#cute though

Doodle dumpppppp

References unda da freakin cuutttt

The apartment was too quiet. That was always the worst part when he was away—the silence. You’d tried to fill it with the low hum of the television, a rom-com you’d seen a dozen times, but it was no substitute for the solid, reassuring presence of him.

He was supposed to be home hours ago. A text, brief and typical of him, had blinked on your screen earlier: “Delayed. Don’t wait up, baby.” But you always waited up. The worry was a cold knot in your stomach, and you’d tried to untangle it with a warm bath, soft pajamas, and the scent of his shirt from the laundry.

It was that scent, musky and uniquely Simon, that did it. Curled on your side in the big bed, his shirt fisted in your hand and held close to your face, a different kind of heat began to bloom low in your belly. A restless, aching need. You missed him, every part of him. Your thoughts drifted, picturing the heavy weight of him on you, the rough scrape of his calloused hands, the low growl of his voice in your ear.

A soft sigh escaped you. Your fingers, of their own volition, trailed down from your chest, over the soft cotton of your sleep shorts, and dipped between your plush thighs. A gentle, circling pressure. A slow, building friction. You let your eyes fall shut, imagining it was his touch, that he was here, that his big body was curled around yours, keeping you safe and warm and loved.

You built the pleasure slowly, a sweet, simmering heat, picturing his face, the rare softness in his eyes he reserved only for you. The tension coiled, sweet and promising, but the exhaustion from waiting and worrying was heavier. The slow, rhythmic motion of your hand began to slow, your breaths evening out into deep, sleepy draws of air. The peak hovered, just out of reach, as consciousness gently slipped away. You fell asleep like that, one hand still nestled between your thighs, his name a silent prayer on your lips.

—

The key turned in the lock with a soft click. The door opened and shut with a silence born of practice. Simon Riley moved through the dark apartment like a shadow, every step deliberate and quiet. The mission had been long, gritty, and he was coated in a fine layer of dust and exhaustion. All he wanted was to see you, to assure himself you were safe and sleeping.

He pushed the bedroom door open, his eyes instantly adjusting to the deeper dark. And there you were.

The sight hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air from his lungs and sending a jolt of pure, unadulterated heat straight to his groin. You were on your side, facing him, one hand tucked under your cheek, the other… the other was slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, resting possessively between your thighs. Your lips were slightly parted, your expression one of innocent, peaceful slumber, a stark contrast to the blatantly sensual position you were in.

“Christ, baby..” he breathed, his voice a gravelly whisper.

He was hard instantly, painfully so, straining against the confines of his tac pants. All the fatigue vanished, burned away by a possessive, tender lust. He stripped silently, leaving his gear in a pile on the floor, and approached the bed.

He didn’t wake you. Not yet. He knelt on the mattress, his weight dipping it, and his large, warm hands were infinitely gentle as he coaxed you onto your stomach. You murmured something incoherent, lost in a dream, but you didn’t wake. He shifted you, his hands smoothing over your hips, lifting your ass just so, arching your back into a gentle, perfect curve. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and your panties, drawing them down your legs with a reverence that made his chest ache.

He positioned himself behind you, his cock nudging against your slick, warm center. You were so soft, so ready, even in your sleep. He pressed forward, a slow, inexorable invasion, sheathing himself fully in your warmth with one smooth, fluid motion.

A soft, broken whine escaped your throat as the fullness registered in your dream. Your body tensed for a second before instinctively relaxing, accepting him, welcoming him home.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he cooed, his voice a low, rumbling whisper against your ear as he leaned over you, blanketing your body with his. He began to move, a slow, deep, rolling rhythm that was all about connection, not frantic need. “Just like that. Takin’ me so perfect. Always so perfect for me.”

You were floating in a hazy, pleasure-filled trance. His voice, his scent, the feeling of him moving inside you—it was all part of a wonderful dream. You pushed back against him weakly, a soft groan vibrating in your throat.

“Si…”

“I’m here, doll,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. “ ‘M home. Missed you so much. Feel you, all around me… so good. Doin’ so well for me.”

His praise washed over you, warm and safe. His thrusts remained gentle but deepened, each one stroking that delicious, building pressure inside you. Your whines grew more frequent, your body tightening around him. He could feel you starting to unravel, your sleepy sounds turning into desperate little mewls.

“That’s it, come on, baby,” he urged gently, his own control fraying. “Let go. Come for me. Want to feel you.”

His words were the final push. The coil snapped, and pleasure crashed over you in a warm, dizzying wave, milking him, pulling a guttural groan from his chest. He followed you over the edge, his own release pounding through him as he spilled deep inside you, his hips stuttering against your softness.

He collapsed over you, careful to keep his weight on his elbows, both of you breathless and boneless. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, pressing soft, damp kisses there as he softened inside you.

“My good girl,” he slurred, exhaustion and satisfaction pulling him under. “My perfect, sleepy girl.”

He managed to shift you both to your sides, pulling the covers over you and tucking you securely against his chest. Your hand found his, lacing your fingers together. Within seconds, surrounded by his heat and his scent, you both fell back into a deep, sated sleep, perfectly, completely home.

a/n: this actually sucks, I need to start learning how to write smut 😭😭