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solxamber · 5 months ago

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Familiar, Not So Familiar || Lilia Vanrouge

You, a mage-in-training, attempt to summon a simple familiar—only to accidentally get yourself Lilia Vanrouge, a legendary fae with a penchant for chaos.

You have tried. You have tried so many times that the gods themselves must be watching your efforts like a soap opera, popcorn in hand, marveling at your persistence and misfortune.

Every spell you’ve ever learned? Perfect. Every potion you’ve ever brewed? Immaculate. Every single tedious little task required of an apprentice mage? Completed with at least passing competence.

And yet—this. This one, single, crucial spell has eluded you since the moment you first picked up a wand and thought, yes, let’s dedicate my life to this craft instead of something simple, like farming, or piracy, or a career in interpretive dance.

For years, you have watched your classmates perform their familiar rituals with ease. You have seen their little foxes, their wise owls, their unbearably smug salamanders perched on their shoulders like accessories in an enchanted fashion show. Oh, you don’t have a familiar yet? they’d say, voices dripping with polite condescension. That must be so hard! Magic must be so exhausting for you!

Yes. Yes, it is exhausting, Martha, you imbecile. Magic without a familiar is like trying to run a marathon uphill while being punched repeatedly in the stomach. It is like carrying a cauldron of molten lava with no gloves and being told, just don’t drop it! It is slowly killing you, and you are tired.

So tonight? Tonight is it. The line has been drawn. The candles have been lit. You have researched, you have practiced, you have painstakingly carved every single rune with the desperation of a student facing final exams with an empty study guide.

Either you summon your familiar, or you start looking into lucrative careers in something that requires zero magical ability. Candle-making. Tax fraud. Something.

You kneel before the summoning circle, hands clasped in pure, unfiltered desperation. Your voice is raw as you plead, as you offer up your dignity to the uncaring forces of the universe.

"Please," you whisper, nearly headbutting the floor. "Just this once. A cat. A dog. A single, semi-intelligent rat. Hell, a bat—bats are magical, right? I’ll take a bat. I’ll take a sentient pile of mold if it can cast at least one large spell without dying. Just something. Please, I am begging you."

The room is deathly silent.

And then—

A hum. A vibration in the air, as if reality itself is rethinking its choices.

The summoning circle does not glow—it erupts, an explosion of light so bright that your first instinct is to assume you have been smote for your insolence. The ground shudders. The candles flicker wildly. The sheer energy of the spell crackles through the air like the universe is taking a deep breath and laughing at you.

And then, through the haze, a silhouette.

Your first thought: That is not an animal.

Your second thought: That is not an animal, that is a person.

Your third thought: THAT IS A FAE.

Your fourth thought does not get to exist because your brain has blue screened.

The figure steps forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back, surveying the room with the air of someone who has just walked into an amusing play and finds himself the lead actor. He is floating, because of course he is. His wild hair is a chaotic mess of black and magenta, his sharp eyes twinkling with mirth, his very presence radiating power that should not, under any circumstances, be inside your living room.

Then he smiles, and you are abruptly hit with the horrifying realization that you know who he is.

The portraits. The stories. The absolute legend that is Lilia Vanrouge, former general, feared warrior, living relic of a bygone era, the kind of fae you read about in history books with the unspoken footnote of probably do not summon him.

And he is here.

And he is looking at you.

"Ah," he says, with all the delight of someone who has just stumbled upon something incredibly amusing. "How interesting."

You are frozen. Your body has stopped functioning. Your brain is actively trying to escape this situation by retreating into the astral plane.

Lilia tilts his head, observing your utter paralysis with great amusement, and then, with the flourish of a seasoned actor stepping onto the grandest stage of his life, he presses a hand to his chest and bows deeply.

"You have called," he proclaims, voice rich with dramatic flair, "and I have answered! For one year, I shall serve as your loyal familiar! May our contract be fruitful, our battles glorious, and our meals—" he pauses, grinning like a fox, "well, we shall see."

He straightens, clearly expecting some sort of response.

You do not move. You do not speak. You do not even blink.

Because you are still attempting to comprehend the fact that you have, against every possible law of magic, logic, and common sense, just summoned Lilia Vanrouge as your familiar.

The next morning, you awaken to the horrifying realization that last night was not, in fact, a fever dream.

Lilia Vanrouge is still here.

Floating.

In your kitchen.

Sipping tea.

With your mug.

You stand there, unblinking, as he lifts the cup in greeting, utterly unbothered by your complete mental breakdown. “Ah, you’re awake! Good morning, my dear summoner! Did you sleep well? Oh, never mind that, of course you didn’t—you must be so excited! Your first day with your new familiar!”

Your eye twitches. The existential dread is setting in. But there is no time to panic because you have class.

And now, for the first time in your absolutely miserable academic career, you have a familiar to bring with you.

Which would be a cause for celebration.

If your familiar was literally anyone else.

But no. No, you are marching through the academy halls with a floating, ancient fae war general drifting beside you, humming cheerfully, taking in his new surroundings like a tourist at a historical landmark.

Your classmates? Shitting bricks.

Your professors? Re-evaluating their life choices.

Your history professor? Actively vibrating in place. This is a man who has spent years studying Lilia Vanrouge, reconstructing battle strategies, debating historical inaccuracies, analyzing old texts to understand the mind of one of the most enigmatic figures in magical warfare. He looks at you, at Lilia, back at you, back at Lilia, and you swear to the gods above that this man is about two seconds away from weeping.

He wants an interview. He wants an entire dissertation. He wants to shake your hand for the sheer magnitude of this academic opportunity, and you are just standing there, barely holding onto your last scrap of sanity, because this is not a research opportunity, Professor, this is my life.

Meanwhile, Lilia is having a blast.

“Ohoho, what a delightful institution!” he muses, drifting through the halls, peering into classrooms, inspecting the architecture with a level of interest that should not belong to someone who predates half of these buildings. “Ah, look at that banner! I remember when these were in fashion—horrid little things, always got caught in the wind and smacked people in the face during duels. Ah! And look at these uniforms! What a quaint design! Oh, but that color… tragic choice, really, you should have seen the battle robes from my era. Those had flair!”

You press a hand to your face, inhaling deeply.

You are not going to survive this year.

But at the very least, you are about to have the first productive Offensive Magic class of your entire life.

For years, casting magic without a familiar has been hell. You’ve always struggled with large-scale spells, your body too weak to sustain the energy required. Your classmates have always had an advantage, their familiars supplying them with extra mana while you struggled to get anything stronger than a low-tier fireball.

But today?

Today, you have Lilia Vanrouge as a mana battery.

And you are about to find out exactly what that means.

The spell you’ve been struggling with for years—the one that has never worked properly, the one that has always left you half-conscious and questioning your life decisions—flows from your hands as easily as breathing. You don’t even have time to be excited because the moment the spell leaves your fingertips, the entire training ground erupts.

Not a small explosion.

Not a reasonable, manageable, academically acceptable explosion.

No.

You have just cratered the battlefield.

The shockwave sends everyone flying. The ground is smoking. There is a hole where the target dummies used to be. Somewhere in the distance, alarms are going off. Birds are screaming. Your professor is staring in mute horror at the absolute devastation before him.

And you?

You turn to Lilia, hands shaking, mouth opening and closing like a fish, because what the hell just happened.

Lilia, floating beside you, watches the destruction with the expression of a man who has just seen a slightly amusing street performance. He clasps his hands together, nodding approvingly.

“Well! Now that that’s done, why don’t we go find something fun to do?”

You are not going to survive the year.

It is supposed to be a quiet night.

Supposed to be.

You, a dedicated apprentice mage (read: overworked and underpaid student), have settled down with your magical theory book, prepared to suffer through the finer details of mana channeling. The lamp flickers softly, the air is calm, and for once in your chaotic existence, things feel peaceful.

Then, from the kitchen, you hear something.

Something that does not belong in the realm of mortals.

It begins with an unsettling hiss, followed by a squelching noise so visceral it sends a shudder down your spine. Then there’s a clank—something metal hitting the floor—then a thud, then another squelch. You are gripping your book so tightly that the pages crinkle.

And then—

A chainsaw.

You blink.

You tilt your head, straining your ears, waiting for your exhausted mind to correct you.

The chainsaw revs again.

There is a cackle—a delighted, mischievous giggle, unmistakably Lilia’s—followed by the sound of what can only be described as something wet hitting the walls.

You place your book down with the slow, measured movements of a person who has just realized that, against all odds, they are in mortal danger.

Before you can even get up, Lilia emerges from the kitchen, beaming, holding something that should not exist.

It is a plate of food.

You think.

At least, you assume that’s what it is. The thing on the plate is writhing slightly, like it’s trying to escape, its color shifting between shades of green that have never been found in nature. It looks less like a meal and more like something that should have been sealed away in a forbidden vault centuries ago. You are pretty sure it just twitched.

Lilia, looking pleased with himself, holds the plate out to you like a proud parent. “Here you go! A little something I whipped up! A good meal is essential for a strong mage!”

You stare at him. You stare at the food. You stare at him again. Then back at the food, as if hoping that, upon a second glance, it will suddenly become normal. It does not. It continues to vibrate menacingly.

You inhale slowly. You pray to the gods—the ones who have clearly abandoned you—and take a bite.

And then—

You almost meet them.

Your soul briefly leaves your body. Your ancestors appear before you, shaking their heads in deep disappointment. The concept of life and death ceases to have meaning. Time itself slows to a crawl as your taste buds experience a level of suffering once reserved only for cursed spirits.

You slam the fork down, forcing a smile that looks more like a pained grimace. “I—uh—actually, I’m not really that hungry right now!”

Lilia blinks, tilting his head. “Oh? But you just took a bite—”

You cut him off, nodding so quickly it could give you whiplash. “Nope! Super full! Wow, so full. Stuffed, actually. I definitely can’t eat another bite!”

Lilia frowns, looking genuinely disappointed, and for a brief, insane moment, you almost consider eating more.

Then the food on the plate shudders again.

And you decide that no matter how cute Lilia Vanrouge is, you simply cannot abide.

Later that night, you are once again seated at your desk, trying to get through your magical theory reading, when Lilia appears at your side.

For a brief moment, fear seizes you—until you see what he’s holding.

A cup of warm milk.

Just milk.

You stare at it, half-expecting it to start glowing or whispering in an ancient, cursed tongue. But no, it’s just milk. Safe. Harmless. Normal.

You accept it with more gratitude than you’ve ever felt in your life. “Thank you.”

Lilia settles in beside you, watching as you study, occasionally making little jokes, pointing out errors in your book’s outdated magical theories, offering insights that no historian could ever dream of. The conversation flows easily, his voice a constant, comforting presence, a bridge between history and now, between chaos and something softer.

And as you sit there, sipping your drink, listening to Lilia hum an old tune while offering you obscure magical trivia, you think—

Yeah.

Maybe he really is the best familiar you could have summoned.

Lilia does not like your magical theory professor.

At least, you think he doesn’t.

He’s always cheerful—borderline impossible to ruffle—but the moment you step into that class, something shifts. His usual smile dims, his eyes narrow ever so slightly, and his arms stay folded across his chest like a particularly judgmental gargoyle. It’s subtle—so subtle that if you weren’t stuck with him 24/7 (as your familiar, and definitely not because you enjoy his company), you might not have noticed.

But you have noticed. And it’s weird.

Even weirder? Every time you ask him about it, he gives you the most convincing performance of utter cluelessness you have ever witnessed. The first time, he even tilted his head, widened his eyes, and said, “Me? Dislike someone? Oh, dear apprentice, you wound me!” in the most theatrical, exaggerated manner possible.

And the thing about Lilia is, if he doesn’t want to talk about something, there is no force in the universe that can make him.

You gave up after the third attempt. If it was major, he’d tell you.

…Right?

Today, your professor smiles as she hands you a new assignment: a magic circle for you to analyze.

“You should be able to cast this with your familiar’s assistance,” she says, smiling in that teacher who’s about to ruin your life way.

You glance at the intricate diagram, tilting your head. “What’s it for?”

“Oh, it’s just illusion magic,” she assures you breezily.

And before you can say anything else, Lilia moves.

One moment, he’s standing behind you, silent as a shadow. The next, he’s in front of you, plucking the book from your hands with the effortless grace of someone who has definitely stolen things before.

His gaze sharpens as he scans the magic circle, his usual playful demeanor gone. His fingers tighten slightly on the book’s spine. Then, without hesitation, he snaps it shut and hands it right back to your professor.

“No.”

Your professor blinks, looking caught between offense and confusion. “Pardon?”

Lilia’s voice remains pleasant—but it is the kind of pleasant that makes your survival instincts scream. “I said no. My dear apprentice will not be casting this.”

The professor balks. “Excuse me, but I gave them an assignment. You contain your familiar—”

You raise your hands in exasperation. “Lady, are you kidding? This is a war general. You think I can just ‘contain’ him? You contain him.”

Your professor looks like she wants to argue. Lilia, meanwhile, tilts his head at her with the serene patience of a man watching a squirrel try to pick a fight with a dragon.

Then, he smiles.

It is not his usual mischievous grin. It is a deliberate, pointed smile.

“Why don’t you cast it first?” he asks, tone deceptively light.

Your professor stiffens. “That’s unnecessary, I already—”

Lilia’s eyes gleam. “Go on, then. Just illusion magic, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room spikes. Your professor, who has just spent the past five minutes acting like the spell is no big deal, suddenly looks very nervous.

“Oh, well,” she flounders, “I—it’s meant for—um—student practice—”

“Ah,” Lilia hums, nodding sagely. “So you’d assign a spell you wouldn’t cast yourself to my dear apprentice? How interesting.”

Your professor’s expression freezes.

And that’s when you realize something.

Lilia knew.

He knew the moment he saw the circle that something was off. He recognized it. And whatever it was meant to do, it wasn’t just harmless illusion magic.

Your professor coughs, clearly scrambling for a way out. Lilia waits, ever-patient, eyes half-lidded like a cat watching a cornered mouse.

Then, before she can say anything else, he turns to you. “We’re leaving.”

And you do not argue.

Outside, Lilia floats beside you, humming a little tune. You don’t say anything for a while, still processing.

Finally, you sigh. “You’re not gonna tell me what that spell actually was, are you?”

Lilia’s grin returns, bright and playful. “Who’s to say~?”

You groan. “Lilia.”

He chuckles, reaching out to pat your head in a way that is both condescending and annoyingly affectionate. “Let’s just say I’d rather not have to un-curse you anytime soon, hmm?”

Your stomach sinks slightly. You glance back toward the classroom building, frowning. Your professor has never pulled something like that before. But before you can dwell on it too much, Lilia floats closer, arms crossed.

“Promise me something,” he says, tone suddenly softer.

You blink up at him. “What?”

“Run your spells by me before casting them.” His smile doesn’t falter, but there’s something firm—unshakable—beneath the usual playfulness.

Your first instinct is to argue. To say you know what you’re doing. That you’re a capable mage. But then you think about how fast he moved. How easily he spotted the issue. How your professor, faced with his simple challenge, folded like wet parchment.

“…Okay,” you say.

His smile widens, but this time, it’s warm. “Good.”

And then, just like that, he’s back to his usual self, floating ahead, dramatically stretching as if he was the one who had to deal with a dangerous spell.

“Now that that’s settled,” he sighs, “why don’t set something on fire?”

You press a hand to your forehead.

At first, it was little things.

Your professors started assigning you slightly more advanced spells—reasonable enough, considering your mana pool had technically expanded (read: you accidentally summoned an ancient fae war general as your familiar). You could handle it. You were handling it.

But then it got worse.

Much worse.

It started with offensive spells. The usual: fireballs, lightning strikes, the occasional tornado. And then, gradually, the assignments escalated into city-leveling disasters.

One moment, you were casting a moderately powerful explosion spell. The next, you were being instructed to conjure something called the Wrath of the Abyss—which, from the name alone, sounded like it had no business being taught in a school.

Lilia, floating serenely beside you, casually flicked his fingers, erasing the spell from your assignment scroll. “No,” he said.

You didn’t argue.

The final straw came when you were assigned a spell so ridiculously strong that had Lilia not interfered, you’re pretty sure you would’ve smited an entire town off the map.

That night, exhausted and frustrated, you marched to the headmaster’s office to finally have a conversation about this.

And that’s when you heard it.

Muffled voices.

The headmaster and your professors—all of them—discussing how to weaponize your newly expanded mana pool. How to push you further, how to ensure you could be controlled—with force, if necessary.

You stood there for a long moment, processing.

Then you turned on your heel, went back to your dorm, and drafted the most polite resignation letter you have ever written in your entire life.

By morning, you were gone.

Which brings you to now.

Laid out on the couch.

Bored.

Contemplating your life choices.

Lilia floats around the new house, inspecting it with the air of a man who has been evicted from kingdoms before and now finds the concept of moving vaguely amusing. Occasionally, he hums in approval. Once, he sticks his head into the kitchen and mutters, “I could work with this.” (You choose to ignore the implication.)

Eventually, he drifts over to the couch, settling next to you. He watches you for a moment, eyes softer than usual, before reaching out and gently patting your head.

“…I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

You blink, turning your head to look at him. “For what?”

He offers a small, almost wistful smile. “For everything. You wanted a small familiar. A cat, perhaps. A gentle companion to aid your studies. And instead… you got me.”

Something about the way he says it makes your heart squeeze.

You sit up, shaking your head. “That’s not your fault. It’s not your fault humans are garbage sometimes.” You snort. “Honestly, I should be the one apologizing to you. You got roped into this mess because of me.”

Lilia laughs softly. “Oh, please. This is hardly the worst summoning I’ve been part of.”

You roll your eyes but lean into him anyway, resting your head against his shoulder. “I mean it, though. I’m glad you were there to look out for me.” You exhale, closing your eyes. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. You’re the best fit for me.”

There’s a pause.

Then, Lilia shifts slightly, tilting his head to look at you.

“…You know,” he murmurs, amusement creeping into his voice, “it almost sounds like you like me.”

You groan. “Lilia.”

He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself, and lets you rest against him, draping an arm over the back of the couch.

The TV plays some mindless reality show in the background—something ridiculous, the kind of show where two rich people argue over whose yacht is shinier. Lilia occasionally makes a quiet, offhand comment about the historical implications of their arguments, which, considering he’s been around long enough to have historical context for everything, is both fascinating and deeply concerning.

Still, as you sit there, comfortable and safe, a strange sort of peace settles over you.

Maybe this is okay, too.

Moping is unsustainable.

Yes, your dreams of becoming a renowned royal mage have withered and died like a houseplant you swore you watered (you didn’t). Yes, the academy tried to turn you into a walking magical war crime before you dropped out. And yes, you are technically in magical witness protection now.

But you refuse to let that get you down.

You are a problem solver. A forward-thinker. A survivor.

And what do survivors do? They pivot.

Thus begins your new life as the proud owner of Mystic Remedies, a charming little potion shop in a sleepy town where nobody knows—or cares—that you once accidentally summoned a literal fae war general as a familiar.

And surprisingly? Business is booming.

Apparently, people love magic when it’s used for normal things, like fixing bald spots or whitening teeth or getting rid of that one really stubborn pimple that refuses to die no matter how many times you pray to the gods. Your bestselling potions?

“The Shine of Youth” – Teeth Whitening Elixir

Results are instantaneous and blindingly effective (literally. One guy came back complaining his teeth were so white they were reflecting sunlight into his own eyes.)*

“Regrowth & Renewal” – Anti-Baldness Tonic

The town’s balding population has never been happier. One man sobbed openly in your shop after seeing his full head of hair for the first time in twenty years.

“Vanisher’s Touch” – Acne & Scar Removal Serum

One (1) drop and your skin becomes as smooth as a newborn’s. Side effects include strangers asking you for your entire skincare routine (which, obviously, you refuse to share because you are making BANK off of this).

And presiding over all of this?

Lilia Vanrouge.

Your fae general, immortal menace, questionably helpful familiar.

At first, you thought Lilia would just hang around for company. Maybe help with security. Offer sage wisdom. That kind of thing.

You were wrong.

Instead, he has taken it upon himself to be your business partner.

Which would be fine, except:

1. Lilia insists on being the shop greeter.

“Welcome, weary traveler!” he announces grandly every time someone enters, even if it’s just the lady from next door.

2.He also bows dramatically every time, which has led to multiple people thinking they’ve accidentally entered a royal court instead of a potion shop.

3. He makes up fake tragic backstories for your potions.

The baldness potion? “Crafted from the tears of a forgotten god who, himself, was once afflicted with hair loss.”

The teeth whitening elixir? “Distilled from the ancient wisdom of a radiant moonbeam, stolen by a trickster spirit under the cover of night.”

The anti-acne potion? “Forged in the fires of celestial vanity, when the first star envied the smoothness of the moon’s face.”

The customers eat it up. Business doubles because people now believe they’re purchasing legendary magical relics instead of DIY cosmetic solutions.

4. He takes “quality control” VERY seriously.

You once caught him drinking the hair regrowth tonic.

“Lilia,” you said. “You have hair. You have a lot of hair.”

He took a long, thoughtful sip, smacked his lips, and simply said, “Quality assurance.”

(The next day, his hair was so voluminous it looked like he had absorbed a lion. He seemed thrilled about this. You refused to comment.)

5. His idea of “helping” with potion-making is... distressing.

One time, you left him alone for five minutes.

When you came back, he had somehow produced a glowing purple substance that was hovering slightly above the table and making whale noises.

You didn’t even ask. You just threw the entire thing out.

Lilia disappears sometimes in the middle of the night. You’ll wake up, the room unnaturally quiet, and immediately know he’s gone. Not gone gone—he’s not that dramatic—but somewhere else, wrapped in thoughts you never quite get to see.

Tonight, the air is cool when you step outside, wrapping around you like a second skin. You don’t have to search long. He’s on the rooftop, perched with all the effortless grace of a creature who defies gravity. His eyes are locked onto the moon, silver light washing over his face, his usual impishness replaced with something… else.

You’ve seen Lilia in many states—mischievous, chaotic, wise, deeply concerning—but you’ve never seen him like this.

So, naturally, you make the entirely reasonable decision to scale the side of the house.

It is not a graceful process. There’s a lot of slipping, a lot of swearing, and at one point, you’re pretty sure you get stuck in a position that defies basic human anatomy. Lilia watches all of this unfold with what you know is barely suppressed laughter, but he doesn’t help.

Rude.

By the time you haul yourself onto the roof, panting like you’ve just wrestled a bear, Lilia looks at you like you’re the strange one here.

“…You could have used the stairs,” he points out.

You glare at him. “Yeah? Well, you could’ve not brooded on the roof like the protagonist of a tragic novel, but here we are.”

For a moment, you think he might tease you, but instead, something in his expression softens. Like he hadn’t expected you to come. Like the idea of being found was somehow surprising.

You settle beside him, deliberately sitting close enough that your arms brush. Lilia doesn’t say anything, just leans into you, his weight light but grounding.

“I’m grateful you left immediately when you did,” he murmurs, voice quiet in a way that makes you pause. “I wasn’t prepared to lose you.”

You don’t ask. You never have. Lilia carries centuries in his gaze, in the way he moves, in the weight of the things he doesn’t say. But this? This moment, this sliver of vulnerability? This is his truth, and you’ll never push him to unravel more than he wants to.

So you nod. You pull him closer. And you sit there, pressed together beneath the vast, endless sky, offering nothing but presence.

Because sometimes, companionship is enough.

Despite all of this—despite the dramatics, the chaos, the fact that you are pretty sure Lilia is making up 90% of his fae wisdom on the spot—your little potion shop thrives.

You get to help people. You get to live peacefully.

And best of all? You get to spend your days with someone who makes life interesting.

One evening, as you’re closing up, Lilia floats beside you, watching as you count today’s earnings.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” he says, tone oddly soft, absent of his usual teasing lilt.

You glance at him, raising a brow. “We have,” you correct, shoving the last of the gold into the till. “I’d be lost without you.”

He hums in amusement, resting his chin in his hand. “Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.”

You snort. “It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

There’s a pause.

Then, after a moment, he reaches over—ruffles your hair with genuine fondness.

You pretend to be annoyed, but you don’t move away.

(And later, as you sit together, sharing a cup of tea under the quiet glow of lantern light, you think—maybe this life? This ridiculous, unpredictable, strangely wonderful life? Maybe it’s not so bad, after all.)

The first time you created a potion for hair growth, you barely had time to marvel at your genius before Lilia grabbed the vial and downed it in one gulp. No hesitation. No patch test. Just the unwavering confidence of a man who believed you were capable of alchemy miracles despite your previous track record, which included but was not limited to:

Accidentally making a love potion so strong it made a squirrel propose to a tree.

Brewing an invisibility elixir that only made clothes disappear (awkward).

Concocting a sleeping draught that did, in fact, induce sleep—just exclusively in yourself.

So, really, this blind faith of his was either heartwarming or deeply concerning.

The effect was immediate. Lilia’s short, fluffy locks exploded outward in a dramatic cascade, flowing past his shoulders, his waist, and then pooling onto the floor in a heap of silky, midnight strands. He blinked at you from behind his newly acquired curtain of hair, looking entirely unbothered, while you sat there in stunned horror like an artist realizing they’d just painted the Mona Lisa using finger paints.

“Well,” he said cheerfully, lifting a section of his hair with mild curiosity. “At least I won’t have to buy a blanket anymore.”

You groaned, already reaching for the shears. “Sit down. I’m cutting it before you trip and break your immortal neck.”

Lilia plopped down in front of you, perfectly content as you gathered the thick locks in your hands, marveling at how soft they were. You ran your fingers through them, untangling strands, watching them catch the light like the finest silk. Somewhere in the middle of methodically snipping away, your hand brushed against the nape of his neck.

And Lilia—Lilia of the endless energy, mischievous smirks, and unpredictable chaos—tilted his head into your touch like a cat craving warmth. He let his cheek brush against your palm, the weight of him light but deliberate, and you felt something in your chest hiccup.

Oh no.

Nope. Absolutely not. You were not going to sit here and have an emotional epiphany over a haircut.

You cleared your throat and kept cutting, pretending you didn’t notice the way his eyes fluttered shut, how he sighed just the slightest bit when you raked your fingers through his hair again. You ignored the warmth curling in your stomach, the way your heart stuttered like a miscast spell.

This was fine. Just a normal, everyday occurrence. No significance whatsoever.

(You ignored the fact that, long after the potion’s effects had worn off, Lilia still asks you to fix his hair for him.)

It has been a year.

A whole year since you knelt in front of a summoning circle, begging the universe for a small, manageable familiar—a cat, a bat, anything reasonable—only for reality to spit in your face and drop a war general into your living room.

A year since Lilia Vanrouge, former general, ancient fae, and walking eldritch menace, declared himself your familiar with a dramatic flourish while you stood there questioning every single life decision that had led to that moment.

And now, it’s time to let him go.

You knew this day would come. You told yourself you wouldn’t get attached. He was never supposed to stay forever. He has actual, important, world-changing things to do, and you—what are you? A small-town potion seller with a thriving business in male pattern baldness reversal and anti-aging tonics. This is not a worthy occupation for a fae of his caliber.

So why does the thought of him leaving feel like your heart is about to crawl out of your chest, slap you in the face, and then dramatically expire in protest?

You’re an adult. You can handle this. You will handle this.

Night falls, and you set up the ritual.

The summoning contract that bound him to you for a year must now be undone. The process is simple: draw the circle, say the words, and Lilia will be free to return to whatever grand, fae-magic-drenched existence he had before meeting you.

Your hands shake as you carve the sigils into the ground. You tell yourself it’s just fatigue.

The circle is perfect. The words are ready. You steel yourself, take a deep breath, and—

SCRATCH.

You blink.

Your circle is ruined.

Because Lilia just dragged his foot through it like a toddler messing up a sandcastle.

“Whoops,” he says, tone entirely insincere.

You stare at the ruined circle. Then at him. Then at the deep, deliberate groove he just scraped through the sigils.

“…Did you just—”

“Oh dear,” Lilia sighs, not looking remotely sorry. “How clumsy of me.”

You narrow your eyes.

Fine. Fine. You can work with this. You redraw the circle, faster this time, heart pounding, trying not to think about how every stroke is another step toward the inevitable.

But as soon as you finish it, it vanishes.

You gape. “What the fu—”

Lilia, sitting lazily on your kitchen counter, swirls his wine glass and hums, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You try again. And again.

Each time, something goes wrong.

The chalk disappears. The ink dries too fast. The lines curve into nonsense when you look away. Lilia, drinking his wine, watching you struggle, looking like a cat who just knocked over an entire shelf and is waiting for applause.

Then, finally, the last straw.

You painstakingly carve the circle one last time, standing up with triumphant determination—

And Lilia immediately spills his wine on it.

He gasps, eyes wide with the fakest, most dramatic shock you have ever seen. “Oh my. How unfortunate.”

You drop the chalk.

You inhale, slow and measured, like a parent about to scold a misbehaving child.

Then you turn to him.

“…Hey,” you say, voice trembling, not with sadness, but with the sheer, earth-shattering realization that this little fae menace is playing with you.

He takes another sip of wine, as if to fortify himself against the incoming confrontation.

“Do you,” you say, pointing at him, “not want to leave?”

Lilia smiles. That infuriatingly cryptic, all-knowing smile that he has given you exactly one thousand times over the past year.

He doesn’t answer.

And you are done.

You grab him by the collar, yanking his floating self down to your level, because no. Not this time.

“Say it.” Your heart is racing, your voice shaking. “Stop playing with my feelings and just say it.”

For the first time in a long time, Lilia looks genuinely surprised.

His bright red eyes flick over your face, searching, calculating.

Then, gently, effortlessly, he kisses you.

It’s soft. Unhurried. Like a promise instead of a confession.

When he pulls away, there’s no teasing, no smug amusement. Just quiet certainty as he murmurs, “I thought that was obvious, little mage.”

And you—

You think, yeah. This is perfect.

The day after the kiss is, by all accounts, completely normal.

Lilia is still Lilia—dramatic, whimsical, and absolutely insufferable in the best way possible. He flits around the shop like a particularly mischievous specter, rearranges your potions in ways that make absolutely no sense, and startles at least three customers by dropping upside down from the rafters like a bat with a caffeine addiction.

The only difference are the little changes in his proximity.

The way he brushes a little closer, his fingertips lingering on yours when he hands you a vial. The way he leans in when he speaks, voice a low murmur that sends shivers down your spine. The way his eyes—sharp, playful, knowing—linger just a second too long, like he’s drinking in every reaction.

Your regulars notice immediately.

“You two finally figured it out, huh?”

“About damn time.”

“Oh, we’ve been betting on this for months—Edgar, pay up.”

Even the old woman who only comes in for her arthritis tincture pats your cheek with grandmotherly approval, declaring, "He’s a little strange, but you always liked strays."

By the time you close up for the night, you’re warm with laughter, exhaustion, and the sheer reality of it. Of him. Of you.

And then there’s a weight on your back, light but unmistakable, arms winding around you as Lilia attaches himself like a particularly affectionate cloak.

“You still haven’t actually asked me to stay,” he hums, his chin resting on your shoulder. You can hear the grin in his voice, teasing and pleased.

You roll your eyes, exasperated and utterly, helplessly fond.

Then, without warning, you turn, grabbing his face in both hands and kissing him hard.

He makes a soft, surprised noise against your lips before immediately melting into it, responding with all the fervor of someone who has absolutely been waiting for this. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer, and you swear you can feel him smiling into the kiss.

When you finally pull back, breathless and a little dazed, you meet his gaze and say, firm and sure,

“Stay.”

Lilia blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting you to actually say it. Then his lips curl into something unbearably soft, unbearably fond, and he whispers,

“Till the end of my life.”

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia twst #lilia x you #lilia #twisted wonderland lilia

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missmimii · 4 months ago

Text

୨ৎ－𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄, ’𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 | 𝐂－𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which Chris gets grills

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. 18+, Dom!Chris, oral, fem!receiving, praising, pet names, detailed sexual encounter, light degradation, face grabbing, fingering, dom + sub dynamics, mentions of bruising or marking, tit groping, dirty talk

“Oh my god.”

Chris snickered, his grin practically splitting his face as the girl’s hand gripped his jaw, turning his face side to side with weak but deliberate movements. The cool metal of his brand-new grills gleamed under the room’s dim lighting, catching every angle as she inspected them in pure disbelief. Her fingers barely resisting the urge to squeeze his face in frustration.

Okay－he wasn’t actually gonna’ do it.

It started off innocent enough. Chris asked a simple question, his voice laced with curiosity.

“What’s one thing I could do that would drive you crazy?”

At first, the girl’s response was dismissive. “Everything.” Chris rolled his eyes, lips twitching into a playful smirk. “No—like—craaaazy.” He leaned in slightly, his tone teasing yet expectant. For a moment, the room was silent. Then, realization dawned on her. “You make me sick,” she muttered, grabbing the nearest thing within reach—her stuffed bunny—and tossing it at him.

Chris dodged it effortlessly, his laughter erupting so hard he swore a blood vessel might’ve burst. “It’s not funny!” she huffed. Oh, but it was. Until it wasn’t. Still chuckling, Chris wiped at his eyes, exhaling one last airy laugh before running a hand down his jaw. His fingers brushed over his chin in thought, his grin dimming into something more contemplative.

“Have you ever seen grills?” Silence. Not even a inhale was heard.

The boy blinked. “Grills, huh?” He mused.

Chris tilted his head slightly, studying her. She had pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them as she leaned against the bed frame. Her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth, and to his absolute delight, a deep crimson spread across her cheeks. “I’m joki—” she started, but her voice faltered the second she caught the look in his eyes.

Chris was staring at her with a new intensity, one that made her shrink back slightly. His once-playful expression had turned calculating, intrigued. His tousled hair flopped messily over his eyebrows as he sat up, his posture shifting. “You’re telling me if I got grills, you’d be foaming at the m—” She squealed, face burning as she smacked his arm—hard.

“Shut up!” But Chris just grinned wider, like a cat who had just found its new favorite toy.

“Interesting.” He dragged the word out, stretching his arms over his head before flopping onto his back. His mind was already spinning with possibilities. Was she being serious? She seemed pretty serious. Jesus－her cheeks were practically burning. His lips tipped up at the thought, tongue twinging the inside of his cheek.

“Don’t.” She warned, pointing her finger at him with an angry expression, as if she could physically hold him back with just a glare. Because the actual glare wasn’t enough apparently. Chris huffed out an amused chuckle. “Don’t what?” He feigned innocence, tilting his head toward her.

He watched as her throat bobbed, swallowing thickly as she averted her gaze downward. “Whatever you’re thinking. Just—don’t.” Chris hummed thoughtfully, placing his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know… you’re looking a little guilty right now. Almost like you’re imagining it.”

“I am not!” she shot back, but the way she immediately averted her gaze said otherwise. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “Uh-huh. You totally are.” She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I really don’t.”

“Liar.”

She peeked at him through her fingers, eyes narrowing. “If you show up with grills, I swear to God, I will never speak to you again.” Chris gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Wow. So cruel.”

“I mean it.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

She eyed him warily, suspicious of the way he suddenly seemed way too relaxed. He had that look—like he was plotting something “Chris.” She deadpanned, jaw ticking in frustration.

“Yeah?”

She ran a hand down her face, groaning softly. “Promise me you won’t.”

He glanced at her, then shrugged. “Sure.”

She slapped her hands down onto her thighs, squinting at him with a gentle glare. “That wasn’t convincing!”

Chris blew out a aspirated laugh, sending her a smirk. “I said sure, didn’t I?”

“Chris.”

He rolled onto his side, grinning up at her. “What? You don’t trust me?” He muttered, jutting out his bottom lip a faux pout. God, he’s obnoxious.

“Not even a little.”

His smirk widened. “Good.”

The girl groaned again, flopping onto her pillow with an exasperated sigh. She knew, without a doubt, that she had just set herself up for something ridiculous.

Chris, still thoroughly amused, raised a brow. “What, Y/n?” His voice came out slightly muffled from the way she was squishing his cheeks. Her glare sharpened, but the effect was completely ruined by the heat creeping up her neck. The way his teeth sparkled when he smirked was unfair.

Chris caught the way her eyes flickered down to his mouth again, and his smirk deepened. Oh, this was gold. “You know what,” she huffed, finally letting go of his jaw and flopping back onto the edge of her bed. Chris immediately burst into laughter, his chest shaking as he threw his head back. “Oh, you are so mad right now,” he teased, wiping at the corner of his eye as if he had just heard the funniest joke of his life.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” she blurted out, still staring at him like he had committed a crime against humanity. Chris shrugged, casually leaning in closer so she had no choice but to look at them again. “What can I say? I aim to please.” She let out an exasperated groan, covering her face. “I hate you.”

Chris tilted his head, flashing a slow, smug grin that made his grills catch the light again. “You sure about that?”

As the diamonds glittered across his perfect teeth she felt her stomach do an embarrassing flip, breath hitching her in her throat as she swallowed. “Unfortunately,” she muttered, crossing her arms. Chris just laughed again, plopping down next to her like he owned the place. “Admit it. You like ’em.” He mused, leaning in.

She whined, tipping her head away as his breath tickled her neck. “I do not!” Chris tutted gently, tilting his head as he looked at her with a smirk. “Mmm-hmm.” He dragged the sound out, watching as she aggressively avoided his gaze.

She clenched her jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But then he leaned in just a little more, his voice dropping lower. “C’mon, Y/n. Say it.” A shiver went down her spine, jaw dropping open a bit as she felt a foreign feeling ignite in her core.

She swallowed. “You’re insufferable.” Chris only grinned wider, pure mischief dancing in his eyes. “And yet, here you are, still staring at my mouth.” If her cheeks weren’t burning then, they definitely were now. The two held eye contact－almost as if they were fighting in a battle of dominance.

Chris tilted his head, his cocky little grin making the girl want to slap him across the damn face. “Cmon’, baby.” His finger tips brushing against the revealed skin of her thigh, the sparks shooting right up to her pussy. Okay that’s it. Chris watched as her lips parted, wanting to chuckle at her flustered state－but how could he embarrass her anymore than he already has? After all, he wasn’t a monster.

The girl fumbled, but promptly trapped a pillow, and smacked him across the face with it. “Fuck.” He grunted, huffing out a soft laugh. She slapped a hand over her lips, muffling the array of little laughs and giggles, backing up from him. “Oh my god－” In a swift motion, Chris grabbed her wrist and pushed her back against the bed, his weight hovering over her as she let out a startled gasp. The playful teasing in his eyes had vanished, replaced with something sharper. Something unreadable.

Her pulse jumped. “Chris—”

“Say it,” he ordered, low and demanding, his grip firm but not painful. His face was dangerously close now, close enough that she could see the faint silver glint of his grills as he spoke. She swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Let me go.” His fingers flexed against her wrist, but he didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her like he was trying to figure something out. Like he was waiting.

The air between them grew thick, charged. “Tell me the truth,” he muttered. “If I slip my hand into here,” she gasped, feeling his one hand slide down from her wrist, and into the hem of her sleep shorts, toying with the frill gently. “Are you gonna be wet?”And God, he looked like he knew it.

The air between them was stifling, heavy with something neither of them wanted to name. Thick, hot, tension. It wasn’t the kind of tension that was uncomfortable－but rather suffocating. And she’d be a bold faced liar to say that it didn’t have her thighs trembling. Her breath stuttered as his fingers traced the delicate hem of her shorts, barely there, just a ghost of a touch. But it was enough. Enough to make her entire body lock up, enough to send a shiver down her spine. “Fuck.” She whined.

Chris smirked, slow and knowing. “You gonna answer me?” His voice was husky, thick with amusement—but underneath, there was something else. Something darker. She swallowed hard, her fingers twitching against his hold. “Chris—” his grip tightened, just enough to make her heart skip, and for her to cunt ache. Why did she feel this way?

It made her want to sob. “I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, burning, spreading down her neck. She hated how easily he unraveled her, how quickly he turned her into a mess with just his words and the way he looked at her—like he already knew the answer. Chris felt his jaw clench, not knowing if his smirk was going to widen, and let up－His fingers flexed against her hip, teasing, like he was debating whether to push further.

Her breath came out uneven, her body betraying her as she clenched her thighs together, desperate to ignore the way his presence alone sent a pulse of warmth through her, making her fucking drip. Chris tilted his head, his lips ghosting near her ear. “You can act all defiant,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk, “but your body’s saying something else.”

Her nails dug into his arm, trying to push him away, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned in even closer, his breath hot against her skin. “You wanna keep pretending, or are you gonna admit it?” Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else. And when he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, eyes laced with mischief and something far more dangerous—she knew she was in trouble.

It felt like a million lifetimes looking into his eyes, hearing and feeling the pulse thrumming inside of her core. “Touch me.” She finally whined, one lone tear of frustration drooling from her eye. Chris had a glint in his eyes－an unmistakable look of victory. But what kind of winner would he be if he didn’t thank the host? Without any hesitation he lowered his head, pressing his lips to hers.

A moan emitted her parted lips, making him chuckle, running the tip of his tongue across the bottom of her lip gently. “Thas’ okay, hmm?” Chris mumbled, one of his hands gripping the pillow above her head as she nodded breathlessly beneath him. “Good－s’so fucking good.” The girl whimpered out, her free hand tangling into his brown mass of messy hair.

Chris grunted as he felt her tug him down onto her, his hips pressing against the gap between her parted thighs. Teeth gnashing together as he fed into her mouth hungrily, as if he’d been starved from the taste of her for his entire life. “Fuck,” he groaned, a string of spit connecting between their lips as he pulled away.

Her hips pushed up into his visible hard on, desperate for some sort of friction. “Mm－mm,” he gritted his teeth, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “－keep doing that and you won’t leave this room in one piece.” Chris uttered, hissing as she tugged on his hair, whining softly. He leaned back down, cursing as she took his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping delicately while simultaneously rutting her hips up into his.

Pre-cum pearled at the tip of his cock, and Chris whimpered into her mouth as she ran her warm tongue over his jewelled teeth. He chuckled, “If I knew that this is all I needed to do to have you rubbin’ on me like a bitch in heat, I would’ve done it a loooo－ng time ago.” Asshole, she bit on his lip hard.

Chris only snickered, moaning the pain away as he begin to kiss down her jaw. “Mm, you smell s’good.” Her eyes fluttered as she felt the boys teeth nip at the sensitive part of her neck, running his tongue over the area to ease the sting. “Chris,” she whined, bunching up fistfuls of his white shirt in her hands. “Y/n,” he mocked, edging a whine to his tone as he rolled his hips into her soaked panty-covered cunt.

Her eyes rolled back at the friction, a broken moan tearing from her throat as she threw her head back into the pillows. “Fuck!” She cried, feeling the boys chest rumble with a deep chuckle at the sound. “Good, baby?” Chris lifted his head, peering down on her with a heavy gaze. A sense of sick satisfaction bubbled in his chest as he saw her fall apart, and he hadn’t even fucked her yet.

Her eyes were fluttering with pleasure, a twinkle in her eyes as she heaved. A thin layer of dew lying on her face sweetly, making the stray strands of her hair stick to the edges of her jaw. “Awe,” Chris cooed, bringing a hand to her face, running his thumb across her plump bottom lip. “how pitiful.” He uttered, lips twitching as she parted her lips.

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, wanting to moan as he slowly slipped his thumb into her warm mouth. “Fuck me,” he muttered, feeling his cock ache painfully in his carpenter jeans. Her eyes were groggy, slow but wide blinks sent his way as she sucked his thumb into her cheeks as if it were his dick. And god, did he wish it was.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me?” Chris mumbled, swallowing thickly as he pressed down onto her tongue. “Good－” the girl cut herself off as she heard her slurred speech, his thumb in the way of her getting a coherent response out. “Hm?” She whined, eyes tearing as she shifted her hips in frustration. “I’ll－good.” Chris chuckled as he watched her eyes screw shut in embarrassment, cheeks red as her words came out incredibly butchered.

Chris silently cooed as he swiped his salvia coated thumbed across her cheek, humming softly to get her attention. “Yeah? Cause the only thing you’ll be cumming on tonight is my tongue.” He muttered, patting her cheek in a degrading manner. “So spread those fuckin’ legs.” And just like that, he was hooking his fingers into the hem of her shorts, slipping them down her plush thighs.

They shook ever so slightly, jerking as he began to move down her body, his breath fanning against her wet panty covered cunt. “Mm,” she yelped as his thumb pressed down onto the divot of her pussy, the fabric rubbing against her clit. “－already so wet for me, aren’t you sweetheart?” Instinctively, her hand shot down to wrap around his wrist as he applied more pressure.

His domineer darkened at the action, his movements halting. The change in atmosphere sent a shiver down the girls spine, and Chris tutted as he watched more wetness soak her panties. “Now this, this is just pitiful.” Her jaw fell open as Chris slipped a hand up her larger T-shirt (that was probably his), his large hand moulding around her perky tit. “S－shit!” She cried, eyes soaked with tears as his thumb rolled over her sensitive bud, his lips coming down and placing a gentle peck directly on her cunt.

He continued to swirl his finger over her nipple, pinching and gripping the skin as if it were his personal toy. His hot breath fanned across her wet underwear, sending shock waves through her body. “Fuck－Chris!” She gasped, a whimper tearing from her mouth as his teeth nipped at her clothed pussy.

Chris snickered, squeezing her breast in an almost apologetic gesture, even though she knew he wasn’t sorry. “Sorry baby,” his other hand tugged down her tainted underwear, and the boy almost came at the sight underneath. “I just really need this.” He whispered, in awe.

Her pussy was so fucking cute. Pink and wet, arousal dripping into the inside of her parted thighs as they shook. Her hips shifted, rutting up in desperation for any sort of friction. The poor girl just wanted－no－needed, to be fucked. “Please.” Fuck.

Chris softly grounded his cock into the mattress, rolling his bottom lip into his mouth as he used his middle and ring finger to spread her wet folds open. “I know, I know sweet girl.” Without another word said, he dove in, locking his lips with her soaked ones. “Shit!” A sharp gasp that almost edged on a whine emitted her lips, feeling Chris’s tongue licking a bold stripe up her core.

Deep. God, it was so fucking deep. Chris fucked his tongue inside of her as if it were his cock, the arch of his nose pressed against her clit as his teeth lightly grazed the tight walls of her cunt. Coated with arousal, Chris licked it up, drool dripping back down onto her sopping heat. “O－oh god.” Her head threw back into the pillows, eyes screwed shut in a painful manner.

It felt so fucking good, rolling her hips up to meet the rhythm of his tongue sliding into her little hole. Chris, however, fought for his damn life. “Mm.” He moaned at the taste of her on his tongue, savouring it like it was his last fucking meal. His eyes parted in a drunken gaze to her, watching her heaving chest, her shirt now ridden up, exposing her tits.

“Fuck.” Chris panted, sending a shiver through the girl as his breath fanned through her walls. “S’okay? Y－you’re okay?” The boys eyes softened at her slurred words, nodding softly at her. Even though she wasn’t looking at him. “I’m more than okay my little baby.” His heart－and cock, ached. How fucking cute, even fucked dumb like to poor thing she was, she made sure he was okay. “Just lemme－lemme make you feel good.”

The almost begging to his tone made the girl whine, feeling his hot mouth mould around her aching pussy. Her pre-release coated his tongue like a sinful melody, his cock paining as he withheld the oncoming orgasm. He just wanted to make you feel good. “You－fuck!－you’re making me feel good b-baby.” Chris’s moan at the term of endearment rumbled against her cunt, making her moan.

Chris’s hands held her thighs in a bruising grip, so tight that she was positive it was definite that marks would come through. Her torso arched, hips rutting up into his tongue as the muscles on his tongue pressed against the walls of her cunt. “I’m gonna－oh fuck, I’m gonna cum－” the stingingly cold metal of his chain gently swayed across her sensitive bundle of nerves, making her legs jerk.

“Yeah? Cum, cum f’me sweet girl.” Fuck.

Her gut clenched, an unwavering tightness of pressure swirling around her belly. “Ch－Chris..” his eyes flicked upward, watching as her nose scrunched, a soft cry choking from her lips. “I feel weird－ah－I’m gonna－” she moaned, sobbing out as Chris nipped her clit.

“You’re okay, hm?” Chris unlatched his lips from hers, swirling his middle and ring finger around her clit furiously. Her eyes widened, a sharp yelp eliciting her mouth as she felt something hit her. She fought it so hard－because it was foreign. “Chris－fuck!－I can’t!” Chris cooed, watching as tears ran down her face , along with the look of confusion.

He squeezed her thigh gently, humming. “Yes you can.” He mumbled softly, looking into her eyes as her pupils dilated. “Attaaa’ good fuckin girl.” He praised, watching as her lips parted, a drawled out moan tearing from her throat.

“Fuck.”

Chris felt the muscles in her walls tense around the tips of his fingers, before her thighs began to shake as wetness coated the sheets underneath. His lips, his fingers－fuck, it was probably in his mouth. Chris was in awe, hearing her choked cries as she came down from her unreal release, her body already starting to shut down from how exhausted it left her. “Shhh－I got you, I have you－” Chris crawled up her body, using the pad of his thumb to brush away her tears.

Small hiccups left her lips. “Did I do good－was I bad? I－” Chris shut her down with a soft ‘shhhh’, pressing a loving peck to her forehead. “You did so good sweetheart.” He assured, feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm still trembling through her tired frame. “I know it was a lot－but it’s all over, and it was good. Hm?” She softly nodded, tensing as she offered a gentle yawn.

Chris chuckled, pressing his lips to hers. “Tired, doll?” She hummed, eyes groggily blinking up at him. “Did you－” her eyes widened for a split second, guilt flashing in them as she reached a hand down to the tent in his jeans. Chris grunted, blowing out a small laugh as he grabbed her wrist. “I came.” He whispered, tilting his head with a small smile.

A look of confusion crossed her cute features. “Then why are you still ..” Chris lifted an eyebrow, smirking down at her as he brushed a few hairs away from her eyes. “Hard?” At her nod, Chris shrugged.

“Tears turn me on.”

୨ৎ－ @fratbrochrisgf @jetaimevous @sturniolosarethebest @stonermattsgf @st7rnioioss @endereies@mqttittude @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @bamsblooming @thecrawlys @whore4mattsturniolo @sturniolo-szn2 @amayaaaho @sturns-mermaid @loser4lifeeee @leoslaboratory

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dxrlingluv · 2 months ago

Note

The way you write Apollo,Hermes and Telemachus is so good.. anyways...

Fem!reader x Hermes.. so basically, reader is one of Apollo's muses and Hermes kinda "steals her away" from his brother & Apollo is VERY pissed that his brother is flirting with one of his muses...

Poetic dilemma

A/N : Thank you so much! Those three are my favorites(and ody). Also… Hermes and Apollo fighting for you and your attention. What a dream, isn’t it? Hermes art is from Zieru, Apollo art is from Gigi!

WARNING : Fem!Muse!Reader, Hermes and Apollo is fighting for the reader.

Word Count : 926

The golden halls of Apollo’s temple usually rang with the harmonious strains of lyres, the rustle of parchment, and the occasional, perfectly timed dramatic monologue from the god himself. Today, though, you were finding it particularly hard to concentrate on anything but the sheer joy radiating from Apollo. He was currently perched on a marble pedestal, mid-recitation of his new ode to… well, himself, mostly.

"And then, with a flourish of celestial light," Apollo boomed, striking a pose, his eyes alight with inspiration, "I, Apollo, the radiant one, did cast my golden gaze upon the slumbering earth, awakening it with my glorious warmth!"

You smiled, genuinely happy to see him so immersed in his art. "Very… illuminating, Apollo! The warmth truly comes through!"

He beamed, soaking in your praise. "Ah, your appreciation! It truly fuels my divine fire!"

Just as he was about to launch into the next stanza, a sudden, soft whoosh of air brushed past you. Before you could even register it, a strong, playful arm wrapped around your waist, and you were lifted clean off your feet. A familiar, mischievous laugh echoed in your ear.

"Time for a change of scenery, little star!" Hermes's voice chirped, and the world outside the temple became a blur of clouds and sky.

You gasped, half in surprise, half in delight. "Hermes! What are you doing?!"

"Rescuing you from… well, just a change of pace!" he declared, soaring through a fluffy cloud bank, his winged sandals a blur. He held you securely, your feet dangling playfully. "Honestly, I just thought you might like a break. Plus," he winked, slowing to a more leisurely glide, "I'm much more fun than listening to him wax poetic about his own sun chariot for the fifth time today. Though, he does make it sound good."

You couldn't help but laugh, the wind whipping through your hair. "He's going to be furious!"

"Oh, he'll get over it," Hermes scoffed, doing a mid-air barrel roll that made you squeal with laughter. "He has, what, a dozen other muses. He won't even notice one is missing. Besides," he winked, "I'm much more fun than listening to him drone on about his own sun chariot for the fifth time today."

Meanwhile, back in the temple, Apollo was still mid-pose. "…and the mortals, awestruck by my unparalleled brilliance, did fall to their knees in… wait a minute." He slowly un-struck his pose. His eyes, which had been closed in dramatic contemplation, snapped open. He looked to his left. Then to his right. His brow furrowed.

"My muse?" he murmured. "Where is my muse?"

A beat of silence. Then, a terrifying, earth-shaking roar. "HERMES!" Apollo’s voice thundered, shaking the very foundations of Olympus. "YOU WINGED SCOUNDREL! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY MUSE?!"

Hermes, who had just landed you gently on a particularly soft cloud, winced. "Ah, speak of the devil… or rather, the sun god. He noticed quicker than I thought."

Apollo descended upon you both, radiating pure, unadulterated indignation. His golden hair seemed to crackle with divine fury, and his lyre, usually a symbol of harmony, looked dangerously close to being used as a blunt instrument.

"Hermes! You absolute scoundrel! You snatched Y/N! My inspiration! My lyrical genius! How am I supposed to compose my ode to the perfect shade of dawn without her insightful feedback on the nuances of 'rosy-fingered' versus 'crimson-tipped'?"

Hermes put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer with a cheeky grin. "Oh, lighten up, brother. We were just... on a field trip. For creative enrichment. Very avant-garde."

Apollo's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Hermes's arm. "Field trip? You're flirting with my muse! My property! This is an outrage! Do you know how long it takes to find a muse who truly appreciates the subtle brilliance of a well-placed caesura?"

You smiled, finding Apollo's passion endearing, even when he was this worked up.

Hermes, ever the provocateur, leaned in closer to you, whispering loudly enough for Apollo to hear, "He's just jealous, you know. My charm is simply irresistible."

Apollo gasped, a hand flying to his chest dramatically. "Jealous?! Of you?! The god of petty theft and glorified delivery services?! I am Apollo! God of music, poetry, light, and prophecy! I have no need for jealousy!" He then pointed a trembling finger at Hermes. "Release her at once, you winged hooligan! She has a symphony to inspire!"

You gently extricated yourself from Hermes's grasp, stepping forward with a smile. "Apollo, it's alright. Hermes was just... giving me a change of perspective. But I'm always happy to hear your latest works!"

Apollo softened slightly, though his glare at Hermes remained. "See, Hermes? She's too kind for your thieving ways. Now, Y/N, darling, we must return. I have a particularly challenging rhyme for 'helios' that only you can truly appreciate."

As Apollo began to lead you away, already launching into a new poetic dilemma, Hermes winked over Apollo's shoulder. "I'll be back, little star. And next time, I'm thinking a whirlwind tour of the mortal realm. Much more exciting than listening to him drone on about himself."

Apollo, oblivious, continued his monologue. You just smiled, a secret thrill bubbling inside you. Being Apollo's muse was fulfilling, and seeing him so happy was wonderful. But being the object of Hermes's playful "theft" and the subsequent divine rivalry was undeniably more entertaining. And you knew, with absolute certainty, that Hermes would indeed be back. And Apollo would be just as hilariously furious.

#epic the musical #epic x reader #epic fanfic #fluff #dxrlingluv #hermes x reader #epic hermes #epic apollo #apollo x reader #apollo #epic the musical hermes #i love hermes marry me #zieru hermes #hermes #epic

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satori-runa · 3 months ago

Text

—Under Terms and Service

Summary: Ena and you embark on a business based dinner date!

Tags: ooc, not proof read, romance, comedy

Words: 0,7k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Ena glanced at you. You glanced back.

"A contract?" you asked, raising a brow.

Ena nodded, her signature smile lighting up her face, charming, surreal, and just a little bit unsettling in the way only Ena could be. “Absolutely! To cover the points under the terms and service document and make sure that both sides are compensated. Someone like you, a fellow smart mind, would understand how business goes, right?” she said smoothly, holding up a piece of paper and pointing at the blank line meant for your signature.

You sighed, but you couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at your lips. “Well, I guess it's needed.” Your eyes flicked to the line of people growing outside your favorite restaurant. It was couples’ discount night—one you’d been looking forward to—but you had to find a date, even if it's fake. That's when Ena, ever the business opportunist , offered to step in as your pretend girlfriend.

All it took was a signature, and just like that, Ena was officially your partner for the night.

As you both reached the front of the line, the person at the entrance gave you a long, skeptical look. Maybe they sensed something was off. Maybe they saw right through your little charade.

But before you could even open your mouth, Ena stepped forward with theatrical flair.

“HOW DARE YOU TO ASSUME THAT I'M NOT ABSOLUTELY MADLY IN LOVE WITH THEM?!” she shouted, voice shaking with raw, chaotic emotion. “A LONELY MAGGOT LIKE YOU COULDN'T GRASP MY AFFECTION FOR MY PARTNER!”

The poor host flinched hard, eyes wide. Ena wasn’t joking, and if she was, she sold it terrifyingly well.

“I love my partner very much,” she added with a proud huff, her voice smooth like honey, “more than any paid vacation days.”

And with that, she grabbed your hand, smiling sweetly as if the outburst hadn’t just shattered the restaurant’s vibe like a thrown plate. You had no choice but to go along, blushing and trying not to laugh too hard.

Dinner was… intense.

The moment you sat down, Ena adjusted her seat like it was a throne. Her smile returned, bright and poised. “This is delightful, isn’t it? The ambiance, the lighting, perfect for a romantic evening between two… committed individuals.” She leaned forward just enough to bat her lashes at you. “And remember, any additional sides are covered under subsection 4-B of our temporary partnership clause.”

You blinked. “There’s a subsection?”

“There is now,” she grinned, sipping from her water like it was vintage wine.

The waiter approached, just barely

masking his discomfort. “And for the couple tonight, have you decided—?”

“ONLY THE MOST EXPENSIVE AND BEST OF COURSE!” Ena snapped. The waiter flinched.

You tried to intervene. “Actually, maybe something in the middle rang—”

“Silence, darling.” Ena turned her head dramatically toward you, voice low and venomously sweet. “Your opinions are valued, but we agreed, I am leading this date. Article 2, remember?” Her smile was the kind that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

But a beat later, she laughed and winked at the server. “Kidding! Just kidding. We’ll go with two of the set menus, please. Perfect for lovers, right? Because we’re so deeply in love and compatible and emotionally entangled.” Her tone dripped with sugar.

The waiter fled. Probably for his life.

You leaned in. “Are you trying to scare everyone into thinking we’re real?”

“I’m trying to win,” Ena whispered back. “There’s no prize, but I like winning anyway.”

Throughout dinner, her personalities flicked like a light switch. One moment she was feeding you a bite of bread and cooing, “Oh, open up, my sweet tax deduction~” and the next, she was glaring daggers at a passing couple. “If they look at us like that again, I smack their heads inside their soup.”

You weren’t sure if you should be afraid or impressed.

Probably both.

Midway through dessert, Ena leaned back in her seat with a satisfied hum, fingers interlocked behind her head. “This was a good idea. You get food, I get emotional dominance, and together, we get a 30% discount.”

You tried not to laugh. “So this is just business to you?”

She turned to you with a completely straight face. “Absolutely. Unless, of course…” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve caught feelings, haven’t you?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

Ena burst into a delighted laugh, her eyes glitching slightly in color and shape. “Relax, I’m only teasing. Probably. Maybe. Contractually, I’m not allowed to say.”

You stared at her. “...You are chaos.”

“I am your girlfriend,” she corrected with a wicked grin. “At least until the check comes.

#⊹₊⟡⋆satori.speaks #⊹₊⟡⋆writings #ena dbbq #ena x you #ena x reader #ena joel g #ena dream bbq #ena dbbq x reader #ena dream bbq x reader #salesman ena x reader #meanie ena x reader

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bloomries · 4 months ago

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Hey hey! I hope you’re doing well! I absolutely ADORE your “calling them husband” thing, it’s SO cute! Would you be up to doing similar for the other dateables? (So like… Dia, Barb, Simeon, and Solomon?) if not that’s totally chill too, but figured I’d ask! Either way, have a wonderful weekend!

me and my husband~

includes : diavolo, barbatos, simeon, and solomon.

summary : calling him your "husband" (even though you two aren't married yet) to see his reaction.

warnings : gn! reader. mention of marriage.

part 1

DIAVOLO

You knew you had to be cautious, say it at the wrong time and Barbatos would certainly be pissed- which was something you wanted to avoid more than anything. So, in the early hours, as you helped Diavolo get ready for the day, you couldn't help but tease. "What am I to do alone without my husband?"

At first it's eerily quiet, and you're nervous to glance up to see Diavolo's reaction, his fingers- which rested on your waist- twitch as his grips tightens a bit. "I- I was just prankin-"

He leaned in close, his lips by your ears. "Is that what you want?" His voice was low and smooth. "Should I finally bestow such a title upon you, hm? I've certainly thought about it more than a few times..." He muses, pulling away just enough for you to see the smirk on his lips.

You're still a bit stunned by his sudden shift in demeanor and his hinting words. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Diavolo chuckles. "Be patient for me, spouse. We'll talk more about this tonight, okay?"

And before Barbatos can interrupt such an intimate moment, Diavolo presses a kiss to the corners of your lips before leaving- leaving you stunned and waiting for the promise of tonight.

BARBATOS

You were helping him set up for a party being hosted by the Devildom's prince, wanting to do anything to relieve some of the stress of it for him. "Where should these flowers go?" The delivery man asked, glancing around the giant hall.

"Hmm," you hum in thought, also glancing around the hall. "My husband will want them over there." You say casually, just loud enough to capture the said demon's attention. He didn't really give much of a reaction at first, just glancing your way before returning to the party details.

It wasn't until much later that you finally find out how he feels about your words. "Husband, hm?" He asks, his hand in yours as he leads you two around the dance floor- one of the few pleasures of helping to plan a party. You grin, your eyes sparkling with delight.

"I was wondering if you heard that." Barbatos hums in response, a smile sneaking its way on to his features.

"Whilst I'm not opposed to the title," He says, pulling you impossibly closer to him. "Perhaps we should wait until I've properly earned it, hm?"

"Oh? And when will that be?" You tease, biting your lip in anticipation. Barbatos chuckles, taking a step away as the song ends. He bows, placing a kiss to the back of your hand.

"Soon, I assure you." And then he's leading you to get a drink with him.

SIMEON

Sometimes it was hard to tease Simeon, but other times it was oh-so-easy that it'd be painfully hard not to mess with him a little. So when the little old granny cheerfully asked if you two were a married couple, you had to step in. You clutched his arm a little tighter, and before he could answer you spoke. "That's right, this my darling husband~"

Simeon sputtered a bit, looking at you mild disbelief to have agreed and even call him such an endearing term without hesitation. Simeon, trying not to cause a scene however, composed himself rather quickly and smiled at the elder woman.

"Mm, yes... I- I'm their husband..." He nods along. He's thankful she doesn't say much more, only commenting you two were adorable together before leaving. When she's far enough, you burst out into laughter. He frowns, arms crossed over his chest.

"Honestly..." He sighs, shaking his head at your antics. "You just love to mess with me, don't you?" You wipe away at tears from laughing so hard, glancing at him with a grin.

"Well it'll be true one day, so what's the harm in saying it now, right?" And if you thought his reaction earlier was cute, this one was much, much cuter- a shy smile he tries hard to hide. Simeon certainly hopes it'll be true one day.

SOLOMON

"Husband, oh my lovely husband~" You call whilst you know Solomon's in the middle of brewing a potion. You peaked your head into his lab, only to see him completely unbothered. He lifts his head only to meet your eyes for a few brief seconds before returning to his potion.

"Is there something you need, dear?" You frown, entering the room fully now.

"Not even a smile? No blush? Nothing?" He has a sly grin now as he shrugs.

"It's not I'm new to the title or anything." Solomon says simply, and this simple sentence causes your eye to twitch. "A great many, in fact, have called me such-" He narrowly dodges an attack, an alchemical book flying right for his head, before he realizes maybe he went a little too far with his own teasing.

"I'm never calling you that again, I swear-" Before you can leave he's abandoned his potion, his arms encircling you from behind.

"Don't be mad," He whispers, "You know that there isn't anybody I'd rather call me that than you." He presses kisses to the nape of your neck and downwards toward your shoulder. "And it's never sounded as sweet as it does than coming from your lips- like wine." He murmurs, "sweet and addicting." You roll your eyes, turning around to face him.

"Don't think your flowery words have gotten you out of trouble... completely." He grins, that mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"I have plenty more where that came from, if you're interested?"

Biting back a laugh, you drag him out of his lab. "Hm, keep it up and you'll have that title back by the end of the day." And he was more than happy to provide flowery, honeyed words forever should it please you.

#obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #om x reader #om headcanons #om imagines #omswd x reader #omswd headcanons #omswd imagines #diavolo x reader #barbatos x reader #simeon x reader #solomon x reader

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wordsofwhimsy · 4 months ago

Text

♥ My Hero ♥

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【Ａ/Ｎ】⦂ Two posts, back to back?? Somebody better come put me out cuz I am on fireee 🔥🔥 This is just a cute little fluff piece for our main man cause I thought he needed some attention 😘 【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】⦂ Main!Mark Grayson x Reader 【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】⦂ None 【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】⦂ “Here I Am” by Rick Ross

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Mark hovered outside your apartment, the familiar sense of comfort tugging at him as he flew the last few feet to your balcony. After a long day of fighting battles and putting out fires—both literal and metaphorical—he was looking forward to some semblance of peace. And there was no place that felt more like peace than with you.

He landed softly, his boots making a quiet thud on the floor of the balcony. As he stepped inside, the warm scent of something delicious hit him. It smelled like home, and for once, he felt like he could truly relax.

You were in the kitchen, humming happily to yourself as you stirred something in a pot on the stove. When you turned around and saw him, your face lit up like the sun had just broken through the clouds.

"Mark!" you cheered, setting the spoon down and rushing over to him. "You're here!"

He smiled, his exhaustion melting away just a little bit at the sight of you. "Hey. I made it."

You laughed, a joyful sound that made his heart skip a beat. "I’m so glad! I’m making dinner—well, trying to, anyway. You’re just in time to see how badly I struggle with cooking."

Mark leaned against the doorway, watching you with a grin. “I’m sure you’re doing fine.”

You gave him a playful look, grabbing a jar of garlic from the counter. "I’m not doing fine. This jar is impossible. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t get it open."

With a dramatic sigh, you held it out toward him, your brows raised in mock defeat. "I know I could probably do it if I had the right muscles, but… unfortunately, I don’t. So, hero, think you can help?"

Mark’s grin widened, amused by how you called on him for help so effortlessly. Even though he was absolutely drained from the day's chaos, there was something about your bubbly energy that made him feel lighter. He stepped forward, reaching for the jar, and with an almost embarrassing lack of effort twisted the lid off.

You gasped, eyes wide with exaggerated awe. "Oh my gosh! You’re my hero!"

Mark chuckled, holding the jar out to you like he was showing off a trophy. “Guess I’ve still got it.”

You looked at him with such admiration that it made his chest tight. “You’re so strong,” you said, practically glowing with excitement. “Like, seriously! You just make it look so easy!”

He couldn’t help but tease. With a sly grin, Mark stood up straighter, flexing his arm and giving you a playful eyebrow raise. “What? You think I’ve been skipping arm day?”

You looked at his flexed muscles, then back at him, your face lighting up with a mixture of admiration and sheer delight. “I think you’ve been skipping nothing,” you gushed, eyes sparkling. “I mean, look at you! You’re literally, like… a superhero.”

Mark’s grin widened, loving the way you fawned over him so freely. It was hard not to get a little caught up in the energy you were giving him. It was so pure, so genuine. In that moment, everything else—the fights, the battles, the stress—seemed to fade into the background. All that mattered was you.

He shifted slightly, still holding the jar in one hand. "Guess it’s not so bad being a hero when you get to come home to this," he said, his voice softening just a bit.

You beamed, leaning up to kiss him softly on the lips, lingering for a moment. “I’m just lucky you’re here.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat, and for a second, the weight of the world didn’t seem so heavy. He put the jar down on the counter and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in for another, deeper kiss. When he pulled away all he could see was you, still looking up at him like he could do no wrong. The warmth of your smile, the way you were so genuinely excited to see him—it overwhelmed all of his sense and all he could think of was you.

“Alright, let’s see what’s cooking,” he said, shifting the conversation, but still holding onto that feeling of lightness that you brought him. He peered into the pot and saw a mix of vegetables and meat, filling the room with a mouthwatering aroma. "Smells amazing. What’s in the pot?"

You grinned. "It’s a surprise. But I’ll tell you this: it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Promise."

Mark laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead before turning back to the counter. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the last of his exhaustion drift away as he started to help you prepare the rest of the meal.

Despite the brutal day, despite the fights and the villains, here in your kitchen, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be. Your energy was infectious, your admiration for him so genuine that it made him feel invincible again, if only for a moment.

As he pulled a pot from the cabinet and set it on the stove, you wandered over to him again, still buzzing with excitement.

"You know," you said with a grin as you snaked your arms around his waist, resting your head on his back. "I think you’re more of a hero in real life than you even know."

Mark gave a small, playful shrug as he stirred the meal. “Well, I don’t know about that... but I’ve got to say, I’m glad I’m your hero."

You giggled. “That’s all that matters.”

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark graryson fanfic

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multi-fandom-imagine · 2 months ago

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“𝖨 𝖶𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖯𝗂𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖫𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖣𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗒!" || 𝖤𝗋𝗂𝗄 𝖢𝖺𝗆𝗉𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗅 ||

A/n: I feel like he would be an amazing girl!dad

Pretty In Pink Mini Series Master List

The sun was high, the ocean glistening like sequins—your dream beach day.

You were laid out on a pastel pink towel, sunglasses perched on your nose, your pregnant belly slick with sunscreen while you sipped from a glittery reusable tumbler. Erik had just come back from helping your daughter out of the water, his dark swim trunks dripping and clinging to his thighs in a way that made it very hard not to drool.

He dropped next to you in the sand, shaking out his hair like a damn shampoo commercial.

And your daughter?

She stomped up to him in her ruffled pink swimsuit and unicorn sunglasses, cheeks puffed out, arms crossed over her little chest in the exact same way you’d done this morning when Erik teased you about packing “ten types of sunscreen and no snacks.”

“Daddy,” she huffed, squishing her cheeks with both hands. “I want sparkles. All the sparkles. Just like you!”

Erik blinked, glancing down at her. “Sparkles, huh?”

She pointed a little finger at his chest—where his nipple rings glinted in the sun, to his nose ring,then at his ear studs, and finally at his silver tongue bar when he sipped from your water bottle and flicked it playfully against his lip. “There, and there, and there.” Her face lit up like a Vegas sign. “I want one on my tongue. And belly button. And nose!”

You snorted into your drink to stifle your laughter, your little girl standing in the sand like the little diva that she is.

Erik raised a brow, arms crossing over his inked chest. “Oh yeah? Think you’re grown now?”

“I am grown,” she said indignantly. “I’m almost six!”

Erik bit back a smirk. “And what’s Mommy think about all this?”

“She said when I’m ten, I can get my ears done. But that’s too far!” she whined dramatically, dropping to her knees in the sand like it was the most unjust moment of her entire sparkly little life.

You lifted your sunglasses just in time to see Erik reach out and scoop her up into his lap, brushing her wet curls back from her forehead with a tenderness that never failed to make your heart squeeze.

“You wanna match Daddy, huh?”

She nodded solemnly. “Exactly. I need the sparkle. You said being a Campbell means standing out.”

Erik chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I also said being a Campbell means you don’t get pierced until your Mama says so. Which means for now…clip-ons, glitter, and fake nose rings only.”

She groaned. “But Daddy—!”

“No buts, trouble,” he said, adjusting her in his lap as he looked over at you. “You okay with ears at ten?”

You smiled over the rim of your cup. “Ten, with supervision. No tongue bars until she’s paying her own rent.”

“Sheesh,” Erik muttered playfully, looking down at your daughter. “You’re gonna be twenty-five and still trying to sneak piercings behind Mommy’s back.”

“Maybe twenty-two,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Erik grinned, flipping her upside down to make her shriek. “Keep talkin’ like that and Daddy’s gonna get your name tattooed with sparkles on his forehead so no boy ever talks to you.”

“Daddy, nooo!” she screamed, laughing.

And as she squealed in delight, her little pink floatie bouncing on her arm, you watched them both—the tattooed man who loved his girls more than anything, and the glitter-covered little copy of yourself in his arms.

Yeah, she was his daughter alright.

And she was absolutely going to end up with piercings.

Eventually.

When you weren’t watching.

And Erik was so going to let her.

You were doomed.

#drabbles #drabble #erik campbell #erik campbell x reader #erik campbell x you #erik campbell x y/n #final destination x reader #final destination bloodlines #final destination bloodlines x reader #fd bloodlines #fd x reader #bloodlines x reader #horror x you #horror x reader #horror films #horror #horror movies #horror movie x reader

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sparkriddledfever · 3 months ago

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Okay but like the milk maiden dress definitely gets those engines revving.

Reader is gender neutral.

Warning: 18+ under read more. Cunnilingus (in First Aid's part)

(Megatron, Prowl, First Aid, Hound)

Megatron may be an old, tired mech. Though that does not stop him from appreciating this sight before his optics upon entry into his habsuite.

The dress slightly hiked up your thigh, the front almost daring to slip off; threatening to tease his optics with the bare flesh. Daring him to descend upon your form without remorse since you just want to be a slagging tease. His fans switched on low, his face failing to hide behind that stoic persona. Yet you knew you had him flustered, a soft laugh roused from your lips.

"I was-" he cleared his throat to clear it of the static, "was not aware of any special occasions."

"No special occasion besides wanting to surprise my favorite mech," you winked.

A light snarl escaped him at the tease; he swiftly enters the suite and descends upon your flesh.

Prowl necessarily didn't have time to stop and drop everything. However, you just had to come into his office while he's leg deep in his work and show off that dress without shame. Telling him to take a break all the while purposely spreading your legs wide, leaning back on your hands as an invitation to him.

Well, since you kindly allowed him to take what he wants. He shall take advantage of it.

"P-Prowl! Slow down!-" you squeaked when his servos slammed down near your head. His optics glared down at you in those same fiery shades of blue, never once did his hips falter in their thrusts, a slight uptick of his dermas sent that fiery liquid feeling through your nerves and pooled in your stomach.

"I believe you don't have a say since you gave me the choice to relax. So, I am relaxing-" he grunts when a comm blimp into his HUD, growling as his tempo was thrown off, "fraggers."

"H-Huh?"

"Silent," he press two digits to his audials, "what is it now?"

Prowl rolled his hips slowly while quickly covering your mouth. He sent you a silent warning to behave, but you were never the one to follow his orders.

First Aid always admire his sweetspark even you happily show off new stuff or clothes to him. He always took the time to compliment you or share your joy, if he was going to play favorites though. His absolute, all-time favorite is you in a red and white summer dress; of course, he's a sucker for anything you wear that's in his colors. This specific one had his engine revving in delight.

His digit played with the strings while his dermas kissed down every bare inch of you. He softly vents, the air billowing over your heated skin sent shivers down your spine. Slowly, he lifted the skirt up; groaning softly at the sight of your wet pussy under the sun's gentle light flooding through the window.

He leans forward without a thought to his processor, placing a sloppy kiss to your clit. His glossa lapping up your juices and running it across his dermas. Rousing a sweet, shrill gasp from you. Making him smile in delight and filled with the urge to hear more of your sweet sounds.

Hound is a sucker through and through. You, who got him all wrapped up around your pinkie, have him stumbling and chuckling like a young mech. Flutter your eyes up at him while wearing that dress in his shade of olive green. He's truly panting like a dog when you press yourself up against him, letting him rut his spike between your thighs.

His servos trembled to keep his strength in check to not squeeze your hips too hard. His optics never once left your ass, too much focused on it rippling under his thrusts.

"Yer- ngh- killin' me here, darlin'. Yer gon be tha death of me, I swear."

It's not fair that your laughter gotta be so saccharine to his audials, making him feel like liquid with such ease. His helm drops into your neck with a barely audible whine when you squeeze your thighs together around his spike. You lean back into his hold, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck. Your lips brush against the sensitive audial, smiling with a soft blow to it,

"It'll be much easier for you to overload in me, no?"

Now, you're truly trying to kill him, huh?

#transformers x reader #transformers x human #valveplug #megatron x reader #prowl x reader #first aid x reader #tf hound x reader #polaris writes

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m-jelly · 5 months ago

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omg jelly I have been reading all your fics they're amazing. If its not too much hassle may I kindly request a Canon Levi x Female Reader Smutty Fic? They are already together - in a relationship or married - you pick <3 And Reader is a obsessed with giving him head? Like its like she derives pleasure from it too and would drop to her knees at moments notice to suck him any time of the day to pamper her love

Lips

Levi x fem reader

Canon world, smut, blowjob, married, fluff, romance, body worship.

You visit Levi at his office and worship him

A long sigh escaped Levi as he signed off on another form for training. The scribbles of his pen echoed in the room. Exhaustion washed over him when he noticed the large stack of papers was not going down. He was at his wit's end, he wanted to run away from it and go home to his perfect wife, but he knew he had to finish everything or it'd get worse.

He glanced up when someone knocked. "Tch, what? I'm busy." His heart raced when you opened the door and leaned around. He softly said your name. "Come in."

You slipped into his office, closed the door behind you and locked it. "Hey, honey. May I stay?"

"Of course." He got up from his seat and hurried over to you. "You look stunning." He pulled you against him and kissed you. "So, Mrs Ackerman."

You giggled. "Yes?"

"What do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

You held his hands and showered them with loving kisses. "I wanted to visit you. You're working a lot more and you seem stressed."

He hummed a laugh. "I am a bit, but I feel so much better every time I'm with you."

You pulled him over to his desk and put him in his chair. "You're such a charmer."

"I'm being honest." He looked up at you. "Why am I sitting here? Don't you want to cuddle on my bed?"

You pushed his chair back a little before sinking to your knees. "Well..." You tied your hair up before massaging Levi's thick thighs. "I wanted to help you relax." You pushed your hands up further and squeezed the insides of his thighs. You looked up through your lashes as you bit your lip. "Levi, will you let me indulge and feed my addiction?"

Levi gulped hard as he felt his cock twitch, he knew exactly what you were talking about. He was obsessed with your breasts and eating you out, you were obsessed with giving him head as often as possible. You would sweetly ask if you could at any possible opportunity.

Before you, he'd never done anything like this before. You had taken all his firsts and he'd taken all yours. The two of you had become absolutely addicted and obsessed with the other. Your romance was deep and passionate, but you kept things private in your own little world.

Levi parted his legs. "Are you sure you want to, my darling?" He caressed your cheek before running his thumb over your bottom lip and pushing it into your mouth. He moaned as your tongue swiped over his thumb. "I should know better than to ask you if you really want this." He smiled a little. "I'm all yours."

You gasped in delight before undoing his belt, zipping his trousers down and pulling out his erection. You marvelled at the beauty that was Levi's cock. It was the perfect length, not too long where it felt like a spear, but it was just right and snug. He had a beautiful thickness to it where it'd stretch your walls in all the right places.

His tip was a cute pink that would only get deeper in colour. A throbbing vein wrapped around his shaft caressing it as blood pumped through it. The skin was so soft and warm, it was perfect to the touch, incredible inside you and wonderful to taste. He was a dream and all yours.

You touched and moved him so much that it caused him to grunt. You glanced up at him and smiled. "Sorry, I don't mean to tease you." He was so sweet as he moaned your name. You tapped his heavy tip against your lips and just enjoyed the weight. "Mm, you're perfect. You have such a pretty dick."

Levi blushed hard before looking away. "Tch, you...damn brat."

You hummed a laugh before sticking your tongue out and flicking his tip repeatedly. After licking for a bit you couldn't resist anymore, you needed to taste him fully. You sank your mouth down on him and took his tip. His warmth was electrifying and the taste of his precum spread through your mouth coating every inch, it was divine.

Levi gripped the arms of the chair as you sank your head lower. He squeezed his toes as he felt a tingling pleasure. He lifted his hips a little causing him to push into your mouth a bit. He sat back down dragging his cock back from you. A moaned sigh left his kissable lips as pleasure tingled through him.

When you started moving your head up and down with your tongue moving against him, he couldn't help but lean his head back and pant. He pushed his hand through his hair and tugged a bit. "Fuck." He pushed his hips up a little as a pulse of pleasure hit him. "Mm." He moaned your name and looked down at you. "Shit. You are so beautiful."

He gulped hard when you looked up at him through your lashes. He felt his heart skip a beat when you smiled a little. Levi had to hold back as much as possible, he just wanted to ravage you against his desk, but he needed to behave. He tugged on his hair more and grunted at the added pleasure.

Levi shivered as the vibration of your moan sent him into another world of euphoria. A mixture of feelings was within him, he was relaxed but also tensed up from the pleasure. He panted a little faster and tangled his fingers in your hair. He pushed your head back a bit allowing him to admire your beauty.

He moaned your name as you sucked harder and moved your tongue more. "A-Ah, ha, ha, ngh." He shook a little. "I'm gonna cum." He tried to pull you off him, but you kept sucking. "B-Brat, y-you." He grunted and moaned as he came into your mouth. "Sh-shit."

You gulped down his hot sticky load and cleaned his cock with your tongue. You smiled up at him. "You're delicious."

He panted a little and blushed. "You...tch, naughty brat."

You giggled. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself."

"I should spank you."

You got up with Levi's eyes following you. "You should." You went to the bathroom and returned with a wet cloth. "We'd both love it." You cleaned Levi up and tucked him away. "Besides, we've been over this, either I swallow or your cum gets on things and me." You kissed him. "Which means mess and cleaning."

He huffed a bit. "You're right." He gave you his tea. "For the taste in your mouth."

You downed the tea and hummed. "Thank you."

He yanked you onto his lap. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." You nuzzled his neck. "Did you like it?"

"I loved it. You always make me feel good." He squeezed you. "May I eat you? I'm starving, my love." He moved his hand up between your legs. "I crave it like you crave me."

You mewled at his touch. "Levi."

He cupped the side of your face. "Fuck, I love you so much. I'm a lucky man."

"I'm lucky too." You nibbled your lip. "Levi, I'm all yours."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @dreamerofthewest @abiatackerman @minminroie

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solxamber · 4 months ago

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Receiving Gifts on White Day with: Pomefiore

go here for other dorms

Vil Schoenheit

The moment you open the door, you are met with perfection.

Vil stands there like a vision—poised, radiant, and utterly breathtaking. He’s holding an immaculately wrapped gift box, the soft scent of roses and vanilla lingering in the air around him. The morning sun catches in his golden hair just right, as if nature itself understands that lighting must always be optimal for Vil Schoenheit.

"Good morning, darling," he greets, voice as smooth as silk. His violet gaze sweeps over you, and he hums in approval. "Even when you’ve just woken up, you manage to be beautiful."

Your brain? Gone.

He hands you the gift box, watching expectantly as you unwrap it. Inside is an array of handcrafted chocolates—each piece a miniature masterpiece, adorned with delicate gold leaf and intricate designs. They look too perfect to eat.

“You made these?” you ask, slightly in awe.

“Of course.” Vil tilts his chin, looking pleased by your reaction. “I refuse to give my beloved anything less than perfection.”

You take a careful bite, and the flavor explodes across your tongue—smooth, rich, and utterly decadent. Your knees almost buckle.

“Vil,” you whisper. “These taste expensive.”

He smirks. “They are expensive. Do you think I would let you eat anything subpar?”

You swallow, still reeling from the sheer level of effort he put into this. “You really went all out.”

Vil exhales softly, stepping closer. His fingers brush against your cheek, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. "Of course I did," he murmurs. "Because you are worth every bit of effort, and more."

And then, just as your heart completely melts, he leans in—pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.

You are never recovering from this.

Rook Hunt

You don’t even fully open the door before Rook is already sweeping into a dramatic bow.

"Ah, mon trésor, my radiant light in this world! How blessed am I to bask in your presence on this most divine morning!"

You barely have time to blink before flower petals—where did they come from!?—flutter through the air around him. It’s as if he planned stage effects for this exact moment.

"Rook," you say slowly, staring at the spectacle before you. "Did you… did you set up a whole romantic scene just for delivering a gift?"

He gasps, clutching his chest as if you’ve just wounded him. "Ma chérie! Do you truly think I would offer you anything less than an experience befitting of your magnificence?"

Before you can begin to process that, he presents you with a gift—an exquisitely wrapped box tied with silk ribbon. His eyes sparkle as he watches you open it. Inside are the most beautiful chocolates you’ve ever seen, hand-painted with delicate landscapes, stars, and even tiny portraits of things he knows you love.

"Rook…" Your heart swells. "These are stunning."

He smiles, warmth radiating from him. "Ah, but they pale in comparison to the beauty of your smile, mon amour."

And then—because he is Rook Hunt—he swoops in, gently taking your hand and pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. The gesture is so sweet and so sincere that your face immediately heats up.

"You—" You stammer, gripping the box. "You’re unbelievable."

He only laughs, absolutely delighted. "Ah, but you adore me for it, non?"

….Unfortunately, he’s completely right

Epel Felmier

The moment you open the door, Epel is already looking away, rubbing the back of his neck like he's seriously debating running for it. In his hands is a slightly crumpled gift bag, which he shoves into your hands like it's a live grenade.

“H-Here,” he mutters, still refusing to look at you.

You blink, opening the bag to find a box of handmade chocolates—surprisingly neat—with a little note inside.

You pull it out, reading: “I tried real hard on these, so if you don’t like ‘em, at least pretend ya do. – Epel.”

Your heart melts.

“Epel.” You grin. “You made these yourself?”

He huffs, crossing his arms. “Duh. What, ya think I’d just buy somethin’ for my partner?”

You take a bite—and immediately pause.

“…Epel.” You stare at the chocolate. “These are amazing."

His ears go red. “Quit exaggeratin’.”

“I’m serious. These taste like they came from a professional chocolatier.”

Epel scowls, still embarrassed. “I was trained by Vil, y’know. Had to make sure they were perfect.”

Your chest tightens. “Wait. You practiced for this?”

His blush deepens. “Maybe.”

You stare at him, then suddenly grab his collar and kiss his cheek.

Epel freezes.

Then, very quietly: “Aw, hell.”

You laugh, stepping back. “Happy White Day, Epel.”

He groans, face fully red. “Ain’t nothin’ happy about you makin’ me feel all flustered first thing in the mornin’…”

….You are absolutely going to do it again.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x you #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook hunt #rook x you #epel felmier x reader #epel x reader #epel felmier #twst epel #epel

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elizabethrobertajones · 11 months ago

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summer scions!! I absolutely love the new portraits for all their smug happy expressions. Except Y'shtola, who is not going to deign to give a camera a proper saucy look because that's silly. Urianger is smirking twice as hard on her behalf.

Glam review under the cut!

I unlocked Alphinaud first of the twins and didn't know Alisaie had a little necktie yet, so I'm deducting a point from my first impression because the sheer delight that he had a silly little necktie of some sort no matter the situation delighted me so thoroughly. Since they're still engaging in matchy twin dressing to some degree, I have to assume they either like it and won't admit it after digging in so hard, or Ameliance sent them off with cute outfits and matching backpacks, and they still don't really shop for themselves.

He's got the practical watch/compass gloves which are good for a technically proficient Sage and probably the most practical gear he's ever worn except for when he was poncho Alphy, but wearing ankle-length jeans seem like the least weather-appropriate choice of the Scions if we assume their average skin coverage is a good weathervane for the temperature in Tural. I chalk it up to teenage awkwardness.

8/10 unless he and Alisaie chose their outfits themselves, in which case it's a 9/10

I think Alisaie is the only Scion to keep a single piece of their default gear, and those are her usual gloves. She's colour-matched around it.

Because of the gloves and boots, she looks the most ready for hardcore hiking, somehow, and her matching Alphinaud with a cute button down shirt with rolled up sleeves along with that particular choice of baggier shorts (when she normally wears more form fitting shorts) do give me the closest to butch vibes it's probably likely to get for main characters. So I'm giving her an extra point I stole from Alphinaud for the lesbian vibes.

9/10 or 10/10 if she made these choices all by herself.

Everything about this cracks me up, from his portrait above to the image of him tanking open shirted once he pulls mobs.

Believe it or not, he's getting an additional point for those shoes simply because the competition in practicality in tanking is G'raha.

I had a moment of excitement when I thought the necklace was pink because that's always a cute Ryne/Minfillia thing fanartists give him with ribbons and such, but once I got zoomed in on him it was red, so I guess he's just been shopping. Although, the turquoise shorts are her eye colour and the actual large diamond shapes are secretly Mothercrystal coded in those colours, which just cracks me up that you can pick out one of the worse days of his life (Urianger's grand Warrior of Darkness plan) in his Chill Summer Beach Vibes look.

Douchebag beach bro shell bracelet as well, which really makes me double down on him and Urianger spending way too much on tourist bait along the stalls in the Famous Turali Market. The hat and sunglasses are giving him one of the Most tourist-y looks thematically reflecting how a lot of the Scion guys were just here to hang out, narratively or literally. Maybe he's trying not to get such an intense tan again, which is the only reason he's not entirely topless.

11/10 I could not stop laughing when I got him and Urianger to 100 and Beheld The Brilliance in the same moment.

Please note the raised sunglasses in Urianger's portrait, which are not the model his character uses.

I am delighted that I had been incorporating that island watch into my healer glams on both the logic you need to know your clock positionals but also they're largely the smarty pants jobs (WHM being vibes only aside - it gets its own glams :P). And here's Urianger and Alphinaud both using watches.

Now, I had a moment of being vaguely disappointed he had trousers not a skirt or something else swishy and androgynous, but then I did realise that I, a nonbinary weirdo who relates to Urianger since he made me nonbinary, have actually gone to a couple of garden parties dressed in some variation of this exact outfit of light trousers and a nice button up. Plus, the earrings are in both ears, so no "Google, which ear is the gay one?", these are just straight up cute femme dangly earrings with his favourite little dudes on.

More importantly, the colours he's repping are those of Lopporit Radio. He probably tunes in every night for his broadcasts :')

Mirrored sunglasses for the guy notorious for keeping thoughts and plans close to his chest and choosing deliberately to be enigmatic even when it serves zero purpose except for I guess gender affirming care. (The gender is Weird Bitch.)

I can't tell how I feel about those dad sandals. I suppose it depends if he's wearing them like a fashion model (brand new and clean with perfect pedicured feet) or if those are REALLY dad at the beach-like and, since I'm not a foot person, this for me is only a choice between "not off-putting" and "AURGH".

9/10 the proximity to Thancred hauls him up several points of misgivings I had, and the lopporit shout outs are killing me :')

I unlocked Y'shtola last and holy fuck I am a lesbian. I don't even recognise where those boots come from, so either a really expensive glam or something I just have not stumbled on. She has toe rings I think? And painted nails? I have no idea if the garter (?) is part of the boots glam or a custom thing as result of not recognising the boots and how much of them is normal. I feel like they customised a lot on her anyway - the back of her top has purple beads that match her staff (not dyable on the real piece)

and I think the necklace has to be part of the top instead of a separate necklace piece with the way it hangs, AND the bracelets are a glove piece with the original summer glam, but I assume they're layered with the false nails, also in the glove slot. All in all it's giving the sort of effort which is starting to creep up to what I'd expect from the modding community not the game. I mean, not THAT good but getting close. Baby steps towards what fandom can make :P

She really is god's favourite meow meow.

Anyway I can't really judge this fairly because it's really hot and I love her so I'm just going to give it 100/10 and move on. :)

how did I get a picture where Estinien looks like he's stooping to get in the frame...

The fact he has Azure Dragoon Blue Top and then Violently Nidhogg Fuchsia shorts is the colour theory that absolutely killed me. When he lights up during his burst and starts glowing pink all over his shorts are like. Taking him over like the eye once did I think.

love a guy who can embrace his past trauma and dress to match all that has passed before and all that he intends to do now (kill something large and tasty, grill it on the beach, fall asleep with a beer in hand until the waves come in and wake him up).

I gave him that wooden bracelet in the glam he has on my desktop screen so once again I'm feeling weirdly vindicated.

Other details: no ponytail despite the warm weather because he's got enough ventilation. The fact there's cactaurs on his shirt when he's on record for eating them is amazing. We should imagine he's wearing his jobstone like that pendant (since he's one of the only guys with a confirmed jobstone despite being the Guy Without A Job notoriously that one time.)

Unlike Thancred's hat and sunglasses combo, which seems fun and boisterous somehow, he seems the most walled off of all the sunglasses wearers even though he's not the most mysterious. The visor really helps make it a sort of wall. Maybe just because his terse upfront personality and somehow despite his clothes horse habits THIS amount of whimsy seems the most out of character at first glance, but he DOES look uncomfortable to me.

Somehow I find everything about this outfit excellent for his character but also like maybe he was forced into it, everyone cornering him and telling him the Scion Beach Party was a mandatory work event and he was not allowed to beg off of it and he did put some work in expressing himself but also is going to go find a much quieter corner to lurk in for the day, when not competing with Thancred (can't grill, loves it) for the barbeque (Estinien can grill, would only do it because the threat of Thancred doing it wrong is too high).

confused 7/10 mostly because I think Krile is blackmailing him and not because I don't love everything about this.

Here's how G'reenha Tia can still win -

Anyway here's the deducted point for tanking in flip flops (PERFECTLY acceptable BLM gear btw but he's Mr Versatile.)

(I joke but the main character of my novels is a flip-flop wearing menace who could and would tank in them)

Between the padlock and key necklace and the woven bracelet right after we all went feral over the Thavnarian bracelets for couples thing so recently (and Corvos is just across the water!) he's absolutely dripping cutie pie love interest coding yet again.

(Also yes I know the lock and key thing is very funny because we were introduced to him learning he was a fancy key to a big door.)

Gains a point back because the other green g'raha thing is I'm pretty sure people use this shirt glam because it kinda looks like it has weed on it.

Don't quote me on that, vibes only.

Anyway he came colour coordinated (with his original eye colour and hair colour not the bright Allagan dalamud red dye that goes with his normal outfit) so so precise and neat, like he's going to some sort of formal event, and even with flip flops he really does seem incredibly put together like the twins or Y'shtola, just for full outfit cohesiveness.

As someone who would hold G'raha's hand on the romantic gondola vibe, 10/10.

3 out of 10 and a huge cringe if you would not. He's got to stop Striving.

Hey it's the star of the show!! Adorable hairstyle out, cute plot-important earring on, and wearing her exact character colours but adorable beach wear :)

I love that she looks kind of like she went to the girls for advice and got the top from Y'shtola and the shorts from Alisaie, and she probably was very serious and stressed about getting this right even though there's no rules and no one's judging her -

oops.

Anyway the ballet shoes are adorable and go with all the cute picto spins and twirls :)

I think the strict colour scheme does speak to the slight lack of fleshing out she got so far in the story (we don't really have any real character reason that picto in particular spoke to her and this glam isn't one of the many fun takes people had on how to dress to meet that brief ). I don't think DT did more than just repeat that she's serious and sweet and trying really hard to get out of her shell and be more fun and creative and also she's been practicing dodging really hard she shouts mid-Trust combat (bless her). But ALSO getting out of the shell is really hard and she only found out everything and got some closure in the final level 100 quests so there wasn't really much to do with her after that.

This is like her First Non-Plot-Critical Whimsy Moment and losing the hood or any cat ears entirely (and there are perfectly functional cat ears to wear in game) is a good step considering we know she wears it precisely because she needed a sort of advance PR campaign to make her look cute and approachable before she opened her mouth and started bringing down the vibe (serious scary children are SO funny though and i love that for her). Having the same top as Y'shtola is a good thing for trying to make her less childish and have her trying to show that now as she takes this huge step out from the background. I mean, it still has a slight sense of her costuming herself and pushing herself out of comfort zones as she always does, but it's 100% in character so I adore it.

1000/10 because Krile is great and there's so much going on here and it's so fun when a character's whole personality is a costume and then they're like aurgh wait do I even want that??

#ffxiv #dawntrail spoilers #I love these goobers #enough to level all the jobs through Trust rather than more varied and faster means :')

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