#my whole body is in pain

[miss--river]

.

[lavenite]

been feeling bad since the start of this year and quit taking my meds but! i had a really good day today. decided that after my trip im gonna try to get a job at the daycare in the town over, contacted a therapist, finally discovered that my shitty tiny iowa town DOES in fact have a park which is right next to the traintracks so i can go out and play my guitar there and go on walks. feeling good :)

[caemidraws]

Oath/breaking

[archiepelago]

alternate surface au inspired by a few ive seen around on tumblr :3

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[micc0ro]

Error belongs to loverofpiggies

[godhandler]

cult leader!geto suguru x secretary!reader

Geto snores into his pillow, his long hair spread princess-like over his broad back, having escaped from the little bun he made before bed last night. The heavy curtains are keeping his bedroom still cool and dark at 11 am. I guess that’s why I didn’t wake up on time, I’m pretty sure we missed the Ichinori meeting. You look over at your naked boss next to you, deep asleep. Well, I doubt he’ll get mad at me. 

He looks so… breathtaking. His back still carries the marks of your sharp nails, you smile as you run a soft finger down his spine. So perfect. Glowing skin. Hard muscles underneath. He’s not going to wake up anytime soon, you know that. He’s usually a heavy sleeper, but especially after having been wrung out like that last night – you’d done a good job, you grin at the memory. Maybe he’ll give me a raise. 

You try to piece together all your clothes, you do have to go reschedule his meetings after all. Pleated pants- got it, under the blanket that Geto’s hogging all to himself. Formal blouse- got it, near the door, ugh, is that a tear on the neckline? A shame, this one was expensive. Bra, bra, braaa- got it, what the fuck?? Ah. You remember Geto tore it off you, too impatient to wait a second more. He liked to do that, ripping your clothes off you. Yanking a handful of your hair too close to your scalp. Hickies on the soft of the thighs and belly that seemed a touch from bleeding. A harsh spank with his large hand that made your lamb eyes tear up. Pushing a thumb into your ass while fucking into you from behind. A little painful, a little rough. That is how Geto enjoyed you. 

You decide to give up looking for your panties (they're definitely not in a wearable condition anymore, after having been pulled down your wet heat by Geto's teeth and promptly stuffed into your mouth). For a second, you dare to wonder if you’ll get away with stealing one of Geto’s briefs from the clothing drawer, before deciding that’d be crossing a boundary. Regardless of how many times he’s cum down your throat, he’s still your boss, after all. He’s still the wonderful Geto-sama that you adore and respect, one who found your potential as a sorcerer, one who will rid the world of all curses. 

One who’s trying to pull a hair out of his mouth in his sleep. Adorable. One pant leg in and other pant leg out, you awkwardly hop over to him and take the hair out for him. Those eyelashes melt your heart. You cherish him as you wear your pants as silently as you can: he looks painted, he looks angelic, he looks overwhelmingly loved. 

You put on the ruined blouse anyway; you’ll just go home and change. The bra he can have, you leave it tucked under his pillow, a little gift for him to find later. Your nipples chafe slightly against the fabric of the blouse. They still feel raw sensitive. Geto always insists that lapping them with his tongue would heal any wounds that his lips or teeth have caused to your pretty, perky nipples, but that’s not true. You can feel right now that it’s not goddamn true. Your tits still have full marks of his bites stinging red on them. 

In fact, now that you’re paying more attention to yourself, your entire body feels sore. Your neck has a faintly purple outline of his large hand, and your voice seems to still be rough. Was it him choking you within an inch of your life till your head swam within clouds of ecstasy as he finally let you cum on his cock? Or was it the way he roughly pushed your head into his lap, his thick cock stretching out the insides of your throat? Oh, the image of him hissing as he threw his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing with every deep groan and gasp. “A magician with that mouth,” he’d call you, as he petted your cheek before falling asleep. I’d do it every night just to hear him say it again. 

The places he’s grasped you to hold you against him, your sides, shoulders, thighs, ass, they all hurt. He went overboard last night. Did something happen yesterday? Hmm, December 7... nope, doesn't ring a bell. You pout as you find your phone, tablet, and a Plan B pill you take from his bedside drawer. Geto would rather not use condoms, but also doesn’t fully trust you to take your regular pills on time. So there you go. God’s punishment for creampies.

You suppose Geto has a thing for them. Not that he wants kids, just that he likes feeling you raw. Hearing you cry as you struggle to take him. Smiling as you plead that it’s too much. Pressing your ankles down to your ears as he sinks deeper into you. Moaning into your mouth as he ruts his pleasure into your warm walls, his cum drooling over your sticky thighs. Doing just as he likes, without restraint. 

You have to leave him now, it’s so sad. Rapunzel is still snoring deeply, turning over and letting the blanket fall from his X-scarred chest. You dig his phone out of the mess and leave it next to his ear, you’ll call him awake at 1 pm so that he’s ready for his daily evening address and other meetings. You quickly put your heels on and leave, but not before dropping a kiss on his nose. To keep him company throughout the day. It’s pointless and a bit too sentimental for Geto to appreciate, you believe. Besides, you’ll be right next to him all day anyway, won’t you?

a/n : every now and then the geto suguru agenda seizes me until i cant function.

img credits: 1 2 3

[engagemythrusters]

the obscene amount of chronic pain Luke Skywalker must face...

[aliettali]

skilltober 14: pain threshold

[magabet]

What if I sketched vampire LiuCheng. what then.

[sapphicdib]

godless machine

[gideonisms]

In order to get things done you have to do tasks like 95% of the time you are alive. And I am simply not cut out for that

[aria0fgold]

Finally done with my version of The Universe's design!

[mamawasatesttube]

experiencing the horrors . save me lil guy from comic book. lil guy from comic book PLEASE

[s0fter-sin]

it’s the sound that tips him off.

it’s late, half-past hell by his last count, and mactavish knows there shouldn’t be a single soul in the showers this time of night. though he’s sure if he asked, he’d be told a soul isn’t in there.

just a ghost.

he almost chokes on the thick steam filling the locker room; humid and hazy and the perfect cover. or it would be, if the man collapsed in the far stall cared about hiding.

mactavish hates himself a little for the low sigh that falls from his lips. he wishes he wasn't so disappointed; that the promises he's heard over and over and watched be broken as many times hadn't wedged their way into his heart and convinced him that maybe, maybe this could be the time it sticks.

he doesn't know what's worse; the disappointment or the lack of surprise.

he holds his breath through the steam and leans over the limp body; stinging hot water hitting his back, instantly soaking through his clothes and already starting to burn. he flicks the tap enough to take the bulk of the heat out and straightens; a groan startling out of the man beneath him at the sudden lash of tepid water.

mactavish crouches, knees clicking and hooks a hand under his bicep to pull him up straight against the wall. if there was any vomit on his skin, it's been washed away by the pelting stream and he supposes he can count himself lucky for that. he tilts his limp head back and slips his fingers into his mouth; holding down his tongue and ignores the way it lazily jolts under his fingers to check his airway.

clear.

another small victory.

mactavish pulls his fingers out and cups his chin, keeping him tilted up and moves in the way of the water again so he can pull at his eyelid.

the eye he's met with is cloudy, so dilated there's hardly a ring of blue left.

he sighs again; hand falling away and letting his eye fall shut. "god damnit, riley."

riley moans, all his weight resting on the hand holding his jaw.

"aye, 'm talking ‘bout you," he grunts tiredly.

he lets riley's head fall forward to grab his arm, pulling him away from the wall to sit behind him; propping his body up against his chest. he leans his head back over his shoulder, keeping his face out of the water and his airway open just in case he hasn't actually finished throwing up.

he takes the rag riley'd half-managed to soap up and mechanically runs it over him; cataloguing new bruises and cuts and checking if the old ones are healing. sickly yellow fingerprints ring his hips, red splotches paint his ribs; too new to have settled into the deep purple he knows they’ll become.

riley slowly makes more noise as he rubs life into his body; still lying limp against his front but his head's starting to roll restlessly on his shoulder. he swipes between his legs and carefully doesn't think a single thing about what he finds.

"sean?" he rasps and mactavish's hand stills; eyes falling shut. he bites his check, hand clenching around the rag tight enough to shake and breathes hard out his nose.

he doesn't say a word, just forces himself to go back to cleaning.

he's not sure what would come out of his mouth if he did.

riley isn't conscious enough to hear him anyway.

he runs his fingers over his inner elbows for tracks and manages to muster some relief when he doesn't find any. seems to be a pill and booze night; far from the worst condition he's found him in.

he rinses him off, running a curtesy hand over his shaved head only for it to fall back to his jaw; his thumb stroking over the thick scar carved into his cheek.

"you gotta stop doin' this," he whispers.

he isn’t sure if he’s talking to riley or himself.

mactavish gathers up riley's too-light body into his arms and turns off the shower. his head lolls into his throat and he throws a towel over his dripping body and another over his shoulder. it doesn't stop him from tracking water all the way to his quarters but he'd like to see someone try to put in a complaint about it.

he lays out the other towel on the bed and sets riley down; moving his body into the recovery position in an all-too familiar routine. he dries him enough that he won't soak the covers as he pulls them up to his chest and kicks the waste bin within grabbing distance of the bed.

he goes to pull off his sodden clothes when a different noise makes him freeze.

a low sniffle.

mactavish slowly turns back to the bed to find riley's eyes squinting open; glazed with tears as he kneads at the covers.

he stares at him for a moment as he looks around the room and those hazy eyes lock on him for the first time. "cap'n?"

he swallows. "aye; s'just me, riley."

his hand pokes out from under the covers and for all the promises he's made himself - all the “never again”s and “this is the last time”s - at the end of the day, he's weak.

he sits on the side of the bed and takes riley's hand in his; already so cold after nearly boiling himself alive.

"y' mad a' me?" he sniffs.

mactavish runs his tongue over his lip and slowly shakes his head. "no, i'm not mad at you."

"prom'se?" he pushes.

he reaches out and caresses his temple with his thumb. his hand almost covers his head and it cuts like a knife to remember just how small riley is. "aye," he says, hushed. "i promise."

riley's eyes fall shut, voicelessly murmuring 'promise’ to himself over and over.

"I’ll ge’ bett'r," he slurs and between one breath and the next, he's out.

mactavish sighs, running his hand in a final pass over his head and stares at a face that looks so much younger in sleep; bruised and sallow skin hidden in the shadows. "i know you will."

he presses a slow kiss to his forehead, shutting his eyes against the grief that wells in his heart and gets up to pull a chair over to the bed; settling in for another long night's vigil of watching his broken lieutenant sleep, ready to tilt him over if he throws up, eyes locked on the slow rise and fall of his chest fearing tonight may finally be the time it stops.

[kelin-is-writing]

Imagine thinking that I wouldn’t start crying buckets as soon as this came on…