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Spider-Man: Black and Blue (AU) Chapter 18: Freelance Photographer
🕑 Added 2025-10-04 07:32:23 +0000 UTC[Third Person's PoV]
As Damon and Richard met up inside the dimly lit warehouse, the faint hum of buzzing fluorescent lights echoed off the steel beams overhead. Damon pulled his backpack off and began slipping into his Spider-Man outfit, tugging the suit up over his legs and torso with practiced ease.
“Looks like someone beat you to the punch when it came to branding,” Richard remarked with a smirk, leaning casually against a stack of crates. “Spider-Man, huh? Gotta admit—it’s got a nice ring to it.”
Damon rolled his eyes as he adjusted the fabric around his shoulders. “My mom called it ‘cute,’” he muttered flatly, pulling the upper half of the suit over his chest and arms in one swift motion.
“Cute, huh?” Richard chuckled. “Well, it’s catchy. Has a certain flair to it. Besides, it’s not like you can shake it now—everyone’s already calling you that.”
Damon let out a sigh as he fitted the mask into place, the lenses flickering slightly as they activated. “Yeah… I guess it’s not the worst name in the world.”
Just as Damon sealed the final zipper, Richard tossed him a compact camera. Damon snatched it out of the air with one hand, the grip seamless and instinctual.
“Set it up somewhere high,” Richard instructed, his tone more businesslike now. “Timer mode. Let it snap a bunch of shots while you're out doing your hero thing.”
Damon nodded, thumbing through the camera’s settings. “Seems simple enough.”
“But don’t go rushing to the Bugle with the photos just yet,” Richard added, his voice dropping into a more serious tone. “If we show up with a batch of high-quality pictures right away, people might start asking questions. It’d look too clean.”
“Good call,” Damon said, snapping his fingers in agreement. “And hey, maybe the reward money goes up if we let demand build for a few days.”
“Exactly!” Richard grinned, already pacing in excitement. “And once the cash starts flowing in, we’ll start setting some aside. A special stash—our ‘Hero Fund.’”
Damon raised an eyebrow. “Wow. The creativity. Did you come up with that all by yourself?”
“I really don’t appreciate your sarcasm,” Richard replied with a deadpan expression. “But you get the idea, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Damon said, nodding as he slung the camera strap around his neck. “We’ll use the extra money to upgrade your gear, get you better computer equipment—maybe even start building stuff.”
“Not just computers,” Richard said, eyes lighting up. “Eventually, armor for your suit. Gadgets, upgrades—your new intellect gives you an edge. It won’t be long before you're designing tools to take down bad guys even faster.”
Damon scratched the back of his head through the mask. “I’m still a ways off from building anything major. I’ve only just wrapped up high school-level studies and started brushing into college material. You forget I’m juggling this whole thing with actual studying. It’s a headache—and boring as hell.”
He fastened the camera securely and rolled his shoulders. “Still, I won’t lie. It’s nice actually understanding what I’m reading for once.”
“That,” Richard said, pointing at him with mock envy, “is the one power I’m most jealous of. It’s completely unfair. Anyway, get moving—we’ve got cash to earn and a reputation to build.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Damon replied sarcastically, walking toward the exit.
“Ooh, I like that!” Richard called after him. “Boss! That’s perfect. The man behind the scenes, pulling the strings—Spider-Man’s shadowy mastermind!”
“I’m not calling you that!” Damon shouted over his shoulder as he pushed open the warehouse doors.
Outside, the cool night air greeted him like a breath of freedom. He closed the door behind him and sprang up onto the roof, his footsteps thudding softly against the rusted metal panels. The city stretched out before him in a web of glimmering lights and shadowy alleys. Without missing a beat, he sprinted forward, launched into the air, latched onto a nearby streetlamp with a satisfying thwip, and swung out into the skyline, vanishing into the urban sprawl
…
A week later…
Damon stood just outside the towering glass doors of the Daily Bugle, a manila envelope tucked securely under his arm and a sleek camera hanging from a strap around his neck. He slightly adjusted his black button-down shirt and tugged slightly at the collar.
With a confident stride, Damon entered the building, his snow-white hair instantly turning heads. It was unruly, yet somehow stylish, and paired with his sharp jawline and striking blue eyes behind tinted glasses, he cut a figure that was hard to ignore. He didn’t pay any mind to the stares—he was used to it by now.
The elevator dinged open, and he rode it up to the top floor, hands tucked in his pockets, humming softly. When the doors slid open, he stepped out into the buzzing nerve center of the Bugle’s headquarters, the clatter of keyboards and ringing phones echoing around him.
He made his way toward the reception desk where a stunning woman with short, chocolate-brown hair was poring over a stack of documents. She wore a professional white blouse, but Damon couldn’t help but notice the way it hugged her figure.
‘Whoa, what a babe,’ Damon thought to himself. ‘And older too… just my type.’
Grinning, he leaned against the desk with casual charm, folding his arms as he pulled his sunglasses down just enough to reveal his dazzling blue eyes. “Hey~” he greeted with casual charm. “Is Mr. Jameson in his office? I’ve got something I think he’ll want to see.”
“Hm? Yes, he’s—whoa…” she blinked, momentarily speechless.
The woman looked up, her hazel eyes widening in surprise at the sight before her. Damon’s unique features caught her completely off guard. That snow-white hair, those shimmering eyes—it was like something out of a magazine shoot.
“He’s whoa?” Damon repeated, tilting his head with a smirk playing at his lips.
She shook her head rapidly, cheeks tinged pink. “No! I meant—you’re whoa—no, wait—I mean, Mr. Jameson is in his office. You can go in if you have an appointment!” she stammered.
Damon chuckled softly, clearly enjoying her flustered state. “Nice to know someone finds me whoa. That’s a first for me.”
“I—I’m sorry…” she mumbled, clearly embarrassed and wanting to hide beneath her desk.
“No need to apologize,” Damon said, offering a kind smile as he extended a hand. “It was a sweet compliment. Name’s Damon Drake.”
“Betty Grant,” she replied, shaking his hand gently.
“Lovely name. It suits you~” he said with a wink.
“Oh, stop it,” Betty scoffed, playfully rolling her eyes.
Suddenly, a door slammed open with a loud bang and shouting erupted from the nearby office.
“USELESS! ALL OF YOU ARE USELESS!!”
A man came tumbling out of the office, clutching a camera, while a stack of blurry photos was flung after him. J. Jonah Jameson stormed behind, his face red with rage.
“You call those high-quality pictures of Spider-Man?! I’ve seen better shots taken by a dog with a GoPro! Get out! Quit photography, do the world a favor!!”
Damon slipped his glasses back on and turned back to Betty with a grin. “I’ll catch you later, Ms. Grant. I have a feeling this won’t be our last conversation.”
As he walked toward Jameson’s office, he cheekily activated his X-ray vision for a quick glance back and mentally whistled.
‘Whoa. What a rack…’ he thought with no shame.
“If you’re looking for pictures of Spider-Man,” Damon called out, raising the yellow envelope, “I’ve got something you might want to see!”
The defeated photographer scoffed while picking up his scattered prints. “Don’t waste your time, kid. He’ll chew you up and spit you out.”
Jameson turned and squinted at Damon, then motioned him forward. “You better not be another hack. But I guess I’m desperate enough to see what a kid’s got. Hand it over.”
Damon passed him the envelope without a word, The other photographer stormed off in a huff, grumbling under his breath.
Jameson ripped open the envelope and pulled out the photos. His eyes scanned over them—and then widened.
One image showed Spider-Man swinging across the skyline, carrying a woman by the waist, her expression caught in a mixture of fear and awe.
Another showed him mid-action, knocking out a gang of thugs attempting to rob an ATM.
A third was a stunning shot of Spider-Man crouched on a car suspended by webs between two buildings. He had one hand down the car door and the other thrown out in a dramatic pose.
“Marvelous!” Jameson shouted, his whole demeanor shifting in an instant. “Amazing! Spectacular!! These are exactly what I’ve been asking for!”
“I thought you might like them,” Damon said, rubbing his fingers together with a coy grin. “Now, considering the quality and quantity… shouldn’t that earn me a little something extra?”
Jameson glared at him. “You trying to shake me down, kid? You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. You’re lucky I’m even paying you!”
Damon shrugged. “I’m sure The Daily Planet would appreciate them a whole lot more. And from what I hear, they actually pay their freelancers.”
“You little bastard,” Jameson grumbled through clenched teeth.
“It’s part of my charm,” Damon replied smoothly.
The editor let out a long, low growl before throwing his hands in the air. “Fine! Betty! Pay the kid—and throw in a bonus while you’re at it.”
“Right away, Mr. Jameson,” Betty called from behind her desk.
Jameson slapped Damon on the shoulder with the envelope. “And listen, you come straight to me if you get any more of these. I’m putting together a new headline tonight—and your pictures are gonna sell it!”
As Jameson retreated into his office, Damon strolled over to Betty’s desk once more.
“So… would you happen to be included in that bonus too?” he asked with a flirtatious glint in his eye.
Betty blushed again, tearing the check from the booklet and holding it out. “Thank you, Mr. Drake—but I think you’re a bit too young for me.”
“And you, Ms. Grant, are the perfect age for me,” Damon said smoothly, plucking the check from her fingers.
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto her lips. “Flirt.”
Damon turned to walk away, waving the check lazily in the air, one hand in his pocket. “I’ll be seeing you, Betty.”
As the doors to the elevator closed behind him, Betty sighed and muttered under her breath with a soft laugh, “What a dangerous little heartbreaker…”
Comments
Bryan Vargas
That's the point imagine a Felicia moment. Where she threw up upon finding out Peter was a minor
Vrati
Damon is only 16, right? That would be a little weird with a fully grown adult woman.
