DISCLAIMER: I do not own Fairy Tail.

WARNING: You WILL NOT find invincible Juvia and Gray here. I have written Ultraviolence around the manga versions of Gray and Juvia we see in 423-426; dark, desperate, absolutely ruthless and broken beyond any sort of salvation. You WILL find the Juvia that drowned a whole village because Gray left her like she meant nothing. You WILL find Blackheart Gray, the death-demon, the man that revered the darkness and embraced it like a lost lover.

SUMMARY: His fists are made for ruin and she has a porcelain heart (darling, why is it that you look so cruel in the dark?) —gray&juvia ganglife!fic

EXTRA: credits to tumblr user seiikas for the images featured on the cover image!

edited 30/11/2017

Lyrics are from Electric by Alina Barez x Khalid~

/

covered in your water and i'm feeling like a summer breeze
submitted under power and you brought me to my knees

.

.

.

HE WATCHES HER WITH SHADOWED EYES FROM THE SMALL DISTANCE BETWEEN THEIR FACES.

His honeyed words swirl colours and patterns in her head as she desperately attempts to keep herself afloat in her own mind. The lights in the club are bright and dance across his pale skin in a spectrum of colours. However briefly, she distantly wonders how a man as dark and powerful as he could be found in a small club downtown. Surely the grinding bodies and flirtatious smiles are a sight much too insignificant for eyes like his to gaze upon?

His lips are soundless as they brush against her ear, and yet his words seem to resonate within her stuttering chest. Her skin prickles with each brush of skin, each exhale of cool breath. His hands are cold on her shoulders but his fingers trail blazes down her arms.

"What's your name?" he utters lowly, and she is forced to lean her head further against his jaw. His voice is deep and holds swirling storms and hurricanes within it. Her body is wracked with Rome-ruin at the slightest whisper, the lowest of utterance transporting her to a world so cold and dangerous and yet she loves it. She craves the hurt, the cold, the storm.

"Juvia," she replies into his ear, desperately ignoring the way her voice stutters.

His chuckle weakens her knees. "Juvia," he repeats slowly, testing the name on his tongue as if it were a foreign spice. After a few moments that feel like aeons to her beating heart, he nods. "It's very fitting."

Juvia takes the man in with wide eyes. His head looms above her pleasantly, dark hair falling into equally dark eyes. Everything about him screams danger. His cargo pants cling to his hips deliciously, the white V-neck shirt almost too tight against the plains of his corded chest. His muscular arms are wrapped firmly around her small frame; the hands around her shapely hips almost feel like pieces to a matching puzzle finally locking into place.

"Care to dance?" he asks her, and Juvia's cheeks flush in anticipation.

"Juvia would love to."

He quirks a brow at her odd speech but smirks nonetheless, dragging her to the dance floor. The mysterious man manipulates her body in ways even she did not know it capable of doing. His dark eyes continue to wreak ruin on her innards as he studies her ever so carefully. He is unconcerned by the moving bodies at their backs but Juvia is almost suffocating. She is lost in him and in the crowd, adrift in the low murmur the music has become to her roaring ears.

He is so cold whereas she feels inexplicably warm. Sparks ignite when their hips brush ever so gently. The nameless man's gaze is hungry—

and, despite the fear of becoming lost forever, she wishes he would consume her.

"Do you come here often?" he whispers into her ear from behind. His hands squeeze her hips gently, tall frame dwarfing her.

Juvia struggles to breathe. "No, it's Juvia's first time here."

"Are you here alone?"

"Juvia came with her friends…" she trails off when his lips brush the side of her neck. She is almost grateful that she chose to wear her hair in a carefully trussed-up bun. His searing lips ignite fires and infernos within her usually gloomy mind. Her whole body quakes with the sudden absence of the ever-present rain. The storms he creates become howling tornadoes, the tornadoes quickly swirling into all-consuming cyclones intent on tearing her apart.

Juvia falls into his embrace as her knees weaken. He effortlessly supports her weight, chuckling softly to himself. His lips move up to her own ever so slowly, and Juvia wishes time would freeze. She loves the hurt but she is fearful. How can this man cause such violent surges of warmth and cold simultaneously? His dark eyes are pools of uncharted stars and galaxies yet his lips are finite like the cold and empty void of space. They leave her skin snow-kissed but her chest is burning with each press of skin.

He is a sin—

but she is no innocent.

His lips take hers none too gently. She is frozen for a second as he kisses her slowly.

And then, they collide. The violence he creates unfreezes her body and she is twisting in his hold like a body of water in a winding stream, arms firmly wrapped around his neck. He takes her in hungrily and the coolness of his skin grounds her only temporarily. She is becoming lost in him like Hansel and Gretel lost their way in the deep woods. He is the cursed and misty woods and her, the stumbling idiot with no breadcrumbs to guide her back home. His teeth bite down on her lip and his tongue coaxes her open like a moonflower in bloom. The club seems much too bright for her suddenly; she almost wishes they were in irrevocable darkness. She doesn't want to watch herself stray from the path.

But, his touch is much too convincing. His hands trail up her exposed thighs, over her hips and to her waist where they circle it. She shakes in his embrace when he pulls her in closer. She loves the hurt, the cold, the storm.

Somehow, they leave the club together and he is pushing her up against her bedroom wall. She cries out as their hips echo the desperate and dangerous dance of their lips. Her hair has come loose and he yanks at the blue locks, the curls wrapping around his fingers like greedy pythons. He is still nameless as his hands map her body. Juvia doesn't mind though; storms are almost always nameless until they consume you deliciously.

She kisses him back with unhidden fervour, favouring the way his muscles coil under his skin like taut cables. His lips rain down upon hers like hail, peppering her with open-mouthed wonder. The burn is almost too much for her for it is not that of fires and infernos. This burn—his burn— is harsh and cold against her soft skin; the numbing and prickling cold of snowstorms and blizzards.

He isn't warmth. But, then again, neither is she. She is rain and roiling dark storm clouds; the empty ache of a summer morning shower and the ferocity of winter downpour that falls for days.

He is unforgiving as he overwhelms her.

Just as she is about to let the ferocity of the violence he creates do away with her, he speaks: "Gray."

His voice is distant but powerful as her back inadvertently arches against his touch. "Gray?" she repeats in a broken whisper.

"My name," he says in response, dark eyes calculating her every move.

"It's very fitting," she says, meeting his gaze almost playfully. He smirks in turn and descends on her bare shoulders with his lips.

She is taken by him. Storms are only ever nameless until they consume you and she is not surprised. What could possibly be more fitting for this ultraviolence than Gray? Grey, the colour of her thoughts and the rain clouds that bare down on her. Grey, the flavour of his lips against hers; borderline heretic black arts and Morana-rituals.

What a perfect storm he is, she thinks as his touch sends her over the edge of a cliff she is absolutely sure she can never return from. She cries out as their bare bodies collide one final time and he curses aloud, hands tightening around her body almost painfully. They collapse into each other and quiver like leaves in a storm. The hurricanes and cyclones are tearing her apart piece by piece. She is frozen under all that is him and time has finally acquiesced her wishes and stopped. Chests heaving, heads spinning and bodies tingling they begin their descent. She is burning from the numbing cold and his thoughts weigh heavy on him like the rain pelting the windows of her lightless apartment.

They collapse to her bed and sleep for hours. When she awakes, he is gone. Juvia doesn't mind; after all, she loves the hurt, the cold, the storm.

The rain is still heavy. But she is pleasantly numb.

.

.

.

whisper in my ear, i'm the only one you're loving on
take advantage of the moment, you're the only one that i want