#and thrall!!!! he looks so good!! i missed him so much!!

[rainbowcrowley]

You're not your past, Anduin. I trust you.

– World of Warcraft: The War Within (2024) Announcement Cinematic

[pin-k-ink]

transparent // dazai osamu

tw ⇢ sexual tension, teasing, groping, mention of a casual relationship, grinding, semi public sex, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, unprotected sex, blowjob, face-fucking

wc ⇢ 8.1k

The ambient bustle of the Armed Detective Agency's bullpen faded into white noise the second Dazai sauntered through the door that morning. As usual, every molecule of oxygen in the room seemed to realign around his presence - an inescapable gravitational pull you'd learned to resist through sheer stubborn will.

"Well, well..." That dangerous rasp curled upwards to greet your ears like a physical caress. "If it isn't my favorite co-worker looking bright-eyed and dangerously gorgeous as ever."

You refused to rise to the blatant bait, keeping your attention firmly affixed on the paperwork before you. Out of your periphery, you tracked Dazai's leonine prowl as he drew nearer, moving with that unnervingly predatory grace. 

"No 'good morning' for me today?" he purred once near enough for you to smell the sandalwood tang of his soap. "And after I took such care with my appearance in hopes of stealing a smile."

That got you to cut him a sidelong glance - the tousled artistry of his chestnut locks, the elegant sprawl of his limbs as Dazai braced himself against the edge of your desk. One dark brow winged upwards leadingly, beckoning for you to drink in each carved angle and sinuous line.

You simply hummed a vague, noncommittal noise before refocusing elsewhere. This game between you two was too well-trodden to merit much reaction anymore. Dazai practically vibrated with sensual presence hoping to rattle you, to compel even the barest response. But you'd learned to ignore those silken ploys through sheer repetition and stubbornness.

"Oh, so we're going to be difficult today, are we?" The insinuation curled rich and buttery against the sensitive whorls of your ears. "You know how I adore a spirited challenge, gorgeous."

The subtle lean of Dazai's torso brought the smoky, masculine blend of his cologne into your atmosphere in dizzying concentration. You couldn't quite smother the infinitesimal stall of your lungs as that potent scent catalyzed unwanted responsiveness low in your belly. 

Dazai didn't miss the reactive flutter of your lashes either. A low rumble vibrated up from the broad column of his throat as he straightened again, relieving the intimate invasion temporarily.

"We're early yet, I suppose," he mused, tone dripping arch self-assurance once more. "But not to worry. I plan on coaxing plenty of delightful sounds from those pretty lips before the day's through, my dear."

Allowing your eyes to slit open revealed Dazai leaning in once more, close enough for you to feel the whisper-soft phantoms of breath ghosting across your cheek like sin made solid. Close enough to drown in those heavy-lidded russet pools glittering with blatant promise and challenge.

"I do so look forward to seeing what other...responsive tells I can tease out of you next." The words all but vibrated against your own parted lips, laced with a blistering edge of confidence. "This game's only just begun..."

With that deliberately provocative murmur, Dazai swept away towards his own workspace with that distractingly predatory grace. Leaving you struggling to recover your equilibrium as heated tendrils of awareness sparked low in your abdomen despite your best efforts.  

As much as you tried to bury yourself in menial busywork over the ensuing hours, you couldn't quite shake off the thrall of Dazai's electrifying presence. Of the effortless male potency that seemed to radiate from his very pores and cloud the air into near-solidity whenever you were in proximity.

He always seemed to find reasons to invade your orbit, crowding into your space under the flimsiest of pretenses. Dazai would stretch languidly, allowing that leanly muscled torso and the shadowed vee of his collar to present itself for shameless perusal.  

Or he'd sprawl against the edge of your desk, one lean thigh brushing yours in seeming accident as those heavy-lidded eyes bored into you with simmering heat. Forcing you to confront the sensual geometry of his features up close and at dangerously point-blank range.

The air between you and Dazai seemed to grow heavier and more charged with each passing interaction. An undeniable, nearly tangible tension that thickened the atmosphere into an insulating haze of pure distillation.

Like the time you'd been bent over one of the file cabinets, digging through the lower drawers for an elusive case report. The whisper-soft pad of Dazai's measured footfalls was your only warning before the solid wall of his chest pressed flush against the curved line of your spine. 

You jolted upright, ready to berate him for the inappropriate proximity. But Dazai simply hummed a low, distinctly satisfied rumble as you found yourself effectively pinned between the unforgiving metal and his firm masculine heat.

"There now, no need to panic," that treacherously rich timbre rasped against the nape of your neck. "I'm simply...appreciating the view up close for a change."

You could practically feel the smoldering weight of Dazai's hooded regard skating down the length of your trapped form in unhurried debauch. The subtle flex of his abdomen with each humid exhale pressed your lower backs even more snugly together.

Despite willing every nerve to remain impassive, your traitor body responded to the overwhelming physicality of being encased in Dazai's orbit like this. You swallowed hard, acutely aware of the thunderous trip-hammer of your pulse visible at the hollow of your throat.  

Dazai's answering hum vibrated straight through to your very marrow, this one edged with dark sin and a hint of smoke. Then he shifted fractionally, allowing the insistent ridge of his cock to grind against the swell of your ass in blatant taunt.

"It's a perspective I really must take advantage of more often," he practically purred against your nape. "Don't you agree, beautiful?"

You opened your mouth, determined to unleash a scathing rebuke for his flagrant impropriety. But Dazai simply chuckled again - rich and indolent - before that scorching brand of his torso finally disengaged. Leaving you to sag weakly against the drawer front, ears ringing with fractures of your own wildly skittering pulse and Dazai's husky endearments.

Another time, you'd been rifling through the copy machine's depleted supply tray in search of a new ream of paper to reload. So absorbed in your simple task that you didn't register the weighted silence signaling Dazai's intrusion until he moved to loom at your back once more.

"Need a hand there, gorgeous?" The words dripped molten sin directly into your ear. "Seems awfully inconvenient having to crouch down like that in that tight little skirt of yours..."

Cheeks going instantly incendiary, you snapped ramrod straight only to find Dazai's smoldering regard searing directly down the generous vee of your blouse from over one shoulder. A deliciously wicked slant curved those lush lips as he drank in every flustered micro-expression flickering across your features.

"Although..." he mused, rich and resonant. "I can't say I mind the view from this angle." 

Dazai leaned in slightly on the emphasis, allowing the solid wall of his torso to brush against the curve of your backside. Just a fleeting whisper of contact, but it seared like a brand all the same - sparking riotous consciousness of every place your bodies didn't quite touch.   

You struggled to rally a retort, to summon some semblance of the withering composure you desperately clung to amid these escalating provocations. But Dazai simply slanted you with another heated sweep of that darkly weighted stare, effectively robbing you of both breath and cutting words.

"Then again, we'd hate for you to...overexert yourself in such discomfort, now wouldn't we?" The words dripped like poisoned ambrosia from between those sensuous lips you'd been trying not to fixate upon.

Before you could formulate a response, Dazai's hands settled in decisive arcs around your waist - pulling you snugly back against the rigid wall of his chest. Not ungently, but with enough deliberate physicality to send a tremulous frisson ricocheting through your nerves like skipped stones across a glassy mere.

"Allow me..." he rumbled, voice dropping to an even more dangerously resonant timbre that catalyzed your pulse into a thunderous gallop. 

Dazai's answering chuckle against your nape made it clear he could sense every reactive shiver rippling through you. Yet he made no move to extract himself or relieve the overwhelming potency of being encased in the scorching orbit of his body like this. The silence grew thicker and more electrically charged by the second...

The tension almost became a living, breathing force unto itself - thickening the atmosphere around you and Dazai into a heavy, charged miasma. Every interaction seemed to crackle with unspoken provocation and heated undercurrents begging to finally breach the surface.

Like the time you were working late reviewing security footage from a stakeout, so absorbed in studying the grainy images that you didn't notice Dazai's approach until he materialized directly behind you. The solid bulk of his chest pressed flush against your back as those long arms bracketed the desk on either side, effectively trapping you in the scorching vise of his body.

"There you are, gorgeous," the silken timbre vibrated against your nape, raising delicious little contrails along your sensitized nerves. "Getting some overtime in, I see..."

You opened your mouth to issue a reprimand, but all that emerged was a strangled little noise as Dazai allowed more of his weight to settle against you from behind. The hard ridges and hollows of his frame etched themselves into the soft give of your body with delirious, molten precision.

"Now, now...no need for such an...enthusiastic welcome," he crooned, each consonant seeming to score tingling paths across your thundering pulse.

Dazai shifted infinitesimally, rolling his hips in a slow, suggestive grind that had you stifling a tremulous whimper against your will. You could feel the smile curving against the sensitive span of your nape as he luxuriated in your body's involuntary reactions.

"Although I must admit, I do love how...responsive you are to me, beautiful." The words emerged thickened by sin as one large palm skimmed up your ribcage and splayed with obvious possession between your breasts. "Makes a man wonder what other delicious little noises he could coax out with some...dedicated effort."

Despite your best attempts at impassivity, you couldn't quite restrain the full-bodied shudder that rippled through you at the lascivious implication. Dazai's hips rolled again - a pointed, insistent grind punctuating his velvety murmur as he leaned until you could practically taste the sandalwood tang of his skin.

"What do you say, gorgeous? Why don't we find out together..."

Another time, you'd leaned over to plug in your laptop charger that had come loose from the outlet, dress riding up to expose an indecent swath of thigh and backside. So focused on your search that you didn't register the telltale quiet until Dazai's heated rumble caressed your senses from somewhere directly behind.

"Well...hello there." The gruff rasp contained undisguised sin as you whipped around to find him looming at your back - chest only scant inches from brushing your own. "Now isn't this just a delicious view to stumble across?"

You couldn't even summon an ounce of outrage, too immediately arrested by the unapologetic heat blazing in Dazai's midnight regard. The way it seemed to physically scorch across your exposed skin, raising delirious inflamed prickles.

Dazai allowed his stare to streak down the length of you in one unhurried, carnal sweep. When his russet gaze finally battled back up to lock with yours at eye-level, you felt like every molecule had been methodically undressed for perusal despite remaining clothed.

"You know..." He rasped at last, pitching his timbre around the words like a physical caress. "For someone who so adamantly claims they're not trying to tempt certain...responses...you certainly have an interesting way of presenting yourself, beautiful."

On the emphasis of that last word, Dazai allowed his upper body to roll forwards in one languid swell - forcing your spines into heated alignment as he crowded you snugly back against the desk. You couldn't stifle the sharp inhalation as sinuous muscle and blistering male heat surrounded you in a searing brand.

The low, humming growl Dazai released seemed to reverberate straight through to your very marrow. You shuddered despite yourself as his broad palms mapped the flare of your hips in a scorching, proprietary glide that stopped just short of indecent territory before retreating slowly.

"Well then, I certainly can't fault your...presentation," he husked, the words ghosting across your thundering pulse point. "Although you're making it dreadfully difficult for a gentleman to retain his composure around such blatant temptation..."

The thick, luxurious weight of the tension binding you and Dazai together grew heavier and more insistent with each passing encounter. until it felt like a living, breathing force of nature unto itself. An elemental power that threatened to finally shatter whatever fragile truces still existed between you.

Like when you reached above your head to reshelve some files, causing your blouse to ride up and expose a tantalizing strip of toned abdomen. You didn't hear Dazai's silent approach over the whisper-shush of papers until the solid wall of his torso pressed flush against your lower back.  

His palms settled with scorching possession around your waist, fingers splaying to maximize contact as Dazai effectively pinned you between the searing brand of his body and the shelving. A rumbling purr of approval reverberated straight through you as he allowed his hips to grind in one molten, indolent roll.

"Well, well..." The words dripped molten sin against the nape of your neck, raising delicious frissons. "What an absolutely tantalizing surprise to stumble across..."

You couldn't quite restrain the tremulous whimper that slipped free at the insistent outline of his dick nestling against the cleft of your backside. Dazai answered with a darker, smoke-edged growl of blatant male satisfaction deep in his chest - the sound catalyzing a betraying spire of heat in your core.

"So responsive," he rasped in carnal delight. "I'd wondered just how far I'd have to push before coaxing those pretty little sounds out of you again, beautiful."

One calloused palm stroked up the vulnerable inward curve of your waist in a lingering caress. Then Dazai splayed those sinful fingertips across your abdomen, the brand of his touch raising molten wildfires in its wake as it slowly wandered higher.

"Although now that I've heard them..." His teeth grazed the thundering thrum of your pulse in a searing graze. "I seem to find myself utterly incapable of resisting the urge to hear them again. And again..."

He punctuated the delirious promise by flexing his hips with pointed emphasis, forcing your lower back to arch in order to maintain that scorching point of contact. You heard yourself keen softly in a plaintive, needy rasp that only seemed to stoke the banked wildfire in Dazai's smoldering stare to searing new heights.

"There it is..." The timbre emerged nearly unraveled into gravel now as he sealed you flush once more. "Sweeter than any symphony, wouldn't you agree, gorgeous?"

Another time, one of Dazai's hands settled low on your hip as he leaned around you to reach for a file you were reviewing. Instead of extracting himself afterwards, he allowed the solid brand of his torso to remain locked against you from behind as if it was the most natural thing in the world.    

Even with you facing the wall, you felt the scorching weight of his hooded stare caressing the exposed nape of your neck. Each measured exhalation feathered across those sensitized nerves in delirious, searing contrails guaranteed to raise prickles across your skin.  

"You're awfully tense, beautiful," Dazai rasped at last with that rich, dripping insinuation. "And after the long day you've endured, so focused...so disciplined..."

His free hand settled at the dip of your lower spine, callused fingertips trailing up in a lingering glide that catalyzed your pulse into a molten gallop. You couldn't quite suppress the tremulous shiver despite willing every molecule to remain composed and unaffected by the branding possession of his touch. 

"Don't fret," he murmured, chin dipping to graze the fragile whorl of your ear as his palm continued meandering ever higher. "I'll be sure to take...such exquisite care in relieving that tension for you."

One broad splay spanned the expanse between your shoulder blades, allowing the solid brand of his forearm to pin you flush as Dazai's hips rolled in a suggestive grind. You couldn't quite muffle the choked whimper that slipped free despite your best restraint, scalp tingling beneath the rasp of his answering chuckle vibrating against your nape.

"There now...isn't that better already?"

After weeks of the escalating tension and suggestive encounters between you and Dazai, he finally decided to change tactics. One afternoon, after another heated brush of intimate proximity had left you both simmering, Dazai caught your arm gently as you tried to make your escape.

"Enough games between us, don't you think?" His tone was low but serious, none of the usual honeyed taunts coloring the words. "We both know this delicious dance can't go on indefinitely before one of us combusts entirely."

You opened your mouth, not sure if you intended to feign ignorance or finally give voice to the crackling awareness stretching between you. But Dazai merely shook his head, holding up a hand to forestall you.

"Don't bother denying the heat, beautiful. We're both too far down this road to keep playing coy." His gaze bored into yours with surprising intensity. "Which is why I have a proposal for you - a way for us both to finally scratch this undeniable itch that's been driving us slowly mad."

Interest and trepidation warred within you as you regarded Dazai steadily. He seemed to read the conflict because one side of his mouth kicked up in a slanted smile, but not the usual teasing curl. This one was weighted with quiet promise.

"Hear me out," was all he said, letting the susurrant words hang pregnant between you. "I'm prepared to make you an offer, gorgeous...one that will allow us both to have what we've been craving with no more teasing or games involved. If you're amenable, that is."

For once, you found yourself speechless under the solemn intensity of Dazai's regard. He was clearly offering a way to finally resolve the explosive tensions building between you, laid bare with none of the usual dazzling deflections. The decision rested entirely with you now.

After a pregnant pause where you searched his expression, you gave a measured nod. "I'm listening..."

Dazai's gaze remained steady and unflinching as you indicated your willingness to hear him out. For a protracted beat, the weighted silence stretched taut between you - alive with the same sparking undercurrents that had been slowly reaching a simmer over the past several weeks.

"What I'm about to propose may sound a bit...unconventional," he began at last, rich timbre stripped of any extraneous inflection. "But I think we're both finally ready to acknowledge that there's something undeniably potent between us. A craving that's only going to keep escalating until it finally explodes in spectacular fashion."

You felt your breath hitch despite willing your lungs to remain steady. Dazai's manner was severe now - bereft of any lurid suggestions or honeyed come-ons. This side of him felt almost dangerous in its solemn intensity, drawing you in like a cobra's mesmeric dance.

"The way I see it," he continued after a charged pause, "we have two choices before us. We can keep playing these delirious games, circling one another until the inevitable conflagration consumes us both in riotous ruin..." 

Dazai allowed his smoldering stare to streak down the feminine lines of your body in one ponderous sweep before returning to lock with yours. The sheer corporeal weight of his appraisal raised exquisite tendrils of heat despite yourself.

"Or we could...indulge ourselves a bit. Satisfy this relentless craving in a controlled manner before it spirals entirely out of hand."

The meaning behind his quietly purred suggestion catalyzed a wildfire of its own inside your veins. You couldn't quite mask the reactive shiver that rippled through you, though Dazai didn't seem to fault you for it. He simply tipped his head a fraction, maintaining that weighted connection between your locked stares as he allowed the implication to sink in.

"Just a temporary arrangement between colleagues, you understand," he clarified after a protracted beat. "No strings, no pesky romantic entanglements to complicate matters further. Just two consenting adults sating this rapacious hunger that's becoming so painfully... insistent." 

Each husked word felt like searing little brands scoring across your nerves - stoking the already molten kiln banked low in your abdomen. Despite the clinical way Dazai couched his proposition, the subtle langue of his body seemed to bleed with darker promise as he shifted fractionally closer into your space.

"Think about it, beautiful," he rumbled, pitching the entreaty to detonate against the sensitive whorls of your ears. "All of this delicious tension finally allowed to unspool in unbridled release. No more restraints, no more teasing folly - just the sweet rapture of indulgence you crave as badly as I..."

The deliberate roll of Dazai's formidable torso brought his intoxicating musk crashing over you in dizzying waves. You swayed automatically towards the epicenter of that sensual gravitational pull despite your better instincts. Close enough to feel the branded caress of each measured exhale fanning across your thundering pulse.   

Close enough to be utterly transfixed by the smoldering mural unraveled in smoked whiskey and molten onyx as Dazai searched your expression for rejection - or acquiescence.

"So tell me," he rasped at last, voice descending into a ruinous timbre that resonated straight through to the hollows of your marrow. "Do we finally break this sweet torture between us, gorgeous? Or keep stoking the embers until we incinerate ourselves entirely?"

The razor-edged promise hung in the electrified space twinned heartbeats seemed to suspend entirely. Dazai simply held you transfixed with that pointed, infinite stare - allowing his words to fully permeate your awareness and render you weightless in their wake.

For once, you realized with dawning inevitability...you didn't actually have an objection to voice.

You held Dazai's piercing gaze, feeling the weight of his proposition settle over you like a heavy mantle. The suggestion of a casual, no-strings arrangement between you hung thick in the air, heavy with unspoken caveats. 

Deep down, you knew there was no way to keep things impersonal or detached if you went down that path with Dazai. The sheer smoldering intensity between you, the steadily simmering hunger you saw reflected in his russet stare...it carried an inexorable gravity that would consume you both entirely if unleashed.

For a suspended breath, Dazai simply watched you digest the implications in silence, mahogany eyes glittering like polished obsidian. Then you saw a muscle feather almost imperceptibly along the stark line of his jaw as you failed to immediately agree.

"Or perhaps..." His rumbling timbre emerged roughened by sin and smoke. "A more... permanent arrangement might be in order between us after all, hmm?"

Your indrawn breath felt approximately as loud as a sonic boom in the weighted quiet. Dazai didn't so much as blink, maintaining his leonine scrutiny as you tried to process that molten undercurrent suddenly shifting between you. 

The very air itself seemed to thicken and constrict around you both, alive with the sparking frissures of unraveling tension. Whatever this was rapidly metastasizing into felt too profound, too utterly cataclysmic to be sated through mere indulgence any longer.

As if intuiting the trajectory of your thoughts, Dazai's full lips curved into a slanting, almost feral approximation of a smile that sent delirious tendrils of heat barreling outwards.

"Yes... I can see it in your eyes now, beautiful." He veritably purred the words into the electrically charged space twinned heartbeats seemed to suspend into breath-held entropy. "This is quickly evolving into something more insistent. More..."

Blazing overhead lights turned his irises into molten eclipses as Dazai allowed his hooded stare to openly devour you once more. Mapping every micro-shiver and telling flutter as his body seemed to radiate waves of tactile seduction without closing the scant distance between you.

"Insatiable," he concluded at last, the tone pitched to detonate with exquisite precision against every nerve in wanton detonation. "Something that won't be so easily slaked through fleeting capitulation between us, hmm?"

The weighted assessment hung in the electrified tension like the string of a bow drawn taut to near snapping. You couldn't even formulate a reply, too transfixed by the banked inferno steadily spiraling into unchecked wildfire behind Dazai's uncompromising mien.

Then his jaw flexed almost imperceptibly before he allowed an exhale to shudder free in humid duress. "Very well then..."

Before you could even process the words, Dazai surged forwards into the scant inches separating your bodies with leonine grace. The sudden, shockingly intimate collision of his larger frame with yours obliterated whatever feeble scraps of space still remained, searing a brand of delirious heat down every straining nerve ending. 

His fingertips seared like molten possession bracketing the soft knolls of your hips as he pressed the irrefutable ridge of his arousal against the cradle of your lowermost curves in a slow, purposeful grind. A starburst of whited-out rapture detonated behind your ribcage at the unapologetic insistence of the motion.

"If total... profane consumption is what you require," Dazai husked against the overheated thrum of your pulse, "then that's precisely what you'll receive from me, beautiful. No half-measures, no restraints..."

The deliberate sweep of his nose nudged yours fractionally to one side, catalyzing twin gasps that mingled with heady potency in the scant space separating your dually parted lips. Searing molten onyx held you hypnotized and weightless, transfixed beneath the intensity of Dazai's smolder as he sealed the vow in that final, scorching murmur.

"I'll simply have to raze you down to your very atoms...and rebuild you entirely anew as mine."

The finality underlying Dazai's vow catalyzed your surrender like a stone finally yielding to gravity's inexorable pull. You couldn't resist the delirious whirlwind of sensation as he closed the last few inches - mouth crashing against yours in a searing, possessive brand. 

Dazai kissed you like a man hungered, all simmering restraint finally shattered into dust beneath the onslaught. His tongue swept between your lips in blatant possession, igniting every receptor into feverish communion as you arched helplessly into the scorching demands of his larger frame.    

One broad palm anchored your nape, angling your parted mouth to deepen the onslaught as Dazai's other arm banded around your waist. Lashing you flush against the exquisitely hewn planes of his torso in a searing, rapturous grind that stole any last lingering objection you might have harbored. 

His growl of dark triumph rumbled straight through your bones as you melted completely beneath that sensual siege - thoughts unraveling into rapturous ash as you finally surrendered to the devouring provocation of Dazai's kiss. Allowing yourself to be plundered with ravenous, openmouthed sweeps that curled your very toes and liquified your bones.

When he finally wrenched his mouth from yours in clear defiance of needing oxygen, you swayed numbly in the aftershocks. Ambient reality felt scorched away by the elemental entropy now rapidly consuming you both in its path. The only remaining anchor was Dazai's half-lidded stare - a molten supernova holding yours effortlessly transfixed as your chests heaved in unison.

"There now..." His graveled growl whispered across your swollen lips, arms still banded in inescapable possession. "Doesn't giving in feel so much better than fighting me at last?"

You could only manage a tremulous, soundless nod - still too thoroughly undone to rally any response beyond instinctively arching for more searing contact. Dazai made a pleased rumble deep in his chest, holding you pinned against the rigid contours of his body by sheer corporeal dominance.

Then his mouth crashed down again in another possessive onslaught, tongue stroking between your lips in blatant avowal of control. He walked you backwards with a series of inescapable grinding steps until your back met the solid resistance of a nearby wall. Caging you there in the vise of his larger frame as his mouth plundered deeper.

You clutched at any available anchor, fingers snarling through the crisp strands at his nape in a desperate bid to ground yourself amid the delirious whirlwind. But there could be no bracing against Dazai's onslaught, only utter surrender to the maelstrom.  

He growled visceral approval at your mindless responsiveness, hips angling to bracket yours in scorching emphasis as one broad palm mapped down your body.

A strangled moan spilled from your lips at the molten drag of his hand across your waist, down the flare of your hips, around to splay against the exposed vee of your inner thigh.

"Look at me," he husked, waiting until your hazy eyes dragged up to his. Then Dazai rolled his hips in a slow, sinuous grind - making sure you could feel the rigid line of his arousal through the confines of his slacks.

"See how utterly wrecked you've left me, gorgeous?" The words vibrated against the fragile whorls of your ear, raising delicious goosebumps. "That's how I've felt since the moment you first walked in here. And now, finally..."

His voice trailed off, allowing the scorching implication to speak for itself as Dazai flexed his hips in another pointed, searing roll. Your eyes practically rolled back in your skull as the pressure ignited a wildfire of need, a molten cascade of sensation that pooled low in your abdomen with alarming speed.

"But I'm not the only one, hmm?"

Those dexterous fingers inched higher along your inner thigh, skating up the tingling span to hover just shy of where you desperately ached for him. You shuddered, unable to contain the tremulous little gasp that spilled free as your hips automatically canted towards the delicious torment.

"You're equally ruined, aren't you, beautiful?" Dazai's words seared directly into the tender shell of your ear, setting each delicate nerve alight. "I can see it in those gorgeous eyes. The way you melt into me like a kitten seeking affection, aching for my touch..."

You moaned deliriously as he allowed his fingers to skate the sensitive hollow just above your hip, dipping beneath the hem of your blouse. Each stroke raised exquisite frissons along your spine as you strained for more.

"Don't fret, sweet girl..." Dazai murmured, voice dipping even lower as his fingers continued mapping higher. "I'll make sure we both get exactly what we crave. What we've needed since that first meeting in my office..."

When his fingers finally delved between your thighs, parting the fabric to tease along the wet cleft within, your head fell back in utter surrender. Eyes slipping closed at the overwhelming surge of pleasure that rocketed through you, searing every receptor into ecstatic communion.

"Yes," he rumbled darkly against the vulnerable slope of your neck, mouth trailing a series of scalding little bites in his wake. "I'm going to make sure we both unravel and find exquisite ruin together, sweet girl. But first..."

Those long, elegant fingers finally found their target, sliding against the slick center of your desire. You cried out, spine arching as Dazai's thumb stroked a deliberate path across your throbbing clit.

"I think it's only fair to return the favor, don't you?"

Then he sank two fingers into your welcoming core, the stretch forcing a sharp keening sound from your throat. Dazai released a rough purr of approval at your reaction, laving the stinging bites with the soothing flat of his tongue as he slowly pumped the digits.

"That's it, beautiful," he crooned against your thundering pulse. "Give me everything. Let me hear how utterly wrecked you are already."

Each thrust stoked the embers blazing into wildfire inside you, turning your muscles into liquid flame as the molten rhythm built. Dazai's mouth crashed against yours in another searing kiss as the fingers curling deep inside you stroked incessantly.

You surrendered completely beneath his relentless siege, the only thing holding you upright being his solid frame bracketed against yours. Each thrust stoked the molten flames higher, driving your senses into a delirium until the world narrowed down to the incendiary rhythm between you and Dazai.

A keening wail erupted from your lungs as the pleasure coalesced, cresting and exploding behind your ribcage in a devastating implosion. Dazai's answering groan felt like the sweetest reward as he drank in every tremulous sound and reaction.

As the tremors slowly receded, you became dimly aware of his lips grazing the crown of your head as he carefully withdrew his fingers. Your thighs trembled in the wake of that intense climax, but Dazai merely gathered you against his larger frame.

"That's it, gorgeous," he rasped against the shell of your ear, the timbre thick with lust. "You've been so good, letting me take you apart completely. So good for me, my sweet girl."

The praise made you whimper softly, a shiver rippling through your limbs as the last lingering sparks of rapture finally dissipated. When you managed to crack your eyes open again, Dazai's expression arrested you instantly.

His pupils were blown wide, nearly overtaking the irises entirely. Those full lips were reddened and slightly swollen, the lower still gleaming wet from his ravaging kisses. Dazai's chest was heaving as if he'd run a marathon, but his hold remained steady as he continued murmuring quiet praise into the crown of your head.

"There you are, sweet girl," he rumbled, a crooked little grin twitching across his features. "Still with me?"

Your head managed a feeble little nod, earning an amused chuckle. Then Dazai tipped your chin up until his searing gaze bore into yours with palpable intent.

"Good, because we're far from finished," he warned, the graveled timbre resonating through your bones. "I've wanted you for too damn long to be satisfied with a single taste, sweet girl. Once is going to be nowhere near enough."

You shivered at the unabashed promise, though couldn't quite muster a rebuttal. Not when the molten embers inside you were already roaring back to life beneath the searing heat of Dazai's stare.

"Now, where shall we begin?"

He pondered aloud, tilting his head to one side as he surveyed the options. His free hand wandered lower, tracing idle patterns along the slope of your spine as Dazai considered his options. You could practically hear the gears in his head whirring.

Then his gaze sharpened, honing in on something before a wicked grin split his features. You opened your mouth to inquire, but the words dissolved into a sharp gasp as Dazai seized a handful of your ass and squeezed hard.

"I've had plenty of time to fantasize about this pretty little rear, you know," he murmured against the sensitive whorl of your ear, eliciting shivers. "So many nights wondering just how good you'd look bent over my desk, ass presented and waiting for me..."

Another squeeze, harder this time as he pulled you tighter against the ridge of his erection. Dazai rolled his hips languidly, eliciting a whimper at the delicious friction.

"And the best part?" His voice dropped to a smoke-edged rasp, the timbre reverberating straight through you. "Now I finally get to find out."

Dazai didn't give you time to formulate a reply before he turned, steering you through the maze of desks with a firm hand on the small of your back. He paused once you reached the large executive desk, turning to survey the scene with obvious approval.

"Right here, sweet girl," he purred, fingers drifting down to unzip your skirt and allow it to puddle at your feet. "This will do nicely, don't you think?"

You managed a tremulous little nod, unable to resist leaning into his touch as Dazai guided you towards the edge of the desk. Your hands settled atop the cool surface for balance, and he gave a soft hum of approval at the sight.

"Such a good girl, aren't you?" He praised, calloused fingertips stroking the sensitive flesh along the backs of your thighs. "So eager to please. And you've been doing such a splendid job so far, my sweet."

A tremulous little mewl slipped free at the gentle strokes. You shifted restlessly, arching for more.

Dazai released a rumbling purr, the sound thick with satisfaction as his palm curved around the flair of your backside. The other hand reached for the waistband of his slacks, easing the zipper down as his thumb stroked along the line of your thong.

"I can't wait to get my cock inside you," he rasped, the filthy words causing a shiver. "To feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around me. So tight, so wet...and all for me, gorgeous."

His palm cupped one cheek, kneading gently as Dazai rocked his hips forwards. The ridge of his erection dragged across your slit, parting the fabric with its insistent press. Your mouth fell open in a soft whine at the delicious friction.

"I bet I can even make you scream," he husked against the nape of your neck, rolling his hips again. "Make you fall apart all over my cock as I fuck you right here, bent over this desk."

His palm cracked against the supple flesh, the sound reverberating through the air and causing a sharp cry. A second stinging smack followed, then another. Dazai's mouth roved against your shoulder blades as his hand kept punishing the swell of your backside.

"Just the thought of that has me rock-hard already," he growled, punctuating the vow by grinding his hips forwards once more. "Imagining you all desperate and dripping wet for me, aching for release."

The words alone were almost enough to tip you over the edge. Then the hand palming your backside slipped between your thighs, teasing the fabric covering your soaked slit. You gasped, canting your hips instinctively for more.

"Mm, just like that," Dazai murmured against the nape of your neck. "My sweet girl wants to be fucked, doesn't she? She's so eager, so responsive..."

One finger hooked beneath the fabric, tugging it aside. You could feel the blunt press of his erection nudging between your thighs, so close to finally entering you. The anticipation ratcheted even higher, a delicious tension.

"I've waited far too long to finally claim you, gorgeous," Dazai husked, voice thick with lust. "And I fully intend to take my time with you, sweet girl. But right now..."

One broad palm splayed across the expanse of your lower back, pressing your torso flush against the polished desktop. Your legs were spread wide, and you were held pinned in place by Dazai's weight bearing down behind you.

"Right now," he repeated, the words resonating with finality as his hand wrapped around your waist, fingers curling into the wet fabric of your panties. "I'm going to fuck you the way we both desperately need. Hard and fast, until I've completely ruined you for any other man. Is that understood?"

You managed a frantic little nod, eyes clenched tightly closed as you waited. Every nerve felt alight with anticipation, breath held in suspension.

Then, without any warning, Dazai snapped his hips forwards in a punishing thrust. You cried out sharply, unable to muffle the keening sound at the sudden penetration. His cock drove impossibly deep, filling you so completely you could almost taste him at the back of your throat.

"There now..." He rumbled dark approval, hand stroking up your spine in a soothing gesture. "So beautifully tight around me. You take me so well, gorgeous."

His hips began to move, rocking into you in slow, torturous motions that stoked the inferno burning higher. Each stroke was exquisitely thorough, each thrust bottoming out and sending a delicious jolt up your spine.

Your hands scrambled for purchase against the smooth desktop, seeking an anchor amidst the relentless sensual onslaught. You could feel every inch of Dazai's cock pistoning inside you, could hear the filthy little grunts of pleasure each time his hips snapped forwards.

"Does that feel good, sweet girl?" His voice emerged in a rough growl, the timbre nearly unraveled with the force of his need. "Being so thoroughly filled, so taken apart by my cock?"

A strangled moan ripped free from your throat at the delicious pressure, and Dazai chuckled roughly in response. One hand curled around your neck, pulling your spine flush against his chest as he increased the pace.

"That's it, sweet girl. Let me hear you. Show me how well you're being fucked, how much you enjoy taking me."

Your hips rocked back to meet his, mindless in the pursuit of ecstasy. Each thrust was more powerful than the last, a relentless cadence that stole your breath and left you helplessly panting. The delicious friction stoked the inferno blazing into wildfire, obliterating all thought in its path.

"That's it, my sweet girl," Dazai husked, voice thick with desire. "Give yourself to me completely. I'll take care of you, sweet girl. I'll always take care of you, sweet girl."

Those words alone nearly tipped you over the edge, a tremulous keen ripping free from your throat as you surrendered. You arched for more, desperate for him to finish what he'd started.

Then his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you captive as Dazai pounded into you. The angle was deeper now, his cock hitting places inside you that caused stars to explode behind your eyelids. Each thrust was more powerful than the last, driving you closer and closer to the razor's edge.

"So close, sweet girl," he husked, voice nearly unrecognizable. "Come for me. Let go, my beautiful girl."

The command detonated like a sonic boom inside you, shattering the tenuous restraint and setting the world ablaze. You screamed his name, back arching as the climax crashed over you.

Dazai snarled a filthy oath as he felt the convulsions ripple through your body, his grip tightening. He kept thrusting, dragging out your orgasm until it was nearly too much to bear.

Your legs trembled, muscles liquefying as the ecstasy crested. But Dazai didn't stop. His hand remained wrapped around your throat, holding you flush against his torso as his hips snapped forwards.

"Yes," he growled, the words vibrating straight through you. "Give it to me, sweet girl. Let me feel that sweet cunt milking me dry, let me fill you up and hear you scream..."

Each word felt like a brand scorching directly into the core of you, the heat so intense it nearly seared. You could barely breathe, barely think, barely do anything beyond shudder and moan beneath the onslaught.

The climax tore through you in an inferno, obliterating any remaining scrap of rational thought in its wake. All you could do was ride the waves, drowning beneath the deluge of pleasure.

Dazai's hips snapped forward once more, hissing a guttural curse as his own release crested. You could feel the liquid warmth filling you, flooding your core and coating the inside of your thighs as his thrusts slowed.

Then, finally, his rhythm stuttered to a halt. The arm holding you steady against him loosened, allowing you to collapse against the desktop. Your muscles felt utterly spent, trembling in the aftershocks as you struggled to catch your breath.

Dazai's hand remained on the curve of your hip, anchoring you securely as he slowly withdrew. A breathless little moan slipped free at the loss, though he immediately shushed you with a kiss pressed against the nape of your neck.

"There now," he murmured, tone thick with satisfaction. "Wasn't that infinitely better than keeping our distance, my sweet girl?"

You couldn't even formulate a reply - still reeling from the intensity of that orgasm. But Dazai didn't seem to need an answer, content to hold you pinned against the edge of the desk for a moment longer.

"But now I need you to do something for me," he rumbled after a beat, the words thickening with sin and smoke. "Be a good girl and stand up for me."

You managed a weak, confused little sound as you complied. Dazai's arm was instantly around your waist, steadying you as your trembling limbs struggled to obey. Once your knees stopped shaking, he pulled you closer.

"Good girl," he praised, the words a velvety rumble against your temple. "Now stay right here for me."

Before you could question, his hands dropped to his waistband. You watched in mute fascination as Dazai tugged his slacks down, revealing his half-hard erection. It glistened with the evidence of your shared release, a bead of his spend slipping down the side.

He didn't break eye contact, holding you trapped in the molten depths of his stare. One hand curled around his shaft, giving a languid stroke as Dazai swiped a thumb across the head.

You swallowed thickly, eyes unable to look away as he used the pearled dew to slick his hand.

"Now then," he husked, expression dark with promise. "Open that pretty mouth for me, my sweet."

Your lips parted of their own accord, the motion instinctive. Dazai's smirk widened at the immediate compliance, his free hand tipping your chin upwards to hold you pinned beneath the smoldering heat of his stare.

"I need you to clean me off, sweet girl," he explained, the graveled timbre of his voice sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. "Every. Last. Drop. Understood?"

Another tremulous sound spilled free as you nodded, eagerly getting down on your knees. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with erotic intent as you awaited his next command.

"Good girl," Dazai praised, the words dripping like honey. "Now open that pretty mouth and show me just how good you are at listening to instructions."

Your jaw fell open, tongue darting out to lap against the swollen crown. His fingers tangled in your hair, guiding you forward until you were able to suck the entire length of him into the velvet cradle.

"Just like that," Dazai crooned, the words emerging half-unraveled as his hips bucked forwards. "So fucking perfect. You look so beautiful like this, gorgeous."

His words were punctuated by shallow, rolling thrusts. His shaft grew impossibly hard against your tongue, thick and pulsing. You could feel him swelling, filling your mouth with his musky scent.

Dazai's eyes were blown wide, the pupils completely overtaking the irises. They burned with molten desire, the sight almost enough to tip you over the edge again.

"Now I need you to take me deep," he growled, voice roughened with lust. "Let me feel the back of that pretty throat, my sweet girl."

You could only nod, unable to do anything beyond comply. His fingers tightened in your hair, tugging gently as he angled your head where he needed. Dazai's cock filled your mouth, stretching the walls of your throat as he rocked forwards.

"Such a good girl," he crooned, the words emerging ragged and breathless. "That's it, take all of me. Such a good girl, sucking my cock like a proper little whore. Now open that pretty mouth and let me see those gorgeous eyes."

You moaned, the sound muffled by the length of his shaft. Dazai's fingers tightened in your hair, a warning.

"Good girl," he growled, the words almost feral with the force of his need. "I'm going to fill your sweet little mouth with my cum, sweet girl. Then you're going to swallow every drop. Understood?"

Another frantic nod, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked. He groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest as his thrusts grew sharper. His shaft filled your mouth, pushing deeper and deeper until you could barely breathe.

"Take it," he ordered, voice rough and commanding. "Take every drop of my cum, sweet girl."

Then, without warning, Dazai's entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched, eyes closing as his head tipped back.

His hips slammed forwards, bottoming out and hitting the back of your throat. You gagged slightly at the sudden intrusion, but he held you pinned. His entire body seemed to shake, muscles corded with strain.

Then his cock throbbed, pulsing against your tongue as his seed flooded your mouth. You moaned, the sound muffled by the shaft filling you.

His eyes flew open, pinning you beneath the molten weight of his stare. You held perfectly still, allowing him to spill into your mouth until his thrusts began to slow.

"Fuck, gorgeous," he panted, hips still rolling as the last spurts trickled down your throat. "That's a good girl, taking it all for me. What a sweet little thing you are, swallowing down my cum like that."

His thumb traced the outline of your lips, the calloused pad dragging along the sensitive flesh. You shivered at the feather-light caress, unable to look away from his half-lidded stare.

"You've earned a reward," Dazai husked, his voice a velvety purr. "And I fully intend to spoil my sweet girl tonight. Shall we begin with dinner? My treat."

[secondhand-snow]

a body of impulses

chapter 2: feeling like unraveling

lukas matsson x f!roy! reader (succession)

★ chapter 1 ★ | ★chapter 3★

wc: 9.0k+

warnings: super dysfunctional family, fluff first then angst, roman roy as his own warning, season 3 finale as its own warning, mentions of manipulation, drinking, smut, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, corruption kink (for real this time), dick pics, mention of phone sex, making out, dry humping/grinding, biting, pussyjobs, cum play/eating, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), aftercare, no use of y/n

summary: Lukas is amazing. He's tender, he's deviant, he's everything for you. But you're still worried, your family has never seen a beautiful thing that they haven't wanted to break.

author's note: chapter 2 is here, thank you for all the love on chapter 1! i hope you love it as much as i loved writing it ♡ be warned that this is heavy on the plot of episodes 3.08 and 3.09, so if you haven't watched the full show you may get a bit lost. please consider liking, commenting, or reblogging if you enjoyed!

You have a tendency to get anxious when things are good for too long. A few weeks without a family fight, a month without a scandal, half a year without Kendall relapsing; nice things usually end in flames in your family. They make you superstitious, always looking around the corner for something to jump out and fuck everything up. So, when Lukas is good, you get scared. You expect some kind of backhand. A threat of blackmail, a tweet exposing your promiscuity, a package of anthrax at your door. 

It never comes.

He calls you every night, your timezone, not his. Listens to you talk about your day and doesn’t press when you can’t give him details on the company. He loves to send you pictures, just of him doing the most mundane things. Lukas on a Zoom meeting, Lukas working out, Lukas eating dinner. Together, you fall into something almost domestic. It’s still a secret. You don’t open his messages in public, stay far away from any conversations about him at work that could lead a blush to your face. But when has anything in your life been completely honest?

He’s been begging for a while now to fly you out to Sweden. You know it’s a risk you shouldn’t take at the moment, but you entertain him anyway. When you ask why he wants to see you so badly, he says he misses you. Then he says he wants to fuck you on his desk.

 That almost convinces you, and you’re about to start packing when a roadblock emerges. Your dad asks you to come with him and your siblings to Italy, for Caroline’s wedding. You hadn’t been planning on going, she wasn’t your mom and you didn’t have much of a relationship with her. In fact, you actually thought she secretly hated you, something to do with how quickly Logan married your mom after their divorce. Regardless, you didn’t want to go to the wedding. But when Logan Roy calls, you come. Always.

So the bags were repacked and you found yourself on a different private jet with your siblings, once again at the mercy of your family.

“She’s probably in sexual thrall to him. He’s driving her wild with his sugar dick.” Siobhan spoke matter of factly, completely oblivious to how absurd her words sounded. Still, it wasn’t the strangest conversation of hers you’d walked in on. “So there’s nothing we can do.”

 Roman was perched across the aisle from Tom and Shiv, sitting oddly in his seat, running his hand through his hair while he spoke. “All right, fine. Let him kill her for her emeralds and… screw us out of the fucking firm. See if I care.”

“Mommy issues?” You spoke up, setting your bag down on a free seat before moving to lean over the back of Shiv’s chair, kneeling on the seat behind it.

“Always. I didn’t know you were coming?” Rome turns to address you, eyebrows coming together in question.

“Dad drafted me. I think he just wants to terrorize Caroline with my presence.”

“I think you torment her enough by just existing. She doesn’t get to be the perfect mother of Logan Roy’s prodigal children.” Shiv pitched in, finally acknowledging your presence with a little smile.

“I don’t think I’m even invited to all the events. He’s just gonna have me working on the GoJo deal the whole time.”

“Oh! About the deal, I was talking to Karl and Frank-” Tom is addressing Roman more than you, but still gives you the courtesy of eye contact before your brother cuts him off. 

“Yeah, no, you’re not really a part of that. Either of you, actually.” Rome nods his head to the couple, a smirk on his face charged by his current power trip.

“Well, I am.” Shiv interjects, annoyed.

“Well, I can’t fire you yet Shiv, because I’m still a little bit scared of you. But, my thinking is, when I take over, I’m gonna put you in the office next to mine and you’re gonna be my sexy secretary.” You just shake your head at Roman’s comment while he turns to head back to his seat. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Siobhan is more irritated than really upset, going back to her phone as Roman leaves the conversation.

“I dunno. We’re working on it.” He taps the back on his legs in a rhythm before sitting down. “Ongoing process.”

You address Tom, seeing the confusion in his eyes that people tend to get when talking to your brother. “We’re just working on outlining terms. Honestly, Gerri would be better to ask for specifics. I don’t know how much Dad wants me to say.”

Tom just nods in thanks, which you return with a small smile before heading to your seat. You’re across the aisle from Roman, who’s already curled up and ready to nap on the flight. Taking out your phone, you see a new message from Lukas, covertly labeled in your phone with just an “L.” You turn the screen away from your company, making sure to not catch the reflection in the window as you open his text.

Stockholm is a 4 hour flight to Italy. 

Is it? I’ll be in the air for at least 10 hours.

10 hours without talking to you?

I think you can manage it.

I don’t know about Italy. I can’t be held responsible for what I do when I’m in the same country as you.

It’s a risk. 

Will there be a reward?

…I’ll text you when we land.

He sends a picture of himself doing a kissing face. You send a heart emoji in response, hiding your face with your hand to conceal your smile. 

It turns out that you were invited to a few events of Lady Caroline’s wedding. Not the ceremony, of course, but at least you were allowed to attend the receptions leading up to it. You weren’t going to be cooped up in a hotel room all weekend, signing documents and having Facetime sex with your not-boyfriend. In fact, you ended up at one of these events just a little after your arrival, a garden party full of snobby aristocrats and expensive champagne. It’s too hot out for your liking, you're already sweating in your semi-formal sundress and downing your second glass of cold bubbly. 

You end up with Shiv, partially blocked from the sun by the shadow of her hat, quietly snickering at her and Tom’s jokes about a clueless cousin Greg. It’s surprisingly calm for one of your family gatherings, no shouting or challenging or worse. The tranquility snaps like a twig with a ding on your phones.

“Uh- Matsson…” Shiv speaks first, the two of you pulling out your phones simultaneously, her angling her screen to share it with Tom. A message from Karolina leads you to Matsson’s twitter page, and his latest tweet. It’s a goofy gif of his face with a Snapchat filter on it, the text reading ‘Going to Macao, feeling lucky.” You’re half excited, half alarmed. You don’t really know if you should believe it at first but, against your better judgment, you hope it’s true. Hope he’s just an hour or two from you, the closest he’s been in weeks.

 “What? Going to Macao? Feeling lucky?” Tom squints against the sun to see the Tweet before pulling out his own phone. “The fuck is that?”

“You get this thing from Karolina? It’s off the radar and now this? Is this- is it a move?” Gerri’s entrance is quick, followed closely behind by Roman. You open your mouth and close it again, not sure if your words will betray your duplicity.

“It, um, it could be…could be nothing, you know? Fucking social media fireworks!” Roman’s hand is threaded through his hair, the silver watch on his wrist glinting in the light.

“‘Going to Macao, feeling lucky.’” Gerri repeats the four words, she’s as flabbergasted as everyone in this little Waystar circle. Business has once again interfered with pleasure. “Is he trying to boost his price?”

“Is he just rocking the boat?” Shiv’s voice is unsure, wavering from her usual monotone state. “Or trying to blow up the deal? I mean, has he got good subscriber numbers coming in?”

“Maybe he’s just going to Macao and he’s feeling lucky.” Tom chimes in as Rome steps away from the group, phone pressed to his ear in a call you can’t fully hear.

“I mean, yeah… It’s not out of his archetype to post something like this.” You shrug, not sure what to contribute that hasn’t already been said. 

Roman finishes his call, turning back to you to speak. “I don’t know, it’s like, his thing. He’s a- a trickster.”

“Okay. Well, sounds cool. Is he gonna, like, steal our watches and fucking saw the deal in half?” Shiv’s getting upset, you know she likes control and she’s too far removed from this deal to do anything about Matsson’s stunts. 

“Maybe!”

“You’re supposed to be inside this Rome!”

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. Mattson’s not stupid, he wouldn’t deliberty fuck this deal and announce it to the world on Twitter.” You’re trying to reason with your siblings, though it’s not really working. Roman mostly ignores you, Siobhan rolls her eyes. Atleast Gerri and Tom look somewhat appreciative for your input. 

“I am inside, Leave it.” 

You’re done with the dialogue, done with being the peacemaker and getting stepped over by your narcissistic siblings. You throw your hands up, phone held in one and the other in a flat palm to signify your retreat before you walk away from the cluster. You hear Greg say something behind you but don’t bother to answer him, instead moving to find a quiet place far away from your siblings.

You end up in a corner somewhere, mostly blocked by trees and bushes, a little cubby hole you hoped was private enough to not be listened in on. Your fingers nimbly click through the apps on your phone, pausing briefly before pressing the call button on Lukas’s contact. It rings once, twice. Then, an answer.

“When are you coming over? Should I send you a helicopter?”

“Macao?” Your voice is higher than normal, laced in shock and thrill.

“Closer than we’ve been in weeks.” The smile is apparent in his voice, he’s pleased with himself, you hate it. And love it.

“You’re fucking insane. I didn’t think you were serious!” 

“Yeah, I am. I’ll send my jet over.”

“Oh my God, I still cannot believe you. I can’t- my family is on high alert after your little rogue Tweet.” You laugh, not really mad at him, just eager and amazed.

“Oh come on, that was nothing.”

“It was a play to keep them on guard and you know it.”

“Well, partially. It’s for the numbers too. And for your attention.”

“It’s so hard to be away from you when you do shit like this…”

“Oh yeah? You miss me?” It’s a taunt, he knows the truth even if you deny it. So, you’re honest.

“You know I do.”

“Mmm… I miss you too. Keep thinking about what I’ll do when I see you again.”

“Lukas… I’m in public…” You can’t help but glance around, be sure you’re alone when he starts talking like this. His plan is already so clear to you.

“So you don’t want me to tell you about all the ways I’ll fuck you?”

“... Don’t do this to me now.”

“It’ll be just us in this house. I’ll take you wherever I want to. You can scream as loud as you want, don’t have to be worried about someone hearing.” His voice drops, there’s a small rustling on the phone. His words shoot straight to your core, a sensation beginning to form there.

“I’m at a fucking wedding party and you’re getting me turned on. You’re evil.”

“You love it.” You pause a moment, taking a deep breath and steeling yourself before responding. 

“I’ll call you tonight. Please be careful.”

He chuckles.“I will.”

When you hang up, your text thread with Lukas is immediately graced with a photo of his dick, hard and gripped tightly in his fist. It makes you inhale sharply, curse under your breath at the growing need between your thighs. You text him back, simply writing “Fuck you.” before clicking your phone off. It takes you a few minutes of breathing exercises, but you’re able to calm your desire and soothe the blush in your cheeks before returning to the party.

Nobody asks where you went, nobody even really cared that you were gone. You can blame it on Connor’s show of making a proposal, or Matsson’s antics occupying everyone’s minds, but this is how it always is with you. The good child. The innocent daughter. Forever right where she needs to be, never in anyone’s way, constantly willing to help. You disappear when you aren’t wanted, you emerge only when you’re useful. The perfect loyalist, somehow being turned to a deserter.

Lukas leaves Monaco before you can sneak away to see him. You know it’s for the better, but it’s still a disappointment. You resign to finish the family trip and visit Sweden as soon as you get home to New York, going along with the planned events, a false smile plastered on your face. It’s during Caroline’s bachelorette in Cortona when your plans change. You were nursing a glass of wine, silencing your discontent at the rooftop bar when Gerri approached you.

She dragged you around to speak with Roman, revealing that your Dad had once again put you on babysitting duty. Logan wanted Rome to go talk to Mattson at his house in Switzerland, and wanted you to keep him in line. He couldn’t trust Roman to not fuck the deal, but he didn’t want you to speak to Mattson alone. So, you were recruited to accompany Rome. Speak just enough to stop him from saying something stupid, but not enough to draw attention. It was a game you were good at, one you had been practicing since youth. You were loyal to a fault, and Logan always used it to his advantage. 

Lukas is ecstatic when you tell him you’re coming. Less so when he learns Roman is accompanying you, but still thrilled. You ask him for discretion, first nicely and then sternly. You can’t afford to make your relationship, whatever it is, public. He knows this too, knows what your family would do if they found out, but can’t help teasing. It’s only a day after Logan’s request that you board a helicopter, headed to Lake Maggiore. Headed to Lukas.

Roman is oddly quiet on the flight, constantly on his phone or looking out the window, eyes blank. You know him well enough to see the anxiety clouding his mind, feel the nervous energy radiating off his body. You reach over to him and hold his hand. He looks annoyed. He doesn’t drop it. You squeeze his fingers gently, he returns the motion, lets you quietly comfort him until you land.

 Lake Maggiore is beautiful, surrounded by the Alps and lush vegetation, villas and lake homes dotting the shores of the water. You move straight from the helicopter to a boat, which immediately takes off at high speeds, skating over the surface of the lake. The wind fucks up your hair, blows up the skirt of your sundress, almost makes you loose your sunglasses. When you finally dock, you quickly pull out your phone, using it as a mirror to fix your smudged makeup and windswept hair before your host arrives. Roman gives you a weird look, silently judging you for putting effort into your appearance. As if he doesn’t spend hours in front of the mirror every morning styling his hair to look perfectly imperfect. 

When Lukas’s frame finally emerges from the hedges of his property, you have to bite your lower lip to hide your smile. He’s so himself, wearing sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, not bothering with real shoes, just a pair of casual slip-ons. It almost hurts to see him and not be able to immediately kiss him. Jesus, your inner monologue sounds like something from a cheesy rom-com. You feel so love-struck, it makes you crinkle your nose in embarrassment. 

The boat is tied up to the dock now, Roman perched on the side trying to make it onto solid land. The waves rock the vehicle back and forth, knocking him off balance and ruining his attempt at disembarking. 

“Do you want me to hold your hand?” Lukas has one hand in his pocket, the other reached out to Rome, close enough for him to grab. If he wanted to. “Come on, I’ll hold your hand.”

“Piss off.” Roman swats his hand away, finally moving off the boat with a small jump. You move, taking his place on the edge of the boat. It’s a bit unsteady, but you manage getting on to the dock in just a few seconds. You shoot a smug smile at Roman before following the two of them up some steps, away from the water and onto Lukas’s yard.

“It’s nice to see you again, man.” Roman speaks first, breaking the silence that had fallen over you three.

“Yeah, yeah. Long time.” Lukas has his usual posture, slightly hunched and lanky, with his hands in his pockets nonchalantly. 

“This is an amazing place!” Rome looks around, you continue to follow him and Lukas through the lawn, letting them lead you as you observe.

“Yeah...”

“No?”

“I don’t know, it kind of freaks me out, to be honest.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

“When I got it, I wanted everything to be perfect.” You climb a few steps, the group arriving at an outdoor pool area, lined with shrubs and facing the lake. “Now I’m sleeping on a camping mat until I get a deep dive on the best mattress in the world. It’s great- it’s great. I’m just not feeling great. I mean… I’m fine… Well, but, not really.”

You frown at his words. You want to reach out, hold his hand, touch his back, do something to comfort him. But it would be too obvious, too impulsive. Instead you nod sympathetically, catching his gaze for a moment.

“Maybe let’s leave the little feeley-feelings out of it. Cause I’m gonna give you nothing. Nothing!” Roman’s half joking. He hates emotions, tries to diffuse bad ones with humor, even if it feels inappropriate.

“Roman.” Your tone is a warning, pushing your sunglasses back on your head to give him a glare before turning to Lukas. “I get it. You want the best, but you don’t realize how boring perfection is when you always have it.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Success.. It doesn’t interest me anymore. It’s too easy. It’s fucking… anyone can do it. Analysis plus capital plus execution. But failure… that’s a secret.” Lukas is looking at you like you’re the only person in the world when he speaks. Sometimes he thinks you can see into his soul, you somehow know him better than anyone. He takes his sunglasses off, using the collar of his shirt to hold them. His blue eyes look directly into yours.“What are you worst at?”

“Well… I… am never telling you any of my weaknesses. Ever. Never, ever, ever.” Roman breaks into the conversation again, disrupts the eye contact between you two. “And I won’t let her tell you any either. Stuff a sock in her mouth, a ball gag or something.”

“That’s smart.”

“I know, I am smart.”

“Cause I ream people. Juice em like oranges. I get way too into people, and they disappoint me.” He looks at Roman when he says that, but you can’t help but take his words as a warning. Things moved fast between you and Lukas, you’ve barely known him for a few weeks and were already opening your heart to him. Letting him into your mind, letting him rearrange the furniture there like he owns it. “Hey, I’m thinking of doing like a- quarterly up and outs at the company.”

“Oh, yeah. Firing people is like, 85% of why I get up in the morning.” Roman shrugs when he talks, moving to take his sunglasses off and hold them in his hand. “But, uh.. I do want to ask you about that tweet, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh the…” Lukas laughs, looks at you, back to Roman. He makes a face, sticking out his tongue to mimic the Snapchat filter on his tweet. “That one.”

“Yeah. Seriously, yes. You got like, big shit coming your way?” Rome uses his free hand to run his fingers through his hair.

“...Are you- are you asking me for material nonpublic information?” Lukas’s grin is lopsided, he’s testing the two of you, seeing how far you’re really going to go.

“Maybe. Were you trying to get your share price up by tweeting unverifiable information outside of normal disclosure channels?” You cut in, raising your eyebrows at him, tilting your head in a way a little too close to flirting. Roman smiles at that, watches you exercise your knowledge like a proud father.

Lukas’s voice is mocking, a fake sad cartoon tone coming over it. “No, you’re not allowed to do that.” He moves his hands to his eyes, pretending to wipe his tears. “So mean.”

“Do you want this deal? Are you into it… like, at all?” Roman asks next. You’ve moved a bit from your area at the pool, following Matsson as he slowly circles the water. 

“Yeah, I am. I’m just a little Swedish, you know? I’m.. into equality.” He moves nonchalantly, like this deal isn’t as serious as it is. “I like getting into bed with people, but I also like to share it equally.”

“More of a merge than a takeover.” It isn’t a question, and it isn’t directed at Lukas. You turn to Roman as you say it, verbalizing what you both were thinking. Lukas just hums, doesn’t articulate a response. Even though you all know what it would be. 

“Okay. We’re just… heading to Milan to lock things down with our Dad and the bankers. And the tweet- it just didn’t feel great. If you’re hoping to blow this whole thing up, just tell me, okay?” Roman’s anxiety is back, you can see it in the tense way he’s started to move, in the higher tone of his voice.

“I just want to get myself the best. Of everything.” Lukas looks at you when he says it, darts his tongue out to lick his bottom lip. Roman’s too lost in his own head to notice it, or notice the way your breath catches in your throat. 

“Yeah, I fucking get that. Definlety.” Roman moves to pull out his phone, cursing under his breath when he reads a notification. “I uh- have to take a call really quickly. I’ll be in the boat, it shouldn’t take too long. Okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll give her a tour.” Lukas shrugs, sounding indifferent. Rome nods at him, then you, and quickly takes off towards the dock, already lifting the phone up to his ear as he walks. 

You watch him leave, round the corner and leave your line of vision before turning to Lukas, face neutral save for a hint of a smile. He’s less composed than you, smiling broadly and staring into your eyes. He walks closer to you, wraps his arm around the small of your back.

“Wanna show me around?” You raise your eyebrows in question, slightly rocking back and forth on your feet. He sighs quietly, nods, and moves to extend an arm for you to hold. 

“There’s really not much to see. Your average rich person house.” You hold his arm, walking with him into the villa as he speaks. 

The interior is nice. Well, you’re sure it cost several million dollars to furnish, but that was the standard you were used to. It’s Italian inspired with a few modern elements. You take note of the high end appliances everywhere you go. A thousand dollar air purifier, a ten thousand dollar toilet, a hundred thousand dollar refrigerator. Lukas really did want the best for himself. The downstairs looks strangely perfect, like there wasn’t really anyone living there. Everything is clean and immaculate, no traces of human life. This trend continues into the upstairs, only stopping when he shows you the primary bedroom. His bedroom.

It’s simply decorated, a bed, desk, dresser. A large TV mounted on the wall across from his bed, nightstands, some artwork on the walls. There are a few large windows on the farthest side of the room, offering a view to the lake. Most things are black, or gray, with a few navy blue accents here and there. You had slipped off your shoes when walking around the house, now you let the fall to the floor from dangling on your finger. Stepping into the room, you walk until you round the bed, seeing a camping sleep matt rolled up and leaning on a wall. The sight brings a little smile to your face before you turn to Lukas’s desk, fingers grazing softly against the wood of it. 

He has a Macbook laying on it, a pair of over-ear headphones sitting next to it. There’s a cup with a few pencils and pens, a box of tissues. It’s not much, but it’s something. Above his desk sit a few wall mounted bookshelves, made of the same wood. The books on them are mostly motivational, shit that he definitely hasn’t read. One thing does catch your eye though, an older coding textbook written in Swedish. It looks worn, the spine cracked and the pages wrinkled. Your fingers move to trace along the row of books, following them until the shelf ends and you meet the wall behind it. 

“I like it. Very you.” You move your gaze back to Lukas, who’s been leaning in the doorway, watching you explore.

“Very me?”

“It’s exactly what I pictured.” You walk up to him as he steps inside, right at the foot of the bed, just a few inches apart. “Have you really been sleeping on a mat on the floor?”

“Yeah…” You wrap your hands around the back of his neck as his sentence trails off and he moves to grab your hips, closing the distance between you.

“Lukas, just sleep on the mattress. Your back is gonna get all fucked up.”

“Probably. I just- I don’t trust it. I want something I know is good, you know?”  His reasoning makes you roll your eyes.

“It’s better than a camping mat.”

“Hey- that’s the best camping mat money can buy.”

Your hand moves to cup his face, bringing him to you and planting a light kiss on his mouth. He tries to deepen it, follows your face when you pull away, looks like a sad puppy when you deny him.

“So you haven’t used the mattress at all…?” You smirk, quirking your eyebrows teasingly.

“Not yet…” Lukas grins, his eyes traveling from yours to your lips. “Why? Do you wanna help me break it in?”

You don’t answer, just smile, roll your eyes playfully, and move away from him. You turn so your back is facing the bed, and with all the drama you can muster, flop down onto the mattress. It cushions your fall nicely, though you do get left a bit breathless and giggly. Your knees dangle off the side of the bed, feet almost grazing the ground as you kick your legs. 

“It’s really not bad.” You don’t bother raising your head, just direct your words to him knowing he’ll hear. “Not the best, but definitely ‘trustworthy.’” Laughing when he sighs in response, you throw your arms up and stretch theatrically.

You feel a hand on your knee, spreading your thighs wider apart. He slots himself between your legs, moves his hand to your waist, and pulls you quickly to him. The bed is high enough that your hips meet each other roughly, a gasp escaping your mouth at the sudden pressure on your vulva. Lukas is already half hard, and making the most subtle movements to grind you perfectly against his cock. 

“Lukas… Roman is just outside…” You’re already a bit breathless, still allowing him to rub against you as you speak. He leans close to you, tall frame bending at the waist to brush his lips against your ear, still keeping his hips flush to your as he moves. 

“I guess we’ll have to be quick then.” He places a kiss to your jawline, starting a messy trail down your neck. Lukas pauses to nip the slope of your shoulder. “And you’ll have to be quiet.”

He lifts his head, eyes staring straight into yours, and waits for your response. Your lips are already parted, breath coming quick and cheeks flushed with desire. The lust clouds your judgment, as it always seems to do with Lukas. Impulse takes over and, with a hand threaded into his hair, you pull his mouth to yours roughly.  

It’s rushed and powerful. All teeth and tongue, no time for being gentle, no time for romantics. You bite his lip, he groans into your open mouth. Your legs move around his hips, keeping his body close as he ruts against your clothed core. His movements started soft and teasing, but now he’s fully thrusting against you, rough and wanting. It feels hard and hot, has your eyes shutting and your mouth whimpering. You love being close to him like this, hearing his panting in your ear, his lips on your throat, his chest pressed to yours. But it’s not quite enough. 

“Fuck Lukas, I need more.” He pulls his head from his attack on your throat, looks at you with a grin on his face.

“You need more?” You nod, a little frantically with a small hum. “Look at you, asking for things. Tell me what you want.”

You’re a bit hesitant, cheeks still red from the vulgarity of your situation. Your mouth opens and then closes again, biting your lower lip as you try to find the right words. His hand comes to your chin, fingers pressing into your cheeks as he forces your eye contact with him. 

“Tell me what you want.”

“I just want to feel you- really feel you.” Honestly, you don’t know exactly what you want. You’re so needy, you can feel how uncomfortably wet you’ve gotten and just need some kind of satisfaction. “You can fuck me.”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “No, not yet. I have plans for that, it’ll be special.” His words are a little shocking, but turn you on even more.

“Please Lukas. I need you.” Your voice is barely a whisper, laced with want. The motion of his hips has stopped and you feel yourself desperately grind yourself against him for some relief. His hands move to your hips to hold you in place, releasing the grip on your chin.

“I’m not taking your virginity in a quickie where I can’t even get you naked. And you need to be able to walk after this.” He moves and pushes your dress up, exposing the lower half of your body. “Here you’ll like this.”

 Your panties are soaked. His gaze moves down and he notices, gives a small chuckle, runs a finger up your clothed slit. It makes you shudder and whine deeply in your throat as a response. Hooking a finger around both sides of your panties, he pulls the fabric off with one quick motion, dropping them to the floor when he’s finished. He moves from between your thighs briefly, causing you to instinctively shut your legs. Lukas pulls down his pants then, just enough to expose his cock, hard and leaking already.

He moves back, uses a hand to gently spread your legs as the other grips the base of his cock. He’s so close, his dick hovering just above your cunt. Your eyes go wide with anticipation, a light gasp escapes from your lips. Then, Lukas moves. His hips angle downwards and, using his hand to guide his cock, he gently rubs his length over your slit. The feeling is immediately intense. It’s wet and strong and burning, and when his tip touches your clit you swear your vision goes white. You really can’t help the moan that escapes you, it’s Lukas that caused it. 

“Shhh… I know, I know. But you don’t want someone to hear.” He leans over you, presses a light kiss to your mouth and grabs one of your hands. Moving your hand over your mouth, he helps you press your palm to your lips, muffling the noises coming from your lips. You nod in response, keeping your hand there when he moves his away, gripping back on to your hips to hold you in place. “Don’t want everyone to know how I’m corrupting you.”

Another moan leaves your mouth at that, luckily much quieter due to your palm. Your free hand flys down, grips over his on your hip. He keeps moving, parting your lips and spreading wetness across your pussy, hitting your clit perfectly with each thrust. A curse leaves his throat when your back begins to arch, the white hot feeling in your cunt growing fast. You can almost feel the restraint leaving his body, feel the roll of his hips getting heavier, harsher. A tear rolls down your cheek, your eyes wet with the sheer strength of this new pleasure you’re experiencing. 

“Fuck, you’re doing so good, so quiet for me.” Lukas’s accent is thicker now, his head tipping back in pleasure as he ruts against you with abandon, chasing his climax. “So fucking beautiful like this.”

That’s all it really takes for you to fall apart, cumming on his cock. Your orgasm hits in a wave, making your thighs shake and eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy. You’re incredibly glad for the hand on your mouth as it muffles the high moan that leaves your lips. You don’t see him with your eyes shut, but the groans you hear let you know that Lukas is not far behind you. A few mascara stained tears run from your eyes when you open them again, your gaze being met with Lukas’s head tilted toward the ceiling, his mouth open in pleasure. 

His cock moves from your cunt, positioning over your lower stomach. His hand moves, jerking himself roughly as he looks down to meet your eyes. Your hand moves from your mouth, and you sit up a bit as you reach for him, fingers coming to rest on his hip to keep him close to you. Another low curse falls from his mouth, and with a gravely groan he cums. White ropes shoot across your stomach, resting on your skin warmly. You whimper in sympathy, watching as he twitches and bucks against his hand recklessly. 

Lukas’s chest rises and falls quickly, breath coming fast and deep as his orgasm washes over him. When his eyes reopen, he’s quick to pull you up to meet his mouth with a burning kiss. The kiss isn’t long, but when you pull away he rests his forehead against yours, eyes shut and breathing slowly returning to normal. You stay that way for a while, just close and quiet. A few moments pass, and when he moves to stand back up you take the time to dart your hand down and gather up some of the cum on your pelvis, licking it off your finger as you raise it to your mouth.

He quietly laughs, blissed out and smiley. “You love that, don’t you?”

“Mhm. I don’t know- ‘just makes me feel close to you.” He kisses you again, softly this time, almost proud.

“I’m making a monster. First you ask me to fuck you and now you’re swallowing my cum.” He moves to his dresser, retrieving a hand towel as you sit on the bed, careful to not let any of his spend drip onto the sheets. 

“Why didn’t you fuck me?” Your head tilts as you ask. He moves to kneel in front of you, gently wiping the cum from your skin as he answers.

“I told you, I’m gonna make it special for your first time.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll even let you be my first time, now that you’ve rejected me.” It’s playful and he knows it, grinning up at you as he moves to wipe the wetness from the inside of your thighs.

“It wasn’t a rejection, it was a postponing.” Lukas stands, quickly cleaning off before tucking himself away and turning to look for your panties. “And who else would it be? Are you cheating on me?”

“No, but I can’t cheat on you if weren’t not together.” He pauses at that, head cocking as he makes eye contact with you.

“We aren’t together?”

“You haven’t asked me!”

“I thought it was self-evident. You don’t need to ask if it’s already obvious.” Lukas stoops to grab your panties from the floor, moving to hand them to you. 

You accept the fabric in an outstretched hand, setting it on the bed next to you. “Well, I would like you to ask. Make it official.”

He gives a dramatic sigh, reaches out and grabs your hands to pull you to standing. Lukas holds your hands, smiles and looks into your eyes. “Will you date me?”

You think about teasing him, making him wait, but your excitement gets the best of you and you release your answer quickly. “Yes, I will date you, Lukas Matsson.”

Your kiss is domestic and cheesy, after you separate he pulls you back into his body, rests his chin on your head for a while while he holds you close. You end up leaving your panties with him, they're still too wet to wear comfortably. Lukas helps you fix your makeup and hair, and you check to make sure your lip gloss isn’t all over his mouth (it was). He fastens your shoes back on for you, kneeling in front of you so you don’t have to bend over with your still shaky legs. He holds your hand until you reach outside and you put some space between yourselves as you enter public once more.

Roman is just finishing his call when you get back to the boat, waving at you as he quickly hangs up. You give Lukas a handshake, Rome just shouts his goodbye from a distance, and you quickly speed off again across the lake as soon as you enter the boat. Once again separated, you swear you immediately feel heavier without Lukas’s presence.

Your brother thinks the deal is fucked, he makes that clear when you’re alone again. He half blames you, half blames himself. Either way, he’s scared shitless to tell your dad about Matsson’s merge idea. So it’s a major shock when you arrive in Milan and Logan is receptive to the proposal. He praises Roman openly for once, and even commends you on your role in negotiating the deal.

But good things don’t tend to stay good for long in your family. You know something’s wrong when Logan calls you and Shiv into his office abruptly, right before your meeting with the bankers is supposed to begin. It honestly doesn’t surprise you as much as some would think to learn Roman had been sexting Gerri. You try to defend him against Shiv’s attacks, but it doesn’t do much good, not when the evidence is sitting in front of you. At the very least, you make some kind of progress covering for Gerri, reminding your dad of her loyalty. 

Things are weird and fucked the next day. The night before Comfrey had texted you to let you know that Kendall was in the hospital. She wouldn’t say what happened, just that they were keeping him overnight and he was okay. You texted your siblings but everyone was skirting around the answer with you. They knew you cared about Kendall, maybe too much, and that telling you he had nearly drowned (possibly by his own doing) would set you off like a firework.

You wanted to go visit Kendall the next day, or be there when he arrived at the villa, or just do something to help him out. But he didn’t answer your calls and all the information you were given was extremely vague. You weren’t invited to Caroline’s wedding ceremony, so you planned on staying in bed and Facetiming with Lukas all day, waiting for a response from your brother. Your day starts off that way, sleeping in and chatting with your boyfriend into the late morning, but then Lukas tells you about Gojo’s market cap. You knew he was good, you knew he was doing all he could to get the market in Gojo’s favor, but you never expected it’s worth would surpass Waystar’s.

It’s no surprise that your dad ends up calling you, recruiting you to join him on a trip to Matsson’s. When he tells you he’s considering not inviting Roman, you manage to convince him to bring him too, citing his friendship with Matsson as a cause. So you head to Lake Maggiore, again, and arrive at Lukas Matsson’s villa, again. The excitement you feel when seeing him is shrouded in the anxiety of the sudden meeting. 

You feel like every glance between the two of you is obvious. The way he parts his lips, the way your eyes drift across his frame, it’s all unmistakable of two lovers. 

Lukas leads the three of you to an outdoor area on his grounds and when the conversation starts, his intent is clear. He didn’t tell you he wanted to buy Waystar, well he may have hinted at it, but it still feels like a bit of a betrayal. Like a shock. Even worse of a shock, Logan doesn’t immediately hate it, not in his usual way.

“Yeah. This is not happening.” The rage isn’t there behind Logan’s words. His gaze drifts to Roman, then back to Matsson. Lukas raises his eyebrows.

“Okay, I see that. Understood. But, you want to stick around? See if the old deal still has shape? Side snacks?” Logan smiles, he actually smiles, at Matsson’s offer. “You have that Israeli AI operation I might like. Maybe an asset swap sort of thing?”

“Why not.” The eye contact between Lukas and your dad is never ending. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. “Rome, you should head back. For your mom, and everything.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Roman looks to you, motions with his thumb in the general direction of the dock. “Do you wanna…?”

“I’m not going to the wedding. Not invited.” You offer a small smile, look to Logan for reassurance. 

“We’ll catch up with you later, Romulus.” 

Roman is dejected. An intruder, again. An outsider in the deal he’s worked so hard on, the deal he partially started. “Alright. Hate to miss the big nuptials! So… yeah. I’ll just go do that then…” He’s hesitant to go, pats you on the leg as he leaves, Dad on the shoulder.

They wait to start speaking again until well after he’s left, and when they do it’s straight to business. Your dad wants to sell. Lukas wants to buy. You’re the reluctant bridge between. Things move inside, to a formal dining room, and the real discussion begins. Numbers start to fly, calls get made, lawyers begin flying out. You end up doing more work than you meant to, arguing for both GoJo and Waystar. Trying desperately to keep all the men in your life happy. At the same time, you’re conflicted. You know your siblings will hate this deal, you know how badly they want to inherit the company, how hard they’ve worked for one of them to eventually be CEO.

But the thing is, you don’t hate the deal. You were never going to lead Waystar, never going to be more than the founder’s child. You’re the youngest Roy sibling, a woman, and from a different marriage than the others. There was no chance of you ever being number one, and you knew that from the day you were born. So why not sell the company? You don’t want to dedicate your entire life to this soul crushing work. At the same time, you care so much for your family, more than you do for yourself. This would wreck your siblings, they wanted Waystar more than they wanted life itself. Even if being family owned fucks you, it means the world to them.

 When you finally leave Lukas’s, it’s well past the wedding ceremony, and it’s clear Dad doesn’t intend on joining the afterparty. The operation moves to Logan’s villa. The cavalry marches in, dressed in designer suits and holding briefcases stuffed with Macbooks. There’s dozens of people you’ve never even met swarming around a huge table. It doesn’t even feel real, like you’re watching a dream, or a nightmare, play out in front of you. You retire to your dads private office, curl up on a leather upholstered couch and just think. You know you should tell your siblings. Siobhan and Roman have been blowing up your phone for hours, you haven’t had the heart to answer. Your dad would kill you if you reached out. Ostracize you like Roman, or disown you like Kendall. Your brain feels like a whirlpool, your thoughts flying around enough to give you a headache. You turn to the only person you can think of.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“...”

“Are you okay?” Lukas’s voice is genuinely worried, silence isn’t normal in the conversations between you two. You hear a rustling on the other line like he’s stood up.

“I don’t really know. I wish you were here.” 

“What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“I feel like a traitor.”

“Why?”

“My siblings… you know they will hate this deal.” You stress the word hate, voice a little bit breathless with anxiety. 

“I do.” His voice is quiet, almost whispering as he speaks to you.

“They would rather die than sell Waystar. But I-” You sigh, swallow thickly. “I almost agree with Dad. I think this is a good move for us. Not just because I’m fucking the guy who’s buying the company.”

“Well then, why do you agree?”

“If we don’t sell, we’re gonna get swallowed whole. All we have is the content, not the platform to back it up, not new technology to keep us relevant.”

“That’s all true.” Lukas’s voice gets a little louder, his sentences trailing off a bit as he prompts you to keep talking.

“But even if we had that, even if we were doing better, we were more stable…”

“You still would want to sell?” He already knows what’s on your mind. Of course he does.

“I think so… I mean, I will never be CEO. Not if we’re family owned, not if we’re owned by GoJo, never. And I don’t want to spend my life in this company, especially if I’m not running it.” Your head tips back against the wall you’re leaning on. You’re hiding away in a bathroom, your voice echoing a bit as it bounces off the marble walls. “This work… it fucking destroys people.” 

“It sounds like you already know what you think.”

“But Shiv and Roman and Kendall… They want the company so badly. They’ve been prepped to run it since they were kids. Even if they kill each other for CEO, at least one of them would get what they wanted.” You’re louder now, voice still stressed but frustration peaking through.

“You need to stop wasting your life making other people happy. You would do anything for your family, and they wouldn’t do shit for you.” Lukas’s tone isn’t angry or yelling, it’s stating a fact.

“That’s not true-”

“Is it? I see you go above and beyond for them every single day, and they never spare you a second glance.” Lukas’s voice is almost pleading when he speaks next. “Think about yourself, for once. Please.” 

“Thank you.” Your eyes are brimmed with tears, your fingers coming up to brush them away quickly. “I will.”

There’s a small pause before he talks again. “Are you mad I didn’t tell you about buying Waystar?” You laugh, breathlessly, at the simpleness of his question after all you’ve just talked about.

“No, I’m not mad. I was shocked…but I think it’s worn off. You’re just doing what’s best for you.”

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

“I think you’re really smart actually. If I was in your position I’d do the same thing.” You move from your stance against the wall to look in the mirror, checking to fix any smudged mascara.

“That’s what I thought. I asked myself what you would do.”

“No, you did not.”

“No, I did not. I did think about how it would affect you though.”

“Thank you for that.” It’s half sarcastic, but you know he really does care for you. 

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll talk to you later today.”

“Okay. Come visit soon.” Lukas ends like he always does, asking for your presence. 

“I’ll try.”

It takes you a minute to compose yourself. Fix your hair, wipe off some of your fucked up concealer, blow your nose. You exit the bathroom, walk down the hall and down some stairs, finally arriving in front of the massive wooden doors leading to your dad’s office. Your brain is finally quieter now, thoughts forming clearer and headache fading quickly. You slip a small smile to the bodyguard, Colin, who opens the door for you to enter. 

Your three siblings are there, backs facing the door as they stare down Logan, who’s just moved to press a button on the phone resting against his desk. Their heads snap to you. The door shuts behind you. Siobhan opens her mouth, but you speak before she does.

“What’s going on? When did you get here?”

“What’s going on? You know what’s going on, Dad is selling and fucking our entire lives up.” Shiv faces you, her eyes are daggers and her body is a rocket about to explode. “And you didn’t tell us.”

“No, he’s not fucking your lives up. It’s not the end of the world, Shiv.” You approach them, eyes wide and pleading. 

“So you do know. You knew he was selling the company and you didn’t think ‘Hmm maybe I should tell my siblings this, you know, since they’ve spent their entire lives thinking they were going to run Waystar!’” Roman throws his hands up, his jaw is clenched and his eyes are watering.

“Do you think it would’ve made a difference?” Your voice drops, both in tone and volume. “Do you really think I have any sort of control? Any say in what happens?”

Everyone is quiet for a moment, Kendall won’t make eye contact with you. Logan is watching you intently before gazing at his other children’s faces.

“I have never, and will never, be number one. I will never have control over the company, I will never even have control over one branch of the company. I will never be CEO, I won’t even make it to CFO, because I will always be lower than you. And I will always be there for you to yell at and use and manipulate. You already fucking do!” You’re more angry than sad now, maybe it’s misdirected, but you’re too wound up to care. “For once in my life, I’m thinking about myself. And I will not let this shit, this work, destroy me like it has destroyed you.”

A few tears spill from your eyes, you don’t bother to wipe them up, just continue your eye contact with your siblings. You’re right and everyone knows it, from Gerri and Karl sitting on the couch to Logan in front of you. Shiv can’t hold your gaze anymore, she drops her eyes to the ground. Roman turns to your Dad, his eyes are wide and desperate.

“Please?” His voice is meek, barely a whisper.

“‘Please?’ You bust in here with guns, but now that you find they’ve turned to fucking sausages, you want to say ‘please?’” Logan moves from where he was half-sitting on the arm of a couch to stand in front of your siblings. “You should have trusted me.”

“Dad, why?” 

“Oh you need me to tell you why? Like your sister didn’t already? But your too fucking ashamed to admit she’s right.” He begins walking to the door, past your siblings, pausing at you to put a hand on your shoulder. “Because it works. I fucking win. Now go on, go on, fuck off you nosey fucking pedestrians.” 

The doors open, Logan is immediately tasked with papers to sign and business to attend to. Roman moves to Jerri, asks her something you don’t quite hear from the blood rushing in your ears, before moving back to the crowd of your siblings. Roman crumples to the floor, Kendall with his hands on his shoulders, Shiv next to them. You turn to see Tom entering, him offering you a weak smile as he passes.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Kendall.” Your voice is monotone. Ken looks up at you, opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it. Tom starts speaking to Shiv, but you don’t hear what he says, already turning to walk out the doors, to head back to your hotel suite, to head away from your family. 

You stay on the phone with Lukas the rest of that night. You can’t sleep but you don’t want to be awake. He eases the pain. He says he’s proud of you. He cares more than anyone you’ve known. 

When you finally fall asleep in the early morning hours, you dream of space. You’re a cosmonaut, dancing on Saturn’s rings, playing baseball with meteors. The darkness is liminal, and pure, and calm. And the constellations are breathing around you, lighting your lawless orbit. You break the trail of a comet, its fire dotting the sky like a stitch on black cloth. Venus is a stray dog, following you wherever you lead it, spinning for attention and praise. Stars flicker like faces, you can’t recognize who they are anymore.

 When you touch the Earth, everything sings.

© secondhand-snow 2024

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 40: The Maestro's Mark

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June 1905

TW: mind control, body control, captivity, human auction, abuse, burning, branding, mouth whump, forced self-harm, dissociation, this one's kind of a doozy isn't it

"Sir -- " Fitz's voice had returned to him, and he was dismayed to find it shaky and weak, much like his knees. Beside him, Miss Lily was gripping his chain so hard he thought she might crumble it to dust. "Sir -- who was -- "

"The Maestro, an old and powerful vampire lord. My sire, and Alexander's sire as well. The one responsible for turning us into vampires," Miss Lily said, picking him up into a princess carry. "I wasn't expecting him to be here. He normally does not purchase his thralls."

"Is he --" Fitz faltered with the amount of questions he wanted to ask, before settling on the most important one. "Is he cruel, sir?"

She hesitated to answer as she carried him backstage and out into the hallway. "...Yes," she finally said. "Yes, he is cruel. I'm sorry."

She sounded like she meant the apology, and Fitz's too-short life flashed before his eyes.

"What should I do, sir?"

"There's nothing you can do now. Nothing you can do but be obedient. Try to find the private places in your mind to retreat to, places where he can't reach. Eat whatever you're offered when you can. Sleep as much as possible. And never be defiant, even for the smallest matter. The price will never be worth it."

"...You seem as though you know what you're talking about, sir."

"I was his thrall, once."

It was a colorful and loud nightmare as Fitz was carried through the bustling hallway filled with vampires and their newly purchased thralls, talking and laughing and showing off their fashions. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that when he would open them, he'd be somewhere else. The lumpy couch in his drafty, shared apartment. His dressing room backstage. Even the opulent prison of his bedroom back at his family's home.

He'd found that unbearably oppressive at the time. Perhaps he'd been a fool to leave, after all.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a small room primarily occupied by a desk and a few chairs. A vampire in a fashionable black dress, her neck and ears dripping with jewels, entered the room. "Oh my, Lily, your expression is better suited for a funeral. You've sold your little project for an extravagant amount of cash. Whatever could be the problem?"

Miss Lily's face was sour as a lemon. "You know very well how I feel about my sire, Colette."

"His money will spend as good as everyone else's. If you ask me, you were a little too attached to this thrall."

"I don't care one iota about this thrall," she said, her grip tightening on Fitz's shoulders. "I just think that no one, not even a thrall, deserves the displeasure of serving my sire."

"And yet, I assume you'll want your share of the earnings."

"And yet."

The door opened, and Fitz's new owner entered the room. Perhaps it was Fitz's fevered imagination, but even the gas lamps seemed to flicker in response to the foreboding aura. He gave Miss Lily a small nod, and Fitz felt her fingers dig in tighter, painful.

"It's truly an honor to do business with you, Maestro, sir,"  said Miss Colette, settling behind the desk. "Now, then, sir, you'll owe eleven thousand dollars, unless you require any additional services..."

"No, thank you." He was staring at Fitz now, and it felt like icicles sliding down his back. Fitz couldn't help the impulse to look away -- and realized that he couldn't. He was caught hopelessly in the web of power once more.

His master, as soon as the money was handed over. His master forever. There would be no escaping a man like this.

Never be defiant. The price will never be worth it.

Never be himself ever again.

No, he had to snap out of it. There had to be a way out of this. Some way to charm him, to appeal, to get them both on the same side. There had to be. Weaseling out of bad situations was one of his specialties.

The Maestro was reaching into his coat and pulling out a pouch of what looked to be actual golden coins, as if he were some kind of royalty. Miss Colette didn't seem to regard this as strange, taking the coins from the pouch and weighing them on a small scale. Satisfied with the amount, she handed him a contract to sign.

"Now, if the transaction is complete," he said, "please leave so I can discipline my spawn and my thrall."

"Of course, sir." Miss Colette filed out of the room immediately.

Fitz's protests and his screams died in his throat, along with his desperate impulses to flee anywhere. He was under his new master's power again, frozen in time. He'd never escape, of course, but it still hurt to not even be allowed to try first, to be trapped in a treacherous body that wouldn't obey even his smallest commands.

"Lily," he said, approaching her, and Fitz realized that Miss Lily was holding him in front of her as though Fitz could shield her from her sire. "This thrall has an excellent bloodline and potential. Why did you train him improperly and allow him to make an embarrassment of you?"

"He's a performer by nature, sire, as I'm sure you can see," said Miss Lily, and she sounded as subdued and fearful as Fitz was, a far cry from her confident nature when enthralling him. "He is fully trained and obedient. I simply thought it was amusing to allow him to continue to perform, sire. Plenty of vampires would desire a thrall for entertainment. I don't think he's an embarrassment. It took skill to render him obedient while keeping his personality intact."

If Fitz could move, he would be nodding vigorously, appreciative of Miss Lily's defense.

"Yes. Performance is his nature, that much is true just by looking at him. But you need to be in better control of the thralls in your care, not allow them to preen and pose on the auction block." He reached past Fitz to touch Lily's hair, tucking loose strands of her hair into her bun. Fitz could feel her hands tremble. "Oh, child, I worry that I am too lenient on your soft heart. I don't understand what I did to be cursed with two spawn so gifted and yet so foolish."

"Thank you for your patience with us, sire."

"Indeed. And because you do often delight me, I will allow the punishment to be light."

"Yes, sire. Thank you, sire."

"Here. Take my knife." The Maestro held out a silver knife in a white-gloved hand, and Lily let go of Fitz's arm to take it. "You will find an unoccupied bathroom. You will remove your dress so that you do not bloody it. You will cut out your tongue. You will clean yourself and your surroundings thoroughly. You will then put your dress back on and join my other wayward spawn in the parlor."

Fitz's eyes widened at the description of the punishment, the only movement he could manage. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream. He couldn't do either. Miss Lily let go of his arms, and as she exited the room, head bowed low, he had the desperate, irrational impulse to stop her. True to her advice, she showed no sign of defiance, even when her sire was asking her to do the unthinkable -- as a "light" punishment. From the hard look in her eyes, he had no doubt that she was going to do it.

The door clicked shut. And Fitz was alone with his master.

The strange power forced Fitz's head up to look into the Maestro's eyes as he drew near, like a puppet on strings. With a surprisingly gentle touch, a gloved hand reached out and ruffled his hair, then hooked a finger under his chin and inspected his face from each angle. A soft finger traced down his neck and exposed collarbone, but there was no indication from his heavy aura that the vampire wanted to feed. There was no indication of any desire at all. Just control. Pure control.

What could he do to sway a man like this? He recognized his look, the man who was used to being the most powerful in the room, the kind who couldn't spare a scrap of tolerance for anyone else. No humor, no imagination. The kind of person Fitz usually avoided, or brought up on stage only to tease and get a response from the audience. On stage, Fitz held the power.

His new owner was center stage, now, and not one to relinquish the spotlight easily.

"Fitzwilliam de Hastings," said the Maestro in that musical voice. "You will answer my questions honestly. First -- do you fear me?"

Fitz felt his tongue loosen. This, at least, was an easy question. "Yes, Master."

"You are correct to. At least you are not that sort of fool. Now, tell me -- did you wish for my spawn Alexander to purchase you?"

He recalled the pathetic, fleeting hope he'd had when he'd flirted with Mr. Alexander in the showroom. Yes, yes he had, but he suspected that was the wrong answer. What had worked on Mr. Alexander wouldn't work here -- he needed to work a new angle. "I did think that at first, Master, but then you made that impeccable entrance. You're clearly the vampire all other vampires respect -- it's an honor to have been purchased by you."

The Maestro nodded, then removed one of his gloves.

A percussive crack rang through Fitz's ears, and it took his brain a moment to catch up and realize that he had been slapped hard across the face.

"Do not ever lie to me, child, and do not insult me with your cheap flattery. This is your only warning," his master said, in precisely the same tone as before, not betraying anger or disappointment or any emotion at all. "Try again. Did you wish for my spawn Alexander to purchase you?"

"Yes, Master," said Fitz immediately, praying that he wouldn't incur any further punishment. His tongue. He'd ordered Miss Lily to cut out her own tongue. And if his master wanted to do the same to him, there'd be nothing he could do about it, his very body out of his control.The thought of being permanently rendered mute, unable to joke and flirt and tease and perform --

It hadn't settled in before, had it? What it truly meant to be in thrall to a vampire. Between Miss Lily's mesmerism and his own hubris, he'd imagined himself getting out of this by charming the vampire, carving himself a better life through wit and charisma, as he'd always managed. But these vampires were so much more powerful than him and always would be. What good is wit against a creature who can control your body on a whim, or take your mind away with a word?

He couldn't save himself. No one was coming to save him. There was only him and his cruel new master, and he was unable even to express the despair bubbling up within him. A fate so much worse than death, inescapable.

The re-gloved hand stroked Fitz's cheek gently in the place that was still stinging from the slap. "Despite your ill manners, you have potential, Fitzwilliam. My darling Lily saw that in you, no doubt. A born performer with a compelling presence. Sharp minded. And so, so beautiful. A pity about your headstrong nature," he said. "But you needn't concern yourself. I only need to patiently carve away your imperfections. And I am a very patient vampire."

"Thank you, Master," said Fitz, who had never been more frightened of so-called praise in his life.

"More importantly, I believe you are the key to finally breaking my Alexander's will."

"...I don't understand, sir."

"Thralls aren't meant to understand, child. Thralls are meant to obey. And I have decided what young Alexander's lesson will be." He drew his hand away. "I will give you to Alexander."

Fitz couldn't help but furrow his brow, confused. That couldn't be right. 

"It will be a test for him. One that he will fail."

The Maestro pulled a small metal cylinder from his coat. He carefully lifted the glass from the lamp sitting on Miss Colette's desk, beckoning Fitz forward. Fitz felt himself sleepwalking towards his master, even as the Maestro dipped the metal object in the lamp's flame, even as Fitz realized with growing dread what was about to happen.

"He will forget you belong to me. He will desire to possess you, cherish you, perhaps even love you. He will believe he can rescue you from me. He will be incorrect. I will allow him to believe this, then I will take you from him, and I will break you, and suffering will be a teacher to you both."

Fitz's heart pounded.

"Kneel."

His puppeted body gracefully knelt upon the carpet, the crushed red velvet of his dress cushioning his legs, as he looked up in terror.

With a calm, unreadable expression, the Maestro pulled down the neckline of his ball gown and pressed the burning metal to Fitz's flesh, just below his collarbone.

He couldn't scream. He couldn't flinch. He couldn't fight or back away. He couldn't do anything but feel his eyes filling with tears as the white hot pain seared through his body.

Fitz barely even noticed when the brand was pulled away, because the pain hardly lessened. His master was examining his handiwork, and, seemingly satisfied, made Fitz's body stand.

There was no way Fitz could be standing through the shock and the pain, but the puppet strings controlling his every move made it so, forcing him to walk on weak and shaky legs.

"Now show your gratitude for my precious gift."

Fitz's body curtsied low. 

But Fitz's mind, flooded with pain and endorphins and magic, was traveling far away. Away from here, anywhere but here, anything but this. Anything but an inescapable descent into hell.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Well, wasn't that fun.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps

[whumpshaped]

I just wanna see Beck turned into Helle’s ‘adoring lil’ vampire servant’…

ok this is finally the twin piece i was talking abt in the notes of this one

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, mind control, conditioned whumpee, conditioning, manipulation, talk of death, wishing for death (to be turned)

Beck couldn't think about much else anymore. Every time Helle bit him, he secretly hoped they wouldn't stop. That they'd drink until he had no blood left to give. That they wouldn't just stake and ditch him afterwards, but instead let him become a vampire, their vampire, so he could be with them forever.

He'd never asked, though. He was too scared of seeming greedy and ungrateful. He'd heard Helle talk about killing their sire, how that was a fairly common thing among vampires, how sired turned on their masters after enduring years of torment.

But Helle wouldn't torture him like that. He would have no reason to hold a grudge.

He whined a little when Helle pulled away, already missing the sharp pain of fangs in his abused neck. "No more?" he asked sheepishly.

"I have already taken more than I probably should have, dear." Helle pushed themself up and got off the bed, leaving him with an ache in his heart he couldn't ignore.

"But you could take more," he offered, the tinge of desperation in his voice barely masked. He sat up, giving Helle his best pleading look. "If you wanted. You, you could... you could take all of it."

Helle raised an eyebrow, looking quite amused by his pathetic act. "I could," they said simply.

"Do you... do you want to?" The area around the fresh bite was still throbbing with pain, yet here he was, inviting more. Inviting more than just pain, even. Inviting death. "I would be good for you, Master," he added, hoping to convince them of his unwavering loyalty that would surely carry on into the afterlife. Or the afterdeath.

"Is that what you want? To be forever good for me, until I decide I have had enough and stake you for the sin of being boring?" This description sounded a little more heartless than the image in his head. It made him reconsider, momentarily, but then he slowly nodded.

"I want to be yours. That's all I want."

Helle walked back over to the bed, and he crawled towards the edge of it, kneeling before them. They cupped his face in their hands, studying his features with a sort of bittersweet smile. "I bet it is," they murmured. "You would be so happy to die for me."

He couldn't just nod while being held like that, nor did he want to reduce his enthusiasm to such a small gesture. But speaking when he was close to them, so close to getting his wish granted, proved to be quite the challenge. He could barely find the words he had uttered so many times before. "Yes, Master." He sounded positively reverent. Good. He felt like it, too.

"You do realise that I would be forced to take another thrall, then, yes? Another pretty thing to drink from."

Beck would've lied if he'd said that didn't sting. He could barely take the nights on which Helle decided to go out and hunt like normal, as if they didn't have an eager little bloodbag at home. "I... I do."

The vampire gave him a smug smile, and Beck knew he was going to be further interrogated on that point. He could already feel the compulsion to vent all his frustration flare up in his chest, Helle's magic drawing it closer and closer to his lips. "How does it make you feel?"

"Hurt," he blurted out. "Jealous. I, I'd like to be your only source of food. And... and I wouldn't be feeding you at all, if... if you turned me. Is it selfish of me? To want to be yours forever and still find it so frustrating that I won't be the only one?" A stray tear trickled down his face, followed by many more as he fully processed what this would mean for him. He had never seen Helle with another vampire. They had even said they didn't have any interest in siring any. "B-but if you don't turn me, then I... I'll just die, eventually. I don't want to– I don't want to die and be apart from you. I'd do anything... I'd rather see you take a thousand more bloodbags over the course of a thousand more years than to die so selfishly. I want to serve you. Whatever that entails."

They leaned down to kiss away a tear, one of their hands sliding from his cheek to his neck, where the freshest marks were. "There would be no more venom. No more magic. I cannot charm another vampire."

"You don't need to," he whispered.

"Is that so?" Their smile turned more bitter than sweet this time, and Beck couldn't have pinpointed why.

"D-do you... not believe me?" he asked carefully, his heart breaking at the notion.

"No, I do. I certainly do." They kissed him on the forehead and let go, and Beck resisted the urge to grab onto their shirt and try to pull them back. He wanted to beg more. He wanted to plead his case and make them see that he could be good, he could be just as fun as a vampire as he was as a human. But in reality, he knew that wasn't the case. "We shall continue this conversation later."

He felt like a kicked puppy. He probably looked like one as well. But he knew what was expected of him, and he wouldn't have dared deviate. "As you wish, Master."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm

[rukkako]

Yknow, back in the day of around 4??? 5 months ago??? i was playing warframe like every other day, when, upon finishing this one grineer extermination, I recieved this weird transmission. Something about a "candidate" being "ready". While I was heading to extraction I came across this one enemy marked by a red dot, so, without thinking much about it, I killed him and mercy'd him. I remember thinking "damn. My nova prime is so cool" while I looked at her absolutely demolish this random grineer's liver with her parazon. It was only when I returned to my orbiter that I was made aware of what I had just done. I had created him. Coheg Rott.

I didn't know what was happening; who was this man? Why did he have my nova's little bow on his shoulder? Why was he so unbelievably fucking stupid? I stood there, maw agape, listening to Coheg telling me about how I had "taken his arms and his legs but that was no more" and how he "lived and killed, killed and lived" and how he now had a "SECTORRRRRRRRR" and I remember thinking "oh boy. I hope this isn't that much of a problem."

Coheg then proceeded to take my fucking shit every time I went to earth. He took my money. He took my void traces. He even took my rare mods. And every. fucking. time. I had to listen to his stupid ass voice. Telling me how he "was the boss now" and how "Sectorrr… is… mine…!!!! sectorrr!!!! yes!!!!!! sectorrrrrrr!!!!!!!"

I hated Coheg. I grew to absolutely despise him. I had now a bastard, ugly, stupid child taking my lunch money every time I dared go to earth. It was devastating really. I didn't do anything about it for months, and during that time my hatred and contempt for him grew. So I started hatching a plan.

I had to take him down. I couldn't stand the idea of having created such a creature. A tyrant with the brain capacity of a goldfish. So I wised up (watched a bunch of youtube tutorials on liches) and I learnt some stuff. You have to kill his thralls. You have to keep stabbing him in the gut. You need to find out the correct mod order. You want him to have a good weapon like the Kuva Nukor or the Kuva Bramma, and not something like a Kohm.

So I started my mission. I went into his territories. I killed his slightly less ugly children (you're telling me this guy FUCKED?????) and I started stabbing him repeatedly. And getting those requiem mods, oh, it was QUITE the god damn pain, but it was worth it. All to see my bastard son Coheg retort and twist in pain and scream in fear and rage. It filled me with a satisfaction unknown to me up til then.

So I kept. on. doing it. Each time he ran away and each time I relentlessly followed him. He managed to get to sedna. During my travels, I met some kind strangers that stuck with me and helped me take my bastard son Coheg down, them also dealing with their own paternity problems.

And so the moment came. I finally stabbed Coheg three times with my pointy arm weapon and he fled to the proxima region. It. Was. Time.

I equipped my nova. She started this, she had to finish it.

He wailed and screamed and yelled. But he went down in no time.

And I was about to vanquish him… when I remembered.

"This fucking sucker has a Kuva Kohm."

And I realized that, during all that adventure, I'd started to… become used to his fucking raging stupidity. That if I killed him, I was gonna… miss him.

So I didn't.

He follows my orders now. Sector ISN'T his now. And my Coheg nightmares are over.

What's the lesson here folks? Always check out what weapon someone is gonna give you before sleeping with them. Also, I would make an absolutely dogshit abusive mother. So I guess I'm not having any children in the future.

Thanks for reading. And for the last time: Fuck you Coheg. (Affectionate)

[abominable-space-they]

I think about this so much I accidentally made a spacedogs meet cute about it.

a lot of autistic ppl feel shy & awkward in social situations but NT's usually read us as bitchy unless we're actually being bitchy, then they usually think we're being cringe, dumb, or funny

So when I imagine Adam & Nigel meeting in a social situation, at some society party that encompasses academia & the performing artists/musicians crowds

I imagine Adam trying to keep to himself but inevitably being drawn into conversation bc his knowledge base is like a party trick to these ppl. Sometimes he bristles & snaps but they think he's being funny.

He tells jokes that are as much at their expense as he dares, small frustrated sharp toothed indulgences. They never realize, they never react at all, except Nigel.

The first time Nigel laughs at one of his jokes, Adam thinks he's being laughed at, his eyes jerk up, instantly clammy with anxiety.

Nigel is just smiling enthusiastically, he tips his beer in Adam's direction

"A-fucking-men. Who has time for bullshitters? Kill em all, let god sort em out"

Nigel goes back to whichever party attendee he was talking to like it was nothing. It probably was nothing to Nigel. Adam however was cast adrift. He'd never had an interaction with anyone like that, without that looming shadow of his otherness perched hulking between him and anyone else he ever tried to talk to.

He went over and over the conversation in his head, tried to find the hidden mockery, the underlying "god why are you so weird?" but couldn't find it. Did that mean it wasn't there? Or did he miss the obvious again?

After that Adam started paying closer attention to Nigel when their paths crossed. Nigel was handsome. He had an easy dangerous charm, always smiling, having a very good time. He was always with another very sexy person who hung from him like he was their salvation, at least that night.

Nigel was piercingly observant, clever. He never said the things he saw though, just smiled a crooked secret smile. Adam got a little obsessed with categorizing all of Nigel's smiles. There was the easy smile when he knew he had his audience in the thrall of his charm, the smile when he knew he was about to make some money or get laid. Those smiles were self satisfied.

There was the smile when Nigel thought the people around him were being a bit amusingly predictable or unimpressive. The toothy sharp smile when he was angry. That one was dangerous.

None of his smiles ever reached his eyes, not really, not any time at all... except when he was joking with Adam.

And what exactly did that mean?

Adam thought it might mean that Nigel was in a very real way, almost as alienated as he was, just better at hiding it. He was better at not letting the boring people know that he only thought they were boring or inconvenient or both.

Adam wished he was brave enough to ask Nigel to teach him how to care less, to show less. He could never quite bring himself to.

He felt to obvious to himself, like Nigel would take one look at Adam and just know the strange mix of envy and desire that was building in his gut.

He couldn't be rejected if he never asked though. So that seemed like his best bad choice. Not the best plan he'd ever had, but not risking the possibility that he'd misjudged was the safest option at least.

The night everything changed for them was a Friday, unassuming in most ways. Adam was socially at his limit that week. He didn't want to come to yet another fundraiser or overly extravagant dinner party really

But he even more so he didn't want to miss his weekly small dose of Nigel's joking with him (flirting, he was flirting Adam knew that, but Nigel was always flirting w/ everyone. It didn't mean anything he reminded himself repeatedly)

Then that particular tired night Nigel came in wearing Adam's favorite shirt, a whimsical one with adorable little dumb dogs on it.

It's so out of place on this dangerous charming man, Adam loved it instantly.

Unfortunately that night Nigel was also wearing some gorgeous willowy, tall, blonde fashion model of a man, named something like Kyle, Micheal, Jeremiah, or maybe Brian.

Something like that, Adam couldn't be bothered to remember.

Usually Adam only drank a little wine or beer at these events. It seemed a bad idea to risk his paper thin respectable, not quite acceptance here, on to much alcohol making him even more blunt and irritably overwhelmed.

But tonight, at the end of his very bad week, Nigel coming so prettily draped with this... arm candy? Adam couldn't take it

Wouldn't take it

He stormed over to the little catered bar area, composing himself. It wasn't the caterers and staff's fault.

"Can I get four shots of tequila, no salt, two limes-, Please"

The kid behind the bar blanched slightly, Adam was here as many Friday events as he could stand and he never ordered anything more daring then a hard cider.

His face must have looked the right amount of serious though, the bartender didn't try to make polite conversation over it. Good.

Adam steeled himself with his frustration, his righteous indignation. He made Nigel's eyes smile, not this beautiful hanger on who knew nothing about him other than that he was rich and handsome. It was inconceivably unacceptable.

He decided no preamble to mess up would be best so just handed Nigel his shots, the ones with the limes. He pointedly didn't look at very pretty Eric what's his name, just nodded a bit to formally at Nigel.

"I got these for you. I-... thought you might like them"

Nigel looked confused but not unhappy about this turn of events

"Adam?... what are we celebrating? Or is this the last drink before we go off to war?"

"I don't know yet honestly. I am trying to be spontaneous. I'm not very good at that"

Nigel chuckled, The honest one, the one that made his eyes glow happily. Good. Social contract fulfilled then.

Adam didn't look at his shots either. He didn't give himself a chance to second guess himself, just threw the first shot back past his tongue like it was medicine, with no chaser. He squinted a bit, stimmy growl humming through the burn. That was all right, it focused him in his body.

A a few seconds later his stomach stopped tossing around warning messages and was ready for the second one. He tossed that one back with medicinal efficiency too.

When Adam felt settled and calm enough to look directly, Nigel appeared happily stunned as he took his own shots. This obviously wasn't what he was expecting from Adam at all. He put one lime in his mouth to suck the bitter taste of alcohol away, offering Adam the other.

"You don't need a chaser?"

Adam laughed at himself a little, his wild misspent youth mostly involved mystery illnesses and constant pressing anxieties.

"No, I was a sickly kid, always having to take new medicines, deal with medical tests... "

Adam made intentional eye contact, looking up through his eyelashes at Nigel, leaving his mouth a little open, shining & wet

"I can swallow just about anything now. I've put much more questionable things in my mouth then tequila"

Nigel, for the first time in Adam's experience was almost speechless, still holding the lime out to him.

"You sure?"

Adam shrugged

"If you insist I guess."

Still making as sexy burning eye contact as he contained in his whole body, Adam leaned in, plucked the lime slice out of Nigel's mouth, and popped it into his own.

"I don't know, a lot of people hate bitter things, things that come on to strong, are to intense. But I've always loved them. They feel refreshing, centering. Personal taste I guess."

Adam slowly bit into the lime, skin and all, in a showy way just to watch Nigel watching him do it

The arm candy boy finally decided enough was enough

"Excuse me?! What the fuck?!"

Adam sighed deeply, neurotypical people were so tiresome

"You should just go away now. You're no longer needed. He thinks you're boring. I think you're boring. It's because you're boring. If you go now you'll still have your dignity though Jason"

"My name's not fucking Jason & I'm his date freak, you go"

That roused Nigel out of his amused willingness to see what Adam was gonna do, stepping slightly between them with a bristling, heavily controlled violence rolling off him

"Funny thing, he's fucking right. Any-fuckking-way, if you don't like fuckin freaks then you don't like me Jason. I think our night just ended. I'll call you an Uber. I'm not an a complete monster."

"What?!?! I can get my own Uber. What the Fuck is happening right now? MY NAME'S NOT JASON!"

Adam rolled his eyes, making sure not to flinch or shrink. The cold indignation helped.

"ok? Go be not Jason anywhere but here"

Nigel's beautiful date was livid, which Adam supposed was fair. Nigel just laughed at the whole mess though, like it was a relief, something new and entertaining.

"I'm sorry. I said I'd buy your drinks, a nice arrangement so I could do my job. I never said anything about marriage and a two car garage"

Adam didn't think Nigel really sounded sorry at all, even as Not Jason flounced away, cussing Nigel out loudly. Nigel seemed not even a little sorry. It was a relief. Adam hadn't realized he was holding his breath. He watched Not Jason go, turned to blink owlishly at Nigel.

"I'm sorry I didn't know he'd make such a scene"

Nigel laughed again, delighted.

"You didn't know he'd make a scene?"

"No, I have an ample amount of ability to feel shame. I would have left immediately if I was him, and I didn't know if you'd choose me. So I might have been the one who needed to leave. I'm sorry, that's probably the craziest thing I've ever done. I will probably freak out about it a bit later, depending I guess. But Nigel, he can't make you smile. I make you smile."

Nigel looked at him like he was some rare uniquely precious thing. A whole constellation of beautiful secret things, found hidden behind a taxidermy squirrel riding a tiny ski jet at a flea market that smelled like moth balls and stale chocolate.

"You thought I might reject you and you still did all that?"

"Yes? It's offensive. He can't see you, how much more you are then just this stupid party. I see you Nigel, every Friday I see you. Why can't I be the one..."

Adam trailed off, not quite brave enough to finish the sentence. Nigel had no such fear though. He pulled Adam close so he could speak low in his ear, semi private even in the crowd.

"You would be Gorgeous, they don't realize how funny you are, or how bitchy. I do, you're beautiful, but what I do for a living is pretty fuckin against the law. No offense babe but you seem the law abiding good boy type"

Adam felt an electric thrill shooting through his whole nervous system. He didn't read it wrong?! Nigel liked him too? Romantically?! The thrill made him braver then he would be usually

"Maybe I'm tired of being good. Maybe I want to be bad too Nigel... within reason"

Nigel snort laughed happily into Adams space, clearly endeared by Adams specificity

"Within reason, noted. Listen soo, the thing about not having a gag reflex? Were you being serious? Or was it just a come on"

"Yes it was a come on, yes I was being serious. I'm usually serious, even when I'm not being serious. I was serious about the reason too, I really was a sickly kid... that's... less sexy."

"mmmh Adam babe, don't sell yourself short. You're fuckin sexy, and hell with an opener like that. Work can wait, you wanna tell me all about that sickly childhood and anything else you want, Alpha Centauri?... If you're feeling inspired"

"you remembered I like the stars?"

"How could I not? You light up when you talk about them."

Oh, that felt so very nice. Adam threw caution to the wind, tugging Nigel by the hand back away from the crowd and the noise. He absolutely had to get his mouth on this man immediately. It was an emergency, a mouth emergency.

"I am feeling very inspired Nigel"

"Inspiration looks damn beautiful on you Babe. We might have to start a mutual inspiration club, only two members, very exclusive"

Adam barked a laugh at that very silly joke. I wasn't the type of joke a very cool dangerous guy makes, like the dumb shirt, Adam loved the dumb joke instantly too.

"Yes, ok let's do that then, sounds fun"

(years later they still called their anniversary mutual inspiration club, everyone always groaned but them, they're to busy being "inspired" to care what anyone but them thinks at all)

[verdantmeadows]

One thing that bothers me is how people treat Hollow Knight characters somehow separated from in-game context or ideas. I'm going to be using the Pale King as an example, so this post is Pale King-centric. Like, people usually make out the Pale King to be a complete asshole (which I mean, I do not disagree), but portray him as acting asshole-ish, especially in ways that are very much not how he'd do so. Which is alright with comedy, but a lot of people have a very fundamental misunderstanding of a LOT of Hollow Knight characters. I totally think it's okay to make a character OOC and there is a lot to be argued on what counts as OOC. But going back to the Pale King, there's a few things I think people miss about his character pretty often.

He feels incredible shame over his mass infanticide from the moment he had to do it. Does this excuse it? Absolutely not. But people do not ever seem to grasp the context of which he does this, in which case there are more bugs who will die than the amount of children that would die. He created the vessels as an absolute last resort and felt he had no other choice than to do so. Again, this does not excuse the cruelty, but he was in a situation where (even if he can be argued to be at fault for causing it) bugs were going to and currently were dying, and he had to stop it.

The White Palace has a nursery, likely intended to be his and the Pale Lady's child. It uses the theme of the Knight's shade, but much happier sounding. It has a chair where the White Lady likely sat, as well as a crib. Yes, this would be her room, but it isn't incredibly hidden (unlike what the Path of Pain hides), but considering it was not greatly hidden, this means he likely did not feel it needed to be more hid than the rest of the White Palace and possibly that he wished or hoped he could have had normal children.

The Path of Pain exists solely to hide a single shared memory of the Pure Vessel and the Pale King. You can interpret it in many ways, but the two of them clearly are sharing a moment and look at each other. It is very easily inferred that the Pale King is what "tarnished" the Pure Vessel by instilling an idea and causing it to view the Pale King as a father. Considering he hid this memory so deeply within the White Palace, but it is there in the first place, it likely had great significance either as an event or emotionally. The moment is not exclusive to the Pure Vessel. It is the Pale King who looks at the Pure Vessel first. It's very likely he cared for it, even if he did not want to. This makes it even more cruel, because he had to have treated it (to the best of his ability) as hollow and empty, despite the fact that it wasn't, not entirely at least.

There is a LOT to be said about him and the Radiance that I don't think I could easily get into. I do think that he did things that were cruel to her and inevitably had a butterfly effect to causing the Infection. (I am trying to be neutral here, but I am definitely a Radiance sympathizer.) And, again, this doesn't excuse it, but contextually, it is down to his very nature as a Wyrm to draw bugs into his thrall and create societies/kingdoms. This nature of a Wyrm is repeatedly emphasized as if its to them as breathing is to humans. As a Wyrm, he must bring bugs into his thrall.

There are many, many other things I could mention. But as a whole, I think he is a really good example of how many people heavily mischaracterize or misunderstand Hollow Knight characters. I don't think it's inherently wrong to do so, but many people who are doing so are not doing it on purpose. There is a great level of nuance and much context to (many) Hollow Knight characters. The Pale King, like I explained, is incredibly nuanced and, in my opinion, is a very morally grey character. Many of those in Hollow Knight's world operate on moral ideologies or functions that do not fit ours and cannot fit ours, but I think people try to apply to them anyways. Not really sure what the point of this post was other than it bothers me.

[barry-j-blupjeans]

No one ever told Lucretia how hard it would be to get employees for your supposed-to-be-secret organization. Even harder with the fact that she couldn't even step around it like the Fantasy FBI could. All her opening lines sounded incredibly suspicious. Was she supposed to just walk up to someone and say "so you ever wanna capture those war-starting magic objects that you have no memory of?" She might actually be reported to the Fantasy FBI and that would put a bit of a dent in her "saving the world and stopping the Hunger" plan.

Instead, she had just been just kind of… going up to anyone who sort of seemed like a good fit and tried to make it sound as less shitty as possible without giving them a headache made entirely of Voidfish static. And it was working! Not as well as she'd want it to, of course, but she would take what she would get.

Maureen, obviously, had been there at the start. Lucretia couldn't exactly have a giant moon base without someone with enough money to build the giant moon base. Technically, technically, she was paying Maureen for it and she felt moderately bad about fucking up the economy with her transmuted gold coins (you pick up a thing or two about counterfeit currency when you're on the run from the apocalypse and also living with Taako and Lup), but not bad enough to stop doing it. Besides, the dang thing wasn't even up in the sky yet. Maybe she'd confess after, but it was too important to let out right now.

Then, she had Lucas, unfortunately. The side effect of working with Maureen. But she had other notable employees as well. Killian was probably her strongest asset right now, purely from her role as a Regulator and not a Reclaimer. Her Seekers were few and far between- she couldn't really hire anyone with too high of an intelligence stat, lest her whole plan be discovered. The few Seekers she did have were… well, they were working on it. The Reclaimers themselves… yeesh. It was hard to fill the role without losing too many to the Light's thrall. She didn't want to have a goddamn death trap as a job.

But right now, Lucretia wasn't looking for a Reclaimer, a Seeker, or even a Regulator. Today, she was looking for a bard.

A pathetic bard, if she could. There was only so much nonsense Lucretia could feed Fisher without going moderately to severely insane. The goal right now was to just find someone. No one that would be missed down planetside when they finally got up into the air, no one whose fans would be eagerly awaiting a new release. Just a plain ol' regular bard.

This was the fifth seedy bar Lucretia had visited in the past week. This time, it was in a little town called Water Way, just off the sword coast. The wind was howling when she arrived and it snapped the door shut behind her when she entered.

It was even more grim and disgusting than usual. A group of dwarfs was gathered at a booth, laughing and hollering jokes at each other. There was a couple in the corner engaging in some hanky-panky (that was the technical word for it, Lucretia was pretty sure). The unoccupied booths were still dirty from the last patrons. The barkeep raised a hand to greet her, still clutching a dirty dish rag.

"Here for a drink?" he called.

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid," Lucretia said. "I'm here for the, uhm. The open mic?"

"Just missed it," the barkeep said, lowering his rag. "Though, we've got another in two weeks' time, if you've got somethin' you're looking to perform-"

"Oh, I'm not- I wasn't planning on performing," Lucretia said. "Just listening. But if no one showed up-"

The door snapped open again. Lucretia thought it was just the wind for a second, until she turned and saw a young-ish half-elf in the doorway. He was much too dressed up for the occasion, with a fancy shirt and a poofy hat with a feather in it. He was dripping as if he had fallen into a lake on the way over. In one hand was a violin case. In the other, damp sheet music.

He seemed to realize that everyone was staring at him and shuffled a few feet further inside.

"Uhh," he said. He cleared his throat. "Did I, uhm, did I miss it?"

"I said to be here at six, didn't I?" the barkeep said, sounding faintly annoyed. "Can you tell time, Johann?"

"Uh, yeah," he said. "I just, uhm, got… sidetracked."

"You look like you fell in the ocean," the barkeep said.

"You're not- you're not super far off-"

"It doesn't matter where you were," the barkeep said. "It's nine now, anyhow. No more open mic."

"It's not like we're missin' much!" one of the dwarfs' hollered. Johann winced, and the barkeeper ignored the comment completely.

"But I wrote a good one this time," Johann said, holding up the soggy sheet music. Lucretia could see him blush in the dim light. "I- I can do it without the sheet music. I have it memorized."

"Two weeks," the barkeep said like they had had this conversation several times before. "Be on time. You want a cuppa?"

Johann looked torn for a second, but ultimately sludged up to the bar. He deposited his violin case on the counter and his soggy sheet music fell on top of it with a splat.

"Actually," Lucretia said, "I would like a drink."

"Atta girl," the barkeep said. Lucretia grimaced but went to sit anyway. She took the stool next to Johann, who was slumped over the bar. "What'd'you want?"

"Cider," Johann said, with the emotion of a depressed seal.

"I'll take a cider, as well," Lucretia said. Johann glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. The barkeep nodded and set the rag over his shoulder, disappearing into the back room. The gaggle of dwarves chattered on across the room. Lucretia tapped her fingers against the bar. Eventually, she built up the confidence to say, "so you play the violin?"

"I'm not interested in a hookup, lady," Johann said.

"Oh, fuck no," Lucretia said. "Sorry- no. You're- gods, no."

"Uhm," Johann said. Okay, okay, okay, back on track Lucretia.

"I'm just- I'm trying to find a bard for an… organization I'm forming," Lucretia said, a little bit quieter. Secretive. Cool. Collected. Join my secret shitty moon organization, please? "I figured an open mic would be a good place to start, but I was a little too late, it seems. If you still wanted to perform, I wouldn't mind seeing what you can do."

"…you're choosing all the wrong words for convincing me this isn't a hookup," Johann said, squinting at her.

"It's not," Lucretia said shortly. "That- again, sorry, no thanks. Can I- how would you like to help save the world? Is that a better opener?"

"Cheesy, but a little better," Johann said. He sit up a little and his hat dripped water onto the bar. "Save the world how, though? I'm not gonna be joining some- some Fantasy Avengers shit, lady, I got stuff to do. You see these arms?" He held out his arm, which was dripping wet and skinny as a starved kitten. "I'm not exactly Iron Man over here, you can't expect me to be some kind of musical tank."

"Not at all," Lucretia said. She vaguely wondered if this is how Davenport felt, hiring her. No, that train of thought wasn't productive at all. She needed more gravitas. That would fix all her problems. "All I need you to do is write."

[erogenousmind]

One Last Time

I’m...I’m going to miss this,“ Sonya said. She couldn’t bring herself to look Daniel in the eye at the moment. “But I’m really glad we get to have this right now. I’ll be looking back on it a lot. So I just...thank you. For everything.”

She could feel the heat in her cheeks. She didn’t normally get this embarrassed or feel this awkward talking to Daniel, but something about saying good bye brought the reality of how they had spent their time together into focus. So much of it had seemed like a dream. So much of it she could simply get lost in and let it happen. But seeing it come to an end, it became more real somehow. What they had done. What she had done for him. What she had been for him. What he had made her feel. How could she not blush?

Daniel smiled at her even as she kept casting her gaze down. She was quite cute when she was flustered. “I’ve been thinking,” he answered, calmly. “Maybe this doesn’t have to end.”

Now Sonya met his gaze. “We’ve talked about this, Mas...” She caught herself. The title came so naturally now. It felt so good to say. It made her feel like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. But this wasn’t the time. “We can’t keep doing this, Dan.” His name felt so foreign on her lips, though they had spoken daily for weeks. “Life just isn’t going to allow me the chance to go into trance for you anymore. I know we wish we cou--”

A finger to her lips silenced Sonya instantly. She could feel the conditioned response turning over in her mind. Reminding her of her place. Of how good it felt to surrender. Of how helpless she was. How much she needed to obey. Her thighs squeezed together for a moment, her face flushing for a different reason.

“I know, pet...Sonya. I know.” Her name sounded as odd as his had felt. How curious that their intimacy had surpassed their names entirely. “I’m not going to be able to drop you whenever I want anymore. You aren’t going to be able to slip into trance.” Daniel smiled, looking wonderfully mischievous. “So I thought you could just stay in trance this time. I can take you deep, and you can stay there.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Sonja stuttered.

“You don’t need to come back up ever again. You might have moments, hours, even days where you are able to pretend. When you can fool the world into thinking you are not deeply hypnotized. But you’ll know the truth. Underneath it all, you’ll be lost in trance. Your eyes will glaze over the moment you are alone again. My voice will always be in your head. Every action, every thought will be the result of my suggestions. I’ll be deep inside you and you will take me with you wherever you go.” Daniel watched Sonya intently as he spoke, reading her body language, watching her unconscious cues.

“I’ll always be hypnotized?” She swallowed slowly, contemplating his words. “Never be fully awake again?”

“We know how capable you are of following commands even deep in trance. Your subconscious will continue to keep you safe. You will be able to live the life you want, the way you wanted. You will also be my deeply hypnotized thrall. Feeling the pleasure of my control. Feeling the lightness of submission. Of surrendering yourself to that feeling from the moment you wake to the moment you fall asleep. Day after day.”

“You-you can do that?” Sonja was stunned.

“You can. You let me in so deep, just like we have trained you to do. You let your focus narrow until all you hear is my words. They pull you down deeper and  deeper, your mind going completely blank, my will filling your mind, until there is nothing left but the wonderful bliss of trance. And then my words never leave. You never need to come back up. Because you are so talented and capable of surrendering so completely for me.” Daniel made it sound like the most natural, easiest thing in the world.

“I-I don’t know what to say,”

Daniel chuckled. “And that’s why we are doing this for you. You always prefer when I make the decisions. So it’s going to happen, right now. You are going to look right here...that’s my good girl. Already so focused. Ready to let go. Notice your breathing. Notice how my words make you feel. How already your thoughts feel so sluggish. It’s so hard for them to keep up. So you let me think for you. You let my words into your mind. You feel them caress those slow thoughts away. As you drop for me now, pet. As you slip away into trance one last time.”

[jpriest85-blog]

With the latest update of the Thicker Than demo by @barbwritesstuff I decided its time to post a collage and some info about my Blackwell.

Name: Dr. Roxane Godwin Blackwell

Occupation: Doctor, single mom and unwilling vampire noble.

Pronouns: She/Her

Height:5ft.5”/165.1cms

Birthdate: June 19, 1981

Appearance: An African American woman of average height and build, with a heart shaped face, dark brown complexion, brown eyes, black braided hair, a full mouth, and defined cheekbones. Usually seen wearing modern fashionable clothes with silver jewelry, or medical scrubs. 

Family: Chris( husband, deceased),Percy(son, alive)

FC: Lupita Nyong’o

LI: Too many appealing ROs will play multiple saves for Marcel, Illya, Freya, and Nathan.

Misc. Info & headcanons:

Her name Roxane means dawn or light in persian. Her original surname Godwin means friend of God, and is a reference to Mary Shelly, as it was one of the author’s maiden names.

Her son's name, Percy means to pierce or destroy, and is in reference to Mary Shelly’s only surviving son.

Her initials RGBW are the same as a type of lighting combos used for electronics.

Roxane prefers to be addressed by Doctor rather than Lady, because she actually worked hard for her medical degree.

Due to working in the medical field Roxane already developed a morbid sense of humor to help her cope. This hasn’t changed much since becoming a vampire except the jokes have become darker.

Roxane knows how to play the ukulele. It was a hobby she picked up as a child, and she even used to play lullabies for Percy when he was a baby. She doesn’t play it much anymore since becoming a vampire.

Roxane’s symbol after becoming the new Lady Blackwell is a stylised plague doctor mask on top of a medical caduceus. So she winds up both bird and snake imagery when associating with house Blackwell.

Roxane’s favorite flowers are poppies because of their medical uses and they’re pretty easy to grow. Although she does appreciate the irony that poppy flowers are also associated with remembrance.

While she died in her late 30s Roxane was blessed with good skin, so even though she was overworked and tired when Lawrence turned her she still looked younger, and now she always will.

While Roxane has to practice and relearn how to emote, smiling seems to be easier due to muscle memory from her time as Lawerence’s thrall. Sadly it’s much different from the way she used to smile when she was alive, because Roxane used to have a beautiful smile that would light up a room.

Still married to Chris but he died from a car accident before the events of Blood Moon, and Thicker Than. Roxane kept both of their silver wedding rings on a chain around her neck, but Lawerence Blackwell took and melted them when he made Roxane a vampire.

Roxane’s attempt at friendship with Minjo is more tragic in retrospect, since Roxane knows intimately the kind of pain and grief of losing the husband and father of her child, but if she ever fully remembered the previous Lord Blackwall forcing her to hurt Minjo and her family. The guilt would devastate Roxane as well as make her wish she could have murdered her predecessor herself.

After becoming a vampire Roxane started wearing exclusively red or black for her more formal attire. That way the bloodstains don’t ruin her more expensive clothes.

When Percy was still a baby Roxane gave him a small stuffed rabbit and it became his favorite comfort toy. As he got older he decided to give the rabbit to Roxane, because he’s a big boy now, and he knows how much his mom misses being with him. He figures the rabbit will help Roxane not feel so sad and lonely because Percy loved it so much but he wants his mom to know he loves her more. Roxane always kept the little stuffed rabbit in her pocket or purse, like a lucky charm. Even when she was imprisoned for five years, focusing on the toy and memories of her son helped keep Roxane from completely losing herself.

Roxane’s relationship with her son, Percy, in an odd way mirrors the dynamic of Perseus and both his mother, Danaë, and Medusa (also Roxane would have definitely read the Percy Jackson books with her son). Like the Greek hero Percy is a protective boy who is raised by a single mother, and then separated from each other when Roxane is made a member of the Night Court against her will, although not by an unwanted marriage but by being made a fledgling vampire. Tragically Roxane could also potentially be like the gorgon, after breaking out of her 5 year imprisonment, she tries to visit her son, but ultimately leaves without letting Percy see her face. It would break Roxane's cold dead heart to be the cause of her son's demise, or have her baby boy look at her like a monster. As a vampire Roxane prefers to live in seclusion from the court, and while she doesn’t have the power to turn others to stone like Medusa. A vampire's predatory gaze can cause people to freeze and if trained enough in Path of the Master she can potentially command someone to be still as a statue. There are also some versions of Medusa’s origin where she was a priestess who was assaulted in her temple by a god, and cursed to become a monster. Likewise Roxane’s murder by Lawernence Blackwell in the hospital parking lot reads chillingly similar to many stories and police reports about victims of SA.

[blackjackkent]

Here we are!

It's as pleasant an atmosphere as you'd expect. The air has a greenish tinge to it and there's a distant, sourceless hum all around. Flocks of agitated bats flit around the ceiling.

There are several thralls wandering the building, mopping and cleaning and mumbling to themselves. All of their names start with V, which feels a little on the nose.

"The master is pure," one of them mumbles as Hector approaches. "His palace must be pure. No stain. No smudge. No taint. Pure."

They're not paying super good attention though because Hector was able to steal a giant painting off the wall and it wasn't even treated as stealing by the game, let alone by the house's inhabitants.

There is a lower floor to check out, plus a few side rooms on the floor where we came in, and... this:

That seems fine. Let's look at literally anything else first.

A man named Vilhelm approaches the group as we start to head for the stairs. I was originally going to describe him as a thrall, but his eyes aren't red, which leads me to believe he might actually be in control of himself here, oddly enough.

"Another guest for the master's celebration? I'm afraid you're too late, you'll have to--" he begins, then double-takes. "Master Astarion? What are you doing here? Why aren't you downstairs?"

Hector may be bad at lying, but to Astarion it comes like breathing, flows out of him like water. "Well, obviously I'm on my way down now," he answers smoothly without missing a beat. "So if you could just point us in the right direction..."

Vilhelm looks, if anything, more alarmed. "But you're too late. The doors have been sealed - the ritual is about to begin!"

Gods, Hector thinks grimly. We really could not have cut this any closer, could we? Even if he was good at subtlety, it seems as if the time for it may rapidly be running out.

He looks steadily at the man, raises one eyebrow, and says firmly. "Take my advice. Run. Get out of here while you still can." If this man truly isn't a vampire (yet), he'll give him one chance to leave.

But Vilhelm doesn't take it.

"Abandon the master?" he says, baffled. "At his moment of triumph? What is wrong with you?" He flicks a glare at Astarion. "Do you wish to spite him again?"

Shaking his head, he begins to back away. "I do not have any more time to waste. There is too much to do. Too much to prepare."

Turning, he darts away down the corridor.

------

"Damn," Hector mutters.

"We were all like that," Astarion says bitterly. "Not even a moment of rebellion. We could no more stand against him than we could fly. Impossible. Not even worth thinking about."

Hector gives him a sideways look. "You're not going back to that," he says quietly. "You make your own calls now. Whatever happens here, you're free already - we're just confirming it."

"I know," Astarion snaps derisively. "Don't waste our time stating the obvious." But there is a hint of agitation in the way his eyes flick around the room, taking in every detail, watching every shadow, that leads Hector to believe he might have needed to hear it more than he let on.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 43: Katherine's Advice

Prev > Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: conditioning, discussion of abuse, panic attacks

Oliver put the finishing touches on a set of egg-salad sandwiches, neat triangles with the crust removed, and set them on a platter along with an assortment of tea cookies from a local bakery. Truthfully, he didn't know the first thing about entertaining -- with no friends or family and a tiny bookshop apartment, it wasn't anything he'd ever had to do. Alexander had some helpful suggestions for things he'd seen other thralls do, and had procured the supplies Oliver would need for a light midnight lunch (or whatever one might call it.)

In fact, Alexander had been hovering around Oliver a great deal since their fraught conversation a couple of nights before. He'd bought a bounty of foods he supposed Oliver might like, and seemed to be popping up around every corner of the library to show Oliver interesting books.  It was as though his master thought he needed to win his favor all over again -- despite the fact that Oliver was still very much enthralled, his thoughts often going hazy and filling with imagined echoes of siren song.

Oliver didn't really need the attention, but he did appreciate the advice on entertaining. Embarrassing as it was, Oliver really did want to impress his guests. So much had happened over the past few weeks, his entire life and conception of the world turned on its end. The only people who might really understand were vampires' thralls. Miriam hadn't seemed quite lucid enough for a true conversation, but Alexander had told him that Miss Ruth's thrall, Charlie, was quite intelligent and together.

It'd be nice to talk to someone else who had gone through... this. That was all.

He had just finished up in the kitchen when the doorbell rang and his master rushed to greet the guests. "Hello hello!" sang a voice that Oliver would never forget: Miss Lily. She brought both of her hands to her face in a dramatic mock gasp. "Lex? No, it can't be. You don't look like you just clawed your way out of a grave. Who are you, and what have you done with Lex?"

"Mm. Nice to see you too."

"And look at you!" Miss Lily ruffled Oliver's hair. "You look like you're adjusting quite well! Are you the one responsible for Lex's shocking good health?"

Oliver blushed, not certain how to respond to the praise. She seemed different from how she had been in the auction house, more relaxed, but something about her voice and mannerisms still made Oliver feel a bit dazed and eager to please. "I'm just glad I was able to help him, sir."

"Of course you did. I just knew a thrall like you could do him a world of good. Speaking of which..." She pulled her thrall Miriam through the front door, and she looked at Oliver with her usual clouded expression. "Miriam, you remember Oliver, don't you? Lord Alexander's new thrall?"

She looked confused for a moment before her face lit up a bit in recognition. "Oh, yes! From when we were staying at the auction house. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too." Miriam's uncertain mental state made him a bit uneasy. If Lily and Alexander were anything alike, would he end up similarly entranced? Would he even realize if it happened? Was it happening already?

"But Miriam's not the only person I've brought along. I took the liberty of inviting one of our old friends that Lex has been avoiding."

Alexander looked confused. "Ruth? I haven't been avoiding her."

"Ruth's on the way, too, but no, not her."

"Oh -- you don't mean --"

A sophisticated-looking older woman, gray hair tucked in neat curls, stepped out from the porch. She was wearing an old-fashioned, dark blue flannel dress with a high collar. Behind her was another older woman, also wearing an old-fashioned flannel dress, hers covered with a ruffled white pinafore.

"Edith! It's been ages!" said Alexander.

"And whose fault is that?" she said, in the tone of a worried mother. "You kept turning me away when I called on you, and I'd hear all about it from Lily -- how you refused to take a thrall, and were drinking bottled blood --"

Alexander looked uncharacteristically cowed by the scolding. "And I'm sure she's told you that I have a suitable thrall, now, so you needn't worry about my health."

"I'll stop being worried about your health when you start taking proper care of yourself," she said. "But I'd like to meet this thrall of yours. Is this him?"

Even with his master and Miss Lily around him, Oliver could still feel the pull of this new vampire's aura on his mind. It was soothing, almost numbing, and he had the odd thought that she must be a good master. "My name is Oliver Pines, sir, and I am indeed Lord Alexander's thrall. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, what a polite and charming thrall," Miss Edith said with a smile. She shamelessly took Oliver's chin in her hand to examine his face, and Oliver was surprised that his master didn't seem to mind. "Healthy, and his blood smells very nourishing."

"As you can see, I'm taking care of myself just fine," said Alexander defensively.

"I suppose this is a better state of affairs than your usual. But where are my manners? I haven't introduced myself properly." she said, and then turned back to Oliver. "You may address me as Dr. Edith. I'm a doctor who has served the vampire community for over a century. If you're ever sick or injured, no doubt your master will call on me to help."

"You're a vampire... doctor, sir?"

"There are very few health ailments that can afflict vampires, so I primarily take care of their precious thralls. After all, healthy thralls are necessary for a healthy vampire," she said, with a pointed look at Alexander.

He rolled his eyes with a smile on his face. "Yes, yes, your point has been made."

"And this is Katherine, my faithful nurse," said Dr. Edith, gesturing to the woman who had accompanied her.

Katherine delicately shook Oliver's hand. "Good to meet you." She looked bright-eyed compared to Miriam, but her hand was warm, and she clearly was not a vampire.

"Are you a..."

"Dr. Edith's thrall, yes, and her nurse and assistant and whatever else is required of me."

"I see," he said with relief. He was looking forward to having a chat with a thrall who seemed to still have her wits about her.

While the group was still exchanging pleasantries, hanging up coats and hats, when the doorbell rang once again. It was Miss Ruth, the vampire lawyer who had sized up Oliver's suitability for a clerk at the auction house. She was followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man.

"Do you remember me, Oliver?" she asked.

"Yes, sir, I remember you very well. You asked me to recite state capitals. I'm glad to see you well."

Miss Ruth looked at him with longing. "Oh, I do wish I could have afforded to buy you," she said. "But no matter how hard I work, I just can't compete with Lex's fortune."

The broad-shouldered man was named Charlie, and he was one of Miss Ruth's thralls and law clerks. He favorited Oliver with a stoic nod, and between him and Katherine, he couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious. Now that he was fully enthralled and owned by a vampire, it was strange to be around other humans, even those in a similar boat. It made him more keenly aware of his situation, and he wondered how he seemed to other people, all too aware that he was under a hypnotic spell.

"Now that all of our guests have arrived, Oliver, why don't you get your tea and refreshments and show the thralls into the second-floor sitting room?" said Alexander. "We'll be meeting in the parlor, and I would prefer not to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver, feeling more than a bit like a child being shooed off so the adults could talk. But even though he'd love to hear what the vampires were discussing -- especially since he seemed to be of particular interest to them -- he was also eager to have a chat with the other thralls.

A few moments later, and he'd enlisted Katherine and Charlie's help in carrying trays to the sitting room. The curtains were open wide, offering a pleasant view of the gaslit city streets and the waning moon. Miriam settled into a plush chair and pulled a knitting project out of a small bag as Oliver poured tea for the four of them.

"Please, help yourself to sandwiches and cookies," he said.

"You're a lovely host, Oliver," Katherine commented. "And so lucid, as well." 

"Um --"

Charlie glared. "An awkward thing to say to a new thrall, don't you think?"

"At my age, I don't see any point dancing around the bush. I've seen hundreds of thralls, after all, and I'm well aware that we're some of the more fortunate ones."

"How long have you two been thralls?" asked Oliver.

"Six years for me," said Charlie.

"I've been with the doctor for nearly thirty years now."

"Thirty years!" said Oliver. "I didn't know... well..."

"Didn't realize that a thrall could last so long in the service of a vampire?" said Katherine, amused. "It's understandable, but it's more common than you might expect. I'm particularly lucky in that my master is a doctor, and so I'm kept very healthy."

"Do you like your master?"

"I do," said Katherine. "I'm under her spell, of course, but after all these years, that's practically background noise. But after having met so many vampires, I'm glad it was the doctor who enthralled me. I meet lots of interesting people and vampires, and I get to help them. I'm never bored. And she's always treated me well."

"I'm also happy to serve my master," said Charlie in a tone that sounded a bit strange. "I mean, I do miss my old life sometimes, and it's hard work to be a clerk, but my living conditions are so much better than when I was working at the factory, that's for sure. My math and reading have improved, too."

"And how about you, Oliver? What's your first impression of serving Lord Alexander?" said Katherine.

Oliver's mind swirled with thoughts, of his master's siren song and his feeding and his need, of the library and the comfortable bed and generous food, of his tiny apartment above the bookshop that used to be modest but his, of the threat of his master's sire.

"It's been good so far. Lord Alexander will be a good master to me, I hope," said Oliver carefully. "But... did you two know his previous thralls?"

Katherine exchanged a look with Charlie. "Ah, yes, Henry. I remember him. He was more... subdued. Like Miriam." 

"Like Miriam," Oliver repeated, his fear of having his mind fade away from him renewed.

Miriam looked up from her knitting. "Hm?"

"Nothing, dear," said Katherine. "I believe that Lord Alexander has, for the most part, always treated his thralls very well. He's a gentle vampire, and he's always treated me with more respect than is due a thrall. But..."

"But?"

"Well... I have had to treat a number of mysterious injuries on Alexander's previous thralls. Miss Lily's as well. I assume you know what those two have in common."

Charlie looked impatient. "There's no need to beat around the bush. Our vampires won't mind us talking about this. They're probably talking about the same thing," he said. "Oliver, what has Lord Alexander told you about the Maestro?"

"The Maestro?" said Oliver, his eyes widening. "Is that... his sire?"

"Oh dear. Yes, he is," said Katherine. "So he's told you very little. It's the way of vampires, unfortunately. Even my master barely tells me anything."

Oliver gripped his chair. "I need to know. Please, tell me."

"I'm afraid I don't know that much myself. He's notoriously reclusive. But I have had to visit his manor to attend to thralls on a number of occasions. Even my master would prefer not to go there, but she says it's too dangerous to defy him."

"What was he like?"

Katherine leaned in close, as though the subject of their conversation might somehow overhear. "His power lets him control people's bodies utterly. His thralls are like toy soldiers, moving to a drum only they can hear. I'm used to all kinds of thralls, but his were uncanny." Katherine shuddered. "Even though he didn't lay a hand on me, he was glaring at me the entire time, and I could feel his influence pulling at my mind. A feeling as though I had to fall in line immediately, or something terrible would happen. Like I could barely think without him hearing it. I've rarely wanted to flee a manor so quickly as that one."

"That does sound... unpleasant," he said, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he sipped his tea, unable to stop his imagination from conjuring visions of himself being used as little more than a puppet. "And his thralls were injured?"

"My master complained that he hadn't called until they were practically bleeding out -- afterwards, of course, not while we were there. Malnourished, too, with a haunted look about them." She put a hand on his knee with a sympathetic look. "But these were the Maestro's own thralls, not Alexander's. You have far less to worry about here. As I've said, I've always found him to be a very gentle vampire."

"Convenient," huffed Charlie. "A vampire with a reputation for being gentle and honest, who gets to blame all his thralls' injuries on his notoriously cruel sire."

Katherine looked alarmed. "Charlie --"  

"I'm just saying that I find it hard to believe the apple falls that far from the tree."

Before Katherine could interject again, Miriam unexpectedly looked up from her knitting, fear written on her normally placid face. "But it is true," she insisted. "Lord Alexander has never hurt me. Neither has Miss Lily, except when she has to leave me there, and --" Tears began to roll down her face. "I can hear it. I can still hear it. Miss Lily told me I could forget, but I can't, I can't forget or he'll punish me --"

"Miriam, oh dear, Miriam, it's okay," said Katherine, pulling the sobbing thrall into an embrace. "It's all right, Miriam. No one's going to hurt you here. You're safe with us, dear."

"I can dance. I can do the dance perfectly, I promise, just let me try, I can do it." Miriam's anxious mumble was barely intelligible between her crying and the way she was pressed against Katherine.

"Miriam, you aren't there. You aren't anywhere frightening. You're having tea at Lord Alexander's house, remember?"

"I'm at...?"

"Lord Alexander's house. His thrall Oliver is being such a gracious host. It's perfectly safe. See?"

Miriam seemed to wake from her terror almost as quickly as she'd fallen into it. "Oh, of course, I don't know what I was thinking!" she said, glassy-eyed as she lifted her head from Katherine's shoulder. "Oh, I always enjoy when my madam visits Lord Alexander. He's very kind to me."

"Of course he is, dear," said Katherine, patting her back. "We really shouldn't bring up such awful topics around Miriam. She's a sensitive soul. Charlie, how's your baseball team doing?"

Oliver wanted to hear more, even though it terrified him, but he also felt awful that his questioning had thrown Miriam into a panic, so he eagerly went along with the topic change. "You like baseball, Charlie?"

"Love baseball, always have," he said, also looking relieved at the conversation switch. "My master gave me a great radio set, so I can listen to all the games. But my team's doing awful this year -- bottom of the league. They never shoulda traded their star pitcher..." 

As Oliver listened to Charlie rant about blown games and poor referee calls, as Katherine discussed birdwatching and a new bread recipe she'd tried, he could almost forget the fear of his situation and feel a little bit normal.

It was only later, after Charlie and his madam left and Miriam was engrossed in her knitting, that Oliver was able to pull Katherine aside. "Katherine, will you please hear me out?"

"Certainly," she said in a motherly tone. "I know how hard it is, the first few weeks of being a vampire's thrall."

"What you said before..." He glanced around as if he were afraid his master would pop out of the shadows at any moment. "Am I safe here? Will I be all right? I've been conditioned to be unable escape..."

"That's normal, yes. I assume Miss Lily was the one who handled your conditioning?"

"She was."

"Then no, I don't expect you'll be able to escape," she said. She put a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "I can't promise that you will be safe. What I said about the Maestro was all true, and while I do believe Alexander means well on the whole, you're among vampires now. We live in their world, and they do what they will with us."

Oliver felt his gut twist. "So then..."

"I've met so many thralls in my life. Hundreds, probably. Most in worse situations than you, and some in better," she said. "Would you like to hear my honest advice about surviving this?"

"Yes, by all means."

"Find happiness wherever you can. Find joy outside of your master's enthralling and feeding. Hobbies, food, art, education, anything that brings you pleasure -- indulge in it." She smiled warmly. "You'll need these pleasures to keep your mind sharp and keep your soul from despair. When you're permanently a prisoner, you need something tangible to look forward to, even if it's simply a warm drink or a beam of sunshine. You seem like the sort of man who can appreciate the mundane."

"...I like to believe so, yes."

"That's a skill that will serve you well, Oliver," she said. "Even if Alexander and his sire are cruel to you, you'll still have something to hold on to during your darkest moments."

"Something to hold on to..." 

"I think you will figure it out. With how much Lord Alexander seems to prize you, it wouldn't surprise me to meet you here twenty years from now, looking back on our lives with our vampires."

She seemed to mean it, and that gave Oliver hope.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

I really enjoy Edith as a character and hope to write at least one side story with her.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree

[sailorblossoms-snowbaz]

On Simon's list and running into compulsory heterosexuality:

Since I'm re-reading early CO: surpringly enough I don't think I have posted about this before, but you can't convince me Simon starting to date Agatha the very same year he started following Baz around is a coincidence. Simon couldn't understand his feelings for Baz (he wonders if Baz had him on his thrall) (he wanted to be with Baz all the time) and on some level this scared him. On some level his feelings for Baz were scary. Because Simon was able to exist back then by not thinking and (not to be cliché but) not listening to his heart, and trying to fit in perfectly into his role. (Simon "never thought he was straight" but he never thought he wasn't either, and heroes with his role traditionally are!)

He went for someone who perfectly embodies traditional beauty standards and represents the traditional path forward for boys like Simon, reinforced by media to him. Someone who awakened nothing on him (other than highlighting his terrible self-esteem issues) and thus allowed him to exist purely on vibes and not process shit. Someone with issues of her own, whose constant kidnapping/exposure to danger programmed her to get used to discomfort and unhappiness too (and Simon wouldn't register it at the moment, because it's all he's ever know. Hell, actual happiness and comfort register as wrong for him).

Simon's list is pretty interesting to think about it this light. He tell us, when he ranks Penny no.2 (after food lol) that he should probably rank his girlfriend higher, because girlfriend. It implies he feels obliged to care more about her or like her more, but he doesn't. Agatha is literally last on his list (he never put her fist, he says later, but it's even worse: he puts her dead last) He has all sorts of excuses to justify this without discovering his actual feelings, but even in his excuses he reveals a lot:

"Too good to be true" if something feels like that it instantly raises alarm bells. But it's not that Agatha is "too good" for him because he likes her so much (something he does with Baz later because self-esteem: in shambles). It's more that the idea that Simon can have the stability and security and belonging he craves, which he thinks about in terms of traditional HEA is "too good to be true." He's still thinking about it terms of straight traditions, and it doesn't fit either of them. (He's even contradicting himself with the "saving the best for last" excuse when he puts Penny second – after food of course – and says "my gf should probably be higher than her" – his excuse is pure bullshit.)

Simon doesn't think about Agatha when she isn't around (he barely thinks about her when she is around). He doesn't want to. It's already indicative that he feels wrong and doesn't like dating her, but doesn't feel like he can change that. "He's not even sure he misses her" – he doesn't miss her at all! (When he admits to "missing Baz so much" over the summers, he ties it to thinking about him all the time)

Baz is not in his list, but he keeps messing up with it. Simon keeps interrupting his list to talk to us about Baz: how perfect and good looking and ruthless he is, how organized, that he plays football for the school, how he uses the bathroom (is an early example of how obssesed he is with the guy). Baz messes with his structure, he messes with his thoughts. It hints something Simon outright says in the following books: his feelings for Baz can't be contained. They're too big, too overwhelming. He can't stop thinking about him. And Simon can't deal with it – not until he's faced with the real possibility of Baz not being in his life anymore. That's when he pushes all his fears aside and snaps into action (something we see happening again with the break-up/getting back together in like... 24 hours lol)

[boltlightning]

sorry bout the comment. this new tumblr junk is super weird and i still haven't gotten used to it. anyway. 23 + 25, please? :)

you're good, it's a bad webbed site sometimes!!!

23. that was inspired by a work from another medium (music, visual art, dance, etc.)

anything i've ever written on the flying dutchman takes cues from the wood engravings by gustave doré of the rime of the ancient mariner. they feel like so much life has been frozen in one moment and it's perfectly haunting.

which is why it is very fun putting the wiles of the ship up against cutler "the immaterial has become immaterial" beckett in monsters of men:

The Flying Dutchman’s physical form is unreal. The deck is solid beneath Beckett’s feet, yet part of his brain rejects its very existence. The rot and decay in every facet of her being does not affect her structure or efficiency, and her men cannot die, so Jones need not worry about amenities so mundane as hygiene or welfare. Much of the ship is made of sailors who had once kept her sailing, working endless and endless and endless years of service until they forgot they were separate entities.  Beckett is all too aware of how different he is, how little he belongs here. He strides with confident steps across the squirming deck. The ship stops whispering to him, recognizing he is immune to her thrall; the walls even pull away from him as he enters the captain’s cabin.

25. that you consider a favorite

it is no secret that windfall, first of the potc+dragon fics, is near and dear to me, if only for situations like this:

There are further changes, mundane as his uniform. While Norrington had long grown used to wearing the wig on duty, he quickly discovers it is more hassle to wear it and remove it for flying than it is to not wear it at all. He admits to himself that he will not miss it, particularly not in the Caribbean heat. He supposes he could lean on powder for the fair-haired look — but that would be stripped out by the wind near instantly. Only his uniform would designate his rank here on in, and that seems like a breach in decorum for any officer, let alone a commander. He poses the dilemma to Tempest. The dragon stares and says, at length and not unkindly, “Why does it matter, James?” That puts the issue to rest rather quickly. Norrington will wear his full ensemble at any formal events, of course, but for daily flying, the wig remains at home.

writing excerpt asks!

[larrythefloridaman]

Mayhaps some thoughts on Valentine?

Oh, dear valentine... so mysterious... and the weight of being the perfect, gentle showman is such a heavy burden to bear...

Val is fascinating to me, because even though theres so much we don't know about what he really wants, really feels, really thinks, because most of his screentime is on the sidelines in an obviously staged persona, theres a lot of interesting inferences we can make from what he says when he breaks character, doesnt break character, or expresses his (oft-ignored) agency, but, with so many details missing, I am forced to turn to thematic analysis and context clues to fill in the blanks. I say forced as though I dont love doing this shit lmao

Val's occasional awkward fumbling breaks with his presenter persona lead me to assume hes that flavor of theater kid thats sort of... reserved, passive, awkward, almost shy in their personal life until they're onstage, where they Come Alive before the crowd, but also, hes presented in his introductory episode as a man who 'walks directly into explosions just to see if he can survive them.' contradiction between the private and public self, risk and spectacle and, of course, performance are important things to consider when evaluating Val. He wants to put on a good show for the people, after all! Talented and radiant and powerful and good, Val is an instant hit with the audience- and Val puts his body on the line trying to 'save the day' in a very risky move, a shady deal with a shady being with shady terms. Keep in mind Crimson really hadnt done anything REAL bad at this point- a little theft, a little homewrecking, his greatest crime we saw was being kinda spooky, really.

We don't hear the terms of Val and Crimson's bet, their discussion of the terms entirely held through crimson's ability for psychic communication, but we do see the result. Valentine looked at the quiet, eldritch thing Crimson began as, and wagered his body as Crimson's prize. Crimson wins, a gentleman keeps his word, and the Captain Crimson era begins. It isn't long before theres reason to regret his choice, although the Grunk's death wasn't something Crimson exactly wanted to happen either. Captain Crimson, given the privilege of choosing who in the tie at the bottom of top 8 gets to move on to the next part of what was supposed to be a two part tournament, the Grunk is shortly after found dead. Val remains in Crimson's thrall for another several months, Team Crimson formed amid the hiatus's offscreen chaos.

I think a feeling of guilt in the situation hes avoiding does haunt him. He claims little memory of his time as Captain Crimson, but the Grunk certainly seems to blame him some, even saying that 'at least hes not dead this time,' when Val successfully defends his championship from the Grunk. And hes in good company! Culpable in the Grunk's Death Club: Crimson (oops!) Hamhel (catalyst for both his and his killer's presence at the tournament,) Val (unintentional accomplice to manslaughter) Larry, Iggy and Chartreuse (knowingly complicit for timeloop reasons!)

Which adds some layers to Val breaking from his professionalism and stage persona a bit in 23's intros to express Intense Concern with J0hn's puppeteering of a murderer and VERY POINTEDLY bringing up the Grunk's own murder charges, audibly upset by the Grunk explicitly taking pride in them, he's clearly pretty disturbed by it- although he never pushes too hard against the tournament's regular function, even when it would be pretty fair to. One must remember the P. Rool Arc- the tournament is not an unquestionable arbiter of good or fairness, the tournament's rules are not unbreakable impartial tenets of the universe but the personal, often petty, choices of a jesterly godking, a TURTLE in a CLOWNCAR, and so going along with them is, within their world, a choice that all the characters are making! Everyone in the cast is, for better or worse, somewhat complicit in the tournament's failings, at least as much as any one actor who willingly works under a questionable director or in a questionable industry, if that makes sense. Technically, Valentine's championship was won at Plum's expense. Valentine participated- alongside an assortment of other fighters, including Rights Sentience, a so-called sentinel of that which is good and right- in the group free-for-all to take P. Rool's win away from him, and happened to come out on top. Relevant information to recall on P. Rool Day.

And, also relevantly to 23, he's pretty disturbed by Quad too, as we see in his introduction in 17. I think Quad is critical to understanding what Val's got going on under the surface- of the clones, theyre pretty explicitly the most directly similar from base to clone, and ive said it before and ill say it again, the thing Ryan's said about Quad and Val thats stuck with me characterization-wise is that 'Val is like a rollercoaster, Quad is like skydiving.' Rollercoasters are a thrill, with ups and downs and twists and turns but a careful calculation for safe results along a planned path, placing an implicit trust in the engineers who designed it for you to enjoy, although the controls are left out of your hands, and so when something goes wrong all you can do is wait for it to be over and hope noone gets hurt. Skydiving is throwing yourself directly to the whims of the world and letting go for a very INTENSE and STRAIGHTFORWARD thrill, running on the often CAREFULLY CONFIRMED trust that your parachute will work and with direct, conscious, personal control over when it deploys. I think of how Val often rolls with the tournaments decisions despite his misgivings, often seemingly not even informed until DAY OF what he'll be dealing with, and I think of how Quad was part of the first forfeit in tournament history and on another occasion caught just a whiff of horseshit and marched right up to god and beat her ass. Quad is like Val without the tact, the nuance, the subterfuge, like Val if you intentionally distilled and intensified him to the point of parody, and in the process, boiled out all the subtleties and passivity.

The natural instinct to compare Crimson and Val's relationship during Val's possession and Quad and Order's is... I think not EXACTLY wrong, but I don't think it's one-to-one at all. If Quad is, thematically, like Val with all the subtleties and nuance (not to say quad is UNnuanced because of course he is, but like. yknow what i mean in this context) wrung out, then maybe the intensity and circumstances of the awfulness of Quad and Order's relationship is a much more black-and-white case, but the baseline dynamic was similar? Just. Greyer. More complicated. Less extreme. Another all-take and little-to-no-give relationship between a controlling person and someone only wanted and valued by them in the first place as a useful, disposable tool in the pursuit of their own desires, who was never really all that interested in them personally as anything more than that, because at the end of the day they always wanted something or someone else, until someone else gets rid of the taker, and the giver is left alone to reevaluate things in their absence. But i suppose we already knew that. Another difference of course being they were two people who happened to collide for a while by chance and made regrettable choices, while Quad was born and designed with the purpose of being used. (And, of course, got to overcome that.)

Considering other Crimson'd folks were very much able to dispel Crimson from their bodies when they didnt want him there anymore, Hamhel 'defecting' offscreen, Chessmaster casting it off with all the casualness of flexing muscle, when they had come to some kind of epiphany and wanted to better themselves, while Val needed to have it dragged out of him by force, and even, in a moment of weakness and spite in response to the humiliation of Dani's Rat Stunt may have even considered taking crimson BACK if jay's speculation about val's feelings after the exorcism in 11 holds weight... its... interesting. And while they're plenty professionally friendly, I do think theres potentially some... lasting resentment, between him and Dantoinette in the mix, too. She did not need to rub his face in losing to the rat, and that could just be a dani-typical weak-filter shit-talk moment. But he did not need to bring up the bear. and Val's usually more careful than that.

Val lost a bet. They were together for months. They had to have developed some kind of dynamic and rapport in that time. While he absolutely was a controlling asshole, even just by nature of How Possession Literally Works, there isnt much reason to assume crimson was uniquely cruel to Val in their relationship compared to his other partnerships, and most folks who were possessed for more than a day came out of that relationship rightfully hating his ass and not wanting to be around him but not like. Life-Wreckingly Transformed by Him or anything. He's not an abuser, hes not that kind of evil. hes your dickhead ex that brought out the worst in you, he's the sketchy mp3 downloader thats BEGGING for you to let him install viruses, he's the best employee at a scam company. Crimson is just as disgusted by people like Prism or the Doc as anybody else reasonable. He's just a selfish, negative, dirtbag asshole thats rebellious for the sake of it and pressures you into and gives you excuses to pursue bad ideas- both his and your own, and living vicariously through those he controls to escape his circumstances and get to be anybody but who and what he actually is for a while, and Val was perfect for that. He 'got what he needed' by 'being' him. Vibrant, beloved by the crowd and community, comfortable in front of the camera, seemingly so confident warm and happy despite everything, so in control of his own destiny, at least in theory. The heartless coveting that which he cannot have. Val reduced more than once to an idealized object on a pedestal. The perfect man, and a being that from certain perspectives might barely qualify as a person at all- he certainly didnt present himself as one to start with. Hell, hes still imitating Val just a bit trying to play presenter in his stead in Orange.

BUT. All that being said. Order isn't what Val chooses to compare his time with Crimson to, in a rare instance we see of him actually trying to talk about it. No. His choice of comparison is a different object of Val's disdain- Cupid. Heartbreak and Cupid.

Heartbreak and Cupid are friends. and Heartbreak does say he WANTS to find someone that meets his romantic standards- but Cupid begins to push through his boundaries, FORCING it, making this OVERWHELMING UNASKED FOR SPECTACLE out of his issues on live broadcast, and when he decides he DOESNT want to pursue it actively anymore, Cupid refuses to back down from trying, because he DID want it and Cupid doesnt want him to Give Up on what he wants, but the reality is Heartbreak just found some peace with being by himself and doesn't want it so bad anymore, but Cupid seemingly wont take him at his word that he's genuinely just changed his mind. Tempered expectations, mistaken for lost hope. And it pisses heartbreak off so much that at least when the wound's fresh he doesn't even want to look at the color pink.

Val made a bet. We didnt see the terms. Val, in contrast with his perfect gentlemanly persona, flirts with villainy from time to time- quite literally in the case of his exchange with Dr. Order at the start of 16 before Quad was made, sometimes less literally and more subtly complicit with the tournament's less than perfect ethics record, nobody's perfect, no exceptions, not even the perfect man is unflawed- but never truly falls from grace again after his time with Crimson, while using the same cunning and subterfuge the god of treachery employs in facing challenges and claiming advantages all the same. Tempered subversion, mistaken for submission to conformity. And Crimson's presence is enough to make Val just want to stay home.

Am i cooking or is this nothing? YOU decide!