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aboutthenabaron · 2 months ago

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Night Crawler - Pt. 1

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader / can be read as OC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha welcomes a nocturnal visitor in his chambers, who is plagued by the symptoms of her artificially induced condition.

WORD COUNT: 3,558

TAGS: 18+, smut, lactation kink 🍼‼️, pseudo pregnancy, breastfeeding (no baby involved only a big sexy egg man), she/her reader, AFAB reader, ambiguous relationship status, non-consenting drug use, dark undertones, implied violence, stockholm syndrome-ish, dubious consent, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Part 1 ↓, Part 2, Part 3

The nights on Giedi Prime are inky black, not midnight blue like on her home world. Inky black are also the sharp-edged pillars that frame the hallway. Jagged polymer giants that intersect the row of windows like alien artifacts. The view outside is not much better. Where one might expect palace gardens are only industrial plants that stretch past the horizon. They are the only source of light.

This corridor is solely occupied by the na-Baron. She has been here many times. But never alone. The corridor where she resides is not far away, yet the path seems to stretch on forever, the Harkonnen palace a hostile monster that pierces her marrow and bone with every barefooted step on cold, black tiles.

She hates this so much. Tonight will be her personal disgrace. That she goes to him willingly, and in the middle of the night no less, is a first.

Though willingly is a farfetched word. No servant has reacted to her request for some pain relief remedy, mumbled then shouted into the transmitter panel in the wall of her chamber. It could be because she had uttered a wrong word in the afternoon or he didn’t like the way she held her fork and knife at dinner. It is hard to tell with Feyd-Rautha.

What is also not under her influence is the chemical cocktail in her veins that tricks her body into believing something has taken root in her womb. The symptoms are manifold, but what torments her most is how her breasts have grown bigger and heavier with milk that no one drinks.

At first glance one might think the fine lines that frame her enlarged breasts are stretch marks, but many of them are scars, placed by an enraptured Feyd-Rautha who loves to lap up the crimson beads, from base to peak. Sometimes his mouth and teeth ghost over her pert nipples.

The na-Baron seems to find sick enjoyment in her condition, fantasizing about the idea without the commitment. It is still better than being forced to carry the his real spawn.

The corridor ends in a dead end and she raises her hand, knocks on the door with cold knuckles. “My Lord?” Her warm breath is a ghost swallowed by the hallway.

There is no sound to be heard, nothing moves aside from the rise and fall of her ribcage. She swallows her pride and knocks again.

A mechanism whirrs and the door slides open. Out comes Feyd with a knife. That much was to be expected, but she still gasps when the icy edge of the blade finds her throat. The na-Baron’s frown dissolves into surprise when he recognizes her. Her throat is one of the few he wouldn’t slit right away for disturbing him.

“Feyd-!” She gasps and flinches away from the blade. Its tip tickles her jaws.

He was asleep, she realizes and is somehow surprised. The slight touch of puffiness around sharp eyes gives him away. She has never seen him sleep and she believes no one has, except for his own mother perhaps, who is now dead by matricide. This pinch of vulnerability on Feyd-Rautha’s face makes her heart stutter, as she hadn’t expected to wrest a triumph from this wretched night.

“What do you want, night crawler?" He sheathes the knife and drags the tip of a finger down her throat instead, to her collarbones, making a shiver roll down her spine. She prefers the knife.

“I am hurting, my Lord.” She stares straight ahead at Feyd's throat while gesturing at her breasts, avoiding his face. Tonight she can't stand to see the sickly joy that lights up his eyes whenever she's in pain. “They are… Too full, or so it feels.” Her bosom sits heavily in the snug night gown, warm and aching.

“Oh. Do they hurt badly?” Feyd wants to hear a yes. Fatigue and ire about being woken are gone now and he stares at her cleavage. The scars he made stare back at him.

“Would I come to you if they weren’t?” She spits. Feyd-Rautha smiles eerily and in the black of the night, his maws look like they possess no teeth.

“Come inside then.” He steps aside, clearing the passage into his chambers. The hairs in the nape of her neck prickle.

“Actually… “ She takes a step back. Even the alien pillars at her back emit more warmth than Feyd's den. “I only need you to call a servant for me. My panel seems to be broken. I’m sorry to have woken you, but I can get no rest like this. And I would…” She cringes. “I would like to be well-rested for whatever my Lord has in store for me tomorrow.” There is always something.

“Is that so?” Something about his voice reminds her of stepping on wet gravel. “You already woke me. No need to wake a servant now.” A hint of a smile creeps over his visage, a threat in one eye, glee in the other as he holds out his hand.

She chooses not to take it, so she can retain some dignity while entering his bed chambers. The door whirrs shut at her back and she knows she won’t be able to exit until he places his hand on a hidden panel. Slowly she walks into the center of the bleak room, walls made of polished stone, steps in the back leading down to a basin that is sunken into the floor. A double bed is at the right hand side and the ruffled sheets are the only sign that something lives in this room.

Feyd-Rautha moves like a beast of the night. She feels his breath on her neck before she hears his footsteps. Wiry arms circle her from behind and pull her against his chest. He is the warmest thing in the room, but as long as she isn’t freezing to death she prefers not to throw herself into an embrace that can warm her one second and scorch her the next. He kisses her neck and softly slides the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders.

Assuming Feyd’s intentions are as they most often are, she shuffles away and pulls the straps back up, trying to sound stern. “F-Feyd-Rautha, I don't know what you think you can do about my predicament, but I-”

“Sit on the bed with me.” His voice cuts the air like a Fremen crysknife. He is going to cut her breasts open to drain the milk, she thinks when she sits on Feyd's bed. The sheets are still warm.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him approaching and notices the wrinkles in his sleep shirt. Such everyday imperfections look bizarre on a man so atrocious. His bare feet pat on the tiles now and fabric rustles when he climbs on the bed. He sits and leans against the sleek headboard, a single pillow in his back and waits.

“Come.” Reluctantly she turns, gathers her nightgown skirt and scoots closer towards him. Too slow for his liking. His pale fingers brush against her throat. “Why aren’t you wearing your collar?”

“I don’t wear it to sleep!” She spits. “You’d know that if you ever-” Slept with me. Cold sweat breaks out under her armpits.

Feyd’s head tilts to the side, disgusting curiosity in his eyes. He pulls her in his lap, thighs on either side of his hips and then pulls down her night gown with one harsh tug so her right breast pops free. Even the soft scrape of fabric over her nipple makes her whimper and she hisses at him to be gentle.

Seated in his lap, her chest is roughly at Feyd’s face level. At first, she thinks he is only going to ogle the plump shape of her, taking sick pleasure in her visible pain as a reimbursement for disturbing him at night. But then his mouth starts ghosting over her and a trail of nips and feathery kisses leads him to the apex of her breast. One hand curls under the taut flesh and lifts it carefully.

Oh. Now she understands.

How grotesque. How humiliating. She should have expected nothing less.

With horror she watches his plush lips close around the nub. Dark eyes lift to scrutinize her face and when she utters no complaints (although God knows they’re clawing at her throat, they just can’t make it past the lump inside), Feyd closes his eyes.

Her face is scrunched, nails digging into Feyd's shoulders when he creates suction, hesitant at first but greedier as soon as the first drop of white milk decorates his black tongue. She cringes, thighs flexing around his which encourages him to cling to her hip with his free hand.

The sensation repels her at first, alien and encroaching, as if a parasite was latched onto her teat. She has never nursed anyone before. It takes her fear-conditioned mind several moments to realize no harm comes from Feyd’s mouth this time. He only suckles on her breast and his cock twitches against her core, which she ignores. In the chamber’s nocturnal silence, she hears him quietly gulp and with each moment, the torturous pressure in her breast abates. A tear almost slips down her cheek, that’s how thankful she is, even if Feyd-Rautha only helps her for his own pleasure.

Minutes pass and she almost grows used to the sensation, the pressure of his tongue against the underside of her nipple and the occasional scrape of teeth. The tender flesh however is starting to ache, not used to such a long assault of his mouth.

“That's e-enough, it h-hurts now.”

Feyd growls and his hairless brows twitch over closed eyes. He squeezes her breast, mouth latched over her nipple. Greedily, he suckles, ignoring her wincing. Shivering, she realizes that trying to take away his toy from him will always spark ire, so she gently scrapes her nails over his scalp instead until his ravenous mouth relaxes and strangely, she relaxes too.

“You can have the other one instead, okay?”

That works. His mouth slides over to her left breast, tongue swirling around the nipple before his lips close around it. He suckles more gently now and the relief makes her moan this time, spine arching against his face as milk flows into his mouth.

“Thank you, this is… So good. “

Feyd's hand still cups her right breast, as if scared she or anyone would steal it from him if left unattended. A bead of milk still clings to the nipple. With a spark of hope she wonders if Feyd-Rautha would ever be willing to share her breasts with an heir.

No, she sees him throttling his own spawn, just so he can have everything for himself.

In the dead of night, a sly little smile tugs on her mouth and she encouragingly wraps her arms around Feyd's neck, hugging him close. Willingly, he sinks into her chest, drinking with abandon. “Keep drinking,” she hums.

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the na-Baron, the gladiator, is temporarily docile at her bosom.

The silent victory makes heat grow in her belly as pressure is released from her breasts. She shuffles against his lap and the hardness that rests against his belly. Feyd's hand squeezes her hip, nudging her closer. While he drinks, the other pale hand lightly fondles her right breast, catching the drop of milk with an unusually gentle index finger.

Her spine arches and her hips curl against his pelvis, head and hair falling backwards. The cool of the chamber is now pleasant on her heated skin.

“Feyd, please…” A quiet sigh, nearly swallowed by the midnight hour. Her core curiously grinds against his length.

He seems to know better what she pleads for than she does. The hand on her hip sifts through the layers of silky gown to get to where he needs, finding her flesh unobscured by undergarments. Slick essence coats her gown where she had sat and Feyd’s hand stutters when his knuckles brush through the wetness on the silk.

Instantly, her cunt bucks against his fingers and Feyd's eyes snap wide open. His digits glide through her folds, stunned to find them so wet and hot. Her entrance weeps and yields so easily when he prods lightly with two fingers.

“Don't say anything, just-” She shakes her head, realizing Feyd hasn’t said anything at all since he discovered the milk from her breasts for himself. Fascinated, he gazes up at her from coal-black eyes, pouty lips puckered around her nipple still when two calloused fingers sink into her cunt. Languidly, he thrusts, finding her walls willing and soft to the touch. She meets each thrust, sighing as she brings her hips up and down.

Looking down at Feyd’s pale skull latched to her breast, she also looks at the scars that paint them. They taunt her now.

‘Does he make you wet now?’ They seem to ask. ‘Has he finally cut you into submission, into the shape he wants?’

She doesn't feel overly submissive right now, however. The pace of her hips quickens, as does that of his fingers. Her nails dig into his scalp when a third finger eases into her cunt without her request. The stretch makes her moan and her hips needily rut against Feyd’s hand.

Even if she is not truly in power, she can at least pretend she is.

“Take yourself out of your pants!”

Determinedly, she sits up straight and leans back, breasts feeling almost light now, compared to before. Her nipple slips out of Feyd’s mouth and he gives it a parting gift, sharp teeth nipping at the tender bud. Probably the punishment for her bold tone. Still, she grows nearly euphoric when he does as she says, sliding his trousers down to his mid thighs, so his daunting cock comes to rest against his navel. It doesn’t daunt her today.

She shuffles and pulls the silky layers of her nightgown away, so her pelvis can rest on the smooth, milky expanse of Feyd’s hairless thighs. His balls rest hotly against her weeping cunt until she raises her hips and kneels, grabbing Feyd’s cock to line him up with her entrance. The size of him makes the angle awkward and she has to lean forward to try and shuffle the thick head between her folds, one hand wrapped around the shaft.

“You can ask for help, you know.” Feyd chuckles, fingers gliding over her thighs under the gown. She hisses and resists the urge to tell him to shut his mouth, lest he ruins the night. It had been so nice without the talk of his foul tongue. Finally, she has him angled like she needs him and her entrance yields for his head.

Feyd knows she struggles to take him, despite the preparation. Her soft cunt stretches around his obscene length and she tries to be strong, play it tough, so her whines can’t give away the challenge it still is for her to be a fitting sheathe for his cock. Amused, he watches her toil away in his lap, slowly sinking down, then hissing and jerking back up. He gives her the time she needs, curiously watching her face shift into triumph when their pelvises come flush.

Up and down she goes, sighing and moaning and her grimace slowly relaxes as she grows accustomed to his cock. Feyd-Rautha sinks into his pillow, sliding down the headboard as his figure becomes more and more horizontal. Her breasts are out of reach now, but he still marvels at the marks and redness left by his mouth. His jaws flex. He already misses the taste of her milk. Tomorrow he will instruct the authorized doctors to tweak the formula of her injections, so she will produce more.

Unbeknownst of his thoughts but well aware of his wolfish gaze on her tits, she rides him as she pleases, hands pushing up his sleepshirt so she can grope his pale torso, leaving angry red marks on his belly and on the small dent between his pectorals.

Her shoulders roll forward and her thighs hurt a little from lifting herself so repeatedly, but she tirelessly grinds against his pelvis, chasing the pleasure sparked by power that kindles in her belly before it’ll inevitably go out by something he says or does. If he had pubic hair, perhaps it would be easier to get some friction against her clit. She is missing that extra stimulation to quite push herself over the edge.

Feyd’s hands on her hips have been docile, but the moment she falters, he strikes. Her weak knees buckle when his thumb finds her clit and her wrists are gathered in his other hand.

“I… No!” She stubbornly pleads, the figment of control wrenched out of her grasp. Not even by his hands that overtake her body, but by the mean midnight-smile that decorates his face.

“That’s alright,” he coos sweetly. No one likes gravel mixed with honey.

Hot tears gather in her eyes when she fights weakly against his grasp but still moans from the pressure of his cock. She wants to tell him that nothing is alright. It’s not alright that she can’t even fuck herself to completion without his help. It’s not alright that her legs give out because of the medication he’s put her on to induce false pregnancy. It’s not alright that her tits hurt and she gets sick in the mornings and It’s definitely not alright that he’s taking her little victory away from her.

She is close to tears but doesn’t start crying. Feyd’s hips dictate the rhythm, driving up into her cunt so she no longer rides him, she only helplessly sits as he fucks her. And to her dismay, it feels better. He just does it better.

The pressure of his thumb on her clit is just right, as are the short, hard thrusts against her cervix.

This whole night still counts as a victory, she reminds herself as her head falls back and a climax rolls through her body, walls fluttering around her tormentor’s cock while he pours sweet, gravelly honey in her ears. It’s the softest he’s ever been with her.

Feyd prolongs her climax, drawing tight little circles on her clit so her walls keep milking him until he has spilled his seed harmlessly against the entrance to her womb. A throaty groan rumbles in his chest and then the chamber falls silent.

His cock twitches and relaxes against her walls while his thumb still lazily plays with her clit. Uneasily, she shifts in his lap and her squirming draws wet noises from their conjoined pelvises.

“Stop smiling,” she demands.

“I can't.” If only his smile was prettier. Feyd releases her wrists and his thumb abandons her overstimulated clit and ghosts over her abdomen, the bunched gown, her plump breasts. A blush follows his trace as he presses into the dip between her clavicles and then brushes over her throat, perhaps still mourning the absence of her collar.

“I… I need to go to the bathroom.”

Abruptly, Feyd sits up and swings his legs over the edge, catching her before she can fall backwards off his lap. He turns his head and nips at the hand that had instinctively latched onto his shoulder. “Don't be long.”

She denies him the satisfaction of seeing her sway and buckle when she slips off his cock. It smacks against his abdomen and black seed sullies his pale stomach and shirt. Feyd doesn't mind, but if she insists on getting cleaned up, she shall.

For a moment she fears he will follow her, just to make sure she doesn't flush herself down the drain to escape him, but he remains docilely on the bed.

She just barely makes it to the bathroom before the thick rivulet of cum that rolls down her leg reaches the ankle and stains the floor. Awkwardly, she cleans herself with cold water from the sink and paper towels, then hovers over the toilet and waits until most of Feyd's release has exited her body. Some of it still stubbornly clings to her womb, she's certain.

For a moment, she regards her reflection in the mirror, little more than a shadow in the dark of night, but even now she sees the shape of her hard nipples under the silk. She feels obliged to clean the cum stain on the floor, even though that's a task for the maids.

Once she comes back out, she almost expects a knife against her throat - foreplay for what Feyd-Rautha might consider the real fun, but the na-Baron's breath chimes calmly and steadily from the bed. Could it be?

Almost as silent as a beast of the night, she slinks to the door, knowing it probably won't budge for her but it's worth a try.

“Where are you going, night crawler? Come here.”

He lifts the covers and wordlessly she resigns and climbs underneath, like a bird into an alligator’s open maws, hoping she will be useful long enough and her wings not broken when the maws snap shut.

Feyd-Rautha sleeps on her bosom that night and she cries for a good minute while caressing his scalp. Why does every triumph, no matter if big or small, always come at the cost of feeling dirty?

[If you enjoyed this fanfiction, a comment would mean the world to me! <33]

#peggyao3 #oneshot #series #❌#🔥

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aboutthenabaron · 2 months ago

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Preyd

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader / can be read as OC

SUMMARY: Feyd calls his pet to his chambers for a monthly feast.

WORD COUNT: 2,259

TAGS: 18+, smut, graphic depiction of violence, she/her reader, AFAB reader, dubious consent, ambiguous relationship status, oral (f receiving), period oral ❗, period sex, blood play, knife “play”, blood kink, BITING, pain kink, vaginal sex, violence, sadomasochism, attempted murder, aftercare-ish (love that tag right after attempted murder)

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Cool air streams into Feyd’s chamber when the door opens at his command. The servants who bring the struggling woman don't need to knock. The increasing volume of her irate pleading out on the hallway has been caressing his ears for the past minute. He regards it as foreplay.

The woman's toes scrape over the stone tiles as she is delivered to him like a meal, but without a platter because a good meal is best devoured on the floor, with dirty teeth and fingers.

She is shoved into the room by rough hands which hastily retreat, bending and bowing to the Na-Baron who sits with his hands on his knees, a black smile already forming on his alabaster skull.

She stands on shaky legs, clutching the robes that still cloak her frame. Warm wetness already runs down her inner thigh. Red, not black.

“You left me waiting.”

“I can't exactly control when I start,” she snaps. The irate edge to her tone doesn't fool him. “My Lord,” she adds in a much more timid voice, head lowered so the hood of her cloak hides her trembling lips.

“I expected you two days ago.”

“Tssk. Forgive me.” Feyd's head tilts to the side and he stands up, striding over to the cloaked woman.

“You know I could keep you in a prison cell instead?” The calm control of his voice is a farce. In truth he is quaking with excitement, yearning to get under her skin.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“So, be a little more grateful.”

The Harkonnen heir's hand shoots forward and grasps her chin. He yanks her head up. The ferocious tug makes her hood fall off, revealing a head full of hair and glossy eyes that never stopped smoldering with a sliver of reckless defiance.

Feyd squeezes her chin, squishing delicate flesh against easy to break bones. His fingers leave bruises as he slides his black tongue over her mouth, along the side of her nose, into the apple of her eye until she winces and forces the black appendage out by shutting her lids. His tongue wriggles through her lashes instead, wetting them with saliva that clings to the fine hair like inky tears.

Ruthlessly, he shoves her backwards with a force that could snap a neck. She stumbles and falls, landing hard on the bed. Feyd-Rautha leaps after her like she's a felled enemy in the ring and he is one stab away from victory. Strong hands half push up her robes, their warmth a stark contrast to their snow white hue, devoid of color like they are devoid or mercy.

She tries to push at his chest to hoist him off, but he catches her foot and bites her toe until she lets out a shrill scream. The robes fall over her bent thighs and pool around her hips. She is bare underneath, except for the blood that glistens on her center.

Inky eyes light up with nauseating joy as he admires the crimson landscape between her thighs. His outlandish pet is so colorful and full of life… Pale hands wrap around her thighs to part them. Her muscles flex, as if she could ever stop him from taking what he wants.

“Let me eat. I've been starving.”

“You are sickening.”

Feyd-Rautha's mouth descends between the woman's forcefully spread thighs and his tongue hotly slips through her folds, parting them effectively to get to the source of her heady lifeblood. She shivers, spine arching despite the revulsion she feels for him. Her fingers dig into the sheets - white, to mark the occasion. They will be stained red all over by the time her period is over.

Stubbornly, she stares at the ceiling, though in the long run her gaze can’t resist the twitching silhouette of pale, lithe muscles that shape Feyd’s shoulders and back. He produces sounds like a sloppy eater, like a panting beast whose teeth are tearing through a carcass, except that her flesh is lively and, unlike the carcass, highly receptive to both pleasure and pain.

She knows this is only the beginning. The easy part. When Feyd’s dark eyes lift to monitor her expression, she knows what he is about to do, yet he catches her by surprise. His teeth close around her clit and nip, forcing a squeak out of her mouth and a hand to shoot down and push against his skull.

Feyd feels virtually invigorated and laps at the swollen bud like a salivating dog until her body spasms and her nails dig into his scalp. Each clench of her walls offers him more sanguine fluid to drink.

His tongue returns to her slit while he stares at her disheveled face, eyes like black, bottomless pits, insatiable. She knows nothing she can give will ever be enough.

One might think a wet tongue on a bleeding center would make the area in question cleaner, but Feyd somehow makes a mess like a child with no table manners, smearing blood over her thighs and venus mound. It is almost like slaughtering his outlandish pet, but without the commitment. It makes his cock hard.

The treatment continues until the sheets are drenched in sweat and blood, until the woman’s thighs quake violently in the na-Baron’s wicked hold. She feels lightheaded and every touch to her overstimulated center burns almost like a whiplash.

Feyd however is far from being done. He relishes how her flesh feels now that it’s hot and swollen and covered in bite marks all around her cunt. He is unable to tell if the blood that spills comes from her center or the searing wounds he’s caused with his voracious teeth.

Nails dig into his skull, leaving marks that bleed. A thin rivulet of black runs down his brow bone and seamlessly disappears in the corner of his eye. He only grins, bites harder where many old scars already adorn her flesh. His cock strains against the fabric of his trousers and his pelvis grinds against the mattress, dry-humping it, spurred by the taste of blood like a beast by the scent of pheromones.

“Stop!” She pleads. “You greedy monster, stop stop stop!” But he doesn't listen.

He pretends not to see the way her hand slips into the pocket of her robe, producing a blade of shiny silver that finds a new home in Feyd-Rautha’s neck. Sweet pain radiates through his flesh and a moan comes out of his blood-smeared mouth.

His pet snarls and strains, fighting against the hand around her wrist that had stopped the lethal attack at the last second. The knife’s tip trembles in the na-Baron’s throat but then her fingers go slack, acknowledging defeat. Feyd takes hold of the blade and gingerly pulls it free, exhaling a soft moan.

Fascinated, he regards the black blood that decorates the tip of the blade. Rapt as he is, he has finally stopped assaulting her center with his greedy mouth. He is almost proud of her for the attempt, even if it was a pitiful one. His neck throbs where the blade had kissed his jugular.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear!” The pitiful would-be assassin hiccups, tears slipping down her temples. She clutches her robes to her heaving chest as if that could protect her fragile life.

“I should split your tongue.” Feyd-Rautha rises to his knees between her parted legs. Blood and slick have left a sanguine pattern on his face. Pensively, he twists the blade in the air so it catches the light. “Or maybe you should split mine? So I can make twice the mess of your cunt.”

“You are insane.”

“You brought the tool.” He laughs and offers the blade to her mouth. Panicky, she shakes her head, twisting it away and into the sheets with squinted eyes. “I want you to lick it. Taste my blood, pet.”

She refuses until he nudges the tip between her lips, drawing a droplet of blood. Quickly, she surrenders, opening her mouth like he wants though her brows remain pinched with fear. Feyd languidly slides the flat side of the blade over her pink tongue, sullying it with black.

“Swallow. And tell me how it tastes.”

She swallows, cringes and hesitates. “P-Potent, my Lord.”

Feyd-Rautha laughs and his free hand drops to his pelvis, unfastening the black fabric that has kept his manhood covered. Panic rises to her eyes, bigger panic than when she had feared she might die by his knife.

“Wait, n-no!” He has never done this to her before.

“You’ve impressed me.”

The fabric is pushed down to his mid thighs. She has always feared his length and girth would be daunting, but the sight before her is as monstrous as the monster he is in flesh and in spirit. He lowers himself, hand wrapped around his shaft to nudge the thick head to her swollen entrance.

She raises her feet and plants them against his abdomen, pressing against adamantine flesh with all her strength but she doesn’t stand a chance. Feyd watches all hope go out in her eyes as her feet slip to the side and her knees fall against her cloaked chest.

A cage of white, wiry flesh leans over her. She smells her own heady blood on his face and cringes. It almost distracts her from the velvety flesh that presses against her cunt, still sopping wet with her own slick and blood and the na-Baron’s black saliva.

He breaches her, stretching her obscenely as inch after inch carves into her cunt. Black teeth are parted for a near-maniac grin as his virile length is massaged by snug, bloody walls.

She winces, shifting her hips to accommodate to the intrusion. It actually hurts less because he hasn’t marked her from the inside yet, so she is almost grateful for it. This way the sore marks on her inner thighs can rest.

Feyd shoves the final half of his cock inside with the force of a gut punch, knocking the air out her lungs with a pathetic yelp. He rolls his hips, grinning, getting comfortable inside her body. After only a few moments, he is comfortable enough and slams his pelvis down, grinding into her with short, hard thrusts that batter her cervix. Blood squelches wetly with every move.

She pushes at his chest but avoids his face, knowing her fingers would only end up between his teeth, bitten and bruised. A ferocious slam of Feyd’s hips makes her howl like a wolf. Reflexively, her hands shoot up to his pale throat, squashing his Adam’s apple under her palms. One fingernail digs into the wound on the side. A strangulated moan escapes the man’s throat, hips stuttering, lids fluttering.

The hand that isn’t busy supporting his weight offers the knife to her. “A second chance,” he rasps, eyes alight with madness. A thread of black drool dribbles off his lower lip and lands on her chin.

Shuddering, she accepts the offered weapon, holding it with a weak grip. Her worn-out body struggles to muster the strength, but she brings her arms around Feyd’s back, a wicked embrace. Aimlessly, the tip of the blade scrapes over his muscles as she tries to find two ribs between which to slot it.

“Higher. Or you’ll never hit the heart.”

“Why don’t you kill yourself then, if you’re so keen on it!” Furiously, she lashes out, but the blade only slips off a rib, leaving only a shallow cut on wiry flesh. Still, it stings beautifully and a small groan escapes him.

“A third chance, because I’m so generous.”

“Now you’re j-just being greedy.” She grits her teeth, tears wobbling on her waterline. His cock makes her sore from the inside and his hip bones dig into the marks on her inner thighs.

“I’m not greedy. I get everything I want. Again!”

A merciless thrust makes her cry out and it’s not very hard to lift the blade again and slam it down. This time, it finds its target, slipping beautifully between two ribs. The Harkonnen-heir roars out, black spittle spraying over her face as his features scrunch up and his hips slam down and stutter, nearly knocking her unconscious with his force.

Her hand weakly slips off the blade handle. She already knows she has missed any vital organs, or he would have stopped her.

His seed paints her cervix and even as his length begins to soften, it still feels like too much.

She doesn’t cum around his cock, but that’s alright. After half a dozen on his tongue, her body has nothing left to give except weak tremors and tears of relief when he finally pulls out. Black seed oozes out of her, mixing with red. She buries her face in her hands and rolls on her side, curling up. Fatigue makes her dizzy. The servants are going to have to carry her back to her chambers, she fears. Her shaky legs are incapacitated.

The wet sound of the knife being slipped out of his flesh nearly makes her retch, but even for that her body is too weak.

In awe, Feyd swipes black blood off the blade. The bed dips when he sits next to his astonishing pet. A throaty hum is all it takes to convince her to crawl into his lap, still curled up and shivering. He brings his bloodied fingers to her face, stroking it softly as she presses against his body for warmth.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she mumbles, on the brink of passing out. “Next time I’ll kill you better.”

[If you had fun reading this, consider leaving a comment! ❤️ It would make me very happy!]

#peggyao3 #oneshot #❌#🔥

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aboutthenabaron · 5 months ago

Text

Wasted Days

Feyd Rautha x WoC Reader (can be read by anyone)

Feyd’s mood is easily soured by what he calls “wasted days”.

warnings: Feyd-let’s be honest the man is a menace. Smut and murder 🫠

note: I really wanna thank all y'all babes on the love my first Feyd story got. It reached over 500 notes in just a couple weeks and thats HUGE for me. So y’all are the best! Hopefully y’all enjoy this just as much. It’s not the 2 Feyd stories I said I’d put out but the one y’all voted on will be done before the weekend is over! I don’t own dune or any characters. I couldn’t give a fuck less about typos or misspelling sorry not sorry y’all lol

If yall like it, love it or fucks with it please share and comment! I love talking to y’all about our mans.

I give no permission for my work to be used anywhere.

You watch the table of the formal dinning room shake beneath both your palms. The rare jewels that adorned your hands and writs glistened under the artificial light, gifts of your adoring husband. All the expensive glasses and dinnerware shake and rattle with each thrust into your wet cunt.

The baron had just abruptly left the table to talk with Rabban who had busted in on the dinner the three of you were having with urgency, some business with Arrakis.

You couldn’t care less about Rabban’s sudden appearance on his home planet, your husband had seemed to be in a mood all day. Frustrated with something he had yet to reveal to you, though you had a sneaking suspicion the whole day what had soured his mood so noticeably. He’d been so busy lately with everything while the Baron’s focus was on Arrakis and cleaning up behind Rabban.

He didn’t have to stare at you the way he did during dinner for you to know he was in a mood, he had fled your room early after kissing you while you slept. 5 servants dead simply because of your husbands mood. You’d talk to him later about it and surely scold him when you were thinking clearly.

Right now your only focus was your current situation and how your screams of pleasure would surly rival any whore house.

The large doors to the dinning hall were hardly closed when he had you trapped within his warm embrace. Your back to his chest as he nosed at your neck, licking and biting. Groaning how displeased he was that he hardly had time with you today. He had no time at all today to sink his hard cock into his wife’s tight little cunt.

He declared how any day he didn’t fuck his wife full of his cum at least once was a day wasted.

A yell was ripped from your throat as he stepped closer, his knees slightly bent as he thrusted up into you harder, a tight hold on the root of your hair that had been braided. The table shook violently. The loud clatter starting to drown out the sound of your slick cunt and slapping skin.

“Oh fuck!” You yelled out, no longer concerned the Baron or Rabban may possibly come back with how good your husband was making you feel. He was so deep, you were sure you’d start to see the stars of your old home planet if he kept fucking you like this bent over the table that you’ve hosted the emperor and nobility at.

Hell the whole of Giedi Prime could watch and you’d bask in the power and ecstasy of being taking apart by none other then thee Feyd Rautha.

You heard him grunt deep from within his chest from behind you.

His hands are bruising on your round ass as he grips the flesh and spreads you wide open for him. You don’t have to look back to know where his lustful gaze is, you feel it burning into you. He groans from the view of your wet cunt sucking all of him in to the hilt. You clench involuntarily from the weight of his gaze and moans when you feel it. You’re still spread open when you feel the wetness on your puckered hole before it slowly drips down to where you both connect.

Your eyes roll back from the sensation as he keeps fucking into you watching himself completely disappear into your swollen cunt.

“Good fucking girl” his rasps as you take all of him.

“Oh, nggh fuck!” You yelled trying to catch your breath, each thrust of his large cock punching the air from your lungs at this angle. Your heeled feet hardly touching the cold marble floors from the force of him behind you. “Feyd, gonna fu-fucking c-cum all over you! M’ ma-make a mess!”.

Your husband didn’t need to be told, even with your short time together he knew you inside and out like no one else. Literally. Much to his surprise and everyone else it had only took a brief moment of your eyes locking at a ball held by the emperor -which Feyd was forced to attend by his uncle for appearances sake- for Feyd to fall completely for you. The night wasn’t over before you had fallen in return for the ruthless na-Baron.

This seemed to please your husband if the groans he was making were any indication.

“Fuck this is the sweetest cunt in the whole fucking galaxy and it is mine” he grunted in his raspy voice above you, you had falling forward at some point from the force of his thrusts, your palms flat and elbows on the table.

“P-please don’t stop!”

You felt Feyd’s strong hands grip your shoulders and pull you back forcefully. The sudden moment causing a gasp to leave you. There you both stood, your back to his chest, his hand in your hair as he fucked you deep. The drag of his cock was driving you insane. You felt so full of him this way. You felt his blacken teeth nip your ear.

“You said you’d make a mess, go ahead little wife. Make a mess all over me” His rough voice encouraged as his full lips sucked the skin just below your ear. “Cum for me” He whispered.

“Fuck!” You yelled out as your body jerked and the tidal wave of your orgasm came crashing down on you. Drowning you completely in the pleasure only he was able to take your body through.

“Do not spill me wife” you heard his low begging against your neck.

You felt him continue to pump into you as you slowly started to come down from your high as you felt him swell within you. The feel of him, the sounds he was making had your body quickly chasing him again.

Your eyes meet his as you started to rock into him again. He smirked he already knew. Knew what you need from the way those big beautiful eyes stared at him. He was quick to wrap his hand around your throat, the same hand that killed others daily but would never dream of hurting you in a way that wasn’t pleasurable.

“Please kiss me” You choked out, hardly getting your words out as you watched him watch you.

His lips were on yours dominating you completely before you finished begging him. His tongue licking into your mouth. You felt the slight movement of his rhythm being off and knew he was close.

Your hand slips down to your cunt, working your wet clit softly to compliment the rough fucking when you felt the first bit of his warmth. You moaned loudly in his mouth before pulling away so you were able to watch his face of pleasure as he took you, fill you with his seed.

Feeling full of him and filling with his seed pushed you over the edge again as your mouth fell open with a scream. Your eyes never left his as he stared down at you with that look you’ll never get over. Here you were fucked stupid and yet he looked at you like you hung the moon.

Your body shook and you almost fell forward with the strength of your second orgasm when his strong battle ready arm wrapped around you keeping you in place, slightly off the floor so he could keep his cock in at this angle. His other hand tightened around your throat as you both stared at each other, you breathing uncontrollable while your infuriating handsome husband looked like he had only exerted a little effort. Years of training did him well.

He kept his hand at your neck, tighten and relaxing his grip as his other hand sank down to your swollen cunt. His eyes showed amusement as he smirked down at you. Sometimes you’d give anything to know what he was thinking and other times he let you see, those big beautiful blue eyes either an ocean storm or a clam one would openly say what his words sometimes failed to.

He tsked at you when you felt him work you clit a little before his long fingers brushed softly where you both were still very much connected.

“Such a greedy girl” His rough voice teased you for chasing a second orgasm before you both could make it back to your shared bedchambers.

You whimpered at the loss of him when he pulled out but you noticed he didn’t pull away. Before you could comment you felt his long thick fingers ease themselves into your wetness.

You moaned as you sunk into back into his chest.

“Since my wife is such a needy one why don’t you give me one more hm? One for good luck?”

You knew you sounded ridiculous as you laughed but quickly moaned at his words you. You could tell he was curious about the laugh that has escaped you.

“Good luck for who husband?” You asked genuinely and breathlessly as you stared at him. His fingers never stopped working you.

He looked as though the answer was obviously.

“Everyone”

You could feel the pressure building in you. You arched an eyebrow in question but could not speak words as your orgasm quickly approached.

“Your husband is less likely to kill when his wife is well pleased” He said his forehead against yours as he pushed you both into the heavy table trapping you between literally a rock and hard place. You felt yourself clench as your pleasure flooded you “Less likely to kill when I have already fill you with my seed for the day”.

You were sure he was making you see those stars.

His grip on your neck tighten while your body shook as much as it could being trapped. You were so worked up you couldn’t even talk as you both stared at eachother. Him watching you reach another wave of ecstasy by his hand. Chest full of pride.

Your breathing once again slowed as you kissed his lips, pecking them over and over as your hand ran up his neck and around trying to embrace him from the position you were in.

He pulled you both back from the table before pulling out and letting your dress fall back down. His fingers were in your mouth before you could notice as you both now stood face to face. You did your wifely duty and sucked them clean while keeping eye contact with him.

His look of approval was all you needed in your day to day life. The shame taught to you of doing such things as a noble woman long abandoned with him by your side.

His eyes left yours to glance down at his soften cock, wet with you before his blue eyes moved to the floor where you two were standing moments before to see the mess of you both.

You watched him tuck himself away before taking a napkin and quickly cleaning the floor. He had this thing with anyone coming close to your…release. The thought of anyone else touching or even smelling it drove him into a rage.

He smirked as he stuffed it in his pocket. Hie eyes finally landing back on yours.

“Well wife looks like you’ll just have to take me again and this time I won’t let you leave the bed until you listen like a good wife and do not spill me”

You felt the familiar tingles of pleasure at your core from his threats.

😅🫠

#ughdontbeboring #oneshot #🔥#🌙

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aboutthenabaron · 5 months ago

Text

Destiny

A/N this is the longest fic I have written in a longg time! I really hope you enjoy this! I would love any feedback. If you want any short fics based in this universe I would love to do that!! thank you!!

Summary: Reader and Feyd were friends from a young age until she went away to be trained, now she has been chosen to continue his line

My father was a very powerful man, the head of a very powerful house. He was close friends with the Baron and our houses are firm allies, this meant that from a young age I knew the Baron’s nephews and was forced to spend time with them during meetings and diplomatic events.

Feyd and I are the same age and we got along quite well, having met when we were merely toddlers. The Baron’s eldest nephew, Rabban, was older and cruel. For as long as I can remember he was nasty, pulling on my hair and pushing me over, laughing at my misery. He would call me names and make attempts to humiliate me, but Feyd always enjoyed playing knights and was determined to defend me to his brother, standing in between us and attempting to push Rabban over in retaliation.

When we were 7, Feyd told me that his uncle had named him as the na-baron, something he was incredibly proud and excited for. He was determined to be the best Baron there had ever been. When he asked if I was going to be the next leader of my house I knew even then that it would not be possible, I imagined I was to be married off to some lord that I hardly knew. Feyd said he would marry me instead so we could be friends forever, it sounded like a much better idea than my parents.

Feyd was 9 when he killed his mother. When the Baron forced him to kill his mother, telling him he could never be a good leader if he allowed himself to be weak, telling him it was a test to see if he was worthy of his title. When I heard the news from my mother it shocked me. He loved his mother, and he had always been so kind. It made me wary of him the next time I saw him months later, scared. But when we were finally left alone by my parents and the Baron, I asked him why he did it, prompting him to break down and sob in my small arms about how he missed her and had no choice. How she reassured him it was okay as he did it, that she forgave him. I never saw him cry like that again.

Every visit after that I could see the changes taking place due to the Baron’s cruelty. I saw him hiding bruises and watched as his soft shell became hard as stone as he started finally being able to take his brother in a fight and even began enjoying the fights in a strange way.

The last time I saw him I was 11, my birthday just before I left to be trained with the Bene Gesserit, as the reverend mother had decided for my parents. I hadn’t been allowed to tell him that I was leaving, especially not why I was leaving, but I had known and had almost wept when he left in the evening. Despite his almost psychotic behaviour, we were still friends and he still defended me from the cruelties surrounding me when he could, including ones he was not aware of at the time.

Now I’m watching him walk into the arena at his coming of age event. I have not spoken to him since I left my home, but my dedication to my training has allowed me to keep updated on his house as I have had to remain informed on current politics and states of affairs. The reverend mother informed me early in my training that I showed a lot of potential in my role in the Bene Gesserit, telling me that if I continued to stay ahead of my studies then I could be chosen for a more important destiny than merely continuing a ‘pointless lord’s line’. That was motivation enough for me to fully invest in learning the Bene Gesserit ways and excelling in my training. I hadn’t expected this to be the destiny she chose, but truthfully I couldn’t help but feel honoured to be chosen for this.

Despite Jessica’s attempts to ruin the plans of the Bene Gesserit, the reverend mother insisted that Paul Atreides would be taken care of, that my child would be the Kwisatz Haderach. The reverend mother knew of my old friendship with Feyd but she reassured me that she knew I would not let something like that distract from my true mission.

Seeing Feyd having such an influence on the crowd and begin fighting the prisoners is a thrill in a sick way. He had changed. I knew that would be the case, the rumours surrounding how he had become a brutal and merciless fighter over the years, hearing how his behaviour had become ever more psychotic had made me feel sorry for him at first. The looks that I got from my fellow sisters when the news spread that I would be the one to test him and secure the bloodline, they felt sorry for me. Truthfully, it gave me a power rush. Knowing I was trusted with such an important task, knowing it would be my child with such a strong destiny.

His performance in the arena is impressive. A small part of me worries when one of the prisoners is clearly not drugged, glancing over at the Baron to see his sinister smile, I couldn’t help but be angry as I knew this must be another sick ‘test’ of his. Instead, I am proud when he wins the battle, an honourable fight where I could easily see the skills he has learnt during my absence.

It was not hard to find him after the events, I had heard him fighting with his uncle, and heard his uncle’s promise to give him the empire. I stayed out of sight until he had wandered much further away from his uncle’s chambers before allowing myself to be heard by him. It doesn’t take long before he stops walking and I slow my movements down. “Are you lost, witch?” He practically snarls without turning around.

I can’t help but chuckle, “I was expecting a warmer welcome from you, Feyd.” I stop walking a couple steps away from him and watch him spin around to face me. His eyes wide for a short moment before his face went hard, hiding any emotions. He takes 2 strides towards me and brings a knife up to my throat, I feel his breath warm against my face. I don’t hesitate to meet his eyes, having expected this reaction. “Is this any way to greet an old friend?”

“We are not children any more. Things have changed since we last saw each other. Clearly that is not exclusive to me.” His eyes trail over my outfit, a clear sign of my involvement in the Bene Gesserit. He seems incredibly unhappy. “Why are you here?” The press of his blade against my neck loosens slightly.

I hum slightly before pulling away from his grasp and walking away from him, towards the guest room I am staying in. “Now where are you going?” He sounds as exasperated as he used to when we were children and I’d drag him around my home.

“To my guest rooms.” I keep walking and feel him follow me as I sit on a hard surface and he approaches me. “Kneel.” I use the voice on him and he slowly lowers himself down in front of me. I bring the box level with his hands, and bring the Gom Jabbar to his neck. He meets my eyes as he places his hand inside the box.

I’m impressed by his lack of reaction, he doesn’t break eye contact with me for a moment. When the test is over I remove Gom Jabbar from threatening him and pull the box away from his hand. “You’ve passed the test.” I keep my voice steady and let my eyes trail down his body. I am surprised as I see an unmistakable bulge in his trousers. I bring my eyes up to meet his eyes again, seeing how heavy they seem to be now.

I lean down slightly and lift his chin with my hands. I had been prepared to need to convince him to bed me, apparently the pain did that for me. He watches me as I bring my lips close to his, not quite meeting them yet. His breathing stops for a moment, and I take that moment to press my lips firmly against his. He kisses me back, turning it heavy and groaning into my mouth. The kiss turns deeper and presses himself into me. I feel his hands trail up my legs and he grips onto my thighs. He drags my body into him and wraps my legs around his waist, before standing up and bringing me with him with practised ease.

His mouth trails away from mine, kissing along my jaw and down my neck as he moves to the bed, lying me down beneath him. He pulls back for a short moment, holding one of my legs to ensure they stay wrapped around him, and he removes his shirt before swiftly returning to kiss me.

I bring my hands to gently trail along his back, feeling every movement as he starts to undress me. His lips trail lower as he reveals more skin. His kisses become rougher and he starts sucking on my skin, making my back arch into him and I dig my nails into his back. He groans in response, licking on the spot before moving to form marks all along my collarbones. “Again,” he mutters out as he moves to a new spot. I take a moment to register what he’s said, and another moment to realise what he means. I drag my nails up his back again, gentler than before. I hear him breathe out a deep sigh as he stops his attack on me, resting his forehead against me. “Harder,” he says, then in a quieter voice, “please.”

I feel an excited pit in my stomach form as he says it, and I let my nails dig further into his skin, dragging it up his back. He lets out another groan and I bring one of my hands close to my face and see the small flecks of blood on the tips of my nails. I can feel that Feyd has become more desperate as he practically tears the clothes off of me, continuing marking down my body as I slowly continue to scratch his back. I enjoy seeing the marks I left as he trails further down between my legs, perhaps too much.

The whole thing is a blur in my head as we lie in the bed, panting and staring at the ceiling. Honestly, I had not expected to enjoy the act itself, my sisters had warned me that it was usually not enjoyable for them, but Feyd had been very good at bringing me pleasure as well as himself. My body is pressed close to him and his arm is stretched out underneath my shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he says into the silence after a while.

I turn slightly to look at him properly, he doesn’t meet my eyes but I can see a hint of the vulnerability he used to show me when we were young children. “I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. The reverend mother told my parents her decision after she had met me, and honestly, it was better than my other option so I couldn’t bring myself to fight it.”

“What was your other option?” He looks at me now, confusion etched onto his face. I smile slightly at his ignorance of the fate of someone like me, I bring my hand up to his cheek, smiling softly at him.

“My father was not far from arranging a betrothal. I had heard him speaking to my mother about it many times. The lords he was considering,” I cannot meet his eyes for a moment, “it disgusted me even then. Men far older than me, adult men.” I shake myself out of my thoughts, bringing my eyes up to his again. “The reverend mother promised me early in my training that if I continued to exceed expectations then I would not be destined to sire a random heir for a pointless house. I would have done anything to stop myself being married off and turned into some submissive wife. Or worse, a concubine.”

“Your father was a disgusting man.” His hands brush lightly against my legs, in a comforting touch. “I would have stuck to my word. I could have convinced the Baron to speak to your father about allowing us to marry, they would have both liked the idea of our houses joining.” His softness surprises me. Apparently underneath everything, he has not changed since we were children, at least not towards me. I can’t help my widening smile towards him.

“Not much has truly changed since we were children has it? You’re still trying to protect me from things you have no power over. I’m safe now.” I look towards my stomach and place a hand over it, I can feel that we’ve been successful in securing the line. This means that as long as the pregnancy is successful, I will be able to dedicate my life to raising him.

I see his eyes trail from my eyes to where my hand is resting. I see understanding pass over his eyes. “Does that mean you’re leaving again?” He sounds guarded again, like he did when he first saw me again. I let out a sigh as I consider my words.

“The reverend mother wants him raised in the Bene Gesserit way. He is destined to be the Kwisatz Haderach, and he needs to be trained for it from a young age.” I feel emphatic as his eyes grow sad, I wonder how he can still feel all these things after the cruelty I know his uncle will have inflicted on him over the years.

He pulls me in close to him, resting his head on my shoulder and I feel his hand ghost my stomach. “I’m not letting them take you again, either of you. Don’t worry, I can protect you this time.” I let him hold me, allowing myself to realise how his uncle has truly affected him over the years. He said it so softly, with so much care, but with his extreme behaviours over the years, it is clear that he truly means it. Even if I did not want to stay with him, it’s clear I don’t have that choice.

tags: @thenatallie

#queenofmistresses #oneshot #🔥#⚡#🌙

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aboutthenabaron · 6 months ago

Text

Fremen Girl

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Fremen!reader

Summary: The potential wife of any future Baron must prove herself by surviving in the arena before the current Baron will permit the marriage. In this case, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen wants a wife, and he might have just found a woman capable of meeting that challenge.

Notes/Warnings: this is just the first section of this fic, which I can't decide if I want as one long fic (5k words) or multiple short parts (5 or so). If you like it, feel free to provide an opinion on that. Comments help me out and make me happy, so they're always welcome :) Also, Dune inaccuracies and typos.

Words: 900

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

The toe of a boot jams into your calf. Your knees are the first to crack on the tiled flooring of Arrakeen Palace’s throne room. You land with a grunt, followed by four more grunts as the knees of your Fremen brothers are forced down beside you.

That’s all that remains of the troop sent to attack one of the Harkonnen patrol groups. Out of twenty-one, only five.

The five of you make a neat line in front of the empty throne with you in the middle. From left to right, one after the other reduced to half height, your heads down, arms bound behind your backs, and blood dripping from various Harkonnen-inflicted wounds.

Your only wound is a swollen, busted lip, which you found curious until you realized their goal was to capture the remaining few of you, not kill. That swift fist to the face had caught you off guard while you were trying to aid a friend who inevitably met their death, and in that moment, you knew you were going to be made an example of; a warning to other Fremen: Be smart. Don’t end up like this girl.

So, here you are, in a Harkonnen-occupied palace awaiting your grim fate, forced to bow to an old baron you thought was too lazy to leave his home planet of Giedi Prime, let alone bother with a handful of Fremen who made a minuscule dent in his massive army.

But then you hear footsteps echoing as they make their way through the vast, hollow room.

“Are these the ones?” is asked in a low, gruff voice. It’s akin to the voices of the men who brought you here, but it contains a unique richness and lacks the worn, overused quality that comes from many decades of aging. Definitely not the Baron.

“Yes, my Lord na-Baron,” one of the brutes answers from behind you, conveniently answering your unasked question as well.

“And which of them did the most damage?”

Thick fingers dig into your hair, nails scraping your scalp as your head is yanked back. You swallow your whine from the pain and meet a set of deep blue eyes. You know those eyes—well, you know stories of those eyes. As a small child, you overheard whispers amongst the Fremen elders of the Harkonnen boy with the soulless eyes who killed his mother and maimed his family’s slaves. The promising younger nephew of the Baron: Feyd-Rautha. Barely older than yourself and yet word of his deadly glare was already jumping from planet to planet.

But those eyes change as they look at you. There’s a quick shift from wicked to amused, a glint flitting across his irises as he scans your face. His lips tick upward—almost imperceptibly—but you catch it before it disappears.

“Release her,” the future baron instructs. The tension from your abused strands eases as he steps forward and crouches in front of you, much too close for your liking. You want to flinch away, but Fremen do not cower to intimidation.

“So,” he starts, peering into you, “you're the one causing me trouble, hmm?”

“She took down twelve of our men.”

His brow raises and his head tilts, but Feyd-Rautha does not break your stare. “Twelve? Is that right?”

“She bites as well, the fucking bitch,” the soldier grumbles to his leader. When you roll your eyes, said leader's lips quirk again. “Too much spirit in her if you ask me.”

All sense of amusement drains from the na-Baron’s features. Cold blue eyes flick to the soldier, and with the attention momentarily off of you, you take a breath.

“I did not ask you,” he says in an eerily calm tone.

You can practically hear the gulp that struggles to make its way down the other Harkonnen’s throat. “Apologies, my Lord.”

Feyd-Rautha returns his gaze to you. He examines you for a few long beats before lifting his hand and swiping his thumb through the blood beginning to cake on your split lip.

“Don’t touch her!” comes from the left in your native tongue.

You wince. He’s one of the younger ones, just shy of your age. Well-trained enough to be a dangerous force, faster than the older Fremen at your sides, but so full of hatred for Harkonnens that his enthusiasm has him making silly mistakes, clearly not excluding shouting in a threatening tone when it would be best to remain silent.

The butt of a Harkonnen weapon slams into the back of his head and he falls forward, landing face-first on the floor.

The na-Baron doesn’t pay the disruption a lick of attention. His index finger meets his thumb and they swirl together in small circles until they’re thoroughly coated in your blood. Then, one at a time, he sticks them into his mouth and sucks that little bit of you off of each pale digit.

“Lover?” he asks you, nudging his head toward your knocked-out friend. You shake your head.

Leisurely taking in your features, his eyes trace the curl of your lashes, the slope of your nose, then the V of your cupid’s bow before he says, “A woman more deadly than the men who flank her is quite rare...and impressive.” Your brows pinch at the compliment and he smirks. “I think I might have use for you, Fremen girl.”

---

A/N(just a repeat of the notes up top in case you missed it): this is just the first section of this fic, which I can't decide if I want as one long fic (5k words) or multiple short parts (5 or so). If you like it, feel free to provide an opinion on that. Comments help me out and make me happy, so they're always welcome :)

@avidreader73 @alwaysadreamingoptimist @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @workof-a-rr-t

#seresinhangmanjake #series #oneshot #🌙

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aboutthenabaron · 6 months ago

Text

hidden.

Feyd x WoC Reader

you and Feyd have this thing and it can never be more.

warnings: Feyd bc let’s be real, smut, a little degradation

note: I love feyd, don’t know if I did him justice at all BUT the need to write him just won’t leave me be. I have a few others in the works so let’s see how it goes. Also no proofread, it’s late and I’m horny so yea.

No description of ethnicity but reader when I write is always written with myself in mind. It’s soooo self indulgent.

if you like it, love it, fuck with it leave some love. I DO NOT give permission for my shit to be used anywhere by anyone.

You know you shouldn’t be doing this but you just can’t help yourself. In all honesty how could you be expected to control yourself and behave like a lady of a great house when HE exists, when he was fucking you completely stupid against this cold wall in a darken slightly hidden hallway in the fortress.

You were extremely thankful this meeting of the great houses was taking place on Giedi Prime because not a living soul on this planet would dare speak of seeing the sight that the two of you made. Completely lost in each other, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he fucked into you with a desperate need, his muscular ass on display, your face full of pleasure as he bite love marks into your chest where your breast were fully exposed - because he knows there’s less chance of anyone seeing and he only even thinks of that for you and your honor - His plump lips pulling a nipple into his soft wet mouth to suck making you cry out.

Even your handmaids could be sent away and wait where they wouldn’t be spotted without you because he could do so on his own home planet though he probably could manage it on any planet he was that feared. You were lucky enough to sway your father to let you bring the only two you knew you could trust.

You could hardly keep your thoughts together when a particularly hard slow thrust made you scream out. You knew you were caught letting your mind wonder.

He tsked against your ear, his blacken teeth nipping the lobe before his tongue flicked it.

“Am I boring you my lady?” His deep raspy voice questioned in the deathly quiet hallway.

“No my love, know s-sometimes can’t help it” You answered breathlessly as you pulled your head back, your hand cradling his cheek as your eyes finally found each others.

Sometimes you got too caught in your thoughts and worries about being found, something he didn’t like. He was the kind of man that didn’t like anything to take your attention away from him and with the limited time your both able to find to be together he demanded you were fully present with him at all times and if not he’d have to bring that pretty little mind of yours back to the situation at hand.

He smirked, it was then you realized he had pulled out. The empty feeling sitting in.

“Then let me help you”

Before you could respond his thick long cock was pushing past your sensitive lips and burying its self deep within you to the hilt. You choked on your own scream as his pelvis pulled back and snapped forward with another hard thrust. You felt every veiny inch of him within your slick tight walls.

“Oh fuck” you moaned eyes rolling back as he continued his short brutal thrusts “oh Feyd, please”.

“Please what?” His deep voice mocked.

“Please, please wanna cum” you mumbled hardly getting the words out as your head fell backwards into the wall.

“Would you let me fuck you like this in front of all of them? In front of him?” He mocked some more, the “him” carrying the hatred you knew he had for the man he viewed as weak that your father had promised you to.

“Oh god yes! ‘M all yours!” You yelled desperately, pinned to the wall like decor, a fine piece of art as he drove his cock into you at that tortuous pace. It was hard, slow and deep.

His large rough callous hands which were somehow still soft held your bare ass under your dress to keep you in place as he fucked you. His fingers tips gripped you so tight you were sure there would be bruising.

“Let him see how wet I make you? How my pretty girl screams for me? Begging for my cock?” He rasped as his eyes bore into yours, your faces were so close at this point your sure you both were just breathing in eachothers breaths.

Your tight walks clenched even harder on his throbbing cock causing him to falter slightly, his hips needing a split second to get back into rhythm.

“Fuck!” He roared in that unique tone of his, “Look at you getting wet like a whore” he spat at you, though there was no malice.

“Getting fucking wet when I talk about fucking you in front of him, is that what you want? Want him and the whole known universe to know that you belong to me? That you belong to na-Baron Feyd Rutha Harkonnen? Know how well you take my cock?” He gritted, the look of pure possessiveness in his blue eyes as his nostrils flared, his full bottom lip being pulled between his teeth.

You couldn’t help the tears that sprung, and your nails that dug into his back no doubt breaking skin, you heard the hiss pass through his lips at the pleasure of it but he was just fucking you so good, splitting you wide open on his cock and saying the most nastiness things a lady of a great house should never hear. He was speaking to you a way no one would ever dare and it was driving crazy you like he knows it always does.

“Y-yes! Wan’ them all to know!” You moaned as your shaky breath washed over his full lips. You closed the small space and took his mouth upon yours, his opening immediately to take dominance over your tongue. The kiss was just as messy and sloppy as the fucking currently happening in a hallway anyone could walk down. Yet you couldn’t care less because of the pure ecstasy he was making you feel and because you knew Feyd would kill anyone stupid enough to walk this way, let along gaze upon you in this state.

The rest of the world may have not knew but those here did and they knew better than to ever speak on it.

Here they all know you belong to Feyd and that made your heart soar because you’d give anything for all to know.

“Fuck pretty girl” he groaned against your wet mouth, “You’re dripping down my balls, my fucking thighs are wet with you”.

His words just made you moan louder.

“Go head, cum for me, let go my pretty little pet” he rasped.

The scream that tore through you should make you embarrassed how much you sounded like a common whore but nothing in you could muster a care in the world. Feyd was worth everything. Worth getting caught, worth the embarrassment on your family, worth whatever came with being found out.

Your body shook as the force of your orgasm pushed Feyd’s cock out, momentarily catching him off guard before the loss of your heat and your desperate whine at the action caused him to snap back in action and drive his cock back in til he was brushing your cervix.

Your body continued to shake as your pussy claimed his cock in a vice grip and your eyes rolled back, your mouth hanging open with some slight drool down the corner. Everything about the moment sent a chill down Feyd’s spine as his balls drew tight and his cock swelled, the release of his cum shooting into your warmth and drenching your walls with his thick seed.

How Feyd wished more then anything you both could allowed it to take, the thought of you claimed in that way, round with his child caused Feyd release to prolong. A groan ripping through his chest, as his cock continued to spurt his cum into your warm haven. Desperate to see you round, full of him.

“Fuck!”

Your hands guided his head as you brought him in for an embrace. Your faces pressed together.

The both of you stayed that way for awhile. Deep breathing slowly coming to a normal pace as the mixture from both your releases cooled on each of your thighs.

He slowly pulled out his soften cock as you verbally mourned the loss.

Feyd helped you fix yourself before slipping his cock back into his pants and pulling them back over his hips. He hadn’t pull them down far to begin with with the rush you both were in. Just enough to get his impressive cock out.

“Did you mean it?” He asked catching you off guard with the softness and vulnerability of his deep raspy tone.

You searched his handsome face looking for an answer before it hit you. You fought back the tears that threaten to fall. The sadness that washed over you you wished wasn’t the reality.

“Of course, more than anything but we both know it would never happen Feyd. I am already betrothed” you remind him. “My father will not reconsider, not while house Fenring has offered so much and he still carry’s hatred for the Baron”.

Feyd didn’t seem surprised at your statement, it was the truth you both knew. He just seemed to be contemplating and that worried you. You didn’t want him to do anything that would get himself into trouble.

It was two long days later when you got to see Feyd again, this time in the arena. You don’t understand how it all happened because it had happened so quickly.

You were sitting up in the guest seats watching with a few the other young lady’s of great houses, gossiping about Feyds skill and brutality with the rest of your respective families when Feyd had just finished his slaughter. He stood there proud after taking off his shield and finishing in an even more entertaining way when all realized some of the slaves weren’t drugged.

He raised a single fist as the roar from the area slowly came to a stop. A servant rushed to him handing over something. You sat watching with all wondering what was happening since this wasn’t customary for the end of the fight.

“What is the na-Baron up to?” One of the lords from the other houses asked as everyone watched.

Your heart raced as you watched through your glasses as he brought a mic up to his mouth. He smirked before announcing his challenge to the young lord of house Fenring for your hand in marriage.

You could swear he looked directly up at you high in the sky above him smirking before he cut his palm, made a fist and pounded his chest in a salute of ultimate respect. The stunned crowed of Giedi Prime following their beloved na-Baron. The sound was deafening. Your breathing stopped as you heard all the gasps around you. The young lady’s grasping at you asking a million questions as your father and Lord Fenring jumped to their feet yelling their rage at the disrespect of the young na-Baron. For they understood things were different here and just like the na-Baron was currently explaining on Giedi Prime his challenge must be accepted by the young lord himself and he would not be able to choose a fighter instead where the laws of marriage was considered. It was fight to the death or be shamed and seen as weak. Which on Giedi Prime was seen as the worst fate. To refuse meant House Harkkonen would refuse to acknowledge House Fenring because of their weakness. All deals and trade voided.

You couldn’t slow your breathing as you leaned on the railing watching him watching you. You could hear the commotion around you and the young lord Fenring fighting with his father over his acceptance before making his way out the room. Hope bloomed in your chest, you knew your father could not refuse a display like this. Such an open declaration of love, of ownership. You were his and he would fight to the death to make it so in all ways.

It wasn’t long before you seen doors on the stadium floor beginning to open. And Feyd’s smirk turned into a monstrous smile full of blackened teeth. You were his and it was time all knew. Giedi Prime would finally have their na-Baroness.

#ughdontbeboring #oneshot #🔥#🌙

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aboutthenabaron · 6 months ago

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Do You Love?

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x wife!reader

Summary: Feyd is soft for his wife and only wants to know if she loves him. His wife just wants him to come home.

Notes/Warnings: fluff and a little angst and very light smut (still 18+), softy-soft Feyd, probably could do with a wedding prequel if people were interested, im sure there are typos. I think that's it.

Words: 1400

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

He hates being away from you. Can't bear it. It takes less than two days for withdrawal from your lack of presence to settle in, and when it hits, it hits hard. The luminescence of your smile that threatens the darkness within him on his worst days; the delicate suppleness of your skin that introduced him to the softness and warmth of a human body; the specific quality and tone of your voice when you whisper and whimper and moan in his ear—he needs it. He needs you. He craves you until the second you’re in his arms again. He just wishes he could understand if you feel the same. He wishes he could know if you love him as much as he does you.

When you came into his life, you were a pawn for peace. A gift from one Great House to another. A reluctant bride who couldn’t choke back her tears on her wedding day. He’ll never forget the saltiness that lingered on his lips after the kiss that bound you to him forever. He can still feel the pang in his heart from seeing you finch when he guided the strap of your nightgown off your shoulder.

It took ages for you to shed your fear; to allow him to hold you and kiss you and be inside of you, but those many months of ‘two steps forward, one step back’ have left him in a paralyzing state of identity crisis and uncertainty. You’ve turned him into a man who begs for scraps of reassurance that you care for him rather than a man who shows no mercy for love; a man so preoccupied with thoughts of his wife’s affection that not even his enemies are granted his full attention as he watches the light drain from their eyes.

From the moment he leaves, he anticipates his return so you can quell his agitation, at least to some degree. The same words echo in his head each time he steps off a Harkonnen ship to search for you—hug me, hold me, kiss me, let my body inside of yours, tell me you love me—and in recent months you haven’t failed to do those things, with the exception of the last request. The day you tell him you love him will be the day he stops fearing you'll eventually grow bored with him. On that day, he’ll be happy, at peace. He’ll be unafraid of what his future with you will bring.

—

Reader POV

He often goes to Arrakis for a week or two, that’s not new. He must monitor things and fight Fremen when necessary. However, this time was different. There was something foreign in his eyes after he kissed your palm and boarded his ship to depart. Sadness? Pain? Worry? All three? You didn’t know, but it terrified you from how little he tried to disguise it. With each departure, it’s seemed his mood has worsened and you can't decipher its cause.

Now, ten days later, your fingernails are worn to nubs and dark circles have found home under your eyes from nightmares interrupting your sleep. They’re different every night but they always end with Feyd not coming home to you, and you don’t know how to cope. You tell yourself you’re crazy, that there’s no possibility of him being taken down with a Fremen knife or gobbled up by a sandworm or blown to bits from his ship getting shot out of the sky. He’s too smart, too quick, too trained for such things to claim his life. At the same time, however, the last person whose death you dreamt of was your mother’s, and while it’s rare your dreams are prophetic, that one came to fruition not five days later. Who is to say your dreams of your husband are not the same?

But you can’t lose Feyd, not when it feels like you just got him. When you married, your dread of navigating a new husband and life on Giedi Prime—both of which have a reputation for being cold and desolate and harsh—crippled your ability to see him for who he is. It’s only been the last few months that you’ve let yourself love and understand him, and you can’t imagine a reality in which you wake one morning knowing you will never have him again. You wouldn’t survive it.

But you won't have to, because he's fine, perfectly safe—that's what you tell yourself. He told you he wouldn’t be away long and he wouldn’t say that unless he believed it, right?

Then again, believing he would be home soon doesn’t mean fate agrees. What if he's already gone? Wait, no. No, he wouldn't do that to you. He'll be home because he always makes it home. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave you. You nod to yourself, swallowing hard. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave. He’s fine. He’s safe. He would never leave.

Your body curls into the first touch of warmth you’ve had in a week and a half as a heavy weight rests in the dip of your waist and tugs you against a solid form. Plush lips ghost your temple. A heartbeat thrums in your ear and you feel the rise and fall of a chest.

Oh, you like this dream. He’s so real in this dream. It’s the first dream where death is not at his heels.

“You don’t know how I miss you,” he mutters into your ear. Stands of your loose hair brush back from your face. “How unbearable it is.”

His voice is so clear, so beautiful and vivid that it’s almost like he’s really with you. Humming contently, you huddle further into him. “Then stop leaving me,” you mumble.

Breath catches in his chest, no longer moving at a steady rhythm. “You're awake?”

Your brows knit—that's not a very ‘dream-like’ question; it threatens your lovely illusion—and then your eyes snap open.

“Feyd?” His nose is an inch from yours. Your hand raises to cup his cheek, just to see if he is real, and you gasp at how warm his skin is under your palm. “You're here,” you cry, quickly pushing him onto his back and crawling on top of him.

You press your lips to his, hard. A whimper is pulled from your throat when he parts his mouth so you can get a taste of his tongue. Yes, he’s definitely real.

Hands trail down your back to your ass, squeezing two handfuls of flesh and pushing your pelvis down onto his. He’s already hard and thick and pressing into you, the matching thin material of your nightgown and his sleep pants doing a pathetic job of maintaining any sort of barrier.

Feyd slowly drags the ink-toned silk up the curves and dimples of your body until it pools at your waist. Fingers graze your skin as they move lower to slide through your slick bare folds, and at his touch, your brain goes absolutely fuzzy. You’re unashamedly desperate, refusing to take any longer to get what you need, but when you finally free him from his pants and he thrusts up into you, you both find yourselves stopping. The kiss breaks and you simply breathe in each other’s breaths as he stays nestled deep inside you.

Your forehead falls to his. A fresh tear that you hadn’t noticed in your eye lands on his cheek. “You're ok,” you gently whimper, reassuring yourself of his safety. His nose nudges yours.

“When am I not?” he whispers as he catches the next tear with his thumb before it drops from your lower lashes.

“In my nightmares.”

His brow pinches in curiosity, cock twitching within your walls. “You dream about me?”

You lightly nod. “I thought this was a dream.”

“Why?”

“Because I had a sickening feeling you weren’t going to make it back this time. I know it was a routine trip, but I just couldn’t shake it,” you say. “And that would’ve killed me, Feyd. I love you.”

Feyd sucks in a short stream of air as his hips slightly buck up against yours. “You love me?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you exhale, riding the little high of pleasure that came from the sharp involuntary shift of his hips. “I was so scared to be right.”

Feyd's arms tighten around you and he tilts his chin up to connect your lips. Kisses travel along the line of your jaw and down the length of your neck. His tongue dips into the hollow of your throat.

“I love you,” he tells you.

Your stuffy chuckle settles into a grin. “I know you do.”

---

tag: @avidreader73

#seresinhangmanjake #oneshot #🔥#🧸#⚡#🌙

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aboutthenabaron · 6 months ago

Note

Do you know what happened to the “Truest Lovr” fic? I don’t remember the blog name, but the reader was Feyds wife’s sister, but the sister died thus comes in reader to take care of her niece/feyds daughter?

I'm sorry, I have no info on that.

ANYONE ELSE COULD HELP OUT ANON?

#ask #looking for a fic

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aboutthenabaron · 6 months ago

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Tear You Apart | Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader

A soldier - loyal to House Atreides - is taken as a prisoner of war by House Harkonnen. After besting the Na-Baron in the arena, you are given two options: become his concubine, or die.

Chapter 1 out now on AO3!

Chapter warnings: Depictions of violence, drugging

Fic Warnings: CNC/Dub-con, knifeplay, violence, drugging, eventual heavy smut

#clooyd #series #❌#🔥#🌙

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aboutthenabaron · 6 months ago

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Respect

Feyd-Rautha x female!reader

Summary: Your betrothed is a son from one of the Great Houses, an awful man who has enjoyed threatening and scaring you since you were children. Feyd makes it known he doesn't appreciate such disrespectful treatment of the woman he loves.

Notes/Warnings: SA (mention of past unwanted touching. Not by Feyd). Violence and blood. Implied or mentioned sexual situations. Feyd is soft for reader and reader only. Typos, im sure. I think that's it. Feel free to correct me.

Words: 1900

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You told him stories of the youngest son of House Kenric. As you lay in Feyd’s arms, you recounted your meetings with your betrothed over the years. The ways he teased you as children, pinching your skin, tugging on your hair, spitting in your face, calling you worthless, stupid, pathetic. Then in the years before coming of age, how he would mock you alongside his brothers. How he would smack you if you defended yourself and force you to tell your father you’d fallen. How he would grope you over your dress when neither your parents nor his were paying attention. But you’d kept one story from him; the most recent of them.

Feyd had met you at a party for a handful of influential Great Houses, and it wasn’t long before he found himself rather attached to you. Over the course of six hours, you’d met, talked, flirted, snuck off, kissed, fell into bed, fucked, and returned to the party with no one the wiser. It was that same night you were able to convince your father of a budding interest in Harkonnen ways, and that if the Houses were aiming for peace and unity, there would be no harm in you spending a few months on Giedi Prime.

At the time, Feyd knew the “Harkonnen ways” you so appreciated didn’t extend far past the attachment the two of you shared and his ability to make you see stars when his cock was inside of you, but it eventually developed into more. Much more. Though never said aloud, he loved you. So much so that when you finally informed him of your betrothed’s treatment of you the week preceding the party—his cornering you, touching you, telling you of his intent to control and use you as he pleases once you become his wife—Feyd struggled to swallow his rage.

“I’m scared, honestly,” you told him, your hand sliding up from his abdomen over his chest to the curve where his neck met his shoulder, gently squeezing the toned muscle. “How do I become the wife of a man like that? And what about producing his heir? I’ll have no choice but to let him have me.”

It made Feyd sick to think of another man so close to you. Another man’s hands on you, his lips marring your body, tongue between your folds, sweat staining your skin. Even screwing his eyes shut couldn’t make those images didn’t disappear. They only grew stronger, tormenting him. She’s not yours, a little voice whispered. Not your woman, not the mother of your child, not your wife.

But, fuck, you should be. You should be all of those things. You would make a perfect Baroness; the only one Feyd could imagine himself wanting. You would face hardship with a sturdy backbone and not shy away from what Giedi Prime would request of you. You would be respected as the ruler by his side, as you deserve. Respected most of all by the man who loves you.

“Would you rather marry me?” Feyd asked, lazily running his fingers up and down your bare spine. He felt a sudden uneasiness, like nerves wiggling throughout his limbs. Such an unfamiliar sensation. Unwelcome, but not misplaced he supposed.

“Yes,” you replied to his relief. “But we both know that’s not how this works, Feyd. It’s just not that simple.”

You were right. It wasn’t simple. Your father made an arrangement with House Kenric, but there was no chance Feyd was going to let that old Duke take you from him in two weeks and ship you off to marry an abusive, unworthy pest of a man. If your father wouldn’t permit simplicity for the sake of your happiness, then Feyd would just have to make it simple.

—

“Why is it again that I’m not allowed to see?” you ask as Feyd guides you down a dark corridor with his fingers covering your eyes.

“I told you it’s a surprise,” he teases. “Don’t you like my presents?”

You chuckle. “Of course, I like your presents.”

“Then that’s all you need to know,” he tells you. “We are here, anyway.”

Coming to a stop, Feyd removes his hands from your eyes and places them on your shoulders, kneading out the tension that has only worsened in your body as your wedding day grows nearer. You blink once, twice, still curious as to what sort of present could possibly be this far from your rooms, but when your vision adjusts to the onslaught of bright light illuminating the small cell, you gasp at the sight before you.

“What do you think?” Feyd asks, pressing a kiss to your neck as you take in the badly beaten body of Aldo Kenric—your future husband.

He’s secured to a chair, his arms strapped down to the chairs arms and legs strapped to legs. His head hangs low. His shirt is torn down the front, exposing the deep purple bruises that litter his torso. Blood drips from his nose and split lips to stain white fabric and forge red rivers through the hills of his abdomen muscles. If not for the pink flush to his skin, you would think him long dead.

The hand that raises to your mouth partially conceals your shock, but the rest of your face gives the emotion away. Your eyelids don’t seem to be able to blink anymore, and your brows will not lower from their position high up on your forehead. You don’t know how to swallow what you see.

With a sigh, Feyd says, “Wait a moment. He’s not very lively.” Then he steps around you toward your betrothed, lifts the man's head by his cropped blond hair, and hits him across the face with a smack that echoes throughout the cell. Scarlet droplets splatter across Feyd’s forearm like flung paint from a brush.

Aldo jolts awake, body convulsing in a sharp jerk. His eyes blow wide as saucers as he snaps his head in all directions and struggles against his binds. The gag in his mouth muffles his whimpers of panic.

“H-How?” you stutter, glancing at Feyd. “When did you—”

“I had some of my men snatch him last night,” Feyd informs you. ‘While we were busy fucking’, he leaves out. “I was told it was done without difficulty. Didn’t put up a decent fight of any sort.”

He grabs Aldo’s jaw, fingers pressing into the hollows of his cheeks, and forces his head so he has no choice but to look directly into Feyd’s eyes. “We had a long talk about respecting our women, didn’t we, Kenric?”

Tears stream down the man’s face, cutting through dried blood and dripping onto Feyd’s hand. Aldo tries to yank his head free from the tight grasp to look at you. You think he’s repeating your name behind the stuffing in his mouth, but you can’t be sure.

“What are you going to do with him?” you ask.

“What would you like me to do with him?”

“I can decide?”

He laughs. “Of course. I wouldn’t give you a gift and not let you choose what to do with it.”

You almost flinch in shock. You’re not known for choosing things for yourself. Until you met Feyd, ‘choice’ was a word associated with negativity and obligatory sacrifice. He is the one thing you’ve ever chosen. Your clothes, your hair, your studies, your husband—all selected for you. But Feyd…you met him and fell and didn’t want to get back up.

Maybe now, you don’t have to.

“You’d kill him?” you ask.

Aldo screams behind his gag, more salty wet lines running down his face. His squirming shifts the chair back and forth and forward and back. Unevenly distributed weight nearly causes him to fall on his side, but Feyd sets him upright before he can crack his head on the stone floor.

Reaching around his back, Feyd pulls out a small knife and in one sharp motion sinks it into Aldo’s thigh with a sickening yet satisfying thick thud. “Stay put,” he growls, then he turns to you with a smile. “Yes, I would kill him, if that would make you happy.”

Water pools in the corner of your eyes. Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Feyd rushes to you and cups your cheeks in warm palms.

“Do not cry,” he demands as his thumbs brush over your cheekbones. “You know I hate it.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, sucking in a few deep breaths between your sniffles. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.”

His face softens. “I’d do everything for you,” he swears before drawing you in for a kiss; slow and sensual and sweet in front of the broken man who currently has a claim on your hand. You lose yourself to mouths moving in perfect sync until he pulls back.

“So, do you have a preference?” he asks, giving you one final peck. “Slit throat now, or arena in the morning?”

Your head tilts in contemplation as you observe the distressed, wailing man who has happily hurt and terrified you. By nature, you are not a violent woman, not in the way your man is a violent man, and you were raised to believe that it is improper and rude and disrespectful to wish pain upon someone else—downright cruel or whatever—but there’s a sense of freedom now. Clearer mind, lighter heart, straighter spine, weakened conscience.

You raise a brow. “If I choose the arena, will you make a show of it?”

Feyd hums in agreement.

“And, um…” you pause.

“You can have anything you want,” Feyd says at your hesitation.

You nod, your confidence renewing with his encouragement. Yes, he’s right, you can have anything. With Feyd, it’s anything, and it’s conditionless.

As you slowly drag your hand down his chest, you peer up at him through your lashes. “Will you go in without a shirt? I’d like to see you come out covered in red.”

Feyd smirks then steps out of your arms and crouches in front of your soon-to-be-former betrothed. “Did you hear her?” he asks Aldo as he flicks the hilt of the blade sticking out of his flesh. Aldo whimpers, pressing his legs together. “Covered, she says. And I will give her what she wants because I love her and this is how I respect her.”

Leaning down, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Let’s go to our room. I want to thank you…properly,” you whisper, softly kissing just under his ear before sucking his earlobe into his mouth. Feyd groans.

“And then I will properly thank you for thanking me, my love,” he says with a grin that falls into a frown when he turns back to Aldo. “See, Kenric? Respect.” Feyd slaps the top of Aldo’s leg for emphasis as he stands. “You can keep the knife for now. Can't have you bleeding out. We have an important day ahead of us and I don’t want it to be too easy.”

“Come on,” you snicker, pulling him by the hand as you walk backward out of the cell.

Feyd spins and grabs you at the waist to lift you into his arms. You giggle as your legs lock around his hips.

“Will you agree to marry me now?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you tell him, your lips ghosting over his. “You saved me.”

tags (let me know if you want to be on the list): @avidreader73

#seresinhangmanjake #oneshot #❌#🔥#🧸#⚡#🌙

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aboutthenabaron · 6 months ago

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Hiya :) thank you for taking the time to read anything I write. If you like something (and are comfortable with sharing) let me know. It always makes my day! - ❤️ Lauren

Main Masterlist

ao3: Laureolive (if you see my writing anywhere else, please let me know)

I am trying a tag list so you can join by filling out this form, or you turn on notifications for this blog or @seresinhangmanjake-library if you would like to keep up with my writing. Many of these fics are 18+. If you are a minor, please do not read them.

The Harkonnen's Sweet Thing: Part 1, Part 2 - (Atreides!Reader) You watched your brother kill the man you love--a man you were once gifted to by the Baron--and now that he is gone, you think Paul will use you as a political pawn in his war. And you're right. But you're shocked to discover who is demanding to have you.

Respect: Your betrothed is a son from one of the Great Houses, an awful man who has enjoyed threatening and scaring you since you were children. Feyd makes it known he doesn't appreciate such disrespectful treatment of the woman he loves.

#seresinhangmanjake #masterlist

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aboutthenabaron · 6 months ago

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The Little Death — 8. Forms of bitterness

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: smut, fluff, noncon, dom/sub, dom!Feyd, oral (f receiving), felching, cockwarming, and more inkpie (poor reader can't catch a break)

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk @lowlyloved @pomtherine @slytherins-heir @babyofneptune @localravenclaw @missbingu

No sweeteners will cloak some forms of bitterness. — Bene Gesserit Coda

He just about dragged her back to his room — their room — half-naked through the halls. She screamed at him and bit and scratched his arm, but Feyd took no notice. He mostly enjoyed it, in fact. When he pushed her into the room and locked the doors behind them, she calmed down. There was no point in fighting him anymore.

Her dress hung on in tatters, slathered around her figure like a spill of ink, her hair in tangles among loosened threads. Feyd hardly wore anything, but what he’d thrown on during their little journey he threw off now in a hurry on his way to her.

“Stop, stop. Enough!”

“You don’t tell me when it’s enough,” he growled as he gripped her by the throat and kept on walking, pushing her toward the bed. “I tell you when it’s enough.”

“You’re a beast, just like your brother,” she hissed.

And as if that were a curse, it weakened all his muscles. He let her go and looked into her eyes, weak and wounded, before the anger came. Feyd clenched his teeth, a pit of shiny black between pale lips, and shoved her. She fell onto the mattress with a huff.

“You’ll pay for that,” he promised, and horrors were rolling behind his eyes, images of what he could do to her even without his daggers — where were they, anyway? He must’ve left them at the dinner table.

But when he reached down and touched her again he found his grip was gentle, almost a caress. She seemed surprised as well and in her wary eyes, he noticed fear. He’d never seen it quite like that before… Not even when they first met. She seemed more determined then, ready to meet death, but now, dazed and aching from what they’d done before, she didn’t seem sure of anything. He held her jaw loosely enough that she could pull herself away if she wished to, but she didn’t.

Feyd looked at the bite marks and bruises he’d left on her and couldn’t help the slight pull of a smile.

“You’re quite the canvas,” he rasped with genuine admiration in his voice. He loved to see the splatter of blood on the white sands of the arena, but she was the closest he’d ever come to making art. “I want to make more…”

“Let go of me,” she whispered and scrambled backwards on the bed. “You’ve had enough fun for one day.”

He followed her onto the bed, then grabbed her ankle and pulled her back toward him. His body covered hers and his lips swallowed her little scream. She tasted sweet and bitter and there was a hint of teeth — his, hers, it was hard to tell; their mouths melded as one. His hands started roaming her body and she nearly jumped in fear or anticipation but he only caressed her. His palms went from brushing up and down her breasts to squeezing them, then travelled lower. He gripped her waist and held her tightly to the bed, possessed her in the only way he really could, and felt her fragile innards giving way beneath his hands. It was a rare thing to feel power over her… To see real fear in her eyes — not of his weapons, not of his status as Planetary Governor, but of him. He had nothing more than his hands and teeth, and she did too, both of them in their naked skin on a black bed, and everything they felt, they felt only for each other.

His hands moved down to cup her hips while he bent down to kiss her. She smelled salty from her tears and her lips were dry and flaky but she was more perfect now to him than she’d ever been before. He moaned against her and finally pulled away, opening his eyes to find her breathless. She frowned up at him from the centre of the soft halo of her hair but Feyd could only smile. There was a sliver of blackness between her lips and he realised with great delight that he had left it there.

“How pretty you are like this,” he whispered, reaching up to brush his thumb across her cheek.

“Why even say that to me?” she muttered, glaring at him.

“I thought you witches were supposed to be clever,” said Feyd with a smirk, but he couldn’t help a certain fondness in his tone. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Enlighten me, Black Sun.”

He brushed the tip of his nose against hers and smiled as he whispered, “Because I want you pretty desperately right now. I’ve wanted you before but seeing you in pain, hearing you scream, tasting it on you…” He sucked in a quick breath as he looked down at her lips with lidded eyes. “And feeling how tight you got all around me… I want that. I want it again.”

She barely had the chance to squirm before Feyd grabbed her by the neck, and although she instinctively held her breath he didn’t squeeze her. He just held her there while he nudged her legs apart and set himself between them. His smooth pale arm was right against her chest and he could feel how warm she was, could feel her heart, and how frantically it was beating. He lowered himself once again to kiss her and then, like a snake, slid lower. He pressed his lips against her trembling chin, then kissed her breasts while his other hand went up to tangle itself in her hair. She groaned when he started pulling on it, but she was a good girl and understood. She bent her head and arched her back for him.

Feyd pulled her puckered nipple in his mouth and sucked on it as if he’d missed it those few minutes since they walked from there to here. And he had. Now that he knew what to expect from her body — what textures, what tastes, how she’d respond to every bit of attention — he could focus only on enjoying the experience. Her nipples had a waxy smoothness to them, a truly special bit of skin, and so sensitive that within seconds of being in his mouth, they hardened. He imagined for a moment how greatly the experience would improve if he could suckle milk from her and he moaned embarrassingly loudly at the thought. His cock hardened again and he brushed it up and down her thigh, but he didn’t let himself get carried away just yet. He had other plans.

He let go of her neck but kept his fist around her hair and as he went lower down her body she was forced to bend. She cursed him and clawed at his arm, her feet pressing down against the bed, but Feyd assaulted her body with kisses as if none of that mattered. As if he was used to taming Bene Gesserit witches like her. He looked up into her eyes and smirked with his lips above her tummy, tongue leaving sticky circles on her belly button, while with his free hand, he cupped her hip to hold her still. She didn’t seem to realise what he meant to do until right before he did it.

“N-no, no, don’t —”

He pressed a deep and loving kiss over her mound and at the top of her slit and then with a stretch of his tongue he was lapping at her clit. She was slathered in a mess of white — from her — and black — from him — and as he closed his eyes and pulled their mixed juices in his mouth he wondered how similar their shades were to the skies of Giedi Prime.

“Ugh, you’re a beast,” she muttered, twisting between the sharp discomfort at her scalp and the pleasure that throbbed through her anew.

“That’s… twice you’ve… called me that,” muttered Feyd between long, suckling kisses at her twitching little nub. “I still have to punish you… But later.”

She was so swollen and flushed, her body opening almost like a flower or the ripe flesh of a fruit. He buried his tongue inside her and she gave a high and girlish yelp that sounded halfway between a sob and laughter. With a gentleness on the cusp of veneration, Feyd pulled her lips into his mouth and kissed around them, pulling out of her the cum he’d spilt before. She trembled in his grasp at the feeling of it being sucked out of her and slinking out. Her back arched, feet scrambling against the black and silky sheets as she twisted herself in even more impossible ways, caught between trying to get away and coming closer.

His chest was pressed into the bed as he half-kneeled between her legs, his body completely forgotten while he focused all on her. The bitterness of his black cum was coated with her sweetness. She’d kept it warm for him. It dripped onto his tongue in dollops and he moaned at the memory of pushing it up into her, of giving her almost more than she could take. And now that he had her at his mercy, twisted in delicious pain while she clung and clawed at his shoulders, he could service her softest parts with his lips and teeth and tongue and he’d never felt more like a man.

When all he could taste was flesh and her cries had petered out to whimpers, Feyd ended his deep kisses with a few long licks at her hole. She cried out more urgently and her nails dug into his skin, and then a rush of shivers that started along her spine rose up to her throat and betrayed that she had cum again.

“Good girl,” he whispered against her clenching hole, soothing it with little kisses that kept her moaning and on edge. “What a sweet thing you are, my darling…”

She whimpered at his words, just like he intended. Her hips twisted, taking her away from him, but Feyd merely moved to kiss her inner thigh. She was wet there too and sticky, her warm skin coated with a mix of sweat, softer in quite a different way than her tender hole had been.

“Nobody gets to kiss you here often, do they?” he asked in a rough whisper. “Or here,” he said, moving up again to chase her most sensitive parts. “Mmmm… What a shame.”

She twitched right before his eyes, both of her holes tightening shyly. Just the sight of it took his breath away. She gave a wordless, weakened moan and pressed her heel against his shoulder, trying to push him off of her again, but Feyd cupped the inside of her knee to hold her still and leaned down to kiss her swollen parts once more.

“S-stop,” she groaned. “Aaah! And l-let me go…”

“Hmmm?” he asked with a cocked brow.

When he looked at her, he understood. She was uncomfortable. He had gripped her hair perhaps a bit too tightly and even the soft bed was not enough to leave her feeling good. He liked seeing her suffer but he told himself he didn’t like a fuss, so he eased the tightness of his fingers and slowly released her from his grasp. The relief in her sigh was almost childish, so endearing. Feyd smiled as he braced himself up on his arms above her.

She was lying tired and supine, her chest heaving, her breasts sore and reddened as if blushing. He braced his arms on either side of her and leaned down to lay one loving kiss on each puckered nipple, ignoring her protesting whimpers. Then, just as he had promised earlier, he slotted himself between her legs while holding her face still before him. He looked into her eyes — fear and anger melded there, hiding something from him — and held her gaze as he pressed his cock into her body once again.

She moaned and arched to get away but Feyd would not allow her. He cupped her jaw with one hand while the other was tangled in her hair. And whether she glared up at him angrily or closed her eyes in pain he was always there, above her, watching every emotion flicker across her face as he went deeper, deeper, into the tight channel that was so familiar now but still so different. She was warmer, even softer, and so, so tender... He could feel her used hole crying around his cock, lathering his balls with cloying, sticky juices. She blushed at the way it sounded when he worked his way up into her, but Feyd couldn’t even find it in him to smile or grin with the smugness he expected to feel — after all, he had done that to her, he’d been the one to bring her to this state, his stern and fierce lady Bene Gesserit... Instead, he was in awe at the sensations, at everything, from the way her body felt beneath him — her vulnerable stomach flexing beneath his, her heart beating quickly, hands clawing at his shoulders — to the blushing sweetness of her face, her shaky voice, her body’s scent, the full experience of her. He half-believed she’d managed to cast some spell because at that moment he was fully enchanted.

With a groan, he reached her end. She cried out a warble of sounds he could hardly make sense of and flexed her body in a last attempt to get away, but Feyd held her. He let his weight press her down just slightly more into the mattress and shushed her whimpers while underneath he spread his knees and positioned himself more firmly.

“Does it hurt?” he rasped in a close whisper, thumb brushing her frown away.

“Y-yes,” she whispered with bubbling resentment, refusing to look into his eyes.

He smiled and let his gaze traverse her face from her creased brows to her red parted lips. Sweat pooled in the small of his back making him shiver, but beneath him, she felt feverishly warm. He pulled back gently and stopped, soaking in the feeling of her core clenching around his tip, then thrust hard into her again. She moaned in pain, or perhaps pleasure, as Feyd built up the pace. He rocked into her body as steadily as a crashing wave but held her firmly in his arms and slowly began to kiss her, sipping at her lips and cutting her sweet sounds short. His muscles trembled from the pleasure of feeling her pain so completely, from the way her intimate parts tightened around him, bruised and battered and sore, to the look of ecstatic agony upon her face and the sound of it that kept pouring forth.

“Shhh… there, there,” he soothed her, his voice low and heavy with the strain of holding back. “Almost done with you… You’re nearly there, aren’t you, my sweet?”

“No,” she pleaded, head shaking side to side between his hands. “No, no, no more, stop!”

He kissed her again and tightened his arms around her, holding her as still beneath him as he could while he started thrusting harder, shoving himself into her body with all the desperation of a man who wished to disappear, to be forgotten. She gasped against his lips, back arching, heart thundering beneath his own, and when he heard her cry out louder and felt her core clench tight enough to hurt he knew that she was close to cumming.

“There you are, that’s it, just a bit longer,” he whispered, kissing now her cheeks, her chin, along her jaw.

“Feyd,” she gasped with eyes closed and head pressed into the mattress, hands clinging to his waist mindlessly even as she seemed to want to pull away.

He cursed and bit into her shoulder when he felt her start to cum. Her hole closed up around him and he couldn’t move, didn’t want to move, and instead allowed her to be shattered by her pleasure. Her cervix nipped at his crown and her lips kissed his swollen sac. Feyd clung to her just as tightly as she held on to him. His own orgasm took him by surprise and he found himself crying out against her skin, his mouth full of her taste and her voice soft and close to his ear. He spread his legs slightly and hers too with the same motion as he settled deeper still, and then after a sudden burst of warmth within his loins, his balls clenched closer to his body and released what cum he had left into her. She gasped at the feeling of his cock twitching deep inside her, at his inky cum filling her again, but she was too weak to complain, too tired to even scratch him. All he heard now were her whimpers and small echoes of his name.

He held her tightly as he spilt his seed then gradually eased off of her. He could taste iron in his mouth — her blood — but if she was in pain he couldn’t see it. When he raised himself up on his elbows she looked dazed, half-asleep, but her lidded eyes looked sated, a feeling he knew all too well. Feyd smiled and kissed her as he eased himself to the side, his cock still held inside her, their mix of cum dripping down onto her thighs. He didn’t notice that his hands were shaking until he brushed the hair out of her face.

“You’re smiling,” she quietly said, her voice reduced to a delicious rasp.

“Mhmmm,” he murmured, brushing a thumb across her lips.

“Why?”

“Your mouth. It’s stained all black and red from me.”

She reached up to wipe her lips of the mix of her blood and his inky residue, but he caught her wrist and laid it down between them.

“I like the way it looks.”

His witch groaned and closed her eyes in something that was meant as disapproval, but Feyd couldn’t find it in him to be upset.

“You can rest now.”

“You permit it?” she asked archly.

He chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I do.”

With a tired smile, Feyd cupped her messy head and tucked it underneath his chin, then he wrapped his leg around her. She was too exhausted to react and he could feel her fast falling asleep, but for a moment it was as if they both felt the same thing. The quiet in the room spoke to them, their skin chilled underneath the same dry current, and under only a thin layer of skin, their blood flowed to the same heartbeat. With the last bit of strength he had, Feyd wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled his face into her hair. If he had dreams that night, he wanted them to only be of her.

#sebastianswallows #series #❌#🔥

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aboutthenabaron · 7 months ago

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summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

pairings: feyd rautha x atreides!reader

status: ongoing

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

total word count: 18.5k

chapter index:

chapter one: the news of your approaching marriage is swift and brutal. there is no escaping your birth-right. what you don’t know is that feyd-rautha would never let you slip from his iron-like grip. you’re his after all.

chapter two: isolation. you feel as though your entire family is completely lost to you and it doesn’t help that the na-baron seems to enjoy playing with you. you’re in desperate need of some kind of a release and feyd is happy to oblige you. the two find yourselves face to face in a sparring match… a particularly heated one at that

chapter three: someone had gained access to your room, and now you were alone in the darkness, left to your own devices. you have a choice to make: fight for your life or let giedi prime swallow you whole. sadly, when placed in a life or death situation, your years of training completely evade you. thankfully you happen to have your very own vengeful demon, and he’s more than happy to behead those that hurt you.

chapter four: reeling after the shocking would-be assassination, you find it impossible to think of anything else- including feyd’s attempts to show you that he cares. having breakfast with the baron leaves you with more questions than you had before. with feyd’s mindset hurtling towards darker, more obsessive ways to show his affections, you’re in for quite the surprise. how else can he show that he loves you? it’s decided: blood will be spilled. . . and a lot of it.

pinterest board and playlist coming soon.

#foreverdolly #series #masterlist #🌙

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aboutthenabaron · 7 months ago

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Wait

Feyd Rautha x Y/N - drabble - 1.5K WC

Part 1 (you are here!)

Part 2

Part 3 NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: arranged marriage, soft Feyd, comfort, kissing, def not how this psycho would truly act

——————————————

You rubbed your hands together clumsily, your palms sweaty. You fidgeted with your gown; a beautiful iridescent white that glimmered in the black sunlight of Giedi Prime. You felt the sweat on your makeup covered brow. You had only met your soon-to-be husband the day prior. He looked quite dashing in his all black armor. His gaze was unreadable, inquisitive. His eyes never left yours, even when he leaned down to kiss your knuckles. His uncle, Baron Harkonnen, introduced you to him. Feyd Rautha. You had heard the stories, the gruesome rumors. And by the way he looked at you, you felt small. Felt as if he could crush you at any moment. And now, as you stood at the altar, him before you, you felt that exact feeling. Small, scared. His touch was gentle when he took your hand, snapping you back into the current moment. You listened to the small translating device in your ear, translating the strange Harkonnen language into the common tongue of Galach. Your hand shook as Feyd slipped on a black ring, one matching his.

Then you heard the fateful words, “Kiss the bride.” said the officiator.

Your eyes flicked up to Feyds. His were confident and strong, the complete opposite to your scared, anxious ones. He tilted your chin up slightly before leaning down and pecking your lips. The masses cheered as you were escorted away by your ladies in waiting. Friends you knew you could not trust as they were likely spies for the Baron.

You were finding Giedi Prime to be a very lonely planet.

Your ladies carefully removed your dress before adorning you in a much shorter, sheer one. Meant to entice your now husband, Na- Baron Feyd Rautha. The title felt unfamiliar on your tongue. As did yours, Na - Baroness. You waited in your apartments, watching the black night and the fireworks that splotched themselves in the sky. The breeze of the night held you as you waited. You were almost chewing your lip raw as you tried to calm your body. Knowing what would happen tonight frightened you. It did not sound pleasant when your governess described it to you as you traveled to Geidi Prime. She did her best to prepare you but all you knew was you feared this night with Feyd Rautha.

Your thoughts haunted as you heard the door slide open and closed, your new husband standing in the doorway. You made your way to the bed, sitting on your knees in the center of it. “Welcome Na-Baron.” You said quietly.

He made no noise as he shifted around the room, discarding his armor until he was in nothing but loose pants. He started to watch you again, observe you. He watched you lay down, spreading your shaking legs slightly. He could see the glimmer of tears in your eyes. Your fists clenching the sheets. You hesitantly pulled at the shoulders of your nightgown, ready to expose yourself fully.

“Stop.” He said.

You sat up, pulling your dress back up and holding it close to you. You had never heard his voice before, it was gravelly yet smooth. “What?” You asked, tears still spilling from your eyes but you quickly wiped them away with a sniffle.

“I won’t share your bed. Not until you want me to. I’m not a brute.” He said as he cut his palm, wiping the blood on the white sheet next to you.

You watched him do so with an open mouth, “What if I never want you to?” You whispered, gaining the courage to look at him.

He paused for a moment before shrugging, “They expect an heir at some point. But I assure you, I will not touch you until you want me to. If you ever do.” He paused before motioning to the swipe of blood on the bed, “That should hold them over. Once they think you are no longer a maiden they will happily wait for an heir to arrive, no matter how long that takes.”

You saw him walk over to the black couch on the opposite side of the room, laying down, he turned away from you. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t expect so much restraint and compassion from a man as supposedly psychotic as Feyd Rautha. You laid down, watching him as you waited to sleep.

——————————————

Flashes of black and white clouded your mind, you had no real grasp on what was happening but you knew you needed to escape. You knew the primal fear that settled in your gut as you ran. You ran only to feel a gladiator's knife bury itself in your chest, you screamed before the world went black.

You shot up, a sheen of sweat covering you as you let out a final shriek. Your hands felt over your chest, finding no wound or knife protruding from you. You did, however, feel hands holding your arms. You looked up, eyes meeting Feyd’s which looked concerned. You scooted as far back against the headboard as you could to put space between the two of you.

He released you immediately when he realized it was him you were scared of. A pang of hurt chipped at his armored heart. “Are you alright?” He asked softly.

“Nightmare. I’m so sorry to have woken you Na- Baron it won’t -“

“Feyd.” He said, interrupting you. “I’m your husband, call me Feyd.” He asked, a small glimmer of hope in his otherwise black eyes.

“Feyd…” you whispered.

His name sounded sweet on your tongue. He smiled gently, something you had yet to see his stoic face do. You nodded at him, agreeing to use his name. You both watched each other in the dim light of the room. He sat on the edge, arms length away from you.

Bravely you reached for his hand, pulling towards you slightly as you sat up, resting against the headboard with his large hand in your lap. “How do you feel about this? The marriage.” You asked, gesturing between the two of you.

Feyd paused, thinking his answer through. “Neither of us had much choice, I know this. But I wish to serve you adequately as a husband.” His thumb smoothed over your palm.

“And love? Do you ever wish for that?” You asked him. He didn’t answer so you answered yourself, “I do, perhaps we can find things to love in each other.” You said, looking off into the void of darkness in the corner of the room.

“It was my first kiss today, did you know that?” You rambled on.

Feyd watched as you caressed his fingers nervously. You weren’t afraid to be touching him. Or talking to him. “Is that so?” He asked.

You nodded, pink tinging your cheeks in embarrassment.

“How did you feel?” He asked, his voice light, as if he were relaxed.

“I felt… strange. As if my stomach were about to drop and fly away all at the same moment.” You told him honestly. He chuckled slightly, in turn you gave him a smile back. “Was I bad at it?” You asked, face scrunching up at the thought of embarrassing yourself or displeasing the Na-Baron.

“It was lovely,” he started, moving to envelope your cheeks in his large, pale hands.

Your heart was racing, your stomach felt just like it had at the altar, and an unfamiliar heat was pooling between your legs. Your eyes locked with his, absorbing everything he said and did.

“Do you want to do it again?” He asked in a hushed whisper.

You don’t know why, but you nodded. He gently brought your head to his, molding your lips together. Feyd was gentle and sweet, kissed full of passion and restraint. Something overtook you, you kept your lips on him longer. You nipped at his bottom lip, earning a groan from him as one of his hands dropped to your waist. Your hands melted down his chest, feeling the muscles ripple beneath your fingers. You felt how fast his heart was going as well, mimicking yours. Chaste kisses quickly turned into making out, you doing your best to follow Feyd’s lead. As his lips left your mouth, he kissed down your jaw to the crook of your neck. You could feel him sucking marks into your skin. You let out a sigh, never having felt like this before.

When one of Feyd’s hands landed on your thigh your body jerked backwards, trying to get out of his hold. He stopped his movements, eyes finding yours. “Forgive me, I got… carried away.” He sighed, relishing in the feel of how your lips felt on his.

“I liked it.” You said, unable to look at him, “but… can we not do anything else tonight?” You asked sheepishly.

Feyd nodded swiftly, agreeing as soon as the words left your mouth. “As you wish.” He responded.

“Would you stay with me?” You asked as he moved to return to his spot on the couch.

His eyes scanned the bed before he shuffled in next to you. You closed the space between you two, cuddling into his arms. His arms encircled your waist, you pecked the corner of his mouth quickly, “Good night, husband.” You said sweetly.

“Good night wife.” He responded as he rubbed circles into your back while watching you inhale and exhale.

—————————————

Naboo’s Note:

Hello! First dune fic! Love it because I love that bald megamind lookin motherfucker. Hope this one is good, if it’s not or has spelling/ grammar errors please know I typed this on my phone half asleep and did not review it at all. Will be writing more for my bald boyfriend, talk soon! Thanks for all the likes and comments! XOXOXOXXOXOXO!!!!!

Taglist: @landlockedmermaid77 @moonsoulk

#amica-aenigmata-naboo #series #🌙

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aboutthenabaron · 7 months ago

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Strip Me Down And Paint Me Black (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: ah shit, here we go again... A continuation of "It's A Special Death You Saved", but it can be read as a separate story. Title from "Cinnamon" by Marika Hackman

Warnings: Harkonnen-typical Violence, some Sexual Tension, some Kissing, Enemies to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers to Enemies to Lo...

Summary: As you struggle with your new role as the Na-Baron's wife, plans are set in place, which will shake the very foundations of your life. Good thing, your husband is there to support you, right?

He watches you. Constantly.

You can feel his eyes moving over your body, soaking it in like a man parched. Every movement, every twitch of your muscles is noted, stored for later. It's like he's keeping a detailed record of your every reaction, as if he wants to keep it catalogued, create a mold of you in his mind. The furrowing of your brows and the squinting of your eyes, when the Black Sun of Giedi Prime first hits your vision. How your skin turns completely gray, devoid of any color, as you take your first step off the travelling ship.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, refusing to meet it, as your eyes adjust to the sheer force of the swallowing black light.

Touch is scarce and almost revered, when he lifts his hand to inspect a curl of your hair, the strand sliding between his fingers. He raises it towards the sun, admires it with silent appreciation, and somehow, instead of touching the softer parts of your being, this small gesture makes you want to scream. Because you know.

You understand, that this is what he wants to see. Black and white, and empty. No trace of the color before, only the bleakness and brutality of the Harkonnen. And you refuse, plain and simple. You refuse to be stuffed into this unforgiving planet, expected to bed yourself over to fit it. You value your Atreides lineage more than anything in life, and you'll sooner die, than discard it.

No matter, how delicate he has been since your first night together, how much the heat of his alabaster skin has brought you comfort, you can feel in the pit of your stomach. That this is all some elaborate rouse to keep you docile. To keep you a perfect image of a wife, the future Na-Baroness. It can't be anything else, surely.

So even now, as you admire the strangeness of this new planet, the blooming light that envelopes your skin, you force yourself to be on guard. Even as you look up at him, his sharp features and soft eyes, you bite down on any affection that might've reared its ugly head to the surface. This is not your home, and despite the ceremonies and the titles, this was not your husband. He was an impostor, a Devil sent from the Emperor himself to destroy your life.

His lips flash in a mirthless smile, when his eyes lock with yours. The blackened teeth, the stained gums, you hated that mouth with all your being. You hated that it fit against yours, and that it didn't repulse you quite as much as you would've anticipated. And you hated his hands. The same ones capable of such ruthless brutality, and also more than capable of soothing your sore muscles, of toying with a lock of your hair, as if your entire being was made of the finest, most delicate glass.

A small, barely coherent voice whispers in your mind, reminding you of the rustling of the leaves when wind picked up, back home. You can't live like this, it supplies, you can't survive on hate alone.

But you've always been stubborn, like a bull. And as his hand slides down to the dip of your waist, as he leads you from the spaceship to the shuttle, and then to the Palace, hate is all you can focus on. The swallowing pit of your stomach, much like the swallowing heat of the sun above you. It expands and pulsates within your veins, as your husband parades you like a prized trophy. Bald, white heads turn, salute the both of you, dissapear in a crowd of similar faces, similar blackened stares.

It's like you're surrounded by an army of ghosts.

- Welcome home, wife - he whispers into your ear, and you don't know how you manage to stop tears from springing in your eyes.

Not home. Never home. Your home had trees and oceans, and your Mother, your Father and your perfect Brother. Your home had Duncan, with his warm embrace and little scars littered all across his honey-colored skin. Your home had a sun that is warm and welcoming, that brings vibrancy to your life, and doesn't wash everything out, doesn't swallow all beauty.

The clothes you wear, the clothes he wants you to wear, are nothing like what you're used to. They make your body feel foreign, like an accessory more than your own flesh. You hate the feeling of the sheer fabric clinging to your skin, like some suffocating membrane. The heavy jewelry, which reminds you more and more of a slave's collar. He put it on you with his own hands. Delicately fitting it around your neck, caressing it with the calloused pads of his fingers, a proud expression decorating his sharp featured like a war medal.

You wonder what he sees, when he looks at you. Are your sentiments shared? Does he see you, as you see yourself, a doll dressed for his entertainment? A wife, should the politics require it? You're sure he does, there is no other way to describe the pitiful reflection in the mirror. Perhaps, in time, you might be able to fight back some semblance of dignity, to find a way of embracing these strange fabrics. Make this cold metal feel more like a necklace for a Baroness, rather than collar for cattle. Perhaps.

Right now, however, as his Harpies dress you, you feel less like yourself and more like a toy, for your husband to enjoy. They can't really pin your hair properly, and you don't blame them, you really can't. When's the last time they were forced to care for someone in such a manner, if they ever were? Today, they're extra zealous, rubbing your skin raw with the chemically smelling oils. It makes your head swim, the scent of some unfamiliar paste. Your eyes water, and before you can blink the tears away, one of the Harpies soaks it up right from the corner of your eye with some flimsy tissue.

She places the wet part against her tongue, and surprisingly, it doesn't bother you, as she tastes your tears, watching your reaction with completely black eyes. You meet her stare with a blank expression. At this moment, as she begins to slide another piece of sheer fabric over your body, you can't think of a way to be afraid of her, or her companion, which is fitting a pair of leather slippers over your feet. What lies ahead is so much more terrifying.

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen has invited you for dinner.

The news is delivered by a horrified servant, bald head bowed, seconds after you arrive in your marital room. Your husband doesn't even blink, immediately shedding his travel clothing, and disappearing somewhere out of your sight. The Harpies swarm into the room soon after, carrying various vials and bowls, and you already know the routine.

The prospect of dining with your family's greatest enemy seems so outlandish, your body doesn't fully register the danger. Instead, you can feel yourself shut down, sink into yourself, between the constant expanding and contracting of your lungs, and the sound of your blood rushing through your skull.

Only, when one of the Harpies turns you towards a polished piece of black obsidian, only when you can finally see yourself, do you react. A barely-there gasp escapes your mouth, because for the second time today, you're surprised with the brutal beauty of this place, and how easily you blend into it. The Harpy leans over your shoulders, stands on her toes to reach you, and before you can react, her teeth scrape over the shell of your ear.

It doesn't hurt, and you turn your head towards her, faces inches from each other. Her head turns to the side, like some curious bird, and yet again, you can't fully decide whether you're looking at a human being, or some animalistic experiment. Your hand lifts itself on its own accord, fingers finding the Harpy's chin. Gently, but with enough force, you turn her face away from yourself. She doesn't recoil from your touch, doesn't react in any violent manner. If anything, her expression in the obsydian mirror looks almost bordering on proud. You try not to shiver at the thought.

Then, your husband appears from the shadows, truly demon-like, and the women, or creatures, scurry out of the room, vials clanking against each other, as they gather them in their muscled arms. For just a second you're struck with the realization, that you miss their company, unsettling as it is.

- Don't be afraid of them - those are the first words coming from Feyd-Rautha you've heard since you've arrived.

- I'm not - and truly, you mean it.

He regards you with a long, dragging look, taking in the layers of fabric encapsulating the shape of your body. It's truly a hassle, to stop yourself from flinching, when the length of his body presses against your back. His chin finds purchase in the juncture between your shoulder and the column of your neck, and his head dips down to inhale the scent of your skin. You can't believe he's able to smell anything other than the strong chemicals his Harpies rubbed into you, but you don't argue. Instead, you sway in his hold, closing your eyes, and letting your imagination take you somewhere warmer, somewhere home.

- I need you to be very careful tonight - he whispers into your skin, and you almost whine at being forced out of your daydream - My Uncle doesn't take kindly to insubordination, and although you are my wife, I won't be able to protect you from everything.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his skin, white and spotless, pressing into yours, marred with freckles and beauty spots. What a contrast you make against him. His mouth moves over your artery, nose dragging upwards, until he reaches the space behind your ear. He plants a kiss there, which immediately turns into a small bite, and your hands grip onto his forearms.

- Careful, you sound almost concerned about my well-being - there's a limited amount of sarcasm one could convey with such a breathless tone, but you manage, eyes locked onto the silhouette of the both of you in the mirror.

To that, he lifts his head, eyes locking with yours in the reflection.

- I don't like when others break my toys - he answers with a shrug, and laughs quietly at your outraged expression. - I prefer to do it myself.

Your muscles tense beneath his grip, and you turn to face him fully. Still, he doesn't let go, holding you close, smirking at you with that same self-satisfied expression.

- Oh don't worry - your cheeks start to warm up at the teasing tone of his voice - I haven't even had the time to properly play with you.

- I ha-

- Hate me, I know. - he interrupts, one of his hands coming up to grab at your chin, tilting your head towards him - Tonight, try to hate me in the privacy of our bedroom. For your own sake.

His head dips down, lips slotting against yours easily, and although you fight hard against the pull, soon, your mouth moves against his in a kiss that is entirely too gentle for the nature of your relationship. He whispers something in that godawful Harkonnen language, tilting his chin to kiss the corner of your mouth, your jaw. Then, satisfied, he lets you go, and you encircle yourself with your own arms, refusing to admit, that you're cold without him.

Making a mental note to ask for tutorship on the language, you allow him to lead you out of the safety of your shared bedroom, down the winding, black corridors, towards your first, and biggest challenge.

- With courage and grandiose... - you whisper, as the door to the dining hall slides open, and ignore with all your might, the way your husband's hand twitches around your waist.

The first member of the court you meet, is not the Baron.

Instead, a man of slender stature comes out to greet the both of you, a polite smile plastered on his tattooed lips. His eyes flicker between you and your husband, and absentmindedly, they remind you of little black beetles.

- Piter de Vries - he introduces himself, grabbing your hand with graceful movement - Mentat of the court.

He places a kiss over your knuckles, and something scarily close to disgust rises in your gut.

- The holotapes don't reflect your beauty, my lady - his voice is unsettlingly quiet, and it worms itself into your ears like an unwelcome guest.

Still, your husband's thumb moves against your back, rubbing up and down your spine, and you swallow thickly before replying.

- I'm honored to meet you.

He can see through the lie like you're made of glass, but you can't find it in you to care. This is not the man you're supposed to convince, and even if this Mentat is a constant whisper in the Baron's ear, let him know there's character to you still.

- I assure you, the honor is mine - his eyes glide over your features greedily, and you wonder if this hunger is a characteristic of all inhabitants of this planet - It's not everyday you meet Lady Jessica's Daughter.

Blood freezes in your veins at the comment, and not even the ever-present touch of your husband can stop your expression from changing. Ice and steel overtake, as you fix the Mentat in front of you with a hard stare. There is something in his gaze, something slimy and dangerous, that makes a pit form in your stomach. Still, tied to court's intricate pleasantries, you twist your face into a forced smile.

- You know my Mother? - the question slips out from between your teeth.

The man nods, a perverted version of a curtsy that makes you want to turn on your heel, and haul yourself back into your room. Damn your husband and all the uncomfortable ways he makes you squirm, you'll take it all if it meant never talking to this Mentat ever again.

- In a way - the answer does nothing to calm your nerves - Her talents are known throughout the whole galaxy.

- Yes, I'm sure they are - the barely noticable note of sarcasm some how registers in your husband's brain, and with a guiding hand, he pushes you forward, towards the dining hall.

Before you can get away from the Mentat, his unnaturally cold hand wraps itself around your wrist, keeping you in place with light pressure.

- I'm desperately interested in what you may offer the court - he says, voice low and bordering on ominous, and the pit in your stomach trurns into a boulder.

Lips curling in disgust, you wrench your hand away, but as you wind your palm back to deliver a slap across the smirking man's face, something white enters your vision. From behind your back, Feyd Rautha delivers a resounding hit to the Mentat's cheek, with enough force to send him stumbling to the floor. Your mouth hangs agape, as that same hand curls around your waist, and pushes forward, until you're forced to take a step, and then another.

Whipping your head around to look at him, all you can see, is that same passively bored expression he has worn, since your arrival to the planet. Not even a muscle twitches, not until the door closes behind you in the dining hall. Eyes trained forward, the hand guiding you slides up your spine right to the base of your head, where he grabs a loose fistful of your hair, and pries you away from him, setting your face forward.

Like a doll, your mind supplies, but all further thoughts get swallowed by a thundering wave of anxiety, as your eyes fall onto the only other man present in the dining hall.

You can't fully comprehend where the floor ends and the walls begin, the whole room looking more like an endless void of black, polished stone. The table is obscenely long, but narrow, and filled with various foods, none of which you recognize. Your breath catches, as you notice a macabre center piece right in the middle of the table. A beautiful female deer stands surrounded by black flowers, it's limbs kept immobile by some invisible force. It's eyes move though, skittering around the place, revealing that this poor creature used as some messed up decoration, is in fact alive.

- Welcome, my dear nephew - a low, slightly slurred voice rings out throughout the empty space, and finally, you can feel real dread.

- Uncle. - Feyd Rautha inclines his head, before all but pushing you forward into the belly of the beast.

And what a terrifying belly it is.

The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen towers over the end of the table, his frame as difficult to comprehend as the rest of the dining hall. He smiles at your husband, a show of black teeth against greying skin, and then his eyes move towards you. He doesn't hide the cruel, twisted expression, that flashes across his face, contorted in the low, floating lights. Then, as if a mask slipped onto him while you were blinking, he looks decievingly kind, like an image of a caretaker, distorted in a nightmare.

- Lady Atreides - his voice bellows, and despite every muscle in your body screaming at you to run, you take a step forward, before taking a shallow bow - A spitting image of your Father. I'm delighted to have you here, on my planet.

Swallowing hard, you risk a glance at your husband. He has abandoned you in favor of taking a seat in the only one of two available chairs. Blue eyes flash towards you, a hidden warning, and dare you say, a hint of concern. The deer on the table is breathing rapidly, you've just noticed.

- My Baron - your voice doesn't shake, a small blessing - I'm honored to meet you.

The rehearsed line seems hallow in the booming echo of the dining room, and you pray that it's enough.

The Baron gives you no answer, as he wordlessly gestures towards the table, and after a second your body jerks in the direction of the chair. With stiff movements, you sit down, your dress digging uncomfortably under your ribs. The deer looks at you, it's eyes wide, nose contracting rapidly as it inhales. You want to grab it into your hands, tear it away from the force keeping it trapped, and set it free, so it can run into the fields of Caladan. Your husband takes a long sip from his chalice, and you mirror his movements.

The liquid is sickly sweet, with a strong, chemical taste that coats your entire mouth. Fighting with the urge to spit it out, your neck strains as you swallow, feeling it travel down your throat, and into the pit of your stomach.

Are you supposed to be the deer in this place?

Feyd Rautha reaches for a vase of something vaguely resembling meat, and doesn't bother with his plate, taking the leg into his hand, and biting into it with reckless abandon. Some dark liquid spills over his mouth, down to his chin, and you have to look away, as he captures your gaze in an entirely too heated stare. This is not the time, you want to scream at him, but take another sip from the chalice instead.

- A monumental moment in history is happening right in front of my eyes - the Baron starts, and your hand freezes half-way towards your lips. - The union of House Harkonnen and House Atreides. The Emperor truly is a wise man.

- Of course - you agree, tying sarcasm to the back of your throat like an angry dog - I'm ever so grateful.

- I'm sure you are.

The Emperror wants you dead, there is no other explanation. You can't move, can't look anywhere but the eyes of the deer, seeing yourself in the reflection of it's glossy iris. Save yourself, it seems to scream at you, and your throat constricts around your airwave. Save yourself, because I couldn't.

- Your cousin will be joining us shortly - the Baron directs his gaze towards Feyd-Rautha, and your husband immediately straightens his back against the chair.

- Rabban? Shouldn't he be on Arrakis? - you don't remember when you've become so in-tune with your husband, but you sense his interest peaking immediately.

Something's wrong, something's terribly wrong, you can feel it. This slow dread climbs up your back like a snake, before sinking it's teeth into your nape. Eyes searching your husband's your fingers tighten around the chalice, around cold, black metal. You try to remember what your Mother would've done in a situation such as this. How she would comfort herself. Fear is the mind-killer, is the only thing that arrives, and the thought is as comforting, as a cold shower.

- By the Emperor's decree, our House has been ordained to leave Arrakis in favor of it's new stewardship.

You know what words are going to fall next, before they fall, and you close your eyes to brace for impact.

- The stewardship of your Father. Of House Atreides.

Someone save you, please. Your eyelids flutter open, gaze falling over your husband, as he watches you with a myriad of emotions running through his expression. You pray it doesn't settle on anger, and your prayers are heard. There is a cruel, twisting smirk in the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to look at his Uncle, with a silent question. The Baron inclines his head ever so slightly, you can see movement in the corner of your eye, but the deer is still breathing, and for some reason you have to keep an eye on it, you have to know it's still alive.

You are not stupid. You've been trained to not be stupid, in life and in politics. It doesn't take too keen of a mind to understand the gravity of the situation. The steady flow of immense wealth the Harkonnens were known for, is suddenly cut short. Given to a rival House. This was not some beautiful gift of appreciation, this was a stoker shoved right into the burning flames.

- I'm honored - you repeat, like a bell in a church tower, and somewhere to your left, the Baron laughs.

- There will be celebrations, later this week - he continues, as if he hasn't just delivered life shattering news - We will honor your marriage in the traditions of our ancestors.

- Which is? - you don't really care anymore if the shift in your tone is registered as offensive.

Feyd Rautha actually, without a doubt kicks you under the table. You shoot him a look bordering on pure shock and outrage, and all you get in response is an arched eyebrow.

Something rattles below you, a tell-tale sound of machinery whirling to life. It gives you only one second to register, but as soon as it does, your heart jumps up into your throat. Paper thin panes of glass shoot out from under the table. The deer gives a pathetic squeak, as it's body is cut into equal pieces. No blood is shed, the whole operation barely moves the air in the dining room, and you watch the life drain from the deer's eyes, as the panes begin to move.

They separate each piece, creating a cross-section of it's insides. The chemical wine threatens to rush back out of you, and your dig your nails into your palms. Your husbands shoe settles in constant, grounding pressure against your ankle, and although you would never admit it, it's the only thing keeping you from shattering. Whether it's a threat or a promise, you can't be sure, but there is frost in your veins, and fire in your eyes, as you slowly turn your head towards the Baron.

He's wrong. All of them are wrong. You're not some deer, some lost shivering thing, made for a display of cruelty. You will not be brough down to some decoration, and so, you raise your chin higher, and hold the Baron's gaze. His eyes, gleaming with violent delight, jump around your face, this strange battle coming to a sudden end, as the corner of his mouth quirks up.

He moves his hand in the air dismisively, and your husband stands up, a laziness to his movements. You stand up too, your chair shuffling against the polished floor, stiff limbs fighting for an illusion of graceful movements. Wishing you could drive your point further, you bow again, this time, your eyes remain glued to the black beads of irises, shining in the amassing of flesh that is the Baron's face.

And then you're off, heels clicking on the floor, as you bypass your husband and all but storm out of the dining hall. He follows you, you can feel his pressence on your back, but there's too many emotions running through your head to find it unsettling. The silence of it all, the calmness. Perhaps you would've preferred if he had been angry with you, if you could pinpoint his reaction, bottle it up to hate it later.

Right now, you can't do much, other than run to your shared rooms, pretend like they are a solice, a safe space for you to exist, when in reality, they're anything but. The unsettling realization, that you navigate these corridors like a natural born Harkonnen will hit you later today, but as such, you are blinded by your own anger.

- Did you know? - the question sounds more like a demand, as soon as the door closes behind you.

Back turned, you stand in the middle of the bedroom, finally granting yourself the luxury of outrage. Shoulders rise and fall in tandem with your labored breaths, and your nails have bitten crescent moons into your palms.

- Yes. - you've anticipated his answer, and still, it shocks you to the very core of your being.

Hair whips around your face, as you turn to face him., strands all but slipping from the inexperienced updo. He holds your gaze with steady eyes, crosses his arms on his chest, but has the decency of looking on edge.

- How long?

- The news came right after the engagement began.

That, admittedly, knocks the wind out of your lungs, and you take a step back, until your behind collides with the obsidian desk. Hiding your face in your hands, you rub your palms against your temples, tug at the roots of your hair in the process.

- So, what now? - you ask, sounding so drained, so tired, you almost don't recognize your voice.

His shoes invade your vision, as he steps closer. Your husband, your Bull. You don't want to look up at his face, scared of what you'll find there. He doesn't share the same sentiment, apparently, as he lifts your chin with his fingers, until you meet him with a withering expression.

Feyd Rautha leans down, capturing your lips with his. Not really in the mood for kissing, as your head races with a myriad of terrible thought, you push against him. Should've known better, he loves a fight. Tongue slipping through the barrier of your teeth, you can taste the strangely chemical wine on his breath. His hands grab what they can of your body, until they settle on the sides of your face, where he tugs you up onto your tippy toes, taking a drink of you, like he did from the chalice.

Breathless and confusingly aroused, your fingers twist into the material of his dress shirt, but before you can truly let go, he pulls away. Hands still on your face, you are suddenly pulled forwards, as he drags you in front of the mirror. Thrown off guard by this change of pace, you try to writhe yourself away, only to be gripped even tighter, so hard, you can feel something shift under the skin of your jaw.

There are dark stains all around your lips, stains that taste just like the wine. Feyd Rautha stands behind you, much like he did before the dinner, but all comfort from that moment is trampled under his foot, as he slides his arms around you.

- Now, I must make you into a Harkonnen - he rasps into the base of your neck.

Then, reaching towards your lips, he wedges his fingers inside, pulls until you can see your teeth in the reflection. Black, thick liquid covers them completely, staining your mouth in the process. The wine, you realize, but before you can rationalise any more, tears spring in the corners of your mouth. Disgust bubbles in your stomach like an awoken volcano. Disgust and anger, so much anger.

Your husband humms softly behind you, cranes your head back.

Your body feels foreign again, as he kisses your tears off of your skin.

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