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e1ectricwords · 2 days ago

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smashed it as always on the smut my darl 🫶

hi ash! can i ask for one shot with a bratty laxus and femdom pls? he's so tall and strong and cocky and mean, I just wanna break him a little :( spit in his mouth and pull him by the hair when he's eating you out. make him swallow his pride and ask through gritted teeth if he can please cum this time, he's sorry for whatever he did (he's not)

idk I just think there's something he would find so attractive in having someone who can give him the same thrill he gets in battle, in bed. they have to make him work for it and earn his submission and he still gets a mind-numbing orgasm. what a greedy brat.

(this got way into my own headcanons omg you can totally do what you want, thank you, I love your writing so much!)

RAAAHHH SUB LAXUS 🙏🙏🙏 a person of taste i see

your words are so kind also thank you mwah mwah

hope you enjoy ! <33

spit & surrender

laxus dreyar

cw. sub laxus, femdom reader, oral (f receiving), lots of hair pulling, orgasm control, spit, laxus calls reader ma'am, kinda brat taming but not really, laxus is just needy

wc. 2.9k

you’re not sure when it started, when laxus dreyar began looking at you like he wanted to be ruined.

he masks it well, of course. that usual glower, arms crossed over his chest like a human fortress. he’s taller, broader, stronger than nearly anyone in the guild. a walking storm cloud of power and pride. but the way his grey eyes linger just a second too long on your mouth when you speak? the slight flush that creeps up his neck when you give an order with that steel-laced tone? you see it.

more importantly, he knows you see it.

tonight, you’re alone in the training hall. laxus claimed he needed to “blow off steam.” you offered to help. he raised an eyebrow, mouth curled in a smirk. “didn’t know you were so desperate for me,” he had said.

but he came.

and now, he’s on his knees.

you circle him slowly, fingers trailing over his bare shoulder as he sits there, shirtless, sweat-slicked from training, muscles taut and twitching under your touch. his eyes are defiant as ever, but there’s something else flickering beneath the surface.

anticipation.

“you look good like this,” you murmur. “on your knees for me.”

“don’t get used to it,” he growls.

you tsk, digging your nails lightly into his shoulder. he doesn’t flinch. if anything, he leans into it, just barely.

“oh? are you going to pretend this wasn’t your idea?” you purr, moving around to face him. “that you didn’t drop to your knees the moment i said, ‘be good’?”

his jaw flexes. “just playing along. letting you have your fun.”

you step forward until his head is tilted back to keep eye contact, looming over him. with deliberate slowness, you grip his chin between your fingers, forcing his gaze to stay locked on yours.

“liar.” the word lands with precision, sharp as a whip. his pupils dilate. “i know what you’re doing, laxus. you wear that scowl like armour, but you like being put in your place. you want someone who doesn’t care how tall you are, how strong you are. someone who tells you what to do… and makes you like it.”

he grits his teeth. “you’re full of yourself.”

you bend down slightly, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “and you’re full of need.”

you feel the shiver that rolls through him, the way his fists clench at his sides. still resisting, still pretending he has any power here.

it’s adorable.

standing upright slowly, you peer down at laxus down your nose. “undress me.”

“i—”

you raise an eyebrow. “do i need to say it again?”

his mouth opens, some half-formed protest rising to his lips, but one look at your expression shuts it down. you’re not asking. you’re commanding.

that single arched brow is more loaded than any spell he could cast, more powerful than any blow he could throw. and it kills him to admit that. that he’s getting off on being told what to do. that his fingers are already twitching with anticipation.

laxus scowls. “you’re enjoying this too much.”

you smile, slow and sharp. “and i’m still dressed. that’s twice now you’ve stalled.”

laxus grumbles under his breath, but you don’t miss the way his hands move anyway. he rises to his knees, big palms landing on your thighs as he gazes up at you, a flash of defiance still sparking behind his stormy eyes.

you let him stew for a beat. and then you allow him access. “start with the belt.”

there’s a flicker of hesitation, always, with him. but his hands obey. rough fingers tug the buckle free, pulling it from the loops with a metallic slide. he moves slower than necessary, drawing the moment out like it’s some kind of punishment for you instead of him.

but the tremble in his jaw gives him away.

he’s trying to maintain control where he has none.

the belt drops to the mat with a soft clink. his hands move up to the waistband of your pants next. he meets your eyes. you arch a brow again.

he mutters something under his breath — something vulgar, no doubt — and eases the fabric down your hips. his fingers catch on the hem of your underwear but pause, like he’s daring you to stop him. you don’t.

“you’re being slow on purpose,” you note, tone flat but dangerous. “trying to be a little shit again, aren’t you?”

laxus smirks up at you. “maybe i like watching you get frustrated.”

you cup his jaw hard enough that he stops smiling. “if i get frustrated, you don’t get to come tonight. understand?”

his pupils flare.

there it is again — that twitch of conflict. pride at war with desire. but this time, desire is winning faster.

“…yes.”

“yes, what?”

a pause. his throat bobs.

“…yes, ma’am.”

you smile, letting go off his jaw with a little more force than necessary. “good boy.”

you step out of your pants and underwear once he’s got them to your ankles, toeing them off while he stays there, still kneeling. the position suits him — broad-shouldered and powerful, yet beneath you. waiting.

“you like this view?” you ask as you sit down on the edge of the bed and spread your legs, watching his gaze flick down to your thighs, your bare cunt just inches from his mouth.

his voice is hoarse. “can’t complain.”

you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging sharply. his breath hitches. “then earn it.”

laxus tries to lunge forward before you even finish the command. bold. hungry. but you don’t let him touch. not yet.

you hold him there, mouth close, but not allowed. his grip on your hips tightens. his nostrils flare with want. and still, you don’t let go. “you don’t get to take,” you say softly, leaning over him just enough for your lips to brush the top of his ear. “you only get what i give.”

laxus shudders.

“say it,” you whisper.

“…only get what you give.”

you loosen your grip.

he wastes no time after that — tongue flicking out, mouth open, jaw unhinging like a man possessed. there’s no finesse to it at first — just hunger, raw and unfiltered. he buries his face between your thighs with a groan that vibrates against your skin, wet heat lapping eagerly at your folds.

and maybe he is starving. starving for the permission to please. to serve.

you let out a breathy gasp, fingers immediately tangling back into his thick blonde hair. his grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you closer, anchoring you to his mouth like he’s afraid you might change your mind. his tongue moves in long, flat strokes first — broad and desperate — then circles tight around your clit, sloppy and relentless.

you grind against his face without hesitation, using him exactly how you want. “fuck, that’s it,” you hiss, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate rhythm, feeling the way his nose nudges where you’re most sensitive. “don’t stop.”

he moans in response — a low, vibrating sound muffled by your cunt — and the sensation makes your thighs tense around his head. you feel his breath hitch when you tug his hair, hard, angling his face to give you exactly what you want. exactly how you want it.

“open wider,” you order, voice tight with pleasure.

he obeys instantly, tongue flattening again, mouth working furiously. it’s messy now. wet and noisy. every stroke of his tongue is more confident, more precise, as he locks onto your reactions. you feel your arousal slick his chin, hear every filthy sound he makes trying to keep up with your rhythm.

“just like that, baby,” you breathe, hips rolling harder now, practically riding his face. “you love this, don’t you?”

his fingers dig deeper into your thighs, nails biting in, but he nods into your heat without pause. you’re smothering him, grinding down against his mouth with every flex of your thighs, but he lives for it.

you feel laxus groan again, and the vibration sends sparks up your spine. his nose brushes your clit on every thrust of your hips, tongue working faster, messier, more frantic beneath you. his hands slide down, gripping your ass now, pulling you into him like he wants to drown in you completely. and you let him. you ride his mouth with abandon, panting, shuddering, coming apart above him while he moans into you like the taste is addictive.

you ease off his face, legs trembling slightly, and stand tall above him, gazing down at the mess you’ve made of laxus. his lips are shiny with your slick, jaw wet, eyes blown wide with the dazed aftershock of being used. his breath is ragged, chest rising and falling in heavy bursts, but he doesn’t dare move.

you love this part. when all that power — the lightning, the muscle, the attitude — is reduced to a man on his knees, looking up at you like you’re something divine and dangerous.

your fingers slide into his hair again, gentler this time, tugging his head back so he’s forced to meet your gaze. his stormy eyes are glassy now, the fight drained from them, but the heat is still there. a need that goes beyond touch.

“open up,” you command softly. his lips part without hesitation. a sharp contrast to the snarl they’d held earlier. there’s no resistance now. no sass. just obedience.

you lean forward, slow and deliberate, letting a strand of saliva pool on your tongue before you let it drip — right into his waiting mouth. the second it lands, his tongue twitches beneath it, but he doesn’t move.

you watch it settle there for a second, then tilt your head with a satisfied hum. “swallow.”

his throat bobs, muscles flexing around the order.

“good boy,” you drawl, thumb brushing along his wet lower lip. “you really are learning your place.”

his breathing shudders. a soft noise slips out of him — somewhere between a groan and a moan — and his hands, still resting on his thighs, clench hard. you can see the tension rippling through him, the way he’s holding himself back from begging.

the moment is thick with something darker than just lust. it’s submission. owned. claimed.

your thumb dips into his mouth and he closes his lips around it instinctively, tongue swirling without thought. you grin. “you like the taste of me that much?” you coo. “or are you just that desperate to have anything i give you?”

laxus glares at you, just for a heartbeat, but his mouth stays open, obedient. your thumb leaves a glistening trail as you pull it free, and he groans quietly, jaw tightening again.

your hand slides down his chest, fingers grazing the sweat-slick muscle, down his abs, and finally to the waistband of his pants again. he’s still rock hard. still aching. still untouched.

“poor thing,” you murmur. “you're leaking.”

he twitches.

you palm him through his boxers, and he hisses, eyes fluttering. his hips buck just slightly, and you press down harder. “don’t move unless i tell you to,” you warn. “if you want to come tonight, you’ll behave. got it?”

he clenches his jaw, the tension running down his entire body. “fuck, okay.”

you reward him with a slow, deliberate stroke of his cock through the fabric. his head drops forward, shoulders shaking with restraint. every nerve in his body is screaming for more, and you know it. you lean close, breath hot against his ear. “you’ll take your reward when i decide you’ve earned it.”

his voice is wrecked when he answers. “yes, ma'am.”

you smirk. “now you’re getting it.”

you stand slowly, stepping away from him just long enough to strip off the last of your clothing, taking your time — letting him watch. he stays kneeling, hands clenched at his sides, cock straining against his boxers like it’s about to tear through the fabric. his breath is shallow, hungry, reverent.

“lie down,” you say.

laxus moves instantly. he lays flat on the bed, arms by his sides, grey eyes locked on your every motion as you straddle his hips. you can feel how tense he is beneath you — his whole body wound tight like a coil. he’s practically vibrating with the urge to move, to flip you over and fuck you into the floor. but that’s not his role tonight.

you finally ease his boxers down, and his dick springs free — hard, flushed, the head already glistening with precome. “look at you,” you murmur, stroking him once, just enough to make him flinch. “so eager for something you haven’t earned.

“then let me fucking earn it,” he grits out, breathless.

you only smirk. “don’t worry, baby. you will.”

you grind down onto him in one smooth motion, pressing your hips down just enough for him to feel your pussy against his tip. he groans — a rough, desperate sound — and you grind slowly, teasing his cock against your slick folds, soaking him with every movement.

laxus tries to thrust up. you slap your palm down on his chest. hard.

“ah-ah. i said don’t move.”

laxus groans again, but he obeys. barely. “c’mon,” he mutters through clenched teeth, “don’t tease.”

you line him up with a slow, almost cruel precision. “you think you’ve earned it already?”

“i ate you like a fucking—”

you sink down onto him in one slow, devastating slide, cutting him off mid-sentence.

his head slams back against the bed. “fuck—!”

you take your time with it, inch by inch, feeling the way he stretches you, thick and twitching inside, his cock pulsing with how badly he wants to thrust up and lose control. but you don’t give him that. you set the pace. slow, grinding strokes that milk every inch of him. that force him to feel everything. that deny him the rhythm he’s craving.

his hands grip the sheets beside him, white-knuckled. his abs tense under you. every muscle screams with the effort of not moving. “goddamn,” laxus hisses, eyes squeezed shut. “you feel so fucking good.”

you lean forward, one hand sliding up his chest, nails dragging lightly across his nipples. he shudders beneath you. “you want to come already, don’t you?” you whisper, riding him just a little faster now, tightening around him on every upstroke. “you’re so fucking close, laxus. i can feel it.”

his head thrashes. “yes. yes, shit—”

you stop moving.

laxus makes a broken sound — half-growl, half-whimper — and you grip his jaw, forcing his eyes to open. “no begging, no reward.”

he pants, breath heaving, chest drenched in sweat. his whole body shakes with the need to come, with the pain of being edged again and again. you grind down on him again—slow, hard, making sure he feels every pulse, every squeeze.

you ride him faster now, chasing your own release, chasing the high of using a man like laxus for your pleasure and watching him take it. he’s groaning nonstop now, muttering your name like a broken prayer. sweat slicks his chest, his abs tense as he struggles not to come. you clench around him and he shouts, hips bucking instinctively before he bites down on his lip and fights for control.

“don’t you dare,” you growl, grabbing his throat �� not choking, just holding. a reminder.

“i—fuck—i can’t—”

“you can. you will. you don’t come before me.”

you drag your nails down his chest, back arching as you grind down harder. the friction is perfect. the stretch. the power. you chase your climax with growing desperation, panting through gritted teeth as pleasure builds fast and hot and brutal.

and when it hits — fuck — it crashes through you like lightning.

you throw your head back, hips still moving as you ride out every wave of release. you clench around him again and again, milking him, and he whines beneath you — a raw, guttural sound that makes you smile through the haze.

“beg for it properly,” you murmur, lips brushing his. “let me hear how desperate you are.”

his eyes flutter. his pride is fighting him, but you feel it slipping away with every roll of your hips, every wet clench around his cock. he moans again — soft and broken.

“…please.”

you smirk. “louder.”

“please let me come,” laxus chokes out, breath catching as your rhythm quickens again. “please. i need it. i’ll do anything—fuck, i’m—please.”

you love the sound of that. laxus dreyar, begging under you like a man undone. you ride him harder now — hips slapping down against his, nails raking down his chest, forcing him to the edge again.

“say you’re mine.”

“i’m yours,” he gasps. “yours, fuck, please—!”

you lean down, teeth grazing his throat, your voice like fire in his ear. “come for me, baby.”

and he does — violently. his hips jerk helplessly beneath you as he spills inside you with a groan so guttural it barely sounds human. his hands grip your waist now, holding on for dear life as his orgasm rips through him, his whole body trembling with the release he’s been begging for.

you keep riding him through it, drawing every drop out of him, until his grip loosens and he goes limp beneath you; sweaty, flushed, ruined.

you don’t stop until he’s twitching from oversensitivity, and only then do you slow to a stop, panting, your hands smoothing along his chest. laxus lies there, eyes half-lidded, chest heaving like he’s just survived a war. and maybe he has.

you lean down and press a kiss to his throat. “see what happens when you listen?”

laxus groans. “…you’re evil.”

you laugh, low and satisfied. “you love it.”

he doesn’t deny it.

#fairy tail #fairy tail smut #sub!laxus #laxus nsfw #laxus ft #laxus dreyar

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e1ectricwords · 7 days ago

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You are my go to honestly, especially because of your Laxus stuff!!! Would love love love if you could write something else with Laxus! Anything really I loved your modern au it was so fun but I love like anything Laxus, Just preferably not angst!!! Sorry I’ve never requested anything from someone before! Literally just love your writing sm I hope you’re doing okay!💕

The Man, The Myth, The Misplaced Mage

Laxus x Reader Displacement AU Word Count: 6305 Bittersweet, heavy UK coded, fluff

The first thing to hit Laxus was the smell.

Bursts of bold citrus and synthetic sandalwood. Loud and over-confident in the way it assaulted his senses. Whoever was wearing it had clearly bathed themselves in it and judging by the strength of the scent, had declared themselves the protagonist.

His nose scrunched. And his eyes cracked open.

This wasn’t the guildhall.

He was slumped back in a chair, arms folded in his usual fashion. Wherever he was, it was loud. Filled with laughter and screaming - by that factor alone it definitely could be the guildhall, but it wasn’t. This was off. It was too bright. Too put together. Too many people in bright pink synthetic hair - too many Natsus. Just one was enough. An eye twitched.

A flash of purple satin caught his attention. Paired with a grey fur-trimmed black coat. Suspiciously similar to his own. The figure stopped. Turned. Stepped closer. They looked too familiar in the most offensive way - as if Laxus was looking in a warped mirror. The body spray hit him like a crack of thunder to the chest.

“Best cosplay I’ve seen all day,” the guy mumbled, nodding slowly in approval. Fake blond hair, ridiculously styled. Facial scar crudely drawn on in eyeliner that was clearly smudging under the heat of the fluorescent lights. “Both the best character though.”

Laxus stared. Arms still folded. “Character?”

The guy laughed, grin forming shortly after. “Respect for the method acting.”

Laxus didn’t respond. The guy shrugged and walked off, joining a small group - each of them badly trying to represent a member of his own team. Laxus tensed as he caught onto the tail ends of shouted conversations - some very passionate arguments about if Lucy was better off with Natsu, Gray…or Sting?

He was in hell.

It took him less than a breath to rise - fluid and controlled like his body had already decided before his brain could catch up. At full height, he could clearly see just how packed this place was. It was an ocean of people, all dressed like people he knew. Some of them taking photos, others laughing, dancing, fighting - it reminded him so much of the guildhall in spirit - but it just wasn’t. He couldn’t stop the frown from forming. His eyes scanned the chaos, expression unreadable as he started to take long strides through the crowd that parted without question. It didn’t take long to spot an exit.

The air outside was sharp and cold, but welcome. It hit him hard, pulling him back to reality. Laxus didn’t get flustered - emotions like that just didn’t suit him - but even he could admit this was weird. Weird by even Fairy Tail’s standards. And that had him on edge. He found a half-wall of orange brick and took a moment to lean against it, hands braced on either side. The brick bit into his skin in that textually nauseating prickly way, but he didn’t care. In fact, his fingertips curled slightly, gripping at the brick, anchoring himself.

Breathe in. Out. Focus.

Where had he been before the fluorescent lights and the smell of…whatever assault that was on his senses. His mind kept pulling blanks. He remembered faces. Faintly. The contorted, panicked faces of Freed, Bickslow, and Evergreen. Some shouting, one reaching for him. But nothing solid.

Pushing away from the wall, Laxus exhaled slowly, cold air biting sharply in his lungs. Whatever was happening, he needed to sort it. And fast.

He just started walking.

He stopped a few moments later, just standing outside of a store window, looking in. You noticed him, of course. It had been a slow shift, as it always is working in a dusty old tech store where most people just buy things online now. Leaning over the counter, phone in your hand but not really paying attention to anything, you were just counting down the minutes until your shift ended. Fifteen. You had fifteen minutes left. So of course during a dragging shift, you noticed the man who looked way too serious to even attempt cosplaying. Tall. Broad. Just standing outside the store window, glaring at the phones on the display.

Bell chiming, the door pushed open, and he walked in.

“From the convention?” You asked, still leaning over the counter. You had seen them coming and going all day.

He cocked a brow, didn’t indulge. That alone made you stand a bit straighter. “I need to use that,” he stated, gesturing to the row of phones with a quick gesture of his head like this was an emergency and those weren’t just display phones. The devices looked a lot like the ones that Wakaba had invented, and as much as he hated to admit it, his invention had been useful. And now it might be his only way to contact the guild. “I need to call someone.”

“That’s generally what they’re used for,” you responded rather dryly, now standing fully behind the counter. Your own phone under your hand. “Is it just one thing you need it for?”

He wanted to retort, but he held himself back. “Yes.”

With a shrug and a bit too much blind trust, you flipped your phone over. “What’s their number? You can just contact them on my phone.”

The frown deepened on his face. “Number?”

Your eyes narrowed, and the corners of your lips twitched into a smirk. “A bit too committed to the character?”

He ignored your comment. “There is no number, I just need to contact them.” His presence loomed over you.

Something about that tone, low and intense, made your smirk twitch and falter. “Are you okay?” Something just felt off. You had worked through your fair share of strange customers and petty thieves and this felt different.

“Fine.” He was not fine, but he would rather swallow glass than admit it.

Lips drawing into a thin line, you pulled your phone back towards yourself, flipping on the screen with ease. “My shift ends in ten minutes.” Tapping through and finding maps. “Where do you need to go?”

“Magnolia.”

You couldn’t help but blink at him slowly. “As in Fairy Tail’s Magnolia?” Again, he frowned and gave a curt nod. Biting your lip slowly, thoughts processing in your head, “you know that you’re not at the con anymore, right?”

“Con?”

“Convention.” You elongated. “You have a compelling cosplay, but -”

His expression shifted. Subtle, but unmistakable. No twitch of muscle, and his posture remained the same, but something behind his eyes drew tight. He tensed, and your own body mirrored his. Something in the air had changed. Your gaze dropped down to your phone - eight minutes left on shift.

Something didn’t feel like an act. It wasn’t anything you could put a finger on, or anything you wanted to name out loud from fear of sounding crazy. He genuinely looked lost - and it softened something inside of you.

Voice gentler now, “alright.” You shoved your phone into your pocket and tapped away on the till screen. “Let’s get going.”

He studied you as you walked past him, holding the door open. And then slowly, he moved.

Closing eight minutes early wouldn’t get you fired, but it definitely would make your manager want to have one of those stern chats with you. Shoving that thought aside, you’d spin some dramatic tale for them later on. Right now, your attention was solely focused on whatever the universe had dumped on your lap - a 6’4 blond tank dressed in furs with a resting glare that made people crumble from fear - and he was following you around willingly.

Food had been your idea - obviously. You led him to your go-to place whenever you finished work and felt too drained to cook anything at home. It was a small chippy just on the corner of the street. On most days it was quiet and business kept running from their loyal regulars, of which you seemed to be a part of and you weren’t sure if that was an achievement or a sign to start re-evaluating your routines. Either way, the scent of salt and vinegar that perforated the air was comforting and you slid up to the counter with ease, quickly ordering for the both of you - just the chips for now.

Trying to pay, however, had been his idea. He pulled out a wallet. Black leather, still new from how stiff it was, but it was packed. Opening it up, you could see just how many notes were stuffed inside, all neatly tucked away and organised. He paused as he looked down, pulling just one out. It caused the guy behind the counter, as well as yourself, to cock an eyebrow.

“Sterling?” The guy serving asked. He sounded just as bored as you did at work.

“Jewel.” Laxus - of course you knew the name of his character - responded curtly, not lifting his gaze up from the note.

“Only accept sterling, mate.”

Laxus tucked the note back away into his wallet and you pulled out your phone from your back pocket, ready to tap it against the machine. It was a casual notion, but his eyes tracked it as if you had just spun magic before him. The server couldn’t care less, and you didn’t blame him one bit. Retail was testing on the best of days.

“Jewel?” You asked, sliding into a booth in the corner, holding both portions of chips. Both seriously oversized for a small portion.

He only looked up after he had unwrapped whatever you had set before him. He was not used to this amount of grease and truly he had no idea how to deal with it. It didn’t stop him from digging in with his fingers - exactly as was intended. “Yeah. Jewel.” He nicked a napkin as soon as you collected them, wiping his hands between each and every new chip.

“Who exactly do you think you are?” You asked, holding a chip dipped in sauce.

“Laxus Dreyar.” His response was dry and laced with annoyance as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Where are we?”

“Earth.”

“Earthland?”

“No.” You paused. “Earth. UK. Do you seriously have no idea where you are?”

“If I knew then I wouldn’t be asking.” His response was blunt, and laced with hard hitting sarcasm. “Weird things happen just…not this weird.”

Grabbing a napkin, you quickly wiped down the grease from your own fingers and tapped your phone on. “Siri,” you started. Laxus stared at the device, face blank but eyes untrusting. “Tell me about Laxus Dreyar.”

“Sure thing!” The feminine voice came from your phone. Stuttering in places, either trying to mimic human speech or just buffering on the poor signal. “Laxus Dreyar is a character from the anime and manga series Fairy Tail, created by Hiro Mashima. He’s an S-Class mage of the Fairy Tail guild and is the grandson of the guildmaster, Makarov Dreyar. He is known for his lightning magic and is seen as a powerful member of the guild.”

Silence followed.

“How does that know about me?”

You slid your phone back towards you, tapping through a browser with ease. Without saying anything else, you pushed your phone back towards him.

“Why am I 2D? I’m not a drawing.”

Exhaling, your fingers curled around your phone, drawing it back toward you. With a quiet tap, the screen went dark. “You’re a fictional character in this universe,” you explained. “That’s why you saw everyone else dressed as you. They’re fans.”

He kept your gaze for a few beats. Stern. Intense. It pinned you in place - made your shoulders stiffen. There was no way you could pass a lie test if you tried to say it didn’t make you squirm. “So you’re telling me that my entire life is just made up?” Dangerous. Your mouth dropped open to answer, but he cut you off quickly. Efficiently. “Bullshit. I made those decisions. I know what’s real.”

A silence washed over the table, tingling with tension. You didn’t dare try to argue against anything he said, even if just to clear up what you meant - fictional in this universe. “I need to go to a magic store.” He dropped his napkin crumpled on top of his box of half-finished chips.

“You won’t find anything like what you’re used to,” you tried to protest, keeping his gaze as he rose from the booth as you remained sitting. “Just tarot cards, crystals and-”

He cut you off. “Tarot cards. We use them.” A beat and then: “Let’s go.”

There was no way that you could protest. You stood abruptly as he was already halfway towards the door. With one last melancholy look to your chips that definitely would not reheat them well, you left them on the table and followed Laxus out the door.

The store you walked into next was filled with a warm and welcoming scent. Deep. Earthy. It wrapped around your senses, whispering lullabies into your ear, coaxing your muscles to loosen and relax.

The lighting was dim and deliberate, no harsh, cold fluorescent lights overhead, only pools of amber tucked away in corners. Shadows flickered against bundles of fabrics and dried herbs on the shelves. Fabric draped over every surface - purple woven rugs underfoot, black and white cloths thrown over display tables.

It wasn’t creepy. It didn’t turn you away. But it was definitely different. Dreamlike almost. You could appreciate the space even if it was something you might not always dabble in. Laxus’ presence didn’t settle in the space he stepped into. He felt like static in a still room. He hovered near the doorway, glaring at the products that his eyes scanned over, not believing in any of it. All of it was so unfamiliar. Nothing felt right. Under his breath, just to himself, he muttered, “place looks like Gajeel designed it.” It was a weary half-jab. He was still trying to orient himself in this universe with familiar names and faces.

Not even ten minutes in, and he was back out the door. You sighed softly, thanking the shopkeeper despite not engaging in any sort of conversation, and followed him back out.

Back against the wall, he murmured as soon as you walked out, “none of that was magic.”

“Some people use it,” you countered, standing just in front of him.

“And does it work?” Sharp tongue. Tired.

You fell silent for a moment and softly responded, “I’m not entirely sure.”

Cold air wrapped around the both of you. Laxus wasn’t annoyed at you. Far from it, but he kept his gaze away from you. You were the only person to offer any sort of help whilst he was in this hellscape - something steady and reliable even if only for the last few hours.

He just had no idea how to deal with this awful pit of fear in his stomach that he refused to acknowledge. At this point he’d rather fight something physical. At least he’d know where to aim.

A soft sigh fell from your lips. “Let’s go.”

“Where now?” He didn’t look at you. Tone weighted with frustration.

“Too cold out here,” you said casually. “You can just crash at mine until you find a way to get back.”

And there it was again. That quiet, unwavering, blind trust.

You hadn’t hesitated, not once, to help him. It made him blink slowly and deliberately. Every offer to help just came naturally out of instinct. That fierce and foolish loyalty reminded him of the guild - reminded him of his home. Even your own actions had caught you off guard. This wasn’t how you had been trained to act around strangers. The classic phrase had been burned into your head since primary school - stranger danger.

But to you he wasn’t a stranger.

You had seen it all. Watched him stumble and falter under his own insecurities, watched him rebuild himself and the trust others had in him. You knew the guarded tenderness hidden under the temper, you knew the arrogance was a front, you knew how much he really cared.

You knew him.

Laxus didn’t know you.

And he still went with you.

Your space is small and cramped, but yours. Distinctly yours in how you attempted to decorate it. Plants in colourful pots, wall art stuck on with those command hooks, stick-on tile backdrops for the kitchen. You had made peace with the fact that it would be impossible to get your deposit back if anything happened - like the time a command hook took a good chunk of wallpaper with it. The evidence is currently hidden by more wall art. Shamelessly hung up.

Laxus seemed to fold in on himself as he entered, shrinking into the space. There hardly seemed to be any space to live. The kind of cramped space where the kitchen bled into the living space with no differentiation of flooring. One tiny wooden table was pushed against the far wall, paired with a lonely chair, and decorated with a pile of unopened letters. To his right was a narrow corridor with two extra doors.

You slumped back on the couch within seconds, exhaling as you sank into the comfort it offered. A fluffy blanket draped over the opposite armrest, neatly folded, used nightly. Laxus took a moment, taking in the space he now filled, and then he crossed the room to join you. The couch dipped noticeably under his weight.

“How do you relax after a long day?” You asked. A small question. You couldn’t help it, not really, of course you wanted to know more.

“I hit things,” he responded not a moment later.

Your head rolled over the back of the couch, turning to look at him. “How do you relax in a healthy way?”

“It keeps me healthy.”

Eyes rolling, biting back the smile that dared to grow, you moved your head away. “You can’t hit anything here.”

A small pause. “Unfortunately.” He shifted slightly, extending his legs a little, legs stretching nearly the entire space between your couch and your IKEA TV unit. “What do you do?”

A small flush to your cheeks. Laxus Dreyar was talking to you. The whole day had felt surreal, but he was actually taking an interest. Once again, you pulled out your phone and tapped through to find an app. Videos started playing, short videos. He watched you as you left hearts, swiped, and left more hearts. “I just do this.”

“Nothing else?”

You gestured with your hands. “I read books, I go on walks for my stupid mental health, and I try to maintain my relationships.”

“Relationships?”

“Friendships.”

“Not just stare at this demon that called me fake?” His dry sarcasm didn’t grate on you. In fact, it caused you to laugh, just a slight slip.

“I’m quite well-rounded.”

The conversation fizzled out as you both continued to watch on your phone. Laxus found it strangely relaxing, he couldn’t figure out why. Chaotic, yes, but intriguing. There were some videos of people he recognised, also drawn. And then he saw himself. A blur of clips, blended together, focusing on slow visuals of him walking, talking without audio, standing, all linked with a slow, sultry song. Your face instantly flushed a deep red and you attempted to swipe away quickly, but with instincts faster than lightning, he caught your phone and casually swiped back up.

Laxus Dreyar was watching a thirst trap of himself.

“These comments…” he muttered. “Why do they call me ‘daddy’? I don’t have children.”

With every cell in your body, you wished for the universe to smite you where you sat.

He kept scrolling through the comment section, intrigued and deeply concerned. Muttering things he’s reading, “‘get a load of this guy’…’I’m trying’.” He makes a small noise in his throat as he processes that one. You sink further into the couch, hands covering up your face, wanting to disappear, or spontaneously combust. Either was a favourable alternative to living this moment. “‘Respectfully I want to climb this man like a tree.’” A low hum. “Interesting.”

He placed your phone back next to you on the couch with an infuriatingly calm aura.

“Do you watch that often?” Cocky bastard. The absolute audacity.

“I think I should go to bed,” you announced, standing suddenly like you wanted to bolt out of your own home and sign over the lease. “You can take the couch.”

Behind you, his smirk still lingered and he watched you disappear down the hall. The demon device had betrayed you, it was so clear that you were a fan. The flush in your features, the twitch in your fingertips, the way that you scuttled away way too quickly - it all exposed you. Despite all of that, he still genuinely believed that you acted just on kindness alone, no ulterior motives.

Laxus pulled his boots off, setting them neatly beside the TV unit. Laxus’ space was starkly different. To begin with, it was much larger. Everything was bought new, and he preferred black leather and bright accents. His space was cold, this space was warm. Shrugging his coat off, he folded it up a few times with a rough precision and set it over the back of the couch. Stretching out didn’t work. His legs dangled off the armrest, his neck pressed awkwardly over the cushion of the opposite end. Too tall, too broad, he just didn’t fit. It ached already, but he still didn’t move. He reached for the blanket left on the side of the couch, draping it over himself for some sort of forced comfort. It smelt sweet, just like the scent that lingered around you.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

Even when surrounded by warmth and the quiet kindness that settled within you, the fear was still there. Quiet. Deep. Unmoving. He knew he was safe, but he had no idea how he was getting home.

The second day. Still there.

Breakfast was warm - toasted crumpets, too much butter, mugs of coffee. Comfortable silence. You had moved his coat to the hooks behind your front door when you had first shuffled through to the main space. He looked at you now, dressed in the same clothes as yesterday. Satin slightly creased. Expression more tired than how he looked the night before.

He sank the last drops of coffee. “Shower?” The question slipped from him as he placed his mug down on the counter. That’s where you ate, standing, both leaning on the side of the counter. It would feel too awkward to use just one chair at the table.

“Just down the hall,” you responded with fluid ease, finishing the last bite of your overly buttery crumpet. “Towels are in the cupboard.” He was already heading down the hall. “I can wash your clothes if you want me to.” That one slipped out.

He glanced over his shoulder as he crossed the short distance. “I’ll leave them outside the door.”

You gave him a few more minutes, sipping away at your coffee, still replaying the events of the day before in your head until they seemed real. As soon as you heard the water turn on, you moved to grab at the pile of clothes placed just outside of the bathroom door. Still warm. There was something strangely intimate in the very basic action of holding them, as if you were crossing some sort of invisible line. The thought faded and you scooped them up, returning to the main living space to toss them into the machine on the gentlest setting you had. And on the fastest setting you had. There was no way that anything you owned would be able to fit him.

Laxus Dreyar returned in a towel.

You didn’t mean to look.

You looked.

Towel hung low, tucked into itself so it didn’t fall. Hair still damp, darkened by the water. A few strands clung to his forehead. Skin still glistening, warm and flushed from the steam, with droplets trailing down his shoulders - down his chest. A small line of water tracked down the trail of soft hair running from his belly-button down -

No.

Abort.

This was unfair.

You spun on your heels, opting to find the cupboard doors more interesting than anything else. It also doubled as an excuse to hide your obviously flushed face. If he could hear how loud your heart was thundering in your ears however, you were done for.

“You have seen a man before, right?” He asked, voice low.

You refused to answer, remaining tight-lipped. The shrill beep of the cycle being done is your solace. Body reacting almost violently, you snap towards it, turning the dial to start draining the clothes. Silent praise on your lips, thankfully you had a good enough idea in the past to invest in a tiny tumble-dryer. He wouldn’t be in a towel for much longer.

Shifting the conversation, desperate for something else to fill the room, you state, “I’m definitely going to get you back.”

“I know.”

Once he was fully dressed once more, you started to settle again. The idea crossed you earlier to call in sick to work - a vague excuse, a fake cough. Success. Everyday was a gamble, constantly playing with the promise of remaining employed.

The scent of your fabric softener lingered on his clothes - fresh and floral. He seemed a bit lighter, less tense, but still not quite there. A quiet, and subtle comfort that he couldn’t quite place a finger on.

Settled back on the couch now, roughly midday. Cups on the side tables, rings sinking deep into the wood. Life was too short to care, and the rings showed life being lived. You wanted them to stay. Legs tucked up to your chest, blanket draped over your knees, your body angled towards him. Hand tucked under your chin, keeping your head up just enough. He stretched outwards, filling up the space with his frame alone. Arms crossed. He kept your gaze.

Small talk had passed between you for a few hours now. It was easy, loose, soft words mumbled. Questions asked with no pressure to answer.

“So how is life in the guild?” You asked, taking a sip of water from your glass.

His response was blunt, “loud,” but there was a fondness tucked away behind his eyes. “Hard to find anywhere for some time to yourself.”

“But you still like it?”

“Never said that.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “Didn’t deny it either.” His expression didn’t falter, and he made no effort to correct you. “You know…” your voice added in a mere murmur. “For someone who almost tore the guild apart, you’re not bad company.”

“Nearly. Big difference.”

“Glad it didn’t work?”

A small pause. A very sure response, “very.” He ran a hand through his hair, shifting slightly where he sat. “The guild is full of idiots. And I used to hate it. But when those idiots would do just about anything for you it really makes every bad thought you had about them seem real stupid.”

You hummed in response.

“My idiots were there…when I came here.” A small exhale, his gaze faltered away from yours and his frown deepened. Your own eyebrow raised. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, memory betraying him. “Bick was reaching for me. The others…I think Freed was casting some spell.”

“You don’t remember what happened?”

He shrugged. “Everything was on track - a normal job. A fight…that’s all I really remember.” His jaw tightened, muscle twitching along the side of his face. A vein pulsed down the side of his neck.

You edged closer - slow and cautious. Your hand hovered for a moment, ghosting just over his knee, and then you let it gently rest on his knee. The contact made him jolt, but he didn’t pull away. “I’ll get you back.” It was the second time you had promised it to him on the same day, but you meant it, and he felt it, even if you both had no idea how that was going to be. Or how long that was going to take.

The rest of the day ticked on slowly, only broken up by a short trip to the corner store for snacks, caffeine, alcohol, and anything that vaguely resembled a dinner. There was an agreement to remain close to the area where he had first appeared, just in case anyone came looking for Laxus. A thin hope hung over the two of you like something miraculous would happen and you were unsure if that was going to happen through some weird ripple in the sky or if Freed was going to jump out of a bin. Unlikely. Truthfully, you had no idea where to even start looking for a way to get him back. There was no way that you could google the solution and the only idea that you had - that was quickly banished from your brain - involved hooking him up to your car battery and praying that the insane amount of electricity would be enough to get him back. That idea was borderline insane.

So naturally, the two of you stayed inside under dim lights as the afternoon slipped into the evening. You had dug through your cupboards and unearthed a completely full box of wine - the cheap kind for £4 that came in a bag in a box. Struggle wine. It wasn’t glamorous, but it did the job. Paired with the premixed cocktails collected earlier, the sharpness in the air softened. Conversation flowed, and somewhere between the third canned cocktail (that he claimed to hate) and the fourth, you stopped talking to Laxus Dreyar the S-Class Mage of Fairy Tail, and just started talking to Laxus. A man with dry wit, sharp eyes and a guarded exterior, who was now sinking further into your couch and barely smiling at another dumb joke you made with a small flush of pink over his cheeks. A thought tugged at whatever brain cells were still working - what if this version was the same version that only those close to him got to see?

It triggered in your head, another clause in the mission to get Laxus back: don’t get attached.

You started to doze off on the couch a little past eleven. Too much box wine consumed in one go. Your head hit the side of Laxus’ arm - unintentionally of course. The tiniest of static shocks ran up his arm. A mumbled apology slipped from your slips and it took all of your energy to pull yourself back up. Body heavy, limbs just a bit too loose, you stumbled as you stood from the couch and his arm shot out just to hover behind you in case you fell.

Swaying in one spot, trying to remember exactly just how your body is meant to work, he moved before your head could catch up. Two massive hands curled around you - one arm hooking under your knees, the other resting just under your shoulders. Without wasting a second, you were in the air, and your arms had instinctively curled around his neck. He was definitely not sober, but was holding himself together better than you could even attempt to. At least the journey to your bedroom was not a long one, and he made it there without accidentally letting your head hit the wall.

The bed dipped slowly under your combined weight. His knee pressed into the mattress as he lowered you down, setting you on top of all of the covers. He wasn’t even going to attempt touching your clothes. Your fingers laced together behind his neck, he had to gently tug them apart. One arm fell straight down, colliding with the headboard, but the other stayed raised.

Your fingers twitched slightly. Index finger extending, the rest curling back into your hand. He was close - so close. Face flushed from the alcohol. He twitched from the soft touch of your one finger, lightly grazing over the scar running through his eye. “You know…” the drunk confession started to slip from your mouth. “They really fucked up.”

“Who?”

“The animators,” you hummed, letting your arm fall back to the bed. “You have really pretty eyes. They don’t do you justice.”

That comment embedded itself into his brain, burrowing deep into his thoughts. He had returned to the couch, stretching himself back over the comfortable cushions to try and sleep once more. No comment on his scar, on his muscles, on his voice. A comment on his eyes. He had no idea how to navigate that.

The third day. Still there.

Whatever you said to Laxus last night failed to preserve itself in your memory. Laxus didn’t remind you. If your reaction was going to be anything close to how it was when he watched that video, he’d rather not relive it. The static was slowly growing, he felt it in the air. Tingling. Buzzing. He kept his mouth shut.

“So what is a phone number?” He asked. The question slipped out without any prompt.

He remained on the couch, elbows on his knees as he hunched over to peer down at the table you had pulled out to put between you. The cards in his hands looked absolutely tiny. You kneeled opposite him, cards in your hand. Another day just the two of you, and uno had come up in a conversation. He was surprisingly good - strategic and relentless - but you kept consistently beating him. The only indication of annoyance was the way his jaw tightened whenever you saved a particularly rude card for him at the very end.

Your head cocked slightly as you fanned out your cards to assess the best one to play. His question stalled you for a moment as you mapped out your next move. Down to four. “Well if you dial it into a phone then it goes straight to a specific person. No matter where they are”

Laxus looked down at his cards. Picked one up - now up to eight. “Do you think the same thing would work if I tried it from another universe?”

Your hand froze mid-motion as you went to pick up a card. Eyes flickering up slightly, meeting his gaze that was already pinned on you. “What’s wrong?”

“Static in the air.” He bluntly stated. “Lightning has a trace, a fingerprint. This is mine.” He set his cards down - covered so you couldn’t peek at them.

He didn’t explain further than that. Didn’t need to. You chewed your lip slightly. “How much longer do you think?”

“Can’t say.” His tone didn’t falter, but his brows pulled in. He didn’t know.

Grabbing a pen and a card from a pile, you started to write on the white part of the card, right on the edge. In bold writing, as clear as you could write it, you placed a string of digits. Between two fingers, and capturing his gaze once more, you handed it over. “It won’t hurt to give it a try.”

That was your last game played before the evening pulled in. The stillness was charged, filled with an invisible static but also with words that hung heavy on your tongues without being spoken. It became impossible to get close to him without feeling some sort of shock. It banished you to the floor of your own home. Space rearranged after the last game, you sat with your back to the TV unit, perched on a soft pillow, whilst you let him remain on the couch.

Twiddling with your fingers in your lap, half empty wine glass to your side on the floor. “Will you miss anything?” You asked, raising your head only slightly to catch his eyes.

“Not the lynx,” he immediately shot back. He was sure the scent still lingered despite being away from it for a few days. He was sure that the scent would continue to haunt him in his dreams in Fiore. It earnt a laugh from you, one born of warmth, but laced with bittersweet emotion. You were entirely sure that this whole interaction would ruin your ability to ever watch an episode of Fairy Tail again. And that thought smashed into you as he followed up his previous comment, “I’ll miss you though.”

It wasn’t dramatic. No heavy swell of emotion, just a quiet honesty. He always thought he would be the type to rather swallow glass than ever make himself feel so fragile.

Your body reacted before your mind could. Rising from your perch on the floor, hands flexing in your fists at your side. You’d brace a shock if it meant you could be close. But the second you stood, it ripped.

The air behind him tore open, jagged and ugly.

One hand shoved through - slender and cuffed in a red coat - “Laxus!”

And then another in a metal arm brace - “don’t let the portal close!”

You stood staring. First at the portal, then at him. Heart lodged somewhere in your throat. Thunder in your ears.

Laxus flinched. The drag from the portal was intense, curling around his ribs, snaking around his arms. The inevitable was here, now came the question of how long he could resist it. The couch moved, dragging over the hardwood floor.

Your eyes locked.

You had memorised every line of his face.

Sure, the mission was a success - stay in one place and eventually you would get him back home. But the part of the mission to not get attached? Catastrophic failure.

An awful strained silence filled the room, mixed with the bittersweet notion that this was always meant to happen.

And just as quickly as Laxus Dreyar - the man, the myth, the misplaced mage - had dropped into your life, he had vanished just as quickly.

Your apartment never felt so small and cold. And you never even got to say goodbye.

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