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Spectacular Spider-man Seasons 3, 4 and 5	By : redsliver Category: Marvel Verse Cartoons > Spectacular Spiderman, The Views: 23578 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel, The Spectacular Spider-man or any of the characters within. This is written not for profit and purely for entertainment. May contain traces of wheat germ.

Chapter List
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Hobie Brown volunteered at the Lincoln Dynamic Youth Center. He loved it. He loved working with the kids, he loved organizing and participating in their events, and he loved making a visible difference. The Lincoln Dynamic Youth Center kept kids out of gangs, off the streets, away from drug dealers and in touch with people who cared and listened. The Lincoln Dynamic Youth Center was doomed. It was ironic and sickening. The philanthropic act by the world's greatest criminal boss was to keep kids away from lives of crime. Tombstone's mask was shattered. The world new L Thompson Lincoln was the Big Man of Crime. The ATF, FBI, NSA and a half dozen other acronyms were watching him like a hawk. His assets were frozen, much of it seized. Putting him away would topple a criminal empire from the head, it'd be a great headline and everyone would celebrate. Everyone but the volunteers at the Lincoln Dynamic Youth Center and the 340 kids who needed the place. No more funding. Rent, power bills, cable bills, equipment costs, food costs. They only had til the end of September. You can only have so many bake sales, car washes and fun runs with underprivileged kids. The bills were just too high.

“It's not fair!” Hobie complained to Glory one of the other volunteers.

“I know Hobie,” Glory gripped Hobie on the shoulder, “The best we can do is our best. Help who we can help while we can help them.”

“The streets are crazy! We've been losing kids in dribs and drabs since the Goblin and--”

“I know you're worried, Hobie. But if you care that much, know you will make a difference.”

Hobie deflated. While the Youth Center stood, there was still work to do. Glory handed Hobie a mop. He turned and entered the front door.

Steven Levins left Rikers with an unenthusiastic slouch. He didn't have very much. There were seventeen dollars in his pocket along with the three condoms and two cigarettes. He was wearing the clothes he had been arrested in: a grungy green shirt, a pair of baggy black jeans, dilapidated running shoes and unwashed socks. The pumpkin mask had been confiscated as evidence. He pushed up the glasses that were slipping down his nose. The only thing he had ever gotten from his father was a name and from his mother he had his Korean heritage and some valuable life lessons. He had flushed those down the toilet by his third stint in juvenile detention. Steve was feeling pretty pissed off.

Prison hadn't been kind to Levins. He had been a guarded and cautious crook, until he had become the first of Goblin's pumpkin-headed army. Then he had been locked away in an island fortress with dozens of guys still loyal to the Big Man. His turned coat had cost Levins his cool head and three broken ribs. He was low man on all totem poles. The one chance he had to climb out from under heel earned him a kick in the face from the goddamned Spider-man. Now he was out. Five and a half months, two weeks early parole. The Big Man was down. Silvermane had no teeth. Goblin had died on his own bombs. The city was just waiting for her King.

He was walking across the bridge to Queens. Anger flooded his thoughts because neither his buddy nor his girlfriend had bothered to come get him. The wind off the East River knew spring was just around the corner and was doing its damnedest to get in what winter in it could. He was determined to spend his money on what he had been craving for his entire incarceration: the greasiest cheeseburger he could find. It was a long walk home.

The bus rides cut into his pocket change but Steven finally made it to the Bronx. It was just after eleven am and the sun was making the weather almost tolerable. Teeth chattering, he pushed into the dive he knew his buddies lived at. It had been some time, he'd been jailed since October, his two accomplices getting several hundred hours of community service. The Goblin made me do it! Please! I'm so sorry! Defense only seemed to work for young women with fake tears and goons whose fathers could afford actual lawyers. He was about to announce his entrance, as he pushed into apartment 6 but the sound he was greeted by shut his jaw tight.

She held her own ankle with whitened knuckles. She had torn one of the pigtails out of her red and black hair. She was still wearing her sleeves and dress. The hem was hiked up and bunched up over the tops of her tits. A pair of jeans still hung off her left leg. Steven's best friend plowed his girl. He was the one making noise, a gruff furious grunt, and sharp words that told the girl just how much she liked it. Steven closed the door behind him with a slam.

The girl jumped and his friend looked over his shoulder reaching for the piece in the track pants around his ankles. She covered up, crossing her legs over her sloppy red sex, his friend just waved his cock around as he recognized his old buddy.

“Steve! You're out!”

“You knew damned well I was out today,” His eyes ignored the girl as she scrambled to get dressed and decent. “I had to walk from Rykers!”

He looked around at the sty of the studio apartment. The ratty green couch was still there. The battered plaster was still picked away from the red brick walls. The rest was changed. His friend's bed, which had been more of wire and spring cot under a soiled mattress, had been replaced with an unmade king-sized bed. The sheets were pulled off at the right shoulder. The pillows mostly tore up from friction with the chainlink headboard. The handcuffs hanging from the wires told an interesting story. Their old TV, a shitty sixteen inch plasma with more dead pixels than screen had been replaced by a giant fifty two inch hi-definition flat screen with a massive sound system all around the room. The floor was still unswept but the moth eaten rug was gone. A pair of six hundred dollar spike heeled boots were kicked off in its place. Poster's of hot punk looking chicks with guitars and bare breasts adorned the walls. An interesting compromise between the two tenants. The desk, where they usually kept schematics and blueprints for their next job now had a massive gaming PC. Steven looked back to the friends. The girl was dressed again, shoving out her jaw uncompromisingly. Her eyes were full of fear. His buddy was adjusting his pants, making sure his hand cannon of a pistol didn't fall down his ass crack.

“Where's the money coming from?” Steven kept an unimpressed icy glare in reserve for the chick and directed himself at the guy.

“Goblin--” The girl immediately began but the man shut her down.

“Dude, you're on parole,” The guy said in a strong and steady tone. “You can't get too close yet. We'll cut you in once you've got a routine you can fake well enough that.”

Steven punched his friend in the face. He bulked up almost fifteen pounds in prison. He had been in shape beforehand, but now he was intimidating. The little fat he had was burned away in favor of slender, stiff, wiry muscle. He wasn't too much bigger, except around the chest, but he was stronger. The friend had been expecting the blow and had braced for it pretty well. He staggered back a step and collapsed as his senses rebooted with a quick flicker. The gun at his back hit the floor first and he grunted in pain as his piece forced the entire fall onto his tailbone.

“You fuck my girl. You leave me to rot. You find yourself rolling in green and I'm going to back off and wait until you're ready to give me a chance?” Steven sounded very calm but the girl could tell otherwise. His friend had known Levins since the third grade. He was thinking of grabbing his gun. “Where's the money coming from?”

“We were working for the Goblin!” The girl shouted, ignoring the bloodshot look of death from the man on the floor. “Spider-man attacked when we were moving a truck for the Goblin. He,” She indicated the man on the floor, “Managed to get away from the docks without being webbed up for the cops. He stashed away an eighteen wheeler of the Goblin's arsenal. Spider-man had been pounding every crew of pumpkinheads he could find. We figured it was time to get out of the game. The money we got was from selling off Gobby-tech to other gangs.”

“What's left?” Steven turned his gaze on the girl. Her motormouth picked up speed.

“A little over half the truck. Two big things, several cannons. Couple drums of gobweb and all of the pumpkin bombs.” She took a panicked breath. Her cough made him smile.

“We're not selling anymore.” Steven turned to where his friend was considering whether standing on his own two feet was smart. “We're taking over this city.”

Peter Parker signed off his email. He had just sent the gala pictures into the Bugle. On screen were the many shots he had gathered of Spidey vs Cat. He was appalled, giddy and very very sore. An hour ago he had lost his virginity. He had memory stick full of photos to prove it. The distance had left a little to be desired, but the new camera he had purchased had so much detail he could count the freckles on Cat's left breast. Two. Peter began with the photos at the gargoyle, cropping and clipping so he had the best of the best. Twice he alt-tabbed over to the more adult sets. His scratches itched as they healed.

The self-satisfied smirk on his face battled his uncertainty. What did this mean? What did Cat want? It couldn't be love, they had left their masks on. Could it be love? He never felt for Cat what he felt for Gwen. He never felt for Cat what he continued to feel for Liz. The Black Cat was the most beautiful woman Peter Parker had ever laid eyes on.

The scratches all over his body stung. He had washed them out in the shower, but they had already scabbed and begun to heal by the time he had swung into Forest Hills. That trip home had been painful. His wounds had kept reopening from the tension in his arms. He must have misted an entire street with a trail of his blood. His spider suit was in rags, he had two spares, but the thermals he had worn underneath were going to be hard to replace.

Money. There'd be some for the photos he had taken with Ned but choice Spider-man pics paid the best. He scrolled back, out of the pictures that showed off Cat's glorious body and into the precursors where Spider-man was taking a beating from the Cat. Jameson did pay more for photos of the webhead's defeats. He knew he could make money hand over fist with the pornographic ones. There were too many reasons why that wasn't an option. Cat didn't know she was being photographed. Peter was unable to take advantage of any woman like that. Also, his aunt's heart would break if Peter became some shameless pornographer. There were legal reasons too. The boy in those pictures wasn't eighteen. How old was Cat? She was a real woman anyways, and totally hot. Maybe he should stop being so proud of himself?

Uncertain and confused, Peter winced as he pulled his undershirt on over his wounds. It ended up on the floor before he could get his elbow's through the holes. He fell backward onto his bed. Well, Peter, He thought to himself, It has never felt so good to be hurt so badly.

Steven and his two friends arrived at the stashed semi truck. The girl was wrapped up in an expensive fur lined winter coat. His buddy was still in his old rough and tumble wear. Steven's windbreaker was little use against the cold. He stomped his feet as his friend opened up the back doors. There were lights along the ceiling and the girl walked around to the cab to turn them on. The arsenal was big. Sixteen munitions crates of pumpkin bombs were on the left. Six of seven gun racks were empty. They stood behind four boxes of magazines and rounds. The drums of Gobweb were labeled with dozens of frightening labels. Steven climbed up and walked around checking on the things they had. At the back, there was the parts to the flying machines Goblin had outfitted his Gobsquad with. Two inhibitor cannons were in a green steel crate.

“I'm going to need our old B&E gear,” Levins declared coming back out. His friend was fidgety, thinking about the gun in his belt, “Plus a decent toolbox.” He had one of the Tri-Corp rifles over his shoulder. A magazine full of spiked munitions balls was jammed into the breach. “We'll take your car.”

“Steve,” The friend pleaded, “We've got a great thing going. We can make a killing with this. Enough money to keep us living like kings for years. We start using this shit and we'll have cops crawling up our asses until we're either dead or in prison.”

“And then we run out of money, and we fall back into the same piss-ant, petty theft, knee-breaking bullshit squalor we've been stuffed in for three years.” Steven sneered, “There's only one way to get respect in this city anymore. You need a costume and ambition. Adrian Goddamn Toomes was respected in the joint. The bloody vulture was a myopic old bat without a success to his name. Fight the Spider, live forever. Someone's got to pick up what the Goblin left for us. We're going to the top. And the only way there is through Spider-man.”

“What? Spider-man! You're fucking crazy. No, I'm taking--” The laziness with which Steven dropped the gun and fired was written across his face. His friend's voice rattled as he fell over with a wound in his chest. The girl watched on, all color drained from her face. Steven turned to her and said, “Get the car. I'll take care of him.” She nodded as Steven threw his buddy's body into the truck. A box of pumpkin bombs was dumped and he shoved the corpse into crate. The buckles closed and he stepped out to where the shell shocked girl was driving the car. He was wearing his friend's coat, the zipper still slick with blood, but it had been opened and dirty wasn't damaged in this cold weather.

“We'll need to pick up some cleaning supplies too.” Levins said as he closed the semi's doors.

“Mr Gargan to see you Mr Jameson,” Betty spoke in to the intercom as the private detective ogled her. He made her skin crawl, but she did her job and sent him in to speak with her boss.

“Much obliged, young lady,” He tipped his imaginary hat to Betty and walked in through the frosted glass doors to J. Jonah Jameson's office.

Robbie Robertson was standing behind his boss's chair to the right. They were sorting through Peter's latest pictures for the next scoop. Jameson had too excellent shots that both showed off Black Cat and diminished Spider-man. Robbie had talked him out of the headline: Trouble In Paradise.

“There you are you layabout!” Jonah put down his pictures and looked up at Mac Gargan. “I sent you after that Parker kid 7.3 weeks ago and I expect results.”

“Uh, actually you hired me last Thursday and--”

“I want results Gargan! Not excuses.” Jameson growled. “He clearly went after the webhead.”

“He, uh, left the gala with the Osborn kid and their girls,” Robbie narrowed his eyes at Gargan's tone and body language, “They were at a fast food joint. All of the sudden, the police fly by and he's off on foot after them. I followed, but lost him around two alleys.”

“You lost him? One high school kid on foot?” Jameson's anger was outweighed by his disappointment.

“He's a fast runner and he's much smaller. The street was full of people.” Gargan floundered.

“Enough of your excuses!” Jameson stood up and slammed his hands on the desk. “You want your next paycheck? You find out how that Parker kid is getting these Spidey pictures. Until then, I don't want to see your degenerate face in my office. I don't want to see you in my town! Get out! Get out!”

Gargan slipped off. Jameson sat down but didn't calm down. Robbie couldn't stay silent. “Jonah, we've got a half dozen capable investigative journalists. If you want this story why not put one of them on it and not some hack P.I.?”

“Parker knows our staff,” Jonah scowled, “He's bound to notice if a familiar face is tailing him. No, I'll leave it to Gargan for now.” He picked up a picture of Black Cat kicking Spider-man across the jaw. “Run this one.”

Spring Break brought visions of morally suspect college girls in sandy places getting more liquor and even more regrets. Spring break from Midtown happened from just before St Paddy's day through the beginning of spring. Harry took Gwen with him down to one of those tropical Gomorrahs. It was a let's-get-away-and-try-to-have-a-moment-to-ourselves-trip with his mother. Peter wondered how George had allowed that to happen. No Pete! Harry's in a bad place right now. He needs Gwen. Besides it's not like he's going to go Spider-man on Black Cat the moment they're out of sight, now is it? Visions of Gwen in Black Cat's catsuit caused his web swinging path to take a more erratic path than his usual smooth flight. Black Cat. That's why he was out tonight. The third night in a row hunting pussy. Hunting Black Cat. He swung by their usual hangout. The gargoyle was empty. Than he just followed his gut making random swings around the city. His camera had a handful of new Spidey pics and the NYPD had a dozen or so web-wrapped presents waiting for them on assorted lampposts and fire escapes. Another bust night. It was only 9:30 but he decided to make his way home.

What the hell? Peter was panicked to see his bedroom light on when he landed in the denuded tree in his back yard. Worse. There was a fiery redhead in his room! What now MJ? And why was she wearing the top to his spare Spider-man costume? Peter than noticed that nothing covered her legs. Eyes up top, Peter! What am I going to do? He quickly swung out of sight to think.

It was about ten minutes later, dressed in his civilian threads, that Peter walked into his home with a half ton of icy butterflies in his stomach.

“Hello, Peter,” Aunt May muted the flamboyant television chef she was watching. “Mary Jane came by, I let her go up to your room.” Aunt May's smile suggested that Peter's secret was still sequestered to his room.

“Uh, what did she want?” Peter delayed a moment.

“Well, you'll have to ask her dear,” May smiled, in a little too knowing way. Peter suppressed a shudder as his overactive imagination recalled Black Cat's costume that time. “There's a plate of chocolate chip cookies cooling next to the stove. Why don't you bring those up to her?”

“Uh, sure, Aunt May,” Peter took the opportunity to go to the kitchen and grab the plate of cookies. They were still oven hot. Peter delayed the length of time it took to eat two cookies and drink one glass of milk. His death march upstairs was accompanied by his mental rendition of the Imperial March because it was close to the funeral dirge he was trying to think of but couldn't quite recall. He took a deep breath. He caught himself before he knocked on his own door. He walked in.

MJ jumped when he opened the door. She then caught her breath and gave Peter a stunning smile. Peter quickly closed the door behind her. The cookies he set down on the edge of his desk.

“Oh, Hey Pete,” MJ seemed oblivious to the fact that she was dressed in Peter's Spider-man uniform. She actually wasn't naked from the waist down. She had on a short skirt and socks. “I was hoping you can do me a favor.”

Not like I can say no now that you know MJ. Peter's heart sank, Well at least you're a good looking blackmailer.

“Oh, um, sorry I looked in your closet,” MJ said following Peter's eyes to her chest. “But if you want to come over to my place and put on my hot vampire dress, we'll call it even.”

Peter laughed, relief flooding. Wearing his own costume at the Halloween carnival had been done out of laziness. It had saved his secret identity twice now.

“I think I'll take a pass on that, Red,” Peter said collapsing into his office chair and grabbing a cookie, “What do you need?”

“Excellent!” MJ's green eyes lit up and her smile seemed less leonine and more genuine. She grabbed her own cookie. “I went down to Kingsley's talent offices today...”

Mary Jane Watson was doing her best to sit quietly and wait in the hard office chairs. The old woman at reception said they were busy but would get her in shortly. That had been at 9 am. It was closer to 11 now. She was looking her best, Aunt Anna had helped with her makeup. Her eyes looked stunning, her lips were hypnotic. Her hair was still straight, but it framed her face perfectly. She wore her best fashions. Her legs were in knee-high leather boots with small heels. The black of the boots contrasted the pale white of her thighs. Her skirt was ruffled, and had cost so much that her father had gone ballistic when he had discovered that she had bought it. She was wearing a smart white blouse, trying to look good and professional, under a soft pink sweater that accentuated both femininity and girlishness. Every man she had passed that morning had looked a third time. She had felt unstoppable, now she just felt bored. Her manicured nails drummed upon Lily Hollister's face. The Magazines here showed off the models but were staffed with hackneyed writers. MJ had run out of interesting reading material some time ago. She looked up at the old receptionist. Good things come to those who wait. She told herself for the umpteenth time. Fortune favors the bold, she countered, loud enough to listen to this time.

“Excuse me,” MJ smiled prettily for the old woman and kept her voice pleasant, “I was hoping you could tell me if I would be seeing anyone anytime soon.”

“It won't be long now,” The woman said, not looking up from the Daily Bugle's crossword.

“Spider-man,” MJ said.

“Excuse me?” The woman raised her face.

“Twenty-nine across.” MJ pointed, “The biggest threat to New York today. It has to be Spider-man.”

“Spider-man's a hero, darling,” The woman said, in a polite condescending tone.

“Well seeing the headline on the front page is 'Webbed Murderer Is The Biggest Threat In New York'. I figured the Daily Bugle might be carrying some sort of grudge.” The receptionist unfolded her paper and looked. She took a second look at Mary.

“You certainly got the face for the gig, darling. But there are better places to take that brain of yours.”

“Ha,” MJ was warming up to this old woman, “Maybe, but I can't just overstep an opportunity when it's laid at my feet.”

“How do you mean?”

“Mr Kingsley told me to come down.” MJ picked his business card out of her purse and laid it on the table.

“Really?” The woman's face turned a little cold.

“And Ms. Hollister said she'd vouch for me.”

“You could have named dropped their interest earlier,” The receptionist looking up.

“I was hoping I wouldn't have to,” MJ admitted, “I like getting things done on my own merits.”

“But now...”

“I'm not so proud as to ignore help when it's offered.” Mary declared, “And I had them back pocket for when I hit an obstacle.”

“Way too smart for this circus,” Laughed the woman at the table. “I'll go back and scare you up somebody.”

“Thank you,” MJ smiled warmly. Mary took her seat once again as the receptionist phoned back. After a heated, but civilly volumed, argument. The receptionist flashed MJ a one sec gesture and went through the green doors to the back offices. It was about five minutes when she reappeared and held open the door for MJ. The redhead smiled her thanks. “Give 'em hell,” prodded the receptionist.

The back room was five offices and a picture studio. Earlier she had learned she was to look for a woman name Vaughn-Pope. The office was one of the two on the left, the big ones. MJ knocked, and was given a terse “Come in.”

“Hello,” MJ stepped into the office looking at the blonde behind the desk. “My name is Mary Jane Watson. I--”

“Am here for a modeling job,” Vaughn-Pope nodded, “Of course.” She was an attractive woman of perhaps thirty years of age. Tall and very fit. She was dressed in a smart and feminine suit. Black jacket over a lavender blouse and a long black pencil skirt. She had several dossiers heaped haphazardly on her mahogany desk. A vase of flowers was opposite her computer monitor. The bookshelves lining the far wall were filled with steel binders and chemistry textbooks. MJ pulled out one of the blue arm chairs and Ms. Vaughn-Pope indicated MJ could sit down.

“May I see your portfolio?” There was a tired feeling in the woman's voice. She skipped all pleasantness, neither introducing herself or providing MJ with her full attention.

“Portfolio?” MJ asked surprised. The sigh Vaughn-Pope gave was old hat.

“The pictures you've done to show that you photograph well. Usually from your previous experience.”

“I've never modeled before,” MJ explained.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“That's fine,” Vaughn-Pope's voice took on an even more condescending property. “To work for me.” She stopped herself. There was a harder edge in her voice when she continued, “To work for Mr Kingsley, you'll have to prove yourself. Get a professionally done picture set done. You should be photographed in several different outfits. A few shots in lingerie or swimwear would certainly help. We want to see everything: hands, eyes, shoulders, legs, cleavage. You'll want to be shot from all angles.”

“Can't we just give it a try in the studio?” MJ suggested, “I'm willing to try right now if you'll let me.”

“We can, but I'm going to ask that you pay the photographer for his time.” Vaughn-Pope reclined and looked over the girl in front of her, “We pay our photographers very well and if we just gave every girl off the street a free session, we'd be out a lot of time and money.”

“I'm not really off the street,” MJ responded, “Mr Kingsley suggested I come down.”

“And if he had sent word to expect a teenaged redhead I could make exceptions,” Vaughn-Pope clearly did not like Roderick Kingsley. “But for now I must ask that you bring in a portfolio.”

“How much will it cost?” MJ was feeling defeated.

“For one of our boys, you're probably, looking at around six hundred dollars and two hours of your time.” The older woman responded. “You're welcome to use someone else, but it'd help if the photographer was known. There are a lot of professionals out there who shouldn't even shoot a wedding.”

“I do know one great photographer,” MJ's lips turned into a smile for the first time since Vaughn-Pope had ripped the one MJ had carried in from the receptionist off her face. “Peter Parker.”

“Really?” Vaughn-Pope did not know the name, “And who does Peter Parker shoot?”

“Spider-man.” MJ declared triumphantly.

“So you're saying I get six hundred dollars?” Peter took another cookie as MJ finished her story.

“You know I can't afford that, tiger,” MJ laughed, “But I really need your help if I'm going to get anywhere with Ms. Desiree Vaughn-Pope.”

“Well your certainly prettier than Spider-man,” Peter looked MJ up and down with affected lecherousness. “But I wouldn't want him getting all jealous.”

“Ah, poor Spidey,” MJ condescended, “But there's plenty of Peter to go around.”

“Well...” Peter delayed a moment longer. It's not like he'd say no but he just liked the attention MJ was giving him. Plus she filled out that Spider-shirt in ways that aroused, confused and embarrassed Peter.

“I'll owe you so much forever. Please! Please! Please!” MJ fell to her knees in front of Peter. Her soft hands were cold around his. Peter could do little to stymie his imagination.

“OK, OK, fine.” Peter couldn't help but smirk as he pulled MJ up onto her feet. “Just take off my Spider-man shirt before Aunt May comes in and I have to explain this.”

“What? Don't I look good in it?” MJ laughed twirling for Peter. The shirt was taut around her chest but hung away from her slender waist. She was just taller than Peter so it lifted and showed a thin circle of skin above her waist.

“You look great. Now take it off.” Peter pleaded.

“In a hurry, tiger?” MJ teased, but she acceded. The spider-top came up and off her torso before she threw it at Peter's closet door. She was wearing a lacy green bra but no shirt. May knocked.

“Just a second Aunt May!” Panicked Peter, MJ strode to the windowsill were her previously unseen t-shirt was waiting. May didn't take her usual time waiting for Peter. The girl in the room had unbalanced the equation. Peter blushed and felt his tongue swell up when May watched MJ rush into her top from the doorway. There was a stern look on May's face but the twitch in her lip suggested she was hiding a smile.

“Mary Jane, do you mind heading home?” She asked sweetly, “I have to have a talk with my nephew.”

“Of course,” MJ was as red as her hair, “I'll see you tomorrow, Pete?”

If I'm ever allowed to see the light of day again, Peter thought worrying about being grounded. “Sure, MJ, good night.”

“Good night, May.” MJ left the room and hurried out the front door. May walked across the room and sat down on Peter's bed. Peter took his computer and sat across from her. The quiet and waiting was killing him. It was barely a full minute but it felt like a decade.

“Mary Jane is a great girl and I am very happy you found someone you like.” May began, “I was your age myself. I know how important love and even heartbreak is to growing up. You've always had a good head on your shoulders, Peter. I trust you.”

“Thanks, Aunt May,” Peter said, this talk wasn't going like he had expected. Ben had handled all this before and he had been comedic but serious. May was sentimental.

“I expect you won't go rushing into things that will get you or anyone else hurt,” She said to Spider-man. Peter slumped, “I know teenagers will find away to have sex. If you really care for the girl, I won't be disappointed. Both of you better be certain you're ready and you had better use protection. I love being Aunt May, I'm not ready to be anyone's Great Aunt May.”

“Of course, I promise Aunt May,” There was no real opportunity to explain that things weren't what they looked like. It was a promise he could keep, he was glad he had made it after the incident with Cat. Peter hadn't been ready for that.

“Well, good,” She smiled and squeezed Peter's hand, “I'm going to have myself the last cookie and get myself to bed. I love you Peter.”

“I love you too, Aunt May,” Peter handed May the plate, “Good night.”

Levins laughed as he kicked the second munitions crate into the East River. He was set. The truck was just up the street and he was outfitted with his gear. He had collected some excellent working materials with what his ex-girlfriend could afford. No sense in getting busted for stealing a power drill before he could get the suit ready. Gaxton and a few of his old contacts had put him in possession of some old police riot gear. His torso, crotch and shins were armored over his green coveralls. Steel-toed boots and weaponized gauntlets capped the ensemble. The motorcycle helmet under his arm had been custom scrolled and painted to look like a Jack O'Lantern. The perforated copper tubes and the second layer of insulation were his own design.

Levins may not have been a great scientist or engineer, but he had always been handy with a welding torch and toolshed chemistry. He was mostly a second story man, a burglar. There was no real money in violence, so he had been slow to use it. Rykers had taught him better. Violence got you respect and fear. Respect and fear got you power and control. If you couldn't make a profit with power and control there was plenty of room left in the river. Giggling and bouncing with nervous energy, he put on the helmet and connected the copper to the reservoirs on his shoulders. He used his girl's pink cigarette lighter to set the fire. The flames rolled up his helmet like a Satan's crown. New York had its new king.

High school break did not coincide with ESU. Peter was on his way to Anna Watson's, dead tired after an eight hour shift at the lab. He had not realized how much Gwen did at the laboratory compared to him. She was off with Harry and Peter smelled of ammonia and stronger cleaners. His feet were killing him, he was looking forward to the leisurely swing home.

Peter healed faster than most but not immediately. The cat scratches on his torso pulled and tugged at him, reminding him about his encounter with the feline fatale. He must have played the scene over his head a half dozen times. He certainly perused the pictures every chance he had. He really wanted to talk to Cat. He did not have the chance to that night. The meeting before that she had said she would never forgive him. Peter was so lost in his own thoughts he almost missed the explosion. The shrieking pumpkin explosion. Suddenly, the cold cut through his thermals. White as a sheet under the red and blue, Peter looked to the green cloud and whispered: “Goblin?”

Laughing above the Bridge was a flame cloaked villain. He had a cannon on his shoulders and he was riding a glider. Only not quite. The glider was round, like a disc not streamlined like a fighter plane. It moved in spits and starts, kicking off of the asphalt or the railings. Riding its way up the suspension wires before jumping across. The cannon fired again, the ghastly scream and green blast shattered in the windshield of a Sonata. People were abandoning their cars. Panic struck.

“Oh, great, some Gobby-wannabe.” Spider-man swung in along the bridge. “But where'd he get the bombs?”

Another two shots and two more cars burst in shattered glass and wrenching steel. There were injured people below. Spider-man landed on the suspension wire across from the man in flames. “Hey Pumpkinhead!” He shouted getting the attention of the flaming Jack O'Lantern. “Halloween's more of an October thing.”

“Spider-man!” Laughed the man on the disc. It bounced and twisted with the movement of his feet. He couldn't keep it aloft for long but he seemed very good at moving how he wanted. “Just the hero I was looking for.”

“Well you were playing my song,” Spider-man thwipped across the bridge to get closer to the madman, “And I love to dance.” Three spits of his cannon and Spider-man easily dodged the bombs. They exploded harmlessly over the river. Spider-man took the opportunity to dive at the villain, aiming to put his shoulder into a scale armored chest and take the baddie down to the ground. His spider-sense kicked up like a rocket and it was all Peter could do to send a web straight down and pull him under and away from the geyser of bright white fire that shot just behind his butt.

“Yeow! Jack!” Spider-man twisted and turned, landing neatly on the roof of an abandoned electrical truck. He cartwheeled off and across a Mazda as the next pumpkin shrieked its explosion. The truck's roof was slag and shards. “Those toys are for the adults, Gobby Jr!”

A shot of webbing covered the mouth of the cannon, as the Jack O'Lantern skated down the far end of the bridge. Balls of fire chased Peter under and through the bridge's suspensions lines. He arced up and over aiming himself for a sharp double booted kick through Jack's chest. Jack had used the time to burn the webs off the mouth of his cannon. He fired six times, away from Spider-man towards the fleeing crowds. Spider-man had to twist and web to grab the projectiles, slamming them into each other. Causing shrieking green fire works above the bridge. Jack bounded across traffic and up one of the bridge's two arcs. He laughed as he sent bomb and fire at the webhead.

“And now for the main event!” Jack skidded to the center of the bridge's first arch. He had dropped his shoulder cannon. In both hands, he held pumpkin bombs, big ones. He lobbed them down below the bridge. There was a steel tanker truck below.

“No!” Shouted Spider-man. “His spidey sense had rocketed from tingles up to rattles as he swung on one line and shot web balls at the bombs hoping to dissuade them from landing on the... milk truck? His spidey-sense had said it was an oil tanker. The bombs burst and the steel ripped; Peter was harmlessly splashed by fountains of cream. His spidey-sense didn't change and he looked to Jack as he swung under the arch. Dozens of pumpkins had been hanging just under the arch and now they fell atop Spider-man. Peter cursed as Jack's flamethrowers caught the bombs and the bridge was awash in green smoke, high pitched shrieks and explosive force.

Laughing the Jack O'Lantern rode away on his bouncing glider.

Why do pumpkin bombs always come in hundred sets? Peter Parker rolled battered but not beaten from under a station wagon. All around him was twisted metal. The Jack O'Lantern was gone. I wish I collected stamps instead of super criminal villains. Then I'd only have to worry about constant near fatal beatings from Flash Thompson.

Peter looked around. Jack had left him with two choices: search and destroy or search and rescue. He began pulling open car doors and roofs.

“I'm sure Peter will be home any minute. He called when he left ESU,” May Parker smiled as she opened the door for Mary Jane Watson. The young woman was dressed a bit more conservatively that she usually did. Her skirt actually reached her knees. May took Mary's winter coat. MJ wore a warm fleece hoodie and her usual leather boots.

“Oh,” MJ had hoped to avoid any weird moments with May. The redhead swallowed her nervousness and asked: “Pete told you what happened last night?”

“Don't worry about it Mary Jane,” May led the girl through the living room, “Peter and I had a good talk.”

“Oh, good, I didn't want you to think I was that kind of girl.” MJ sighed, “Funny, I don't usually care what people think of me.”

“You always care, dear,” May smiled and offered MJ a cup of coffee, “You're just one of the few sensible girls able to realize which opinions actually matter to you.”

“Well you and Aunt Anna are the ones that seem to matter to me.” Mary sipped her coffee. She preferred less cream and more sugar.

“Why thank you, dear,” May drank her own coffee, “But you don't have to worry about me or Anna. She's family and you swept me off my feet months ago.”

MJ laughed at that and sipped her coffee. “I'm glad to know you and Peter. I don't know how I'm going to pay him back for all his help.”

“What help?” May raised her eyebrow quizzically.

“For the modeling job. He's helping me shoot my portfolio.” Mary Jane explained. “I thought you said you and he talked.”

“About the half naked girl in his room.” May's smile tempered the flush in MJ's cheeks. “Tell me about the modeling.”

“Hi Aunt May, I'm home!” Peter sighed exhausted as he walked through the front door of his home. He had been helping on the bridge for almost an hour. Up until the police finally were able to turn their attention from the wreckage and towards the spider. It was a fortunate exit. Had he waited any longer and his webbing would have dissolved and dropped his camera into the river. He entered his home with a hunch, prepared to march up to his bed and fall face first into a nap.

“MJ's been waiting up in your room for forty-five minutes now. Where have you been?”

“There was an incident at the bridge, so I took some pictures.” Peter waved. “It was pretty busy so I never had the chance to call in.”

“Well, you promised this girl your best work,” May looked back down to her novel, “And I'm sure it'll be much more relaxing taking pictures of her than of Spider-man.”

Peter's mind clicked on: The modeling pictures! The fight with Jack had completely wiped his memory. May ineffectually asked him not to run in the house as he vaulted up the stairs. Second door on the left and Peter skidded into his room on sock feet. Mary Jane Watson nearly jumped out of her skin, but only made it to her feet. Peter blinked, the pictures of Spider-man and Black Cat were on his monitor. The door slammed and the monitor of his laptop snapped shut.

“Uh,” MJ stepped back from Peter's dashing reaction, “I was... I was looking to see the photos you had taken and I... I... Uh... Wow.”

She brushed her hair back and played with a few strands over her shoulder. She was finding it difficult to look at Peter in his eyes. Peter wasn't angry like MJ suspected. This had been the second time she had abused his privacy. First she had pulled his spare Spider-suit out of his closet and now she had rifled through his computer files. Two reasons to be angry with her, but in fact he was embarrassed. She had just seen pictures of him naked. She didn't know it was him but even his intelligence was missing that small detail. He tried not to hyperventilate.

“Peter?” MJ took a step forward, still two paces away. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” Peter lied. He was hurt. He sat on the foot of his bed and then collapsed backwards. Mary Jane walked to the side of his bed, looking down at him, concern and sheepishness on her face.

“I can go.” She said, “Come back and--”

“No, let's get this over with.” Peter sat up. “Just let me email the new pics to Daily Bugle.”

“New pics?” She asked as Peter stood up and took his camera from his pocket. He slipped out the memory card and inserted it into his computer. Mary leaned in over his shoulder. He quickly Alt+F4'ed all of the picture files she had opened. Not all of them racy Cat photos, but all of the racy Cat photos. His cheeks were burning red. She let out a small laugh and he gave her a flat glare.

“I'm sorry, it's just, well, Mark acted the same way when I stumbled across the porn on his computer.” She gave a sigh, “I miss him.”

“He's getting the help he needs,” Peter wanted to sound helpful, but his voice cracked and his palm was sweaty when he tried to pat the hand she had on his desk.

“I know,” She gave him a smile, “So who's the pumpkin guy?”

“I don't know,” Peter's files were now up on the screen. The camera was damned good at capturing movement. “But he's got a lot of goblin weapons. I think he must have been one of the squash brains that Gobby--er the Goblin had recruited. Thing is, there were a couple hundred thugs in all.”

“Oh,” MJ tilted her head, “Did he light his helmet on fire?”

“Yeah, bad guys aren't always known for their safety concerns.” Peter sighed leaning back. He had to crop a few but he finally came to five pictures that were clear, action packed.

“Don't you have any pics where Spider-man's kicking this guy's gourd?” Mary sneered.

“That's the thing, Spider got pounded.” Peter sighed. He really needed someway to follow his enemies. He had only accidentally discovered Goblin's identity because he had left something at Harry's. And even then the Norman had kept him guessing for months about the real man behind the mask.

“Well Spider-man's just going to have to dust himself off and make this goblin rip-off into Pumpkin Pie.” Mary Jane declared. Her tone suggested that it was just that obvious. Peter wasn't so sure. He attached the files to an email and sent them to the Daily Bugle's City Desk.

“Alright,” Peter leaned back and found the back of his head landing on MJ's chest. He rocked forward immediately. Mary Jane smiled. Peter swiveled and looked up and down the redhead. Gorgeous, Kingsley might be an ambitious, cutthroat, corporate shill but he did know a beautiful woman when he saw one. “What do you need me to do?”

They first set up the room, Peter's blue painted walls were a decent backdrop against MJ's hair and skin. The lighting was at first abysmal but switching the bulb in his reading lamp for a higher wattage and using the mirror above his dresser he managed to flood the room. His bed they pushed up against the door. Peter managed to keep everything important out of sight, spider-sense be praised. Peter plugged in his camera under the light and attached a better lens to the front of it.

Mary Jane loved the camera. The camera loved Mary Jane. Cliché, maybe, but nonetheless true. She became wild, mischievous, seductive, innocent, aloof, and anything else all the while drawing the lens to her shine of her lips, her green of her eyes, the curve of her throat, the white of her teeth, the fire of her hair, or the curve of her figure; every inch of her was intoxicating.

Peter took a knee. Peter stood up on his chair. Peter leaned and darted and zoomed and aimed, but all the while clicking and capturing Mary Jane. She shed the hoodie, revealing a light pink camisole over a lace green bra. Peter swallowed. MJ smiled. The camera clicked. The dance continued.

The light and closeness of the model was causing Peter to sweat. MJ seemed untouchable. Truthfully, she was fighting every nervous fiber of her being. Her mouth felt dry and the hairs at the back of her neck stood up. Peter's camera felt like attentive hands all over her, leaving nothing untouched, leaving nothing unseen. She spun her nervous wool into photographic gold. Peter took several photos of Mary Jane on the corner of his bed, peeling off her black leather boots. Each leg kicked up near vertical, each inch of her showed off perfectly. The camera consumed every moment.

MJ fell back on the bed. It was tiring but not difficult. The room was stuffy. She looked to Peter and saw just the cyclopean flash of the camera. One or two pictures of her wiped out wouldn't mar the others. The wheels of Peter's computer chair rattled as they rolled across the carpet.

“Peter you'll fall!” MJ went to sit up but Peter told her to lay back down. He had been using that authoritative voice the entire situation. MJ's head on the pillow told her it was working. Peter was on his chair, kneeling not standing as he took bird's eye photos of Mary Jane.

“This one'll look great if we flare your hair out.” Peter pulled the camera back looking at the view screen.

“Really? OK, do it.” MJ closed her eyes as Peter stood over her immobile. Her breath was cool and steady. Her mind was racing. Peter was entranced. Touch her? He had a gorgeous girl in his bed and she wanted him to touch her. Well she wanted him to spread her hair out over his pillow. It was only a momentary hiccough. There was a feeling of confidence in Peter. It had been growing since the night with Black Cat. He ran his fingers through red hair, leaving it in waves over his pillow and his bed. MJ kept her placid cool.

MJ kept her eyes firmly shut. His warm fingers in her hair. A breath shuddered in her throat, her eyes tightened a bit more. His hands felt so good. She breathed slowly but forcefully. She almost chased his fingers as he retreated.

“Alright, give me your best,” Peter said stepping back. He climbed his perch and got the first shot off as MJ slowly opened her deep green eyes.

“How many shots do we have?” MJ asked. She had done her best job at sexy and she was itching to see if she had any success.

“Almost a hundred and twenty,” Peter responded after checking with his camera.

“OK,” MJ breathed out, “Let's take a look before we go further.”

“Further?” Peter asked to no answer. Desiree had asked for lingerie pics. MJ wasn't quite prepared to ask Peter for those. She would, if she was confident with the original set. Peter went without answers. He slid the memory card into his computer and they began clicking through the pictures.

“Wow Red! You look amazing!” Peter admired with MJ leaning over his left shoulder. “If Jonah gets his peepers on these, he'll never accept another one of my blurry Spider-man pictures again.”

“They do look really good,” MJ leaned in and hugged Peter around his shoulders. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Peter smiled goofily as she kissed his cheek.

“I guess I have to go all the way then.” MJ sighed. She had butterflies in her stomach but stars in her eyes. Peter turned around and his eyes widened as MJ pulled off her tank top. She then unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. Her initial response was to cover her breasts with crossed arms but she chose to put them on her hips. Peter's eyes goggled over her breasts and hips and every other bit. She wasn't even wearing showy underwear. Her panties were boy-cut and pale green under a white waistband. Her bra was half cup and laced with flowers. It matched the bottoms in color and trim. Peter wished his wall was a bit darker. The lighting and contrast would have her bright eyes popping out and beautiful.

“Peter? Can you pick up your camera instead of just drooling over me?” MJ asked, the fingers on her hips were starting to tremble. Peter had seen her in her underwear, well her bra, last night. She was feeling confident in herself and she was flattered by his reaction. Those stomach butterflies must have weighed a quarter tonne each. Peter reloaded his memory card.

His directions came out of a dryer mouth. MJ followed, kissing, smiling, laughing, and everything else for the camera. Low and high, back and front. Peter was going to hang on to these pictures. Thirty shots and MJ was being directed back on to the bed. Peter recalled the old pictures and tried to run her hair to the same positions. She let him place her arms. She resisted for only a heartbeat when he moved her legs back to the same spot. Her green eyes watched Peter with every breath. She had been more nervous behind the protection of her outer layers. She felt hot, horny. Peter was cute. Her mind was running away. She liked the strength in his voice. Peter only seemed to be in control when he was too distracted to overthink the conversation. He was smarter and funnier than any other guy she new. She missed Mark. A nagging voice told her that Peter deserved better than to be her melancholy distraction. This was becoming too intimate. The camera clicked away above her. The faces she showed to Peter not matching a single feeling inside her.

“Are we good?” MJ asked in a sharper tone than she wanted to. Peter blinked in surprise. Peter recovered.

“Well you're going to need to get these printed out.” Peter said flicking through the camera. “And you'll probably want to cut out a little over a hundred of these. But the photos are done.”

MJ picked her clothes off his floor, she was pulling into her sweater when she was done. “Thank you, Peter.” She said, her tone still clinical, officious. “I'm feeling a bit tired. I'll talk to you soon, we can get all this sorted out.”

“I kind of figured we could go through the pictures toni--” MJ interrupted Peter by attempting to drag his bed away from the wall. “Alright.” Peter reached under the bed and pulled it to the center of the room with a little too much of his super strength. MJ muttered another thank you and rushed out the door. Peter followed her but only reached the top of the stairs before the front door swung shut.

“Peter?” Aunt May looked up as her nephew trudged down the stairs. “Everything OK?”

“I have no idea.” Peter sighed.

“Did you want to come up? For a cup of coffee or--” Betty Brant walked backwards up the steps into her apartment complex. Ned Lee followed behind her. She was dressed for their dinner date under her fake fur lined winter coat and white tuque. Her fingers were vibrating, cold. Her knees were all but knocking. Her brown boots and skirt leaving them open to the elements. Her offer hadn't been uninterrupted by anything fun. She just found Ned thumbing his way though his iPhone. More Goblin questions and research. She stepped down to the bottom of the stairs and grabbed the lapel of his jacket.

“We're here?” He asked surprised.

“I'm here,” Betty said with a sharktooth grin, “And if you're here you might even get laid.”

The iPhone disappeared inside his pocket and he chased Betty up the stairs. Her swipe got them through the front door. Betty found Ned's fingers in her own, she was nervous and excited. She bounced on the balls of her feet as the elevator doors slid open. Ned absently hit her floor and pushed her against the back of the elevator. He had her hand pinned over her brown hair. He had her lips pinned under his own.

Betty Brant, beautiful brunette, was blissful. She hadn't been kissed like this before. Ned was attentive, passionate and relentless. She tangled one hand in his rough hair and grabbed tightly his belt. His tongue skated along her lips before delving into her mouth. She almost purred, she pulled him in tighter. She adored the feeling, loved being pressed up against the wall, unable to escape. She bit back, hungry for more. The floor shuddered and they were at her floor. Betty hadn't realized she had been pushed up onto her toes until Ned stepped back from her.

“Betty--” Whatever he was going to say was unimportant, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him down the hall to her apartment. Keys, lock, knob, push. She spun as the door opened and pulled him into the small one bedroom. They stumbled passed her kitchenette and she dragged him left to the bedroom leaving the modestly decorated living room behind.

Ned needed no encouragement. The fire Betty had lit propelled the two of them into her bedroom and onto her queen sized bed. She fell backwards, underneath his affection. He had kicked his shoes off, but both were still dressed for winter. She felt the nibble on her neck as she tossed aside her hat. She tugged at the jacket on his shoulders, gasping a little as his mouth receded from her ear so he could struggle out. She whispered her entreaties, she demanded so much more.

The struggle to get undressed was often interrupted. Betty's boots were pulled clear but she then rolled Ned back onto her bed, needfully pressing her kiss onto his lips. He rolled them onto her back, nearly off the bed. Their kiss broke with two knowing grins. He stripped open her jacket and she wiggled upwards and out of it. He swept it away, knocking over a picture frame on her nightstand. They fell back into bed, hands and mouths unceasing.

Betty was a magnificent woman. She put a lot of work into her body and it paid off brilliantly. Her stomach was hard and athletic but her skin was soft and her breasts were small and firm. Ned squeezed and caressed her through the pale blue top. She arched her back, pushing her body into his hands. He kissed her throat, along her dark choker and down to the pit between her collarbones. She whimpered, hands knotted in his hair.

Slowly but relentlessly, clothes fell away. Ned scrambled out of his shirt. Betty wiggled out of her skirt. Betty used her nails to trace along Ned's chest, she was already warm and wet but he looked as good naked as he had hoped. He grabbed her shirt, rolling it up and over her tits, willing to stop there as he pulled the cups down and away from her peaked red nipples. His kiss found her chest as she struggled the rest of the way out of he top. He massaged and bit and kissed his way across from one sensitive breast to her other. She urged him to stronger touches, harder kisses, deeper bites. She liked the force he had upon her, she reveled in sensuality.

She bucked as his first fingers pulled her black g-string down her thighs. The coldness of his belt pressed down against the top of her pussy and she shuddered. Wetness covered her sex. Saliva covered her breasts. Betty pleaded for some release. Kisses wormed their way down over her stomach, stopping at her navel. She tried to withhold her ticklish giggle. Her knees came up as her panties slid passed them. Ned continued, kissing down her thigh, frustratingly missing her pussy. She hissed disapproval and impatience. He smiled up to her light green eyes.

“God Ned!” She pleaded as he retreated far enough to kick away her panties. She rose up on her elbows, spinning the offend bra that had fallen to her navel and pulling open the hooks. Naked but for her choker and her earrings, Betty started fingering her own clit. Ned returned, kissing his way up her other leg towards her needy pussy.

The first kiss against the side of her pussy lips was like a lightning strike. Betty's whole body tensed, raring for release. Ned's tongue lazily trace it's way across her opening. He bit her knuckles until she retreated giving herself completely to his attentions. She grabbed her breasts, tugging on their reddened tips. Cool breath teased her sex. She writhed from side to side as Ned's hands pushed her thighs open. She hadn't been spread so wide since middle school gymnastics. It began to hurt but that just meant there was more sensation.

Ned consumed the taste of Betty Brant. There was a spice to her, something exotic, something undefinable. He licked up and down on her. His nose pressed her clit and his tongue invaded her. Betty gasped, the first onslaught of orgasm rushing over her. Teeth grazed over her sensitive flesh and she shrieked. Ned jabbed a finger inside of her as her whole body came. She rolled up on one shoulder, her fingernail scraped her breasts. Her toes curled inward. Her knee jerked angrily. He wouldn't stop. He kept licking, sucking, teasing, and finding every one of her triggers. Her clit was stuck between his lips and she begged until her throat was hoarse.

Breathing in fits and gasps Betty's bedroom grew color out of its pure whiteness. Her eyes were wide open, seeing nothing. A finger stroked along her pussy, so sensitive it made her skin tingle.

“Fuck me, Ned,” She rose up on her shoulders and looked at the devil's eyes floating over her curly hair. “I need your thick cock.”

Ned stood, still clad in his pants and boxers. He was only undoing her belt. Betty rose up to sitting and rushed down to the foot of her bed. Her ass slipped through her own wetness, still warm on her comforter. She couldn't wait for Ned's slow ministrations. He had barely stepped out of his trousers. She ripped down his boxers and grabbed his attentive cock. She leaned forward, biting and kissing his pectorals and nipples while she rolled her hands over his warm spear. She was a light touch, teasing gentle, enraging. She cheered giddily as he picked her up and threw her back upon the bed.

Betty's foul mouth enticed Ned to climb up and over her. He laid kisses from her curly hair up along her belly and in between her breasts. Two fingers attacked her dripping pussy. Another hand held her down by her shoulder. Her eyes compelled him to mount her.

“Hungh!” Betty winced as Ned breached her pussy. She was tight, no virgin but not widely experienced. She gasped as he bottomed out, the feeling of fullness invigorated. Her knees fold back, almost touching her bed to either side of her. Her hands reached up, setting at the small of his back as they led him into and out of her. Slow full strokes filled her. Her eyes fluttered closed. They kissed and then he settled his forehead next to her ear and gathered power and speed.

His back glistened with sweat and moonlight. Her body tremored with aftershocks and promises. She loved the feeling, she adored the power. Betty bit into Ned's ear. The pain a signal to him, he read it loud and clear. Their bodies came together with loud powerful collisions. The slap of flesh and her calls of pleasure forming a depraved harmony. She was still so raw from his cunnilingus. The power and the pleasure built inside her.

Her second pleasure hit her like haymaker. Her body tensed and shuddered. The feeling like every nerve ending was exposed. Ned still pinned her to the bed. His other hand twisting her red and battered breast as he himself crested his hill. She gripped his cock like a vise. She was unwilling to forfeit the pleasure of being full. She needed the hardness inside her as she trembled and whimpered. She whispered dirty things in his ear.

“I want to come,” Ned growled into her blankets.

“Then come, fill me more,” Betty murmured through her orgasmic haze.

“Let me pour it all over you.” He begged. She didn't want to let go of the feeling she had. She always preferred sex to porn, no matter that both of her previous boyfriends were like Ned. She pleaded for him to come, but she had been adoring his control of her since he had finally put down his phone.

“I'll swallow it,” She compromised. He was already pulling out of her anyway. She recoiled a little at her taste, still dripping from his red and raw cock. He had climbed up, kneeling under her armpits as he jerked towards her face. She made sure to look him dead in his eyes as she slipped her lips around his head and foreskin. Her tongue moved seductively inside her mouth, the taste of his prerelease sticky on the roof of her mouth.

“Betty!” He gripped on hand into her hair and pulled her further onto his cock. The first jets of come splattered inside her mouth. She tried to swallow but only snorted and cough as he continued to pile his seed on her tongue. Finally he settled. Sitting back above her belly as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and forcibly swallowed the come he had left in her mouth. She looked at him with bloodshot and teary eyes. Her smile told the truth. She had savored tonight.

A few hours before sunrise, Betty rose up in her bed, alone. Ned had not! She swung her legs out of bed, wearing only the moonlight that slipped through her open curtains. She was too offended to be hurt yet. Every guy, every damned guy had only ever wanted one thing from her. She marched out of the bedroom and found Ned sitting on her sofa. He hadn't left. She felt guilty and a little stupid. Her scowl perking up into a devilish grin as she slunk into the living room and slipped herself around Ned. She was looking over his shoulder and onto his phone. He was looking over schematics of the Goblin's Tech-Flight glider.

“Mr. Jameson's going to flip when he finds out you're still working on a closed story.” Betty squeezed Ned's shoulders.

“There's more to the Goblin story than we got to see, Betty,” Ned declared.

“You still have Spider-man on your plate,” Betty pointed out.

“Spidey's not going anywhere,” Ned flipped the page to look at the pumpkin bombs. “And with the Jack O'Lantern character: we can be certain Goblin's not done with the city yet.”

“Norman Osborn is dead.” Betty explained, “Come back to bed, Ned.”

“I'll be along in a moment.” He kissed her cheek and turned back to his iPhone. Betty felt worse getting back into bed than she had getting out of it.

“Captain?” Jean DeWolff stepped out of George Stacy's way as he marched into the burned out tenement. Green powder burns and scorch marks were covered in concrete dust and shattered glass. The Jack O'Lantern had struck no fewer than five such hideouts last night. Quick, almost surgical attacks. The dead were all pimps, drug dealers and street muscle, but dead bodies in his precinct were unacceptable. Stan Carter was watching the lab geeks collect samples and take pictures. There wasn't a whole lot to be done here.

“What do we know about Jack O'Lantern, sergeant?” He asked Stan.

“Jack, Captain,” He pricked up a quarter of a smirk before Stacy's glare wiped it off his face. “He's busting up some pretty heavy hitters. Anyone who seemed to be carving out a space for themselves now that Goblin and The Big Man are out of the picture. Seems to come in and just wreck the place before leaving. We found a few people who managed to run, he doesn't seem to concerned about chasing people down.”

“Leave one alive and people will know what you're capable of.” Stacy nodded. Vikings used to use that tactic. “Any hint on where he's hitting next?”

“There's three pretty big targets,” Carter said, “I've set a extra patrol cars in each area. If he hits them, we'll know.”

“I hate being reactive,” Stacy grumbled. “You and DeWolff go on and get some sleep. I'm sure there'll be plenty for you to do come night time.”

“Captain,” Carter accepted his dismissal and left picking up his partner at the doorway.

Peter was elbow deep in a sink full of dirty glassware. Normally, Gwen tackled this part of the job. Peter was the sweep and mop flunky. Gwen was off with Harry and Peter was grumpy. Debra bumped passed him performing a catalog of today's used materials. Dr Warren stopped behind Peter.

“Mr Parker,” He announced, “I believe there is a man outside waiting for you.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked surprised.

“He is rather conspicuous in his attempts to be unseen.” Dr Warren explained. “Miss Whitman pointed him out yesterday. I was going to have him escorted off of campus, for her sake, but his interest seems to be in you.”

“I'll check it out.” Peter decided. He pulled off his rubber gloves and walked out the front door. Even without the small buzz of his spider-sense, it wasn't difficult to find the man in question. He was tall and dark haired. He was older than most of the college kids. He was wearing a trenchcoat and a fedora like some kind of film noir detective. Peter sighed. This wasn't the first time he had seen the man. The man seemed to pop up now and again since the Goblin fight. Peter marched over and pulled the extraneous Daily Bugle out of the man's hands.

“What do you want?” Peter demanded.

“Uh, to be left alone by nosy teenagers.” The man declared. He flipped up his collar and turned to leave.

“If I catch you following me again, I'll call the cops.” Peter said after the man's back. It was a Peter Parker solution. In honesty, he wanted a Spider-man solution. He knew just how to get one. As the man left his sight Peter took a detour around the applied sciences building and up its redbrick walls. He almost felt guilty about leaving a half filled sink of glassware but this guy.

Tailing a man on foot was easy for Spider-man and only a little bit frustrating. Webswinging he could easily keep up with New York cars. Now it was easy to stay out of sight, but he wasn't going anywhere. The man who had been watching Warren's lab was in no hurry. Peter only moved that slow when the destination sucked. Buying what little time he could for himself. Well if worse came to worse, Pete could follow this street down to the Daily Bugle. He had a paycheck to pick up.

The shriek, explosion and clatter was more pressing than one nosy man in a trenchcoat. Jack was back. Peter leapt off the wall on which he crawled. Thwip, thwip, thwip. He arced around to the next street. There was an overturned SUV in the street. There was a crowd of kids. There was broken glass. There was panic.

Two thugs struggled out of the vehicle. The crack of handgun fire put wholes in nearby windows. Bullets wildly missing Jack as he ricocheted around the mess. Spider-man's feet kicked pistols out of hand and his free hand grabbed the thugs from the passenger side door. They ended up webbed against the side of a patrol car. Police were on the scene.

“Well, well, well, Spider-man's back from the dead.” Jack cackled. Spider-man cartwheeled out of the way of the fire blast.

“Last time was your trick,” The Spider dashed and weaved towards Jack. Three screaming pumpkin bombs exploded behind him. “This'll be my treat!” Spider-man's toe landed on the rebounding glider and his fist slammed into the steel guarded stomach of Jack O'Lantern. “Yeow!”

Flipping backwards, Peter stretched and flexed his fingers, nothing broken nothing sprained. It hadn't been as hard as Vulture's reinforced pack but Jack was armored. Some mix of reinforced motor cycle armor and a flak jacket. Jack laughed.

“A cheap shot you little shit?” Jack grabbed two Pumpkin bombs and threw them towards the Youth Center.

“You monster!” There were still people inside, hiding out from the battle. Peter had to throw some unlucky person's scooter into the bombs to keep them from blasting inside. The gas tank added to the blast. Metal battered and dented the steel doors. Shrapnel dug into the sidewalk. Peter charged Jack.

Flame throwers crisscrossed Spider-man's path as Jack bounced around. The flaming pumpkinhead grinned in delight as asphalt bubbled and tires melted. The smell was sickening.

“Jack!” Spider-man rolled under a jet of white fire and kicked off a parked car and closed the distance, “I think its time you figured out why Pumpkin's don't fly.”

Peter flipped forward and slid under the Jack's trajectory. His feet gripped the ground and Pete rose up in a fierce uppercut. His shoulder tipped Jack onto the pavement. The exhaust of the pseudo-glider scalded Peter's belly but the disc bounded away. Peter stepped over Jack.

Jack was slow, armored as he was with no Globulin Green to boost his strength nor his speed. Jack didn't have much of a chance against the webswinger mano a mano. He started with a flame from his wrist mounted torch but Spider-man easily ducked aside. Spider-man dove forward, knowing how much force it took to bash in Mysterio's helmet. He pulled his punch hoping to end this without following into and mulching Jack's face. For the second time spider's hand screamed as he failed to punch through Jack's armor. The fire added injury to injury engulfing his hand. The pain was extreme, momentarily blocking out the tingle of his Spider-sense.

“Eat this webhead,” The pumpkin bomb burst on Peter's side. Spider-man was thrown spinning over the nearest cop car. The backforce hammered Jack in the armor, he gasped, hyperventilating as his lungs gave up all their air. Crack! Spider-man was clear and the arrived Policemen were shooting at him. The armor took the small arms fire but it hurt like hell. Jack's scream turned into a mad cackle as he spun up to his feet. He staggered as another bullet hit him under the arm and ricocheted off and into a car's backseat.

Spider-man was seeing Goblin's and not birds spinning around his dazed head. Paranoia and pain formed a potent cocktail in the webhead's mind. He staggered up, he was miraculously uninjured but badly hurt. Cat's almost healed scratches were crisscrossed with pumpkin burn. He was going to need to make more Spider suits.

Jack ran from the police's gunfire. A bullet had taken him in the fuel canister on his left wrist. It hadn't blow up but he was leaking green all over himself. It crusted as the air got to it, forming a gobweb handcuff around his wrist. The drippings sealed him at the waist. Jack saw red through the flames. He cartwheeled backwards as a spider booted foot collided with his collarbone. Spider-man was prepared for another quick attack but the Parker luck had prevailed.

He had knocked Jack over and onto his pseudo glider. It was caught half under a Ford. Jack, slow and battered, managed to recover and ended up on his knees on his glider. He had about one dozen pumpkin bombs left. He grabbed one in his arrested left hand. Fire jetted passed the spider against the barricade of police cars. The cops dropped down, their guns quiet since Spider-man had rejoined the fight. Spider came for another pass, swinging low on a web, aiming to kick the shins out from under Jack. Jack dropped the pumpkin, laughing as he maneuvered his disc, the bomb and the rocket overturned both spider and Ford. Jack took a wide arc, leaving a burn trail across the name Lincoln.

“Die Spider-man!” He yelled. This was it, finish this and he'd have all the fear and respect needed to be the next Big Man of Crime. The lances of fire kept Spider-man coming straight down the middle. The bombs landed behind the webslinger bringing him as quick as spider could. Three bombs left. Jack grabbed a bomb in each hand, even under the armor his body was screaming in pain, but he laughed as high and crazy as the shriek as the bombs came together in his hands. Jack blasted backward in and through the glass front window of the Youth Center. Spider-man flopped tail over teakettle into the street. Children screamed. Hobie Brown and the other volunteers but their backs towards the fight and between the huddling kids.

“Oh, now isn't this the perfect--” Jack O'Lantern's voice was hoarse from smoke and breathlessness. His second flame thrower had managed to stay intact and he celebrated the fact by scorching and igniting the particle board ceiling tiles. Two webs caught his shoulders and he was pulled out into the street and into the fight. He only managed to kick the controls of his disc so that it rocketed with him out the busted window.

“Has the fire cooked your brains!” Spider-man was livid. His spinning kick knocked away the flamethrower from his chest. Every inch of the spider was throbbing.

“I'll kill you Spider-man! I'll kill you! This is over!” Jack snarled. He grabbed his final pumpkin bomb. His throw went wide, the kick spider-man had delivered to his good hand must have sprained his wrist. He waved out a blast of fire. The spider ducked under the flame, he rolled backwards. Quickly, spider-man shifted into a run up the youth center wall. The pumpkin bomb chipped up the sidewalk. Dust and smoke and chaos filled the battlefield. The only remaining window shook as Spidey jumped off and over Jack.

“Now it's over, Jackie Boy.” The second punch did the trick. A serious left as his right was still sore and burned. The helmet gave in, no pull to his punch. Spider-man laid out the Jack O'Lantern. The rebounding glider fell once to the ground and bounced hard into the window. Broken glass cascaded in shards and pellets. Spider-man hit the ground and rolled out onto all fours. Peter was breathing hoarsely.

“Get an EMT over here!” Two cops hurried out to arrest Jack. “He's concussed for certain. His neck might be broken.”

Spider-man twisted. He was about to take off. The cops and the paramedics and the firefighters could clean up this debacle. Broke his neck? There had been no other way to stop him. He felt sick to his stomach. Killing villains?

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Hobie Brown stepped right in front of Spider-man and yelled him down. “There were kids in here! You almost killed all of us!” Hobie was pissed, and not entirely at Spider-man. “You destroy the youth center! There're injured people everywhere!”

The streets had collected their share of bashed up and bloody people. “Listen Ho—Listen, kid!” Spider-man reached an arm up and shot a web off to escape. “I didn't step in and this idiot would have left more bodies on the ground.”

“There weren't any supervillains before there was Spider-man!” Hobie snarled. He turned back. Cops and Paramedics were examining all the children. Administrators were doing a head count. Volunteers were holding children as much as the children were holding them.

“You think I do this for fun. I do this because someone has to.” Spider-man tugged the web to give himself the tug he needed to take off and swing away. Hobie looked up after him. He looked around. The Jack O'Lantern's helmet was covered in fire suppressing foam. Green fluid was bubbling out and crusting around the neck of his broken helmet.

Luckily none of the children had suffered more than a light bruise. Someone had to do something all right. They had had the funds to keep the Youth Center opened throughout the summer. Hobie and the other volunteers had believed that they could have petitioned to get some other group or philanthropist to pick up the funds. All this damage was going to cost money. Money the center didn't have. The center had saved Hobie, and he knew it had saved a dozen other younger kids. It kept the kids away from the thugs and the gangs. He looked up and after Spider-man. Someone had to do something. If the kids couldn't be kept away from the criminals. The criminals would have to be kept away from the kids.

“C'mon Hobie,” Glory was with Kenny and they collected Hobie from the middle of the street, “Let's help these kids get home.”

Spider-man slipped into the Daily Bugle's supply closet. He had used this entrance so often he kept a stick of deodorant behind the floor cleaner. He opened the first aid kit and catalogued the bandages he took to hold his ribs and blood inside him. Luckily his face hadn't taken much of a beating. He looked disheveled but that was nothing out of the ordinary. It took him a quick minute to get dressed in civilian clothes. He waited at the door until his spider-sense waned to nothing and slipped into the offices of the Daily Bugle.

“Foswell get your keister down to the Lincoln Dynamic Youth Center! Where's Lee! I called Parker thirty-five point six minutes ago! Go! Go! Go!” Walking apoplexy sent his staff scattering. Betty Brant handed him a decaffeinated black coffee and a package of nicotine chewing gum.

“Peter just walked in the door, Mr Jameson.” She floated passed him, stomach in knots because she had no idea where Lee had disappeared to. Truthfully, he was probably at the Youth Center disaster. Probably wasn't good enough for J Jonah Jameson, however paying two reporters to go to the same scene was pretty bad.

“Parker!” Jonah strode towards Peter who was slipping his camera from his pocket. “My message said to get down to the battle not to the warroom.”

“Just swung back from there...” Peter was about to stumble over his word swung when Jameson snatched the camera from Peter's hands.

“Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, Jesus! Kid, I do not want to see your dirty bedroom pictures.” the newspaper editor shoved the camera into the freelance photographer's chest. Peter quickly turned off the screen so nobody could see the spread of MJ on his bed. “Robbie! Get those pictures printed off.”

“Dirty bedroom pictures, eh?” Betty teased quietly behind Peter's back as she walked passed towards the photocopier. Before Peter could stammer out an underprepared witty comeback: Betty shuddered. “Finally, I don't know what Jameson wanted with that louse but I'm glad he's finally getting the royal treatment.”

Peter turned to watch the man who had tailed him early that day, stumble and fumble, nearly falling face first onto his hands before scrambling up to his feet and shaking out his coat and affecting an air of personal importance. He walked to the elevator. “I think I know.”

“What Peter?” Betty asked in a whisper as Jameson was throwing vitriol at the stalker's back.

“You'll never work in my town again, Gargan!” Jameson threw his rolled up copy of the Globe and stalked back into his office. The integrity of his glass walls were tested by the hammer of his door.

“Jameson hired him to find Spider-man.” Peter growled. He was feeling hurt and betrayed. He offered a rude gesture towards Jolly Jonah and a polite wave to Betty. He almost forgot to unload his pictures onto Robbie's computer.

“Are you alright Peter?” Robbie asked, Peter had been wheezing a bit since he arrived.

“I must've got too close to the dust and smoke.” Peter waved him off. “I'll be OK.”

“That's not something to fool around with Peter. I've seen what dust and smoke can do to a person's lungs.” Robbie gripped Peter's shoulder. “Drink some water and try not to over exert yourself but it you get a tickle in your throat or a pain in your chest you go straight to a doctor.”

“I'll be ok--” Peter falterd under Robbie's gaze. “I will, I promise.”

“Good, now get out of here.”

Gargan had too much of a head start for Peter to figure out where to follow him. He had also promised Robbie to get some rest. He sighed, looking forward to go home as he waited a few minutes to catch the next elevator.

“You think I'm going to let my little girl traipse around like some kind of exhibitionist slut!” The drunken slur in her father's voice was as familiar as the accepting defeat in her mother's voice.

“Of course not,” Her mother agreed, “I'll sit her down and talk to her.”

“Do that, I'm not in the mood for wearing out another belt.”

Mary Jane Watson hadn't heard a word of the conversation, she had long learned how to and when to climb down from her second story window. Her bus turned the corner, Glory Grant had promised her a place to bunk down for the night. A few days at aunt Anna's and Mary would come home to a father's neglect. That was always preferred to a father's rage.
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Spectacular Spider-man Seasons 3, 4 and 5