Welcome to

They say with great power comes great responsibility. They never mentioned what happens when your wife accidentally straps on an alien watch that turns her into a living firecracker. Allow me to rewind.

My name is Peter Parker. You’ve probably heard of me. I was bitten by a radioactive spider when I was a teenager, and my life got… complicated. The whole “Spider-Man” gig isn’t exactly a 9-to-5. But the best thing that ever happened to me, the one bright, shining constant in the chaos, came with a brilliant smile and a cascade of red hair that could stop a speeding train. Mary Jane Watson. My MJ.

I remember the first time I saw her. Really saw her. Not just the girl-next-door my Aunt May was always trying to set me up with, but her. She was all confidence and light, a force of nature that made my clumsy, science-nerd heart stammer in my chest. Our first date was a disaster punctuated by a villain attack—standard for me—but we ended it with a kiss that felt like a freefall from a skyscraper, terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Fast forward through a lot of drama, a lot of web-slinging, and one beautiful wedding. Present day. We were perched on our favorite gnarled old oak in Central Park, high above the world. MJ’s head was on my shoulder, her hair smelling of strawberries and summer.

“It’s quiet,” she murmured, her voice a contented hum against my neck.

“Don’t jinx it, MJ,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “My spidey-sense is blissfully quiet for once. Let’s just enjoy the—“

A high-pitched whistling scream cut through the air, growing rapidly louder. We both looked up. A streak of silver and green, trailing smoke like a comet, was hurtling toward the earth. It crashed with a muffled thump about a hundred yards away in a small clearing, shaking the branches beneath us.

“Was that a meteor?” MJ asked, sitting up straight, her reporter instincts kicking in.

“Too small. And too… metallic,” I said, my senses humming a low, curious note. Not danger. Not yet. “Come on. Let’s go see.”

In a fluid motion, I swept her into my arms. She let out a delighted squeal, wrapping her arms around my neck as I swung us from the tree, landing softly near the fresh crater. In the center of the smoldering patch of grass was a sleek, futuristic device. It looked like a large, metallic wristwatch with a green hourglass symbol on its face.

“Whoa,” MJ breathed, stepping closer. “It’s beautiful.”

And that’s when my spidey-sense exploded. A violent, piercing shriek in the back of my skull.

“MJ, don’t!” I yelled, my hand shooting out.

But I was too late. Her curiosity, that brilliant, insatiable drive that makes her who she is, had gotten the better of her. Her fingers brushed the cool metal.

The device sprang to life. Bands of green light snapped around her wrist, clicking into place with a finality that made my stomach drop. She gasped, trying to pull it off, but it was fused to her.

“Peter! It won’t come off!” she said, her voice pitched high with panic.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out,” I said, my mind racing. Alien tech? Chitauri? Something new? The face of the device then lit up, and a small, holographic display popped up, showing a strange, stylized silhouette of a… rocky, lava-covered creature.

“What is that?” I muttered, creeping closer. “MJ, honey, don’t touch anything. Don’t press anything.”

Her eyes were wide, fixed on the glowing screen. I saw the conflict on her face—fear warring with that irresistible curiosity. Her thumb hovered over the central dial.

“MJ, no—!”

Click.

A blinding, green flash erupted from the device, enveloping her completely. She screamed, a sound of pure shock that was quickly drowned out by a deep, cellular roar. I shielded my eyes, my heart hammering against my ribs.

When the light faded, my wife was gone.

In her place stood a being made of living, bright orange rock. Molten lava flowed in the cracks between the stone plates, dripping to the grass with a violent hiss. Her form was distinctly feminine, powerful, and radiating an intense, dry heat that I could feel from ten feet away.

“PETER!” she shrieked, her voice a deeper, crackling echo, like boulders grinding together. “I’M ON FIRE! I’M MADE OF FIRE AND ROCKS!”

She waved her arms frantically, and globs of magma flew, setting a nearby bush ablaze.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! MJ, calm down! It’s okay!” I said, holding my hands up, trying to project a calm I absolutely did not feel. My brain, ever the scientist, was screaming with questions, but my heart was just screaming.

“CALM DOWN? PETER, I’M A VOLCANO!”

“Just breathe! Well, can you breathe? Do you need to? Never mind! Listen to me,” I said, taking a cautious step closer. The heat was intense, like standing next to an open furnace. “You’re not on fire. Look at yourself. You’re… solid. You’re like… you’re like a Pyronite!”

She stopped flailing. “A what?”

“A species from a binary star system I read about in a theoretical xenobiology journal! Incredible heat generation, plasma projection, durable silicate form…” I trailed off, realizing I was nerding out while my wife was having a planetary-scale identity crisis. “The point is, you’re not burning. You’re… you’re like Johnny Storm! Or Firestar! You love them!”

The panic on her molten-rock face slowly subsided. She looked down at her hands, turning them over. A small, cautious smile touched her lips, though it was hard to read on her new, rocky features.

“You’re right,” she said, her voice settling into a warm, rumbling purr. “It doesn’t hurt. It feels… powerful. Really, really powerful. And kind of… toasty.”

She took a step, and the ground sizzled under her foot. She laughed, a sound like a rockslide, and a small jet of flame flickered from her mouth. “Hey, watch it, Tiger. You’re looking a little… flammable.”

And that’s when it hit me. A wave of heat that had nothing to do with her new form. She was magnificent. The raw power, the confident way she held herself, the playful glint in her glowing green eyes. It was still MJ, my MJ, but amplified. Her curves were now carved from living stone, sleek and powerful. The lava flowing through her cracks pulsed with a warm, inner light, highlighting a form that was both terrifying and utterly, breathtakingly breathtaking.

“Wow,” I breathed, the word barely a whisper.

She caught my stare and her glowing eyes narrowed playfully. “See something you like, Mr. Parker?”

I was in front of her in an instant, the heat washing over me like a desert wind. “You have no idea,” I said, my voice husky.

I cupped her face. The rock was surprisingly smooth and warm, like stone left in the sun. I leaned in, and despite the impossible situation, it was the most natural thing in the world to kiss my wife.

Her lips were hot, but not burning. They yielded to mine, and I tasted ozone and cinnamon. She made a soft, rumbling sound deep in her chest, a sound of pure pleasure, and wrapped her arms around me. Her touch was firm, solid, incredibly strong, but she held me with a tenderness that made my head spin.

“Is this okay?” she murmured against my lips, a small tendril of smoke escaping her mouth. “I won’t… scorch you?”

“My suit is insulated against way worse,” I managed to say, already fumbling with the seal on my collar. “And I’ve never wanted anyone more than I want you right now.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. Her laugh was a giddy, crackling thing as she helped me peel the Spider-Man suit down to my waist. The cool evening air felt like ice against my skin compared to the inferno of her touch. She laid me back on the grass, which browned and crinkled beneath the heat of her body as she straddled me.

“My very own Human Torch,” I groaned as she leaned down, her molten body hovering just above mine, the light from within her casting dancing shadows on my face.

“Better,” she whispered, her voice full of love and a newfound, fiery power. “I’m all yours.”

She lowered herself onto me, and the sensation was indescribable. It was like being sheathed in liquid sunlight, intense and all-encompassing. She moved with a primal rhythm, her rocky hips grinding against mine, each movement sending waves of pleasure so intense I saw stars. She moaned, and the sound vibrated through her entire form, little embers popping and sparkling around her shoulders.

I gripped her rocky hips, my fingers finding purchase on the smooth, hot planes of her body, and thrust up into her welcoming, scorching heat. We moved together, a superhero and his amazing, incredible wife, under the open sky. The world, with all its villains and problems, had completely dissolved. There was only her heat, her sounds, the smell of ozone and passion, and the overwhelming love I felt for this woman in any form.

Her inner fire began to glow brighter, pulsing in time with our rhythm. Her moans became louder, more urgent cracks and rumbles. I felt my own climax building, a supernova at the base of my spine.

“MJ…” I choked out.

“I’ve got you, Peter,” she crackled, her form blazing like a miniature sun. “I’ve always got you.”

With a final, shuddering thrust, I came, crying out her name as pleasure, white-hot and absolute, tore through me. I felt her clench around me, her own climax making her entire body flare with intense light and heat for a moment before it slowly, gradually, began to recede.

She collapsed onto my chest, her weight solid and comforting. The rock of her body was cooling, just slightly, to a pleasant, radiant warmth, like a stone heated by a long day’s sun. She nuzzled my neck, and I could feel her smiling.

“So,” she mumbled, her voice returning to its familiar, melodic tone, though still with a faint, satisfying crackle. “Still think redheads have more fun?”

I burst out laughing, holding her tightly to me, this amazing, impossible woman. The alien device on her wrist beeped softly, and in another flash of green light, she was back. Just my MJ, with her freckles and her brilliant red hair spread across my chest, lying naked on a circle of scorched earth.

She looked at the Omnitrix, then back at me, a wild, excited gleam in her eye. “So… think it has any other settings?”

I just groaned and pulled her closer, kissing her properly. My spider-sense was quiet. For the first time in a long time, everything was perfectly, wonderfully, hilariously right.

Suddenly, the green light didn't so much fade as it was sucked back into the device on MJ’s wrist, pulling her fiery Pyronite form with it. One second she was a being of living magma, the next she was tumbling onto the soft, scorched grass, completely and blessedly human.

She gasped, staring at her own hands—familiar, five-fingered, and wonderfully flesh-toned. “I’m… I’m back!” she breathed, a wave of relief so powerful it made her dizzy. She’d been putting on a brave face for Peter, but a tiny, terrified part of her had been convinced she was going to be a walking barbecue forever.

“See? Told you it was temporary,” Peter said, his voice gentle as he helped her up, wrapping his discarded Spider-Man suit around her shoulders. But she could see the lingering worry in his eyes, the scientist in him already gnawing on the problem.

“You had no idea if it was temporary,” she accused, poking him in the chest, but she was smiling. She couldn’t help it. The relief was just too good.

“A strong hypothesis,” he corrected with a lopsided grin. “But let’s get it confirmed.”

---

An hour later, we were in the Baxter Building, standing in the one place on Earth that might have answers: Reed Richards’ lab. Reed, ever the gracious (and endlessly curious) host, had MJ’s wrist clamped in a delicate-looking instrument that was projecting a shimmering energy field around the Omnitrix.

“Fascinating,” he muttered for the tenth time, his elongated finger stroking his chin. “The molecular bonding is… absolute. It’s not attached to her epidermis; it’s integrated with her bio-signature on a quantum level. It doesn’t recognize a distinction between ‘wearer’ and ‘device’ anymore.”

“So… you can’t get it off?” I asked, my stomach sinking.

Reed retracted his arm to a normal length with a soft sproing. “Peter, in all honesty, I’m not entirely sure what ‘it’ is. The technology is generations—no, eons—beyond anything I’ve ever encountered. Its power source is unknown, its material composition defies classification, and its programming language is a form of coherent energy I can’t begin to decipher. Attempting a forced removal could… well, the results are unpredictable. It could be harmless, or it could unmake her on a subatomic level.”

MJ paled, clutching my arm. “So I’m stuck with it?”

“For the moment, yes,” Reed said, his tone softening. “But the good news is, it appears to be perfectly stable. It’s not emitting harmful radiation, and its transformation effect is non-permanent, as you’ve experienced. My advice? Don’t press any more buttons until we know more.”

We left the Baxter Building with more questions than answers, but with Reed’s reassurance that MJ wasn’t in immediate danger, a huge weight had lifted.

---

Back at our apartment, the reality of it all set in. MJ paced in front of the couch, the Omnitrix looking stark and alien against her wrist.

“I have a shoot tomorrow for Stark’s new fashion line, Pete,” she said, her voice tight with anxiety. “How am I supposed to explain this? ‘Oh, don’t mind the glowing green alien watch, darling, it’s just this season’s must-have accessory’?”

“I might have a solution for that,” I said, pulling a small, silvery device from a hidden compartment in my web-shooter workbench. It was a disc about the size of a quarter.

She eyed it skeptically. “And what’s that? A very high-tech band-aid?”

“A holographic emitter. Reed and I tinkered with the tech a while back. It should project a light-bending field around the Omnitrix, make it look like a normal watch. Or a bracelet. Whatever you want.” I carefully placed it on the device. It hummed softly, and the Omnitrix shimmered and vanished, leaving behind the illusion of a simple, elegant silver bangle.

MJ’s eyes went wide. “Peter, that’s brilliant! Where did you even get this?”

I scratched the back of my neck, a little embarrassed. “Well, you remember that time with the… uh… the multi-armed thing?”

Her face broke into a dazzling grin. “When you grew four extra arms and tried to call yourself the ‘Arachnid-Ambulator’? How could I forget? I had to help you relearn how to eat spaghetti.” She started giggling, a sound that always made my heart feel light. “Though I’ll admit, the multi-tasking potential was… impressive. You could web up six muggers at once and hold my coffee.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. The point is, we built a lot of prototype tech to deal with that little… mutation. This was one of them.”

She threw her arms around my neck, kissing me soundly. “My hero. Always prepared.”

As we pulled apart, the air between us shifted. The fear and uncertainty of the day melted away, replaced by a familiar, buzzing energy. Our eyes met, and we both knew. The adventure, the sheer weirdness of it all, was a potent aphrodisiac.

The Omnitrix chose that moment to glow a soft, pulsing green.

We both looked at her wrist, then back at each other. A slow, wicked smile spread across MJ’s face.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, Tiger?” she purred.

“That we should see what other settings this thing has?” I ventured.

“Ding ding ding.” Her thumb hovered over the dial. This time, there was no fear, only a thrilling, shared curiosity. She gave it a firm press.

Click.

The green flash was the same, but the transformation was utterly different. Instead of expanding into a giant of rock and fire, MJ seemed to… condense. Her form blurred, sleek gray fur erupting over her skin. Her limbs twisted, becoming powerful and digitigrade. Her face elongated into a fearsome muzzle, and her beautiful green eyes vanished, the sockets smoothing over into solid bone. A long, powerful tail sprouted from the base of her spine. Where a beautiful woman had stood was now a sleek, powerful, and utterly alien canine predator. A Vulpimancer.

She shook her massive head, letting out a low, guttural chuff. She tilted her headless face toward me.

“MJ?” I asked, my voice a little awestruck. “Can you… can you see me?”

In response, she stepped forward with a predator’s grace. Her head tilted again, and then a large, rough, warm tongue slid up the entire side of my face.

I sputtered, laughing. “Okay! I’ll take that as a yes! Echolocation, right? Or really advanced scent-tracking. Cool. Very cool.”

She made that chuffing sound again—I realized it was a laugh—and nuzzled her massive, blind head against my chest. Then, with a playful growl, she turned and presented her hindquarters to me, wiggling her furry, powerful backend in a clear and unmistakable invitation. Her tail swished playfully.

The message was as primal as it was clear. The scientist in me was fascinated. The husband in me was… very much on board.

“Well,” I said, my voice husky as I ran a hand down the sleek fur of her back. “When my wife wiggles her booty at me, alien form or not, it’s my responsibility to respond.”

And so, I did.

Later, curled together on the floor—a superhero and his amazing, ever-changing wife—I decided Reed could keep his endless equations. Some mysteries were just more fun to experience firsthand.

The world had narrowed to the feel of her. Not soft skin, but sleek, powerful fur. Not a whispered moan, but a deep, rumbling purr that vibrated through my entire body. In her Vulpimancer form, Mary Jane was a paradox of feral strength and gentle trust. My hands gripped her furry hips, my thrusts meeting the powerful, eager rhythm of her own. She was blind, but she was far from helpless; every movement was precise, guided by some incredible alien sense that let her perceive me perfectly.

“MJ,” I groaned, my voice ragged. Her answering chuff was a sound of pure, primal satisfaction. We moved together in the strange, wonderful darkness of our living room, two beings completely lost in each other.

Our climax wasn't gentle. It was a seismic event. I came with a choked shout, my body arching against her powerful back. Her own release was a shuddering, guttural roar that shook the floorboards, her claws digging faint scratches into the hardwood. We collapsed together in a heap of tangled limbs and heavy, satisfied panting.

I lay there for a long moment, my face buried in the surprisingly soft fur of her neck, just holding her. I scratched behind one of her ear-like audio receptors, and she let out a contented rumble, pushing her head back against my hand like a gigantic, happy puppy.

“Who’s a good girl?” I murmured sleepily. “Who saved the day and her horny husband?”

She licked my arm again, a rough, affectionate gesture that was all MJ.

And then my spider-sense screamed.

It wasn't the sharp, immediate danger ping of a sniper's laser sight. It was a low, pervasive hum of wrongness, like a rotten tooth throbbing at the edge of the city. My body went rigid.

“MJ,” I said, my voice now all business. “We’ve got trouble.”

She was on her feet in an instant, her head cocked, her entire body tense and listening to frequencies I couldn't hear. A low growl emanated from her chest. She heard it too.

We didn't need words. In a synchronized flash of movement, I was back in my suit, and she was leaping through the open window I’d just webbed aside. We hit the New York night, a web-slinger and his alien-hound wife, swinging and leaping across rooftops toward the source of the disturbance.

It didn’t take long to find it. Hovering over a quiet industrial park was… a thing. It was a drone, but unlike any Stark or Oscorp tech I’d ever seen. It was all asymmetrical angles and purple energy circuits, looking like a bad geometry test that had learned to fly. It was scanning the area with a beam of sickly yellow light.

“Alright, let’s see what this guy’s deal is,” I quipped, firing a web-line to swing kick it.

The web dissolved into nothing the second it touched the drone’s energy shield. The drone rotated silently and fired a concussive blast of purple energy that I barely dodged.

“Okay, rude!” I yelled, flipping to a nearby water tower.

MJ landed on the roof below with a thud. She couldn’t see the energy shield, but she could clearly sense it. Shelet out a piercing shriek—a sonic attack that made the very air warp. The drone shuddered, its shield flickering violently.

“That’s my girl!” I shouted. “Now!”

While it was disoriented, I web-zipped directly above it and dropped, putting all my strength into a two-footed kick right at its core. The shield finally shattered with a sound like breaking glass. The drone spun out of control, crashing onto the rooftop.

It was tough, trying to right itself on spindly mechanical legs. But MJ was on it in a flash. She pounced, her powerful jaws clamping down on one of its weapon arrays. With a terrifying screech of rending metal, she tore the entire assembly free and tossed it aside like a chew toy.

I webbed the thrashing drone down tight. “And stay down!” I panted, landing next to my triumphant wife.

She was panting, her tongue lolling out, looking immensely pleased with herself. I knelt down and scratched her vigorously behind her receptors. “Good dog. Best girl. Yes, you are.” She leaned into the pets, her tail thumping a happy rhythm on the gravel roof.

And then, with a soft pop and a flash of green light, she was back. My MJ, naked, kneeling on the rooftop, with a half-destroyed alien drone at her feet.

She blinked, her human eyes adjusting to the light. She looked at the mangled metal in her hand, then at the webbed-up drone, then at my hand, which was still mid-scratch on her now-human head.

She swatted my arm away, her face flushing a brilliant red. “Peter Parker! Were you just petting me?”

“In my defense,” I said quickly, holding up my hands, “you had fur. And you seemed to really enjoy it.”

She tried to glare, but a laugh broke through. “You are impossible.” Her smile faded as she looked at the wreckage. “This isn’t from around here, is it?”

“Not any ‘here’ on Earth,” I said, my own humor vanishing. I picked up the piece she’d torn off. It was cold, unnaturally light, and etched with symbols that made my eyes water. “Time for a second opinion.”

---

A short while later, we were back in Reed’s lab. He was hunched over the drone part, his body contorted into a pretzel to examine it from every angle simultaneously. “Fascinating. The energy signature is unlike any known cosmic force. The material composition suggests a forging process involving neutron star particles. This is… extraordinary.”

I was peering over his shoulder, nodding along. “Yeah, the energy shield had a resonant frequency around—”

“Peter,” Sue Richards said, her voice a soft interruption. She had guided a now-dressed MJ to the side and was handing her a cup of tea. “Maybe let the menfolk play with their strange new toy. MJ, honey, are you alright? You’re looking a little… flushed.”

MJ took the tea, her cheeks still pink. “Oh, you know. Just the usual. Alien watch, dog-monster transformation, saving the city, public nudity. Standard Tuesday.”

Sue’s eyebrows shot up. She glanced over at me and Reed, then back at MJ, a slow, knowing smile spreading across her face. “A ‘dog-monster’ transformation? My, my. And here I thought Peter was the adventurous one in the relationship.”

MJ burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the high-tech lab. “Sue, you have no idea. The things that man gets me into.”

Sue leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, if you ever need to borrow our place for… private testing… Reed and I are never in the Negative Zone on Wednesdays.”

I turned around, my own face burning now. “We can hear you, you know!”

Reed, completely oblivious, stretched his head over without looking up from the alien metal. “Fascinating, Peter! It seems to be a scout drone! Its mission log indicates it was tracking a massive, unsanctioned energy signature! It appears to have originated from your apartment last night!”

A sudden, profound silencefell over the lab. Sue’s smirk widened. MJ buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

I just sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Great. So we accidentally called the alien space cops on ourselves. Of course we did.”

The air in the Baxter Building’s lab was thick with unspoken tension and the scent of ozone from Reed’s humming equipment. The bizarre drone part sat on the analysis table, a silent omen of trouble we’d accidentally summoned from the cosmos. Just as Reed was about to launch into a theory about non-terrestrial quantum entanglement, the air was split by a high-pitched whine.

It wasn't Reed’s machines. It was MJ’s wrist.

The Omnitrix glowed a fierce, pulsating green, the dial popping up, ready for action. MJ’s eyes went wide, and she slammed her other hand over it, as if she could physically hold the transformation back.

“Not here!” she hissed, a frantic blush creeping up her neck. “Not in front of everybody!”

Sue stifled a laugh behind her hand. Johnny Storm, who had wandered in looking for snacks, froze with a protein bar halfway to his mouth, his expression a perfect mix of confusion and dawning amusement. The Thing just grunted, “Uh oh. Here we go again.”

Before any of us could figure out a solution—like, say, a lead-lined box—the large wall monitor flickered to a news broadcast. The serene anchor’s face was replaced by a live feed of chaos downtown.

“—we’re getting reports of a massive robotic entity laying waste to 42nd Street!” the reporter shouted over the sound of screams and explosions. “It appears to be… well, it looks like something out of a movie! Police are powerless!”

The camera zoomed in. My blood ran cold. It was another drone, but this one was a hulking behemoth, ten times the size of the scout. It was all sharp angles and gleaming purple armor, its blaster cannons ripping up the asphalt. It was a starfighter that had decided to go for a walk.

Reed’s face was grim. “The scout must have sent a distress signal before you disabled it. This is the cavalry.”

“Family,” Sue said, her voice cutting through the panic as her force field shimmered into existence around her. “We have work to do.”

Johnny’s fist burst into flame. “Finally, some action!”

Ben cracked his rocky knuckles. “Let’s squash this tin can.”

They all looked at me. I looked at MJ. Her fear was gone, replaced by a steely resolve. She met my gaze and gave a single, sharp nod. Her thumb hovered over the glowing dial of the Omnitrix.

“Alright, Shell-head,” I quipped, my mask doing little to hide the nervous excitement in my voice. “Let’s see what this thing can really do.”

Click.

The green light enveloped her, but this transformation was different. It wasn’t a blur of fur or a flash of fire. It was a crystalline matrix spreading over her skin, a geometric, hardening brilliance. When the light faded, Mary Jane Watson-Parker was gone.

In her place stood a being of perfect, faceted diamond. She shimmered in the lab’s harsh light, a thousand rainbows dancing across her flawless, transparent form. Her physique was still recognizably MJ’s—powerful, curvy, and impossibly elegant—but now she was carved from the hardest substance known to man. Her hair was a crystalline crest, and her eyes glowed with a soft, internal green light.

Johnny whistled. “Whoa. Red just turned into a diamond.”

I couldn’t help it. The line just popped out. “Face it, Tiger,” I said, my voice full of awe. “You just hit the jackpot.”

Diamond-MJ turned her head, and though her face was immobile, I could have sworn she winked. A low, chiming laugh echoed from within her chest.

---

The battle was a spectacle. The Fantastic Four did what they do best: Reed contorted around blaster fire, Sue shielded civilians, Johnny became a blazing meteor, and Ben provided the percussive maintenance. But the star of the show was my wife.

The drone fired a concentrated energy beam directly at her. She didn’t dodge. She crossed her diamond arms in front of her, and the beam shattered against her, harmlessly scattering into a million prismatic shards.

“Is that all you’ve got?” her voice rang out, clear and resonant like a struck crystal bell.

She leaped onto the drone’s chassis, her diamond fingers digging into the metal like it was soft clay. With a thought, a long, razor-sharp crystalline sword grew from her fist. With a powerful swing, she cleaved one of its main blaster arms clean off.

The drone staggered back, trying to target her. MJ held up her other hand, and a volley of sharp, perfectly formed diamond shards shot from her palm, pummeling its optical sensors and riddling its armor with holes.

Between Sue’s force fields containing the explosions, Johnny melting its joints, Ben holding it steady, and my webbing tangling its legs, the massive drone was overwhelmed. With a final, shrieking groan of metal, it powered down and collapsed into a heap of smoldering, useless tech.

Silence fell over the street for a beat, followed by a thunderous roar of applause from the gathered crowd. People were cheering, crying, taking pictures.

“Spider-Man! Spider-Man!” they chanted.

One brave news reporter shoved a microphone in my face. “Spider-Man, incredible work! Who was your amazing… crystalline friend?”

I froze. My wife was on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t say that. “She’s, uh… she’s my… it’s…”

Diamond-MJ saved me. She simply placed a cool, crystalline hand on my shoulder, gave a single, regal nod to the crowd, and leaping away in a single, dazzling bound that scattered rainbows across the street.

I shot a web after her. “Whelp, gotta go! Upstanding citizen stuff! Don’t play with alien tech, kids!” I yelled, swinging after my brilliant, diamond wife.

---

Back in our apartment, the adrenaline finally faded. With another soft pop and green flash, MJ was back. Just MJ. Human, sweating, and breathing heavily, a wide, exhilarated grin on her face.

“That,” she panted, “was awesome.”

I ripped my mask off and pulled her into a deep, desperate kiss, pouring all my fear, pride, and overwhelming love into it. She kissed me back with equal ferocity, her hands fumbling with the seal of my suit.

“I saw the news,” she mumbled against my lips, her fingers finally finding their mark and pulling my pants down. “You didn’t know what to call me.”

“What was I supposed to say?” I groaned as she guided me, hot and ready, into her welcoming heat. “‘That’s my wife, she turns into a living gemstone’?”

She gasped as I filled her, her head falling back. “You could have… oh, Peter… you could have said I was your… your very best friend.”

I kissed her neck, her collarbone, everywhere I could reach as I moved inside her, our bodies falling into a rhythm as natural as breathing. “You’re that too,” I whispered, holding her tight as we climbed together, higher and higher, until we shattered in each other’s arms, collapsing onto the couch in a spent, tangled heap.

We lay there for a long time, just breathing. MJ traced the lines of the now-dormant Omnitrix on her wrist.

“You know,” she said, her voice sleepy and satisfied. “This thing is a logistical nightmare and probably an intergalactic felony waiting to happen…”

She turned her head and gave me a look that was pure, unadulterated Mary Jane.

“…but it’s actually kind of useful.”

I woke up to an empty bed. That in itself wasn’t unusual. MJ was an early riser, often up before the sun to run lines for a shoot or beat the morning rush to the coffee maker. But the silence was different. It wasn’t the quiet of someone trying not to wake me; it was the absolute, dead silence of a vacuum.

I shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “MJ? You making coffee? I think the machine’s brok—”

A blur of green and black zipped past me, ruffling my hair and pajamas with a gust of wind. I blinked. The air smelled faintly of ozone and… pancakes?

“What the—” I started, my spider-sense humming a curious, non-threatening note.

The blur resolved itself in the middle of our living room. It was MJ, but not. Her form was sleek and streamlined, clad in a skintight black-and-green version of her usual loungewear. Her brilliant red hair was now a wild, dark green mane. Her eyes glowed a vibrant emerald, and two little fin-like protrusions swept back from her temples. She vibrated slightly, buzzing with impossible energy.

She zipped over to me, planting a kiss on my cheek so fast it felt like a static shock. “Morning, sleepyhead! Breakfast is on the table. Syrup’s warmed, orange juice is freshly squeezed, and I fluffed your eggs just the way you like ‘em!”

I stared, dumbfounded, at our kitchen table. It was indeed set with a perfect, steaming breakfast. “MJ… is that… are you a Kineceleran?”

She stopped vibrating for a second, a thoughtful look on her alien-featured face. “A what-now?”“A speedster! Like my friend Barry Allen! The Flash!” I said, my inner fanboy doing backflips. “You’re generating your own kinetic energy field! The frictionless movement! The reduced inertial mass! This is incredible!”

Her face lit up with a speedster’s grin. “Is that what this is? I just woke up and everything was so… slow. I saw the list of things to do today—script read-through, dry cleaning, grocery shopping, fixing the leaky faucet—and I just… did them.” She zipped over to the couch, sat down, zipped back to the kitchen to grab a coffee mug, zipped to the living room to fluff a pillow, and was back in front of me before I could process the individual actions. “All of them. It was so easy! I even had time to reorganize your comic book collection by alternate universe publication date.”

I slowly walked to the table and sat down, staring at the perfect breakfast. “You… you did all that before I even woke up?”

She hopped onto my lap, her weight barely registering. She was vibrating with excitement, a pleasant buzz against my legs. “It was so much fun, Pete! You should try it!”

“I swing. Swinging is plenty fast,” I said, taking a bite of the most perfectly cooked scrambled egg I’d ever tasted. “This is amazing.”

I was about to get up to take our plates to the sink when she stopped me, that mischievous, hungry glint back in her glowing green eyes. The world seemed to slow down around her.

“The dishes can wait,” she purred, her voice a high-speed hum. She leaned in, capturing my lips with hers. The kiss was a thousand kisses in the span of a second, a rapid-fire, exhilarating sensation that left me breathless.

She didn’t bother with pajama buttons. In a nanosecond, they were off, a neatly folded pile on the floor next to the couch. My own clothes followed suit a moment later in a similar green blur. One second we were at the breakfast table, the next we were on the living room rug, her straddling me.

“Whoa,” was all I could manage.

“I know, right?” she giggled, the sound like a hummingbird’s wings.

Then she began to move. And oh, god, did she move.

It wasn’t just fast. It was a symphony of motion. Her hips pistoned with a rhythm that was beyond human, a vibration that resonated through my entire being. Her hands were everywhere at once, caressing, gripping, exploring. She leaned down, and I felt her mouth on my chest, my neck, my lips—all simultaneously. She was making love to every inch of me at the speed of light.

My hands found her breasts, their familiar, wonderful weight and softness now thrumming with incredible energy. I groaned, my head spinning from the sensory overload. “MJ… this is…”

“I know,” she breathed into my ear, her voice a Doppler effect of pleasure. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

I did. I surrendered to the whirlwind that was my wife. Our climax wasn’t a building wave; it was a sudden, shocking lightning strike, hitting us both at the exact same moment with the force of a supernova. We cried out together, a sound lost in the rush of wind and energy that filled the room.

And then, stillness.

The green flash was softer this time, a gentle sigh of light. MJ collapsed onto my chest, panting, human, and gloriously naked. The smell of ozone was replaced by the scent of her shampoo and sex.

We lay there for a long time, just breathing, the dust motes slowly settling in the morning sun filtering through the window.

“I love you, Peter Parker,” she whispered into my skin.

“I love you, Mary Jane Watson,” I said, holding her tight. “Even when you break the sound barrier in our living room.”

She laughed, a warm, human sound. “I think I prefer the diamond form for the bedroom. Less wind chill.”

We both giggled, the absurdity of it all washing over us. We were happy. We were together. And for now, that was enough.

Meanwhile, in the cold, silent void between galaxies, suspended in a regeneration tube aboard a massive warship shaped like a monstrous cuttlefish, a being stirred. A single, massive eye slit open, glowing with malevolent intelligence. On a viewscreen, data scrolled—energy signatures, battle logs from a defeated drone, and a focused scan of a planet called Earth.

Vilgax, Conqueror of Ten Worlds, was awake. And he was very, very interested.

To Be Continued...