Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man or any of the characters.

Author's Notes: This fic is based on an idea from my twin sister, TK. This is all her idea; I simply made it into a story. Thanks TK! Please review. And remember, don't take this seriously… or should you? :)

"You're just in time for dinner!"

"Sure you won't have a bite?"

"Meatloaf's in the oven!"

"Don't you want some breakfast?"

"Can I fix you something?"


            The fall wind raced down the street, jostling leaves and people as it went. It darted in, out, and around, circling the helpless people who just wanted to go home.

            Peter Parker was one of them. He was on his way home from his latest job, stopping in to see Aunt May before going back to the penthouse he shared with Harry Osborn. He moved quickly down the street, gracefully, with the ease of a spider. But he was tired. Being Spider-Man, trying to keep a job, and everything else was very wearing. He would be glad to see his beloved aunt and take a load off his feet, resting for a while…

            He jogged effortlessly up the front walk, jumped up the steps, and rapped on the door. It took a moment, but then the door opened and Aunt May stood there.

            "Peter!" She exclaimed happily. "What a pleasant surprise! Please, come in!"

            "Hi Aunt May!" he greeted, giving her a hug.

            And then he moved past her, into the house, carefully setting down his bag on a chair. It contained his camera, a few books, and his Spider-Man mask, boots, and gloves. He didn't want to lose that.

            Walking over to the kitchen table, he sat down in one of the chairs and heaved a sigh of relief. Home again, home again. Jiggity jig.

            "Can I fix you something?" Aunt May asked, moving towards the cupboards.

            "No, no thanks, Aunt May." He sighed. "I'm not very hungry."

            Picking up the latest edition of the paper, Peter flipped through it casually, scanning the headlines halfheartedly. He absently cocked his head, listening to the familiar sounds of the old neighborhood.

            Everything seemed perfectly ordinary, until…

            "So, Peter, would you like something to eat?" Aunt May inquired from her position by the stove.

            Glancing up from the paper, Peter laughed.

            "Aunt May! You just asked me that like, two minutes ago."

            She stared at him, blinking owlishly. Then she cooed in recognition.

            "Ooh, yes."

            Grinning brightly, she returned to her cooking work. With a shrug, Peter looked back to the paper…


            At six o'clock, after lounging around and chatting with his aunt for a few hours, Peter decided it was time to get back to he and Harry's penthouse. He rose from his seat.

            "Well, thanks for having me, Aunt May, but I'd better be going…"

            As he walked over to grab his bag, she got up too.

            "Leaving already? Don't you want some dinner?"

            "Don't worry Aunt May, I'll grab a bite back at my place."

            "Yes. Good."

            Peter paused at her response. It sounded a bit odd…

            "Goodnight, Peter!" she said sweetly.

            He nodded, walking out the door.

            "Don't forget your dinner!" her voice drifted after him

            "Um, okay…"


            Bounding up the stairs effortlessly, Peter looked forward to crashing into his bed. He always preferred the stairs to the elevator; they were better for the body. He'd saved three people in a car accident on the way home, and saving lives always boosted his spirits.

            "Hey Harry!" he called, swinging open the door.

            Harry was perched on an armchair, his nose buried in a book. But he looked up when he heard his roommate come in.

            "Oh, hey Peter."

            He returned to his book, studying it intently. Peter walked over, glancing at the cover. It read, 'The Collected Works of William Shakespeare: Volume III'.

            "Ouch," Peter said sympathetically.

            "Yeah, well, that's life…" Harry muttered.

            Reassured that Harry hadn't turned into a bookworm overnight, Peter went over to the fridge and got out a thing of yogurt. He slurped it down quickly, tossing the empty container into the garbage can.

            "I'm going up to bed," he announced.

            "Already?" his roommate asked, disbelief in his voice.

            "Yeah, well… I'm tired."

            "Oh. Okay."


            Saturday. That blissful day when you can sleep in until your heart's content.

            It was nine-thirty when Peter finally cracked his eyes open and stared at the clock. Grumbling, he rolled out of bed and onto the floor. To wake himself up, he did twenty rapid sit-ups.


            Much better. Springing to his feet, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower…


            Downstairs, Harry was just guzzling some milk out of the container when someone knocked on the door. Spewing the milk back into its' receptacle (Pete wouldn't mind), he jogged over to the door and peeped through the spy hole.

            "Aunt May?"

            He opened the door. There she was, holding a grocery bag.

            "Hello Harry," she said warmly.

            "Aunt May?" he repeated, dumbly.

            "Oh, yes, well, surprise!" she laughed. "I figured you boys could use a decent meal cooked for you once in a while, so I brought some things over. Do you mind?"

            Harry's mind filled with images of her delicious casseroles, and ravioli, and salads, and all the other wonderful things he'd ever sampled of her cooking.

            "No, not at all! Come on in!"


            Mary Jane had at first been a surprised when she'd gotten Harry's call. Sure, they'd been seeing each other casually for a while, but she hadn't expected him to invite her over to he and Peter's flat.

            "Come on," he'd said. "Aunt May came over to cook for us."

            And who could resist Aunt May's cooking? So here she was, standing outside the door, and knocking.

            "Hey MJ!" Harry said enthusiastically, letting her in.

            "Ah, Mary Jane!" Aunt May greeted, busily working in the little kitchen.

            MJ laughed and looked around the penthouse.

            "Wow, nice place, Harry."


            Suddenly, he glanced down at himself, as if just realizing that he was wearing flannel pants and an old tee shirt.

            "Um, I'm gonna go change…"

            And he sprinted up the stairs.

            MJ wandered into the kitchen, offering to help with the cooking. She and Aunt May were just striking up a conversation, when someone came running down the stairs…

            Peter, wearing nothing but a pair of blue jeans, stopped dead in his tracks.

            "Aunt May? MJ…"

            He stood there for a moment, as if deciding what to do. MJ accepted the opportunity, hungrily drinking in the details of his muscular, shirtless form.

            "Sorry, ladies, I'll just be a minute…"

            He scurried into the little laundry room, emerging seconds later with a shirt in his hands. Going back up the stairs, he called over his shoulder,

            "I'll be right down!"

            Still staring at the point where he'd vanished, MJ heard Aunt May sigh in a disappointed tone.

            "That boy doesn't eat nearly enough… he's far too skinny…"

            MJ turned to look slowly at her, imagining Peter's perfectly ripped body and seeing no flaws.

            "Aunt May… he's like the most fit guy I know."

            But the elderly woman just shook her head…


            Over lunch, both MJ and Harry were surprised by how much Aunt May was encouraging Peter to eat.

            "Oh, come now, you've hardly touched your food!" she'd chide, when Peter had all but cleaned his plate.

            So after lunch, when Aunt May left, it was hardly a surprise when Peter dropped onto the couch with a groan. Harry walked over and plopped into the armchair, while MJ perched on the other end of the sofa.

            "I can't move my body…" Peter moaned.

            "Poor baby." Harry smirked.

            Rolling over, Peter managed to glare at him.

            "Oh, ha, ha, ha. Ugh! What's she trying to do? Stuff me?"

            "Well," MJ offered. "She said to me that she thinks you're too thin…"

            Harry snorted, and Peter groaned again.

            "Too thin? What does she want me to be? Fat?"

            MJ shrugged.

            "That's just what she said to me…"

            Glancing at her watch, she gasped in horror.

            "Sorry guys, I gotta go! Lunch was great! Bye!"

            And she grabbed her purse, dashing out the door.

            The boys just sat in silence, with Peter trying to digest the enormous amount of chow he'd just consumed.


            Everything should have been ordinary after that. But with Peter, nothing could be that easy…

            Aunt May started calling him, asking him if he was eating all his meals. She insisted she was just checking up on him, but it was spooking him out all the same. He'd listen to her upset lectures when he missed breakfast, and the constant reminders to eat a filling dinner.

            "This is so weird!" Peter exclaimed, slamming the phone down onto its' hook.

            He was in the penthouse, having just walked in the door to a phone call… Again.

            "What's weird?" Harry asked, mildly intrigued.

              "Aunt May!" Peter said, exasperated. "All she does is call me and see if I'm eating properly!"

            "So she's concerned." Harry said casually. "So?"

            "Not just concerned! It's like she wants me to gain weight or something…"

            "Hey," Harry joked. "Maybe she's a cannibal, and she's fattening you up to eat you!"

            There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

            "Ha, ha, ha." Peter said at last. "Very funny."


            Dropping in to visit Aunt May the next week, Peter was hardly surprised when she greeted him with,

            "Can I fix you something?"

            "No thanks, Aunt May." He said easily.

            "Are you sure?" she persisted.

            "Yes! I'm not hungry…"

            As he went up the stairs to his old room, intent on retrieving something, he heard her saying,

            "Oh dear. This won't do. Thanksgiving is so close…  Not nearly plump enough…"

            He turned to look at her, slowly, deliberately.   

            "Plump enough for what?"

            She spun around, looking surprised that he'd heard her. After an awkward moment, her face lit up with a fake grin.

            "Nothing, darling!" she said in a sugary voice.

            Nodding slowly, Peter continued up the stairs.

            After he'd left, he didn't see the murderous look that crossed his beloved Aunt May's face…


            Motherly old lady? Or psychotic cannibal? You decide.

                        I SUPPORT THE AUNT MAY CONSPIRACY!