A/N: This happened because Big Dick Syndrome in fanfic and art is rampant, and somebody had to to it, damnit.

It had been a problem since he was thirteen. Before then, Soul never would have thought real people had an appendage so big, would have insisted that shit only happened in porn. He'd have been wrong.

It didn't seem that big most of the time. It hung down about four inches, nothing ridiculous, fit handily in his pants. It wasn't until he got excited that it became a problem, that it grew, expanded, became this massive thing attached to his groin, ten inches long and coke bottle thick. It made him light headed, faint. Because what nobody ever told him was that a big dick had consequences, too much blood rushing down too quickly. Afraid he might topple over in the shower, relief was kept to his bed and, even then, Rosie and her five sisters had to work hard to deal with something so comically oversized.

At first, being thirteen and stupid, he'd thought it made him cool. He was a ten inch hero, big dick for a cool guy. Then he'd passed out during an R movie. Then he'd fainted one day when he caught Maka in the shower, running to his room and barely making it to his bed before collapsing. Suddenly, it felt far, far less cool. It felt like a real fucking problem.

As if the white hair, red eyes, and sharp teeth weren't enough-now he had a freakishly huge cock that had him passing out at the slightest whiff of tits. Not cool. So so so not cool.

Eventually, after months, his body caught up to the problem, because all that nearly passing out because of his dick on top of actually passing out because of books to his cranium was not going to end well. He got his first nosebleed at thirteen and a half, spurting blood at the sight of a nearly naked chick on a billboard, his dick remaining placidly flaccid. When Maka chopped him for it and called him a pig, he'd just stared at her helplessly.

"As if I didn't know why some guys get nosebleeds, Soul. I'm not an idiot!"

Apparently, he was the idiot, because he had no idea what was going on. So he looked it up, and yeah, it was a thing. Might have even been a good thing even if it was fucking embarrassing because it was better than fainting like a wuss constantly, but of course, since it generally ended with a book in his skull, there wasn't much difference.

Still, other than occasionally fainting on his bed when he was trying to get off, it really didn't give him too much headache for a couple of years. Nosebleeds were frequent, but morning wood and the occasional need for release were the only times his dick saw real use.

Until, that is, he really, really started to notice his meister. That he had feelings for her was pretty much a given-all weapons felt a deep and binding affection for their meisters. For those feelings to cross over from being purely platonic, to move past friendship into something else, something bound up in love and lust and need, well, that didn't always happen. When it happened to him, though, it was a really big fucking problem. Because it turned out, nosebleeds only vented his arousal when it was vestigial, when it was a situation where he wouldn't actually want to have sex. When it was for the person who owned his heart, though, who owned his very soul, who he had begun fantasizing about when he touched himself, who he wanted more than he'd ever wanted anything, more than life, who he needed more than air? When it was for Maka, nosebleeds didn't cut it, and suddenly his dick was involved again, all ten inches of it.

This was an issue when her bare legs alone could make his dick start weeping, and her legs were always bare. This was an issue when he really didn't want to faint in the middle of the school yard, or worse, the middle of a battle.

The day it all came to a head was during Weapon Training when he was sixteen, so of course he was in those uncool short shorts, and of course the meisters were on the other side in their own hot as fuck short shorts, and of course Maka was bending over, and of course he couldn't fucking help it, his dick was at attention in a matter of seconds. He grimaced, went to remove his track jacket to tie over his waist, only it was too late.

"What-the-fuck?"

And of course, of course, Spirit Albarn, Weapon Instructor for the day, had noticed. He'd stormed up and was pointing incredulously at the newest death scythe's crotch, finger shaking in disgust or anger or who the fuck knew what.

"That-that-" he screeched. "How the fuck does a punk like you-" he sputtered. "I mean," he shook his head. "YOU KEEP THAT THING AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER, YOU HEAR ME OCTOPUS HEAD?" he bellowed, and the younger weapon scowled up at him.

"Fuck off you perv," Soul managed, his head light from the blood loss. Fortunately, the whole ordeal had his dick back to half mast, then normal pretty quickly, and as he regained his senses, he stormed off the field to the locker room. Fucking ridiculous Shibusen gym uniforms, fucking perverted old fart assholes, fucking hot as fuck meisters, fucking fuck.

He might have known Spirit would follow him. Where he got the tape measure Soul would never know. He stode in, loomed over him.

"Take of your shorts, punk, I wanna see just what's going on down there."

"Shit, Death Scythe, you've finally lost it," the scythe scoffed.

"Take them off-I need to prove to my Maka she needs to stay away from you-you-freak of nature!" he growled.

Soul shrugged, tense. "Fuck off, you dirty old fuck."

When Spirit made a grab for him, he ducked his reach and bolted.

Why the old asshole thought that measuring his dick was ever gonna happen, Soul couldn't say, but he chased him around the locker room and down the hall for a good ten minutes before the younger scythe finally found a utility closet to hide in and was able to lose him.

Good thing he was younger, and therefore, faster. But he was a death scythe now, fuck it all, shouldn't he be afforded a little more dignity?

As he heard a voice from outside the door bellow, "come on, minion, I know you're in there!" he figured maybe not.

Soul came out, trying not to look as completely wrecked as he felt, and Black Star stood before him grinning like a maniac. The would-be god clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder, letting out an annoyingly loud laugh before exclaiming, "So Soul, my man, I hear little Soul ain't so little after all."

The weapon rolled his eyes at his so-called bro. "Dude, who the fuck cares how big my dick is?"

"So it's true?" Black Star pushed. Soul shrugged.

"HOW BIG?" the meister bellowed.

"None of your fucking business, Star. Fucking hell."

"Because there's no way you can have a dick as big as my godly six inches!"

Soul rolled his eyes again and walked away. He was so done. He just wanted to go home and shower and forget Death Scythe, Black Star, Weapon's Class, or his stupid mammoth cock had ever existed.

And then, of course he couldn't even make it back to the locker room without being stopped by Stein.

"Can I help you, Professor?" he tried for bored politeness, but it sounded a lot more petulant than he would have liked.

"Well.." the man was grinning down at him like a maniac. "I heard you have a bit of a problem," his gaze flicked down to the weapon's crotch, and Soul stifled a groan. "Or perhaps it being more than a bit is the actual problem."

"Fucking hell, why is everyone so interested in my dick today?" he growled. "What is wrong with you people?"

Stein smiled knowingly and chuckled. "When you're well endowed, people tend to take notice. I remember how much people talked about my own twelve inches."

"Oh death I did not need to know that, I did not need to know that!" Soul groaned.

"But you know," he said slowly, thoughtfully, "if it really bothers you, I could probably swap it out for something more manageable."

Soul shook his head vehemently because no way was he letting Doctor Hack n Slice anywhere near his dick.

"Well, think about it, anyway. It worked for Spirit."

Soul was about to walk past but paused, eyebrows reaching for his hairline involuntarily. What now?

"Of course," the older man mused, "it's not like he knew it," and his smile widened into a creepy smirk. Soul moved past with a shudder, hurried to the locker room, changed in a stall, and left school for home. He'd get chopped later for ditching and leaving her behind, but fuck it, it was better than dealing with this shit for a second longer.

The next day, when his fan club seemed to get bigger as rumors of his cock size flew, his partner requests increasing ten fold, he probably shouldn't have been surprised. People really were stupid.

Still, apart from the occasional stupid question, weird stare, awkward proposition, or meister induced fainting spell, his dick didn't cause him too many problems for the next two years.

And then he met with a situation that had him wanting to just cut the damned thing off and be done with it.

At some point, after years of hiding his feelings, of wishing and wanting and fearing she was too messed up by her stupid dad for it to ever come to anything, Maka finally kissed him one day after a particularly grueling mission, and everything fell quickly into place.

She told him she loved him. She told him she wanted him, needed him. He told her the same and that he would always, always be hers as long as she wanted him to be.

After so long so close, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, and when they got home and she led him by the hand to her bedroom, well, if things went from zero to sixty in a blink, it wasn't as if they'd ever gone about anything the way they were supposed to anyway.

She stripped down wordlessly before him and he thought he might explode as his dick sprung to life in his pants. Don't faint don't faint don't faint. He was convinced the leftover adrenaline from battle kept him on his feet because he somehow didn't faint and he'd never been so aroused.

When Maka decided she wanted something, she didn't fool around.

She walked up without a stitch and pressed herself against his clothed body, moving to kiss him again. He responded hungrily, greedily, his body alight with the thought of what they might do. She pulled away and whispered "your turn" hotly in his ear.

He didn't even hesitate, just quickly sloughed off shirt and jacket, shoes and belt. He took down his boxers and pants in one rough motion, his dick springing free in all its massive ten inch glory.

Maka moved her eyes down with a sultry little smile that had him on fire, then froze. Her mouth gaped. She gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth as she screamed.

"Oh my Death, Soul, what is that?"

"My-dick?" he offered helplessly.

She continued to stare, her face falling, his falling in turn as she shook her head in disbelief.

"That-Soul-that. Death, I love you, and I want this, I do, but I-that's-not going to fit. I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I can't! I just-cant'! We'll figure this out, I promise, but—I need to go. Just. Um. Hold on, okay?"

And before he knew what had happened, her clothes were on and she was out the door.

"I'll-be back later!" she called from the front doorway.

Soul was pretty sure he was going to cry. Fuck his dick. His stupid stupid comically massive dick. The woman he loved had just declared herself to him, kissed him, laid herself bare-had been ready to be with him-and had been scared away by his stupid fucking monster cock. Except no, not fucking. Not fucking at all-that was the problem.

He put his clothes back on, sat on her bed, tried to think.

How could he fix this, make it right? He wanted her so badly, needed her so badly, and yet, she was right, how could it even work? He put his head in his hands and groaned.

Should he go to Stein? Fuck, he'd face even that to be with her, feel her. He was about to do just that when he heard a soft, familiar voice ask "Scythe boy? Something wrong?"

He groaned again. Last thing he needed now was the sexy kitty getting involved.

Wait. Maybe what he actually really needed was the sexy kitty getting involved.

He got up, walked past the small cat to the living room, then, stopping at the fridge, he grabbed a can of soda and opened it. He felt parched, light headed. He couldn't think.

Blair had followed to jump up on the table, eying him expectantly.

"So, scythe boy?" She tilted her head, her whiskers twitching.

"I think-" he began, putting his soda behind him on the counter absently. He wanted to sink to his knees in shame, in embarrassment, but he soldiered on because he'd do anything to be with his meister, his Maka. "I mean, I know-I need help. And you know waaaay too much about this shit, so maybe you-"

"About what now?" The cat asked, voice serious for once.

"How-how do you have sex if your dick is big. I mean really big. I mean-huuuge. How does it fit-and uh-whatever. And how do you keep from fainting?" he finally managed to stammer out, face scarlet.

"Oh Soul-kun, how big do you mean, because every Tom thinks his is as big as his ego, and there are-"

"Ten inches," he cut her off, voice strained with embarrassment.

She chortled. "Is that why Maka-chan ran out of here like she'd just seen the devil?"

"Uh," he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

"Well, let's see it," she commanded imperiously.

"What?" The weapon's eyes went wide.

"Bu-tan needs to see what you're dealing with to know how to help. So. Let's see it."

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's not exactly, um, ready just now, so-"

Blair rolled her eyes. "Just think of whatever was going on with Maka-chan before she ran out, silly."

The image of her bare before him, of her pressed against him, kissing him hungrily, flashed in his mind unbidden, and oh-yes, there it was. Hello.

"Well, hurry up, Bu-tan does have to work soon," she pressed.

"Right," he replied with a small sigh. Ambling closer to the table, holding on with one hand as he became dizzy, his crotch resting just above the surface, Soul used the other hand to undo his pants and free himself, the offending appendage falling to the surface with a loud whump. The scythe went scarlet, the entire situation mortifying, absurd.

Blair's eyes goggled. "Scythe boy wasn't kidding," she breathed.

"No, I wasn't, and fuck-I want her so bad, need her so bad-I need this. Death, I need this with her, but it's too fucking big, and I-"

"Bu-tan can fix it," she said suddenly, casually, as if she'd just suggested she could sew a new button on his shirt or glue together a broken vase. As if it were just that easy.

"You-can?" He gaped.

"Sure, size magic is one of Bu-tan's specialties. It's easy." She shrugged, and the motion was comical in her current form. Soul stifled a nervous laugh, but before he could answer, Blair waved a paw. "Pum pum pumpkin!" she cried, and as the purple magic touched his cock, he watched in astonishment as it shrunk several inches, as the girth lessened from coke bottle to cucumber.

"There, a respectable seven inch, perfectly girthed human penis!" she declared happily.

He sighed in relief, looked at her for a moment as he put himself away. He was still hard, amazingly, but suddenly it felt good rather than odd and strained. His light headedness was gone, and all he wanted was to find Maka and finally, finally have his way with her. Or let her have her way with him, whichever.

He wanted to shout his thanks, his elation at his dick feeling normal for the first time since he was a kid, but instead he asked cautiously, "it's permanent?"

Another shrug. "Unless Bu-tan reverses it. Do you want Bu-tan to reverse it?"

"Fuck no!" he scoffed.

"Well then, shouldn't you be finding Maka-chan?"

He nodded and bolted for the door, then paused. "Actually, I-uh-don't know where she went. Have to wait till she gets back."

Blair nodded. "Right! Well, Bu-tan needs to go to work! Have fun!" And with that and a comically exaggerated wink, she bounded to the window and away.

He probably should have thanked her. Well. It would keep.

Soul went to his room and locked the door. Thought of his meister again, freed himself again, and set to work. He wanted to be ready for her, not be about to cream himself at the mere sight of her. He wanted this to last. And, touching his newly normal dick for the first time, he thought it just might.

He fell asleep when he was done with the best jerk off session of his life, his hand able to work his normal dick with far greater ease. When he woke to the sound shuffling and her voice in the living room, his heart leapt along with his cock.

Time to surprise her with his brand new toy.

He got up, stripped all the way, and strode out of the room. Blair was gone and had seen his dick anyway, and he couldn't contain his sheer elation.

"Maka!" he called out, excited, as he threw open his door. "Maka! My dick is small now, we can have-" he stopped, gaped, flushed. On the couch next to Maka was Tsubaki. Both were staring at his crotch, Tsubaki with her hands over her mouth.

"Fuck," his hands flew to cover his dick. Too late. Far, far too late. "I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry," he choked out, spinning around to hurry away to his room.

"No it's, uh, fine I'll just be-mmm-going!" The shadow weapon squeaked out as she rose. "Give you two time to, ummm, talk," she added as she headed for the door, closing it quickly behind her.

Oh fuck this was bad. He expected the chop every second, squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation, only it never came.

Instead, his clothed meister walked up and pressed herself against his back, her hands snaking around him. She tentatively touched his dick and he groaned because it felt like heaven.

"It's smaller," she breathed in wonder. "But how?"

"Blair-uh-used magic," he managed to force out as she began to stroke him.

"Remind me I need to buy her more salmon," he voice was husky at his back and he felt his blood boil in anticipation.

"Definitely," he said lowly.

"So," Maka removed her hand from his dick, removed herself from his back, and he almost whimpered, but then he heard the soft rustle of clothes, turned around to see her pull her top off, leaving her bare again, and he felt himself go hot. "Ready to continue where we left off with your new equipment?" Her voice was low and sultry and he felt his new cock weep with the implications.

"Yeah," Soul rasped out, and as his meister took his hand to lead him back to her bedroom, his newly minted seven inches bouncing as he walked, he was heartily glad to no longer be a ten inch hero.