Spiderman: Venom

MJ's move was a far quieter affair. Since she was handling it alone, Peter offered to lend a hand, silently fuming at Flash and her father for leaving her to manage everything by herself.

"I didn't tell him," MJ confessed as Peter grabbed a box from the taxi that was packed with her belongings.

Peter frowned, but MJ quickly shook her head. "I need my own space, Pete. Somewhere Flash or my dad can't show up and make things worse."

Or you, she thought silently to herself.

Flash had already been livid when she refused his suggestion to move in together. After the prom was canceled, he had tried pressuring her to visit his apartment, making his intentions clear by emphasizing that his dad would be gone all day.

MJ saw right through his plans and had been actively avoiding him, but this only drew her father's attention. The missed calls and texts from Flash on her phone became fodder for her dad to scold her. Heaven forbid she wanted a little privacy. Adding a PIN code to her phone for security only resulted in more arguments, until she relented and handed it over—allowing it to eventually end up in Flash's hands.

Peter noticed the tension on her face. "Hey, it's fine. Nobody gets in without your say-so. Plus, you're renting the home, not the warehouse, so if anyone causes trouble… well, I've got an inside connection with the owner," he said with a playful wink.

MJ chuckled, shaking her head as a small smile broke through.

She had missed this—the lighthearted teasing and Peter's endearing sense of humor. Despite everything he had been through, Peter had a way of making things seem manageable. She admired that about him.

Peter helped her carry the last box—five in total. She paid the taxi driver, who lounged on the hood of his cab as the meter ticked up. With everything in hand, MJ walked up the path and shut the door behind her.

Finally, she was free. Nobody knew where she was, and she intended to keep it that way. Her waitress job was now too far to commute on foot, but finding something closer could wait. Today was about moving in and celebrating this new chapter.

As she set the boxes down on the wooden table, Peter offered her a reassuring smile.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," he said, and MJ felt a burden lift off her shoulders.

Peter grabbed two boxes. "Go ahead, I'll bring these," he said. MJ gave him a puzzled look but carried on into the home she had chosen—right next to Gwen's.

"Ta-da!" Gwen exclaimed, setting off a party popper.

MJ flinched at the loud pop but was immediately captivated by the cozy interior.

The living room featured a couch, two chairs, and a small table. A compact kitchen unit had been set up along one wall, complete with essentials like a kettle, a small fridge, plates, and cutlery neatly arranged in a tray, ready to be stored.

"There's also a bed and linens in your room," Peter said as he set down the boxes. "And a few extras Gwen thought you might appreciate in the bathroom."

Overwhelmed, MJ burst into tears, and Gwen rushed to her side to comfort her.

Peter stood back, understanding the immense relief of having such a heavy weight lifted. "I mean, I get that green isn't everyone's favorite color, but still," he quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

MJ reached out from under Gwen's hug, motioning Peter to join them.

"Thank you," she whispered as Peter wrapped his arms around both women.

Peter left them to unpack. MJ didn't have much—mostly clothing—and he figured she'd prefer some privacy while organizing her things. He returned to the table, sketching designs for a few projects he had in mind.

Gwen emerged from her home, bouncing over to the sitting area with a grin. "Sooo, Petie Pie," she sang. "Where's my deck?" She gestured dramatically at her still-empty outdoor space.

Peter raised an eyebrow and flipped through his notebook until he found the relevant page. "Right here, where it's staying," he said, handing it to her.

"What the hell?" Gwen exclaimed, staring at the cost of the lumber. Pre-made kits were nearly $3,000, and even building it himself would only save about $1,000.

"I, uh… yeah," Gwen mumbled, flopping onto the couch. "I had no idea. So…" She closed the notebook with a grin. "Where's my deck?"

Peter snorted. "Yeah, not happening."

Gwen pouted and batted her eyelashes dramatically. "Pwease?" she asked, leaning forward with her arms crossed to emphasize her chest.

Peter laughed. "And they say feminism is dead."

"It's not dead—I'm an equal opportunist. If my amazing chest gets me a deck, and you get my amazing chest, then that's fair trade," she retorted, sticking out her tongue.

"Oh, so you think—"

Gwen cut him off with a pointed cough. "If you finish that thought, you'd better tread very carefully."

Peter chuckled. "If you think I'm building a deck just for your chest, there's a lot more Stacy I'd need to factor into the equation."

Gwen smirked. "Oh, so now I'm just a pound of meat for you to measure and bargain over? Tut tut, Pete. And here I thought you were a modern man—sensitive and enlightened."

"You're the one who's sensitive when I touch her feelings," Peter shot back, earning a playful smack on the arm.

"Fine," Gwen conceded. "But if you move my washer-dryer, I'll let you build the deck."

Peter flipped to another page in his notebook and handed it to her. The plan was simple: he'd use leftover wood to construct a small shed at the end of the building. Gwen's washer-dryer and a kitchen counter would be installed there, with a clothesline strung outside for drying.

Gwen nodded. "I can live with that. But, you know, it's kinda boring."

"It's a washroom, Gwen. It's supposed to be boring."

Gwen slid onto the arm of Peter's chair, leaning down. "No, I mean I thought you'd put up more of a fight." As she leaned closer, Peter noticed she wasn't wearing a bra under her shirt. "I thought I'd have to negotiate with cuddles and kisses."

Peter slipped a hand under her shirt, resting it at her waist. "MJ's twenty feet away. Cuddles and kisses are on hold until she's settled in." He gave her side a gentle pinch. "Behave."

"Oh, by the way, why doesn't my phone work?" Gwen asked, tapping repeatedly on a text message that refused to send.

Peter sighed. "The previous owners of this place installed a signal blocker. I think it's somewhere in the sewers, so…" He let the sentence trail off, avoiding the full truth. Explaining his abilities to Gwen and MJ wasn't something he was ready to do just yet.

Gwen groaned. "So, what? I have to go outside to send a message?"

Peter shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket. "Nope. Here." He tapped his phone to hers, initiating a file transfer, and set up an app. "I wrote this program to bypass the blocker. No way I'm crawling down there to fix it."

He pointed toward the sewer grate outside the front door. It looked large enough to make his explanation plausible, though no one would expect him to actually go down there.

"You should probably let MJ know, too. Oh, and we do have Wi-Fi, right?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Check your phone. You've got bars, don't you?"

Gwen glanced at her screen, grinned, and shrugged.

Peter lazily stood up from the couch, slid his notebook back into the drawer labeled with his name, and walked over to MJ's door. Knocking softly, he called out, "Hey, MJ. Forgot something—can I come in?"

The door cracked open, and MJ's red, tear-streaked face peeked out.

"If this is a bad time…" Peter began, but MJ pulled the door open and gestured him inside.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, curling up on the couch with her legs tucked close to her chest. "So, what's up?"

"Oh, your phone won't work until I give you access. The last owners installed a signal blocker," Peter explained.

MJ sighed and handed him her phone. "Go ahead."

Peter installed the program, and her phone immediately lit up with a flood of notifications and messages.

Before he could hand it back, the screen displayed her texts:

Where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

Getting tired, MJ. Where the hell are you?

Answer your phone.

Missed call: 9:14 AM

Missed call: 9:24 AM

Missed call: 9:34 AM

Fucking answer your phone.

MJ quickly snatched the phone before he could read more.

"You're safe here, MJ," Peter said gently.

MJ stared at her screen, scrolling through the messages and deleting them. "I… I still have to deal with this, though."

"And Gwen and I are here for you. If Flash shows up, call the police. This is your home now, not his. He can't come in unless you let him."

"Pete, can I ask you something?" MJ's voice wavered as she continued deleting the messages.

"Of course. Go ahead."

"If I'd asked you out, what would you have said?"

Peter hesitated, shaking his head. "MJ, you can't… Gwen and I are together. Even if—" He stopped himself, closing his eyes briefly. "You were my best friend. My only friend. You stood by me when no one else did. I…" He looked at her, his voice soft but firm. "You mean more to me than I can say, but you left. Flash pulled you away, and what happened, happened."

Peter stood and walked to the door. "Even if I said yes now, I wouldn't hurt Gwen—or you. This is your home, MJ. No pressure, no expectations. No one can demand anything from you here."

Halfway through the door, Peter turned back with a small grin. "Except rent. I kind of need the rent."

He shut the door quickly, smirking as he heard a pillow thump against it.

Yeah, she'll be fine, Peter thought. And anyone who messes with her won't be. With a faint smile, he made his way back to Gwen.