Content Warning: My writing is strictly not for minors. Please respect this boundary.
About Me: she/her. I am quite prone to anxiety and panic. If you wish to reach out, please be gentle with me. I truly appreciate kindness.
Purpose of this Blog: I’m not here to build a following. These posts are mainly my way of gauging whether my writing style fits the "x Reader" genre or if it's too strange for current tastes.
Dead Dove: I write for the "Dead Dove Do Not Eat" tag, including content that may be controversial or highly sensitive. At my core, I am mostly here as a reader.
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Warning: ooc, obsessive pining, voyeuristic tendencies, age gap (Reader is older than Lohen), bratty Lohen, verbal mockery/sarcasm, power dynamics, unrequited love (to mutual?), mild stalking, and mentions of sharp objects (daggers).
This is pretty poorly written, so please don’t expect too much.
Also, I’m not dead yet, guys (:3 」 ∠)
But seeing so many people following my account all of a sudden... it’s actually making me a bit nervous.
Your Lohen was the strangest man you had ever encountered in the Knights of Favonius. A ruggedly handsome man with mint-green hair streaked with the deep mossy hues found on ancient walls. His naturally curled lashes cast a soft shadow when he looked down, lending his face an unusually feminine grace. Those eyes, plum-red pupils encased in rings of green, did not reflect a single glimmer of light from the world around him. Yet, they vibrated ever so slightly, as his eyelids fluttering half-closed in indifference whenever he sensed someone lingering anxiously behind his back. Perhaps you had gone mad, but oh Barbatos, you were in love with that tiny black beauty mark resting peacefully beneath the Vice Captain's right eye. If the Anemo Archon were to grant you all the time in the world, you would humbly trade half your life just to kneel at his feet, begging for a single chance to kiss that small, dark dot.
You’re quite the oddity, aren’t you? Easily the strangest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I mean, no self-respecting woman stalks a man this shamelessly. It’s almost... desperate, don't you think?
Ah... it really makes me wonder what you’re fishing for. What exactly is it that you want from me, after all?
The church bells tolled, marking exactly three o'clock in the afternoon. The flock of pigeons that had been leisurely strolling across the stone courtyard, their heads nodding rhythmically with every tiny step, were suddenly startled by the sound and took flight, scattering across the sky. The children playing below stopped in their tracks, watching in delight. One pointed a finger, another jumped up with excitement. Of course, they always had all the time in the world to find wonder in the most familiar, trivial things. Children, after all.
A tranquil afternoon stretched across the peaceful land of the Wind God, which meant there were no risky assignments today. Lohen leaned his back against a stone pillar, his hands busy with something that required intense focus. He bowed his head low, letting his soft, messy bangs veil half of his face. A razor-sharp, finely honed dagger spun expertly between the fingers of his right hand. He let it whirl around his fingertips before the hilt danced nimbly through the gaps of his fingers, ending firmly in his toughened palm. Lohen chuckled to himself like a madman as he attempted to open a sprout-green healing potion in his left hand.
A soft tongue peeked out, licking a path along the seam of his lips before retreating behind his teeth. He grinned broadly, unbothered by how peculiar and raspy his laughter sounded. And just like that, Lohen caught the stopper of the vial between his teeth and pulled sharply with his left hand. A crisp pop echoed and faded instantly, followed by the thick, heavy scent of herbs permeating the air. A bit of the liquid splashed onto his fair cheeks; the rest dripped down onto the stone tiles beneath his heels.
"Must have used a bit too much force," he muttered to himself, looking down at the mess he had made.
The second the man thrust his dagger into the recovery vial with a raw, jagged sort of glee, his ears caught a clumsy rustling sound from the shadows nearby. The Vice Captain didn’t even deign to glance over; instead, his hand continued to swirl the blade, ensuring it was thoroughly bathed in the sprout-green liquid. But how could you have known? Beneath the veil of those messy bangs, his eyes were locked onto you with a gaze that was as provocative as it was expectant, a sultry, predatory look that seemed to dare you to move, watching with a hidden knowingness as if he were already savouring your next inevitable mistake.
You were drowned in a sea of illusory love, lost in the depths of suppressed emotions born from pure obsession. Your hands trembled violently, intertwining for a brief heartbeat before pulling apart to claw at the hem of your dress, wrinkling the fabric in your desperate grip. You couldn't find the words to describe the sheer euphoria of this moment... this was it. This was the closest you had ever been to your Lohen! Your body felt adrift, sweat drenching your forehead as if betraying the frantic, pounding heart hammering against your ribs. You were so blissfully overwhelmed that you could... you just could...
Yet, in the harsh light of reality, you realized you were no different from a common pervert.
Your feet hesitated, torn between stepping forward to strike up a conversation and stumbling backward to flee. You didn’t know what to do anymore, you didn’t know what to do at all! Because no matter what you chose, every decision you made felt like a mistake from its inception. You were destined to always choose the precarious paths, the ones that led astray. And so, your heart ached with gnawing regret, your legs remaining frozen as if rooted to the spot. That helplessness was mirrored in your downturned gaze, in the mournful press of your lips, and the faint sound of longing that escaped your throat.
"Goodness," Lohen’s voice drawled, thick with a lazy, mocking edge. "Peeping on others is a court-worthy offense if you get caught, you know."
You had blundered yet again... this time, the time before, and surely every time that was to come.
While your legs burned with a fierce desire to stand by the side of the man of your dreams, your mind was a storm of frantic anxiety at the mere vision of it. And so, you fled. It was the one thing you had mastered in this life. Burying your face in limp palms dampened by the sweat of your own panic, you bolted headlong from the scene. You didn’t even try to retreat quietly to save what pathetic shred of dignity you had left in front of the Vice Captain; you were driven by nothing but the pure, unadulterated instinct of a coward.
Only when the frantic rhythm of your footsteps died away did Lohen finally lift his head. An indescribable pensiveness swirled within his hollow eyes for a fleeting second, only to slip away like a sudden rain shower as he clicked his tongue in weary exasperation.
"Good grief," he muttered. "She's truly hopeless."
🥀 he's a real thorn in your side - and you'll never pluck him out.
yandere! luuk herssen x lovesick! fem! reader
A/N: Happy Friday 13th! The day after is Valentine's - how cool is that! I've been wanting to write for WUWA for ages now, but I never got around it. Please take these crumbs, sorry if I didn't nail his personality correctly. This was also sort of lazy, I think it was obvious. Oops.
Spring was inching closer - you could feel it. The air grew softer as days went by, the sunlight trickling down the heavy curtains, as soft orange light would illuminate whoever stood in its path.
You always fancied this view, particularly whenever it would hit the back of Luuk's head. Those golden tresses often made you question just if he was human or not - it was impossible for one man to be so beautiful.
Even more impossible was the fact that he was yours.
No one managed to grasp this fact, not one person. People would whisper down the halls, hushed whispers echoing softly against the dark pillars as Luuk walked towards his office, his smile as carefree as ever. The heat of the moment would get to you, jealousy bubbling deeply, like a cauldron ready to spill over at any given moment... Until your sweet boyfriend rests that palm of his against the small of your back or right at the back of your neck, his touch warm and sweet. His red eyes would look down fondly, that sugary voice of his all but reassuring that he's not going anywhere.
My little rosebud - that nickname became etched deep within your mind. He'd say it like it was nothing, as if those very words didn't make your heart flutter like a butterfly's wings. Those gloved fingers of his would trace the softness of your cheeks, heat pooling all over the skin as Luuk chuckled.
He always made sure to tease you just a bit. You couldn't help but to hate him a little for it.
Even with all his effort, fear was a constant companion. It would creep up in the most inopportune moments, such as Luuk treating other patients. Those same hands which used to soothe your soul, were now on someone else.
It made you feel sick.
Time and time again, whenever someone would cross the threshold of his office, Luuk never failed to greet that person with that same smile he always gave you. He was charming, handsome - who wouldn't fall for him?
Were you right to be worried?
He should feel ashamed for making you feel this way. Luuk had a duty to his patients and he could not ignore it, no matter how much he knew it made your heart ache. However, it would be a lie if he said that he didn't enjoy your constant attention.
Truly, him getting friendlier with the patients was not necessary. Giving them more attention than a doctor typically should would usually be pointless - but that look he'd get when it would be just the two of you... It set his soul on fire.
He never knew that he could care for another person this deeply. A part of him felt guilty, making you feel jealous on purpose. But it was all too tantalizing to stop, not when he had you right where he wanted you. There was no way you could get rid of him, not when he knew just how to reel you back in.
His rosebud was exactly where he planted her - right by his side.
Content Warnings: Dottore x Female!Reader. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Features yandere behavior, emotional manipulation, and unhealthy obsession. Prevalent themes of body horror, psychological distress, self-neglect, and religious imagery. Includes eventual cannibalism and an unreliable narrator. Read at your own discretion. Despite the tags, no actual cannibalism occurs in this chapter yet.
I’m basically just a Dottore simp, so... yeah. This chapter is very reader-centric, so feel free to skip if that’s not your thing. OMG, I actually hate how this turned out. I might hide it if I start cringing at my own writing again.
Where the blinding radiance of the sun sears those naive eyes of yours, look through the shifting shadows of the canopy and set your path toward the east. Your legs were crafted for movement; do not let them stagnate, lest they wither into uselessness.
Run, walk, crawl, or drag yourself—the primal instincts coursing through human blood urge them forward, toward a sprawling future that lies in wait. One cannot fathom what embrace awaits them once they emerge from the dark tunnel, yet they cling to a single belief… that where they truly belong must surely lie beyond that light.
And to attain that absolute salvation, you must continue what you are doing.
Walk toward me, come to my side.
Experimental Log 033.
The Descent of Inanna (or Knockin' on Heaven's Door)
Subject has arrived in Sumeru City.
In the still darkness, upon the first step, I ask that you shed a single ornament from your person. Let us begin with that keepsake from your grandmother, the necklace.
[...]
Ever since meeting that man with the blue hair, you didn't know why, but you felt this strange sense of relief. It was as if his presence were the hands of a giant, forcefully snapping the invisible chains that had been bound around your ankles for so long. He lifted you up, carrying you far away—to the drifting clouds, over majestic hills, or beneath the rolling waves where ships lumbered slowly into the distance.
Since he entered your life, the empty calendar once tossed aside on your desk is now covered in red circles and messy lines crossing out hurried notes. At night, you hold onto a gentle version of him in your mind, a silly and satisfied smile on your face. Your thighs press together, rubbing against each other as your hand trembles with both anxiety and excitement, splayed out before your tear-filled eyes. You lie there on your own messy bed, where there barely seems to be enough room for you to even rest.
This room, which had long become a cramped and damp cocoon, held a chrysalis whose desire for freedom had slowly died over time. You imprisoned yourself in intoxicating dreams of him, willingly becoming blind, content to live in a dark cave for a lifetime. Or perhaps, you were simply like an ugly larva that yearned for the painful beauty of its own life cycle, rather than spinning silk to become a splendid butterfly.
The mess here wasn't the result of laziness, but the aftereffect of a mind overloaded by lovesickness. Perhaps, in the end, this strange and consuming thing was what they called love. Or were those who praised it just standing on the tip of an iceberg, painting a lush fantasy over the landscape of romance? Because you knew that for those who had sunk deep beneath the surface, that fertile land took the shape of a quagmire; once you set foot in it, you could never escape.
But then, is love not its own kind of opium? Every living thing instinctively fights to break its shackles and reach for freedom, for the will to survive is far more primal than any selfish thought. And yet, in the end, we still crawl back to the root of our own agony, like an addict dragging himself toward the very poison that ruined his life. Perhaps, after all, humans are simply creatures born to be bound to misery and pain.
On the floor, long dresses and thin blouses lay overlapping like the shed husks of cicadas after a molting season, creating chaotic waves of fabric that led to the foot of the bed. They were tossed aside carelessly, simply because they didn't carry his warmth, or because you had tried them on and taken them off dozens of times, only to ask yourself: "What should I wear to look beautiful? Perhaps Lord Dottore will be at the Grand Bazaar tomorrow!"
Papers mingled with sketches of him were scattered everywhere, mixed with pieces of stale, soft bread and a cup of tea that had long gone cold under the dim oil lamplight. Every stain on the floor, every wrinkle on the bedsheet, was proof of the long nights you lay awake, using your loneliness to sharpen the ache to have his hands on this withering body.
But what could you do? Your bed isn't a place to shut your eyes and sleep; it should have been the place where that man held you in his strong arms. But what was there to do? You yearned to cling to his back, for your newly filed, sharp fingernails to dig into and ruin that crisp, blue shirt. Your trembling hand reached for the jabot at his collar, catching the soft fabric between your teeth and pulling down gently.
Beneath this skin, you suddenly felt so strangely empty. As if all your organs had been eroded by time and obsession, or perhaps they had never been there from the moment you took your first breath.
Your blood was now a lazy river, drifting idly through the narrow vessels of your body before converging at the center of your chest, a tender and fragile basin. When your mind was filled with his image, that river would rise, calm and gentle like a lullaby, soothing the cells that were exhausted from hunger and anxiety. But now, as your strength drained away, as the tide of life began to recede and reveal the dry, barren riverbed, reality began to surface.
From the bottom of that dry river, sharpened wooden stakes, which had been driven deep into your flesh for who knows how long, were gradually revealed. When the blood was no longer full enough to cover them, every breath, every step, made those stakes drive straight into your sternum.
It hurts so much, Lord Dottore…
My dearest Dottore, my God, please soothe me with your rough hands. Please use those calluses to touch my pathetic body, to caress it, to soothe me in the same way your gaze embraces me.
The morning light seeps through the cracks of the dusty curtains again, cutting a sharp line that splits your chaotic room in two. You loosen your hands that were gripping the wrinkled sheets, letting them fall limp on the mattress. The warmth from last night’s delusions vanishes faster than the blink of an eye, leaving only a cold emptiness to cling to your skin.
You lay there, motionless, staring at the ceiling. There it was again, the same, unfamiliar ceiling. Beyond the first sunbeams dancing outside the window, the Akademiya was calling to you, with its promise of an open future waiting at the end of the tunnel.
You have to get up now. Pick up your uniform, brush your hair neatly, and gather your documents to start a new day. Because every step you take, whether in clarity or in delirium, is meant to close the distance between you and your Lord.
Do NOT be deceived by this man's seemingly happy puppy and sunshine boy looks. If you feel the slightest bit of interest, it's not too late to save yourself. RUN AWAY. Do NOT let his beautiful blue eyes, muscular arms and plush thighs distract you. He is EVIL. He will lure you in with his charms, get you invested in his past with his sad pathetic gaze and a suspicious doppelganger who's somehow twice his size will headlock your interest in place. I repeat : RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN. He is DEVIOUS, A COSMIC LEVEL THREAT TO ANYONE WITH A HEART. Once you're in too deep he's going to become THE SUN and transform into an illegally HOT looking Emanator and he's going to go berserk on freaking NANOOK that you'll ALSO find HOT because at this point you're beyond saving for anyone and you think the pain is peak writing so you bear with it and futilely write warning posts like this disguised as a vague cry for help (do not help me) so that another innocent simp won't fall prey to this EVIL entity called ████████
I’m back again to share more of my headcanons! Just a heads-up: it might be a bit ooc, so please proceed with caution!
Warning: This headcanon features yandere themes, ooc, manipulative behavior, gaslighting, financial dependency, obsessive possessiveness, objectification, power imbalance, and implied non-con. It contains depictions of extreme control over the reader's personal freedom and needs. Please proceed with caution.
Pantalone is a man who understands the value of every mora. He is notoriously strict regarding the Fatui's funding and expenses. However, he is far more lenient with his personal wealth when it comes to you.
That being said, he still maintains absolute control over your spending. Every purchase must go through him. You are required to seek his approval for even the smallest whims, ensuring you are entirely financially dependent on him.
On the other hand, when he takes you shopping, he observes you with predatory precision. He pays close attention to your reactions, especially if you tend to be a people-pleaser. For instance, when he asks you to try on a dress and you give a polite, lukewarm response, he isn’t listening to your words; he is reading your body language.
If your eyes wander or your speech falters, he knows you're lying to avoid offending him. He won't call you out. Instead, he’ll calmly tell you to change back into your old clothes, stating he’ll help you find something else. He then watches how you look at the price tags and the fabrics to deduce exactly what you desire but are too shy to claim.
When he finally points out the item you actually wanted, and sees you look radiant yet bashful, he will buy it without hesitation. He doesn't need to ask why you're afraid to speak your mind. He prefers to remain silent, observing and "knowing" you better than you know yourself. To him, lectures are unnecessary when he can simply stay within your comfort zone until he decides otherwise. He is a man of yearning, an adorer who finds your hesitation charming.
However, he draws a sharp line regarding when to push you out of that comfort zone. For small gifts, he is proactive, proving his dominance through "understanding you better than yourself." But for anything regarding your freedom, personal needs, or requests to go out, he will force you to beg.
He is a hypocrite, a manipulator or call him any name you wish, and he will accept it with a smile. He loves you so deeply that your insults sound like praise to his ears, and a man always enjoys being complimented by his lover.
Pantalone has a particular fixation on your hands. He never hesitates to press kisses to your palms, the backs of your hands, your knuckles, and the sensitive skin between your fingers. Sometimes, his kisses trail from your wrist all the way up your arm.
He expects you to use everything he buys for you. He wants you to turn to him for everything, only to find that he has already provided it. Since he won't allow you to work, you have no choice but to rely on the allowance he graciously provides.
His manipulation is blatant: he craves the sight of you pleading for what you want. He isn't an extremist, he is incredibly patient and considerate. He’ll often close his eyes with a gentle smile, patting your head while asking, "My dear, what brings you here today?"
He knows exactly why you're there, but he loves to play the fool.
If you hesitate, he will simply stare at you with half-lidded eyes and a tilted head, waiting. He might even help you by whispering, "Come now, why don't we start by telling me how you've been lately?"
He will gently coax you until you find the courage to voice your desires. The man lacks nothing, especially not patience. However, whether he grants your wish is entirely up to his whim. Sometimes he agrees, only to say he "needs more time to think," intentionally forcing you to plead further.
He especially loves it when you use physical touch (hugging him or snuggling against his chest) to sway him. He knows you're trying to manipulate him back, and it amuses him because, in reality, he had already decided to say "yes". He just wanted to see how far you’d go to please him.
He views pampering you as an investment, and every time you beg, it’s the interest he collects. He is The Regrator, after all.
You can certainly exploit his weaknesses: he has a soft spot for physical touch (especially when you act like a needy, clingy cat) or when you shed sincere tears. However, these tactics only work a limited number of times. If you overplay your hand, the "debt" will become heavy. This debt doesn't usually fall on your head immediately, it’s cumulative. He might let it slide once or twice, but once the debt is high enough, he will make you pay back both the principal and the interest. It’s not about money, it’s about forcing you to follow his rules to the letter. It will be an unpleasant experience, so you’d better know when to stop.
In my headcanon, Pantalone differs from other yanderes in that he doesn’t mind you wearing revealing clothes in public. In fact, he’s quite proud of it, even when other men stare. He is supremely confident because he knows you are in his arms, and only he can provide you with such a lavish lifestyle. Others can look, but they could never provide for you the way he does, and more importantly, they wouldn't stay by your side when you’re at your worst. His confidence stems from total control.
While he doesn't mind the stares, he expects you to stay glued to his side whenever you’re out.
It’s all calculated: Snezhnaya is a land of eternal winter, harsh and unforgiving. Wearing revealing clothes there is like going to a battlefield naked. Eventually, the biting cold will force you to seek warmth in his heavy, fur-lined coats.
This makes you feel like he’s being kind, when in reality, he loses nothing. In every scenario, the profit always flows back to Pantalone. The house always wins, doesn't it?
On a more peculiar note, Pantalone has a fetish for personally putting on your socks and shoes. He doesn't force you to dress a certain way, which feels liberating, but he will always have you sit on a chair while he kneels on one knee to dress your feet. He is particularly fond of thigh-high socks (no joke). It gives him a legitimate excuse to touch your thighs without looking like he has bad intentions. He usually pulls them up very slowly, his palms pressing firmly against your skin as the fabric slides up.
Pantalone usually wears gloves and many rings, right? During these moments, he’ll take them off, leaving only your matching couple’s ring. If he knows you’re watching, he’ll put on a show. He might pull off a glove using his teeth, refusing to look at you until it's done. It’s a trap designed to make you feel like the "guilty" one for staring.
He just wants an excuse to touch your thighs like that. He is, quite literally, a pervert disguised as a gentleman. The same meticulous care applies to putting on your shoes.
Now, let’s see how Pantalone reacts when other Harbingers take an interest in you (specifically these two, because I’m a bit lazy...). Please keep in mind this is headcanon and might lean into OOC territory.
✶Childe (Tartaglia)
Pantalone views Childe as nothing more than a child who lacks financial discipline. To him, Childe is a liability, someone who constantly destroys property and drains the Northland Bank’s funds for his reckless missions.
When thinking about Childe’s antics, Pantalone maintains a disdainful yet smiling composure. He doesn’t even consider Childe a worthy rival in romance.
If Childe dares to approach or flirt with you, Pantalone won't waste a second. He’ll simply adjust his gloves, keep that perfect smile on his face, and remind Childe of the latest damage invoices from Liyue or Inazuma.
"You seem to have quite a bit of spare time on your hands, don't you, Tartaglia? Perhaps I should consider a 30% cut to your military budget next quarter, so you can focus more on your duties... and less on items that do not belong to you."
In short, he uses financial leverage to force Childe to back off.
✶Il Dottore
This dynamic is far more complex, as Pantalone is the primary financier for Dottore’s experiments. Dottore is mad and indifferent to money, yet he requires an endless supply of it to sustain his madness.
Unlike his attitude toward Childe, Pantalone is extremely vigilant and sharp when it comes to the Doctor. He knows Dottore is incapable of "normal" love. If Dottore shows interest in you, it’s likely out of biological curiosity or a desire to find Pantalone's weakness.
Pantalone will use a transactional warning to set boundaries.
"Doctor, I believe your segments are at a critical stage and require a vast amount of expensive materials from Sumeru. I am eagerly looking forward to the results of your other projects, so... do not make me lose my appetite for signing your checks."
His method is a silent, mutual agreement. Pantalone uses his "capital" to build a wall between you and Dottore. He knows the Doctor is far too intelligent to sacrifice his life’s work over a woman. After all, it’s hard to believe Dottore would ever love someone purely for the sake of it.
For the next part, I’ll be sharing my thoughts on how Pantalone disciplines or corrects your attitude and behavior. But it’s going to take some time to put together 😓
I wanted to share a new fanfic idea I’m working on for Dottore x Female!Reader. Yes, it’s just Dottore this time. And as for the things I shared before… well, never mind those. I have this habit of writing everything out and then just abandoning it without editing because I lose interest 💔
I’d be sooooo happy to hear your thoughts! But honestly, if you don't have any, that’s totally fine too. This is just the opening, and I might change things as I continue writing. If there are any logic errors, please remind me gently or just overlook them until I notice and adjust them myself (I’m a bit shy about these things)
Does anyone actually find this interesting? 💔🥀
Where the blinding radiance of the sun sears those naive eyes of yours, look through the shifting shadows of the canopy and set your path toward the east. Your legs were crafted for movement; do not let them stagnate, lest they wither into uselessness.
Run, walk, crawl, or drag yourself—the primal instincts coursing through human blood urge them forward, toward a sprawling future that lies in wait. One cannot fathom what embrace awaits them once they emerge from the dark tunnel, yet they cling to a single belief… that where they truly belong must surely lie beyond that light.
And to attain that absolute salvation, continue what you are doing.
Walk toward me, come to my side.
Experimental Log 033.
The Descent of Inanna (or Knockin' on Heaven's Door)
Subject has arrived in Sumeru City.
In the still darkness, upon the first step, I ask that you shed a single ornament from your person. Let us begin with that keepsake from your grandmother, the necklace.
