AN: Random. I’m 34 episodes deep into Soul Eater and I love it! My current favorite Stein, but I definitely relate to Kid because I have serious organizational specification issues. I can see why people love Soul, too. He and Maka are so cute together!
Don’t really have a fantastic character skeleton for reader-chan this time. Sorry! Still maybe-kind-of-possibly forming one.
This is me de-stressing from completing an exam. I’m also taking a small break on a commission.
Franken Stein x Reader
“Why so glum, [Name]?” light skipped across the two perfect circles that made Stein’s glasses. A lit cigarette bounced softly as his lips curled. Was he smiling in a congenial way? His smile, you assumed, was one of curiosity. Your suspicion proved correct as he began to thoughtfully twist the screw embedded in his skull.
Did he expect the metallic cranking to churn out an answer to his question? Was he analyzing your human soul for a secret word, hue, or ‘feel’ that might clue him in? Stein didn’t really need an answer. Almost everyone at the DWMA knew about your unique situation. Maka and Soul had ruined one of your rare dates – the first one of the year, actually – while pursuing a kishin soul.
The kishin soul strolled the streets of [hometown]. You didn’t know that your then-boyfriend was inhumane, much less a kishin soul. He looked like a regular guy! His hobbies were normal, too. Swimming, cooking, and bartending were the three main reasons he got out of bed.
Or so he told you. His passion for swimming was evident when he flexed teasingly in mid-preparation of various drinks. “Just for you.” he’d always say. You were pleasantly disarmed with generous winks, flirty air kisses, and plentiful, dimpled smiles. The miniature hedge of golden-brown hair outlining his square jaw and long face failed to reflect the crimson-colored orb that Soul gulped down.
His murder didn’t register until you were sitting on Stein’s cold, steel table. After Soul berated him for being an “uncool” date, Maka paraphrased his injustices. Your sweet boyfriend was a cannibal, apparently. They’d had a hard time tracking him due to his flighty nature. He limited himself to one or two kills per area and always drowned his victims.
You would’ve been his first in [hometown] if not for Maka and Soul.
Everything went blurry after that. You were conscious during the entire fight but…it was just hard to comprehend. Comprehending anything became significantly harder after he seized your throat tightly and whipped you before his vulnerable torso. The blonde with stern eyes played her fingers along the scythe’s shaft. His voice, once casual and warm, was raspy, sharp, and foreign.
It echoed in his unlit house. Words like ‘tasty’, ‘mine’, and ‘devour’ hung in the air. Maka felt along the doorway for a light switch. An abrasive, disgruntled cry wore at your eardrum. You felt his hand relax a fraction.
A hint of his humanity remained. Your reaction was the same; his hold on your throat loosened as the desperate pry of your nails against his skin softened. Taking your chance while you still had it, you balled up your fist and punched him in the groin. The creature slouched and shuddered like a pure human would, but didn’t fall to his knees.
He recovered quickly, you discovered. His fingers were just beginning to tangle in your [h/c], [h/l] locks when Maka swung her scythe. The diagonal, visible rush of air and energy struck your ex in the chest. Most of it did, anyways. An inch of the…whatever it was…physically sliced into your arm.
The nightmare ended prematurely. Bleeding arm not considered, there was little evidence of the skirmish. Soul readily swallowed the only piece that would support your story. Maka placed her pristine white gloves around the wound like an occlusive dressing. She applied pressure to the gash.
Her gloves quickly turned pink. The pressure had done nothing to stop the blood. It hadn’t stopped your questions, either. Maka’s concerned squeeze seemed to force them right out of you. Unable to slow the bleeding, worried about letting you run around freely after what happened, she took you to the academy.
“The usual,” you sighed, staggering sullenly from your own thoughts. It was frustrating to know that you didn’t qualify to be a meister or a weapon. You felt like the adopted kid aimlessly wandering the halls. Lord Death expressed concerns about you leaving and returning to your normal life after Stein patched you up. Witches, wizards, and kishins could pinpoint the students and staff of DWMA by their wavelengths.
That invisible marker was on you, too. It was purely by association, but it was there. A normal human like you had no special powers or partner to fend off those potential threats. Aware of that, Lord Death insisted you stay on campus.
Your days were filled with a sense of inadequacy. You were in a school where people utilized their souls and bodies to perform unnatural attacks. People turned into guns! Into scythes!
And what did you do?
Well…it depended on the day. Sometimes you helped run the library, sometimes you’d run messages between the students.
“The ‘situational’ usual or the ‘emotional’ usual?” Stein queried, hugging the back of his rolling chair.
“Emotional.” you responded heavily and flatly.
Losing your ex was still hard. He hadn’t always been a flesh-craving thing. Well…not in the beginning. He was, you corrected yourself, but I can still remember how sweet he used to be.
The fact that there was anything remotely sweet about him made it harder to forget. Spending days around people who could sync souls didn’t necessarily help. Although they didn’t see it this way – and Stein often argued this point – everyone at DWMA had a soul mate.
You had nothing.
“That again?” Stein clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “I could help, you know.” offered the gray-haired man.
“Carving a heart, smiley face, or any other shape on my body will not make me feel better.” your [h/c] brows furrowed to accentuate your firm tone. This conversation had come up multiple times since he’d tended to the gash near your elbow. Stein, as loveable and brilliant as he may be, didn’t quite grasp why you liked to avoid his scalpel.
“But your skin is so lovely, [Name]!” Stein frowned, smoke falling from the slit in his lips. He distinctly remembered the feel of your warm, smooth skin beneath his hands. His fingers twitched at the memory of slick, red blood and exposed pink muscle.
“Not happening.” you reiterated for what felt like the millionth time.
“Then perhaps a substitution of emotion will work. All the data I’ve collected throughout the years indicates that a person – meister, weapon, or otherwise – can separate themselves from one emotion if they partake in another.”
You stared into his golden eyes. He watched your [e/c] eyes slide absently down every stitch on his face. “It’s not that easy, Stein. You’re treating emotions like they’re—”
“Variables? They are, technically. In almost all cases you can control what you feel – the intensity and duration of it. Certain factors are also necessary to produce said feelings.”
“What do you suggest, Doctor?” you tilted your head towards him nonchalantly but attentively.
He chuckled, feet pushing off the floor of the teacher’s lounge. The chair coasted smoothly across the linoleum before bumping against the counter. Stein tapped his burning cigarette against the sloped sink’s side. “Hypothetically speaking: swap misery for happiness.” coiling the muscles of his long legs, Stein sent his chair towards you. “I shall administer it.”
The first thing that came to your mind was: he’s going to numb me and cut me open!
“No stitches, no scalpel!” you reminded, stumbling towards the door. If you could cross the threshold you’d get something of a head start! Stein calculated his speed and accounted for the few sparse seconds you spent following his movements –- instead of looking where you were running – while slamming himself into the wall. His chair ricocheted and swiveled just as planned. One smooth sweep of the legs had you falling into his lap.
The chair continued to whirl. You folded your legs up, hands blindly anchoring in his stitch-laden coat. Stein planted his feet firmly on the wall. He smirked against his cigarette, rolling it to the other side of his mouth. Beautifully dizzy, body wobbling in his hands, Stein watched you come to your senses.
Inertia or embarrassment – he couldn’t decide which – caused your cheeks to darken with blood. The radial pulse of your left arm thrummed fiercely in one of his closed fists.
“Don’t inject me! I’m allergic! I’m diseased!” you lied pathetically, flailing lightly. Both you and Stein knew everything you’d just said was a lie.
“Stop.” he chastised with an enthusiastic smile, loving all the twitching, squirming, and muscular contractions that helped your limbs flex. “You’ll make me burn you if you don’t sit still.”
Unwilling to release you, Stein resorted to leaning into the index and middle finger of his right hand. His lips inched away from the secured cigarette. “Now then,” he dropped his chin atop your head. You felt it bob and stretch as he spoke. The scent of smoke became more apparent. From the corner of your [e/c] eyes you could see it stream, swirl, thin, and dissipate entirely. “Shall we test the validity of my hypothetical assumption?”
His nose drew an invisible line down the center of your forehead. Feeling the pressure of his jaw vanish, you raised your head. Stein’s nose brushed yours. “Please don’t inject me.” you pouted against his mouth. Those slightly chapped lips lifted in an amused fashion. “Or cut me…”
“I have no syringe, as you can see.” his bespectacled eyes flicked to his occupied hands. “No scalpel.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you to hide one up your sleeve. You’re not stupid, Stein.”
He seemed to purr at the praise. “I would never be so stupid as to mess this up.” Stein smiled. “Trust me, this won’t hurt.”
He tasted strongly of smoke and vaguely of coffee. You could feel Stein pull your arms over his shoulder. His curled fingers ghosted down your arms, palms opening to glide down your shoulders. Stein’s long, toughened fingertips traced your shoulder blades before converging and interlacing directly over your spine. “So what do the results say?” he inquired, taking his mouth off of yours as one hand left your body to stick the cigarette back in his mouth. “Did it work?”
“I think so…” you smiled.