This is longer than what I have been putting up so far - 2 k words - but I didn't think it could be a standalone piece.
Some body image stuff and very lightly nsfw - not quite smut but implied. Just an initial warning.
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[SoMa prompt - Birthmark. Maka has hidden her birthmark from Soul through their whole relationship, a splotch extending from her upper inner thigh to just under her belly button, and has always insisted on having sex with the lights off. He accidentally walks in on her changing and sees the mark and proves that she had nothing to be worried about. Go.]
She screams.
Part of her knows she's being irrational, but years and years of being teased about her stupid birthmark was enough to traumatize even her. And as she begins to pick up things to throw at him – her pillow, her books, even the clothes she had laid out and was about to wear – she can barely make out his sputtering apologies as he tries to close the door in peace.
When he finally does, Maka can barely catch her breath, her heart beating erratically in her chest, and she sighs, falling back onto her bed. She doesn't even bother looking down at her own overly exposed body, because just the sight makes her lip curl and bile to rise at her throat. She hates it, she hates the ugly discoloured line crawling up her stomach. She keeps her eyes trained on the ceiling, the frantic beats of her heart loud in her ears and painful in her chest, as she sucks in another breath and tries to calm herself.
Her fingers dance the same nervous dance against her abdomen, hesitantly skimming across her normally milky and smooth skin, before it reaches where it becomes suddenly rougher, almost as if scar tissue. She winces before curiously tracing the flesh up towards her belly button. Maka knows she's being a bit of a hypocrite because, unlike his, hers was just a birthmark. But then the feisty, angry, always-has-to-be-right part of her chides her and says that it is exactly why she's self conscious – because she has the childhood trauma.
Knocking on the door breaks her out of her thoughts and she squeals, shoving the rest of her clothes on the floor (most of them were already there from her earlier flailing). She considers running to the light switch to flip them off, but then she remembers its midday so it would hardly make a difference. Instead she whips off her bed sheets and dives under the covers, careful to pull them up to her chest.
It is only when she lets out a hassled groan, which came out more like a defensive kitten, did she hear a bit of a chuckle before the door cracked open. "Are you going to throw something at me again," Soul's voice wafts through the door.
"Not funny," she calls, though she can't help a small giggle from escaping her lips.
He comes in first, a hand on his hair as he smiles sheepishly. "I, uh, just wanted to know if you wanted to grab food," he says, and as he takes a step towards her she reflexively hisses and he lifts his foot, springing into a defensive position.
"Then why didn't you just shout," she mutters, squirming a little in her bed. It's not that she's uncomfortable, though she worries that, if she moves too fast, her blanket will slide off.
His eyebrow raises as if he picks up on the thought, but he also laughs. "Maka, we've been together for – what – a year now? Has our relationship really not progressed to the stage where I can ask you, face to face, to go out for lunch with me?"
She feels her cheeks turn red. "It's exactly because our relationship has progressed that you don't need to see me to ask me out," she stammers back, and though he blinks at her response she fiercely defends the statement in her head. Ugh, does he not get it? She swallows thickly. He takes another step and she reflexively pulls more red blankets up to her chest.
He narrows his eyes. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she responds, her voice too high in her head and judging by his facial expression, he notes it too. His face colours with concern as he takes another slow step and, by now, Maka can tell she's running out of duvet as the blanket fights back when she tries to pool more around her chest. He sits down on the foot of her bed and she stiffens.
He leans in, hand outstretched, but she flinches away, leaning back, until her head lightly hits the wall behind her. "Soul, stop it, what are you-"
His hand closes around her forehead. "You don't have a fever."
She can tell her cheeks are warm but she honestly can't feel more beyond her fluttering heart, for once not out of love but more out of fear. She wants to do nothing more than to sweep her duvets off her bed and shimmy out of there in a new, red dress. But he doesn't show any signs of moving until she tells him what's wrong, and she briefly contemplates lying to him but he knows her.
"It's something I'd rather not talk about."
His eyes narrow. When she looks she can feel her heart sink as she detects a hint of hurt, even betrayal, in his eyes, but he nods anyway and instead attempts to look patient. She kind of wishes she could tell him, but just as she tries to form the words, they stick to her tongue like glue and soon she feels as if she's gagging on them, choking on the irregular shapes and tastes of her confession.
She instead sighs and sinks her jaw, mouth, and nose into the soft red sheets.
They sit in a silence that, for the first time since their awkward childhood stages, feels heavy and almost apprehensive.
He's doing that passive thing again, she realizes with a jolt, when he waits for her to continue because he's at a loss of what to say. He had been that way the first time she had asked him to turn off the lights. He had hesitated mid-kiss, and eventually Maka had to get up and turn them off herself.
It's his silent way of asking why, she thinks, not so much realizes because perhaps she had always known.
She picks at her nails through the red sheets, her toes nervously squirming together as she tries again to conjure the words. Every syllable drags on her throat until she finally drags her eyes up to meet his.
He blinks slowly, she gazes back.
His hand slowly, carefully, raises towards the blankets. She twitches but she inhales, trying to relax. The blankets begin to peel away, and though all of this he had seen before, the he exposes the louder her heart beats in her chest, picking up in tempo, as the blankets fall away from her chest.
He pauses and looks at her again.
She gently takes one hand and puts it on his and he lets go immediately. As he pulls back her own fingers replace his, doing the deed on her own.
Maka sucks in a breath and closes her eyes.
She sheds the rest of them off, some of the weight going with it. But as much as she doesn't feel heavy, instead she feels even jitterier. Though her eyes are already shit she squeezes them, awaiting what he's going to say, anticipating his reaction.
"Is this what you were hiding from me?"
"Yes?" Maka responds meekly, her head unable to really distinguish what tone Soul is using because her heart is pounding again, louder and flightier than before. She feels heat, contact, and she knows what he's about to do seconds before he does, but she doesn't flinch away when he slowly, deliberately, places a finger on the tip of her birthmark.
He traces it slowly, working down her abdomen and towards her legs. The very movement causes sparks to run down her spine, electricity spreading like wildfire as she can tell that the flesh is slightly rougher than the rest of her skin. His finger gently lifts from the base of the mark – right along the middle of her upper thigh – with such delicacy that she nearly shivers under his touch. She cracks open an eye and sees that he is almost glowing.
She was a bit selfish, Maka realizes, shutting this part away from him even though they had sworn to each other long before they were even intimate to one another.
"Is this why you keep turning off the lights?" His tone is light, curious, not at all disgusted or reproachful like her mind – her silly, overthinking mind – had imagined it to be. But of course, this was Soul, Soul who had sworn his life in service to hers, Soul who had her back since day one. Soul who let her run a finger along his scars, especially at the most intimate of moments.
He seems to note her inner thoughts as he smiles bracingly and pats her on the head (she nearly flinched away from that, too.) "I know what it's like to be afraid of being judged with something you're born with," he soothes, and then he grins toothily and she can't help but to giggle. She lifts a hand slowly. He keeps his goofy grin on his face as she lightly traces his teeth, letting one digit press into the sharpness of his teeth. "Careful Maka, or I'll bite ya," he teases, before actually going in for a bite as she moves her finger away and instead shoves it against the inner part of his mouth.
His complaints go deaf on her ears as Maka takes a deep breath and looks down. Although interrupted by her panties, the darker brown line that she had grown to hate somehow didn't see as dark, as stark, as she made it out to be. In fact, it even looked a little smaller than she remembered – perhaps it was going away as she grew older – but Death knows she never lingers on her own birthmark for longer than she has to.
She doesn't realize he had fallen silent again, and when she looks up she sees him looking at it too. "Y'know, it's kind of cool."
"Only you would think that, Soul."
"Good," he says, before he suddenly rolls on top of her. She huffs and grumbles get off but he only allows distributes more weight on her, muffling her protest and instead only exhaling with a huff. She tries to look back down but the way his elbow is prevents her head from moving. "Seriously you lump, get off!"
He turns his head up to her and he smirks, playfulness now in his eyes. He repositions himself quickly, smoothly, and soon he's gently pinning her down as he lowers his mouth onto hers. His lips are soft, sweet, and soon she wonders why she even tried to hide it from him as her tongue traces his teeth, following the curve of his smile.
They break apart, both panting, and she is suddenly aware that she is mostly unclothed. He picks up on that because in one smooth motion, his shirt joins the pile of clothes on the floor. They look at each other for a moment, though Maka can't help but to slide her eyes to his own scar. As she ogles and traces the disfigured flesh with her mind, words come to her mouth but she swallows them down.
He says them anyway.
"We match."
She groans.
He smirks again as he lowers her head and she puckers in anticipation, but he pulls back last second. Maka can feel a pout on her lips as she opens her eyes, but Soul's shifting his weight to get off her. Disappointment prickles at her spine as she tries to sit up, but he turns to her before he completely stands up. "Lights?" he asks.
She takes a deep breath. "Leave them on."
And so he does.