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100Kinks: Fairy Tail

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The look of her makes him very nervous. Evergreen is tense and red and kind of sweaty when she occupies the seat in front of Elfman. It’s the middle of the day and the guild hall is bustling and the fact that she is here, alive and no gigantic dragon of doom and destruction is chasing her means that it can’t be that bad. Right?


It occurs to him suddenly that she might be trying to tell him she’s pregnant. The thought immediately makes him stop shoveling his sister’s Bouillabaisse into his mouth. Jesus. Jesus. He is so fucked. After Laxus and Freed and Bickslow make a bloody mess of him, his sisters were sure to take their turn. It’s not even because he and Evergreen aren’t married, it’s because they’ve only been seriously dating for weeks! He’s only nineteen years old and he promised himself he wouldn’t start a family until at least after he’s S-Class and─

“So I found out what fisting means.” Evergreen’s pinched voice cuts into his frantic train of thought. Elfman’s mouth hangs open as he regards his girlfriend who is dabbing at her temple with a green handkerchief that matches her dress.

Elfman wonders what brought this on. Had he somehow mentioned it in a drunken bout because wow, Elfman, that’s really fucking gross and your fist is probably bigger than her entire head─ “Um. Did I...?” He swallows and tries again. “I mean, do you want me to? To do that to you, I mean.”

Evergreen’s complexion turns violently puce. “N-no! You idiot! It’s just that─” She looks over her shoulder and sputters when the Thunder Legion is laughing at her. She breathes through her nose and tries to get it over with faster. “Bickslow told me that it was slang for─ well, you know. A handjob. So I told you about it last night but you were really hammered so you probably don’t remember how much─” She coughs into her hand to give herself a break. Elfman’s dark skin takes on a ruddy hue. “Damn it. You said you’re fine with it if I am! But I’m not! Freed told me what it really means.”

Elfman’s head was spinning. “I would never!” He exclaims after choking on his tongue. He sees Bickslow slamming his hand on the table and Laxus roaring with laughter. Freed is trying to hide his own behind a tankard. All three men are pink and out of breath.

Evergreen acts like she’s not flushed to her toes and nauseous with embarrassment. “You were very drunk. But still. I’m just letting you know I’m not doing it so don’t hope for it, pervert!”

His cheeks are swollen with air which all blows out with his exclamation. “I don’t want your fist up my colon anyway!”

The guild hall’s noise comes to a fast halt. Elfman hears his older sister’s scandalized gasp followed by the establishment’s collective mirth. Great.

“Very smooth, you gorilla.” Evergreen hisses at him, her red face contorted with rage. “Don’t bother coming over tonight or you really will get my fist up your colon.”

When she leaves, Elfman presses his face into the table beside his cooling bowl of stew. And he thought she was pregnant.


Chapter Text


“Is that... really necessary?”

From under her, Laxus eyes the gag ball dangling off her fingers, its dark straps flimsy-looking but still a bit threatening.

The face Mirajane makes is not disappointed but it’s something close to it. Laxus is sad to see her so. “I told you we don’t have to do anything you don’t want, baby.” She sets the contraption down and rubs her palms over his chest, her pointy nails painted a blood red lightly scraping over his tattoo, his nipples, his ribs. She’s seated on his belly, his hard on nudging her ass and ignored for the time being. He hopes not for any longer. “You have to tell me, okay? I want this to be good for you, too.”

Laxus bites the inside of his cheek. He knows Mira will never force him to do anything he isn’t comfortable with, or even push for it. In the first place, it’s his idea to indulge her fantasies which aren’t really a secret. Everyone knows where his beloved’s preferences run to and if they don’t, they only need ask. God knows he’s been subject to it since they were young. The very least he could do is try it for her.

And besides, he can’t really say no now that she’s all dressed up for him. The leather bodysuit is more straps and mesh than actual leather and she put on that plum lipstick that just drives him nuts. Yeah, he’d fucking go through with this, even if she asks to shove a plug up his asshole. “Nah, I’m good. Put it on. It could be hot for me not to hear myself talk sometimes.”

When Mirajane smiles, it’s pleased and sunny but the curl of her lips imparts a bit of deviousness that makes something stir in his gut. She fit the straps around his head and secures the punctured ball into his waiting mouth. When she finishes, she draws away from him and appreciates his handiwork with a salacious grin that makes heat throb between Laxus’ thighs.

“Perfect,” she pronounces, leaning in to press her dark-tinted lips against the corner of his mouth, hot and slow. Her body rubs against his in the process so the first sound filters through the gag.

“You remember your signals?” Even though he nods, she clarifies. “One snap to ease and two to stop. Okay?” He nods again and excitement chases her pulse to a gallop. “Excellent. Otherwise, keep your hands on the headboard or you’re getting your ass beat.”

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Not usual clothing/dress up

Rogue lends his boyfriend a petulant look as he stares at the get up the blond has on. “That’s very fucked up.”

On the other hand, Sting shines as he is prone to when he is particularly chipper and God knew chipper happened to Sting quite a lot and it really was a miracle that Rogue, who liked his people quiet and still, was able to tolerate it on a daily basis.

“You love it.” Sting insists, flexing his biceps. “You think this is kinky and sexy.”

Today, kinky and sexy is Sting wearing a very believable replica of Gajeel Redfox’s famed outfit. Rogue half-wonders where Sting got such a thing.

“I stole it.” Sting pipes up as if he’d just read Rogue’s mind. “Gajeel-san has a new get up so I broke into his home and stole this one. His Exceed was there and he helped me find it. I think he wanted to get rid of it. Kept muttering something about how ugly it was.”

Rogue rubs his fingers against his temple hoping to ease the throbbing Sting’s antics have put there. God, the boy will get himself killed one of these days. “For Christ’s sake, Sting. Why would you even do that?”

Sting, who somehow is already standing between Rogue’s knees, looks devilish as he looks down at his sitting boyfriend. “Because you probably have some kind of fantasy that goes like this. And I am dutifully fulfilling that fantasy.”

Rogue tries to ignore the enticing way Sting rubs his hands over his shoulders, his neck. “Don’t project your kinks on me. Just because you daydream about a Fairy sucking your dick doesn’t mean I do.”

Laughter bubbles out of Sting’s mouth. “Now that’s a good idea.” He proceeds to kneel in front of Rogue’s crotch, still a sight of mischief as he wrestles Rogue’s pants down his ankles. “Are you just cranky that I didn’t get a wig and piercings?”

Rogue gasps when Sting’s lips descend on his dick. “Please stop insisting I’ve even thought about getting a blow from Gajeel Redfox. It’s sick.”

Sting pumps his hand deliberately slow, pressing his thumb into the glans. “Yet you’re… hard as iron.”

The noise of Sting’s laughter grates on Rogue’s nerves but that’s not the reason his molars are grinding together. “You can make all the jokes you want if it means you actually finish me off.”

Sting’s answer is a bad imitation of Gajeel’s laugh before putting his money where his mouth is.

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Public/semi-public place

The first thing Laxus feels is the coolness of the glass. It feels sanctifying against the heat that bubbles under his skin, it’s a lovely war on his over-stimulated system.

The second thing he feels is nervousness. On the other side of the glass wall is a view of the Manhattan skyline, millions of tiny lights punctuating the darkness that the nighttime brought, some stationary, some zipping, some blinking. It is unnerving, it is thrilling. Logically, he knows no one can see. Freed’s office building’s glass is mirror-tinted so they could look out but no one could look in. Still, it sends his blood roaring.

The next thing Laxus feels is the careful spreading of something cold between his asscheeks. Freed seems too hasty and excited to warm it in his hands so Laxus takes it like it is: cool and just a bit unsettling.

Then, the coldness is immediately offset by Freed’s natural warmth. The shorter man’s body presses up against Laxus’ back, cautious but almost harsh in its impetus. Laxus groans when a hot hand closes over his dick and starts pumping; he can hear Freed’s knuckles bumping against the glass every so often which sets off Laxus’ growing jumpiness as it sounds like someone is knocking on the door.

Almost distantly, he hears Freed speak, probably warning him if his intended intrusion because Laxus feels Freed’s erection nudge his ass, followed by the slow thrust in. Laxus doesn’t like using the word gentle but it is nearly always the word that his lover inspires. There’s an ache that is quickly chased away by a burst of delightful sensation in time with Freed’s movement.

Freed accompanies his thrusting with brilliant pumps of his hand that has Laxus seeing stars behind his lids. He’d like to keep his eyes open and watch the nightlife swell but his eyes pinch shut on their own accord. He feels Freed bite into the back of his shoulder which prompts Laxus to thrust into his fist. Jesus.

“Harder,” Laxus grunts. Freed obliges him. Laxus’ lower body presses against the glass with Freed’s merciless pushing. With Freed’s hand trapped between Laxus’ belly and the wall, he takes to sliding his thumb on the head of Laxus’ cock and that’s all it takes for the blond to blow his load into Freed’s hand. Most of it slides down the glass.

Laxus is not noisy when he comes but Freed is. He’ll worry about whether or not his secretary heard anything at a later time.

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Chair sex

Wild hair the color of moonlight spills everywhere: on her shoulders, on his, between her breasts and in his face. It’s an irritation that Laxus dislikes on regular days but one that he doesn’t mind when the situation runs along the lines of what he is engaged in now. That is, Mirajane astride him, her bouncing on his dick while he sits atop a barstool.

Risky? Absolutely. Laxus has the occasional panic of the rickety wood giving up from their combined weight. Just before Mirajane fucks the worries out of his head, he thinks to himself that no man of his size ought to be doing bedroom athletics on a chair that reminded him of newborn giraffes for some odd reason, and so much more when joined by another fully developed human.

For a while, it continues like this: Laxus hearing the desperate creak of the barstool and having a short anxiety attack then Mirajane’s cunt doing excellent, awe-inspiring things as she descends on his length.  At some point, he can’t tell if he’s tense because he’s about to bust a nut in his babe of a wife or because he’s imagining very colorful ways he could die because he dared said wife to ride him on a chair.

In any case, the latter thought is employed much faster. Not that he dies.

The legs of the stool give way beneath their combined weight and raucous movement and as it collapses into a useless pile of potential firewood, it sends the couple onto the floor, a rude penalty for their equally rude abuse. Laxus lands on his ass and his back and his head with Mirajane not that far behind seeing that her limbs automatically tightened around him at the first crack of the wood. Laxus is trying to decide if his spine has blown apart or not when Mirajane starts giggling uncontrollably on top of him. “Oh God, are you okay?” she shrills, her words punctured by laughter. He feels funny when her body shakes above his. If he can feel good sensations going right to his dick, then he’s pretty sure he’s well and dandy. He’s no healer, but if an incorrect medical assessment meant a glorious orgasm then so be it.

“’M fine,” he grumbles, and to show her, he fucks right up into her, earning himself the most delightful of squeaks. Mirajane’s fingers grip his hair as if to punish. She resumes movement with that God-given talent where she swivels her hips before driving them down. If Laxus was being completely honest, he doesn’t know what she’s doing. He feels like there’s some sort of science to her motions but all he’s understanding is the quick build of carnality in him and the even faster approach of completion. He’s a blur of movement preluding his orgasm: his arms shoot out to grab his lady and pin her onto the ground by the shoulders. Mirajane screams as she comes, her noise echoing over the cavernous ceiling. Laxus does so too, but he presses his face into her neck so it’s much quieter than her unabashed yell.

Later, as they’re pulling their clothes back on, Mirajane who is still shaking from her release regards the broken chair and tries to hide the evidence as if someone would randomly come into the guild at nearly five am and count the barstools. Laxus takes time in pulling his pants back on because he might not have suffered spinal damage like he thought but there was a considerably large splinter that had poked into his ass cheek.

The next morning, no one notices the subtraction of a stool but Mira does smile at Laxus when he sits on another one in front of her bar, right on the spot from last night.

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Phone sex

“Spread your legs.”

“They are.”

“I can hear you using that dildo. Are you fucking yourself with it?”

“I’m wishing it’s you.”

Over the phone, it almost sounds tinny. Gajeel’s ears almost strain to hear Levy’s wispy voice over the line. He wishes dragon slayer ears actually worked better with telephones but he guessed not.

His right hand grips the neck of the phone tighter. His left pumps his dick in a more desperate rhythm. His wrist hitting his belt buckle is starting to hurt but he imagines that Levy appreciate the added noise that tells her just how feverishly Gajeel jacked himself off to the sound of her.

“Are you about to come?”


He holds back until she does. Until he hears the damning way her breath catches, until he hears her sob and whine. He can still hear her hand rustling against the sheets and the quiet buzz of her toy as she works her way through her orgasm.

That is always Gajeel’s favorite part, continuing to eat her out or sliding his fingers or his dick inside the wet hear of her core and just watching a myriad of emotion dance over her face.

He can imagine her right now: a dainty pink tint from her hairline to the tops of her pert breasts, her chest heaving as she pushes air into her lungs, her stomach muscles trembling as the breath shakes out of her mouth, her limbs twitching and her toes and fingers curling and unclenching on the sheets that still held her friction’s heat.

The memory of her like that, so lusty and ravished is what sends him over the edge.

Chapter Text

Smutty/sloppy/dirty sex

She feels disgusting but she thinks she likes it like this.

Bacchus moves above her, a persistent blur of movement above her. His body send a rousing stimulus through her and when his belly is pressed to hers, slippery from when he’d come onto her stomach earlier, it’s kind of hot. Cana groans, an enchanting noise that eggs Bacchus on, doubling his speed and efforts into chasing that nest orgasm from her. His hips crush hers into the springy mattress of her room, his thrusts making the  beginnings of bruises to color the inside of her thighs.

She tries to remember how long they’ve been at it. She’s pretty sure they left the guild at eleven and her bedside clock tells her its already past four.

Her breasts are flat against his chest, twin mounds of flesh grinding against the the hardness of his pecs, slippery from when he’d come earlier. She feels plenty perverse: using his harsh-smelling spunk like body oil.

“After this, I’m taking a nap.” Cana tells him, her voice labored and her breathing loud.

“Not gonna shower first? Gonna let all this crust over ya? You’re filthy, Alberona.” Bacchus is grinning that drunken grin of his which aggravates Cana so she shoves her hips against his and bites down on his curling bottom lip, fast as a snake.

“I will. And you better not even think of starting any water sports if you wanna join in.”

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The coin jumps into the air, twirling as if in slow motion as the women watch from below. As it falls closer to the earth, Mirajane’s hand snakes out, her fist closing on the golden coin and slapping it down on her forearm.


Mirajane grins at Erza who is scowling. The redheads arms are crossed over her breasts, her pose indignant. “You have been winning this ridiculous coin flip for a month now.” She points out, her tone colored with the tiniest hint of bitterness. “I would like to examine that coin to tell if it’s rigged or not.” Erza has always suspected her girlfriend to be a bit of a cheat and looking at her now with the most salacious grin on her face, it’s hard not to. Mirajane likes getting what she wants. And God knows she loves having Erza at her mercy, helpless and trembling. Of course she’d rig a coin toss just so she could have that.

“That’s no way for a peasant maid to talk to her master.” Mira states, her voice dropping a decibel below freezing point, complementing the icy stare she serves Erza.

Chapter Text

Against the wall

When Erza is drunk, she is a tornado. The whole of her is careless and rough, tactless when she shoves him against the wall of a closet and smashes her lips against his. Her hands seek purchase on his hair, making his roots hurt from her tugging and like this, his head hurts and he’s lightheaded from the entire stimulus. She comes like a mess and leaves paramount ruin behind. Jellal likes it, though. He likes it when she’s so horny she gets impatient.

When Erza is drunk, she touches everywhere. Her lips press a kiss onto every surface she can reach: his hairline, his eyelids, his chin and his clavicle. Her restless body grinds against his, conducting searing heat from her skin onto his even through the layers their clothing forms. Her hands travel like they’re something mechanical doing inspections of his body; he likes it most when they’re trailing small licks of fire along his ribcage down his belly and struggling with the buckles of his belt. Her legs tangle up with his, one of it rubbing between his thighs and enticing the erection there into something so hard it’s almost painful.

When Erza is drunk, she has no reservation getting on her knees. She makes her front slide against his the whole way down, chasing lewd moans from his lips. First she takes him into her hands, then into her mouth. When the wet heat of her tongue wraps around the head of his cock, he bucks into her before apologizing profusely, then moaning again. Erza gives him a cutting look before sliding a hand up from his hip to his stomach and pushing him against the wall, silent warning not to move. He tries not to while she sucks on him and tries harder when the tip of him hits the back of her throat.

Chapter Text


“Now what?” Natsu asks. His thick arms are crossed over his chest, the cloth of her favorite blue and white top stretching over the planes of his pecs to the alluring tapering of his waist. Clipped to a clump of bubblegum-colored hair is the ribbon that used to adorn her side ponytail, the fabric of it perfectly matching the short skirt that tried to ride up his ass .

Lucy Heartfilia is a writer. As such, she feeds her perversions as means of enticing her soul. And the most recent of those perversions happened to be Natsu in her clothes and her in his. There was nothing quite as deviant as the idea of his scent and his essence catching on her outfit so the next time she wore it she’d only think of how she touched what he had, lived in what he had.

“Touch yourself.” Lucy responds, breathless and blushing.

Seeing her so makes a feral grin spread on Natsu’s lips. He obeys, rubbing his palm against the hardness that raised the front of her skirt. When he brushes the skirt aside, he reveals his erection straining against the dainty yellow lace of the thong he’s stolen from her drawers. “Hidden treasure.” He tells her cockily, his hand trailing lazily over his cock. Lucy bites her lip when she sees the swollen head struggle against the floral pattern of the lace.

“God, Natsu,” Lucy whines from her perch on the bed.

Natsu approaches, casting a shadow in the afternoon light as he looms over her. “You look good in that vest, Luce.” His voice is low as he regards her in his clothes. She’s not the only one who finds the act of switching outfits sexy. His eyes trail over the enchanting swell of her breasts that the open front fails to hide or the way her hand smooths over her belly uncertainly as if she isn’t sure if she wants to rub it over her clit or her breasts.

“Are you making fun of me?” Her lips poke out in a pout even as her face turns ruddier in shade. Self-consciously, she shifts, pressing her thighs together as if to hide the growing dampness there, as if Natsu couldn’t smell the maddening scent of her arousal.

“Of course not. This is pretty fucking naughty and I like it.” He joins her on the bed, ever the predator like he was raised to be, his body moving atop hers and his hand still stoking himself. His other arm presses down on the mattress beside her head, trapping her. “I want you to come and I want you to do it while you’re still wearing my clothes because I wanna go nuts with your smell surrounding me while I’m trying to fall asleep.”

Below him, Lucy sputters. How did she get the notion that just because this was her idea, she’d have the upper hand? “W-what? Natsu, you─” Her breath hitches on her throat when her eyes flicker down to where he’s jerking himself off, fast now, her thong still entangled with his dick. “How do I even do that?”

When Natsu grins again, it makes her wetter. “Let me help you.” He says before he squirms down and presses his lips against her clothed crotch.

Chapter Text

Oral sex

Hands─ that what she wants to feel on her.

Juvia is water, through and through; even in solid form she feels fluid and pliant, like she could fit into any container someone wants her to be. Juvia doesn’t want to be water, she doesn’t want to be someone’s girl. She wants to be ice, she wants to be cutting and hard and unforgiving like frostbite, she wants to be her own girl.

Cana makes her feel like she’s whole. Maybe not in the sense that Cana completes her but more so that Cana makes her feel like Juvia is okay as Juvia is.

But if you ask Juvia, she thinks it’s okay to be water when she’s with Cana. When the brunette presses the rough pad of her tongue flat against Juvia’s clit and curls her finger into the front wall inside her pussy, it’s okay for her legs to feel like jelly just before they turn molten─ in a figurative sense, of course. Between the two of them, no one will appreciate Juvia’s solidity giving out. No, she’d rather Cana gets wet on something else, if you catch her drift.

“Juvia is Cana’s girl,” she says in an exhale of breath, just before her chest starts to pound with the buildup of release.

Cana’s face rises from where its hidden between Juvia’s thighs, her jaw glistening and her lips swollen. “Hm?”

“Nothing. Please don’t stop.”

Chapter Text

Dirty Talk: 

Laxus is well aware that his wife put in a lot of effort to keep things "fresh" and tonight was no different. They are at Makarov Dreyar’s door, a bottle of Grigio in his hand and a fresh carrot cake in hers. Mirajane is trying to fix his tie one-handed when she pulls on it so his face is level with hers and in a low voice that speaks right to his dick, tells him that she’s not wearing any underwear.

Laxus’ mouth drops open and before anything could squeak out of his mouth, the door opens and his grandfather ushers them in. Suffice it to say, dinner was unbearable. Laxus’s head spun the whole time he watched his wife move about the house, making idle conversation with her grandfather-in-law in that chirpy voice of hers while she subtly went about fixing things up here and there so they fit her liking. One particular moment, when Laxus was leaving the kitchen with the casserole he’d been tasked to fetch, he chanced upon his wife bent over, seemingly inspecting a stubborn stain on the tablecloth or so Laxus would have noticed if his eyes weren’t glued to her ass sticking out before she straightened her posture and tossed him a look over her shoulder that told him she knew just what she’d been doing.

The night seemed to go with a torturous sluggishness and the poor man couldn’t concentrate on the happy familial conversation his wife and grandfather shared because the only thing in his mind was the expanse of Mira’s ass under the skirt of her too tight burgundy sheath and how he wanted to shove that dress up over her hips and bend her over back on his grandfather’s table.

It would have to wait though. After the casserole, she was going to get fucked

 When they get home, Laxus is at his limit. Mirajane smiles the whole drive back as if she knows just how much he’s suffering, just how much he’s itching to get his hands on her, just how much she's going to let him. She takes her time unlocking their front door, putting in the key, then the security code with an antagonizing slowness as she basks in Laxus’ heavy aura. It’s probably a bad idea, teasing him like this. And she finds out just how much when he shoves her into the wall the moment the door closes behind him.

His forearm lays flat over her shoulder blades so her chest is flat against the glass deco beside their door and his free hand ignites fire over her body, travelling over the slope of her waist and the curve of her ass. The gasp out of her lips is hot, rebounding warmth into her face. “Laxus─”

He doesn’t let her finish talking. His hand ventures up the slit behind her dress and farther up until his fingers are sliding against the inside of her thighs and finally touching her wetness. She really isn’t wearing a stitch under her dress, holy shit. “You’re nasty, Mira,” he tells her, voice rough from disuse. His breath fans over the back of her neck and the sensation makes her mewl. She grinds down on his teasing probing but he pulls back before she can get some real friction. “Did all this make you wet? Look at you, you’re a mess and I haven’t even touched you properly.” She’s breathing hard, telling of her frustration and want. How Laxus can turn her switch on so fast, she can never tell but she’s thankful for it. Even after spending nearly half her life by his side, he still knows how to get her going.

Laxus licks sweat that beads on the side of her temple, tasting salt and the chemical tang of her makeup. He’s feeling merciful when he runs his fingers along her lips, harder this time so it prompts a gut-wrenching crooning from his wife. "Are you hearing this? My fingers are just sliding over you and it sounds filthy." The first finger pumps into her, reckless tempo. This is when Mirajane begins to scream, a desperate sound as she sticks her ass out to match his pace. "You like hearing me say what a bad girl you are? You’ve been dripping into my hand since."

He licks a line down the open back of her dress, tracing his tongue against the indents her curved spine reveals. “Please, baby─” she knows that he can’t resist when she begs like that, but she can’t see his face in this position.

Laxus’ tone is casual when he speaks again, almost mocking, almost loving. “You want me to do this to you right? You didn’t wear underwear because you can’t wait to get fucked.” He completely brushes the skirt over so it piles on the narrow gathering of her waist and he can see her full ass in all its glory. Between her legs she is pink and glistening in the sparse moonlight that filters through the window where she is pressed against. “You like me pushing you up against a wall and getting your dress messed up so you can fuck yourself on my fingers.” His lips find the back of her ear, nibbling gently until he bites down on her lobe where gold and jade creoles hang. “Or maybe you want something bigger?”

Mirajane’s breath catches when she hears Laxus wrestle with his belt and zipper but his forearm press harder against her shoulder blades when she tries to steal a look behind her.

“Does it bother you that I don’t let you watch?” He’s gripping the base of his hardness and running the length of him along her cunt. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna make you wait. I’ve been thinking about shoving my dick in you since we showed up at Gramp’s door.”

Indeed he doesn’t make her wait, sheathing himself into her and listening to the breath shudder out of her.

Chapter Text

Explaining their relationship to someone who didn’t know

“It’s like,” Cana’s face scrunches up thoughtfully, her hands unconsciously playing with the tip of her ponytail. “Hm. I fuck him and he fucks me because we’re horrible people when we’re drunk.”

“Which is 90 percent of the time,” Bacchus pipes in, thinking himself to be helpful but Cana scowls.

“I don’t really like him when I’m sober. I think of this as an outreach program.”


Lucy, who had walked in on the infamous drunks going at it clothed against the guild’s pantry, had been sat down and bought a jasmine tea on Cana’s tab. The couple thought it necessary to explain the situation to the stellar mage.  “Okay. Um, I really don’t care what you guys do─”

“I mean it’s not like the sex is awful.” Cana continues as if Lucy hadn’t spoken.

“It’s pretty heavenly.” Bacchus agrees, nodding solemnly.

“Sometimes you just have to not think about who’s dicking you down hot and proper, y’know, Lucy?” Cana addressed the blonde.

“Uh,” Lucy’s flush chased her hairline, violent and hot. “I really don’t think so.”

“Well, you do. You gotta get that good sex where you can.”

Chapter Text

In the pool

Being in the water is delightful torture. Freed’s blood is molten through his veins; worked up for hours, he’s a mess of tensions and arousal. The water of the pool feels like the shock of lightning against every nerve-ending. The man clambering behind him, the epitome of electricity dancing in the skies, has the same effect.

Freed’s fingers tighten around the bars of the pool ladder, an outlet for the stress of straining muscles. Behind him, Laxus barks out a command for the green-haired man to relax, but how can he when he’s being fucked like it’s his salvation?

“Yes, Laxus, harder,” Freed grinds out and that’s all he can manage. His throat feels raw from holding back the frenzied screams that battle his restraint. He bits down on Laxus’ forearm which grips the handles of the ladder on either side of Freed’s head, anything to keep his voice down.

The pain is an exquisite thing that makes Laxus grunt and slam his hips against Freed’s ass in a beat that was almost violent. The noise the water makes adds to the feverish tone of tonight, disturbed waves lapping all over but easily disregarded. Freed’s helps himself along, dragging his fist up and down his twitching cock. Laxus comes first but he continues hitting that spot inside Freed until the smaller man reaches his peak as well.

Chapter Text


The strobe of lights overhead is a powerful thing that calls to the artlessness that rests in Gray. There’s a drink in his hand: Patron and pomegranate and orange and something that’s fuzzy and doing somersaults in his belly. Initially, he thinks of getting it straight but he doesn’t want anyone to think he is. No one who drank tequila thought of going home without getting a hot dicking and that won’t happen if girls keep slathering themselves over him.

But then it stops mattering. Someone who looks like the personification of smoke materializes behind him, his hard body almost menacing and plenty electrifying. Gray looks over his shoulder, his lids just half up as he regards his new friend some more. A shock of black hair tied back into a ponytail, a scar that slashed over the bridge of his nose and a smirk that confirmed Gray’s suspicions. Mr Stranger was looking to fuck and Gray didn’t plan on making him work for it.

Gray takes the man’s hand previously rubbing enthralling circle onto Gray’s front hip and drags him off the dancefloor and to the bathroom. Finding an empty stall was easy enough; the night is young yet and no one is drunk enough to be vomiting in the comfort rooms yet. Gray chooses the first one and pushes the man inside and locks the door after himself. Tall, Dark and Handsome grins like a scoundrel before grabbing Gray’s face and slanting his mouth over his. The taste of sour beer and something smoky infiltrates Gray’s taste buds and that is exactly what the man’s kiss feels like: danger and adventure.

Gray’s hands wander, but not very far because in no time the man’s jean button is popped and Gray is seeking purchase inside his pants.

“Fuck,” the stranger grunts out, his voice sharp and deep. It sends a sordid thrill right up Gray’s spine as he wonders what kind of trouble this man likes.  “Keep doing that.”

Gray pushes the pants pooling to the man’s ankles and inspects the throbbing meat in his hands. Good Jesus. “You sensitive?” He asks in a cocky tone as if his legs aren’t trembling from the prospect of taking it in and awaiting ruin.

When Gray’s thumb swirls over the head of his dick, Rogue’s teeth grind together. Instead of answering, he comes into Gray’s fist.

“Wow. A one-minute miracle.” Gray’s voice is dry but he keeps pumping, spreading hot load over the still hard dick. “You could be a nice distraction while I wait for my cup noodles to cook.”

Rogue scowls. “How do you wanna do this?”

Gray is already shucking off his jeans. “You can fuck me in the ass if you can prove you’re not a two-minute miracle.” He fumbles into his pocket for a lubricated condom and slaps it into the stranger’s hand. “Wrap it up.”

Rogue doesn’t say anything as he rips the packet open and rolls the slippery rubber down his length. “You sure sound conceited for someone whose asshole is practically throbbing for dick.” He directs his cock so the head of it pops inside, slow like when he pushes the rest of himself in. The man in front of him is trembling, a sight that wakes something animalistic in him.

“Holy fuck,” Gray says on an exhale, his voice indeed quaking. “Move.

When Rogue does so, Gray takes his slippery hand and rubs it on the body of his dick. How perverse is it, he wonders, to jack himself off with a stranger’s jizz while the stranger fucks him from behind.

Rogue pounds away at chaotic pace, sending Gray’s face pressed against the feeble stall wall. The noise theyre making is damning but this is the type of place that doesn’t care so he fucks up into Gray even harder, almost savage and certainly bruising. His hands grip Gray’s ass cheek in a crushing force, the type of hold that leaves marks instead of names. Contrary to Gray’s fear, he lasts longer than the infamous two minutes; in fact, Gray cries out before he does, shooting caustic load onto the wall in front of him. Rogue increases tempo and finishes in no time.

He ties the condom up and throws it into the toilet before finding some cheap paper towels to wipe down.

“You look like you’re in a hurry.” Gray remarks. He’s still slumped against the wall, panting gentle, ass still exposed, hand still working himself through the last of his orgasm.

Rogue tucks himself back into his boxers and does his pants up. “I have to go home. Frosch is waiting for me.”

“A boyfriend?” Gray almost sounds jealous with his tart voice and cocked brow.

The smirk on Rogue’s lips is something taunting. “My cat.” He dumps the tissue on the wastebin and regards his partner one last time. They never asked for each other’s names. He doesn’t really want to. “I’m here next Friday.” Find me, is the unspoken and Gray hears it loud and clear. He’s grinning when Rogue leaves the stall.

Chapter Text

One catches the other masturbating

When Bickslow comes home and follows the scent of his wife’s favored freesia bath oil to the master en suite, it’s a gift to find her sitting on the corner of the tub’s lip with her back against the wall, her head tossed back and her legs spread to accommodate the glass dildo she’s plunging in and out of her glistening cunt.

Bickslow’s mouth drops open, mirroring her slack jaw from which the smallest, most sensual whining emanates. Lisanna’s lips are swollen and red, close to a purple telling of bruises, no doubt from biting down on it if the indents of teeth marks is anything to go by. Her hair is wet, clumps of snowy silk plastered to her cheeks, her forehead, her neck and her shoulders. A dip from the warm bath and the steam that continues to shroud her makes her skin dewy and pink, totally enticing and prompting images of himself running his tongue along every dip and plane of her body, his nose picking up the smell of freesia that clung to her pores.

She’s too preoccupied to hear the door swing open or Bickslow’s not that subtle approach. She only snaps out of her lust-induced twilight when her husband sinks to his knees in front of her, the look of him not far off from a mortal laying homage to a deity. And right now, that is exactly what Bickslow feels like doing.

Lisanna’s eyes open just to half-mast as she regards Bickslow whose hand ends up on her thigh, making the slow trek up to where glass met skin. His bright green eyes are glazed over with such simple arousal that it prompts Lisanna to flick her wrist faster, plunge the ribbed toy into her core with a dizzying urgency. “You’re home early,” she manages to say even as a moan fights for her vocals. She pants raggedly before speaking again. “No kiss hello?”

Bickslow’s smile is lecherous when his hand stops her moving one so he can drag his lips over her hooded clit. “Hello.” His heart hammers at the sight of her red face, her pinched eyes. “This is a nice welcome home. I ought to take more S-Class if this is the kind of reward we’re talking. I’m hoping it’s not the last part of the program, though?”

Lisanna’s empty hand lifts so she can card her fingers through his hair. “This is fun but it’s lonely. I like the real thing.” Even now, years into marriage, she can still be bashful as if she hadn’t just been caught fucking herself with shaped glass. “And it can be extended if you lend your participation.” Her smile is sweet and shy, cool balm from the horrors from his extended mission.

“That can be arranged.” To prove it, he slides the dildo back inside her pussy until the heart-shaped hilt peeks from between her legs like a pretty, pink plug. For a while, he leaves it like that, something he can think back on when he has to leave again. But Lisanna mewls so he takes initiative, grabbing the hilt and dragging the toy out in a hooked motion so the bulbous head scrapes against her gspot. Now her cries are wild: loud, ragged and careless as if she wants the neighbors to knows just how good her reunion with her husband is.

The whole scene calls to something animalistic in Bickslow. At this point, his half-hard dick has reached full potential; it’s almost painful but he watches his hand manipulate the glass glistening with her juices move in and out of her core and her heaving stomach, her hands clenched on the tub’s lip, her face a labored, sexy mess and he can’t stop won’t stop. Nothing's gonna stop him from seeing his wife come from getting glass-dicked.

“Ohh, Bickslow, yes,” Lisanna grinds out. “Please, I’m gonna —.

She starts trembling before she can finish her sentence. Bickslow watches every part of her quiver from her limbs to her chest to the lips of her pussy still wrapped around the toy he’s pumping in and out at a leisurely pace now because his hand hurts and he wants to be merciful. He leaves the glass stuck hilt-deep in her when he rises to shuck off his clothes so he can join her in the bath water that’s already gone cold. “Time for act two, babe. You’re gonna have so many orgasms tonight you’ll be blind tomorrow.”

He pulls her onto his lap and puts his money where his mouth is.

Chapter Text


Fingers previously striking a heat inside her now make a slow trek up her body, leaving a trail of slimy wetness from mound to belly. Gray's fingers are long and currently hot from their previous endeavors, teasing a gentle fire under her skin until she feels every dormant nerve ending of her body alight in flame. Cana groans quietly (this surprises Gray; she's never had enough shame to be any quiet when they're together like this) as he touches her in an almost tentative fashion (and this surprises Cana; he's never been anything but rough when they mete frustration out in the guise of mindless passion).

Now it’s all of his hand smoothing across her skin: up her stomach, her ribs and palming the sweet swell of one breast where she's sensitive so she makes another lewd noise that is more familiar to Gray, more comfortable because he's always been clear that this is fucking and not making love. But he looks at her face and sees not just lust but something else in there. Something like affection and it scares him because he can't allow that; can't let himself want that. Maybe it was his soft touch that prompted this caring mood.

So he makes it something hard. A semblance of every other night they'd end up together in bed: rough, careless, harsh and bruising. His hands travel higher until his fingers can splay over her throat, his longest digits wrapping halfway around so it can push the back of her neck forward and his thumb can burrow into her windpipe. The look Cana gives him is fluid: first terrified, then encouraging. Daring him to be the asshole he's been since his love left him and he's sought the comfort of her alcohol and then her. There's something snide forming on her bee-stung lips and he's expecting a taunt so he pushes his thumb down and watches her breasts heave for breath, slow but still desperate.

"You have your hand around my neck but you're the one who looks terrified," Cana says after he relents. Just a bit. He keeps his hand where it is, spreading her dampness on her neck.

"And you need to shut the fuck up." Gray returns easily, not quite baited if his voice was anything to go by. He positions himself against her core, both of them hot where they touch and leaking against each other as prelude to what was not going to be the last of tonight.

When he enters her and she's in the middle of that habitual gasp she does when he does so, he presses down on her throat again. Cana almost chokes on her cut off breath. Her accusing gaze turns molten when she sees that he looks no amount of remorseless for doing it. As he thrusts, her hand join his to keep it around her neck. She doesn't know what she feels about him controlling her breath as if he doesn't control everything else but it’s not disgust or horror, it’s just a sentiment between thrill and eagerness. She's only half ashamed when she comes prematurely, her limbs shaking as he makes her air thin.

Chapter Text

I Love You

He says I love you before she can.

It's not something she's heard before— at least not something that someone hasn't said in the heat of passion. It never counted until Laxus said it so offhandedly one night while she made him dinner (so rare; he usually cooked a pitiful omelet and that was the extent of their gastronomical efforts), that stupid fucking grin on his face so boyish as if he never learned how to do so past adolescence. It leaves his lips so casually, as easy as breath, so her hand holding the plate freezes just centimeters from the table, her mouth closed but wanting to gape.

And Laxus knows the effect of it all: how it shocks her that he'd blurt it out just like that with no polite preamble as if they hadn't been just fucking for months, as if it was okay for him to make this something more than friendly fun. His smirk turns sweet (God, it's a fucking smile) when he takes the plate from her hands and starts eating mango pilaf and overcooked lapu-lapu with the beer they'd been passing back and forth.

She doesn't say anything the whole night— can't find words to refute or accept so she stuffs fragrant jasmine rice into her mouth as Laxus talks about this new band he wants to see two towns over and would she like to come, it could be fun. Jesus. As if he just hadn't turned her world upside down. What do you even say to that?

When she can't figure it out by the time they're done eating and she feels the fucking pressure to just give him an answer, can't figure out if she feels an affirmative or a rejection, she kisses him. Corners him by the sink where the water is running over their dirty dishes and he looks so surprised when her tongue slips between his lips and she makes it both angry and soothing. Bruising but warm. God, she didn't know what he wanted from her. So she gave him what she knew: her hand sliding over the front of his track pants, feeling him where he was hot, hard and heavy. This was common ground. Safe. She could give him this if he never asked for anything else.

She kisses him until they're both mindless, her barely undressed as she sat on his lap and him equally clothed as he lay on her kitchen floor. When he fucks up into her, she wonders if he thinks them to be making love. The idea makes her panic, her descent on him coming at a feverish pace, her legs squeezing his hips so hard that it feels like punishment, her nails digging into the tense muscles of his shoulders. Sex that is almost harsh so it won't feel romantic. It doesn't last very long; soon he's spilling inside her and she's not that far behind. When she's done riding their releases out in a lazy, sated manner, she feels the quiet settle on her back. Shit.

"What do you want me to say to that?" She asks after a while, her lips trembling against his tattoo, her eyes closed because they burn. She could tell him anything. She could be anything anyone asked her to be, for a night.

"What do you feel like saying to that?" He counters, voice soft, no pressure, just tell me what you feel.

"I don't know. Kinda wanna kick you in the nuts, kinda wanna kiss you, kinda wanna go for round two. But I can't think of anything to say." She doesn't want to admit that she's terrified, nor does she want to ask him to take it back so she doesn't say anything at all.

"Then don't. I'm not asking anything from you, I just wanted you to know." His hands smooth down the curve of her spine— heat that doesn't burn.

"You can't possibly expect me to just brush that off. You asshole." There's a smile in her tone. "Had to show me up like that, huh?"

"If that makes you feel any better, sure."

Cana groans, which makes him laugh. She'll figure out an answer one day.

Chapter Text


Levy, when she mewls, is a beautiful thing. When Lucy pumps her fingers inside of Levy’s hot snatch, the smaller woman is an inarticulate mess of lewd noise and labored breaths. Her face is red with effort to keep her voice down, something that makes Lucy grin and endeavor to pleasure her girlfriend at a more reckless pace.

Now, Levy looks on the brink of ruin. Her blue hair is mussed, spilled over her shoulders like sea waves, the longest strands of it curling above her breast, just barely touching the puckered, pink areolas. Without warning, Lucy dives forward to clamp her lips and teeth around the hardened nipple. This prompts Levy to cry out and spill onto Lucy’s palm, molten desire that is heady and all-consuming.

“You look like you’re having fun,” Lucy says as she tries to bite back a pleased smile. In front of her, Levy is panting and then she’s groaning when Lucy’s ministrations continue. This time, the blonde’s sticky fingers rub the inside of Levy’s dripping slit, ending at the engorged nub above it. A curse leaves Levy’s lips; she’s too sensitive for any more but she doesn’t think she can tell Lucy to stop. She doesn’t think she wants to, not when her racing heart prompts her words to clog in her throat. Unconsciously, her back arches off the sweat-soaked sheets of their bed and her legs spread wider to encourage more. Lucy obliges, swirling the pad of her thumb faster over her girl’s clit.

Chapter Text

Sex game (first to come loses)

The fact that Loke has his gaze on the bedside clock while Gray's mouth is doing wonders on his dick is just a little bit annoying. Gray much likes it when the king of the stars kept his eyes on him when they got together like this but right now, he can make an exception.

He hears Loke muttering. Silly little things like, "Holy shit, holy shit," or "Five more minutes," and it makes blood pulse in Gray's cock. Loke's fingers are bone white gripping the sheets and his stomach is clenched in a fashion Gray imagines quite painful. But he supposes that the man was all too desperate not to come before Gray's recorded nine minutes since certain privileges were on the table. Privileges like whoever comes faster does laundry duty for the rest of the month.

Gray takes his lips off the swell of Loke's cockhead and replaces the heat of his mouth with the swift pumping of his hand. "You look like you're in pain, dude." He raises himself so he's level with his lover's red face. When Loke only exhales sharply in reply, Gray dives forward to capture the man's lower lip between his teeth and bites on it. "Just come already, babe. You know you're not made to last."

Loke shakes his head, an act that looks like it takes much effort. Gray pretends to sigh dramatically before worming back down until his his breath can fan over Loke's dick. "Time to bring out the big guns, I guess." He says. When Loke looks down between his legs to regard his boyfriend, he sees Gray take his absurdly long fingers into his mouth and suck on them. Just when Loke is thinking how enticing it all is, Gray takes his digits out of his mouth, heavily coated in spit, and he wastes no time pressing it against Loke's clenching asshole. The orange-haired man stars breathing deeply, irregularly. Gray grins as he slowly thrusts two fingers up Loke's ass.

"Holy Mavis," Loke hisses as his back arches off the bed, his hips grinding down on Gray's intruding fingers. "You really hate losing, don't you, Fullbuster?"

Gray expertly swirls the tips of his fingers against Loke's prostate. "Ready to do all our laundry for a whole month?"

Instead of answering, Loke spills into Gray's fist, warm load that drips down his dick to were Gray fingers him. "You're the worst," He finally says breathlessly but he's grinning sloppily as Gray continues to massage him.

Chapter Text


When Laxus comes home more depressed than Mirajane has ever seen him, she knows it's up to her to do something about it.

Her man was not one for dwelling in self-pity but everyone had their moments. Laxus Dreyar might have been a big shot with an ego bigger than a house but Mira knew he was prone to crippling disappointment every once in a while. As he lay on their bed facing away from her, head bowed until his chin hit his chest, she feels the nurturing instinct swell in her. Carefully, she lays down behind him so she could cover his broad back with the heat of her body. Her fingers find his hair, nails lightly scratching across his scalp. Slowly, she feels his body relax. "I want to cheer you up, baby,"

Laxus' shoulders go back to hunching. Without turning to look at his girlfriend, he speaks. "There's nothing for you to do." His voice is hoarse as if he has to force words through a swollen throat. The sound of it makes her heart clench. "There's nothing anyone can do. I'll be alone forever."

Mirajane almost rolls her eyes but stops herself even though he won't see anyway. What exactly did that make her? Or the Thunder Legion for that matter? "I thought you said you didn't want an Exceed anyway?" 

"Yeah but now Gajeel has one. I've been on this Earth longer than that dipshit, how come he gets one before me? Or Natsu, or Wendy? I'm probably three times her age! I've been on the waiting list since before she was born!"

Mirajane bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn't think he wants to hear that Wendy really wasn't seven years old like he constantly insisted or that there was a waiting list for Exceed. When Natsu first found Happy's egg and Lisanna bought it over to show Laxus way back then, the Lightning Dragonslayer hadn't seemed all that interested. "So you're just jealous of Gajeel, then?"

She hears Laxus huff. "I didn't say that."

It's not a while until inspiration hits her. With a delighted squeak, she jumps off the bed so she can stand and Laxus watches the magical tiles of her transformation magic envelop her form. Bright light shines and a moment later, it reveals his Demon in a dark purple bandeau barely covering her chest and a tiny gstring of the same color. Laxus's mouth waters. "Are you gonna bang me to make me feel better about being a miserable hermit for the restof my life?" 

"Look here, silly." When Laxus manages to rip his gaze away from the thin satin that clung to Mirajane's mound, she points to the cat ears the color of her hair that sprouted from her scalp. Laxus's jaw drops when they twitch. Then his breath clogs in his thraot when she starts crawling over his body, chest lowered so her breasts brushed against him and her ass raised to reveal a flicking tail right above her ass. "If you still want a pussycat, I'll be happy to play substitute tonight." She stops crawling until her lips can kiss at his neck where his pulse beat the hardest. "I'll do anything to make you feel better, baby."

From his daze, Laxus manages to place his palms on her hips, his fingers squeezing the bouyant flesh of her ass to bring her closer to him. "I'm not really jealous of Gajeel anymore." He drags her crotch against his lap, fascinated by the wetness that darkens the satin she wears there.

Mirajane coos before reaching behind her to untie her bra, fully intent on making her man forget about any other kitty he'd ever want.

Chapter Text

Riding Crop

The crop descends on a spot above Sting's ass. The pain is hot but so sudden that it ebbs away just as quick until only the excitement is left, the potent arousal that has its hands around his neck. Sting gasps, then groans when he feels the plastic end trail up his spine and before he can feel its loss, it smacks against the back of his thigh, exposed from his kneeling position.

From his left, he hears Natsu speak. "Enjoying yourself?"

The blindfold covers Sting's eyes but he doesn't need to see to know that Natsu is smirking. "Yes," He replies, breathless.

"Yes...?" Natsu sounds bored but underneath it, ice in his tone.

"Yes, master."

Chapter Text


It’s discovered one night when Lisanna’s fingers pumped a frenzied rythym into Juvia’s sopping pussy. It being that the Rain Woman was a squirter.

When Lisanna curls her fingers right into the ridged patch of flesh inside Juvia, the water mage cries out. Lisanna thinks nothing of it; Juvia has always been so loud when they get together like this. She keeps going, dragging the pads of her longest fingers against Juvia’s g-spot while her other hand teases the button of nerves between her own legs.

It doesn’t take long for Juvia to squirm. For her hands to seek purchase on the sheets by her waist and when that wasn’t enough, on the pliant globes of flesh on her chest. Lisanna watches transfixed as Juvia tweaks and squeezes until her nipples are mauve and pebbled. This is when Lisanna goes harder, sloppily flicking her wrist so she can better touch inside. When her fingers scissor and rub, it proves to be too much for Juvia who comes, messy and loud.

When something gushes out of Juvia, Lisanna’s hands stop moving inside her girlfriend and off her clit. Lisanna blinks her big blue eyes at the splatters on her navy colored shirt. Opposite her, Juvia looks violently red. From the intense orgasm or embarrassment, Lisanna can’t tell. She decides on the latter when Juvia tries to push off the bed and avoid Lisanna’s eyes.

“Whoa, lady, where do you think you’re going?” Her hand, still sticky and wet, circles around Juvia’s wrist. She watches Juvia freeze mid-step, one leg on the bed and the other still kneeling on the bed. The inside of her thighs glisten and from collar up she is flushed. The sight of her easily makes Lisanna’s pulse wild once more. “Are you embarrassed? Because that was really hot, Juvia-chan.”

Juvia blushes more. “Don’t try to spare Juvia’s feelings,” her voice is small, contrast to how she’s been screaming just a while ago.

Lisanna tugs on Juvia’s arm and pulls her back down on the bed so she can sit between Lisanna’s legs. “I’m not. That was really sexy and i’m glad I got that kind of reaction out of you.” She drops a kiss on Juvia’s bare shoulder, her lips trailing languidly up her neck where blue hair matted. “In fact, I want to see if you can do that for me again.”

Juvia’s breathing starts to climb, beautiful noise that Lisanna relishes. “That was actually very draining.” Her hips grind so she can press her ass against Lisanna’s lap. “Though it was fun, Juvia will admit.”

Lisanna licks a fire under Juvia’s jaw. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll make sure you take plenty of fluids. ”

Chapter Text

 During Battle

“Come with me,” are the gruff words she hears said right into her ear and immediately, she knows its Laxus, that its his hot breath playing over her cheek and his used and tired voice speaking to her. Mirajane startles; she is still shaking from the adrenaline that war has instilled in her system even though for the moment, the war is won until the next aggravation comes. She doesn't take to his touch easily at first. When Laxus wraps his fingers around her wrist to tug her forward, she resists because any comfort at this time would be wrong: she's watched too many people die and her hands were bloody.

But Laxus insists. He leads her on until they're leaving the battle lines and delving deeper into the woods. Slowly, the carnage abates. From the wasteland painted by the red hues of violence and the gray cast of the dead on the ground, her vision opens up to foliage and even the air gets thinner and smells less of wasted life.

In front of her, Laxus looks worse for wear. His clothing, or what was left of it anyway, is singed from the static and energy that poured from his own body. His shirt is gone and its absence revealed many wounds that look dirty and patches of bruises that look like morbid flowers blooming all over his back, his neck. Mirajane wants to reach out right now but she'd be doing lots of that later. Now she lets him take her to a quiet place and feel life, pulsing and wild from her heartbeat.

They stop some ways away from the river. Laxus stands her against the tree, his gaze harsh but his hands the opposite. His grip on her is so gentle she almost can't feel the soft glide of his soiled hands up her arms so they can rest on her shoulder and bring her closer until her barely clothed breasts are brushing against his front. She shivers involuntarily; she hasn't felt his skin against hers since they arrived at Magnolia and war greeted them.

“So many people are dead, Laxus,” is the first thing she tells him. Probably not what he wanted to hear but its on her mind like a cancer.

“And many more will be,” he returns, voice low and soothing, his thumb brushing against her lips. “But I don't want to talk about that now.” He sucks on the bottom lip he just touched, his breath a little sour but the whole of him a comfort. Mirajane's arms go around his neck, dragging him against her so there's not even a breath between them and she can feel the artless gallop of his pulse. Laxus growls into her mouth when her nails dig into his shoulder and just like that the atmosphere changes. Just like that their calm evaporates and the grit and harshness from earlier descends on them.

Laxus shoves her against the hard trunk of the tree behind her and before she can make any noise, his mouth swallows her cry of agony. In retribution, Mirajane grips the hair on his nape between the same fingers that he'd watched crush a man's windpipe for lancing ice through her brother's stomach. Her other hand smooths down his belly until it can grip his hardness through his tattered pants and her hands stroke him with a maddening tempo.

Laxus draws his head away from hers so he can curse. “Fuck,” he grinds out, his lips moving against her chin then trekking lower until he's licking her jaw then sucking on a spot on her neck. Mirajane mewls quietly when he laves his tongue over her collarbone and mewls louder when he grinds his erection between her legs.

Make me forget, she wants to tell him, but her mouth feels dry and her chest feels heavy for a multitude of reasons. She settles on letting moan after moan rip from her mouth, anthem of wartime lust.

When Laxus can't take any more, he pulls away one more time so he can work the button of his jeans and shuck them down to his knees. Mirajane, he sees, is slipping her underwear off while she watches him. He snarls when he grabs the hem of her raised shirt to bring her forward and as if on automatic, her hands seek purchase on his shoulders so she can hoist herself up and wrap her legs around his waist. Laxus slips in with no resistance, the heat of her so welcome after the cruelty on his heart. He thrusts into her in a way that has her spine curving off the bark of the tree behind her and the air out of her lungs expel. Mira's hand goes back to gripping his hair and she uses it to tilt his face sideways. She kisses his cheek tenderly, contrast to how she bites at his sharp cheekbone before licking at the small wound there. She tastes rust on her tongue, the odd taste of that life blood that pleases her because it's his.

(She stops herself from wondering if she'd like it so much if it gushed out of him until his heart stopped pumping and the light left his eyes.)

Laxus hisses but his speed picks up and soon Mirajane is crying out and shaking. Laxus has to hold her thighs to keep her upright and he can finish himself off, coming deep inside of her and panting into her shoulder..

Later, as they're slumped down against the tree and trying to force air back into their lungs, his hand smooths down her dirty hair and the other plays with her still stained hand. “I don't care who dies as long as you're alive after all this,” he says, disturbing the quiet that finally returned.

Mirajane has a frightening moment of mirroring his sentiment and forgetting about the guild or their other friends or how her siblings smiled. She thinks Laxus is horrified at his words, too. How selfish all this bloodshed has made them, she thinks.


Chapter Text

Breakup Sex

One last time.

This is what Gajeel tells himself when the last of his control uncorks and before he knows it, his hands are on her again and hers on him. Levy doesn't make a sound of protest when he kisses a zigzag down the column of her throat until he's licking and biting at the curve of her shoulder. She seems to like it, in fact, how the enamel of his teeth sinks into the cartilage of her shoulder, how he's almost barbaric in handling her. He seems impatient, Levy thinks. Impatient to get the frilly camisole she's wearing down to her waist so the heat of his palm can touch the curve of her breast. Or maybe he's impatient to leave. Levy has sensed that in his the past few weeks.

Still, she doesn't shove him off. She doesn't withdraw from his intensity when she knows that she should be pushing him away before he can leave her, before he can storm out of her life and take her heart with him. She knows that she has to tell him to leave her alone so that she can have this time to brace herself for the bereftness of his going and maybe it won't hurt so much then. But she doesn't do any of that. She still can't stand to see him shove his belongings in a bag and slam the door after him.

So she will take this one last time, both as a selfishness and a comfort for him.

(Because even though the lines on his face are hard and he's said some sharp words, she knows it will hurt him to go.)

When his fingers prod the tiny scrap of satin between her legs, she curls into him and lets her fingers clutch at the hair on his nape (Please don't go; what do I have to do to make you stay?). Her voice is a stringent when it cries out his name before she can think to silence herself. Her lips, slick with drool and plump from biting, settles on the pulse point on his neck where she sucks and laves.

It feels like desperation and it makes Gajeel growl. She's not supposed to beg him to stay. She's supposed to hate him for chasing ghosts instead of building a life with her but the hands clutching at him and the sounds she makes for him are tugging on the heart he's forged with iron. He won't stay, no. But maybe he can be a little less selfish one last time.

"We can't do this," he says as he draws back; it aches to draw away and he's almost kind of glad when her arms tighten around him. "Look, Levy, I don't want to be leading you on when I'm still walking out that door in the morning."

Before him, the girl is a mess of tangled hair and swollen eyes and tear tracks on her cheeks. "I don't care. Let me have this if not you." She presses a kiss against his jaw, tense with resistance that is crumbling like a sandcastle. "Give me this before you take everything from me."

He hates himself for it, but he kisses her, savouring the taste of her on his tongue before he will have nothing but loneliness and regret when he's miles away from the home he made with her. Maybe it will get him through when the nights are cold and his leaving seems fruitless. Maybe, one day, it will be enough for him. For now, it won't be. His hands move again, picking her up by the rump and depositing her on his lap, right where he's hardest and throbbing, right where he needs her most. Levy's small frame, moves above and against him, serpentine but warm, her hips swivelling so she can grind down on him. She mewls and it's a displeased sound, annoyed at how the two thin barriers of their underwear separate them. Gajeel can fix this for her, at least. He rips the waistband of his boxers low enough to expose himself and slides the satin thong over her asscheek. Levy is panting as she watches him align them, and then she is sighing when he pulls her down on him. She is trembling when he fucks up into her and unsteady even as his hands grip her hips in a bruising manner so he can control the swiftness in which he plunders her.

It doesn't take much for her to come. Gajeel knows her so well and her body is in tune with his so it's easy for that searing heat to crawl up her legs and her whole body to start shaking. Perhaps after him, there will never be anyone else to make her feel this way. And by the look of him, convulsing as he releases into her, it is the same for him.

Later, there is mercy. On their twisted sheets smelling of sweat and sex, they bask in each other one last time. They lay on their sides facing each other, taking in fine details like how odd stubbles look growing around the piercing under his lips or how sweet the dimples on her hipbones are. Gajeel's hand trail lazily on the swell of her ribcage, fingers barely touching the delicate underside of her breasts where she's sensitive. Maybe he's tickling her by doing this or maybe her twitching is still from her orgasm. Levy's eyes are heavy with sleep but she wants to spend the rest of the night taking in how peaceful he is before he will hurt her.

"Will you try to forget me?" she asks, quiet as if she doesn't want to disturb the calm.

"I will. But I'll probably fail." Miserably. You're not someone anyone can forget.

"Okay." She says, a smile quirting up a corner of her mouth. "I'm glad for that, at least."

There's nothing to say to that so Gajeel stays silent. It's better if he doesn't say anything else. It is as if he doesn't want to leave her anything more than he already has.

Chapter Text


Something was tingling at the base of Erza's spine.

Maybe it was the music: heavy and lusty from the overhead speakers surreptitiously placed behind the light fixtures of a detached wall of bubinga sculpted into a montage of fairies both cruel and benevolent. Perhaps they were at war. With light shining behind it it looked like an altar, decor to add to the setting of Fairy Tail, a bar as intriguing and mystic as it was expensive.

Maybe it was the assemblage of people milling about. In front of her was the bar where a lone bartender worked, silver hair drawn back into a mercilessly sleek ponytail paired with the face that the gods made in homage to Aphrodite. She made drink after drink for the patrons approaching. Thankfully none of them sat too close for to where she sat, just a man with a bolt-shaped scar at the other end of the stretch of the bar, silent with his third bourbon until the bartender stopped in front of him and they shared secret smiles. Behind her, the dance floor and bodies that inspired the thought of snakes writhing in a pit. Behind that were more comfortable sitting areas where the more laid back guests sat. Some on top of other bodies, letting hands wander as they breathed whispers into each others ears.

Maybe it was the man by her side. Jellal stood beside the barstool she was perched on, the whole of him as attractive an aurora, colors upon colors with that blue on his head, the red on his face and the war of green and brown on his eyes. He filled out his dark dress shirt nicely and Erza could see the shine of platinum studs she'd given him for his last birthday. With his hair slicked back, he was almost formidable. With him speaking lowly against her ear, he was just so.

“Take off your panties and give them to me.” Came the first command. A game they played with her being the helpless follower and him embodying dominance. She quite liked it but there was no need to tell him that.

“Right here?” Now? Her heart pounded in her chest. The mirror behind the bar revealed the throng of dancers in an unaware state.

“Yes, right here. Don't worry, Erza, no one is looking.” Only I am.

His smile was warm where his eyes were cold. The juxtaposition made something sweet and apprehensive moved in her heart. It wasn't hard to be sneaky about slipping the bit of pink lace down the loose skirt of her dress, past the swell of her ass and down smooth thighs anf firm calves. She blushed when the thong caught in her heel but quickly bunched it up in her fist and placed it in Jellal's waiting hands.

“Good girl.” These were the same ones he'd picked for her earlier that night, the same ones that he'd run reverent hands over once she put it on for him right in the middle of their walk in closet, the same ones that made him salivate as they disappeared under her white dress. A dress with a high neckline and no back to speak of, also chosen by him. He had a moment to think: she looks too pure for what I have in mind.

Erza was blushing madly when he smiled down on her as he pocketed the lace. “Now what?”

When he sat down on the stool beside hers, pulled closer so there'd be no bothersome distance between them, the kind upturn of his lips was still intact, as was the unforgiving look in his eyes. Still such a beautiful sight.

“Come closer and hook one of your legs over my knee.” He said next.

She swallowed as she obeyed, the pleats of her dress shifting as she raised her right leg to go over his left knee. They looked nothing out of the ordinary, blending in with the rest of the couples who looked like they couldn't keep themselves unravelled when they could be sharing heat and breath.

Jellal looked pleased. He might be leading but Erza matched him well. She knew what he wanted without him having to go into detail and it made love swell in him, despite the atmosphere. “Now reach between your legs and play with yourself for me.”

She wanted to ask if he was serious but she knew better than to do so. Jellal always was when they got like this.

Her hands hesitate by the hem of her skirt, a flowy little thing that was more mesh than the silk underneath. It was easy to part and easy to keep her legs spread, but she was still nervous. It almost didn't matter that they were at the curved end of the bar where their lower bodies were hidden away from the main space and where more potted shrubbery flourished than people. With their backs turned to the audience and their sides unoccupied, it was safer than when they'd last done something like this.

To assure her, Jellal leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. A slow brush of his lips over the protrusion of her cheekbone lightly dusted with highlighter. When he drew back, she had a small smile for him.

“Go on now.” He prompted, his hand on her raised leg, the thumb of it massaging circles on her skin.

In answer, she lifted the hem of her dress just enough so she could reach between her legs. The fingers she dragged over her inner thighs were pleasantly cool against her heated flesh.

Jellal leaned in closer as if he was going to whisper something but he only traced insubstantial kisses along her jaw, more encouragement. He didn't need to see anything. Just the way Erza's breath hitched when she started and shuddered when she continued was enough for him. He smirked against her cheek. “Good girl. Don't finish yourself off, now, or I'll be mad.” Just like that, he felt Erza's minute movement stop. Her squirming legs went completely still and the breath seemed to halt in her lungs. Almost but not quite there. Not yet.

“Now finish your drink, darling. Maybe we can get a room upstairs if you're especially good.” Jellal pulled away from her, his heat leaving her so disappointing she whimpered. Gently, he placed her leg back down on level with its twin and gave it an affable pat. Erza brought her untouched Paloma cocktail to her still trembling lips.



Chapter Text

Sex on a desk

When Erza walks into Jellal's home office looking tired but still achingly beautiful with the brilliance of wildfire, he looks at her in that stupid way he always does: as if she carries the sun. When she pads over to him, her heels barely sounding against the carpet and her smile telling of many things, he moves with her like he is always prone to because she's push and he's pull like moon cycles and waves. He rolls back the office chair so she can stand between his knees and lean up to see that belly-turning smile curl the ends of her lips.

Now he watches. She is putting a show on for him even though its nearly two in the morning and both of them are still elbow-deep in take home work. He watches her lean back against the lip of his desk, just so slightly. He watches her take the belt of her wrap around dress and slowly tug the knot at her side so the giving fabric slides open, slithering against each other in the way only silk can. He watches the dress part to reveal the lingerie underneath: cups of plum satin trimmed with a darker shade of lace. The bikini matches perfectly. He watches her, that cheeky minx, reach for his chin with a French tipped finger to close his agape mouth. He watches her roll her shoulders back so her dress can brush down her skin and fall into an arch by her feet. He watches her take one of the hands he has fisted by his waist as some semblance of restraint. After that, it is time for him to feel.

To feel the warmth of her skin as she lays his palm against her waist, his last finger just touching the lacy line of her knickers. To feel his hand glide up the smooth curves of her, up her ribs until he stops where there is more lace and satin. To feel his heart pound like a war drum against his chest as he stands up to be closer, to feel the intensified rush of blood under his skin as she watches him with those smug eyes and presents him that daring smile as if saying she knows what he wants and she urges him to take it. And, God, does he.

Jellal doesn't know where to kiss first. The structure of her neck is an alluring thing made even more so by the warm lighting of his desk lamp casting shadows on the crevices of bone and slope. The swell of her breasts look inviting, too. He settles for the obvious, the siren call; he kisses her plump pink lips. Her mouth is just opening into a sigh when he crosses his mouth over hers and licks into her. She tastes like manna after a dessert sojourn— like euphoria achieved. When she moans against him and when her arms grab at the buckle of his belt, he allows her to do quick work of freeing him. There's no need to voice his approval, she can probably already tell how much he loves the way she pumps his aching cock.

When he can't take it any more, he takes it up a notch. He pushes Erza back until she takes the hint and slides her ass up on the edge of his desk. He sees her reach back so she can unhook her bra and toss it aside just as her back hits the surface of his work. He sees her heeled legs hook on the edge of the mahogany, then the swath of plum satin between her legs, dark with dampness. It's his job to take it off, of course. The look she's giving him prompts hastier action; he has her panties on the ground with her dress in no time.

Sliding into her is so, so easy. Erza yields like he is exactly where he belongs and she is demulcent and hot which he believe are components to madness. So he takes her just like that, rough and zealous. He doesn't know how much faster he can go when she screams for it but he tries until his rhythm gets messy and he's pounding her right onto the atlas he is supposed to be giving his boss in nine hours.

After a long day of work, Jellal knows how to fuck his lady proper. God knows they both need something to keep them awake for all the paper work they have to get done.


Chapter Text


morning sex

When Gajeel ambles out of bed and see Levy in the kitchen, he might have been groggy from sleep but a lance of lust hits him.

It’s that tiny mint nightie along with the bashful grin she sends him that does it. She’s standing by the kitchen sink, just having dumped a smoking skillet among some unwashed plates. He laughs when she tells him she’s been trying to make him a cheese omelet and that the first time it didn’t work before she got egg shells in it and the second was a bust because she burned it when she went to chop some fruit.

He leans into her to steal a languid kiss that has her moaning into his mouth as he allows her hands to fist into the shirt that still smells like his bed. Gajeel returns the favor when she grinds against him and the two of them stop worrying about the still steaming pan in the sink. They don’t think too much on it when she’s tugging his shorts down and his free hand is practically ripping off her panties.

He wills his heartbeat to something slower than the frenzied staccato when Levy turns around and urges him to take her right there, right then. Gajeel kisses a line down her spine, watching her back curve alluringly when he thrusts into her. Her knuckles turn white as her hand clenches around the sink’s edge.

It’s all so fast because it’s way too easy to chase the release out of her tense form. Gajeel makes sure to support her lax for when she goes limp against the sink.

Afterwards, he tells her that was the best breakfast she’d ever made even when she tries to plow her fist into his gut.


Chapter Text



A clap reverberated through the room, ending all other noise and any movement. The couple on bed was stiff as ice, unmoving as they gaped at each other: him horrified and her flabbergasted. Erza broke the spell first. When she craned her head to look behind her, the tips of her hair brushing against her sculpted shoulders in a way that was so enticing Jellal almost (just almost) forgot his mortification, the look on her face was a tough one to discern.

Erza, shamelessly naked and covered in an enticing sheen of sweat, rode astride her husband king, her knees clamped against his hips and her arms wound so tight around him it was as if she was afraid and anima would suck him back to Earthland. Everything seemed to proceed in slow motion as she craned her head to look over her shoulder to stare at the spread hand on her butt as if she was trying to see the red hand print underneath it. Jellal swallowed again, thinking it would not be very far off until she employed the Ten Commandments on him.

“Did you just slap my ass?” Came her tart voice. Her gaze was still on his hand, now slowly retracting as if a withering claw of overgrowth until his hand hovered inches away from her lovely buttocks in flaring red shame.

Jellal tried to grin when she finally looked back at him. It came out weak. “At least I didn’t say something corny with it.”

“Like?” A thin red brow cocked.

“You know. Something like, ‘the swivel of your hips is excellent, wench!’ or something to that effect.“ In an effort to look unembarrassed, Jellal gestured dismissively.

Now Erza laughed. A full bellied laugh with snorts and chortles unfit for any queen. “That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard.” To appease his obvious mortification Erza pressed her lips against the space between his brows. “Well, if you get off to spanking your wife and calling her a wench, I don’t think I’d mind much. You’ll have to pardon me laughing throughout the ordeal, though.”

Jellal sighed but he smiled. “Let’s just pretend none of this ever happened or I will cast myself from the window in humiliation.”

Chapter Text


“That looks threatening.” Gray says. The knob on his throat bobs as he swallows nervously. There is sweat on his brow but he's excited. Cana takes one look at his erection and decides that.

“Why? Because a woman's wearing it?” She shoots back, stroking the shaft of the strap on dildo she's has on almost lovingly. Her grin is big and fierce.

“No, because it's eight inches long and has the width of a Pringles can.” Gray is scoffing, which looks ridiculous because he is also blushing.

Cana cocks a brow at his sudden reluctance. “You said that one guy had a niner.. Or were you just talking shit?”

“He spent three hours going down one me. My ass practically self-lubricated with all his hard work.”

“And what are you implying! My jaw is already sore from sucking your dick and I'm pretty sure my fingers will be pruney for weeks from rubbing lube in your ass.” Cana looks like an irritated mother as she fists her hands on her waist, glaring down at her childhood friend. The nerve he had, being this ungrateful!

As if deciding the fuss isn’t worth it (he had been the one to suggest it, after all), Gray turns over so he’s on his belly. “Fine, fine. Let's just get this over with.”

Cana still looks indignant. “Oh, I woldn’t want to trouble you with such a chore.”

Gray rolls his eyes. Cana tends to get so dramatic at the most inconvenient times. “Shut up. It was stage fright. Go on now, we don’t have all day.”

Cana’s sigh was impressive, managing to convey all her fake exasperation but her body crawls atop his anyway and she nudges the dildo between his asscheeks. “You’re the biggest fucking diva, and I can’t believe the things I do for you.” Contrasting her words, she presses a kiss between his tensing shoulders and turns it filthy when she licks the line from that spot to the back of his ear which she bites.

Gray squirms on his stomach before he gets used to the girth and finds a rhythm with Cana, one that doesn’t feel like his asshole is getting plowed open by angry hands. “Don’t worry. After this, I’ll go down on you so long I’ll develop gils.”

Chapter Text

Angsty sex

Into a dark room, he bullied her. The rough hands pushing at her until her back was against a wall was not something Mirajane minded, not when her own were tangling into the downy mess of Laxus’ hair and her mouth was leaving a hot trail down the line of his throat, punctured by a bite on the thick muscle of his shoulder.

It was not the first time they sought comfort in each other’s bodies like this. Sometimes Laxus conscience wouldn’t let him sleep. Sometimes Mirajane would yearn for everyone she’s lost. Sometimes they just enjoyed each other, lengthening the celebrations of victories. Tonight, they both bled, one grieving no more than the other. Makarov was dead and after the initial instincts of anger and anguish came the more primal needs for their mouths on each other, the thoughtless clawing of skin, the scorch of skin on skin. Maybe it would hurt more than what decayed in their chests.

Familiar but peculiar, Laxus touched everywhere, and she supposed that with the lights off, it made sense for him to see her body through his hands. There was something in the air tonight not that difficult to name that made such a needy man out of him, Mira thought. The way his hands parted her legs and his mouth found work between them, the way he bit at the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, the way he licked at what he hurt like an afterthought of an apology. The way he shivered when she pulled him up and wrapped her arms around him, not far off from when one trembled from a violent prelude to tears (but she never heard him do such a thing; even this tiny space of their lives he still acted like he had so much to hide).

Mirajane imparted comfort in ways she knew how: the contrast of her gentle hands against his tense form, the giving plumpness of her lips against the staccato rhythm of his pulse, the initiative of taking him inside her. He found his footing much faster in this intimacy. This, he knew how to deal with, the rough pace that Mira knew how to match. The gaping hole between his ribs, he knew not how to acknowledge. He thought he’d just let himself bleed out. He thought he’d find that bloodthirst forced into dormancy in the very depths of himself. Maybe he’d drink until everything hurt and he couldn’t tell which did most.

“Stop thinking,” Mira said. The first words spoken since he took her into the next empty room with a door. She spoke with a throat raw from crying and for even just a tiny moment, Laxus was thankful someone carried the same grief he did.

He relented, focusing on the warmth of her. Mirajane was an all-encompassing phenomenon when she wanted to be, overwhelming on the senses which was crucial to sanity in days as dark as this and when a proper mourning wasn’t enough.

Both of them finished quickly, sloppy from fatigue and sore all over and on the inside. Still squeezed against body and wall, Mirajane held on to Laxus, one hand on his nape moving in an absent motion. The other palmed his cheek, wiping at tears that weren’t there. Laxus settled into her touch, vulnerable now and grateful.

“Thank you, Mira.” Was what he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. I’m sorry for another notch on the list of dead you’ve buried, I’m glad you loved him as much as I did. The words wouldn’t follow; stuck inside of him so it was hard to swallow past a lump in his throat.

But they were words she didn’t need to hear anyway. They shared one heart that ached all the same.