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spyder-junkie · 2 years ago

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EARTH-42 MILES MORALES X READER part 4

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

drop idea for the next part because Im running outta steam lol

It isnt long before you and Miles are hanging out every other day.

You would see him after school when you could, or he would sneak into your room at night.

And this goes on for weeks.

That is until you’re talking to Miles one night outside his flat.

You wish him goodbye, kissing his cheek and being on your way. He goes inside, and as you’re about half way down the block, you get a text.

‘my momma saw you kiss me through the window, she wants to meet you.’

You literally stand still on the sidewalk for a moment, heart beating in your chest.

So the two of you try to schedule a day where you can sit down and meet Rio.

You pitch the following day, but she has to work late at the hospital.

Miles pitches friday, but you have an afterschool study session

So you pick that sunday, which works until Miles calls you and tells you Rio was scheduled a later shift and wouldnt be able to cook that day.

“How about we cook instead? To give her a break.” You say.

Miles’ face scrunches up in the facetime.

“I cant cook.” He says plainly.

“But I can, it could be a surprise.” You say.

So thats what you do. Miles tells Rio and Aaron they’ll order food that afternoon, and you and Miles go to the store to get groceries in the morning.

Miles sat at the island of the kitchen, his head in his hand as he watched you cook.

He was playing music for you, a couple modern hispanic pop songs.

“Shes really gonna like this.” Miles said, small smike on his face.

“I hope so.” You reply, mixing something in a pot.

You put your spoon down, letting the food cook while you turn to Miles.

You reach your hand out, prompting him to stand infront of you.

You smile up at him, swaying your hips softly in tune of the music.

He follows your lead, a little smoother than you expected.

He hums along softly to the song, spinning your around the kitchen.

“Youre light on your feet.” You say, letting him twirl you.

The two of you dance and laugh until the kitchen timer dings, in which you break away to check the food.

And unbeknownst to you, Rio stands at the front door, Aaron at her side as she peers through the opened crack.

“Theyre gonna realize youre watching em.” He says, a smirk plasterd on his face.

“I havent seen my baby dance since he was a baby.” Rio whispers.

She waits until the two of you begin plating the food to smooth her scrubs out and open the door.

“Estoy en casa.” She said softly, catching Miles’s eyes.

“Whats all this?” She had a sort of unreadable expression on her face.

“Miles told me you wouldnt have time to cook, so I thought why not cook for you?” You say timidly.

You take you oven mits off and walk up to Rio.

“Soy s/n, gusto en conocerla Sra. Morales” You smile, holding your hand out to her.

Her expression cracks, a smile gracing her lips.

“Encantada de conocerte, nice spanish you have there.”

You then hold your hand out to Aaron.

“Nice to meet you too Mr.Aaron.”

Aaron is a bit more curt with his handshake, his face still stoic. He hums out a little “mhm” as he shakes your hand.

“Shes pretty, Miles.” Rio gushes, then she turns to you. “Youre really pretty.”

miles shrugs with a cocky grin on his face, leaning against the kitchen island.

You smile and thank her, walking back to the stove.

“Miles mentioned how much you like puerto rican dishes, so i made mofongo and Arroz con gandules.”

Rio looks over the food, taking a moment to smell over the aromas.

“Your abuela used to make this when you were little, Miles.” She says fondly, then she shakes her head.

“This looks great, lets eat. Miles help me set the table.”

So while you plate the food, Rio and Miles set the table. The four of you sat down to eat not before long, You and Miles on one side of the table, Rio and Aaron on the other.

“You did real good here, ma.” Miles says, mouth half full.

“He’s right, you know your way around a kitchen. Isnt that right Aaron?” Rio elbows him.

Aaron humms a ‘mhm’ eating well nonetheless.

“You know Unc,” Miles begins, putting a spoonful of rice in his mouth.

“Y/n might be able to fix your truck.”

Aaron raises his eyebrow at you, your eyes widening.

“Oh- I, uh, my dad works with cars, Miles told me you were having some issues, maybe i could take a look at it.” You say softly, tensing under his gaze.

“Its an engine problem. I doubt you can fix it.” He says.

Before you can say anything, Miles and Rio protest at the same time.

“Cmon man.”

“Give her a chance.”

Aaron rolls his eyes.

“….you can come look at it after dinner.” He says, getting back to his meal.

When everyone finishes their meal and the conversation dies down, Aaron gets up from the table.

“Lets go.” He huffs.

You and Miles stand up and follow him to the door just before he puts his hand to Miles’ chest.

“Help your moma with the dishes.”

“Man what I-“ Miles’ face scrunches up in irritation as Aaron gives him a pointed look.

“We’ll be back.” He says, motioning you to follow him.

And you do, you follow him down to the parking deck. He leads you to a mini garage labeled with a different apartment number than the one Miles stays in, probably for a different building.

Silently he pops the hood of the car for you, propping open his took box and motioning towards the car. He then crosses his arms and leans against the wall.

You gulp.

Quietly you scan your eyes over the mechanics inside the hood, looking to see what could be wrong with the engine.

“The start up is weak.” Aaron says suddenly.

“Took her to the mechanics and they quoted me 7 hundred to fix it.”

“Oh, why didnt they just give it a flush?” You ask, turning to him.

He raises an eyebrow.

You look around the garage for a mechanic creep, stretching it out and rolling your way under the hood of the car. Taking a wrench, you dislodge a couple bolts, pulling a pannel open.

“Do you have a watter bottle?” You ask, reaching your grease soaked hand our from under the car.

Theres shuffling, then a new watter bottle is placed in your hand.

You flush out part of the engine, using a given rag to dry it out and placing the pannel back on. Then you roll out from under the car, wiping your forehead.

“Try starting her up.” You say.

Aaron gets in the car, putting the key in and starting it up. And it starts up smooth.

A suprised expression crosses his face, followed by a smile.

“Id do that every 2-3 months, if you do it too much those parts will rust.” You say, coming up besides him while wiping your hands with a rag.

Aaron claps your back suddenly, beaming down at you.

“Thanks babygirl, I might have to get you in here on off days, get a set of extra hands on the projects we’re working on.”

You wonder if he’s talking about prowler things.

You dont ask though, giving a small ‘you’re welcome’ and walking after him as he closes the garage.

The walk back is quiet for a while, then Aaron speaks.

“My nephew has a lot going on in his life.” He says.

“If you can keep him focused on what’s important, Ion’ mind you staying around.”

You look over at him, then nod your head.

When the two of you return to the apartment, you’re laughing at the embarrassing Miles stories Aaron is telling you.

“Well, how’d it go?” Rio asks, a little surprised at Aaron’s joyfulness.

“She saved me 7 hundred, so pretty well.” He smiles.

“See i knew you could handle it.” Miles nudges your shoulder and kisses your cheek.

“Y/n.” Rio calls you name. Her and Aaron look at each other, then at you.

“¿Puedo hablar contigo un momento?”

You look at her and nod, noticing Aaron usher miles into another room.

“Yes ma’am?” You say, sitting at the dining table across from her.

“You know I love my son.” She begins. The air is a little tense now.

“I love him more than anything else, more than he’ll ever know. And he has lost a lot. I dont want to see him hurt again.” She looks at you seriously.

“I dont want to see him hurt ever.” You reply.

“Lets make a deal, then.” Rio says.

“You take care of him, make sure he knows hes loved, and be there for him in the places I cant, and no matter what youll always be welcome here in my home.”

You smile, shaking her out stretched hand.

“Deal.”

The rest of the evening you spend having hearty conversations with Rio and Aaron in the living room.

Miles has you pressed to his side, his hand on your knee.

Sometime into the night you notice him drifting off beside you, his head drooping onto your shoulder peacefully.

And after a while its time for you to go home.

“Walk her home boy.” Aaron quipped, smacking Miles on the back of his neck and startling him awake.

Miles glares at his uncle, getting up to grab his shoes and meet you by the door.

And he walks you home, hand in yours and shoulders relaxed. And once you’re home, you kiss him on the cheek and wish him goodnight.

Then maybe an hour later, after youve showered and gotten into your pajamas, you get a text.

“You did good today, Hermosa, Im proud of you. Also, my mom really likes you, she said come back soon”

tags: @tishsrealwife @call-me-nev @hana-1235 @youcantseem3 @kaealowri @unadulteratedwizardrunaway @kezibear @urmotherswhor3 @ladylovegood-69 @thetoetickler @cumbermovels @cozmicwonder @yams-ley @sh-tposter2021 @vampjacinda @roadkillmeal @animechick555 @the-smut-plug @iluvdi0r @stevenknightmarc @yoashh @kitsunna @caffeine-mess @arachnenotes @erensbbg @nightshxdex @el-chiste @3alvatore @sh-tposter2021 @miatjie @agstuffsworld @ella34435 @iluvdi0r @pulling-out-my-eyes @vakiui @bigpepperpicker @swaggybae @tsukisaiki @osebb

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witchingwithscissors · 14 days ago

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Agathario AU | She said she was straight, then came back from Paris ready to beg for her girlfriend back.

Rio leaned quietly against the gallery wall, fingers nervously tracing the rim of a half-empty glass of cheap wine.

At twenty-seven, she had grown weary—tired of meaningless dates, fleeting connections, and empty promises. Working in music curation at an indie label, Rio lived her life through lyrics that articulated feelings she rarely expressed aloud. Beneath her easy smiles and casual demeanor lay a deeply romantic heart, longing desperately for genuine connection.

Her restless shifting knocked the wine glass, spilling crimson liquid across her scuffed boots. A soft, amused voice gently interrupted her embarrassment.

“Smooth,” teased the woman softly, eyes twinkling with gentle amusement.

Rio blushed instantly, captivated by her quiet, commanding presence. The woman, clearly older—about seven or eight years Rio guessed—held herself with graceful composure. Auburn hair neatly tied back, gold earrings catching subtly in the dim gallery lights, she exuded an elegant confidence.

“Grace is overrated,” Rio joked, heart fluttering nervously.

“Agreed,” the woman replied warmly, extending her hand. “I’m Agatha.”

“Rio,” she replied softly, feeling the warmth of Agatha’s handshake linger sweetly on her skin.

Their conversation flowed naturally—Agatha, an architect passionate about restoring forgotten spaces, listened thoughtfully to Rio’s excited ramblings about music and emotion. Rio was instantly drawn to Agatha’s reserved kindness, sensing depth beneath her careful surface. As the night wound down, Agatha lingered near the door with a softness that felt intentional.

“I’m glad I came tonight,” she said. “You’re…unexpected.”

Rio smiled. “I get that a lot.”

Their courtship unfolded gently—brunch dates stretched into afternoon walks with Rio’s dog named Billy, indie film screenings filled with subtle tension, and coffee shop visits punctuated by quiet laughter. Rio found herself quickly drawn to Agatha’s patient kindness, feeling increasingly captivated by every nuanced smile and guarded glance. She began pulling away from casual flings, stopped responding to flirtatious texts from other women, and found herself indifferent even to the most tempting figures in crowded bars. All Rio wanted was Agatha—beautiful, complex, and heartbreakingly cautious.

But it wasn’t easy.

Agatha, though deeply kind and attentive, always held part of herself back, subtly uncomfortable with public affection or overly intimate gestures. Rio noticed the gentle resistance—how Agatha pulled away slightly from her touch in public, or grew tense when Rio’s affection became too overt.

“Sorry,” Rio said softly one day, feeling embarrassed after gently taking Agatha’s hand on a crowded street.

“No, it’s not you,” Agatha murmured sincerely, looking away nervously. “I’m just… still figuring this all out.”

Rio understood immediately. She sensed Agatha might be recently out—or perhaps still partially closeted—and felt an aching tenderness for her cautious vulnerability. Rather than pull away, Rio leaned in patiently, offering gentle support without pushing too hard. Even when Agatha’s reserve hurt slightly, Rio responded with compassionate patience and gentle humor, teasing playfully to ease the tension.

There were moments when Agatha nearly let her guard down completely. One afternoon in the park, Rio joked about Agatha’s stuffy architectural jargon and tickled her waist until Agatha let out a surprised, unguarded laugh that made Rio’s heart stutter.

Behind closed doors, Agatha’s careful facade unraveled.

In the dim, familiar light of Rio’s apartment—after a dinner of traditional Puerto Rican dishes seasoned with stories and stirred with love—something shifted. The scent of sofrito still hung in the air, plates forgotten in the sink. Agatha stepped in close, pressing Rio gently against the counter, her hands trembling just slightly. And then she kissed her—slow, searching, like she was trying to memorize the shape of her safety. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission, only patience.

“You’re different when it’s just us,” Rio whispered, tracing Agatha’s jawline softly.

Agatha met her gaze, voice tenderly vulnerable. “You make me feel safe. I just… need time to get there publicly.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rio assured softly, feeling her heart ache sweetly for Agatha’s delicate bravery.

Their intimacy unfolded like something sacred—slow, consuming, full of reverence. Rio moved with intention, her mouth learning Agatha’s body like a familiar song rediscovered. Every kiss was patient. Every touch, a question answered.

She took her time, lips dragging against the sensitive skin at the inside of Agatha’s thighs, relishing the way Agatha trembled beneath her. Agatha’s fingers twisted into the couch cushions, her hips jerking upward as Rio’s tongue circled again, and again.

She’d already come three times, soaked and wrecked, her body shaking with each wave—but Rio showed no signs of stopping. She stayed there, steady and warm, as if she was trying to etch her name into every nerve Agatha had.

“Fuck,” Agatha breathed out shakily, thighs quivering around Rio’s head as pleasure built again—slowly, inexorably, almost painfully.

Her knees tightened against Rio, breath stuttering unevenly. The sensation of each taste bud on Rio’s tongue dragging slowly against her overstimulated clit was almost too much.

“Baby—” Agatha gasped suddenly, voice rough and pleading.

Rio froze for half a second, her breath catching in her throat. Slowly, she lifted her head, lips slick, eyes wide with something between wonder and hunger. “Say that again.”

Agatha blinked up at her, dazed, vulnerable. “Baby.”

And Rio—God, Rio lit up like it meant everything.

Her mouth returned with new purpose, tongue relentless and loving, one hand anchoring Agatha’s thigh as she pushed her closer to the edge again. It was worship, pure and simple.

When Agatha shattered again, crying out into the thick, quiet air of Rio’s apartment, Rio didn’t stop—she kissed her through it, slow and gentle, like sealing a vow with her mouth. Agatha’s body trembled beneath her, breath caught on a broken sob.

Rio slid up slowly, her hands firm but careful, lips brushing against Agatha’s flushed cheek, her temple, her mouth.

“You did so good for me, baby,” she whispered, voice low and warm, every word dripping with praise. “Fucking beautiful.”

Agatha’s breath hitched at the tenderness in Rio’s voice, her heart aching sweetly amidst overwhelming sensation. Rio’s patience and confidence—her unwavering devotion—made Agatha feel truly seen, deeply cherished.

And Rio felt it too—the way she found herself smiling at Agatha’s texts in the middle of meetings, or hearing Agatha’s voice in every melancholy chord she laid down in the studio. She didn’t want anyone else. She wanted the woman who stiffened in public but melted in her arms, who flinched when touched unexpectedly but leaned in when she thought no one was watching.

One afternoon, after a long nap together, Rio overheard Agatha on a phone call in the next room.

“She’s… sweet. It’s nothing serious,” Agatha said casually. Her voice was light, but something in the way she said it made Rio go still.

She didn’t bring it up. She didn’t ask. But it lodged deep in her chest like a stone, and that night, when she kissed Agatha’s shoulder in bed, there was a flicker of hesitation.

Agatha invited her over one evening, tension radiating palpably.

“I have news,” Agatha began nervously, gaze lowered. “There’s a project in Paris—a major restoration. Career-changing, really. But it means months away. Possibly longer.”

Rio’s heart clenched painfully, pride and sadness battling fiercely inside her chest. “That’s incredible,” she said softly, hiding the ache behind genuine admiration. “You deserve that, Agatha.”

Agatha noticed Rio’s hidden pain, reaching out gently to touch her hand. “I promise we’ll stay connected. I’ll be better about communicating.”

Despite Agatha’s sincere intentions, their connection suffered quickly. Conversations grew infrequent, responses distant. Rio tried filling the silence with carefully curated playlists—songs that quietly begged for closeness. But the increasing silence hurt deeply.

One day, unable to bear the emotional distance, Rio impulsively texted Agatha, her heart wide open.

Rio: This song made me think of you. I miss you.

She waited. Five minutes. Fifteen. Forty. Three hours.

Finally, Agatha’s reply came. It was detached.

Agatha: Oh you’re sweet... but if I’m being honest with you, I’m straight. I think I was just experimenting.

The message hit Rio like a physical blow, knocking air from her lungs. Tears blurred her vision as pain radiated sharply through her chest. Her thumbs hovered, shaking, typing out the raw truth.

Rio: It wasn’t nothing.

Yet she deleted it quickly, feeling heartbreak burn bitterly at the corners of her eyes. Standing numb on a busy sidewalk, she felt suddenly small, foolish for believing her quiet devotion would ever be enough.

She walked home silently, music filling her headphones like an ironic elegy to her aching heart. Each step echoed painfully—every careful gesture, patient moment, tender touch seemingly discarded. Rio, the perfect girlfriend material, now felt utterly discarded, wounded by the woman she had patiently and deeply loved.

Rio spent weeks trying to recover from Agatha’s abrupt dismissal. Every song she heard seemed to remind her painfully of Agatha—of moments shared, gentle touches, whispered words. Her friends noticed her withdrawal, gently urging her to move on, but Rio felt frozen in heartbreak, unable to shake the belief that their connection had been real.

She stopped writing music for a while. Her keyboard collected dust. Even the studio felt hollow.

Meanwhile, in Paris, Agatha walked around in a city full of beauty, but everything felt gray. She poured herself into her work, overseeing blueprints, arguing with French contractors, trying to convince herself she was fine.

But she wasn’t.

Late at night, in the quiet of her apartment, Agatha would replay every moment with Rio. The softness of her voice. The way she looked when she cooked barefoot. Her laugh, her mouth, her patience.

She pulled up the old playlists, listening with headphones, tears slipping quietly down her cheeks. Each song Rio sent her was a love letter, and Agatha had deleted her.

She tried to explain it to herself in a hundred ways—she wasn’t ready, she panicked, she didn’t want to hurt Rio—but none of it held. The truth pressed down harder each night: she had been falling in love. With a woman. And she had run.

Agatha had spent her whole life controlling the narrative. She dated men. She kept things neat. Structured. Her queerness wasn’t something she had allowed herself to name. It felt too messy. Too vulnerable. Too real.

But Rio had changed that. Not by pushing. Just by being herself. By loving Agatha without needing her to be anything other than real.

Agatha realized she hadn’t been experimenting. She had been afraid.

And she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.

Agatha’s first text back was careful.

Agatha: I’m sorry. I think about you more than I want to admit.

Rio didn’t respond. Not at first. She stared at her phone, her heart clenching. Then she turned it over on her nightstand and left it there.

Days passed. Agatha tried again.

Agatha: I miss you. I was scared. That’s not an excuse. Can I see you when I get back?

Rio typed and deleted a dozen replies before finally sending it.

Rio: I’m not sure I can trust you again.

Agatha understood. But it only made her more determined.

When Agatha returned from Paris, she didn’t go to her apartment first. She went straight to Rio’s.

Rio opened the door wearing loose sweatpants paired with Agatha’s sleepover shirt, her hair up in a loose bun, eyes wide with surprise and something guarded.

“Hey,” Agatha said softly.

“You’re back.”

Agatha nodded. “I had to see you.”

They sat on Rio’s couch, stiff and silent for a while. Rio’s mutt curled up at their feet.

Agatha spoke first. “I panicked. I felt everything and it terrified me. And instead of sitting with that, I pushed you away.”

“You made me feel disposable,” Rio said quietly, voice low but even. “Like all the ways I showed up for you—meant nothing.”

Agatha nodded, throat tight. “It meant everything. That’s why I couldn’t handle it. You saw me. Really saw me. I’d never let someone that close before. And I didn’t know how to accept that I was in love with a woman. That I loved you.”

Rio looked at her, steady and quiet. “What are you looking for now, Agatha?”

Agatha’s voice shook. “I want to learn how to love you out loud. If you let me.”

Rio studied her for a long, quiet moment—long enough for Agatha to start shifting under the weight of it. Then she exhaled, slow and steady, like she was done giving anything away for free.

“I’ll let you try,” Rio said, voice calm but firm. “But you’re doing it my way now.”

She leaned in just enough for Agatha to feel the warmth of her breath. Her eyes didn’t waver.

“I’m not chasing you, Agatha. Not again.”

The older woman nodded, barely. “Okay,” she whispered. “Your way.”

Agatha started small—but deliberately. Every morning, a text.

Agatha: Good morning, hermosa.

Every night, a call

Agatha: Tell me about your day. I want to know everything.

But it was Rio who set the pace. Rio who decided when she would see Agatha, how often they talked, what level of affection she allowed. It wasn’t cruel—it was controlled. Intentional.

When they met for coffee, Rio reached for Agatha’s hand only when she felt ready. In public, it was Rio who initiated touch. When Agatha hesitated, Rio would tilt her head and say, “You want to be with me, you don’t hide me.”

Agatha swallowed it all—her discomfort, her fear—and nodded. She followed Rio’s lead, relearning how to love her with grace and humility.

They sat on Rio’s couch one night, a movie playing forgotten in the background. Agatha leaned into her, kissed her shoulder. Rio didn’t move.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about your mouth,” Agatha whispered.

“Say it louder,” Rio said.

Agatha shifted to straddle her. “I think about the way you kissed me. The way you touched me. You terrify me, Rio. You undo me.”

Rio held Agatha’s waist, steadying her. “Then let me.”

That night, Rio guided everything. She undressed Agatha slowly, watching her tremble, but never rushed. She pressed her down onto the sheets and murmured soft, dirty praise between kisses. When Agatha arched and sobbed beneath her, Rio whispered in her ear, “That’s mine. Say it.”

Agatha’s voice broke: “I’m yours. I’ve always been.”

One evening, over candlelight and wine, Rio leaned back and asked quietly, “What are we doing, Agatha?”

Agatha looked straight at her. “We’re building something. Something I’m not walking away from.”

“What do you want from me?” Rio asked. “For real.”

“I want you, Rio. I want to be seen with you. I want to wake up next to you. I want to tell everyone you’re mine.”

Rio studied her. “You’re sure?”

“I’m gay,” Agatha said, out loud for the first time, like it was a truth she could finally carry. “And I’m in love with you.”

They didn’t rush. They kissed like they had time. Made love like it was a prayer. Agatha surrendered everything—her doubt, her fear, her past. And Rio took it, kissed it away, showed her how it felt to be loved without shame.

Later, with Agatha’s head in her lap, Rio played with her hair and whispered, “I waited for you to catch up, cariño. But now I’m driving.”

Agatha smiled, blissed out and bare. “Thank God.”

Weeks passed.

Rio ran the show—not loud, not flashy, just steady. She chose the playlists, the date nights, the shitty road trip snacks. She fixed the leaky sink and left notes on the mirror in smudged eyeliner. Agatha—buttoned-up, always composed—thrived under it. She grew bolder, lighter, a little reckless in love. She never stopped showing up.

They danced barefoot in the kitchen. Rio cooked—usually pantsless, always with music on. Agatha cleaned, humming along, swaying at the sink. Billy barked like a tyrant from under the table.

Every now and then, Rio would catch Agatha staring at her across the room. She’d smirk, push up her sleeves, and ask, “You good, baby?”

And Agatha, softer now, would nod and whisper, “I’m home.”

#based on a true text in 2015 #this one felt therapeutic #says she’s straight then cries listening to a playlist #from fear to forever #agathario au #agathario fic #agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agathario

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lilgarbitch · 2 months ago

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Will Thots👀

Pairing: Will Ramos x Reader

CW: He’s home, burnt to a crisp, exhausted, and just really needs to be near you. grinding, p in v (unprotected, don’t be them)

Author’s Note: Going off of last thot and everything Lorna Shore has been doing and posting lately, what’s Will like when he’s finally worn out? When he’s finally back home from touring and exploring?

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @badomensgoodomens @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @oobleoob

You always loved Will’s energy, always having the best time even if the two of you were just relaxing at home. But there were a few occasions where Will was just utterly exhausted and couldn’t be at full capacity, today being one of them.

The band just got home from playing in Hawaii and touring Australia and you were honestly surprised he didn’t get sun poisoning. Everyday, you watched his socials and all the pictures and videos he sent you of him exploring with his band and the others, having a blast. You were honestly jealous you couldn’t join him, until you caught sight of him when he stepped off the plane, the exhausted smile as he dragged his suitcase and own feet towards you. His lazy hug was like being wrapped in blankets that just got out of the dryer, and you were honestly worried he got too much sun with how he was still holding the heat in his skin, but he promised he was just a little burnt and that his Puerto Rican skin could handle it.

The ride home was full of mumbled stories of his trip, him slouched in the passenger seat as he told you all about the different sights he saw, the animals he met, and the shows he played. You joined in by telling him all about what the cats have been up to and how much they missed him, speaking in a soft voice since his wasn’t much louder.

When you finally arrived home, you helped him carry some things in, already seeing the effect of being home slow him down as his body finally began to relax. He greeted and snuggled with the cats as you made a late lunch for the two of you, just opting to eat on the couch, watching some tv and talking together. As you washed the dishes, he came up behind you and gave you another hug, telling you again just how much he missed you. You turned around and gave him a proper hug, both of you needing the comfort after 2 weeks of being apart.

“Can we just cuddle today?” he mumbled into your neck, holding you close to him, “I just wanna lay down with you.”

“Of course, baby,” you tell him in a sweet voice before he gently tugs you with him towards the bedroom.

He pulls you down onto the bed with him, tugging you close and burying his face back into your neck. One thing about Will is that he adored physical touch, especially cuddles. So if he was extra tired, he had to get as close to you as possible. Simply holding him was not enough. He’d tangle your legs together, wrapping one of your legs over his hip as he wrapped his around your other. He’d have his arms wrapped around your waist extra tight, forcing yours to go around his head as he muzzled into you.

Reader discretion is advised. MDNI

Depending on his exhaustion levels, he’d sometimes talk to you about anything and everything, but tonight, you figured he just wanted to hold you. That was until you felt his breathing pick up slightly.

“I just missed you so much, baby,” he softly groaned against your neck as he somehow pulled you even closer, squeezing you tighter.

And thats when you felt it. The growing hardness pressed against your thigh. You didn’t even get a chance to say anything before his hand slipped down to pull your leg closer and for him to start grinding against you, his thigh rubbing against your core in the process.

Weak grunts and groans muffled against your neck, mixing in with your quickened breath as he rocked his hips, rubbing his bulge against your upper thigh. You used your leg wrapped around his hip to hold him close and match his movements, needing more friction.

He huffs and starts lazily tugging at your bottoms, causing you two to work together to remove them before he unzips his jeans, pulling them down just enough to release his cock, pulling on and hooking your leg over his hip again, and slowly easing himself into you.

He returns to his earlier position, holding you tight with his face buried in your shoulder before slowly pulling out, then pushing back in. Languid thrusts matching each heavy breath in your ear.

Soon, he’s gripping the back of your shirt and your arms are pulling him even closer, one of your hands resting on the back of his head, gently tugging at his roots as soft whimpers and whines fill the room.

His hips pick up slightly, and you know he’s getting closer as he moans slurred words of pleasure into your neck. He angles his hips, causing him to brush against your clit with every thrust, helping pull you closer to the edge with him.

His movements get sloppier as he nears his climax, groaning and gripping you even tighter as he spills inside of you. He doesn’t stop his movements, pressing his lips to your neck and adding more pressure against your clit until you finally join him, letting out a whine and tightening your leg around him.

He places soft kisses against your neck and mumbles how much he loves you, waiting to move from the position you two were in because he just needed to stay as close to you as possible.

After cleaning up and changing into comfier clothes, you two keep your promise and continue to cuddle the rest of the night, occasionally getting up for snacks, but mainly just holding each other close and talking about whatever came to mind, wanting nothing more than to just be with each other.

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