Shoutout to ya_smerti, Doom, Flaminglines, and Stahl! Keeping the rizz-fueled chaos alive. Appreciate every one of you.
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"That isn't heroism," Daredevil said.
"I help people. I don't rob them. But if someone thinks the guy who saves their kid from a human trafficker deserves a tip, I will not say no. You act like I am exploiting people. What I am doing is showing them this is a two-way street. They get protection, I get enough to keep doing it. Shits costs money."
She raised a hand. Pointed at me. "You are still just a kid."
I grinned. "And you are wearing a skin-tight suit with devil horns. What is your excuse?"
She stepped closer. Her voice came lower. "You think this is a game. You think jokes make it less real. But those people we save? They aren't props. They aren't side quests."
"They are numbers," I said flatly. "One by one, they stack. But I cannot save all of them. Neither can you. You want to bleed out in a ditch trying to pretend you are perfect? Be my guest. I will be on the roof across the street, taking down five guys while you are passing out from exhaustion."
Her fingers twitched, she was probably deciding if I was worthy punching.
"You want to save lives?" I asked, stepping closer now. "Then save them. But stop pretending you are some martyr with a cape. You are a girl in red leather and a God complex."
She flared. I saw it. Her spine straightened, like a hit dog barking back.
"I don't do this for praise."
I raised an eyebrow. "Neither do I. But I sure as hell don't pretend the world is prettier than it is."
She glanced away, probably chewing through every argument she wanted to say but knew would not land.
"Go home," I said. "Take your noble ass to bed. This street is mine tonight."
She stood there like the bricks might give her backup. But the truth was painted all over her.
She was tired.
She stared, eyes locked under the mask, as if looking long enough would make me flinch. It didn't.
I shot a line to the edge of the rooftop and let it pull me upward. Her figure stayed rooted in the alley, arms stiff, still staring like the conversation had not ended. It had. I was done.
"See you around, Elektra," I said, already webbing for the next line.
She froze. "How do you know--"
Too late. I was airborne, vanishing over the rooftops before she got an answer.
[System]: Mmm~ baby, that left her wetter than her own mystery complex. You drop a name like that and walk off? That was villain-level sexual tension. Let her chase you. Emotionally. Physically. Maybe even with knives.
"Tonight's cardio isn't optional," I muttered to myself. "I want every crackhead, purse snatcher, and alley freak to know this skyline belongs to me."
[System]: Mmm~ sugar, territorial dominance detected. That was hot. Claim this city like you just fucked it behind a Denny's.
I passed two pigeons on a ledge. One flew off. The other looked at me like I interrupted something spiritual. I ignored it. Not in the mood for feathery judgment.
Hooked another line, whipped past a blinking neon sign for "Luna Spa," where I was 90 percent sure they also sold bootleg Viagra and "organic colon cleanses." I kicked off a chimney and shot down onto a scaffolding, then leapt again.
That night, the city became a blur of panicked screams, yanked limbs, and web-silhouetted idiots of criminal ambition. I moved faster than most cameras could track, and definitely faster than any of the dumbasses trying to mug grandmas with knockoff purses. Some of them barely saw me before my web cracked against their ribs and pinned them to streetlamps like bug samples.
A guy tried to sprint out of a liquor store with a stolen bag. I dropped in from the fire escape, webbed both his feet mid-run, and watched him faceplant so hard his soul nearly exited through his ears. Didn't even pause. Just zipped off the moment he stopped twitching.
Around the corner, a dealer was handing off something small, something shiny, probably sad in dosage and pathetic in intent. I tagged him on the shoulder, yanked him back through the alley, and hung him upside down from a rusted air duct. He screamed. Bag hit the floor. The buyer ran. I let him.
On East 44th, two guys in hoodies were tailing a college girl too close. She picked up speed. They matched it. I webbed one guy's arm to the wall so hard he spun twice before it stuck. The other turned, pulled a knife, and blinked just in time for my foot to meet his face. He hit the sidewalk with a noise that sounded like his dental plan just evaporated.
Two blocks later, a pimp was slapping one of his girls next to a hot dog cart. I yanked him off his feet with a web to the neck, swung him overhead, and stapled him to the side of a delivery van. She ran without looking back. He sputtered something about knowing people. I webbed his mouth shut and added a sticky smiley face over his eyes. Should keep the message clear.
Near the bridge, a gang of five had cornered a guy near his car, all waving pipes and one actual sword like it was a budget anime club. I webbed the sword guy's arm to a pole, yanked the pipe from the next one, and used it to take down a third before pinning the rest of them in place like oversized meat puppets. None of them even got a hit in.
That same night, I caught a car thief halfway through a joyride. Webbed his wrist to the steering wheel and his ankles to the brake. He honked for help for a solid ten minutes before someone noticed. Left a note on the dash: "Next time, steal candy. Less embarrassing."
Over in Chinatown, three creeps were trying to push a vendor for protection money. One webball to the face, one disarmed crowbar, and one well-placed crotch kick later, they were gagged and taped to their own truck. The vendor offered me dumplings. I took one. Me love dumplings. No judgy.
By midnight, I had fifteen take-downs. Most of them quiet, some of them loud. I let one guy scream. It echoed over the rooftops like a warning siren. Fear was better than bruises. Left a graffiti tag near a broken window: "Spider was here. You are welcome."
That night, I hunted anything that walked wrong. Pedophiles. Pushers. Drunks too hands-on. Some ran. Some fought. All fell. The city was not clean. But it got a deep scrub.
[System]: Mmm~ sugar, that was poetry. You hit these streets like a horny plague. No survivors. Just regrets. +5 XP. Bonus: Sad criminals now fear alleys. Hot.
I got home around four, dropped the clothes, hopped in the shower, let the water slap some humanity back into me. I hit the bed right after and got up two hours later with wood in my shorts, and that was enough to fill up my battery to full.
I cracked four eggs into a bowl, whisked with love, tossed diced onions into the pan, then followed with green peppers and butter. That omelet was the definition of husband material. If I served it shirtless, panties would be flying. Probably some boxers too. Hell, I would marry me. System purred in the background, no words this time, just a soft, pleased hum like a MILF watching her favorite boy clean the kitchen shirtless. Aunt May shuffled in halfway through me toasting bread.
She blinked at the spread. Coffee already brewing, eggs sizzling, "You are making breakfast?" She squinted at me. "You are being suspiciously domestic. Did you commit a crime? Should I check the news?"
I handed her the plate before she could start interrogating. "Relax. I am just in a good mood."
May took it, sat down, eyed the eggs like they were bribes. I made my own plate and dropped into the chair across from her. Her eyebrow arched.
"Five eggs?" she asked.
"Loading," I said, biting into the toast. "Got gym today."
She hummed but didn't press. After breakfast, I kissed the top of her head, grabbed my bag, and walked out, straight to school. Cassie and Trixie were on the prowl again. Not even pretending anymore. They flanked me like a bad idea with legs. Cassie brushed her arm against mine in the hallway, like it was an accident. Trixie whispered something filthy in my ear during chem that made me write "threesome" on my worksheet by mistake.
By lunch, I had been grabbed, pinched, stared at, and cornered twice. Cassie leaned over my tray, her lips brushing my ear, "You ready for tomorrow?" She smirked, bit her straw, and sauntered off like she had already claimed the win. Trixie followed, flashing a wink.
After school, I bounced early. Said goodbye Gwen, ignored MJ, gave Harry a lazy wave. Walked home. Another night. Another round of hunting. Hit the rooftops. Tracked two creeps trying to pickpocket near the train station. Tagged them both mid-grab. Then caught some idiot breaking into a florist's van. Seriously. A florist. I webbed him to the side of the truck with "You deserve this" scrawled next to his face in Sharpie and a fake mustache. But it suited too fine, so smudged all over his face.
Swung past a smoke shop, spotted three teens trying to break the back door open. Landed behind them. One saw me. Puked. I left them webbed to the bench with "Try again after puberty" taped to their chest. They were old enough to know what a bad decision was.
By five, I got home, rinsed off, dropped on the bed. Then it came.
Friday.
The day.
I woke up already half-hard. Blame the dreams. Blame anticipation. Blame the fact that Trixie had sent me an audio note last night of her moaning my name with what sounded like peanut butter in her mouth.
When I climbed down, May was in the kitchen, eyes on her phone.
"Aunty, more eggs."
"You have gym today again?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Extra sweaty?"
"Real sweaty."
She probably already knew and just refused to give it voice. She sipped her coffee, glanced at me, "Be safe."
"Always."
School was hormonal torture. I walked semi-erect whole day, probably resurrected the dry lands of three GILFs.
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You can read up to Chapter 100...
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