I'm back! I lost the notes with my prompts, so sorry if they aren't in order. I'll be working on the others, and I always accept more! New chapters will be squeezed in between my regular fics.
Soul had his back to the wall, ready to accept the death blow that was certainly coming. It was inevitable, really, with the look his girlfriend was giving him as she held up the tiny scrap of purple material that masqueraded as a pair of panties.
Panties that she had found shoved in the back of a drawer that she had been cleaning out.
Panties that were not hers.
"Explain. Now." she growled, causing Soul to shiver. She sounded downright dangerous.
He knew he should have gotten rid of them, but they had been so damn expensive, his inner cheapskate just wouldn't let him, insisting that he could find another use for them.
Sure. 101 Ways to Repurpose Sexy Underwear.
"I know what this looks like, but put the pitchfork down for a second, okay? Those are actually yours, so there's no reason for you to get upset!" he spoke quickly, knowing his time on earth was short if he couldn't make her believe him.
"Like hell they are! God, Soul, I think I can recognize my own underwear! And these most definitely aren't mine! What's more, they're purple! I would never, ever wear purple panties, but there's someone around here who does!"
This wasn't good. He saw her lower lip start to quiver, the purple lace hanging between them accusingly.
"I didn't know that when I bought them! How do you think I felt after spendin' so much on so little, only to hear you say you hate purple underwear? And I'd already removed the tags, so I couldn't even exchange them!"
The fire died in Maka's eyes, to be replaced by confused curiosity. "You bought them...for me? But this isn't one of the colors you usually would pick..."
Soul rubbed his neck, blushing as he muttered, "I know, but I thought they would look really hot with that huge purple sweater that you wear, and next thing I knew, I had paid for it."
She digested that for a few seconds, then nodded briskly, turning on her heel to leave the room.
"Hey, wait! Where are you goin'?" Soul panicked. Damn it, why hadn't he just cleaned his own stuff instead of being a lazy ass until Maka did it for him?
Maka looked over her shoulder with a wicked smirk that had him shivering for another reason. He knew that look, and liked it.
"I'm going to go put on my sweater, of course. Then I'll give you a chance to change my mind about purple...if you're up for it."
Soul smiled toothily as she left the room. Oh, he was definitely up...and wondering if there were any more colors that he needed to help her reconsider.
There was one thing Soul hated to do more than anything else. More than dishes, more than laundry; even more than cleaning the bathroom. And that thing was having to carry Maka.
It didn't happen a lot, but still more often than what he wanted to deal with. It was always after an intense battle, her body draped over his back, arms dangling over his shoulders while he clutched her thighs, something he dreamed of doing, but not like this. It was during these times that he was painfully aware of just how light she was, her bones more thin and delicate than you would think when you pictured Maka. It was as if she had poured all of her strength and energy into the fight (she had, actually. She always did), leaving him holding a thin, bloodied shell of his meister.
He didn't hate it because he thought her weak in any way. The very idea of a weak Maka was ridiculous. He hated it because he saw it as a sign of his own failing, that maybe, if he had been a better weapon, she would be able to walk away on her own two feet. Sometimes, he was so filled with disgust and self-loathing over the fact that he was helpless to do anything but carry her until she was able to fight again...She really should find a weapon that was strong enough for her.
Black*Star bounced over to where Maka sat leaning against a rock, blood trickling from a broken lip and dozens of other shallow cuts. None of the attacks had hit her deeply, but one blow that had snuck through their defenses had cracked several ribs.
"Damn, Maka! Looked like you got knocked about twenty yards away! Soul don't look much better, so lemme carry you to Stein." he offered, crouching next to her.
She batted him away, then stretched her arms out to Soul, who was stoically enduring the cuts on his back, deep purple and blue bruises already forming on his skin. He ignored his friend's knowing smirk as he backed away to let Soul scoop her up, having to hold her in his arms instead of on his back due to their combined injuries.
"You know, Black*Star could've carried you better. He could get you there faster, too." he said quietly as he walked, not looking down at her.
She tugged at the front of his shirt, demanding his attention. When their eyes met, she answered, "It has to be you, Soul. No one else can carry my weight like you do."
He snorted. "Like you weigh anything. I swear, when we get home, I'm gonna make you eat an entire cake."
Maka slapped his chest half-heartedly. "That's not what I meant! What I mean is...not just physically. No one else is strong enough to deal with me. Tsubaki is too nice, and would let me walk all over her. Black*Star would kill me, if I didn't kill him first. I guess what I'm trying to say is, you're the only one who has the strength to support me like I need, so I don't really like letting anyone else carry me when I'm weak."
Soul grinned, her words making her feel even lighter in his arms. Maybe he wasn't the most powerful weapon out there, but she had just told him he was the one she needed, the only one for her, and that's all that really mattered.
He would carry her, for just as long as she needed.
While Soul and Maka usually alternated who cooked supper, breakfast was another matter. They had tried taking turns, but Soul was such a slug in the morning (more than usual), Maka ended up having to kick him out of bed, and then supervise him so he didn't fall asleep at the stove. Finally, she decided it would just be easier to do it herself, and Soul happily agreed, pleased he would have an extra thirty minutes burrowed in his blankets. This meant that Maka got to decide what to cook, which was fine, since she believed in a substantial breakfast, which Soul heartily agreed with. The only problem was that she hardly ever made pancakes, which was one of his absolute favorites.
So this morning, when he awoke to the sweet, seductive smell wafting from the kitchen, he had bolted out of bed before she had even had to call for him, practically skipping to his chair in nothing but a pair of blue and white plaid pajama pants. There was already a plate set out for him, and he frowned. Maka knew he could easily eat twice that amount. Shrugging, he figured that she had just set those out to start with, so he sat down, drenching the small stack with an obscene amount of syrup. Taking the first bite of golden, fluffy heaven, he closed his eyes, opening them a few moments later to catch her amused look.
"Wha oo ookin' ahth?" he asked around a mouthful of hotcake.
Maka grimaced at the sight, quickly averting her eyes as she sat down with her own plate. "Ugh, Soul, chew with your mouth closed! And you should slow down and enjoy them. We didn't have as much mix as I thought, so this is it."
Soul froze momentarily. The one day she decided to make his favorite, and there was barely enough for a taste! He grumbled a bit, but took her advice, trying to make it last as long as possible. As careful as he was, he still finished ahead of her, and stared jealously at her plate. She didn't notice, something she paid for when she got up to pour herself some juice. She turned back around to find her last two pancakes sliding down his throat, his look of satisfaction morphing into horror once he saw her watching him, realizing what he had just done.
He waited to be chopped senseless, but her next move, while aggressive, was not what he was expecting. Her face was thrust forcefully into his, her tongue darting out to lick the ring of syrup from around his mouth.
"You stole my pancakes." she stated.
He could only nod, eyes focused on her lips, scant inches from his.
"I wasn't done eating, and I'm still hungry. I think it's only fair that you take their place, right?"
Again, he nodded, praying desperately that this was going where he thought it was. He gave a relieved whimper in the back of his throat as she took his lower lip between her teeth, as if she was determined to get every last drop of her purloined pancakes and their topping.
"Hmm...it always amazes me how there are certain things you can't eat without getting them all over your face." she murmured.
"Only happens when I really enjoy my...meal." Soul replied suggestively, playing along with her.
She had straddled one of his thighs, her hand stroking him through the thin material of his pants. His groans were becoming more desperate as he bucked his hips, and much to his distress, she removed her hand. When she tugged at the waistband, he was helpless to resist raising himself up so she could pull them down to his knees, but he became apprehensive when she took the syrup bottle in hand before kneeling in front of him.
"Maka, ah, um, do you really think that's a good idea? As much as I like what you're doin', I don't think-"
He struggled to voice his concerns, knowing that the sticky fluid would be far from lubricating, and might actually wind up being quite painful.
"It's paybaaaack~" she sang, causing beads of sweat to pop out on his forehead. "Good grief Soul, just trust me."
She tipped the bottle, squeezing a small amount onto her fingers, then transferred it to the head of his cock. He shuddered a bit at the sensation, but quickly forgot his misgivings when she began to lap at him, her tongue swirling up the syrup before it had a chance to drip onto his shaft. She sucked on the head firmly, ensuring that all traces of the topping was removed, her hands working what didn't fit easily into her mouth. It wasn't long before Soul came, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly.
Panting, he watched her stand, but took her arm and yanked her to him before she could move away. His hand reached for the bottle as he pushed her onto the table.
His mouth stretched into a wide grin. "I could go for seconds myself."
Maka had many things to be proud of. She was bold, intelligent and courageous, one of the top meisters in her grade. But pride has a darker side, and that's what she was dealing with now. She and Soul had always bickered, that's just who they were. It had never, except for maybe during that one time with the stupid candles, had any real malice in it. You couldn't tell that from the fights they had been having lately though. They seemed to be getting worse and worse, and here, in the privacy of her own room, she could admit to herself that it had been her fault. She knew she wasn't the easiest person to deal with, but Soul had always managed better than anyone else, always seeming to know when to push her, and when to let her be. Which would be great, but she hadn't been giving him much of a choice, forcing the fight on him, never backing down, even though she knew he was right.
Standing, she heaved a deep sigh, grudgingly deciding she should go and try to make up with him, even though her temper was still a bit too warm for civilized discourse. She walked quietly to the living room, where he still sat after their most recent shouting match. When he looked up from where he had sat hunched over, forehead resting in his palms, she took a step back, releasing a small gasp.
His eyes were dull, as if all the fight had gone out of him. He waited without speaking, as if resigned to the inevitability of her next verbal attack. The way his body language expressed more than words just how done he was with this frightened her. Suddenly, the understanding of just how difficult she had been to live with hit her with a painful clarity. If she kept this up, she was running the very real risk of pushing him away. No one could keep up under the emotional barrage she had been pressing on him. No one should have to. The thought of losing her weapon, her friend, her lover, over something as foolish as her stubborn pride made her eyes well with tears, her throat closing up as she came to stand before him.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Maka, I really don't feel like going into this right now, so-"
"I'm sorry." Maka blurted, the words coming out in a rush, followed by a hiccuping sob that she tried unsuccessfully to swallow.
Soul blinked up at her, taking in the change in her demeanor for the first time. "What?" he asked carefully, afraid he had misheard her.
"I said I'm sorry! For this stupid fight, for my attitude lately, for the shitty way I've been treating you! I'm sorry, Soul."
He was quiet for so long, that she felt her heart begin to break, sure she had finally lost him for good. Her vision was blurry through tears, and she stumbled as she turned away, but two hands shot out to her hips, pulling her into his lap. She sat there stiffly, unsure of what to do.
"I forgive you."
His words were simple, but his tone was sincere, and her body relaxed as she cried into his shoulder, his arms circling her in a comforting manner.
"How can you say that? If you had any sense, you'd be running in the opposite direction to look for someone less troublesome." her voice was watery, and she felt bad for drenching him, but she couldn't bring herself to release the tight grip he had on the front of his shirt.
"Good thing I don't have any sense, then, isn't it?" he cracked, earning a shaky laugh. It had been days since he had joked with her, she realized, and she had missed his snark.
"Yeah, you can be a handful to deal with, I'll give you that. But you more than make up for it once you get over whatever it is that sets you off. And you have the strength to say you're sorry. And mean it. How could I stay mad after that?"
He was letting her off easy, she knew, as they sat there and he stroked her hair. It was going to take more than just an apology to put them back to normal, but it was a start. She would do her best to make it up to him. After all, she had someone who was willing to stand by her not just through the happy times, the easy times, but someone who would stick through the rough patches as well, when no one would blame him for leaving. His loyalty was incredible, his love for her strong enough to weather the storm of her ever changing moods. He was everything she could ask for, and more.
And that was something that she could take pride in.
He had that look in his eyes again, the look that sent shivers dancing up and down her spine like fingers on piano keys. It was a familiar look with subtle variations that she had become adept at reading over the years. The first one was obvious, anyone could see it as he gazed at a meal set before him, eyes lighting up as he dug in. Then there were the times right before he swallowed a soul, the look of smug satisfaction after a hard battle washing over him as it slid down his throat. It also happened when he listened to a piece of music he particularly enjoyed, head tilted back in ecstasy as he seemed to absorb the music into his very being.
But this expression was darker, more intense, the red of his eyes deepening to a richer shade of red. The look of almost painful hunger he wore right before he consumed her, as if she was the very thing that kept him going, made her knees buckle and her breath hitch.
He loomed over her, pinning her down with his weight as he dipped his head to growl into the tender flesh of her skin, where she knew she would have small love bites come morning, his voice heavy with need and promise.