Welcome! I’m Red — formerly known as Mars in the GVF fandom — and this is the guide to my page! All of my current works fall into either “erotica” (essentially just my smut works except they usually have a disturbing element to them) and “horror” (that which does not feature smut, and almost always ends up as a horror short). Anything else that doesn't fall under either "erotica" or "horror" will be under "miscellaneous works"
To find my Greta Van Fleet fan fiction that was released under my pseudonym greta_van_chaos/Mars, look under “miscellaneous links” ! There is a fic recs page and my own works in a masterlist :)
I love requests, in whatever form, so please feel free to send anything you’d like to see!
To those who care to read this, thank you, I appreciate you taking the time.
I have had this tumblr account for many years and it has seen me through the many different faces I have worn over the years. Something so special about the age of my account is the vast amount of work I now have, chronicled over time in masterlists and marked by comment sections so specific to those particular moments in time.
I recently scrolled to the very bottom of my account so I could find my old links, as I want to have them available at the top of my page. I used to feel very shameful about my writing, whether that be due to quality or content, but lately I've missed being in touch with the creative side of myself, and if the creative side desires to write greta van fleet smut, then so be it! (It isn't necessarily what I've been craving to write, but the point still stands).
All of this is to say that I really want to write again and I want to want to write, and tumblr is one of the places I have felt most at home when shrouded in my darkest hours. I've met some great people through the GVF fandom, and I completely packed that side of myself away for no good reason. I miss the community so much, and I just felt that it was necessary to take the time to say this.
Anyway, this was a random ramble, but I wanted to end by saying that I want to focus on writing again, and I want that to be the core of this account again! It may not be y/n fanfic, but... it could be? I am just going to unleash all of the things I've been keeping in my head, that I've found myself too scared or embarrassed to write. Sometimes a girl needs to go back to her roots and write some fanfiction!
Thank you again for reading, and yay for feeling creative again!
Airing out the writing that I have yet to post. This is unedited and I genuinely can’t remember what happens but here it is! Think of this as another moment between the same characters in watching the moon :P
Javier - Another part of the Story
As soon as the tap starts to run my muscles loosen. It’s like my body can predict the sensation of the hot water lapping against it, and softens in welcome. I shed the thick sweater and leggings which had kept me warm against the chill of approaching winter. Then, I reach for a glass bottle containing a milky colored bubble bath. It swirls into the tub, immediately frothing and diffusing a creamy scent into the air, a sigh parts my lips when my toes skim the water, just barely, to test it. Once submerged, I drag my head beneath the gentle current my body has created and let the droning sound of the tap — which is heavily muffled by the water — fill every corner of my thoughts. I feel heavy, weighted by things that I could not describe succinctly in words. The water has risen to the point of nearly sloshing over the lip of the tub when I disrupt it by sitting up, I turn off the tap and sink back against the porcelain. I hum a random melody and watch the flame from a candle on the sink sputter and dance. Everything is dim and slightly blurred from the steam. I take a breathe. And another. And another. With each, I melt more and more into the tub.
Though I locked the door, I hear metal against metal, a key sliding between pins and the click of the lock reversing. All of the air is sucked from the room to make space for His body, tall and obtrusive, standing in the doorway. He closes it gently behind Him with one hand, not taking His eyes from me. I look down and feel slightly comforted by how the bubbles obscure my form beneath the water. A thick coating of saliva crawls down my throat, I can’t meet his stare.
“I wondered where you crept off to. Hiding, are we?” His posture — body leaned carelessly against the marbled counter — relays a smugness at having been able to reach me from behind a locked door.
“I’m not hiding, I just wanted to have a bath.” I keep my sentences short and my eyes on the foamy bubbles. They have seemingly lessened, almost as though the weight of His eyes attempting to rove over me is too heavy.
“You’re not hiding anymore, now that I’ve found you.” The steps that his socked feet make over the tile hardly sound, He kneels beside the tub and runs a hand through my wet hair, “The game is over, what’s my prize for discovering you?”
I pull away “Don’t—”
His fingers tighten against my scalp and pull back so my neck is bared, “Hmm?” He taunts. My throat bobs, skin pulled taught so the ridges are visible. His other hand gently caresses the column, dragging His finger slowly up my chin until the pad has landed on the pillow of my bottom lip. “Open.”
I obey, eyes fluttering closed. My tongue tentatively strokes against the digit and my lips create a seal. That of which He breaks my sliding in another finger and pressing them towards the back of my throat. The awkward angle of my neck and His prodding fingers trigger a gag and my mouth instinctively opens. His thumb, ring, and pinky fingers create a vice around my jaw.
“Look at me.” When I hesitate, He pulls my hair harder, forcing His fingers to pressure my gag reflex again. I cough and spittle oozes over His knuckles. “I said look at me.”
A tired groan emanates from deep within my chest, I drag my eyes up to His and His fingers retreat just enough that they lay against my tongue like a bed. “You weren’t trying to hide from me, were you?”
Attempting to speak around His spit covered fingers causes my words to sound garbled. Redness flushes my face and heat rises against my skin that is entirely unrelated to the temperature of the bath water. His fingers retreat just enough for my speech to be coherent, “I wasn’t.” He looks like He doesn’t really believe me, like He can hear the lie in my voice. “Really, I wasn’t.”
From His chest, a deep laugh rumbles, His eyes don’t match the curve of His lips. “I don’t believe you.” I open my mouth to refute but He silences me by sliding His fingers an inch closer to the base of my tongue “Don’t try to lie, my sweet girl.”
I can feel a tightening behind my sternum, a clenching in my gut, a scratching sensation in my eyes that precedes a rush of tears. He holds me firmly and all I can do is look at Him. I look at Him and He looks at me. I look at Him, and am struck by how badly He must hate me to do this to me. Surely He can see the suffering, the hurt that He inflicts. Yet still, He touches me and speaks to me the way He does.
His fingers retreating from my mouth, a strand of saliva tethers the appendages to my lips. “Please…” I sputter, tears tracking down my face, “I just want to be alone.”
A look of mock sympathy contorts His features in a way that is almost half believable. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.”
A soft breath trickles out of me. I dip my head and His grip loosens to allow my movement. I rub at my eyes with my fists like a petulant child, “It’s nothing. Please leave.”
Tongue clicking against his palette, He shakes his head. “I can tell something is wrong. I can tell you’re upset. Why don’t you let me help…” The sentences trails off and His hand trails down my neck, to my chest, and further down until it is submerged under the water.
I can feel the weight of His fingers as they map out my flesh, He’s gentle, but deceptively so. When His fingers finally sink into me, I cry out and his movements turn rougher. He fucks His fingers in and out of me harshly, hand finding its way to the back of my neck so He can force my face closer to His.
I can’t shake his grasp, so when he lips press against my own, I’m trapped. I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can until he pulls away. “Look at me.”
The breath spilling past my lips fans over the delicate ivory of her neck. Freckle-spattered and thrumming gently to the beat of her heart. Dark except for a ghost of light cast by a sconce on the south wall, my nose brushes against her partially unbuttoned collared shirt, the fabric causes a tingle to bloom across my bottom lip when we sway and I all but place a kiss to her shoulder. Chest to chest, hipbones to hipbones, her hand is threaded in my hair so my eyes are forced to gaze upon her face. The grip is gentle, the grasp of a lover appraising her beloved.
With the sun having set down across the wide expanse of field, green rolls out as far as I can see from the large-paned windows. Half of her face is shadowed in a bluish hue and the other flushed pink. Warmth spreads across my whole body, the blood sluicing through my veins hot from the proximity. Over my cheeks and mouth I can feel the heaviness of my own breath — we’re so close that the pulsing of my heart obstructs my hearing.
Her beautiful mouth. Her smile. Deep lines bracket her lips when they pull up into a grin, no matter how soft. Her gaze has turned astral, leaving a physical impression within me. She looks so far into my eyes that I can feel her there, brushing against my skull, my brain. Dizzying me. My loosening muscles – truly an effect of the endless depth to her eyes – cause firmer indentations in my flesh from her tightening fingers. I yield to her as easily as smooth flesh yields to a blade.
“Am I to assume that you exist in a state of perpetual nausea?” The bludgeon of nothingness crashes down on my body. Previously enveloping sensation escapes me, arms dropping to thighs, warmth slithers into the dark corners of the room. Before she can fully extricate herself, I grip the back of her neck and pull her closer. Just barely do my lips slot against hers, just barely are we one.
“Please. Don’t.” Gentle rustling of wind-blown trees and crickets are the orchestra to our heaving chests, breaths exchanged in heavy gasps across one another’s lips.
My forehead is slightly slick against the warmth of her own, my nose rests perfectly next to her, leaving hardly any space to discern where I end and she begins. Slick and malleable, we press our foreheads together out of breath-stealing intensity. Feeling bloats my lungs, compressed air trapped in the cavity of my chest. It climbs up my windpipe and robs me of sensible thought, we’re too close, yet never close enough. We share in the communion of breathless gasping and sultry touches.
Along the seams of fabric at her shoulders rest my fingertips, perched like claws, to keep her within my grasp. Blossoms of warmth melt across my hip and my jaw. Wherever she touches, I burn. I couldn’t conceive of escaping, as I would never wish to be without her.
I want to thread my fingers into her hair, drag the pads across her scalp, discern the slope of her skull, and ascertain her thoughts through mere proximity. Assess her skin and its soft expanse that houses the mechanisms which make her up. Make out how her heartbeat tracks across her body and follow it along every single pulse point, a map of veins and arteries ready to be discovered by a worshipping mouth, gentle fingers, searching eyes. Fit her lips against mine, divining the contours of each other's mouths. Only then would we bite into one another, incomplete without the mass of each other’s flesh, the blood and body which content our seething souls, lusting for togetherness.
I can’t speak. A fist-sized pocket of breath remains trapped in my windpipe. Across my skin spreads a layer of gooseflesh, beneath my blood is molten. Tension strains her muscles, she braces and I devour her. My fingers splay over her clavicle, crescent impressions left in my wake. We can’t touch each other fast enough, or firm enough and we begin to tear ourselves apart simply to be close.
If she drew a blade and bid me to nestle its tip into the small indent at the base of her throat wishing expressly for me to draw blood. Then, seeing my loyalty, asked me to coax the blade through the wide plane of flesh and muscle before me, I would happily take up the metal and bear what lies within her to my waiting eyes. Once I had finished, I would turn the hilt to her.
“Here, just inches away from you, four left feet in a room, always all over you. You know and I know it's just how it goes. We both get too close 'til we fucking explode, and I hope they bury me right next to you” - Homecoming by Ethel Cain
