Husbando Collector

Casual writer for different fandoms, mostly Genshin ❤️

[fufuheheii]

MASTERLIST

Genshin Impact

Cyno

Cyno's Ultimate Guide to Wooing You (tips from Tighnari)

Cyno x Friend Headcannon

He doesn't know what's wrong

Tighnari

Tighnari's Guide to Wooing You (tips from Cyno)

Albedo

Introverted!Reader talks to him

Lyney

Fatui!Lyney x Reader

Elden Ring

Messmer

Pre!SoTE!Messmer x Knight! Reader (snippet)

PreSoTE!Messmer x Knight!Reader (main story)

[manicsho]

Pride Rock (Hard)

In which photographer's focus shifts from wildlife to wild life!

LionHybrid!JingYuan x fem!reader

wordcount: ~8600

TWs: MNDI, implied stalking, abduction, predator/prey dynamics, claiming, forced bonding, power imbalance, size difference, manhandling, blood (from biting), and an itty-bitty plot twist (?) at the end. NSFW: non-con to dub-con, spanking (x2 cause i'm freaky), fingering, squirting, oral (m receiving), face fucking, headlock, mating bite, creampie, breeding, cervix bullying, body betrayal (forced orgasm).

(If you find some more, please let me know.)

As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!

NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes. Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.

“Fuck… Just move to the left already...”

Your elbows were raw, ground into the cracked earth, and the viewfinder of your camera had dug a perfect crescent-shaped indent into your brow bone. You had been lying on your stomach for three hours. It was your fifth day in the reserve, and the initial awe of being here had settled into something that felt almost like belonging. You had passed ten medical examinations to get here. Ten. You had signed waivers in triplicate, sat through briefings about spitting cobras and tsetse flies, and memorized how to behave in the presence of rare species. All of that, just to lie in the dirt and wait.

You breathed through your mouth, slow and shallow, your finger hovering over the shutter release. In the lens of your camera, you saw a small group of gazelles at the waterhole. The light was perfect. The golden hour was bleeding into something richer, amber and ochre, the kind of light that made their fur look like it was burning. You were two shots away from completing your portfolio. Gazelles and the rare breed of white lion. That was it.

You lay there, tired and sweaty, waiting for a perfect moment, when something touched your ankle. It was light at first, only a whisper of pressure against the bare skin just above your hiking sock. You froze. Your entire body went rigid, muscles locked in that primal panic that overrides all rational thought. 

Don't move. Don't fucking move. Don’t you dare…

The thing touched your calf, then your knee. It was warm and dry. 

The camera grip became slick with your sweat. 

It will go away. It will lose interest. It will–

It moved to your side.

From your peripheral vision, low to the ground, you saw it: a white tail. The tuft at the end was darker, almost black, and it swayed with the hypnotic rhythm of a pendulum.

Lion.

The word detonated in your skull. You were going to be eaten by a lion in the last hour of golden light, and they would find your camera memory card and put your photographs in a gallery and call it a fucking posthumous work.

The animal circled you. You could hear its breathing now, deep and even, completely unconcerned. You waited for teeth, for claws, for that first bright spike of pain that would signal the end.

Instead, it sat on you. The weight was immense. Dense muscle and heat settled across the backs of your thighs, pinning you to the earth like a butterfly under the glass. You made a sound – something small and strangled, pushed out of your chest by sheer pressure. And then you felt it.

Hands! Since when lions have fucking hands? 

Fingers slid up your sides, crawling their way beneath the hem of your camouflage shirt. The touch was dry and warm, calloused, tracing the dip of your waist with an intimacy that made your stomach clench. You heard the rustle of fabric. The shift of a large body leaning forward.

Then, directly into your ear, a voice.

"May I ask how much longer you intend to pretend you haven't noticed me, sweetheart?"

The sound of it was devastating. Low, velvet-warm, each word shaped with the deliberate patience of a man who had never been interrupted in his life. It vibrated through your skull, down your spine, pooling somewhere low in your belly. Your mind was a static storm.

Lion. Tail. Hands. Voice. None of it fit together.

"Wh–" Your voice cracked. You swallowed and tried again. "What the fuck!?"

An exhale of amusement, rang warm against the shell of your ear. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh just beneath your ribcage, stroking slow circles.

"I have been watching you," he said, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation to be having while sitting on a stranger in the middle of an African plain. "For two days. You are very dedicated. I find this… admirable."

"Y-You– You're–" You couldn't finish. 

"Jing Yuan," he supplied. His fingers had found the waistband of your shorts. "And you must be my future mate?"

The absurdity of the statement hit you like a physical blow. You jerked beneath him, tried to scramble forward, but his weight was immovable. He didn't even brace himself, letting you struggle, patient as stone.

"Let me go!" Your voice came out higher than you intended. "I'm not– I don't even know what you are."

His thumb hooked beneath the waistband of your shorts. One sharp tug, and сool air hit the small of your back.

"I am the king of this place," he murmured. "And I am lonely."

Jing Yuan tugged again. Your shorts slid down your hips, bunching around your knees. The weight of him shifted, so his chest was against your back now, and you could feel it – bare skin, hot as the savanna floor. Something brushed your neck. His nose. His lips.

"I considered eating you," he said, "But then I smeeled you and," his lips brushed your temple, “now I want to just have you.”

A sound escaped you, half protest and half something else entirely. Your hands were fisted in the dry grass, white-knuckled, gripping for dear life, camera forgotten.

"You can't just–" you gasped. "I didn't agree to–"

"Agree?" He pulled back. His voice was mildly curious, genuinely perplexed, as if the concept had never occurred to him. "You are already mine. Agreement is a formality."

You opened your mouth to argue, but his hips rolled forward, and you felt him against you – the heavy length of him, trapped behind his own clothing, pressing into the cleft of your ass with a hunger that made your thighs tremble.

"I–" Your voice broke on a moan. "Wait!"

"What is the problem?" You couldn't see his face. But you could hear the smug smile in his voice. His body went still, though his weight remained. You could feel his patience like a physical thing, vast and inexhaustible.

"The problem is that you're uh,” you gulped, sweat glistening along your hairline “a lion!"

Silence. Then, unexpectedly, a warm laugh, as if you had said something genuinely delightful. You facepalmed mentally because what the fuck was this reason?

"Ah," he stopped your thoughts. "That."

One moment you were pinned beneath him, face-down in the grass, your shorts tangled around your knees. The next, you were on your back, the hot earth pressing against your spine, and he was above you. The sunset sky shone bright, turning his silhouette to gold, and you saw him for the first time.

He was a man, but not only a man.

His hair was white. Not the white of age, but the white of fresh snow, of lion's mane, thick and wild and falling past his shoulders in waves. From within that mane, two ears rose, furred and tufted, swiveling independently as he regarded you. His eyes were amber. Gold, shot through with veins of deeper brown, the pupils vertical and narrow, locked onto yours with predatory focus. Below his left eye, a single dark mole.

His face was beautiful in the way a storm front is beautiful. High cheekbones. A strong jaw. Lips that curved into a smile both gentle and utterly assured of its own authority.

Next thing that you’ve noticed is that his body was almost bare. His shoulders were broad enough to block out the sky. His arms, braced on either side of your head, were corded with muscle, veins visible beneath the skin, his hands large enough to span your entire ribcage. A necklace of bone and fang hung between the hard planes of his chest, which was dusted with fine white hair. The hard muscules of his abs glistened, and from his navel, the thick happy trail thickened as it travelled down his stomach, disappearing beneath the low-slung waistband of his red pants. 

And the fabric of them was so strained that you could see the shape of his cock. The thick, curved length, the heavy weight of the balls beneath. His smile deepened as he watched you, eyes half-lidding with pleasure.

Your mouth went dry. It was quite obvious what this smoking hot Lion Man wanted from you. 

"You see," he murmured. "I am not so different from you, honey. Not where it matters."

One of his hands left the ground beside your head. He brought it to your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek with impossible tenderness. The touch was a contradiction: the hand of a killer, gentle against your skin.

"You are so soft," he said. "Like a little mouse. I could close my fist and break every bone in your body. And yet you look at me like you want to bite me." His thumb traced your lower lip. 

You did want to bite him. You wanted to bite him and run. You wanted– you didn't know what you wanted. Your body was a traitor, liquid heat pooling in your belly, your nipples tightening to aching points against the fabric of your bra.

"Jing Yuan," he said again, reminding you of his name. "Your future mate. Say it."

"No."

His eyebrow arched. 

"No?"

"No." Your voice was steadier than you expected. "I didn't agree to this. I didn't– you can't just take someone–"

His head tilted, ears swiveling forward, and something shifted in his expression. Something close to curiosity, as if you had presented him with an interesting puzzle.

"But I am the king," he said. "I’m strong and thus, I can have what I want." The words hung in the air between you. His gaze sharpened, vertical pupils dilating slightly. For a long moment, he stared at you, and you felt the full weight of his attention.

"Interesting," he said, "You are afraid of me, but," he inhaled deeply and smiled, “judging by the smell coming from down there,” he murmured sultry, hand brushing your thigh, “not of what I want.”

You whimpered, and Jing Yuan lowered his head. His forehead pressed against yours, his mane falling around you like a curtain, shutting out the sun. His breath was warm against your lips.

"I will not hurt you," he said. "I will never hurt you. You are too precious. Too rare."

His nose brushed yours. His tail, heavy and warm, curled around your calf.

"But I will have you," he said. "Here, or in my den. That is not a question. That is simply… what will happen." He gripped your hip, his fingers denting the soft flesh, and pulled you against the rigid heat of him.

"You will fight," he murmured. "You will say no. You will scratch and bite and call me terrible names."

His hips rolled. Once. The thick length of him dragged against your center, separated by mere millimeters of fabric, and your core clenched in response.

"And then you will come for me," he said, "again and again, until i decide that im finished."

Your heart was a war drum. Your body, that traitor, was arching into his touch, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of him.

He sat back and the loss of his warmth was immediate, almost painful.

"The grass is too exposed," he said. "And the ground is hard. You deserve better than dirt."

Jing Yuan stood and before you could scramble away, before you could even fully process what was happening. One arm hooked beneath your knees, the other behind your back. Then you were in the air, cradled against his chest.

"Put me down," you gasped. "Put me down right now!"

"Hmpf."

Jing Yuan shifted your weight. Suddenly you were upside down, draped over his left shoulder like a sack of grain, your head hanging down his back. His heavy hand settled over the bare curve of your ass.

"What the hell!? Let me go!"

"No."

His tail swished lazily behind him as he began to walk away from the spot, leaving your camera in the grass.

"I like you like this." His thumb traced the crease where your thigh met your ass. "Soft. Open. Ready."

"You are insane," you snarled. "You are a predator and I am a human being and you cannot just abduct me–"

"And yet, here I am. Abducting you."

His pace was unhurried. The grass whispered against his calves. In the distance, the gazelles had finally lifted their heads, watchful but not alarmed – they recognized him, you realized. They knew their king. There was noone here to help you, and you panicked, hands beating against his broad back, legs swinging in a desperate attempt to escape his grasp. 

The Lion Man didn't even flinch and the only thing your shuffling did was send your shorts falling down into the dry grass.

"I will scream!" you said.

"You free to do so."

"I will– I will bite you!"

His tail curled around your anckle, the tuft brushing the sensitive skin.  

"Oho~ I look forward to it."

“I will run!”

Jing Yuan stopped mid-stride, the savanna quiet except for the distant cry of a hornbill and the desperate sound of your breathing. His hand was still spread across your ass, fingers denting the flushed skin.

"Ah," he said, and you felt the word vibrate through his shoulder blade into your sternum. "Then I must make running… difficult~"

Before you could process the shift in his tone, his grip tightened. His left arm locked around your thighs like a vice, pinning you immobile against his body, and his right hand rose.

Slap!

The first hit cracked through the golden air like a rifle shot. Pain bloomed across your left ass cheek, sharp and immediate, radiating outward in waves of heat. You screamed,  sound punched out of you by the force of the impact. Your body jerked against his shoulder, but he held you fast.

"Will you run?" His voice was conversational, almost pleasant.

"Yes!"

Slap!

The second hit landed on the same cheek, harder. Your vision whited at the edges. The sound was wetter now, skin meeting abused skin, and you could feel the imprint of his fingers burning across your flesh like a brand.

"Yes, you fucking–!"

Slap!

The third landed on the other cheek. Then the tender curve where your ass met your thigh. Then the backs of your thighs themselves, each blow measured, deliberate, the patience of a creature who had never once been rushed. His hand was so large that each slap covered half your ass at once. The heat was building, spreading, transforming into something that burned all the way down to your cunt.

"Will you run?" 

"YES–" Your voice cracked on a sob. "YES, I'LL RUN, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, I'LL–"

Jing Yuan spanked you again, and this time his fingers dragged forward, slipping between your legs from behind, and the calloused pad of his middle finger dragged directly across your soaked pantines.

You both froze.

Your entire body locked up, muscles spasming, a sound escaping your throat that was equal parts humiliation and raw need. His finger was still pressed against you, not penetrating, just there, resting against the outline your swollen lips.

"Ah," he breathed. "You say you’ll run, but your body says something else entirely."

"Fuck you," you whispered. "Fuckyoufuckyoufuck–"

Slap!

"–FUCKING–"

Slap!

"–MONSTER–"

Slap!

"–LET ME–"

Slap!

"–GO–"

His hand stopped. For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the thundering of your heart. Then his thumb began to move, slow circles across your burning skin, tracing the outline of each handprint he'd left behind.

"Your ass is so red," he murmured. "Like the sky at sunset."

His finger slid lower. Found your entrance. Pressed.

"And your pussy," he continued, his voice dreamy, adoring, "is soaked. If you hate me so much, why does your body love me?"

You couldn't answer. Your throat was too tight, your face buried against the hot plane of his back, your fingers twisted in his mane. He was petting you now, soothing the burning flesh he'd abused, and the tenderness after the violence was somehow worse, somehow more devastating. You let out a pathetic sob that wrecked your whole body.

"Shh," he murmured. "There. There."

His fingers found the waistband of your underwear – that flimsy scrap of cotton, utterly inadequate protection against what was going to happen. He hooked his thumb beneath the elastic, unseathing the claw and pulled.

The fabric tore, the sound sharp and final, the elastic snapping, the cotton ripping. Jing Yuan tugged the ruined scrap free from between your legs – it dragged across your soaked cunt, collecting your slick, your arousal, the evidence of your body's betrayal – and then he held it before his eyes. His pupils dilate, his nostrils flare, his lips part around a sharp exhale.

"I’ll take these," he smirked and folded the scrap of fabric neatly, tucking it into the pocket of his trousers. “Will need that for the times when you're too sore…”

His fingers found you immediately after. Slipping through your slick folds, parting you, exposing you to the cooling evening air. Two fingers sweeped through your wetness, gathering your arousal on his skin, and then he brought his hand to his face. You listened carefully, paralyzed, as he slid his fingers into his mouth.

His eyes fluttered closed. His throat worked. His ears swiveled forward, catching every microscopic sound of your breathing, your heartbeat, the desperate sobs.

"Mmm," Jing Yuan hummed around his own fingers. "Delicious. You taste even better than you smell, love. And you smell incredible."

"Please," you whispered. You didn't know what you were begging for. "Please, I–"

"Please what?" His voice was soft, almost tender. "Please stop? Please continue? Please put you down? Please keep you?"

"I don't know," you whined, face red and wet with tears and snot. You were ashamed. Truly ashamed by the feeling in you belly, by how messed up your thoughts were, by how your poor hole clenched, spitting out more slick.

His hand slid between your legs again, and this time his fingers didn't tease. Two thick digits pushed into you without warning, without resistance, sliding home to the knuckles in one slick thrust.

Your vision went white.

The sound you made – you didn't recognize it. High and keening, desperate, your entire body convulsing around the sudden fullness, your toes curling from pleasure. His fingers were so much longer than yours, so much thicker, reaching places that you hadn't even known existed. Your cunt clenched around him instinctively, greedily, trying to pull him deeper.

"There," Yuan breathed. "There it is. Just let your man take care of you, yes? I'll prepare you well, sweet one. I'll make you ready for me."

He started moving with slow and deep thrusts, the ball of his palm pressing against your clit with every stroke, his fingers curling to find that sweet spot inside your tender cunny that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The sound of it – wet and filthy, your body accepting him, welcoming him, gripping him – filled the quiet savanna air.

"You like this, dear?" he murmured, and  when you whimpered, there was genuine surprise in his voice, genuine wonder. "Oh, you do… You like when someone takes care of you. You like when someone makes you feel good."

His fingers crooked sharply, pressing directly into that sweet spot, and you moaned, gripping his asscheeks for the dear life.

"Yes, like that." he breathed. "I promise I will always take care of you, honey. You will never be unsatisfied. You will never want for touch, for pleasure, for the feeling of being loved. I will give you everything your body craves, and I will give it until you beg me to stop, and then I will give you more."

His thumb found your clit. Circled it. Pressed.

Your fingers found his tail. Grabbed it. Pulled.

"Yes," he groaned, his composure cracking for the first time. "Yes, hold onto me. And if you need to bite, bite–" He lowered his head and sank his teeth into the meat of your thigh, not breaking skin but close, so close, the pressure of his fangs a brand. "–more marks are better. I want to wear you on my skin."

His fingers were pistoning into you now, relentless, each thrust aimed directly at that spot inside you that made your toes curl and your vision blur. His palm slapped against your clit with every stroke. His teeth released your thigh and he licked the indentation he'd left, soothing, worshipful.

"Come for me," he murmured against your skin. "Come on my fingers, sweet one. Let me taste you again."

Your orgasm hit you like a falling tree, like a wave, like the entire weight of the sky collapsing. Your body arched against his shoulder, your cunt clamping down on his fingers in rhythmic waves, and you felt the gush of fluid soaking his hand, dripping down your thighs, splattering the dry earth beneath his feet.

Jing Yuan made a sound of pure satisfaction. His fingers slowed, gentled, coaxing you through the aftershocks, slipping out of your spasming pussy. He brought his wet hand to his mouth again and licked it clean, his pupils blown wide.

"Sweet," he said softly. "Has it been long since someone touched you? Human men must be blind." And he continued walking towards what looked like a cave, carved into the heart of a kopje, the entrance screened by flowering acacia and the trailing vines of wild jasmine. Inside, the walls rose smooth and curved, lit by clusters of phosphorescent fungi that cast everything in soft gold. The floor was layered thick with furs – zebra, impala, something large and spotted that you didn't manage to identify – and piled high with silk cushions in jewel tones. A low table held fruits and a clay jug. A brazier glowed in one corner.

"My home," Jing Yuan said. He was already climbing onto the furs with you still thrown over his shoulder, his weight depressing the soft pelts. "Do you like it?"

"You live in a cave…"

"I am a lion."

He was gently lowering you now, your back meeting the fur and your body sinking into the impossible softness beneath. "You have furniture. You have cushions. You have–"

Jing Yuan knelt over you. His thighs bracketed your hips. His hands found the hem of your ruined shirt and pulled, the fabric tearing like tissue, like paper, like it was nothing. Cool air hit your bare breasts. You were naked, your cunt still wet and dripping, your ass still burning red, your nipples tightening to sharp peaks in the dim light.

Jing Yuan bit his lip, golden eyes feasting on the sight of you. His gaze traveled down your body like a physical touch, slow and thorough, lingering on the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips, the softness of your belly. His tail had gone rigid, the tuft twitching. His pupils had blown so wide that his amber irises were reduced to thin gold rings. 

"Mmm," he hummed. "Pretty."

His hands began to move. Palms sliding up your shoulders, over the delicate architecture of your collarbones. Fingers tracing down your sternum, circling your areolas, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked harder and you gasped. Down, down, over the soft give of your belly, the jut of your hip bones, the trembling muscles of your thighs. 

"Mhm," he hummed again, and the sound was deeper now, rougher, edged with hunger. "Perfect. Everywhere I touch is perfect."

His hands left your body. You felt the loss like a physical ache.

He reached for the fastenings of his trousers. The fabric fell away in an instant. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, curving up toward his stomach, and you forgot how to breathe.

The shaft was long, the head a flushed helmet that flared wider than the base, weeping a constant stream of translucent fluid. Below the head, circling the shaft, were ridges. Not sharp, not the barbs of a true lion, but pronounced, textured, designed to catch and hold and stimulate. The shaft itself was veined, thick cords of blue and purple visible beneath the taut skin, pulsing visibly with every beat of his heart. At the base, nestled in a nest of soft white curls, hung his balls – heavy, full, so swollen with need that they looked almost painful.

The entire organ twitched. Drooled. Yearned toward you like a living thing.

Jing Yuan watched you assessing him. His chest was heaving, his mane of hair disheveled, a flush spreading across his cheekbones and down his throat. His ears were flat against his skull. His tail lashed the furs behind him.

And then he dropped to all fours. The movement was fluid, animalistic, his broad shoulders rolling as he braced his weight on his palms, while crawling toward you. His cock swung beneath him, heavy and wet, leaving a trail of pre-come on the dark fur. 

While you scrambled backward, his eyes never left yours. Your heels dug into the pelts. Your hands pushed uselessly at the furs behind you. Your back hit the cool stone of the cave wall.

“Wait, j-just give me a second!” you sobbed pathetically.

Jing Yuan kept coming. His face was level with yours now. His breath was hot and rapid, his lips parted, his fangs visible. His pupils were black, his iridium swallowed entirely by want. His tail whipped back and forth, back and forth, a metronome counting down to something.

"Nowhere to run," he breathed. "Nowhere to hide. You're on my territory, little mate. And I am very hungry."

His hands landed on your shoulders. His weight pressed forward until your back was plastered against the hard stone. And his mouth crashed into yours. His tongue was thick and heavy, muscled like the rest of him. He pushed past your lips, past your teeth, and kept going, delving deep into the wet heat of you, stroking along the inside of your cheeks, swallowing your sounds, your protests, your whimpers, and answering each one with a deeper thrust of that relentless tongue. 

It was obscene, the way he ravaged your mouth, the wet sounds of his claiming filling the space between you, slick and rhythmic, thick tongue licking the insides of your mouth. His hand found your jaw and gripped, forcing your face up, forcing you to accept him. His thumb pressed into the soft hollow beneath your chin, tilting your head back against the stone. Your drool pooled at the corners of your lips, escaped down your chin, and Jing Yuan groaned into you, scraping your lip with his fangs, swallowing your helpless sounds as if they were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

You should fight. You should bite. You should–

Your hands rose. Your fingers threaded into his mane, and your tongue, traitor that it was, began to move with his, meeting each thrust with a stroke of your own. 

He felt it immediately. His entire body shuddered, a deep purr starting in his chest and vibrating through the kiss, and when you suckled gently at his tongue, he pulled back just far enough to look at your face. A string of saliva connected your lips to his, stretching, glistening, and he watched it break with hooded eyes. A single drop fell onto your breast.

"There you are," he said. His voice was wrecked, scraped raw. "Now be a good mate and tend to your male." He shifted his weight, rising, and his feet settled on either side of your thighs. His cock rose between you, the head level with your lips.

Your breath stopped.

It was so close. The weight of it, the heat, radiating against your face like a furnace. Pre-come beaded at the tip, gathered into a trembling droplet, and fell onto your lower lip.

Jing Yuan's hand found your hair. His fingers carded through it, adoring, gathering the strands and drawing them back from your face. He tucked a lock behind your ear. 

"Open," he murmured, "for me."

Your mouth opened before your mind had processed the thoughts.

The tip passed your lips, and the world collapsed to just this: the taste of him, salt and musk and the flavor of wild places. His cock was a living thing against your tongue, pulsing with its own heartbeat, the broad flat of it heavy and insistent as it pressed past the threshold of your mouth. Your lips stretched around the sheer girth, and you heard him exhale above you.

"That's it," he breathed. "That's it, sweetheart..."

His hand cradled the back of your skull, fingers threading through your hair with deceptive gentleness. You could feel the claws there, retracted but present, blunt pressure points against your scalp. His thumb traced the hinge of your jaw, pressing slightly, and your mouth fell wider. He pushed deeper.

The head of his cock was broad and hot, shaped wrong and right all at once, the ridge beneath it catching on your lower lip as it slid inward. Those ridges. You felt them with the flat of your tongue. They pulsed against you, slick with the endless flood of pre-come that wept from his tip, and you tried to imagine what those ridges would feel like inside you. Your poor sopping cunt clenched on nothing at the thought.

Jing Yuan pushed deeper still. The tip met the back of your throat, teasing that soft wall of muscle, and he paused. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you hadn't noticed falling.

"Breathe through your nose, love. Relax this muscle here." He pressed gently at the hollow of your throat. "Let me in. I know you can."

Your throat spasmed, rebelled, and Jing Yuan waited, patient as stone, immovable as the savanna itself, his cock a hot brand against your tongue. And when the tight channel finally relaxed enough, his cock slid into your throat like it belonged there, like your body had been shaped specifically for this purpose. 

The stretch was immense. You felt your throat bulge around his girth, felt the pulse of him against your esophagus, and more tears spilled hot down your cheeks. Saliva and pre-cum flooded your mouth, overflowed, dripped down your chin, and onto your breasts. You couldn’t speak. You couldn't swallow. You couldn't do anything but whine and gag and whimper around the pulsing fatness of him.

"Oh, love," Yuan’s voice was hushed. His other hand came up to brace against the wall, knuckles white with restraint, claws scraping against the stone. "Look at me, I beg…"

You looked up. The position was obscene – your face pressed into the white curls at the base of his cock, your nose buried in his pubic hair, his shaft disappearing past your stretched lips, buried to the root. Drool and pre-come painted your chin in strings of glossy fluid as you tried to breathe around him. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your face a mess of tears, spit, and his slick. 

His gaze traced every detail. The single mole beneath his eye seemed darker against the flush spreading across his cheekbones. His eyes were hooded sensually, pupils blown wide, black swallowing gold, and his lips parted on each shallow breath. 

"Beautiful," he panted. "The most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

Jing Yuan pulled back. The slide was slow, his ridges dragging against your throat, tongue and the inside of your cheeks. The sensation was overwhelming – too much and not enough. You whimpered around him. His cock jumped against your palate.

"More?" His smile was soft, too patronising for your liking. Still, it sent the pulsing wave of heat from your core to your neglected cunny. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, feeling where his flesh stretched you wide. "You want more, sweetheart? You want to be good for me?"

You nodded as much as you could. Jing Yuan patted your hair and pulled back, leaving your poor mouth empty before feeding you with his cock again. He found his pace, slow at first, patient, letting you adjust to the rhythm of him – the thick push forward, the drag back, the way his ridges caught and pulled at your soft tissue.

Each thrust seated him deeper. Your throat opened and accepted his throbbing cock. Your hands had found his ass for support, fingers digging into the plump muscle, gripping his cheeks as he used your face. His skin was hot and damp beneath your palms, flexing with each controlled movement. With another lash, his tail wrapped around one of your hands.

"That's my good girl," he crooned. "Taking all of me. Such a tight little throat– ah! Made for me!"

His pace increased. The slap of his balls against your chin became rhythmic, each impact spreading his pre-come across your skin in glossy smears, thin strings connecting your chin to his balls every time he left your mouth. Your vision blurred with tears, and you could smell nothing but him. Arousal had already soaked your thighs, dripped down to wet the furs beneath you, and you knew he could smell that too. His nostrils flared with each breath. His pupils dilated further.

"You're dripping, love," he said, and his voice had roughened, lost its velvet polish. "Your pussy is weeping for me. Can you feel it? Every time I push into this sweet throat, your little hole clenches…"

His thrusts were deeper now, less controlled. His hips had developed an animal rhythm, and his chest was sheened with sweat that ran in rivulets down the hard planes of his stomach. The muscles there jumped and flexed with each movement. His mane had fallen around his face, white strands clinging to his damp temples. His ears were flattened back against his skull in feline concentration.

"Your mouth is so hot," he gasped. "So wet. Like your cunt, I know it is, I felt it, I need–"

His hands flew to your head, and he stopped. His cock was buried to the root in your throat, your nose crushed against his pelvis yet again. His entire body was trembling. His tail lashed around your arm, pulling you closer, and his claws extended, just slightly, pricking the delicate skin of your scalp.

"Look at me."

You forced your eyes up, trying to find his face through the veil of tears. His gaze was incandescent, burning, the look of a king who has found something worth worshipping.

"I’m going to come down your throat," he stated. "I’m going to fill you so full that you taste me for days. Every time you swallow, you will taste your man. Every time you breathe, you will smell me on you."

With that, Jing Yuan started moving again. His pace was brutal now, desperate, the controlled patience stripped away to reveal the hunger beneath. His cock pistoned into your throat, each thrust seating him deeper, his ridges catching and releasing with wet, obscene sounds. Saliva and pre-come had formed a frothy white ring around the base of his shaft, and your lips were swollen, bruised-looking, stretched beyond their limits. You gagged, and he moaned, the vibration of your throat around his cock clearly sending him higher. Your hands clawed at his ass, nails leaving red trails, and he growled deeply.

"Take it," he rasped. "Take all of it. Swallow for me, sweetheart, swallow around my cock–"

His hips slammed forward one final time, seating himself impossibly deep, and you felt it. The first pulse was a flood. Hot and thick, impossibly copious, his come filled your throat in a rush that had you choking instantly. But he held you there, his grip gentle but immovable, and you had no choice but to take it. 

The second pulse. The third. Each wave was heavier than the last, his release seeming endless, and you felt it escape, come spilling from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin to join the mess on your chest. It came from your nose, thin streams of white, and you coughed, gagged, your throat convulsing around his pulsing cock.

Jing Yuan watched you with his eyes half-closed, lips parted, his entire expression one of gentle adoration. His thumb traced your cheekbone, smearing come across your skin.

"I've waited for so long," he whispered. "I thought I would never– hell, sweetheart, you're still swallowing– find s-someone like you."

When he pulled back, it left you gasping and choking, a trail of saliva and pre-come stretching from your lips to his fat girth. You collapsed forward, your face pressing into his muscular thigh, your tears, snot, and cum smearing across his hot skin.

"Ah, darling," Jing Yuan murmured. His hand stroked your hair, your cheek, the curve of your shoulder. "You did so well. Took me so deep. But now," he kneeled, and his hand slid down your back, gripped your hip, yanked you close, and finally, rolled you onto your tummy, "now we must reproduce~"

His weight was a universe collapsing onto your spine, his chest a furnace against your shoulder blades, his mane spilling around your face in a curtain of white silk that smelled of sun-scorched grass and the deep musk of his skin. 

You scrabbled at the furs beneath you, fingers clawing through the dense animal pelts, heels digging for purchase as his cock slid in the cleft of your ass, the thick weight of him dragging through the sodden mess of your folds. Your entire body seized.

"Still trying to run?" His voice was honey over gravel, amused and breathless, his hips continuing that torturous rock."Still think there's somewhere else you'd rather be than pinned beneath your mate?"

"P-please." Your voice was a ruin, scraped raw by his cock, by your moans. "You already– you already got what you wanted–"

"Oh, dear," Jing Yuan settled his weight more firmly onto your back, one massive palm planting between your shoulder blades and pressing you flat against the zebra pelt. The fur was coarse against your cheek, smelling of earth and him."I've barely started."

His free hand rose and fell.

The slap cracked through the cave like thunder, his palm connecting with the crest of your burning ass cheek, and the forgotten pain rose again, radiating outward in waves of heat that traveled straight to your clit. You screamed into the furs, your body arching involuntarily, but his hand on your spine held you immobile.

“No! Stop!” Your throat was raw, and some drool seepedinto the furs under your chin.

"I won’t stop. Not until you learn your rightful place, which," his fingers traced the blooming handprint, pressing into the heat of it, "Is under me, well fed and well bred."

His hand landed on your ass again. Each blow was measured with the patience of a creature who had all of eternity to reduce you to this – a sobbing, writhing thing beneath his palm, your ass a canvas of his ownership. 

He spanked the tender curve where your ass met your thigh, and you howled. He spanked the backs of your thighs, and your cunt gushed slick onto the fur. He spanked the same cheek three times in succession, each impact landing on the same abused spot, and by the third you were babbling nonsense and his name and please, please, please.

"Please what?" His hand smoothed over the tortured flesh, soothing, almost tender. "Please stop? Please continue? You have to use your words, love. Your man can't read your mind."

Your answer was a wet sob into the fur and the small arch of your back that presented your neglected cunt to him.

"Ah, well." His hand squeezed your ass, kneading the welted flesh, his fingers digging deep into the burning heat. "I suppose your body knows better."

His words detonated in your chest. Jing Yuan felt your reaction – the sharp inhale, the way your cunt clenched miserably – and his chuckle was dark honey, pouring directly into your ear.

"There she is. There's my good girl. You just needed someone capable enough to handle you, didn't you, love? Someone who won't let you run from your own pleasure."

His cock found your entrance. Not pushing, just resting there, the weeping tip pressing against your dripping hole like a key testing a lock. You could feel every pulse against your most intimate flesh. 

"No." You tried to scramble forward. His hand on your spine pinned you. "No, wait, please, I can't– you're–"

His mouth opened. His fangs, those lethal curves of ivory, settled against the junction of your nape, resting there, a promise of pain to come.

"I need you to be very still now, honey." His voice was barely a whisper, reverent and desperate. "Can you do that for your man? Can you be still and take what I give you?"

You couldn't speak. You nodded into the furs, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Good girl. My perfect mate."

He pushed.

The head of his cock stretched you wide, wider than his fingers had, wider than anything had ever stretched you, and the sensation was beyond pain – it was invasion, his flesh forcing your flesh to accommodate, your poor hole fluttering and catching on each ridge as he seated himself inch by inch. You heard yourself make a sound, high and keening, an animal noise of submission and terror.

And then Jing Yuan bit down.

His fangs sank into the meat of your nape, not deep enough to seriously injure but deep enough to claim, and the spike of agony was the key that unlocked your body. Your cunt, which had been resisting his invasion, suddenly relaxed. Your inner muscles softened, surrendered, and he bottomed out in one deep thrust.

The sound Jing Yuan made was not human. It was something between roar and moan, muffled against your flesh, vibrating through your bones. His entire body shuddered against yours, his hips pressing flush to your burning ass, his balls heavy against your clit. 

After a second that felt like infinity, his fangs retracted, and his tongue immediately began to soothe the wound, in loving strokes that made the pain transmute into something else entirely. 

"Hell! You feel– you're so– ah~" He couldn't finish. His hips moved involuntarily, and you both gasped.

“H-heavens, dear, just let me hold you,” Jing Yuan breathed against your hair while his forearm slid across the front. Your spine arched back against his chest, when he trapped your neck and head between the massive curve of his forearm and the solid wall of his shoulder. The muscle there was obscene, corded and veined, flexing against your throat with every breath he took. You could feel the sheer strength of him, and the knowledge that he could crush your windpipe without any effort, made something unhinged and totally wrong flutter in your heart. 

"Shh." His lips pressed against your temple, and you could hear the impossible strain in his voice. "I have you..."

It felt like he was everywhere. Inside you, above you, around you, his scent flooding your lungs, his weight pressing you into the pelts, his cock buried in your aching cunt. His arm kept your head tilted back against his shoulder, and the position meant you couldn't look away from the cave ceiling, couldn't hide from the overwhelming sensation of him. You could only lie there, impaled and filled, while he breathed hot against your cheek.

Your belly seemed to bulge slightly with his intrusion, and when his free hand slid down and under your body to press against the slight swell over your pelvis, he made a sound of pure worship.

"There," he whispered against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. "There it is. Feel that, love? Feel how deep I am?”

Jing Yuan withdrew slowly, his ridges dragging against your clutching walls in reverse, and the sensation was too much – the textured pull, the way your body tried to grip him and couldn't, the sucking sound of his cock leaving your greedy hole. His head reached your entrance, hovered there, and you whimpered at the loss.

He hummed at that and thrusted forward, making his balls slap against your abused clit. The sound of his pelvis meeting your ass was a wet crack that echoed off the cave walls. His hand slid from your belly to your mouth, two thick fingers pushing past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, and you gagged around them, saliva flooding your chin.

"That's it." His voice was strained now, the polished veneer cracking to reveal the desperate animal beneath. "That's my good girl..."

His thrusts found a rhythm. Slow withdrawal, agonizing drag, then the brutal plap when he drilled into your poor cunny. Each impact drove his fingers deeper into your throat, his cock deeper into your cunt, his balls slapping wetly against your clit in a rhythm that made your toes curl. The sounds – the wet plap plap plap of your bodies meeting, your garbled moans around his fingers, his deepening growls – ricocheted off the stone walls, multiplied, became a symphony of your surrender.

"Yes," Jing Yuan hissed. "This is how my queen should sound. Clenshing on my cock, choking on my fingers, crying because she feels too good. You were– ah, fuck– made for this, honey."

His angle shifted. His hips rolled differently, the head of his cock suddenly pressing against something new – a ring of inner muscle, tight and resistant, the final gate to your deepest self. You felt him find it because his entire body went rigid, and when Jing Yuan spoke again, his voice was raw with desperate need.

"Oh~ Oh, my love~” He grumbled, massaging your tongue with his fingers. “Pray tell, are you still a virgin here?"

You couldn't answer. His fingers were in your mouth, your throat in the crook of his arm, his cock pressing against that final barrier with a needy twitch. You shook your head weakly, tears flying, and his pleased groan vibrated through you.

"My perfect mate. Saving this for your king." His hips pressed forward, just slightly, testing, and the sensation was overwhelming – not pain, not pleasure, but something beyond both. His voice deepened to the obscene grumble, deep and sensual, when he resumed his pounding. "Don't worry, honey. I’ll make it feel so good~"

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The orgasm that crashed over you was immense, your cunt clenching around his pistoning cock in waves of desperate spasms. You screamed around his fingers, with your vision whiting out completely, your entire body convulsing beneath him.

And then you heard the roar.

His hips lost all rhythm, slamming into you with animal desperation, each thrust driving his tip against your womb with bruising force. His balls drew up tight against his body, and the sounds he made were no longer words – they were growls, snarls, the vocalizations of a creature who had forgotten his human shape.

"Take it," he snarled. "Take it, dear, take all of it, take– take–!"

His tip breached your cervix.

The pain was blinding, a spike of white-hot agony that immediately transmuted into the most exquisite pleasure you had ever experienced. Yuan was inside you, truly inside, his cock seated in the deepest chamber of your body, and you felt the first pulse of his release. 

Hot. Copious. Endless. 

His cum flooded your womb in creamy waves, each pulse of his cock milking more of his essence into your empty chamber. Warmth spread through the inside of your belly, making your abdomen swell as he filled you beyond capacity.

Yuan was still coming when his hips began to move again. Slow, shallow thrusts that kept his cock seated deep, his release spilling around his cock, dripping down his balls to pool on the furs beneath you. His arms relaxed, letting your head fall face-first into the furs. His mouth found your sweaty nape again, kissing, laving the mark he'd left with gentle sweeps of his tongue.

"There," he murmured. "There, sweetheart. All better. I got you."

When he finally pulled out and kneeled behind you, the sensation was almost worse than the penetration. His cock slid free of your clutching flesh, and immediately, his release gushed out of the gaping emptiness, dripping down your thighs in thick white rivulets. You felt too empty and obscenely open, your cunt unable to close around the absence of him, your inner lips swollen and parted, your hole a perfect circle that slowly began to contract back in shape.

Jing Yuan’s gaze dropped to the junction of your thighs, and his pupils blew wide at the sight.

"Oh," he breathed. "Oh, my love. Look at what I've done to you."

His fingers, gentle now, traceyour labia. His release continued to seep out, viscous and pearlescent, and he gathered it on his fingertips and pushed it back inside. You whimpered at the intrusion, pussy desperately clutching at his digits.

"Good girl," he whispered. "My perfect mate, so full of me."

Jing Yuan lowered himself onto his side, gathering you against his chest, pulling the furs up over your trembling body. His heartbeat was strong and steady against your back, slowly decelerating from its desperate race. His hand found your belly, splaying across the slight swell, and he held you there, warm and possessive.

"Sleep now, love." His lips pressed against your hair. "Your mate will watch over you. Always."

The purr began slowly, a deep vibration that started in his chest and traveled through his entire body, then yours, until you were both humming with the same frequency. His softening cock, gave weak pulses against your hip, releasing the last few drops of his seed onto your skin.

"Thank you for the gift," The Lion Man murmured. You weren't sure if he was speaking to you or to whatever gods had delivered you to his territory.

The golden light of the phosphorescent fungi seemed to dim, settling into something intimate. The furs beneath you absorbed the mess of your bodies. 

And in the grasp of the obsessive Lion Man, you closed your tired eyes.

Night settled over the savanna like indigo silk. The waterhole reflected the first stars, and the gazelles had long since departed, leaving only the trampled grass and your abandoned camera as evidence of the afternoon's vigil.

Two figures stood at the edge of the clearing. The man was tall, blond, his long hair catching the dying light as he bent to retrieve the fallen equipment. His green eyes swept the viewfinder, the cracked lens, the deep impressions of a heavy body settling into the dust.

"Well." His voice was light and satisfied. "I told you it would work."

The woman beside him adjusted her black sunglasses, though the sun had fully set. Her baby blue hair stirred in the light breeze.

"He was obsessed with her from the very beginning." Her tone was assessing. "His scent markers are all over this area. We shouldn’t interfere, unless we want our heads bitten off."

"Exactly. Given that they have already begun mating, he will most likely not let us near her for the next week." The blond turned the camera over in his hands, examining the crack. "Though that's fine. The white lion hybrids have been struggling with genetic diversity for centuries. A human mate will introduce fresh variation."

"Assuming the pregnancy takes."

"It will." His smile was certain. "Jing Yuan is nothing if not thorough."

He tucked the camera into his jacket, and two figures turned, melting into the tall grass.

.

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Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

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Jing Yuan is unironically very hard to write. He is also one of my favourite characters, so yeah… 8000+ words c:

Also, a fun thing about writing smut and like sensual scenes in general. I noticed that it's kind of hard when you try to write a lot of action and poses because like... where the hell did I make him put his hand? Her hip or belly? How should I make him move it to her neck? Is that kind of move even possible?

Anyway, I hope you forgive me for the headlock scene. I just feel that it's written a bit awkwardly, but I don't have the mental capacity to rewrite it rn :c

My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @fayebyte, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @damarezen, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai, @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, ...

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[ewnamored-deactivated20260512]

✦ SANCTUARY ✦ JING YUAN X FEM!READER ✦

• SUMMARY: Inspired by this thirst. Jing Yuan agrees to try something different with you — a little game of chase where your only role is to run before you are used to satisfy his hunger. However, you don’t expect him to bend the rules more than a little. Accustomed to taking care of you, it’s natural for him to look after you even as he’s taking what he wants. He’s manifesting his hidden fantasies about making you something vulnerable in his eyes, just so he can tend to you… in his own way. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

• CONTAINS: CNC - predator/prey roleplay except jy treats reader like a lost prey, bunny and bird nickname, praise, one safe word mention, teasing, two spanks, somewhat patronizing behavior, caretaking kink, soft dom, dry humping, size kink, fingering, manhandling, jy ties up reader’s hands for a moment, crying, vulnerable sex that turns tender, reader’s wearing a dress, subtle possessiveness, multiple orgasms, cum eating, overstimulation, unprotected sex, brief aftercare, established relationship. WORD COUNT: 10,7k.

• NOTE: Back to Jing Yuan posting!! My adoration for this man will never end. I hope I didn’t mess up his dialogue 🥺 I aimed to make it like his eloquent speech yet also keep it suited for the scenario.. Hope you’ll enjoy! And Happy New Year!!! ❤️ I’m glad that my first fic of 2026 is about Jing Yuan. Divider is by @/diviniyae.

There’s still much for you to learn about Jing Yuan, apparently.

Knowing Jing Yuan’s rather tender and amiable attitude towards you, just until an hour ago, you maintained your own idea of him: there’s a whole compendium of things he’d refuse to do to you, including the ones regarding the bedroom matters.

You’re currently being proven wrong, on a run from the man who did end up taking you on your offer to play a game of “you catch me, you get to enjoy me at your mercy.”

You haven’t even stepped outside his property’s grounds, yet there was never such need when his garden is big enough for a bit of hide-and-seek — you being chased around like a rabbit who just stormed in startled and ruined his plants in frenzy.

As you take a leap to the left from the paved path, into the maze of greenery his lush garden is, oddly not hearing any steps from behind, your mind still works on analyzing what exactly prompted him to agree to your rather precarious idea.

Him pondering whether it’s safe for you to act on it, if he wouldn’t hurt you, if you are sure you want to experience something potentially terrifying should your brain start taking the act of being hunted by a big man like him seriously — is what you expected to go through his mind when you were asking him to try something new with you, the conversation happening yesterday.

The mysterious smile you witnessed on his face — if anything, it appearing sort of relieved — as well hearing the promise about you to be solidly taken care of by him, were the biggest things you’ve been since perplexed about.

Maybe he’s confident that he can dutifully indulge you in your fantasy without hurting you, incapable of denying you the pleasure. He for sure is not someone who loses his control easily, one good quality for your trust for him to hold onto, on top of being given a verbal way out should you choose your mind halfway through his hunt.

Regardless, your stomach is tight at the thought of him chasing you. It’s full of excitement, as well the dread natural for the fight or flight instinct that’s present even as you know this is all a playmatch; you don’t rest for even a second, constantly changing your location, your adrenaline aiding you despite your exertion growing. Your mind is coming up with the ideas of what he'll do to you once he has you in his grasp, the notion getting you increasingly wet — you expect him to at least be aggressive and very assertive towards you, as the game suggests.

Will he hold you down, crushing you and your hopes to escape? Will he pull you on your hair to tug you back onto his cock that’s been splitting you apart? Will he tell you what you are to him, jubilant about his victory as he calls you adorable but nonetheless pathetic? Will he pound you roughly, demanding that you give yourself to him?

You have half a mind to make a ploy and get yourself caught on purpose, early on — you’ve been obsessed with the idea of unraveling more hidden parts about Jing Yuan.

So caught up in your own fantasies, running past by plum trees you still try to protect from your clumsiness, respecting his hard work, you still catch a sudden sound forcing you awake. Crackly, of a pebble being pressed into the sand collected between the stones’ cracks. Your rapidly racing and worn out heart skips a beat.

You suspect Jing Yuan let you hear himself on purpose, since you don’t doubt his ability to move silently, like of a trained soldier he is. Playing with you or giving you a sign to pick up your pace… in any case, without doubt, enjoying himself — he's been mocking you like this ever since you started.

You quickly hide behind the ornamental grasses, glad that the pine trees behind you don't circle enough light through their branches which surely would make the grass more translucent. The artificial sun of Luofu is still hanging high at this hour, coating your skin in salty secretion.

Out of breath from running, you clutch your chest, trying to even out your out of pattern rhythm and stay quiet as to avoid exposing yourself.

You nearly gasp when he suddenly speaks, his deep voice startling you from surprisingly just a few meters away — has he been so close to you the entire time?

“You’ve been keen on running and hiding from me for quite a while now, little scared bunny…” Jing Yuan laughs with amusement. You can’t quite tell which direction his voice is coming from, adding to your unease. Your knees tremble, eager to have your crouching form fall for some relief from the nasty cramps building up, waiting around the corner to attack you in the worst moment of the chase. You bite your lip hard. “You only need to reveal yourself, and whatever happens after, I promise I will treat you kindly.”

His words feel like a trap — gentle and kind is the last you expect to receive as a treatment. He’s got to be taunting you — he already gave you plenty of head start, knowing the game would otherwise be over in a matter of few seconds.

Then your ears catch one step closer to you, as your breath hitches. You don't move, pretending you're not there, hoping for the tiniest of chances he'll believe you…

Second step and you once again doubt he’s not going to one you up on your tactics. With the breeze swaying grass, your nose picks up a scent of his herbal and citrus cologne carried over to you, like of a lemon tea; the danger is that close.

Third, and you’re jolting upwards, jumping back on your feet, revealing your figure to him as you stand up and as you run away. For the mere moment before you have to avert your eyes to the next hiding spot, you finally get to see him — unlike you, his light-fabric pants and shirt seem spared from sweat, as if he's been making shadow after you effortlessly.

He flashes a smile at the way you scurry away in an jittery fashion.

He’s really enjoying this. You’re in big trouble, feeling like an actual prey being stalked, taking away from your confidence.

You’re soon crossing a bridge carried over the nearest pond, entering another part of Jing Yuan’s garden — a bamboo grove you find more suitable for escaping his trail.

Pushing through the thicket, with your hands separating the stalks of bamboo to create your trackway, you hope his bigger posture will impede his movement through the condensed space tall shafts create. It’s more dark and moist here, adding oppressive weight to the air surrounding you, settling oxygen into your scratched lungs with less mercy.

The thin summer dress you wear, both to allow your skin to breathe and to serve as easy access for him, clings to your sweaty body already flushed with arousal before everything started. Your skirt bounces with each move forward, enticingly giving him a view of your panties when that flattering short cut recoils from your thighs.

From what you can hear between the whistling wind force your body creates, he’s not chasing you; he’s walking in a way that's untroubled by your escape, making thumping sounds on the wooden platform with big and quick strides of his long legs instead. It’s frustrating how he doesn't have to do much in order to keep up with you.

“Stop taxing yourself!” he calls over the distance between you two, full of mirth. “That said, I should be thankful — you make for quite the lively exercise for an old and rusty man such as myself. I do need some respite from my rather stressful role.”

A man few centuries old or not, you don't believe him for a word — his agility would have terrified you if you didn't know him as your lover. He’s been a dutiful general too, even if sometimes the stakes are high.

You don't even answer his clear provocations: too breathless, as well too self-aware about the truth you’ll take the bait and get yourself distracted by arguing back. So he keeps on speaking for the both of you and the game, soon effortlessly pushing through the tight corridor of greenery he enters after you.

“It’s inevitable that I catch you, sweet finch,” it's spoken with a bit of wickedness to the inflection. You think affinity for being a warrior, one rather fearless and fierce, destructive if necessary, comes to him as naturally as his tenderness — two sides of the same coin. It’s no wonder he’s having fun, like a fish in water.

You know this well; you could never win against someone like him.

Or, perhaps you could — if only Jing Yuan was all muscles. But he’s got plenty of brains too, any of your strategies are being swiftly defeated by centuries of experience as the arbiter-general.

And yet, you aim to prolong the game, both stubborn and excited in your actions. Regardless of you nearly hyperventilating, as your body screams for a break.

While your legs at this point move for you than because of you, and the bamboos swirl in your vision, he keeps faltering your hopes with his commentary.

“Be careful or you might break a leg,” he chides playfully after you nearly slip on a damp patch of earth. “Surely you’ve had enough running — why not come home with me?”

Every few ragged breaths you turn your head around, needing to gain your bearings, but you never quite have the chance to spot him, this way forced to concentrate on the direction of his voice instead.

“Isn’t that exhausting to beat a retreat from something bound to happen? You’ll only hurt yourself over something in my garden, when you could simply allow me do what needs to be done.”

He pauses to let his words sink in and for you to grow in tension.

“I understand that the need to desperately protect yourself is inherent to a panicked rabbit like you, however…”

He taps your shoulder out of nowhere — you have not heard him at all — and you nearly vomit your heart from the perturb.

You think his hands will grab you that you almost turn around to push him away in response, but instead, he lets you pick up the pace and get ahead of him again.

He then says something confusing, especially that his tone takes on a more gentle level — you wonder if it’s yet another tactic of his. “…You’re safer with me. Believe it or not,” he calls from now a safer distance, his voice spreading through the tall bamboo, gentle yet unwavering, barely winded even as he finally breaks into a proper run.

“But if you must follow your instincts… I hope it’s time you spend making peace with the fact that I’ll be there, waiting for you when you’re at the brink of collapsing.”

Your nerves were already taut like a bowstring, and hearing his promise makes them inconsolable.

Less fed with adrenaline if stuffed with nerves, you’re sinking into a state where you’re more acutely aware of your body — your lungs burn from your wheezes and you can taste blood, your calves threaten to seize from the cramp finally building up, your heart beats so fast and wants to leave your chest you get dizzy from it. You can only hope for earnest sips of water for your dry mouth.

Desperate, you start grabbing bamboo stalks as you pass them to swing those at him, just enough to slow him for a heartbeat.

“Oh!” he makes a surprised, yet satisfied exclamation, stopping his march just in time. “Smart, I’ll give you that, but is it effective enough?” he laughs, soon dodging each of your fraught with trepidation casts.

Your stomach sinks at yet another failure; at this point, fear starts becoming a bit too real, teasing the part of you that thinks how exhilarating it is.

Even as you battle the sudden urge to stay in control, you don’t look back and risk giving him advantage this way — because, finally, your eyes reach the edge of the bamboo maze that you sprint forward to.

Bursting out of the grove onto the rocky elevation that separates it from one of the many cobblestone paths in his garden, that foolish spark of hope flares up in you again.

But in your rush, you don’t see a short, bamboo stalk jutting from the ground, cut in the past to avoid spreading illness to its companion. Your foot catches it, and you stumble violently.

A sharp, alarmed inhale escapes Jing Yuan’s mouth as he watches you lose your footing — but before you can hit the ground, he catches you with a single hand under your waist.

You expect him to set you upright, as for you to continue your desperate getaway, thinking he’s not yet exhausted in driving you out of your sense of safety.

Instead, he topples you down, careful only not to let your head strike the stones with his hand under, and you gasp under the sudden weight pressing your body into the dirt collected between the cracks of the path you're lying on.

You cough vehemently, your lungs overwhelmed that they were finally allowed some sensible breather, even if your throat complains at the dryness being aggravated in the pushout.

“There you are…” he declares smoothly, with his mouth lowered to your ear. He adjusts his grip underneath your now-shaky form; his hand goes from under your head to the top of it, holding it down as he anticipates you’re likely to bite him. The arm underneath you reads as restrictive, and you dread how defenseless he makes you feel.

Currently having your dress’s threads sacrificed to the coarse pavement and skin scraped, there’s not much you can do other than thrash and whimper beneath his hefty body, which covers your back completely. You try to bend your arms backward at uncomfortable angles, to scratch or push at him — but it’s all futile, barely more than a tickle to him, confirmed by his chuckle.

Jing Yuan finally caught you, and the thought is as worrisome as it is thrilling. As you watch the dirt being ground into your face from your flails, you thank the universe for making Jing Yuan your lover, not enemy…

Your body tense, your voice still stuck in your throat, and your arousal causing you aches that you’ve been trying to ignore so you can focus on your objectives — he’s allowed to take advantage of all of your pathetic stance, you this vulnerable being at his mercy.

“You’re wearing yourself down, hiding from me like a wounded animal would. Now, what did I tell you about running? You could have seriously hurt yourself. I think it's time we end this panicked fleeing of yours. I gave you enough time to acclimatize to these surroundings, yet you're only running in circles, risking your wellbeing.” He sounds oddly worried, as if one blunder made by you was enough for him to decide to exit you from this stage of your game.

Seeing you only try to kick back at him with a frustrated growl, you’re given another round of inapt for your circumstances reassurance. Still pinning you down with his arm over your collarbones, he raises his other hand to brush your hair tenderly to the side. His hawk gaze, having been enticed by your meekness, now softens when it observes your cheek, compressed painfully to the ground, and then the tears prickling your eyes already.

“You must be so frightened and it’s perfectly natural, I understand… shh, it’s alright… I will take a good care of you, as per my promise. You're safe now,” he croons.

You shiver at his long hair tickling your nape, while your lungs are struggling to even out your respiration regardless that you’re no longer running and can retake your calmer pattern, his muscle weight not helping either.

Tired of your efforts going to waste, you finally speak. “Let me go!” you demand so loudly few birds take off from their trees, while your hands try to gather rather scarce in its amount dirt to throw at him.

Except, you’re still a bit confused about his behavior — tender and soft-spoken, debunking any ideas you originally had of him for this scenario. Taking on the role of some protector is not what you expected from him at all, and yet, it also doesn’t fall far out of his character.

You can tell he’s been enjoying himself treating you in resemblance of something fragile, as you feel his hardness pressing against your panties-clad ass with your dress bunched up, the large imprint of his bulge provocative against your wetness. Every twitch of your body has you biting your moans down from coming contact with it.

“I’m afraid that’s no longer possible,” Jing Yuan says, his tone headstrong but free of malice, as if his decision is made for your own good, “Let’s take you inside, before you find yet another opportunity to hurt yourself.”

Inside. What will he do to you once he has you isolated in his house? You live here too, yet today, he’s made it his own territory by exceeding your efforts with little endeavor.

Before you can try to scramble away from him one more time, digging your nails into the cobblestones, he’s already hoisting you up with his strong arms to then stand up. You’re a weightless mass to the man like him, so when he shifts you and throws you over his shoulder, it’s done with no resistance from his bones.

You kick and flail, fists beating on his back, but he’s untouchable, unbreakable statue.

Jing Yuan huffs with amusement under his nose, as though you struggling is nothing more than endearing, comparable to coming from a small, weak creature foolish enough to believe it could hurt a lion.

An exceptionally gentle and patient lion.

During his walk towards your shared space, your view bounces with each step, forcing you to acknowledge every path and turn you’ve taken to hide or run, while your guts churn in anticipation of what’s coming next. Eying them, you think of all the other routes that would have been better and should have been acknowledged by you… and whether there’s still some way you can manage to outsmart him one last time.

When your limbs finally still from your focus, he gives your backside a light slap over where your panties not cover it — not affectionate so much as knowing, a reminder that he that he already envisioned your intensions.

You freeze up, your muscles forming rigid disposition, just like a bunny would — except she refuses to accept her submissive position, when the other side already assumes himself as domineering.

“Your head must be rather busy right now. Thoughts of what I might do to you… with you… and what I actually will do,” he remarks supposedly lightly, even if he knows well his words are stressful to hear. “You needn’t trouble yourself, I assure you. Nothing particularly dreadful awaits you…”

He’s not haughty, he’s not gloating and treating you like a trophy, but rather assumes you to be some lost prey.

A predator utilizing his superiority for protecting, not harming; while, nonetheless, immensely getting off to the prey’s vulnerability.

The surroundings you had learned to recognize as the ones around his house come to your view rather soon — some other stone pots rolling around the entrance, a few statues of guarding lions under the wooden pillars supporting the building, a platform you’d share tea with and kiss at in other circumstances.

It feels like walking into his den, with no point of return.

“You have no right to take me with you. Put me down!” you hiss at him, bending your limbs in all kind of formations to cause assault again. But when you dig your “claws” into his back, he only laughs, enchanted by your spirit… as redundant it is for your situation.

He spanks you again — harder this time — and you stop struggling, whining at the pain you now concede to avoid from coming second time.

With his swiftness, you’re stepping back into the Luofu-traditional house you share with him in no time.

But caught in the adrenaline intoxication, dragged inside against your protests, it feels less like home and more like a place about to become your vivarium, before Jing Yuan can thoroughly mess with and ruin his catch.

“See?” he says calmly. “It's much safer inside. It’s just you and…me.”

That avowal only unsettles you further — you don’t need more risks outside, not when he alone feels like threat enough.

With every step closer to the bedroom, your heart hammers and you get washed in cold sweat, still stuck in a mix of anxiety and thrill. Your body hair stands. The instinct to get away from someone easily capable of hurting you is undeniable, yet so is the curiosity towards what awaits behind that door.

He nudges the sliding door open with his foot, entering despite your renewed, feral protests. “You brute, I said let me go!”

When he lowers you onto the rosewood bed, laid with beige sheets, gently like you’re brittle and awaiting any rapid movement from him, you’re instantly crawling towards the edge of the mattress.

Jing Yuan stops you just as quickly, fingers closing around your ankle and pulling you back to the center, before he settles his weight over you. Breath is stolen from your lungs once more.

“No,” he chides, and with his arms next to your head, he fondles your cheeks with some kind of fondness, soothing your hypothesized prey-driven defensiveness. You wince as he brushes your fresh scratches to dust you off from remaining dirt. “No need to run… I understand your fear, but this must be done. You need to see this is where you belong from today — under my protection.”

The prior confusion you felt over his softness, as well over his coddling of your person’s prowess makes its return, as he keeps disproving your expectations of what he’s supposed to do to you.

“Get away from me!” you still snarl with defiance. “You despicable man, talking about this care for me after you kidnapped me here!” You raise your hand to slap him — maybe if you show him enough bratty demeanor, he’ll finally abandon his conviction that you’re a defenseless, fragile thing in need of his tender handling.

You brace yourself for some retaliation, for Jing Yuan to finally snap.

You’re granted only a single breath, before he’s forcing your legs apart with his knee and moving to be between them, this same bunching up your dress to rest over your hips. Right in time as he grabs your hand midair, then the other. He pins both over your head, looming over you.

You manage only to push yourself back towards the headboard only a little before you’re hitting it with your skull.

“That’s not very nice. Though I suppose this is what scared bunnies do… desperately try to protect themselves,” he hums to himself, while his golden eyes trail your thrashing form of a wounded prey — with a great appetite, eager to correct some things. “Nothing that cannot be overcame with a bit of… gentle push towards right mindset.”

He doesn’t rush to rip your clothes, as your imagination has conjured about him. Instead, his mouth is all over your neck, trailing his sucking tongue — following a direction from your collarbones up to your jaw, slowly and carefully, but also with insistence to make you squirm in a different way.

You shudder from the tingling his tongue’s warmth and texture bring; even so, the urge to fight him and resurface as victorious, as well the urge to provoke more viciousness remains.

“Stop and get your filthy hands off me!” you demand, turning your head to the side to avoid his touch. And yet, you can only wriggle the rest of your body in a pathetic attempt with last bits of energy, futile against his hold and crushing weight.

With him between your legs, kicking him is also useless — he presses his crotch flush to yours, and the strain of his cock against his pants, throbbing, leaves you trembling.

Attacked from both ends, every sense heightened, your body and its pleasure is at his mercy. You already are overwhelmed, more sensitive than ever — inability to run away from his stimulation only forces you to feel it tenfold.

“Jing Yuan… stop…!” you bark an order again, albeit your words carry little fortitude when yet another humping movement of his hips derives a first moan from you. You’re so soaking wet you can feel your panties stick to your skin uncomfortably.

Regardless of him being gentler than anticipated, his subtle dominance he still exerts over your fate, the pushiness over your body, they all set you frenzy.

“I won’t stop. However, it’s okay to speak your mind, if it helps you feel better,” is what he says dismissively to your demand, accentuated with a groan and another filthy kiss to your fragile throat, his own tone becoming tremulous from the pleasure contact with you brings.

He has already decided your protests are no more than an obstacle to assuring your wellbeing. So he stays here: slowly rolling his hips into your clothed cunt back and forth, while carefully handling your restless wrists like a gentle giant. Even the vibrations of his voice ricochet against your sensitized nerves.

Another wail passes through your lips, and this time, your tears streak your hot cheeks unrestrained.

“See? You need this more than you’re letting on,” he continues with another kiss, assessing everything about you with content eyes. Every of the smallest twitches, catches in your breath, your lips parting when you no longer can hold in your ecstasy, your muscles tightening from the strong work of you arching away from him. “Your body has been waiting for this, for someone like me to take care of it, so it can be sated, whether you admit it or not.”

“N-no… I don’t belong to you!” you insist, glaring down at him with all the might you could muster. But in his perspective, your defiance reads not as strength, but as meekness stubbornly disguised as courage.

“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be, precious.”

Without any hesitation, his lips smash against yours — tenderly, yet with enough strength to support his hold over you. Alternating between soft brushes of his lips and selfish digs of his hungry tongue, he makes sure to coax you into compliance, simultaneously grinding friction into your pussy more properly.

You can barely breathe, not even from his fervor and voracity, as it from the haze over your senses. Your groin almost hurts and you think you’ve never been more insatiable. As your clit pulses and rushes with blood underneath, you’re desperate to be filled by him like you’re still not complete enough without it.

His scent, his weight, his confidence — you think you could be here forever, so you choose to momentarily give in, to be worshiped and pleasured by his lips. You remember yourself only few kisses later, tightening your legs around him in attempt of pushing him away this way, until next kisses are stealing your zeal even more than before.

Pulling away as if to sort out your resistance, he passes your wrists into one hand so he can wipe your tears for you with his other. His head towering over yours, driving you nervous from the closeness, you get a view of a man you still wait to attack you — in spite of his patience, he can never erase something sharper from his concentrated features, inherent to him. “You’re only exhausting yourself,” he murmurs softly. “You’re growing really tired, aren’t you? Still caught in fight mode…

… but I have something right to help you slacken your defenses, and acknowledge the fact that I am here for you.”

Slowly, he releases your face, letting his hand move upwards on the way to untie the red ribbon holding his hair. His thick strands fall and cascade around his face. As you thrash again — although with less ardor this time — he secures your hands together to the frame of his bed.

“What are you doing…” you ask with a rasped tenor, your chest heaving. The throb between your legs becomes higher at this new tactic, with your mind painting images of how he might use you in this position.

To your surprise, the ribbon, while being thin, is made from some more durable material, as tugging your hands and twisting your head on the pillow around doesn't help in breaking it.

You’re even more exposed for him, his for the taking.

Coming up to rest on his knees, he then he has your skirt flipped over your stomach, exposing your panties with their darkened patch — both grinding and the danger have gotten to you. He drinks it all in — your shape he’s come to know and desire well, your arousal, your vulnerability — with even more hunger.

The straps of your dress are knocked down your arms, making you shiver as they’re grazed with his fingertips.

“No, no, wait…!” you plead with a high pitch, even if at this point it’s hard to hide the wantonness building up in your clouded eyes, your lips unable to close from how breathless they are too.

“Shh. It’s alright, as always,” Jing Yuan calms you gently, his hands coming upwards on the both of your thighs quivering as they're draped over his thick ones. His palms’ path is ascending way too high for his actions to be as innocent as he tries to portray them as. “It might feel strange at first, but I trust you'll come to understand in no time…”

Before you can whine-articulate a question burning on your mind, one of his hands is already rubbing you through your underwear, digging the fabric into your folds with the middle and index finger movements up and down your slit. You squirm especially when now and then he brushes your clit with that friction. Tiny shocks spread all over your groin, heat builds up in your belly, as your legs try to instinctively shut despite finally given something better.

Jing Yuan sighs fondly, monitoring every reaction. His cock twitches and he has to put a strain on his body to avoid fucking you right off the bat, his hardness growing; you see his forearms flexing in struggle to stay fair with his strength on you.

“Already so wet… you need to let your own body guide you and everything will be alright if you do,” he chuckles, his thick fingers slipping underneath your panties’ band to feel the gathered evidence of your desire clearly. “It knows well what it’s missing, when that stubborn mind doesn’t reach the same conclusions just yet.”

You jolt when he applies direct pressure on your bud, his thumb nearly slipping away from how soaked you are. Tugging at your restraints, whimpering, you shake your head. “No… you have no right…” at this point, you’re saying those things out of reflex.

“I don't? And yet,” he lowers his voice to be quiet, intimate only between you two. He’s speaking his own truths before he can prove them in reality too. “I think your body recognizes exactly what it’s been missing in order to be at solace…”

Your legs clamp around him when he pushes his finger into your hole — slowly, spreading your walls apart with just one due to its thickness. He’s done that many times in the past, but something about your trepidation today actually makes the insertion feel intrusive, as if he's taking you apart and rebuilding you.

The stretch is there, no matter how eager you are, and your poor muscles clench in attempt to reject the sensation; yet, the pleasure slowly builds up around your sensitive entrance, your hole twitching around his finger and never stopping getting wet.

You shake your head once more, huffing your breaths, and Jing Yuan leans in to kiss your forehead. His head stays on top of yours, not allowing any eye-contact to get lost as he continues fingering you. “I have to prepare you properly, you know. I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” he informs softly.

You know exactly what he means by prepare; but with your mind still addled, a bit dazed from the new situation of being forcefully cared for, you’re still acting alarmed and confused. Nonetheless, you’re desperate to hear him avow his intentions. “What are you going to do?” you manage to ask, shakily as from anxiety and lust.

“I’ll take you so you can realize your place is here, with me, protected… even if I must guide you with a more solid hand,” he says that firmly, his other hand massaging your thigh. “You’ll see soon enough how much you need this.. and me. You’re too fragile on your own, my sweetling.”

He finally pulls your panties down your legs, giving you a warning look when you try to shut them again — and you, taken aback by it, obey.

A second finger joins his first after. It’s forcing to make more space and sinking deep, and you have to be breathe in short pants; you’ve taken Jing Yuan’s cock many times, yet now you can barely imagine it fitting if just two fingers give you sparks of sting.

Your brows knitted together in concentration at the fullness between your thighs, you find your toes curling at every feeling he’s instilling in your body. Subconsciously, you start swaying your body up and down along his rhythm, the coil tightening in your stomach.

His fingers work slowly but deeply, and occasionally, he angles his fingertips to reach the most sensitive spots inside your pussy he made sure to learn a long time ago. He’s only deliberately avoiding your clit, ensuring every sensation builds up without a premature release.

“Yes, just like that…,” he murmurs with pride, kissing your cheek. “Your only job is to let me in. Enjoy yourself while you’re at that.”

You mewl in response, your eyes closing for a moment. Even seeing the sunny-set room becomes too much of a stimuli when he’s messing with you like this; you suspect all the emotions accompanying you in this game is what amplifies everything.

“Wounded and lost birds don’t belong outside… not until they’re properly taken care of,” he carries his words softly into your ear, beginning to kiss your neck again — sweetly, as a juxtaposition to the fact you’re still bound and defenseless.

You drift into a headspace you’ve never known before, where the only world you’re capable of thinking is Jing Yuan — quiet and steady, yet the fire keeping it warm is crackling heat enough to burn. You feel secure there, pliant, even as a part of you awaits for his greed to deepen — you’ll gladly accept it as long as he keeps holding you.

You're still not sure what's gotten into Jing Yuan; or maybe he's always been like this, awaiting a moment where he can fully unleash his fantasies of being a protector, considering his knack for tending to you and others. So much it becomes a fetish on its own, for a man needing to be needed as to not feel lonely in his later years, and especially generous when it comes to his beloved.

You can tell he’s barely containing his excitement on top of you, the twitch of his fingers in you telling you how much he’s holding back from just grabbing and manhandling you, the occasional grind into the mattress to relieve some pressure, and the need behind his hooded eyelids.

Until he no longer denies himself.

Once he’s sure your squeeze is not so hard he could believe you’ll break his fingers, he pulls them out, having you whimper at the emptiness. Unabashedly, he licks them clean with a content grunt, twisting your stomach with shame.

While you start your attempt to break restraints one more time, remembering to excite him with your helplessness, he moves onto undressing himself. He sends you patronizing look, amused at what’s already been proven as useless.

And the truth is, he would have prolonged his stripping to tease you until you’re begging to be shown your place, if only he wasn’t impossibly restless himself today.

“Jing Yuan…” you half-whisper, gulping nervously at the raw realization of how far things have developed. Your little request to be chased finally reaching its zenith, and you’re not sure if you can handle what he’s about to serve you.

He chortles at the vivid worry you show after his leaking hardness is finally out, as if it’s the first time he ever fucks you.

“Hmm… I suppose you have not yet given up on the idea of fighting should I let you go, but you clearly also need something to hold onto, therefore…” he leans over you and removes the ribbon from your wrists.

As anticipated by him, you're immediately throwing hands at him, grabbing his shoulders to push him away — and as suspected by you, he’s inexorable.

Your blood is rushing all over your body, that you get awfully dizzy from the high another spell of adrenaline brings and your ears ring.

“I’m fine with you scratching me. You’ll need it,” he says humorously in response to your aggression.

“Please… there's no way I can…” your eyes don't stray away from the spot between his legs.

“You’re underestimating yourself, as well my determination to make this work for us.”

He sends you one more soft look, briefly brushes your face with his knuckles, before ripping your dress off — in a movement so fast you can't even blink first.

Jing Yuan’s staring at your nude form disconcerts you, as if you might have never been naked in front of him before. While you previously had no qualms about provoking him, you wonder if he’d remain as patient should you taunt him now — his dark gaze penetrates you like an x-ray, and he’s taking in all that he plans to make his.

“I only wish I could have more time to touch you properly, yet when you’re being so restless, you really leave me no choice here…”

He removes your bra too, his one hand slipping under your back to unclasp it, the other keeping your hands at bay.

Your nipples turn hard from the sudden gush of colder air the room has been maintaining. You’re squirming and crying again, but rather than it being fear from the collection of your volatile emotions, it’s the vulnerability getting to you.

“Look at you. So beautiful. So precious, thinking something bad will happen to you,” he praises with a tease entwined into it, finding your squirms and wide eyes adorable.

His hands cup your breasts, feeling them for at least a moment, groaning at their softness. He makes a promise to himself to take you apart piece by piece, with more diligence and patience next time.

Then he lowers himself close to rest on top your body. It’s done with his muscular arms gathering your upper body close to his chest; the position is overwhelmingly intimate to you, despite it anchoring you too. The weight of his broad body brings a memory of how often he naps directly on top of you; you barely can handle it then, and so now his physique is another force to make you compliant.

“You're in very good hands…” he says shakily as he starts dragging his cock across your wet slit, mixing his pre-cum into your arousal. His hips are doing all the work, as he only suspends his hips and thighs with the weight on his knees as to not crush you entirely.

Instead of pushing him this time, you paw at his shoulders for any type of relief, as your mouth opens in surprise and leaves a raspy wail. At this point, your body is too weak against the pleasure being given to you too well after you've been starving for it ever since the game between you started — the most of your vigor was already exhausted anyway.

“J-Jing Yuan… it's too much…” you barely say.

He observes you above you, and your vision is obstructed by his kind smile and his hair veiling you from anything precarious around you.

“Don’t fight it. You’ve come so far. You should be proud of yourself.”

His tip catches against your clit’s hood, but he never stops to give your bud proper attention, drawing your anticipation and desperation high. He’s more about getting you used to the feeling of his cock, the same way he is coating himself in your slick.

You're like a squeaky mess underneath him, so he takes it one step further, leaning down to leave a bite on your chest that has you kicking you feet.

It’s the same moment he starts pushing inside, utilizing his distraction, although it’s just his thick head at first — nonetheless, this shallowness drives him as crazy when the most sensitive part of his length is coated in your heat and tight wrap, that his breath hitches sharply.

With another of your cry-outs, he distracts you with another bite, that you’re not allowed to complain about the stretch on his thick girth.

He dives a little bit more inside, your insides trying to push him out — but the glide of your excessive wetness only allows him to move forward.

“Jing Yuan…!” you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders.

He peeks at you from your chest level, witnessing your frail state. He could take it more slowly, but with you all restless and he all pent up, he makes a decision.

“You’ll be alright.”

You don’t have to question his words with alarm. Before you know it, he’s pushing your legs to your chest and sinking deep into you in one thrust.

The splitting pressure you feel on your pussy is immediate, and your mouth opens for a scream that never is vocalized. He’s always been big and you did well in taking it, you’ve taken him just yesterday, and yet, today you feel closer to being a virgin. You're so full you’re worried just one inhale of breath will allow him to sink too deep.

How tight you are around him is proven by a loud groan and your name he lets out, as if just being cockwarmed by you may get him fucked out.

He huddles your thighs with his hips that fall down, keeping you close even as you try to dig your feet into the mattress — sideways — to push yourself away from him. He clicks his tongue at you, adjusting his grip underneath your knees as a precaution. “No, no, hold still… you’re finally there, there’s no point in running now…” he coos, watching you with a troubled expression, as if there’s some kind of torment in you and he’s guiding you towards a remedy for it. “You're winding yourself up unnecessarily.”

“S-stop… it’s too much… I can’t…” your voice creaks. In need of stability, you purchase his sanctuary by wrapping your arms around him; not without immediately clawing at his back, mad in your sensory overload. His scent, his weight, his warmth, his control.

Jing Yuan gives you an experimental thrust nonetheless — withdrawing just the half of his length, then pushing it right back in so you never suffer being empty. Your moan that follows after mixes with his own, though his sounds more relieved.

“Finally…”

You have a hunch this one word uttered with bliss is not exactly a relief coming from being inside of you, but something far more meaningful to the man possessing a penchant for caregiving; you’re not given much time to dwell over it as he starts moving his cock in and out, bursting pleasure within you like his fingers did.

It’s not much painful, as it is prying at every inch of your walls — as well at your person entirely. You've been his, you’ve certainly felt his, yet what he’s doing today feels like reassuring and reinforcing his statement about you being a bird to safely cup in his hands.

You’re shedding tears, peering at him with a lingering confusion; as if wondering how you ended up here, and why is this man so adamant on doing this despite your protest and is also doing so by staying so gentle.

Still, your heart syncs with his — both are fierce, just racing from different emotions — so does your sounds sync. None of you can look away from each other — if you were to, you’d never atone for denying him the indulgence of witnessing you this delicate.

“I cannot even fathom you being possibly more precious than this…” it comes out a with a prettiest and softest of laughs, and despite your struggle, some part of you wishes to melt from it.

As he continues fucking you, you’re nearly suffocating underneath all that muscle weight resting heavily on top of you, and him constantly stretching you out back and forth with his girth only adds to the breathless state. And yet, he’s been moving slowly, as if he might rattle you should he move too much, but still pushing his hips close enough to make sure you feel full and his. Taken, grounded, bound.

You feel something growing in you, the pleasure you can’t avoid, but it’s so different when you’re playing this role, as if it’s meant to change you forever. Rewrite you as someone always to need him to carry you through days safely.

It's almost scary.

“I can’t…” you whimper out, and he groans as you tighten around him.

He only holds you closer. “I know, I know this is all new to you, but you’re safe here with me,” he reassures soothingly into your ear as he lowers his head, then presses a kiss to your cheek.

He thrusts deeply in again, forcing you to feel his balls over your ass, as well the stretch that feels as revolutionary every push back inside — slower pace forces you to feel every inch and ridge dragged across your wet walls.

Everything is to be experienced as innermost, his hot skin on yours, his watchfulness, the tight grip on your body he won’t let go of. The space of the world has narrowed down to this room he'd gladly not let you out of, so long you remain obtaining his love through coddling acts. It’s one thing no one can take away from him.

“I feel weird…” you mumble through the ordeal of gasps he keeps stealing from you.

“Mhm… you’re not adjusted to being safe like this, are you?…” he coos. His thrusts are dragged with a satisfied grunt every time you take him, as if each is sound is a praise for you. “You were shaking, outside on your own, just anticipating the moment someone hurts you… I had to take you away from that fear.”

He lets go of your legs and grabs your waist instead, now trusting that you will refuse any subversion — you do, wrapping your legs around him and voluntarily taking his cock in even deeper even as your throat gurgles from the expansion on your pussy.

“That’s my precious girl,” he says, all besotted by you. Resting his body on top of yours as he maintains his movements, he lays his cheek over yours, watching your tearful eyes.

The praise hurts your stomach. Deeply affecting you susceptible to everything going on, as it’s spreading down to your bone marrow.

The answer as why he’s tender like this is still not entirely clear, the need to escape something currently opening your being in different ways is as fresh, yet you also need him. He’s been there for you, with you, for so long, and he’s taking care of you even during the game that was an invitation to be selfish.

At this point, his thrusts, while still slow, take on more force and depth, kissing your cervix. You’re nearly hyperventilating on your moans. You’re sure your raking nails scarred his back for weeks, but he shows no pain, as if this is a sacrifice he’s willing to take.

Jing Yuan is not far behind in getting overwhelmed, exhaling deeply with every love made, lashes-heavy and cheeks-flushed expression forming on his face. His thick brows knit together, tormented by your heat, “So tight- You could kill an immortal this way…”

With a kiss given to you, he shifts your sticky bodies together for more attention to give you. “Come here,” he murmurs gently, drawing the both of you to rest on your sides without even pulling out, ensuring you’re facing each other, still holding you. You drape your leg over his hip and let him enter you fully; you’re no longer scraping his back but you make sure to at least bruise his bicep.

“You needed this. You can feel all of me, can you not?” he speaks between another kiss.

You can only nod.

One of his hands slips down to your ass before he starts to bounce you on his cock. Withdrawing fully to fuck his cock back inside you right to the brim, taunting you as the itch of being empty is immediately scratched with the relief of being full — too full — right after; he doesn't need to move fast to leave your mouth agape and you sobbing. His balls slap your skin, his thrusts stir your wetness — aeons, you’re so wet — and when he presses his pelvis flush to your mound, his pubic hair rubs your clit deliciously.

Your desperation grows, and so you try to move your body faster — not only to cum. Your peace is meddled with because slow mercy is currently actually worse than pounding cruelty, if the first makes you feel every vein of his length and crevice of his head pushing your pussy apart.

He doesn’t let you, deriving a frustrated mewl from you — he squeezes your flesh till it bites back at you.

“Feel it,” he chides gently.

“But I can’t—” you look up at him, meeting his amused gaze, in hopes you could finally weaponize your softness to get what you want.

He stops moving for a second, but props up his tip deep inside of you, a smallest of warnings; effective, as you wail. “You’re not coming until you take me as if you are rapacious for it.”

You grumble petulantly, before you rest your face in his chest, hoping leastwise his alive rhythm will soothe your myriads of feelings; as well hoping he’ll keep you protected, pondering whether his importunate seed of overprotectiveness has finally corrupted you. You would have thought his heart to be calm even in those circumstances, a man who lately has been fearing only losing you and not facing his opponents, but it’s wild, like a bird trapped in a veiled cage. He does love you.

He lets you stay there and rolls his hips until it becomes agony to deny himself the vision of your tenuous face.

“You mustn't hide your face — how else will I know what you need?”

You refuse to reveal yourself, clinging to the rough surface of his muscles.

“Darling,” he murmurs into your ear, before biting your lobe, coaxing your willingness with shivers. “Look at me.”

But you remain unyielding, conscientious in easing your bodily burdens this way, “K-keep going.”

You hear a sigh,which have a bad feeling about.

You’re right to renew your worries when you suddenly find yourself being lifted into air; manhandled like you’re weightless. You end up straddling Jing Yuan, basically skewered on his length.

“No, no, I can’t—” you say frantically, trying to push yourself upright with your hands braced against his stomach.

He rests his head and shoulders against the headboard, holding your hips in a prison you can’t escape despite your vigor. You’re sized up with a soft gaze not entirely clean of being covetous for your vulnerability. “You can. You’ve been doing so the entire time.

Show me how much you need this.”

Yet you don’t move to fuck yourself onto his cock. You really believe you can’t. Sitting directly on top of it might as well drill an exit to your throat, and you can feel it in your belly. You think you may have to ask Jing Yuan to use only your thighs from after this farce ends.

He smiles at your squirms, noticing the desperation tension in your thighs to keep your body suspended. “Come on, you’ll earn yourself a cramp if you don't settle. All it takes is…”

He hoists you by your hips and moves you up despite you trying to push his hands away, the old struggle fully making its return. You panic as he lowers you back onto his dick to the base, even if the pleasure you’ve been chasing blooms anew.

Your head lolls back, your eyes glazing over too, and it hangs like this when he starts moving you like a doll. At last, being more indulgent, yet despite your initial fantasy about being used, you find out you bit more than you can chew — at this point, the bed creates unsteady cacophony to his huffed grunts.

You want to push your body down, to rest on him chest to chest as you can’t breathe and choke on sex-moist air, and so you lean your torso forward him.

Yet he doesn't let you lower your torso. He cups your throat gently, keeping you upright to pep you up. The whine you let out vibrates over his palm and he enjoys it, knowing how much you need him for your own comfort. If there's anything that makes Jing Yuan greedy, it's him always wanting you to need him — it makes him feel needed too.

“Not yet. Don’t run from it. Let me see how good you’re feeling,” he barks the order with his own desperation.

He doesn’t squeeze your neck, but you have a hunch he’ll keep you cock-denied for hours if you don't start moving. So with hesitation, you begin with small grinds at first. Rolling a circle with your hips, getting used to sitting on it.

“There you are,” he praises. “Can you feel how deep I go?”

You nod. Your hand goes over your belly, as if you could feel him inside if you were to press your hand hard enough — maybe even see.

“I’m so full of you,” you mewl like it’s both a curse and blessing, your tone poisoned with sensations.

For a scary second, you worry he might finally break his restraint, judging by the wild look your confession provokes. His grip on your hip tightness.

Because you are right where you belong. With him, safe, taken care of, his — in his individual way. He wonders if maybe this sort of game should become your anniversary holiday, as he’ll yearn to repeat it, as long as he’ll have an excuse to look after you.

He growls when your pussy flutters around him nervously. This is when he decides to start moving your body, a bit mean as he’s at the homestretch for making you both finish. You scratch at his stomach for nothing.

“W-what’s wrong?” he asks you to tease you sternly, even if his voice is long gone even. “You have taken me before many times, haven’t you? Your body remembers what to welcome inside.”

He directs his yellow gaze to be at where his cock disappears into you — glistening with your fresh wetness and creamy with the previous excess. He has to control himself to avoid coming right there, cursing everything on Luofu for bestowing this image on him. Your hole greedily sucks him in, and your folds separate for him with every thrust.

“You're splitting me, how can I even…” you whisper out. He's started moving faster, clearly motivated, and you think you might be gone after this.

“Because you were meant for me.”

Something snaps in you at those words said most earnestly, rewiring your brain and erasing any doubt. You do want to be his, so you start to ride him on your own, going back at him with your own greed. Any previous exhaustion from running is forgotten.

You don’t even register the moment he lets go of your hips so you can satiate what you need, only humping his hips to help you meet sooner. His hands move to fondle your jiggling body all over — your hips, your ass, your thighs, your breasts…

Jing Yuan stops at the last part, tugging on your nipples a bit, until you’re crying for nth time ever since you started this session.

“Please, oh, Jing Yuan…!”

“Yes? You need me to claim you properly?” he asks sharply. “You’re going to break so hard on me, aren’t you? But then I’ll be there to hold you through it—”

You nod desperately. You keep tightening and tightening, and he’s pulsing and hard in your pussy, your orgasms so close. He's still careful with his thrusts, remembering your sensitivity, but they are more fervent.

“Touch yourself, in the same way I tend to touch you,” he orders. It's the least help he can give you, as well the satisfaction of seeing you touching yourself for him.

You’re elated you’re finally allowed the relief that you’ve been starved of for what feels like hours. He’d have never denied you, yet he also makes sure that your bliss comes in the most crashing way. Taking you high into the desperation so your bliss comes with nothing but thoughts about him.

Your hand goes between your legs and your fingers fumble to rub your clit, enacting the way he’d do it so you can come almost as hard as he makes you. Grinding your bud into different directions, to then press down in the middle, and you imagine him doing it — the only thing missing is a thick glob of spit he’d put on you when eating you out.

Your hand accidentally slips down as you literally shake, hitting his stomach; you quickly put your fingers back on your clit, feeling so good.

“JingYuanJingYuanJingYuanJing-” you are right on the edge. “How I need you so badly,” you sing the debauchery for him.

He releases your throat in exchange for finally pulling you down onto his chest, the one fluttering with some kind of a heady emotion. He truly shall never let you go. “Let me take care of you.”

You release a sigh you’ve been holding, ecstatic he’s holding you through something so enormous. He takes control over your orgasm, making sure to grind his pelvis and its hair into your clit, as he allows himself to go at a proper speed for the last few moments. Clutching your waist as if you may fly away.

“You’ve been… you’ve been doing that the entire time…” you confess into his chest, nuzzling into his grey hair. Your legs tremble over his.

His heart races at your words, and he quickly kisses the top of your head as if he’ll never get a chance to do it again, overfed with love.

“And I’ll never stop doing so, that’s a promise—” he rambles right as he’s about to come with you, “there won’t be any harm I’ll ever allow to fall upon you…!”

With a few more rocks, you finish hard, squeezing his cock madly with your pussy, barely seeing through your tears. Even with your ears ringing, you still catch his gasps and loud moans as he fills you up with his seed, the orgasm finally slipped from the way your walls twitch and he has no control left. Jing Yuan has never been ashamed of being vocal in bed, but you don’t think you’ve ever heard this type of ripple from him before.

“Never…” he extends his previous comment, fucking his cum right ino you, even as you claw at his shoulders and sob.

You don’t remember much after, other than how your fuddled body felt. He takes you in all kind of positions as long as he can see your face, pulling out one orgasm after another and then another, filling you over and over — only making sure you get fed water every few minutes. Against the wall, on your back again, on the floor when you manage to escape him and your bed once, with your ass hanging over the edge of the bed.

When he finally pulls out with a shudder, barely holding your shaking body, he’s still not done. Your pussy is all battered with his cum, making him proud… but he doesn’t want it to go to waste. Some kind of ritual to end this day that has turned evening, ensuring you’ll never forget it, bonding you forever to him.

You're meekly tugging at his hair, as his tongue works on your overstimulated hole. “Yuan, give it a break…” you heave, thinking you’ll soon pass out; on top of finding him shameless.

He looks up at you, groaning at the taste of the way you both combined like true two lovers. Usually, he’d have chosen a lazy nap by this time, but today, he needs to have you until he breached your limits, fully exhausting his chance to be care-giving for his own happiness. “You can take it. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

You can barely finish at this point, have never been more exhausted, but when you do, he finally lets you go, suspecting you and your poor body would have tapped out on him just few seconds after.

He’s even more tender afterwards, cradling your bruised and sore form, even as his own is a bit jelly, as possible it is for someone with this stamina — you tend to have that effect on him. He wraps you snugly into a blanket; you're nestling on his chest, warm in this cocoon before he’ll have to reluctantly pull away to bathe you, inhaling his citrus cologne lingering on his heated skin.

“You did well. Very well, like a champion,” he chuckles a little. “I hope being treated delicately has been nothing but pleasant, as it was for me.”

Your tears dried up, but your thoughts still drift to be about him and his warmth only. When you asked him to chase you, this was never what you meant or expected… but perhaps, you bargained for something even better. Who else can take you apart to mend you back into something even more secure?

“I love you,” is the only answer you manage to mumble into his chest, your eyes closing, but it says enough for him and makes his heart warm. You expect to wake up soon, in a bathtub, and when you do, you hope to say it one more time.

“I love you too,” it comes naturally for him to say, into your hair as he kisses your head. He plans to say it again himself. “Want a goodnight kiss too?”

You nod. So he grants you your wish, enveloping your lips with nothing but affection, as you finally sink into slumber.

You know you’ll be knocked out for hours, sore even after you wake up. But Jing Yuan also will be there in the morning. Feeding you breakfast, and you can guess he won’t let you use your own hands. Carrying you when you can’t walk yet. Getting only more occasion to tend to you…

…and you’ll be there, watching it with adoring eyes and soaring heart.

Many centuries have passed for Jing Yuan, he’s made many mistakes and regrets, yet having you might be the most kindness he has ever received.

[phainonbinary]

ooohhhh my god phainon u make me start ovulating

[monicahar]

UAAAWWGGGHH ITS THE BOYFRIEND

[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.

[dvinaamesca]

[cheriafreya]

Kinich ♡︎

[fufuheheii]

Pre-SoTE! Messmer x KnightinTraining!F! Reader

Notice: This is just a (potential) snippet of my Messmer/Reader Fic! For now, please enjoy this lack-of-context short!

𓆙

The colosseum is crowded as usual, all anticipating the bloody fight that is to come. Gladiators prepare themselves, putting on their gloves and greaves. All fight to be seen, to be heard, to be championed.

For Messmer, it is one in which he can witness the ambitions and fighting prowess of all who dare to display it in front of the people of the Erdtree. There is no greater honor.

He sits above in the pulvinar, studying the gladiators who stand near the blocked entry into the fighting area. Some are familiar faces, others new and jittery. There will be much competition this time, and more blood will be spilled.

“I do not understand the meaning behind these fights,” Godwyn, who sits next to him, sighs as he rests his chin on his palm. “We live in peace, yet the people seem to favor bloodshed more than anything.”

“It is a battle of glory,” Messmer responds, tossing a look at his brother. “Thou should hold pride for these men.”

“I would rather focus on the noble ladies that wait outside the colosseum for their fathers and brothers,” the golden man only mutters, to which Messmer ignores. “Thou’rt not a man of brute violence either, lord brother. Participating in these spectacles will not curry favor with our mother.”

“I am not doing this to impre–”

“Oh, it’s starting.”

The gates are pulled open, and in stomps the first gladiator. He is a champion in the arena, his helmet still not washed from the blood of his victims. He pounds at his chest, roaring for the next opponent to enter the arena. The crowd cheers and chants for the next contender to come out. Messmer tilts his head forward, his red braid falling over his shoulder as the gates open again. When he sees who it is, he immediately leans forward with one wide eye. Godwyn raises an eyebrow before he laughs. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Jeffrey, you are to be brought to the name of justice!”

Your voice bounces off the walls of the arena, and the said gladiator only stares as you enter in, in your rusty apprentice armor and dull blade. The only thing standing out from your appearance is your shiny new helmet, which you must have bought recently as it lacks any scratches. The crowd boos at you, throwing food and shouting for you to get out.

“I am here–oof!” you get knocked to the ground when a whole cabbage smacks your helm. “What is this hostility,” you cry out in shock as you grip your helm. “I am here to arrest this man!”

“Get outta here!” the audience roars in anger. “This is no place for a knight!”

The gladiator roars, and before you can get back on your feet he runs towards you, smashing his whole body against yours with full force. The air escapes your lungs as you are sent flying off, meeting the wall with a loud crack. The audience cheers and the gladiator lifts his arms to bask it all in.

You groan and wheeze in pain with no doubt some of your ribs broken. You left your flask in the saddlebag with your horse, and now you will have to fight with your bones rattling inside you.

Godwyn stops laughing and starts to look concerned over your current situation. “Lord brother.”

Messmer knows what he is thinking and grabs his spear and gets up. He peers down at you, watching you get to your feet. The uneven steps and limping form tells him you won’t survive the next attack.

However, he waits.

The gladiator notices you, and cracks his neck as he waits for you to approach him. You don’t do as he predicts, choosing instead to just stand there. He growls, and starts jogging before he makes a full dash at you. Just as he puts forward his arm, ready to slam into you again, you disappear from his field of vision. You roll to the side just in time, making him fly past you and into the wall. The audience roars, half in glee, half in shock at the scene. You make a hurried run over to your sword, wincing at each step sending a stab at pain to your ribs. The gladiator removes himself from the broken wall, glaring at your limping figure before he cracks his knuckle and takes his axe out from behind. He starts rushing at you, and you look back before quickly getting to your knees and grabbing your sword. However, you won’t make it in time. You quickly turn, ready to strike your sword–!

Flames distort your vision as the gladiator is pushed back by it, and a red cape eases your eyes. You stare in surprise as Messmer stands before you, his spear in hand pointing at the frightened man. The arena instantly silences.

“Sir Messmer?” You call out, your lips curving into a grin of relief. “What are you–”

“The fight is over,” Messmer declares, his smooth voice as loud as the silence. “Guards, arrest this man.”

Instantly guards embroidered in silver and gold trudge into the arena and grab the gladiator.

Murmurs arise in the crowd, slowly forming into protests. However, with one glare from the demigod all shushes back into silence. He turns to you, his irritated gaze brushing over you. He starts to say something, but it is lost in the blurry reality that has set upon you. Darkness follows and you faint away.

𓆙

You awaken inside an empty infirmary, on a bed that is softer than any bed you have laid upon. A small stinging pain stabs at your ribs again and you hiss.

“Thou’rt awake.”

You blink and see Messmer standing next to the window, spear in his crossed arms. “Sir Messmer! What art thou doing here?”

He expels the heavy sigh at your energetic voice. At least you’re well enough to be shouting. He signals the perfumers to leave before approaching your bed. “I should be asking thee the same question. Thou shouldst have gone to the knights to have the man arrested.”

“I–how did you know I was here to arrest the man?”

“Thou spokest of it, didst thou not?”

“...oh! I did,” you laugh weakly and attempt to sit up. “Yes, that man was on a bounty list. I figured had I gone after him myself I would be a step closer to knighthood. Then, I can serve under you!”

Messmer furrows his eyebrows, the deep lines creasing between them as he attempts to make sense of your words. “Thou’rt not serving under me.”

Your smile instantly drops. “But–but you said I can if I prove myself!”

“I said I will teach thee, not take thee under mine commands.”

Your shoulders droop, but you cling onto his words. “So you will still teach me?”

“That is what I just said.”

You beam, instantly forgetting the disappointment. “I will take all of your lessons to heart, Sir Messmer.”

The demigod’s gaze softens and he places his spear against the wall before sitting down on the rather small chair. You listen to the roaring cries outside, and turn to the demigod who takes a rowa fruit from the table next to your bed. “Sir, are you not going to watch the game?”

“No,” Messmer pops it into his mouth. “I am not a man of brute violence.”

“Jokes are meant to be funny, sir.”

“...”

𓆙

That is all for the very short snippet for now. Still writing the main one, and hoping I don’t get any of the lore wrong. Messmer’s speculative timeline in the Lands Between is wonky, but it leaves a lot of creative options open. Hope you enjoyed the snippet, expect more to come soon!

[fufuheheii]

Im tempted to write a MessmerxKnightinTraining!Reader where they meet each other prior to SoTE and is gonna be filled with whole lot of romance ANGST SMUT PININGGGG but I already have a fic running out there for him 😩 like I imagine him to be a quiet charismatic person who has to deal with loud people around him and the knight in training is a rather ambitious but weak individual who wants to learn from him ✨

[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. 

[trulyumai]

To Love and Forget

Pairing: Messmer x Reader

synopsis: The red haired knight didn’t love easily, but with his wife, it was thoughtless.

Warnings: None

A/N: Can you tell this man has me in a trance? Cause I’m Messmerized ;) (Okay I’m sorry enjoy the story)

Will his wife adore him, even with the scorched bodies left in his wake?

“We should visit soon, my love. I need to restock the kitchen.”

Messmer sat by the fire, watching as crimson and amber flames caressed the wooden logs. It crumbled under such intense heat, yet he observed regardless, as the pile turned to ash.

His beloved wife stirred a worn silver pot in the kitchen. The aroma of something savory wafted, momentarily drawing him from his troubled thoughts.

“Hm? Where to?”

Pale fingers brushed the man’s chin lightly, out of habit.

Truthfully, he hadn’t been listening as attentively as usual. On any other occasion, Messmer would be beside her, aiding and showering his wife with kisses as he deemed fit. She would giggle, flashing her bright smile, and likely try to push him away before resuming her culinary duties.

But this night was different

His patience wore thin; and so did his soldiers. They lay fallen in the yellowed wheat fields, swords piercing their backs. A surprise attack had sealed their fate, led by whom? Messmer didn’t know, flames began to dance across his pink and white knuckles with a methodical rhythm.

“The town, my love! I ran out of yeast the night before.”

“The town?” The knight gripped his knee harshly with his right hand. Unbeknownst to him, his wife hummed in agreement and turned to gaze at him.

“Mmh, I thought I would go in the morning. Save myself the trouble for—”

“Darling, I’m sure whatever you think you need can wait.”

His neck turned slightly towards her, earning a frown. She grasped the light blue apron around her middle, looking confusedly at her husband through her lashes. The room grew unbearably warm, a telltale sign of Messmer’s anger—disappointment, occasionally.

She could see his blazing eyes from here. Hells, they illuminated most of the living room.

“But… darling, our—”

“Enough. Wife.”

He stood taller now; she had to crane her neck back to meet his fiery gaze.

“It’s not safe. You’ll wait.”

Messmer approached, his maroon hair swaying with each step. In seconds, he was before her, appearing torn between worry and contempt.

She refused to meet his gaze any longer, unable to comprehend his displeasure.

Yet Messmer persisted. His index finger traced the skin around her chin, urging it upward with gentle pressure.

Now he stood with a gaze of love, mingled with sympathy. How swiftly he could change—she would never understand. His emotions had become less predictable lately; just the other day, he incinerated a field when a direbear had ventured too close.

She had regarded him then with the same eyes—worry, concern. He hadn’t acknowledged it, merely placing his hand back on her waist and continuing.

Just a he was doing now, ignoring the present.

“Forgive me, my love, I’ve been ah— distracted.” Noticing the change in atmosphere, his fingers found home in her hair, they stroked and smoothed over it with newfound patience.

“Distracted?” Her head rested upon his hand now, it engulfed it instantly.

“With what?”

He laughed.

It was small— and not the humorous kind.

“It’s nothing that should ail you, darling.”

His form bent over, and she felt the man’s forehead tap hers adoringly.

His eyes stared right into her own, they were half lidded and the knight held a light smile upon his face.

“Let me do the worrying, hm?”

His nose bumped with hers, and soon their lips touched. She felt his breath waft across her lips— her cheeks.

It was warm, and smelled of a cider he had made earlier that day.

“Kiss me, darling?” He pleaded.

And who was she to deny such a man of power?

The girl leaned in, now on her tiptoes as her soft mouth collided with his chapped one.

The maroon knight let out a groan, his knees almost buckled for how much he had to hold back from the poor girl.

So as a distraction, he pulled away, and began to kiss and suck the skin of her neck, making his way to her perfect jawline.

“But what about ah— “

A light kiss.

“The food—“

Another bite.

His chin met her shoulder, his lips grazed the bottom of her ear.

“Should you worry about that now, dear wife?”

His voice was deep, gravelly from the amount of lust bestowed upon his body.

The woman squeaked, embarrassed such an action would fluster her so.

“Its just ah— what would we do for to— morrow?"

Sharply, his arms sagged down, and his hands met with the back of her legs.

Quickly he acted, and pulled each of her legs across his muscled torso.

Now face to face, the man walked backwards, towards the well worn stairs leading to their shared bedside.

She laughed, her head bobbed to the side and he couldn’t help but let out a timber one of his own.

His wife’s arms looped around his wide shoulders, and met just behind his neck.

“Do not concern yourself with such frivolous tasks, my love.” He began his kisses once more,

each laid a different love bite.

One pink

One purple

“For tonight, I found my feast, mmh?”

She poked at the pale man’s cheek.

“Who knew you could hold such a flirtatious remark?” She teased, and Messmer clicked his tongue before tossing her lightly upon the mattress.

His wife’s hair engulfed the pillows, it surrounded her like a halo and he swore he’d remember such an image for the rest of his days. No matter the cost.

He’ll see her eyes before his future slumbers

Hear her laugh before the numerous fights to come on the battlefield

Eventually, when his last breath graces his lips, he’ll taste her there, feel the breath of hers brush past his vicinity.

He’ll remember such love filled eyes

He’ll remember what she smelled like— elder flowers and apples.

He’ll remember she loved him.

And that he loved her.

[trulyumai]

To Love and Forget

Pairing: Messmer x Reader

synopsis: The red haired knight didn’t love easily, but with his wife, it was thoughtless.

Warnings: None

A/N: Can you tell this man has me in a trance? Cause I’m Messmerized ;) (Okay I’m sorry enjoy the story)

Will his wife adore him, even with the scorched bodies left in his wake?

“We should visit soon, my love. I need to restock the kitchen.”

Messmer sat by the fire, watching as crimson and amber flames caressed the wooden logs. It crumbled under such intense heat, yet he observed regardless, as the pile turned to ash.

His beloved wife stirred a worn silver pot in the kitchen. The aroma of something savory wafted, momentarily drawing him from his troubled thoughts.

“Hm? Where to?”

Pale fingers brushed the man’s chin lightly, out of habit.

Truthfully, he hadn’t been listening as attentively as usual. On any other occasion, Messmer would be beside her, aiding and showering his wife with kisses as he deemed fit. She would giggle, flashing her bright smile, and likely try to push him away before resuming her culinary duties.

But this night was different

His patience wore thin; and so did his soldiers. They lay fallen in the yellowed wheat fields, swords piercing their backs. A surprise attack had sealed their fate, led by whom? Messmer didn’t know, flames began to dance across his pink and white knuckles with a methodical rhythm.

“The town, my love! I ran out of yeast the night before.”

“The town?” The knight gripped his knee harshly with his right hand. Unbeknownst to him, his wife hummed in agreement and turned to gaze at him.

“Mmh, I thought I would go in the morning. Save myself the trouble for—”

“Darling, I’m sure whatever you think you need can wait.”

His neck turned slightly towards her, earning a frown. She grasped the light blue apron around her middle, looking confusedly at her husband through her lashes. The room grew unbearably warm, a telltale sign of Messmer’s anger—disappointment, occasionally.

She could see his blazing eyes from here. Hells, they illuminated most of the living room.

“But… darling, our—”

“Enough. Wife.”

He stood taller now; she had to crane her neck back to meet his fiery gaze.

“It’s not safe. You’ll wait.”

Messmer approached, his maroon hair swaying with each step. In seconds, he was before her, appearing torn between worry and contempt.

She refused to meet his gaze any longer, unable to comprehend his displeasure.

Yet Messmer persisted. His index finger traced the skin around her chin, urging it upward with gentle pressure.

Now he stood with a gaze of love, mingled with sympathy. How swiftly he could change—she would never understand. His emotions had become less predictable lately; just the other day, he incinerated a field when a direbear had ventured too close.

She had regarded him then with the same eyes—worry, concern. He hadn’t acknowledged it, merely placing his hand back on her waist and continuing.

Just a he was doing now, ignoring the present.

“Forgive me, my love, I’ve been ah— distracted.” Noticing the change in atmosphere, his fingers found home in her hair, they stroked and smoothed over it with newfound patience.

“Distracted?” Her head rested upon his hand now, it engulfed it instantly.

“With what?”

He laughed.

It was small— and not the humorous kind.

“It’s nothing that should ail you, darling.”

His form bent over, and she felt the man’s forehead tap hers adoringly.

His eyes stared right into her own, they were half lidded and the knight held a light smile upon his face.

“Let me do the worrying, hm?”

His nose bumped with hers, and soon their lips touched. She felt his breath waft across her lips— her cheeks.

It was warm, and smelled of a cider he had made earlier that day.

“Kiss me, darling?” He pleaded.

And who was she to deny such a man of power?

The girl leaned in, now on her tiptoes as her soft mouth collided with his chapped one.

The maroon knight let out a groan, his knees almost buckled for how much he had to hold back from the poor girl.

So as a distraction, he pulled away, and began to kiss and suck the skin of her neck, making his way to her perfect jawline.

“But what about ah— “

A light kiss.

“The food—“

Another bite.

His chin met her shoulder, his lips grazed the bottom of her ear.

“Should you worry about that now, dear wife?”

His voice was deep, gravelly from the amount of lust bestowed upon his body.

The woman squeaked, embarrassed such an action would fluster her so.

“Its just ah— what would we do for to— morrow?"

Sharply, his arms sagged down, and his hands met with the back of her legs.

Quickly he acted, and pulled each of her legs across his muscled torso.

Now face to face, the man walked backwards, towards the well worn stairs leading to their shared bedside.

She laughed, her head bobbed to the side and he couldn’t help but let out a timber one of his own.

His wife’s arms looped around his wide shoulders, and met just behind his neck.

“Do not concern yourself with such frivolous tasks, my love.” He began his kisses once more,

each laid a different love bite.

One pink

One purple

“For tonight, I found my feast, mmh?”

She poked at the pale man’s cheek.

“Who knew you could hold such a flirtatious remark?” She teased, and Messmer clicked his tongue before tossing her lightly upon the mattress.

His wife’s hair engulfed the pillows, it surrounded her like a halo and he swore he’d remember such an image for the rest of his days. No matter the cost.

He’ll see her eyes before his future slumbers

Hear her laugh before the numerous fights to come on the battlefield

Eventually, when his last breath graces his lips, he’ll taste her there, feel the breath of hers brush past his vicinity.

He’ll remember such love filled eyes

He’ll remember what she smelled like— elder flowers and apples.

He’ll remember she loved him.

And that he loved her.

[evilwvergil]

Miquella the kind spoke of the beginning. The seduction and the betrayal. An affair from which Gold arose And so too was Shadow born. What followed was a war unseen One that could never be put to song A purge without Grace or honour The tyranny of Messmer's flame And so Kindly Miquella would abandon everything. His golden flesh, his blinding strength. Even his fate. But we are not deterred. We choose to follow. Will you walk with us? - E L D E N R I N G Shadow of the Erdtree (06.21.2024) -

[ghostofashina]

MESSMER, THE IMPALER.

Elden Ring, Shadow of The Erdtree.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

soon 🤭🤭

[nosoypotter]

By orek_genya

[gojoidyll-deactivated20251118]

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair Masterlist

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Summary | You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

Warnings | arranged marriage, y/n is referred to as "princess" and goes by she/her pronouns (afab), royal au, slight possessive/obsessive behavior on jing yuan's part, grammatical errors, etc.

Pls comment if you want to be in the taglist!! <3

Chapter 1 | All Must Begin and End

Chapter 2 | coming soon!