I could fall in love! Part 2. (? 🤫 x reader)
As promised, there will be a love interest revealed! I hope you guys enjoy this part just as much as the last one! 💕
Since Y/n was who she was, Tonowari made sure she was never out of sight, and if she was…Ronal was with her. Both leaders agreed that they were going to make the girl strong…so they applied pressure on her to know, learn and be more...sometimes too much pressure. They feel they worked very hard to get Y/n where she is today, and they won’t let anyone ruin that. The only nights Y/n was allowed to be by herself was during festival carnaval…
Todays the day! I get my chores done with mother and head out to freshen up and put my outfit for the festival night. It's a beautiful top that sparkles blue with seashell pearls, even made a bottom piece to match my top! "Everybody! Our brothers and sister have returned!" It's time..!
I gather everyone into our position and told them to wait for Tsireya, since she was introducing the sully family to the Tulkans. Two minutes past and she was back to me! "Are you ready sister?" I laugh and share a smile "always! We can begin now!"
Whistling begun causing everyone to smile looking at the shore!
We begin coming out, shaking our hips to the music, with excitement being exchanged!
(Begin playing ‘Real in Rio’)
"All the birds of the feather, Do what they love most of all. We are the best at rhythm and laughter... That's why we love carnaval!"
I spin Tsireya around and spot my spirt sister heading closer to us, to bring us closer to the crowd. I grab Tsireya's hand and pull her on with me.
"Dance to the music, passion and love. Show us the best you can do!”
We dance around looking around the crowd for the Sully's as we finish singing our last lyric. I pulled up a boy and Tuk from the water. While Tsireya pulls up a girl and another boy.
"Dance with me!" I tell them. Tuk dances off with the music showing the people her dance moves, she was loose unlike…..her brother.
Y/n feels the nervousness in the boy, thinking it's because he doesn't know how to dance. However that wasn't the full case...
"Everyone here is on fire! Get up and join in the fun!"
"It's ok, don't think about it! Just follow me!" She goes back to singing with the crowd, pulling the boy in and out as she dances to the beat
"Dance with a stranger, romance and danger! Magic could happen for real in Rio"
Neteyam laughs as he finally loosens up and dances with the girl who's ocean eyes held him captive. Y/n pulls him in closer, gaining confidence to make him blush once more.. “You're dancing so good! The beat may change soon but it's ok, I got you!" She sends a comforting smile as she pulls his arms on her waist going to dance her hips to the faster beat that had just dropped. Ao'nung and Rotxo join in, Y/n then pulls everyone side by side smiling to the crowd singing with Tuk on her arm.
“All the birds of a feather. Do what they love most of all Moon and the stars, sun and guitars. That's why we love carnaval!"
I leave the group once more, giggling as I create a wave to hold me and Tuk In the air.
We come down and I smile walking towards the boy I was dancing with, going to hold his hand so I can show him specifically to the crowd.
“Loving our life in the jungle! Everything's wild and free!”
All Neteyam could think about was how beautiful Y/n was, how gentle she was with Tuk, how sweet her voice was…now he knows why they speak so highly of her.
“Are you ready Tuk?” Y/n let’s go of Neteyam’s hands once more to hold Tuk higher.
“Magic can happen for real in Rio! All by itself, you can't see it coming! You can't find it anywhere else!”
Y/n giggles at how sweet the child sounded and pulling everyone to dance to her brother and his best friend as they go back and forth spitting lyrics.
“Beauty and love, what more could you want? Everything can be for real in Rio. Here's something else. You just feel it happening. You won't find it anywhere else!”
Y/n spins Tuk around, smiling at the crowd and holding the boy’s hand before telling him “I will find you again soon! I promise!” They all get off her spirt sister before the trio call three ilu’s to come towards Ao’nung, Roxto and her.
Everyone knew about the first song…but were they ready for a freestyle..?
“Create a beat for us!” The crowd listens
Ao’nung starts it with
(Begin playing ‘Hot Wings (I wanna party)’)
“Party in Ipanema, baby! I want to party!”
I smile dancing with my upper body and moving around with my ilu.
“So let me fly just like a rocket, then (okay)
Fly so high where I need to come down for oxygen
Cause once we start it, baby, ain't no ain't no stoppin' then”
The crowd goes crazy once the two create more noise!
“ I want to party (party)
And live my life (live my life)
I want to party (party)
And fly
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey”
They turn calling for me to sing next…
“Laya Laya
Laya Laya
Hey
Laya Laya
Laya Laya
Laya Laya
Laya Laya”
I begin making water the water glow around the people bodies, watching the children smile and I move the water around my body and then around the crowd! Laughter erupted along with gasps.
Y/n was having fun interacting with the crowd, as for Neteyam…he was having fun just enjoying her presence. Something pulled Neteyam into Y/n, she was beautiful to him, indescribably even! She danced like no one was watching, she knew how to move her body to the music as if she heard it her entire life. How could he possibly get any real chance to talk to her, she wasn’t going to come up to him like she said. He was just glad he got to dance with the girl…he lost track of where she was now, since she was consumed in a crowd as everyone begins dancing and talking to their Tulkuns.
That’s until she made more time to greet the pretty boy she danced with, suddenly putting her conversations to a stop and headed toward the boy.
“Hello! I am Y/n! What’s your name?”
Neteyam blushes simply to the sounds of her voice quickly before he was able to regain confidence and talk to her again.
“M-My name is Neteyam”
Y/n leads the conversation with the nervous boy and offers to show him more of the island and her spirit sister.
The two talked for the rest of the night until it was time to say goodbye. They were walking towards Y/n’s family’s Mauri…
“Good night Neteyam! I hope to see you tomorrow for day two!” Neteyam laughs at this and says good night and that he hopes to see her as well.
As Y/n enters her Mauri all she could think about was how Neteyam made her feel so calm, and gave her a sense of relief. Neteyam made her feel like she was the only person there, he showed that he enjoyed talking to her and genuinely listening to her. She had fallen asleep dreaming of Neteyam…
I woke up earlier than usual, to finish my chores. Once I’m done I slowly walk away from my mother rushing to the Sully’s Mauri before anyone catches me and pops a request.
I brought some sweet fruits I picked as a gift towards them. They all turn towards me and suddenly my confidence is lost…that was until Tuk ran into hug me. ”Hello I am Y/n! Daughter of Tonowari and Ronal! It’s nice to meet you! I brought fruits as a welcoming gift to you and your family! I am so sorry I never got to approach all of you at once before Carnaval!” Jake takes the bag from me while Neytiri introduces herself. Soon I meet the rest of the siblings and we introduce ourselves but I give Neteyam a side hug joking around since we already knew each other. “Neteyam, if you’d like, well I mean if you have time right now can we can talk more before carnaval?” I need to take in these moments as much as I can before I’m put back on schedules for work. “I-I- of course I would l-love too!”
Y/n doesn’t see it but Lo’ak is completely teasing Neteyam from behind her, that is until Kiri elbows him in the stomach to shut up before Y/n notices.
“Ok! I can show you this cave I like to visit-“ Tuk rushes in holding onto my leg with putting on her baby doll eyes before saying “can I go? Can I go please?” I melt at her sweet face, ready to say yes before looking up at her parents “ye- sorry i mean yes only if that’s ok with your parents!” That is until Jake had to pry her off of me and told her it’s best to just let Neteyam make friends just like she was allowed to.
I pass a smile to Tuk before grabbing Neteyam’s hand toward the pretty cave, I came to when I wanted to be alone.
I called two ilu’s for the both of us before letting go of his hand. He looks a little..? Confused? Scared maybe? “C’mon don’t be scared! It’s not far trust me” while saying this I go towards him to bump him to ride the ilu. He laughs saying “I’m definitely not scared!” It was true…he was more nervous at the fact that he was holding y/n’s hand, that he was the one finding comfort in her touch…
They arrive in the cave and once again Y/n goes to grab Neteyam’s hand, giggling to let off her nervousness. However she didn’t know Neteyam was blushing the same way she was, silently laughing to himself. “This is where I come for some quietness, it’s beautiful isn’t it?” She turns toward him with a smile on her face “definitely beautiful” she giggles at his stunned face and begins to lead the conversation once again…
I begin pulling out fruit from my bag to hand over to neteyam. “It’s like a sweet sugary dessert! It’s my favorite! Try it” he takes it from my hand and has a bite “Plah- ooo too sugary! You eat this?” I laugh at his reaction to the fruit. “Yes! It’s so good! You, neteyam are just not used to the sweet life!” To this he laughs and says “Maybe, I’ll just learn more about the sweet life from y-you!” I giggle at him while I turn my head to hide any blushing that was coming up.
“If you don’t mind me asking…why didn’t we get to see you earlier? Or how come you don’t train us like your siblings?” I give a sad smile “I tried! I really did try, I just…because I was taken away when I was younger for my powers. My dad he just, he keeps me close at all times so that means I’m doing work all the time. He just now started letting me go to these other clans to create small trades, but just because they are small trades doesn’t mean the trips aren’t draining or don’t take a lot of time. Carnaval is like a dream for me, I finally have some time for myself.” He passes a sympathetic look telling me stories about how hard his father is on him as well, we continued going back and forth enjoying our time together…
“I think we should head out! I still have to get ready for the dance this evening!” I grab his hand bringing him towards our ilu’s. I’ve never been one to be so touchy but…Neteyam’s touch makes me feel…safe? We begin swimming back with our ilu’s, and he insists on walking me back to my Mauri…this makes me let go of his hand gently , I’m scared my people will see or worse, my father. Neteyam is the only thing I have to myself right now and I’d like to keep it that way. We part ways happily agreeing to meet again.
I need to wear my most prettiest top, so I went ahead with the brand new sequence top I made awhile back. Then I hear the people outside “the party must begin! Our brothers and sisters are back!”
I run out ready to dance again. While we were waiting the regular 10 minutes I couldn’t help but smile thinking about Neteyam and I hanging out earlier. That was great of course until Tsireya pulled me out my thoughts. “Ooo I know that face! You’re thinking about something…or perhaps…someone…(she comes closer to whisper) named…neteyam” I immediately turn my head over giving a surprised look “Sister! Shhh do not say it out loud and no I am not!” She gives me her questionable look as if she doesn’t believe me “It’s ok to have a crush but you know our parents would freak out! It’s you, Y/n.” I look to her giving a frustrated look “There’s nothing to freak out about.” She gives a straight face “He’s not within the clan. You know you are considered the future Y/n! I’m not saying you can’t or you shouldn’t allow yourself to have some fun, I’m just saying to please be careful sister. In dads or moms eyes…for you, and for you only, the relationship would be wrong.” I give her a questionable look in return while crossing my arms “Lo’ak isn’t apart of our clan. Don’t you like him?” She laughs and says “Yea but as of right now Lo’ak and I are just friends.” I give her a knowing look “Ok. So is Neteyam.” I smile pulling her to come with me since we were about to start heading out, Onto our ilu’s
(Begin playing ‘beautiful creatures’)
“Let's come together, singing love and harmonia. We are so different, but we're the same inside our hearts. Beautiful colors, just as far as the eyes can see ya. Open your wings, fly when you hear the call”
We circled around and danced with our ilu’s along the crowd as they cheered and as Tulkuns blew water to show off their excitement!
“Come this way celebrate. Laugh and dance all the way. Follow me sing along. Lah lah bah bah boom boom”
The boys and girls separate preparing to dance and switch sides once again. You can hear the crowd singing and splashing as they moved to the beats, their smiles were so beautiful.
“Já disse que Jade chegou. Já disse que já disse que Jade chegou. Já disse que Jade chegou. Já disse que já disse que Jade chegou”
While they continued I got off my ilu to follow my spirit sister while we took a step in front of the crowd creating a safe distance. I create a wave in a form of a heart and she flips herself over in the air! I let out a “wooooooo!!” Watching her splash around happily, picking me up with her fin on the way.
“Let's celebrate, for we are beautiful creatures. Come spread your wings, dance and sing songs about freedom. Like lah lah lah hoo hoo. One for the jungle família. Like bah bah bah boom boom”
The crowd went even crazier after watching the tricks our people did during the dance. The crowd was wearing the most happiest faces watching the performances. Once we were done singing, I spoke with my spirit sister.
(Im going to highlight the speaking parts here to make it easier! Bold is Y/n. Not bold is our spirit sister!)
I signed back and forth with her for a couple of minutes and then I decided to tell her about Neteyam ‘do you remember the boy I showed you? We’ve only been friends for two days now but if feels like we have known each other our entire lives! He has something about him that just pulls me to him…he has stolen my heart. I don’t know what to do’ she rolls her eyes to this and speaks out once again ‘go for it! What are you waiting for kid?’ I laugh at her ‘It’s not easy! I have to think about the clan, my father, my siblings.’ She gives me dull eyes showing her frustration towards what she says is my “annoying habits” ‘there you go again Y/n always thinking about others before yourself. There comes a point and time where you have to take control of your own life. It’s just you! No more excuses. Take care of yourself Y/n allow yourself to fall in love. Enjoy it.’ I smile at her advice feeling relief before signing back to her ‘Thank you truly! You always know what to say!’ She rolls her eyes again ‘What are you still doing here kid! If I know what to say so well, go and listen to what I just told you!’ I giggle and agree, parting ways with her.
I spot neteyam holding Tuk, just swimming around and watching the people around them. “Neteyam! Tuk! Did you guys like the performance today?” Neteyam turns around with Tuk giving the most brightest smile “we loved it-“ quickly cut off with Tuk jumping out of his arms to come to mine. Neteyam shakes his head to this “Tuk you can’t just jump into Y/n’s arms. You can hurt her!” I shake my head back, holding Tuk closer and saying “Tuk can never hurt me, she’s too sweet!” She moves her head from my neck to neteyam sticking out her tongue mocking him. We all share a laugh.
“If you guys don’t mind can we settle on shore to talk more?” Neteyam agrees quickly “I’d love to! I-I- mean We’d love to!” He gives nervous laugh as I giggle at how quick he was to say yes “…right tuk?” Tuk turns back to her brother noticing how he dragged her in for help “Yes Neteyam is right! We would love spending every moment with you Y/n! You and your sister are my favorite! Neteyam would say you’re his favorite!” This does not go unnoticed by both of us but for Neteyam’s sake I decided to brush it off and turn away to hide any blushing I was having, hoping Tuk wouldn’t expose me either. We walk closer to the shore and settle down as I sit next to Neteyam watching Tuk play, then she said “I’m going with mom and dad ok Neteyam? Bye Y/n!” I say my goodbye and continue looking about at the view, trying to find words to express my thoughts.
I want to spend more time with Neteyam, but my parents would be an issue and so will the people watching. It’s not like I’m ashamed of Neteyam, of course not, I just can’t describe it…what if Tsireya was right, my parents will freak out. Until then…which won’t because I won’t allow any ‘freaking out’ to happen…I’ll just live in the moment.
“So…I really enjoy spending time with you Neteyam. Since carnaval will be coming to an end that means I won’t exactly have as free of a schedule, but I will make time just for you- you guys! I want to know your family more and your culture. I hope one day to visit the forest! Hopefully once I talk things out with my dad, he’ll allow me to join you guys when my siblings teach you the ways of the water.” I watch nervously waiting for his reaction but he’s only kept a really bright smile the entire time I was speaking. “I enjoy spending time with you too Y/n! I-I mean if you’d like we can make make m-more time after practice to talk between us? Maybe? Only I-if you-“ i cut him off and laugh at his nervousness “I’d love to Neteyam!” We both smile and look at the view before us.
Unaware that in the background both their siblings could see them!
*Away from the couple*
“I can’t watch this anymore!” Said Lo’ak getting impatient with his sibling. Kiri sends a gentle hit to the side of his head “Well be patient! Have a little more faith in our brother.” Ao’nung watches the two siblings going back and forth. “As much as I don’t like this idea you guys are trying to place, it’s pretty sad to see but we sh-“ he was immediately cut off “Help! Exactly we should help!” Tsireya, Kiri, Roxto and Ao’nung all look at Lo’ak as if he was crazy. “I got this don’t worry!” Lo’ak sends a signature signal to Neteyam, and he watches his brother turn back to the signal…silently thanking Eywa Y/n did not turn too. Lo’ak then motions his hands together telling Neteyam to make a move. This is all happening while the other four turn their heads acting as if they don’t know what’s happening.
Neteyam mouths a ‘Don’t worry! I got it!’ Before turning back to Y/n, slowly scooting closer. Lo’ak turn back around to let the group know Neteyam was going to listen to what he said. “Look guys! There he goes! That’s my bro!”*
I feel Neteyam move closer, ignoring it until I felt his arm beginning to stretch over me. Then I decided to turn to look at him. He gives me a nervous look as I smile trying to hold in my laugh. “Oh! I uh- I saw the trick you did with your Tulkan! I didn’t even think that was possible, a-and yet you did it!” The more he talked the more he nervously buried his hand in sand “Oh it was nothing! I wanted t- Wow” I was brought to a stop because when he went to bring his hand up, the sand that was previously piled on top of his hand…hit both of us. I give a surprised face in return. Struggling to find a way to calm the situation, let him know it was ok!
*Away from the couple*
All of the them give a disappointed look, as Lo’ak tries to figure out another way. Roxto turns to Lo’ak with amusement in his face “Yup! That’s your boy alright!” Lo’ak turns back around to the group “Ok…so he needs a little help..? Cmon let’s give him some! You know…set the mood!” Kiri and Tsireya watch the boys in amusement giving each other the ‘they have zero clue what a girl likes’ look. Roxto jumps up hearing this “alright im on it! I know how to set ‘the mood’” he pulls the group away from the couples view so they won’t suspect anything from the singing. “Ella es calliaita! Pero pa’l se-“ Ao’nung quickly shushes Roxto “No! You will not ruin the moment with them hearing that in the background!” Tsireya finally decides to put this to a stop.
“You guys have known Y/n your whole life how could you possibly not know her favorite love song?” The two boys look at Tsireya confused Roxto tries to break the confusion by saying “What do you mean? Y/n loves all songs! Music is literally all she listens to, she doesn’t have a favorite!” Tsireya rolls her eyes before saying “Fly love! That’s her favorite, you guys used to sing it all the time with her, it’ll set the mood!” Ao’nung turns back before whistling, as Roxto goes to grab something to Make instrumental music.
(Play ‘Fly love’ now!)
“Now that’s more like it! Lo’ak signals out to Neteyam again ‘Just tell her she has beautiful eyes!’ Neteyam’s smiles back before turning to Y/n.
“Wasn't really thinking, Wasn't looking, Wasn't searching for an answer, In the moonlight…When I saw your face”
“I have beautiful eyes!” Y/n gives a confused look “Uh…yea! They’re nice!” She shyly smiles and looks back to the view enjoying the song that was playing, her favorite song. Y/n was wondering if she should ask Neteyam to dance with her. Lo’ak signals again, ‘No! Her eyes! Her eyes! Not your eyes!’ Neteyam turns back quickly “Your eyes! Your eyes are great! Not mine! I-I mean mine are ok! But yours are captivating!” Y/n blushes immediately, gaining the confidence to pull him and to dance! Lo’ak turns to the group happily, “I think we got it! Keep singing guys!”*
I smile to Neteyam, not caring about me blushing anymore. “Thank you Neteyam! I love your eyes too, I can get lost in them! Can we dance please? This is my favorite song!” I grab his hand gently since he agreed and we hold each other tight, enjoying the peace as we dance away.
“Don't know how it happened, Don't know why but you don't really…Need a reason. When the stars shine, Just to fall in love.
Neteyam twirls me out and back in so I place my head on his chest, as we sway going back and forth.
“Made to love each other, Made to be together, For a life time In the sunshine, Flying in the sky”
I pull head away, searching for his eyes to look at me. “You’re perfect Neteyam.” He smiled, too shy to respond and I’m ok with his silent response. I spoke only a little, but in my mind I said so much. Neteyam was perfect, he was perfect for me, for his family, for the clan. He was perfect enough to draw me in, making me want more of him every single time. I can say, for the first time…I could in love.
“I know I'm feeling so much more than ever before. And so I'm giving more to you than I thought I could do! Oh...Now I know love is real. So when sky high as the angels try, Letting you and I, Fly love...”
💙!
I hope you guys like this series! I’m so sorry it took awhile to post I wanted to have this part perfect since it’s be the build up for their love! 🤭 did you see that ‘bad bunny’ reference? 😭 Roxto was about to spit some fire right there!
Tag list: @noodlesfics @eywas-heir @itshype
@zatarias-pandora @yeosxxx @arminsgfloll @lv9su
@useryourbut @nikotokitaswife @eatassskatefast12
@simp-erformarvelwomen @luciddasher @dakotali
@snowywhiterose @manohari @httpjiikook @destinylb @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @neteyamforlife @inutheangel @elegantkidfansoul
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these violet delights - a dark! mob!peter tale [tasm peter vs kilgrave]
summary: The Purple Man comes to visit Mob!Peter at home.
words: 10.5k
a/n: this began as a submission to Wicked's Trick or Treat, but then it turned into a dead dove, sorry 'bout that. my fancast of the purple man/kilgrave in this universe is Jesse Eisenberg, sporting Lex Luthor vibes. But I love David Tennant and you can picture anyone you want! i also did not use "you" or second-person narrative, instead opting for generic "she/her" pronouns and descriptions.
warnings: so many
I repeat. So. Many. Warnings. Including non-con touching/ sa/ forced sex acts (peter is a victim in this), kidnapping, mind-control, oral (m receiving), cheating, angst, mentions of bodily fluids, mentions of self-h4rm, explicit violence, gore, dead doves for you. and one for you. and one for you. everyone gets a dead dove. do not eat it.
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences above the age of 18. Sensitive topics are explicitly discussed. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
The second Peter Parker touched the doorknob of the multimillion-dollar Colonial overlooking Forest Park, gooseflesh spread across the nape of his neck. His movements went still, jaw clenching.
Behind him, the shrieking of young children in the distance exacerbated his nerves. He glanced at the residential street around him, peeking through the golden fall curtains of the trees, then down at the modest Jack-O-Lantern underneath the entryway.
It was Halloween, a couple of hours before sunset. It was a weird time of year. One that always got his blood pumping. Everything usually felt a little off on a night like this. But this was different.
Cautiously, he pushed open the door to his lavish home, stepping inside.
The moment Peter stepped into the darkened foyer of his home, he knew immediately something was amiss. He glanced around cautiously. It was so quiet.
By this time, Eddie should’ve set up the goody table outside. It was his job to keep a friendly face on and keep a look-out while Miles and Penni took shifts handing out candy to the kids.
Peter wasn’t really comfortable with hosting Trick-or-Treaters, or any other guests on his property. Too many strangers. Too much unwanted attention. Miles reasoned that if they weren’t trying to appear like a bunch of greedy mobsters, then maybe they shouldn’t have the biggest house on the block and not hand out candy on Halloween.
Despite seeing no one loitering nearby, Peter knew something was wrong.
It was silent. Grave-level silent.
The hairs on his body stood on end. The back of his neck prickled, his senses stirring to alert him to danger. He crept from the foyer and peeked into the expansive sitting area. There, he discovered a brutal scene.
A massacre.
Bodies spread out. Draped across the floor and furniture. Arranged, like broken stems and torn petals of a bloody bouquet.
It could’ve been mistaken for an elaborate, grotesque Halloween display. Hillbilly Chainsaw Massacre. Summer Camp Slaughterfest. Co-ed Killers From Outer Space. Except that Peter could smell real blood. And that these were members of his crew.
He felt queasy and faint, like being in a plummeting elevator. The rapid flutter of a single heart caught his attention, pulling it away from the carnage.
His eyes darted over to see Felicia Hardy sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase of his home. Her body slumped against the banister. In her lap, she rested the weight of a Chef’s knife almost as long as her forearm. Cold red droplets streaked across her face and neck. The steel blade was coated in crimson.
Felicia’s expression was hollow. Solemn. Tired. Her chest moved shallowly. “Heya, Spider,” she faintly murmured, not making eye contact.
Peter observed his master-at-arms with concerned dread. Part of him wanted to rush to embrace his longtime friend. The other part kept a considerable distance, eyeing her bloody knife.
“Cat,” was all he could say. Alert. Cautious.
“Killer night, huh.” The sharp exhale she let out sounded like a laugh and a cry. She gazed distantly, making no attempt to move as he inched closer to her. Peter had never seen anyone sleepwalk, but he imagined that it would look like this. It was like she was hypnotized. Possessed.
He swallowed deeply, holding down bile, and crouched down to her eye level. “What happened here?”
A long moment passed. She shuddered, tears building just behind her eyes, “I killed ‘em.” It was a whisper that could barely be heard without his abilities. “He told me to kill them,” she explained, only confusing him further. “Told them all to be still and wait their turn. And they did. So I did.”
He shifted closer to her, heart pounding. “Who told you?”
“They were my friends,” she replied, eyes vacant. “My only friends. And I killed them.”
“Felicia,” Peter said firmly. He reached out his finger slowly, hooking it under her chin. Carefully, he pulled her focus to his gaze. He couldn’t recognize her. The formidable woman, with claws and balls of steel, looked up at him in hopeless shame.
“He told me to sit here and wait for you,” she explained, dread in her voice. “And to tell you he has your girl upstairs.”
He approached the bedroom door with catlike footsteps. Inside the room, he could hear obscene noises—soft breaths, wet lips, eager tongue. His senses shrieked in his skull as his eyes found the wide crevice of the doorway.
He recognized the color of her hair instantly. Her image burned red hot in his periphery the same way it burned into his thoughts. The back of her head. The delicate wings of her shoulders. The undulating ridges of her vertebrae. He followed the perilous ladder of her spine all the way down to her belted waist, where a soft, cloudlike chiffon skirt draped over her bottom.
It was a vision he’d only seen in his dreams. But at the present, he was looking at a nightmare.
The petite woman whom he shared the bedroom with was bent over the lap of a stranger. Her hair obscured his view, but the sinful noises spilling out of the room left little to the imagination. The smell of sex, sweat, tears, and saliva hit him like a cannonball. He blinked several times, eyes questioning, as if he stumbled upon a horrific mirage that his eyelashes could sweep away.
The nightmarish image came into clear focus.
His wife—a newlywed for only six weeks—was on her knees in front of an armchair, head bobbing in the lap of a strange man sitting in front of her. Head thrown back in passion, the man groaned lasciviously over the sound of the young woman’s gurgling throat.
It felt like eons passed with Peter standing in the doorway of his bedroom, just staring in bewildered silence. His mind turned over repeatedly, like he was staring at a puzzle and couldn’t fathom the image it created.
His new bride. His innocent angel. His shrinking violet. Choking down another man’s cock like it was her last meal.
Buried deep, somewhere in the rational parts of his brain, he briefly noted the backless, chiffon halter babydoll she was wearing. It was almost a blush pink in the yellow light of the bedroom floor lamp. Lilac. It looked expensive. He’d never seen it before. It suited her well.
He noticed how soft she looked as her hair brushed across her exposed back. That was something he secretly loved about her—her softness. She was a little lamb. He had yet to see this much of her skin. He’d never seen her like this, so exposed. So filthy.
Incomprehesively, he was almost embarrassed at stumbling upon such an intimate, lewd scene. At the same time, he felt his own cock twitch at the sight.
The confusion in his mind quickly settled. His mind caught up to his vision. His stomach dropped and soured. His heart hammered in his chest. His jaw clenched, bit down so hard he could taste blood. It surged and boiled in his veins.
Another vulgar moan erupted from the man as he reached forward and snatched the back of her head. If there was any uncertainty about what was taking place, the blinders were removed. The stranger gathered her hair in his wide grasp and for the first time, Peter could see his wife’s face.
She was wearing makeup, more than he’d ever seen her wear. Or she had been, at one point this evening. The remnants of her mascara and kohl cat eyeliner ran down her cheeks in wet streams. Her plum wine lipstick was smeared across her lips and chin, the color staining the stranger’s cock as he harshly fucked her throat. She gripped onto the man’s knees for balance, her painted nails digging into his pants.
“Fuck yes...” he could hear the man breathlessly sigh, but the air escaped Peter’s lungs. His mind was racing. His brain was short-circuiting. It was skipping through a barbaric list of commands, his adrenaline screaming at him to take action.
Scream. Run. Cry. Punch. Bite. Claw. Fall. Hide. Yell. Pummel. Kill. Crush. Kill. Hurt. Rip. Kill.
His feet started moving.
In addition to the bellowing commands of his adrenaline, the shrill sirens of his senses got louder with every step.
His heart hurt. There was a sharp ache that surprised him. A little less than two months ago, he hadn’t spoken more than five words to her. Regardless, there was a sickness-laced darkness that threatened to pull him under. The pain confused him. Infuriated him.
They hadn’t even bothered to look up yet. He felt like he was leaving the confines of his body. Watching himself move across the room, stalking silently toward the lovers.
Peter kept his gaze fixed on his lamb—treacherous whore—and the blinding-white-hot rage rising up his throat, threatening to cut off the blood flow to his brain.
After taking a particularly harsh thrust into her mouth, her eyes flew open. She coughed and gagged, her wet lashes fluttering as the man pulled her mouth back off of his cock.
Peter’s senses felt like an axe to the skull. He barely registered the shadow in her expression. His wife looked up at her husband, and that’s when he saw it:
Pure terror screaming from her eyes.
Peter’s brain struggled to catch up to speed. He couldn’t even tell if he was breathing anymore. Already moving in their direction, his arm shot up quickly. His long fingers outstretched toward the couple as he began to pull his middle fingers back to his palm.
“Freeze.”
Peter froze. The soft word muttered aloud brought everything to a halt. Like he’d reached the end of a leash. He nearly stumbled over his own feet and whiplashed slightly with the momentum of his muscles seizing.
“Don’t move,” the man’s soft voice commanded again.
Peter didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the last trajectory of his eyesight. He observed his wife, her body frozen and unmoving. She was locked in a straight-backed kneel at the man’s feet, her weight bearing down on her knees in an uncomfortable L shape.
He could observe her carefully in this position. Her chin trembled. She panted, drawing short breaths, as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating. He could hear her heart thrumming twice as fast as his own. That wasn’t the sound of lust. It was fear.
Peter remained as a statue: outstretched arm, muscles tense, chest heaving from an overwhelming mix of rage and panic.
He couldn’t move. He wanted to. But he couldn’t.
His eyes fell back to the occupant in the chair, still lounging back as if it was his bedroom they were in.
The alabaster-faced man gazed up at Peter with a half-smile. Sharp lines accentuated his brow, cheekbones, and jaw. His dark brown hair hung long in unkempt, ragged curls, framing his hollow cheeks and stopping at his jaw.
He looked young, with one of those faces that made him look forever in his twenties. Or thirties. Or teens. Maybe it was the smugness he wore on his face suggesting a foolish youth.
Peter wanted to put his fist through it.
Pale blue eyes stared brightly beneath a jutted brow. The kid’s face widened into a smirk.
“Hi,” he said, as they were having a pleasant meeting. He pointed his index finger at him, shooting a playful finger-gun. “Don’t tell me—you must be Peter.”
Peter was silent. Transfixed. Stunned by the casual tone and the bizarre situation. The stranger flipped a switch, as if he wasn’t just getting his dick sucked, and suddenly paid no attention to the woman genuflecting in front of him.
He grinned warmly, shameless in his partial nudity. “I heard so many things about you. Good things. Y’know. Mostly.”
The kid glanced down at the woman on her knees, then turned back to him. “Congratulations… on the wedding by the way!” he apologetically added, as if had forgotten his pleasantries. “Arranged marriages seem so old-fashioned these days, but I get it. Respect for your culture and all that.”
Peter’s mouth felt cotton-dry. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he struggled with all of his might to lower his arm. To flex his fingers. To say anything at all. It was to no avail.
The intruder gestured at the young woman on her knees. “I gotcha a present,” he grinned, reaching down and running a long finger beneath the chiffon strap across her shoulder. Peter could see that it was a halter dress of some kind. He watched intently as the man’s fingers slid down the fabric, resting at the top of her breast. “Call it a ‘something borrowed.’ No need for a thank-you card.”
Peter’s nostrils flared at the action, despite what he’d seen just moments ago. Despite the fact that he had no previous plan to win this woman’s heart, or let her win his own. Despite that he felt connected to this person in name and title only. And when he saw, with his own eyes, his new… partner engaging in a sex act only six weeks after their turbulent agreement had been finalized... it wasn’t jealousy.
She didn’t owe him faithfulness, if he really thought about it. Even if he planned to be. He planned to be celibate, to be honest. If he could help it. If he focused his energy on business, and not pleasure.
No, it would make sense that she would’ve taken a lover. Given how cold things were between them.
It wasn’t jealousy.
This stranger’s touch infuriated him. The idea that this audacious asshat dressed his wife in lingerie, and was roving his hands on her like inspecting the trim on a car. Like... she was a possession. She was his possession.
The stranger leaned back comfortably in the armchair as Peter tore himself apart. “I was just catching up with... uh...” He glanced at the girl he was facefucking moments before, then gave up. “I didn’t get her name.” He waved his hand with fanfare. “The lovely Mrs. Parker!” he proclaimed, with a shrug. That was good enough by his standards. “She’s been an above-average hostess this evening.”
Peter swallowed, trying to force his tongue to move. It felt like choking on glass. Seeing her mouth on another man felt like choking on glass.
The vile ‘guest’ reached down, cupping his junk idly. He hadn’t bothered to tuck himself away. Peter watched him disgustedly.
“Oh, that? No, not like that,” the man replied sheepishly, pointing down at his exposed crotch. His eyes darted between Peter and his wife, before elaborating. “Oh! That was nothing. She was just showing me a trick her dad’s friends taught her.”
Peter took that piece of information like a brick to the head. It jarred him. His eyes found her, eyeing the profile of her shamed face. He looked at her, really. For the first time since they had signed the marriage certificate. Her chin quivered gently.
He thought about what little he knew about the woman he agreed to marry. Her father was a crook. And not a good one. He ran a sloppy organization, with sloppy amateurs, and sloppy results. He had never thought too hard about her family, regarding them as a nuisance more than anything.
“They had a nickname for her,” the cruel man continued as if he was telling a hilarious story. “They called her the ‘Black Hole.’” He chuckled, barely able to contain his entertained grin behind thin lips.
Peter glanced over to see quiet tears rolling down his wife’s cheeks. She kept her gaze fixed forward. Stealing her expression, she made a decent attempt to conceal her horror and shame. Peter’s jaw clenched empathetically. His chest burned. The glass found his heart.
The intruder seemed oblivious, finally tucking himself back into his pants with a good-humored headshake, amused with himself. It was after a few seconds that he finally noticed Peter’s grim expression.
“Get it?” he asked, beneath a giggle, his smile dimming only slightly.
Peter glared.
Eventually, the man let his shoulders drop. He muttered bitterly, his fun spoiled. “Right over your head. Oh well.”
The ‘guest’ came to a stand in front of the chair, side-stepping around the abused woman in front of him, leaving her in his wake. He dug his hands in the pockets of his pants, eyes roving around the room. The intruder looked at home, strolling through Peter’s bedroom. He observed in silence, listless, like wandering through a library. Passing judgment on the pieces of Peter’s life.
Peter finally noticed the man’s attire. It was a bizarre mish-mash of items: a sharply-pressed, eggplant-hued button-up, untucked. The tails of the shirt draped over the stretchy waist of oversized joggers. A plum, silk-lined, single-button, velvet tuxedo jacket fit snugly over his shoulders. A lavender pocket square poked out from the breast pocket.
Several blinks later, Peter recognized that all of the items were pulled out of his own closet. Some well worn. Some unused. Right down to the brand new, still-in-the-box, memory-foam slippers that May gifted him years ago.
Peter ground his teeth while glaring at the intruder. This was a message. His dark eyes roved over the callous figure, taking in the prevailing hue.
The Purple Man.
Peter’s blood went cold. He’d never met him, but he’d heard stories: nightmarish fairy tales about a devil who could control you with just a few words. A man dressed in purple, leaving grisly scenes drenched in buckets of crimson in his wake.
Peter didn’t believe in fairy tales. He believed in horror stories.
He believed his friend at the D.A.’s office—the disgraced, former lawyer committed to an institution upstate. The blind madman of Hell’s Kitchen—who claimed that he savagely beat his friends to death with a gavel because The Purple Man told him to do it.
Peter wasn’t sure if he really believed in the Devil. Until now.
“I wonder how much all this cost,” the man in purple stated curiously, observing the molding of the bedroom. He glanced over at Peter, still standing between the doorway and the bed. The next words left his mouth like a cold threat. “Answer me when I speak to you.”
“What did you do to Felicia?” Peter asked, thinking of the woman unable to move from her spot downstairs.
He snorted, “The anime chick with the silver hair?” Peter glowered at him, arm still outstretched. “I was actually really confused when I arrived,” he stated. “I thought that little... slutty minx... downstairs was your wife. I mean, she’s the one that answered the door. She’s way too hot to be a housekeeper. Too skinny to be a cook. She’s got great tits.” He paused and asked, “You think they’re real?” He pondered thoughtfully. “They feel real...”
Peter grimaced at the comment, his blood boiling.
“But no,” the uninvited guest continued, “I was surprised to learn that she’s the ‘head of security.’ I mean, come on. Really?” He barked out a laugh. “I don’t wanna say ‘that’s why you never let a woman do a man’s job,’ but that’s what we’re all thinking, amirite?”
He shrugged, questioning aloud, although the couple rendered silent was his only audience.
The Purple Man glanced over to his timid captive, eyeing her backside lewdly. “And this little angel was up here all by herself.”
Peter bristled.
“She told me you don’t let her out much,” he explained. “Bitched a little about freedom and shit, but...” The intruder lowered his voice to a whisper, a secret just between boys, “I see why you keep her under lock and key. A girl like this doesn’t have any business out and about by herself. Just asking for trouble.”
Peter glared in response, nostrils flaring. The pig headed comment made his skin crawl. On the other hand, he didn’t miss the feeling of guilt that sank in his stomach for locking her up like an object.
The intruder carried on, like he was conversing with a friend. “Yeah, if I was you,” he mused, “I’d have a whole fuckin’ slew of women. A harem. I’d keep one in every room.” He peered towards the doorway but made no move to escape. “I mean this house is ridiculous,” he continued. “You’ve got a lot of rooms. So maybe not every room. A man’s gotta have some peace.”
He shrugged, throwing a sideways glance at Peter. “That’s what I’d do. If I were you.” His voice dropped an octave. “But I’m not you. I’m smarter.”
Peter glowered back, as the two men locked stares. A long moment passed.
“You do know who I am, right?” The Purple Man interrupted suddenly.
Peter recalled a name that Brock discovered while digging through Murdock’s appointment calendar. A high school dropout with an brilliant IQ. An avid gamer. A nobody.
“I know who you are,” Peter replied, beneath a regretful glare. “Gotta be honest, though. Didn’t give two shits about you ‘til now.”
He responded giddily, “I’m pleased that we were able to change that. I mean, what’s a girl gotta do to get you to notice them?”
He whispered with a deadly calmness, like making a vow, “Believe me, Kevin. You have my attention.”
The Purple Man’s face twisted as he spat, “Ugh! God!” He spun on his heel, hissing and kicking indignantly. “I fuckin’ hate that name!” He bristled with anger, rendering a glower. “My mother gave me that name!”
The sudden outburst of rage sent a trickle down his wife’s spine. She shivered, and he spotted it out of the corner of his eye. Their captor didn’t seem to notice.
The intruder shouted with disdain, “How hard is it to show a little fuckin’ respect? I don’t identify with that name. My name is Kilgrave.”
Peter fought to hold in a humorless laugh. “Kilgrave? Isn’t that what your little video game buddies call you?”
“Actually, Kill_Grave_69 is my PSN handle,” he corrected matter-of-factly, his mood shifting dramatically. “I sent Kill_Grave a message, but he hasn’t replied yet.”
“You like playin’ games with people, Kevin?” Peter taunted, his rage bubbling over. “Is’at what this is to you? A game?”
Kilgrave sighed, annoyed and bored. He gazed at Peter, declaring softly, “If you say ‘Kevin’ again, I’ll make your wife bite off her own tongue.”
The woman in reference shuddered on her knees. Peter locked his jaw.
“I’m serious, Peter,” Kilgrave warned. “She likes to swallow.”
Peter’s eyes flicked over to his wife, a pang of sympathy rising in his chest. He was ashamed of himself. Ashamed that the first thought that ran through his mind when he came upon the pornographic scene was betrayal. How daft. How arrogant. How did it not occur to him that she was being forced against her will?
He was a fool to think he could keep her safe. Perhaps it was his pride assuring him that no one would get past the gates of his fortress. It was hubris. His dogmatic belief that he’d prevent tragedy from reaching his loved ones.
At least, not again.
"Spoiler alert, I guess,” Kilgrave added, his lewd commentary interrupting Peter’s self-pity. “That’s another thing we talked about: You guys haven’t fucked.” Kilgrave crossed his arms, glancing back between the couple. “I mean, what’s with that? Talk about trouble in paradise.”
Despite himself, Peter bristled with embarrassment. A tinge of pink on his cheeks added to the red flush of his rage creeping up his neck. “With the size of that rock on her finger,” Kilgrave added, “you’d think that’d be worth at least a couple of blowjobs.”
Her eyelids slammed shut, jaw clenched. Peter glanced down to see the tremble of her legs, her kneecaps digging into the merciless wooden floor. He couldn’t imagine how painful it was, and how long she’d been in that position.
Kilgrave chuckled, staring at Peter with amusement. “Between your wife’s Jaws of Life and your slutty housekeeper’s Triple D’s... What are you, queer?”
His lip twitched at the slur. He struggled to maintain his composure, aware that at any moment he could cause his wife—the frightened lamb—further harm. Simultaneously, he pictured gouging out the mouthy bastard’s eyes with his thumbs.
Peter swallowed hard, speaking when spoken to. “What is it you want?”
“I’m here on business,” Kilgrave shrugged nonchalantly. “But first, I want to play a game.” He looked over at the woman. “We were already in the middle of one when you showed up, but we can start all over again. I guess.” He turned to Peter. “You ever play ‘20 Questions?’ It’s my favorite icebreaker.”
He tilted his head, childishly groaning, “Does this mean I have to listen to you talk about yourself through 20 Monologues?”
“Oh, no, this is all about you guys,” he declared, sitting on the edge of the king sized bed. He licked his thin lips hungrily. “I think what we have is an opportunity for you two to really open up to one another, y’know? Bare your hearts. Let’s see the real juicy stuff!”
The double-entendre was not lost on Peter. He gulped anxiously.
Kilgrave patted down the duvet on either side of him. “C’mon, you two,” he grinned, sparkling with childlike mischief. “Gather ‘round!”
Peter suddenly felt his legs lurch forward, his arm able to drop. The release of his tense muscles was relieving, but immediately he was horrified at being unable to control himself. He approached the bed slowly, sitting next to Kilgrave on the right. Kilgrave looked up to see his wife falter as she attempted to move off her knees. With a yelp, she toppled forward on her face.
Kilgrave snorted, shoulders shaking with humor. “What a klutz.” She half-crawled on wobbly legs, only sparking more laughter.
“Oh my god,” the weasel-like man howled. “She looks like a baby cow!” Peter’s eyes ran over her figure, taking inventory of as many injuries as he could see. One of the halter straps of her dress was askew off her shoulder. Finger shaped bruises peppered her jaw. Her knees were scraped and bloody. There were obviously injuries he could not see. Picturing them was like dunking his brain in acid.
“C’mon, I don’t have all day,” Kilgrave mocked her. He beat on the bedspread emphatically, like summoning a dog. Peter seethed in silence. “C’mon. Atta girl.”
Wincing in pain, she approached the edge of the bed, using her fingers to claw up the duvet. She thrust herself up next to Kilgrave on his opposite side, her legs dangling awkwardly off the edge of the bed.
“There she is,” he sang fondly, before lifting his gangly fingers and slapping them down on her thigh. She gasped at the pain, her legs still prickling as the flow of blood returned to her feet. His hand clamped above her knee, fingers digging into her flesh. “Such a pretty little cow.”
A soft whimper escaped her lips. Peter shut his eyes at the noise, squeezing them tight enough to trigger a migraine. He recognized that she was hanging on to what little power she had, trying to withhold her pain in front of her tormentor. If she could keep it together, then he’d better do the same.
Peter opened his eyes, glaring sideways at him. “You said you were here on business?”
“Easy, easy,” Kilgrave turned to him. “I’m asking the questions here.” He lifted his other hand and settled it on Peter’s thigh. “No need to get all worked up,” he slithered, ice in his eyes. Peter glanced down at the intruder’s hand touching his pant leg. It was a possessive hold, as if he owned Peter like the stolen clothes he was wearing. Like he owned the bed they were sitting on, the house he’d invaded, or the woman he’d assaulted.
Peter met his gaze, stone-faced. But he had the overwhelming urge to cry. From rage or fear or heartbreak, he didn’t know.
“You’ll need to wait your turn,” Kilgrave cooed, like admonishing a child. The most feared mobster in New York, the Unlikely King from Queens—reduced to a child.
“I’m supposed to say something clever, like ‘Mr. Fisk sends his regards,’ or some passive-aggressive bullshit like that. But all that seems so cliche. Dull.” He shot a quick glance, left and right, snuggling into his space between the couple. He knocked his knee into Peter’s playfully. “So. Tell me about you two. How did you meet?”
Peter’s jaw shook like an earthquake, fighting the command. The fight was getting exhausting.
“The day before our wedding,” his wife squeaked out. Her throat sounded raw. “At our house. Or... it used to be my house.” As she spoke, she gazed achingly at the open doorway. She reminisced with a bitter tone. “He brought daisies. Couldn’t hand them to me. Left ‘em on the table. Wouldn’t even look at me.”
Peter’s eyes rested heavily on the floor, brow furrowed.
“He spoke with my father for a half-hour while I waited upstairs,” she recounted, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “Thirty minutes, to decide the rest of my life. Mama locked me in my room. They took away anything sharp. In case I tried to back out.”
Peter looked up and over at her, beyond their tormentor, and watched the way her lip trembled at the admission. He followed the length of her arm down to her idle fingertips. The chiffon dress bunched up around her thighs, revealing her secrets. Etched scars lined her thighs and told a story of a lifetime of suffering. Eyes full of sorrow, Peter looked back up at her face. His heart broke to see that familiar faraway gaze.
“You’d rather kill yourself than marry him?” Kilgrave blurted, snorting repugnantly. “Wow. That’s a ‘swipe-left’ if I’ve ever heard one.”
Peter avoided the urge to comment, holding himself back from shooting a dirty look. He ignored him, keeping his wife in his sight. He hoped that somehow she could feel his gaze. He wanted it to feel like a kind gesture. A warm, friendly ray of light. A compassionate embrace.
She swallowed hard, and for a moment Peter wondered if she could feel him. “I’ve spent my whole life in a cage,” she explained numbly. “Like a pet in a shop waiting to be sold. Waiting for Papa to put me to good use. Or get rid of me somehow.” She whispered sorrowfully, “A coffin’s not so different. At least it’s quiet.”
Peter’s jaw clenched as he felt his eyes sting. It was the hopelessness in her voice. The familiarity of it. He had no idea of the suffering that she endured. He hadn’t fully considered getting to know her. He didn’t truly plan on being alive much longer.
“Hmm,” Kilgrave hummed, considering the weight of her words. “I bet you’re a delight at parties. What did you think of him when you saw him?”
Her husband thought he could see the faintest ghost of a smile flit across her face. She pulled her gaze away from the doorway, and looked at Peter. He nearly flinched at the action. He was too ashamed to look at her.
“Pretty eyes,” she stated, a breath of fondness in her voice. It made his cheeks turn red. “He was prettier than I thought he’d be.” She stared at him. Through him. Like she could see his soul. “My sister told me once that the pretty ones are the meanest.”
He dropped his eyes to the floor.
Kilgrave turned to Peter. “What about you, Prince Charming? What went through your head that night?”
This time, he didn’t fight.
“I just wanted it to be over,” Peter replied, flatly.
Despite herself, she winced. The sting of his words was apparent.
“Oof,” Kilgrave commented. “Bad first impression?”
“That wasn’t the first time I met her,” Peter explained, betrayed by his own tongue. His eyes closed in defeat.
Kilgrave nodded. “Tell me about that.”
He paused, but not for long. “It was at a wedding,” Peter explained. “She was twelve. I was fifteen.” Her eyes shot over to Peter, surprised by the revelation. “She wore a yellow dress with daisies on it. These kids... um. They were pickin’ on her. Callin’ her names.”
His lips turned downwards at the memory, heart aching. “I felt sorry for her. She spent the whole reception cryin’ in the bathroom. We could all hear it.” She looked away, the memory returning to her. “I told those kids to lay off, but... only after...” He let the words fall away. Kilgrave didn’t ask for more this time. It was a meaningless excuse anyway. “She doesn’t remember me,” he affirmed, “but I was there.”
The couple met each other’s eyes briefly, and for a moment they were alone with one another in their thoughts.
“Aww,” the wicked man blushed, his tone thick with saccharine. “That’s sweet. So you knew from the moment you saw her you were gonna marry her?”
“No,” he replied. “She’s not—” He choked on the words. His vocal cords constricting. Swallowed hard. He looked up at her helplessly, seeing the wounded look on her face. It was as if all he could do was hurt her.
“Finish that sentence,” Kilgrave callously commanded.
He begged his mouth to stay closed, but it creaked open. “She’s not Gwen.”
The sound of the name rang out. Tolling like a distant bell harkening some terrible fate. “Oh. Wait.” Kilgrave snapped his fingers near his head, as if he was struggling to fit the pieces of the story together. “Hang on. I’m remembering this.” He made some odd noise, a humming screech that sounded like a computer crashing. “Nope. Sorry. Nothing. Who’s Gwen?”
“She was the woman I loved,” Peter shuddered as he spoke. “We met in high school. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“Okay...?”
“She died,” Peter swallowed dryly. Now they were both staring at him expectantly. It was obvious from his wife’s expression that she didn’t know about Gwen. That was Peter’s design. The seconds ticked by, his wife staring at him with something between curiosity and horror. “It was an accident,” Peter said, suddenly feeling like he needed to.
Kilgrave leveled his gaze at him, studying Peter intently. “Was it really?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. The glass had spread to his veins. “No.”
Her eyes widened at his response. Peter stared at her, his gaze heavy with guilt. Kilgrave made a pleased sound, like taking a bite out of a delicious cake. “Did you kill her?” he smirked ravenously.
“No,” Peter responded quickly. His eyes told a different story.
“Tell me the truth.” Kilgrave’s mouth was watering.
“I didn’t push her,” Peter elaborated grimly. “But I put her in harm's way.” His lip trembled, face crumpling. “She was killed because of me.”
“Siiick,” said Kilgrave, not truly impressed. Peter’s attention wasn’t on him.
Whatever expression he expected from his wife, he got the opposite. She stared at him with pity.
“Well,” Kilgrave sighed, “that was even more of a downer than I anticipated.” He rolled his eyes, kicking his legs idly in frustration. “Fine, sure. You lost one girl. You got another. This one’s still young, and... alive? She seems alright. I mean, I’m sure Gwynn was great, but... are you really gonna spend the rest of your life moping over some dead pussy?
His eyes flashed with rage, “Don’t fucking talk like that about her—”
Kilgrave leaped to his feet, outmatching Peter’s fury, exploding like a bullet out of a gun. Suddenly, he was giant and imposing. A mushroom cloud leering over Peter’s face with fiery eyes and flaming breath.
“YOU don’t get to tell ME what to do!” his voice bellowed, like a crash of thunder. His booming voice was enough to make both of his captives flinch. “Ever! UNDERSTAND?”
Peter looked up at his tormentor and tried to hold back a shudder. The monster’s eyes had gone black and soulless, filled with rage. Any good humor in his nature evaporated instantly, lips pulled tight. His curls vibrated with anger.
As he stared up at him bitterly, Peter heard the sound of his wife’s heart thumping wildly. She kept her head forward and sniffled gently, trying to tighten her trembling jaw. It was as if she was pleading with Peter through her heartbeat. Begging him not to do anything stupid and get himself killed. Because then, she’d be left alone. With him. Again.
A caged animal, indeed.
Several long moments passed before Kilgrave’s shoulders eased up. His features softened, his expression shifting to apathy. He shook the hair out of his face like a dog, exhaled slowly, and sat back down between the couple.
“So,” The Purple Man continued, biting back indignation at being interrupted. “You didn’t want anything to do with the girl. She’s a means to an end. You could care less about her.”
Peter flinched, struggling. He subtly wished he could bite off his tongue to keep it from moving. Kilgrave noticed it immediately.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he commanded.
Peter exhaled, feeling his heart sink in his chest. “That’s not true,” he muttered quietly, staring apologetically at his wife.
She batted her eyes at Peter, before breaking eye contact and staring ahead before Kilgrave could notice.
“Elaborate,” he replied coldly.
Peter swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to hurt her,” he admitted with a huff. “I wasn’t trying... It wasn’t right, what her father did to her. None of it. He was planning on making a deal with Martello. The Hammerhead. Trading her for protection. I thought—I thought I could help her. Take Hammerhead off the board. Get her father’s loyalty. Help her, like I shoulda helped her when we were kids.” Peter glanced down at the floor, his forehead creased. “I shoulda stayed out of it.”
Kilgrave hummed, nodding as if he was filled with wisdom, “Tale as old as time. Women are our inevitable downfall.”
Peter bit his tongue, closing his eyes to keep them from rolling, holding back an offending remark.
Kilgrave moved on, looking over at the woman in question. “What about you, cowgirl?” he questioned, with a slight smirk. “Your daddy sent you off like a dowry. A sheep for the slaughter.”
Her darkened eyes remained fixed on the floor. Peter admired her strength.
“You didn’t wanna play house with the rich man with nice eyebrows?”
“How should I know,” she bit like a whipcrack, her words laced with venom. “He hasn’t spent more than five minutes with me since I got here.”
It was a stunning display of boldness from her, surprising both men. Kilgrave pulled back his gaze, eyeing her with intrigue.
“There we go,” Kilgrave simpered. “Now we’re getting to the good stuff.” He turned to Peter who was trying to focus on remaining silent. His efforts were dashed the moment Kilgrave spoke. “Respond.”
“She hates me,” Peter immediately murmured, then bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “She hasn’t said it. But I know. She... she can’t stand to be in the same room as me. I hate the way she makes me feel.”
He would’ve willed himself to stop breathing if it meant no more words would spill out. But Kilgrave was hooked, engaged in his favorite television drama.
“How does she make you feel?” Kilgrave beckoned, hungry for more.
Peter’s brow furrowed. “Like a monster.”
She let out a slow exhale, her resolve crumbling as tears dripped down her face.
Peter barely recognized his own voice, sounding as weak and broken as he felt. “She’s terrified of me. Cries in the room all the time. Won’t even look me in the eye. Like I’m... like I’m gonna hurt her or—” He swallowed hard, “I-I wouldn’t do that.”
“Or what? Finish what you were going to say,” he ordered coldly.
Peter squeezed his eyes tight, exhaling slowly. “Like I’m going to beat on her. Rape her.”
She went rigid; ice in her veins. Kilgrave shifted in his seat, adjusting his lap ever so slightly. “Is that what you like doing, Peter?”
“No,” Peter responded without hesitation, eyes defensive. “Never. I don’t...” He glowered at Kilgrave. “I’m not sick like that.”
If he could tell that it was a subtle insult, Kilgrave didn’t let on. “What are you like, Peter?” he grinned wickedly. “Be truthful. When was the last time you hurt someone?”
He stared. Mouth closed. Helpless. “This morning.”
Kilgrave smiled, holding his gaze. “Did you kill them?”
“Yes.”
“Did they suffer?”
Peter blinked at him, fighting a sting in his eyes. He spotted the way his wife shivered in his periphery. “Yes.”
“And did you like it?” he asked, like the cat that ate the cream. “How did it make you feel?”
Peter wished he could vanish into thin air. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes brimming with tears. “I felt powerful,” he admitted, shame and self-hatred evident in his tone. “It made me feel strong. Felt like justice. For Gwen. I liked it.”
The long-haired man chuckled darkly, “You really think it has anything to do with justice?”
A tear escaped his eye. Peter thought of the final expression on Gwen’s face, blood dripping from her mouth and nose. “I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth.
Kilgrave’s expression shifted, unhappy with the answer. “Okay, Peter Parker. Pillar of pious penitence.” He spat each word mockingly, leaning closer to the taller man, invading his space menacingly. Peter knew he couldn’t stand anyone having the moral advantage over him. Or any advantage.
“Tell me this then,” Kilgrave glowered, hissing through gritted teeth. “Maybe you’re not a rapist, but you’re not a eunuch.” His piercing blue eyes dropped downwards. “At least that I can tell. You sleep under the same roof as this...” Kilgrave glanced over at his wife, his eyes roving down her chest and legs. “...Sacrificial calf, tell me—Have you ever thought of just fucking her and getting it over with?”
Peter felt his heart seize in his chest. The air caught in his throat.
“Answer the question!” Kilgrave barked.
His jaw clenched. “Yes,” he irked out, shamefully. “I have.”
“Ah ha!” Kilgrave rejoiced, clapping his hands together. “So the boy’s cock does work. Let’s hear about it.”
“I don’t...” Peter stuttered, his skin beginning to crawl. “I-I don’t wa—”
Kilgrave gripped Peter’s shoulder tight. It was like clutching a stone in his fist. He leered over him regardless, pouring poison into his ear. “Details, Peter. Details. You want to fuck her, right? How bad? You ever jerk off thinkin’ about itr?”
“Yes,” he choked out. He let his eyes fall closed, ashamed and unable to look at the woman whose life he had destroyed.
“You watch her when you do it?”
“N-no,” he stuttered. “Sh-shower.”
“What do you like about her? What’s your favorite part? Her ass, right? You strike me as an ass man.”
Peter hoped that soon Kilgrave would tell him to throw himself off of a building. “Her eyes.”
Kilgrave groaned, deflating at the answer.
“She’s innocent,” Peter added truthfully, with bleary eyes. “Not like—” He clipped the words, but one look from his tormentor reminded him of the futility of his resistance. “Not like me,” he whispered, heartbroken.
The Purple Man glared at him, stewing with disdain.
“Poor Peter Parker,” he mocked with a singsong tone. He gazed down at him through narrow slits, regarding him as ant under a bright magnifying glass. “Pitiful, pathetic prince of pathos. Pauper of power.”
Disgraced, he stared back, hollow and exposed. The sensation of a tear rolling down his cheek stirred him.
“Do you want to know why I like to play video games?” Kilgrave stated coolly.
He could think of a hundred vicious replies. A hundred ways to hurt, maim, and kill. But none of them were real options. He looked at him apathetically. Hopelessly. It didn’t matter how he responded.
“It’s an even balance of power,” Kilgrave elaborated. “A fair fight.” His eyes roved over Peter’s figure, sizing him up from head to toe. “All I need is two thumbs and I can win fair and square. Keeps things challenging.”
The maniac fell silent, staring at Peter in a way that made his skin crawl. His smile faded. Again, the friendly persona evaporated. He spoke again with a voice weighed down with malice.
“You have all this money,” he stated. “All these... pawns, like the dead ones downstairs.” He reached over, squeezing Peter’s bicep gently. “You work out.” He gently patted Peter’s cheek. “You’ve got a pretty face. All this... ‘power.’” His azure eyes leveled, and the look sent a chill down Peter’s spine. “And yet all I hear about is how sad your little lonely life is. Your shitty bad luck. Your dead parents and your dead blonde whore.”
Peter’s chest heaved, filled with fear or fury. He bit the inside of his lip, watching the vitriol rising in the man.
Cruel jealousy filled his words. “You got it so easy, you don’t even know it,” Kilgrave hissed. “Silver spoon up your ass. Guys like you, you think you can just buy everything you want? You think you can just bully everyone? Beat them into submission?”
The intruder’s heart beat even faster with self-righteous fervor. He was insane, Peter concluded, unhinged and oblivious to the hypocrisy of his words.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re not scared of me,” Kilgrave sneered. “Doesn’t matter if you couldn’t give two shits. Doesn’t matter if you own the whole world. I control you. All I have to do is say the words. That is real power, my friend.”
Kilgrave jumped to his feet, standing tall in front of the couple. He puffed up like a god casting down judgment. He was drunk on his version of power. Basking in the glow of their helpless misery.
“And sure,” he added, his smile growing larger, his voice getting louder. “When I’m done here, there’ll be a limo waiting for me. And I’m gonna go to the nicest hotel in the city. I’m gonna order room service, and I’m going to eat it off the girl at the front desk’s naked body.”
He proclaimed this triumphantly. Like he was standing in a pulpit. Like he could hear thunderous applause. He probably could.
“And then I’m gonna play a few hours of Call of Duty,” he continued. “I’m gonna kill a few spoiled little shitheads like you online, and even if I lose the game...” He laughed with a careless shrug, “I’ll just tell them to go fuck their mothers and swallow bleach.”
“Then I’m gonna leave with my giant suitcase full of Wilson Fisk’s money,” he spat each word at the couple, matching their disgusted horror with his own outrage. “But before you judge me, let me tell you that I don’t do it for the money, Mister and Missus Parker.”
He popped the ‘P,’ like a bloody dot on the end of a sentence.
“I do it because I like it,” he declared. “I like to help people. And when you help people, good things happen to you!”
Kilgrave took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly. He was regaining his composure, albeit for dramatic effect. “So, now for my next question, Peter, I ask you this:” he leaned forward, placing both hands on the bed as he glanced back and forth between the horrified duo. “Trick or Treat?”
Peter blinked silently, terrified to respond.
“Choose!” Kilgrave roared.
“Treat!” Peter yelped, tears running down his face.
“Good choice,” Kilgrave declared. “Now. Are you finally ready to fuck your wife, or should I do it for you?”
Peter’s eyes were black as coal, overcome with rage. He whispered, agonized, “Touch her and I’ll rip your fucking throat out—”
From the tuxedo jacket pocket, Kilgrave suddenly brandished a straight-edge razor. It flashed in the low-light of the bedroom. He handed it to the woman he only regarded as ‘Missus’ Parker.
“Use this to cut your own face off,” he commanded. The moment the razor went into her hand, she closed her fist on the blade. Her eyes were wide with fright, her arm trembling.
“No! Stop!” Peter bellowed, voice shattering weakly, as he reached out and grabbed the end of the razor. He clutched the blade, feeling the sting of it in his palm.
Kilgrave leapt backward with alarm. “Nobody move!”
The couple didn’t move. Both hands on the blade of the razor. Blood spilling into blood. Kilgrave’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them, before settling on Peter suspiciously.
“You really do care about her,” Kilgrave stated, intrigued. His voice was thoughtful and unsure, as if he was observing the results of an experiment. He watched Peter’s tortured expression carefully. His lip trembled, his eyes wet.
“Please,” Peter begged him, shaking uncontrollably. Swallowing every ounce of pride, he pleaded for mercy. “Please. It’s me that Fisk wants. She’s got no part in this.”
Kilgrave stared quietly, as if he was considering it seriously. It was enough to give Peter hope.
“Drop the razor,” he ordered.
The weapon clanged as it hit the floor, narrowly missing their limbs.
“I’m sorry, I just thought of another question,” Kilgrave declared, leaving Peter’s plea unanswered. He leaned in close between them, his thin lips positioned between both sets of ears. “Cards on the table. If you had to choose, right now,” he asked devilishly. “Who would you rather have rape your wife?” He locked eyes with Peter, smirking sadistically. “Me? Or you?”
Peter’s heart sank as it threatened to burst from his chest. He held Kilgrave’s stare, peering up powerlessly. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat.
This was a message, he thought. A warning to all who dared to stand up to powerful men like Wilson Fisk. Those who were arrogant enough to try to beat the devil at his own game.
It didn’t matter that Peter may have been the lesser of two evils. They were all evil. The city was overflowing with evil deeds and evil men. Like his father-in-law. Like Fisk. Like Kilgrave.
Like Peter.
Kilgrave simply smiled. Because he knew what Peter really was.
He knew what his answer would be.
And how poetically unjust was it—in his flimsy attempt at protecting this poor girl he pitied, the woman he wondered if he could one day love—that he would be the one to hurt her. He had imprisoned her to protect her. And he was going to cause her suffering.
He really was a monster.
But Kilgrave just wanted him to say it out loud.
Peter’s lip wobbled as he watched the intruder raise an eyebrow. He was waiting.
“Answer the question,” Kilgrave grinned wickedly. “Who would you rather it be?”
He tried to keep his mouth closed, but it felt like trying to hold back an avalanche. He knew exactly what word was going to come out, and with it, the contents of his stomach would follow. The remnants of his broken soul soon after.
“Peter.”
Kilgrave blinked, turning towards ‘Missus’ Parker. He’d forgotten she was there.
The woman sat calmly on the foot of the bed, her bloody hands placed in her lap. Blood droplets staining her scars. Her body was a mountain. Steady. Unfazed.
She locked eyes with Kilgrave. There was an audacious half-smirk on her face.
“I would rather it be Peter,” she answered, knowing well-enough that the question wasn’t directed at her to begin with. She didn’t care. She was making her thoughts known.
“I would rather be probed by aliens,” she stated confidently, hatred woven into each word. “I would rather be railed by every dick in a leper colony. I’d rather be inbred by a family of cannibal hillbillies. I’d rather be fucked by a grizzly bear.”
Her voice taunted him, seething through gritted teeth, “Literally. Anyone. Else.” She glared at him viciously. “Anyone but you.”
Kilgrave’s face fell slowly, his eyes growing cold at her harsh rejection.
She smiled, victorious, if only in this one fight. “And no matter what you say, that’ll never change.”
His eye twitched as he glared at her. She relished in the way his nostrils flared, basking in the glow of his rage. Savored the way a vein bulged from his forehead.
Kilgrave studied her lividly, crossing his arms. “You heard the lady,” he replied. He commanded, “Pin her down.”
Peter’s hands shot forward of their own accord, grabbing his wife’s wrists and throwing her back across a bed they had never shared until this moment. Despite her resolve, she shrieked as she attempted to push him off. She twisted like a snake beneath him.
Tears sprang from his eyes and hers. He could hear his own disembodied voice, mumbling incoherently, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry so sorry...”
In seconds she was subdued under him, his hips pinning hers down.
Peter watched her fall silent and still, tears rolling down the sides of her face. He squeezed his eyes closed, focusing his energy on releasing her wrists to no avail. Hot droplets from his eyes splattered as they fell on the skin of her heaving chest.
“Don’t do this,” he pleaded, to anyone who would listen. “I don’t... don’t wanna do this...” He squeezed his eyes tighter.
“Look at me,” he heard her whisper. He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice.
She gazed up at him, her eyes gentle. Sympathetic. He wanted to drown himself in them.
“It’s gonna be okay,” she timidly whispered. “We’re gonna be okay.” He wanted to collapse under the weight of his guilt.
He trembled, “Please don’t hate me. Please, I’m... I can’t...”
“I know,” she nodded softly, barely above the sound of her heart. “I know. You’re nothing like him.”
Peter gritted his teeth, sobbing, growling as he tried to move his hands, only peeling one finger away from her wrist.
“Give me her panties,” Kilgrave coldly ordered.
Peter’s hand reached under the skirt of the dress, gripping onto stretchy lace. With a snap, he tore the fabric from her waist. She yelped at the burn. He held his trembling hand outstretched, presenting Kilgrave with his trophy.
He snatched the underwear, examining it in his hand. “Well, whaddya know,” he sneered. “Looks like she’s not that broken up about this after all. She’s dripping wet. Just like a whore.”
Kilgrave tucked the underwear back in his jacket, turning listlessly toward the brutal scene. “Put your hand on her throat.”
She flinched as Peter followed the order. His large palm settled heavily the base of her throat.
Kilgrave peered over at them, intently watching the way his hand circled her neck. Blood from the razor cut on his palm coated her throat, making a sticky red mess. Kilgrave licked his lips at the sight.
“Such large hands,” his tormenter observed. “Bet you’re strong. Bet you could just... crush her throat with just your thumb and forefinger. Like snapping a toothpick” Peter’s bloody hand trembled, his whole body quaking with terror. “I wonder what that would sound like.”
Peter shook his head, spiraling into panic, “P-Please don’t—”
“Relax,” Kilgrave admonished him, as if scolding a frightened child. Sickeningly, Peter felt his pulse slow down. His next breaths were even and steady. Kilgrave grinned, “I told you that you were gonna get a chance to fuck your wife, did I not?”
She bit her trembling lip, glaring over at Kilgrave from the side of her vision. He stared back at her, skewering her with his look. “I never said she would be alive when you did it.”
Peter felt like he was going to be sick. His skin went cold and clammy. Kilgrave broke into a fit of giggles.
“Fucking coward,” Peter ground out, shooting a glare at The Purple Man. “You wanna beat somebody? You wanna kill me? Just fucking do it. C’mon, just be a man and let’s do this—”
Kilgrave yawned, rolling his eyes. “Dirty talk, hmm,” he glowered mockingly. “Careful with that mouth. Unless you want my cock in there too.”
The muscles in Peter’s shoulders went rigid as he stared at him. His throat bobbing. His voice squeaked, “Is-Is that w-what you want?”
Kilgrave tilted his head, curiously. Peter sounded... hopeful, almost. He gazed at him, feeling like prey begging a predator not to eat him.
Peter blinked away tears, sensing a tug on the lure. He cleared his throat, softening his gaze. “C’mon,” Peter reaffirmed, steadying his voice placatingly. “Let’s go then. Just you and me. I’ll do whatever you want.”
It was a bold offer. Not surprising, but bold. Kilgrave studied him closely, the gears turning in his mind. He finally snickered, amused.
“You will,” he sneered with a twisted grin. “I have no doubt about it.”
Peter’s eyes followed him, unsure of his meaning. Kilgrave stalked up to the end of the bed, reaching forward and wrenching Peter’s hair back. He gasped at the sharp pain, his neck vulnerably exposed.
“Tell you what,” The Purple Man replied, tauntingly. Kilgrave reached down for the hand resting on his wife’s throat. Slowly, he pulled it up to his mouth.
Peter let it happen. He didn’t have to be told.
“You be a good boy,” he said, turning his hand over. Kilgrave stuck out his tongue and ran it over Peter’s palm, licking the wound. He bit back bile as he watched Kilgrave lick his blood from his lips. “And maybe, I’ll let you share.” His blue eyes travelled over to his wife’s, shooting her a threatening glance.
She lifted up off of the comforter, wrists still firmly in place with Peter’s other hand. It didn’t matter. Kilgrave was close enough that she hit her target. He screeched and hissed as she shot a wad of spit in his eyes.
“Ow, ow, gross!” he roared as if he’d suffered the most egregious of indignities. He rid himself of the velvet jacket, using it to wipe at his face furiously. When he turned back to her, he was livid.
“That’s it!” he screamed. Kilgrave stalked towards the bed, tossing the jacket aside. “Fucking whore!” he hissed. He reached down, snatching the razor off the floor. “Sorry, Pete. I’m tagging you out.”
He gripped Peter’s hair once again, pulling his neck back. She shrieked as she saw the razor come up to her husband’s throat. The blade sliced into his flesh, leaving a red-hot mark.
In an instant, Peter’s hand moved to stop the blade.
Kilgrave was stunned.
So was Peter, with his hand gripping the monster’s wrist.
It was as if his Spider-sense reacted before his consciousness. A reflex of self-preservation.
Kilgrave’s eyes widened with horror, his lips beginning to move. Seizing the opportunity, Peter flexed his hand, triggering his web-shooter. The intruder was thrust backward, a sticky mass pummeling his face and covering his mouth.
He stumbled backwards, collapsing on his knees, pulling wildly at his gag. The web wouldn’t move. He was silenced.
Chest heaving, Peter turned over his palm, observing the wound already starting to heal. He looked over at Kilgrave, understanding the biology of how his powers worked.
Kilgrave was a disease. His existence was a plague. His words were a virus.
One that Peter’s body could fight, given the right antibodies. From the moment Peter’s blood came in contact with Kilgrave’s saliva, his body did the rest.
He released the arms of the woman beside him, pulling his other hand back as if he touched fire.
Kilgrave scrambled like a cockroach in the light. Peter watched him attempt to scurry away. He released another web, yanking the man’s legs out from under him. Tangled and bucking frantically, Kilgrave rolled over on the floor.
He met Peter’s gaze, his expression dark. Monstrous. And immune.
Fear turned the blue in his eyes to ice. In the blink of an eye, Peter reached down and snatched Kilgrave up by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The shorter man kicked wildly. Peter sucked in labored breaths, imagining the sound of a toothpick snapping. Tears continued to run down his cheeks, a storm of grief and hatred fueling the crackling lightning of his eyes.
He reached forward, grabbing Kilgrave by the chin. His fingers reached over the web and expanded across the man’s jaw. The part of Kilgrave that he used to hurt his wife. To torture his family.
Peter's mind was blitzed. Body on autopilot. Defaulting to factory settings. Returning to his innate nature.
With a tear-soaked growl that turned into an agonized scream, Peter gripped Kilgrave’s jaw with enough pressure to crack the bone. The ridges of his fingertips buried themselves into his flesh. With a final howl, Peter snatched his hand back. And with it, he ripped the jawbone from Kilgrave’s skull.
The sound of the crack was grotesque. The spray of blood was everywhere. Stickying his skin. Filled their nostrils with the scent of copper.
Peter blinked several times. So did Kilgrave. Both men stared in awe of the horrific act of violence.
The only difference was that one of them was now missing half a face. His tongue dangled limply from his throat, and he became the walking dead.
Kilgrave’s legs buckled beneath him as he dropped down to his knees. Peter’s arms twitched, his body trembling from adrenaline, terror, and rage. He stared down into the piercing blue eyes of the intruder who was currently grappling with the horror of having his power taken away.
Peter watched the blood pour from The Purple Man’s mouth, his stomach twisting. Not at the gore, but at the feeling of relief. He stepped back, relishing in the savage violence as much as he feared it.
He jolted at the rustling sound beside him. The weary woman approached him from the side, arms wrapped protectively across her chest. She stared at Peter’s deed with a wary expression. He shrunk back away from his wife, avoiding her eyes. Afraid of what she’d see.
A gargling noise spewed out as the blood began to fill Kilgrave’s exposed throat. He was fighting for consciousness. Fighting to survive.
Peter glanced at the frightened woman beside him. He should turn her away. He should shield her eyes—
She stepped forward with the straight razor in her hand. He watched her reach down, methodically wrapping her fingers around Kilgrave’s tongue. With a swipe of the razor, she sliced it off. He grunted in pain, the action rolling his eyes up. He finally keeled over.
Peter watched her in stunned silence, listening as Kilgrave’s pulse went quiet. She glowered down at her tormentor’s body, her chest and arms covered his blood. Her hands gripping the razor and the man’s tongue. Both of them hard-earned trophies.
She turned around and looked up at Peter. They locked eyes, standing in the dim light of their bedroom.
For the first time, they saw each other clearly.
She wasn’t a lamb, or a pet. She wasn’t an animal.
Neither was he.
He regarded her with admiration. She regarded him with forgiveness. Compassion softened their eyes as they observed each other. And by rendering compassion towards one another, they showed mercy toward the reflection of themselves.
Exposed, for what each of them really was.
Whatever they had to be, to survive.
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A/N
in case there is any confusion, I am fully aware that my version of kilgrave is an unrepentant, evil sack of shit. he says and holds beliefs that are outrageously offensive, inappropriate, and ignorant. I do not vibe with anything this character says or does. It’s fiction ;-)
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