Welcome to

The smell of coffee and the faint, rhythmic thud of a heavy bag being pummeled pulled me from sleep. I blinked, stretching an arm across the empty, cool side of the bed. MJ was already up. Not unusual. What was unusual was the sound. That wasn't her yoga playlist.

I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and padded out into the living area, which we’d half-converted into a gym. And then I stopped dead.

There was a stranger in my apartment.

A very, very jacked stranger. Broad shoulders strained against a tight black tank top that was, I realized, just the symbiote in a different form. Powerful quadriceps and defined calves shifted with each explosive movement as they slammed into the heavy bag with a series of punches and kicks that would make Captain America nod in approval.

Then the stranger turned, wiping sweat from a brow with a thick, muscular forearm.

It was MJ’s face—but… not. Her features were sharper, stronger. A strong, square jawline. A shorter, almost buzz-cut style of fiery red hair that accentuated the powerful lines of her neck and skull. She looked like a Olympic-level boxer who’d been carved from marble and then injected with pure, raw power.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said. Her voice was lower, a husky, resonant rumble that vibrated in my chest.

My mouth hung open. “MJ…?”

She grinned, a flash of white teeth in her decidedly more masculine face. “The one and only.” She finished her set, the heavy bag swaying violently. “Just trying something new. The suit… it responds to intent. I was thinking about raw power, about strength training, and it… well, it optimized.”

She flexed an arm, and the biceps and triceps bulged impressively. “Pretty cool, right? I can bench press the couch now. Don’t worry,” she added, seeing my stunned expression, “it’s all surface-level morphology. The important parts are still all woman.” She winked, and the gesture was so utterly MJ in this bizarre new package that I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re incredible,” I breathed, walking over to her. I reached out, tentatively touching her shoulder. The muscle was hard as rock under the slick surface of the symbiote. “So you’re telling me… under all this…” I gestured to her general jacked-ness.

In response, the symbiote-shaped shorts dissolved, revealing that she was, indeed, telling the absolute truth. The fundamental topography was reassuringly, beautifully feminine.

“See?” she said, her low voice softening. “Still me.”

“You didn’t have to prove it,” I said, my own voice rough with a mix of amusement and a strange, new kind of arousal. I cupped her face—this strong, manly jaw—and kissed her.

It was different. Her lips were firmer, her kiss more assertive. But the feeling behind it, the love, was the same river running under a new bridge.

“Is this… okay?” I asked, pulling back slightly. “I mean, with you looking like… this?”

She searched my eyes, her expression suddenly vulnerable. “You don’t… you don’t find it disgusting?”

“MJ,” I said, my heart swelling. I wrapped my arms around her waist, feeling the incredible power coiled there. “I find you. That’s all I ever see. No matter what package you come in.” I kissed her again, deeper this time. “So, yes. It’s more than okay.”

Her worried expression melted into that gorgeous, rugged smile. She pulled me tightly against her powerful frame, her strength immense but carefully controlled. “Face it, Tiger,” she rumbled playfully against my lips. “You just hit the jacked-pot.”

I burst out laughing, and she joined me, her laughter that wonderful low rumble. I lifted her effortlessly—her new weight was nothing to my spider-strength—and carried her back to the bedroom, her powerful legs wrapping around my waist.

What followed was a revelation. Her new form was overwhelmingly strong, yet she was so incredibly gentle. Every touch, every kiss was a testament to her control and her love. I felt surrounded, consumed by her in the best way possible.

As we moved together, a new wave of transformation washed over her. Her skin darkened to a rich espresso hue. Her facial features shifted again, becoming those of a strikingly handsome, powerfully built masculine woman with sharp cheekbones and dark, knowing eyes. Her hair remained short and red, a fiery crown on her head. But her hips flared wider, her backside becoming an even more pronounced, glorious curve.

“Oh wow,” I gasped, my rhythm faltering for a second.

“The suit… it’s experimenting,” she moaned, her voice now a deep, melodic contralto. “It likes how you’re reacting!”

That spurred me on. I drove into her faster, my hands gripping her ample hips, lost in the impossible, shifting reality of the woman I loved.

Then, at the peak of our passion, the form dissolved entirely into a familiar, terrifying, and exhilarating shape. The white spider emblem bloomed across a massive, black chest. Her head became the vast, tooth-filled maw of Venom, the long tongue lolling out.

“WE ARE VENOM!” the creature roared, the voice a chaotic duet of MJ’s tones and a deeper, alien growl.

The shock of it, the raw, primal power, sent us both over the edge together. We climaxed in a torrent of shared sensation, a union of human and symbiote and love that was utterly earth-shattering.

We collapsed, the Venom form receding until it was just MJ again, panting and sweaty in my arms, her buzz cut damp against my cheek.

“Okay,” she breathed after a long moment. “That was a workout.”

I held her close, my heart still hammering. “You’re going to keep me on my toes, aren’t you?”

She nuzzled into my neck. “Always, Peter. Always.”

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TO BE CONTINUED