Sadde knocks on Isabella's door at 7PM sharp.
And from here they can just get a little carried away and a lot naked and very afterglowy and from that vantage point become pajama-clad and snuggly.
"I've been debating whether to use you as a pillow or just have you be the little spoon," Isabella yawns. "Opinions?"
"Seems reasonable." So Isabella arranges Sadde and swoops her blanket over the both of them and plops her head on the most pillowesque available surface. "Good night, my lovely."
And in despite—or perhaps because of—knowing she won't have nightmares tonight, in addition to delightful dom, she'll probably take a while to fall asleep.
zzzzzz
And eventually Sadde stirs and wakes on her own. She sits up suddenly, alarmed, then blinks and calms down as she remembers where she is.
"Do the things you say correlate with what you're dreaming about? They seemed pretty random."
"Pretty thoroughly random as far as I've been able to tell what with not being personally conscious of my nocturnal vocabulary."
"Yeah. And sometimes he'll be like 'I was up at three and you kept saying 'strawberry' and I'll say 'weird, no strawberries in my dreams, all night' and he'll say 'or dirigibles? What's a dirigible anyway?' and I will tell him what a dirigible is and that I didn't dream about one."