The Death Weapon Meister Academy stood quiet under a star-strewn Nevada sky, its jagged spires casting long shadows over Death City. Maka Albarn sat in her apartment, a book open on her lap, its spine worn from countless readings. Her ash-blonde hair, tied in her signature pigtails, framed her petite face, her forest-green eyes glinting with focus. At fourteen, she was a two-star scythe-meister, driven by a fierce determination to surpass her father, Spirit Albarn. Her schoolgirl outfit—white blouse, yellow sweater vest, red plaid skirt—lay folded nearby, replaced by a loose tank top and shorts that hugged her slender frame. The room was silent save for the soft clink of dishes from the kitchen, where Soul Eater Evans, her demon scythe partner, was cleaning up after dinner.
Soul emerged, his white hair tousled, red eyes catching the lamplight. His laid-back demeanor belied the strength in his lean, muscular build, scars from their fights with Crona and Asura faint on his skin. "Yo, bookworm, you gonna read all night?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe. Maka's cheeks flushed, her stubborn streak flaring. "Some of us care about knowledge, Soul," she shot back, slamming her book shut. But her eyes lingered on him, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shirt clung to his chest. The air shifted, heavy with unspoken want. Soul's grin faded, replaced by a hungry intensity as he crossed the room, stopping inches from her. "You're too serious, Maka," he murmured, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine.
She stood, barely reaching his shoulder, her defiance masking the heat pooling in her core. "And you're too reckless," she retorted, but her voice wavered as Soul's hand brushed her arm. His touch was electric, igniting a spark that her Anti-Demon Wavelength couldn't suppress. Maka's breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was all teeth and need. She kissed back fiercely, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. Her book fell forgotten to the floor, and Soul's hands slid to her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the table. Maka's legs parted, her shorts riding up, and she gasped as his hips pressed against hers, his arousal evident through his jeans.
Clothes became a hindrance, discarded with urgency. Maka's tank top hit the floor, revealing her small, pert breasts, her nipples already stiff under Soul's gaze. His shirt followed, exposing the scars that marked him as hers—her partner, her protector. Maka's hands roamed his chest, nails scraping lightly, drawing a low groan from him. "Maka," he growled, his hands tugging at her shorts, sliding them down her thighs. Her panties were damp, betraying her desire, and Soul's fingers teased the edge, slipping beneath to find her slick and ready. Maka's moan was sharp, her head tilting back as he explored her, his touch precise yet ravenous, stoking the fire within her.
Soul knelt, his lips tracing her inner thigh, the roughness of his stubble a stark contrast to her soft skin. Maka's hands gripped the table's edge, her knuckles white as his tongue found her core, lapping at her with a hunger that matched her own. "Soul!" she cried, her voice breaking, her usual composure shattered. Her hips bucked, chasing the pleasure his mouth promised, her pigtails swaying with each movement. Soul's red eyes flicked up, watching her unravel, and he doubled his efforts, his tongue circling her clit until her thighs trembled. Maka's climax hit like a Soul Resonance, her cry echoing in the small apartment as waves of pleasure crashed through her.
But Maka wasn't one to yield control. She pulled Soul up, her green eyes blazing with determination, and pushed him onto the couch. His jeans were gone in moments, his arousal springing free, hard and thick. Maka straddled him, her petite frame a stark contrast to his strength, and guided him inside her with a slow, deliberate motion. The stretch was intense, her body adjusting to his size, but she welcomed it, her Anti-Demon Wavelength steadying her resolve. Soul groaned, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her as she rode him. Her movements were fierce, each roll of her hips a declaration of her will, her moans mingling with his as they found a rhythm.
They moved together, their connection as seamless as in battle. Maka's hands braced on his chest, her nails digging in as she set a relentless pace. Soul's hips thrust upward, meeting her halfway, each collision sending sparks through her body. "Maka, you're killing me," he gasped, his voice rough with need. She smirked, her competitive streak flaring. "Good," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him, her tongue tangling with his. The couch creaked beneath them, the room filled with the sounds of their passion—skin against skin, breathless moans, the occasional curse as pleasure overwhelmed them.
Maka shifted, turning to face away, her back arching as she lowered herself onto him again. The new angle drove him deeper, and she gasped, her hands gripping his thighs for balance. Soul's hands roamed her back, tracing the curve of her spine, then slipped around to tease her breasts, pinching her nipples until she whimpered. Her movements grew frantic, her body chasing another release. Soul's fingers found her clit again, rubbing in time with her rhythm, and Maka's second climax hit hard, her cry sharp and unfiltered. Soul followed, his release spilling inside her, his groan low and guttural as he held her tight.
They barely paused. Maka's stubbornness fueled her, and she pulled Soul to the floor, the carpet soft beneath them. She knelt, taking him in her mouth, her lips and tongue working with the same precision she applied to her studies. Soul's hands tangled in her pigtails, guiding her gently, his moans a symphony that spurred her on. She savored his taste, the way his body tensed under her touch, and when he came, she swallowed, her eyes locked on his, a silent challenge. Soul's red eyes burned with admiration, and he pulled her up, kissing her deeply, tasting himself on her lips.
They moved to the bedroom, the futon creaking under their weight as Soul pinned Maka beneath him. His thrusts were slower now, deliberate, each one drawing a moan from her lips. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, her hands clutching his shoulders. "Soul, don't stop," she pleaded, her voice raw, her usual restraint gone. He obliged, his pace building until the room was filled with their gasps and cries. Maka's third climax was softer, a rolling wave that left her trembling, and Soul's followed, his body shuddering against hers.
Maka pushed Soul against the wall, her strength surprising him as she took control again, her hips grinding against his. He lifted her, her legs locking around him, and they moved together, the wall cool against her back. Her moans were louder now, unrestrained, her body arching as pleasure built anew. Soul's hands gripped her thighs, his thrusts deep and unrelenting, and they came together, their cries mingling in the quiet apartment. Sweat slicked their skin, their breaths heavy, but their desire burned brighter than ever.
Hours later, they lay tangled on the futon, the dawn light creeping through the window. Maka's pigtails were loose, her hair splayed across Soul's chest, her green eyes soft with contentment. "You're reckless," she murmured, a smile tugging at her lips. Soul chuckled, his hand tracing lazy circles on her back. "And you're stubborn," he teased, kissing her forehead.