From The Smoke (Marvel)

Chapter 8

Disclaimer: If you recognise it, surprise, I don't own it.

Chapter 8– First Outing.

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Wait, what the fuck am I doing? I swore that I was not going to do this, that I wasn't going to let her pull me in, let her drag me into an inescapable black hole. I might have been sticking to my principles and rules when I refused to steal from the jewellery shop earlier on, but I am back treading right now. Every second that my lips stay in contact with her is another moment my rules are being ignored and trodden upon, which I can't allow.

I whip my arms away from her as if they were on fire as if she were literal dynamite about to explode, and as if Felicia was sensing my reluctance, her lips part from mine, disappearing as soon as I stopped holding her.

Even though I feel great hesitation now that her lips are no longer on mine, I can't help but feel some relief as well, knowing that I had just dodged a bullet. If there is ever going to be anything happening between Felicia and me, then it is going to be initiated by me, and I can't accept it any other way-

"AGGGGGgggghhhh!" I heard Felicia scream, and she seemed to be getting further and further away, but why would- I realise now that I was the one holding Felicia against me under this archway, I was her only support, and I had just stopped holding her. Then, my eyes which I had closed while kissing Felicia snapped open, and I saw Felicia dropping down through the alley, plummeting towards the ground.

As I watch her falling to her death, facing the sky and reaching a hand out for me, I suddenly see Gwen Stacy, sweet Gwen Stacy, falling in her place, and I am right back at the Brooklyn Bridge, living out my worst nightmare again.

Instinctually my hand shoots out, both of my middle fingers pressed against my palm to let loose a web that would reach out to snag Felicia and save her from a terrible fate. Except I am not wearing my web shooters, which I thank god for because if I had them on, then Felicia's spine would have been snapped in half, just like Gwen's.

I-I can't do that again. I can't have someone killed because of me again because of my actions. So maybe it is a good thing that I don't have my web shooters on me, they are just tools, after all, and they can never be relied upon entirely. After all, other people can use tools as well.

So the only thing I can trust is my own hands and my own actions, I can't trust the actions of other people, and I can't trust weapons or tools that I myself have not created, not even the web shooters because I did not make those, Peter did, and Peter makes mistakes, I am not Peter.

Moving my body, I crouch against the brickwork of the arch, facing towards the grounds and towards the falling form of Felicia. Then, using all my strength, I push against it and shoot downwards towards the damsel in distress at intense speeds, pointing my arms towards her in a diving-like position to boost myself even further. I feel the bricks crack and break under my feet, the arch itself shattering into pieces, but I can't bring myself to care.

I can still remember swinging through the streets as Spider-Man and battling foes, constantly holding back my strength and doing my utmost to not cause any property damage. I don't care about that stuff now. I could give a rat's ass about property damage, reputation and image in the public eye. I don't care about limiting myself anymore. I am going to live with my utmost everything.