A/N: This is a tumblr prompt. This is—not really smutty—but there is light references to sex so still M/NSFW.

Oh Death, oh Death, oh Death what was he doing?

He was going to get himself killed, beaten into oblivion for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or worse, for giving the wrong thing to the wrong person, but he'd lost and this was his punishment and now Soul had no choice if he wanted to keep any shred of his long suffering cool.

Stupid fucking blue haired monkey. That asshole was going to pay the next time he lost a game, fucking hell, but for now, it was his turn to pay, and the quicker he fulfilled the terms of the punishment, the quicker he could get on with his life—or death. Actually, probably death.

Well, he supposed, there were worse things than to die at the hands of a beautiful woman.

He let his gaze travel up and down, side to side, perusing the gigantic wall of sex with a carefully neutral expression. He'd already worked hard, in walking through Necrophilia (seriously—Necrophilia?—sometimes, people took the morbid naming shtick in Death City waaaaay too far,) at keeping his hands shoved firmly in his pockets and his eyes down. If someone they knew was here and recognized him, and if in turn his presence here got around to Maka, well fuck, he may as well impale himself with his own blade now, it would be cleaner.

Not that he was going to live much longer anyway.

He pulled one hand from his pocket to shove his ball cap lower onto his head, and then scanned the wall for the half dozenth time. How was it possible that there were so many of them? They came in every size, color,flavor, vibrating, textured, ribbed, dual fucking pronged. How in the name of all that was unholy was he supposed to know which one to get? Did it even matter which one he got? It's not like Maka would actually use one, would she?

Soul tried to picture his meister using a dildo and his brain damn near broke, the blood gushing suddenly and violently from his nose. He removed a hand from a pocket to pinch back the flow with an involuntary groan and thrust his free hand out to grab one at random.

He was going to just take it up and pay for it—what the fuck did it matter—when he glanced at the box and groaned again.

The Anal Intruder 5000? Oh sweet Shinigami, this one wouldn't just get him chopped to oblivion, she'd probably cut off his dick and feed it to him for good measure. Whipping around to replace the offending item on the wall, he decided to actually look before he grabbed, saw something hot pink and realistically sized with some sort of vibrating action, grabbed it, and then, hurried to the register to buy the damned thing and get on with his death.

The guy at the register didn't bat an eyelash as he rang up his purchase and shoved it in a (thank Death!) discreet brown paper bag. Soul paid and left and returned to a waiting Black*Star, who stood by his bike grinning like an idiot.

"So you got it?"

"'Course," he said, the boredom in his voice a comfortable ruse.

"Took you long enough," the blue-haired menace groused. "Thought your ass was gonna buy out the damned store."

"There were a lot of options," he shrugged.

"Well?" He looked expectant, grabbed for the bag. Soul backed up and kept it away.

"Hold on and I'll show you!" he hissed, boredom fled. He looked around surreptitiously before sliding the item out of the bag, keeping it close to his chest. Once it was clear his friend had gotten a look, he slid it back and crumpled the top of the bag to seal it shut.

"That's it dude? It doesn't even have any ridges or whatever, and it's not even that big—I at least expected you to get—"

Soul shook his head, mouth gaping. "What—how would you even—"

Seeming to catch his look, Black*Star shrugged. "What? Baki likes toys. And I like what toys make her—"

"No," the scythe interrupted. "Just, No. Or do you want me to share what Maka and I do—"

"OH FUCK NO!" The ninja shouted so loudly that people across the street turned to stare. Soul put his head in his hands and sighed.

"I mean, dude, DUDE, Maka's like, I don't know, my sister or some shit. I do NOT need to know what goes on when you bone her. You are boning her, right?"

The scythe's only response was a groan. He rubbed his hand down his face, shook his head again.

"Anyway," Star ignored the response. "I definitely don't need to know how you two do the nasty, although," he looked thoughtful for a moment. "Ihave always figured Maka would be an animal in b—"

"THAT'S enough," Soul cut him off because Black*Star knowing anythingabout their sex life was treading dangerous waters with his meister. "Look, the thing is bought. I'll go home and—and—give it to her, punishment over. We done here?"

"Yeah, whatever," the ninja shrugged. "But I better not find out you chickened out and hid it in horny cat's stash or some shit."

Soul stuffed the object in question in a saddlebag and mounted his bike.

He rolled his eyes. "Lost the fucking game. Gonna take the fucking punishment. Might be short my damned dick in the morning, but not gonna chicken out. Now fuck off, asshole."

"Yeah, yeah, later dude," Black*Star put up a hand in dismissal as Soul started the bike and tore away. He drove fast, too fast, though he shouldn't have bothered—why hurry to your own funeral?

Within minutes, he was pulling up to the apartment complex, walking up the stairs, fitting the key to the lock and opening the door. Maka was exactly where he'd left her, curled up on the couch with a book. She seemed content enough, happy really, and he was damned sorry he was about to ruin their collective day, but at least if she was in a good mood he might live through this whole farce. Maybe.

She raised her eyes and smiled, "so, how was the game?"

"Lost," he grunted.

"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow. "And I suppose you ended up on the receiving end of one of those lame punishments?"

He shrugged non-committaly, causing her to roll her eyes. Okay, so maybe he wouldn't live through it.

He pulled the bag from inside his jacket and tossed it to her, impressed as he always was at how easily she caught the unexpected object.

"Gotcha somethin'," he grunted. "Gonna—go make dinner. You're hungry, right?"

"Yeaaaaah," she said slowly, eying the brown paper bag suspiciously. "But it's my night to cook and I figured—"

"I'll handle it," he put up a hand. "That mission yesterday was a bitch. You could use the rest, I figure," he ran a hand nervously though his hair and shook his head. "I'll be in the kitchen if, uh, you need me."

His retreat was hasty, and when he heard her say, "hey, wait a minute! Hey, Soul!" he ignored it. He was sure she was going to ask about the 'gift' and he'd rather be out of the room when she actually opened the thing.

Soul expected her shriek every second, expected to feel her wrath come down on his head like the judgment of Death himself. He waited for it as he began to chop vegetables, waited as he boiled water for the noodles, waited as he finished the pasta, waited as he plated their dinner.

It never came.

She chatted with him through dinner normally and the dildo didn't come up once.

Had she not opened it?

Was she waiting to enact some sinister vengeance?

It didn't make any sense. He tried to respond to her normally even as nervous anticipation ate away at him. They finished their meal, did the dishes (she washed, he dried,) moved to the couch to relax as they would any other day. He sat down and reached for the remote.

The dildo was sitting on the coffee table, smack dab in the middle, conspicuously out of its box.

Soul put his head in his hands and groaned. He was so so so fucked.

Maka was sitting next to him, hands primly in her lap, only a few inches between them.

"Was that your punishment?" she said, voice shockingly calm.

"Yeah," he groaned into his hands again.

"Mmm," she hummed. He waited for the chop that had to be coming, but still, felt nothing.

He peeked his eyes out from between his fingers. "Aren't you gonna—"

"Chop you?" She looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled. "Nope. It was just a stupid punishment, not like you were trying to be a sick perv or something. And besides," her smile widened and the look she gave him, somehow, impossibly, was the same one she gave him when she was about to pin him to a wall and have her way with him, "might be fun."

"Uh—but—I—thought—I mean," he sputtered. Images of her righteous indignation over pornography and how it objectifies women, of her disgust at finding Blair's little stash of kitty toys, shoved their way to the forefront his confused thoughts.

"Well," she said patiently, scooting closer so that their thighs touched and removing his hands from his face. Her grin was amused yet somehow heated.

"Sometimes, when we—well—you know, you, uh, finish first, right? And I thought—well—I was thinking, maybe," she flushed scarlet and it was his turn to grin because holy shit, she actually wanted to use it? Maka Albarn, his uptight meister, wanted him to pleasure her with a dildo?

Then again, the scythe reminded himself, if there was anything he had discovered in the six months since they'd started having sex, it was that his meister come girlfriend was anything but a prude. His old, long suffering image of her as sexually oblivious, hostile even, was so ingrained that he still relied on it sometimes even when he damned well knew better. The ice queen was a closet sex goddess—of course she was game.

Fuck, all that fretting for nothing.

His grin became almost feral because with the release of half a day's worth of tension, he felt a new tension growing at the idea of her and his recent purchase.

"So, uh, you wanna—try it then?" he met her heated gaze, so at odds with the embarrassed flush of her skin.

"If you do," her own smile returned, wide and wicked.

As he reached for her gift, he reminded himself that he would owe Black*Star a thank you later. Actually, if that look in her eyes was any indication, most likely, he would owe his friend several.