and theia was subject in love to hyperion
pairing: damien webb x reader author's note: umm so yeah, this happened?? that first scene when we meet him, his voice is so incredibly sexy, plus he's got great hair. what more can a girl ask for?? had some THOUGHTS. wrote this out at 4am. there's that. enjoy. warnings: incest (yeahhh), language, slight smut, dubious consent, gaslighting, manipulation, drugs, it gets rough
You barely make it out of the study before he appears, lounging against the wall as though he’d been waiting there all along.
“Did Father subject you to one of his infamous dressing-downs?”
Clipped, aristocratic haughty — a voice not entirely unlike your own.
“Oh, do piss off.”
“Was it about last night?”
That smug tone gives you pause.
“And what do you know about last night?”
Damien inspects his nails, seemingly bored.
“You were seen sneaking off the estate at two in the morning. Hardly subtle.”
“Seen? Seen by whom? One of those lecherous security men Father keeps around?”
“Actually, I was fortunate enough to witness it all firsthand,” he responds smoothly. “Out drinking and whoring, weren’t you? That skirt you wore was barely two inches long.”
“Well, it certainly beats that ghastly mask of yours. I think it looks cheap. Tacky. Like something bought in haste at a run-down costume shop. Quite frankly — I think it looks like shit.”
Something dark flits across his expression before he huffs out a quiet laugh.
“Now you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”
“Were you the one who told Father about last night?” you demand abruptly.
“I didn’t need to. It’s all over social media,” he drawls. “Your little antics cost Father a small fortune.”
“Coming from you, that’s rich.”
Damien smiles nastily.
“Oh dear, I do hope Father doesn’t see fit to revoke your driving privileges.”
The words come out as a petulant whine.
“He can’t possibly do that.”
Damien appears unfazed by your spoiled response.
“Well, we wouldn’t want you running down anyone else now, would we?”
He pushes off from the wall, coming close.
“But don’t fret, perhaps I’ll put in a good word or two for you.”
Your gaze narrows.
“In exchange for what?”
He smirks.
“Nothing. Call it an act of … brotherly love.”
He tugs lightly on a strand of your hair.
“A little parting gift before I leave for Prague tomorrow.”
“Prague?”
His expression twists.
“Off to clean up another clusterfuck. Courtesy of that glorified chandelier.”
“Oh, that’s right,” you say sweetly, unable to resist an opportunity to twist the knife in. “I nearly forgot. You’re its glorified lapdog.”
The moment the words leave you, a searing pain flashes through your scalp where he’s yanked your hair.
You wince — hard.
“What do you think is going to happen if MI — bloody — six discovers that everything Father’s been feeding them is a lie?” he snaps harshly, eyes flashing with something that scares even you. “We can kiss our inheritance goodbye. That’s what.”
He lets go after a strained moment before straightening, composure settling over him.
“I do what needs to be done so you can go on living like this,” he says crisply. “Without a care in the world, sipping champagne, driving fast cars …”
Damien eyes you shamelessly.
“Wearing those … little skirts you’re so terribly fond of.”
“Or maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to run off and play warlord with that private army of yours,” you snipe pettily, scalp still stinging.
A faint, infuriating smile crosses his features.
Your face tightens. You turn on your heel.
“Now, hold on for just a moment,” he drawls. “No kiss goodbye for your only brother?”
The words come venomously.
“And why. On Earth. Would I do such a thing?”
“Because if you don’t, your little party favours might just find their way to Father.”
He holds up a small bag of white powder, the one you keep tucked away in a self-help book with a hollowed-out compartment inside.
“Now, wouldn’t that be inconvenient? I highly doubt you’d be allowed near a car for the next thirty years.”
The corners of his mouth curl up.
“Devious little girl. Hiding it where you did.”
Something hot and ugly flares within you.
“Give it back.”
“Give me a kiss first,” he taunts. “Just a little one.”
“I said, give it back!”
He’s taller — always has been, ever since you were kids — and you’ve scarcely lifted a hand when he seizes your wrist and drags you towards him.
“And I said,” he begins, voice dropping dangerously, breath ghosting your cheek. “To give your brother a kiss goodbye.”
A brief moment of contemplation.
Then —
You’ve only just managed to tilt your chin up before his mouth greedily seizes yours, practically devouring you — leaving you struggling for air as a hand slips inside your silk blouse to roughly palm a breast, pinching your nipple in that way you’ve always secretly enjoyed.
He pulls away abruptly, breath uneven.
“Christ.”
Proceeds to carelessly drag the back of his hand across his mouth.
You smooth your blouse back into place.
“Oh, and by the way,” he says, voice still rough. “I don’t particularly like that man who’s always lurking around you.”
“Who?”
Damien gestures dismissively.
“Harry … something.”
“This isn’t the nineteenth century. There’s no need to defend my honour.”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“Like what?”
“Like he wants to drag you off to some dark corner and ravish you in every position he can possibly think of,” he says without missing a beat.
“Jealous?”
“Hardly,” he dismisses coolly. “I’m merely looking out for you.”
He reaches out, straightens your collar.
“Or perhaps it isn’t the poor man’s fault at all. We both know you’re not nearly as innocent as you pretend to be. The first time you came into my room in the middle of the night …” He gives you a look. “Well — you might as well have seduced me. You practically started all this.”
“That’s not the least bit true.”
“Isn’t it?” He tilts his head slightly to the side. “Odd. I seem to remember it that way.”
“You have no power over me,” you declare fiercely.
“And where did you pick that up?” he asks, visibly unfazed. “Therapy?”
Damien leans down slightly to meet your eye-level.
“Run off and tell Daddy, if you’d like.” Bitterness creeps into his tone. “He did nothing for our mother. Don’t imagine he’d do anything for you.”
He runs his fingers across your cheek.
“In any case, you won’t,” he murmurs. “I think we both know that.”
Then, without warning — he drags your jaw in for another kiss — sloppy, unrestrained — fingers pressing hard into your skin.
“There,” he breathes out. “One more for the road.”
Damien releases you, then turns away as if nothing had happened.
“I’ll be back by Friday. Do at least try to behave in the meantime.”
