#but now I feel like doom doom doom doom doom dread dread dread dread dread dread etc

[say-hi-intrepid-heroes]

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[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i love dead characters. i love characters who were always dead, who die halfway through, who die in the end - characters who die and come back but in a way they're still dead bc their first life died with them & nothing will ever be the same & their coming back is a bandaid over a gaping wound & their own death haunts them-

[dazais-guardian-angel]

kinda wild to me that one of the most compelling aspects of both Chuuya and Kunikida's characters to me, that I never really see talked about, is how they're heavily set on a doomed crash course towards complete and utter destruction, and how I am so, so worried for them both.....

[dapper-comedy]

i will say tho i've become a little better. at accepting a favorite character's death. like once u let it settle, it's ok

[thethingything]

our current dilema is that the pain from our wisdom tooth keeps getting so bad we have to take pain meds (like it keeps hitting an 8/10 for several hours at a time. we can't not take pain meds) but the only pain meds that touch it have a warning on them saying not to take them for more than 3 days in a row, and we have at least another month of dealing with this, so I don't really know what to do.

the warning is because they're opioids and can cause addiction but I don't actually know how bad the risk is because everything seems to treat it like opioids are the worst thing ever and should be avoided at all costs and you'll get addicted if you so much as glance at them.

either way, my options are to either keep taking them and just accept that risk, or deal with being in so much pain I can't function. even with taking the pain meds I can tell we're a lot more irritable and short tempered and probably just insufferable to be around honestly and I hate the fact that pain causes this, but once again we've got to deal with this for over a month and we've also got to deal with the anxiety over what the treatment for it is going to actually involve.

I've had to deal with medical trauma stuff I didn't even know about until like yesterday when Lucy suggested it might be part of why I feel so shit, and I've had multiple panic attacks per day and constantly feel way more anxious than usual and I get the feeling we're just gonnaa have to put up with this for the next month and I don't know how the fuck I'm meant to cope with any of this

[orcelito]

as someone with insomnia whose brain runs a mile a minute at all hours of the day every day always it's often hard for me to remember that i need sleep like everyone else does. like i see mentions of people sleeping and im like "lol couldnt be me" then i remember that i too must go unconscious every night, ideally for at least 8 hours a night, every single day, ad infinitum,

literally what is the point. i'd rather use my time for other things thanks

[gay-enchilada]

i am so sleep deprived

[svbhuman]

i mean, alternatively, guess i just kinfirmed him?

[vesper-specter]

Currently uh life update ig

Tummy aches :(

[sickgraymeat]

Just found out (should have known) that if I needed to go on disability (short term or otherwise) now or after my job ends I would not qualify bc I’m being paid under the table. Knew this abt unemployment but 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 everyone please advocate for yourselves and inform yourselves in the workplace and don’t accept illegal pay if you can help it. Not having to file taxes is not a benefit. You’re being screwed over.

[placeinthisworld]

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[capyclub]

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[seireiteihellbutterfly]

If You'll Have Me

A/N: Finally, this is here. Got this request back in March I think so anon, here ya go, sorry it took so long. Pairing: Megumi x Fem! Reader *(Both are 21 here) Warnings: Angst, breakup, pregnancy

It rained the day Megumi broke up with you. He sat there on your sofa, looking detached and apologetic, and you felt like your heart might choke you to death, the way it pounded frantically in your chest.

“I gave you everything!” You whispered furiously. “I supported you! Waited long hours for you to get home, without knowing what may have happened to you! I looked after Tsumiki when she became bedridden!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Megumi’s eyes are like dark tunnels, with not a trace of warmth or emotion in them. “With everything that’s happened…I don’t feel like I’m worthy of you.”

“Oh, how noble of you!” You spat, feeling utterly humiliated. “I suppose you’ll say it’s not me, it's you?” 

“It is me. I see the fear in your eyes whenever I leave you for a mission. I hear the pain in your voice when I tell you I’m coming home late. I hate being the person that makes you feel that way. You’re such a good person. That’s why I think you’d be better off without me.”

“Get out.” You managed to squeeze the words past your tightening throat, your eyes stinging painfully, tears spilling from them. Wordlessly, Megumi gets up and walks towards the door.

Perhaps you’d been daring him to go because your heart stopped for a second as he got to the door. Part of you wished he’d stop, look at you, and gather you close, saying he couldn’t live without you. You’re begging him with your being to not throw this away. 

He’s supposed to stop, isn’t he? He’s supposed to realize he’s being irrational, that there’s no one better than him for you? You were a pair, meant to be. His look haunts you as he turns the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly, before disappearing into the rain. 

You stood there, watching the downpour, feeling your heart crack and splinter, like a delicate teacup that had fallen from a shelf, no safe hands ready to catch it and prevent it from falling to its doom. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

A month later, you feel exhausted, more than usual. Getting out of bed feels like a chore. Your back and feet hurt, and nothing stays in your stomach. You try everything. Soup, saltine crackers, toast, applesauce. Whatever you ate made you nauseated and dizzy. 

You started worrying you had caught a really persistent form of the flu, but when your period didn’t start, you felt a wave of dread. 

Now, as you stared at the positive pregnancy test in your hands, you felt like someone had torn your body open, invisible wounds reopening and stinging afresh, chaotically spilling your feelings everywhere. 

“You need to tell him.” Gojo leans back in his chair, assessing you critically. You look at him coldly, cursing his six-eyes technique.

“I do not. And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is. Believe me when I say Megumi will not shirk his duties as a father. It would devastate him if he ever gets to know he has a child and that he was absent from its life.”

“How can you possibly assume that?” You cross your arms over your still flat belly and glare at him. Like it wasn’t bad enough that you were Megumi’s ex, now you were knocked up with his baby. “He wanted nothing to do with me. That man was barely able to keep promises to me as his girlfriend. What makes you think he’s going to step up and be a father to a child he probably doesn't want?”

“Because he knows what it’s like to be that child,” Gojo says the words quietly but with a firm edge that had you staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“Has Megumi ever told you about his dad?” Your silence says it all and Gojo narrows his eyes. “He’ll probably want my head if he ever finds out I told you this but I think it’s necessary.” Gojo sighs deeply and continues.

“Megumi’s dad loved him. But he simply wasn’t fit to be a parent. He abandoned Megumi and Tsumiki. Megumi was 7 years old at the time.”

You blink back tears as Gojo continues. “Megumi grew up as my ward. I don’t pretend to be his dad, but I can’t just let this slide. I understand you probably harbor resentment towards him, but cutting him out of this decision isn’t the right way to go about it.”

“I don’t want him to feel like he has any obligations towards me because of the baby. That’s the only reason he’d try to get in touch with me now, right?” You can’t forgive him for deciding to walk out of your life just yet, no matter what his childhood was like. 

“How long do you think you can keep this a secret? Megumi might not be around that much anymore, but you’ll start to show soon enough. If not me, someone else will tell him.”

Your expression hardens and you stand up with steely resolution coursing in your veins. “Thank you for your opinion. But the last I checked, though it takes two to make a baby, it only takes one to raise it.”

You pack your belongings and urgently move out of Tokyo by the end of the week.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Surprisingly, no one comes to bother you. You start over and manage to find work at a small accounting firm as a secretary. Your boss is sympathetic to your situation and doesn’t give you a hard time about needing maternity leave. Everything is going well despite the constant worry about running into someone from the jujutsu world but so far, nothing has happened. Your tummy swells and grows, the baby healthy and full of life. It brings you joy, knowing you carry this little being inside you.

One night, you wake up with a strange feeling inside your abdomen. Worried that the stress was getting to you as you entered your eighth month of pregnancy, you restlessly forced yourself out of bed and tried walking around the small apartment to ease your nerves.

It was a curious sensation, like something unseen was flowing through your veins, not sinister but a little unsettling. You place a hand on your swollen middle in hopes of soothing the baby then freeze when you feel the flow of cursed energy in your womb. 

You’d heard it wasn’t uncommon for sorcerer babies to begin regulating and channeling their cursed energy in utero, but it filled you with awe at how familiar the energy signature was to Megumi’s, vitality coursing under your fingertips as you felt it kick and turn. 

A soft rustling has you turning in panic, a gasp escaping your lips as you see 2 dog-like figures padding over to you from nowhere, their eyes glowing in the dark. Up close, you recognize them as Megumi’s divine dogs, their tails wagging as they approach you.

Motherly instinct has you clutching your stomach and angling away from them. Had Megumi finally figured out the truth? But the dogs’ demeanor didn’t seem to match that scenario. If anything, they looked curious and friendly. One of them finally gets close enough to nose your belly with its snout, before nuzzling the bump affectionately, which the other one mirrors. You watch in silent fascination, then feel a surge of energy from your womb. 

The baby was responding to the dogs. 

They recognized it as their owner. The dogs weren’t here because of Megumi. The baby had subconsciously summoned them. With a shaky hand, you pet both of them, seeing their eyes close happily. They bring back memories of Megumi and your eyes fill with tears.

“Does he want to be a father?” You ask them. They look at you with intense yellow eyes and before you can say anything else, vanish in a blink. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

The day the baby arrives is one of the happiest and emotionally draining days of your life. You lay on the labor bed, gripping the sheets as the contractions relentlessly come and go, each more painful than the last. 

You almost scream, not from the pain but in shock, as something noses your hand. Turning, you see the divine dogs at the side of the bed, unseen to the normal humans. You could’ve wept with relief, knowing you weren’t quite alone. You pet them and grip their fur as you finally deliver your baby boy into the world. 

The small pink bundle was a miniature of Megumi, the beautiful black hair plastered to its little head, screaming with the rage of life. With shaky hands you accept him, your heart so full of love you feel like it could burst. You’re so occupied that you don’t notice the divine dogs quietly padding outside, tails wagging, as someone lingers near the door.

Megumi has tears in his eyes as he hides just outside the room. He sees his child, and you, the person he loves and cherishes. You’re cooing at the baby, getting him settled down to suckle, his little hand wrapped around your finger so tightly.

Megumi balls his hands into fists feeling his fingernails dig into his palm, emotions raging through him. He’s so glad the two of you are healthy, and there’s regret for his mistakes of the past. He understands why you left Tokyo. You were a proud woman, independent, determined to not need him after he’d broken up with you. It wasn’t like you to grovel or beg. He was sure if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs by accident, he would’ve never found you. 

Yet he felt like an intruder, an outsider, unworthy of entering the room. He understands what he broke the day he left and it eats away at his soul knowing that he was the reason you didn’t come to him after finding out you were pregnant. It had taken so long for you to let your walls down, to learn to depend on him finally, and in an instant, he had taken that away from you, the one thing you had avoided for so long; the need to rely on others.

It was that which drove you, the shattered dependability, and he remembered how long it had taken to reassure you to be less guarded on that front. He was awful, no better than his own father. But he had to try. He knocks on the door.

You turn, breath catching when you see him in the doorway.

“Hi.” He tries to not let his tears show, but when your eyes fill, he can’t contain himself. He closes the gap and embraces both of you as you sob uncontrollably into his shoulder.  

.・。.・゜✭・.

Megumi sleeps on the sofa, taking care of his child with such tenderness and love. He relearns everything about you, appreciating all that you are. It takes time but the relationship rebuilds steadily.

“How did Gojo not rat me out?” you ask one evening as Megumi cooks dinner while you cuddle the baby on the sofa. 

Megumi pauses, and looks over uncertainly. “He did.”

“He did?” 

“Yeah.” Megumi’s voice is low. “He told me and said I’d regret it if I didn’t try to find you. I was a coward.” He turns the stove burner off and faces you. “I never stopped thinking about you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I still believe I’m not your equal, and I never will be. You were my home base. The single person holding my life together. How much more could I ask you to do?”

He joins you on the sofa, taking his son into his arms, rocking him softly as he starts to doze off. “I was so scared to ask you to forgive me. I felt like a hypocrite, reassuring you all these years that it’s ok to depend on me, and then taking that security away from you. I was the worst kind of asshole. But I knew I couldn’t be a deadbeat father. I looked for you. But you did such a good job covering up your tracks. Honestly, if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs, I probably would have never caught on.”

The baby yawns and drifts off to sleep in his arms. Megumi stares at the little face, unable to forgive himself for what he almost missed out on.

“I want us to be all right. I want us to be a family. Can we?” He looks at you with doubt, knowing if you said no, it was well within your right.

You take the baby from his arms, carefully settling him down in the portable bassinet next to the sofa, and take Megumi’s face in between your hands.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice choking up. 

Megumi pulls you against him tightly. “I love you so much. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure to live up to being your equal.”

You nod, letting your tears flow freely.

“I love you too.”

all dividers and banners by @/ cafekitsune

@estarlias @daswanj @actuallysaiyan @whatshernameis

@byul9158 @mirrors-musings @Mangiswig

@that-goth-bisexual @connorsui @jadedjane @darkstarlight82

@soft--cherry @galactict3a @hunnie-lily

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Can you write something like Evil Queens WandaNat x maid reader? Like reader is a new make and she’s kinda shy and quiet because she doesn’t wanna draw attention to herself, but she ends up doing that anyway when she manages to get out a really bad bloodstain out of the carpet (cause yk Wanda and Natasha did sum evil muahahaha- I’m sorry) Anyways, the maids usually have a hard time getting out blood stains which usually leads to them getting fired or uh- yk. But R caught their attention cause she could and was suddenly appointed as their personal maid and uh yeah you go wherever you want from there

Stains of the Heart

EvilQueens!WandaNat x Maid!Fem!Reader

Summary: Though you try to keep yourself hidden amongst the rest of the maids the Queens you work for take notice of you after being able to clean up properly after a mess they've made.

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, mentions of dark themes, mentions of blood, sexual themes

A/N: I feel like I could have made them more evil, but this is what came out as I wrote. These two took over~

The grand hall of the castle was eerily silent as the new maid, you, scurried about, nervously clutching your cleaning supplies. The atmosphere was thick with tension, an almost tangible sense of dread that had settled in ever since you had started working here. You were well aware of the fate of those who failed to meet the exacting standards of the castle's rulers, the formidable queens Wanda and Natasha.

You had heard the whispers among the other servants, the hushed tones speaking of what happened to those who displeased the queens. The stories were enough to make you keep your head down, blending into the background, hoping to avoid their notice.

Today was particularly nerve-wracking. A terrible incident had occurred the night before, leaving a significant bloodstain on the opulent carpet in one of the grand parlors. The maids who had tried to clean it before you had all failed, disappearing shortly after. You knew this was a test of your skills, one that could either secure your place in the castle or seal your doom.

With trembling hands, you set to work. You had always been meticulous, and today you put every bit of your knowledge to use. You mixed a special solution, carefully applying it to the stain. As you worked, you whispered a silent prayer, willing the stain to vanish.

Hours passed, but eventually, the carpet was spotless. You allowed yourself a small sigh of relief, barely daring to believe your success. You knew better than to draw attention to yourself, but as you packed up your supplies, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of hope.

That hope was quickly dashed when you felt a presence behind you. Turning slowly, you found yourself face-to-face with Queen Wanda. Her piercing eyes seemed to bore into your soul, making you feel small and insignificant.

"What's your name?" she demanded, her voice smooth yet laced with an underlying threat.

"Y/N, Your Majesty," you replied, keeping your eyes downcast.

"You did this?" she asked, gesturing to the now pristine carpet.

"Yes, Your Majesty," you answered, your voice barely above a whisper.

She studied you for a moment, then nodded. "Impressive. Follow me."

Heart pounding, you followed her through the winding halls of the castle, eventually arriving at a grand chamber where Queen Natasha waited. Her eyes were just as intimidating as Wanda's, and you felt a shiver run down your spine under her scrutinizing gaze.

"This is the one?" Natasha asked, her voice cool and assessing.

"Yes," Wanda replied. "She has a talent."

Natasha approached you, her eyes never leaving yours. "We have a proposition for you," she said, her tone making it clear this was not a request. "You will become our personal maid. Fail us, and you know the consequences."

Your mind raced, but you knew there was only one answer. "Yes, Your Majesty," you agreed, bowing your head.

From that moment on, your life changed. You were no longer just another servant in the castle; you were under the direct scrutiny of the queens. They were demanding, their standards impossibly high, but you met each challenge with quiet determination.

As time passed, you learned more about them. Wanda, with her powerful presence and piercing gaze, and Natasha, with her calculating mind and cold demeanor. You discovered the complexities beneath their fierce exteriors, the reasons for their ruthlessness.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, you found yourself alone with Wanda. She seemed different, almost... softer. "You surprise me, Y/N," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Most would have faltered by now."

"I'm just doing my best, Your Majesty," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"And you do it well," she acknowledged, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

In that moment, you realized that perhaps there was more to your role than you had initially thought. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a place here, earn their trust, and uncover the secrets that lay beneath the surface of their reign.

But for now, you would continue to serve, keeping your head down, your skills sharp, and your heart guarded against the enigmatic allure of the evil queens.

--------------------

Your days as the personal maid to Queens Wanda and Natasha had settled into a demanding yet predictable rhythm. The queens were strict, their expectations high, and every task carried the weight of your continued survival. Yet, amidst the constant pressure, you had begun to notice subtle shifts, particularly in Wanda's behavior towards you.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, you were summoned to Wanda's private chambers. Your heart raced as you made your way through the dimly lit corridors, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. You knocked softly on the heavy wooden door, waiting for her permission to enter.

"Come in," her voice called from inside, smooth and commanding.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind you. Wanda was seated by the large window, her silhouette framed by the moonlight streaming in. She looked up as you entered, her expression unreadable.

"You wanted to see me, Your Majesty?" you asked, keeping your head slightly bowed in respect.

"Yes, Y/N," she replied, her tone softer than usual. "Come here."

You approached her cautiously, stopping a few feet away. She gestured for you to sit on the nearby cushioned chair, and you obeyed, sitting down with your hands clasped in your lap.

Wanda studied you for a moment, her eyes intense but not unkind. "You've been here for some time now," she began. "You've proven yourself capable, resourceful, and... loyal."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," you said quietly, unsure of where this conversation was leading.

She stood and moved closer to you, her presence both intimidating and strangely comforting. "Do you enjoy your work, Y/N?" she asked, her voice holding an unusual note of curiosity.

"I take pride in my work, Your Majesty," you replied carefully. "I strive to meet your expectations."

She reached out, gently lifting your chin so you were forced to meet her gaze. "You've exceeded them," she said softly, her thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

You felt a blush creep up your neck at her touch, your heart pounding in your chest. "Thank you, Your Majesty," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda's expression softened further, and she smiled—a rare and breathtaking sight. "You've done more than just meet expectations, Y/N," she said. "You've caught my attention."

You blinked in surprise, not daring to believe what you were hearing. "I... I'm honored, Your Majesty."

She chuckled softly, her eyes never leaving yours. "You've been so quiet, so diligent," she said. "But I see you, Y/N. I see your strength, your determination. And I find myself... intrigued."

Her words left you speechless, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. Wanda's hand moved from your chin to your cheek, her touch warm and tender. "Do not fear me," she whispered, leaning in closer. "I do not intend to harm you. Quite the opposite."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. "What do you intend, Your Majesty?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

She smiled again, her lips tantalizingly close to yours. "I intend to show you my favor," she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. "To reward your loyalty and dedication."

Before you could respond, she closed the distance between you, her lips capturing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you found yourself leaning into her, the world around you fading away.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. "You are special, Y/N," she said quietly. "Remember that."

You nodded, still dazed from the kiss. "I will, Your Majesty."

Wanda's smile widened, and she gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good. Now, go and rest. You have earned it."

You rose to your feet, feeling a strange mix of emotions. As you left her chambers and made your way back to your quarters, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held. Wanda's affection was both a blessing and a danger, and you knew you would have to navigate it carefully.

But for now, you allowed yourself a small moment of happiness, the memory of her kiss lingering on your lips as you drifted off to sleep.

-----------------

The days following your intimate encounter with Queen Wanda were filled with a peculiar mixture of anxiety and anticipation. You carried on with your duties as usual, but there was an underlying tension in the air, a sense that something significant had shifted. Wanda's affectionate gaze lingered on you more often, and you couldn't help but wonder if others had noticed.

One afternoon, as you were meticulously arranging fresh flowers in the grand hall, you felt a presence behind you. Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with Queen Natasha. Her eyes were as cold and calculating as ever, but there was a new intensity in her gaze that made your pulse quicken.

"Y/N," she said, her voice low and authoritative. "Come with me."

Your heart pounded as you followed her through the labyrinthine corridors to a secluded study. Once inside, she closed the door with a quiet finality that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Sit," she commanded, pointing to a chair in front of a large, ornate desk.

You sat down, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, trying to steady your breathing. Natasha circled the desk and took a seat, her piercing eyes never leaving yours.

"I've noticed a change in Wanda," she began, her tone even but with an edge that made you nervous. "She seems... distracted. And I believe I know the reason why."

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. "Your Majesty, I—"

Natasha held up a hand, silencing you. "Do not lie to me, Y/N. I am well aware of the kiss."

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt a wave of panic. "I—"

"Do not be afraid," she said, leaning forward, her eyes narrowing. "I am not here to punish you. In fact, I have a proposition."

You blinked in surprise, the tension in the room thickening. "A proposition, Your Majesty?"

"Yes," Natasha replied, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper as she leaned closer. "Instead of simply being our maid, would you like to be our plaything?"

Your eyes widened, and your mind raced. The suggestion was both thrilling and terrifying. "Your Majesty, I—"

She reached out, taking your chin in her hand, her grip firm yet not painful. Her eyes bored into yours, making it clear that this was not a casual offer. "Wanda seems to have taken a liking to you that just won't go away," she continued. "And I will do whatever necessary to make her happy."

Her words sent a shiver through you, a mix of fear and desire coursing through your veins. How could you say no to them when everything about them made you want them? You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice.

"Of course, Your Majesty," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "It would be the highest of honors to serve you and Queen Wanda however you need."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Natasha's lips. "Good," she purred, releasing your chin and leaning back in her chair. "You will continue with your duties as usual, but you will also be available to us whenever we desire. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," you said, nodding.

Natasha's smile widened, a predatory glint in her eyes. "Very well. You may go."

You rose from your chair, bowing your head respectfully. As you turned to leave, Natasha's voice stopped you.

"And Y/N," she added, her tone almost teasing, "do not disappoint us."

You nodded once more, then quickly left the room, your mind spinning. The proposition was both a dangerous game and an intoxicating possibility. As you resumed your duties, you couldn't help but wonder how this new dynamic would unfold, and what it would mean for your place in the castle.

That night, as you lay in bed, you couldn't shake the feeling of Natasha's intense gaze and Wanda's tender kiss. The queens had ensnared you in their web, and there was no turning back. You only hoped you could navigate their desires and demands without losing yourself in the process.

---------------

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of intense and secretive encounters with the queens. Each interaction left you more entranced by their power and allure, yet there was always a lingering sense of danger. Wanda's tender kisses and Natasha's possessive touches had become a regular part of your life, blurring the lines between duty and desire. But until now, your encounters with them had remained separate.

Today was different.

You were summoned by Queen Wanda, a call that usually filled you with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Her affection was addictive, and you found yourself craving her attention more with each passing day. However, when you stepped into their private chambers, the sight that greeted you made your heart skip a beat.

Both queens were there, their regal clothes splattered with blood. Panic surged through you as you rushed over to them, your hands trembling as you cupped their cheeks, frantically checking for any cuts or stab wounds. To your immense relief, you found none.

"You're not hurt," you breathed, your voice filled with concern and confusion.

Natasha's grip on your wrist was sudden and firm, pulling you towards her. Her kiss was rough, almost punishing, and you found yourself melting into it despite the intensity. Her other hand tangled in your hair, holding you in place as her lips claimed yours. The taste of her was intoxicating, and you barely registered Wanda moving behind you until you felt her soft kisses trailing along your shoulders and neck.

Wanda's hands slipped around your waist, holding you gently but securely. Her lips and tongue worked their magic on your skin, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. You were caught between them, their combined presence overwhelming and exhilarating.

"Don't worry, my sweet," Wanda whispered against your neck, her breath warm and soothing. "The blood isn't ours."

Natasha broke the kiss, her eyes dark and filled with desire. "We had some... business to attend to," she explained, her voice low and seductive. "And now we want to attend to you."

Your mind swirled with a thousand thoughts, but all you could focus on was the sensation of their hands and lips on your body. Wanda's fingers traced patterns on your skin, while Natasha's grip tightened, a perfect balance of tenderness and dominance.

"You've been such a good girl," Wanda murmured, her voice like honey. "Always so eager to please us."

Natasha's lips curled into a predatory smile. "And now it's time for us to show you just how much we appreciate your devotion."

They guided you towards the large, luxurious bed, each movement coordinated and purposeful. As you lay down, Wanda climbed beside you, her hands never leaving your body. Natasha followed, her eyes never leaving yours as she leaned in for another kiss, this one slower, more deliberate.

Wanda's hands roamed over your torso, her touch gentle yet electrifying. "Relax, my darling," she cooed, her lips brushing against your ear. "Let us take care of you."

Natasha's hand slid under your shirt, her fingers tracing the outline of your bra. "You belong to us now," she whispered, her voice sending a thrill of excitement through you. "Body and soul."

Caught in their embrace, you felt a surge of emotions—fear, desire, love, and a deep-seated need to please them. You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "Yes, Your Majesties."

Their eyes gleamed with satisfaction at your submission. Together, they undressed you with a mix of urgency and reverence, their hands and mouths exploring every inch of your skin. The room was filled with the sound of your gasps and their murmured words of affection and desire.

Wanda's lips captured yours in a sweet, lingering kiss, her hand cradling your face as if you were the most precious thing in the world. "You're ours," she whispered against your lips.

Natasha's hands moved lower, eliciting a moan from you as she found your most sensitive spots. "Forever," she echoed, her voice a promise and a command.

In their arms, you felt a profound sense of belonging, a connection that went beyond mere physical attraction. They were your queens, and you were their treasured plaything, caught in a web of power, passion, and unspoken loyalty.

As the night wore on, you surrendered yourself completely to their touch, their love, and their power, knowing that you were exactly where you were meant to be—at the mercy of the queens who ruled your heart and soul.

@dorabledewdroop

[radioactive-mouse]

i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me

3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.

Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.

Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—

Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.

Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part 3 of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 4.)

summary:

the baron is chuckling. you feel it coming, the sense of doom, in the way the court holds its breath, in the flash of uncertainty in the na-baron’s eyes.

“i have another gift for you.”

“her.”

you.

wc: 4k.

tw: blood, gore, possessive feyd rautha, bene gesserit shenanigans, determinism but make it sexy, bit of knife play, blood play, wound fucking, fingering, oral (fem recieving), somewhat sub feyd, breeding, inkpie, brief mention of cockwarming.

you’re kneeling. or rather, two guards are forcing you down on your knees, fingers digging in the meat of your shoulder until they reach the bone. you hold back a wince. 

you fail. 

your breath is heavy, stuttering little gasps leaving your lips with droplets of blood. your left side is on fire, each inhale pure, agonizing torture. use the voice and they’ll kill you.

you’re kneeling before baron vladimir harkonnen in his personal chambers, in a tattered robe. it’s filthy, the way he looks at you like you’re prized meat.

you bare your teeth.

“such defiance, atreides.” from the murky depths of his bath, he tilts his head. volutes of smoke escape his parted lips, slithering towards you. “tell me, why should i let you live?”

careful. 

plans within plans within plans. you can’t let your feeble control over the situation escape you. inhale. choke on your scream - like hell you’ll show him your pain.

“if i weren’t useful to your plans, i would be dead.”

an image flashes in your mind’s eye. a spider woven out of human flesh, the mangled bodies of harkonnen prisoners frankensteined together. barely alive. an eternity of torment.

the baron laughs, a deep, cavernous rumbling. it fills the penumbra, fills you with dread. your shoulders tense - nervous impulse. you’re not in control.

“fair enough.” he inches forward, the gigantic mass of him rippling through filthy waters. “where is your brother?”

pain. it ripples through you, sinks its claws in your chest and freezes there, a sinking weight. you can’t breathe. you push through.

“he’s already given his last breath to the sands of arrakis.”

“how would you know?”

“dreams.”

the answer escapes your gritted teeth with frightening rapidity. good. let him think pain clouds your judgment. let him see you as weaker than you really are. 

one of the guards tightens his hold, forces you to stand straight. blood drips down your lip. you will not scream.

“dreams?”

the subtle narrowing of his eyes. a quirk of his lip. disbelief. intrigue.

“i’ve followed my mother’s footsteps.” 

“ah, lady jessica.” 

keep her name out of your mouth. 

he leans back in the bathtub. silence settles. stretches. stretches. he’s pensive, the baron. his lips wrap at the end of the pipe, mouth like a maw swallowing it, releasing acrid smoke that burns you. spice.

(visions. shai hulud deemed your brother worthy. on they go. march south or die. maybe the sands haven’t consumed him yet.) 

nervous exhaustion settles in. they haven’t treated your wounds. it takes every ounce of energy to remain conscious, every inch of pride to will your muscles to stop trembling. your vision blurs at the edges.

“i’ll ask again, atreides. why should i let you live?”

bastard. you’re on your last legs. he has you cornered. 

“because you’d have to kill your heir if you don’t.”

now that catches his attention.

“go on.”

careful. there’s a thin line between usefulness and danger. do not step on the wrong side.

“he’s recognized me in the arena."

the ghost of his touch against the wicked scar of your forearm. the flash of a grin, black teeth like a promise inked at the back of your skull.

you fought well, atreides.

behind your back, your nails dig into your palms. 

“he’ll ruin you.”

“is that so?”

skepticism. amusement.

“do you think it wise to try and find out, baron?”

silence. fate looms over you. spins its web in the calculated gaze of the baron, gaze like cold steel cutting through you. 

your life is in his hands and he relishes in it. in having you, half bare before him, chest heaving with each stuttering breath, red darkening the black of your dress.

you watch him lick his lips and shiver with disgust.

“do you think it wise to threaten me when i have wiped your house from the surface of the known galaxy?”

oh, right on a silver platter.

your mouth drips shadows as you bare your teeth in a grin.

��only because you were backed up by the imperium and its sardaukar.” you cough. blood drips on the ground. “you were a pawn, and that scum of an emperor could deem you a threat, too.”

a beat.

he’s smiling.

“you’ll be of use, atreides.” 

a wave of his hand.

the guards move. drag you up until you’re standing on faltering legs. defiant, still. breath ragged, panting, blood pooling at your feet. you feel soiled, with the way the baron looks at you, eyes dragging down to your womb.

there’s a commotion behind you. you still. in your state, you’ve neglected to analyze your surroundings, only focusing on the biggest threat in the room. you didn’t take into account the harkonnen court behind you. atreides. the baron practically signed your death. 

shit.

your vision is darkening in the corners.

“i ought to drown you in that tub.”

feyd-rautha, voice a low growl borne out of primal fury. feyd-rautha, in dark robes, shadow among shadows. you catch the slow twitch of his pale hand, the instinctual gesture of nerves calling for a familiar blade. to kill or protect, you do not know.

the guards freeze. you’re left there, struggling to stand, sweat dripping down your back with the effort of staying upright. how utterly humiliating. 

“do not be hasty, my dear nephew.”

a ripple. the baron is chuckling. you feel it coming, the sense of doom, in the way the court holds its breath, in the flash of uncertainty in the na-baron’s eyes.

“i have another gift for you.”

“her.”

you. 

one step, two, until he’s facing you. 

he snarls at the guards. they let go of you. you collapse, only stopped from slamming upon the marble floors by two strong arms. 

he’s pulling you in his chest, arm wrapping around your waist. you shudder, nerves alight with the instinctual need to get away from this place, from the baron’s lecherous’ stare, from the court’s bloodlust. 

i must not fear. fear is the mind killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. i will face my fear-

you don’t realize you’ve been shaking until a hand settles at the back of your head. warm. comforting. rubbing small circles in your scalp until you relax, if only by a fraction. he won’t let them harm you - you know it, deep in your soul. 

“yes, her.” dismissive. “and a bigger one. arrakis.”

you feel it, the way the na-baron’s body tenses, the ripple of the hard planes of his chest under the soft silk of his clothes. anticipation. unease. you press your cheek to his heart, listen to the erratic pulse of it.

“what about rabban?”

“he has failed to protect the spice production.”

paul. your fingers clench in your palm, piercing the skin.  

“tame arrakis feyd. free the spice, and i’ll make you emperor.”

you still. he who controls the spice has ultimate power over the known galaxy. power is power. knowledge is power.

“how?”

“use me.”

they still. rapt attention falls upon you. your fingers dig into the na-baron’s forearm like a vice to remain upright.

“if the great houses were to learn that the emperor ordered an entire house to be wiped out, they would question his authority. rebel. wage war until one comes on top.” you swallow blood. “you’ll have me as a living witness and weapon.”

“a weapon, huh?”

feyd-rautha looks down at you. there’s something awfully calculating in the way he assesses you, in the way his fingers curl over your hip - possessive. protective.

the baron rises by a fraction, mephistopheles bargaining.

“will you side with us, atreides?” 

you let out a shaky breath. laughter. you’re laughing at him, at the absurdity of the situation - you, last of your house, striking a deal with the devil for revenge.

“i will. i only ask for one thing in return - the emperor’s head.”

the baron’s gaze is riveted to you. he nods. bargain sealed.

“this must not leave this room.”

feyd-rautha springs into action, blades drawn out of their sheaths before the baron finishes his sentence.

bodies fall. 

carnifex. the butcher. oh, he’s gorgeous, feyd-rautha, twin blades slicing through gaping throats, droplets of blood landing on his pale cheek. 

the baron immerses himself in that wretched bath, until it’s only you and the apex predator that is him.

you take a step forward. two. three. until you’re facing him, slowly raising your hand. the motion alone has you gasping for breath. still, you persist, until your fingers settle on his cheek, thumb wiping away at the gore sprayed there. 

he leans into your touch, eyes half-lidded, nuzzling in your palm. his own hand cradles yours, warm, smearing blood on your skin. his lips press against your palm, against the many half-moons your nails have left in their wake. 

“come, my little atreides,” he mutters. “you need medical attention.” 

his eyes sink into yours, magnetic, all consuming. they dart to your parted lips, to the blood coating them. he leans in, breath like fire upon your soul, upon your awaiting mouth. 

your breath stutters.

oh.

“catch me, feyd.”

you fall. 

.

.

.

fall until you stand in the desert of arrakis. paul has his back turned to you, silhouette burning bright in your retina. corpses. they’re burning, all of them, and with the stench of sun-charred flesh rises a litany. lisan al gaib. 

lead them to paradise.

you want to scream. you want to reach out for cruel fate and rip her asunder with your bare hands until that twisted future is no more.

you do not know whether your brother is the kwisatz haderach. you do not know if there is a kwisatz haderach, what’s with the missionaria protectiva’s wretched tale.

warmth seeps in your womb, the gentle press of a lover’s hand. you do not know if the child you’ll bear will be the one. 

desert sands slips from your fingers.

you just want your family back. 

**

feyd doesn’t expect it, the moment you collapse in his arms with a whispered plea. still, he catches you. slides his arms under the back of your knees and pulls you close, where he knows no harm would come to you.

who would possibly dare to cross him? 

warmth spreads across his hand. blood, he realizes. your wound, that vicious strike of his hasn’t been treated. fury washes over him, gaping maw sinking in his heart. it is vicious, too, that fury.

it tells him of blood and death and destruction. death to the baron. death and misery upon those who’ve wronged you - doesn’t matter if he has to face the sardaukar, for he is legion. 

the hallways are empty. servants have long deserted the baron’s quarters, knowing not to disturb him. good. no one must know of your presence here. 

he looks down at you, at your wan face, at the blood dripping down your chin, spreading, spreading down your throat. 

he cannot let you die. 

he cannot compromise himself more than he already has by threatening the doctors to kill them should you die in their hands. he leaves you in their care and strides back to his own chambers. they’ll notify him of your condition. 

you, last atreides left standing. you, with your sharp wit, sharp blade and sharper smile. you, feral, snarling at him in the arena. you, hands dipped in ink darker than black, spreading it over his back. 

he had felt your warmth, back then. felt the softness of your skin on his, shivered as you ran over his deltoids, down to the rib - lower. each and every one of his nerves, raw, exposed, yearning for your touch. 

there had been a beat, a split second of hesitation on your part. blood calls for blood, and his house has spilled so much of your blood. it would have been easy for you to take a hold of his blade and sink it in his exposed back. 

he almost wanted you to do it.

(he had tilted his head, back then, a low growl leaving his lips at the mere thought of it. he could almost taste it, your sheer want.)

he, na-baron feyd-rautha harkonnen, lets his guard down, as if waiting for you to strike. why is that? 

his steps do not lead him to a place of honor. too much blood has been spilled in this palace - a tribute to harkonnen nature, really. verses upon verses of hymns interwoven with gore and the acrid scent of enemies torn asunder by their blades. hellish epics to those who died bloody.

retribution is second nature - and he expects it from you.

then why is he so soft around you?

you’re still an atreides. your only worth to his uncle as of now resides in this precise fact - that you remain a witness to your house’s demise. a hidden blade, ready to be sunk in the emperor’s back. 

his steps slow. 

there’s something.

you, standing in the arena, raising your head, voice distorted and hoarse, thousands of your foremothers screaming in righteous fury.

you will not perceive me as i am.

he hadn’t, not until his fingers met the jagged ends of your scar. 

a bene gesserit trick.

“are you lost, my lord na-baron?”

a silhouette in the shadows, shrouded in veils. he can only make out a smile - sweet, charming. not enough to conceal the sharpness beneath. witch. 

he remains silent. 

“what will you do with lady atreides?”

his resolve weakens. here, in the dead silence of the hall, he speaks:

“she will be mine.” a beat. the nervous twitch of his fingers, aching for a blade. “is it not what you intended, witch?”

he knows she is smiling, the bene gesserit facing him. 

plans within plans within plans. atreides, harkonnen, corrino, dozens of great houses and they’re none the wiser.

“it was.”

**

none of it is real, it is all an illusion - your touch is wrong, your judgment unjust, faltering. dreams have meaning, this must be one. you can still taste the sands of arrakis, hear the screams of the billions of people starving, begging-

you rise in your bed - information flashes.

a bed. bandages wrapped tightly around your side. harsh, cold walls. antiseptic. blood - a medical wing. 

feyd rautha.

you startle. he’s watching you, head slightly tilted to the side. assesses you still, gaze raking over the thin fabric of the covers.

his gaze is free to roam the expanse of your bare throat, to trail down to the dips of your collarbones, to the swell of your naked breasts. you shiver.

“is the sight to your liking, my lord na-baron?”

a chuckle like a rattlesnake. he steps closer, until he’s all but hovering above you, hand lightly pressing down on the mattress below.

“will you have me, my wife?”

you blink.

“we’re not-”

his fingers run up your wrist, press against the long scar marring your forearm. 

“does it truly matter? you were made to be mine.” slowly, he sinks to his knees, glacier eyes smoldering in the penumbra. “and i was made to be yours.”

generations of prefect planning for this - you, last atreides left standing, and him, feyd rautha harkonnen, alone in the same room, bred for one another, for the kwisatz haderach to be conceived.

you raise your hand, cradling his cheek.

“have me, feyd-rautha.”

he presses a kiss to your palm, your inner wrist. he grins, black teeth like a gaping maw ready to sink into the marrow of you. your pulse jumps at that, rabbit-quick against the thin skin of your wrist. he feels it, with the way his thumb presses down on the delicate flesh. 

his hand slithers under the covers, drags them down, until your side is completely exposed. he presses a kiss there, too, on the stitched up wound at your side. it’ll scar. a living, breathing reminder of him, of the kiss of his blade on your skin. the weapon is in his hand before you know it, slicing through bandages.

you feel his breath before you feel the press of his lips on your side. you gasp, fingers reaching for him, digging in his nape.

his tongue meets raw flesh, teeth worrying at the stitches until they snap. his nail rakes the cut, spreads its edges apart until liquid warmth blossoms at your side, trickling down your ribs. 

you scream.

his lips slam against your own. warm. scorching. bruising. he presses himself to you like he wants to sink in the marrow of you and taste.

your hand raises to his chest, a meek press against his heart, fingers weaving with the velvet shadows of his jacket. 

closer.

he growls. low, primal, needy. pushes his fingers in the gaping wound at your side - white hot pain surges through you. your mind grows blank. agony never felt so sweet. 

your lips part in a cry - he swallows it down with greedy laughter. 

you feel him smile against your lips, tongue reaching out for yours. heavy. you bring him closer. his hand twists, index curling up. you think he wants to reach your heart and never let go.

“feyd-”

he stills. nips at your lip one last time, backing away. a spider-web string of saliva links you both. he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you with a low hum. desire curls inside your lower belly.

“more,” you beg.

“where?”

you take his hand, bring it between your thighs, face heating up. he’s laughing, feyd rautha, the tip of his blood-soaked fingers brushing your cunt. 

you gasp at that, at the way he spreads you apart, sinks into you with shameless abandon. you whine as you feel his fingers curl oh so sweetly.

he’s watching you. leaning closer and closer, until you can feel his breath on your inner thigh, until- 

until his lips press against your heat, tongue lapping at you. you mewl, hand pressing him closer, nails sinking into his nape. you feel him growl against you, a low, needy sound as he tastes you, consumes you, tongue flicking against your clit.

something’s building in you, agonizingly warm, blistering fire spreading over your skin. a low vibration.

he’s purring, you realize, eyes closed in bliss as he laps at you, tongue delving into you, your essence running down his chin. you bite your lip until you taste blood. 

it’s all too much.

the way his fingers have you keening his name like holy prayer. the way his tongue burns a path of desire over your slit, skilled little licks having you thrash in his grip, the low vibration of his purr having you squirming in his grasp. his free hand tightens around your thigh, pulls you closer. 

his gaze flits to yours, glacier eyes melting under the weight of his desire. 

you cum with a whine of his name, a plea for him to stop, to give you more, to please please please, keep touching you. 

his eyes roll in the back of his skull at that. at the sight of you, lips parted in sinful euphoria, head thrown back under a tidal wave of pleasure. more. he needs more.

he grasps your hand, presses it against the length of his clothed cock, hard, throbbing, yearning for your touch.

“will you have me?”

“yes.”

as it was meant to be. him and you, bodies pressed so close nothing could come between the two of you, your nails digging in his back as he eases himself into you with a low hiss of pleasure.

him, pressing his lips in the crook of your neck, teeth nibbling at the tender flesh as his hips slowly rock into you.

“mine,” he growls, forehead against yours, picking up his pace until you’re gasping for breath. “mine.”

you close your fingers around his. press a kiss to his lips - you’re so full, so delectably full, your legs crossing over his lower back, driving him closer still.

his teeth break your skin, your lips painted over in blood. the sight has him moaning, reaching out between your legs to rub at your clit until you’re keening his name.

his release follows yours - he groans your name in the crook of your neck, hips stuttering madly against yours. 

your breaths mingle - two pieces of the same puzzle slotting against one another. complete. you’re whole, pressed against the broad expanse of his chest, his cock settled snugly in your pussy.

you can almost feel it, the satisfied smile of the reverend mother. an heir has been secured, deep in the confines of your womb, growing, second after second. a boy - the kwisatz haderach.

that wretched eons long plan doesn’t matter. not now, not when you run your knuckles against the sharp edge of his jaw, marveling at him.

“mine,” you mutter.

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