"This is how we loved: a knife on the tongue turning into a tongue."

-Ocean Vuong, "Homewrecker" from Night Sky with Exit Wounds

He wishes for a proper seduction.

In his mind he envisions a scenario in which things go differently. Would not be so brutal. He sees Violet Baudelaire stepping onto Georgina Orwell's front stoop, her stomach a mess of excited nerves, her face flushed with color. She clutches the hem of her delicate dress, palms sweaty, a grin to her lips she could not will away. He watches her through the peephole, eyeing the long flutter of her eyelashes and the fine curves of her cheek, her neck, her hair. Her eyes hold the easy awe of any living dream.

In his fantasy, she is happy to see him.

He would throw open the door, quipping something devilishly charming like, "Who knew pretty little orphans were eligible for delivery?" and she would giggle in a way he has never witnessed, falling straight into his arms, her voice high and soft at his neck, "Oh Olaf, you handsome cad! Take me upstairs and ravish me this instant!"

And, just like that, he would.

There would be no need for trickery. For violence.

Olaf toys with this daydream as he watches Georgina guide a freshly hypnotized Klaus up the tall winding staircase, her hand soothing on his shoulder, her voice smooth and manipulative, "Your glasses will be fixed in no time. Now, as part of an agreement, Klaus, we will wait and ignore any suspicious noises. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

By the time Georgina returns he has shrugged out of his Shirley disguise and scrubbed the makeup from his skin. She casts him a displeased look and checks the clock on her desk.

"I still don't see why we need them both hypnotized. Surely one is enough." She says, glaring at him in suspicion.

Olaf rolls his eyes, tired of the same endless conversation. "I've told you, woman. I can use more basic hypnosis on Violet to make her reveal her plans. Once we know how much they know about VFD or their next step or even their bank accounts, we can go from there. She'll tell me everything she knows.

"Bank accounts, huh." She mutters, shrugging. "You said you had a plan. You better be right. Here she comes."

Olaf turns to where Georgina glares out the front windows to see the small silhouette of Violet Baudelaire, her arms braced against the wind, stomping closer. He casts Georgina one last look as he ducks into a small hallway off the main floor, says, "Just get her in that chair and leave the rest to me."

Minutes pass. She leads Violet inside, all honey and kindness and professional ease.

"Miss Baudelaire," Georgina says, leading Violet to the examination room at the center of the building. "Your brother will be right out. He's upstairs picking new frames- isn't that exciting? Ah, and as Lucky Smells' newest recruits, that means you're up for a complimentary exam too."

"Oh, that's not necessary." Violet says. "I've always had good eyesight. I'll just wait here for-"

"Now, now I insist!" Georgina says, gesturing to the examination chair. "It won't take any extra time at all. In fact, I'll go upstairs to help your brother while my assistant Shirley examines you. That will save us all some time."

Violet, brilliant and brave, bends to courtesy and duty, and takes a seat.

It takes but a moment for Orwell to press the button at the back of the chair and the clamps to swing around the girls extremities, pinning her in place like a moth to styrofoam.

Violet screams, shrill and unlovely. Olaf closes his eyes, a hand pressed to his mouth, savoring the moment, the before.

He stands leaning against the pinstriped entry, knowing Violet Baudelaire sits (heaving, wrenching at her bonds, nearly sobbing already-) waiting for him to arrive, to step out into the beam of the high windows and change every part of her.

"Don't worry, dear, standard procedure." Orwell mutters as she breezes past Violet, unconcerned, and begins her slow ascent upstairs, heels clicking every step, "And now I'm off to make sure the hypnosis worked on your dear brother and disregard any suspicious noises I might hear. Shirley."

Olaf, unenthused at being called as if taking to stage, rolls off the wall and into the center of the room, just as Violet asks, "Hypnosis?"

"Hypnosis indeed, my dear." Olaf drawls, folding his fingers together and sauntering into view.

Later, this is the moment he will remember. Once she is gone and he has dressed, he will recall her sitting trapped in place, the color draining from her face at seeing him. Even her lips lose color, sinking to a sickly purple. Terror changes her, meekens her.

He knows how to change that.

"How are you today, Violet?" Olaf asks, drawing close. "In need of a little examination?"

"Not from you." She hisses, a snarl scrunching her nose even as the words tremble in her throat. "Not from anyone."

He shrugs, gestures to the empty room. "I'm afraid that's out of your hands. Look at you. You're helpless."

"Klaus!" Violet shrieks, wild eyes glancing for her brother. "Klaus-!"

"No point in that. He's as helpless as you."

Silence stifles the room as Violet stiffens, simply thinks. Olaf watches her with unhindered fascination- he sees her breathing slow, sees her grip relax, sees her eyes flutter briefly closed on an exhale.

In a small, calm voice she asks, "What are you going to do to me?"

"Well. Hypnotize you of course." Olaf says, glancing to the ground as he mutters through a grim smile, "How else could you ever stand me?"

For a moment Violet's eyes soften, confusion giving way to pity. She open her mouth to speak, but he is faster, lunging towards her, a feral look to his face.

"It's sick." Olaf admits, "What I'm going to do to you. But the best part is- you won't even remember. I'll spare you that."

Even imagining the worst, she sounds unbelievably young. "Are you going to undress me?"

"Oh, little orphan. No. Don't worry." Olaf says, winding his way around her chair so she struggles to keep her eyes on him. She looks placated almost, her worst fears fleeing, but then Olaf casts her a nasty smile and says, "You're going to do that yourself. Now-"

He jerks the enormous screen so close it almost brushes her nose and flips a switch at its side until he sees the rapid colors glow and blink and change against her skin.

"Violet," He growls, yanking the screen ever closer. "What do you see? A parent or an arsonist?"

Violet shakes her head, sputtering, yet her eyes never leave the screen. "I- I don't-"

"A villain or a volunteer?" Olaf demands. "A guardian or a groom? A captor or a lover?

"I'm not-" Violet mutters, voice falling away. "I don't…"

He waits, watches. Once the colors stop and Violet grows quiet, he tugs the screen away to examine the aftermath.

Hypnosis relaxes her in a way he has never seen.

As is smart, she has always been high-strung around him. Nervous. Scared. Now, she sits with an almost dreamy ease to her pretty face, her eyes alert yet calm as if dosed with a sedative. Olaf takes a moment to simply look at her- the star of his cruelest fantasies helpless and poised before him. Instead of reflection he is only filled with impatience.

"Violet," He says, walking slowly closer until his knees brush the toes of her boots. "Can you hear me?"

"Of course." She answers immediately, voice small and untroubled. Her eyes find his. In the low light they are startlingly clear. His lungs shrivel in his chest, prepared words leaving him.

He takes a deep breath, adjusts his collar, and finds his hands are shaking.

"I'm going to teach you something, Baudelaire. You, currently, are hypnotized. And completely under my control. But these things are complicated. With extreme-" He pauses, licks his lips, searching for a word. Already his mind feels sluggish and dull, a well-worn blade blunt with use. "-distress… You could awaken too soon. And we can't have that. Can we?"

At that, Violet casts him a confused look that does not fully reach her eyes. It seems as if he is having a conversation with someone heavily consumed in thought- awake and aware yet not fully conscious. She frowns, looks to his clasped hands trembling.

"No?" She mutters after a few seconds.

"Yes. Wonderful. You're learning already." He lets his hand wander up her bare calf, brushing to her knee then back down. Violet, for all her obvious cognizant repulsion, does not even flinch.

"Now. As I was saying. We cannot have you awaken until I say so. That's why I need you to relax. When I say Violet, go deeper, I want you to sink even more into this trance you feel. Relax. Let your body go limp. You will move only at my direction. Will speak only at my insistence. Do you understand?"

She hums in assent, her eyes still on his hands.

"Perfect." Olaf says, tracing circles to her kneecap. "Now. Violet, go deeper."

It is with the hunger of an eager student that he watches her eyes flutter closed and a deep sigh swell in her chest. After a few seconds she exhales, long and slow. He watches her lips part and close, resists, barely, the urge to kiss her.

"Can you hear me?" He repeats, to which Violet says, "Still."

The man rolls his eyes, mutters, "Even hypnotized you're clever. Good to know. Violet. I'm going to remove your restraints. Stay exactly where you are."

He walks behind the chair and presses the well-worn button. With a sharp click, the restraints spring open. Violet does not move, does not even rub the red lines of pressure chaffed into her wrists from her struggling.

Olaf, looking only for an excuse to touch her, takes this upon himself. He plucks her closest hand free from the chair, feeling it limp in his palm, and rubs gently at the inflamed skin.

It is the first time, he thinks, yet certainly not the last that Violet Baudelaire's blood will be on his hands.

"Good." He takes a deep breath and begins. "Violet, during our short time together today I'm going to ask you to do a few things for me. Answer some questions. Demonstrate a set of tasks. These things you will do with utmost honesty. When I praise you, I wish for you to go deeper into your trance. Take my pleasure with you as reason for happiness and relaxation. Pleasing me will please you. Keep that in mind. Are you ready?"

Violet nods, her eyes finding his.

"First, a question. Do you think I'm an attractive man?" He knows he is supposed to be grilling Violet, as per his agreement with Georgina, about their plans, their arrival to Lucky Smells, and their knowledge of VFD. But with the eldest Baudelaire pliant and wholly at his mercy, he simply cannot help himself. His caution and dignity had feld as soon as she stepped into the room.

Violet winces, makes a strangled noise. Her hands fly to her throat as if there is something lodged there, words she desperately tries to swallow.

"Violet, go deeper." Olaf hisses, quick thinking, desperate in his own right to keep her under control. She reacts instantly, hands falling away, eyes slamming shut, the worried lines of her face smoothing to tranquility.

He waits, listens.

Upstairs, a faint thud of footsteps. He knows there is not much time, that there is only so long Georgina will bend to the machinations of others.

"Honesty, as you might remember, is necessary. As is an answer. When I ask you a question, Violet, you will respond to me. Silence is omission. Silence is lying. Are you a liar?"

"Not often." She admits.

"Not often, you say? My dear has a dishonest bone in her body? How surprising. Let me put it this way. If I were to ask you, awake and unhypnotized and effortlessly lovely, if you felt attraction to me, would you lie?"

"Yes." Violet hisses, soft. Olaf watches as tears form in the corners of her eyes, building to slip down her cheeks, as if her mind could not feel the humiliation her body endured. He had not expected tears so soon. Later, perhaps. But now, when he has asked but a single question, Violet surprises him with tears. Olaf realizes, then, what her most obvious weak spot is- her glaring fragility illuminated only now.

Pride. Knowledge. Power over superiors.

Humiliation humbles her in a way she cannot stomach.

"Don't feel bad. It's understandable that you'd be attracted to me. I'm a very charismatic man. Charming. Talented. I certainly don't blame you." She does not respond and only after a few seconds does he realize he had not asked a question.

Knowing the answer, he ventures, "Violet. Do you wish to be my Countess?"

"Absolutely not." She replies with an immediacy that startles him.

He snorts, "Feel strongly about that, do you?"

"Of course." She mutters, those bright eyes finding his. She still seems engrossed in distant thought, some faraway idea he could never reach.

"Violet, do you dream of me?"

"Sometimes." She says, unimpressed, but there is an undercurrent of unease to her voice. Olaf, sensing that shred of desired privacy, digs deeper.

"When you dream of me am I terrifying you? Chasing you? Ravishing you?"

"Usually." She mutters, voice soft with humiliation.

"All three?" He asks, barely serious, yet she startles him again by nodding, blinking away more tears.

"And do you enjoy these dreams, Violet?"

"Of course." She mumbles.

Then, wholly shocked and struck with self-indulgence,Olaf demands, "Tell me your favorite one."

"We- uh-" Violet stumbles, wincing, stuck in a memory. "We're at your house. You're sitting in the dining room with those raspberry cupcakes, plotting, when I join you, dressed only in a soft robe. You say something quick and rude and in response I drop the robe, standing naked before you."

Olaf wonders at his immeasurable luck, at how he has managed to infiltrate Violet's mind with filth and depravity with only his presence. He says, voice suddenly hoarse, "Go on."

"You don't know what to do at first. But eventually you grin, and your eyes are soft and wicked. You say you've expected this to happen, for me to come b-begging. You make me get on the grimey floor and crawl my way over, and once I'm at your feet, you take a raspberry and offer it to me. You're quick though, impatient, and toss the raspberry away to place your fingers in my mouth, testing me. I'm shocked but hold still because I want- I want to please you. And we-"

"Violet, stop." Olaf says, nearly begging. If he had been only slightly aroused before, now his erection strains the heavy zip of his trousers, aching. Olaf is so distracted he can barely think straight, can hardly see past the fantasy of Violet's favorite erotic dream.

"I-" He says on a heavy sigh. "I want you to keep having dreams like this. Every single night. I want them to be so vivid and bright and realistic that you cannot tell you're asleep. When you wake, you will remember every detail. Your desire to please. The grit of my voice..."

He reaches out, his hands on either sides of her face, using the rough, calloused flats of his thumbs to wipe away her tears. She looks him in the eyes, meets his gaze full-on, retaining her instruction.

"Violet," Olaf says, "Do you wish to kiss me?"

"Yes." She says, more tears spilling from her eyes growing red with crying. "But not now. Like this."

"Don't worry." Olaf says, voice softer and more tender than he wants, yet he cannot seem to stop himself from wanting to reassure her, to keep her as dependent on his praise and protection as possible. "I told you already. You won't remember a single second of our time together today. You will act on my instructions instinctually, thinking they are products of your own choices. I will… spare you."

She nods, sniffling. He releases his grip on her, his hands damp with tears, his whole body throbbing with desperate, blistering desire. He heaves a deep sigh, steps away.

"You could kiss me, you know. Whenever you wished. Seek me out like in your dream. I would never think of denying you." He says, watching her nod yet again, her eyes still far away, distracted.

Olaf glances towards the upper floor where Georgina waits, sure that they have just enough time to complete his plans. He steps away from the chair, frees the button and zip of his trousers, his eyes never leaving her.

"Yes. Find me, kiss me, whenever you want. But for now, I have other wishes. Have you ever seen a cock, Violet Baudelaire?"

She furrows her brows, frowning, confused. "Well. In books and things, yes, but my experience has never been… tactile."

Olaf hums, unsurprised. "Violet. I want you to come over here. Stand before me. Strip out of that little dress. Let me see you."

She rises, walks over on steady legs, to stand near him, already shrugging out of her cardigan. It drops to the floor, her eyes on his, while Olaf, shuddering, palms himself through his parted zip.

With the ease that only repetition brings, Violet reaches behind herself, grasping at the zipper at the back of her neck and slowly drags it down. Once it hits its hem, she shrugs her arms out of their sleeves, letting the front droop as she shimmies the rest off her hips, revealing a standard set of cotton panties and a bra to match. She does not step out of the dress ringing her ankles, does not glance at him for instruction to continue. Violet merely stands there, having followed his demands, her eyes on the floor.

"Violet. You absolute vixen. Take off the rest of your clothes."

Although no more tears streak her face, her hands tremble as she unclasps her bra and drops it, revealing small breasts with nipples pink as her blush. Her panties slide off just as easily, ringing her ankles. A small thatch of hair curls at the juncture of her thighs.

Olaf's mouth waters at the sight.

"Now, my dear." He says, voice wrecked and ragged already. "Kneel at my feet."

So she does, her bent knees brushing the gleaming toes of his shoes. He watches gooseflesh swamp her legs, watches her shudder at the cool tile on her skin. She glances up, meets his eyes.

"Dearest Violet," Olaf says, running a hand over the top of her head, down the curve of her cheek. "I've had this plan for months. And in the original version I had hoped to bed you. To fuck you. To make you wholly mine. But the more I thought, the more I knew it could never work. Your body would be noticeably different. You would bleed, grow sore and confused and suspicious. I couldn't have that. Not when I want you to think every idea I plant in your head is utterly your own. Understand?"

Violet nods, frowning. Her hands, still trembling, rest in the soft slope of her lap.

"My clever girl. So if I cannot have you, I suppose I will have to settle for-" He brushes his thumb over the fat swell of her bottom lip. Violet swipes her tongue at him, a quick flash of damp pink. "For whatever else you offer. Remember, my dear. Pleasing me pleases you. Yes?"

"Yes." Violet agrees, voice soft.

"Good. And it would please me muchly, Violet, for you to open that pretty pink mouth of yours and suck me dry. Do you think you can do that, pet?" He runs his thumb over her lip again, anticipation rattling his bones.

Violet frowns in confusion, the expression becoming more familiar by the second. Olaf wonders what he has asked to stall her, where her hesitation rises.

"Um. I don't know." She says. "I've never tried before."

"Oh, my dear." Olaf says, untucking his cock from the confines of his trousers and tugging, teasing. "You'll soon get plenty of practice. But I believe in you, Violet. Try your very best to please me."

Violet nods, rising on her knees until she is at eye level to his cock, her hands still at her side.

His mind addled by arousal and stress and an inevitable countdown, Olaf grumbles, "You know, there will be plenty of time to learn. Later. For now, just open that mouth, Violet. Stick out your tongue."

And so she does, lips parting as if on a sigh, her mouth open and willing, her eyes on only him. Olaf takes his cock in hand, rubs the head on the length of her tongue. Already, he is shuddering, gasping, knowing he will not take long.

It is the victory that arouses him the most, he realizes. The villainy. Pure, unshakeable triumph.

"Wrap your lips around it." He demands through a gasp, rocking his hips until her nose nearly touches him. "Keep going, Violet. Yes-"

Violet gags, coughs, her hands rising to his hips, yet she stays where she is, her watery eyes screwed shut, her tongue wild and tactless beneath his cock as he drives further into her.

Panting, he hisses, "Violet, go deeper."

He watches as she relaxes, her wince smoothing out, her hands less sharp on his skin. Olaf tangles his fingers in her hair, gripping hard and ruthless, his pace quick and sloppy.

"You're doing so well, Violet, so good. You'll- you'll be rewarded once I have you. Once I've had you in my clutches and at my feet. You'll be- mine. God."

He comes with a force that surprises even him, so fast and rapid that Violet chokes, coughs, pulls away retching. What she doesn't swallow, she spits to the ground. Breathless, Olaf glances to the upstairs stairwell, finding it empty, knowing they are nearly out of time.

"You did so well, Violet. I am entirely satisfied. You should feel proud. Victorious. But our time together is running out. Dress yourself exactly as you were." He says, tucking his cock back into his trousers. He feels comfortably languid, his mind clearer, his whole body spent and vibrating with adrenaline and aftershock.

It takes Violet barely any time at all to get dressed. Once she does, Olaf walks quickly around her, smoothing her hair, wiping stray tear tracks from her cheeks.

"Like I said, Violet. You will forget our time together today. That's an order. But your dreams and your attraction to me will linger. And they will slowly drive you mad. Then, when you can take it no more, seek me out. Stop running. You will be so tired and my bed will be so warm. Do you understand?"

Violet nods. Her voice is hoarse when she murmurs, "Yes."

"Good. Now I want you to snap out of your trance when you hear me say Violet, wake up. You will feel only as if you have been deep in thought, like remembering a dream. Let it be the one with the raspberry. I like that one."

Olaf steps away to examine her, finding her more or less the same as when she entered save her eyes red and puffy from tears.

"We've had little time together today, and already I feel as though I'm going to miss you. When else would you simply talk to me? Simply share your secrets? To trust me? Ah well. Soon enough." Olaf brushes his fingers across her forehead, smoothing back her bangs, to press a soft kiss to her skin, that same feeling rising in him- possessive tenderness, sick sentimentality.

"Go sit in the waiting room. Your brother will be down soon." He says, not allowing himself to watch her turn and go as he taps up the staircase and onto the landing.

He grips the handle to the door, hesitates. When he turns he sees Violet staring neutrally at the floor.

"I'll see you soon, orphan." He promises, then, much louder, "Violet, wake up!"

Georgina, hearing him from beyond the door, opens it wide as he darts inside. Downstairs, he hears no noticeable reaction, no gasping or screaming, and thinks, perhaps, it might have worked.

"Come now, Klaus, your lovely sister is waiting right downstairs." Georgina calls, ushering the boy down the stairs and into the waiting room. He hears Violet spring to her feet, cry, relieved, "Klaus!"

"Your brother's glasses have been fixed and you're good to go." Georgina says, and he can picture her guiding the orphans out the front door. He catches small snatches of Violet's voice, sweet and slightly worn. "Um-" she begins, then, "Why's Klaus-?"

Georgina interrupts, voice insistent with authority. "Don't worry about paying, it's complimentary. If you have any questions, come back some other time. Goodbye, Baudelaires."

The siblings are shoved to the stoop, Georgina slamming the door behind them, followed by the sharp slotting of several locks sliding into place.

Olaf watches them through the window, sees Violet leading her brother by the arm back to Lucky Smells, sees her turn and regard the building with trepidation, sees a shiny spot of dried tears glisten on her cheek, and knows it is only a matter of time before she returns to him, wrecked with humiliation and need, and he will smile, open his arms to her, and welcome her- a longterm scheme giving way to a beautiful, devastating end.