I Need A Blunt After This One

lowkey all the leaves are brown and the sky is grey

no one speak to me. I AM LOOSING IT

the prophet & the queen

how to love a hero

description: how to love and be loved by a hero: with tenderness and warmth, washing the blood from each other’s hands after a long day.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader (implied; could be read as platonic)

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship

word count: 2.2k

warnings: not canon compliant, canon-typical violence, blood/injury, nonsexual nudity (gn!reader), kissing, swearing, 16+

a/n: one of the panels from moon knight (2006) inspired this cause it left me in shambles. they shower together (not explicit) marc and reader both need a hug and they’re getting one here!! i was writing from my shit memory, so my mind muddled some of the scenes from the show together (and bc i didnt know where i was going with this) but i fixed it. i also held this hostage in my drafts for like 2 (3?) months sorry lol

The handcuffs around your wrists felt like an unnecessary touch. You weren’t really sure why these people even had them in the first place, but after what you did to a quite few of them, you guessed it was probably a smart precautionary measure. Arthur Harrow’s followers kept shoving you forward like you couldn’t walk yourself. Your legs and hands ached and so did your head, but the pain suddenly went to the back of your mind when your eyes met the reason you were here.

Marc was kneeling on the ground, hands behind his back. The several guns pointed directly at his face made you swallow thickly, throat drying up fast. Your name flew out of his mouth when he saw you, eyes hanging on the blood stains all over your clothes before searching for any injuries. Marc immediately assumed the worst because that’s always been what he’s best at—and you must’ve been bleeding out with the amount of red he could see.

He lunged at Harrow, but his shoulders were pressed down roughly. “You piece of shit!”

“It’s not mine, Marc,” you reassured him, wrists straining against the tight cuffs.

“Did quite a number on my people, actually,” Harrow said as he took a few steps towards you. You thought you heard the faint sound of broken glass, but you weren’t sure where it was coming from. He glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t help but wonder what Ammit’s verdict might be.”

Keep reading

Hi! If you’re still taking requests, could you do a Lottie x reader where she gets a vision of her gf being injured so she stays by her side to protect her?

PAPER CUT

pairing: lottie matthews x reader

word count: 1238

notes and warnings: i did lottie a lil dirty in this one she is the embodiment of my anxiety in this fic. very mild TW for mentions of self harm (its just mentions of lottie cutting her hand to give the wilderness blood like in the show ykyk). also i promise i wasnt on crack writing the end of this w the cookies

It felt like you were being haunted by a second shadow.

You didn’t really mind it. You loved every second you were able to spend with Lottie. But ever since you’d gotten up this morning she’d been extra close to you, following you from room to room, sending you an excessive amount of texts to check on you between the classes you taught at the wellness center.

She had even gone with you to the farmers market, which, due to her great distaste for life outside the compound, tended to be an extremely rare occurrence. Even there she would hardly let you out of her sight, tried to carry everything for you, almost wouldn’t let you drive and volunteered to instead, which you declined. She had been off somehow, all day. Anxious.

She got like that sometimes, you noticed. Whenever she saw something or met someone that reminded her of her time in the wilderness, or her time in Switzerland. There was a need on her end to be close to you, for in solitude was when the memories came. Normally you were fine with it. It was a privilege for you to give her the comfort she desired and needed.

But somehow, you thought that today was different. It wasn’t just a desire to be close to you that had her by your side but something else accompanying it, as if she were worried about you, as if something might happen.

In the car on the way home from the farmer’s market, you’d finally had enough. She had again tried to stop you from driving, saying she was concerned about the traffic, but she had been so erratic all day that you’d seen right through the excuse.

“Lottie,” you sighed, turning the car on and turning out of the parking lot, “what’s going on with you?”

She was silent, and you looked over to see her lost in thought, and you wondered if she had even heard you.

“Lottie,” you said again.

She jumped, as if you had hurriedly woken her from sleep, and she met your gaze with slight alarm.

“Are you okay?” You asked, though you knew the answer.

“I’m fine,” she said, and even gave you a forced half-smile, and you were going to let the matter drop when you saw her tracing the scar on the palm of your hand — you knew what this always led to, the blood, the sacrifice.

You pulled the car over. You knew it was a bit of an overreaction, but the farmer’s market had been in complete chaos and with Lottie’s multiple attempts to keep you from driving, you were nearing your limit.

“Lottie,” you said with all the patience you could muster, “you need to tell me what’s wrong. Please. You’ve been following me like a shadow all day, and while I love your company always, it feels like there’s something else going on. If it involves me, I have to know, and if it doesn’t, I’d still like to know so I can help you.”

She didn’t meet your gaze, just kept tracing the scar on her hand, almost like a child. Until suddenly she did look up, finally meeting your eyes, and you could see the terrible anxiety in her gaze. “The visions came back,” she said simply.

You sighed. You never knew what to say about the visions. Part of you thought it was all in her head, that she needed to see a therapist about it, that they were delusions. But another part of you, a part of you that you tried to subdue, knew there was more to it than that. That something in the wilderness really had called to and captivated those who would listen, and that being had never truly left.

“What did you see?” You asked.

She hesitated, fingering through the slight tangles in her dark hair. “I saw you. And blood. You were cut, I think, I’m not sure. But I didn’t want you to get hurt. I think that’s what it wants, blood.” She looked down at the scar on her hand. “If I can just give it what it wants, maybe…”

You shook your head, taking her hand. “I’m going to be fine. Maybe it wasn’t a vision, maybe it was just a dream, or… I don’t know. But nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m right here. And you don’t need to give it anything.”

“You can’t know for sure,” she said, her tone becoming increasingly ominous. “You haven’t seen what happens when we refuse to give it what it wants, if it feels neglected or suppressed.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. The way she described it to you, the hunger of whatever being she believed watched her, was haunting. There was nothing you could have said to convince her that she was wrong, and part of you didn’t really even know if she was.

You took her hand, shaking your head. “Nothing is going to happen, okay? And even if something does happen, we’re prepared now, right?” You turned her hand, gesturing to her scar, which you could tell she had tampered with a little while ago. “Please don’t do this anymore.”

She attempted to protest, but saw the look you gave her, how deep your concern for her ran. She relented, nodding. “I won’t.”

You believed her, or at least as much as you could.

Attempting to lighten the mood, you reached into the backseat, pulling out a small paper bag. “Anyway, while you were going fucking ham on the macrame booth at the market, I got us these,” you said, opening the paper bag to reveal three cookies.

“Shit,” you stopped, ripping your finger away from the bag. The bag had cut your finger, had given you a paper cut. The slightest bit of blood came up out of the cut, coating it, and suddenly it clicked in your mind. “Lottie,” you said, smiling slightly, resisting a laugh. You showed her your finger, and she paused.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, and you could tell the worry she wore was dissipating. “A fucking paper cut… I had a vision of you getting a fucking paper cut.”

“Your third eye needs to chill a bit,” you teased, and she smiled, rubbing her temples. “You okay?”

Lottie nodded, chuckling. “Just give me one of those cookies.”

“I think I should have two of the three. I mean I did bleed for them, so…”

“Well, you wouldn’t have if you had listened to my warning.”

“Split the cookie?”

“What kind are they?” She asked, genuinely invested in the custody of the third cookie.

“Chocolate chip.”

She reached for the cookie. Chocolate chip was her favorite. “I think I deserve the whole thing, then.”

Quickly you took possession of the third cookie, holding it by your head, opening your mouth to take a bite.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Deciding she’d had enough of a rough day as it was, you obliged, splitting the cookie in half and giving her the half that was slightly bigger. “See, you left me alone for a little while and came back to find me with cookies. Everything was fine.”

“Yeah, but if I’d been with you, we would have gotten four cookies and we wouldn’t have had this horrible custody battle.”

“Questioning my cookie buying skills, hm? I hope there’s a paper cut in your future.”

-

-

-

Taglist: @ladyveela @thedeconstructionist @cordeliass @christies-fleur @traumatisedfangirl @goodeday2u @paulsonsratched

me all day, every day

18+ mdni

that reality check hitting after reading smut