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ghouljams · 7 months

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A Fair Trade (A First Date) Word Count: 2.7k Tags: Price x oc/reader, minor descriptions of reader but only if you really squint, fluff, first date awkwardness Summary: The Witch promised Price dinner and by God he's going to be fed. Price promised her a date, and that makes this whole thing a little harder.

You are trying and failing not to think of tonight as a date.

You've been on dates. Not good ones, and they never came to your house, but you've been on dates. You were never this nervous before. You smooth your hands over your apron, trace the embroidery with your fingers before you pat your thighs to stop your fidgeting. You're going to change while the meat is still cooking, your usual work clothes feel too plain.

It’s painfully clear you don’t dress up often as you look through your closet. Actually it might be more accurate to say you have no concept of dressy vs too dressy. Your usual uniform is casual to you, but you often have clients tell you, you look nice. Whatever that means. You shake your head and grab whatever is clean, staring at the coven clothes in the back of your closet. Too fancy. You twist the little pearl buttons on your blouse into their holes, and make a face in the mirror. It’s all too obvious you’re trying to look nice for someone.

It’s the silhouette, you think, the nipped waist and tight skirt. You huff and don’t bother to do the last few buttons, searching around your drawers for something more casual. You think you have a pair of jeans somewhere. You know your sister has tried to force denim on you enough times. God, this skirt makes everything so much harder, you’re not used to clothing sitting so close to your body.

Fuck everything you’re changing, you’ll wear one of your dresses it’ll be fine.

There’s a solid knock on your front door, your wards light up excitedly. You squeeze your eyes shut and beg for it to not be Price. You know it is. You’ll just have to tell him to wait while you finish getting ready, slipping on a pair of heels as you make your way to the curved oak door.

You tug the door open, feeling more than a little frazzled. Everything is already going wrong and now you don’t have any time to fix it. Price smiles down at you, he looks the same as always. Fantastic, once again you’re overdressed. You step to the side, bid him a quiet “please come in” and hold the door for him. He slips his hat --your hat-- from his head as he steps inside. His eyes drag over your body in a way that makes you feel far too exposed.

"Did you dress up for me?" He asks, you feel a little silly the way he says it.

"You said this was a date," which makes you feel even sillier to say.

“I did say that,” Price hums, reaches towards you, gentle fingers finish buttoning your shirt. You tip your head back instinctively for him as he twists the satin ribbon tie at the collar into a neat bow. Your breath sticks in your throat, the gesture far too intimate for a first date. “Are you nervous, sweetheart?” His fingers caress your throat and you snap your chin down, take a step back before your heart can jump out of your chest. You suppose changing is out of the question now.

“No,” Liar, “should I be?”

“Probably not,” You hate how he smiles at you, with just barely contained amusement, it’s far too charming.

“You know to behave yourself,” You turn away from him to go check on your roast, “otherwise the wards will throw you out just like last time.”

“Last time,” He mumbles, and you feel yourself wince, the ache in your chest at his tone. You shouldn’t have brought it up. Price is quiet, you’re not exactly used to him being quiet. You can feel him, his magic like a still lake, deep dark waters hardly stirring the secrets at the bottom. You still glance over your shoulder to make sure he’s actually in the house when he’s gone too long in silence.

He’s looking around your living room, picking up framed pictures and smiling down at the happy faces. His eyes dart to the wood beams of your ceiling, to the overstuffed couch, the knitted afghans, nothing you find terribly interesting. All of your materials are kept closer to the kitchen. If he wanted to snoop he should’ve chosen one of your glass cabinets, not your bookshelf. You shrug and pull your ceramic pot from the oven, you don’t have anything that needs to be hidden.

You settle your main on the counter and go to grab plates. You figure you can get dinner plated while he’s busy putting his scent all over everything. You can feel his magic clinging to whatever he’s touched. It’ll take you weeks to get it fully out of your house. You try not to think about the magical cleaning you’ll have to do when he leaves, focusing instead on slicing thick cuts off the bread you’d baked earlier.

Your grandmother would be quite proud of you for all the cooking you’ve done. Everything is fresh and cooked to perfection. It’s quite a nice plate if you do say so yourself: warm bread, tender meat with a rich thick sauce, and roasted vegetables with just a hint of char. Everything smells of warm herbs and careful preparation. Cooking is a magic in and of itself, one you’re thankful you had a good teacher for.

You grab both plates to set at their respective places on your table. Not exactly formal dining, but then again your family has never been a formal dining sort of people. Still, you have the prerequisite candles, wine, cloth napkins and butterflies in your stomach. You look for Price, finally having made his way to your curio cabinet. He turns a pair of dragonfly wings over in his hand.

“Dinner’s ready,” You raise your voice enough to be sure he’ll hear you over whatever he’s thinking. He settles the wings back in their place as he looks at you. His eyes drift down to the table.

“You served me,” Price sounds, almost confused, but- hm, indulgent, maybe. His voice is thick with something you haven’t heard before, deeper in his chest than it usually is. Something about it makes you want to touch him, conjures the feeling of sitting on his lap as you take your own seat.

“You’re my guest,” You tell him, “I’m a good host.”

“So you are,” He pulls his designated chair out to sit, and pauses again, leaning to pick up the fork you’d laid out for him. “This is fairy made,” He twists the intricate wooden utensil between his fingers, you nod.

“You’re not the only fae I deal with,” You pick up your own fork, the wood curves comfortably in your hand.

“Apparently,” Price smiles, finally sitting, “anyone I should be jealous of?” You snort.

“I should hope not. If I had to deal with anyone half as stubborn as you-” You shake your head, clear the sentence from your thoughts, “Besides I rarely cook for others. Too much-” you wave your hand, “idle magic to keep track of.”

Price hums. What you want to tell him is that cooking is such a labor of love, that it’s almost impossible to serve anything to anyone who isn’t going to stick around. That clearing your intent and keeping it clear the whole time you cook is far more than what a normal person has to go through, even if they’re just making toast. That every recipe seems to call for the same herbs that love and health spells call for, and you’ve never been able to shut your brain off from the association. That even sharing a meal with your friends makes you worry you’ll accidentally put a spell on them, and they’ll never trust what you give them again. That even though you love cooking you never stop being a witch, putting magic into everything that touches you.

Price watches you, your faux casual air. You know he has a better nose than your mundane friends, you dread to hear if your food smells like a spell. His eyes are so warm as you meet his gaze. It always surprises you that such an icy blue could be anything but cold, and yet.

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble for me,” He says, picking up his knife and beginning to slice through the meat on his plate. You open your mouth to refute it, and grab your wine to sip instead. There’s no point in lying when it’s so painfully clear.

Wood, ceramic, copper, your kitchen seems almost made for fae comfort in its current state. Not a lick of iron anywhere it could’ve infected the food.

Instead you flick your wrist, your little record player excitedly switching itself on and carefully setting its needle on your pre-approved vinyl. You let the machine deal with the fiddly bits as your magic works to try and even itself out around the traces Price has left.

“I promised you a meal, you should be able to eat it,” You finally manage, doing your best to focus on your own food when your stomach is twisting itself into knots.

“Thank God for that,” Price tells you, “if I can’t eat you, at least I can eat your food.” You both watch the candles burst in crackling flames, bright enthusiastic licks of fire that you do your best to calm down. Magic reacting to your emotions. The record player skips a beat with your fluttering heart. “Cute,” He says it so casually, like your flames don’t crackle with his every word.

“Shut up,” You grumble.

If you’d thought dinner would be the hardest part of the evening you were horribly wrong. Dinner is easy. You’ve taken tea with Price enough times, had enough conversations with him, that you find it easy to fall into your familiar groove. Though you can feel time passing, can hear the soft click and chime of your clocks, you get lost talking. Before you know it hours have passed. Your candles burned down, your plates clean, the previously full bottle of wine neatly polished off. You think your record has reset itself at least once.

It’s nice, comfortable. Price always gives you his full attention, listens without simply waiting for his turn to speak, and you return the favor. Although with how intelligent he is, it would be hard not to give him your full attention. This date thing is easy. You don’t know why you were so worried.

All of your awkward anxiety rushes at you as you stand at the door. You’ve never been good at ending dates, and you’ve never had a date go well with someone you’re- Well you suppose you can admit that you like Price more than you should. Like him enough to hesitate the ending. You stare at him, trying to get a read on his mood, trying to silently ask him to do something. Please tell me how this is supposed to end, you think at him.

“You have to tell me if you want something little witch,” He smiles down at you.

"Would you kiss me?" You don't know what else to say, how else this could possibly go. You want him to kiss you more than anything. You had it once, and you haven't stopped thinking about it since. Price smiles, and pulls you into his arms.

He kisses you and it's nothing like it was last time. The blind panic is gone for one. It's slow and soft, it's not perfect, you don't know what to do with your hands or really what to do with your mouth, but it doesn't matter. Price kisses you like he never wants to do anything else, like the world can wait for him to finish. You're warm from the dinner and you can feel it bleed into the kiss. His beard tickles a little but the way he holds you and the soft slide of his lips make everything else melt away.

When he pulls away you can still feel the phantom press of his lips against yours, and it makes giddy bubbles pop in your ribs and across your cheeks. You want to kiss him again. Price smiles and brushes your hair back, his rough calloused fingers gentle as they skate across your skin. You really must be greedy to want so much more of him. You try to coach yourself, too much of a good thing blah blah blah.

He cups the back of your head and kisses you again. Soft, soft, soft. You didn't know kissing someone would feel like this. You've seen movies, read books, but you'd thought those must be exaggerations. When you'd kissed him before it had been so insistent, all teeth and tongue as he tried to devour you. If you'd thought he was trying to steal you away then you can't even imagine what he's trying to do now. Your chest clenches tight, pulls taught, bursts with gnawing desire, you think you might be trying to steal him, or at least convince him you're worth staying for.

Not that he needs convincing, you are more than worth staying for. You're so sweet and warm from the wine. Your lips are plush against his and your pretty little fingers hold onto him so tightly, he wouldn't leave you if the whole court called him. There's a slight tang of alcohol on your lips that makes your kiss all the sweeter.

Your hands slide to his shoulders as you press up on your toes, press closer against him. He wraps his arm around your waist, keeping you flush against his chest. As if he could keep you any closer, feel any more of your warmth. Oh you sweet thing, if he could sink into you he would, each honeyed kiss, each gentle breath, plucking at the last string of his resolve. Precious darling, do you even know how well loved you are?

You pull back, turn your head so his next kiss just catches the edge of your mouth. Price is ravenous for you, sliding his lips to your jaw, he can smell your pulse, the soft powdery rose of your perfume. How could he still be so hungry after eating? He can feel the syrup drip of your magic down his spine, languid and entirely too enticing. Actually, everything in the house seems to tremble just on the edge of your breaths, seems to weigh heavy against his shoulders, anticipatory.

It’s not just his hunger, is it?

His lips still against your neck. No, it’s yours as well. He can smell it, taste it on your skin, your want. You’re a spell, as much as you try not to be, just begging to be adored. You’re nervous. He pulls back, takes in the pout of your lips, the draw of your brows, wanting but unsure. He can’t. You deserve better than just hungry wanting. You should rest safe in the knowledge that he won’t leave in the morning.

Unfortunately that morning won’t come tomorrow.

Price strokes your cheek, kisses your forehead. It’s the end of an exchange, a decision made for both of you. you thought he’d be pushier. He was getting what he wanted, right? Maybe that was your own inexperience shining through, but you’d thought- Well you’d thought this was why he wanted you.

“What now?” You ask, trying to hide the confusion in your voice.

“Now?” He sighs it like it pains him, “Now, I leave, and you see me tomorrow.” You can’t say you aren’t relieved. Grateful that he isn’t pushing you for more so quickly. Still, you can’t help feeling a small sting of rejection.

"Even if I ask you to stay?" You push up onto your toes to try and meet his lips again, but he leans back to keep you a breath away.

"Especially if you ask." He tilts his head, and you feel like you’ve edged too close to a dangerous line. "When I fuck you," Price breathes, brushes his lips against yours, "and I will fuck you, Sweetheart," he assures you, "I want it to mean something.” He brushes your hair from your cheek, his fingers cupping your face like you’re something precious to him.

“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow?” You hope. Price smiles, and kisses you a final time. The feeling of him lingers when he pulls away. Gentle magic sticking to your lips as he pulls his hat on.

“And every day after that,” He promises.

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duckdotimg · 9 months

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Trad Goth Girls Rule My World (Take 2)

#sorry for the weird formatting but the last one looked so bad in both compositions.... maybe I'll change it in the future #duck.png #trad goth #none of these are ocs #just mishmash of various inspo images

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cambriancutie · 28 days

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ouch

#my art #doodle #oc #splatoon #agent 3 #neo agent 3 #captain 3 #edit. formatting

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leona-florianova · 3 months

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Do you love the color of falling adventurers?

a commission for @hagsploitation420

(thank ye for commissioning me o///)

#dnd #other peoples cool ocs #they didnt notice there was no ground :C #fantasy #dungeons and dragons #art #commission #this was very interesting commission to work on #because of the weird format :D #very fun to work on #my art

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lemongogo · 9 months

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oh yeah , & ww and vash from the drawpile yday ^__^

#i wasnt sure who did or didnt want their stuff posted so i just cropped these but😭😭#re-l ghosttmachine crowlore gibear etcetc if yall want i can post the full one or i can compile them in cropped formats #or u can post it if u saved it WHATAVERRR #just w/o the blue colored character at the bottom of the canvas bc my friend wants that oc private :33!#trigun #trigun maximum #vash #wolfwood #lg doodles

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wolfjessedragon · 10 months

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Based on @liliacamethyst Webs of series

Webs of What if

Part 1- Webs of Forgiveness

“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of Sunny’s tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?” Miguel was about to respond when he caught a glimpse of Sunny. Her eyes were bloodshot and teary, a vivid reflection of the weight she was carrying within. Time seemed to stand still as Miguel's gaze locked with hers, capturing the silent plea hidden behind those teary orbs.

In that moment fate offered Miguel a choice….

Miguel: *sigh* Yeah just give us a couple minutes.

Jessica: Alright, I’ll see what we can do. *heads out*

Miguel: Okay say what you- *he sees that she’s trembling at that his gaze softens a bit* Is every-

Sunny: I’m pregnant

Miguel: ……What?

Sunny: I just found out a few days ago, had every test done to make sure, and they were all positive. I am pregnant, with your baby.

*Suddenly the monitors start going off like crazy, Miguel still in shock, Sunny looks to see it’s a symbiote variant.*

Sunny: They need you with them, go.

Miguel: I- I-

Sunny: Go!

Miguel: *about to go out the door then turns back to Sunny* Just stay in here, we can talk more about it after I get this under control, okay?

Sunny: Okay *gives a reassuring smile*

Miguel: *gives her a quick kiss then runs*

After the breach was taken care of…

Miguel: *Gets back into his office, pretty beat up, and Sunny comes to help him.* I’m fi-

Sunny: Save it *She props him on his desk chair and starts nursing his wounds.*

Miguel: *Just watches, a million thoughts going through his head. Despite the many voices telling him that this shouldn’t be happening. That what he and Sunny have was nothing but a way to release a cardinal urge and that the fetus growing was a stupid consequence, he couldn’t convince himself of that…*

Sunny: *As she finishes the last stitch she looks at Miguel who is just staring at her abdomen.* I’m roughly at nine weeks, give or take. *Unsure of what else to say, she cautiously takes Miguel’s free hand and places it on her abdomen.*

Miguel: *In that moment all forms of doubt silenced. As his hand rested on her abdomen he couldn’t help but smile a little as he thought about the tiny life growing in there.*

Sunny: *inhale* Do you want to be part of this? *Miguel looks up at her but she cuts him off.* Look with or without you, I’m doing this. You can’t change my mind on that. If I have to raise this baby on my own I’ll do just that. I just thought you should know and I should give you that choice because… I care a lot about you Miguel. Like a lot. And I- I- *tears started welling up in her eyes as she struggled to find the words*

Miguel: *gently caresses her face and looks into her eyes reassuringly, he sighs* I want to be part of this

Sunny: What?

Miguel: I want to be involved… *He gently pulls her in closer* I- I care a lot about you too *His hand never leaves her abdomen.*

Sunny: Y-you really mean it?

Miguel: Yes

Sunny: *passionately kisses him*

Miguel: *doesn’t pull back instead wraps his arms around her*

Later in Miguel’s apartment..

Sunny: *Lies there, completely naked, in his bed, Miguel’s arms gently wrapped around her with one of his hands caressing her abdomen as they spoon.*

Miguel: *Plants soft kisses along her face and neck as he holds her even closer.* Te amo Soleada..

Sunny: *Turns her head to him and smiles softly with tears rolling out of her eyes* I love you too Miguel..

*They kiss and soon fall asleep while embracing one another.*

The next morning…

Sunny: *When she woke up rather than the coldness of her alone in bed again, she felt warmth. A sleeping Miguel was still holding her close to him. She tried to move only to feel Miguel’s grip to gently tighten around her. She couldn’t help but smile as she closed her eyes again.*

Miguel: *Wakes up and looks at seemingly still asleep Sunny. Careful not to wake her he leans to her abdomen and kisses it.* Hi little one, this is your dad. I don’t know if you can really hear me right now, I like to think you can. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that although you’re just the size of a kumquat right now, I already love you so much…. You and your mom are the best things to happen to me in a long time. *As if the floodgates opened he starts crying. Tears of regret and of happiness. He catches his breath as her hand gently caresses his face.*

Sunny: *She smiles softly at him and places a peck on his lips.* Good morning *She whispers as she wipes away a tear.*

Miguel: *He blushes and hides his face in her chests then mumbles* Buena

Sunny: *giggles and hugs him*

A bit later…

Miguel: Sorry I don’t have much besides cereal, I’d make you something else but I believe me when I say I’m sparing you.

Sunny: *giggles* You can’t be that bad at cooking

Miguel: The pots and pans I had destroyed over the years would say otherwise. *chuckles*

Sunny: *chuckles* It’s alright Miguel, cereal is more than alright. *Eats and notices Miguel just staring at her* What?

Miguel: Oh nothing *Liar. He notices she has the pregnancy glow, and doesn’t want to admit that he thinks she’s beautiful.* So… does anyone else know?

Sunny: Just Peter B. Parker

Miguel: *groans* Out of all-

Sunny: Hey, he’s my best friend, practically my brother. And he only knows that I’m pregnant, not about you being the father. And honestly you should thank him.

Miguel: Thank him?

Sunny: Had he not said “Maybe you should reconsider telling the father.” I wouldn’t have told you at all.

Miguel: ….What?

Sunny: You heard me

Miguel: I- *At that moment Miguel remembered the fact that this was their first morning together. That after every night they were together he’d leave her before the first ray of daylight and she’d have to wake up alone. How throughout the day he’d hardly look or talk to her. Then of course there was yesterday, and how he almost threw it all away. He took her, his companion in the darkness, the woman now carrying his unborn child, his Soleada, for granted.*

Sunny: Miguel?

Miguel: …I’m sorry

Sunny: What?

Miguel: I’m sorry for all the times that I made you feel… alone.

Sunny: *lays a hand on her abdomen and grasps one of Miguel’s hands with the other*

[Authors Note: Hi everyone, so this is the first part of a what if series, warning lots of fluff and angst ahead. I urge y’all to check out the original series by @liliacamethyst she is an amazing writer and hers is pretty groundbreaking. Also sorry not sorry for the drastic differences in formatting, I just write better in script style. I still hope y’all enjoy it. Anyways have a wonderful day and see y’all in part two.]

[Also please feel free to comment and stuff, I love reading y’all feedback.]

#fanfiction #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #what if #my writing #wolfjessedragon #liliacamethyst #collab story #web series #script format #fluff #angst #sue me for wanting characters to have happiness #miguel x oc

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lunarpeonie · 9 months

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midnight in the ocean

In which Geto is a sweet pea and tries to help you, but you’re just not a morning person.

2.2k words, fluff

Mornings were easily your least favorite part of the day. You were a night owl and as such, spent the dark hours of the night searching random questions on Google like Why are clouds white? and scrolling through Tiktok. However, recently your late night plans had been foiled by a certain long haired, gauge wearing sorcerer whose name might rhyme with meadow. Geto had been on a crusade to get you to bed earlier ever since you had slept through three alarms and six phone calls from him the morning of a semi-important (read: very important) mission a week earlier. So what if you had been a little late? A few hours late when a curse had been there for weeks really didn’t make a difference. (Only… it did. You had been assigned the mission with specific directions to attack the curse at sunrise because that had been its weakest point during the day, before it could take cover in a dark crevasse of the abandoned building it was inhabiting. Something about it being manifested by people’s fear of the dark and it being afraid of the rising sun. Instead of an easy fight like you had expected, you had been thrown through a few more walls than you would’ve liked.)

Ever since, Geto had been trying his hardest to get you to bed early to avoid any other possible incidents. He was being ‘responsible.’ Whatever.

Attempt 1

First, he had taken your phone and hid it deep within the confines of his baggy pants after returning to the dorms from an outing with your classmates.

“Are you serious right now? Give me my phone back, Geto.” He shot you back his tight lipped smile, eyes shaped like crescent moons.

“Ah, no can do. You need to start a habit of getting to bed earlier. What better way to do that than to rid yourself of your main distraction?” Your jaw dropped. The audacity of this man to act like you were an unruly child in need of parenting. Sure, was it a little irresponsible to keep up your night owl activities when you had to be up early in the morning some days? Yes, you could admit that. But that didn’t mean you needed someone else, someone your own age, to parent you.

“If you think that putting my phone in your pants is going to stop me from getting it, you really must not know me well enough.” You challenged, eyes narrowing so that he knew you meant business. He just continued to smile back at you in a way that was starting to feel a little condescending.

“Try it.”

This had ended with you crouching on top of Geto, foot to his neck, and hand fishing down his pants. (Awkward in retrospect, but you were desperate and on a mission to get your phone before your favorite Tiktoker went on live for the night. You only wished that Gojo hadn’t been walking by at the same time. He now had a plethora of pictures from what he deemed “the indecent incident” and was determined to remind you of it every chance he got.)

Attempt 2

The next thing Geto tried was another tactic that made you feel like an unruly 5 year old. A knock on your dorm door had you pausing the DIY rug making video you had been watching and rolling your desk chair over to answer it. Standing on the other side of it was Geto wearing his signature smile once again. He was clad in his silky black pajamas and had his eye mask sitting on top of his head.

“Can I help you with something?” You rolled your eyes, knowing that him showing up at your door at 11PM meant he was trying to prove a point.

“Yes, you can.” He said cheerily. Much too cheerily for past 10. This was ‘me’ time that he was interrupting. “You can try these.” He held up a purple jar with Z’s plastered on the label. “Maybe then you can get to bed at a reasonable hour. You do know that we are supposed to be on the road to exorcize that cursed spirit at the elementary school by 8AM tomorrow?” You stuck out your hand to grab the jar and leaned your head closer to the label to see exactly what he meant by these.

For a healthy sleep cycle. SLEEP! No next day grogginess!

“Are these…” You started, “Melatonin gummies?” He happily nodded his head, his inky bangs swaying back and forth as he did so. You could feel your blood pressure rising with irritation that he had interrupted your ‘me’ time for something so stupid. You still had 20 minutes left on your rug making video and there could be dire consequences if you didn’t finish it. Didn’t he understand that? So, out of frustration, you aimed for the biggest target (his head) and threw.

You were late again the next morning.

Attempt 3

It was a few days later when sitting at a bench along the many walkways around the school, ready to chow down on your lunch of leftover pepperoni pizza, Geto plopped down on the bench beside and laid a white, half moon shaped contraption between you.

“Uh, what is that thing?” You asked with a mouthful of pizza, closing the latest edition of a teen gossip magazine that you had been lazily flipping through.

“A sound machine, it makes a variety of sounds and the reviews say that it helps put babies to sleep.” You could already feel a vein throbbing on your forehead at the thought of Geto treating you like a kid once again. He began pressing buttons on the machine to show you just how many it made. After shuffling through fan noises, whale noises, and copious static noises, you placed your hand on top of his as a signal to stop.

Closing your eyes, the words began to roll out before you could stop them, “Look, it’s not that I’m against going to bed early and going on a normal sleep routine. I go to bed late because I have a hard time sleeping by myself. At home, I always had someone around. I shared a room with my sister, so I never had to sleep alone. I just… don’t feel safe when I sleep alone.” You sighed, feeling embarrassed to admit the real reason behind your wacky sleep schedule.

Geto’s signature smile lit up his face. “Why didn’t you just tell me that? We could’ve had this solved so much sooner!”

“Yeah, how?” You asked, confused and eyebrow raised.

“I’ll just sleep in your room from now on.” Time screeched to a halt. Birds stopped chirping. Wind stopped flowing. Did… you hear him correctly?

“Do you know how seriously indecent it is for you to propose something like that?!? What kind of girl do you take me for??” You rolled up the magazine you had been flicking through and began hitting that tall pervert with it like he deserved.

“Ah no! You misunderstand. I only mean to help, nothing indecent! I’ll sleep on the floor. Just so that I’m in the room and it’ll be enough for you to comfortably fall asleep.”

You paused in your magazine assault and contemplated this offer. You did love having the extra time to browse the internet, but you were always sluggish in the morning and didn’t recover until late afternoon. As much as you tried to hide it, it was really starting to drag you down.

Hesitantly you replied, “Okay… we’ll try it. But no funny business, I’m serious! One weird look and you’re getting kicked out.” You waved the curled magazine around in the air to emphasize your point.

•

That night, right as the clock struck 9:30, you heard a steady knock, knock, knock on your door. Opening the door, a pajama-clad Geto Suguru leaned into your doorway, pillow and blanket in hand. “Are you ready for our sleepover?”

You blinked twice and tried to remind (read: convince) yourself that this was a good idea. As long as no one (Gojo) found out.

“Come in,” you said with an arm extended to the small space. “You can set your stuff up right here. I moved my rug to the corner so that you had some space.” You pointed to the cherry print rug wadded up in a haphazard ball. Rug making had not exactly worked out well for you, so that may as well be its home forever. You sat on the edge of your bed, nails digging into the soft down bedding, as Geto arranged his things on the floor. You were nervous. You’d never had a guy sleep over before, even if this wasn’t like that.

Geto had placed his striped blanket directly on the floor and his pillow in the opposite direction of where yours laid on your bed. “Are you sure you’re going to be comfortable sleeping on the floor? I feel kind of bad… since you’re the one doing me a favor.”

“I’ll be fine. As long as this helps you, I’m happy.” There was that smile again. You would never admit it out loud, but his smile felt like warm rays of sunshine and you were thawing from the cold. He truly was a kind soul. What kind of person sacrifices their own comfort just to make sure that their classmate can get a good night’s rest? A generous one.

Biting down on your bottom lip, maybe it was your nerves talking, but you couldn’t help but offer, “Do you want to sleep on the bed? I feel really bad about you sleeping on the floor. I could make an indestructible pillow wall to separate us.” You fidgeted with a string on your plaid pajama bottoms, unable to look him in the eye while you offered and awaited his answer.

“Sure, I’ll even help you build the wall. I need to make sure you don’t cut corners and damage the structural integrity of it.” He winked. You felt a quick flutter in your stomach, gone almost as fast as it had come. Together, you worked quickly to arrange the pillows into double layered stacks neatly down the middle of the bed, with the occasional break to hit each other with them. Designating the wall side to Geto, you watched as he climbed over the pillow wall to lay down. You gulped, feeling your pulse quicken. Are we really about to do this?

Geto extended a long arm and patted your side of the bed. “No sense in wasting more time. If we don’t get to bed now, we’ll continue your bad habit.”

Wrapping your blanket tightly around your shoulders, you nodded your head and flicked off the corner lamp. Moonlight continued to flood in through the windows on the other side of the room. Your feet made a light pitter patter as you took a few small steps to get to the bed, now with considerably less space due to the large man laying in it. Geto slid his finger through the black elastic holding his hair in a bun and flicked it to the floor. His hair fell down past his shoulders in dark waves like the ocean at midnight. He was beautiful. This wasn’t calming your nerves one bit. Still, gaining your courage, you gently laid next to your artfully built wall of fluff and turned your head up to the man occupying your bed.

“Thank you for doing this. It was really kind of you.” A pink blush began to fill the apples of your cheeks and you could only hope that it was hidden by the darkness in the room. Geto didn’t say anything, instead opting to pat your head with his large hand, fingers dipping into your hair. Closing your eyes, you felt more comfort than you had ever felt, even at home. You knew, with one half of the strongest duo laying next to you, there wasn’t a safer place in the world than where you were at this moment.

As sleep began to take its hold, you almost caught a whispered voice replying, “For you? Anything.”

Sometime during the night, the pillow wall had scattered across the bed and a strong, muscled arm made its way around your stomach. The both of you chose not to mention it in the morning.

•

It had been a month since you started this charade and you had never felt better. Who knew a full night’s sleep (conveniently with your own personal very attractive furnace) could make you feel so great? With a sigh, you turned over to face the formidable pillow wall between you and Geto, only to find him peering over it already awake. You giggled, butterflies fluttering through your stomach. That had been happening more often around Geto recently. His gentle manner and the way he took care of you had caused feelings to blossom deep down in your chest.

“You know,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve never been a morning person, but then I started waking up to your face and… Maybe mornings aren’t that bad, after all.”

You never had a problem getting to sleep early again. Geto made sure of that.

fin.

Inspired by a prompt from @dumplingsjinson on Tumblr! Cross posted to ao3.

I demand more Geto fluff!!!! I can fix him, I swear! I had a blast writing this (even though it was at 1AM…). The writing bug caught me and I couldn’t stop until I was done.

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