Lesbian one shots

Watch you sleep. - Aryna x Y/n

Aryna Sabalenka x Y/n L/n

The door clicks shut behind me, and for a moment, I just stand there, letting the stillness of the apartment settle around me. The night had been a blur of drinks, laughter, and loud music, but stepping into the quiet now feels like slipping into something familiar, something comforting. The space feels different when I’m alone, when it’s just me and the hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creak of the floor beneath my feet.

I kick off my heels by the door, sighing at the relief of finally being out of them, and toss my purse onto the small table we keep by the entrance. The apartment is dark, save for the faint glow from the lamp in the living room. I didn’t leave it on. She must have. She always does when she’s waiting for me.

I pause for a second, listening, but all I hear is the faintest sound of breathing coming from the direction of the couch.

Of course.

I already know what I’ll find before I even step into the room. She’s fallen asleep on the sofa, just like I thought she would.

I don’t know why she insists on waiting up for me. Every time I go out with the girls, I tell her not to worry, that I’ll be fine, and that she should just go to bed. And every time, without fail, I come home to find her curled up on the couch, as if she couldn’t rest properly until she knew I was back safe. Part of me finds it sweet, endearing even, but another part worries. She works so hard. She needs her sleep.

Quietly, I step into the living room. The soft glow of the lamp casts long shadows over her, the light highlighting the gentle curve of her face, the way her dark hair tumbles over her shoulders and across the pillow. She’s lying on her side, curled up under one of the blankets we keep on the back of the sofa. Her breathing is slow and even, her chest rising and falling with each peaceful inhale.

I stop just short of her, my heart doing that little flutter it always does when I see her like this, so vulnerable, so open in her sleep. There’s a kind of softness to her that I love, something I don’t always get to see when we’re out in the world, where she’s so put-together, so composed. Here, like this, she’s entirely mine.

For a moment, I just stand there, watching her. I feel the tension of the night slipping away, the buzz of alcohol fading from my veins, replaced by the warmth that always fills me when I come home to her. She’s my anchor, the one constant in a world that sometimes feels too fast, too overwhelming.

I kneel beside the couch, lowering myself slowly, careful not to disturb her too much. My knees press into the soft carpet, and I reach out, my fingers brushing a lock of hair from her face. Her skin is warm to the touch, her hair soft and slightly messy, the way it always gets when she’s been sleeping deeply.

She stirs at the touch, just the slightest movement, but doesn’t wake. Her lips part, a small sigh escaping her, and I can’t help but smile. There’s something so pure, so honest about her in moments like this. She doesn’t know I’m watching her. She doesn’t know how much I love her for it.

My hand lingers in her hair, combing through the strands, slow and deliberate. I let my fingers trail down to the back of her neck, tracing the line of her jaw, and her body responds to the touch instinctively. She shifts slightly, her head tilting toward me, a soft noise escaping her lips, something between a sigh and a murmur.

“Mm…” she mumbles, still half-asleep. Her eyelids flutter, but she doesn’t quite wake up. I can see the faint crease between her brows, the way she’s trying to pull herself from the depths of sleep but hasn’t quite managed it yet.

I smile, leaning in a little closer, my voice soft as I whisper, “Hey, love.”

Her eyes finally flutter open, and for a second, she looks disoriented, her gaze unfocused. But then her eyes meet mine, and that soft, sleepy smile I love so much spreads across her face.