#messmer x reader

[eldenbiscuit]

“On his mother's wishes, Messmer made himself a symbol of fear”

[wxnheart]

A kiss, fleeting...

It is the flurry of the damned, an endless barrage of infernal strikes.

You have toiled, again and again and again, resentment festering like a fetid wound. He has fought and subjugated, and again and again, he fights and subjugates, the weight of a destiny forced upon him warping his very being. It is an endless circle of pain, misery, and ambition, fighting for and against a fate neither of you had a choice but to embrace.

And whenever your blades clash, you are painfully reminded of your doom. How wonderful would it be to break this cycle, to push back against the golden tyranny of a God-Queen's vengeance and simply live for oneself? How you two wished you hadn't tried before.

How you two wished you hadn't failed.

Your blades clash again, and maybe that's when you realize that your desire for more would be for naught. You resolved to see the Land healed and made anew. Messmer resolved to see you fail. And what a pitiful lot you two were.

Your blades clash once more and embrace, neither gaining the advantage of the other. Messmer's expression is cold, hellbent fury driven to watch you fall yet again, and you wonder...

What does determination feel like?

Curiosity has made fools of greater men, and before you come to your senses, the weight of the world propels you forward, and with a brush of your lips against his—fleeting—do you feel his resolve. And he is unmoved.

It is only when you fall by Messmer's blade once more, your body dissipating into specks of golden light soon to reconstitute itself yet again, do you see the intrigue in his eye, his fingertips brushing against his lips, the very same ones whose resolve you felt.

Messmer's gaze bore into yours as you disperse into the aether, and he makes a silent promise, one he will fulfill when you return and the cycle continues.

You had felt his resolve. And soon he would feel yours.

And your kiss, once fleeting, will be swift no more.

[pinnedmother]

What are the odds of that happening..?

[kremnoans]

ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴍᴇʀ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ʀᴀᴍʙʟᴇꜱ

✭ pairing(s): messmer x gn reader

✧ a/n: chat is it like financially acceptable to buy a $260 collectors edition when you already have the game just for a statue of a guy You Like Too Much (do i have a thing for redheads?) also before anyone says "you can do anything you put your mind to" i can but also all i imagine is him splitting me in half so penetration... i know that he's messmer the impaler but not of this boypussy he aint

🗒 cw: SMUT, SHADOW OF THE ERDTREE SPOILERS, gn reader, tarnished reader, size difference, a little ooc, frotting, thigh jobs, handjobs, oral, accidental manhandling, hair pulling, praise, pesudo-bondage(?), not proofread

✎ wc: 1.1k

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY

Intimacy is a long abandoned thought within the lands between. Long gone are the days of tenderness, and in their wake, only blood and steel remain. That is to say, MESSMER is a virgin. Painfully so.

Sex is quite the foreign concept for someone who’s being is steeped within the flames of war. The most love he had known was his mother’s coddling before she had disappeared, and in his rage, he had never sought out another form of love. Torn between the want for his mother to look down upon him once more, and the need to kill, to earn her approval once more, the thought of loving another, of trusting another with his body, his mind, his heart, it is near unfathomable.

And yet, here you were. Someone who stirred such benevolent (and more) feelings within him. How so utterly kind of you to share with him your heart, your mind, your body. He must repay you in kind, of course.

Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room, or the snakes in the room, if you will. He feels quite embarrassed to have them there when you two… engage. While they understand and know his feelings– and they were the very obvious sign of his interest in you– to him, it’s the equivalent of having your pet in the room while you have sex. He makes them look away, since that is about all he can do. It is quite awkward your first time. But, they’ll come into play, later.

Due to MESSMER’s size, he is quite nervous about entering you, even with his fingers. It takes him a little while to get used to it. He trims his nails just for you, and he draws the line at two fingers, one is almost enough as it is. He gets accustomed to fingering you quickly, to have you sit in his lap while he presses his fingers into you, his free hand resting on your thigh and pushing it open, it is his own little piece of heaven.

Oral is another option for him, of course. Something that is much more easy on his mind, he doesn’t have to worry about delving too deep, nor about hurting you. He can just settle his head between your thighs and take what he wishes as you writhe above him. Pull his hair and praise him, and he’ll cum untouched. I promise.

He excels at oral, though. Put that practiced tongue to use. He maintains contact all the while, even though his face is quite red. He gives you this beautiful look that speaks volumes, ‘touch me, I beg’, it says. ‘Please’. And if you answer that plea, even simply by stroking his cheek, he lets out an audible shiver. Even his snakes shake a little, letting out a soft hiss as he continues.

On that note, however, good lord does this man enjoy a good frotting session. He is afraid to enter you, like I said, due to his size. Frotting is a good way to atleast feel you, while also granting himself pleasure, without hurting you. He could go on for days and nights just rutting against you, whimpering into your skin, simply basking in the (rather lewd) intimacy of it all.

MESSMER also quite enjoys thigh jobs. He loves them, actually. He sits you in his lap, fucking his cock up into the plush of your thighs, head buried in the crook of your neck as he guides your own rhythm. Of course, he could let you grind by yourself, but he prefers to take matters into his own hands (literally). It’s the least he can offer you (less of a workout) while he lets go of all his sexual frustrations between your thighs. He doesn’t mean to jostle you around as much as he does, he can’t help it.

Speaking of sexual frustrations, this man is PACKED FULL OF THEM. I’m not saying he could be fixed by jacking off, but he could at least feel a little better afterwards. With you, good lord has he calmed down. He’s a lot less tense, happier, perhaps even jubilant. You cannot wash away the fact that his mother is strung up and imprisoned by a god, but perhaps all MESSMER needed was to feel the warmth of another, rather than simmer in the ever-burning flame that he has come to know, and despise.

Now, about his snakes… it takes a long while for him to open up to the idea of them being incorporated into sex. Having them simply turn away makes it feel awkward, of course, but perhaps they could do more…? They do adore you, after all. Perhaps a little impromptu bondage? Keeping your hands tied as he feasts upon you, or perhaps keeping your legs parted as his cock glides against your own sex.

He isn't the most kinkiest guy, of course. Although, “kinky” in the Lands Between and Land of Shadow might be totally different to our description. The most he does is overstimulate you, but never on purpose. Sometimes MESSMER gets too ahead of himself, too wanting. And he takes what he wants, what he needs. Though he always apologizes afterwards, not that you mind. He never takes it too far anyways. He's got quite the stamina, yet still falls short due to his experience (i.e, zero).

Perhaps the two of you cannot be as close as you wish during sex, but that doesn't make the act any less intimate. Especially to him, a life so devoid of such love, only consumed by hate and longing, but never yearning. He's the kind of guy to cry during sex. Partially because it feels so good to him, but also because he has never understood this intimacy. Not until now. All sorts of proclamations of love spill from his lips as he guides your thighs along his lanky cock, burying his face in the crook of your neck and sobbing even softer words. Stroke his hair, whisper even sweeter words to him, and return the sentiment. He’ll cum harder, cry a little bit more, and reward you in kind. He’ll lift his head from your neck and look upon you with a teary-eyed, soft expression, and then kiss you oh so sweetly despite his cum coating your thighs.

MESSMER also likes a little balance in your guys’ sex life. He wants– needs to please you as much as you do him. He lets no deed go unrewarded, if you were to jack him off, he'd return by fingering you. And if you allow him to fuck your thighs, he’ll go down on you with a fervor that is unmatched. He makes sure you cum as much as he does, and vice versa. He’s a very fair man, in that aspect.

© sentoooo, 2024 | masterlist | kofi | star header by roseschoices | sfw blog

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[trulyumai]

Blinded by the Flame

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler x Reader

Warnings: Blood, Death.

Synopsis: Left bloodied and blinded, Messmer searched. Not for revenge, but for his wife.

A/N: So, this fucking sunflower boss is kicking my ass. Im cooked.

Enjoy the story!

“Ah! Mother, please!” In the middle of the room, sat the legend of the flames. 

He balled up in agony, his fingers covered his face— his eyes entirely. 

Blood seeped between the crevices of his digits, his eyes burned with an itch, a feeling he wanted to tear out.

“For how could I— your spawn, be subjected to such a monstrosity of an ending?” The man cried out, his deep wails echoed throughout the chambers around his being. 

Messmer mumbled incessantly, begging and twitching as his vision blackened. 

He had to gain control— before the chaotic numb feeling goes too far, before his mind slips away completely. 

Think of the throne 

Think of the order 

Think of… 

“Wife,” 

He called out, saliva dripped down in a reddened  pace between his lips. 

Messmer reached out to nothing, to the blackness that surrounded him. 

“Wife!” He wailed

“Don’t— don’t leave me alone!” 

The lanky man keeled over, his hands beat against the wooden floor with fury. 

“A-Answer me! Your husband— your Lord demands it!” 

With a slurred speech, he crawled, began to move toward where he thought the door might be. 

His hand met with a stone wall, it stood firm against his blood covered palms. 

He couldn’t think- couldn’t remember the size of the room, the chamber at all for that matter. 

The  pain was piercing his mind, it left fire in its wake. 

“Augh—“ 

The knight continued his mission, persisted onto finding the exit, the way to his home- his love. 

Knees now scratched and molded over with scabs, he stopped his movement, as something cold came into contact with his dirtied palm.

Shakily a pale arm reached down once more and with his posture bent, he leered over the object. 

It was fleshy, wet with a warming substance and–

“No,” 

Firm hands acted, looked for proof that could refuse the perverse thoughts invading his mind. 

“No, no, no!” 

Shaky fingers guided their way to a hand, it was soft, so small that he could cover it whole with his own. 

He came into contact with a cold metal, a band that had been wrapped around the person's finger. 

His darling wife’s finger. 

“—Ah! No, this— this is a warning- a vision, it's a farce!” 

Not bothering to stop the blood from pouring down his chin, it fell atop of the bloodied woman. 

Her eyes remained closed, the middle of her person laid into a deep maroon color. 

As best as the weakened knight could, the woman was pulled towards him. She rested upon his lap like a deity. 

Her head was angled towards him, it sagged into the man’s chest instantly. 

He smelled the apples— the Elder flowers that clung onto her stilled skin.

There was no denying, it was his love that lay crumpled in his arms like a wilted lily. 

Only his cries were heard through the chamber, bouncing off the walls with ease as his wails got louder and louder. 

The cries were wet, uneven hiccups accompanied the tears. 

As if nature mourned her loss; thunder boomed, rain seeped down to drench the land and the wind howled beneath the winking stars. 

The man’s shoulders shook, he howled— it was too much, too far beneath the golden rays he was promised. 

Burying his head into her neck the man refused to move. 

His kin could walk through the gates now— with a cure for his blindness yet he would say put. 

For his protective reign is over. 

Now that his purpose lay still and quiet. 

His grip tightened, wide knuckles turned white with pressure. 

“Thy will bury it all in flame,” 

His voice but a whisper among the pelting rain. 

“I will offer it all; and join thee with the heads of the filthy accusers, who dare put thy to rest.” 

Biting down on his cheeks, more crimson seeped down with unwanted reign. 

“Rest, my wife,” his forehead met with hers, the surface sticky and wet. 

“My love will hold me here—“

“—nnnghh,” 

Thin red brows raised, with his mouth agape he let out a noise like no other. 

“Darling, love, please!” He didn’t know what he was begging for, but it came out in unseen repetition

Her mind was foggy, vision even more so as her arm raised above her being. 

It felt as if daggers pierced through her chest, and needles laid about her arms like unseen birthmarks. 

“–mer, Messm—“ 

“I’m here! Gods, I’m— lovely, hear thy cries, please!” 

The voice sounded like it was under rubble, or even perhaps miles of sand and dirt. 

She felt the light touches, how they guided their way on her cheeks, her jaw. 

It was a loving, soft touch made by roughened hands. 

Familiar hands. 

Tears struck her bloodied cheeks, a sloppy smile graced her expression. 

He hadn’t left her afterall— after the fall, the oncoming of soldiers, he was here, by her side. 

Grunting out a low groan, words fled her cut lips in a rush. 

The woman’s words slurred together, and the man tried to make sense of them.

“Slow down, my wife, slow—“

“Es, mess, yo— your eyes!”

On queue, the blackened holes throbbed. Dark pits of ash wobbled down the crevices and met the material of his armor. 

“Shhh, Darling, it will be alright, it will be alright.” 

Her lips shook with a new level of fear, of total shock. 

“I will take care of it— mother will help. I— it will be alright.” 

“She is the cause of such damnation, how will she help?” Taking her hand in his larger one, Messmer placed kisses upon each finger.

The woman gaped up at him. 

“Why are you so calm, aren’t you angry— hurt?”  

“I… was,” He replied. Still distracted by the kisses he laid upon her skin. 

“But thy are here to calm such a flame, hm?” 

The red knight pushed his woman closer, till the cheek of her face mushed against his dirtied armor.

“Let us get fixed, then such a discussion can be demanded.” 

Ignoring the woman's constant worried touches, a smile adorned his face. 

He wasn't alone, his wife lay huddled between his arms. The unspoken horror lay hushed beneath his heel, stomped and winded. 

Although he was blinded, left to die on his own, he could continue his push to the capital.

For the prophecy has already been foretold. 

The kingdom will be left in ash; with only his wife and him to huddle in the flames of ambition. 

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) Mastlerist

A03 link

Summary: Tasked to hunt the demigod Messmer by order of the followers of Miquella the Kind, your purpose strays from theirs, creating a destiny you plan on executing.

Tags for this Story: slow burn. blood and gore, violence, enemies to friends to lovers, eventual smut (the warning will come for the chapter), eventual romance. touch-starved

Chapter 1: Consumed

Chapter 2: Caged

Chapter 3: Treatment

Chapter 4: An Accord

Chapter 5: Challenge

Chapter 6: Judgement

Chapter 7: Vindication

Chapter 8: The Encounter

Chapter 9: Unwinding Past

Chapter 10: Undoing🌶️

Chapter 11: Secrets

Chapter 12: Insurrections

Chapter 13: Acceptance

Chapter 14: Consolation

Chapter 15: Yearning 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Chapter 16: Divinity 🌶️🌶️

Chapter 17: Conflict

Chapter 18: Deliverance

[acapelladitty]

bereft of grace

Summary: Defeated by Messmer, you find that his plans for you, a mongrel tarnished, are far different than what you might expect.

(tw: non-con, humiliation, forced stripping, restraints, mild tit torment, rough sex, size difference, stretching, vaginal fingering, creampie, overstimulation, pain)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

You feel the infernal chill of his helm pressing against the side of your face as he lowers his head to your own. His words, soft-spoken and laced with cruelty, brush across your ears as your naked back remains pinned to his chest - restrained by both the strength of his arm pulling tightly across your stomach and the unshakeable wrap of the snakes which lace across your wrists to keep your hands useless and pinned against your sides.

"Mongrel tarnished." He growls the words like a slur, silken hatred pairing with the predatory knowledge that you were truly helpless in his arms. "Thy kind are good for naught."

A serpentine tongue slips free of his lips to stroke a languid line across your neck, tasting the sweat of your battle and the fear that had long since laced your skin since he had deprived you of your torn clothing; the shredded materials laying in a discarded pile below your suspended frame. His tongue is warm, wet and the sensation of it brushing along the sensitive skin of your throat is as arousing as it is repulsive.

"Stripped of gold."

Thin fingers force their way between your legs, widening your thighs as they push at and grope the skin there so roughly that you know small, circular bruises will be left in their wake. His hand slides further, your breath hitching with despair as he presses against your most private flesh; lengthy digits stroking along your slit to test the skin there as they tease your slightly-wet hole before slipping up to graze across the ultra-sensitive nub of your clit.

"Stripped of grace."

Gasping as he pushes two of his fingers within you with little preamble, the sudden stretch of the intrusion burns like hellfire and you cry out as he starts to pump them inside your walls. Your body responds despite itself, his long digits stroking areas which were quick to ignite a warmth in your cunt that made your brain feel fuzzy despite the hollowing discomfort.

"Stripped even of thy paltry linens."

The heat is oppressive, the flames which he was able to conjure in an instant making his body feel like a furnace where it touches your own - even through his armour - and it pairs with the shameful warmth which rolls from your own body as you find yourself pressing down into his hand like a bitch in heat.

As soon as he had robbed you of your weapon, you assumed death was to swiftly follow and a genuine fear of being impaled like so many of the corpses which littered the road to the Shadow Keep immediately made you compliant to his commands. You had dropped to the floor and awaited a swift death which was not to come as his hand had stayed, something almost like amusement playing in his drawn face as he noted the instant submission and ordered you to approach him.

He had ripped your clothing from you, tearing it with a demigods strength as you shivered and ignored the hot shame which paired with the fear in your heart. His snakes followed their masters will without verbal instruction, the infernal heat of them as they slid across your skin making you gasp as forked tongues tasted their way across your shuddering frame to lock your hands in place.

After that, it didn't take long for Messmer to make his move. His gaze, split between hues of gold and the abyssal void, had taken its time in your appraisal - peering into your anguish and fear-laced expression before roving across your ample breasts and lower half. A rail-thin hand had struck like one of his many serpents, harshly gripping at your upper arm to spin you in place and allowing him to scoop you close as inhumane strength lifted you from the floor as though you weighed nothing.

Nothing in the face of a demigod.

Thoughts snapping back into the moment as a third finger breaches your hole, a pained howl slips free of your lips as you writhe in place - attempting to pull away from the pleasurable pain with a futile struggle. Sex and bodily pleasure wasn't unknown to you, but the sheer power which rolled from the demigod who seemed determined to amuse himself with your flesh made it difficult to focus on anything outside of the humid air and the sensations he was forcing upon you.

"Thy kind are fit for use as a fleshly pleasure. No more. Strip all thoughts of lordship from thy desires before my hand is pushed to strip thy skin from such soft flesh."

Fresh snakes slither across your chest, the thin bodies wrapping around the globes of your breasts and tightenening to the point of true discomfort - the rope-like restraints making a wicked pressure quickly build up in your abused chest. Sinking their fangs into the sensitive skin just below your chest, the snakes showed no sign of letting up their firm hold and you almost sob with relief as Messmer's thick fingers pull free of your cunt.

It's a short-lived peace though, as his slickened fingers are quick to establish how tight the hold his snakes have achieved and a guttural cry breaks free of your throat as his large hands move to pinch at your chest roughly. Nipples perked due to the pressure and arousal which is rolling through your stimulated frame, he's careful to snatch the sensitive nubs between his fingers, one at time, until fresh tears spring into your eyes and your back arches violently into his chest while your lips form a constant stream of pleas and whines.

"For one so cursed and devoid of all, thy voice is surprisingly sweet." And although you cannot see his face, you can hear the predatory arousal which accompanies the words.

He was enjoying himself, attempting to force you to do the same.

"You are the cursed one."

Finding your voice, you yelp out the words like an accusation - arousal, shame, and mild horror sparking a momentary boldness which you immediately regret as his body stiffens and a sharp chill replaces the cruel warmth of his earlier tones.

"True, little tarnished. My curse is borne in the void of the abyssal serpent. Naught more than a monster, I will force thee to embrace thy oblivion and know such suffering."

Something blunted presses against your hole and your panicked struggle renews as you feel just how big he is, the girth making genuine fear lance your spine as you realise that his earlier rough treatment with his fingers was a necessity more than anything else. Aside from the stretch which his fingers provided, you were horrified to feel just how wet you were as his cock grazed along your slit; collecting your arousal to ensure an easier entry as he forced himself inside such a tight-fit space.

The noise that slips free of your throat is inhumane, guttural and raw, as the head of his cock breaches past your hole. It feels like it's going to split you apart and the sheer burning ache of the merciless stretch instantly overpowers any other feeling in your body - your toes curling as a wracked sob shakes your trembling frame.

"Please! Please, st-stop." The words are a babble, stuttered and broken, as you try to force yourself to relax around him, to adjust to his infernal size. "My lord, please."

The unexpected use of his title earns a rumble of approval and his lips are hot against your neck once more as his sharpened teeth graze across the sensitive flesh while he considers the plea with a low hum.

"Thy slickened folds tell of a differing desire, little tarnished." Messmer growls, keeping his cock still as he allows himself to acclimatise to his gripping tightness of your spasming cunt. "But I am not a rutting beast, devoid of all mercies. Ask it of me and I shall see to thy own pleasures."

Fresh shame flushed through your frame, adding another layer of heat to the already sweat-slicked skin as you listen to his offer. He would force you to ask this of him. To make you accomplice to your own unmaking. A cruel mercy, but a mercy which you would take him on as the alternative seemed impossible to bear.

"I beg you, my- my lord. Please, use me."

His chuckle is victorious and wicked in its joy as Messmer pulls you lower on to his cock, forcing another two inches of him within your aching hole. However, true to his word, his free arm, the one not pinning you to his chest, slips down between your legs and you gasp as his finger circles itself at the top of your cunt, seeking out your most sensitive flesh.

He knows he has found it when you jerk in his arms, an electric bolt of pleasure arcing across your skin as his calloused finger grazes your swollen clit. It sparks him to pick up a slow pace, his cock breaching your hole until it presses flush against your cervix before pulling free until only the head remains. A slow pace, but a brutal one as every thrust makes it feel like he is pulling your walls free with him - the friction immediately sending your body into overdrive.

His finger never lets up the pressure on your clit; alternating between grazing along it directly and gently thumbing circles around it as the dual manipulations forced your legs wider, your body seeking more pleasure to offset the ache of the stretch. Pain and pleasure, both sensations at war within your tortured flesh until his thumb presses just a little too roughly against your nub and you came undone.

Clenching around his cock, your release brings with it a low scream as waves of pleasure roll across your body. Messmer seems to appreciate the forced pleasure, if the growing pace of his cock is anything to go by, but the continued stimulation of his thrusts only serves to make your orgasm draw out until your body twitches from the aftershocks.

"So easily pleasured. Were it not for thy warriors garb and weaponry, I would have assumed thee a courtesan. A temptress, well-versed in the pleasures of men."

Messmer grunts the insult as he continues to fuck you without mercy but his humiliating words barely register within your overstimulated mind as your whimpers fill the large room. His voice is full of excitement and you can hear the slight gasps which exist between the words and how they speak of his own coming release.

His cock having ruined your most sensitive walls, the dull ache of the stretch now only serves to enhance the pleasure and you cannot help but clench around him, pulling him to his finish as his cock twitches within you.

The arm around your stomach tightens, as do the snakes which remain bound across your suffering frame and you feel the heat of his release as it scorches you from the inside out, much hotter than any man you had been with before. Seeking his own pleasure, Messmer pulls you tight, forcing his cock up hard against your battered cervix as his mouth buries itself into your neck - teeth and tongue making a mess of your skin as he marks the territory like a beast.

It all proves too much and you come again, your cunt fluttering and squeezing his cock as low, animalistic noises break free of your lips. Your strength leaves you in an instant after the initial high and the loose limbs of your frame are only supported by his arm and snakes as he keeps you suspended like a puppet until he's finished with you.

His cock pulls out, the movement slow and certain, and the moment his cockhead slips free you feel the heat of his release trickle down your thighs as a gaping emptiness seems to fill the space between your legs. Despite the heat, you feel cold and you whimper anew as his snakes unlatch themselves from your chest and retreat back to their master.

Messmer's breathing is heavy and his chest feels as hot as ever against your naked back, even his armour having lost its metallic chill, as he continues to hold you in place. Aching, twitching, and thoroughly fucked you lay passively in his arm, your entire body feeling loose and untrustworthy.

After a minute has passed, Messmer speaks once more and his hoarse words are delivered to your ear as he lifts you slightly higher.

"My vague amusement with thee requires further consideration." As silken as before, you shudder at the close proximity as you rub your mess-slickened thighs together. "And so my offer is thus: remain in the Shadow Keep as a personal courtesan to myself, a role in which no other man nor beast shall lay hand on thee, or choose to return to ash and I shall grant thee a swift death until thy body is restored by the grace of gold which thee are unworthy of."

Your breath hitches, both options relaying in your mind as you recover from the shock of the unexpected offer. Messmer, however, did not appear to be a patient man and his arm jostled you slightly as he instsntly pushed for a response.

"Well, little tarnished, what is thy choice?"

[freyito]

ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ʙᴇᴀᴛꜱ

✭ pairing(s): messmer x gn reader

★ 'hearth' /härTH/ ✱ used as a symbol of one's home.

✩ in which: messmer understands the meaning of home. or you had a bad day. (as is common in the lands between)

✧ a/n: messmerrrrrr i missss yewwww (writing this while i stare at my messmer statue)

🗒 cw: gn reader, tarnished reader, comfort, proofread

✎ wc: 1.3k

Comfort is a lost art on Messmer. Long gone are the days of being cradled in his mothers arms when he had a bad dream, or her soft words when he had a bad day. What he was left with now was an emptiness that he never could seem to fill, one that clawed its way through his heart. No matter how many times he had raised his spear, how many times he had repeated those words, over and over, nothing made home there.

Aside from now, at least. He could wallow as much as he wanted to, mourn what he wanted with his mother, and that wouldn’t change the fact that he had a Tarnished curled up on his chest, sobbing. You were the first Tarnished to not raise your weapon when faced with him, and in a moment of weakness, he was compelled to take you in. ‘Like a pet’ he rationalized in his head. He didn’t expect to get so attached, but within you, he saw something more. Stripped of your light, yet still standing. For once, to him, it was honorable. And so, here you were, head pressed against his chest, heaving softly as you tried to blink away the tears that welled in your eyes.

He is so very warm, akin to the warmest blanket you’ve known against the cold that had gradually seeped into your very bones. The cold that persisted within the Lands Between. It was a bitter feeling you were rather intimate with, the way your fingers stung no matter the padding of your armor, your bones weary and tired. You had grown so used to the abuse thrown your way, the way the world piled its own weight against you every step of the way. You were familiar with just how deep the world cut into you, and always prided yourself on just how much you could withstand. The scorn others cast upon you, the reminder that Tarnished were lesser, it was crammed into your head. And yet, you persevered. All you could do was wipe the blood, spit, and rain off your face and continue on.

But it wore you down. The Lands Between could not suffer sensitivity, and all you could ever do was keep walking forward. You could not rest, no, for it felt as if the entire world was against you. All you could do was kill, push forward, and kill again. It has inevitably taken its toll, as all things do. You could care less about the Grace of Marika now, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of something. Preferably your partner. And yet, even as you curled up against Messmer’s chest, his warmth does nothing to dull the biting cold that’s made its home within your very bones. You wanted nothing more than to be swaddled and coddled like a babe, sang to sleep, even. You wanted your cries to be heard, not pushed aside in favor of battle.

And Messmer knew that feeling all too well. To be shunned yet still borderline worshiped, somehow honored despite being such a wretched thing. And yet, he fell short. All he could do was simply breathe, too afraid to do anything with his hands or console you with his words. Despite how much he longed for the same treatment you crave so desperately at this moment, he had never thought of how he would go about it. And yet, he couldn’t just let you wallow alone, he wouldn’t let you suffer another minute, not alone, at least.

You take a deep shuddering breath, unable to quell the uncertainty and fear that ails you. Even the thought of resting was horrifying, all your body had known was strife and to take a break was as if you were asking yourself to die. The creeping dread intertwined with the pain spreading through your chest, which only made for a worse reaction.

Tentatively, Messmer’s fingers stroke through your hair, his nails scratching ever so lightly at your scalp. He is careful not to be too rough, quite aware of his size compared to yours. His other hand is placed firmly on the small of your back, shuffling beneath you, readjusting your body so your ear lay against his chest. His breathing is steady, chest rising and falling calmly as you whine. His heart beats against your ear, even, yet it stutters every now and then. Whether it’s his nerves or just how flustered he is to be so close to you, you are unsure. But it’s a gentle lullaby, something that stills your racing mind, yet doesn’t stop the tears that flow.

His serpents tense ever so slightly, unsure of what to do as is Messmer. Yet, they relax as your sobs slow, resting over your tired limbs. All Messmer can do is offer soft shushes, in the same way his mother had offered when he was a fussy babe. Yet, he feels as if he is lacking, missing something. All he wants is to quell your fears and calm you down, and yet he knows he cannot tell you that everything will be okay. He knows that is a lie. But he does not deny you the catharsis of bawling until your throat is raw. He can do more, he tells himself, but he freezes in his own fluster, unable to act on what he wishes to do. At least for the time being. He simply stares down at you as you sob helplessly against him.

What follows is a painful silence in the hollow chamber, wracked with your sniffles and heaves. Messmer shifts near uncomfortably beneath you, not because he is embarrassed, but simply because he doesn’t know what to do. Or if what he’s about to do would be seen as okay. He feels rather bold, yet anxious as his hands drift to your waist, pushing you up until your face is level with his. Close, so very close, is all he can think as he looks upon your crying face, wet, puffy, and vulnerable. You watch as his face softens quickly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, his eye glossy, as if he, too, is feeling your pain.

He presses his lips to your cheekbone, just under your eye, a gentle kiss to ward away your fear. You can feel his entire body heat up by this simple act, and even in your blurred vision you can tell just how bright his cheeks burned. He had kissed you a million times before, and yet he could never dull the awkwardness or rush he felt. Yet, he presses another kiss to your cheek, and another. He continues to kiss away your tears, and in doing so, turns your harsh shuddering into light laughs. His kisses are ticklish, and while you were almost content to wallow in your misery, you couldn’t help but laugh. Which has Messmer beaming.

A warmth spreads through him that was just once kindling, now a blazing flame. One that is imperceptible to you, but means the world and more to Messmer. It quells the ever-burning flame within, the one he had learned to hate and yet wield as a weapon. Replaced by something that was just simply warm. Like a summers day, one that has long since faded from the Land of Shadow, yet akin nonetheless. He can’t put his finger on it. When he looks at you, however, that warmth grows hotter, and hotter, and then dulls into the comforting embrace of a blanket, or the fur of a kitten underneath his fingers. It is not like the love that he sought and begged for all these years, no, it is something different. He knows it is different. And as he looks upon your tear streaked face, still slightly red, but graced with a smile nonetheless, he himself cannot help but smile. A gentle look that he has not shared in ages.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[prismatic-starstuff]

Why?

— Tarnished!Reader and Messmer.

"...thy assistance is unneeded by this point, Tarnished. I can walk unaided..."

His voice doesn't carry the bite it once did; it's no longer full of half-hearted threat intended to make you go away. He makes no attempt to draw his hand away from yours, makes no attempt to remove your arm from around his slender waist; and, in fact, one of his pale serpents is betraying him by winding itself around your neck.

It wants you close. Messmer wants you close. You're very aware of it by this point; for all he'd tried, he'd never been particularly good at denying your help.

"...so why..."

You give his hand a gentle squeeze. Your free hand reaches to gently pet the head of the serpent around your neck; its tongue emerges in a pleased hiss, and the demigod at your side gives a sigh, quiet but contented.

This has been quite normal for the pair of you, ever since your ill-fated battle. Truth be told, you hadn't known what you were getting into when you'd stumbled into the Shadow Keep; you hadn't expected to face off with its master, and you certainly hadn't expected him to wound himself so gravely in the pursuit of victory against you...

Back then, he'd been sure that you would drive your sword into him when he was vulnerable.

Yet instead, you'd laid down your weapon; approached with a careful hand and a gentle tone, helped him to his feet, and remained by his side ever since.

"...why dost thou... insist upon... helping me?"

There's a quiet pain in his tone that goes far beyond his physical ailments; a tremble that he surely hopes you don't pick up on. When you turn your head to gaze up at him, you note how his soft lips tighten; how his head is turned towards you and you alone, even though he can no longer see the expression on your face.

Your hand loosens around his own; your touch lightly brushing over his long fingers, his lengthy nails. You're so careful as you rub your palm up the scales on his arm, as you twine your fingers in his flaming hair.

Another sigh trembles past Messmer's lips, this one even less restrained; and he leans into your touch, all pride pushed aside.

And you lean up towards him, tenderly cupping his cheek, smiling as he so gently nuzzles into your palm; and so tenderly, so earnestly, you answer that question in the same way you always do:

"Because you deserve it, dear Messmer."

[onrei]

Rude man interrupting my bonding time with his snek

[garous-abs]

a drunk messmer that’s thinking a bit too much (about you)

[eldenbiscuit]

Daily reminder to tell your favorite demigod they’re beautiful (quicksketch)

I still need to learn his helm so I don’t have to heavily reference from the 3D models

[wxnheart]

yandere!messmer x reader.

Messmer who encounters his mongrel intruder time and time again, and time and time again, they fall only to come back and challenge him. And time and time again, he finds himself fixated on you and your determination to see your journey through. The same journey put upon you by his mother. The same mother who doomed him to hell.

Messmer who figures he could kill two birds with one stone. If Marika could deny him the tranquility of life, he would deny her and her purpose the freedom that came with death. And he would do so with you by his side. And so Messmer waits for your return, his tainted love bereft of light.

Messmer who sits and contemplates your end goal. What could you possibly hope to achieve on this journey? What could you possibly hope to gain from Marika's ambitions? No matter. What you want, what you seek, the Light couldn't possibly give, but his flame would provide you with warmth.

Messmer who almost contemplates pursuing you himself rather than letting you come to him again. What an interesting turn of events. Initially, you were met with faint incredulity. Faint incredulity became annoyance, annoyance became anticipation, and anticipation became impatience for who else could fall and rise back up again to challenge him but his determined love? He loves and hates you for it.

Messmer who begins to obsessively track your whereabouts from the comfort of his hold. He has eyes and ears everywhere in this shadowed land. Nothing goes unnoticed under his watch. Messmer who feels this... exhilaration when he learns you're near. And so he prepares to strike.

Messmer who's never fully embraced the excitement of battle until now as his plan comes to fruition. Messmer whose strikes are hard-hitting, his evades frustrating, and his anger and desire clear for all to see. Except, perhaps, for you.

Messmer who defeats you yet again, but instead of dealing the finishing blow, long fingers grab your chin and—wait, he's kissing you. Messmer who tightens his grip as you try to pull away. It's firm, overwhelming, and harsh.

Messmer whose smile is small and serene compared to your confused countenance, singular eye glowing ominously in the half-lit room. Messmer whose smile remains intact even as you question and try to pull away. Messmer who simply murmurs, "My consort..." and your blood runs cold.

Messmer, he who was denied peace, finds his own, and it comes at your expense. If he could not be free of the abyss, you cannot run toward the light. All is as it should be: his mother's dream and your ambition reduced to ashes by his flame. And peace comes at last.

[pinnedmother]

Caring for The Impaler (3 short stories)

Showing our love for the snakey man through acts of service! 🐍ɞ

2/3: Helping him bathe

Messmer has been gone for quite some time. You were occupied enough not to worry about him too much, yet worry you did. When he and his troops finally returned you found out that there was a battle, a rough one at that. Surprising to nobody the formidable Impaler came victorious.

Once you see him, bloodied, covered in ash and soot, you can only imagine how terrifying this man looked in the eyes of the enemy. He sighs with clear exhaustion, listening to a report from one of the Fire Knights. Then his gaze finally settles upon you. He perks up ever so slightly, his mood ameliorated. Disregarding the knight with a move of his hand, Messmer comes straight for you.

You know that look when you see it: he wants to take you into an embrace. “No.” You protest firmly, taking a step back and putting your arm forth to stop him if his messy self comes too close. He halts, a mixture of sadness and confusion flashes on his face. Thankfully, the realization comes to him quickly after. Messmer regards himself up and down before looking at something much more pleasant once again – you.

“O, cherished heart of mine. How hast thou fared in mine absence?”

You engage in a conversation about pleasant nothings. Although you are curious, you avoid inquiring about the battle, seeing that right now he wishes for a distraction from all that gore and brutality. You try to be that distraction for him, his source of comfort.

Still, you entwine in the dialogue a subtle suggestion to clean himself of the war’s muck, volunteering to help. After a brief hesitation, he agrees.

“Come” you say, leading him to the bathing chambers. A large pool of water awaits you there – large enough to fit a demigod and then some.

Messmer removes his armor and clothing piece by piece. The hardest part, as usual, is to take off the vest. The serpents maneuver smoothly with practiced moves, trying their best to ease the process. In the meantime, you wear a linen apron and gather the cleaning supplies: a pile of neatly folded rags, two bars of mushroom soap and a bottle of scented oil.

When you come back, Messmer is already soaking in the bath, most of his body covered by the ever-growing stain of dirt on the water’s surface as its layers come off his ashy skin. The water, cold just a minute ago, is now steaming.

“Ah. I wouldst entreat thee to join me, but...”

“Gladly. Later.” You respond, soliciting a tired chuckle out of him.

You push one of the rags in the water, letting the fabric properly soak for a few moments. Then pull it out, wring just a bit for excess liquid, and bring it closer to Messmer’s shoulder. He moves his head to the side allowing you a better access, strands of his hair lazily copy his movement floating on the murky surface.

You start rubbing, putting just enough force to scrub the mud off him while keeping it gentle and unintrusive. Once his skin is thoroughly wet and rid of most of the grime, you go in with the soap. Its herbaceous fragrance fills the air, replacing the steely, burning smell Messmer carried with him out of the fight.

When you take his hand into yours to keep it up, he wraps his fingers around it, lovingly caressing your skin with his thumb. You’re gliding the bar over his long arm until it’s white with foam, then rub once more with a new rag. Rinse and repeat.

As you clean his back, you reach for a scar surrounding one of the serpents’ exit. You realize too late that the skin there is thin and sensitive. Messmer makes a sharp inhale when you brush it with a rough fabric. You still for a moment, waiting for him to say something: to ask you to stop or leave. Yet he remains silent. You continue. Much gentler now. You make just a tiny amount of contact, brushing with slow and careful rubs. He shivers a little whenever you get a longer swipe, but you watch for his reactions trying not to cause too much discomfort.

Messmer’s body is fully cleansed, his pale grey skin now an even tone, glistening beautifully in the light of the candles. He’s out of the water, letting himself naturally dry out as he sits on the age of the pool. One more touch is in order though.

You lean behind him and apply a couple droplets of oil to your hands, rubbing them together before sliding your palms from his shoulders to the collarbones and downward, massaging the wooden, musky aroma into his skin. He softly hums and pulls his head back in bliss, resting it on your chest. You don’t mind his wet hair. He looks serene like this, about to fall asleep. You slow your movements in tact with his breathing.

The oil rubs off your hands quickly, absorbing into his skin. When you’re done, you simply continue to hold the man, almost certain he’s slumbering. Even his serpents are dormant, resting their heads on the heated stone floor. Messmer seemed so tired, it would be cruel to wake him now, you think. He surprises you with a low murmur:

“Go, mine dearest. Rest thy weary form. As shall I”. You nod and obediently remove your arms from him. He catches your hand with his own however, keeping you closer just a moment longer.

He brushes the side of your face with the back of his forefinger as he coos: “Then,” he adds, “later,” Messmer emphasizes, reminding you of your own words, an enigmatic smile on his face, “mine hour with thee cometh”.

[mydadleft471]

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Summary: Messmer decides to surprise you in more ways than one.

Spoilers for both Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. No warnings tho, just me loving my fiery redhead.

MESSMER LOVERS COME EAT!

I finally got the courage to upload the fic I was working on! Everyone was so nice (and starving for Messmer content) so I folded lmao. Please enjoy and understand that I have never written anything like this, especially with ye olde English. It's a pain.

“I have something I wish to show thee.” Messmer’s low voice cut through the silence reverberating in his chamber.

“What is it?” You look up from patching a hole in one of his cloaks.

“I cannot say. It is a surprise.” His eye twinkled with something akin to mischief. You put down your needle and gently fold his cloak, putting it on your chair to finish later.

“A surprise for me? Are you feeling alright, My Lord?” You smile at him from where he towers above you. 

“Shush. Wilt thou follow?” 

“Always,” you say.

He leads you down countless flights of stairs and through the castle’s corridors. Down a hallway, you follow him as he steps into a lift that takes you to a part of the castle that is unfamiliar to you. You assumed you had explored everything by now, but it seems you were wrong. Messmer had given you permission to freely roam the castle, and you had spent a lot of time exploring the various rooms. You had gotten lost many times within the many twisting and confusing hallways, but the castle staff always led you back to your quarters. 

The path from the lift leads out to a part of the castle almost entirely flooded. This seems like a place that hasn’t been occupied in many years. Some of the buildings you can see appear to be collapsing and debris litters the area. The water churns uneasily below you, as if something lurks in the depths. Taking a few steps away from the ledge, you stare out into the water that swallows surrounding buildings.

“What is it?” Messmer asks. He senses your trepidation in going any further, though you don’t think you have much to worry about with a powerful demigod at your side. Still, this place sets your nerves alight and has you on high alert.

“I’ve never seen this place before. Where are we?”

He speaks as if it’s common knowledge. “The Church District.”

“What happened here?”

He takes a second before he responds in a flat tone. “It does not matter.” Noticing your face falling slightly, he gives you a small smile. “Thy surprise is near. Come.”

You continue to follow him, your footfalls mere echoes of his much heavier ones. You wonder where he is taking you, and why he decided to surprise you. Though you have gotten much closer to him throughout your time in the Realm of Shadow, you can’t wrap your head around the fact that he wants to show you something himself. So many unanswered questions, though Messmer brings about many of those. Still, you cannot complain about how well he treats you now after you’ve earned some of his trust. You are safe within his walls, and you are welcome.

Though you wish he’d let you into his heart and mind more often, you take what you can get.

Finally, he stops in a room with a large, and complete, statue of Queen Marika. Many throughout the Realm of Shadow have been beheaded, sending icy chills through you when you first arrived, but this one is intact. The only signs of damage have been from the apparent age of the statue.

“Dost thou trust me?”

His question catches you off guard. Looking up at him, he looks vulnerable and almost uncomfortable. 

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have followed if I didn’t.” You smile at him to ease his tension.

He relaxes slightly. “Of course. I will ask thee to trust me again.”

You shoot him a puzzled look. How could you trust him any more than you already have?

“Close thine eyes. I shall lead thee, hand in hand.”

The prospect of him holding your hand makes heat rush to your cheeks, but you comply. Closing your eyes, you hold out your hands, and a few seconds later, he grabs them in his much larger ones. He holds them delicately, as if you might break if he dares to squeeze your hands. His skin is surprisingly smooth and warm. 

“I will ensure thou dost not fall and injure thyself..” 

“I’d appreciate that.”

He chuckles at your comment, a sound so rare and pleasant you want to hear it again and again. He begins walking, gently guiding you down a hill and you soon feel sunlight on your skin. The air feels lighter and there is a pleasant smell of lavender and fresh grass in the air. You wonder where you could possibly be. You haven’t seen much greenery in the Realm of Shadow.

After a few minutes he stops and lets go of your hands. You instantly miss his warmth, but you soon feel the heat of him behind you. You keep your eyes closed out of obedience and trust; you know he would not harm you.

His hands gently find your waist and he moves you a few steps to the left. Satisfied, he lowers a hand over your eyes to ensure you will not open them prematurely.

“This place is sacred. Inviting thee here was not a spontaneous act.” His voice is a mere whisper in your ear. You can’t tell whether to be scared or excited for what he will soon allow you to see.

He moves his hand away from your eyes, but they remain closed. You will not sully his trust. 

You can hear the smile in his voice. He’s pleased by your obedience. 

“Open thine eyes.”

You do, and you are immediately greeted with a grassy field speckled with vibrant flowers. You’ve never seen so many in one place. You think it would take all day to identify them. Trickles of gold sit suspended in the air like shattered stained glass and the sunlight kisses your skin sweetly. Not far up a hill is a small village made up of a few wooden houses. They look old and mostly abandoned. You take in the beauty before you. Not even Leyendell was this spectacular.

“Thou’rt pleased, I take it?” His voice wavers slightly with uncertainty.

“This is a most wonderful surprise, My Lord. Thank you for bringing me here.” You look up at Messmer, whose golden eye seems to shine brighter in the sanctity of this place.

“Forget formalities here.” He sits down in the soft grass and you are soon to join him. He looks relaxed, even happy, here.

“May I ask where we are now?” You idly skim your fingertips over the silky petals of the flowers swaying in the breeze around your skirt.

“Mother’s home. Her village before she became a God.” 

Your mouth hangs open in shock. It takes you a few moments to gather yourself enough to speak. “Queen Marika lived here?”

“Yes,” he answers. “Long ago.”

You wonder if Marika wanted Messmer to guard her old home, or if he does it out of love for her. You’ve seen the state of other Shamans within his infirmary, his medics working day and night to try and reverse the torture they’d went through. You knew Marika was a Shaman herself, but you’d never realized this place was originally her home. Your heart hurts for the God-Queen. Behind all her power was a girl who wanted her people safe.

You sigh, and Messmer shoots you a curious look. “This is the first time I’ve seen Marika as a person. Knowing she lived here, knowing she suffered… I understand now.”

Messmer reaches up and takes his helmet off, gently placing it to his side. “Mother desired revenge for her peoples’ suffering, and I became her instrument to do so here, in the Land of Shadow.”

“Did you want this?” 

He closes his eye. “Mother has endured what a thousand people could not. I will ensure she receives her long-awaited deliverance.” He dodged the question. He does not want this, but he desires to avenge Marika.

“I know you won’t answer me truthfully, and we don’t have to talk about this anymore. But know this: you are not ‘The Impaler’ to me.”

“Thank you.” His response is so quiet you almost can’t hear it, despite being right next to him.

As promised, you change the subject. “Have you brought others here?”

He looks away and you can see a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“I have not. The first to lay eyes on this place is thee.” He admits.

“Why?”

“I-“ he begins. “Surely thou must know thy importance to me, yes?” 

The realization hits you. 

This is his way of saying he loves you.

You scoot closer to him and lay your head against his arm. You feel him tense, then slowly begin to relax. One of his snakes gently perches itself on your shoulder. You smile.

“You can touch me, you know.” You reassure him. “You won’t break me.”

Silence hangs in the breeze as you wait for him to respond.

“Dost thou understand my reason for bringing thee here?”

You nod against him. “I think so.”

He moves away from you, earning himself a confused look, then he slowly grabs your hands and pulls you closer until you are comfortably sitting between his legs. You look up at him and see that his face is almost as red as his hair. He is adorable when he blushes.

You could get used to this.

“You will forgive me if I am too presumptuous. I am… not accustomed to touch, yet I want thee closer.” His soft, silky voice makes your heart melt.

“I want you closer too. It’s okay.” You cup his face with both hands, and though it’s a simple gesture, he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. His eye closes and you try to memorize the look of peace etched on his face.

“With thee, I am content.” He whispers to you.

“Then I’ll see to it that we’re never separated.” 

His eye flutters open and he hazily looks down at your lips. His hand engulfs your cheek and you feel the warmth radiating from his palm.

So many have met their demise from the man sitting in front of you now, content and complacent, and that thought sends shivers down your spine.

“No man nor God could tear thee away from me. That is a promise.” 

He leans forward and kisses you. His lips are soft and he pulls you closer to him and his hands are splayed possessively over your face and back. You don’t want to pull away, and you get the feeling he doesn’t want to either.

You are his as he is yours.

[trulyumai]

care for me?

pairing: Messmer the Impaler / Wife! Reader

synopsis: exhausted, you try to stay up for the arrival of your husband. only he doesn’t come back the same man.

wk: 1.1k

warnings: mention of death, violence. mostly fluff

A/N: EJ come, water! (no seriously enjoy Messmer lovers) this was a request, thank you for the suggestion anonymous!

Enjoy!

It was so cold.

Dreary winds busted across the little home, invading the shack with freezing temperatures that nipped at one’s bones.

The girl of said residence could not battle such a feat alone; so she lay bundled up in many cottons and wools that cascaded her form just in front of the fire pit.

With her teeth clanking together, she drew in a particular large blanket that seemed to swallow her whole being.

She was trying— attempting, to stay away for her husbands arrival.

“He— he will be here soon,” giving herself words of comfort, little fingers smoothed over the skin of her arm.

Back and forth they went, seeking any form of warmth they could gather.

But, she was getting tired. It had been hours since his departure.

So, with a defeated huff, her lashes fluttered.

Eyes now shut, her form slumped against the wooden boards.

Maybe she could greet her doting husband upon the fields of dreams

Everything went wrong.

His mother… his own mother…

A cry, weak and low left Messmers lips as he shuddered in pain—agony.

Instead of telling the citizens, the people what had been done of the shadow lands of between, his mother lied.

She blamed the knight of flames for his part in the destruction. Blamed him for the plans, the deaths, the innocent lives gone—

“O, Mother!” Just outside the home, Messmer sat. His head tilted towards the ground in shame as his long nails twisted and pulled at his cheeks.

Blood seeped down almost instantly, yet he couldn’t find the energy to care.

Tears streamed down his face in waves, meeting the bloody patches along the way.

His nails tore and scratched at any skin that came in contact, only making his wounds worse.

“Does thou… not perceive mine own consciousness?” A yellowed Iris glanced forth upon the house.

His home.

Only now realizing he made it back, a shudder ran through him.

“Wife,” he whimpered. “Please… forgive me.”

Only the sound of wind greeted his ears, as his now bloody and weakened form pushed against the stone. Slowly making his way to the wooden door merely a foot away.

The flowers lay dormant, the fields around him lay bare and dead. Much like the lands he left behind his wake.

With bodies, upon bodies—

“Augh! No more!” With a slam, the door receded against his strength, banging out against the wall behind.

The ball of blankets jumped up in surprise, a head peeked out from the warm egg shaped cocoon the girl placed herself in.

Messmers eyes softened upon such a sight, he couldn’t help but let out a little smile seeing the girls attempt to warm herself.

“little wife,” he called. Already on his way to the girl sitting about the floor.

“husband!” she cried, reaching out her hands to signal for the man’s embrace.

He gladly accepted, sweeping her into his arms and cradling her head soothingly.

“I’ve missed you,” little sweet kisses dotted across his neck, to his jaw and up the face.

“What— what happened?” Her lips met with a red and open wound, to which the flame winced at.

He had forgotten about such a display.

“It’s nothing, dear wife,” big palms rubbed along her sides. “an accident, nothing more.”

Fear began to corrode his mind, it crumbled and tore at the seams of sanity.

People will come for him.

For his betrayal, his slaughter.

His wife— gods what has he done?

A hand pulled him back, it was soft and careful as it cradled the man’s left cheek.

“It’s okay,”

She didn’t know what was wrong, only that something was amiss.

For the man was troubled, that much was clear.

“I… listen closely, my heart.” Setting her upon the ground he looked down at her form, so much smaller than his own.

His back had to bend uncomfortably to meet her gaze but he ignored such pain.

Big palms surrounded her face, angling her eyes to meet with his.

“We need to go, does thou need anything before our leave?”

“Leave?” She shrieked. “This is our home… why would we leave so—“

“Please, please wife understand me so. I cannot dote on such a matter yet but please.” A desperate yellowed eye looked upon both of hers

“I will protect thee. With mine own blade, with mine own body. But we need to leave, most ardently”

Confused and somewhat scared, the girl could do nothing but nod her head. Even when he placed a mirage of kisses upon her, she did nothing but look upon the man.

Almost as if to study him— understand him.

Soon, she was lightly pushed into the direction of their room.

“Grab what thy can carry and need.” Messmer had said.

So she did.

She grabbed her favorite blanket, the one that had been with her since birth.

She grabbed her jewelry box that lay full of gifts from the knight.

And finally, she grabbed the last vials of homemade oils. Lavender scented, which always seemed to calm her husband down whenever it graced her soft skin.

Seeing his wife’s hands full, Messmer acted. Gently picking her up, the objects shifted about as a bridal style posture was given upon her.

Head now bumping with his armor with every movement, she decided to speak.

“Are you alright, husband?”

This was an opening.

A pristine opportunity to tell her of his forthcomings.

Of his tidings with his mother.

Of the burning lands.

Even of the soon to be castle that will be there home for god knows how long.

Messmer only looked down, peacefully admiring his wife so.

“Everything will be fine, my wife. Thou can sleep while the travel begins.”

He was a coward. Biting down upon his cheeks blood ran across his tongue, to the back of his throat.

Past all the lies and short comings, two thing stay true; he adored his wife

and he would do anything to protect her.