#testing the waters... ill post this here too...

[baristavenus]

i got a nasty obsession w this game ♡ may repost some of my art here for funsies

[3liza]

this was in the tags of a very funny screenshot and i didnt want to derail there, so i will make a new post: dishwashers manufactured after 2013 take MUCH less water than washing dishes by hand. it seems counterintuitive but it is provably true and has been tested extensively. if you are washing dishes by hand as a way to lower utility bills you are shooting yourself in the foot. dishwashers also sterilize dishes and in general are much much much much cleaner than hand washing, which becomes extra important if you live with anyone who has immune issues, long covid, cancer, etc. if you tried to hand wash your dishes with the temperature possible inside a dishwasher you would get serious burns. it's not physically possible to hand wash dishes and get them cleaner (as in, the amount of bacteria and other contaminants on the surface) than you can with a dishwasher. its almost like an autoclave in there

also do not use sponges to clean things but thats a different post

oh my god i went looking for the sponge bacteria post and found these tags. everyone on this website needs to pay attention in school when they teach you about germ theory. i personally know four people who became permanently crippled from getting basic bacterial food poisoning once. bacteria does in fact make you drop dead, but more often it just makes you permanently ill for the rest of your life. i know "hygiene hypothesis" (being too clean makes you sicker in the long run) was big for a while in the 2000s but its been mostly debunked

it's obvious and inarguable that having a dishwasher at all is a first world thing, and only the wealthy or lucky members of the first world. it's a luxury. what im trying to say is that if you have access to one of these luxury machines, please use it. i run into so many people who have dishwashers and dont use them and then backpat themselves about water saving and cleanliness, both of which are measurably worse with handwashing. its not virtuous or practical or efficient to wash dishes by hand if you have a functional dishwasher.

questions of "laziness" etc can be referred to other discussions of disability vs protestantism and wont be addressed here. but i will mention that i know a few people who have to hand wash and have been able to use a barstool to make being at the sink for long periods of time easier.

[tmkutawrites]

A World Turned Upside Down

My dear friends, it has Been A Minute. Yes, this is my first post on this blog since September 2025, and my last post was a promise to make sure everything got uploaded once I got home from Nova Scotia.

My, my, how things change.

[The tests for the infection that changed my life]

You see, on my way home from Nova Scotia, I popped positive for COVID. And then…oh, and then. In the last few months, I have had the following harrowing medical adventure:

Had a massive, near-anaphylactic reaction to an unknown trigger at a convention

Slowly became “allergic to everything” including: all food, literal water, and my own house

Went to the ER…twice

Lost 20 pounds in two weeks because I was unable to eat for four days straight

Discovered my house was infested with mold

Had to temporarily move out of said home and back in with my father

Had 30+ vials of blood drawn (with very little answers out of that)

Been to 20+ doctors appointments across 5+ doctors of various specialties

Was medically gas lit, refused treatment, and nearly killed by one of those said doctors

Loaded up with enough antihistamines and steroids to tranquilize an elephant

Finally (finally!) found a specialist who started treating me properly at the end of Decmeber

[Views from my 1st ER visit, before things got Really Bad] "You're too young to be having chest pain. [...] Just take some Tylenol or antacid." [deadpan] "I did. It didn't work. That's why I'm here." "...oh."

As it turns out, when COVID spontaneously triggers a disease that flips your immune system upside down, sends your autonomic nervous system spiraling, and turns your mast cells into a trembling, neurotic, over-reactive little chihuahua of a guard dog… well, you lose the ability to function.

It is hard to describe my slide into hell quantitatively for those who didn’t witness it firsthand, but I went from writing a book in 4.5 months, cycling 30 miles once a week, and voraciously reading at least one book a week to… not. I tested positive for COVID the same day Charlie Kirk was shot. By the end of December, I was unable to stand for more than 5 minutes at a time, engage in any socialization/hobbies, or even idly scroll through social media. All of my energy went to attempting to feed myself what little I could and trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me.

[Traveling with spontaneous allergic reactions/mast cell degranulation at random environmental triggers includes all of the fun emergency supplies. And a cute capybara nightlight. For balance.]

It was here where my fandom connections "saved" me once again.

I use saved in the loosest term, because I wish I hadn't had it. You see, I was on tumblr for @joydemorra's slide into MCAS hell. Watching a friend go through that sort of thing, especially when you’re thousands of miles away and there is absolutely nothing you can do, is one of those things that sears itself behind your retinas and haunts you at night. So when my symptoms started up, I recognized what was going on immediately.

It took a little bit (or a lot bit) longer to convince my medical team of what I knew. By the time they finally got on board/I fired my first allergist, I had slid so far and so fast that I had become a shell of my former self.

[The author at their sickest/gauntest during the last 3 months]

I am, frankly, extremely lucky. I have decent health care and a day job that is (so far) invested in keeping me around despite [gestures at the last 3 months]. I had a place to go to escape the mold making everything worse, and amazing friends and family who are helping me weather the storm. I am extremely type A, organized, manage construction projects for a living, so I was able to apply those skills to managing my newly developed and rapidly degrading chronic illness.

[One of my Spreadsheets of Doom, which track my daily medications, symptoms, menstrual cycle, and more!]

I didn’t know that testing positive for COVID on September 10, 2025 would turn my entire life upside down, but here we are. It is only now, about 2.5 weeks into starting treatment—treatment I begged and pleaded for over a month before I found a doctor who would listen—that I am starting to recognize myself again.

[Glass of water in an Addams Family cup, and silver packet of Cromolyn Sodium medication, a mass cell stabilizer and the first step of my new treatment]

Answers are starting to come into sharper focus as I respond to medication and get the scans I should have been given weeks ago. The exhaustion and brain fog are slowly starting to lift and I am able to start considering things other than survival. I’m starting to daydream about my characters again, and have scribbled ideas down for a new story or two now that I am no longer “disassociating and dragging my corpse along behind me.” Some day soon I might even have the energy to sit down and write them!

As we continue to trial drugs that stabilize my condition and get me back on my feet, I’ll continue to be a little less active on social media but don’t worry! I’m still here and I’m still kickin’! My misbehaving mast cells can get in line with all the government entities and assholes who want people like me and mine dead.

I have stories to tell to keep my community out of the dark, and I’m not going anywhere until I do. Until I post again please take good care, wear your mask, and take your meds. We need you! <3

[rini-yaki]

a Good Night's Sleep.

ꕥ you're sick and sukuna pays a visit at night to tend to you while you are asleep. fluff. pining. pretty short. kind of bullshit.

wc: 1.2k

extra: i am sick, like i am sick but not sick enough maybe so this might be just a BS post. but im coping here, i have tests next week and i want to be admitted ASAPPP

heian era| gn! reader x heian!kuna | Master Binder

you were sick. ill. had a fever. the plague. whatever you want to call it, whatever it was, you felt like you were dying from your throat to everything else.

but even so, sukuna saw you trudge through the day with a handkerchief always in your hand and constantly over your mouth when speaking. he saw you diligently check over the girls who worked under you, nodded respectfully with the cooks, doing your job as normally as you could.

and he gives you credit, somehow, you managed to finish your day as usual, only disappearing twice to rest. which meant you were sleeping on the job, or the floor in this case. you weren't proud, but you knew that it would be worth it if it meant everything went smoothly.

that night, you feel your sickness spike once more, sneezes became messier, head became foggier, ears warmer, just general discomfort all over.

"a good night's sleep.", would cure it, you told yourself.

you barely managed to change into your nightly robes properly before flopping onto your thin mattress. pulling the covers that has been worn out too much over you, you closed your eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

around midnight, sukuna came. arrived at your door with uraume, both pairs of arms crossed, uraume held a trey of warm water and a small cloth.

the ominous pair sat beside you, sukuna didn't tear his eyes away from your tense face. it was so unlike any other expression you wore, it was perplexed even when you were supposed to be unconscious.

but what stir something inside the king stronger wasn't that you were sick, but that you were as vulnerable as you were. this is the heian era, sickness isn't as curable as it is right now. medicine exists, but not enough for people to be completely at ease when they start feeling the sniffles.

especially since medicine is only created by and mainly for monks and aristocrats, it's not easy for peasants or everyday citizens to get their hands on.

sukuna knew this and brought nearly everything from the palace pharmacy, he knew not about each herb or antidote, but he brought it as a last resort of sorts.

uraume briefly murmured the ones they recommend for your illness, and with a single look from their lord, leaves without a trace. but in their cold nature, you shiver as the amount of people in your room decreases by one.

with that, sukuna start dipping the towel in the steamed water, straining out the excess water, he folds it neatly to put it on top of your head. and places one of his towel beneath your head for the sake of your damp hair.

hands that dealt the deaths of millions, rough from destruction, limbs that only knew how to attack and spar, now they lay a small cloth on top of a 'fragile' human head. sukuna knew he wouldn't hurt you, he had that much self control, but still, it never hurt a man to be careful.

you always had managed to bring out this unsureness that he never knew lay dormant in his burning soul. this extra layer of caution whenever it was you and not another face in the crowd, you summoned a version of sukuna that sukuna himself didn't recognize. but perhaps that is because he denies the effect you have on him.

how your pattering steps across the court would always somehow call for his attention despite how much it doesn't concern him, how commanding you were, how careful you were with details, never accepting anything less than utter perfection for those who were stationed above you.

and yet, woke up earlier than everyone else to rid of anything that could become a problem later in the day. and at the end of each day, if the lord was lucky, he would be able to see you walk parallel to the setting sun, your eyes soften at each dusk.

oh how mother nature seemed to favor you with each season, each bloom, each famine, each flood, each harvest, each cloudless sky with you stumbling through the field of weeds, sukuna was almost jealous at how each scenery that had the blessing of standing behind you, seemed to revolve around you.

he fixes your robe politely, loose ends were tightened with his help and care, now fastened to guarantee more warmth. sukuna disappears once and comes back as soundless before, now with a thicker blanket in his arms to help compensate with that sorry sack that maids called 'covers'.

but as he slides open the door, he is startled at the sight of you crawling out of the bed for the alluring warmth of the small tub of steaming water. your movements were sluggish and not nearly as coordinated as usual.

you were awake, just not sensing a single thing. you let out a cough when sukuna hauls you back to bed, reapplying the soaked towel back on your forehead. your eyes were barely open, shoulders squared even after sukuna veils you with his second layer.

he wasn't expecting you to wake, but with this given opportunity, he mixes the recipe uraume whispered to him that night. it smelt of herbs and the feeling of steam teased your freezing body, and you turn to the side with the warmth. sukuna had to fix the towel once more because of how often you were shifting.

in the hour he spent with you uninterrupted, he tended to you silently, not a single word. not because he was worried of waking you, but because it might give away his position. yeah, sure.

he watched over you, how your face was more relaxed now that you were bundled up tighter and more secure. it made him feel like you were safer, and he made sure you swallowed all the medicine he had given you.

when you seemed to sleep more soundly, he holds one of his hands out. and it barely grazes your cheek, before he retracts his hand. he hesitates, not wanting to scare you or wake you. that is not the impression he wants to leave.

sukuna wanted you to look at him properly, he wanted to see you light up at the sight of him, not straighten your back and bow. and helping you sleep well is done and feel better just to make that happen.

once he is satisfied at your pacified state, he leaves. but arrives at dawn to take the extra blanket away because once he thought about it, something uncontrolled started spilling in his chest at the thought of you with something of his. you draped in something of his.

so when you wake up, you feel much better. after drinking some water to help with your throat, you started your day, much more bubblier and sharper than the day before. carrying on with your tasks as the dutiful employee you were.

and when someone asked you how you got better so fast, you pause, but then you smile. and while you can't see him, sukuna sees the exchange, listening with extreme concentration.

"perhaps the result of a good night's sleep."

of course, anything to see you shining. you'll look at him one day.

[calebtapioca]

harley sawyer as your husband

ps… continuation of this post. fem! reader w/ harley as a human. possibly ooc and not proofread. nsfw at the end.

thinking about . . . his sleepy face as he lazily brushes his teeth in your tiny shared bathroom in the morning next to you. his eyes are blinking owlishly, his hair messy and curled against his sleep flushed face. he pinches your forearm when he catches you staring at him a little too hard— but he knows and you maybe know it, it’s a sight not many get the pleasure of seeing(& living)

thinking about . . . all the emails he drafts to you; it’s a small reprieve when work is tedious and frustrating, airing how much bearable it would be if you were there to keep him company. he solemn sends it, but after his disappearance from human society, he wishes there was some things he said more out loud.

think about . . . how he calls you ‘my wife’, emphasis on the my part. he prides himself on not being the jealous type but something ticks him off when one of his colleagues manages to make you laugh a little too hard. “what exactly is so amusing?”

thinking about . . . his scoff when it’s cold outside and your ill fitted clothes are doing little to protect you from the weather. “if i recall correctly i did warn you for this,” he flicks your forehead but he has already peeled off his coat and pressed it over your shoulders. the sleeves and collar run a little big on your frame, your fingers peeking from beneath the cuffs. it’s doesn’t miss on him how they twitch. “give me your hand,” he sighs, slipping his fingers through to hold it. predictably it’s cold and he tightens his grip just a tiny bit. “if you get sick i will have to deal with it and i will not miss work over this.”

thinking about . . . “i told you so,” he sighs when he tests your temperature with the back of his hand, warm to the touch. you sniffle weakly as he blows on the soup he’s bought before he gives it to you, testing to make sure it’s not too hot. “it’s almost 10, you should get ready for work,” you say around a spoonful. his brows furrow and he looks mildly offended at the suggestion. “i will be staying right here.” “i thought you said you couldn’t miss work.” “the fever has made you delirious.”

thinking about . . . how he remembers everything you say. you think he’s just saying ‘mhms’ and ‘yeahs’ with brief nods of his head for show, only for you to get caught unawares when he brings it up later. “oh this thing? hmm you mentioned it earlier ago. when? a week ago or so.”

thinking about . . . teaching you how to hold and use a scalpel. his chest is pressed to your back, voicing instructions into your ear and he guides you how to hold and use it. “control comes from the fingers not the wrist,” he says, adjusting the angle. “just like that. you look so well listening to me.”

nsfw

thinking about . . . how cruel he can be even in public. his fingers would mindlessly thumb over the controls, the bud of the toy against your clit jumping to life randomly during your outings. the little fucker gives you a knowing grin, faux concern pouring from his lips as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “oh my dear, why has you looking so red? i’ll have the waiter bring us a cold water.”

thinking about . . . how he mostly likely has written notes of your anatomy buried in a locked drawer. he’s noted down all the things that make you make you come undone, what’s makes you arouse, where to bite and touch you; he knows your body more than his own hands. probably has fantasized hypothesized ways to make you dumbed out for him.

thinking about . . . cockwarming him as he tries to teach you something. he taps on the document, asking you to repeat back to him what it says but your words are broken between a string of moans, his cock pressing impossibly deeper when he’s gives an imperceptible shift of his hips. he isn’t in a rush either, willing to tease you until you get it right. moments when you almost correctly recite the passage, he would buck into you, forcing you to restart again.

thinking about . . . phone sex when he’s away for days on work trips. he’s instructing you what to do all the while his voice remains steady like he’s answering a work question.

———

might write up one more part as i didn’t include some. tho if u have any crumbs for thought, drop it in my inbox hehe

[kumezyzo]

AFTER A NIGHT IN SHINJUKU

III... BUNDLE OF CELLS

summary....the first years have finally become third years! What better way to celebrate your survival to your final year of freedom in the not-at-all free life of Jujutsu High than to get drunk with your fellow graduating class! What could possibly go wrong?! The guy you hated youre entire highschool career getting you pregnant? Well.... you survived the worst of it, haven't you?

content warnings.... MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst. medium weight angst, one night stand, pregnancy, heavy fucking tension, they banter a lot, co-parenting, mentions of drunk sex, mentions of underage sex, pretty heavy smut in the later chapters ig

authors note... dunno if i mentioned this is on ao3. its gonna be updated of the beautiful ao3 before it goes on here lol. so this chapter is already on there but i still hope yall enjoy it! tomorrow ill post chapter IV on there! also, i just got off work so thats why im posting this so late 😖😖 anyway, enjoy!!

word count. 1.1k

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No, this was not funny at all. You were panicking now, actually. The mental torture had turned into actual full-on stomach churning fear. This couldn't possibly be happening. Not to you. You were convinced you really had died in Shibuya and this was truly hell. There was no other explanation for this. No other explanation for the sack of cells growing in your uterus.

You couldn’t even piece together how you got to the infirmary in the first place. Just that you were there and that Shoko—the ever thorough medic—ran every test she knew to figure out why you had been so nauseous and fatigued after a normal sparring match.

Oh, right. You were sparring with Megumi. Already something that was making your heart race beyond simple embarrassment and nerves. Another added influence forcing you to keep your cursed energy from flaring up. Instead of focusing on offense to your full mental capacity, you were fumbling, mistepping, letting his stupid bunnies trip you up. Literally.

Regardless, he had you on your ass sooner than usual. More like your back. You tried to chalk it up to him honing in on his abilities more over the summer. But the way he was barely breaking a sweat as he pinned you down to the grass, and the familiarity of the position, and the image flashing behind your eye lids every time you blinked… you couldn’t just say he was better than you. Your pride was on the line. But granted, so was your grade.

You swallowed hard as you stared up at him. And he took far too long to get up for the comfort of the gentle throbbing between your legs. When he did get up and reached his hand out to you, you refused to take it. And it proved to be a mistake when you wobbled back down, unaware of how weak your legs had grown and how much the world had started spinning.

It was when you felt bile rise up your throat, a gag following behind it, that had everyone worried. Your teacher was quick at your side, helping you stand and bringing you to Shoko. Of course, you insisted that you were fine. But regardless, he forced you into her office where she made you give her the laundry list of your symptoms.

She gave you some flu medicine, telling you to take it easy and drink lots of water. But before you could even get up to leave, she asked you the dreaded question. The same question any other doctor would have asked right after asking when your last period occurred. When was the last time you were sexually active?

You were hesitant to tell her. Nowadays, she was the closest thing to a mother any of you had. Just the idea of tainting her image of you was mortifying. So you lied. And she asked the next question, obviously not having believed you. She knew. She had to have known deep in her heart and all knowing mind. Is there any way you're pregnant?

You felt the blood drain from your face and your heart drop down into the pits of hell. Nausea hit you in another wave and you shakily drank your ginger ale. Shoko was oddly quick to hand you a medical cup, her voice more hesitant when she asked you to try. Just to rule it out.

And that's how you seemed to be in your current state. After you awkwardly went to the bathroom and peed in the cup, she tested it and soothed you while you waited for the results. She sounded so sure in her reassurance. She said there was nothing to be worried about, not mentioning how that would only be the case if you were telling the truth. She even reassured that she would have asked Nobara to do the same—with much more resistance from that teen—just to rule it out.

But now it was the only option. The lines were faint. Almost as if they werent there. Almost. Yes, there was a chance of a false positive. So you made her test it again. And as she stuck another testing strip into the cup, another godforsaken memory flashed in your mind. One that was less inebriated, much clearer, and much more invasive now than ever before.

That morning, you had to shower thoroughly, washing off the smell of Megumi Fushiguro from your body. But that also included fluids. And between your legs had far too many fluids to have been just yours. You could remember how easily it dripped out of you when you stood in your doorway, contemplating your life choices, everything that led up to that moment. Just as you were again, sitting in Shoko's office, hearing her read out another positive result.

She asked you another question. This one making everything crash down on you much heavier than before. You started to realize you'd have to tell him. Speak to him about it. Let him know that you remembered. That it was still on your mind after weeks. So many weeks. You wanted to reverse time. Tell your younger self to not touch alcohol—and that sea urchin while you're at it—with a ten foot pole. 

But there was no such thing as 'should have'. Just a pit in your stomach growing larger than Japan. And the baby. If you could even call it that. More like the parasite that had been sucking your energy out of you and consuming your nutrients and causing such truly diabolical nausea created with the help of your classmate turned… ex? Maybe that was too high a title.

“You don't have to tell me who it is,” Shoko spoke again softly, her hand resting on your shoulder. “And you don't necessarily have to tell him either.”

You plopped your face down into your hands, shaking as a sob shook you. It wasn’t even really that you were sad about anything, just deeply upset. You couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling. But the closest thing was anger. An aching and burning anger. You just didn't know who to direct it at.

The options seemed endless. Yourself being the first to come to mind. How could you allow yourself to get drunk enough to fuck Megumi Fushiguro? How could you let Megumi Fushiguro fuck you so stupid that you let him cum inside of you? And how… How could you let yourself think for a second that life was going to be easy on you now?

Then you thought about blaming everyone else. Shoko for running the test. Nobara for convincing you all to drink. Yuji for pushing you and Megumi to get along that night. Sukuna for hating the world and the sorcerers in it. Gojo for making you love him like a father knowing he could die going up against the King of Curses. Your mother for dying and leaving you to figure out the cruel and disgusting jujutsu world all on your own. The stupid goddamn sperm that beat the race to life that was starting to grow inside of you.

“You have options. I can help you figure them out, if you want me there with you,” Shoko was soothing you as best she could, hugging you close. She smelled of cigarettes and some form of sanitizer. For even just a moment, as you breathed in to cleanse the heaviness in your chest, you felt... okay.

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taglist: @fattypatty04 @sjisoulyz @bobblewonka @nonchalantfiend @dreamydaredevil

a/n... i hope you guys enjoyed. this is such a fun chapter lowk. its angsty and yall know i love angst hehe. please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!!! <33 -nony

all works done by me @kumezyzo and no one else. rest assured that i will never write using the assistance of ai <3

[kttyzyo]

I love all your fics especially the newest cowgirl one even though the country accents make me laugh so hard 😭😭Ive asked questions before but I wanna request now so ill be req.

I wanna req on how Jihyo would be during aftercare. Like how nice she would be and how she cares for y/n after!

݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ AFTERCARE

ּ ֶָ֢. pairing . park jihyo x fem! reader

synopsis . jihyo's a giver :)

ּ ֶָ֢. content . suggestive, post-smut fluff. aftercare. flirting. baths. soft kisses.

notes . sosososososooo sorry this took so long

your head lolls back, chest panting up and down slowly.

jihyo shifts, leaning up your body and peppering slow, wet kisses to your sides and up your chest, to your neck, and then your jaw, with a final stop at your lips. she sighs into you, and brushes slowly against you. the taste of yourself if strong on her lips, and you grimace enough to make her chuckle, as her dominant hand rubs your hip.

"not a fan?" she murmurs, eyeing you as you sigh, peeking into her own gaze.

"no." you murmur shortly, breathing out. "..god, jihyo."

the older chuckles, her body fitting prettily into yours. soft brushes of her hand up your still slightly quivering thighs, while thee other squeezed your hip. "yes, pretty girl? you okay?" she kissed under your jaw, and murmured.

your eyes slipped shut, as you loosely nodded. "..yeah..?"

jihyo hummed, lifting up to look down at you. "tell me what you need.."

her hand at your hip reached up, gently stroking over your cheek. you softened and pressed into the touch, but the physical heat you felt made you pull away moments later. "..need to cool off."

she nodded and immediately pulled back, shifting to sit beside you in bed instead. her eyes traced your form. "stay here," and then she was up, walking away.

you groan. "where else would I even go?"

jihyo chuckles to herself, her feet leading her out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, where she got a small glass of water and walked back, placing it on the bedside table. "drink. i'll go run you a bath, okay?"

forcing a nod, you listen closely as she pads away. a sigh falls and you reach for the drink, raising it tentatively to your lips and taking a few sips to calm your throat.

in the bathroom now, jihyo plugs the drain and turns on the water, testing the temperature and lingering it at a warm that wasn't too overwhelmingly hot, but also not too cold - especially since you'd just been talking about your heat. a calming soap was thrown into the mix, the aroma even making jihyo relax a bit as she walked back into the room, eyeing you - as you now sat slightly more up, draining the last of your water.

she softened. "want to get in?"

you look over, a tiny nod falling. "carry me."

a chuckle falls from jihyo's lips, and she walks over, making an exaggerated huff as she bends, yet lifts you up bridal style with ease. you're walked to the bathroom, and jihyo sits you down on the sink, as the water fills the rest of the way up in the tub.

in the meantime, she cages you slightly, looking up into your eyes and brushing her lips to yours again slowly. you sigh, arms wrapping around her neck as you leaned into her. the kisses were slow and short, exhaustion riddled in both of them, even if it was only you who'd bottomed. jihyo's hand slid, tracing over the shell of your ear slightly as she tucked loose flyaways back, and pulled to gaze at you.

"did so good tonight," she murmured shortly. "so, so good, baby. always so good for me."

your face warms and you whisper back. "thank you.."

her lips raise slightly. "of course, baby."

she presses another small, chaste kiss to your lips, before moving to the tub and testing the water. "should be good, can you handle walking over?"

you nod and push off the sink, waddling slightly but making it. jihyo offers her hand when you're close enough, stabilizing you as you slip into the tub, sinking down. she kneels beside the tub, reaching to gently help coax the water slowly over your shoulders. her arm leans against the edge, and she leans her face against said arm, looking at you with affection.

"what?" you whisper, a shy flush making its way onto your face.

jihyo's warm smile grows, her eyes just slightly crinkling in their creases. "nothing, I just love you."

you sputter, looking away. "you can't just-!" a bit of an embarrassed hue later and you're shaking your head. "..love you too."

"I know you do baby," she reaches, helping again with the warm watching soaping up your back. "did you want to wash your hair?"

you soften. "too tired."

"do you want me too?"

another slow shake. "want to stay like this."

jihyo's grin grows, gummy and perfect and - your heart swells. softly, you clear your throat, and she speaks. "how do your legs feel?"

you glance not the water, at the foggy image of your legs below. a soft murmur falls. :..they're okay, I suppose. I still feel a bit sensitive, but 'm okay."

"you sure?" her thumb slowly traced over a small dent in your neck, from where her teeth had bitten moments before she slipped between your legs, making the rest history. "I went a little rough this time, huh?"

you swallow, shaking your head. "nothing I can't handle."

she chuckles, booping your nose gently. "cute."

then she stands, sighing and dusting her knees off. "I'll go grab your towel and set out your clothes. relax while i'm gone, okay?"

and you would nod, watching her walk away and feeling - for the briefest of moments - your heart tug affectionately. your eyes would lower to the water, riddled with bubbles, and slowly, you'd sink into it.

jihyo would prepare your clothes, choosing to change the sheets while she was at it and throw it into her washing machine. she'd lower the lights a bit and make sure your old clothes (which would have been discarded across the room) were also thrown in along with the sheets, and then she'd venture back to the bathroom in time to find you stepping out. her arms would wrap around you, with the towel, rubbing carefully to dry you off.

all the while dropping kisses on your head or cheek when possible, lowering to a crouch to get your legs and gently wipe near your inner thighs. then she wrapped the towel back around you, nodding off to the bedroom. as you'd leave, she would drain the tub and clean anything needing cleaned up, before meeting you in the bedroom - in time to watch you slip on your shirt and slide into bed.

her heart warmed and she followed naturally, curling into your side and stroking your head slowly.

"feeling okay?"

"more than okay," you pressed into her. "..you're too good to me."

"never too good," she dropped a kiss on your head, slipping her eyes shut. "rest, angel."

"..okay."

[track8]

Acquiescence (Genshin - Il Dottore x reader AU) [part ?]

Lost, cold, and on the brink of death in the most desolate snowy mountains, you think you’re totally alone and you’ve lost all hope. But when you wake up to a strange man in a mask nursing you back to life like you’re a bird with a wounded wing, you find that maybe you weren’t ever as alone as you had thought.

content/warnings: gender neutral reader, slight yandere themes (implied kidnapping & stalking), likely OOC dottore, UNFINISHED WORK WITH LOW LOW CHANCE OF CONTINUATION

word count: 1.7k

notes: So all this has been sitting in my docs for like a month now and honest to god i lowkey have no clue where to go from here and i haven’t touched it in ages and i’m honestly lazy as HELL and don’t wanna finish it but if you take one look at my account you will see that i LOVE posting unfinished work if i like it enough (lol dont sue me) so here’s this! it’s kinda experimental (aka messy lmfao) and i was mostly just trying stuff out and testing how well i can write something “darker” so don’t expect too much read at your own discretion etc enjoy :)

Things aren’t looking very good for you, are they?

From behind thick trees and through snowstorm veils, you were a lone little dot, a weak wanderer, treading through hellish blizzards you were evidently ill-prepared for, like a tiny fish swimming against the ocean’s current. The eyes of predators might have deterred you, had you known they were trained on you.

Foolish one, mired in fickle hope and flickering desperation, he can see you getting dragged down by your weary shoulders every step of your daft little journey.

What were you hoping to find? Did you wager that life would make more sense in the jagged mountains than in your sad hometown?

He sees that you’re getting weak.

You weren’t very good at hiking, nor at packing for long trips, it seemed. You ran out of food and water faster than that hopeful spark in your eyes had dimmed when you finally realized you had nowhere to go.

Foolish one, with ambition bordering on ignorance, departing from your home so easily as if the outside world would readily accept and embrace you. How pathetic you are, cooping up in small caves like a helpless animal.

That was alright. Soon enough, he would be all you needed.

…

You swallowed the last cold, hardened bite of the bread you'd packed, hoping it would settle the aching and rumbling of your forlorn stomach. It was the last bit of sustenance you had, and nothing alive or edible seemed to grow in these parts of the mountains. As much as you wanted to stay optimistic, all the odds were against you, and you were still hungry, extremely thirsty, exhausted and trembling uncontrollably.

You thought you’d at least last for a few more days. An excess of confidence and optimism led you to your current circumstances, but a stark lack of experience and preparation made it impossible to escape them. You were no stranger to snow, a native to the relentless cold, but here, the elements seemed to recognize you as a foreign object and were determined to push you out.

Panic didn’t have room to settle within the freezing blood under your grey-tinged flesh. Your teeth chattered incessantly, gradually overpowering in volume the thoughts in your mind. Snow-covered trees and unmerciful winds were all that surrounded you as your body miserably crumpled to the ground.

You closed your eyes and found yourself thinking of home. Images of the last time you saw your friends and family flashed through your mind, the confusion they’d tried to hide under well-meaning smiles when you told them you were leaving. Home was all they knew back there. To them, your yearning for the world outside the four corners of your humble village was a waste of time that would do more harm than good. Now, shivering and half dead with snow accumulating on your motionless eyelashes, you began to realize they might have been right.

Perhaps everything you have done until this point has been meaningless.

This spiteful wisp of a thought was the last to appear to you as the pale white snow on which you had collapsed began to embrace you. It felt tender and welcoming—illusory warmth and peace your defeated body accepted to cope with your death bed. You closed your eyes and consigned yourself to oblivion.

Howling winds filled your ears and carried you off… until you heard sounds of snow crunching nearby under somebody’s boot. You weren’t aware of there being any other human soul there besides yours, but it was unmistakable: the weight, the rhythmic thump of left then right. But you were too numb and weak to investigate or care.

A heavy blanket landed suddenly atop your shivering form, then you felt yourself getting lifted up just as the cold blackness swallowed your consciousness.

…

A baby bird flees from its nest instinctively thinking it needs the world beyond.

Perhaps he owed you some thanks for making this so easy for him. Impotent little bird, fracturing your own wings. Unfettered by rationality, blindly optimistic, ignorant of true danger… You would never have made it out there on your own, incompetent as you were.

This nonsensical world adores you. You who had done so little to earn it. 

You shivered even under his warmest blanket. Poor thing, you never could settle. He had seen you restless in the cradle of your hometown full of your loved ones and now watched you frown in your sleep.

He stoked the fire (gathering the wood had been a tedious task) then stood by you as you laid there, a phantom over the delicate songbird now in his midst.

Never mind what you’d been hoping to find. You already had everything, but never mind. You’re better off here.

It was tempting to wake you, but he didn’t yet.

His patience had served him well thus far. He could afford to wait.

…

Warmth. An unknown amount of time had elapsed since you passed out, and the first thing you felt upon your return to consciousness was a distinct warmth, the kind you hadn’t felt in a while. Your body was wrapped up, swaddled in soft, thick blankets that put the rags in your possession to shame; it was sorely tempting to keep your eyes closed in comfort and to allow yourself to forget about everything else. You didn’t let yourself think just yet. You were still thawing out.

But as much as you wanted to linger blissfully in that blank, black cradle of ignorance, thoughts began to pop up as the static in your mind cleared, weak as echoes, but there all the same. The slow realization that you were somehow still alive was followed by questions like where am I? Did someone save me? Who?

You (begrudgingly) opened your eyes and sat up to seek out the answers.

There was a fire right in front of you. Or, more accurately, a well-kept fireplace housing a flame whose warm brightness seemed to burn away the treacherous hues of gray and blue you’d been ensnarled in for days that felt like eternity. What looked like freshly placed firewood crackled to greet you.

You couldn’t tell what time it was. There wasn’t a clock in sight, or windows. More than that, you had no idea how long you’d been there. Wherever you were. Your body felt heavy with a dull ache, and your mouth felt drier than a desert, but your fingertips no longer felt numb as if they might fall off.

Before you could further assess the situation and ponder what to do, a door on your left creaked open.

“Ah. You’re awake.”

A tall, shadowy silhouette, more ghost than human at first, appeared in the doorframe, startling you.

He seemed to notice the way you jumped. “Apologies, my dear,” he said. His voice was deep, but his tone seemed light, as if he was amused. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He walked in slowly, closing the door behind himself with a quiet click before you could catch a glimpse of the other room. As your eyes adjusted to the warm glow—the fireplace was the only source of light, as far as your enfeebled senses could tell—you began to see more clearly.

Instead of being met with the kind face of your presumed rescuer and host, you saw a man whose countenance consisted of a peculiar mask that hid the upper half of his face, then tapered down to a slightly curved beak by his nose which allowed you to see most of his mouth.

It was unlike any mask you’d seen in story books telling of phantoms or masquerade parties, for it obscured his eyes like a stiff blindfold. But the way he moved, with his head angling towards you the closer he came, implied that he could see you just fine. Or perhaps he could sense your every breath and its source.

In his hands covered by dark gloves, he held a tray with a glass of water, a teapot, and an empty teacup.

You opened your mouth to talk, but your throat was rough and dry as sandpaper, and it was painful to try and vocalize. You winced.

“Do not try to speak yet,” he ordered gently as he placed the tray on a small table beside you. “You’re severely dehydrated. Drink first.”

Thirst preceded any wariness you might’ve had about accepting this stranger’s drinks. The water was lukewarm and instantly soothing. While you drank, the man began to pour steaming tea into the cup.

He stepped closer to you and took the glass from your hands once you’d emptied it to set it aside. He was facing you. Where there might have been eye contact, you instead blinked at that strange dark mask. The straight line of his lips, just barely visible, betrayed no discernible expression.

His hands moved, taking off one glove to press the backs of his fingers against your forehead. His touch was cold despite the warmth emanating from the fire. You didn’t move back; he was close but not invasive, and his demeanor seemed distant but not uncaring. He acted like a doctor to a patient. The lingering weight of fatigue rendered you unresistant regardless.

“You have a fever. Unsurprising,” he murmured. His hand stayed where it was to be sure. There was a faint scent of old leather and gentle soap. You finally managed to croak out a few words. “Who are you?” 

If there was any change in his expression, you couldn’t see it.

“I advise you to focus on your own recovery,” he replied. He leveled your careful gaze with the same unfeeling mask. A beat of silence. You noticed the tiniest upward movement from the corners of his lips, more of a twitch than a smile. “Although you’re not too weak to ask questions, it’d be best to curb that curiosity for now. Consider this medical advice. I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

His gentle yet impersonal touch moved from your forehead to your chin, lifting it with his fingertips to inspect your hollowed cheeks and cracking lips. In that dim and windowless box of a room, being refused an answer to your question, you felt like a mere specimen under his examination.

“Drink the tea and try not to move too much.” The strange masked man, your masquerade doctor, stepped back and retracted his cold hand, retreating into its glove. His voice remained soft, low and even soothing. At the same time it had a quality of inexplicable lightness to it, like the voice of someone smiling. You couldn’t really tell if he was. “You need food, and I will be back shortly with just that.”

A reluctant patient, yet a captive to your own weakness, you obeyed his instructions.