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Chapter Text

“I’m disappointed in you, Richards.” 

Reed froze, his hands beginning to shake where they’d been digging though one of the tool drawers. He’d finally managed to slip into Victor’s workshop after weeks of planning, and he’d been searching it top to bottom for anything that Victor had used to create the power inhibiting device wrapped around his throat. He’d also hoped to find the remote for his collar, but he doubted Victor had more than one of those, and it was always on his person. Always. But he had to find something, anything… and in the past twenty minutes, he’d found nothing. Not even a strong enough magnet he could use to disrupt the latch mechanism. 

Reed could feel Doom’s eyes on him, probably standing menacingly in the workshop doorway behind his back. He swallowed thickly, thinking fast.

You can’t fight back with the collar still on, Reed thought. You don’t have your powers. He can hurt you at any time with his remote device. It’s over. It’s done.

But Reed wasn’t going to give up that easily. He never did.

Maybe that’d be his downfall in the end.

“Turn around,” Doom commanded him. 

Reed’s hand curled around one of the larger tools in the drawer. His shoulders tensed.

As quickly as he could, he whipped around and threw the tool at Victor’s armored head—

And it’d barely left his hand when the collar fired.

Reed screamed as liquid fire filled his veins, horrible pain eating him from the inside out, and he collapsed onto the floor of the workshop, knees smarting against the hard surface. The pain seemed to go on for so long, longer than it ever had before. Reed couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. 

And then the pain stopped, and he slumped onto his side on the floor, gasping in tearful relief. 

Reed trembled and shook, his body twitching from the aftershocks of pain and adrenaline. Victor’s metal boots came into view and stopped inches from his face, and Reed opened his mouth to say something witty and sarcastic and utterly self sabotaging. All that came out was a pained gasp.

“V-V-Vic—” he managed, and then the collar went off again.

This time, he didn’t scream. He refused to, even as the pain shredded his nerves and destroyed every part of his senses. His back arched, fingers and legs spasming, teeth clenched together as he did his best not to make noise. And then, finally, it stopped.

Reed’s body collapsed onto the ground again, his chest heaving. Tears began to prick in his eyes.

“That,” Victor said, standing above him, “was for using the wrong name. I expect you to remember my proper title next time.”

Reed didn’t respond, still trying to calm his breathing, still trying to center himself. It was impossible with Doom next to him, above him. With Doom’s collar around his throat and his words in his mind. 

Doom lifted one foot and placed it on Reed’s hip, and then shoved him onto his back unceremoniously. His boot came to rest on Reed’s chest, still heaving. Sweat dampened Reed’s hair and slid down his temples.

He stared up at Doom’s mask. Victor’s eyes peered out from behind them, cruel and cold.

“Beg me for forgiveness, Richards,” he said. “Make me believe it. Or I’ll throw you back into the dungeons and retrain you for as long as I see fit.”

The boot heel dug into Reed’s ribs. And the mention of the dungeon sent fear down his spine—from the glint in Victor’s eyes, he’d seen the fear on Reed’s face as well.

“I’m—” Reed’s voice choked, stopped, so he swallowed and tried again. “I’m. I’m sorry.”

Doom stared down at him for a long moment.

“Pitiful,” he said, and then pressed his thumb to the button of the shock device again.

Reed screamed as pain tore through him, the boot at his chest keeping him pinned and helpless on the floor. It felt like Doom was scraping salt and sand along his exposed nerves. It felt like he was on fire. Like he was going to die.

And then it stopped. Reed slumped to the floor once more, a few stray tears slipping out of his eyes and down his face. 

“Try again,” Doom said above him.

Reed couldn’t quite force his mouth to make the words for a moment. “I-I-I… I’m sorry,” he managed. His voice was just above a whisper, weak and pitiful and small. He hated himself for it. “I’m, I’m sorry, please, it was stupid to—I shouldn’t have—”

“Louder, Richards.”

“Please,” he said, louder, and his voice broke, unable to meet Victor’s eyes, his looming form blurring behind Reed’s tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. F-Forgive me, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Quiet, for a moment.

And then Doom sighed and lifted his foot from Reed’s chest. Reed stayed where he was, trembling.

“Adequate,” Doom said. Reed could hear the sneer in his voice. “Clean up your mess.”

He stepped away, still in the room, and Reed sucked in a shaky breath and rolled onto his side. When he pushed himself up, his elbows shook with the effort, barely strong enough to hold him. But he managed to get onto his hands and knees. 

“No,” Doom said suddenly, as Reed put one bare foot on the ground to stand. “You will crawl.”

Reed dared to glance up at that, half a protest dying on his lips as he saw the look in Victor’s eyes. 

He swallowed thickly again and nodded, dropping his gaze. 

He’s angry.

This wouldn’t be the end of his punishment. Reed knew better than that. He stayed on his hands and knees and began tidying up the workshop as best he could, trying to ignore the trembling in his hands. All while Victor watched him crawling on the floor, eyes sparking with malice through the mask. Cold and hard and relentless. 

Unforgiving.

Chapter Text

It was the weekend before finals. Snowflakes drifted down from the sky beyond the library windows. Reed and Victor sat on opposite sides of one of the thinner wooden study tables, books and folders strewn across its surface, pencils and pens scratching over paper in silence. It was warm. Comfortable. 

Reed’s foot was resting up against Victor’s under the table. The touch was… nice. Distracting, though. He hadn’t been able to focus on his current problem quite as well with it so present in his mind, but he didn’t want to move himself and pull away. He was scared Victor wouldn’t ever let him this close again if he did. He was scared Victor would see it as a rejection and assume…

Reed chewed on the eraser of his pencil and stared unseeing at the mathematics on the page before him. Focus, he told himself. Focus. 

For a few moments, he did manage it. He wrote another line of calculations. Figured out another possible route to the completion of the problem.

And then the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

He’s watching you.

Reed stilled, spinning the pencil between his thumb and forefinger. Victor’s eyes on him felt like lasers boring into the center of his soul. For a breath, he let them linger, pausing.

And then he looked up.

To his credit, Victor didn’t even flinch when their eyes met. Completely unphased, completely unashamed. Caught staring. Reed watched him, holding his gaze, wondering what he’d do now. If he’d say something. Do something. Anything.

The touch of his foot beside Reed’s under the table didn’t falter, didn’t shift. 

Please do something, Victor. Please. 

Instead, Victor huffed out a little exasperated breath through his nose and went back to his own work, fountain pen moving smoothly and almost silently across the paper. His handwriting was elegant, practiced, controlled. The ink shone in the yellow lamplight before it dried. 

His foot stayed where it was, next to Reed’s. Still touching.

Reed’s face burned, yet he let himself smile just slightly and watched Victor for half a moment. A stray auburn curl slipped over his forehead and rested, gently, just above his eye. Victor was anything but adorable, cute. But the curl… it brought him closer to it, for a moment.

Longing pulled at Reed’s gut. He shoved it down and returned his gaze to the papers in front of him. He forced himself to focus.

Under the table, their feet remained where they were. Touching. Connected. 

Neither of them moved away.

Chapter Text

The room was dark, save for the candlelight flickering on the candelabras and on the old-fashioned chandelier hanging above them. Starlight filtered in through the tall windows. It was a new moon tonight, Reed remembered distantly. He wondered if Doom had chosen tonight for their dinner specifically because of that, the additional darkness, and then realized of course he had. Doom never did anything without purpose, especially when it came to Reed.

They were sitting next to each other at the long dining table, Doom at the head of course, Reed beside him to his right. They were both dressed well, compared to their usual attire. Doom wore a sleek, dark gray three piece suit with a green tie and his usual cloak, the mask firmly affixed to his face. Reed, on the other hand, wore something instead of nothing—a simple white dress shirt, slacks, and brown suspenders. 

The collar, as always, sat tight and firm around his throat. 

“Eat,” Doom commanded. 

Reed forced one hand out of his lap and wrapped his trembling fingers around the only piece of silverware he’d been allowed. The tines of the fork glinted in the candlelight. He gently stabbed one of the potatoes on his plate, smelling deliciously of rosemary and spice. He lifted it up to his mouth. Bit. Chewed. Swallowed.

He was so hungry. He hadn’t eaten in days. The food tasted so warm and heavy on his tongue, begging him to feast, consume even more, ever more. And yet he stilled, hand resting on the table by the plate, fork trembling in his grasp. It felt as if the single piece of potato had turned to ash in his throat and settled like cement in his stomach.

Doom watched him like a bird of prey. His eyes never left Reed’s face. 

“How was it?” he asked.

Reed’s voice was hoarse when he answered, “Delicious. Sir.”

“Hm. Do you wish to eat more?”

Reed’s knuckles went white around the fork. He stared at the plate in front of him, salivating and swallowing it down. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, please.”

Doom chuckled and lifted his hand—no gauntlets tonight, simply black leather gloves that whispered against Reed’s skin as he brushed an errant curl from his forehead. His touch made Reed shiver, but he controlled himself. Did his best to keep still.

“I didn’t even have to ask. Good boy. Take another bite, my beloved. And beg me for each one after, understand?”

Reed nodded, eyes locked on the food, and lifted his fork to spear a piece of meat.

All of a sudden, Doom’s gloved hand wrapped around his chin. Tight and bruising. He forced Reed’s head to look at him. 

“What do you say, Richards?” he asked. His voice was pitched low. Dangerous.

Reed stared, wide eyed and afraid. He swallowed thickly, the muscles of his jaw straining against Doom’s grip. 

“Th-Thank you,” he said softly.

A smile, then, if the crinkling near Doom’s eyes behind the mask was any indication. “You’re welcome, my dear. Now eat. And do try not to make a mess. It’d be a pity to ruin your reward with more punishment, don’t you agree?”

The hand on Reed’s chin released. He turned back towards the plate of food before him. In his hand, the fork shook.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. “Thank you, sir.”

Doom chuckled, leaning back in his seat and watching him, observing every tense muscle, every darting gaze, every nervous tremor in the flickering candlelight. It’d been so long since he’d eaten. So long since he’d been clothed. All he had to do was stay tidy and beg. This was nothing, compared to what he’d endured before. Nothing at all. 

Reed stabbed the fork into another piece of food, lifted it to his mouth, and ate.

Chapter Text

When Victor came into his cell next, he was holding an iron rod.

Reed, beaten and exhausted and starving, was standing against the back wall, leaning heavily with his shoulder to the cold dungeon stone. His back was striped and bloody, so he couldn’t lean using that. Every part of him stung or ached. His head spun simply from standing up, and his knees shook from the effort, but he would not let Victor see him cowering on the floor. He wouldn’t.

The door screeched open, spilling light into the cell, and then shut behind him just as quickly. The dim buzzing light in the ceiling above turned on, and Reed’s eyes immediately fell upon the rod.

His stomach lurched.

“No magic today, then?” he asked, baring his teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. Victor said nothing, still and observant. “Not using the collar either?”

He could hear the smirk in Victor’s voice when he spoke next. “No. I wanted a more… personal touch for today’s session.”

Reed snorted. “Nothing more personal than a metal rod.”

“Submit to me, Richards, and I won’t have to use it. I can see you trembling. I can smell your fear.”

Reed’s heart leapt in terror, but he glared at Victor nonetheless as he tried to steady his breathing. After a moment, he pushed himself off the wall and approached him.

Reed stood as tall as he was able in front of his torturer and held his chin high.

“Make me, Victor.”

The rod hit him across the face with deft and uncanny precision. Reed went sprawling to the floor, his knees and elbows smarting against the stone. Blood pooled in his mouth and dripped from his teeth, filling his tongue with the taste of iron.

The next blow came quickly after, hard along his whipped back, and Reed screamed in pain without meaning to and collapsed onto the floor. His limbs were so weak. Everything hurt so much. 

He tried to push himself back up, and Victor hit his back again. Reed cried out again and slumped against the stone beneath him, shaking despite himself.

Useless. Weak. He’s barely even touched you. Get up, Reed, get up.

But the muscles of his arms refused to respond. Reed stayed there, shaking, as tears pricked at his eyes.

Victor chuckled, low and menacing. 

“Pathetic,” he said, stepping closer to Reed’s face. His boots came into view, armored and heavy, and then the rod slipped under Reed’s chin and tilted his face up to look at Victor’s mask. “It’d be so much easier for you to simply give in, Richards. We both know it. What does this resistance accomplish besides being a salve for your pitiful pride?” 

Reed trembled, glaring up at Victor as best he could. 

He’s right, that traitorous voice in his head whispered. Just give up. It’d be easier. It won’t hurt as much anymore.

But Reed Richards wouldn’t give in so easily. He’d never give in. Never. He wouldn’t. 

Instead of responding with words, Reed gathered all the blood and saliva in his mouth and spat it at Victor’s face. 

It didn’t quite reach it, too low on the ground as he was, but it hit the lower half of Victor’s breastplate, a glob of red and spittle sticking there as if to insult him. Victor, surprised at the indignity, stiffened.

For a moment, Reed felt victory.

And then Victor’s eyes went sharp and deadly, and the edges of them crinkled like he was smiling beneath the mask. Excited. Exhilarated. 

“Have it your way, then,” he said. “Stubborn little fool.”

Victor raised the rod and brought it down, and Reed, as always, did his best to stifle his cries of agony through the rain of blows upon his broken and bleeding body. For a time, he managed.

And then, after, the stone cell echoed with the snap of his bones and his screams.

Chapter Text

“Shh,” Doom whispered above him, brushing some stray hair from his forehead. “It’s alright, my dear. You’re being so very good for me. That’s it.”

Reed whimpered, shaking at Victor’s touch, doing his best not to flinch away and probably failing. Not that it mattered. He knew Victor liked it when he flinched, when he resisted any way he still could. Doom had tamed him a little, made him more docile, more obedient, but he didn’t seem to want to break him completely. Maybe he never would.

In a way, it was worse. If he were completely broken, after all, he’d have some excuse for enjoying this.

Victor’s fingers were curled in his cunt, his thumb rubbing soft, incessant circles over his puffy little cock, a reward for having taken his previous punishment so well. Reed was still bruised and bleeding, cuts and gashes scattered across his skin. He’d tried to escape again. He hadn’t gotten far. His legs were too weak, his body too frail, and his head pounded with a constant dull ache that never quite went away. He was always a little hungry, always a little in pain. But he ran, when he heard Doom’s footsteps approaching him, despite knowing it was futile, because what else was he supposed to do?

Victor had cornered him, stalking up with a glint in his eyes, like a lion about to pounce and devour its prey. Reed had desperately put his hands up to protect himself—as if he could, as if any part of him could stop trembling long enough to do anything useful at all. And then Doom had snatched his wrists in two bruising grips and yanked him forward into his chest, and Reed had gone limp. Pliant. Obedient. Tears had slipped from his eyes down his cheeks, and he’d sobbed, apologizing, knowing what came next, knowing it would hurt. It always hurt. Always. 

But he also knew what would happen after the pain. Victor always liked it when Reed ran away. He liked the chase. And Reed…

Reed hated that he liked what happened after, once Victor had put him back in his place. 

He hadn’t even used the collar this time, preferring to wield a whip and his hands and a subtle, razor-sharp knife. There were words Reed couldn’t see carved into his back, staining the bed sheets beneath them red with his blood. And yet, in comparison to before, the torture had almost been soft. Sweet. Gentle. 

Victor hummed above him and slipped another finger inside, stretching Reed obscenely, thrusting in and out with slow, purposeful movements meant to tear him apart at the seams. Reed cried out, half a moan, half a plea, and gripped at the sheets beneath him in an effort to keep his hands still. 

He wasn’t allowed to touch. That’d been the rule this time. No cuffs to help him, just Victor’s command and his teasing, torturous fingers inside him. Around him. Stroking his face, wiping away his tears. 

Pleasure and pain swirled in Reed’s head and tore apart his soul from the inside out.

“Please,” he managed, whimpered, desperate and frightened and too filled with sensation to do anything but beg. “Please, please, please…”

“You sound so wonderful when you beg, Richards.” He could hear the smile in Doom’s voice, see the smug and victorious look in his eyes behind the mask. “Tell me, do you think you’ve been good enough to deserve to come?”

Reed froze, heart hammering in panic, shaking with pleasure he couldn’t control. It’s a trick question, he thought. I’m never good enough. Never good enough. Never. What does he want me to say? What does he want me to do?

Victor’s fingers pistoned inside him, curling up in a way that made Reed’s back arch and ripped a moan from his chest. 

“Answer me, pet.” His voice was dark. Dangerous. A warning.

Reed sobbed and shook his head. “N-No,” he whispered. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Hm. You’re right. But no matter.” Doom leaned down and touched his forehead to Reed’s own, the metal hard and unforgiving, but warm now. Still, Reed shivered. “The only thing that matters in this place is my will. Remember that, my dear.”

Reed nodded as best he could, looking up at Victor with pleading eyes. 

“Please,” he whispered, trembling, “please, please, please—”

“So pretty. What a beautiful, sweet boy.” Victor’s smirk behind the mask widened—Reed could see it through the miniscule lines of the mouthpiece, in the crinkle that just now reached his eyes. His fingers pressed, rubbed, twisted, and Reed cried out in desperation. “All mine. Say it.”

He didn’t even try to resist. “Y-Yours, all yours—”

“Come for me, Richards.” 

His fingers widened, spreading him open, Doom’s thumb scraping and smothering his clit, and Reed came with a choked off scream, writing beneath Victor’s touch. Stars filled his vision, then the nothingness of the void, as he gripped the sheets tight and his toes curled with the intensity of his pleasure. 

When he came to again, Reed felt Doom press his face into the crook of his neck and breathe in deep, and he knew without a doubt that he’d be sucking at his neck if he weren’t wearing his mask. 

“Good boy,” Doom whispered, waiting for Reed’s fluttering hole to finally still before pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the bloodied bedspread. “My sweet, beautiful boy. So obedient for me. And mine.”

Reed knew exactly how he was expected to respond.

“Yours,” he whispered, hazy and quivering and destroyed. “Yours. Yours.”

Doom chuckled lowly, deeply, his thumb swiping at the space under Reed’s eye. 

Reed shook.

Chapter Text

Reed awoke in a different cell from his usual, no longer in the dungeon with its creaking iron door and echoing stone walls. Instead, it was a perfectly square room made entirely of metal. Metal walls, metal floor, metal door. A box more than a cage, though still a cage as far as Reed was aware.

He also had new accessories to accompany his collar. Oh joy. Around his wrists and ankles were tight metal bands, pressed up against his skin with no give whatsoever. Reed groaned and sat up, examining the bands, looking for a way to remove them, or at least understand them. He found nothing, of course. Not even a seam. 

The door ahead of him slid open, and Doom entered with his sweeping cape and armor. Behind him, the door shut once again. Reed glared from where he knelt on the floor, still fiddling with the band around one of his wrists.

“Victor,” he said petulantly. Stubbornly. “What is this?”

“A lesson in obedience,” Doom replied. Before Reed could reply that all their sessions together had been that, what made this one any different, Doom raised his hand and snapped.

The bands around Reed’s wrists jerked backwards, and Reed, yelping in surprise, flew off the ground and hit the wall behind him with two loud clangs. 

The cuffs are magnetized, he realized distantly. Doom gestured with one finger, and the cuffs pulled him up, scraping metal across metal, until his spread wrists held him at eye level with Doom. Then he snapped again, and the bands around his ankles hit the wall as well. 

He was spread apart, pinned to the wall like a butterfly. 

Reed swallowed down his fear and ignored the wet, aroused feeling beginning to build at his base. He’d always had a thing for being manhandled, being spread open. Now was not the time to even consider it, let alone indulge in it.

Behind his mask, Reed could tell Victor was smiling.

“Useful little things, aren’t they?” Victor said, stalking towards him with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “They’re of my own personal design, a combination of magic and science. Elegant, yes?”

Reed grit his teeth and said nothing, pulling against the restraints despite knowing the futility of the action. He glared at Victor with as much venom as he could muster, but his stomach flipped with nervous, fearful tension as Victor stopped in front of him, only an inch or two away. 

Doom chuckled, tilting his head as he observed Reed’s face. 

“Already learning your lesson?” Victor shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Richards. I would’ve expected you to put up more of a fight.”

“I’m not playing your sick game, Victor.” 

“Hm.” Without warning, Doom curled his gauntlet into a fist and slammed it into Reed’s stomach. Reed coughed, trying to double over and being prevented from doing so by the cuffs, forced to feel every spasm of pain wrought by the sudden punch. He coughed, gasping, fists clenching and unclenching against the wall above him. 

“Sick isn’t the word I would use, Richards,” Doom said, still observing him, still close. Too close. Reed was very cognizant of his own nakedness, of the slight heat radiating off of Victor’s armor almost flush to his own bare chest. “The word ‘sick’ has its own set of implications. Insanity. Unwellness. I am of perfectly sound mind.”

“That’s up for debate, I think.”

“No. It’s not.” Victor pressed in then, his gauntlets raking over Reed’s body and cutting into his flesh with their claws, making Reed tremble and hiss at the sensation. “Your soundness of mind, however, is of a more pertinent question. Tell me, Richards, are you enjoying this?”

Reed stilled without meaning to, his back rigid with fear. He stared at Victor’s eyes behind the mask and then quickly looked away, scowling.

“You won’t get away with this,” he spat, hoping the burning of his cheeks wasn’t turning them visibly red. He doubted he was that lucky. “You, you won’t—”

Reed let out a whimpering gasp and Victor raked his claws across the inside of his thighs, stinging cuts giving way to a jolt of pleasure that filled Reed with guilt and shame. His head dropped, forehead hitting against the warm metal of Victor’s mask, shaking and forcing himself to breathe. Stop, stop, calm down, don’t react—

“You didn’t answer my question, Richards,” Victor said softly, but Reed didn’t miss the deadly undercurrent to his voice. “Tell me: are you enjoying this?”

Reed swallowed, hating himself, shame curdling inside every fiber of his being. “Fuck you.” 

Reed hardly ever cursed. Doom chuckled again. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, raking his claws further up Reed’s shuddering body. 

They scraped over his stomach, gentle and teasing, almost caught on his ribs, paused for a moment at his top surgery scars. Victor traced them gently, reverently, and Reed did his best to choke back a whine, face flushed and hating himself for the damp feeling festering at the base of his cunt. The claws brushed past his nipples, not nearly as sensitive as they’d been before but with enough feeling returned that it made Reed gasp at the touch. And then up, up, past his collarbone, his neck, sliding into his sweat-damp and messy hair.

Victor yanked his head back, forcing Reed to look him in the eyes. Reed’s hips bucked without warning, and he forced himself to still, but the damage was done. 

Victor smirked.

“Oh, my dear Richards,” he said, eyes sultry and smug, “I will ruin you.” 

For the first time since he’d been captured, Reed actually began to believe him.

Chapter Text

They were dead.

They were all dead.

Reed stared at their broken bodies—Ben, Johnny, Sue, oh god, Sue—and felt his knees buckle at the sight, sending him to the ground. They were dead. They were dead. His family, his love, his whole life. Dead. Dead and gone and broken on the rubble.

And Victor had done it. 

Victor killed them. 

Reed heard him approaching from behind, the clanking and thudding of his armor, the whip of his cape in the smoky wind. No doubt coming to finish the job. To kill him too. Reed couldn’t… he couldn’t…

Doctor Doom stopped a few feet away from where Reed knelt on the rubble. Reed swayed, feeling unsteady, delirious.

They’re dead. Oh my god. They’re dead.

Doom said, “Submit to me, Richards.”

And then, at his voice—

Rage.

Reed whipped around and screamed, slamming into Victor with all his might, winding around his body to try and tear him apart. He felt wild. Unhinged. He wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, until Victor was dead. As dead as the people he loved. 

Reed Richards had never killed before. And now he would do it with his bare hands if he had to.

Victor, to his credit, resisted and fought back well, slamming his gauntleted fists into Reed’s face, his arms, his chest, any part he could reach. But Reed was slippery and elastic, and the attempts bounced off of him like rubber balls off a brick wall. When Reed got close, he could see fear in Victor’s eyes. Fear he’d put there.

Good. Good.

And then Victor summoned magic to his call and blasted Reed off of him, sent him flying into a wall covered in dust and rebar. The hit startled him with its pain, its solidity—when Reed slumped to the ground, he tried to stretch and found himself unable to.

Blocking my powers, Reed thought. He sucked the blood and spittle in his mouth and spit it out, pushing himself to standing. Bastard. 

He wouldn’t win without his powers, without his devices, without a playing field balanced towards intelligence instead of might. And even then, Reed knew his own weakness. He was reckless. Emotional.

He didn’t care.

He was going to destroy Victor von Doom if it was the last thing he did. 

When Reed ran at him again, Doom laughed, loud and uproarious, and flexed his hands to send magical bolts of energy towards him. Reed dodged the first few. One hit his arm. One his leg, forcing him to drop to one knee. And then one slammed into his chest and sent him sprawling onto his back, chest heaving with exhaustion and pain.

Reed wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t give up. Never, never, never.

He clawed his way back to his feet and yelled, sprinting towards Doom again.

This time, Doom let him get close, let him slam his body into the armor that covered him, let Reed tackle them both to the ground. It wasn’t until he tried to rip Doom’s mask off that he truly put up a fight again.

“Enough!” Doom shouted, slamming his fist into Reed’s eye. He cried out in pain and felt himself be flipped, shoved into the rubble, pinned to the ruined ground. Reed struggled, yelling and snarling like a wild animal. “Enough of this. It’s over. Surrender to me, Richards.”

“Never,” Reed spat, “never. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you!”

“Fool. Accept your own failure.” 

Reed screamed and thrashed, managing a few more hits and kicks before Doom, stronger, more powerful, and with gravity and leverage on his side, grasped Reed’s hair and secured a magnetized power inhibiting collar around his throat. And still Reed fought, kicking, clawing, biting.

I’ll destroy him, Reed thought, still pinned, still struggling. Fury filled every atom of his being. He killed them. He killed them. I will end his life if it's the last thing I do.

But his strength was waning. The fury was starting to ebb away into pain. They were gone. His family was gone. The Fantastic Four were gone and they were never coming back.

A sob broke out of his chest as he scratched Doom’s mask, teeth bared and bloody. 

“Give up, Richards,” Doom said.

Slowly, he unholstered the gun he always had on his belt and pressed the barrel beneath Reed’s chin. Reed, with some effort, went still, glaring murderously at the man above him.

“You’ve never used the gun on me before,” Reed hissed, jerking against Victor’s grasp. Doom’s thumb cocked the gun, chambering a bullet. One small pull of the trigger, one twitch, and Reed would be dead too. “I thought it was only for those too petty and small for your time.”

“Don’t test me, Richards.”

“Do it.” Reed felt horrible, untamable, free of his usual fear. It doesn’t matter—the worst fear you've ever had has been realized. “Kill me, then. Kill me like you killed them. Kill—”

Doom dug the gun into his throat, just above the collar, and Reed choked.

Tears, unbidden, began to stream from his eyes. 

Dead, they’re dead, they’re dead, they’re dead—

“No,” Doom said, like his word was law. Reed thrashed and snarled. “I have much better plans for you, my dear.”

Reed’s stomach dropped in fear, and yet he kept struggling, kept raging against Victor’s hands, his gun, his body. His limbs cried out in pain, his muscles shaking with exhaustion, the gun at his neck almost cutting off his air supply. And yet Reed didn’t care. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

It’s over, he thought, even as he continued to fight. It’s done. Everything is over.

By the time Doom finally slammed the butt of his gun into Reed’s head to knock him unconscious, the darkness that followed felt like a mercy.

Chapter Text

It took a while. A long while. Reed wasn’t really sure how long exactly—Victor didn’t let him out much, didn’t tell him the date or time, drugged him and beat him until the memories of the days blurred together so much he couldn’t calculate out how long it’d been. But it’d been a long time, a very long time, when it happened.  

Reed finally learned how to hurt Victor back.

Usually, dissociating was just a trick Reed could mostly control, something that helped him stave off the pain, disconnect while Victor was away… survive the horrors happening to him. He thought he had it under control. He thought his mind was his own, always, even in this place, even with Victor von Doom’s mind clawing away and eroding the few defenses he had left. He thought he still had something of himself that wasn’t Doom’s. 

But he was wrong. 

Reed wasn’t sleeping. Sleep was more a curse than a blessing these days, filled with nightmares and visions and horrifying tortures inflicted upon him. So instead, he laid curled in a ball in the corner and let his mind drift, wander, peel apart from reality and exist separately from his body. A common trauma response, and a safe one, generally. Reed only allowed himself to drift when Victor was away. 

And then he heard footsteps—Victor’s of course, they were always Victor’s—and for the first time, Reed couldn’t pull himself back.

Go back, he told himself, but his mind resisted, refused his command, even as the door screeched open. 

Return, come on. He’s here, you need to be present. You need to be alert. But still he stayed drifting, disconnected, even as Doom walked inside and shut the door behind him. 

Reed. Reed, please. He’s going to hurt you. Go back. Get up. Stand up. 

“Richards.” 

His body didn’t react. Somehow, Reed knew that, as if he was watching from a few inches away, observing himself in the corner. He almost seemed, felt… relaxed. There was panic in his mind, but it hadn’t… it hadn’t reached his heart. Somehow. Not yet. 

I’m dissociating, he thought dimly. Victor said something else, something he couldn’t quite make out. I can’t… I can’t pull myself back. Oh my god. No, no no, I have to get back, I have to—

Victor’s footsteps, stomping up to him, and then a gauntleted hand tangled in his hair and yanked him away from the wall. Reed felt it, and at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to react. He just… wasn’t there anymore.

It was terrifying. Thrilling, but terrifying. 

I can’t control my own mind anymore. 

“Richards!” Victor screamed, and the noise was so loud, so thunderous, but Reed couldn’t bring himself to flinch, even as his mind did so immediately. “I gave you an order!”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Even as the mind inside him told himself, over and over, speak, say something, respond, get up, get up, get up—

The backhand hit his face and sent him sprawling to the floor, and the sting registered, just a little. But it wasn’t enough. Barely enough for a grimace, and not one Victor noticed. Reed hardly did either. 

Move, flinch, do something, anything, before he hurts you, before he kills you—

“Reed,” Victor said, and—

Was that… fear in his voice? 

Reed struggled to comprehend, saw Victor approaching him out of the corner of his eye, and though inside himself he trembled with fear and kept screaming, begging his own mind to let him out, let him back in, let him do something, anything…

A small, horrible part of him felt satisfied. 

You’ve made him afraid, Reed thought, and vengeful victor filled every part of him, even as Victor grabbed his throat and hauled him to his knees. He’s afraid. This is what he’s afraid of. 

Losing you. Me.

It’s always been about me. 

“Reed,” Victor whispered, their faces so close, his hands wrapped around Reed’s throat but not choking, not violent. Holding him, almost gently. As if he were afraid he’d break him. The thought was laughable. “Reed. Look at me. Now.”

Reed tried, automatically, and found himself unable to. Still… disconnected, in that strange floaty space where nothing was real, only observed. 

And then Victor’s eyes, from where he could see thanks to Victor’s thumb beneath his chin, filled with fear and anguish, and Reed…

Reed wished he’d chosen not to react, selfishly, cruelly. 

At least, then, he would’ve known he could intentionally hurt Victor too. 

“No,” Victor whispered, and then his hands did begin to choke. To squeeze. To bruise. “No, no, come back to me. Now. Now, Richards!”

It was so strange, feeling the pain and lack of air, and yet being unable to react. Reed couldn’t even find it in himself to twitch, to move. All he did was sit there and let Doom do what he wished. And it wasn’t even a choice. It was distance. Nothingness. 

Get back in control, he told himself, and yet his limbs didn’t move, his eyes didn’t flicker. Fear gripped his chest once again. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if you can hurt him like this. You can’t do anything else. That’s all this accomplishes. Get back into yourself. Get back. Go back!

His vision narrowed to pinpricks, blackness clouding his vision. His lungs burned, trying to suck in air. His body only moved where Doom touched him, how Doom touched him. 

And then, like a lightning bolt, it came back.

Something in his hindbrain, a survival instinct too deeply embedded to be controlled, realized he was going to die, he was going to suffocate, he was going to lose, and Reed’s mind shunted its way back into his body with a force that left him reeling. His fingers twitched and then shot up to Doom’s grip around his throat, clawing weakly and desperately. His legs kicked, his mouth worked without sound. And his eyes—

Reed looked at Doom in complete and utter fear, in relief, in desperation.

And Doom let him go. 

Reed hit the floor and gasped, dragging oxygen into his lungs, his entire body trembling, his head spinning inside him. Fear gripped his heart like ice, realizing what had just happened, what had almost just happened—

“You…” Doom’s voice made him flinch. Reed looked up. “You dare… how dare you play dead, play… play gone like that, you ingrate—”

Reed tried to speak, but his throat screamed from the effort, so he shook his head and desperately, fearfully tried to scrabble away. I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to—

“Oh, no no,” Doom said, immediately grabbing his arm and yanking him close. Reed kept shaking his head, kept trying to form the words, kept scraping his bare feet along the dungeon stone. “You’re not going anywhere after that little stunt, my pet. I’m going to destroy you for that.”

Reed stared at Doom’s eyes, desperate, terrified. He tried to convey it with his eyes, even as his mouth moved silently. Accident, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to—

“—ccident,” his voice rasped out, finally, and Doom stopped.

Stared.

“D-Didn’t mean, didn’t mean to, c-couldn’t, I wasn’t—” Reed choked out, and then the words wouldn’t stop coming, wouldn’t stop tumbling from his lips like water from a broken dam. “I, I wasn’t, no c-control, please, I d-d-din’t mean t—couldn’t, I w—dissociating, please, please, I didn’t mean to, please—”

“Silence,” Doom said, and Reed flinched and shut up, shaking in his grasp. 

His eyes bored into Reed’s like lasers. For a few seconds, Reed stared back, trying to show him the truth, that he was telling the truth, that it was an accident, he hadn’t meant to hurt him, he hadn’t meant to make him angry—

Guilt gnawed at Reed’s insides.

You felt joy at his pain. At his fear. You’re horrible. You’re a monster. You’re just as bad as he is.

At that thought, Reed flinched his gaze away, his eyes itching to spill tears he was too dehydrated to even form. 

For a moment, it was quiet. Too quiet. Reed shook, unable to do anything else.

And then, Doom—

—hugged him. 

Reed felt his naked chest press against Doom’s breastplate, felt his head be pushed into the crook of Doom’s neck, felt his arms pinned at his sides twitch as if wanting to hug him back. Embrace him. Comfort him.

I scared him, Reed thought, and then: I scared me, too. 

It was the first time in a very, very long time that Reed had been touched with gentleness, without cruelty. Doom pressed Reed to his chest and let out a deep, relieved sigh. 

“You’re mine, Reed,” he whispered, and Reed’s stomach clenched. But he didn’t sound possessive, demanding, cruel. He sounded firm. Protective. Loving. It turned Reed’s world sideways and left him dangling off the edge with no hope of holding on. 

Reed didn’t have any other choice. He let go.

“I’m yours.” 

Chapter Text

Today, two Doombots came in before Victor did, grabbing Reed’s struggling form and forcing him into cuffs. Two at his wrists, two at his ankles. Reed snarled and struggled, even as the cuffs cut into his skin, even as they forced him to his knees, even as Victor walked into his cell with his stupid billowing cape and stupid armor and stupid, idiotic mask. 

Reed pulled against the grips of the Doombots and showed Victor his teeth, righteous fury filling his gut. But underneath it all was fear, even if Reed refused to show it. 

He didn’t want to get hurt. He didn’t. 

But he refused to let Victor see him as anything that might be considered weak. 

“Victor,” he spat, knowing the man didn’t like it when he called him something other than Doom. His hands shook where they were cuffed behind him, and Reed considered himself lucky that Victor couldn’t see them. “Why the cuffs today? Scared I’ll be able to fight back?”

Victor, bastard that he was, actually snorted at that. 

“As if you’re capable of anything but a few mildly scathing remarks without your powers, Richards,” he replied, gesturing with one hand. The Doombots released Reed’s shoulders and took a step back. His other hand slipped into his pocket.

Reed pulled against the cuffs, unable to stand up, but his eyes followed Victor’s fingers as they pulled the collar’s remote out of his pocket. Victor chuckled. 

“And I can see your fear behind that insultingly thin mask of fury,” he added, taking a step closer. Reed leaned back on his haunches and glared up at him. “You really are quite easy to read. It’s laughable to try to keep anything from Doom.” 

“I’m not scared of you, Victor.”

“Hm. You should be.”

He pressed his thumb to the device in his hand, and Reed’s body seized as pain shot through him, his mouth half open in a silent scream. It went on for what felt like forever, too long, agony scraping its way through his muscles, his bones, his nerves. And then, finally, it stopped.

Reed gasped and slumped onto his knees, shaking and twitching from the aftershocks. He glared at the ground, at his reflection in Victor’s polished armored boots, and breathed. 

And then Victor’s hand slipped beneath Reed’s chin and pulled it aloft, to look up. 

Reed trembled and tried to jerk away, but Victor’s fingers dug into his chin, and Reed heard the click of the button being pressed again.  

This time, he did scream. A ragged, broken thing that emerged from his chest, barely helping stave off the pain ravaging his body. It lasted shorter than the one before, and as soon as it ended, Reed slumped again.

But his chin stayed in Victor’s hand, tilted up towards his face.

Reed breathed shakily and forced himself to meet Victor’s eyes. 

“Do not,” Victor said lowly, “pull away from me, Richards.” 

Reed glowered, not quite able to snarl, show his teeth, give a witty retort. He swallowed thickly, his throat dry and hoarse from screaming. 

Victor’s grip on his chin went gentle again, relaxed. He tilted Reed’s head this way and that, as if observing him, making note of the injuries on his face. Reed’s cheeks burned with humiliation, and he tried to pull away again.

The collar activated once more. He screamed and seized, pain shredding him from the inside out. It stopped as suddenly as it came, and Reed shook like a leaf as Victor cupped his cheek. 

“You will learn to obey me,” Victor said softly, swiping a thumb beneath Reed’s eye. Reed looked up at him, the glare in his eyes reduced and glassy with pain. “You’re stubborn, yes. It will take time. But I will burn my will into you, Richards, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“You…” Reed’s voice broke as Victor moved his hand into Reed’s hair, scratching his scalp, tangling his fingers between his locks. Reed hated how nice it felt, how it sent soft zings of pleasure and warmth down his spine. “You won’t… I won’t…”

“Oh, but you already are, my dear.” 

Reed, with a start, realized he was leaning into Victor’s touch at his scalp. Shame burned his cheeks, and he tried to jerk away, but Victor’s grasp in his hair went tight and ripping, and the collar—

Reed screamed himself hoarse with how long the collar went off that time. Ages. Eons. He didn’t know, couldn’t know. All he knew was that it hurt. 

Finally, finally, the pain stopped. The collar stopped. Reed almost collapsed onto the floor, shaking heavily, a sob halfway out of his throat. Tears began to build in his eyes and slipped down his cheeks.

Victor’s fingers began to scratch, gently, at his scalp once again. An invitation. A reminder. Reed trembled for a moment, trying to resist, trying to find the will to refuse and pull away. 

And then, guilt and shame coloring his cheeks, he closed his eyes in defeat and leaned, softly, into Victor’s gentle touch.

Chapter Text

“No, no, Victor don’t—”

“Quiet,” Victor snapped, caressing Reed’s pinned and helpless body like a lover, like he was something valuable, like he had all the time in the world. Reed’s chest heaved in panic, jerking at the cuffs around his ankles and wrists trapping him against the metal wall. Victor chuckled at his struggling and trailed a soft, scraping gauntlet claw down the middle of his chest. 

Reed’s hands began to shake. He curled them into fists and swallowed, saying, “Victor—”

“I told you,” Victor said, one hand grasping Reed’s chin and jerking his face to meet his eyes, “to be quiet, Richards.”

Reed couldn’t stop trembling. He knew what was coming, he knew what would happen next, he knew he’d be hurt for speaking out of turn, but— “Victor, please, please don’t do this.” 

Something like malice, like excitement, glinted in Victor’s eyes. 

“You sound so pretty when you beg, Richards,” he whispered. Reed shivered, hopelessness swallowing his heart at the look in Vic’s eyes. At the sound of his voice. At the way his claws trailed up and down Reed’s chest, mockingly tender, dangerously sweet. “I think I’m going to enjoy this. Will you?”

“No,” Reed forced out, ignoring the wet, seeping feeling at his base, the goosebumps on his skin, the way his body wanted nothing more than to let Victor have his way with him. “No, no, Vic, please—”

“Hm. Liar.” 

And then, with the snap of his fingers, Victor turned off the light. 

They were plunged into darkness, the empty space left behind by the lack of incessant fluorescent buzzing sending fear into the pit of Reed’s gut. What filled it instead was the sound of Victor removing a gauntlet and dropping it to the floor, the armor clanging loudly on the metal. The shifting of his body, his armor, his cape. And then—

A hiss, a click, a shift, and another clang as some other piece of his armor was dropped unceremoniously to the floor. 

Reed, at first, thought it was his codpiece. 

And then soft, scarred lips found their way to the side of his throat, and Reed gasped at the touch and the realization: 

Victor had removed his mask. 

He hummed as he sucked and bit at Reed’s neck, teasing the skin there and drawing a whine from Reed’s throat. Once again, Reed pulled at the restraints around his wrists and ankles, hating himself for everything, for every spark of pleasure he felt at Victor’s touch, Victor’s lips, Victor’s teeth, Victor’s gauntleted claws—

And then he felt Victor’s fingers—bare, calloused, thick—at his entrance and jerked in fear and shame and anguish.

“N-No, no, no,” Reed whispered as Victor spread him open, teased at his clit, pressed at his fluttering and leaking hole. “No, no, Vic, Vic please, no, please don’t—”

“So wet for me already,” he whispered into Reed’s neck. He peppered kisses up his jaw, to the other side of his face, down the column of his throat. The gauntleted hand gripped his waist so tightly the claws bit into Reed’s skin and drew blood. Reed gasped, tears springing to his eyes. “You want this as much as I do, Reed. Admit it.”

Reed shook his head, trying not to sob even as tears slid down his face. “No, no, no, no, no—”

“Shh, my dear, it’s alright.” His fingers slid into Reed’s cunt, and Reed cried out at the feeling, the shame and ecstasy swirling and tangling inside him. “It’s alright. You can be honest now, with yourself. With me. It’s only the two of us, after all. And I’m not leaving until I’m finished with you.”

His fingers worked the inside of Reed’s walls, squeezing and fluttering around them, and Reed sobbed and hung his head, unable to do anything but let Victor take. And take, and take, and take. Pleasure built up inside his gut like a storm, like a hurricane over the ocean. Victor’s thumb found its way to Reed’s little cock and rubbed, and white hot streaks of pleasure shot up Reed’s spine, into his fingers and toes. He cried out and felt Victor bite into his neck hard, scraping along his back with his claws. 

Every bit of pleasure and pain made Reed ache, dripping, eager. He hated it. He hated Victor. He hated himself most of all. 

“Vic,” he whispered, his voice trembling, crying and overwhelmed. “Vic, Vic, please, please—”

“Please what, my dear?” Victor whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the bitten skin on Reed’s neck. Reed jerked and whimpered pathetically. “What do you want?”

Reed didn’t know. He didn’t know if he wanted Victor to stop or to bring him over the edge. He didn’t want to know. 

He sobbed and pressed his head into Victor’s neck, the hood of his cloak and the armor at his collarbone pressing into Reed’s cheek and soaking up his tears. The skin just beneath Victor’s chin was soft, warm. 

“Please,” he whispered, broken. “Please, please, please…”

“Tell me what you want, Richards, or I won’t give it to you.” 

Victor’s fingers insistently massaged the inside of Reed’s pussy. His thumb pressed into his swollen clit. Reed let out a broken, desperate cry. 

“Please, please, Victor please, let me…” 

Shame curdled his insides. Victor’s fingers stopped, stilled, waiting. Punishingly patient. Reed felt him smile against his own neck.  

“Please let me come, please.” Reed’s voice was barely above a whisper. He sounded so pathetic, so broken, so weak. “Please, please, please.”

Reed could feel Victor thrumming with his own victory. 

“Hm.” His voice was smug, but controlled. Even and smooth and deep. Reed shivered again. “You asked so nicely, Dr. Richards. I suppose I’ll allow it.” The teeth in Victor’s smile scraped against Reed’s neck, gently. Teasingly. “This time, at least.”

His fingers went back to work, maddeningly fast, thrusting in and out, teasing his clit. Reed shouted, sobbed. Jerked his hips in time with Victor’s movements. 

When he finally came, the cry wrenched from his chest sounded like another man’s voice entirely.

Chapter Text

Reed didn’t want anyone fussing over him when Johnny was already so injured from the fight. He could handle himself. He had a medical degree, after all, and the pain at his side was of the dull, throbbing kind that told him he’d simply bruised or fractured a rib or two. Maybe a sting from some torn flesh, but he wasn’t bleeding badly. It was something he could take care of himself. So when the Fantastic Four returned to the Baxter Building and wheeled Johnny off to the medical bay, Sue following close behind, Reed already had his excuse for Ben and the kids planned. He delivered it, and Ben, thankfully, didn’t pry, instead ushering the kids into the kitchen with the promise of brownies and snacks. Reed knew he was mostly doing it so he could stress cook until Johnny recovered enough to annoy him again. The kids, thankfully, went willingly, only Valeria watching him with that keen look of hers that reminded him too much of her uncle. 

Reed quickly slipped into his lab and shut the door behind him, locking it for good measure. Just in case. He’d never hear the end of it from Sue and Ben if they found out within the next day or two. But they wouldn’t. He was fine, after all, even if every intake of breath hurt and his hands were trembling from the pain. Limping slightly, Reed crossed the room to one of his supply cabinets and began rifling through it. 

“Injector, injector,” he muttered to himself, sifting through a stack of bandages and a roll of medical tape. His fingers stuttered against the glass bottles of serums and fluids, making pleasant clink noises in the empty quiet. “God damn it, where are you—”

“You’re injured.” 

Reed, to his credit, didn’t shout or yelp in surprise at Victor’s voice behind him, but he did whip around and curse, then curse again as the pain ricocheted up from his side. He groaned and hunched over on instinct, giving his best exasperated glare at the shape of an armored and cloaked man in the corner, standing in the shadows like a horror movie cryptid. Because of course he was. 

“Victor,” Reed said through gritted teeth. “How—”

“I’ve told you to upgrade your security measures to account for arcane interference, Richards,” Victor said smoothly, stepping out of the shadows to reveal himself fully. He was the same as ever, tall and imposing and ostentatious, and the glint in his eyes told Reed he was smirking beneath the mask. “Your continued refusal to accept the existence of magic and its capabilities is borderline disrespectful. I’m here now, and that’s what matters.”

“What do you want?”

Reed really didn’t have time for whatever game he was playing right now. Any other time, he’d indulge whatever conversation or fight or… liaison Victor had in store, but not today. He was tired, he was injured, and he wanted to rest. 

Apparently, Victor noticed, because he held up his hands palms out as if to assuage Reed of his intentions. 

“Just dropped by while you were away to give Valeria a gift. That’s all.” His voice, even modulated, had a tone that Reed knew was honest, at least. Victor didn’t lie often when it came to Valeria. “I wanted to… check in on you as well. See if I could glean anything useful from your rudimentary laboratory workings.”

The jab made Reed smile despite himself. He knew perfectly well that Victor had come to see him—and yes, maybe steal an item or bit of information from the lab, but that was more and more the excuse these days, not the reason. Sue knew about them, even if the rest of the family didn’t, and she was fine with it. Victor was barely fine with her knowing at all, but still, he’d been behaving himself of late. 

“I’m fine, Victor,” Reed said, and he turned back gingerly to his supply cabinet and began rifling through it again. Victor’s metallic footfalls crossed the room towards him—Reed wondered, distantly, when he’d stopped feeling fear and apprehension at the sound, when he’d started being able to turn his back to Victor without issue. “It’s nice to see you too, by the way.”

“Why aren’t you in the medical bay?”

“Because it’s nothing, Victor. I’m fine. Johnny needs it more than I do at the moment, anyway. I can handle this myself.”

“Is that why you’re hunched over like an old crone with pain and searching for pain medication in the wrong place?” 

Reed shot Victor a glare over his shoulder. He was close now, close enough to touch. He kept his hands to his sides, though, watching. Waiting. 

Reed turned back and shut the cabinet door, realizing Victor was right. Pain meds are one drawer up from here. Of course. 

“How did you know where I kept the pain meds?” Reed asked, wincing as he reached up to the drawer, pulling at his pained side. 

Victor’s gauntleted hand snatched his wrist before it could touch the handle, however, and stopped him. Reed went tense. 

“Because your haphazard organization methods have always been a particular irritation of mine,” Victor replied, reaching up and opening the cabinet drawer himself. He let Reed pull his wrist away and delicately grabbed a syringe and a vial of pain medication and antibiotics. “You’re not tending to yourself on your own, Richards. Sit. I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

Reed opened his mouth to protest. And then, with a start, he realized just how novel this was, Victor actively helping him, offering to heal him, being gentle, kind. It was… It was a progression, surely, of what they’d been doing, of what had been happening between them, but the sudden realization of it hit Reed’s chest and left him breathless with an emotion he couldn’t name. 

Or rather, an emotion he could. But not aloud. Not here. Maybe not ever. 

Victor turned his mask and curious eyes upon Reed’s face. “What are you gawking at, then?”

“Nothing,” Reed said quickly, and then he turned and hobbled his way over to the worn out couch in the room, placing the supplies he’d gathered on a rolling table tray nearby and sitting down gingerly. Victor walked over a moment later and placed his own collection of medical supplies on the tray, and then he sat beside Reed and took his gauntlets off, laying them next to him opposite where Reed sat. 

“Can you lift your arms, Richards?” he asked. 

Reed nodded immediately and tried to take the top of his suit off, but the expression on his face must’ve tipped Victor off to his lie, because he immediately shook his head and tsked reprimandingly. 

“Stubborn fool. Stop. I’ll cut it off you.” He took a scalpel from the tray and began to do so carefully. His calloused hands were warm where they touched Reed’s skin, soft, gentle. 

The shirt came off in tatters, and then Reed’s chest was bared, his side a molted, ugly purple with dried blood crusted where the injury had broken flesh instead of simply bone. Reed winced, glancing up at Victor apologetically. 

“It looks worse than it is,” he said lamely. 

Victor rolled his eyes. 

“Sit still, Richards,” he said, and then he got to work tending Reed’s wounds, his skin on Reed’s skin, his warmth to Reed’s warmth. Reed shivered, face burning, and watched his hands work, watched his eyes behind his mask, watched the floor when the ache in his heart became too much to bear. 

“Thank you,” he whispered softly. 

Victor paused. 

And then he caressed his fingers softly, gently over Reed’s back, just once, briefly. And then, as quickly as he began, he returned dutifully and diligently to his work. 

Reed felt more love and affection inside him than he’d ever even known he could feel.

Chapter Text

Reed came to with a groan, his head spinning with dizziness and pain. He’d… where was he? What had just happened? The fight, the explosion… 

He forced himself to sit up despite the nausea it sent to his stomach. The world felt like it was spinning beneath him, and starbursts of light pinpricked his vision as he peeled his eyelids open. Concussion, his brain supplied to him. The battlefield was in ruins, trees and dirt and branches everywhere, his family nowhere to be found. They’d been… right. They’d been fighting Doctor Doom. Victor. He’d… the explosion…

Reed moved to stand, his knees and elbows trembling from the effort. Ultimately, he slumped back down to the ground, groaning and hanging his head as it wracked him with pain. He lifted one hand to press at his forehead, hoping it would assuage some of the agony—

“Ah, Richards. What a pleasant surprise.” 

Victor’s voice sent adrenaline spiking through Reed’s body. He looked up and saw Doom walking up, stopping as his shadow loomed over Reed’s form like a giant. Reed bared his teeth and launched himself up, fists primed to attack.

Doom easily step-sided him and, when Reed tried to punch him again, snatched his wrists from the air and yanked him closer, his grip bruising. Reed tried to pull away, but then the nausea and spinning and overstimulation of the lights, the noise, the smells, it all became too much, and he would’ve fallen back to the ground were it not for Victor’s hold around his wrists. 

“Let…” The words weren’t coming out of his mouth right. They sounded slurred. Distant. “Let me… Victor, let me go.” 

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that, Doctor Richards.” 

Reed struggled against him again, trying to kick, trying to stretch and extend and slither away, but his power was uncontrolled, messy, gelatinous. He barely had it in him to regain a normal humanoid shape after, and Doom easily grabbed him and held him as he tried to slip away. 

He reached down to his belt and pulled something from it—a collar. Power inhibiting, probably. Reed yelled and tried to pull away again, but the effort was useless. Doom snapped the collar around his throat and then let him drop, and Reed hit the ground with a dazed, dizzy thud and another groan. 

“Vic…” he said, trying to crawl away from Victor’s feet. Doom simply stepped closer each time he inched away, following him like a tiger playing with an injured gazelle. Reed kept crawling. “Vic… Vic stop, please—”

“It seems you’ve been seriously injured in the battle, Doctor Richards,” Doom said. Reed could hear the smirk in his voice, the victory in his tone. “It would be… uncouth of me to leave you out here on your own. Come, to my castle. I have a room already prepared for you. In the dungeons.” 

“You… Victor, you…” Reed didn’t get anything else out before Doom grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet, dragging him towards the castle in the distance. His own feet stumbled over themselves clumsily, unable to keep up. Whenever he fell behind, Doom yanked him forward harshly. “No, no, Victor, stop—”

“Silence, Richards,” Doom said, dragging him through the dirt and grass and mud. “You’re mine, now. I hope you’re prepared for what I have in store.” 

Reed had no doubt he wouldn’t be. But try as he might, he couldn’t escape, his struggling futile. Victor’s grasp around his arm was too strong. The collar around his neck felt cold and hard and merciless. 

And still, Reed Richards struggled as Victor von Doom dragged him away.