Velvette Switch Week @velvetteswitchweek - Tumblr Blog

Feb 27

the best things in life aren't free

rating: explicit warning: rape/non-con tags: blackmail, dry humping, genital torture, clothed sex for @velvetteswitchweek - day 5: "(dom) blackmail" also on AO3

Charlie's relationship with Lucifer isn't one that she wants to make public, for...a lot of reasons. A lot of really good reasons, in her opinion. It's not that she's ashamed of it — far from it; she'd be shouting it from the rooftops if she could — but after the public humiliations she's already faced, and with the risk of Heaven withdrawing its support, her romantic and sexual relationship with her father isn't exactly something she wants to advertise. Velvette absolutely loves it when a stupid, pretty girl like Charlie has a secret she doesn't want to advertise. She loves it even more when it's something perverted. (AKA: Velvette demeans Charlie and then steps on her pussy while making fun of her for the fact that Charlie can be blackmailed with explicit video of her fucking her dad.)

and uh. warnings for this fic are um. kind of nuanced. because from Velvette's POV, Charlie is a victim of incestuous grooming and sexual abuse and that's ammunition to further torture her with and make her feel bad about. but from Charlie's POV, she's in a fully consensual incestuous relationship that she entered into of her own accord as an adult. I'm going to say right here and now that Velvette uses victim-blaming language, makes suggestions of Lucifer being a groomer, and overall is fucking awful about incestuous abuse to a woman that — from where she stands — is a victim of that abuse, even though Charlie does not think of herself a victim or consider her relationship with Lucifer non-consensual or the result of grooming. do with all that information what you will.

By the time the door shuts behind Charlie, she figures it’s too late to turn back, so she takes a deep breath, looks around the dimly lit space she’s stepped into, and reminds herself that optimism is always the best policy.

“Hello? Velvette? You wanted me here, so...I’m here.”

Here, in this case, is a run-down theater at the edge of Pentagram City. It’s the kind of place that absolutely none of the Vees would ever want to be seen stepping foot in: crumbling plaster on the walls allowing glowing eyes to peek through, a carpet that sends up puffs of dust with each of Charlie’s movements, old-fashioned equipment like this place hasn’t seen any use since movies got color... The posters on the walls are too moisture-damaged and tattered for her to make them out as she walks further into the building, cold despite the warm, stagnant air of Pride. She shouldn’t be here, she knows, because when it comes to the Vees she probably should have learned her lesson already, but—

But she’s still Charlie, damn it, and she can still fucking hope. Hope for an apology, hope for a changing of ways, hope for— for something, because clearly Velvette and Val aren’t so stupid as to not help when it matters, so maybe...

There’s a chance, is all. There’s always a chance. A chance to change, a chance to start over, a chance to do better. Charlie stands in the abandoned, empty lobby, staring at the long-forgotten concessions booth, and chews on her lower lip. Vaggi would probably tell her to get the fuck out of here. Angel would, too. So would Husk, probably, and Cherri, and Baxter, and Lucifer, and, well, basically everyone else she knows, which is why when she got a text from Velvette with nothing but a location and a time, she...didn’t tell any of them she was coming.

“Look,” Charlie calls into the reddish darkness, “I’m alone, okay? I came alone. I figured you’d probably want me to. I know we’ve had our differences but— but if you want to apologize, or if you want—”

“I’m in here, princess, and I’m not here to apologize.”

Velvette’s voice startles Charlie after the silence, and she’s glad the woman apparently isn’t in the room to see her jump. Velvette’s words came from a set of double doors, one of them hanging off its hinges, at the top of an extremely sketchy staircase that makes Charlie briefly wish she had inherited even just one set of Lucifer’s wings. Walking up it is probably the second-dumbest idea she’s had all day, second only, of course, to meeting Velvette the Social Media Overlord without telling any of her friends or family/significant other where she’s going. Charlie swallows hard. Well, she’s already here, and as dangerous as she’s learned Velvette is, she doesn’t actually think the Overlord would kill her, so...in for a penny, as they say. She grabs the banister and starts her way up the rickety, sagging stairs.

The staircase holds, albeit with much groaning and protesting, and Charlie finds the wraparound walkway of the second level to be relatively stable. It’s not unlike the Hotel’s lobby, now that she’s thinking of it, which is a strangely comforting thought to hold onto as she slowly pushes the one good door open and braces herself for whatever is waiting.

In the darkness, the light of Velvette’s phone seems as bright as a star. The doors open to a balcony level that overlooks the house with its rows of empty seats. On the other side of the room is the screen, cracks and spiderwebs marring its face and the curtains alongside it faded with age and mildew. Even still, Charlie can tell it was probably breathtaking in its heyday. She wonders if it used to be a stage, and if Lilith ever performed here. That seems like something she’d do. Now, though, the only two people breathing its air are Charlie and Velvette.

The Overlord is lounging in a discordantly pristine chaise, and she looked up when Charlie opened the door but didn’t move any closer. The rubble that must have accumulated on the balcony has been swept to the sides and the chaise, the singular piece of furniture, is placed serenely in the center of it all. It’s so deliberate that for a moment, Charlie can almost believe the balcony itself is a stage — the only thing that’s missing is a spotlight shining down directly on Velvette. Like a lounge singer, she realizes abruptly; the only thing they’re missing is the band.

Velvette snaps her fingers like she’s calling over a dog and breaks Charlie from her thoughts. “Well, are you going to stand there like a vapid slut all night, or are you going to come in so we can chat?”

Charlie has to bite her tongue hard before she can force out, voice stiff, “There’s no need to resort to calling me names.”

“Aw,” Velvette pouts, “but it’s so fun.” She rolls onto her stomach on the chaise, picking her feet up to let them kick in the air idly. “What’ll you do, princess? Make me do community service?”

“I’ll leave,” Charlie says, and it sounds so lofty and royal and stuck-up that she cringes despite knowing it’s also probably the smartest option. “I can come back when—”

Velvette snaps her fingers and two white-gloved emoji hands grab the doors and slam them closed behind Charlie, the broken one rattling on its hinges. Charlie’s heart plummets to a very hard landing somewhere in her stomach. Velvette’s snap is still echoing around the room as if this rotting building has a state-of-the-art sound system when Charlie darts her hand into her pocket so she can get her phone and send Vaggi and Lucifer an SOS, because being lectured by them will no doubt be better than whatever Velvette has planned. Scarcely has she managed to fumble it out before the screen fills itself with static and it gets so hot in her hands she’s forced to drop it, watching helplessly as it clatters onto the floor. It all happens in a matter of seconds and at the end of it all, there’s Velvette, still on the chaise lounge, still scrolling, still smiling.

“Neat little trick I picked up,” Velvette says as Charlie’s phone screen goes black where it sits uselessly on the ground between them. “Did you know that you can wirelessly force-load so much data into the Sinstagram app that it’ll send the whole device’s system into a shutdown? I mean, not on my phone, of course. I’m not an idiot who carries around unprotected devices.”

Charlie grits her teeth. Vaggi and Lucifer both have her live location on their maps, and at least one of them will notice if she’s gone for longer than the vague suggestion of a couple hours she offered when she told them she had to go take care of something. And if Velvette is truly so bold as to try and start a battle with Charlie, well... Charlie thinks the resulting chaos would tip her loved ones off pretty fast that she needed help.

“What do you want, Velvette?” Charlie doesn’t trust Velvette, and though hate is a strong word, she certainly doesn’t have many positive feelings about the Overlord. “You’ve already made it pretty damn clear you don’t have any interest in the Hotel. If you’re not here to apologize and you’re not here to fight, which I’m assuming you’re not since you haven’t done it yet, why did you want to meet me?”

In the forty-one days — yes, Charlie has been counting — since Vox tried to nuke Hell using Lucifer as a battery, Charlie hasn’t had a lot of time on her hands. She’s trying to be a diplomat for Heaven, assistant manager to Vaggi, and the head counselor at the Hotel all at once, and though she wouldn’t give up any of it for the world, it hasn’t exactly left her with an excess of time to...cope, with everything that’s happened. Like the fact that one of her best friends is trapped with a person who wants nothing more than to hurt him, and the fact that redemption is possible, and the fact that she got Emily injured, and the fact that she and everyone she loves and half of Hell alongside them could have been simply...wiped out of existence, just like Pentious was. Charlie knows logically that she’s more stable than she was a month ago, but also, she spent two hours sobbing into Lucifer’s pajama shirt last night because he showed her a cute duckling video, so clearly the bar is on the fucking floor.

All that to say, when Charlie finally yanks herself out of the panic-spiral that was trying to tug her down, she hasn’t exactly been keeping the best check on her emotions as of late. It takes her a moment to realize why Velvette is staring at her with her perfectly manicured eyebrows raised and her mouth pursed in a condescending little smile. Even then, it's only when Charlie swallows nervously under the weight of Velvette’s eyes and feels how sharp her teeth have gotten does she realize just how far her demon has crept past its fencing. It takes real strength to press it back down into its confines where she keeps the rest of all her sharp, ugly parts.

Velvette doesn’t comment on Charlie’s anger. She doesn’t comment on Charlie’s question, either. She taps something on her phone, lets go of it so she can sit up and cross her legs while her phone remains floating next to her, and neatly folds her hands in her lap.

“Y’know, I kept asking myself why an empty-headed little thing like you didn’t have a boyfriend,” Velvette says, every word as pointed as her nails and as stinging as the look she rakes over Charlie’s body. “I mean, objectively, I’d have expected a million stupid little princes or whatever there is down here to be crawling at your feet and slobbering over your dirty panties.”

Charlie’s heartbeat feels very loud in her ears and she’s not sure whether she’s more confused or offended. She tries to open her mouth to tell Velvette off for— for all of that, thanks, because literally all of it fucking sucks, but Velvette steamrolls right over her.

“Not that I think you’re anything worth slobbering over, obviously.” Velvette flicks the fingers of one hand in a dismissive little wave. “But I know royals well enough to know how you lot work, and I kept thinking to myself... What could possibly make Lucifer’s little brat so unappealing that you can’t even bag some lonely, perverted weirdo who only wants you for the corpse you’ll leave when he drowns your ass in the bathtub?”

“First of all, ew,” Charlie says, not that Velvette seems to care. “Second of all, where are you even going with—?!”

“And then I got it,” Velvette interrupts without hesitation, like Charlie never spoke at all. “You’ve already bagged someone, haven’t you? I figured it was some fancy royal fucker that us lowly Sinners won’t ever see, or maybe even that angel bitch you like to parade around with. I did some snooping... Made a few accounts... Scrolled through five million fucking photos of your cat... And I found the funny little coincidence that you started liking love quotes about two months before you and your wannabe Power Rangers sent Adam and the Exorcists packing. In fact...it was almost to the day that a crew of loan sharks were going around telling anyone who’d listen that they saw Lucifer at the Hazbin Hotel.”

Charlie’s heart, already in the pit of her stomach, damn near goes into freefall. Oh, no, no. The taste of bile creeps up the back of her throat with the vivid and horrible realization of exactly where Velvette is going with this. When Charlie invited Lucifer to the Hotel those months ago with the intention of asking him for help, it had been months since they talked and years since they had seen each other in person. (Yes, Charlie’s well aware of how sad that is.) She braced herself to watch him walk through those doors with the expectation that it’d be with the same bitter sadness that she’d been feeling since Lilith left, and that was certainly worth bracing for because fuck, she was bitter, and sad, and resentful, and betrayed.

She had braced herself for that, though. What she hadn’t braced herself for was the realization that he was...kind of...hot.

“I thought there was no fucking way.” Velvette laughs. “Like, no fucking way, right? Little Miss Moral Code? You’ve got to be joking.”

Charlie’s kicked back into gear, every second that she spends in her own head another second that Velvette is using against her, and she bites the anxiety back and tries, “Velvette, it’s not what you think—”

“Then I actually looked at you two,” Velvette sneers, standing up from the chaise lounge in one fluid motion and leisurely stalking towards Charlie. “Went through another five million cat photos to find the ones you post with him. Putting your head on his shoulder, sitting a little too close to him at the dinner table, making bedroom eyes at him from across the ballroom. It’s practically written out in neons for anyone who looks twice. Big, bright letters, spelling it all out...” Velvette’s only a few paces away now and she stares up at Charlie with vicious glee on her face as she drops her voice low and says, “Charlie Morningstar is enough of a desperate whore to fuck her own father.”

There are a million things Charlie wants to say and every single one of them is stuck somewhere behind her teeth, trapped in her ribcage and clawing up the back of her throat until she feels sick with it. She loves Lucifer, and that one simple fact has remained steady through all the confusing things the past months have brought. It encouraged her to keep trying through the hesitancy and shakiness of the time they first shared with each other in the days between Lucifer’s first visit to the Hotel and Adam’s attack when Charlie invited him over for breakfast and lunch and movie nights with her friends...and for dinner and movie nights that were just the two of them. It kept her from breaking down completely when she finally had to admit to herself that she loved him, and not just in the way that she should. It drove her to, the night before Adam brought the fury of the Exorcists to her doorstep, bury her hands in Lucifer’s hair, back him up against her bedroom door, and kiss him like he was fresh air after she had been drowning for weeks. Through everything, through all of their ups and downs, through every realization that Lucifer is a fucking terrible father and she’s not winning any greatest daughter awards, either... Charlie has known that she loves him.

“I’m going to be dead honest with you, princess,” Velvette says, and she snaps her phone back into her hand and puts her other hand on her cocked hip, “I didn’t think that brainless birdie had it in him.”

That, for some reason, is what drags Charlie out of the dazed horror that’s begun to set in at the prospect of what Velvette knows. “...What?”

Velvette laughs and rolls her eyes. “I thought he was too stupid to...well, to do much of anything, really. I never thought he’d be the grooming type. Suppose it goes with the whole Devil thing, but he’s not exactly the intimidating kind.”

“No,” Charlie says before she even realizes she’s speaking, “Dad didn’t— It’s not like that at all— He didn’t—”

“Oh, please.” Velvette scoffs as a few emojis pop up around her head to further embody her amusement. “He did a shit job of it too, if you ask me. I know my life would be a lot easier if you just shut your mouth and played pretty little princess for your daddy.”

This time, the demon doesn’t just creep out of its enclosure: it tears the whole fucking fence down. Charlie snarls, clenching her hands into fists as her teeth lengthen and her tail slithers out from underneath her clothes to whip angrily behind her. Velvette can taunt her all she wants. Saying things like that about Lucifer, though? Implying that he’s— he’s some kind of— of monster? Charlie doesn’t know what Velvette hopes to gain out of this and at this point she doesn’t really care. She’s going to put a stop to it, even if she has to break Velvette’s phone, blast open the doors, and send this building crumbling behind her to do it.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Velvette says from somewhere outside the swirling, righteous anger that’s turned Charlie’s vision red. “At least, not without letting me finish.”

Charlie’s tail swishes against the air as she narrows her eyes at Velvette. Velvette smirks back, shameless. Confident. A woman whose fingers are closing tighter around Charlie’s throat with every second as if she can smell the fear, sour and childish, under the anger. And there is fear, roiling and bubbling in Charlie’s gut, reminding her of everything she has to lose.

Charlie’s relationship with Lucifer isn’t a total secret, mostly because she can’t keep secrets, not like that. Vaggi was the first one that Charlie told and though her best friend doesn’t like it, she isn’t about to go around gossiping about it. Angel isn’t a huge fan of the concept, either. Husk, Niffty, and Alastor don’t care. Charlie’s never actually sat down and told Cherri or Baxter, but she assumes they know and don’t consider it worth mentioning, though there is always a chance (especially with Baxter) that they simply haven’t considered the possibility. Pentious found the whole thing distasteful, but admitted that they were cute, and he’s promised in his letters not to bring it up to Emily but also stressed that he’s not going to lie to her if she asks. Charlie worries about it sometimes, but...she’d do the same thing in his place, so she can’t exactly blame him.

So, the Hotel knows, and that’s...sort of it, really. Charlie doesn’t say anything about it in public because there’s no reason to invite any more brutality and hatred from people that already have a rocky relationship with her and her father. Emily and Sera, for their parts, don’t need to know for what Charlie thinks are obvious reasons, the primary of which is that she doubts Heaven would continue humoring her if they knew about who she was choosing to let in her bed. All of it is a temporary silence — Charlie will go public with it at some point, because hiding it makes her feel even more like a hypocrite and whatever it may look like, she’s not ashamed of it — but so much of Charlie’s hard-won stability that she’s found in the past couple of weeks relies on that temporary silence holding steady.

Which means, basically, that Velvette has what amounts to a nuclear missile aimed directly at Charlie’s life, happiness, and interpersonal relationships. It’s just rumors, sure, but Charlie’s learned her lesson. If there’s one thing Hell loves, it’s rumors.

The silence stretches out long and thick, and eventually, tail flicking irritably, Charlie breaks. “Okay, what?”

Velvette’s smile is all teeth and nothing kind as she cocks her head at Charlie, presses something on her phone, and says, “You’re a real sick freak, you know that, blondie?”

Charlie doesn’t even get time to wonder about what Velvette means by that. Across the room, the theater screen shimmers pink-purple with Velvette’s magic and there’s a digital crackle and then a pop, like sound being forced through old speakers. The screen goes red, then black, and then, slowly, fades into a video, a little grainy like it was shot with a phone camera or some other small device and angled in such a way with darkness blocking the sides that makes Charlie think it was taken through the crack of a door or maybe from inside a keyhole. For a moment, the only thing visible is a cramped, warmly lit room — more of a closet, really — that blurs in and out as the camera adjusts and focuses. Then there’s movement, and...

No. No, no, this can’t be happening. Charlie’s blood turns to ice in her veins.

“—sure nobody’s going to hear us?” Charlie asks in the video, stepping between Lucifer’s legs where he’s pushed himself up onto a built-in counter and hooked his ankles around the small of her back.

Even in the grainy image, Lucifer’s offended look is cute enough to make Charlie’s heart hurt. “Um, are you seriously doubting my building capabilities? You helped me construct these walls yourself, so I know you know how thick they are.”

Her face isn’t all that visible from this angle, but Charlie remembers she was smiling, and she can hear it in her voice when she leans in and mutters against Lucifer’s mouth, “Alright, alright, yeah, I remember.” Then she crowds into him closer, pressing so far into his space that he visibly shudders, and kisses him hard before whispering, “I just worry about people hearing it when I make you sing.”

Seeing it like this, huge and bright and in surround-sound stereo, is enough to send Charlie’s stomach clenching with nausea. She’s not ashamed, really, she’s not, but it’s still—

That’s still—

“It’s one thing if you just lie back and think of Hell every now and again,” Velvette sneers, suddenly close and slipping behind Charlie’s back like the shadow of a knife’s edge. “I wouldn’t even blame you for that. Close your eyes and make some pretty noises while he goes at it, well, we’ve all been there. But initiating?” Charlie feels Velvette’s hand reach up and grab the back of her neck, preventing her from turning her head even if she wanted to. “Doing all of that to him? At least have the decency to pretend you’re not enjoying it.”

The Charlie on the screen is kissing Lucifer, rolling her hips into him, making him whimper and arch his back and grab the edge of the counter with both hands as she pulls his vest out of the way and reaches for his belt. Charlie remembers this and that’s what’s really making her feel sick, she thinks; she can so easily recall the throbbing ache of frustrated arousal that was plaguing her, the way it made her feel stupid and too big for her body, how easy it was for her to drag Lucifer off to a broom closet and do...that.

“Getting all kissy-kissy with pops in a supply closet? Just think of what Heaven would say.” Velvette’s voice comes from Charlie’s other side now, her hand slipping from Charlie’s neck with a little yank to her ponytail as she lurks just beyond Charlie’s periphery. “But just think of what Heaven would say if they saw this part.”

“Velvette, no,” Charlie says desperately, but even she knows it’s too late, and it is — there’s a half-second of loading and then the video skips ahead.

Charlie can’t help but squeeze her eyes shut as a despairing little squeak escapes her throat, both of her hands going to her mouth too late to hold it back. Even still, the evidence is burned onto the back of her eyelids: her pants at her knees, her harness buckled around her hips, Lucifer holding onto the counter as she fucked him fast and hard and graceless. Her eyes being closed does nothing to spare her from the sounds, Lucifer’s moans and her own heavy, panting breaths loud enough to almost shake the creaky old theater.

“Charlie, Charlie, yes— Charlie, please— please— yes, yes, yes!”

Velvette clicks her tongue with faux-pity dripping from every word as she says, “Naughty, naughty.”

“You can’t—” Charlie feels like she’s going to choke on her own tongue. “This wasn’t supposed to— This was private—”

“It’s the 21st fucking century, babe, nothing’s private anymore.” Velvette sweeps back around Charlie and snaps her fingers a hair’s breadth from her face, shocking Charlie’s eyes open again. “Wake the fuck up already. Maybe the whore isn’t there anymore, but progress is progress. You think that slimy traitor of yours is really so good at blocking us out?” Then Velvette smirks and turns on her heel, silhouetted against the graphic, humiliating filth on the screen as she adds over her shoulder, “Then again, you don’t even know if he’s betraying you, too. Maybe Fishsticks still works for us.”

Charlie swallows, face burning and eyes stinging, and tries to focus on Velvette rather than the video that’s still playing behind her. Nobody was supposed to see that, that— that was supposed to be an intimate moment, not...blown up and played like this, Velvette watching it with her hands on her hips for a moment before she turns around with a self-satisfied smile and sits back down on the chaise with all the grace and predatory edge of a big cat cornering a gazelle.

“Baxter’s not a traitor,” Charlie manages after a moment, “and he is going to find whatever fucked up spy camera you used and—”

“Oh, shut it,” Velvette says as she unconcernedly glances at the nails of one hand. “Damage is done, isn’t it, princess? And anyway, God knows I don’t want to watch any more of that.” She jerks her head back towards the screen as her lip curls. “Being desperate for daddy’s approval doesn’t work on you.”

Charlie has to bite her tongue hard to stem the upwelling of incandescent rage that lights up in her chest. This is why she didn’t want to tell anyone. When people hear about her and Lucifer, they— they get the wrong idea, and Charlie doesn’t blame them, but...all she wants is for them to see that it’s not like they think. Lucifer would never hurt her, not like that, and Charlie doesn’t think she could hurt him if she tried. Their relationship is...is wrong, maybe, and risky, but it’s not...evil.

“You don’t know anything about me and Dad.” Charlie has to work to keep her words from shaking with rage. “You don’t understand it at all.”

“Seems pretty simple to me,” Velvette scoffs, and before Charlie can retort she throws her hands up and shakes her head. “But whatever, it’s literally not my problem if you want to keep on starring in his fucked-up fantasies. The important part is that you have a wonderful, awful little secret, and I...well, I have this.”

Despite herself, Charlie’s eyes are drawn to the screen again, to the short, sharp thrusts of her hips and to the slice of Lucifer’s face that she can see from the voyeuristic angle. He looks happy, not just pleased but fully, truly blissed out and happy, and despite the awfulness of it all, Charlie can’t help but feel glad that she gets to see him like that.

If Hell saw it...

If Heaven did...

Charlie has always tried to ignore what people say about her and Lucifer. She was blind to it for a while, and then a few trips and stumbles into sides of the internet she shouldn’t have gone on opened her eyes, and then she shoved all that away and put it out of her mind because it was better to focus on how she could change those opinions than sit there and stew in them. Since Vox’s whole...everything, though, it’s gotten worse again; the hesitant peace that had settled after a decent portion of Pentagram City watched her save them from Vox’s giant fucking weapon slowly trickling away as things go back to the status quo. There are, Charlie thinks, probably fewer detractors now, but the ones that remain are loud, and not at all shy about the things they’d do to her and Lucifer. If those people saw this video, and then if Heaven saw this video and stopped working with her just when she finally got through to them and actually established regular, accessible communication, and—

Charlie imagines Sera’s face if she saw this, the stern disgust she knows she’d see, and something inside her withers. Then she imagines what Sera might do to Lucifer, and that thing inside her crumbles into useless ash.

As if sensing Charlie’s weakness, Velvette sits back against the chaise, crossing her legs and looking down at what she’s doing on her phone as she says, “Obviously this shithole has seen better days, but I could have this playing on every screen in Hell in fifteen minutes flat, and the only reason it’d take that long is because the people love a little anticipation. I don’t think you want that, do you? Especially not if that adorable angel bitch sees it. I think it might kill her on the spot.”

“I’ve already asked you,” Charlie forces out past the lump in her throat and the anger making it hard to think or speak or even breathe, like the walls are closing in and the whole goddamn room is painted red, “what the fuck do you want, Velvette?”

“Yeah, but now you mean it.” Velvette dismisses her phone to the side with a flick of two fingers, the screen still scrolling and emojis popping up around it even as she gives Charlie her otherwise undivided attention. “Ugh, stop giving me that look like you’re a cornered fucking animal. I don’t want your soul — if you even have one of those — or your stupid Hotel or whatever other bollocks you’re frothing about in your head right now. The sad thing I’ve realized is that, really, you’re nothing but a dull bimbo, and there’s not really much you could give me that I don’t already have. Which, when you put it that way, means there’s not much stopping me from just...”

Velvette reaches over for her phone screen, where a big red button has appeared and hovers, projected, just below Velvette’s fingers, and before Charlie knows it she’s throwing herself to her knees at Velvette’s feet and yelping, “Don’t!”

Velvette stops, eyes wide and so bright they burn as she looks down at Charlie and tilts her head. Charlie expects her to offer some kind of taunt or scathing comment, but Velvette just smiles and draws her hand back a few centimeters.

“Please, don’t.” Charlie swallows hard as her heart pounds against her ribs, terror strangling out the rage until all she feels is fear. “Velvette, I’ll do anything. Anything that— that doesn’t make me hurt anyone else. Just— name your price, and— and then we can—”

“You stupid fucking slut,” Velvette hisses, but she takes her hand away from the phone and uses it to grab Charlie’s chin, digging her claws in until Charlie winces. “You think I want money? Do you have any idea who the fuck I am? I don’t want your dumb royal handouts. You might as well burn it for all I fucking care.”

Without warning, and with a strength that her doll-slender build doesn’t suggest, Velvette shoves Charlie back with such force that she topples over, her legs and tail twisted underneath her and the back of her head hitting the floor of the balcony with a dull thunk. It’s enough to daze her, little stars in her vision as her magic fritzes before settling again and she blinks the ache away enough to focus on...Velvette, standing over her as she curls her lip in unalloyed derision. For a brief, choking second, Charlie’s back underneath Adam’s hand, her own heartbeats loud in her head, her chest burning for air, her fingers spasming as the shock set in and she realized with a distant kind of panic that she was going to die.

Then Velvette just scoffs and seems to collect herself from whatever outburst came over her, breaking the memory like a shattered screen and watching as Charlie pushes herself up on her elbows and starts to scramble back so she can get up. She hasn’t even managed to get her hips off the ground when Velvette’s shoe comes down on her tail and digs in hard.

“Stay down,” Velvette orders. “You look a lot prettier down there.”

Velvette’s tone, like she’s talking to a misbehaving dog, makes Charlie want to throw herself at her and wrestle her phone away and make this whole fucking thing stop. But she knows that’d be stupid for a billion different reasons and she’s already made enough bad decisions today. Charlie probes her tongue into the spot where she bit her lip when she fell and allows herself to go still save for the heaving of her chest.

“What kind of nympho freak does it take to get off on doing a thing like that? Fucking your own dad with a fake cock.” Velvette’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she takes her foot off Charlie’s tail just to dig the toe of her shiny black stiletto between Charlie’s legs. “What other sick stuff gets you going, princess?”

Charlie swallows down a whimper as Velvette’s stiletto jams uncomfortably against her, painful even through her slacks and underwear. Velvette’s smile splits even wider and her eyes flash as she takes her foot away just long enough to kick Charlie’s legs apart, readjusting so this time when she presses down, the pinching ache lights up bright and unbearable and Charlie whines as tears spring to her eyes, hot on her eyelashes when she tries to screw them shut.

“I knew you’d like that,” Velvette says, and she presses harder, rocking her foot from side to side until Charlie squirms. “Don’t even try to pretend you don’t.”

Charlie groans with a quick, jerky shake of her head, keeping her eyes closed as she tries to shut her legs and protect that sensitive part of herself that’s starting to throb with pain. “No, no, Velvette, it hurts, I don’t—”

Velvette laughs. “I don’t believe you. I bet if I pulled down your clothes you’d already be soaking your panties. Dumb tarts like you always try to whine that it hurts. If I wanted it to hurt, I’d be making it hurt.”

The soles of Charlie’s shoes scrape against the floor as she tries to find purchase to push herself away or press her thighs together, but Velvette doesn’t even give her a chance — there’s the buzz of her magic and then Charlie feels digital hands wrap around her knees, pull them up, and pin them open at such an angle that she actually sobs. It makes the pain that much more acute and turns the throb to a sting, sharp over her clit where her pussy is spread open underneath her clothes. So sharp is the sting that Charlie gives up entirely on staying down and starts to reach for Velvette’s ankle, throwing her head back with a whimper and trying not to think about how satisfying it’s going to be to dig her claws into Velvette’s flawless, smooth skin.

It’s not Velvette that her claws meet, though, and Charlie sobs again as she feels another pair of emoji hands grab her own and wrestle her arms back down, pinning all four of her limbs until she’s no better than one of Niffty’s roaches pinned to their little cork displays. She could call her demon and give in to the blind red rage of terror and fear but if she did that and then hurt Velvette—

“Please,” Charlie gasps, swallowing back another whimper and opening her eyes to blink up at Velvette, torn between hate and desperate hope for mercy. “Whatever it is you want—”

Velvette doesn’t say anything, but she grinds the toe of her shoe in harder. Charlie throws her head back with a yelp as the pressure of it crushes her clit between her body and Velvette’s, like the pierce of a needle straight into her spine. Even when Velvette eases up on the pressure and slowly trails her shoe down to nudge at Charlie’s pussy, spread open and vulnerable under her clothes, it throbs with the residual ache, hot and raw as the fabric of her underwear rubs at it uncomfortably.

“Would it make you feel better if one of us was wearing more white?” Velvette asks from above her, every syllable dripping with malicious glee. “Or wearing a hideous top hat? If you’re enough of a deviant to get your rocks off on fucking your dad stupid — more than he already is, obviously — then this should be downright easy.”

“No...” Charlie moans miserably and tries to squirm away from the uncomfortable press of cotton against her entrance when Velvette pushes harder. “No, it hurts, Velvette—”

“I bet you’re thinking about doing this to him instead,” Velvette snickers. “Be honest with me, blondie, how many meetings have you sat through thinking about his pussy? How many of them in Heaven?”

Charlie’s face goes hot as Velvette’s words trip the cascade of all the filthy thoughts she’s had about Lucifer, all the fantasies of bending him over a table, pushing him to the floor and making him take care of her, the way he sounds gasping for breath on his hands and knees underneath her. “Stop—”

“I bet those stuffy old angels would just love that.”

Velvette’s toe digs into Charlie’s clit again and whatever she says next is lost in the strangled cry Charlie lets out, the throbbing sting turned even brighter with the instinctive flush of arousal that went through her at the memories. It’s even more humiliating than being held down and— and—

Charlie squeals as Velvette pulls her foot back and then kicks her, light enough to avoid any serious damage but more than hard enough to make it fucking hurt. It sends the tears that have been steadily gathering in her eyes overflowing down her cheeks, soaking into her hair as she squirms uselessly in Velvette’s iron-clad magical grip.

“You didn’t have to enjoy it so much,” Velvette says with another kick. “He doesn’t even seem like a good lay. God, he’s not even hot. You just like it because you’re some complex-riddled mess of daddy issues. Tell me your daddy didn’t love you growing up without telling me that your daddy didn’t love you growing up. Every single nasty video I saw of you two, you always look so happy to be there. It’s pathetic. Have some fucking self-respect.”

“Stop it, please!” Charlie’s vision swims with tears when she tries to open her eyes and recenter herself, determination to avoid her demon rapidly fading as the pain ratchets higher and higher. “Damn it, that’s not—”

“You beg me to stop but you never beg him to stop?” Velvette pushes hard against her once more, rolling her ankle in neat little circles to make Charlie whimper. “Gross.”

Charlie’s head hits the floor again as she goes limp for a second, chest heaving with the force of the noises she’s trying to bite back to avoid feeling even more awful about how easily Velvette is getting a reaction out of her. She knows that’s all this is, she knows Velvette just wants to feel powerful, but fuck, it hurts, and it’s all Charlie can do to keep from openly bawling like a child. Charlie’s hips spasm and her back arches up off the hard concrete beneath her when Velvette’s toe crushes into her clit again with that hot, branding pain. It’s like too much sensation overloading all her nerves, flying up her body in bright sparks that burn everything they touch, and the pain amps higher and higher like a speaker about to blow out until...

Until it tips right over the other edge, and Charlie shudders in a breath as some slow burn inside her starts up when Velvette plants the flat part of her sole against Charlie’s pussy and leans down. She can’t weigh that much, but Charlie still groans, fiercely blinking away tears as Velvette puts all her weight on her foot and idly rocks it forward and backwards. The pain hasn’t lessened, not even a little bit, but now it throbs like a slow, creeping smolder, her heartbeat in her cunt and her face wet with tears.

“I hope you think about this next time you fuck him,” Velvette says, not soft — never soft — but even all the same. “And if you ever tell anyone, I’ll make sure the whole goddamn universe knows how fucked up the Morningstars really are.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Charlie tries with a tremble in her voice that she can’t kick out this time, her hips stuttering in another pleasure-pain driven spasm. “Velvette, you don’t have to— I don’t want you to hate me.”

Velvette’s glossy mouth curls in a vicious smile. “Good. That makes it a lot more fun when I do.”

Charlie tries to stammer something back, trying to make Velvette— trying to make her see, because that’s all she wants, is to make Velvette see. At the very least all she wants is to understand why this isn’t working and why Velvette fucking hates her so much. She doesn’t get far, and whatever words she managed to form are wiped away in favor of a low, wretched moan. Her pulse beats fast and hot in her cunt, the bruised ache that’s begun to settle there mixed with sweet, syrupy arousal that’s as nauseating as it is distracting. Charlie shakes her head, another pathetic noise forcing its way from between her teeth, and presses her cheek against the concrete floor as fresh tears puddle on the dusty surface beneath her.

“You’re so much more tolerable now,” Velvette tells her with unrestrained delight. “Shame he doesn’t ever fuck you like this. Maybe it’d teach you a lesson... Calm you down...”

Charlie’s pussy clenches around nothing, the fabric of her underwear feeling damp from how hard Velvette has dug them into her oversensitive folds. She doesn’t feel like she’s going to cum — she feels like she’s going to die, or explode, or something stupid and messy and awful like that. Charlie cries out, her back arching and her blazer falling around her shoulders as Velvette kicks her clit again. It’s agony, terrible, sickening agony that makes her hips buck and her voice break.

“Velvette—” Charlie gasps. “Velvette, please—”

“Go home and cry about it to daddy,” Velvette sneers, and she plants her foot over Charlie’s clit and presses in hard.

The orgasm that ripples over Charlie feels more like a wound inflicted on her than a release of pressure or flood of bliss: Charlie yells, throwing her head so far back that her horns scrape the floor, and her whole pelvis goes tight with it as Velvette mercilessly holds the sole of her shoe steady into Charlie’s jerky, helpless movements. The pleasure of it is bruising like the pressure between her legs and a million times as sharp as Velvette’s words. She’s laughing, Charlie thinks distantly. Charlie is miserable and pathetic and helpless on the ground, and Velvette is laughing.

By the time the feeling fades, Charlie’s gasping in breaths past sobs and crying freely, big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as Velvette takes her foot off her and steps back, the magical bonds disappearing with little pops. Charlie immediately closes her legs and whimpers helplessly at the pain, curling onto her side and bringing her knees up to her chest as she sniffles and hates herself for coming here just as much as she hates Velvette for doing this to her.

“Smile,” Velvette says teasingly, the camera on her phone flashing when Charlie looks through tear-clumped lashes in her direction. “This’ll go great with the rest of them.”

Charlie wishes she understood. She doesn’t. She watches, feeling useless and small, as Velvette slips her phone into one of her pockets and picks up a coat that was hanging on the back of the chaise, shrugging it on and turning up the collar with a self-satisfied look in Charlie’s direction. Then, without another word, she walks out.

Charlie thinks she hears the click of her stilettos long after Velvette must be gone.

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