jamesedwinstark - Tumblr blog

jamesedwinstark · 3 years

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Ok James torture post 2. This is a different story altogether, basically a "villains win" au.

Again, it's NOT canon! Just a nightmare :)

Also tw for rape and torture, of course.

Loki's threads were coming loose. She watched, the picture of disinterest, as Sin executed another row of SHIELD agents. It was as if she was seeing it all happen through a veil, repetition having turned victory into a chore.

It had only ever started as something to do. She'd gone back to fucking Victor mostly out of boredom, had joined his little cabal to annoy Thor and cause some trouble. It was supposed to be fun. It wasn't until they'd bound themselves together with ancient blood magic that Loki realized she was in too deep with no way out, but by that time it was too late to turn back without appearing weak. It wasn't without reservation that she'd tied her fate irrevocably to the most vile people on the planet. Now she really was trapped; the spell had made her dependent on the rest of the cabal for her very survival. It had also made all of them too powerful to stop.

It was just a bit of fun. They weren't supposed to be actually winning.

"I think this sends a clear enough message, what do you think?" Sin asked, turning to Loki with a wicked grin.

Loki looked over the pile of corpses in front of her. These people were supposed to be decent at their jobs. They were supposed to stop people like her. That's the way the story was supposed to go, the way it always had gone. This narrative was... unfamiliar. Wrong. It left a bitter, almost metallic taste in Loki's mouth.

"You remain as subtle as ever." Loki replied.

"Subtlety has no place in war." Sin countered, "Besides, there's no reason for you to be a killjoy. You could try to have a little fun once in a while."

Loki pouted, "I'm tired. This is boring." That was the end of the conversation.

The flight back to Castle Doom was uncomfortable. Loki was sore all over; it seemed that she ached all the time now.

A voice that sounded a little too much like her father muttered in the back of her mind. It's guilt, Loki. Look at what you've done.

He was right. The cramping had started not long after they'd captured one of the Avengers. If it had been anyone else, Loki wouldn't have cared at all, but of course it had to be James.

They'd tortured him for days, trying to get information out of him. Loki had found any excuse to get out of the castle while it happened. Even now, the memory of his screams echoing through the halls made Loki's stomach turn. From what she heard, by the end of it he was weeping openly and begging for his father like a child. They all thought that was very funny.

After that, she'd tried to help him. She’d wanted to help him. She'd had him brought to her room, let him sleep in her bed instead of the floor of Victor’s dungeon, gave him food that was actually edible, let him bathe and wash the dried blood off himself. She took care of him, and asked very little in return. It wasn't so bad, was it? It wasn't anything they hadn't done before.

Another voice, this time her mother's, answered you know that isn't true.

When he was clean Loki had wrapped a warm, fluffy towel around James’ naked body, tilted his chin up gently to look at her.

I’ll take care of you, sweet boy. I'll protect you. I'm not like them.

He’d looked so tired, and small, and Loki had been reminded of how young he really was.

I'm not like them. I love you. You still love me, don't you?

He’d said yes, and it wasn't a lie.

And... you are grateful… that I'm helping you?

James’ gaze had always been scorching, uncomfortable. He never looked at anyone; he looked through them, inside them. He burned holes into you with his eyes. After a drawn out silence. She'd cupped his face in her hands.

I love you. You said you love me. I just need you to show me…

He’d said yes, and he’d meant no. They both knew he’d meant no. Neither of them did anything about it, though. Loki took what she wanted and James was taken back to his cell. That was weeks and weeks ago now, and she hadn't seen him since. She hadn't been able to look at him.

Loki buried her face in her shoulder and bit down on her quivering lip. Sin could not be allowed to see her cry.

It had never really been about helping James, had it? She'd just wanted herself back, the parts of herself that James loved, the parts that were not tied to anything evil. He was pure, and loving him made her clean. The aches and cramps had started soon after she'd used James to clean herself.

Victor was waiting for them when they landed. He and Sin discussed the mission, which had been an unparalleled success by their estimations, while Loki zoned in and out. All she really wanted was a nap and a pile of bacon. Then Sin left and Victor laid a very cold hand against her cheek and she thought that, since he was in the mood, she may as well get a depressing orgasm as well.

Loki did an excellent job feigning interest while Victor worked in her. He could get temperamental when she didn't fawn and and moan to his satisfaction, and she just didn't feel like dealing with his moods. She wanted to get off so she could go to sleep. There were a lot of things to be said about Victor Von Doom, few of them pleasant, but he knew what he was doing in bed. Loki always came hard when they used each other.

(There was something endearing about inexperience, though. The eagerness and overconfidence of it, and Loki found herself thinking of warmer, gentler hands on her body than Victor’s while she orgasmed. Victor felt so distant, always, even when he was inside her. He didn't seem to feel anything, certainly wouldn't have shared those feelings with her if he did. Loki wondered if she was ever going to feel intimacy ever again.)

“You know that I usually appreciate the way you shape yourself, Loki.” Victor said when they were done, “But I can't help wondering who you’re trying to impress with this.”

Loki winced when he touched her breast.

“Who do I have to impress but you, my love?” Loki asked, but honestly she didn't know what he was talking about. Her breasts were exactly the same as the ones she always made for herself.

Victor's eyes narrowed behind his mask.

“It occurs to me that keeping the boy in the dungeon is a waste of resources. We have allies now who might make use of him, and there are soldiers on our side who need...entertainment.” He said, “After all, why should you be the only one who gets to play with him?”

Of course Victor was going to find out about that. This made twice now that James had fucked someone Victor felt he had a claim on. Loki swallowed bile.

“...Oh.”

When she got back to her room, Loki spent a solid half hour lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling. It was getting late, but Victor’s staff would cater to her every need whenever she wanted. She activated the intercom to order herself room service.

“Good evening ma’am, would you like the usual?” A heavily Latverian-accented voice asked.

‘The usual’ was bacon with a side of sausage, and lots of it.

“Yes, thank you.” Loki said absently, and then. “Wait, and also, I want oysters. I want as many oysters as you have. And… steaks. Bring me steaks.”

“Of course, how would you like them?”

For a moment, Loki could believe what she was about to say, but she found herself unable to imagine putting anything in her mouth except… “I want them raw.”

Something was wrong with her body. Something was very wrong with her body.

Loki stood up and staggered to the bathroom, heart racing. These last few weeks had seen her sore and exhausted almost constantly, and thinking back she realized her last period hadn't been much more than a few spots of blood, as if her body was shutting down. Gods, the cabal were all so powerful now, but where was that power coming from? Perhaps the rest of the cabal were siphoning Loki's life force, and that was the source of their newfound strength. Had she been tricked? Had she been tricked?

It took a while after she reached the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. She hadn't been able to since… but this was a matter of life or death, so she forced herself to look at her own reflection.

It was... different, but she didn't look unhealthy. If anything, she looked a little less pale than usual, and she realized now what Victor had meant about her breasts. They'd gotten huge, but Loki hadn't intended to do that. Why had she unconsciously increased her cup size? She'd thought that she'd finalized the design of her female form centuries ago.

Cold sweat broke out across Loki's forehead. What if she wasn't the one changing her body? What if her body was just changing of its own accord? Bodies did that sometimes. Women's bodies did that especially, and Loki had a woman's body. She'd created it to be functional in every way, down to the smallest detail.

Her hand fluttered over her abdomen. Those details didn't seem so small anymore.

Slumping to the floor, Loki forced herself to breathe. She couldn't be sure yet, but the evidence, the cramps and the cravings, pointed strongly in one particular direction. She wasn't dying, she was-

“Pregnant.” She said, quietly, just to see how it felt. It felt true. Shit.

Statistically, the child was very likely Victor’s. He apparently liked to fuck when he was winning, and he'd been winning very often, and Loki was there and convenient all the time. In all probability, Loki was carrying a little Von Doom, and their child would be marvelous and terrible to behold. Victor would raise them in his own image, and Loki would teach them all that she knew, and they would inherit the earth and rule it like a born monarch. There was no point considering any other possibility.

That Loki might have a smiling, sensitive child with soft brown eyes was too unlikely to even think about.

Cursing, she knocked her head lightly against the wall. If she thought she could get away with it, she'd say the child was James’ no matter what. When it came to which of them would be a better father, which she wanted raising her baby, there was no contest, and it wasn't as if one needed blood to be a family after all. Victor would want tests done, though, and if the child was his he would want to have it. It would be his most prized possession, a great achievement for him, though he certainly wouldn't ever call it his greatest achievement, because he'd have to share the credit.

And if the child was James’... Victor wouldn't want them, and Loki wouldn't have to watch her baby being turned into a monster like Hela, or like what she herself had become.

James would have to forgive her.

It was pointless to consider it, but she was considering it anyway. Having James’ child bound them together in the oldest blood magic there was, and wouldn't it make him happy besides? The child would be something they could both cling to, wrap the frayed edges of their psyches around. This was a gift. This was like finding an abandoned child on the edge of a frozen battlefield; a blessing after experiencing the horrors of war.

Perhaps she understood Odin a little better now. Maybe she had helped him heal from the war, let him become the wise and fair man that most of Asgard believed him to have been. That was a nice thought, to imagine she might have made someone better. This child could do the same for her. She could be better. Gently, she laid a hand over her abdomen and imagined she could feel something moving. What would a good mother do?

Activating the intercom again, she said, “Have the Stark boy sent up to my room.”

This time she would do things right. James could rest and she could tell him about the baby. She could give him that joy, and that would be enough. He didn't have to do anything in return, they could just be happy together.

Then again, when he heard the good news, surely James would remember how much he loved Loki, and then he would want to… if he loved her he'd want to, right? The soreness in her body wasn't guilt after all, but a symptom of her pregnancy. Maybe she hadn't actually done anything wrong? She wasn't like the others, after all. She wasn't a monster. He had said yes. Besides, something good had come out of it…

Something good.

Clarity hit Loki like a lightning bolt. Frigga would have never done this, and if Loki was going to be a mother she had to be better. She had to be the person that Thor believed she could be, the person James had always believed she already was… or, he had. Before she'd forced herself on him.

That's what it had been. Loki took a deep breath. Best to accept that, best to accept what she'd done. She sucked down more air, but it wasn't enough. Her mouth filled with thick saliva, and she leaned over the toilet and vomited.

That was just morning sickness; it had to be. James was going to forgive her. James always forgave her. He could forgive anything, and Loki would not hurt him again. Not like that.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

<><><>

(This next story is set a few years later, after the cabal have taken over most of the world, and have set up their home base in the Avenger's tower. Other supervillains have joined up, and they all pass James around and torture/rape him. Also Tony has also been captured and James keeps him in a magically induced coma so he doesn't have to think about what's happening.)

<><><>

The dolls were fighting. Saga yelled all the insults she had recently learned, imagining they were being said by the two little figures she had clutched in her fists. Finally, when she was satisfied that the argument had reached its peak, she took the smaller of the dolls out of the dollhouse and threw him against the wall to punish him. He smacked it hard and his arm snapped off.

“Oopsie!” Saga gasped, but it was alright. Mother would fix it. She retrieved the two pieces and put them in her wagon. Broken or not, the doll still wasn't allowed back in the dollhouse, even if he banged on the door and cried and begged to be let back in.

She put the other doll to bed so that the story could progress, but before anything more could happen, her mother came into her room and interrupted the game. Mother was wearing his armor, and if Saga looked at him from the right angle she could see all the purple halos coming off of it. She'd asked her parents what the purple halos meant, but neither of them could answer her. They didn't know what she meant, though Saga felt that her questions were more than clear.

“Precious, Mother needs to take care of some things. You've got to come with me, alright?” He explained. But Saga wasn't done playing.

“No thank you.” She answered, and it occurred to her that now was a good time to have her doll fixed. Taking the broken pieces out of the wagon, she handed them to her mother. “Fix please.”

Mother crouched down to Saga’s level. “Saga, be gentler with your toys.” He chided before taking the pieces and waving his hand over them. They shimmered green for a moment and then the doll was whole again. Mother put the doll in bed with the other one, which wasn't right, but things changed so quickly that Saga supposed it didn't matter. “Now, be a good girl and come along. I promise it will only be a little while and you can come back to your game.”

Well, Saga did want to be a good girl. “Okay.” She agreed, and Mother picked her up and walked out the door.

Saga very rarely left home, so the rest of the tower felt strange and unfamiliar. Saga loved it though. It was like an adventure every time, and she got to meet her mother’s friends sometimes. A few were very nice to her.

As Mother walked down the hall, Saga spotted Hyperion and Amora walking by in the opposite direction. She waved excitedly to them, and each of them smiled and waved back.

“Loki, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages.” Amora cooed. “You’re always holed up in your room these days.”

“This one keeps me very busy.” Mother replied, nodding his head towards Saga.

“She's getting so big.” Hyperion said and then, addressing Saga, continued, “aren't you missy? Gonna grow up big and strong like your uncle Hyperion?”

Saga nodded vigorously raised both hands above her head and announced “Very big! Like my mumma!”

The adults all laughed. Saga liked when they laughed. It meant they liked her.

“You need a break, Loki. Come to the party tonight.” Hyperion said.

Mother pulled Saga a little closer and said, “I'm afraid, since my babysitter is the guest of honor at those ‘parties,’ I'll have to decline.”

“And you get plenty of one-on-one time with the boy, don't you?” Amora said, “We all wonder just what it is you do to him that takes hours and hours every night.”

“You’ll have to continue wondering.” Mother replied, and he was really holding Saga uncomfortably tightly now. She started to squirm out of his arms, but he was too strong. “Now, if you don't mind, I think Victor will have my head if I'm late for another strategy meeting.”

Saga waved goodbye as Hyperion and Amora went on their way. Mother took her into the elevator, and Saga gazed happily at the purple threads that seemed to pulse from every inch of the elevator’s surface. She had to keep moving her head, because she really could only see them out of the corner of her eye. She grabbed at them, but as usual they just slipped through her fingers like water in the sink. She wanted to touch them very badly, though.

“Saga, when Daddy gets home tonight we’re going to be extra good to him, do you understand?” Mother said suddenly.

That was confusing, because Saga was always extra good, but she said “Yes Mumma.” anyway, just to be agreeable. She hoped Daddy would play his guitar and sing with her when he got home, but sometimes he was too tired. Mother said to always let Daddy rest when he gets tired, but Mother didn't always obey that rule himself, so Saga didn't quite know what she was supposed to do.

They arrived at a set of big doors and Mother put Saga down. While they were both on the ground, he took her by the shoulders and said, seriously, “When we go in there you have to be very quiet and let Mother work. You can let me know if you need to be changed, but otherwise please don't interrupt. Can you do that for me?”

“I be good.” Saga assured her mother, earning herself a big smile and a kiss on the forehead. Then Mother stood and passed through the big doors, Saga following close behind.

In the middle of the room was a large table with projections emanating from it. Mother was trying to teach Saga the difference between magic and technology, but she couldn't tell yet whether the projections were holograms or illusions. Around the table stood some people Saga recognized: Mr. Osborn and Ms. Schmidt and that Mandarin man, plus some people Saga hadn't seen before or whose names she had forgotten. At the head of the table, in his very big chair, sat Doom. Mother talked about Doom all the time. He seemed to glow purple.

The group were all deep in discussion, but everyone turned to look at Mother when he walked in.

“You've started without me.” Mother observed as he led Saga into a corner and sat her down.

Saga watched Mr. Osborn’s face crinkle up. “You brought your girl?”

Mother summoned, seemingly out of thin air, a coloring book and some crayons, a juice box and a bag of animal crackers, which he laid in front of Saga. “It's called parenting, Norman. Some of us like to give it a go now and then.”

With that, Mother stood and headed towards the table. “What fresh hell has the General decided to send us this time?” He asked. One of the other adults answered him, but she used too many words that Saga didn't understand so she stopped listening and got started coloring a picture.

She flipped through the book until she found a picture of a kitty flying an airplane. She grabbed a blue crayon in her fist and started filling in the sky. Both Mother and Daddy liked it when she colored outside the lines, which was good because that was really all that Saga could do. She wanted the kitty to be yellow but the color seemed too faint, so halfway through she switched it to orange. The airplane she colored in gray, and added in the purple lines she knew airplanes had, because she had seen them flying overhead and felt the tingly sensation they radiated. She didn't know why she always had to add in the purple lines herself.

The picture had come out really well, and Saga itched to show it to someone. She glanced over at her mother, who was getting angry with one of his friends, and remembered that she wasn't supposed to talk to him unless she had a dirty diaper. She tried to make pee so she'd have an excuse to get attention, but nothing came out.

It dawned on her that this would make a really good gift for Nonno. He always liked to see her pictures, and even kept some next to his bed. He couldn't look at them very often because he was almost always asleep, but he said he liked knowing they were there. She would give him this picture and then he would tell her silly stories about when Daddy was a baby. Maybe he could explain what the halos were. He had a purple bloom sprouting from his chest, so he had to know.

After gathering her things, Saga set out on her journey. She made sure she was quiet when she left the room and shut the door behind her. Mother had told her to stay quiet, and she was a good girl. She started down the hall, but it didn't take very long before she realized she didn't really know where Nonno’s room was, or even if she was on the right floor. Sitting heavily on the ground, Saga sipped her juice thoughtfully. Whenever Daddy took her to see Nonno, they went down in the elevator and headed south, more or less. Mother had already taken her down in the elevator, so if Saga went south she'd find Nonno. That made sense.

Her plan in her mind, Saga followed along the paths that went north and south. The hallways were so long, and everywhere looked the same. It was so frustrating.

Looking at her crayons, Saga remembered one time when she had drawn a picture on her bedroom door and Daddy had made her sit with him while he scrubbed it off.

“When you do this, Daddy has to clean it up.” He'd explained. She remembered how battered and bruised his face was.

“Ouchie.” She'd said, pointing at him.

“It's ok, Princess. It looks worse than it is. Now, be a good girl and don't draw on the walls anymore.”

“Okay Daddy.”

Saga took a few of her crayons and started scrawling on the walls. If Daddy had to clean this up, that meant he'd have to appear, and then Saga could make him take her to Nonno. Mother would think she was so clever if he knew about her foolproof plan. She could tell him later.

As Saga drew, she thought about Daddy's angry bruises and bandaged arms, and wondered why it was only Daddies who came home with ouchies and not Mothers or little girls? She never really got a good answer to that question.

A distant sound of laughter and applause pulled Saga out of her thoughts. If there were people, she could ask for their help finding Daddy. No, wait, she'd been looking for Nonno. Either way. Adults liked her. They would help her. Maybe they'd want to see her picture too. She followed the sound of voices, even though it meant she wasn't going south anymore. As she got closer, she realized just how loud they were being. Maybe this was the party Hyperion had been talking about? Saga hoped so. A party sounded like fun. She could have cake.

Saga found the room that the party was in, but it didn't look much like a party. It was just a bunch of adults sitting or standing around in groups and talking. She didn't see any cake, but it seemed like a good idea to keep looking. Nobody noticed her when she wandered in, but that was okay. She wanted to find somebody she recognized before asking for help.

There was another room attached to the main one, but there wasn't any cake there either. It was just a bunch of adults sitting at a table playing a card game. The table also had a bunch of funny looking things on it that Saga couldn't identify. Some had halos. Most didn't. She recognized Mr. Hammer there, and Amora too, but what really caught her attention was who was under the table.

“Daddy?” Nobody heard her. Curious, she stayed in the doorway and watched what happened.

Daddy was wearing pretty lace stockings and gloves, like a lady in a movie, but he didn't have any other clothes on. That was silly. Saga could see more cuts on his chest that she'd never known about before. He also had bracelets with shiny chains that connected to each other, to match the thick necklace he always wore. All his jewelry had halos. His eyes were closed, and Saga thought maybe he was sleeping.

“Three of a kind! I win!” Mr. Hammer announced. As soon as he did, Daddy’s eyes popped open. Mr. Hammer whistled and snapped his fingers. “Here boy.”

Daddy crawled over to where Mr. Hammer was sitting, like he was playing pretend he was a doggy. He looked up and smiled, and Saga felt so relieved. It's just a game. Daddy is happy. Daddy is ok.

“What kind of reward would you like, Justin?” Daddy asked. In answer, Mr. Hammer pulled Daddy up by his hair and ran a thumb over his lips.

“I want you to put that pretty mouth to good use. How does that sound, Baby?”

Daddy kept smiling, “That sounds amazing, thank you. I love to suck you off.”

Amora tossed cards around the table, “It's so creepy how you make him pretend to like it.” She said.

Someone Saga didn't recognize added, “You're missing out on the best part: when he begs you to stop.”

“Nah, the best part is after, when I go tell Tony what the inside of his son's throat feels like.” Mr. Hammer replied. Saga didn't see what happened exactly, but Daddy put his face in Mr. Hammer’s lap and he gasped.

The adults talked about something while they played their game, but Saga was watching Daddy. Why didn't he get to play too? They needed to share and take turns. That was how friends played.

“Round’s over, Hammer. You gotta finish up.” Somebody said finally.

“Yeah, I'm almost-” Mr. Hammer sputtered out before making a weird sound and sighing, “Yeah.”

Daddy sat back. He was still smiling. “Thank you Justin. You're so wonderful.”

“Creepy.” Amora insisted.

“Hey, your boyfriend’s the one who wanted to have his goddamn baby. That's creepy. I just know what I like.”

“If you're done, it's my turn.” The man Saga didn't recognize, the one who said the best part was being asked to stop, stood and, reaching under the table, dragged Daddy out by the chain binding his wrists. Daddy wasn't smiling anymore.

“Don't break him, Bulls. It's still early.”

“Yeah.” Mr. Hammer agreed, “Break him later.”

“It takes all my willpower to shove things up his ass instead of through his skull. Be thankful.”

The bad man bent Daddy over the table and selected the largest of the strange objects. He took the object and arranged it in some way Saga couldn't quite see. Daddy saw what it was and started to cry, and Saga cried too. If the game wasn't fun for everyone, they needed to stop playing. They weren't being nice.

As soon as she began to cry, Daddy's eyes widened. He started looking around frantically.

“Wait! Wait, please. Saga’s here somewhere, I feel her, she's-”

The bad man didn't wait. He thrust forward and Daddy screamed.

Saga had never heard a sound like that before. He screamed and screamed, not making any words. Just communicating raw, unbearable agony in the only way he could.

Then she was screaming too. Saga wailed “DADDY! DADDY!” and curled in on herself, clenching her eyes tightly shut. Mother had never ever made Daddy scream like that.

“Oh shit, get the brat out of here!”

Suddenly, Saga was keenly aware of every fiber of purple light, which before had been so hard to see even with her eyes open. Unthinking, she reached for them and they slithered into her grasp. The bad man had the light inside him, in his arms and legs, but Saga was holding the light. It had to stop. The screaming had to stop. He was hurting Daddy.

There was a crunch, then someone else was screaming.

“Holy... shit.”

“Well, that’s a buzzkill.”

“Christ, somebody call medical.”

People rushed around her, their footsteps frantic. Saga’s eyes were still closed and she was still screaming when she felt herself being picked up and carried away. She thrashed to get free. Who was taking her? Was it the bad man? Was he going to hurt her too?

“DADDY! DADDY HELP!” She wailed, but if her daddy couldn’t save himself, how would he save her?

“Shh, shh Love. It’s me. It’s Mother.” Saga felt gentle hands stroking her hair. She opened her eyes. They were back in the hallway, she and her mother, but Daddy wasn’t there.

“Daddy?!” She pleaded between choking gasps of air. Her throat ached from crying.

“Daddy is alright, Precious. Daddy is fine.”

“NO!” How could Daddy be fine and scream like that? Why didn’t Mother understand? “Bad- bad man! Mumma, please! Stop- help- he screaming.” She didn’t know how to say what she needed to say, so she just threw her head back and wailed.

Mother bounced and rocked her, humming soothingly, but it was no use. Saga needed Daddy. The bad man would get her unless Mother did something, unless Daddy was safe. Why was this happening? She could hardly breathe. Everything was going dark.

No, not dark. Green. Shimmering green. Her throat burned. Had she been crying? She’d gone to the party and then… something had happened, and Mother had carried her out, sobbing. Because there was no cake. It was a bad party because there was no cake.

“Ah, there’s my beautiful, smiling girl.” Mother cooed. He handed Saga a fresh juice box.

“Want cake.” Saga demanded.

“Alright. Alright. Darling, precious, sweet little girl. We’ll have cake at home. Doesn’t that sound nice? It’ll be all better.”

Saga drank her juice. It felt good on her sore throat.

“Loki!” Saga heard someone hiss. She looked down the hall to see Amora headed towards her. She was angry. Saga buried her face in her mother’s neck.

“I know I need to watch her more carefully. A lecture is a waste of both our time.” Mother snapped. Saga tensed. She wanted to go back to her room.

“Are you feigning ignorance, or did you truly not see what she did to Bullseye?”

“Don't be absurd. Saga didn't do that. She's a baby.” Mother insisted. Saga didn't understand. Was she in trouble?

“A baby with mutant blood.” Amora said, then, after a pause, asked, “Why did you tell her that Stark is her father?”

“What?”

“She called him ��Daddy.’”

Daddy? Where was Daddy? Saga needed him very badly, or… she thought she did. She couldn't remember now.

“Doesn't she have a right to know?”

“He's a toy, Loki.” Amora said, “Please tell me that you don't take him to your room every night to play at being a family. Like Hammer making him act like he's in love.”

“I am not like Hammer.” Mother seethed. Saga felt him lurch forward, imposing himself into Amora’s space.

“Loki he can't love you. You must know that.”

Were they still talking about Daddy? Daddy loved Mother very much. Why would Amora think he didn't? They must be talking about somebody else.

“I… I don't need him to love me. Of course. He is, as you say, a toy.” Mother explained. “I only need a nanny, and the boy is more cooperative when he gets to call it parenting.”

Amora laughed, “If you insist.”

“It's late. I want to take my daughter home.” Saga felt her mother sidestep around Amora and head back down the hallway.

“Doom’s going to want to know why our best assassin is getting scraped off the floor right now.” Amora called after them. “You might want to start coming up with excuses.”

They went home in silence. Mother ordered some cake for them as soon as they got back. Cake would be good. It would be like a party. She hoped Daddy would come home soon, and they could all have cake and have a party together.

Saga frowned. That didn't seem right. Something made her think that Daddy didn't like parties very much.

<><><>

“I'm sorry! I’m sorry! I'm sorry there's so much blood! Oh no, oh no.”

The strained voice of her daddy woke Saga up. Her tummy started to flutter uncomfortably, and she hid her head under her blanket and clutched her Bunny.

So softly that Saga could barely hear, Mother hissed, “I'm trying to stop the bleeding. Stop screaming, you'll wake the baby.”

“I don't wanna die, Loki!” Daddy cried, “Please don't let me die.”

A loud sob shook Saga’s body, and she buried her face in her pillow to stifle the sound. It would only get worse if she started crying. It always got worse if she started crying.

Her parents were speaking more quietly now, which was a good sign, but it meant she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Was Daddy going to die? Saga didn’t even want to think about that, about never seeing her daddy again, about having nobody to sing to her or play with her. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard Daddy walk towards her room with uneven steps, but instead of turning into his own room, he stopped. Quietly, her door opened.

“I know you're awake, Princess.” Daddy said. He sounded sleepy. Saga pulled her blanket tighter around herself.

The bed dipped as Daddy sat down on it. “You don't have to be scared. Everything is ok.”

“Don't die.” Saga pleaded.

“That's.. you heard that, huh?”

Saga just whimpered in reply.

“Come out from under the blanket, Saga.” Daddy coaxed, “You’ll overheat.”

Sniffling, Saga crawled out from her cocoon. Daddy was right, it had been too hot in there. She sucked in a breath of cool air, and the squirming in her tummy settled.

“You said-” Saga began, but started to cry before she could get the words she wanted out.

Daddy lifted the blanket and climbed into bed next to her, gently shifting her stuffed animals as he did so. “I know what I said, but it's ok. It's nothing you have to worry about.” He hugged her gently, and she nuzzled into the soft fabric of his shirt. “Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise. All you have to worry about is being a happy little girl. Can you do that for me?”

Saga shook her head. She was too scared to be happy.

“Well, that's ok too.” Daddy said as he rubbed her back soothingly. “But you'll feel better tomorrow, Princess. We’ll all feel better tomorrow.”

Like magic, Saga was completely calm again. She closed her eyes and felt herself drift off to the sound of her daddy softly singing.

When Saga opened her eyes again, her room was flooded with light, and Daddy was gently snoring next to her. She rolled over and tapped him lightly.

“Wake up Daddy.” She whispered.

Daddy scrunched up his face.

“Daddy! Wake up time.” Saga insisted. She patted him on the chest, more roughly this time. “Daddy! Good morning Daddy!”

“Saga… ugh.” Daddy groaned. “Good morning. Please go bother your mother.” With that, he rolled over.

There was nothing else Saga could do. She hopped out of bed and made her way down the hallway and into the kitchen to bother her mother.

Mother was a girl again today. She was already eating breakfast, which for her consisted of mostly piles of bacon and sausage, served in the shiny metal trays that appeared with food every day and then disappeared without a trace. The threads of purple light surrounding the trays caught Saga’s eye, and something like a memory of a dream tickled the back of her mind. She’d been able to touch the light before… in that dream…

“Good morning, Sweetie.” Mother tittered with a smile when she saw Saga walk in. “I need to talk to Daddy. Is he awake?”

“He won’t.” Saga replied.

“Won’t what?”

Saga sighed, “Won’t wake up. He sleeping and sleep and…” She huffed. “Not get up.”

Mother’s eyes widened like she was about to be slapped in the face. She practically leapt from the table and dashed across the kitchen, brushing past Saga without a glance. Saga followed after her.

“No. Oh no no no. James? James?!” She called out, rushing into Saga’s room. Daddy was there, sitting bolt upright in the bed.

“Honey, honey it’s ok.” He blurted out. “What’s going on?”

“Saga said you wouldn’t wake up and I thought…” Mother sunk onto the bed. “Of course... you’re just tired, aren’t you my love?” She sighed and, cupping Daddy’s jaw in her hands, gently kissed him all over his face.

Daddy closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“There’s coffee in the kitchen. I’ll take care of Saga.” Mother offered, smoothing Daddy’s hair. “I need to talk to you, and it can’t really wait any longer.”

Without opening his eyes, Daddy nodded. Mother gave him another kiss, then turned around and focused her attention on Saga. Knowing what was coming, Saga reached up her arms and allowed herself to be scooped up by her mother and carried into the bathroom.

When Mother changed and dressed her, it was much quicker than when Daddy did it. Mother simply waved her hands and Saga had a new diaper and her pajamas became playclothes. Still, when Daddy dressed her, she got to pick what she wore. Today, Mother chose a red dress, but Saga wanted blue.

“No this please.” She said.

Mother just handed Saga her toothbrush. “It's fine, Saga. Mother’s in a hurry.”

Saga pouted and made sure to do a bad job brushing her teeth. That would teach Mother a lesson. The only problem was that Mother didn't notice. Was this lack of attention tantrum-worthy? In the time it took Saga to consider whether or not to scream, she found herself hauled out of the bathroom into the kitchen and plopped into her high chair. The moment had passed.

Daddy was already in the kitchen, sipping his coffee with a soft smile on his face. The smell of coffee was so soothing; it always made Saga think of her daddy. After situating Saga in her chair, mother walked over to Daddy and lightly stroked his face.

“It's so nice to see you smile, my darling.” She said.

Daddy sighed. “I get that these aren't ideal circumstances, but all my… appointments... were cancelled.” He laughed, but it didn't sound like he thought it was funny. “I get the day off.”

“I know.” Mother answered as she started piling eggs and toast and bacon into a plate, “I'm going to do my best to keep you reserved all day so you can watch Saga. I need to smooth this over.” She thrust the plate in front of Daddy. He frowned.

“Hon, I don't-”

“You will not starve yourself while you're watching my baby.” She warned. “I'm not coming home to that again, James. Don't you make me.”

Daddy took a bite of toast and chewed it slowly. Was that how people were supposed to eat toast? Saga may have been doing it wrong this whole time.

“Please.” She said, reaching for the toast. She had to practice.

Immediately, Daddy cut up some toast and, for some reason, bacon into manageable pieces and left them for Saga on her tray. He also supplied her with a handful of raspberries. She went for the toast, though. If Daddy had toast, that's what Saga wanted.

“Is that good, Saga?” Mother asked, sitting down at the table. “Do you like that?”

Saga scrunched up her face. Didn't Mother realize she had to concentrate?

Mother turned to Daddy. “What is that face? What does it mean? Does she want something else?”

“Honestly, she's just really determined to eat toast.” Daddy replied, laughing. He always understood.

Mother smiled, but her smile faded almost immediately. “We have to blame somebody else for what she did yesterday. Nobody can know that she's…”

“So we’re sure?” Daddy sat up straight and leaned closer to Mother. “We're sure it was her? Couldn't it have been someone else?”

Mother shook her head, “Amora saw where the spell came from. Luckily for us she did and started telling everyone about it, or you would have been blamed.”

Saga was so tired of chewing toast. She opened up her mouth and let it splat onto her tray. The toast had been a failed experiment. Saga moved on to the raspberries, which she knew would be good.

“No way! They all think this collar inhibits my powers.”

“And how long would it take them to figure out that it really doesn't?”

“She's not even three…” Daddy said. He glanced over at her and noticed the toast mush on her tray. “Saga, when you put something in your mouth you have to finish it.”

Saga disagreed. “No.”

Daddy shot Mother a pleading look. She just laughed. "She's right, Love. She doesn't have to."

Exasperated, Daddy looked out into the distance for a second.

"It's polite, Princess." He clarified.

"Okay Daddy." Saga said, but she really had no intention of being polite. She scooped up a handful of berries and shoved them into her mouth. Mother and Daddy both watched her, their faces grim.

"That's roughly what Bullseye looks like right now." She said, indicating the berry mush in Saga's hands. To help mother emphasize her point, Saga showed off her hands, made purple by the juice. A blob of red slid off and splattered onto her tray. Her parents winced.

“She crushed his bones…” Daddy said very quietly. “They were reinforced with adamantium. I couldn’t even bend adamantium on my best day.”

“I don’t think she went for his bones despite the adamantium.” Mother replied, “I think it was because of the adamantium.”

“You think she’s like…”

Mother nodded.

Daddy seemed to think for a moment. "It's a miracle Bullseye's still alive."

"I'm not sure he'd agree." Mother said. Her mouth twitched up into a smirk.

"Loki, this isn't funny."

Mother huffed and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "He deserves it, doesn't he?"

Silent, Daddy stirred his uneaten eggs around on his plate.

“We have to discredit Amora and find a scapegoat.” Mother said after a long pause. What was a scapegoat? Saga tried making the word.

“Skake… spape… sapetote.” No, that wasn’t quite right. Why were words so hard? Grown ups didn’t seem to have any trouble. In frustration, Saga picked up her toast mush and threw it on the ground.

“Saga don’t throw your food.” Daddy said. Saga pouted.

“Let her do what she wants.”

“...Yes Dear.”

Triumphant, Saga tossed a few of her berries off the side of her tray, letting them hit the floor with a satisfying splat.

“Bullseye had plenty of enemies. A scapegoat is gonna present itself.” Daddy continued as if nothing had happened. That word again, what did it mean? Saga knew what a goat was…

“What skatepope?” She asked.

“Eat your breakfast, Sweetie. Mother will explain later.” Mother answered without looking away from Daddy.

“Everybody probably has their own theory about what happened. We just have to make sure His Doomliness believes literally anybody besides the person telling the truth.” Daddy went on. “Which won't be too hard since in this case truth really is stranger than fiction.”

Mother smiled. “Have I mentioned I love seeing you get devious?”

“I know you mean that as a compliment-”

“It is a compliment.”

“We’re scheming to get somebody ki- ah, in trouble,” Daddy glanced Saga’s way, “for something they didn't do.”

Mother rubbed her face like she was tired. “Surely you of all people must understand that every single one of them has got it coming.”

Daddy sighed and closed his eyes, and Saga thought he must have fallen asleep sitting up again, until he said, “We’ve all done terrible things to get here, Loki.”

Mother stood suddenly, and she looked so angry that Saga thought for sure she was going to hit Daddy. Tears welled in Saga’s eyes, but she knew crying would make things much worse, so she struggled to keep her mouth closed. However, instead of reaching over the table and smacking Daddy across the face, Mother clapped a hand over her mouth and walked away until she was leaning against the kitchen counter, her back turned.

Finally, Saga couldn’t help herself anymore. She started whimpering and gasping, still trying to keep the crying in but being unable to do so. The more noise Saga made, the tenser her mother’s shoulders got, the lower she hung her head. She was going to get so angry and hit Daddy, and it would be all Saga’s fault for crying and making her mad, and Saga just couldn’t seem to stop and it was getting worse every second-

“Oh, Baby Girl. Shhh, it’s ok.” Daddy’s soothing voice cut through Saga’s panic. He reached out and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Don’t cry, Princess. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I worry. I scared.” Saga explained, “Mumma mad and I think you get owies again.”

When she said that, Saga saw her mother’s shoulders start shaking.

“No, no owies. Don’t worry. Don’t cry.” Daddy smiled widely at her. That had to mean that everything was okay. Saga's breathing started to even out, and Daddy leaned over and kissed her on her forehead. “Eat your breakfast sweetie, it’s ok.”

Then, Daddy stood up and walked -limped actually- over to Mother and very carefully laid a hand against her arm.

“She thinks I'm a monster.” Saga heard her mother whimper.

“You're not a monster, Honey.” Daddy gently stroked his hand up and down Mother's back. “Your daughter thinks you're the be all and end all, ok? I do too. I didn't mean to make you feel bad.”

Mother knocked Daddy's hand away. Don't worry. Don't cry.

“Then why did you say that?” She whirled around and snapped in Daddy's face. He didn't even flinch.

“I meant me too.” He sighed. Mother bit her lip and fidgeted with her hands then, and Saga didn't know what she would do until she reached for Daddy's shoulders and pulled him to her, cradling him against her chest. She whispered into his neck, and Saga thought she heard her mother say “It's not our faults. We're trapped. We don't have a choice.”

Daddy didn't move until he finally pulled himself out of Mother's arms. “You're a dame?”

Mother tittered, and Saga knew that meant everything would be fine for now. “Oh darling, it really is sweet that you genuinely don't notice.”

As if unsure, Daddy reached out to touch Mother's body, but he pulled his hand back at the last second. His body completely rigid, he clenched both fists against his thighs.

“This is for Victor.”

“We both have to do what we have to do.” Mother said, brushing past Daddy and leaning over Saga’s high chair. She took a knife from the table and spread some of Saga’s berries over her toast. “You've got to eat, Princess. Don't you want to get big and strong? You come from a long line of warriors, you know.”

“Okay Mumma.” Saga agreed, and put some toast in her mouth berried-side first, getting her face sticky with sweetness.

Mother smiled down at her and without turning around she said “I can hear you pouting from over here. So cute that you still get jealous.”

Daddy worked his jaw. “Victor Von Doom has made my life a living h- has tried to make my life hellish for over three years now. That fact that you'd take him to bed is… I wouldn't call it jealousy.”

Mother sighed and cleaned some of the juice off Saga’s cheeks. “I don't want to.”

Daddy curled in on himself and Mother went to him. She gently cupped the side of his face. “You know I only want you.” She said.

Eyes wide, Daddy looked Mother up and down. “You- like this? Like…” he gestured to her body.

Mother cocked her hip. “Well, why not?”

“Oh, Honey you know I love you. I wanna be with you.” Daddy's eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, “I’m just… saying. Last time we did that like this we ended up getting a little surprise.”

Then both Saga's parents stopped and glanced her way. She waved to them.

“Not a bad surprise, though.” Mother said after a pause.

“... Loki what are you saying?”

“Just that she's getting to be a certain age, and sibling relationships can be so beneficial…”

Daddy clapped a hand over his mouth and slumped against the kitchen counter. “Hon. I know we do a good job playing house,” Mother flinched, “for the baby but I don't- do I? Do I have to remind you what happened yesterday?”

“Don't you patronize me.” Mother was getting that tone again. The bad tone. Saga put more toast in her mouth, because Mother has asked her to and maybe if she was good then nothing bad would happen.

“I didn't think I had to but,”

“I know that if I got pregnant again,”

“Then you started talking crazy about having another baby,”

“Victor would have to let me take you away somewhere.”

“Like we're not on thin ice already.”

“He wouldn't be able to stand it!”

“Victor Von Doom does not send people who displease him to live quiet lives in Norwegian villas.” Daddy said finally.

Mother frowned deeply. “Fine.” She said. “Then we won't make love when I get home. Assuming I remember to keep you booked all day.” With that, she stormed out of the room.

“You know I'm right about this.” Daddy called after her. The only answer he received was the loud, jarring slam of the front door. Saga’s toast fell out of her mouth and landed berries-side down on her tray. Everything was going wrong this morning. Saga couldn't take it. She started to cry again.

“Oh, baby girl I'm sorry. Did the loud noise scare you?”

“Toast!” Saga wailed, pointing to the food on her tray. She didn't eat her toast right and then Mother had been angry and made a loud noise and those things had to be connected. Why couldn't Saga just be good enough to make things go right?

“It's just toast, Saga, pumpkin.” Daddy cooed, “You can have some more. You can have anything you want. Oh, gee whiz look at us. Your mother and I forgot to get you anything to drink. How about some juice and fresh toast? Would that make you feel better?”

It wouldn't but Saga nodded. Daddy sighed, and Saga didn't think he was fooled.

“Juice and toast… and after, how about a bath? You won't even remember why you're sad anymore.” Daddy insisted sleepily. “We can go to therapy with your rubber duck. Contemplate the bubbles. Get pruny like an old man. Sound good?”

“Okay Daddy.” And it did sound good. Maybe today would be okay after all.

1 note · View note

jamesedwinstark · 3 years

Text

Okay, as promised I am posting the James noncon. There'll be 2 posts.

I wanna be SUPER CLEAR that this is NOT CANON. This is just a horrible "what if" scenario that I needed to vomit onto a page.

The concept here is that Justin Hammer is holding James hostage. He infected a number of his employees with nanites that will kill them if James doesn't do everything Hammer says. James also has nanites in him which monitor his behavior and make it so he can't call for help.

The first thing Hammer wants to do with James is... go on a date. This is the date.

I’ll pick you up around 8. Wear something slinky ;)

That was the text James had received a few hours earlier. After days of waiting, of trying to pretend nothing was wrong, it was finally happening. James didn’t know if he was glad to get it over with, or if he wanted a few more days of relative normalcy. In the end, it didn’t matter what he wanted. He’d do as he was told.

It was best to get ready like it was a normal date. James picked out an outfit he thought counted as ‘slinky’: a long-sleeved shirt with cut outs in the back and on the shoulders, cropped so it showed barely an inch of midriff, pants which clung to his butt and drew attention where it was needed, and boots with just a little heel, accentuating his legs. He was supposed to be a trophy, not a whore. Right?

Clothes at the ready, James sat down at his vanity. He made up his face on autopilot, not doing anything special; it wasn’t as though this was Valeria or Loki, people whose preferences he knew intimately, who loved him, who he really wanted to please. He wished either of them were here.

While digging through his lipsticks, James pulled out a tacky, pink glitter gloss. He considered wearing it. It suggested youth, naivety, innocence. It said, “set me free; I’m just a kid.” That doesn’t matter. It only matters whose kid you are.

Well, the pink was worth a shot. James never knew what little thing might give him an advantage. He picked out some earrings inlaid with pink gemstones to match.

As he applied the gloss, his phone buzzed. He waved a hand and a screen popped up in front of him. He’d been mentioned in one of his groupchats, specifically the one for former Young Avengers, which he’d been invited to join in an honorary capacity, having spent a decent chunk of his childhood as something of a team mascot. He tapped the notification.

TEDDY: Hey! @James, some of us are heading to a bar, wanna come???

KATE: Jimmmminmy!

ELI: Wr already got satarted

TEDDY: Kate already got started

TEDDY: Yeh, lmao ^^

TOMMY: Jimmy ger Dow. Here and I’ll find u and unstable girl

BILLY: Guys, he doesn’t like being called Jimmy. Plz use his full name

BILLY: Jimbo come hang out with us

A tickle in the back of his head told him that the nanites in his brain were on high alert.

JAMES: As much as I love watching you get trashed and butcher my name, I can’t tonight

KATE: Booo u whoree!

DAVID: Plx help me jim I’m not drunk enough for this

James sighed. The point was for people to know about it, so he may as well say something now.

JAMES: I actually can’t. I have a date :)

The smiley face felt a little forced, but that was probably just projection. Nobody would question it. He was supposed to be excited. It was supposed to be believable.

BILLY: Oh

BILLY: Ok

BILLY: Have fun :)

TOMMY: Lmao seriously tho do ew even wana kno who is it THIS TIME

James clenched his fist in front of his face, and the screen disappeared back into his phone. Even his own friends thought he was an idiot when it came to love. Because you are. You deserve this.

There was almost an hour where James was dressed and ready to go, just pacing around his apartment, waiting. As the minutes stretched on, the nervousness twisting up his insides heightened. It’s no big deal. It’s just a date. Not even, it was a con, just for show. All he was doing was working a mark, playing a role. He was good at that. This would be fine.

He checked his phone when it buzzed again at 8:34.

Car’s waiting. Hurry that cute little ass down here

James took a deep breath, grabbed his coat and headed out the door. While taking the elevator down, James replied.

On my way

There was a white limo parked outside James’ building. James knew it was where he was expected to go, because it radiated a nervous, vicious excitement that made him dizzy. As he approached, the driver stepped out and held the door for him. He had nothing but contempt for James.

“Thank you.” James told him sweetly, flashing him a demure little smile. The driver’s contempt was eaten away slightly by another, even less comforting feeling: pity. He wondered how much, if anything, the driver actually knew about what was going on.

Justin Hammer was waiting for him inside, and if he’d been any happier he would have been bouncing in his seat. The inside of the car smelled a little too strongly of Hammer’s cologne. James sat down across from him and Hammer looked him up and down appraisingly. He was… disappointed. Oh no.

“Is that what you decided to wear?” He asked.

James looked down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I mean, would it kill you to show some more skin?” Hammer whined. “I thought you kids wore skirts now.”

A skirt suggested something. Easy access. Hammer wanted people- James’ Dad most of all- to see James’ bare thighs and know who was getting between them. It seemed that he had been wrong; he was supposed to be a whore.

“I’m… sorry.” James said. “I didn’t know that’s what you wanted.”

Hammer sighed. “I think I’d better take a more hands-on approach to your outfit choices from now on.”

“If that’s what you want.” James acquiesced.

“When we get to the restaurant, there are going to be paparazzi.” Hammer explained, barely acknowledging that James had spoken. “I may or may not have tipped somebody off. You're gonna put on a good show for them, alright? I wanna see a big smile on that pretty face. Really sell how infatuated you are with me.”

James huffed. “I know how to play my role, Hammer. This is what I do.”

“Come on, sweetheart. We're in love.” Hammer said, unpleasantly pleased with himself. “You can call me Justin.”

“I was planning on doing that in public.”

“Well, I want you to do it all the time.”

That was all that needed to be said on the matter.

The car pulled up to the restaurant, and Hammer stepped out first. He held the door for James, making sure that the paparazzi who had indeed turned up saw him doing so. James played his part, put on a cutesy smile and batted his eyelashes as he got out of the car and wrapped himself around Hammer’s arm. As soon as he did, he felt Hammer get frustrated, and saw him glance down at James’ shoes. James was already an inch or two taller, and the slight heel made that little bit of difference all the more noticeable. He’d already messed up again. This might be a little more difficult than he thought.

The handful of paparazzi that had gathered and were being ushered away, unhurriedly, by the restaurant staff, barked questions at James, which he ignored. Their camera drones buzzed perilously close to get good shots of the absolute travesty of a date they were witnessing. James could practically hear the nasty headlines they were concocting in their heads about him and his wonderfully tabloid-worthy habit of getting into bed with the ‘wrong’ sort.

They were at the door when James got the sense of someone else trying to get his attention, but not in a mean way. He heard a child ask, “Is that really him?”

James turned on his heel to see a woman with a little girl, maybe five or six, looking at him. They both got very excited when they realized he’d noticed them. Abandoning his annoyed date, James jogged over to the pair.

“I’m really sorry to bother you Mr. Stark, but we heard you were going to be here and…” The woman began sheepishly, “You’re her favorite.” The little girl buried her face in the woman’s pant leg.

James laughed, sincerely this time. “I always have time for a young lady with such impeccable taste.” He said, before getting down on the little girl’s level. “I’m James, what’s your name?”

The little girl looked up questioningly at the woman- presumably her mother- before replying “Sarah.”

The paparazzi took some interest in what he was doing, but they weren’t as thrilled about it. Local Superhero Nice to Child wasn’t as attention-grabbing a headline as Cap and Iron Man’s Son Does Something Awful, Again.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sarah. Did you know Sarah was my grandmothers name?”

The little girl shook her head.

Hammer was getting exponentially more annoyed by the second, but he couldn’t exactly drag James away from a little kid in front of all these people. Not without looking like the second coming of Ebenezer Scrooge anyway. Still, James didn’t want to push his luck, he had to wrap this up quickly.

“Are you really the Golden Avenger?” Sarah asked.

James snapped his fingers, and a shower of yellow sparks spilled from his hand. “I sure am.”

Joy erupted in Sarah’s chest like fireworks. “We’re the same!” She squeaked.

“She has epilepsy.” Her mother explained. James nodded.

Seeing that Sarah’s ears were pierced, he took the pair of star-shaped pink sapphire studs out of his ears and pressed them into her hand.

“That’s for you. Wash them before you wear them; it’s not sanitary otherwise.” James said. “Now, Sarah, this is important. I believe in you, I want you to believe in yourself, and always, always listen to your parents. Do we have an understanding?”

Sarah nodded.

James hurried back to where he had left Hammer waiting, feeling the impatience directed his way. As soon as he was close enough, Hammer grabbed him, clamping a hand firmly on James’ butt (which the paparazzi adored) and dragging him inside.

“I know that wholesome image is how you sell lunchboxes and all,” Hammer hissed in his ear, smiling as he did so, “but don’t keep me waiting, ever again. You got that?”

A thousand explanations and protests died on James’ tongue. While talking to the kid, he had briefly forgotten that someone else owned him. Briefly.

“I got it. I’m sorry.”

Once they were inside, James shed his coat. Seeing his exposed back made Hammer a little happier with James’ outfit. It was almost… uncomfortable how much happier seeing that skin made him. James brushed it off as just more of Hammer’s weird overenthusiasm.

“Is this more what you were thinking in regard to the skin thing?” James asked. He kept his tone light. “Specifically mine and showing more of it.”

“It’s definitely better.” Hammer agreed.

This was good. If they could get along while fake-dating, eventually Hammer would have to start seeing him as a human being. He would like James, if only James provided the camaraderie Hammer had always craved from James’ Dad, camaraderie which had always been denied to him. Then he’d let James go.

The maitre d’ seated them by a window, which meant more pictures of them together, and more acting for James. While they were across from one another, Hammer fixated on James’ eyes. He didn’t seem to be able to stop looking at them. You didn’t have to be a super-genius to figure out why. You just had to look very, very similar to one.

Nobody brought them menus.

“I took the liberty of ordering ahead of time.” Hammer boasted. “I’m gonna take good care of you tonight, don’t you worry.”

Again, James got a weird reading from Hammer. Something in the back of his head was trying to warn him about something. Danger, James Stark! Danger! Danger! Well, of course he was in danger, somebody else had his life in their hands. It’s more than that, don’t be stupid.

The waiter brought out their meals. James’ was not something he recognized as food, but he’d never been much for fancy cuisine. He’d survived this long mostly on chicken nuggets and takeout. Still, he picked at his dinner, not wanting to seem like he was ungrateful or that he disapproved of Hammer’s choice. He remembered what his Pop had told him about growing up in the Depression, and all the garbage they’d choked down trying to survive. I was 25 before I realized sawdust wasn’t actually an ingredient. If Pop could do that, James could work through something that had been meticulously crafted by a trained chef. Don’t be spoiled. You’re an Avenger, not a princess.

“Do you prefer red or white wine?” Hammer asked. “I know the sommelier personally. She’ll get us some of the good stuff.”

“I can’t drink.” James said, and when that led Hammer to get irritated, he explained, “Because of my condition.” It still wasn’t good enough. “But, I suppose one glass won’t kill me.”

The sommelier who poured their drinks was nauseatingly gracious to Hammer, but James could tell that she didn’t actually like him. Just has the driver had done, she regarded him (internally, of course) with contempt. James started feeling a little bad for Hammer; everyone around him was so fake.

Hammer raised his glass. “To us.”

Oh my gosh he can’t be serious. James raised his glass in answer, smiling through the pain of secondhand embarrassment. Having never really had more than a few sips of alcohol at any one time, James was unused to the taste of wine. It was nasty. He powered through it. People actually drank this stuff for fun? All it did was remind him that, right now, his friends were getting sloppy wasted on any number of unpleasant-tasting concoctions. He was supposed to be there, not here.

“Babe, has anyone ever told you you don’t talk much?” Hammer asked.

“I can honestly say nobody has ever said that to me in the history of my life, no.” James replied.

“It’s something you should work on.” Hammer continued as if James hadn’t spoken at all. “And smile more. Jeez, kid, you’re bumming me out, you know?”

James grinned. “Right, cameras are still on us and all.”

“And you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

He wants it to be real. Give him what he wants. “Yeah, of course.” He wants it to be real. Why did that sit so uneasily?

“This isn’t the sort of place I’d take just anyone.” Hammer gestured around at what was, admittedly, a very classy place. “This is the five-star treatment. It’s just for people I really want to undress.”

“... I’m sorry?”

“It’s for people I really want to impress.” Hammer leaned in. “You’re a very special kid. I’ve been waiting a long time to get my hands on you.”

Hammer was feeling at him very, very intensely. It was like being in a sauna, having him so close and emitting the thrill of power he was getting from all this. Power and… something else.

James laughed, clear and seemingly unforced. “I guess you’ve got me.”

“I guess I do, don’t I?” Hammer leaned back and just reveled in it for a moment. What he was feeling made James little ill. James took a drink of water. It was getting oppressively hot. Hammer was getting oppressively hot… for… James.

He was aroused. This, holding James hostage, hurting his Dad, was making Hammer horny, and he had James right here… he could do anything he wanted. He wants it to be real. How real? How real was he going to make it?

Hammer started talking at James, telling him about some impressive thing he almost certainly hadn’t actually done. James only half listened, his mind was occupied, trying to peel back the layers of Hammer’s intention like he’d been taught to do. Find and identify all the tiny little things Hammer was feeling at a given moment. His attraction was superficial, the real source of his arousal was the sense of ownership he had, of victory. It led to feelings of excitement, anticipation, expectation… certainty. He was certain.

"Excuse me, Justin." James tittered during a break in the ‘conversation’. His smile felt like it would crack his face. "I need to go powder my nose."

Hammer took a sip from his wineglass. "Ok, you can go. Don't take too long, though." Again, that sickening rush washed over him. "I want to get out of here soon."

James hurried away from the table. Soon. His vision blurred the second he stood up, so he navigated his way towards the bathroom mostly through magic. Once there, he clung to the nearest sink for support. Trying to combat the intense nausea that had overtaken him, he splashed cold water on the back of his neck. It was no use. Throwing himself into the nearest stall, James retched violently and puked up what little he had eaten. Cold, clammy sweat started to bead on his lip and the back of his neck.

He's going to rape you. It was not a matter of if. He was going to do it, certainly.

James really was stupid to think it would be anything but this. Why would Hammer be content with just letting everyone think he and James were lovers, when he could make it a reality? This would be the ultimate victory over Tony Stark: raping his baby.

James needed his Daddy. He needed to be rescued, to be held in strong, safe arms like he was a child again. He needed what was about to happen not to happen.

It was going to happen anyway.

Too much time had passed. James got up off the bathroom floor and brushed off his knees. He went to the sink and swished water around in his mouth, getting the acrid taste of vomit mostly cleaned away. This is going to happen to you, and you're going to let it. You'll be fine. You're a survivor. Stark men are made of iron.

He touched up his makeup, dried off a little and, as ready as he'd ever be, headed back to his table.

"There he is! I was starting to think you'd fallen asleep in there." Hammer remarked as James returned to his seat. Hammer was expectant. What was he expecting? Was that supposed to be a joke? It was. James giggled. His mouth was so dry. He sipped at his water. Even that made his stomach turn a little.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh right..." Hammer continued his anecdote in between bites. James smiled and nodded sweetly, his own dinner rendered inedible. He kept trying to get water down, but nothing seemed to help the thick sticky feeling on his tongue and down his throat.

His left hand was clenched in a fist under the table. I could burn a hole right through you just by staring. I could cook your brain in your skull with my fingertip. I could... golly, I really could beat you bloody with my bare hands.

"You're not eating?"

James fluttered his eyelashes. "I guess I'm not very hungry." He explained.

"So you don't want dessert?"

"No thank you."

Hammer's excitement hit James like a freight train, but it wasn't normal excitement. It was all twisted and wrong. He reached out and grabbed James' hand, running his thumb over James' knuckles in a gesture that, from the outside, might appear tender.

"That's ok. You and I are going to have a different kind of dessert. Doesn't that sound good?"

James swallowed thickly, eyes trained pointedly at the middle distance. His smile faltered just a little, and when he spoke, his voice was small, barely audible.

"Yes." He nodded weakly. "Yes."

How exactly they got from the restaurant back to the car, James wasn't sure. He seemed to drift, only barely aware of his coat being wrapped around his shoulders, paparazzi snapping his photo as he stepped outside, the car door being held open for him while he was ushered in like a curious child into an unmarked white van. Smile. You're having a great time. Hammer clutched him every step of the way, as though James were a fish caught in his talons which might slip back into the ocean and swim home before he could devour it.

In the car, Hammer sat next to him, practically right on top of him. James’ stepford smile dissolved the second they were alone together, but Hammer didn’t seem to have noticed. His hand was on James’ knee, inching up his thigh, as he whispered in James’ ear.

“I booked us a room uptown.” He was close enough that James could feel Hammer’s breath on his neck. “I thought we’d do something a little special for our first time.”

“Justin, nobody can see us.” James knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words came out of his mouth, but he had to try something. If he made it seem like he didn’t understand, he could say no without actually saying ‘no.’

Hammer’s joy evaporated, replaced with white-hot rage. He gave a short little laugh. “Now, baby, I took you on this nice date and all. I’ve been a real gentleman, and I just think it’s fair,” He squeezed James’ leg painfully hard, “that you put out. Nobody likes a tease.”

“...Ok.”

The anger didn't subside, and James was terrified of what might happen if he let Hammer stay too mad for too long. He plastered a smile back on his face.

“I can't wait.” Was his voice shaking? Had it cracked? “I can’t wait to make love to you.”

His heart was racing. He'd said it, and now he couldn't unsay it. He couldn't stop hearing his own words echoing in his head. Make love. This was the furthest thing from love he could imagine.

The hand on James’ thigh slid up to paw at his groin, and Hammer leaned in to kiss him on the neck. He sucked at the skin there (stop it) like he was trying to leave a mark (don't), and, honestly, he probably was (get off of me). James wanted nothing more than to blast a hole in the car and rocket into the night sky. He reached out, laid a gentle hand on the back of Hammer’s neck and pulled him ever so slightly closer.

“Yeah, good, Tony.” Hammer moaned against his neck. “Just like that.”

James clenched his eyes shut. It didn't seem like Hammer even noticed he'd said anything wrong.

When he was satisfied that he'd left an adequately visible hickey, Hammer licked a wet stripe up to James’ mouth and forced his tongue inside. Fighting the urge to spit the flicking, invasive appendage out of his mouth, James hummed as though turned on. Hammer leaned in, making James take a deeper mouthful of that fleshy, wet thing.

This is just his tongue. How are you going to deal with his…

They were at the hotel before James knew it. Hammer paraded him through the lobby, hand firmly attached to his buttcheek. By some miracle, James managed to continue playing his role, leaning into his ‘date’ and giggling whenever Hammer whispered some horrible, obscene thing in James’ ear. It was all he could do to keep from shaking.

When they got up to the room, Hammer slid James’ coat off for him. It seemed like a normal enough gesture, something a real boyfriend would do, something his real boyfriend had done before, but all James could think was that he was already being undressed. He was being stripped down to nothing.

The suite itself was unnecessarily opulent. Everything sparkled. There were two rooms connected by an archway, the first being home to a sitting area populated by fashionable, uncomfortable-looking furniture, an equally painful-looking dining area, and an oppressively shiny kitchenette with a wet bar. The bar was where Hammer headed, brushing his fingertips along James’ exposed back as he did so.

“I'm going to make myself a drink, do you want anything?” He asked as he got out a glass and a bottle of scotch.

“I'm ok.” If James could get drunk, he would have used any means possible to numb himself. “I have to go get ready.”

Without looking up from his drink, Hammer waved him off. James went into the other room, the bedroom, making a point not to look at the bed. The bathroom attached to the bedroom, and he retreated into it.

Halfway through peeling off his clothes, James felt the urge to vomit again. He knelt in front of the toilet and heaved for a while, but nothing came up. He was too empty. Hollow.

The fancy shower was sufficient for James to get himself clean. Ordinarily, he did this ahead of time in his own shower, because he knew what was coming. He hadn't been properly warned this time, or maybe it had been obvious all along and James had let himself remain in denial. Whatever the case, he didn't want to incur Hammer’s wrath now by not giving him what he expected. He wants the girlfriend experience. James found himself laughing out loud, bitter, strangled noises coming out of his throat. He doubled over and puked into the shower drain.

Would Hammer get mad if James took too long? He reached out his mind and found the man still vibrating with his strange, unpleasant happiness, only a little impatient. Biting his tongue, James reached down and forced himself to work past his revulsion and finger his hole open. It would be easier if he was prepped. It would hurt less. James wondered if Hammer had even brought lube.

After stalling for as long as he could by washing everything several times over, he finally left the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Putting his clothes back on would only get him in trouble. The first thing he saw as he stepped out was the bed. It hit him then. Really hit him. This was actually going to happen. It was going to happen in a few minutes. He folded in on himself, crumpling to the floor. He knew he shouldn’t, that he needed to keep smiling, pretend he wanted it, but he couldn’t stop himself. Desperately, helplessly, James started to cry.

Sensing Hammer approaching, James scrambled to his feet and quickly wiped his eyes, but it was too late. When he walked in the room, Hammer spotted James’ red, tear-streaked face. Again, burning rage emanated from him, tinged with a sense of betrayal. There wasn’t an ounce of guilt or pity inside him. He strode over and cupped James face in his hands a little roughly.

“It’s ok to be nervous.” He said. His voice masked his anger only thinly.

James stared at the ground and nodded, swallowing back more tears. Hammer took hold of one of James’ wrists and guided his hand down to feel his erection through his pants. It wasn't as small as James had hoped. I could castrate him right now. Burn him. He couldn't really, though.

“Feel that, sweetheart? That’s for you.” Hammer cooed. “That’s going to be inside you, and you’re going to love it. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

“O-ok, yeah. I want-” James’ voice cracked, and he lost it. He was sobbing again, stammering, “Please, Justin, you don’t have to do this. There's a better way to... I can help you. I understand-”

“Stop crying!” For the first time all night, Hammer actually showed how angry he was, just below the surface. James bit his lip to keep any more sobs from slipping through. Hammer continued, “You don’t get to say no to me. Shut up, and go lie down on the bed.”

James whimpered. “Please…”

“Lie down on the bed. Now.”

There was, in fact, lube. As expected, there was minimal prepping. Then, it was inside him.

James tried to go somewhere else while it was happening. He was overwhelmed by the oppressive smell of too much cologne, the words being moaned at him (“Oh, yeah, Tony, fuck, Tony!”), the taste of scotch in the kisses that kept being applied to his mouth, as though this were something sweet and passionate, as though it wasn’t what it was. Most of all James was overwhelmed by the nauseating self-satisfaction that smothered him, threatening to choke the life out of him.

There was a glass chandelier above the bed. It swayed gently and cast diamond shapes on the hotel ceiling. James counted them out: one, two, three, one-e-and-a-two-e-and-a-three-e-and-a around and around the chandelier in a pattern that just wouldn’t stop.

It did stop, eventually. Hammer cried out and spilled into him. James’ mind instantly supplied the image of that fetid, mystery liquid which collected in the bottoms of trash bags and gushed out if the bag was accidentally punctured. Sated and victorious, Hammer gave a few final thrusts (Just stop. Please just stop) and his pleasure walloped James right in the chest. James came, despite himself, sticky and disgusting all over his abdomen.

“Holy shit. I made you come on just my cock.”

Bile rose in James’ throat. He swallowed it down.

“Smile, baby.” Hammer sighed, “I know that was good for you. See, I told you you’d love it.”

When James didn’t respond, Hammer started to get angry. James sensed the heat rising up in his chest. Don’t be stupid. Keep him happy.

“Yeah, of course I did.” James answered brightly. It was easy to slip into being someone else. He couldn’t stand the thought of himself right now. “You’re really… really good. I’m just a little… stunned. Because I enjoyed it so much.” He found himself giggling airily, like some lovestruck floozy. Where was that coming from?

Hammer rolled off of him and lay on the bed, sighing happily. He was floating on a wave of orgasmic bliss and the satisfaction of sweet revenge, in his mind long overdue. Of course he was happy now, but once his head cleared and he could see what he had done, surely remorse would start to set in. Surely.

“That’s good. I’m thinking maybe next time you’ll show a little more enthusiasm.” Hammer said. It was an order. “I wanna see how much you like it.”

Next time… next time. “Ok, I can do that.” James agreed. “I’ll do whatever you want.” Next time. It was all James could think about. The next time this happened to him.

“Good boy.” Hammer reached over and gently stroked the back of his knuckles down James’ cheek. There was no gentleness behind the gesture, however. All James could feel was glee. Sadistic, victorious glee. Hammer was congratulating himself for this.

Surely, surely he would feel bad about it in the morning.

The smugness and delight radiating off of Hammer’s body finally became too much. It felt like James was absorbing something toxic, being so near him. He sat up in bed like a reanimated corpse, restless and agitated.

“I need to get some-” No. Try again. “Can I go out and get some air? Please?”

“Sure babe.” Hammer acquiesced. “Just don’t fly away.” He said it with a smile, but it was a threat. Everything was a threat. Everything was dangerous.

James slid out of bed feeling, perhaps for the first time in his life, ashamed of how naked he was. His clothes were on the bathroom floor. It was like a different person had taken them off. It hurt to stand, to walk. It just hurt.

“Uh, excuse you?” Hammer said, stopping James in his tracks.

What now? What more could he possibly want now? James turned to see him sitting up on his elbows, staring at him.

“Yes, Honey?”

“I’m letting you do something you want. What do you say to that?” His tone was condescending, like he was scolding a child. No, more like he was training a dog.

“Thank you.”

Seemingly satisfied, Hammer laid back down. James wasted no time in scurrying to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. It felt good to finally be alone. A tear fell down his cheek, but he fought the urge to cry in earnest. He didn’t think he could stop if he started.

It’s fine. These things happen. This time it happened to you. James kept it together as he wiped the… as he wiped off his stomach and the insides of his thighs. Then he gathered his clothes off the floor and, hands shaking, covered himself up again. He was safer now; there was a barrier, however thin, between his skin and Justin Hammer’s hands. It’ll be fine. It’ll be okay. It didn’t seem fine. He could still feel it inside him. He felt where he’d been pried open and then invaded…

You’re ok you’re ok youreokyureokyourokuro

The bathroom floor was still wet. Had so little time really passed since he’d showered? He needed to get up, but he couldn’t force his body to move. It was something like being trapped in a frozen lake, and how you couldn’t swim to the surface because of the shock, so you just drowned. He had hoped that he’d feel better after it was over, but it wasn’t really over, was it? It was never going to be over.

A long time passed before he could stand up and walk out of the bathroom. When he did, he found Hammer already asleep. Good. He didn’t think he could fake his way through any more niceties.

He pictured himself taking a pillow off the bed and pressing it down on Hammer’s face. James was much stronger; he could hold Hammer down with his magic and he wouldn’t be able to fight back. He would just choke (painfully) and die (terrified) and James would get that indescribably terrible feeling he got whenever a soul was extinguished in front of him. He shuddered just thinking about it. No, he wasn’t capable of that, and even if he was, he knew that if Hammer died, everyone infected with his nanites would die too, including James.

James’ coat was hanging in the next room, and he pulled it on and headed for the balcony. The added layer provided him with a little more safety, but didn’t do nearly enough to block the cold wind outside from attacking his damp clothes.

For a while, he just stared at the street below. The people walking down the sidewalk or riding in their cars were too far away for him to read, so he could just imagine that they were all happy and carefree. The couples striding hand-in-hand were all deeply in love, the children were totally safe with parents who had no enemies and never made mistakes, the commuters were on their way home, or maybe to a friend’s house. Nobody had to do anything they didn’t want to do.

James pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket. It was an almost Pavlovian response at this point, smoking after sex. It was normal, felt normal.

That wasn’t sex, his brain supplied that was not sex.

No, but you did have an orgasm.

The balcony was decorated with plastic plants in tacky stone pots, and James hunched over the nearest one and dry heaved until he finally vomited, the effort of it wracking his whole body. It’s not my fault I came. It’s not my fault. I’m not just letting this happen. I don’t have any choice.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Ok. He got all the evil out of him, and it was ok now. He looked down at the now-ruined fake plant and thought, guiltily, of whatever underpaid hotel employee would have to clean it up.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled at nobody as he stood unsteadily.

Leaning against the edge of the balcony, he stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit the end with the tip of his finger. The first inhale settled his nerves immeasurably. Things were bad, yes, but James knew he could find a way out of this. He was smarter than Hammer, all he needed was a plan-

“Prohibited substance detected.” A voice rang in his head.

What?

“Prohibited substance detected.” The voice said again. “Desist or you will be punished.”

“I don’t know what that means.” James snapped at the AI.

“Prohibited substance detected. Desist or you will be punished.”

“What substance?” James hadn’t eaten anything at dinner that he hadn’t been specifically instructed to, hadn’t had anything to drink that he hadn’t been given. What arbitrary rule could he possibly be breaking? Unless… James glanced down at the cigarette he’d been idly puffing on. No. No no no no no…

“Standby for punishment.”

“Wait, wait!” James cried out, but it was too late. Every nerve in his body lit up with intense pain. For a moment, his vision blacked out and he struggled to remain standing.

“Desist or you will be punished again.” The voice instructed as the pain ebbed.

Gazing sadly at the mostly-unsmoked cigarette still in his hand, James incinerated it between his fingers. It was just a cigarette; he didn’t need it, but gee whiz he wanted it. It was the one thing he’d had to look forward to, however small and unimportant it was in the grand scheme of things. Even that had been taken from him. He had nothing. He really, truly had nothing.

Tears started to fall, softly at first. Soon, however, his shoulders were shaking with sobs and he was gasping for air between them. It was loud, ugly crying, but that didn’t matter. Nobody could hear him, anyway.

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