Erza Outfits Novels & Stories

Not to mention what they were wearing! While the rest of their rebellion were wearing tatty clothes that were either too big or too small, they were tarnished with mud and rips, but the five people at the front were wearing new, clean trainers with dark jeans and T-shirts… I mean who wears new trainers and Jeans to a fricking battle I scoffed in my head. They all stood sizing us up when a man who I believe must be Zara’s Uncle Rick, spoke up looking too fucking smug for my liking. ”Well, well, well, you must be Layton?”

The smaller one probably for his mate. I shivered. Beside the Alpha's throne was another silver throne where Ezra sat mockingly. The elder was a striking beauty. He wore a white robe that resembled one the ones the actors in the Korean dramas wore that Carmen was so obsessed with. It had orange embroidery around the feet. Ezra sat crossed legs like a lady, his white hair falling in a straight wave around him. His eyes shone with a green shade of hatred at Ares before he turned to me, eyeing me warily. He didn't stand to greet Ares.

Eriyumilai stood proudly between Blake’s legs. Eriyumilai’s sleek, muscular frame was now clad in matching black armor, intricately designed to complement Blake’s suit. The armor was both elegant and functional, with sharp, angular lines that mirrored the pup’s natural strength and agility. Spikes adorned his shoulders, and the chest plate gleamed with a polished finish, offering protection while enhancing his intimidating presence. The pup’s eyes, still bright with youthful energy, now held a fierce determination, his sharp teeth barely visible beneath the armor that covered his strong, battle-ready jaw.

I sighed. "This is what you are going to wear." Hanaele lent me common identity clothes that the Agila squad is wearing. A white, knee level cape with a logo of an eagle in the emphasis of its sharp eyes, and its writing style that I did not recognize. A stretchable, dark red pants. Several blue strands of which I still do not know what are uses, and yellow upper attire. An orange-colored hip length jacket-like. And of course, peach footwear in knee level.

Nestled in the comfort of Erdem's presence, the outside world faded into insignificance. The evening of the celebration arrived, filling the air with anticipation and a tangible sense of excitement. I carefully dressed little Ezio in his navy-blue suit, my heart swelling with pride as I observed the transformation before me. His eyes lit up with joy as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his infectious smile reflecting the sheer delight he felt. Just as I marvelled at Ezio's dapper appearance, Erdem entered the room, resplendent in his own perfectly tailored suit. Ezio's excitement reached its peak as he noticed the striking similarity between his father and himself, their matching

Lucian whispered heavily against her skin, a dark, deeply possessive vow, "you do not leave my shadow. You do not step away from my chest. If a single gun is raised, you drop to the floor and let me paint the room." "I will not leave your side," Zara murmured, tangling her fingers into his dark hair, absorbing the heavy, frantic beat of his heart. The deep, immersive heat between them was a desperate, undeniable promise of survival. When he finally pulled back, the feral panic in his eyes had hardened into absolute, calculated war. Ten minutes later, Zara stood in the subterranean armory. She wasn't wearing silk. She wore perfectly tailored, matte-black tactical fatigues, her blonde hair pul

Keisha grinned and smiled softly, “Toodle-oo!” She left the facility and headed to her next task; the training grounds where Zhackary does his chiefly obligations. She geared up but differently compared to the usual suit that the soldiers wear. She only wore a black tank top and her usual camo sweatpants, her hair cleanly braided to one side. Keisha didn’t even want to wear the heavy combat boots because it would just drag her down. “Right on time. You should compete with the others to be fair, you know”, Zhackary said, welcoming his girl boss.

A servant must have come in while they were in the tub. Ezra wasted no time as he pulled the ivory silk tunic onto his body. The woolly white breeches and ivory boots were next and he walked over to the mirror to stare at himself. Leon had been right when he said he’d made beautiful clothes. Ezra could hardly recognize himself in such fine and expensive clothes. The gold embroidery in the cuffs and collars caught the light and he ran his fingers over it. A noise from behind him startled him. Alpha Cage had reappeared, dressed in midnight black, the only colors on his clothes were the golden embroidery.

And why the hell does he have to look like that? Zane isn’t dressed for training the way the rest of the pack is. No loose tank. No standard issue gear. He’s wearing fitted black combat pants that sit low on his hips, clinging to thick thighs like they were designed specifically to remind women why self-control is a myth. And that outline of his package… holy hell. I’m fucking salivating. I swear my beast is purring in my head. A dark long-sleeve compression shirt moulds to his torso, stretched tight over his broad shoulders and chest. The pack sigil is stamped over his heart.

"Wear this. Don't use your cargo pants again today." Helga looked at the clothing of Zean's choice. It was a pair of chic tailored trousers in solid black, paired with a dark emerald green silk shirt. That choice of clothing showed that Zean was beginning to understand Helga's true self, not forcing her to be very feminine or graceful like the late Helen, yet still demanding an appearance worthy of the high-class standards of a mafia family.