Chapter Text
The guild hall was a cavern of shadows and half-light, the earlier celebration now a fading memory scattered across long, deserted tables. Tankards lay tipped and forgotten, their sticky contents drying into the wood, while chairs leaned awkwardly where drunken guildmates had abandoned them. Only a few candles still clung to life atop the bar, their flames thin and weary, casting uneven halos that pooled gold across the floorboards. The mingled scents of stale ale, roasted meat grease, and hearth smoke lingered in the rafters, pressing down until the air felt thick.
In that stillness, Lucy sat alone. Her glass was nearly empty, the dull gleam of liquid catching what little light remained. Her pen rested in her notebook, half-finished thoughts sprawled across the page, while her free hand traced slow circles along the rim of her cup. She had told herself more than once that she should already be home—that it was late, and nothing kept her but habit.
But habit was enough. Natsu always came.
He made his entrance like the world was built to receive it—bursting through the doors without restraint, laughter and energy spilling from him like breath, the faint scent of ash trailing in his wake. He’d sweep her into his orbit without asking, arms locking around her shoulders and waist from behind, his chin hooked against her neck until she groaned about how clingy he was—only to give in with laughter when he refused to let go. That was his rhythm. His nature. A constant she never had to question.
So when warmth pressed to her back and a broad chest settled flush to her spine, Lucy didn’t startle. The contact was expected, the familiarity soothing. Even when the unmistakable press of a hard bulge pushed against her ass, she only smiled faintly, her head tilting as her voice rose soft and unguarded.
“Natsu… you’re late.”
But it was not Natsu who held her.
Gajeel had been walking the city’s outer rings for hours, his boots carrying him in restless circles while the fight for control twisted tighter in his chest. The iron in his blood felt heavier than armor—burden and hunger both—his jaw clenched so tightly the ache spread up through his skull. He had sworn that reason would hold, that instinct could be bound. But mating season gave no ground to logic.
The metallic tang of his own teeth was drowned out by something sweeter, something that coiled around his mind and chained every thought to its source. Lucy’s scent threaded the night air—rich, fertile, unbearably human—and so open in its softness that resistance collapsed. Levy was absent, far out of reach, and the rut that burned in his cock would not wait politely for her return. The ache there was constant, a throbbing weight that pulsed with need, every piercing swollen with blood until it felt like fire lived beneath his skin.
Each step toward the guild wound him tighter, and when he finally saw her—alone, soft, unguarded—something inside him snapped.
He had no words when she breathed another man’s name—no urge to correct her, no need to explain who held her. Silence was easier. It let her illusion linger. It kept the growl in his chest from breaking free.
His breath spilled hot over her ear, harsh and uneven, the ragged exhale of something straining not to tear loose. She tilted back into him with the comfort of routine, unaware. He let his hands drop low around her waist, no gentleness in the grip. The roughness of his palms betrayed everything—calloused, possessive, dragging over her stomach through the thin cloth in a way that admitted nothing of teasing. He anchored her there, flush against the thick weight straining his pants, the hard outline unmistakably foreign to the man she thought she touched.
A shiver moved through her, shoulders tensing even as a laugh still clung to her lips. “You’re really worked up tonight,” she murmured, light in tone but uncertain beneath it, amusement without recognition.
Then teeth dragged across her neck—too sharp, too deliberate. Not affection. A claim. The bite made her gasp, a hiss escaping as blood rushed beneath the sudden sting. Her hips pressed instinctively back against him, but what she met wasn’t the teasing pressure she knew. It was heavier. Solid. Unyielding.
Too large to be familiar. Too firm to be anything but wrong.
And yet—her body didn’t pull away. Her nerves lit with a thrill she tried to rationalize. Maybe Natsu was just different tonight. Maybe his dragon instincts surged harder than usual. Instincts could shift, couldn’t they? Desire could change its shape.
That was what she told herself, even as doubt began to claw up the edges of her mind—matched by the undeniable throb of arousal that refused to fade.
Gajeel’s restraint snapped. Hours of pacing, of clenched fists and teeth grinding behind silence, collapsed into a single motion. His claws caught the edge of Lucy’s skirt and tore it down with brutal force. Threads snapped. Fabric bunched for a moment around her thighs before falling uselessly to her knees. The rip echoed in the hollow dark of the guild hall, followed by the thud of her body as he bent her hard over the polished bar.
Her breasts pressed to the cold wood, her cheek nearly grazing her abandoned glass, the faint stick of spilled ale clinging to her skin. His hand came down between her shoulder blades—heavy, final. There was no softness in the gesture. No pretense of a tease to be softened with laughter. Only the steady, undeniable pressure of a man who had decided.
His palm pinned her flat, his other hand fumbling at his belt with a sound halfway between a grunt and a growl. The buckle clattered open, and his trousers sagged down on his hips, the motion frantic despite its deliberateness—as if every second without her was a second stolen.
The solid heat of his cock settled against her, dragging across the curve of her ass with a weight that couldn’t be ignored. In the dim candlelight she glimpsed the gleam of metal—piercings catching the light before slipping back into shadow—each stud foreign, unfamiliar. The heavy length pushed obscenely between her cheeks, grinding lower toward the damp heat already blooming at her core.
Lucy’s reaction was immediate, instinctive—a breath caught between surprise and surrender escaping her lips. Her body betrayed her, arching back without thought, pressing against him because the sudden rush of heat demanded it. When the head of his cock brushed her panties, the cold press of steel dragging over her swollen clit sent a jolt through her spine that tore a cry from her throat. Sparks chased every nerve. Her thighs quivered—and parted, open and offering, as though they no longer answered to her.
She bit her lip, breath ragged, clinging to the illusion with trembling fingers, even as she whispered into the wood, “Don’t tease, Natsu, just—”
The words never finished.
Her panties gave way beneath claws that tore them aside, and in the next instant the thick crown of his cock drove into her with a brutal, unrelenting thrust that left no space for hesitation. The stretch was instant and violent—so wide, so deep, that her lungs seized and her first breath came out as a ragged scream. Her walls struggled to take him, straining around ridges and veins as he forced himself deeper, merciless in his momentum.
Her fingers clawed at the edge of the bar, scraping the slick wood in search of something to hold, but there was no grip—only the overwhelming reality of being pinned, impaled, and filled until her body had no choice but to yield. She gasped, whimpered, her body flattening beneath his weight.
Each shift of his hips dragged the piercings along her slick inner walls, every stud catching and sparking against sensitive flesh until her cries bounced from the rafters. It was not the measured rhythm she had known with Natsu, not the warmth of a partner’s teasing, but an assault that demanded she recognize how much larger, how much harder, how much less forgiving this body was. Her mind stumbled over the realization, shock and disbelief twisting together in her chest, but her body reacted with a treacherous shudder that squeezed around him as though it had always been waiting to be filled in this way.
The sound of his voice broke through then, guttural and low, the growl of a beast speaking through a man’s throat, and in that instant every illusion she had clung to shattered into useless fragments. There was no mistaking the rough timbre that vibrated against her ear, no mistaking the absence of the familiar tones she had expected, and the name that had lingered on her tongue withered unspoken. Her entire body stiffened in shock, muscles clamping down on him as the truth hit her harder than the thrust itself. She twisted her head, hair plastered against her cheek with sweat, and her eyes found his in the dim, flickering light.
What stared back at her was no playful grin, no smile softened by affection, but a glare that glowed with molten fire. His eyes burned like coals caught in a draft, pupils slit and narrow, unblinking as they bore into hers. His lips curled back from his teeth in a snarl that exposed the sharpness of his bite, a sound rattling in his throat that was more animal than human. Every line of his face spoke of raw, rutting need stripped of every restraint, the façade of camaraderie gone, replaced by the predator that instinct had unleashed.
Lucy’s breath caught in her chest, half sob, half moan, because the shock that should have paralyzed her was tangled with the undeniable fact that her body responded anyway, trembling around him, wet and clenched and unable to push him out even as her mind screamed for denial. She had reached for the man she trusted and found instead the dragon who had stalked her scent through the city, and there was no mistaking now who had claimed her.
The shock of his identity did not lessen the depth of the intrusion or the ferocity of his pace, and for long moments Lucy could only cling to the bar and struggle to breathe against the sheer stretch of him. Her body had already molded tightly around the thickness, each vein pressing its shape into her as if carved, each piercing dragging over sensitive ridges with a friction that burned and pleasured in equal measure. She wanted to resist, to deny the surge of heat that pooled low in her belly, but her walls fluttered around him without her consent, tightening with each grind of his hips, squeezing against the length that filled her so completely that she could not think of anything but the sensation of being forced open and held full.
Gajeel bent over her, his chest crushing against her back, the weight of him pushing her further into the wood until she thought the grain would imprint into her skin. His breath came hot and ragged against the shell of her ear, a guttural rumble threading each exhale, and when his teeth closed once more at the curve of her neck she cried out not in protest but in a sound broken by the tremor of pleasure that followed. The bite lingered this time, not a fleeting scrape but a possessive claim that sent a jolt through her nerves, and her body shuddered beneath him, the sharp sting transmuted into heat that radiated downward into the core where he moved so mercilessly.
Her fingers finally found purchase in the cracks of the bar, nails digging into the grooves, her knuckles white as his pace quickened. The relentless drive of his cock struck deeper, slamming against the tender place inside her that made her vision blur and her mouth fall open on a helpless moan. It was too much, too fast, too hard, yet her body answered with a flood of slick that coated him, every thrust sliding easier, the wet sounds filling the hall until it seemed even the shadows were listening. Her thighs trembled under the strain, muscles threatening to give out, and he caught her hips in his clawed hands to hold her steady, his grip unyielding as he pulled her back onto him with a force that drew another scream from her throat.
At first she tried to tell herself that the sounds spilling from her were fear, that the way her body shook was only resistance, but the lie could not stand against the way her clit sparked each time the piercings dragged across it. Every motion of his hips carved another line of pleasure through her, every thrust coaxed her tighter around him, until denial dissolved into raw sensation. Her lips parted on a broken whisper, not a name but a pleading noise, and her hips began to move in answer to his, a rhythm born not of thought but of need. She pressed back against him, meeting the grind, seeking the shock of every stud as it scraped along her most sensitive places, and the sound she made then was not resistance but abandon.
Gajeel snarled low in his throat, the sound reverberating against her skin, a mark of satisfaction as he felt her yielding. His grip on her waist tightened, claws pressing enough to prick at her flesh through the thin cotton of her shirt, holding her pinned in the exact position he wanted. The thrusts grew harsher, the wet slap of his hips against her ass echoing off the rafters, every stroke burying him to the hilt and wrenching another cry from her lips. She no longer cared that it was not Natsu whose name she had whispered, no longer cared that the man above her was not the one she had waited for, because her body betrayed her with every shiver, every contraction, every gush of heat that welcomed him deeper.
Her head tilted back, hair sticking to the sweat at her temple, her mouth open on moans that rose higher as the pressure built inside her. The coil wound tighter with every pierce of his cock against the spot that made her toes curl, until she could no longer stop the words that spilled out in ragged gasps. “More—don’t stop—please—” The plea shocked her even as she spoke it, yet the moment it left her tongue it was truth, because she needed the pace, the filling, the overwhelming assault that left no room for thought.
Gajeel’s response was a brutal snap of his hips that forced her flat against the bar, his growl vibrating through his chest into hers, and her scream tore through the empty hall, high and cracked and unashamed. Pleasure crashed over her in a wave that left her trembling, her cunt clamping down on him in violent spasms that milked his cock, her slick pouring down her thighs as her orgasm ripped through every nerve. She writhed beneath him, unable to control the convulsions, her nails carving splinters from the bar as her body arched back against the weight that pinned her.
He did not slow. The rut driving him allowed no reprieve, and as her climax shuddered through her he continued to thrust, his pace relentless, the piercings dragging through her oversensitive folds until her cries turned from release into broken sobs of overstimulation that were laced with undeniable arousal. Every movement sent another jolt through her, dragging her higher again, pleasure mounting despite the exhaustion in her muscles, until she realized with a kind of delirious clarity that he was going to force her over the edge again, and again after that, until her body had given him everything it had to offer.
And though her mind still reeled at the sight of his burning eyes and feral grin, though she knew this was Gajeel and not the man she had expected, Lucy’s body welcomed it, her hips rolling in broken rhythm to meet his, her voice raw with cries that carried no denial, only a need that matched his own.
Lucy’s climax had barely loosened its grip on her when Gajeel wrenched her upright with one hand, his claws curling around her shoulder to haul her against his chest. The sudden movement made her stumble, legs trembling, knees weak from the force of her release, but his grip never faltered. He spun her from the bar with a rough shove until her back hit the hard surface instead, her elbows knocking into scattered tankards, her hips pinned by the iron weight of his body. The fabric of her blouse pulled taut across her chest as he bent over her, his teeth bared in a feral grin, and with one violent tug his claws ripped downward. The cotton split from collar to hem in a single ragged tear, the remnants hanging uselessly from her arms as her breasts spilled free into the dim light, pale and flushed, the nipples already hard from friction and heat.
The sudden cool air across her skin made her gasp, but before the sound faded his mouth was on her, hot and insistent, teeth and tongue lavishing attention as if he meant to devour every inch. He closed his lips around one nipple, sucking with a rough greed that made her spine arch off the bar, while his pierced cock still ground mercilessly into her soaked folds. His free hand groped the other breast with a possessiveness that left crescents of pressure on her flesh, his thumb rolling over the peak until she moaned loudly into the empty hall, unable to suppress the flood of sensation.
Her thighs trembled, slick dripping down to coat her inner legs, yet when he lifted her by the hips as if she weighed nothing and set her onto the edge of the bar she found herself clinging to him, wrapping her legs around his waist to steady herself. His cock pressed up against her entrance once more, thicker and hotter than before, and when he slammed back into her with one brutal stroke she cried out so loudly her own voice startled her. The position forced him deeper, the angle brutal, the head of his cock driving straight against that spot inside her that made her see white. Each thrust jarred her entire body, her breasts bouncing with the motion, his mouth darting down to bite and suck at them between ragged snarls of pleasure.
Her orgasm rose again before the first had even truly ebbed, the relentless pace dragging her over the edge a second time until she convulsed around him, her walls clutching at his cock with desperate spasms that only urged him to pound harder. Her cries rose higher, her head falling back, hair spilling over the bar while he bent to claim her throat, leaving sharp bites along the delicate line of her neck. She tried to catch her breath but he offered no reprieve, his hips pistoning, the piercings scraping so ruthlessly against her clit and inner walls that she screamed again, tears pricking her eyes from the intensity.
Gajeel shifted suddenly, lifting her off the bar as though she were nothing, her legs still locked around him while he carried her backwards and shoved her down onto a table strewn with empty plates and abandoned mugs. The wood rattled beneath the impact, crockery clattering to the floor, but he gave no notice. He drove into her again, pressing her flat against the scarred surface, her breasts crushed against his chest now as he bent low, his mouth covering hers in a messy, teeth-clashing kiss. The rhythm never faltered; if anything it grew harsher, the animal rutting force behind it making her scream into his mouth even as her body arched and yielded.
The orgasms came in waves now, one crashing into the next, each leaving her weaker, trembling, slick pouring from her to coat his thighs. Her nails raked along his back, leaving angry red marks that healed as quickly as she made them, while he snarled against her lips and ground her deeper into the table. The hall rang with the sound of his hips slamming into her, with the slap of flesh and the guttural growls he loosed with every thrust.
Her exhaustion became part of the pleasure, her limbs limp even as her core spasmed around him, her mind reduced to sound and sensation, each thrust wringing another cry of delight from her. When he finally pulled her upright again, flipping her onto her knees on the table so that he could take her from behind, she barely found the strength to brace on her elbows. His claws dug into her hips to hold her steady as he drove into her anew, the new angle sending shocks of pleasure that made her sob, her breasts swinging freely, heavy and sensitive, every motion drawing another whimper of overstimulated delight.
The relentless cycle of his rut promised no end, only round after round of brutal claiming, her voice growing hoarse from her cries, her body breaking apart beneath him again and again until pleasure became a haze that blurred thought. Lucy was lost to it now, surrendering to the flood, each wave dragging her deeper into exhaustion and ecstasy until there was no part of her untouched by him, no inch that had not been claimed, marked, and remade in the fire of his need.
***
On the other side of town, the guild hall lay silent, but the small library tucked above the quiet street burned with a very different fire. Shelves leaned heavy with books, spines lined in neat rows, the smell of paper and ink saturating the air, yet the usual order had dissolved into chaos. A chair lay overturned, a stack of texts had collapsed into a sprawl across the floor, and the polished table at the center shook with the rhythm of the bodies pressed hard against it.
Natsu had never been subtle, and in the grip of heat he was feral, every motion loud and consuming. His hands clamped around Levy’s hips as if they were handles, his claws denting the waistband of her skirt before shredding the fabric away with impatient strength. The sound of tearing cloth split the silence of the library, followed immediately by the low growl in his throat as he bent her over the table. Books scattered from the impact, the weight of her chest pressing them flat as she gasped, her palms flying out to steady herself on the wood.
“Haaah—N-Natsu—” Levy’s voice broke on his name, half warning, half plea, but she had no chance to finish before he dragged her panties down and slammed into her in one brutal thrust. Her cry rang high and desperate, “Ahhhhnn—!” echoing off the bookshelves until even the walls seemed to vibrate. The sheer heat of him was overwhelming, his cock thick and burning inside her, every vein and ridge pushing her open with relentless force.
Her body seized around him, tight and trembling, but he gave no pause, his hips snapping forward again and again, the wet slap of flesh loud in the stillness of the room. Each thrust jolted her against the table, her breasts grinding into the wood, her lips parting around broken sounds she couldn’t contain. “Aahhh—hahhh—ahhhhnnn! Ffff—so—so deep—!” The pitch of her cries rose each time his cock struck the tender place inside her, each sound raw with a pleasure she couldn’t hold back.
Natsu bent low over her, his chest pressing against her back, his breath scorching hot as he growled into her ear. “Nnnnhhh—Levy—so tight—so fuckin’ tight—ahhh, can’t stop—!” His voice was ragged, almost a snarl, the words broken by the force of his thrusts. His teeth grazed her shoulder before sinking in just enough to mark, and Levy screamed, her nails clawing the table as her body arched, “Aaaaahhhhnnnn, Natsu—yesss—ahhhhhh!”
Her legs shook, knees weak, yet the strength of his grip held her upright, dragging her back into him over and over. The wet sounds grew louder, slick coating him until every motion slid in with obscene ease, the pierce of his rhythm relentless. Levy sobbed through her moans, her head dropping forward, sweat dripping from her brow to blot the open pages beneath her. Her words tumbled free without thought, “Please—please don’t stop—ahhhhnnn, harder—harder—ahhh gods—!”
He answered with a roar, his hips driving forward with punishing speed, the library filling with the sound of her moans tangled with his guttural growls. Her climax hit in a rush, her walls clenching around him so tight he groaned aloud, “Ghhhnnnn, ffffuckkkk!” His hands locked harder on her hips as she convulsed, her scream drawn out long and trembling, “AaaaAAHHHHHhhhhhhnnnnnn!” Her juices spilled across her thighs, soaking the table edge, dripping onto the floor, but Natsu didn’t slow.
He pulled her upright, spun her, and lifted her onto the table with such ease the books scattered in every direction. Her blouse was ripped open, her small breasts bouncing free as he shoved her back and spread her thighs wide. Levy moaned helplessly, high and broken, “Ahhhhhhhnnn—yesss—ohhh gods, more—more, Natsuuu!” His cock slammed back inside, forcing another scream from her throat, “Aaaaaahhhhhhhnnnnnnn!” Her head tipped back, hair sticking to her damp cheeks, her body surrendering completely as he thrust into her with fire-born need, each stroke wringing another cry of pleasure from her.
The rhythm was merciless, the sounds shameless, the library filled not with the rustle of pages but the soundtrack of guttural growls and shrill moans, raw and primal, the dragon slayer and the scholar lost together in the storm of instinct and heat.
***
Lucy was on her knees now, bent over the table in the guild hall with Gajeel’s claws gripping her hips so firmly she knew she would bear the marks tomorrow. Her breasts swayed with every brutal stroke, her cries raw and high-pitched, “Aaahhhhnnn—hahhh—ahhh gods, deeper, deeper—!” His cock drove into her without pause, the piercings scraping mercilessly along her walls, each drag a shock that made her sob and moan all at once. Sweat dripped from her forehead to the scarred wood, her arms quivering with the effort of holding herself up, but Gajeel pulled her back into him again and again, snarling into her hair, “Tight as fuck—can’t let go—ahhh ffffuckkkk—gonna take it all!” His thrusts grew rougher, wetter, the slap of skin loud in the cavernous silence of the hall.
On the far side of Magnolia, Levy’s library shook with the same rhythm. Her small body writhed on the table, legs spread wide while Natsu held her down by the shoulders, his cock hammering into her with fiery speed. Her voice rose in a series of sharp cries, “Aahhhhnnnn! Nnnnnhhh, yes—yes, ahhhhnnn, harder—!” Her thighs clenched around him, wetness spilling down over the bookshelves beneath, the smell of sex filling the air so thick it overwhelmed the paper-and-ink scent that usually ruled the room. Natsu growled low, his mouth on her breast, teeth scraping the nipple until she shrieked, “AaaAAHHHHhhhnnnn, ohhhhhh gods!” His hips drove harder, the heat of him unbearable, his words tumbling in a snarl, “Levy—ahhhhnnn, so hot—fuck, can’t stop—gonna fuck you till you break!”
Lucy screamed when Gajeel shifted, pulling her hips higher, forcing her onto tiptoe as his cock slammed deeper, piercing her so ruthlessly she thought she would split apart. Her breasts dangled, nipples swollen, her hands clutching the table edge with white-knuckled desperation. “Ahhhhhhhnnnn, Ghhhnnnn, too much—ahhhhhh—but don’t stop—don’t stop—!” Her words collapsed into sobbing moans, her pussy spasming around him as another orgasm seized her body, her juices spilling in gushes that soaked his thighs. Gajeel’s snarl deepened, his claws scraping her hips, his pace relentless as he fucked her through the convulsions, growling into the cavernous dark, “Scream louder, Lucy—let the whole fuckin’ city hear—!”
And hear they would, because Levy’s cries on the other side of town answered like an echo. She clung to Natsu’s arms as he pounded into her from above, the table rattling so hard it threatened to collapse, books spilling in avalanches onto the floor. Her voice cracked into shrieks, “Aaaaahhhhhhhnnnn! Hahhhhhh, Natsuuu, too much—ohhhhhh fuckkkk—!” Her head tossed back, hair plastered to her damp face, her small breasts bouncing under his hands as he mauled them, squeezing, pinching, licking. Each thrust forced her higher, until her orgasm tore through her with such violence she bit her lip bloody to keep from blacking out, screaming into the thick library air, “AaaAAAAAHHHHHHHhnnnnnn!” Natsu roared above her, a guttural dragon’s cry, his hips a blur, fire coiling off his body in shimmering waves that made the books curl at their edges.
Lucy’s moans bled into Levy’s screams, the two women across town gasping and crying in mirrored abandon, their voices riding the rhythm of rutting dragon slayers who had lost all restraint. In the guild hall, Gajeel flipped Lucy onto her back across the table, her breasts bouncing free as he shoved into her again, her legs thrown wide over his shoulders. “Nnnnhhh, fuckkkk—ahhhhnnn, Lucy, can’t stop till I’ve emptied every drop in you—ahhh gods—!” She wailed, “AaaAAHHHHhnnnn, yes—yes, fill me—ahhhhhh please!” In the library, Natsu drove Levy down into the books, her small hands clawing at the pages, her voice shredded by moans, “Nnnnnnnhhhh! Ahhhhnnnn! Natsu—fuckkkk—yes, yes, yes—!” The words overlapped, cries rising together, the night alive with the sound of two pairs locked in primal frenzy, each stroke and each scream feeding the other as if Magnolia itself pulsed with their heat.
***
The night stretched endlessly, the silence of Magnolia broken only by the guttural rhythm of bodies in rut. In the guild hall, Lucy had lost count of her orgasms. Her throat was raw from screaming, her breasts streaked with sweat and smeared with Gajeel’s bites, her thighs trembling so badly she could no longer hold herself upright without his claws gripping her. He had taken her against the bar, over the table, flat on the floor with her back arched and her breasts bouncing under his mouth, and now she lay spread across the broken wood with her legs draped limp over his shoulders while he still drove into her with the same punishing pace. Her voice cracked with every moan, “Ahhhhnnnn—hahhh—so full—so deep—ahhh gods, can’t—can’t anymore—!” but her body betrayed the plea, convulsing around him, sucking him deeper with every spasm of release. Gajeel snarled through clenched teeth, his molten eyes blazing in the candlelight as he pinned her hips with bruising strength, “Nnnnhhh—hahhh, you’re mine, Lucy—taking every drop—ahhhhnnn, gonna breed you till dawn.” Her sobs of pleasure rose high, broken but sweet, “Yesss—ahhh gods yes—don’t stop—ahhhhnnnn, please don’t stop!”
Across town, Levy was no less undone. Her library lay in ruins, the careful order of her shelves scattered into chaos. Pages were trampled underfoot, chairs overturned, ink spilled across the floor where her small body writhed on the heavy oak table. Natsu had fucked her over every surface, flames licking off his skin with each thrust, sweat dripping from his hair onto her chest as he mauled her breasts and claimed her mouth in kisses that were nothing but teeth and growls. Her voice was hoarse, every cry rasped into the thick air, “Aaaahhhhnnnn, Natsuuu—fuckkk, can’t—too much—ahhhhnnnn!” Yet when his cock slammed home again, filling her to the core, she screamed louder, her nails carving red trails down his back, “Ohhhhhh gods—ahhhhhh yessss—more, more, more!” He roared above her, his body a furnace, hips pistoning with animal speed until she came apart again, her juices soaking the books beneath, her legs wrapped around his waist as if they could tether her to the onslaught.
Hour after hour the city carried their sounds, Lucy and Levy’s cries echoing in different districts, rising and breaking in mirrored waves. Gajeel pushed Lucy into position after position, bending her knees against her chest, spreading her wide across his lap, flipping her onto her stomach to pound her into the floor, until every inch of her was slick and swollen, every nerve raw from overstimulation. Still she moaned, her body answering every thrust, “Ahhhhnnn—hahhh—gonna cum again—ahhh gods, please, yes, yes!” Her voice cracked but never silenced. Gajeel’s snarls rattled the rafters, each climax wrenching through him with violent growls, yet his rut gave no pause, his cock swelling and spilling into her again and again until his seed dripped down her thighs, pooling on the floor, only for him to mount her once more, insatiable.
Natsu’s frenzy mirrored it in Levy’s library, his cock slamming into her so many times she lost the ability to count, her body convulsing in continuous release until her legs gave out and he had to hold her up himself, gripping her thighs as he fucked her suspended in the air. Her cries melted into sobs of pleasure, broken syllables of his name over and over, “Nnnnnhhh—Natsuuu—ahhhhnnnn—yes—yes—please—can’t stop!” Her hair clung to her face, her breasts flushed and sensitive under his mouth, her body trembling with exhaustion but still begging for more. Natsu’s growls rose into roars with every climax, his hips never slowing, his fire searing the very walls until the edges of the books curled. The library smelled of sweat and sex, of smoke and spilled ink, the air heavy with the scent of rut that drowned out everything else.
At last the pace began to falter, not from want but from sheer exhaustion, bodies finally forced to slow as dawn’s pale light crept over the horizon. In the guild hall, Lucy lay sprawled across the ruined table, her breasts rising and falling in ragged breaths, her thighs sticky and trembling, her lips parted on moans that had dwindled to faint whimpers. Gajeel still covered her, his cock buried deep, but his thrusts had softened into languid rolls, his rut finally ebbing under the weight of spent release. His chest pressed to her back, his growl no longer feral but heavy and low, the sound of a beast finally sated. Lucy’s eyes fluttered shut, her cheek pressed to the wood, her voice no more than a broken whisper, “Ahhhhnnnn… no more… too much…” yet there was no fear in the sound, only exhaustion and the remnants of pleasure.
In the library, Levy collapsed against Natsu’s chest, her small frame shuddering as his arms locked tight around her. His hips slowed, his cock still pulsing inside her as his last climax spilled hot and heavy, but the brutal rhythm had faded, his fire dimming to embers. She gasped against his throat, voice hoarse from screaming, “Hhhahhh… Natsuuu… no more… can’t—ahhhhnnn…” Her legs dangled limp around his waist, her breasts pressed to his chest, her body slick with sweat and cum, utterly spent. Natsu buried his face in her hair, his growl softened into heavy panting, his arms the only strength holding them both upright as the library settled into wreckage and silence.
The city woke slowly, sunlight spilling over Magnolia’s rooftops, yet in the two broken sanctuaries the only sounds that lingered were the faint moans of women who had given themselves past their limits and the low rumble of dragon slayers finally sated by dawn.
Chapter Text
Lucy staggered home at dawn, her body bruised and marked in places she hadn’t thought possible, her skin glowing with the bites and scratches that Gajeel had left in his rut. Every step from the guild hall to her apartment had felt like a dreamwalk, her clothes torn and clinging, her thighs sticky and raw from the hours of coupling that had wrung her dry. Magnolia was only just waking as she passed through the quiet streets, lanterns sputtering out in the first light, shopkeepers cracking their doors, the baker’s ovens breathing warm air into the chill morning. She clutched her torn blouse tight across her chest as if the modesty mattered, but inside she knew there was no undoing the night. Her key rattled in her trembling hand, and when she finally shut the door behind her she slid down against it, her head dropping back to the wood, her eyes closing on a breathless whisper. She was exhausted beyond reason, but her body still hummed, the phantom feel of his cock and claws imprinted so deeply she could not shake them. Sleep came to her quickly, not as peace but as collapse, sprawled across her sheets in a half-dressed ruin.
At Fairy Hills, Levy had slipped back into her room under cover of the same dawn. Her library was wrecked, the chaos undeniable, but she had pulled herself from it with the same staggering steps Lucy had taken, carrying the taste of fire in her mouth and the soreness of Natsu’s relentless pace between her thighs. The dormitory was quiet, the girls still sleeping, the air filled with the soft breath of women undisturbed by the storm that had torn through the city overnight. Levy had moved like a thief, clothes torn, hair damp with sweat, a flush still painted across her chest and cheeks, her hands fumbling with her key until she tumbled inside. Her bed seemed impossibly soft compared to the unforgiving table where she had been bent and taken for hours, and when she collapsed onto it she curled instinctively around her pillow, biting into it to smother the sound of one last whimper as another aftershock rippled through her spent body. She fell asleep with her thighs pressed together, the sheets beneath her already damp, her breath catching as though even in sleep her body remembered every thrust, every growl.
But Magnolia’s peace would not hold. The dragon slayers did not truly rest, even when their partners lay exhausted. Natsu rose from Levy’s library hours later, the air still rank with sex and fire, the books warped at their edges, the table scarred by claws and sweat. He left her behind, unconscious in her bed at Fairy Hills, her body trembling in dreams, and moved out into the city with a restlessness that burned. His rut had not ebbed; it had only shifted, his nose twitching with every trace of scent in the morning air. He followed instinct as easily as he breathed, drawn toward the familiar sweetness of Lucy that lingered in the distance. His cock swelled at the thought, still aching, still slick with Levy’s juices but demanding more. He pushed through the crowds without care, shouldering past merchants and townsfolk, his eyes sharp, his breath ragged, until he reached the district where Lucy lived.
And there, on the corner of the street before her building, someone crossed his path. Lisanna had been returning from an errand, a basket balanced against her hip, her white hair catching the sun. She turned at the sound of his steps, ready to smile in greeting, but the moment his scent hit hers her breath caught. His body loomed before her, eyes bright with fire and need, the heat rolling off him in waves that made the morning air shimmer. She opened her mouth to speak his name, but his hand caught her wrist with sudden, undeniable force, the basket tumbling from her grip to spill fruit across the cobblestones. The intensity in his gaze froze her in place, a predator’s hunger sharpened by rut, his chest heaving as he dragged her closer.
“Natsu…?” she whispered, uncertain, her voice trembling, but he bent his head into her neck, inhaling deeply, his growl resonating low against her skin. The warmth of his breath made her shiver, her pulse quickening as she felt the hardness pressing against her hip. Instinct screamed at her to step back, to resist, but her feet betrayed her, her body betraying her as she leaned into the heat that wrapped around her. His claws brushed the small of her back, possessive and insistent, and in the quiet street at dawn Lisanna realized that the dragon inside him was not done, that she had stumbled into its path, and that Lucy—still asleep in her apartment just beyond—was not the only woman his rut might claim before the day was over.
Lisanna barely had time to breathe before Natsu’s grip shifted from her wrist to her waist, dragging her bodily against him. The basket rolled away across the cobblestones, fruit scattering into the gutter, but neither of them noticed. His body pressed hard into hers, the heat of him searing through her clothes, the thickness swelling at her hip unmistakable and demanding. The street was still quiet at that early hour, only a few distant voices drifting from the marketplace, but he was already moving her toward the nearest wall, forcing her back against the plaster until the stones shuddered with the impact.
“Ahhh—N-Natsu—!” Lisanna gasped, her palms braced against his chest, but the fire radiating from him was overwhelming. His mouth crashed down on her neck, lips dragging over her pulse before teeth sank in hard enough to make her cry out. Her knees buckled at the sting, her breath leaving in a startled whimper, “Nnnhhh—ahhhhnnnn—!” and he caught her easily, hoisting her thighs around his waist with the strength of a man half-feral. Her skirt bunched instantly, his claws tugging the fabric aside with impatient violence, the rip of seams loud against the stone wall.
She clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his vest as the heat of his cock pressed against her core through the thin barrier of her panties. The size of him made her gasp again, the hardness rubbing along her folds until she was writhing helplessly against him, the friction igniting sparks of unwilling pleasure. His growl vibrated against her skin, “Nnnnhhh—Lisanna—ahhh fuckkkk, need you—can’t wait—!” The words were fractured, more animal than man, his hips grinding harder until the damp patch spreading across her panties betrayed how quickly her body was yielding.
The claws of one hand hooked the cotton aside with brutal force, tearing the flimsy barrier until it dangled uselessly against her thigh. In the next instant the head of his cock forced between her folds, the stretch immediate and shocking. Lisanna’s voice split into a sharp cry that echoed off the empty street, “AhhhhHHHHHhnnnnnn—N-Natsuuu!” Her walls clamped around him, tight and unprepared, but he did not relent. One savage thrust slammed him home, burying her fully, his hips slamming into the cradle of hers with a force that rattled the wall behind them.
She sobbed aloud, her head falling back, white hair spilling over the stone as her voice rose higher, “Ahhhhhhhnnnnnn! Nnnhhhhhh—too much—too big—ahhh gods!” But her legs locked tighter around his waist, her nails biting into his shoulders as if she could anchor herself against the overwhelming intrusion. His pace began immediately, brutal strokes that drove her body upward against the wall with each thrust, the wet slap of their coupling carrying into the morning air. Her moans grew louder, raw and uncontrolled, “Hhhahhh—hahhhh—ahhhhnnnn! Ffffuckkk, yesss—ahhhhnnnn!”
Natsu’s growls rumbled deep in his chest, his mouth finding her breast through the torn front of her blouse, his teeth clamping down over the nipple until she screamed again, “Aaaahhhhhhhnnnn—ahhh gods—Natsuuu!” He sucked hard, his tongue rough against the swollen peak, the vibration of his snarl humming through her flesh. His hips pistoned mercilessly, cock dragging in and out with obscene slickness, every ridge and vein rubbing against her walls until she convulsed around him, her orgasm ripped from her with violent spasms. She threw her head back, voice breaking into a shrill wail, “AaaaAAAAHHHHHhhhnnnnnnnn!” Her juices poured over him, dripping down her thighs to splatter on the cobblestones beneath, but he didn’t slow.
The street became an echo chamber of flesh and voice, Lisanna’s shrieks mixing with his guttural growls, the rhythm of their rut so fierce that dust shook loose from the stone wall above them. He pulled her tighter, claws gripping her ass as he thrust deeper, muttering against her skin in ragged growls, “So good—ahhhhnnnn, so tight—fuckkk, can’t stop—gonna breed you right here—ahhhhnnnn!” His words burned her ears, shame and heat crashing together in her chest, but her body betrayed her, her moans rising again, “Ahhhhhh—yes—yes, Natsuuu—ahhh gods don’t stop!”
Her breasts bounced with every impact, her throat raw from crying out, yet each brutal slam wrung another orgasm from her, smaller aftershocks that left her trembling and limp in his grip. He carried her against the wall as though she weighed nothing, pounding into her until her voice was reduced to broken whimpers and high, keening moans, “Nnnnnhhhhnnn—ahhhhhh—ahhh yesss!”
Natsu’s climax tore through him with a roar that rattled the windows above them, his hips jerking as he emptied inside her in hot, heavy pulses that spilled out around his cock and down her thighs. He stayed buried to the hilt, grinding into her through the aftershocks, his fire crackling faintly in the air as he marked her with every drop. Lisanna sobbed with the force of it, her nails clawing down his back, her voice weak but still pleading, “Ahhhhhh—more—ahhhhnnnn, don’t stop—please, Natsuuu!” And the dragon inside him had no thought of stopping, his cock still thick and throbbing, his rut insatiable, already driving his hips into her again before the last of his seed had spilled.
Magnolia’s streets were waking, but in the shadow of the corner wall, Lisanna’s cries carried unchecked, the sound of her moans and his snarls announcing to the morning that the dragons had not yet finished claiming what their instincts demanded.
The street corner could not contain them for long. Lisanna’s cries had risen too high, her nails raked too hard down his back, the wet slap of their bodies too loud against the waking quiet of Magnolia. Natsu’s rut did not recognize danger or shame, but his instincts did recognize the need for seclusion, and without releasing her he lifted her bodily from the wall, her legs still clamped tight around his waist, his cock still buried deep in her trembling cunt. She sobbed into his neck, her voice breaking with every step as he carried her, “Nnnnhhhhhh—ahhhhnnnn—still inside—ahhh gods—!” Her back arched, her breasts crushed against his chest as he strode with steady, powerful steps into the shadow of an empty alley.
He dropped her onto a stack of old crates, the wood creaking under the sudden weight, her skirt bunched around her waist, her blouse torn wide open. Her pale breasts spilled free, bouncing as she landed, nipples swollen from his mouth already. She barely had time to brace herself on her palms before he was slamming into her again, his claws gripping her hips, his cock pistoning deep with renewed ferocity. The crates groaned under the rhythm, but Lisanna’s screams drowned the sound, “Aaaaaaahhhhhhnnnnnnnnn! Natsuuu—ahhhhhh—so rough—ahhh gods don’t stop!” Her thighs spread wider, her feet braced on the wooden slats behind him, her body pliant and yielding even as she trembled under the sheer force of his thrusts.
His mouth crashed onto her breast again, teeth grazing, tongue circling before sucking hard, and she cried out high and broken, “Aaaahhhhhhhhnnnn, yesssss—more—ahhh gods bite harder!” He obeyed with a growl, sinking his teeth until her back bowed off the crate, her pussy squeezing violently around him as another orgasm tore through her. Wetness gushed around his cock, dripping down between her ass cheeks to stain the wood beneath them. He snarled into her flesh, his voice muffled by her breast, “Nnnnnhhhhhh—so wet—ahhhhnnnn, never gonna stop—Lisannaaaaa!”
Her hair stuck damp to her cheeks, sweat dripping down her chest, her lips parted on moans that came one after another, “Ahhhhnnnnnn—hahhhhhh—ahhhhnnn yessss—yesssss Natsuuuuu!” She could feel her body unraveling, each thrust shaking her, but the fire in him demanded more. He shifted suddenly, dragging her down onto the cobbles, spinning her onto all fours with one brutal twist. She gasped, her hands slapping the stone, her breasts swinging freely beneath her as he shoved her face down and mounted her from behind. His claws dug into her hips, his cock spearing deep with a sound that echoed wetly off the alley walls, and her scream rang sharp, “Aaaaahhhhhhhnnnnnnn! Nnnhhhhhh, so deep—ahhh fuckkkk yes!”
The new angle forced him against her most sensitive spot, his piercings dragging over her clit with every stroke, and she shattered again, convulsing hard around him, her voice hoarse with the force of her climax. “Nnnnnhhhhhh, I-I’m cumming—ahhh gods, I’m cumming again—ahhhhnnnnnnnnnn!” Her body quaked, juices spilling in gushes that ran down her thighs, soaking him and the ground, but Natsu’s rut didn’t falter. He slammed into her harder, faster, her ass slapping against his hips, the alley filled with the lewd sound of flesh and the shrill pitch of her moans.
When her arms gave out and she collapsed onto her chest, her cheek pressed to the cold stone, he held her ass high and continued, his cock plunging into her limp body with the same ferocity. Lisanna’s voice had dwindled into raw sobs of pleasure, every syllable cracked and breathless, “Ahhhhnnnnnn—hahhhhhh—can’t—ahhh gods too much—but feels so good—ahhhhnnnn!” Her breasts mashed against the ground, her nipples raw and throbbing, but even in exhaustion her hips rolled to meet his thrusts, her body betraying her need for more.
His roar filled the alley as he came again, burying himself deep, spilling so much inside her that it ran back out in hot streams down her legs. She whimpered at the heat, “Ahhhhnnnnnn, so much—ahhh gods, filling me—!” But even then he didn’t soften. The dragon inside him surged, insatiable, flipping her onto her back this time and hooking her knees over his shoulders, pounding into her anew. Her breasts bounced violently with the rhythm, her cries echoing, “AaaAAHHHHHHhnnnnnnn! Nnnhhhhhh, yes—yes—Natsuuu, don’t stop—don’t stopppp!”
The alley was wreckage by the time the sun had risen fully, crates shattered, cobbles wet with sweat and cum, Lisanna sprawled limp beneath him, her body marked with bites and bruises, her hair plastered to her flushed face. Yet Natsu’s hips still moved, slower now but relentless, his cock still thick, still throbbing, still buried deep inside her. She whimpered with every stroke, her moans raw and hoarse, “Nnnhhhhnnnn… ahhh gods… still… still more…” Her words broke into sobs as another climax crested, her body giving even when her mind begged for rest.
He snarled low, bent over her, lips dragging her ear as he growled, “Not finished yet… not until every part of you knows you’re mine.” His cock ground deeper, his seed spilling again, her scream muffled against his shoulder as she clung to him in delirious surrender.
Hours later, when Magnolia was bustling in full daylight, the alley still held the sound of Lisanna’s moans and Natsu’s guttural growls, their coupling unbroken, the dragon’s rut devouring them both until exhaustion would finally conquer instinct.
Lisanna could take no more. Her body lay sprawled across the broken crates and cobbles of the alley, thighs splayed wide and trembling, her breasts heaving with every shallow breath. Her voice had gone raw from screaming, her moans reduced to rasping whimpers as Natsu’s cock still moved inside her in slow, dragging strokes that wrung one final aftershock from her trembling core. She clutched weakly at his shoulders, nails dulled from hours of clawing at his skin, her words faint, cracked, almost prayer-like, “Nnnnnhhh… Natsu… no more… please… can’t…” Her eyes fluttered half-shut, her lips slack, every ounce of strength stolen by the endless rut that had consumed them both.
Natsu’s hips slowed but never stilled. His breath gusted hot against her hair, his chest shuddering with each exhale, and when he pulled free at last the slick rush of seed spilled from her in heavy streams, dripping down her thighs and pooling across the stones beneath. He lifted his head, nostrils flaring, the dragon inside him restless even as Lisanna sagged boneless in his grip. The taste of her still burned on his tongue, the scent of her sex still heavy on his cock, but his instincts twisted, urging him onward, whispering of another sweetness waiting in the distance. He looked down at Lisanna’s limp form, her hair plastered to her face, her body marked with bites and bruises, and though she whimpered when he shifted her onto the crates, his attention had already slipped past her.
***
The scent reached him through the bustle of Magnolia. It threaded into his nose like smoke, familiar and maddening — Lucy. The sweetness of her skin, the warmth of her body, the faint trace of her perfume lingering even through the scents of market stalls and morning crowds. His cock throbbed anew, his rut far from finished, and before Lisanna’s whimper had faded he was already standing, his body taut, his eyes burning with fire as he turned toward the scent. He left her collapsed in the alley, her moans dwindling to silence as exhaustion dragged her into sleep, and stalked into the waking streets with a predator’s stride.
Lucy’s apartment stood quiet at the edge of town, the curtains drawn against the morning light, her bed a cocoon where she had collapsed only hours before. Her body still bore the evidence of Gajeel’s rut — thighs sticky with seed, breasts marked with bites, lips swollen from moaning until her throat gave out. She had drifted into uneasy slumber, dreams plagued by molten eyes and claws gripping her skin, her sheets twisted tight around her legs. She never heard the door as it rattled in its frame, never stirred when footsteps thudded heavy against the stairs. The latch clicked under the strength of claws, the hinges groaning faintly as the dragon entered, and the warmth that spilled into the room was not the gentle glow of dawn but the smoldering heat of fire and rut.
Natsu stood in her doorway, his chest heaving, sweat streaking down his skin, his cock still slick from Lisanna but already swelling again, veins and ridges pulsing with the demand for release. His eyes locked on her body sprawled in sleep, her hair tangled across the pillow, her blouse half-torn from the night before, her thighs parted unconsciously under the twisted sheets. The sight made his breath hitch, a low growl spilling from his throat, and his claws tightened on the doorframe until the wood splintered. His scent filled the room, hot and consuming, enough to stir her from the edge of sleep. Lucy’s lashes fluttered, her lips parting as she turned slightly on the bed, her voice emerging soft and drowsy, “Natsu…?”
But the man she had whispered to at the bar hours before was gone. What entered her room now was the dragon, his rut unchecked, his hunger sharpened by the taste of another woman but unsatisfied until every part of her had been claimed.
Natsu didn’t give her time to rise from the bed. The moment her soft, uncertain whisper filled the room he was already striding forward, the heat rolling off him so thick it fogged the air. His weight hit the mattress in a heavy thud, the wooden frame groaning under the force, and Lucy’s eyes snapped wide as his body loomed over hers. She barely had a chance to push herself upright before his claws had seized her wrists and pinned them above her head, her arms stretched taut against the pillow. His mouth crashed against her throat in the same instant, biting, sucking, marking, his growl vibrating deep into her chest as his cock ground against her bare core.
The sheet tangled between her legs tore away with one violent tug, leaving her spread beneath him. Her breasts bounced free, pale and flushed from the night before, nipples already sensitive and hard as his chest dragged across them. He latched his mouth onto one instantly, sucking with rough greed, teeth scraping until she gasped in shock, “N-Natsu—ahhhhnnnn!” Her hips arched despite herself, the head of his cock rubbing against her soaked slit, the piercings catching along her clit and making her moan louder, “Ahhh gods—ahhhhnnnnnn!”
There was no pause, no teasing. He slammed into her with one brutal thrust, the force of it punching a scream from her lungs that rang through the small apartment, “AAAAHHHHHHhnnnnnnnnNnnhhhhhh!” Her walls stretched violently, already sore from Gajeel, but Natsu’s cock filled her to the hilt, thicker with fire-swollen veins, every ridge rubbing her in places that made her cry out in both pain and pleasure. Her breasts jolted with the impact, bouncing against his chest as he pressed down harder, his growl hot in her ear. “Nnnnhhhhhh—Lucy—mine—my mate—ahhh gods, so fuckin’ tight—can’t stop!”
Her back arched, her fingers clawing uselessly at the pillow as his hips hammered down again, the wet slap loud in the still room, slick pouring from her body with every punishing stroke. She moaned with each thrust, her voice ragged and broken, “Ahhhhnnnn—hahhhhhh—deeper—ahhh gods Natsuuu—!” Her thighs spread wider on instinct, heels digging into the mattress, trying to anchor herself as he drove into her with relentless pace. The piercings dragged over her clit again and again, shocks of unbearable pleasure sparking through her core until her body betrayed her completely, tightening around him, convulsing in climax. She screamed his name as her orgasm tore through her, “Naaaaaatsuuuuuuuu—ahhhhhhhnnnnnnnn!”
But he didn’t slow. His rut howled for more, his cock swelling inside her, his hips snapping harder, faster, the bedframe slamming against the wall in time with every thrust. Her breasts bounced violently with the rhythm, sweat dripping down her chest as his mouth moved between them, biting, sucking, marking each pale swell until bruises bloomed in his wake. Her cries filled the room, raw and high-pitched, “Ahhhhhhhnnnnnn! Hahhhhhh! Ohhh gods yes—ahhhhnnnn, don’t stop—more, more!”
Natsu snarled into her skin, grinding so deep she felt him strike against her cervix, the shock making her sob and moan in the same breath. His words came out guttural, broken by thrusts, “Lucy—ahhh gods—only you—need you—mate—ahhhhnnnn, mine!” His voice was a roar by the end, his fire flaring across his skin, the heat searing her in waves, but she clung to him anyway, wrapping her legs tight around his waist as though she would never let him go.
The bed shook violently, the sheets drenched, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. Her orgasms stacked one after another, ripping through her until she could no longer scream, only sob and whimper as her body writhed helplessly beneath his. Her cunt milked him desperately, slick spilling down to stain the mattress, but his cock still slammed into her without pause, each thrust forcing another broken moan from her lips, “Ahhhhnnnn—hahhhhhh—Natsuuu—please—please—!”
When his climax finally hit, it came with a roar that shook the walls, his body bowing over hers, his cock swelling deep inside as hot seed spilled in powerful pulses. She felt it flood her, pouring into every inch, spilling back out in thick streams that coated her thighs, but even then he didn’t pull free. His rut raged still, demanding he breed her again and again until there was no part of her untouched.
Lucy’s voice was hoarse, tears streaking her cheeks, but her words came in broken moans as she clung to him, “Nnnnhhhhnnn—yes—ahhhhnnnn—Natsu, don’t stop—please, don’t stop…” Her body had surrendered completely, trembling and wet, breasts pressed to his chest, her mate inside her at last.
And for the first time since the frenzy had begun, Natsu’s instincts eased. Not gone — never gone — but soothed by the one woman his dragon recognized as his. His hips still rolled, slower now but deep, his cock still thick inside her, his growl soft against her ear. “Mine… Lucy… my mate…”
The bed was drenched with sweat and slick, the sheets tangled and twisted beneath them, the air heavy with the heat of fire and sex, but for the first time since he had crashed into her room Natsu’s body began to slow. His thrusts faltered, the rhythm breaking into uneven jolts before finally stopping altogether, his cock still buried deep inside her, still twitching with the last echoes of release. He collapsed against her with a guttural groan, his chest heaving, the wild growl in his throat softening to something low and heavy. His weight pressed her into the mattress, his forehead tucked against her shoulder, his breath scorching but uneven as if the dragon inside him had finally been sated.
Lucy wrapped her arms around him without hesitation. Her fingers threaded into his damp hair, stroking softly even though her own body trembled from hours of strain, every nerve raw and oversensitized. Her breasts pressed into his chest, their slick skin sticking together, her thighs still quivering as his cock lay heavy inside her. She closed her eyes and let herself breathe with him, the violent pace of his rut replaced by the simple sound of his exhausted heartbeat hammering against her ribs.
“Do you… feel better now?” she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming but gentle as she held him tighter. Her lips brushed the top of his head as she spoke, her words carrying no anger, only a quiet knowing. “It’s the mating season, right? You can’t help it… but you calm down when you’re with your mate.”
For a moment there was only his breathing, heavy and uneven. Then he shifted, nuzzling deeper into her neck, his growl fading into a low hum that rumbled through her chest. He didn’t answer in words, but the way his body settled against hers, the way his arms locked around her waist as if anchoring himself, told her everything she needed to know. The dragon had fought, clawed, and burned through anyone in its way — but here, in her arms, it had finally found peace.
Lucy sighed softly, her lips pressing against his temple, her own exhaustion pulling at her even as she held him close. “That’s right… you’ll always be calmer here. With me.”
And in the tangled sheets, with dawn light spilling through the curtains and the city waking beyond, the two of them lay locked together — her body cradling his, his rut soothed at last by the bond only his true mate could provide.
***
Fairy Hills was quiet, sunlight slanting through the tall windows into the dormitory’s narrow halls. Most of the guild’s women were still asleep, the morning hours slipping by in peace after the storm of the night. But behind one locked door, Levy McGarden stirred in her sheets, her body still wrecked from Natsu’s rut the night before. Her legs ached, her throat was raw, and her thighs were damp where his seed had spilled hours ago, soaking into the mattress beneath her. She had stumbled back into her room on shaking legs, collapsed into bed without even undressing fully, and drifted into uneasy slumber filled with feverish dreams of teeth and fire.
The knock at her door was heavy, almost a blow. It startled her awake, her eyes bleary, her limbs sluggish. She sat up slowly, tugging the sheet to her chest, and croaked out, “Who… who is it?”
The answer was not words but the creak of hinges. The door had never been strong, and the iron grip that pushed it open didn’t need subtlety. Gajeel stepped into the room, his frame filling the doorway, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing the same molten red that Lucy had seen hours before. His scent hit her instantly, metallic and sharp, undercut with the musk of sex and rut, and Levy’s breath caught in her throat. She had always known him as sharp-tongued and gruff, but now he looked barely human, every muscle tensed, his claws flexing as he shut the door behind him with a slam that rattled the walls.
“G-Gajeel?” she whispered, voice trembling. She drew the sheet tighter around herself, though the effort was pointless; her blouse was already torn, her body marked with bites and bruises that betrayed what had happened in the library. His gaze swept over her, lingering on the curve of her breasts beneath the thin fabric, on the marks already painted across her skin. His jaw tightened, his teeth flashing in a snarl that was equal parts hunger and frustration.
He had taken Lucy through the night, but the dragon in him was not satisfied. His rut gnawed at him, demanding more, demanding release until the season had burned itself out. And Levy, his mate in all but name, was here — soft, small, breathing quick as she looked at him with wide, nervous eyes. The sight of her scenting the air, trembling and flushed, snapped the last thread of restraint inside him.
He crossed the room in three strides and seized her by the sheet, ripping it from her grasp with claws that tore fabric like paper. Her breasts spilled free, her nipples stiffening instantly in the cool air, and she gasped, “Ahhh—wait—!” but he had already shoved her back onto the mattress. The bed creaked under the sudden weight as his body pinned hers, his mouth crashing down onto her throat, biting, sucking, marking with such force that her cry echoed against the walls, “Aaaahhhhnnnn!”
Her protest melted into a moan as his hands seized her thighs, spreading them wide, dragging her lower body to the edge of the bed. He snarled low in his chest, the sound vibrating against her skin, as he ground his cock against her soaked core through the flimsy barrier of her panties. She whimpered, her hips lifting despite herself, “Nnnnhhh—Gajeel—ahhh gods—!” The heat of him, the sheer thickness rubbing along her folds, made her tremble with anticipation and dread alike. His claws hooked the cotton and tore it away in one savage motion, leaving her bare and glistening beneath him.
The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, piercing her slowly at first, then slamming home with one brutal thrust that drove her scream from her lungs, “AAAAHHHHHHhnnnnnn!” Her body stretched wide around him, her nails clawing at the sheets as he filled her to the hilt, every stud and ridge dragging against her walls until her vision blurred with tears. He didn’t stop to let her adjust, his hips already pounding, the bed rattling against the wall with each savage stroke.
Levy’s cries filled the room, high and broken, “Ahhhhhhhnnnn! Hhhahhhhhh—too much—ahhh gods too big—ahhhhnnnn!” But her cunt squeezed him tight, wetness gushing with every thrust, betraying her even as her voice shook. Gajeel’s growl deepened, his words spilling against her ear between ragged breaths, “Nnnnhhh—fuckkkk—so tight, Shrimp—ahhh gods, gonna breed you till you can’t walk—ahhhhnnn!” His teeth sank into her shoulder, her scream muffled by his chest as her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing violently around his cock.
The dormitory remained silent save for the wreckage of her room, the squeal of the mattress, the shrill pitch of her moans as Gajeel’s rut consumed her. He took her hard and fast, dragging her into position after position — her legs hooked over his shoulders, her breasts bouncing in his hands as he mauled them, her small frame bent over the edge of the bed while he pounded her from behind, the wet slap of flesh loud in the close air. Each time she came, she screamed his name, her voice cracked but undeniable, “Gajeelllll—ahhh gods yessss—ahhhhnnnn!” And each time he snarled back, claiming her with brutal force, his cock swelling, his seed spilling deep only to stiffen again within moments.
Levy had lost track of time, her mind reduced to sound and sensation, her body wrung out by the endless rut that used her as its outlet. Gajeel’s release filled her again and again, dripping from her thighs, soaking the sheets, but still he fucked her, still his claws gripped her hips, still his molten eyes burned down into hers as he growled, “Mine… all mine… can’t let anyone else touch you, Shrimp…”
And in the quiet of Fairy Hills, beneath the noise of her own screams, Levy knew she wouldn’t escape until his body was finally satisfied — and the dragon inside him had no thought of stopping any time soon.
The first round left Levy gasping, her chest heaving as sweat rolled between her breasts and pooled at the base of her spine. Her hair clung to her damp face, strands plastered to her cheeks as she tried to catch her breath, but Gajeel’s weight never left her. His cock throbbed inside her, still thick, still pulsing with hunger even after spilling deep, and she realized with mounting dread and feverish excitement that this was only the beginning. His claws raked lightly over her thighs, pressing hard enough to remind her of his strength, before he pulled free with a wet sound that made her shiver. Hot seed spilled out in thick streams, dripping down to stain the sheets, but before she could even think to move his claws had spun her onto her stomach.
The bed dipped under his weight as he mounted her from behind, his chest pressing against her back, his breath hot and ragged in her ear. His cock ground against her swollen folds, slick with their combined wetness, and without pause he thrust into her again, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural roar. Levy’s scream tore from her throat, muffled by the pillow she clutched, “AAAAHHHHHhnnnnnnnn!” Her body convulsed beneath him, her breasts mashed into the mattress, her legs trembling as his hips hammered her into the sheets.
He bit her shoulder, hard enough to bruise, his growl vibrating through her small frame. “Nnnnhhh—fuckkkk, so tight, Shrimp—ahhh gods, I’ll split you in half before I’m done.” His words were rough, broken by thrusts, but every syllable sent another jolt of heat through her. Her walls clamped down on him, squeezing with each brutal stroke, and the sound of slick flesh slapping filled the room, lewd and constant. She sobbed against the pillow, her voice cracking into moans, “Ahhhhnnnn—hahhhhhh—Gajeel, too much—ahhh gods—but don’t stop—ahhhhnnnnnn!”
Hours blurred together. He dragged her into every position he could force her pliant body into: flat on her back with her legs thrown over his shoulders, her small frame bent over the desk by the window, her breasts squeezed together as he shoved between them while still forcing himself into her soaked cunt, even against the wall with his claws holding her up as he slammed into her over and over. Each time she thought she had nothing left to give, another orgasm wracked her, her body milking him desperately, soaking him with gush after gush of release. The sheets were ruined, the floor slick beneath the bed, the air thick with the musk of sweat and sex, yet his rut demanded more.
Her cries grew hoarse, reduced to broken sobs and shrill moans, “Nnnnhhhhhh—ahhhhhh gods—again—ahhhhnnnn, c-cumming again—ahhhhhhhnnnn!” Every climax tore her further apart, leaving her limbs weak, her nails clawing at the sheets, her eyes wet with tears she didn’t understand. Gajeel snarled each time she squeezed around him, his own orgasms crashing into her with hot, heavy pulses that filled her until the excess spilled freely down her thighs, yet his cock never softened, never left her empty for long.
By mid-afternoon, Levy’s body had gone slack, her voice reduced to soft, continuous moans that rose whenever he thrust deeper, her hips moving on instinct alone. Her breasts were flushed and swollen from his hands and mouth, her nipples raw from his teeth, her thighs quivering endlessly. She clung to him whenever he leaned over her, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his chest, whimpering softly, “Nnnnhhh… please… just keep going… can’t fight anymore…”
Gajeel’s eyes burned down into hers when she said it, molten red with slit pupils, but his snarl softened into something almost satisfied. He claimed her lips in a bruising kiss as he fucked her harder, his growl muffled against her mouth, “That’s right, Shrimp… mine now… every part of you… no one else touches you…” His pace never faltered, his cock still driving relentlessly into her soaked cunt, but she answered the kiss with a desperate moan, her tongue tangling with his as another orgasm ripped through her exhausted body.
By nightfall the dormitory was silent except for the wreckage of Levy’s room, the ruined bed, the damp sheets, the muffled cries of a girl who had been fucked past exhaustion yet still quivered with need. Gajeel lay sprawled over her at last, his chest heaving, his cock still buried deep inside her, twitching as his final release spilled into her womb. His weight pressed her into the mattress, his arm draped heavy across her waist, his growl faded into steady breaths.
Levy’s body was a ruin of marks and sweat, her skin glistening, her thighs slick with seed that had spilled again and again, but her arms curled instinctively around him. Her voice was faint, a whisper against his ear, “Nnnnhhh… you feel better now…?” She pressed a weak kiss to his jaw, her lips trembling. “Because you’re with your mate…”
And like Natsu with Lucy, Gajeel finally stilled. His rut had raged, had devoured her body until nothing was left untouched, but here — in her bed, in her arms — the dragon inside him quieted at last. His molten eyes dimmed, his breathing slowed, and though his cock still pulsed inside her, his body surrendered to sleep. Levy’s eyelids fluttered shut, her arms tightening once more around his broad back as exhaustion dragged her under, the last thought in her mind the knowledge that he had chosen her, and that she alone could calm him.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Author’s Note:
This chapter contains extreme smut with heavy emphasis on rut behavior, loss of control, and possessive sex. There are elements of dubious consent and magical overstimulation. Please proceed only if you're comfortable with graphic sexual content.
Chapter Text
The storm had circled for hours. Not the one in the sky, that was already history — that front had swept in with midday heat haze, a bluster of heavy clouds shouldering each other across the blue and tossing down a few half-hearted rumbles, the kind of thunder that sounded like it was changing its mind mid-growl. No, that storm was long gone, scattered in pieces across the rooftops of Magnolia and peeled back into the distance where the heat already returned, thick and glinting like lacquer on the cobblestones. What remained was its echo, twisted into something stranger — a presence that hadn’t moved on with the clouds, hadn’t given way to the burnished gold evening like the sky had. The real storm never passed. It rooted itself in the high beams and hollow spaces of the guild hall, saturating the very bones of the place, nesting where people’s voices usually filled the air with boisterous noise and harmless chaos. It had settled upstairs and stayed.
Laxus had been pacing the upper level since morning. Not once had he sat. Not once had he slowed. His boots didn’t sound heavy, but they landed with the kind of weight that vibrated through the floorboards. Not stomping — that would be childish, deliberate — but each step hit just wrong enough to put the whole structure on edge. Like he was walking with something inside him he couldn’t keep in his skin. Like his bones had begun conducting power that wouldn’t go quiet. No one told him to sit down. No one asked what was wrong. They saw him, they heard him, they felt the ripple of air thickening with every circuit he made along the railing, but there was something in the way his shoulders coiled that made even the most shamelessly nosy guildmates choose sudden errands or early departures instead of trying their luck.
The air around him was charged, but not showy. No sparks, no overt displays, no crackling arcs leaping from fingertip to fixture. This wasn’t power spilling out. This was restraint — and too much of it. Like thunder had sunk into his bloodstream and was clawing to get out through his spine. A storm dammed up behind muscle and breath. And the longer it stayed, the more the silence around him deepened. Not absence of sound, but the type of silence that swallowed footsteps and made the clink of a cup on wood feel intrusive. Every corner of the room seemed to hold its breath when he passed.
Gray was the first to leave. Not a word spoken, no jab tossed over the shoulder. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and walked out, the slope of his brow rigid in that specific way he used when there were a thousand questions in his mouth he had no intention of voicing. Bickslow didn’t linger either. He didn’t even bother with his usual lurching farewell, just flicked his tongue at Evergreen and shouldered the door open. Freed followed, but not without a look. Not pity, not worry — just awareness, that sharp gleam of calculation in his eyes that said he already knew what Laxus was struggling with and was choosing, pointedly, not to offer help.
Cana — of all people — took the long way around the room after lunch. She had a fresh tankard in hand, the rim still frothy with foam, and for once she didn’t bother trying to drag anyone into a drinking contest or pin someone down with teasing. Her eyes swept over Laxus, narrowed a fraction, then pivoted away. She didn’t even make a joke. Just turned on her heel and vanished into the back, boots muffled on the worn boards.
Only Mira watched.
She didn’t hover. Didn’t toss a casual joke his way. Didn’t lean on the bar and give him that syrupy, slow smile that she used when she wanted to nudge someone’s mood back into the light. She didn’t offer drinks, didn’t flirt, didn’t stir the room with her presence like she usually did. She stood behind the bar, towel in hand, methodically polishing the same glass over and over again, her movements precise and quiet. Her gaze tracked him, slow and measured, but not invasive. No tension in her shoulders, no flirtation in her posture. Just calm, deliberate observation, like she was watching a pressure gauge climb toward red and waiting for the inevitable pop. She wasn’t smiling. Not even a little. But her expression wasn’t afraid either.
He felt her attention the way a blade feels heat before it touches fire. It didn’t cut. It didn’t burn. It just existed, real and present and impossible to ignore. He knew she was watching. Knew it from the tingling awareness in the back of his neck every time his pacing took him into her line of sight. And he didn’t hate it. Didn’t feel hunted or judged. It didn’t unsettle him — if anything, it grounded the storm instead of worsening it. But the tension in his chest only got tighter, more dense, like her eyes were adding weight to a pressure already at its breaking point.
By the time the last stragglers had wandered out — Lucy with her notebook tucked under her arm and Happy snoring on Natsu’s shoulder as he dragged himself toward the door like a heat-struck lizard — the evening had gone quiet, the kind of hush that followed exertion, a stillness dense with aftermath. The doors clicked shut. A long sigh of the floorboards. The clink of the last bottle on the rack. Mira slid the final glass into place.
Laxus stood at the far wall, braced forward, both fists planted against the stone like he needed something immovable to anchor him. His shoulders had stiffened into slabs, no slack left in his frame. His shirt, damp from hours of pacing in a building that held heat like a kiln, clung to him in uneven patches — across the small of his back, down his chest, along the ridges of his arms. It wasn’t the heat. It wasn’t physical exhaustion. His body wasn’t tired — it was brimming. Trembling. His fingers twitched. Electricity pulsed just beneath the skin in small, sharp flares, tiny arcs kissing the stone where his fists met the wall.
And behind him, soft as dusk, her footsteps approached.
No hesitation. No attempt to hide them. Just a steady cadence, heel to toe, deliberate and slow. She moved with the kind of grace that didn’t need to make noise to be felt — the way wind could stir heavy curtains without rattling the frame. She walked until she was close enough that her presence disrupted the current he’d been sinking into. Not close enough to touch. Close enough to be undeniable.
“You’re going to blow a hole in the wall if you don’t let it out,” she said, quiet. Not soft for the sake of comfort — soft because that’s how truth sounded when it was simple. Matter-of-fact.
He didn’t speak. Not at first. Breath hissed in and out of his chest, too fast, not panicked, but sharp-edged. Controlled only because he forced it to be. Sweat slid down his neck, catching in the collar of his shirt. Sparks crawled up his forearms and died against the wall.
She didn’t retreat.
“How long?” she asked.
His voice rasped low, scraped raw like it had been caught behind his teeth for days. “Three.”
She didn’t react with surprise. She nodded. That was all. “That’s a long time.”
“I’ve tried to stay away.” The words came jagged, bitten.
“You didn’t.”
“No.” He swallowed it like poison. “I didn’t.”
When he turned, it was slow. Not because he feared what was behind him. Because he had to fight to keep the storm from turning with him. His gaze dragged up her frame, not in hunger — not yet — but in struggle, like sight itself was friction. And when his eyes met hers, there was something wild in them. No chaos. Just the clarity that came before the strike. The stillness that knew what it wanted.
She looked the same. White hair caught in the faint breeze from the ceiling fan, the tips brushing her lower back. Pale lips. Smooth skin. Her figure held quiet strength — not effort, not seduction — just presence. But the softness she wore in crowds was gone. The gentle charm, the performance, the coy. None of it was in her now. Just focus. Stillness.
“I thought it would pass,” he said.
She waited.
“I thought…” He swallowed. His jaw clenched. “Maybe I wasn’t like them.”
She tilted her head, just slightly. “Like Natsu?”
He nodded once.
“Or Gajeel.”
His breath hitched. “It didn’t pass.”
“It got worse.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. Nodded.
And her fingers brushed the edge of her own hip — not teasing. Not even inviting. Just steady. Just grounding herself in the weight of her body.
“Do you want me to leave?”
He looked at her like the question physically hurt. “No.”
“Then you need to say it.”
Lightning danced across his jaw, a quick snap. His teeth bared for just a moment, a snarl caught and swallowed.
“What?”
“I’m not offering anything you won’t ask for,” she said, level, eyes locked on his. “You’re not Natsu. You don’t lose control unless you let it happen.”
Silence stretched. Then:
“I need to fuck you.” The words were a crack, a split in the dam. Voice dark. Steady. No shame in it.
Her breath didn’t hitch. Her lashes didn’t flutter.
“I need to get my cock inside you before I snap this building in half.”
Her answer wasn’t a sigh. It wasn’t breathless.
“Okay.”
That was all it took. One word. One breath. One small moment of silence broken by agreement, and the restraint he’d gripped like a vice for three days—maybe longer—disintegrated like burned paper in his chest.
There was no time for thought, no pause to reevaluate, no edge of hesitation to warn her before it happened. One instant they stood apart, tension a rope strung tight between their bodies and vibrating with every breath, and the next her spine cracked against the bar behind her, bottles knocking together from the force of impact, glass chiming in discordant protest as her body hit the hardwood with a sound that rang loud through the empty guild hall. He didn’t reach for her like a lover. He didn’t press her gently back like she was something to be cherished. There was no tenderness in the way he moved, no echo of caution or care in the way he handled her body. There wasn’t room for any of it anymore. What lived in him now was hunger fed on starvation, a mounting, surging demand that had festered in silence for too long and now refused to be denied. The rut had been coiling in his muscles, stretching itself along his nerves and winding tighter with every hour. It had begun after the last full moon, creeping in with a whisper, nothing urgent, just an itch he could ignore at first.
But then Natsu had snapped. The scent of it had been everywhere for two days—burnt floorboards, scorched sheets, Lucy’s breathless walk back into the guild with bite marks on her throat and skin bruised in the shape of flame. Gajeel had followed two days later, feral and grinning, dragging a new bed into the upper floor because the last one hadn’t survived what he’d done to the girl beneath him. And Laxus had felt every second of it. He’d been downwind of all of it, breathing the tension, watching the madness unfold and telling himself it didn’t matter. That he could ride it out. That discipline meant something, even when instincts screamed otherwise.
He’d pounded his fists into the trunks behind the guild until bark peeled and birds fled. He’d sparred with Elfman until both of them bled, then went home and buried himself in cold water until his cock ached and his balls felt like stone. He hadn’t looked at anyone. Hadn’t touched himself. Hadn’t let it out.
It was too late now.
He grabbed her thighs without preamble and hauled her higher, her ass scraping along the front of the bar as her legs opened under his grip, the motion not fluid but fast and raw, a jolt that shoved her into position without asking. Her skirt bunched up around her hips as he moved, the thin material wrinkled uselessly at her waistline. Her panties, black and stretched taut against the slick outline of her cunt, didn’t last long. He didn’t peel them off, didn’t ask her to lift her hips or wriggle free. He hooked a fist into the front of the fabric, tore downward, and felt the elastic snap in his grip, the ruined pieces tumbling like silk ribbons to the floor at his feet.
She was wet already. Not aroused by the moment, but primed by everything that had come before—the pacing, the weight of his attention, the silence, the heat in the way he’d looked at her without blinking for hours. Her folds were flushed and slick, glistening under the dim light spilling from the overhead bulbs, lips parted and swollen from need she hadn’t put into words yet, but he could smell it, could feel the heat of her arousal against his skin, could see how her chest rose in sharp, uneven pulls as her hand slid back to brace herself on the bar. The other hand rose to his shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt for support—or maybe permission—but she didn’t pull him in. She didn’t push him away either. She just held on.
He bent without speaking. No slow descent, no drawn-out look of longing or tension-building tease. Just movement. Just action. His mouth found the space between her legs with the same kind of suddenness that a storm breaks the air, and the sound she made in response wasn’t gentle. It was sharp. It tore out of her throat like something that had been caught in her chest too long. Her hips jerked forward before she could stop them, thighs clamping against the sides of his face, her heel slamming down against the wood in reflex.
His tongue wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t exploratory. It was broad and rough and hungry. He licked through her slit with the kind of force that bordered on invasive, then did it again, pressing deeper, shoving the wet muscle inside her without warning. His stubble scraped along her inner thighs, coarse friction dancing with the heat of his breath. Tiny shocks rippled through the contact points, little electric pulses where his face met her skin, not painful but intense. Her breath hitched again, louder this time. One hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, the other dragged nails along the ridge of his back, sharp enough to leave lines but not deep enough to stop him.
He found her clit with the edge of his tongue and latched onto it with no finesse whatsoever. He sucked hard enough that her whole body snapped upward off the bar, a full-body jolt like her muscles had been pulled tight and then released all at once. The sound she made this time wasn’t a gasp. It was a half-choked cry.
“Fuck—Laxus—wait—”
He didn’t. There was nothing in him that responded to those words except more pressure. He locked one arm across her thighs, forced her hips flat to the bar, and didn’t let up. His mouth devoured her like a man who hadn’t tasted anything in weeks. Her moans spiraled into broken curses, hands scrabbling for purchase. Every time his tongue circled back over her clit, her body tried to jerk away and failed. Her voice pitched higher. Her thighs trembled. He didn’t care. Didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.
When she came the first time, it was with a scream loud enough to echo off the rafters. Her legs shook violently around his head, her cunt spilling into his mouth in waves, slick coating his tongue, his beard, his cheeks. She tried to pull back—her hips twisted—but he just followed, tongue pressing harder, chasing the next peak. Her voice cracked. Her body kept twitching, small spasms now, reflexive and helpless, the way a body seizes when it’s been pushed too far and still isn’t given mercy.
By the time he rose, his mouth was wet with her, his beard glistening with slick. His eyes were darker now, shadowed and sharp, but steady. He looked at her like he was measuring how much more she could take and how fast he could push her past that line.
“You’re not done,” he said. His voice was a growl dragged from the bottom of his chest.
She didn’t answer with words. She just reached. Her fingers fumbled at the waistband of his pants, found the button, and tore it open. He helped her. He shoved his pants down in one motion, the fabric catching around his thighs before he kicked them aside entirely. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, long enough to make her eyes widen when she saw it. It was already glistening at the tip, a bead of pre-cum rolling down the dark, flushed head. Veins ridged the shaft, each one swollen with blood, his arousal so intense the air around his skin buzzed with charge.
She reached to touch him and flinched when her hand made contact—lightning snapped from his skin to hers in a quick, sharp jolt.
Her breath caught. “Shit—”
He grabbed her wrist, but gently this time. “You okay?”
She nodded. Her eyes were wide, her breathing ragged, but her voice came out fast, eager. “Felt like a shock. But good.”
He grinned then, wide and toothy, wicked. “You’re gonna feel more than that.”
He didn’t warn her before he thrust. He didn’t guide himself in slowly or test the waters with a finger first. He lined up in one smooth motion, dragged the thick head of his cock through the slick mess of her folds, and slammed into her in one punishing stroke. Her body arched back against the bar as the full length of him drove deep. Her scream cracked in her throat. Her nails dug into his arms. Her cunt clenched around him like it hadn’t decided whether to accept him or fight him.
He didn’t give it a choice. He pulled back halfway and slammed back in harder. The sound of their bodies meeting was loud, sharp, obscene. Flesh on flesh. The slap of hips colliding. The crack of power that followed each thrust. Bottles rattled behind her. The entire bar trembled. One light above them flickered, then burned brighter for a second before snapping off.
Every thrust sent a charge through her nerves that didn’t feel figurative or imagined. It was literal, tangible, electric in the most direct sense. The moment his hips met hers, something snapped just beneath the skin — not enough to burn, not enough to sear, but sharp and undeniable. Sparks danced across her lower belly, lit up her thighs with flickers of static, curled beneath her breasts and raced upward, invisible lines of lightning tracing the curve of her ribs like they were drawn there by instinct. Her skin responded to it in ways she couldn’t control — muscles twitching involuntarily, shoulders jerking when his hands caught her breasts and kneaded them hard, his thumbs brushing the stiff points of her nipples through the torn front of her shirt, the fabric clinging to her sweat-slick chest. Her body felt like a live wire under him, every inch of her trembling with overstimulation, nerves fried and still asking for more.
She gasped when it hit. Every jolt made her buck against him, even though she had no leverage left, nothing but the bar behind her and the arms wrapped around his shoulders. Her legs locked tighter around his waist not from passion, but necessity. Without that grip, she wasn’t sure she could hold herself upright. Her spine was bending back further with each impact, forced into an arch that felt unsustainable, the muscles in her lower back screaming as he slammed into her again and again without pause, without adjustment, without the courtesy of restraint. His body hadn’t softened. His drive hadn’t waned. He was fucking her like it was all he’d been made to do. Like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.
He wasn’t chasing rhythm. This wasn’t a practiced cadence or the kind of timed movement lovers fall into when they know each other well. There was no music in it, no rise and fall. His movements were erratic and raw, driven entirely by the pressure of need that had been buried for too long and now refused to be tempered. Her moans weren’t rhythmic either. They weren’t even coherent. They had slipped into sobs, wordless cries punched out of her lungs by each thrust, ragged edges scraping her throat until her voice sounded hoarse and unfamiliar.
The slick between her thighs was constant. It wasn’t just arousal — though that hadn’t faded. Her pussy was soaked, overstimulated, stretched wide and dripping from the pressure of his cock grinding deep into her, but she was also leaking steadily from the earlier orgasm. The thick cum he’d pumped into her was being forced out by the sheer ferocity of his movement, dripping down her thighs, trailing in sticky lines across the wood beneath her. Her body was still trembling from the aftershocks of the last release when the next one hit, no warning this time, just a sudden tightening of every muscle, her cunt clenching violently around him.
And it didn’t stop. The moment she came again, her nerves didn’t reset. The pleasure didn’t collapse into aftermath. It just kept climbing, another wave behind the first, and then another, until she couldn’t tell where one orgasm ended and the next began. Her hands clawed at his back, trying to find purchase, but everything she gripped was soaked — skin, muscle, sweat-slick fabric bunched around his waist. Her body moved because he moved her. Her breath came in frantic gasps. She was drowning in it, and still he didn’t stop.
When he finally came, it was explosive.
Not a groan. Not a grunt. It was a sound that tore from deep inside his chest and reverberated through the entire room, a roar so full of release and fury that the walls trembled. The air itself seemed to ripple. Lightning cracked from his skin in every direction, uncontrolled now, wild arcs jumping from his shoulders to the wood beams overhead, snapping into the metal frame of the bar, the air filled with the smell of ozone and sweat. His entire body locked up as he slammed into her one final time, buried so deep the angle felt impossible, like he wasn’t just inside her but breaking past the natural end of her body, and then the heat came. She could feel it pour out of him, thick and scalding, coating her insides, filling her until it began to leak again, the sheer volume too much to hold.
Her cunt clamped down around him reflexively, milking his cock in rhythmic pulses, her inner muscles still seizing from the latest wave of pleasure. She could feel the way he twitched inside her, could feel every pulse of cum as it emptied, and still he didn’t pull back. He kept moving, slow now, not retreating but grinding into her in lazy, forceful rolls, like he couldn’t let go even if he’d wanted to.
Her voice came in fragments, low and wrecked. “You’re… still hard.”
He didn’t pretend. Didn’t try to excuse it or offer an apology. He nodded once, sharp and simple, his breath still ragged against her neck.
She swallowed, barely able to catch enough air to speak again, but she managed. “Then keep going.”
He did.
There was no reset. No hesitation. No breath of tenderness before he started again. The orgasm had changed nothing. It had taken the edge off the pressure but left the hunger intact. His cock, still soaked in her slick and his own cum, didn’t soften. It stayed hard, throbbing, pulsing with new urgency now that the first peak had passed. His hands caught her thighs again, but this time he moved differently — not slower, not gentler, but with renewed direction. He didn’t want to fuck her against the bar anymore.
He lifted her, carried her without asking, without speaking, and tossed her to the ground like she weighed nothing. The wooden floor groaned beneath her as her body hit it, skin slapping against the scuffed surface, arms flailing to catch herself before her face could slam down. She was flat on her back for a second, dazed, hair wild across her face, legs still half-closed — then he flipped her, one rough tug at her hip and she was on her knees, palms flat, back arched, ass high in the air.
There was no pause.
His hand pushed between her shoulder blades, forced her chest lower, flattened her upper body to the floor while her hips stayed elevated. The other hand grabbed her ass and spread her open, fingers digging into the swollen, glistening flesh, and then he was inside her again.
No resistance. No inching in.
He slammed home in a single brutal thrust.
She screamed.
It wasn’t a polite gasp. It wasn’t a moan shaped into a word. It was a full-throated, helpless cry that burst out of her before she could stop it. Her body jerked forward with the impact, knees dragging a few inches across the floor, her elbows buckling under the force. Her breasts scraped against the wood with each thrust, nipples hard and oversensitive, dragged across the rough grain until her whole front was flushed and reddened. She tried to stay upright. Tried to keep her hands planted. But he kept slamming into her, each stroke more punishing than the last.
“Fuck,” she sobbed. Her voice cracked, caught halfway between a cry and a plea. “Too much—fuck, it’s too much—”
He didn’t answer. There was no comfort in him. His hands clamped down on her hips again and dragged her back into him with every thrust, forcing her to take him deeper, harder. Her ass slapped into his thighs loud enough to echo off the walls, and the sound of it was obscene. Wet. Violent. Constant. Lightning sparked from his fingers again, small arcs of current dancing over her back, snapping across her spine and her shoulders, kissing the soft curve of her ass in bursts that made her body jolt.
She wasn’t vibrating metaphorically.
Her whole body was shaking from the inside out, every nerve pushed to its limit, her pussy clenching tight enough to squeeze him like she was trying to drain him dry. And he kept going. Didn’t falter. Didn’t slow.
He leaned forward over her, body pressing down against her back, his cock still grinding into her with steady violence. His breath touched her ear first. Then his voice followed, low and dangerous, barely more than a whisper but charged like the air before a lightning strike.
“You begged me not to stop.”
“I didn’t know,” she choked out. “Fuck—I didn’t know you’d keep going—”
“You didn’t ask for gentle.” His hips thrust hard again, making her arms slide forward. “You asked for this.”
Another brutal snap of his hips. Her breath left her lungs in a grunt. “So take it.”
She tried. She wasn’t sure how she still had strength in her thighs, how her cunt hadn’t collapsed under the strain, but her body clung to him like it was designed for it. Each thrust drove another gasp out of her. Her knees trembled. Her elbows gave out entirely, her chest flat on the floor now, her ass still in the air, held up only by his grip. Her cunt pulsed around him, swollen and sore and soaked, her thighs sticky with his cum, her own slick, and sweat pooling between them. She was a mess — her hair tangled into knots, eyes unfocused and leaking from overstimulation, mouth open and breathless, voice torn apart by every sound she’d made.
He had never seen her like this.
He wanted more.
There was no thinking about it, no weighing of desire versus damage, no internal argument. The moment her body started to quake around him and her cries hit that hoarse, sob-thick pitch, the decision made itself. His hand fisted into her hair, deep near the roots, and he pulled hard enough that her spine arched backward in response. Not a gentle tug. Not a guided shift. It was an act of complete possession. Her body lifted off the floor like a ragdoll yanked by its strings, and she landed on her knees, gasping as her torso came upright, legs spread, thighs still slick with every drop he’d fucked into her. Her chest was bare, her shirt long since torn, the fabric hanging from her elbows in shredded ruin. Her tits jutted forward with each trembling breath she drew in, the curves flushed, nipples red and swollen from friction, touch, and the lingering current that still crackled faintly in the air around them.
He reached around and caught one of those nipples between his fingers, pinching hard enough to leave a mark, then twisting as he watched her body seize in response. It was like triggering a switch — her spine bowed, her back arched tighter, a sound ripped out of her that didn’t know whether it belonged to pleasure or something darker. It was high, sharp, almost broken, the kind of moan that started as a scream and turned into something wetter. Her mouth hung open as she trembled against him, eyes unfocused.
He leaned in and bit the side of her throat, not soft, not tentative — teeth dragging against flesh, lips catching skin that had gone fever-warm. That was all it took.
Her demon form snapped free like it had been bracing just beneath the surface, held back not by ritual or command but by some threadbare instinct to pretend restraint. There was no spell, no arcane muttering, no moment where magic overtook her. It happened the way some women cry. The way others scream. All at once and from somewhere so deep it couldn’t be controlled.
One breath, she was Mira — the smiling barmaid, the sly, sugar-tongued seductress with long white hair and easy grins — and the next, her skin deepened into rich, gleaming shadow, muscles flexed along her back, claws unsheathed where fingernails used to be. The markings unfurled across her chest and shoulders like ink bleeding through her skin, jagged arcs of arcane power pulsing with fresh heat. When she moaned again, her voice came out deeper — not distorted but guttural, animal, twisted into a tone that vibrated in his chest.
Her hips didn’t retreat anymore. They slammed backward, crashing into his with a force that cracked bone against muscle, her ass catching his thighs with violent impact. She was stronger now, sharper, the demon inside her no longer sleeping — but it didn’t matter. He met that strength without flinching. He fucked her harder.
She turned her head. One eye glowed bright and cold, the pupil slit and wild, and her mouth twisted into a grin that bared fangs. Not playful. Predatory.
“Oh,” she growled, voice thick, low, all threat and hunger. “Now you’ve done it.”
He didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch.
“Good.”
Then he dropped her. Not to discard her. To reposition.
He forced her back down to her elbows, her knees wide on the floor, her spine a perfect, brutal arch as he adjusted behind her. Her tail twitched and flicked behind her with a mind of its own. She was panting already, skin flushed darker in this form, cunt slick and stretched and twitching with every pulse of her core. She braced herself, claws digging into the wood, ready for the next thrust.
He didn’t give her one. He gave her all of them.
The pounding was merciless. He rammed his cock into her harder now, not out of rage, but because she could take it. Her demon form gave her new resilience, new tightness, new power — and he broke right through all of it. Her walls gripped him with more force than before, but it only made his rhythm rougher. Her body tried to tighten and hold him, and his response was to slam deeper, to fuck harder, to grind into the pressure until the only thing she could do was scream.
Those screams didn’t sound like Mira anymore.
They sounded like something ancient and starving.
The marks on her back lit up where he touched her — the tattoos shimmering from under her skin, responding to his electricity with pulsing glows of white and violet. With every slap of his hips, with every crack of his palm against her ass, with every sharp, jolting shift of angle that made her shriek, those markings reacted. They shone beneath her flesh, danced across her back, bled down her arms and stomach, licking her thighs and curling across her breasts until it looked like she was being carved from the inside by light.
Her clit pulsed in time with the flashes.
Every spark across her spine sent another bolt straight through her cunt.
He felt the moment her orgasm hit — her whole body snapped tight, her moan came out shredded, and her pussy clenched so violently around his cock that it nearly forced him back. But he didn’t pull out. He stayed in. He rode her through it. Her body convulsed around him, gushing wet, thighs jerking, mouth spilling curses in a broken voice she didn’t recognize.
Then another hit.
And he didn’t stop.
Her screams grew raw. Her body tried to fight him. Her voice finally broke — not metaphorically, but physically, the sound grinding down to a rasp that couldn’t form words anymore.
Still, he kept going.
Whatever had triggered this in him — whatever had bloomed in his chest when he first admitted the need — it hadn’t burned away with release. It had grown. Each orgasm didn’t reduce him. It renewed him. Each climax poured back into the fire inside him, every shot of cum inside her only adding to the pressure instead of draining it. She had become a circuit, not an outlet. Not a vessel to empty into, but a channel for his storm to keep moving through. He wasn’t chasing pleasure anymore. He was using her.
He grabbed her hair again, yanked her up, and flipped her one more time. Her body was weightless in his hands. He hauled her up onto the bar, her bare ass skidding across the slick surface, the trail of wetness left behind glistening under the overhead lights. Her back hit the polished wood, head rolling to the side, breasts heaving, nipples hard and glistening. Her legs fell open without resistance, her thighs smeared with cum, cunt red and pulsing and still leaking from the last round.
He didn’t wait for her to reposition. He spread her wide with his hands, dragged her toward the edge of the bar, and drove his cock back inside her. This time the angle forced her legs to stretch high, the pressure brutal, her hips lifted off the wood as he pinned her down by her thighs and slammed into her from above.
She blinked up at him, eyes glazed, her voice raw.
“You’re going to break me.”
His breath came in a growl, low and guttural.
“You’re mine to break.”
He rolled his hips slower now, but deeper. The force didn’t ease — it changed shape. Dragged instead of slammed. Stretched instead of pounded. Her cunt clenched with every inch, her walls fluttering, the friction unbearable. Her legs hooked around his waist, ankles locking behind his back like her body didn’t want to let him leave. Her cunt sucked him in again and again, each slow pull igniting the lightning on his skin and sending it back into her.
Her hands wrapped around his neck. Her mouth was near his ear. Her whisper wasn’t begging.
She said his name like it was a spell. Like it was all she had left.
He leaned down. Mouth against her neck.
And he bit her.
Not gently.
His teeth sank in with real pressure, marking her. And when he bit down, the electricity exploded through them both. Lightning poured from his skin and into hers like current through a wire, and her whole body went stiff beneath him, eyes flying open, mouth open wide in a silent scream.
Then she came again.
Hard.
Violently.
Her cunt squeezed his cock so tight that his hips bucked. His orgasm tore out of him without warning, his body grinding in as deep as it could go, cock twitching, flooding her again. Thicker this time. Hotter. He stayed inside, balls pulled tight, feeling every jet of cum pulse into her with long, heavy spasms. He didn’t move. He didn’t pull out.
Her body collapsed beneath him.
Her arms went slack. Her head dropped. Her skin was soaked, slick with sweat, streaked with slick, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe. Her legs trembled. Her cunt stayed full.
His cock didn’t go soft.
She blinked, slowly, trying to focus.
She didn’t speak again after that.
She didn’t need to.
Her voice had been shredded hours ago. Her throat burned raw, her vocal cords barely capable of vibrating anymore. All her cries had long since stopped resembling words, and what came out now were instinctive sounds — wet, involuntary, breathless bursts that weren’t approval or protest but just the body reacting to being used long past its limits.
He fucked her straight into silence, and she took it, because her body didn’t have a choice anymore. Because her body wasn’t hers anymore.
He didn’t pull out when her muscles went slack. He didn’t let up when her fingers curled around nothing, when her head dropped back and stayed there, when her legs stopped gripping and just hung open, twitching. His cock stayed inside her — still rock hard, still angry, still dripping in the mixture of everything they’d spilled inside her — and his hands never once loosened their grip on her thighs.
She was trembling under him, not from fear, not from pain, but because her nervous system had begun to malfunction. Too much stimulation, too much pressure, too much heat crawling across her skin in the wake of every thrust. Her skin glowed now — not metaphorically, not poetically — actual energy tracked along her flesh in faint, flickering arcs that moved like veins of lightning beneath the surface, cracks in a vessel being used beyond its design.
And Laxus had no plans to stop.
He moved again. Not because he needed to change the pace, not because he wanted to switch it up, but because he felt a fresh rush of energy build inside him. Like the orgasm hadn’t emptied him — it had unlocked something new. Her cunt had gone tight and slick and hot, and now it was only heat, only pulse, and he wanted it in every position, from every angle, on every surface.
He yanked her off the bar.
Her body slumped for a second mid-air, muscles unresponsive, her knees giving out, head rolling to the side — but he didn’t let her fall. He turned, took two long strides, and slammed her back against the wall, her bare ass meeting the wood with a heavy slap, her shoulders colliding just beneath the mounted plaques and picture frames that decorated the back corner of the hall.
Her body slid down half a foot from the impact, legs falling open again by sheer gravity, and he caught her under the thighs, lifted her, and shoved her back up until her spine hit the wood again, flat and flush. His cock was inside her before she even realized she’d been moved.
This new angle forced her wide. Forced her helpless.
Her ankles dangled. Her hair stuck to her forehead. Her chest was heaving, still leaking sweat, nipples scraped raw from the bar, her thighs coated in a sheen of wet that made the light shimmer across her skin like she’d been oiled.
He slammed into her.
The sound wasn’t obscene anymore — it was dangerous. Loud, echoing. Flesh and muscle and wood and power colliding with nothing left to soften the edges. Every thrust made the wall groan. Every motion dragged her up the surface behind her and then slammed her down again.
He drove her into the goddamn wall.
Lightning flared along the ceiling, crackling across the rafters, jumping down the metal brackets and window frames. Sparks danced along the floor. The smell of ozone filled the hall again. The air buzzed like a stormcloud pressed tight against the roof, waiting to explode.
She didn’t moan anymore. Her head tilted forward, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth slack. She stared at him. Not with challenge. Not with desperation. Just with hunger.
Not even human hunger.
Something deeper.
Something his.
“Look at you,” he growled into her ear, voice low, rough. “Look what I’ve made you.”
She blinked slowly. Licked her lips. Tried to smile. Couldn’t quite form it. But she spoke. Somehow.
“More.”
That was it.
She couldn’t beg anymore. She couldn’t scream. All she could do was ask — and he gave.
He dragged her off the wall and walked with her cock still buried inside. Her weight was nothing in his arms, her thighs hanging limp around his hips, her breath coming in hot, wet pants against his neck.
He brought her to the center of the guild hall — right to the long table where they'd eaten a hundred meals, planned a hundred missions, fought over cards and beer and broken chairs. And he dropped her on it like she was his next feast.
Her body hit the wood, tits bouncing, legs flopping wide again, cum pooling beneath her and smearing against the polished surface.
He climbed up with her.
Knelt between her thighs.
And spread her open.
Her cunt was gaping, visibly pulsing, swollen and slick and still twitching around nothing. His cum was leaking out in waves. He could see it drip, heavy and white, trailing down the edge of her ass and pooling at the base of her spine.
He didn’t hesitate.
He pushed back inside, slower this time. Not tender. Just deliberate. Letting her body recognize him again. Letting her stretch again. Letting her remember who she belonged to.
She twitched under him.
Her legs kicked.
She whispered his name again, weaker now, but still desperate.
He began to thrust — slow, grinding strokes that didn’t chase pleasure, didn’t chase speed. This was different now. He wasn’t just rutting. He was building. Climbing. Making her take it not as punishment, but as permanence.
Every movement forced her body to respond. Her cunt clenched. Her back arched. Her hands clawed at the table. Her throat tried to make sound and failed.
And then he leaned over her.
One hand slid between them, fingers pressing down on her clit — swollen, hypersensitive, abused. She jerked like she’d been shot. He rubbed. She convulsed. Her body seized under him, and her cunt clamped down again, tighter than before, like it was trying to rip his cock out by force.
But he didn’t let her.
He slammed in.
Again.
And again.
Until the table shook.
Until the fucking legs of the thing buckled under the weight and the rhythm.
Until her climax detonated.
She screamed.
She came.
She squirted — actual liquid, actual force — gushing around his cock, soaking the table, her back, her thighs. It kept coming. Pulse after pulse. Her voice cracked, then died completely. Her entire body seized, held, and then finally collapsed.
She went limp.
Still breathing.
But done.
She wasn’t unconscious — not fully. But she wasn’t present anymore either. She floated. Her body belonged to the table. Her muscles refused to obey commands. Her eyes flickered open and shut, mouth twitching like she wanted to speak but had no words left.
And Laxus?
Still hard.
Still pulsing.
Still inside her.
He leaned forward. Stared down at the woman he’d wrecked, claimed, ruined. And he smiled — slow, primal, like the last tether to sanity had been burned away.
She was everything.
She was his.
And the storm had just begun.
Chapter Text
The mission had started routine — just another cleanup job, a pack of mercenaries terrorizing some mountain village. Erza led without question, armor gleaming in the morning light, blade steady and sure. Natsu trailed her, silent but tense, a coil wound too tight — eyes sharper, movements twitchier, a growl under every breath. The skirmish was done in under an hour, mercenaries broken and fleeing, villagers safe.
But as the adrenaline bled off and the hush of the forest settled around them, the scent of rut came back — thick, sharp, primal.
She noticed first — the way he paced the treeline, jaw clenched, fists flexing like he was holding back an earthquake. The air around him shimmered, warped by the heat pouring off his skin, distorting the trees like they stood in flame. When she approached, his nostrils flared — scenting her.
“Natsu,” she said flatly, setting her sword down with slow precision. “You need to rest. You’re burning yourself out.”
He turned. Slowly. The look in his eyes made her breath hitch — the green of his irises sliced with fire, pupils thin and feral, molten and starving. He stepped closer, and the dirt beneath his boots cracked from the heat bleeding off him. That’s when she realized — this wasn’t fatigue.
It was rut.
She’d seen it before. The way Lucy could calm him — stroke his fire down to a smolder. But Lucy wasn’t here now.
His voice tore out of him like gravel dragged across stone. “Erza… can’t—hold it back.” Each breath hitched, sharp, ragged, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t get enough air. “Need… release.”
She stiffened. Her hand twitched toward her chestplate. Reflex. But she didn’t draw. Couldn’t. Her role had always been control — command — discipline. But the heat rolling off him made her pulse hammer. His scent curled around her like smoke — ash and fire, undercut with something darker. The rank musk of rut. And her body betrayed her. Thighs clenching. Breath shallow.
He moved.
Predator-fast.
His claws caught her wrist mid-reach. One yank — and she was spun, slammed back against a tree. Bark dug into her shoulder blades, but his body — all fire and muscle — pinned her harder than steel. His mouth crashed down on her neck, teeth scraping, tongue dragging heat across her skin.
“N-Natsu!” she gasped, the word half-warning, half-moan. But her protest melted the second his cock ground against her hip, armor catching on the thick press of it, heat seeping through layers of steel.
He snarled. The sound vibrated in his chest — in hers. His claws tore at her breastplate, no patience, no finesse — just need. The buckles gave. The plates hit the ground with a crash, and all that was left was the thin shirt beneath — shredded in the next second.
Her breasts spilled into open air, nipples stiff in the sudden chill, but it was gone in an instant — replaced by the scalding heat of his mouth. He latched onto one nipple, sucking hard, tongue rough, teeth grazing — and she arched, moaning sharp and high.
“Ahhhhhhhnnnnn!”
Her hands pushed at his chest, but it was useless — like trying to stop a wildfire with bare palms.
His rut was merciless.
He shoved her skirt up. Claws raked the waistband of her leggings — tore them apart like paper. Her thighs were bare against the tree now, her cunt exposed to the air and the heat rolling off his body. His cock — thick, veined, already slick with pre — pressed hard against her folds, grinding through wetness she hadn’t even noticed was there.
Her head hit the tree. Eyes wide. Lips parted. Breath in tatters.
“Nnnnhhhhhh—this isn’t—ahhh gods—!”
But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
With a snarl, he slammed into her — one brutal stroke, burying every inch in a single thrust.
And she screamed.
“AAAAHHHHHHhnnnnnnnnNnnn!”
The stretch was brutal — his cock thick, veined, ridged, dragging through her walls like he meant to leave marks inside her. Her cunt clenched tight around him, hungry, traitorous, already milking him with each pulse. He slammed in again — harder — faster — the bark behind her spine biting deeper with every vicious thrust.
Her breasts bounced wild with the impact, sweat slicking her flushed skin, moans spilling raw and helpless from her throat.
“Ahhhhhhhnnnn! Natsuuuu—deeper—ahhh gods, fuck, yes!”
He growled into her neck, biting, sucking, breath scorching. His voice broke between ragged thrusts.
“Need… you… fuck—can’t stop—must breed.”
No man spoke now — only the dragon inside him, heat-wracked and starved, rut driving him past reason. And Erza — proud, unshakable Erza — sobbed, her voice cracking into screams that echoed through the clearing.
“Ahhhhhhhnnnnnn! Ffffuckkkk, yes—harder—ahhh gods—harder!”
The world collapsed around them — no wind, no birdsong, just the obscene wet slap of flesh, the strangled cries of a woman ruined, the growls of a dragon whose cock couldn’t stop.
Erza’s body gave in wave after wave, climax after climax crashing through her until her knees buckled — but he didn’t let her fall. His claws dug into her hips, holding her upright, forcing her to take every savage thrust, his cock pounding through each twitch and tremble until her thighs were slick with cum, his and hers mixed and spilling freely.
He came inside her again — hot, thick, flooding her womb in pulses — but never slowed.
Never softened.
His rut wouldn’t let him.
The bark behind her was slick with sweat, scraped raw where her back slammed over and over again. Her screams cracked into hoarse moans, throat ravaged, but her cunt stayed stretched and filled, always moving, always taking him.
She had thought she could control it. Thought she could command him.
But hours later, Erza Scarlet — Titania, the Knight — lay trembling against the tree, her armor shattered, her hair matted with sweat. Her breasts were flushed, marred with bite marks, nipples swollen from his mouth. Her cunt gaped open, wet and leaking, drenched from the endless fucking that had stretched her past limits she didn’t know she had.
And still he moved.
Slower now, but steady — grinding deep, possessive — cock still thick, still hard, still not done.
He growled into her ear, voice low, shaking, dangerous.
“Not done… not till the season ends… you’ll calm me… until Lucy’s here.”
Her moan was weak, shattered by exhaustion. But her legs still locked around his waist. Still pulled him deeper.
“Nnnnhhhhhh—ahhhhnnnn—yes… don’t stop…”
And the forest swallowed them again.
Every time she thought his rut had finally ebbed, every time his hips slowed and his chest sagged against hers, the heat surged back — violent, demanding. His cock refused to soften. Each lull only coiled the next frenzy tighter.
Pinned to the same tree, her back scraped raw, Erza screamed herself hoarse, throat torn with moans that wouldn’t stop. Her thighs dripped with his cum — thick, leaking, soaking her skin. But when her legs collapsed, useless and twitching, he only growled and lifted her by the waist like a ragdoll, tossing her to the mossy ground with a heavy thud.
She gasped — no air — no time — he was on her again.
Body over hers.
Weight pressing her into the dirt.
Hands forcing her knees apart.
Cock driving into her again so hard her hips slammed into the ground, jarring bone and bruising flesh.
Her screams rose again — shredded, breathless, full of raw agony and bliss.
“Nnnnhhhhhh—ahhh gods—Natsuuu—too much—ahhhhhhhnnnn!”
Her breastplate lay in ruins yards away. Her shirt was scraps clinging to sweat-slick skin. Her breasts bounced unprotected, his mouth switching from nipple to neck, sucking so hard it bruised, biting until she yelped.
Pain bled into pleasure. Her moans became sobs. Her body shook beneath him.
Time vanished.
The sun climbed overhead, shadows burning short — but still his rut ruled him.
He flipped her onto all fours.
Gripped her ass, claws dimpling bruises into soft flesh.
Mounted her.
Fucked her like a beast.
The force of his thrusts made her hands slip in the soil, her cries muffled where she buried her face in her forearm, trying not to shatter.
Her scarlet hair clung to her skin in damp snarls. Her thighs shook. Her body was streaked with dirt, smeared with cum, trembling from the brutal stretch of being kept open for hours. But when his cock slammed deep — that spot — her body snapped again.
“Aaaaaaahhhhnnnnnn—cumming—ahhh gods—fuck—I’m cumming again—!”
Her climax hit like a tidal wave — cunt clenching, juices splashing across his thighs, soaking the forest floor. But Natsu didn’t pause. He snarled, gripped her tighter, hauled her back into every stroke until she collapsed flat against the ground.
Face buried. Chest heaving.
But her ass still raised — held up by his claws.
Still taking it.
When her arms could no longer hold her up — when her spine sagged and her moans cracked to breathless whimpers — he hauled her upright again. Spun her around. Slammed her down onto him as he dropped back against the base of a tree.
She screamed — sharp and helpless — as his cock speared her from below, splitting her open again like she hadn’t just spent hours taking him.
Her legs straddled his thighs, barely working. Her breasts flattened against his chest as she clung to him, sobbing into the curve of his neck.
He thrust upward, brutal and deep, bouncing her in his lap like she was weightless. His hands mauled her tits, groping, twisting, his thumbs flicking over swollen nipples that had no more resistance left — only agony, only overstimulation, only pleasure so sharp it bled.
“Ahhhhnnnnnn—hahhhhhh—Natsu—ahhhhnnnn, too much, I can’t—!”
But her cunt clenched tighter.
Her body lied for her.
Her thighs trembled around his hips, and another orgasm slammed through her, ripping her open from the inside. Her head fell back, scarlet hair spilling over his arm like silk soaked in sweat, her voice shredding into high, broken sobs.
The rut would not let him stop.
As shadows stretched long and the sun dipped past the trees, he dragged her through the clearing — not like a lover, but like something he owned.
He folded her onto her back, legs pinned against her chest, cock driving in so deep she thought he’d tear something inside her.
He flipped her over a fallen log, bark biting into her breasts as his hips slammed into her ass, rutting like an animal gone mad.
He pinned her to his mouth, tongue fucking her until she shook, whimpering, twitching — then pulled her back down onto his cock again like a plaything soaked and ruined.
Every position was new pain, new bliss.
Every time she thought her body had nothing left, her cunt betrayed her again — squeezing around him, dragging another climax from a body that couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, not while his cock stayed rock-hard and her mind stayed blank.
Her vision blurred.
Tears smeared dirt across her cheeks.
She didn’t know her own name anymore. Just the fire. Just the fullness. Just the stretch.
By the time the sun died behind the mountains, Erza Scarlet — Titania, Knight, legend — lay wrecked in the trampled grass, armor torn to ribbons, skin streaked in sweat and cum and dirt.
Her breasts were swollen, flushed, nipples aching from hours in his mouth. Her thighs trembled, streaked white with the seed he’d spilled inside her over and over, the excess dripping out in thick trails. Her cunt hung open — gaping, used — twitching with each sluggish thrust that still rolled from his hips.
And he was still inside her.
Slower now, but deep. Relentless. A growl rumbling low in his throat as he pinned her flat against the moss, hips grinding down like he needed to be inside her every second.
She whimpered — hoarse, broken — a ghost of sound:
“Nnnnhhhhhh—ahhh gods—no more… can’t… but feels so good…”
Her arms wrapped around his neck, barely clinging, just enough to say I’m still here. Her scarlet hair tangled against his shoulder, damp and wild, her body limp but begging anyway.
He pressed his forehead to hers, breath scorching.
“Erza… need you… need release… until Lucy’s here…”
His hips rolled deeper, his cock twitched, and he came again — hot and endless — filling her until it spilled in thick streams, running down between her cheeks, painting the moss.
The stars came out above them.
The forest whispered with insects and wind.
But the clearing was filled with the wet slap of his hips, the broken moans of a woman shattered, and the guttural growls of a dragon who still wasn’t sated.
And as the night deepened, Erza understood what Lucy had already known — what she had endured before:
The dragon would not stop until he’d burned through every last ounce of his rut.
And without his mate to soothe the fire, Erza would be the one to take the heat. Until dawn. Until the madness passed.
***
The sky lightened — just a sliver of pink along the horizon.
When dawn broke over the mountains, the forest was silent. Only the hum of insects. The trickle of a distant stream.
And the wreckage of a battlefield that had never known steel.
The clearing had been torn apart. Moss flattened. Bark stripped raw from trees. Leaves scattered in a wide, chaotic ring like a storm had passed.
But the storm wasn’t weather. It was flesh.
It was Natsu Dragneel’s rut — consuming space, time, and one red-haired knight until only ruin remained.
Now, at last, his body was still.
He lay sprawled at the roots of a tree, chest bare, skin damp with sweat, his lips parted in sleep. His cock lay heavy against his thigh — soft, streaked with their fluids — his breathing even. For the first time in days, the dragon inside him was quiet.
The fire had gone out.
And beside him, Erza stirred — just barely.
Scarlet hair matted. Armor in pieces. Her body coated in sweat, seed, and bruises that marked every place he had held her.
Her cunt twitched.
Her thighs ached.
Her voice was gone.
But she breathed.
And when her eyes opened — slow, glassy — they landed on the man who had burned her from the inside out.
Chapter 5
Notes:
Been sitting on this idea forever. Had to do justice to Gajeel’s rut and the way Lucy and Levy deserve to be taken apart. More chapters to come if the dragons demand it!
Chapter Text
The night in Magnolia dragged long, the guild’s noise fading one by one as members stumbled home. The fire had burned low in the hearth when Lucy finally excused herself, her golden hair catching the dying light as she slipped out into the streets. Levy had been close behind, book tucked under her arm, her steps soft against the cobblestones. Neither spoke, but there was an unspoken thread between them — both women carrying the weight of what they had confessed earlier, both still marked by dragon slayers who had driven them past exhaustion.
Gajeel found them before they reached Fairy Hills. He lingered in the shadows at the edge of the street, his arms folded, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark. He didn’t call out. He didn’t need to. Both women felt the weight of his gaze before they saw him step forward. The scent of iron and musk rolled over them, heavy and familiar, and Lucy’s breath caught while Levy’s cheeks flushed scarlet.
“Oi,” Gajeel growled low, his voice more rumble than words. “Thought I’d walk you back.”
It wasn’t a question, and neither argued. They followed him into the quieter streets, past the lamplight, until they reached the dormitory’s back entrance where no one would disturb them. Lucy hesitated, glancing at Levy, but the smaller girl’s gaze was already fixed on Gajeel — on the hunger still simmering in his eyes, even after all he had poured into her before.
Inside Levy’s room, the door closed with a click that sounded final. The air grew heavy at once, filled with his scent, with their anticipation, with the unspoken knowledge of what was about to happen. Gajeel’s gaze raked over them both, lingering on Lucy’s torn blouse and Levy’s flushed cheeks, and he let out a low growl that made their thighs clench in unison.
“Been holdin’ back since the hall,” he muttered, stepping closer. “Don’t care if it’s rut or not, I need both of ya.”
The confession hit Lucy’s stomach like heat. She should have balked, but instead her pulse raced, her lips parted, and when his hand closed around her waist to tug her closer, she didn’t resist. Levy stepped up beside her, her small hand brushing Lucy’s without meaning to, and the accidental touch sent a shiver through both of them.
Then Gajeel’s mouth was on Lucy’s, hot and bruising, his teeth tugging her lower lip until she gasped into him. His other arm swept Levy against his side, his mouth breaking from Lucy’s only to seize Levy’s next. Levy whimpered, her hands clutching at his shirt, but when Lucy’s gaze met hers over the broad line of his chest, something shifted. Lucy leaned in before she could think, her lips brushing Levy’s, tentative at first, then deepening when Levy moaned softly into her. Their mouths opened together, tongues sliding, the kiss tasting of cider and heat, and when Gajeel pulled back to watch, the growl in his chest deepened to something feral.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he rasped, his claws already tearing at their clothes. “Knew you two’d taste sweet together.”
The moment Gajeel’s claws tore fabric away, there was no pause, no hesitation from him or from the women who stood before him. Lucy’s blouse and Levy’s nightdress came apart in jagged strips that fluttered to the floor, leaving pale skin bared to the lamplight, nipples hardened by the sudden chill, thighs pressing together instinctively even as their bodies betrayed them with the warmth spreading between them. Both women gasped, startled not by shame but by the intensity of his stare, the molten gleam in his eyes that marked them as prey and prize all at once. He shoved them toward the bed with a grunt, the motion rough, impatient, his strength brooking no resistance. They stumbled together, arms tangling, breasts brushing as they half-fell into the mattress, the creak of the frame drowned out by the sound of their breaths catching.
For a moment, time slowed. Levy’s small hand lifted, trembling as it hovered uncertainly before brushing across Lucy’s breast, the contact feather-light, a test more than a claim. Lucy arched into it instantly, her lips parting on a soft, breathless moan that filled the space between them. Encouraged, Levy let her fingers trail further, cupping the swell of her friend’s breast, squeezing gently as her own pulse thundered in her ears. Lucy leaned in before doubt could creep in, her lips pressing to the curve of Levy’s throat, her tongue flicking against sensitive skin, tracing upward until Levy gasped aloud and clutched at her in return. Their thighs slid together, slick warmth meeting slick warmth as instinct drove them to grind softly against one another, and Levy’s whisper broke into the air, shaky and desperate, “Lucy… ahhhhnnnn…” Their mouths met then, tentative only for the briefest heartbeat before the kiss deepened into something hungry, wet and desperate, their tongues sliding together while their hands roamed.
The growl from across the room shattered whatever illusion of privacy they had. Gajeel stood stripped bare, his body cast in shadow and faint candlelight, muscles taut beneath skin marked with battle scars, his cock jutting heavy and thick, metal studs glinting faintly as his hand worked himself once in a slow, punishing stroke. The sight of the women tangled together, breasts pressed, lips swollen from kissing, thighs glistening as they rubbed against one another, dragged a guttural grunt from his throat. The sound alone made both girls moan into each other’s mouths, their kiss breaking only when he moved.
He stalked forward like a predator closing in on cornered prey, each step heavy, his cock angled toward them as though nothing else in the world mattered. He shoved them apart just enough to wedge his massive body between theirs, his cock dragging across their folds, smearing their wetness in messy streaks over their clits at the same time. The shock of heat and friction made them both cry out together, voices mingling in the dim room, “Ahhhhhhhnnnn!” Lucy’s back arched off the mattress while Levy clutched at the sheets, her small chest heaving, and Gajeel snarled with satisfaction, savoring the sound.
His claws gripped Lucy’s thighs and wrenched them wide, forcing her open beneath him. He shoved Levy higher, settling her straddling Lucy’s chest, her small body trembling, breasts spilling forward, one nipple instantly claimed by Lucy’s eager mouth. Lucy’s tongue flicked over the hardened peak, sucking until Levy moaned aloud, her fingers tangling in golden hair as if to keep her there. Lucy’s hands anchored around Levy’s hips, guiding her down as though urging her to grind against her lips, to lose herself to the same fever already burning in Lucy’s veins.
Gajeel didn’t wait another moment. He drove into Lucy with one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt, his cock spreading her wide around every vein, every piercing, until her scream was muffled against the soft flesh of Levy’s breast. “Mmmmfffhhhnnnnnn!” Her walls clamped desperately around him, slick and hot, dragging at him as though her body had been made to cage him inside her.
The rhythm of the room had become something primal and relentless, a heat that never waned no matter how many times bodies shuddered or voices broke. The bed was soaked through with sweat and fluids, the wooden frame groaning under the strain of Gajeel’s weight and the force of his thrusts, yet still he drove himself into them, rutting without pause as though his instincts would not allow him to rest until every ounce of his need had been wrung out. Lucy lay flat at one moment, her legs spread wide while Levy straddled her waist, their breasts pressed together, mouths sliding wetly as their tongues tangled. Levy’s hands trembled against Lucy’s face, her whimpers muffled when Lucy kissed her deeply, only to cry out again when Gajeel shifted his angle, pistoning into her so brutally that Lucy’s back bowed off the mattress. Every thrust forced a moan from both women because their bodies remained tangled, pleasure spilling from one to the other in waves that grew impossible to separate.
Levy’s smaller frame shook with each impact, her thighs spread wide when Gajeel dragged her down next. His hands locked around her hips, claws pricking at her skin as he lifted and slammed her onto his cock, her tight walls gripping him so desperately that he snarled with satisfaction. Lucy, glistening and swollen from her own turn beneath him, slid behind Levy and wrapped her arms around her, kissing along her neck, cupping her breasts, licking at the sweat that dampened her flushed skin. The cries that spilled from Levy’s lips grew louder and higher pitched, a desperate chant of broken syllables, “Ahhhhnnnnn—Lucy—ahhhhnnn gods—too deep—ahhhhnnnn Gajeel—ahhhhnnnn!” Her voice shook with each upward slam, but her hips rolled back against him in frantic rhythm, her small body craving what it could barely endure.
Lucy shifted lower, sliding beneath Levy’s arching body, her lips pressing to her clit just as Gajeel bottomed out inside her. The sudden wet suction and flick of Lucy’s tongue made Levy’s voice break into a scream, her entire body clenching, her thighs shaking violently as climax tore through her. Gajeel growled, hips snapping faster, the wet slap of flesh echoing in the room until he spilled into her, filling her so thoroughly that hot seed spilled out in thick rivulets, dripping down her thighs and across Lucy’s lips as she licked and moaned, refusing to let go even as Levy collapsed in a trembling heap.
Gajeel gave no reprieve. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t even allow a heartbeat of silence to pass between one climax and the next demand. The moment Lucy's body trembled in the aftermath of her last release, he seized her by the hips, his grip bruising, unyielding, and flipped her over without ceremony. Her gasp tore through the heavy air as he turned her onto all fours like she weighed nothing, spine arching helplessly as her knees slid on the tangled, damp sheets. Her breasts swung with the sudden movement, slick with sweat, the soft curves jostling violently as he positioned her exactly where he wanted her. Her hair tumbled around her face, wild and matted, sticking to her flushed cheeks, her eyes barely open, lips parted in a breathless, desperate moan that hadn’t even fully formed before he was inside her again.
He slammed into her with the same brutal urgency that had marked every second of the night, his cock driving so deep that she screamed into the mattress, sound muffled by the thick folds of cloth her face was pressed into. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, nails digging furrows through soaked linen, knuckles white, her whole body shuddering as if the force of him was short-circuiting her mind with every thrust. He didn’t give her time to recover, didn’t slow or soften; he took her like something owned, something expected to yield without question or limit, like a dragon asserting his claim, feeding a hunger that knew no mercy.
Beside them, Levy's body still trembled, hips twitching from the orgasm that had left her boneless minutes before. She stirred slowly, her limbs languid and heavy, breath ragged as she rolled onto her side. Her lips found Lucy’s cheek in a kiss as soft as silk but electric in its tenderness. Her hand slid over Lucy’s waist, tracing the tense lines of muscle stretched beneath the surface, then moved to her breast, cupping it gently even as Lucy’s entire body rocked from the pounding Gajeel drove into her from behind. Levy whispered to her, breath hot and trembling against her ear, each word laced with awe and aching desire.
“You’re taking him so well… gods, Lu… you’re—fuck, you’re beautiful like this…”
Lucy’s answer wasn’t a word but a sound—raw, unfiltered, a moan torn straight from her core. It poured from her mouth as her hips rocked backward into every savage thrust, as if her body knew no other command but to meet him, match him, draw every inch of him deeper, even when her limbs quivered and her muscles clenched involuntarily in overstimulated spasms. Her sobs of pleasure caught in her throat, broken little cries that thickened each time he bottomed out, each time he pulled back only to slam forward again, harder, deeper, relentless.
Levy’s fingers slid to Lucy’s chin, gently coaxing her face sideways, turning her mouth toward hers. Their lips met in a desperate kiss—wet, messy, uncoordinated, all teeth and tongues and panting breaths—but no less tender for the ferocity behind it. Their mouths moved together even as Lucy’s body jolted with each thrust, and when Levy pulled back just enough to breathe against her, she whispered against her tongue, voice shuddering:
“Take it all, Lucy… gods… just like that… don’t stop… don’t stop…”
Her words tangled with the slick sounds of flesh on flesh, the wet slap of hips colliding again and again, the low, animal growl vibrating from Gajeel’s throat as he drove into Lucy without mercy. And still, Lucy moaned—ragged, wrecked, drowned in pleasure, her body spasming again as another climax tore through her, spine bowing sharply as her cunt clenched around him like a vice.
Time unraveled after that.
It was no longer marked by minutes or hours but by the endless repetition of touch and thrust, of mouths finding mouths, of bodies contorting and collapsing only to be lifted again. Gajeel didn’t stop. Not when Lucy sagged forward in a limp mess. Not when Levy whimpered that she couldn’t take another. Not when their voices cracked or their limbs trembled or their skin glistened with the sheen of exhaustion. He took them both, again and again, the rhythm changing only in intensity, never ceasing, like waves that never break, just keep surging higher.
He bent Lucy forward and dragged Levy atop her, lifting her by the waist to straddle Lucy’s face. Lucy didn’t resist. She opened her mouth eagerly, tongue flicking out before Levy could even lower herself, and then moaned into the slick heat of her friend’s cunt as Gajeel filled her from behind, thrusting with the same brutal force, his cock driving into Lucy’s soaked hole while her face was buried between Levy’s trembling thighs. Her hands gripped Levy’s hips, fingers digging into soft skin as she licked and sucked, her muffled moans sending shivers up Levy’s spine.
He leaned over them, pressing Lucy’s tits flush against Levy’s back, one big hand wrapping around both their waists to hold them steady as he pounded into Lucy from behind, the force of it grinding Lucy’s face harder into Levy’s soaked heat, forcing Levy to ride her mouth, to moan and gasp and beg between sobs of ecstasy. His other hand snaked beneath them to play with Levy’s breasts, tugging her nipples, pinching, twisting until she cried out, trembling violently above Lucy’s mouth, whispering broken encouragements down to her between hitched breaths and frantic kisses dropped onto her hair.
Their bodies became indistinct, a tangle of sweat-slick limbs and frantic mouths, of moans passed from one tongue to another, of hips grinding desperately, clits dragged across thighs, fingers pushing inside each other while his cock drove into them both. Sometimes he’d pull out just long enough to switch, lining himself up behind Levy and sinking in as Lucy collapsed beneath them, licking her lips, tasting her friend on her tongue, face painted with arousal and bliss. And sometimes he’d force them to kiss mid-thrust, grabbing the backs of their heads and crushing their mouths together until neither could breathe, and both whimpered into the kiss, completely owned, completely devoured.
They weren’t women anymore—they were vessels for the fire that burned in him, offerings to the hunger that had taken control. He didn’t speak except in growls, in snarls of approval, in low curses choked out when either of them clenched too tight or screamed too sweet. He took them with a focus that bordered on reverent—rough, yes, brutal even—but not mindless. He was deliberate. Precise. A beast who knew exactly how to break them open.
Hours slipped away. Or maybe it was longer. The only clues were the bruises that bloomed beneath their skin, the streaks of drying cum across thighs and stomachs and breasts, the faint wheeze of air forced from lungs that had long since stopped trying to keep up. The room was a wreck. The sheets were soaked and twisted beyond saving. Pillows had been kicked to the floor, one of them torn open by Lucy’s nails. The air was thick with the scent of sex—hot, heavy, inescapable. Cum clung to their skin in sticky trails, mixing with sweat, with spit, with the salt of tears shed in pleasure so sharp it had become unbearable.
By the time dawn finally dared to press against the slatted shutters, gray and pale and diffused through the heavy scent, they weren’t fucking anymore—they were simply together, bodies tangled, breath shared, limbs interlocked without direction or coordination. Gajeel lay between them, a weight, a presence, thick cock still hard but spent, twitching lazily against Lucy’s raw, swollen entrance. One of his arms curled around Levy’s waist, the other draped over Lucy’s hip, fingers twitching occasionally as if still clutching, still needing.
Levy’s head rested on Lucy’s shoulder, their bodies sticky where skin met, breasts pressed softly, their legs tangled like lovers who had fallen asleep in the middle of a kiss. They weren’t asleep, not really. Just… quiet. Gutted. Wrecked in a way that didn’t require explanation. Lucy’s fingers moved in slow, lazy strokes through Levy’s hair, brushing back damp locks, her thumb dragging across her cheek in something achingly tender. A breath passed her lips, quiet and low, barely a whisper, and she smiled—not wide, not bright, but real. Deep.
“We survived him,” she murmured, voice so hoarse it was barely more than a rasp. “And we loved every fucking second of it.”
Levy’s response was a soft, aching hum, her lips brushing Lucy’s collarbone, eyes fluttering closed. Gajeel didn’t move. Didn’t need to. His heat was still between them, over them, in them.
And it wasn’t over.
Not even close.
Chapter Text
The bathhouse was already hot by the time Juvia stepped inside, but the air held a different kind of heat tonight—thick and coiled, the kind that settled under the skin and made everything feel too tight, too loud, too urgent. The tiles beneath her bare feet were warm from the steam that billowed like smoke across the floors, curling up around her calves, licking her thighs as if the room itself had come alive with lust. She paused in the entryway, fingers curling around the edge of her towel, her breath catching just as her eyes locked onto the source of the heat that had been rippling through the guild like wildfire for days.
Natsu Dragneel was sprawled in the far corner of the largest pool, half-submerged in water that hissed and sizzled where it touched his skin, the surface glowing faintly red where his heat flared unchecked. His body was stretched out, head tilted back against the smooth stone edge, muscular chest rising and falling with labored breath. One arm dangled lazily over the side, fingers twitching like he was dreaming of something far too filthy for the daylight. The other was sunk beneath the surface—and there was no mistaking the movement under the water, the rhythmic tension of his hips, the subtle roll of his abdomen, the flex of his thighs. He was touching himself. Slowly. Furiously. Quietly losing the battle against the fire raging inside him.
Juvia didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She stood there, towel clutched to her chest, heart hammering with the kind of perverse anticipation she hadn't let herself indulge in for years—not since Gray rejected her the last time, not since Lucy started smiling more when Natsu was around, not since she realized she was always the one watching from behind glass, always soaked and trembling and left out. But now the fire dragon was alone, and she could smell the desperation rolling off him in waves—like smoke, like burnt ozone, like sex.
She stepped forward, towel dropping from her fingers, sliding down her body in a soft cascade until it puddled at her feet. The air licked at her skin, humid and clinging, but she didn’t feel exposed—she felt charged, like something sacred had broken inside her and was finally flooding out, soaking the tiles, demanding to be seen.
Natsu didn’t notice her at first. His eyes were half-lidded, lashes wet with sweat or steam or something worse. His lips were parted, dry and bitten. His breath came in uneven bursts, a low, gravel-scraped growl escaping him as his hips jerked beneath the water. He didn’t speak, didn’t call out a name, didn’t even look at her as she crossed the room, each step echoing faintly off the walls. But she knew he felt her. She could see the flicker in his jaw, the shiver that ran through his shoulders, the way his cock twitched just beneath the surface as if it sensed her, knew her scent, craved her presence like oxygen.
She crouched at the edge of the pool, knees pressed together, hands braced on the slick tile. Her voice was low when she finally spoke, and it vibrated like thunder in the charged silence.
“You’re burning up,” she said, and she wasn’t asking.
His eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, then sharpening like blades as they landed on her. For a moment, he didn’t move. He just looked—scanning her face, her bare chest, her thighs spread where she crouched, the delicate glisten of moisture that hadn’t come from the steam. Then he growled—soft and savage, like a beast barely leashed.
“Juvia,” he said, and it sounded like a warning, but his voice was ragged with restraint, the last threads of sanity straining against whatever primal urge was gnawing at his spine.
She dipped her hand into the water, trailing her fingers toward him. The surface rippled around her arm, the heat almost too much to bear, but she kept going until her palm slid against his thigh, hot and taut and trembling.
“You need help,” she said, not coy, not innocent, just honest. Her thumb brushed along the edge of his hipbone, dipping lower, feeling the way his muscles clenched under her touch.
“I can smell you,” he said, voice tight, eyes flickering. “You’ve been wet since you walked in here.”
Juvia swallowed, the flush in her cheeks deepening as her fingers drifted higher, grazing the rigid heat of his cock beneath the surface. Her body betrayed her with a shudder that had nothing to do with nerves. She wasn’t scared. She wanted him—wanted this—wanted to feel what Lucy felt, but deeper. Harder. Longer. Wanted to be ruined so completely that he couldn’t forget her name even if he tried.
“I heard about your heat,” she murmured, closing the distance between them, chest dipping into the water as she slipped over the edge and sank to her knees between his legs. “I thought... maybe I could cool you off.”
He hissed, body jerking as her hand wrapped around his cock, now fully exposed above the waterline. Thick, hard, hot as hell, and twitching with need, it pulsed against her palm like it had a heartbeat of its own.
“Don’t tease me,” he said, his voice almost a snarl, jaw clenched as sweat dripped down his temple. “I’m not in control.”
Juvia looked up at him through damp strands of hair, lips parting as she leaned forward, tongue sliding out to trace the head of his cock, tasting the heat, the salt, the wild energy that made the air itself hum.
“I don’t want you in control,” she whispered against him, breath feathering across his shaft. “I want you to break me.”
He moved then—fast and rough—hands in her hair, yanking her up, dragging her across his lap until her legs were spread wide over his thighs and her cunt was flush against the rigid heat of his cock. She gasped, the water sloshing violently around them, her nipples scraping against his chest as he pulled her tight against him.
“You’re fucking insane,” he said, voice shaking, teeth bared. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I do,” she said, grinding against him, her voice cracking with want. “And I want all of it.”
Natsu’s fingers were buried in her hips, the pressure biting, bruising, a silent promise that whatever came next wouldn’t be soft or delicate or considerate. The bathwater steamed higher around them, fogging the air and beading across her skin in rivulets that slid from her collarbone to her stomach, clinging to her breasts before vanishing into the space between her thighs, where his cock was pinned against the soaked, swollen heat of her cunt. Juvia could feel him twitching beneath her, the thick, rigid shaft trapped beneath her slit and rubbing against her slit with every shift of her hips. She was slick enough that the head of it kept slipping, catching, grinding up against her clit until her thighs trembled and her voice caught in her throat, but she didn’t lift herself—not yet. She wanted the moment to stretch, to pulse and build and claw up her spine until the need became unbearable.
He wasn’t patient. She could see it in his eyes, the way they burned brighter than the steam, the way his chest heaved, ribs flaring as if every breath hurt. His cock jerked again against her cunt, and he growled something low, primal, half-feral, like it was being torn from him without thought. Then one hand slid from her hip up to the base of her throat, not choking, not squeezing, but holding, steady and tight, his thumb pressing just beneath her jaw.
"You’re too fucking wet,” he muttered, voice thick and slurred with lust, words heavy with disbelief and something far darker. “You’re melting on me."
“I want you inside,” she said, the words spilling out in a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “I want all of it.”
She didn’t wait for permission. She reached down between them, fingers closing around his cock, and even in the water it felt searing, almost too hot to handle. She guided the head to her entrance, already aching, already stretched from grinding and pressure and anticipation, her folds parting around the thick crown with the promise of resistance. She hovered, just barely, and the moment the tip of him notched against her pussy, her body reacted violently, hips jerking forward, cunt flexing, the heat of him slamming into her like a hammer.
He thrust up as she dropped down, not timed, not careful—an explosion of motion that turned penetration into an impact, all friction and stretch and an obscene, wet sound that echoed off the tiled walls and bounced through the steam-heavy air. The water surged with their bodies, splashing out over the edge of the pool in waves, hitting the floor in slaps as her cunt swallowed him, inch after thick inch, until her ass hit his thighs and she was seated on him to the hilt, trembling, clutching his shoulders hard enough to dig her nails in.
The stretch was unbearable. Perfect. Unforgiving. She’d imagined this more times than she’d ever admit—jerking herself off in silence, fucking her fingers to the thought of his mouth, his hands, his cock—but nothing came close to how it felt to be impaled by it. Every part of her was full, stuffed, speared open by the sheer size of him. Her walls clamped down hard in reflex, and he responded instantly, hips jerking up again with a growl that vibrated straight into her cunt.
“Shit,” he hissed, hand tightening on her throat. “You’re fucking tight. How are you this tight?”
Her mouth dropped open in a silent moan, the pressure in her pelvis mounting with brutal speed, pleasure mixing with shock, her pussy already spasming around him just from being filled so deep and fast. He wasn’t giving her time to adjust, wasn’t letting her ease into the rhythm. His heat had taken over. This wasn’t about connection or finesse or even release—this was about use, about burying himself so deep inside her that her body forgot how to exist without him in it.
He pulled out halfway—just enough for her cunt to clutch at him, desperate to keep him in—and slammed back into her so hard her head snapped back. Water splashed up over her shoulders, her breasts bouncing with the force of it, and then he did it again, faster, harder, slamming into her like his cock was the only thing keeping his sanity tethered. The bench under him creaked, stone grinding faintly beneath their weight, and her moans turned hoarse, high-pitched, raw as she rode him, as he fucked up into her, as their bodies collided with punishing rhythm.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, damp strands slipping through her grip as she clung to him, her forehead dropping to his, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack and trembling. Every thrust knocked the breath from her lungs. Her clit rubbed against his pelvis with every brutal meeting of hips, sending electric sparks through her core, up her spine, out through her fingertips. She was shaking, writhing, her thighs quivering against his sides as the wet slap of flesh on flesh filled the chamber with each thrust.
He didn’t speak again. He just fucked her. Relentless. Piston-like. Unstoppable. His breath came in ragged snarls, his hands gripping her ass so hard her skin dimpled around his fingers, his cock pulsing violently inside her with every thrust that bottomed out in her cunt. She could feel the pressure in her belly building, feel every vein along his shaft dragging against her slick walls, feel the way his cock curved just enough to batter that tender spot inside her again and again until her vision went white at the edges.
Juvia choked on a moan, her head lolling back, and Natsu leaned forward, teeth grazing the side of her throat, then sinking in just hard enough to leave a mark. She cried out—not in pain, but in desperation—as her orgasm hit like a crashing wave, unstoppable and vast and all-consuming. Her pussy clenched violently around him, spasming with wet, rhythmic contractions that sucked him in deeper, held him inside like her body refused to let him go.
He didn’t slow. Didn’t pause. Just fucked her through it, hard and merciless, even as her legs locked around him, even as she screamed into the steam, even as her nails scored his back and her cunt leaked down over his cock in waves.
“You’re mine now,” he growled against her skin, voice hoarse and shaking, like he was threatening her with it. “You fucking hear me, Juvia? Mine.”
Juvia’s body collapsed forward, her arms braced against the smooth, wet tile of the bathhouse wall as her cunt clenched around nothing, fluttering in the aftermath of a climax that had left her lightheaded, gasping, and twitching in the water. Her legs barely held her upright, trembling violently beneath her as the sound of Natsu’s breathing grew louder behind her, not calmer but sharper—hot, ragged pulls of air that didn’t slow down. There was no afterglow. No lull. No space to recover. The heat hadn’t been burned out of him by her orgasm—it had only been stoked, made worse, turned from hunger into frenzy.
Water slapped behind her as he stood, his footsteps dragging through the shallow edge of the bath with heavy, unhurried intent. Steam swirled between them, dense and thick enough to obscure his shape, but she could hear the splash of each movement, the wet squelch of water sheeting down his thighs, and when she turned her head to look, her breath hitched.
He was hard again—no, still hard, cock red and slick and veined, twitching with that relentless heat that seemed to roll off him in waves strong enough to make her skin bead with sweat all over again. His chest heaved, muscles flexed, skin flushed a deep, dark red, and his eyes—they were locked on her ass, on the way her legs had spread without thought, on the glistening curve of her pussy where slick dripped down onto the tile.
“Turn around,” he growled, voice deeper than before, as if something had shifted inside him and torn loose. “Face down. Ass up.”
She didn’t argue. She couldn’t. The sound of his voice alone sent a fresh bolt of arousal through her, made her thighs clench and her lips part in a breathy moan she couldn’t stop. She crawled forward until her knees pressed into the edge of the bath, water pooling around her hips as she braced herself against the wide rim of the pool, cheek pressed to the cool stone, back arched high to keep herself open. Her cunt throbbed in the open air, wet and flushed and visibly twitching, lips spread and glistening, still leaking the aftermath of being fucked raw. She whimpered as she felt the air hit her exposed slit, and it only got worse when she felt the heat of him close behind.
He dropped to his knees behind her without a word, hands gripping her ass, thumbs spreading her cheeks wide enough to expose everything. She moaned—long, low, broken—as his breath ghosted over her folds, hot and sharp, and then again when he leaned in, not to taste, not to tease, but to rest the thick head of his cock directly against her entrance, grinding it slowly up through the mess between her lips.
“You still dripping for me?” he muttered, rolling his hips just enough to push against her. “Fuck, your pussy doesn’t know when to quit.”
“Don’t stop,” she moaned, the words slurred, eyes glazed as her fingers clawed at the stone. “Please, Natsu—do it again, fuck me, I want more—”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. One brutal thrust drove into her in a single stroke, burying every inch of his cock into her soaking cunt with a wet, obscene slap of skin on skin that echoed off the walls like a thunderclap. Her mouth fell open, a loud, gasping moan tearing from her throat as her body jolted forward, ass slamming back against him involuntarily as her pussy clenched around him, deeper than before, fuller than she thought possible. Her scream bounced off the steam-drenched walls, unrestrained, unfiltered, her voice cracking on the edges of each syllable as he started to move.
The pace was merciless from the start. No build-up. No easing. Just his cock pounding into her again and again with bone-rattling force, the slap of wet hips crashing together over and over as water spilled out from the bath and onto the floor, soaking them both. Her hands slipped on the tile, but she didn’t fall—his grip on her hips was too strong, keeping her in place, dragging her back into each thrust like he was trying to fuck her through the stone.
Each time he bottomed out inside her, she let out a moan that cracked with desperation—louder, filthier, more raw than the last.
“Ah—haaah—fuck—Natsu—harder—don’t stop—don’t stop—!”
He didn’t stop. He groaned through clenched teeth, muttering broken things under his breath as his balls slapped against her soaked pussy, heavy and hot, each collision punctuated by the slick squelch of cum and slick and spit and sweat. His fingers dug deeper into her hips, fingertips leaving dark impressions in her flesh, and then one hand slid up her back, palm flattening between her shoulder blades, pressing her down harder, bending her tighter.
“You feel that?” he snarled, hips slamming into her again with so much force she gasped and trembled. “That’s how sluts get fucked in heat. You fucking asked for this—”
“Yes—! Yes—I did—I want it—I want it—fuck me, don’t stop—!”
He pulled out just far enough to let her pussy clench and pulse at the loss before he rammed back in again, and her scream cracked in the middle as her vision blurred. The pressure was brutal—every thrust so deep it felt like her organs were shifting to make room for his cock, her belly pressing tight with every slam of his hips. Her moans became guttural, ragged, soaked with tears and saliva, her face flushed, hair clinging to her cheeks.
She felt the edge coming again too fast, too sharp, her clit aching from the friction, her legs shaking uncontrollably as she pushed her hips back to meet each thrust, her body greedy, frenzied, helpless to the rhythm of being taken.
When her second orgasm hit, she screamed into the tile, body buckling as her cunt seized around his cock in rapid, twitching contractions, her juices gushing around his length, splattering against his thighs. He didn’t pull out. Didn’t even slow. He kept fucking her through it, the overstimulation pushing her into a sobbing, moaning mess, legs collapsing beneath her until he had to hold her upright by the hips, slamming her down on his cock again and again.
He was close now. She could hear it in his breathing, feel it in the way his thrusts turned ragged, deeper, rougher. He pulled her ass back onto him with both hands, burying himself so deep she could feel him grinding against her cervix, and when he came, he roared. Not just a grunt, not a gasp, but a full, guttural sound that vibrated through his chest and into her spine as thick, hot cum spilled into her, filling her so fast and so hard it leaked around his cock and splattered down her thighs.
Juvia moaned through it, shaking violently as she came again just from the feel of it, pussy fluttering around his cock, milking every drop as he pumped her full, kept thrusting through the aftershocks, unable to stop even after release, the rhythm slowing only when his strength finally broke.
He slumped over her back, chest pressed to her spine, breath crashing into her ear as they lay there on the wet tile, her body still twitching beneath him, cunt stuffed and dripping, throat raw from moaning his name.
Juvia barely managed to breathe, her forehead still pressed to the cool tile, hair plastered to her cheeks, her body slumped in the puddle where water and cum had pooled beneath her. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably. Her cunt was an open, twitching mess, pulsing softly with the aftershocks of a second orgasm that had left her gasping and slack-jawed, her pussy still clenching around the ghost of his cock.
But she wasn’t allowed to collapse. Not for long.
Natsu’s hands slid down her body, not gently, not with care or restraint, but with a kind of primal insistence that came from the deep, unrelenting hunger that no orgasm had yet satisfied. His cock, still hard, slapped wetly against her ass as he stood, dragging her up with him. She groaned at the sudden movement, her hands slipping against the wall before he grabbed her wrists, twisted them behind her back, and hauled her to her feet. Her knees buckled, her breath caught in her throat, and she whimpered as her weight fell into him.
“I’m not done with you,” he growled into her ear, the sound rough and cracked and barely human. “You’re not fucking done. You’re not leaving until I say you’ve earned it.”
“Ah—Natsu—” she gasped, her head rolling back against his shoulder as his cock ground between her ass cheeks, slick with both their fluids, still hot, still pulsing like it had a mind of its own. “I-I can’t—my legs—”
“You want to be better than her?” he said, voice sharp against her throat, one hand sliding around her front to grip her tit, the other holding her arms twisted behind her back, arching her spine, forcing her chest out, exposed, vulnerable. “You want to be more than Lucy’s replacement? You want me to forget every fucking moan she ever made?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, the answer coming out broken, her voice rasped with need, pain, and something far more dangerous. “Yes—please—I want to be the one—I want you to only want me—fuck me—fuck me again—make me scream louder than her—”
He let go of her wrists, just long enough to spin her around, slamming her back against the wall with a splash of water and sweat. Her breath hitched, and then he was on her—his mouth crashed into hers, not a kiss but a claiming, tongue forcing its way into her mouth, his hands lifting her by the thighs with a strength that felt inhuman. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her arms around his neck, nails digging into his scalp as he pinned her to the wall, his cock dragging along her dripping slit, rubbing against her clit in hard, merciless strokes that made her back arch and her cunt twitch in anticipation.
Then he thrust.
One brutal slam that lifted her an inch higher against the wall, the fat head of his cock punching into her soaked hole and driving all the way in without pause, without hesitation, without an ounce of mercy. She screamed—sharp, high-pitched, loud enough to echo back at them from the walls—and her entire body jolted, her nails raking down his back as her pussy stretched wide to take him again, slick and raw and needy.
“Nnnhh—fuuhhck—yes—ahhh—ahhh god—Natsu—!”
He didn’t wait. Didn’t let her catch her breath. He started pounding her, his hips snapping forward again and again with brutal speed, the slap of his balls against her ass loud and wet, echoing through the bathhouse like a warning bell. Her body jerked against the wall with every thrust, her tits bouncing violently, nipples slick and red from earlier friction, mouth open in a constant stream of moans that only got louder, more desperate.
“Ahh—haaah—yes—fuck—fuck—it’s so deep—so big—ahhh—!”
“You wanna beat Lucy?” he grunted, voice strained, breath huffing against her ear as he kept driving into her like a machine, pace unrelenting, every thrust deep enough to make her legs go numb. “Then take it. Take it harder. Let me fucking ruin this pussy.”
“Yes! Ruin me—break me—ahh—Natsu—fuck—fill me up again—”
Her cries cracked, sobbed, turned to wails as he shifted her higher, angling his hips to slam into her deeper. The head of his cock battered her insides with precision now, his grip on her ass bruising, his mouth biting into her shoulder, not soft—biting. Marking. Every thrust pushed her harder into the wall, the stone cold against her back while her cunt burned around him, stretched tight and quivering as she held on for dear life.
Juvia could feel herself coming again, third time, too fast, the stimulation too much, her clit trapped and rubbed raw between them with every slam of his hips. Her moans turned choked, her breath catching, her voice barely functional as she clawed at him, eyes rolling back.
“Ahh—fuck—fuck I’m cumming—I’m—ahhh—Natsu—!”
Her pussy clenched down violently, spasming in waves that milked his cock, juices gushing out around him, splashing down onto the floor with every thrust, the sheer force of her orgasm making her convulse in his arms. Her body shook so hard she thought she might black out, but he didn’t slow—he just growled low in her ear, hands gripping her tighter, cock still ramming into her spasming cunt.
“That’s it—you’re louder than her now—you’re fucking louder,” he snarled, every word punctuated by another thrust, and she sobbed at the sound, at the meaning, at the victory.
“Yes—I’m better—fuck me—make me yours—don’t stop—!”
He was close. She could feel the tension in his back, the way his thrusts turned messier, deeper, harder. His balls slapped against her ass louder, wetter, and his breath grew ragged, teeth gritted as he fucked up into her with everything left in him. The grip on her thighs turned crushing, and when he finally came, it was with a sound that was half a roar, half a groan, his cock slamming in to the root and staying there, twitching violently as his cum flooded her again.
She moaned at the heat inside her, the thickness, the way it spilled out around his cock, dripping in long, heavy ropes down her thighs as her pussy clung to him, still twitching, still clenching. He didn’t pull out. He held her there, panting against her throat, body pressed to hers, cock still twitching inside her.
And then he moved again.
The breath wouldn’t come back. Juvia’s mouth hung open, jaw slack, throat dry, lungs dragging for air like her body had forgotten how to breathe without sobbing. Her cunt throbbed around the thick cock still buried inside her, aching with the bruised swell of overuse, her thighs quivering around Natsu’s waist, held up only by the grip of his hands and the strength of the wall at her back. Cum leaked from her, dripping steadily in messy, slippery trails down her ass, splattering onto the tile with the soft, wet sound of spent lust, but it didn’t matter—none of it mattered—because he was still hard inside her.
He hadn’t gone soft. He hadn’t pulled out. He hadn’t even started to slow.
His cock twitched inside her, pulsing thickly, swollen with a heat that hadn’t dulled, hadn’t even dulled a little, and her entire body trembled against him, overstimulated and wrung out and still trying to suck him deeper, still opening for more. Her cunt felt raw, stretched, puffy, drooling around him, the mess of it so slick and constant that every slight shift of his hips drew a moan out of her throat without effort, without sound mind. She wasn’t thinking anymore. She couldn’t. Her brain had broken somewhere between the second orgasm and the third creampie, and now she just floated in the afterglow of being filled, of being taken, of being used like nothing more than a vessel for heat.
He licked sweat from her throat, breath steaming hot against her skin, and then he moved.
One slow pull back—not far, just enough for the stretch to come again, that impossible, sore drag of his cock sliding back through her pulsing walls, making her back arch and her mouth fall open with a new moan, breathless and pleading—and then he thrust forward again, slower this time, deeper, deliberate, pushing into her until their hips met and stayed there.
“Still tight,” he rasped against her ear, voice broken with disbelief and lust and that lingering edge of something darker. “Still fucking tight, even after I filled you. You feel that, Juvia? That mess dripping down your thighs? That’s all mine. All of it.”
Her moan cracked when he bit her earlobe, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, legs tightening weakly around his hips in a reflex that barely held her up. Her body didn’t want to move anymore. Her muscles didn’t listen. But her pussy still clenched, still fluttered, still tried to milk him again like it hadn’t just been stretched raw and flooded to the brim. She felt ruined—loose and swollen and sore—and yet every time he shifted, her body responded with a fresh, aching want that made her whimper into his mouth.
“I c-can’t,” she whispered, voice shattered, raw, little more than a ragged breath between moans. “Natsu—I can’t—I can’t move—”
“You don’t have to move,” he growled, tightening his grip, pulling her away from the wall with one arm looped under her thighs, hoisting her with ease. His other hand slid under her ass, cock still buried inside her, never breaking that connection even for a second as he carried her from the wall to the edge of the bath. “You just have to take it.”
He stepped down into the shallow pool again, water lapping at his calves as he lowered himself onto one of the submerged benches, settling back with Juvia straddling him. Her body landed with a wet slap, cunt sinking back down around him with a force that made both of them groan, her voice spiraling into a breathless wail as her clit ground against his pelvis, tender and screaming with sensation.
His hands gripped her hips again, fingers digging into the same bruises he’d already made, and he started moving her—not up and down, not gently, not like he was trying to rebuild the rhythm they’d lost—but forward and back, grinding her on his cock with deep, slow, rolling thrusts that made the water ripple around them and her spine curve like a bow.
She moaned louder now, shameless, her voice echoing off the walls in raw, unfiltered bursts of broken pleasure. Her arms hung limp at her sides, body completely at the mercy of his grip, of his strength, of his heat.
“Ahhh—ahhhn—fuck—it’s too much—Natsu—it’s—ahhhh—!”
“Say it,” he snapped, voice sharp, hand slapping her ass so hard it echoed like a gunshot. “Say you can take more.”
“I—I can’t—I’m—ahhh—Nnngh—!”
Another slap. Her cunt clenched.
“Say it.”
“I can—fuck—ahhh—I can take more—I want it—please—!”
He grinned, a wild, unhinged grin, and then he grabbed her waist and started bouncing her on his cock again, this time not slow. Not patient. Just hard, brutal, steady thrusts, lifting her almost off his cock before slamming her back down, the water splashing high around them, her cries getting louder, sharper, spilling out with every thrust.
“Ahhh—ahhh—yes—yes—yes—more—more—don’t stop—!”
“You’re better than her?” he asked, slamming up into her hard enough to lift her off the bench entirely.
“Yes—yes—I’m better—fuck—I’m your favorite—!”
“You gonna take my heat better than she ever could?”
“Yes—please—breed me—make me yours—I want all of it—!”
His cock swelled, her pussy clenched, and he pulled her down hard one last time, burying every inch inside her, his mouth crashing against her collarbone as he came again. The force of it rocked through her—his cock twitching deep in her cunt, cum pumping into her already-flooded hole, leaking out around his cock, soaking the water, overflowing again.
She screamed his name, loud and hoarse and ragged, body locking up in a final, trembling orgasm that sent her over the edge with him.
And still, he didn’t let go. Still, he stayed inside.
Juvia didn’t know how long the silence had lasted—only that it was the first real silence since she’d stepped into the bathhouse, hours earlier, body slick with nerves and need, heart pounding with the reckless want of a woman willing to crawl if it meant being chosen. Now her back was pressed against the edge of the bath, the stone slick and warm beneath her, but the water no longer hissed around Natsu’s skin, no longer sizzled with the barely-contained fire of a rutting dragon ready to tear through anything soft and wet and willing. The heat had left him. Finally.
But its damage hadn’t.
Her legs were spread lazily, too weak to close, one thigh resting against his, the other dangling limply into the shallow pool. She didn’t move. She couldn’t—not from exhaustion or pain exactly, but from the kind of sweet, deep soreness that didn’t invite movement, that warned against it. Her pussy was raw and swollen, used to the point of pulsing with a dull, rhythmic ache that felt like her body was still reacting to him hours after the last thrust.
She could feel the cum inside her still. There had been so much. Load after load, thick and hot and endless, flooding her until her belly felt heavy, until it leaked out of her with every lazy shift, warm and slow, smearing along her thighs and dripping into the water like it belonged there. She felt drenched from the inside out. Claimed. Used. Perfectly wrecked.
And Natsu…?
He was next to her. Calm now. Quiet. His head leaned back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The edge was gone from him. The violence had faded. But his cock still twitched in the water, bobbing lazily beneath the surface, as if his body hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that it was over.
She looked at him—not with fear, not with doubt, but with the sleepy, aching glow of someone who’d gotten exactly what she wanted.
Her voice came out hoarse, ruined, her throat sore from the screaming.
“Do you even remember how many times you came in me?”
He turned his head, slow, lazy, and grinned—not cocky, not smug, just amused. Warm.
“Nope.”
Her laugh cracked, a raw little sound, more breath than voice, but it made her chest rise with a gentle shudder. She reached down between her legs, fingers dragging along the puffy lips of her abused cunt, hissing softly when her fingers brushed too close to the clit.
“I think I lost count after the fourth,” she murmured, staring at the slick mess still dripping between her thighs, her folds stretched and shiny, cum oozing out in long, lazy strings. “Or maybe the fifth? I don’t know. You just didn’t stop.”
He didn’t apologize. Of course he didn’t. That wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want soft words or guilt. She wanted him to look at her, to see the state he’d left her in, and know that she chose it.
“I’ve never been fucked like that before,” she said, letting her fingers trail lazily through the mess, scooping up some of the slick white leaking out of her, raising it up between them so he could see. “Not even in dreams.”
He shifted beside her, his eyes darkening again—not sharply, not with urgency, but with that slow, building pulse of something that had burned too hot to be extinguished fully. One hand slid beneath the water and rested on her thigh, fingers massaging lightly into the bruised flesh.
“You asked for it,” he said, voice low and gravel-scraped from hours of growling and shouting and fucking.
Her hand dropped again, sliding low between her legs, spreading herself open under the water for him to see the mess he’d made, the way her folds were reddened and stretched, the lips puffy and slick and fluttering from the touch.
“I did,” she whispered, breath hitching as she felt another slow leak of cum spill free, trailing down into the bath. “And I’d ask for it again.”
He moved then—not much, just enough to lean in, his mouth brushing against her neck, tongue flicking over the bruises he’d left there, his hand sliding further up her thigh until his thumb grazed the edge of her cunt. She gasped, hips twitching weakly.
“Even if I start again?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t teasing. It was honest. Dangerous.
Her eyes met his, wide and shining with fatigue and arousal, her lips parting with a trembling exhale.
“Yes,” she said, soft but certain. “Even if you break me.”
He kissed her. Slow now. Hot but not hungry. And as his hand cupped her between the legs, feeling her twitch against his fingers, he smiled again—because her body wasn’t done. Not yet. Not completely.
And neither was his.
Chapter 7
Notes:
Author’s Note:
This story contains dark themes including rough sex, dubious/non-consent, multiple partners, and extreme physical domination. All characters are aged 18+, but the sex is intense, violent, and not romantic in nature. Please read the tags carefully.
This fic is set **pre-canon**, before Sting and Rogue met Fairy Tail. They are *not* kind here. They are *not* heroes. Think Sabertooth-era: cold, dominant, and ruthless.
If you’re sensitive to non-con or heavy degradation, this may not be the fic for you.
Otherwise—welcome to the wreckage.
Chapter Text
The room reeked of sex, of sweat and feral need, of oil-slick skin and torn cloth and the musky, unmistakable scent of Dragon Slayers in heat.
Minerva could barely feel her legs.
They’d started without words. There had been no flirtation, no preamble, no delicate shifting of tension into inevitability—only the tearing away of what little she wore, the drag of sharp teeth against her throat, and the sheer weight of two bodies pressing her down into the smooth stone. They hadn’t asked. They didn’t need to. She had walked into that room shining like bait, and the beasts had already been circling.
Now, she was little more than their vessel.
Her cheek was pressed flat to the sparring block, one arm pinned beneath her, the other thrown back uselessly behind her head. Her thighs were parted, stretched painfully wide by Sting’s grip at her hips, the skin there already reddened from the force of his hands. His cock wasn’t thrusting—he was rutting. Driving into her with the relentless instinct of something far beyond human, his pace brutal and unyielding, slick echoing off stone in heavy, rhythmic slaps. She could hear herself—wet, obscene, every stroke plunging into the deepest parts of her cunt with a sound that no amount of pride could make her ignore.
And then there was Rogue.
He had her mouth full—had from the start—because he knew Sting wouldn’t stop once he started, and she’d scream loud enough to bring half the guild crashing down into the room. So Rogue had stepped forward, shadow-gloved fingers in her hair, and fed her his cock the moment she moaned. She hadn’t even managed to close her lips before he was buried to the hilt, his balls resting hot against her chin, his shaft twitching inside her throat with each heavy breath he took.
It was too much. It was exactly what she wanted.
He didn’t thrust the way Sting did—Rogue never had. He simply held her there, forcing her to breathe through her nose, ignoring the tremble in her shoulders, the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, the desperate little spasms of her throat. Every so often, he’d pull back just enough to let her gasp—and then he’d push in again, slowly, deliberately, watching her eyes roll back and her spine arch.
Their rhythm had settled into something inhuman. Sting would drive into her from behind, hips slamming forward with raw, growling power, and as her mouth opened in a helpless cry, Rogue would silence her again—mouth, throat, soul taken between them.
She was drooling. She was twitching. She was coming.
And it didn’t stop.
Sting snarled behind her, his breath breaking against her shoulder, one hand gripping her waist so tight she could feel his claws starting to emerge. His other hand wasn’t so gentle—it gripped her ass, spreading her open wider with each brutal thrust, his thumb grazing the stretched skin around her tightest hole, threatening more.
"Fuuuck—so tight—I can feel you clampin’ down every time he chokes you, Minerva—" he grit out, voice half-lost to the growl that rolled from deep in his chest. He sounded wrecked. Not just aroused, but consumed. Lost to the heat, to the scent of her, to the maddening dragon instincts that had been clawing at him since she’d entered the hall.
Rogue’s shadows had begun to creep. They curled up her spine, tracing her oil-slicked skin like tongues, teasing her nipples, wrapping around her throat just beneath where his fingers held her steady. His hips began to move now—not fast, not hard, just deep. He withdrew with torturous slowness, feeling every inch of her throat tighten around him, then pushed back in with the same maddening pace, watching her eyes water, her body jerk as Sting’s cock drove her forward at the same time.
Her voice was gone. She had no breath to cry, no strength to move. Her body had been reduced to the raw mechanics of pleasure, to the unthinking, instinctive spasms of someone being taken past her limit, again and again.
When she came again, her whole body arched, every muscle pulling tight. Her cunt convulsed around Sting, milking him, and her throat locked so hard around Rogue’s cock he actually shuddered. Her orgasm didn’t crest—it detonated. Liquid gushed from her, splattering across her thighs, the stone, even Sting’s hips, as he snarled something feral and slammed deeper.
"Shit—fuck—Minerva, you're—you're drippin’, you want it that bad?" Sting’s voice cracked, laughter somewhere in there, but it wasn’t teasing. It was disbelieving. Awed. Almost afraid of what she’d become in their hands.
Minerva couldn’t answer. She was choking on Rogue’s cock, hands clawing uselessly at the air, nails dragging over stone as her legs buckled beneath her. Her cunt clenched again, helplessly, rhythmically, with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and Sting didn’t relent. If anything, he fucked her harder. Fucked her through it. Let her come until she was sobbing through her nose, until her mascara had smeared into her temples, until even her moans sounded broken.
Rogue’s shadows had shifted lower. Two of them, slick and thin as fingers, slithered down between her cheeks and pressed against her tight back entrance, wetting the rim, circling. Teasing.
She moaned around him, high and muffled.
"She wants it," Rogue said at last, his voice deep and soft and utterly calm, like he hadn’t just been fucking her face for ten straight minutes. "She's ready."
Sting’s snarl was guttural.
He didn’t answer with words. He pulled out of her cunt—slick, gleaming, drooling with her juices—and grabbed her thighs, dragging her up off the block and into the air as if she weighed nothing. Her back met his chest, and then he lowered her onto his cock from above, impaling her again, making her scream through her blocked throat. She shook in his grasp, body jerking with each brutal descent.
Rogue stepped behind her.
The shadows didn’t tease now. They opened her up—lubed her, stretched her—and then Rogue’s cock slid into her ass in one smooth, slow, devastating push. She tensed. She cried. She gagged around him—and then she went limp, suspended between them, completely taken.
Both Dragon Slayers groaned.
They started to move. Not with coordination. Not with rhythm. Not with any plan. Just the raw, carnal instinct to fuck, to claim, to breed. Sting drove up into her cunt like he was trying to bury himself in her womb. Rogue’s hips snapped forward, pounding into her ass, each thrust jarring her entire body. They didn’t stop for her cries, for her twitching limbs, for the tremble in her voice when she tried to moan and could only gurgle around Rogue’s cock.
Her stomach bulged. Her body rocked. Her breasts bounced wildly, streaked with sweat and spit and shadow.
Minerva hung limp in Sting’s arms, her head resting against his collarbone, hair matted with sweat, her skin smeared with cum and shadow. She couldn’t form words anymore—only the faintest mewling noises that echoed shallowly in her throat, breath hitching with every thick pulse of cock inside her. Her cunt and ass were stretched wide, still twitching around them both. Rogue’s hips had slowed now, but his cock was still buried in her, his shadow-wreathed hand braced on her lower back, keeping her held open, keeping her full.
They hadn’t finished.
They hadn’t even begun to finish.
The heat wasn’t something that could be fucked away. It had to be drained. Fed. Dragged out of them with every spasm, every release, until their bones ached and their breath turned to smoke. Until the scent of her was burned from the air.
But it wasn’t.
And now—now another scent was rising.
Rogue’s eyes snapped toward the far arch of the hall, lips parting just slightly, breath slowing into something less ragged—but no less dangerous. The scent hit him like a physical thing, subtle but distinct, cutting through the sex-thickened haze like ice through steam. Not oil. Not Minerva. Something softer. Warmer.
Feminine.
Fresh.
He moved without speaking, his cock sliding free of Minerva’s ass with a slick, wet pop that made her shudder in Sting’s grasp, drool running freely down her chin. He stepped back, the length of him glossy with her slick and his own precum, thick veins pulsing, his balls heavy. His shadow retracted like breath, clinging close to his skin as he turned—silent, predatory.
Yukino didn’t even realize what she was walking into until it was far, far too late.
She had meant to check the training hall. She’d felt the mana flare earlier, thick and irregular, and had assumed maybe Lector and Frosch were roughhousing again, maybe someone was practicing spells without supervision. The door wasn’t locked. There was no sign or sound—at first.
Then she turned the corner.
Then she saw.
Rogue saw her, too.
She froze.
One step into the room. One boot click on stone.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
Her eyes locked on Minerva first—body slumped forward in Sting’s lap, one hand still clawing uselessly at his arm, her face tear-streaked and red, hair plastered to her cheek. Her breasts heaved with every breath, covered in slick sheen, the twitch of her thighs still visible with each aftershock ripple of pleasure. Sting was buried inside her, his head resting in the crook of her neck, growling low and steady, a sound that vibrated the air.
Yukino didn’t understand.
Not at first.
Then her gaze dropped.
To where Sting’s cock disappeared between Minerva’s thighs, his hips grinding, slow and possessive. To the gleam of spent cum coating her skin. To the bruises forming on her hips, to the way her legs hung limp off the side of the sparring block, boneless and fucked-dumb.
And then—Rogue.
He was still hard.
Dripping.
Walking toward her.
She took a step back, too late.
The door shut behind her. Not slammed. Just… closed.
She flinched.
"Rogue," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, trying to summon her composure, to push the words out with some semblance of authority, but it faltered as he closed the distance—silent, steady, all in his eyes. Gold. Glowing. Hungry.
He stopped in front of her. Towered.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She could hear it. She was trembling.
“I didn’t mean to—” she started, and then froze as his hand came up—slow, almost reverent—and curled under her chin.
She felt his thumb, slick with Minerva’s wetness, press gently against her lower lip.
“Don’t run,” he murmured, voice low, a thread of heat wrapped in velvet. “You smell like you want to be caught.”
Yukino's breath caught. Her lips parted involuntarily.
Her heat hadn’t come yet. She wasn't supposed to be in cycle—not for days. But something was reacting. Her skin prickled. Her breath shortened. Her thighs pressed together. She could smell it now too—their rut, thick in the air, magic humming with raw, primal need. It was dragging her under like gravity.
“I didn’t…” Her protest withered.
Rogue leaned in. His forehead touched hers, breath washing over her lips, and for a moment there was quiet—no words, no movement, just heat.
Then his hand slid down.
Not her arm. Not her waist.
Straight between her legs.
And found her soaked.
Yukino let out a sharp gasp, her knees giving slightly, shame and shock and arousal crashing over her in a single wave.
“You knew,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. As if that excused the way he backed her against the door, his body flush to hers, his cock resting hard against her stomach, smearing her blouse with Minerva’s slick.
“I didn’t—Rogue—wait—”
But he was already kissing her.
Not a question. Not a choice.
It was a claiming.
His mouth covered hers with brutal heat, tongue plunging past her lips, swallowing her whimper. His hand was already up her skirt, fingers slipping under her panties and dragging them down her thighs in one slow, deliberate motion. She squirmed, torn between resistance and need, her hips tilting forward involuntarily when his palm cupped her again.
She was soaked. Burning.
And he groaned when he felt it.
Behind him, Sting hadn't stopped fucking Minerva. The wet rhythm had slowed to something indulgent now, drawn-out and obscene. Minerva was moaning weakly, voice hoarse, but she didn’t resist. Her head tilted to the side, and her glazed eyes caught Yukino’s—locked.
Yukino’s lips trembled. Her knees shook.
“I didn’t mean—” she whispered, but her voice cracked, breaking as Rogue’s fingers slipped inside her, two at once, fucking up into her heat like he already owned it.
“You walked in,” he murmured against her neck, biting lightly, tongue flicking out. “You stayed.”
And she had.
She hadn’t run. Not when the door shut. Not when she saw. Not when his eyes met hers and read everything she was too afraid to say.
Sting chuckled low behind them.
“She’s in heat now,” he said, voice rough with exertion. “I can smell it.”
Yukino whimpered. Her legs buckled as Rogue’s fingers curled.
And she realized—he was right.
The scent of her had changed. It was blooming. Opening. Her magic buzzed beneath her skin, wild and trembling, and it wasn’t fear that made her wet.
It was need.
Rogue leaned in, his lips brushing her ear.
“Good,” he whispered. “Then we’ll fuck it out of you.”
The room no longer felt like the guild’s sparring hall. The air was too thick, the stone too warm, every surface stained in sweat, cum, and heat-fueled desperation. It felt like a den now—deep and sealed and animal, a place outside of time where dragons rutted and marked what was theirs. No words needed. No thoughts dared.
Minerva was still bent over the low sparring block, but Sting didn’t keep her there.
He growled low in his throat—not to her, but to himself—and lifted her easily, her limbs boneless in his grip, her thighs smeared with slick, trembling from being used for too long without pause. He didn’t guide her, didn’t ease her—he took her with the same wild drive that had possessed him since the moment she’d baited him. He dropped to his back on the mat without ceremony, dragging her down atop him, cock still buried deep, the position shifting with a wet, hungry slap as he pulled her down, impaled her, locked his hands around her thighs, and began to buck upward with sharp, brutal thrusts that had her breasts bouncing and her head falling back.
Minerva rode him like a broken thing, her hands limp at her sides, her body jerking each time his cock slammed up into her, no rhythm—just impact. Her spine arched beautifully with every bounce. Her skin glistened with sweat and oil. She was breathless, moaning weakly, voice gone, mouth open in a helpless O as she took him deeper than before.
Every thrust shoved a choked sob from her throat.
Every thrust made the stone groan beneath them.
Every thrust smeared more of her wetness across his stomach, down his thighs.
Sting gripped her tighter, pulling her flush to him, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his cock pistoning up into her soaked cunt with savage rhythm. No pause. No breath. Just the primal demand of a dragon in heat, spent once already and nowhere near done.
And on the other side of the hall, Rogue did not wait.
Yukino was already moaning, already melting, already shaking apart as his fingers drove up into her, dragging wet, slick sounds from her heat with every curl and thrust. Her panties were hanging off one ankle. Her blouse was halfway undone, but he hadn’t bothered to fully strip her. He didn’t need to.
She was already open.
Already dripping.
Already clenching around his fingers like her body had known this moment was coming since she walked into the hall.
Rogue pressed her back to the wall with a palm against her chest, holding her in place not with force, but weight, the dominance of stillness. Shadows crept along her thighs, wrapping gently, like ribbons, until she was marked, until her pale skin bore the shape of his magic.
Then his hand slid down again—slow, patient, palm dragging across her lower belly—and his fingers hooked under her skirt, yanking it up and over her hips in a single sharp movement. She gasped, chest heaving, her breasts threatening to spill free of her half-open blouse, her eyes already glazed.
She didn’t even get a chance to plead before his cock replaced his fingers.
He lifted her—just enough. Her back pinned to the wall, one leg around his waist, the other trembling against the floor. And then he pushed inside.
She arched.
No sound came from her throat. Just a sharp, breathless tremor that shook her from the inside out as her cunt stretched around him. He didn’t wait. Didn’t pause. Didn’t hesitate. He sank in with a single thrust, slow but total, grinding her down against the wall, filling her inch by inch until her pussy spasmed around him and her nails scraped helplessly at his arms.
She was tight. Hot. Wet.
He rolled his hips slowly, cock dragging against every velvet fold inside her, his breath catching against her throat, his shadows coiling tighter around her thighs, her waist, her wrists. He wasn't slamming into her. Not yet. He was savoring it. Letting her feel every twitch, every swell, every thick vein as he moved inside her with the measured control of a beast just barely holding back its fangs.
She moaned.
Soft at first—then louder.
“Nnnhhh… aah—ahh—hnngh…”
Her head tipped back. Her back arched hard, pressing her chest into him, her nipples brushing his skin through the thin fabric. He adjusted his grip on her leg, lifted her higher, and then began to thrust—not brutally, but with growing force, hips snapping forward, balls slapping against her ass as he filled her again and again.
Wet. Loud. Squelching heat.
His pace quickened.
Her moans turned frantic, helpless.
The slap of his hips against hers echoed now, syncing in rhythm with the wet thuds of Sting still rutting Minerva into the floor across the room. The smell of sweat, magic, and arousal had grown unbearable. Rogue’s hand slid up, caught Yukino’s jaw, and tilted her head so he could bite her throat—lightly at first, then harder. His teeth dragged down her skin as he fucked her faster, harder, her cunt sucking him in with greedy, spasming need.
Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave.
She clenched around him, tight and sudden, her whole body locking, then shaking, then buckling. She cried out—high and sharp, almost a scream—and he didn’t stop. He held her pinned and fucked her straight through it, cock grinding into her overstimulated heat until tears welled in her eyes.
Still, she didn’t say a word.
Couldn’t.
He pulled her away from the wall mid-thrust, cradled her against his chest like a doll, and walked her backwards toward the mat as he fucked her—every step jostling her on his cock, dragging out soft, breathless moans that broke against his shoulder.
He sank to his knees with her in his lap, never leaving her, and began to thrust upward again—deep, controlled, devastating.
She bounced.
She broke.
And the shadows wrapped tighter.
Yukino felt herself unraveling by degrees.
She couldn’t ground herself. Couldn’t breathe steadily, couldn’t think, couldn’t anchor on any thought that wasn’t Rogue’s cock dragging slow, thick circles deep inside her. The mat beneath them was hot from sex—still wet in places with Minerva’s slick and Sting’s cum—and she was kneeling in it, splayed open in Rogue’s lap with her thighs shaking and her skin streaked in sweat, riding him because she had no choice.
He held her there. One hand at the small of her back, the other gripping her hip, guiding the rise and fall of her body with subtle, inescapable force. She wasn’t bouncing so much as being drawn—up, then down—every movement slick, gliding, every descent filled with the thick stretch of him, the head of his cock grinding against her walls, making her legs tremble harder with each pass.
Her skirt was bunched around her waist. Her blouse was open completely now, one breast sucked red and raw from where his mouth had been minutes ago, her nipples stiff from air and arousal. Her hair stuck to her cheeks, to her throat. Her breath stuttered. Every inhale broke on a moan she couldn’t keep in.
“Nnnh—ahhh—haaah—mmf—”
Her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. She couldn’t sit up straight anymore. Her body was collapsing slowly, melting into his, unable to resist the weight of sensation building deep in her belly again. Every nerve was saturated with it. Her cunt felt swollen—sensitive to the point of pain, wet beyond reason. He hadn’t stopped fucking her since the moment he entered. There had been no lull. No mercy.
Rogue’s shadows weren’t idle.
They slid up her spine in slow waves, curling like smoke between her shoulder blades, down the dip of her back, beneath her ass, parting her cheeks as she rode him. They licked at her thighs, teased her nipples, circled her neck—not choking, just claiming, touching her everywhere he wasn’t, marking her in places his cock hadn’t reached.
And still, his hands never lost control.
He gripped her tighter and shifted—leaned back slightly, adjusting his angle—and then thrust up, deep and sharp. Yukino cried out, her spine arching violently, her walls spasming around him, her legs slipping out from beneath her.
He caught her instantly.
Held her suspended.
She wasn’t riding anymore. She was being used—lifted and lowered on his cock like a toy, like a fuckdoll too spent to move but too soaked not to be filled again.
And again.
And again.
The sound of it was filthy.
Wet squelching. Flesh on flesh. Slap. Slap. Slap. The slick suction of her cunt gripping him on every withdrawal, the obscene pop of air and slick each time he bottomed out again. His cock disappeared into her to the base every time, and every time, her body sang with it—shook from it.
She couldn’t stop moaning now. She couldn’t stop anything.
“Aaah—aaah—haaah—haaah—R-Rogue—hnngh—s-so deep—”
She was breaking again. Her nails raked lightly down his back, her body jerking as the orgasm bloomed low and fast in her gut—heat rolling up from her core to her throat in a wave so violent it made her sob. Her legs spasmed. Her whole body tensed.
Then she came.
Harder than before. Liquid gushed from her, soaking Rogue’s lap, wetting the mat beneath them, her body locking around him like she never wanted to let go. Her pussy clenched wildly, again and again, spasming in erratic pulses that made Rogue’s breath catch in his throat.
And this time—he lost control.
He slammed her down once, hard enough to make her choke.
Then again. Harder.
His hands gripped her ass now, his mouth pressed hot to her neck, growling low, shaking as he began to fuck up into her with full force. Her release had pushed him over the edge of restraint. The gentleness was gone now. This was rut.
Every thrust was brutal. Bone-deep. Her body rocked forward, tits bouncing violently against his chest, breath knocked from her lungs. The moans had turned to screams again—but not from pain. From overwhelming, unstoppable pleasure. She couldn’t come down. He was fucking her through the high, dragging her to another without pause.
And he wasn’t stopping.
He didn’t care that her body trembled. That her eyes rolled back. That her cunt was so slick and raw and swollen she couldn’t even close her thighs. He kept going, faster now, grunting through clenched teeth, sweat rolling down his temple, his balls slapping hard against her ass with every thrust.
Minerva and Sting were still going across the room.
Minerva had collapsed forward now, hands braced on Sting’s stomach, riding him as he lay flat beneath her. But he was moving beneath her with beastlike force—gripping her hips, pounding up into her again, again, again, using her body like a sheath while his claws dragged down her back.
Her moans had gone silent. Only her mouth moved. Her eyes stared, vacant and dazed, hips trembling with overstimulation as Sting drove into her cunt, groaning low, his own orgasm close.
But it was Rogue who finished first.
Yukino felt the moment it snapped.
He shoved her down fully, holding her flush to his cock, grinding deep with short, tight jerks as his body shook beneath her. She gasped—feeling the first thick pulse inside her—and then whimpered as it kept going.
Hot, heavy ropes flooded her cunt.
Spurt. After spurt. After spurt.
She could feel it leaking immediately—too much to hold, his cock twitching deep inside her as her pussy clenched instinctively around the flood. It dripped from her, thick and slow, pooling between her thighs, onto his balls, onto the mat. Her whole body sagged forward, limp and boneless, collapsing into him.
He held her still as he emptied himself. No kiss. No words. Just heat and breath and shadows curling around both of them like arms.
And still, behind them, Sting fucked Minerva without slowing.
Yukino sagged in Rogue’s lap, arms limp around his neck, her cunt still spasming weakly around the last twitch of his cock. She could feel the cum leaking from her in slow, warm trails, spilling down the inside of her thigh, dripping onto the mat in wet, glossy strings. She couldn’t lift her head. Could barely breathe. Her whole body trembled, overstimulated and loose, her muscles giving up one by one.
Rogue held her there a moment longer, fingers stroking lightly down the curve of her spine, shadows still ghosting her skin. He didn’t move to pull out yet.
But his eyes—half-lidded, still glowing faint gold—shifted toward Sting.
The other Dragon Slayer hadn’t finished.
Minerva’s body was still bouncing, still riding. But she was fading. Her strength was gone. Her spine bowed, head falling forward, her cunt so swollen and slick it gushed with every upward snap of Sting’s hips. He hadn’t stopped. He hadn’t even slowed. His hands clutched her thighs hard enough to bruise, and each thrust into her from below made the wet slap of their bodies echo again and again across the chamber.
But the scent had changed.
Not less lustful—different.
New.
Yukino.
Even soaked in Minerva’s heat, Sting could smell her. Rogue’s cum, thick and fresh, was rolling down her inner thighs. Her scent had bloomed the moment she came. Her magic was leaking from her skin now—subtle, fragrant, unbearably sweet.
And Rogue wasn’t holding her anymore.
He moved first.
Gently, silently, he lifted Yukino off his cock.
She moaned faintly, a high, wet gasp as he slid free of her, her overstretched cunt releasing him with a slow, obscene suck-pop, immediately drooling with his seed. Her thighs shook. Her hips jerked involuntarily. Rogue didn’t let her fall. He rose to his feet with her in his arms, light as mist, her body limp but pliant.
He carried her—three slow steps across the mat.
Sting didn’t need to be told.
His eyes locked with Rogue’s.
Then he grinned.
Minerva was still gasping on top of him, barely aware, her back streaked with sweat, her cunt twitching from another wave of aftershocks. He caught her under the arms and shifted, sitting up with her, then lifting her completely from his lap. Her body gave a soft jolt when his cock slipped free, long and glistening, streaked with cream and her own mess.
She moaned low. A dragged breath. A needy pulse from deep inside her.
Rogue set Yukino down over the sparring block.
He didn’t force her.
He just leaned her forward. And she folded.
Obedient. Drained. Wanting.
Her elbows landed on the mat, arms trembling under her own weight. Her knees slid wide, spreading instinctively. The lips of her cunt were flushed and glistening, still leaking, pink and raw and twitching in the open air. Rogue stood behind her for only a moment, dragging his fingers along her slick folds, gathering the mess he’d already spilled inside her, coating her again.
Then he stepped away.
Sting was already there.
He didn’t ease in.
He didn’t tease.
He stepped behind Yukino, grabbed her hips with both hands, and rammed his cock into her with a single savage thrust.
"NGghhk—!" Yukino choked on her own gasp, head snapping up, spine arching hard. The force of it jolted her forward, her arms nearly buckling under her as his cock filled her, bottomed out, his balls slapping wetly against her soaked thighs.
She wasn’t ready.
He didn’t care.
He pulled back and slammed into her again—deeper, harder—pounding straight through the slick mess Rogue had left behind, grinding into her with the sheer, unthinking hunger of a second dragon in heat. She screamed into the mat, voice muffled, body jerking with every thrust as Sting grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back.
Her mouth hung open. Drool slid down her chin.
And her cunt—
It was clenching again, greedy and raw, welcoming the new cock like it had waited for him. Like Rogue had only been foreplay.
Rogue, now behind Minerva, dropped to his knees with her still limp in his arms. Her body curled into his naturally, as if she’d always belonged there. He turned her slightly, pushed her down, and rolled her onto her back across the warm stone.
Her legs fell open without resistance.
Rogue knelt between them.
His cock was still hard.
He lined up—not to her cunt.
To her ass.
She didn’t resist.
He pushed in.
Her entire body stiffened, a sharp sob breaking from her lips as he filled her, inch by inch, slower this time—deliberate—but no less deep. Her slickness helped. She was soaked inside and out, still twitching from her last orgasm. She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. But she lifted her hips. She opened for him.
And he slid in fully.
Her hole stretched around him, tight and hot and perfect, and Rogue let out a long breath through his nose as he began to move—short, sharp thrusts at first, spreading her open until her moans were coming again, low and strained and wild.
Now they were both being fucked.
Minerva, flat on her back, ass bouncing against stone, Rogue slamming into her with slow, grinding power.
Yukino, bent over, arms braced on the mat, mouth open in a silent scream as Sting pounded into her from behind without pause.
The sounds were unbearable.
Slick. Wet. Loud.
Moans. Slaps. Choked gasps.
The thick sound of skin on skin.
Sting was growling now—low, constant—as he rutted into Yukino like he wanted to fuck her through the mat. Her ass bounced violently, her body jolting forward with every thrust. She couldn’t hold herself up anymore. Her elbows slid out from under her. Her chest hit the mat. Her face turned sideways, mouth open, moaning with every impact, her cunt spasming uncontrollably.
Rogue thrust deeper into Minerva’s ass, rolling his hips slowly, grinding at the end of every stroke, making her feel all of him—his shadow curling over her belly, over her breasts, teasing her swollen clit as he fucked into her again and again.
Minerva’s hands clawed at the mat.
Yukino’s thighs shook violently.
They were both being broken open.
Marked.
Used.
And the dragons still weren’t finished.
ObsessedWithStarDress on Chapter 1 Mon 18 Aug 2025 12:43PM UTC
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FeralG4 on Chapter 3 Tue 26 Aug 2025 03:26AM UTC
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SpicyScribbles on Chapter 3 Sun 31 Aug 2025 09:47AM UTC
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SpicyScribbles on Chapter 4 Thu 28 Aug 2025 01:51PM UTC
Last Edited Thu 28 Aug 2025 01:52PM UTC
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