Young and Beautiful
Soul squinted down at his iPad screen, blinking a couple of times before the letters unfuzzed and his Deathipedia article (which he was updating because damn it, some little punk bitch put that he was only a two star weapon and that was grossly untrue) was legible again. His bad vision might have been a byproduct of the ungodly hour but he suspected that all of his wife's nagging about reading glasses was not unfounded. It chafed him to think about his body failing and aging- wasn't he sixteen only, like, five minutes ago?
He fondly remembered the days he could match Black*Star drink for drink and wake up without a hangover that put him out of commission for two days. Soul used to eat whatever he wanted and not have to worry about acid reflux. He missed the days his body wasn't a goddamn barometer, bones aching right before it rained. Soul's mind flitted back to an incident that occurred only two weeks prior when he took Maka out on "no kids" date and the waiter mistakenly asked him if he was having a nice time out with his daughter. Maka had choked on her drink with laughter as Soul growled and explained that no, he was having a nice time out with wife and fuck this guy, fuck him hard.
Damn Maka's adorable, eternal babyface.
He was editing the picture for his Deathipedia page (it wouldn't kill them to use one from his twenties, would it?) when he heard his wife tromp upstairs to their bedroom. It was late and she had been stuck at Shibusen for two days trying to scramble to put together a curriculum for the coming year and Soul knew she was going to be a in a Mood. After more than twenty years together, Soul, her faithful weapon, partner, and husband, knew what to do to get on her good list. He had had cooked dinner, cleaned the house, put the kids to bed, and made sure that the laundry was done so Maka would have her choice of warm pajamas.
Maka Albarn-Evans fell face first onto the bed, her moans of exhaustion muffled by their downy pillows. "I hate everything. Leave me here to die."
Soul put the iPad aside and rolled her over, methodically unbuttoning her shirt. "Bad day?"
She grunted and lifted herself slightly so Soul could pull the shirt away. He stood up to tug off her boots and leggings. "I would rather let Stein give me a gynecological exam than deal with bureaucracy for another five minutes. I'm just going to employ the Black*Star method of teaching and let all of the students beat each other up. Winner gets to become a three star meister."
"You've got my vote," Soul chuckled. "Move your legs so I can get your skirt."
Maka squirmed out of the offending garment, sighing with relief once she was free. "What were you up to tonight? Were you reading the iPad in the dark again? You know it's bad for your eyes."
"Yeah, yeah. It's fine."
She stretched her arm out and grabbed the iPad, curious to know what he had been reading, probably hoping to catch him watching porn. Soul squawked indignantly, trying to swipe it from her; changing your Deathipedia page on a Saturday night to vainly showcase your younger pictures was not cool. "Soul… this picture of you is over ten years old!"
He grumbled, cheeks bright red. "Don't laugh!" Maka just didn't understand. She still got ID'ed at bars. Soul's white hair threw people off, even when he was young, and he was sported some very serious white scruff on his face that used to have girls scrambling to be his partner but now only served to make him look like Maka's dad.
Maka kept looking down at the iPad, then back at Soul, and giggling. "Shut up. Stop laughing!"
She pulled him down on top of her, kissing his forehead gently. Soul tried to scowl but sweet, soft Maka kisses felt really nice so his scowl morphed into a ridiculous pout. "Are you still bothered by what happened when we went to dinner?"
"I thought we agreed never to speak of that again."
She ran her hands over his back soothingly. "Come on, you can't still be worrying about that. You're only thirty eight and you don't look like my dad. We don't even look anything alike, for one."
"That's not the point," Soul buried his face in the crook of her neck. "I used to be the hot trophy husband," he sighed. "Now I look your sugar daddy, what the fuck."
"Oh, stop it, you're so hot," Maka rolled her eyes and lifted his face so she could attack his throat with kisses. They hadn't been alone like this in nearly two weeks, between work and home obligations and just being exhausted, and he missed her so much. He huffed out a groan when her tongue traced delicately along his Adam's apple. "The single moms are practically frothing at the mouth waiting for me to get killed on a mission so they can have a shot with you."
"Oh, yeah?" The compliments didn't hurt and neither did Maka's hands skimming up his t-shirt. "You think I'm hot?"
She snorted and tugged on his shirt, a sign that it needed to go. Soul had it off in record time- a good weapon always followed their meister's lead, after all, and he would follow her anywhere, especially if it ended in mind blowing married people sex. "So hot," Maka smiled against his collarbone. "Especially when you do the laundry… mmm…"
Soul grinned, biting his lip when her teeth found the sensitive junction between his neck and shoulder. "I did the laundry and cooked dinner tonight."
"Tell me more… describe it in detail…"
He propped himself up on one elbow and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. Eager hands roved over her stomach, fingertips tracing Maka's hipbones. "I baked chicken… and then I did all the dishes after…"
"Oh, baby," Maka moaned overdramatically as his fingers trailed up her ribs. "Did you use the dishwasher?"
"No, I did it by hand." He made quick work of her bra- thanks to years of practice- leaving her clad only in the sensibile cotton underwear that Soul was so fond of.
Maka fanned her face. "You always know just what I like."
Soul knew she was mostly joking but then again, this was the woman who got turned on by him in an apron and had requested he wear it on multiple occasions for domestic kitchen romps. Even after twenty years, he was still so smitten, so stupidly in love with her, he probably would have cosplayed as a fridge if that was what turned her on.
He settled comfortably between her legs, slowly lavishing her neck and throat with warm, open mouthed kisses. Maka groaned for real when sharp teeth scraped down towards a bare shoulder, tilting her head to give him more access. Her hands were impatient, trying to tug off his sweatpants and Soul laughed against her clavicle; some things never changed.
"Down girl," he whispered, the tip of his tongue dragging over her skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. "Patience is a virtue."
"I don't have that one," Maka all but growled, pressing herself to him. His hands traveled down her thighs, tucking neatly behind her knees. "It's been six hundred years since we had any time alone together."
"Twelve days, actually," Soul slid down to kiss her the valley of soft skin between her breasts, her sternum and stomach, paying extra attention to the multitude of scars that mapped her body. "Unless we're counting that quick grope session your office last week that got interrupted by Black*Star falling through the roof."
Sharp nails dug into his back and Soul hissed in pleasure. This woman was going to be the death of him. "We only have a couple of hours before the kids have to get up for school. Cut the snark and use that mouth for higher purposes, please."
"Yes, ma'am."
The loud scream from their daughter's room was an instant mood killer. Soul immediately vaulted out of bed, nearly knocking himself unconscious on the nightstand. "Fuck shit fuck fuck suck my-"
"Soul!" Maka hissed. She narrowed her eyes as she pulled on one of his t-shirts. "Can't sense anyone in the house. Maybe it's just a nightmare?"
Soul ran through the pain of his throbbing head wound, drawing adrenaline from some paternal place inside of him, and threw open the door to his daughter's bedroom. It was chaos- Melody's pink, frilly comforter had been hacked to bits. Laced edged pillows were lacerated and feathers covered the plush mauve rug. The canopy above her bed was lopsided because one of the support beams had been cut. "What-"
His twelve year old daughter was curled up on the edge of the destroyed bed, still in her white nightgown, long platinum blond hair braids limply hanging around her face, sobbing hysterically. Soul looked around for some invisible enemy, looked for damage to his precious offspring, but there was none. "Mel, what's wrong…?"
The words died in his throat when he caught sight of her arm- or what used to be her arm- transformed into a perfect, steel scythe blade.
"Oh." Mystery solved.
Maka was there seconds later with their younger child in tow. She flipped on the light and took in the damage. Soul was still frozen on the spot, unsure how to proceed. Melody continued to cry inconsolably and it only worsened when Maka appeared. She flailed her blade-arm around. "Mamaaaaaaaaaa! It feels so weird! Make it stop!"
Reid, nine years old and with all the tact as his mother, openly stared at the scythe arm. "That. Is. So. Cool. Dad, when do I get one of those?!"
Melody ran over to Maka and Maka managed to dodge getting stabbed on the stomach with the blade. "I thought the blades don't get sharp until you have better control of your powers?" Maka asked Soul, tucking Melody under her chin and patting her back. "Look at this room! This blade can do some serious damage."
"I'm sorrrryyyyy," Melody wailed and Maka shushed her gently.
"I don't know, mine was pretty sharp. Cut right through my slacks at a dinner party." Soul sighed. "Reason number six thousand why Wes is the favorite son."
Reid poked at his sister's blade. Maka slapped his hand away when it got too close to the blade. "Grandma says Uncle Wes is the favorite because you pick your teeth at the table and have a fresh mouth."
Soul sighed again, rubbing his throbbing temples. Everything was chaos. Reid alternated between almost slicing his fingers off on his older sister's too sharp blade and pestering Maka about when he would be able to transform because it wasn't fair. Maka was obviously very happy with another scythe in the family and taking this all very lightly, despite the destroyed room and their child crying hysterically. Melody tearfully wondered if she was going to have to sleep in the attic- or maybe at Grandpa Spirit's- because her room was unlivable.
Their family was so fucking weird, Soul thought, even by Death City standards.
"Mel, you're going to have to calm down if you want to transform back. Take a deep breath," Soul knelt down by her. "You're going to be okay."
"Of course she's going to be okay," Maka said, smoothing Melody's long bangs away from her face. "It's practically a rite of passage. You should be proud, Melly. You're just like Dad and Grandpa. You're going to be such a beautiful, amazing scythe."
"Scythe otaku," Soul muttered.
"Well if I wasn't, you'd still be alone and crying over your piano, darling," Maka said sweetly.
"Daaaaaaad, I want to be a scythe, too! This is SO unfair!"
"Am- am I going to have to live with Grandpa Spirit…? His girlfriends scare me…"
"Reid, go get my cellphone, please. I have to call Uncle Black*Star- he's going to die that our kid was the first to become a weapon."
Soul might have not have been as young as he once was and his family might have been absolutely batshit crazy and now they would have to deal with the fallout of having a sensitive, twelve year old girl turning into a magical weapon but if he could do it all again, he would do it exactly the same.
Maybe.
