warlock eater

The Endangered Ones

Welcome to my final reverb, based on the amazing art and concept created by @piercelovewonton. Thank you to @lunar-resonance @ilarual, along with my artist, @piercelovewonton for looking over the whole thing, to @makapedia and @sahdah for looking at the earlier chapters, and to @bendandcurl for making some very important early suggestions. I appreciate all of you. This wouldn’t be the same without you.

Please, please check out the art by @piercelovewonton found here. There is a second set of art that contains spoilers for the fic you can find here. All of the art really is spectacular. I am so amazed.


Word Count: 20K

Pairings: Soul x Maka

Ratings: R/MA/NSFW

Warnings: Semi-explicit sexual content and graphic violence.

Read on AO3 or FFN.


It’s mid-shift and the cafe is packed to the rafters as it usually is in the afternoon. Already tired from a grueling morning of midterms, Maka would love to take her break. It’s so crowded, though, that they need her on register, so she greets the next customer in line, barely able to keep the plastic smile on her lips.

“Welcome to DC Cafe, can I help you?”

“Uhhhhh.”

She’s so used to orders being barked at her by busy business people and frazzled college students that the hesitation gives her pause. She looks at the guy in front of her, really looks, and notices startling red eyes beneath a shock of somewhat messy white hair that he runs his hand through almost nervously, his eyes darting between the counter and the rest of the room.

“You want coffee?” she prods helpfully.

“Yeah.” He scratches at the back of his neck, and Maka uses his averted gaze as a chance to inspect him more closely. He just seems so familiar somehow. Though she’s sure she’s never seen him before–she’d definitely remember a guy with white hair and red eyes–she still feels like she should recognize him. It’s strange, and she’s not quite sure what to make of him as he looks up at the menu like he’s trying to read Attic Greek.

“Tall–house blend–cream and sugar, maybe?” she helpfully supplies the most common order.

“Uh, no.” He squints up at the board, eliciting a chorus of huffs and groans from the line behind him. “Americano. Gigante, I guess. Thanks.”

“Oh-kaaaaaay. Name?”

“Soul.”

“Seriously?” Maka scoffs, unable to stop herself. She’s seen a lot of ridiculousness in the name department in her time at the the cafe–Jack Hoff, Fah Que, Mike Hunt, the list is long–but this is a new one.

“As a heart attack.” He meets her gaze for the first time and holds it and she feels–something. Something warm and strange in her chest that she wants to stifle and let die, that she wants to fan and make burn bright, that she just doesn’t understand.

Tearing her eyes away to the register, she forces out, “That’ll be five-fifty.”

“Seriously?” It’s his turn to scoff.

“As the zombie apocalypse.”

He laughs and shakes his head as he hands over a ten. “Pfft, you’re terrible at this.” His voice is deep but warm, and she likes the way it rumbles through her even from a few feet away, the way she can practically feel it in her bones. It still seems so much like she knows him from somewhere, his face, his voice, but she doesn’t, and it’s nagging at her like an itch she can’t quite scratch.

“You can pick up your drink at the other side of the counter–have a nice day!” Maka calls out to his back with forced cheer as he makes his way to the pick up area. She tries to track where he goes, but it’s so busy that she loses sight of him as she helps other customers until she finally gives up and forgets what had been so interesting about him to begin with.

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