Latest Posts by medicbled - Page 2

okay this is a sc for a spicy one. this is a filthy sc.

i wish to write filth

she  doesn't  waste  another  glance  on  the  brewing  storm.  she'd  spent  enough  years  tending  the  aftermath  of  ego;  split  lips,  shattered  knuckles,  the  kind  of  hurt  that  clings  long  after  the  blood  dries.  the  pressure  built  from  years  of  silence  and  pushing  war  down  your  throat  because  it's  not  man  enough  to  admit  it's  there.  so  the  marines  punch  the  Green  Berets  and  the  SEALS  knock  both  of  them  to  the  ground.  on  and  on,  like  all  traditions  of  broken  systems  and  the  bodies  they  leave  behind.  it’s  an  old  but  familiar  ache  now,  a  quiet  grief  for  how  easily  people  throw  themselves  into  ruin,  knowing  there's  nothing  she  could  do  to  stop  it.

❛ smart.  ❜  once,  she  might  have  stayed.  might  have  tilted  her  chin  up  and  thrown  herself  into  the  fray  out  of  pride  or  stubbornness,  to  prove  she  could  survive.  it's  almost  worse  knowing  she  can.  worse,  even  that  she  might  have  tried  to  if  she  had  felt  the  spark  of  violence  gather  close  enough  to  the  surface.  gloria  was  grateful  for  lizzie's  presence.  a  tether  to  the  femininity  the  former  combat  medic  nurtures  within  herself  as  though  it  might  undo  every  terrible  act.

❛ not  just  that,  i  have  a  bottle  of  zacapa  if  you  think  you  can  handle  it.  ❜  it's  a  gentle  nudge  of  words,  limbs  slipping  into  her  jacket,  purse  tucked  high  beneath  her  arm.  gloria  bids  the  rabble  behind,  leading  out  the  door.   

lizzie dons a mask of careful ambivalence,   holding the brewing fight in her peripheral as her sights languidly cycle:   her present company,   her empty glass,   the fine lace of condensation wound along its surface.   a tattered slice of lime sits at the bottom,   sprawled over half-melted ice.   she prods at it with the end of her straw,   quietly indignant of the acuteness of her awareness so deep into the night,   but she avoids the bartender’s eye.   tries to stifle the way she stiffens as egos swell,   boisterous voices teasing the bounds of violence.   she knows this game.   could,   theoretically,   understand its basest appeal:   the thrill of a fight projected.   life rendered in adrenaline bursts and broken skin.   finds herself,   suddenly,   inwardly,   grateful gloria doesn’t seem to share in this interest.   

“not much of a gambler.”   only in the company she keeps,   if murmurs were to be believed—   diluting their business to the simple whim of gangsters and murderers.   as if she were any better.   but,   stealing another glance over her shoulder,   lips pursing in careful assessment,   lizzie inclined to agree.   with a little over a foot of difference between them,   they weren’t exactly entering on even odds.

“yeah?”   she smiles at @medicbled's choice of word,   obnoxious,   shouldering her purse in silent acceptance.   

the only "support your troops" that matters 🫡

ADRIA ARJONA as Madison Figueroa HIT MAN (2024)

29. ] sender wakes receiver in the throes of a nightmare, reassuring them, "it's okay, it's not real." @bruz3r

she  breathes  in  dust,  knees  coated  in  bloody  sand.  gunfire  cracks  the  sky  open  with  fury,  heart  slamming  against  her  ribs  like  it  was  trying  to  escape.  the  heat  was  suffocating;  smoke,  cordite,  and  burnt  flesh  filled  her  nostrils,  coated  her  tongue  until  she  gagged.  hands  everywhere  all  at  once,  fumbling  for  the  medpack,  pressing  down  on  the  shredded  mess  of  a  man’s  open  chest,  shouting  over  the  gunfire.  stay  with  me,  godamnit  —  desperate  plea  to  gods  that  never  listen.  her  voice  cracked  from  the  particles  of  caught  debris  and  screaming  for  too  long.

he  was  younger  than  he  should’ve  been.  barely  twenty.  his  mouth  moved  like  he  was  trying  to  say  something,  but  only  blood  bubbled  out,  fear  wide  in  the  glow  of  youthful  green  eyes.  there  wasn’t  enough  gauze  in  the  world  to  hold  him  together.  didn’t  matter.  she  kept  working.  kept  fighting.  because  if  she  stopped,  it  was  real.  there's a  distant  echo,  a  hollow  sound  overhead  but  she  didn’t  hear  it.  didn’t  hear  anything  except  the  ringing  in  her  ears,  the  desperate  rush  of  her  hands  trying  to  clamp  a  mortal  wound  closed.  trying  to  will  a  shattered  body  back  to  life.  her  hands  slipped  and  his  body  jolted  once  and  then  went  still.  —  no.  no  no  no  breathe  for  me,  breathe  kid,  common!  she  beat  on  his  chest,  hands  trembling,  blind  with  panic  as  the  shadow  of  death  mocks  her  from  the  corner  of  the  battlefield.

she  hears  it  again.

distant  sound  gaining  rhythm  between  ichor  and  carnage.  someone  grabbed  her  wrists,  firm  but  not  cruel.  honey  eyes  wild  and  far  from  the  present,  her  head  snaps  like  the  coil  of  a  venomous  snake.  gloria's  mouth  twists  into  a  broken  scream  from  the  depths  of  something  animalistic  inside  her  bones. 

it's  okay,  it's  not  real...it's  okay,  it's  not  real.  but  it  had  been.

she  pushed.  reared  back  and  slithered  from  the  most  gentle  grasp.  adrenaline  still  flooding  her  veins,  muscles  seized  up,  heart  hammering.  it  took  her  longer  than  she  wanted  to  realize  she  wasn’t  wearing  flak.  no  helmet.  no  rifle.  no  medkit.  just  sweat-soaked  skin  and  the  terrible  ache  of  coming  back  to  herself.  back  pressed  against  the  wall,  staring  at  the  doorframe  as  though  the  front  would  materialize  in  front  of  her.  ❛ did  i  hurt  you?  ❜  frantic,  feral  beat  of  war,  placing  a  whole  field  between  them  with  her  palms  up.  ❛ i  don't  want  to  hurt  you.  ❜

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 .    (  a collection of  mixed action prompts.   adjust phrasing as desired.   potentially mature content within.  )

[ 1. ] sender steps between receiver and an aggressive stranger, voice low and steady: "walk. away."

[ 2. ] sender teaches receiver self-defense, hands firm on their hips as they adjust their stance.

[ 3. ] sender presses their forehead to receiver's, voice breaking as they murmur, "i don't know how to fix this, but i'm not leaving."

[ 4. ] sender shoves receiver out of the way of a projectile.

[ 5. ] sender combs their fingers through receiver's hair in the aftermath of a traumatic event, whispering words of comfort.

[ 6. ] sender whispers, “i’ve thought about this all day,” before pinning receiver against a wall for a searing kiss.

[ 7. ] sender wipes away the receiver’s falling tears with their thumb and whispers, “i’m here."

[ 8. ] sender patches up receiver's wounds, hands trembling as they whisper, "you can't keep doing this to me."

[ 9. ] sender shoves receiver into a hiding spot, hissing, "stay here or i’ll kill you myself."

[ 10. ] sender finds receiver drunk at a party, sighing. "let’s get you home."

[ 11. ] sender is discovered sleepwalking by receiver.

[ 12. ] sender steals receiver’s weapon and presses it to their own chest, daring: “go ahead. prove me right.”

[ 13. ] sender ‘accidentally’ flashes receiver while changing, purring, "see something you like?"

[ 14. ] sender whispers, "you’ll ruin me," before biting receiver’s lip hard enough to draw blood.

[ 15. ] sender takes over while receiver is giving themselves stitches, promising to handle it.

[ 16. ] sender frantically grips receiver by the shoulders, "don't you dare close your eyes."

[ 17. ] sender fixes receiver’s crooked [ tie / jewelry ], teasing, "nervous?"

[ 18. ] sender shakes receiver out of a nightmare, comforting them in the aftermath. "same nightmare again?"

[ 19. ] sender brings hot tea and medication to a [ hungover / ill ] receiver.

[ 20. ] sender invites receiver to dance with them, insisting, "what? this song's perfect."

[ 21. ] sender leaves a single rose on receiver’s windshield with a note: "you’re being followed. smile."

[ 22. ] sender pins receiver’s wrists during a sparring match, grinning, "yield."

[ 23. ] sender playfully steals something from receiver, initiating a chase. "come and get it, then."

[ 24. ] sender drapes a blanket over receiver, accidentally waking them. "sorry, go back to sleep."

[ 25. ] receiver returns home only to find sender already there. "finally."

[ 26. ] after a pleasant night out together, sender asks: "can i kiss you goodnight?"

[ 27. ] sender wipes the blood from receiver's face, murmuring, "let's get you cleaned up."

[ 28. ] sender shoves receiver against a vending machine to dodge security, breathless. "act natural."

[ 29. ] sender wakes receiver in the throes of a nightmare, reassuring them, "it's okay, it's not real."

[ 30. ] sender purposefully antagonizes receiver, hurling insults; "what are you gonna do about it?"

need someone who’s violently possessive over me right now or i’m gonna die

she  finds  silence  after  a  non-committal  hum.  unreactive  and  broken  into  far  worse  over  far  less  because  at  least  he  wasn't  swinging  fists  over  care.  antiseptic  soaking  into  broken  flesh,  the  scent  of  it  filled  the  air;  sharp,  clean,  trying  too  hard  to  cover  the  deeper  wounds  underneath.  like  it  always  did.  ❛  in  the  job  description  to  make  at  least  a  bit  of  fuss.  ❜  gloria  doesn't  offer  a  forced  line  of  reassurance  to  coddle  irritation  or  pride;  she  grasps  the  local  syringe  instead  and  warns.  ❛  you'll  feel  a  pinch  and  some  burning.  ❜

no  softness,  no  special  kindness.  just  the  flat,  practiced  efficiency  of  someone  who  had  seen  too  many  men  tear  themselves  apart  trying  to  prove  they  didn’t  feel  anything.  no  time  was  wasted,  of  course.  needle  unlodged  from  muscle  and  bone,  discarded  with  a  twitch  of  her  jaw.  ❛  depends  on  a  few  things  because  if  you  caught  someone's  tooth,  you'll  need  more  than  just  a  couple  stitches.   ❜  pattern  of  movement  like  the  most  practiced  dance,  no  hesitation,  no  inadequacies.  she'd  learned  the  moment  she  exchanged  one  war  zone  for  another;  overseas  or  cityscape,  there  was  no  room  for  mistakes  or  squandered  seconds.

❛  nothing  bubbled  up,  so  you're  in  the  clear.  still  need  stitches.  ❜  she  paused.  standing  to  snap  off  an  old  pair  of  gloves  for  anew.   ❛  assuming  you  want  dissolving  stitches,  save  you  another  trip  and  time  wasted.  ❜

he held no ill-will against her personally, it was the vulnerability of being exposed that made his jaw clench & his skin crawl. even with a quiet voice, he felt a tingle in his spine. a reminder that he couldn’t do this on his own. sighing through his nose, calloway raised his hand & grimaced at the movement, but it was more at the sight of the angry skin that was flushed with shades of pink & red.

his eyebrows twisted as he pinched his lips into a thin line. “ it ain’t that bad. no reason to make a damn fuss, y’know. ”

it had been his fault. calloway conveniently left that piece of information out when he came to get things checked over. but why would he admit that he lost control over his temper? the station knew he had a short fuse & it often got shorter when he was put in a room with people who pushed his buttons. if anyone was to blame, it was the suspect who went too far, but as captain jones reminded him, calloway should have been in more control. it was the same old song & dance only this time, he not only injured a suspect, he also injured himself.

“ this isn’t gonna take long, is it? ” he asked as his jaw tightened as the lights overhead buzzed in his ears making him shift in his seat.

@medicbled - gloria de lima. combat medic, mercenary, occasional emergency medicine doctor verse pending. @docmohan - doctor samira mohan of max's the pitt. canon & hc driven. @sweets1n - roxana flores. stripper/burlesque dancer, rockabilly baby, religious trauma and heart of pure gold and peach cobbler. @enduredshe - emersyn thompson varela. trafficking survivor, social worker, vigilante and hacker.

 ❛ i've  have  enough  of  the  universe,  and  it's  people's  mindless  games  ❜  any  raised  anger  is  not  directed  towards  him.  never  him.  helpless  hands  work  over  the  exoskeleton  of  a  blaster,  which  once  belonged  to  her  father  and  his  before  him.  on  and  on,  counting  the  memories  she  might  lose,  of  a  world  that  no  longer  exists.  ❛  i'll  never  be  the  same.  ❜  and  the  galaxy  spins  on  uncaring,  would  twist  her  into  dust  and  decay  without  a  second  thought.  so  she  keeps  an  unfinished  war  between  her  teeth,  a  readiness  notched  between  her  ribs,  an  ache  she  couldn't  scare  away. 

LYRICAL SC // @muutos ( garrus )

ADRIA ARJONA as Bix Caleen ANDOR | S02E03 “Harvest”

rushed and desperate, messy on the couch because they were too impatient to even make it to the bedroom. / frank @weaponid

an  echo  of  the  lock  snapped  shut,  no  measure  of  time  between  a  wordless  greeting  and  their  bodies  tangled  together.  his  mouth  was  on  hers,  rougher  at  the  edges,  soaked  in  silence  and  too  much  time  apart,  every  hunger  of  his  met  with  her  own.  she  doesn't  ask  where  he’s  been,  doesn’t  ask  what  he’s  done.  his  hands  could  be  drenched  in  saintly  blood,  and  she'd  still  lick  them  clean.  the  couch  creaks  beneath  them,  a  mess  of  tangled  limbs  and  desperate  friction.  she  claws  at  him,  at  the  layers  between  them.  there’s  no  finesse,  no  slow  unravel.  just  the  brutal  honesty  of  two  people  who’ve  bled  together,  burned  into  one  another's  souls  by  the  tangle  of  carnage  and  war.

his  hands  are  always  firm,  pressing  down  and  claiming  curves  with  a  bruising  grip.  he  smells  like  gunpowder  and  warmth,  like  something  feral  that’s  been  living  in  the  dark  too  long,  and  she  breathes  him  in  like  he's  her  only  source  of  life.  her  shirt  caught,  torn  and  bunched  at  her  waist.  mouth  breaks  against  his  when  he  drives  into  her;  no  warning,  no  preamble,  just  every  breath  knocked  from  her  lungs.  ❛ missed  you  so  fucking  much.  ❜  it  burns  in  her  throat,  strangled  by  the  raw  truth  of  her  words.  the  weight  of  him,  the  feel  of  him  is  more  familiar  than  her  own  reflection.  greed  of  her hips  slithered  up,  thighs  wrapped  around  a wall  of  muscle.  ❛ harder,  frank.  that  can't  be  it,  common.  ❜  she  tugs  a  fistful  of  dark  hair,  biting  down  on  his  bottom  lip  hard  enough  to  taste  copper.  something  to  coax  every  violent  thought  in  his  head  to  the  surface  so  she  can  swallow  it  whole.

her  jaw  tightens  with  the  kind  of  tension  that  comes  from  holding  too  much  in.  too  much  blood,  too  much  memory,  too  much  of  that  awful,  helpless  ache  that  comes  when  it’s  a  kid  on  the  table  and  the  universe  dares  to  keep  spinning.

at  the  sound  of  mel's  voice,  she  turns  to  face  her.  there’s  always  the  undertone  of  something  haunted  in  her  gaze,  but  it  doesn’t  waver.  not,  when  the  junior  staff  are  looking  at  her  like  she’s  supposed  to  make  it  make  sense.

❛  yes,  doctor  king,  please,  ask.  ❜

Mel doesn't like this. She doesn't like when it's kids; she doesn't like when there are parents, and siblings, just a few steps away.

Eyes daring between Dr. Robby's still frame and the boy on the gurney, Mel wonders what's keeping their boss from sharing a few words of guidance. Whether it's a reassurance or next steps, she'd like to hear it.

But Robby remains silent.

"Uh, Dr. De Lima," Mel tilts her head to the hallway. "Can I ask a question?"

❛  are  you  saying  you  want  to  secretly  perform  scientific  experiments  on  your  friends  and  coworkers  to  increase  efficiency?   ❜

holt & diaz quote starters // @vanhornrn

❛  you  can't  let  other  peoples  opinions  get  in  the  way  of  what  you  want  especially  because  other  people  suck.  ❜

holt & diaz quote starters // @jennifershepard

❛  we're  not  going  to  fight  her,  she's  the  devil.  and  you  don't  dance  with  the  devil  cause  you  get  burned.  also  in  her  case,  because  she  has  no  rhythm  and  her  hands  are  like  little  rat  claws.  ❜

holt & diaz quote starters // @washsins ( this feels like a dean conversation )

❛  i'm  going  to  wait  until  i'm  on  my  deathbed,  get  in  the  last  word  and  then  die  immediately.  ❜

holt & diaz quote starters // @walkeddeath

❛  never  is  not  just  a  crater  on  mars.  of  course,  it  is  a  crater  on  mars.  ❜

holt & diaz quote starters // @putrefacerem

❛  all  due  respect  sir,  it's  how  i  was  trained.  you  mess  up.  you  get  made  fun  of.  ❜

holt & diaz quote starters // @bychuck ( bobby )

❛  i  don't  know  why  you're  telling  me.  i'm  not  involved.  you  made  that,  very  clear.  ❜

holt & diaz quote starters // @bychuck ( frankiiiieee )

FUCK IT. dialogue starter call but it's just rosa diaz and captain holt quotes.

honey  gaze  scours  the  delicate  clutter  of  tools.  all  foreign  to  her  knowledge  and  oddly  comforting,  as  if  by  some  extension  of  who  he  was  could  quell  pockets  of  unrest.  the  tightness  in  her  chest  loosened,  just  a  little.  she  keeps  so  many  horrors  there,  unearthed  like  a  vandalized  mausoleum.  gloria  follows  the  sound  of  his  voice,  leans  back  into  the  warmth  of  his  presence  behind  her.  her  fingers  hover  over  the  spools  before  settling  on  one  —  a  dusky  blue,  like  the  swirling  sky  of  a  storm.

❛ this  one.  ❜  she  murmurs,  voice  low  enough  to  keep  it  steady.  gloria  focused  on  the  feel  of  it,  every  sensation  of  lips  adorning  skin  and  distracting  racing  thoughts.  ❛ don't  go  too  easy  on  me.  ❜

@medicbled

"here, let me show you something." voice and touch are gentle yet firm as he ushers them to his work desk and tugs gloria down, wooden office chair squeaking in protest under their combined weight. before them stands a rotary vise fixed around a fishing hook and a collection of colorful threads, feathers, flash, and beads kept in organized chaos. there's a storm brewing in that head of hers and this method, distraction and redirection, has always been effective in quieting his own busy mind.

"we'll do an easy one," josef begins, reassurance offered in the form of a squeeze and pecks against the slope of her shoulder between sentences. "pick a thread."

@weaponid

You should go.

This is a bad idea.

Leon’s grabbing her by the jaw |: @washsins

heat  curls  under  her  skin,  violence  biting  the  edges,  like  a  spark  in  the  air  before  a  storm  breaks.  his  hand  was  on  her,  rough  and  anticipated,  fingers  clamping  around  her  jaw  and  tilting  her  head  up  like  she  was  something  he  owned.  that's  what  it  was;  an  ache  to  be  wanted  for  more  than  the  war  in  her  veins.  consumed  in  a  way  that  suffocates  every  haunting  at  her  heels.  lip  curled  before  her  brain  could  catch  up.  a  smile,  slow  and  cutting,  almost  sweet  in  the  right  light,  and  he  knew  better.  but  the  moon  cast  a  shadow,  held  a  spotlight  on  her.  the  stuttering  of  lifted  hips  interrupted  their  rhythm;  leon  catches  her  before  she  can  torment  any  further.  ❛  did  i  even  stand  a  chance?  ❜  a  ragged  exhale,  amusement  flushed  as  a  glow  on  her  cheeks.  hand  dancing  across  his  chest  wraps  around  his  wrist,  honey  eyes  fixated  and  still  taunting  in  a  silent  dare.  her  head  tilts,  guiding  to  her  throat  and  pressing  into  calluses.  ❛  you  have  the  stamina  for  it,  don't  you?  or  is  age  catching  up?  ❜

it’s not Sunday and idc cause the world needs to understand that you HAVE to dominate her or she will edge you within an inch of your life and fucking laugh about it and talk shit in your face about it.

INK && SCARS

85﹕ brock  grabs  gloria  roughly  by  the  hair . @rejectory

his  fingers  curled  in  her  hair,  sharp  and  punishing,  tilting  her  head  back  with  a  force  that  dared  her  to  push  back.  the  pain  flared  in  her  scalp,  she  inhaled  slow  and  deep,  a  ritual  of  the  agony  she  graves.  gloria  held  his  gaze,  unblinking,  unmoved.  breath  hitched  in  her  throat,  not  from  fear  but  fury,  caged  and  coiled  like  a  venomous  serpent  waiting  for  its  moment.

she  smiles,  but  it's  all  teeth.  all  sickness  and  hunger.  that  familiar  rot  curled  beneath  her  skin  whenever  he  got  too  close.  her  hand  snaps,  pressing  a  thumb  just  under  his  jaw.  the  button  to  remind  that  she  could  drop  him  if  she  wanted  to—  if  she  needed  to.  pressure-honed  and  sadistic  against  the  artery's  pulse.  ❛  what's  it  going  to  be,  rumlow?  ❜  a  laugh  slithers  up  her  throat.  all  that  violence  she  tries  to  forget,  tries  to  hide  under  florals  and  martyrdom,  breathes  like  a  second  pair  of  lungs.

❛  we  fighting  or  fucking?  ❜

something  deep  inside  her  stuttered  to  a  halt.  the  words  sank  like  a  stone  into  a  part  of  her  that  he  inhabited…WOULD  ALWAYS  INHABIT.  even  after  all  this  time,  even  after  the  wreckage  they  left  behind.  and  god,  there  was  so  much  of  it.  love  had  always  carried  a  price.  back  then,  it  had  tasted  like  urgency,  like  adrenaline  and  sweat  and  the  marrow-deep  sting  of  guilt  after.  whispered  nothings  between  flak  jackets,  fingers  curled  tight  in  the  dark,  kisses  and  teeth  pressed  into  skin  like  they  were  trying  to  rewrite  the  ending  before  it  ever  came.  war  made  monsters  and  martyrs  of  them  both.  but  frank…  frank  had  always  made  her  feel.  too  much,  too  fast  and  still  never  enough  because  she  wanted  him  to  live  beneath  her  skin.  ❛ you  think  i  want  to  be  the  reason  you  suffer  ?  ❜  he’d  split  her  open  without  trying,  peeled  back  every  wall  she’d  ever  built  and  stood  there  like  he  didn’t  even  realize  he  was  holding  the  pieces  of  her  heart  in  blood-slick  hands.

❛  i  need  you.  ❜  so  much  that  it's  caustic,  it's  worn  itself  into  the  fabric  of  her  twisted,  brutalized  soul.  she  let  her  gaze  trace  the  battle  map  of  his  body,  of  all  the healing  that  never  took,  all  the  scars  she  could  trace  by  memory.  she  remembered  every  night  since  knowing  him.  a  call  never  went  unmissed,  her  door  never  locked.  moments  where  loving  him  felt  like  betraying  herself,  her  thin  grasp  on  morality  and  fuck—  betraying  the  memory  of  his  family.  she  stepped  closer,  until  her  voice  was  right  near  his  throat,  her  palm  flat  to  the  ribs  that  never  set  right.  ❛ i  don't  know  how  to  love  anybody  else.  i  don't  know  how  to  even  try  with  anybody  else.  i'm  not  slipping  away.  ❜  her  fingers  trembled  where  they  touched  him,  but  she  didn’t  pull  back.  she  couldn’t.  ❛  if  you're  not  here,  i'm  nothing.  ❜

his body is a mess of old wounds   —   scarred   over,   stitched   up,   bruised as hell. joints   crack,   muscles   pull   tight,   and   there's   a   constant   throb   in   his   shoulder   where   the   bone   never   healed   right.    pain   is   part   of   him   now,   background   noise   he   can   fight   through.    it's   the   guilt   that   guts   him.    the   guilt   that   lingers.    just   having   her   near   feels   like   a   betrayal   all over again.    her   presence   is   medicine,   yeah   —   she   quiets   his   mind   for   a   moment,   her   voice   smooths   the   anger in him,   but she's also the wound.    a   reminder   he   didn’t   just   lose   his   family   the   day   they   were   murdered.    no,   he   lost   them   long   before   that.   in   the   missed   dinners,   late   nights   staring   at   the   ceiling   with   the   taste   of   whiskey   and   her   mouth   on   him,   the   cold   space   between   him   and   the   man   he   used   to   be.

still   wanting   her,   after   everything,   is   his   punishment.

“     tired   doesn't   matter.    ”  he   lets   the   words   hang   in   the   air.    even   if   he   was,   even   if   he   could   tire   himself   out   from   chasing   her   like   a   goddamn   dog,   he   wouldn’t   walk   away.    she   needs   him   just   as   much,   even   if   she   doesn't   say   it   out   loud.    he doesn't do soft.    he doesn’t   do   pretty   words.    but   with   her,   somehow,   it   all   feels   like   the   one   thing   worth   fighting   for.    “  i've   kept   going   this   long   because   of   you.    i’ll   be   damned   if   i   let   you   slip   away   too.    ” 

inbox : aren't  you  tired  of  all  of  this? target : @medicbled

GOOD MORNING !!! Going to tidy up and finish organizing my house then get on my blogs to get things going cause spice is coming a day late friends. ALSO , welcome the newest member of my blog roll and latest mistake @enduredshe