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secretaccountlol · 1 year

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Love and bonnets.

BLACK READER X PETER PARKER.

+18 SMUT!!!

No summary this time just gotta read it yourself :3

Word count: 3898!

TW? : uhm hair?? Uh the L word?! (Love) this is a pretty sweet fic so..also typos I’m sorry!

Author note:..hey ..soo.. did yeah miss me? Lol. Okay yes I’m sorry that haven’t uploaded in…like 3 months. This was originally was made in FEBRUARY.. for black history month and Valentine’s Day..(lmao yes Ik)

So sorry, also if your wondering on your request I’m sorry and I haven’t forgotten about you!!! I have this thing where I need to finish one story first, so since I was stuck on this one.. i never could start the other ones. Anyways enjoy.

Your mouth emits a low groan as the god rays blind your eyes, as you sit up stretching tight limbs.

You rub your neck as you look down, “goddamnit!” You pick your bonnet off your bedsheets, you kick your covers off in a rage making quick steps to the bathroom mirror

You pout seeing your hair thrown around your head like you were attacked by a windstorm. Looks like it’s another hat day, knocking at the bathroom door makes you jump.

“Hey, you done in there?”

“I’m naked!”

“No. you’re not, your lotion is still on your counter and I know you like to moisturize right after the shower. So open up, pleaseeeee? I gotta pee!” Before he could knock again you swung the door open, Peter’s shocked face turns into an inquisitive one.

“Your-“

“Don’t-“

“Didn’t y-“

“Yes,” you bum shoulders as you barge through the small doorway of your shared bathroom.

“But you-“

“If you mention it you’re anti-black!” You pause your feet, swiveling back to face him, “Also- don’t look in my room, it’s creepy!” Your arms cross as you speak, quickly turning around, not awaiting an answer.

“Your door was wide open! I didn’t look on purpose! A-and I’m not creepy…” you hold your laughter as you hear Peter mutter, “I'm not creepy” again as he shuts the door. You hum to yourself as you scan over each hat in your room, picking up each one as you put it against your forehead.

“I think it’s better to try them on, then put them against your forehead.” Peter’s voice sends a shiver of embarrassment as you turn to him, your mouth open to speak,

“Here, try this.” Your eyes are covered for a moment, Peter shifts the beanie to restore your eyesight you stare at his grinning face before turning to face your mirror.

The beanie fits your head perfectly, snarky blue embroidered webs were splashed on it, with the cutest spidey head logo winking back at you, and holy shit,

silk lining inside?!

“Pete, this hat is absolutely…” Your hands reach up to brush your fingertips against the embroidery making sure you weren’t imagining the intricate stitches.

“What? Is it not comfortable? I ca-“

“ Absolutely, adorable! Is it mine to keep?” Your eyes shift to his face which is bathed in blush, a simple nod acts as your answer.

You giggle as you pick clothes to go with your new hat using your bed as a display, your head tilts to look at Peter who has returned to his rightful place on the doorframe.

“Lookin’ for something, hm?” Your hands play with the fabric of your clothes as you speak.

“Oh? I give you free shit and you wanna kick me out?” Peter’s head rested on the doorframe tilted as he smirked, he really didn’t know how handsome he was, did he? You bit your lip.

“Nooo! I’m not kicking you out and you know it, Pete.” You roll your eyes before turning towards him taking slow steps. “But I do have to change and I like you Pete but not enough to let you see me naked, not yet .” Your tongue peaked out behind your teeth as you spoke,

Your hands rest on the door as you slowly inch it closer and closer to Peter’s body, he doesn’t finch opting to stare at you instead, eyes scanning you head to toe. “Are you imagining me naked?” Your eyebrows raised as Peter’s eyes flicker to your lips then to your eyes.

“No..” Peter’s voice wasn’t very convincing, you scoff pushing him out of your door frame, “I’ll be out in a minute.” You shut the door in his face.

“Singles night is a go!” You burst into the room, a new outfit on your body. Peter’s head lolling back to look at you, “Cute outfit but it’s definitely not night, at least not yet.” You frown taking a seat next to him.

“No need to be such a Debby downer, just a name.”

“Mm, yeah a name that only makes partial sense” Peter hands you a bottled drink, you block it with your hand.

“Beer? No thanks-“

“Mm, not beer. Fruity liquor, what do you take me as? A frat boy?” Peter’s hand hit his chest fingers splayed

In a fake offense.

You giggle, taking the bottle from his other hand, Peter pops the cap off for you.

“Why aren’t you taking a fine lady out for Val Day, Petey? Definitely hot enough to get some.” You bump shoulders with him.

He hums before answering, his soft eyes falling onto yours, “I’d just..rather spend it with you.” You swear you saw hearts in his eyes.

“Pete.. if you keep talkin’ like that I might take it the wrong way.” Take a sip of your drink, checking the label, 4.25% so it’s not the alcohol talking.

“What if I want you to take it the wrong way?” Peter’s eyes hung low as he inched closer, your hands clamping on his mouth as you shifted towards him as well.

“This is a very cruel prank for you to play, Mr.Parker.” Your words were just above a whisper as you moved your hand away, sticking out your tongue returning to your previous position.

“Wasn’t a prank..” Peter takes a sip of his drink as he turns away from you, also returning to his lax position.

“Anyways, weren’t we supposed to go somewhere today? Hence my need for the cutest hat ever !” Your head tilted to him as you looked up at your hat, god this hat was just so stellar.

“Mm, consider this a pregame I set the reservations

later today.” Peter’s voice was warm and smooth, like whiskey.

“Shit, reservations? I’m not dressed for a fancy place, oh no I gotta go change no-“

“No- you don’t, it’s not a fancy place. I just wanted to make sure we get a seat cus you know, day of love and all” Peter laughed, easing your nerves.

“Don’t scare me like that!” You fake hit him, he dodged a smirk playing on his lips.

“ I didn’t! You scared yourself like that!” His hands shot up in a defensive stand, you scowl.

“Ya yeah laugh it up..”

A comfortable silence falls between you and him, you shift trying to get comfortable again, feeling a bit cramped from sitting up straight. Peter lets out a soft sigh, patting his lap. You oblige his request, your hat shifts off your head, Peter gently pulls the rest off your head. You open your mouth to protest but before you can his hands start to massage your scalp, your eyes close as you let out a groan.

“Dude, that feels amazing..” you hummed snuggling closer to Pete’s torso as he scratched.

Your mind wanders as you drift off to sleep.

“Wash day? Like for clothes?” His eyebrows knitted together as he racked his brains for answers. “No, for my hair.” You paid him no mind as you grabbed all your hair products, plus a towel.

“Why a whole day? Can you not just wash in the shower and go?” Peter followed you into the kitchen he spoke watching you line up the bottles of hair products. Turning on the water, checking its temperature, and moving the dial to your liking.

“Cus, It's easier to wash it here and takes a long time. Plus, it’s what my mom always did. Of course, those days are over and now I have to wash my hair.. no spa treatment for me. “ you pout, wash days were a favorite growing up. Minus the pain of detangling, you loved the scalp massage, and the greasing of your scalp, just thinking about it made you miss home.

“I can do it for you.” Your eyes shot to Peter suspiciously.

“Do what for me?”

“I could wash your hair for you, I don’t mind.”

“Peter..-“

“Seriously! Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it! I'm a very quick learner, plus.. I uhm.. really like your hair. “

You smile softly at Peter’s confession, “You like my hair?” Peter gives you an exaggerated nod, “I like how soft it is.. and how shiny it gets.. I just- really interested in it? I hope that’s not weird.” He puts his hands up before scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s not! I’m just surprised you noticed.”

“I always ..notice you..”

You bit your lip, “Uhm, well. Here I’ll show you what to do.”

You never thought you’d enjoy walking someone else through the process of doing your hair. It was actually relaxing too, Peter’s hands were way gentler than your mom's so that helped too.

Since that day you would occasionally catch him watching videos about black hair, or reading an article on his phone when he thought you weren’t looking.

“Hey, can I try something?” Peter breaks out randomly as you both sit in the common space.

“Depends? What’s up buttercup?”

“Well, uhm. So, I’ve been doing some research.”

“Ooh, research? On?”

“Well, your hair.. and I-..wanted to try to do a different style.. if you’d let me..?” Peter’s voice squeaked, you watched as he physically cringed, you giggled at his dismay.

“Yeah, it sounds like fun.”

“Seriously??” Peter’s bright eyes stared at you with wonder.

“Yeah, I trust you.”

Thus began the weekly hair appointments with Peter the stylist. He tried anything and everything natural, Bantu knots, box braids, cornrows, and twists! Nothing was too much for him.

“Why can’t I do your hair for our dat-uh..hang out for Valentine’s Day?” Peter’s arms were folded as he pouted, standing between the doorway trapping you.

“Mm, because you’ve been spoiling too much! I practically don’t remember how to do my own hair. Plus, I want my hair to be a surprise and add to the excitement!” You grin.

“You’re plenty exciting on your own for me.”

“Whatever- now move!” You push through him.

“Hey..”

You groan, your eyes squinting.

“Hey, wake up-“

You whine as someone shakes you gently, your eyes flutter open to Peter’s brown hair and soft eyes.

“Hey, sleepy head.”

Your subdued smile playing on your lips, “Mornin”

Your hand reaches up, caressing his cheek. Your smile splits into a grin as he leans to your touch.

“I got something to show you.” His hand lays over yours.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but I gotta get up to get it.”

“Mm- nooo,” you frown.

“I know but I’ll be quick, promise”

“Okaay” you lift, watching Peter walk to his room. You draw your knees close to your chest as you wait for Peter to return.

Your eyes light up when you see a small box with a bow tied neatly around it in Peter’s hands.

“It’s- it’s not much so”

“I don’t care! A gift is a gift, the only thing is you’ve given me two things today and I haven’t even gotten you one thing..” you sulked as he sat in front of you.

“No worries, I didn’t want you to anyways.” His hands extend the box out to you, your fingers graze him as you take it, and goosebumps formed on your arm from the light touch. He sits on the floor in front of you closely watching your reaction.

Your hands shake slightly as you undo the ribbon, opening the box carefully.

A piece of fabric was neatly folded in the box, your curiosity grows as you pick it out of the box, unfolding it gingerly.

A bonnet. He’d gotten you a bonnet, you turn in your hands a few times.

A bonnet with hearts on it-

Wait-

A bonnet that had the cutest collages of you and him printed on the hearts, your fingers trace over both of your smiling faces.

You turn the bonnet in your hands, noticing more little details. Your birthday and name sewn on the side in your favorite color, an adjustable satin strap to keep your bonnet from slipping, and to top it all off the same cute Spider-Man logo that was on your beanie he gave you earlier.

“Peter..”

“You like it?” He grinned.

“Awe I love it!!” You crash on top of him, squeezing the life out of him as you squeal.

“I don’t know who you commissioned but jeez you must have paid a shit ton for such awesome craftsmanship!”

“Actually..I sewed it myself.”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, “Are you serious, Pete?”

He nods as heat rises to his cheeks, “ I wanted it-.. to be special, custom. So I ..made it myself.” His eyes glanced away from you bashfully, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. You lift his chin, your fingers stroking his jaw, “Thank you so much, this.. means a lot .” Your voice was just above a whisper.

His eyes lock onto yours, his hands on your waist. For the first time, you're keenly aware of how your bodies are touching. Your legs basically wrapped around his waist, your crotch painfully closed to his, your chest pressing lightly against his.

“Can I show a bit of my appreciation?” You feel like you’ve been running a marathon, breathless as you spoke.

“Yeah..yeah I’d like that..” Peter’s eyes flickered to your lips then back to your eyes half-lidded.

Your lips graze his before you both take the plunge. Soft lips collide, your hands travel up to his hair tracing circles.

A satisfying pop rings through both of your ears as you separate, your forehead bumps against him as you stare into each other's eyes.

“I got something to show you, wanna see?” You mimic his words from earlier.

“Yeah,” he mimics you back.

“But I gotta.. get up to show you” You bit your lip, grinning at your little joke.

“Nooo” Peter laughs, pulling you closer.

“It’s either that or you carry me to my room, silly”

Peter shrugs, “okay”

“I’m jokin-“

Peter’s nose bumps yours as he lifts you, your hands are clutching his shirt in an instant, “Peter-!”

“What? You said to carry you..”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it, Let alone be strong enough!”

“Please you’re like a paper towel in my hands” he kisses your nose, “These muscles aren’t for nothing.”

“What muscles?” You stick out your tongue, giggling.

“Hey! I can still drop you, y’know.”

“Yeah, but I know you won’t.” You press a quick kiss to his cheeks as he gently lets go of your legs.

“What did you wanna show me?”

You grin, skipping over to your bed.

“This.”

“This?” Peter cocks an eyebrow.

“Know what this is?”

“I do.”

You sit down on your bed, “it’s a bed.”

“It is indeed.”

“Mm, do you know what we do on beds?”

“Sleep?”

You motion for him to come closer to you, he obliges by nestling himself between your legs, he towers over you making you crane your neck upwards. Normally this would be terrifying but with him. He looked like an Angel with the lights shining behind him.

“They also have sex.” You bat your eyelashes, you can make out the outline of his face as you speak but not his expression.

“Do you want..to do that?”

“Do what, Pete?”

“D-..do you want to have sex..?”

“Mm, Peter you’re so forward!” You teased, your hands toyed with his belt.

“May I?”

“Please” his voice cracked, desperate for your touch, for you.

Your soft hands undo his belt, unbuttoning his jeans letting gravity help you pull the pants to the floor. Your hands trace his boner through his underwear, palm the head, squeezing softly earning a soft groan. Your hands travel to his waistband, tugging it down slowly like a prize being revealed.

You pump once, Peter's hips jerk forward “Your hands a-are so soft..- sorry.

“No worries, Peter, I enjoy knowing you like my hands. I wonder how much you’ll like my mouth?” You line up your mouth to the tip of his cock, planting a kiss.

“Wait-“ Pete’s hands wrap around yours, “I’m afraid I’ll -..cum if you go any further....-“

“Oh? That sensitive..?” Your eyes flutter, head tilting in question.

Peter's hand covers his mouth as he glances away from you, “On-only because it’s you..and I don't want to be the only one naked..-if that’s okay with you of course.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, “I’m okay with that..”

You shift up the bed to make room for him, Peter’s leg finds a place between your thighs planting soft lips against yours. Hands trickling down to your breast, “Can I?” His eyes were like saucers as he stared into your eyes as you nodded yes.

He lifts your shirt gently, pulling it over your head. His hands grasp your waist giving you a gentle squeeze before helping you wiggle out of your pants. His hands hover over your bra, “Are you okay?” You run your fingers through his hair breaking his trace.

“I..I’m okay, you’re just beautiful.” Peter’s hand soft cups your breast as he stares at you, your lips let his name slip through.

His thumbs slide into your underwear, pulling back and snapping your waistband making you both giggle.

“Whatcha doing down there?”

“Taking my time with someone I love..” He bites his lips, with those big brown eyes that you adore.

You guide his hands back to your underwear, letting them grip your sides, “Well, that someone wants you to fuck them.. so I insist you continue.”

“Well if you insist..”

His fingers hook onto your underwear sliding them down your legs, you giggle as you kick them off once they get to your ankles.

“I swear I just saw your dick grow a few inches…”

“Mm, probably because I’m lookin’ at the most beautiful person in the world.” Peter’s hands prop himself over you as you up at him, stealing a kiss from his smiling lips.

Your hands trace down his chest as Peter leans in for more kisses, his lips move to leave delicately placing nibbles down your neck and collarbone. Nibbles turn into hickies as his mouth gets closer to your breast, his hands fondle your left breast before kissing the nipple of your right breast.

“You’re so warm and soft..” Peter mumbles, flicking your nipples with his tongue.

“It’s probably cocoa butter..” you bite your lip as you stare at him,

“Is that why you taste so great too?” Peter grins kissing your tits again before letting his tongue drag all the way down to pussy.

“Is that.. a chocolate joke, p-peter.”

“Nope, but feel free to grill me about it later.” Peter’s hands slide down to your hips, forcing your hips up slightly to meet his mouth.

He presses a kiss against your clit, sending pleasure through your body.

“Pete-“

“Shh- I got you.” His thumb gently presses against your pearl as his tongue dragged down, his eyes low as his tongue wiggled its way into your hole.

“Ohh, Pete..!” your hands find their way into his hair, tugging at the soft locks of curls.

Peter hums in approval, tongue probing deeper into your folds, his hand slides to your pussy, his thumb strokes your clit with a warm touch.

His palm pressed against your stomach softly to keep you from bucking up as he eats you out.

Your fingers yank at his hair as he strokes your pearl faster, earning a gasp from Peter, his eyes connecting with yours, a small smile playing on his lips as he makes his way back up to your face, fingers still playing with your clit.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Fuck, yes.. I- need you inside of me..” You press a kiss at the corner of his mouth, tasting a bit of yourself on your lips.

Peter smiles as he dips down to capture your lips, as hips lined up with yours, replacing his hand with his dick letting it press against you.

“Condom?”

“Bedside drawer.”

Peter pulls out a condom from your stash, flashing it toward you while grinning.

“Naughty..”

You bite your lip in response, “Wouldn’t you rather me be prepared? “

“Yeah, otherwise I’d be running like a madman to my room to find one.” Peter’s brown hair flopped around as he spoke, hovering over you before pressing his lips against yours.

You hum as you feel his cock pressing against your hole, he wraps your legs around his waist as he sinks his cock into you.

Muffled moans are exchanged as your tongues clashed with each other.

“You feel amazing.” Peter’s lips nipped at his neck as he thrust slowly, “This okay?” He flashed his baby brown eyes at you.

“Y-Yea I’m okay, you’re just.. a little big.” A whimper slips through as you speak, “Shit, Peter..you’re filling me so- so well....” you squirm, squeezing down on his cock eliciting a muffled moan from his lips.

“Holy shit- that felt amazing please do that again, squeeze me again.” His hips thrust forward, your head throws back, squeezing him simultaneously in response.

“Peter..!” Your hands rake down his chest as he fucked you into the plush bed.

“Fuck, s-say my name again, please- I need I-it.” He grip your hips in a bruising he slams into you, you hummed his name out in chants as he pumped in and out of you.

“You’re so beautiful” his left hand slip up into your hair massaging the roots as his lips graced your skin, his thumb stroking circles into your skin, “Peter- I’m- “

Your back arched from his continuous touches, his hand pressed on your belly making your head loll back in pleasure.

“Oh god- shitshitshit. Right there-!Sosos good- “ your mouth drooled as his pace quickened, “I’m comin’-“

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. I’m- “

Peter’s hands grip your waist as lifting your ass off the bed, ” I’m- gonna cum..!”

“I-I’ve wanted to do this for so so long-“

Your body goes limp as he fucks you through your high, “I love you- fuck I love you so much..!” Peter’s cock swells inside of you uttering more confessions as he cums, until his pace dwindles into small nudges.

His nimble fingers trace your hips before, reaching to engulf you in a tight embrace.

“That..was really really good.”

“It was..”

You both pause, it’s a comfortable silence.

“Did you mean ..that? When you said you loved me?”

Peter’s head which was in the crook of your neck moves to hover just above yours.

“Of course, I meant that.” His hands caressed your face, kissing the tip of your nose.

“I really do love you, if.. that’s okay?” He rubs the back of his neck, looking away slightly.

“Of course, that’s okay, Peter. Cus I..love you too.”

You could feel a rush of heat to your cheeks, as Peter’s eyes connected to yours in surprise.

“You do?”

“I do.”

His lips are instantly on yours sucking away your breath, you both pull back when you hear his phone make little chimes.

“I swear if it’s a spam call-“ his lips never stop kissing yours as he speaks, making you giggle.

“Sh- that’s the alert for our reservation!!”

“Wait- what?”

Both of you shoot up immediately, hopping on various clothing.

“Are we even gonna make it on time?”

Peter pauses for a second, “Mm, maybe if we swing there..?” His voice cracks a bit, making your lips split into a grin.

“I’m feelin’ adventurous today, why not?”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker #tasm fic #peter parker fic #peter parker oneshot #tasm andrew garfield #mcu!peter x reader #tasm smut #mcu x reader #mcu!peter parker #tom!spiderman #mcu!spiderman x black!reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peterx black!reader

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liz-allyn · 1 year

Text

sugar and vice, pt. 19 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: your sins will find you, eventually.

words: 10.3 k

chapter warning: heavy chapter warnings for dire!whumpy situations, death, g0re, g!uns, vi0lence!

series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, wh-mp. hurt/comfort. s-xu-l situations. spousal ab-se. family trauma. dr-g 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 remember anyone having to figure out who else was on the landline so you could use the phone, then have you really lived? maybe wait on this one.

Back to Part 18.

Part 19

“Peter, wake up.”

The voice he could hear wasn’t his own. It was soft. Feminine. Gentle, like being awoken from a dream. He was comfortable wherever he was. He didn’t want to wake up.

“Peter, wake up,” the voice implored.

The sound of it made his heart ache. How could such a comforting sound cause him so much pain? ‘Bittersweet’ wasn’t the right expression. ‘Blissful agony’ was more accurate.

“Peter,” he heard again, the tones of the gentle voice pulling him from a dreamless slumber. Then, just like a dream, the voice faded into the abyss with a whisper.

“Hold on...”

Heaven, he thought. He was in Heaven.

The sound of her voice made him want to fall down and worship. Made him want to die.

“Gwen...” he mumbled—perhaps only in his own mind. He couldn’t move his lips. Couldn’t feel anything anymore.

What a blessed relief.

His heart throbbed as he felt himself flying. He wasn’t sure if he was sinking or soaring, but it was all so fast. All out of his control.

“You can let go now.”

“Grab ‘em!”

Gwen?

“Get ‘em up on the gurney!”

“It’s time, Peter. Time to go home.”

What do you mean by ‘home’? You’re my home. You’re my path.

“C’mon, Pete, don’t you fuckin’ do this—”

“Is he breathing?”

“I can’t find a pulse. I need the paddles.”

“Jesus Christ, Pete...”

“It’s okay, Peter. You can rest now.”

“Goddamnit—wake up, man.”

“CHARGING. STAND CLEAR.”

“Clear!”

A stab to his chest. A bite to the back of his neck.

“Hit ‘em again—clear!”

His whole body jolts. He’s sticking to the ceiling of a subway car.

“You have a choice, Peter. You don’t have to go back there.”

I want to stay with you, Gwen. I don’t wanna leave.

“Clear!”

His skin is on fire. Electricity ravages every muscle in his body. It sears his flesh and scrambles his brain. And all he can see is a pair of sparkling eyes.

Her eyes.

“Stay with me, Peter.”

“Pete, stay with us!”

“We can be together, finally. Like we were meant to be. They can go on without you.”

Her eyes. Beautiful, glittering eyes, full of warmth and sunlight. Sweet. Eyes like Honey.

“Goddamn it!” —“Again!” —“C’mon, Spidey!”—“Clear!”

The web catches Gwen by the chest, but it’s too late. It was always too late.

“Peter, please. Please. You can’t do this. You can’t do this right now.”

There is rapid whispering—murmuring, like a desperate prayer. But it’s not Gwen’s voice that he hears. It’s a voice that makes his chest ache just as much.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about everything.”

“You need to wake up, Peter.”

“Please, baby, please wake up. I’m so sorry. Just please stay with me.”

I can’t. I can’t go with you, Gwen.

“Peter, don’t do this.”

“Please just come back—”

“Why would you want to go back?”

“I need you... I need you to wake up.”

She needs me. Miles needs me. My family — my family needs me. I need to be with them.

A pair of green eyes are staring at him, but not in anger. Instead, there’s understanding. There’s compassion. There’s a hint of pride within the emerald hues.

“Peter, please, I’m sorry. Please come back to me.”

I need them. I need to make this right.

From her cloud in Heaven, she smiles at him. It breaks his heart and makes him whole.

“Clear!”

The next jolt racks his brain and yanks his consciousness from the abyss. He’s reborn again, blood-covered, gasping, and sputtering on a gurney surrounded by worried faces. Every muscle in his body spasms. His heart groans as it flutters back to life. Air slices through his lungs like razor blades. He coughs and shudders, shrinking away from the harsh light of the living.

“Thank fuck!” he hears a hiss from next to him. It’s Eddie. How did Eddie get here?

He pried his eyes open, pupils adjusting to the light.

Eddie was looking down at him, hazel-gray eyes full of joyful tears. “Don’t you ever do that again, you crazy bastard,” he chuckled. Two giant hands wrapped around Peter’s face as he embraced him lovingly.

Peter’s focus shifted as more faces came into view.

Helen Cho stood above him as she worked the pump of a blood pressure device cuffed around his bicep. She paused only briefly to wipe sweat from her brow. Miguel leaned back against a wall with eyes closed and face pale as if he was moments from throwing up. Felicia leaned over him, glaring at him with relief and fury. He couldn’t tell if the smirk that appeared was from the joy of his survival or glee from plotting his future demise. Each of them looked like they had run a marathon.

Peter’s left hand suddenly felt warm. His eyes shifted in its direction, and he followed the small hand barely covering his own.

There she is, he thought. The eyes that brought him back from the dead.

His Honey.

The kind eyes of the woman he fell in love with—against all odds, toppling all of his defenses—were fixed on him. They shimmered with tears as she struggled to keep a steady lip, gazing down at him like he was a miracle. She held his hand tightly as if afraid to let go. He was certain she was holding onto him with the intent of grounding him, but it looked the opposite. Instead, she looked overwhelmed with relief and on the verge of collapsing into a heap of sobbing gratitude.

Oddly enough, on the edge of life and death, he was the one who felt lucky. He felt contentment with the heat of her palm over his hand. He found peace in the loving look in her eyes.

He found a hope worth holding on to.

They were almost too late, Honey thought.

They found Peter exactly where Felicia thought he would be, more or less. Near Long Island City, not far from the Ravenswood Power Station. At a clock tower with a broken face.

Peter was at the bottom on a pile of rubble. It was a horrifying sight. His broken form was covered in dirt and dust, blood trailing from his ears and nose.

He was dead. He looked dead. She knew he had to be dead.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stand straight anymore. The air escaped her lungs, like a vacuum into space, as she stared at his motionless body. The sound evaporated and fragments of worried statements drifted by—goddamn you crazy sonofabitch—sweartogod you better be dead or i’ll kill ya—as Felicia and Eddie descended upon his body.

Blinking back tears, the vision of Peter’s corpse swam in her eyes.

Her mind was elsewhere.

It was night. She was at the mountain retreat, sitting up in Peter’s bed. She leaned over him, carding her fingers through his hair. Her heart ached with sympathy, forehead furrowed with concern. He sobbed into her lap like a child, curled into the fetal position.

That night, they would fall asleep hand-in-hand.

Her fingers twitched at the memory.

Hours had passed. She was sitting, perched anxiously on the back of a plastic bench, with arms wrapped tightly around herself and her eyes hawkishly observing the rise and fall of Peter’s chest.

They were in what Peter had referred to as “The Bunker.”

It was the abandoned, unfinished ‘Roosevelt Ave.’ subway station beneath Queens. Inside the decrepit station of chipping, art deco arches, and web-covered, stained glass skylights, was a row of abandoned subway cars left to rust on a track. Unlike the rest of the station, they were buzzing with energy.

They had been modified and outfitted to serve different purposes. One car held a weapons storage cache, a server room in the next, a sleeping and dining car lined with several cots and booths, a laboratory with a mishmash of equipment from the 1990s, and finally, a medical bay, which they were in.

Peter was unconscious. His body was bloodied and bruised, stretched out in a gurney, hooked up to IVs, wires, and electrodes. Monitors beeped around him, as fluid bags slowly drained into his system.

He looked like he’d been run over by a tank.

Whatever Peter attempted to do at the clock tower, it appeared as if he’d broken himself trying to do it.

A watercolor portrait of purples, reds, and blues covered the pale canvas of his torso. It looked as if the entity—Venom, as Eddie called it—had been ripped from his body, pulled out through his pores. In its wake, it laid waste to his flesh, leaving bruises that bubbled under his skin and stained his complexion in blackberry tones.

Peter had fallen unconscious just a few seconds after being revived. Dr. Cho informed the group that he still had a pulse, but she was uncertain how long it would take him to wake up again.

Or if he would. She didn’t have to say the part they were all already thinking about.

At the moment, he was sleeping, and Honey felt obligated to watch over him. His eyes twitched behind his lids, and she wondered what he was dreaming about or if he was dreaming at all. And if he was dreaming, she hoped it was a good dream.

Selfishly, she hoped she was in it. However, a familiar, bitter voice assured her that her presence would technically make it a nightmare.

Whatever anger she held, the boiling contempt fueled by her paranoia and fear, evaporated once she saw Peter’s broken body. It was a confusing whiplash of emotions—to want to shoot someone one moment and to weep over their corpse the next. She resented the conflict in her mind but understood the clarity of her heart.

She loved Peter. Without a doubt.

Whether that was a good or bad thing, she wasn’t sure. She’d been wrong about such things before.

But now, she wasn’t focused on the dark thoughts rousing suspicion in her mind. Instead, she was focused solely on his eyes, the way they shifted beneath the eyelids as he slept. She pictured their golden hue, indistinguishable from sunlight. She envisioned charting the constellation of beauty marks on his body. Kissing the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that formed whenever he smiled. Worshipping the artistry with which the gods carved out his jaw and molded his features.

She only looked up from her dutiful watch when she recognized Miles’ voice. Her eyes darted over as the teen emerged through the sliding doors. He was winded like he’d been running. Ripping off his beanie, his mocha eyes were wide with terror as he gazed at Peter’s state.

“Miles,” Felicia breathed a sigh of relief, alerting the others to his presence. He locked his worried gaze on his mentor. Other anxious faces occupied the back of the car as Johnny followed behind Miles and joined Miguel and Eddie.

“You shoulda called me,” he protested with indignation. The complaint was directed at everyone. “Why didn’t you let me know what was goin’ on? I coulda been there to help!”

“Honestly,” Felicia answered with an exasperated sigh, “I didn’t know what we’d find. Wasn’t ready to deal with that.”

“That’s bullshit,” Miles snidely argued. “One of y’all coulda died out there!” The tiniest crack formed in the tone of his voice. He clamped down on his jaw. “Pete coulda died out there! And, what, I was just supposed to sit around—?”

“And stay alive,” Eddie muttered under his breath. He sat with arms and ankles crossed across a subway bench. They turned to him, Miles fixing him with a scolding look, but Eddie didn’t shrink away. “That’s the whole point of this, kid.”

Miles’s eyes flashed lividly. “Call me ‘kid’ one more time—”

“That’s what you are!” Eddie snapped back, overcome with frustration. “Jesus Christ, you’re sixteen! Can you blame him for tryin’ to let you just be a kid for a little while longer?”

“Mira pendejo, I don’t need you to tell me—”

“No, Pete should tell you!” Eddie growled, cutting Miles off. The beefy man stood abruptly, striding towards the teen. “But since he might not ever wake up again, I’ll speak on his behalf! So shut up and listen!”

Miles snapped his mouth shut, though his eyes screamed lividly. The scowl on his youthful face made it look like he’d bitten off his own tongue. Eddie leered closer, making the teen puff up his chest, looking up only an inch to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“The world is shit,” the older man said, undeterred by Miles’ bravado. “I know it. You know it. Pete knows it better than anyone. Your uncle dragged you into this mess, but Peter tried to give you a way out. Away from all this crap. Away from Fisk. That’s why he took on the Symbiote! Not because he was chasing a high, not because he was on some power trip—he did it because he loves you, kid.”

“By almost gettin’ himself killed?” Miles snapped back. “That’s his love language? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie grumbled with a frown. Even he understood that Miles was right about that. “Some people only know how to love by how much they suffer.” He paused momentarily, keeping a stern expression while trying to conceal how much the statement resonated with him. “You either die a hero or live to see yourself become the villain. Pete doesn’t want this life for you. Trust me. You don’t want it either.”

“How do you know that, huh?” Miles said through gritted teeth. His eyes shimmered in the greenish lights of the subway car. “How do you know what I want—how does he? He doesn’t get to make my choices for me. Maybe I wanna decide for myself! Just like he did!”

His hazel-gray eyes drooped as he quietly contemplated the boy’s statement. “You do have a choice, kid,” he said, sorrow etching his features. “Just like he did.” The flared tempers simmering beneath the surface had burned off, leaving only a painful discourse behind. “And he wanted you to do better.”

Miles fell silent. His chest pumped slowly as he glared up at Eddie, jaw tensed. Cords tightened along the side of his neck, pulled taut by stubborn rage. Heat built up behind his eyelids, pushed along by tears threatening to break free. He sniffed, angrily wiping at his face, trying and failing to remain stern.

For his part, Eddie took no satisfaction in Miles’ inability to argue further. The train station was silent. From her vantage point, Honey could see the boy’s lower lip begin to quiver before he angrily bit down on it. Felicia stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Miles, albeit awkwardly.

As soon as her arms circled him, the teen’s resolve collapsed like a house of cards. His face crumpled, lines skewing his expression, and he buried his face into Felicia’s neck. Miles’ shoulders shook as sobs racked through his body.

As she watched, Honey realized she was crying along with him.

Hours passed.

More of the Spiders arrived.

Noir made an appearance but kept himself scarce. One look at Peter’s proximity to death and he spared himself from the stages of grief that would inevitably follow.

The woman Honey heard be referred to as “Redback” and “Jess Drew” arrived shortly after. She held an air of graceful authority and cautious collectedness. Although her composure was betrayed by the sight of her chewing her lower lip as Jess observed Peter. After that, she stayed away from the medical car, preoccupied with Miguel and Felicia as they discussed strategy.

The biggest surprise was the fleeting glimpse of a woman Honey had never seen. First, she saw quick movement behind the dirty subway windows. Then, a blurry silhouette zoomed across the rear exit between the cars. Finally, the doors slid open, and a pair of dark eyes blinked in her direction. A Victory roll of thick black hair pinned on the crown of her head poked out from behind the seat. As she leaned in, curtains of straight black hair cascaded off her shoulders in a pointedly-vintage 1950s style. The stranger spied on them, glancing worriedly at Peter and warily at Honey.

She was a twitchy, young-looking woman with an oval face and glittering eyes. For a gangster, her mostly-black outfit was more reminiscent of West Side Story than The Godfather. In true Rockabilly fashion, she wore a motorcycle jacket over a feminine red-and-white polka dot tank top, black skinny jeans, combat boots, and a bright cherry lip stain.

“Um... hello?” Honey asked with a shaky voice, unsure how to respond to whatever she was doing.

“I know who you are,” the woman called back from the shadows, still not fully entering the car.

Honey blinked. “Oh... kay...?”

“You never met me,” the woman affirmed, “if anyone ever asks you.”

“Um... I’m pretty sure I haven’t anyway.”

“Peni,” the voice called from the shadows. Only then did a face appear for longer than a few seconds. “I’ve watched you on camera. Hi.”

She almost did a double-take at the blunt information. Miles had mentioned the name ‘Peni’ before when referring to the team’s ‘tech nerd.’ But, whatever Honey was expecting, this wasn’t it.

As quickly as the introduction was made, it was over. Peni disappeared from view, the doors closing.

Once again alone with Peter, she stared at the empty doorway. “Hi.”

Honey was never good with silence. When it was too quiet, she was left with nothing but the parroting mockery of her inner dialogue. She recounted every word she said to Peter before the monster took over. She told him everything, and the fact that there was nothing to hide behind anymore terrified her.

What would he think of her now?

What did she think of herself? What did she think of Peter? And what would be the first thing she would say to him if she ever got the chance?

Just as her eyes began to blur for the dozenth time that hour, she spotted that the chance had arrived.

She held her breath. “Peter?”

The injured man stirred gently, lungs shakily taking in the stale air. The orbs of his eyes swam behind tightly-closed lids that were stained purple. A breathless groan crawled out of his throat.

Awe-struck, a short chuckle escaped her suddenly, with tiny tears budding in the corners of her eyes. “Hey...” she sharply exhaled, tightening her lips to keep them from trembling. One hand tightened around his fingers while the other covered her heart. “Peter... I’m—” She swallowed hard, her tongue twisted around nothing, tears dripping past her widening grin. “Hi.”

The slightest movement of his head triggered a grimace. Gently, he pried his eyelids open, like awakening from a 1,000-year sleep. She fought the urge to erupt into gleeful laughter as he laid eyes on her. Joy washed over her, sweeping her along a river of relief.

She blinked away her tears as she lost herself in the soft hue of his eyes, mesmerized by the facets of cognac and smoky quartz that rested tiredly on hers. They were, without a doubt, the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

A crease formed between his thick brows. “Are you here?” he murmured in a wary voice.

The smile slipped off her face at his question, eyes blinking rapidly. “I’m-I’m here.” His face didn’t soften. She suddenly thought of awful soap operas where a lead character wakes up from a coma and is stricken with amnesia. The thought stirred fear in her, followed by confusion. “I’m... right here.” Would things be better if he didn’t know who she was?

Silence. He studied her. She observed the color of his eyes dim somberly. Sadness pulled at the corners of his mouth. It twisted her heart.

He remembered her, alright.

“Why?” he croaked.

She took in a sharp breath as if a needle had stabbed her. She was shocked by the question, and in her confusion, it afforded her time to think about it.

Why was she here?

Only a dozen hours ago, she wanted to shoot him dead. Just an hour before that, she wanted to lay in the warmth of his arms forever. A handful of months before that, she was his prisoner.

Their relationship had changed so many times her mind couldn’t keep up with what her heart was feeling. Pure instinct drove her actions, for better or for worse.

But since all of her darkest secrets spilled forth from her mouth, and Venom spilled forth from Peter’s darkness, everyone had been focused solely on bringing Peter home safely. Herself included. Once Peter had been found, no one explicitly told her to follow them to the Bunker.

Instead of doing the thing she was most comfortable doing— running— she had remained at Peter’s side.

What’s that about?

A million answers swirled — I was forced to be here, I was afraid to be left behind, I had nowhere else to go — but none of them seemed right. Finally, Honey found a response that made sense. Her instincts dictated her words.

“There wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be.”

The truth sounded strange coming from her lips, shamefully. As she met Peter’s eyes, he watched her sullenly as if he were thinking the same thing.

Silence returned. The ever-present foe was broken only by a shaky cough rattling Peter’s bones. The look on his face suggested that every breath was agony.

Silence—always jabbering, when will you ever shut up?—it was deafening. Driving her insane.

“Dr. Cho wasn’t sure if—” She stopped short, anxiously rephrasing her sentence, “Um, wasn’t, uh—wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.” Her free hand rubbed her knee. The statement left her queasy. “I didn’t want you to be alone when you did.”

His lashes fluttered open, eyes full of melancholy as they rested on her. “Sweet girl.”

She gripped his hand and sat inches away, but it felt more like lightyears. It was as if Peter had died in the fall, and all that was left was a shell. The coldness of each moment pierced her heart further. Yet, despite this, she lifted her chin with resolve.

“I, um... I know it technically makes me a hypocrite,” she began softly, “but I’m trying not to be mad that you tried to get rid of the Symbiote alone.” She met his eyes with a sad gaze. “You coulda died.”

He watched her with an unreadable expression.

“I know it’s not fair for me to be angry,” Honey reasoned, swallowing down her emotion. “But when I thought you were gonna die, I was mad. And then I was sad. And scared. Maybe more scared than anything.”

His eyes drifted downcast towards his feet. “M’sorry.”

“Me too. What I did—it was... it was bad—”

“I didn’t know.”

She knitted her brows together. “Didn’t know I was sorry? Or didn’t know it was bad—?”

“Didn’t know...” he replied with a weak tone, “...what he did to you.”

Her jaw clenched tightly as heat rushed to her cheeks. She had wanted to talk but was now regretting it. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that discussion.

Peter’s eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, forehead creased with sorrow. “Didn’t know what you were runnin’ from. Thought it was me. But it was him.”

Tears brimmed as she gazed down at him. A frigid smile stretched his lips—the kind that doesn’t warm the eyes. Bitterness and sorrow weighed down his expression.

“Makes sense—why you never trusted me.” The corners of his mouth twisted downward as his eyes went glossy. Heartbreak flayed his voice. “He’s what you see when you look at me.”

He mumbled it aloud, but he wasn’t speaking to her. Instead, he was lost in a prison with bars of guilt and locks of self-loathing.

His misery cut through her like a knife to her heart. Irony mocked her. Earlier that day, she foolishly almost killed herself over the idea that Peter and John were the same. But, facing Peter in the present, she couldn’t think of anything further from the truth.

“No!” she stuttered in distress. “No-n—Peter, that’s not—I don’t, I swear I don’t.”

Remorsefully, she shook her head, welling with tears. He met her eyes again, and all she could see was despair. It was like watching a ship sink into the ocean. Like watching someone she loved drown before her eyes.

Loved.

“Peter,” she whimpered, jaw wobbling, “I... you don’t...I don’t....” Her inability to communicate infuriated her. Impatiently, she thrust the words out, “I-I love y—”

“Don’t say it,” he whispered, voice strained. He snapped his eyes shut, tearing her from his sight. “Please don’t.” It was the most desperate of pleas.

“Don’t say anything.” His voice broke on the last word. A flood spilled past the gates of his lids, rolling over whatever strength he had left. “Whether it's true or not, I don’t think I know what’s real anymore.”

Her soul shattered at his admission, and she could only nod. The trust between them— what little bit there had ever been— was broken beyond repair. No fixing it this time.

“Holy shit—he’s awake!”

She heard Johnny’s voice over her shoulder, reminding her of where they were. She looked over at Johnny, standing in the doorway of the sliding emergency exit, as he called out to the adjacent car. “Doc! He’s awake!”

Within several seconds, the car was flooded with excitement. Honey sheepishly wiped her tears away, back straightening, as bodies crowded around her. Felicia and Miles were closest to Peter, followed by Eddie and Miguel. Johnny leaped over a bench seat to join the pandemonium from the other side. Helen pushed toward the front after Felicia ordered the group to make way.

Reluctantly, Honey released his hand, standing up to give Helen her place at his side.

The doctor immediately went to work with a flashlight beaming in Peter’s eyes and her fingers on his pulse, asking him how he was feeling.

“Living the dream,” he weakly replied, with no lack of sarcasm.

“You’re lucky to be living at all,” Helen remarked coldly. “Anyone else taking a fall like that would’ve been a splatter on the pavement.”

Honey faintly responded out of earshot, her voice mouselike and thick with grief. “He’s nothing like everyone else.”

In the early stages of dawn, Honey was in the dining car surrounded by the others. Peter had passed out soon after he awakened. He slept soundly in the medical car under Helen’s observation. The doctor explained that the best thing for him would be to let him rest. Moving him would be dangerous.

Miguel pointed out that they were compromised, so there was nowhere safe to move him.

With that grim frustration, he questioned Honey before the rest of the gang. It was difficult to talk about her trauma. It was even harder to admit her betrayal to those she knew best. It was torture to talk about both things in front of everyone—strangers, like Jess and Noir, or Johnny, now catching up on what he’d missed earlier. Or Miles—especially Miles.

Part of her wanted to be offended by the interrogation's coldness and Miguel’s gruff tone. Who was he to treat her like she was a criminal?

But as soon as that defensiveness reared inside her, she cut it down. She was a rat, but did she have to be a hypocrite, too?

“Tell me again,” Miguel demanded firmly. “What else did you tell Walker?”

Honey slumped down in the bench seat with her arms folded. “Names,” she grumbled bitterly. “Times.”

With each answer, she felt her skin burning from the rising heat of contempt. There was no more hiding from it. The most she could do was be as honest as possible.

She resigned herself to scrutiny as an act of penance. “Who came and went. When they went. Where they were going. Locations.”

Miguel’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Did you tell him about this place?”

“No,” she bit back. “I didn’t even know this place existed.”

Unsatisfied, he glowered, “When did you last talk to him?”

“I didn’t talk to him—”

“Then how did you communicate?”

“Give it a rest, Miguel,” Felicia scowled, unimpressed by his ‘bad cop’ persona.

Honey didn’t feel like she was on Felicia’s good side either, but she did feel somewhat shielded by her presence.

Mercilessly, he drove right through whatever shield may have existed. “You stabbed us in the back!” he accused, pointing his finger at her. “You were offered multiple chances to come clean, but you refused, and people died. You could’ve done the right thing, but you didn’t. So I’m sorry if I’m not as sensitive to your predicament.”

Shame filled her face as she cast her eyes downward. Nothing could shield her from the guilt.

“That’s enough,” Felicia said, shooting impatient eyes at Miguel.

“Not until we know our people are safe!”

“I said ‘enough’!”

Miguel took a step back. Felicia didn’t raise her voice often, but it felt like the ground itself shook. Her eyes flashed red as she skewered him with her gaze. Quietly fuming, he glared at his superior and then stormed off.

Tiredly, Felicia sighed. “Where are we with backup?” she asked, pressing her lips into a firm line. “Who’s checked in?”

“Peni’s running comms,” Jessica replied. “Pinging everyone’s GPS now.”

Eddie mumbled through a tired yawn, “You got GPS trackers on everybody?”

“On the phones,” Miles explained. “She hacks the OS before we hand them out. Allows her to access them remotely.”

Idly, he scratched at the scruff on his face, replying, “What’s the point in that?” Then, a loud squelch from the overhead PA system erupted. Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin as if God herself were speaking.

“Means I can mine all your data and spy on you when you look up porn,” Peni’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers in the car, further startling Eddie.

“Jesus!” Eddie cursed. He hissed, eyes cast upwards at the speakers. “I don’t look up porn on the Spider phone!”

Alarmed, Johnny whispered, “Can she really do that?”

“Can we please stay on task?!” Felicia glowered.

“Miguel’s right.”

The group refocused their attention on Honey. Her head was lowered, eyes glistening. “This is my fault,” she whispered sorrowfully, replaying the series of bad decisions that brought her to this point.

When she glanced back up, she was met with more silence. Painful, but not unkind.

“I, um... I don’t—I’m not good... with... trusting people,” she said sheepishly. “Not good with... letting anyone in.” She hesitated, her voice shaky as she breathed through the heartache. Patiently, the others were waiting for her to continue.

“I... I know it’s not worth much, but I’m sorry.” She swallowed hard, her eyes rimmed with tears. “I’m sorry about Hobie,” she said with an expression like she had eaten glass. “I should’ve stopped this a long time ago.”

Felicia fixed sorrowful eyes on her. “Hobie’s death wasn’t on you,” she softly explained. “Between Fisk and the Feds, there are some hefty prices on our heads. Money like that makes loyalty difficult. That night, it didn’t matter what info you had. It was one of our guys that helped pull the trigger. Most of the time, we’re pretty good at picking out the bad apples. Not always.”

Honey stared up at her with furrowed brows, nodding graciously as she accepted the tiny reprieve from guilt.

“Plus, it helps to see everything everyone does with their phone when they’re in the bathroom.” The Voice of God chimed in again, but Peni was standing in the car's doorway this time. Eddie nearly clung to the ceiling with fright.

“How are you doing that?!” he exclaimed.

Peni rolled her eyes incredulously. “By logging keystrokes, duh—”

“No, not that!” Eddie hissed.

“Not to mention, that’s a huge invasion of privacy,” said Johnny.

Eddie looked over at the tiny woman. “Do you have this place wired or something? Or bugged?”

“Wired?” their tech nerd scoffed. “Bugged? What do you think this is, Goodfellas?”

“Good movie,” Noir stated firmly.

“That’s the one with Leo, right?” Miles asked.

Johnny blanched at the teen’s response. “Wait, what did you just say—???”

“For your information, Eddie, I don’t have to plant microphones to hear your conversation,” Peni arrogantly teased, nose in the air. “What do you even think phones are for, dummy?”

“Dude!” Johnny was still staring at Miles like he’d grown extra arms, the two of them squabbling. “Don’t tell me you’re confusing The Departed with Goodfellas—!”

“Nah, man, that’s the one with the mumblin’ dude who's like ‘you come to me on the day of my daughter’s wedding—’”

Johnny’s voice soared to new heights. “That’s The Godfather!”

“He gave me a phone!” Blurting out with alarm, Honey shot up to her feet.

Jess stared, brows furrowed with confusion. “I think we’re past that—”

“John gave me a phone!” she clarified, eyes darting to Felicia and Peni. “He told me to always have it on me... Jesus Christ! He was listening! The whole time— he could hear everything!”

The rest stared in confusion while Honey grappled with the next horrifying thought.

John heard everything.

Every conversation.

Every detail.

Every secret.

He had everything.

“Oh God,” she breathed, face full of terror.

She paled at the memory of being in her bed, curled up in Peter’s arms as he divulged his deepest secrets. The phone that would damn them all was inches away, tucked securely in the box frame.

He knows everything.

Her eyes went wide, filling with panic. “They’re coming—”

“Get down!” Peter's strained voice cracked through the silence.

A moment later, a cacophony of gunfire, pelted metal, and shattering glass surrounded them. Bodies hit the subway car floor like dominos, wedging between walls and beneath seats. Honey landed hard on her side, knocking the wind out of her.

Screams rang out all around as glass rained down on them. Pops of automatic gunfire rolled on uninterrupted, like spokes on a wheel. Honey could feel tiny pinprick stings from shavings of metal and splintered plastic, like a wasp's nest had consumed the car. The exposed parts of her skin were battered with debris. As she cowered, a heavy weight dropped on her back.

The second she recognized the cinnamon and cedar scent, she opened her eyes in astonishment. Peter was there—fully awake, with wires and IVs still attached. He protected her, blanketing her with his body while she clutched him tight. She buried her face in his warmth while hell rained down around them.

“Agghhhh!” — “Stay down!” — “Cat! Get back here!” — “Kill the lights!” — “There’s too many of ‘em...”

Voices called out frantically, rolled over by the crashing waves of gunfire.

At a certain point, she wondered how long the guns were firing. Was it five minutes? Five years? The constant barrage of blamblamblam pierced her eardrums and rattled her bones, driving her insane with terror. Her heart must have outpaced the bullets. She felt Peter’s arms tighten around her, securing her to his chest.

She focused on his body heat, his breath on her neck, and the vise of his arms. It was deja vu, eerily identical to the night he carried her away from Fisk’s garage.

Her mind transported her away from the train back to that day. She trembled in the steaming water of the bathtub, trying to read his warm eyes— the color of caramel and chocolate and bourbon—while he diligently dabbed at the adhesive covering her mouth. The only roughness in his touch came from the calluses on his fingertips.

She has no reason to trust him. But she does anyway.

His long, gentle fingers. They laid out a spread of plated charcuterie and sandwiches cut into triangles onto a picnic blanket overlooking a gorgeous vista of the Catskills. That’s where she is now. Nervously, he frets about the forgotten wine, pushing his fingers through his thick hair. He looks boyish and shy.

She has every right to be terrified. But she isn’t.

She held Peter so tight she was concerned about breaking his bones and damaging him further. But she was incapable of prying her hands from him. No one could.

There was no escaping this. They were trapped. Any moment now, everything would go black. Seconds away from the darkness. Centimeters from death.

And there wasn’t anywhere else she wanted to be.

The gunfire let up for a few moments. A pocket of air in which to breathe.

“Goddamn it, it’s S.H.I.E.L.D.!” Miguel’s voice hollered from outside the car, although hearing him over the ringing in their ears was difficult.

Honey wasn’t listening anyway. She was listening to Peter’s voice as he crooned a heartachingly pure rendition of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You,’ a song she felt might as well have been written about them.

“Honey, look at me.” His alarm brought her back to the present. He stared down at her, his eyes anxiously searching her face, while he hoisted himself above her on his forearms.

The moment she locked eyes with his, tears filled her gaze. Fear, joy, desperation—it overwhelmed her, hitting her like a tidal wave. He was still injured, she noted. The skin on his face and exposed upper body were still marked up with bruises and minor cuts. But his eyes—the tang of oranges, the golden tint of an Old Fashioned—reflected how alive he was, despite his earlier outward appearance.

Adrenaline surged through his body as he caged her with his forearms. By contrast, his voice was as soft as a feather. “Honey—talk to me.” He whispered, breathless with fear he was struggling to contain. His eyes regarded her like she was something intricate, delicate, and precious. “You okay?”

Her lungs were empty. Her vision was blurred with tears. But she nodded quickly, her chin wobbling.

A glimmer of relief crossed his features as he caressed her cheek. “Okay, s’okay... you’re okay, I gotcha—” It was unclear who he was reassuring. “You’re gonna be okay, ’m gonna get you out.”

She had no reason to trust him. But she did. Her head continued to nod, and a little hum escaped from her throat in agreement.

“Stay down, okay?” he said placatingly while his thumb brushed the delicate skin beneath her eye. “Stay right here. I’m comin’ back.”

“No, please! Please don’t leave.”

“I’ll be right back—”

“I-I can’t, please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can—”

“I can’t lose you!”

His breath hitched. She felt his heart skip beneath his chest. Adoration pooled in his eyes. “I’m coming back. I promise.” He kissed her forehead softly, allowing his gaze to linger just long enough for a reassuring half-smile.

She had no reason to believe him. But she had to.

Before she could protest, he pushed himself up to a low crouch. Then, in the blink of an eye, she watched him leap from the ground and cling to the ceiling of the subway car. Stunned, she watched him crawl barefoot to the emergency exit at the top of the train car. Then, silently and swiftly, he disappeared through the port hole.

“Nancy! Stay down!”

Eddie’s voice... and his silly, endearing nickname. She was still on her back on the floor. She glanced up to see an upside-down viewpoint of Eddie as he reached for her. Next to him, Johnny and Jessica took cover beneath the table. “Stay right there! I’m comin’ to you—”

Another barrage of gunfire erupted, and he flattened to the ground. A scream ripped out at the rear of the subway car. Honey glanced down to see Miles crumpling into a ball as bullet holes sliced through the metal dangerously close to his cowering form. Beside him, Helen dragged herself along the ground sluggishly. She was covered in blood.

“Miles!” Honey shrieked. Her body moved of its own accord. Jarring drum hits rang out from both sides as she army-crawled toward the teen. The gunfire began to become more sporadic, with more frequent pauses.

“Reloading, let’s go!”

“The lights! The lights!”

Every inch felt like a mile, but she pushed on with her belly to the ground. She reached Miles first, pulling him to the ground and hugging his body closer to hers just as another wave hit. Honey guided Miles along the floor toward Helen as soon as it passed over.

The woman gasped and sputtered as she writhed in pain. Blood soaked through her right side, from her torso to her thigh. Eyes horrified at the damage, Honey searched Helen’s face desperately.

“To-to-tuorn-tourniquet...” the doctor said through chattering teeth.

“Gimme your belt!” Honey said to Miles. “Stay flat!”

The teen diligently reached for his nylon belt, shifting around to loosen and remove it while keeping his back to the floor. Honey took the belt from him and helped Helen wrap it around her thigh.

Just as she pulled it tight, the lights switched off. Frantically, Honey searched the cabin with terror, struggling to adjust to the darkness. More shouting, unfamiliar, followed by howls of fear and pain, surrounded her. From her vantage point, she could see shapes outside better now that the cabin lights were out.

Black-clad figures outfitted with S.W.A.T. gear and carrying more artillery than a small militia tip-toed around the car. She watched as one of the infiltrators passed by a window opposite from her. A pair of dark boots dropped onto the gunman, taking him to the ground. She gasped, ducking closer to the floor as the gunman was beaten and had his rifle taken. Then, she recognized Noir by his black trench coat, finally releasing her breath.

The relief was short-lived. Noir turned and fired the weapon, which looked like a shotgun, at an incoming attacker. The bang was accentuated by a splatter on the windows, like a can of stewed tomatoes had exploded. Honey yelped at the sight before covering her eyes. She felt her stomach rolling in her belly.

A crash forced her eyes back open. She looked through the darkness to glimpse Felicia’s silver hair and the glint of a silver knife. She fought hand-to-hand with another armed combatant twice her size outside the train. The stout man was no match for the smaller-framed woman’s speed. She attacked him from all sides, burying her blade between his ribs like fangs on a viper.

Another goon rushed at her, knocking her flat on her back. Honey’s heart nearly stopped with panic as she watched the gunman aim his weapon at Felicia, prepared to fire. Suddenly, Miguel leaped out of nowhere with the talons of his gauntlet raised.

The razor-sharp blades attached to his forearm rang out as they cut through the air. Honey had no idea what type of metal they were made from, but it was sharper than anything she’d ever seen. With a woosh, the blades sliced through the rifle barrel like a blade of grass. In shock, the gunman dropped the rifle and drew a pistol instead. Miguel sliced through the man’s wrists with the same ease, separating his hands from his body.

She looked away as another spray of crimson covered the walls and seat. She heard the gunman cry out before being silenced with a sickening squelch.

Miguel was suddenly yanked backward by a brutish figure, pulling him off the train.

“Miguel!” Felicia called out with alarm. Within seconds she uprighted herself and barrelled outside to back him up. Honey attempted to follow her with her gaze, but another burst of gunfire erupted, so close that she could smell the burning of her own hair.

“I’m comin’!” Miles hollered. Honey stayed down, too afraid to look up.

“They’re coming through the rear!” she heard Jess’ voice from nearby.

“Keep ‘em away from the train!” Johnny’s voice.

Where was Peter?

She felt sick. She hadn’t seen or heard him since he vanished. The idea of him meeting a brutal end made her dizzy. It made her flesh clammy. Bile crawled up her throat, with a rising panic close to a scream. She clamped her mouth closed to keep it all inside. She couldn’t think about Peter being hurt right now. She could barely think at all.

A gunshot, followed by a male groan.

“Storm!”

She squealed as Johnny collapsed through the train entrance and landed hard on the ground. From her hiding spot, she saw blood soaking his right shoulder.

Her eyes went wide. “Johnny—!”

Another footsoldier boarded the train behind him, wielding a bloody combat dagger. Dazed from blood loss himself, the soldier collapsed on top of Johnny, the knife raised up high. She watched the two men struggle, trembling beneath a seat. It reminded her of lions thrashing, burying blade-like claws into one another.

More gunfire erupted nearby, jolting her out of her reverie. Johnny’s attacker straddled him and bared his weight down on the hilt of the dagger. Arms shaking and hands slick with blood, Johnny clutched the blade, trying to keep it from piercing his chest.

Her eyes narrowed on the attacker. The man wore face paint to obscure his features, like some deranged Navy Seal. His tactical clothes were solid black, save for a white, geometric eagle patch on his shoulder. This was ‘SHIELD,’ or whatever Miguel called it.

Honey saw the strain on her friend’s face, noting the weakening of his muscles. If she did nothing, Johnny would be stabbed to death right in front of her.

She needed to intervene.

Do something.

She glanced around desperately for a weapon.

The men were snarling with lips curled back. The attacker raised his fist above the hilt, ready to bash the knife into Johnny’s chest. Suddenly, he was smacked in the face by a midweight object. Dazed, he blinked through the darkness to spot a blood-splattered ballet flat on the ground. He looked up, glimpsing its owner.

Wide-eyed, Honey stared back at the SHIELD agent as he set crosshairs on her. The man bounded forward, lunging at her. She screamed, crawling backward like a crab, as the man grabbed her by the ankle above her bare foot. He held the knife high, preparing to plunge it into her chest. A blam rang out, stopping him in his tracks, as a bullet tore through the man’s heart.

As her attacker toppled backwards, Honey turned around to see Jessica holding a smoking pistol. Without a second thought, the woman rushed up to Johnny and lowered herself to his side. “Are you hurt?” she asked Honey, offhandedly as she examined his stab wound.

Honey shook her head ‘no.’

He grunted in pain as Jessica put pressure on the wound beneath Johnny’s collarbone. “Get his gun,” she ordered as she worked. Honey blinked at the gunman’s corpse, hand still clinging to a bloody knife.

“Get the gun!” Jess repeated, eyes intense. “Works a lot better than a shoe.”

She blinked. “I... I can’t.”

The Woman glanced up at her with a hard line between her brows. “It’s either them or you. Who’s it gonna be?”

Honey stared back, face blank. Jessica pressed her lips together. “I have to check on Cho. Put pressure right here.” Honey crawled towards them, replacing Jessica’s hands with hers. She gulped dazedly, watching the sticky, red warmth pool around her fingers. He hissed in pain, but diligently, she held the compress firm.

The Woman stood quickly and shuffled over to the dead man, retrieving his sidearm and knife. She returned with the pistol in hand, ejecting, examining, and replacing the magazine like flexing one of her muscles. She wrenched back the top of the gun, letting it slide back in place with a lock.

Honey watched the whole thing, jaw agape like it was a magic trick.

Deftly, she flipped the weapon around, presenting the grip end to Honey and placing it in the woman’s hand.

“Now it’s them or him,” Jess declared firmly, jerking her forehead towards Johnny. “You choose.”

Bewildered, she warily took the weight of the gun as Jess disappeared toward the back of the train. “Don’t shoot anyone we know!” the Woman called out.

Honey stared at the gun, then found Johnny’s sweating face. “It’s okay,” she whispered, putting weight back on his wound. “I’m gonna take care of you.” She swallowed the tremor in her voice, putting on a face of confidence, despite her terror.

She could pretend to be brave? Right?

Another spray of shots pierced the cabin overhead, and she crouched down to cover Johnny.

The barrage of shots eased again, pausing for a blessed few seconds. “Incoming!” she heard Miguel shout outside. “Ultraman’s here!”

Ultraman? What...?

The emergency lights in the tunnel dimmed as a whirring sound began to ring out. With eyes like saucers, she witnessed growing pandemonium outside. More shouting and panicked footsteps echoed in the darkened tunnel, followed by a slowly-building roar, like a jet engine coming to life.

“Get down!” she heard Miles’ voice behind her. He leaped over the bench seat and pressed his body over hers and Johnny’s. Suddenly, the train jerked sideways, knocked off the track like a toy. The bodies inside were tossed to the opposite wall as the car toppled over.

Head throbbing and eyes blurry, Honey gazed around attempting to get her bearings. A bright, red light erupted, a beam cutting through the floor of the car, just a few feet away from where they had been thrown. She watched in horror as the vehicle was sliced in half like a loaf of bread.

Shrieks from terrified men echoed outside. The car rocked, metal twisting as the train's rear tore away. With her jaw agape, she peered down the train car, now opened up like a tunnel. Finally, her eyes found the source of the commotion.

A ten-foot humanoid robot smashed through the bodies of the SHIELD team, knocking them down like bowling pins. She watched in stunned disbelief as the robot’s giant legs trampled fallen soldiers beneath its mechanical feet. The arms of the robot were as thick as steel beams but faster than a human’s. They thrust out in all directions, tossing adult bodies like rag dolls. The machine was a red-and-yellow blur, with shells bouncing harmlessly off its bulletproof skin.

“C’mon,” Miles grasped Honey’s shoulder, pulling her to attention. “We gotta go!”

“What is that thing?” she gasped.

“It’s Peni!” he shouted back. “Now, c’mon, let’s move!”

Shaking the astonishment away, she followed Miles’ lead. She grabbed Johnny’s legs as the teen hooked his forearms underneath the injured man’s shoulders. They grunted from the effort of hoisting him up.

“m’sorrym’sorrym’sorrysorry...” Miles rattled off as Johnny wailed in pain. “Don’t be mad at me!”

The two carried him towards the tunnel opening, wobbling as they walked. Honey spotted movement from beside them— a gunman peering into an emergency port hole.

“Miles! Look out!” a voice boomed. She glanced over to see Eddie flying across the car, tackling Miles as the automatic weapon started firing. She screamed, dropping herself and Johnny to the ground, as bullet holes pierced the side of the car.

When she looked up, she stared at the white-eagle emblem on the shoulder of the agent as he turned his gun from Miles to Honey. The man crawled through the port hole, just feet away from her.

Horrified, she looked around until she saw the pistol Jess left her with lying in the rubble between her and the attacker. Eyes wide, she scurried on her hands and feet, crawling towards it. The gunman rushed her as soon as he saw what she was doing.

For the second time in her life, Honey fired a gun. She jolted from the shocking recoil after the trigger had been pulled. The man howled and dropped to one knee. Stunned, she watched the man writhe, having taken the bullet in his shin.

He looked up and glared at her with a murderous stare, fumes coming from his nose. Her jaw went slack as he lunged at her. She fired the weapon again, this time hitting him in the torso. It barely slowed him down, planting into the Kevlar of his vest. Before she could adjust, the attacker’s hand was wrapped around her throat, and he wrenched the pistol from her fingers.

“Fuckin’ bitch!” he spat at her, wheezing from the impact to his bulletproof vest. “Can’t wait ‘til he tears you a new—”

The man’s grip dropped immediately as his head wrenched backward.

Honey looked up in awe to see Peter, splattered blood beading down his chest, towering over them. Teeth gritted, he held the man by his hair, his massive hand expanding over the crown of his head. Then, with an enraged growl, Peter jerked his arm back.

She watched the gunman jolt as his scalp was ripped off so forcefully that the top of his skull came with it. The man flailed, legs twitching sporadically like he’d swallowed a power line. Finally, Peter released his body. With blank eyes, he slumped to the side, brain matter spilling out.

She trembled at the horrific scene, watching the attacker go limp. Her wide eyes traveled up to her rescuer.

Peter Parker. Half monster. Half man. Chest heaving, animalistic eyes roving, his savagery on full display. Her jaw hung open as she regarded him with horrified awe, with several thoughts swimming through her head.

One.

He looked feral. Blood trailed down his face and torso in tiny crimson rivers. The ghastly sight made him look both dead and alive. More beast than man. Even without the Symbiote attached, his eyes were blown black from adrenaline. She thought about how Eddie mentioned Venom ‘reacted differently’ to Peter. And now she could see why.

Violence was in his very nature. He wore it around his shoulders like a cape. Carnage was his crown. The blood staining his flesh only made him stand taller, like a conquering barbarian on top of a mountain of skulls. He never needed Venom to become something monstrous. The violence was visceral, and he could never be separated from it. Not completely.

It was terrifying to witness. She should be terrified.

Two: she wasn’t.

She realized this as he locked eyes with her, suddenly going still. She watched him. He watched her. Both of them thinking the same thought.

This is who he was. Peter Parker.

Not Venom.

Not Ben Reilly.

Not any other false name he used to conceal himself in the darkness. As much as it terrified him, he was the darkness.

His eyes softened as he looked down at her, like a switch had been thrown. He turned docile only under her gaze.

This was also who he was. And she realized that she didn’t want him any other way.

“Are you hurt?” Peter quietly asked, crouching before her as he scanned over her figure. Eyes glistening, she nodded, her mind stricken with deja vu. He reached out delicately with bloody hands and tipped her chin upwards until their gazes met.

She swayed as exhaustion collided with her, weakening her muscles. “I-I...” she mumbled, jaw agape and shoulders limp, staring up at him with a hypnotized expression. “I... lost my shoe.”

He blinked in confusion before glancing down to see one of her ballet flats was missing.

“I think I saw it over here,” Johnny muttered through gritted teeth, snapping them out of their bubble. They turned to see him sprawled out on the ground, holding his shoulder with a thin sheen of sweat on his face. “I’m okay too, by the way.”

“Johnny!” Peter said, alarmed. They dropped back to the ground and flanked the bleeding man. “Can you move?” he asked, brows furrowed.

The blonde grunted as he held onto his pectoral muscle, blood soaking half his shirt. “Sure. Flesh wound.”

A cocky smile filled with pearly white teeth assured them he was still relatively ‘normal.’ They breathed a sigh of relief as Peter delicately helped him up into a sitting position.

The attack had ended. Honey wasn’t entirely sure when. The whirring steps of the robot approaching caught her attention. She looked down to see the red-and-yellow mecha-spider step up to the opening of the train car. “That’s the last of them,” Peni’s mechanized voice declared. The robot’s torso opened to reveal Peni sitting inside. The wizard behind the curtain with painted blood-red lips.

“They’ll be back,” Peter said grimly before turning to Honey.

Tears filled her eyes as she stared back at him. Guilt gutted her, breaking her heart and every bit of strength left in her body. “This is all my fault.”

Just as Peter was about to reply, the broken sound of Miles’ voice clipped him short. The teenager whimpered, dread filling his lungs, “Guys...”

Peter and Honey turned towards Miles, seeing the teen crouched over on his knees. A body lay before him. They scurried to their feet, rushing to his side. Honey froze mid-step, eyes wide with horror.

“Eddie...” she gasped.

The burly man was on his back with a gaping hole in his chest. Slowly, it pooled with blood as he wheezed in short spurts. Miles leaned over him desperately, trying to stop the bleeding with his soaked-through beanie.

Eddie looked ashen, the life drained from his face. His eyes were wide as they stared up at the ceiling, filled with horror and awe. He sputtered and coughed, his lungs struggling to keep the liquid out. Blood tinged his lips.

“Eddie!” Honey yelped, dropping to her knees to bring her hands over Miles’s.

It was like trying to hold back a river. All eyes were now on Eddie’s dire situation—Noir, Felicia, and Peni approaching quickly. Jess and Miguel looked on from the back of the car, both of them pausing momentarily from trying to assist Helen.

Miles gazed down at his savior, lip wobbling and hands shaking. “He... he pushed me outta the way. He-he saved me—”

“Christ!” They heard Felicia curse as the silver-haired woman rushed over and touched Eddie’s pulse. Honey glanced at her, watching fear capture the fearless.

“We need help over here!” Peter called out, voice strained with panic that Honey had never heard from him before. He was winded with terror as his palms enveloped Miles’s, frantically working to stop the bleeding.

“Cho’s hurt bad,” Jessica called back. Beside her, Miguel was hooking his arms beneath the doctor’s legs, hoisting her up off the ground.

“It’s okay, we-we got this,” Honey called back. Hysteria slowly choked her. “I-I can fix this! I can patch him up!”

“But Helen—”

“I can do this!” Honey hissed, desperate tears spilling down her face. “I just need a-a med kit or... Sutures! I can sew it up, all she’s gotta do is walk me through it.”

“Sweetie,” Felicia uttered under her breath. Honey froze in her gaze, her blue eyes glazed with tears. “She’s not even conscious...”

She wore a mournful expression, condolences pouring silently from her mouth.

Honey would have none of it. Defiantly, she shook her head, lips pursed into a straight line. “I’ll figure it out myself!” she choked back a sob. “Just—somebody, get me the med kit! Get me—” Honey blocked out the worried stares that surrounded her.

Instead, she focused on Eddie. She thought about cupcake frosting smeared across the scruff of his chin. His benevolent nature as he pulled in drags of smoke, offering peace to the world in return with each outward breath. She pictured his hazel-gray eyes weighed down by heavy bags and a lifetime of failures. Despite that, his eyes persevered to retain their brightness.

He was tranquil amidst the turmoil of his life. Grateful despite his misfortune. In the middle of their war, he was a pacifist. A peacemaker.

He saw everything. He saw Peter as a brother. He saw Honey as a friend. He saw both of them as worth saving.

And now she saw the light fading from his eyes. “I can do this,” she whimpered weakly, tears spilling down her face. “It’s okay. I can fix this.”

“Honey—”

She paused, feeling the featherlike brush of Peter’s breath across her face. Hesitantly, she met his sorrowful gaze, her heart aching at the sight of tears trailing down his cheeks. He was silent, fixing her earnestly with a knowing look. He didn’t have to say anything. She could read the hopelessness written on his face.

There was no fixing this.

Somberly, they gazed at one another, both of them mirroring each other’s grief.

“S..ssay,” Honey heard a tiny voice whisper beneath her. She looked down to see Eddie looking up at her, teeth chattering. His lips were curved into a faint smile. “Wh—why the-the-the l-long face, N-nancy?”

It was like her heart literally ripped in half. She struggled to keep her sobs muted, clamping her mouth closed.

“Y-you... sh-should e-eat a Peanut Butter co-cookie, or so-somethin.’” He grinned wide, his teeth stained red. Tears dripped from her chin as she hiccuped out a small smile through her anguish.

His eyes traveled from her face to Peter’s. Though he appeared more composed than Honey, Eddie knew what Peter looked like when he was in agony.

“T-tha-thank y-you-u,” Eddie shivered, staring up at Peter with love in his eyes, “for s-saving my life.”

Red-eyed, Peter winced like he’d swallowed glass. He breathed through his nose, afraid that if he opened his mouth his soul would spill out.

Eddie gazed at him with a lopsided, lazy grin. “Don’t b-be too ha-hard on yourself.” Another cough shook him, staining his lips even further. Peter released his hold on the wound to wrap Eddie’s hand in his fist. He held on tightly as if to steady him against a heavy current.

“M’mm-’m afraid to-to die, Pete,” Eddie said with a shaky voice. He faltered for a single moment. Fear prodded at him as each expansion of his chest became heavier. Each breath came up shorter than the last.

Then, as stubborn as ever, he smirked with a flicker of light filling his glossy gaze. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he considered the irony. “Th-that’s-s gotta co-count for s-somethin’, right?”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, nodding tearfully in a silent reply. When he opened them again, the current was stronger. The light was fading as it began to pull him under. Peter and Honey gripped tighter, as if their resolve could hold him.

“S-s-so...” Eddie said, locking eyes with Peter. “Thank... you.”

Into the darkness, he drifted away.

Continue to Part 20

{back to the masterlist}

A/N Sorry for the tearjerker cliffhanger! This story is coming to a close in just a few chapters (maybe 3 or 4). Thank you for sticking with me this long. I hope that the next chapter will have everything you've ever dreamed of.

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