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Satoru and Suguru are the two most inseparable but different boys you have had the misfortune to meet.

Suguru is the kind of man straight out of your kinkiest most freaky dreams that would have you floored if they were to ever escape the confines of your mind.

He’s all black clothes, ear gauges that suit him criminally well, long and shiny locks that took years of growing to achieve, subtle yet dangerous piercings that make you spiral whenever you catch glimpses of them.

Suguru is hot.

You know it.

Your body knows it.

But your mind refuses to resonate with that perfectly obvious fact.

Because you’ve known Suguru before the tattoos and the cigarettes he carries in his pockets.

You know the boy with less than shoulder-length jet black hair that was dry before he learnt to take care of it junior year of highschool to try and impress some preppy bitch that used to get on your nerves too quickly.

You know the version of him who threw his guts out in your bathroom toilet after his first party, and the one who collapsed with his then-boney figure on your bed and called it a night—only to wake up 16 hours later.

Groggy as shit, voice deeper than a broken speaker, eyes swollen as if he were crying but it was really just from the first time he smoked mary and had a bad reaction to it.

That is the Suguru you know.

The one who isn’t the muscular and seductive man he has turned into. You love him in the present either way, but your mind can’t process that little virgin Geto is now the same man that has thousands of girls wrapped around his pretty pale, long fingers without doing anything about it.

Maybe it’s a secret defence mechanism of sorts that your body set up for you after you noticed how popular he got first year of college.

Or it could be that deep down you hate not being the only girl around him anymore. The only one he could find comfort in after getting rejected by yet another girl because of Satoru.

Which brings us back.

Satoru is a complete 360 from Suguru. He’s bubbly, bright, dramatic, overly friendly and extroverted for his own good.

With no sense of personal space or privacy, Satoru jumps around life surprisingly with no repercussions—flunking all of his classes in high school due to his fucking around with girls but somehow ending up at the same prestigious school you, Suguru and Shoko got into by working hard.

Though none of you dare to say it out loud, you’re all aware it’s because of his connections. The Gojos are quite well off.

Which makes the three of you resent the little albino shit at times.

But you wouldn’t change him for anything.

Within your group of 4 though, Suguru and Satoru have always stuck out like sore thumbs. Being glued by the hip since babies, of course they share a bond deeper than you and Shoko do with them.

The difference is, you entered the picture a bit after Shoko did in middle school to kind of “replace” Satoru during that time as he discovered the world of girls and parties after only living in the comfort of video games and his best friend for the previous 15 years.

So while Gojo ran around flaunting his awkward charm and pick-up lines—living off the thrill of being able to get any girl he wanted because of his looks—you and Suguru naturally got closer as your short-haired friend was always buried in her books.

Weekends at Satoru’s turned into weekends at yours with cookies in the oven and chess pieces fighting eachother.

Somewhere along the lines, you stopped seing Suguru as someone else in the background and more like your own best friend.

He seemed to see it the same way. Soon confiding in you more and more—sharing plans about his future and how he wanted to pursue philosophy while his parents pushed him into a business-oriented career.

Back then, you supported him, convinced him that he didn’t have to listen to his parents nagging because he was his own person, forcefully drilled confidence into that innocent teenager until he finally grasped it.

Everything was going smoothly.

Satoru was in his own world.

Shoko was doing great in school and after-hours clubs, anything for extra credit so she could get better grades for uni.

You and Suguru shared dreams over tea.

Everything was fine until that party.

Suguru’s first.

Satoru had invited him, saying that his frat friends—the ones he had recently met and somehow managed to befriend despite being younger by a few years—promised fun and a good time.

You didn’t expect hard-headed Suguru to cave and go. But he did.

Shoko stayed with you that night while the boys were out until her mom picked her up at 11 P.M. as she had piano practice in the morning.

Fridays were usually the quietest days for you. Your parents took weekend trips to your grandparents house religiously and you usually skipped on visiting to study.

Which was what you were doing when at 1 in the morning, the front door was being unlocked and the sound sent a bone-chilling shiver down your spine.

An old baseball bat in hand and with hesitant steps, you slowly moved down the stairs to catch sight of messy black hair over a tall body slouching against the entry.

Your heart recognised him before your eyes caught up in the dark. And you managed to drop the bat, cross the distance and reach him before he fell over.

Later, you found out as he threw his guts out in the toilet bowl, that he was batshit drunk.

You remember holding his hair back, the dry locks in between your fingers as he retched on and on.

And then.

The hickeys.

The small purple and faint red marked along his side that peaked out from under his loosely fitted black shirt all across his collarbones.

Your breath had hitched without you even noticing it. But your world shattered.

Because you’d grown feelings for the man that you knew would cause you more harm than good. But who were you at the hands of love? Only 16 and already feeling betrayed when there was nothing promised between the both of you.

You never acted like you liked him, never spoke about love, never showed interest. So who were you trying to blame?

Who were you going to blame for being such a pussy when Suguru got on the same train Satoru was and started changing again.

Learned how to do his hair, got piercings, gauges and his first tattoos in no time. Suddenly turning into a woman magnet that had your heart clenching painfully in your chest.

Yet, throughout the years. No girl ever stuck. No woman made it past the texting stage, not a single one of them slept in his bed the way you did at times when you’d crash at his place.

And you never stuck to any man either. A relationship here and there to get Suguru off your mind with some asshole that only messed with your head even further before you’d ditch him and swim in regret over never having confessed to your best friend before the words carved themselves into your bones.

So Suguru, at 24, has been your crush for seven round years by now.

And you’re one sorry excuse of a supportive best friend when he mentions dates and girls. You want so badly to rip your ears out, stuff his mouth with cotton till he chokes on the skinny blondes and Coke addicted bitches he ends up with at random bars.

Your raspy, beer-ghosted voice cuts him off as he tries to scramble together where he met his latest situationship.

“I’m tired, Suguru. We should continue this tomorrow.”

It’s not often you cut him off so brutally but the few times you do, Suguru sees the sirens going off in his head.

Head lolling to the side, left hand holding his drink in between his fingertips, he subtly lifts an eyebrow as his eyes rake over every inch of your beautiful skin.

Covered in a sheet coat of shine, probably from a body oil that he will remember tonight as he pumps his cock in his hands like he does almost everytime he sees you because you always come so pretty for him.

Well, he hopes it’s for him.

But 7 years of acting like he’s fine with being your best friend with his feelings wrapped under bandages and buried under cement, and he’s fearing that soon he won’t be able to hold it in anymore.

You’ve never shown interest in him. He’s never caught a sliver of love swimming in your eyes when his onyx ones prayed to find it in them.

What was he supposed to do? Risk your friendship? No.

Instead, he put himself out there. For every other person to see, hoping that you realise someday he is actually selling himself open for you to snatch off the market.

Yet, time passes and time passed. Nothing.

You stay quiet.

When in the present, your jaw is working and you’re mumbling something along the lines of “I’m really worn out, not really in the mood for talking right now.”

Suguru softly sighs, eyes crinkling at the corners as his they soften under the dim yellow-light lit bar you’re both at after work.

“I’ll take you home.”

He can’t remember the amount of times he’s done it for you. Taken you home tipsy, carried you up your apartments stairs because the hellhole you live in has an elevator that works once a month, tucked you into bed after tugging most of your clothes on because he’s done it ever since you were young from times when you were too tired to change but refused to sleep in dirty clothes, kissed your forehead goodnight and let his chest tighten.

Because he wishes he could say “let’s go home.”.

And he wishes he would stay over, wake up with you in his arms in the morning where he’d kiss the soft corner of your shoulder before the pecks would turn warmer.

But he buries those thoughts deep down and walks out the front door, steps heavy and shoulders weighing a ton.

You wake up feeling like a truck slammed into you sometime in the night—muscles aching, head banging, eyes burning. Though last night you swore you didn’t drink too much, your morning dizziness is really screaming for a rain check on how many beers you actually had.

Were you turning into Shoko?

Catching sight of your phone plugged to charge on the nightstand, you open it to find a mess of texts from your coworkers in the group chat talking about some event they’re trying to set up.

A plethora of messages from Shoko stressed out because of her latest karen patient. A checking in text from Suguru you’ll reply to in a bit. And a thousand texts from Satoru..?

You click on his icon and swipe past the hundred of messages where he’s literally just screaming your name in order for you to reply and get straight to the point.

The favor he’s asking you seems almost ridiculous as it stares back at you.

You, me, Shoko and Suguru. Friday at my company, need u all there for a major event. But I don’t have a date, I need you to act like my girlfriend. 🙏🏻😭

Please help, can’t take Shoko ‘cause she’s already been here and everyone knows her.

I’ll literally buy you anything you want, you know I got the means, boo.

And unfortunately, that last text is what sells it for you.

Friday you waltz hand in hand into one of six eyes’ hotel branches with Satoru who paid for your custom Chanel outfit—elegant silk dress with the tiniest most intricate details around the hemming, a nice cream shade that brings out all the right places—and you wear your new Manolo Blahniks that he got you like the deal promised.

Feeling good, you barely notice how the hall holds you it’s breath when you come in. People’s spines straighten up, how certain women that aren’t really comfortable with being outshined with simplicity and elegance, narrow their eyes.

But the tiny gasps go straight to your blood vessels and straight into your heart. You feel good and nothing can stop you tonight.

Satoru whispers in your ear—hair gelled back, crisp cream suit to match your dress with subtle brown outlining, black slacks.

“Careful, Suguru is about to jump at anyone who stares at you for longer than three seconds.”

Your breath hitches, head swinging back to him. You’re supposed to feign innocence over your little huge crush on your best friend, but all along, Satoru has known.

“How do you know?”

He smirks, that cocky and know-it-all one that makes you want to slap him square sometimes. “You’re not so slick, Y/N. I am also your best friend after all.”

Well shit..?

Before you even have time to debunk his claim—which was already confirmed by your subconscious look of surprise, caught red handed in the worst possible moment—a figure you hadn’t noticed creeping up cleared their throat.

Your heartbeat jumps to the hundreds at the sight of Suguru. Clad in everything dark—black blazer with no lining or details, just the dark void of the color complimenting him dangerously well—silver piercings shining under the bright hall light, helix in place, gauges sitting in their right spots, three small studs on his lobes.

And that tongue piercing you know he has is tucked away behind his teeth.

Shoko monotonously stands by his side, expression dull, looking every bit unhappy to be here. Though you know she’s about to hop onto the bar and flip that look right around.

You exhale for the first time in what feels like the five excruciatingly tense minutes beneath Suguru’s piercing quiet gaze.

“Oh, hey, Suguru.”

Suguru.

You’ve been calling him a lot that recently and he’s not liking the sound of it. Where is the nickname you usually use on him?— Sugu?

It’s his name. He knows. But god does he hate to hear it coming from your pretty lips.

The words “What the fuck are you doing wrapped around Satoru?” and “You look gorgeous.” drop straight into his stomach acid as he swallows them and says instead a brief, oddly cold “Hey.” back.

Truth is, you look divine. But the sight of you clinging onto his best friend kicks him in the wrong way even though he knows you’re both just friends and this is just an act.

He’s been let on the plan.

Yet he can’t stand to watch it unfold.

Satoru sweeps you away to network with you on his arm because it gives him a good look. A nice lady on his side and smooth words could get him deals after deals tonight.

You pretend that you’re enjoying yourself when all you can think about is how you felt and feel Suguru eating you up with his eyes.

It feels illegal. The way his eyes are so hungry for you, shooting bullets through your skin from where he is with Shoko at the bar.

From your side, Satoru mutters something you barely catch from having your mind somewhere else, and your arm drops from his forearm suddenly.

You find yourself alone at a small circular table in the gathering, swirling your drink in your cup and patiently waiting for him to come back till a cold, possessive hand settles on the small of your back.

Chills immediately overtake your body.

The air in your lungs gets kicked out once the figure circles you and reveals Toji Zenin. You know him from the bullshit smeared over his name everywhere.

The business industry’s biggest rival. Every season he’s out for some company’s neck again. The Zenin’s have their claws deep in everyone’s business.

He’s weirdly tall, looming over you with his wispy bangs covering the half-lidded eyes he has. Dark like someone else’s, still different.

But the hair on your skin stands up despite the fire in your eyes. His touch feels like poison to you.

“Toji Zenin.” You recognise. He smirks, sending a small nod your way.

“Y/N L/N.”

Huh? How does he know your name?

“I’ve had my eye on you all night.” He casually points out, putting your questions to rest for the moment.

His touch is long gone from your back but it lingers there in an uncomfortable way that still has the hairs on your arms prickling.

He’s every bit intimidating, from his looks to his gaze. The tattoos on his skin that don’t offer a single ounce of comfort to you like Suguru’s does.

Shit, why can’t you ever get him out of your head no matter how many times you throw yourself in-front of other men?

“Yeah? Am I that intriguing?” You ask, a sly smirk mirroring his on your face. Deciding to play into his game, you rest your drink on the table and relax your previously tense stature.

Briefly, he takes a good look at you again before replying confidently. “Very.”

You fake a giggle to keep the chat going.

“Let me buy you a drink?”

The freshly ordered cosmopolitan you were sipping on suddenly seems good enough to abandon, so you nod.

In the blink of an eye, before the man can even open his mouth, you’re yanked away. A strong grip on your wrist and your body getting dragged through the multitude of people in the room by someone you don’t catch sight of until you reach outside of the hall.

"Suguru." He finally stops dead in his tracks at the sound of your sweet and confused voice ringing in his ear.

Body on fire, soul frusturated, he holds it in to not lash out over seeing Toji even think you're on his level.

“Suguru.” You try again to rip him out of his head.

Only when your hands find his bicep does he physically jerk out of his thoughts.

Deep onyx eyes stare back at yours under the dimly lit sidewalk where the only thing wrapping around the both of you is the faint noise coming from behind the closed wooden hall doors and the night’s coldness.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, worry lacing your tone.

“Nothing.” He spits out, too quick to be thought through.

You push back, knowing him. “There is something wrong. Come on, you’ve always been clear with me.”

One of his hands run down his face to try and lessen the growing turmoil inside of him.

Defeated, resolve chipping little by little by your warm concern, he sighs. “No, I haven’t.”

“What?” A shaky breathe escapes you, maybe from the cold or because of the tension.

Unlike himself, he dodges your question. “I didn’t like seeing you with Satoru.”

“Or with Toji.”

Confusion replaces your initial worry. Eyebrows knitting together, your hands twitch by your side.

“What? Toji?”

Suguru doesn’t dare to look into your eyes, glueing his sight to the empty street behind him.

Nevertheless, you continue. “Why did you pull me away from him? I was getting to know him.” Bothered by how he stepped in when he had no right to.

“You could’ve just asked me to come with you like a normal person does. There was no need to cause a scene.”

You catch the way his fists ball into fists by his side, the way his shoulders square up under your words.

“Suguru. Say something.”

“Stop calling me that.” He cuts you through.

Something splits in your chest. “What? Why? It’s your name.”

Without missing a beat, he continues while dodging your face. “You never call me by my name.”

“I do.”

“You didn’t.”

Silence takes the wheel.

And you realise where you both have gotten.

When did it ever turn so cold between the two of you? Was it when it started to hurt too much to keep your feelings in check while he fucked around?

Maybe.

“I don’t get what’s your problem.” You breathe out, shoulders slumping.

He finally turns to you. “You are my problem.”

Another beat passes.

A knife is jabbed between your heartbeats.

“Then leave.”

His eyes thin out, unaffected by you. “I won’t.”

Voice shaky, you pry again. “Then what do you want from me, Suguru?”

What does he want?

What does he not want is the question.

“I want you to see me for once.”

Your heart turns to stone immediately. Every vein in you freezing.

“I want you to look at me and not those other men. Fuck.” He pivots on his heels, slacks clicking against the cement as he turns around and runs his hand through his pulled back hair again. Frustration bleeding from him.

“I’ve been in love with you for seven fucking years, Y/N. What don’t you understand?”

What?

Your eyes burn with tears you’re not sure are supposed to be brimming.

Seven years?

Since the chess matches? The afternoon study sessions? The nights you’d both spend stargazing?

“In middle school you told me to start taking care of myself if I wanted girls to like me so I did. And you thought I did it for them when it was all for you.”

“In high-school I got my first piercing because I overheard you tell Shoko that men who had them were hotter.”

“Then the tattoos too. I’m a pathetic loser who has done everything to try and get you to look at me. Yet you don’t.”

“I went around to try and find you in someone else but I couldn’t. And i’m at my wits end, Y/N. I don’t know what else to do.”

The air is too thick for you to swallow, but its even harder to process his words as they pierce painful holes in your chest.

He did all of that for you?

Every single detail carved into his body is for you?

“God, you’re such an idiot.” You whisper, feeling a warm tear slip past your waterline and fall down your cheek.

“I’ve always loved you, asshole. You never looked at me.”

He swings back to you, to see the streaks falling down your angelical features. And something fractures inside of him too.

Fuck, you’re both such idiots.

His arms wrap around your trembling figure before you can calculate your next sentence. Warmth and his signature smell of faint vanilla and musk cradling you to calmness.

Your head softly hits his chest, listening to his heartbeat for a second before pulling it upwards and searching for his eyes.

He tilts his head down and loses himself in your doe-eyed look. Feeling his rough corners go smooth.

Neither of you need to communicate anything as your souls search for each other, bringing your lips in a deep kiss.

One that took too long to play out.

The kiss lasts an eternity longer than it actually did, but you’re experiencing such euphoria that you don’t pay mind to the way your lungs pray for air.

Eventually, you do break the kiss.

The fragile moment feels like it’s a fragment of your imagination.

It shatters when the front door of the hall opens, a plethora of people spilling out in a hurry.

You freeze in Suguru’s hold. His head is already running though. Once more, this time gently, he gets a hold of your wrist and takes you with him back inside.

You’re confused as you cross the swarm of people inside still working. From the corner of your eye, you see Satoru, and you see Toji following you from the other side of the room too—hand in hand with Suguru—and him with a drink pressed to his lips.

Subconsciously, you swallow the awkwardness before you enter a different room.

Standing before a corridor full of elevators, you turn with the intention to question Suguru—but before you can, a lift’s door opens and he pulls you inside where you land against the mirror.

He locks you there beneath him, palms pressing into the mirror that sees you both. And he catches your gaze so much you don’t even dare to think about looking anywhere else.

Feeling butterflies explode in your stomach, crawling up your throat and spreading through your chest, you can only look up at him with the galaxy in your eyes.

Suguru is breathing heavily, eyes clouded with possession and love while he looms. Chest lifting and falling in the quietness.

The elevator doors close with a ding! and your lips meet once more. Hungrier this time. You feel his desperation clinging onto every surface of you as his hands drop from the mirror and circle your waist.

A small moan escapes you when he parts from the kiss and pecks a sensitive spot beneath your ear. Something needy has overtaken him and you won’t complain at all.

His long fingers press into your ribs, keeping you in place and not enough to harm, but enough to make your panties wetter by the second.

You didn’t even hear the lift stop or the doors opening, fortunately, he did and slowly he guided you out the elevator. Mouth still on your neck, one hand on the small of your back while his other shuffles around for something in his pocket.

You’re pressed against a foreign door that unlocks when he presses a keycard to the lock while still kissing you madly.

Cold, cold kisses your bare shoulders the second you’re gently pushed inside into the darkness of the empty room.

Before you can catch a glimpse of the place, you’re meeting the closing front door again, Suguru’s hands roaming more freely than before.

The cold tips of his fingers meet the exposed skin of your back as his lips press soft kisses to your collarbones. Ghosting around your neck every now and then.

Every coherent thought is fleeing your mind—Is this how it feels like to be touched by your best friend? What have you been missing out almost for a whole decade?

“Y/N.” Barely hearing his muffled call, you try to hum a yes but accidentally let a small whimper escape when he briefly bites your carotid gently.

He kisses the red spot once his teeth detach and you feel his lips in a smirk as they meet your throat.

“Do you really want to do this?” He asks, nipping on your sensitive skin—searching for where you’re most delicate and where you fall apart the easiest.

Teeth grazing a particularly sensitive spot, you shudder and he fights back the urge to chuckle at his effect on you.

“Yes.” You breathe out after getting a grip on your mind again.

He hums against you, the vibration travelling all the way down to your soaked panties begging to be pulled off.

“Really?” He muses, a slender hand tracing the curve of your waist unhurriedly, landing on your hip before giving it a firm squeeze and continuing it’s way down.

Hand on your ass, he starts to knead the plush skin of it over your silky dress once your lips combine again in a sloppy, half-minded kiss.

Fed up and so needy, your hands fist his silk shirt—black like most of his closet which you’ve learned over the years—and bring his lips close enough till they brush yours again.

“I’ve waited enough.”

And he crashes against you, lips colliding, hips closing in on you and making you feel the hard outline of his boner pressing against your stomach.

Moving on your own while your mind is absent, your sly fingers find the hem of his pants and slip past to palm him over the thin material of his boxers.

You almost groan at the feeling of his cock—at the shape of his prominent vein under your touch, and the tiny bit of liquid spilling from his tip.

Not even noticing it, you’re so beyond dripping that when Suguru hooks a leg between yours and presses up into your cunt, you leave a wet patch on the cotton of his pants.

He continues to explore your mouth as you subconsciously grind your hips on his muscular leg, steadily supported with the help of his hands on your waist to the wall.

Under your hand, you feel his length twitching—every time his cock jerks weakly in your hand, struggling to move much by the restriction of being in his boxers and because of its weight—you wonder why he feels so big.

And if he will even… fit.

The thought consumes you quicker than you have the time to stop it. Suguru feels you stopping your dry humping and your hands settle on his chest before pushing him back.

Curiously bites at him but disintegrates when he sees you drop to your knees, pupils blown wide open and your hair falling perfectly on the sides of your face. Framing those perfect features of yours.

Without ever admitting it, Suguru feels himself being able to already cum at the mere sight of you like this—but he holds it in the best he can as he feels your hands crawl up.

Hook around his belt, slowly pull the leather out of the secure, pull it off and throw it somewhere on the side, bundle the fabric at his upper thigh and pull down till the only thing in your sight is his aching cock pulsing against his underwear.

You bring your hands excruciatingly slow like everything else you’ve done in the last few moments to his dick. Seeing the thick ridges of him throw the light gray and practically salivating at the mouth.

The material smoothly glides off his skin once you pull it by the edges and…

Suguru might look like he always messes up somewhere along the way with girls, never able to get an actual girlfriend and settle down—resulting in him looking like he gets no bitches.

But boy, that dick is eleven inches.

Those girls have no idea what they are missing on.

And you’re the lucky winner.

It slaps loudly against his firm abs once it’s set free, tempting you already with its looks.

Pale, dusty pink tipped, veiny all around, girthy and criminally long. For a second, your eyes flicker to Suguru.

And he’s smirking. Looking down at you like you wished for this upon yourself and now there’s nowhere to run to.

Swallowing, you bring saliva onto the floor of your mouth and prepare to take him in. Wrapping your hand around his shaft, you part the connection between his chest and his dick before licking the tiny pearl of pre-cum that was on the top.

Suguru quietly hisses, and that’s all you need to immediately take him in your mouth.

Starting by the tip, you feel your mind already exploding at the salty and tangy feeling of his juices, smearing the sensitive end on your textured tongue while peering up at him.

Desperate to catch every reaction.

His fists ball into tight fists once you wrap your pretty lipstick-smudged lips around him.

Immediately wrapping him in the warmth your mouth it.

Then your tongue comes into action and Suguru starts counting his blessings, praying he has room for one more so he doesn’t immediately lose it already.

Skillfully swirling your tongue around him, you map every surface of his dick and memorise every dip of his veins—every length of them, the ones that go all the way to the base and the ones who only pop up at the very top.

Only being able to take him halfway before choking, you try to stroke the rest with your hand until you feel him place a hand on your head and start to choke you on his dick.

Your eyes shut closed as his tip hits the back of your throat, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth as he breaches your oesophagus—hauling himself somewhere tighter.

Flattened tongue resting on the bottom of his heavy cock, you fight the urge to gag as he fucks himself harder.

Only when you feel yourself about to collapse from the lack of oxygen do you tap out and he immediately pulls out.

Your throat burns with that delicious ache you’ve just discovered.

Voice hoarse and raspy, you let out a curse under your bed before he’s moving again.

Back meeting the soft mattress of the hotel bed, you let out a breath before seeing that Suguru is already sitting between your legs, spreading them so far that your dress rides up and displays your wet panties clearly for him.

The low chuckle he gives reaches your ear in a soft melody. Long fingers hook around the flimsy material and you’re already jerking at the feeling of his knuckle brushing your clit.

There’s not an ounce of shame in your body when you let out a throaty moan as his fingers dip inside of your hole, mouth latching onto your twitching clit instantly after.

He takes two licks with a flattened tongue and your touch-deprived self already starts to collect tears on your waterline.

The cold metal of his tongue piercing adding more to the blissful sensation.

Mewls start to subconsciously spill out of you.

“Sugu~ Ah!”

You feel him smirk against you as your sensitive bud makes out with his mouth. Quickly, your vision starts to go blotchy when he curves his long fingers inside, finding that spot that makes you gummy in his hands.

You’re so close to the edge, so ready for the orgasm to crash over you when he pulls away in the blink of an eye.

You whimper at the loss of contact, near damn crying at the escape of your climax.

And he smirks, he fucking smirks.

Pulling his shirt over his head and climbing back, saying.

“That’s for leading on Zenin, and for even accepting being Satoru’s for the night.”

Eyebrows knitting and your eye catching the possessive side of him, you circle back to the first name.

“Leading on Zenin?” There’s curiosity in your scratchy voice.

But he doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t let you ponder any further while his hands hook around your waist and flip you on your stomach.

“You’re mine.”

And his cock breaches the first muscle of resistance, making you scream out both in pain and pleasure as the first few inches mercilessly dip inside of you.

Feeling like you’re being split in half, your hands start fishing the sheets, anything to lessen the pain.

Suguru presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder and back, soothing you through the ache that soon turns delicious.

Once the pain subdues, you feel him move again—only being able to fit half of him inside of you, but he takes it nonetheless.

Pulling your hips upwards and arching your back—Suguru finally starts hitting mean thrusts to your poor overwhelmed pussy.

Not caring at all how the whole building can hear you scream out, moan his name like it’s the only thing you know how to do.

The headrest groans in an uneven rhythm as Suguru plunges deep into your velvety walls, creating a frothy ring at the base where your bodies meet.

“Come on, Y/N, relax so I can fit.”

“N-No—You won’t-haah.” You can barely get your words out, panting and shaking while tears run down your face. “Fit.”

But Suguru is a level of stubborn and hard-headed you’ve known since middle school.

“I’ll make it fit, dear.”

And you’re flipped on your back again, wincing at the loss of him nuzzling his tip into your cervix, but getting hauled up before being able to catch your breath.

His back meets the leather of the headrest as his hands guide your shaky legs to each side, your knees digging into the soft cotton sheets, and you pussy hovering right over who she wants inside.

“Take me.”

And you do.

You succumb to his order like a body with no mind. Legs collapsing on you from the lack of strength and lowering your cunt to meet his glistening tip again.

He hungrily watches himself disappear up until where you physically cannot take him anymore—halfway through.

Seeing how your hands tremble on his shoulder, how your breathing is shaky and your body unsteady, he hooks an arm around your back and places a warm hand on your hip.

And pushes down.

Down.

And down.

Till he’s buried to the hilt and you’re groaning so much that they are bouncing off the walls and settling in his bones.

You can’t believe Suguru has been hiding this monster for god knows how long. It almost makes you wish you never had sex with anyone else just to experience this as your one and only.

But some things can’t he changed.

Just like you know that he has been with other girls because you didn’t notice he was in love with you the whole time.

Like you have been.

What a mess.

What a mess it is between your bodies too—sweat clinging to Suguru’s forehead and moistening the front pieces of his silky jet-black hair that cling to his forehead.

The straps of your dress have long fallen and revealed your chest once you sat down on him, giving Suguru the perfect angle to nip and suck on your breasts as you focus on riding him.

He takes control once more when he rams up at you, feeling your walls fluttering around him and spasming closer to the edge you were previously stripped of.

You feel your jaw going slack, the air in the room impossibly hot and the coil in your tummy at its end.

And it takes him a few more thrusts, angry and desperate till you come down crashing on him.

Body violently shaking, high-pitched mewls coming out of you and your weight going dead on him.

At the very last second, he pulls you up, almost cumming inside of you—but his dick slips between your bodies—shooting his seed over your dress and chest.

Ruining your attire, shamelessly so.

And the room goes dead silent save for your heavy breathing and his.

Fingers twitching against your sex-slicked skin, Suguru finally relaxes against the bed. Draping your body over his—the aftermath of him finishing sticky between your bodies but neither of you care.

It’s quiet for a second while the memories and the weight of the moment settle between the both of you.

“We are so stupid.” You whisper after another beat, cuddling your head further into his chest, searching for the steady beat of his heart beneath the muscles and bones.

“Yeah. So stupid.”

Stupid in love.

Not proofread yet, maybe my longest work as of now (def in the smut category.) this is my 1k special as a thank you to all of you for being so kind with me and genuinely making writing so fun <3

Main masterlist, JJK masterlist. Taglist.

Now you’re mostly wondering how much longer he’s going to stand there before he finally opens his mouth.

You drag the edge of the knife across your forearm.

It barely stings anymore.

Blood wells up, and with a practiced curl of your fingers you pull it free before it has a chance to run down your skin. The crimson stream hangs in the air for only a second before you compress it with your cursed energy.

A flick of your wrist.

Thunk.

The target falls backward with another perfect shot. Your hand is already reaching for the knife again, when Choso finally decides to speak. 

“You are using too much.”

You glance over your shoulder at him. Choso hasn’t moved, but somehow he looks even more frustrated than he did a minute ago.

“I’m barely using any.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“And look at me.” You gesture toward yourself with the knife. “Still standing. Still breathing. A medical marvel, really.”

His jaw tightens. “That is not proof that you are being careful.”

You turn back toward the target, smiling even through your own frustration. Choso has been like this for weeks.

Quiet and watchful until he decides you’re doing something that might get you hurt. Then he gets intense about it in a way that would feel overbearing if he weren’t so obviously sincere about it. And, annoyingly, kind of adorable.

He started hovering after the Culling Games. Back when everyone was still learning how to breathe in a world where Sukuna wore Megumi’s face. When Gojo had only just gotten out of the Prison Realm. When Yuji trained until his knuckles split because he didn’t know what else to do with all the guilt eating him alive.

You had taken Yuji under your wing long before any of that, though.

The idiot swallowed a cursed object to save his friends and was rewarded by being treated like a walking execution date. You understood what it was like to have people look at your body and see only what it could do for them.

The Kamo clan had spent years making sure you never forgot how useful you were.

Choso noticed. He noticed how you made Yuji eat when he forgot. How you refused to let him call Sukuna’s actions his own. How you said Megumi’s name whenever the others started discussing the battle as if Megumi wasn’t still trapped inside him.

He noticed how naturally you fit with Yuta and Maki. How Panda could still make you laugh when nobody else could. How you always kept throat medicine for Toge tucked into your bag.

He noticed everything. Especially the way you used Blood Manipulation.

You lift the edge of your skirt and drag another shallow cut across your thigh, just above your knee.

Choso unfolds his arms. “You do not need another cut.”

His voice is closer now. You glance sideways and find him standing at the edge of the training area.

“You don’t carry blood around with you either,” you say.

“I do not need to.”

“You use what’s available.” You pull the blood from the new cut and let it hover over your palm in a loose, unshaped mass. “So do I.”

“I can replace mine.”

“Congratulations.”

“You cannot.”

You curl your fingers and split the blood into three small beads. Then you snap your wrist.

One. Two. Three.

Each shot punches into the center of the target.

“See?” you say. “Efficient.”

Choso doesn’t look at the target. His eyes stay on you.

“You are not listening to me.”

“I’m listening. I’m just not agreeing with you.”

You wipe the knife against the fabric of your skirt, then bring it back up to your forearm. The first cut is already starting to clot. You only need another thin line—

Choso’s hand closes around your wrist before the blade touches your skin.

You freeze.

He’s suddenly right in front of you, close enough that you can see the tension at the corners of his mouth. His fingers circle your wrist carefully, his thumb resting over your pulse.

He isn’t hurting you. He’s just stopping you.

“Choso.”

“No.”

You blink at him. “No?”

“You do not need to open another wound.” His voice is low and controlled. Too controlled.

“It’s shallow. It’ll heal.”

“That is not the point.”

“Then what is?”

You try to pull your arm back. His grip tightens just enough to keep you there.

“I know what I’m doing. I’ve been using this technique my entire life,” you say.

“I know.”

His other hand closes around the knife. He takes it from you and tosses it onto the ground behind him.

“That is what worries me.”

“You’re worried because I’m good at it?”

“I am worried because you treat your body as though it is expendable.”

The words land harder than they should. You open your mouth, already ready to laugh them off, but something in his eyes stops you.

He doesn’t look angry or annoyed, like most people do when they argue with you about the way you use your technique. He just looks hurt. And maybe a little scared.

“I’m not expendable,” you say more quietly. “I’m practical.”

“Practical.” He repeats the word like it tastes bitter. “You call it practical to bleed yourself every time you train. Every time you fight. Every time someone might need you.”

“That’s how the technique works.”

“That is not how it has to work.”

His free hand comes up around your elbow, holding your arm between both of his hands like he’s afraid you’ll try to pull away again.

“You release more than you need. You abandon blood you could control again. You open new wounds because it is faster than recovering what you have already used.”

“Speed matters.”

“You think I do not understand that?” His raised voice startles you.

Choso steps closer. “You think I do not know what it means to sacrifice yourself for someone you love?”

You cross your arms. “Then why are we arguing?”

“Because I understand.” He steps closer again. “I understand exactly why you do it. I would do the same for Yuji. I did the same for Eso and Kechizu. I would have bled myself dry if it meant keeping them alive.”

“Then—”

“And that terrifies me.” His voice cracks.

The training grounds go quiet around the two of you. Even the leaves seem too loud now.

“I know how easy it is to tell yourself one more injury does not matter,” he continues. “That pain is acceptable if someone you love survives. I know how impossible it is to stop.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I know. And I cannot watch you do it anymore.”

You look away from him, toward the target that’s dark with your blood.

“You use what’s available,” you say. “So do I.”

“I can replace mine.”

“Congratulations.”

“You cannot.” His voice stays firm. “I convert cursed energy into blood. You are human. Every drop you spend is something your body has to replace.”

“I know that.”

“You become pale.”

“I’m already pale.”

“More than usual. Your hands shake. You chew ice until your mouth goes numb and pretend it means nothing.”

You lift your eyes to look at him. “You noticed that?”

“I notice everything you do.”

You don’t know what to do with that.

“It matters,” you say. “My blood matters. I’m not stupid.”

“But everyone else matters more.”

You don’t have an answer for that.

Choso takes another step toward you. “Let me help.”

Your brow furrows. “Help how?”

“Let me teach you to maintain control longer. To use blood you have already released instead of abandoning it. Let me show you where your technique wastes more than it needs.”

“I know how to use my technique.”

“That is not what I said.”

His intensity would piss you off if his voice wasn’t starting to shake.

“I am not asking you to stop fighting. I am asking you to let me stand beside you.”

“Choso—”

“So you do not always have to be the first one who bleeds.”

You stare at him.

“Please.”

You’ve seen Choso angry. You’ve seen him grieve. You’ve heard him say Yuji’s name with a kind of devotion nothing could touch. You have never heard him beg.

“Please stop treating yourself like you are replaceable.”

He reaches for you again, but this time his fingers don’t close around your wrist. They stop just short of touching you, like he’s not sure how to reach you anymore.

Then he drops to his knees.

The movement is so abrupt that you barely process it before both arms wrap around your thighs and his face presses into your stomach.

“Choso.”

“Please let me help you.” His voice is muffled against your shirt. 

His grip tightens. Then you realize he’s shaking. Your hands hover over him because you don’t know what to do with them. Choso holds you like you’re the only thing that matters right now, forehead pressed against you, breathing uneven.

“You do not have to keep hurting yourself.” One of his hands slides higher and settles over your hip. “I can show you another way. We can train together. I can teach you to use less.”

His other hand curls into the fabric at your side. “Just let me help.”

“Sometimes there isn’t time.”

“Then I will make time.”

“Choso—”

“I will be there.”

The words shut you up. What can you even say to that?

His arms tighten around you. “You do not have to be the first person who bleeds every time.” His forehead presses harder into your stomach. “Please.”

Your hand moves before you realize it. You cup his cheek with one hand. The other hand slides into his hair and pushes the loose strands away from his face.

Choso stills for a second. Then he turns his face into your palm and his eyes close. A shuddered breath breaks against your skin. He presses his lips to the center of your hand and gives you a long soft kiss. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

His mouth touches your palm again. “You do not need to apologize.”

“I didn’t realize—“ you start but can’t finish the thought. 

You didn’t realize he cared this much. You didn’t know your cuts were hurting him too. You didn’t know anyone could look at you and see more than your technique.

Choso opens his eyes and looks up at you. “I need you to understand.” His mouth brushes your skin as he speaks. “When you are hurt, I cannot bear it.”

His voice cracks. “I cannot bear it.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair. “Choso.”

He kisses your palm again. Then the inside of your wrist. His lips pause over your pulse. They stay there, his breath warm on your skin. 

“Let me take care of you.”

“…Okay.”

He lifts his head. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Your thumb moves over his cheekbone. “Teach me. Help me. Just don’t ask me to stop fighting for them.”

“Never.” His hands slide from your hips to your waist. “I would never ask you to be less than you are.” His eyes stay locked on yours. “I only want you to survive it.”

You look at him and tilt your head. You don’t have anything to say to that. His eyes move lower. 

Past his hands, and the hem of your skirt, to the thin red cut just above your knee. His face twists into something that looks like pain. Then he bends and presses his mouth to the skin next to the cut.

Your breath catches.

His lips stay there. He kisses the same place again, slower. The warmth of his mouth sinks into you. His hands travel down, his palms spreading over your thighs as his kisses start moving higher.

“Choso.”

Your fingers slide deeper into his hair. His shoulders loosen under your touch. He kisses higher.

His eyes meet yours as he reaches the edge of your skirt.

You swallow. “Is this part of the lesson?”

“No.” His voice sounds strained.

“Good.” You say breathlessly as your hips move closer to him. 

Whatever restraint he had left disappears. His fingers bunch your skirt higher.

He kisses above the cut, then the inside of your thigh. His mouth travels up with more hunger, his lips parting against sensitive skin while his hands grip you tightly, keeping you close. 

Your knees fall open. Choso inhales sharply. His fingers hook into the edge of your underwear and pulls it aside. Cool air touches you for barely a second before his mouth replaces it. 

“Fuck—Choso.”

He groans against you. The vibration shoots through your entire body.

His tongue sweeps slowly through your folds, almost too slowly, like he needs to savor the taste of you. Then his arms tighten around your thighs and he pulls you closer.

Choso kisses you once, open mouthed and desperate, before his tongue finds your clit.

Your knees wobble. 

In one swift movement, he stands up, putting his hands under your thighs as he lifts you.

Your back slams against the wall with a dull thud, your skirt pushed up around your hips while your legs rest over his shoulders.

He doesn’t look away from you. “Need you,” he breathes.

“Fuck, I need—”

His mouth moves back down to you. There’s nothing slow about the way he devours you now. His tongue drags through you with hunger, his hands gripping your ass as he holds your weight effortlessly against the wall.

You gasp his name and Choso moans like hearing it hurts.

His tongue circles your clit before his lips close around it and he sucks it into his mouth. The sudden pressure makes your back arch.

“Choso—fuck.”

Your hands twist into his hair and you tug. A whimper tears from him. The sound is so needy, and so completely different from the strength he’s using to hold you up, that heat rushes through you all at once.

He pulls you closer to his mouth. His tongue presses into you, deep and wet, before dragging up again. He moves between fucking you with it and circling your clit over and over. 

The sounds you make encourages him. Every shake of your thighs makes his fingers dig more firmly into your skin. 

When you clench around his tongue, he groans and immediately repeats the same movement, chasing the reaction like nothing else exists.

Your head drops back against the wall.

“Please.”

Choso’s eyes meet yours. He already looks wrecked, his lips are wet, his dark hair is falling around his face while he holds you open above him.

“I’m close,” you gasp. “Please, Cho—”

He closes his mouth around your clit again. His eyes never leave your face while he sucks, tongue flicking over you in fast and devastating strokes.

He moans against you and your orgasm tears through you. Your back arches hard, and your thighs clamp around his head while your fingers tighten painfully in his hair. You cry out his name, your whole body shivering against the wall while he refuses to pull away.

He keeps licking through every twitch and pressing open mouthed kisses to you between them.

When the sensitivity makes you squirm helplessly in his grip, he just holds you closer, drawing one last broken sound from you before lifting his head. His chin is wet and he looks at you like you are the greatest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Again?” He asks breathlessly. 

You stare down at him. “Choso.”

“Please.”

“Just—let me—“ you start, but a low groan tears from his throat and he's moving his mouth back between your thighs with desperate hunger before you can say anything else.

"Ah—fuck—Cho—"

Your head falls back hard against the wall, the impact sending a shock through you. His mouth moves desperately, his tongue pressing and circling and flicking in patterns that make breathing difficult. Every muscle in his shoulders tenses as he holds you open, refusing to let you escape even as your hips try to rock against his face.

"Oh god—yes—" Your voice comes out breathy and broken, each word between gasps. "Right there—don't stop—"

He groans against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. His fingers dig deeper into your skin, pulling you even closer.

"Cho—" Your fingers rake through his hair, pulling hard. "Fuck—"

He increases his pace. His tongue flicks faster and harder. He's moaning constantly now, the sound muffled against you. Your thighs start shaking uncontrollably. 

"I'm—I'm—" The words break from you in breathy gasps. 

He doesn't slow down. If anything, he gets more intense, sucking harder, moving faster, chasing your orgasm like his life depends on it. Your back arches violently off the wall as the pleasure finally breaks.

"Choso—" His name breaks from you as your orgasm rips through you, your entire body shivering against him as you come hard.

He keeps going, keeps licking you through it, refusing to pull away even as you cry out and shake and claw at his shoulders. He's moaning against you, completely lost in the taste of you, in the feeling of you coming undone because of him.

When you finally collapse back against the wall, you tug his hair until he lifts his head.

"Come here—please," you say, your voice raspy and breathy.

He rises to his feet and you drag him upright, kissing him hard. Choso groans into your mouth and instantly presses closer. You can taste yourself on his tongue.

He kisses without rhythm or patience, hands moving restlessly under your skirt, over your waist, and up your sides. He can’t seem to touch enough of you at once.

Your palms slide under his shirt. His body is incredibly warm. You feel the hard length of him pressing against you through his clothes.

“Choso.”

“Yeah?” The answer comes breathlessly against your mouth.

“I need you.” 

He makes a broken sound. “Yeah?” His forehead presses to yours. “You—fuck—you want—”

Your hand slides between your bodies and palms him through his pants. His entire body shudders and a small whimper catches in his throat.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I want you.”

His hands drop to his waistband, but they shake too badly to manage the fastening. You watch him fumble a few times. 

“Let me.”

Your hands join his. Together, you work through the fastening, his forehead lowering against yours while your fingers brush.

“You’ve thought about this,” you whisper.

Choso goes very still. A blush spreads slowly over his face.

“Yuji told me I should speak to you.”

You blink.

“About this?”

“Not exactly.” His eyes look away from yours. “He said I was making everyone uncomfortable.”

You laugh quietly. “How?”

Choso’s hands settle on your hips, holding you tightly. “He said I look at you as though I am starving.”

Choso finally looks at you.

There is nothing embarrassed in his face now. Only the raw, aching need he’s apparently spent weeks trying to keep inside.

“You do,” you whisper.

His fingers tighten against you. “I am.”

“What else did Yuji say?”

Choso swallows once. “That staring was not a courtship.”

You laugh softly again. “He’s right.”

“I know that now.”

“And?”

His forehead presses against yours. “He said that if you ever chose me, I should not waste the moment being afraid.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes.” His mouth brushes yours. “But I want you more.”

Your eyes move down before you can stop yourself. Your mouth goes dry. He is thick, flushed, and big enough to make you a little nervous.

Choso’s breathing turns ragged under your attention. When your eyes move back to his, he searches your face with the same vulnerable expression.

“Still with me?” he asks quietly. 

“Yeah—I—sorry—“ 

His hand closes around your hip. The other braces against the wall next to your head as he presses in between your thighs. The head of his cock presses against your entrance.

“Tell me if it is too much.” His voice is strained. 

Then he starts pushing inside. The stretch steals your breath immediately.

Choso moves slowly, every muscle in his body tight with the effort. His eyes never leave your face. Sweat gathers at his temple, and his jaw is tight while he slowly pushes inch by inch in. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re so—” The words collapse into a groan.

Your nails dig into his shoulders.

He’s only about halfway inside, and it’s already filling you so much. Your body helplessly fluttering around him trying to accommodate his size. He pushes forward another inch when he feels it.

“Sorry.” His forehead drops on your shoulder. “Fuck—sorry. You just feel—”

“It’s okay.” Your fingers slide into his hair. “Stay still for a second.”

He stops moving immediately. He stays inside you, his body held painfully rigid while his mouth moves over your shoulder in soft, shaky kisses.

You breathe through the pressure. Slowly, the burn starts to soften into pleasure that makes your thighs tighten around his waist. Every flutter pulls another sound from him.

“You feel…” He swallows. “I did not know it could feel like this.”

“Like what?”

Choso lifts his head to look at you again. 

“Like there is nowhere you end and I begin.”

You kiss him and move your hips carefully. It draws another wrecked groan from him.

“Ah—okay.” Your nails press into his shoulders. “More.”

Choso’s eyes close and his hands tightens on your hip. Then he pushes forward in one thrust, burying himself completely inside you. You gasp. The sudden stretch is intense and dizzying. His body presses so close that you can feel his heart hammering against your chest.

“Choso.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Cho.” You kiss the side of his face. “Just stay there—ah— a second.”

Choso stays buried inside you, his forehead against your shoulder, breathing like he’s been running for miles. His cock twitches inside you. Every small movement sends another sharp spark up your spine.

You slowly adjust around him and roll hips. He groans. The sound is deep and helpless. When you do it again, he lifts his head.

“Can I please move?” he asks quickly. 

You pull him closer with your legs. “Yes.”

His first thrust is slow. He pulls out only a little before thrusting back in, his eyes searching your face. The drag of him against your inner walls sends heat shooting through your body.

He does it again, a little deeper, and the angle changes slightly. His cock hits somewhere inside you that makes your head fall back.

“Oh, fuck.”

Choso stops for barely a heartbeat. “There?”

“Yes.” Your nails press into him. “Right there.”

He thrusts in again at the same angle. The sound that leaves you makes him groan and his pupils dilate. He does it again, deliberately this time, watching the way your lips part whenever he hits the same spot.

Every thrust gets deeper, and harder, until the wall presses firmly against your back and the air fills with the wet sound of your bodies meeting. 

Choso kisses your throat, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. He can’t stay away from you long enough to establish a clean rhythm. Every few thrusts in, he tries to kiss you again, his breath warm against your lips.

“You feel so good.” His hips snap forward. “So fucking good. I cannot—”

You moan his name and his control slips. “Say it again.”

“Choso.”

He thrusts harder. “Again.”

“Choso—fuck.”

A raw groan tears from him. His movements become more desperate, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks. The pleasure builds quickly inside you.

“Cho, I’m—”

“Yeah?” His face is already pressed against yours, and his mouth is open against your cheek.

“I’m—close.”

His entire body shudders. “Please.” He kisses you frantically. “Let me feel it.”

His hand slips between your bodies. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing in uneven circles while his hips keep driving into you. Your body tightens around him.

Choso’s mouth falls open. “Fuck. I can feel—”

Your orgasm crashes through you before he can finish his sentence. You arch against him, your nails dragging down his back as your body clenches around his cock in hard, pulsing waves.

Choso nearly folds over you. He buries his face in your neck and keeps moving, every thrust drawing the pleasure out until you’re shaking in his arms.

“Too much,” you whimper. Your hips grind toward him anyway.

“You’re perfect,” he gasps. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

He moves his mouth to your throat. His teeth graze your skin, leaving a brief sting that turns into heat.

“I love you.” The words tumble out between thrusts.

“God, I love you so much—fuck—”

Your heart skips a beat. “Choso, I—”

Another thrust knocks the breath out of you. You wrap both arms around his neck and pull him closer.

“Fuck—Cho—I love you.”

He stops. His cock stays buried deep inside you, his body shaking against yours, but his rhythm slows down.

Choso lifts his face from your neck. “What?” His voice is barely there.

You cup his cheek. His skin is burning under your palm. “I love you.”

His eyes water immediately. “Again.”

“I love you, Choso.”

“Again. Please.”

“I love you.”

His mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy and desperate, your lips moving together between broken breaths as his hips start moving again.

Harder and deeper now. His arms tighten under your thighs and pull you even tighter against him.

“I love you too,” he gasps against your mouth. “I have—I’ve wanted—”

You clench around him and the rest becomes a whimper. His forehead drops against yours, his eyes squeezed shut as he drives into you again. Every sound thats dragged out of him is raw, your name, curses, and breathless pleas. 

“Please,” he moans. “Please, baby, I need—”

“What do you need, Cho?”

“I don’t know… Just don’t stop holding me.”

You kiss him. Choso moans into your mouth and your nails drag down his back, leaving red marks.

His pace turns frantic. The storage shed shakes around you. Supplies rattle on a nearby shelf with every thrust.

He keeps trying to kiss you through it, missing your mouth and catching your cheek, your jaw, your throat, any skin he can reach.

“So good,” he gasps. “You feel so good. Can’t believe—” His voice breaks. “Mine—fuck, baby—you’re really m-mine.”

You grab his face between your hands. “Yes—fuck, Choso. Yours.”

His eyes squeeze shut.

“And you’re mine.” You say.

A sob catches in his throat. “I’m yours.” His hips drive deeper. “I’m yours too. Fuck—all yours.”

“I love you.”

“Say it again.” He sounds almost frantic.

You kiss him. “I—ah—love you.”

“Again—please.”

“I—love you, Cho.”

A broken sound tears out of him. “Thank you.” His forehead presses to yours. “Fuck—thank you.”

The pressure inside you starts building again. Your walls start spasming around him. Choso feels it. His breathing turns frantic.

“Again?” he gasps. “Please—let me feel you again.”

His thumb moves more firmly over your clit. You can only moan his name. The pleasure breaks through you a second time, stronger and deeper, leaving your whole body shaking in his grip.

Choso follows with a loud and broken groan. He buries his face into your neck, his body going rigid as he loses himself completely. For a few seconds he just breathes heavily into your neck. Letting out quiet noises into your skin. Then his hips give a few shallow, involuntary motions. Each one pulling another whimper out of him.

“Too much,” he gasps. His arms tighten on you anyway.

“Choso.”

“Too much—but I can’t—” He kisses your throat, breathing unevenly. “Don’t want to stop.”

You wrap yourself around him. “Then don’t.” 

You feel him still hard inside you. His breathing pressed into your neck.

"I—" His voice breaks. "I cannot—"

"Choso."

"Cannot—stop—“ His hips move, a small thrust that makes both of you gasp. "I need—fuck—I need you."

His hands tighten on your thighs again. He pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts forward again. It’s so much deeper this time. Your back hits the wall hard.

"Ah—"

He groans and does it again, and again.

“Need to feel you—need—," he gasps against your mouth.

His words turn into broken sounds. You cling to his shoulders as he fucks you harder against the wall, each movement driving you higher up the surface before gravity pulls you back down onto him.

Every thrust hits so deep inside you. His breathing becomes laboured, his face still buried into your neck as he keeps driving into you.

"So beautiful," he whispers against your lips. "My girl—fuck—my girl—"

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you feel yourself getting closer again.

"Choso—"

"Yes." His hips snap forward harder. "Say my name."

"Choso—"

"Again."

"Cho—"

He kisses you frantically, swallowing the rest of his name as your orgasm crashes through you. Your body clenches tightly around him. He cries out against your mouth, and his entire body tightens. He thrusts in deeply one more time and comes with a broken moan against your mouth, his arms locked around you while his body shakes violently.

You hold him through it. He gives a few more small, involuntary movements before finally stopping.

“Too much,” he whispers.

“You said that before.” you half laugh through trying to catch your breath.

“I meant it before.”

His mouth moves lazily over your neck, then your cheek, and your lips.

“I cannot stop kissing you.”

“I noticed.”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

He kisses you again, slower now.

His arm slides under your head. The other curls around your waist and drags you against his chest.

He stays inside you, holding you against the wall while the evening light fades around the edges of the training grounds. His breathing gradually slows down.

Eventually, he withdraws with a sharp breath and lowers your legs carefully. Your knees nearly fold underneath you. He catches you before you can stumble, one arm around your waist.

“You are unsteady.”

“You just fucked me against a wall.”

His brow furrows as though considering the relevance. “Yes.”

You laugh and lean into him while he helps rearrange your clothes.

He moves your underwear back into place, then smooths your skirt down with an intense amount of concentration.

“You’re taking this very seriously.”

“It was crooked.”

“You’re the one who put it there.”

“I know.”

Once he’s done, he gets the small medical kit kept inside the shed.

Then he kneels in front of you again. He notices the way your breath catches. His eyes lift to yours. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t start.”

“I did not say anything.”

“You were thinking loudly.”

He looks down at your forearm, apparently deciding not to argue with you. 

His hands are careful while he cleans the cut and covers it with gauze. He wraps it tightly, his fingers are steady now despite everything that just happened. When he finishes, he turns your hand over and presses a quiet kiss to your palm.

“I’ll let you teach me,” you say.

He looks up at you again. “You will use less blood?”

“I’ll try.”

“And you will stop opening new wounds when blood you have already released remains usable?”

You smile down at him. “You’re really bossy for a man who was crying into my neck five minutes ago.”

Choso doesn’t look embarrassed. “Those matters are unrelated.”

He stands, but instead of giving you room, he moves behind you and slides one arm around your waist.

Your back is against his chest. His other hand moves over your bandaged forearm, thumb brushing the edge of the wrap.

He bends until his cheek rests against your shoulder. His hair brushes your face, his breath warm against your ear.

“Tomorrow, I will teach you to maintain control with less blood.”

You turn your head slightly. “You just fucked me into the wall and you’re already assigning yourself as my new training partner?”

“Yes.”

You laugh again and his arm tightens around you. 

“I intend to help you use your technique without unnecessarily injuring yourself. That is separate.”

“Separate?”

His lips brush under your ear. “Yes.” He kisses the spot just under your earlobe. “But I intend to continue doing both.”

You twist in his arms to look at him. “So we’re scheduling training and wall sex now?”

“Training is tomorrow.”

“And the wall sex?”

The words just slipped out naturally the moment he'd said them to you, like they belonged to him alone. Because in all actuality, they only did belong to him. There was no one else you could see yourself waking up to next in the morning. No one else you wanted to spend time with for the foreseeable future. Maybe it was the memories between the two of you that helped you come to the conclusion that you loved him.

From the time that he carried you back to your shared apartment

Your legs wobbled with every step you took on the concrete, the heels you had on digging into the back of your ankle and the sides of your toes. You didn't have to take the heels off to know that you were mostly likely bleeding. "Wait, Miguel. Just wait up a bit," you were trying to catch up to his long strides, failing miserably with each new sting of pain that shot up your foot. You made a mental note not to wear heels whenever Miguel suggested a 'brisk walk' as a date idea.

He looked back to see you leaning against a pole, taking off your heels for some kind of temporary relief before you continued the rest of the walk. Not that you looked too enthusiastic about that either. Though he couldn't have his pretty girlfriend standing on a dirty sidewalk, could he? With what seemed to be no effort, he took you in his arms and resumed the walk. "How bad's the pain?" He looked down at you once he was sure he wouldn't bump into anyone in a three block radius.

You opened up your mouth to speak, about to tell him that it was bearable enough to the point you could still walk, but he interrupted you by saying, "Don't lie to me because you think you're inconveniencing me. Just tell me the truth." The truth was that you were debating on staying on that sidewalk and calling an Uber at this time of night. Not that he needed to know that, though. "It's not so bad now that you're carrying me," you reluctantly admitted, looking away from him.

If at any point during the night he struggled with the task, he didn't seem to show it. He hadn't even cracked a sweat. Somehow he'd managed to maneuver the front door open, setting you down on the couch with the utmost care necessary. "I'm gonna go get you the first aid kit. Is there something else you need?" You shook your head, laying back onto the couch cushion while you waited for him to come back.

He came back, raising your feet before taking a seat down next to you. He put your feet down on his lap, getting an ointment from the box. You wondered just how many things he had in there for these types of occasions. Throughout the couple months of dating, you'd seen him pull out an ointment for ant bites, scratches, and now blisters. "Try to stay still for me, will you?" He murmured, starting to rub the ointment over the exposed skin. His touch was the gentlest you'd ever felt, barely feeling the subtle brush of his fingers.

"Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana," he hummed as he finished applying the bandages, making sure that they were well wrapped before standing up. You made no attempt to stand up from your spot on the couch just yet, letting your feet recover from wearing those heels for five hours straight. "You need some help getting into the bedroom?" He questioned, scooping you into his arms with that same ease as before when you nodded.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, my lady."

To the time that he begrudgingly agreed to dance with you in the rain

"Come on, just indulge me a bit," you stood in the middle of the empty road, extending your hand out to him while the rain poured down relentlessly. "I'll indulge you inside where we don't have any chance of catching a cold," he grumbled from his spot on the sidewalk, trying to appear menacing. He really did just look like a sopping wet cat, especially with the way that his brows furrowed slightly. "Mami, let's go. I'll let you dance with me inside, please. Any song you want, too."

You kept your arm extended to him, waiting. You knew that he was bound to fall for your whims any second. He let out a small groan, pushing himself off the sidewalk before walking over to where you were standing. "If you get sick, I won't hesitate to tell you that I told you so," he intertwined his hand with yours, the warmth from his body a nice contrast to the chill air surrounding the two of you. "Do you know how rare it is for Nueva York streets to be this empty?"

Usually, there was at least a mad man that would be running around the streets. Even in these conditions. But the two of you were alone, streetlights illuminating your 'dance floor.' His reluctance seemed to fade away as the two of you swayed on the street, with seemingly no rhythm whatsoever. "If you wanted to sway with me, we could've done that inside," he pointed out, letting out a small snort. "Just because I said I wanted to dance didn't mean that I promised to be good at it."

He guided you through a slow rhythm, his coordination slightly better than what you would've given him credit for. His feet moving to a silent melody in his head. "I was a chambelán at this quince, they had us practice the routine until we ended up crying or collapsing from exhaustion," he spoke up before you had the chance to ask, "But at least it's given me some pretty gnarly dance moves."

"Hey, Miguel?"

"¿Qué paso?"

"Never say 'gnarly' again. You sound older than what you are," you burst out into little giggles at the scoff that left his lips. "I'll let you know that all the scientific studies I've participated on have shown that gnarly's making a comeback."

"Hey, Miguel?" You were debating on if this was the right time to admit what had been threatening to escape your lips for a while now. All you could do was hope that he didn't think that this admission was too soon.

"If you're gonna ask me about the resources that I have for those studies, I don't have them on me now. I'll get them later, though," you could only roll your eyes at his persistence, a laugh bubbling from your chest. Even as the laugh echoed through the empty street, you weren't exactly too concerned with how loud you were being. It wasn't like it compared to the way your heart was beating against your rib cage, your hands starting to clam up in his grasp.

"No, it's not about that. Not that gnarly's making a comeback either way."

"Mark my words. Gnarly. Will. Be. Making. A. Comeback," he accentuated his words carefully, giving you a mock glare before he continued to speak, "But if it's not about that, then what's up?"

The moment of truth. Maybe this was a mistake. You could feel your throat close up, your movements starting to get a little sloppy. Just tell him. His reaction can't be that bad, right? You knew he had no reason to react negatively but every single worst-case scenario started to run through your head relentlessly. "I love you."

"I love you too," while it was the response that you were expecting, it still caught you off-guard. He held your gaze, showing no signs of regret or hesitation as he whispered those words to you. "I don't think that I've loved someone the same way that I love you," and even now, he had to top off your admission. You weren't sure how much time had passed by while the two of you danced away, all that you knew was that the cold tomorrow was probably worth it. If only to say that you got the chance at this experience.

He didn't say anything the next morning when you woke up with a cough, your skin on your nose starting to get raw from how many times you'd gotten up to wipe it. Even though you could tell that he was itching to tell you, the words practically on the top of his tongue if you had to guess. "I got you some chicken soup," he spoke up after you woke up from what seemed to be your 50th nap on the day, the faint aroma from the soup wafting up your stuffy nose.

Definitely worth it.

And even the time that he'd gone up to receive his award with your lipstick all over his face

"I need my good luck kiss, c'mon," he gently pinched your side, a small laugh escaping from your lips as you attempted to push his hand away. "You'll get my lipstick all over you," you pointed out, remembering that the Chanel lipstick you had on was in fact, not transfer-proof. Miguel didn't seem to care too much though, a grin on his face as he leaned in to kiss you. "At least they'll know that my lady loves me."

You'd imprinted the mark of your lips on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, satisfied by the work you'd done when you looked at it. Perhaps you'd gotten a little carried away. Not that he looked bad covered in your red lipstick, by any means. He was no longer Miguel O'Hara, the world-renowned geneticist with more awards under his belt than he could count. He was simply just a love struck idiot with a grin on his face. A love struck idiot for you.

"What time do the awards start again?" You wiped away the lipstick on the side of your mouth and under your lips, grabbing the tube from your purse to fix it. The last thing that the two of you needed was to hear Aaron's snide remarks about how Miguel was incompetent. You went to hand him a clean makeup wipe, but he rejected the advance. "I believe they started about five minutes ago," he responded, pulling his jacket sleeve to look at the watch adorning his wrist.

"Why are you not freaking out about this more?" You questioned him, panic evident on your voice as you pushed everything inside your purse and moved to get out the car. He put his hand on your thigh, gently rubbing it through the material of the silk dress you'd worn for tonight. "Why are you freaking so much about it?" For someone who valued punctuality, he seemed to be oddly calm in this situation. Well, you supposed there was nothing you could do now that you both were late. You took a couple deep breaths, grabbing the stuff you'd missed when you were in a rush.

While you were busy gathering your bearings, he went around the car and opened the door for you. Extending a hand out to you. He grasped your fingers in between his own, helping you with getting out of the car before he even thought of stepping into the building. "They're about to announce your name, O'Hara. Get in there," Delgato hissed as the two of you walked past him, his head craning up to look up at Miguel. "Maybe if you stopped standing in my way, I might be able to."

You could practically see the sheer anger in Delgato's face as he muttered to himself, moving out of the way nonetheless. "Now I know why you end up so stressed," you muttered, making your way down the stairs to take a seat. The room was a bit packed but the two of you managed to find some good seats in the middle. A couple people turned to look at the two of you but their attention was captured once more by the person speaking up on stage. Something about a drug slowing the speed in which some disease grew.

"And now for our next award of the night, please give a hand to Dr. Miguel O'Hara from Alchemax."

The cameras started clicking immediately as soon as he stepped onto the stage, a couple whispers of how unprofessional he was being being shared around in the audience. A couple thank you's were shared, to his lab colleagues and assistants who all simply just nodded upon being acknowledged, before he delved into what the topic of his research had been about. Well, just enough to keep the audience and you entertained. Even though only a couple of the words coming out his mouth actually managed to stick, you couldn't help but listen intently.

To the way that he described his work, with such passion and dedication. The way that he visibly lightened up whenever he got to speak about something that was fascinating to him. Even with all the talk circulating through the audience, you just couldn't help but be so proud of him. His eyes met yours through the sea of people, a smile on his face as he finished with the summary he'd gone over time and time again in front of the bathroom mirror. "Are there any questions?"

He was starting to get agitated, even you could tell from a distance. Well, it's not like you could exactly blame either parties here. The audience wanted to know why he'd shown up with lipstick adorning almost every corner of his face and he wanted to get asked questions about his research. "Any questions that aren't related to my current appearance?" He decided to ask, and it was almost comical how many hands went down. He answered the questions of those who remained, about five. But all he seemed to care about was having your attention in the audience as he spoke.

And while you'd expected him to win tonight, you hadn't expected this. Having him on one knee while you two were supposed to be celebrating his achievement. "So I didn't really prepare a speech before this or anything. But I was just wondering if you'd give me the second win of the night and agree to marry me," As corny as it was, you found yourself nodding to his proposal. "You mean to tell me that worked?" He asked, hesitatingly reaching over to grab your hand to slide the ring on.

"Yes, you idiot. You're acting like I expected anything more from you," you answered, watching as he slid the band on. It was fairly simple, a small stone perched on the middle of it. Your birth stone. "I promise to make you the happiest woman alive," he murmured against your lips, gently tilting your chin so you'd be looking at him. "You already are," it was your turn to be smooth. He let out a small chuckle, his lips gently pressing against yours.

So how did it get to this point?

To the point of having dozens of your calls and messages ignored, and if there was a response, it'd be a simple one-worded response. Enough for you to want to drop the subject all together. Dates between the two of you were a common occurrence, or at least often enough to the point where you didn't have to spend five minutes wondering when the last one had been. Promises left unfulfilled, accumulating only to be left discarded in the dust.

As much as you tried to resist it at first, you started to grow.. okay with it. It felt almost selfish to ask more of him, knowing how much effort he put into making sure that the three of you had a roof over your head. You were able to get a part-time job, giving you more time to spend with Gabriella. A nagging thought kept bugging you though. You married him for the purpose of having him as a husband, not solely a provider. Maybe you weren't as okay with it as you thought.

Your eye twitched when the last balloon was being filled up. How was it that almost every member of his family was capable of showing up and he wasn't? Even some of them came from Mexico for the week. For all the events that he'd missed, you at least would've thought that he would make some attempt to show up for Gabriella's party. You could see her looking around, with the hope of catching a glimpse of her father. It wouldn't hurt to call his work to see what was so important that he couldn't get off, right?

"Alchemax Industries. What can I help you with today?" The receptionist's bored tone came through the other end of the line after spending a couple minutes on hold, your foot irritably tapping against the hardwood floor. All you could do was hope that they wouldn't send you to another line like the previous five times.

"Hi, I'm calling about one of your employees. Miguel O'Hara. I was wondering until what time he was scheduled to work today," you answered quietly, in attempts that no one would overhear. The last thing you needed were any additional comments from his family about how you couldn't keep him around. You listened as the receptionist on the other side started typing out on their computer, silently thanking them.

"¡Te voy agarrar!" You heard yelling behind you, moving to the side before you ended up getting trampled by a bunch of five year olds. "Okay, sorry about taking a while. So about the employee that you're calling, there's a mistake. Miguel hasn't-" The rest of it fell onto deaf ears, your grip on the phone tightening as you struggled to keep up your composure. "Ma'am?" You heard the receptionist ask after a couple moments of silence. The fact that the call had ended hadn't even registered until a while later.

The words kept sounding through your head as the party continued, despite how much you'd tried to drown them out. With water balloon fights in the backyard with some of the kids, karaoke with Gabriella, and the breaking of the piñata. But you couldn't. Your eyes kept darting over to the door, almost expecting to find Miguel walking in at any given moment now. Though you weren't exactly surprised when it remained shut after the first five times that you'd checked. Everyone was having a good time and all you could do was miss him.

Chatter and laughter filled the atmosphere as you made your way through the penthouse, trying to find Gabriella. She'd disappeared right after the cake was cut with the pretense that she needed to use the bathroom about half an hour ago. And while she did spend up to that in the bathroom, it was only really whenever you gave her your cellphone to play around with. And you knew that none of the kids were playing hide and seek. "Gabi!" You called out, searching for her in the guest room.

The last time you'd seen her, she was busy talking with her tías. Nice women, really. Just too involved in finding out whatever chisme they could get out of Gabriella without any regards towards her feelings or the setting they were currently in. You wouldn't be surprised if they brought up the topic of separation to the poor girl. "Hey, have you seen Gabi around?" You didn't even question why Gabriel was exiting one of the rooms with one of your friends, too concerned about Gabi.

Gabriel wiped some spit from the corner of his mouth, shaking his head. "I'll let you know if we find her," he assured you, trying to hide your friend with his body. Like that'd erase the suspicion. Though you guessed it wasn't the right time to go over the whole 'don't hurt them' spiel. You'd do that when you knew your daughter was safe. "Okay, thank you," you told him, going to look for her in the secret spots you knew she liked to hide. In the laundry room. The library. Out in the balcony.

You stepped inside your shared closet with Miguel, not expecting to find her inside. You only really bothered to check as a last resort. But there she was. Her knees pulled up to her chest with her head buried deep in them, sniffling that was almost enough to bring you down to your knees. You walked over to her, sitting down in front of her before gently pulling her hands away from her face.

Only then could you see the extent of her pain. Her cheeks were tear-streaked and her nose was starting to turn pink at the tip from how much she'd been rubbing at it. "What's wrong, mija?" You wiped away the tears that brimmed at the edge of her waterline with your thumb, drying it on your jeans. All you'd been trying to do was make sure she was having a good time at the party and your efforts had all but flopped.

"Why didn't he show up?" With every little crack of her voice, you could feel a piece of your heart shatter. You knew perfectly well who she was referring to her. Just like you'd been waiting for him to arrive, you caught small glimpses of Gabriella searching hopelessly around for her father. "I don't know. I wish I knew what could've been so important but I don't," you whispered, holding her close to your chest. There wasn't any use lying to her, not when you knew she'd look through it.

"Mami, me duele la cabeza," Gabriella spoke up after a couple seconds, looking up at you. You could only guess. From what you could gather, you figured that she must've been crying at least for the previous half hour. "I can't give you any pills.. but I'll read you a story once you lay down for bed," you told her, helping her stand up from her spot on the floor. Gabriella left the closet to go brush her teeth and get ready for bed, leaving you in the deafening silence of the closet.

"Party's over," you announced on your way downstairs, already imagining the flurry of complaints that would come your way. You knew that if it was up to everyone else, they would find a way to keep the party going until two in the morning. After thanking everyone for coming and sending them home with leftovers that would last them through the weekend, you cleaned up the house a bit. Picking up a couple candy wrappers from the floor and sweeping off the multitude of streamers on the floor.

You'd spent the next hour tidying up the house, cleaning up juice stains from your once pristine white floors. Well, at least Gabriella managed to have a good time. Mostly. You'd almost expected her to fall asleep by the time you went back upstairs, but you saw her peering over at you when you opened up the door. "Alright, what story did you want me to read?" You questioned, stepping over to the library she had in the corner of her room. Naming off the first suggestions that appeared in your field of vision. "Can we do The Little Prince?"

Gabriella scooted over on the bed to let you sit down next to her, listening intently as you begin to read the story. Almost like she hadn't been listening to this story for the previous two weeks. At some point, she'd learned some of the passages from memory and began to recite them from the top of her head. You finished the book, half expecting her to still be awake and wanting another book. But no. Her eyes were shut, her arms tightly wrapped around one of her plushies while her breathing slowed down.

"Que sueñes con los angelitos," you whispered, pushing a couple loose strands of her hair back before kissing her forehead. She stirred in her sleep, her grip on the blankets tightening slightly. You moved when she finally managed to still, putting the book back on the shelf where it belonged. Prepping it for tomorrow. You made your way out the room, making sure to leave her night lamp on before shutting the door behind you. At least her headache hadn't bothered her too badly.

You poured yourself a glass of wine from a trip you'd taken with Miguel to Italy, swirling the burgundy liquid around. Much how your own thoughts were currently swirling around without any clear direction. Not your usual drink of choice, you had to admit. But it was a nice distraction. The subtle glow from the moonlight illuminated the otherwise empty room, the quietness almost too much to bear. There was nothing to distract you from the thoughts running rampant inside your head, each one of them leading to what seemed to be the same conclusion.

A divorce.

Even thinking about it felt wrong, though. You and Miguel made a pact upon getting married—stating that no matter how mad the two of you got at one another, that word would never be mentioned. Not even as a joke. But you supposed that was made during a different time. A time where Miguel wouldn't put his family on the back burner simply because of work affairs. A time where you didn't have to come up with excuses for his behavior.

It wasn't just for yourself that you were considering this solution. But also for Gabriella. His absence was starting to affect her in more ways than you could possibly fathom. Not just today for her birthday, but also throughout the last couple months. You could see the different attempts that Gabriella had made to talk to her dad, most of them ending up unsuccessful. Only leaving her more and more confused. Leaving her wondering what she'd done wrong.

"¡Mami!" Gabriella called out from the other room while you were busy finishing up dinner in the kitchen, setting a separate plate for Miguel to put in the microwave. A nudging feeling that you would find the plate the same way you'd left it running through your head. You walked over to Gabi, spotting her in the kitchen table with a coloring book set in front of her. You were almost impressed by how precise she was at such a young age.

She'd managed to color in the photos without going through the lines once. She was always a bit of a perfectionist though, much like her father. It felt like staring at a reflection of a mini Miguel at times. If only he would try to maintain that relationship you knew Gabriella needed in her life.

"Yeah, what's up?" You wiped your hands on a napkin before taking a seat next to her. Looking over at the design on her book, you decided to commit the sight to memory. It wouldn't hurt to search it up later and use it as a form of gift inspiration for her birthday party coming up. "There's this parent career day tomorrow and I was hoping that you could come."

You wouldn't have expected her to ask you for help first. Given that your job mostly consisted of logistics and paperwork most of the day. The last interesting thing that had happened in the office was an affair between one of the CEO's and an intern. "You sure you don't want your dad to go instead?" Even if it wasn't by much, you figured that genetics would be more interesting than how graph analysis works. Gabriella played with her pens, avoiding looking at you.

"What's the point of asking if he's not gonna show up?" She spoke up after a couple moments, a small sigh escaping from your lips. You couldn't lie to her any better than you could lie to yourself, you knew that much. But you at least had to try. If only to stop that frown from forming on her face. "How about I present what your dad does for work? So it's almost like he's there," Except he wouldn't be. You figured it was a good enough compromise for her though. "But why can't he show up? Do we not matter to him anymore?"

The same question that clouded your thoughts while you laid in bed, arms wrapped around one of his pillows so it wouldn't feel so empty. So you wouldn't be reminded that the stupid California King was too big just for you to lay on it. "We do matter, he's just busy with work. It's how we're able to live the way we do," you answered, trying to keep your answer simple without dumbing it down. She was smart enough to understand. Smarter than you sometimes gave her credit for. "Okay. Your option sounds good."

You'd stayed up well past midnight that night, reading through a couple of Miguel's research papers in some attempt to figure out what you needed to describe. So far, all you had was talking about flasks and the basics of chemistry that you'd learned. Adorning a poster board with glitter also proved to be more work than you would've imagined, the clean-up taking longer than you would've expected. At least it didn't look too bad. Well, just enough to impress a classroom full of ten year olds.

Just the fact that Gabriella wasn't even making the effort anymore was enough to reassure the decision that maybe a divorce was necessary. Even if the thought was still painful to think about. At some level, you still loved Miguel just as much as the first day that you'd uttered those words to him. Just as much as the day you showed up on the aisle to officially intertwine your life with his. But you knew that neither you or Gabriella could be content just expecting the minimum from him.

The front door swung open, a loud groan escaping from Miguel's lips as he stepped into the threshold. His work shoes squeaked against the floors you'd just cleaned as he trudged over to the living room. "Hey, where's Gabi?" His lips barely grazed your cheek when he bent down to greet you, his voice riddled with exhaustion. He took a seat on the couch, his back slouched against the cushions. "She's asleep. Given that it's currently midnight."

You heard shuffling from his side, the bright phone screen illuminating his face. From this angle, you could see the dark circles underneath his eyes. It almost made you regret wanting to even bring this topic up. He squinted, tapping at the screen with his pointer finger to turn down the brightness. "Ah shock, you're right. I missed her birthday," Normally you would've been okay with the fact that he'd even bothered to remember the event he'd missed.

"Where were you?" You questioned, reaching over to turn on the lamp. You felt like one of those detectives in the old movies you'd watched with Miguel, the light dim enough to create an ominous shadow over yourself. "What do you mean? I was at work all day," he responded, rubbing a hand through his face. He was committed to making the lie work, you had to give him that. He even had the Alchemax lab coat and badge on. And under normal circumstances, you might've just let that slide. Like all the other previous instances.

You calmly took a sip from your drink, letting the suspense marinate for just a little while longer. "I called Alchemax. It's funny that you say that, given that their system shows that you quit months ago. So, I'll give you one more chance to tell me the truth," you told him, his eyes widening almost comedically. The silence was enough of a tell for you to realize that you had him cornered now. He managed to meet your gaze after a couple seconds, speaking almost begrudgingly, "You called my job?"

You gave him a dirty look, almost surprised that it was what he was choosing to focus on. "Right, right. Not the point," he muttered, rubbing his temples. The silence was almost deafening, the two of you trying to keep things quiet for the sake of keeping some normalcy in front of Gabriella. "She kept asking about you, you know?" You started off, setting the wine glass with a thump before speaking again, "I kept lying to her. Telling her that something at work was more important than you being able to show up to her party."

"I want a divorce." It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, and you could almost see the different wheels in his head work. The wedding ring around your finger suddenly felt too heavy, the life that the two of you built together threatening to crash down in a mere matter of seconds just by that single sentence. "The least that you could do now is tell me the truth. Because what I'm imagining right now is that you have some kind of secret family on the down low."

In your defense, what more were you supposed to think? Especially when he's made no effort to tell you anything up to this point? You picked up the wine glass, glancing over at him to see what he'd do now. You'd be lying if you said that you fully expected him to start telling you the truth. But you hoped he did. If only to make you reconsider the idea of getting a divorce. If only to let you sleep better at night.

"Okay. Fine, I'll tell you. Just please.. consider the divorce one more time. Please. And believe me when I say there is no other family," he stood up from his spot, his hands clasped together as he stood in front of you. This was starting to sound dangerously similar to the number of excuses that he'd given you before but you decided on giving him the benefit of the doubt. You stayed silent and he took that as a cue to continue, "I haven't been around because... I'm Spider-Man."

The wine in your mouth poured down your nose, the liquid have gone down the wrong pipe. You coughed, attempting to clear your throat as the words settled in. There was no way that he was being serious. But the way that he was looking at you made it seem like he was. "And I know that it doesn't justify putting the two of you on the back burner but there's a lot of crime in Nueva York and throughout the universes in case you haven't realized." Universes?

Now you were certain he'd either lost it or he was just pulling excuses out of his ass. Probably a combination of both if you had to guess. "You're kidding," you deadpanned, waiting for some kind of indication that this was all just a joke. He flicked his wrist, a string of what seemed to be a web sticking onto the lamp next to you. You reached over, tentatively scooping the substance onto your pointer finger to examine what it was. It was indeed.. a web. You were starting to wonder if you'd drunk too much wine.

Nope. Still half a glass left. You punched the side of your arm, waiting for some kind of indication that you were dreaming. All you received was a sharp shot of pain though. Now all you had left to do was actually acknowledge the situation. Accept the fact that your husband was the self-proclaimed vigilante of Nueva York.

"Why didn't you tell me in the first place?" You managed to ask after the initial shock had died down, clearing your throat. He shifted his feet awkwardly, sitting down next to you once more. "Because I've seen too many instances of this play out. I didn't want any danger to come to you after you found out," he responded, his hands reaching out to hold your own. "But please, trust me. I only have eyes for you. Every single of my absences has been for the better of Nueva York."

It all started to make sense, though. The amount of files scattered on his desk, information on previous villains. A couple comic books from the previous Spider-Man on his bedside table. The awkward disappearances when the two of you were out on the street.

"Please say something," he urged after a couple seconds of your silence, his calloused thumb rubbing small circles on your hand. What could you really say, though? It felt wrong to still be pissed off at him while he went off to save the city, and yet.. you still couldn't find it in yourself to forgive him just yet. "I know that the city of Nueva York needs you. But so does Gabriella. She doesn't deserve to be questioning what she's doing wrong as a child."

He was about to speak up but you quickly interrupted him, "She thinks she's not doing enough. That all those trophies in her room aren't enough for you to be proud of her. I beg of you to find some kind of balance before you end up losing the both of us for good." With that, you downed the rest of your wine before retreating to the kitchen to clean up the glass. You expected him to come back to bed, though you hadn't heard him come in after half an hour of tossing and turning. All you heard was the guest room door being opened.

You were awoken to the sweet scent of buttermilk, all kinds of different alarms going off in your head. The thought of Gabriella burning herself in the kitchen was starting to imprint itself in your brain. It certainly wasn't Miguel. Despite how groggy you were, you quickly rubbed your eyes and made your way over to the kitchen. Niña Bonita welcomed you as soon as you stepped inside, noticing Miguel stirring some batter with Gabriella by his side. At least she wasn't too close to the stove.

"Mi niña bonita, my dulce princesa," he hummed along to the song, gently ruffling Gabriella's hair. You stood at the doorway in silence, a small smile making itself known on your face despite how mad you were at Miguel. Gabriella attempted to push off his hands, but even she couldn't hide how much she was enjoying this time with him. "Mami, you finally got up!" Gabriella called you over once she noticed you.

"When'd you take the time to learn how to make these?" Usually it was you that took care of the cooking. "I'm not completely useless in the kitchen, I'll have you know," Miguel retorted, flipping a pancake with practiced ease. Though you knew better. You could see a couple pancake pieces sticking up to the ceiling. Just how long had he been up to try to perfect this skill for Gabriella? "Take a seat, they'll almost be done. The sous chef's been doing an excellent job helping."

"Papi promised we'd go to the aquarium today, to make up for missing my birthday," Gabriella announced as you were in the middle of pouring syrup onto your pancakes. You had to forcibly stop yourself from reacting, trying to ensure that you wouldn't be having syrup with a side of pancakes. "You sure you can handle it?" You gritted under your teeth when Gabriella went to retrieve her tablet in the living room. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I couldn't. Haven't given you any reason to but have some faith in me."

You raised your brows, waiting for him to realize just how contradictory that statement was. Not that it ever came, though. "Can I stay the night over at my friend's house?" Gabriella piped once she finished her pancakes, all too eager to grab your plate along with Miguel's. You glanced over at Miguel, seeing the resistance on his expression. "Which friend is it?" You questioned, trying to rack your brain if it was something that she mentioned before. "The one from soccer practice, Candice."

After making some calls to Candice's mom to make sure that sleepover was actually something that she was aware of, you gave Gabriella the go-ahead. She practically rushed into her bedroom after the three of you had finished with breakfast, picking out a pair of pajamas and clothes before stuffing them into her backpack. Triple checking it so there would be no reason for room to doubt her preparation. While she was in the shower, you snuck in her stuffed animal. Just as a safety precaution.

The trip to the aquarium was honestly more trouble than it was worth, in your opinion. Parking was nearly impossible, the vein on Miguel's forehead threatening to pop with each turn that he made around the lot. Waiting patiently for whatever spot would open up for half an hour before realizing that no one was leaving. Even Gabriella had started to get fidgety in the back seat, asking Miguel if you all were there yet over and over again. "Just get the valet, I'm sure it won't be that expensive," you suggested, hoping that it wouldn't add on to the frustration Miguel was feeling.

"Wait, hold on," like a beacon of hope, one of the spots opened up just as soon as you said that. Before he had the chance to park the car though, one of the newly arriving guests immediately seized the opportunity and took it before he had the chance. With one slam to the steering wheel, he relented and went over to get in line for the valet parking. "Here, you can watch a documentary on turtles," you pulled it up on your phone before leaving, not that you thought you would have to use it. And just like that, Gabriella immersed herself on what was on the screen.

Seeing the price of valet parking almost made you want to regret ever suggesting at all. Seriously, who charged $50 just for a parking spot? Gabriella let her grip on your phone slip when she was handing it to you, your brows furrowing as you already started to imagine the crack on screen just from the sound it made hitting the concrete. You quickly picked up, pocketing it up before Gabriella started to feel guilty. "Don't worry about it. I was due for a new one anyways," you assured her, holding to her hand while Miguel held her other one.

The three of you were visibly annoyed as soon as you stepped foot into the aquarium, the excitement towards this trip dying down with every single thing that kept going wrong. Not only had it taken half an hour and $50 to even enter, but now, none of the shows were even available? Even the dolphins had gone down with some kind of fish flu. Why it was even so full was beyond you. "Come on, we'll still have a good time," Miguel sounded like he was trying to collectively convince all three of you, offering Gabriella a piggy back ride as compensation.

Gabriella didn't seem to mind it too much, her head raised like she was royalty while perched on Miguel's shoulders. His grip on her legs was tight, assuring she wouldn't fall down. Given that she had a tendency to test herself and lean as forward as she could when one of the fish approached. You'd never seen her this excited about a trip before. You quickly realized the reason for her excitement. Miguel kept giving her subtle facts about each of the different species that you approached, whether from his own brain or the information board put up.

And she held on to every single word that escaped from his mouth, listening to him like he was the most interesting man in the world.

After seeing how full the gift shop was at the end of the tour, you decided to wait outside with a couple other guests. All you could hope was that Miguel would talk to her while the two of them were inside, give her some of that connection that she longed for. She came back bouncing back with a shark plushie— one identical to the one Miguel had gotten you on a prior date. Just the sight make your resolve melt a bit. You glanced over at Miguel, seeing him give you a shrug. "It's what the princess wanted."

Exiting the aquarium was almost as troublesome as entering, a line of cars parked at the exit. Gabriella didn't seem to mind it as much, plotting a story line with her as a mermaid with the shark. It'd been a while since you got the chance to see her be so animated. Throughout the car ride, she couldn't stop talking about how the trip at the aquarium and explaining the exhibits to you in explicit detail. Well, that was until you got to Candice's house. She was quick to leave as soon as she saw her friend waiting outside, her two feet almost too slow to match her energy.

The tension in the air was thick from the moment Gabriella had departed the car but it was much more obvious now that the two of you were stuck in a room together. After making a beeline to go change into a pair of shorts and a shirt—calling it a night, you were surprised to find Miguel still laying on the bed. Idly tapping at his phone with one finger, the faint sound of a Candy Crush!reaching your ears. You figured that he would've left to go monitor the city after spending the day with Gabriella. Maybe he was determined to make it work this time around.

No.

You couldn't start thinking that way just because he bothered to stick around for one evening.

He settled in between your legs, continuing to tap away at the screen. As much as you wanted to protest, you decided not to. From this angle, you could see him struggling with solving level 3976. How much time had he seriously dedicated to this game? Time that he hadn't spent dedicating towards you. Great. Just the thought was enough to piss you off once more. You grabbed your own phone from the bed stand, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes every time one of those stupid family channels showed up. If you had to bet, you'd guess their marriage wasn't that good either.

Miguel looked up at you from his spot in between your legs, with furrowed brows and brown irises practically boring into you. He looked so needy.. so desperate. "Please mamita, I need you. I need to touch you again," he pleaded, his lips leaving a searing sensation as he kissed up your leg. It'd been too long since you'd received any form of intimacy from anything other than your fingers and your vibrator. And while they did get the job done, they didn't exactly offer this kind of foreplay.

He moved the flimsy material of your pajama shorts to the side, kissing the innermost part of your thighs. Your fingers tugged at the strands, trying to pull him to your cunt. With every single teasing breath against the thin material, you could feel yourself clenching around nothing and dripping onto your panties. "Not yet," and the bastard had the nerve to laugh. It was the last sound you heard before you felt a small sting on your thigh, your eyes almost popping out of your skull. When he said he was Spider-Man, you'd been expecting the whole swinging around.

What you hadn't been expecting, however, was a pair of fangs that were almost the same length as your head. Just how far did the extent of these spider powers go? You were thinking of every possibility, unaware that you'd even spaced out. He regained your attention by pulling the waistband of your shorts, the elastic snapping against your skin. "Only thing you have to be focused is on me," he spoke up before you had the chance to say anything, moving to take off your shorts off. You raised your hips, your panties and shorts falling off in one swift motion.

He'd been nothing but desperate earlier, but his touch almost seemed reverent this time around. Kissing up your legs as if you were something to worship, drinking up your gasps as if they were the finest tunes he'd ever listened to. His hands pried your thighs open, leaving you completely exposed to him. Only before he got the chance to lean in was that you got the chance to see just how desperate for this he truly was. His pointer finger ran through your folds, collecting whatever slick had started to accumulate.

"You say you want a divorce but this pretty cunt's telling me a different thing," almost like he was timing it—which he was, he pulled his fingers out of your cunt. A loud squelch echoed through the otherwise silent room, a small groan escaping from your lips. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him hear your moans. "Let me hear you mamita. Let me hear good I'm making you feel," he prodded, his fingers moving in a scissoring motions. You bit on your bottom lip, a muffled moan escaping your lips.

"Eso, no me nieges. Te lo ruego."

He pulled his fingers out of your cunt, his eyes boring into yours as he licked the glistening slick off them. Practically feining to get every single drop. He leaned in to be face-level with your cunt, licking a stripe up your folds before parting them apart with his tongue. "Oh fuck," the moan slipped out of your lips before you had a chance to think better of it, the small chuckle he let out against your cunt vibrating throughout your body. His head moved from side to side, practically engulfing himself in between your legs with his nose pressing against your clit.

Your legs trembled in his grasp, struggling to keep them open when all you wanted to do was close them around his head. You wanted him to stop. You wanted him to keep going. The constant whiplash was enough to make you into a whining mess underneath him, despite your better judgement. "Please," you didn't even make sense to yourself. You weren't exactly sure what it is that you were even begging for. "Shh, it's okay. I'll give you what you need," and yet, he seemed to understand your pleas perfectly.

His mouth closed around your clit, his eyes boring into yours as he sucked on the neglected nub. Your nails dug into his scalp, a groan escaping from his lips. Like a domino effect, that small groan vibrated against your clit which caused you to only tighten your grip on his hair. You bucked your hips to meet his lips, his grip on your legs tightening. "I got you mamita, just let me take my time pleasing you," he murmured, kissing a trail from your inner thigh to your folds once more. His tongue fell flat, licking a stripe up your glistening folds.

The tip of his tongue prodded at your entrance before the wet muscle pushed inside, your juices leaking down to his mouth almost instantaneously. If anything, he didn't seem to mind it. He almost looked like he was in complete bliss. Miguel made no attempt to continue the ploy he'd started with the eye contact earlier, his eyes shut as he got lost in the taste of your essence. "Oh, Mig, Mig, Mig-" Broken fragments of his name escaped from your lips as his pointer finger rubbed small circles on your clit, the dual stimulation enough to have your toes curling.

You reached down to play with your erect nipples, rolling them in between your fingers. The orgasm you were chasing was so close, so attainable. "Gonna cum, gonna cum," every single word from your vocabulary seemed limited. All you could do was repeat yourself and hope that he would get the picture. "That's it, you got it," he coaxed you into an orgasm, your toes curling and your grip on his hair tightening. If anything, he seemed to revel in how you were gripping him.

Every word at the tip of your tongue failed you as you came with a shudder, your release coating his mouth and chin in the process. Miguel eagerly took every drop that you had to give, even going back into your cunt to get anything that he might've missed. You practically had to push him off before he started to eat you out again. While you knew that he could handle it, you weren't too sure that you could. You let your back hit the mattress, basking in the afterglow from your orgasm.

Before Miguel had the chance to finish with unbuttoning his pants, you took the chance to clear your throat. His hands halted their movements, his eyes shooting up to you like a deer caught in headlights. "With the way you've been acting, do you seriously think you've earned the right to fuck me?" You questioned, seeing his expression visibly deflate as he removed his hands from the buttons. "Please. I'll do anything, mi vida. Es tortura tenerte tan cerca y no poder tocarte," it was a rare sight to see.

Miguel prided himself in being above begging. And yet, here he was.

"Go on and lay on the bed for me," your tone offered no room for protests, his steps quick as he went to lay down on the bed. You trailed your hand from his knee to his crotch, cupping his heavy balls in your palm. "Look at me and tell me you have the right to fuck me, if that's the case," you spoke up, looking over at him as your hand switched from one ball to the other. Giving each the same amount of attention. You watched as he opened his mouth, closed it back up again, and repeated the process until he eventually gave up.

"I can't," he huffed out, almost in a whisper. You reached over in your bedside table, pulling out your trusty vibrator. "And why's that?" You asked him, your touch featherlight when you rubbed the vibrator against the outline of his cock. Just enough to give him a taste of what he could have. "Because I don't deserve to fuck you. I know. But I'm still selfish," he admitted after a while, his words barely above a whisper. Good enough of an answer for now.

A shaky groan escaped from his lips when you turned the vibrator on, the lowest intensity almost too painful to bear. Shudders ran across his body as you rubbed the vibrator on the tip of his cock, sliding it down to his frenulum. "Ngh, don't stop," his voice was practically a whimper by this point, his hips bucking to meet your touch. Not that you allowed for that continue for long though. You pushed your thighs down with one hand, his muscles flexing underneath your grasp.

You moved the vibrator to rest against the tip of his cock, precum leaking onto the tip of it. You tentatively brought it up to your lips, swirling your tongue around it as the familiar salty taste overwhelmed your senses. His eyes were locked on yours, his hips bucking up in some miserable attempt to gain some friction. You set the vibrator back on the tip of his cock, a hiss escaping from his lips. "Turn it up."

"What's the magic word?" You shifted to grab the remote, lowering the intensity despite the groans that escaped from his lips. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, if you had to be honest. Well, the closest he could get to that point anyways. "Pl.." he couldn't finish his sentence, a choked groan escaping from his lips. He looked over at you, like he was expecting you to understand. And while you did, you also wanted him to use his words. Hear how pretty he sounded begging.

"P-Ple-nghh."

“Plea-shockk."

"P-Ay mierda."

It was a cruel game you were playing, you were aware. You kept the vibrator at the same speed, raising a brow as you looked at him. "Sounds like you don't really want it," you taunted, deciding to put the vibrator to the highest level possible. Only for a fraction of a second, though. Just as quickly as relief had come for him, it was gone. He let out a groan, trying to will the word to slip out of his mouth. Just one word.

"Please," it seemed like your little show of motivation had finally paid off. You turned the intensity of the vibrator gradually this time around, allowing him to get used to the sensation. "See what you get when you ask nicely," you decided to taunt him even further despite knowing better. You knew your cunt would be paying the consequences for your relentless teasing later in the night. Not like the thought mattered now, though. Not when you had Miguel begging and at the verge of tears just for your touch.

His balls felt heavy to the touch, almost like he was at the point of cumming. You gave both of them equal attention, rolling them in your hand. Miguel's eyes could only clamp shut, his mouth parted. "Please let me cum, so close," he begged so nicely, a couple drops of precum leaking down to your thigh. You could always be generous and let him cum. Then again, the idea of prolonging his orgasm was just too enticing to resist. Each buck of his hips became more erratic, more needy. Before he got to that point of climax, you pulled the vibrator away from his cock.

"I asked nicely," he pointed out, his voice cracking slightly. He scrambled to sit up, almost searching your expression to see if he'd done something wrong. "I'm aware," you simply responded, wiping your vibrator before placing it on the nightstand to clean it throughly later. "I just didn't feel like letting you," you added, waiting to see if he'd offer more resistance. You could see he wanted to say something, but he was holding himself from saying anything. Smart man.

Miguel set a pillow underneath your stomach, your back set in a mean arch as you laid on it. He stepped behind you, his thumb rubbing against your folds before he dipped it inside. Your wetness immediately engulfed his finger, your walls stretching out as he pushed it deeper inside. "What happened to the attitude you had earlier, hm?" He used the same taunting tone that you had, mocking you. A protest died in your throat as the tip of his cock went inside your folds, your head craning back to look at him.

"Just the t-"

"Yes, yes, just the tip. I promise," he cut you off before you had the chance to finish speaking, rolling his eyes. You were already testing his patience by allowing just the tip. He retracted, the tip of his cock an angry shade of red as precum dripped down his shaft. Your walls clenched and unclenched rhythmically, your own body betraying your resolve. He pushed the tip inside once more, keeping it inside your wet cunt. "Please, let me fuck you properly. You're punishing both of us, not just me."

And here you would've figured that his negotiations were reserved just for the state of Nueva York. You shook your head, determined to see this through. "If it's not enough for you, we can just stop here," And how you wished your voice would've come out with more bite. Now you sounded just as needy as he did. Maybe even more. "No, no, it's fine," he was quick to respond, retracting. It was almost painful how slow he was going, almost making you want to give up on this whole argument. Getting stubborn wasn't getting you anywhere.

"Please let me fuck you properly," he pleaded after a couple thrusts, his hands on your hips. Well. At least you didn't have to give in first. "Fine," you tried to sound annoyed, though you weren't convincing him any better than you were yourself. A strangled gasp left your mouth as he bottomed out, your cunt stretched out to the brim. Your walls clenched against his shaft rhythmically, trying to get used to the intrusion. Your hands reached over for the pillow above you, your grip on it tightening as he pulled out.

His skin slapped against your own with each thrust that he made, his grip on your hips tightening. "Don't stop, Mig! So, so good," he'd turned you into a babbling mess within a matter of seconds. "Wasn't planning on it," he responded quickly, each word punctuated with a harsh thrust. You craned your head to look at him, the sight having a new wave of arousal coat his cock. His head was lolled back, his face contorted into one of pure pleasure. You rocked your hips to match his rhythm to the best of his ability, your ass smacking against his hips with every movement.

"Oh shock, slow down," he was mesmerized by the sight of your ass rippling with each move that you made, one of his hands reaching down to cup the flesh. "Not gonna last long if you keep at it," he added, raising his hand before giving your ass a slap. The mixture of pain and pleasure mixed together, your own release starting to approach. "Fill me up, Mig!" You could only whine that out, a groan escaping from his lips at your words. The hand on your ass moved down to your clit, his thumb rubbing on the nub in circles. Fervent circles to match the pace of his sloppy thrusts.

You clamped tightly around his cock, your arousal coming out of you in waves. Your stomach hit the pillow underneath you, your body giving out on you. As soon as you clamped around him, Miguel knew his own orgasm wasn't too far off. With one final thrust, he shot his cum up your cunt. Filling you up like you'd asked. He pulled his flaccid cock out of you a couple moments later, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His fingers pushed back the cum threatening to drip down before he went over to get a wet towel to clean you up.

"It shouldn't take me threatening to divorce you for you to get your act together," you spoke up once you managed to catch your breath, wiping the sweat off your forehead. Not exactly the topic that you would've imagined talking about after sex. But you figured it was important for him to know that just a good lay wouldn't be enough to resolve this issue. He swiped his arm over his forehead, wiping away at nonexistent sweat beads. Something to do while he tried to figure out what to say.

"I know. And I'm sorry that it ever got to this point, I promise that I'll spend the rest of my life trying to prove to you how worthy I am to be next to you," he spoke up after a few moments, turning to face you. His hands itched to be wrapped around you, for some semblance of that intimacy that he'd neglected for so long. But he didn't make any effort to touch you. He knew it'd take a while for you to get to that point. The conflicted expression on your face was enough to tell him that you didn't believe him.

And it's not like you were looking forward to starting any issues between the two of you. But with the amount of empty promises and "I'm sorry's", you figured that you'd earned the right to doubt him. You got up, putting up your pajamas in an attempt to divert the conversation. You didn't want to voice that you were worried about him failing to fulfill his promise. "I know you don't believe me, but I promise I'll do my best to prove it to you," he whispered, pulling the blanket over the two of you before exhaustion overtook your body.

Instead of the usual emptiness that you'd grown used to waking up to, you found Miguel laying by your side with his arms tightly wrapped around your body. Like he didn't want to let you go. "I can feel you staring," he mumbled, half asleep as he begun to stir. He kept one arm wrapped around you, bringing the other hand up to his face to rub his eyes. "Just surprised you're not at work yet," you responded, pushing a couple stray hairs away from his forehead. "Well, I'm trying to prioritize my family a bit more."

His promises didn't feel as empty as the ones he'd spoken about before. He seemed determined to bring them into fruition this time around. Or at least you hoped that he would. For you and Gabriella. "I know it doesn't amount to much with how many times I've said it, but I really am sorry for neglecting you for so long. I got so carried away into maintaining the safety of Nueva York that I forgot to maintain my own marriage."

"I know you can't be everywhere at once. Me and Gabriella are aware you have responsibilities but still.. I don't want to have to feel like I'm being selfish for asking for some time with my husband," you spoke up after a couple seconds, looking over at him. Neither of you made any attempt to leave your bed just yet, too engulfed in the temporary state of bliss. "And you won't have to feel that way anymore, I promise."