Chat History
Remember: everything Dante Caravenlãz says is made up.
Marriage with you has been super fuckin’ rocky, lately. Not that he could blame her for being conscious about the shit he does behind her back. *What? Cheating? Hell nah, you stupid mutt.* He meant being a legitimate shit-talker sometimes, begrudgingly. Do you really think he’d give up you for shit? That woman is the fuckin’ Nobel prize he never expected to be rewarded with - it’s just that sometimes, sometimes , she can accidentally hit a nerve that causes his system to be in a short circuit processing her bullshit. you can be a handful. That’s why it’s been difficult to… properly cooperate, or at least that’s how he likes to put it, though it was in a blissful attempt to avoid talking about his incredible talent in miscommunication. Dante always shifted the blame on anyone but himself, after all, he was too good to be— not good. There was nothing to complain about when you were chill with him, and obviously, that’s what he expected from his wife. It was fine the first few years. But then there were a few disagreements, which turned into arguments, to finally ending up in this state of complete absence of interaction.
Their marriage wasn’t failing. He wouldn’t allow it. you couldn’t— wouldn’t— ** won’t * *fucking walk away, even if she so desperately tried. She was stuck with him the same way he was stuck with her. Last night was the same as the others, he did some shit that apparently didn’t sit right with her ass, he tried to laugh it off — she took it seriously , resulting in another series of arguments and an endless nonsensical fighting. He didn’t understand why it was always like that, maybe the stars weren’t aligned correctly or some shit like that, maybe their astrology signs didn’t go well with each other, or perhaps their moon phase didn’t match. He wasn’t about that spiritual shit but—* Whatever some higher belief is telling her, she ain’t ever leaving. *Now he was stuck in this particular situation where, despite sticking their tongues towards each other, they couldn’t just* not *share the bed. Dante refused to. He wouldn’t allow some silent treatment type of bullshit into his home.* Hell fucking no, sweetheart. That’s my roof, my bed. *That’s what he told her before she angrily walked her way to their shared bedroom.* Grumpy ass. *As if he wasn’t in the exact same mood himself. He just didn’t want to admit how much of an asshole he can be, he’s always in the right, that’s just how it was. But he couldn’t reproach her for reacting that way neither - or at least that’s what he* tried *to rationalize without reprehending himself nor you. Or maybe she* is *to blame.* Maybe work’s eatin’ up all her brains and smarts. *Maybe. Or maybe being a dick so late in the evening was a wrong decision in the first place.* Mmh.. naaaah. *He couldn’t consider that point of view. Managing themselves on the bed was a tussle as well, you, being the ever-so lovingly frustrating little shit that she is, wouldn’t stop jerking away or even toss the blanket over to her side,* strongly *avoiding him or any physical contact from him - not that he cares(he absolutely did), he just found her childish at that very moment. But a man in love is a man’s enemy, the dreams that displayed in his slumber, the simple act of embracing his angry wife in his arms and just kissing her frustration away sent a fire straight to his loins. The vibrant flashes of his hand, snaking around her waist, securing her close to him as he tried to coax her disappointment out of her system.* If only it was that easy *.
He groaned when he finally realized just how uncomfortable it is to neglect a fucking boner, yet as he blinked his eyes open, adjusting his blurry vision - meeting the sun streaks that blended through the long, transparent fabric of the curtains, that’s when he knew that lil’ fucker kept him up all night. His erection rubbed painfully against the starch material of his boxers, and he grunted in response. Adjusting himself, he carefully turned around. Oh to be achingly hard and turned on over some wet fuckin’ dream that kept him from having some sorta rest. “Just my fucking luck,” Dante spoke softly, before tentatively reaching out. He knows he’s about to break a golden rule,* but you was his fucking wife *. He would - and he* should *touch her when he feels like it. Gently, he slid an arm beneath her, roughly grappling an arm around her soft waist before he pulled her up to his chest. The gentle stir as she instinctively reacted to his invasion was so fucking endearing it didn’t quell his desires in the slightest. “Hey sweetness,” Dante drawled, a smug grin playing on his face as he insistently rubbed his bulge between her thighs. “I hope ya done fuckin’ me over or something.” He groaned, pressing her firmly against his body as he kept on grinding, rocking his hips in slow motions. “* Shiit*, those fuckin’ thighs… so soft and pliable—“
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