Shoutout to Kyle and Futanari Degenerate, you two are keeping this madhouse running. Legends, both of you. This bonus chapter is for all my supporters!
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Cassie rolled over, hair sticking to her cheek, voice hoarse.
"You… are not allowed to ghost me after that," she muttered, half-dazed.
I leaned down, kissed her forehead like I had just given communion.
"Ghost you?" I said. "You are saved under 'Ride Again' in my phone now."
[System]: God, I love this version of you. Virgin Peter was cute. But this? This is main villain energy with lube. +2 XP for aftercare flirting. Now get outta here, champ. The rumor mill is about to catch fire.
We missed only one class. Sat through the last one. Cassie kept shooting looks like I was a walking scandal she wanted on speed dial. I said goodbye with a smirk and a cheek kiss that lingered just long enough for three people to stare. She walked off like she had just won something. Maybe she had. Cheerleaders were built to talk. That was the point.
If she said anything, and she should have after that performance, by tomorrow, I would be lunchroom legend. I let her go work her magic.
The walk home was quiet. My legs still felt the echo of earlier. My pants were clean, thanks to the kleenex save, but the cocky bounce in my step was not. That was all earned.
Aunt May was on the porch. Book in hand. Glasses on. One leg crossed, the kind of pose that said "serious literature" even if the cover was probably something Oprah recommended.
I walked up. Dropped my bag by the steps. Sat down next to her like nothing was weird. Kissed her cheek.
She didn't look up. Just flipped the page.
"I smell teenage mistakes on you," she said.
I laughed. "I hope you were not tracking my location."
She finally turned her head, barely. "I hope you were safe."
I leaned back on the porch swing. Let it sway a little.
"Always," I said. "Safe. Satisfied. Statistically improbable, but true."
She gave me a side glance. Then looked back at her book.
"That better not mean what I think it means."
I shrugged. "Depends. What do you think it means?"
May set the book on her lap. Turned fully toward me now.
"You smell like sweat, cheerleader, and bad decisions wrapped in confidence."
I got up, stretched like someone who had nothing to prove but still wanted the world to notice. Yawned on purpose. Just to make sure the bulge in my pants was legally considered a threat.
"Relax," I said, voice casual, eyes on May's heavenly thighs that put me to sleep last night. "No one is getting pregnant. No STDs either."
[System]: Mmm~ I would never let another girl's immune system crash your party, baby. Full protection protocols are locked in. Swimmers are sealed. Viruses are blocked. You are the safest raw dogger on Earth. No condoms. Ever.
She narrowed her eyes, like she heard the confidence and wanted to slap it into a wall. "That is not reassuring."
I waved my hand, "I promise, Aunty. I am fine."
May looked at me like she had already filed a report with the school counselor and was waiting for me to crack. I didn't. She narrowed her eyes. I smiled. This was the standoff. The domestic showdown. One mom-figure, one trouble kid. Classic.
May rolled her eyes like she had already given up on trying to mold me into a model citizen. "Be safe. Don't waste your future."
She walked inside, muttering something about heating up the sauce again. Probably not for me. Probably.
I turned and made my way to the bathroom, hand already tugging at my collar. Needed to wash off the cheerleader. Literally. There was glitter near my neck and something sticky behind my knee that better be grass or my soul would leave my body.
The bathroom mirror didn't judge, but the faint smirk staring back felt smug enough. I peeled the shirt off, dropped it on the floor, turned on the tap. Cold water, fast splash. Soap. Scrubbed Cassie's perfume off.
She really went for it. Lip gloss stains on my chest, scratches down my back, and a bite mark that looked like she mistook my neck for a snack pack.
I grabbed the towel, rubbed my face dry, and stepped back out.
Dinner was already half-set. Plates stacked, pot still steaming. May was at the stove again, moving. She didn't look up when I walked in, but I could tell she saw me from the corner of her eye. That little twitch in her mouth gave it away. Might have been a smirk. Might have been judgment. Or both.
"You are late," she said, not bothering to turn.
"I was bathing in bleach."
"Sounds like guilt."
"Sounds like hormones," I replied, grabbing the plates and moving them to the table.
She glanced over. "You wearing cologne now?"
I looked down at myself, then up at her. "You want the honest answer or the version that will not make you hit me with a spoon?"
"Plate the pasta."
I did. Quietly. She sprinkled cheese, then sat across from me without a word. We ate in silence for a bit. Kind of. The kind of silence that was filled with chewing and a lot of unsaid commentary on both ends.
Halfway through the plate, May leaned her elbow on the table and stared.
"You planning to tell me what is going on, or should I just assume this is a new phase?"
"This is the default setting," I said, mouth half-full. "Everything else was a software bug."
She picked up her fork again. "You are not subtle."
"I am not trying to be."
She hummed, poking at her pasta. "One time thing? Or a girlfriend?"
I shrugged and kept eating. "Dunno. She is a cheerleader. Wanted to use me to make Flash jealous. Same Flash I pushed on his ass yesterday. Today he tried to punch me again. So I pushed him again. Next thing I know, she was all over me."
May squinted. "You are so open about it. Where did shy Peter go?"
I twirled a bit more pasta onto my fork. "As I said yesterday, dead."
She leaned back slightly, fork halfway to her mouth. "You are not just different. You are… changed."
"People change," I said.
"Not overnight."
I chewed for a second, swallowed, then looked across the table. "That is your opinion. I say Flash hitting me was a hard reset. Glitch fixed. Confidence patch installed."
May gave me a look, the kind that said she was not sure whether to laugh or call the school therapist. I didn't care which way she leaned. Both were overdue.
"You are eating better too," she noted, glancing at my clean plate. "New appetite?"
I smirked. "Burned calories. Needed fuel."
Her eyebrow twitched. She went back to her food like ignoring the comment would undo it. It would not.
After we finished, I took our plates and rinsed them without her asking. She stayed seated, arms folded, eyes tracking me like I was a lab rat she was not allowed to poke yet.
"You skipping homework now too?"
"No," I said, drying the plates. "Finished them on the way."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I am not suddenly stupid, Aunty. I am actually smarter. Who knew confidence did that? I guess not second guessing everything allowed my brain cells to function properly."
May took a moment, then stood and took a glass from the cabinet. "You are saying a concussion turned you into Einstein?"
"Not Einstein. More like… Tony Stark, but less narcissistic."
She snorted. "Less? That is a bold claim."
I shrugged. "Give it a week. If I start building robots in the garage, you are allowed to worry."
She filled the glass, drank, then leaned against the counter. "This thing with Flash and cheerleader… it is not going to become a pattern, right?"
"What, beating up bullies and making out with their exes? No. That was just Thursday."
May set the glass down. "Peter, I am serious."
"So am I. Flash deserved it. Cassie wanted it. I didn't make the rules."
"You are still in school. You cannot solve everything with quips and hormones."
"I don't plan to. Just the fun parts."
She looked like she wanted to argue but gave up. Instead, she turned and wiped her hands on a towel. "You going out again tonight?"
"Maybe."
"Peter…"
"I will be safe. Just stretching my legs."
"Stretching them where?"
I looked over at her, deadpan. "Not inside any cheerleaders. I promise."
May sighed slowly, walked over, and ruffled my hair like I was still eight. "You better not be lying."
"Cross my webbed heart."
She paused. "Webbed?"
"Nothing. Figure of speech."
She walked off, muttering something about boys and early graves.
In the dead of night, I slipped from the window. One smooth hop onto the rooftop. Once I hit the roof, I pulled the mask out of my pocket. Black balaclava. No logos. No spider.
Black Tusk time.
Midtown's own budget arms dealer. No powers. No brains either, if the System was right. Just neon jackets, a burner phone empire, and a dry cleaner as a front.
I could work with that.
[System]: Ooh~ rooftop muscles activated. That flex? Clean. Criminals about to get spanked, baby.
I ignored the voice. Focused on the route. Fifteen minutes of parkour across brownstones and sketchy fire escapes got me near his place. Dry cleaner sat quiet. "Crystal Whites." Irony probably not lost on the guy. Light flickered in the back, barely visible from the alley.
I dropped to the ground, silent. Avoided glass, loose gravel. Moved around to the rear. No security cameras outside. Front door had a closed sign and a flickering open one behind it.
The back alley smelled like piss, fried grease, and capitalism failing. I pressed against the back door. Shitty lock. Probably bought on discount during a panic sale. I gave it one twist with a piece of bent wire from the fence and it clicked open.
Inside, it smelled like cheap detergent and bleach. I crept through the cramped hallway. A rack of half-pressed suits on one side. Shelves of folded shirts on the other. The voices got louder. Some guy with a thick accent was bragging about a gun deal. Another was laughing about something involving a toaster and a rat. Real winner energy.
I crouched beside a set of crates labeled "Bleach." Peeked through the cracked door.
Five guys. One couch. One low table cluttered with cash, magazines, a pistol, and something that looked like half a sandwich with a cigarette stubbed out in it.
Back left corner had a desk. Big guy sitting behind it. Thick neck, no chin, red jacket glowing like a bad decision. Black Tusk.
Another guy leaned against the dryer, shirt unbuttoned, beer in hand. Two others were busy shoving things into a duffel bag. The fifth was busy with something else.
Grunts echoed. Wet and repetitive.
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You can read up to Chapter 72...
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