#about how older siblings will get out of a abusive or toxic family | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chaithetics · 1 year

Text

Furtive Hands

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) reader

Word count: 7.3K

Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established/secret relationship, smut, fingering, P in V intercourse, some fluff, soft but also kind of dom-ish Stewy? Vague-ish mentions of canonical childhood abuse/trauma, and toxic family dynamics, Logan makes a cameo at the start (deserves its own warning), Logan's death and grief mentioned also Roman being a bit of a douche. I think that's it?

(Reader is technically a Roy because that's how the plot/idea worked but I avoided physical descriptions other than reader having AFAB physical characteristics. You're more than welcome to canon this reader as being adopted or half-siblings with the other Roys. I try to avoid giving physical characteristics and am tempted to continue to code all my readers as readers of colour out of spite due to the lack of intersectionality in fics. My reader in A Cinematic Lover has no physical characteristics other than being chronically ill but is Desi coded.)

Author's Note: I didn't proofread all of it, whoops. This is also my first time writing Stewy and I'm not too sure how I feel about this fic. I don't feel super confident in saying that "I captured his voice" etc. But I adore Stewy Hosseini and Arian Moayed and we need more Stewy fics. Please let me know your thoughts! I'd really appreciate the feedback :)

Like being in the Roy family, being the youngest in the clan had its perks and downfalls. You’d been able to get away most of your life with your father’s wrath directed towards your older siblings but at a certain point when they’d reached adulthood before you and it was quickly redirected towards you. You and your older brother Connor were the only ones to stay out of the family business, Connor was technically more involved than you which said a lot to anyone familiar with the family’s affairs.

Despite being the youngest it would be fair to say you were the most emotionally mature of your siblings (although you could easily admit that’s a very low bar) and the most well-adjusted (again, another relatively low bar). You were a practising clinical psychologist who had of course undergone a bunch of therapy yourself for your childhood trauma. You’d wrapped up a session and were walking a patient out before heading back into your office for your office lunch date when you were interrupted by a booming presence.

“Dad?” You immediately questioned. “What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here-”

“I thought I’d stop by. See the new office-”

“I’ve had this office for 3 years.” You interjected.

Logan quirked an eyebrow at that, he seemed almost amused at your assertive call out. You had been a louder child like Roman but unlike your brother, you became quieter as a teenager. You knew your father had assumed that was because you didn’t have whatever “deficiency” he believed Roman had and that you’d grown out of it. The reality was, that it was a trauma response and you’d learnt that life was easier with him if you were quiet and made your presence as sparse as possible.

He’d always found playing his games with you particularly interesting due to this, you weren’t as quiet now as you were as a teenager and you weren’t as loud as you were as a child, somewhere in the middle. You could slink off at the few family gatherings you intended to not be questioned or dragged into shop talk. But you still had a known presence and you were the only one of his children who could somewhat confidently cut him off and respond to him with what he’d deem as some sense of calmness. You weren’t as pliant to him as your siblings which made his mind games all the more intriguing to him.

“Right. Well, it’s a nice enough place.”

“Thanks.” You bit your lip as you waited for your father to continue, he didn’t show up for no reason.

You were trying to project a calm facade you were starting to worry for a myriad of reasons. With what was going on with your family this wouldn’t be any pure coincidence. You weren’t the most involved in the family business but you were well aware and received updates from Kendall. But there was also concern over the potential sighting of your lunchtime visitor.

“Well dear, I need you to do something for me.” You tilted your head and your brow furrowed at his words.

“Since when do you need favours? Specifically favours from clinical psychologists?” You questioned.

“It’s to do with your siblings.” Logan spoke flatly as he then sat himself down on one of the armchairs in your waiting room. He was mildly irritated that you hadn’t invited him into your office and that you’d kept that room off limits for him, blocking the doorway to it.

You scoffed at his words and rolled your eyes, one thing was for sure, whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

“Continue.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed at you slightly as he watched you as if it was the first time he was seeing you. He was used to you being uninterested and not the way that Shiv tried to play everything cool with Logan. You were genuinely uninterested, your eyes looked cold.

You had a colder approach with your father in comparison to your siblings, it was healthier and the easiest for you to maintain without being sucked in like they were. It wasn’t a big surprise to anyone that you weren’t impressed with the confrontations that happened in your presence, your siblings had weird concepts and responses of support. But there were the built-in responses as you’d gotten older, Kendall defended and you comforted.

Logan hadn’t always given you a great deal of attention in those moments but he was familiar with your mannerisms as he’d call them now. But today you seemed annoyed, this wasn’t an emotion that Logan felt like he’d seen from his youngest in almost a lifetime. He found it to almost be the most interesting he’d ever found you, he mused that you must know or be hiding something.

“Well, you grew up with Kendall, Roman and Siobhan. You understandably know them well and you have a unique skillset with your area of expertise.” He paused for a moment watching your face as he said that before continuing.

“And?”

“You would’ve made observations of their behaviours over the years. Symptoms-behaviours- whatever the fuck you want to call it. You have the power to diagnose.” You looked at him and the cooler facade you normally actively projected with him was starting to fade into one of horror. “I’d like you to write a piece on that, about your siblings. Their credibility, illnesses. A media circuit perhaps as well. You’re a credible and telling source.”

You stared at your father in silence, you didn’t know what to say to him. This was awful, even for him.

“So?” He broke the silence, his eyes were deadly serious, and his lips were in a small but twisted smirk.

“No. No! Just no…That’s absolutely fucked up. No.” You looked around starting to think about how messed up that your father hadn’t just come up with this idea but that he was willing to do it to his children, your older siblings and drag you into this. “No, and if I did that who would then get the chance to write the think piece on you?” You asked sardonically rubbing your brow.

“Well, I’m sure Shiv could whip up a sequel to her letter on Kendall.” He bit back almost nonchalantly.

“I shouldn’t be surprised but I just can’t get over the fact that you’d do this, that you’d ask me to do this dad. What you did to Kendall after that Board vote, was sick… And again? To all of them?” You were starting to feel nauseous and weaker around him.

“Are you talking to Kendall?” He asked in a cold tone.

“He’s my brother.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“And I’m your father.”

“Unfortunately.” You looked into his eyes and bit your cheek.

He scoffed at that. He’d come in relatively calm, well calm for him but he was quickly becoming agitated at your lack of cooperation.

“He’s a lousy excuse for a son and a brother.”

“Kendall doesn’t interrupt my day of work for a fucked up favour.” You spat out, you weren’t shying away from his gaze even though his presence was getting too much for you. “I think you should leave Dad. I have patients and I need to eat something, I need lunch.”

“Fine. Don’t give my regards to your fucking brother.” He said as he started to get up, you just leaned against the wall.

“Hey-” Stewy’s voice crackled against the thick tension between you and your father as he waltzed into the entryway of your waiting room. He paused for a second as his gaze quickly landed on your father and you. You thought you saw a brief flicker of panic in his eyes but he quickly and efficiently plastered over it.

“And what the fuck are you doing here?” Logan directed at Stewy with a huff and an eye roll. Logan’s concern and suspicion were piqued significantly now as his disappointed gaze flicked over to you.

“Well sir Roy, your deleterious business plans and board meetings are getting a bit too traumatic, that much I now need to see Dr Roy.” Stewy immediately and confidently jumped in, his playful and pointed lie came across smoothly and convincingly. Logan scoffed at that and started to walk out.

“Don’t think about trying any of your peacock philandering with my daughter,” Logan said to Stewy as he walked past him.

“How thoughtful, safe travels sir.” Stewy laughed off Logan’s comment which just seemed to irritate him more.

“Think about it.” Logan said as he looked back at you as he was in the doorway, you just held his gaze for a moment.

“I’ll see you at the wedding.” You calmly stated, he narrowed his eyes again at you for a second and then just walked off.

**********

Stewy wasn’t a patient of yours, he fortunately never had been, that would’ve been a massive ethical violation. He was meeting you at the office for lunch, something that you two often did. It had been vaguely discussed in the past that if somebody ever saw him in your office it could be easy to dismiss it as him being a patient or wanting some kind of psychological consultation relating to work. It was never an excuse that had been needed before today and you were surprised at how quickly Stewy went into that mode and how he simply sold it.

You were sitting on the sofa in your office with your legs in Stewy’s lap, he had an arm over the back of the sofa and his other hand was gently caressing your legs as you recounted the brief visit from your father before Stewy came. Stewy was playful and a bit chaotic but he was also intelligent and he could be serious and thoughtful, which he often was for you.

“I should call Kendall before something happens.” You said looking at Stewy and he nodded, continuing his comforting, soft touches on your sprawled-out legs.

You grabbed your phone and called Kendall, the phone barely rang before it was answered.

“Yo?”

“Dad came by the office earlier today.”

“Oh? What did the old fuck want?” Kendall teased.

“He asked me to write a piece on you, Rome and Shiv. To air out everyone’s laundry, basically ‘diagnose’ you all and try to discredit your side of what’s going on. It was so fucked up Ken.” There was a pause for a moment, you heard Kendall sigh and then inhale. You made eye contact with Stewy who was silent and watching you.

You had a requited soft spot for Kendall. He was your older brother and he was a good one at that. He was fiercely defensive of all his siblings, which he seemed to prioritise over his own trauma and feelings in confrontations with your father. But as the baby of the family and not having the same tongue as your siblings, you suppose you came across as weaker, more vulnerable. You’d concluded a long time ago that this added to the soft spot that Kendall has for you. You also thought subconsciously it was also linked to the fact that you were the most patient and sympathetic sibling he had.

“What did you say?” Kendall finally asked, his voice was more serious now.

“I said no, a bazillion times. I told him it was sick and asked him to leave.”

Ken nodded, and then he remembered that you couldn’t see that.

“That’s pretty fucked up. Not surprising though I guess…”

“Are you with Rome and Shiv?” You asked.

“Uh-huh, they’re in the uh, they’re inside.” Kendall answered quickly.

“Can you tell them?”

“Yeah, sure but-”

“I’m really sorry Ken but I have another patient soon, I just wanted to tell you as soon as I could in case something happened. I didn’t want to do it over text.” You answered.

“Okay, I’ll see you at the rehearsal. Thanks as well.” His second sentence was softer.

“Yeah, of course. See you then.” You then hung up and looked at Stewy.

“Did he sound okay to you?” You asked Stewy.

“Sounded pretty okay for Ken.” Stewy responded as he moved his hand away from your legs and to hold your now phone-free hand. You just nodded and Stewy changed the subject to something else for the rest of your lunch hour which you appreciated.

******

You would say you have a complicated but good relationship with your siblings. While you had the same mother as Kendall, Shiv, and Roman, you and Connor were bonded by your outcast status regarding family affairs. You didn’t agree with a lot of the opinions that left Connor’s mouth but he was still a compassionate older brother to you. You often were iced out together at family gatherings as it was all a business opportunity for your father’s attention.

You were glad that you just had to relay your father’s request to Kendall. Roman was unpredictable and Shiv would’ve assumed that you had sold them out and this was a mind game. An opinion she’d probably make clear to everyone else and in some way to you as well.

There had always been significant sibling rivalry in the Roy household. But Shiv had always seen you as her competition in particular, you two were the only women and she lived in a man’s world always striving to prove herself out of spite and nature. Even now she still believed your kinder nature was an act to disarm. She never hid the looks of distrust in her eyes.

You were now home. You still had your apartment and stayed there occasionally but that was more to save face than anything else. Somewhere along the timeline of your relationship, you’d almost practically moved into Stewy’s apartment. The walk-in wardrobe was equally divided, and your favourite teas were in the kitchen. “It’s closer to your office” had been the justification at the time when he’d been encouraging you to stay over more.

It was surprising that you hadn’t been caught yet with that in mind, part of you would sometimes wonder if your siblings did know but they were saving it but you knew that if they did it would’ve come out to slap you in the face by now.

When you’d first met Stewy what felt like a million years ago you never would’ve expected something like this to happen. Then when this all happened and started a few years ago it was still, very unexpected. But he knew probably better than what anyone else would ever be able to comprehend what it meant to get seriously involved with a Roy, even one not involved in the family business. He and Kendall had an interesting friendship and history, with Stewy having been mostly good to your brother. But Stewy was always good to you.

As you let yourself in you kicked off your shoes lost in your thoughts but you quickly noticed Stewy wasn’t back yet. This wasn’t a surprise though, your job meant you got to work more of a typical 9-5. Something you were grateful for, it seemed like life was just one, endless business meeting and opportunity for everyone involved at Waystar.

You’d made yourself a cup of tea and were now leaning against the bench in the kitchen with it while scrolling on your phone. You had Google alerts set for all of your immediate family and Stewy, surprisingly there didn’t seem to be too much drama online today.

“Ugh, fuck!” Stewy’s voice boomed and you heard a bang.

“Shit, Stewy? Are you okay?” You quickly called out as you made your way over to the apartment's entryway.

“Yeah, just tripped over your shoes again.” Stewy responded with an amused expression as he took his shoes off and moved them along with yours out of the way.

This wasn’t the first time it had happened and Stewy knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m sorry.” You said bashfully as you walked over to hug him, pressing a soft, playful kiss to his lips. “I guess, it’s a good thing you love me.” You kissed him again, teasingly nipping on his bottom lip that was in between yours.

“You’re such a brat baby.” Stewy smirked as his hand wrapped more firmly around your waist and he kissed you back.

“I thought you loved that?” You teased between kisses as each one became more heated and desperate with lust. Despite Stewy often being caught or easily roped into your family drama he was the best distraction, escape and companion from everything.

“I do.” Stewy breathed out as he continued to kiss you and was now kissing your jaw.

“And I love you…” You whimpered out as his lips started to travel down your neck. He now had you pressed against the wall.

“And what is it that you love exactly baby?” Stewy purred out as he nibbled around your pulse point. He was always such a tease.

“I love your hair-” You moaned out as you dug your fingers into his soft, gorgeous curls that were always perfect. “Your voice, eyes, those goddamn turtlenecks, your smile, your colossal vocabulary-”

“Didn’t you say it was farcical the other day?” Stewy said as he stopped kissing you and looked at you.

“Stewy!” You whined out, you couldn’t feel his lips on you any more but you could still feel him against you but it wasn’t enough. You needed him. His gorgeous dark eyes were blown out with lust but he had his signature playful, mischievous smirk painted across his face as he cruelly teased you. “You’re such a tease.”

“I thought you loved that.” He quipped back. You rolled your eyes and took the bait.

“I do, I love how much of a tease you are.” He felt your breath against his neck as you spoke and then pressed a kiss against his neck, breathing him in. He always smelt so good, despite being a bit of a natural peacock it wasn’t showy, it was more subtle but strong enough. You were certain there was sandalwood in his cologne. “I also love how you feel inside of me.” You spoke as your soft lips kissed his handsome jaw, your soft lips a burning contrast against the tickle of his perfectly trimmed beard.

“Someone’s getting laid tonight.” Stewy got out, pressing his hips against you as you continued kissing along his jaw and neck, tugging his now tousled curls.

“That was the plan after all Mr. Hosseini.” You smirked against his neck, feeling him continue to harden against you. He let out a soft, melodic moan as you sucked softly on his neck.

“How does now sound?”

“Perfect.” You left his neck to kiss him on the lips, you moaned against his mouth as his teeth clashed against yours.

One of his hands left your waist to quickly unbutton your pants. Once he’d done that, he quickly slipped a hand in, teasing you as he palmed you and then started to tease your bundle of nerves over your underwear. Your arousal had already started to dampen your underwear and it only grew with his attention. You continued to moan against him, as he gingerly traced a pattern.

“You’re already so wet and I’ve barely touched you.” Stewy teased. “So beautiful and needy.”

Stewy smirked as he felt you press into his hand more, even with the friction of your underwear, you needed more. You wanted him then and there. You kept hungrily kissing him, feeling starved. Stewy snaked a finger under your underwear and rubbed it along your clitoris for a few seconds before dipping it inside of you making you gasp.

“More, please Stewy.” You begged between kisses, panting as he chuckled.

“Such a desperate girl with a needy pussy.” Stewy whispered into your ear as he added a second finger in, he picked up the pace a bit he continued to finger you and his thumb moved to rub over your clitoris a few times. His fingers were covered in your slick and you didn’t have any interest in holding back any of your moans.

You stayed sandwiched between the wall and Stewy, just moving to press your head against his shoulder, the fabric of his blazer muffled some of your moans as he continued to finger you. You looked down and started to undo his belt and pants.

“What do you think you're doing baby?” Stewy asked in a low voice that was just making the space in between your thighs grow into an even bigger pool of dampness, you were melting against him.

“I want you.” You tilted your head up so it was still resting against his shoulder but you were now facing his neck more, you started to kiss his neck again, biting it softly and then licking it. “I want you to fuck me Stewy.”

“Beg.” Stewy breathed out as he let out a little moan as your tongue darted over his pulse point. His fingers were still entering you but not as deep as before and his thumb was painfully slowly, languidly massaging your bundle of nerves.

“Please Stewy. Fuck me, I need to feel you deep inside of me.” You nipped him softly right near his pulse point and revelled in the groan he let out at that. “Please, I’m begging you Stewy. I need you.”

“Tell me exactly what you need.” His thumb cruelly left your clitoris for a moment making you gasp out in shock but he added a third finger inside of you, getting to that soft spot that made you melt and his thumb gently returned to your clitoris after a few seconds.

“I uh, I-I need you. I need you inside of me now Stewy. I need to feel your cock inside of me.” You moaned out. “Nobody has ever and could ever fill me up the way you do. It feels so good, you make me feel so good. Pl-please Stewy. Please.” You mewled out and you couldn’t quite see his face but you knew it would have that beautiful arrogant smirk.

“I’ll fuck you, baby. I just need you to come for me first, you can do that, right? I can tell your desperate little pussy is already so close.” You nodded desperately, he wasn’t wrong. You were close to unravelling, he could tell from your breathing and how you weren’t just flooding his fingers but also clamping around him.

“I’m so close, Stew, fuck.” You moaned out, panting against his neck, it tickled him slightly. You bit your lip and moaned against his neck, he could feel the vibration of it and he loved that, that and the sound of your pleasure. You could feel it coming and gasped into his neck again as you came, Stewy could feel it and smiled as his fingering eased to a slower, gentler pace as you came down from your orgasm.

“How was that?” He smirked as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“It was- it was…” You paused for a moment as your breathing started to settle, your heart was still pounding from that high though. “Good.”

“Good? Only good?” He questioned with a tone of mock hurt.

“Just shut up and fuck me now, please Stew.” You bit his neck, just feeling even more needy for him than you did before.

“I thought you liked my colossal vocabulary and voice?” He teased as he playfully grinded into you “I distinctly remember you saying so a few minutes ago.”

“You’re so mean Stewy.” You giggled softly, gently pulling on the roots of his curls.

“Was that just to get me into your pants?” Stewy paused the grinding, his tone acting as if he was hurt and that the insinuation was possibly true.

“I guess not because that obviously didn’t work very well.” You responded, leaning back against the wall. He raised an eyebrow at you and then looked down at his belt. You rolled your eyes playfully and started to undo his belt, palming him. He was completely hard but you already knew this from when he’d been grinding into you.

“Bedroom baby.” Stewy moaned out as you pulled his hard cock out and rubbed it with one hand.

“You can fuck me here, you’ve done it before.” You pouted and he just chuckled as you kept up with your ministrations.

“You said I was mean, so you’re not getting it here. You can wait the whole ten seconds it takes to walk to the bed. Our bed for me to have my way with you.” Stewy’s voice was low and firm but there was still that natural teasing tone there.

You walked briskly to the bedroom that you two shared and Stewy followed and chuckled over the eagerness of your gait. As soon as you both were in the clean room, you kissed him hungrily again. He smirked and expertly unbuttoned your blouse as you pushed his blazer off. You kicked your pants and underwear off and he quickly followed suit.

Stewy pressed you into the bed and you tugged on the turtleneck he was still wearing to bring him closer to you and then started to push it up off him.

“Do you love my turtleneck baby?” Stewy teased as you did.

“Absolutely love it.” You breathed out with a smirk.

As soon as it was off and thrown to the floor, you were kissing each other again as if you couldn’t survive without the other. You were running your hands over Stewy’s back and up his neck to the luscious locks you loved as he quickly undid your bra. You were both now naked and he continued to kiss you as his hands cupped your chest.

You moaned out as he started to caress you and pinch your nipples. His lips travelled from yours down to your jaw, your throat, he kissed your breasts and teasingly licked along your nipple for a minute as he started to rub your heat with his other hand.

“Please Stewy.” You begged out in a desperate moan as your eyes were closed in pleasure.

“Please, fuck you?” He again teases as he starts to line himself up at your entrance.

“Yes, please that.”

Stewy stopped his teasing and happily obliged after what felt like an eternity of almost edging. He pressed his head into you and you gasped as he did, gently scratching his shoulders as he did. It wasn’t long till he was bottomed out, he waited a few seconds for you to adjust before he started to slowly thrust inside of you, eliciting the most melodic moans he’d ever heard.

“You’re so beautiful and tight, I love being inside of you baby.” Stewy cooed out as his pace quickly picked up a deeper and slightly faster rhythm.

“You feel so good Stewy, so good inside of me.” You mewled out.

Your words were literal music to his ears and it wasn’t long till he was grunting out as his thrusts became deeper and harder.

It was so easy to become lost in Stewy. Especially when he was fucking you like this, having his way with you in the bed you shared. How couldn’t you be lost in him when your eyes were open he was all you could see?

His scent was dizzying as it mixed with the sweat he’d built up from snapping his hips into yours, he was all you could feel, on you and in you, his grunts, words and the filthy sounds you were making together were all you could hear. Stewy was intoxicating, overwhelming, a sensory overload in the most spectacular way.

You were pulling on his hair as you felt him hitting that perfect soft spot deep inside of you. Your bundle of nerves was already sensitive from the teasing and your earlier orgasm and you could feel the warmth of another orgasm building.

Stewy wasn’t clueless about this, he could feel you clenching around him especially as he reached that sensitive spot of yours and you were flooding him in your arousal. Other than the feeling of being buried deep inside of you, Stewy couldn’t think of anything sweeter than the noises of your moan and whimpers and the sounds of the squelches made of him thrusting into you and being met with your juices.

Stewy continued to pound into you, his thrusts were faster and needier, and he was getting close himself. He pressed some sloppy kisses to your neck that warmed your insides up even more with desire and love for him. Stewy’s lips travelled back to yours and you opened your mouth inviting him in as your tongues and teeth passionately attacked each other.

The kiss became deeper and deeper, you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist and felt him groan at that against your lips which in turn made you smirk. You two continued to kiss and he started to rub your clitoris with his thumb, you moaned into his mouth at the sweet pressure and slightly writhed under him.

“That feels so good Stew.” You panted out as the kiss broke for a second and you both panted as he continued to thrust into you while rubbing a circular pattern on your bundle of nerves getting closer to their peak.

“You feel so good. I love you.” He panted out between moans, as his eyes rolled back at the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around him.

“I love you too.” You moaned out, as your legs tightened slightly around him and you scratched his back. “I’m, so, so, so close.”

“Yeah? I can feel that baby. Oh fuck, I want you to come for me, come on my cock baby.” He encouraged as he continued. Kissing along your pulse point, fully knowing that would drive you closer to your climax.

You moaned out while scratching his back and pulling on his hair as you unravelled from your orgasm. Stewy smirked against your neck and continued to massage your sensitive bundle of nerves and thrust at the same, perfect speed as you chased your orgasm and rode out that high.

“Thank you, baby, that was so good. I want you to come, to fill me up.” You panted out as you placed a hand to cup his cheek as his hips continued to snap back into yours.

“Fuck, I’m pretty close.”

You dug your nails into his back as he felt you clench around him in the most spectacular way as you orgasmed and post that. He began to chase his own high and you knew he was close as his thrusts spread up and the pace was more sporadic than rhythmic.

After a couple more minutes of thrusts, Stewy grunted and kissed you more desperately than he had all day and finally chased his own climax and finished inside of you. Before he pulled out the kiss changed to a gentle, affectionate one and you lightly combed your hands through his hair and then ran them along his face and jaw as he kissed you like that.

Stewy kissed your forehead softly and then pulled out to go towards the ensuite to get a washcloth to clean up the mess you had made together. He was so firm but gentle with you.

After that, he laid in bed again on his back, you were cuddled into his side, with your head on his warm chest feeling almost half asleep.

“What do you think of marriage now?” Stewy asked interrupting the peaceful post-sex silence. There was an air of playfulness but his voice was softer, quieter, almost sleepy.

“Pardon?” You shifted slightly off his chest to get a better look at his face. You were certain you’d heard him correctly but you weren’t sure if maybe you’d fully given into sleep and this was gibberish or a dream.

“We’ve talked about eloping before.”

“Yeah, yes we have but-”

“I wasn’t joking.” Stewy said as he gently held your chin between his index finger and his thumb. His voice was still soft but it was a bit firmer now, more serious than tired or playful. You bit your lip unsure of what to say as he continued to look into your eyes with his beautiful, diluted ones.

“You know what that would entail Stewy. Your career-”

“I do and-”

“Stewy.” You rested your chin on his chest looking at him. He could see that you were tired.

“So you don’t want to marry me right before your brother and Willa? Maybe a day or two after? Get that IUD out, then pop out a few babies. I’ll even be super fucking generous and get a vasectomy.” His tone was more teasing now and you had a feeling the humour wasn’t completely genuine but partially a cover-up of possible hurt.

“Sweetie, I love you. Can we talk about this tomorrow? Maybe not talk about this ‘post-coitus’.” You offered him a small smile and combed your fingers through his hair, admiring the dark locks and the stunning strands of silver.

“Yes ma’am.” Stewy nodded and kissed your forehead. You settled back into his chest and it wasn’t long until you had dozed off in his arms and on the comfortable pillow of his chest with the reassuring sound of his heartbeat.

********

You’d been the only one of your siblings to stay for Connor’s wedding. Weddings were just business opportunities in the world of the Roys, grief couldn’t exist with the market and leadership decisions. You didn’t like how the wedding or death side of that traumatic day went down or how it was handled but unexpected deaths weren’t meant to be convenient or follow logic.

You were now in your deceased father’s penthouse at his wake, having spent most of the morning hiding in a corner from as many eyes as possible. You’d really only spoken to Connor and Willa, your other siblings were in a sitting room being as business-focused as possible.

It had been a little while into the Wake and you were with your siblings when Stewy and the Furnesses came in. Connor and Willa had been the easiest to talk to which wasn’t really anything new. Kendall and you occasionally made little remarks to each other and even you and Shiv exchanged some looks over other people’s comments or well, audacity.

You took Stewy’s handsome face in, he looked well-rested and fresh-eyed despite the fact that he’d been up most of the night with grieving you. He was handsomely dressed and groomed as always. You wanted to be held by him again, to leave and be curled up in a ball with him. Normally you two acted amicably when your paths crossed in the Roy world and public like this. But you were too depressed and exhausted for the usual furtive nature.

He’d hugged and given his condolences to your sister Shiv and then she’d moved on to Sandi. You looked at Stewy and gave him a small smile, he went to give you a hug and a faux kiss on the cheek as he did for Shiv but you needed more than that, you needed him. You genuinely hugged him and pressed your head against his chest, hearing his heartbeat, a firm, undeniable reminder that he was there was always comforting. You didn’t care that your siblings were nearby, it wasn’t an indecent act.

Stewy couldn’t and wouldn’t say no to affection from you ever, let alone in your state in this context. He reciprocated the genuine hug and you held onto him for maybe a few seconds longer than you should’ve if you wanted to avoid the suspicion of your siblings.

You pulled away despite never wanting to do and tilted your head to see that he was looking at you warmly, sympathy written all over his eyes. His hands had moved to softly rest on the sides of your arm, the touch was comforting but could easily be perceived and argued as platonic to an onlooker. He had a small, genuine smile on his face as he looked at you.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” You responded back quietly. You wanted to kiss him, you were almost tempted to and then Kendall was quickly whisking Stewy away.

You went back to your corner and eventually, you were joined by Kendall and Roman. You saw that Stewy was making his rounds of small talk and his eyes occasionally wandering, searching for you to see where you were and how you were doing.

“Have you thought about psychoanalysing yourself?”

“What?” You questioned exhaustedly as your mind was pulled away from stealing glances at Stewy by Roman’s words.

“That was a bit too touchy with Ken-doll’s boyfriend.” Roman retorted. “I didn’t realise jumping on your brother’s BFF was one of the five stages of grief.”

“Excuse me?” You now glared at him.

“Oh, I guess it must be a new one they added in. Are you gonna get a model named after yourself? Or are you saving the Roy model for something more fucked up?”

“I’m not doing this Roman.” You sighed in exasperation and walked off to find a glass of wine but were quickly disturbed again.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t actually know about you two,” Kendall smirked as he whispered to you.

“What the fuck Ken?” You jumped at the fright from Kendall, you were grateful that you were still empty-handed or else you’d have stained your outfit if not all of your surroundings from your brotherly jumpscare. Your reaction just made Kendall’s smirk grow. “You knew? But Stewy never told you.”

“He didn’t. I figured out a while ago that you two were uh…” He dramatically paused for a moment as if he was thinking of the right word with a teasing smirk. “Copulating.”

“Ken!” You elbowed him softly to try and get him to quieten down. “Why did you never say anything?” You quietly questioned.

“Well, it was pretty fucking weird at first. He’s not the worst Harvard finance bro out there.” Kendall said with a playful expression. “He keeps you happy-adjacent right?”

“Yeah, he does. Thank you.” You gave Kendall a tight-lipped but grateful smile.

“You know, you don’t have to hide it anymore right?”

You looked up at Kendall, questioning him with your eyes. You and Stewy’s relationship was complicated and you’d say it was pretty healthy despite the furtive nature, it had been that way for everyone’s personal and professional sake. Kendall’s smirk started to slowly slip as he took in your expression.

“He’s dead.” Kendall spoke softly as you stared into each other’s eyes, he placed his hand on your arm as his face grew more serious. You eyed Kendall trying to find the right words. Sure your father had been part of it but it was a complicated situation with many pieces.

“I could live with dad icing me out, cutting that relationship. I made peace with what that is a while ago. But-but, it’s when Roman, Shiv, and you. That’s what really hurts.”

“That’ll be all that Roman says and well Shiv, she’ll only say anything about it behind your back.”

“So comforting and reassuring.” You dryly said.

“I’ll send you the invoice for Kendall Roy’s Therapy.” He teased and you both chuckled dryly at that.

There wasn’t much else to say to that and you knew Kendall wasn’t ready to talk about the bigger problems yet so you gave your brother a tight hug that he quickly reciprocated. You stayed in each other’s arms for a few moments, it was healing and reassuring in a way.

You then left to sit on a miraculously empty couch as Kendall went off to talk to Roman and Shiv again about company matters you didn’t want to hear about and that they wouldn’t want to discuss in front of you or Connor anyway. As you sat there, Stewy caught your eyes again and this time he finally came over. He sat next to you on the sofa but left a reasonable, person-sized gap between the two of you.

“Kendall knows, you know.” You quietly state looking at him tiredly, the events of the last 24 hours and your lack of sleep were quickly catching up with you.

“Well, I’m in private equity not acting baby.” You scoff at that and smile, sinking a little further into the sofa.

“Perspicuously not in comedy either, babe.” You say with a smile that grows. You tilt your head to look at his expression, his big beautiful eyes are watching you and there’s the cocky smile plastered on his face that you’re in love with.

“I’ve learnt it’s best to save the wit for the Roys.” He shoots back with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Stewy’s here and he’s being cheeky for your sake. You love that about him, his tongue isn’t biting like your siblings but his humour is a way of showing up.

“Do you want to go on the balcony for a minute?” You questioned. “I want some fresh air.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He leaned his hand over that empty space of safety between you two to squeeze your hand for a second before you got up and he then followed you.

He leant against the railing and watched you once you were both out on the much more, pleasantly quiet balcony.

You laid your head against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, listening to his heart calmly beat as he pressed his chin against the top of your head and exhaled. Stewy’s thumb was tracing reassuring patterns on your arm. He hummed softly for a moment and you could feel the vibration of it on the top of your skull.

You and Stewy both knew this was a sure way to be caught but neither of you cared in this moment and didn’t care about any of the consequences. They were manageable, they felt minor now and realistically they were. This would shift the family dynamic and having furtive hands with your lover always seemed to you to be in the best interests of Stewy’s career and the dramas between him, Kendall and Waystar.

You were pretty okay with being out in the open with Stewy and he felt the same way. As the relationship went on, he wanted that more and more. His post-coitus conversation was serious and not a post-orgasm thought.

“You were serious about eloping before Connor’s wedding weren’t you?”

“Probably poor taste to say it right now but yes baby, dead serious.”

You laughed at that and he felt it vibrate against him and it made him smile. He just wanted to bring you a bit of comfort and joy on an awful day like today.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

“Are you saying you want to get eloped?”

“Well, I was thinking of leaking the story to ATN that Stewy Hosseini is so whipped by the Roys that he gets a vasectomy for one and not the one they’d expect.” You teased, laughing a bit more and he laughed as well.

“Well, as much as I think we could find you something short to wear as an elopement dress, maybe something fun and scandalous like Sharon Tate’s since you like those old flicks. I don’t think we should leave your dad’s wake to go off and elope, might be the cultural upbringing differences but seems a little rude to me.” Stewy teased, you laughed and kissed him on the lips softly for a moment.

“How does tomorrow sound?”

“For an elopement?” “Yeah.”

“Perfect.”

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noyoyoy · 4 months

Text

I figured I’d give SOME oversight on Simon and M/n since my blog will probably focus a lot on him.

If you’d like me to go into detail with the two, I will, just let me know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tw: mentions of abuse, alcohol. infidelity, age gap, blood, and murder.

Additional information:

While growing up, M/n hadn’t experienced love he deemed real. Parents always fighting, cheating on one another and screaming. Siblings never around, old enough and moved out already starting families, I guess it’s safe to say M/n was a mistake in his parents eyes. It caused M/n to hide in his room, isolate and never go out, failing school, no hobbies, just laying in bed all the time on his phone, sleeping, or crying, scared he’d one day act the same as the people he grew up with. You are your parent’s child after all.

M/n’s first ‘real’ relationship lasted more or less 3 years, it’s been so long he doesn’t remember how long he was with her. She was always talking to other guys and girls, arguing with him when she never did anything for him. But he was 13 when they started dating, 16 when they broke up due to her cheating on him. Yeah that didn’t feel good, he was always raised to be a man. Never cry, don’t show emotion, don’t be weak. But he was. M/n was sensitive by nature, growing up in a toxic environment didn’t help either, he couldn’t handle being yelled at, storms, loud noises, or confrontation without getting emotional, he couldn’t help it, he didn’t know why.

M/n and Simon overview:

When he met Simon at 18 after moving out, they bonded fairly quickly for growing up in a similar way (without the murder of his family.) They didn’t talk often, Simon being in the army was the main reason why, he didn’t have his phone often, but one perk is he let M/n stay in his home while he was gone since he had nowhere to go. Simon enjoyed coming home to someone, anyone, a friend he knew felt the same way. Since the incident when he was a teenager, he hadn’t felt any security other than the army. The blood, fighting, not having to care about what other people thought of him because he scared everyone away with his demeanor and stance. M/n made him feel again, he always had a smile on his face when Simon walked through the door, normally cooking or making Simons apartment more cozy and homey. (He asked don’t worry)

When M/n turned 19 Simon started to hang out with him more and more, talking together, cooking together, eating, even reading together in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. They both had to admit, it felt good to be at peace, no screaming, blood, gun fire. Just silence, the sound of pages turning and the smell of Pine in the house, curtesy of the candle M/n bought.

First realization:

M/n knew he liked men more so than women, his mother and last relationship blew that out the water for him. He had a fling with a man at one point during high school but it didn’t last long due to how his father acted when he found out. He was.. angry. He didn’t raise a .. homo as he would say, granted he didn’t raise him at all. M/n would never say that to his face. But with Simon.. he made him feel safe. Was it because he was older? Or the fact that he was capable of killing people as a living. Eh maybe both.

Simon never had a relationship. Growing up with a mother who worked all the time, mostly absent trying to provide for her family, while her husband and his father was a drunk who tormented him in any way possible. All he had was Tommy. Had. When he arrived home to the house disheveled, the tree knocked down, ornaments broken, glass on the floor. He knew something was wrong. And this wasn’t a ‘dad is drunk again’ wrong this was… wrong. Wrong. A wrong that made his heart sink to his feet, a wrong that made him sweat, and lose his breath. Walking through the house as quietly as he could, he stopped in the kitchen and froze at what he saw. His mother, lying on the floor, a hole in her shoulder and what looks like another wound of a knife in her side and chest. He stared at it for what felt like hours. He didn’t even want to go through the rest of the house, scared at what he’d find.

He doesn’t talk about anything else after that. Never going further and into depth about what else happened that night. Only saying that he fled and never looked back.

They might be broken and trying to piece each other together, but at least they are together. Safe, happy, and well, together. He vowed when they started dating that he’d never involve M/n into the affairs of the 141. The 141 would never know about him, no one would ever know about him. Unfortunately that changed when they got married. Having to talk to laswell about not telling price or anyone else about him. It took… much persuasion but she did keep her word. Blanked out the section where M/n’s information would go, before printing and putting it in his file.

He’ll be damned if something were to ever happen to M/n. He was his husband, and just because he doesn’t wear the mask around him, doesn’t mean he won’t bring Ghost into his life if it ment keeping him safe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I write fast. I have nothing better to do these days.

#simon riley x male reader #ghost cod #cod mwii #cod #male reader #artists on tumblr

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deliciousdefendorinternet · 22 days

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Honestly one thing I Hope we see in the future films is Poppy actually properly having to struggle through a character arc for a change.

in terms of Drama its pretty annoying how well stress free Poppy's is in TBT the film has her go through a surface level arc about understanding the complexities of family.

through meeting Viva but its just that surface level because her and Viva's problems aren't actually anything that negative in regards to Poppy.

Viva didn't want to leave with someone she only just met to go to the outside world which she'd been afraid of for over 20 years.

there's no wronged party in this situation neither her nor Poppy are to blame and even in the moment its understood this is just a temporary set back and Poppy can come back to see her later.

way different to Branch and his Brothers where there was clearly people in the wrong in both situations when the family broke up so the movie making a narrative comparison between the situations is just wrong as hell.

Branch was wronged by his family in big life shattering ways and then not even treated like a human being who's feelings were valid in present day.

and then was going to be dumped again through no fault of his own and even belittled and mocked for having valid feelings on the matter.

not at all similar to Poppy's family situation so the movie acting like these two things are on an equal playing field is dumb as hell.

they have Branch have the big eureka moment after hearing Poppy say to Viva that their family history doesn't need to be perfect as long as their together.

but that isn't at all comparable to Brozone's situation where it came about as a result of the older brothers being selfish and toxic and didn't change even after two decades.

not because of human flaws like Viva had that she actively tried to work through.

and frankly this is annoying like why does Branch always get saddled with the crappy end of things? why couldn't Poppy's rose tinted view of family actually be tested?

like have Viva be someone who genuinely mistreats her and is selfish towards her actually testing Poppy's beliefs on family.

Rather than giving her an instant best friend who's only problem is something that isn't really anyone's fault and didn't really have any baring on Poppy's feelings.

instead of dumping Branch with selfish siblings who literally do nothing but let him down and mistreat him and dump him when they encounter even mild inconvenience.

yet still force him to forgive them in the end no questions asked basically making the message of the film about unconditional forgiveness which similar to Raya is possibly the worst message a film could have.

basically what I'm saying is you wanna have Poppy go through an arc then actually test her because TBT's arc was surface level and it back tracked in the end.

by having the one character who challenged Poppy's beliefs come around to her way of thinking in the end and take back toxic people who hurt him time and time again simply because of a rose tinted view of family always being great.

like maybe in the next film actually have her get the shorter end of the stick and actually have to struggle properly with some of her beliefs.

maybe like I said in the other post it could be something to do with her mother coming in a future film and Poppy being Poppy is eager to get to know her and have a mom in her life willing to forget about her walking out on her Peppy and Viva.

and Regardless of Wether she's actually a downright villain or just a selfish crappy person the result can be the same where Poppy's trust is actually used and abused multiple times.

maybe actually leaving her in danger or resulting in her getting hurt and by the end despite her being desperate for her mom to be someone who she could help change for the better.

she's literally forced to realise that she can't change her and has to cut her off.

or hell if we do go the full on villain route like I've said before have Peppy straight up get killed by the villain due to Poppy's actions in not being able to accept that they couldn't resolve things her way.

and Poppy actually has to struggle through the guilt of her own dads death being in some part her fault or at least that's how she feels.

it'd actually make it feel much more admirable for her character if in the end she kept to her mostly peaceful beliefs in the end despite her loss.

something I feel is lacking with her character for comparison Hiro Hamada not killing Callaghan and stating the protocol of not hurting people wouldn't be seen as being as noble if he wasn't one of the main victims of Callaghan's crimes. ( aka losing his brother because of his actions )

and instead it was just something he believed and decided just because he's a posotive person I feel Poppy is kinda like that.

she spouts her posotive talking points in every film but has never really been tested to the extreme that most good heroes have.

so having her either have to have bubble regarding family well and truly burst after genuine mistreatment that she can't ignore forever.

or if the stakes are bigger and you have her literally lose a loved one due to a villain with opposing ideologies.

yet she still in the end stays true to her morals and beliefs then that would make her character overall better imo as like I said I feel her character is lacking a proper sense of having been tested.

and to have another story that has a comparison drawn with Branch maybe ( I say looking very nervous and guilty 😅😅 ) that it could tie in with my little idea of Branch having a plot surrounding his semi surrogate parent figure.

sorta having the story draw a clear comparison between toxic and healthy parental figures even those that aren't related by blood.

those are just a couple of ideas if you have any others I'd love to hear them but my point is

just let Poppy actually have to struggle through an arc for a change and it actually have permanent consequences for her in the end.

plus let my boy Branch get the good aspects of the story for a change Rather than be Dumped with literally all of the negative shit like the multiple tragic backstories and the crappy family members. 😕😕😕😕

#trolls #trolls branch #trolls poppy #trolls future ideas #trolls 4 ideas #trolls 4 #dreamworks trolls #trolls band together

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thementalshawty · 8 months

Text

My New Beginning (My way out)

(Mentions of disabilities, mental, emotional, physical abuse, S*x abuse, bullying, self harm, suicidal ideation, Domestic violence, be wary before reading).

So where to begin……. This is about familial abuse, so this has been something happening my whole life!!! My “mother” is a narcissist. She bullied me and my sister our whole lives, I am the third of 5 kids, she would pit us against each other and watch us fight to laugh and make fun, most of my insecurities stem from her clowning me in front of my brothers, funny enough she is NEVER ALONE, my father he abused us including her but he left and I thought we were better off for it, I wasn’t wrong but little did I know the monsters she’d allow into our lives after, I was getting molested by older brother and my mothers boyfriend before I even got to elementary school, my brother started when I was insanely young, and I still protected him as I didn’t know what tf was happening, her boyfriend started when I was in 4th grade, he wasn’t a drunk or anything just a pedophile, she knew he was because he got caught cheating on her with teenage girls and yet she still kept him around for a decade so wherever we moved he was there and I started to become angry, rage grew inside my soul like a fire that had no intention of burning out, on top of that he was abusive hitting and bruising me and my siblings who all have disabilities, you know my sister as she’s a tarot reader on here so I’m not going into specifics about them, but she would sit and watch and do nothing, she would hide food with him, have us stand in the corner for hours on end while they are food in front of our faces “mmmm that’s good”. She even forced to drink her breast milk in front of him, she despised us having friends, soo when I would have a friend she wouldn’t let me see them or go out or we would move, I’ve never stayed more than 2-3 years in any place my whole entire fuccin life! I don’t know anything but toxicity when it came to relationships, I tried to kill myself multiple times but they failed so I decided to be a burner, I just burned myself, the fire it was the rage inside me felt outside, I decided to tell my mother about the molester from her boyfriend when I was 15, because I told someone in school he told me I had to tell her or he would so I wrote her a letter, he had a gun in the house and put it to his head and said he was going to kill himself (gaslighting), she kicked him out for a day, brought him back then told me that I had to share her with him, so at 15 and with her knowledge of him molesting me, we all moved to California, we drove there, and that was awful, we all fought and he screams how he didn’t care about what he did to me and he was laughing in front of her, i ended up just sweeping that under the rug because i went to focus on my career I had acting classes so my mind was focused but I met a guy from school and he automatically hated him (the boyfriend) he told my mother and automatically I was told to stay away from him, I didn’t I had got arrested the year before so I had community service and he was helping me with that, I told him what happened I thought we were meant to be but he cheated on me with his sister and I found myself in her another Jerry springer bind but I found that out months after we broke up, but he stood up for me and he was the only one on the outside that actually came and defended my honor as sick as he is I will give him credit for that. A year later we’re moving bacc to NYC, before we did though, they got Into a fight (my mother and the boyfriend), pretending to break up, he went to the gas station filled a gas canister wit gas came back to the front door and poured gasoline on himself, obviously not lighting himself on fire because it was an act, he went to jail a week or two later she invited him back into her life, I already knew that it was going to happen because the shit was predictable at that point, Skipping ahead to 17, we moved back to NYC, we came separately, I came on a plane with my mother and the rest of my siblings drove back with him, because obviously she trusted him with children why wouldn’t she? She already knew what he was capable of, she didn’t care 🤷🏽‍♀️, when we got back to NyC she

Promises me that he’s not coming back into our lives that it’s over this time, I told her he’s going to gaslight her she says not gonna work, fast forward to when they all made it to the apartment, she approached me with the sob story I said he would come in with so she said she is letting him stay, I was going to just walk away, but my sister told me that she fought with him on the drive here, she stood up for me, he yelled at my older brothers and her that he did What he did to me cos he truly wanted to and he’s unapologetic for it, the flame it was uncontrollable and I blacked out I went into the room and I kicked him out myself. He yelled bullshit but he left, she hated me for that, so she started to sneak him in secretly then they started hiding food again, leaving us to literally shake, starve and feel sick, we learned how to improvise with what little we had. I was going to school so I didn’t care, speaking of school I was supposed to be on my last year of school, and I couldn’t graduate because my principal explained because I moved so much my credits were all over the place, so she told me I had to repeat a year that was devasting to me because in California I only had a few credits before I could graduate, I got two jobs because I just wanted to save up money to leave, she told my grandma lies oh she has a whole bunch of recruits that she tells constant lies too about us and what we do never the truth because they already feel she’s sick but they do nothing about it, family tho right? My grandma called me and so again we told her the truth and she helped us kick him out for good, (so that’s the end of boyfriend 1…. For now) I was finally 18!! So again I have no friendships nothing ever stuck, but I had two jobs and I was saving up for an apartment, I shouldn’t have done this but I was so proud of myself! I told her (my mother) that I was going to move out, get my own apartment and live on my own, she didn’t like that, she was saying that it was disloyal and what was she going to do without me and she needed help because most of my siblings have a disability, so I stayed, I couldn’t be disloyal when she needed me, that was a big mistake. A year later we are moving BACC to California because she has found A NEW BOYFRIEND, some guy she met over the phone, guess who helped her move back to California though (boyfriend #1), my brother who molested me left to go into the army, don’t worry he’s not in it any longer dishonorable discharge (it was fitting). So anyways the new boyfriend was some white guy who I felt meant no harm the fuccin dude was quiet and softspoken so I paid it no mind, but I was wrong, he was a drunk, not only was a he a drunk, he was a RACIST DRUNK! Did she care???? NOOOOOOO! Everytime I tried to leave she stopped me, til we fought then she would say to leave knowing I had nowhere to go, if I had a friend to go too she would hate that friend, funny thing is most friends that want to take me away from this be friends she introduced me too, she wanted to be friends with them but they wanted to be my friend yes they are younger people, I don’t have those friends anymore because they were very similar to her go figure right ? I thought I should call the cops, call for help, but everyone I reached out too did nothing INCLUDING COPS! So I felt backed into a corner, well I had my sister my little sister my rock, funny fun fact though, her new boyfriend ALSO LIKES LITTLE GIRLS oh and BOYS! He got arrested and she stood up for him, while he was doing that in her home, she would run away and leave us all my siblings in the house with him drunk calling us the N word, kicking doors down and causing mess, I couldn’t leave my siblings who couldn’t understand what was happening behind all I knew is that they were scared and their mother wasn’t there all she did was make excuses for him she told me I should kill myself, that I was a cunt that didn’t deserve her name, ( I don’t have it, I have my dads last name), that I was going to be nothing more than a whore, by this time………………

She knows about what my brother did to me I didn’t mention that confession because she just skipped right over it. She literally didn’t care and she told me to my face she believed he was only playing with me and I am confusing it all and that I know nothing about it because it happened to her and she the only one who knows pain and my pain doesn’t matter she tried to assault me and again tried to tell family but she already took the narrative so they weren’t trying to hear me out or help, in august of this year, me and my sister left, we went to stay in a motel for a week or two, with the help of my booking agent we didn’t have enough money to stay and the homeless shelters were all full and we’re not answering back, so we had no choice but to go back, we are back and nothing even a week later back to the drunk racist, not eating, starving routine, I wanted to die and I felt like a failure! I couldn’t even get out of bed I felt like I deserved this I got my sister out to end up right back 2 WEEKS LATER?!?!! I fuccin hated myself! He was drunk and again causing ruckus, she came back a morning later and was telling him to leave, he was going to hit her, my brother (diagnosed with MR) was out there with my younger brother (autism) and they were scared and standing up for her and the boyfriend was in their faces what was I supposed to do???? Me and my sister tried to help and she tried to tell us to leave for helping her!!!!! Me and my sister decided to just call the police, they started to fight, and he tried to kill her, the police got him out, and they told her that she was lucky to have her kids here, we cleaned up her room after he broke her whole house apart, I mean EVERYTHING IS TORN APART RN!!!! she decided that she was going to move down to Texas with the molesting brother because he has kids, (oh yeah other fun fact she kept forcing me to have kids she even wanted me to give her my eggs so she can have kids with both of those boyfriends she approached me TWICE ABOUT IT, one she wanted my eggs and the other she wanted me to be pregnant for her!) So now my brother has kids she was like saying she knows I’ll never have kids and I’ll be forever alone, that no one will ever love me, anyways skipping to now my birthday came and left I’m 27 now! The housing program that me and my sister signed up for began to pend and we found a place! We didn’t tell her we found a place and that we were in a program we didn’t even tell her that we went down the city. We ended up getting a random woman come into the house and serve us she was evicting us (my mother) even on the eviction notice it says no fault just cause, she didn’t even tell me, so we have 60 days to leave and vacate her premises! Funny enough yesterday my sister got her APPROVAL NOTICE!!! Mine is still pending but I know that I’m getting approved and if all goes well we will be in our transitional home on SATURDAY! We finally did it, dug our way out, I didn’t think that I could and that I would, I would’ve been opened up to someone if I didn’t believe that it was against the family or that no one would love me like she did, she painted the world as such a unloving place and that this toxicity was normal and for the longest I believed it, but I am waking up now! And I am looking forward to beginning my life AWAY FROM HER! Just me and my rock @silvershiningtarot I AM NOT ASHAMED OF MY STORY, I’m only ashamed I kept quiet for so long, I allowed them to get away with everything and they took control of the narrative but I’m taking my power back! This is the first chapter of my success story! I’m not looking for claps or sympathy or for yky to actually care or anything I just wanted to put my story out there because this shit shouldn’t be in the dark anymore, mothers can be demons, family can be a dark and scary word for people and they’re not family, only relation! And I wanted to make that clear! RELATION DOESN’T MEAN FAMILY

I feel more familial love from you guys on here than I ever did anywhere! My music gave me hope and tarot gave me community

You deserve to know your reader through and through!

Thank you!!! For listening and taking the time for hearing this sad ass story, I hope I didn’t drag your day down! 💋

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comfortless · 2 months

Note

König is usually depicted as an only child in most peoples headcanons, but how different do you think he would be if he had older/younger siblings?

actually i think it would be really fun to explore König being a middle child. ^^ there are so many possibilities, this is like finding a really big stick outside to poke at poor König with…

tw for emotional/physical abuse, bullying, toxic masculinity nonsense, mental health stuff.

i think that everyone heralds König’s father as being the worst of the worst, but what if that awful behavior was reserved solely for König? maybe he had an older sister that his parents see as being their golden child. she doesn’t get bullied: she’s pretty, average height, her grades don’t suffer from something undiagnosed holding her back. the yelling and fighting in the house is never targeted at her.

König knows his older sister is the favorite, there’s never been any doubt about that. even as children she was granted anything that she could ask for, had their mother doting on her constantly, his father praising her for academic achievements and for simply existing. the love is definitely there, no questions asked. their parents always wanted a daughter and here she is: more capable and wonderful than they could have even hoped for.

and seeing how they may have treated König: the girl follows suit in making her younger brother’s life a bit hellish. she was never violent with him, not like their father, nor was she cold like their mother, but she would chide König endlessly about how he needed to focus on his studies, even when he couldn’t possibly do so.

the protestations would fall entirely on deaf ears here. his sister means well, in a way, but she also serves as a constant reminder of just how wonderful König’s life could have been if he were only more normal. (which, isn’t the case at all in this horrible, dysfunctional family. König just happened to be an “oops”, and his mother’s post-partum depression may have been so bad she never properly bonded with him when it was most important to do so.) i imagine that he loves her, Oma taught him to be good to women no matter how many squabbles that they get into, but there’s definitely a layer of resentment there.

say… he has a younger brother, too. always treated as some fragile, beloved thing. he’s taken out to buy new clothes and snacks when König’s jeans are full of holes and he’s left to his own devices to find food. that’s fair, in König’s eyes. he dotes on his little brother just as much as the rest of them, because their difference in age is smaller than with the older sister, he’s only a grade or two below him. his younger sibling is the closest thing that he has to a sincere friend.

the kids at school bully him in turn simply for being associated with König. pointing out that one day, he’ll probably hit some bizarre growth spurt and behave like an animal trapped in a cage, just as his older sibling did. unlike their sister, König’s not so hellbent on keeping up appearances at school that he would shy away from throwing some poor bastard into the mud to defend his brother. or his father.

though the old man is certainly kinder to his youngest child, he still thinks of him as being too soft. he won’t toss a fist his way, but the arguments in that house seem to triple when he realizes his boy isn’t as tough and strong as he should be. their father is constantly bickering with his mother over babying their youngest too much, and as awful as it is, hearing all of this is probably the first time König’s actually felt any pride in himself. the old man compares these two and almost seems elated that König’s becoming a proper man, one that doesn’t come crying to his mother like his brother does so often.

and despite all of this, König would have a lot of good memories with them. their sister has her own friends, but never held back on spending time with her (weird) brothers. maybe they built a little fort in the forest beyond their house to share stories and hoard snacks or trinkets. König had to set it up, of course, but it gives him a chance to play some sort of mentor to the both of them, showing off how easily he can structure something and share his knowledge about anything under the sun on hazy summer days when they’re picnicking outside to get away from their parents.

i don’t believe König would turn out too differently, honestly! maybe he would be more social, actually having two other people he could talk to if he chose it. in fact, after their Oma’s passing, maybe his siblings and his mother are the only parts of his family he bothers to keep in contact with at all. unfortunately bullying would take a toll on him regardless of if he had one sibling or twelve. he might trust (some of) the people that he shares blood with, but ultimately the world is still something unfair and cruel.

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stargirlie25 · 3 months

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after months I finally went back to Acotar tiktok and it was just as bad.

Elain haters are getting tiring

Lucien haters didn't even read the series

people say nesta ships elriel 💀

Rhys VS nesta is everywhere

Gwyn,emerie VS feyre,elain is the stupidest thing ever

E/riels are always commenting on pro elucien and gwynriel posts even though nothing is anti elrie about it.

E/riels are suddenly now uplifiting Emerie to make us Gwyn stans and Gwynriel stans feel bad even though we know they don't gaf about emerie.

The older siblings of acotar Fandom are saying how they could never be like Nesta

The Gwyn hate is disgusting per usual

Im glad to see there are more gwynriels and eluciens or maybe that's just my fyp.

I love the trend where u call e/riel opposites attracts and Gwynriel, like calls to like

But those videos aren't even anti elriel. It usually says "or" so u pick ur vibe.

Elriels are saying elriel is both and they don't get how gwynriel is like calls to like proving they are a bunch of clowns

The same exact 3 elriel creators are annoying the he'll out of me.

The elriel who thinks she can be Elain makes me want to kill myself.

E/riels being unoriginal with the r@pe threats

Generally the most toxic Fandom to exist.

Dw I love my gwnriel/eluciens

Edit: now the Fandom is calling the love of Sarah's life ,father to her son an abuser.

Bc Sarah had a c section? Many of my family has had emergency c-sections (including my mom)and their husband's are such supportive people. I get hating characters but why are we attacking their relationship based on feysand? Many people love feysand and view them as one of the best couple. Your opinion is not a universal opinion and calling your abusive josh take a theory is fucked up.

This is generally the worst Fandom ever I'm so sorry.

#acotar fandom #ACOTAR #fandom fuckery #Worst Fandom to exist

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poindexters-labratory · 6 months

Note

Talk about your version of William or I will spill hallucinogenic nightmare gas all over your blog =3

OKAY, FINE, YOU FORCED MY HAND

...heheheheh. >:3

Hurricane William Afton Lore Dump Part One

!!CW Warning!!: mentions of abuse, religious trauma, religious OCD, alcohol abuse, underage drinking and drug use, and addiction

William Anise Afton was born October 10, 1947 in a wooded area of Reading, a borough in Berkshire, England, to a shit awful family. This family consisted of his father (Edward), mother (Grace), and four older siblings (two older brothers and two older sisters), making William the baby of the family. The way they were shit awful, I'm not going to get into.

He went to Catholic school until he was twelve and developed a pretty big obsession with death during primary school because of a belief that what was happening to him with his family was his fault, making him guilty of sin, therefore condemning him to Hell at the age of nine. This resulted in obsessive thoughts that had him believe that everywhere he went, he was in mortal danger and had to prepare himself to die. He was petrified of dying because he always believed he was just meant to go to Hell and be tortured even before he got older.

Psychology bit: OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) can be a wide range of obsessive thoughts combatted with a wide range of compulsive behavior. In William's case, he has obsessional intrusive thoughts about death and Hell, which leads him to stay away from situations where he could die and be tortured for eternity, which is the compulsion. He avoided streets, stairs, heights, etc. the best he could for a long time.

When he was twelve, his father took him away after he discovered the at-home circumstances were horrible for the youngest member of the family. William then moved to London with his father, and they lived in the place where Edward worked, which was a mechanic shop he supervised for the owner of a small company.

Edward Afton had always been cold and old-fashioned, he was a veteran of the second World War, Irish, and very smart. He was also a mean bastard, an alcoholic, and emotionally unavailable for his traumatized son that he called Billy (even though that was nowhere near William's name, no matter how many times he was told it was a nickname). Not to mention that William confused him, and Edward didn't like things he couldn't understand.

William had always been... different. He was a shy and quiet boy, nose always in a book, (Will's favorites being Alice in Wonderland, The Velveteen Rabbit, The Wind in the Willows, and whatever books he could find with fantastical animals involved), had stereotypically feminine interests and habits compared to his older brothers when they were growing up, and had an odd obsession with rabbits.

Edward tried for a few years to "fix" him, to make Will "more like a boy". This included getting him involved in fixing cars, which William took to quickly, and bullying him out of his habits. Seemingly.

At this point in time, William was feeling a lot of shame for his lack of masculinity, self-conscious about his appearance, teenage hormones going haywire as he wasn't developing to fit the description of what people said a man should look like, and his father seemingly hating him more every day. This drew him to a group of boys that roamed the streets of London around his father's workplace. They were tough, toxically masculine, everything William thought he was missing.

This is where we mention William has always been charming and charismatic. He's learned it from the books he's read, movies he's seen, and stories he's heard. It's how he got money, food, books, and short-term relationships out of people whenever he wanted/needed it. The people he's charmed generally liked him, even though he was a stupid kid. At fourteen, he joined the rocker group that roamed around where he lived.

For a few years, to the age of seventeen, he ran around with them, dressed like them, did what they did, and became increasingly loud, impulsive, spiteful, incredibly violent, very tall, developed his father's drinking problem, and a drug addiction (that he kept secret). He dropped out of secondary school and had no plans other than someday soon he'd curl up into a ball and die somewhere. He didn't really care if he died at that point in time, William was too exhausted to care, and he lost his belief in a god and an afterlife. All of that shit he heard in primary school was just a scary story.

Then he met Henry in spring of 1964. Henry Emily was a twenty-year-old American student attending one of the universities for an engineering degree. He was working in that mechanic shop, the same one his father supervised; a trade offer given to him by the owner who knew Henry's father when they both served in World War II. The trade was this owner would pay for Henry's schooling while Henry (who was a mechanical genius apparently) would work in this shop.

History Bit: The 1960s was regarded as the "counterculture decade" in America, and in England, "The Swinging Sixties". There were massive differences between the two countries' views on the changing world and the changing cultures between them. One of the biggest things that caused this culture shift was widespread television access, giving the younger generation access to the world around them. American society was also thrown into the Vietnam War with the draft being set in place in 1966. There were many American movements in the decade, such as civil rights, anti-war, and gay rights, all seen as a direct attack on the "American way of life". England didn't have much involvement in the Vietnam War, the new generation was trying to move past the post-war era their parents came from. This will become relevant later.

William and Henry met on the circumstances that Will was trying to steal some of his stuff. From all Will's rummaging around in his stuff, he discovered some drawings of Fredbear (at this point, just known as Fred). This seemed to snap William out of this stupor he'd been in because he also had an animal character he'd draw. A golden yellow rabbit with purple eyes, that wore a little bow and waistcoat. He just called it Bunny (generating names wasn't his strong suit).

William couldn't pass up on the opportunity to meet someone that actually liked the same things as him. So, they talked. And then talked some more. And then spent the entire day together. And then they became best friends. Henry was reserved, calm, and headstrong, able to balance out William's high energy and impulsive nature.

The two of them could talk for hours on end about their animal characters (autistic people at their finest), pretty soon associating them with the other. Animatronics just started as a joke, both of them having an appreciation for Walt Disney and his Audio-Animatronics. Then it kind of stopped being a joke when Henry started brainstorming ideas for how a giant singing bear might actually work.

History Bit: Walt Disney coined the term "Audio-Animatronic" in 1961, the first of their kind being Disney's "Enchanted Tiki Birds" debuting in the Disneyland Resort, June 23, 1963.

Throughout the year, they became closer, and William started to feel more and more like a person living a life instead of going through the motions to survive. His mental health started to get better and he was slowly starting to express himself in the ways that he wanted to. He broke away from the rocker subculture and gained some social independence, doing what he really enjoyed doing, which was talking to Henry about Fred and Bonnie (Bunny renamed), reading on everything to help them on their journey to making a giant animatronic, drawing the two characters together, being Henry's best friend, and he was very happy.

Henry invited William to come back to his hometown in Utah (which William had never even heard of) and their goal became getting him across the Atlantic, slowly working off of his addictions and dependences. They were talking about owning a restaurant now with Fred and Bonnie as entertainment, everything was going to be perfect. But then there was a wrench in that plan.

William got mixed up with an upper-class girl slightly older than him, nineteen-year-old Claire-Marie Schmidt. He got her pregnant and neither of them wanted to abort the pregnancy and William didn't want to leave her to deal with this by herself because this was his fault, so Claire hung around to the displeasure of Henry.

Henry is just like William in a lot of ways. First of all, he gets jealous easily and second of all, he's lonely. All of William's attention seemed to get taken away by Claire and this unborn baby, and he felt abandoned. Not to mention that William and this girl had to get married per traditional values of Claire's father which they both respected. The baby was due in July and Henry was graduating in May, leaving soon after that. William could only pick one or the other. And he chose his wife. It was a painful and bitter goodbye at the airport, and William had to watch his one friend leave, not sure if he'd ever see or hear from him again.

He saw him again after about three minutes.

Henry cancelled his flight last second because he couldn't make a huge mistake like this. They made plans for all three of them to fly to Utah and that summer they did.

As soon as Claire got to close her eyes in the bed within the Emily ranch house, the contractions started, and Michael John Edward Afton was born a few weeks early in that room. When William laid eyes on Michael for the first time, something changed. Nothing else mattered more than who was in his arms right now, he loved nothing more. Of course, William got huffy when they had to give Michael back to Claire.

William and Claire had an interesting relationship. They didn't love each other like a married couple would, they were very good friends if anything. They confided in each other, told each other their problems, but William was a gay man and Claire knew this, and had no issue with it. They loved each other as good friends, they weren't romantically or sexually inclined to the other, so they formed an agreement that she could do what she wanted, and he could do what he wanted. And it worked for a while.

Part 2 ->

#fnaf #william afton #claire afton #fnaf hurricane #michael afton #henry emily #i really like history #rabbits #fursona art

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heythetan · 6 months

Text

thinking about Summer and Morty's sibling relationship....

teensy eensy spoilers for the new ep (wet kuat amortican summer)

idk just something about how it was portrayed in the latest episode felt so real. as an older sibling I relate hard to how Summer feels, how she sees Morty get everything seemingly for free. the way she's torn between being a good role model and support structure and feeling bitter because Morty is, quite frankly, a little shit sometimes. the fact that Morty IS a little shit because he thinks SUMMER has it better.

they're both jealous of each other, which is THE MOST older/younger sibling thing ever. Morty being spoiled because he's younger but also not getting the same amount of freedom or respect. Summer having to work a lot harder than Morty for things, but also being treated more like an equal. Obv it's a sci-fi comedy cartoon so these dynamics are stretched and exaggerated, yknow. to fit the fact that these family members murder aliens every other day. but at its core its just two siblings beefing it out over dumb shit.

What is compelling to me personally, as an older sibling who has had this exact argument (well, maybe not this EXACT argument) is the fact that Summer really, REALLY wants to be a good older sister to Morty. but she has to work harder than him, and it's so infinitely frustrating when your younger sibling can't or refuses to recognize that. it's not their fault, they don't have the scope or perspective necessary to fully understand those First Child Issues™, but it's annoying nonetheless. and it's the same the other way, too!! being the younger sibling sucks ass in unique ways.

and Morty has a SHITTON of other issues, with his parents but mostly with Rick (who is the person they're both competing over) that Summer just won't ever understand, because she doesn't have that very specific and very toxic relationship with Rick that Morty does. there's something to be said about the layers upon layers of codependency and abuse that is brought into the mix, complicating everyone's relationships to each other, but I just wanted to focus on specifically Morty and Summer, less their respective relationships with Rick. And I need to stop talking about that, cuz that's a whole other can of worms that I don't wanna get into rn cuz otherwise this post is gonna be 10x longer.

but anyways, what I find truly heartwarming is the way these two manage to come together and connect despite their disagreements. I think the first time it really stood out to me was when Summer wanted to leave in Rixty Minutes. MORTY was the person to go after her and make her stay with the whole "nobody exists on purpose" speech. it was one of the first major uses of that sort of optimistic nihilism/found family theme that this show is known for. Theres also a shitton of smaller examples, but the first one to come to mind is that moment in Morty's Mindblowers where, after Beth chooses Summer— Summer looks to Morty with such concern. Beth just looks sheepish. (i think about that moment a lot). the new episode was basically a sci-fi body horror rendition of the siblings being handcuffed together trope. their bond is honestly probably the strongest healthy relationship in the series.

it was good to see Summer finally relax in her role as "older sibling", because all she really needed was reassurance from Rick that just because he loves her differently doesn't mean he loves her less.

#rick and morty #summer smith #morty smith #rick and morty meta #they are so silly

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liz-allyn · 1 year

Text

sugar and vice, pt. 20 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader-oc]

summary: no more running. no more cages.

words: 10.7 k

chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for S&V John Walker (it's a warning), SA, death, violence, gore

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. Spicy smutty situations. spousal abuse. family trauma. Drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don't know these TWs by now, then don't go here.

Back to Part 19.

Note: your comments and notes keep me alive, but please be careful to use section breaks and spoiler tags!

Part 20

Once when she was a little girl, she cut her baby sister’s nails. She had to. It was something that their mother would have done—should have done—but she hadn’t been home in several days. Her older sister had the most experience, but she was stuck working a double shift. Rebecca had been sick with a cold for days, and Selena was just a toddler.

After all, it was her job to look after her younger siblings.

So that left Honey in charge.

Poor Gabriella. The infant couldn’t stop scratching her face. Red lines marked up her round cheeks like tiger stripes. Honey knew if any of the children had too many marks, people would start to notice. Then something bad would happen, her mother assured her. People would come and take Gabriella away.

She tried everything to prevent the baby from digging her tiny claws into her own skin. She tried rolled socks as makeshift mittens. She tried using a bath towel as a swaddle, but that turned out to be an awful idea once the infant realized she was stuck and didn’t like being restrained.

By contrast, being tied up wasn’t something that ever bothered Honey.

The obvious solution was to trim her nails. She had to. It had to be done. They didn’t own a pair of nail clippers, Honey knew that. But it was on her to fix things. She was in charge. So she took a pair of kitchen scissors and tried her best.

After that, she was never okay with the sight of blood.

It used to bother her tremendously. She’d become agitated for a few days out of every month. Her other sisters would joke about it. ‘She must be on her period.’ They were right.

As a teenager, the smallest knick from shaving her legs in the shower would send her into a dizzy spiral. Over time, it got better. John changed that.

Mrs. Walker became an expert at cleaning up blood. She learned to ignore the smell or at least put a dab of Vicks beneath her nose to block the stench.

The only helpful thing she learned in high school chemistry was how blood cells expanded when coming in contact with warm water. Thus, her teacher told her, cold water was best for removing blood stains.

“You know. In case you ever have to hide a dead body.”

It was a joke. Until it wasn’t.

John changed that.

She sat on the tiled floor of her bathroom, shoulders slumped and expression blank. Now, it was impossible to get rid of the blood on her hands. She could strip off her clothes and burn them, but she felt it on her skin. She could shove an entire eucalyptus tree up her nose, but the scent would linger.

She was stained in rust colors, starkly contrasting the pristine ivory of her bathroom. Silently, she gazed at how the blood crusted on her skin, following the ridges of her pores like brush strokes in oil paint. The cotton hoodie and joggers she’d been wearing were soaked through. There had been so much carnage and death she didn’t even know whose blood she was wearing.

Helen’s. Johnny’s. Her own, probably. Blood from ‘that’ guy, whose scalp was torn off.

Eddie’s blood.

All that was left of his life stained her skin. She should be nauseous by now. She should be at least a little woozy. But, instead, the thought of just washing him away made her want to die inside.

She would wear it, then. Needed to wear it—she had to. On her arms and face. On her neck. On her chest, like a scarlet letter. Irreversably stained.

Is this what it means to be desensitized to gore?

Indeed, she felt nothing at all.

What happened, happened. The Bunker was in shambles. It would take months to repair. Would have if Peter hadn’t instructed them to burn everything left.

Every piece of incriminating evidence, every tool at their disposal, and every chapter of their history was on fire underground. Nothing would be left, no matter when the fire department showed up. Johnny had re-routed the gas lines years ago. With the flip of a switch, everything would go up in flames. Nothing could be salvaged. It would be an empty cave filled with useless, charred artifacts from an irrelevant time.

On second thought—she considered—that’s what she felt.

It was as good of a description as any.

After that morning’s attack, she was dropped off at the Penthouse. Peter would follow soon after, they told her. She shouldn’t wait up.

She had limped into her bathroom to clean off the remnants of the massacre. There she remained, for over an hour. Couldn’t get up off the floor. Couldn’t force herself to get in the shower.

At this rate, she may never be clean again.

Her eyes wandered to the smartphone beside her, tucked near her thigh.

John’s phone.

This was the weapon that killed Eddie Brock.

The second she had entered her room, she pulled the cursed object out from the box spring. She wanted to hand it over quickly so that Peni could analyze it. Could... study it, or whatever it is that tech nerds do. Honey would do anything to fix things.

But nobody cared about the phone. It was as good as a gun without bullets. A time bomb, two seconds too late. It was of no consequence.

She picked up the smartphone, glaring down at it with contempt. Sticky red fingerprints covered the cracked screen. Her blood. Their blood.

Eventually, she came to a stand. Then, bitterly, she dropped the phone into the toilet bowl, submerging it in water.

Peter was finally home. But it didn’t feel like home.

His home was on fire, riddled with bullet holes. Just like the home he grew up in.

He stood before the full-length mirror in his wardrobe and wiped the blood stains away with a damp, pink-tinged towel. His flesh was now rubbed raw. The cotton fabric felt like sandpaper against his tender skin.

The obvious solution was to take a proper shower. But he didn’t have time. He only needed to get enough blood off to pass in broad daylight without someone calling the cops if they saw him. He wouldn’t get very far if he looked like an ax murderer.

With all the rage he held inside, an ax was unnecessary. Overkill. And yet, not enough ‘kill.’

He had redressed in clean clothes, wearing a pair of midnight-navy trousers with creased edges that were sharp enough to cut. He paused midway through buttoning a crisp, white dress shirt, momentarily taking in the gruesome sight of himself.

His torso was a canvas splashed with deep purples and reds, stretched over a frame of broken ribs and pinched nerves. His eyes rested on the delicate box chain around his neck, which held two gold wedding bands near his heart.

Ben and May’s wedding rings. Tarnished. Stained with blood.

He quickly reached for the towel.

Minutes later, he carefully shrugged on a matching double-breasted blazer, wincing as he pulled it over his shoulders. Every part of him felt broken, in every possible way. But physical pain hadn’t stopped him yet, not when something more important was driving him.

He regarded his reflection with tight lips. He didn’t wear this jacket too often. It was a tuxedo cut and hung looser than he was accustomed to, making his frame appear boxy. A little too retro, maybe.

Perfect for concealing weapons. After all, he was dressing for a funeral.

His skin prickled. He was familiar with the sensation. He recognized it instantly, like an earthy scent before a rain shower. Honey’s reflection came into view as she approached the doorway behind him.

The sight of her covered in blood made his stomach clench. He reminded himself that it wasn’t all her blood, and only then did the tension in his chest release. But not entirely.

“Thought you were getting some sleep.” Peter’s tone was flat. His eyes flicked back to his reflection as he tugged on the lapels of his blazer.

He didn’t say it as a question; rather, he stated it as an expectation.

She stared back, unfazed, wearing a stone expression. “What are you going to do?”

Similarly, it wasn’t a question. More like a demand.

He briefly glanced at her before returning to the mirror. His jaw set firmly. “You don’t wanna know.”

She marched into the room. “You’re going after John. I want to help.”

“Help me?” he repeated with a scoff. “I don’t think so.”

Her forehead creased, offended. “Look, I can help—”

“Just what do you think is about to happen right now?” he snapped. He squinted his eyes, turning on his heel to face her. “Ya think we’re just gonna pull up on ‘em and that’s it? Ya think he’s just sittin’ around at home watching TV?”

“No,” she said. Her tone was unwaveringly resolved. “I think he’s expecting you to come after him.”

“No shit,” Peter sighed with frustration. “I’m expecting to be expected.” He fixed a stern gaze on her, tension pulling at his vocal cords. “Only difference is I don’t care if he knows I’m comin’, or how many cops are in my way. There’s only one way this ends, and it ends bloody. And you don’t want any part of it.”

He brushed past her and stomped towards his bureau. Her eyes followed each movement, crackling with lightning bolts. “Fuck you, telling me what I want!” she hissed. “This is my mess, too!”

He pivoted toward her. “And what, ya think killing him is gonna fix it?” His face went grim, sorrow etched into his features. Remorse welled in the bottom of his eyes. “Think it gets easier after that? Ya think it’ll make you somehow feel better—?”

“I don’t care about feeling better!” she barked back. He neatly flinched at the sharpness of her tone. Fury bubbled beneath her skin. “The only thing I care about is that he suffers.”

Peter contemplated her for a quiet moment. “Well,” he said, voice soft. His melancholy briefly overshadowed his rage. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

He didn’t meet her eye. Instead, he studied the grain of the wood beneath his feet, letting his shoulders deflate. He looked beyond tired, deep lines creasing his features and flecks of gray in his beard. Yet, when he lifted his chin, his eyes were resolute. He arched his path to avoid her.

Unsatisfied, she trailed him with fire in her eyes. “How will you know where to find him?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Who’s going with you?”

“Stop asking questions, Honey.”

She grasped him by the shoulder and yanked him around to face her. “Jesus Christ! The phone is gone, you unbelievable asshole! Do you really think I’d tell anyone—?”

“You’re not getting involved,” he stated firmly.

“Not involved? Are you fucking serious?!”

“Too many people have already gotten hurt.”

“Holy shit,” she blanched, freezing in place. Her eyes widened in horror. “You’re not telling the others, are you?”

He paused, for eons, she thought. Peter tried to keep his face neutral, but it was useless under her scrutiny. His eyes were ablaze with stubborn resolve, lips in a line. He turned his back and continued down the staircase.

Blinking rapidly, she watched him walk away. She felt dizzy, but not from weakness. Instead, rage pulsed through her veins, each blood cell embedded with fear. She rushed after him, hot on his heels.

“You’re going in alone?” she growled, her nose crinkled. “That’s your fucking genius plan? Go in, guns blazing, and hope you don’t get yourself killed?!”

“I have no intention of getting killed,” Peter said. “Not unless I’m taking him with me.”

His reaction enraged her further as they approached the base of the stairs. “Who does that work out for, huh?” she spat.

Ignoring her, he marched on. Peter spotted one of the guards standing watch outside his office door. “Rollins!” he ordered, voice booming. “Bring the car ‘round.”

“Yes, sir—”

“Rollins, don’t you dare bring the car around!” she commanded, blocking Peter’s path and skewering him with a defiant glare. It was as if she dared him to move her. His dark eyes flashed angrily as he clenched his jaw. He looked as if he was considering it.

Rollins stared at the two of them, back and forth. Frozen with indecision.

Enraged by his sudden hesitancy, Peter’s nostrils flared. He shot a dangerous glare at the guard before glancing down at the young woman with ire.

He lifted his gaze back to his man, narrowing his eyes. “Rollins...” Through gritted teeth, his guard’s name sounded more like a declaration of war.

Rollins sprang into action. “On it, sir.”

As his guard disappeared, she kept her feet rooted to the floor like a mythical beast guarding a castle. She breathed flames from her mouth and conjured curses and plagues with her gaze.

“You asshole—you’re in such a hurry to kill yourself!” she said viciously. “Who for, huh?! You think this is about the others? For Miles? You’re not doing this for us, Peter! And you’re not doing it for Eddie, either!”

“You’re damn right, I’m not!” he snapped indignantly, jabbing his finger into his bruised sternum. “I’m not doing this for anybody but myself!”

Heat radiated from him in waves, like steam from a hot spring. He bent his neck, leering over her. Volume dropped low, his voice thickened into a threatening rumble. “If I were doing this for Eddie,” he said, “I’d make ‘em watch me kill everything he ever loved, ya feel me? ‘Course, I highly doubt you were ever on that list, so you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

She barked a bitter laugh. “So this is, what, payback? Your stupid, dick-measuring way of defending my honor?”

“This isn’t about you, Honey,” he said, dark as night. He leaned down until his lips were inches from her forehead, eyes as cold and sharp as a jagged iceberg. “If it was—knowing what I know now,” he added breathily, “I promise you—it wouldn’t be anything like this.”

A misleading smirk formed on his lips, betraying the brutality staining his thoughts. She felt the heat of his rage in each whispered word.

“No,” he said, deathly grave. “For what he did to you—I would keep him alive for as long as I possibly could.”

The unabashed, murderous smile on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. Her discomfort didn’t faze him this time. He didn’t care how scared she was of him. If anything, the more afraid she was, the better.

“He’s a disease,” Peter ranted, directing his frustration back towards himself, “that I’ve allowed to spread. He’s a threat to everything I give a damn about! And I will not let him hurt somebody else I lo—”

Blinking, he cut the sentence short, just millimeters from a leap he wasn’t willing to take. She stared intently up at him, unaware that she was holding her breath.

He pursed his lips, eyes heavy with regret. He looked away, avoiding her gaze while he composed himself. Finally, he took in a slow, tense breath. “I need to do this, Honey,” he whispered ruefully. He had calmed slightly, swallowing back his rage.

The only thing left behind was a tiny, heartbroken remark. “It’s the only thing I’m good at.” The corners of his mouth turned down sharply.

She didn’t hesitate. “Even if that were true, you don’t need to do it alone.”

He shook his head in frustration. “Why are you so desperate to know what it’s like to kill somebody?”

A vicious yell burst out of her mouth. “I already have killed somebody!” she shouted, as if it were obvious. Her voice echoed off the walls while anguish pooled in her eyes. “It’s my fault Eddie is dead! I know it is—”

He shook his head again. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine—”

“Of course, it’s your fault!” she roared. “It’s both of our faults!”

The comment stunned him, only slightly less than the bitterness of her tone. He snapped his mouth closed, taken aback.

Despair twisted her face, and anger lit up her eyes. “Don’t you get it?” She was green with sickness, spitting out words like they were poison. “This is what he does! He turns people against each other!”

Peter stayed quiet as he observed her intensity. Her feet were rooted while her whole body raged, “He turns you against yourself! He twists you up until you can’t even trust your own instincts! Until you hate yourself enough to feel like you had it coming!”

A dam had broken, and a river of acid spilled through her lips. Resentment from years of abuse writhed in her chest like a tsunami, threatening to flood every street in New York. Her fingers itched to wrap around the collective necks of the city and drown it in her devastation.

She pointed at Peter, eyes flashing furiously. “You’re willing to get yourself killed because you feel responsible for every bad thing that’s ever happened!” She jabbed her thumb back at herself. “I’m willing to suffer in silence because I feel responsible for every bad thing that’s happened!”

“Meanwhile,” she added, with a livid hiss, “John Mother Fucking Walker—who is actually responsible for all of this—feels Nothing. At. All! Because he is a fucking psychopath!”

Peter blinked, contemplating her in silence. Her firm eyes narrowed on him. “That’s how he beats us, Peter!” she exclaimed. “Fear! Guilt! That’s how he wins!”

The frustration in her voice reverberated off of the walls, sending a tremor that penetrated the bedrock. Peter observed her, stoic save for the sorrow in his gaze.

Her chest heaved as unshed tears dampened her lashes. Exhausted, she sighed heavily. “I am tired of letting him win,” she said in exasperation. She was more composed but no less grave. “And if you think you’re gonna do what I think you’re gonna do—which is go after him alone—then that’s exactly what will happen.”

Peter’s eyes glistened, red-rimmed and raw. His silence stretched on forever until she was nearly inclined to choke him for a response. Eventually, he simply bowed his head, casting his eyes down.

“What if fear and guilt are the only things I have left?” It was a meek, feeble reply from someone so powerful. She blinked up at him, watching as he chewed on his lower lip. “Wish it wasn’t that way. I wish I had—”

He stopped, leaving the thought unfinished.

“Doesn’t matter what I wish, does it?” he said. “Doesn’t matter what coulda been.”

A crease formed between her brows. Her face softened. “Peter—”

“Just let me say this, please,” he blurted out with urgency as if the words would claw their way from his chest. “I need to.” She regarded his desperate gaze, and eventually, she bobbed her head gently.

He gazed down at her. His lower lip twitched for a moment. “I had my suspicions about your past,” Peter explained mournfully. “Knew something bad happened, but... bad shit happens to everyone, though. First, I thought it was your mother. Then after Pym, I... I figured it was some old boyfriend, some jerk who treated you like trash.”

Her face flushed red. When she looked back at him, his glazed eyes were fixed on her. Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. With shards of glass on his tongue, he murmured, “I-I didn’t know... wh-what he—”

“I don’t blame you, Peter, if that’s what you think—”

“I didn’t wanna know,” he firmly replied, silencing her. Guilt weighed down his features. “Didn’t wanna ask, if I’m bein’ honest.” He gulped, nearly choking on his words like a razor blade stuck in his throat. “I was afraid of what I would do if I knew the truth.”

She felt warmth sting her eyes, tears budding at the corner of her lids.

“I thought, I guess—” Peter’s voice tremored before he pressed on. “I-I thought I could save you. From what, I didn’t even know. Maybe that was my mistake all along.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, eyes heavy with shame. “I was so stupid. I’m the one that let him in. I let this act—this dance between us—I let it go on.” He sniffed with a bleary gaze. “He played me against me,” he declared with finality. “My fear. My doubt, self-hatred—whatever you wanna call it. Whatever voice in my head that tells me... th-that you... You could never love somebody like me.”

She flinched at that. Her resolve to remain stoic buckled under her feet.

His eyes dropped to his feet. “I told myself this was just business, and that if the Feds could use you, so could I.” Vulnerability poured from his eyes as they met hers. “I pretended it didn’t kill me every time you looked me in the face and lied.”

Despite his apology, her stomach twisted with shame.

“And each time it happened,” he explained, “I couldn’t figure out what they had on you. Something awful, I figured. Something that scared the shit out of you.”

Peter looked at her somberly, lower lip wobbling and eyes dark with regret. “I thought it was me.”

Her face crumpled at his admission, grief seizing her at last. She bit down on her lip to keep a sob from escaping.

“It’s like he already won,” he said, with a broken soul. “I thought I was the one he wanted.” He sniffed, peeking down at her through wet lashes. Deep, raw heartache thickened his voice. “Turns out, it was you all along. And I led him straight to you.”

Her vision flooded with tears at his admission. It sounded like a confession from a dying man. After a few gut-wrenching moments, Peter lifted his chin and met her eyes, resolved. “That’s why I’m doing this without you, Honey. This is my mistake to fix.”

Overwhelmed with grief, she stared up at him in a daze. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she gently shook her head to protest.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said. It sounded like a eulogy.

His eyes glistened as he nodded, love and loss in their depths. “Me too.”

He gazed at her, the coffee color of his irises shining bittersweet. She stared up at him in adoration and agony. She debated whether she should wrap her arms around him and cry or kiss him dizzy.

He paused, letting his eyes linger, then turned away and trodded down the hall. “I’m gonna fix this, Honey,” he said. “I promise. You’re free.”

Perplexed, she darted after him. “Wh-what—?”

“No more running, no more cages,” he resolutely replied. She followed closely as he approached the oak doors to his office. “Won’t hafta be afraid of anyone comin’ after you. Not Fisk. Not me. And not some asshole ex. ‘Cos win or lose...I’m ending this. Tonight.”

She fluttered her lashes with concern, following him blindly into the room.

“Why wait?”

Honey stopped short in her tracks like her feet had been fused to the floor. Peter froze. Swayed dizzily. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck didn’t just prickle, as they had been since the beginning of their conversation. It inverted, the sensation feeling like his skin had peeled off and been turned inside out.

John Walker coolly watched them come to a sudden stop. He lounged back casually in the executive desk chair with a devil-may-care expression and his leather oxfords up on the tabletop. Stunned, they stared at the lithe man with growing alarm. The icy blue of his eyes twinkled with delight at their fear, fixing them with a Cheshire smile.

“Why don’t we do this right now?” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Each bruised muscle in Peter’s body went rigid. In a matter of moments, he was hit with a surge of emotion that he barely managed to contain beneath his skin. Pupils dilated, fingers shaking, heart pounding—fury washed over him, and all Walker had to do was smile.

Over the sound of blood rushing, Peter registered the fluttering palpation of her heart.

His Heart.

His Honey.

She was terrified.

It reminded him of the moment she walked in on the meeting between him and “Steve,” only this time it was worse.

An arctic chill surrounded her from the ice running through her veins. She paused mid-breath, rendered motionless, eyes wide with horror. For a moment Peter worried if she would ever start breathing again.

His palms began to tingle. He kept his attention straight ahead, while he fought between the urge to comfort her and the visceral need to tear John’s face from his skull.

Before he could do either, another warning sensation—sharp and jagged, like his name being carved into a chalkboard with a steak knife—sliced through his brain.

After having been suppressed, ignored, and nearly incapacitated by the Symbiote, his senses were in overdrive. Every cell in his body alerted him to impending danger, which came in the form of footsteps.

He turned quickly, dragging Honey behind his back, as he laid eyes on the new threat. Three of his guards, Malick, Ward, and Rollins—fucking Rollins—stepped into the room. Ward and Malick were vigilant with their weapons drawn, but Rollins sauntered at a leisurely pace. He glanced over at his boss, unworried, and a malicious grin widened his lips.

Peter’s shoulders slumped as he realized that their bullets were meant for him. He frowned sourly, betrayed. “Jack,” Peter coldly muttered, hiding his disappointment beneath the threat in his tone. “Wha’cha up to?”

Rollins simply shrugged. “Sorry, Boss,” he smirked. “‘S’just business.”

Peter’s eyes darkened as he observed Gideon Malick aim his pistol at Honey, while Grant Ward slammed the office door closed, locking them in. With Rollins drawing his sidearm, three guns were now trained on him and the shaking woman behind him.

Peter couldn’t see her face but didn’t need to. He could feel her fear radiating through his fingertips. Her body became both lighter and heavier as if her bones had turned to water. He sensed her increasing dissociation, barely tethered to the Earth and dangling at the end of his reach. Only terror cemented her feet in place. She was sluggish as he pushed her closer into his back as if he could somehow hide her there.

“I have to say, Pete,” John called to him matter-of-factly. Peter split his attention between his backstabbing guards and the monster seated behind his desk. “At first, I was impressed with your organization. But it seems like you have a few serious issues with staff retention to sort out.” John spoke with a self-satisfied smirk, kicking his feet off of the desk and coming to a relaxed stance. “You should think about setting up a meeting with H.R.”

“Believe me,” Peter glowered at John, briefly glancing at Rollins with clenched teeth. “It’s a priority.”

John took an unrushed stroll to the front of the desk before leaning back on the corner’s edge. He moved through the office as if it was his home. It was unnerving for Peter to consider how many times he might have been there without his knowledge, with his treacherous guards granting him access to anything he wanted.

“‘Course, I always thought you shoulda gone into human trafficking,” John said, with a mockingly sincere tone. A crease split Peter’s brow, his face twisting with revulsion. “You would’ve made a very lucrative pimp.”

Peter glared at him, disgusted, as he chuckled softly at his own joke. The laugh faded, as did the humor in John’s ice-blue eyes. They narrowed with contempt, looking beyond Peter to the trembling girl behind him.

“Lord knows you got the world’s biggest whore right behind you,” he sneered maliciously. “With a mouth like hers, you’ll get anything you want. If you throw in an extra five-thousand dollars, of course.”

Peter felt her bristle at the jab, and he reached back further to steady her.

“Don’t look at her,” he ordered coldly, never breaking eye contact. “You don’t get to look at her. Ever.”

The blonde snickered, licking his lips scandalously. “Oh, I’ve done a whole lot more than just look.”

Peter’s jaw tensed at that.

John’s humorless gaze turned into a cold glare. “I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he added vindictively, “but that’s my wife you have behind you.”

Despite his own outrage, Peter kept a straight face. He listened intently, studying how Walker’s nostrils flared and how his pulse sped up at the sight of the couple embracing.

Good, he thought. He needed every second of time he could get.

Peter took a step backward with her, slowly approaching the wall.

His eyes lightened, and a callous smirk formed on his lips. “You mean that’s ‘your wife’ I’ve had beneath me,” Peter sneered lewdly.

The remark splintered beneath John’s skin. Peter watched with satisfaction at how the blonde’s brow twitched. He could smell the agitation leaking out through his pores.

“Yeeaah,” Peter chuckled mockingly, fueling John’s anger. “She told me all about you. Short story. If ya catch my drift.”

Peter took another step backward, bumping her along, teeth flashing with amusement. “In fact,” he parried, matching John’s sardonic tone, “maybe you should talk to a doctor about your little problem. You know, instead of torturing women.”

John glowered with his lower lip curled. “Well. Since we’re sharing.” He tilted his head with a predatory grin, while his eyes shot daggers at them. “I wouldn’t trust everything she says. The girl’s a freak. She tell ya about all of her filthy rape fantasies, too?”

Her breath hitched. A tiny shiver racked through her body. It was barely noticeable to the other men, but to Peter, it felt like a tectonic movement. He could hear the way her stomach shifted, her nausea roaring in like a rising tide.

“She likes it rough,” John snarked. “It’s practically the only thing that gets her off. Pretty fucked up, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.” Inwardly, Peter seethed, resentment darkening his gaze.

“‘Course not. Why take my word for it?” John laughed, having momentarily taken the upper hand. He glanced around at the other traitors mirthlessly before turning back to Peter. “Why don’t we just find out for ourselves?”

Peter’s anger spiked at the insinuation, rage stuttering his heartbeat. He watched as John glanced at Rollins and the other men with a menacing grin. Cruel laughter trickled from the traitors that made his blood boil further.

He took a measured breath. “I know you boys don’t know me that well,” Peter remarked calmly. “But lemme be very clear.” He slid his eyes over and leveled a threatening glare at the men behind Rollins. “Anyone touches her, and I’ll send ya back home to your families in garbage bags.”

Peter’s men dropped their smiles suddenly. He heard a stutter in the heartbeats coming from that direction as they attempted to suppress their reaction. “Don’t take my word for it,” he said directly to Rollins with a murderous gaze. “You know what I’m capable of, Jackie.”

“Is that what you did to Gwen?”

Peter’s anger spread through him like epinephrine as John carelessly spat out his deceased wife’s name. His shoulders tensed, and the cords in his neck pulled tautly.

“You send her back to her daddy in a body bag?” John snickered. “Sure—Call me a shitty husband. But at least my wife never took a swan dive off of the Brooklyn Bridge.”

The fresh swell of rage in Peter’s belly twisted him into knots. A gentle press from a tiny palm on the middle of his back was the only thing that anchored him.

“Oof. Hit a nerve, did I?” John grinned with satisfaction at how the color drained from Peter’s eyes and complexion. “What else did you two lovebirds talk about?” he said. “She tell ya about our little talks late at night?” He grinned salaciously. “Lotsa juicy stuff.”

Peter swallowed hard, unflinching.

“She told me everything,” Walker continued. “Her plan to seduce you. To pretend she cared about you. How much she despised you.” John tilted his head, musing. “How’d you put it, Peach? You could ‘never love a monster like him’?”

He heard a soft gasp from behind him. As strong as their resolve was, the remark punctured its armor. Honey clenched the fabric of his jacket, her touch pleading for forgiveness. Steadfast, Peter took another careful step backward, keeping her close.

“‘Course, that’s no big surprise,” John continued ruthlessly. He could see through Peter’s indifference, knowing each word cut into him like a jigsaw. “‘Everyone that ever loved you is dead.’ Ain’t that right?”

Honey gripped Peter’s shoulder tighter, a swell of nausea creeping up her esophagus. Her vocal cords were paralyzed, with nothing but a whimper escaping her lips. “No...” she muttered breathlessly, stunned and enraged by the twisting of her words.

“Poor, pitiful Peter Parker,” John said in a sing-song voice. “Sad, psychotic little orphan boy. No mommy. No daddy. His aunt and uncle both turned into swiss cheese.” He punctuated each word with viciousness, spitting them out like curdled milk. “Clinging desperately onto the memory of his dead whore.”

Nostrils flaring, Peter glowered at John, dipping his chin. Another step backward nearly had the woman behind him up against the wall, backing her carefully up to a marble-top bar. “Gloat all you want, asshole,” Peter mumbled with disdain. “She still dumped you.”

John’s eyes flashed red with a serpentine hiss sliding off his forked tongue. “And yet, I’m the one that finger-fucked your girl while you were on your little date! Greedy slut was wetter than a swamp when I touched her—”

“Liar!” she screamed, voice cracking like shattered glass.

She lunged forward but Peter blocked her. He practically shoved her back, her spine hitting the edge of the bar. A chorus of chuckles erupted, with Rollins, Ward, and Malick joining in on John’s amusement. She stumbled backward, using her hands to steady herself until she came in contact with a metal object on the bar top.

A camera.

Peter’s old camera. On top of the box disguised as a book.

Both items were out of place.

Presented out in the open, where they shouldn’t have been.

Honey’s eyes darted back up to the front.

“S’okay, Honey,” Peter muttered, his glare still trained on Walker. He held his arms behind his back as if to hide her from view. It formed a ‘cage,’ concealing her movements as she stealthily shifted the camera, keeping her eyes forward. “The longer this clown talks, the more desperate he sounds.”

John’s eyes flashed with malice. “Oh, you wanna hear what desperate sounds like? How ‘bout I push your little bitch off the roof, huh? Have your men make you watch me turn another woman you love into Humpty Dumpty. She’ll be runny eggs on the sidewalk in a matter of seconds—”

“Why are you all still smiling?” Peter sharply cut him off. He shifted his glare from John to his snickering accomplices. “Is it ‘cos you're scared? Or are ya just that stupid?” The laughing ceased immediately as Peter fixed John with a cold gaze. “Either way, you’re about to be a dead man.”

With her hands behind her back, she blindly fumbled to lift the lid of the box. Her fingers scavenged across the bottom, expecting to find a weapon of some kind, or a knife, or perhaps even—

“Lookin’ for this?” John said. The bang of a gunshot deafened her.

A splatter of wet, hot liquid covered her cheek and she flinched at the sound of an agonized cry. She screamed. At the gunshot. At the blood. And at the sight of Peter dropping forward to his knees in excruciating pain.

“No! No! No!”

She could hear her own shrieking in the distance as she grasped at him. Groaning, he writhed in agony. His hand, once again bloody, clutched a bullet hole piercing his upper right shoulder. She threw her already-stained palms over his, adding his blood to the fresco decorating her flesh.

Tears spilled down her cheeks. Lip wobbling, she glanced up with wide eyes as John pointed Peter’s pistol at them menacingly.

“Did ya really think I wasn’t gonna search this place for weapons?” he scoffed in offense, glaring at them through slitted eyes.

Nostrils flaring and teeth clenched tight, Peter breathed through the pain. He scowled up at John feeling like a flaming sword had severed his arm at the shoulder. His heart hammered as he watched John raise the pistol again, this time aiming between his brows.

“Please, don’t!” Honey sobbed. “John, please! I’m begging you!” She wrapped her arms around Peter as if she could shield him.

The smile faded from John’s lips. Contempt radiated from his blue eyes, turning them into blackened sapphires. “C’mon, Peach. We both know you can beg better than that.”

Peter shoved her away from him, jumping to his feet. He charged and knocked John’s aim off target. Another shot rang out and pierced the wall next to her.

Shrieking, she dropped to the floor and cowered down.

With one bloody hand on John’s wrist, Peter smashed him in the abs with his injured arm. He put his back muscles into the punch, snarling as the bruised flesh burned like his body was on fire.

His rage partially numbed the pain as Peter advanced forward. He shoved John back into the desk. The injuries made each move sluggish, but Peter managed to land another hit, this time to John’s face. With his other hand clenching the gun, he slammed it into the tabletop, loosening John’s grip. With another vicious whack, the weapon fell from his hand and clattered out of reach.

Amped with adrenaline, Peter reared his uninjured arm back. Balling his fist into a cannonball, he drove it down hard enough to break through concrete.

Right into John’s palm.

He blinked, stunned. Looked up at John. His face twisted with confusion, as the supposedly weaker man grinned smugly up at Peter.

“Oh, yeah,” John smiled with red teeth, slowly crushing Peter’s hand like an empty aluminum can. “And then there’s that.”

With a flick of John’s wrist, he inverted Peter’s arm and tossed his body like a garbage bag. Peter collided with the wall and toppled to the ground, sending plaster and drywall raining down.

John straightened up, taking labored breaths as he adjusted his light blue collar, now dotted with tiny spots of crimson. He fixed Peter with a wry smile. “I know about your little science experiments, too,” he smirked. “Your buddy Eddie stole the outdated model. Say ‘hello’ to Anti-Venom.”

John rolled his shoulders, tipping his head to crack his neck. As his joints popped, he rolled his eyes back into his skull—literally. Honey gaped with horror as she watched her ex-husband grin at them with a demonic stare, pure white engulfing his eyeballs. The milky, opaque clouds in his eyes seemed to part in the middle, like a crocodile opening an inner set of eyelids, revealing the dilated pupils of his sadistic stare.

Peter struggled to get on his hands and knees as John stalked towards him, feet heavy with malice. Honey screamed with almost no breath, “Peter, look out—”

In a flash, John was on him, jabbing his elbow into his back. Peter gasped at the stab to his spine, feeling another rib snap. The force slammed him chest-first back to the floor. With dazed eyes, he glanced blearily at the secret box, now tossed to the ground a few feet away. Photos of May and Ben were scattered about, among the shards of broken glass, chunks of wood, and twisted metal.

Weakened from the fall, the gunfight, and now the beating, Peter strained to reach for the box but was stopped short. Walker’s steel fingers clamped on his shoulder, yanking him to his feet. He jabbed a boulder-like fist into Peter’s sternum, violently ejecting the air from his lungs.

Honey sprang to her feet, grabbing a chunk of wood and charging toward them. Rollins and Ward were there instantly, scooping her up and restraining her.

She writhed desperately, screeching as they twisted her arms back. The sound of her attack vexed Peter, as he straightened his back, landing an upward thrust of his fist into John’s chin.

“Get off of her!” he hissed at Rollins and Ward, but John intercepted him.

Like thrashing wild animals, they pummeled each other until sweat and blood coated the floor. Yet, with every hit, John seemed unfazed. Whatever was running through his body was just as formidable as the Symbiote that had once possessed Peter. Both men tossed each other about, but Peter was at a disadvantage.

“Stop!” Honey cried out painfully in a shrill voice, which wrenched Peter’s heart. “John, don’t do this! Stop it!”

Peter swayed with cloudy eyes as he felt John hook his fist into his jaw. It felt like being hit in the face with a brick. Right after, John landed another jab with the opposite hand. And then a third. And a fourth.

“No, John! Please stop! Just stop! Please!”

His vision blurring, Peter jabbed left, only to have his wrist caught in John’s grip. With a twirl, John wrenched Peter’s arm out of its socket. He doubled over and howled in agony, his dislocated arm hanging limply at his side.

“John, stop it, stop it, please, stop!”

“When I’m done with you,” John whispered in Peter’s ear, “Fisk will have to scoop up what’s left of you with a shovel.”

Fighting to stay conscious, Peter met the man’s vindictive glare. John’s piercing blue eyes locked onto his. “Yeah. Wilson Fisk. I said his name. Wilson. Fisk. Meanwhile, you’re running around, afraid to say it like he’s Bloody Fucking Mary.”

Peter was on the floor again, launched into a glass console table. Unable to break his fall, the glass and metal crunched under the momentum of his body, shattering in all directions. He rolled, coughing up blood, his face covered in bruises and cuts. His vision swam, gaze darting across the room until he spotted the secret box.

With one arm limp, he dragged himself forward with the shoulder that had been shot, inching closer to the overturned box. He flicked the container away, his eyes landing on a delicate watch-like device. He reached for it.

John’s foot came down hard, stomping on his web shooter and crushing it beneath his foot. Peter choked back a frustrated scream, having another weapon fall short of his grasp.

“John, please! I’ll do anything you want! Just please don’t do this!”

John lifted his foot and slowly brought the sole down onto Peter’s wrist. He cried out, grimacing at the crushing pressure of the grown man standing on his forearm.

“You know what else I call ‘em?” John said, ogling Peter as if to gloat. It was a victorious stance. He was like a giant about to crush an insect. A bloody half-smile hung on his chiseled face as he waited for Peter to make eye contact. When he finally did, John provided an answer.

“Sir.”

A crease formed between Peter’s brows as he gazed up at John, panting with shallow breaths. His face paled with realization.

“Yeah,” the blonde crooned with an evil smile. “That’s right.” A horrifying picture emerged from Walker’s self-satisfied expression. "Arrogant little prick. Did you think that you could beat the Kingpin?”

John crouched down low, leering over Peter like a vulture about to peck on its prey while it was still living.

“Did you think changing your name and hiding underground would stop him from wiping you off the face of the Earth if he really wanted to?” Walker sneered in disgust. “You’re only still alive because he allows it!”

Honey sobbed with tears streaming down her face as John revealed his hand to them. Beside her, Rollins chuckled darkly, relishing in his boss’ despair.

“You have the audacity to run your mouth all over town,” John hissed, pouring putrid waste into Peter’s ear, “like you’re gonna walk him right up to the Pearly Gates! Like you’re judge, jury, and executioner! The monster at the end of his book!”

Peter pressed his lips into a thin line, rage boiling beneath his battered flesh. John reached down, gripping him by his thick tuft of hair and wrenching it back. The action forced Peter to gaze up at him; his neck bent backward and vulnerable. The way Walker glared at him, he half-expected the man to grow fangs and bury them in his throat.

“Well, I got news for ya, Peter Parker,” John spat out each word mockingly as he narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Fisk doesn’t give a shit what you call yourself.” He fixed Peter with a beaming grin made up of pure, sadistic evil. “He doesn’t even know who you are.”

He let the words hang in the air as if they were going to carve themselves into Peter’s headstone. For his part, despite his physical agony, Peter held himself steady. Kept his eyes fixed on John’s. Kept his jaw set firm. Anger pooled beneath his chest, cleansing him as it spread through his body.

“Guess you’ll have to explain it to ‘em next time you see ‘em,” Peter muttered, his lip curled into a snarl. “Might be curious to know who it was that killed him.”

The smile dropped from John’s eyes as a fresh wave of fury overtook him. He glared down at Peter, who fixed him with an insolent smirk.

“And for the record,” the beaten man glowered in defiance, his gaze glittering with spite, “I’m not walkin’ him to the Pearly Gates—I’m takin’ him straight to hell. So you be sure to save him a seat... you pathetic... wife-beating sack of shit!”

John growled and pulled his arm back. Drawing on the power of the entity inside him, he envisioned putting his fist through Peter’s skull and not stopping until he hit the concrete beneath their feet.

“I won’t fight you.”

The men froze at the tiny whimper, the voice carrying it shattered and frail.

John glanced over to see his ex-wife hanging limply in the hold of the two guards. Her eyes were empty, her face colorless and ashen. The woman swayed like a bedsheet in the wind.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” she spoke meekly, her spirit detached from her body. “I won’t fight back. I won’t run away.”

Hopelessness marked her features as nausea threatened to choke her. She wished that it would. Drowning in her own bile was a better fate than witnessing the grin form on John’s face.

“Please,” she mewled desperately, eyes red and glossy. “You’ve already won. He doesn’t matter anymore. Let Fisk finish him off.” Her voice trembled, quivering in her throat. “You can have me. However you want me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. John leered, foaming at the corners of his mouth. Lecherous eyes appraised her from head to toe. His chest heaved with short pants, like a rabid animal in heat.

“Atta girl,” he murmured with satisfaction before tossing Peter aside like a rag doll.

Peter coughed raggedly, choking on his red-tinged saliva, and rolled to one side. Gripping his wrist and using his foot for leverage, he wrenched his shoulder back in place with a sickening pop. An agonized whimper squeaked out, despite his best efforts.

John crossed the room in a few strides and gripped the woman by the throat. “No,” Peter gasped through bloody lips, exhausted and breathless from fear. “No...nono...please—”

“Where the fuck are you goin’, Boss?” Malick barked as Peter struggled to stand. The guard stalked forward, gun trained on him.

Ward joined him, grabbing Peter by his wounded shoulder and kicking his shin out from under him. Their boss was on his knees again, held steady at gunpoint, with Ward pushing the barrel of his weapon into Peter’s temple.

When Peter looked up, John was dragging Honey by the back of her neck, scruffed at the nape like an animal. She stumbled as he forced her behind Peter’s desk, kicking the chair away. He shoved her forward. The veneer stung her cheek when she collided with it, and she let out a whimper.

“Let her go!” Peter writhed desperately. Ward whacked him over the back of the head, driving him forward. He put his foot on Peter’s spine while Malick twisted his wounded arm behind his back. With his chin scraping the floor, he peered up through the fringe of his lashes. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her! You hear me?”

“Get ‘em up,” John ordered coldly. “He’s gonna wanna see this.”

With a hand on his hair and his arms locked in place, Peter’s men yanked him to his feet. He pulled himself forward, only to have Ward dig his fingers into the bullet hole, tearing at his flesh. They pulled him back down on his knees, driving a foot into his calf. Helplessly, Peter writhed, thrashing against their hold a few mere yards away from the terrified girl.

John sauntered up behind Honey, a smug grin plastered on his face. The woman lay motionless like a possum, bent over the edge of the desk. She stared at the mess of objects on Peter’s desk, shards of the battle. They shifted in and out of focus as her glossy eyes welled with tears. She let her mind take flight, drifting off to a cabin in the mountains.

“No!” Peter felt his voice crack and a scream lodge in his throat. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, Walker! Ya, hear me? Look at me, you sonuvabitch! I’ll rip ya apart, sweartogod—”

John glanced at Rollins who kept careful watch over his boss. “If he makes a move, put a bullet in his back. That way he can still watch me snap her neck like a toothpick.”

Panic surged through Peter at the order, his amber eyes bright with terror. “I’m the one you want, yeah?” he pleaded, chest heaving. “Fight me like a man, you fuckin’ coward!”

John ignored him. He pressed his hips up against the seat of Honey’s joggers. He gripped the collar of her zip-up hoodie, tearing it down her shoulders.

She was elsewhere. Watching Peter’s fingers dance across the ivory keys of a piano. She liked being wherever she was. It was always easier for her to go there. Always easier for her to run away.

John ran his greedy hands down her spine and back up again beneath the filthy camisole she wore. His touch felt like a centipede crawling across her skin. A shudder racked through her as vomit climbed up her throat.

“Somebody’s excited,” John chuckled sadistically.

She breathed out a silent sob. She climbed the limbs of the maple tree in her backyard. Picturing the home she would make there one day.

John leaned down, pressing a rough kiss to the back of her shoulder. “Just like old times. Ain't that right, Peach?”

It was like being shocked by electricity. Letting her fingertips brush against the metal of a wall plug while still in the outlet. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her eyes darkened. Pupils blown wide.

“I don’t like that.”

John paused as his hands reached the waistband of her sweats. He glanced up at her, still amused, eyeing the back of her head. “What’d you say?”

She blinked. Her vision sharpened. “That’s not my name.”

His brow furrowed, his agitation spiking. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

“I said ‘that’s not my name.’” Her volume grew louder, every syllable coming out sharper and more jagged. Her teeth ground together as she fixed her gaze forward, focusing on the grain of the wood.

“My name isn’t Peach,” she hissed. Molten-hot fury filled her while her tone hardened like rapidly cooling lava. “I’m not your Peach. I’m not your Kitten.”

Each word punctuated with a twitch in her eye and a tremor in her voice.

“I’m not your Doll Face. Or your Whore. Or your Pawn.”

Acid rolled off her tongue as she trembled with anger. Her rage was so thick she nearly choked on it, barely able to form words. Slowly, she pushed herself up off the desk, her spine turning to steel even as he towered over her.

“And I’m not your fucking wife,” she gritted her teeth, eyes black with hatred. “Not anymore.”

She turned her head to glance back at John, leveling him with a vengeful look.

“My name is Maricella Jimenez,” she hissed, sounding out each syllable carefully. “And you will remember it.”

The hand positioned on the desk sprang forward at his face so fast that John could barely see it. His head whipped back and all he could register was white-hot, piercing pain shooting through his skull.

John roared, reaching up with one hand to cover his face while the other hand dragged her off the desk to the ground. The guards jumped with shock, mouths agape, trying to discern what just occurred.

“Aggghhh!” John cried out with an agonized scream. Enraged, he clawed at his face, growling like a mildly-wounded grizzly bear. His thirst for blood compounded.

“Fucking bitch!” he roared, the creature inside of him twisting his vocal cords. When he straightened, half his face was covered in blood. His fingers shook as he struggled to see the damage she had done.

His men gazed at him with dumbfounded stares. Which he could only half see.

With a four-inch shard of broken glass from the console table lodged in his left eye socket, he’d never see anything out of that eye again.

“You fucking bitch!” he sneered, practically drooling with outrage. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you fuckin’ bitch!”

The sight of John’s face was nausea-inducing. Not only had the glass pierced his eye, but it sliced clean through, with half of his eyeball dangling from the nerve ending on his cheek.

“Holy shit!” Ward gasped at the ghastly sight.

Rollins hissed at other men, their jaws still gaping wide. “Don’t just stand there! Do something, goddamnit!”

“You screwed up now, you slut!” John raged with ragged breath. “You know what you did? You assaulted a Federal Agent!” He wheeled around to spot her cowering on the floor behind the desk. He stomped toward her, murder in each footfall. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any idea who I am???”

John grabbed her by the forearm, wrenching her up. She faced him with fire in her eyes. In her free hand, her finger curled around the trigger of Peter’s gun.

“Who gives a fuck?” she sneered.

Looking John in the eyes, she pulled the trigger, watching as his forehead imploded. The bullet ripped through his brain, tearing it apart and exploding out the back of his skull. From there, his brain matter splattered like a microwaved tomato, spraying across the room.

“Oh shit!” The guards cried out in horror, swallowing back sickness as fragments of John’s skull rained down on them.

Rollins lunged forward, his weapon still drawn. He took three steps to the edge of the desk.

“No!” Peter howled.

Another shot rang out. Honey held the gun firmly in her grip, shooting at the first human form that approached her. Rollins grunted, eyes wide with panic, as the bullet tore through his throat. He clutched his neck as hot liquid spilled out of his severed carotid artery. His look of agony was only matched by his look of astonishment.

Peter knocked Ward’s gun away from his temple, grabbing his wrist and directing the barrel at Malick. With Ward still clutching the gun, Peter pulled the trigger and shot Malick in the side.

Malick doubled over, releasing his hold on Peter’s wounded shoulder. Ward strained to regain control of his weapon. They struggled briefly before Peter reached behind Ward’s suit jacket and yanked a combat knife out of its sheath. He buried the blade into Ward’s ribs, before ripping it out and plunging it in again and again. With a few quick jabs, the traitor’s torso was carved up into wet spaghetti.

Malick stumbled, struggling to recover from the bullet wound. Peter’s brain buzzed as Malick attempted to shoot him. He pivoted out of the way, using Ward’s body to block the shot.

Honey fired the gun in her hand again, the bullet hitting the ceiling, but it was enough to distract Malick away from his target.

In a few blinks, Peter was on his feet and gripping Malick by the arm. Before the treacherous guard could fire his weapon, Peter skewered him with the hunting knife, driving it into the soft flesh behind the man’s chin.

Malick’s eyes went wide as the blade impaled his mouth, piercing his tongue. Peter snatched the back of the man’s head with a steel grip, even as his hands trembled with rage. He glared into Gideon’s eyes with bloodlust, pushing the knife up further—slowly—watching Malick squirm until the blade was buried to the hilt.

The man went limp in his hold. Once Peter watched the light fade from his eyes, he released him, finally sated.

The sirens in his head quit blaring as soon as the threat was eliminated. The intense pressure dissipated as if a boulder had been lifted off Peter’s skull.

He let out a long, ragged breath, his body broken and yet still pulsating with adrenaline. His eyes darted to the desk. He spotted the traumatized woman that held his heart standing behind it. His face softened. Took a step towards her.

She pivoted, still clutching the gun. Aimed it at him.

Peter went still. Fawn-hued eyes went wide. He glanced down the barrel, then back up at her.

She was astral. Her soul was only tethered to her body by a thin wire. She was a kite, tossed about the atmosphere, observing the scene outside the plane of time.

She stared at him. Barely able to breathe. Her hand shook from the weight of the gun.

“Whoa...” he whispered, his voice soft. He lifted his hands outward in a placating gesture.

Her eyes were glazed over. Staring right through him.

He watched, heart pounding, as she turned her gaze downwards to the river of blood that leaked from Rollins’ corpse. Heart going cold, all that was left of his life leaked out of him like a broken faucet. No more damaging than a spilled glass of wine.

Lips sealed tight, her eyes darted over to the body closest to her.

John’s body.

Her monster lay slain at her feet. His jaw hung open in a disturbing grimace, a permanent final expression. The top of his head was now a concave shell. The image of him imprinted on her, burrowing in her memories.

She had never seen so much blood in her life. It was everywhere. Beneath her fingernails. In the tiny valleys of her skin. Dripping from her hair. It stained everything.

“Honey...” She looked only vaguely aware of Peter as he cooed gently at her, growing more apprehensive the longer her silence stretched on. “...Honey...?” he repeated slowly, his tongue going dry.

This time, she brought her attention back to the front, her eyes finally finding his. Peter looked sick with worry, terrified of the irony that this was the exact same position they were in less than 48 hours before.

Honey held her arm outstretched, fingers tremoring around the handle of the pistol, as she fixed Peter with an unreadable expression. He felt his heart thumping up into his throat. His growing alarm threatened to strangle him.

Her legs were rigid even as she trembled like a tightrope walker stranded between skyscrapers. She gazed at him with a look of dread, shock seizing her body.

Peter mumbled her name desperately, chanting it like a prayer. “Honey, Honey, Honey, look at me. Look at me. Okay? Look—”

He took a step forward and she responded with a step backward, positioning him at the end of the barrel. He blinked, going still once again. His eyes misted over as he gazed at her with empathy.

“S’okay,” he softly said, closer to a plea. “Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re safe—”

“Stop telling me that.” She was firm, her eyes cold.

Peter felt silent, eyes darting back and forth between her and the gun. Her breaths were short, nostrils flaring. His shoulders curved into a slump. Carefully, he lowered his hands. “I meant what I said before,” he delicately replied. “No more cages.” Her eyebrows furrowed sharply. “I made you a promise. You’re free.”

She blinked wide eyes, motionless in every other way. Warily, he glanced down at the gun. “You don’t hafta do anything—”

“Shut up!” she hissed, voice shaking. He shut his mouth immediately. Her gaze wandered, her mind spiraling out of control. She flicked her sights on the four corpses stretched out around them. Her tongue tasted like metal. The gunshot was still ringing in her ears.

“Get on your knees,” she commanded. Unlike the last time she said it, there was no sense of control in her tone. No sense of pleasure to be gained. Instead, she sounded desperate.

Peter closed his eyes, heart sinking in his chest. “Okay.” Reluctantly, he slowly sank down until both knees were on the ground.

Her eyes flashed wildly as she glared, holding the pistol tighter in her hand.

“S’okay,” Peter whispered out a lament. “S’okay, Honey. You’re gonna be okay.” With every repeated phrase, he relinquished more of his hope. Her eyes may have been unreadable, but her position was not.

They were on opposite sides of the room. A continent apart. He was exiled to the unfortunate end of the barrel, along with the other men who used her as a means to an end. This was where he belonged.

A lump formed in his throat as he gazed up at her with wet eyes. “Everything is going to be okay now,” he said with a bittersweet curve of his mouth. “You have all the power, remember? Always did.” His eyes landed on the gun, then back up to hers. “No one’s gonna hurt you again.”

He watched as a tear rolled down her cheek. Fear weighed heavily on her, dragging her down into its depth. Her eyes shined like glass. The glisten in his gaze was a mirror reflection of her sorrow and regret.

“Whatever you gotta do,” Peter assured her. But it was more than reassurance. It was a gentle promise made to a frightened girl that the monsters were all gone now. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

He hesitated to speak the true meaning of his implication. Instead, his eyes shined brightly on her like rays of moonlight, as if he could illuminate her path through the dark. A sincere apology sparkled at the bottom of their bourbon glow, but also, he offered forgiveness. He fixed her with a look of compassion before closing his eyes.

He let go.

Let go of his rage. Of his vendetta. Of his grief. Of his fantasies.

He let go of the idea of Honey.

From the depths of his bitter heart, he gave her his unconditional love.

“What I want...”

He stirred at the closeness of her voice, his eyes snapping open to find her standing inches over him. The gun rested at her side until she let it fall from her grasp. She stared into his eyes, her tears cresting over the ridges of her heart-aching smile.

She surged forward in the blink of an eye, crashing her lips into his. Her arms crossed behind his shoulders as she collapsed into his embrace. Her tongue breached his mouth, and with it, he felt like his heart would leap out of his chest. She breathed him in, relishing in the taste of his devotion, responding to it with love letters written on her lips. It was like her whole body was on fire, and only he could control the flame.

His hands wrapped around her lower back as he worshiped each twist of her tongue. Her kiss was better than morphine, numbing his body and heart to every injury he’d ever suffered.

Only when they were both dizzy and out of breath did she break the kiss. She gazed down at him with eyes that could scorch.

“What I want... is for you to touch me.”

Continue to Part 21

[back to masterlist]

A/N: I want to say thank you for the incredible support you all have shown me in this last break. Part 21 is already finished and will be released this week. Real compassion exists even on the internet and I just can't even deal...

Part 23 will be the end.

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