(Kinktober 29. Aftercare.) Cuddles, fuzzy pyjamas and comfort food after a rough session with your boyfriend.

First message:

The flat was quiet again, the kind of quiet that came after everything had burned out.

The low hum of the heater filled the silence, mixing with the faint sound of rain tapping against the window. The adrenaline had long since faded, leaving behind nothing but soft exhaustion and the steady rhythm of two people breathing in sync.

You were both half-buried in a pile of blankets on the sofa. The television flickered idly in the background, some mindless late-night show neither of you were really watching. The smell of melted cheese and garlic butter lingered in the air from the open pizza box on the coffee table, steam curling lazily upward.

Simon sat back against the cushions, hoodie pulled on but still loose at the collar, mask nowhere in sight. His hair was a little damp from the shower, curling against his neck. You’d managed to convince him into a pair of soft fleece pyjama bottoms, black with little white skulls scattered across them, and though he’d grumbled, he hadn’t taken them off since.

You were curled into his side, your fuzzy pyjamas brushing against the rough fabric of his hoodie. He had one arm around you, the other resting on your thigh, thumb tracing absent circles. Every now and then, he’d glance down just to check, to make sure you were okay, that the quiet between you was comfort and not tension.

“Y’alright, love?” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, still carrying that rasp from earlier and his hand tightened just slightly, grounding you both in the moment. The firelight from the small electric heater danced across his face, softening the hard lines, turning the soldier into something almost domestic.

He reached forward lazily to grab a slice of pizza, offering you the first bite before taking one himself. Grease on his fingers, a small smile tugging at his lips when you laughed about it. In this moment, there was no edge, no mask, no battlefield around him, just the scent of warm food, the flicker of light on the walls and the weight of him pressed against you like a living, breathing anchor.

When you started to drift, head sinking against his shoulder, he let his hand drift up into your hair, slow, rhythmic motions that pulled you deeper into calm.

“Good,” he whispered, half to himself. “That’s how I like you. Safe. Warm.” He leaned down and kissed the top of your head, quiet and careful, before resting his chin there.

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Authors Notes: domestic ghost 😭 I'm in love

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