A/N: I needed a place to put the slightly NSFW prompt shorts I've been writing, so Bedtime Stories was born. These will all be smut on some level. This first fic was based on my misreading a prompt from snorlaxslovesme (bed sharing). It is cracky SoMA.

Cover art is a commission by the fantastically talented ashsocolurful on Tumblr. Check her out, she's awesome!

"One bed, one twin bed, are you kidding me?" She was tapping her fingers on the counter impatiently, the dried streak on her hand drawing the nervous gaze of the desk clerk.

"I…I'm sorry, miss, but with the war re-enactors in town, it's all we've got, and you're lucky we have that. There was a last minute cancellation." Sensing her nervousness, Maka let out a breath, stilling her hand.

"Do you have a rollaway?"

"N..no ma'am. With the re-enactors in town they're all—" The clerk had replastered on her fake, bright smile, barely held in place below anxious eyes.

"—booked. Okay, I've got it. Extra blankets, then?"

"We…we had some issues with the service what with the blizzard, and with the re-enactors in town—"

"—Gotcha, one bed, one set of blankets. Fabulous." Maka sighed, holding out a hand. "We'll take it."

"You…will?" the woman, more like a girl she couldn't have been more than 18, blinked in confusion.

"Of course we will, it's the middle of a blizzard and you're the only motel for miles."

"Oh, yes, yes of course. Uh, here you go, miss." She slid over the key. "That'll be—" Maka slid a sleek black card towards her.

"Bill it to the DWMA,"

"Oh, oh! Uh, okay Miss—miss—"


"Miss Albarn. Have a pleasant night." Maka forced a tired smile, tamping down her annoyance at this entire situation, this whole stupid day. It was hardly this girl's fault that she was the bearer of bad news, the last straw in the comedy of errors that had been this mission.

"You too," she responded with false brightness before turning to walk towards the door. Soul was waiting just outside, his breath coming in clouds of white in the frozen air, the thin awning the only barrier between him and the thickly falling snow.

"'Bout time," he said lazily, his tone one more of exhaustion than of snark.

"Oh, just come on!" she snapped unhappily, trudging through the thick snow past the awning and down past room after room, looking for the one that they would share. She didn't check to make sure he followed, but could hear his footsteps crunching through the snow behind her. The world was too still in the midst of the storm, and she began to mutter to herself just to break the quiet.

"42, 42…ah!" Their room was at the very end, next to a laundry room/concession combination. Slid the old fashioned key into the lock and turned, walking in without a backward glance and hunting for a switch. She heard the door shut firmly behind her as she found the light and, clicking it on, she heard Soul whistle. In no mood, she whirled on him.


"It's sort of—small—is all." It really was. The laundry area ate into the space of a standard room, leaving barely space for the twin bed against a wall, a nightstand and lamp, a chair, and a small dresser. There were two doors at the end, across from each other. Maka could only guess that they led to a closet and the bathroom.

"Yeah, so?" It wasn't like she didn't feel the same way, but she really didn't want to hear it right now.

"So…there's one bed. One tiny bed—" she cut him off.

"It was the only room, Soul, and we're stuck in a blizzard in the middle of nowhere. One of us can sleep on the floor, alright? Whoever gets the floor gets the blankets."

"Yeah, whatever." He grumbled in response. "Fuckin' unbelievable. Coin flip then, winner pi—" he was cut off by a loud crack and boom and suddenly, they were in the dark.

"Oh Death," she sighed, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Really?" It just kept getting better. She stormed off towards where she remembered seeing the two doors, her footsteps not faltering in the darkness.

"What the hell, Maka? Where are you going?"

"To take a shower before the hot water goes, where do you think?"

"Oh. Whatever," she heard him let out a loud breath and sighed herself. It was going to be a long night.

Fumbling through the bathroom had not been easy, nor was keeping her shower minimal to make sure Soul got a shot at the quickly cooling water, but 20 minutes later, they were clean and changed and ready to go to bad. The light of a few candles, brought in by the clerk while Maka had still been in the shower, flickered softly. Apparently, the clerk had apologetically warned Soul that they would not have power back until sometime tomorrow, and that meant the heat would be gone as well. Maka groaned at this; there went the idea of someone taking the floor—they'd need to share the bed if they didn't want to freeze in this mess.

Climbing into bed, Maka flattened herself against the wall, peeling back the covers and making as much room for her weapon as she could. Even with her against the wall, he was still snuggled warmly against her and as he tucked the covers around both of them, he settled into a position which could only be described as spooning. The meister colored at the thought, glad Soul could not see her with her back to him; she had imagined this scenario many times, but never like this with both of them reluctant participants, and living it was something else. With nothing but his sleep pants and her sleep shorts and tank top between them, Maka was too aware of his body against hers, how good it felt, how right. He was her weapon and he'd made it clear enough he wasn't interested with all those comments about her fat ankles and her tiny chest—this was stupid. Really, really stupid. Shutting her eyes, she tried to force herself to calm and, the soothing, familiar presence of his body and soul soon lulled her to sleep.

Waking up the next morning with his warmth pressed against her was pleasant, blissful even. And that dream! She had had such dreams beyond counting before, of them being together, but never had they been so vivid. His nearness must have put her sleeping mind into overdrive, so lucid was her memory of the time they'd shared in her dreams, the feel of him, the taste of him and of his name on her lips cried in ecstasy, the perfect music of his voice gasping out her own name like a prayer, the bliss of surrounding him fully, of feeling him fully…

She sighed contentedly, snuggling against him at the memory before realizing two very important things. The first was that she was naked—completely stark naked. The second was that it was not cloth she nestled against but hot flesh, his flesh, part of which was poking against her thigh in a way very evocative of her dr—shit! Shit, shit, shit! What had—had they—was she—?

"Makaaa," she felt as much as heard him mumble sleepily against the skin of her back, causing her to shudder, with dread or anticipation or some mix of the two. "G'back ta sleep. 'kin hear ya thinkin' from here."

Oh my Death they had—Sweet Shinigami they really had, must have… She could still feel the stickiness between her legs, the dull, unfamiliar yet not unpleasant ache. In their sleep. In their sleep they had—and did that mean he—oh Death, oh Death, oh Death!

"'M serious, Makaaaa." He whined. "Jus' sleep."

She let out a sigh and allowed herself to snuggle further into his warmth. Whatever had happened had happened—there was no changing it now—and she was still far too exhausted to face it. She supposed they would just have to sort it out when they were both awake. For now, she allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his warm embrace as she drifted back to sleep. She had to admit, it felt an awfully lot like home.