#Was that crude? I thought the new Krakoa was into that sort of thing. ‼ Not Safe for Work

[madmanipulation]

Consequences

[ I won’t sugarcoat it. This is dark. It explores the most deplorable part of Jamie’s history, his involvement in human trafficking/slave trading and a consequence of it for him as I headcanon.

Warnings: adult themes, human trafficking, slave trading, grape, sexual assault, dubious consent, drug use, mentions of gambling, murder, torture, trauma to children, racist themes ]

The air was dry enough to suck the moisture out of the back of his throat when he exited the Jeep, but Jamie held back a cough, even as thick cigar smoke filled his lungs. It was necessary. The heavy scent of cigar smoke covered up the smells that lingered around small villages. The cattle, the lack of plumbing...“Ugh. Smells like shit,” he groaned. At least the smoke would be more prominent on his suit than the smell of third world poverty.

The sounds of war rang out in the village in the form of screams and gunfire. “No blokes! Market’s slow for them, and we have enough already!” Jamie barked out to his men, a team of South African rebels turned mercenaries for human traffickers with too much money. The more masculine of the screams and pleas were silenced with a rain of bullets. Automatic weapons seemed like overkill, but what did Jamie know? He hadn’t selected their weapons, just funded them. Besides, they worked.

Human trafficking was more lucrative than his more prominent career of racing cars. It allowed Jamie to bet more money on the races, increasing his winnings sometimes tenfold. He was a self-aware financial genius, so the Braddock funds were well-protected from his addiction, especially after the first major loss. That meant he had to keep his illegal gains coming in, though, to fuel his habit. That meant he needed more bodies, and Africa was a prime location to obtain them.

“What do we do with the whites?” the leader of his team, a heavily scarred man with a thick South African accent, asked. Jamie wondered what the Hell he had meant by “watts”, before he saw them. Before him were three men and a woman, all white. Judging by their attire, they were from the US. The wolf graphic t-shirt was a dead giveaway.

It wasn’t unusual to come across missionaries or Red Cross or other aid workers out among the more isolated tribes, but it complicated the whole mission. Jamie was visibly annoyed. At least there was one broad. “You. Yeah, the bird, take off your clothes.” When she looked around in panicked confusion, he snapped, impatient, “Off with the shirt and shorts! Strip!” A nudge on the back of her head with the butt of a rifle snapped her out of her shock and she managed to fumble out of her clothing and down to her underwear by the time Jamie made his way over to her. He stopped her by grabbing her by the jaw, then examined what she had revealed, a full B-cup, nearly a C, and minimal stretch marks, but she was carrying a bit of chub. “A bit homely, but we could work her into the right shape. Line her up,” he ordered.

Curiously, he plucked up her shorts as she was dragged towards a line of other women and searched through her pockets. She hadn’t been carrying much, just a pamphlet for her church and the beginnings of a beaded accessory. It looked like she had been learning the craft of a tribeswoman. Disinterested, he tossed her belongings at one of the men left kneeling.

“Get rid of them.” The woman’s scream at the order barely registered. It certainly didn’t elicit any reaction from Jamie.

He turned away from the three executions to his potential products, frightened girls and women ranging from their mid-teens to late twenties. They screamed and cried at the death surrounding them, begged in their own form of the Ndebele language to be spared, but Jamie didn’t care. He had reduced them to objects in his mind. Never had he thought much of women, so it was easy to detach completely from those he sold. He just paced down the line, tearing open their clothing and crassly assessing their bodies. “Couldn’t even starve this one into shape by the next auction...Nice tits on this one. Load her up...Too young. What did I say? No bloody mites in my stock!...Hah! What, did you have twins? Tragic...Fat one, ain’t she? She’s got that nanny appeal, though. Load her up.” 

On and on, he went, until he came to the last in line, the white woman. In his career, he’d sold only two others. They had both gone through more than one auction to sell because no one wanted to risk buying a white woman. They were more likely to be recognised. Families in the US, Canada, and the UK tended to have their loved ones’ photos posted all over the media while searching for them. The appeal of the tribal African woman was no one would be looking for her. Still, the missionary had an appealing face that Jamie thought he could sell. “Load her up. Don’t let her sit. She’s jiggling like a bloody pudding,” he laughed.

Finally done with his part, he stepped back into the Jeep and waited for the women to be loaded into the largest vehicle in the fleet. The commotion that followed was straight out of a nightmare. When he was done with his selection, the men were free to do with the rest as they pleased, as long as there was no evidence left and no witnesses. 

“There’s too much noise.” Grumbling, Jamie turned on the radio and put it on full volume. 

His driver made no move to save his eardrums, just kept his eyes on the steering wheel, detached. Everyone had their own way of coping with the monstrosities outside.

In the back of the Jeep, a woman squealed, startled awake. “Jamie!”

Jamie was startled himself. “Is that you, Emerald?” the eldest Braddock laughed. He’d forgotten about her completely after she passed out in the backseat on the ride to the village. 

The woman, a shapely brunette with eyes to match her given name, groaned miserably and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead to relieve some pressure. She was coming off of her last dose of heroin, but Jamie was unsympathetic to her withdrawals. Somehow, she’d managed to sleep through the commotion outside, but the high-pitched squeal of an electric guitar was too much apparently. “Turn that down!” she screeched.

“Oh, fuck off!” Jamie responded with a dismissive wave. She was no fun without drugs in her veins.

“Jamiiieee!” came another whine. When she clearly wasn’t going to get her way, she opted to earn a bit of consideration in the future, climbing into the front seat. 

The driver flinched when she accidentally kneed him in the shoulder, but reacted with practised indifference when she laid her legs across his lap.

Jamie, an easy man when he needed a distraction, was sucked into her affections, leaning into her fingers combing through his hair, her dark green nails gently scraping his scalp. They’d met on a boat tour off the southern tip of the continent, and Jamie had been drawn to her callous comments about local divers and the great whites. She was soulless, and an addict. He could relate. He could also use her for relief when his own blackened heart threatened to find a pulse.

“Jamiiie,” she whined again, but, this time, it was cute with an audible pout. She wanted permission into his trousers, the minx, which he granted with fingers finding their way up her dress.

That was how Jamie ignored the senseless cruelty around him, by getting his dick sucked and fingering a sexy heiress to Thunderstruck while children cried out for their mothers and freshly violated women clutched their husbands’ corpses to their breasts as they waited for mercy in the form of a well-aimed bullet.

___

“Spitting on you?” It wasn’t shocking news at all really. There was always one that spat in the group. Jamie just had a hard time understanding the man half the time. When he received a very heavily accented confirmation, he laughed. “There are blokes who would pay for that, you know.”

Simon, as he preferred to be called, though it was doubtful it was his real name, was not amused. Despite working for Jamie, he showed him about as much respect as he was shown, which wasn’t a lot. “It’s the disrespect,” he told him flatly.

With a roll of his eyes, Jamie pushed past the leader of his makeshift band of cold-blooded killers and walked over to his chattel, which were all huddled together in a corner of the warehouse. “Which one is it?”

“Young one. Got a pretty face.”

Helpful, he thought sarcastically as he looked over his lovely little bunch. Jamie didn’t select ugly women. Eventually, he gave up and just started gesturing to the younger individuals until Simon gave him confirmation. He wasn’t wrong, she was pretty. Her rich dark skin was unblemished and her face was still soft with baby fat. “Have you tried giving her a smack?” he asked as he looked over his shoulder.

Simon’s chapped lips twisted in annoyance. “We know how to do our job.”

While he knew that, the opposite was proving to be true. “Do you? You’re supposed to break them. Broken birds don’t spit.” Reaching out, he grabbed the woman by her upper arm and pulled her away from the others. Her will was strong, but Jamie was stronger. It took some effort and one hard yank, but, eventually, he managed to jerk her out of her smelly little safety pile.

She righted herself after a bit of a stumble, but, once she was steady on her own two feet, she looked Jamie Braddock in the eyes, gathered up what she could from deep in her throat, and spat in his face.

There was an audible gasp from their female audience and at least one snort from the men, cheeky bugger, but Jamie was silent, dangerously so. Calmly, he tugged the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped away what he could from his cheek. That dirty feeling wasn’t going to go away until he washed his face, though. With a use of force his victims had not witnessed from him before, he threw the offender to the hard concrete floor. Then, he reached into his jacket. 

The woman checked the elbow she had landed on before she looked back to the monster. When she saw what he had retrieved from his jacket, her eyes rounded in horror and she held an arm up to shield herself, but it didn’t stop a bullet from embedding itself in her brain. Screams rang out and echoed on the warehouse walls as she collapsed limply onto the floor. 

Revolver still in hand, Jamie turned to what was left of his goods, which were clinging to each other for protection. “No bloody SPITTING!” he yelled, gesturing at them with the weapon.

Most of them tried to restrain their screams in fear of attracting his attention, but one woman began to wail. “God, save us! Please, God!” It was no surprise to see it was the white woman. Not only was she the only believer of God in the bunch, but she clearly didn’t know how to act in the situation she was in.

Jamie found it hilarious. Cruelly, he laughed at her, cackled at her fear and desperation.��“The only god here is Jamie Braddock!”

___

The goods had been spread and checked, divided into ‘virgin’ or ‘used’, and shaped to Jamie’s standards. They were all freshly cleaned and covered in sheer fabrics that left little to the imagination, but that little was enough to entice the bidders.

Jamie was already over a million in profit when the white woman was paraded around the stage. Hesitant bids were thrown out, but nothing to the level of an African woman of the same age. No matter how much he’d had her body tightened or her hair bleached and face painted, she was still a risky investment. 

When the bids slowed dangerously, he walked out on stage, a move that was unheard of at the auctions, to lift the cloth covering her chest teasingly, only enough to expose the slightest of areola. “Would you look at that?” The crowd applauded, their interest growing, and some bidders threw out offers only because they were caught up in the fun. Putting on a bit of a show, Jamie gave the bottom of one breast a few good taps to make it jiggle. “Got a nice bounce to them, don’t they?” Verbal bids were lost in laughter, but their raised signs were noted.

The woman swallowed thickly to restrain her disgust, not audibly, but it did not evade Jamie’s notice. For it, he brushed the fabric all the way up over her breast in one long self-indulgent stroke, putting the breast on full display. With that action, he got an African woman’s worth out of her.

That wasn’t enough for Jamie, though. He reached down and began to slowly pull the cloth tied around her hips up, doing a little dance behind her as he did. As the crowd’s cheers began to build, he ignored a choked sob from his product. She knew better than to embarrass him. He was carrying a revolver and would not hesitate to use it. Then, he exposed her to the crowd of mostly men, the more shameless of which pushed to the front to peek. “Pretty in pink, isn’t she?” he asked the audience. Their praises hid her whimpers beautifully. 

When the bidding ended, he’d pulled in nearly double for the woman, as much as a teenager would have gotten him, and she was sold to a cobalt baron operating two mines in Africa. The baron thanked him personally, but Jamie was already too distracted by one of the female bidders to pay him any mind. He was hopped up on the attention he had gotten on the stage and wanted to ride that high with a jobby or some old-fashioned sex.

___

A year later, the auctions were still as alive as the year before, and Jamie was in the prime of his trade. He’d just sold his own bodies and was enjoying what the auction had to offer, namely the provided drinks, while other traffickers paraded their finds across the stage. The women on the stage didn’t interest him. No unwilling woman did. If he wanted a little fight, he made a consenting partner regret their decision. He didn’t force himself on a bird like a pathetic, desperate little boy.

While he was enjoying an aged bourbon and tolerating the company of an elderly braggart, his table was approached by a portly middle-aged man with a booming voice and his lovely date, a miserable-looking woman with a hollow stare. Not every piece of arm candy was made for their lifestyle he supposed. It could be traumatising for some. “James!”

“Call me Jamie,” he corrected, offering a friendly handshake, which was eagerly accepted. It jostled his arm like an umbrella caught in the wind, but it was a fun experience that made him laugh. With a charming smile, Jamie gestured to the seat beside him. “Join me.” Maybe the boisterous bloke would drown out his previous company’s claims of being "as virile as a pubescent boy”. Disgusting really.

The man settled onto the chair while his date stood at his side with a hand on his shoulder, not at all strange in a community where women were accessories, even the ones that weren’t literally property. “Jamie, good man, I’m glad to see you back this year. You have the best taste, the best of them, ya hear?” the man complimented in an excessively Texan accent, and Jamie preened. No one had better taste in birds than Jamie Braddock, it was true! “I can’t wait to take my new girl home. She’s going to make a fine addition to my collection!”

Jamie took a satisfying gulp from his drink, one that warmed his core and promised a bit of gradual relaxation from the adrenaline high of his success. “A collector, are you? I see you’re a man of fine taste yourself.” He indicated his date with a tilt of his nearly empty glass in her direction. She didn’t react, just stared ahead like a soldier. Odd, but not odd enough to really note. All he was interested in was how her tiny dress was too short to cover the crease in her silk knickers.

“Do you like her? Claire, sweetheart, show him some of that southern hospitality I offer at the manor. Maybe it’ll give him a reason to visit.” A swat on Claire’s bottom sent her over to Jamie. “Something tells me we would get along outside of these auctions here.”

Jamie had expected a little stroke of his cheek, maybe a kiss from the dolled-up companion. What he hadn’t expected was for her to slide into his lap, nor had he expected her hands to stroke over his shoulders and down his chest. As surprised as he was, he didn’t show it, just smiled at the woman he admittedly thought was quite pretty, though she would have been prettier with a smile on her lips. “Well, hello there. Aren’t you an affectionate one?” he chuckled. His arm settled around her waist instinctively, ensuring she wouldn’t experience any nasty spills while in his care. 

“What makes you think that, hm?” he asked the man, politely redirecting his attention where was most respectful. After all, his lap candy was a temporary gift, not his company. Though he wondered what the gift was meant to be when her hands continued to wander and her lips painted his neck a vibrant red with sultry kisses.

A smirk slanted the man’s lips as he watched Claire find the end of Jamie’s shirt to feel up under it. A voyeur, Jamie assumed. Good thing he was an exhibitionist. “I hear we both enjoy women, but prefer the company of men.”

At the time, that sentence could have meant two very different things, but Jamie was not in the mood for corrections. He was far too distracted by the hips rolling enticingly against his own, all too aware of how those silk-covered lips were sliding over the cover of his zipper. Oh, he realised. She meant to fuck him. He forgot to answer the claim for a moment, looking down at the woman’s pushed-up chest. He wondered what she looked like without an underwire and padding. Curious, shameless, and entitled, he couldn’t help but to pull the straps of her dress and bra down her arms to expose her. Lovely, he mused, as he cupped one perky breast and thumbed over her pert nipple. As a breast man, he was sold in that moment. Maybe they weren’t the size he liked, but they were still the shape he favoured.

“Well said,” he replied absentmindedly. All that he received in response was a chuckle and a sigh. It occurred to him that he was probably being set up so the bloke could see his cock, but he didn’t care, not when practised hands were unbuckling his belt and opening his trousers. To save himself the mess that a horny bird could make, he moved things along a bit quicker than normal and lifted his hips to push his pricey trousers down his thighs. Then, he leaned down and indulged, taking a rosy nipple into his mouth, as his hardening length was enveloped by a certain moist heat. 

It didn’t occur to him, not once, that he was fucking a sex slave, a woman he had sold into a waking nightmare that would haunt her for the rest of her life, because dolled-up white women were usually dates at the auctions. He didn’t consider that he was raping a woman who would have been brutally punished, or even killed, had she refused to pleasure him. Had he known, he would have refused her.

___

It was like a scene out of an American sitcom, a perfect little cul-de-sac with cookie cutter houses and perfectly manicured lawns in the middle of Garry Marshall‘s USA. Jamie checked the string that was pulled tight from his core, a manifestation of reality that no one else could see. It definitely led to the home at the very end of the street. 

Over the years, he had pointedly ignored two very prominent strings attached to himself, even though he had known what they were. In various states of sanity, he had dismissed even the tiniest niggling of curiosity about them. Until recently, when a tiny fairy child with pointed elvish ears had asked him a question.

Uncle Jamie, why don’t you have any children?

It took a fight with his nerves, but, eventually, he mustered the courage to leave his car, which he left at the entrance to the cul-de-sac. He had already made a visit to another family, so he thought he knew what to expect.

He had no idea. 

Before he could ring the doorbell, he saw the blinds on the window closest to the front door snap back into place. Had someone been watching him? Then, there was a panicked order. The words were too muffled to make out, but he knew the tone. “Wha--?”

The door swung open violently then, revealing a heavyset woman with a revolver, the same gun he had used in front of the terrified victims of his trafficking. “You won’t take me or my daughter,” she told him, her voice holding conviction, but shaking with a fear Jamie did not understand. 

Taking advantage of her shaking hands, Jamie reached out and simply took the gun in a manoeuvre he had learned from an American soldier turned mercenary, twisting his body out of her aim and into her body at the same time. She stumbled back with the impact, but he caught her by the shirt to keep her upright. He then casually tossed the revolver into the bushes lining her driveway. “I’m not here to take anyone. What the bloody Hell was all that for, you crazy bird?”

“Like you don’t know!” she snapped, shaking bodily since she was no longer armed and at the mercy of Jamie Braddock.

“Are you that bloody pissed that I left you up the duff?" Speaking of which, he looked past her at the empty home. No, not empty. When he unfocused his vision, more like focused it in an unnatural way, he could see the string leading up the stairs.

“Up the--?” she stuttered, perplexed. Jamie made a mental note not to use too much British slang. He would have explained, but she wasn’t done. “You--YOU SOLD ME INTO SEX SLAVERY AND RAPED ME!” Her scream left the monster of her nightmares with a ringing in his ears, either from the volume or the realisation of who he was speaking to and what he had done to her...

But he had never raped anyone. “Do I look like I need to force myself on someone to get off?” he accused, shoving her backwards. She was lying. Had to be.

The woman stumbled, but she caught herself on her banister before she could fall. As she was righting herself, Jamie walked past, jogging up the stairs.

He didn’t see the woman run outside, nor would he have cared. He was on a mission to find where the string led. That was what was important. That was why he was in America. Into a bedroom he crept and up to a closet with its door swung wide open. There, he found nothing out of the ordinary, save for a woman’s shoes scattered outside of it and an invisible bright red string leading into the back of it. 

Curiously, he crouched down and crawled beneath the clothing hanging overhead. Then, he gave the back wall a couple of light taps with a knuckle. Tap tap. “Hello? Can you hear me, little one?” he called out softly.

“Go away!” came a small boy’s voice, followed by another child’s voice that promptly hushed him.

There was more than one behind the door! ��It’s alright, little mites. Your mummy had a bit of a fright, but she said you can come out now,” he urged gently. 

It took a moment of hushed debating, but, finally, there was a click, and the door opened in to three young children, two little boys and their older sister. The string ended at the girl, buried so deeply in the tangle of red that was her reality that it could never be pulled. It was integral to her very existence. If Jamie severed it, she would simply disappear, because she could not exist without that link to him. To Jamie. Her father.

There was no question about it really. He didn’t need a string or a blood test to tell him the little girl with the telltale Braddock blue eyes and certain freckles he remembered dotting Betsy’s face as a girl was his daughter. In fact, she looked an awful lot like Betsy, save for her wavy brown hair. It was a bit disorienting.

“You sound funny,” said one of the boys, snapping Jamie out of his awe. Good thing too. His hold on sanity was not its strongest.

Jamie laughed and gave the boy’s cheek a pinch. “Do I?”

His laughter must have been contagious to the little girl, who giggled in response. “You do! You sound like Harry Potter!” she told him.

“Well,” he started as he reached into the little hiding spot and scooped the children into his strong arms, strong enough for three little ones at least, “I am not Harry Potter. My name is Jamie. What are your names?”

“I’m Jack, and that’s Angel.” The smaller boy gripped Jamie’s shoulder and enjoyed the ride up to a man’s height, while his sister sat comfortably on Jamie’s hip, an arm looped around his bicep for security and a hand resting on his chest for comfort.

“Tim.” The eldest of the two boys was less trusting than his chatty siblings, but, eventually, he wrapped his arms around the stranger’s neck to steady himself and seated his bum on Jamie’s forearm.

“Angel, is it? Are you a little angel?” he asked, smiling warmly at the namesake peering up at him.

In that moment, there was a commotion of heavy hurried footsteps, and the woman appeared at the bedroom doorway brandishing the gun she had fished out of the bushes. When she saw her children in Jamie’s arms, though, she quickly hid the weapon behind her back. Poor bird looked like her world was about to be shattered.

“Mommy! Doesn’t Jamie sound like Harry Potter?” asked Angel, unaware of the terror on her mother’s face. Poor thing had probably never seen that look on her before. Hopefully, she hadn’t.

The woman gave Jamie a cautious questioning look for a too-long moment, then tried to fix her expression into something less frightening for the children. “He...sounds British, yes,” she confirmed, though it wasn’t as amusing to her.

Seeing how things were awkward, Jamie set the siblings down on their feet and gave the two taller ones a pat on their backs. “Off to your rooms to play now. I have to talk to mommy. Boring adult topics. Taxes and...politics,” he lied.

Tim huffed out an unenthusiastic, “Ugh, yawn,” and waved his siblings along. “Let’s play robots.”

Angel was clearly not pleased with his suggestion. “But I wanna play Barbies, Tim!”

Jamie waited until they were out of earshot before he addressed their mother. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Downstairs in the living area, they sat across from one another. Claire introduced herself none too politely and explained her accusations. She told Jamie about her experiences with the men he had hired.

“After we were brought to the warehouse, we were all...checked. They had us strip, lay on our backs on a dirty tarp on the concrete, and spread our legs for them. They...spread us open with their fingers and looked for unbroken hymens. Despite being a virgin, I was labelled “used”, because I had no hymen, and that meant...they could rape me as much as they wanted while I was there...and they did. Every...day...”

There was nothing Jamie could say to that. He just stared down at his hands folded in his lap. Her torment had been his explicit orders. Not only had the constant sexual abuse served as a means to break their spirits, but part of his payment to the men had been access to the bodies they had helped him kidnap. She had paid those men with her pain.

The strained conversation continued with a question Claire could only find an answer to from Jamie. “Before the auction, we were served a course of pills. What were they?”

Jamie answered with the cold hard truth, though he kept his head down. “PEP for HIV exposure and Mifepristone, to abort any pregnancies that might have occurred.”

“PEP?” Incredulously, she asked again. “PEP?”

A nod was all he offered.

Careful not to alarm her children, she found a balance between quiet and pure rage. “That was almost three weeks after the rapes started! What the fuck was it supposed to do then?”

Again, he stayed quiet, having nothing to offer. He had known about the 72 hour limit, of course, but he hadn’t cared about the effectiveness of the drug regimen, just that he had been able to advertise them as having taken HIV prevention drugs. 

Obviously not satisfied with his silence, Claire threw the revolver at him.

The gun didn’t go off, thankfully, but it was a heavy hunk of metal that collided with the top of his head. Jamie covered the sore spot, then checked his hand for blood. There was a bit, but not enough to worry about. Angry, but feeling as though he had deserved that, all he did was glare at his victim and shove the gun between her couch cushions so she couldn’t use it again.

Claire seemed to wait for his retaliation, but, when none came, she continued with her story, her words bleeding with loathing. “Ironic, isn’t it? You forced an abortion on me, but I had a baby anyway, yours.” After a short stretch of his silence, she clarified. “You sold me to the owner of a few cobalt mines, Daniel Thomas. He was a sick man. Most of the women he bought, he forced to have sex with the men he was interested in so he could watch. One of those men was you, Jamie. One night, at one of those...damn auctions, he told me to show you some “southern hospitality”. Do you remember that? I had no choice. The last woman who refused was killed for embarrassing him in front of one of his crushes. He choked her to death with his belt...She’s probably still buried on the edge of that mine...I didn’t...want to end up like her, so I did what he told me to do.”

His fists clenched to stop his hands from shaking. It was true. He had raped her. The memory was so vivid, and he couldn’t deny how miserable she had looked, how dead inside she had been. She had been a slave, not a date. He should have known, but he hadn’t cared enough to consider it.

“I knew I was pregnant a month or so after. I just knew it. No test. Just intuition. That was what snapped me out of the daze I was in. It all went from a nightmare that didn’t feel real to...reality. I knew I had to escape...to get an abortion. The last thing I wanted was to have your baby.”

Honestly, he would have agreed with that decision. He would have forced it upon her had he known. That was what he had done with every woman who had come to him with a bun in the oven. “Why did you change your mind?”

“I didn’t,” she scoffed. “When I finally escaped, it was too late. I was eight months pregnant." She sniffed back her welling tears, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, and Jamie couldn’t blame her for feeling emotional. “At first, I was going to give her up for adoption...When I saw her, though...I couldn’t let her go. I thought I would hate her. I thought her face would take me back to that day when you took me...but all I saw was my little angel...”

Jamie didn’t know if he believed in God. He had met people as powerful as God, even considered himself among them. He supposed that made his daughter an angel sent by God, a thought he kept to himself. There was a time and place.

The conversation never got any easier. Claire was too traumatised to forgive him, not that he would ever ask for forgiveness, and couldn’t calm down enough to answer his questions without a thick layer of spite. What he managed to gather from her, though, was that she was a good mother, the best a woman in her situation could be. She loved her children and was willing to protect them with her life. He also learned they had a father, the boys’ biological father, who was a good father to all of them. Legally, he was Angel’s father too, and she understood him to be her father. The two parents had divorced a little over a year ago. It had been a smooth separation, though, and he still acted as the children’s father, albeit usually on the weekends. 

Jamie told her about his faults. She seemed annoyed to hear about him at first, before she realised he was telling her pertinent medical information and hereditary issues, like his problem with addiction. That, he watched her soak up like a sponge, storing it away for when her daughter was old enough to experiment with drugs. He put extra emphasis on gambling.

“Now, that would be the thing to end her,” he warned, and Claire’s softened expression told him she understood. She could never expose her daughter to gambling, even in the form of a children’s game.

His list of strengths was less interesting to her, but Jamie thought it necessary to prepare her for a child that could excel beyond expectations. A glare after a mention of his charisma shut him up, though.

After that, they sat in silence, Claire suffering his presence while Jamie waited. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, he just knew there had to be more to be said. She showed no sign of speaking, though. When it occurred to him that he had done the unthinkable to Claire and was currently sitting beside her gun, he promptly excused himself to allow her a chance to retrieve her weapon, which would give her some comfort, and to retrieve something himself. 

Unfortunately for Claire, he returned minutes later, carrying a folder and a strip of paper he had retrieved from his car. He watched her decide whether or not to shut the door in his face, or maybe even shoot him, before she stepped out of his way. Good choice, he thought. Once inside, he set the folder on the coffee table and explained what was inside.

“I don’t want anything from you!” she screamed, a sound so filled with pain, disgust, and rage that Jamie would never forget it. The giggles of the children playing upstairs silenced for just a moment, but resumed when the screaming seemed to be done. After looking inside of it in disbelief, she tried to throw the folder back into his face, but Jamie just gathered the paperwork back into it and set it back down on her coffee table, assuring her she didn’t have to touch it, but her daughter deserved it.

He had opened six accounts the day before with the help of two trusted lawyers, lawyers who were now trustees for those accounts. One of the lawyers was a bit strict, a prick really, but the other was familiar with the Braddock family’s eldest, as he had served the family for decades, and was instructed to bend and overrule the other when he knew Jamie would insist on approval. Two of the accounts were trusts for the mothers of his children, set aside for them to do with as they wished, as long as there was some benefit for his children. They were permitted large purchases, not just the bare essentials, from a larger home for the child to play in to a wedding to celebrate the formation of a family the child deserved. Two of the accounts were higher education funds only to be used on higher education and everything required by it, not limited to just university. Both held three times the value of what they could ever need from them to factor for inflation, and the rest was theirs when they received a degree or certificate. The last two held an inheritance for when the children fulfilled their higher education requirements. They would never want for anything.

That was all Jamie had to offer his children, the Braddock fortune and what was on the strip of paper, a direct line to the Braddock they deserved, Brian. He made certain to tell Claire that Brian was nothing like him, that he had even left him to die for his crimes. She seemed receptive to the number after that. Understandably.

At the end of the visit, when Jamie finally decided it was time to leave his victim in peace, he sought out his daughter. The string that connected them guided him up to what looked to be her brothers’ room, her mother close behind him, where Angel was pouting as her brother treated her Barbie like the villain in his hero robot story. When they noticed Jamie, they all brightened, not just the little girl who would always feel an inexplicable connection to him.

“Come now, give us a hug,” he told the children, who were blissfully unaware of the monster he was. Since their first meeting had dissipated their fears, they nearly pounced him for the offered hug. He laughed and embraced them all at once, but his left hand rested over his daughter’s back affectionately to feel her warmth, the beat of her heart, and the texture of her hair hanging loosely down her back. He breathed her in, then admired her face for a long moment after they parted, because it was the last time he would ever see her.

As children do, they whined when he bid them farewell, but he told them their mommy was going to get them ice cream. It earned him a glare, but it was less severe than the ones Claire had cut him with earlier.

“Do her a favour, will you? Don’t ever let her find out the truth,” he told Claire as he walked out of her door and out of their lives.

___

Jamie sat six blocks from Claire’s house in his luxury car as he choked back tears, pounding on his steering wheel in place of striking himself in the face or worse. It didn’t help. Nothing would. There was no outlet for what he was feeling.

His daughter was the product of rape and a consequence of his evildoing and hedonism. His daughter. A little girl as a consequence of his abuse of women. Fitting, but terribly unfair for Angel. He felt sick. He felt disgusted with himself.

“FUCK!” he screamed into the vehicle. “FUUUCK!” His cries were like a trapped animal, helpless howls of despair.

What had he done? What had he fucking done!?

With time, his voice grew hoarse and his eyes began to burn, and his cries...

...became hysterical laughter.

[madkingjamie]

Tag Dump

Aesthetic: I just broke reality. ‼ Aesthetic

Anonymous: Hello? King Jamie speaking? ‼ Anonymous

Headcanon: Got to be a joker / he just do what he please. ‼ Headcanon

Not Safe for Work: Was that crude? I thought the new Krakoa was into that sort of thing. ‼ Not Safe for Work

Open: Won’t this be fun!? ‼ Open

Out of Character: Imagine if I could do all this in reality? ‼ Out of Character

Promo: Well well well / what have we here? ‼ Promo

Queue: I guess you have limits. Not me. Not anymore. ‼ Queue

Character Tags:

I’ve got the crown on me head. See? ‼ James Braddock Jr.

All mine! I’m going to call you Captain Avalon. ‼ Brian Braddock

Ah! No hitting the king / Bets. ‼ Elizabeth Braddock

How about you take the kiddies for a walk and I stay and keep my brother’s pretty wife company? ‼ Meggan Puceanu Braddock

I don’t mind if you sniff my pillow. ‼ Opal Luna Saturnyne

Oooh / that’s a right crackin’ cape you’ve got there. ‼ Nathaniel Essex

[madmanipulation]

“She wot?” the young Braddock yelled over the music pounding through the two-story home. A boy from the local public school was throwing a party, a real menace to the public, and Jamie and company were looking to evade arrest by the end of the night. The problem was the music was so loud the only way anyone could communicate was through screaming in each other’s ears.

Ned resisted, probably too embarrassed to say it again, until Jamie raised his brow expectantly. “She’s making out with some benefits bloke upstairs!” he admitted.

Having caught the announcement, Godfrey blew the beginnings of a laugh into his unsuspecting fling’s mouth, puffing out her painted cheeks, which pulled a guffaw out of Jamie. “Didn’t she ask you out?” Godfrey asked as he wiped electric pink lipstick from his lips.

The misery was heavy on poor Ned’s face. He’d spent the whole day bragging about how he was going to get lucky, even secretly admitted to Jamie that he’d been chatting her up for something more serious than a fling, but, now, it looked like he was just going to spend the night sulking. “Yeah!” Frowning, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and went to squeeze into a spot near Jamie, but his best friend had other ideas.

Jamie could see the humour in his friends’ misery, but that didn’t mean he would stand for it. Someone was going to be miserable tonight, and it wasn’t going to be Ned. A man on a mission, he weaved his way through dancing teenagers in search of silence. Finding the music system was easy. In the 80′s, a good one was the size of a wardrobe after all. It helped that there was a small opening in the crowd nearby where the host of the party and a friend were on the floor sorting through the cassettes they wanted to play. Without warning, Jamie pounded his fist into the power button, leaving an awkward silence over the party. 

Before anyone could complain, though, Jamie barked out, “BRING ME THE WHORE!!!” Despite the crass language and the foreboding message behind it, his expression remained bright, a promise of fun to be had.

There was something about Jamie, always had been, that enchanted the people around him. The crowd responded with laughter and quickly found a rhythm to chant, “BRING! THE! WHORE!” to. There were those who were clearly uneasy about it, but they knew, even if they’d never met the dark-haired teenager before, not to intervene.

Pressured by his peers and honestly feeling less than sympathetic towards her, Ned jogged up the stairs to find his date, Godfrey close behind him to not be left out of the fun, and, when they returned, they had a frightened shirtless blonde girl between them. She was lucky she hadn’t gotten her bra off because they would have dragged her down without it. Behind them was a confused and equally scared boy pleading with them to let her go, the boy she had chosen over Ned. 

“BRING HER HERE!” Jamie called, then stood atop a coffee table. Even with a few ciders in his belly, he maintained his balance upon his stage.

Amina made her way through the parting crowd ahead of her friends, looking to join them, but she stood back as the poor girl was shoved before Jamie to observe. She didn’t know what was happening after all.

Cruelly, Jamie laughed as he watched the girl try to cover herself. “What’s the matter, slag? Suddenly shy?” he taunted with far too much amusement in his eyes. “Saw you walking down the stairs. Barely a bounce.” The crowd laughed at his crude joke, which only spurred him on. Looking to the bloke who’d followed her downstairs, he gestured to his victim. “Are you sure about her, mate? Kind of flat, don’t you think?” Another round of uproarious laughter encouraged him further. 

“Think there’s enough of a squeeze left in her to get you off? Heard she’s easy, mate. I wouldn’t even bother with her if you haven’t worn her like a finger puppet yet.” It was no coincidence the laughter seemed to be mostly male at that point, but all that mattered to Jamie was the look of sadistic satisfaction on Ned’s face. An eye for an eye. Now she was humiliated and miserable.

The girl tried to withdraw from the situation, but Amina grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her back into place. She had one loyalty, to Jamie and Jamie alone, no matter what it made her an accomplice to.

“Leave me alone!” the girl cried, bowing her head to hide behind a curtain of blonde curls.

“Slags like you don’t want to be left alone,” Jamie continued to mock. “You want to sneak upstairs with another bloke while your date’s hanging out with his mates downstairs, don’t you?” Laughter and scandalous ooohs filled the room. 

Jamie then let the girl tremble and sniffle at his feet for a moment, cowering and trying to hide her shame. He wanted the whispers and murmurs of the crowd and the slowly building chant of, “SLAG!” to permeate her fragile psyche, to humiliate her beyond repair. He wanted her to carry that moment like a scar, like an amputation, for the rest of her life.

Before the chanting got too loud, he ended the show with a, “Who wants to show me mate what a real woman is!?” Girls cheered, the more eager ones pushing their way towards Jamie.

He directed one towards the “handsome blond bloke” before he hopped off the coffee table to hear what Amina was demanding of their terrified victim.

“Did you think you could get away with that?” was all he caught before Amina lashed out and struck the girl, making her scream and recoil, but, despite the calls for a cat fight, she left it at that to join Jamie’s side. “You were too easy on her.” There was a reason she and Jamie had dated multiple times.

“I didn’t want to keep Ned waiting. He deserves a good shag after what she did.” He was sure he’d have more than one with the amount of birds huddled around him. His job done, he draped his arm over his on-again girlfriend’s shoulders. “Speaking of a good shag...” he chuckled as he pulled her towards the bathroom.

[madmanipulation]

[ The Dream:

You can also read it as a short smut fic with a pinch of drama.

So the dream started with some recent mischief. What it was, I don’t know. Dreams aren’t always clear. Jamie just fist-bumped Maximus and told him he was glad he was there with him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

(I should point out they couldn’t have been adults, since boarding school, but, in my mind’s eye, they were CLEARLY in their twenties. I just can’t really imagine them younger I guess. Or I didn’t want to. I do prefer the adult male physique over the twink physique. I also don’t know their age difference--ANYWAY!)

Maximus was walking all proper, his nose in the air, as he’s a prince from birth, and Jamie was like a typical sleazoid, a bit slouched and smirking like the devil, his shirt half-untucked and tie loose. It was understood in my dream that Jamie was the popular attractive student known for the occasional prank and bullying, while Maximus was the quiet pretentious resident genius who couldn’t get along with anyone who didn’t like a bit of mean-hearted mischief. Both were known to be base level assholes.

So they got into their shared dorm room, and, hopped up on adrenaline from whatever they’d done, they began to make out. Heavy petting, untucking clothing, unbuttoning buttons--You can picture it. Maximus plopped down onto the edge of Jamie’s bed, which I recall was closest to the door, and Jamie stood before him. Apparently, it was a regular thing for Maximus to suck him off. Again, it was just understood that Jamie would give Maximus the occasional handjob, but he didn’t often reciprocate. (This is my headcanon for Jamie and Ned, one of his canon best friends, so I guess my brain just put Maximus in Ned’s role. Seriously, Ned just looks like someone Jamie would take advantage of.) They were in the middle of it, low moans and filthy suction and slurping sounds, when there came a knock at the door.

Jamie, lacking any shame or manners, answered the door with his dick out. Granted, he was standing half-behind the door so it wouldn’t be seen. He was ready to tell the visitor to “bugger off”, before Maximus exclaimed, “Brother!”

Jamie bit out a, “Shit,” and tucked himself back into his trousers.

Blackagar noticed what he was doing, then noticed how flushed Maximus was and how swollen his lips were. He almost went for Jamie, but Maximus used his powers to subtly jolt him out of his protective rage. (Maximus had his powers, which only Blackagar knew about. Jamie was far too young to have his. If you don’t know, he acquired his powers later in life.) For a moment, the brothers had a heated conversation that seemed one-sided. 

Apparently, Jamie didn’t pick up on the fact that Blackagar wasn’t even signing. He just sighed and retreated to their bathroom to rub out what Maximus had left him with. My mind focused on both events, but I don’t remember much more than Jamie wanking it over the toilet. Seriously, it was lovely scene in my mind. His hair falling into his eyes, his fingers curled under, clenched, as he leaned against the closeby sink counter...He was giving himself a left-handed stroke so he could imagine the clumsiness of another person’s hand. When he came, he got a bit on the toilet seat, which he had to clean off. Not out of politeness. Rather he didn’t want any of the boarding school girls to have access to a Braddock baby fund. This was literally understood in my dream. I guess it had to be emphasised he wasn’t thoughtful, just selfish.

When he left the bathroom, he caught Maximus saying to Blackagar, “It’s only oral sex. The council never mentioned oral sex. I doubt they would consider it ceremonious of marriage to suck--” Blackagar swiped his hand to the side to shut Maximus up. He didn’t want to hear his brother say that.

“Marriage?” Jamie asked as he reclined on his bed. Privacy? For whom? It was his room.

Maximus then explained that, in his culture, people were considered married if they had basic penetrative sex. Oral sex was never discussed, so there were no definitive laws about it. (I don’t know where that came from. I don’t think anything about the inhumans would point to that being the case. I know they’re strict about their genetics, but what?)

Blackagar signed something, but Maximus hushed him as if he’d spoken. Jamie, curious, asked what he’d said, and Blackagar gave Maximus that, ‘You better tell him or I will,’ look. After some reservation, Maximus sighed, then told him, “He says you’re not worthy of the royal family.”

Jamie laughed. “What does that mean? Royal family? Does he think I’m related to the bloody queen?”

He didn’t know Maximus was a prince. Maximus had to explain it to him, which left him shocked and silent for a moment. Then, “Bloody hell, Maxi...You’re a prince and you didn’t tell me?”

“You didn’t ask,” he tried to justify, but Jamie wasn’t amused. In fact, Jamie just waited for the real reason. “You don’t associate with people who have a higher status than you, so I kept it to myself.” Maximus had seen Jamie as his only chance at a friendship in the boarding school, so he’d observed his habits and made himself as appealing to him as possible. Basically, the little shit had manipulated Jamie.

Jamie found that...hilarious. He laughed, while Blackagar and Maximus talked more about how what Maximus was doing with Jamie wasn’t acceptable. It was understood that Jamie didn’t mind what Maximus had done because it showed Maximus was willing to do anything to please him, and Jamie liked having control.

During their conversation, Maximus told Blackagar, “He isn’t using me, brother. It’s just oral sex. I enjoy it too,” and Jamie’s stupid response was,

“Yeah, big brother, it’s just a bit of ‘ead.” He’d put on the accent thick to be as mocking as possible...which is why Blackagar lunged at him. 

Blackagar was on top of him, squeezing his throat. Jamie was about to comment on how strong he was, because Blackagar has superhuman strength, but he became alarmed when he couldn’t speak because he couldn’t push air past the hold on him. Panicked, he kneed him in the groin. Blackagar, focused on controlling his impulse to make a sound, released him, and Maximus pulled him to his own bed where they could sit.

“He’s a friend, Blackagar,” Maximus tried to sooth him.

“With benefits,” Jamie croaked out. When Blackagar looked like he was about to go for him again, Jamie proceeded while rubbing his neck. “I’m a big brother too, alright? I know what it’s like to worry about the li’le ones. I’m not going to hurt ‘im, ok?”

Blackagar seemed placated. Until--

“Might bugger ‘im, though.”

Blackagar lunged again.

That part of the dream ended there. I assume Maximus had to break up another fight. (I do remember Maximus commenting on Jamie’s “cleverness” and “brilliance”, but hell if I remember where that occurred. Probably somewhere around him calling him a friend?)

Then, Jamie and Maximus were stripping in their dorm. They were sweating, so it was just assumed they’d done some physical activity as a school and were all cleaning up and resting. There was some idle chit chat about teachers, subjects, and other students, but I don’t remember what it was or if it even made sense. You know how filler in dreams is.

When they were naked, Maximus moved to walk past Jamie to the bathroom, but Jamie caught him. He had a hand pressed to his lower abdomen, like very low. Maximus sighed, about to reject Jamie’s request for a blowy, but Jamie was the one who knelt before him. Surprised, Maximus forgot about the sticky feeling of drying sweat on his skin and the stink of pubescent young men and sat on the edge of Jamie’s bed to enjoy the oral sex. He laid back during it, perching his foot on the edge of the bed, and felt a finger on his hole. Immediately, he gripped Jamie’s hair. “No, Jamie...” It was a very firm denial.

Jamie pulled off his dick and smirked. “Just a bit of teasing to get you off, alright? Don’t worry.” When the grip on his hair loosened, he left a heavy coating of saliva on his finger and stroked over Maximus’s hole in little circles as he went back to sucking him off. It was sloppy, probably not as much suction as there should have been, but Maximus didn’t know what a good blowjob felt like anyway. He was enjoying it thoroughly, panting, moaning softly. The extra stimulation felt good.

After Maximus came, Jamie wiped the semen off and over his hole, which Maximus didn’t notice through the spit from Jamie’s teasing and that managed to make its way down from the sloppy blowjob. He then laid himself over Maximus and began to grind over him, pelvis to pelvis. 

Maximus, sensitive after orgasm, tried to breathe through it, but, eventually, after some desperate moans and whines, he pushed his hands against Jamie’s hips. “That’s too much,” he told him, breathless.

Jamie grunted out a, “Fine,” pushed back Maximus’s legs, and seemed to be positioning himself to screw him properly.

Maximus was not on board. “No, Jamie!” he insisted, pushing at him again. He knew he’d heard him before!

James Braddock Jr. didn’t believe in no as a final answer, though, so he kept pushing for consent. “Come on, Maxi...Let me use it for a little grind, yeah? Promise I won’t push it in. I wanna feel this little kingmaker of yours, yeah? Let it give me a kiss, yeah?” (Maximus’s butthole is a kingmaker. Pfft.)

Even though he had been adamant, Maximus was worn down and let Jamie do as he pleased, for the most part. “No penetration...”

So Jamie stroked Maximus’s entrance with the head of his cock, sliding it up and down over it, until he was close. Then, he pushed. Not a lot, but enough to open him for a bit of the product of his orgasm. 

Maximus furiously pushed at him, shoved him so he would get off of him, which Jamie found funny. “I told you no, you clod!” he chastised as he pushed past him and into the bathroom to shower.

That part ended on that dubious/non con note.

Then, they were already hot and heavy on Maximus’s bed, Jamie on top of him, his hips thrusting. Between their bodies, Maximus was gripping both of their dicks in his lubricated hand. It was inferred they’d worked up to that point over time, past quick blowjobs after class. 

Maximus was very much the submissive party, moaning Jamie’s name and following his lead, his legs spread for Jamie’s more muscular body. When he released them, Jamie laid over him and sandwiched their lengths between them to grind against one another. The inhuman prince gripped his pillow, panting desperately as he waited for Jamie to take him over the edge with him. 

He didn’t, though. There was a break in Maximus’s pleasure as Jamie positioned himself, swiping his weeping head over Maximus’s virgin hole. “Let me give you a proper fucking,” he tempted between warm kisses.

“No,” Maximus, denied, though Jamie could be awfully persuasive when he wanted to be. He was buckling, watching his friend’s flushed face, so close, the red making his eyes look extra blue. Why did Jamie have to be such a handsome bastard? (In my mind’s eye, it was a close-up of Jamie’s Crayola blue eyes and his long eyelashes. Very pretty. Brain thinks Jamie is very pretty.)

“Come on, Maxi~...Give this to me. No one has to know. Let me feel what can make a man royalty, yeah?” he tempted further, pushing despite Maximus’s clear protests. If Maximus wasn’t fighting him, that was consent to him, that was an eventual yes to Jamie. His hands found Maximus’s and held them as he pushed them into the pillow, effectively pinning them.

The pinning didn’t bother Maximus. He just positioned his fingers between Jamie’s and gripped his hands. “No...No. I can’t, Jamie...You don’t understand! I can’t just--” It took the breath out of him, the sudden pressure on his insides, the pinch of a tiny tear. He gasped. Jamie was inside of him and pushing deeper, and Maximus was angling his hips and spreading his legs to accommodate him. He was conflicted. He’d told Jamie no and he’d honestly meant it, but Jamie was his only friend...and it felt so good. His brow furrowed, but his mouth hung open loosely to huff out pleasured breaths and not a single protest came out of it.

There was no apology. Jamie just hissed at the resistant grip around him as he pushed, until Maximus’s body eventually relaxed and allowed him to bury himself inside of him. He rarely bent over a bloke. If he wanted a hole, he found the all-too-willing female population more appealing. But Maximus was a prince. His ass might as well have been solid gold to Jamie. He’d wanted to fuck royalty, and he was finally inside a goddamn prince. Not to mention it made Maximus technically his, and he could use that power over him whenever he wanted. The high of his accomplishment made it that much better. Along with the new sounds he was getting out of Maxi. They were pretty little confused moans that were forced out of him with each thrust, laced with something akin to a whine, maybe even a sob.

Jamie didn’t last very long. They’d both been close before he’d gotten inside. He’d made sure to stroke Maximus to completion first at least. His partner’s orgasm pushed him over the edge quickly, Jamie unable to hold back as Maximus clenched around him and rolled his hips like a desperate slag. He came inside of him, even made certain he hadn’t felt a drop leave him for a full minute before he pulled out. He was cheerful when he did too, kissing Maximus after they were no longer connected. There was no basking in the afterglow, just getting up to find where his pants had been tossed to.

Seemingly shocked, Maximus remained there for a moment, the whole situation dawning on him as the afterglow quickly wore off. Then, he managed to sit up, where he remained until the dream ended, his mouth agape in the realization of what had just happened and eyes focused on the consequences of it all in his mind. 

Jamie couldn’t have cared less.

Fin. ]

[madmanipulation]

Where on your body is your favourite place to be touched? //aside from the royal scepter

“Aside fro--!?

...My chest.” His favourite place to be touched was his cock. Period.

[madmanipulation]

What’s the first thing that sexually attracts you to someone? What’s your favourite part of foreplay?What’s the most sex you’ve had in a day? Do you prefer to take control or be submissive? Have you ever had an inappropriate crush?

Tread carefully, Jamie. She’s not likely to appreciate blunt honesty. “I’m a breast man myself. Otherwise, a nice bum will do it for me.” Honestly, a large cup size or any one of three holes did it for him. He wasn’t terribly picky unless he planned to take them out on the town.

"My favorite part of foreplay is watching that last bit of hesitation fade away.” He wanted to get it in and let it all out.

“Do handies count? Blowies? Just counting anal and vaginal sex, twelve times in a day? The number goes up if your count hands and mouths. Ned wanted to try Viagra, but he didn’t want to do it alone. We picked up a group of birds at the local Catholic university. Thought me heart was going to come out of me chest, but I survived...and found out what it was like to fuck me best mate. Fun day, that was.” He was getting far too comfortable sharing.

“At the end of the day, I want full control. Anyone’s welcome to ride, but, by the end of it, if it ain’t enough, I’ll take what I need from them.”

“Not sure I’ve ever had a crush. Slept with a teacher over a bet once. Won fifty quid. Got kicked out of school for sharing the proof, though.”

[madmanipulation]

Remy shifted to straddle Jamie and pressed his hands down the backs of his shoulders beneath his robes. "D'at's a neat li'l trick," he smirked, not in the least surprised. "Ya gon' do more?" he teased, grinding his hips up. //here for the arm hairs tbh

"So much more.” His smirking lips pressed to the thief’s as his hands wandered, gripping his solid rump and spreading him. All the while, he pulled him harder into the grind Remy had initiated. He might have been a quick and sloppy kind of man, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like to explore a prime piece when they were in his hands.

[madmanipulation]

Men

Jamie’s sexual interest in men is more limited than his sexual interest in women. They’re not pretty little accessories, so he doesn’t date them as he isn’t particularly interested in being seen with them. 

If he can throw out a pet name and get a positive response, he’ll try his hand at flirting. If the other man flirts first, even better. The end result is always the same, though, he uses them and wants nothing more...unless they want to roll around in the sheets again. Though, he’s partial to a quick unreciprocated blowy. Always more interested in instant gratification if he can have it. Preparation, if they need it, takes too long.

Ah, and good luck convincing him to be on the receiving end. He’s tried it more than once. It just isn’t on par with having his dick stroked, whether by a hand, a tongue, or someone’s insides.

[madmanipulation]

Women

Jamie is a man who likes his women like his cars. Beautiful and fast. He has little interest in romance. In fact, he has never shown any interest in it at all. All he is interested in is how a woman looks on his arm and what she can do to please him.

Jamie was described as a “playboy”, described as “handsome”, was wealthy, and was a famous racecar driver. He had his pick of any woman he wanted, and, with the amount of women’s clothes he had stored in his townhouse, he sampled them all and kept none. All he wanted was to hit it and quit it, to ejaculate and evacuate.

The only women Jamie seems to respect are his sister, his old friend, Amina, and his nanny, Emma, whom he resurrected. (Amina is questionable as she openly proclaimed her love for Jamie, which makes me believe he slept with her. That could have suggested a romance...had Jamie not readily abandoned her in the desert to save his own ass. It looks like he used her to get his jollies.) Otherwise, he can’t seem to resist flirting with any person with a vagina or saying something...disrespectful to them, including his own brother’s wife.

This is unsurprising as Jamie sold women he captured from Africa as sex slaves. The intent was clear as they were depicted in their underwear and Jamie inspected them for beauty. The other captured individuals were killed. That is not the hallmark of a feminist.

[madmanipulation]

Tag Dump

Aesthetic: I just broke reality. ‼ Aesthetic

Anonymous: Hello? King Jamie speaking? ‼ Anonymous

Headcanon: Got to be a joker / he just do what he please. ‼ Headcanon

Not Safe for Work: Was that crude? I thought the new Krakoa was into that sort of thing. ‼ Not Safe for Work

Open: Won’t this be fun!? ‼ Open

Out of Character: Imagine if I could do all this in reality? ‼ Out of Character

Promo: Well well well / what have we here? ‼ Promo

Queue: I guess you have limits. Not me. Not anymore. ‼ Queue

Character Tags:

I’ve got the crown on me head. See? ‼ James Braddock Jr.

All mine! I’m going to call you Captain Avalon. ‼ Brian Braddock

Ah! No hitting the king / Bets. ‼ Elizabeth Braddock

How about you take the kiddies for a walk and I stay and keep my brother’s pretty wife company? ‼ Meggan Puceanu Braddock

I don’t mind if you sniff my pillow. ‼ Opal Luna Saturnyne

Oooh / that’s a right crackin’ cape you’ve got there. ‼ Nathaniel Essex

[madmanipulation]

Jamie is a man who doesn’t mind prostate play. Male or female, his partner is always welcome to slide a finger in. Not encouraged, but welcome.

But it makes him ill to have anything thicker, such as a vibrator or penis, inside of him. It is nauseating to him. Yes, he has tried it, twice to be exact. Yes, the second man was right on target, as in Jamie experienced a whole new level of prostate stimulation. No, neither of the encounters lasted.

His exact words the first time were, “Pull out, I’m going to be sick.” The second time, all he got out was an ineloquent, “Out out out!” before he hurried to the toilet.

Not every man is built for anal. Jamie finds it too similar to...defecating, put delicately.

[madmanipulation]

🍆 : your muse makes a suggestive joke but my muse actually acts on it.

Dinner. It was a mind-numbingly dull affair that Jamie barely survived day after day. Brian insisted on his best behaviour, and Meggan watched him poke at his food like a child before a plate of vegetables. Remy had unfortunately decided to visit during one such dinner and was politely invited by Captain Avalon’s bubbly wife.

It was terribly awkward, so much so that little Maggie requested to be allowed to go out and play after finishing her food. She was granted her request. Jamie then requested his own freedom, but he was denied. Of course. He was expected to finish his food.

When were they going to realize he didn’t require sustenance?

Remy leaned in to whisper about how Jamie looked like he was attending a funeral. Jamie snorted. “At least I could disappear for a shag in the loo at a funeral. I’d settle for a handy under the table here,” he whispered back, and, to his surprise, he felt the thief’s sneaky fingers sliding over his bare cock.

It was then that Jamie decided to participate in the dinner, to add a little bit more fun. “These...mysteriously purple beans taste delightful, sister-in-law. Where do they come from?”

[madmanipulation]

Does Jamie ever say no? Has anyone ever tried to have sex with him anyway?

“Course I do. I have standards. There are women I’m not attracted to, and, every now and then, some delusional bloke thinks he’s going to stick a banana in my tailpipe and I have to turn him down. It doesn’t work for my cars, it doesn’t work for me.

No one’s ever tried to take it. If they did, they wouldn’t live to tell the story.

Most people expect that sort of thing out of me, but why would I go to the trouble? I can’t be bothered. Not when I have easier options.”

[madmanipulation]

Have you had group sex? If not, would you?

“Yes. I would do it again too, but I prefer the one-on-one. Let the other one watch and wait their turn. There’s plenty to go around.”

[madmanipulation]

‘-Oh’

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Jamie's hand froze midway through a lazy stroke, and the king slowly opened his eyes to find Sinister standing before him. Alone. Thank God. Sinister was always welcome to see his cock. He'd just been dreading another visit from his group of rejects. While Jamie was an exhibitionist, he would have to be eased into something sexual with Betsy's discarded rental body and wasn't too keen on the metal egg.

Seeing that it was just Sinister, though, Jamie let out a sigh and resumed his evening tug on the throne. "Feel free to join."

[madmanipulation]

Nothing like the intermingling of the scents of sex, blood and sweat to really get him into the mood. Ah yes this was bliss. The pain with pleasure combined created something rather intoxicating. Well, for someone as twisted as Sinister.

The hand on his throat was just a nice extra little touch. He relaxed and let Jamie do whatever the fuck he wanted, he was just along for the ride. He'd be Jamie's little porcelain doll as long as he liked. [At least until they pissed each other off!]

Whatever the fuck Jamie wanted was quick and hard, almost brutal. So he pounded into Sinister as soon as he could find a pace that suited him. There was no mercy on the man's back and even less on his hole. There was, however, the occasional mercy on his throat. He had, after all, asked him to praise the king and was giving him the opportunity to do so. There was no praise from Jamie, though, just laboured breaths along with a grunt whenever Sinister's body clenched just right.