Góa phụ Miguel O’hara và động bàn tơ <3

Collecting random stuff online to read, personal stuff.

Please don’t read this if you don’t have my permission.

Note: Cô gái đi quân sự nhớ động nhện không chịu được phải làm trò này trong những phút cuối trong khi phải
chuẩn bị đồ, suốt ngày chạy deadline quen thân luôn rồi.
Ngoài ra em cũng nhớ bồ em, anh Hoàng Nâu aka Hobart Hobie Brown và ả mèo đen Felicia.

- In hai con nhện ngố ra còn có ref để vẽ, phòng bệnh hơn chữa bệnh <3
- Mấy đứa khác tui nhớ, mong vậy chứ vội lắm rồi oe oe...
【Mimi】Assuming you stop breathing, how do you prove that you are still alive?
Mianmian408:

Miguel opened his eyes.

There was no abnormality in the room—at least it looked so to the naked eye. Miguel panted heavily as if
waking up, blinked his eyes, sat up, looked around for a week, and lay down again... He knew there were
people in the room, and he knew that Who is it, but after thinking briefly, Miguel still didn't say anything.
The next day, Laila still sent the thermal imaging of the room surveillance that night. In the video, Miles stood
silently beside Miguel’s bed the same as the previous nights. The only difference was that Miguel sat up.
Miguel originally thought that Miles would run away after his action, but the video showed that Miles did
move, but instead of running away, he got closer. A more creepy discovery is: last night When Miguel turned
around, Miles was almost pressed against his face.
Miguel raised his hand to scratch out the window, and propped his forehead with his hands—he had already
started to have a headache. From the corner of his fingers, Miguel saw the figure reflected on the screen, and
the figure of Miles ran from the door. However, the incident doubled Miguel's headaches.

What's wrong with Miles?

Since the last time Miles came back, something was wrong. Miguel couldn’t tell what was wrong. After all,
because of the weaving of the web before, the relationship between the two of them was not particularly
close. Miguel, who is too familiar with him, can detect the abnormality, so something wrong with Myers must
be very obvious.
Before finding out that Miles would sneak into his room in the middle of the night and stare at him, Miguel
always felt that Miles was a little afraid of him, but now... Miguel was a little afraid of Miles instead.
To explain, he is not really afraid of Miles doing something to him, on the contrary, he is afraid of Miles doing
nothing. Babies cry because of hunger or excretion. Teenagers chatter all day long because their thoughts soar
faster than their bodies grow. Adults work and are busy because they want to live. Everyone has aspirations,
and desires are not something to be ashamed of. It won’t be creepy, Miles stood by his bed just looking at him,
Miguel couldn’t analyze what Miles wanted in this matter, the sense of unknown is what Miguel felt about
Miles. source of fear.
... Miles started staring at him a few days ago, and the only variable is the last mission that Miles sent out.
Radiation effects from the multiverse? Or was there an operation error during the task that caused memory
confusion? Or more directly, met a mind-manipulating villain? Miguel asked Lila to call up Miles' last mission
record. The last time Miles went on a mission in his memory was two weeks ago? Venom-type villains need
electric shocks, Huobi is not so easy to mobilize, and the kid comes over to run a part-time job... Something is
wrong? Miguel crossed the task list to the end, and he saw a task that had just been completed five days ago.
There is nothing wrong with this task record itself, the only strange thing is the list of personnel. Miguel
confirmed that the code on the record was not manually edited, it was indeed generated directly through the
jump coordinates of the terminal, so why... Miguel repeatedly looked at the conspicuous Miguel O'Hara on the
screen, but no matter how he thought , and I couldn't find any memory about this matter from my mind.
At this time, Lila sent a reminder directly from the internal communication terminal of his battle suit: "Boss,
Miles is in front of you now."
Miguel showed no unusual reactions. The appearance of Miles here made him reasonably guess that this
abnormal work record was inseparable from Miles' abnormality. He calmly closed some windows and
continued the work in hand naturally.
As for Miles, he continued to hang upside down in front of Miguel in silence. If Miguel could see his eyes, it
would be clear at once that Miles had no interest in what he was suspecting or investigating. Whether it's by
the bed or on the ceiling, Miles just looks at Miguel all the time, and doesn't give up blinking until his eyes are
dry and close to tears.

When did his habit of staring at Miguel start to appear? Miles thought about it, it seemed to be the 39th time.
The prop provided by the room in the 39th round was a rope, Miles had to watch how Miguel was strangled to
death by his own hands... He had forgotten why he didn't close his eyes, but he still remembered the hand I
also remember how Miguel's eyes went from focusing to out of focus, remembering the crimson slack pupils,
the first time he saw death happen with his own eyes, and he didn't miss a second... After that time he started
Watching Miguel habitually, every time. Whether it was with a knife, a gun, or that kind of cruel instrument of
torture, every time Miles killed Miguel, he would stare at his face.
The memory in the room was extremely clear, and Miles moved closer so that he could see Miguel's slight ups
and downs with his breathing when he fell asleep.
He needed to know for sure that Miguel was alive to be at ease. While Miguel was working, Miles watched him
quietly. Gaze greedily for fear of missing a second. The same Miguel as before, the Miguel who can speak and
breathe——After nearly a hundred observations, Myers found that there is actually no difference between
dying and sleeping, ignoring fatal injuries and blood or Bruised, the only difference between a dead person and
a sleeping person is breathing.
At this distance, he could even see the fine hairs on Miguel's face. In fact, when he just left the room and found
that Miguel had forgotten all of this, Miles' first reaction was to keep this matter in his heart forever. He
thought that as the murderer, he didn't even suffer physical injuries. This memory was terrifying to him, and
Miguel was indeed killed by him a hundred times... I don't remember is the best.
"What's the matter?" Miguel asked him again.
Miles looked at him and shook his head. He pulled down his mask and walked away as if he was running away,
but after a while he couldn't help but come back and look at Miguel for a long time.
It was really a long time. He watched Miguel start working normally after he left. Myers didn't leave until
Miguel finished his work and left the main control room.
stop here. Miles thought, kind of reminding myself, forget about it, don't think about it again, go back to sleep,
and make it a thing of yesterday, Miguel has lost his memory so you don't have to worry about the trauma you
caused And as long as Miguel is still alive, he hasn't been killed by you-he can't do it.
Did he really not kill Miguel?
Every time, whether it is guns, knives, chains, ropes... Miguel will return to its original state, even if it was a
dead body motionless one second, he will sit up again in the next second, look at the newly acquired tools, and
then Give Miles the fastest way to kill him.
He executes, just executes, only executes, it's the best solution to get out, kill Miguel, over and over again,
make killing Miguel part of the to-do list, pull the trigger, depress the blade, take The upper knuckle or the
gauntlet is pumped again and again, the rope is tightened until the skin of the right person turns gray, and the
syringe is pushed into the injection with seemingly ease... No matter what, Miguel will finally sit up and let
Miles "quick" Click to do it next time".
Miguel didn't know that in the short interval of less than ten minutes from his death to his resurrection, Miles
had calmly looked at his dead bodies in different shapes again and again.
How many times did he kill Miguel? Ninety-nine times or a hundred times? Is Miguel still alive, or dead?
For the last kill, no props were given in the room, meaning Miles had to kill Miguel with his bare hands.
"Strangle me to death." The last round of Miguel's death method was a very common long knife piercing, Miles
seemed to be able to see the gushing blood in front of his eyes, and Miguel, who had just been disemboweled
and motionless, now There was only a little blood on it, and he dragged Miles's hand with both hands, seeing
that Miles seemed to be in a daze, so he squeezed his palm, "Strangle me, Miles," perhaps realizing that he
seemed to be saying What unconventional words, Miguel softened his tone, "Are you okay? If you insist one
more time, we can go out immediately. After we go out, do you want to..."
good. How is he? Miles' brain was in a mess at the time, and he looked at Miguel's face—when did the blood
on that face get on? Are his eyes still intact, and his face not scorched or blasted by gunpowder? Miles felt his
palm touch Miguel's face, he didn't move his hand, it was Miguel who held his wrist and let him touch it.
"...What am I going to do?" His tone was still trembling unconsciously, "Strangle you, right?"
He wasn't sure what Miguel said next.
A human -- even a half-tarantula genetically engineered human -- would have a very vulnerable neck under
Spider-Man's grip. Miles strangled Miguel's neck, with both hands hard, just a thought, death came very
quietly, without a sound. Close your eyes and open them again. There is no corpse, no new props, and no
room. The temperature of the human body is still there, but the reality is that he and Miguel are standing in
front of the portal. Miguel turned around and asked him Why are you in a daze, why haven't you entered the
portal.
Which one is real?
He moved closer again. Looking at Miguel's sleeping face, like looking at the ninety-nine corpses of the past—
Myers noticed that Miguel had stopped breathing.
Miguel's body was tense, without any ups and downs, but he kept his eyes closed, and the tip of Miles' nose
was almost pressed against it, but Miguel remained motionless.
Miguel's last death did not leave a body, and the hundred deaths did not leave a memory in his mind. Miles
has no way to verify whether the last death really happened, nor whether they really left. That room just
entered a new environment. In this way, is it possible that the living Miguel is an illusory bubble, while the
dead one is real... Is
he still alive?
Miles wondered if he had spoken his heart out.
Are you still alive?
Are you alive?
Those blood, those torn faces, those cold touches and dilated pupils, no heaving chest viscera or the sound of
flesh being cut... Miguel's death is always very quiet, and the night is so quiet, so quiet that Miles All I could
hear were the screams in my heart and those messy thoughts.
Assuming you stopped breathing, how do I prove you were alive?
Miles breathed heavily, he closed and opened his eyes, and met a pair of angry and painful red eyes.
Miguel's hand was on Miles's as before, not to help him strangle himself this time, but to break Miles's hand
away.
Miles could feel that the sharp claws between the opponent's fingers had pierced into his own flesh. It was
very painful, and the pain woke him up... What was he thinking just now? It was a mess... Miles let go of his
hand in a hurry, took two steps back, and finally his legs gave way, and he fell to the ground in embarrassment.
Miguel first muttered a series of obscenities in Spanish, and he tried hard to control the instinct to fight back:
"What the hell are you getting on?" Miguel didn't approach rashly—no one would immediately care about a
guy who just wanted to strangle you. people.
Miles didn't speak, he sat there, the child's slender legs and arms were hugged into a ball, Miles buried his
head, he pulled off the mask because of shortness of breath, the enhanced dynamic vision allowed Miguel to
be able to You can clearly see the magnitude of Myers trembling.
...Or you can only let your guard down, no matter what happened, Miles is still just a child. And frankly
speaking, at the moment when Myers strangled his neck, Miguel was actually a little lucky-a Myers who
wanted to kill you was easier to deal with than a Myers who just stared at you many. Miguel walked a little
closer. He tried to make Miles look at him, but he could only see a tear-soaked eye through the gap between
the other's elbows.
"...I, I don't know—I don't know...I'm sorry, Miguel, I'm sorry, I really can't..." Miles tried to curl himself up to
avoid Miguel, "Don't look at me I'm going to hide...I'll hide by myself—I'll walk by myself..." He tried to wipe
the tears off his face, but more and more, his face became more and more messy, he breathed, but he couldn't
breathe, just now Those things and those things that are farther away, all of them seem to be still in front of
us...
Someone held his hand, and his subconscious reaction was to pull it out, but the strength of his first reaction
couldn't break free from the opponent's full strength. Miguel held his hand, and their palms were pressed
together. When Miles touched the wound, he remembered that he seemed to have been scratched by Miguel
just now, and the back of his hand was still aching.
"At least let me treat the wound for you." Miguel sighed. He originally wanted Lila to turn on the light, but
Miles might be more uncomfortable in the light. "No matter why you want to kill me, today is the first time."
Forget it, okay?"
Miles was in a daze, he felt the temperature of Miguel's palm - some proof of being alive, his breathing
gradually calmed down, and his chaotic consciousness gradually calmed down. He put his fingers on Miguel's
wrist, and the vibration of his pulse reassured him.
Miles was silent, and Miguel was not a talkative person. He was helping Miles with his wounds as he said.
There were monitors in the watch, and naturally there were medicine kits. In 2099, humans will not continue
to use them. Iodine and bandages, he applied the healing gel to Miles, the medicine brought a cold touch,
Miles shivered, and continued to look at Miguel intently. People are most likely to have the desire to confide
when they are being taken care of. After a long time, Miles finally broke the calm, "I don't want to kill you." "
Then use your popular saying?" Miguel tried to mobilize the spider blood in himself Sense of humor, "Killing
me won't kill centralization." Cold silence. Is this a communication dilemma between middle-aged people and
teenagers? Miguel hastened to treat the wound on Miles' hand, and he had no doubt that if he wore the
headset of the communication terminal, he could hear Lila laughing.
Miles also smiled, and the smile was transmitted after a while. For the first time tonight, Miles showed an
expression similar to his in the past. He wiped the corner of his eyes with a smile: "No, it's not that." Although
the voice still It was stuffy, but Miles was obviously a lot more normal, "I...we, we actually went through some
things together." Miguel
nodded, motioning for him to continue talking, and Miles paused here, as if After a fierce struggle, he finally
spoke.
"You don't remember it anymore, but I remember it very clearly." Telling this incident is like playing with
withered and drooping petals, peeling off the stacked ones, revealing the rotten flower disc inside, Miles must
face that memory, The only thing that feels better is that he can temporarily skip the most painful ones and go
back to the very beginning of the matter, "Five days ago, after the record ended, we passed through the jump
portal of the watch, and instead of returning to the alliance headquarters, we Entered a strange room with no
entrance."
"There is only a table in the room, with a pistol on it, and a note..." Miguel found that Miles' mood had become
a little wrong, so he put his hand Putting it on Miles' shoulder, an expression of reassurance, Miles glanced at
the hand on the shoulder, and then looked back at Miguel's face, "The note read 'Using a hundred ways You
can go out after killing each other in different ways'."
Speaking of which, Miguel has basically been able to guess Miles' experience, he is too clear about how he will
choose, in this unknown situation, He can only make that one choice...
"We split up and walked in two directions in the room, but ten minutes later, we met again in front of that
table, and then we tried more than ten times from different directions, and the results were all the same. It's
the same," Myers said, his voice trailing off, "and then we'll just have to try that gun..." "
I handed you the gun, didn't I?" Myers frowned. mouth, he didn’t repeat it, just nodded, and Miguel gently
rubbed the hand on his shoulder, “Thank you, Miles.”
He didn’t call him “kid”, just called him Miles .
Miles looked up at Miguel, at the face he was already very familiar with, and after telling this, the depression in
his heart suddenly dissipated a little, as if the corpse opened its eyes and jumped from the ground. Same as
sitting up. This sense of familiarity made Miles a little dazed: "...are you alive?"
What kind of stupid question is this asking? Miguel is a little bit dumbfounded, but he really doesn't have much
experience in communicating trauma with teenagers in depth, so He opened his arms: "Would you like to give
it a hug?"
This time it was Miles' turn to hold his breath.
He accepted the hug with a mountain of heavy feelings made up of some psychological shadows. At first, he
gently hugged back cautiously—for fear that if he used force, this illusory soap bubble would shatter in his
embrace.
Due to the height problem, Miles stood up and hugged Miguel, his ears were just right on Miguel's chest, and
Miguel's heart was beating right next to his ears.
It was clearly a warm hug, but Miles couldn't help crying again in Miguel's arms.
He suddenly remembered that before he strangled Miguel for the last time, what Miguel said was: "After we
go out, do you want me...to hug you?
" Hugging, Miles finally confirmed that what he was in front of was a real and alive Miguel.
He hugged Miguel back hard, and the clenched hands were finally no longer the direction of harm. Plop, plop,
the sound of the heartbeat continued to ring in my ears. Miguel's hands landed on top of his head, some soft
touches and caresses.
This is all really happening, Miles thought, wrapping his arms a little tighter.
No assumptions, no proofs.

light the fire, and we’ll burn this grace to the ground
nutteu:
The moment he felt the harsh impact of falling, his webs futilely trying to soften the fall yet ultimately failing
when another weight was added to its strain, Miguel knew that something was wrong. He might not have the
right to call himself anything but a hypocrite—for Miles Morales was right: Miguel was an anomaly in itself, for
crafting himself into a Spiderman instead of becoming one through traditional means of being bitten by a
radioactive spider, but he was still a Spiderman and there was nothing stronger than the shared gut instinct
they all possessed, regardless of his genesis.

So, he knew, that there was a looming thunderstorm on the horizon, one he didn’t have means to escape
from.
It started with something simple, something crucial: the watch. It lay there, broken, on the cold ground,
several feet away from where Miguel was curling around someone else’s form to protect them from the same
pain of hitting the pavements at such velocity. He didn’t know who it was, just that they came with him into
this particular universe, but there was another tingle to his senses, something akin to an alarm blaring bright
red inside his mind. Danger, danger, danger.

And when he let go—slowly, warily—only to look straight into the Prowler’s eyes, his heart stuttered in its
cage. This was yet another sign, of the wrongness, of the scent of thunderstorm. They both scrambled to their
feet the moment they realized who was with them. Miguel, with his claws ready and fangs bared in something
close to heightened desperation; Miles Morales, of different Earth than the one he was trying to hunt down,
the one who lost his father and sought for vengeance with single-minded focus and ruthlessness, with his own
claws and weapons wielded with a grace no teenager his age should have possessed yet.

Then, the third sign, the most damning sign, came the moment Miles growled, a harsh, contemptuous sound
from the back of his throat; his scent surrounding them abruptly in a show of dominance, the metallic tang of
blood that clashed horribly with the softer undertone of sunflower—a complete juxtaposition that was nearly
similar with his doppelganger, just enunciated differently, for an obvious reason.

Because while both of them were alphas, this Miles knew how to use his dynamic as yet another weapon;
knew his supposed place and what he was capable of, with no hesitation nor mercy in the cradle of his lungs.
And when he took a step forward, Miguel realized just how precarious, how grim this situation was for him,
the moment his knees collapsed and his heartbeat paced twice as fast, in tandem with something he
recognized with distaste: an old age synchronization of dynamic he couldn’t fight, not when he was this
weakened from the previous fight—not when the prolonged battle had given him no chance to renew his
dosage of suppressants, and now he was stranded in fuck knew where with no hope of escaping the soldier on
a warpath before him.

He knew that Miles realized it, too, when Miguel’s own scent leaked out of him, no way to prevent it with his
scent blocker worn off and stale beneath his suit. Because he paused in his step, and he let out another growl,
one ladened with unwilling protection, to signify a worry over a heavily wounded, distressed omega. Neither of
them wanted this, neither of them willing to succumb to their dynamics, but there was nothing they could do
to stop the machination from going into motion when they both had taken damages from the battle, and was
running solely on sheer will and instincts that neither of them could fight.

An alpha, with his fight or flight instincts going haywire, cruelty and viciousness battling valiantly with the need
to protect, to take, to subjugate the omega within his reach; an omega, with his fight or flight instincts horribly
fucked from how much he had defied his biology, the hardened fighter in him battling futilely with the need to
submit, to be protected, to kneel on the ground for the alpha in his presence.

They were unwise decision and an unholy union, and they knew that they both were merely victims of the
storm coming for them, approaching fast from the dark horizon that seemed to loom over them like the
shadows.

Then, the final strike, the last sign, happened when Miguel crumpled down to his knees, from pain and the
unwanted desires coiling tight in his gut, the burning embers burning bright the more he inhaled the scent of
an alpha around him; the biological reaction he was helpless against as he felt slick ran down his thighs, the
particular, tell-tale smell barely hidden by the suit. His heat was approaching just as fast, unstoppable and
abrupt from the danger he had been in for far too long.

Miles grunted in frustration and detracted his claws, stepped closer to Miguel with brisk pace, and widened his
eyes when Miguel let out a soft writhe at the touch on his shoulders. Miguel gritted his teeth to stop any more
sound from escaping, yet it was far too late, for there was a dark glint in Miles’ eyes and they both knew what
was going to happen—what needed to happen.

“Who would have thought that you’re an omega,” Miles said, almost softly. There was curiosity, in his voice.
Then, an understanding that bloomed in tandem with a slow smirk on his lips, as he reached down to caress a
finger right in the middle of Miguel’s cunt, brushing against his clit and eliciting another whimper from him. “A
true omega. I can’t believe I was blind enough to not realize sooner.”

“Don’t,” he growled out, though his body was burning hotter at the touch, slick coming out in waves and
threatening to seep out from his torn-up suit. “This isn’t what you want, Miles,” he said, though he was leaning
into the touch before his brain could catch up. “Fucking wake up and realize that you’re just affected by the
scent.”

“Isn’t what I want?” Miles asked, mockery clear in his voice. “Oh, princess, you don’t know what I want.”
Something in the way he said that, something with dark promises and darker cruelty, made Miguel shiver;
made his knees weaken further until he was completely leaning into Miles. His rational mind was telling him to
fight, despite everything. But the other part of his mind, driven by his dynamic and need, keened in pleasure at
the pet-name and what surely would come if only he stopped fighting long enough to be owned.

“Not here,” Miles said brusquely, as if he had heard Miguel’s thought and had made a decision for them both,
regardless of the mutual consent. “We need to find somewhere safe for you. I won’t have anyone else
bothering us in the middle of it.”

“There’s nothing to bother,” he snapped out, trying to scramble away from Miles’ touch, and ended up closer
to the teenager’s hold instead as Miles tightened his fingers and brought him closer. “Fucking hell, Miles—you
don’t want this!”
“Maybe,” Miles said, chuckling almost breathlessly. “But who cares? Who can stop me now? Don’t tell me you
don’t know what your body wants, Miguel. Now, be a good princess, and shut the fuck up.”

He tried, he truly did. But Miles had him close in his arms, and the boy’s scent was making his head spin,
making him lose track of his thoughts and his surroundings, until he found himself lying on a cold, hard ground
of a place that looked like an abandoned warehouse. He groaned at the sensation that differed greatly with his
heated-up skin, and nearly cried out in gratitude when Miles sighed and laid down his cape for Miguel to curl
into.
It was the end of the gentility, however, because the next thing Miguel knew, his suit was torn apart by the
Prowler’s claw, the sharp tips nicking skin without mercy and drawing red that fell in rivulets on his skin, now
slick with sweat and blood. He grunted, and pushed weakly at the boy, the pain from the wounds too much for
his sensitive skin, and had his wrists slammed down on each side of his head for the trouble.

“Look at you, princess,” Miles taunted. “No longer a tough guy, huh? Is your heat nearing? You need me, don’t
you? Admit it—admit that you need an alpha to fuck you, to breed you.”

“I don’t need you,” he growled out, certainty lining every syllable even as he curled into Miles’ touch, because
the more distressed he became, the more his heat cradled him close. How long had it been since he allowed
his biology to run its course? Way too damn long and now Miguel couldn’t even regret it, for he knew it was
his own fault. But what else could he do but to prevent it, endure the risk of overusing the suppressants to the
point that he had to make something more potent, more dangerous for himself, when he had to keep all the
universes and timelines safe?

“Maybe,” Miles echoed from before, laughing a little too gently as he tried to coax the omega’s instincts out of
Miguel completely with soft touches meant to protect, to show desires, to reach a destination point in which
they’d be entwined so tightly until there was no scant inches between them. “But you still need an alpha, and
better the devil you know and all that, ain’t that right?”

Miguel closed his eyes, clamped his mouth shut on another moan when Miles touched his chest, swelling and
sensitive from early on, a byproduct of touch deprivation he intentionally imposed on himself. He turned his
head to the side when one of his nipples was tweaked briefly, before there was a click and a light thud of the
Prowler’s claw being put down, before both of his breasts were cupped within palms smaller than them;
massaging and clenching, drawing out bitten-off moans from him and at last a fucking whine when Miles
lowered himself slowly on him.
The feeling of another body upon his heated one, the weight of someone else bearing down on him, the
knowledge that this was an alpha who was fully capable of taking care of him as well as tearing him into
pieces, made him shudder; made him spread his legs to make room for Miles to settle into, made him hide his
face into his arms just so he didn’t have to see how pathetic he had become, to want to be touched by a boy.

But Miles wasn’t just a boy, was he? He was a fighter, one that could dominate the battlefield from his
experience and expertise. He was someone who could level a fight despite his lack of superpowers, simply
because he had learned the hard way how to dole out viciousness and cruelty in order to protect, to attack, to
destroy anything that stood on his way. He might be merely on the cusp of adulthood, but he deserved to be
recognized as a seasoned fighter in his own right, and Miguel’s heat-addled brain directly translated that as an
alpha capable of protecting him, of owning him.

“That’s right,” said Miles, a touch of smile in his voice. “That’s it, princess. Just give in—this is what you want,
isn’t it? I can smell it on you clearer now: your desires. You really think you can avoid this, going into a fight
with your heat so close by? Are you taunting me, Miguel? You want an alpha to take you down in a fight, like
an animal, and have their way with you as they pleased; is that what you want?”

“No, no,” he muttered weakly. “I didn’t know—I didn’t—”

“Hush now,” the boy cut him off, trailing the touch down to the abdomen, smearing the blood that hadn’t
dried across the exposed skin; down, down, down until his fingers met Miguel’s bare cunt, and they both
groaned in unison at the feeling of how thoroughly soaked he was without either of them realizing. “God, fuck,
look at you: so wet for me, so ready for my cock.”

Miguel moaned when there were two fingers slipping on his folds, movements smooth from the slick still
gushing out of him from the scent, the presence of an alpha who had taken him to a safe place, who praised
him with clear mockery and yet a small hint of genuine wonder, who wanted him and his battered, battle-
scarred body. It made the omega in his head preen, made him feel disgust beyond what he thought was the
limit.

It didn’t matter how strong he had become, how much he had done to make himself near invincible. The fight
with both Miles Morales had proven to him that there was threat, danger out there he couldn’t outrun with
chemicals and stubbornness to defy his dynamic, his omega. It didn’t matter just how much people feared him
for his own ruthlessness, for they had never known that Miguel was hiding a fragile core inside, one that only a
selected few knew about.

And now Miles knew, and there was no telling what he was going to do with that knowledge.

It made Miguel afraid, more than anything; terrified to the bones because here was someone who was so
vicious to his enemies, who could rip someone apart and feel no remorse from it, who was so blinded by rage
and grief, and Miguel could understand him. It made him afraid, because there was a connection between
them beyond their biology, and he found himself wanting to cradle the boy before him, give him what he
wanted, simply because Miguel understood the pain of losing someone dear to him, and his omega couldn’t let
that go; couldn’t let someone suffer in silence and destroy themselves further from the torment in their heart,
and he hated how his nurturing instinct was amplified tenfold with his heat slowly, yet surely, descending
completely on him.
But he also knew, that there was no injection to save him this time, no companion who’d take him away soon
from this disaster about to happen, no amount of stubbornness to defy what Miles had said. Because Miguel
did need him; needed his presence and his scent to calm himself down, needed his cock and his knot to staff
off the heat and finally be someone he could recognize a little clearer than this pathetic, messy, needy version
of himself he had denied from acknowledging for so long.
How could he not? When he unconsciously spread his legs further, so Miles could nestle into him, so Miguel
could wrap his legs around the boy’s hips and draw him close, closer; when he finally let the moans pour out of
his mouth freely as the touch traipsed down to his hole, soaking wet and pulsing, clenching around nothing
until two fingers entered his cunt at once and he arched his back, pushing his chest right into Miles’ other hand
which ripped apart the suit covering his breasts, right into his mouth closing around a nipple, sucking and
biting and making him a whining mess so unlike his imposing figure he had maintained all the time.

How could he not, when he felt his claws coming out, dragging them on the boy’s back and shredding his shirt,
giving back the wounds on his abdomen to the scapula as he held on for deal life when Miles’ fingers moved
faster inside his cunt, aided by the third one, and teasing the fourth on the rim. He could take it, could take
them all, because Miles’ fingers were long and thin, graceful, the hand of an artist and a killer.

“Take them out,” he exhaled roughly, even though it was laughable, how he was still holding Miles close
despite his words. “I can take care of this myself.”

“You sure?” Miles teased, releasing his nipple momentarily, before he fondled Miguel’s breast with his other
hand, thumb brushing against the hardened nub every now and then, building up a different kind of heat from
inside the breasts. “Because your pussy is clenching down pretty tight on me, princess. You like this, I can tell.
Don’t lie to yourself.”
“I don’t!” he shouted, because it was the truth. He didn’t like this, be damned with his bodily reaction. He
didn’t like how weak he felt, how his body moved without his consent merely because there was a convenient
alpha nearby in his heat, how he couldn’t do anything to stop the burning embers from turning into inferno,
how powerless he truly was in the face of his dynamic, his biology, his needs.

“We’ll see about that,” the boy said, easy and slow, as he pulled out his fingers, smirking when it drew out a
deep rumble of groan from the man beneath him. He put his palms under each of Miguel’s thigh, forcing them
to spread once more, as he moved downwards, until his hot breath fanned over the cunt, making Miguel
shiver and scattering goosebumps all over his skin.

There was only another smirk as a warning, before Miles lapped up at his clit, a brief moment of pleasure that
then changed into a deeper, hotter desire when he licked and sucked over the folds, a hand letting up one of
the legs so two fingers could go back into Miguel’s hole, moving in tandem with the tongue. Then—then, the
tongue entered, and Miguel found himself grasping at Miles’ shoulders as the boy ate him out with such
intensity, he cried out from it.

It was everything all at once, then, the sensation—the hand holding his leg up in a tight clench, leaving marks
and bruises; the fingers moving fast and steady inside his cunt; the tongue thrusting inside him and sucking the
slick coming out of him like rivulets of rain, occasionally straying to give attention to his folds and his clit,
before going back down to his hole. Every pleasure assaulted him like a punch to the gut, and Miguel couldn’t
contain the litany of low groans and moans slipping past his lips at everything Miles did to his cunt.

How long had it been since someone touched him like this? No one, since he lost his wife, his alpha, his mate.
He had taken no one into his bed because he couldn’t run from the guilt, because he could only wallow in it
and let it swallow him whole. He couldn’t even try to accept Peter and MJ’s slow approach of integrating him
into their relationship, after how much Mayday had imprinted on him as one of her parents, because he
couldn’t bring himself to forget, couldn’t let himself ruin yet another family with his own hands.

But this was different; this wasn’t something he wanted, and yet eventually needed to accept anyway. Because
just like his guilt, his grief, his tragedy, there was no running away from what you are, and Miguel O’Hara was
powerless against the truth that, at this moment, he was just an omega in heat, hungry for touches and a cock
to fuck him senseless until the fever building up inside him subsided with a knot around his cunt, and cum
filling up his womb; until he was satiated and could stop feeling so restless, with the aid of the presence of an
alpha surrounding him.

This alpha—his alpha.

He could feel his mind slowly getting hazier, eyes glassy and unseeing but for Miles’ head still bobbing between
his thighs, eating him out until he shuddered and tightened his legs around the boy, spurting cum into Miles’
mouth and kept groaning low when the onslaught of pleasure didn’t stop. He was eaten out until he came for
the second time, until he was a moaning mess, thoroughly stretched out and burning from the inferno
completely engulfing him in its scorching desire.

His heat had fully descended, and Miguel needed Miles, now. Even if his mind rioted against it, even if he
wanted to scream no, over and over again; even if what he truly wanted was to flee, away from the searing
touch and the scent of blood and sunflower—he couldn’t deny what his body needed, what he had to fulfill for
his biology.

“Mi…les,” he panted out, then grunted when there was a particularly deep thrust of fingers and tongue
touching that part of him that made him squeeze his thighs together once more, made the slick flood the boy’s
mouth, so much inside and outside of Miguel’s cunt. “Enough—e-enough, just—please.”

Miles released him at once, wiping away Miguel’s come and slick from his mouth with the back of his hand.
There was a satisfied smile on his lips as he lowered himself yet again on the man underneath him, peppering
kisses on collarbones, and biting hard on the junction of neck and shoulder until Miguel let out a botched
version of his name. It was so close, so close to his scent gland, where a fading claim mark was located, about
to be renewed if the course of this particular fate was going on its right path.

“Please what, princess?” Miles hummed, nosing at the scent gland and groaning as he inhaled Miguel’s scent.
There was a touch on his cunt, and Miguel realize it was no longer the boy’s fingers, and was instead his
clothed cock; pressing up against the loosened hole, wet and ready and aching for something to fill it to the
brim. “Tell me, come on. You’ve been so good, coming for me, gushing out slick for me—taste so sweet on my
tongue, princess. You’re so perfect. So, tell me, what do you want? You want my fingers back in, my tongue?
Or,” he said, grinding his hips against Miguel’s, “do you want something else? Something more.”

Miguel only moaned, his own hips moving on their own, grinding his cunt back against the bulge. It was just
within reach, what he wanted. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, to admit it. This was all already difficult
enough for him to process, to properly accept that he was at the mercy of his enemy, at the throes of his heat
and unable to do anything to stop the thunderstorm.
He didn’t want this, but it had never meant that he didn’t need what Miles was offering so graciously to him.
“Still so stubborn, I see,” Miles chuckled, letting go of Miguel’s neck as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his
cock; hard and aching and twitching at the sight of Miguel helpless and needy before him, legs and pussy
spread out after what he had done. “But I suppose that’s good enough. You did say please, after all. Just don’t
forget to say thank you, all right, pretty princess? As much as I like hotheaded omegas like you, it won’t hurt to
hear gratitude once in a while.”

There was no time to let out a scathing reply, for the next moment, Miles had sheathed himself in Miguel’s
cunt; a swift, hard thrust, made easy by the slick and the amount of stretching done to the entrance. The moan
they both let out was guttural, dragged from somewhere in the bottom of their gut where lust and carnal
desires coiled tight, so tightly it risked exploding into supernovas and burned them both to a husk if they
weren’t careful.
But they weren’t, and they couldn’t, didn’t want to at this point. Because Miles was moving, and his mouth
moved with him, and Miguel could only hold on tight, hold on close to the boy as whispers of so good for me,
princess, feel so good around my cock, aren’t you? That’s it, Miguel, you’re taking my cock so well; fuck, your
pussy is so tight, been a while, huh? Don’t you worry, pretty princess, I’ll make it so good for you, you’ll never
look for another alpha, surrounded him, encompassing and suffocating and welcomed.

The cape under his back moved along in tandem with Miles’ thrusts, with Miguel clenching tightly around the
cock inside him, pushing against the place that made him see stars, made him breathless for a heartbeat
before a raw, unadulterated keen broke free from his throat. It felt so good, the cock in his cunt felt so right,
the scent around him something he wanted to drown into, and he knew—he knew this was his heat-addled
mind talking, but what else could he do but spread his legs wider when Miles thrusted harder, faster, fucked
him deeper the tip of his cock touched the mouth of Miguel’s womb?

Nothing, nothing in him could have stopped this, prevented this thunderstorm from razing him to the ground,
and with so little sanity left, Miguel didn’t think he wanted to.
So, he held on, moaned when he felt fingers fondling his breasts yet again, pinching the nipples so hard he
arched into the touch. He briefly thought of his own daughter, of Mayday, of Peter’s soft smile and MJ’s gentle
eyes as their daughter nursed from him on days she couldn’t calm down. He thought of letting Miles knot him,
of having his womb defiled and bred, of having another child in him, of his belly swollen and round with a baby
he could take care of, better this time around—no more losses, no more grief, and it made him whine.
“What are you thinking of, princess?” Miles asked, panted as he slowed his hips and made it hard, deep thrusts
over pace. “Come on, tell me.”

Miguel leaned back on the ground, neck bared for the universe to see, as he felt Miles’ knot growing, catching
on the entrance of his pussy with each thrust. “Your- your knot,” he stuttered, mindless with lust and no longer
able to hold on to his clear mind. “You coming inside me and breeding me, giving me a child I’ve always
wanted; a child I can love and take care of, one I won’t repeat my mistake on.”
Miles laughed, harsh and cruel. “You’re going to make our child as atonement? And you call yourself a
superhero? You’re even worse than what I’ve become, princess. But that’s alright—whatever your past was,
whatever happened, we’re going to change that. I’m going to give you a child and you’re going to love them,
only them.”
“Only them,” Miguel echoed, nodding as he closed his eyes, tears falling down from the sensation of being
held so roughly, so brusquely, as if he was merely a ragdoll to fuck into. “Only ours.”
“Ours,” Miles repeated, a newly found wonder in his voice, a twisted reverence in it. “Our child. Would you like
that, princess? You want me to knot you, to breed your pussy, and make you full with my cum, with our child?”
“Yes—yes!” he screamed, and louder when Miles growled and descended on his neck, teeth posed right where
his scent gland was, and clamped down, hard, as the knot finally expanded to its fullest growth, catching on
the mouth of his wet cunt and pushed so deep he could feel it in his lower belly.

Miguel’s claw raked down the boy’s back as he came so hard, he was dizzy with it; the haze in his mind now a
thick fog that overrode every other thought than being mated, claimed, subjugated. It didn’t take long before
Miles followed him to the peak, to their exploding supernova, coming in waves into Miguel’s cunt, into his
womb, filling him with unwise promises and an uncertain future he had just ruined for them both.
It took a while for his mind to clear out, for the fever to subside, and all the while, Miles was there with his
curiously gentle caress and praises of that’s it, princess, so good for me, my pretty omega, you’re gonna bear
our child and we’re going to take care of them together. Just us. No one else. The scent of his broken scent
gland, claimed and marked for the second time in his life, permeated the room, along with momentary self-
loathing and shock and fear.
“Don’t,” he whispered, voice hoarse with something close to tears. “Just let me go, Miles.”
“Oh, princess,” Miles laughed, soft and cruel at once. “You’re already mine, now. There’s nowhere else to go
for you but my arms.”

Miguel closed his eyes, for he knew that this wasn’t the end of the thunderstorm, wasn’t the final rest of his
fever, and he wasn’t allowed time to regret, to fight once again, before the need came back, twice as strong
now that he had known how it felt to have Miles inside him, knotting him, breeding him.

But deep down, in the recess of his mind, Miguel knew that this was going to be yet another mistake he had to
pay for. And this time, in Miles’ arms, within his gentle, suffocating embrace, he knew there was no way to run
but the unholy union of two broken people who were united under the sacrilege of piety and the glory of
torment.
Not now. Not ever.

Sequel right below:

- 2 cái trên là Mai với Mĩ Lệ còn cái dưới là phần tiếp thì là 42 với Mĩ Lệ ạ :3
- Xong hết cái dưới thì gần như đều là anh Hoàng Nâu ;3 Chỉ kịp chuẩn bị bằng này thui hehe..

Something was wrong, and it wasn’t a thing so evident he could see it with naked eyes, but Miguel knew that
another storm was brewing over a red-hued horizon, closer than he would have wanted it to be. He didn’t
know how to explain it, to others or even to himself, but the feeling, the sense that something was amiss and
that he should have known what it was, despite whatever horror he’d find, lingered in his heart.

One thing stood out the most in his mind: the aftermath of what happened with Miles Morales, the Prowler,
the one who had given him a mockery of grace in his most desperate moment. Miguel had lost count—had
tried his best to forget, honestly—of how many times they had entwined themselves with each other in the
carnal desire that wrapped around them like a veil. Heat was a long process, and a sudden heat was even
sharper in its mind-numbing needs. But what happened afterward was something he wished he could wipe
from his memory.

It was only by dumb-fucking-luck that had Jessica and Ben finding him first, rather than anyone else. They both
had known about his true dynamic, and Ben had spent some of the heat with him, albeit with better
precaution and not quite so precariously dangerous compared to what had happened with Miles. They had
stunned Morales unconscious and sent him to his own dimension; away from Miguel, away from the memory
that lately haunted his mind like a plague. Then, they took Miguel home and took care of him until he had
fallen asleep, accompanied by their familiar presence and scents. It was so jarring, however, to inhale a lungful
of jasmine and the firewood, after his senses had been enveloped by the scent of sunflower and blood so
strong, they suffocated him.
Miguel wasn’t stupid, nor was he an optimist. There must be a consequence after what had transpired, but
what it was eluded him. Here, in the safety of his own apartment, away from his colleagues whom he had
snapped at unfairly at work lately, he thought about it again, and felt like he was missing something utterly
important. He could admit that there was fear, in his heart, of fucking up yet another dimension, because he
not only took another being away from his supposed dimension, but also for a long period of time. It was only
through sheer miracle that Morales hadn’t glitched out in pain, but, perhaps, it was just another proof that he
was a stronger alpha than Morales of earth 1610, that he was a better defender and provider and—why the
fuck was Miguel thinking about this ridiculous thing.

He sighed, and shook his head slowly. There was no need dwelling on his weird mood—his weird, ever-
changing mood, because he wasn’t blind to how he had been these past few days, and Jessica had made it
known that, in her words, he was being more of a bitch than usual. It wasn’t like he liked it either, or doing it
consciously. It was just that everything and everyone smelled so… wrong. Like it wasn’t supposed to be, like he
wasn’t supposed to be surrounded by these people he was familiar with, and instead by a brand-new presence
that he didn’t know from who he must sought out. There was a flash of thought, of Morales, but he steered
clear from that particular train of thoughts because it was dangerous to continue them.
Because Morales had laid the claiming bite in the bouts of lust, and Miguel honestly didn’t know how to handle
that right now. There were ways to undo it, of course, and it wasn’t like he was afraid of the pain by doing so.
He just—he didn’t know how to tell people that he had been taken without his express consent by a boy, and
ended up begging him for that claim, begging like a true bitch in heat for Morales to fuck him harder, to knot
him, to fill him up he could taste it on the back of his throat. How could he ever possibly explain that he was
the one who initiated the prolonged fornication? How could he ever bear the shame that even now he had
already felt in his bones?
It wasn’t just the matter of his mind being clouded by lust and need at that moment of weakness, but also him
letting it happen even after his head had cleared up a little bit after the fourth knot. He could have fought back,
could have sent the boy sprawling because Morales was also exhausted, but he didn’t. He let the boy lay in his
arms, his knot connecting them together, deep inside Miguel he sighed out contentedly from it, and didn’t do
anything until he sensed Jessica and Ben’s presence coming nearby. Only then, did he move as best as he
could, and was quite thankful that Jessica had taken care of Morales, because Miguel, as hard as it was to
admit, couldn’t say no to the boy’s betrayed look.
He exhaled another sigh, and stared at the wall before him, filled with notes on a whiteboard about the
dimensions, and newer notes filled with possible altercations with Miles Morales of Earth 1610 that was
coming sooner than he wanted to think about. They still had to do something about the boy’s adamancy in
saving his family, and what the consequences would be. Miguel groaned and closed his eyes, rubbed his face
with his palms because while he wanted the job done as soon as it possibly could, he couldn’t think about it
now.
Not when he was so torn about so many things, about what had happened, and how he felt nowadays. Not
when there was an increasingly familiar tendrils of lust creeping into the cradle of his lungs. He didn’t know
how, or why, but he suspected that it had something to do with the sudden return of his heat, and that his
body was slowly adjusting to having that particular routine back. Yes, that must be the reason, because any
other one would simply be… unthinkable, unaccepted.
It had been almost a week, and he hadn’t done anything about it. He had been a nightmare at work—snapping
at the smallest things, making new interns cry, arguing at every turn, and even so close to having a full-blown
fight with Ben, out of all people. With Jessica, she was used to the mood-swings, whatever the reason might
be. But Ben had been his trusted ally, enough to spend heat with the man back when Miguel still let such
weakness overcome him. They never fought, and the fact that they almost did it, signified that something was
really, really wrong.

Miguel just didn’t know what it was, and it frustrated him greatly. He didn’t like not knowing things, because it
meant less preparation in facing whatever hazard coming his way. He didn’t like this state he was in, at all. But
it was there, staying underneath his epidermis, and the more he was irked by it and tried to ignore it, the
stronger it became. He knew what that was, what it urged him to do, but frankly, he had been so bombarded
by work that he didn’t have the time to address the elephant in the room.
Which, in short, was: he needed to get off.

It was embarrassing, because he was no longer a teenager whose hormones dictated everything that
happened in his life. Not to mention he was also aware that it wasn’t the only thing that was going on, but
what? He didn’t know that and it irritated him to no end. He couldn’t brute-force his way into this, however,
and that was yet another thing that irritated him. Whatever it was, it was evident that it was closely tied to
Morales, he just knew it. But the entirety of it still escaped his mind.

Still, one thing at a time. It was futile to think of anything else, while he was still clouded by this itch under his
skin. He couldn’t have been a good leader for everyone to follow if he let such menial, biological need
overcome his senses enough that he became someone who couldn’t do his job right. At least it was something
to do, then cross off the list, and he could tackle his other, more urgent problems.

With that mind, sighing in defeat yet feeling a spark of anticipation all the same, he closed his eyes and slowly
raised his hands to rest on his chest, slowly massaging the mounds beneath his thin sleeping shirt. It made him
shiver, even the slightest touch, the friction of the fabric something he let out a soft breath from. It reminded
him just how long it actually had been since he had the time to do… this sort of thing, a personal time for
himself. Jess was so done with his behavior that she sent him home early, and he had made a fuss at first,
before realizing that he did more harm to the others by staying. So, he went home, made early dinner, and
tried to sleep, yet ended up just sitting on his bed, staring at the wall for hours on end, just thinking.
Now, though, he didn’t need to think. He just had to follow his instinct—regardless of the fact that the very
same instinct had landed him in this mess he had found himself in. That didn’t matter anymore, not now, when
he let out a moan as he twisted his nipples gently, before the fingers came back rougher, pinching harder at
the hardened nubs. They had been bothering him lately. He didn’t know how, but he had chalked it up to too
many empanadas, because his suit felt a little stricter around the chest and he had to make some adjustments
before he could breathe easier. Lyla had made some unnecessary commentary, but as always, he ignored that
snarky little shit.

In this room, however, with no one but himself as a company, he could feel that his chest was… fuller, spilling
even from his large palms and he pushed aside an alarmed thought at that revelation, because oh, God, it felt
so good to have them massaged and being paid attention to. There was something about touching his body
with a thin barrier of fabric that turned him on, and right now, he could feel his cunt quivering from the
anticipation of something more.

He stopped lavishing attention to his chest long enough to shuck off his pants, but kept his soft boxers on. He
was already halfway wet, he felt as he placed a palm to cover his whole cunt, shivering from the feeling of
rough palm against sensitive skin. He rocked on his palm several times, sneaking his free hand into his shirt to
press light feather touches on his abdomen, caressing his navel several times before going back up to cup his
chest. The jarring temperature of his heated skin and cool palm made him moan softly, and he continued the
motion of squeezing his chest alternatively and rocking on his other hand for a moment, before he decided
that he needed something anchored for him to have a friction against.

He opened his eyes, and looked around for something. He considered his toys for a moment, before shaking
his head. He was in need of a buildup, to match the buildup of his stress, into something higher, something
more carnal at the end of it. He didn’t need something harsh on the get go, because that was what he’d do
with his toys; he wanted to take it slow today. But what could have possibly aided him in—oh. The pillows. Yes,
this could work. He had done this before, admittedly in his teenage years, but it wouldn’t hurt to have it again
aiding him in this particular difficulty.
So, he grabbed one of the pillows, and set it in front of him, angled it so he could have his clothed cunt rubbing
on the edge of one corner of the firm thing. He was glad to have some pressure to push against, because he
liked firm pillows than the softer ones. It proved not only beneficial for his sleep, but also this… activity. God
give him mercy, he really was acting out like a teenager in his first heat. But the moment he rocked against the
pillow, he let out a gasp and lurched forward, barely catching himself with a palm to the mattress as he closed
his eyes and let the shudder run through body.
It felt so good. So, he did it again, and again, and again; angling his cunt better to catch on the pointy end so it
could brush against his clit at the upward and downward motion. He moaned louder when he intentionally
pressed his clit on the lumpy edge, hips in a swiveling motion in order to gain more of the delicious friction
that had him completely leaning forward to grasp at the sheets with both hands, hips working into a slow pace
because he didn’t want to exhaust himself too soon, didn’t want this sensation to end so quickly.

And, really, it had been a while since he was busy enough to pleasure himself, wasn’t it? His times with Ben
didn’t count, though satisfactorily they were, because they had been born out of necessity. And the people he
was, arguably, close enough to bond with, he… he didn’t want to burden them with such things. Peter B. and
MJ were good people, he surely didn’t want to intrude into their perfectly fine relationship with his baggage,
no matter how much they seemed to want his presence between them.

People in his lives were… they were difficult to navigate. Not because he didn’t appreciate them, but because
his own self-esteem issues and internal turmoil made it impossible for him to feel relaxed enough around
someone to properly open up. He just didn’t think that anyone wanted—well, him. Miguel, and his anger
management issues; Miguel, with his horrid past and uncertain future; Miguel, with his unforgivable sins and
grouchy attitude. His scars and his wounds, his inner battles and his roughness, he didn’t think that anyone
would be able to accept him, completely, wholeheartedly.

But there was someone, who could, who did, his traitorous mind whispered. Miguel grimaced from that, but
his mind betrayed him further by conjuring images of a certain teenager with a thunderstorm alight in dark
eyes and fiery touches that set Miguel’s skin ablaze. No… no. Now wasn’t the time to think of Miles Morales, of
all people. Wasn’t this time to enjoy himself? And thinking of someone who was closely tied to so many
problems would defeat the purpose of Miguel doing this.
So, he heaved a breath, let it out slowly, and rocked his hips against the pillow again. The fabric of his boxers
was soft, and it contrasted with the solid pressure of the pillow, caressing his skin before sinking into the right
kind of touch on his slowly wetting cunt. It was good, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet. For some reason, even
though he usually treated this kind of thing more like a nuisance than a true chance to get off, he wanted to do
something different today. He wanted to treat himself just this once, before he went back to the storm and
waves that would surely await him at the HQ tomorrow.

He wanted… to touch himself, yes, just like that, he thought as he caressed his hips, the line where his skin
ended and the boxers began, putting his fingers to cover the edge of the pillow just so he could feel the slide of
it against his clit and folds as he quickened his pace. He considered pulling off his boxers, but decided against it
because the feeling was just too good, and he wanted it to be soaked. Instead, he pulled off his shirt, and
looked down at his chest for a few moments.
They were getting bigger, his breasts. He could see his own hips between the cleavage, still working on a
steady pace, but not beyond each individual pec. The nipples were perky and jutting out, hardened from his
previous touch and the drastic difference between the warmth of his shirt and the cold air in the apartment,
aided by the aircon. He closed his eyes and shivered as he closed a palm just to cup a breast, didn’t do
anything, just surrounded it with his hand and that was enough to bring a moan out of his lips. Since when did
they become this… sensitive? This easy to pull a reaction from with just the slightest touch?
Again, the feeling that something was amiss entered his mind, but he banished it immediately. He didn’t think
of anything right now, beyond moving his hips against the pillow, and dragging his palm against every available
surface of bare skin. His fingers traipsed up and held his neck in not quite a grip, but enough for him to feel
them when he swallowed. He sighed out something that sounded like a whimper as his fingers tightened, and
rutted down on the pillow, his other hand now holding it up for his cunt to rub against in his kneeling position.

When he looked down at his undulating hips, he could see some stains already making themselves known on
the pillowcase, the proof of his rather juvenile action of humping the pillow. Somehow, that thought made him
rut down harder, made his skin sweat in his sudden haste to build up the pleasure that was only a mere
whisper up until now. He liked what he was seeing and ashamed at it at the same time, especially when he
flicked his head to the side, and saw from the propped-up mirror how he looked—with eyes unfocused and
hair messy from not being combed-back, with his scars bared on skin glistening in a thin sheet of sweat, his ass
jutting out as he drew his hips back, before bearing down on the pillow underneath him. It all was a depiction
of debauchery, and something in his gut coiled tight at that. He felt the embarrassment and lust entwined
together in the cradle of his lungs, slinking together and wrapping themselves so tightly on his trachea he
might as well breathe in the desires into his very blood.

The blood that boiled alongside his sweat as he moaned louder when his clit caught on one of his fingers,
making him pressed down harshly at the pillow, gripping it tight between toned thighs and making it his
personal toy for tonight. He intentionally quickened the pace, making himself pant for it as his chest was
forgotten in favor of once again gripping the sheets with his free hand, and truly made himself work for it
before he abruptly slowed down.
The jarring difference between the pace made him curse and moan in the same stuttered breath. Curiously, his
tongue felt numb with a need to spell out loud a name. A name that he knew so well already because he had
screamed it hoarse but for a week ago. A name that he shot down with intent and swallowed whole to dwell in
his gut. But instead of disappearing, it only fused itself with the coiling still making him pant and gasp out in
raspy keens.
Suddenly, it wasn’t so fun anymore. It wasn’t something he could control with his hips and fingers, not
anymore. Because with the memory of Miles Morales’ name on his lips, Miguel became far too aware of the
situation. Of himself getting off like a teenager, the way he could imagine Miles doing to his own pillow, with
his huge cock slipping against the fabric of the pillowcase. The very same cock that had been inside Miguel not
too long ago, the cock that had made him go insane from the way it dragged against his walls, expanding his
insides and painting it white in copious amounts of cum, again and again.

It wasn’t enough anymore, all of the sudden. The friction of his clothed cunt against the pillow. He growled out
something unsavory under his breath, and paused for an excruciating moment to pull off his boxers, and nearly
stumbled down when his soaked cunt got into contact with the pillow again. He moaned out something
guttural, something that was dragged from his chest, when the sensitive folds rubbed against the fabric of the
pillowcase, the dampness making itself known, fast, as he leaked from his hole; the slick making the slide
easier, yet more torturous in the same heartbeat.

He didn’t know how he could have forgotten this, but it felt so good—to have his cunt rubbing against
something soft and firm at the same time, to have his slick soaking the surface until it spread and stick to his
thighs as well, to have his hole brushing against the pointy end of the pillow until it caught and slid down to
press against his clit, to have all of those sensations again and again until he clenched tight around the mused-
up sheets between his fingers.

So focused he was on the sensations, that he had neglected touching his chest, or even anything at all. Because
with the way his hips were driving down ruthlessly on the pillow, it reminded him of when he was so lost in
lust, he had rode Miles until the boy finally cried out his name hoarsely, his fingers clenching tight and bruising
on Miguel’s hips as he worked himself on that thick cock, and with that memory, another moan escaped his
lips.
He wanted it back, Miles’ cock, in his hole, filling him until he gasped and cried. The pillow was but a crude
imitation of what he could have had. And it wasn’t enough, not even marginally close, but it was all he had
right now. His toys suddenly felt so out of reach, from his hands and mind, because the thought of simply
imitating how Miles’ cock felt, seemed like something so reviled that Miguel shied away from the mere idea of
it. No, nothing, could have filled him the same way the boy had, fucked him the way he had, owned him the
way he had done.

The more he thought about Miles, the harder he clenched the pillow between his legs to hump against. He was
slightly aware of the gasps punched out of his lungs at the memory of the boy’s touch, feeling the ghost of it
on his skin, as he leaned forward to completely lay on his chest so the fabric of the sheets could press against
his skin, damp with sweat already. But instead of relief, it only made him uncomfortable because his chest felt
so full, felt like the pressure was unbearable and he didn’t know why.
It made him grunt in frustration as he went back up, and humped the pillow all the harder, as if punishing
himself for not being able to imitate Miles’ touch. But who could have done so, if not the boy himself. And
maybe, just maybe, it was merely the leftover of the surprise heat that still lingered in his mind, but Miguel
couldn’t help feeling like no one would be enough unless it was Miles Morales, his alpha, his—no, the boy
wasn’t his.

Ah, but wasn’t Miguel his? He had been marked and claimed, had been filled to the brim by the boy’s cum that
the mark lasted for so long he could almost feel it again, trickling out of his sore hole as he was dragged away
from the dimension by Ben and Jess. He was thoroughly, completely marked that even now, Miguel could look
down and see the fading scars from harsh bites that drew blood, still on his skin despite not as grotesque as
before.

The feeling of not enough intensified the more he thought about it. He didn’t want just the pillow, and he
didn’t want his toys. He wanted Miles.

He let out a gasp at that, as if the thought excited and horrified him at the same time. Because now, still
humping against the pillow like a desperate omega he truly was, his imagination morphed into another
scenario, where Miles was here, in front of him, stroking his cock and whispering filths to Miguel as he humped
the pillow. God, he could almost hear the boy’s condescending tone as he said, that’s it pretty princess, gonna
hump that pillow like a teenager? Like a bitch in heat scrambling for anything even remotely pleasurable? You
that desperate for my cock, filthy princess? Look at you, soaking wet already with your slick all over the pillow.

“Yes…” he writhed, swiveling his hips to catch the corner of the pillow just right. “Yes… I want—I want you.
Nothing is enough anymore but you. Please—please, Miles, I—”
And as if that was the magic word, Miguel could feel his whole body coming alive from his pleas, from the
litanies of curses intermingling with Miles’ name pouring from his lips. His skin tingled from pleasure of
bringing himself off just from humping the pillow, the humiliation of his admission and what he was doing
making his head spin until he was dizzy with it; his cunt felt sore already from how harsh his pace was, and his
slick was making everything felt so much worse and better at the same time. He was so wet, for Miles, for his
alpha, and that terrified him to the bone, yet also making him all the more desperate for someone, for Miles to
fuck him again, because it was just not enough.

“Please,” he keened out, voice pitched embarrassingly high, yet not finding it in himself to care anymore now
that his pleasure was building up so high towards the climax. He wanted so many things and couldn’t have any
of them, and it was enough to bring him to tears. His body didn’t feel right unless the boy’s touch was graced
upon it—cradling his face, gripping his hips, choking his neck, fondling his breasts.

So, he did all of that. He leaned back to his haunches, and placed his palm on his cheek, catching the sweat
beading down from his temple, before moving it down to wrap around his neck, momentarily choking himself
tight enough that he moaned from it, then down to cup his breasts, and oh. Oh, my God, it felt incredibly good,
just touching them. He touched them again, alternating between them until he gave up his hold on the pillow
to fondle his chest with both hands.

They felt so full, as if they were filled with milk, ready to pour out, and the thought brought a momentary
clarity to his mind, because he should not be producing milk right now, unless he was… pregnant. But that
couldn’t be. He had been declared infertile, the stress and constant consumption of strong suppressants
fucking up his body. That diagnosis was made a long time ago, however, but… surely it still held. One couldn’t
possibly be infertile, then suddenly became fertile again. Unless he spent his heat, the time when his body was
at its peak of fertility, or should be, and he spent it with his mate.
And he had. It was just the fact. Miles Morales had claimed him, and by old-age norms, they were mated pair,
and they had fucked after Miguel was claimed, too. Did it mean that all of his snappishness, his heightened
sensitivity, his restlessness, his… his urges, they all had alluded to something he would have never thought
about himself, not in a million years? Did it all mean that he was pregnant?

No, it couldn’t be. It was too horrifying to even consider.

And yet, in this moment, as his hands fondled his full breasts roughly, in tandem with his thrusts against the
pillow, the thought of being pregnant was nothing but delightful news to his body. It knew that it had done the
job of making him a good mother to be filled with pups, and it made the coiling in his gut surge into his chest,
making him feel incredibly warm and happy. It would explain everything, did it? And wasn’t it wonderful? He
had talked about this with Miles, after all, and the memory of the boy’s hard, long thrusts at such an idea
made Miguel shudder, made him surrender to his lust.

“Miles…” he finally called out, humping harshly and hard against the edge of the soaked pillow. “Miles,
please…”

At his next thrust, with the memory of Miles’ touch overwhelming his mind and body, he could feel something
dripping down his chest and fingers and watched—with a confusing mixture of horror, resignation, and
excitement—as milk came out of the tip of his nipples, the sweet scent of it filling the room and Miguel’s nose,
and it was at that moment, when he unconsciously bore down at the pillow, that his clit caught just right on
the pillowcase.

What happened next left him dizzy and disoriented, but the pleasure had been so overwhelming and
encompassing, the concoction of memories of Miles’ voice, his touch, his cock, his everything, with the
sensations Miguel was experiencing right now, brought him right to the edge, and he faintly heard himself
whimpering out a botched version of Miles’ name as he squirted all over the pillow and the sheets.
He moaned and moaned as he milked himself dry, both his cunt and his chest, with his milk still dribbling down
from the nipples, and felt like the world had simultaneously blessed and condemned him. He didn’t know how
to say anything but Miles’ name, didn’t know what to do but whimper and keen at the sensation of coming so
hard his vision blacked out for a moment; didn’t know how to process the situation, and couldn’t do anything
but let the pleasure wash over him in a harsh current that took some time to gentle.

The aftermath came long after he had reached his peak, a peak so high he found it difficult to come down from
it. But when he did, reality hit him like a freight train, and this time, horror filled him to the brim as he realized
what had just happened. No… no, it couldn’t be—could it be?
He looked down at himself, and wanted to cry. His milk was still coming out in gushes, and the pillow was
soaked in both his slick and squirt, his sweat a glowing sheen over his skin. He looked to the side, and realized
with a dawning horror that it wasn’t just his chest that had changed. He was just too blind to see it before, but
his hips weren’t as they were before. His whole body had changed, and he knew what it was doing, even
though he feared the actual truth. His body was changing so it could better bear a child. No. no!
With a gasp, and a dizziness he quickly spelled out of his mind with a fear greater than ever, he pushed away
the pillow, wiped his chest with his discarded shirt as best as he could, and ran to the bathroom. He washed
his face to better clear his mind, then he called for Lyla. His face was grim when she appeared with a cheery
laugh and a joke that died down on the tip of her tongue upon seeing his expression.

“Miggy?” she cautiously called. “What happened?”

“I need you to run some tests on me, now.”
“You mean—”
“Just do it, Lyla,” he sighed. He didn’t know what to think. The previous high of the pleasure, and whose name,
who he had imagined, when he was wrapped tight in carnal desire, now left a bitter taste on his tongue. He
had just let another moment of weakness slide by, and he had been carried away by it. No more. He needed to
confirm the truth, now.

“Okay,” Lyla said, her voice uncharacteristically small, and scanned him while Miguel waited patiently, despite
his thundering heartbeat in its cage. But his patience could only last so much, and Lyla had become
suspiciously quiet.
“What is it? Tell me,” he demanded, while fearing the answer all the same.

“Miguel…” she started, then opened her mouth a few times, but no sound ended up coming out. She looked
lost, and confused. It was a strange look on her usually confident persona, and it made Miguel so
uncomfortable he itched with it. Then, she heaved a deep sigh, and said, “I think you might already know… but
the scan has indicated that there is something—someone, in your womb. You’re positively pregnant, and have
been for a few days, I think.”

“You think?” he asked, and wanted it to be a hiss, yet it sounded befuddled, sounded defeated. He gripped the
edges of the sink tightly, until his knuckles turned white, and heaved a deep sigh. “You were the one who did
the tests on me, and we both know I’m already infertile because of- of all the suppressants I took excessively.
What changed? How could this happen?”
“Miguel,” Lyla sighed sadly. “You know there are several factors for that. Your sudden heat, and your altered
body has different chemistry than anyone else. Not to mention that who had taken you was an alpha, and it
might be that Miles Morales of Earth 42 is… a prime alpha. It negated all the previous assessment about your
body, and it has been proven by the tests.”
“Test me again,” he said, his voice breaking down the middle from the contrasting emotions welling up inside
him. He felt… crushed, but there was another part of him, stronger than he initially thought, that rejoiced at
the thought of bearing another soul within him. Another child he could carry just like he did with Gabriella,
could bring into this world and cherish as he did before—better than he had done before. This part was slowly
overtaking him, and it scared him, because he knew the other part that had made that baby was someone…
complicated.
“I did,” Lyla said mutely. “I did the test three times before you asked, because even I—I couldn’t believe it
either, but the tests are accurate, Miguel, no matter how we feel about it. You are pregnant, most possibly
with Miles’ child.”

To know, and to have it said out loud, were two different things altogether, and Miguel closed his eyes. He
didn’t know how to explain to himself, let alone other people, what had happened. Perhaps, Jess and Ben
might see this development coming from miles away, but what about all the other Spider people? He had
fornicated with the enemy, and now he was carrying the child. Well, he could take care of them, of course. It
didn’t determine his capability as a leader. But… could he make peace with himself regarding this?

Somehow, Miguel doubted that he could ever accept this… this weakness, this repercussion of the event he
had contributed to happenstance by his own hands. But on the other hand, he couldn’t just—condemn the
baby in him for the circumstances beyond their control. He didn’t want to make the same mistake, and he
wouldn’t.
Yes… he thought to himself with a renewed determination. He wouldn’t make the same mistake. He wouldn’t
waste this chance for anything in the world. The matter of who the other father of this child could be kept as a
secret between a selected few, but Miguel would make sure that the child would be cherished by anyone who
knew about them. He would take care, love, and raise them with everything he had.
And if Miles didn’t know about this, either one of them, then Miguel was content in letting that happen. For
now.

Hobie Browns :D
【Punk2099】Battery Overload (Hobie x Bisexual Miguel)
avadakendagua
The origin of the matter is not outside, not in the fresh air system, dial pliers or nano-interactive materials, nor
has it to do with the secret of some people's illness.
For Hobby, it started with Miguel's shock experiments and his poor sleep.

Half an hour ago, Hobby Brown stepped onto the elevator at the Alliance Headquarters, and pressed the
button representing the laboratory floor the second the elevator door closed. Lyra's avatar emerges from his
wristwatch, Good afternoon, Punk. The boss asked me to tell you about the next itinerary. Have you met
Jesse?

Huobie took off his hood, nodded, and breathed in the air supplied by the fresh air system in the whole
building that was running all day. The metal box rises slowly and hums softly when it is running. The highly
capitalized system makes this the most luxurious building in the center of New York. That's why Huobie wants
to wear a one-way valve device every time he comes here, so that he can blissfully suffocate in the dirty
carbon dioxide.

Before he came, he was told that the boss wanted to know how the electric shock ability would affect
nanomaterials, including the other party's past research materials, goals, achievements, and production...
Huobie forgot all of them after hearing it. He has just joined for two months and has participated in several
missions to maintain parallel universes. Unlike the hundreds of other Spider-Mans who are in their teenage
years and think that all the concepts here are so cool, he is very interested in the public welfare of this
universe. There is a lack of interest in the organization. Obviously, Anarchy is not compatible with this place by
nature. He had met the leader, and he was recruited by him. Miguel O'Hara's gloomy temperament, bitter and
bitter face, and invisible sense of oppression all narrated his messianic plot, almost turning into The pain of
reality rested on his shoulders, as if he were trapped in a growing illusion from which he was still powerless. As
for Huobie, his subtle hostility and curiosity towards the superiors are all hidden in those joking power
metaphors, relying on countless times of "no" to Miguel, he was promoted to Spider-Man, the most
troublesome boss in the league.

He has no intention of opposing Miguel—he chooses his position freely instead of being kidnapped by it, but
the rebellious spirit deeply rooted in Hobie’s personality always jumps out on various occasions, urging him to
become that dissident ... He was saying that it was very difficult to resist the temptation.

There are few people on this floor. Huobi walked straight along the long and narrow corridor extending from
the elevator entrance to the laboratory. Wall lamps emitting low-power light illuminated the path under his
feet. , the door engraved with spider patterns slowly opened, and the layout of the laboratory was quite
simple, with a large silver-white operating table, several display screens, and shelves against the wall filled
with rows of test tubes and various complex and sophisticated instruments. Hobby often imagined what it
would be like for Miguel to be alone with his precious nanosuits and tarantula serum injection guns, and he
usually had more patience with machines than with people. The person sitting at the table didn't look back,
and was typing on the keyboard. Huobi could only see the smooth back muscles full of power dormant in the
tight battle suit. Neither of them spoke until Lila popped out and told Miguel your guinea pig was coming.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose, pushed away the small table of the console and stood up. Huobi looked
at the other party's state and wondered whether the basic education he received when he was a child was
outdated by the times (or the pastor who came to preach was actually a Liar), unless the biological law of "If
you don't sleep, you die" has been broken at some point, how can a person look so shaky and not fall down
immediately, while still gluing himself tirelessly Rotating on the test bench?

"How long have you been up?" said Hobby. "Let me guess—five days?"

"Five days and twelve hours," Lyra corrected. "And he hasn't had a month..."

"Lila," interrupted her—still humorless—and turned to Hobby, "I think you know what the experiment is
about, so let's get straight to the point."

Hobby grimaced, putting aside the discussion of sleep for a moment (he'd bring it up again). There is nothing to
say about the experiment process. Various pipelines are intertwined, fluctuating lines jump on the floating
screen, and electric current hits different types of nano-props. Time and time again, it is boring enough to
make people yawn. Huobie's patience was rapidly exhausted in this tedious torture, say something, he
thought, this guy stopped talking to the panel ten minutes ago, I have to say something, or I'm going crazy. He
saw Miguel frown his eyebrows (the muscles there are often used, so they must be very developed), as if he
was holding on to the handle of an umbrella in a heavy rain: "What's wrong?"

"Your bioelectricity will affect the function of unstable nanomolecules." Miguel's face is not very good, "This
means that this ability will invalidate the projection of my suit, Leila, I want more accurate data, help I turned
off the function of the battle suit."

"Turn off all of them, are you sure? Although the experiment may destroy some parts, but the recovery ability
—"
"If you tell you to close it, you can close it."

"My God!" Lyra protested exaggeratedly, "I'm so hurt, really. You should get some sleep, you're getting more
and more grumpy now, you know that?"

The red light flowing from Miguel's suit dimmed, and then Lyra's avatar snapped away, as if she'd shut herself
off in anger. Huobie quietly watched from the sidelines. He could see the belated frustration on Miguel's face.
baby. When the body's basic needs are not met, the side effects radiate to the mind, and it is often those
around them who suffer, and Hobie earnestly hopes that Miguel is fully aware of this.

"Okay," Miguel turned around with an impatient look on his face, "now shock me."

Since his face was like "If you talk nonsense, I'm going to bite", Huobi just raised his eyebrows to show that it
was really straightforward. He snapped his fingers, and a large jumping electric current jumped out from his
fingertips, hitting Miguel's uniform. The nanomaterials in a large area of the opponent's chest flickered like a
malfunction, which was consistent with the results placed on the experimental table just now. However,
Miguel took two steps back unsteadily, as if his body had been crushed by this ordinary blow, and some
obsession to stand here was crushed. The repressed nausea and exhaustion surged up, and he Some closed
their eyes in a trance, enduring the dizziness caused by the brain receiving supra-threshold stimulation.

After the sharp tinnitus passed, Miguel raised his head, and saw Hobby standing in front of him with a strange
expression, with the expression that he had just finished speaking.

"...What?" He asked impatiently.

Huobie opened his mouth and found himself speechless. What can he say? Miguel, go back to bed, you are not
in a hurry to be Ivan IV[1]. But he suspected that Miguel's highly loaded mind could no longer understand his
winding concerns. He looked sleep-deprived, tired, irritable, and irritable. His scarlet eyes made it difficult to
tell whether they were the original color or the bloodshot after staying up late. Huobi couldn't understand why
someone would be willing to work alone in the main control room for a whole week, just like he couldn't
understand Miguel's desire for control and the same strong tendency to self-destruct. He regarded his body as
a high-speed machine The use of running machines, with no regard for expiry dates, coffee is motor oil, cup
after cup, not even lubricant—how long has he not had sex? It must be a long time.

Miguel is intersex - as Hobby overhears, the seemingly omnipotent chief suffers from a body plagued by a
uterus with irregular contractions that keeps his sleep time short , the retribution is the headaches and bad
temper brought on by the hormone disorder. Every time he lost his temper, Laila would draw a line on her
paper, and within a few days dense "卌" filled the page. The schedule of developing stable drugs has always
been on the laboratory's to-do list, but it was quickly interrupted by other "more important things", and it was
delayed again and again. Huobi suspected that Miguel could delay it until he went through menopause.
He was waiting for when Miguel would bow his head to his body. One week passed, and the hormone level of
the other person's body remained unchanged. The next month was normal, so he understood. Miguel
stubbornly and ridiculously kept this secret, as if it was the only thing that could hurt his battered heart.

"Do you want to do it?"

"...?" Miguel looked at him as if he hadn't woken up today, "Are you sleepwalking or something. Listen, I still
have a lot of things to do after dealing with you, and I don't want to hear what you said today -"

"No," Hobby said, "I don't think passing out on the bench is a good idea, well, I agree with Lyra, you need to
catch up on sleep, or have some damn good sex before then."

He stretched out one hand to his four-dimensional pocket, and the other hand increased the intensity of the
electric current. Immediately, the flickering battle suit began to disintegrate inch by inch from the palm of his
hand, revealing the tightly wrapped honey-colored skin underneath. Miguel's figure Very well, the well-trained
chest muscles and tall figure have existed since ancient times like a threat to Xiao Xiao, who would have
thought that there would be a lot of batches hidden under it.

Having encountered such an attack, Miguel was almost stunned. He belatedly wanted to get back the bracelet
to restore the function of the battle suit, so that the bold boy could calm down physically. Huobie took a step
faster than him, and the flying spider silk stuck the bracelet to the ceiling. The irritable leader stretched out his
claws angrily, grabbed Huoby's shoulder and pushed it onto the storage cabinet. A large pile of toilet paper
was crushed by his force. It crashed and fell from mid-air, and the glass test tube crackled and shattered to the
ground. Just as Miguel was about to speak, there was a tingling pain from the back of his neck, followed by the
familiar feeling of cold liquid being injected into a blood vessel.

"You should get a mock-spider sensor or something," Hobie pulled out the needle, "just a suggestion."

The muscle relaxant spread along the veins to the whole body, and the body seemed to weigh a thousand
catties. Miguel gasped for breath, swayed and supported the corner of the table, feeling that the control over
his body was rapidly disappearing. Huobie broke free from his confinement, pressed Miguel's back and pressed
him on the operating table. The nano-suit that lost its recovery function was easily peeled off under the
current. Miguel's face was pressed against the cold table, and his skin felt a shivering chill when it came into
contact with the cold air. He was shocked to find that this kid was serious: "Dios mío! How much did you knock
when you came here?!"

"It's kind of weird to be asked if you're awake by someone who hasn't slept in five days," Hobie said. "I'm
awake, boss."

Miguel was speechless by him, this development is too strange, who remembers that he just wanted to do an
ordinary experiment. Huobi's hand pinned him tightly, Miguel struggled to no avail, and a panic that could not
control the overall situation crept up in his heart. For a moment, he couldn't tell whether he was afraid of the
cold or what was going to happen next, and tried to use the few remaining words to make the other party go
astray: "Don't do this, it's not good for you..."
It's like this again, Spider-Man, you can't do this or that, I'm thinking about you, why are you disobedient?
Every day in the Cobweb League, Miguel can be heard repeating these words, saying that this single repetitive
behavior is an important symptom of personality disorder. Didn't he think that his condescending look is
annoying? Hadn't he learned how to speak softly to people? If he is under orders from a group of well-trained
soldiers, he will be very happy, but it is a pity that Miguel is facing a group of teenagers with supernatural
abilities who are not obedient to discipline. What they love most is to challenge authority.

"I'm an adult, and I know what to do is good for me," Hobby interrupted, destroying the last piece of the
nanosuit. Miguel struggled violently as if overreacting: "No, you can't..." He murmured almost desperately, and
Hobie almost started to think that he had gone too far.

Well, he has to understand the boring and conservative middle-aged man who always feels that the generation
gap formed with teenagers will make them full of destructive desires, and then this destructive desire will feed
back on himself and destroy everything for him.

"Don't worry, Dad." He nibbled Miguel's earlobe reassuringly, "I know your wet little secret, and no one here
will tell it."

He put his hands on the opponent's full back muscles slowly, caressing the strong waist that seemed to be
pinched firmly with one hand. The buttocks of the lower relief bounced and turned, but Hobby didn't finish, his
fingertips groped down stubbornly and cruelly, probing into the unreachable shadow: the plump and wet
pussy was like a gift that was slowly unwrapped waiting for him.

***
The sound of sticky water echoed intermittently in the empty laboratory, Huobi stood beside the operating
table, playing with the juicy hole on his hand, the pubic area showed a bright red color under the fingers , with
the master's unconscious slight twitching, he kept opening and closing, unable to resist the impending
invasion, "Relax," he patted the other's upturned buttocks, "It's just expanding, okay? You're so nervous like an
asshole A virgin in physiology class."

"Get lost," came a hiss of gritted teeth, "I'm going to kill you..."

"Sounds dishonest." Hobby thoughtfully twitched his fingers in the hot and soft pussy, and rubbed the small
upright pedicle hidden between the two labia with his thumb. Immediately, it flicked as if in stress, and the
other party seemed to feel even more annoyed by it, almost to the point of mania: "You damn... uh, lunático!
(Madman)"

Huobi smiled, and the irritable feedback from the people under him seemed to bring him endless happiness:
"But that's not what your approval says, boss."

Miguel couldn't answer anything, because the punk kid's fingers picked up his secret G-spot like the most
sensitive fucking radar, and then kept picking and grinding, and he didn't care about his life at all. The root of
the clitoris felt numb from the depths of the flesh, Miguel's waist collapsed weakly, his ass was held up high by
Hobie, and he could even hear the water in his pussy spraying on the test bench the sound of.

Why does his body still feel pleasure after being raped? The universe should be destroyed, Miguel thought
desperately. Huobie turned this plump body over, and the bent knuckles deliberately crushed a circle of
acupuncture points, Miguel's lower abdomen suddenly tightened, the hot acupuncture points sucked his
fingers tightly, and the urethral opening under the clitoris opened A small slit was opened, and a stream of
translucent liquid sprayed out.

Huobie raised his eyebrows, the other person came faster than he expected. Miguel was gasping for breath
with his head raised, his eyes slightly closed, making Hobby somewhat unable to see his expression clearly.

"alright--"

The spider sensor exploded in his temple, he tilted his head hastily, with five sharp claws with terrifying force,
whistling past his ears like a tropical hurricane in the Atlantic Ocean, tearing apart the instrument behind
Hobby , bringing over a row of colorful test tubes. Miguel growled unwillingly, but was unable to launch a
second attack. He forcibly used the sore muscles and tortured his nerves. He could only hug his right arm and
fell heavily back on the experimental table, the scratched machine wreckage issued The sound of electric
current sizzles.

"God, don't you think you're a little bit manic?" Hobby grumbled, honestly he wasn't too surprised, he'd heard
whispers among the spiders and suspected their leader had a little mental instability , The tables, chairs and
decorations that were torn up under the fury are a sure testimony. When he's insane, it's nothing like it usually
is: tearing apart his rationality trying to override everything, babbling with impulsiveness, frenzy, and
destructiveness, yelling endlessly, as if embracing morbid mistakes and his own bipolar disorder To hell
together. Hobby admits that sometimes he just likes the madness in Miguel.

There was a heart-pounding pain from the right side of his body. Miguel was panting heavily, enduring a burst
of pain and numbness as if he was disconnected. . He's just sick of it all—why keep bothering me, why can't I
have even one quiet morning? The exhaustion accumulated for a week is urging him to sleep directly on the
laboratory bench, so that the damn punk kid and any electric shock experiments will be fucked.

Huobi doesn't care about these, he always ignores the boss's personal wishes and does his own thing. He
leaned down, his restless hands began to knead his boss's well-trained pectoral muscles, looked at Miguel's
lips, and wanted to give him a soothing kiss-he tried to do so, biting on those two sharp fangs Before, he
narrowly escaped. "It's such a hassle kissing you," he said, and the other responded by baring his fangs.

Miguel's cunt was too tight, as tight as he was, but the limp holes were sluggishly starting to fluid. Huobie
stretched him while taking care of the penis in front of him. The lack of comfort soon became hot, and the
heavy penis gradually became erect with blood. Miguel was short of breath and let out a small unconscious
moan. The arousal of desire seemed to have caused him a lot of trouble, and he stretched his hand
unconsciously: "Hurry up, let me..."
Huobie's answer was to pinch the head of the glans with his hands, and block the mouth of the bell with his
fingertips.

"Ah! Damn it..." Miguel's waist jumped up suddenly, and he swung his hips and legs uncomfortably, trying to
break free from Huobi's confinement, but the effect was minimal. Huobie added fuel to the fire and began to
play with the two constantly shrinking testicles, the other party began to curse violently, and the still movable
left hand trembled to release his lower body, but Huoby grabbed it halfway.

"I don't want to look like I'm taking advantage of the fire," Hobby leaned into his ear, "but I gotta say, you've
lived a life of your own, Boss, and your elevator is your only sense of humor. If banning ejaculation can If you
feel our usual mood, then you deserve it.”

Is he taking revenge on me? Miguel looked back on all the decisions he had made since he established the
Spider Alliance, and couldn't understand what provoked him. Huobie couldn't do this. It was a lynching, and no
one deserved it.

"You don't understand at all..." He struggled for breath, "All I do is to weave a web, and I want to manage
more efficiently—uhhhhh!"

The bioelectric current hit the raised pedicle hard, piercing through the wrapped pedicle in an instant, Huobi
let go of the right hand that imprisoned the opponent's penis expressionlessly, almost feeling a burst of
frustration, listening to Miguel on the bed about his Those big principles affect libido a lot.

Miguel felt an unbearable sharp pain coming from the most vulnerable and sensitive place, followed by
numbness and itching that almost drove people crazy. Even the pubic area can't hide it, and the tip of the
pedicle is still being blamed by the electric current. Hobby dug at the base of his clitoris with fingers filled with
tiny electric sparks, peeling it away from the foreskin. The unprotected nutmeal stood upright in the air and
became hard and swollen. He rubbed the poor little thing to see that it became transparent under strong
stimulation, exposing the pedicle seeds inside. It had just been hit by a strong electric shock once, and Miguel's
hole ejaculated almost immediately, but Hobby didn't intend to let it go so soon.

"Ah, no... stop...!"

Miguel's vision went dark for three seconds, his lower abdomen was numb to the point of pain, his body
stretched into a bow, and he ejaculated tremblingly, his fingers uncontrollably sprang out sharp claws, and
scratched five bloody scratches on his legs. Huobi withdrew his fingers that were constantly releasing
bioelectricity, and Miguel's pussy was blowing continuously just now, almost soaking his pants.

"I have some humble opinion, don't you have to be practical when doing experiments?" Small blue electric
sparks were still jumping on his fingertips, "What do you think of this intensity, Boss?"

Miguel couldn't hear him, his body was still convulsing slightly unconsciously, his lower body almost fell into
the water sprayed out of his meat hole, his thigh was so painful that it was numb, and the struggling
movement caused bright red blood to ooze from the wound. Gone from those few wounds, and Hobby, the
bitch, was still tirelessly attacking the values that Miguel believed in with his nonsense.

"Sometimes, often, you make me feel like you're a natural Machiavellian[2]. We people are ignorant unstable
elements who need to be managed and re-educated as much as your experimental materials, yes ?"

No, not like that. Miguel was powerless to refute, unable to explain. What should he say? He just wanted
people to accept it without burden, because Spiderman is good at following orders, not being a leader, so he
just let it go-do they really think he is that Want to be the boss? The fact is that every day when he was dealing
with all kinds of parallel universe troubles in the main control room, organizing hundreds of Spider-Man, and
having to make a video of his biggest mistake for every newcomer, Miguel was torturing his heart , what the
hell is the point of all this.

But Miguel doesn't understand that trying to solve everything with money and orders is a privilege and a way
to avoid communication.

"So I'm going to fuck you." Hobby said. He sprayed Miguel twice. He felt that his service attitude was good and
worthy of reward. He wiped the dirty liquid on Miguel's thigh, and then untied it. Pants.

***
Miguel thought for a second that he might as well just let it go when the huge thing came in, and he could lie
flat and bear it until the other party decided the farce was over, but Hobie's motion made him Take a deep
breath. After he went in, he didn't have the slightest intention of withdrawing. The penis kept going in,
Miguel's muscles tensed, and he frowned as Hobby continued to fuck in. It is very difficult to swallow the small
hole, the stem body stretches the opening of the hole white, and the glans flattens every inch of folds in the
vagina, almost protruding the lower abdomen into a raised arc.

"——Can you fucking know how to have sex?" He asked incredulously, "Who taught you to stab to the end as
soon as you get in, damn it...ah, stop it!"

His order fell through as a matter of course, and Huobie not only fucked to the end, but immediately started to
fuck, every time he went in was as good as the first time. Miguel had to hold on to the edge of the table to
prevent himself from shaking and knocking over the computer. He adjusted his breathing dizzily, and could
barely keep up with the fast pace.

He intuitively felt how unreasonable this guy was (much more than he expected before). Miguel is used to
patience, he endures the team members who don't listen to the command, the subordinates who are self-
assertive, and the colleagues who cheat, and then resign themselves to clean up the mess they left behind - if
you decide to be a few hundred teenagers If you are a guardian, you have to face these things every day. But
Hobby, the pinnacle of the grotesque group of teenagers, Miguel's futuristic aesthetic couldn't understand the
rivet leather pants, the monotonous repetition of chords and noises, when Hobby strummed the instrument
every time. Miguel wants Lila to post a "Hobpy and Dogs Not Allowed" sign on the door when the guitar with
the amplifier (sometimes, with Gwen) roars past his main control room like a roaring mini-garbage truck. . The
reason he didn't do it was because Hobby wouldn't listen to him, which was the second headache Miguel had.
Why don't you listen to me? Why do adolescent cubs always turn a deaf ear to the best solution, and then
insist on taking those more dangerous and self-inflicted paths? Perhaps this is the most pressing philosophical
motif that Miguel has confronted since he established the alliance. I have done my best in the education of
young people. He hopes that everyone can at least understand some basic principles of being a decent person,
such as not stealing property, not eating things in the trash can, and for example, fucking from light to hard
Your boss, instead of stabbing his batch in the first place.

"You, stop for me...! Uh..."

Miguel's rants and groans were shattered by a careless headbutt. It was obvious that Hobby didn't take his
protest seriously at all, and he was a naysayer just like himself. Hobby, this Hobby, oh, damn it, he'll never do
anything to him. Miguel's thigh spasmed uncontrollably, and the pierced wound was still throbbing with pain.
The blood stopped flowing, and the thin five newly grown skin trembled and stretched in the air. Sweat
splashed in occasionally, and there was a loud pain at the end of the spirit immediately.

He kind of wants to call it quits, again, but this time it sounds like throwing in the towel. The sharp claws let go
of the poor thigh and began to torment the metal test bench. The harsh collision sounded like a dying howl.
The messy penis in the pussy bumped headlessly for a moment, and soon found the target, the cervix at the
end of the vagina was tightly closed, but Huobie's fists kept grinding the soft flesh, red, swollen and hot Her
cervix quickly disarmed, opening her juicy uterus. Miguel screamed and cursed and tried to curl up his body,
but he couldn't help but tense up when he was hit by the fierce manipulation. He felt that his hole had become
a clam shell, which was cruelly gouged by the penis, exposing the softest part. Scarlet flesh, and even the
illusion of being pierced. He lowered his eyes, and from the corner of his eye, he saw that his lower abdomen
was protruding and rising and falling. It is incredible that the human body can be so flexible.

Miguel's pussy was jerking and convulsing like a tireless bitch sucking his penetrating cock, and Hobby shot his
cum into the tiny hole as if it was the signal for an intermission, but It didn't take long for him to get hard
again, and Miguel knew he was going to have a rough day.

"If you dare to shock me with that ability again," he threatened while panting, "I'll cut off your head and use it
as a decoration for the main control room door."

"There's no guarantee I'll listen to you," replied Hobby. "I'm not Ben, so don't order me."

Hobby pinned him down on the bench and fucked him over and over, Miguel couldn't count how many times
he had orgasmed, his overused throat was thirsty and hoarse, his breath stuck in his throat. His lower body
was so painful that it was numb, and there was something screaming in his head all the time. He clutched his
lower abdomen, trying to press the position of the uterus. Shortness of breath, dizziness and nausea.

"...can you fucking stop the meeting?" He forced the words out of his throat in a silent growl of insanity, not
even knowing what he was saying, "I'm dying...I'm bleeding."
Hobby sneered, "We're Spider-Man, dad, you're just running water." He added before Miguel's claws slammed
into his face, "But you're the boss, so take it easy."

Again, Miguel thought, as if you were forever helpless against this kind of harmless joke, like a large barricade
that couldn't read the air, and you were the only one among the spiders that didn't have spider sense. A lot of
newcomers ask when they first arrive: Are you really Spider-Man, dude? Look at your claws, your size, your
teeth sharp enough to snap the throats of your prey. But they all finally accepted him, and readily (perhaps not
so readily) accepted to be led by him, so Miguel didn't know why he cared so much about these issues.

Huobie's face became blurred in the shaking heterochromia, Miguel squinted his eyes, his daughter's face
looked down on him with a smile in the air in front of his eyes, her brown and black curly hair was braided into
two tall balls, and the corner of her mouth Topped with a few cookie crumbs and maple syrup. Don't look at
me, he muttered slumped and delirious, don't smile at me, don't come over... Gabriella smiled at him, I want
to go to the movies, Dad. Which one do you want to watch? Baby, there's a lot of new movies coming out,
we'll go see them when Dad gets off work and buy a big bucket of freshly baked popcorn, okay? The air
hummed and oscillated beautifully, my daughter's jersey was stained with dirt, the sun mixed with the smell of
grass, and the hounds of memory barked and paced. Hobie calls his name, over and over, Miguel looks at him
from delirium, pupils out of focus, as if staring at a point in the void, saying "sorry" and "fuck off" as Hobby
fucks him The gap took his face into his arms.

Put on a song, how about Freddie Mercury, do you like it? You will like it, otherwise how would you appreciate
my singing voice? Huobie wiped away the sweat and tears that flowed down to Miguel's temples, feeling
almost pity in his heart, this kind of pity is unnecessary, no one will care, like ice and snow falling from a height,
falling to the ground and smashing to pieces. Miguel is not here, he and his daughter watch the most failed
moments of their lives, share popcorn, quiet and content. His pussy sucked spontaneously on Hobby's cock,
the opening of his uterus supple and soft, as if preparing for conception, but they both knew he couldn't do
that.

The bastard part of Hobby's soul was beating and beating, instigating him to just watch Miguel freeze and
become a tragic Madonna, but Hobby didn't appreciate it. He thought of the dilapidated London in his 138
universe. It was not so much a city as it was an empty shell left by termites. It was eaten away by capital and
dictatorship. It was so bad that he had to say to himself before getting up every day: Wake up and face your
shitty life.” He hastily finished the last ejaculation, Miguel’s eyelashes trembled, struggling between illusion
and reality, whispering, Hobby held his right hand, and he shook it As if wanting to break his own wrist, Huobie
clasped each of his fingers even harder, the claws of resistance scratched the back of his hand, and the blood
dripped on the table, mixed with Miguel's dried blood, like Huobie Two rusty iron hearts found in a downtown
trash can.

"It would be ridiculous if you were murdered in your past," he muttered, and Miguel frowned in protest as
Gabriella faded in his arms, his soul weeping, begging, disintegrating into pieces , the floating ice melted in the
warm sun, like the tide over the head of the monument, okay, okay—this is the end, the old man died happily,
but he still had to open his damn eyes, Miguel compromised .

"What are you waiting for, my confession?" His voice was barely audible, and Hobie watched him shake his
head a little more lucidly, thinking of the eyes of the woman on the steps in Odessa.
"I suspect it can only be heard in the last words." He didn't want to be sarcastic, but he couldn't control his
mouth, "Don't you think this is a kind of betrayal? For the sake of more people's lives, why let relatives die?
Stopping more people or repeating the same mistakes? You are the one who can make a difference, if you
watch the tape a hundred times and still don't see it."
"I can not do it."
"fraud."
"I just can't do it! Damn it," Miguel yelled, "you tell me, how can a man build a tower and then destroy
everything about himself? You hate the established destiny and talk like I like it Yes!" Jocelyn [4] was blinded
by naive ambition, he wanted to give things the truth, God's will, but can truth be shaped, can you tell a person
"This is the Canon Event" and make him happy do you accept? Miguel used to be noncommittal about it, but
that's what he's doing now.

His chest was screaming, he was coughing and panting quickly, and his words that stopped abruptly cut the air
in half like a blade, and there was nothing to say between the empty and the falling. They looked at each other
in silence, and Hobie tasted this willing ruin in the hustle and bustle of silence, like a clump of exhausted
flames, burning a blackened edge around it, and dropping small piles of carbon grains and dust. He suddenly
wanted to smoke, and fumbled up and down in the pocket of his coat, but found nothing. He has quit smoking
for a long time, because Miguel hates the smell of cigarettes, and he can't take out cigarettes in front of a
group of minors, and he doesn't carry them with him for a long time. Yes, let it go without embarrassment.

"That's what makes you great, miggy," was all he could answer.
Miguel seemed to give up, and did not start with "You don't understand anything", his mood was stable and
silent, like a cluster of dying dark red ashes: "Everything I faced was worse than I imagined, so I... …There was
no way to do more. I did my best.”

Admitting to your limit seemed like a daunting challenge, but luckily Miguel was used to it. He lay relaxed, with
his limbs spread out, and he no longer felt cold. The metal of the experimental table had long been warmed by
his body temperature. He let himself run away for a moment in the aftertaste of his orgasm, then sat up, cum
dripping down his thighs and staining the floor. Miguel manually compiled the new data that had not been
saved in the computer into the database, and then closed it, and the laboratory was completely dark. Hobby
cut the ring from the ceiling and handed it to him. Miguel took it and put it on his wrist. The battle suit flashed
and rebuilt, wrapped around the red-scarred body, and he turned back into the omnipotent future Spider-Man
.
"Are you going to finish those 'to do lists' of yours again?" Hobby asked. "You really don't have to sleep, do
you? I'm not worrying about you."
He stood where he was, but didn't hear a reply. There was the sound of metal doors opening and closing in the
darkness, and the sound of tired and firm footsteps gradually faded away.

Uniceptor
Archimbold
Everything felt fine at first. Lyra, the dreamy blonde glowing with fluorescents, tried day after day to smooth
out her dress, white as the summer sun. Her voice was as gentle as she was loving him. She said: Good
evening, Miquel. Your vitals show that your pulse is racing and you're tossing your body again. Laiya didn't wait
for an answer, so she could only continue to ask : Do you need me to increase the brightness of the room for
you?
Miquel has no time to talk to her, busy with her own business.

At first, Alchemy proudly called RAPTURE a great invention: never before in human history had there been
such a powerful hallucinogen. Companies opened up stores to sell drugs legally, and New York City embraced
the stigma. It wasn't until their best bioengineer, Miquel O'Hara, took over Alchemy from his former boss,
Tyler Stone, and turned his back on the business. RAPTURE directly acts on genes, and once it is stained, there
is no possibility of getting rid of it. This is why the Alchemy Company is so rich that it almost owned the entire
New York City in 2099, so that Miguel later had money to build his super cool spider building. New York , a city
of absolute rationality, is the crystallization of human civilization. At least that's how Americans advertise it.
But the NYPD file doesn't say that Miquel O'Hara was a drug addict herself . It has nothing to do with his past,
he asked for it. The police are incompetent, but some people have solid evidence. See it with your own eyes,
experience it with your own eyes, and know his secrets.

How did Hobart Brown get pulled into the whole thing?

First, he happened to see Miquel O'Hara in "Downtown." Tall, strong, and handsome, with sunglasses and his
mother's black hair, Miquel is instantly spotable from a crowd (with the help of spider sense) . Then, out of
concern for his colleagues and a passion for gossip, Hobie followed Miquel into the deepest, lowest reaches of
New York City. No one in Uptown had ever approached this place, and Hobie had no idea why Miquel O'Hara
was here, and not wearing his tight-fitting Spider-Man uniform . "Downtown," where the bottom of New York
lives, would be home to a bunch of guys Dickens wrote "the superfluous." Poor people, born "in the middle of
the city" or dropped from above , and live their lives as rats with violence, gangs, poverty, and drugs. Or not
have a job, or humbly sell their dignity for a meager salary. The New York news in 2099 never reported
anything about "Downtown," as if "Downtown" itself was a contagious disease, and talking about it would
bring bad luck. There are crumbling houses everywhere, old walls with exposed bricks or pipes like New York
showing its ribs. You can always hear the screams from time to time, the screams of people dying or wishing to
die. There is no difference between day and night here, because Uptown is the biggest shadow, and the
shadow covers everything. The place was so cozy it reminded Hobby of home .

Hobart Brown follows Miquel O'Hara. Miquel was so absent-minded that he didn't even notice.

Miquel O'Hara made a detour into an alley, followed a graffiti-covered underground passage to an abandoned
building where homeless people gathered. There are not many good lighting lights, some are red, some are
blue and some are green. He knocked on the door of a small room and showed a bundle of cash to a hidden
camera. Then the person inside came to open the door and stuffed him with a bag of things. Hobie didn't
recognize what it was until Miquel O'Hara was robbed. Some blind man is going to rob Spider-Man . The city is
full of Spider-Man , they should be more careful. Everything happened very quickly, there were several
gunshots in the darkness, and the situation was completely one-sided. Miquel smashed a man's jaw with his
shin, broke a few noses, crushed a few fingers, and swore a few expletives in Spanish. He seems to be in a bad
mood today, with a lot of personal feelings. He made up for the guy who was knocked down and has no ability
to fight back, and destroyed a few grounds by the way. This is almost fatal to people without superpowers
(definitely not all ages ) viewable) . Spider-Man would never have laid such a heavy hand on a bad guy with the
level of gun robbery in the "downtown" in normal times. His eyes were red under the dark glasses in the dark,
and he was sweating abnormally, panting heavily, and his fangs could be seen when panting. An angry
monster. Injecting a mysterious drug into his own arm.
The shadowy stalker knocked the needleless syringe out of his hand, and it stuck to the wall before it even
touched skin. and say:
"Miquel, don't look so pitiful."
Miquel O'Hara turned his face. The sunglasses had accidentally been splattered with some badass blood, the
kind you see in low-budget horror flicks. Fortunately, the surrounding light is not strong, so he can take it off
and wipe it. Holographic projection is an unavoidable trend, but the photophobia of his eyes is useless with
holographic projection decoration. Because he is sensitive to light, the place where he is in the Spider Mansion
is always as dark as Dracula's fortress. It has to be noticed that his eyes are always redder than usual when he
is angry. Miquel said:

"You should be performing missions with Pavita in another universe."

"I'm not good at following orders," Hobart Brown said.
"how did you find me."
Just thinking about it for a while, Miquel's expression became even worse.
"... Lyra ."
He found the culprit.
"You don't need to do that," Hobby asked.
He recognized Miquel O'Hara's sneaky thing as RAPTURE, a name he'd heard, associated with a bunch of bad
things. It doesn't take much to know New York in 2099 to know it's not a good thing.
"You crossed the line," Miquel said.
"Are you still standing still. I can feel your heart beating faster, and those vampire eyes can barely see me. It's
all a mess."

Hobart Brown is unhurried, at ease, with his guitar on his back. Not wearing a mask to better taunt Miquel.
Leila , Miguel called his best AI partner by name. He growled under his breath, reached down and scratched a
concrete wall (don't mess with the clawed Spider-Man) , and said, "Can you tell me why you called him here.
Just because I slept with him once? * It was a terrible accident.* ”
On the surface, the algorithm of artificial intelligence is like this. Binary, with the first time there will be a
second time.
The reality is that Miquel O'Hara has absolutely no one else to trust in this situation. In this case, his complex
traumatic disorder episodes made him more violent and irritable than usual, and his genetically modified body
was abnormally functioning with multiple drug addictions. * Stronger violence, more fragile minds. * If it was
Jessica Miriam Drew who came to help, he would inevitably criticize him and make things more complicated.
And Peter B. Parker had his own family to take care of, and Miquel didn't want that man to get involved too
much in his messed up life. Anyway, he's Spider-Man . And he's the head of the merry multiverse Spider-Man
club, which (for now) doesn't affect his righteous work, and it's best not to let more people know about his
private affairs. The bioengineering genius is infected with the evil drug developed by his own technology, and
the humorous and beautiful satirical fables, every American child at the age of dreaming should fall asleep
listening to it.
Also, Miquel lied. He and Hobby obviously had a great time .
"You can also find a temporary male prostitute to sit on his face and insert your ass to masturbate as usual. It's
up to you, after all, I still have a job. It's the job you gave me."
Someone has to rebel against Miquel's spider supremacy. Either fight or make love, Hobie and Miquel have no
other way to get along for the time being. A corporate elite who has been devoutly Catholic since childhood
and a capitalist education, and an anarchic, anti-social and anti-religious punk guitarist, can't chat perfectly.
But Hobby had to admit one thing: Miguel was indeed hot, almost as hot as himself.
"Can't you just shut up for a second," Miquel said.
After repeated testing, Hobie concluded that, yes, Miquel O'Hara had very little sense of humor. People are not
always perfect, and a perfect butt has its corresponding price. He had almost gotten used to the bad part of
the person and the worse part of it.
"This time..." Miquel wanted to say something.
"No," Hobby knew what he wanted to say, "I love my rectum, it's fragile. God knows if you'll bite me out of
nowhere again. How many lives does a spider have? Not nine anyway. Become Spider- Man ? No. Damned."

They wanted to have sex anywhere, but there were so many bad guys in the place that Hobby's spider sensor
kept ringing. Luckily Miquel parked not far away.

Miquel O'Hara's uptown luxury apartment is on the top floor of New York. Numerous neon lights, holographic
projection advertisements and headlights of floating cars dyed the bustling and dazzling New York City outside
the window. In Uptown, everything is spotless, rational, clean and charming, and works with precision. There
may be some lack of human embellishment, but it is not a major flaw. Miquel didn't have time to ask Lila to
close the window view so that Hobby could enjoy the Harlem River at night when he and he went to bed.
There is a photo next to Miquel's bed. Hobie had thought that photographic paper would have disappeared
long before 2099, like African elephants, mountain gorillas and polar bears . It was of a little girl, whom Hobby
guessed was Miquel's daughter. He just heard it before, he didn't like to go to those meetings with Miquel,
always absent or just in the corner thinking about new songs and rehearsing things. In the photo, Miguel is
younger than he is now, with an unmistakable happiness on his face. He lost her. No need for more
background introduction, even if you haven't heard his complete set of stories that infer the theory of the
webbing event, you can guess it from the messy apartment and the face that is always tired and indifferent.

Two people kiss, instinctively. Miquel unconsciously strokes Hobie's stud with his tongue, and Hobie's tongue
licks his fangs. They really don't need a long and careful foreplay. Pain is more suitable for Miquel, the sex he
needs now is dry, twisted, and suppressed. As if he hadn't suffered enough. Backward entry, no condoms, no
lyrical music, the room was pitch black. Hobby is having a hard time getting his cock up Miguel's ass and wants
Miquel to relax.
"It would be more comfortable if you had nails on your nipples," Hobby suggested in a sincere voice.
"……What?"
Miquel knelt on his own bed, naked and with his hair disheveled. Hobart Brown stroked his back, his neck, his
chest, and left his fingers on his nipples. Before he had time to understand what Huobie meant, he screamed
because of the pain in his ass that was suddenly pierced by a dick. Hobie was just distracting him, grabbing his
waist, and even saying: I hit it anyway, left and right. Untimely, Lyra would also show up in the room to remind
Miguel of his schedule, countless to-do items, and several voicemails. Some are for Spider-Man, some are for
Miquel O'Hara. Hobie nearly scratched Miquel's thigh as he took another shot from the drawer. He stuck it
around his neck like a hunter skins a deer with a knife. What? Hobby asked. Sedatives, well, just sedatives. So
that Miquel wouldn't go mad and shake uncontrollably and burst into tears.
New York ruined Miquel O'Hara, and fate started giving bad signs long before he turned himself into Spider-
Man. It's all over now, it's too late. He hated and hid his anger. He didn't know who he could take revenge on,
so he could only paralyze himself with work. protect the world's peace. Fuck his world peace, he just wants to
be able to tell himself when he's exhausted he's done enough so he doesn't go mad with guilt pain. The
greater the ability, the greater the responsibility, it's all bullshit. The greater the ability, the greater the guilt.
That's what Miquel O'Hara is convinced of. When he was young, he finished his studies with loans and
scholarships, climbed into an alchemy company, and created countless wealth for Taylor Stone with his genius
brain seeds. In the end, he was designed to be addicted to drugs by the company, threatening him if he did not
continue. To work for the company is to be sent to jail for using illegal drugs. It ended when he turned into
Spider-Man - he sneaked back to the company's lab just to treat his drug addiction, but ended up doing it for
himself and turning into half a spider. Temporarily, the drug problem is solved, but the "more powerful"
problem is not. After a short period of happiness, losing his wife, daughter and brother, his already bad life
took a turn for the worse - there is no worse job than maintaining peace in the multiverse and leading the
Spider-Men. He solved countless complicated and mysterious problems, saved the world several times and
survived, but he couldn't solve the problem of the soul. The power of his science has been so great that it can
do almost everything. (For example, changing a person's genes to make him grow small claws on his fingers
and toes, have super strength and agility, grow fangs that secrete neurotoxins, cool uniforms that can fly, and
can travel through the multiverse at will. wristband.) and still failed to save his most important thing. His
human part. Standing in the future , he has a full view of Spider-Man's tragedy. Nearly everything discouraged
him, the tendency of the world and of fate to slide uncontrollably toward destruction. Insomnia, eating
disorders, traumatic stress, bipolar, he has it all.

Miquel O'Hara has repressed himself for so long that he has gradually become like everything he has ever been
against: a symbol of power, a champion of order. Don't say he doesn't hate himself like this, otherwise why is
he always so angry. Sex is a foolish gratification that requires no thought. It is a bliss of human innocence to be
able to incarnate briefly as a beast. Back to the very origins of human disorder. Power and being loved are
indispensable oxygen and water in people's life, making love can satisfy these two important needs at the
same time in a short time.
Honestly Hobby wasn't used to having sex on such a soft bed. He tried to be gentle, but the effect was not
particularly obvious. They tried several postures, and their physical strength was almost exhausted. *sex like a
superhero*, nice ad for sex toys. Miquel's muscles were still soft and warm when they relaxed, but the claws
were never. Huobie has seen how powerful the claws are, so he has been on guard all the time. He already has
enough piercings on his body, and there is no need to add a few more.

"Take control of your webbing, Miquel. You're getting slimy everywhere like a baby spider."
Miquel retains some rustic variations with the help of high technology.

"Then you...fuck...don't hold my hand."

One of the things that drugs do best is amplify personal tragedy. No matter what you do, it is irreversible. After
a short period of numbness and relaxation, all the pain has a more solid and traceable tragic feature. Less
personal will, easier escape from reality. Hobby was sick of the thing because things weren't much better in his
area. Human civilization has not made any progress on this point. People in more prosperous and crowded
cities are more dependent on drugs, so New York and London have the same problem. In the dark, he has a
complex expression, and there is no moral issue that needs him to condemn, but he just wants to plug in the
electric guitar and drum kit. But Miquel and his musical tastes were also very different. Rock and Roll will give
this guy a headache. It's quiet, so dirty voices in the room can be clearly heard. Now Miquel can take revenge
on herself and Hobby Brown. With that self-defeating self-consciousness, he sat on Hobby Brown's cock, his
intestines and stomach squeezed together, and he felt like he wanted to vomit. Like a beast, his skin was wet
with sweat, drooling and his eyes glazed over. Huobie was also dizzy and praised him as a good boy. Hobby
Brown wants a cigarette or a drink or something, and he's already planning to drop by the apartment as a
souvenir before he leaves, and he'd better get a cigarette and put it on Miquel's ass. They will meet again
tomorrow at the Spider Building. It was dawn and Hobby was about to leave. He missed the pumpkin carriage
at midnight, but fortunately he could fly around with spider webs. 2099 is not the end, the future will be
better, and it must be better. Hobie says: Miquel, stay away from the kids. You seem to be making yourself out
to be the villain on purpose. I love kids.
2099's Spider-Man Miquel O'Hara Says "Fuck You" in His Charming Spanish
Very bad swear words, not good for children's education.
said Rockstar Hobby. Next time. Good night. Maybe wait for the day when the universe is destroyed. But
promise me you won't let that day come too soon.

"Này, mấy cậu đều tạo được từ trường bằng tay chứ?"

Hobie cẩn thận hỏi lại 5 người anh em, anh chỉ vào bộ đồ hologram trên người Miguel, rồi lại chỉ vào tay mình.
Ám chỉ rất rõ ràng: Có ăn cái, không thì bốc cứt ăn vã.

Mười bàn tay đồng loạt toé lửa điện khiến nhện phổng đạn nhếch mép, việc này sẽ vui lắm đây.

Hobie 1 ném Miguel lên vai, vác gã như người ta vác tải, ra hiệu cho anh đi theo. Sáu người phóng tơ đu mình
qua con phố tấp nập người qua kẻ lại, cuối cùng hạ cánh trước một căn nhà cũ. Đây là căn cứ chung của năm
người họ, bên trong bừa bộn, chất đầy đồ đạc lỉnh kỉnh nào đàn, nào trống, loa đài, thảm chùi chân,... Ánh đèn
màu vàng mang lại cảm giác ấm cúng. Lại một điều nữa gợi cho Hobie nhớ về căn phòng trong con tàu của
mình tại vũ trụ 138.

Đặt Miguel lên trên chiếc giường duy nhất trong căn nhà, Hobie 1 đã không thể chờ được mà vội vàng hôn lên
môi mềm của gã. Son màu xanh dương lem hết lên miệng Miguel, gã theo bản năng hé miệng, để lộ răng nanh
sắc nhọn bên trong.

Nhưng đã là Hobie thì không bao giờ biết sợ là gì cả, nhất là khi kẻ đó lại là Miguel O'Hara.

Cả người Miguel đều đã được Hobie huấn luyện kỹ, chỉ cần hôn thôi đã tự động chảy nước lồn. Hobie 1 mới
hôn một tí thôi mà hai má gã đã đỏ bừng, không tự chủ được mà rên khe khẽ như con mèo đang được vuốt ve.
Bàn tay của Hobie 1 giữ chặt cổ Miguel để gã không thể quay đi chỗ khác, lại đè gã ra nút lưỡi. Miguel bị hôn
chảy cả dãi, vừa dứt ra khỏi Hobie 1 lại bị Hobie 3 cắn môi hôn tiếp. Hai tên luân phiên nhau cưỡng hôn làm
môi goá phụ sưng lên vẫn không dừng lại. Ngón tay đặt trên cổ thi thoảng lại siết nhẹ kích thích dâm tính bên
trong người Nhện 2099. Số 3 thậm chí còn cắn lên cổ Miguel để lại từng dấu răng ứa máu.

Bàn tay của số 2 và số 4 mân mê cặp ngực vĩ đại của nhện chúa. Từ trường làm mất đi lớp che chắn bên ngoài,
để lộ hai chiếc khuyên núm màu bạc đẹp đẽ. Tất nhiên cũng là tác phẩm của Hobie cả. Gã Punk có thể vỗ ngực
tự hào khoe rằng từng dấu vết trên cơ thể Miguel đều do anh tạo ra, và gã là sex toy hình người của một mình
anh. Nhưng có vẻ anh đã quá nuông chiều gã, vậy nên hôm nay gã sẽ bị "phạt".

Đôi mắt đỏ của số 2 sáng lên khi có chất lỏng ấm nóng chảy vào miệng trong khi anh đang liếm vú bò dâm của
Miguel. Con hàng tuyệt phẩm của Hobie 6 khiến anh cảm thấy có chút ghen tị. Anh cũng muốn có một Miguel
cho mình, nhưng vũ trụ của anh ta không cho phép điều đó. Số 4 tham lam bú liếm chùn chụt hết sữa non
thơm ngọt mà vú Miguel lớn quá, há to mồm hết cỡ cũng chỉ bú được mỗi phần núm. Thịt vú căng mẩy bóng
loáng, nhìn là biết ngày nào cũng được tưới tắm đủ tinh nên mới nẩy nở như thế này. Tuy ngày nào cũng sinh
sự với Miguel nhưng Hobie chưa bao giờ bạc đãi với hai quả đào tiên yêu quý cả, anh vẫn thường xuyên xoa
nắn chúng mỗi khi có cơ hội, bóp vú dâm đến mức khe bướm chảy nước cũng không dừng lại. Hai tên Hobie
giống như chó con, vừa bú sữa vừa cắn loạn xạ làm thịt vú xuất hiện từng mảng đỏ sậm, giống như hoa nở trên
vú.

Tiếng bú mút chóp chép giống như thuốc kích dục làm Hobie 6 nứng điên. Toàn thân anh nóng rực, bên dưới
cứng như đá. Đâu phải chỉ mỗi mình Miguel khó chịu khi cả hai không đụ, Hobie cũng nhịn muốn hỏng cả
người luôn rồi. Mặc kệ Hob 5 đang cắn lên đùi của Miguel, Hobie dí sát mặt vào khe dọc dưới háng gã Nhện.
Sống mũi cạ vào khe bím đang lồ lộ ra. Miguel bên trên khẽ nức nở, dù đang hôn mê nhưng lồn vẫn rất ngoan
biết chảy nước ra cho người ta bú, dâm thủy men theo khe lồn chảy xuống kẽ mông.

"Địt mẹ, con hàng của cậu dâm vãi Hob 6, lại còn có cả lồn nữa. Sao cậu may mắn thế không biết? " Hobie 5
cảm thán.

Không hiểu sao Hobie lại thấy không vui dù đó là một lời khen. Anh thấy tức giận, Miguel cái đồ đĩ đực này thế
mà dám dạng háng khoe vú khoe lồn cho những thằng khác. Càng nghĩ càng tức, Hob 6 không nhịn được mà
vung tay tát mu lồn Miguel.

Không dừng lại ở đó, Hobie vừa cấu nhéo hột le, vừa tát lên lồn dâm lăng loàn. Miguel bị đánh đau mà không
hiểu vì sao, chỉ biết kêu ú ớ lại nhanh chóng bị bịt miệng bởi hai tên Hob khác. Hai bên đùi một bên bị ấn cho
banh hẳn ra để Hob 5 tiện cắn, bên còn lại thì bị ấn cho gập vào để Hob 6 dễ bú lồn. Sáu thằng nhóc choai
choai đè một gã đàn ông lực lưỡng cao hơn hai mét ra để bú vú liếm lồn, đúng là cảnh đẹp hiếm thấy. Môi lồn
mềm mại dưới cú đánh của Hob 6 chậm rãi sưng lên, trông vừa dâm vừa thương. Mấy Hobie khác tặc lưỡi,
không ngờ Hob 6 coi vậy mà lại nỡ tát bím dâm nhỏ xinh kia, tẹo nữa nhất định phải ra hôn hôn mấy phát an ủi
mới được.

Lồn bị đánh đau làm Miguel giật mình tỉnh lại. Gã ngớ người, lại nhìn thấy mình bị mấy kẻ xa lạ đè lên thì sợ
đến nỗi lồn thít chặt cả vào.

"Các cậu là ai? Thả tôi ra!"

Không có ai đáp lại gã, đám Hob không được nói theo yêu cầu của Hobie, lại đè nghiến gã ra hôn hít bú liếm.
Miguel tuy sợ thật, nhưng đã nhanh chóng quên đi nỗi sợ khi mỗi một điểm nhạy cảm trên người đều được
mấy tên này mút sướng đến nhũn não. Tay gã túm chặt lấy ga giường, hông ưỡn lên cao, dí sát lồn vào cái lưỡi
đang xâm nhập vào bên trong gã. Gã biết kẻ đang dùng lưỡi gãi lồn cho mình là ai, thế là lại càng không kiêng
nể gì mà rên lớn.
Hob 1 đã nứng lắm rồi, vội vàng tụt quần xuống để lộ con cặc hung tợn dí sát vào miệng Miguel. Bất chấp việc
có thể bị cắn bởi răng nanh của gã, Hob 1 bây giờ chỉ tha thiết một điều là được địt vào cổ họng người đàn ông
này. Ngay khi thấy Miguel mở miệng, Hob 1 đã thọc cặc sâu vào trong.

Miệng Miguel khiến Hob 1 ngỡ như mình đã chạm tới ngưỡng cửa của thiên đường. Hông gã run lên, dương
vật như muốn tan chảy trong khoang miệng ẩm ướt. Ngón tay Hob 1 vén vài lọn tóc bị rối trên trán Miguel
ngược về sau, nhẹ nhàng vỗ về gã:

"Miệng anh tuyệt lắm. Đúng rồi, bú đi rồi tôi sẽ cho anh ăn thật nhiều tinh ngon lành, nhé."

Dứt lời, Hob 1 ấn hông, ép cho toàn bộ cặc mình xoáy tới tận cuống họng Miguel, dập mạnh như muốn đụ
hỏng mồm gã. Hai hòn bi đập vào cằm người Nhện 2099, gã cố há to miệng hết sức để có thể làm cặc bự hài
lòng.

Tinh nóng bơm trực tiếp vào cổ họng, Miguel bụm miệng nuốt bằng sạch, lại còn cố tình thè cái lưỡi đỏ hồng
vẫn còn sót dịch trắng ra liếm môi. Con cặc mới xìu xuống của Hob 1 cứng lại ngay lập tức, nhưng Hob 3 đã đẩy
gã ra giành lượt. Hob 3 ngồi hẳn lên mặt Miguel, đùi kẹp cổ gã trong khi thọc cặc vào khoang miệng hãy còn
đang mỏi nhừ vì cặc bự của Hob 1. Hob 3 đe dọa nếu Miguel không bú cho gã xuất tinh nhanh thì sẽ kẹp cổ cho
Miguel nghẹt thở chết rồi sẽ đụ xác gã. Miguel bị tên điên này dọa sợ, cố gắng bú cu Hob 3 thật nhiệt tình để
khiến gã ra thật nhanh, cuối cùng tự khiến bản thân mình sặc tinh trùng. Miguel ho khù khụ, khạc đống dịch
đặc sệt của Hob 3 ra giường khiến Hob 3 phải bật cười trước khuôn mặt cau có của gã. Cái miệng của Miguel
không được ngơi nghỉ giây phút nào bởi Hob 1 lại nhấn đầu gã xuống để bú cặc cho mình tiếp.

Miguel bị bắt bú cặc tới quên cả thở, lưỡi Hobie chơi đùa với âm vật đang đau rát cho bị đánh ban nãy. Nó
đau, nhưng cũng rất sướng. Thật xấu hổ để thừa nhận, nhưng Miguel luôn cảm thấy hứng tình khi bị đánh, bị
trói, bị chửi mắng, sỉ nhục. Mọi nỗi đau đều đang chà đạp lên thể xác và lòng tự trọng của gã, và còn điều gì
kích thích hơn việc kẻ đứng đầu bị đối xử bằng cách mà mọi người luôn làm với những thứ rác rưởi của xã hội?
Phần con bên trong Miguel rên rỉ khi gã bất lực không thể phản kháng lại sáu gã trai đang cưỡng hiếp mình,
giọng nói bên trong đầu không ngừng khuyên nhủ gã tận hưởng khoái cảm mà lũ người đó mang lại. Gã đang
tận hưởng điều đó, gã đang tận hưởng việc bản thân bị những kẻ lạ mặt trông chỉ đáng tuổi con gã móc lồn,
mút ti.

"Vú anh là vú bò à?" Hobie 2 bất ngờ hỏi gã, sự độc ác lóe lên trong mắt. Bất chấp việc bản thân vừa phá luật,
gã vẫn hỏi Miguel,"Ti vừa to vừa nhiều sữa thế này chắc được nhiều người bú lắm rồi đúng không?"

Cái lưỡi đang khuấy đảo bên trong lồn bỗng dừng lại. Cảm giác ngứa ngáy, thiếu thốn làm Miguel khó chịu uốn
éo chiếc hông nhỏ đến mức phi lí. Tuy nứng thì nứng thật nhưng gã biết nếu mình không trả lời đúng đáp án
mà Hobie muốn thì hôm nay đừng mơ có cặc giã vào lồn. Miguel cắn môi, nhả cặc bự đang mút dở ra trả lời

"Không... Không có ai bú trừ Hobie cả. Vú là do Hobie bú, nhiều sữa cũng là do Hobie làm ra."
"Thật không đấy?" Hobie 4 nghi ngờ, lọn tóc cọ vào vú Miguel,"Chỉ một mình cậu ta luôn á? Nghe khó tin lắm.
Anh ngon thế này mà để mỗi Hob 6 húp thì đúng là phí của giời."

Nếu bơm đểu là một môn học, tất cả Hobie Brown đều sẽ đạt điểm A.

"Ha..."

Hobie cười khẩy, không thèm bú lồn cho Miguel nữa. Thay vào đó, anh ấn đầu gối vào háng gã, hài lòng khi
thấy Miguel vặn vẹo, cố gắng cọ lồn vào đầu gối mình nhiều hơn. Vải da lạnh cọ vào thịt lồn nóng, tương phản
làm lồn dâm bị cọ vừa ngứa vừa thích, chẳng mấy chốc mà đã được phết đầy xi nước lồn lên, giúp vải da càng
thêm bóng đẹp.

Lồn ngứa chảy nước mà mãi không được cho bú cặc to, chân cũng không khép lại được, Miguel càng ngày càng
mất kiên nhẫn. Được nút lưỡi hay bú ti bao nhiêu cũng không đủ, gã muốn có cặc cơ! Phải thật nhiều cặc to,
tốt nhất là vừa đen vừa dài như của Hobie ấy, giã cho nước lồn gã đến mức sủi bọt lên càng tốt. Nhưng lâu
như vậy rồi, cặc thằng nào thằng nấy cửng hết lên mà vẫn không có ai chịu đụ vào lồn dâm cả, chỉ có đầu gối
của Hobie ỡm ờ chọc lồn cho nó khóc nhè ra dâm thủy.

Lúc này Miguel mới nhận ra Hobie đang muốn gã mở lời trước. Nhưng gã vẫn giận lắm, bĩu môi quay đi không
thèm nhìn mặt người tình trẻ mặc cho bím ướt vẫn đang há miệng chảy dãi. Spiderpunk thì vẫn rất thong thả,
hết lấy đầu gối cọ lồn lại dùng ngón tay nắn hột le dâm. Đã thế, các Hobie khác cũng không ngừng dụ dỗ gã:

"Nào nào Miggy , sao lại giận người ta lâu thế? Miệng ngang anh không khó chịu nhưng miệng dọc của anh
khóc rồi kia kìa."

"Sao mà vẫn còn dỗi thế? Hay anh chỉ thích được móc lồn thôi hửm ?"

"Dỗ cậu ta đi, chỉ cần anh mở miệng thoi là được cả sáu người tụi em giã tung lồn nè, hời quá còn gì, bao nhiêu
cũng cho anh hết mà."

"Giận lâu thế có lợi gì đâu? Người ta bảo địt thôi đừng đánh mà, anh năn nỉ số 6 xíu đi là được à."

"Anh yêu có bím múp, lồn hồng, đít bự, lại còn có ti to nhiều sữa thì anh cần chấp gì cái thằng chả có gì ngoài
chim to đấy đúng không? Tha cho nó đi rồi mình được chịch choạc đã đời, sướng lên tiên có phải thích không
nào?"

Dưới vô số lời dụ dỗ, Miguel cũng hơi nguôi ngoai. Đôi mày rậm nhăn lại, hai mắt hồng hồng nhìn thẳng vào
Hobie. Hai bàn tay gã tự vạch mép lồn, ưỡn hông ép sát vào đũng quần thiếu niên, ngượng ngùng mở miệng

"Đụ tôi..."
Giọng gã lí nhí như muỗi kêu. Hobie không hài lòng, móng tay bấm sâu vào thịt đùi bên dưới. Miguel rít lên đau
đớn, vài giọt máu ứ đọng lại trong kẽ móng tay màu đen. Cậu chàng người Anh nhìn gã, đôi mắt hai màu ghim
chặt Miguel, quan sát mọi biểu tình trên khuôn mặt O'Hara. Mắt anh di chuyển từ đôi lông mày rậm đang nhíu
chặt lại đầy bất mãn, tới đôi mắt hằn đầy tơ máu, sống mũi cao thẳng tắp rồi dừng lại ở trên đôi môi bởi vì bị
cặc người chà đạp nhiều mà sưng tấy lên. Hobie nhìn cách cái lưỡi hồng mềm mại của 2099 vì tâm trạng lo lắng
mà đảo qua đảo lại bên trong miệng, đầu lưỡi cọ vào từng chiếc răng, cố trấn an bản thân chủ nhân của nó.
"Đã thèm chịch muốn chết còn ra vẻ ngại ngùng làm gì hả?", Hobie đánh mạnh vào mông Miguel," Mồm ngang
anh thích nói dối còn mồm dọc thì hay nói thật huh? Sắp đái ướt cả giường rồi mà vẫn còn bướng, anh nghĩ
mình bao nhiêu tuổi thế? Thiếu nữ 18 đang dỗi bạn trai à? Nói to như cách anh chửi thằng Miles xem nào."
"Bastardo...Tôi ghét cậu...", Miguel nức nở, miệng tuy mắng mỏ nhưng giọng nói lại mềm mỏng như đang làm
nũng,"Mi amor, mi esposo, por favor fóllame.Te quiero tan mal en este momento" (dịch: Anh yêu, chồng yêu,
xin hãy đụ em đi. Em thèm được anh đụ tung lồn ngay bây giờ :P)
"Anh nên nói vậy sớm hơn đấy, puta masculina. " ( Phò đực, đĩ đực)
Lồn dâm cuối cùng cũng được nhét cặc vào, toàn bộ sự chú ý của Miguel đều dồn vào gậy thịt đen sì đang
không ngừng giã vào lồn mình. Hobie không chỉ chim to mà còn chịch giỏi, cứ nhè nơi nhạy cảm nhất mà giã
vào, mỗi lần húc vào đều khiến cho Miguel phê đến chín tầng mây. Các Hobie khác chứng kiến Miguel sau khi
được đụ lồn thì quên khuấy mất mình đều ghen tị không thôi. Hob 2 xốc Miguel ngồi thẳng dậy, để lưng gã dựa
vào ngực mình, không nói lời nào mò tay xuống banh lỗ hậu ra đút cặc vào.
Đang được đụ lồn sướng đê mê tự nhiên lại có thêm cặc, khoái cảm đánh úp làm Miguel co quắp ngón chân,
vuốt sắc không kìm được cắm vào lưng Hobie, xé rách cả áo khoác lẫn suit Nhện của anh. Lúc này Hob 5 mới
chú ý tới lưng Hob 6 toàn sẹo, từng vết từng vết vừa dài vừa sâu giống như bị dao chém vậy. Hobie vừa giã lồn
Miguel vừa giải thích đấy là tình thú của anh yêu nhà mình, hễ cứ sướng là lại cào lưng anh be bét máu, đành
chịu thôi tại mình chịch anh yêu thích quá mà nên bình thường anh yêu dữ như chó chả cho ai sờ lồn sờ vú trừ
mình đâu.

"Thằng chó này cố ý.", Hob 5 và các Hobie khác nghĩ.

Tay của Hob 6 và Hob 2 đồng thời giữ chặt lấy vòng eo thon nhỏ của sếp Nhện, nắm chặt đến mức thâm tím cả
một vùng. Cặc bự màu nâu đen banh lỗ lồn lần lỗ đít ra hết cỡ, hung hăng rút ra đâm vào như muốn chơi hỏng
cả hai lỗ luôn. Miguel ngửa đầu ra sau rên rỉ lại bị Hob 5 cười hiền lành dùng gậy thịt bịt họng, hay tay bị ép
cầm cặc bự của Hob 1 và Hob 3 sóc cho bắn tinh mới được dừng.

Chứng kiến tinh dịch thành quả của Hob 6 rỉ ra từ lỗ lồn nhỏ xinh hồng hồng, 5 tên kia cũng hấp tấp muốn
được bón tinh cho lồn múp. Hob 5 nhanh tay đẩy Hob 6 ra, không quan tâm Miguel vừa mới ra lồn hãy còn
nhạy cảm, vội vàng dọng cặc vào như sợ mấy thằng anh em tranh mất.
Đèn vàng lờ mờ treo trên đỉnh đầu, sáu Hobie cứ vậy mà luân phiên chịch Miguel tới rã rời. Hobie vùi mặt vào
hõm vai Miguel, cắn mạnh lên cổ gã, dấu răng đè lên vết cũ của Hob 2. Chỗ nào có dấu răng của các Hobie khác
đều bị anh hôn đè lên, khiêu khích trắng trợn với 5 Hob rằng anh mới là người thực sự được hưởng trọn
Miguel O'hara, còn những thằng khác chẳng qua chỉ được xài ké. Chắc tại vì bên Miguel lâu quá, Hobie cũng đã
nhiễm cái thói xấu thích đánh dấu chủ quyền của gã mất rồi. Miguel thở dốc, răng nanh cắn rách da Hobie chảy
máu xong lại thè lưỡi liếm, mắt long lanh nước khiến người nhìn cửng hết cả buồi dái, chỉ muốn đè ra dập
banh lồn để nhìn thấy gã khóc nhiều hơn thôi.
Chưa bao giờ Miguel lại được nhiều cặc bự đụ thế này, toàn thân gã nổi da gà, cảm tưởng như linh hồn đã bị
hất văng ra khỏi cơ thể theo chuyển động của Hobie. Andrenalin chạy rần rần trong máu, tim gã đập thình
thịch, mồ hôi túa ra như mưa. Pheromone theo đó tiết ra khiến sáu thiếu niên như vừa ngửi được thuốc phiện,
giã Miguel hùng hục không biết mệt mỏi. Bướm dâm bị địt sưng không khép lại được vẫn bị banh ra chịch tiếp,
mấy tên Hobie bị kích thích dập mạnh như muốn nhồi tất cả vào bên trong lỗ thịt ẩm nóng, mặc cho Miguel có
nài nỉ thế nào vẫn không dừng lại.
Miguel không thể đếm được mình đã lên đỉnh bao nhiêu lần nữa. Chỉ có tình dục lẫn khoái cảm bất tận khi các
Hobie thay nhau bơm sữa đặc cho tất cả lỗ trên người gã. Gã bị đụ đến nỗi cả người mềm nhũn, làm các Hobie
phải thay nhau ôm thì Miguel mới không ngã xuống. Tất cả những gì Miguel có thể làm bây giờ là bấu víu vào
các Hobie mà gã thậm chí còn không phân biệt được ai với ai, ưỡn ngực cong mông cho các chồng bú vú đụ lồn
đụ đít, khàn giọng rên rỉ như mèo con để các chồng yêu.
"Sao anh đáng yêu thế không biết?", Hob 5 thơm chụt lên má Miguel, ôm cho Miguel tự nhấp hông trên cặc
mình," Hay là anh cũng nuôi 5 thằng bọn em như Hob 6 đi. Bọn em vừa ngoan vừa chim to, mà lại đảm bảo
không làm anh tức như Hob 6."
"Này Hob 5, tuy bọn mình là biến thể của nhau nhưng Miguel này...", Hobie ôm mặt Miguel, ép đầu gã quay về
hướng mình," Chỉ có thể là của tôi. Tôi vất vả chịch anh ấy mỗi ngày, biến anh ấy thành loại người như bây giờ
không phải cho người khác hưởng không đâu nhé. "
"Keo kiệt quá, cậu là biến thể Hobie tư bản đấy à?", Hob 4 bĩu môi.
Hobie không đáp lại, có thể anh thực sự đã cư xử hơi... Tư bản một chút, nhưng nếu đấy là vì Miguel thì mọi
chuyện đều xứng đáng, sau cùng thì chỉ có duy nhất một Miguel O'Hara bẩn tính sẵn sàng dạng chân ra để anh
đụ trên đời mà thôi.
"Chắc vậy.", Hobie lẩm bẩm.

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Dưới sự giúp đỡ của năm Hobie, Miguel và Hobie cuối cùng cũng trở về được căn cứ chính.
Mấy ngày ở bên sáu tên Hobie Miguel không thể tự đi được nữa, không lúc nào mà đám Hob để cho lồn múp
phải đói, ăn ngủ nghỉ tắm rửa gã đều được bế đi, lồn thì thành bao bọc cặc 24/7 cho sáu thằng. Thậm chí đám
đó còn đụ gã cho tới khi gã hứa sẽ quay lại để cho họ chơi tiếp mới chịu cho gã đi ngủ.
Miguel xấu hổ che mặt, không dám nhìn thẳng vào vẻ mặt "TÔI BIẾT MÀ" của Peter B lẫn Jessica. Hai chân gã
vẫn mỏi nhừ, hậu quả sau việc năm thằng ranh kia bảo "Chia tay rồi nên phải làm lâu lâu tí" vẫn còn đang rỉ ra
từ kẽ mông. Hobie tinh thần sảng khoái bế anh yêu kiêm bố đường đang mềm nhũn như cọng bún đi thẳng về
nhà riêng của gã trước sự chứng kiến của trăm con Nhện khác, thành công flex "Lốp này bố mày bú rồi", tuyên
bố chủ quyền trước mặt toàn thể fan hâm mộ của Miguel.
Thôi thì... ít nhất thì cũng làm hoà được vụ cãi nhau, nhỉ?