#chain reaction records

[dj-bouto]

01. Basic Channel "Octagon" 02. Basic Channel "Radiance" 03. Basic Channel "Octaedre" 04. Dynamo "Aufenthalt 5" 05. Pole "xxx" 06. Monolake "Cyan I" 07. Fluxion "Fovea Centralis" Mixed by Dj Bouto #dubtechno #deeptech #chillmusic #trance

[equalvision]

We're starting off 2024 with Hopesfall performing 'The Satellite Years' in full at Chain Reaction tomorrow 01.04.23, with special guests SeeYouSpaceCowboy and BuriedButStillBreathing!

[pantestudines]

brb gotta strangle a scientist from 100 years ago for making my life slightly inconvenient

[odoraful]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.ᐟ

what happens when you don't use their pet name to call them?

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; more dialogue heavy; silly and cute

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ZAYNE ⟡

“Can you help me put this on, Zayne?”

From the reflection in the mirror, you tried not to react at the twist in his brow and the momentary confusion in his eyes. Wordlessly, he moved behind you, fingers taking the necklace out of your hand. With his gaze focused on the task before him, you could see him open his mouth, hesitating to speak.

“Did I do something wrong?” he questioned.

Zayne’s deft hands carefully laid the chain around your neck, centering the pendent between your collarbones.

You plastered on your most innocent expression, despite the twinge of guilt you felt at his question.

“Hm? Why do you ask?”

Swiftly, he clasped the ends of the chain together. His eyes flicked towards yours in the mirror.

“You’re calling me by my first name. I thought pet names were an important step in a relationship for you.”

You nodded. “Yes, Zayne, I do think it’s an important step.”

His eyes narrowed at your continual uncharacteristic responses.

Folding his arms, he mused aloud. “It took you some time to drop the title ‘doctor’ for me and to just use my name. After we became official, you were quick to call me ‘love’.”

You fiddled with your necklace, trying to, impossibly, force away the heat from your face.

“So, either I did something to make you upset, or”—he leaned in close to you, the side of his face almost touching yours—“you’re playing a trick on me.”

You gave a mock frown. He cocked his head to the side, awaiting your response.

“Okay, okay, it was a prank.” Sighing, you surrendered to his deductions. “I wanted to see how you’d react, but you saw right through me,” you mumbled.

His lips quirked. “I’ve known you for long enough to figure these things out.”

Wanting to wipe off the amused look he had on his face, you quickly planted a kiss on his cheek. His face turned into surprise. He chuckled, shaking his head at your triumphant smile.

“Thank you for helping me, my love."

SYLUS ⟡

“Sylus, could you play that new record you bought?”

You called from the sofa. Standing by the record player, he turned to face you. The offence on his face was unmistakable as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Sylus?” he scoffed. “We both know that’s not what you call me.”

Your brows furrowed, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Isn’t that your name?”

“Sweetie,” he levelled a look of scepticism at you, “that hasn’t been my name for the past month we’ve been together.”

“I still don’t know what you mean, Sylus.”

He paused. Gears turned in his head trying to unpack what was happening, much like he would do when reading the truthfulness of a dealer during a bargain.

“Y/N.”

You’ve never heard your own name being said in such a serious manner. Perhaps you got a taste of your own medicine.

“I’m not particularly fond of lose-lose situations.” The softness in his tone made you feel weak. “You can tell me if I’ve done something to annoy you. I won’t be angry.”

“Not at all!” you quickly blurted out. Unable to hide it any longer, you confessed. “You haven’t done anything to annoy me. I was just trying to pull a small prank.”

All the tension visibly released from his body. A relieved sigh escaped him. “You really do play some dangerous games, kitten.”

Playfulness returned to his voice. “Now then, how will you correct your mistake?”

“Honey,” you drawled out each syllable, making it sound as syrupy as the nickname itself, “could you play that new record you bought now?”

Sylus couldn’t help but laugh at your exaggeration. “Why of course.”

XAVIER ⟡

“Xavier, do you want to try this?”

Subtly glancing at his reaction from the kitchen, you saw his face immediately fall into a pout. The look was fatal, and it took all the willpower you had not to drop the ruse right then and there.

“That’s not my name,” he answered.

“What do you mean?” you chuckled, continuing to put icing on the sugar cookies you baked. “Of course it is!”

“No, it’s not,” he insisted.

Placing his book down, he walked to stand at your side by the counter. You avoided his eye contact, pretending that nothing was amiss.

Resting a hand under his chin, he began to think. “You usually call me bunny, sweetheart, sunshine, or darling.”

Your jaw dropped in amused shock. “You remember all the names I’ve called you?”

His mouth twitches. “There are some more, but… they might be a bit embarrassing to say aloud right now.”

That was enough to make you look at him with wide eyes.

“Xavier!” Your face turned pink as you slapped his shoulder. There was no force behind the hit, but enough to convey your embarrassment.

“You did it again. You used the wrong name.” He stuck his bottom lip out.

You gently poked at his cheek, trying to lift the corner of his lip upwards. “Come on, don’t be sad darling.”

Immediately, he brightened before you.

“It was just a joke I saw couples do online. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And was my reaction satisfactory?”

“I think it was,” you smiled at him, "but it’s a shame I didn’t film it, it would’ve made for a good Moments post.”

He shook his head. “But, the nicknames we use are only for us.”

The finished cookie in your hand had a bite suddenly taken from it as Xavier leaned down to have a taste.

“I don’t want anyone else to know.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

“Are you ready to go yet, Rafayel?”

He continued to hum to himself, completely ignoring you. You folded your arms as you watched him busy himself with something trivial. He flung open a random cupboard and inspected what appeared to be an assortment of spare art supplies.

“Rafayel,” you called again.

He then turned his attention to the fishbowl in the centre of the room, where a small orange fish darted around.

“Reddie, do you hear something?” he asked, gazing so earnestly into the bowl. This fish paused its movement and stared back at his owner.

“Rafayel~” you sang his name aloud this time, extending the last syllable.

He gasped, apparently receiving some confirmation from Reddie.

“You hear something too? Thank god. I was thinking there must be something wrong with my ears.”

Surveying the room around him, Rafayel intentionally looked past you standing barely a few metres from him, tapping your foot against the wooden floorboards of his studio.

“It sounds like”—he continued—“some kind of voice. Someone familiar to me, but I can’t make out who it is.”

“Rafayel!” you shouted his name between fits of laughter. Only he could respond to your jokes with his own dramatics.

He sucked in a breath in puzzlement. “I wonder who this person is calling out to.”

“Baby,” you finally conceded, “I’m talking to you!”

It seemed like he couldn’t keep up the act either, as he started laughing with you.

“Took you long enough,” he huffed, moving towards you and linking your arm with his. “Otherwise, Reddie and I would have been searching for this phantom voice for the rest of the day.”

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[emanuelarchive]

Listing featuring: Say Anything / Circa Surviva / Emanuel / Pistolita and Say Anything / Circa Survive / Emanuel / Dead Letter Diaries August 4th and August 7th, 2005 (?) - Chain Reaction, Anaheim CA

[irisintheafterglow]

...said you like my eyes (and you like to make 'em roll)

summary: you marry hoshina soshiro. it's just a business deal...right?

wc: 1.2k

cw/tags: implied fem!reader, explicit language, marriage of convenience, childhood friends to rivals to lovers, pining but he's SO mad about it, tension breaking and a lil steamy towards the end (but nothing explicit), intentional lowercase (i didn't mean for it to be this long but here we are)

note: hello iris nation today i offer you hoshina brain rot because this bowl cut bastard has been nothing but the forefront of my mind for the past week. hope you enjoy LOL

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

"oi." a small bubble mailer is unceremoniously tossed onto your desk and you don't bother looking up at who threw it. "wear that."

"hello to you too, vice-captain. what a lovely day it is!" you remark without pulling your pen from the document you were signing, your voice mockingly sweet. he can't stand you. "oh, i'm doing well," you continue with the imagined conversation, "just doing paperwork and wondering what my wonderful fake husband is up to."

"careful how loud you say that," he warns through gritted teeth, "or you put both of our jobs in jeopardy."

"i'm aware, hoshina." you sigh, finally looking up from your paperwork at the package in front of you. "trust me, i'm not trying to mess this thing up just as much as you are," you reassure him before dropping your voice to a nearly imperceptible volume. "as difficult as you make it, sometimes." you catch the muscle in his jaw clench and smile inwardly at your victory in making him tick.

"just open that and put it on. i have work to do." you frown, gesturing at the stack of papers that appeared on your desk that morning and were nowhere close to being finished.

"and you don't think i don't?"

"open the damn package."

"what do you say first?" you smile at him condescendingly and watch his frown become deeper. rolling his eyes, he pushes the mailer closer to you before muttering a quiet, "please." you reluctantly open the package, dropping the small gold circle inside into your palm. it's a testament to your working and romantic relationship with hoshina that your first reaction is to snort. "what the hell is this?"

"we're married, aren't we?" he scowls, annoyance overtaking his typically-amused face. "might as well look the part."

"how thoughtful of you," you say with no inkling of gratitude, slipping the ring into its proper spot on your left hand. "huh. perfect fit."

"that's a surprise," he mutters and you narrow your eyes, suspicious of what he meant by that. "i mean that i bought it off a discount site, not that i thought the ring wouldn't fit on your finger or something," he quickly corrects, his unhappiness and irritation clear.

"you got me a wedding ring off a discount site?" you bark out a laugh and admire the shining band in the light. "is this even real gold or is it painted plastic?"

"don't know. didn't bother looking," he mumbles and you gape at him and his pure level of indifference. "just wear that so no one gets suspicious about us."

"what about you?" he fishes under the collar of his suit to reveal a similar ring dangling at the end of a small chain. "aw, maybe you can give that one to your real wife one day. maybe she'll be stupid enough to believe it's real." he scoffs, turning to leave.

"i don't need another wife; i already have my hands full with you."

---

"they won't think twice if it's us marrying each other. not when they look at both of our histories," he explained to you on an off-base excursion, away from prying eyes and recording cameras.

"what's in it for you?" you take another sip from your drink, something you forced hoshina to buy for you for making you travel so far off base. it was like you were kids again, sparring with tree branches in the afternoon and spending all your money on sugary drinks. "isn't it bad to be making attachments, especially ones in the defense force itself?" he shrugs, calmer than you'd ever seen him since you were transferred to the third division. you remember the first time he saw you on base, immediately ordering you to run laps for some made-up reason. so much for childhood best friends turning into kaiju-fighting partners, you thought to yourself.

"people will stop asking me to use my benefits on them, for one," he says. "it'll also stop the brass from bothering me about next-of-kin type stuff."

"oh, so you want me to deal with the repercussions if you die? how thoughtful," you deadpan. "and in exchange, i get more benefits too?" he nods, refusing to look at you. come to think of it, you'd only faced him head on when you first arrived on base. shaking your head, you ask hoshina a question that'd been lingering your mind since you first saw him after he left to join the defense force. "why is this the most you've spoken to me since i transferred? what happened to growing up together and joining and-"

"questions like that have no place in this arrangement," he cuts in, a shadow casting over his eyes that you couldn't read. "so don't ask them." you huff through your nose before deciding not to press the subject further.

"strictly transactional, right?" you murmur, the barest hint of sadness detectable in your voice.

"strictly transactional," he affirms.

---

"mmm, now what happened to 'this is strictly transactional,' husband?" you smirk against his lips, his hands desperately roaming anywhere he can reach on your body.

"shut the hell up." after months of avoiding you and willing the ache in his lungs to subside, something in him had begun to bend when he saw what you were wearing to the defense force banquet. whatever it was completely snapped when you brushed your hand against the bicep of some nobody from another division. the interaction made his vision bleed scarlet and it took all his energy to remain cordial as he all but dragged you out of the ballroom.

"ask nicely and maybe i'll think about it," you murmur.

"shut the hell up, please," he rasps, breathless from kissing you in a dark, quiet back hallway of the banquet hall.

"kiss me harder and i will," you counter and he just laughs, pinning you back against the wall. one of his hands runs up and down the side of your thigh, the other holding you close by the back of your neck. "what's gotten into you? not that i'm complaining, but-"

"do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" hoshina can barely breathe, every single one of his senses overtaken by you. your perfume, your skin, your eyes, your lips. he was sinking into an indulgence that he'd never allowed himself to have, and it was intoxicating.

"i think i can make several educated guesses." he rolls his eyes but is barely able to stay away from you and your smart mouth. "but really," you say, gently pushing him away and you swear you hear him groan in frustration. "what's going on, soshiro?" soshiro. he liked it when you said his name.

"i'm done pretending that i don't care about you anymore," he admits, his face burning from adrenaline and embarrassment. "i'm fucking sick of acting like you don't matter to me." you blink at him as his eyes burn molten-red.

"why did you act like i was a burden?" your voice cracks and something in hoshina's chest wrings. "why were you so mean for so long?"

"i was hoping i could scare you away," he replies guiltily after a tense moment. "i was hoping that, if i was mean to you...you would leave the force and you wouldn't get hurt. i just wanted you to be safe. all i ever wanted was for you to be safe."

"and you thought marrying me to get your benefits would keep me safe?"

"i've had better ideas," he concedes and you crack a smile. he mirrors your grin, kissing you sweetly. "can i make it up to you?" his hands travel more dangerously over your exposed skin, sending shudders down your body. "i promise i can...make amends to your liking." you hum, tugging him out of the nearest exit.

"i think that can be arranged."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[seasaltandcopper]

Humiliation Prompts

These are all presented as sfw by default (but can be interpreted otherwise if that’s your preference)

Humiliate them by:

♠ Making them beg

♠ Forcing them to strip

♠ Spitting in their mouth

♠ Making them kneel

♠ Dressing them in a degrading outfit

♠ Mocking them for involuntary reactions

♠ Forcing them to lick something off the floor

♠ Hurting them in front of a mirror so they’re forced to watch

♠ Keeping their hands bound to make basic tasks difficult or impossible. Bonus: punish them for failing or making a mess

♠ Feeding them spoiled or disgusting food

♠ Hosing them down with cold water

♠ Calling them a mocking nickname or title

♠ Forcing them to crawl on their hands and knees

♠ Leaving them with obvious, hard to hide scars

♠ Branding them as a sign of ownership

♠ Forcing them to divulge past traumas or secrets

♠ Altering or ruining a part of their appearance they take pride in

♠ Rendering them mute or forbidding them to speak

♠ Making them lick clean someone’s boots/shoes

♠ Assigning them menial labor/chores

♠ Showing them off as a trophy at a party. Bonus: the party is for their enemies OR former allies/coworkers

♠ Offering them up as the entertainment to party guests to do with as they please

♠ Making derogatory comments about them to others (with them in the room/in earshot) Bonus: force them to agree with these assessments

♠ Gifting them as a slave/servant to someone they formerly outranked

♠ Leaving them at the mercy of strangers in a public display (stocks, pillory, cage, chained to something, etc)

♠ Grinding their face into the ground/mud/a mess they made. Bonus: With a foot on the back of their neck or side of their head

♠ Recording them being punished/tortured/etc. Bonus: send these to friends and family OR release them publicly online

♠ Fitting them with a collar

♠ Muzzling them

♠ Making them perform tricks or skills on command

[anadiasmount]

Hey Ana!😊

i was wondering if you could write a headcanon of 'jude is the type of boyfriend to' kind of thing.

i love your fics a lot :)

hii anon!! ofccc!! 🤭🤭 also check out @redeyegrl recent fic!! as it’s super similar to this!! 🫦🤍

the type to wake you up when he has a bad dream, and want to be held.

get pouty when you refuse to show pda in public and just kiss you to show you off.

send super annoying texts throughout the day because he misses you dearly! especially when he’s away!

play with your hair! twist your hair around his finger! taming it out too see your shy face! or knowing it helps you sleep so he does it after you have a long day!!

calls you when he’s out of town or vice versa, and he’s wanting to hear your voice because your voice relaxes and soothes him!

the type to hold your hand and place kisses on it! or when your mad at him he knows to hold your pinky because he can’t stand being away from you even if you’re upset! and because it makes you feel safe.

the type to prank you or scare you around the house by hiding in corners or rooms! record your reactions and post them on special occasions!

he’s the type of bf to play with your rings, bracelets, necklace with his initials when cuddling because he’s entranced by them! or when in a social setting just to push away his nerves and focus on the small diamonds and or chains.

buy you sweets and crisps/ chips when your on your period! or coming back from going out because they’re your comfort snacks! leaving notes on them by wishing you a good day kr reminding you he loves you!

the one to share his airpods when traveling together because sharing music was a way of bonding! loves to see your reactions to unanticipated songs!!

get mad and needy whne you’re not giving him attention!! literally begs and forces you to stop what your doing to give him a kiss or hug! arms holding you tight afraid to let go and you’re just laughing!

FOREHEAD KISSES!! at home or when in public! it’s his love language and they can’t but make you feel giddy inside!! his lips leaving a warm feeling when he does!!

asks “do you love me?” when he upsets you because he’s so afraid to lose you! or be angry for the rest of your life! makes you laugh because he is literally frowning!

the type of bf to fall asleep on you no matter where you are!! on your shoulders, your back, stomach, sometimes even your thighs or legs because he needs to be aside you when he sleeps!

granting any wish or favor for you because he loves to make you feel like the only girl in the world! wanting to see the brightest smile because it warms his heart and head!

kiss you when you’re rambling on and on about stuff that doesn’t make sense! knowing his kisses or get even his touch calms you down instantly! telling you to relax and breathe!!

[tadpolesonalgae]

Tag, You’re It — Part 3

Dark!feysand x reader

a/n: Should have never said the word love. Threw a toaster in the bathtub. I’m sick of all the games I have to play. 

warnings: noncon/dubcon; threesome fmf; facesitting; dumbification; light praise kink; minor use of shadows; spitting; light impact play

word count: 7,332

-Part 2-

The door dully swings open, but you don’t bother opening your eyes. 

It hasn’t even been a full day since they last took you from your cage. When they’d manipulated and mangled your mind, when they’d forced you to yield the few things you still had control over. The one place even they hadn’t tried to completely disrupt. 

From the pace of the footsteps, you know it’s the High Lord who’s come to visit, the memory of chains and whips rising to the surface. This will be the third day in a row you’ll be denied peace and privacy. 

You open puffy eyes wearily, noting the familiar glint of violet as he peers at you, a slight frown tucked in the edges of his mouth. Before today you might have been pleased with his displeasure. Not today. It’s just another expression to record. 

He crouches down to where you’re huddled in your corner, tucked away and wrapped beneath the one blanket you were given. His hand reaches forward, fingers dipping under your chin so he can look at you properly. Examining the goods, probably. Guessing whether you’re well enough for him to fuck. 

“Did you not sleep, little lynx?” He asks lowly, quietly. Observing you keenly. 

You give no reaction, the words passing into your mind without registering. Too tired to respond. Too empty to give.  

His brows narrow. “I thought you were going to be good?” He goads, angling your jaw to rise a little higher. “We came to an understanding, didn’t we?” 

Silence and a blank expression. 

Rhys frowns, then his hand is lightly gripping the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he leans forward, free hand bracing himself on the iron bars as he presses his mouth to your own. Tongue plying you open, he kisses you deeper, facing little resistance as your lips part beneath his own. Not so much as a whimper rising up to greet him. 

He nips at your lower lip, canines lightly dragging over the softness, but you give nothing. Something’s wrong here, he can sense it, already reaching out for his High Lady. 

Rhys? Purrs that voice that has heat warming his skin. 

Come in here, he requests lowly, pulling back to allow her the sight he’s seeing—the vacancy behind your eyes, the general lack of reaction, the absence of life. 

Is she okay? Feyre asks, all sexuality vanished, replaced by cool suspicion and slight wariness. A single note of concern. 

Rhys’ thumb strokes over your cheek, his pulse spiking as he bites back a pleased grin at your complaisance. She’s at her breaking point. 

His High Lady understands, swift on her feet as usual. They’ve discussed this moment, how it will occur and what they should do as it passes. How to push you over that breaking point without shattering you entirely, more along the lines of heating you until you’re soft and pliable—all for daemati hands to reshape and rehabilitate. You’ll be exactly as you were, only you’ll have always been theirs. No human man with his sweat and breath to contaminate your reactions to them. 

Blankly, you watch him. Even in your dazed and depressed state you recognise the glaze of his eyes, a small part of you shrivelling further knowing she’ll be along soon. Having to watch as she violates your trust again and again, never stopping and never learning. Never changing. 

“Will you stand for me, little lynx?” The High Lord asks lowly, pleasure enriching his sonorous drawl, deep and rolling, easy to listen to and adore. But you remain still, keeping to the small hollow you’ve carved for yourself in the depths of your mind, watching silently. 

Violet gleams, though he doesn’t seem to mind your disobedience, not as darkness releases the chains locking you, overwhelmingly strong arms pulling you up from the blood-red carpet of the cage, putting you effortlessly over his shoulder as he takes you to their bed, settling you down. You make no effort to move, and he gives you no instructions to follow, both listening as a set of footfalls approaches softly from the hall. 

The door swings open, clicking shut as blue-grey eyes brush over you instinctively with a flash of attentiveness you think you recognise before it’s locked beneath hard ice—the High Lady. Not your dear friend.  

“How is she?” The High Lady asks hungrily, gaze raking over your naked form in a way that almost has you tempted to shrink away. Almost. But remembering what they’ve done, the indignities they’ve forced down your throat…you don’t care. 

“She’s ready,” you hear the High Lord reply, and you move your gaze to the ceiling, studying the plain pattern—the wooden beam branching across the middle. 

Footsteps approach, but you don’t care as her fingers trace down your sternum, over your stomach. Not even as she grazes your breasts, or thumbs against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs…none of it matters anymore. You’re inside your own mind, and safe from them. Curled in a darkened corner, alone and abandoned. 

“She seems so unresponsive,” Feyre hums, amusement lacing her tone in a way that should set warning bells ringing, but you remain silent. Rhys’ arm slides around her waist, broad palm squeezing lightly as he idly examines the pliable look to your body. Relaxed and uncaring. The perfect subject for dark fantasies.

“Enjoy her,” Rhys drawls, glancing at his mate sidelong. “This is the first time she’ll let you have her without quarrel. If there’s something you’ve wanted to try…now’s the time.” Something shifts within her at those words, colour flushing her skin sinfully, teeth tugging at her lower lip. You watch as Feyre’s eyes glaze before a faint smile is appearing on Rhys’ mouth, pleased with whatever idea his mate has come up with. Something you doubt you’ll enjoy, if it’s piqued his interest so obviously. 

“As you wish,” Rhys says lowly, violet eyes flicking over you once more, before departing, leaving you alone with his High Lady. 

Blue-grey eyes turn to you, raking down over your bare form, soft and so touchable. So many things she would love to do to you, with the tip of her tongue, the ridges of her nails…the sharp sting of her teeth…

“It’s just us now, sweet girl,” Feyre murmurs, moving closer, allowing her fingers to trace the curve of your ankle at the edge of the bed, running over the bridge of your foot, watching how your toes curl away from her touch, unable to completely lock her out. “Just me and you, how it used to be. Do you remember those times as fondly as I do?” 

You refuse to reply, and she zips the ridge of her nail up the underside of your foot, making you recoil sharply from the sensation. Her lips curve at the small victory, and a seed of frustration is planted within your chest. Why can’t she just let you be? Why does she insist on bothering, and teasing, and torturing?

She hums, fine with your silence, mattress dipping as she settles, slowly making her way toward you. “I do, and we’ll have them again soon enough,” she admits, a flush on her cheeks, “you just have to go through a little more. A little more, then you can be my sweet girl again. Who I can attend and listen to, who I can laugh with like we used to. Don’t you want that?”

The High Lady pauses at your hips, thumb skimming over the top of your left thigh, eyes hungrily following, before dipping between your legs. But you keep still. Unresponsive. 

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” she muses, gently pushing your legs apart. Knowing how you detest it far more when they apply themselves to you than when they simply use you for their own ends. It’s so much worse when they touch you, putting their pleasure into your body without your permission, allowing their sickness to take root until it destroys you. 

Her tongue licks up your centre, and the pleasure sings dully in the recesses of your mind. She circles your clit with painful familiarity, before attaching her mouth to you, suckling eagerly, tongue swirling as she works pleasure into your thighs and cunt. 

Are you enjoying this, sweet girl? Feyre wonders. Come on, tell me how much you like it. How you love it when we touch, and kiss, and lick you here. As if to emphasise, she sucks on your clit harshly, teeth gently scraping before returning to soft and slow licks of her tongue. I know how good it feels, I know how to make it feel good for you, too. Just tell me. With words, or a moan, or the slightest shift of your body—tell me about your pleasure. 

You can feel your body heating in response to the stimulus. Warming around you as you tuck yourself deeper into the cool darkness, only wanting to escape. 

Feyre hums softly, pushing your legs so they’re bent at the knee, allowing her more access as she laps firmly over your sex, parting you slowly as she drags upward, tongue hardening as she flicks over your sensitive clit, feeling how muscles in your thighs react helplessly. She repeats the motion before dipping lower, nose brushing your clit as she kisses your entrance, lips gleaming as slick gathers in defence, only enticing her further. Promising the reward of your taste…your flavour…feeling your orgasm on her tongue. 

Or, you could tell me how you hate it, she goads, able to hear the wicked lilt to her honeyed voice. I know how you love to tell us you hate us. How you despise us, how we’re going to hell? Tell me now. Tell me why. Her tongue strokes over your clit, your breathing becoming shallower, but Feyre knows those are simply your body’s reactions—she wants yours.

The building heat dies away as her mouth detaches from you, slippery slick gleaming on her lips as she crawls higher, straddling your hips as she rids herself of her own clothing. “It seems a shame to waste pleasure on you if you won’t even react to it,” she muses, a flush colouring her cheeks, and you shrink away as you feel her wet sex against your bare skin as she spreads her thighs, keeping you pinned to the bed as she sits. “So I guess I’ll let you have your way, for now. I’ll use you instead.”

Feyre crawls higher, anticipating a gleam in your eyes, or at least a twitch of your hands. A shift of expression to reveal your thoughts, but nothing. Even when she prods at your mind, she gets no response. But Rhys has told her this an important part of rehabilitation, reshaping you into what they want. This numbness, it’s all part of their plan—it will work. 

It has to.

Her knees settle either side the top of your head, mattress dipping with her weight, so when she inevitably chooses to sit, she will settle atop your mouth, just as she likes. 

“Are you happy down there, sweet girl?” She asks, unable to help the way her fingers long to play with herself, sex heating now she has your eyes on her. Arousal swiftly liquefies, and she touches the pad of her finger to her clit, aching and sensitive, longing to be stimulated. “I’ll make sure to give you a good show, hm? Would you like that?” She laughs a little breathlessly—normally you’d be kicking and screaming; it’s nice in a way to have you so docile. Obedience will come soon after. 

Feyre spreads her thighs, and you still hate the way your mouth opens, tongue licking and lapping how they’ve trained you to do. Familiar with the punishment they’d inflict when you kicked off too hard. So you follow through with the motions out of habit, and you curl tighter into a ball, head ducked between your knees as you hold yourself together deep inside your mind.

Above you, Feyre moans roughly, thighs parting wider as she rubs her sex over you, liking how your lips catch on her clit, the way your nose pushes lightly at the sensitive bud. She sits fully, thighs parting as her fingers tangle in your hair, grinding closer, moving how she wants to, following every ache, chasing every spark of pleasure her body guides her with, picturing your mouth parted beneath her heat, tongue laying over your lower lip, allowing her to drag her clit across it. 

Rhys, she calls out mentally, where are you?

Already? Her mate muses, that didn’t take very long. 

I can’t wait any longer, Feyre replies breathlessly. She’s being so good Rhys. Come in here. Try her with me.

Show me, he sends back, even though she can feel his approach in her bones.

Feyre glances down, showing the way her fingers are carefully gripping your hair, almost tenderly, guiding you to where she wants, hips shifting over your mouth, liking how your tongue feels against her clit but aching for something deeper. Your scent filters through into his mind, those beginning notes of arousal starting to peek through your fear-tinted scent and his pace quickens ever so slightly before silently entering the room. Feyre doesn’t look up, keeping her eyes on yours so you won’t know about the other presence joining you. 

“You’re being so good,” Feyre murmurs, fingers pushing hair back from your face lightly, thumb stroking up between your brows as she winds her hips, feeling like if she put her mind to it she could come right then and there, watching as your lids flutter as you taste the flavour of her release. “Keep doing that,” she soothes, “keep behaving, and you’ll feel good in no time.” 

You’re so wrapped up in trying to internally shy away from her, so far from the surface of reality that you don’t notice as Rhys slinks in on cat-soft feet. It’s not even until he’s between your legs on the mattress, and his roughened hands slide over the tops of your thighs that the protection you’d been afford until now behind to slip away. Unlike Feyre, he holds no familiarity—he’s unpredictable and dangerous, prone to inflicting you with stinging pain while stuffing you to the brim with pleasure until they’re practically blending together. 

Muscles twitch in your thighs, fluttering in your lower stomach, but it’s the only reaction you give as he pushes your legs wider, bending them at the knee and gripping your hips to allow him control over your lower body. Positioning himself as he likes. 

The first noise of the night is wrung from your lips as Rhysand slides himself in, settling himself comfortably between your open legs until he’s flush with the soft skin of the backs of your thighs. Feyre’s fingers slide through your hair and you try to turn your head away from the sight, try to clamber and crawl back to the corner you had found for yourself, hidden away from their touches that sink so much deeper than bone deep. Her touch is like the raw scrape of cotton, coarse before it’s refined to softened fibres. You’re grateful you can still pick out the unpleasantness of her palms. They’re warm but calloused enough to catch, sweet abrasion lifting up from your skin into your mind as she leans back, reaching behind herself to swipe her thumb across one of your nipples. Is there a diverged universe where you would have enjoyed her heat and warmth? 

It’s been long enough, coping with their hands and warring with their tongues that it doesn’t take too much effort to switch your perspective, your mental opposition steadily eroded with every use. 

In this other world Feyre would have found you first. You would have connected, and grown together at a gentle incline. You would have lived together for a short period, while both of you were working but also husband hunting. You would spend evenings speaking about potential matches, but neither of you would ever manage to commit to someone else. 

The realisation would start slowly, on your end. Spilling a vase on your bed and so having to sleep in Feyre’s while she was away one night, smelling her in the sheets, feeling the imprint of her body dipped into the mattress and the shallowness of her pillow where she would rest her head. Borrowing a bonnet or a pair of gloves of hers when you were due for a luncheon but without anything to wear, and without any money to afford a new purchase, feeling the fit of her fingers over yours, seeing the colours she had chosen for herself. Eating together in the evenings, starting on separate armchairs then moving to sharing one sofa, until on one particularly cold evening you decide to huddle together and you’d feel the warm press of her side and maybe one of you would even lay your head on the other’s shoulder. 

Yes. It would have started slow, and you would have been given the time you needed to accept how intertwined you were with one another. 

Rhysand would have never taken her away from you, and you would have never met your husband. 

You could keep her, and you would privately share space until neither of you could remember whose comb was whose, or which bottle of perfume was yours and which was hers. There would never have been a divide, and you’d still be together. 

Something hot and wet splashes on your cheek, and she’s pulled you close enough to the surface of reality you can make out the slope of her bare shoulders and the heat behind her eyes. Her lashes blink shut but another droplet falls onto your cheek. 

She’s halted her movement, raised up on her knees as she stares down at you with gleaming blue-grey eyes. Her breathing stutters as male hands wrap around her waist, scar-flecked fingers gliding up to cup one of her breasts as he holds her by her hips, nosing up the length of her neck. Inhaling the scent of her wavering arousal through the silk of her long hair. You think you see sorrow in her glistening eyes, but you sink back below your surface, refusing to acknowledge or accept whatever she’s fleetingly considered offering. 

Feyre’s hold tightens on your hair, feeling as you slip away. Her fingers wrap themselves between the strands, nails dragging across your scalp as she tries to pry you open again in a way she hasn’t seen since she decided to take you. Possibly even longer. 

Sweetness, she tries, Sweet girl, come back to me. 

More tears drip down onto your cheek but they’re only surface level. Lacking the cruelty to sink any deeper than that. 

We can be gentle with you. I can be gentle with you again. But still she fails to reach you. Fails to breech the numbness that’s been slowly spreading through your mind since she decided against you. Decided that she couldn’t wait. Decided Rhysand would be her better option. After everything you went through together. 

Rhysand pulls away, his hand lifting from her breast to her jaw as he tilts her face toward him, frowning upon seeing her tear-stained cheeks. It won’t be long now, he whispers into her head. She’s practically there already. Just a little more and she’ll be ours. 

That word sets Feyre’s skin on fire. Does she want you to be theirs? Or does she want you to be hers? The thought seems too dangerous to consider now, especially with her mate so thoroughly wrapped around her. She tosses it away, burying it deep, deep down. Somewhere far from the light. Somewhere Rhysand won’t be able to find. Because she knows she doesn’t like how cruel they’re being. How she doesn’t yet fully trust him to handle you. He can have every part of herself, fall into his arms without any sense of his presence and trust he’ll be there, that he’ll catch her, but not this. 

Not you. 

You’re hers. 

Feyre’s hips begin to rock faintly, gliding the dripping slick of her cunt over your already sopping mouth, strands of arousal sticking the two of you together as her fingers soothe through your hair, gentling her touch to that lost intimacy. 

A small sound responds to her touch. So small she doesn’t even hear it, only feeling the faintest vibration beneath her, softer even than the beat of your heart. 

Her fingers stutter, pulse fumbling as she tries to search for the sign again, now running her thumb over the crest of your cheek. Your tongue tenses beneath her, and Feyre repeats the action, swiping slowly back and forth until a low light is reflecting in your eyes. 

Everything seems veiled in a thin blur, lights fuzzy and forms hazy. There’s a small warmth on your cheek, one that’s so achingly distant you force yourself to rise through the thick fog and into the torture of your senses, nerves feeding you the pressure of Rhys’ cock stuffed full inside you all the way to his base, able to feel the heavy weight of him even now. But the touch you’re seeking is coming from Feyre, looking at you in a way you’ve pleaded with her to give you, countless times. Screamed for that look until your voice was gone and torn. 

You can’t make out what’s happening but your body falls cold as she looks away from you, meeting the gaze of the male she bound herself to. An unknown amount of time passes like that, but then she’s carefully lifting up from your body, pulling away until she’s out of sight and the world loses its colour, returning to dull shades of grey and sepia. The only thing sharp and cruel enough to cut through your filter being the stark violet of the High Lord’s eyes and this time you react. It’s nothing significant, nothing that would have previously caught their attention, the movement so small, but your eyelids lower by a fraction of a degree, that listless numbness seeping back into your muscles. 

Rhysand’s arms band beneath the curve of your spine, palms splaying between your shoulder blades and cupping the back of your head as he pulls you upright. You shudder as he flicks the tip of his tongue over your lips, able to taste his mate there. But instead of deepening the kiss, his eyes seem to gleam with other intentions, and your pulse spikes as he pulls out of you only so he can turn you around. 

There, splayed out on the bed, reclining on her back, is Feyre. 

Not the High Lady. Not Rhysand’s mate. But Feyre. 

Her body looks soft and inviting in a way you’ve not found it since she took you, and though you know her mouth is forming to speak words, none of them reach your ears, sound dulled—one of your first senses to numb. She doesn’t need to say anything though—neither of them do. Nor do either of them even need to give the command for you to know where you’re going, with the way her legs are spread like that. 

But Rhys’ palm closes around your throat, fingers flexing menacingly as he brings his mouth to the smooth curve of your human ear. “Behave, tonight,” he whispers, in a voice like night and silk all heated by the intimate placement of a candle flame. “Then it will all be over.” 

You’re surprised when he releases you, but only because instead of being dragged back far enough that your face will slot nicely between Feyre’s open legs, her arms lift from the bed. Inviting. Rhys pushes you forward encouragingly, both of them waiting to see what you’ll do. When you remain immobile for too long the High Lord squeezes your throat roughly, making you cough before you’re lowering yourself shakily onto your hands and knees. 

Your arms tremble with more than just weakness and terror as your palms press into the mattress, lifting over her open legs instead of sliding beneath them, and part of you waits for Rhys’a bruising hands to grip you by the nape of your neck or jerk you back by your hair to return you to her cunt. But no pain is delivered, and you’re allowed to crawl further up, your body cradled between Feyre’s thighs.

Her fingertips dance over your shoulders and it’s enough force to have your arms melting, settling yourself to her chest, cheek laying between her breasts. 

Feyre’s skin is hot, body lush and perfectly curved to accommodate your own. Her arms skate across your shoulders, wrapping themselves across their width, tangling her fingers through your hair, running fingertips through the strands at the ends. 

You collapse entirely, the scrape of her nails scratching lethargically between your shoulder blades unlatching a final clasp as your mind spills throughout your skull. 

Rhysand’s palms press themselves into the back of your hips, darkness bringing your legs wider between Feyre’s. A shudder runs up your spine as Rhys kneels over you, able to feel the heavy weight of his cock between your thighs, his skin dragging against your own, pinning your legs into the mattress while Feyre remains freely beneath you. 

A whimper lifts through your throat as the High Lord spreads you apart and Feyre brushes her lips to the crown of your head. She lies to you over and over again, It’ll be okay; You’re almost there; Just let him settle in; You’ll feel good soon enough, you know you will. Awful, repulsive lies you don’t want to believe, and yet for some reason they feel closer to truth than ever.

Rhys keeps you spread apart as he presses his cock to your entrance, your hips squirming weakly but your legs are pinned, arms too heavy to argue, locked to Feyre’s chest while she pushes tenderness into your hair. More whimpers spill from your lips as he begins to inch his way in, rolling forward then back, rocking himself further and deeper until he’s once again stretching your limits. 

“Careful,” Feyre hisses when she feels you jolt against her stomach, the twitch in your fingertips. You can imagine how his violet eyes gleam with pleasure at your reaction, twinkling as he looks at his mate and bucks his hips softly, eliciting a moan from your mouth. Feyre almost coos at the noise, palms cradling your head as fingers continue to brush through your hair. “Feeling good now? Didn’t I tell you? You always end up liking it.” You try to squirm against her but they’ve sucked out all your fight, leaving you cold and dangerously empty. Space they plan on claiming. 

Once he’s all the way in Rhys slides his hands around your waist, darkness looping around your arms and beneath your shoulders to pull you upright. You whimper as cold flushes your bare font, and Feyre growls lowly, making to sit upright before her husband’s darkness ties her back down. 

“Rhys,” Feyre growls, “give her back.” 

Hot breath tickles the space behind your ear then teeth are nipping at your lobe. Hands invade across your body, breath gasping from your mouth as hot palms soothe the cold of your skin, cupping your breasts. “I’m letting her look,” Rhysand whispers, fingers moving higher to flex around your throat. “Letting her admire.” 

The aggression dulls in Feyre’s eyes, a pink colouring her cheeks as she shifts on the bed, opening her thighs a little wider—as if you’ll be awed by the offer and dive right in. 

“For someone who’s suffered so much of her life, you’ve been disgracefully ungrateful to my mate,” Rhysand murmurs beside your ear, soft enough you wonder if Feyre can hear him. You don’t like it when it’s only him touching you. Too dangerous. Too reckless. “Aren’t you thankful that she saved you?” 

Anger catches like wildfire and you twist your head to look at him but the moment his indomitable violet eyes lock with your own it’s snuffed out, ice skittering up your spine. Rhys smiles, as if he knows exactly how much terror he puts into you. “Aren’t you grateful Feyre came back for you?” 

“Rhys,” Feyre huffs, her hips circling with frustration as he keeps her hands pinned to the bed, unable to even touch herself. 

“Look at her,” Rhys whispers, close enough you think you feel the flutter of air from his lashes with each blink. Fingers squeeze your jaw but they’re without their usual bite as he directs your attention to his mate. “Isn’t she beautiful? Doesn’t she deserve to have whatever she wants?” Whoever she wants, too. 

You try to squirm away but his grip tightens in warning, his free arm banding across your hips as he presses himself deeper into your cunt. “Doesn’t she?” It’s clearly a warning—one of the gentlest you’ve ever received from him. The skin around your knuckles tightens, nails biting into your palms before turning slack, head hanging as you yield one faint dip of your head. All he wants is an answer, and you know if you keep the right one from him… The memory of pain still hasn’t faded from your skin. 

Rhysand turns you back to face him, tilting your chin so he gets to look down on you and not for the first time you wonder what he sees. Is there any way he’s oblivious to your disgust? But he lays his mouth atop your own gently this time and you force your body to remain calm, steering away the tension that seeks to thread itself through your muscles. 

You know you want us. Rhysand tells you. You know you want her. I know you’ve wanted her, too. You’re the only one refusing to acknowledge it. 

Because you’re lying. You think. 

Am I? 

Tension sears its way through your body as his hand slides down to cup your heat, fingers parting around the thick stretch of his cock. You come every time we touch you, drip down your thighs at the thought of her. You know it would be better to fall into us. 

You’re cruel, and manipulative, and barbaric, and-

Loving. 

An actual laugh croaks from your throat at that. In what kind of twisted world does anything they’ve done to you be considered loving? 

His tongue flicks across your lips then he’s plying you open, swiping along your teeth to taste the inside of your mouth. You’re disgusting, you think, but the thought only echoes through your empty mind. Instead you become aware of Feyre speaking, her voice so at odds to the cruelty of the High Lord. Your body aches to lay against her again, to rest yourself against her body, bare skin on bare skin. Even if it would change nothing, the desire is becoming too apparent to keep denying. 

You gasp when Rhys’ hot mouth opens over your throat, sucking marks into your flesh. His thumbs swipe across your nipples, grazing the sensitive peaks and you realise his darkness has retreated from Feyre. 

Stark heat flushes your cheeks as you spy the meandering path of her fingers as they trail over her stomach, slipping away between her legs as she runs her hungry eyes over you. You want to hide away from that ravenous hunger. Bury yourself in soft darkness that shields rather than contains. You squeak when her fingers instead lift to graze your cunt, their pads trailing over the bump of your clit. Rhysand groans softly beside your ear as you tighten around him. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Feyre whispers, now sitting up from the bed, her hands lifting to wrap around your waist. “So perfect. So pretty.” She presses a light kiss to above your navel, affording a small lick to the bare skin that makes you shudder. It’s too warm in here. Something bubbling beneath your flesh. Her kisses lift higher, until her pink mouth rests between your breasts, and you’re looking down into her blue-grey eyes. 

Fingers push between your legs again, sliding up and down over your centre, rubbing over your clit while Rhys keeps himself flush to your back. Feyre brings her fingers back up, a pulse of arousal passing through your body as she pushes her fingers across her tongue, tasting you. A whimper escapes your sealed lips, hips shifting faintly and you’re unsure if it’s out of protest or desire. 

“…Feyre…”

Almost as soon as her name is out she’s moaning, fingers returning to your clit to rub and circle. That warmth begins to intensify, a tingling need centring between your legs. Your own hands half-heartedly land on her shoulders, as if trying to push her away but it’s useless even pretending to try. “I’m sorry for stealing you away so suddenly,” Feyre whispers, and you freeze. Staring at her. “But you seemed so isolated. I missed you. I missed being with you. Being beside you.” She kisses your sternum. “I hated not being able to be affectionate with you.” Another kiss. “You don’t understand what it was like.” Kiss. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” she whispers, “but you were never brave enough to follow after me.” 

“You walked away first,” you whisper, before hearing how much like a confession it sounds. But Feyre shakes her head. “You denied me,” she whispers, “you denied us.” 

“I don’t want both of you,” you cry with more force than you’ve felt in a while. “If I’ve ever felt anything it was only for you.” 

Rhysand’s teeth find light placement in your shoulder. Cruel creature, he seems to be saying.

Feyre’s brows curve upward, as if disappointed you don’t like a gift she’s been preparing to share. “You don’t like the feel of his cock?” She asks softly. Again, Rhys groans as you squeeze him. “You don’t like how he fucks you?” 

“Feyre, stop.” There are tears in your eyes. 

“You don’t like the way his hands feel? What about his fingers?” She licks slowly between your breasts. “What about his tongue?” 

“Feyre stop.” 

“What about mine?” She continues. “Do you like it when I touch you? Do you like feeling my hands wrap around your skin? How do my fingers feel inside of you?”

“Feyre…” You plead. 

“What about my mouth?” She whispers, resuming the idle circles of your clit. “You love my tongue, don’t you? I know you like it when you’ve got fingers inside of you and a mouth over your clit. You like tasting me too, don’t you?” 

“Feyre!” 

“What about when you’re on your back and I’m touching you like it’s only us?” 

“Yes.” You cry, eyes squeezing shut as tears finally fall down your cheeks. 

Feyre’s face lights up, and both her hands are cupping your cheeks. Not even a single thought in your head considers resistance as Rhys’ arms release you and you fall with Feyre back into the bed, falling into her arms, falling into her embrace. “Then stay,” she murmurs, stroking your skin, petting your hair. “You’ll learn to like him,” Feyre whispers, “you’ll get used to him. Learn to love it.” You try to shake your head but at last Rhys is moving his hips, grinding up against you so his cock rubs up against those spongey, tender spots. “Sweetness,” Feyre whispers as though she’s sad. “You will,” she promises, “just open yourself up to it. Open up to me again.” 

You want to shake your head. Want to demand that they stop. But of course you can’t. 

The High Lord bucks his hips and a moan spills from your mouth onto Feyre’s skin. You hate how good he feels. How biologically pleasing he is. How satisfied you are from just having the thick weight of his cock stuffing you full, the touch they have on your skin as if they really want you. 

They really do. They wanted you enough to take you. To cling onto you even through every protest and scream. 

Maybe they’ve finally done it. 

Maybe they’ve finally made their way inside.

The last drops of energy are sapped from your bones as Rhysand begins drawing his hips back and fucking you in earnest, Feyre’s legs bending at the knee to cradle your body with her own. It feels good like this. To have her arms banding around your body while Rhys carefully drags the pleasure from your flesh to the surface. “See?” Feyre whispers. “It feels good doesn’t it?” 

You want to shake your head. Want to deny her. Deny both of them. 

But you can’t. 

You’re only falling deeper. 

Moans reach your ears and you know they’re your own. Rhys has always been an expert on pleasure. Knowing where to press and where to push to have sopping wetness greeting him whenever he pleases. 

His hips buck sharply, pressing himself deep inside your cunt and you gasp as the solid heat of his chest presses down on your back, sandwiching you so intimately between them. Feyre pushes hair from your temple but you can hardly be bothered to seek him out. Rhys’ tongue licks up your throat, lips splitting in a grin when you squeeze him, your hips swirling faintly to feel him against your inner walls. 

“Like that?” He whispers. “After all this time, all your fussing and protests, all for you to hardly be able to speak from how good I’m making you feel, huh?” A moan that sounds too close to agreement escapes your mouth, and Feyre coos as your nonsensical noises. “What a good cunt you have,” Rhys purrs, rocking his hips to yours. “At least she’s always known what she wants, even if you’ve been too pretty and dumb to make up your mind.” 

He thinks you’re pretty? A fae thinks you’re pretty? 

Rhys’ chuckle is bone deep, dripping into your marrow and filling you with heated arousal that’s too thick and sticky for you to keep yourself together. 

“So pretty,” he breathes, wicked amusement clear in his voice. “Pretty, ditzy, and dumb.” 

Pretty.

The rest of your thinking is pushed away as Rhys pulls back, the pace deepening; hardening. Your eyes squeeze shut, body limp and pliable beneath his ministrations of pleasure. He’s slamming into you, using the thick length of his cock to push and press and rub and touch every place you could want, muscles flexing weakly in your legs in attempts to push your hips the slightest bit upward from the bed so he might find it easier. 

“You’re being so good,” Feyre praises, continuing to stroke your hair, gently petting as she holds you close. “You’re taking him so well. So perfectly.” 

Perfectly, she said. Your cunt aches from the praise. A relief from their cruelty. 

Rhys touches a spot inside of you and your spine curves, toes curling as embarrassing sounds release from your chest, mewling and whining for him to push against it again. “Rhys…” you plead, fingers trembling as his name teeters off the edge of your tongue. Your hips swirl, mouth opening to ask him again but then he finds it and your eyes roll. 

The High Lord’s fingers wrap around your throat, forcing your neck to crane far enough back until you can see him looming above you, so unfairly lean and tall, even to fae standards. His mouth twists into a half-cruel, half-amused smirk, cocking a brow. “More?” 

There might be drool spilling out the corner of your lips, “More…” His smirk widens, grip leaving your throat to land a light slap to your cheek before digging his fingers in. “Want my cock? Want it harder?” 

“Uh-huh…” It sounds stupid even to your own ears, and humiliating heat warms your features. Rhysand’s laugh is edged with condescending pity, delivering another small slap that has your eyes stinging, “Tell me. Say you want it.” 

You stare at him, unable to shake your head. You’re not doing this again, but his cock feels so good coupled with Feyre’s tender touches, fingers playing with your hair while she watches her mate enjoy you. Violet eyes gleam, then a stinging pain smacks against your cheek, fingers digging in to the hinge of your jaw as he spits into your mouth. Your toes curl, cunt squeezing his cock tight as something flutters about between your legs. 

“Say it,” the High Lord demands.

“I love it,” you whisper in a rushed breath. “I-…I want it. Please.” 

“And what do you want?” He goads, not yet allowing you to swallow. 

“You-…” You cut yourself off, gagging beneath his hold, tears stinging your eyes. “You,” you pant, fumbling out words you think he might like. “Both of you. Feyre. Rhys.” Pupils expand as he hears his name in your moan, colour warming his tan skin, “Good enough.” 

He releases your throat and you swallow, hauling air down into your lungs only for it to be shoved right back out again, cheek falling to Feyre’s chest as Rhys slams his cock into you, bucking his hips to a brutal pace that might have driven you up the bed if Feyre wasn’t keeping you in place. Your moans fluctuate in volume, growing louder whenever his cock hits that special spot you hadn’t known existed before them. 

You cry as the orgasm blazes through your body, every muscle strung taut as pleasure sets you on edge, pulsing through your body with the force of feverish heat. Your hips buck against his, pressing as tight as you can against him as even your lungs seize, rendered silent from the onslaught of searing pleasure. With a final sharp buck, Rhysand finds his tipping point, hot breath panting up the nape of your neck and you yelp as his two palms roughly pin you in place as he fucks out his orgasm, feeling more like his toy beneath the dominating grip. 

Hot cum spills into your cunt, spurting out in thick waves that fill you up, feeling the muscles flexing in his thighs every time he slams himself in and your vision turns hazy. Dark spots dance through your vision until all you can sense are tipping colours and a blaze of passion up your spine, liquid heat pooling in your belly. All the while Feyre’s pressing kisses into your hair and stroking the crown of your head, helping you through. 

You have no way of knowing how long it’s been when you next open your eyes. You’re in the same position as you were before except a little further up Feyre’s body, hips no longer cradled between her legs but now with your face resting at the junction of her shoulder and neck, breath fanning ticklishly across the intimate expanse of skin. 

When your breathing pattern shifts, Feyre tilts her head and you become aware of her arms wrapped around your body. One hand splayed across your lower back, and the other- 

Heat swarms your features, squirming faintly to feel more of her, spine curving. 

“Awake now?” Feyre asks, rosey lips pulling upwards in their corners. She leans forward, pushing a kiss to your forehead. “Rhys’s gone for the moment but he’ll back soon,” she assures, watching you carefully as she gauges your reaction. Your head lolls, lids feeling heavy, body still tingling from pleasure. “We didn’t want any dripping out while he was away,” Feyre murmurs, her heart beating faster upon hearing your moan when she curls her fingers inside of you, how you circle your hips downward, trying to push them deeper. 

In reward for your lethargic adoration, Feyre pushes her two fingers deeper, slowly pumping them in and out, her cunt tingling with need when she feels you squeeze her as if you’re also trying to keep all of him tucked up inside of you. 

Just a little longer and you’ll be theirs, forever. 

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna @acoazlove

feysand taglist: @girlmadeofavocados @zara-aliza08

[greenfuzzyball]

Dracula Daily Holidays (so far)

Here are some holidays the fandom has latched onto as we’ve been reading Dracula Daily/ listening to re:Dracula.

With this list I’m trying to capture the moments that get talked about the most or elicit the biggest reactions (admittedly, almost every entry has an iconic line or moment.)

I also included each character’s introduction or instance of them actually writing/recording something themselves. Ish.

Up to current entry to add as time goes on:

May 3 - My good friend, Jonathan Harker/Paprika Hendl

May 4 - The kindness of strangers

May 5 - “Enter freely and of your own will!”

May 7 - First Use of “Voluptuous”

May 8 - “A foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it!”

May 9 - Mina

May 11 - Lucy

May 12 - Lizard Fashion- The Horror Day

May 15 - Lizard Fashion - There He Goes Again/ Jonathan, Gothic Damsel

May 16 - The Three Weed-Smoking Girlfriends

May 19 - “I am surely in the toils” & “I know now the span of my life. God help me!”

May 24 - “Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble?” / Cowboy Day

May 25 - Jack’s Podcast / Renfield

May 26 - Art

May 28 - Mail Fraud Dracula / “A vile thing, an outrage upon friendship and hospitality!”

May 31 - The real terror is Dracula’s abuse / “Some new scheme of villainy”

June 5 - Renfield starts making his way up the food chain

June 17 - The coffins

June 18 - Statistical Outlier Spiders Renfield

June 24 - Identify Theft Dracula / The mother at the gate

June 25 - Jonathan’s Lizard Fashion

June 30 - IT’S SHOVEL DAY, MOTHAFUCKAS

July 18 - The Captain of the Demeter starts keeping a log

[dj-bouto]

LBA K7 [032-A] feat. Gypsy, Funk de fino, Vainqueur, Chain Reaction Reco...

Afterhours with friends, recorded somewhere Under an eastern Roof, France / 1996. Keywords : Gypsy / Funk de fino / Vainqueur / Chain Reaction / Berlin / Moritz von Oswald / Galaxy / Psyche/BFC / I Believe / Octave One / Ludovic Navarre / Djax-up-beats / Guidance / Elypsia… #detroit techno #deep techno #dark techno #chillout #tech house #audio #Detroit Techno #Tech #House #Deep #Techno #Dark #Techno #Chillout

[kafkasmeow]

GI. ꗃ For the Tsaritsa (I)

part 1 part 2 part 3 etc

3.1 k words ─ reaction! ─ wriothesley x reader ─ second pov! reader ─ angst and fluff ─ reader wears heels and a corset but that’s it ─ cryo / dendro ─ i usually don’t write toxic relationships but it made sense this time around

summary ─ their reaction to their partner being a fatui harbinger - including diluc, zhongli, xiao, kazuha, wriothesley ─ reaction, headcanon ─ vision and delusion wielder reader ─ use of unconventional weapons ─ gn reader (with small hiccups in editing)

disclaimer ─ this is a reaction headcanon, with strong mentions of death, injuries, blood and violence and profanities. some of the fics do not have happy endings and the reader is depicted as a villain, unreliable and is not meant to be liked. some of the imagines can be brutal, caution is adviced.

wriothesley

You and the fortress’ warden had met trough simple ways, much like he meets any other person that arrives there. As an inmate. 

You arrived early one morning, dried blood still on your cheeks and clothes, with a dead stare in your eyes, one he knew far too well. Your presence alone prompted rumours over rumours, inmates fighting to get a glance as the guards paraded you trough the halls on your journey to your cell, and the shouts coaxed Wriothesley out of his study with a sleep-drunk expression on his face. 

“Serial killer.” The guards explained quickly when he got close enough to see what the attraction was. “The Chief Justice didn’t even wish to have a trial. Sentenced to life the second he saw them.” But no one knew any more information to help him out, and while he rarely searched for reason in the Fortress of Meropide, he itched for answers. 

He watched you carefully that day, as you were guided forward by the most skilled guards, with chains on your hands and head pushed down, as if your gaze alone would be deadly. You were barely any taller than half of him, standing on week knees that trembled with every step you took, and if it wasn’t for your dead eyes or the blood all over you, he would have wondered if you were really capable of harm.

No one wanted to talk more about the situation behind your imprisonment, at least not for long. They all gritted their teeth and shook their heads when he asked, like even thinking about you would be a death sentence to them, and when he summoned for all records of your actions, he found only a bunch of redacted documents. All he could gather, trough bits and pieces, is that your presence here needed to be kept under wraps for a reason or another, and the scene the police stumbled upon your arrest.

“It was a bloodbath, your grace.” Clorinde told him once as she came to him for an errand from the Iudex. She seemed off, even her emotionless eyes were filled with some degree of fear in them. “I’m no stranger to death but this,” She cleared her throat and chose to cut their chat short, settling on a warning. Something smelled fishy, he would conclude, but this was not his first rodeo with difficult cases, and yours didn’t take long to crack.

“Keep an eye on them.” And he did, but perhaps not in a way she would approve of. Wriothesley found himself colliding with you every single step he took outside of his study then on, and never under intentional circumstances. 

The first time it happened, you were simply eating at the canteen when chaos broke loose. He had barely exited his office, just in time to see one of the inmates throw his plate at you in challenge. “You filthy rat! How dare you-” The warden watched bewildered as guards jumped from their place, taking the man away and you simply sat there, like nothing happened. Food dripped down your clothes and face, but you simply brought your spoon to your mouth and ate quietly without complaining. All the while dark and hostile eyes watched you from every corner of the hall, and your own where chaining Wriothesley’s feet to the ground he stood on with something akin fear.

The second time you met was in the infirmary. Sigewinne had your bloody knuckles in her tiny hands with bandages cradled in her lap and alcohol stained cotton agains your open cuts. The first thing Wriothesley noticed then was the bruised corner of your lips, your bleeding nose and the open cuts on your cheeks. His heart stopped beating for a second, a disbelieving puff leaving his nose. You were so much trouble already, just by your existence in his prison, and now you were causing problems yourself? 

His nurse, however, had pity in her eyes. She tutted. “I can’t stand having to bandage you up every single day. They keep trying to snuff them up, your grace! This poor soul.” She protested, and that was the first time he ever heard your voice. “It’s quite alright, miss.” Your face stayed cold, but there was kindness in your eyes, and your voice was far softer than he thought it’d be. And he couldn’t help but sit with the two of you, pushing Sigewinne’s buttons until he had every single name of the ones that tried to “snuff” you out.

It was much later that he found out what had happened exactly, and why people were so, so hostile towards you. After a couple of weeks of sitting with you and Sigewinne in the infirmary, he couldn’t handle the stress any longer. 

Wriothesley had you sitting in his office with a calming rose tea settled on the table in front. The sweet smell made your shoulders ease and you begun wondering if he would have really done so much for you if you were called in for some troubles you caused. His soft eyes, however, reassured you, and you took the delicate mug to your lips. Wriothesley didn’t say much afterwards. He simply called you in the morning and had you sit with him, giving you a book to read or a pile of paper to sort trough, and never talked to you a word more. He was protecting you, you realised. From the other prisoners, who were still hungry for blood, even as you left your chamber straight thing in the morning and returned late night. 

Little did the ice duke know, it was the inmates he was doing a favour to. 

With each day passing, more and more eyes stared you down. More and more rumours surfaced. More and more and more and more and you were suffocating upon their vicious presences, fingers itching for something you could not allow yourself to give into. 

“Do you have a family out there?” The warden asked all of a sudden one day. You snapped from your trance, a soft “huh?” Getting past your lips. “Do you have a family on the surface? I don’t know, a lover? Parents? Someone?” Your fingers tightened on the book you were skimming and gave him a weak nod after weighting your words. “I have a red fox with a clipped tail. He usually bares his teeth when he sees me, or any other pet around my home. And a Black Widow,” Wriothesley gave you an unsure stare, and his curiosity coaxed you to speak again. “That counts as family, does it not?” 

Question over question followed the days following. Favourite place in Fontaine? Favourite book? At first it was trivial questions, easy for you to mumble one worded answers, until they were not, and you found you didn’t wish to speak one word at a time any longer. His presence became comforting, and after work, you’d come straight to his office to share the latest idea you thought of. He would sit down and listen, laugh and smile to you, and for once, you didn’t feel the weight of your duty crush your shoulders any longer. So how could you not crack when his fingers reached for a loose strand of your hair and how could he not let his ice-cold palm rest against your burning skin. 

“What happened to you?” He asked softly. “How did you get here?” And how could you not indulge him.

Pulling away, you sat in the couch next to him, and he placed his coat over your shoulders as you brought a freshly brewed tea cup in your lap. “I was part of a sick joke.” You muttered trough gritted teeth and tightly pressed lips. To your surprise, he didn’t notice the way your reflection did the complete opposite in the shaky tea surface, smiling like an expecting devil. So you told him pretty lies, weaved together by a fraying string of truth. You couldn’t tell him that you killed a whole ballroom of nobles at the command of a frigid queen, so you told him you were part of the goods they were betting on. You couldn’t tell him that you were doing it for your own selfish reasons, especially as you watched your siblings bleed to death, so you told him you snapped in anger when an old man called you his personal toy. Lies and lies until his eyes were wide in horror and hands trembling on anger. You forced tears to run down your cheeks, and abstained from smiling when he brought you in a shaky hug. You had him under your fingertips, and the praise you’d receive when returning home with his head on a pedestal made your toes curl. 

But something changed. You never felt guilty for lying and twisting people to your own pleasures but somehow, when you looked into Wriothesley’s eyes and he watched back with such a sweet stare, your knees would shake with shame. He lived trough this, you realised in horror. He lived your story once before, and your shame would deepen the more he opened up to you. Each moment when his longing kisses would caress your cheeks, a piece of you lost itself into a puddle of unfamiliar guilt.

You knew the little love you built on a foundation of lies would crumble soon. You had a bargain with a certain mistress, and her patience was thinning as seconds passed. 

Then that day came, not that long after the chaos wrecked by a certain red fox with a clipped tail  and three little rascals you had no name for. He told you specifically not to come to his chambers at that time. He had a guest, someone dangerous, and he wished to keep you away from their grasps. Little did you know, her presence was there for none other than yourself. You ran out of time, and now you had no way of ever coming clean to him. 

The room around him felt suffocating, as though it was closing in and getting smaller and smaller until he couldn’t handle the claustrophobic sensation anymore. Wriothesley tugged at his tie, clearing his throat with an awkward pang in his voice. He sat at his desk, a place he usually associated with comfort. Under any usual circumstances, it would be comforting, really. A mellow feeling would settle in his chest at the though of afternoon tea with a plume in his hands, paperwork in piles at his desk. He couldn’t help it, the routine comforted him more than anything, almost more than your sweet voice did.

Across from him, with her hands on her crossed knees, was Father herself. She sat with her back straight, like a noble who grew with manners rooted into her very being. She knew something he didn’t, her very presence in his office proving as such, yet eyes reminded him of the status he would never have, of the scum his very being meant to her, and he couldn’t stand it. He sighed, trying to mirror her indifference and his nails dug crescent shapes into his palms, knuckles white against the seat’s armrests. 

“I deeply apologise for the inconvenience my children have caused you.” Father finally spoke, feigning a deeply annoyed expression. Her fingers massaged the bridge of her nose, and she rolled her shoulders. Wriothesley wished to scoff, answer that “inconvenience” was a small word for the chaos that her “children” brought upon the poor warden, but he only nodded deeply. “But that is not all there is, is it?” He chimed in. She only nodded.

“As much as I quite enjoy idle chatting, there is a request I have to you.” How arrogant, he thought to himself. First they use his fortress as a hub for their shady plans, and now they want a favour. He had it in himself to refuse without even hearing her out, but his lips pressed against each other in curiosity. 

“Is it about that ginger harbinger of yours?” At his words, her eyebrows raised, only for a second, and before he could take pride in her confusion, her face was back to the same unreadable expression. “No, not quite. I am not very interested in the business of my fellow harbingers, you see.” She let her elbow rest on her knee, and her chin in her palm. Her stare was unchanging. “Usually.” She added suddenly. 

Unbeknownst to the warden, at the very same moment he was serving tea with his guest, you were being helped into thick furs and expensive silks by one of Arlecchino’s children. The cat girl remained quiet as she laced your corset and draped the fur coat around your shoulders. An uniform that grew unfamiliar to you with the months you’ve spent in cheap jail clothing. 

“Then, if it’s not about the ginger, what are you here for, Father?” Wriothesley pressed harder, his annoyance beginning to reflect in the way he spoke. The woman smiled and nodded her head before she spoke again, a new fire burning in her eyes. “You see, I made a bargain with one of my colleagues. Naturally, when they failed to show up with their payment, I began to fret.” He listened, unsure of how her story tied to the fortress or him at all. The man puffed. “Imagine my surprise when I found out they’d been arrested and sent to the most guarded jail in all of Teyvat!” The Father’s hands flew, palms upwards as if she demanded answers from him, and he stilled at her words. 

Your heels clicked agains the floor of the fortress, and you felt their eyes prickle at your back just like they did your first day here. Lynette and Lyney followed behind you with confidence in each of their step, like they lived for the attention, and you felt your body slip back into old habits as you walk straighter, taller, prouder. 

Back in the office, Wriothesley pushed himself up from his desk and took cautious steps to the sofa, where you’d always seat with a pleasant smile on your lips. “And pray tell, who really is this colleague of yours?” Arlecchino only shrugged. “They should be joining us soon, really soon.” And the second her threatening words left her lips, the copper door to his chambers twisted.

No one spoke as a dangerous clicking of heels took to the stairs, followed by the much softer steps  of the two children. When you reached the study, you were met with the sturdy back of your so called lover, and the bemused face of Father, who barked a laugh when you nodded your head her way. “You look pathetic. Like you haven’t seen sun in months.” The warden didn’t dare turn around, already feeling the edge of betrayal, a blade that danced around his neck right in this moment. But you refused to cower before someone like Arlecchino, ranked underneath you yet cocky enough to mock you. 

“Because I have not.” You said dangerously, and the man between you two snapped his head back to look at you with wild eyes. He took you in with fury and disbelief in his gaze, watching how your expensive clothes hugged your body and how the traditional Snezhnayan accessories fit you, like they were part of your very existence. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, even as Arlecchino threw you a jewel he refuse to acknowledge the very existence of. Wriothesley searched for your eyes, hoping for you to half turn around and act as though you had no idea what was happening, but you stood tall and braved his gaze back. As though you never shared any kisses, any nights or any ‘I love you’s with him. 

You carefully pinned the cryo delusion next to the dendro vision on your coat’s collar, and it fell in place as though it was always meant to stay there, like a piece of the puzzle that was you had finally snapped into place, and he saw the truth he knew crumble before his own grasps. “Let me properly introduce myself, then.” You spoke to your lover. “My name is [Y/n], the Third Harbinger under her majesty, the Tsaritsa. I would say it has been a pleasure to stay in the Fortress of Meropide, but I’m afraid I would lie.”  

To say he was betrayed was an understatement. Wriothesley would hate you before you even told him the whole truth, and he would wait for no answers before trying to take you down himself.

He would fail, of course, and once his face would meet the cold floor, he would break with silent tears. In the same time, the poison you slipped in his goblet the day before would begin to kick in. It was not enough to kill him, you assured, just enough to make him sleepy. It would keep him obedient for the travels, after all, he was your newest pet. Before he could make out what your words even meant, his eyes would close and he would find himself in a deep slumber. 

Arlecchino took payment in favours, you learned, drawing patterns between her previous bargains and the one she would strike with you that day in the Duke’s study. But you couldn’t complain, not even when she left you to deal with a prison full of violent inmates. “Don’t kill them all.” She called while taking her children and leaving you alone in the study. 

When Wriothesley opened up his eyes, he was no longer in his chambers, but under thick layers of fur, and when his eyes gazed upon the window next to the bed he laid in, in horror, he realised he was no longer in Fontaine either. 

It would take you a long time to convince him to even listen to your explanation, but he never attempted to leave your side when he followed you from Snezhnaya to Fontaine and back. Not even when he simply refused to speak to you all together. The Tsaritsa would laugh with a full chest at how foolish his love for you was, and you couldn’t help but agree. 

But he stayed. No matter how mad, he stayed by your side. And when you’d come back drained in blood and death, he would simply take your fur mantle off and kiss your skin as he’d rid you of your guilt. 

In the end, he’d never really trust you again like before, but you were willing to sit by his side and learn to love him truly, safe to say more than an owner would love a guard dog, while he would learn to trust you again. He’d forgive you, but never forget the betrayal. 

[mellosdrawings]

OOOOOO CAN I ASK HOW WOULD THE N2 SQUAD REACT TO EACH OF THEM DYING?

What have you unleashed?

(WARNING: Angst, allusions to death, all that fun stuff. Nothing graphic tho, don't worry)

Jamil

He shouldn’t be surprised.

Well… He isn't surprised. Jamil Viper doesn't get nice things. Not for more than a few months, anyway.

Every once in a while, life takes pity on him and throws some nice, agreeable news his way. Just enough so that he lets his guard down. Just enough so that he allows himself to think maybe things will get better. Just enough so that he can pretend he isn't chained to a fate he will never escape.

A letter to NRC, a plan that goes a little too well, a couple of upperclassmen who seem to genuinely love him for who he is and not who he pretends to be.

So of course it doesn't last. Life gives and life takes.

Kalim follows, Octavinelle gets involved, Leona and Vil-

Well…

He isn't surprised.

Jamil Viper doesn't get nice things.

Vil

They look at him like they expect something from him. Horror, anger, ugly tears maybe. Just a reaction. Anything. Anything at all.

Vil doesn't give them that. Doesn't give them an opportunity to pity him. Doesn't give them food for gossip. Doesn't give them any material to make this topic last for any longer than it has to.

He knows how it works. Someone snaps a pic of him at his lowest, someone records his voice breaking during an interview, someone catches his lips tremble for but a second, and everybody will start talking about it again. And again. And again. For as long as there is a reaction from him. For as long as the topic attracts views.

Suffering brings more views than success.

So Vil doesn't react. Doesn't say a thing. Doesn't acknowledge the topic.

Better to be a cold asshole for a few weeks than to hear about it for years.

And in the darkness of his own room, where there is no camera, no eyes, and no ears to witness his grief-

Vil cries himself to sleep.

Leona

It’s just sand.

Only sand.

For miles and miles, further than the eye can see, nothing but sand.

Ruggie had the clever foresight to send all of Savanaclaw packing when Leona got the news. They would be sand too otherwise.

Who cares.

Who fucking cares.

He could turn the whole world to sand and it wouldn't be enough.

He might as well turn his own heart into sand.

It would hurt less.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Crazier Bastard's Chapter 319

Brief summary: Battle chapter. Cale uses DA while wearing a crown and cloak.

==========

Today was another battle chapter, featuring the fight between Neo and the three swordsmen, CH, Hannah, and Clopeh. CH was the main opponent, with Hannah occasionally landing attacks here and there.

Meanwhile, Clopeh moved like an assassin, doing sneak attacks. He could also create a white snake made of dead mana, though Neo easily destroyed that.

Eruhaben and Mila used their attributes to create shackles to "chain" Neo's limbs, though that fell through because Neo escaped with his Time attribute.

There were some tense moments, especially when Neo stopped time and attacked CH's back. Or when Neo stopped time and was about to blind DHB. Fortunately, Raon and Eruhaben were there to help.

Neo was about to use his hidden card, but Cale stopped him with his DA. Cue poetic descriptions of DA's effects added with DA's imitation of God of Chaos's power, and Neo ended up pale and breathless. 😂

And it did not stop there. Remember the mythic rank item, Cloak of the Sun, that Cale got as a reward from Xiaolen? Cale finally wore that cloak today. There was also the red crown which was a combination of the white crown (that sucked dragon blood), the dragon hunter emperor's crown (one of the 3 things Maxi gave to Cale in CP), and the imoogi's power from CP.

Thus, Cale ended up all shiny and dazzling, to the point that Raon joked that Gashan's crows would love Cale's look. 😂 Of course, Cale did not like his dazzling appearance, but couldn't help it because of the seriousness of the situation.

But Cale... what would others think when they see you like this? You look dazzling and like a ruler, what with a cloak and a crown. Plus a dominating aura that could even make a dragon kneel. And if the Aipotu residents see you kill a Dragon Lord, what now? Caleism would surely be established in Aipotu. 🤣🤣🤣

Ending Remarks Ruler Cale is here. It's too bad that Clopeh is fighting, because no one will be video recording Cale in all his splendor today. 😂 Next chapter will be Cale's turn in the battle. The countdown to Neo's death has begun!

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Black Widow

Pairing: Florence Pugh × Fem!Reader

Summary: Cooking With Flo is back and you make an accidental cameo that get the entire world to know about your relationship with Florence

Disclaimer: English is not my first language

MASTERLIST

Florence took a step away from her phone to make sure it was recording the way it should, her eyes studying the screen as a smile slowly formed on her lips. It took just a second for the comments to start showing up on the screen fast enough that she barely had time to read one before it disappeared to show other ones. She stayed quiet for a few more seconds to allow more people to start watching the live on her Instagram before she actually started talking.

“Sup, bitches? Here we are with another Cooking With Flo,” she said the famous words she always used to start her lives. She opened her arms as if to show the kitchen behind her and let out her raspy laugh. “Did you guys miss me? It's been a while, I know, but I'm back and this time we're making lasagna.”

For the last five months, she had done none of the livestreams cooking in her kitchen mostly because the space was a mess. The room was being renewed and, on top of that, she barely had time to do anything other than work and make sure people were painting the walls with the right color. But now she finally had time again, so that’s how she ended up standing in the middle of her kitchen on a random Saturday night.

“It's very simple, but it was a requested dish for tonight, so that’s what we're doing,” Florence kept talking, leaning back against the counter with her elbows to read some of the comments the fans were making. She saw a few questions, dozens of hearts, and some country flags, but her eyes quickly picked someone asking if there would be any guests tonight. “No, it’s only me cooking tonight, but I'm not alone.” Florence looked around and easily spotted her dog lying down a few feet from where she was standing. She leaned down to snap her fingers at him, which made him get up and walk towards her while wiggling his tail. Chuckling, Florence picked him up with some effort because he certainly wasn’t a small dog. “Billy's here! Come on, Billy, tell people hi.” The only reaction the dog gave was a low bark before he tried to lick her face. Florence moved away the best she could laughing at the same time. “Oh, God, you're getting too heavy for me to lift you, boy,” she complained and then put the dog back on the floor, where he wasted no time walking away to lie down one more time. Florence put her hands on her waist and smiled widely. “Jeez, guys. Well, let me wash my hands and we can get started.”

Florence had just turned around to go to the sink behind her when she heard a scream piercing through the house.

"AAAAAAAAH!"

The chain reaction was instant. Forgetting about anything else, Florence turned on her feet while yelling back: “Holy fuck! Babe?!”

The live kept going on her phone but the people watching could just glance at her wide eyes and surprised expression before she ran from the frame, the phone completely forgotten. They couldn’t see her anymore, but she didn’t wander far away. Just as she was about to get out of the kitchen and run to where she heard the scream coming from, someone came running from the hallway and almost bumped into her, making her stop.

“Florence!” You screamed again, although this time you were already pressed against her.

Florence instantly put her arms around you while her eyes tried to find the reason why you were yelling. She was trying to find a bruise, a cut, or blood of any type, but there was nothing on you that caught her eyes besides the sheer panic clear in your face. “What is it?!” She asked, though she was having a hard time even keeping standing since you were pushing against her as if you were running away from something. “Babe?!”

You managed to slip past her and go further into the kitchen all while using your hands to keep grabbing Florence’s shoulders as if she was the only thing keeping you safe. “Oh, my God! There's a monster inside the bathroom!”

Upon hearing that, Florence couldn’t help but blink in surprise, tilting her head to the side and trying to understand what you meant by that. “A what?”

It was her sudden change in humor that made you look at Florence with even more urgency. She was too calm, she clearly didn’t understand how grave that was. “It almost killed me!”

Your tone had the opposite effect, though. Florence kept looking at you for a few more seconds before her signature breathless smile cut the silence that had formed between you two. Her shoulders dropped, as did her hands to your waist, and she let her head hang for a moment to bask in the relief she felt for realizing there was no imminent danger as she initially thought there was. If it was anything as bad as you were making it sound, you certainly wouldn’t be acting that dramatically.

Finally, she shook her head and looked up at you again with a smile. “I'm pretty sure there's not a monster inside our bathroom. Haven't you watched Scooby Doo?” Florence joked.

It made you whine, however, because you couldn’t believe she couldn’t see the danger you were in. “Florence,” you complained.

Florence must have noticed you were getting mad for her lack of concern because she just chuckled again and approached you to kiss your cheek. “Okay, babe, I'm going to take a look,” she conceded.

Now more relaxed and with a pout, you nodded and let go of Florence’s shoulders so she could walk away from you. “Take care!” You yelled to her retreating form.

Florence kept walking until she reached the bathroom in the hallway. The door was open and the light was still on, but she poked her head inside first. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, so she decided to ask you again, keeping her voice loud and clear for you to hear her from the kitchen. "Again, I don’t think-” Florence interrupted herself out of a sudden when her eyes finally spotted the thing that had disturbed you. “Oh,” she breathed out.

Inside the kitchen, you were biting on the pad of your thumb as you waited for her. “Do you see it? It's right there by the sink!”

Florence smiled to herself while she saw the little spider weaving her web down peacefully as if there was nothing wrong in the world. “Yeah, I see it,” she replied with amusement clear in her voice.

“Take care!” You exclaimed again, but that was what finally caught the attention of the other occupant of the house. Billy, now alert because of the commotion, got up with his ears pointing up and started to go after his owner to see what was going on, but you quickly leaned down to scoop him from the floor. “Oh, my God, Billy, don't go there!”

“Can you bring me a bowl?” Florence asked.

“What for?” You frowned and moved the big dog a bit when your arms started to get tired. Maybe you should start going to the gym, after all.

Florence’s reply came quickly. “So I can take this little guy outside.”

You gasped in shock. “You wanna touch it?!”

The other woman laughed again. “No, that's what the bowl is for!” You rolled your eyes fondly at her teasing. “Come on, babe.”

You bit your bottom lip and looked around. There were several bowls around the counters that she had put there to put the ingredients while she cooked, but there was no way you would go back to that bathroom again when the life-threatening monster was still there. “I can't get any closer than this.”

“That's okay, I will go get it,” Florence soothed your nerves and, a second later, you heard her coming back to the kitchen.

You couldn’t keep Billy on your lap for longer so you put him down gently, only to have him running to meet Florence, who was just entering the room again. Florence was smiling, although she wasn’t making fun of you - at least yet - and she walked towards you to peck your cheek. It seemed like it was just a gesture to try to hide her smile, but you weren’t going to complain about it.

She had just turned to grab one of the bowls when her eyes caught her cell phone on top of the counter and she immediately stopped in her tracks as her heart dropped to the floor. “Oh.”

You jumped away from the counter like it was catching fire. “What?! There's another one here?!”

Florence’s gaze moved to you for a brief moment though she couldn’t stop looking at the millions of comments and emojis appearing on her screen for too long. “Uh, no.”

You followed her eyes and it was your turn to feel the dread inside. In your panicked state, you forgot Florence was doing a live. You hadn’t just interrupted it, you had walked on it. Literally. You could see yourself standing in the middle of the recording, Florence just a few steps to the side looking like a deer caught in headlights as her eyes kept moving from her phone to you.

People didn’t even know you existed and there you were now. People didn’t know Florence Pugh had a girlfriend. People didn’t know she was only making lasagna tonight because you told her that’s what you were craving.

“Shit,” you mumbled. “Oh, shit. I forgot you were going live.” You took a step back and put your hands on your face to hide the deep blush that took over your cheeks. “Oh, no.”

Noticing you were a step away from going on a full-on panic attack, Florence approached you and gently pulled you closer to her body. She tilted her head to the side to give you the perfect spot to hide your face in the crook of her neck and you took full advantage of that. There was no point in trying to hide now that the cat was out of the bag. People had seen you already, they certainly heard Florence calling you “babe” and saw her kissing your cheek.

You silently reached the same decision in the few seconds you stayed in each other’s embrace. When Florence pulled away, she held your face between her hands and offered you a smile that put you at ease instantly. “Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry, okay?” She winked at you. “I will be right back, let me just take out the monster for you.”

Florence kissed your forehead before grabbing a bowl and walking back to the bathroom. You thought about stepping away from the camera, maybe going back to hide in your shared room as you usually did when Florence was making content when you were around, but you barely had the time to think about where to go before your girlfriend was back in the kitchen.

“I'm back, folks.” she declared to her phone while walking to put the bowl inside the sink since she couldn’t use it anymore. After that, Florence turned back to face the camera and leaned against the counter with both hands, smiling. “It wasn’t a monster, it was just a little spider,” Florence told to the people watching the live.

Standing beside her, all you could do was mumble: “It was a monster.”

Your reaction dragged another laugh from Florence - the laugh that you loved so much, deep and husky, and that made her nose scrunch in that adorable way that always made you want to kiss her. “Thank God you're dating Black Widow herself, huh?” She nudged you with her shoulder, clearly teasing you.

Affected by her smile and her expressive eyes, you easily forgot there were literally millions of people watching you two at that moment. “I don't think that would be a reason to brag considering you would kill me in the end,” you replied, amused. “Besides, I'm not dating Scarlett.”

Her gasp was so loud that even Billy barked from where he was sitting staring up at you two. “Hey, I just saved you from a terrible monster!” Florence complained, although it was obvious she wasn’t serious. “Show me some love.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the smile on your face couldn’t be ignored. “You're right.” You nodded and leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose. “Thank you, my darling savior.”

Her nose scrunched again and a low chuckle left her lips before she pulled away with a more somber expression. She looked at you as if she was trying to hold a silent conversation and, gladly, you understood what she was asking without saying a word. You only nodded and braced yourself for what was about to come.

Florence returned her attention to her phone and her smile became a more practical one. “Well, I think you guys are a little confused. That's not how I planned for you guys to find out, but that's okay. We're just going to recalculate,” she chuckled politely. “In case you hadn’t realized it since this shenanigans started, this is my girlfriend.” Florence placed her arm around your waist, pulling you closer and smiling contently with her eyes glued on you. It seemed like you couldn’t look away from each other for a while, but she eventually returned her attention to the several comments popping on her screen. “Yes, I kept it a secret until now. And yes, I was intending to keep it under the rug for a while longer, but mostly because I did not want you scaring her away,” she joked since you both knew the reason why your relationship was a secret was because you were both trying to protect your privacy and your love from prying eyes. “She was the one that said she was feeling like eating lasagna tonight, actually,” Florence added.

You nodded, feeling more relaxed to be standing there now. “She got her grandma's recipe, I couldn't resist.”

“Since the cat is out of the bag…” She read a few comments, deciding to answer them as she went. “We've been dating for a while, yes. This is our kitchen, actually.” Florence pointed to something behind her. “Well, it’s still coming together. We still want to make some changes,” she relented since you both know none of you were satisfied with the place the fridge was placed. “Uh, she’s not an actress, if that’s what you want to know, another reason why we didn't say anything about us.” Florence kept from telling her fans what you actually do with your life, trying to maintain any sense of privacy still. “Yes, she knows my family. Guys, I will answer two more questions before we move on. Now that I saved her life and our bathroom, I believe Y/N wanted to take a shower before dinner,” she joked.

You laughed and agreed with several nods, also licking your lips to add to the dramatization. Your attention ended up going to one of the comments that showed up and you decided to answer it. “Billy ran to me at the dog park, that’s how we met,” you explained shyly.

Florence seemed happy that you spoke up, though, and she proved that by leaning closer to kiss your cheek for the third time. She then moved on to pick the last comment she was going to reply to. “No, she’s not going to feature in the next Cooking With Flo unless she wants to. Or unless there’s another teeny tiny spider forcing her to run to me.” She poked your side at the exact spot that she knew would get you squirming away and that’s what happened, of course.

“It wasn’t small,” you argued as your body moved away from her. “I'll go so you can keep filming.” You turned around to leave, but changed your mind last minute, choosing to say: “I'm sorry to crash in.”

“Don't need to apologize, babe,” Florence assured you firmly and, before you knew what was going on, she pulled you in for a quick kiss. “I love you, okay?” She whispered against your lips, making sure no one else could hear it.

“I love you more,” you replied gladly in the same tone before walking away. “See you once you get my food ready!”

Florence laughed while she watched you disappear from her sight and then looked back at her phone to clap her hands once and say: “Well, so let's get started!”

[dreamwreaver]

Vox getting frustrated over the fact Alastor is getting too close to the princess.

Zestial hearing rumours of Alastor's involvement with Charlie's flight of fancy.

Lucifer thinking that Alastor was dating his daughter, only to be blatantly relieved to find out it was Vaggie she was dating.

Mimzy getting verbally booted out of the hotel by Alastor, who used to clean up after her and been her friend since they were alive, only because she brought danger to the hotel and before she leaves, says to have fun with "his little princess".

Angel half-jokingly remarks about Alastor and Charlie running away from their responsibilities which is a line often commonly used for a couple eloping.

Rosie, upon first meeting Charlie, says she's much too young for him, clearly kidding around about him finding a new date for her to formally meet.

So many hints, so many jokes, so many references to Charlie and Alastor's relationship... What does it all mean?? This is literally what foreshadowing a couple looks like, if this were any other show, of course.

Let's also add in the fact that he breaks his own rule of rather breaking his own bones to avoid being touched by people without prior consent for her specifically, is one of the go to people to make her laugh with a pun (the lowest form of humor depending on who you ask), made himself completely comfortable on her bed when she was at her lowest and CONTINUED to stay there even after she left thereby putting his scent all over the damn thing, refused to take her soul when we all know it was something Charlie would willingly give if it meant saving her friends and people from the exterminations, and quite possibly my favorite; the deer mating noises he makes around just her.

Or one of my favorite scenes in the entire show;

Take a moment and really look at this. Alastor's gaze remains directly locked on Charlie, who reciprocates. But as he leans an arm on the back of her chair, far less in her personal space than he normally is, she grows incredibly bashful. Now, nervousness is a fine reaction, but notice the body language. She sticks her hands between her thighs and and closes her knees around them. Now I don't know about you, but consider for a moment how deliberate every action in animation is. Are there not better ways to convey the emotion she's displaying that DONT look like she's been caught having naughty thoughts about the radio demon by said demon himself?

I would love to show this scene to a non hazbin fan and ask them how they interpret this. There's a new charlastor challenge for my fellow shippers. Show someone that gif and ask them how they interpret it.

And if we delve into the meta lore there's even more. Viv has gone on record with a doodle explaining that Alastor and Charlie's shared sense of humor is the lonely island song "Mona Lisa", and that there are precisely three named characters who like pineapple on their pizza: Charlie, Alastor, and Lilith. Far be it from me to tell Viv how to run her show, but let's also look at helluva boss; a love story between a royal of hell and a creature of lower status. One who has found a way to seize some measure of power and eke out their own path. A lower class being who had a terrible father and lost his mother whom he was the closest to. Someone who hates being in chains, and is so desperate to break free of them and yet finds only emptiness when he realizes he does give a shit about this royal he tried to convince himself he didn't care about.

Am I describing Blitz, or Alastor?

All I'm saying is, it wouldn't be out of her narrative style if it was endgame. And even if it isn't in a traditional sense, all current narrative beats indicate that Charlie is going to become Alastor's person, his exception to all of his rules, and the person who as someone so successfully dodged a straight answer about, "who he'd do absolutely anything for"