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sarahowritesostucky · 6 months

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Happy Little Family

📖"A Clever, Tricky Little Kitty Cat: Just like her Mommy"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4407

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: Bucky shows up unannounced at your cottage, shattering the peaceful life you thought you'd reclaimed for yourself and your daughter. He's reclaiming what's his, and he isn't planning on accepting a "no."

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" shlyukha = "slut" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one"

1. A Clever, Tricky Little Kitty Cat, Just like her Mommy

"And then the knight took the princess away to his castle, and they lived happily ever after."

You're just outside the nursery when you hear his voice, and ice cold fear instantly floods your chest. You drop the laundry basket and run into the room, and there he is: seated in the chair you nurse from, reading one of the antique fairytale books that your mom gave at the shower, holding your baby.

"James," you breathe, horrified. He's been smiling down at June, but now his face smooths out as he looks up at you. He isn't frowning or glaring, but you know him, and there's a storm behind those eyes that makes dread curl heavy in your stomach. "Hi Doll," he says quietly. "It's good to see you again."

Your heart pounds in your chest. You feel sick. One wrong move and who knows what he'll do. You take a cautious step forward, eyes searching James' body and anywhere nearby for a gun. You don't see one. You take another step. "James," you warn,

June makes a happy gurgle at seeing you, and James coos down at her, "Aw, yeah Sweetie. I'm happy to see Mommy too."

Mommy. Hearing that word come out of his mouth, in a setting like this, is a nightmare you've woken from more than once. You lick your lips and hold out your arms, pleading, "Please give her to me."

He acts like he hasn't even heard you, smiling and tapping June's body with one finger. "We were just reading a story. Little lady is gonna be a big reader one day, I bet. Gonna grow up to be real smart." His gaze slides back to you, with what you interpret as a world-of-hurt-coming-your-way look glimmering in his eyes. "A clever, tricky little kitty cat. Just like her Mommy."

A whimper escapes you, unbidden.

June starts squirming in his lap, eager to get to you. When he doesn’t hand her over, she starts to fuss. He coos at her and bounces her in his arms to calm her, kisses the top of her head while keeping his somber, reproachful eyes on you. “You left your door unlocked,” he says. “She was alone.”

She’d been down for her nap when you went downstairs and popped across the street to visit with Hilde, your one friend in the world. It’s so common for mothers to do, in this tiny, Nordic village you’ve settled in. It’s the culture here. It’s supposed to be safe. You swallow thickly, eyes flitting around to try and think of what to do. You think of your gun, so far away. You’d talked yourself out of keeping it tucked behind your bed, so now the only weapon you own is down in the kitchen. But maybe … maybe if you can get him away from June …

“You should be more careful, Little thief. You never know who might break in and take everything you love.”

“The only thing we had to guard against here was you,” you hiss. “And I’m not fool enough to think a locked door would keep you out.”

“You’re damned right it wouldn’t.” He tosses the storybook aside like trash and stands up with June in his arms. “But you are a fool if you thought there was anywhere in the world you could go where I wouldn’t find you.”

You flinch forward compulsively, unable to think of your own safety over your baby’s. “Please, James,” you beg. “Please. Just give her to me.”

“Oh no, Dollface,” he purrs, voice deceptively soft. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and you aren’t gonna want her in the room when it happens.” His hands tighten threateningly on June’s little body. “Whose baby is this?”

You blanch. “Don’t hurt her.”

“Aw. You don’t want me to hurt her?”

“No, please!” The sob that’s been working its way up in your throat finally breaks. It’s killing you not to rush forward and snatch her from his arms. “Please, I'll do anything.”

“Is that so?” He stares at you long and hard. The few seconds of silence are torturous as he holds your daughter away from you.

James is one of the deadliest people you’ve ever met, and he’s capable of horrendous violence, but he wouldn’t hurt a baby, that much you do know. What you have to worry about most right now isn’t him physically hurting her; it’s him wanting her, whisking her away right alongside you, when he inevitably takes you from this place. There’s nothing you can do to prevent your own fate, but if there’s anything you can do to keep him from getting his hands on June, you’ll do it. Your eyes flit around the nursery frantically, its pale, dream-like decorations taunting you as you try to think of what to do. It feels surreal to have a man like James standing in this room, feels wrong.

Your heart leaps when he suddenly moves, but he’s only turning to walk over to the crib, bending and placing June in it with a surprising amount of care. Something painful lances in your chest at seeing him handle her so gently, but when he turns back around to you, all of that gentleness is gone. “Come on,” he snaps. “To the other bedroom.”

You hesitate, not wanting to leave your daughter alone, but he stalks forward and grabs your upper arm, herding you out of the nursery and down the hallway. In your bedroom, he pushes you onto the bed. You land in a heap and scramble to prop back up on your hands, trying to swipe the hair out of your face.

“Whose baby is that?” he demands. “Tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

His Voice. God. After almost a year and a half it should be lessened. The pull you feel when you hear it has no right to tug at you the way it does. You’re not even mated, which makes it all the more insulting. It gets in through your ears and spreads throughout your body, like an invasive plant, growing and sinking its roots into you and tug, tug tugging on your will: Whose baby is that.

You fight the awful urge to tell him, as you rapidly, fearfully weigh your options. It’s hard to think when you’re so frightened, so taken aback. Most people might think it wise to admit the truth, but you know this man, this alpha, and you know he’ll never let her go if he knows that she’s his. Anything, you think. You have to do anything you can to keep her from that life, that world.

Heart in your throat, you insist, “Noone.”

“Noone?” His visage darkens. “Artificial insemination, then? I know they’re progressive and all up here, but don’t take me for a fool, mamochka.”

“It was just some guy! Just a one night stand, I swear!”

He surges in, gets one knee up on the bed and pushes you onto your back when you try to get up, leaning over you and holding you down by your shoulders. “So you did let another man fuck you,” he growls.

You jut your chin out and hiss, “Yes.” (Lying Rule #1: deliver your bullshit with confidence).

“Who? Was he alpha?”

“Why do you care? It was one night in Oslo.” (Rule #2: add in one or two unimportant details.)

“What’s. his. name?”

A bitter sound escapes you (Rule #3: attach honest emotion to it, if you can). “I don’t know his name. I never did. I was just racking up a roster, just wanted to get laid after getting away from you.”

He bares his teeth at you in a snarl, furious, and shoves you harder against the mattress. You cry out and try to hit him, but he catches your wrists and holds them down to the bed easily, shoving you again, one of his powerful thighs pressed up between yours. “You’re mine,” he growls, getting in your face, lying on top of you. “Noone else’s. Not ever.”

You whimper and nod, shaken and keenly aware of his body on top of yours, his strength. James is a massive hulk of an alpha, capable of overpowering you in any situation, and even through your frantic thoughts, you know you’ll never be able to get away from him in close contact like this. He’s so angry, his scent gone thick and choking. You’re too panicked to plan out what it is you’re going to say next, you just wind up instinctively trying to placate him, blurting out, “What do you want?”

He leers down at you. “I want what’s mine. What’s always been mine.” On your wrists, his fingers tighten cruelly. “You’ve had your fun now, and gotten away with it for too damn long. You’re coming home with me, Little thief.”

You gasp as the pressure on your wrists increases painfully, mind flying to that cold, Siberian fortress and the life that awaits you there. You might be able to get away from him before then, but you might not, and you can’t risk June being trapped there as well. “Okay, okay! I’ll go with you, I will. Wherever you want. Just … Please let me give her to the neighbor. Please.”

He smiles nastily down at you. “Oh, you don’t want her to come along? Another man’s pup?”

Tears press at the backs of your eyes at the thought of leaving your daughter behind, but you shake your head. “Please. Just take her over to the woman across the street. She’ll look after her. Please James, she's my daughter. I won’t fight you if you leave her there. She’s nothing to you. Just let her stay where it’s safe.”

Something in his expression shifts, but you don’t have time to figure out what the emotion might be, before he shutters again. He leans down and purrs, “Oh, I don’t know, vorishka [little thief]. You stole some very valuable things from me. And since I don’t see any fucking Picassos hanging in this hovel you call a house, I assume they’re in the wind.”

It wasn’t as though you’d simply been able to run away. Escaping had required finances, techniques, firms of dangerous men hired to plant false leads, erase tracks, ferret you away into oblivion, and then move halfway across the globe and buy yourself a new identity. The bribes alone had eaten up most of the money. You shudder in his grip, knowing that the paintings wouldn’t save you, even if you did have them. “They’re gone.”

“I know they’re gone, Little thief.” He shoves his thigh down against you. “So how are you gonna make it up to me?”

You whimper. “I can’t,” you plead. “James. I don’t have anything.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I can think of a few ways you can start repaying your debt.” He runs one hand down your side, groping your waist as he breathes softly against your ear: “For instance, do you have any idea what she’d be worth on the black market?”

It takes you a split second to figure out what he means, and your heart seizes in terror as soon as you do. You know James is involved in every type of shady, illegal dealing there is in the world, but you’d never even considered the idea of human trafficking. Now that he’s said it, you panic that you’ve made a huge mistake by lying that the baby isn’t his. “James,” you whisper, horrified. “Alpha, please.”

“Oh, it’s Alpha, now, is it?” He chuckles meanly, the sound making your stomach churn. You’re about to say something else, beg in some other, pitiful way, tell him he’s June’s father, but instead you cry out as his hand fists in your hair and yanks your head to the side. His breath hits hot against your skin and he drags his nose up the side of your neck, scenting you. “Mmm,” he hums darkly, pleased. “You spread your legs for another man, but you didn’t let anyone in here.”

You squeak when his teeth scrape over your still-unmarked glands. “No!” you gasp, just as much an answer as it is a plea for nim not to bite you. “I didn’t, I didn’—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, closing his teeth down on the spot. You whine as he pulls your hair and slowly increases the pressure of his bite, threatening to break the skin. Horrified, you feel your body responding with arousal, heat blooming deep in your core. You squeeze your eyes shut, and sure enough few seconds later James is inhaling deeply and chuckling. “Oh, kotenok [kitten]. Still the same as ever, huh?” He shifts, hand slipping down between your legs and cupping you from over the fabric of your dress. “Ripe for your Alpha’s touch, even after all this time. How sweet.” Humiliated rage bubbles up inside of you and you glare up at him. He’s looking down fondly at you, eyes heated and lip drawn into his mouth. He lets it slide back out between his teeth and murmurs, “It’s okay, you know. It’s everything to me, omegechka [little omega], the way you respond. It’s only natural.” You growl angrily, but he just hums and tugs your hair again, other hand molding to your mound and rubbing. “Shh sh sh,” he hushes, when you cry out louder. “Don’t want to scare the whelp, do you?”

You freeze, listening to try and hear June. She’s whining from over in her room, not understanding why she’s been left alone when she can hear her mommy’s voice just down the hall. “Please,” you whisper, locking eyes with James again. “Please. Let me go to her.”

He grinds the heel of his hand against you. “I told you, Dollface. You don’t want her here for this.”

He kisses you on the mouth, chaste and lingering; so gentle that for a split second it makes you ache for what you once had with him. James always was very good at making love to you, at lavishing you with a softness and a tenderness even in the darkest of times. But now you can only shiver underneath his weight, because you know that’s not what’s about to happen.

“Seventeen months, moya omegya,” he rumbles quietly, lips brushing yours with the words. “My bed suddenly cold, not knowing if you were alive or dead. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

His tone of voice is so intimately familiar that it makes your heart clench, bringing back memories of a life you’ve fought so hard to put behind you. “Please,” you whisper. “Don’t do this.”

He tuts and shakes his head softly, as if he’s actually remorseful. “How this goes depends entirely on you. I want you to know that.” He hasn’t stopped working his hand against you, rubbing his palm against your clit and smiling at how you shudder beneath him and your body betrays you. You watch his nostrils flare as he smells the reaction he’s pulling from you against your will. “Sweet girl,” he coos. “You just can’t help it, can you?” You toss your head and screw your eyes shut, but he’s having none of it. He yanks your hair and hisses at you to open your eyes. “No,” he warns, once he’s got your attention. He moves back, getting up onto his knees and shrugging off his jacket. “You’re going to watch. The whole time.” His hands land on his belt, the buckle clinking as he opens it and undoes his pants. “I want to look right in your eyes while I take back what’s mine.” He shoves his pants down along with his underwear. His cock springs free, already hard and wet at the tip. A part of him that’s been inside you hundreds of times, probably. Something you’ve craved and debased yourself for.

Seeing it reignites your shame, but it’s the way you feel your cunt pulse and release a fresh wave of slick, that really makes you start resisting again. “Nnh!”

“Ah ah ah, Dollface. That’s not gonna work.”

“Nugh! Lemmo go!”

You fight, of course you do, but it’s almost worse that way, as it only points out how comically mismatched you are to him. He laughs at you and holds down your thrashing body, barely even grunting from the effort of subduing you. “Shh sh sh,” he hushes, chuckling breathily as he forces you down with one hand and strokes himself with the other. “I have to tell you, kotenok. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“I hate you!” You manage to get a hand free and you flail, hitting and clawing at him. He inhales sharply as your nails scratch his face. He knocks your hand away with a surprised hiss and, wide eyed, touches the spot where a tiny line of red is welling up on his cheek. The next thing you know, he’s backhanding you, sending spots into your vision and knocking you out of your senses for a few seconds. Your ears ring and you blink, stunned.

His hand appears at your throat, squeezing, pressing up against the arteries. You briefly grapple with him, grabbing his forearm and fighting, but then his thumb notches into place and digs into your glands. Your cries taper off and you go limp with a pathetic, mewling whimper. “Nnnh …”

He leers down at you, adjusting his grip, still jerking his cock as he subdues you with the Hold. “Weak,” he says. “But that’s just how I like you.”

His thumb rubs in circles, sending a rush of liquid gold through your veins. It worsens the situation between your legs, and you can’t hide that any more than you can hide the humiliated tears that prick to your eyes as he shoves your dress up and rips your underwear straight off of you. He coos when he looks down and sees how wet you are. “Oh, omegechka.” He knees your legs further apart and drags his cockhead through your folds. “And this is you hating me?”

You shake with a silent sob, despising him with your whole being, hating yourself for reacting this way. Before James, you’d never met a man who coveted your omega nature so much, hadn’t known what it was to need an alpha that way, to have your body need him. And to think: you used to like it.

He lines himself up and sinks inside of you in one, unyielding push, forcing you to open to him, carving out his space inside of you. You cry out at the force of it, body clamping down hard and the delicate skin at your entrance stinging from the stretch, but he doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated. “Fuck,” he groans, grinding in deep, his pubic bone pressing against your clit, laughing darkly when it makes you squeal. “Oh, you sensitive?” He does it again, and again, doesn’t stop until he gets a high pitched, warbling moan from you. “Theere she is.” He digs his thumb in harder against your glands and stares right in your eyes as he watches the effect it has on you, soaking up the flush in your face and the furious tears welling at the corners of your eyes. “I know, Sweetheart, I know,” he murmurs. “You really can’t help it, can you?” You whimper and he nods along in mock sympathy. “Poor little thing. I can’t imagine what it must be like, to need it that bad.”

“James,”

He pulls out halfway and shoves back in, hard, rumbling in pleasure when it elicits another yelp from you. His other hand grabs at your waist, fingers digging into the soft give of your body. He hums dirtily. “I have to say, I’m pleasantly surprised. You look good for having just pushed out that pup. You look healthy.” You whine in protest and he fucks in hard again, baring his teeth in a mean smile. “Yeah, momma, you heard me.” He pulls out, thrusts back in.

“Ss-stop.”

He laughs. “Don’t be like that, krasotka [Pretty(n.)]. I like it. You always were too skinny for my taste.” He runs his hand from your waist up to the top of your dress, yanking it down along with the cup of your bra, and groaning when your swollen breast spills out. You squeal in rage as he curses quietly, eyes going molten and unfocused. “Fuck, Honey, look at you.”

You start thrashing again hard, trying to hit him, but you only get a glancing blow to the side of his head before he refixes his hand on your throat and clamps down in another Hold. He gives you a firm shake. “Settle down. I told you: I like it..”

“Nnn, fuck you!” You spit on him, but he only laughs and wipes it away, leering down at you and continuing gleefully,

“Shouldn’t be skinny like some damn underwear model. Mm mn, naw. Now you’re nice and soft, just like you should be. Somethin’ for Alpha to grab onto. Bitty waist and a fat ass.” He grabs your waist again and pulls you down into the next roll of his hips, changing the angle and hitting that spot inside of you that makes stars burst in your vision.

“Ah!”

“Mmhm. Right there baby? Yeah, thaat’s the spot. I remember.” He’s panting open-mouthed, breathless as he taunts you, “I remember everything. What you like. How you feel. The sounds you make. Fuck.” He shoves into you hard and holds there, his licked-red lips curling up wickedly. “Your cunt’s fluttering around me, Sweetheart. Clamping down so fucking hard.”

“Nnh!”

He laughs, but his smile slackens as his own pleasure continues to build. He angles back and looks down your body, stares at where his cock is disappearing inside of you with lewd, wet sounds. “Shit, momma. And this pussy snapped back real good, didn’t it?”

You cry out angrily, but it’s what he wants: to see you aroused and humiliated and furious at him. He sets a punishing pace, his hips slamming against you hard on the end of each, brutal thrust; his open belt and the zip of his fly digging into your ass every time he grinds inside. “You haven't been fucking anybody,” he says smugly. “How long’s it really been, mamochka? Hm? How long since another man was in this cunt?”

You moan miserably, his cock driving hard against your walls, too rough but not painful enough to keep it from feeling good. James is big, has an alpha’s cock, and it’s never been a physical possibility for him to be inside of you and not rub against every spot that makes your body light up in pleasure. You shake your head and try to close your eyes, but he pushes his hand up harder underneath your jaw, shaking you. “Uh uh. Look at me.”

You can’t fight off the command of his Voice, not when he’s already dominating you so completely. Your eyes open against your will, full of tears, and he rumbles in satisfaction.

“Better.”

Every whimper and mewl you make drives him on, stoking the angry satisfaction that’s burning in his eyes—eyes that you can’t look away from as you cry out again and again, little “Ah, ah, ah's” that interrupt the cadence of your skin slapping together, all of his eager growls and satisfied grunts.

“That’s it, shlyukha,” he pants, hips snapping in hard, again and again. “You—ugh—you let Alpha know how good that feels. Don’t hold it back from me.” His breathing is getting heavier the closer he gets, his composure and even his anger losing some of their hold as he fucks you harder, sinks down on you farther, covers you with his body fully as he ruts into you in pursuit of his climax. “Shit,” he hisses not far from your ear, face stuffed in your neck.

You keen high in your throat at his proximity to your bonding glands—a plaintive sound that directly contradicts the panicked ‘no!’ that flashes in your brain. His hand leaves the front of your neck and scoops around behind instead, gripping you at the nape in a Scruff that feels just as toe-curlingly right as the Hold had.

For a very split second, his breath hitches and his growling trips into a needy whimper. “O-oh …” And that’s when you feel it: his knot starting to catch on the end of each thrust.

“Ah!” You cry out sharply and grab onto him, helpless to keep your body from seeking out more, from clinging to him and clamping down hard as his knot grows and triggers you into orgasm. “Hhgnn …”

He goes feral when he feels your body locking down on him, growling and shoving in and grinding to ensure that he catches inside and ties you together. His hand abandons your neck entirely as he gives in to the instinct to rut, both arms wrapping around your waist, scooping under your back and holding you still for him to fuck furiously against. The tug of his knot inside your cunt makes you sob and come harder, losing sense of yourself as the pleasure cuts through you like a knife.

“Fuck, fuck, ohhfuck …” The sound of his deep voice, so lost in the desperation and helplessness of his own pleasure, makes your belly flare hot with new arousal even as you’re coming down the other side of it. You gasp and pant, and eventually whimper as the bliss dissipates and you become more aware of him on top of you, grunting and groaning and fucking into your tie as he rides out the long, debilitating climax of an alpha.

You keep your eyes closed and cry, hating that it still feels good as he fucks into you, grinds down on your clit and gives your another orgasm, and another. You wait for him to finish as your brain fills with the high that comes after, that unavoidable pink cloud that you know is going to seal your fate and make you helpless to him for the next thirty minutes, at least. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head in the direction of the pillows.

As the high starts to take you, you think about how, if you’d just kept your gun holstered behind by the headboard like you’d planned, you could be blowing his brains out right about now.

A.N.: Soooo ... This is the rape-iest thing I've ever ever written. I hope y'all are okay. Just wanted to drop a note to let you know that this fic WILL lighten up and not be quite so, well, rapey, in the future. Thanks for reading! 💖Sarah

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authoressofdarkness · 1 year

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Fill: Mafia AU for @starkerfestivals Summer Bingo 2023

Mind the tags y'all! Pretty typical mafia AU bs below but I just want everyone to be safe. Read on AO3.

Peter can’t see anything when he wakes up.

Of course he can’t; what do you expect when you get hit over the head and abducted? He should know better. It’s not the first time someone has tried to use him against Ben, although it would be the first time they’ve gotten this far. Ben doesn’t mess around with his and May’s safety.

This time is different, though, and not just because of the fact they’d successfully abducted him and taken him to God only knows where. He can’t put his finger on why until a voice speaks from somewhere that sounds alarmingly distant, but the concussion he likely has is the least of his worries when he hears it.

“Oh, look. Sleeping beauty awakens.”

Peter tenses. It’s Tony Stark. He’s in deep fucking trouble.

It certainly explains how they got past the security that’s been not-so-secretly tailing him since the last incident, and also the fact that his arms are tied so tightly that they’ve gone numb. These are professionals. The mafia. Ben has been looking into Tony’s case for years, but Tony has never seemed to care before. Why now?

“Aw, look at that. He’s well educated, this one. You knew who I was as soon as I spoke. Your body says it all.” A hand brushes down his jawline, and he jolts a little. “You can talk. If I didn’t want you to, I’d have gagged you,” he continues nonchalantly.

Maybe it’s the fog or the dull throbbing he feels in his head, but it takes a minute for that to register and for him to realize that no, he isn’t gagged. He licks his lips, considering what to say.

“If you’re hoping I’ll beg, you’re wrong,” he says at last. “Ben will come for me like always.”

“You think so?” Tony sounds amused. It throws him off more than he wants to admit, but he presses on.

“I know so.” Even if he sounds more unsteady than he did a minute ago.

“That’s cute, sweetheart. Such confidence. But I have to say, I think Ben’s a little busy at the moment, doll. You might be stuck with me for a while.”

It’s the cool confidence in those words more than anything that makes him nervous. Tony has done something, and whatever it is, he’s sure it worked.

Peter’s heartbeat picks up. “What did you do to him?” he blurts before he can think better of it.

“Nothing, silly boy. Then he can’t do what I want him to. Just left him a little warning of what might happen to you if he doesn't clean up.” A finger brushes his cheek again.

The shiver goes down his spine before he can help it. Both at the touch, and at the threat. It’s obviously a thinly veiled threat. “I’m not afraid of you,” he tells him, trying for strong and confident, but that’s not how it comes out. More uncertain and wobbly.

Tony just chuckles. “You shouldn’t be. Not for that, anyway. If I have to kill you, I’ll just be supervising. My men are much more creative with making it painful and drawn out than I am.” He pauses, and the gentle touch on his jawline turns to a firm grip on his jaw. “Now, in between... that’s what you should be afraid of, because that’s all me, sweetheart.”

Peter gulps involuntarily. Okay, that’s scarier than he cares to admit. Tony has quite the reputation himself, and it takes a physical effort not to run through every story he’s ever heard. And there’s a lot; good, bad, scary, and of course downright hot.

He pushes the thoughts away. “Got special plans for me, do you?” He’s going for sarcastic, but then it also falls short.

Tony chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

The threat in the words is, again, barely bothered to be concealed. It’s dangerous and scary and yet somehow thrilling in the implication.

Peter flushes when he starts to indeed think of some ideas, and Tony’s chuckle only makes him turn a deeper shade of red. Then he releases his chin and steps away. Peter almost mourns the absence of his heat.

“Take him to a room and lock him up. I have to make some calls before anything else. Besides, I gave his uncle a day to respond before I show him how serious I am.”

They throw him in a room, cutting the rope on his arms and leaving him there.

Eventually the feeling comes back to his arms, even if it takes several minutes of shaking on the floor from the intense pins and needles sensation running through them. Then he pulls off the blindfold.

He’s just in a bedroom, he sees, when his eyes finally return to normal. It’s a surprisingly normal room — not an obvious cell, although there are no windows.

He climbs unsteadily into bed. There’s not much else to do. Even if he really thought he could make it out of this impenetrable house — which he honestly doesn’t — he’s fairly sure he’s concussed. His head is pounding so hard that standing is uncomfortable. If he’s going to try to escape, now isn’t the time to waste that opportunity.

Despite the conflict raging in every inch of his body, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, he can sense immediately that he’s in a different place. Not only because of the difference he can feel in the sheets — rougher, obviously meant to be disposed of, not to be comfortable — but because of exactly how much difference he can feel. He’s been stripped down to his boxers. Fuck.

Once again, the first thing he hears is Tony Stark's voice.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, sweetheart.”

Peter ignores him, testing his bonds. His ankles are bound and spread wide. His arms, oddly enough, are not. He pushes himself into a sitting position and pulls off the blindfold, looking around and spotting Tony for the first time.

He’s shorter than he realized, he thinks, but still gives off the tall, dark, intimidating appearance. He radiates a charisma and sense of control that makes Peter’s hair stand on end because he knows it’s not the good kind. Yet it’s still damn attractive.

And alarming, because every other time he’s seen Tony Stark, while from a distance or on surveillance, he’s been impeccably dressed, the pure channel of that control. Now he’s dressed casually, in ripped blue jeans and a ratty band tee shirt that looks like it’s seen more years than Peter has lived.

The choice isn’t lost on him. The disposable room they are in, hella less expensive clothes than what Tony normally wears... It's obvious what’s happening next. His stomach clenches with fear that he swallows down. Panicking won’t help.

Tony must read the immediate panic on his face, because his expression softens, just a fraction. “Relax. We still have time. That’s why I let you wake up first.”

Let him wake up. They'd drugged him.

“How long was I out?” He needs to know.

Tony presses his lips together as if considering how much to tell him. “A while,” he says at last. “Long enough for your uncle to think he was going to get away with something.”

Peter swallows hard. He’d known that Ben wouldn’t give into whatever demands Tony had sent him, not right away, but the words still send a spike of fear through his gut. “What are you going to do to me?”

Tony shrugs, standing up. He grabs something off the table he’s been sitting at, and Peter realizes it’s a tray of... food?

“Right now, I’m going to make you eat, because you’re going to need it. Then we’ll get started.” He sets the tray on his lap.

Peter tenses, both at the closeness and his words. “Is it drugged again?”

“After, it might be,” Tony tells him, with a flippant honesty that takes him by surprise. “But no, not this time. I need you awake to film.”

“Film what?” Peter presses. He doesn’t want to know, but he needs to.

Tony takes a step away from him and heaves a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets. Despite the severity of his words, the elder man's demeanor is a lot more casual than before. “Don’t worry about it right now. I’m not going to mutilate you. Not if I don’t have to. Hurting kids is hardly fun, you know. I’m not a psychopath, believe it or not.”

Peter frowns, not sure if he should believe that, nor why Tony would tell him that. He just nods and starts eating. Tony probably isn’t going to tell him anymore right now, and he's not sure he would like it even if he did.

He eats as much as he thinks he can stomach, then stops, pushing the tray away. Tony gets up immediately from where he'd settled in a metal chair in the corner to retrieve it.

Peter waits until he’s close, then lays a hand on his arm when he reaches for the tray. He feels Tony stiffen, but he’s not immediately batted off. “What?”

“Please tell me what you’re going to do to me.” He’s not going to beg, he’s better than that, but he will ask. It’s obvious how badly it’s getting to him, but when he looks up at Tony, the mobster doesn’t look amused like he did earlier. Just tired, maybe a little wary.

“Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

Peter hesitates. No. But he feels like he needs to know.

Tony just shakes his head. The hesitation is answer enough for him. “Then don’t ask.” He takes the tray and leaves.

Tony doesn’t return for a half hour or so. By the time he does, Peter has tried every thing to get out of his bonds unsuccessfully. He can’t even reach them, nor does he know what he’d do if he could. These are real cuffs, sized to him. Not ropes or a cheap pair of handcuffs.

If Tony was alerted to any of his attempts, he doesn’t seem to care. He walks right over and pushes against his shoulder. “Lay down.”

Peter makes a feeble attempt at resisting. “Why?”

“You know why. Lay. Down.” The words leave no room for argument. Then Tony adds, softer, “If I have to force you, this will be worse than it has to be.”

That much Peter knows is true, and he knows struggling will be futile, at least this time. So he lays down. Whatever he can do to make this as easy to get through as possible...

Tony cuffs his arms in and pulls the blindfold back over his eyes. Peter hears his footsteps move away, and the faint sounds of him messing with something from far away before he mutters, “Alright. Showtime.”

The seconds tick away as Tony returns to the bed, and Peter immediately tenses. He’s seen enough and heard enough about Tony to know how much this is going to hurt. He can sense the change in the man’s demeanor without him even opening his mouth. The casual clothes don't make him any less terrifying when he slips back into his more terrifying persona. Any warmth seems to seep out of the room.

Despite Peter's expectations, pain isn’t what comes next. A hand touches his chest, humming a little as it travels down, and then he feels the edge of his boxers being lifted. In the second it takes him to register exactly what’s going on, they’ve been cut straight down each leg.

Peter swallows hard. Fuck. He honestly doesn’t know if this is better or worse than the immense amount of pain he’d been expecting.

Tony chuckles, and it’s a cold, emotionless sound, so unlike how he’d spoken to him a few minutes ago.

“Such a pretty boy. You’d have made someone very happy someday. It’s a shame I have to do this. But you can thank your uncle for that.”

A hand runs down his chest again, fingers drawing slowly from his collarbone down to his nipple, rubbing a tight circle around it.

A gasp leaves Peter's mouth before he can help it. He can almost hear the way Tony smirks at the sound. “Easy, darling. We’ve barely started.”

Peter cinches his eyes shut, glad for the blindfold to hide it. Tony’s hand travels lower, nails gently scraping down his stomach, light enough to tickle but also leave barely-there marks. He squirms under the touch, eliciting another chuckle from the mobster.

"There there. I’ll get there eventually, sweetheart. Although I don’t know if you’ll like it when I do.” The fingers trailing between his hips pause in their descent. “Anything you’d like to say to your uncle before we get started?”

Peter licks his lips. “You’re not getting anything from me, Mr. Stark. Go to hell.”

Tony chuckles. “Fair enough.” He presses something hard and leathery into Peter’s mouth, and the younger man bites it automatically, wishing he didn’t feel grateful for it. At least he doesn’t have to worry about what he says now.

The mobster climbs on the bed and settles between his legs. His hands run up Peter's bare thighs, the motion soft but his palms rough and calloused against his skin. He’s surprisingly gentle, thumbs rubbing little circles against his hip bones as if to try to soothe him for just a second before one presses down, the other moving to wrap around his cock.

And fuck, he’s hard and he definitely should not be. By all definitions, he was hurt and abducted, and there’s no denying that this is rape. Or at least Tony intends it to be, but for some reason Peter isn’t entirely sure he doesn’t like it.

Okay, to say he’d always been fascinated by the mob boss would be an understatement. It was hard not to be, with Ben having spent so many years telling him about him, pouring over case files and trying his damndest to implicate him in something, somehow. And maybe Peter had started to join him with the intention to help. Up until now, he's convinced himself that was all his interest was about.

Now his own body was ousting him.

Ben wouldn’t see anything besides what Tony was doing to him. But both of them could feel it even before Tony starts stroking him with one of those calloused hands, and a nearly pornographic moan tears from his throat, barely muffled at all by the gag.

Tony strokes him agonizingly slowly, making him feel things that he absolutely shouldn’t. To Peter's credit, he really tries to keep from giving into the feeling, and it actually takes several minutes before his body really begins to betray him. When the pleasure starts to build and he feels the hand that splays over his stomach as if wanting to feel when his abdomen started to seize, he suddenly realizes what’s happening.

Tony is teasing him. He has no intention of letting him come. And this is Ben’s punishment, watching him be edged on camera.

So why the fuck does it feel so good? Why isn’t he terrified out of his mind?

He should be terrified. But instead, the only fear he feels right now is fear of Tony stopping. All he can focus on is the feeling of the hand on his dick and the nails tickling his stomach, muscles clenching, the pressure building until he’s so close, desperately trying to fight the hand that presses firmly down over his stomach when he starts trying to chase the pleasure himself and then-

He lets out a choked cry when Tony pulls away, despite knowing it was coming. Fuck, it was only one and he’s so hard it hurts.

Tony chuckles dryly, though this time he doesn’t sound very amused. “Easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then louder, for the camera, "We’re only getting started."

Peter groans, unable to help himself. He tilts his head back, squeezing his eyes tight under the blindfold. It can’t get worse than this, can it? But he knows it can.

It gets a lot worse, apparently, because Tony apparently has no intention of keeping things informal. Maybe he’s just not too worried since he doesn’t intend to let Peter come, but Peter still doesn’t expect it when he feels something warm and wet wrap around the tip of his cock.

Tony Stark is sucking his dick. His first blowjob, and he won’t even get to come.

Tony’s mouth slides down his cock, and Peter groans again, writhing under him. The mob boss’s hands press into his hips firmly, keeping him flat against the bed as he hollows his cheeks out and sucks.

It just feels so good and so bad at the same time. He doesn’t know how to handle it. He writhes and moans and tries to arch, and the man above him makes sure he gets absolutely nowhere.

He hardly realizes how overwhelmed he really is until Tony pulls away and a choked sob tears itself from his throat. Tony makes a low, almost intrigued hum at the sound.

“There, there, precious. Don’t cry.”

He jumps a little when he feels those rough fingers brush his cheek, and realizes suddenly the blindfold is wet. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Just one more, this time,” Tony promises, voice low and throaty. “Then you can tell uncle all about it and we’ll call it a day.”

Peter's groan is his only attempt at a response. Tony runs his hands down his chest again, teasing his nipple for a few sparse seconds, just enough to make him whine a little, before moving all the way back to his hips.

“If you breathe, it’s easier,” Tony reminds, sounding almost pitying. “You should hope your uncle doesn’t go too long. Too much of this and you’ll be used to it. I could turn you into such a pretty little slut.”

Peter whimpers, tilting his head back. He wishes his cock didn’t throb at the words, the idea of it, but it does.

Tony chuckles quietly, apparently feeling it as he starts stroking him again. “You like that, baby boy? Does that turn you on? The idea of being mine? Being a slut for me?”

Peter groans, trying to squirm again. “Please,” he tries to say, but the gag doesn’t allow him to.

Tony gets the gist, though. “Please what, darling? Want me to keep you? Want me to do this to you all the time?” His voice is dark, dangerous, and accompanied by a gentle squeeze on his cock.

Peter moans, unable to help himself. Fuck, it’s hot and scary and intriguing and he should be so fucking scared, but then the elder man’s hot mouth is sucking at his balls and any thoughts of the threat melt away immediately, replaced by the feel of his impending orgasm, the blood rushing in his ears, and the sound of his own choked moans.

Tony pulls away again, leaving him straining against his bonds and moaning. Peter isn't even sure how long it takes him to settle down, but when he does, Tony leans over again, pulling whatever he’d shoved into his mouth as a makeshift gag out of his mouth.

“Last chance, sweetheart. Anything you want to say to the camera?”

Peter sucks in a greedy, unhindered breath. It takes a moment to register what Tony’s asking, but he manages to pant out, “Go to hell.” Only this time he doesn’t know who he’s directing it towards.

Tony just sighs dramatically, getting up and shutting off the camera. A moment later, he returns to the bed. It creaks as he crawls on the other side and settles beside Peter.

The blindfold slips up onto his forehead, and Peter blinks a few times. The world goes in and out of focus for a minute as his eyes readjust.

Tony is beside him. He presses something against his lips, and Peter opens automatically. He probably shouldn’t, especially considering what just happened, but he does.

As it turns out, it’s just a straw. Peter greedily sucks down a few drinks until his senses return enough, he turns his head away. “I don’t want you to drug me again,�� he mumbles. If it is drugged, it's far too late now, but...

“It’s just water. Not drugged. Drink,” Tony orders.

Peter complies. He doesn’t know that he entirely trusts that, but he’s dying of thirst. He drinks the rest of the glass in a few swallows.

The automatic movement and the cold water calm him, as it’s probably supposed to. Tony releases the cuffs while he’s preoccupied, and takes Peter by surprise when he keeps a hold of his wrists and begins to rub the circulation back into them. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Does it matter?” Peter drops his eyes to Tony's hands, unable to look him in the eyes.

Tony releases one wrist to grab his chin, tapping his head up. The elder man's eyes are dark and serious. “Yes. It does.”

Peter closes his eyes. “It hurts,” he admits.

He hears Tony sigh. “Hurts less than what the guys thought I should do.” What he would have done to an adult, he didn’t have to say.

Peter understands it anyway. “I know,” he mutters. Is it odd that he feels grateful, in that respect? Probably not as odd as him being unable to decide whether he had actually liked any of it.

“If it means anything, I apologize. And if you want me to... I won’t make you suffer another day.”

Peter’s head snaps up, eyes wide as saucers. “What?” He knows he should think logically about it, that Tony can’t possibly actually mean that he would kill him, not with Ben’s job still hanging in the balance, but panic overrules his better senses for a moment.

Tony realizes instantly, gripping his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean I’d kill you. Christ. I was offering to let you come.”

Peter stares at him for a second. The hand on his shoulder feels unnaturally heavy. He slowly leans away, unsure. “You’re messing with me.”

Tony catches his chin, making him meet his eyes. “No. There’s no point. I’m not going to say I won’t have to tease you again if I have to do another, because I very well may. But I won’t make you sit like this all night.”

Peter wets his lips. His mouth still feels impossibly dry. “I... would appreciate that,” he whispers, lowering his eyes again. The offer is more than kind, all things considered. He can't fathom why Tony would actually do it, and he's still on the fence as to whether to believe him, despite the little seed of hope it gives him.

Something in Tony's face softens, just a little, at the quiet admission. “Ask me, then. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I assume we’re still talking about sexually.”

The elder man smiles, but it’s dry and humorless. He anticipates what Peter is thinking without missing a beat. “I’ll let you go when Ben does what he’s supposed to. That’s it. Unless you have a reasonable request in the meantime...”

“Clothes, maybe?”

Tony tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Maybe I can give you something. After. If you still want to come.”

Peter presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, all things considered. Maybe it only is because it’s a fantasy taken to a whole different level than what he ever could have anticipated. But it’s hard not to flush when he murmurs, “Yes, please, sir.”

At least it seems to affect Tony, too. He inhales a sharp breath. “It’s a shame. You would be such a pretty, trainable little slut too,” the mobster murmurs, and Peter jumps a little when he trails a finger down the line of his jaw. “I know I was teasing you earlier, but... you are very turned on. You really did enjoy that, didn't you?”

Peter turns even deeper scarlet at the question, if that’s even possible. “No. Yes. I mean– I don’t know." He may as well admit that much. Tony has already seen right through him.

Tony hums as if considering this. He pulls Peter's hands away from his face, his grip firm but not harsh. Peter's eyes are bloodshot when he looks up at him again. “But you want to come?”

“Please.” It’s okay to beg now that the camera is off, right?

Tony’s face flickers with bemusement, but if he’s thinking the same thing, he doesn’t say it. “How?”

“I get a choice?” Peter asks, wary.

Tony just shrugs. “Considering what I just put you through and likely will do again? Why not.”

Peter nods once, licking his lips. There’s an immediate answer that comes to his head, of course, but does he want to ask for it? Is he even capable of asking for it? He honestly doesn’t know if he can get the words out.

And should he? What if the camera really isn’t turned off? What if Tony is messing with him to hurt him more? But then, why would he? He has total control already. There’s not much point. Breaking Peter too much won’t do anything for him if he intends to let him go, after all. Ben could easily take back whatever it is Tony is making him say or do for him if he damages Peter too much.

Tony’s quiet chuckle is what jolts him out of his thoughts. “If that’s what you want, all you had to do is say so, sweetheart,” he says, and Peter’s blush colors his cheeks anew as he realizes he’d drifted off in thought staring at Tony’s mouth.

Well. At least he doesn’t have to ask now. Tony flashes him what can only be described as a wicked grin and moves to settle between his legs.

Tony runs his hands over Peter’s thighs again. The motion is light and gentle, this time, and Peter rests his head back, taking a breath.

But Tony isn’t going to just do this and let him forget exactly who it is between his legs and why. He presses a kiss to Peter’s hipbone, catching him off guard. “Was this your first?”

Peter watches him with cautious eyes, still unsure. “Yes.” If Tony's words during the video were anything to go by, he doubts it will surprise him.

Tony doesn't seem surprised, but he is quiet for a long moment. “Let me make it up to you, then. I just need something from you, first."

There it is. The catch he’d been expecting. He’s already cursing himself for being so gullible, wondering if he can really hold out another day for Ben when this one has already been a mixture of every fantasy he's ever had and also literal hell, and then-

“A kiss.”

That’s the last thing Peter was expecting to hear. "What?"

“You heard me. I want you to bring your pretty self over here and kiss me. Or let me kiss you. I’ll take either.”

“Why?” Peter can’t help asking. If he was confused before, he's even more so now. Tony must know that he doesn't have much to give him in return, sure, but a kiss was not the kind of extortion that he'd been expecting.

“Because I don’t want to take the choice away from you to do it, and I might have to later if you don’t. Besides, if I’m going to ruin you, I may as well do it completely.” Tony smirks, nails trailing, ticklishly light, down his stomach and onto his thighs.

Peter's muscles clench under the touch, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. It’s not as if it isn’t true. Tony just doesn’t know exactly how much he’s already ruined him, and the reality is that he's barely done anything compared to what Peter knows he's capable of. Hell, that just might be the problem.

“By that logic, are you going to fuck me, too?” The words come out before he can really think through what he’s asking.

Tony straightens a little, taken aback by the question for a moment before his expression smooths out again. “I… No. It would take a lot for me to get to that point,” he tells him, though the words come slowly, as if he is weighing their truth while he says them. “A wide variety of torture would come first, especially in your case. The assignment I gave your uncle isn’t that big of an ask. I’m not anticipating that happening.”

Peter lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed by the words. “Right.” He hesitates to ask, given Tony has already given him more than he was expecting, but… the elder man has hinted at it too many times for him to not feel the need to ask. “What are you anticipating, then?”

Tony's expression darkens. The bite of his nails suddenly seems to be a bit firmer on his skin, toeing the previously unnoticed line between teasing and pinching.

“More denials, probably. Ben will have responded to what happened by morning. I’m sure he’ll try to negotiate. I may or may not accept, depending on how what he says holds up to what my intelligence says.”

“What if he still refuses?”

“Don't worry about that right now." It's not a reassuring answer.

“But–"

“I said we’ll worry about it then,” Tony responds, cutting him off. His tone is sharp, and Peter is still struck with a sudden fear that maybe he’d pushed his kindness just a little too far, overstepping the boundaries that were never defined but had to be there. "I don't like to repeat myself Peter. If you're looking for promises, I can't make any. Situations like this can change with the snap of my fingers." The implication isn't missed on Peter, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it when the other man continues.

"Now–" Tony grips his cock suddenly, making him jolt a little at the pleasant-painful touch. “Do you want me to suck your dick or not?”

The words, combined with the touch, make his cock throb. It's a distraction tactic, but an effective one, throwing him completely off the topic. “Yes, please.” Peter's words are barely a whimper.

“Then shut up before I fill your babbling mouth with mine,” Tony mutters, but before Peter can respond or even apologize, Tony's lips are wrapping around the head of his cock again and everything he might have been going to say is lost.

Tony’s mouth is hot and wet and frankly more amazing than he imagined, even after the half-assed first blowjob. His tongue slides against the underside of Peter’s length, pressing gently in all the right places to make him cry out and convulse under him. The addition of being able to see him do it is almost enough to make Peter blow his load immediately, but he tried to hold off. This is not an opportunity that he wants to waste, after all. If this isn't enough to satisfy him… well, he's going to be hurting for it tomorrow, that's for certain.

Between his newness and his hyper arousal, it still doesn't take very long for Tony to make him come. Tony’s mouth moves from his cock to attend to his balls, one hand still stroking him repeatedly, and even with his eyes squeezed closed, that’s all it takes for him to come with a strangled yell, spilling all over Tony's hand and his own stomach.

He’s vaguely aware of Tony dropping his cock, the feeling of the mob boss’s calloused hands smoothing from his hips down to his knees, straightening his cramping legs from where he'd been pulling on the ankle bonds unwittingly. Then he’s leaning forward, and Peter exhales the little air he has left in a soft moan as Tony’s hot tongue smooths against his skin, licking the expanse of his stomach clean.

Their eyes meet again for a second, and Tony licks his lips.

“It really is a shame I have to give you back." The mobster's voice is deliciously throaty, an unwelcome reminder of what they've just done. His eyes are nearly glowing with what Peter can only describe as malicious intent. "You’re such a delicious little thing. I’ve been needing a new slut for a while now, and you’re just my type.”

Peter's stomach clenches at the words, more than a small dose of fear and something he doesn't want to name twisting inside his gut, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s growing half hard again between them.

“But Ben would really have to fuck up for me to do that,” Tony continues, almost thoughtfully, as he gets to his feet and moves to fix Peter’s bonds. Peter lets him, almost in a daze from this surreal experience. Or maybe dissociated is the better word.

"Who knows. Maybe God will smile upon us, hm?” And with that, Tony flashes him a wicked grin and leaves him alone in the room.

~~~

It’s the next day before he sees Tony himself again.

Someone comes in and shoves a tray of food in his lap, untying one of his hands so that he can eat, and then disappears again.

Despite the crazy way this has gone suggesting otherwise, this isn’t the first bad situation he’s been in. It’s never been this severe, of course, but he’s certainly been tied up before, and Ben has made sure he can get out of most bonds, given proper time. It's all too easy, once he's left unattended, for him to get his other wrist and then his ankles free.

Well, maybe not all too easy. His food is cold by the time he gets completely free, and the room is barren and cold and the only exit is locked from the outside, but... well, he doesn’t have to spend the night in that uncomfortable position. No one else comes in, and whether they know he’s free from his bonds or not, he doesn’t know, but they leave him alone.

Until the next day. The door to his weirdly big cell bursts open suddenly, startling him awake, and Tony Stark stalks in, gun in hand and eyes glowing with ire.

Peter is on his feet almost before Tony orders him to get up, and he barely makes it a step back—his self-preservation instincts kicking in far too late—before Tony has reached him, grabbing his arm and dragging him out with a grip that verges on dislocating his shoulder if he pulls against it. He's still completely naked from the night before.

Now that the door is open, Peter can hear the commotion outside. Fighting. Yelling. Gunshots. And they’re heading right for it.

“Mr. Stark-“ he starts, uncertainly, but a look from Tony silences him. This is not the same man that was patiently taking care of him last night. That is long gone now.

Peter isn't sure which version of Tony Stark was the facade, but he's smart enough to know that now isn't the time to try to find out. His mouth snaps closed as soon as Tony looks at him.

“Shut up and do exactly as I tell you, or someone who doesn’t have to is going to die."

Peter doesn't need any more convincing.

He lets himself be dragged into a deserted meeting room– not far from the gun fight that's happening elsewhere in the house, judging by the echoes that are still bouncing around the hall, but in a space it hasn't reached yet. Tony shoves him onto his knees on the floor, settling in a chair.

“What are we-“ Peter tries, earning another cold side eye from the mobster.

“Waiting.” Tony sheaths the one gun he was holding in his belt and grabs another seemingly from nowhere, rubbing the barrel with his shirt for a moment before appearing satisfied. “Any more questions?”

Peter shakes his head mutely, leaning his head against the front of the chair and waiting.

The first time the door opens, it’s just two of Tony’s men. Peter startles so much that he almost jumps to his feet, but Tony's hand clamps on the back of his head, keeping him down. It’s obvious based on the way they’re dressed and the weapons they carry — and the lack of them being pointed at Tony — that they work for him, and that they knew he was in here.

“How many are alive?” is the first thing Tony asks.

“Most of them. There’s always a stray bullet or two, but I don’t think any of them are definitely dead. Not if we vacate in the next fifteen minutes, anyway.”

“Well, he better get his ass in here soon, then,” Tony says, mildly, as if the lives of the men outside are of no consequence to him. Of course they aren't. What were you expecting, Peter?

Peter swallows down his rising questions. He wants to ask who they’re talking about, what’s going on, but he knows it won’t be taken well if he does. He has a feeling even if the mild version of Tony Stark he was treated to yesterday actually exists, he would never show it in front of his men. He has a sinking feeling he knows exactly what's about to happen, anyway.

The men take up their places, and while he doesn’t exactly relax, Peter lowers his head again. He was told to wait, so that's what he does, steadying himself as best he can with deep, meticulously counted breaths.

Tony's grip relaxes on his head, but the hand stays in his hair, toying with his curls. Though it's almost calming, it also feels downright possessive.

The next time the door opens, he never gets to lift his head. Tony’s hand, which had drifted down, stroking long lines along the back of Peter's neck, fists into the fine hair at the base of it, keeping his head firmly down. Peter can see the gun on Tony's knee in his peripheral. That alone is enough to keep him from moving.

“I was beginning to think they’d killed you, despite my orders,” Tony says, fingers drumming almost lazily on the barrel of the weapon right across from Peter's head.

“You knew we were coming.” Ben’s voice pierces something in his chest. He’d suspected, of course, but hearing and knowing were two different things. “How?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out. Although I have to say, it was ridiculously predictable, especially for an officer of your caliber.” A backhanded compliment, Peter recognizes, but one that does nothing to diffuse the situation, nor does he think Tony intended it to.

“So." Tony's tone is too casual for their situation as he carries on. "Your men are nearly all injured, most of them probably close to dead, or at least equal in uselessness. You’re here. What you’re looking for is right here.” He tugs Peter's hair, yanking his head back hard enough to make him hiss. A tap on Peter's cheek with the barrel of the gun is enough to keep his eyes on him instead of drifting, like they'd started to, towards Ben. He finds Tony's dark eyes are alight with amusement and something much more dangerous. “Unfortunately I’m not very inclined to give him back to you now.”

“Let him go, Stark,” Ben snaps, and he knows from experience the way Ben looks right now, even with his gaze locked on Tony's; the way the muscle in his jaw is jumping with anger, body tense, a coil ready to spring from his place across the room. “It’s over.”

Tony laughs. It's nothing like the teasing laughs at Peter's expense last night. No, this sound makes every hair on his body stand up. “Is it? Really? If it’s over for anyone, it’s you, Parker. We had a deal. You broke it. This is what you get. Speaking of,” he adds suddenly, looking down at Peter again with those too-dark eyes, “We also had a deal, that I so kindly let you off of last night because you were too wrecked to hold to it. I think now would be a good time for you to own up to it.” The barrel of the gun he’s brandishing idly brushes his cheek again. “Don’t you think?”

Peter gulps, mind immediately set to racing. Fuck. What deal did they make? Had he said something last night in all his horny haste? Or maybe there was a conversation that had happened while he was drugged and he didn’t remember it?

Tony grins a little at his confusion. Ben tries to step forward, an argument ready to leave his open mouth, but Peter seems a dark haired man behind Tony step forward and cock a gun at him, freezing him in place.

“A kiss, Bambi,” Tony reminds, voice quiet and yet still carrying that dangerous edge. “You owe me a kiss.”

Oh. That. He can’t believe Tony let him forget, but then... did he really forget? If Tony remembered and knew about this, was he just waiting for this moment to collect? Or was he really just now remembering?

It didn’t matter. The comment on the way here about people dying made sense now, as it was obviously meant to. If he didn’t cooperate, Ben would die. Simple as that.

He starts to raise himself up, only to be pushed back to his knees by Tony.

“Oh, I changed my mind, sweetheart,” Tony drawls, an absolutely feral grin turning up his lips. “You’re going to kiss me, yes. But not on the lips.”

The innuendo sends a thrill down his spine, a mix of terror and nerves and something that could have been excitement or something else he was better off not naming-

“Move,” Tony orders, his voice cutting into Peter’s thoughts.

“Haven’t you already hurt him enough?” Ben snaps, and Peter risks a glance over to see him being held back by one of Tony’s men, nearly frantic in trying to get to him. “Leave him alone. I told you, it’s over. Even if you somehow make it out of here, they’ve got you for felony kidnapping charges at the least. You’ll be hunted-“

“What else is new,” Tony mutters, dismissive. He uses his grip on Peter's hair to make the boy drag his mouth along the inside of his thigh, clear up and over the bulge in his pants, then holds his head there. “Make a decent effort, Bambi, or next time it will be the gun,” he whispers for only Peter to hear.

Peter can barely nod against the grip on his hair. He feels like everyone in the room is watching as he slowly opens his mouth, tongue moving from the button of his pants all the way down the line of the zipper. He nips at the zipper piece, tugging it as hard as he dared with his teeth and looking up at Tony.

Tony just smirks back at him, eyes wicked and almost consumed by black pupils. Without taking his eyes off Peter, he says, “You might be right, Parker. But there’s one thing you’re wrong about. It’s not just over for me.” He lets go of Peter’s hair and shoves him back. “Up. Let's go.”

“No!” Peter looks toward the cry to see both men holding Ben back. “Peter! Stark, you can’t-“

Ben never gets to finish. One of the men takes out a gun, and before Peter even has time to panic, whips him across the face with the butt of it. Ben drops to the floor like a stone.

Tony turns to Peter with that feral grin, hooking an arm around his waist and pulling him in, kissing him for real. His tongue traces over Peter’s lips, which part automatically, then dips into his mouth, tasting and claiming.

He kisses him until Peter is panting and weak at the knees, and Tony’s arm is about the only thing keeping him on his feet. Then he finally pulls away, grinning, and tugs him toward the door. “Let's go, Bambi.”

~~~

Peter doesn’t get a chance to resist.

Tony has a firm grip around his waist and is tugging him out of the room before he’s even had a chance to recover his breath. He manages to get one last good look at Ben — breathing, he’s sure of that much, at least — and then he’s being dragged out.

Out of the room, out the back door, and into a car. Tony shoves him in the backseat and slides in beside him. Almost before the door has completely closed, the mobster has taken his wrists and cuffed them behind his back. He barely has time to wonder where in the world the cuffs came from before Tony has slid off his tie and is wrapping that around his eyes.

“What-“ He tries, but Tony cuts him off.

“Until we get to the jet, you can’t see anything. Secrets to be kept and all that. And no, don’t bother bombarding me with questions, because I either don’t have or won’t give you the answers right now.”

Peter frowns. Considering everything that just happened, he’s fairly sure asking a few questions should be justified. “Why do I have to be bound, at least?” It comes out much shakier than he intended.

Tony chuckles, pulling him against his seat. The sound isn't as hair raising as it was a few minutes before, but its still tinged with a manic, dangerous sort of joy. “Oh. Those are partially because you’re a flight risk, and partially just for fun.”

“For fun?” Peter repeats. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge the flight risk comment. It seems stupid to. Even if he was inclined to try anything right now — which he isn’t; he needs way more information to try anything than what he has — he’s...naked and cuffed up in the back seat of a mobster’s car, with no idea what state he’s even in. What would he even do if he made it out?

“Yes. Fun. As cute as I’m sure you would be writhing around and hanging on me would be, I much prefer it when you’re still for me.” The mobster’s hand lands on his thigh, making him jump. “You being restrained and squirming for me has to be the cutest thing I’ve seen in a while. I think I’ll quite enjoy having you as a pet.” A hand wraps around his still exposed cock.

Peter stiffens, feeling his body start to respond to the touch almost instantly.

“Mr. Stark...”

What can only be the elder man’s mouth touches his shoulder, hot and wet, pressing kisses along and up it until he reaches his pulse point, sucking at it. Peter tamps down on a groan.

“Can’t wait to mark you all up,” Tony purrs. “As soon as we get to the safe house... fuck, baby, I can’t wait to make you scream.”

It’s hard to think with the elder man’s hand stroking his cock slowly and deliberately, the hot words and his mouth moving along his body. He tilts his head, baring his throat to him almost automatically, unable to help himself.

On one hand, the idea terrifies him. Being permanently separated from Ben and May, being Tony’s permanent... plaything. But on the other hand, Tony’s hands and mouth are warm and sending electricity along his body, and he can’t help thinking that maybe it won’t be so bad. Especially if there's any of the Tony that had visited him last night buried under this terrifying exterior.

“You’re hard as a rock, pretty boy,” Tony whispers against his skin. “Did you like being dragged around naked for everyone to see? Being forced to kneel, to use your mouth just for me, right in front of your uncle? When we get on the jet, you’re going to do it for real while I have my meeting. Suck me off nice and sloppy and loud, the whole time we’re there, in front of everyone. What do you think of that?”

That sends a shiver coursing through his body. The degradation and the absolute ownership in every word and touch is straight out of his deepest fears and his darkest desires.

“What if I say no?” His voice is weak and hoarse, even to his own ears. As the words leave his mouth, his hips squirm against the elder man’s touches.

“What if you say no?” Tony chuckles again, right by his ear. “Who told you that you get to say no, baby boy? You could try. And I suppose I could rape you until you couldn’t walk or talk and you’re so broken you don’t resist anymore. Or, if you really irritate me or I really don’t feel like fighting with you, I could sell you to someone who really doesn’t give a shit what you say. Or let the men use you for torture or target practice. Your uncle would be plenty horrified at that, I’m sure. Or...” Something cold and metallic touches his thigh, then trails up his body, pressing just insistently enough against his lips that he opens his mouth before he could think better of it. And he does think better of it, but not before he hears the safety click off and realizes that he just let Tony Stark slide the barrel of his gun into his mouth.

“I could just kill you,” Tony finishes, his lips brushing hotly against Peter’s ear. “Whenever or wherever I feel like. I could kill you right here, but-“ he’s still stroking the boy’s cock, and Peter’s hips twitch and buck against him now. “It’d be a shame when you’re just so close to changing your mind, isn’t it?”

Peter had frozen against him sometime after he’d heard the safety click off, and even the dull pleasure of the man stroking his cock can’t quite overrule the spike of fear and clarity that hit him when he realizes Tony’s handgun is nudging the back of his throat.

Tony nuzzles his throat, turning the gun to create gentle friction inside his mouth. “I’m going to let you think about it until we get to the jet,” the mobster whispers against his ear. “Why don’t you come sit in Daddy’s lap now-“ the hand drops his cock and wraps around his waist, tugging his back firmly against Tony’s chest. "-and you can just hold my gun for me while you think about it, hm? But in the meantime, naughty little pets don’t get to come, so... may as well close your legs for now, sweetheart. I’ll have them wide open when we get there either way.”

The gun presses insistently at the back of his throat as Peter curls up in the man’s lap, head lolling back against his shoulder. The words may as well have been burned into him. None of this is about Peter; it’s about hurting Ben. Revenge. Tony wants what will burn Ben most, and he’s inclined to agree that escaping the country with him and knowing that he’s being kept as Tony’s personal plaything is probably what will upset Ben most. At this point, killing him would be a reprieve, and they all know it. Whether it’s one any of them want for him... well, he really doesn’t want to die, even if he knows it might be better for him.

So Peter stews over the words and doesn’t try to resist, knowing that in itself would be taken as a decision. And when Tony nuzzles his neck and orders him to suck, to practice for giving him head as if his life depends on it, because it just might, he does.

He sucks and licks at the barrel of the gun in his mouth, tongue circling the barrel and tickling the underside with the tip of it. He can taste the metal and gunpowder and idly wonders if that’s even safe for him to consume, but it’s too late now.

Tony continues toying with and turning the gun in his mouth until they arrive at their stop. By the time they do, drool has started running out of the corners of his mouth, and his jaw aches from both the tension and the position of having sat there the whole time.

Tony pulls the gun free of his mouth and holsters it without even wiping it off, and then scoops him up. Peter doesn't try to wipe his face but closes his mouth immediately, trying to work the stiffness out of his jaw before Tony makes him follow through on his threats.

The air is cold when they step outside. In all reality the temperature really isn’t all that bad, but, well, he’s still completely naked, so... it feels very cold.

Tony carries him for an indeterminate amount of time before he’s hit with a blast of warm air and, shortly thereafter, set on his knees. Soft murmuring around him alerts him to the presence of Tony’s men surrounding them, and the realization of exactly how public his degradation is sends a shudder through him.

He feels the light press of Tony’s knees against his shoulders and knows the mobster is getting comfortable above him. He sits there for several minutes, waiting, when he hears the click of the safety on the gun again. He jumps when the still-slick metal brushes his cheek.

“Time to make a choice, Bambi." Tony's voice is soft, the closest thing to gentle it's been all day. “You can rest here on your knees and keep quiet with my cock until daddy can get you somewhere and spread you out, or you can call your aunt and say goodbye and take a short trip outside with one of the men. Choose wisely.”

Peter gulps. He isn’t stupid; he knows exactly what the second option means.

He doesn’t want to die. He isn’t anywhere near desperate enough to say he does, not yet. And if he really becomes that desperate later... well, the men will all still be carrying guns later on, and there’s plenty of ways he could act out to end up getting killed, should he really decide he prefers that.

So he swallows, trying to wet his throat that already feels like sandpaper, and opens his mouth after only a moment of hesitation. He hears Tony chuckle quietly, feels the gun brush across his bottom lip as if considering it anyway before the mobster draws it away.

“Excellent choice,” Tony purrs, sliding the gun into his holster and gripping his hair. He lets himself be guided up on his knees, the cold press of Tony’s zipper against his cheek before he’s unzipping it and something hot and firm slides between his open lips.

“Someone get me earplugs for the boy. I don’t want him listening in while we talk business just yet.”

There’s some quiet muttering, and a moment later, something soft presses against one ear, then the other.

Silence prevails as his mouth is guided further onto Tony’s cock, and there’s literally nothing else for him to focus on besides the task set before him.

Peter closes his eyes under the blindfold and tries to make himself relax. It’s hard, impossible, even, to push the situation itself to the back of his mind, but at least it’s easier to pretend it’s just him and Tony again when he can’t see or hear anyone else. He can feel the mobster's hand still tangled in his hair, holding him there, firm and unyielding. Right now it’s still, simply keeping him there, not allowing him to pull off but not forcing him to do anything more than be.

That's where he stays for the next several hours, nothing but the endless dark and silence, and the hot, overwhelming presence of Tony Stark – the prospect of life with him, at least for the considerable near future, making everything feel so much heavier – lingering over him, leaving him to stew in his own thoughts.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #my writing #sfsummerbingo23 #bingo fill #mafia au #mob boss tony stark #stockholm syndrome #tw: kidnapping #police officer ben parker #tw: dubcon #dubious consent

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