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Do It For Charity	By : Ksennin Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Spiderman Views: 26028 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel comics, Spider-Man, the Avengers, or any of the characters within those properties. I make no money from publishing this story.

Chapter List
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Peter Parker’s apartment had schizophrenia. It wasn’t his fault. Not that he’d done much to treat it, his sense of interior decorating having been stillborn. It was that his two roommates had such domineering personalities, yet divergent tastes—they clashed with each other so much, it was no wonder they were dating.
Mary Jane Watson was an aspiring Broadway actress; this meaning she was a back-up dancer in an off-Broadway production of Gypsy and Laura Berlanti had smiled at her once. And she was a supernova of vivacious energy. Her personality was so bright, brash, and infectious that it almost seemed inevitable she’d gotten superpowers. Like they might’ve just sprung up from her if she hadn’t gotten bitten by that radioactive spider, the same way people who were sad tended to catch colds.
While not a slob, MJ did tend to procrastinate cleaning so at any moment, there might be a garbage bag half-filled with trash left in the corner from a dejunking attempt, or a conscientiously filled recycling box that hadn’t made it to the recycling, or half the windows might have been Windexed while the other half would make safe cover for Dracula. There was just always something that distracted her from it: new script pages, a phone call she needed to take, robots attacking the city…
And her girlfriend, Gwen Stacy, was a brainiac that put Peter to shame. She had all his intelligence, but twice his drive. And Peter was a straight-A student. Gwen just had the ambition of one of those Ivy League secret societies—a whole Skull & Bones, future presidents and all—crammed into her slender body. It seemed almost unfair that on top of that she was cute as a button. The kind of spunk and all-American blondeness that made you feel like she was going to drop coffee on Joseph Gordon-Levitt any minute now, start a rom-com. She was already interning at Oscorp, and everyone seemed to have resolved themselves to her running the place before that golden hair turned gray. She was Type-A in the extreme: waging a war of attribution on MJ’s slovenly ways, neatly sorting the bookshelves that covered the walls like posters, returning Mary Jane’s laptop to the plug from whatever spider-hole Mary Jane had stashed it in.
Peter didn’t contribute much to the character of the apartment. He tidied up now and then, helped Mary Jane place her vintage Ann-Margret posters between the chemical formulas and Post-Its Gwen absolutely needed on the walls and ceilings, and took up very little space with a few childhood mementos and family photos that greatly mollified his Aunt May when she visited.
Honestly, Peter sometimes felt like those faded photographs stuffed in between stacks of books and half-full cups of coffee. Anonymous, dull, living in the cracks of impacts he hadn’t even been party too. His uncle’s death. Captain Stacy’s killing. Oscorp. It made him feel insubstantial, and if it weren’t for how Mary Jane always seemed to come along with some hip new club to drag him to, or Gwen needed to run a thorny science problem by him, he wondered if he would turn invisible.
Who would’ve guessed that lonely boy, with the haphazardly long limbs, the bashful eyes behind thick glasses, the floppy mane of fastidiously cleansed hair, was in actuality… not a superhero. Well, that was easy to guess. But friends with a superhero. A superhero’s assistant, perhaps. He’d go so far as to say sidekick, if MJ didn’t dress him up in enough spandex outfits as it was (“I will not be seen with you in Deitz, the hottest nightclub in Manhattan, if you are wearing more than three layers.”).
Not that he got to shoot Nazis or punch out fascists, like Bucky did for Captain Britain during the war. At the moment, he was trying to work on a term paper while Mary Jane got high. He wasn’t sure what was more annoying—MJ’s taste in weed or just how many countries the Soviet Union had become in the 90s. He was pretty sure that Symkaria had seceded, then seceded again, then seceded from itself somehow? Give him higher mathematics any day. Even irrational numbers were more rational than this.
“Peter,” Mary Jane said, flopping off the couch with only her joint-hand seeming to possess a bone structure. “What is it you were saying?”
“Forget it. I need to study.”
“No, man, you’ve been staring at that book for ten hours. I should know, I went out to beat up criminals, got caught by a mercenary, was almost experimented on, escaped, got back, and you’re still looking at it. And it’s long, but it’s not that long. You need to rest your eyes. Perhaps on me?” Mary Jane wiggled herself a little further off the couch, Peter’s peripheral vision helpfully letting him know that if he turned his head, he could see right down her shirt. Right now. As she was taking in a deep, deep breath of the other mary jane…
Peter buried his face in the textbook sprawled on the carpet ahead of his own laid-out body. He took off his glasses and decided to experiment with how good a pillow offensively overpriced college textbooks made. “I was just wondering why so many superheroes are women.”
“I don’t know. Crazy random happenstance? Like, you were on that field trip too. If that spider had bit you, Green Goblin would be worrying about Spider-Man instead of the amazing Jackpot.”
“It still bugs me that you don’t have a spider theme at all, considering your powers.”
“What, like Batman?” Mary Jane giggled. “Ninja skills, driving around in a badass car, throwing boomerangs at people—all well-known motifs of the bat.”
Peter rolled over, pulling his face out of his textbook and coincidentally ending up parallel to MJ on the couch. Parallel lines, he remembered, never got any closer but they never got further away either. “That’s another thing. How come there are no superhero movies about guys? It’s all Wonder Woman and Batgirl and they didn’t even have Steve Rogers in the Captain Britain movie. If they hadn’t tested out the serum on him, they never could’ve given it to Carter.”
“It’s simple,” MJ said, jabbing her joint at him to indicate she wanted him to take a puff. Peter waved it off, which MJ treated as a game, trying to prod through his defenses. “Women are naturally more compassionate than men. When we get superpowers, we use them to help people. Hence, we’re superheroes. Men get superpowers, rob banks, try to blow up New York, supervillains. Even those women who are selfish, most of them shape up after a little therapy. Femininity’s natural love and acceptance for all humanity shines through.”
Peter relented, snatching the joint from Mary Jane’s hand. “I’m pretty sure I saw you punch a guy in the dick seven times yesterday. It was on the news.”
“Doesn’t count, Deadpool. That guy is so annoying. We get it, chimichangas, it was funny the first one billion times…”
“We have chimichangas?” Gwen asked, coming through the door. As always, her bookbag thudded when it hit the floor, overburdened with loot from the New York Public Library.
“We have beer, chips, and pizza with pineapple that no one is energetic enough to pick off,” Peter reported.
“But we have beer,” Mary Jane added, twisting up with her superior agility to perch on the arm of the couch and return Gwen’s greeting kiss.
Peter conscientiously looked away, casting a look at his textbook that perhaps Gollum would’ve directed at the One Ring.
Gwen laughed sweetly as she slid down beside MJ. “Peter, you don’t have to look away when I kiss my girlfriend.”
Peter looked back at her, assuming that since she was talking, she couldn’t be kissing. “I just don’t want you guys to feel uncomfortable. You shouldn’t worry about being perved at in your own home.”
“But there wasn’t even tongue!” MJ retorted. “If you could get off on that peck, I would take it as a compliment.”
Peter blushed ferociously, as Gwen produced a wadded-at-the-end paper bag from her voluminous coat. “Lucky for my two crime-fighters, I got falafels on my way back to the ranch. Enjoy.”
“Look away, Peter! Look away!” MJ warned, waving her hands in exaggerated panic before giving Gwen a more affectionate kiss. Peter didn’t turn, but did avert his eyes.
“So,” Gwen asked, doling out falafels to the masses, “MJ is high, what is the topic of conversation today?” She traded a falafel to Peter for the joint, not knowing he hadn’t partaken. “Is it how mini M&Ms taste better than regular M&Ms again?”
“No, we figured that one out.” Mary Jane’s mouth being full of falafel only proved a slight impediment to her conversation. This might’ve been one of her spider-powers. “It’s because it’s all the taste of a regular M&M, concentrated into a smaller space.”
“Surface area,” Peter confirmed, before taking his own huge bite.
MJ swallowed, something Gwen never tired of watching. The way the musculature of her throat just accepted whatever Mary Jane had been chewing. Gwen had some very specific fetishes and Mary Jane was almost all of them. “We were talking why, oh, about ninety-nine percent of superheroes are women?”
“That’s a good question,” Gwen replied. “Why is it that when Tony Stark builds a suit of self-powered armor, he puts it on his executive assistant instead of wearing it himself? Could it be that, as women feel more constrained by an oppressive patriarchal society, they’re more inclined to operate outside male law to satisfy whatever desires they harbor?”
Mary Jane jutted out her lip at Gwen in displeasure. “Why do you have to turn everything into a treatise about Rousseau or whatever? Here’s my question: why is it every superhero I know is an incredible slut?”
Peter seemed to skitter up against a nearby armchair, like a cat that’d heard a loud noise. “I, uh, I don’t think you’re… that, Mary Jane.”
“No, no, I own it. I come home, I peel off the sweaty spandex, porn is going to happen.” Mary Jane shifted to bump Gwen with her hips. “This one’s not complaining!”
Peter was beet-red. “Well, just because that’s how you relax, that doesn’t mean—“
“Trust me. I’ve had a lot of team-ups. Every superhero I know, there’s a bit of a sex thing going on. Dressing up in tight costumes, beating people up, getting tied up… I’m surprised all I got from that is a little assplay. I could be weird.”
“Well, everyone’s a little kinky,” Gwen said, reining Mary Jane in by pulling her arm around her waist. “Look at Fifty Shades of Gray.”
“I’m talking demographics here.” Mary Jane let Gwen snuggle her, just to steal her joint back. “We all know some people who are dead below the waist and some people who are total horndogs. Peter, your guy, Flash Thompson? Anything on two legs, am I right?”
“Doesn’t have to be two legs,” Peter said dismally.
“And your bestie, whathisface, Harry Osmond?”
“You used to date,” Peter pointed out.
“Harry Osborn,” MJ corrected herself. “Might as well be asexual. There’s a difference. But superheroes, it’s like…” Mary Jane finished off the joint and moved to stub it out on the much abused couch, but Gwen snatched it from her and got up to dispose of it in the ashtray by the lamp. “’I’ve got superpowers, but should I become a superhero? Do I like sucking dicks? Yeah, I love it. That cinches it. Spandex!’” Then MJ smiled on her own high. “No one tells Emma Frost I gave away her origin story, by the way.”
Peter pushed his hair into an altogether new shape. “Well, uh, errr, maybe it’s that—please don’t take this the wrong way—but when a woman has the power and self-confidence of being universally beloved and accepted and powerful, she, uh… well, she becomes more open to, oh, some desires, or there’s an escalation… it’s like, you know, people on Wall Street, they make millions, they start eating caviar and sending their pets to, what’s that word, spas? Pet spas. The standard of living changes within… like, like if we all got rich, would we do cocaine instead of passing around a bud? Is that the right word, bud?”
There was a pause, as the ladies considered this and Peter sorted through what he had said in the hopes that nothing had been offensive. This was why he didn’t like getting high.
“Meh,” Mary Jane said flippantly, dragging Gwen down with her onto the couch now that the blonde had returned. “I just think violence is sexy.”
“Oh, obviously,” Gwen retorted sarcastically.
“Not, like, The Walking Dead violence. I mean, someone’s being an asshole, you beat him up, you tie him up, but no one’s killed or seriously hurt. It’s just bodies. It’s a turn-on.” Mary Jane drummed on Gwen’s back in their embrace. “Remember that time at Gotterlieb—“
“New York’s hottest nightclub?” Gwen interjected.
“The same. That guy slapped your ass, I punched him into the men’s room, and you barely got me into the alley outside before you did cowgirl things to me. And I wasn’t even wearing form-fitting spandex then.” MJ gave Peter a look, still tapping out a tiny rhythm on Gwen. “How about the male demo? You’ve seen me do my thing—ever put a few heads on your totem pole?”
Peter’s hands streaked down his face like he was trying to pull off his burning cheeks. “Oh, uh, oh—I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t know? What, does it turn invisible?”
Gwen gently headbutted MJ’s shoulder. “Stop teasing him.”
“But that would be cool.”
Peter got up, scrubbing at his fiery face a little more. “I need to hit the books some more. I think I’ll do that while I’m doing the bathroom thing.”
He grabbed up his textbook and headed for the toilet. Mary Jane watched him go, somewhat making Gwen jealous by admiring the curve of his ass. Peter looked like one half of his DNA came from a mop, it was true, but the other half was sheer sex.
As Mary Jane had often considered, being in love with her own nerd, 100% sex DNA was obnoxious and overpowering. You had to cut it with being suave, or funny, or something, and you ended up with more than the sum of the parts. Gwen would be a looker in short-shorts and a VS bra, but once the braided hair and eyeglasses happened—the same thing would hold true for Peter, MJ was sure. He could be a chick magnet with a little work. Maybe a cardigan. Or a waistcoat…
“You think there’s something wrong with Peter?” MJ asked, once the door had shut behind him.
“Well, my girlfriend’s looking at him like my pet cat used to look at my canary, who is now no longer with us…”
“I’m serious,” MJ shot back, shifting into a more serious discussion position on the couch. “When was the last time he went on a date?”
“He’s trying to get a PhD. It’s not something you can blow off.”
“Yeah, but you’re as big a nerd as he is, and you still find time to sit on my face.”
Gwen blushed a little and Mary Jane exulted in it. With Gwen falling victim to her wicked ways, it was harder and harder to get the big nerd to be a little abashed at all the sex she was having.
“I suppose he is a bit of an odd duck, but he always was. Used to get shoved into lockers and everything.”
“Yeah, but c’mon—it’s gotten really bad since his uncle died. He used to be a dork, now he’s more emo. He bought the entire discography of The Smiths—and on CD, Gwen, like he doesn’t know what an MP3 player is—and he’s started skateboarding. Skateboarding, babe. Peter Parker!”
“So he’s a little emo. That’s not a sign of mental illness.”
“Isn’t it, Gwen? Isn’t it?” Mary Jane rolled up to sit on the back of the couch. “You ever caught him masturbating?”
Gwen kneaded her chin thoughtfully. “I almost got ‘im yesterday, but something spooked him. He’s a wily one, that Peter Parker!”
MJ shoved her foot in Gwen’s face. “I’m serious! Have you ever gotten into the shower, or gone into his room, and sensed some sperm were murdered?”
“No, but I’m sure he does. He’s just not, you know, weird about it.”
Mary Jane shook her head. “I don’t think he does it. I think he doesn’t date, he doesn’t jerk off, and he’s going to explode.”
“Yes, the science does check out on that,” Gwen agreed sarcastically.
Mary Jane threw her weight down onto Gwen’s waist, straddling her. “I. Am. Serious. I worry about the guy. He is such a sweetheart, and he is so cute—why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? I’d date him if I weren’t with you.”
“I’d date him too. And, you know, I’m me.”
Mary Jane blinked at that. “Oh, and I’m not? Wait…” She shook her head. “Never mind. I know what we need to do. We need to build his confidence up. Get him to see he’s not a loser just because he got picked on in high school. We’re in college now! You’re valedictorian, he’s Otto Octavius’ lab assistant, which I think is a big deal!”
“It is,” Gwen confirmed.
“Go Peter.” Mary Jane pumped her fist. “He could be awesome. We just need to get to him before he starts posting on men’s rights forums and watching My Little Pony.”
“Okay, assuming for a moment that Peter really does need our help—which he has shown us by not asking for it—what do we do? And I am not putting any kind of mood-altering substance in his food, I’m telling you that right now.”
“Relax, I’m not a crazy person.” MJ leaned down to kiss Gwen’s forehead. “We just need to get the boy laid.”
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Do It For Charity