment behind.

You turned your face away, but he didn’t let you go.

His hands found you, firm and insistent. He pulled you into his lap with an effortless motion, trapping you there, his grip pressing against your face, forcing you to look at him. His skin was fever-warm, his fingers splayed against your jaw as he tilted your head up.

And then—he saw himself.

Tears streaked your cheeks, glistening against your skin. Your lips parted, breath hitching, but Sol’s grip didn’t loosen.

Your chest burned. Your body shook.

And then it snapped.

“WE KILLED THEM.” Your voice cracked, raw, and unfiltered. “We fucking killed Abel and Cain, Sol!”

He didn’t flinch.

You shoved at his chest, but he held you still. “And you—” Your breath hitched as a new wave of realization struck you like a gunshot to the ribs. “You tricked me once again, unaware.”

Sol’s eyes flickered.

Your fingers curled around his wrists, digging in.

“At the start, you switched my drink,” you spat, voice trembling with fury. “You—fucking—switched my hangover drink for BLUE CLEANER.” Your voice cracked again, but you didn’t care. “You fucking LIED to me. And now—after everything—all you want to do is make out with me?”

Sol exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. “Yes.”

“ECHT LUGER BULLETS, SOL.” Your breath hitched as the weight of your own words crushed down on you.

Sol tilted his head, studying you, his expression unreadable. But then—his eyes softened, and he smiled, just barely. “Look,” he murmured, voice almost affectionate, too calm. “You believed it because you wanted to believe it.”

His fingers brushed over your cheek, catching the tears before they could fall further. “Deep down, pumpkin, you wanted to kill your bitch-ass leader.” His voice dipped, smooth, persuasive.

“You wanted Abel and Cain dead.”

You snapped. “I DIDN’T WANT ANYONE TO DIE!” You pushed against his chest, your heart hammering against your ribs, breath coming too fast, too sharp. “I just—I just wanted to be free. I just wanted to stop feeling like I was constantly being judged—”

Sol clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Everywhere you go,” he murmured, “there are gonna be judgmental people.”

You glared at him, but the fire in your chest—rage, grief, something deeper, something unspoken—twisted into something unrecognizable. It burned, spreading through your ribs like a sickness, clawing at your throat.

And then—your breath hitched.

Because he was smiling.

Not in amusement. Not in triumph. But in something far worse.

His red-orange eyes gleamed, the heart-shaped pupils wide, blown out with something dangerous, something devoted. It wasn’t quite love, wasn’t quite insanity, but something in between.

Something unshakable.

His fingers brushed against your throat, slow, deliberate. A soft touch—contrasting the brutal weight of his presence. Then, a curl.His knuckles dragged over your pulse, feeling it race beneath your skin. Then, his fingers twisted into your rosemary necklace, tugging.

Not enough to hurt.

Not enough to choke.

Just enough to pull you forward, to leave you breathless, to let his warmth settle against your lips. His breath, hot and steady, ghosted over your skin.

“Our love,” he whispered, voice silk and steel, “is God, after all.”

Your whole body went still. The words wrapped around you like chains, thick, heavy—drowning you. The air between you suffocated. The weight of his devotion pressed down, crushing, inescapable.

There was no running. No fighting.

Not anymore.

Your hands—your hands.

The same hands you once swore to keep clean, the same hands that once trembled in prayer, the same hands that clutched at salvation—

Tainted. Drenched. Bloody.

Sol moved before you could think before you could stop him. His lips crashed against yours, demanding, consuming—claiming.

There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in his movements. He kissed you with purpose, with finality, like sealing a deal that had long been written in blood.

His hands gripped you, firm, one curling into your hair, the other splaying against the small of your back, pressing you against him. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, coaxing a gasp, and he took it, and swallowed it like he needed it to breathe. Like you were his oxygen, his altar, his sacrament.

You didn’t move.

You let him.

Because at the end of the day—

This was your fault.

You had dragged yourself into this hell, into his hands, into his arms. The weight of it all pressed against your skin like a brand, burning, permanent. There was no undoing it. No redemption. No salvation.

You and Sol were tied together by God.

A twisted, cruel god—one that had abandoned you the moment you took that first step into damnation.

Once, you had been an angel.

A believer.

The rosary beads dug into your palm, their familiar ridges offering no comfort now—not when his heat surrounded you, not when his hands knew your body better than prayer ever had. You had whispered Ave Marias in the dark, trembling fingers clutching at faith like a lifeline.

But faith was a fragile thing, and the devil—Sol was real.

His breath was hot against your throat, his lips tracing the frantic pulse beneath your skin as if savoring the way your heart raced for him.

Only for him.

The car was too small, the world outside too distant. There was only this: the weight of his cock deep inside you, the sinful roll of his hips dragging a broken sound from your lips.

"Look at you," he murmured, "All those pretty prayers, and yet here you are—riding the devil himself."

You should have recoiled.

Should have crossed yourself and begged for forgiveness.

Instead, you arched into his touch, his name a plea on your tongue.

His fingers tightened on your hips, guiding you, using you, his groan vibrating against your mouth as you took him deeper. The rosary tangled between your joined hands, the sacred and the profane colliding—just like the two of you.

"Fuck," he hissed, teeth grazing your jaw, his breath hot, ragged. His hands dug into your hips, possessive, unrelenting. "Still so tight. Still fighting it."

But you weren’t fighting.

Not anymore.

Every slow, deliberate drag of him inside you unraveled another thread of your resolve, another carefully constructed lie you’d told yourself.

That you were strong. That you were good.

That you could walk away from this. From him.

Sol’s laugh was soft, triumphant, curling against your skin as your thighs trembled around him. His grip tightened—possessive, knowing. "There it is," he purred, swallowing the moan you couldn’t bite back, lips crashing against yours in something more than hunger. More than needed.

It was devotion.

And God help you—so were you.

Because what was the point of fighting anymore?

You tried. At least, you told yourself you did. A half-hearted rebellion as you arched against him as if the space between you would bring back something you had already lost.

But Sol was faster. Stronger. His hands caught you—iron and unyielding. "Don't run from me, pumpkin..." he growled, dragging you back into him.

You gasped the stretch burning, the pleasure a sharp edge that bordered on pain. Your nails dug into his shoulders, desperate, as if you could claw your way free. As if you hadn’t already made your choice.

But your body betrayed you.

Betrayed you in how it clenched around him, pulled him deeper, and welcomed the very thing that had ruined you. His laugh was low, smug. Victorious. "That’s it. No one takes me like you do. Such a pretty angel...”

The words twisted inside you like a knife.

You weren’t an angel. Not anymore.

Your rosemary wasn’t stopping him. God wasn’t stopping him.

God wasn’t saving you.

Because your body—was already left in the hands of the devil.

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back vn #tkatb #solivan brugmansia #the kid at the back sol #tkatb sol #tkatb vn #sol brugmansia #sol x reader #tkatb smut #the kid at the back #sorry not sorry #tkatb x reader

395 notes · View notes