Spiderman: Venom

When the movers showed up, Gwen was outside in a heated argument with her father. They had taken their conversation to the parking lot, but even from the main door, Peter could tell the topic—him.

Lately, Peter had been practicing tuning out background noise by concentrating on his heartbeat, a trick to avoid sensory overload. But their voices carried loud enough that even the movers looked uncomfortable.

Peter waved the movers in and unlocked the large bolt securing the double half-bay doors. He had welded the top half shut but left the bottom operable for occasions like this.

One of the movers gave an appreciative whistle. "Nice setup."

They then began unloading what felt to Peter like an endless stream of furniture and boxes. He directed them to Gwen's unit, and like clockwork, they got to work.

Meanwhile, George shot Peter a series of disapproving glares. Gwen, unfazed, swatted her dad's arm playfully before their argument intensified, prompting George to walk away in frustration.

Peter knew George wasn't fond of him. Flash had seen to that. Even though Peter had been cleared of wrongdoing, George still believed he wasn't good enough for Gwen. Still, Peter noticed a begrudging hint of understanding in George's demeanor. He recognized how hard it was for Gwen to leave home, even if he didn't approve of her choice.

The movers brought in couches, beds, appliances, and countless boxes. Peter couldn't help but be astonished. Either Gwen or George had spent a small fortune on all this. His amazement was interrupted when an engineer asked where the washer hookups were.

Peter stepped into the modular unit to show the worker the pipes and shut-off valves before moving aside to let them work. He stood back, marveling at the movers' efficiency as they filled the space without making it feel cramped or cluttered.

Gwen clearly hadn't held back. It might be a student home, but everything fit neatly and looked well-organized.

Directing the movers like a seasoned pro, Gwen ensured everything was in its proper place before dismissing them. She turned to Peter, who was still staring in surprise, and shrugged nonchalantly.

"I had some savings," she said, then pointed a finger at him. "And Mr. 'I live like a minimalist,' do you even have a washing machine?"

Of course, Peter didn't. It was on his ever-growing list of things to buy, perpetually pushed down by budget constraints.

While Peter stayed on the sidelines, George Stacey stood by silently, observing. His beloved daughter—his pride and occasional frustration—had completely drained his wallet and stripped their home of anything moveable.

George had argued Gwen was too young to move out, but she had countered by pointing out Peter's maturity. He was younger by only a few months, owned the building, and had been working hard. George then tried arguing that living with a boy was improper, but Gwen shut that down too, explaining that her unit had a lock and that MJ would be living there as well.

Reluctantly, George had given his approval but continued throwing glares in Peter's direction. Discovering that Peter owned the warehouse had been a shock, one that made George grudgingly acknowledge the boy's potential.

Maybe he's got some promise, George thought. But he's still not good enough for my Gwennie.

With everyone moving in on the same day, Peter returned to his old apartment to grab his remaining belongings. He wasn't taking much and returned in a taxi, carrying armloads of black garbage bags and a few personal items.

Most of his stuff had already been moved, but seeing the now-empty space gave Peter a pang of nostalgia. This apartment had been his sanctuary after Uncle Ben's death, a place where he could hide from the world. Was he truly ready to leave it behind?

After dropping off his modest belongings at the warehouse, Peter checked the time. He did a quick walkthrough of the building, letting Gwen know he was heading out to grab lunch for everyone.

At one of the food trucks, Peter bumped into a familiar face: Felicia.

He waved at her, but she hesitated, looking almost uneasy about seeing him.

Felicia was standing on a street corner Peter recognized as a known hangout for pimps and sex workers. Her striking appearance made her stand out—perhaps too much.

"Uh, Felicia, this isn't really the best place to hang out," Peter called out.

No way, he thought. She's not… working here, is she?

Rumors had been swirling about her dad disappearing, but Peter couldn't imagine Felicia resorting to this.

Not that she couldn't if she wanted to, Peter caught himself thinking. It's her life. She can do what she wants.

Felicia froze when she saw him. "Parker?" she called back. "No, I'm just waiting for someone. But, uh… yeah, weird seeing you here."

Peter noticed she seemed nervous. Had he interrupted something she didn't want him to know about?

He pointed toward the food trucks. "Gwen and MJ are moving in today. I'm grabbing lunch. You should come by and say hi."

"Today? You're all moving in today?" Felicia asked, clearly caught off guard.

She had known Gwen and MJ were moving, but she hadn't realized Peter owned the place or lived there.

"Uh, yeah," Peter replied. "We're going out tonight to celebrate. You should come."

Felicia hesitated. She wanted to go, but she had been keeping tabs on the Fearsome Four. If her intel was right, they were making a move tonight. Missing her chance to gather evidence wasn't an option.

"Sorry, I can't. My dad needs me," she lied. Then, looking disappointed, she forced a small smile. "Guess my friend isn't coming. Tell Gwen I said hi, okay?" She pulled her coat tighter and walked away, hands stuffed into her pockets.

Weird, Peter thought, shrugging.

At the food trucks, he ordered enough burgers and sodas for the movers, Gwen, and himself. He even bought one for George, though he doubted it would be appreciated. Peter figured George would make a snide comment before leaving without touching the food. When the movers arrived, Gwen was outside, locked in a heated argument with her father. They had taken their conversation to the parking lot, but even from the warehouse door, Peter could tell the argument revolved around him.

Peter had been practicing how to tune out background noise by focusing on his own heartbeat—a method to avoid being overwhelmed by loud sounds. But their voices were loud enough to carry, making even the movers shift uncomfortably.

He waved at the movers and unlocked the hefty bolt securing the double half-bay doors. He had welded the top half shut but kept the bottom functional for situations like this.

One of the movers let out an impressed whistle. "Nice setup."

The team began unloading what felt to Peter like an endless stream of furniture and boxes. He directed them toward Gwen's unit, and they got to work like a well-coordinated machine.

Meanwhile, George shot Peter sharp, disapproving glares. Gwen brushed off her father's tension, playfully swatting his arm as their argument continued to escalate. Peter stayed out of it, deciding not to engage as he sat on the couch with a burger and soda.

"So, uh, Dad's planning to stick around after the movers leave. But good news—we've got a washer-dryer installed, and my kitchen now has a fridge-freezer," Gwen said, sliding next to Peter and giving him a nudge. She let their sides rest against each other, blatantly ignoring her father's judgmental stares. George was too preoccupied directing the movers to intervene, and Gwen relished the small moment of closeness.

"We have food," Peter said defensively.

"Real food, Pete," Gwen replied, arching an eyebrow at him. "Not canned junk or truck stop takeout. Real. Food." She drew out the words dramatically, then laughed at her own joke.

The movers gradually emptied the table of burgers and sodas during their breaks. After finishing her meal, Gwen started unpacking boxes, leaving George alone to glower at Peter.

"I'm not happy, son," George finally said as Peter grabbed another burger. The movers were almost done, leaving a handful of empty soda cans and burger wrappers behind. "I'm not happy my daughter is moving in with…" He paused, sighing heavily. "…a delinquent. Harrison Thompson reported his car was vandalized. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Peter shrugged casually. "If I did, I wouldn't have to tell you, would I?" He took a big bite out of his cheeseburger, savoring it. The food truck near the Seven-Eleven used real cheese, which Peter always appreciated. "And, honestly? The guy's a total jerk, so whoever did it deserves a medal."

George's face flushed with frustration. "Look, son. We both know this tough-guy routine is just an act. You're just as much to blame for all this trouble as Eugene is. Let me—" he began, waving his burger for emphasis.

"No, George," Peter interrupted, his voice firm. "Let me tell you something. You're a real piece of work. Gwen lives here now, not you. And as for me? You don't know a damn thing about who I am. This warehouse? It's mine—not leased, not borrowed, mine. Gwen pays me rent to live here. And Harrison Thompson?" Peter scoffed. "Oh, boo-hoo. A spoiled rich kid finally faces some consequences after his son gets me suspended. And now you're here, trying to sic the cops on me? Trying to make me feel like I'm not good enough? At least I don't harass teenage boys while the city is crawling with real criminals. At least I don't waste my Sundays buttering up politicians for favors. So unless Gwen invites you to stay, how about you get the hell off my property?"

Peter exhaled sharply, his frustration spilling out in a torrent of pent-up anger. He gestured toward the door with the half-eaten burger before shoving it into his mouth.

George Stacy wasn't used to being spoken to like this. He was a man who commanded respect and usually got it. His temper flared as he snapped, "Listen here, you little—"

Peter cut him off, raising his hand. "Officer, I believe I already asked you to leave my property. As a law enforcement official, you know trespassing is a felony. I've asked once," Peter said, stepping closer, his gaze locking with George's. "Don't. Make. Me. Ask. Again."

George stared into Peter's eyes, seeing a steely resolve that wasn't there before. This wasn't the same boy he had heard about or the one Gwen used to talk about with her friends. This Peter was different—stronger, more confident, and unapologetically direct.

Snorting in frustration, George took a step back. "Gwen, sweetheart, it's clear I'm not wanted here. Come home whenever you want. If you need anything, just call me."

He grabbed his jacket from one of the folding chairs and left the building. Outside, he paused as he heard the loud clang of Peter shutting the double doors and bolting them.

George shook his head, fuming. Intimidation wasn't going to work on this kid, and using his department could backfire spectacularly. But he was determined to find a way to prove to Gwen that Peter wasn't who she thought he was. The evidence was there—he just needed the right moment to make her see it.

Peter sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He hadn't intended to blow up at George. He was Gwen's father, after all, and if their relationship was going to progress, they would need to find common ground. The last thing Peter wanted was to cause a rift between Gwen and her dad.

"Uh, Gwen?" he called, stepping into her home. She hadn't come out since the confrontation ended. He rapped lightly on the doorframe, noticing several half-open boxes scattered across the coffee table. "Gwen?" he repeated, hoping she wasn't upset.

Gwen emerged from her bedroom wearing only an oversized T-shirt. She grinned mischievously and handed Peter a small box.

Opening it, Peter saw a dozen feather-touch, ultra-thin condoms.

Before he could respond, the door buzzer sounded, and his phone vibrated.

"It's MJ"