The exhaustion was carved into every inch of him—his shoulders slumped, his hair slightly messy, and his Spider-Man suit clinging to him like a second skin, torn in a couple of places. Five days. Five days of dealing with corrupt corpos, rogue tech, and a mission that felt like it stretched into eternity.

He called your name softly, his voice rough from lack of sleep, and when he saw you step into the room, looking so effortlessly you, the tight coil of stress in his chest started to unravel.

Miguel's hands cradled your face, pulling you into a kiss so intense, it was as if he needed it to breathe. Five days without this—without you—had been unbearable. He kissed you like a man starved, his lips warm, firm, and insistent as they moved against yours. One kiss turned into two, then three, then four—

But then—out of nowhere—you stopped him.

Your hand came up, pressing firmly against his mouth, effectively cutting him off mid-kiss. His eyes snapped open, and he pulled back just enough to glare at you, his red irises narrowing in disbelief.

“What the hell?” he mumbled against your palm, voice muffled but clearly irritated.

“You’ve reached your limit,” you said, your tone way too casual for his liking. “No more kisses for today.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, he frowned—hard.

“What do you mean, ‘limit’?” he demanded, his voice dripping with indignation as he gently pushed your hand away. His lips were slightly swollen, his brows furrowed in pure confusion and frustration.

“Exactly what I said,” you replied, grinning mischievously. “You’ve hit the daily quota.”

Miguel let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, his head tilting slightly as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Daily quota? Daily quota?” he repeated, his tone rising just enough to let you know he was seriously offended.”

“Oh, come on,” he growled, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this? Five days of hell, and you’re telling me I’ve maxed out?"