Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1013145.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Soul_Eater
  Relationship:
      Maka_Albarn/Soul_Eater_Evans
  Character:
      Maka_Albarn, Soul_Eater_Evans
  Additional Tags:
      AU, staff/student_relationship
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-21 Words: 4459
****** Non-Fiction ******
by absolutelyCancerous_(cal1brations)
Summary
     “So, does the DC High librarian have a name?”
     “Ma—“ she squints at him. “Miss Albarn.”
He’s only in here because of his goddamn Economics book.
Soul had been in here with a few other guys, dicking around and being noisy
(like senior boys do best) before she’d come to kick them out.
He thought he was staring at an angry junior when he first saw her, but no, oh
no. It was so much better.
She was the librarian. Almost as tall as him in her little kitten heels, blonde
hair half tied back and green eyes staring daggers at him and his entire gang
of rowdy senior boys.
“I’m going to say this once, before I get the principal involved: Get out.
Now.”
He’d seen her lips curl back in that snarl, and how she must be wearing some
shimmering lip gloss to make them look so delicious. Nonetheless, Soul and his
cohorts quietly picked up their things and left the library without another
word.
And Soul had left his textbook. An accident that could almost be mistaken as
on-purpose, in order to see that librarian, catch her name, maybe brag to her
that hey, he’s nineteen and single, maybe she’s single too, maybe they could
catch a movie, maybe—
One step at a time, Soul.
Nonetheless, there he is, two periods before any lower classmen generally get
out of classes. He has to search around a little bit, but he eventually finds
his Econ book, sitting on a book cart by itself, blue slip-cover and all.
However, he merely sets this back on the table he’d been sitting at, his search
now taking a direction towards the blonde librarian he could totally see
himself slinging an arm around, if she’s available.
He finds her (after fifteen minutes of stumbling around, as he’s never been in
a library to really look at a book, moreso cause trouble) up on a small foot
ladder, reaching up to slide a book into its home on the top shelf, in the back
corner near one of the computer labs. Unfortunately for her, Soul can see right
up her skirt when she bends down to pick up another book on the cart below her;
pink and white polka dots, with a neon pink lace.
Soul decides to move from his perfect peeping area, instead moving to walk up
another aisle in order to come up beside her, looking up at her surprised face.
“I’m kind of busy,” she tells him, sliding another book onto the shelf.
“I see.”
Soul doesn’t move. She huffs, her hair swinging over her shoulder as she shoots
a pointed glare at him, her hands bracing herself against the shelf as to not
lose her balance on her small foot ladder.
“Why are you still here?”
Soul crosses his arms. “Why are you?”
The librarian bristles, like a freshman when they get their name called out
before a water balloon comes hurling down on their face from the railing above.
Her cheeks get a little red, and she shakes her head as she steps down
carefully, smoothing down her grey skirt.
“I work here.”
“I know. The library closes after lunch.”
She shrugs, shyly. “I know. Maybe I was just leaving.”
“I bet,” Soul mumbles, stepping closer to her. She’s wearing perfume, something
soft but very sweet, and it makes Soul think of peaches for some reason. Her
eyes watch him carefully, twitching when he so much as breathes.
“So, does the DC High librarian have a name?”
“Ma—“ she squints at him. “Miss Albarn.”
“Just “miss” though?” Soul grins, and watches her try to bite her tongue from
spewing out information at him he really shouldn’t know.
However, she spews, anyway. “I don’t waste my time.”
Soul leans in, lecherous smile on his lips as he ghosts his breath against her
tiny ear, and watches her press her hands against her thighs and shrug her
shoulders up from the sensation.
“Is it a waste to know just your name?” He whispers, softly enough that his
voice hardly even carries, although he is right next to her ear.
“What’s yours?”
“Gonna get me in trouble?”
She smirks. “I’ve got this rule about minors hitting on me—“
Soul steps back in order to pull out his wallet, wrenching it open and fighting
to pull out his license from one of the pockets. He nearly hits her in the face
with it, and it takes her a moment to look at it properly without her eyes
crossing.
“Sullivan?”
He pulls a face. “It’s just Soul.”
She chuckles, scanning over his height (6’2”) and his weight (195 pounds)
before reaching her awaited destination—his birthday.
August 16th, 1994. He’s nineteen years old.
“Did they hold you back?”
“I was out for most of a year, so I repeated it,” he tells her, once he sees
that small look on her face that makes her look calmer about their entire
situation. He’s putting his wallet away when she clears her throat, and gets
him to watch her as she speaks.
“Maka.”
He cracks a lopsided smile, and almost offers her a hand to shake, but she
grabs him by the shirt, yanking him into an aisle, the first of the nonfiction
section. It seems darker, when they’re hiding among the books, but she grins at
him, and Soul unabashedly moves in to kiss her, chastely. She kisses around his
mouth and cards her fingers in his hair and runs her hands up his shoulder
blades in ways that make him grunt softly against her lips; apparently, she
doesn’t like their tongues tangled up together, but he can certainly make do
with that.
“How,” he starts, but is cut off by another kiss, which has him laughing
quietly. “How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-one in December.”
She strokes some of his hair between her fingers for a moment, her eyes
flicking to his quietly. “That’s not a problem, right?”
Instead of an actual answer, Soul turns her carefully, so her back is against
the EAB-EAG’s and cups her face as he kisses her all over again, and tries very
hard not to squeak when she stuffs her hands in his back pockets and gives his
ass a squeeze.
They continue with that for the next hour, until Soul gets a text from his
brother asking where he is. Maka fixes her hair and straightens her shirt as he
plucks a few semi-related books off the shelves, typing a reply to his sibling
in his other hand.
“What’d you say?” She asks carefully, peeking at the titles he’s chosen. Easier
books than most of the ones in this library, she knows, but she doesn’t say
anything.
“I have a paper to work on.”
Maka shrugs, because it’s a good excuse, but Soul catches her attention as he
dips in for a quick peck.
“A long paper. Need to work at the library for the next couple weeks to get it
done.”
Maka grins at this, sliding the books out of the nook of his arm, strutting to
the counter to check them out for him. She plucks one of the paper bookmarks
that sit on his side of the counter, scribbles something on it before she tucks
it into the top book of his pile.
“What’s this?”
“A study-buddy number,” she breezes. “In case you need some extra help.”
He catches her wink, and makes sure to walk with a little more swagger out to
his car.
.-._.-._.-.
So, they start doing this thing.
Soul comes in during lunch with his friends. Usually, they’re all kicked out.
Soul, however, returns after lunch, through the office door from the guidance
hall. Maka is generally waiting for him, whilst she scoots books around or
checks her e-mail about the paper that was supposed to get put in the printers
last week, but she always smiles when he comes in, slowing down in whatever
she’s doing (she’s a furious worker).
Sometimes, they make out. Maka knows where they’re safe, and Soul’s favorite
place is in the very back corner, near the encyclopedias. He likes sitting back
against the wall, which Maka in his lap, so she can grind into him meticulously
as they kiss, open-mouthed and lustful. Sometimes, he comes in his pants, and
ends up taking a random jacket from the lost and found in her office to sling
over his arm, protecting the wet patch in his jeans. Mostly, they stop before
that point, because Maka thinks if they’re going to get into funny business, no
matter how much she loves books, maybe they shouldn’t fuck in a public place
(no matter how exciting).
A lot of times, they talk. Soul helps her get the books on the high shelves and
watches her slide them on the lower ones. He puts paper in the printers, she
prints out late notices. So on.
“Why are you working here?” He asks her, helping her scan copies of The
Crucible into the computers. “Don’t you go to school?”
“I do. I go to UNLV. But this is a good job on the side—my dad works in
Discipline here, so I got a job doing this.”
Soul tries to think of who in the office possibly looks like Maka. No one has
her blonde hair, or her small frame. However, he quickly stops thinking when
Maka leans on the counter, gesturing to him with her scanner.
“Why do you come in here, anyway? With those guys? You’re all a pain in my
ass.” She’s smiling when she says it.
He shrugs. “We used to study but,” a little smirk, “we’re seniors.”
Maka sighs in understanding. They work for a little longer, before Soul notices
her foot up in the air behind her, shoe dangling from her stocking-clad toes.
He decides he’s done working, and sets to slathering her neck in hickeys,
cupping her handful-sized tits in his hands through her blouse, and listening
to her drop the book she’s in the middle of scanning, whimpering his name.
.-._.-._.-.
Eventually, Maka notices Soul stops coming in at lunch. Which, okay, is kind of
a relief, because she hates shooing them out every single day, but she also
doesn’t like the absolute silence of books. Kids don’t normally spend their
entire lunch in here, sure, but even when they come to check out or return a
book, it’s nothing like hearing conversation and laughter.
After a week of Soul being a no-show during lunch (and a very involved in
showing her things after class lets out), he shows up again. She’s picking at a
fruit salad when she catches him sliding down to sit next to her at her new
little nest in the corner, away from her desk.
“Where’ve you been?” Maka asks, tapping a strawberry against her lip.
“Sparing you,” he mumbles, tugging out his iPod from his pocket and setting it
on the table. He untangles the headphones, offers her one, and turns the thing
on shuffle as he pulls an apple out of his backpack.
Maka gasps. “You like DAF?”
Soul pulls a face, cheeks red. “No! I just—I probably had it on the computer
for something, I don’t—I wouldn’t willingly listen to them!”
She grins, because his face, all the way down his neck is red as he says this.
However, she doesn’t press him anymore, only pops a piece of pineapple in her
mouth, chewing thoughtfully as Soul subtlety turns up the music for her. (And
for himself. Because they are actually one of his favorite bands.)
.-._.-._.-.
Right before the long winter break, Soul comes in looking a little stiffer than
usual. Maka gives him the soda from her lunch while they sit together, but he’s
bouncing his leg, way off-beat to the music they’re listening to.
“Is something wrong?”
Soul sits back in his chair, sighing as his hands smooth down his thighs,
definitely a nervous tic. He tries to look at her, but he ends up looking just
past her as he clear his throat.
“Are you—“ his voice cracks, and he coughs violently to will it away. “Are you
going anywhere for the break?”
“No. I mean, I have some classes on some of the days, but otherwise I’m not
doing anything.” She doesn’t mention that she spends the holidays with her
father, but even then, ends up alone more often than not.
“So,” he moves to rub under his nose, “maybe we could—do something. Like—like,
a date. Or, something.” He’s mumbling at this point, turning back to his can of
soda and making designs in the condensation. Maka, however, is still processing
the information, but once she understands, she slings her arms around him,
nodding against his shoulder.
“I’d like that.”
The stiffness melts away from him, and he turns to smile at her a little.
“Cool. What about Tuesday night?”
“Anything after four o’clock works for me.”
They eat together with their chairs much closer together, Maka’s head on Soul’s
arm as he allows her to scroll through his iPod and pick the songs they listen
to. Soul, however, is already smiling too much to even care about doing
anything but.
.-._.-._.-.
She spends two hours getting ready.
She takes a shower, fixes her hair, does her make-up (then wipes most of it
off; she doesn’t want to look shallow), puts on a blouse and skirt, then
decides a dress might be better, then swaps out for a different blouse and a
shorter skirt than she had before, then decides Soul probably doesn’t want to
see her in her work clothes, and changes into the most expensive jeans she owns
and one of her favorite hipster sweaters. Before she can change her mind again,
there’s a knocking at her door, and she has to remind herself not to sprint
over to open it.
When she does open it, however, there’s Soul, and then there’s flowers. Like, a
huge bouquet of sunflowers. She blinks, before laughing and letting him in,
because she sees how nervous he is—the flowers are trembling in his hand.
(It’s okay, though, because she feels like her stomach might fall out of her
butt.)
She takes the flowers, with a kiss on his cheek, and moves to the kitchen to
get out a vase for them. Soul awkwardly stands in her living room, noting the
three bookshelves she has out here, in her fairly small apartment.
“No wonder you like the library,” he mumbles, peering through the titles as she
sets the vase down on the coffee table, making sure the flowers sit right.
“I like reading a lot,” she answers, smiling. “So, you ready?”
He nods, jerky, and they leave, with her arm in his.
They end up going to some Thai place for dinner, and maybe it’s because the
place is dimly-light, or maybe because there are candles and this is a pretty
nice first actual date, but Maka finds herself running her ankle against his,
smiling when she watches him bristle like a cat. She dully notes that he’s
probably done things like this before, but she likes watching him squirm in his
seat.
Needless to say, when they leave, Soul wraps an arm around her waist and has
her walking close to him. He kisses the top of her head, which is actually a
guise for the fact he begins whispering in her ear. Things about how hard he
was at dinner, she’s an evil little vixen, and how he’s going to fuck her
senseless when they get back.
Which, the second he’s got the door closed, Maka is slamming him up against it,
smashing their lips together as she moves to undo his belt and stuff her hand
in his pants. She’s never actually touched him, in all their experiences in the
library, but within a millisecond, Soul knows she’s going to blow his fucking
mind. Her hand is small, and very warm, cupping his balls and running up the
underside of his dick. He groans into her mouth, arching his back off the door
and points behind her.
“Bed?”
Maka laughs nervously. “Let me clean it off, first.”
She shuffles off towards her room, and Soul holds up his pants as he follows.
Her bed is, literally, covered in papers and books, and her laptop. She moves
all this, messily, and begins taking off her boots and sliding out of her
pants; she has on little blue panties with white stripes, and Soul grins she
hauls her sweater over her head to reveal a matching bra.
As long as they’re getting on undressed, Soul joins in. He drops his pants and
kicks off his shoes.  He shrugs out of his shirt, but it’s Maka who yanks it
off, throwing it behind her as she grabs him by the shoulders and kisses him
hard.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” she tells him, and lets go of him in favor of
crawling her way up the bed, holding out her arms for him.
Soul follows, finding it strangely home-like when he dips his lips to her
breasts, kisses her cleavage and collarbones and she’s so warm, she smells so
good. She wiggles under him a bit, to get her panties off and throw them to the
wall. They kiss more, before Soul sits up on his arms, looks around for a
nightstand or some other place where girls, hopefully, keep condoms.
“Crap!” Maka hisses, nudging him over in order to get up and trot to the
bathroom. He takes this time to shuck off his boxers and wait for her, sitting
cross-legged and on display.
“Sorry,” she’s saying, opening the packet before she’s even back on the bed,
and testing which way it rolls with her thumb. “I keep everything else in
there, so, it made sense. Here, lie back.”
So he does, and he watches her run her fingertips up both sides of his dick; he
feels like a girl when he gasps a breathy “oh!” at the feeling. However, the
goodness is short-lived, because then she’s putting cold, cold latex on him,
and his dick wilts in distaste.
“Ohmigod,” he whispers, because this really has never happened, he swears, but
then again, he’s only really had a blowjob or two, and never dealt with the
coldness and tightness of a condom.
He’s almost on the verge of freaking out, but Maka is already kissing at his
navel, nuzzling him and holding his cock carefully in her hand, like one might
hold a delicate ornament. She let her breasts rub against him as she kisses her
way up to his mouth, and smiles when she lays on top of him, feeling him swell
back to life.
“No big deal,” she promises, kissing the side of his mouth. She allows him to
roll her on her back, so he’s between her legs and propping his cock towards
her correctly. Maka helps, hand between her legs as she spreads herself wide
for him, her other hand pulling his hips towards hers.
When they’re together for the first time, Soul has to keep still in order to
get his wits (as if they’re even there, in his current state of oh god, yes)
and not totally lose it. Maka, however, is running her hands up his arms and
over his chest and around his neck, panting as she asks him to move, please,
she’s waited so long.
He’s never actually done the real deed, but he figures it out enough along the
way. He likes when Maka pulls him down, so their chests rub together as he
moves inside her. He likes basically everything she does, like her whimpers in
his ear and her hand on his ass. Unfortunately, this is sensory overload for
him, way too much goodness at all the same time, and Soul ends up losing his
load with a gasp and Maka moaning right against his ear.
He has to pull out, he’s too sensitive to stay inside her, but he doesn’t
bother with cleaning up, not yet. Maka pulls him in for a kiss once he’s
settled beside her, and her other hand guides his hand to her sopping slit,
spreading his fingers this way and that until she gets his fingers pressed
against and around her clit. She moves his hand against herself, because she
doesn’t have the patience for him to fumble his way through it right now, and
moans his name loud and long as they work her over the edge together, something
Soul wishes he could describe in order to remember it properly, but simply
can’t.
They catch their breath quietly, with Soul’s cheek pressed to Maka’s shoulder
and their hands still over her crotch.  He’s a little tired, but also still
thinking about her naked body and how wet she is (was?) and how he’d really
like to fuck her again.
Maka trails her fingertips up his forearm, circling his elbow.
“Tired?” She whispers. He shakes his head against her shoulder.
“Maybe a round two?”
Soul sits up a little, just to make sure she’s not joking. She smiles and
shrugs, saying, “We don’t have to—“
But he cuts her off, jumping up to get a new condom.
.-._.-._.-.
It’s weird, waking up in her house.
His phone is vibrating in his pants, and he hangs off the bed to pat around and
find it. His brother texted him, telling him about how he so covered for him,
and he expects a crisp fifty dollar bill for covering for such. Soul tosses his
phone aside, and turns to Maka, who’s still sleeping. She looks so small, with
her little hands curled in to her chest. He decides to hold her, kissing her
shoulder and smelling her hair while she wakes, patting his hand gently.
“Good morning,” she mumbles.
“Very good morning.”
Maka laughs, running her hand against his chest, following the ragged scar
across his torso. Soul watches this, and quietly says, “That’s why I was out.
Of school, I mean. I missed most of my freshman year because of it.”
“What happened?”
“Car accident.”
Maka kisses under his breast bone very gently. “I’m sorry. Was everyone okay,
though?”
He nods, and she feels better about everything. They lay together quietly for a
time, with her rubbing his chest and him resting his cheek against her
forehead. He likes how they seem to fit together, like water and oil, mixing
together but not totally as one.
It takes effort for Maka to sit up on her arm and look at the clock on the
wall, sighing thoughtfully at the time.
“If you get us food, I’ll give you a massage,” she tries to bargain. Soul
smirks, kissing the apple of her cheek.
“Why can’t you go?”
“I’m sore,” she murmurs, brushing their noses together. “Please?”
Soul realizes she means something entirely different than what he had been
thinking, and kisses her shoulder chastely, with a small look of remorse; every
guy likes to be good, sure, but he didn’t particularly mean to make her ache.
So he stumbles out of bed, and heads off to fetch food. He gets them each a
coffee (though hers is some iced, whipped abomination) and a muffin from the
café across the street from her place. They eat in bed, sharing muffins and
conversation, and Soul thinks he might be able to get used to this, and her.
Definitely her.
He tells her she looks pretty in the morning, because she does, and he likes
when her hair isn’t tied back. She blushes, but tells him she has class in a
couple hours, and invites him to stay, if he wishes to.
They make love once more before she’s off.
.-._.-._.-.
Winter break comes and goes too fast. The rest of the year zips by, though, not
as fast for Maka as it is for Soul. Before they know it, June is here, and Soul
comes into the library in a full sprint, running for her behind the counter and
scooping her up in a big hug.
“I did it,” he’s whispering into her hair, “I did it; I really did it, Maka!”
“What? Did what?”
He’s shoving a paper into her hands; it’s a little crinkled from him holding it
so tightly, but she instantly sees the crest, and smiles. A quick skim and
she’s beaming, looking at Soul and nearly jumping in joy for him.
“Soul! This is great—this is amazing!”
He’s smiling so wide, his cheeks are twitching a little. “I know! I can’t
believe it, that’s it, that’s—that’s everything I’ve worked for,” he says,
pointing to the letter in her hands.
“Julliard is amazing, Soul,” she tells him, reading the letter again fondly.
“I’m so excited for you!”
He interrupts her reading by placing his hand over hers, and smiling when she
looks at him curiously. It takes him a second to figure out what to say, but he
ends up saying the right thing.
“Come with me.”
“What?”
Soul grins. “Come with me. To New York. You said you liked snow, right? And
us—we could live together, just you and me, and we could always see each other
and be near each other—well, aside from being in class and all, but—“
Maka shakes her head.
“I don’t know.”
Soul’s hand drops to his side, but he tries to keep the smile. “Well,” he
mumbles, “just think about it a little, okay? Before you say no?”
Maka nods and gives him a little smile in return. “Promise.” She hands the
paper back to him, patting his hand. “This is fantastic, Soul. I’m really proud
of you.”
He nods, and doesn’t kiss her goodbye when he leaves.
.-._.-._.-.
“Is that everything?” Maka asks, hands on her hips as she stands next to Soul,
next to the loaded SUV they’re both, apparently, supposed to fit in.
“Who cares?” Soul snorts, moving to get into the driver’s seat and turn on the
GPS with a few taps. “Mom and Dad will send the stuff I forget—clothes, bedroom
stuff, and music are the things I’m most concerned about.”
Maka joins him in the car, turning on the A/C. She feels like she might cry,
once they start on the road, driving past all the things of her childhood.
She’s never left Nevada, and although she hates the desert climate (especially
now, in the middle of August), she’s not sure how things will work out for her
in New York.
Soul reaches for her hand, and laces their fingers together, resting their
knotted forearms on the center console as he drives with his left hand, into
the sunrise and into their future; together.
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