thedarkestrivernymph

[thedarkestrivernymph]

do you plan on making heart of gold a series? I really enjoyed it and wish for a chapter 3!!!

I really wanna write a part 3 to complete the story!! I just need to find the time for that ahaha...���🩷

[thedarkestrivernymph]

"Oh, my Darling.."

Yandere! f! Soldier x f! Mermaid! Reader

warnings: mentions of war, slight possessiveness, gullible reader

Coldness was all she had known her entire life.

Merciless winds had swept over her and left a myriad of destruction in their wake. All her miserable existence had been filled with picking up the remaining salvageable pieces of herself, mending them together so that she could continue to face the enemy on the battlefield.

Only at some point even that had lost its meaning, and she sometimes found herself wondering who the real enemy was—if slaughtering all these men and women was truly worth it, if the crown even deserved such power and land to its name.

Perhaps that’s why she had wandered off after another blow to her face and after knocking out her opponent with the end of her sword, instead of slicing open his throat to paint the earth an even richer red—perhaps, but she wasn’t sure now. She couldn’t be sure when everything in her ached for an escape from the pressure building up in her skull, the throbbing agony that pulsed in her nose all the way up to behind her eyelids, blurring her sight.

Her thoughts swirled like wine would mingle with water when it met, mixing, resulting in the wine to taste dire—god how she hated the countless cheap taverns her and her comrades had to stay in, with women circling around the other soldiers—sometimes whores other times cheating wives, or even bright-eyed girls tantalized by a charm she herself just had never felt; what was so great about men anyways? They fucking stunk, could never shut up contrary to popular belief and—

Maybe she was getting delirious, because why else would she step into something cool and wet and why else would she welcome the biting cold that engulfed her and that eased the blooming ache in her temples. And why else would she not fight against her airways being flooded as her armor dragged her down to accompany all the other skeletons at the bottom of the pond.

“Fuck” was the first coherent sound that left her scarred mouth after coughing up a seemingly endless stream of water onto the patch of grass beneath her palms, dripping wet—just how much has she swallowed? If she had known that her entire chest would’ve be put aflame with needle-like pricking pain—she sure as heck would’ve ensured to properly drown or never would’ve stepped foot into that fucking shithole, with how much junk was thrown into such ponds and rivers and drunk soldiers would miss and piss in there and—

“Are you a man?” her ramblings were cut short again as you—whatever you were—was staring up at her with the brightest two eyes she had ever seen. Suddenly she seemed stone cold sober from the daze that near death would y’know, usually bring with it. Just what—what were you? You were blue for fuck’s sake!

But one thing was certain— you were the prettiest face she had ever seen, that's for darn sure, with how your big soulless eyes stared up at her like the filets on her plate and even your mouth gaped open like them too, with fins to stick out from between slick strands of hair, not to mention the cute tilt of your head. God, she could squeal.

“Are you man?” you asked again, now prodding at her leg with a webbed finger, confusion plastered all over your face.

“Oh” Zian cleared her throat, stifling a chuckle as she shifted to sit on her arse, the same one that had been subject to crude comments and had earned a few men some broken noses. “No, sweetie, I ain't no man.”

“So why you do—wear big metal?” you elaborated, your agitated tail flicking behind you in the water—the moon was at its full bloom and with the luminescent in the pond’s water you were fully illuminated and hod was it a feast for her eyes to watch your tongue twist uncomfortably and your alien features morph into a cute pout.

“Cuz’ I am a soldier, sweetheart. I fight. War, y’know that?” the brunette was quick to inform her new little companion cough you, while shivering, only then noticing how the night air bit into her skin.

Your eyes widened and it seemed as if even the crickets halted as you sunk further ito the water, concealing yourself more. “War? You fight?” You were panicking, retreating. No, fuck, hey you saved her you couldn't just disappear like that—

“Yeah, but that's a thing of the past now, sweets.” Zian was quick to jump up, waving her hands around as a sign that she was harmless. “You—you saved me, right? Do you like big metal? I can—wait, there!” god she was fumbling for any reason to make you stay.

The intimidatingly big man — ah no woman — she was holding a…actually you had no clue.

“Ta-ta a—spoon(?)” even she looked perplexed, staring down at what she had fished out from beneath her chest plate.

Had her mates played another prank on her because what the fuck man?!

“For me?” you muttered, pointing at yourself as you glided through the water to touch the pond’s edge, the blue glow making you look all the more ethereal up-close. Her gaze softened as you reached out a tentative hand, accompanied with a quick glance at her, as if she was about to just trap you like a hunter would capture a bunny.

As you let your odd-shaped fingers tap against the shiny metal, she couldn't help but sigh, certain that if any other soldier—if she were a man—you would have been in grave danger of being abducted and made into valuable coin or kept as a pet.

You were dazzling, it wasn't really anything specific about you and perhaps the fact that you had saved her played a part in her sudden newfound lust for life but it was just your dumb big eyes so foreign, a tad bit exotic, but just so vastly different from her own hardened gaze and her own soul that had lost its innocence after her first bloodshed. Just some sort of animal-human, part fish, as crazy as it was, you were probably one of the mermaids she had heard myths about her entire miserable life.

And she was for damn sure, that you wouldn't kill for the enjoyment of others, that you wouldn't let a woman on a throne with a crown tie you down—that’s was what probably drew her in to you.

You were just so free.

Celebrating over a spoon, chirping an odd tune, purring like a cat as you nudged her only to shyly and bashfully rest your chin on the grass to look up the tall woman—with no clear thought behind those dumb eyes of yours. So perplexingly trusting.

The brunette staring down at your sheepishly beaming face, so bright-eyed and naive, she felt like a god that stared down at one of its creatures and smiled to herself—smiled for the first time in years. She would protect you, she swore in that exact moment. For the rest of her days to come and pass, Zian would be your knight in a shining armor—she was ready to slit anyone’s throat, if they dared to hurt something as precious as you. You were practically an animal after all, and she found herself in the role of the dutiful civilian that would take a stray and look after them. You were her stray now.

“Don’t worry ‘lass. I will look after you now. I can get you a lot more of these.” her finger pointed at the spoon and you immediately let your fin splash water at her in a show of excitement.

“So cute.” Zian could only chuckle softly. “You will be safe now, little fish. I am here now. You saved me and now no man or woman will ever hurt you—we will be friends.” she spoke all those big words laced with subtle foreshadowing that was lost on you because of the language barrier—nevertheless you flashed her another grin, another show of affection so sweet her heart melted like hot metal.

Her hand reached out to tentatively pat your head like a dog.

“Yeah, let’s be best friends.”

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

[thedarkestrivernymph]

First of all I want to state that I am not nearly informed sufficiently enough to present the ask in its entirety and to support it completely. However, I can and will sum up the gist of it. I only would like to mention I am neither mutuals nor an avid reader of both fandokja or yanderedrabbles, so my knowledge is very little.

fangdokja (a 18+ blog posting a lot of non/dub-con and playing around with darker themes; from what I've seen) has posts with statements that seem very dubious/questionable alluding to her being possibly homophobic, racist, etc. (in a post about migrating to her own website/Ao3 she seems to have mentioned child SA and genocide; even saying that she would be 'free' of tumblr's guidelines) you can read up more on here (by @moyazaika).

Yanderedrabbles (Yandere blog also writing about a lot of non/dub-con) seems to have commented and supported her decisions. (Which I can't say is true or false, because I have never seen the OG post this ask is citing from.)

What I can conclude is, that I have seen fandokja state she is uncomfortable with writing queer characters. (all the links below) And the mentions of her wanting to write about themes like child SA I can only link back again to this post, so that whoever is reading this can form their own opinion on this topic.

Here are are the links to read up on:

yanderedrabbles:

https://www.tumblr.com/yanderedrabbles/780435897593315328/hi-idk-if-your-mutuals-with-fangdokja-but-shes?source=share

fandokja:

https://www.tumblr.com/fangdokja/772519993758941184/hello-i-love-your-writing-i-wanted-to-know-if?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/fangdokja/779991873688371200/same-anon-who-asked-about-your-thought-process?source=share

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Entangled with you in hand.

pairing: soft y! girlfriend x f! reader

wc. 454

“Do you think this will last forever?” you breathed, tickling the little hairs on her nape—an uncomfortable sensation, yet she would rather climb a mountain with bare hands and feet than ever admit to that; for your warmth was the blanket of comfort she couldn't live without.

“I hope so.” the reply came fast yet soft, subsided almost, tentative. She feared her intensity, feared that it could scare you away and out of her arms. Feared for you and with you; that one day when she awoke and pushed the curtains back in your idle little cottage, that she wouldn't catch sight of you sitting on the front porch with your morning tea, soaking in the first few rays of the sun like a cat.

God, yes, she not only hoped, but needed this to last forever, for you two to always lay mingled, finding pieces of eachother in one another, melting and morphing until she nor you knew where one began and the other ended.

“I love you.” you admitted and she could have cried in that moment alone—bundled up with you in the soft blankets, sitting on your shared bed with your cat on your lap, your baby as you called her. You would be a great mother, tender, kind, the right kind of petty when needed to be, so loving and devoted. She could imagine it, you round, with another heartbeat under yours, carrying a child that she could love till her last dying breath.

“I love you too.” she entangled her hand from yours, cupping your cheek, “So, so much.” her voice fell into a whisper, her gaze falling with it towards your lips, misty gaze locked on what was hers; what you had allowed to be hers.

And then she kissed you.

Kissed away the furrow in your brows, the confusion about the tears in her eyes and reassured you with soft moving lips that she was nothing more than a fool in love, but never sad. Not with you, anyways. Not when you melted in her arms like butter on pancakes on Sunday mornings and not when you let her deep inside of you, so deep that it might've made you bleed with anyone else, but not her, she wouldn't mess with you, wouldn't dare to hurt you, she would only kiss, caress, admire.

Consume you with hungry kisses and subtle touches and sink her teeth into your flesh, only when you begged for it so nicely.

For she wasn't a monster; she was yours and you hers. So no, she didn't think this would only last forever.

This was meant to last longer.

Forever and more.

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

[thedarkestrivernymph]

just wanted to say i adore your writing. one of my favourite pieces is heart of gold, the way it's written each time is so good that im drooling. hope to see more it (and charles).

love you <33

Aww, thank you! I especially adore all your OCs!🩷

Btw, love it whenever you comment on any of my posts (when I see it's you), makes me feel all warm n' mushy inside haha And I feel honoured that you regard A Heart Of Gold so highly! Right now I am a bit of a writing slump though ha ha, let's see when and if I post more regarding it...

Anyways!

Love you too, have good day🫂🩷

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Devastation

pairings: Y! Crazy Scientist x Gn! Reader

warnings: heavy angst, yearning, murder, mentions of death, hints at abuse, toxic relationship dynamics, genre: science fiction

“I’ve always found love in you.” he croaked, softness painting his features eerily alien.

“In the way you glanced, in the way your cheeks flushed ever so subtly, in the way your chest rose, in the way you were always so full of life and—” his voice faltered, left him.

God, it hurt. It hurt so badly.

“What did I do to deserve you?” his throat was too tight, his hands too shaky with his stare too heavy as it bore down onto what remained of you.

Code.

“What did I do to be punished with losing you?”

—and a few teeth and pieces of hair.

He sobbed out loud. A cry so raw, you could practically hear his soul shatter in its confinement.

You were gone.

Truly. Completely. Irreversibly.

And it was his fault. His stupid, stupid fault.

You had begged him to listen. To hear reason. You didn't love anyone but him—no matter how suffocating his presence was, no matter how he left you in shambles, unrecognisable to a person with dignity as he shamelessly consumed every part you offered or not.

So he took the last thing one could take; your breath.

Then he recreated you—downloaded your brain onto his computer. And to add to the insanity of it all, he accessed your memories;

he got to see the truth.

All of it.

“Fuck!” his fists pounded against his desk, untouched coffee from when you were still with him, spilling over his lap.

“Fuck, baby, I am so—so sorry.”

he watched you, or what had been you, in memories, how not once you had been unfaithful. Pain blossomed in his chest so potent, he could've believed it to be a heart attack under other circumstances.

“Angel, m’ Angel.” he mumbled, tongue as heavy as lead, gripping the screen of his monitor so tightly cracks formed in the corners.

“I’ll do it right this time,” he murmured, “I’ll do it better. We gonna be happy, this time. Yeah, my Angel.

Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Only nothing would be fine ever again.

—because he committed the one crime, he had sworn on never doing; hurt you.

He was the villain of your story,

and villains never got their happy end.

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Tsundere! Very mean! Sukuna x gn! Reader

warnings: hints at/talks about reader having an eating disorder, ptsd, trauma, angst, hints at depression, very mean/toxic! Sukuna, implied forced feeding, bitch as gn

word count: roughly 600

Life was a whirlwind.

Chaotic, overwhelming, gross.

Leaving the cavity in your chest empty, as if someone had ripped your heart out, only to replace the beating muscle with hot tar.

You loathed it. This constant pressure, the tugging and pulling, as if you were a ragdoll, filled with cotton and unfulfilled childhood dreams instead of a bleeding human with limbs that could break and shatter.

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, you did wish you were nothing more than a doll. When the voices swirled around your head like buzzing flies, ripping away the last shred of hope for something to lay out there that was kinder to you than you could ever be to yourself.

Today was one of those nights you were up to your neck in self pity, practically suffocating on it as you stared down at your dinner and it at you. If the macaroni could open its tramp, you were sure it would've hurled insults at you.

“Eat, fuck. You're slower than a snail.” a voice next to you groaned. The timber familiar, yet still too foreign to consider comforting.

“Sorry, ‘Kuna.” you flicked your tongue over your lips again. Tasting salt and pepper, the very first and last bite—and the guilt, the shame of the voices, of the people expecting so much of you.

“I just—haven’t gotten an appetite.” you unclenched fingers you hadn't noticed before were strangling your poor fork and sat it down next to your plate with a sigh. The rounded kitchen table was set as every other dinner since you both became roommates—two plates, salt, pepper, one bottle of tabasco, one lone fake rose in a funky shaped vase (you insisted on), those neon green coasters you had bought just to spite him and his beer and your water.

He scoffed, “Sure, sure.”something heavy burdened your shoulders and your skin prickled as if needles were scraping against it. His cutlery clattered. Shit.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” there he goes again—the same line and the same trick to guilt-trip you into finishing your portion of the pot.

“Nothing, I just—”

“Bullshit. You tryna kill yourself?” his voice rose in volume, so loud it stunned you for a moment. And then suddenly you were eight again, holding back stinging tears, attempting to be stronger than you could ever dream to be.

“If you continue—” he continued to scream, “you gonna end up dead. Do you want that? Is that what you want?” He smashes his fists onto the table, sending your silverware to clink and causing your water to topple over, spilling all across.

You flinched.

“Pathetic.” he spat, “You’re fucking pathetic. You ruin my appetite too with that face of yours.” tears hot and heavy touched your cheeks as you let your head drop, slumping into yourself like the kid in the back of the class, made fun of, teased, ridiculed—the dumb one, the incapable one, the chubby, ugly, fat fuck.

“I—” you coughed, mouth as dry as if you had swallowed sand, trying to lick wetness onto your lips, “I am sorry.”

For a moment there was only the overwhelmingly erratic thrum of your heartbeat and you. Then, slowly, with the scraping of chair legs against the tiles, he moved.

Towards you.

“Eat.” one heavy hand settled on your shoulder the other one picked up your fork and brought it to your lips. He lowered himself, you soon noticed, slipping down to crouch next to you with a gaze that was no better than the back of a hand.

“Eat or be eaten.” he pressed it to your bottom lip.

“So you better open up, bitch.”

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

[thedarkestrivernymph]

cw: bad self image, talks about body image, bad self-concept, insecurity, self-hating

“Ma’” your toddler whined drowsily, yawning as you tucked them in bed.

“Yes, sweetheart?” you sighed softly, exhaustion clear under your eyes, drained of ever last bit of energy, as you fought off sleep yourself.

“Am I fat?” that quickly woke you up. Eyes wide with your eyebrows raised you looked down at her big puppy eyes.

“Sweetie—why would you think you’re fat?” you were puzzled. She was a toddler, chubby at best—but healthy at that, but most importantly where could she have picked that up from? Children didn't just think up such things by themselves after all.

“You call yourself fat, mommy. Fat and ugly.” horror shone in your gaze. Fuck, when had she picked up on that?

“Sweetheart—”

“Am I fat and ugly too?” you shook your head, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“Then why do you call yourself fat and ugly?”

“That's—sweetheart—I—” now you were on brink of tears and at a loss for words.

“I think you're the prettiest on the whole wide world!” she raised her arms spreading them wide and far, “You're the prettiest because you're my mommy!”

You pulled her into a hug before she could make out that you were crying. Inhaling in the faint scent of her favourite mermaid shampoo, the remnants of suncream and her smell that lingered from the time she was a baby—like home. Your home. And you were hers. This tiny human with so much personality considered you her home.

Needless to say, after that you were much more careful with your words around her.

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

[thedarkestrivernymph]

can we have more of the death yanders kidnapper fic? I really wanna see our life with him

A normal day in your life..

Y! Kidnapper x f! Reader

warnings: forced infantilization, religious themes, mentions of urine, diaper, baby-talk, forced feeding

the fic -> Death

“You have to.”

“No!” you're as stubborn as a petulant child, “I don't want to.” your voice thins until it wavers and you break into yet another sob.

“Sweetheart,” there's another groan before a warm hand brushes over your scalp, scratching up and down your nape as if you're a cat, “You have to eat, sweetie, if you don't, you know what will happen, won't you?”

There's a thickness that swells in your throat, just the thought of doing that ever again is enough to make your palms sweaty and feet itching to run.

“See?” his voice his smug, while his predatory gaze flicks with recognition of weakness. Of your weakness.

“You don't want to be down there again, right baby? I don't want to chain you up, you get all horribly bruised up.” he sighs softly, deeply with new-found hunger in his chestnut colored eyes. He talks soft and sickeningly sweet, as if his mouth had a mind of its own, apart from the actual ravenous beast inside of him that you have come to know so well. “I would hate for your delicate skin to be blemished.”

Another kiss is presses to your forehead, before he lowers his hand to trace over the pendant with his name engraved hanging from your collar. “Say ‘ahh’.” he urges again, lowering his hand to sit at the curve of your waist, keeping you firmly planted on his lap, dressed in unnecessary frill—like a doll. Like you’re his doll. This fucking creep.

The spoon lifts once again and its contents twist your stomach for the second time.

The spoonful is weirdly pink and brown with colorful sprinkles grinded into it. It is clear that it once was cake but now it is this weird odd paste that he, no doubt, put in the mixer because quote “you’re just a baby, babies don't eat real food”.

Yet this time when he seeks entrance, tapping against your bottom lip you open up with tearful eye, allowing the tooth-rootingly sweet to flood your taste buds. Swallowing is even more difficult as his hand creeps up to settle over your sternum, pressing, waiting to feel your throat bob.

“Good girl” you cry at his praise, because an entire bowl full of this slob is staringback at you.

“If you eat up maybe I’ll even let you play with your dolls again, mh?” there's another wave of nausea, as your lungs constrict and your airways tighten, but this time not because of the prospect of punishment if you disobey, but because of the pressure in your lower abdomen.

It's already worse enough that you have to piss literally every two minutes because of how fucking anxious he makes you, is him taking notice of the building pressure in your bladder.

“Sweetheart, oh? Do you have to go potty again?”

he’s so fucking condescending in his speech, so proud about having reduced you to this, that his smile stretches unsettling wide, inhuman, animalistic, vile—in another universe you hope he's a pig brought to slaughter.

You would rather die than pee into the diaper he put you on in front of him, worse, on him.

But suddenly he cups your tummy with one large hand, rubbing and pressing against it. “Come, you can go here.” your face drains of colour again as you grit your teeth, shaking your head in a firm ‘no’. You would rather die of shame then do that.

But he doesn't take no as an answer, he never does. Because you're his, god-given and all, remember? So he starts messaging your stomach, reaching beneath the layers upon layers of frilly blue to reach your navel and ram his grimy fingers into your flesh.

You cry out, jerk around. You may have lost your dignity, you may be kept like an animal but you won't allow this, no, you're still an adult, you're not a child nor an infant, you're capable of controlling your bladder no matter what—

There's something hot. Sticky and fluid. And as you ruin your diaper you, the realisation of what you just did settling in—the betrayal of your body, you cannot help but sob loder, cry, hiccup and mewl, babbling without coherent sentences as your face burns in shame.

And what does he do?

He grins. As always.

“Good job, Sweetheart.” he pressed his lips to your cheek, before he scoops another spoonful from the bowel and raises the the cool silverware to your mouth again.

“Come now finish, then we can get you all cleaned up.” so you do just that, allow him to fed you this sticky repulsing mess, that makes you gag with each swallow, because what else can you do?

And it isn't long before his face dips into your shoulder and he whispers into your skin the very same set of words he's chanted to you since you have awoken to yet another nightmare.

“I love you, sweetheart, so so much. You're my everything, and soon you'll make me the happiest man on earth. God! I am so excited, I can't wait to meet our little one.”

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

[thedarkestrivernymph]

"Please, open your eyes."

warnings: male! yandere x reader, dagger, murder, blood, betrayal, big ouchie misunderstanding, angst :(

“Don't make me do this.” he grit out, pleading.

But what shouldn't you make him do?

“Please, just tell the fucking truth!” he barked at you, knuckles white around the bejeweled handle that belonged to your dagger.

Just what was he talking about?

“Fuck!” another scream entered straight into your ear, as you wheezed, trying to blink away the disorientation.

The stone floor bit into your back. Head mushy, as if it had been stirred up in a mixer and then spilled onto the floor all around you in a velvet blanket of red.

“Just say it!” ah, now you started to piece it back together. His insistence had caused you to crack open your head, with the dagger in his hands to point at your throat. “Say it!” he was close to tears now, you were sure, he always was when his voice began wavering and breaking like a dagger that penetrated skin. Or like the dagger right now that penetrated your skin.

“I don't know.” you chanted hoarsely as before, meeting troubled blues as you blinked the blurriness away. “Eliot, I swear.” your own voice faltered, “I am no traitor. I am yours, Eliot. You know me.” it thinned until you could only stifle a sob.

Recognition painted his face, something tender swirled in his gaze. Did he finally believe you? That you truly were innocent and only framed—

“I am sorry. So sorry, y/n.” tears. For the very first time since you have known him he was crying.

And then—your throat exploded with pain; the kind that travelled down the entire length of your spine, frying every nerve-end, as something hot and suffocating; like tar flooded your lungs.

“So sorry.”

You choked, writhed, failed around, attempted to plead through the suffocating taste of betrayal, yet nothing. It all remained futile. Because death’s lanky fingers strangled you.

And soon,

everything was dark again.

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

[thedarkestrivernymph]

"Baby forget him! I'll always be there for you..♡"

warning: nsfw themes, a lil lie(s), infidelity, hurt, insecurity, fem!yandere, wlw, fantasy world

“I hate him!” another mug goes to waste. One of your best ones at that. She cringes.

Shattering on impact as it meets the sturdy craftsmanship that's your shared wooden door.

But she agreed to this, didn't she?

“Dearie—” pick, chuck, scream. You're like a machine uploading and unloading, destroying everything in sight “Love—” she tries again after wetting her lips only to be met with more shards of porcelain flying around in the air like deadly snow.

“Sweetheart!” she cries out in panic as you almost get ahold of her favourite pink mug—one of your many failed attempts at pottery.

The elf cradles it like it was made out of pure gold—her green eyes wide and warning.

“What do you even see in that ugly thing?” you scoff, bleary gaze set on the pile of multicoloured porcelain and glass that now collected in your living room. Great.

“Should’ve asked you that before you got with him.”

You bit your tongue. Nashua wasn't wrong. No matter how much you wished she was. “Touche.”

For a moment everything seemingly froze, even the leaves whipped around from the strong southern wind seemed to halt. Then she stepped closer. Her boots were heavy on the tiles, and the one particular spot moaned as usual. She really needed to have a word with the landlord.

Sighing, she let her lips stiffen into a smile.

“Better now?” her pale green hand came into view, brushing away a strand of damp hair that stubbornly stuck to your sticky cheek, “Got it out of your system?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, almost lifelessly, bringing up your arms—human and weak compared to her, imperfect in a world ruled by only the most powerful—around her in a pathetically desperate embrace.

“It's okay, love. Forget him, that douchebag is none of your concern anymore.” she cradled your skull as always while straining to meet you at eye level—tall and powerful, womanly, with soft breasts that pressed into your collarbone. Just everything you weren't in this godforsaken world, where you had been born a human. A human that couldn't even keep a drow satisfied.

Fuck. Now you were crying again.

Nashua, was quick to help you through it as always. Of course. As her hand wandered down your pants, a rather unorthodox method to help out a friend and roommate in need she must admit, but it got the job done and soon you were screaming her name, while creaming her hand. Finally. A smile slipped onto those beautiful lips of yours, unknowing that this wasn't custom in her culture.

That she only wanted you. And by the heavens finally that prick dumped you for some mindless fae, leaving you all to her. For her to look after, to pamper, to fuck, to love.

Yeah, she loved you single.

Still, which roommate didn't avenge her friend?

Her warm lips pressed to your crown, whispering a promise of death disguised as sympathy.

“Shh, I hate him, too.”

©Copyright - 2025 - thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

[thedarkestrivernymph]

our first time meeting yandere clan leader? Feel like it would be great

I mean..I definitely could tell you about the boring, clean, almost business-like official first meeting, where you both were in attendance of your respective clan elders OR I could tell you about the first meeting.

So..

Soft Yandere! Clan Leader x Future! Wife! Reader

warnings: mentions of sexual intercourse, vulgar language, more insight about him in general, this is a few years back, he's a simp haha, made up culture, not proofread, this low key got a lil long..

"My lord! Look at all the goods! It's been a fruitful season this year." background noise always clung to him.

Incessant chatter, menial tasks, small talk his former nursemaid, now one of his permanent servants, always initiated. It was a headache through and through. And now his mother demanded a betrothal. To a stranger no less!

"My lord—look!" another urging had him drag his weary gaze towards one of the stalls, the apples truly bigger and prouder than the past season. But why should it concern him?

Sighing, he acknowledged the flushed merchant with a nod, while her sweaty palms smoothed out invisible lines on her skirts, before brushing a stray hair back, as if her whole head of hair wasn't a wild bird's nest.

He scoffed.

It wasn't of his own choosing to be the future of a whole clan, to carry burdens that most would never have to—to be a man, never a boy.

Yet it was like the gods shunned him for his bright spot on earth. For the very spotlight he never wanted to attract. They were angered, at least it felt as if so—as if him being born as the apple of everyone's eye caused their envy.

Perhaps one of them was the god of sun, guessing as his rays were half-blinding him at this time of the day.

"My lord! Please keep your spirits high, just look around, soak it in, I am sure your mother—" thankfully he was quicker on his feet than her or any of his other circle of servants, towering over them all, sticking out like a sore thumb since childhood, because one more ignorant word out of her mouth and his patience hanging on the thinnest thread known to man would snap in half. And he couldn't get angry. Wasn't allowed to anyways.

He groaned again.

Padding through the bustling center of the market on quick feet. He may have been scolded countless times in his childhood to not wander around alone, as valuable, as he was, but he was an adult now, wasn't he? At least he should have some autonomy. Even if that little didn't apply to which woman he would eventually have to stick his dick in.

His steps grew heavier at just the thought of it, some stranger, someone he had never met before, terrified as he was. "Perhaps mother would even stay and watch, instruct you how to properly put an heir into a womb." He cringed at the words, repulsed by only the memory of his brother's crass teasing.

He grit his teeth. No, never would he allow this marriage to be guided by his parents orders. He would be a leader; the one to fit the role he was molded to be, but never would he allow them to exert anymore power over him after his succession.

Another step, the shade engulfed him, the market more desolate in this little corner, with fewer and scarcer stalls, not the opulent ones in the square of the marketplace, but the ones with the little fishers and mothers selling home-made goods.

The one he was in front of was the former, with a plump woman standing behind a stall full of hand-woven goods, clearly distressed trying to calm her fussy child. A little tuft of blonde, with pink cheeks, babbling and whining in protest, until the woman stuck a thumb into its mouth, quietening his cries.

The sight was almost endearing. So one day, he too, would have to have such a tiny thing? Still, it would be without consent.

"By the heavens—" his head snapped in the direction of the gasp and there; there his heart stopped beating for a hot second.

The air thinned, stifled him, as if something was suffocating him with invisible hands, perhaps fate, perhaps the gods who seemed to look down on him, whether it was it hurt. God it burned.

There—a few stalls away from where he stood—was a woman, barely one, with your head bowed in front of another older one who pried something from your hands in a fit of rage.

"My lady, have you lost your mind! Anything could have happened to you—and for what? To play with children?" the greying one was so enraged, so belittling of the most beautiful flower he had ever seen bloom. He felt mad, angry at her as little zaps of electricity travelled through his veins right into his heart the moment you looked up, with a face kissed surely by the goddess of the moon as an infant. So dazzling, that felt the urge to pinch himself, gaping unlike a member of a prestige clan.

But what could he do? If he moved, he feared you would disappear and god that caused an ache in his usual hollow chest.

"My lady!" he watched wordlessly as she continued to berate you, her words swirling around his head, going in one ear and out the other as even his anger failed him. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, something foreign and wet and all—because of you, the stranger with a tight-shut mouth with such a defeated look in her glittering gaze, with soft cheekbones and lips pursued into a tight line. As if you had just sprung out a folktale with the blue silk wrapped around you—his favourite colour.

"You cannot behave in this manner anymore! Just think about what your father may say—by the gods—and your dear aunt!" she continued her lecture, fussing as she gripped your shoulders tempting to guide you away.

He stepped forward, yet another tear rolling down his cheek—one he would never admit to shedding.

"Please, what will the people think if they see the daughter of.."

She walked off with you and, as he noticed only now, a few more servants, yet that didn't matter, because he had caught on to your title.

"My lord!" he heard frantic calling, but he didn't care, couldn't bring himself to, instead he grinned, manically. Because the gods did seem to be merciful after all.

Finally, finally he would receive something he would consent to—wished for actually, something he would be able to look forward to in this life of endless responsibilities and as he strode forward to pick up one out of the abandoned bunch of marbles on the ground, he picked a white one up to press to his chest.

One untainted—mirroring the look in your eyes,

"My wife."

[thedarkestrivernymph]

THANK U FOR FEEDING ME WITH MORE CHARLES CONTENT 🧎‍♀️

There's still a little more to come! I am just slow, as a snail, with asks haha..🐌🩷

[thedarkestrivernymph]

hey girlie, ur writing is YUMMY

if u don't mind, could u tell us ur secret?

This was the first thing I woke up to today. 😶‍🌫️🩷Very sweet way to start my day especially because the night before was sooo exhausting— yesterday I tried to offer a fae to the dark lord and she was being all difficult and put up a fight, bla blah don't wanna die, like c'mon, let a girl just do her ritual in peace!/j

But in all seriousness if you actually want tips then it's 1) write whatever the fuck you're interested in and write a lot; inspiration is key, you gotta be hooked first before anyone else 2) read a lot 3) study styles/grammar if you deem it necessary 4) write, write, write chanting it

[thedarkestrivernymph]

heyyyyy love ur writing, what if yan clan leader wants a baby?

Soft Yandere! Clan Leader x Wife! Reader

warnings: talks of pregnancy, skinship, lots of kisses, very soft

note: this might be just too cheesy ngl..

"Love" his breath tickles you awake in your drowsy state—like a feather brushing up and down the shell of your ear.

"My love" he repeats once more, this time gathering you up in his arms to turn you over, pressing your back into the soft tangled mess of sheets.

"Mhm?" you finally muse, cracking open one of your eyes, weary as a newborn, with exhaustion deep in your bones from another day of having to deal with the clan.

There in the dim light of your shared room, stares down a god at his goddess; with reverence bordering on worship, with longing and gratitude. So he bows his head, slow and languid and presses shy kisses up and down the line of your jugular.

"I wish—" he starts between his doting and holding back the greedy beast inside of him, stopping himself from moving lower. "No—I—" again, he cuts himself off and at the repetition, your hands find his nape, scratching and pressing.

"Husband, what is it? You seem, rather, worried." you mutter between soft hums of satisfaction when he nimbles on a particular tender spot of your skin.

When he still can't untangle his tongue from your throat to speak, you twirl a strand of his around your index, squinting as the moon's silver sudden entrance. "You worry me too." Now you're frowning, and your gut clenches as he still stays quiet. "Husband—"

"I want someone like you." he confesses.

Immediately your brows shoot up.

"Someone like me?" you look at him puzzled and it's there that he sighs and climbs down. Wordlessly with a certain look in his eyes that you swear you haven't seen before. He moves lower and even lower, until his cheek finally finds the spot it was looking for; your belly.

"You. My love. A mini you." and it's there that your cheeks heat up and a grin so nasty you didn't know he had the muscles to pull off, spreads across his lips.

He presses his mouth to your belly button, uncaring that the fabric between you creates a barrier, for it would not be there for long.

"So you wish for one too?" still, he has to confirm with you—because if he didn't, if he just carelessly assumed your consent then he would be no better than all the other runts in this world. And he would rather carve out his own eyes than harm you.

Still heated, with thighs subtly shifting closer to each other, you tilt your head away, heart heavy that—this wouldn't just be duty.

That he had waited for so long and that he still just didn't take like a brute—like his elders nagged him to do, but that he wanted your thoughts on it. That he considered your feelings, placed worth on you, in a world where so little was in your power. To let you choose and let you live.

The moon embraced you both again and so in the comfort of all—in the serenity that you were free, even if it was just within your golden cage, you answer with your fingers entangled in his tresses.

And as you confirm or perhaps not you watch his face morph into tender admiration. Nonetheless of the answer — you are his and he is yours.

For all eternity.

[thedarkestrivernymph]

no pressure girl but I NEED more charles, he's my baby 🤤

I scraped all my motivation together for this, I hope you like it even though it's a modern Au (the third life..) 😶‍🌫️

A Heart Of Gold

Y! Wealthy! Older! Charles x Younger! Stepmom! Reader

warnings: mentions of planned pregnancy, nsfw at the end, horny Charles, Nicholas is a teenager, not proofread

Mist swirled around the twisting and turning branches of the proud beech, leaves fluttering alike feathers, coated in gentle frost.

Windows fogged up whenever opened. It was a chilly morning. One without the gentle orange and pink that usually flooded the horizon as the sun rosr proud and tall. No this morning, as many more to come because of the morphing seasons, was drained of any colour, with lifeless gray clouds hanging bleary over the forest.

“Dear,” two strong arms curled around you from behind, pulling you into the human flame that kept your insides warm and toasty every season regardless of degree, “You're looking awfully upset. Mighty fine, but upset.” a kiss was pressed to your crown before a chin rested there and a throat bobbed against the back of your skull.

“Sorry, baby, had I known that the weather would be this shitty, I would have booked a ticket to the Maldives.” you could practically hear the frown in his voice. The concern, the care, the sheer wish to keep you happy all time round, enough to ease the tension between your shoulder blades.

You giggled at the strum of his thumb.

“Charles,” you turned your head, straining to look up at him, only to break out into a gentle smile as you finally caught sight of his tender gaze and the his characteristic chestnut curls brushed back against his scalp.

You were smiling, lovesick and all, until your gaze travelled lower, hungry and greedy for more of the man you were near worshipping. Expecting savoury smooth skin; an expanse of a bare chest — as he tended to sleep barely dressed —instead your eyes caught onto his dress shirt and tie. Immediately your face soured.

Something cold raked through you at that, something with an ugly bratty head.

“Do you have to leave again?” you whined. So unlike yourself, more child than woman, yet how could you not be frowning when you could barely satiate your hunger for the love of your life?

Fingers found your cheeks, soft nimble and warm, everything you dreamed of; everything you wanted stood behind them yet so out of reach.

“It's my job, dear,” he chanted as always, gaze lingering on your lips, before he pressed a haste kiss against them, one you savoured with a flick of your tongue after.

“I am sorry, baby, I know this sucks. But bear with it, please? How else could I buy you those cute little dresses you like so much? And the bags? And deck you in jewellery” again, he used the same excuse, a poor excuse for a joke really, but it made the corners of your lips twitch and brows only furrow further.

“You know I am not with you for your money, Charles. I want you, not a stupid bag.” you groaned as he just pressed another kiss to your lips and then another, and another. Until finally he smoothed out the lines on your forehead and you melted against him.

“I am sorry, really sorry,” he rasped against your lips, breath fawning over where his spit clung to your lips like chapstick, “I know you're not like that, dear. I would never think that, but I have to go. I want you to live comfortably without worries.”

You released a breath. “I am comfortable. You don't need to work so much.”

He shook his head, before a stupid grin spread over his lips. “If we want Nick’ to be an older brother, then I am not nearly working enough.” he pressed his mouth to your shoulder this time.

“After this year,” kiss, “I promise,” kiss, “that I will slow down.” he breathed against your sternum, probably unaware of the quick pitter-patter pace of your heart, how it was trying to break free. For a moment everything seemed to freeze, like a snapshot as you looked down at your husband, his wedding band twinkling in the artificial light of the kitchen, evidently polished and well-taken care of.

He valued you, fuck, he didn't just value you, he was possessed by you; every second away from you was agony, but what could he do—even when after years he had finally found his true soulmate, he still had to go to work, to struggle, so that when he finally would put a baby in you, he would forever stay glued to your side.

“Charles,” your head immediately snapped back the moment you felt warmth encompass your nipple. Those nimble fingers of his had pulled your top down and were now travelling across your skin with feathery-soft touches, while he sucked on your bud, his other hand, the one with the wedding band he so keenly kept clean travelled between your thighs, prying and inching further and further and—

Out of the corner of your heavy-lidded eyes, you caught sight of movement.

Eyes. Two eyes. What the fuck.

You squealed, clamped your legs shut, eliciting a surprised gasp from your husband, that followed your stare.

“For fuck’s sake!” he groaned, scrambling to cover your exposed chest with a heaving grunt, face still flushed.

“Nicholas look the fuck away!”

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Cry. Call. Curse.

Yandere! Vampire x f! Reader

warnings: gore, blood (lots of it..), dead animals, death, vomiting, infantilization, weird relationship dynamics, pseudo-incest, loss of teeth, forced capture, nonconsensual acts, dead dove: do not eat

word count: 3.6k

©Copyright -2025- thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

“Tear me apart. Piece by piece. Rip me open and bare my naked insides to the world. I wish to let the shadows feast on the blood I spill, to let them dig their greedy little fangs into my liver and womb, to taint what hasn't been tainted before. To let them touch what hasn't been touched. So, Sire, tell me, should you grapple with your own creation?”

The Cry

It was cold. The night was merciless and the forest even more so. It lashed at you, screamed in your face for daring to set foot outside at such late of an hour.

She wanted her spotlight, the moon, and you were robbing her of it with your quick-pace. Making this about you, when she was truly the brightest star under the Sun's watchful gaze, yet, insufferable, little you just had to run for your life at night! How rude.

Truly how careless of you to sever the trees loving embrace of another, cursing as you felt yet another twig catch onto one of your many skirts, hissing at the sizzling pain that came with each whip. And truly just how utterly ignorant of you to be frantic enough to be carelessly loud, snapping twigs in half, fighting back the thicket, crunching leaves all while your footsteps and ragged breathing fell into a messy symphony, disturbing the night’s peace.

How mean you were to take away attention from her beauty as you fled—not just from the past that haunted you like a mellowed ghost, but also from the very real mob chasing after you.

Torches lit up and went down, cries declaring your nearing end sounded and faded, while they trampled all over everything on these sacred grounds — as father David liked to call the crust of the earth — like a herd of wild boars.

“Catch the witch!” he had commanded so fiercely and unleashed demons that resided in them; normal people to annihilate you.

Yet the game of cat and mouse only went to the borders of the forest, where it met the forbidden woods. You knew how easy people believed and how blindly—so you collapsed next to a tree soaked completely in darkness, leaving behind the only sources of light in the other holy parts of nature to curse and sardonically laugh at you.

“You dumb wench!” the mob cleared, dissipated until the last crazed person left, leaving you there, sat under the proud mahogany tree. All while you triumphed that you managed to survive another day unharmed. Danced another dangerous round of tango with the devil.

You had done your usual routine: trespass into a town to sell readings, prophecy of a made-up future, claim to be god’s third eye only to quickly be uncovered as a cheap charlatan with even cheaper tricks. You sighed. Dipped your fingers into your pocket to fish out your little treasures; your cards.

Your gaze flitted over the illustrations; your ‘pa had paid good money for them back in his day. Sort of family heirloom at this point. Funny.

You traced over the engravings on the back of the deck, letting your thoughts drift.

Life was tough and this made easy money. Fast money. Money you needed. Yet would it really be of use if you were killed because of it? You scoffed. “’Pa would scold me.” you couldn't help but blurt, while chuckling dryly, lungs still burning with the fear of capture.

Clouds were crowding the darkened skies. Their faint grays overlapping into a blur, clothing the moon in metal silk that hung off her rounded form loosely; some might say tempting. Yet she wasn't satisfied with it, how could she ever be? When something so disruptive stayed planted to the soil she laid claim on. So—some may say it is fate and others luck, but few would point their fingers at the real culprit; the moon.

Her light was your downfall.

You were cloaked in black under that wistfully swaying branch, yet the moment you rose—decided to search for a better place to spend the night at was when you had just unknowningly lost the chase.

Because, let's be truthful here, the game of cat and mouse hadn't even started. The mob not the real evil in your miserable story. You were glowing so beautifully tempting after all; like you were a piece of her after all and perhaps that's why she had decided to dress you in silver from head to toe and present you to him.

You hummed while you walked; a nervous habit of sorts. Sure it was dangerous, but you liked—no breathed danger! That's just what you always had known.

“I wonder if those green mushrooms grow here too.” you mumbled, chewing on the inside of your cheek, while rolling a flower bud you had plucked from the ground between your thumb and index finger. A sort of game you had developed and carried on from childhood.

Yeah, that was what it was.

A game.

For him at least.

“Mushrooms! Thank god—” relief was close to soothe you, to let you gnaw at the glowing bunch of mushroom heads you gathered greedily in your outermost skirt, so close to satiating the deep hunger clawing at your guts, when someone else beat you to it.

There was pain before you could even blink; raw, throbbing, angry pain. The kind that grabbed you by the scruff and turned you limp like a kitten. That kind.

“It will be over soon.” there was a murmur, something ominous and eerie. It was difficult to understand just who—or what spoke, when your entire neck was set ablaze; vicious red spraying all over you. It was blood, you realized far too late. And it was yours.

“Stop! Help!” the realisation came all too late and crushing, too slow. You were being drained, robbed of your very essence. You trashed and turned, kicked and fought, cried out, yet clawed hands only tightened around your shoulders pushing you into place as if you were dough this creature could mold to its liking.

“No! No, let go of me! Not like this—not this.” you protested, rather promised yourself, fighting against a face you didn't know and a strength that was everything but human. And perhaps in that very moment the moon took pity on you and that's why her shine dimmed and you ripped your throat free and with it your life.

“Humans.” the creature clicked his tongue, glaring down at your limp corpse oozing the delicious liquid in an admittedly very tantalising way; yet something about you was calling out to it. The curl between your brows, the restlessness still there on your frozen features—and your insistence on not dying at the hands of a monster, so much that you killed yourself. You were a special one.

He could feel it.

So lapping up at your neck, he thanked the moon for her graciousness and kissed your brow like a father would to say goodnight, only for him, this wasn't a goodbye.

The Call

Your skull throbbed. The tendrils of something painful curled around you, dirt laid heavy on your tongue and before you knew it you were frantically clawing your way out of a casket. Which deranged villager possibly would bury you alive—why would anyone bury anyone alive?

Vines clutched you, kept you in place; tendrils of death. You were chained by an indescribable force and forbidden to breathe free of dirt—it stung your lungs and scratched the back of your throat. God, you were drowning. Drowning in a pile of fucking dirt.

You howled; frantic, loud, desperate.

No one heard.

You tried louder; nothing.

You were swallowed up. You were dying. Your skull throbbed.

“Won't you raise, my love?”

You gasped for air, trashing and turning only to rip your eyes open to a foreign scenery. Dirt was replaced with pale silk and the casket with the largest bed you had ever had the luxury to lay upon. You glanced down at your hands, felt up your throat—nothing. There were no vines snaked around you like shackles.

You were alive, alive and well and—

“Little one.” you flinched. Dread coiled in the bottom of your stomach. You knew that voice.

“You—it’s you.” terror danced in your blurry vision as the monster from that night took shape in front of you. It was a man. A tall one with broad shoulders and slender wrists. And hair as silver as the moon that dressed him in her shimmer and skin as white as snow. Yet with two glowing balls of red for eyes.

Red. Like the blood he had made you shed.

“Little one, you’ve awoken.” he stated, almost relieved. He took a step closer, as if familiar, as if this was somehow excusable.

“Stay back!” you screeched. You had to flee, to call out for help, to do anything. This was a monster and who knew what he would do—

His shoulders dropped.

“Little one,” he sighed, “Is that any way to talk to your Sire?”

As if on cue, pure agony pumped through your veins straight to your stomach, as a hunger spread inside of you like a disease; something insatiable and maddening. Something you had never felt before. You yelped, eyes squeezing shut as you gripped the foreign piece of fabric that covered you in such fevor that you nearly tore it apart.

“Oh, dear. It seems to be happening already. What a fast fledging you are.” hadn't been standing at the foot of your bed? Why was he suddenly looking over you; watching you cry bitterly in confusion. You had been a normal human, free of the sins the villagers had accused you of—but now, you felt it deep inside of you, that what was happening to you would not let you remain untouched from evil.

“Don't worry, your Sire’s with you.” his words were little comfort when you felt one of your teeth loosen, cooper on your tongue, and then another one, until you spat out a half dozen of them into your open palms.

You were sobbing at this point, throat tight and gaze blurry with the fear of what you were becoming. God you hoped this was just another nightmare. That you were just too creative for your own good. Please.

“That's just part of the process, my love.” he muttered as if that would reassure you, as if anything could when you were in a monster’s bed with his arms around you. And the worst thing? You knew no one would be out there looking for you, because you were all on your own, shunned by your own kin.

“Shh, shh. It's okay, little one. I’ll give you a gold coin for each tooth you gain. Your kind likes shiny things, right? Now, don't be upset. C’mon sleep some more. The shock will fade soon.” he cradled you against him; neither cold nor warm, just uncomfortable and strange. Strange in the sense that he had nearly finished you and had dragged you here, yet now held you amidst the ache in your gums, as if you were the most fragile thing to have ever graced the earth.

Red tainted your hands. Angry and bold. A red that was out of reach from the moon’s grasp, hidden in your palms. The same colour that had sprung free from your neck that fateful night—were you dying? Was this death’s call? You couldn't tell.

“Hush, little one.” he rubbed your back as you wailed like you only ever had before in childhood. And finally you let yourself melt into the monster with claws for nails and eyes that of a predator and let yourself be lulled back into a dreamless slumber.

The Curse

You had lost all your teeth. In a matter of three bedridden days.

It was as if you were regressing back into a time you couldn't recall anymore, where your Ma’ still had been alive and when your only worry had been suckling on her breast.

Only as an infant you had been crazed for milk; something natural and god-given, but now you were screaming for something else entirely — out of a sort of thirst you had never experienced before, one that could only be satiated through the death of innocents —

blood.

Angry red that would curl around the corpses of wild boars and deers in swirles as he plopped them down in the middle of the room you were residing in, moreover kept captive in—but you didn't have the ability to protest, quite literally.

He would sit you at the edge of your bed, that grew colder everyday, then take a dagger with engravings on its hilt to slit the animal’s throat. Every time without a fail, he would then take the same goblet decorated with green jewels—little stones that he claimed represented you well.

“Come, little one, feed.” he called you today, like all the other ones, watching you like a hawk as you padded your way through the trails of crimson on weak knees—probably assessing your state; if you were recovering.

His lips curved upwards seeing how much more agile you were today. You didn't slump into yourself even once! “Good. You're improving.” he held the goblet to your lips, not trusting you enough yet to hold it up yourself. Putting a hand on the back of your head he guided you to drink—like one would lead a horse to water; like a mother squeezing her tit.

“Don’t worry, dear, your teeth will grow back in no time. You will have fangs such as mine.” he flashed you his own horror-inducing pearly-whites. So that was how you were going to look? Like a monster. Like your Sire? The creature that called himself your father.

Tears spilled over your lash line, sick to the stomach again; but even as you attempted to escape the wrongfully deliciousness that cooled the insatiable hunger inside of you—he didn't let you. He was unmoving, much like a statue.

“Shh, little one, don't cry. I know you must be upset. To not be able to express your gratitude to such a kind and refined gentleman such as I am for saving you from your old miserable existence. But don't worry, father will take care of you now.” he promised with those two rubies for eyes and streaks of whites that draped over his shoulders.

He looked young, as young as you. Still the creature claimed himself to be your guardian, acted dotting when he had cursed you with something you never asked for—and expected acceptance, gratitude even for it.

Your teeth grew back over the course of one week. Of one agonizing torturous week where you teethed on everything you could get your hands on like a little baby, whining and crying into the chest of your capturer, while suckling on whatever type of relief he provided, may it be blood to fill your stomach or meat to chew on or his own slit wrist; for his own sick and perverse enjoyment.

It wasn't until you regained all your teeth and with them your strength that things shifted, that he no longer regarded you a fledgling. Because you no longer were—with your proud canines and glowing gaze. You were a monster now, of his kin.

And his kind was oh-so rare, oh-so scarce, like grains of rice plucked from fields and he was oh, so, very lonely.

Which is why he just had to do what he did.

“If you had just listened,” he cooed.

Heavy gaze bearing down on you. Disappointment. Resignation. Contempt.

He looked at you as if truly you had been at fault for trying to escape, for the splitter of hope that had possessed you the moment you had fully grown into your new state, accepted that you no longer were woman or human, but monster instead.

“Stop! Please!” you could do nothing but cry as he continued to feed you what once had delighted you, made your mouth water at thought of the savoury taste; human food—the kind that made a grown Vampire hunch over to puke onto whatever he could find.

“Open wide, little one.” his voice was so sweet in tone, so innocent, concealing the torture he inflicted on you as you sat between his thighs, quivering as another glop of mashed up potatoes was dropped onto your tongue and pushed down your throat with his claws.

You gagged again. Like with ever other bite, stomach churning in protest, growing shades paler than you already had become. His hold on your soul was the only thing that kept you still and frozen there, even as bile rose up your throat, inch by painful inch—while he watched, unashamed gleefully.

Vomit sputtered from your lips, gagging and gurgling on it, nearly choking from how stiffly frozen you were. Only you knew you could not choke because you did not breathe. Not anymore at least. Not after he had robbed you of breath and now of decision, commanding your body to loosen only when his amusement turned to sympathy at the way you had swallowed nearly half of the yellow goo, only for your stomach to puke it all out again.

“Oh poor you.” he cooed, hand on your crown, brushing away strays, before he lifted you up as your stomach emptied for the last time onto your silken dress—it had to be something expensive. And he just let you ruin it.

“Little one,” the castle moaned again as it did so often, with the tiles creaking, “We’ll get you cleaned up.” The moon your only steady companion, graced your features once again, but this time in a gentle caress—for she once had held spiteful vengeance against you, envied you for your quick feet that carried you over earth’s surface; an annoyingly carefree little thing, but now she pitied you, for she could see your future was all but dim.

He carried you outside. As if to shame you publicly. No fear of you attempting to escape behind his back—for he knew that he could simply command you back. But just the thought that you had dared to, enraged yet hurt his brittle heart.

Setting you down at the pond’s edge like you weighted less than a feather, he made quick work of unfastening your bodice; some dress of a noble woman now long rotting under soil.

“Oh little one.” he purred, something odd in his tone today—something terrifyingly depraved that would send a shudder down your spine if you weren't sick, vomit drying on the corner of your mouth, shame once more finding you even after you had tried to cast her away. Like the moon that shone so brightly and could only watch your plight. Because unlike the times he had forcefully bathed you and ripped raw terrors from your chest—this time he striped himself too.

“What are you—” you shut. Eyes enlarging at the sight—too deceiving was his physique; that of a young man when his soul was nothing but that of a beast that took and only took in every shape or form.

“I will bathe with you this time. Why the grim face?” he spoke so casually you wanted to flee or attack—a true vampire you had become at heart.

“It’s only my duty to take care of you, little one. Look at all your teeth, aren't you proud? They all grew so well because of my blood.” he captured you in the water, caged you in between two pale and slender arms, ones that looked unassuming but could suffocate in the blink of an eye.

“Little one,” he whispered with red rubies for eyes and you felt something terrible poke at your thigh. “Little one—won’t you thank me for taking such good care of you?” curling his claws under you, he shifted your core towards his so dangerously close to a place you had once innocently believed he would never make you touch. Thinking that the words he muttered and the tender gaze of his only belied an obsession to have a child—but he didn't want that, now did he? He wanted a woman, he wanted you.

But in secret he craved both wife and child. Yet none were ever granted to him, even when he had forcefully took and pillaged, until you.

Oh you were perfect—and he was so depraved of love, that the lines blurred and somehow he wasn't sure what was decent and what not. He was your Sire, but still, you had been an adult, with a figure of that of an woman but a hunger that of a little darling—the lines blurred. And who could blame him for it, when he had spent centuries wallowing away alone? Alone until he had met and captured you.

So even as he made you a woman again, he could do nothing but cry in bliss, both a guardian and a lover, fervent as he tore at your scar; the evidence of your death, sinking his fangs into it as he moaned, while letting the entire forest and the moon witness the depravity he put on show.

“My love—” he rasped, groaning like an animal, panting like a beast “you will never escape your Sire.” he sunk himself deeper into you.

It was another biting cold night, another one filled with the howling of the wind and the swaying of trees. And with the moon, who watched again.

Yet this time she shed tears for you.