yandere!messmer x reader, part deux.
Messmer, who finds your attempts to rebel and escape endearing.
Dearest mongrel, dearest consort, why can't you understand that wherever you go, he will find you? He has eyes and ears everywhere in this forsaken land. No matter how far you travel, he will find you. He will find you, and you will fall back into his embrace.
Messmer, who makes it a game of cat-and-mouse and feigns ignorance as you plot your latest escape attempt. It costs him nothing to do so, as these lands, bereft of light, provide him with more than enough to occupy his time and thoughts... when they aren't on you, of course.
Messmer, who watches you when you aren't aware, who notices the way your eyes glaze over in thought, who notices the way you take in your surroundings as if you're analyzing the quickest escape route. As if you hadn't tried that path before, as if he didn't personally go to capture you himself. And he smiles at you, so serenely. Oh, dearest one, when you learn?
Messmer, who doesn't think to punish your insolence, who finds beauty in your defiance, whose heart beats ever so strongly whenever you glare at him. And still he smiles, so serenely, as one large, bony hand cups your cheek, as clawed nails trail slowly, reverently down your skin, as he commits the slight indentations, the softness beneath his fingertips to memory, as your eyes speak frenzied death and damnation upon his soul.
Messmer, who bides his time when your plan is put into action. He feigns ignorance still, sits upon his throne, bides his time with serpentine tenacity, and aims to strike at the opportune moment.
And strike he does. Messmer figures it's been some days since you departed, and slowly, purposefully, he arises from the comfort of his stronghold, blade in hand, ready to reclaim his lost love, ready to defy his mother once again...
Dearest mongrel, dearest consort, why do you fight him still? Messmer prowls blood-soaked, ashen lands, heart beating with anticipation and want, searching, searching—oh, how he yearns to feel the heat of your defiance under him again—for that which makes him alive once more.
Messmer, who searches endlessly, who traverses the very edge of darkness to find you. And find you he does, right where he expected you to be, right where you could go no further. And he smiles at you.
Messmer, who drags you back in his serpentine grasp, strong and dreadful and dark, back to the comfort of his stronghold wreathed in fading light.
Messmer, who holds you in his embrace before the statue of his mother, his mother who bears witness to the slow death of her futile plans, who watches as her savior falls in the embrace of Messmer's flame.
Messmer, who kisses you once more, who tastes your defiance on rigid lips, whose hold whispers dark promises, whose smile makes your blood run cold and your body go limp.
And now, dearest mongrel, dearest consort, now do you truly understand the power of Messmer's embrace...
