sleepy

Welcome, wanderers.

i’m nemu. i write nsfw fiction for soulsborne titles—elden ring, dark souls, bloodborne—mainly fromsoft universe. before that, keep in mind that english is not my first language, so excuse my poor wordings.

briefly, this space is for those drawn to the lonely, the broken, the damned, the ones in armour.

every word here is 18+, and dark content only, sometimes sfw; therefore, be mindful before you interact.

currently focused on Elden Ring Nightreign with Wylder as my best of boys.

masterlist

Because like...why would such higher beings feel shame? So with that in mind. Goddess reader that just has tits out 24/7

Tarnished sweating bullets, he prays to whatever other deity that his helmet Covers where his eyes are really looking while you give him another mission.

Chosen undead shedding tears because he get's a faceful of tits everyday now, Gwynn and the other gods were such fools to lock a treasure chest up

Any of Nighfareres such spending ours looking at your statutes, wondering if they are accurate to the real thing. Once they see you in person, they find out that no, you're tits are even prettier than some statue

I need those losers struggling to keep eye contact. And if said goddess is a lot taller, they get a faceful of god pussy too

Came back to this after seeing that one naked goddess in LOFT 2 because to be honest…divine beings probably don’t even understand shame the same way mortals do.

Like, why would they? They’re gods. They don’t care about whatever humans decided is “indecent” or inappropriate. So goddess reader is just walking around completely naked and confused as hell about why every mortal she meets is staring at her with their eyes wide open and mouths hanging.

At first she probably thinks it’s because they’ve never seen a real goddess before. Then her messengers had to awkwardly explain that no, it’s not just because she’s divine. It’s because she has her tits out 24/7.

And she just finds mortals so silly for caring about stuff like that 😭. Though she does slowly realize that humans really aren’t that different from gods when it comes to desire. Mortals are just worse at hiding it.

Tarnished is honestly such a dog for her. He’d bend over backwards doing all these dangerous errands and dirty jobs just because there’s finally a warm, huge-titted goddess who doesn’t try to kill him. She actually respects him when she see what he’s capable of.

Eventhough he’s nonchalant af, it’s hard not to stare, to foolishly wish he could cop a feel at least once. And when she hugs him close to bless him before sending him off on another journey, his whole face is suddenly buried in her chest and bro’s trying so hard not to pass out.

She’s like, “May this blessing protect you on your travels.”

And he’s just standing there with his brain turned off (insert neuron activation monkey). Maybe one day he’ll work up the courage to ask her out. Maybe.

For the Chosen Undead, though? In a bleak, gray, depressing world like Dark Souls, a change of scenery and a nice pair of tits might genuinely be all he needs to keep going. Amazing chest ahead, indeed. Then suddenly there’s this warm, gentle goddess who’s generous with her blessings and actually kind to him. Why is she fully naked while all of her servants are dressed like they’re about to march into war? Shhhh. It’s for the plot.

He gets kicked out immediately if he tries anything funny, of course. But once he becomes the Dark Lord, the chest is no longer safe from him hehehe.

And the statues of her would probably look different from the real thing too. Maybe the sculptors make her chest and butt smaller because they don’t want their holy masterpieces getting thirsted over by every random pilgrim passing by. But mortals would still be whispering about it anyway, treating her statues like those cardboard cutouts people steal from vendors for “personal use” 😭

Since barely anyone has seen her in person, most people only know her through old stories and teachings. So every version of her ends up looking a little different. Still beautiful, but not quite correct.

The fanart give me the boost to actually draw my own because chapter has lived in my head rent free for a few days... Anyway I love your fic so much, thank you for feeding us good food

WAHHH,,, guys are so talented!! I’m really blessed to have such readers 😭🫶.

I hate that mimic but…💦

"Why the hell this boss design is so hot?! 🥵🥵🥵"

Then I spent the entire fight trying to sneak glances at the boss's upper body and ended up dying several times because of it. 🥴

That got me thinking: if the Chosen Undead, the Bearer of the Curse, Ashen One, Hunter or Tarnished ever ran into a boss who was unbelievably attractive, they'd probably become so completely smitten that they'd willingly let themselves get caught in the boss's arms. Kind of like Lady Maria's visceral attack in Bloodborne, where she gives you that deathly hugs. 🥹

Basically, they wouldn't even have the heart to kill her. It wouldn't matter whether they were strong or weak. If she was that gorgeous (and super hot 🥵), they'd gladly throw their life or missions away just for the chance to be held (and die) in her arms. 😻🫶

Trust me, I know exactly where you’re coming from 😭 Me personally, I find it so distracting trying to fight semi or fully naked bosses like Radagon or Malenia. Like you’re trying to lock tf in and progress, but then your eyes just keep drifting somewhere else at the worst possible time.

And honestly I can guarantee it’d be the same for most of the Soulsborne protagonists because they don’t know any better. Maybe except for Sekiro’s Wolf? You know, it’s not their fault the boss is so fuggin attractive. Not only does she have a pretty but a killer body. The only issue is she’s super aggressive and will kill them on the spot, so getting close is impossible.

They’d probably start using stuff like a footstep-silencing spell or Mimic’s Veil just to sneak closer without her noticing. Totally for tactical reasons lol. Definitely not because they wanna get a better look at the same boss who’s been beating the shit out of them for the last two hours. And the camera just happened to angle that way, showing the panties and stuffs. Nobody was looking on purpose haha…

Also those grab attacks, they would absolutely let themselves get grabbed and stabbed to death because that’s probably the closest they’ll ever get to being intimate with her 😭.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m right where I want to be.”

Or—

“You guys run, I’ll hold her off.” (Insert legs holding picture while in missionary sex position.)

Then imagine endgame comes around and they get to choose some badass goddess or princess to be their consort, and instead they pick that one random enemy boss who barely has anything to do with the huge lore of the game just because she’s pretty.

“M-me?”

“Who else? You’re the only one I wanna spend my life with. Please marry me.”

“No fucking way. Go die.”

some sketches bcs I really love your stories 👉👈

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. The Tarnished, and Vyke, AND TIBIA. We get yume Elden Ring before GTA VI.

Gladius: Kind of, but I wouldn’t really recommend it. I see him more like a big, adorable danger puppy because of his connection with Heolstor. But if you’re into wolves and somehow manage to survive his other two heads, then honestly you’ve earned those massive knots lol.

Adel: Oh it’s possible. Risky as hell, but possible. I just know he’d be discharging his lightning everywhere the moment he gets even a little excited, completely losing control of himself. You’d have to survive getting past that jaw first before you even get a chance at the barbed dick situation.

Gnoster: No. Absolutely not. They’re literally called Sentient Pest. Number one, they’re huge and probably stinky. Number two, they’re bugs 💀☝️. That’s where I draw the line.

Maris: Yes. And I will stand by that. Have you seen those tentacles? The potential is limitless. It’s lonely too, so honestly you might have a shot. I can’t promise the tentacles won’t sting, but who says that’s all they do? Maybe there’s some aphrodisiac stuff going on…just saying.

Libra: The most fuckable Nightlord after Heolstor and you can’t change my mind. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. He can actually speak and think, which already puts him above the rest. I feel like you could negotiate your way out of a deal by offering him your body as payment. The goat dick does induce madness though, so good luck resisting that. And once you get a taste…yeah, you’re not going back. Also, congrats, you’re into furries now.

Fulghor: Yes, please. Second most fuckable Nightlord easily. The horse cock is exactly what you think it is: huge, intimidating, can kill you. But if you’re into that, it’s perfect. I genuinely think he’s hot too, which helps. Just be prepared for an absolute mess after. And don’t die loll.

Caligo: Yes, maybe? But not my personal preference. I already know there are people lining up for that icy dragonussy though, so she’s covered.

Heolstor: Do I even need to explain? Lord of the Night, everyone fears him and grovels under him. He has three fucking arms that can absolutely destroy you in every possible way, and that definitely extends to what he’s packing. Only downside is he probably won’t say a single word the entire time, and you’re just staring into that empty space in his helm. Might be a little unsettling, but it’s 100% worth it.

Balancers: If you’ve got a thing for getting pierced, smashed, and stabbed repeatedly by angel baddies, then go for it. Just don’t expect to last long. They will drain you dry before you even make it halfway through, and by the end of it you’re basically nothing but a shriveled little raisin.

Imagine being born an arachne from a failed affair between a human and a spider demon. You remember your first moments of carnage. How your siblings tore into each other after devouring your mother, limbs and fangs nimbling with blood. And somehow, you were fortunately enough to be able to slip away before their hunger turned on you.

Since then, the world has never let you forget what you are.

Too grotesque for humans. Too strange even for demons. You were shunned by everything that lived, forced into a life of absolute solitude. You learned everything on your own—how to spin silk, how to hunt and survive on your own.

Humans frightened you most of all. They destroy anything that isn’t like them, and you knew you would be no exception. So you avoided them, always. Let them go when they wandered too close. Animals were enough. They didn’t look at you with hatred.

Your home became a small, damp cave hidden far from wandering eyes. You claimed it with blood, nearly dying to a bear before your venom finally stilled it long enough for you to finish the fight. It wasn’t much, but it was yours.

And for a long time, that was enough.

Until the day he arrived.

A knight who called himself the Slayer of Demons—arrogant enough to walk straight into your home as if he belonged there. You hated him instantly. But he wasn’t like the others. Your venom barely slowed him, and the webs you hurled at him burned away before they could even cling.

“Fear me, human!”

He only tilted his head, studying you with an expression that made your skin prickle. You tried to make yourself look bigger, more threatening, but it didn’t work. One swing of his weapon sent you stumbling back, your many legs tangling as you struggled to regain your footing. It was humiliating.

“Stupid mortal, I’ll make you regret ever intruding this place!”

You lunged again, not to kill—just to drive him out, to protect the only place you had because you hadn’t known anywhere else. But he was faster, stronger, far more experienced. It took him less than half a minute to knock you onto your back again.

You braced yourself to rise, to keep fighting—

“You’re really pretty. Did you ever know that?”

Heat flooded your face, confusion and anger tangling together.

“Shut up and get out!” You hissed, your body shifting as you forced yourself into a fully spider-like form, trying to reclaim some sense of intimidation.

You attacked again. And again.

Each time, he stopped you with ease.

Again.

And again.

Until exhaustion began to weigh you down, your movements slowing, your strength slipping. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a question started to grow—why hadn’t he killed you yet?

In the end, it wasn’t him who gave out.

“What do you want, human?” You demanded, breath uneven, body tense despite your fatigue.

“You won’t kill me, yet you won’t leave me alone.” Your voice dropped, edged with frustration and something close to desperation. “Tell me what it is you desire—anything that will make you leave me alone!”

“Actually…” he said.

-

“Go slow, you idiot!”

Your words dissolved into a breathless moan almost immediately, your body pressed flush against the cold stone as his arms wrapped around you, steadying you instead of pinning you.

“I am going slow,” he murmured. His voice was warm against your ear, far too calm for what he was doing to you.

And he was.

Every movement of his hips was measured, deliberate, dragging rather than snapping forward, like he was far more interested in how you felt than in rushing himself. One of his hands stayed firm at your waist, keeping you balanced, while the other carefully lifted your leg until you leaned back into him without even realizing it.

You hated how easily your body followed.

“Hah—n-no you’re not—” you tried to argue, but it came out shaky, your breath stuttering as he shifted just slightly deeper, the slow roll of his hips making your knees weaken.

“You’re the one shaking,” he pointed out, almost amused, his thumb brushing absentminded circles into your skin where he held you. “And I haven’t even sped up.”

That didn’t help much. Not when every slow thrust felt worse, or better, than anything rough could have been. It dragged everything out, made you feel every inch of his stupid meaty stick. Every subtle change in this weird angle had your breath stuttering and your fingers curling uselessly against the rock.

“T-too much…” you whimpered, even as you pushed back against him on instinct, your body betraying every protest you tried to make.

The sensation was strange and, overwhelming. You didn’t see the logic in it, in why anyone would choose this. And yet…it wasn’t as unpleasant as you thought it would be.

Just intense and maybe eye-opening in the worst way.

His hand tightened slightly at your waist, steadying you as your legs threatened to give.

“Then tell me to stop?”

“Would that make you leave me alone?!” You instantly hissed, trying to force some bite back into your voice. But it broke apart into a sharp gasp as he pushed fully into you, burying himself to the hilt.

“No.” He chuckled.

And then he lost that careful pace entirely. His hips snapped forward with a steady, rhythmic force, no longer dragging it out. Each of his forceful thrust knocked another helpless sound out of you as your body jolted against the hard surface of your cave.

“I really like you, you know?” He went on. “Saw you once by the river. Haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

“Are you out of your mind? I don’t even know you—!” You whined, the words barely holding together as his pace refused to relent.

“You do now.”

The helm stayed on, obscuring his face, but he didn’t seem to care. Not when it still let him get this close, still let him indulge in whatever obsession had taken hold of him. If anything, it was practical. Something between him and the risk of losing his head to the very creature he couldn’t seem to leave alone.

Not that you were doing much to stop him anymore.

Your hands had long since abandoned pushing him away, instead gripping at whatever you could reach. Let it be his arm, his head, the wall, anything to ground yourself while your body struggled to keep up.

It was fine.

That’s what you kept telling yourself. If you let him have what he wanted, he’d leave. The humiliation was heavy in your chest. Being reduced to this…completely cornered and used. It should have been unbearable.

But it still wasn’t worse than what you already knew. Because you had lived your whole life as something lesser. Not even your own kind would have chosen you. So this…this was nothing.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But to him, it was everything.

He had thought about this, about you, far longer than you could possibly guess. Ever since that evening by the river, when he first saw you. The way moonlight clung to your damp skin, your hair spilling over your shoulders as you drank quietly, unaware of being watched. You had looked…so incredibly soft. Lonely. Completely out of place in a world that had clearly never been kind to creatures such as you.

He wouldn’t call himself someone with strange tastes. Not before you. But you were different. Not just what you were, but how you were. Skittish, stubborn, you were trying so hard to be frightening when you were anything but.

The villagers had sent him to kill you. Now, the thought felt almost absurd.

If anything, he was already thinking about keeping you instead.

You were harmless. Endearingly so. All sharp edges and fangs that could kill. There was something almost unfair about it—how something that looked like you could still be so…

Cute.

And right now—

God.

Your body was so mellow and flexible under his hands. He could feel your tits rose and fell with every uneven breath, brushing faintly against the rough surface as your chest heaved, while his grip at your hips drew attention to the curve of your ass, firm and round, yielding every time he pulled you back against him.

He had lost it.

Whatever restraint he had left snapped clean through. His hips slammed into you harder, faster.

“F-fuck—!” He groaned. “So tight—”

Your body jolted with every impact, the sound of skin slapping echoing obscenely through the cave, mixed with your broken moans and his rough breathing. You couldn’t even think anymore.

Your leg was suddenly lifted higher, forced up and open, changing the angle.

“AH! N-no-too deep—!” You cried when he shoved himself even further inside you, cock dragging against the deepest part of your forbidden heat.

“That’s it.” He hissed, almost delirious now. “Take it, take all of it.”

Your body clenched hard around him in response, squeezing so tight it punched another broken groan out of him. You felt it—how close he was, how sloppy his movements were getting, and how he kept chasing that same depth over and over like he couldn’t live without it.

“Shut up, stupid human!” You were getting annoyed by how desperate he was getting.

Then his hand was on your face.

His fingers roughly gripping your jaw, forcing your head back just enough before two armored fingers pushed into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue.

“Keep that mouth busy, yeah?” He muttered, breathing hot and uneven.

“Mmh—!” You choked around them, eyes watering instantly, your body jolting again as his cock wouldn’t stop spearing you.

Your moans soon turned into muffled, wet sounds around his fingers, drool slipping past your lips as he held your jaw in place, using you however he wanted now.

He had meant to be gentle. But…

“Fuck…” He groaned. His hips stuttered for a moment before snapping forward again, harder. “You’re—shit—you’re so goddamn addictive…”

His words came out dirtier now.

“Look at you. Can’t even keep your mouth closed.” he chuckled, watching the way you struggled around his fingers. How your soft lips were slick as your breath hitched around them. “Getting fucked stupid already?”

Another thrust, deep enough to make your entire body jolt. You whimpered, grazing your teeth against his protected fingers.

“Cunt’s gripping me like it doesn’t wanna let go,” he added hoarsely, almost like he was talking to himself at this point. “Like you want me to stay right there—”

Your walls clenched again in response, tight and needy, and that alone dragged a strained sound out of him.

“Yeah—there, you feel that?” he panted, whatever composure he had left completely gone. “Every time I hit that spot, your needy pussy just squeezes tighter. Fuck…that’s cute.”

“Mmph—!!”

You gagged as his fingers pushed too deep into your mouth, your body jolting again as his cock slammed into you without mercy. Somewhere in the back of your mind, that sharp instinct—your spider sense—flared.

He had lost it.

There was no restraint left in him now. The way he held you, the way he used you, the way he kept chasing that same depth like he couldn’t think past it.

What an idiot. You thought to yourself.

When his hand dropped from your jaw and grabbed your chest instead, squeezing your tits roughly, kneading them like he needed more of you. You knew it was it.

His grip on you turned iron-tight, dragging you back against him as his pace broke entirely, turning sloppy as ever. His hips stuttered, thrusts losing rhythm as he chased that final release. He sounded like he’s dying, as least to you.

“F-fuck! I’m—”

A few more uneven thrusts—and then he buried himself as deep as he could go, holding you there as his body tensed hard against yours.

“Ah—shit—!”

His voice cracked as he came, the last few sounds falling out of him almost pathetically as he spilled inside you, thick and hot, filling you completely.

The heat flooded deep into your core, painting your insides a milky white of his seeds. Your toes curled instinctively, your back arching as the sensation hit. Overwhelmingly good, surprisingly.

“G-get off of me,” you grumbled.

But he pretended he didn’t hear you. Instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you back against him, keeping you close. Or—keeping himself buried just a moment longer, like he was unwilling to let anything slip away yet.

“Let me stay like this…just a bit longer,” He begged, his tone softer now, almost coaxing despite everything that had just happened. “Please?”

Your body tensed at that, irritation flickering through the haze.

“I promise I’ll leave once I’m satisfied.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated breath, your fingers pressing weakly against the stone.

“And how long is that supposed to be?” You asked, glancing back at him.

There was a pause, until…

“I don’t know.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly.

Before you could snap back, he shifted just enough to speak closer to your ear, his voice was warm, almost sincere.

Wylder

He treats the day like a man on a mission, having secretly prepared for weeks. First, you wake to the smell of warm buns and berries, and he sits beside you with a proud little grin as he’s super excited for the occasion. After breakfast, the morning then turns playful when you both end up teasing a pack of demi-humans, laughing breathlessly as you sprint away before they realize what you have done. The whole day feels like that, bright and light and a little reckless. Next, he brings you through fields where wild flowers grow in impossible colors and gathers them for you until your arms are full. Short adventures follow after your lungs are full with floral pollen, just small discoveries in the folds of Limveld, perhaps some fights that end with shared triumphs. By the evening, he is back in the kitchen, humming while he prepares a dish from his tribe, something rich and beautifully spiced. Later, behind his door, the night becomes soft and private and yours alone. Ironeye

He pretends the holiday is beyond him, but anyone who knows him can see that something shifts whenever he looks at you. I can see his gifts appearing in moments when you are least expecting them, small pieces of jewelry chosen with a precision that speaks of how deeply he adores you. Since there is not much to do, he'll take you hunting around the forest of Limveld. Let it be big animals or small, he just wants to show off his astounding skills for your eyes alone. Then when the excitement fades, the two of you end up stretched beneath a spill of stars, your shoulders touching lovingly as the night grows gentle around you. And he teaches you small assassin tricks, teasing you here and there while his hands roam around your body, until the lessons turn naughty between bodies.

Executor He hardly registers that the day is meant to be romantic. His mind lives among colors and brushstrokes, though there is something endearing in his obliviousness. You have to tug him out of the Hold with his paints, and he follows without any complaint. In a scenic clearing, he sets up his canvas and paints you with breathtaking speed, capturing every detail on your body with zero effort. Once he’s done, he starts to teach you little things about shading and motion, and before you can think twice, you kiss him. It’s hilarious how the shock sends him right into his beast form, flustered and nervous like a stunned puppy. Then, he lets you climb onto his back while he runs across open meadows. The wind tangles your hair, and his joy is so pure when he gets to be in his other form. When he’s finally out of breath and you two stop somewhere for a break, there is a high chance the special day will end with beastly pleasure. Raider

I don’t see him celebrating it. But once he understands the holiday, he sighs loudly and agrees to celebrate because you asked. The two of you drink until your stomachs hurt from laughter, before challenging each other to wrestle and outdrink the other, which he takes you seriously enough that he always wins because that’s how he is. After that, the sea becomes your backdrop as he talks about the monsters he once fought, stories that makes you smile and swoon so hard your cheeks hurt. You two might spend the late afternoon catching fish together and cooking them over a fire, and then wash off in a river, letting the cool water slide over warm your skins before the night turns heated. Guardian

He knows of the day because his folk consider courtship a complicated art. To start it, he cleans himself with extra care, fluttering his feathers to make them all sleek and shining, before offering you a precious pendant he carefully picked out days prior. It’s a shame that he cannot fly you, but he can walk beside you, steady and gentle as you pass breath-taking scenery. The date is short, with you climbing tall trees to pick fruits and berries for him, and him catching you every time you slip. When you point at random birds and call them his cousins or his aunties, he tries to keep a straight face but always fails. Soon, the entire flock would gather around you because he secretly asked them to, making you feel like a princess and he, your knight.

Revenant

As a cursed doll filled with vengeance, it’s difficult for her to put her mind on anything else. She sulks in her corner as usual until you arrive with the idea of a dress-up session and a mock tea party. She protests at first, saying it’s childish while rolling her eyes like a moody teenager. But eventually, she sits with you and her summons gathered around tiny cups. Something soft enters her expression when she remembers her old owner, though she hides it behind playful snark. You brush her hair, and she brushes yours, the two of you drifting to different corners of the Hold as you play. It becomes a tender, peaceful afternoon she secretly treasures.

Duchess

Duty always makes her so restless, but on this day, she lets herself ease for your sake. With the help of her dear butler, the Iron Menial, she sets a dinner table perfectly dressed with wine, delicate silver, and meals she knows you love. Afterward, you ride horses through vast landscapes, sharing the beauty of the land without rushing anything. Then night brings both of you to warm springs where the steam curls around bare skin. With just the two of you, she lets her guard fall completely, touching you with a hunger she rarely displays in front of others.

Recluse

She prefers simple pleasures and shares them with you. The two of you sit among piles of books in the library, reading everything from dusty biographies to absurd romance novels while trading dry remarks and shy laughter. If she is in a generous mood, she shows you a spell or two, little tricks you can use on your next adventure. When the night grows calm, she leads you outside for a waltz under the sky, her magic creating a soft hum that acts as your music. Later, tangled in her bed, the rhythm of her breathing becomes another kind of melody you find yourself lost in.

Undertaker

For this lady, she has no understanding of the holiday because she grew up in a world that denied such feelings. You explain it gently and bring her flowers, introducing her to the idea of romantic love and wholesome devotion, that there’s even a day to honor it. She participates with an almost neutral face, but you can tell she is absorbing everything as you teaches her. From walking together, embracing each others, or even the shy brushes of lips, each one showing her that a life can hold gentleness, too. And life isn’t all about burying the dead. She grows bolder once she understands, enough to pin you against a wall without any warning as her breath warms at your ear, asking if she’s doing it right. Her affection is fierce once she wants to show it.

Scholar

The night knew no boundary, and neither did his devotion to the sound of your voice, to the fragile radiance of your living warmth.

For countless sleepless eternities he drifted through his own darkness, searching for a final rest that would unmake him. He longed for an end to everything he had become, an end to the madness that ate at what remained of his soul.

He was chaos made flesh, the filth that stained this cruel world. And you were the one sent from beyond its borders, the destined hand meant to grant him a merciless death.

Cruelty lingered in the truth he was beginning to accept, because no matter how fiercely he tried to deny it, his mind refused to let go of your shape. The thought of you burned in him, a sensation he could not name. He despised it because it hurt. He despised it because he understood it too well. He had not been human for ages untold, so why was he cursed to feel so deeply now?

His fate twisted itself around that single question. His wild, fractured heart whispered that he had to end you, that only your death could silence this torment and return him to the cold certainty of eternity. The Night was eternal and unforgiving. It demanded that he obey.

Yet when he stood before you, he found himself unable to lift a hand. The darkness that once held him so firmly loosened. For the first time in an age without any ending, the Nightlord realized he was afraid not of death, but the lost the one thing that had ever pierced his endless night.

Was you his ender or his savior. He could not decide. Ever since the moment your paths first crossed, the nights without you pressing against the edges of his thoughts became a new and exquisite form of torment. He endured it because he knew no alternative. Why did it have to unfold in this fashion? Why must fate twist itself into such a cruel snare?

He watched you die and rise again, a cycle of stubborn resurrection unlike anything he had ever witnessed in the soldiers of his forgotten mortal life.

Each time you returned with the same relentless purpose. Each time you clawed your way back only to reach for his crowned head. And he lived as he always had, destroying anything that dared approach the wasteland that had become his dominion. His desert. His solitude.

It was a curse spun between the two of you. How could a being who could not die hope to bring down someone whose destruction had always been beyond this universe. He was ruinous by nature, but your enforced forgetfulness with every revival was a deeper wound than anything he was built to endure.

Strangely he found it beautiful, the way you kept coming back to him even knowing the darkness he carried would devour you again and again.

If he had ever known love he would have cherished that devotion and held it close, a fragile warmth that made him feel singular and perhaps, in some distant way, human.

And if he had ever known you beyond the battlefield, beyond the blade, he would have taken your hand and guided its cold edge to his own throat offering himself up willingly just to free you both. But if he permitted that final mercy then you would lose yourself in the aftermath. You would fracture under the weight of a victory that cost you your mind.

He damned the Golden Order and its decree that forced you into his orbit. He damned the fate that used you as its instrument and him as its prison. He damned the curse that bound you to one another in a cycle neither of you asked for yet neither could escape.

He loathed how fiercely he wanted you to live and loved how unwaveringly you wanted him to die. Whenever your paths crossed, the world seemed to splinter. It never ended well. Yet at least you had something worth returning to, a reason to keep breathing and savoring the fragile brightness of life.

You cherished the world and its people, the ones you so stubbornly called friends no matter how merciless fate proved itself to be. You laughed with them, cried with them, and laid down your life for them more times than he could count.

He wished, in a way that hollowed him out, that you would do all of that with him. He longed for you to share your stories with him, even though he already knew every detail from watching you through the Night’s ever-open eyes. He was a creature of whatever was heretic, a shameless observer who could no longer pretend restraint, simply because his favorite little human had spilled her guts across the floor once again.

He had never felt so utterly alone as when he watched you collapse beside that boy, your arms wrapped around him while he breathed his last. Yet he knew when death claimed you soon after, and you rose again with the forced innocence of forgetting, the boy would no longer be in your memory.

There was no escape. This land was a cage for both of you. A labyrinth of suffering. And he knew the time would come when even he would begin to forget. Names, faces, the meaning behind his one-sided affection. Everything would eventually dissolve.

So when you stood before him with shaking hands and begged for a way out, begged because you could no longer endure a torment that robbed you of both peace and life, he stilled. This was the first time you faced him without hostility, the first time your voice shook not with fury but despair.

Had the boy mattered to you more than he realized…His gaze drifted to the pin on your robe and the single earring that had not been there before. Small tokens of unsaid words, yet they clung to you like the ghosts of emotions your mind refused to surrender.

He had wandered for an age without measure. He no longer remembered what it meant to mourn. Yet something in the way you looked at him then taught him more than centuries of darkness ever had. Bitterness and sweetness, how human was he in that moment he saw his own reflection in your eyes.

Only then did he understand how beloved you had become to him, how deeply he craved your affection in every part of himself that still felt. When he took your hand, the warmth of your touch seeped through him like a miracle he did not deserve.

It was selfish. He embraced that truth without shame. If you belonged to him, then the Nights would no longer be empty. He would not have to watch you die for others who would vanish from your memory. He would not have to stand apart while you scattered your heart across a world that devoured it again and again.

With you bound to him, the Nights would soften. The darkness where his heart ought to be would finally stir with life—your life—warm and steady, just as you had always wished to be.

You would be his constant. His solace. His companion in eternity.

His bride of the Night.

Just showing off this handsome boi and some pins I got a while back. The snow storm did a bunch where I live, school was postponed and so was work, but luckily service wasn’t out so I was able to brainstorm and get some work done. I currently have a bunch of drafts and ideas and asks right now and an almost-finished chapter 10 for my ER fic, which will be posted this week, hehe (it’s cringe to just post whatever’s on my mind so I have to make adjustments prior to posting 😭).

Asides from that, Nightreign’s been getting saturated with blatant cheaters so I haven’t been hopping on just as much, I’ve already maxed out my depths anyways. But I still play at least one match per day to keep my mind fresh. I’ve also been watching a lot of Dark Souls lore for inspirations and it’s like going down a rabbit hole with no way out except it’s too good you can’t complain.

can you do a artorias x !maiden before oolacile whos is overally very oblivious and innocent and artorias trying to explain things and he keept up on being flustered? could be nsfw, thank you writer! ^v^

(maybe scenario is like, maiden accidently made him have a boner) T^T

Hehe, I hope I’ve nailed his pre-abyss characteristics in this one. No explicit sex but sex was implied.

The village was small and quiet, made of simple wooden homes clustered close together. Lanterns and torches hung from porches to keep the night at bay, but the light barely reached the treeline because of how dense the forest surrounding them was.

When the abyssal pests began appearing, the village grew even more afraid. Families locked their doors before dusk, and hunters returned early with tense faces and fewer words.

Tonight, several bloatheads broke through the undergrowth. Their bodies were malnourished and pale with grotesque, inhuman limbs. The villagers ran for cover as the creatures dragged themselves forward.

Wylder hit you like a little puff of need again, his rut flaring so fast it made his tiny body jolt. One second he was nibbling at your shoelace, soft nose twitching, and the next he was trembling all over.

Before you could notice anything, he grabbed your leg with those tiny paws.

His creampuff fur brushed your calf as he clung to you, hips already rocking in quick, frantic motions. He wasn’t even graceful about it. He was clearly overwhelmed by instinct and love and the simple fact that he couldn’t hold himself back from you even for a heartbeat.

His hindlegs pumped fast, little kicks of effort each time he thrust. His whole body shivered with how badly he needed the contact, with how desperate his rut had made him. You could feel his fluffy tail flicked wildly against your skin with each movement, but you paid him no mind as you continued reading your book.

He pressed his face to your leg out of desperation. His whiskers tickling you as his breathing came in tiny gasps, soft little grunts that he couldn’t contain. It was almost disheartening how his ears had drooped, flicking every second from how intense it all felt for him.

Then he humped harder. Although his body was so small against you, he put everything he had into each thrust, rubbing himself along your leg with a confused, aching urgency. His mini paws squeezed tighter. His nose nudged your skin, begging for attention he couldn’t put into words.

He adored you with a love far too big for the fragile creature he was, and every silly motion against your leg was a helpless testament to it.

Damn this tiny, powerless form that couldn’t possibly express the full force of his desire.

You reached your limit with him when his needy little rut-brained humping started getting in the way of everything.

He kept latching onto your ankle, your calf, even your shoe whenever you tried to walk to grab some water. His tiny claws would scrape for purchase, and his soft little grunts would follow you from room to room. It was adorable, yes, but also relentless, and eventually he became more nuisance than pet.

So you finally sighed, reached down, and slipped your fingers into the loose skin at the back of his neck.

The effect was instant.

His whole body went still in that instinctive freeze bunnies fall into when held like that. His legs tucked up, his ears drooped, and his frantic little panting softened into confused, helpless breaths as you lifted him off your leg.

He dangled there, tiny body warm and twitching lightly, the last remnants of his rut need buzzing through him even as instinct made him compliant in your grip.

His big eyes looked up at you with a mix of frustration and longing, but he didn’t fight it.

You carried him across the room and lowered him back into his little play area, the one surrounded by small barricades to keep him contained when he got too rowdy. Soft bedding, chew toys, a little hideaway tunnel. All the things he needed, also the things meant to keep him occupied.

You set him down gently.

The moment his paws touched the floor, he blinked up at you, ears drooping in wounded disbelief.

He wanted you. He wanted your leg. He wanted out!

But you closed the barricade anyway, keeping your needy little bunny exactly where he belonged.