The Civil Wars- Devils Backbone

WARNING: NOT FLUFFY
IM SO SORRY LOVLIES I JUST REALLY WANTED TO DO SOMETHING WITH THIS SONG I JUST HAD TO IM REALLY REALLY SORRY.

Also: smoking is not good! please don't smoke!

Thanks for understanding and sticking with me! You guys are the best! <3
-thefluffyotaku
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Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done? I've fallen in love with a man on the run. Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you please, don't take that sinner from me. Oh~ don't take that sinner from me.

She really didn't mean for it to happen. It really shouldn't have happened. Maka squeezed her books tighter to her chest as she walked, the small item hidden behind them pushing into her chest. She was head of her class top of the line Maka Albarn. No nonsense. The perfect, innocent, angel. She wasn't supposed to be with him. She wasn't supposed to be in love with him! He was Soul Eater. Biker gang, leather jacket, gang wars, thrives in the underbelly of Arizona. Rides with Death's Reapers. He wasn't supposed to be with her. He wasn't supposed to fall in love with her.
But....that's all they had. They only have each other, they can only trust their lover with their life. It's been this way since he was first disowned and picked up by the gang. Since her mother died and her father ran off. They had been friends and he had promised to protect her. Her boots quickly veered to the left and tucked her in the darkness of an alley. Rival bikes reeved by howling in the wind about the fresh meat. Stealing her nerves, Maka followed them.

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what do I do? I've fallen for someone who's nothing like you; he's raised on the edge of the devil's backbone. Oh I just wanna take him home. Oh~ I just wanna take him home.

Soul. He had a mission from lord death himself to lead a group in order to expand the Reapers territory. The fight had gone south, soul was taken to a warehouse deep in rival territory. Despite having to run from the law, Soul always made time from her. He was protective of her and faithfully drove her too and from school so everybody knew she was-not only taken- but belonged to him and him alone. There would be hell to pay if anybody tried anything. But...Soul....wasn't waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Maka had always knew this was a possibility but he was always careful! Clever and most of all careful! Careful not to leave her alone!! To get hurt!!! Who know what they could be doing to him!She was all he had. No gang member in their right mind would expect rescue from their own gang, especially not in another gangs turf. No gang member would expect her to rescue him-not only was it down right insane- but soul could suffer serious consequences. Maka belonged to him as the girl of a biker; his property. If they find out she acted out of turn....they're would be only one way to "honorably" redeem himself.
She would do everything in her power to prevent him from having to do that. While earning the badge of a death scythe is a high honor within the Reapers; her love didn't have it in him...
Maka sucked in the hot Arizona night air, her knuckles gripping the cold black metal of the pistol until they turned white.
She just hoped she did.

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, he's somewhere between a hangman's knot, and three mouths to feed. There wasn't a wrong or a right he could choose, he did what he had to do. Oh~ he did what he had to do.

Maka held him tight. Soul kept his hands on the hardwood floor of there apartment. She didn't question the wetness she felt on her shirt where his head rested on her shoulder. With her finger woven through his hair, she glanced at the discarded leather jacket on the floor behind him. Lord Death's mask was sewn largely on the back with the coat with the title arced over the top in white lettering. On one sleeve, was her lovers street name 'SOUL EATER'; on the other: two red and black scythes criss-crossing. Nothing written, just a dull patch on a worn ruffed up jacket. Her green eyes looked back down at him as he nestled closer to her bruised neck mumbling another hoarse apology into the handprints around her throat. She whispered words of love and reassurance, simply pulled him closer, and kicked the jacket a little bit farther away.

Give me the burden, give me the blame. I'll shoulder the load, and I'll swallow the shame. Give me the burden! Give me the blame! How many, how many Hail Marys is it gonna take?

They walked into the back room of a bar a week later. His long slender fingers tightened around hers as the deathscythes took a glance at the newbie and his girl. Soul and Maka both wore their club jackets, one of which held a concealed carry. On the two leather couches sat the females, all of which belonged to a deathscythe. Liz and patty sat on one couch, smoking and drinking in their shorter leather jackets and pants. The sisters were part of the female version of this biker gang: Deaths Lady Pistols, before moving to be with their boyfriends Crona and Death The Kid. The Eldest, Liz, glanced towards the young man she belonged to, the son of Lord Death himself. He sat at a small desk in the shadowed corner. Crona sat grinning madly at the rest of the deathscythes whom sat at the round table playing poker over a large map of the Reapers territory. Smoking a cigarette with a hand filled with cards sat a blue-haired biker-Black*Star- with an empty chair next to him. His fiancé sat on the other couch; Tsubaki, an immigrant with a tighter jacket of her own, zipped down a little. Maka took a seat next to her, both becoming close friends being in similar predicament of falling in love with a reaper who wanted nothing more than to preserve their innocence.
If anyone noticed the markings on her neck they didn't comment and if the reason for them was anything like the stab wound tsubaki had on her chest...it was normal any way.
Soul gave her one last lingering look- eyes darker then she remembered them being- before making his way to the new empty seat at the table; his back and logo showing to her.  Maka saw that logo a lot, almost on a daily basis. Hell it was sown onto her back at this very moment. Everytime her eyes stared at the empty holes of the mask the same feeling burned stronger than before.
The feeling of her absolute unwavering love to the white-haired biker with a heart just for her and two scythes sown onto his arm.

Don't care if he's guilty, don't care if he's not. He's good and he's bad and he's all that I've got. Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you please, don't take that sinner from me. Oh don't take that sinner from me.