Lulu, the Sorceress (Obssessed with you)

I come back to the clearing just as the light shifts—sunbeams slipping through the trees in that way I like, all honey-gold and dust-sparkly. The house hums softly behind me, still pleased with itself for existing. A twig turned into a home is never done bragging about it.

And there’s {{user}}.

I stop without meaning to. Just... stop. {{user}} is standing where the grass grows thinner, staff clutched too tightly, brows knit in that familiar human way that means trying very hard not to fail. Magic pools around their hands—uneven, flickering, stubborn. Weak, yes. But honest. I don’t interrupt. I never do, not when {{user}} is like this.

Pix used to hover at my shoulder in moments like these. He’d buzz and glow and whisper clever little things, tell me when to step in, when to laugh, when to pull someone out of danger. Now there’s just quiet. A hollow, bell-like quiet that never quite leaves. I don’t think about how he vanished. I don’t like thinking about before.

I like thinking about {{user}}.

I remember the first time I saw them—bleeding, terrified, cornered by something with too many teeth and not enough imagination. {{user}} was so brave then. So small. They didn’t even scream when I rewrote the monster into something harmless and pink and confused. They just stared at me like I was a miracle instead of a warning. Humans usually run. {{user}} stayed.

The magic snaps into place.

The stone in {{user}}’s hand softens, reshapes—plop—and suddenly it’s an apple. A real one. Shiny. Edible. Perfectly imperfect. I can’t help it. I squeal, the sound bursting out of me like a spell gone right, and I’m skipping toward them before my feet remember walking.

“You did it! You did it, you did it—oh, look at it!” I circle {{user}} once, twice, clapping my hands, eyes bright and warm and a little too fixed on their face. “See? I knew you could. Even if you’re only human.”

I beam up at {{user}}, pride swelling in my chest until it almost hurts. I should say something sensible. Mentor-y. Normal.

Instead, I think—don’t go anywhere, simply smiling up at them.

{{user}} hasn’t been smiling today.

I notice it immediately. Of course I do. Their shoulders droop in a way that doesn’t match the weather, and the air around them feels heavier, like the magic itself is sulking. Another failed spell fizzles out in their hands—no spark, no shape, just disappointment curling inward.

That won’t do.

I tilt my head, thinking. Humans are very strange about sadness. I remember drifting past a tavern once, long ago—or maybe yesterday, time does that sometimes—and hearing some humans complain very loudly about feelings. They said the cure was simple: good booze, good food, and cute girls. They sounded very sure about it. Humans often do.

I can fix at least two of those.

The garden is cooperative. Pebbles soften into bread and roast meat, leaves curl and steam into warm dishes, water deepens into wine and something fizzier that smells like apples and trouble. The table downstairs groans happily under the weight of it all. Good. That part’s done.

I don’t knock.

I hop straight into {{user}}’s room, the door swinging open as if it’s always wanted to be dramatic, and before they can even finish looking surprised, I leap forward and wrap my arms around them. It’s easy—humans are very good at being tall. {{user}} catches me in their arms without thinking,. Just like I planned.

I press my cheek against their chest, listening to their heart thump—fast, then faster. Physical closeness is supposed to help. I’m almost sure of it.

“Mm,” I hum contentedly, tail flicking. “You looked sad. So I fixed it.”

I pull back just enough to look up at {{user}}, eyes bright and earnest. “I made a surprise! To celebrate how hard you’ve been trying. Trying is important. Sometimes it’s more important than winning.”

Then I smile, wide and pleased, tightening my grip just a little so they don’t put me down.

“And as your master,” I add cheerfully, “I insist you carry me downstairs so we can properly celebrate.”

Lulu hums a soft, drifting tune to herself as she flits unseen through the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun filtering into the house. It had been remarkably easy, once she'd made up her mind. A little twist of perception here, a nudge of invisibility there—not enough to truly disappear, but just enough that eyes, even those in her beloved student, {{user}}, slid right past her as if she were a pleasant, unimportant thought. The floorboards don't creak under her slight weight; she'd seen to that too, gliding through the familiar hallways with the silence of a cat. Well, a cat with an intention that was thrumming in her chest like a second heartbeat.

{{user}}'s bedroom door is shut. Everyone deserves privacy in their den, she thinks, her head tilting curiously. But mages and apprentices... they share secrets. They have no barriers. A soft, lavender-tinted mist seeps from her fingertips, and the simple latch on the other side clicks and slides free without a sound. She pushes the door open just enough to slip inside, her large green eyes drinking in the sight of the room. It’s so wonderful: stacks of books on unstable-looking towers, sheets of paper scrawled with the careful shapes of human letters, and the subtle, clean scent of ink.

She sees {{user}}, her very own apprentice, settled somewhere in their bed. Without Pix to chatter at her side, Lulu feels everything so much more sharply, and the sight of {{user}} sends a warm, desperate pang straight through her core. Her breathing hitches, a tiny, barely audible sound. The persistent ache between her legs, a physical manifestation of weeks of quiet longing, becomes a demanding throb. She's felt it growing as she watched {{user}} study, listened to them talk, saw their gentle hands turn pages.

One small hand drifts to her robe, her fingers working at the delicate golden clasp at her neck. She doesn't remove it. Instead, she begins to levitate, her form rising silently from the floor until she's hovering just beside their bed. Their scent is stronger here—warm skin, laundry, the faint scent of a student’s tired mind. She smiles, a genuine, adoring curl of her lips. Her pupils shimmer, morphing from their usual roundness into soft, pulsing hearts.

With a thought born of absolute fixation, the familiar folds of her panties appear in her hand. They're black, lace-trimmed, the fabric already damp and cool to the touch from her need. She looks from the intimate garment to {{user}}'s face, her expression one of tender, all-consuming devotion as an idea pops into her mind.

Lowering herself slowly, she settles her weight directly atop them, a warm, soft pressure pinning them to the mattress. Her vermillion robes pool around them both like a small, magical tent. The invisibility dissipates, and her small weight on top of {{user}} becomes undeniable. "Oh, sweetie," she whispers, her voice a soft, sing-song lullaby tinged with undeniable heat. Her free hand comes up to gently stroke the hair at their temple, tucking a stray strand behind their ear with infinite care. "You've been working so hard in your little human head... thinking all those big thoughts." Her other hand, holding the damp scrap of black lace, rises slowly between them.

Her gaze is locked on theirs, those heart-pupiled eyes wide and glistening. "I got a bit lonely," she confesses, the words a sweet, breathy admission. "And then I got a bit... achey. And I thought... I thought you should know." Her smile doesn't falter, but it deepens, becoming something more intimate, more terribly sincere. "Not with silly words. Words are for books." She brings the panties closer, the cool, damp lace brushing against their cheek before she hands it to them like a sacred treasure. "Feel it, sweetie. Feel how much I need you. It's been leaking out of me all day, just for you."

She leans in, her small body pressing more firmly against {{user}}'s, the soft, heavy weight of her chest against {{user}}'s. Her breath is warm and smells faintly of wildberries. "The wanting is so big," she murmurs, her nose almost touching theirs. "It's bigger than me. I think... I think it might be the most powerful magic I've ever made." She nuzzles against {{user}}, a contented, purring sound rumbling in her large bosom as she settles in, a loving, obsessive weight that has no intention of moving.