Tumgik
citrusdarling7 · 1 day
Text
It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.4 (final)
Tumblr media
a/n: we did it Joe! this chapter officially marks the first ever series i've completed lmao. thank you for all the support on this fic, every like, every comment, every out-of-pocket anon ask.
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (like...fr this time), Blood and Violence, Manipulation.
Summary: After the wedding, Husband and Wife work out the intricate web of their relationship.
Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3
Gurney looks at you as if you're already dead.
You hide from his gaze, ducking behind pillars, whenever you can hear his footsteps. It's truly depressing, the way your mentor shakes his head, as if, instead of looking at you, he's looking at a coffin. You suppose he might be right, he's the one with the most experience in the Harkonnen area. He's fought them, dined with them, seen their customs through and through. And now, his dutiful little student is about to be thrown into the very same world, he has relayed to you as a nightmarish fairytale. Still, a little misplaced optimism wouldn't kill him. Or just, a sliver of hope, an inclination that you might survive this. 
The day of your wedding rolls upon you like an oceanic storm, all chaos and rumbling. 
Here you sit, your bones locked with nerves, as the servants pack away your things. A futile thing, you muse to yourself. It's highly doubtful the Harkonnens will let you keep any personal items back from Caladan. They'll mold you into their image, until all your hair naturally falls out. The thought would make you laugh, but here's a servant, placing your jewelry into a case, which lands in a bag, which will be transported to the Harkonnen ship by the end of the day.
Your room, the place you've spent all your life in, slowly becomes more and more barren. 
The closet stands empty, so do the drawers. All your trinkets are swiftly transported away until you're left alone in your wedding dress, the only familiar thing between the hollow ribs of your life's sanctuary. Wishing you could fold the entirety of the castle, with the stables, and the horses, and the cliffs, and throw it into the final suitcase, so you can open it up in times of turmoil, and breathe in the familiar scents. You need to leave, right now. Sitting like this, wrenches a dangerous numbness out of your chest. And you can't be allowed to dissapear into yourself. You're an Atreides, you shall wear your pain with dignity, as per your Mother's wishes.
Your wedding dress swishes around you, as you stand up from your bed. It's much more classy, and less of a chiffon catastrophe, than your engagement dress, a welcome change. The veil is embroidered with light crystals and metal plating. It falls heavily over your face, and jingles when you move. By all intents and purposes, it is a dream dress. A dress you'd like to wear for a wedding of your own, a wedding with some dashing gentleman. A gentleman, which in your most private of dreams, has the face of Duncan Idaho, with silver rings braided into his hair. 
Instead, you're left with this monster, so alien and cold. A beast at the center of the maze.
The bull looks at you from the wall. Its horns, smeared with your Grandfather's blood, curl grotesquely into the ceiling. The head is mounted above the doors to the library, a grim reminder of his spectacular death. As a child, you'd spend hours, standing right here, at the entrance, staring at the animal's head. You've always wondered, whether it were the lights playing tricks on your mind, or you saw a shadow of pride in the bull's eyes. 
Did it know who was its victim? The leader of one of the most important Houses in all known universe laid dead at its feet. Did it know what sort of spectacle it produced? What destruction of hubris? You suppose it couldn't, it was an animal, after all. A headless creature, hung on a wall. Still, you stare at it, just like you used to, trying to decipher your own fate from its cold, dead eyes.  
After all, there will be a spectacle, a life-long fight stands ahead of you. Giedi Prime shall be your arena, dead and cold, covered in black. And every single Harkonnen will be your bull, their mere presence a deathly danger to your being. It took one bull to end your Grandfather, you dread to think how many it'll take to end you. There will be blood, you're sure of it. And if things were allowed to go your way, it would flow in rivers upon rivers, through the industrial halls of Giedi Prime. You'd have the entire planet drowned in their blood. Your cursed betrothed, the Baron, the fucking Emperor if you had to. 
The bull laughs at your quiet hate, beady eyes bearing down upon you in an imaginary display of indifference. You huff, cheeks reddened, insides twisted and burning.
That's how your Father finds you. Enchanted by a once living instrument of death. 
He hasn't spoken to you, since your betrothed has arrived, not really. Not like you used to talk. A way to shield himself, you supposed, from the Emperor's order, which will soon enough take his only Daughter away from him. This was your superpower. You could fish out signs of love in every action. 
- Your Mother hates that thing - he comments, as he stands next to you, eyes looking up at the bull. 
- I don't blame her, the sight is quite disturbing. - you reply evenly. 
You've missed him, more than you can possibly explain with words. But teary displays of affections were below you, especially since you're trying to distance yourself, rise above your body, float right out of your head. Perhaps it'll hurt less that way.  Duke Leto Atreides turns to you, and for the first time in a month, you recognize your Father behind this statue of authority. He looks troubled, for lack of a better word. There's much more gray on his brow and the lines of his face are darker, harsher. 
- I came to give you something - he announces, producing a small object out of the pocket of his trousers. 
It's harder than you thought, tearing your gaze away from the bull, but you manage, your eyes landing on a figurine in your Father's hands. Your heart stops, as you recognize the blackened stone, polished to perfection. On a flat disc stands a figure of a Matador, proud and posed. Next to him, a bull, ready to strike. It's cold to the touch, when you take it from your Father, ridges of the small sculpture digging into your palm. 
Jumping in front of danger, for better or worse. Your head starts to hurt.
- Father - the sound of your shaking voice carries through the corridor - How will I ever survive this?
By the way Duke Leto Atreides sucks in a sharp breath, you can deduce the answer. And what a sad answer it is. 
Your Father steps closer, gathering your trembling hands in his, the warmth of his embrace engulfing you like the first sun rays of spring. He squeezes your fingers, tightening your own hold on the small figurine, and his eyes are so incredibly sad, you're convinced they could make any heart in the universe weep. 
- With courage - he says - and grandiose. 
Like a true Matador would. 
***
Your bull stands completely still. 
His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the ever present darkness of the Harkonnen ship. It's so much different from your native fleet, all sleek and black, and efficient. Terrifying, but at the same time, strangely beautiful. 
The both of you watch, as the hatch is being pulled up, slowly but surely obscuring all sight of your home planet. Of your family, standing by the docking station like a funeral parade. It's only when you can no longer see them, your life sealed with a click of finality, does your betrothed, now husband, move. 
His hand grasps your upper shoulder, and you jump at the sudden contact. Your confused gaze is completely ignored, as the man drags you through the ship, taking large, hasty steps. 
Hairless faces swish past you, all so similar to each other, you're worried you'll never figure out who is who. The corridors of the ship wind and turn like a merciless labyrinth, a realization daunting on you, that you will never be able to find your way in this place. 
Suddenly, you're faced with a black door, which opens as soon as your husband walks up to it. His grip tightens and he basically throws you forward, watching you stumble through the entrance on weak legs. 
It takes you a second to gather yourself, as you instinctually settle into a defensive stance. The room you're in looks quite different from the rest of the ship. It's much more luxurious, one would risk saying cozy. With a gigantic, round bed filled with pillows, a dark desk, and a deliciously comfortable looking armchair. It all dims in your eyes, however, as you look up at your newlywed.
He stands right at the entrance, blocking the only means of escape with his tall frame.
Both of you are still in your wedding clothes. Your dress hugs your body in a way that is anything but comforting. His outfit is as black and sharp, as all his attire. It exposes his lean physique, clings to his warrior's physique. Terrifying, your brain summarizes, muscles freezing suddenly. Feyd Rautha looks at you with emotions you can't decipher in the low light of his room. Your room. Your marital abode. 
You can't breathe, lungs tighten painfull with the sheer thickness of the air between the two of you. Still, there's a certain power, residing in your bones, an inclination of a fight you're ready to put up, should he try anything. And by the way his brow bone settles over his darkened eyes, your husband seems to understand. What a terrifying thought. The sheer idea of finding a common ground with this awful man makes your guts turn. 
He doesn't even flinch, when the doors behind him slide open. You however, nearly jump out of your skin at the sound, cutting through the deafening silence of the bedroom. With furrowed brow you watch, as three Harkonnen women spill into the room. All of them completely hairless, lips pulled back in feral snarls, as they regard you with an emotion you can only interpret as contempt. Their bodies, clad in typical, Harkonnen garments, flow and slither, when they gather behind your husband, like three hungry lionesses, their black eyes flickering to him, to you. 
- Get her ready - Fey Rautha throws a command over his shoulder, eyes glued to you still, and his gaze drags itself across your body like tar.
This is the first time you've heard him speak since the wedding, and involuntarily, you cringe at the gravely sound. While he stayed silent, it was easy to forget who you're dealing with. But as soon as sound leaves his mouth, you're cruelly reminded of the roughness, and the strangeness of your life's partner. 
The three women stir behind him, hands sliding up his body in a gesture, that is almost too close to reverence. He does look like a young god, like some ethereal being, but you're too distressed to dwell on that thought. Instead, your arms encircle your body, a shiver of terror and strangely, disgust flowing over you, at the mere idea of these women touching you. Then, one of those three strange creatures moves forward. She has a stripe of black running down her bottom lip, and her face twists into a cruel smile.
She says something in a language you don't recognize. Probably a native Harkonnen. A rough bark, her disgusted expression translating the meaning better, than any dictionary would. 
 Still, you have no time to process the foreign insult, because as soon as words leave her mouth, your husband turns. His white hand grabs the woman's hairless head, as one would pick an apple from an orchard, and then, you see a flicker of true terror flash through the woman's face. In a smooth, deadly gesture, Feyd Rautha smashes her face against the wall, the resounding sound of her skull fracturing against the concrete is like the cracking of a whip in your ears. 
That's all it takes, one move, and she falls into a lifeless heap, sliding down the wall. 
A sigh escapes your lips, as your eyes stay glued to her body. You can't see her face. 
Your husband barks something towards the remaining two women, and they scurry towards you, heads hung low, bodies curled onto themselves. You don't know, whether he looks at you, acknowledges you in any way, shape or form. The doors close behind him, as he leaves you in the hands of his... Whatever these women are to him. 
They begin to strip you where you stand. Their hands peel off your wedding dress from your trembling body, and every move feels like tearing skin from muscle. You can't protest, can't do anything really. Dark, thick blood pools around the third woman's head, dripping between the tilled floor, slowly making it's way closer to your feet. 
When they pull you towards the bed, you say nothing. Let them massage your body with some ointment, which smells of heavy chemicals and scratches your throat. 
Their hands are unexpectedly delicate. You suppose they're too scared to take revenge on you, or perhaps, they just don't care. Doesn't really matter, because you do. You really care, despite yourself. Heart squeezes in your chest impossibly tight, when they help you up from the bed, and once again you're confronted with the white corpse in the corner of the room. 
The dress they pull over your body hardly qualifies as a garment in your eyes. It's made of delicate, sheer material, which barely covers anything, looking more like a courtain thrown over a window. 
Is this how he wants you, you wonder. Terrified, bare, always on the verge of something, be it tears or anger. 
One of the women steps in front of you, takes your hands in hers and rubs something into your cold bones. You try to catch her eye, try to decipher how to categorize them, as humans or as creatures, but she swiftly ducks under your inquisitive gaze. That is, until your eyes flicker towards the corpse once again. 
Her hand shoots up towards your chin, dragging you back to meet her onyx eyes. You can see the reflection of your own confused face in the void.
- You- she rasps, her voice a grating symphony of gurgles and growls that stumble over the common language - Soft.
Whether it's a warning, or a threat, you can't fully decide, but it doesn't matter. Those two words tell you more about your future life, than any book, any archived account. This is what the Harkonnens are made of. Sensless violence, outbursts of anger, dark blood. You swallow thickly, and nod, your expression hardening in the woman's eyes. She looks as if there's something else she'd want to say, but her head ducks at record speed, when the sound of the doors opening cuts through the air once more. 
For a longer moment you're completely devoid of words. 
Here stands you husband, some sort of fruit in his right hand, two daggers hanging from the belt on his trousers. His chest, white and (unfortunately) toned beyond belief stares back at you. His unoccupied hand makes a wide gesture, and the remaining two women scurry off towards their third, dead companion. With quick hands, they grab the body and drag it out of the room, letting the door slide closed behind them. Immediately, you miss their presence, unnerving as they are.
Once again, you're left alone with the na-Baron. 
His eyes float freely all over your figure, taking it in with an impassive stare. It's deeply unnerving, the way you're presented to him, the way he organized all of this, tailored it to his liking. You can't help it, the way your body begins to warm before him, skin becoming prickly to the touch, much too sensitive for the strange imitation of fabric covering it. Still, your mind stays sharp, and instinct kicks in, as you take a cautious step back, angling your bady away from him. 
- So, what now? - you ask, voice rough, eyes following his every move. 
And move he does, slowly advancing towards you. His feet, which you now discover, are bare, drag behind him. Grace and danger mix well within his movements, as he circles you, still without a word. You throat runs dry, when he bites the fruit in his hand, dark juice spilling all over his lips, drops rolling down his hands, his forearms. Your stomach churns. 
- Now - again you're reminded of the gravely tones his voice can carry - We consumate our marriage, wife. 
Somehow, your marital status sounds like a mockery spilling from his lips, and he laughs at the way your face scrunches.
- I don't want you to touch me - a lie, your entire body burns for any semblence of friction, but you're determined to keep some dignity.
To that, he nods his head in silent agreement, a gesture, which actually manages to surprise you. The fruit is thrown forgotten onto the floor. It rolls under the bed, and you fight the urge to reprimend your husband. Instead, you bite your lip. 
- I thought you would say that - he murmurs, coming closer, his breath fanning over your exposed shoulder. 
The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you crane your head to the side, so you can look him in the face. So he can see the disaproving expression, perhaps he'd feel a fraction of the hate boiling in your gaze. Then, you can feel something, cold and sharp, drag itself from the dip in your spine, all the way up to your shoulder blades. A gasp escapes you, and your entire body shivers violently. 
- That's why I brought these. - Feyd Rautha whispers into your ear, and you can't help but sway lightly in your place, as if his words have the power to physically move you.
Then, your hand closes around a metal object, and you look down to be met with a beautifully crafted dagger. The blade is silver, shiny, and unbelievably sharp. It fits into your grasp as if it was made specially for you, and the possibility almost makes you smile. Then, confusion creases your brow, and your husband flashes you a deadly, black smile, as he steps back a couple of steps. 
He's holding a blade as well, jet black and strangely matte, a perfect antitype of yours. There's a sort of lazy excitement about him, hidden in every movement. It reminds you of the way he'd behave in the arena, while making a spectacle of death for you and your family. 
- I though this would work on you - he muses, twirling the blade in his hand, and your muscles seize with realization. - And it definitely works on me.
The idea is preposterous, utterly scandalous. Using a fight as some perverse attempt at foreplay, your brain swimms with conflicting emotions. 
- You're being ridiculous - you attempt to diffuse the situation, but your husband doesn't budge, rolling his shoulders.
- Come on, wife - he snarls, with a sharp smirk - Don't you want to hurt me?
Something boils inside of you at his words. Some ancient, terrifying anger that you supposed, has always been there with you. From the moment you stepped onto the red carpet, leading you towards your undoing at the altar. Red, like the spilled blood still staining the floor of this bedroom. The rage, which you swallowed down, when you recited the vows, when you let him unveil your face, kiss you in front of the entire Atreides court. Now, it seeped through every pore in your skin, covering you in a tar like courtain. 
You hate your husband. You hate Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.
Hate him for being your husband, for agreeing to this cruel match. For taking you away from your family, from your wise Father, and your strict Mother, and your sweet Brother. For ripping you away from love, which didn't even have time to properly bloom. Duncan's face dances in front of you like a taunting vision from an angry god, and your fingers tighten around the dagger. 
Feyd Rautha is right. You want to hurt him. You wanted to, before you even met him. 
- There you are - his lips pull back into a cruel, blackened smile of self-satisfaction - I was worried they took away all your venom, Viper. 
You'll show him fucking venom, you think, feet sliding on the floor, twisting your body into a dancing position. Two sets of shields click into life, and suddenly you begin to understand. 
This is your arena. This is your bull. 
This will be your battlefield for the rest of your life, for as long as you're able to withstand it. With courage and grandiose, your Father's voice haunts you, but soon after another echo rises in your mind. Your Mother, your teacher, her whisper slithers from your memory, a passing comment right before you're shipped off to Giedi Prime, when she squeezed your hand so tight, you were worried tendons under your skin would snap. 
Excitement and arousal flow freely from your husband's expression, as he watches yours harden. Something inexplicable settles over your features, a promise. You'll give him a fight of a lifetime, and he'll love it, every single time. It should unnerve you, the way his body lowers itself, like a panther ready to strike. It would've unnerved you some time ago. 
Now, however, it shows you a clear path to survival. This is how you take control.
Cold blood splatters from under your feet, as you jump towards him, a series of measured blows following closely behind. He blocks them, lets some be pushed back by the shield. Then, he's on you, brutal and unhibited slashes fly around your body, and you meet all of them with a blocking blade. You're pushed back, towards the wall, where remains of the previous killing still stain the concrete. Blood seeps into the thin fabric on your body, and you shiver in disgust, as it sticks to you. 
Your husband doesn't notice, his blade leaves a rather deep mark in the wall, as you duck under his arm, and avoid a nasty punch to the gut.
 Plap, plap, plap, your feet carry you through the room, as you try to gain some leverage. The mattress on the bed is surprisingly soft, when you climb on top of it, gaining the advantage of a higher position. An advantage, which is quickly torn out of your hands, as your husband grabs onto your ankle, tugging at it with such force, you tumble down in an instant.
Panic rises in your gut, as the world sins around you, and without really thinking, you let your mind flow into autopilot.
- Let me go! - the Voice tears out of your throat like a landslide, and Feyd Rautha throws himself off of you, his body colliding with the nearby desk. 
Books and papers crash to the floor with the force of his figure. Your head swimms, but you will it away, too focused on survival to care for your well-being. Both of you are panting, trying to recover from this sudden use of ancient magics. 
- I should rip that treacherous tongue right out of your skull - the threat would carry more strength, if your husband's expression wasn't absolutely dripping with unabashed lust. 
Never in your life has someone looked at you this way, and the shock of emotions is enough to pull you right to your feet. Your blade reflects the dim lights of the room, as you raise it high, body taunt and ready. 
- You'll never get that close.
A challenge, which doesn't even have enough time to properly resound in the thick air of the room, before Feyd Rautha pushes himself off the desk. Things clatter to the ground from the force of his movements, and you barely have time to react, when his blade sinks into your shield. Your body flies backwards, falling in heap with his at the foot of your marital bed. The edge digs into your back, your left hand pressed tightly into the mattress. 
He's hovering over you, panting like a wild animal, face illuminated red from below, where, just short of his juggular, your blade licks a stripe across his alabaster skin. His right hand is wedged between your bodies, dagger nicking you under your ribs. And you stay in this position, like a marble statue, your eyes melting into his, frozen in time. 
- You fought well, Atreides - his voice rumbles deep within his chest, and you can't help, but snarl at his words. - We would've taken each other to an early grave. 
Something dangerously close to fondness floods his features at the idea, and your fingers start to unravel, letting go of the dagger one by one. He doesn't have a chance to react, when your blade clatters to the floor, and your hand, now free, grabs the back of his head, pulling him down.
Your kiss opens the gates of hell, and soon, his own dagger is thrown across the room. You can't see, refuse to see, as your eyelids flutter closed. His lips are slightly chapped, but not any less delicious. Left hand thrashes in his hold, until he lets it go. Then, they both find purchase against his sharp cheekbones, and you hold him so tight, you might break his face with your ministrations. 
- I knew it would work - he pants against your lips, you can hear the smile in every syllable.
- Shut the fuck up - you snarl, fingers digging deeper into his skin.
He groans into the kiss, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth, as his hands work hard to manouver your legs open enough, for him to slot in between. Then, his touch is everywhere. On your legs, he drags the sheer fabric up and down your thighs, as he carresses your skin, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your hips. They venture upwards, to grab at your breasts, they fight their way into your hair, where he pulls and scrapes. 
It doesn't matter, you think, when you hear the fabric tear, and the carefully chosen attire falls from your body. Nothing matters. 
You're boneless and defenseless against this one insidious emotion, which carries your every move, which compells you to arch your back, to reveal your running pulse under his searching lips. Feyd Rautha bites down on your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder, and you respond in kind, head descending upon his porcelain skin. He shudders under your teeth and tongue, his entire body tensing.
This is how you take control, and you've never felt so greedy. 
His trousers aren't even fully off of his legs, when he enters you, clumsily and with urgency, bare feet sliding on the floor. Surprisingly inexperienced, he chases your core with his entire body, as if the heat of your insides in a completely foreign sensation.Your moan tears at the column of your throat, where his lips leave a trail of purple marks. The covers remains undisturbed, as your husband ruts into you, pressing your back harder against the edge of the bed. It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, but somehow, it feels perfect for the two of you. Fucking like wild animals, not even able to make it onto the bed.
- I hate you - you repeat, like a mantra, broken voice cascading with every thrust. - I hate you, I ha- 
Your head rolls backwards, when a particularly hard thrust nearly breaks you, but your husband is here to help, his hand grabbing the the roots of your hair, bringing your head down, so you can watch as he performs a magic trick of repeatedly disapearing into your body. 
You're not sure who's blood his hand slips on, but suddenly, you're fully on the floor, your body crushed by his. Nothing stops his wild movements, not the sloppiness of it all, not the hard wails he tears from your body. If anything, the more strain his body is under, the more ferocious he's being. Your hand shoots up, all five fingers digging into his throat, and you're rewarded with an angelic moan, which almost brings you to your finish line. Almost. 
His head leans down into the crook of your neck, where he whispers something in Harkonnen, a gurgle of rough sounds, interrupted by sinful moans. He sounds so beautiful, so conflicted, for a second you consider being gentle with him. Alas, you hate him still.  
Another realization dawns upon you, as your feet kick with force into your husbands backside, to force him deeper, to keep him inside. This is still a fight. You're still on the battlefield, still waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. So, with courage and grandiose, your muscles tense, and you roll your husband over. 
The change in position makes both of you gasp in unison, as you sink down onto him. For a second, everything stops. His lips are red and swollen, sweat and blood mix on his skin, flow down in pinkish stripes. And he watches you, as one would a holy painting of a foreign god. With reverence and utter lack of understanding. You're fully aware the look is mirrored on your face. 
Slowly at first, your hips begin to rock, up and down, in a steady rhythm, that forces a shuddering breath to leave Feyd Rautha's lips. You bend down, to catch it, and because of your greed, you catch his bottom lip as well. The bite you give him is anything but romantic, and his hips jump from the floor, hitting a spot within you, you didn't know existed. He swallows your moan along with his own blood, and his fingertips map the curve of your spine, as you straighten upon him.
Fingernails latch themselves into the skin of his chest, as you speed up, chasing your own release and no one else's. Moans spill from your lips, the concept of shame abandoning your mind completely. Then, compelled by something dark and twisted you drag claw marks down his torso. 
His body shudders, and his hips lift off the ground, fucking into you with reckless abandon. The hold he has on the flesh of your hips is bruising, to say the least, but you did enough damage to call it even. Enough, to make your body tremble and tense up, as climax creeps up on you steadily. 
Like a shark sniffing for blood, he senses the change in your being, and as you tumble over the edge, a silent scream tearing at your throat, he suddenly rises into a seating position. His arms encircle you fully, pressing your sweaty bodies impossibly close, as he too finds his own end. 
It takes him second, to tumble over, filling you to the brim with ink. His head buries itself into your shoulder, inhaling your scent through deep gasps, each eliciting a broken growl from his chest. 
Your bones are gone completely, body relaxing and falling breathless into your husband's arms. After a while of sitting in complete stillness, he moves first. Strong hands lift you up, off of him, and you whine at the emptiness. 
Then, as a last hurrah, he throws you onto the bed, where your recovering body sinks into the soft mattress. It's heavenly, the way you seem to float in nothingness, head swimming from exertion. For a moment you don't even register him climbing into the bed with you, drunk on the fading tension seeping from your every pore.
The lights are almost completely out, yet his skin shines against the black comforter. You wish to see if he's flushed, like he was at the engagement party. Leaning on one arm, his fingers trail around the small wound under your ribs. Dried blood flakes off of your skin, and you shudder again. 
- I - you start, voice completely broken - I've never known hate, until I met you. 
You're not sure why you've said it. Perhaps, in this moment of serenity, truth seems to float to the surface much more easily. Or perhaps you're possessed, or worse, gone completely insane. Eother way, your eyebrows furrow, and Feyd Rautha leans down to kiss your forehead, gently. 
- If this is how your hate looks like - he whispers into your hairline, teeth scraping lightly against it - I dread to imagine your love. 
You'll never find out, you think, but for some reason can't fully vocalize it. 
He says something else, after a while, but your mind is becoming as heavy as your body, and as the day descends upon you in a heap of exhaustion, you fall asleep.
And while your story has nothing but suffering in the future, while there's death and mourning, and years of violence written in the stars for you. Right now, on the Harkonnen ship sailing through space to Giedi Prime, you sleep in the arms of your husband. Whether this strange symbiotic relationship will last, no one can tell, but there is hope, and what else could you possibly need? 
311 notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 4 days
Text
Accidentally Drinking an Aphrodisiac and Aemond Helps You Out
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, aphrodisiac, rough sex, desperate sex, needing to come, dub-con, teasing, loss of virginity, gaslighting, sort of blackmail, creampie, mentioned future pregnancy
A/N: The trailer coming out when I'm on my period is not good cause that's when I'm at my most feral.
Tumblr media
The wine was very obviously spiced with something. As soon as you drank it your body started throbbing, heat, the uncomfortable yet familiar kind, spreading through your body and pooling between your legs. Aemond, your crush and current protector took notice of your plight. He took it upon himself to help you. To the public, who knew you were poisoned with something, it meant escorting you to your chambers and finding the culprit. To Armond it meant taking care of you, and taking your virginity in the process.
"This is... we should not be doing this. It feels wrong but... I need you, please, I need you." You begged and hugged him ever closer as he pushed his cock into you. Everything burned, every touch and every kiss, you were so dizzy, barely made it to the bed.
Aemond cooed into your ear, shushing you, "Princess, you must be quiet. Begging does not suit one such as you. Nor would a servant walking in and seeing you with your legs in the air for me." His comments, however truthful, made your face burn. "Opening your legs like so, your cunt eager to have a cock, it's so tight inside you. Have you been craving me all this time? I bet you have."
"Only in the past few months." Perhaps what you drank was also a truth serum because under normal circumstances you would have never confessed to this. "I always wanted to know what a cock feels like. But I only wanted your cock Aemond, no one else's. Is that selfish of me?"
"It is. It's alright, you're allowed to be selfish. You crave me, and I will give you all the pleasure you can take." Aemond's lips bush briefly against yours. "And I will make you mind, I will make your cunt remember what my cock feels like, may you never forget it." His hand pressed against your lower stomach, the added pressure along with the thrust made your eyes roll back, "Princess, if I come inside you, then you do know of course, that you have to marry me."
"M-Marry? My father already chose a-!" Your words died on your lips, replaced by loud moans as his cock pumped you full of seed. "You actually..."
"I did. I do not give a damn what your father decided, which sorry bastard he chose for you. You are mine, my Princess, you carry my seed, you gave your virginity to me, you will be my wife as well. Or... do you want everyone to know what a whore you actually are?"
You closed your legs almost instinctively, only for them to push him closer. "I am not." You narrowed your eyes at him.
"Of course now Princess. But your kingdom will see you as such, your family as well. Is that what you want? All because you were poisoned and couldn't keep your legs closed as a result? I do not want that for you. So I am offering again, will you be my wife?" He was looking out for you, that's all it was, Aemond always looked out for you didn't he?
"If you will have me then, I would be honored to be your wife." Something shone in his eye, brief but it was there before he kissed you again.
"Good. Then, shall we make sure we are fully compatible?" He rolled you on top of him, eliciting a gasp when you were fully sat on his cock, the cum pouring out and onto his stomach and the bed sheets. The night was spent in lustful abandon. Afterwards you were too tired to notice him putting his clothes back on, and the small glass bottle that he pocketed.
819 notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 7 days
Text
Tumblr media
HIS FAVORITE . ✦ .  ⁺  
Reader x feyd Rautha smut
Summary: you’re his favorite concubine
ㅤ──────────────────────── ────────────────────────
In the harem of Feyd Rautha, the air is thick with tension as the other concubines vie for his attention and favor. After battles are won, Feyd returns to the palace, his armor stained with blood and his eyes burning with the fire and lust of victory. Waiting are his concubines among them, you are known as his favorite, the one he seeks out when the shadows of the night descend upon the palace.
They resent the favoritism he shows towards you, the special privileges and attention that set you apart from the rest. As he strides into the chamber, his presence commands attention, and there you stand, waiting for him with bated breath, knowing that you are both his prize and his sanctuary. Feyd reaches out to trace a finger along the curve of your jaw, his touch sending sparks of electricity dancing across your skin. "You’re going to please me," he murmurs, his voice sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins.
Feyd smiles, his eyes darkening with desire as he leans in to kiss you. His lips are firm and demanding, claiming your mouth in a passionate embrace that leaves you breathless.
As the kiss deepens, his hands roam over your body, exploring every curve and crevice. He pulls you closer to him, pressing against you in a way that makes it clear who is in charge.
As he pulls away, his eyes are dark with desire. "I am going to take you," he says, his voice low and commanding. You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you feel the weight of his words settle over you.
He puts you on your back and starts to eat you out. His tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. He sucks on your clit and slides a finger inside you as he continues to eat out the rest of your wetness with his mouth and he loves the way you squirm and moan while he eats you out. He licks up your juices as they drip down your thighs, his tongue moving in a steady rhythm that drives you wild.
He continues to eat you out until he can't take it anymore and needs your pussy wrapped around his cock. "I need you,' he says, his voice low with desire as he bends you over the bed and spanks your ass hard, leaving a red handprint on each cheek as he prepares to take what is his.
He bends you over and lines up his cock with your pussy and thrusts inside you, filling you completely. You cry out in pleasure as he starts to fuck you hard, his hips slamming against yours as he takes what is rightfully his. He grabs your hair and pulls you back so he can kiss the nape of your neck. "You're mine," he says, his voice low with desire as he continues to fuck you hard.
He grabs your hips and starts to fuck you harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he takes what is rightfully his. He pounds into you, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy with a wet slapping sound. You can feel the pleasure building inside you as he continues to fuck you hard and fast.
He reaches down and starts to rub your clit with his fingers sending you over the edge as you cum hard around his cock. He moans, his hips bucking against yours as he feels your pussy clench around him tightly. He thrusts into you one last time, his cock twitching as he cums deep inside of your pussy. You feel him cumming in you and it sends another wave of pleasure through you as well.
In the chambers of Feyds' palace, you feel like a queen, draped in silks and adorned with jewels. Despite the knowledge that you are being used for his pleasure, you find comfort in the safety and security he provides. You are his confidante, his companion, his beloved concubine, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
403 notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 7 days
Text
"Runaway Bride" - Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
a/n: combined two anon requests with one from @the-shadow-queen02. i hope y'all like this 🩷
Summary: When you escape your husband, he follows you, vowing that he will always find you.
TW: DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, chase kink ig, free use kink, breeding kink, public sex, degradation, inkpie, p in v sex, fingering, cock warming, spit kink, tiddy succin, overstim, murder
Word Count: 2,750
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
Tumblr media
Ever since you were a young girl, you were told that when you left Caladan for Giedi Prime, you would cease to be an Atreides. That when you married Feyd Rautha, you would become a Harkonnen. The idea terrified you even then. You loved your parents and Paul deeply. Abandoning them forever, giving up such an integral part of your identity… You knew your betrothed was a famed fighter. So every night you prayed that he might fall in battle. That his blade may chip and shatter. But he remained undefeated. And you? You continued being trained by your mother into being the perfect little wife for the Harkonnen. She never had much interest in you, though she did love you dearly. You always felt she preferred Paul. Your father, however? You were his little darling. You could do no wrong as far as he was concerned. The day you left for Giedi Prime, it was he who you found most difficult to leave behind, bawling into his chest.
Your betrothed was much different than you expected him to be. In fact, you’re not sure what you expected at all. But it wasn’t him? It surprised you that he had no hair, but you had to admit the lack of it emphasized his refined features, those aristocratic high cheekbones and piercing eyes, those full lips hiding his teeth, painted black to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. Perhaps that’s what you were too. His enemy. For he certainly struck fear into your heart when he approached you, with all the grace of a predator stalking its next meal. He circled you appraisingly, seeming fairly amused at the way you tried to hold your head high, the way you tried to show no trepidation at marrying him. Feyd stopped short in front of you, his stare boring into your own. Though you wore the dress sent for your impending nuptials, his gaze made you feel as though you were as naked as the day you were born.
“Are you afraid of me?”
His voice wasn’t at all how you imagined. Feyd sounded almost more like an animal than a human - a low rasp more than actual words. He sensed your hesitation in responding, a cruel smile spreading across his lips at the realization. 
You saw no point in lying, so you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “Yes.”
Feyd seemed almost impressed by your candor, though it’s fleeting as he leans in, his breath hot against your skin, making the hairs on your neck stand on end as he murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “Good. You should be.”
The wedding customs of the Harkonnen were already known to you. From the exchange of blood to the bridal hunt, you were fully aware of everything. The coppery tang of Feyd’s blood lingered on your lips as you ran through the halls, the heels of your shoes clacking on the black marble floor. It was laughable, how quickly Feyd caught up to you. He grinned down at you as he pinned you to the ground, your arms above your head.
“Were you even trying to run?” He mocked, running a hand along your side.
You remember it vividly - the way he stared at you, the way he used his knife to cut open your dress, leaving your body bare and vulnerable before him. The way he used his fingers to ease you open for him, claiming he was too large to fit otherwise. You doubted it until he disrobed, right there in the hallway, his length swaying from side to side as he grasped the base of it, giving it a few quick tugs, working himself to full hardness. Feyd Rautha was beautiful, in a lethal, terrifying way. And you hated yourself for the wetness between your thighs, the way you parted your legs to accommodate him. The way you allowed him to fuck you like a whore on the ground, only meters away from the chambers you were going to share with him.
Feyd was a man of voracious appetites, and he seemed to want you at all hours of the day. Given a taste of physical love, of the pleasure and the pain he could give you in perfect harmony, you were addicted. You hated him, but you were addicted. It wasn’t uncommon for him to simply take you at the breakfast table, lifting you up and burying himself between your thighs, his inky black spend dripping from your cunt as you walked back to your chambers to clean yourself off. He became so obsessed with the thought of having you, of breeding you, that he even started calling you into his strategy meetings, if only to have you sit on his cock, “to keep him warm and ready for afterward”.
And so, you’d do as he asked, moving your dress aside, revealing the fact that you’d foregone wearing any undergarments - at his insistence - slowly sinking down on his cock with a soft gasp, doing your best not to move. At first, the other Harkonnen, particularly Feyd’s brother Rabban, were skeptical about your and Feyd’s escapades, particularly during these meetings. You were a member of the House Atreides, their sworn enemies, after all. How could they trust that you wouldn’t go running to tell your father their secrets? Their plans to reclaim Arrakis after it was given to him? What if you were a spy? Feyd would merely chuckle, shaking his head. And one day?
He simply bent you over the table, holding your hands down as he fucked into you like a hungry animal, declaring to all those present, “She’s no spy. She’s a cock-hungry whore. All she wishes for is my seed. For me to fill her with my cock, over and over again.” 
He tugged your hair up, forcing you to meet the gazes of the men present, particularly Rabban, your eyes glazed over with pleasure as he continued rutting against you. His large hand moved to grasp at your throat, making you choke ever so slightly as his thrusts began to slow, his balls slapping against your ass, tightening before he reached his release, filling you with his seed. And like the good little cockslut that you were, you came around his cock mere seconds later. Feyd always demanded you be dressed in white so the evidence of his claim on you could be seen in the stains on your clothing. You were so submissive for him, so docile and pliant. Always so ready and willing for him to take you.
That’s why it came as such a shock when you did indeed betray him upon hearing the plans that Baron Vladimir had for your father. All this time, you had been listening, waiting for the right moment to escape. Your words of affection, spoken in the dark of the night as you lay in each other’s arms, meant nothing, it would seem. The first chance you had, you went running back to your pathetic family. To Arrakis, where they now resided.
Feyd knows Arrakis. He’s visited there more times than he can count. You? A sweet little thing like you won’t last a day. Besides, you need him. Despite the letter you left him stating that you hated him, hated his family, and he’d never see you again, Feyd knows your destinies are forever intertwined. That he is bound to you and you to him, whether you like it or not.
So he is going to find you. And he is going to bring you back, his precious little wife, willingly or in chains.
Tumblr media
Feyd arrives on Arrakis, his uncle having already laid siege to the palace at Arrakeen. Feyd has no interest in what happens there. Whether Duke Leto, your mother, and Paul survive or not isn’t his problem. His sole prerogative here is to find you. To reclaim what belongs to him. Because wherever you go, he vows he will always find you, always be watching you.
He has no qualms in torturing the poor Atreides soldiers into giving up your location. Your father sent you off into the desert, it would seem, trusting that you’d be able to survive, while your mother and Paul were taken hostage. Feyd lets out a low snarl, immediately slitting the throat of the soldier who informed him before moving onto the next for information about which Sietch you may try to seek shelter at.
He kills every Atreides, every Fremen who gets in his way. His pursuit is relentless. The winds whip around him, the man in black walking through the dune, but his focus is singular. He is going to find you. His mercenaries follow behind him, his blade already coated with the blood of so many who refused to give you up. And even those who did.
The dune is harsh, unforgiving. You won’t last a day. Feyd knows that. So he counts on you slowing down, needing water which you don’t have. He despises the hold you have on him. He hates how addicted he is to you, how he craves your presence, your love, your affection, your body… He hates the power he’s given you over him. Feyd blames you for his suffering, for this addiction, this obsession. 
This weakness.
He thought he had you eating out of the palm of his hand, and yet you refused to bend to his will. He hates you. He hates you so much. But he hates the thought of losing you even more. Feyd holds a blade to one of the Fremen’s throats, demanding to know if you’ve passed. He’s catching up now, only an hour behind you, stalking you like a lion stalks a gazelle in the savannah. He can almost taste your scent on the wind, the spice in the air making everything so much more pronounced. He wonders if you’re with someone else. A lover perhaps.
No. No, he was your first. He knows that. Feyd continues pushing forward, demanding his mercenaries follow him. It’s burning him up inside, the thought of you with someone else, in their arms, being loved and cared for by them. He won’t let you go. He can’t let you go.
And when he finally catches up to you, finding you in your stillsuit, staggering through a sandstorm, on the brink of collapse, you still try to run from him. Feyd grabs you by the arm, snarling and pulling you toward him angrily, making you stumble against him. You try to resist him and it both infuriates your husband and arouses him. How dare you? After he’s come all this way? He’s come so far for you, and you run.
“Let me go!”
Feyd scoffs, a bitter laugh leaving his lips as he pulls you in even closer, forcing you to face him, “Why should I let go of what belongs to me?”
He drags you back to the thopter waiting nearby, his grip hard on the nape of your neck. He has you gagged and your hands tied, making sure that you’re unable to use the Voice against him, unable to fight. You sit there seething, glaring at him as you begin to make your way back to the Arrakeen palace. Feyd meets your vitriolic stare with one of his own, matching you in intensity. Your glare, your rage. It doesn’t faze him at all.
Tumblr media
You’re marched to the grand hall where your father would entertain his guests. All eyes are on you and your husband, watching as he pulls you along while you glower at him. Feyd knows you aren’t entirely confident in your skills using the Voice. That your mother focused more on training your brother than you. So he removes your gag when you reach the chair that once belonged to your father. He smirks, pulling you into his lap, his hand running through your hair. Your anger amuses him, your reactions excite him.
You still look so beautiful, your hair mussed from the desert wind as he rips the stillsuit from your body. You let out a low snarl as you glare up at Feyd, the Harkonnen standing guard nearby. Close enough to wrangle you in if the need arises. Suddenly, he knots his fingers in your hair, tugging harshly, pulling you close to him.
“Did you truly think that you could escape me?” He rasps, practically ripping your undergarments from your body, leaving you bare and vulnerable against him, while he remains fully clothed - a further testament to the power divide between the two of you, “Did you think I would not find you? I will always find you. You’re mine.”
“Fuck you,” you hiss as he bites down on your neck, his fingers moving between your thighs, toying with your wet cunt. He loves the way your body responds to him. Your mouth may lie, say that you don’t want him, that you don’t love him. But your body never does, “I’m not yours.”
Feyd pushes two fingers inside you, making you let out a moan, his breath hot against your ear as he hisses, “Yes, you are.”
He can feel it in the way you squeeze around him, the way your head lolls back against his chest. He can feel it in the way you spill yourself so quickly, your arousal coating his fingertips, which he forces between your lips to lick clean. Feyd turns you around to face him and he can feel it in your eyes, the way you watch him undo his pants, stroking at his cock. You hate him. But you desire him just as much. He moves toward you and you spit at his face, making him let out a dark laugh. Feyd merely grips your jaw, forcing your lips apart and spits, letting it land on your tongue, forcing you to swallow it, asserting his dominance over you.
And while you glare up at him disdainfully, your lips part in a moan of his name as his cock pushes past your folds. He sheathes himself inside you to the hilt, filling you completely. Feyd lifts you up onto the table, pushing you down on your back. He crawls over you and begins to pound into you like a man starved, his grip on your throat bruising, pinning your hands above your head. You feel his lips around one of your nipples, his darkened teeth leaving their stain on your skin.
He draws the filthiest noises from you, the wet squelching noise of your cunt as he moves in and out of it, the screams of his name as he brings you to the edge over and over and over. He’s going to fuck his heir into you tonight. He’d like to see you try to run after that. You reach your peak well before he’s anywhere near finished with you. Feyd pushes your knees up to your chest, his own on either side of your hips, fucking you harder and deeper than ever before. His seed will take tonight. And he will fuck you over and over and over until you learn that you belong to him. You try to turn your face from him, but he holds it in place.
“I want you to look at me,” Feyd rasps, “I want you to look me in the eyes as I spill myself inside of you. That deceitful little tongue of yours can lie, but your eyes cannot. I can see the love you have for me. The hate. And I will take it all because I can bear it. I am the only one who can.”
And so, as he spills himself inside you, his black spend dripping from your cunt, coating your thighs, your eyes remain locked on his. He uses his fingers to push back whatever leaks out back inside you, intent on keeping you here with him. Your overstimulated, sensitive body shivers at the feel of his fingers, but Feyd doesn’t care. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve brought this upon yourself.
Feyd sees how exhausted and utterly spent you look. Using his almost inhuman strength, he lifts you into his arms, carrying you out of the room, shooting a satisfied smirk at all those who have been standing around to hear the… Aftermath of your reunion.
Feyd hates you. But he loves you in equal measure, if not more. And you feel the same for him. You two are bound now. Forever.
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 8 days
Text
Placing Dimensions and Eye Directions Analysis for Season 2 Posters
Disclaimer: before we go forward, I want to remind everyone that I am a random person on the Internet and this is a simple interpretation that I created using my knowledge on composition, dimension plains and perspective in drawing. If you choose to add input – please, be respectful about it, it’s an open discussion; as the creator of this take, I am not going to take any insults, hate or negativity over a simple fandom post, so be warned that I will block such on sight. If you find my ideas and analysis unpleasant for your perception of the characters – please, disengage and feel free to block me as well. Let’s all be civil :))
In this post I will talk about the placing of each team individually, towards team members and then each other. Along with that, I will be analysing characters’ poses and line of sights for each of them individually since it is telling a pretty compelling story. As a reference I will be using a merged image of all posters together in one (credits to @liv-cole for the image that I saw here and @ara-meyy for showing it to me when it first appeared on Reddit)
Let’s first take a look at Team Green and their stance:
The far back is taken up by Criston Cole and then Aegon on the Iron Throne. First and foremost, the farthest in the whole plain. He does not line up with anyone in the picture and his placement makes the most sense – in the canon of next seasons, Criston will take the position the Hand, which does put him so close to Aegon with his sword at the ready. He the final line of protection for the king, however, his eyes are not directed to the side – in the direction of Team Black.
However, he is placed slightly behind Aegon and his throne. His eyes are also looking forward at the angle that makes him look beyond the banner of Team Green and, in order, is directed at Aemond, not Team Black. The sight is not the one you would describe as of certainty. I could go off about the shot being not the most pleasant, but I could also theorise that Criston’s sight is telling us about the caution with which he could potentially treat Aemond in further seasons.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Aegon’s position on the poster is slightly closer to the viewer than Cole’s but still is further than Aemond’s or Alicent’s. His figure is quite interesting and, in all honesty, contrasting to what we saw in the sneak-peek of the second season. He looks both relaxed and tensed on the throne. The general language of the way he is seated is aloof, he is not wearing his crown, but is holding it as a window into his future. He comes off as the transition period between the man we saw in the sneak-peek and the previous season. He is tensed by his duty, by the Iron Throne, but his hedonistic nature has not left him yet.
What is most interesting is his line of sight. If we look at his eyes, they are not directed at anyone at all. They go straight throne the circle of his crown and off into the distance. He is not on the same field to look at Rhaenyra or anyone else. His look is one of absence. Being the king on the Iron Throne, he is isolated from the conflict by his posing. The reasoning for it might be 1) his transition period into an active participant of war (before Blood and Cheese), 2) his present reluctance to be in this conflict that was established in previous season or 3) mostly his absence in the season after his character goes through dragon fire. Perhaps, we would see more of his struggles as the king and, if lucky, even the progression from an unwilling heir to the king that takes charge and makes decisions.
Interestingly enough, his line of sight goes beyond all of Team Green members and out the frame before it reaches Team Black members. If it is not his future he is looking at, it is like a prison cell’s window at the freedom he could have, perhaps?
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Next comes Aemond, who is in the most front of the picture. What’s important to note here, his figure is the closes to the viewer and is actually on the same dimension field as Rhaenyra. He is stood between her and Aegon which makes sense since Aemond will be a driving force of the war (which also affected the number of episodes we will see him in). He is not the focus of the conflict, but he is the line of defence for his family and a force to reckon with. His hand is above the hilt of the sword, he is at the ready to draw it and, unlike Criston, his stance is not cautious but confident. He also has his lip corners up in the poster, enjoying the thrill of war, the hold of power that he has.
His line of sight is directed straight into Rhaenyra’s face, not anyone else. She is his primary concern or, perhaps, a target, because she is the main threat to his family and his brother’s ruling. Among his team, he looks like the most natural and merged into his role of protector. Note that this does not oppose Aemond and Rhaenyra, and, if it does, it is a one-sided conflict in which Aemond is involved while Rhaenyra is not an active participant.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
The last in Team Green and the closest to Team Black is Alicent.
It is clear why she is stood in front of everyone in the team, but she is much further in the background. The placing of her dimension makes her stand a layer above Aegon but two layers deeper than Aemond. She looks reserved and worried, and such placing shows that she is not Rhaenyra’s main opposition. She, as was shown in the previous season, would stand in front of her kids to protect them, which places her front-line in team’s order, but it is no longer her conflict, no longer a rivalry between her and Rhaenyra. Unlike the book version, show!Alicent is not the mastermind, but a scared and devoted to her cause mother, and when the time comes for war – she gives way to her children (being placed in the background) but still shows that she is present and protective of them (being the first in line).
Her eyes are terrified and teary, looking at Rhaenyra. It shows very well her stance in the show, that her motivation was the fear for the life of her children before Rhaenyra.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Now off to the Team Black.
Since we are going from left to right, I’m going to start with Rhaenyra, who is also the representative of Team Black.
Surprisingly so, her and Alicent have similar poses, but the position translates a different message. While Alicent is one of resolve and acceptance of her position in the background, Rhaenyra’s pose is showing her leadership. She is showing herself as the queen in this poster and, it is really hard to miss, but in a way her stance reminds me of 8th season Daenerys (I personally dislike the parallels because I think Rhaenyra would be better off as a stand-alone character, but hype train is a hype train).
She stands tall, she wears her crown, she is dressed as a ruler and as a dragonrider. What is interesting, though, is that her line of sight is directed forward. Since she is on the same plain as Aemond, they both are the closest to the viewer and share dimension, she is not looking at him. She is looking forward, past him. My ideas for this are 1) she is looking at the Iron Throne in the background, not even Aegon, but the throne itself; 2) she is looking into the future, since, in Western culture, the idea of looking forward is associated with the future. Her sight shows determination and readiness for battle or her looking forward for her victory. The entirety of Rhaenyra shows here that she is the rightful heir in her own eyes and she is going to take what is hers.
The idea that her sight goes through both Aemond and Aegon and ignores them, in a way, reinforces the narrative that they are irrelevant to her, they are not the threat and, because of that, be the things the other way, she would not have them executed because they simply do not matter to her this much. It is not a battle between her and her siblings here or her and Alicent, but it is a story about her battle for the throne, as it seems.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
What also caught my attention is that both Daemon and Alicent stand distant from Rhaenyra, practically within the same distance from each of her sides. It is purely my take here, but perhaps it is showing the relationship that she lost or is going to lose (given the rift that awaits her and Daemon?).
Now moving along to Daemon. Personally, I expected him to placed closer to his queen, given the establishment of their relationships, but in the poster, he is one a layer deeper into the background than she is. His overall posture of, not protectiveness towards his queen, but rather protectiveness of himself gives mixed signals as if it is not him being Rhaenyra’s shield, but her being his. Given what happens in canon between them, it might be foreshadowing.
However, what drives the point is his line of sight. He is looking up and forward, and, unfortunately, the way he is placed behind Rhaenyra makes it seem that his eyes are directed not at her, but at the crown. His general expression is not of a man that is preparing to protect his loved one, but one of a man who is scheming a way out for himself, there is a fleeting concern and calculation in the way he looks. For the sake of not hurting anyone’s feelings, it is purely my take and my reading of his character in the poster, take me as biased.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Daemon is ready to strike, but strike who?
Following figure is Rhaenys.
Rhaenys has a reserved pose and a look that is peeking at someone or something. Given the background from the show, there isn’t much to say about her in the poster. She strikes me as an unwilling participant of the war, but a participant that is going to do her bidding and show her strength. Rhaenys stands tall, truly like the Queen Who Never Was, and her stance shows that she will be a force to reckon with too, considering she is a dragonrider and a skilled one at that.
Her eyesight can indicate two things: she is looking forward, with a tilt of her head, which potentially places Alicent at her line of sight. It makes sense in a way given their confrontation in two instances in a previous episode. It feels as if she, as a mother who lost both of her children, asks her how far she is willing to go to protect who’s dear to her. It feels like in this there is a conflict of two mothers that is established: the mother that lost everything and now fights for what is left of her children (since Baela and Rhaena are indirectly pulled into the war as well) and the mother that will lose everything in the future. Alternatively, Rhaenys could be looking at Aegon and the Iron Throne, but at this point of her development as a character, that makes little to no sense.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Lastly, Corlys. Just like Aegon, he looks isolated from the conflict, but for different reasons. Initially, I had a thought that he was looking forward, and, considering that he takes place further in the background than anyone on Team Black, he could be looking at Aegon and the Iron Throne, but upon close inspection I concluded that Corlys is most likely looking outside the window. It perhaps is foreshadowing for him later on searching a way out of the conflict or out of the list of Rhaenyra’s supporters.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Now, to the parallels between the characters.
Aegon and Corlys are literally the last men standing of both their teams – both on the poster and in canon. They will be the last surviving men of their respected teams, having only Alicent outlive them both.
Daemon and Aemond being opposed only by their placement as the second from the centre of the poster – perhaps, a foreshadowing for a battle that they will clash in; Aemond is looking forward and, like in canon, anticipates the fight and goes in confidently while Daemon is looking out for himself specifically and does not acknowledge Aemond as a threat for himself.
Rhaenys and Alicent – a conflict between two mothers that already lost everything or will lose everything, the Queen Who Never Was and the Queen in Chains, both trapped in this conflict because of their children or what is left of them (grandchildren).
Aegon and Rhaenyra and the way they treat their role – Rhaenyra merging into her role as a queen and wearing her crown proudly while Aegon looks through in as if a window outside his prison.
Overall, the teams display different attitude.
Team Green looks like a well-established line of defence around Aegon: his Hand is by his side; his brother is the main force of protection and then his mother who would sacrifice herself to save him. Their placement is to protect Aegon from the threat of Team Black.
Team Black appears, to say the least, not as the protection for Rhaenyra, but people who hide behind her, which surprised me. It looks rather fickle, with Daemon and Corlys being anywhere but present to protect their queen. They also form a perfect line from the back to the centre that shows that it is not only Rhaenyra’s fight, but it is also not them fearing Team Green, but having a goal to get back the Iron Throne.
Tumblr media
173 notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 9 days
Text
Don't look away
Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x F!Reader
Stand alone, cross posted on AO3
Warning: 18+, NSFW, others I should add but it's Feyd
Summary: Feyd lives rent free in my head now. I had to get something out here because we don’t have enough. I’m working on an unrelated piece with an ofc but I wanted to share a pwp because this man is essentially walking and talking sex. Enjoy. Please ignore typos. This was a rush job LoL
Tumblr media
my gif
You hold your breath as Feyd-Rautha circles you, appraising. His head is tilted down and he looks at you from under his brows. Your chest is tight. He is almost exactly what you expected after watching him in the arena. Yet, not quite. He steps in front of you.
“She’s acceptable,” he says to the Reverend Mother without looking away from you. You begin to slowly exhale. His eyes slide down to your parted lips. He slowly licks his.
“Leave us,” he growls and the Reverend Mother, the younger Bene Gesserit sister, and his Harpies slip out of the room. You glance over your shoulder as the door slides closed behind them.
“No,” he whispers as he turns your head back toward him, guiding you with his hand on your chin. His blue eyes flick from your eyes to your mouth then back again. As he smiles, you see the tips of his blackened teeth for the first time and catch yourself staring.
“‘No’, my lord na-Baron?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He is standing close enough to hear you regardless. He nods once and drops his hand from your chin, grazing the backs of his fingers down your neck. He impertinently flicks the hood of your cloak off your head before dropping his hand to his side.
“You won’t look away from me. You will watch everything I do. No looking away, no closing your eyes.”
You swallow and attempt to nod but you feel like you cannot move. You want to move. You almost want to run for the door but you can imagine Feyd blocking your path with speed and stealth. You look at his mouth again, the lips curling, black teeth catching the light, and his tongue…
Feyd’s grip on your upper arm snaps your attention back. He undoes the clasp at your neck and slips the cloak off your shoulders, tossing it on the floor. You feel the goosebumps spread up your arms as the cool air of the room hits them. You are suddenly aware of the low neckline of your dress as you inhale. Your cleavage swells and you feel exposed, like prey out of cover.
He licks his lips, slowly. You fight conflicting urges to stare and to look away. You let your gaze travel up to his eyes. He isn’t looking at your face. He is stalking around you again, this time stoping behind you.
His hands are cool on your upper back and you shiver. Feyd makes a sound in response, a satisfied groan that is so low that you think you may have not heard it at all. His hands slip under your dress and are no longer gentle. He rips your dress down the back along the seam. He slings the shoulders of the dress down and you feel him step closer.
Feyd licks your neck, slowly, from the top of your shoulder to your ear. You bite the tip of your tongue to hold back a moan. You don’t want to like this, you don’t want to want him, but your nipples are hard and your body is a furnace.
“Let it out,” he growls in your ear, lips brushing against the lobe. “I want to hear you.”
You do. The sound comes out as a sigh and a moan. His reaction adds fuel to the fire in your core. Feyd growls next to your ear. His exhale tickles your cheek and you shiver again. Then you feel the fabric of his shirt press against your exposed back. Longing rolls over you as you realize you don’t want his shirt against your skin. You let the smallest groan escape your lips, a whining sound.
Feyd leans down and drags his lips over your shoulder. You almost relax into the feeling until you feel the pain as he bites down into the muscle. You gasp. It surprises you more than it hurts you. He releases his hold on you but his mouth stays against your skin.
Almost as unexpected as the bite, you feel the weight of his smooth head rest against your neck. He leans his weight in the crook of your neck and sighs. His hot breath makes you ache. His teeth are still grazing your shoulder. You want to relax into this feeling but he is too unpredictable.
Your mind races in an attempt to understand this man, to glean some insight. His sighs and groans make your core hot and tight. But the press of his teeth against your skin conflict with the gentleness of the press of his head against you. You can’t sort your thoughts and you can’t focus.
Suddenly, Feyd grunts and pushes away from you. Before you can decide to turn to look at him, he pulls your dress all the way off your arms and pushes it down your hips, leaving it in a puddle around your feet. You can’t think straight. You instinctively cross your arms over your breasts but it’s a fruitless action. He is behind you and you cannot cover the lower half of your body. You aren’t sure but you think the whimper you make is too quiet for him to hear.
“Stay,” Feyd growls. You do. You don’t move. You stare straight ahead at the wall opposite you and focus all your attention on listening, trying to decode the sounds Feyd is making behind you.
You hear cloth moving, one light thud, followed by another, then more cloth. Then you hear what is unmistakably bare feet on the stone floor. Then you feel him, not pressed against you (yet), but just behind you. He is still taller than you and though you cannot see him he feels like a monolith, looming and intimidating.
Feyd doesn’t speak as he runs his hands over your shoulders and down your biceps. He presses your arms against your sides and you acquiesce. Then his large hands cup your breasts as he steps forward into you, pressing the length of your bodies together. You feel lightheaded and sag slightly against him.
“Yes,” he hisses and somehow you can hear the smile in his voice. “Yes, my pet, that’s it.” His hands slide down the rises and hollows of your belly and hips. There is too much stimulus for you to focus on any one thing. The cool heat of his palms against your skin, the silkiness of his chest against your back, and the press of his erection against the curve of your buttocks.
This bliss is fleeting and you remind yourself of who he is, what you have seen him do. But the images of the arena can’t push the feeling of him on your skin out of your mind. You are almost powerless in his hands.
He guides you to turn and face him. You look up at him and involuntarily lick and bite your lower lip. For the first time you see hunger in his eyes. His head dips down and you fight the instinct to close your eyes as his lips press against yours. Not until you see his eyes close do you do the same. His mouth is bittersweet and gentle at first. Then his teeth nip and pull at your lip, his tongue pushes into your mouth, and he growls. You can’t stop yourself from pressing against his chest. Your hands find his arms as you try to get closer to him. As you pull him toward you the taste of blood crosses your tongue.
Feyd pulls his mouth back and you open your eyes immediately. The red on his lower lip is a stark line against the white skin. He slowly drags his finger across it. He gazes at the red on his fingertip as if he has never seen anything so entrancing before. Then he presses his finger against your lip and you pull the tip into your mouth. He moves before you can understand what is happening. His hand is in your hair, wrenching your head back. His other arm encircles your waste and he looks down at you, black teeth glinting in the pale light of the room.
His sneer is terrifying. Your fingernails dig into the flesh of his arms as you grip him. You don’t push him away; you can’t move. His eyes dart around your face searching for something. For defiance? He finds none and his mouth crashes against yours in a rough kiss that is mostly teeth and breath.
Something inside you gives way and you claw desperately at his arms. You kiss him back, finding his tongue with yours, inviting him into your mouth. His body is warm stone in your arms. You search for purchase, some place to anchor yourself, his chest, his arms, his neck. Then you push your hips forward, almost without thinking. His cock presses against your belly and he growls again. That sound draws wetness from between your legs and you moan back into his mouth. His hand begins to loosen its grip on your hair and you feel him smile against your lips. When you look at him you see it isn’t a kind smile.
“So that’s what you want, pet?” His smile is mocking, almost cruel. His voice is low and deep. His hand slides out of your hair to the side of your face. He caresses your cheek with his palm and rubs his thumb across your lips, lulling you with his touch.
“You want me to fuck you now?” Your response is the most undignified whimper. You are surprised by the desperation in the sound. As he straightens up to his full height you immediately miss the feeling of his skin. His smile softens briefly. Then he grips the back of your neck, hard, and walks you to the bed. Your heart pounds and you fear you won’t be able to keep your feet. If you trip you have no doubt he will drag you.
You look away from him, glance at the bed. He catches you and turns you to face him as you make the last few steps to the bed. It presses against the backs of your knees and you nearly fall. Feyd doesn’t let you. A brief flicker of understanding dawns on you: he doesn’t want anything to hurt you, only he can do that. It’s a perverse comfort, but his control is seductive. You don’t let yourself think “protective” but that’s the closest word. Then all words leave your mind as he lets go of you and you sink back into the bed.
Feyd kneels on the bed, spreading your legs with his knees. He isn’t gentle but his touch is soft. Every part of his hairless body is smooth and cool and graceful. His giant arms frame your field of vision as he props himself above you. His lower lip glistens and you want to risk defiance. You press yourself up to meet his mouth, to suck at that lip, bite and tease.
His reaction is quick. His hand presses you back onto the bed, wrapping almost entirely around your neck. You lick your lips and sneer up at him. His eyes flash with understanding. He grins. Using his hand on your neck and his legs to hold his weight he slips a hand between you and finds your slick center. He trails his fingers through your wetness and your last vestige of pride falls away. You actually whine as you raise your hips to find more of his fingers. He obliges for a moment and lets you press against them. Then he pulls his hand away.
The pressure on your neck is not yet uncomfortable. You let out panting breaths. Your mouth hangs open, eyes locked with his. Before you realize his hand is gone from your neck, you feel his wet fingers in your mouth and taste yourself. Without needing to be told you suck gently on them. You watch his face soften with pleasure. Barely opening his eyes, Feyd slides his fingers from your mouth, down your body, and under your thigh. He guides your leg onto his hip. As he leans his weight onto his other arm he guides his cock into your slick folds. You hold your breath. You don’t stop watching him and he notices. He looks at you, lewdly, as he strokes himself through your dripping cunt. You feel yourself blush, a bit too late for embarrassment, but there it is anyway. He groans as he presses the tip of his cock against your opening.
“Please, Feyd,” you groan. “Oh please.” His eyes widen at your words, at the sound of his name.
“Beg for my cock, pet. Tell me how much you need it,” he commands, his face only inches above yours.
“I need it so badly it hurts, na-Baron,” you watch for his reaction to the use of his title and you aren’t disappointed. “I need to feel you. Please.”
Feyd groans and his head dips lower, almost resting his forehead on yours as he begins to slide into you. The feeling is intense as he stretches you. You open your legs a bit wider, sliding your foot up the curve of his ass to his lower back. He presses deeper, harder, and you exhale his name. You don’t dare close your eyes yet but his are closed tight and his brow is furrowed. You gingerly slide your hands over his head and grip the back of his neck. You pull him to you slightly, giving him permission to rest his head against your neck. He rubs his head against you like a cat and you smile to yourself as you close your eyes.
Feyd’s hips press into yours, spreading you wide as he buries his face against you. He pulls out slowly and slides back in, so you can feel every inch of him. His free hand searches up your side to your breast and squeezes. His thumb grazes your nipple as he starts to pump into you. You gasp as he pinches your nipple, twists it slightly. You moan and press your lips against the smooth skin of his head.
“You take me so well,” Feyd mutters into your chest. “Such a good girl taking all of me.” The gravel in his voice makes you shiver and mewl. On his next stroke in, you slip your other leg over his hip and circle your legs around his waist. You pull him into you, as far as you can take him, the head of his cock pressing against your deepest core. He makes the most satisfied sound imaginable. You feel his lips, then his teeth against your collarbone. Your grip on his neck tightens as he slides out of you and rams back in, hard and quick.
With the next stroke, Feyd raises his head to look at you. You let your hands slide to his shoulders, still holding tight. There is no softness on his face now. His lust-blown pupils have swallowed the blue of his eyes and his brow is furrowed as he focuses on fucking you. He squeezes your breast quickly then moves his hand to your hair. He holds your head still and leans down to kiss you when he thrusts. You dig your fingernails into his skin and groan.
His control starts to falter and he exhales into your mouth. His hand in your hair gripping tighter as his strokes shorten and his pace quickens. You slide your hand down from his shoulder to touch yourself. His facial expression changes momentarily as he feels you grip tighter around his cock. You grin up at him.
“I need it, Feyd,” you whisper, holding his eye contact. You wait a beat and arch your back as your fingers and his cock bring you closer to your climax. “I need to feel you cum.” You groan. The wave of your pleasure begins to crest, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. Then you feel his teeth clamp down on the flesh above your clavicle. Your orgasm overtakes you as the sharp sensation clashes with the low, throbbing pleasure between your legs. You murmur his name through clenched teeth.
Feyd pushes through your spasms around his cock. Growling and grunting but not releasing you from his bite. He fucks you through your orgasm. His rhythm stutters and his grip loosens. He lifts his head, a string of spit pulled from his bottom lip. He grabs your head with both his hands and, panting just above your mouth, he cums. The heat fills you and you moan his name again. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours as he presses into you one last time.
Then he stills, his forearms holding him up, but lets some of his weight press you together so he is almost lying on top of you, not pulling out yet. He exhales deeply and raises his head. He looks down at you.
You can’t catch your breath and your legs are heavy. You let them slide down his hips. Your neck throbs where his teeth marked you. You want to wrap your arms around him, pull him into you, stroking and soothing this wild animal. Instead, you grab the back of his head and pull him down to your mouth and kiss him until you taste red.
472 notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 9 days
Text
"Heat" - Feyd Rautha x Niece!Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media
a/n: request from @emeraldsgirl combined with an anon request for feyd x niece. i hope y'all like this and please know i won't take offense if you don't read due to the subject matter 🩷
Summary: You return to your family after completing your Bene Gesserit training.
TW: incest, a/b/o dynamics, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, dubcon, corruption kink, fingering, oral f receiving, overstim, p in v sex, knotting, breeding kink, inkpie
Word Count: 2,550
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
Tumblr media
You were barely weaned from your mother when you were spirited away to Wallach IX by the Bene Gesserit. Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam herself had come to fetch you. Feyd recalls this vividly. He was a mere boy when Rabban took your Bene Gesserit mother as his concubine. Truth be told, Feyd was a bit disappointed that you would not be raised on Giedi Prime alongside him. You were to be trained in the old ways, far away from the interference of any of the Harkonnen. You remained in contact with your father, of course, and Feyd learned about you from his brother in bits and pieces. Your mother passed on some years after you left for Wallach IX. You weren’t even permitted to return to Giedi Prime for the funeral.
You weren’t of much consequence to your young uncle. All Feyd Rautha cared for was training, proving himself to be his brother’s equal - or even superior. Impressing his uncle so that it would be he who was named the Baron’s heir. After all, his fighting prowess was unmatched, as were his cunning and intellect. As far as Feyd was concerned, his uncle’s decision should have taken no time at all. As he trained, his mind sometimes wandered to you, Rabban’s only child. How would things have been different if you had been raised on Giedi Prime alongside him? Feyd presented as an alpha when he turned fourteen, renewing his determination in training to become the best fighter the Harkonne had ever seen. It was at that time he wondered what you would present as. An alpha, he assumed. Most Bene Gesserit were.
It’s only when your training is completed that you come to Arrakis, where your family now resides. The Baron and your father are busy attending to business with a delegation of Fremen, so it is Feyd who is sent to greet you. The moment the door to your ship opens, Feyd grows tense, your scent hitting him like a slap in the face. He had been prepared to meet a fellow alpha, not you.
Not an omega, on the cusp of going into heat.
You walk toward him, body clothed in a black dress, a black hood over your head. Your scent is nearly overwhelming. It’s like… Spun sugar and vanilla. With the slightest hint of strawberries. Feyd is no stranger to ruts and heats and mating. He’s a man grown now. But he’s never had an omega’s scent affect him so much as yours is right now as you walk toward him, a soft smile on your face, your head bowed as a sign of respect.
“Uncle.”
Fuck, even your voice is sweet. Soft and lilting, soothing. You’re completely foreign to him, and yet you’re so very familiar. He greets you by name, his voice a low rasp.
“I’m glad to see you,” you offer in that same dulcet tone.
A smirk plays on his lips as he begins to circle you, every bit a predator circling its prey, “Is that so? What are you doing back here after so long, little one?”
“My father called me home,” you explain, keeping your gaze focused straight ahead of you, though Feyd can hear the way your voice wavers ever so slightly, his presence’s effect on you glaringly obvious, “My training is complete. Father wishes to have me married off sooner than late, as do the Bene Gesserit.”
“Sending you off to be the wife or concubine to some alpha,” Feyd hums in acknowledgement, stopping short in front of you. He moves to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up so that you meet his gaze, “But that’s not what you want, is it, little one?”
“It’s my duty as an omega,” you say, glancing around the platform, clearly nervous from even just this one touch, “My wants aren’t of consequence.”
His smirk grows wider at your words, your vulnerability almost arousing to him, “I wonder… An unclaimed omega. No guards, no protection, no one watching over you. What could my brother have been thinking?”
“Well, you’re an alpha, Uncle. We’re family,” you say, brows furrowed in confusion, “You’d protect me should any danger arise.”
Feyd laughs, the sound of which makes you freeze in place as he leans in, his lips ghosting against your ear, “And what if I’m not your family anymore? What if all I see in front of me is a pretty little omega, vulnerable, waiting to be taken advantage of?” When you don’t respond, he continues, his nose brushing against your claiming gland as he inhales deeply, taking in your sweet fragrance, his cock straining against his pants, “What if I just grabbed you right now? What if I just took you? Right here, right now…”
Feyd’s hand moves to your lower back, pulling you in close, his body pressed flush against yours. He leans in, his nose brushing against yours, his lips so very close to your own, when suddenly, he hears his brother’s voice calling out to you. You quickly pull away from Feyd when he releases his grip on you and rush to Rabban’s side, embracing him.
“Father, I’ve returned as you requested.”
Your father embraces you, in a rare show of emotion, before giving Feyd a suspicious glare, “Is everything alright here? Your uncle treating you well?”
Feyd stands there, silent as the grave, biting back the laugh that threatens to burst forth when you glance back at him nervously, “Yes, Father. We were just chatting.” Rabban’s eyes dart back and forth between you and Feyd, not entirely convinced by your words, but he nods, turning to face you when you question, “You mentioned wanting me to see the spice refinery, Father. Shall we go?”
Before Rabban has a chance to speak, Feyd butts in, “Brother, I believe you and Uncle have a meeting with Stilgar and his men. Allow me to escort my niece to the refinery. It will offer us an opportunity to get to know each other better. We can take a thopter and be back before nightfall.”
Feyd rests his hand on your shoulder, hearing the nearly inaudible breath you take in, feeling the way you tremble slightly, “I…” You glance back at Rabban who seems at a loss for words before nodding, “Alright. Thank you, Uncle.”
And with that, Feyd wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you away from your father’s watchful eye and toward his personal thopter. He helps you up, his hands lingering on your hips far longer than needed, squeezing your soft flesh under the guise of assisting you.
Tumblr media
The visit to the refinery is short, in part, because you and Feyd are made aware of a dust storm that is quickly approaching the area. Though you take to the skies before the storm begins in earnest, the visibility grows worse and worse with each passing moment. Feyd is a skilled pilot. If he wanted, he could likely navigate his way through this. But, seeing a cave he knows the Fremen take shelter in during times like these, a wicked thought enters his mind, your scent growing stronger and stronger - an indication of your heat nearing, the knowledge of which serves to trigger his rut. He tells you that the two of you must take shelter in the cave, landing the thopter nearby, wrapping a cloak around you as the two of you rush toward your safe haven.
The spice in the air nearly knocks you off your feet, despite the stillsuit you wear, the exposure to it being something you are completely unused to. Feyd helps you into the cave, the two of you catching your breath as you come down from your momentary high. You cough, wiping the sand from your face before turning to your uncle.
“Will the thopter be damaged? Leaving it outside like that?”
Feyd shakes his head, leading you further into the cave, “It’s made to withstand storms like this. Unlike you, omega. Come on, let’s get you inside.”
He can tell your exposure to the spice, no matter how short, has affected you. Your entire body is trembling, he sees from the corner of his eye as he starts a fire. You hug your knees to your chest, rocking back and forth, your breathing growing more and more rapid. Feyd’s gaze trails up your body, his mouth watering as you move to take off your stillsuit, citing the lack of dust in the cave as your reasoning. He watches with amusement, seeing the way your hair is matted to your forehead, damp tendrils clinging to the side of your face.
“I don’t feel…” You let out a gasp, clutching your stomach, “I don’t feel so good…”
Your movements are sluggish, your scent growing more and more pronounced with each passing moment. Feyd chuckles at the realization of what is happening. He moves to kneel on the ground beside you, his hand reaching out to caress your soft cheek.
“The spice has affected you, little one. It’s your heat.”
You shake your head frantically, fanning your face, “It’s too hot. This shouldn’t be happening. My heat isn’t due for another week. This doesn’t make sense…”
“It seems exposure to the spice made your heat come sooner,” he remarks, resting his other hand on your thigh, squeezing slightly, relishing the way you shiver at his touch, “You poor little thing. It seems to have triggered my rut as well. Spice can have that effect.”
Feyd watches as your pupils dilate, your lips part as you let out a pathetic whine, pressing your thighs together, desperate for friction, “Everything feels like it’s on fire…”
“Shhh, shh,” she runs a hand through your hair, making you let out a pleasurable sigh, your eyes fluttering shut, “Let me take care of you.”
“Uncle… Alpha,” you bury your face in his chest, scenting him, clinging to him desperately, “Help me. Please…”
Feyd nods, his primal desires taking over little by little, any will to resist them leaving his mind as you meet his gaze, “I’ll help you, little omega. Don’t worry.”
He kisses you, your lips soft and sweet against his own. Feyd Rautha kisses you as though he wishes to consume you whole, to devour you. And perhaps, in some sick, twisted way? He does. Feyd removes his stillsuit, tugging at the slip you wore under yours, listening to the relieved sigh you let out at the feeling of cool air against your bare skin. Feyd’s bare body presses against yours, his cock rock hard, almost painfully so. He can smell the slick your body produces, his hand moving between your thighs to tease your slit. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, the mewl of his name you let out being nothing short of delicious.
Feyd wants to give you his knot, to breed you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything. He pushes three fingers inside you, letting out a low groan at how tight your cunt squeezes around him. But if he’s going to fit his cock inside you, he needs to prepare you. He remains still for a long moment before moving them at a breakneck pace, rubbing up against that spongy spot deep inside you. Feyd has never made a woman come as fast as he makes you come right now. In mere minutes, your hips are bucking up against his hand, your cries of “Alpha” like music in his ears as your arousal squirts all over his fingertips.
You watch, wide-eyed as Feyd brings his fingers to his lips, lapping up your juices with a low groan, as if it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. And, in his mind, it is. Feyd smirks down at you, darkened teeth bared as he pushes your thighs apart, diving in to taste you directly. You gasp, writhing against him, your hips bucking up wildly as he licks at your folds eagerly, his tongue moving rapidly, his face moving side to side as he devours you. Tears of overstimulation prick at your eyes as he continues this onslaught of pleasure, your heat and his rut threatening to consume the both of you.
“Feyd… Alpha,” you whine, the pleasure building inside you again as he laps at you, “Oh…”
He chuckles, the vibration from the sound sending you to your peak again, making you let out a squeal of his name as he moves to latch onto your swollen pearl. He suckles at it, pulling away after a moment to land a few light smacks against it, making you cry out his name once again. He smacks at it repeatedly, admiring the way your cunt clenches around nothing, thinking of how he’s going to fill you with his knot soon enough. You taste so sweet on his tongue as you reach your third peak, both of you so consumed by your pleasure that it’s as though time has ceased to exist.
All that exists is you and Feyd.
You watch as he strokes his cock, the sheer size of it almost frightening you. He smacks the head of it against your pearl, just as he did with his hands, loving the way your body jolts at the sensation, doing it repeatedly before finally pushing inside you. The way you squeeze around him so perfectly, the way he can’t even fit all the way inside you, the way you’re whining and squealing… It’s all addictive. He’s addicted to you and he knows it. Feyd’s mind is soon consumed by his rut, by the thought of knotting you, breeding you, filling you with his pups. And so he begins to snap his hips against yours, palms squeezing at your breasts, imagining them swollen and full of milk, the thought nearly enough to make him salivate.
You stare up at him, lashes fluttering, lips parted, crying out his name as he thrusts into you over and over. His sweet little omega, splitting you open on his cock. Fuck, he even see the outline of it against your belly.
“Little omega,” he coos, almost mockingly, “I’m tearing you apart, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” you sob, “Alpha, please… Need your knot…”
“Don’t worry, little one. You’ll have it.”
He can feels his balls tighten, your cunt squeezing around him so hard he can barely even move as you reach your peak once more. His own comes soon enough, spilling his seed in you, his knot inflating and holding the two of you together. 
It will be a little while before he can take you again, so he pulls you into his arms, brushing his lips against your forehead before pressing them to your own once again, more gently than before.
And three days later, when the two of you finally return to Arrakeen, it doesn’t take long for the doctors to come to the realization that you are pregnant with Feyd’s child after having been bred and claimed by him through your heat. Your father seems as though he wants to murder his younger brother, watching him say his vows and drink of your blood during your wedding ceremony, getting ready to chase after you for the wedding hunt.
But you? You’ve never been happier, mated and bound to your beloved alpha, Feyd Rautha.
Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 11 days
Text
dacryphilia; implied squirting; paul calls r "desert mouse" bc i said so; MDNI 18+ w/ PAUL ATREIDES
you're wasting too much water.
deep beneath the focus on pleasure, somewhere woven between your strong desire to reach the end, is the nagging realization that you are wasting too much water.
yet, it is not your fault at all.
paul did not listen to you when you told him to take it slow.
the wind had picked up today, a sure sign of a storm approaching, and in result arrakis had been just a little cooler. not extremely significant, but noticeable.
it had been cool enough to take more exertion to break a sweat. cool enough that stilgar was not nagging about water conservation. and paul, in the mood to take advantage of the circumstances, turned to face you once your leader was distracted. he wore a boyish smile that was subtle enough to go unnoticed by anyone who did not know him as well as you did.
but you knew paul almost as well as you knew yourself. and unfortunately, you feel as if he knows you better.
he knows your body better.
you would not call him an expert, at least not to his face, but paul is extremely adequate and well versed in the topic of your pleasure points. he knew the pace he needed to set, where he should angle his hips, what words would spur you on and calm you down. he is dedicated, a hard worker who could not half do something even if his life depended on it.
like usual, his efforts yielded great results. a little too great, as your secretion is entirely paul's fault.
tears glide down your warm cheeks, spreading out towards your ears if they are too quick for either of you to catch. paul, certainly feeling bad about the state he has put you in, is attempting to do his part. he has one hand dutifully on your cheek, the still-soft pad of his thumb catching your tears and gently guiding them back into your mouth.
"don't waste them, desert mouse," he tells you, a stupidly charming smirk on his lips the entire time as if he is proud of himself.
you know he is, because it had not taken much to get you to this point at all. he kissed you, removed your stillsuit with his to follow, slid into you with humiliating ease, and then he began to fuck you.
there were times where you and paul made love within the secluded area of your shared tent, but that was not what he did to you. he took you like your body was his and only his to own.
your legs wound around his lithe hips, your eyes welling up with tears of pleasure as you watched his toned figure work through blurry vision. he kept you compliant with encouragement. delicately spoken words of praise. as soon as you opened your mouth to tell paul to slow down, worried about the low possibility of dehydrating your body, paul would speak before you could.
"doing so well for me. staying so quiet. just a little more. you're close, yeah?"
and you were. you've been so, so close this entire time, but held back on your own direction. for fear of letting go was threateningly paired with fear of excretion you could not afford.
your thigh pack lay off to the side, completely useless, and there is nothing more you wanted than to strap it onto you and finally get to let go with assurance that whatever it was that wanted to come out of you would be conserved.
but that assurance did not exist. and paul, like the thoughtless man he tended to become whenever he had you underneath him like this, clearly could not care less.
"come on," he tells you, his voice a low and deep rasp as he starts to rut into you with more determination. his eyebrows furrow, they dip a bit into a look similar to the one he wears when he fights. his hair, tousled from both the wind and the exertion, bounces in lazy curls with every single movement. they provide a tether, one that keeps you distracted enough to avoid cumming.
until paul takes his hand and grips your chin, pulling your gaze to him.
"look at me," it's a command and you find yourself easily following it. "i know you wanna let go. can feel you squeezing around me. need you to do it."
you start to shake your head, pleading with paul for him to understand just why you could not afford to let go like this.
but he shakes his head, too, tutting gently, softening his voice to one you cannot ever turn away from.
"it's okay," he promises. "just let it go. it'll be okay. i got you."
"it's a waste," comes your feeble response.
"don't worry about it. i want it. we'll make up for it." he leans down, pressing his lips to your warm forehead once before lowering his face enough to nudge the tip of your nose with his.
then, he tells you, "i'll even clean you up."
and it's really not your fault that you let go instantly.
1K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 11 days
Text
"Sparring Session" - Feyd Rautha x Wife!Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
a/n: combined a few anon requests for this one, hope y'all enjoy!! 🩷
Summary: You and Feyd decide to spar to settle a disagreement.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, jealous/possessive feyd, physical violence, biting, blood kink, knife kink if you squint, semi public sex, hate/angry sex, choking, inkpie, p in v sex
Word Count: 1,750
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
Tumblr media
Realistically, Feyd knows you will never betray him. His beloved wife, the one who understands him better than he even understands himself. But it’s hard to remember that when he sees you laughing and smiling with a man he’s never seen before. He scowls, murder in his eyes as he walks toward you and the strange man in question, moving his hand to grip the back of your neck possessively, dark teeth bared in something between a snarl and a smile as you introduce the two.
He’s a visiting diplomat from who knows where, he can barely hear you over the sound of his blood pumping, only watching as the bastard eyes you up and down in the form fitting gown you wear. He is from Chusuk, Feyd soon learns, part of a delegation sent to Arrakis to discuss trade. And the Baron charged you with showing him around the palace. Feyd couldn’t give less of a damn what his uncle has ordered you to do. Before he can second guess himself, he grabs the visitor by the throat, ignoring your noises of protest, and demands that Rabban show him around instead before allowing the man to fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, coughing as he tries to catch his breath.
You, instead of taking your place at Feyd’s side, annoy him by kneeling down to help the diplomat to his feet, demanding a servant go grab him some water. Feyd lets out a low hiss of disapproval before storming away, his footsteps echoing through the halls. He hears you calling his name, annoyance tinging your voice, but he continues walking. His blood is boiling and he needs to get this aggression out somehow.
So, of course, he finds himself in the fighting arena, taking on opponent after opponent, reveling in their losses, corpses piling up to the side. He hears someone murmur that at this rate, they’ll run out of former Atreides soldiers at the rate Feyd is running through them. He demands another, then another, fighting until late in the night, his muscles screaming at him to stop, sweat beading at his temples. But nothing can extinguish his rage at the memory of another man touching you. You belong to him and only him. Everyone on Arrakis knows that by now.
If he hadn’t been so integral to the trade agreement with Chusuk, Feyd would have unsheathed his dagger and killed the man where he stood. Alas, he had no such luck. Rabban comes to tell him as much, only to leave when the corpse of a fallen gladiator is hurled directly at him.
It’s only when you arrive, several hours later, your hands on your hips and your brow arched, that he pauses, “Are you ready to apologize?”
The crowd has dispersed by now. It’s only Feyd, left alone in his thoughts until you get there. He turns to you, giving you an unamused look, his voice firm.
“No.”
“Fine,” you retort, hopping into the pit, “Then we settle this with our fists. Like men.”
“You’re a woman.”
“Did I ask you, husband?”
He lets out a sharp laugh before shaking his head, “Brash little thing.”
The two of you assume your positions at opposite sides of the circle drawn on the ground, Feyd’s hands lifted up in his defense. He wants you to make the first move, something you’re more than willing to with how fucking angry he’s made you. You lunge at him, your teeth bared.
“You embarrassed me. You could’ve ruined everything your uncle has been working toward.”
Feyd dodges you, if only barely, making an attempt to grab you around the waist, “He wanted you. I have a right to be jealous. You’re mine.”
You evade him, launching yourself at him once more, this time managing to throw him off balance and tackle him to the ground. The two of you begin to grapple, evenly matched in skill. What he lacks in speed, he makes up for in strength, while it is the reverse for you. Feyd manages to roll you over, pinning you to the ground.
“You shouldn’t talk to other men,” he growls against your ear.
You surprise him by putting his head in a triangle choke, your thighs on either side of his face as you glare up at him defiantly, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”
He lets out a humorless laugh, leaning his face in toward you, wanting nothing more than to kiss you, seeing you beneath him with that rage in your eyes that he finds so irresistible. However, taking advantage of his momentary distraction and using your core’s strength, you flip the two of you over so that it’s Feyd who is now pinned to the ground. You stare down at him, holding his arms above his head.
“Do you have so little trust in me?”
Feyd grunts, staring into your eyes as you lean in, “It isn’t you I don’t trust.”
Your faces are so close now, your nose brushing against his, his breath seeping into your own as you whisper, “Do you truly think I could ever betray you?”
He inhales sharply, taking in your natural scent mixed with the sandalwood oil you use, the smell intoxicating to him as he murmurs, “No.”
“Then why do you insist on behaving like a spoiled child?” You demand, “You are the na-Baron, Feyd. Act like it!”
Feyd scowls, glaring up at you, his eyes opening, “I’m acting like a husband who loves his wife.”
Your struggle begins anew as Feyd manages to push you off of him. The two of you wrestle a bit more on the ground until he manages to pin you to the floor yet again, pinning your arms above your head, his legs holding your own down, as he stares down at you. Your chin juts out in defiance as you let out a low hiss.
“What will it take for you to admit you’re in the wrong?” You question.
“You agree never to talk to another man.”
You roll your eyes, but as if drawn together like two magnets, his lips are on yours within mere moments. The kiss is hard and rough, hungry and passionate as your tongues battle each other for dominance, teeth clashing as you moan into each other’s mouths. Feyd’s hand knots itself in your hair, tugging just enough to make it sting oh so pleasurably, moving out from underneath him and straddling his hips.
“Impossible, stupid, stubborn fool,” you mumble between kisses.
Feyd huffs out a laugh, his entire body shuddering with excitement as he grabs you by the hips, squeezing the flesh of your ass. Anyone could walk in, the two of you are practically out in public, saved only by the fact that it’s evening. But you don’t care. Not when he’s grabbing his blade to cut the pathetic excuse of a dress you’re wearing off of you. He tosses it aside, leaving you entirely bare. You’re surprised for a fleeting moment, which gives Feyd the chance to roll the two of you over so that he’s on top once again. It’s a constant push and pull, an ebb and flow between the two of you that you’ll never tire of.
Always fighting to see who comes out on top.
Feyd pins your wrists over your head with one hand, the other moving to squeeze roughly at one of your breasts, pinching at your pert nipple, groaning at the feeling of your soft, warm flesh against his calloused palm. He leans in to kiss you again, but you turn your face away angrily, letting out a noise of displeasure. He refuses to let that stand. He moves to grab your jaw, forcing you to face him, lips capturing yours in yet another heated kiss. You bite down hard on his lip, hard enough for it to blur the lines between pleasure and pain as he lets out a low groan. When Feyd pulls back to breathe, he sees the crimson liquid coating your lips, grabbing your face with both his hands and pulling you into an even more aggressive kiss than before.
“Sometimes,” you manage to eke out, “I really do want to kill you.”
“You should try,” he chuckles, your words sending a jolt of electricity through him, “I’d gladly allow you to be the one to kill me.” He brushes his lips along your jaw, whispering, “I’ll never tire of this.”
“Fighting or fucking?”
He gives you an amused look, “One leads to the other, sweetheart.”
It doesn’t take long before Feyd is naked above you, your hands tracing the planes of his chest, his taut, lean muscles firm beneath your hands as he pushes inside you. And though you know how much he loves you, how much he adores you, your husband fucks you like he hates you. He pins your hands to the side of your head, a low snarl erupting from his throat as he begins to pound into you almost furiously, reveling in the way your body writhes against his. Feyd bites down hard on your neck, hard enough to draw blood, the coppery tang of it tasting like ambrosia on his tongue as you squeeze around him as you reach your peak, your arousal soaking his cock.
Try as you might, he keeps you pinned in place, fucking into you at a nearly inhuman speed. All you can think, all you can feel, all you can breathe is Feyd Rautha. He pulls out of you for a moment and you hate how empty you feel, you hate how weak you feel and the whine you let out as he flips you over onto your stomach. He grabs you by the hips and begins fucking into you from behind, one hand knotted in your hair and the other wrapped around your throat.
“No other man deserves your attention,” Feyd rasps, fucking you even deeper than before, his balls slapping against your ass, eyes rolling back in your head, your toes curling as your cunt squeezes around him, “Only I do. You’re mine. My wife.”
His hips stutter against yours, his entire body going tight as he spills his seed inside you, using his fingers to push back in any that threatens to leak out, his hands coaxing another climax from you. The two of you lay on the arena floor, catching your breath.
Then he says two words you never thought you’d hear.
“I’m sorry.”
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 11 days
Text
do you believe in us?
Tumblr media
description. from a young age, you and PAUL ATREIDES believe you belonged to the other, and foolishly thought you could one day marry. not even an unlikely marriage between your parents will diminish those beliefs.
includes. STEPCEST, SMUT MDNI 18+, fem!reader, oral (f receiving), childhood best friends to stepsiblings, instigator paul, appearances by lady jessica, duke leto, and duncan idaho, sparring, sneaking around
wc: 5.3k+
a/n: title from us by movement. artwork credit to revol404 on instagram. ao3 link
Tumblr media
When you were younger, you saw Castle Caladan for what it isn’t. 
In nearly all of your memories, Castle Caladan was warm and bright. The sun shone into the large windows, illuminating the gray hallways and providing a comforting warmth that seduced your young mind into seeing Castle Caladan as one of the residences from the fairytales your mother would tell you. In these memories you were always running and smiling, often hand-in-hand with your best friend. Your first love. 
Paul Atreides. 
Castle Caladan was the home of the person you cared about most. Therefore, visits were vacations. They were scarce, becoming more rare the older you got, but that only made you treasure them more. 
You and Paul would spend the entire day together, even going as far as to sneak out of your allocated bedrooms and tiptoe into the chambers of the other. In the morning, the maids would find two little bodies sharing a bed, hands reaching out to touch the other in the empty space between you both. 
And as you grew, you traded running around the halls for playing each other in chess. Playing throughout the fields was traded for walking along the shoreline. 
Sneaking into each other's bedroom only changed by the nature of intentions. You still ached to spend more time together, but the innocence of it was lost. In the solitude of the night, you would make up for the time lost during the day to Paul’s training as the heir, and your duties with your mother and Lady Jessica. 
When your mother broke the news, she misled you. 
“You will be permanently living with the Atreides family,” came her carefully chosen words. If she had not trained you, maybe it would’ve taken you longer to catch the implications. Maybe you would not have understood what circumstances had brought this upon your family until you were packing, or even until you were already en route to Caladan. 
Instead, it’s then and there that you realize how your chances have been lowered to none. 
Your mother had said your name, her tone as dry and disappointed as her eyes. “You will never be able to marry him. It is as I said.” 
And that was that. 
Your best friend becomes your step brother in the blink of an eye. Together, you made up the new and noble siblings of House Atreides. 
Your mother and Paul's father were married, and you and Paul now shared a last name. It was an immovable fact, no matter how often you and Paul attempted to convince each other of the opposite in moments of intense desperation. 
No matter how many times you tried to convince the other that marriage is a procedure that could be reversed should the need ever arise, you both knew that a reversal would be unlikely.
Duke Leto married your mother despite his clear love for Lady Jessica for security. If he could manage to commit such an act onto the one he loves, then there would be no undoing this.
Now, you see Castle Caladan for what it is. 
As beautiful as it is dreary. As cold as it is large. As encompassing as it is comforting. 
You sit at the breakfast table next to Paul and across from your mother. Lady Jessica sits at the end of the table, and Duke Leto, your stepfather, is absent. 
There’s no small talk, just the silent scraping of utensils against expensive china and the occasional audible gulp of fluid down throats. 
Every so often, you throw a curious glance Paul’s way, and the look he throws at you is in similar fashion. You both feel the stiffness in the air. 
Paul raises his eyebrows. He nudges them towards your mother and then his mother, and does the same with his eyes for emphasis. 
You slightly widen your eyes pointedly, your way of saying I know without having to say it. His lips pull up into a small smile and then you both turn back to face your plates. 
The tense silence continues for a while. Your mother addresses Lady Jessica. Lady Jessica addresses Paul. Your mother addresses you and Paul. 
And then your plates are cleaned and Paul is standing. 
“May we be excused?” 
It’s surprisingly a clear day outside, and you did not have to speak to Paul to know that he intended for both of you to enjoy the agreeable weather before Caladan was inevitably submerged in water once more later in the night. 
“You may be excused,” Lady Jessica confirms. 
You’re in the midst of rising from your seat and pushing the chair out from under you whenever you catch Lady Jessica’s eye. She does not say anything to you, but she does not need to. 
Just the cold gaze of her blue eyes alone are enough to make you sink back into your seat. From behind you, Paul calls your name. If you were not locked in a trance, you would have looked at him, you would have found the soothing blue-green of his eyes instead of the petrifying chill of his mothers. 
“I’ll see you later, Paul,” you tell him on your own volition, but you think that is what Lady Jessica wanted you to say anyway. 
She waits until the dining room is cleared of anyone other than you two before she begins to communicate. 
“You and my son…” Her words taper off and you are too busy focusing on the way her lips have only moved to take in another bite of her breakfast, and not to speak to you. 
While you understand the ways of the Bene Gesserit, it never fails to amaze you. 
“Ma’am?” You are playing dumb and both of you are aware. 
Still, Lady Jessica elaborates, “You both have had feelings for the other since you were young.” 
There is no room for denial so there is no reason for you to attempt it. You nod twice, casting your eyes down to your lap where your hands lay restlessly. You begin to pick at your nails as Lady Jessica continues. 
“And are those feelings still present?” 
Your answer comes entirely too quick. 
“No!” Your voice echoes around the room and you cringe. 
Lady Jessica lifts an eyebrow. She senses your dishonesty. 
You chew on your bottom lip for a moment. “Yes, ma’am. But we have not acted on them.” 
When she communicates this time, it is with her voice. 
“Good. You are a smart girl and your mother has raised you well. I’m sure you will make both of us proud.” She finishes off her food and sits straighter, wiping her mouth free of nonexistent residue with a white cloth. “Now I’m sure you have things to be getting to, right, dear?” 
You have never been happier to leave somewhere. You say your goodbyes as graciously as possible and leave the dining room. 
You’re in the training room exhausting yourself with slightly shaky jabs at the practice dummy whenever the door opens. There is a split second where you’re prepared to turn around and throw the next jab at the intruder, but then he speaks. 
“If I were Gurney I would chastise you for fighting with your back to the door.” 
You speak around your heavy  breaths. 
“Eyes in the back of my head, remember?” 
Your reference is one that goes back to you and Paul’s young teenage years. A phrase you confidently proclaimed once you and Paul both had begun extensive training, learning combat that could protect yourselves and your—then separate—family names should the need ever arise. (To this day, Paul is more formidable in combat than you are, but back then you could confidently hold your own.) 
Gurney had taken over training then, and he had allowed you and Paul to train together, solely because you were visiting during one of Paul’s less intense training sessions. 
(You believed that Gurney always had a soft spot for you and the Atreides heir. Not nearly as obvious as the one held by Duncan Idaho, but its existence is present within the weathered man.)
When Gurney had chastised you for fighting with your back to the door, you quickly quipped with a claim that you had eyes in the back of your head. When Gurney tossed a rock at your back, not big enough to provide more than a bruise against your skin, you were able to block it without turning around. 
Gurney was impressed. Paul was stunned. You attributed it to pure luck. Yet since then, it was never let go. 
When you begin to notice Paul approaching you, you credit your awareness of his movement to knowing him more than you knew your surroundings. You weren’t the most skilled warrior. Your mother belongs to a notable house, which forced you to learn slightly more than the basic survival skills. Some chastised her for withholding you from Bene Gesserit training, or perhaps more in depth training that would harden both your body and your mind. As far as she cared, you could hold your own in a fight, and that is all you needed. 
But you knew Paul. The ins and outs. Sometimes, late at night when you would allow the sickness of infatuation to fall upon you as you gazed at the stars, you liked to think that you and Paul were intertwined. You liked to convince yourself that your souls were intertwined and codependent. 
It is hard to dispute that claim when you know based on intuition alone that Paul is right behind you. 
(You can also feel his body heat and his presence behind you, but in your mind that is not nearly as romantic.)
You spin around to face Paul, your arms raised and body tensed with preparation to fight. 
Paul eyes your posture, cocks his head to the side, and mirrors it. 
It’s over quickly. 
Paul has your dagger thrown to the side within the first three movements. He has your hands restricted in his grasp in the next two movements. With just one more movement, he has your cheek and chest pressed against the wall with your hands bound behind your back. For just a moment more, he stands a respectable distance away from you. 
With the space between you both, the position could be passed off as friendly. The position could pass as the competitive nature it resembled. 
Until Paul takes a step closer and flushes his crotch against your backside, making you well aware of the stiff form within his trousers. 
For just a moment more, you let yourself revel in the feeling with your eyes closed, the rate of your breathing evening out now that you aren’t exerting yourself. You shimmy your hips just a bit, nestling Paul’s erection between your cheeks as best as you can with lack of movement and layers hindering your abilities. 
But then the moment is gone. You push it away when you speak. 
“Paul,” you intend for the syllables of his name to be a warning. At first, they come out as a pleading whine, so you clear your throat and try again. 
“Paul.” This time, it is firm and demanding. 
When Paul hums, it is against the shell of your ear. The proximity allows you to feel his voice instead of just hearing it, and you are instantly reminded of the times Paul had been on his knees between your legs and using the vibration that came from him to bring you pleasure you have not felt since. 
“We really shouldn’t.” You’re trying to convince both him and yourself. 
“Why shouldn’t we?” 
The question should not have to be asked. It is a question that should not need to be answered, for you both know what is preventing you from having the other in ways from before. 
You do not answer. Your forehead thuds against the wall, your warm breath rebounds against the wall and hits your lower face when you exhale. 
Paul starts to gently rock his hips into yours. His free hand, the one not restricting your movement, presses flat against the cement structure. 
When the pleasure increases, and your desire follows, you lift your head and let it lull to the side, resting the side of your skull against the toned muscles in Paul’s bicep. You start to give in. 
Your lips part in a moan devoid of any sound as Paul asks you again. 
“Tell me, my star. Why shouldn’t we?” 
He lets go of your hands, instead using his own for a more important cause. His palm glides up the side of your shirt until he reaches your breast. You cannot feel the warmth of his touch through your layers, but just the pressure alone is enough to have you choking around your words. 
“Because it’s not right, Paul,” you eventually tell him. 
Paul tuts. The hand on the wall meets your waist, his fingertips pressing into the area as he uses his grip to pull you back against him. 
“What d’you mean it’s not right?” He kisses the side of your neck and at this moment, you are considering letting him take you here and now. “It feels right, doesn’t it?” 
You’re nodding before he even finishes speaking. 
You had not realized just how bad you missed Paul until now. Your mind has conjured up images of him in your sleep, perfect replicas of his face created from memories of your time spent together and imagining what could be if you just release your inhibitions. When Paul gently sinks his teeth into the skin along your shoulder, it dawns on you that with just a bit more time, your dreams could easily walk into the waking world. 
Maybe you were just about to give in. Maybe Paul would have convinced you to let him finally have you. 
Either way, the moment is lost whenever Paul steps away from you, taking away all of the contact points in one singular move. 
You turn to face him with your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes already beginning to sting with rejection whenever the door opens. 
You turn your head, both stunned and grateful to see Duncan Idaho walking through, his stride strong and purposeful until he notices you standing in front of Paul. 
He takes a moment to cast his eyes between both of you. You watch his gaze flicker around the room, no doubt taking in as much information as he could, before he lands on you. 
“Didn’t know you were joining us today, Eyes.” It is no surprise that Duncan pulls on the same story from before for your nickname. Just as you have yet to let the anecdote go, he has yet to let the nickname go. 
“I’m not,” you tell him, attempting to subtly adjust your garments. It is clear that you were not as subtle as you could have been whenever Duncan eyes you up and down. You swear there is something akin to knowing on his face. 
“I was just leaving.” 
“Don’t leave on my accord. Paul could use more of a challenge, isn’t that right?” Duncan smiles teasingly and finally looks at your stepbrother. You do the same. 
(You are surprised to see that Paul does not look as flustered as you anticipated him to. You hope you did not pull the short stick.)
“Oh … yes.” Paul turns to face you with a smile similar to Duncan’s on his lips. “Join us … little sis.” The term of endearment sounds foreign coming from him. That is not the only reason why it makes you cringe. 
You understand that both of them are making a joke at your expense. There have been a few times where you foolishly joined Duncan and Paul during their sessions, only to get knocked on your ass by Paul and goaded into getting back up by Duncan. The cycle would continue until you could do nothing but lay in bed the next day, praying for a speedy recovery so you would not waste a day that could be spent in Paul's presence. 
Now that you live here, that one issue would be taken care of. Still, you prefer to be able to comfortably move around without bruises and aches restricting your movement. 
Although your mind is already made up, you cannot help but attempt to defend yourself. 
“Who says I haven’t gotten better?” 
Paul smirks. You both know that while you have improved, he has too. He will always be ahead of you. The compromising position you were in only a few minutes ago serves as proof. 
“Have you?” Duncan asks. 
Your reply comes in the form of dismissal, which you do as politely as you can, adding only slight annoyance to your tone that you could only display in the presence of Duncan and none of the other members of House Atreides. 
“Enjoy yourselves. Paul, I’ll see you at dinner.” 
Paul nods once and then you leave with the boisterous sound of Duncan’s laughter escorting you out. 
Dinner is much like breakfast. 
Duke Leto joins this time, which allows for much more conversation. But the stiff and tense air still permeates the dining room. It takes you half of your entree to decipher exactly where the energy is coming from, but it is so clear once it is revealed that you cannot help but beat yourself up over your previous confusion just a bit. 
Different from earlier in the morning, your mother sits at the head of the table with Duke Leto on the other end. Lady Jessica has been casted off and forced to sit across from you and Paul. She appears uncomfortable in the seat, constantly readjusting herself between quick statements that clearly express her discontent at the new arrangement. 
You would have focused more on the dramatics of your family dinner table if Paul were not toying with you beneath it. 
You are incredibly thankful that he kept his hands to himself, but his feet are just as insistent. Just as restless. 
They poke against yours constantly, not in an attempt to gather your attention as you would consistently send looks his way. Never were they returned. He would either be discussing his day with his father, talking to either of your mothers, or focused on the diminishing food on his plate. 
There were a few occasions where you thought Paul’s actions were accidental. You would draw your foot back, but when his covered toes found yours once more, you knew it to be another one of his games. It was juvenile and childish, but you found yourself allowing it to happen. 
You would take any form of Paul’s touch, so long as it did not compromise too much. 
You repeat your philosophy in your mind over and over again like the sayings of the Bene Gesserit whenever Paul approaches you. 
You stand in the center of your bedroom in your night clothes. Your curtains are still open, exposing the vast nothingness that the sea presents itself as since the sun has set. The stars twinkle above, and you had already prepared yourself for a night of tracing constellations before Paul entered. 
He stands in front of you, dressed just as down as you are. His hair is still a little wet from bathing, and you briefly recount the many times you played with the curls until they began to dampen and eventually dry. Each time, his hair would look unkempt in the mornings, but Paul never cared. He claimed that his hair was just a reminder of the night he spent with you. 
You would pretend to be unaffected by his sweet talking, only to flush at the memory of his words later in the day. 
“Are you listening to me, my star?” His words pull you from your senseless daydreaming. 
“What was that?” 
Paul’s lips tug up in the corners as he dips his head for a moment. When he looks at you once more, he takes a step closer. 
You knew why he was here in the first place, but the advance of his hand reaching for your waist still has your breath hitching. 
“I was wondering if you would let me have a taste of you.” 
He stares at you, waiting for an answer. Meanwhile, you are losing yourself as you continue to look into his eyes, analyzing the way his long and dark eyelashes add depth to them for the millionth time. 
Eventually, the raise of his eyebrows cue you. 
“Paul,” you start with a soft tone, an attempt to keep it neutral. But Paul knows you just as well as you know him. Possibly even better. 
He senses the impending rejection woven in just the syllables of his name. 
He sighs. He pulls you closer by your hips. He rests his forehead against yours and presses his hands into your lower back. 
He says your name. No, he breathes it. His breath hits your lips before you part them. With his next exhale, you inhale. The pattern continues until Paul prepares to speak, but you interrupt him. 
“She knows.” 
You do not have to specify exactly who you are talking about. 
Paul sighs again, this time as if he is defeated. 
“Of course she knows. My mother is all knowing, didn’t you know?” He speaks with faux amusement. He’s lighthearted, and the emotion is completely misplaced. 
“We can’t go back to doing this, Paul.” 
He begins to speak over you, but you continue. 
“Paul, we can’t. No. No. It’s too dangerous. It’s too–”
“We can. Yes, we can, my star. Look at me–” 
You do as told, removing the touch of your foreheads from the others to look at each other head on once more. 
“What are you so afraid of?” 
The question is so simple. The answer is, too. It is one you have run over in your head day in and day out since moving in just a few months ago. It is the same response you reminded yourself of whenever Paul would touch you, even if it were just an accidental graze of his knuckles against yours. 
The difficulty comes with admittance. 
But in the safe confines of your bedroom, with nothing but the moon, stars, and sea as a witness, you open your mouth. 
“I’m afraid of losing you.” 
Paul shakes his head gently, sending little water droplets flying. 
“You will never lose me. You know that.” 
“Yes, I will, Paul.” 
“No. Why would you say that? We live together now. We’re bound together.” 
It takes a moment to wring yourself out of Paul’s touch, and when you do, he keeps his hands suspended in the air without making any attempts to straighten his posture. He looks dejected. 
You approach your window, staring off into the distance as you say, “Exactly. We are bound together in ways that will never reach marriage. We cannot get married.” 
Paul’s footsteps are near silent as he approaches you. 
“Does that mean you cannot be mine and I cannot be yours? What we have will always transcend marriage, my star.”
When you do not bother to respond, there is a resounding thud. 
You look to your side to find Paul on his knees before you. You, the bastard daughter, have brought the heir of House Atreides to his knees. Like this, with the low lighting in your bedroom reflecting the highest points of his cheekbones and emphasizing the valleys along the plane of his face, it is easy to remind yourself that Paul Atreides is just as much of a bastard as you. 
You two are in this together. Why should you not be together as well?
You are already planning to accept when he begs. 
“Please? Just one taste and I will let you be if that is what you wish. You have my word.” 
Typically, Paul is a man of his word. When you were kids and you accidentally knocked over a vase, a gift from another of the houses, Paul never told a soul just as he promised. When you had the tiniest crush on Duncan and let Paul in on the secret, he never told. He had given you his word both times. 
It is this time when you first are made aware of Paul’s capacity for dishonesty. 
Either way, you lift the skirt of your nightgown. 
Paul fits between your legs without much difficulty at all. While it may have been a while since you allowed yourselves this delicacy, it is as easy as breathing to return to the routine. 
Paul begins to lick and suck at your essence with appreciation derived from deprivation. His hands press into the fat of your backside, either to hold you steady or keep you flush against him. In any case, you are securely pressed against Paul’s mouth and he has no intention of letting you go anytime soon. 
You feel similarly, throwing your leg over his shoulder and digging the heel of your foot into the defined muscles of his back. Your hand presses against the glass plane beside you when Paul puckers his lips and sucks along your clit. 
The position calls for some maneuvering. You bend your standing leg, then grip Paul’s curls with your freehand, pulling him just a little closer to your center. His tongue has slid down to your hole and bringing him closer has bumped his nose against your clit. The bud catches the ridge of it, and you shamelessly run your hips side to side in an attempt to catch it again. Paul, noticing your efforts, does it for you. 
He grabs your ass just a bit tighter, adjusting your robes with one hand before returning to his handfuls, and then he shakes his head just enough to provide the stimulation you were searching for. He dips his tongue into your entrance, brings it back out, and repeats the movement. Coupled with the alternating shake of his nose against your clit, and your recent abstinence, you are close sooner than you would have preferred. 
You sacrifice your minute control over him when you free his hair from your hands, and instead imprison the linen fabric of your gown within your grasp. You pull your garb up, scrunching the fabric into your hand to get a look at Paul. 
When his eyes are revealed, they are already casted up towards you. They crinkle at the corners as if he is smiling at you, and the shape you feel against your cunt is confirmation. When he peels away from you there is a visible erotic sheen across his lips. 
“I forgot how good you taste.” 
He speaks to you casually, in a fashion to the conversations of nonsensical small talk you had been subjected to earlier in the day. 
For some reason, this makes your head spin. 
You nudge your hips back in Paul’s direction and he does not have to be told to return to work. 
There is so much slip and slide between your legs that you cannot tell what is your arousal and what is his saliva. The combination of fluids multiples whenever Paul slides a finger in your entrance, slinking it along your insides before he finds the spot. He pays extra attention to it, watching you as he slips another finger in to join it without much time in between. 
You have not been aware of the volume of your moans until Paul begins to flick your clit with his tongue, after which a croaky sound slips past your lips and it is entirely too loud for the circumstances. 
Your hand slaps over your mouth before you can stop it. 
Paul shakes his head, removing his lips from you but not his fingers. He chastises you. 
“Don’t do that to me, my star.” 
That is all he has to say for you to remove your hand and continue to let the sounds that encourage him spill out. 
(Luckily, your sleeping quarters exist further away from the other’s.)
It is only a few more moments before your lower abdomen tenses and an orgasm seizes control of your body without much warning in advance. You grip your robes for stability, press your fingers into the glass of the window, and keep Paul close with your leg wound around his shoulders. 
He had no intention of leaving at all. He continues to lick at you, now incorporating a loud slurp that is seemingly intended to clean you up.
When the twitching of your muscles has ceased, both of your feet have rejoined the floor for only a minute before Paul has your legs wrapped around his waist. 
He carries you off towards your bed. 
“May I continue?” he asks as he lays you on your back at the foot of the furniture. 
There is no hesitation when you tell him, “Please do.” 
You heard the hushed whispers echoing throughout the hall, spreading information that should have solely remained private to your personal quarters.
"They appear to be close. Too close," came from the voices of your maids, spoken with excitement as the thrill from sharing tales that did not concern them flooded their bodies. Like always, they were in small huddles, bodies curved into each other, their postings abandoned as they assumed that no Atreides would be wandering the halls at this house.
Except you were.
Your lightweight garbs noiselessly tap against your ankle with each careful step, freed from the extensive jewelry you were usually kept in throughout the day. As of late, your mother has been presenting you as a jewel in an attempt to delude the Houses into forgetting that you are a bastard. House Atreides wanted for you to be seen as the potential for great alliances. 
Paul was presented the same.
Marriage became the topic of conversation more often, and you and Paul played the parts you needed to. 
You played the parts necessary to continue this. 
His door is cracked just enough for you to silently slip in. 
“They were talking about us again.” The lack of romance within Paul’s greeting words do not matter as much when his hands wind around your hips. 
Still, you can’t help but tease him just a bit. Your hands find his shoulders, palms easily gliding back until you can comfortably tug at his dark curls. 
“Could you at least tell me you missed me before we dive into Castle gossip? What happened to romance, Paul?” 
He smiles at you like he had been expecting you to say something along those lines. He leans in, pressing his lips to your cheeks and then your nose.
“Hello, my love. How I’ve missed you so. I have no idea how I lasted this long without you.” He is exaggerating. It has only been a couple of days since you and Paul last met into the hours of the night. 
You scoff and gently slap his shoulders. You do not bother hiding the effect of his words on you. 
“I heard the maids talking on my way down here.” You dive into repeating the words echoing around the concrete castle walls, but the way Paul looks at you is distracting you. His green eyes plainly flicker from your eyes to your lips, back and forth, back and forth, with a speed that says he does not want to be caught in the act. His lips, slightly chapped but no less appealing, are parted, allowing his tongue to briefly appear before disappearing back into his mouth. 
You let your words taper off. 
“You can kiss me, you know.” 
He nods once. When he speaks, his voice is a gentle whisper. “I know. I just didn’t want to interrupt you.” 
“Luckily I’m done now.” 
Paul kisses you with familiarity. 
You knew that no matter what, you and Paul would be married off to others. But in your deluded mind, you figured that you might as well have fun while you could. You might as well pretend that Paul Atreides was yours, and you were his, until eventually that would be forced to change. 
1K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 11 days
Text
Little Hare
Requests:
Request: Dark Feyd writes his name on the reader’s back with his dagger.
Wordcount: 3.1K+
Masterlist
Description: A party where you didn't know anyone would be awful. But it is to honor your husband and his success on the planet and there is nothing you wouldn't do for him. Until Feyd believes you have disgraced him and he'll have to punish you.
A/N: First fic for Feyd it isn't as dark as I wanted it to be but I hope you all enjoy it. I had fun writing this and will definitely love to write more of him either with this reader or not. This is the same reader from my Feyd HC.
Warning: Dark Feyd. Blood lots of blood, crying, pain, dacryphilia, possessive/ jealous Feyd, murder, violence, death, dagger kink. Smut, breeding kink, dubcon,
Tumblr media
“Na-Baroness, would you care for some wine?” The male servant asks for a second time. This time, Irulan nudges your shoulder. Reminding you that is who you are now. You are no longer a Princess, but the wife of Feyd-Rautha.
“Oh, forgive me,” you apologize, curtsying lowly to the servant. Irulan scoffed by your side, but you paid her no attention. “I am still unused to the title.”
The servant, like most people that were graced with a smile from you, flushed and shook his head. “You never need to apologize, Na-Baroness. Would you prefer to be addressed as princess?”
You wanted to. You liked being a princess. You liked the kind smiles you realized when you were just the emperor’s daughter. Now you get looks of caution, worry, and pity when someone addresses you. All in fear of your blood-thirsty husband.
Your marriage was still in its early days with the wedding taking place only 2 months prior. You were often fell somewhere in the middle of terrified and fascinated by your husband. You were told almost nothing about him until the day of your wedding and then it was only his awful points.
And you didn’t blame them. He was an awful man, but he was also ambitious and strong and there were moments when you saw an actual man within him. One that made sure your favorite foods were stalked on the planet Arrakis or took walks with you late at night. Claiming the warriors were not equipped enough to guard you.
“That is very kind of you, to think of my comfort, but I will have to get used to it,” you said, kindly touching the servant's hand gently for only a moment. “And I also am not drinking wine tonight. If there is any Rossie's cider, I would love a glass.”
The servant flushed more and bowed to you. “Right away, princess,” he said before walking away.
You smiled despite yourself at the term turning to face Irulan’s scowl. “You must stop being so nice to everyone. And you shouldn’t allow him to tell you, Princess. You are not a princess once more.” Her tone was harsh and her glare cold, but you knew it was all for concern for you.
“Irulan, we don’t see each other often”—you said, watching her face soften at your soft words—“Let’s not fight, dear sister.”
Sighing she took your hands in hers. “I am not meaning to pick a fight. You just need to be smarter. I doubt your husband would be pleased to know that you are allowing people to call you anything that isn’t tied to him.”
You nodded, squeezing her hands before letting go. “I am thankful for your concern, Irulan,” you said.
A Bene Gesserit hovered in the shadows and called your sister to her. Irulan hesitated for only a moment before disappearing leaving you to stand alone. Baron Harkonnen was throwing a party for the success your husband’s been having on the planet and members of all the great houses were in attendance.
People that you never had to interact with as your father and the Bene Gesserit kept you isolated from everyone. When you married Feyd most people were shocked to even know you existed. Most avoid you, believing there was some horrible reason you were kept a secret and in fear of your husband.
Sighing softly, you made your way to the corner of the room so you could see everything without having to engage. The servant from before ran over to you. Out of breath, he bowed deeply and presented you with the drink you requested.
“For you, my princess,” he said.
Touched, you placed your hand over your heart and took the glass of cider from his tray. “Thank you so much. I hope it didn’t cause you a lot of trouble getting this.”
“No, princess it cost nothing to serve you.”
You smiled in appreciation when a chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. You glanced over the servant’s head to see the dark eyes of your husband. You opened your mouth in shock and your hands shook slightly causing the drink to splash into your dress.
“My Na-Baron. How are you”—Reyd glare cuts through you and stalls your words. He pulled his dagger from his side and stalked closer to you and the servant, who was staring at the ground and shaking.
“Now, what are you two talking about? Do not let me stop you,” he spoke with a growl in his voice that had the servant and your breath catching. When neither of you spoke up, his patience left him, and he grabbed the servant by the neck and drove his dagger into his neck.
You gasped and closed your eyes as the blood poured from the wounded. Feyd grabbed the back of your neck. “Fucking look at what you caused,” he ordered.
Listening to him, your eyes opened, and you watched as he pulled the dagger across the servant’s throat and pulled out harshly. The blood sprayed all over you and tears burned your eyes. The room had gone silent, and everyone watched the two of you.
“Turns out it does cost something to serve you,” Feyd laughed tightening his grip on your neck as he forced you out of the hall and towards your shared bedroom. You didn’t struggle and tried to stop your tears from falling, though you knew he didn’t mind. In fact, he loved making you cry and licking the tears from your face.
Feyd kicked the door open and tossed you inside as he slammed the door behind you both and locked it. You stumble but quickly regain your footing to turn around and face your husband. Well, you face his feet as you know he does not want to see your eyes.
“My sweet hare. Who would have thought you would also be a harlot,” he said amused, but the anger was barely restrained in his tone.
Your tears flowed heavily down your cheeks. “Never, my lord,” you whispered.
He hummed. “Speak up if you have something to say to me.”
Your hands shook but you interlocked your fingers and squeezed them together. You slowly lift your head to stare at Feyd. He stood against the door, his arms crossed over his chest and the bloody dagger still in his head. He wore an expression of amusement, lust, and violence.
“I said never, my lord. I am not a harlot. I am your wife, your servant, your hare,” your tone turned to a whine of desperation at the end. You were made for him. To be his and you would never do anything to displease him. In the months since your wedding, you have grown more loyal to him, not because you had to be but because you wanted to be.
“Are you sure about that, princess,” he mocked crossing the space between you in quick strides. He took in your bloody face and dress. The tear marks down your face and your expression. So soft, innocent, and loyal to him.
How you could still be so sweet and pure after the things he’s done to you is a mystery, but he thanks the stars each night for it. Roughly grabbing your cheeks, he dug his nails into them. “You belong to me. I could have had you as a slave or a concubine, but I was generous. I made you, my wife. My Na-baroness.” His nails dug further into your face until he tore the skin and now your own blood mixed with the servant.
“Please, My lord. I am yours. I live to please you,” you were sobbing now, and the sound was music to his ears. He couldn’t help but lean closer and lick from your jaw to the crown of your head. He moaned at the mixture of salt and iron on his tongue, but it wasn’t enough to sate the beast that was woken when he saw your sweet smile aimed at another. At your hand on someone’s arm even if only for a moment.
“Do I seem pleased, little harlot?”
You cried harder. You wanted to be his hare again. He good little wife. You cursed yourself for not listening to your sister. You should have stayed by his side all night. You should have taken the wine and not spoken to anyone. “My lord, my husband, my Na-Baron, please forgive me. What can I do to please you? To gain your good grace again?”
He chuckled at your desperation Your hands were tightly gripping the side of his shirt without you even noticing. You were just too perfect. Your tears were almost as good as blood. A light went off in his mind and smirked darkly.
Shoving you away from him, Feyd licked his fingers before aiming his dagger at you. You stared between the two in confusion, but eagerness and hope shined through your eyes. He rolled his eyes but laughed slightly.
“On your knees and clean it off. That should be something familiar to you.” He spoke.
His words stung. You had only been on your knees for him. “Yes, my lord,” you said anyway. Dropping to your knees you placed your hand behind your back and slowly stuck out your tongue and licked the sharp tip.
You winced as the tip pierced your tongue, but you took a shaky breath and dragged your tongue along the dagger until there was no more blood and it was dripping in your spit. You looked up at Feyd, hoping that he was happy, but his expression was void of any emotions. You deflated slightly.
“Open your mouth.”
You did without question, and he spat into your mouth. You shivered and you felt your face heat as the area between your thighs dampened. You were ashamed to admit that your fascination with your husband also came with a deep desire for him. He was so dangerous and beautiful and the things he did to you were shameful, but you enjoyed them as well.
Feyd could see the desire in your eyes and couldn’t wait to watch it turn to horror. He dropped to his knees in front of you and roughly turned you around until your hands were gripping the edge of your bed. His dagger makes quick work to cut off the back of your dress and you are quick to help him remove it from your body.
“Eager little thing you are,” he chuckled. “Do you think I am going to fuck you?”
You froze, glancing over your shoulder at him. You wanted him to. You wanted to beg him to but that is not what good wives do. “Whatever you wish to do, I am eager for, husband.”
“I will assess that,” he smirked. The fear flicked in the outer rings of your eyes, and he groaned. Leaning closer he licked your face once more. “I will make sure you and everyone know who you belong to.”
You were afraid, the sadistic look in his eyes you’d seen before when he was fighting. You swallowed shakingly but didn’t hide your fear from him. Feyd grabbed your jaw and kissed you aggressively. As if he hated you and you were both locked in a fight to the death. It was animalistic, frightening, and addictive.
All too soon he broke the kiss and forced you to face forward. Not being able to see what he was going to do only increased your fear and desire. He was breathing heavily, panting like a wild animal. And you were glad. He was a beast, and you were his hare that needed to be claimed. This was familiar, and you can deal with that.
And then his dagger was pressing into your back, breaking the first layer of skin, and going deeper. You screamed out and thrashed against him. Feyd gripped the back of your neck and pinned you down on the bed.
“Be still and prove to me you are my little hare.”
“Okay, my lord,” you weep. His hand did not leave your throat and his dagger dug deeper. You screamed, closing your eyes, and begging for the pain to stop. The pain was unlike anything you’ve ever felt, and your body shook as it tried to process what was going on. Your mind grew fussy, and you felt as if you were going to pass out and you couldn’t wait.
“No, stay with me. Endure it for me. For your husband,” He growled, shaking your neck. You whined and begged for his forgiveness. His dagger dug in and out of your skin, curving and carving out your skin.
Your screams quieted to pained moans and whimpers. You could feel the blood dripping down your back. Some already drying as it went on forever. Finally, he stopped, and his hand left your neck. Where you were sure his handprints would bruise.
You sniffled lying your head on the bed exhausted. Feyd moved his lie his head next to yours taking in your swollen and wet face. Your eyes were far away and bloodshot and you tried to focus on him.
“My little hare, you did such an excellent job. I’m proud of you,” he said. His hand pushed your sweaty heart out of your face in something close to affection. His thumb ran along your cheeks, wiping under your eyes. He forced his thumb into your mouth, and you obeyed his unspoken command and sucked.
Feyd's free hand moved along your back. Ghosting between the letters that he carved there. His eyes locked on yours as he mouthed each letter to you as he traced them. F.E.Y.D R.A.U.T.H.A
“Feyd Rautha,” you said quietly when his thumb left your mouth.
He smirked and grabbed your jaw. “And who is that?”
“You. My lord, my Na-Baron, and my husband.”
“And now everyone will know it.” He said getting up from the bed. “I will have all new dresses made for you. In black with the back open. Everyone from every corner of the universe will know that you belong to me.”
His voice sounded far away or as if you were underwater. Your eyes followed him until he was no longer in sight. “I suppose, I should reward you for being good to me,” he hummed getting on his knees behind you.
You wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, but your mouth felt dry, and you had no energy to do anything. Or you didn’t until he started pushing your thighs apart and you tried to crawl up the bed and away from his fingers that started to probe your hole. You whined but three quick and harsh swats to your ass had you stop trying to get away.
Feyd cared little for your comfort as he watched the blood from your back pool down your back and slide between your legs. You were already so wet for him and if not, the blood was lubrication enough. He groaned as he forces two of his thick fingers inside of you and your cunt hungrily sucked them in.
“Hunger little cunt. Do you want my cock?’ He asked, pulling his pants off and stroking his thick cock a slowly teasing himself. He coated his cock in your blood before thrusting all eight inches into you in one go.
You choked and your body froze and tightened up. Feyd groaned and kissed the bottom of your spine, lapping up the blood. “You will be in more pain if you don’t relax. I will fuck you open either way,” he reminded you. Your blood was his favorite drink in the world, and it drove him mad.
You nodded taking deep breaths and trying to focus on the pleasure and not the pain still shooting through your body. “Please,” you said, unsure if you were asking for him to stop or make you forget the pain.
Either way, Feyd only had his own interest at heart. Grabbing your waist, he pulled you back on his cock as he pounded into you repeatedly growly lowly as you cried and begged him over and over. His cock reached so deep inside of you with each thrust. Feyd grabbed your ass squeezing harshly as he chased his release.
Your back ached and your cunt was growing sore from his relentless thrust. You tightened around him, and your knuckles turned white with how hard you were holding onto the sheets on the bed. Feyd couldn’t help himself and ran his fingers along your back. Pressing into the letters he carved. More blood oozed from your back, and you couldn’t stop the fight to get away from him.
He chuckled and dug his nails into his name. “Where are you going?” He pulled you back harshly and picked up speed as despite yourself you came around his cock, squirting all over you both. He laughed louder pressing his chest against your back. Fedy grabbed the side of your head and forced you to look into his dark eyes. “Tell me, who do you belong to?”
“You, Feyd. I belong to you,” you cried.
“And how were you made for? Who is going to breed you and keep you all to himself?”
“You. Only you Feyd-Rautha,” your eyes rolled in the back of your head, and you came again, your body moving against him. You cried at the pain it caused you and you screamed at the pleasure he was giving you.
Feyd slapped your face, forcing you to look at him once more. “Let me see those little eyes,” he grinned. He smeared your own blood all over your face before his tongue licked it all away. He repeated this twice more before his hips drove hard into you one last time as he filled you with his seed.
“Take my seed, little hare. This is why you were made for me. To be bred, broken, and used by me,” he said, fucking his cum deeper inside of you. You could do nothing but lie there gasping and taking what he was giving you. He stayed pressed against you both of you covered in sweat, blood, and cum.
Pealing his body off of your broken one, he stood up and looked down at his work. Your body shook and blood still ran down your back. He smirked satisfied with himself and slapped your ass. “Good girl. You have earned my forgiveness and favor once more.” He leaned closer whispering in your ear. “Be wise to keep it. Unless you want more reminders.”
You shivered at the threat but nodded softly, your eyes closing. You were in so much pain and you were unsure if you were hallucinating or not when a hand ran through your hair and a kiss was pressed to your forehead.
“Rest, little hare. I will have a bath drawn and some salve to make sure your mark heals property.”
Tumblr media
Taglist.
I didn't add my normal taglist so let me know if you would like to be added to Feyd's taglist as well to my normal taglist people and of course to anyone else who wants to be tagged in his fics or any of my other fics.
832 notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 11 days
Text
This was SO hot omg! 😍 in love
Birthday Present
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Feyd-Rautha x Lady Reader
Synopsis: During a state visit, you, a daughter of one of the great houses, have captured the attention and fatal attraction of the Na-Baron and were quickly turned into his promised wife. 
Warnings: ¿Enemies to Lovers-ish?, Arranged Marriage, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Blood Play, Fingering, Choking, Violence, Murder , Over Stimulation, Not Proofread
Word Count: 5,900 (pls bear with me)
Finally watched Dune: Part Two and needed to make a quick little fic because another psychopath to obsess over with has been unlocked.
Tumblr media
You dreaded for this day to come. You begged your father and brother to just leave you in the safety and comfort of your home, but still, they insisted— practically forced you to join them in the business venture they will partake in Giedi Prime. You walked out of the royal ship with your brother by your side, trying hard not to let the frown slip your face, especially when your fine dress had lost its color due to the planet’s black sun. Your eyes trailed around those who were present as a welcoming party for your kin, “Why are they all bald?” You whispered to your brother, who could not help but snort a laugh at your question. It was unnerving to look at them; no warmth nor life was evident. You were escorted inside the palace and it was barely different from the outside, still bleak and dark and plain. 
You feel curious eyes trail you as you walk with your family, who are being escorted to meet Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. You clenched your jaw and held your breath as you were met with the head of House Harkonnen. You heard tales about him and his state, but none could prepare you enough to be met with him face to face. If you had thought his subjects were already unnerving to look at, you would gladly give up the gift of sight just as long as you no longer had to see nor remember the image of the gruesome Baron. You quickly planted your eyes on the ground, having looked enough at the man who floated about in the middle of the room that you had missed the way that dark blue eyes were planted steadily on your frame. 
“Welcome to Giedi Prime, your Grace,” You hear the Baron greet your Duke father, and you stay silent and hope that they would be quick with the pleasantries and let you retire to rest after the long journey to their dreary planet. You hear the baron address your brother, making him step forward, and you pray for your presence to be ignored, but alas, your name was called, and you feel all eyes upon you. “A beauty this one is, your grace… she looks just like her mother,” The Baron mussed, and you could only offer a tight smile at his praise because you had no recollection of what your mother looked like because the price of your life was hers. You backed away and took your place next to your brother once more as the Baron began to introduce his kin. 
“My nephews, Glossu Rabban,” the baron introduced, and your brother nudged you to raise your gaze and show your host respect and recognition. You did as told and locked eyes with the dark blue orbs that had been entranced upon you ever since you entered the throne room. “And Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha,” You swallowed thickly and turned stiff as the heir to House Harkonnen stepped down and walked toward your direction. Your linked arms with your brother tightened as the Na-Baron paused before you, bowing and taking your hand into his cold ones before placing a kiss on your knuckles. Feyd-Rautha wanted to smirk at the wide-eyed and blushing state he placed you in. The only greeting you gave him was a quick curtsy and a mumble of “My Lord,” The Na-Baron returned to his place at the right hand of his uncle and kept his gaze tranced on you. 
“How long are we to stay here?” You asked your father as he and your brother escorted you to your chambers. “Until the treaties are settled,” your father replied, and you scrunched your nose as the eyes of Harkonnen subjects followed you wherever you went. “They’re all staring at you,” Your brother mumbled, noticing the curious gazes as well. “Maybe they haven’t seen anyone with color or hair yet,” You distractedly said as you looked behind, the pair of dark blue eyes still haunting and following your every move. “Did I really have to come here?” You asked your father with a frown. “Yes. We could not leave you alone for an extended period— what will happen if our planet suddenly goes to war and you were there, left alone?” Your father asked, his protectiveness shining through. “Then I’d be surrounded by our army and best warriors.” You replied and earned a stern look from your father. “What am I even supposed to do here?” You grumbled and ceased by the door of your guest chambers. “You can explore the planet— do some sightseeing.” He answered, but that only severe your frown. “Sightsee what? Everything here is either black or gray— either bleak or depressing” You said, making your father sigh. “Just get ready for dinner,” He said, and you gave up on fighting them and their decision to drag you to the planet. 
A knock sounded out in your barren chambers. You understood that the palace was pushing some kind of aesthetic, but they took it to an extremity. There was literally just a bed and an armchair in your chambers. A very stark difference from your own room or even the guest chambers in your planet’s palace. Your handmaid opened the door whilst you looked at yourself in the mirror; you were to be escorted by your brother and were expecting him by the door, but hearing the gasp from your handmaid told you otherwise. You looked toward the chamber room door and saw the Na-Baron standing by its threshold; your maid stood by the side, head hung low, and was quietly trembling in fear. 
“Can we help you, Na-Baron?” You asked and smoothened the fabric of your gown. Trying your best not to appear unnerved by his dark gaze or his imposing demeanor. “I am to escort you to the dining room, my lady,” He said and offered his arm for you to take; you made no move to do so. “Oh…my brother was—“ you slightly frown as he cuts you off. “He is already there with your father,” He said, and you licked your lips and hesitantly nodded, having no choice but to take his offer to escort you. 
Feyd eyes curiously at the gown you fashioned and the decorations in your hair. You were a deep and vivid contrast between him and his planet. Your dress made of velvet trained behind you, the heavy and overflowing cloth cutting through the silence between you and the heir of House Harkonnen. You did not know if you should converse with him or just remain silent. And if you did choose the former, what topic of conversation would you even propose to the fearsome— psychotic warrior that is the Na-Baron? 
“How are you finding Giedi Prime, my lady?” His deep and raspy voice cut through the silence, and you thought of an embellished reply that would not offend the warrior. “Different… I— it is most unique, Na-Baron,” You manage to say after a short while, Feyd noting how you struggled to give a kind reply, your brows in a furrow, and your lips would open and close as you thought of what to say. 
You finally could breathe freely, and your stiffened form turned lax when the Na-Baron escorted you to your seat next to your brother and let go of his hold on your hand. You tried your best to keep your gaze away from any of the Harkonnens as you feared they would immediately see the fear and agitation in your eyes. “Is this human?” You lowly whispered to your brother, poking the cut of unidentified meat on your plate. Feyd smirked to himself as he heard the fear in your voice— overly wary, and it would seem the tales of their house had been implanted in your pretty little head. “It is cattle, my lady… but if you do prefer human flesh, our cooks could arrange that for you,” Feyd-Rautha relished at how your eyes widened and your cheeks blossomed with color once more. It was an interesting reaction that he had never been accustomed to see. “No, this is fine,” You quickly said and did not miss the amused smirk on the Na-Baron’s pale lips. 
Tumblr media
The following day, you were set to tour around the planet with your brother along with the Na-Baron. You three had just stepped out of the palace and into the light of the black sun when your brother was suddenly summoned to attend the negotiations. You took a sharp breath and turned to your sibling, widening your eyes and silently willing him not to leave you alone in the presence of the Na-Baron. Your brother could only shrug and place a quick, chaste kiss on the top of your head as he ran back inside the castle walls. 
An awkward and uneasy silence followed you and your host as the tour began. Guards following the both of you in the direction of a large structure— that is as specific as you can get as the resident of the planet has still said no word as to where he was leading you. 
“This… is the arena,” the Na-Baron finally said, and you could hear the delight in his tone as if the brutal and triangular infrastructure had brought him calm and serenity. You nodded your head and wandered your eyes upon the high walls and countless seats that surrounded you. “You shall return here soon enough, a special celebration to take place in a few days,” You hear him say as your gaze was still stuck high above where you were guessing private boxes were placed. When Feyd did not hear your reply, he stepped closer and boldly placed a hand on your waist, making you jump in shock and quickly step away. “You don’t talk much, do you?” He asked. He usually was quiet, only speaking when he thought it necessary and the silence he provided brought an additional sense of mystery to him. But with you… he could not restrain himself as he felt the want— the need to speak. An urge he had never had before, an urge he could no control. 
“I prefer more to listen, my lord,” you answered, a white lie on your lips. You love to talk and blab about anything and everything, but you just did not want to exercise such habits with or around him, fearing he’ll grow annoyed by your yapping and slit your throat— a habit you heard he was fond of. You heard the Na-baron hum, and you avoided his gaze as he stared you down, as if trying to deduce if what you had said was the truth.
You followed the Na-Baron as he led you to more sights and structures that the Harkonnens take pride in. But everywhere you two went, you could not be rid of the curious and wondering gazes that followed. It was not a new scene; being a duke’s daughter meant you had been accustomed and exposed to the public. But being exposed and stared at and gawked at by people so different than you felt entirely unnerving. It made your skin crawl and your body tense uncomfortably. Your once proud and straight stature turned demure and small as you walked the dark and gray halls of the castle, you being the only thing of color and vividness in there, making you feel out of place and suffocated by the plainness.  
The Na-Baron escorted you back to the guest wing and paused by your door; you quickly curtsied and disappeared behind the metal doors to finally put some space and distance between you and the lord you had been forced to spend the day with. Feyd’s jaw clenched as the metal doors closed upon him; if it were anyone else, his patience would have run thin, and he would not looked kindly upon your impertinence. But even in your boorish actions, the Na-Baron could not help but find it amusing— possibly even endearing. 
As you were finished being prepared for yet another dinner, you turned to the doors once more at the sound of the opening, revealing your brother. “How was the tour?” He asked and sat by your bed as you stood in the mirror and adorned yourself with the precious metals and jewels. “When are we to leave? I… I would very much like to return home.” Was your reply as you still felt your skin crawl at how the eyes of the Na-Baron would asses you and your every move. “That bad, huh?” Your brother mused, and you sighed heavily. “I do not like it here, brother… I cannot… this place is entirely bleak and depressing.” You reasoned, and your brother only shook his head at your bellyaching. 
“They barely even have furniture! Their sun is black… there are no gardens or greenery and flowers to admire— I am quite literally the most vivid thing here!” You suddenly exploded, but your brother could only laugh. “Just a few more days, sister… we were most productive earlier. You’ll only have to endure this planet and its plainness for a few days more,” Your brother said, and you solemnly nodded your head, willing yourself to endure and be patient as your whole being wanted nothing but to return home. 
Tumblr media
True to the Na-Baron’s words, you and your kin were in the triangular arena a few days later. A grand celebration for the birthday of the heir of House Harkonnen. Feyd-Rautha stepped out into the black sun and walked onto the pit with the screams and cheers of his house’s subjects. His eyes cast above and searched for only one being— an attention he seeks to be entranced upon him. The Na-Baron felt his lips curl wickedly as your eyes were upon him, seated in the royal box next to your brother. Your expression trying not to show contempt or disapproval. The Na-Baron was known for his skills in fighting— he is the greatest warrior there is. Everyone was impressed and in awe by his skills in combat, and he was certain that it, too, would impress you. 
You clenched your jaw and turned your head to the side as the Na-Baron was relentless in fighting the remaining members of House Atreides. You planted your gaze on your lap and fisted the fabric of your dress as you hear the land of steel and the grunts of prisoners. You took a deep inhale as your brother nudged you once more, urging you to watch the scene as it would be an offense if the Baron caught you ignoring the efforts of his favored nephew. You swallowed thickly and returned your eyes towards the men who fought; there was only one opponent now. 
Feyd-Rautha returned his gaze to you, delighting as you still had your eyes upon him. There was only one prisoner now, only one more man between him and the amazement he thought he would garner from you with his violent display. But as Feyd-Rautha set his eye on the final prisoner, his jaw ticked, and his hold on his blade tightened as he noticed that the Atreides prisoner was not drugged. He turned his spiteful gaze to his uncle, the vile man simply smirking and giving a nod of his head. Dark blue eyes flickered at you, who had her lip between he teeth in anxiousness. The Na-Baron squared his shoulders and refocused; he could not be made a fool nor a failure when the eyes of his planet were upon him— not when your eyes were upon him. As always, Feyd-Rautha emerged victorious in battle. 
“The slave wasn’t drugged,” Feyd said as he stood before his uncle, his form rigged still with the pestering feeling that he might have failed and been humiliated under your gaze. You tried to kill me?” he gritted out, but his uncle was merely amused. “Tonight, you are a hero… my gift to you,” The Baron explained, but that did not sedate the rage in the Na-Baron’s being. “I ought to drown you in that tub,” he snarled, but his uncle chuckled at his threat. “Don’t be hasty… I have another gift for you,” that piqued Feyd’s interest. “A bigger one,” his uncle added. “The girl, the duke’s daughter.” With just the mention of you, the Baron noted the quick shift in his nephew’s temperament. Desire shining through his rage. 
Feyd’s lips staggered as he thought of a reply, as he thought of how his uncle was able to acquire you for him as if you were some mere whore and not a daughter of one of the great houses. “Her father approved?” He asked and saw as a smirk rose to the lips of his uncle. “He had no choice but to… if he wanted the treaties to take place and for war to not come to their planet— he must offer his daughter to you.” Feyd let a rare and sincere grin slip his lips with the thought of you being bound to him. 
By the guest wing, an ugly discussion was taking place. “Father, you cannot be serious,” You all but cried, “To that psychotic Na-Baron!?” You screamed with tears streaming down your face. You knew it; you knew coming to Giedi Prime was a mistake— your intuition warned you greatly, but you ignored it and complied with your father’s wishes and orders. “There was no other way. I’m sorry,” Your father sighed and tried to take hold of you to calm you down. “You would leave me here to be his bride? You would leave me here vulnerable in the desolate walls of these Harkonnens?” You cried in pain, but your expression turned confused as your father shook his head. 
“The Na-Baron, your betrothed, will be heir to Arakis… you shall stay and rule there with him.” You hear the hopeful tone in your father’s voice as he tells you that you will be the lady of the most coveted seat and planet in the universe. “You… you cannot do this to me— please do not do this to me, father, I beg of you,” You cried, only crying harder as your father took you into his arms and offered you his apologies once more. Nothing can be done; you were now promised to the fearsome and formidable Na-Baron. 
Tumblr media
They arranged for you to acquaint yourself more with your soon-to-be husband. Servants of House Harkonnen escorted you to him, and you followed mindlessly, but your stomach pitted in fear as you realized you had been led to the Na-Baron’s chambers. Your lips agape, and looked behind to see the servants hurriedly shuffling out of the Na-Baron’s room. You felt yourself grow cold and the life in your face went pale. You cautiously looked around the chambers and saw three women by your right, dressed and styled differently than the servants. The presence of women used to always bring you comfort in uncertain scenarios, but the three present did not aid your raging fear. 
“What’s so special about her?” You hear one of them drawl to the other, and you feel your lips upturn in confused fear. “Such a pitiful thing… weak and so fragile, could not even stomach to watch our lord handsomely fighting those puny slaves,” You frown and finally turn to them, the three just as eerie and disturbing to look at as any of their people, maybe even more so. “So what does she have to be rewarded with our great master Feyd-Rautha?” A third girl asked, and that is when you realized what their roles were. They looked at you expectantly, trying to know what you possessed to be rewarded or punished with the title of the Na-Baron’s betrothed. “I do not know,” you began, “Perhaps hair? Or sanity? Take your pick.” You boldly replied and watched as their teasing and amused looks turned scathing and jealous. Before any of them could make another remark, the sound of the door opening and boots walking the floor echoed through the room. Your expression was hard as you watched the three girls lower their heads demurely and out of respect as their master entered. 
“Ah, my future wife… I see you have met my darlings,” You turned to your betrothed, a smirk on his lips and his dark eyes sickeningly delighted as he was in a room filled with women he was certain would bring him much pleasure. You licked your lips and crossed your arms across your chest, your gaze flying to the three women who brazenly insulted you just mere moments ago. “You whores,” You boldly stated and let a fleeting smirk fly to your lips as you heard them hiss at your true statement. “My darlings.” Feyd-Rauth corrected, defending his loyal pets. You hummed and nodded your head. Finally, matching the fiery gaze of the Na-Baron. Every second you held his gaze, Feyd felt himself tighten against his trousers. You had always shielded your gaze from him, never letting him stare deep into those enchanting and lively eyes, and now that he did, all he wanted to do was stare into them, watch as tears would form when he made you cry in pleasure. 
“I always thought whores are acquired after marriage, but I suppose the Na-Baron is always one step ahead,” You bitterly mused at the man across from you, expecting him to grow enraged as you called his ‘darlings’ whores once more. But instead of rage, you only saw the smirk on the Na-Baron’s lips widen. “Are you jealous, little wife?” He asked and threaded closer, you let a frown slip your pretty face and a scoff left your lips. “Do not call me that,” You gritted. “And no, I am not… in all honesty, I am relieved in their existence if it means that you would be preoccupied and far from me and my bed; you could have a hundred ‘darlings’ for all I care,”  You stood your ground no matter how your mind went alarmed at the murderous look on your betrothed’s once amused expression. 
You chewed your cheeks as the Na-Baron silently motioned for the three women to step closer. You thought he was testing you, to see if you were truly unbothered and not at all jealous that your future husband was being satisfied by other women, but you gasped in horror as Feyd-Rautha swiftly took his dagger and slit the throats of his three pets. They fell at your feet, and you could only watch and step back in horror at the scene of black blood pooling and spewing from their throats. You were trembling, and Feyd-Rautha took you into his arms, forcing your face to look at him, enjoying the horror in your eyes. “Now, nothing will keep me from you and your bed, wife,” he lowly whispered, and you were defenseless as he captured your lips. Hungrily kissing you and pulling you impossibly closer to him to feel the softness of your frame as blood flooded under your feet. 
Tumblr media
All was quick to fall into place. One moment, it was announced you were to be wed to the heir of House Harkonnen, and the next, you were being prepared for the actual ceremonies. You felt bile rising and tears falling as you stared at yourself in the mirror. A gown of white in the make and design of your home planet rather than the fashion of Giedi Prime. “You look beautiful, sister,” Your brother complimented quietly. He, too, turned solemn as he had no way to protect you from the arrangements made behind closed doors. “Let’s just get this over with,” You mumbled and took his arm for what you believed would be the last time. 
You were being escorted down the aisle by your father,  Feyd-Rautha’s eyes upon you impatiently; he could no longer wait any further and suffer through the ceremonies and banquets before he had you alone in his chambers. After your kiss two nights prior, you quickly left the chambers and left the Na-Baron to want and desire more. Each moment that had passed has left him hard and strained, with no other outlet for his needs to be quenched and met; his only choice was to wait for you to be his wife. 
It should shame you to admit, but the kiss you shared with the Na-Baron didn’t leave you disgusted. It was alarming to note that your body had turned warm, and throughout the night, your thoughts strayed to wanting more. You had been kissed before, once, but it was nothing compared to the way Feyd-Rautha kissed your lips. 
You stood by his side as a man in front spoke in a language you could not comprehend or understand. The only thing your mind could focus on was the way the Na-Baron’s hand held yours. Cold and calloused palms enclosed around warm and soft ones. You raised your gaze as the man in front of the two of you finally spoke words you understood, announcing to the room that you and the Na-Baron were officially husband and wife. You set your eyes upon Feyd-Rautha, whose dark eyes were on your lips. Letting go of your hand and taking hold of your face to kiss your lips without warning. It was a quicker kiss than the one shared the previous night, and you were dismayed yourself as your body wanted more, so much more. 
Feyd smirked as he saw color bloom onto your cheeks and felt its warmness against his cold touch. No word was exchanged as he escorted you through the aisle, the cheers of his subjects ringing loudly; absent were the reactions of you and your kin. You were still silent during the banquet, only offering a ghost of a smile when you two were approached and presented with ‘congratulations.’ You tried to ignore the way your body responded when your husband placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze now and then through the fabric of your gown. “You look ravishing, my darling,” You hear him whisper in your ear, his warm breath sending a chill down your spine. 
“Do not call me that,” you gritted as you had no wish to share an endearment he used with his whores. Feyd smirked as he believed that heard a hint of jealousy in your honey voice, “And what would you like to be called, wife?” He asked, and you clenched your jaw and thighs as that brought a surprising twist in your core. Your reaction was not missed by the Na-Baron, a wicked smirk spreading to his lips and his hand inching higher from your thigh. “Tell me, wife… are you too as excited as I am for the bedding?” He teased and nipped your ear, making you gasp, turning to him with shock and wanting-filled eyes. Your eyes shifted from his dark blue orbs to his plush lips, and the desire for it to be against you became increasingly prominent. You gulped as his eyes turned impossibly darker and his jaw clenched, you took a sharp intake of breath as he abruptly stood. “The feast is finished, leave.” That was all he said before he urged you to stand and dragged you to his chambers. 
You were like putty in his arms as he pushed you up against the cold wall of his chambers. Your lips roughly danced against each other, and his hands hiked up your wedding dress, leaving fire with his cold touch. For days, you had convinced yourself you felt no attraction to the man who had his lips on you’re neck and hand against your cunt. “You are a great actress, wife. Making me believe you hated me— wanted nothing to do with me, but that cannot be true, not when your cunt is so wet and ready for me.” You gasped as he inserted his finger inside you without warning— the feeling foreign, and you did not know if you should embrace the uncomfortability or the prospect that pleasure was quick to bloom. “So tight… my little wife had never been defiled— that shall change,” He mused against your lips, swallowing your whine when he inserted another finger inside your wet cunt. 
“M-My lord,” You cried at the curl of his finger; you heard him ‘tsk’ and rub his thumb against the sensitive bundles of nerves on your cunt. “Enough with the formalities. I am your husband, and you will call me by my name— you will scream my name when you come.” Your eyes rolled back as his other hand clasped around your neck, your husband thrilled and overjoyed as you only clenched tightly around him, and a pleasured moan slipped past your lips. He thought he’d have to be gentle with you— that he would scare you with his savage desires, but as he felt you cling and clench to him as he added more pressure around your throat, he knew you would be able to take and would be grateful for his brazenness in fucking. 
“Feyd… Feyd!” You cried as you felt your thighs tremble and your core painfully twists in want of release. You whined and cried as you felt his fingers slip out of you, your knees weak and your body desperate for release. “Patience, little wife,” Your husband cruelly mussed, his eyes locked upon you as he licked the essence of you clean from his fingers. You moaned as his lips met yours again, tasting yourself as his tongue teased yours. You whimpered as he placed his rough hands tights on your hips, imprinting his mark and making it known to you that he was yours. You groaned as he bit your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, him pulling away to admire the red the beaded on your plump, sweet lips. “Such a pretty color…” he murmured and bought his finger to wipe away the blood and taste it, you growing more aroused as a rumble emerged from his throat. Feyd watched as more blood dripped from your lips, and he wasted not a drop of it, kissing and tasting all of you. 
Feyd moved the two of you to his bed, pushing you down on the soft, silk-coved mattress. You swallowed thickly as he took out his dagger once more, a grin on his lips as he saw a speck of fear in your eyes. “Such a beauty you look in this dress… but I know you’ll look better without it,” He took the dagger and cut through your fine gown, nicking your stomach on the way. Feyd zeroed in on your sweet blood once more, his eyes hungrily taking in your body that was now exposed to him. “Oh…” You moaned as his tongue soothed the cut he made, his tongue teasing you as it would thread lower but would return to the cut every time it oozed blood. “Feyd… please,” You finally relinquished and let your needs be known. He hummed as his cock grew harder at your moans. 
“What do you want, little wife?” he hummed and took a deep breath of your scent. You whined as his tongue teased your navel, and his lips threaded further south but quickly moved north again. You moaned as his black teeth gently bit your bosom, his cold hand pawing at the other, your nipples taut by his cold hand and hot tongue. “Tell me, little wife, what do you want?” You whimpered again as nipped your skin once more, “You. I… I want you,” You finally said and yelled when Feyd flipped you to your stomach. Anticipation sat heavily as you heard him shuffling to remove his clothing. You breathed harshly as you felt his hands on your behind, kneading the smooth, plump flesh; his thumb teasingly brushed your cunt, and you were quick to moan. 
“What did you want again, my pretty wife?” He hummed by your ear, his toned body pressing against your back, his throbbing cock resting on your derrière. “You, I want you. Please, Feyd… I— please just fuck me,” You cried and let go of any pride you had in exchange for feeling pleasure. You howled as his thick and large length pushed its way inside you. Feyd hissing as the tip of his cock was being squeezed by your cunt. You were wet, galaxies, you were wet. But not wet enough for your husband’s cock to slip inside comfortably. Friction and resistance were prominent, and Feyd enjoyed that tremendously. Excruciating pain first had to be felt before you could feel the pleasure that you were desperate for. 
You gasped and felt tears rim your eyes as a cold hand found home around your neck again. “So fucking tight… all fucking mine,” Feyd hissed as he fully sheathed himself inside you; his hand felt the trickle of pained tears, and he was determined to turn it into tears of pleasure. “Such a good wife taking all of me,” He praised and squeezed your neck tighter. You whimpered and raised your gaze, only now noticing that the wall that your husband’s bed rested upon was entirely reflective that you could see him in all of his glory. Knelt behind you and a pleasured expression on his face as he gradually moved his length in and out of you. 
It felt like eons before you finally felt pleasure, but when it finally came, it was the most blissful feeling you had experienced in your life. The way he harshly gripped your throat, the way that his lips would pepper kisses on your shoulders and back, was enough to quickly drive you into climax. One where you screamed and called for his name, begging him to slow down, but he did no such thing. Only increased his speed and moved his hand to draw circles upon your bundle of nerves, coaxing another climax from you, making you scream his name louder and your body over-sensitive. “Feyd, Feyd, no more, please,” You cried as your whole body was already exhausted and trembling. 
“I do not understand you, wife. Just earlier, you were begging for this… you were to be fucked by me.” He grunted as he, too, felt his peak to come. He moved his hands to bundle your hair, the texture so soft and foreign, his fingers running through the locks and pulling it to make you groan. “Such a perfect cunt, such a perfect wife. You will sire me many heirs… you will always be my side.” Feyd groaned as you squeezed his length tighter and tighter to the point he felt pleasurable pain. You hear his animalistic growl when he finally spills himself deep inside of you, watching through the reflective wall as his face contorted into sheer pleasure, his rasping voice repeating your name as you feel both of your essences drip on the inside of your thigh.
He moved your head for your lips to meet with his again, him biting down to draw blood once more. You pulled away and gasped for air as well as gasped in shock as you felt his once limped and just emptied length grow erect inside you. “Did you truly think we were finished?” He asked against your lips. “I’m going to fuck and breed you until you’re unable to walk, little wife.”
2K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 12 days
Text
Feyd Rautha would understand the gravity of impregnating a member of the Bene Gesserit. The promise of a powerful heir born with the voice and truthsaying abilities meant a stable driving force for House Harkonnen with ties to those closest to The Emperor. But when you grow a swollen stomach, round and full with his child, the political chess moves are far from his mind.
The Na-Baron is obsessed. At first you note his unwillingness to leave your side, refusing to take to the arena and slay Harkonnen prisoners while you are with child. His dual hunting blades gather dust, Feyd choosing instead to pose his aggression against any male Harkonnen that dares look your way.
Usually unaffectionate, Feyd lays claim to you by placing his hands on you often. His palm presses against the swell of your stomach, feeling the tiny kicks of the child inside. It almost makes him more protective, insisting he, alone, protect you.
Seperate from prying eyes, Feyd cannot keep his hands, his lips, off you.
“You witch,” he hisses between heavy kisses, his firm grip hoisting your thighs over his hips, “You have poisoned me— Bewitched me with your Gesserit powers.”
But when Feyd sinks his cock deep inside you, his palms splayed across your swollen stomach, he’s too busy growling out your name to accuse you of sorcery. In truth, Feyd Rautha would readily fill you with his seed again and again to watch you swell with more of his children.
dune masterlist
1K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 13 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Dune: Part Two, dir. by Denis Villeneuve // A Panathenaic amphora (Greece (Attica), ca. 365BC - 360BC) (x)
7K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 14 days
Text
Imagine | Mine (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)
Imagine Feyd discovering that someone has dared to harm what’s his.
Word Count: 1,574
Warnings: possessive!Feyd, objectification, blood, murder, (Feyd is his own psychotic warning in himself to be honest.)
Tumblr media
Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is not known for his mercy.
Ask anyone in the universe who has heard even a whisper of House Harkonnen, and they will warn to tread carefully when dealing with them. If you value your life, you wouldn't even get near them.
And everyone knows Feyd-Rautha is one of the best examples of Harkonnen rage and violence, second only to his uncle, the Baron.
Renowned for his physical prowess as a fighter, his insatiable lust for blood and death, and his determination to rise in power and favour, he is a force to be reckoned with.
So why would anyone dare go against him?
He finds himself asking this as he looks upon your form, head bowed and turned slightly away from him. Hiding something.
Gracefully and predatory as a panther, he approaches you slowly.
"My darling.." his voice rasps.
Normally you greet him immediately, recognizing his footfalls from down the hall. You would smile at your na-Baron and ask him how his day went if you did not spend it with him.
You are oddly subdued tonight.
His eyes, always searching, follow a drop which falls from your cheek, landing on the cold concrete floor. Instantly, he is before you, grasping your chin in his strong hand. He tilts your head up, none too gently, and examines your tear-stained face.
"What happened?" His already raspy voice is deeper, darker.
Feyd is no stranger to your tears. In fact, he often revels in their presence, trying all sorts of things to make you cry. But he hasn't done anything to illicit that response today.
When you don't offer an answer right away, his grip tightens, squishing your cheeks together.
"Speak."
His voice holds no room for disobedience. You nod your head and he releases you, stepping back slightly.
You shake slightly as you begin, "I am sorry, na-Baron."
Feyd's anger is growing. You only call him that in public or when you are disturbed.
"Do not apologize. Explain," he can't stop himself from hissing.
"I took a walk today," you begin slowly. "Just to the training grounds to see if you were there. But I didn't see you so I walked back. He stopped me and-"
"'He'?" Feyd echoes.
"Richter," you supply the name of one of the Baron's top generals. "He grabbed me and said I was a no-good whore who should've been disposed of long ago."
Anger swirls with Feyd's chest at this news. Of course, many people have said harsh and often cruel things to you. But you always kept your head high and ignored the jabs. You’re always so strong.
This is different, he can tell.
"What else? You are not one to cry over a mere insult," he brings his hand up to swipe a tear from your soft cheek. You lean into his touch, relishing in its familiarity.
You inhale deeply, "He struck me without warning, na-Baron."
In his oft colourless word, all Feyd now sees is red.
"Where?" His voice is so low it's almost impossible to hear.
You shake as you lower the collar of your dress to reveal a swollen area on your shoulder, "Here."
His dark eyes flicker to yours, bidding you to continue.
You move your hand to your face and gently touch your tearstained cheek, "And here."
Feyd's hand clenches into a fist. He bends closer to examine your face, noting the slight swelling and the way you bow your head. He places his hand on the back of your head, angling your face upwards. A featherlight kiss is applied to your skin so softly you can barely feel it.
Your master and lover rises to his full height, "Rest my darling, I shall return shortly."
He turns to leave but you reach out and grab his arm. Feyd stops and turns to stare at you.
"Please, na-Baron. Don't hurt him."
He scowls at your request, "He has hurt you. Death is his reward."
"He has done nothing that you have not," you say. "I have known worse pain from your own hands.”
Feyd shakes his head and grips your arms, dragging you forward to stand with your bodies touching.
"Only I can touch what's mine. Only I can hurt you how I see fit. You take the pain only I give you." He dips his head close to your ear, breath sending shivers down your spine. “Do you understand?”
"Of course, my lord na-Baron," your voice is breathy.
You are intoxicated by his closeness, the dangerous poise with which he caries himself, the possessiveness of his words and the truth of them.
"Say it."
"I'm yours alone, Feyd."
He crashes his lips onto yours, teeth clashing and lips bruising from the force of it. His hand squeezes your neck as he kisses you. When he finally parts, leaving you breathless, he takes a moment to admire you. His thumb brushes against your lips before he turns once more.
"That swine sealed his fate when he laid hands on what's mine," Feyd growls as he stalks out of the room.
He returns mere minutes later, dragging an incredibly nervous Richter behind him. With a violent shove, he pushes the frightened man to stand before you.
"I heard you disrespected my darling," Feyd points to the floor. "Kneel."
Richter obeys without hesitation. He knows how quick Feyd is to anger… and how few survive it.
"Kiss her shoe."
The man's eyes flicker to yours.
"Now," Feyd places his foot on Richter's back, forcing him down.
Shakily, he presses his lips to your shoe with a mumbled apology. It does nothing to sate Feyd-Rautha's wrath.
With practised ease, Feyd lands a harsh kick to the man's ribs. He repeats the action until the man is a sobbing mess splayed before your feet like an offering.
You regard him coldly, remembering the bite of his hand across your face.
“Please! Please forgive me, my lord!” Richter manages to sob coherent words. Spit and blood dribbles from his mouth pathetically.
“You have insulted me,” Feyd states. “Hurt what’s mine, belittled what’s mine.”
The man’s hand reaches towards your foot, as if you could spare him from the beast that is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.
Feyd crushes his hand beneath his shoe, grinding down eliciting a whimper of pain, as he steps before you and above his prey.
He is regal in his violence, eyes shining with possessive obsession.
“Dear one,” he places his hand on your arm before handing you one of his blades. “Help me.”
He smirks as you grip the knife tightly. Your eyes meet his.
Feyd knows you’d do anything he asked of you, just as he knows he’d burn the universe to ashes if you asked him too.
“Of course, my lord,” you say, kneeling by the hurt man. “If it pleases you.”
Feyd’s grin reveals blackened teeth, “You please me, dearest. Now, make him suffer for insulting me and mine.”
The first cut is shallow, uncertain as it travels down the man’s bare arm. Feyd tsks his disapproval.
You adjust your grip and slash again, quickly this time, hitting deep and pointedly. The man screams out and thrashes, but Feyd is upon him in a second. He holds Richter still as you unleash your rage upon him.
Feyd watches you draw blood with a pleasure he’s never experienced before. Relishing in your bared teeth and angry snarls, he commits this to his memory.
He halts your hand as the man ceases his thrashing. With a predatory smile, Feyd guides your hand with his, penetrating the blade deep into the man’s throat.
You watch the man loose his life, as you pant with exertion.
“You have done well, my pet,” Feyd praises, removing the knife from your hand and tossing it aside. He places his hand atop your head.
“Thank you, Feyd.”
He moves his hand down your back and presses his face into your blood stained neck, inhaling deeply. Your hands come around to grasp his shoulders, bringing him close to you. He wraps his strong arms around you, holding you like a lover would.
When he sits up, you lunge forward, capturing his lips with yours. Ignoring the blood and the dead body on the floor, you guide Feyd towards the bed, hands leaving bloody marks on his pale skin.
“Please let me repay you,” you beg, tugging at his shirt. “Allow me to repent.”
“You don’t need to repent, love. But you can keep begging.”
He allows you to disrobe him and press him down onto the soft bedding.
In all honesty, Feyd craves this battle of dominance between you. He could overpower you in an instant, yet the hold you have over him has him bending to your will.
You need only beg and he would take a knee and worship at your feet.
And you know it.
You know he craves this, needs it like an addict. He adores the pain you can lavish upon him, adores the meek demeanour you show to everyone else, adores the side of you that matches his own carnal desires tenfold, adores the way you gladly bleed for him.
He adores you.
And you worship each other in a wicked ritual of blood, sweat, and tears each night.
And he’d never let anyone take this away from him- take you away from him.
He’d kill anyone who dared try.
~~~
[A/n- thanks for reading! Please let me know if you liked it :)]
1K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 15 days
Text
"Sparring Session" - Feyd Rautha x Wife!Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
a/n: combined a few anon requests for this one, hope y'all enjoy!! 🩷
Summary: You and Feyd decide to spar to settle a disagreement.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, jealous/possessive feyd, physical violence, biting, blood kink, knife kink if you squint, semi public sex, hate/angry sex, choking, inkpie, p in v sex
Word Count: 1,750
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
Tumblr media
Realistically, Feyd knows you will never betray him. His beloved wife, the one who understands him better than he even understands himself. But it’s hard to remember that when he sees you laughing and smiling with a man he’s never seen before. He scowls, murder in his eyes as he walks toward you and the strange man in question, moving his hand to grip the back of your neck possessively, dark teeth bared in something between a snarl and a smile as you introduce the two.
He’s a visiting diplomat from who knows where, he can barely hear you over the sound of his blood pumping, only watching as the bastard eyes you up and down in the form fitting gown you wear. He is from Chusuk, Feyd soon learns, part of a delegation sent to Arrakis to discuss trade. And the Baron charged you with showing him around the palace. Feyd couldn’t give less of a damn what his uncle has ordered you to do. Before he can second guess himself, he grabs the visitor by the throat, ignoring your noises of protest, and demands that Rabban show him around instead before allowing the man to fall to the floor in a crumpled heap, coughing as he tries to catch his breath.
You, instead of taking your place at Feyd’s sight, annoy him by kneeling down to help the diplomat to his feet, demanding a servant go grab him some water. Feyd lets out a low hiss of disapproval before storming away, his footsteps echoing through the halls. He hears you calling his name, annoyance tinging your voice, but he continues walking. His blood is boiling and he needs to get this aggression out somehow.
So, of course, he finds himself in the fighting arena, taking on opponent after opponent, reveling in their losses, corpses piling up to the side. He hears someone murmur that at this rate, they’ll run out of former Atreides soldiers at the rate Feyd is running through them. He demands another, then another, fighting until late in the night, his muscles screaming at him to stop, sweat beading at his temples. But nothing can extinguish his rage at the memory of another man touching you. You belong to him and only him. Everyone on Arrakis knows that by now.
If he hadn’t been so integral to the trade agreement with Chusuk, Feyd would have unsheathed his dagger and killed the man where he stood. Alas, he had no such luck. Rabban comes to tell him as much, only to leave when the corpse of a fallen gladiator is hurled directly at him.
It’s only when you arrive, several hours later, your hands on your hips and your brow arched, that he pauses, “Are you ready to apologize?”
The crowd has dispersed by now. It’s only Feyd, left alone in his thoughts until you get there. He turns to you, giving you an unamused look, his voice firm.
“No.”
“Fine,” you retort, hopping into the pit, “Then we settle this with our fists. Like men.”
“You’re a woman.”
“Did I ask you, husband?”
He lets out a sharp laugh before shaking his head, “Brash little thing.”
The two of you assume your positions at opposite sides of the circle drawn on the ground, Feyd’s hands lifted up in his defense. He wants you to make the first move, something you’re more than willing to with how fucking angry he’s made you. You lunge at him, your teeth bared.
“You embarrassed me. You could’ve ruined everything your uncle has been working toward.”
Feyd dodges you, if only barely, making an attempt to grab you around the waist, “He wanted you. I have a right to be jealous. You’re mine.”
You evade him, launching yourself at him once more, this time managing to throw him off balance and tackle him to the ground. The two of you begin to grapple, evenly matched in skill. What he lacks in speed, he makes up for in strength, while it is the reverse for you. Feyd manages to roll you over, pinning you to the ground.
“You shouldn’t talk to other men,” he growls against your ear.
You surprise him by putting his head in a triangle choke, your thighs on either side of his face as you glare up at him defiantly, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”
He lets out a humorless laugh, leaning his face in toward you, wanting nothing more than to kiss you, seeing you beneath him with that rage in your eyes that he finds so irresistible. However, taking advantage of his momentary distraction and using your core’s strength, you flip the two of you over so that it’s Feyd who is now pinned to the ground. You stare down at him, holding his arms above his head.
“Do you have so little trust in me?”
Feyd grunts, staring into your eyes as you lean in, “It isn’t you I don’t trust.”
Your faces are so close now, your nose brushing against his, his breath seeping into your own as you whisper, “Do you truly think I could ever betray you?”
He inhales sharply, taking in your natural scent mixed with the sandalwood oil you use, the smell intoxicating to him as he murmurs, “No.”
“Then why do you insist on behaving like a spoiled child?” You demand, “You are the na-Baron, Feyd. Act like it!”
Feyd scowls, glaring up at you, his eyes opening, “I’m acting like a husband who loves his wife.”
Your struggle begins anew as Feyd manages to push you off of him. The two of you wrestle a bit more on the ground until he manages to pin you to the floor yet again, pinning your arms above your head, his legs holding your own down, as he stares down at you. Your chin juts out in defiance as you let out a low hiss.
“What will it take for you to admit you’re in the wrong?” You question.
“You agree never to talk to another man.”
You roll your eyes, but as if drawn together like two magnets, his lips are on yours within mere moments. The kiss is hard and rough, hungry and passionate as your tongues battle each other for dominance, teeth clashing as you moan into each other’s mouths. Feyd’s hand knots itself in your hair, tugging just enough to make it sting oh so pleasurably, moving out from underneath him and straddling his hips.
“Impossible, stupid, stubborn fool,” you mumble between kisses.
Feyd huffs out a laugh, his entire body shuddering with excitement as he grabs you by the hips, squeezing the flesh of your ass. Anyone could walk in, the two of you are practically out in public, saved only by the fact that it’s evening. But you don’t care. Not when he’s grabbing his blade to cut the pathetic excuse of a dress you’re wearing off of you. He tosses it aside, leaving you entirely bare. You’re surprised for a fleeting moment, which gives Feyd the chance to roll the two of you over so that he’s on top once again. It’s a constant push and pull, an ebb and flow between the two of you that you’ll never tire of.
Always fighting to see who comes out on top.
Feyd pins your wrists over your head with one hand, the other moving to squeeze roughly at one of your breasts, pinching at your pert nipple, groaning at the feeling of your soft, warm flesh against his calloused palm. He leans in to kiss you again, but you turn your face away angrily, letting out a noise of displeasure. He refuses to let that stand. He moves to grab your jaw, forcing you to face him, lips capturing yours in yet another heated kiss. You bite down hard on his lip, hard enough for it to blur the lines between pleasure and pain as he lets out a low groan. When Feyd pulls back to breathe, he sees the crimson liquid coating your lips, grabbing your face with both his hands and pulling you into an even more aggressive kiss than before.
“Sometimes,” you manage to eke out, “I really do want to kill you.”
“You should try,” he chuckles, your words sending a jolt of electricity through him, “I’d gladly allow you to be the one to kill me.” He brushes his lips along your jaw, whispering, “I’ll never tire of this.”
“Fighting or fucking?”
He gives you an amused look, “One leads to the other, sweetheart.”
It doesn’t take long before Feyd is naked above you, your hands tracing the planes of his chest, his taut, lean muscles firm beneath your hands as he pushes inside you. And though you know how much he loves you, how much he adores you, your husband fucks you like he hates you. He pins your hands to the side of your head, a low snarl erupting from his throat as he begins to pound into you almost furiously, reveling in the way your body writhes against his. Feyd bites down hard on your neck, hard enough to draw blood, the coppery tang of it tasting like ambrosia on his tongue as you squeeze around him as you reach your peak, your arousal soaking his cock.
Try as you might, he keeps you pinned in place, fucking into you at a nearly inhuman speed. All you can think, all you can feel, all you can breathe is Feyd Rautha. He pulls out of you for a moment and you hate how empty you feel, you hate how weak you feel and the whine you let out as he flips you over onto your stomach. He grabs you by the hips and begins fucking into you from behind, one hand knotted in your hair and the other wrapped around your throat.
“No other man deserves your attention,” Feyd rasps, fucking you even deeper than before, his balls slapping against your ass, eyes rolling back in your head, your toes curling as your cunt squeezes around him, “Only I do. You’re mine. My wife.”
His hips stutter against yours, his entire body going tight as he spills his seed inside you, using his fingers to push back in any that threatens to leak out, his hands coaxing another climax from you. The two of you lay on the arena floor, catching your breath.
Then he says two words you never thought you’d hear.
“I’m sorry.”
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
citrusdarling7 · 15 days
Text
Play with Fire | Feyd-Rautha
Tumblr media
Your secret tryst with the na-Baron should have ended the moment you returned to your betrothed on Caladan. And it would have, if your lover was willing to let you go.
Warnings: NON-CON, Knife Play, Blood Play, Breeding Kink, Jealousy, Cheating, Blackmail, Murder, Slight Paul Atreides x Reader, Incest
This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.
Tumblr media
Keep reading
1K notes · View notes