New York Please Go Easy On Me

Blood, brusies and scars that will never fade.

Warnings: Mild Panic Attacks, Rape/non-con, self-hate, Peter has a few meltdowns as of ⬇️

"I'd watch Harry be beaten to Death. All just because of the fucking colors of his wings," Peter cried into Wade's shoulder as the other held him tightly against his chest horrified with what he'd done. He didn't mean for this, he didn't want to break Peter. I never said the arachnid had to tell him the story about one subject they'd always avoided. "He died! He died because of me! Because I was a stupid, Stupid kid!"

"Peter. Peter please. Don't go on, I don't want to hurt you. Forget I ever asked, please." Wade begged, kissing the top of Peter's head as the small hid his face against Wade's chest, leaving wet splotches from where his tears soaked the soft Cotton of the Merc's shirt.

"No. Wade someone needs to know. We just had this conversation. I have to tell someone. I need to tell you."

Peter had been brought to a strange home after his best friend's body was dumped to ever be seen again. Beautiful, iridescent feathers that would lose their sheen as he would decompose alone and away from home. Where his family would never find him.

At the home, Peter had been brought to he didn't understand most of what was ever going on. Only that he didn't like it. He was forced to stand in front of someone every day to be checked and washed before he'd be locked in a room with only a mattress. Different people made him do different things. They all made him please them by sucking on their privates or having them suck and do things with his. If he didn't comply he was beaten and then punished by getting nonending shifts of clients (as he was told to call them)

He was taught that you eat out girls, and only boys when they ask for it. He was trained to always kneel at their feet so his mouth was always close to their crotch. Men liked that. It was easier for them and
Sometimes they were kinder when he was already there waiting. But others eyes had an evil glint in them and would choke and hurt Peter before shoving him on the ground and forcing wet fingers inside of his cleaned entrance.

He hated that the most. When the wingers would press deep inside of him, stretch his tiny hole before piercing him with a penis. It hurt. They were too big. The girth was too wide for his small body to naturally accommodate and most never stretched him well enough. All the rough treatment often left him with a bloody butt, scuffed knees and elbows along with an infected wing from where it was sliced off.

It was depressing to figure out that as he grew older in the house that people who weren't doves were often left to die when they entered the place. Everyone ceased to notice that Peter was just a soft grey. He was a mourning dove. Not a purity dove... metaphorically and physically. But they had never brought him out into direct lighting long enough to ever notice. They might have just thought his wings were dirty, he'd never know.

They did finally find out. Five years later. He wasn't going to complain. They kicked him out and that's all he'd ever wanted. Granted he owned nothing but the lack of dignity and a shame so deep it made his soul dark, he was still happy to leave. To leave alive and not dumped down in a Ditch somewhere naked, mutilated and deflowered for all the world to see.

At least he was released with only minor infections in both major injury sights of his body. He like all the others were allowed an allowance each week if they worked particularly hard. Peter evidently took as many clients as he could, making enough for the owners of the house that he was given disinfectants and inclination cream it had been hard but worth it. He'd have long died of his wound on his wing if he wasn't allowed the allowance. Any injuries caused to his 'assets' were taken care of by the people who prepped him in the morning. When he was finally aware of what a condom was and their purposes he requested those when he could. For his own protection when people had specific requests.