medicbled
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Latest Posts by medicbled
gloria de lima edits. // mutuals may reblog representation of physical grief, exhaustion, vulnerability and the weight of what she carries. the side of her that few people have the privilege of seeing, the intimacy of these moments is built from trust and understanding or the shared experience. for someone to look at her and accept the worst and most difficult parts of her soul is to truly love her and see her.
I think as a whole, men should be consumed with more longing. they should feel the suffocating consequences of inaction. they should pine and flex their hands more, they should look like they’re holding up the tide of unfathomable agony just being close to their beloved and not being able to touch them. they should fuck like it’s their first and last time ever getting the chance to touch them.
Breeding Kink?
WHAT HAPPENED TO HELLO, HOW ARE YOU? MY NAME IS ....HELLLLLOOO?..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................yeah though.
❛ i could never be the one to love you. i can only be the one that kills you. ❜ @putrefacerem
she lets the silence that follows stretch, taut and trembling. notions of self-preservation died with her girlhood; war reconstructed her into a walking grave. making it off the battlefield, alive meant she's really only living on borrowed time, death lying in wait. she’s not a soldier anymore, she’s not even just a doctor. she’s the woman who lets a monster drink from her throat and bandages the bite like it doesn't mean anything. a woman who tells herself she’s doing it out of pragmatism, routine, a mutual benefit — nothing more.
gloria should feel powerful, shouldn’t she? he needs her. her blood, her pulse, her will, and he feeds because she allows it. yet somehow, mínluben is still in control. she watches him, that ruin of a mouth, those eyes that look too long and hard. like he’s piercing the depth of her soul and measuring her worth through every sin, and she pretends it doesn’t hurt. ❛ and why haven't you? ❜ maybe the tragedy is knowing she'd let him because when the teeth pierce skin, it feels like she’s needed, really needed. impossible to count how many times she'd cursed an empty sky, demanding a trade of her life for the fallen beneath her palm. under the heavy framework of her grief, to die as sustenance to life doesn't make her feel any ounce of fear. she steps closer, haunted honey gaze sought him out. near enough that the scent of ichor would invade his solitude. her neck tilts into the smoke of her challenge. ❛ what's stopping you? it's right here. ❜
I'm sorry you got pulled back into this.
DAREDEVIL — 1.11 "The Path of the Righteous"
❛ your fascination with me will be your death. ❜ Leon / @washsins
a warning? perhaps a favour spoken by toeing the line. gloria breathes it in, lets it settle in the space between them like smoke. heavy, impossible to ignore, and he’s close enough that she could touch him if she wanted to. it’s not the danger that draws her. she’s seen worse, survived worse. but there’s something about him, all sharp edges and old scars, some still bleeding under the surface. she recognizes the kind of violence he carries. it’s not posturing, it’s not a threat, it’s a language she's fluent in. gloria doesn’t know when she started needing him like this. beyond warmth and safety, but for the way his presence drags her back into her own body, sharp and aching and real.
she’s never been good at doing the right thing when her hands are already shaking with want. she could pretend enough, hold up a reflection of the goodness she tries to uphold with a heart-wrenching dedication. how she falls back into the consuming grief, haunted and so unfathomably broken. she couldn't be repaired. ❛ maybe i'll just die wanting you then. ❜ a smile that shouldn't be there, but one that echoes a sentiment she couldn't place. the gallows humour dancing across her lips. ❛ or you could save me the heartache and put me out of my misery now. ❜
❛ you are my salvation. ❜ price @muutos
she wants to be his salvation, wants it in a way that terrifies her enough to believe him. it’s not flattery, it’s not sweet—it's the weight of meaning because john price doesn't utter a single syllable he doesn't stand behind. it lands in her chest like a round at close range, and for a second, all she can do is feel it: the honesty of it, the need of it. fingers pressed into the hard edge of his chest, sliding up the column of his throat like she’s checking if he’s real, if he’s still warm under her palm. he is, off course he is. a man always burning, always ready to fight someone else's war. the perfect soldier, the selfless leader, giving until there's nothing left and still never staying down.
she leans in, her forehead pressing into the curve of his temple, mouth a whisper over his own. her frame straddled his lap, as if by miracle, she could ground him there. ❛ john. ❜ like she's something soft and not buried beneath devouring violence, like she wasn't haunted in every step she took. how could gloria deny him that refuge? she wants to say it’s too much, that salvation is too big a word for what she can give but, it doesn't change a long-standing truth. at doesn't change the fact that he's her salvation, too. bloodstained, battle-worn, but hers. ❛ i'll be anything for you. ❜ her teeth tug at his bottom lip, testing reverence with a flick of her tongue. it's almost cruel, the way her words tremble against him, how her nails trace his jaw. ❛ but i need you to take. i need you to be selfish, i need you to want this more than you decided on your own grave. ❜
❛ fucking hit me already. ❜ / frank ! @weaponid
gloria doesn't ask if he means it. she watches him like she’s trying to see past the skin and into the marrow where all that rage lives coiled and choking. watches him like the cornered fox minds the rabid hound. she knows he means it; pain has always been an open door between them. her hand twitches at her side, she swallows down barbed wire and the fucked intimacy of it all. she moves fast, sharp, her fist colliding with his face in a clean, brutal arc. there’s no hesitation behind it, no apology. honesty ruptures and lands with a crack that echoes louder than it should. his head jerks to the side, and for a second, everything holds. suspended and sacred.
she's caught on every hitch in her unsteady cadence of breath. something so much deeper than transactional sadomasochism and ire, because it's never been that simple for them. his skin is hot beneath her palm when she grabs his jaw, dragging his face back to hers. her thumb presses along the red blotch on his cheek, rough and reverent. ❛ that hard enough, frank? did that knock some sense into your fucking head yet? ❜ its a clawed grip behind his neck, the other hand gripping the collar and yanking him closer, foreheads pressed so hard it hurts. her voice breaks against his mouth. ❛ you're broken, i know, and so am i. i don't care how many fucked up pieces of you are left cause i'm going to keep coming back until there's nothing to come back to. ❜
❛ you’re a fucking nightmare. kiss me. ❜ / dex @weaponid
it doesn’t sound like desire, it sounds like a dare. gloria stands there, breath tight in her chest, jaw working like she's chewing down a scream. maybe, once upon a time, she would've flinched. denied it. tried to scrub the blood off her hands and weigh the scales of morality, not anymore. it isn't something she can just outrun. it wouldn't matter how many lives she saved; she still took without mercy when the orders were given. never hesitated, never uttered the realization that she liked it. gloria laughs, and it's a caustic thing. like she's clinging to the last fragments of dignity before she inevitably begs him to dish out pain as personal penance. ❛ aw, am i keeping you up at night, dex? ❜
it’s been a long time since anyone’s looked at her like she’s something real. not a saviour or a soldier. something he doesn’t want to fix, maybe even something he wants. her hand finds his jaw, fingers rough from the violence of trying to hold onto softness. from too many nights spent stitching other people’s wounds while ignoring her own, she tilts his face down and meets his eyes with something broken and burning. her thumb brushes his cheek with the barest touch of reverence—or—warning. it's a slow melt into him, but not an ounce of hesitation. gifting him the taste of something sweet before her fingers curl roughly into his hair, and teeth graze his bottom lip. a fucking nightmare made flesh if he wanted it.
darker vibes
❛ i would let you rip me apart if it meant loving you. ❜
❛ this fear you feel? it won’t last. ❜
❛ you are my salvation. ❜
❛ i revolt you, don’t i? ❜
❛ get the hell away from me. ❜
❛ i want to sink my teeth into every inch of you. ❜
❛ i’ll be your dirty little secret, if that’s what you’re into. ❜
❛ worship me. until i tell you to stop. ❜
❛ don’t you know how sick with love i am for you? ❜
❛ fucking hit me already. ❜
❛ i would burn the world for you. ❜
❛ i don’t want to be good, no matter how hard you wish it. ❜
❛ i don’t know how you’ve bewitched me, but it needs to stop. ❜
❛ fix me. ❜
❛ they die for love, you kill for it. ❜
❛ you are mine, whether you agree or not. ❜
❛ do you like it when i bleed for you? ❜
❛ i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you. ❜
❛ i’m starved for you, morning and night. ❜
❛ now i get to ravish you. ❜
❛ i am your god and your executioner. ❜
❛ you are doing so well, my pet. ❜
❛ you’re my sweetest poison. ❜
❛ let’s do something about that mouth of yours. ❜
❛ your fascination with me will be your death. ❜
❛ you’re the monster that’s enticed me into your bed. ❜
❛ all you can say are pretty lies. ❜
❛ the fucked up thing is that it isn’t enough to just love you. ❜
❛ you’ve broken me. all i can think about is you. ❜
❛ you’ll beg for more. ❜
❛ an eternity with you would never satisfy me. ❜
❛ i would gladly let you drag me to hell. ❜
❛ everything i’ve done.. every horrible atrocity, it’s been for you. ❜
❛ you’re a fucking nightmare. kiss me. ❜
❛ feel grateful that i allow you to touch me. ❜
❛ every time your lips touch my skin, you burn me from the inside out. ❜
❛ there’s no black or white, only gray. ❜
❛ no one touches what’s mine. ❜
❛ make me indifferent, make me horrible. ❜
❛ i could never be the one to love you. i can only be the one that kills you. ❜
❛ your lips are poison, your laugh a curse. ❜
"If I'm giving up everything...I want to win. We have to."
I’m not even sure her ass makes up for the collective amount of trauma and baggage anymore…her head game does though.
Said you need some extra magic today, you can boop the snoot under the cut!
Rico says stay hydrated, take breaks and get yourself a sweet treat
SC// @muutos ( price )
she came here because she knew he wouldn't flinch. john never tried to fix her. he saw her as she saw him, what war carved out of a person and didn’t look away. he knew the terrain because he’d seen the worst of her and never asked her to apologize for it. that had always been the unspoken deal between them: mutual recognition without pity. she could breathe in front of him, even when it hurt.
especially when it hurt.
gloria could feel the pulse in her jaw, the clench of muscle that hadn’t quite relaxed in days. maybe weeks but she wasn’t sure anymore. everything felt…off. like her skin didn’t quite fit right, like her body was still bracing for impact even when the threat was gone. attempting to be something normal, to press healing into the edges of so much death she couldn't scrub off her hands. that’s what no one ever told you about coming home — you never really came back. not whole at least. like being dropped into a quieter war where no one was wearing a uniform and everything demanded something she didn't know how to give anymore.
she glanced at him then, really looked, and something caught in her throat. her hand curls around the whisky glass, all of her frame leaning towards him. it was more than memory, more than want, so much deeper than anything she could translate into any language. nights in the field where she'd crawled beside him and shared a drink in the darkness because sleep meant silence and silence was where the screams lived. nights where she'd pressed her forehead to his shoulder and let herself believe, just for an hour, that she was still human.
but she also came here because he needed her, too, and it would be a fine frozen day in hell before she ever said no to him. ❛ i had my shifts covered for the next week and a half. ❜ and there it is, a mere glimpse of a devotion that doesn't know how to let go. ❛ you have me on this, john.❜ then comes the reach of a hand, gentle and sure of itself as it slips into his. ❛ but if you brood about how bad you feel bringing me back into it, i might take it back. ❜
"I’m losing control here." @werehause
she hears the words, never misses a syllable, but how they land makes that pit of grief wring a little tighter in her chest. a kind of breaking in it. not loud, not dramatic, just tired of holding up the world. she'd always found jason to be a little reckless, burning hot and full of life, running towards trouble with his whole heart. but this felt different, like the hidden lamentations of someone who didn't know how to carry their own weight anymore. she knew that feeling. lived inside the endless spiral of it every single day. gloria closed the space between them and placed her hand over his chest. the old bits of string braided together, adorning her wrist, had seen too much of the world with her. a palm that dances up and cradles his jaw, holding his gaze. and fuck — she can't help it when she looks at him. finding fragments of the same wide-eyed boy who used to meet her by the swamp beds at dusk. she still had a collection of skipping stones and gator teeth tucked in a box of memories beneath her bed, and she thinks about showing him. wonders if it might do good to steady the brewing storm she could feel beneath the beat of his heart. to know how much it stuck to her soul, tiny glimpses of a simple slice of something heavenly before she walked through hell.
❛ hey, look at me. ❜ it's a gentle husk, but no less commanding. ❛ talk to me, jason. i'll help you figure it out, whatever it is. ❜
© * ᴵᴺ ᴬ ᴴᴼᵁᔆᴱ ᴼᶠ ᴹᴵᴿᴿᴼᴿᔆ ᵞᴼᵁ'ᴿᴱ ᴺᴱⱽᴱᴿ ᴬᴸᴼᴺᴱ - WELCOME HOME!
I just wanted to make a bit of a tiny psa; in that, there’s many instances where, if I’m shipping with someone, I don’t want to write with or ship with duplicates ( pending ppl using the same fc for multiple characters cause all interpretations are different). I have no interest in writing with the same face claims over and over, it’s not authentic to my brain. Nor is it authentic to what I’m building, canons are different, yes but there can be major associations with how someone plays them. if we’ve discussed it, then I have no issue practicing exclusively, especially with face claim association. for example, I will only ever write with one frank castle and billy russo because I have no desire to write with any others based on dynamics built. Face claim wise, I will not write with any others based Oliver Jackson-cohen face claims or honestly Jensen ackles because they’re associated with characters from partners I like writing with. But if we don’t have any conversation about these things, I won’t know. I’ll still prioritize your character if I’m not writing with any other canons or ocs with their face but I’m not tied to exclusivity unless we talk about it. But this psa is also me saying NO I DO NOT EXPECT THE SAME MANNER OF THINKING FROM OTHERS. and again unless the conversation is there, it’s business as usual.
Did this make any sense cause I feel like an asshole trying to explain my brain and I know I should put the list in my pinned and carrd but anyways.
a 𝖒𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖊 featuring original and canon ⧼ divergent ⧽ characters. 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆: the addams family. a dowry of blood. bloodsucking bastards. the boondock saints. doctor sleep. tolkienverse. the pitt. ready or not. sons of anarchy. yellowstone. : fucking adored by 𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖎𝖊
an non - spicy starter call so a regular one ? ( obvious subject for existing ships that it to be shippy if that’s the direction I go in )
› TENSION LINER PROMPTS
"I dare you to try."
"Do you always get close?"
"You’re pushing my limits."
"Stop looking at me like that."
"I’m losing control here."
"You have no idea, do you?"
"I can’t resist you anymore."
"Stay back, or don’t."
"I know what you want."
"This is getting dangerous now."
"You’re too tempting for me."
"I shouldn’t want this, but…"
"I don’t play fair, remember?"
"Careful, you’re testing me."
"You’re just making it worse."
"You’re too close for comfort."
"Do you always push buttons?"
"Stop before I kiss you."
"You’re making it too hard."
"I can’t stop thinking about you."
"I want you too much."
"You know exactly what you’re doing."
"I’m not playing games here."
"You’ve crossed the line now."
"Keep pushing, and you’ll regret it."
"This is dangerous, isn’t it?"
"I’m trying not to care."
"Don’t make me regret this."
"You’re playing with fire."
"You don’t know what’s coming."
"I shouldn’t be this close."
"We’re getting dangerously close now."
"I can feel the heat."
"Don’t test me right now."
"I want you too badly."
"Don’t make me chase you."
"You’re distracting me, you know."
"I won’t fall for this."
"I want you, but…"
"What do you want from me?"
"I’ll never give in."
"I’m trying not to care."
"You’re playing with my patience."
"Don’t make this harder, please."
"I can’t stop this feeling."
"I’m already in too deep."
"You won’t walk away unscathed."
"You’re walking a fine line."
"I’m trying to stay calm."
"What are you doing to me?"
his voice scrapes at something in her chest — a familiar ache she pretends she doesn't recognize. ❛ mad? ❜ she repeats, a dry laugh hitching in her throat, it's more breath than sound.
she turns finally, slowly, deliberately. her eyes roam, as though searching for hidden pains. the split lip, the bruises blooming under his jaw, the stubborn tilt of his mouth that makes her want to shake him and kiss him in the same goddamn breath. ❛ i'm not mad but fuck — bradley... ❜ voice low and splintered at the edges.
she steps more into his space. clinical precision fades in the gentle brush of knuckles to the side of his face that made it out unscathed. ❛ you can't make me keep watching you destroy yourself. ❜
Bradley would like to be kind to himself and say this is a novel situation, blood dripping after a drink in some dusty bar. It doesn't matter how justified, the sting after, the come down, still fucking sucks.
"It's okay," he shrugs, wincing, breath whistling past swollen lips. "Not my finest hour." Still, Bradley would do this again. He knows he would.
"You mad," he dares to ask, hating that Gloria's still got her back turned. Her voice says enough, but it's her eyes that Bradley wants to see.
🌶️ SC // @pittmade
weight of the day collapsing on her. days, really, the last twenty-four hours lay over her as a shroud, a haunting in the shape of a double shift. the door closes, and she leans against it, sharp inhale, and the ghost of someone’s last breath is still stuck in her throat. the scent of divinity lingers in the air from his cooking, the sterile horrors fade with the warmth of home. by all accounts, she should eat, she should sleep, she should tuck this grief against the cage of her chest for another time. it's not enough, it's not the kind of sustenance she needs to survive right now. she needs more, she needs real, she needs him. gloria sought out jack like a sinner pines for redemption.
she didn't say anything, didn't have the words. she just reached — hands fisting into his shirt, dragging him down to her. she kissed him like she wanted to tear the breath out of him, like regular oxygen wasn't enough to keep her lungs satiated. fingertips gliding through silver speckled curls, gentle urgency that builds within her, begging for reprieve. between their lips, she breaks with a sundering force and jagged breath.❛ i don't want to think. ❜ forehead falling against his as she clung to him like he was the only reason she could face it all again. ❛ just need you inside me. ❜
🌶️ SC // @weaponid ( bucky )
she wasn't entirely sure what parts of herself were even human anymore. she's nothing but want and wreckage spinning out of control. her mind a cruel reverie, reflections of war plastered across her psyche, gunfire, blood, mistakes she couldn't fix. if bloodletting worked, she'd have knelt in a pool of poison, waiting until every drop was expelled from her veins. instead, she's here with her head tilted back, throat exposed like a doe with carnivorous teeth, presenting the prize of willful subjugation. wild eyes pleading from where she's draped across his sturdy thighs.
❛ take it, take it all from me, please. ❜ control. unspoken and kept in the way she whines like a battered hound of war asking to be put down. gloria hates herself for it, how slick and hungry the prospect of ruination makes her. the desperation louder than the ragged edge of a breath she couldn't catch. enough that her body counters vulnerability by drawing blood from his lips with her teeth. enough that her palm flattens and cracks along his jaw to initiate a surge of pain she craves tenfold. ❛ all of it, bucky. ❜ claws threading through his hair, pulling and soothing over all at once. she ground down onto him, rough and frantic, chasing the sharp-edged friction. chasing the violent shudder that tore up her spine. ❛ please. ❜
🌶️ SC // @weaponid ( frank )
no words, no hesitation. not anymore, not when they'd spent so long trying to rationalize and stay away or convince one another: never again. his mouth crashed against hers, the taste of smoke and sweat and adrenaline still roaring hot beneath his skin. she lets him take. let herself take what wasn't hers. fingers curled around the chain that marked them both as numbers and cannon fodder, yanking him down like it wasn’t fast enough, never fast enough. she could still smell the blood on him, on both of them. could still feel the ghost of the fight buzzing under her skin and gnawing at her nerves. strung so tightly she might shatter if she didn’t have something to ground her, to hurt her, to remind her she was alive.
frank didn't ask and neither did she, that fucked up tether keeping them soulbound in ruin speaks for them. gloria shoved him backward with a snarl caught in her throat, pushing until the back of his knees hit the bed. it wasn't grace, it was instinct as she pried his belt open with the same frantic dexterity it took to pull a tourniquet tight. feral tangle of limbs and need, clawing at flak and cotton, scraping at skin and trying to tear him apart just to feel something through the noise. just to have him destroy her in return. she straddles him, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting down hard enough to leave moons in battered flesh. marks that will wither with time, but for now she wants him to wear her like the agony that lives between her ribs when he isn't inside her. ❛ i'm sorry. ❜ teeth tugging at lips, tongue tangled up like she's prying hell through the gates of heaven. ❛ sorry i can't stop needing you. ❜
🌶️ SC // @washsins ( russell shaw )
she didn’t think. she couldn’t think. by the time she had crossed the threshold past his door, gloria’s hands were shaking. not from fear, not from the cold, but from something hungrier, meaner. something she couldn’t scrape out of her chest, no matter how hard she tried. it had been gnawing at her for days, weeks maybe. that hollow, bone-deep need that curled under her skin and made her feel too tight, too human, too breakable. heart hammering against her ribs, adrenaline stabbing at the base of her skull the way it used to before firefights.
only this was worse; this was personal.
gloria doesn't give russell a second to breathe or contemplate the brokenness she carried in. she was already on him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and dragging him down to meet her mouth. it was desperate, waking up the part of her soul that had been warped into something caustic and fractured. her teeth caught on his lip, fingers yanking at the fabric over his chest like she could tear her need out by force if she just clawed hard enough. she needed someone real. someone solid, someone that could pin her down when the world spun out and she couldn’t catch her breath. ❛ please. ❜ gloria heard herself say it like a disembodied entity haunting the room. a hoarse whisper, nearly unrecognizable. she hated the sound of it, the crack in her own voice, but she needed him more than she needed pride right now.