#messmer the impaler x you

[lxvvie]

[If you've not played or finished the DLC yet, read at your own discretion!]

Being in a relationship with Messmer the Impaler consists of:

The initial beginnings of your relationship are a... blur. At least they were for Messmer. He's yet to understand how this happened to him but happened it did. Whether it's a trick of the light or his mother's intrusion, he's not sure but he'll entertain his mongrel intruder for the time being.

He does remember your attempts to engage him in simple talk, however. They were humorous, admittedly. You'd talk and talk and he'd simply stare at you.

Realizing that for all of Messmer's cold brilliance, your getting close to him makes you privy to just how self-loathing he truly is. If you thought Morgott was bad, Messmer may arguably have him beaten. All things considered, you can't blame him.

Messmer being hot and cold when it comes to physical affection, even though he stubbornly refuses to admit he's touch-starved. It's equal parts self-loathing (again) and his serpent... er, companion. His serpent companion who's quite curious of you. His serpent companion whose snoot you've taken to booping seeing as it stays in your personal space. You've... done this to Messmer, too, with varying results.

To piggyback off of this, Messmer is a walking, talking furnace. Good for when there's a nip in the air.

Finding his voice to be so sonorous you could listen to him speak all day if you could. Messer fails to understand this. In fact, he just thinks his voice is just like any other.

Asking him about his upbringing and Messmer remaining tight-lipped about it. He might occasionally give you something, but that's about it. However, he's more interested in your life and how you became Tarnished and managed to make your way down here and gain his affection.

For all his disdain for his mother, there is an interest in knowing the current affairs of the Lands Between that Messmer has kept under wraps. Until you, that is. It's adorable whenever he gets curious and asks you to tell him about it. If things were different and he wasn't cursed, he could... he really could have... Mother...

His interest really piques when you tell him about Jarburg, though.

Surprise kisses. Because not? If they don't do anything else, they hilariously and adorably throw Messmer off and he'll get flustered. He'll never not be thrown off by your affection and he likes it more than he cares to admit.

[trulyumai]

a fire set loose upon blood

—paring: Messmer / wife! reader

synopsis: with queen marika learning of her sons marriage, she called him to the capital, forbidding the man to marry into such a low family. Messmer became angry, the flames taking over his will once more.

—warnings: talking down, violence, light cussing.

The grand hall of the royal palace was alive with a murmur of anticipation, the high vaulted ceilings echoing with the sound of nobles and courtiers preparing for the evening’s festivities. Gold and white drapes adorned the walls, their opulence a stark contrast to the underlying tension that simmered within the room. At the head of the hall, the throne loomed, a symbol of Queen Marika’s unyielding authority.

The siblings were no where to be seen. For why would they show when Messmer needed them so?

Messmer stood in the center of the room, his regal attire starkly contrasting with the turmoil that brewed beneath his composed exterior. His eye, dark and stormy, fixed intently on the figure of his mother as she ascended the throne with a grace that belied the iron will behind her serene facade.

Queen Marika’s presence was commanding, her poise a perfect blend of royal dignity and maternal authority. Her eyes, however, were steely as they regarded her son, her posture unyielding as if the weight of the crown had become an even greater burden in recent times.

“Messmer,” she began, her voice carrying the crisp authority of a queen used to having her commands followed without question. “I have called you here to discuss a matter of utmost importance.”

Messmer’s gaze remained steady, though a flicker of anger danced in his eye. “Speak then, Mother. I am here, and thee will listen.”

Marika’s expression remained impassive, but there was a subtle tightness around her lips that betrayed her unease. “It has come to my attention that you continue to spend time with that… woman, the one of whom I have spoken before. Her status is beneath the dignity of the royal family. She is not of noble blood, and her presence in your life could compromise the integrity of our lineage.”

The words struck Messmer like a physical blow, his face darkening with a mixture of anger and hurt. “Are you referring to my wife?”

Queen Marika nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yes, my child. Her origins are humble, and her social standing is not fitting for a prince of this realm. I have tolerated your infatuation for too long. It is time to end this folly.”

Messmer’s hands clenched into fists, the tension in his jaw evident as he struggled to maintain his composure. “You cannot simply dictate my heart, Mother. My wife is not only kind and virtuous, but she has shown me a love that transcends titles and lineage. She is more noble in spirit than many of those you deem worthy.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, a cold edge to her voice. “Love is a luxury we cannot afford, Messmer. The duties and responsibilities of royalty must come before personal desires. You must consider the future of the kingdom, the alliances we must secure. Your marriage must strengthen our position, not diminish it.”

“Strengthen?” Messmer’s voice rose, a mix of frustration and defiance. “Are you suggesting that my happiness, my very heart, should be sacrificed for political gain? This is not merely a matter of alliances or appearances. It is about who I choose to spend my life with, who I love.”

Marika’s gaze remained steely, her voice a firm command. “You will cease this association with her immediately. You are a prince, a knight, and you must act according to your station. You are not to see her again. This is a royal decree.”

The finality in her voice was unmistakable, yet Messmer’s anger flared, his body trembling with the force of his emotions. “A decree?” he spat, his voice laden with contempt. “You would reduce my feelings to a mere decree? I will not comply, Mother. I refuse to end my relationship with her I will not let you dictate my heart.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the murmurs of the court dying away as Messmer’s declaration reverberated through the hall. Queen Marika’s expression hardened further, her regal demeanor unshaken despite the challenge posed by her son.

“Do not be a fool, Messmer,” she said, her tone cold and cutting. “You are treading dangerous waters. Your disobedience will not go unnoticed, and the consequences will be severe. You cannot defy your mother, your queen, without facing repercussions.”

“I am aware of the consequences,” Messmer shot back, his voice unwavering. “But I will not live a lie or endure a life devoid of love for the sake of appearances. If you choose to punish me for this, so be it. But know this: I will not abandon my wife. I will stand by her, no matter the cost.”

Marika’s face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You are speaking recklessly. You do not understand the gravity of your actions. This is not merely about personal happiness—it is about the stability of our entire realm. Your defiance threatens the very fabric of our dynasty.”

Messmer took a step forward, his eyes blazing with resolve. “And what of my own happiness? What of my right to choose the one I love? You speak of stability, but it is your rigid adherence to tradition that threatens to unravel everything. I am not merely a pawn to be moved about for political gain. I am your son, and I demand to be treated as such.”

Marika’s hands clenched on the armrests of her throne, her knuckles white with the strain. The silence in the hall was oppressive, the weight of the confrontation palpable. Messmer’s words hung in the air, a challenge to the very authority his mother held so dearly.

“You are making a grave mistake, Messmer,” Marika said, her voice strained but resolute. “You will regret this defiance. The path you choose will lead to ruin, and you will have only yourself to blame.”

“Then let it be so,” Messmer replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I will accept whatever consequences come my way. But I will not forsake my love. If that is my price, then so be it.”

…

“You persist in your defiance, Messmer,” Marika’s voice was cold and unyielding. “You dare to disregard my decree and associate yourself with that woman, Her presence is an affront to the dignity of this royal house.”

Messmer’s anger was palpable. “You cannot dictate my heart, Mother. I refuse to end my marriage. She has been my steadfast companion, and her worth is beyond the constraints of royal lineage.”

Marika’s eyes narrowed, her resolve hardening. “Then you leave me no choice. If you will not heed my words, I shall act to preserve the integrity of our realm.”

With a decisive gesture, Marika signaled to the guards of grace stationed by the grand hall’s entrance. Her voice rang out with unyielding authority. “Seize his so called wife. Remove her from this hall at once. Her presence is a threat to the stability of our kingdom.”

The guards, their expressions set in grim determination, advanced towards his wife, who stood frozen by the window. Her eyes darted between Messmer and the encroaching soldiers, fear etched across her face.

“No!” Messmer’s voice erupted in a raw, desperate roar. “Stay away from her!”

As the guards closed in, Messmer’s fury ignited. He drew his staff with a swift, practiced motion, but the weapon was not his only tool of wrath. With a surge of energy, Messmer’s eyes flared with an intense, fiery glow. Flames erupted from his hands, casting an ominous light across the hall.

The guards, taken aback by the sudden burst of fire, scrambled to shield themselves. But Messmer’s flames were relentless, sweeping through the grand hall with a ferocious intensity. The once-stately room was soon engulfed in a torrent of scorching heat and blinding light.

The flames roared and crackled, consuming the opulent decorations and gilded walls. The guards, now caught in the inferno, screamed in terror as the fire turned their armor into searing metal. Messmer fought through the chaos, his sword still flashing as he cut down those who tried to escape the blaze.

“Messmer, no!” His wife’s cry was barely audible over the roar of the fire. “Darling— please!”

Messmer’s face, illuminated by the flames, was a mask of determined fury. “If they will not let us be, then I will take everything from them. No more will they control our lives!”

With each passing moment, the fire spread beyond the grand hall, seizing hold of the palace’s wooden structures and tapestries. The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and ash. Marika, her regal composure shattered, could only watch in stunned disbelief as her palace was reduced to a blazing inferno.

“Cease this madness!” Marika’s voice, though commanding, was nearly lost in the cacophony of destruction. “Stop him! Put out the fire!”

But it was too late. The flames, fueled by Messmer’s unchecked rage, surged outward, consuming the palace’s grandiose architecture. The inferno spread through the corridors and chambers, its heat radiating through the once-proud halls.

Messmer, his fury unabated, moved his wife towards the palace’s exit. The once-majestic capital, now visible beyond the burning palace, was a stark contrast to the chaos within. The fire, driven by Messmer’s rage, was spreading rapidly through the streets, turning the capital into a scene of total devastation.

Outside, the capital’s inhabitants fled in panic as the fire spread through the buildings. The cries of the fleeing people mixed with the crackling of the flames, creating a harrowing symphony of destruction. Messmer and his little wife, amidst the chaos, made their way through the burning streets, their path lit by the inferno that consumed the city.

“Messmer, we need to leave!” Her voice was urgent, her face pale with fear. “This fire—it’s destroying everything!”

Messmer’s eyes, filled with a mix of anger and sorrow, remained fixed on the burning city. “They will understand the cost of crossing me, of belittling me and having me sit by the shadows!” he said, his voice a low growl. “No longer will they dictate our fate.”

The inferno continued to ravage the capital, the flames reflecting in Messmer’s eyes as he and his wife made their way out of the city. The once-thriving center of the kingdom was now a smoldering ruin, the fire a testament to Messmer’s wrath and his refusal to be controlled.

As they reached the outskirts of the burning capital, Messmer and the girl paused, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. The sight of the destruction was both overwhelming and sobering. The palace, now a ruin of charred stone and ashes, was a grim reminder of the cost of their defiance.

Messmer, his anger slowly giving way to a profound sense of loss, turned towards the shaking girl. “I am sorry for this,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “This was not what I intended. I wanted only to protect you.”

her eyes reflecting the flames’ glow, took his hand. “We will— will be okay,” she said, her voice steady despite the devastation around them. “We will find a way to move forward. I trust you to protect us.”

Messmer nodded, his resolve tempered by the weight of their actions. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead was fraught with challenges. But amidst the ruins of the capital and the ashes of their past, they found solace in their shared determination and the strength of their bond.

The capital, once a symbol of royal might, now lay in ruins—a testament to the power of defiance and the price of love. As Messmer and his wife looked out over the burning city, they knew that their journey was far from over. The flames of rebellion had transformed their lives, and the road ahead would be shaped by the choices they made in the aftermath of the inferno.

The destruction of the kingdom’s heart was a stark reminder of the consequences of defiance and the price of love. The future lay before them, uncertain and fraught with danger, but Messmer and his wife faced it together, bound by their shared determination and the strength of their affection.

Now, there was only one place they could hide.

To the lands in between; the shadow realm that hides beneath the grace.

[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.

[largemandrill]

I made another one

[hustlebonezzz]

A flash of confidence followed by the immediate fear of ruining something dear. On the other hand, the ready reciprocation and the disillusion of a deeper meaning.

Continued

[eldenbiscuit]

That time the Tarnished took a bath in the Shadow Keep district and accidentally broke Messmer

- Small comic by me

- Portrait of Messmer done as part of our instructor’s request to use his artwork printouts and transform them into a different character. I don’t normally post studies because I am uncomfortable not knowing where he sources them but I thought I’d share this one as it’s Messmer. :3

- credit to @glassbirdfeather for suggesting I show active damage XD

[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.

[visciozx]

Messmer x You (Sketches.)

One particular sketch is a ship art, but pretend its you if you dont like it lol

[dervampireprince]

ASMR | Elden Ring - Messmer x Listener SFW Giving Comfort And Care To Touch-Starved Messmer

[M4A] [Reverse comfort] [Touch-starved Messmer] [Feelings confession] [First kiss] [Mentions of Messmer's abandonment by his mother] [Potential DLC spoilers] [Listener left ambiguous so can be non-tarnished, or tarnished who's made peace with Messmer]

So remeber how the first Astarion audio I made was done 3 hours after I found out he had sad lore in him and consumed every cutscene and read up on his lore and recorded an audio that night? Well... the same might have happened again. An artist I follow on Twitter (thank you ProxysArt) has been drawing and retweeting other drawings of him and I thought he was pretty and all but then I saw that his lore was sad and well... I went and did it again, watched every video I could find, read all the lore I could find on fanwikis, and recorded this a couple hours later. While I'm familiar with Elden Ring, I've never played it, only fell down some lore rabbit holes a couple years ago, but didn't remember much so apologies if I got any lore wrong. I've tried to also make this understandable without you needing to know anything about Elden Ring.

Because I recorded this yesterday and it wasn't planned in advance, I didn't have enough time to draw a thumbnail image. The image is a screenshot from Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree. Though honestly I have noticed that videos with photos or official images instead of my artwork seem to do better? I don't know if that's the algorithm pushes them more or non-subscribers are more enticed by photos instead of drawings?

.

Old public spicy audios on sound gasm (link in pinned post). 2 Exclusive spicy audios on Patreon every month. I also stream on Twitch every week @ dervampireprince . [minors + ageless blogs dni. this blog is for 18+ only.] [do not repost/reupload/edit any of my content]

[lullinglily]

If requests are still open, could I possibly have a Messmer x f! Tarnished? The Tarnished being Messmer wife/consort who did not accompany him on the crusade since those really aren't the romantic destinations you usually take your loved ones. The wife dies in the Shattering and comes back as a Tarnished, with no real plan to go murderhobo on Messmer, but still thinking being a Lord/Elden Lord doesn't sound too bad. How would Messmer react to *that* kind of news?

pairing: messmer the impaler x wife!tarnished!reader (hurt/comfort)

notes: i love super specific asks like this because they give me sooo much to think about. also whoops i wrote too much and have to make a second post.

( part 2 )

pre-shattering; incandescent

Your marriage to the Impaler, while brief, had been a great source of pride for him. To think that he could be worthy of such a love was beyond baffling, and yet it was no dream. Truly, you had actually loved him — and he, you. 

He loathed to part from you, but pride drew him onwards. He wished not only to make his mother proud, but to spark further adoration from you as well. So, while he did dislike leaving you behind, he seemed rather excited about it too. Often the both of you would stay up until the wee hours of the morning to discuss his departure and the grandeur that would be sure to follow it. 

He held you close on the dawn he was to leave, only in the privacy of your shared bedchambers could Messmer display such a gentle act. The more reserved send off was for the prying eyes of Marika’s citizens, the way he kneeled to grab your hand in his and press soft kisses there made it known his adoration, for better or for worse. We’ll get to that later.

Contact with your beloved Lord, at first, had not been too difficult. You sent a letter, around four nights would pass, and you’d receive a letter back. He’d always respond asking how you had been faring in his absence, if there was anything you required from him while he was away, a gift perhaps? He’d go on to regale you with the tales of his crusade, each letter containing more and more gruesome details. You’d express your worry for him with each response, and soon enough such details had been cut from his future communications.

Dear Messmer had lost quite some favor as his war stretched on, and thus it became more troublesome to send your letters to him. Most had a disdain for your husband, refusing to send your letters to him, and you’d have to turn to Marika instead. She had sent them in a timely manner the first two times, but by the third letter she had become less concerned with the war and more focused on what her people thought of it —  of her son.

It was around this time communication between you and Messmer had begun to taper out. Letters could still be sent and received, however the process became rather lengthy and the Queen took little pity on you. 

You had begged for an audience with your mother-in-law, but none would be granted to the wife of a warmonger. Your time at Leyndell Castle officially came to an end once Marika denounced your beloved’s efforts. Having you there tarnished the royal family’s reputation, and you were relocated to a quaint village in Altus, outside of the capital’s walls. 

It was during this time you began to reflect on the Queen and her order, her Order bathed in unsullied gold and blessed with eternal fruitfulness. How could she, the Mother Eternal, act so coldly towards her most loyal son just to save her own skin? What fickleness was this? What cruelty? How could a god behold such human traits? Perhaps her order wasn’t as perfect as you once thought. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what you’d tell Messmer; that is if you ever got to speak to him again. The thought alone crushed you, and you receded into the kind escape of sleep.

Life outside of the Erdtree’s succor granted naught but hardship. Known only as the Impaler’s consort, you were a disgrace upon the Erdtree faithful, and were left well alone. An outcast in your village you would remain, it seemed, for all eternity. 

Years passed in isolation before you had heard tell of the new crowned prince of Leyndell’s assassination, and the subsequent shattering of the great Elden Ring. Never before had you known such destruction, such chaos, such humanity. Of course Marika of all people could create such a scene. 

You had just finished packing away your darling Lord’s letters when a group of marauders — no doubt General Radahn’s men — had begun to raid your village. 

You helped where you could, directing attention away from families and ushering the elderly along into the welcoming arms of those who could guide them to safety. Such arms did not belong to you. How could you leave without those yellowed letters, each promise of return penned on them dulled and decayed? You simply could not leave behind the cloying words of your Lord husband, ever-departed and shunned by all but you. Unfortunately for you, a sword through the back would be the only reward for your kindness. You fell almost willingly, certain that this blow would deliver you unto a gentler realm; one in which you may encounter your lost husband. 

A shuddering sigh escaped your lips as you begged to be returned to him; praying that he may gather you up from where you lay, trampled and left by those you had shared your exile with.

post-shattering; tarnished

Of course, in her typical fashion, Queen Marika had different plans

It’s undetermined how quickly Tarnished are revived, let’s say you are returned to the Lands about a hundred years after the events of the Shattering

Quite a lot of time has passed, and not a shred of your former identity lingers in a single scroll. Not even your letters had survived, most certainly reduced to ashes in the fire that consumed your past domicile. And, while saddening that the future Messmer had promised for the both of you would never come to pass, you were almost thankful for this lack of notoriety. Your time as an outcast had taught you well enough the dangers of being associated with that wonderful husband of yours. And so, for now, you would keep secret your relationship to him.

You joined the Roundtable Hold and were quickly educated on the new version of the Lands you inhabited. So too, did you learn that the title of ‘Elden Lord’ had yet to be claimed. While not particularly taken with the idea of assuming the title, you were intrigued in what power it would bring should you take the throne. Surely an order would be established much like Marika’s own, but with your intentions used to mend the ring instead of hers. Perhaps what you disliked in Marika you could remedy, foolish and human as you are. You were hesitant to inform anyone of your possible interest in the role however, and continued on as normal. Why cause such a stir in dynamics among your new friends? 

Eventually, either by coercion or of your own accord, you wound up in the Land of Shadows. Almost the instant you had looked out upon the Gravesite Plain you already knew where you were, where he was. And as you explored it came increasingly apparent that he was still alive somehow.

You decided you would have to go find out yourself, and with the motivation to find your long lost husband stirring in your chest you set out on the perilous journey alone.

It was actually a lot easier for you to get to Messmer than you had initially thought. You’d been detained by the Fire Knights of course, but some recognized you despite your condition. They quarreled over if you were truly their Lord’s cherished consort or some vain imposter, and in the end they escorted you to Messmer and had him decide himself.

His serpents recognized you almost immediately. Your scent, while somehow different, still sung with an underlying hint of familiar sweetness. One of them wrapped itself around your forearm while the other watched on in awe. 

Messmer sends his Fire Knights away and takes you in from afar. It’s eerily silent in his chamber for a few moments, the only sound the contended hiss of his serpent companions. He rose from his chamber and stalked over to you, bending down to observe your altered form. While you looked the same as you had back then, you were significantly shorter and bereft of the light you were once drenched in. An odd little Tarnished you were, a princess trapped in the frame of a lowlife. It hardly mattered, you were his all the same.

He kneeled down to take your hand in his, hesitating to kiss it for fear that he would lose you, as if the action was responsible for separating the both of you all those years ago. He settles for a scalding embrace instead. 

He’s suspiciously quiet. You’d have thought he’d have much to say considering the time apart, but all he could think about was his mother. Why had she stripped you of your grace? Why hadn’t she kept contact with him? Perhaps was held you up all that time had been doing the same to his mother? If that were true, would that mean she is in danger? He wanted to ask you these questions, ask you to tell him what had transpired in his absence but the truth is he was afraid of your answer. 

He silently drew you a bath, offering you the privacy to strip yourself of your armor and, with his back still turned, ordered his knights to take the plates for polishing. He suddenly felt so very sorry for you; it was a grand shame that you should ever have to bear the weight of armor or know the handle of a weapon. He feels as though he had failed you by leaving you behind.

You recounted to him what happened before you became a Tarnished. While he knew that the people’s opinion of him and his crusade were low, he hadn’t expected for you to be mistreated because of your relation to him. His heart had simply shattered when he learned that you should be dead; long gone and hidden under the earth. 

You left out some bits of the story for his sake, specifically the parts about Marika. Perhaps now was not the time.

He’d let his eyes wander over your lightless form once more, likening it some sick joke.

“Worry not, my lovely. We shall fix thee.”

Your stay at the Shadow Keep lengthens. The both of you are quiet in each other’s presence, not sure of what to say, but there is warmth there regardless. No one speaks her name. No one dares to ask a question about what had happened in the other’s absence. You found yourself unable to question the hordes of dead bodies that littered the perimeter of Castle Ensis, and he refused to question his mother’s callousness towards you. 

Most of the time neither of you say anything at all. You had breakfast together, he sat in his chamber with you on his lap until he needed to get up and attend to something, in which you would trail behind him. Once night fell you’d both hold each other in his bedchambers and pretend to be asleep, and then the day would be over and it would be the exact same come morning. 

You didn’t dislike it, but after a week you told him of your fondness towards the prospect of becoming a ‘Lord.’ You didn’t tell him Lord of what or who, just that you liked the idea. And, in typical Messmer fashion, he worried over the thought of being abandoned yet again. 

He offered you the position of lord for one of his forts, but “Fort Reprimand” had a sort of sinister title you just didn’t feel comfortable sharing. 

He didn’t outright tell you how much it hurt him to think about you leaving. He had just gotten you back, how could he let you go again? 

His desperation became tangible. He became much more clingy and talkative, making sure with each conversation the two of you had to sprinkle in little details about how delightful the Keep was; how much everyone there adored you. 

You saw right through all of it, and you pitied him more than anything. Your poor Messmer; he didn’t deserve any of this. 

You weighed your options constantly, they were all you ever thought about anymore. On one hand, the ability to change the world for the better. To right Marika’s wrongs, and hopefully return her to her dear son. On the other, a safe and cozy spot in the arms of your husband forevermore. You wouldn’t need to look over your shoulder every waking moment, Messmer’s serpentine companions would do it for you. You would be safe. 

It was at this point you figured that you should tell him the truth. The truth about the Shattering, the disappearance of his mother and how he may not ever see her again. Surely this conversation would trickle into one concerning your lordship and if you wished to obtain it. So, in the little corridor outside of his chamber, you made your decision and prayed it was the right one.

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: Thigh fucking

☆ pairing: Messmer/Reader

☆ summary: Injured and in need of assistance, you take full advantage of Messmer's vulnerability.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Arriving at Messmer's chambers, you find the door already cracked open and you only pause long enough to take a deep breath before pushing the door further open and stepping through into the now familiar room.

His absence had been felt across the Shadow Keep, your discovery of his leaving only taking place hours after he and a close guard had long departed for whatever business had snatched their attentions.

One of the older servants, a sweet and elderly woman who managed most of the kitchen runnings had been the one to inform you of his return many days later. But her message came with a request, a summons which you were to heed immediately as your lord demanded your presence in his private chambers.

The heat of his room instantly pressed at your skin, making the thin cotton robe which made up your daily clothing feel tight against your flesh. A thin red ribbon, the material silken and smooth, cinched your waist and the pull of it gave you both some definition to your frame and also marked you as personal property of the lord of the keep. A designation which afforded you a decent experience as much of your time was spent in your assigned rooms or mingling with other servants.

As remarkably tall as ever, Messmer is lounging off the edge of his bedchamber and his back straightens as he watches you approach. He is half-nude, his long torso exposed fully while his lower half remained covered by some loose blankets, the light colours only serving to make the paleness of his skin even more pronounced. His snakes watch you with yellow eyes, protruding from his body in their various positions as they keep close to their master.

“I see you received my summons, spirited paramour.”

Spirited paramour.

A title he had bestowed on you quickly after he had secured his coercion of you as his willing lover. He had appeared pleased with himself at the title, pointing out the dual identity of your spirited attempt to kill him and also how quickly you had succumbed to being spirited away as his paramour.

“I was unaware of your return, my lord,” you reply sweetly, only the slightest hint of bite to your voice as you walk towards him with gentle footsteps. Taking in his appearance, you are surprised to note that he looks tired; a weariness sitting loosely on his features as the skin below his eyes appears somewhat sunken and darkened by fatigue. But your gaze is quick to fall from his face as you take in the most obvious change in his appearance, that being a thick patch of reddened skin which looks raw and recently burned.

Beginning at his collarbone and extending down past his right nipple, the expanse of burned skin looks painful to the touch and you cannot hide the grimace which stretches your lips as you stare at it with open interest.

"You are injured."

It wasn't a question and he didn't treat it as such as his dual gaze of gold and darkness pinned you with a serious look.

"By a filthy, impure creature no less. A divine beast of the accursed Hornsent, roaming free in the lands of Rauh and attacking the men stationed there. Had Gaius not been occupied I would have sent him to deal with it," Messmer explained, his voice low and calm as he watched your approach with a slight tilt of his head.

Surprise alights in your face and Messmer is quick to take note of it, his head tilting in such a way that many of his red locks drop past his shoulder to hang free in the air.

“You know of such beasts?”

“In my previous life,” you begin quietly having no reason to hide your knowledge, “I had encountered one similar in my struggles. It attacked and I was forced to flee.”

He considers your words, drinking in the explanation as his elbow comes to rest on his knee and his head balances delicately atop one hand.

“I would not expect you to flee much, my lover. Or perhaps I overestimate how deeply those foolish tarnished traits run?”

Ignoring him, you choose information over a retort, "Did you defeat it?"

"Its decorative head was delivered to the men of the northern encampment whom it had been terrifying. A boon to drive their spirits and alleviate their fears."

Standing before his bed, the massive frame of it perfect to house his elongated body, you rove your eyes across the sturdy wood as you nod. The cloths which drape across the structure look soft as hell and your fingers itch with the urge to reach out and stroke along them.

"What do you need from me, my lord? I doubt my summons was merely to listen to you speak."

Snatching your attention back his face, Messmer's spine straightens once more - a move which makes the burn marks on his pale torso even more pronounced - and his haughty tones wash over you with a familiar smugness as he takes the disrespectful question in stride.

"My injuries have left me with an unfortunate ache in my limbs. You will put yourself to good use in assisting me with such a menial task, little tarnished."

Inclining his head to a half-full bottle of oil which sits on the floor to the side of his bed, your task is obvious and heat flares in your cheeks as you realise he wants you to rub your hands across his vast frame.

As his chosen paramour, you had been intimate several times across the short time you had lived within the Shadow Keep. The first coupling, where he had claimed you, had been brutal and unforgiving but his attitude had been tempered in your engagements since – his desire for intimacy making him a more thoughtful lover than some of the men you had shared your bedroll with.

His size was always a challenge but he often took the time to prepare you with his fingers to ensure a smoother, less pained entry, and it was a decision which had softened the lingering resentment of his defeat of you. Not to mention the genuine pleasure which he appeared to enjoy sharing and, in the few times where his release had come before your own, he had continued to use his hands and cock to drag you over the edge of oblivion.

A demigod through and through.

Apparently.

You pick up the bottle of oil and walk around the side of his bed, quickly clamouring up atop the sheets as you take up position behind him – your body having to raise fully on your knees to give you the height necessary to reach his shoulders. Spilling a little of the oil in your hand, the scent of it is heavily perfumed and it catches your breath for a moment as you inhale it slowly and warm the liquid between your palms.

As you rub your hands, you take a moment to look at his back – an area of his body that you were quite unfamiliar with in your exploits. The skin there was as pale as the rest of him and equally as littered with imperfections. Regardless, you can’t help the thrum of pleasure that pulsates through your cunt at the thought of getting to touch him in such a manner.

Rolling your palms across his wide shoulders, the natural heat of his body makes the application of the oil much smoother as you spread it thinly across the scarred skin. He's covered by the history of his wars; sharp, white lines decorating the skin here and there while more ragged tissue covers a patch near the top of his shoulder, the scarring there looking more bestial in nature than anything else.

His snakes never take their eyes off you, floating in the air comfortably as they take in every small motion and expression which crosses your face as they stare with empty gazes. You try to not meet their eyes as you massage their master, feeling the taut knots which sit below his skin as his flexing muscles hold their tension.

A thought rises, unbidden in your mind, of what could have happened if the beast had gotten the better of him. With Messmer dead, your role would die with him, as would the protection that such a position provided you. You had seen some of the other men as they roamed the Keep, those war weary soldiers and generals who had witnessed you in your soft clothing and it had not taken much to notice how hungry their gazes were as they fell across your body.

With no lord to serve, you would be vulnerable to claims from another, but it was a concern for another day.

Messmer is as relaxed in your palms as you could expect and you can feel the rumble of his approval thundering through his chest as he enjoys the attention. A wicked thought rises in your mind as you shift your thighs together and feel the dampness there.

Abandoning his shoulders, you grip at his long arm with a firm clench as you snake your way across his body and deposit yourself in his lap. His hands move swiftly to secure you in place on his knees and a soft gasp slips free of your lips as you take in the aroused state of his cock, the thick length tenting the blankets which you are now perched on.

You move slowly, pulling the blankets free to expose his length and heat flares in your cheeks as you avoid his heated gaze. Fingers still slick with oil, you take a moment to transfer what little of the liquid still sat on your hands to his cock as you take him into your palm.

"Wanton little tarnished," Messmer growls, bucking into your hand and you wrap it around the base of his cock, "what do you think you are doing?"

Feigning ignorance as you continue to slowly use the residual oil on your fingers to coat his cock, his thighs are hard as they flex beneath your clothed groin.

"Taking care of you, my lord. Is that not my purpose?"

He's suspicious. Rightfully so. But he allows it.

Once he’s fully oiled up, you lift your body enough to pull the hem of your robe high and push it behind you to expose your lower half. Taking his cock in hand, you shuffle forward until you’re able to place his length between your legs and close your thighs around it. The heat of his cock is warm against the underwear which covers your sex and you shudder into the sensation as you gently lift your ass and drag your thighs across his oiled cock.

Content to allow you your desires, Messmer makes no attempt to hide his interest as his hard length jerks between your things, the pillowy flesh making his lips curl back into a smirk.

“Spirited paramour, didst thou miss my presence within the Keep?” His voice low with arousal, the familiar smugness is as subtle as ever.

“No,” you deny hotly, “the peace was delightful.”

At the response, Messmer growls, “Lies.”

His wide hands come to settle on your hips and his strength is as breathtaking as ever as he lifts and lowers your body with a steady rhythm, matching his light thrusts with your movements as he fucks himself between your thighs. The scent of the oil is heady and your breath comes in shallow pants as his cock rubs against the thin fabric which covers your cunt – every stroke slowly building the aching heat within your groin.

Messmer is as vocal as ever, his muted grunts and soft exhales making your hold back a smile as he enjoys your body. From this position you can feel his chest rising and falling as you splay your fingers across his torso, tactfully avoiding the wide burns. His hips move quickly though, building a pace which tells you that he is close to his release.

With a guttural noise, somewhere between a hiss and a moan, Messmer comes and his cock jerks between your heated thighs before depositing its seed in a wide arc with some of it landing on your thighs and some reaching as high as his own stomach. Your cunt twitches against the throbbing length, nowhere near its own fulfilment, but something in how slack Messmer’s jaw goes while his golden gaze dulls is stunningly distracting.

Pale and red, the son of a god, he truly was beautiful in how unique he appeared.

Sated and coated in his own mess, Messmer allows his body to fall back to the softness of his bedsheets as he reclines comfortably. A high noise, one not quite a scream, slips free of your lips as his right arm wraps around your waist and pulls you down with him.

He enjoyed physical contact in the aftermath, a fact that was as unexpected as his other strengths. Many of the men who you had known previously were very strict in their wants.

His leg tilts, pushing up between your legs and you spread them willingly, adjusting to the new position as you're now forced to cling to him like a maiden. Your legs a tangled mess of limbs and your head pressing to his chest, his arm pins you against him roughly - clearly unwilling to allow you to leave as he relaxes into the surprisingly peaceful moment.

Not willing to be the one to disturb the quiet, you let him adjust you as he sees fit and choose to give it at least five minutes before reminding him that your own frustrated arousal had yet to be met in kind.

[trulyumai]

touching upon ash

—pairing: Pre fallen! Messmer / Wife! Reader

Synopsis: Messmer was never good at dealing with jealousy. So how will he deal with such a situation at hand, led by his brother no less?

—Warnings: Show of anger, jealousy, protectiveness.

A/N: guess who's back, back again

Messmer was furious. 

Anger bit at the seams of his being, fueling the fire that sprawled across his fingers until it met with his forearm and made home on his skin.  

Seeing his wife there, gracing and upsetting the presence with that… filth.

Today, he caved into his little wife; brought her to the outskirts of town and to the city of the west. To the enclave of shops and people that littered the flower lands. She had begged him for weeks on end, saying how she missed the pretty mounds of plants, that she was out of plenty necessities for the excuse of an outing. 

Now he regrets permitting such an occasion. To see her mingle so freely with that man. He could set fire to the lands now, spit at the burning corpses below his feet and save her the trouble of talking to anyone again.

He had no idea Godwyn the Golden would visit such a place, so far from the capital. Today of all days.

A basket, wickered and hand made was placed at the hip of her dress. She laughed jovially at something the blonde had pointed at, to which she then nodded her head, enthusiastically responding in her own unaware manner. 

Not seeing the twitch of the flames fingers, nor of is now close proximity. 

She had to feel the touch of his warm digits, caressing the backside of her covered form to know of the man's presence. 

“Husband!” His wife greeted, already getting onto her tippy toes to place a little kiss to the mans cheek. Unconsciously Messmer bent down, ever used to her smaller form as a look of hate spewed from his features, towards the so-called, “Lord.” 

“Ah, brother,” Godwyn smiled, citizens around the group had taken notice of the lord's frame, stopping to stare at such a gift of grace, from Queen Marika herself.

“Enjoying the festivities I see.” 

Messmer shifted uncomfortably. To see the golden order placed upon his armor with such casualty. It made a hatred boil up, if only he could grab the man by his neck, lift him up pathetically until his skin burned and b-

“We were just sightseeing, my lord. The flowers are beautiful this time of year.” Godwyn’s eyes twinkled with a sense of understanding, the skin crinkled around his mouth as a warm smile broadened. 

“Of course, such an appropriate response for someone as… kindhearted as thou.”

Messmers hands cracked with pressure, his knuckles a deep red as the blood flow squeezed with a strength only the flame could emit. 

Godwyn ignored such tells, instead, he reached out into the pouch upon his side, taking out a white lily. It was gorgeous, from its delicate pale petals to the leaves that cascaded down the stock. He reached forward and did something Messmer would never be able to shake off. 

His hand brushed against her hair delicately, lightly slotting it between her ear and the cascading waves of brushed mane that fell upon his wife's back. It hung there loosely as her fingertips came up to greet the new addition of elegance. 

“Thank you, my lord that- was awfully kind of you.”

“Nonsense!” The man responded, cooly placing his hand back at his side. “Someone as enticing as you should always be gifted with any form of beauty. Now,” With a perfect stance the man bowed his head, already raising his gloved hands in dismissal. “I'll hope for a visit soon from the two of you. Take care, mh?” Turning fully around, Godwyn's armor clashed against the colors around. So golden, so pristine. Everything else lay so distasteful compared to such a maximalist sight. 

Finally craning her neck up, her head met with Messmers chest. Arms coiled around her body tightly, protectively trying to shield her from any more prying eyes. He tried to calm himself, he really did. 

But to see him touch her like that? 

Losing it, the knight snapped. Placing a hand upon the back of your neck, he quickly guided you both through the crowd, ignoring the startled cries erupting from his wife's lips. “Mess- what are you-” 

Moving at space that was deemed too slow for his liking, big hands came to nest there way under her thighs until they lifted her completely. Now she lay in his arms, bridal style as the red haired man moved carelessly. Pushing and shoving anyone out of his way, to return to their rightful spot. 

Their home. Where they would have been in the first place.

The basket wobbled in the girl's lap and with the added force, fruits had come loose, spilling from the wickered hold and dropping onto the ground. She tried to get the man's attention, pushed at his broad shoulders in defiance but he paid it no mind. 

He kept the fast pace, too clouded with rage to pay his adoring wife any mind. 

They arrived home much quicker than she thought was possible. Messmer had plopped her down just in front of the house, by the gardens she had tended to just that morning. 

Her hair now messy and undone (paired with the upset expression), held upon her delicate features. It made the man buckle with uneasy guilt. 

That was until he saw the lily flopped against the side of her cheek. Like it belonged there.

There was that burning rage again.

Veiny hands quickly snatched at the plant, making his wife flinch back in shock. The lily, now sagging against his palms, was covered almost instantly by his hands. 

She reached out, demanded the man return such a gift before a sizzling sounded out. Then, a smoke black and gray fell between the man's fingers as his flame swallowed the flower whole. 

She did nothing but watch as he cradled his palm, watched as the ash seeped between his fingers and stained his hands. 

Finally feeling free of such hostile emotions, the man could breathe once more. Looking away from his soot covered hand, his wife's lip jutted up in rebuttal. Already he could se a sadness gnawing at her orbs. He felt guilty, not for destroying such a gift, but for allowing such a negative emotion to take hold of his wife. 

He was never good at comforting her. With desperate eyes he moved away from her, quickly seizing a plant from its flowerbed and holding it out to her shakily. 

Licking his lips he waited- felt the brush of her fingers as they took the little plant from his grasp. 

An altus bloom stood firmly in her grasp. Its bright color lit up with a lovely hue and Messmer hoped such an action would replace the lilys existence. 

“I…” Not knowing what to say, he just stood there. Form now sagging with a tiredness. The end of his rage and adrenaline left him tired and weak. Weak from staring at the pretty, upset form in front of him. Those pouting lips and pinkened cheeks. 

Gods. How did he get so lucky? 

She cradled the flower to her chest, dirt had smudged on the cotton and Messmer went to brush it away with light and small drags of his nail. 

“It's okay.” She spoke. Voice so small the knight wanted to set himself ablaze. 

“Is it?” The man was insecure in his own actions; too afraid his show of dominance had pushed her way. 

“It is.” Relief flooded through his system as a smile was given to the man in reassurance. He couldn't help but let himself fall down to her height and drag his nose across her neck. Her sweet scent helped calm him down, it was always an efficient way to stop any troubling thoughts to merge its way across his mind. 

That's all that needed to be said, it seemed. For the girl had tugged on his forearm, leading him into their shack to start a well needed home meal. 

[freyito]

Hi! Not a fic request but I’m just interested in what you think messmers love languages are? Since Elden ring isn’t really commonplace for romance how do you think he’d fare in that department?

✧ a/n: (evil grin) its gonna be treated like a request anyways cause ive thought abt this a lot. a lot a lot a LOT thank you for enabling me anon

✭ pairing: messmer x gn reader

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 447 (short n sweet)

I think he’s a pretty quaint mix of all of the love languages, but three stand out to me the most. Physical Touch, Words of Affirmation, and Quality Time. Acts of Service is a big one for him as well, but doesn’t match up to those three.

Let’s talk Physical Touch first. Messmer tends to shy away from it, yet crave it heavily. In a land scarred with war, it is hard to accept a kind hand when all you’ve known are those that dig daggers into your flesh. With you, however, it’s different. He doesn’t fear your hands, scarred as they may be.

When he’s comfortable, he seeks out your touch every time he gets the chance to. He’s quite fond of holding your hands whenever, especially when your hands are cold. He takes great pride in being able to use his flame for something other than burning. He also quite loves to cuddle, as funny as it sounds. He rests easier when he’s with you, although he’s still a very, very light sleeper (which is common in the Lands Between as a whole).

With Words of Affirmation, I believe he genuinely quite likes to be praised and at least told that he’s doing a good job, since the very praise he had been looking for was kept from him for years upon years. To hear such validation practically makes him putty in your hands. But everything with him stands on equal ground, and he will praise you right back.

How brave you are, battling in the Lands Between, an admirable soul. In fact, he almost showers you in praise, sometimes it’s a little uncanny. He isn’t the most vocal, and yet when it comes to you, he’s quite the poet. He finds it easier to love you through words rather than touch, as much as he seeks it out.

Messmer is more than happy to spend his free time with you, actually. When he fails with his words and his hands, he is content to simply share the same space with you. Often times he will be content to be in the same room, either reading together, or even napping together. Something he felt he could never afford then.

Quality Time just means a lot to him, to have someone that doesn’t mind being around him, that isn’t afraid of him, that could be devoted to him in a way his Fire Knights aren’t, it’s a blessed thing, really. He will show you the same devotion, perhaps even tenfold, when he is confident that this love is true. To have someone show him that love does exist, it’s a beauty he never even thought of.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices

DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[crybabysagiantenjoyer]

NSFW Messmer Mumblings 2 (MDNI: 18+)

Wake up babe that bitch is horny posting about Messmer again 😭Sorry loves I missed the first train after class😘 here is your dessert ✨

Touchstarved Messmer: Who’s large hands coil around each thigh every time his tongues writes a sweet tune atop that sensitive little nub. Every time you cum on his lips he digs his tongue in, stimulating the nerves as they contract against his hot breath.

Touchstarved Messmer: Who pushes your legs apart when you face each other, he loves to watch the outline of his demigod girth pumping into your tight little cunt and tummy. slapping your tits softly as they bounce against the impact.

Touchstarved Messmer: Who picks you up like a toy, holding you by the hips and bucking his throbbing length straight into your cervix too hard. He’s sorry baby he’ll be more gentle next time.

Touchstarved Messmer: Who’s fingers slip into your mouth whenever you bounce on his cock. He loves to feel your tongue swirling around his nail while he spills that lava like cum into your core.

Touchstarved Messmer: Who uses your neck as a grip handle when he’s feeling extra generous with his length, thrusting up into your fluttering slit like a mad man as he whimpers in ecstasy how he loves the way you wrap around him.

Touchstarved messmer: Who’s index breaches your little asshole with a heated grip, ramming his cock into the depths of your slippery hole while he begs you to coat his shaft with all your love.

[hustlebonezzz]

My disease, my infection I am so impure

Reptile - Nine Inch Nails

[eldenbiscuit]

Lots of messmer brainrot art incoming behind the line 😔

So I started with the above which uses my instructor’s art printout base of an art deco piece. I can’t claim credit for the pose but I wanted to share it anyway :3. Then I decided I’m going to make my own bases/poses from now on because I’ve no idea if the art deco illustrations he has are alive or not or who to credit. And I want to always draw him independently and more genuinely to his true body. I studied his figure and remade it:

This is a less clean earlier draft but it shows my hc for his skin. I feel like he’d be self conscious of his skin which has a sallow, ashen tone, but is actually beautifully pearlescent in light with opaline sheen. And his curved spine in neutral IMO adds to his litheness.