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I love him so much!! 🥰🥰😍😍

"Higher Purpose" - Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

a/n: i went a lil crazy with this one idk dawg. based on several anon requests + one from @the-shadow-queen02 🩷

Summary: The Reverend Mother always told you that you were meant for a higher purpose. What happens when your brother throws that into jeopardy?

TW: dubcon (reader uses the voice but not to solicit any sexual acts), profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, PUBLIC sex, mommy kink tbh, switch!feyd and switch!reader, cannibalism (the harpies ofc), blood kink, knife kink, breeding kink, oral f receiving, choking, handjob, p in v sex, inkpie, death/murder/violence

Word Count: 3,500

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 🩷

All your life, you have been told you were born to serve a higher purpose - a cause greater than yourself. That you were meant to birth the Kwisatz Haderach, the Chosen One, who could see through time and space. For this higher purpose, you were taken from your home when you were barely weaned from your mother, though she did not care. She would soon be with child once again, this time? A male heir as a testament to her love for your father. You often thought about your family, wondering if they also thought of you. You saw them in your dreams, often calling out to your mother and your little brother, though if they heard you, they gave no indication.

And after some time passed, your longing for family grew into bitter resentment. Your anger toward your mother and father and younger brother grew and grew, and instead of missing them, you threw all your efforts into your training, wanting to become the most powerful Bene Gesserit in existence. You took all the sisters’ teachings to heart, working longer and harder than any of the other novices. And it was noticed. The Reverend Mother gave you praise she afforded no one else, stating that you were the most skilled Bene Gesserit she had seen since your mother. But that wasn’t enough for you.

You wanted to be better than her.

Your hatred, your anger, your bitterness… It all fueled you. Molded you into the woman you are now. Some of the other sisters voiced their pity for you, having to marry and procreate with a barbarian Harkonnen like Feyd-Rautha. But you? You have no qualms about it. After all, you were always meant to serve a higher purpose.

A purpose that is put into jeopardy when your mother begins calling your younger brother the Kwisatz Haderach, the Mahdi. The One. The Reverend Mother pulls you aside after visiting Caladan, admitting her doubts about Paul’s worthiness to be given the esteemed title. Rather than waiting until your twenty-first birthday to send you to Giedi Prime, she wishes to send you now. She wishes for you to seduce the na-Baron and bring forth an heir - the true Chosen One - as soon as possible.

As far as you’re concerned, this is the perfect form of revenge against your family. So you agree without hesitation.

Feyd waits at the landing platform to welcome you as you step under the light of Giedi Prime’s infrared sun. He is tall, his presence looming and threatening as he walks toward you, with all the grace of a lion about to attack a gazelle. What he doesn’t realize is you are no harmless prey. In fact, it is the law of the jungle that the lioness is fiercer than the lion.

He circles around you, twirling his crysknife in your hand, as if evaluating you before remarking, “You are… Shorter than I expected.”

Your lips curl upward at his words, “Is that a problem, na-Baron? Perhaps I can ask them to send someone taller.”

Rather amused by you, he steps closer, using his blade to tilt your chin up toward him, “They say you Bene Gesserit are to be feared. That you’re witches. But there is nothing intimidating about you, little witch.”

“I warn you, my lord,” you reply coolly, meeting his gaze without any reluctance - something that seems to surprise him, “You should not underestimate me.”

He chuckles, staring you down, his blade pushing off your hood and revealing your face in its entirety to him. His expression seems approving as he comes even closer, tracing the contours of your cheeks, your jaw with his knife, reveling in the fact that you do not so much as flinch.

“I suppose we’ll find out whether you have as much fire in your veins as you say you have,” Feyd presses the blade to your throat, his breath hot against your skin as he demands, “Show me that you do not fear me, little one.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting your hand over his, pushing the blade even harder against your neck, nearly enough to leave a cut, “It is a fine blade, na-Baron. But I do not fear it, nor do I fear pain. But…” You pause before impressing him with your mastery of the Voice, ordering him, “Tell me what it is you feel.”

A chill runs down Feyd’s spine, his words tumbling forth in spite of himself, a low groan erupting from his throat as he admits, “Excitement. Fear. Confusion. Arousal.”

You lean in, your lips nearly brushing against his as you whisper, “Good.” And just as quickly, you pull away, gesturing toward the three women standing behind him, “Would you mind having one of your ladies show me to my room? I’d quite like to freshen up before dinner.”

Feyd nods, watching his Harpies flock to you, cooing their admiration, while you soak it all in. He watches them lead you away, thinking how much he looks forward to dinner.

Perhaps wedding an Atreides won’t be as horrid as he thought.

Your husband-to-be summons you to the training room rather than his chambers, where the two of you are meant to dine. However, you know what this is. His attempt at exerting dominance over you, forcing you to watch a display of his strength. Amused, you go to the training room, happy to play along with this little game. Feyd is lethal, in the most beautiful of ways. You watch the way he easily brings each one of his opponents to the ground. No mercy, just sheer brute strength with an effortless sort of grace. You watch with interest, something that seems to please him, smirking as he delivers the killing blow, his face coated with the blood of his felled opponent.

“Well done, na-Baron.”

Feyd walks toward you, “Thank you. I needed to take the edge off my… Appetite.”

“I’d have been all the more pleased if you had kept that edge, my lord.”

He chuckles at your words, and the fact that the blood does not seem to bother you, moving to grab you by the hips, tugging you closer toward him, “Be careful, Lady Atreides. You might entice me into acting out my desires here and now.”

Your future husband notices the way your eyes grow cold at the mention of your family name, the ice in your voice as you reply, “I do not go by that name, my lord. I quite preferred ‘little witch’.”

Feyd nods, “As you wish, my lady.”

The two of you walk toward his private chambers, the mood soon returning to the playful flirtation of before as you comment, “To answer your earlier statement… Let’s file that idea away for later, shall we? I heard that public displays are not uncommon here.”

“And here I was thinking the Bene Gesserit were pure and proper.” You come to a stop in front of his chambers, Feyd’s front pressed up against your back as he opens the door and whispers in your ear, “Do you know what kind of thoughts you put in my head?”

You turn your head slightly to face him, so close that your noses brush as you murmur, “Unless that is a knife you have pressed against my backside, I have a decent idea of what those thoughts are, na-Baron.”

“Oh, you really are a little temptress, aren’t you?” Feyd grins, those darkened teeth of his doing nothing to deter you as he leads you inside.

You take a seat at one end of the table, crossing your legs, resting your chin on your palm as you lean forward. You notice the way Feyd’s eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of your thighs, your cleavage, your neck… He has fallen for your wiles, hook, line and sinker. You brush your foot along the inside of his calf as you sip at the wine one of his slaves brings forth, smirking at the low groan he lets out.

“Do you have any idea how hard you’re making it to control myself?”

“Patience is a virtue, na-Baron. You’re a great warrior. I am sure you already know the value of waiting for the opportune moment to strike.”

He shakes his head, dragging his chair to sit beside you, his forwardness and eagerness to be near you being somewhat endearing, bringing a smile to your face as he rests a hand on your thigh, “Indeed. But sometimes, a warrior must also let go of his inhibitions.”

By the time the slaves return with your meal, you have seated yourself in your na-Baron’s lap, your lips moving against his in a messy, heated kiss. Feyd’s hands tangle in your hair, tugging eagerly as you move to whisper in his ear.

“You’re not half bad at this.”

“This…” Feyd pants, moving one hand to squeeze at your breast, “This is still the appetizer.”

Since he seemed to enjoy your use of the Voice on him before, you do it again, staring into his eyes as you question, “Tell me what it is that you desire…”

He shivers, eyes nearly rolling back at the sensation of surrendering himself to you, inhaling tremulously before he replies, “I desire you. All of you. Like I have never desired anything else in my life.”

Your tongue trails along the shell of Feyd’s ear, a grin blossoming on your face as he lets out a ragged breath, pulling you even closer to him, his face nearly buried between your breasts as you tease, “And as your wife, you will have all of me.” You pull back slightly, fingers caressing his throat before wrapping around and squeezing, ever so gently, “You are a complex man. With the desire to dominate as well as to be dominated.” You move to kiss his Adam’s apple, nipping at it and reveling in the way he hardens against your thigh, feeling you grinding against him, “It is a desire I share. To both receive and to give. I think this partnership will work out quite well in that regard.”

He grunts, panting slightly as you move to palm at his cock over the fabric of his leathers, his entire being screaming at him to bend you over the table right now and make you scream his name for all of Giedi Prime to hear. But, on the other hand, the delicious torture you are currently inflicting on him is equally as desirable. His hands move to squeeze the flesh of your ass, letting out a shuddering moan as you nip at his earlobe.

“You are the perfect wife for me, my na-Baroness.”

It does not take long for Feyd to realize just how much the two of you have in common, something that endears you to him all the more. You grow closer and closer with each passing day, your wedding approaching. You share the same bloodlust, the same desire for power, the same cunning, the same drive to do better than your siblings.

Something which has brought you to where you are now, reveling in the glory of Rabban’s defeat at Feyd’s hands, your husband having now taken command of Arrakis. You watch as he slits the throat of one of his slaves before shoving the poor thing at the Harpies. He brings the blade to your lips, cock straining against his pants as your tongue darts out to lick the knife clean.

“Arrakis is just as you described,” you muse, “Quite entertaining.” Feyd takes a seat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, feeling the way you lean into his touch before murmuring, “Shall I tell you about my relationship with my own brother?” Feyd turns to you, slightly surprised that you are willing to open up to him about the topic, but nods. “My mother had me for only one purpose. To assuage the Bene Gesserit. She said I was meant for a higher purpose, and sent me to them when I was barely weaned from her breast. It was Paul she wanted. So arrogant, thinking she could bring forth the Chosen One when it was I who was meant to bear him.” Feyd listens to your story intently, the pieces falling into place as you explain the reasons behind your bitterness toward your family, “My brother… I have seen him in my dreams, calling himself the Mahdi. He is nothing more than an arrogant child. I eagerly await the day you meet him in battle and will cheer your name louder than anyone as you strike the killing blow.”

Feyd moves to rest a hand against your cheek, his voice a low rasp as he whispers, “I will kill him for you, my na-Baroness. I will lay his body at your feet as a wedding gift.”

He kisses your neck, his arousal only growing as you murmur, “I want you to wed me as he lays dying. I want him to breathe his last breath, watching as you fill me with your seed. Knowing he is not the Chosen One, but rather it will be the child you sire, the one that will grow inside me. Is that acceptable to you, my lord?”

Oh, it is more than acceptable.

The day where your husband-to-be and your brother meet in battle comes sooner than anticipated. You are surprised by Paul’s audacity in challenging the emperor for the throne, but even more so at the gall he displays after learning who you are.

“Brother,” you welcome him with an icy smile, your arm looped in Feyd’s as he arrives at the Arrakeen palace, “Welcome to our castle.” He stares at you in confusion for a moment, looking between you and Lady Jessica - the woman who gave birth to you but you will never acknowledge as your mother. You let out a bitter little laugh, sneering, “Don’t you recognize me from your dreams, little Paul? Or am I meant to call you the Lisan al-Ghaib now?”

Paul’s lips part in shock at the realization, but he quickly recovers, meeting your gaze, “You have changed, sister. But I must ask why you stand at the side of those who killed our father. Do you have no loyalty to your family?”

“Your family. Not mine,” you cut him off sharply as Feyd pulls you closer.

“You are not just a Bene Gesserit, sister, you are an Atreides-”

“That name means nothing to me. Nor do you nor our father nor mother.”

Paul stares at you, completely taken aback, his voice and eyes turning to steel, “If you and our cousin bow to me and swear your allegiance, I will spare you.”

You shake your head, resting a hand on Feyd’s chest, “We would die before bowing to you, little brother.” You turn to your mother next, eyeing her disdainfully, “You truly thought you could rob me of my birthright? My purpose? It is I who will bear the Kwisatz Haderach, Lady Jessica. Your son is little more than a pretender.”

It does not come as a surprise when the Emperor chooses Feyd as his champion. You stand beside your betrothed, taking his hands in yours, an ancient proverb of House Harkonnen crossing your mind, one you read about when you learned it was a Harkonnen that you would marry, Giedi Prime that would become your home. You pull Feyd into a passionate kiss, one that has him gripping you by the hips as if to ground himself in reality.

“Come back to me with your shield,” you whisper against his lips, “Or on it.”

Feyd lets out a low growl, holding you even tighter, your commitment to him and his house affirmed. Then, he turns from you and begins the battle in earnest. You watch with admiration as Feyd leaps into action, every movement purposeful, with the singular goal of defeating your brother. Your heart pounds against your chest, eyes gleaming with excitement as Feyd manages to stab Paul once, while Paul has not even landed one hit. Your brother, in all his arrogance, will never be half the fighter your betrothed is. The fight continues, and though Paul does his best, Feyd defeats him with relative ease. You walk toward his fallen body, listening as he gasps for air, blood pouring from his wounds. You stand before Feyd, wiping the blood from his face with a smirk.

“Well fought.”

“I have kept my promise to you, little witch,” he chuckles, pulling you into a kiss, “And now I will make good on the other promise I made.”

Paul clings to life long enough to watch as Feyd holds the Reverend Mother at knifepoint, demanding she proclaim the two of you as bound in holy matrimony. Feyd wastes no time in pinning you to the ground beside Paul, your arms wrapping around him, lips crashing against each other’s in a desperate, feverish kiss. Feyd pushes your dress up just enough to reveal your bare cunt to him, groaning as his fingers trace your slit, feeling the wetness that has pooled between your thighs.

“I had no idea seeing me fight would arouse you so,” he chuckles darkly.

“Everything about you arouses me,” you reply playfully, glancing over at Paul who grows weaker with each passing moment, though the anger on his face remains as Feyd moves to lap at your slick folds, preparing you for his cock, “My husband, let me bear your heirs. Let us bring forth the Chosen One. Let us serve the higher purpose we were meant to.”

Feyd moans against you, mouthing at you eagerly, the sloppy, wet kisses he lands on your bare core, the way his tongue delves inside of you, his bloody hands staining your thighs crimson as he tastes you… It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak, pulling him closer, wrapping your limbs around him as you palm at his cock. You undo his pants just enough to free it, giving it a few quick tugs, guiding him inside you. Feyd lets out a low hiss as he feels your wetness squeezing around him, rutting against you like some sort of depraved beast.

You grin as your eyes meet his, Feyd’s lips capturing your own in yet another hungry kiss. You know that Feyd belongs to you, his body, his soul, his heart. And in the same vein, you do not mind allowing yourself to belong to him. Not when he has given you the justice you have so desperately craved all your life. Not when he is about to give you what it is you have always wanted. Each snap of his hips fills you once more, making you moan his name in ecstasy, the two of you enjoying the eyes of all those present on you as you make love right there in front of all of them. And the both of you smirk to yourselves as Paul lets out his dying breath, the last thing he sees before he dies being Feyd spilling himself inside you, his black seed coating your thighs.

That night, you lay in bed beside your newlywed husband, the two of you completely bare having just consummated your union once again, a wicked smirk playing on your lips as you muse aloud, “The False Prophet died watching the true Chosen One to be conceived.”

Feyd barks out a laugh, watching as you move to straddle his hips, letting out a satisfied groan as you sink down onto his cock, letting him fill you once more, “Poetic, almost.”

He loves the way you admire his chest, his toned stomach, your hands running all over him, smearing his battle paint, before your tongue follows the same pattern. You roll your hips against his as you take one of your nipples between your teeth, nibbling slightly, making him groan as his hips buck up desperately against yours. Never has he felt so desired, so wanted in a coupling as he does with you. Though your marriage may have been arranged, it would seem the two of you cannot live without the other now.

“Why stop at Giedi Prime and Arrakis?” You ask him, his eyes transfixed by the sight of your breasts bouncing as you ride his cock, “The emperor is old and weak. He has no sons. The seat is ripe for the taking.”

Your words strike a chord in Feyd, and he gives you that blackened grin, nodding as he holds your hips in place, desperately thrusting up into your warm, wet cunt, “Yes… Emperor Harkonnen and Empress Harkonnen…”

“Our reign will be one to remember,” you moan against his ear, “And our son… The Chosen One… He will take the throne after us. A higher purpose. The world is ours, my love. If we only reach out and take it.”

And as your hands squeeze his throat gently and he spills himself inside you again, he realizes just how right his little witch is.

His empress.

I love him so much!! 🥰🥰😍😍

"Higher Purpose" - Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

a/n: i went a lil crazy with this one idk dawg. based on several anon requests + one from @the-shadow-queen02 🩷

Summary: The Reverend Mother always told you that you were meant for a higher purpose. What happens when your brother throws that into jeopardy?

TW: dubcon (reader uses the voice but not to solicit any sexual acts), profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, PUBLIC sex, mommy kink tbh, switch!feyd and switch!reader, cannibalism (the harpies ofc), blood kink, knife kink, breeding kink, oral f receiving, choking, handjob, p in v sex, inkpie, death/murder/violence

Word Count: 3,500

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 🩷

All your life, you have been told you were born to serve a higher purpose - a cause greater than yourself. That you were meant to birth the Kwisatz Haderach, the Chosen One, who could see through time and space. For this higher purpose, you were taken from your home when you were barely weaned from your mother, though she did not care. She would soon be with child once again, this time? A male heir as a testament to her love for your father. You often thought about your family, wondering if they also thought of you. You saw them in your dreams, often calling out to your mother and your little brother, though if they heard you, they gave no indication.

And after some time passed, your longing for family grew into bitter resentment. Your anger toward your mother and father and younger brother grew and grew, and instead of missing them, you threw all your efforts into your training, wanting to become the most powerful Bene Gesserit in existence. You took all the sisters’ teachings to heart, working longer and harder than any of the other novices. And it was noticed. The Reverend Mother gave you praise she afforded no one else, stating that you were the most skilled Bene Gesserit she had seen since your mother. But that wasn’t enough for you.

You wanted to be better than her.

Your hatred, your anger, your bitterness… It all fueled you. Molded you into the woman you are now. Some of the other sisters voiced their pity for you, having to marry and procreate with a barbarian Harkonnen like Feyd-Rautha. But you? You have no qualms about it. After all, you were always meant to serve a higher purpose.

A purpose that is put into jeopardy when your mother begins calling your younger brother the Kwisatz Haderach, the Mahdi. The One. The Reverend Mother pulls you aside after visiting Caladan, admitting her doubts about Paul’s worthiness to be given the esteemed title. Rather than waiting until your twenty-first birthday to send you to Giedi Prime, she wishes to send you now. She wishes for you to seduce the na-Baron and bring forth an heir - the true Chosen One - as soon as possible.

As far as you’re concerned, this is the perfect form of revenge against your family. So you agree without hesitation.

Feyd waits at the landing platform to welcome you as you step under the light of Giedi Prime’s infrared sun. He is tall, his presence looming and threatening as he walks toward you, with all the grace of a lion about to attack a gazelle. What he doesn’t realize is you are no harmless prey. In fact, it is the law of the jungle that the lioness is fiercer than the lion.

He circles around you, twirling his crysknife in your hand, as if evaluating you before remarking, “You are… Shorter than I expected.”

Your lips curl upward at his words, “Is that a problem, na-Baron? Perhaps I can ask them to send someone taller.”

Rather amused by you, he steps closer, using his blade to tilt your chin up toward him, “They say you Bene Gesserit are to be feared. That you’re witches. But there is nothing intimidating about you, little witch.”

“I warn you, my lord,” you reply coolly, meeting his gaze without any reluctance - something that seems to surprise him, “You should not underestimate me.”

He chuckles, staring you down, his blade pushing off your hood and revealing your face in its entirety to him. His expression seems approving as he comes even closer, tracing the contours of your cheeks, your jaw with his knife, reveling in the fact that you do not so much as flinch.

“I suppose we’ll find out whether you have as much fire in your veins as you say you have,” Feyd presses the blade to your throat, his breath hot against your skin as he demands, “Show me that you do not fear me, little one.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting your hand over his, pushing the blade even harder against your neck, nearly enough to leave a cut, “It is a fine blade, na-Baron. But I do not fear it, nor do I fear pain. But…” You pause before impressing him with your mastery of the Voice, ordering him, “Tell me what it is you feel.”

A chill runs down Feyd’s spine, his words tumbling forth in spite of himself, a low groan erupting from his throat as he admits, “Excitement. Fear. Confusion. Arousal.”

You lean in, your lips nearly brushing against his as you whisper, “Good.” And just as quickly, you pull away, gesturing toward the three women standing behind him, “Would you mind having one of your ladies show me to my room? I’d quite like to freshen up before dinner.”

Feyd nods, watching his Harpies flock to you, cooing their admiration, while you soak it all in. He watches them lead you away, thinking how much he looks forward to dinner.

Perhaps wedding an Atreides won’t be as horrid as he thought.

Your husband-to-be summons you to the training room rather than his chambers, where the two of you are meant to dine. However, you know what this is. His attempt at exerting dominance over you, forcing you to watch a display of his strength. Amused, you go to the training room, happy to play along with this little game. Feyd is lethal, in the most beautiful of ways. You watch the way he easily brings each one of his opponents to the ground. No mercy, just sheer brute strength with an effortless sort of grace. You watch with interest, something that seems to please him, smirking as he delivers the killing blow, his face coated with the blood of his felled opponent.

“Well done, na-Baron.”

Feyd walks toward you, “Thank you. I needed to take the edge off my… Appetite.”

“I’d have been all the more pleased if you had kept that edge, my lord.”

He chuckles at your words, and the fact that the blood does not seem to bother you, moving to grab you by the hips, tugging you closer toward him, “Be careful, Lady Atreides. You might entice me into acting out my desires here and now.”

Your future husband notices the way your eyes grow cold at the mention of your family name, the ice in your voice as you reply, “I do not go by that name, my lord. I quite preferred ‘little witch’.”

Feyd nods, “As you wish, my lady.”

The two of you walk toward his private chambers, the mood soon returning to the playful flirtation of before as you comment, “To answer your earlier statement… Let’s file that idea away for later, shall we? I heard that public displays are not uncommon here.”

“And here I was thinking the Bene Gesserit were pure and proper.” You come to a stop in front of his chambers, Feyd’s front pressed up against your back as he opens the door and whispers in your ear, “Do you know what kind of thoughts you put in my head?”

You turn your head slightly to face him, so close that your noses brush as you murmur, “Unless that is a knife you have pressed against my backside, I have a decent idea of what those thoughts are, na-Baron.”

“Oh, you really are a little temptress, aren’t you?” Feyd grins, those darkened teeth of his doing nothing to deter you as he leads you inside.

You take a seat at one end of the table, crossing your legs, resting your chin on your palm as you lean forward. You notice the way Feyd’s eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of your thighs, your cleavage, your neck… He has fallen for your wiles, hook, line and sinker. You brush your foot along the inside of his calf as you sip at the wine one of his slaves brings forth, smirking at the low groan he lets out.

“Do you have any idea how hard you’re making it to control myself?”

“Patience is a virtue, na-Baron. You’re a great warrior. I am sure you already know the value of waiting for the opportune moment to strike.”

He shakes his head, dragging his chair to sit beside you, his forwardness and eagerness to be near you being somewhat endearing, bringing a smile to your face as he rests a hand on your thigh, “Indeed. But sometimes, a warrior must also let go of his inhibitions.”

By the time the slaves return with your meal, you have seated yourself in your na-Baron’s lap, your lips moving against his in a messy, heated kiss. Feyd’s hands tangle in your hair, tugging eagerly as you move to whisper in his ear.

“You’re not half bad at this.”

“This…” Feyd pants, moving one hand to squeeze at your breast, “This is still the appetizer.”

Since he seemed to enjoy your use of the Voice on him before, you do it again, staring into his eyes as you question, “Tell me what it is that you desire…”

He shivers, eyes nearly rolling back at the sensation of surrendering himself to you, inhaling tremulously before he replies, “I desire you. All of you. Like I have never desired anything else in my life.”

Your tongue trails along the shell of Feyd’s ear, a grin blossoming on your face as he lets out a ragged breath, pulling you even closer to him, his face nearly buried between your breasts as you tease, “And as your wife, you will have all of me.” You pull back slightly, fingers caressing his throat before wrapping around and squeezing, ever so gently, “You are a complex man. With the desire to dominate as well as to be dominated.” You move to kiss his Adam’s apple, nipping at it and reveling in the way he hardens against your thigh, feeling you grinding against him, “It is a desire I share. To both receive and to give. I think this partnership will work out quite well in that regard.”

He grunts, panting slightly as you move to palm at his cock over the fabric of his leathers, his entire being screaming at him to bend you over the table right now and make you scream his name for all of Giedi Prime to hear. But, on the other hand, the delicious torture you are currently inflicting on him is equally as desirable. His hands move to squeeze the flesh of your ass, letting out a shuddering moan as you nip at his earlobe.

“You are the perfect wife for me, my na-Baroness.”

It does not take long for Feyd to realize just how much the two of you have in common, something that endears you to him all the more. You grow closer and closer with each passing day, your wedding approaching. You share the same bloodlust, the same desire for power, the same cunning, the same drive to do better than your siblings.

Something which has brought you to where you are now, reveling in the glory of Rabban’s defeat at Feyd’s hands, your husband having now taken command of Arrakis. You watch as he slits the throat of one of his slaves before shoving the poor thing at the Harpies. He brings the blade to your lips, cock straining against his pants as your tongue darts out to lick the knife clean.

“Arrakis is just as you described,” you muse, “Quite entertaining.” Feyd takes a seat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, feeling the way you lean into his touch before murmuring, “Shall I tell you about my relationship with my own brother?” Feyd turns to you, slightly surprised that you are willing to open up to him about the topic, but nods. “My mother had me for only one purpose. To assuage the Bene Gesserit. She said I was meant for a higher purpose, and sent me to them when I was barely weaned from her breast. It was Paul she wanted. So arrogant, thinking she could bring forth the Chosen One when it was I who was meant to bear him.” Feyd listens to your story intently, the pieces falling into place as you explain the reasons behind your bitterness toward your family, “My brother… I have seen him in my dreams, calling himself the Mahdi. He is nothing more than an arrogant child. I eagerly await the day you meet him in battle and will cheer your name louder than anyone as you strike the killing blow.”

Feyd moves to rest a hand against your cheek, his voice a low rasp as he whispers, “I will kill him for you, my na-Baroness. I will lay his body at your feet as a wedding gift.”

He kisses your neck, his arousal only growing as you murmur, “I want you to wed me as he lays dying. I want him to breathe his last breath, watching as you fill me with your seed. Knowing he is not the Chosen One, but rather it will be the child you sire, the one that will grow inside me. Is that acceptable to you, my lord?”

Oh, it is more than acceptable.

The day where your husband-to-be and your brother meet in battle comes sooner than anticipated. You are surprised by Paul’s audacity in challenging the emperor for the throne, but even more so at the gall he displays after learning who you are.

“Brother,” you welcome him with an icy smile, your arm looped in Feyd’s as he arrives at the Arrakeen palace, “Welcome to our castle.” He stares at you in confusion for a moment, looking between you and Lady Jessica - the woman who gave birth to you but you will never acknowledge as your mother. You let out a bitter little laugh, sneering, “Don’t you recognize me from your dreams, little Paul? Or am I meant to call you the Lisan al-Ghaib now?”

Paul’s lips part in shock at the realization, but he quickly recovers, meeting your gaze, “You have changed, sister. But I must ask why you stand at the side of those who killed our father. Do you have no loyalty to your family?”

“Your family. Not mine,” you cut him off sharply as Feyd pulls you closer.

“You are not just a Bene Gesserit, sister, you are an Atreides-”

“That name means nothing to me. Nor do you nor our father nor mother.”

Paul stares at you, completely taken aback, his voice and eyes turning to steel, “If you and our cousin bow to me and swear your allegiance, I will spare you.”

You shake your head, resting a hand on Feyd’s chest, “We would die before bowing to you, little brother.” You turn to your mother next, eyeing her disdainfully, “You truly thought you could rob me of my birthright? My purpose? It is I who will bear the Kwisatz Haderach, Lady Jessica. Your son is little more than a pretender.”

It does not come as a surprise when the Emperor chooses Feyd as his champion. You stand beside your betrothed, taking his hands in yours, an ancient proverb of House Harkonnen crossing your mind, one you read about when you learned it was a Harkonnen that you would marry, Giedi Prime that would become your home. You pull Feyd into a passionate kiss, one that has him gripping you by the hips as if to ground himself in reality.

“Come back to me with your shield,” you whisper against his lips, “Or on it.”

Feyd lets out a low growl, holding you even tighter, your commitment to him and his house affirmed. Then, he turns from you and begins the battle in earnest. You watch with admiration as Feyd leaps into action, every movement purposeful, with the singular goal of defeating your brother. Your heart pounds against your chest, eyes gleaming with excitement as Feyd manages to stab Paul once, while Paul has not even landed one hit. Your brother, in all his arrogance, will never be half the fighter your betrothed is. The fight continues, and though Paul does his best, Feyd defeats him with relative ease. You walk toward his fallen body, listening as he gasps for air, blood pouring from his wounds. You stand before Feyd, wiping the blood from his face with a smirk.

“Well fought.”

“I have kept my promise to you, little witch,” he chuckles, pulling you into a kiss, “And now I will make good on the other promise I made.”

Paul clings to life long enough to watch as Feyd holds the Reverend Mother at knifepoint, demanding she proclaim the two of you as bound in holy matrimony. Feyd wastes no time in pinning you to the ground beside Paul, your arms wrapping around him, lips crashing against each other’s in a desperate, feverish kiss. Feyd pushes your dress up just enough to reveal your bare cunt to him, groaning as his fingers trace your slit, feeling the wetness that has pooled between your thighs.

“I had no idea seeing me fight would arouse you so,” he chuckles darkly.

“Everything about you arouses me,” you reply playfully, glancing over at Paul who grows weaker with each passing moment, though the anger on his face remains as Feyd moves to lap at your slick folds, preparing you for his cock, “My husband, let me bear your heirs. Let us bring forth the Chosen One. Let us serve the higher purpose we were meant to.”

Feyd moans against you, mouthing at you eagerly, the sloppy, wet kisses he lands on your bare core, the way his tongue delves inside of you, his bloody hands staining your thighs crimson as he tastes you… It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak, pulling him closer, wrapping your limbs around him as you palm at his cock. You undo his pants just enough to free it, giving it a few quick tugs, guiding him inside you. Feyd lets out a low hiss as he feels your wetness squeezing around him, rutting against you like some sort of depraved beast.

You grin as your eyes meet his, Feyd’s lips capturing your own in yet another hungry kiss. You know that Feyd belongs to you, his body, his soul, his heart. And in the same vein, you do not mind allowing yourself to belong to him. Not when he has given you the justice you have so desperately craved all your life. Not when he is about to give you what it is you have always wanted. Each snap of his hips fills you once more, making you moan his name in ecstasy, the two of you enjoying the eyes of all those present on you as you make love right there in front of all of them. And the both of you smirk to yourselves as Paul lets out his dying breath, the last thing he sees before he dies being Feyd spilling himself inside you, his black seed coating your thighs.

That night, you lay in bed beside your newlywed husband, the two of you completely bare having just consummated your union once again, a wicked smirk playing on your lips as you muse aloud, “The False Prophet died watching the true Chosen One to be conceived.”

Feyd barks out a laugh, watching as you move to straddle his hips, letting out a satisfied groan as you sink down onto his cock, letting him fill you once more, “Poetic, almost.”

He loves the way you admire his chest, his toned stomach, your hands running all over him, smearing his battle paint, before your tongue follows the same pattern. You roll your hips against his as you take one of your nipples between your teeth, nibbling slightly, making him groan as his hips buck up desperately against yours. Never has he felt so desired, so wanted in a coupling as he does with you. Though your marriage may have been arranged, it would seem the two of you cannot live without the other now.

“Why stop at Giedi Prime and Arrakis?” You ask him, his eyes transfixed by the sight of your breasts bouncing as you ride his cock, “The emperor is old and weak. He has no sons. The seat is ripe for the taking.”

Your words strike a chord in Feyd, and he gives you that blackened grin, nodding as he holds your hips in place, desperately thrusting up into your warm, wet cunt, “Yes… Emperor Harkonnen and Empress Harkonnen…”

“Our reign will be one to remember,” you moan against his ear, “And our son… The Chosen One… He will take the throne after us. A higher purpose. The world is ours, my love. If we only reach out and take it.”

And as your hands squeeze his throat gently and he spills himself inside you again, he realizes just how right his little witch is.

His empress.

RESTLESS NIGHTS •°. *࿐

PAIRINGS— paul atreides x valkyrie!reader

SUMMARY—from a young age you’ve been paul atreides’ personal apprentice, your duty being to remain professional in protecting the life of the heir to the house of atreides. however, things change after a rainy night of comforting paul after he awakens from one of his terrible visions.

NOTE—this is my first time writing and publishing anything like this for a character, but after seeing dune two i just had to. expect more creations from me in the future. Constructive criticism is welcome, just keep it nice and kind. let me know how i did!

word count: 1.2k

Valkyries are very protective beings. In battle, their ultimate purpose is to carry the fallen warriors that perished in combat, and were worthy of eternal paradise, to Valhalla where their souls would reside in blissful harmony. However, there wasn’t just one type of valkyrie. A heroine valkyrie is what you were — the kind that only guarded the lives of those dearest to them. Your dearest was no one, but the son of the duke of atreides.

When you were first assigned to the house of atreides you just barely reached the ripe age of seven years old. In those times, your duty merely consisted of being the only company around his age the young boy had in his life. Innocent soft exchanges of giggles escaped from dimpled cheeks that ached from continuous smiles. Small pieces of grass littered the wild heads of curly hair the two of you possessed from previously rolling in the freshly cut grass the maintenance keepers recently trimmed. Within years, the grass turned to responsibilities, and the dimples into abstract bruises from the numerous sparing lessons shared between the two of you. Thus, your years of childish assignments were gone.

Now, you reside in the chambers next door to the young heir in case of any and all emergencies. You lie awake in your pristine silk sheets staring at the ceiling. The thunderous Caladan rain pelted down onto glass windows surrounding you, keeping you awake. This was your first night back from your annual trip to the emperor's headquarters where your sisters remain. No other planets you’ve ever visited didn’t have rain as loud as Caladan’s.

A loud groan breaks the song of raindrops singing along the windows.

You bolt out of bed and grab a dagger with the valkyries signature emblem on the hilt. Your hands turn white in contrast to your usual brown skin from how tight you hold it. Raising to the balls of your feet to remain as silent as possible, you trudge over to the door, leaving the comfort of your room. The marble flooring in the hallway tickles the bottom of your feet, but you barely notice due to your desperation to find the source the sound came from.

More thunder cracks. Another groan.

Your head sharply turns to the left toward Paul's room. Your body turns rigid.

Oh no.

Sprinting, you throw open his mahogany dark wood door making it slam into the back wall. There in rumpled sheets lies the source. His limbs are tangled in his blanket as he thrashes around in his bed, his face scrunched up in an expression of pure anguish. Wild brown curls surround him like a halo while the moonlight shines on his pale skin. He looks like an angel. A fallen angel.

“Paul,” you mumbled, letting your dagger slip from your hands.

He stirs in his sheets, letting out another low groan.

Rushing to the side of his bed, you dropped to your knees and cradle his face scanning the rest of body. Just in case.

“Paul!” you repeated.

He bolts up abruptly making your hands fall onto the bed. He’s panting as he looks around frantically before resting his eyes on you. His expression softens.

“Y/n?” His voice is raspier than normal due to the hours of restless sleep.

“It's okay, it’s okay,” you cooed. Your face filled with concern as you brush some of his wild hair out of his face. “I’m here.”

He sighs out the majority of the tension built up, rubbing his face from sleep with his trembling hands.

“More visions?” Your voice is so soft it tickles his ears creating a blanket of comfort. He doesn’t understand how a strong warrior could possess such a comforting voice, but that's one of the reasons he liked you so much. You never failed to make his worries disappear — not with a voice like that.

He only nods.

“Want to talk about it?” You rise from your spot on the floor to sit on the side of his bed making you at eye level and in closer proximity to the stressed boy. His eyes are slightly glossed over, and he’s avoiding eye contact as if he’s embarrassed.

“No,” he looks down in his lap before locking eyes with you, “I thought you were on your trip?”

You shake your head, “I came home early.”

Home. You saying it so casually almost makes Paul visibly melt.

“I missed you,” he whispers. His words hang in the air like a forbidden secret. Well, it was forbidden seeing as the relationship between the two of you was meant to be strictly professional. However, you two managed to lay on the thin layer of gray area in the matter.

You could only bashfully turn your head away towards the window. You hated how he’d say things like that in random moments. More so, you hated how much your cheeks would turn warm and your lips would scrunch to the corner of your face showcasing a deep dimple in the apple of your cheeks. The rain was still coming down harder without any plans to stop for the night.

The boy grabs your chin with his pointer finger and thumb and redirects your attention to his face. You could only look down at your lap before eventually looking into his eyes.

Desire. Burning desire is what his eyes scream as he looks at you.

You escape his hands and rise to leave a painfully lingering kiss on his forehead.

“Get some rest, Mr. Atreides.” You say, slightly teasing as you move to get off the bed. However, he reaches for your hand stopping your movements.

“Stay,” he pleads with desperation laced in his tone.

You hesitate.

“Please, Y/n, I need you.” His eyes are low and bright from the moonlight still coating the inside of his room. His blanket lies low on his waist hiding his boxers, and showcasing his chest of lean and faint abs from his weeks of training. He looked so…

“Fine,” the words slip from your mouth before you realize. Before you know it, he’s scooting over and raising the covers to allow you to easily slip into his sheets. They’re warm from his body heat making you release a sigh of breath you didn’t know you were holding.

He looks at your chest before shyly looking you in the eyes, “Can I-”

You tiredly nod your head and open your arms out welcomingly. The boy immediately goes to rest his head on your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist and tangling his legs with yours. This position feels completely natural and comforting from numerous other nights just like this one in the past. Your hands go to his curls and start massaging his head.

“Thank you,” he rasps out, barely staying awake, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Always,” you started, “I’ll always be here.”

You look down to find that the tired boy has already fallen asleep. With a small smile on your face you look up at the ceiling as more lighting cracks outside. You close your eyes assuming he missed your words.

He heard them. He always does.

Little Accidents / Paul Atreides

Summary: Paul's obliviousness was soon shattered when frequent visits to the nursing room revealed the true essence of love at first sight.

Ps: This is a short fluff I had in mind, but I hope you enjoy and also english isn't my first language so bare with minimal errors, (once upload i always make sure to update now my works, if there is any errors) Enjoy! XOXO

As the heir of the Atreides' House, Paul effortlessly following in his father's esteemed footsteps. He possesses an acute sense of ownership, ensuring he's well aware of everything under his purview. Whether it's news of your battle injuries or workplace mishaps, Paul is always the first to know, abandoning any prior engagements to rush to your aid. While you're being tended to, his concern is palpable; his eyes scan for any signs of harm as he utters all while using the voice. ‘Where?’ This gesture of worry has become familiar, a reassurance you've grown accustomed to, especially when your visits to the infirmary often serve as an excuse to steal moments with him. ‘Dropped a weapon on my foot,’ you explain with a hint of ruefulness, ‘guess my impatience got the better of me, inadvertently knocking out one of the armories. Pity.’

Indeed, quite a pity. Paul couldn't help but notice your composure, devoid of any telltale signs of injury. It either seemed that the nurse had efficiently tended to you before his arrival—a stroke of luck, perhaps. However, Paul wasn't fooled; this wasn't the first time you'd urgently summoned him to the infirmary. Today, he harbored suspicions that you might finally reveal the true reason behind your frequent visits. “If you'd prefer I refrain from using the Voice," he remarked, a hint of seriousness in his tone, "you'll need to be more forthcoming than simply labeling it an accident, my dear."

However, you eventually reassured the head nurse, explaining that it was merely a minor issue requiring attention. Your heart fluttered with a mixture of nerves and affection as Paul insisted on tending to your wounds himself, rather than delegating the task to anyone else. As the room cleared, leaving just the two of you alone, Paul attempted to devise a plausible excuse while discreetly observing your work. This added another layer of challenge for him, yet he remained determined to keep a watchful eye on you. “Now tell,” A pregnant pause was felt soon as he sat next to you. “How I am suppose to know, that there is probably more reason than just a visit at the nursery?” 

You find yourself drawn in by his innocence, but observing Paul working alongside his father and their associates, it becomes evident that innocence was not his defining trait anymore. In fact, there's a possibility he understands more than he lets on. Maybe he's even willing to engage in the game you're playing. You nonchalantly dismiss any concerns, offering the excuse that you're just adding a bit of spice to the situation. However, Paul's reaction suggests that perhaps it's not the right moment to discuss such matters, especially anything related to the Spice itself.

Paul tilted his head, almost taking offense at your attempt at humor. Despite his awareness of your desire to spend more time alone with him, he understood that convincing him to stay a little longer each time wasn't as simple as it seemed. Even if his attempts at pampering you, like tending to invisible wounds that morphed into cuddle sessions, were charming, he recognized that your discussions about the 'Spice' were more about politics than relaxation. Poor thing– that was all he knew about out. This realization led to a soft chuckle from you, followed by an apology for bringing up the topic. However, Paul dismissed your apology, urging you not to discuss such matters, especially around him, as he couldn't help but wonder why you frequented the nursing room more often than before. “Now tell me, or I might just become as impatient as you’ll be when demanding kisses..”

His voice trailed off, almost seductive when Paul was right about to expose this little game of yours. Instantly you could feel his lip curve slightly into a smirk as he saw your expression, your eyes winding in shock, trying your very best to obliged. That you were the one who meant to shock Paul out of his work for some time but, perhaps you were indeed right about your wonders. That in fact, Paul knew that the exact reasons why you obliged yourself to the nursing room more often than ever. Only to find out, it was to spend more time with him. But Paul being himself, being the type of guy that he is, did not to confess his wrong at first or to be completely oblivious. After all– he is the duke’s son. 

"So, let me get this straight," Paul Atreides began, his tone tinged with a mixture of disbelief and introspection. "I, Paul Atreides, am so easily ensnared by your little charade? It's rather disheartening, truth be told." There was a hint of a pout on his lips as he contemplated your adeptness at expressing your desires, though he couldn't entirely fault you for it. With the constant demands of dealing with the Harkonnens and managing CHOAM affairs, finding time for you had become more challenging than he and you had anticipated. 

Unlike his parents, whose marriage was purely political, Paul had chosen a different path, one where your presence held a significance beyond mere political alliances. For him, building a future within the confines of the Atreides' House with you by his side was a deeply personal and cherished desire. Material wealth could wait; what mattered most was the connection he shared with you. With a sigh, he reached out to gently caress your cheek, a silent acknowledgment of your correctness all along. Perhaps it was time to prioritize his own happiness, even if it meant putting paperwork aside momentarily. "Maybe you're onto something," he admitted, his voice softening. "Perhaps you’re right, perhaps it's time for me to take a break from the endless bureaucracy and spend some quality time together. After all, even I need to unwind–."

Paul's words carried a weight of remorse rarely heard, especially within the esteemed Atreides family. As he neared the end of his sentence, you leaned in swiftly, feeling the soft brush of his lips against yours in a lingering kiss. The longing shared between you both was palpable, though circumstances often made indulgence impractical, intensifying the desire even more. When Paul finally pulled away, he gently nibbled at your lower lip, a playful chuckle escaping him at the sudden surge of hunger between the two of you. There was an undeniable yearning to touch, caress, and love you. "Perhaps I'll request a day off," he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of promise. “Perhaps you will.” You both end up chuckling as he cups your face, his eyes gazing from your eyes to your lips. Paul confessed once more,

“And perhaps, we don't always have to use the excuse of happy accidents, so I can exile from paperwork every now and then.” 

In Sickness and In Health

Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: Paul fears leaving you while you are sick.

Paul hated to leave you alone, especially since you haven't been feeling so well lately.

Paul knew he needed to go with his father, but he didn't want to.

"I will take care of her." his mother tried her best to reassure him, but Paul was worried.

The love of his life, his beautiful wife has been forced to bedrest for the last few days.

The doctors examined you and determined that you had a simple illness.

A simple one, yet you suffered greatly because of it.

You had a high fever, you could barely eat and sleep was a difficult task.

You were separated from Paul the second day of your illness, now, he was only allowed to visit you.

He was kind enough to bring you books or read you some of his own.

"You must go, Paul, your father expects you to."

"I do not care. I don't wish to leave you alone."

"I understand, but I will be fine, I do feel better already, so please, don't worry too much."

"My mother said she will visit you often," he said as his grip tightened around the book he was reading to you. "I still don't want to leave you." he promised to be by your side, in sickness and in health.

"I will be fine." you said with a smile. Your smile made him believe that it might be all fine after all.

Yet, his worry never left him.

The next day, he left with his father.

Lady Jessica kept her promise and visited as often as she could.

You even started conversations with her. And she did enjoy talking about Paul when he was young.

Then, she even mentioned her marriage, and how she wished you and Paul wouldn't have to face the same or similar difficulties.

The week soon passed, and you were much better as you awaited Paul's return.

And soon enough, you were told that he was landing.

You rushed over, by the time you got there Paul was already off the ship, making his way to you.

"Paul!" you smiled as you slowly jogged over to him, he fully started running.

You opened your arms and wrapped them around him as he lifted you off the ground. You giggled into his ear.

"I'm so happy to see you." he said. "You look so much better."

"Your mother gave me a special tea, it truly helped," you said as he finally put you down on the ground and kissed you.

"I missed you so much." he said and you laughed a little.

"I missed you, Paul."

Paul never felt so relieved in his entire life. He was worried about coming back, so when he saw you, full of life and smiles, running over to him, the weight from his shoulders just disappeared.

All his worries left his body in a matter of seconds.

He held onto you tight and strong, afraid to let you leave his sight as he watched your face, full of life, your eyes, filled with love as you looked at him.

Not even in his best dreams did he ever imagine coming back home and finding you like this.

He was forever grateful for his mother for healing you.

He made a vow to never leave your side ever again, and it is a promise Paul intends to keep for the rest of his life.

Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

"Runaway Bride" - Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

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 🩷

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.

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.

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.

Birthday Present

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.

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. 

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 not 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. 

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. 

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. 

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 begging 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.”

𝓢𝓸𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓭

Feyd Rautha x Concubine Reader

Summary: Na-Baron never felt such hunger as when he was with her. He wanted to own her body and soul in every way. And she was more than happy to let him do anything he wanted.

A/N: This was essentially based on my fantasies and desire for Feyd Rauth, so forgive me if his characterization is not identical to movies or books. But nevertheless, I hope you will like it and you'll enjoy reading it.

Please remember that english is not my native language and mistakes can happen.

Story is a heavy smut , minors do not interact.  

-Don't take your eyes off the mirror, don't you dare turn away - he growled into her ear , biting her lobe seconds later, as his hands assaulted her exhausted flesh.

She thought she felt him on every inch of her body.

Her neck , her breasts , her shoulders , her ribs , her hips , her thighs , her calves. On each of them there was an invisible mark in the shape of na-Baron's hand that burned her skin so pleasantly that she never wanted the feeling to go away.

-Whatever you want…whatever you want my na-Baron - she mewled, focusing her gaze on the man behind her, on the way his once-blue eyes immerse into a darkness of desire, on the way the veins on his hands pulsed intensely and on the way the muscles under his skin tightened with every movement of his pale body.

-What did I tell you so many times before? - he said , in a dangerously low and cold tone , suddenly grabbing her by her neck , placing his long fingers on her jaw to point her face in his direction -In this chambers you will call me Feyd , when I tear off your clothes you will call me Feyd , when I push you against the wall and fuck you until your body submits to my will, you shall call me Feyd - he purred, looking intensely into her eyes, which held so much love for him that it made him obsessed with her more and more.

-Forgive me Feyd - she whispered into his mouth , letting her head fall on the man's broad shoulder.

-You want my forgiveness? - he asked , running his thumb over her full, reddened lips - Then beg - he demanded , tightening the grip on her throat.

-Feyd..ah! - she moaned as he slid his thick shaft out of her tight, hot canal only to push it back in, this time much more aggressively and deeply, making head of his member kiss her cervix.

-I'm waiting, darling - he growled, kissing the left side of her face, never stopping the torturous movements of his hips, which made her unable to form a single word -Is this how you want to beg for my forgiveness? I expected more from you - he confessed , inhaling her intoxicating scent.

-No...no - she denied , grabbing his large hand , which held her waist in a possessive grip , desperately trying to focus , at least for a moment - Please...forgive me Feyd...forgive me I beg you...I need you...oh I need you so much - she cried out , grabbing the nape of his neck with her other hand , trying to taste his lips - Please...I need you more than air...I need you Feyd - she mumbled , looking at him with half-closed eyelids , feeling that another orgasm was approaching inexorably to deprive her of the rest of control she had left.

Harkonnen in response joined their lips together , kissing her deeply , wrapping his tongue around hers , running his teeth over her lower lip ,biting it hard enough to taste her sweet blood on his taste buds , while his loins slammed roughly into her , making his manhood abuse her insides , reaching so deep that stars appeared in front of her eyes and her legs began to twitch uncontrollably , threatening to make her fall.

Feyd ,feeling his lover cumming and squeezing his member so intensely that he could not move , growled like an enraged beast , biting her shoulder , thrusting his hips against her , despite the resistance , marking her walls with black cum that dribbled lazily from her swollen folds , directly onto her wet inner thighs.

-My sweet pet - he said into the hollow of her neck , sliding his hand over her body trembling from orgasm -What did I tell you at the beginning? - he asked , massaging her ample breasts that were spilling between his fingers.

Woman looked at him with clouded eyes , fanatically trying to remember.

-Don't take your eyes off the mirror, don't you dare turn away - she whispered hesitantly , returning her gaze to the mirror , but it was too late.

-You seem to be breaking every single order of mine - he observed, trailing his hand along her curvy body - Maybe I should break you , so that you learn to obey me - he wondered, suddenly grabbing her long hair, positioning her head so that she was looking at her reflection and nothing else.

-Lord Feyd…-she began but was not given the chance to finish , when na-Baron attacked her exhausted body.

He tore out of her orgasm after orgasm. He pounded inside her more brutally and deeply with each climax, until his sweet girl was barely awake , full of his black, thick cum.

-I'm not done with you yet pet- he growled , pushing her onto black ,satin sheets.

The woman's body sank onto the mattress without a shadow of an objection. Her heart rumbled in her ears , while her lungs greedily took in air that hot and heavy made her consciousness slip between her fingers leaving behind a shell of her former self.

And in Feyd Rautha's opinion, his eyes have never seen anything more beautiful and sinful.

His hands were restless , touching her legs with the precision of a hunter who had captured his prey , and was now ready to feast . His mouth tasted her skin , savoring the softness and firmness of it. But he did not stop at her legs , no , he went higher , higher and higher , until his blue eyes rested on puffy womanhood , red from overwhelming pleasure and dirty from the amount of harkonnen cum that poured out of her center in excessive amounts.

His tongue ran along her folds , stopping at her clit, kissing and sucking it, making the woman trap him in a cage of her thighs, which he gladly accepted, embracing her hips, drawing her even closer to his pale face , making her scream.

His hunger was uncontrollable.

He feasted on her for hours, his mouth never stopping, too intoxicated by the addictive taste, that was dripping out of her, marking his face in the transparent liquid that he drank like nectar.

And when he finally was done , her mind was no longer present , and her body no longer listened to her. She was breathing heavily , her sweaty, naked body was shivering , while her doe eyes follow the man above her. Only when he chose to leave her bed , she decided to close them , welcoming the pleasant darkness.

But he didn't leave the chambers , he didn't go to the rest of his concubines like he had a habit of doing , no. Instead he returned to her , taking her limp body in his strong arms , hiding her from harsh outside world , stroking her naked back , while his lips kissed her cheeks decorated with dried tears.

-Mine - he whispered into her soft skin - Mine and mine alone.

Jessica and atreides!reader angst? (Mother and daughter angst then yn slowly turns into evil which jessica slowly realise the pattern was repeating)

Metamorphosis

Lady Jessica x Daughter!reader

(Not beta read, we die like Feyd-Rautha)

author's note: If you guys can't tell I really like writing angst. This is also the longest thing I've written so far :). Also trying a new formatting type.

warnings: mentions of death, mommy issues, mentions of blood, mentions of Paul after drinking the water of life

wc: 1145

Lady Jessica did her job halfway right. To ensure she completed her Bene Gesserit mission, gave birth to twins. A boy named Paul and a girl named (Y/N). While the loophole was clever, the Bene Gesserit could not use the daughter she had given birth to. They said she had tainted her womb while bearing a son. 

Her father, the Duke Leto Atreides, was the only one who actually taught her important things. When she was little she would sit in a stool pulled up near her fathers desk and watch him go through paperwork and meeting notes. While he trained his son to become duke, he trained his daughter what to do in case something happened to Paul. He didn’t brush her off. 

Lady Jessica focused most of her time on Paul. His training, his skills, and his talent. While (Y/N) was taught how to use the Bene Gesserit ways by other members and not her mother. While those tutors did their job well, and she was learning quite a lot, (Y/N) found that her brother, a male, was progressing much faster than her. She was proud of her brother. It wasn’t her brother’s fault, it was her mother’s. 

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A younger (Y/N) and Paul sat on the damp grass on Caladan on a breezy afternoon. They watched the sun lower into the sky and begin to graze where the horizon met the sea. (Y/N) took small daisies from the ground and started to make a flower crown out of them. 

“You know Paul, if you continue to improve at this rate I wouldn’t be surprised if you were better than our mother.” (Y/N) praised as she continued to pick and tie other flowers together. 

“No, no, no,” her brother replied modestly, “what she is teaching me is all of what she knows. Sooner or later I’ll plateau.” 

“You never know,” (Y/N) chuckled, cheekily, “Maybe one day she’ll go to you for advice.”

When (Y/N) finished the thin crown, she placed it onto Paul's head.

“There,” she said, “I now dubbed thy, Duke Paul Atreides of Caladan. Who will be an excellent and fair ruler.”

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The only thing that (Y/N) had against Paul, was that her ability to use the voice was much better than his. Paul sounded like a dying horse and (Y/N) could command hundreds of people with her voice. (Y/N) found incredible joy from this. But this fact scared Lady Jessica. 

Lady Jessica was afraid of the power her daughter held. She knew of her hatred against her brother who took most of the time spent learning. Of course this all wouldn’t matter when the Duke died and they lived in the desert with the Fremen. Until Paul had a war forged in his name and (Y/N) had nothing but her brain. 

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

(Y/N) was standing in front of the giant pool of water, watching her reflection rippled and ebbed. As she stood there, she imagined a war that was fought in her name instead of Paul’s. Tons of water, from people who died while waiting for the ‘Lisan Al-Giab’ If this was my war, no one would die. She thought. After a couple of minutes a Fremen woman came by and poured the water of another warrior. If my mother and her witches hadn’t meddled, we wouldn’t have this mess. She stood there for hours, hours past when the sun went down, pondering her existence and her brother’s willingness to say he was the messiah. 

“Are you going to keep looking at your reflection or are you coming to bed?” She heard her mother say. 

“Does it matter if I stay up late? I’ve nothing to do on Arrakis.” (Y/N) responded, sounding completely uninterested in talking to her mother. 

“It does matter, you need sleep in order to thrive.” Lady Jessica declared. 

“Don’t try acting like you care now,” her daughter bit back, coldly, “don’t try acting like a caring mother. Go spread more rumors about Paul.” she sighed out. 

“They aren’t rumors, (Y/N),” She retorted, “It’s what he’s going to do. You and everyone else here realizes who he is and his potential. You need to help Paul.” 

(Y/N) bundled her hands into fists at her sides. Her knuckles popped at how hard she was squeezing them. Your son has changed far beyond what was expected. she thought, you barely recognize him anymore. 

“Would me dying for your cause be sufficient?” (Y/N) uttered under her breath as she continued to look at her reflection, “Should I stand out there and be a martyr? The loving sister of the Kwisatz Haderach…” 

Lady Jessica breathed in sharply and said nothing in return. She took her hands and put them over her stomach where her other child was. 

(Y/N) turned around to look at her mother, “You agree don’t you?’ she assumed.

Still, the Lady said nothing and just looked at her daughter. She met her daughter's eyes. The blue within blue encased her small pupils and her skin looking paler and deeper set than when they had left Arrakis. 

“Why aren’t you speaking?” Her daughter whispered, “Tell me what you think!”

“I think you as a martyr would do as much damage as if you were alive,” She voiced, “your death would be mourned. But, it would not change anything.” 

The sudden use of the voice surprised and startled Lady Jessica, “You imbecile, you using the Voice on your own mother.” 

“You didn’t seem to mind when Paul used it on your old reverend mother,” (Y/N) stated, “Paul and I did the same thing, use the Voice on a reverend mother.”

“You used it on your mother. Paul seized the moment so he could speak.”

“You were never a mother.” (Y/N) asserted, “you were a housemate, an incubator 

at best.” 

This stunned the reverend mother. She had never heard her daughter speak so unrighteously and sternly. It was almost like she had never really known her. The (Y/N) she knew, the sweet girl who collected wildflowers that had grown on the cliff sides, had died when they landed on Arrakis and was replaced by someone cold and quiet. 

“I’ll help my brother.” (Y/N) expressed as she moved closer to her mother, “I’ll do as he says. No matter how much you go against it. It doesn’t matter if he asks me to burn temples or castles, or even destroy planets. As long as I don’t have to follow you.” 

As she concluded her announcement, she turned to hastily walk out of the dark, humid cavern. 

Leaving Lady Jessica on her own; to see what had become of her daughter who would burn down the world if given the chance and her son who slipped unnecessary blood in the name of war. 

The Voice | Paul Atreides

════════════════════════════════════════════

Paul and Chani, along with Lady Jessica, were camping in the vast desert of Arrakis, surrounded by golden dunes and the eternal silence that characterizes that arid and desolate world. In the afternoon, as the three of them were in the tent, they were suddenly startled by joyful shouts and laughter echoing in the distance.

Alerted by the noise, they stepped out of the tent and found several Fremen, desert natives, waving their arms in the air with expressions of happiness directed towards a figure standing not far away. Among them stood a young woman unfamiliar to Paul and Lady Jessica, but not to Chani.

Chani, with a smile on her face, joined in the joy of the Fremen, while Paul and Lady Jessica watched with confusion. They didn't understand what was happening, but they could still feel the joy radiating from the group.

When she finally reached the group, the Fremen surrounded her with joy and warm hugs, while that person received those gestures with affection. Paul observed how Chani wrapped her arms around that person, not wanting to let go. Paul understood how that person had somehow managed to connect with the very essence of the desert and its people.

—you must be exhausted from the journey. why don't you rest?— Chani suggested, catching the attention of Paul and Jessica.

—Yeah, maybe a little rest sounds good —she replied, following chani.

As they approached the tent, Paul and Jessica called out to them, grabbing both their attention.

—I'm sorry, the excitement of the moment almost made me forget —chani smiled, while the girl also smiled. —(y/n), these are lady jessica and paul atreides —chani introduced them, —they are one of us.

from his position, paul watched (y/n) attentively as she removed her cloak, revealing sparkling eyes and a serene presence that took his breath away. her (h/c) hair gently waving in the desert breeze.

—It's an honor to meet you, (y/n), —Lady Jessica speak.

—A pleasure to meet you —Paul said.

(y/n) responded with a respectful nod.

—The honor and pleasure are all mine, Lady Jessica, —she said, looking at the named person and then moving her look to the young man, —Paul.

Paul, surprised, looked up at her in disbelief. Lately, he had been dreaming of a similar voice calling out his name.

a voice that was now in front of him.

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↳ Note: Hey, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction... sooo... I have several unfinished drafts. Maybe with this one, I'll make a sequel... Maybe... I don't know ↳ p.s: this was something quick that came out of my head, while I was watching the new Dune movie

“Mine. Only mine.” || Leto Atreides x Reader Smut

gif made by Cass - please credit us if you use the gif.

Summary:  The time is finally right for Leto to claim you as his.

Warnings: graphic smut without plot & well… Duke Leto (how is it possible for a man to be that handsome?!)

Word count: circa 2140

Pairing: Leto Atreides x reader

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

After the door to the bathroom closed, Duke rested his blanched hands on the edge of the countertop and closed his eyes. 

Within his bathroom, you were removing your clothes and allowing the warm water to splash against your naked skin. The fragrance of his soap was going to linger on your skin and in your wet hair. His hitched breathing was exacerbated by hazy images of you scrubbing your breasts and the length of your legs. Leto's trousers tightened as he thought about the peaks of your breasts, the way your fingers moved within the tightness between your thighs. Leto hadn't touched a woman for a long time; being a Duke of one of the Noble Houses was an incredibly significant role to play, and he barely had spare time. He married you for political reasons. There was never a proper time to consume the marriage, to claim you as his, and as Duke Leto Atreides was a man of honor, he wasn't inclined to push you. Spending time together meant having short conversations at breakfast or supper, saying goodnight once you were long asleep when he returned from important meetings, or just holding hands a little during official parties or meetings. However, the mere thought of your perfect skin and slight curves of your hips and waist was enough to drive him wild.

Under his uncomfortable pants, his cock hardened as his thoughts became clouded with you. He brought his palm onto the throbbing bulge, a small whimper falling from his mouth as he pressed down. A pulse of dull pleasure ran through his body as he rubbed himself over his clothes, drawing his lower lip between his teeth to muffle the threatening sounds. Duke wondered whether you were going to open the bathroom door and see him frantically jerking himself over a risque thought about you.

Although the warm water and your own touch felt wonderful on your skin, they couldn't compare to Duke's. You didn't experience much of it, but from what you did, you could tell you loved it already. Being a considerate wife, you understood that Leto Atreides was a busy man. Instead of pushing him, you gratefully accepted whatever he gave you. It was silly, but you fall for the Duke. It was just a political ploy, which made you feel silly. Though it was your duty, not a pleasure, you were completely charmed by Duke's looks and behavior toward you. Leto was respectful and caring. He always made sure you felt comfortable in every moment he spent with you or even when he was away. It was nearly impossible not to fall for this man.

You finished your shower and walked out of it to dry yourself, smiling at the soft scent lingering on your skin. It was his scent after all. Once you had dried your hair as much as possible, you wrapped the soft towel around your body. You took a deep breath and left the bathroom, not knowing what to expect.

His breath wavered as he fumbled for his buckle and unzipped himself, pushing the material of his briefs to the back of his thighs. A dreary relief filled his mind as he slowly pumped himself. There was a bathroom door between you and him, preventing you from seeing the leaking cock he held in his shaky hand. Before he continued yanking, he placed his hand in his mouth and gently licked it with his tongue. Moans emanated from his open mouth, gentle breaths, and whiny whimpers as he decided to take more comfortable position by sitting on the edge of his bed. As he jerked his hips and dragged his tongue against his bottom lip, he threw his head back. He thought about your fingers soaking into your tight pussy as the shower's waterfall drenched your skin. He imagined the soft moans you would make as he kissed the softness of your breasts, his tongue memorizing your taste as it touched your nipple. Your ass would be squeezed tightly after he sucked on your fingers, the taste of your pussy glistening on his tongue as he moved his fingers across your soaking folds. He wanted you to clench around him as you rubbed his curly hair, his name slipping from your lips.

Since you were barefoot, you left the bathroom quietly. At the unexpected sounds that came from Leto himself, I immediately perked up. Evidently, you weren't the only one who was impatient for any kind of contact. As luck would have it, Duke sat with his back to you on the edge of the bed. It was obvious what he was doing. As you slowly approached the bed, you climbed on it, sitting right behind him. Your only response to his attempt to turn around was a whisper. "Don't move." Your palm rested on his shoulder as your other hand moved down his still-covered chest.

A shiver ran down his spine as he was unaware you had joined him in the bedroom. While he did not respond out loud, he gave a nod to your whisper and leaned into the touch.

As you hummed, you kissed his shoulder before moving to his neck until you reached his ear. Your deep voice whispered, "Undress for me, my love."

Though he wasn't used to being given orders by women, you had control over him; after all, you were a Bene Gesserit sister. After he undressed and tossed his clothing on the marble floor, the Duke looked down at you, gazing into your eyes.

"Sit back down, just like a moment ago." You ordered, patting the place where he had been sitting.

Despite his reluctance, he followed your order.

"There's no need to give me that face." You chuckled as he sat back down beside you. As you moved closer, you wrapped your arms around his waist, nuzzling his shoulder. "I waited so long to finally be alone with you like this," your hand slowly moved up his chest, gently touching his skin as your other hand wrapped around his shaft. "But shall I be offended that my dear husband started without me?"

The moaning came out of his parted lips as Leto rolled his head down, resting its back on your shoulder. "I couldn't help myself, Y/N. Just thinking about you drove me insane."

Kissing him on the cheek, you purred softly. As your small palm moved up and down his cock, your other hand caressed his stomach. "I wouldn't mind if you joined me in the shower, love."

"I could, indeed." His body wash was already oozing from your wet body. This did not help his situation. “God, yes.” The words escaped his reddened lips before he could even think of what was happening. Your hand was gently massaging him, and your pretty mouth was looming closer to his.

With a soft smile on your lips, you whispered, "I waited so long for you and you never claimed me as yours. The image of you and my own hands wasn't enough when you were leaving me all alone here. I couldn't wait for your cock to stretch me out. I couldn't wait to yell your name so loud that everyone here knows that I belong to you."

The man's thoughts were erratic as he tasted your lips and tentatively caressed your tongue. "As I heard all of the sisters are skilled, I presume you can take care of your needs."

You kissed him softly and focused fully on his cock before saying, "You heard right but my hands can't compare to your touch, love. I was sure you knew this." You teased his tip with your thumb. You continued to massage his balls with the hand that was caressing his chest.

Leto rolled his head back and turned his head; he was kissing you, entangling his fingers in your hair as you touched his cock. "Fuck. Take off that towel."

Having asked so nicely, you gave him one last kiss before moving away and further down the bed. As you sat down, you removed your towel and threw it aside, presenting yourself fully to him.

Your naked body was scanned with administration by his eyes. "You're so perfect."

"Thank you," you whispered, moving your hand down your body. "It's all yours."

He touched your curve, repeating, "All mine."

"All yours. Till death separates us." You reminded him. Grabbing his wrist, you gently pulled him closer so you could cup his cheeks. Your thumbs caressed them. "My Duke. So strong, so perfect. Kiss me and claim me as yours only. I am begging you, love."

His lips quickly found yours, crushing on them.

You chuckled as you kissed him deeply, "No need to be so gentle with me, love. I am all yours, and I don't bite." You chuckled as you kissed him deeply. 

He towered over you fully as soon as you lied down on the bed. A boyish smile appeared on his lips as he reached for your breasts and squeezed the mounds. He tentatively pinched your nipples as you gasped, fearing that he had somehow hurt you. Your expression revealed pure bliss when he looked up at you. His hands gently caressed your stomach, hips, and thighs. When you inevitably left his room tomorrow morning, he didn't want to forget how you felt or what your skin felt like. With elation in his eyes, his fingers stopped over your pussy. Leto's hands moved back and forth across your stomach, his calloused hands caressing your hip before inserting two fingers into your pussy.

As your hand grabbed his shoulder, you gasped and let out a whimper. You already felt full from his fingers, and you wondered how full you would feel later. Rolling your hips in excitement, you purred loudly.

His fingers pumped as he flicked his tongue across your clit, gently sucking as you throbbed on his fingers. He curled his fingers soon after. Your body moved against him as you moaned his name like a desperate prayer, nearly begging with dwelling tears as his confidence soared. Every night he would have fallen on his knees and pleaded with whoever answered his prayers to let him taste you again, for you tasted like the forbidden fruit, dangerously intoxicating.

While arching your back, you moved your hand into his thick curls to pull them. Every time he touched you, you sang. "Oh, please have mercy on me, Leto!"

Despite the fact that it drove him crazy, he loved it so much. With his cock in hand, he stroked the shaft a few times before guiding it to your entrance and digging his hips deep into your body.

It didn't take Leto long to intertwine his fingers with yours. The sound of his cock gliding in and out of you made you hear how wet you were, which was a sound filthy enough to drive your senses wild. The sound of his skin slapping against yours in a quickening pace coupled with both of you being desperate for release. After eating you out, Duke was so irritable that he knew he wouldn't last long. It was heaven for him to feel your cunt swallow his length with such ease, pulsing around it.

Every time you held his hand, your grip grew tighter. You were turned on more by the sounds of skin hitting skin, your moans mixed with his groans. The climax was near, you could feel it as your walls tightened around his cock.

One of his arms slid under your back to pull your upper body closer to his chest. His thrusts became more violent soon as he increased his pace.

“Oh, sweet Y/N.” As he finally came, Leto grunted deeply, looking down to where your bodies had become one. Hot cords of cum spilled deep inside of you, which felt so right. While your cunt milked his twitching cock, Duke kissed your shoulder and then buried his face in your neck, completely driven by bliss.

With your nails marking his back, you finished with him, screaming his name so loudly that everyone probably heard you.

Instead of pulling away from you just yet, he laid on top of you, kissing your cheeks and neck.

Wrapping your leg around his waist, you kept him close. With a gentle stroke of his hair, you whispered, "Now I can call myself fully your wife. I think everybody heard me..."

"My guards definitely did."

As you kissed his cheek, you laughed, blushing slightly. "Then I hope they enjoyed it as much as I did."

Leto's brows furrowed a little, but shortly after he offered you a soft grin and whispered in your ear, "You are mine. Only mine. You’ll fell me stroking slowly inside of you every night as I whisper to you that you are only mine."

“I concealed my feelings for you” || Leto Atreides x Reader

gif made by Cass - please credit us if you use the gif.

Summary:  though you are Leto's personal guard, you develop certain feelings for him. Imagine your surprise when you discover that Duke reciprocates all of your feelings...

Warnings: smut - interaction is strictly forbidden to minors

Word count: ~ 12,1k 😲

Pairing: Leto Atreides x reader

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

As you walked, the sound of heavy combat boots filled the corridor, you improved your gloves. Another day of work was about to begin.

During such a time, no job was easy, but you never complained about yours. Keeping an eye on Duke Leto and his family was an honor unlike any other. You felt proud.

Duke had many men fighting for him, but you and a few others were his closest guards. By staying near him at all times, you were responsible for keeping him and his family safe. You were the leader of the guard, so when Leto was present, you had to be there when others kept an eye on everything else. Your name was called by Paul, and your thoughts had been interrupted. 

"Y/N! Wait!"

It was only natural that you stopped, smiled, and bowed a little. "Good morning, Paul. How are you?" 

"I am fine, thank you," the young man nodded, returning the smile. "Do you remember what you promised me?”

You shook your head after letting out a soft laugh. "I know what I promised. Training. But I also keep in mind that it will only happen if your father lets me go for some time."

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe... He'll agree if you ask him?"

"Later, Paul. Now, I heard that Duncan was looking for you." You said and ruffled his hair. 

Paul pushed your hand away and laughed softly. The two of you walked away together soon afterward.

Duke raised his head from the document he was reading as you entered his office. His usual attire consisted of a shirt, fitted material trousers, and a material jacket bearing the emblem of the House of Atreides on the lapel, the entire set in shades of black.

This room had a breathtaking panoramic view of the yellowness of the desert, the spice refinery, as well as the airstrip.

"Good morning, Y/N. I see you're earlier today, is there anything wrong?" Leto asked in a nonchalant tone, cocking one of his thick brows as his brown eyes looked directly at Y/E/C eyes.

You shook your head. "Well, as far as I remember my duty is to stay close and keep you safe, my Lord," you summed up, relaxing a little. 

Duke was not a friend of yours, but you worked long enough for the boundaries to be pushed into more friendly territories. "I hope your night was peaceful. From what I heard, there were no problems."

Leto's eyes measured your face as he said quietly, "No problems except for our shields going down without any apparent reason."

"Apparently shields' system isn't running optimally, but I will make sure that someone takes care of it." You said, remembering how you were woken up in the middle of the night. Having taken care of it, you spent most of the night making sure the place was secure.

Duke continued to read the document. "Paul insists on training with you all the time, if you don't count the hours that he spends reading about Fremen."

"I'm flattered that your son appreciates my combat skills enough to train with me, and I'm glad to see him making progress," you said simply. "You should be proud, my Lord."

The corners of his lips curled into a smile. "I am. And I trust you enough to entrust his well-being to you. I hope that you will become a mentor to him."

As you nodded, you began to walk around the room, making sure everything was fine. "Of course, my Lord. It's my duty to serve you and your family, so being Paul's mentor shouldn't be a problem." You looked through the window briefly.

The document was signed by Leto and placed on the wooden desk's counter. He then stood up and silently approached you. "My trip to the spice refinery would be a good chance to put your piloting skills to the test."

As you looked over your shoulder, you gave him a cocky smile. "Are you sure about that, my Lord? I don't want to embarrass you by showing you how skilled I am," you joked.

His strong hand was placed to your nape a second later as he whispered, "Did I not make myself clear? I have faith in you."

You bite the inside of your cheek, cooling yourself down. It was stupid and shouldn't have happened, but after working for Duke for a few years, you fell for him. You had no idea what was it, but something simply pulled you to him. "Shall we go then, sir?"

"There is still time. I'll have to wait for Liet Kynes to join us. You need to don your tactical gear," Leto ordered in a low voice.

"Your wish is my command, but I don't want to leave you alone." You reached out to cup his hand in your own. Although you couldn't say it out loud, there were more reasons why you didn't want to leave.

"You're tense," Leto whispered, allowing his hand to rest on yours. "I've noticed that you've been acting tense since you arrived. Is my presence making you feel uncomfortable?" He asked as he let go of your nape and approached the window.

As you cleared your throat, you rolled your head and shoulders trying to relax as much as possible. "It's probably because I am here, keeping you and your family safe, it is important to me."

"How old are you, Y/N?"

"I am 25 years old, sir, and I've lived here for almost four years now." You replied. "Why do you ask, sir?"

He rubbed on his beard, not looking at you. "I remember your father," Duke shrugged. "He was a noble man. I also remember your first day of service following your father's death. Your behavior has changed considerably since then. For those years, I grew to know you."

As you thought about your father and his death, you smiled sadly. To be honest, you wished he were here, but all you could do was continue his work. "Since that day, much has changed. Especially since we came to this place, it seems to be falling down. I'm merely concerned for your safety," you said and gently stroked his shoulder. "The last thing I want to do is let you down."

Leto kept his head straight no matter what; despite the fact that he grew close to you, not something that should have happened between a master and a subject, he tried to separate work from private life, even though he knew how you thought of him, not only as your Lord but first and foremost as a man. "Thank you for your devotion to the House Atreides," he said as he placed his palm over yours and felt how soft your skin was beneath his calloused fingers.

Your own fingers moved a tiny bit to feel more of his touch. This made you wonder how his rough hands would feel against your hips or grasping your waist as he pounds into you and whispers all sorts of filthy stuff into your ear. Clearing your throat you slowly removed your hand. "Dedication to the House Atreides is my life and duty. I am ready to sacrifice it if it means your safety. Just like my father."

He abruptly turned his head to face you, his brown eyes glistening slightly with the light feeling of the chamber as he studied your face. "My gratitude to you is the same as my gratitude to your father. Now, Y/N, go get ready. Please make sure that the ornithopters are ready to go."

Watching his lips as he talked, you wished you could just kiss them and feel them against your own. "Of course, sir. I'll see you in a bit." With those words, you walked off to take care of everything as Duke requested.

As you changed and later checked on the ornithopters, your mind kept wandering back to Leto constantly. Maybe it was time to stop pretending?

When Liet Kynes arrived at the headquarters, the mission was still being planned. 

The plane was piloted by Leto, who promised to give it to you on the way back. He decided to wear his greyish armor.

Despite being a pilot as well, you were more of a down-to-earth person, but this was a great opportunity to watch him pilot the ornithopter. It was both a blessing and a curse to be in such a tight space with Leto. "I don't see why I need to be a pilot when you are so good at it."

Through the headset, he told you that no one is infallible. "It's nice to have a second pilot who has decent skills."

You nodded your head. "It's nice that someone acknowledges my skills. Not many do so."

"I always wonder why. Maybe it's because there aren't many female pilots among us."

"I don't see many women among the soldiers and pilots in the unit. The only time I see women are your concubine and the girls who always follow her."

It's true, Y/N," Leto replied, his gaze focused on the horizon and refinery that was already visible. My father was of the opinion that men are better soldiers. I disagree. I think that women are more careful and can see more things. It's in their nature."

You chuckled, moving your hands down your legs, "My father, his friends, and even my mother were sure that I wouldn't make it through the training, but here I am. Duke Leto's personal guard," you said and joked, "When I look at other women, I don't imagine myself in their place... Unless I married a Duke or something. Then maybe I could bear it."

There was a slight smirk on Leto's face. "So that's why you haven't married yet? Most women your age already have significant others."

"Most women my age are more concerned with buying stylish dresses, while I worry that the man I admire is taken and out of reach," you concluded, looking at him briefly.

This time, he smirked more to himself; evidently, he had not been misled by all the signs he had seen previously - you were interested in him, not as your Lord.

It was hard to believe such a confession came out of your mouth. Your statement was honest, you love him as a person, not just as your Duke. Even though you knew it was impossible, you wanted to be his. Turning your head to the side, you avoided more awkward conversation.

He suddenly placed his hand on your thigh, and even through your armor you could feel the touch. "I appreciate your kindness."

Not expecting his touch, you flinched a bit, but instead of trying to get away, you put your hand on top of his. "The true thank you comes from me, sir."

Turning his head, he gazed into your eyes. With a nod, he ended the conversation, and soon his hand was back on the steering wheel.

You closely watched Leto's every move and his surroundings. 

You didn't like this place, as the refinery made you feel uneasy since any threat could come from anywhere. Being alert didn't come from duties alone, and now that you knew that, you remained close to your Duke.

"Hey, Y/N, what's up with you today? Does anything bother that pretty little head of yours?" Duncan gently poked your shoulder from behind as Duke and Kynes went to another area of the refinery.

You glanced at him immediately shaking your head, twitching a little. "I just keep thinking about shields going down last night, and hope it won't happen again tonight."

"Harkonnens left us with old equipment that should have already been replaced."

"It still makes me uneasy. Someone can take advantage of this kind of opportunity, which makes me worry," You sighed and smiled at him. "Have you heard? Apparently, Duke wants Paul to have one more mentor."

Idaho chuckled quietly, "I thought Paul was joking. With all due respect, you're not as skilled in combat as I am."

Feeling offended right now has made you gasp. "I may not be as skilled as you, but I am skilled enough to kick your ass; Paul enjoys training with me."

"I'd enjoy training with such a pretty woman as well if I were a young man."

You teased him, "Oh so because you are older than him, you can't enjoy it anymore? We should try sparring one day. Show Paul how real warriors do it."

"I'm up to this idea, little one."

As you gasped, you wanted to say something about the way he called you, but there was nothing you could say. This man was indeed a giant when compared to you. He was at least twice your size. Crossing your arms over your chest, you turned away, muttering angrily. "Just so you know, I'm not going to be soft on you."

"I count on that," Duncan brushed his fingers against the skin on your nape as he walked away, winking at you.

Initially scoffing, you rolled your eyes, but then you smiled before you walked away to find Leto.

Duke was already close to the ornithopter, checking the settings and instructing one of his men about the spice.

You joined him and took your usual place near him, getting back to your usual duties.

Once everything was set, and Duke farewelled Kynes, he looked at you. "Change of places. You're taking us home."

"Home? Already? Did something happen?” You asked with a frown, fully aware of Lato's full schedule.

"Yes. I told you that we only had to visit the refinery. You'll finally get some time off, Y/N. I think we all do need that."

"My work for you never ends, my Lord, but it will be nice to have a moment to refresh after this trip," you nodded. "Let's get you home, sir."

Once the troops and Duke returned to the headquarters, Leto let you go, assuring you that his guards would keep an eye on things, under the leadership of Duncan.

His plans for the evening were shattered when Reverend Mother needed to meet with his concubine and son first.

As Leto returned to his room, he changed into fresh clothes before heading to his office for a little more work on spice production and storage.

It wasn't something you liked to do. Being away from Duke made you feel strange. However, there was no fighting with the Duke, even though you felt your work wasn't properly done.

After returning to your room, you took a shower. Your body hated this planet and you felt the need to wash every time you returned from the outside. You hummed loudly, feeling the warm water washing over your body. 

The shower didn't take you long even if it was your favorite part of the day - you had better plans.

After drying yourself off, you put on fresh clothes and stopped in front of a mirror. It was frightening how different you always looked. You were always dressed in armor that felt heavy on your shoulders with your hair in a tight bun during duty. Off duty, you wore a loose shirt tucked into your pants with your sleeves rolled up. Your hair was nicely resting on your shoulders. 

You should be resting just like Leto ordered, but you decided to visit him.

When you were walking along the corridor, you bumped into Duncan, still in his armor. "Well, well, look at you, Y/N, I didn't know you were so beautiful," he circled you like a predator would circle the prey. "Where are you heading?"

Giggling innocently you shrugged, giving him a small spin. "You never saw me in regular clothes, dear. I am just taking a walk. I was never taught how to rest."

"Mind me joining you?"

"Aren't you a bit busy now? I am off duty indeed, but as far as I know, you aren't, right, big guy?" You patted his chest playfully.

He caught your hand and rubbed its top with his gloved thumb. "You owe me a walk."

Humming, you raised an eyebrow. "First sparring, and now a walk? I would never take you for a needy type, Duncan."

He patted your shoulder and walked away, not saying anything else.

Once he was gone, you headed straight to Leto's office, but you stopped in front of the door for a moment. Is it worth it to destroy your life and career? Whether it was or wasn't, you were tired of hiding all your feelings. You knocked on the giant door and waited for permission to enter.

"Come in," his voice roared within the room so you could hear him.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door and walked inside.

Leto raised his head from atop a desk covered in papers. His eyebrow cocked as he saw you. "Y/N?"

He couldn't lie, he was content that you came, he secretly hoped you would. Never in his lifetime had a single thought about having an affair crossed his mind until a few weeks back when he noticed a slight change in your behavior. Since then, he had been catching himself thinking about how it would be with a younger woman, and with you especially.

You closed the door and stepped slowly towards his desk. "I simply missed my Duke. I couldn't sit still in my room while my thoughts were constantly drifting to you."

He listened to you carefully, not saying anything at the beginning. His eyes observed your every move carefully. "How come, Y/N? I thought I let you rest from your duties until the next day?"

"I didn't come here because of my duties," you said resting your palms against the wooden desk. "I am here for a personal reason."

"For personal reasons, you say?" He put his golden pen on the pile of documents and got up from his seat, slowly circling the desk. "I'm intrigued."

"I hope you are, sir," you said, taking a few steps toward him. Once you stood in front of him your hand rested against his stomach before moving up his chest. "There are many things I have always wanted to do and say."

He rested his ass against the countertop of his desk. One of his hands instinctively found its way to your hip. Leto's eyes measured your face carefully as your palm wandered over his chest, covered by the white shirt he wore. "Confess then."

"I fall for you. In fact, I shouldn't since you are Duke and I am just your subordinate. Yet I love you like any normal man," you confessed as your hand moved to gently touch his neck only to cup his cheek soon after. "I always wanted to touch you, kiss you..."

He observed you carefully, listening to your words and feeling the warmth spreading all over his body. His other hand cupped your cheek as he lean down and crushed his lips against yours.

Taking aback by this pleasant surprise, you moaned into the kiss. Immediately you returned the kiss, grasping his shirt tightly.

Leto easily deepened the kiss, his arms wrapped around your waist as he hugged you tightly to his chest. Soon he turned around with you in his arms and easily picked you up, sitting you on his desk.

Pulling off for a moment to catch your breath, you looked at him. It was almost impossible to believe that it was actually happening. You expected everything, but this was something different. With a soft smile, you pulled him in for another kiss.

His strong hand grasped your waist as he let his tongue dance with yours in a blissful kiss.

You put your legs around his waist to pull him a bit closer, kissing him back. "Fuck,” you gasped, pulling away from another long kiss. Trying to catch your breath you only looked at him. "My Lord."

A loud grunt escaped his lips as he kissed your cheek, brushing it with his beard. He was desperate for your touch. He couldn't comprehend why he felt that way, yet he didn't know how to stop himself; despite the fact that it was so wrong, it felt so right, even though he was being unfaithful to the concubine who gave him his son years ago. His kisses moved to your neck as he almost grunted into your ear. After yet another passionate kiss, and his hand placed on the back of your upper thigh, he told you casually, "I'll meet you later. Leave now, I still have work to do."

You stayed in place, playing with his shirt. "You promise, sir?"

He offered you yet another heated kiss. "I never broke any of my promises. You should know that."

"I just want to be sure," you whispered against his lips.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Leave now. Paul, Jessica, or anyone else can enter here at any moment," Leto pulled away from you and returned to his previous spot like nothing had happened.

"Yes, sir. I can't wait for later," you got up from the table and walked out of the room as if nothing had happened, but you were shaking inside. Your look was a little messy, so you did your best to improve it before someone could see you.

You were unfortunate enough to bump into Leto's son almost immediately after leaving his office.

He measured your face with a careful eye, just as his father had moments ago. "Y/N? What are you doing here at that hour? Are you okay? Your eyes are watery, maybe you should let doctor Yueh check your vitals?"

In the meantime, Leto covered his face with his hands. He asked himself out loud, "What the fuck are you doing? Her father was your friend and asked you to look after his only daughter, but this is certainly not what he had in mind. What the fuck is wrong with you? She could be your daughter," he stood up and walked to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of strong booze and pouring himself a drink. The thing that happened was already wrong, and he knew he should control himself more, but once you got close to him, he felt like he didn't have control. His senses were running wild. As a result of the kisses you shared, he was unable to think straight.

At the same time, on the other side of the door, shaking your head, you gave Paul a soft smile.

"No, Paul. It's fine, there is no need to bother doctor Yueh at this hour. You know that my body isn't taking my stay here well, and I was outside with your father today," you lied a tad, trying to make it as logical as possible. "It's probably because of this. No need to worry."

"I hope you were having a mask on, in case of being out," Paul said, visibly concerned about your well-being. "The spice is a hallucinogen and might affect people who didn't have contact with it earlier," he rubbed your shoulder. "Were you meeting my father at that hour? Any problems with shields again?"

Did you have a mask on? At this point you didn't even remember, maybe that's why you suddenly were brave enough to confess? There was no turning back now anyway. "Yes. I was telling him about their state. There was an attempt at fixing them today. Let's hope we all get a good night's sleep tonight."

He smiled at you and rubbed the back of his neck as he said, "Hopefully." I'm glad we have friends like you. Listen, Y/N, I heard you know a lot about Fremen. Would you tell me some stories? Not now, but one day, if you'll have more spare time. Forgive me for keeping you, I need to speak with my father. Hope this night will be calm," Paul nodded as a farewell and went to his father's office.

You turned on your hill and waved at him before adding, "I will gladly tell you some stories. I already can't wait for this."

He knew it was wrong. He knew he was about to destroy his own vision of himself as a noble man with honor. But he couldn't get you out of his head.

Duke Leto tried to concentrate on his work. Even meeting with Duncan didn't help him get his mind back on track. He discussed potential threats caused by faulty shields with his friend, but his thoughts seemed to drift away every now and then. Duncan noticed a difference in his master's behavior and advised him to get some rest before another day full of responsibilities. Following his farewell with his men, Leto returned to the headquarters.

When he finally fulfilled his promise, it was in the middle of the night. 

While he walked to your room, the path he had taken many times before, Leto couldn't stop his heart from beating faster and faster. Before leaving his office, he washed his face with cold water, hoping it would help ease the fire burning in his heart, spreading all over his body, intoxicating his mind and soul. Unfortunately, it didn't help.

Your door was knocked lightly by him as he stood in front of it.

Your ears perked up immediately when you heard the knocking. Of course, you weren't sleeping. When he promised you, it was impossible for you to sleep. After waiting for who knows how long, he finally came to you. On the inside and outside, you were shaking. As you got up from the bed, you took a few deep breaths and opened the door.

He was standing with his back to your door, still considering the possibility of turning back. But there was no actual turning back. It's been a long time since he was with a woman and to speak truly, he missed the soft, feminine skin against his.

"Get inside before someone sees you," you whispered, moving your hand up to his back before grabbing the fabric of his shirt and gently pulling him inside to quickly close the door. "The last thing we want is rumors, right?"

Entering your room, he checked twice to make sure no one had seen him.

Your chamber was much smaller than his, much darker as well. He didn't bother himself by checking the interior out, instead, he wrapped arms around your waist and leaned his head down, kissing you hungrily without saying anything more.

Letting out a quiet laugh, you immediately kissed him back, cupping his cheeks as if he was the lover that you hadn't seen in months. You couldn't believe you waited so long for him and then this happened. How stupid of you.

As easily as back in his office, he picked you up. One of his hands slipped under your ass, the other wrapped around your waist as he kept on kissing you, walking with you to your bed.

When your back hit the mattress, you softly moaned into the kiss. Pulling away from him, you smiled, stroking his cheek. "You aren't wasting any time."

He looked down at you, realizing how beautiful you were. "Thought this is what you want."

"Oh, I want it, my Lord. I can't wait to be yours and yours only," you confessed, gently stroking his cheek. "I want to be yours."

He looked down at you before yet another kiss was placed on your lips. You tasted wonderful, and he didn't want to take his tongue off your lips.

It was impossible to pull away from him. You didn't want to be away from him ever again. Even if you had to sneak around with him, you were more than ready for this. He was your Duke and master in many aspects.

His hands were placed on your hip as he continued the make-out session. Soon, Leto's fingers started undoing the buttons of your shirt.

Giggling against his lips, you let him do as he pleased; there was nothing you wanted to hide from him. You weren't ashamed of your body nor the scars that decorated it, so once all the buttons were opened, you pulled the shirt off and tossed it aside.

He pulled away to look down at your body; he admired the slight curves of your waist and the roundness of your full breasts. Instantly, his hand wandered to the belt of your trousers.

"You may be a Duke but you are with me now, love," you whispered, grasping his hand as the other started to undo his buttons. "I remove something. So do you. I can't be the only one naked here."

He smiled at you as he sat on his knees between your legs. A nod allowed you to undo his shirt, and once it was open, he tossed it to the ground.

"I always wanted to see how you looked under that uniform and I have to say you look better without it," you said, gently touching every inch of his skin.

He looked at your small palm placed on his tanned, broad chest, caressing the tensed muscles of his abdomen. Taking one of your breasts in his hands, he gently squeezed it. "Don't be silly, Y/N."

"I am not being silly. I am being honest," you summed up, easily slipping a hand under his pants. I wanted to see you naked. I wanted to see what you look like between my legs or when you are buried deep inside my cunt."

He smirked proudly, letting his hands wander down your body. He unbuckled your belt, opened your fly, and tugged on your pants to slip them off your legs. "I wanna see you cumming all over my cock, Y/N. I wanna see you arching your back when I eat your cunt out."

Moving away from him, you sat further on the bed. With your legs slightly open, you pointed at him and moved your finger to call him closer.

Leto licked his lips, looking at your slightly spread legs, and crawled to you, picking one of your legs up and kissing the calf.

Slowly you lay down and watched him, taking in the nice sight. You will remember it forever.

Keeping your calf in his hands, he sat up on his knees, slowly kissing up, moving to your inner thigh. He repeated the action with your other leg, gently touching your knee with his hand.

"Oh, so this is how you like it? Just play with me when I am waiting here?" You hummed.

His glance slowly moved to your face as he dragged his tongue up your inner thigh.

"Jessica is such a lucky woman," you whispered quietly when you caught his attention. "She really is if she has such a lovely view every night."

He murmured, kissing further up your thigh. "It's been a while since she had had such a view," Leto said openly, focusing on the warmth of your skin.

Sitting up a bit, you moved your hand through his thick locks. "You poor thing. She is missing a lot by not taking proper care of a man like you."

He licked your calf again and then a trail up until your inner thigh, pushing you lightly back on the bed as he reached your panties.

"You will be taken care of. I promise, my Lord," you promised, getting comfortable on your back.

He kissed your folds through the material of your panties and looked up at you.

Biting your lip, you looked him straight in the eye. You could already feel how wet you were, and his little games made you impatient. "I want to feel those lips, my Lord, so please do not torture me like this."

He smiled a tad too proudly as he shifted the material of your panties aside. He dragged his tongue up your pussy, from its bottom right to the clitoris, looking up at you to check your reaction. Your pussy was so pretty, little lips covered the prettiest pinkish entrance he had ever seen.

As you looked right at him with an innocent look, you asked, "You like it, my Lord?"

He hummed deeply for yes, sending some vibes directly into your already vulnerable spot. Shortly after that, he attacked you like a hungry dog, flicking his tongue all over your pussy, slurping, making all of the obscene noises you could ever hear. His hands grasped your hips, holding you strongly in place.

Gasping loudly, you pressed your back into the mattress. After all those lonely nights, this was better than you could have ever imagined.

His beard scratched at your pussy as well as your thighs, especially when he pulled you by your hips, wrapped your legs around his neck, and picked your lower body up so you basically rested only your shoulders against the bed. One of his hands supported your lower back while the other slipped down your body to your boobs, teasing the nipples, and then to your neck.

With a quiet moan, you shifted your body to make the position more comfortable. "Oh, Leto!" You sighed deeply, trying to stop yet another moan.

His tongue teased your entrance to quickly move up and circle your clitoris as he kept eating your pussy out. He was humming, playing with your boobs, and occasionally rubbing your arched back. Soon, he put two of his fingers into your mouth. His fingers muffled your another moan. Humming, you started sucking on his digits, coating them with saliva as you rolled your tongue around them.

When his digits were fully covered in your saliva, he pulled them out, only to slowly slip them into your pussy, pumping them back and forth.

This time you moaned loudly, not caring if someone would hear you. You touched yourself so many times, believing your fingers were his, but you fooled yourself. The size and thickness of his fingers made you feel what you could not feel yourself.

"That's it, little one, sing for me. I bet you've been fucking yourself before, imagine us doing things, huh?" He asked when he pulled his mouth out of your pussy for a second, laying you back on the bed to finger your pussy deeper and faster. "What naughty things were you doing, hmm?"

Softly whining, you grabbed his wrist just to hold onto something. "I was fingering my sweet little pussy until I cum, whimpering your name."

"Aren't you such a naughty, little shit?" He asked, only to close his lips on your pussy again, slurping further and flickering his tongue over your entrance, whenever he was pulling his fingers out. Leto started feeling highly uncomfortable within his trousers so he pressed his free hand to the hardened bulge, grunting.

As you whimpered and bit your lips, you arched your back in pleasure. Your climax was approaching and you shivered under Duke's touch.

"Come on, sweetheart, cum for your Duke," Leto encouraged before he fully slipped his fingers out of you to replace them with nothing but his tongue, slipping it as far as he could into your cunt. Your taste was intoxicating his senses, making him grunt as he kept on touching himself through his pants.

It was impossible to hold it any longer, you didn't even want to. You chanted his name loudly, not holding back any longer. He licked your pussy dry after you spilled all your juices all over his tongue. Then he raised his head, and your cum could be seen on his lips and beard.

He crawled up your body, licking his trail until he reached your lips.

You kissed him, wrapping arms around his neck.

He kissed you but soon pulled away and sat on the edge of your bed, wiping his lips. "Listen, Y/N. You're beautiful, you have a gorgeous body, and you're driving my senses wild, you're tempted and intoxicating but I think I can't," Leto said openly, picked up his shirt, and put it on. "This is wrong. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done those... Things to you," he considered his words and gave you one last glare before he left the room.

You watched him leave as you sat there. What? What?! He left you?! Just like that after what he did?! How could he?! You dared to open up to him about everything and even give yourself to him and he just tossed you aside, trying to sugarcoat it with some benevolent intentions?!

The tears filled your eyes as you flopped back on the bed, covering your face with your hands.

Leto didn't get back to his bedroom either. He decided to return to his office and eventually get some sleep on the couch there. He felt like a complete dick for dumping you like that but there was the line he didn't want to cross - in the end, he had a significant other, a woman who gave him a son. Leto lay on the couch, put one hand to his forehead, and cursed several times, being completely torn by the situation and your confessions.

The next day came too quickly and he had to return to his ordinary duties, to act like nothing had ever happened.

Of course, you had to do it yourself which wasn't easy. You felt tired and your eyes hurt, thanks to the previous night's crying. Sighing, you pulled your hair into a ponytail, leaving a few strands out. A bit of change won't kill you. Probably.

With a loud sigh, you left your room. You weren't ready to meet Leto but it was your duty and there was nothing you could do about it.

He wasn't present at the briefing, for he was spending the morning with his son, as Idaho told you.

Of course, he did. Maybe it was for good, you wouldn't have to watch his face. That would remind you of yesterday's night too much.

Idaho asked you to help him take a look at the airstrip and near the shields. 

When you returned, you met Duke and Paul.

You bowed your head and smiled at Paul. "How are you today, Paul? I hope everything is going well for you," by saying this, you focused entirely on Paul, not much-paying attention to Leto.

Leto looked at you briefly, nodding his head at Duncan.

Paul smiled at you and assured you everything was right. "Father promised to take me with him to visit one of the crawlers. Doctor Lyet mentioned it's likely to see the sandworm, they're attracted by rhythmical noises harvesters make."

"I am sure you really want to see it, huh? It's really something special," you said with a soft chuckle, then you finally looked at Leto. "Shall Duncan and I get ready as well, sir?"

Duke nodded. "Yes. We'll take one ornithopter to get there and check the crawler from the distance. In case you need the weapon with you."

When he and Paul were leaving, Leto briefly touched your palm, giving you one more glance.

Instead of responding to the touch or the gaze, you turned to Duncan and smiled as sweetly and innocently as you had done to Leto previously. Since he played with you like that, you could do the same.

He wasn't happy with the way you looked at his friend. To be fully honest, he hated it, but at least Duncan was content with the unexpected situation.

Idaho talked to you and told you about things he saw while being with Fremens until Leto ordered him at the back of the ornithopter, to sit with Paul while you were about to sit with him in the front.

Idaho's stories didn't bother you, in fact, you really enjoyed them, so having to sit next to Duke made you frown. "With all due respect, my Lord, but shouldn't Paul sit with you? The boy will have a better view from the front than from the back.'

"Don't undermine my decisions, Y/N, and do as I say," he cut your whining, putting the headset on.

You whispered through the headset, making sure only Leto could hear you. "I did yesterday, and where did it lead me?" Then you looked over your shoulder at Duncan and shrugged a tad. "Sorry. I tried."

Leto didn't comment on your words even though he knew he should tell you something or at least apologize for his behavior. 

Once the ornithopter got up in the air, Leto made sure to mute Paul, Duncan, and Gurney who joined up so he could say, "Don't be angry about yesterday, Y/N. I'm sorry."

Laughing softly, you did the same as he did. Do you really mean this or is this some sort of rule the Duke should follow? Apologize to the woman he almost fucked?"

When you used that one particular word, he gave you a glance, his eyebrow raised. "I apologize for not fucking your cunt yesterday. Does it sound better?"

"A little, but it doesn't change anything. I barely dragged myself out of bed this morning," you said. ”I bet your woman was happy that night because I don't believe you took care of that burden on yourself."

He remained silent for a moment, replying briefly to Gurney who asked Leto about issues with shields. Afterward, he returned to the topic. "Believe it or not, I was alone in my office."

"Exactly like me in my bedroom. Thanks to you, my Lord. The man I loved and respected completely broke my trust, as well as something else," you muttered, staring at him.

He remained silent until you reached the crawler and observed it from above. 

"Everything looks well here!" Idaho announced.

"No signs of sandworms," Gurney added as he and Idaho took Paul at the back of the machine. "You can sit us down, we'll gather some spice for examination, Leto," Gurney said.

Leto landed carefully and once he and you were all alone, he took off the headset and looked at you, simply cupping your chin in his fingers and pulling you into a kiss.

Taken by surprise you quickly kissed him back. You called these mixed signals. First, he kissed you, then almost spent the night with you, and now you're back to kissing. You pulled away, taking off the headset. "What was that for?”

"An apology."

"It's like one of a million kisses you need to give me for yesterday. It hurts. You just left me."

"Understand me," he asked, a frown creeping on his forehead, "I'm risking the reputation I've worked hard to gain for two decades."

Taking his hand, you shook your head, "You think I'm not risking anything? Perhaps my reputation isn't as large as yours, but I still have it, and I risk it. But I do this because I fell for you and I can't change it."

"Fuck," he said simply. "It's not that I want to use you and forget. I don't look for a one-night stand, just to make things clear between us. I'm digging myself right now, right?"

"A little," you chuckled and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. "I also don't look for some kind of glory because I fucked Duke Leto himself. Just so you know."

As needy and desperate as he became, he leaned closer and offered you yet another kiss, this time longer and heated to the point he moaned into your lips.

Giggling against his lips you stroked his cheek. His moans were already your favorite sounds.

"My Duke is a really needy person, I can see. There really must be something missing from your life."

He rested his forehead against yours, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "Don't be angry about yesterday. I promise to make it up to you whenever you want."

As soon as you two heard Paul and the rest getting back, he kissed your lips once again and pulled away, rubbing his beard to cool himself down.

You turned around, smiling and acting as if nothing had happened. "And how was it?”

Idaho said that Paul got into the dust of spice and he was a little off so Duke decided to get back to the headquarters immediately, to have Paul checked by Yueh.

Leto agreed to give you a brief break after returning, so you were the one that escorted Paul to Yueh.

After explaining everything to the doctor, Paul was left in good hands to rest.

No matter what you were doing, your thoughts drifted to your Duke. It was really important for you to see him, but you weren't sure when the right time would come.

Leto of course informed Jessica about the small adventure their son experienced while in the desert and his concubine headed to doctor Yueh to check whether everything was good. Thankfully, Paul suffered only from light dizziness and headache. Yueh assured that if the young prince gets enough rest, he'll quickly return to his normal state.

Meantime, Leto spoke with Gurney and Idaho about their opinions on the equipment and determined that it is the matter that should be discussed with the court.

You freshened up and put on your usual clothes; the oversized shirt tucked into high-waisted pants. Dressed like this you returned to Leto who was still with Gurney and Idaho.

"My Lord? I just remembered something significant. Can we talk about it aside?"

By the light falling into the chamber through the huge windows, his grayish beard and salt and pepper-coloured hair were lightened as he glanced at you over his shoulder. "Excuse me," he looked at his friends and walked aside with you.

Idaho exchanged surprised glances with Gurney.

While you walked alongside him, you made sure that you did not show your feelings. It wasn't hard to pretend that you two were discussing some important matter. "When can I come to visit you?" You asked him simply.

Since you were standing next to one of the pillars, he immediately placed his hand at your hip where he gradually rubbed you. "When the shields will go down."

Frowning softly you looked at him confused. "Why then? You know that if something happens with shields I will be pulled out to make sure this whole place is safe."

"Gurney wants to lower the shields to inspect the mechanism fully. The entire terrain will be filled with our soldiers. Don't worry, you'll be sent to other duties."

You licked your lips, giving him a smile. "I will be sent to make the head of house Atreides feel good, or I will make sure he's safe?"

He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. "Fuck you, little one, keep on acting like that, and I won't be able to play it cool anymore. You have no idea how much I want to taste your lips," he opened his eyes and looked into yours. "Look what the fuck you're doing."

"There is just one question. Upper lips or lower lips," you giggled quietly. "I will better go then. I need to get really ready to see my man tonight."

He leaned forward, pretending he was about to whisper something to you, but instead he used the opportunity to briefly kiss your lips. "That's what I meant." He then went back to Idaho and Gurney.

Waving at both of them, you soon walked away as well, excited for whatever would come.

Leto returned to his friends and behaved as if nothing had happened. When Idaho asked what you wanted, he lied that you asked about the issue with shields and he sent you to guard Paul when the test would be run.

While Gurney appeared to buy it, Idaho did not, but he did not ask any further questions.

You returned to your room and immediately started to dig through your closet to find something appropriate for Leto. You were delighted to find lace underwear you thought you would never wear.

You headed to Leto's second bedroom dressed in special underwear and a long shirt that evening. 

You had to knock three times; it was the special code he set for the two of you. Once he heard the three, tiny knocks, he got up and walked to open the door. This time he wore a black, buttoned shirt, black, fitted trousers, and a black jacket with gold epaulets. He measured you with his eye from the bottom to the top, discovering with amusement and surprise you didn't wear the trousers. "Come in, little one. I thought you wouldn't come, to punish me after last night."

"I should," you agreed while looking around before you walked in, closing the door behind yourself. I should just leave you here waiting for something that is never going to happen, but someone needs to be the kind half when someone is cruel."

"Do you think I am cruel?" he asked, locking the door with the key.

"Am I the one that made you sing and then just left?" You asked him, raising an eyebrow.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he took you further in the room, offering you a drink. "How many times shall I apologize, sweetheart?"

"How long?" You hummed, pretending that you were thinking as you accepted the drink. "Well? I think that apologizing until your last day will be enough."

Leto scoffed a tiny bit. "Then I'll apologize to you every day "

"Sounds like a great idea," you nodded, looking at the drink. "Shall I be worried you try to get rid of me?"

"How could I?" He asked, caressing your shoulder.

"I don't know, love. You can do a lot as we saw," you teased before taking a sip.

He took a seat on his bed, downing his drink, observing you.

"Do you like what you see?" You asked, giving him a little spin, proudly displaying yourself to him.

"How do you think? Of course, I do."

You stopped near the bed and after putting the drink away you began slowly undoing the buttons of your shirt. In the beginning, you showed him just your lower part of the body, reviling your panties and naked belly before undoing more buttons to reveal your breasts in a nice black bra.

He watched you, playing with his glass, licking his lips. "Fuck. Look at you. I can't believe you're real."

"I am real and all yours, my Duke," you purred and bowed to him.

He smiled widely, letting his glance slip all over your body. "You're all mine, and no one is entitled to possess you the way I do."

Walking closer to stand between his legs, you let his hands rest on you as your hands wrapped around his neck. "Really? Maybe I should go to Idaho? I bet Duncan would take care of me without any games."

He cocked his brow. "What do you mean? I hope he didn't bother you."

"No, but he is clearly interested in me. Maybe since you are so quick to toss me aside, I should talk to him more?" You teased, playing with his hair.

He closed his eyes as your hands slipped in his hair, messing with the neatly brushed hairdo. "I strongly encourage you to get rid of such an idea."

"And why is that? What if you change your mind again?"

"I am not planning to change my mind and it would be a great shame to get my right-hand man executed for high treason."

You gasped and stared at him with a smirk. "Oh, you wouldn't do that!"

"I'm a fucking Duke, I can do whatever I wish and no one can disobey. Just to make things clear, if you decide one day it'd be pleasant to check what he is hiding in his pants, both of you are in great trouble."

You laughed, pulling at his hair gently. "Oh, look at you, all mighty and bossy. Already putting me in my place."

He snarled a little when you tugged at his hair. "You're fucking dating the Duke, what have you been thinking?"

"So you are sure about me now?"

"Yes. I am. I have never been so sure about anything else in my fucking life."

Finally, you sat on his lap, taking the cup from him to have a sip yourself.

He smiled, rubbing your sides up and down. "Are you having fun, Y/N? Is my lap comfortable?"

Purposely, you rolled your hips against him, feeling the material of your panties rubbing against his thick thighs. "Oh, yes. So comfortable."

He groaned at the action, smirking. "Look at you. So needy."

"Hard not to be eager," you rolled your hips more. "You played with me, and then left me. I was hot and bothered for you."

While licking his lips, he looked at your hips, abdomen, and pussy under your lacy pants. "Did I make you feel good yesterday?"

"You made me feel amazing. Like never before, I never wanted you to stop, my Lord," you whined.

"Look at you, finally addressing me accordingly."

”Maybe I should call you master. I think it would be more suitable." You placed a kiss on his lips and then moved to the bed to get comfortable on fresh sheets. "So soft, all I am missing here is you."

He got up, set his glass aside, and returned to the bed, unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

You watched him, nuzzling the pillow gently. Even if those were clearly fresh sheets, you still could smell his scent on them. It was comforting. "My master looks handsome as always."

He slowly slipped his shirt off his muscular shoulders and let it fall to the ground. He then joined you on the bed, instantly kissing your tummy, scratching the soft skin with his thick beard.

You purred loudly, arching your back a little because of the soft tickling you felt with every soft kiss.

He slipped his hands under your back and unclasped your bra, gently slipping its stripes off your shoulders, kissing the soft skin on them, moving to your breasts then. He slowly flicked his tongue around your nipples, occasionally sucking on them and looking up at your face, checking your reactions. Then, he slowly licked a trail down your body, from breasts, through your tummy, to the edge of your panties.

Biting your lips, you watched him, letting out quiet noises from time to time. Already, you were hoping that it wouldn't end like last time. By raising your hips a little, you allowed him to slowly slip your panties off.

To do so, Leto used his teeth, catching the material of your panties with them, slowly tugging them down your legs.

You watched him with your mouth wide open since this was the last thing you expected from Leto. Your cheeks turned completely red.

Once your panties were taken off, he spread your legs and diced between them, eating you viciously out, just like he did the night before.

Letting out a moan you grabbed the sheets and fisted them, moving your legs onto his shoulders, just like the last time.

This time he wasn't wasting time; his tongue flicked over your pussy, he hummed, sending some vibrations through your body, and massaged your breasts by kneading the flesh.

"My Lord, oh fuck. P-please don't stop. I want to cum on your tongue just like last time!" You gasped, moving your hand through his hair.

As your fingers tangled in his hair, he groaned and kept biting you more fiercely, slipping his digits into you.

You tugged at his hair a little harder at the feeling of his fingers. It was just as good as last night, and you gladly sang for him.

His tongue moved faster along your folds, he eventually caught your pinkish pussy lips between his teeth to gently suck them in his mouth, pulling softly.

His actions brought you to your peak, you could hold back just to make him work a little more but it felt too good. You cum, arching your back while whimpering his name.

He smirked broadly when your juices spilled on his tongue. Oh, how delicious you were!

You raised your arms, silently asking him for a kiss.

He kissed your pussy for the last time and towered over you, slowly leaning his head down to offer you a gentle kiss.

Heatedly, you kissed him and wrapped your arms around his neck. You used the moment of distraction provided by the kiss and your strength to flip both of you. Now you were on top, with a playful smile you pulled away, stroking his cheek. "My Lord."

While he blinked in surprise, he grasped your hips and looked up at you. "Comfy?" He asked, making himself comfortable on the bed. "Look at you."

You sat up a bit, resting your hand on his chest while rolling your hips. "Oh, really comfy. I wish this was what happened yesterday."

His hands stroked the curves of your waist as he tried to memorize your body. "Good."

As you leaned down to kiss his lips and then moved to his cheek and neck, you whispered, "I was so angry yesterday." Your kisses continued and moved down his chest and stomach until you reached his abdomen.

He rubbed your shoulders and gasped quietly as you were moving down his body. "Did you finish off on your own?"

"No," you placed kiss on his abdomen. "I spent the night crying, hoping you would return. Questioning if I was even worth your time."

"Of course you are," he said, reaching out and stroking your cheek. "Of course you are, Y/N."

You cupped his hand. "I love you. Not as a Duke... I don't care about the title. I love you for who you are, Leto."

He propped himself on his elbow, still stroking your cheek, his careful eagle-eyes never left yours. "Why? I'm nothing special. If not for my title, I would be nothing but an ordinary soldier."

"You are good and kind," you moved a little and sat up face to face with him. "You are smart, loving, and caring. Not to mention being handsome."

No mention of being unfaithful," he said, more to himself, scoffing. "I'm not a good man, Y/N. I killed a lot of people."

"No one is flawless, but I still love you. I love everything you do, I love your voice, I love your body, I love how you make me feel," you counted.

In the dim light filling the room, you could see little sparkles in his eyes.

"I love my Leto," you added and cupped his cheek to place a sweet kiss on his lips.

He kissed you back, trying to hold you as close as possible.

Pulling away, you stroked his cheek. "I am yours and only yours, Leto. Both in bed and on duty."

"I don't like categorizing," Leto said, playing with a strand of your hair. "I don't want to make you a thing I can possess whenever I want. I don't want you that way."

You gently stroked his shoulder and soon your hand moved to his nape. "What do you mean by that? There isn't much you can do now and I'm fine with that as long as my Leto is happy."

Stroking your hips where his hands were placed, he smiled gently. "I don't want you that way. I don't want to treat you like a whore. I just need you in my life. As my partner."

Watching him you frowned a tad and chuckled. "I... Isn't this a little impossible? This place is closed for me, besides it would look bad."

"Closed for you?"

"I know she is a concubine, but she gave you a son. I am nothing, just a soldier who confessed her love for you," you shrugged softly.

"Do you know why I haven't married?"

You simply shook your head.

"I should wed Paul's mother, make her my Duchess. Yet, my unwedded state gives some Houses hope they may yet ally with me through their marriageable daughters. It's all political, my dear Y/N. But now I start considering another thing."

"What thing, my Lord?"

He brushed your cheek with his calloused thumb. "Maybe it's just a whim but I certainly want you as my concubine, that's for sure. Maybe even something more."

"I wish to be your concubine. It doesn't matter how. I just want to be yours." 

You wished for this. You truly wanted this. You didn't care if you would be his concubine or the Duchess, perhaps. All you wanted was to be his, to be close to him without the need of hiding anything from anyone.

"Of course it's possible. I'll think about how to play it, but I promise you'll become one of the most powerful people on Arrakis. I want you. I have no idea how it happened but you own me and all of me."

It doesn't matter if I am powerful or not, all I care about is being close to you. You are also going to own me and everything I do," you whispered.

He pulled you closer to him, so his forehead rested against yours. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? Why were you always so cautious about showing your emotions near me? If I had known earlier, we might have been married by now, maybe sharing a home even."

You chuckled softly, blushing at the thought of not only marrying him but also having a child.

"That's how I was raised and how I was trained. You were up, when I was down, and all my responsibilities were to protect you and those close to you. There was no other relationship except friendship, and even friendship had its limitations." Taking a deep breath, you said, "It should be obvious to you how my father carried himself even if he was your friend."

Leto nodded silently. "Yes. I always believed I love Jessica. And I do, you know? But I have never felt anything so intense with you, something more intoxicating than love itself."

"I loved before but it was nothing like with you. I feel like I can't live without you," you whispered. "You think that Jessica and Paul will hate us both for this? I don't want to ruin anything."

"I don't think my son will hate you, it'll most likely be aimed at me. Jessica, on the other hand, most certainly is not going to accept it."

Maybe this is all a bad idea..." You worriedly said.

"Stop it right now," he ordered, cupping your cheeks in his hands again. "Stop it. I'll do whatever it takes for you to stay unaffected."

You grabbed his hands and nodded. "I trust you."

"Don't worry. I'll never let anyone hurt you in any way, Y/N."

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. "It's my duty to protect you."

He smiled at you brightly. "It's your duty to love me unconditionally."

"Then I hope I am fulfilling it properly, my Lord," you kissed him.

He kissed you back, letting his tongue slip past your lips, dancing with yours in a heated dance.

You moaned against his lips and pulled away with a smile. 

"How about we finally get to the fun stuff? Unless my Duke waits till his wedding night."

He chuckled, giving you a look. "Look at you. So tempting and beautiful, and you're expecting me to fucking wait to get that pussy marked? It's not going to happen."

"You certainly are taking your sweet time, my Lord," you teased, rolling your hips against him with a cocky smile.

A deep frown appeared on his face as you ground against his crotch.

Looking him right in the eye, you moved down until you were comfortable between his legs. 

You undo his belt and then the pants. Your eyes never left his.

He could feel a blush hitting his cheeks and he was glad at that point that he wore a thick beard that partially hid it.

"May I, my Lord?" You asked quietly.

Leto reached out his hand, placing it on your cheek, nodding.

You turned your head to kiss his hand before your attention moved back to his pants. Finally pulling them down, you gasped and then smiled right at him, seeing he didn't wear any kind of underwear. "Look at you, love."

A shy smirk appeared on his lips. "It's more comfortable this way in such a hot climate."

"Oh, I bet," you hummed and wrapped your soft palm around his member, giving him a few gentle strokes.

Leto was observing you, his face relaxed and soon he rolled his head back, resting it on his pillow.

You gave his cock a long lick from the base to the tip before your warm lips wrapped around the shaft.

He grunted in a deep tone that roared within his chest. "Just like that."

You began to take more and more of him, relaxing your throat to do so. You hummed around him to tease him with some vibrations.

Soon, he was grunting and groaning, bucking his hips up slowly, to slip his shaft more into your mouth. Leto's hands slipped into your hair, and he slowly, gradually fucked your mouth. "Look at you, little one. Sucking on my cock so well."

The only thing you did was hum, focusing on taking his cock.

He relaxed in your arms.

Suddenly, the couple could hear a knocking on the door. "Father, Duncan, and I can't find Y/N, and you told them she was about to guard me. The shield will be down in a moment and she'd be needed."

Leto snapped his eyes open, looked down at you with his cock in your mouth, and chuckled quietly, pressing his hand to his lips to muffle it. After clearing his throat, he replied loud enough for Paul to hear, "She's feeling sick, let her rest, probably too much spice got into her system. She's off duty and please, pass this information to Idaho."

Biting your lip, you lay your head on his stomach. Oh, you wanted to laugh so much because of the situation. It was hilarious and embarrassing at the same time.

He reached his hand to stroke your cheek. His eyebrows relaxed as he was grinning like an adolescent.

"Of course, sir," Paul replied, but added, "Father, may I come in? There's one thing I'd like to speak with you about."

Leto got visibly frustrated and rolled his eyes. "Not now, Paul. I have a lot of work to be done here," his thumb brushed your lips. "I'm afraid it'll take me an entire night to get things done. You know how time-consuming planning is, especially if you want to plan everything well enough for it to fit," Leto's eyes never left yours.

You looked right at him and used the opportunity to wrap your lips around his thumb. You began to suck it gently with a smile just to tease him.

He rolled his eyes back and with a gasp, he couldn't stop, he rolled his head back down again. 

"Father... Are you okay? Shall I call mother?"

Leto put his palm to his lips to muffle his tone for a few seconds before he cooled down enough to reply. "It's not necessary, Paul, I'm just tired a little. Now, get back to your room. I want you to stay there when the shields will be down."

Laughing voicelessly, you just started kissing his stomach. The two of you could be in some serious trouble

He licked his lips, watching you.

"Of course, sir," Paul replied again. "Good night."

"Good night, Paul," Leto replied and let out a grunt when he heard his son's footsteps vanishing in the corridor. "What the fuck!"

Giggling, you looked at him. "We'll never get to the better stuff," you joked, getting on top of him and kissing him. ”Well played, my Lord."

He took his cock in his hand and jerked it a few times, giving you a kiss back. "We are fucking lucky, aren't we?" He joked lightly. "Oh, if they fucking knew," he said, lining himself with your entrance, making sure to rub his tip against your already dripping folds.

You moved your hips back against him. "We found ourselves." Finally, you let him sink into you, causing you to moan softly. He was big, much bigger than you expected but you already loved it.

He pressed on your hips a little to make you sink into his cock, impaling you where you belonged. "Fuck," he cursed, feeling how tight, hot and wet you felt around him. "Fuck."

Smiling, you moved your hips in place, letting him feel all of you nicely. "So big. Fuck, filling me so nicely. I have never felt so full."

"How many men did you sleep with before?" He asked casually, gently bucking his hips into you.

"Not many. Nothing special," you answered honestly, moving slowly up and down. ”How about you? You have a second bedroom. Were there more affairs in the past?"

"Countless," he stated openly, cupping your breasts.

The fake sadness soon gave way to a moan as you said, "Fuck... Shall I be jealous that I'm not the only one?"

"No one of them can be counted as special. No one of them was you."

Taking his hand and placing it on your clit, you smiled proudly. Once he started to rub it, you moaned and started to move a little faster. "Fuck. So good."

He kept on rubbing your clitoris, taking his hand away for a moment to lick his lips to add some moisture to your vulnerable point. Once his palm returned, he teased the little bundle of nerves worth his thumb. "You like that, baby?"

You nodded, whining a little. "Oh, I love it, my love. Fuck, you make me feel so good."

Leto easily caught your hips and laid you down on the bed, towering over you seconds later. He took his cock, rubbed its tip along your folds again, and pushed in you with ease, attacking your exposed neck with kissing and sucking as he set a brutal, rapid pace.

You shouted his name as you wrapped arms tightly around his neck, as your legs moved around his waist. The pace he set made you whimper as your head rolled back on the pillow; you felt the entire bed moving along his strong thrusts.

His strong hand was placed on the back of your thigh as the other one wrapped lightly around your neck, he crushed his lips against yours. "You like it when I fuck you, huh?" He grunted into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe.

"Yes... My Lord! I love it! I love it when you fuck me!" You nodded, grasping at him as you could.

He kissed you equally roughly, picking both of your legs up and resting them against his shoulders. His pace slowed but his thrusts became more profound. The sound of skin hitting skin and Leto's deep grunts filled the room.

All the sounds he made and how well he fucked you made you reach your peak, but you held back as much as you could. "My Lord... Can I cum around your cock?"

"Hold a little more, I want to cum with you," he almost pleaded, speeding up again. He removed your legs from his shoulders and made sure you wrapped them tightly around his hips. His thrusts were strong enough to cause the bed to rock back and forth along them. "Fuck," he whispered as his cock throbbed within you. "Cum for me, babygirl."

You did as he said and let go, cumming around him with a scream of his name.

Leto shot thick ropes of cum into your pussy with a loud grunt that turned into a moan.

Holding him tightly, you whimpered his name. "Leto! Fuck, oh fuck!"

He nuzzled the crook of your neck, resting on top of you for a moment, kissing your face.

Grabbing his cheeks, you pulled him into a sweet, gentle kiss.

His weight was supported by one hand as he kissed back. Leto watched as your mixed cums dropped out of your cunt when he pulled his cock out. Leto smirked proudly, rolling to the side.

You sighed when he pulled out, so you turned on your side as well to watch him. "It sounds exciting, now that I am yours and only yours, forever and ever." He reached his hand out and put it on your chest, right on the heart. "Here I am. And here I remain."

𝓓𝓪𝔂 3 - A Horny Kitten || Duncan Idaho x fem!reader x Gurney Halleck

Masterlist

Summary: When Duncan told you Gurney had a massive crush on you, you refused to believe him. You and Duncan decide one day to test Halleck and see if the rumours are true.

Warnings: smut (threesome, oral sex, MMF, anal sex)

Word count: ~ 1625

Author: Fenrir

A/N: the prompt for today is: Blow Jobs

In a meeting room, you and Duncan were waiting for another order when Halleck sat across from you.

Duncan already asked you to take off your underwear, so only your formal dress stood between you and a wandering eye.

Seeing that Idaho wanted you to catch Gurney's attention, you opened your legs to reveal a slightly wet pussy of yours.

Duncan saw Gurney’s eyes catch the upskirt view of you. This startled him a little, and he looked at Duncan again. Slowly, Idaho kissed your neck, spread your legs further, and looked back at Gurney. It wasn't long before Duncan noticed that Halleck had to adjust his cock, which was stiffening up under his pants.

When Duncan told you one day that Gurney Halleck had a massive crush on you, you didn't believe him. Apparently, your boyfriend was right.

As you scooted forward, you exposed more of your pussy. Your pussy was craving a cock.

"It is unlikely that the Duke will return anytime soon. Could it be better if we went back to our chamber?” You asked Duncan, turning your head slightly to look at him with a mischievous grin on your lips.

After brushing some of your hair aside, Duncan placed his lips on the soft part of your neck, exposing the softness of its crook to Halleck. “Yes, it’s a good idea.”

As you looked Gurney in the eyes, Duncan did the same to make sure Halleck understood the hidden message.

You were told by Duncan on your way back to your shared room that you had behaved very well and would be rewarded for it.

Once you returned to the bedroom, he stripped your plain, black dress, placed his keys and sword on the table, and removed his clothes, along with his boxers. In your eagerness, you crawled toward Duncan's cock as he sat on the bed. Before you got close enough to wrap your palm around his shaft, he jerked himself a few times.

You took it in your mouth and slowly started to give him a blowjob. As you gazed up at Duncan, you started sucking on his tip, swirling your tongue around it before putting his cock deep in your mouth.

You didn't appear to have noticed Halleck coming in; Duncan hadn't completely shut the door so Gurney could get in.

Your craving puss and tiny, pink butthole were exposed to Halleck as you gave Idaho a blowjob.

Gurney slid down his combat pants and climbed onto the bed behind you without saying a word.

Duncan's cock was out of your mouth, so you sucked on his balls instead. Upon Halleck's cock entering your tight cunt from behind, you let out a loud moan. After sucking on Duncan's balls for a while, you turned your gaze towards Halleck, moaning louder. When a new cock began to satisfy your long-hidden craving, Duncan was thrilled to see you like this. He felt Gurney's thrusts were firm and slow because each thrust rocked you backwards and forwards.

Halleck must have a very nice, big cock, judging from your expression.

A curious Duncan crept his head between your legs while lying flat on the bed. Seeing a nice, thick shaft moving slowly into and out of your wet pussy, already glistening in your leaking juices, he smiled to himself. Duncan started licking your clit from below as Halleck's balls slapped against your stack out ass.

Moaning loudly, you shifted your angle, causing Gurney's cock to fall out. Duncan knew you wanted Halleck's cock inside you again, so he slid it in again.

Gurney started fucking you faster and harder than before.

Duncan got a better angle on your pussy, so he stuck his tongue out and licked near your clit, while Gurney's cock also ran over Idaho's tongue.

Gurney's balls and cock contracted, and Duncan heard him moan deep while he dumped his cum inside you. Finally, Halleck pulled his cock out and jerked it a few times to release the last drops of his cum, leaving Duncan to clean up his mess on your pussy.

Gurney sat on the edge of the bed and jerked on his still erected cock, watching you push Duncan so he was in a more comfortable position before straddling his face.

You started bucking your hips back and forth, fucking Duncan's face as his hands gripped tightly on your round hips. Palming your breasts, you whispered, "Stick your tongue out, I wanna feel it on my fucking cunt." When Duncan complied, you reached one of your hands down your body to rub on your clitoris viciously, shaking in an overwhelming pleasure. “Fuck, that’s it, baby boy, lick my fucking cunt like that. Fuck!” You went over the edge when he licked your clit simultaneously, massaging your folds with his tongue. As your legs shook, you let out a moan, “Fuck! ”

Then you leaned forward and grabbed Gurney's cock, jerking it for him a few times before taking his shaft into your mouth, bobbing your head back and forth as you continued riding Duncan's face. You got to taste your juices on Halleck’s dick. You were insanely horny, slobbering Gurney's balls and cock like a whore.

It felt like a knot was building up within Duncan's abdomen as he grabbed his hard cock and jerked his shaft. When he stopped eating your cunt, he exclaimed, "You're fucking delicious. But I want to fuck you finally, babe.”

With a loud pop sound, you pulled Halleck’s cock out of your mouth and with a sad whimper you got off Duncan. 

“Wait,” Gurney looked at Idaho. “Can I taste her first?” He pleaded.

Massaging his balls, Duncan looked at his friend. “Fine.”

As you laid on your back and spread your legs wide for Gurney, you rubbed your clit with your fingers already slick with your juices and Halleck's cum. “Come on, old man, what the fuck are you waiting for?” You whispered seductively. “I want your tongue on my fucking clit.”

Gurney grabbed you by your hips and pulled you on the edge of the bed, kneeling down on the floor; immediately, his mouth was attached to your needy cunt and he began slurping on your pussy, grabbing your pussy lips between his teeth to pull gently on them, sucking them in his mouth. He felt his erection growing hard again.

"Duncan," you spat flatly, looking at your boyfriend with half-opened eyes. 

As your boyfriend kneeled next to you, you wrapped your hand tightly around his cock, which was already dripping with pre-cum. With your sharp nails, you squeezed his balls between your fingers as you turned to him and gave him a long lick on his hardened shaft.

"Fuck you, Y/N," Duncan gasped, rolling his head back and slipping one of his hands into your hair to tug at it when you put his cock back into your mouth, sucking and gagging yourself as your hand jerked his shaft at the same time.

Gurney's tongue hit your clitoris as he swirled it around your pussy; soon he put two fingers into you, forcing you to put your legs on his shoulders, still covered in his shirt. "Fuck, your girlfriend is so fucking sweet," Gurney exclaimed, looking at Duncan, who replied with a proud grin. Halleck spat on your clit before he attacked your clitoris with his mouth, sucking hardly on it until you started whimpering from pleasure, your legs shaking again, and your hand slipping into his greyish hair. Eventually, Halleck stopped and watched you sucking Idaho's cock.

“Enough,” Duncan ordered, pulling you by your hair off his cock. “Straddle Halleck.”

You obeyed.

As soon as you straddled the older man’s lap, his hands grasped your hips, massaging the flesh there as you leaned forward to kiss him passionately; you ground your pussy against Gurney’s cock instinctively; he rolled his head back and slapped your buttocks, than catched them, spreading them wide as his curious index finger played with your asshole, causing you to moan lowly.

After rubbing his cock back and forth between your pussy and your asshole, Duncan slowly pressed against your ass. He felt you relax as his cock tip pushed inward; once it was in, Duncan pushed more and slowly slid his entire shaft inside your ass. He made slow thrusts to relax your asshole more. 

“Fuck her for me, Halleck,” Idaho grunted, sweat beginning to form on his forehead as he was making slow, deep thrusts into your tight ass.

When Idaho stopped thrusting for a moment, Gurney lined his fat cock with your pussy and pushed himself in easily.

“Fuck!” You screamed, putting your hands on Halleck’s chest for support. “Just like that, boys,” you begged. “Fuck me, oh gosh, yes, just like that!”

Each time Gurney made a thrust, Duncan felt your asshole tighten and loosen. He reached his left arm around you and touched your swollen pussy; he could feel Gurney’s cock going in and out of your sloppy pussy. Duncan stimulated your clit and felt your muscles contract. 

As Duncan and Gurney felt your contract around them, they couldn't contain themselves; the three of you came together.

When Duncan and Gurney pulled their cocks out of you, you rolled to the free spot on the bed and sighed. Your hand traveled down to your cunt so you could gather some of their cums on your finger and put it into your mouth, saying, "Fuck you, boys, it was the hottest fuck I've ever had. Mmmm, we need to think about more meetings like that.”

A blush erupted on Gurney's cheeks as he looked at Idaho.

"Now you know that everything I told you about Y/N being a horny kitten was true," Duncan smiled at his friend.

𝓓𝓪𝔂 10 - A Steamy Farewell || Leto Atreides x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: After years of service under Duke Leto's command, you are about to leave Arrakis. There's nothing more surprising than being farewelled by the leader himself, especially if it's in a steamy way

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v)

Word count: 1315

Author: Rouge

A/N: the prompt for today is: Drunk Sex

In order to say goodbye to Arrakis, I decided to throw a party; it was a hot summer evening party with a few coworkers and a lot of wine that everyone enjoyed. My party had thinned out by this point, so I walked the last people down the hill, to their barracks, to say goodbye. I was chatting with a couple of coworkers while Duke Leto Atreides walked his concubine, Lady Jessica, back to their chambers. Then he joined our little group on the training field. 

In between hugs and farewells, we chatted briefly, and I thanked them all for coming.

Despite the fact that it seemed silly for him to walk up and back down again, and I had taken the walk up the hill hundreds of times during my duties, I considered it polite and gentlemanly for him to linger near me and suggest that he walk me back up to the headquarters. We headed back up the little hill. Taking a different route up, Leto stood on a flat area above me and reached down to pull me up. As he pulled me up, my body skimmed along the length of his; he was incredibly strong and I could feel it in his touch. Once I was on my feet next to him, he stabilized me by wrapping his hands around my ribcage. All these things kind of affected me. For a moment, we were silent, then we continued up the hill towards the headquarters. We arrived at my door after a long walk, and it was awkward for a moment. In our drunken and giddy state, we decided to go inside for another drink.

While serving on Arrakis, I managed to collect all kinds of crazy old things about the place that I totally adored and showed him.

Throughout the whole time he was following me around my room; he was very close to me and touched me from time to time.

Knowing he had his beloved concubine, I was pretending not to notice, even though I was subtly encouraging it by leaning in slightly and telling myself that I was drunk and it was to fall or lean on him.

Once I showed Duke Leto the secret door in the back of a closet, I turned around and noticed that we were pressing against each other. As he pulled me closer, he wrapped his arms around me. I placed my hands on his broad chest that was covered by one of his finest, black shirts. It was as if we were subtly fitting our bodies closer together. The look on Leto's face was serious.

I told him, "You should make sure your concubine has made it back safely and that Paul is feeling well. " Leto kissed my neck and breathed deeply, avoiding to reply, "I know, this isn't right, but I crave you." 

As his erection pressed down on me, I couldn't resist moving against it and rubbing my nipples against his chest through our shirts. He was so tall, muscular, and sexy, I couldn't resist myself.

After sliding his hand up my thigh, Leto grabbed a handful of my ass and pulled me even closer to him. “You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered to me.

As we kissed and breathed heavily, I alternated between pushing him away, telling him we couldn't, and pulling him back.

My back was pushed against the wall as he picked me up; I wrapped my legs around him, letting out a brief moan directly into his ear. It was almost like he had an erection inside me despite my panties and his fitted pants still being on; my skirt rode up my thighs as his calloused hand caressed the back of my thigh.

As we grabbed each other and touched everywhere, Leto pulled back my head by my hair so he could kiss the side of my neck and face. It was intense and passionate.

Due to the fact that he was carrying me around the room, we were often falling against things or almost falling over, and we were kissing each other very violently; we would laugh about knocking things over intermittently.

In the end, we ended up near my front door, and I pushed him out, shouting, "I really  want you, but you have to go back to your family!" I slammed the door shut and rested my back against it, trembling as I breathed barely.

After a brief moment of silence, I heard a knock. Naturally, I answered it.

Standing there, Leto cocked an eyebrow at me as he said, "You won't be able to get rid of me this easily." The Duke pushed me back into my room.

We fell to the floor; I hit my back hard against it, laughing nervously. His clothes were taken off by him quickly; my panties and shirt followed as we laid on the cold, stone floor. He pushed my bra aside and started kissing, sucking, and biting my nipples and ran his hand up my thigh, right to the place where I was so hot and wet for him already. Suddenly, his urgency slowed.

While Leto was kissing me so hard; I was writhing with so much desire that I was almost in pain when he started slowly and gently teasing and torturing my pussy with his calloused fingers. Then he hovered over me for just a moment. I felt  the hard tip of Leto’s cock poking on my slick clit.

Leto slowly sank into me all the way, deliciously spreading and filling me; he stopped when he was all the way in. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, Y/N. You’ll fucking make me cum in a second.”

I was panting and desperate for release but he didn't move. I took the initiative and fucked him from below by rising and lowering my hips and getting harder and faster as he hovered over me. "Oh, stop it and fuck me like you've wanted," I encouraged him, wrapping arms around his neck and slipping my hand into his salt-pepper hair.

I felt him grab me by the hips and buck his hips fast into mine, fucking me hard and deep, grunting deeply; almost animalistic noises were emanating from his broad chest.

The scent of Caladan wine could be detected in each breath of Leto as he fucked me slower, like he was making sweet love to me, with tender, gentle kisses placed all over my face. When Leto rolled me on top of him, he didn't change his slow, passionate rhythm inside of me, pulling on my hair, kissing and caressing scars on my body, asking if I was okay, whispering sweet nothings, all the while slowly bringing me to another orgasm.

My eyes were closed as I let myself be enraptured by the luxuriant feel of every inch of his thick cock inside of me. I was moving up and down his dick, forward and back, deeper and faster. My hands rested against his chest for some kind of support until he grabbed my hips, bucking his hips into me to match my movements. Soon, Leto cum deep into me and I contracted and convulsed around him, collapsing onto the top of his chest; my hair messy and my breaths shallow.

After a while, still lying on the floor of my room, we began laughing. 

My drunken state made me think I had just dreamt it, so I couldn't believe it actually happened. I knew things were going to get hairy with his concubine in the morning, but I was flattered that Leto wanted to stay with me for the night, our bodies entwined, gentle, tender kisses and caresses placed to each other, despite the trouble he was sure to get for not returning to his chamber for the night.

In all honesty, I was looking forward to more sex in the morning.

𝓓𝓪𝔂 24 - Blossomed Like a Rosebud || Leto Atreides x f!reader

Masterlist

Summary: It is impossible to refuse Duke Leto's order, especially when you share the same feelings for him as he does for you.

Warnings: smut (oral - f receiving)

Word count: ~ 1035

Author: Fenrir

A/N: The prompt for today is: Lingerie

Leto's hand was on your knee, a gentle squeeze every now and then, and, occasionally, his hand would gently, ever so gently, smooth across the inside of your leg.

Your talking kept going on and on; businesses couldn't solve themselves. It was you who were open and free, whereas he was a bit more reserved and cautious. The leadership position was a very important thing for him, one he worked so hard for. Leto hated to lose control of his demeanor in public. As you sat in the canteen of the headquarters, he acted as boldly under the tablecloth as he would out in the open. After a little love peck on the cheek, he leaned over and kissed you. 

The energy between you flowed freely as you smiled and leaned into him.

You turned Leto's head to meet his lips the next time he leant into you. The way he told you no was very soft, yet he was certain of what he was doing. 

As you turned to face the center of the canteen, his lips pressed against your neck, a little nibble, and then his tongue touched your skin.

Before you could react, the Duke nibbled at your neck and teased your earlobe with his tongue.

Dropping your hand under the tablecloth, you caressed his leg. As you looked into his eyes, he looked deeply and solemnly into yours. There were no words spoken, but you could feel the energy telling you that you were the center of the universe for him today, that he would satisfy all your senses, and that was all that mattered to you.

Your formal pencil skirt found extra slack as Leto's hand moved a bit bolder up your leg; your head found his shoulder. His fingers were softly and gently walking up the inside of your leg. As he approached your covered treasure, he could feel its heat and moisture; his hand retreated as he whispered, "Follow me, that's an order."

Although the darkened room was close to your meeting place, you had no memory of how you got there.

A lamp lit the room, and the only sound was the air conditioner; it was cold, but you liked it that way. 

As Leto kissed you deeply, he pulled you into his arms. 

Your tongue teased his teeth as you responded with a throaty moan.

His hands were strong. His hands moved over your back as his head shifted, a sensation you hadn't expected in his arms. He moved his mouth to the left side of your neck, then to the right side. "No marks," he whispered somewhere in there, and you knew he wasn't kidding.

In his embrace, he cupped your firm, sexy bottom in his hands and squeezed you lovingly as he moved his lips back to yours. The buttons on your shirt seemed to open by themselves as he placed his hands on your shirt; your belt was undone shortly after, and soon you were only in your sexy, red lingerie as you stood in Duke's arms. As you reached up to his buttons, Leto stopped you and stepped back for a moment. His dark eyes were scanning your body, admiring the way your lingerie was covering the sweetest spots. The heat emanating from his chest against your back was felt as he took your back in his arms after a while. Starting at your lips and moving to your neck, he kissed you passionately. Your bra was released by his hands as your arms dropped and the straps fell between them. Leto was still holding you tightly. After kissing your chin and the front of your neck, his mouth turned to your left and lowered and found your nipple. 

A deep moan escaped you. It felt like a butterfly fluttering its wings on your breast as his tongue was so soft, warm, passionate, caressing your sensitive flesh.

Your stomach churned as the mouth moved again, nibbling down your torso and kissing softly. The feeling of being walked backwards was overwhelming. 

Soon after, Leto was on his knees in front of you, his arms around your waist.

Your satin pants were damp, sticky, and steamy as he put his hands around your waist. In removing them, he was deliberate and you were impatient.

You were being pulled down by Duke's hands. Trustingly, you sank and found that the bed was beneath you. Softly and lovingly, his hands cupped your bottom. As he kissed your wonderfully full breasts again, you sat on the edge of the bed. You felt his breath on your knee as he laid you back on the bed. 

The inside of your leg was kissed and nibbled, first the left leg, then the right one. From the sensitive spot just above your knee joint, he kissed the inside of your thigh. His hands moved your legs; he draped your calves over his shoulders. For the Duke Leto Atreides, you blossomed like a rosebud in full bloom.

He moved his mouth towards your middle, pushing your panties aside with his calloused fingers.

The softness and the firmness of the sensation made you gasp. The tongue of Leto was stuck in your pussy, withdrawing repeatedly. Again, you let out a deep moan. His tongue probed as deeply as possible inside you to remove your nectar and then moved to your special spot. His tongue was more effective than any toy or your own hand; he massaged your clitoris, holding it gently between his lips and buzzing it vigorously with his tongue. Leto's eyes never left yours.

As the tongue kept taking you closer to new heights you were not aware of, he held your soft ass cheeks in his hands to anchor you to his face, grunting from time to time at the sweetness of your juices.

You screamed and humped his face as he remained in your spot of pleasure until you calmed down, his name was the only thing to leave your parted lips. While holding you firmly in his arms, he returned to your previous conversation from the canteen like nothing had happened.

Your fervent hope was that Duke Leto would let you return the favor.

if u haven’t checked out this series i recommend. SO GOOD!

— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (IX)

PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SIX PART SEVEN || PART EIGHT

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC

SUMMARY — Feyd-Rautha focuses on bringing back the spice production to full efficency while his wife plots against The Baron. The ghosts of her past are haunting her in the Arrakeen Palace where her family lived and died.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister. This chapter is quite long so I think the next one will be the last...? Of course I am open to write some additional chapters with these characters in the future 👀 Thank you everyone supporting my work 🙏🏻😭 I don't know when I'll post the next / last chapter. Next week I hope but it might take me more time than usual because I have to catch up with uni work finally lol

WARNINGS — arranged marriage, mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), violent behaviour, death

WORD COUNT — 8,170

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

THROWN TO THE WOLVES (IX)

Feyd-Rautha was barely able to hide his excitement on that day. Becoming the Governor of Arrakis was a huge deal – not only it proved that he was his uncle’s worthy successor if he was given such responsibility, but also Arrakis remained the most important planet under the Harkonnen rule due to the spice resources. Controlling this planet was like controlling the universe.

Before the official ceremony would begin, he had to deal with the formalities, all dressed up in the accurate black leather attire and pride on his face. Then his wife entered the throne room accompanied by the guards and from that moment he could only focus on her.

Her black leather dress’ design was mimicking his uniform’s one and her face was hidden by the veil made of chains and gemstones. She walked past him and bowed down in front of his uncle. Feyd knew that was the custom but it still made him clench his jaw and blood boil.

She straightened herself and fixed her dress on her abdomen as it was getting too tight in that area. Feyd smirked at the sight of her womb getting visibly swollen with his child. With his heir.

His wife signed the contract about him becoming the new Governor of Arrakis as the Atreides signet ring sparkled on her pinky finger. The truth was, her signature was not required there at all but the Baron loved to humiliate her in this way. However, she managed to do it with such dignity. Feyd wondered if she still felt like an Atreides. That signet ring wasn’t leaving her pinky finger at all ever since it had been adjusted to her size.

He wondered if it was a symbol of power for her or did she keep it for sentimental reasons.

Sentiment. That word was new in Feyd-Rautha’s dictionary. But now, when he watched his wife standing behind him with her hands clasped on her womb, he swore he could feel it.

He couldn’t explain most of the things happening inside his body at the sight of her. It was more than plain desire or sexual attraction. In fact, he had had lovers more adventurous than her and surely more experienced. But he had never met a woman like that.

She made him think of his mother, especially now, when she was expecting his child. He wondered what kind of mother she would be. Would she… love… his son? Or would he be another pawn in her court games…?

His mother was cold and distant but only recently Feyd had realised it was no reason to kill her. Was it possible that some part of him regretted it? His uncle had manipulated him into doing something he couldn’t truly understand back in the day – an act impossible to undo and sealing his murderous fate.

But even his mother had never touched him so gently like his wife. And he knew that it was weak to crave that but he did – he craved more from her and her only. He would kill anyone looking at her the wrong way but she could disrespect him in any way and he’d still be on his knees for her. He had never been as obedient to his uncle. He had feared him as a little boy and then he had hated him, waiting for his turn on the Harkonnen throne. The obedience to his wife was dictated by admiration and… sentiment.

Yes, that was a new word in his dictionary.

And his harpies… Well, he had been attached to them but killing them had felt cold – he hadn't even felt sorry.

The room slowly filled with people who were to witness his nomination for the Governor of Arrakis. Feyd stood proudly and already imagined the day he would be nominated The Baron Harkonnen.

And when his uncle officially named him the Governor, Feyd grabbed his face and brought it down for an angry kiss that was a mockery of gratitude. In that kiss there was a promise of the upcoming succession of the much more important title. In that kiss there was the Harkonnen poison and everyone cheered but the Baron knew.

He knew.

You were laying on your bed on the ship inside your cabin and playing with the Atreides signet ring on your pinky finger. It felt surreal to realise that under different circumstances you would had made the same journey a few months earlier with your family when your father had been gifted Arrakis.

Your stream of thoughts was interrupted abruptly by Feyd walking inside the cabin.

“Apparently, Rabban has no idea we are coming,” he announced with a smirk and sat on the bed next to you, waiting for your approval like a little boy after telling his mother exciting news.

“Why do you hate him so?” You only asked and his smirk dropped in an instant. “Is he not your brother?”

“Do you love yours?” Feyd tilted his head a little as he watched you carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” you smiled sadly at him and caressed your bump. “He is dead and so is his older sister. But in that relationship, I was Rabban and Paul was you.”

“I am better than Rabban. He means nothing,” Feyd shrugged his arms, visibly annoyed at the fact that you scolded him and started asking questions instead of sharing his excitement.

“Do you think you will catch a tan on Arrakis?” You changed the subject and chuckled at the confused glance he gave you.

“I’m not going there for vacation,” he moved closer to you on the bed and placed his hand on your womb. You felt its warmth spreading all over your body. “And neither are you,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

“The medic says that the Arrakis might do you good. The sun and all,” Feyd explained, a bit awkwardly.

“Yes, I know. But it is also not a very pleasant environment. It is hot and dry,” you sighed. “And full of spice.”

“You will have everything you want and need there, my Baroness,” Feyd leaned in to suck on your neck – his idea of a romantic kiss. You leaned back and sighed at the pleasure.

“How big do you think he is now?” You caressed your husband’s hand gently and he moved away from the crook of your neck to look into your eyes. “Our son. Do you think he is still smaller than your hand?” You bit on your lower lip. “I like to imagine him so little that your hand covers him whole when you place it on my womb.”

“Do you think of him often?” Feyd asked and you furrowed your brows at his question.

“Of our son?” You wanted to make sure and he nodded. “All the time,” you answered with all honesty. “And you…?” You asked, carefully.

“All the time,” Feyd nodded and looked down at his hand caressing your bump.

“And what do you think?” You were scared to know the answer but you needed to know it.

“I’m proud to have a son. He will be the Baron one day and I will train his body to become even stronger than mine. And you will train his mind to be sharp like yours,” Feyd looked at you. He was serious but you chuckled at that as you caressed his cheek with your thumb.

“Just promise me that you won’t do to him what has been done to you,” you whispered as the smile disappeared from your face. “Please,” you pleaded.

“It has to be done,” was all he said as his jaw clenched.

“No, it doesn’t,” you shook your head. You could feel the tears forming in your eyes. Thinking of what your husband had gone through was painful enough but imagining your son going through the same thing was even worse.

“How else do you want him to be a great warrior?” Feyd laughed at you. “He will need discipline.”

“Discipline does not have to mean abuse. I want him to follow your steps out of admiration and respect. Do you want your own son to feel the same way towards you that you feel towards your uncle?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you want your son to plot how to get rid of you? To wait impatiently for you to finally die and rot?”

“No, I do not,” he admitted after a short while of hesitation.

“Then we will do it my way,” you stated.

“I don’t want my children to be weaklings,” Feyd drawled as his hand squeezed your womb possessively.

“Neither do I,” you assured him. “And it insults me greatly that you think that I would raise them to be weak. I hate weakness,” you gave him a stern look.

“There’s your answer why I hate my brother,” he said and moved down to lay his head on your womb. You carefully caressed his temples in a soothing manner.

You still had to play little games with him sometimes, you assumed it would always be like this one way or another. But you loved him. Yes, you loved him.

Princess Atreides would rather die than admit that. For the Harkonnen na-baroness it was difficult to admit her feelings, too. But you didn’t mind giving up and finally allowing yourself to confess the truth. It was making you feel less lonely in the world. Perhaps it was love dictated by the fact you had no one else around. Perhaps you loved the way he worshipped you. Perhaps you loved him for the way he was making you feel so powerful and important. But at the end of the day, it was love. Not that you planned to say it out loud.

It was true that you hated weakness but Feyd-Rautha was yours. If he was to die, you’d die, too. You had no home to go to, no family member to turn to. All you had was him. Him and the dream of the life you two were supposed to live one day.

You knew that the black colour was a bad choice for the planet like Arrakis. But you couldn’t imagine wearing anything else. As a Harkonnen you had to establish dominance in your House’s way. Your arrival dress had to be black and made of a flowy material with a semi-transparent veil to protect your skin from the hot rays of sunshine and the wind full of harsh sand and spice.

The very first step you took outside the ship nearly made you dizzy. It felt so odd after so many months to feel the sunlight on your skin and to see the colours while not being inside any building – even if the colours of Arrakis were not many.

“My Lady,” Astra and Cara followed you outside, both widening their big, black Harkonnen eyes at the sight of the desert, “are you alright?”

“Yes, my girls, I am,” you held their hands.

“Let’s go inside, na-baroness,” the medic joined you. “At this time of the day it is recommended not to go out,” he explained and you nodded before following him with your girls, guards and all the servants carrying your things. Feyd was already inside the palace with his uncle and dealing with an embarrassed and humiliated Rabban.

You looked up through your veil and examined the sight of the building in front of you. It was not much cosier than the Harkonnen fortress on Giedi Prime. On the inside the design was raw as well, but some part of you was already used to such an environment.

“My Lady,” one of the servants approached you. He had already been living there for quite some time now as he had come to Arrakis with Count Rabban. “Shall we prepare the rooms for you and na-baron or will you take the room that belonged to the previous Duke? Count Rabban did not take it, therefore we left it untouched,” he informed you and you froze for a second.

“My father’s room? It is left untouched?” You gasped.

“Yes, my Lady na-baroness, Duchess Atreides,” the man was bowing down so low you became concerned about his spine.

“Enough of the titles, take me there,” you ordered and then you turned around at your servants. “Wait here. I will let you know what room I am taking.”

“My Lady,” they all nodded as you followed the man alone. You didn’t want even Astra and Cara around you because you couldn’t tell what your reaction to your father’s chambers would be.

“Behind that door, na-baroness,” the servant bowed down and pointed at the doors. You pushed them and let them close behind you as your body trembled at the sight. You lifted the veil off of your face and looked around.

The room was arranged in a similar way as your father’s chamber back on Caladan. Duke Leto hated any form of mess and he had everything always put in its place. You wandered around and touched all the personal belongings – his chair, his desk… You froze at the sight of the pictures he had there. One picture was of him and Lady Jessica, the other one was of you and Paul. There was even a tiny picture from his wedding day with your mother. You remembered that picture very well as you had once asked him about it. He had told you he kept it out of respect for her and for you.

You had no idea he would still keep it even if you weren’t around.

You opened the desk. Someone had been rummaging inside – most likely to take the jewellery and the important documents. But the personal letters stayed. Personal letters and… a small doll.

You had given it to him at the age of four and asked him to take care of it. You didn’t expect he had been keeping it all these years.

“Oh, father…” you whispered and brought the doll close to your heart. “One day, it will be my daughter’s,” you decided and were about to walk away from the desk when you spotted an unfinished letter.

Carefully and curiously, you picked the paper up and read the few sentences that he had written down before taking a break and never being able to go back to it again.

Dear Daughter, I am aware of the anger and all the resentment you must be holding in your heart towards me. I am not asking for much but please, write back to us. If not for me, then do it for Paul. We both miss you dearly and we are worried when you are not answering our letters personally. All we want to know is if you are safe and…

Your eyes widened and your heart skipped a beat. So, they had been writing to you. All this time... And only Baron Harkonnen knew how many letters had been kept away from you. Of course he had lied to you. How could you be so stupid…?

You clenched your fist and then threw the crumpled paper back into the drawer. It didn’t change anything now. It brought you some peace, deep down, but it didn’t mean anything anymore. It wouldn't take back time.

You approached your father’s bed and spotted a robe laying there, discarded. He would wear that over his nightwear when he was leaving the room in the middle of the night due to an emergency. You assumed that the Harkonnen invasion was an emergency so sudden and violent that he had no time to put it on.

The robe was silk and dark green with the Atreides emblem on the chest. You sat on the edge of the bed and put the doll down on your lap before taking the robe in your hands and squeezing it as you brought it to your face. It still faintly smelled like him. It smelled like your father.

You buried your face in the silk and closed your eyes, remembering his embrace. For a short while it was almost as if he was still there, holding you and telling you it would be alright.

But it wasn’t alright. It hadn’t been alright and his daughter had died. You couldn’t tell when it happened exactly. Had Princess Atreides die in that cell on the night before her wedding? Or when she had been locked up after the Baron had told her about going to Arrakis and killing her family? Or maybe she had died somewhere in the meantime. Perhaps when she had seen Feyd taking an innocent life for the first time. It was really hard to tell but she was definitely gone now.

You startled at the sound of someone entering the room without knocking. It was Feyd – no one else would dare to do that.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said and froze at the sight of you holding your father’s robe. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you stood up and threw the robe on the floor as you picked the doll up. “Burn it,” you ordered. “And we’ll take a different room. They can clean up this one,” you approached him and handed him the doll in your hands. He took it, confused.

“What is this?” He asked.

“Our next child will be a daughter and you will give it to her when she is born,” you told him sternly.

He snorted at first but then he realised that you had been dead serious. The doll held lots of significance and meaning to you and he didn’t even have any idea how much you trusted him with it.

Feyd nodded his head after a long while and he looked down at the doll, awkwardly holding her in his pale hands.

“My Lady, what is your decision?” The servant knocked upon the door and joined you.

“I don’t want this room, clean it up,” you told him.

“Do you want a room next to your husband’s, na-baroness?” He asked.

“No, we will share one room,” you told him and he bowed down before leaving you quietly. “Unless you want your own,” you laid your eyes on Feyd.

“I want what you want.”

You were walking through the endless desert. It was like the oceans back on Caladan but instead of the water there was sand. The heat did not bother you and you did not feel tired at all. However, all this walking seemed pointless. You didn’t know where you were or where to go.

And then you spotted someone on the horizon. A tiny figure in a stillsuit and your heart skipped a beat. Was it one of the Fremen? You didn’t want to find out but your legs kept walking anyway as if you had no control over your body.

The figure remained motionless. After a while you spotted it was a man. You wondered why he was not reacting at all, seeing you walking towards him. Perhaps he was waiting for you. But why?

When you were close enough to see his face, you gasped. It was your brother, Paul Atreides, with his eyes blue from the spice, wearing a Fremen armour and he seemed to stare in the distance. Now you realised that he couldn’t see you even though you were facing him.

“Paul?” You asked as your body stopped walking with your face inches away from his. “Brother?”

He startled a little and furrowed his brows. Did he hear you…?

“Paul,” you said again and his eyes found yours.

“Sister,” his voice was different now. It was rough and held no affection. It made your blood run cold.

“What are we doing here?” You asked sadly. “Let’s go back home.”

“What is home now?”

“Caladan,” you explained.

“We cannot.”

You woke up abruptly and sat up, breathing heavily as you felt the sweat running down your spine and forehead. You had never experienced a dream so vivid and realistic as this one.

You assumed it was because of Arrakis. The heat could cause such a vision or perhaps it was all that buried deep down grief after losing your family. Being here now, in that palace where they had lived and died, it was making you feel odd.

Feyd woke up as well and you heard him reaching out for the knife underneath his pillow.

“It’s alright,” you told him. “I’ve just had a bad dream.”

“It’s your first night on Arrakis. Maybe it’s the spice messing with your head,” you felt his hand rubbing your back. “Lay down, come to me,” he whispered and you did.

You laid your head on his chest and hugged him tight like a scared child. Your heart was pounding and you felt dizzy. But you didn’t want to tell your husband what the dream was. He didn’t ask anyway.

On the next day you were gathered in a conference room. Everyone was there, the Baron and Count Rabban, too. You hoped that they would go back to Giedi Prime but it seemed like they wanted to stay and ensure that the spice production would go back to normal. You tried not to make a face at that as you watched the hologram globe of Arrakis in front of you on display.

“Shouldn’t the Fremen delegation greet the new Governor of Arrakis?” You asked.

“The Fremen do not have negotiations with us anymore. We are in the state of war, na-baroness,” one of the engineers answered you with a nod of his head.

“Let it be war, then,” you nodded back.

“What is causing the biggest problems?” Your husband asked as he gave his brother a contemptuous look. “Apart from the bad governing of the resources.”

“The Fremen have a new leader, a mysterious Muad’Dib,” The Baron explained and for some reason a shiver went down your spine at the mention of the name. You didn’t know why because it didn’t sound sinister or dangerous.

“And what about him?” Feyd asked. You could hear he was bored of the meeting and wanted real action as soon as possible.

“They are destroying our machinery and killing our soldiers, slowing down the production. He is unstoppable. Like a shadow,” Rabban explained and Feyd snorted at him.

“My big scary brother failed to deal with one Fremen savage,” he drawled. “Instead of slaughtering them all.”

“And what would our Baroness do?” The Baron interrupted Feyd and stared at you with a smirk. Suddenly, the whole room laid their eyes on you and you blinked a few times, surprised.

“Why would you ask a woman that?” Rabban inquired and Feyd hissed at him for that remark.

“Because I want to know her insight. Our Baroness happens to have interesting ideas,” Baron teased, his squinted eyes never leaving yours.

“I would oppose slaughtering the Fremen,” you stated.

“I’ve told you, she’s just a woman,” Rabban laughed.

“She is the Governess of Arrakis and your na-baroness and you will respect her,” Feyd barked.

“Enough!” You banged the fist on the table and the sound echoed through the chamber full of the Harkonnen servants and engineers widening their eyes at you. “Both of you!” You snapped. “Acting like children,” you scolded. “I am not the Governess of Arrakis, Feyd,” you laid your eyes on him and he looked a bit taken aback by your outburst. “That title does not work that way. You’re the Governor and I am your wife. However,” you looked at the Baron again. He was smirking all that time. “I do not think slaughtering them will bring us profit. They know the desert and the spice more than we do. We need them as obedient allies. But in order to have them as allies, we have to defeat them and their will to fight. We need to hit them with aggression that they have not yet seen nor experienced in their worst nightmares,” you raised your chin up.

“And that aggression is Feyd-Rautha,” Baron nodded at your husband.

“If we have negotiations with the Fremen in the future, I’d like to be there,” you announced and Rabban snorted. You knew that he did not mean these things personally, he was just frustrated that he was being replaced by his brother and seeing that an off-world woman was holding more influence than him had to be rough for his ego.

“What’s so funny, brother?” Feyd asked him and you rolled your eyes. They were at it again. “The only thing I find funny is how my wife has more brains than you.”

“And why is that funny?” You asked him, irritated.

“That is enough indeed,” Baron raised his hand. “We all have better things to do,” he announced and everyone bowed their heads as he left the room.

You watched your husband and his brother leaving right behind him, still having an argument like little children. Then you took a deep breath in and stood up to go back to Astra and Cara.

However, when you left the room, Feyd grabbed his brother’s neck and pushed him down on the floor. He basically threw him at your feet and you were surprised that he had managed it so easily since Rabban was a big and strong man.

“You will kiss her shoe and show your na-baroness respect,” Feyd ordered, “as you beg for her forgiveness.”

You looked down as Rabban looked up, scared. As much as it brought you some satisfaction to have a big, strong Harkonnen count who was called Beast Rabban at your feet, you felt sorry for him, too. 

“Feyd, there is no need,” you looked at your husband.

“No, there is, because I say so,” he insisted and kicked his brother’s head. “He will kiss your shoe or die.”

“I said, there is no need,” you repeated, more sternly this time. “Your brother is not my enemy like he is not yours either,” you pointed out. “Stand up, Count Rabban,” you ordered the man.

Carefully and hesitantly he moved up, trying to avoid looking into your eyes.

“You shall remember the kindness I have given you,” you told him and he nodded. “Now, leave.”

You watched him walk away as fast as possible and then you looked at your husband. He wasn’t pleased but he was trying to hide it. You could tell when he was angry very easily from his facial expressions by now.

“Do not torment him. He might be useful,” you told him.

“He will do anything to keep his pathetic head on. He’s got no honour,” Feyd snorted at that. “He would kiss anyone’s shoe if his life depended on it.”

“Then he is more like me than I have expected,” you only said and walked past him, leaving him behind, surprised.

“You are not like him,” Feyd followed you as he grabbed your wrist. “You have honour.”

“Do I?” You chuckled and turned around to face him. “I did everything to survive. It had nothing to do with honour. I became a Harkonnen instead of doing what my Atreides pride was telling me to do and that was to kill myself before letting any of you hurt me or change me.”

“It is different,” he was trying to deny your words. You were confusing him now.

“You also do not have honour, Feyd-Rautha. The way you used to fight drugged warriors in the arena. It has nothing to do with honour,” you reminded him as his jaw clenched. “And you know what? I don’t care,” you shrugged your arms. “My father, he was an honourable man. And look where it has gotten him. We are too cunning for honour.”

“We?” Feyd asked.

“The Harkonnens,” you explained and cupped his face to pull his head down and place a kiss upon his forehead. “Now, go, weren’t you supposed to terrorise the poor Fremen?”

He smirked at you and leaned in to place a hungry kiss upon your lips as his hand caressed your womb.

“Be careful, my darling, come back to me in one piece from the treacherous desert,” you bid him farewell and kissed him one last time before going back to your chambers.

Weeks had passed and the mysterious Muad’Dib remained uncaught, however the spice production came back to full efficiency. It was difficult to celebrate such victory, though, because you weren’t even sure if it was because of Feyd-Rautha being a good Governor or was it because of his uncle who still was present on Arrakis. Both him and Rabban. You wondered how things had been back on Giedi Prime – especially now, when all the important Harkonnens were on Arrakis.

You had your girls and your medic and much less nosy guards following you everywhere. The Arrakeen Palace was giving you lots of freedom and safety but it was also a much more boring place than the fortress on Giedi Prime. It was full of ghosts, too – you couldn’t stop thinking your family had been slayed in that very place.

You kept dreaming of Paul each and every night. It was making you feel weary and frustrated at this point. You didn’t want Feyd to know so you often would leave the bed quietly in the middle of the night and walk outside to sit on the balcony. There was something fascinating about the desert; it was so calm yet dangerous. By day it was too hot to just stare and admire but at night it was peaceful and with no one around to bother you.

Tonight you were standing and admiring the moon in your nightgown, with your hand caressing your swollen womb. It was getting bigger and bigger each day and you could feel the child move now. The medic assured you he was placed properly and growing healthy. You wondered if your son would be born on Arrakis.

“What’s wrong?” Feyd’s voice made you turn around. He was standing by the entrance to the balcony and staring at you.

“I can’t sleep,” you lied. You could but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to dream of Paul.

“Again?” Feyd sighed and approached you. He stood behind you and leaned your body on his chest. It made you sigh out of relief and he placed his hands on your abdomen. “Perhaps the spice is doing you harm.”

“No, the medic would have noticed that,” you shook your head. “Perhaps it’s your son keeping me awake,” you made up a believable excuse and Feyd chuckled.

“And what are you doing here? Staring at the sand?”

“I don’t expect you to understand the beauty of the desert,” you teased. “But yes, the sand, the moon, everything.”

“When I will become the Baron, we will have a little tour and visit every planet under Harkonnen rule,” he whispered into your ear. “You will see many beautiful things, my darling pet.”

“And when will that be?” You snapped, frustrated. “In ten years? A hundred?” You snorted.

“What are you talking about?” Feyd took a step back and leaned on the railing to take a better look at your face but you remained staring in the distance.

“What is he still doing here? I thought Arrakis was ours. Yet, he is here and it feels as if we are being supervised. Meanwhile, Giedi Prime remains without protection,” you drawled through gritted teeth.

“If you were him, would you leave us two to each other?” Feyd asked.

“Are you by his side again?” You finally looked at him, angrily. “He gave you the planet to govern and you’re defending him again?”

“I am not defending him,” Feyd got angry, too, at your words. “But it is obvious why he stayed here. He knows we might be plotting. He needs to keep an eye on things.”

“I have already plotted,” you lowered your voice and went back to staring at the moon.

Feyd kept looking at you in silence for a while before he finally spoke up again.

“And what is that?”

“He shall be slayed by night alongside most of the guards and servants. We will say it was a nighttime assassination attack by Muad’Dib and his people. They targeted the Harkonnen nobility and you were too busy saving your pregnant wife to help your uncle,” you whispered.

“Everyone will know the truth, it's too obvious,” Feyd told you. “It's only giving us an alibi for those who want to believe in it.”

“Of course they will suspect what really happened but they will not care. You showed them your worth in the arena and you brought back the full efficiency of the spice production. The Harkonnen lords will give you a chance. I am sure they’ve already grown tired and weary of the Baron,” you kept convincing him.

“What if Muad’Dib suddenly decides to show up and deny?”

You sighed and looked at him again, furiously.

“Just admit that you don’t want him dead, because in some way I cannot understand… you love him,” you hissed at him.

“Love?” It was the first time you heard him use that word and it brought a chill down your spine. It sounded so off and scary when your husband said it out loud. “I don’t know what that pathetic feeling is,” he assured you.

“I can see that,” you raised an eyebrow at him and walked away to leave the balcony and go back to your bedroom.

You were hurt, angry and frustrated and it was starting to bring tears to your eyes but you didn’t want him to see that.

Your husband followed you to the bedroom. In the way his footsteps were even heavier than usual, you spotted his annoyance as well.

“What do you expect of me? You’re so impatient, woman,” he started once the doors closed behind him. “You want everything and you want it now. I said I’d do it, I swore I’d do it but you admitted yourself we have to wait longer. If he dies here at night, do you think the noble lords of Giedi Prime will accept that so easily?”

“Then slay the ones who refuse to accept you as the successor!” You turned around with the rage making your blood boil. “Slay everyone standing in our way, as you promised. Do you want our son to be born in a world that he is manipulating for his own gain? Do you want to be his dog following the orders for the next few years? I am tired of playing the games with him on his own chess board. I want to make my own game, my own rules, my own board!” You tried to keep your voice down in case someone would spy on you but it was difficult with all that anger pouring out of you.

In one swift move, Feyd grabbed your chin and squeezed your cheeks as he brought your face so close to his that your noses were rubbing each other. There was so much anger in his eyes that the old you would start trembling out of fear for her life but the new you didn’t even flinch.

“Keep your voice down, we will do it,” he spat out.

“No,” you mumbled. “You will do it. You’re the hand that slays,” you reminded him and he kissed you so hungrily that you became breathless.

“I still want to kill you sometimes,” he confessed between one kiss and another as he led you back to your bed and laid you down on the mattress. “Choke you, slit your pretty little throat, watch you squirm under me as you bleed to death.”

“Whatever turns you on, my darling,” you chuckled at him as he looked at you sternly.

“If I hurt you, I’d kill myself right after. I’m bound to you forever,” he confessed and you smiled gently.

You didn’t want to tease him that after all, he did know what love was. After all, he did feel it. But you knew that he’d hate being confronted with the truth.

“If something happened to you, I would want to die alongside you, too,” you told him. “You’re the only one I have and none of my ambitions matter without you by my side.”

It was true. You didn't want to rule alone. In fact, you didn't want to ever feel lonely in your life again.

You were sitting next to Paul and watching the sunset in silence. In your dreams you would always meet him in the desert. Nothing else seemed to exist on Arrakis in the dreamworld – except for you and him.

“Why do you haunt me?” You asked and laid your eyes on his angry face. He was always so angry these days.

You hated Paul from your dreams. He was different. There was no kindness and gentleness about him anymore. If you were supposed to be haunted by his ghost, you’d rather be haunted by the brother you had remembered instead.

“I am not here for you,” Paul snorted and you furrowed your brows. Then he looked down at your swollen womb and you instinctively protected it with your hands.

“What do you mean?” You gasped.

“The spawn inside you shares my blood on both sides,” he answered mysteriously, which confused you greatly but you decided not to give it a second thought. After all, it was just a dream. “No, it is not,” Paul smirked viciously at you, as if he was able to read your thoughts.

“Get up,” you heard Feyd’s rough voice as his hand shook your arm. You woke up abruptly and sat up, trying to calm yourself after the dream.

“What’s going on?” You asked and looked around the dark room.

“Come with me,” your husband looked very pleased with himself as he pulled you out of the bed.

“What are you–”

“Shh,” he put his finger over his mouth as he led you outside.

You gasped at the sight of the bodies scattered all over the corridor of the palace. Servants and guards with their throats slit, laying in poodles of their own blood.

“Have you done that?” You asked quietly and Feyd nodded. “My girls…” you gasped.

“I haven’t touched your pets,” he assured you and stopped in front of the doors leading to the Baron’s chambers.

“Have you killed him…?” You were both excited and terrified of the outcome if the answer was yes. But, most importantly, you were in shock.

“Not yet,” Feyd answered as he pushed the doors open in front of you.

Not sure what his words meant, you entered the chamber carefully and spotted the Baron on his bed, letting out loud and raspy breaths. His life support machinery was no longer attached to him; you assumed Feyd had decided to give him a slow death.

You looked at your husband and spotted a sadistic sparkle in his eye as he was visibly enjoying the sounds and the view. He put his arm around you and walked you closer to the Baron’s bed.

That old and sick man looked pathetic at that moment and for a short while you even felt sorry for him. His eyes widened even further at the sight of you as he raised one of his hands towards you but you took a step back.

You didn’t know what to expect of him on his deathbed. Some part of you craved for him to admit his defeat and name you a worthy successor of the Harkonnen throne. Some other part of you expected him to curse you and your whole bloodline, which would be quite justified.

However, you certainly did not expect the sheer desperation and debasement.

“P-please…” He could barely speak. “Please, help me,” he tried to reach out for you.

You didn’t feel sorry for him anymore. You felt disgusted.

“You’re a weakling,” you smirked at him. “You called my father weak but I am sure that he did not beg like a dog on his deathbed. I am sure he died with dignity.”

“Please, help me…” He coughed out. “Help me and I will make your son an Emperor…”

“I do not need you to make my son an Emperor,” you laughed with contempt. “I am to become The Baroness Harkonnen; commanding the largest army and possessing the biggest wealth in the galaxy.”

“F-Feyd, I was like a father to you…” He searched for his nephew’s cruel eyes now, giving up on asking for your compassion and pity. “My boy…”

“Like a father, you say,” Feyd drawled. “I couldn’t wait to kill you for so many years now.”

“Please…”

“Oh, shut him up, how long will it take for him to die?” You sighed with an eye-roll as Feyd nodded his head at you and grabbed the short knife attached to his hip.

“Farewell, dear uncle,” he smiled smugly as he slit the Baron’s throat.

You watched mesmerised, without even blinking. It felt like a dream more than reality.

“The Arrakeen Palace will be considered cursed for all the Barons and Dukes from now on,” you only said.

Without a word, Feyd dropped the blade and fell on his knees in front of you, pulling you close by your hips and burying his face in the fabric of your nightgown right where your womb was. You knew what he wanted. A praise, an approval, a blessing.

“My Baroness,” he breathed out.

“Stand tall, my Baron,” you caressed his head and he looked up. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight and you cupped his chin to caress his full lips with your thumb. “You’ve made me proud and happy, my darling,” you assured him. 

He nodded at you and collected the discarded blade from the floor. It was important not to leave any trace. You both went back to your chambers and laid down in bed, pretending to be asleep – too excited to actually be able to drift off. This time you didn’t feel guilty even a little bit like after the death of the harpies. This time it didn’t even feel like murder or taking another human being’s life. This time it felt like nothing but relief.

You watched the sunrise through the window with your head on your husband’s chest and his hand rubbing your back, waiting for the remaining servants’ screams to signal the beginning of the new era.

There were screams indeed. People were running, yelling, banging on your door. Both Feyd and you acted surprised and startled at the news but Astra and Cara had to be the only people in the palace who actually believed your story. The medic inspected the Baron’s body and started to wonder if it really had been Muad’Dib’s work since the cuts did not remind of the Fremen weapons. Feyd only hissed at him so the medic stopped any further insinuations.

Count Rabban’s behaviour surprised you the most as he was following his brother around and seeming to act like the most loyal and obedient subject. He had quickly realised it was the best chance of survival for him. He hadn’t questioned anything so far and simply followed every word leaving his younger brother’s mouth.

Everything was a mess and chaos on that day but it was mostly Feyd dealing with it, basking in his new title and glory, as you were sitting on your bed with terrified Astra and Cara, holding them both and assuring them of their safety.

“How can you not be worried, na-baroness? I mean, Baroness?” Astra widened her eyes. “If Muad’Dib was here last night… Oh, I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if he went inside your chambers instead…”

“My husband would defend me,” you kissed her forehead and then you kissed Cara’s.

“What if he comes back?” Cara was shaking out of fear and you felt bad for making them feel like this but you couldn’t tell them the truth. “Now, when they know that we have fewer guards around?”

“We will be prepared this time,” you squeezed their hands. “My girls, I am sorry for being insensitive but I shall get dressed in mourning attire now and finally join my husband to help him with the officialties.”

Every lady travelled with a mourning dress just in case. Yours was a combination of black silk and black armour pieces with chains, connected to the matching headpiece. It looked dignified and intimidating – exactly how you wanted it to look like. You had already dreamt of The Baron’s death while planning your trip. Therefore the mourning dress you had chosen was accurate to your new role of The Baroness.

It sounded so good. For the upcoming days you would get drunk on the way people would address you. And then, when you'd finally be back on Giedi Prime, there would be a lavish celebration and official event for you two becoming the new Baron and Baroness. You couldn't wait for that day.

You smiled to yourself in the mirror and fixed the headpiece for one last time as you adjusted the Atreides signet ring on your pinky finger. On your pointing finger there was a huge ring with the Harkonnen emblem. And hidden between the folds of your dress and attached to the armour piece on your hip was the blade your husband had given you on the day of his birthday. No one could see it but you could reach for it swiftly in the case of emergency.

You joined Feyd in the conference room and everyone straightened at the sight of you. They always would but this time it felt different. You were the one holding the power – and they respected you for you, not for the fact that you were under protection of The Baron.

“Baroness,” they bowed down and went back to work, avoiding your gaze.

“How are things going?” You approached Feyd as he looked you up and down with a smirk. You put your hand on his chest.

“I sent Rabban back on Giedi Prime with our uncle’s body,” he told you and held your hand to lay a kiss upon it. “He will take care of the affairs there until we finish our business on Arrakis. I want to take care of that Muad’Dib rat before returning home and finding someone worthy to replace me as the Governor here. Rabban will also send us more Harkonnen troops since we have lost many guards last night,” he informed you in an official manner.

“We must avenge our late Lord Baron,” you clenched your jaw as you nodded. His eyes sparkled with mockery as he pretended to look worried.

You were sure that most people in that room had known the truth but they kept their poker faces on and allowed you to play out this little scene.

“My Lord,” one of the engineers raised his voice, concerned. Feyd turned around and you both stared at the hologram of the Arrakis globe. Red dots started to appear on the orbit. “We have guests,” the engineer explained. “The ships are definitely not ours.”

“Who is it?” Feyd barked at him. “Find that out, we are not expecting anyone,” he looked at you, a little concerned.

You were not pleased with the idea of guests now, out of all times, either. 

“Who dares to interrupt our peace unannounced on the day after our late Lord Baron’s tragic death?” You asked out loud, playing your mourning role the best you could.

What a mockery it was that you had to be hiding all the grief after your actual family but had to display fake tears for the man you had hated with every fibre of your being.

“M-my Lord, my Lady…” the engineer turned around with his eyes widened, “it’s the Emperor himself… The whole imperial delegation.”

You and Feyd looked at each other.

“It took them days to get here. There is no way they are here because of last night’s incident,” Feyd pointed out. “Still, I do not understand. I have brought the spice production back to full efficiency. What could be the reason for his visit?”

You moved uncomfortably as your son kicked your rib. As if he too knew of the importance of this sudden imperial audience. It would be the first time you’d greet someone of such importance as The Harkonnen Baroness and it would be the first time you’d see the Emperor face to face. He had visited your father a few times on Caladan but children had not been allowed near their meetings.

“We have to greet him and find out,” you took a deep breath in, preparing yourself mentally for the first challenge in your new role.

You shot Feyd a glance and he nodded at you, reassuringly. With him by your side, it couldn’t go that bad, you tried to convince yourself. His presence was equipping you with courage and determination you had not known before.

Everything you were doing now, you were doing for the two of you and your future. Nothing else mattered.

MASTERLIST

ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 2 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

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

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

word count: 4.5k

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Legs tangled in gray sheets. The lightning-quick flash of a silver dagger, held by a pale hand.

The images in the dream are more like fragments- impossible to discern and decipher. On the bed, asleep and vulnerable. . .

There’s you.

And then Feyd wakes up, heart hammering in his chest so hard he can feel it in his throat. Slowly his fingers crawl up, up, up the expanse of the bed in search of something. In search of warmth, of you. Nothing. He’s just as alone in his room as he was when he drifted off into sleep. He lays awake the rest of the night, tossing and turning with worry.

This dream felt more like a warning than just another disjointed nightmare. It felt real. He was used to having dreams every now and again which clearly depicted a future outcome. He saw you in his dreams quite often, more so once he was no longer a boy-child.

If someone thought to hurt you… he’d just have to hurt them first.

The customs you and your people practiced were completely different to those that were normal on Geidi Prime. You watched one of your ladies-in-waiting as she brought over another small bowl of sweet smelling bath salts, dumping it in and using her hand to properly dissolve them. For a moment you felt self conscious, running your fingers through your hair as you looked at their perfect complexions and shaved heads. What did they see when they looked at you? Someone beautiful and strange. . . or an alien?

Still, you would eventually have to disrobe and bathe. Pressing your luck and refusing their help would only solidify your place as an outsider. You were sure that whispers of your arrival were already spreading like wildfire, and it was almost guaranteed that no one was happy about it. An Atreides amongst Harkonnen’s? You were nothing more than a pariah on their industrial wasteland of a planet.

The air was even more acrid in your lungs than it had been the night before, and while the smell of the rose body oils and salts were thick and hazy in your room, you could still catch the scent of pollution. Already you missed the cool, crisp air of Caladan. You missed your horses, your parents and your brother to the point of pain. This was not where you belonged. Not here in Geidi Prime. Not here with Feyd-Rautha.

The urge to cry yourself hoarse was practically undeniable, and yet you somehow managed to resist. You were late to breakfast already, and surely the Baron was making some unsavory comments about your family and their taught “manners”. So you untied the front of your nightdress and shimmied out of it, letting the soft cotton pool at the ground beneath your feet. The women couldn’t help but gawk at the tiny imperfections they saw there- a beauty mark you’d had since you were a child, a scar you’d received while training with Gurney. You weren’t used to feeling so self conscious, and so you were quick to grab one of the women’s extended hands so that you could sit down in the murky bath water.

They rubbed floral smelling soaps into your hair and on your skin, making sure to handle you as though you were as fragile as porcelain. You wished they would scrub you raw. Even then they wouldn’t be able to cleanse you of your fears. You were in the hands of the Harkonnen’s now.

No one could save you.

“We are not very used to styling hair, my lady. It might not be to your liking.” One of the women said anxiously. The way that her hands shook as she gripped the hairbrush was not lost on you.

How cruelly were they treated here? Or even worse- what did she think of the Atreides family? What lies had they poisoned these people’s impressionable minds with? You didn’t care to dwell too much on such thoughts. Reaching out you gently removed the brush from her hands, flashing her the kindest smile you could muster before shaking your head.

“Leave this to me then. Why don’t you pick something for me to wear from my things?” Your bags were still packed, lying exactly where a few servants had laid them last night. You had denied every offer to have them unpacked for you.

Denial. You refused to believe that you were actually stuck here. This would never be your home. It couldn’t be.

“He’s not here,” Feyd was sitting at a long, slate-gray table by himself. The food on his plate had barely been touched, but he had busied himself with chopping the meat up into miniscule pieces, too small to even fit on the prongs of his fork. “If you were planning on trying to make a good impression, you can forget about it. He always has his food sent to his quarters.”

You thanked the two ladies that had shown you through the colorless halls under your breath, moving to sit on the other side of the table. At least eight chairs separated you from the Na-baron and it still wasn’t enough. You wished you were on an entirely different planet, lightyears away from the Harkonnen scum.

The room was practically empty aside from the large dining room table. No art decorated the walls or rugs to cover the floor. It was all cold, black marble with white accents.

“I don’t care, actually.” And you were being truthful. You didn’t care about getting on the Baron’s good side any more than you cared about getting on Feyd’s.

He smiled then, staring at you long and hard before licking one of his black painted canines. He was amused by the blase way you brushed off his uncle so easily. Indifference wasn’t something he was used to, especially not when everyone in the galaxy had tried so hard to get on their good sides. People tended to tread lightly as far as the Harkonnens were concerned. They were as wealthy as they were cunning.

“Be careful, little Atreides. Saying things like that might get you hurt around here.” His gruff voice was but a whisper now, and suddenly you felt as though there weren’t twelve feet of dead-air separating the two of you.

You had picked up your fork, ready to eat whatever bland food had been prepared for you, but froze at his words. Heat rose to your cheeks and you were quick to lean back in the ornate high-backed chair, the cool iron seeping into your back through your clothes.

“Do you mean to threaten me?” Your words were icy, tongue sharp and ready to give him a proper lashing.

“It’s not a threat, darling.” He was practically purring, reveling in the joy of referring to you whilst using a pet name. It suddenly looked as though a switch had been turned on, his eyes narrowing on you. “I know him far better than you do. He’s killed people for far less. Be careful.” There seemed to be something he wasn’t telling you. There was genuine warning in his tone.

A pause.

“Please.” And then he went back to eating.

So were you supposed to act gutted at his uncle’s absence? You picked up the fork and took a bite of whatever had been put on your plate. It wasn’t at all what you were used to. Even the food tasted. . . fake. The meat tasted like it had been pumped full of chemicals and was mealy in your mouth, like sand. Still, you swallowed despite your distaste and shoved the plate away from you.

“Who have you assigned to be my sparring partner? I’m sure that my father made your uncle aware that I train daily, correct?” If you didn’t physically exert yourself and blow off some steam then you were bound to get no sleep tonight.

Last night you had tossed and turned, unable to stay asleep when your body was constantly alerting you to possible dangers. Even now you were on high alert, eyes locked on the knife that sat on the right side of Feyd’s plate. Your own fingers danced towards yours it you watched. Waited. Worried.

“Training?” He tilted his head again, eyes narrowed in disbelief. You could almost see the cogs turning as he mulled over your words. “What good would training do you now? If there are any threats then I am here to protect you- that’s my duty as your husband.”

Ah, yes. Why would a woman train when she could just sit back and play the part of a perfect little wife instead? You could spit.

“Would you rather I just hunt down one of your servants and kill him for sport?” You hated that he was so good at getting a reaction out of you. Maybe you were acting too much like a brat, but you wanted to see him squirm. Seeing him mad must be better than seeing him. . . like this.

For a second he sat there, arms perched nonchalantly over the armrests of his chair, staring at you with a crooked smile. You jumped in surprise when a chuckle escaped him, the act itself so out of place, so surprising that all you could do was stare in horror. The chuckles soon morphed into frenzied laughter, and he was quick to lean back in his seat so that he could place a hand on his chest.

“Was that funny to you?” You spoke through gritted teeth.

He watched the muscle in your jaw clench and unclench with wild eyes, sucking in a deep breath in the hopes of calming himself. Still, to hear such a beautiful woman speak such hideous words. . . it was wonderful, bordering on perverted.

“If you do kill a servant, please make sure I’m there to watch.”

He was too busy watching your face to notice the knife that you slid into the sleeve of your dress. With a huff you stood up, your skirts dryly brushing along the ground as you started to make your way out of the large room.

“I require a trainer.” You tried to mimic your mother’s tone, straightening your shoulders as you turned to look at him.

Lady Jessica always had a way of commanding a room. She was powerful, your mother. You needed to channel that same power now.

“You’ll train with me then,” He stood up from the table, the height and build of him alone nearly causing you to take a step back. You’d forgotten how large he was. How formidable. “Consider it a wedding gift.”

This had you balking, mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of some way to refuse. He was already stalking past you though, ignoring whatever retorts you were bound to make.

“I recommend getting changed. . . Unless you want me to tear that dress to shreds.”

That awful, ugly, no good- 

“Bastard!” You whispered under your breath, wadding up your dress just to angrily toss it onto your bed. 

You sank to your knees, braiding your fingers into your hair so that you could give it a few good yanks. He was doing this to fuck with your head. All of this was calculated on his part, it had to be. Was it all just to get a rise out of you? Or did he truly want to try and hurt you? You couldn’t figure him out, and that boiled your blood. All Harkonnens were cunning, blood thirsty schemers. You wouldn’t put it past him to be unhappy with the marriage arrangement, choosing to resort to violence in order to end things. 

‘Now. Now is the time to strike.’ 

You’d already hidden the blade under the mattress of the bed. The Baron wouldn’t allow you to live if you killed his precious nephew, but you’d much rather put up some sort of a fight than be put down like a dog. After taking a few steadying breaths you somehow managed to pull on your trousers and shirt, your mind plagued with dangerous, dangerous thoughts. If the moment called for it you were certain that you could not kill Feyd in hand to hand combat. His skills with a blade was well known across the galaxy, and while you were more than able to defend yourself, you weren’t delusional enough to think that you could manage to beat him without using underhanded tactics. 

You’d have to wait until his guard was lowered. 

“Do all women take this long to get ready?” 

You hadn’t heard the door open, nor his footsteps approaching. Who knew how long he had been watching you. The intrusion was an unwelcome one. You looked up to glare at him, trying hard not to balk at his appearance. The clothes he wore were skin tight, a black material that caught the dim lighting- like it was made of pitch black oil. His pants were tucked into big black boots, laced up high on his calf. 

He stretched his arms up, leaning against the doorframe so that he could continue his awkward staring. 

He did a lot of that it would seem. Any time you turned your head to face him you found that he was already looking in your direction. It was odd. . . off putting to say the least. Of course you couldn’t know that he was currently tracing the lines of your face with his eyes, committing every detail to memory. You were so different when he compared you to the females that he was used to seeing. You were all soft lines, long lashes and doe eyes. He found it impossible not to look at you. Gorgeous… you were gorgeous. 

“It took me a while to get out of my dress on my own.”You shoved your way past him in the doorway, his chest warm under your palms. 

You were quick to jerk away, startled by the fact that this was the first time that you’d touched him since the two of you had reunited. 

You didn’t hate the feel of him, but you should have. 

“Then you should have asked for some help.” He said, reaching out to grab you by the back of your shirt when you started to walk off in the wrong direction. 

Feyd pulled you along like he would a pet on a leash through the triangular halls, ignoring your mumbled curses as you tried swatting him away. 

The shield vibrated in your ears as you switched on the button, enveloping you in its warmth. 

You used to find it uncomfortable as a child, the tight, foreign warmth triggering a mild case of claustrophobia. You were used to it now, wearing it like a second skin. You waited for Feyd to turn his on as well, the blade clutched tight in your palm. 

You waited. And waited. And waited. 

“Where’s your shield?” You asked him, motioning towards his hip with your free hand. 

There it was, that crooked smile again. He was laughing at you. Was he trying to infer that you were weak? Was he so confident in his skills that he didn’t even see you as a threat?  

“I don’t see the nee-” He didn’t get very far. 

You kicked your leg out, catching the back of his right knee. His legs buckled, and he was quick to adjust himself, his left arm flying up to catch your wrist before you could sink the blade home. For a split second the two of you just stared at each other. Mild shock in his eyes, your own alight with an anger so consuming that you feared you might be burnt up with it. He gave your arm a sharp tug, hard enough that the joint rolled uncomfortably in its socket. 

You kicked your leg out before he could throw you over his shoulder, landing a sharp blow to his ribs. You heard him let out a pained moan before you hit the ground. Using your weight to your advantage, you tucked your body in, rolling to the side so that you could easily stand up to your knees, blade poised at your side and ready for an attack. 

“You fight well, Atreides.” Feyd purred, spinning his blade between two fingers before letting it fall back into his pale palm. 

“Turn on your shield.” You growled, rising to your full height so that you could begin circling him, a panther ready to pounce. 

“Was it Duke Leto that trained you?” Still, he was ignoring your statement. 

“No.” 

“No, of course it wasn’t him,” He took a step closer to you, eyeing you down. No one had looked at you like that before. . . and it made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to be desired by this man, the thought alone was miserable enough to have bile rising in your throat. “Your father is too weak-spirited to ever train you himself, lest he accidentally harm you.” 

Your heart was beginning to pound in your ears now, vision tunneling. All you could see was Feyd. All you could imagine was the blade that you were currently white-knuckling sunk hilt deep into his chest. 

“How horrible it must be for Caladan to have a Duke so. . .  spineless.” 

You bared your teeth, and for a second you were sure that you would snap the hilt in half with how hard you were gripping your blade. You demanded blood for such an insult. How dare he. How dare he. 

“I should cut out your tongue!” You screamed, pointed the blade at him. 

‘Don’t come any closer’ you urged with your eyes, feeling the angry tears causing your vision to fog. A Harkonnen was insulting your father. He was insulting your family and now he was smiling at you. The bastard had the gall to smile and this time all of his teeth were showing. Wide, unabashed in his joy. He was terrifying. So much so that you felt your legs begin to shake underneath you. 

“But you’ll want to put this tongue to good use eventually.” His gravelly voice purred. 

“Silence!” And before you could even control yourself you were using the Voice. 

You might not be as talented as your brother when it came to hand to hand combat, but your mother had taken the time to teach you well. Feyd’s mouth snapped shut so hard that you heard his teeth clatter together. 

“One more word and I will gut you.” Your voice shook and before you could rethink your actions you were lunging forward, the blade cutting through the air. . . 

Aimed at his throat. 

He was quick to push your arm away with his forearm, and even with the shield up you could feel the bone shattering pressure he put behind the movement. He was stronger than Paul- stronger than even Gurney. He took advantage of the fact that you were put off balance and grabbed a fist full of hair, the shield around you flashing red as he pressed his blade as close as he could to the base of your throat. Your scalp exploded in pain, eyes watering as he gripped harder to yank your head back so that you were staring directly into his eyes. They held no malice towards you, even despite the fact that you were obviously trying to maim him. 

And then he leaned in closer. And closer.

“If I didn’t know any better then I would think that you were actually trying to kill me.” He whispered against the shell of your ear. You could practically feel the warmth of his lips against your skin as he spoke, your heart roaring in your ribcage. With your chests practically touching like this you could smell him.

 You’d only caught the scent of spice once in your life- and it was akin to bitter cinnamon. There was something else though, something more complex to it. Aromatic spices you couldn’t quite put your fingers on and. .  . the natural musk of his skin. 

“So you can speak again?” You managed to tease him through your pain, wincing as he brought you even closer against his chest. The blade that you clutched in your hand was now pressing against his side, the pointed edge digging into his skin. 

He didn’t wince, even when you put more pressure against it. 

“You think it wise to use the Voice on me in my own home, little girl?” He hissed as he pulled away from your ear, and the fire that was in your eyes was now mirrored in his own. 

Slowly you moved the blade away from him, the metallic clanging echoing around the room as you let it fall to the floor. Your palm hurt from the vice-like grip you had been holding it in. 

“Release me now.” You didn’t shy away from staring into his eyes, unwavering even when he pressed the blade even tighter, the shield vibrating louder and louder around you. 

He leaned in, even when your hands moved to press against his chest, willing him to give you space. You could barely breathe with him this close to you. His own knife clattered to the ground, and using his free hand he ripped the shield from off of your hip. The gasp that escaped your lips was uncontrollable. You could feel his breath on your lips as his eyes continued to swallow you up whole. 

They looked even bluer when you were up close like this, framed by long black lashes. For a split second you wondered what had become of that beautiful little boy you had met. Had Baron Vladmir beaten the beauty out of him? Or perhaps it had never truly been there to begin with. 

When Feyd looked at you, up close like this, all he saw was the object of his ever-present affections. Something yawned to life in his chest- the need to protect. All at once he felt wrong, disgusting and horrible for causing you any sort of pain. 

But you looked so lovely with those tears in your eyes. So much so that he gave your hair another small yank, a shuddered breath escaping his lips as you yelped in pain. He saw the hate in your eyes and he detested it. 

‘Fear me’ he silently urged. ‘Love me, do as I say and I will become your slave.’ 

His lips brushed against yours, achingly slow- painfully soft. 

“I yield.” You were quick to say, pulling as far back as you could even with the grip he had on your hair. 

Fire. Your scalp felt like it was on fire. 

And then he released you, taking a step back with a heaving chest. The spell now broken, it felt like the world around you suddenly resumed its orbit. Wordlessly he pressed a hand to his side- the side that you had pressed the knife- and when he pulled it away you could see that it was stained with blood. 

“Didn’t you say that you were going to gut me?” There was no hint of humor in his voice now. 

“I wanted to.” You conceded. 

“Then you should have tried harder.”

Again you lay in bed awake, unable to fall asleep. You told yourself that it was just homesickness that had you clinging to the blankets, but you knew better. What had happened today left you rattled and confused. 

There were a hundred times today that Feyd could have killed you. Everything that Gurney had ever taught you had disappeared like smoke in the wind the second that your father was mentioned. You had acted on instinct alone. 

And if it was an actual fight to the death then you would have lost. Miserably. 

There was something strange about it though. It never once felt like an actual training session. He taught you nothing and gave you no feedback. Not only that but. . . it never felt like he actually wanted to damage your pride. He didn’t turn on his shield before and after taunting you, almost as though he actually wanted one of your attacks to land. 

He had allowed you to get everything out of your system. You hated that it had worked. It wasn’t helping you to sleep tonight though. No, you had other things on your mind now. 

Like the fact that he had almost kissed you. 

Your knowledge was limited where men were concerned, but you were nearly positive that there was something sexual about the way that he had treated you. It was like he didn’t want to actually hurt you, but still went out of his way to touch you. 

You’d be sure to ask for someone that might be willing to train you again tomorrow over breakfast. Someone who wasn’t Feyd, preferably. Lunch and dinner had been spent in silence on your part tonight. He had tried to strike up conversation a few times, even baiting you in ways that might warrant annoyance and anger. You didn’t budge. Why? Because you hated how nervous you felt in his presence now. 

Was it because you were afraid of him? That had to be it. Hearing about his proficiency in fighting and seeing it first hand were two different things. He had practically swung you around like a ragdoll. It was absolutely humiliating. 

Yes, that had to be it. . . well, you hoped. 

“Atreides.” 

The sound of your name had you bolting up into a sitting position, willing your eyes to adjust to the non-existent lighting in the room. The sound of footsteps had your heart jumping up into your throat, adrenaline flooding your system once you realized that it wasn’t a voice that you recognized. 

No one had entered the room since you’d gotten back from dinner, which meant. . . 

Whoever this was had been hiding, waiting until you completely lowered your guard. You were in danger. Horrible, horrible danger. 

‘Be careful. Please.’ You remembered Feyd’s words from earlier. 

He had been trying to warn you.

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ೃ࿔ savage bonds taglist:

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the wonderful line “fear me, love me. do as i say and i will become your slave” is from the movie “the labyrinth”!

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪꜱ ɢᴏᴅ

Summary: Despite a night of heat and blood spent with the na-Baron, reality emerges to remind you of the nature of your union with the Harkonnen heir.

It inspires hesitance and jealousy in you, but he's proving to be difficult to resist.

Warnings: 18+ content, MDI. AFAB, Jealous reader. Death threats as foreplay? (Sounds wilder than it is). Oral (m!receiving), throatf*cking, some mild degradation, pain kink (m and f), rough sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, blood, canon typical violence, death.

Notes: 23.6k words. Not proofread. Feyd has black cum, fully inspired of course by @valeskafics

𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖎

An airy, bubbly sounds breaks through the dark, distorted fuzz. A soft heat prickles at your fingertips and rests down on your limbs with a soothing weight and fills your skull with a placid stuffing. It's peaceful. Guarded underneath a silky pressure that drapes over your body, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth that distantly reminds your sluggish mind of sunbathing underneath the golden cast of the Caladan sun. The tranquility of it all has sleep luring you close again, urging that you welcome it, but infuriatingly, you can sense consciousness beginning to nudge at the edges of your slumber. You're unable to repress the flare of irritation that courses through you, and in a scramble to figure out what's disturbed you, your mind sharpens to try and focus on your surroundings. 

You're still too tired to bother opening your eyes, but one of your hands absentmindedly reaches out, slipping across something smooth and lightly chilled. A bed, a faraway thought quietly supplies. It's enough to have last night rushing and fliting across your eyes. Playing glimpses of writhing limbs and low sighs. The scent of him had transferred onto your skin during your time down in the bathhouse and you could smell it heavy on the sheets, crisp, raw and warm with cleansing oils; heady from the salt of sweat and sex. 

The memories of last night threaten to pull you back under, tingling over your skin and rising over you like the glide of hands, mingling with the tempting swadle of sleep. That light, breathy chortle sounds out again, dancing across the air in a way that's horrendously human. It's then that your brain becomes alert to the divots weighed down into the plush support of the bed, encircling your body and shifting with moving, living weight. You jerk back from underneath the cover of your blankets, scrambling up to create distance between you and the strangers in your room and the sound of chiming, delighted laughter trails after you. It isn't until your spine nudges against the harsh chill of the headboard that you get a look at them. The intense flash of pure black eyes, the glint of grinning, obsidian teeth. The women perch along the edges of your bed, stretched and seated like lithe statues dressed in contoured, dark garb. 

Even with your heart fluttering frantic and surprised within the cage of your chest, you feel no ill intent from them, just plain, genuine curiosity. Their heads are tilted as they watch you, calmly roving their blank gazes over you like you're some sort of strange creature splayed open on an operating table for study. But you're beginning to feel that initial sense of shock thaw, giving way to your own curiosity and even a shred of annoyance. Mostly for yourself for allowing several people to creep within your quarters while you were at your most vulnerable. 

"Who are you?" You ask, allowing yourself to relax from against your tense position along the headboard. None of the three say a word yet, but the one to the left of you lets her grin stretch wider, and something feral passes through the expression. It's a violent gleam. Though it's difficult to tell if that violence is in regard to you, or if it just happens to be a part of her nature. But it's the one in the center, more demure in her features and her eyes much sharper, nearly sleepy in their hold, that speaks first. 

"We just came to see you. " She all but coos, her voice close to a low, breathy whisper. 

"We heard you were a pretty thing," says the other, marked with a solid, vertical stripe along her forehead. She dares to slink a little bit closer, stalking forward on her palms with the silky, calculated movements of a hunter. 

Your body urges you to move out from her scope, to slip from the bed so that you would be able to create distance between you and the women. But this suddenly feels like some sort of test. A competition of wills. You rise without second thought, straightening your posture and pinning your gaze onto hers; unflinching, even when she comes close enough for you to feel the heat of her radiating across your skin. You don't allow yourself to so much as glance away from her, even as the dark slate of her eyes twinkle with a wild type of mirth. The other women creep closer as well like a pack of wild dogs sniffing out if a cornered animal might be wounded enough to become prey. It unnerves you, even though you can sense no weapons on their bodies, but agitation still bubbles and sears within your chest. Compulsively, you can feel the influence of the Voice thrumming on the tip of your tongue, itching at the back of your throat with the desire to be released. It would be easy to assert yourself, to command them to back away with an order that could not be resisted. But using the Voice would come with its own possible consequences this early on, and so with a great amount of self-restraint, you swallow it down. 

Seemingly satisfied with what she has seen, she backs away from you and the others follow to perch along the far edges of the bed without removing their eyes from your form. 

"We wanted to see our Master's newest pet, " the one on your left discloses softly, reaching forward to take a piece of your hair within the gentle grasp of her fingertips. She inspects it with a curious tilt of her chin, admiring the low glint of the dim light reflecting in the color. 

The urge to bat her hand away from you is snuffed out as quickly as it had risen, catching onto her words with a startling quickness, zeroing in on the usage of "master." The term "pet" doesn't slip your mind either. Neither does the implication that you all apparently belong to the same entity. It's pathetic, but the revelation makes your heart stall for a moment too long, skipping a lengthy beat right within the cradle of your chest. The sense of fondness in you dies out like a smoldering ember draining of its warmth and heat until it's left cold and ashen, and only the sting of betrayal remains. 

"The na-Baron," you supply. Though the remark is mostly just a thought spoken aloud. His title is suddenly like glass slipping from your mouth, sharp and unforgiving. They don't respond with words, but the unanimous sighs that leave them at the utterance of his designation are breathy and nearly euphoric, like merely the mention of him brought them close to pleasure. The sight of it made your skin crawl, out of disgust or jealously, you can't tell with the emotions so similar. But even without a verbal reply, their reactions are more than enough to provide a proper answer. These women are the na-Baron's concubines. You don't know why the realization floods your body with a charge of venom and scathing resentment. Their position as his pleasure slaves does nothing to your status as his fiancé - as his wife. It's completely normal for men in high positions of power to indulge in the services of permanent paramours. It doesn't pose a threat to you or your intended marriage with the na-Baron in the slightest. So it makes no sense that something acidic and biting coats your tongue, joined with the rise of an urge that threatens to be almost violent. 

You trample down that inclination with a swiftness, burying it deep to pretend that it had never existed, even while the presence of the three of them sitting so near burns at you like an acid. It isn't fair to have this reaction towards these women. Women, who like you, are only obeying their duties (even if they happen to take satisfaction in it). It makes less sense because Lady Jessica, a concubine herself, had warned you of the possibility of the na-Baron taking on inferior wives. Hedonism is something that bleeds heavily, not just in Harkonnen society, but in men. This disclosure should bear no shock. It should not prompt jealousy or hurt in you, but it does. And in your internal conflict, your mind latches onto the possibility that he had taken to their comfort after your time in the bathhouse. That after his use of you, he used their bodies to bring him pleasure like you had meant nothing. 

"Master is so harsh sometimes; he often breaks his pets," the one to your left divulges softy. She tilts her head like a curious feline, and he lips peel back in a jovial grin. "I do hope that he doesn't break you." 

Once again, the urge to use the Voice weighs heavy in your mouth, searing like poison and fire, clawing against your chest and the hollow of your throat with a fervor. Your eyes sweep over the three of them, heavy with your intent while heat burns in your veins.

"Get out." The sharp cut of your voice carries through the dark void of the room with a sense of finality. But your tone isn't carried by the Voice. It's completely human and bare in your resolve. You'll give them the dignity of leaving on their own accord, if only this once. 

They give you unruffled smiles in response, undisturbed by your command, but one by one they begin to slink themselves from the expanse of your bed to cross over to the door. They giggle amongst themselves as they go, crowded close to each other like a procession of gossips, murmuring lowly in their delight as they slip through the threshold. The door slips close with a pronounced, airy hiss before the space falls into a heavy silence that hangs over you like a threat. The urge to slip your eyes closed and fall into a deep slumber does not greet you again. It's hard to do something so vulnerable when it feels as though you're in a tomb. You aren't sure how long you remain like that for, tucked away on your bed with anger brewing in your gut. And the hours that tick by are torturously long, extended by the slow rotation of the planet, dragging the remainder of the night by in a slow glide. It makes you feel as though you might be going insane, losing touch with reality with every second longer in the shadows. But you aren't so sure if you want the dawn to come either, with it bearing the promise of a wedding. 

The promises that he had made earlier, the saccharine pledges of his devotion have turned sour. Tainted. Gone bitter like the flavor of his polluted blood that had stained your lips earlier.  But it's the self-disgust that hurts the most. You had let yourself be seduced so easily by pretty words and a handsome face. You had let yourself believe that you were the only one. That a man as indulgent as him would only have eyes for you. 

You aren't truly sure what hour it is when a swarm of servants enter your chambers, sweeping through the dim dark of the room like gliding spirits from an ancient folktale. Gathering you from your bed like delicate phantoms - harbingers of ill will. But you allow them to do what they need with you. Like a prisoner trapped within your own body, you let them clean and pamper you, dousing your body with enticing oils and perfumes, anointing the soft skin over your womb with a dark paste in an old superstitious right meant to induce fertility, smearing the black across you with the glide of their fingers to leave four lines behind.  It made your skin prickle and crawl at the prospect of it. 

Each of them moved diligently, quietly. Not so much as whispering a word to you once. Their blank, pallid faces were all unknown to you, and their presence had made you wonder of where your own handmaidens had gone. What the Harkonnen may have done to them in your absence. Fear pinched your gut and sunk in it heavily like led. Deep down you know what happened to them. What terrible fate had befallen them the moment that you had allowed them to be escorted away from you. It nudged at the back of your mind like a cold, deathly hand. Unforgiving and harsh. It left you to be as still as a doll has the Harkonnen servants had guided you into the delicate, embroidered material of your wedding garment. A glorified death shroud. It disgusts you to look at it. The union of the Caladan saltwater pearls and the softly beaded volcanic rock that had been sewed into the pale, sweeping fabric made you sick. The symbolism is not lost on you. As heavy-handed as it is, meant to imply the bonding of your respective houses. But the sight of the blackened beads feels more like a stain on your dress than an enhancement. And when they had secured the embellished lace veil upon your head, draping it over your face, you had been thankful for the scarce bit of security it provided.  

But you know now that the sheer cast it offers is not enough to save you. Suddenly, you feel as though you're the one standing in the midst of an arena. Whether you're the victor or the victim, you aren't sure. But hundreds of eyes stare at you like you're a spectacle. Socialites, distant relatives to the Harkonnen family, and members of Minor Houses alike are all gathered to gawk and witness. You aren't sure how many guests are here in total, but the number is overwhelming as they observe you; probing, searching, evaluating, the amount of them so great that the crowd nearly presses up against the distant, colossal walls of the ceremonial chamber. And you're certain that a Bene Gesserit Sister must be hidden here somewhere amongst the masses, intent to monitor your union to the na-Baron. It makes you feel judged; like you've been sliced open, and your organs have been laid bare. The sheer vastness of the hall, the sleek divots designed into the walls make you feel as though you've been sucked into the textured, inky gut of a titanic beast.  

But even worse is the sight of a familiar person posted at the top of the vast platform, dressed in dark, traditional garb, silently waiting for you to begin your descent down the aisle like a sinister idol awaiting its sacrifice. It's nerve-wracking, and the urge to turn and flee rises up, strong and acidic. The low, gentle baritone of the ceremonial music projecting from the strange alien instruments does little to soothe you. You can practically feel the pulse of it reverberating across your sinew and bones, and it's as though the power of the music alone compels you forward. Dragging you towards your fate like you're being forced along by a leash around your throat. You have to squeeze your fingers together in an effort to anchor yourself, hoping that the gesture will not be too obvious. 

You can feel the gentle tug of your servants' hands on the flowing skirt of your gown and veil, keeping them from becoming soiled along the obsidian tiles, following you like compliant dolls. Their presence burns into the back of your mind, searing you with guilt and self-loathing. They serve as a harsh reminder, a cold possible reality for you. Your handmaidens should be in their place, but they aren't. It burns at your gut, cruel and condemning, and doubled with the heavy weight of the na-Baron's fixed gaze, the pressure of it all threatens to make your knees buckle. His sharp eyes on you has nausea pooling in your gut, oily and thick, and it shocks you to think that just last night you had delighted underneath that stare. He had made you feel like you were something to be coveted; salvation incarnated in human form. But now you feel tricked. Soiled. And you're left to wonder if it had not been reverence at all, but possession. An over bloated sense of ownership and entitlement that you had foolishly mistook for desire and genuine affection. 

It makes you want to lash out. At him. At yourself. The way that he looks at you now is so confusing. His expression is neutral, placid, nearly guarded. But you swear that you can see the hint of something flicker underneath the surface. Something that nearly bears resemblance to impatience. Like he was eagerly awaiting your arrival on equal ground. It has a glimmer of hope simmering in your chest and you're careful to snuff it out without even bothering to entertain it. It's a useless feeling here. 

You try your best not to meet Feyd-Rautha's gaze as you near in your approach, training your vision straight ahead to study the lurking figure of the Minister in an effort to distract yourself; towering and bathed in dark robes with their face concealed by the smooth shroud of a sort of reflective face covering. But it backfires completely and the look of them only serves to put you even closer on edge. They seem like a haunting pillar of death. A foreboding psychopomp meant to usher the weak into the afterlife and bind them to the underworld. It seems you'll be one of those souls today.

The pedestal that the Minister stands before bears a matching set of rings, both dark and simple in their design, and you catch the subtle impressions of geometric patterns etched into the steel. But what truly garners your attention are the twin daggers that accompany them, and they only seem to solidify your intangible death.  The wink of their smoky blades underneath the subdued lights glares out like a warning, beckoning you closer and commanding that you shy away all at once. 

But you move forward, treading up the steps with a forced resolve. The servants depart from you once you have ascended, leaving you to face Feyd-Rautha alone as they disappear to the far points of the stage and vanish into the heavy shadows. The small hint of confidence that you've managed to gather wavers for a moment when you catch the baleful observation of the Baron in your peripheral vision. Unable to ignore him from his place along the far end of the platform. His cold eyes following your every motion like he's waiting for you to waver or slip; gaze intent like a starved creature hoping for its prey to make a mistake and rush directly into the path of its snapping jaws. Given no other options you have to stare forward and meet the attention of the na-Baron. You hate the way that your body flushes with a simmering heat when he looks at you, instinctively longing for the feel of him even though it's only felt his touch for one night. 

It's pathetic the way that you pine for him like some sort of frail, naive girl, but it's difficult to hide away from your own emotions when something as simple as his stare pulls you and pins you down with dark weight and smoke. The gravity that he watches you with should concern you, cause you to recoil underneath it. It's all hunger and want glittering inside of them, projecting the hint of danger. But like a glutton for punishment, you feel a piece of yourself thrilled by the attention, even though you try to trample it down. 

You nearly flinch when the sharp, booming voice of the Minister reverberates across the room, cutting and baritone with a clipped roll of the Harkonnen tongue. You swear you can see a damp flicker of amusement flit across Feyd-Rautha's expression in response, but it's gone as quickly as you had seen it. You're unable to focus on the subtle irritation that courses through you at his mirth, too overstimulated in your struggle to understand the Minister. But you draw a complete blank when you realize that it's the general language and not the battle dialect that you had been able to obtain back on Caladan with the slim amount filmbooks and old texts that were provided. It leaves you horrifyingly lost, and you can't figure out a single word that's been uttered thus far. It's like you've been caught inside a nightmare, surrounded by the attention of thousands that you don't recognize, left astray as words uttered in a language that you do not know is enunciated with a clipped finality that will seal your fate for a lifetime. Your heart flutters restlessly in your chest, striking heavily like it wishes to break free and beckon you into the sweet embrace of death. 

It surprises you when the na-Baron moves closer, a subtle shift that most might not be able to notice but you can practically feel him draw nearer with the brush of his body heat dipping past your respective garments and gliding over your skin. It urges you to give him your concentration, fastening your focus onto him until the conformed chaos around you dims into a low thrum. 

"I will guide you." He reassures you, voice firm and certain in its graveled edge. And you're glad for the verbal communication or else you might have grown nervous as he runs his fingertips across the slim hilt of a dagger before taking it in his grip. Your tongue is thick and heavy against the roof of your mouth when he lifts the blade, and your heartbeat pulses throughout the veins of your throat as you silently observe, transfixed when he deftly flips the weapon over on the edges of his fingertips to offer you the hilt. Something passes between you two as you gaze at each other; a request, the offer of permission, the desire for acceptance. 

Hesitance quivers inside of you for just a moment, nearly strengthened by the panicked instinct to pick up your skirts and run. But instead, you find yourself reaching forward with hardly any more thought and taking the chilled grip of the blade into the clutch of your hand. The heft of it strikes you, the subtle ridges crafted into the handle threaten to dig into your palm but your grasp on it remains deceptively strong, almost as if your nerves aren't frayed and split from your anxieties. The craftsmanship of the weapon is unquestionably Harkonnen, designed with the elegant, streamline edges and a recurve style - a favorite amongst the house it seems. Despite being a ceremonial dagger, its weight is well balanced. Even between the grip and the blade, and the feel of it in your palm is familiar despite the differences in technique in comparison with Atreides weapons.  

With the security of having it in your grasp, you nearly feel as though you might manage to survive the ritual, even if just barely. But the confidence in you wavers just slightly as you watch the na-Baron pick up the opposing dagger. It has the memory of his violence in the arena flashing in your mind. His skill with a blade, the precision with how he wields them. It would be so easy for him to drive the dagger forward and to sink it into your stomach, to gut you open with the flick of his wrist and bear your reddened belly for the masses. And as senseless as that train of thought is, it does have you tensing underneath the probing scrutiny of the gathered crowd. But you don't catch so much as a glimmer of that feral brutality in his eyes, the controlled edge of savagery that had dipped over his posture when he had sauntered and slaughtered within the confines of the colosseum. His expression is still controlled, dare you say, peaceful even. 

"There will be pain." He says, and as terrifying as those words are, the tone with which they are spoken with is done without a hint of ire or sadism. It's not said to instill fear or frighten you; it's said to prepare you. To give you time to brace for what's to come. 

The Minister's voice thunders throughout the room once more as their hands spread wide in a sweeping flourish, gesturing to you and the na-Baron in a welcoming, encouraging manner. It's then that Feyd-Rautha extends his empty left hand to you, upturned and splayed open for you to accept, and his gaze unwavering. "You have to cut; just deep enough for it to bleed. But only the palm is necessary." His explanation dips over you with the sting of chilled slivers, threatening to make you shudder. When you had seen the blades earlier, you entertained the idea of something of this nature, as violent as the Harkonnen seem to be with nearly every inch of their culture soaked in blood. You were just hoping that it wouldn't have made its way here as well. But it should have been expected that a ritual as serious as marriage - the joining of two souls - would require such a powerful, symbolic offering. There is truly no way around this. You have no other option but to honor the exchange, even though the thought of it has your stomach prickling and turning with dread. 

It's shocking. Now that you're well and able to raise a knife to the na-Baron, you should find yourself pleased with the very notion to inflict pain on him, but you find yourself wavering instead. As though you're disturbed by the very idea of it, even though you had sunk your teeth into him just hours earlier and drew blood. But the air had been thick with excitement then, heady and sultry with the scent of salt and arousal, and the way that he had commanded you to had been too tempting to ignore. If you draw blood now, there will be no turning back for you. The pact will be sealed. Irreversible. Binding you both together by name. By house and flesh. 

But now you're just being hopeful. Idiotic, even. You've always been promised to become Harkonnen by title. You've been promised to the na-Baron long before either of you have even been born; a meticulous web weaved by the Bene Gesserit. - forces far out of your control. Even if you turned heel now and ran, at best you would be captured and humiliated before being forced into a union with the na-Baron. At worst, you would permanently mar the potential of a reconciliation with both houses and tip them into another war. But wickedly, if you're being completely honest with yourself, you don't want to flee. The sting of betrayal and hurt is piercing in your chest, tight, restricting and threatening to claw at your lungs as you breathe, but you still have no desire to hide from your duties. From him. 

And the need to claim him hangs over you like something violent and starving. The urge to stake your mark on him - a warning to others who may dare to look at him. Almost blindly you reach forward, slipping the hold of your hand underneath his, securing it in place as you lift the sharp edge of the dagger towards the delicate, exposed skin of his palm. Your eyes meet as you raise the blade, and it almost surprises you when you see nothing but eager resolve staring back at you, like he can't wait for you to cut into him. It has last night playing across your mind; the sensation of skin breaking underneath your teeth, the taste of him in your mouth, the thrum of his covetous groans trembling underneath your tongue. It's enough to drive the blade forward and you press the lethal point of it against his flesh until the weight of it presses it down and a dark liquid wells up to the surface, almost pitch black and glinting with a barely there burgundy hue. 

You're unable to take your eyes away from him as you drag the blade along his skin, splitting it open underneath the glide of the sharpened steel. You swear you can see something near rapturous pass through his controlled expression as you slice his palm, and you hate the low simmer of heat the rolls throughout your body in response. It has you retracting the blade before you those smoldering feelings could light into something deeper, but that narrow wound must have been satisfactory enough because the na-Baron appears pleased with the look of it. You follow the subtle instruction he had implied with the nod of his head to return the dagger to its place on the pedestal. The scrap of the steel against the smooth stone rings out clearly across the ceremonial chambers, even with the strange music still thrumming in the background. But it's difficult to focus on all of that when Feyd lifts his arm over one of the wedding bands and balls his hand into a fist to force the flow of blood, sanctifying the jewelry with the drops of his blackened blood.

It's over sooner than you expect, and he lowers his arm once after only a few moments and shifts his attention on you expectantly for you to lift your own hand, and in some mindless sort of compulsion you find yourself presenting your open palm to him without hardly a trace of hesitance in your body. 

His gaze is evaluating again. Heavy like he's waiting to see if you'll flinch as he secures your wrist in a light grip and raises the blade up towards your hand and it glints in a muted silver. But the urge to cower or escape doesn't greet you like you expect it to. You're calm. Content even. And there's some perverse little part of you that eagerly waits for the sharp edge to meet your flesh. He must notice the yearning glimmer in your eyes through the cover of your veil, because you see recognition flicker across his features, just as heavy and wanting. Like the prospect of you welcoming the bite of the blade pleases him, and in turn it has the hint of desire you had felt earlier back with a vengeance; greedy and starved. 

He finally presses the edge of the dagger against the tender flesh of your palm, but you don't so much as flinch. Something prickling flutters inside of your stomach, but it's hard to tell if its nerves or a damning hint of excitement. Once again, your eyes have found each other, your focus securely fixed as he pins the sharpened end of the blade along your hand and drags it to slice. White-hot heat licks across your flesh, stinging as your skin gives and parts around the lethal steel with a rich red trailing in its wake. Your lips part in a short gasp - a weak attempt to center yourself around the flare of pain and surprise, but the steady, warm weight of his grip around your wrist serves to keep you concentrated. And with the dark hold of his stare on you it pulls every ounce of your attention onto him until the burning throb shooting across your palm fades into a weak sting.  Relief rushes back over you like a breath of air when he lifts the weapon from your flesh, and you're entirely transfixed as he lifts the blade to his mouth and smears the bead of blood across the plush curve of his lips; the red a contrast between the stark shade of his skin. Only then does he place the dagger beside its twin. It strikes you that he hadn't asked you to take this step earlier while your own blade was still stained with drops of black, and it leaves you feeling lost, stuck in uncertainty and surprise until the realization quickly dawns on you that this may not even be an official part of the ritual. That he might have taken it upon himself to anoint his mouth with the red from your veins. It reminds you again of the way that his own had tasted on your tongue, thick and faintly acerbic. It's like he's trying to return the favor. To anoint himself in your blood as you had done with his. 

The sight of him smeared with red has you transfixed, and it if it wasn't for the damp heat slipping down your palm you would have forgotten the next step entirely. You tear yourself from your daze with a ragged breath and turn your head to watch as you raise your arm above the pedestal to line your maimed flesh above the larger ring. It's a surprise to yourself when you don't hesitate to curl your fingers into a tight fist, clenching your palm to christen the band with a few generous drops of your blood. The distinction between the blackened steel and the rich crimson is nearly beautiful in a crude sort of way. Fitting for a Harkonnen wedding. 

 The na-Baron raises his wounded hand in the air, instantly drawing your attention to where he keeps it suspended before you; palm upturned once more as he passes you an expectant look, and his voice rumbles out in a gentle command. "Give me your hand. " 

Hesitation nearly raises its head again, weighing down your limbs and begging that they remain still. But that other part of you acts without little contemplation, pulling your arm up in an offering. You watch silently with your breath trapped and stagnant in your lungs as he plucks up the ring smeared with his own blood up from its place on the pedestal; slick with black and glittering with the damp. The steel is chilled when he slips it around the width of your ring finger, but the fresh coat of the darkened liquid is still hot with the warmth of his body. It smears over your skin as he guides the wedding band until its snug along your knuckle, staining you with the vigorous liquid that had just flowed through his body. The pressure of it around you is so foreign. Strange. And your muddled mind can hardly comprehend that you're even wearing it at all. 

It makes you feel as though you're acting on instinct alone when you shift to grab the remaining piece of jewelry from its place beside you. Taking it between unsteady fingertips. Your mouth is dry and hollow, making you hyperaware of the frantic pulse of your heartbeat fluttering within your chest. The intensity of the na-Baron's stare is stifling, like he could suffocate you with the weight of it alone. But you don't allow yourself to concentrate on the strength of his gaze. You look to his hand instead, lifted and patiently waiting. It's enough to give you the incentive to move forward, reaching out the slip the ring around the bare finger to mar it with a fresh coat of red.  

It could be your imagination, but the music reverberating across the thick atmosphere seems to spike, pulsing and beating like the breath and heart of a living being. You can sense it underneath your feet, nearly becoming overwhelming with the pressure of the crowds' eyes boring into you eagerly. And when the Minister leans over towards you both, your soul feels as though it might evict itself from your body and leave its vessel behind. You force yourself remain firm and motionless, focusing on the comforting weight of the na-Baron's hand underneath your own, the soothing warmth radiating from it and seeping into your flesh. It's like a dream as you watch Feyd-Rutha - your husband, lace his fingers through yours, sealing you in a pact made from blood. 

The Minister's voice rises high, hurtling close to some sort of finality in its climb and they sweep their arms into the air with another flourish. It's then that Feyd-Rautha steps even closer to you with a gaze that strips you bare and leaves you a little breathless; thrumming like a live wire as his presence pours over you like a simmering liquid. You have no desire to move away from him when he lifts his free hand to direct the cast of your veil from your face, gliding it across the crown of your head with the tug of his fingertips, exposing you to him and leaving you vulnerable. You can see the way that his vision roves over your face, marking each of your features like he's studying you, hunting for a shred of reluctance or fear. Everything else becomes muted, dull in comparison to the pale blue of his eyes and the pull of them draws you in. Causing the buzz of the music to dampen; the weight of the betrayal you've felt fading into an afterthought underneath the brush of his lips over yours. 

Anticipation pulses in your veins as he angles his head when he draws near, nudging the edge of your jaw to keep you secure as his mouth presses against yours in a bruising kiss that tastes of blood; metallic and sharp. All of your attention seems to siphon down in this exact moment, settling into your skin to hone in on the press of his body against yours. It's embarrassing how easily you give into him once the taste of him is on your mouth, melting with the flavor of your blood. It should horrify you. Make you stumble away from him on weakened legs with terror in your gut, but the hint of his tongue brushing along your bottom lip only serves to pour something molten directly into your bloodstream, and you have to pointedly remind yourself that you're in public during your wedding no less. But Feyd seems to have no shame, or the desire to conform to public decency because the way that he licks into your mouth is anything but chaste. 

It threatens to make your mind fall completely blank and you distantly register the climbing timbre of the Minister's voice as it strikes across the atmosphere with a firm sense of finality in a declaration. You're nearly certain that the masses have erupted into a thunderous, celebratory cry of your name and the na-Baron's, but it might as well as fall on deaf ears with how the light tug of teeth on your lips melts your brain into mush. So it's nearly jarring when he pulls away from you, breaking the kiss just as quickly as it had begun to turn and face the crowd with pride in his stance. In a sort of daze, you follow his lead with the impression of his lips still tingling on your mouth and the tumultuous chanting of the guests roaring in your ears. He raises your joined hands high in the air, brandishing them in a sign of triumph much like he had flaunted his gore-soaked blade in the arena, in a confident proclamation of your successful union. 

But the rhythmic chorus of your name has mutated and shifted into a title that's jarring to hear: 

na-Baroness. 

The festive cries of your new title ring in your ears well after they have died out. It rattles within the recesses of your skull, burying deep as you presented yourself before the guests, accepting tokens of good will and gifts bestowed on you from Harkonnen aristocrats and nobles as blessings upon your marriage. Everything from lavish, exotic jewels to a pair of hunting dogs, all of which you had accepted with a smile on your face despite being horridly overwhelmed, crowded by strangers who had flocked near as though they were long time acquaintances. The masses attentions follow you well into dinner where you're held under both intrigue and scrutiny alike as you all satiated yourself with a banquet's worth of imported meats and fruits. You could feel the prickle of their eyes on you, roving over your flesh with the heat of indignation and outrage. You could see it clearly reflecting in many of their gazes even though they left their words unsaid. Atreides scum. That's what they desired to say. 

Realistically, you had always suspected that you wouldn't be received by open arms with the entirety of the masses. Not with the centuries of bad blood and horror built between your respective houses, it was to be anticipated that the majority wouldn't be very receptive to your introduction to the Harkonnen name. Marriage will not be enough to unwrite all of the upheaval and carnage; all of the souls lost between both sides. Enemies, regardless of your new status and husband, are to be expected. But the raw, flaying weight behind their fleeting glances still manages to dig at you, burying underneath your skin like an irritating sliver of wood. It all serves as a deadly reminder as to how truly isolated you are here. Left adrift with no familiar faces to console you. 

You try to distract yourself with the feast spread out in front of you, analyzing the abundance of off-world produce and rich meats like it's all the most fascinating thing that you've encountered. But you're hyperaware of the gentle chiming of glasses and the delicate scrape of silverware cutting across dark porcelain. Every sound and sensation seems to be amplified by the man stationed on the lower section of the dining hall, crowded alongside other wealthy guests as they enjoy the banquet. The distance between you is so vast that his pallid features aren't fully discernable, but you're still able to get a decent view of him from your place at the high table, and the intensity of his frigid stare is almost like a physical thing, slipping over your skin in a way that's grating.

You're just barely able to recognize him as a general among one of the Baron's military units. He had taken your hand earlier, kissed your knuckles in a show of respect. But you're unable to see even a hint of that acclaim now. He watches you in between the lulls of his conversations like he means to skin you alive, not even bothering to hide his bold contempt. It has caution unfurling inside of you, turning bitter and restless from the weight of his suspicious glances, and the sight of the steak knife that he utilizes in his hand does not ease your discomfort.

Truly your only sense of repose is the warmth projecting from the na-Baron as he sits at your side, but even then, the sensation of it is woefully dull. Dampened by the considerable amount of distance placed between your chairs. And even with that sense of betrayal still simmering lowly under the surface, you can't ignore the fact that you wish he was closer. But you're not afforded the luxury of openly showing your need for comfort. If you're going to survive these cold, brutal walls then you're going to have to keep your emotions and suspicions close to your chest. 

But that doesn't mean that you can't allow yourself a distraction. Without little thought you reach for the goblet plentiful with a muted red spirit, careful not to use your injured hand as you take it by its delicate stem to lift the chalice to your lips, swallowing down a large gulp. A part of you had been bracing for a harsh burn, or the flavoring of something odd or exotic, but the taste that washes over your mouth is almost jarringly familiar. Saturating your tongue with the notes of something fruity, earthy and subtly sweet. The profile of it is unmistakable, and as soon as the flavor flows down your mouth it transports you back home. Placing you on rich, damp soil with rolling hills sweeping as far as they eye can see. Each one lined with rows of vineyards, fruitful with sweeping vines and plump, grapes that glitter in glints of silver and gold from the morning dew. For a moment you think that you could sob. Whether those be tears of joy or from the bittersweet sorrow of nostalgia, you aren't sure. 

"I take it you like it." 

The sound of Feyd-Rautha's throaty accented lilt breaks through your swarming thoughts, causing your head to swivel around to look at him. The expression that crosses your face is lost, if not a little incredulous as you observe him. He glances down at the chalice in your hand, sparing a slight nod with the implication. "I wasn't sure which one would please you more. You Atreides have an excessive variety of wine." 

"You did this?" You ask, lips parting somewhat dumbly in your disbelief. 

He doesn't answer you immediately. Instead, he looks off the table of guests at the bottom of the platform, eyes sweeping across them as though he's searching for something. "Our beverages can be potent for off-worlder's. I thought it'd be best to find something more agreeable for your soft palate." And there it is again. A subtle inflection in his voice that indicates that he might be trying to joke, but the neutral state of his face doesn't help discern if that theory is accurate or not. But it's difficult to stick and ponder about it for long with that dreadful hint of fondness creeping back in again. A smile threatens to lift at your mouth, and you find yourself struggling to ward off its influence as affection blooms inside of your chest like a sun's gentle warmth. 

"Thank you," you say; nearly murmur in your soft awe. He does not respond verbally, with his lips already occupied by swallowing a gulp of his own drink, but he does spare you a nod. You eye his cup curiously, something playful rising up. The feeling is unexpected but not entirely unwelcome, and you find yourself leaning into it. "Is that one of your notorious beverages?" You don't wait for him to answer before you hold your unbandaged hand out in a silent request. "May I?" 

He observes you like he's a little fascinated, and now you're certain that there's an amused glimmer burning in the dark of them. "Be my guest," he replies easily, and passes you the chalice. The liquid inside is dark, but the reflection of the dim lights above reveals faint undertones of amber in its hue. When you lift it up closer to your nose, no fragrance rises up to greet you. It's completely scentless, and it gives you no bases to prepare for what it may taste like. But 'potent' had been the word that the na-Baron had used, and it leaves you a little intimidated, but also entirely intrigued. Without much more thought, you nudge the chilled goblet against your lips and tilt it back to sample a generous sip. The first thing that strikes you is the heavy bitterness of it. It's nearly overwhelming on your tongue, full-bodied and acrid. And you're given hardly any time to adjust to it when the sharp bite of alcohol burns down your throat and settles in the pit of your stomach like something smoldering. You have to make the conscious effort to fight of the urge to wince, struggling to save face as Feyd watches you, but you're sure that he can see the influence of grimace tugging at your features. 

" Is it too much for you, wife?" He asks, and his lips pull back just enough to show you the dark glint of his teeth. 

The sound of the title leaving his mouth nearly makes your mind go blank. Of course, you realize that you're married now. The throbbing sting of the wound on your palm will not let you forget. But to hear it so freely acknowledged by his own accord is something else entirely. Truthfully, you aren't sure how to feel about it, if the delicate fluttering inside of your chest is out of nervousness or excitement. Once again, you're left confused by your own emotions. Torn between your internal conflicts as you struggle to come to terms with what you may desire, but the gravity of it all is too much to deal with, and almost desperately you cling onto the light taunt. Allowing it to rouse an impish competitive drive in you, and you're entirely unable to repress the smile on your face despite the dark, bitter taste still coating your tongue. "Not at all," you lie, leaning back in your seat. "In fact, I think I'll keep it for myself." 

Something flickers in Feyd's gaze, and he suddenly leans into your space, stopping short just as you feel the heat of him waft over the swell of your cheeks. You expect to hear some sort of light goading or a sardonic jest, but when the low rasp of his voice sounds out, it's nothing of the sort. "You have eyes on you." 

His words douse over you like a chill, even though the admittance isn't a revelation in the slightest. You can still feel the prickle of their judgement on your skin, searing with their hatred. From your peripheral vision you can still catch the way that the General still openly glares, clearly unrestrained in his loathing towards the Atreides' - and by proxy, you. But it strikes you more how the na-Baron candidly brings it to your attention, instead of ignoring it all together. That he would even bother or care enough. The way that he stares at you now is evaluating, like he's trying to figure out what thoughts may be surging through your head. How the admission might affect you. "I know," you answer, completely assured in your response. "It's fine. It's to be expected." 

You see something pass through his eyes. It's dark and heavy, nearly cold but undiscernible and now you're the one struggling to perceive what kind of musings and notions he may be entertaining. It doesn't help that despite the concerning layer of resolve glittering in his stare, his overall expression remains decidedly placid. Something about it is terrifying. It makes him a blank slate. An impenetrable wall, and you can only try to guess what might be going on behind it. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that there's something vaguely chastising about his admiration of you, and you aren't sure how to feel about it. It has your hackles rising. The compulsion to defend yourself. But he's rising from his seat before you can utter so much as word. The sound of the legs skirting across the stone tiles cuts across the atmosphere in a hoarse groan, causing the active chatter to fall silent and everyone to swivel their attention onto the na-Baron like a pack of dogs focusing on a whistle. 

The way that he moves is calm and practiced, and he hardly spares anyone so much as a glance as he picks up the steak knife situated alongside his plate. He takes it in his wounded hand without a single flinch before he moves around the around the high table, passing by the Baron without any acknowledgement and steadily saunters down the short row of steps to approach the banquet down below. You're lost to heed him from your place, practically glued to your seat with uncertainty and dread in your gut. You're unable to see his face from your position, but it's clear just who he has his concentration fixed on, and the blade of the knife glints like a warning. 

But there's no possible way that Feyd-Ruatha truly means to kill anyone at this table. They all must be of importance to be seated here in the presence of the Baron, during his favorite nephews wedding no less. These people are part of alliances, important figures in Harkonnen society, indispensable in terms of noble and military connections. It leaves you as a collective to watch with a sense of awe and trepidation as Feyd approaches the table, forcing you to observe with batted breath in anticipation of what's to come. You dare to spare a cursory glance to the Baron in an attempt to gauge his reaction, but his own expression is just as steely and blank as his nephews. If he feels even an ounce of outrage or fury at the implication of the blade wielded in Feyd's hand, then he doesn't speak on it. If anything, he might possibly be intrigued. 

The hush that's fallen over the guests is suffocating. Nearly everything that the na-Baron does can be likened to observing a great cataclysm - seeing fire and ash bleeding over the earth and searing the soil black. He's lethal and magnetizing all at once, splitting your consciousness into two separate directions. While morality screams at you to look away, fascination forces you to bear witness. 

The General has to lean his body back to properly look upon Feyd as he nears him, and the ragged wrinkles in his face only deepen as he watches with a confused furrow fixed between his naked brows. You can see the older man's lips part in the beginnings of a question but not so much as a low breath gets to pass through them before Feyd's arm shoots out, barely a traceable blur as he grabs ahold of the General's skull to expose the vulnerable stretch of his throat. In that exact, fleeting moment you feel your heart skip a beat and ice turns your veins frigid and solid. You hardly track the movement of the blade. You see the glint of it, quick and silver, and then it's almost as if the wound simply materializes across the stretch of the General's neck, blossoming like a dark line before blackened blood flows from it in heavy streams. 

Wet, harsh gurgles tear from his mouth as his chest rises and falls in heaving, choppy gasps in a failing effort to pull in oxygen. You could see the light die out from his eyes. Snuffed and dimmed like a weak flame on an old wick. All of the guests are left to stare in a state of shock as the General's body shudders in a final, seizing death rattle and his spine gives out. His head lolls and the rest of his body relents to the weight, rolling forward from its place on his chair and the front of his skull meets the harsh stone tabletop with a sickening, pronounced crack, rattling the silverware and glasses within the vicinity. 

You fear that you might float away from your body, and the only thing that keeps you even remotely centered is the chilled sensation of the chalice in still held in your grip, the support of your seat underneath you. The death had been delivered so causally that it was difficult to register it. It plays behind your eyelids like a twisted dream, and the sound of the General's feeble, strained gasps echoing across the chamber drives your horror in deeper. It's gruesome how swiftly and carelessly he had been dispatched. Not even his rank amongst the Harkonnen military was enough to save his neck from the na-Baron's ire. You've seen Feyd kill before. His prowess in the arena, and the blood that he had skillfully shed. But this is entirely different. This had been someone important, with a voice and power within the Harkonnen military and still he was practically given a public execution because he had managed to gain the irritation of the na-Baron. 

"Would anyone else like to pass glances at my wife?" Feyd inquires, much too stoic for someone who has just taken a life. And the analyzing stare that he sweeps over the guests table is just as cutting as the blade that he grips. "You should only feel so fortunate to look at her." 

They all keep their heads lowered, eyes wide and fixed on the table in an effort not to meet his gaze; like he's an animal that might lunge if they do. A guard dog at the ready to tear flesh and break bone. But perhaps that's what truly concerns you. Even loyal dogs can have a tendency to bite. Static and cold flushes through you at his words, and you're absolutely flooded with a barrage of emotions; most of which you struggle to grapple with and recognize. They all pass too quickly. Rushing in a frantic pass before you can understand the textures and sway of them, but you're able to catch onto weak glimmers of them, conflicting responses of both a burning appreciation and an acerbic type of caution. It leaves you confused on which side to take. Which emotion you should give in to. You've heard of passion like this before. The consuming nature of it. The way that it can eviscerate the objects of its desire, ravage them until there is nothing but useless scraps left. 

"Look at your na-Baroness," Feyd-Rutha commands suddenly. His voice is soft, but the stillness behind it offers no leeway for rebellion. "Ask for her forgiveness." 

The order leaves you breathless and frozen even while it's not intended for you. The gravity offhandedly enforced behind it, the subtle edge of his voice giving no other option but to comply. You feel like a ghost as the socialites and nobles situated around the long table tear their eyes from the banquet. They're all reluctant in their movements, some rigid out of fear and others from outrage. Regardless, the weight of their eyes all move to you, fixing onto your form, shinning with the hint of unshed tears - tears of rage and terror alike. And like a collection of puppets their mouths open simultaneously, heads tilted in a show of contrition as multiple pleas spill from their many mouths, distorted and layered with their voices. You are only able to catch snippets of each one. But every plea is shaky and desperate in their humble whispers of mercy. Fearful like they expect for you to dismiss them and usher them to their deaths. The way that they look at you is too much. It sears at your skin and threatens to make your lungs burst within the safety of your chest, but you force yourself to hold their attention. Not allowing yourself the reprieve of looking away. 

"You're all forgiven," you answer. The words are like sandpaper as they exit your mouth, scratching along your throat to tear out a gasp. The relief that comes over them is visible. Their shoulders relaxing from their tension, and they allow themselves to remove their focus from you. But even while you weren't the soul with your life on the line, the reprieve that they feel does not pass onto you; you're still wound up tight and breathless. 

"It seems my nephew is already quite taken with you," the Baron muses aloud. It bade you turn your head to look at him from over the space that divides you, leaving you vulnerable to his gaze now that your husband has vacated his seat. His leer is cold and saturated with a sadistic mirth, making your muscles tense underneath his scrutiny in a brace for what might come from his mouth. "Tread lightly with Feyd. His attentions are a fickle thing, and I would hate to see you fall once the fire burns out." 

But the pitiless smile on the Baron's lips is anything but worried or compassionate, and the pale, cold flash of his teeth glitters dully like a snarl. One of a ruthless sort of hope; counting the days in the anticipation of your supposed undoing. The image of it bleaches itself along the back of your mind, burning and heavy throughout the remainder of the feast, which had turned tense and awkward in the wake of the General's death. You hardly recall leaving the dining hall. Your brain had been spun tightly in a sort of haze, induced by the metallic scent of blood that had firmly wedged a place for itself into your nose. You do your best to combat the recent memories of it, still fresh and raw like the wound that's been sliced into your palm but the impression of it is too recent to ignore. 

You hardly realize ever leaving the dining hall. It's as though you've blinked and materialized within the confines of a dim, unfamiliar chamber. The suddenness of it all is jarring and unforgiving. And the weight of your duty tonight hangs down on you like relentless weight. The responsibility to consummate, and to hopefully conceive an heir. It's all so heavy and bitter, searing at your tongue. And the muffled, strong blasts of the celebratory fireworks outside can practically be felt along your fingertips, reverberating alongside your racing heart. But it's the weight of the na-Baron's warmth pressing along your back that keeps you from floating away, grounding and soothing even while you stare at the lethal menagerie of blades that are mounted on the western wall. Trophies, a closer inspection reveals. Mementos taken to mark felled enemies no doubt. And there are so many. Daggers and swords. Knives taken from Sardaukar soldiers and Fremen warriors. Even a Crysknife, crafted from the fang of a great sandworm. That one in particular, you had marveled at from its place mounted high on the obsidian wall. It must be longer than your forearm, and nearly just as thick, shinning in ombre shades of tan and cinnamon. The colors of sweeping dunes. You could hardly imagine how massive a beast must be to hold a tooth of such a size within its maw, what great calamities it could invoke with the simple opening of its jaw. 

But what truly catches your eyes is the glint of a familiar weapon. The dark ridges designed into the grip, the sleek, sharp edges of the blade. An Atreides dagger. The sight of it alone is enough to halt the rush of breath into your lungs, and one cursory glance along the wall has you counting at least seven more like it. The sight of them alone threaten to make you sick, stomach rolling with nausea as you traced your eyes over every single one, and your palms begin to sweat with the realization that these were only the ones that he had chosen to keep. The ones that he deems worthy enough to display. It has more of that pungent sense of betrayal welling up inside of you, rooting in deep and longing to still your heart. They serve as more deadly reminders of the perilous nature of your relationship with the na-Baron. That it's founded on death and rivalry. 

But the gentle glide of his hands along your waist doesn't feel like rivalry. It's venerating; worshipful. It makes you long to lean into the supporting expanse of his chest while your principles tell you to rip yourself away from him. 

"They died with honor."  His voice breaks you from your transfixed survey with the pronounced sharpness of lightning striking across the earth. A chill douses over your skin when he chooses to step away from you, making you feel hauntingly bare and exposed in his absence. You have to turn your head to track him as he silently steps around you, nearly blinding into the shadows, lurking within the darkened corner of the room, and your body falls motionless when you find him staring at you with the locked practice of a predator. Already your body is confused, split between shying away from him and longing to step closer. It has you fixed firmly in place, wedged between a dreadful limbo with reason and instinct telling you two very different things, and you aren't sure which one to obey. But the silver glimmer of your soldiers' blades presented in your peripheral vision shriek at you to be disgusted. To remain resolute in your reservations and to keep away from him. 

"Is that why you keep them?" You queried, even though a part of you insists that you to be silent. It's dangerous - stupid asking questions if you aren't fully prepared for the answer. You swallow the saliva that has pooled in the back of your throat from your nervousness, trying to center yourself around the outrage that burns within your chest like a white, righteous fire. His dark eyes search over you curiously, glittering like an animals would from the pale, nebulous lights casted from the distant corners of the ceiling. 

"A warriors death deserves to be remembered. In the blood. The blade." His response is unexpected. You were bracing for something callous and detached. And perhaps, to an extent it is a bit disconnected. But not out of ignorance. It comes from a place of respect, as twisted, and perhaps sadistic as it is. Like he believes he's doing them a service by displaying their weapons, keeping the memory of their deaths alive and immortalized. You aren't sure what to do with his reasoning. You know that he can see you wavering, but instead of backing away from you he draws closer, shifting forward with a calculated saunter in his shoulders. "Does it make you fear me again?" 

It makes you freeze still. Such a simple question but it has your mind falling flat and silent. The world around the both of you is quiet until all you could hear is the steady thrum of your blood rushing in your ears. Truthfully, you don't know how to respond. If you even want to. You're conflicted within the safety of your own mind, the only place that you should be free to flee to in your distress. But now you find no safety, find no reprieve or salvation in your thoughts. They're fractured down the middle, frayed between the pull of your emotions. Precariously dangling between what you want and what you stand for, and which ever one you choose may break you apart and ravage you from the inside out. 

"I'm not sure," you answer. And as soon as it spills from your lips it leaves you hopeless and adrift. 

He doesn't seem to be angered or affected by the revelation. His face is placid, undisturbed by even the insinuation of a single thought or reaction. It would be less unsettling if he simply lashed out or yelled. That at least, would give you some kind of footing to know what might be going on inside his head, but he remains uncomfortably silent, depriving you of a single glimpse. He nods his head, such a minute gesture that's hardly more than a tilt of his chin, and his vision flits down to the corner of the room for a moment, less than a second but it still offers you a small instance of respite before the dark of his eyes pins themselves back onto you. He seems to be considering something. What you aren't sure, but it sets you on edge as he begins to walk towards you, eating up the space that divides you with decided footsteps. 

When he stops, there's only a few scant inches between you and him, and the weight of his presence nearly suffocates you, but you're unable to look away. Captivated by his gravity like a helpless, damned planet caught within the relentless, devouring field of a black hole. And in that precise moment, you entertain the thought that maybe this is where he expresses his anger or annoyance. But he remains unstirred, relaxed, controlled. It makes you nervous when he shifts even closer into your space and leans near enough that you could feel his warmth roll over you. And like a traitor your body thrums underneath the subtle heat, eager to bask in his presence and soak in the feel of him. But you hold yourself back. 

The way that he regards you is intense. Heavy and stripping in its curiosity. But the desire held in it is still smoldering and thick, undisturbed by your unsure admittance. And that's truly what disturbs you. The unshaken fervor of his loyalty. The passion for you that he seems to feel despite having known you for such little time. It's concerning. Deeply troubling. You've seen lust and zealousness like this in others, and intensity always proves to turn volatile and die out in its vigor until cold indifference takes the place of fire and want. And maybe that is the root of all your anxiety and reluctance. The fear that this might just be the influence of a passing fancy. The high of something new. That once it passes and the wounds on your palms heal and mend into thin scars that the na-Baron might toss you away in the favor of his concubines. That you'll be another forgotten trophy pinned upon his wall. A brood mare dressed in ivory and pearls with the purpose of extending his bloodline and nothing more; the golden womb meant to birth his heir. It would be such a humiliating, gutting thing to discover that his loyalty was only ever fleeting. Purely driven by his desire and urges, and in the absence of his lust, his apparent reverence for you might give way and shift into a knife pointed at the tender stretch of your throat. 

You know that the na-Baron has a sense of honor. But the laws for his personal brand of morality are uncertain. You aren't sure where his infatuation with you stems from. If it's truly pure (or as pure as it can be in terms of how he experiences emotions) in its adoration or if it only grows from a place of ownership; the promise that you've belonged to him since long before your - or even his conception. So it's difficult to know where his loyalty truly lies with you. The breadth of it and how deeply it may truly run. If it really is as unshakable and certain as it seems. Long before even being sent to Giedi Prime you had been warned that he had taken his own mother's life. The reasoning behind the matricide was undisclosed to you, but it hangs over you like a venomous cloud. It makes you reluctant to give into that depraved sort of temptation. If he was willing to strike his own mother down, what would keep him from snuffing out your last breath once your purpose is fulfilled? 

You pivot to fully face him as a small rush of resolve flickers through you. It's dull and hesitant, but it's enough to inspire a challenge in you. You can tell that he notices the shift, whether it openly shows on your face or if he's just become well adept at reading you in your short time together, you aren't certain, but you see the intrigue light up in his appraising stare. It's still an effort to nudge the words from your throat, and you're thankful that you voice doesn't shake when you speak. "You told me last night that you would bring me the heads of a thousand men if it pleases me. What about three women?" 

It shocks you to hear it and the question nearly burns on its way out, but you don't have time to dwell on it. You need answers, and the way that surprise and what might be a horrific reflection of delight flickers across his expression is a good enough hint as to what type of twisted thoughts are cavorting around in his head.

"You've met my darlings," he observes openly. You loathe the nasty streak of jealousy that cuts through you, but the muted sense of wonder in his voice is telling. He had no idea that his concubines had even visited you at all. He doesn't seem to be angered by the revelation. Neither by fact that they had taken it upon themselves to sneak into your quarters in the middle of the night, or that you had asked if he would be willing to take their lives. You aren't sure how to feel about it. Perplexed, perhaps. You'd figure that someone who refers to his concubines as his darlings would be at least a little protective over them. The smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips is frustrating. The urge to slap someone has never been so strong before. "Do they make you jealous, wife?" 

"Of course not," you scoff. It sounds like a lie, even to you. And it feels like one as well. Heavy and loose on your tongue; rolling off of it like foreign words.

He looks unconvinced but makes no move to deny you. Instead, he tilts his head in a curious gesture, roving the dark glimmer of his eyes over you like he's searching for something. A weakness in your armor. 

"Is that truly what you desire?" He asks, and his bare brows raise to further perpetuate his inquiry. You don't answer verbally. You keep your mouth fixed shut, letting your silence do the talking while you remain unwavering in your stare. The lazy amusement that permeates from him prods at your growing annoyance and restlessness. "Shall I bring you their heads or their hearts?" 

His response makes every part of you lock still. Your mind falls blank and the blood pumping through your vein's halts in its flow before a torrent of emotions bursts through you like a chaotic deluge. In your mad, jumbled bewilderment you rove your vision over him, searching for the faintest suggestion that it may have been a joke or a lie. But the amusement that he had displayed earlier is gone. Replaced by a confidence and tranquility that should be unsettling. It's sickening, the satisfaction that surges across your chest at his easy compliance. A disgusting contentment, all because he would be willing to slay the women that he's probably garnered for years with just a simple command from you. 

"You would truly kill them for me?" Confusion is bare on your face as you regard him. "How can I trust you if you'll slaughter those who have been loyal to you for so long? Would you do the same to me? " You nod your head in the direction of the blades mounted on the wall, glinting and lethal like deadly omens. " Will you cut me down like my fellow Atreides once I've fulfilled my use?" 

Now he's the one who looks mystified. If not a little irritated, and the suggestion of a snarl on his lips reveals as much. "Are you toying with me?" 

The raw confusion in his voice makes you freeze. When he draws closer to you the oxygen in your lungs seems to vanish; the mere weight of his presence wafting over you siphons the air from your body. It's striking how offended he seems. Like the very notion of your doubt is a transgression against him. It nearly makes you feel guilty for your mistrust, but you grab ahold of your resolve before it can flutter from your grasp. "I just need to make sure that we have a proper understanding of each other," you explain honestly, voice soft and open. Your chest heaves from the effort of breathing, drawing in the scent of the perfumed fragrances on his skin; subtle notes of leather and the traces of something crisp and musky. You want nothing more than to tilt into him. To sprawl in him and transfer his scent onto your own body. 

You're nearly enthralled as he moves even closer, like he's been caught within the same trance that's begun to sink over you. It makes you feel like you've been pulled into a private, hushed pocket of time, and for a moment you think that he might kiss you. His lips brush over you faintly. Just enough for the soft pout of them to whisper of your own, teasing and light.

"Pick a blade." 

The low glide of his breath over your mouth distracts you, and for a second you don't even register what he's said. It isn't until he steps back from you that the daze lifts from your mind, allowing lucidity to seep back into your stupor. Your confusion must be clearly etched on your face, and the expectant way that he watches you nearly makes you feel stupid. But by some small fortune, you just barely manage to latch onto enough context to collect what he's implying. It's with great reluctance that you pull your eyes from his to cast your sight along the wall, tracing along the various weapons that embellish it with a growing sense of foreboding and intrigue alike. You assume that you might have misheard him, and it has you passing hasty glance back in his direction. But the direct look that you receive in response affirms that the instruction had been true. Dread rises up with the thought that he may mean to fight you. To challenge you to combat as some odd means to rectify whatever uncertainty has fallen between you. That presumption loses its footing when he doesn't even so much as lean in the direction of the wall to retrieve a weapon. 

He's completely still as he observes you. Unmoving like a predator waiting for its prey to flinch. Staring at you with the same intensity that he had in the arena; honing in on his opponents with a casual but precise ferocity. It makes you wonder if he means to lunge at you as soon as you step forward. And that warped half of you craves to find out. It has you moving in the direction of the wall, observing him closely as you do. He's doesn't move, though his focus on you doesn't waver or pause; it trails after you dutifully. But there's an almost starved quality to the way he beholds you. Like he's anticipating the moment that your fingertips brush over your chosen blade.

You aren't sure what causes the shift. Perhaps it's heavy, eager way that he's watching you, or maybe it's the demented mixture of alarm and hunger twisting in your gut, but the cold tension in the atmosphere melts into something simmering and dark. The air is still thick and heavy around you. Only it's for an entirely different reason now, and the dull chill of fear in your vein's dips low in your gut where it distorts into a questionable, smoldering heat. You do your best to steer yourself from the temptation thrumming inside of you, desperate to exact some kind of clarity back onto yourself but it's frustratingly difficult to ignore the haze that threatens to intoxicate you. And the dark, sinister quality of his gaze doesn't help you in your endeavor to maintain control of the situation, and more embarrassingly, yourself. 

You use your peripheral vision entirely to choose your weapon; far too enraptured by the na-Baron's unwavering gaze as you reach up to smooth your fingertips over the handle. So many different emotions flicker in his eyes, each one just as consuming as the last. It makes you feel so defenseless and unguarded, but paradoxically, the restrained hunger in his gaze also sets you alight with a confidence that you've rarely felt before. Without second thought you pluck the dagger from its place along the wall, relishing in the familiar weight of the grip in your hand; the union of lightly textured steel and smoothed wood. It's the same kind of weapon that you've wielded a thousand times. Only in practice, but the familiarity of it offers you a sense of security. Lethal almost, even though you're sure that if Feyd truly dares you to a fight you might not make it out of the exchange alive. 

Though you still can't feel so much as an inkling of a threat coming from him. He's entirely devoid of malicious intent, even while he stares you down with all the controlled ferocity of a wolf. You can still see a challenge glimmering in his eyes, goading you to do something. What you aren't sure, but the implication of it nudges at you like a buried instinct rising to the surface for the first time. You let it guide you towards him, even while your pulse hums in your throat, wild with the near frantic rhythm of your heart. It's unnerving how fixed his gaze is on you, locked onto your form as you approach him like you might be the only other being left alive and he can't wait to have you pinned between his teeth. 

But you're the one with the blade. 

And as false and dangerous as that sense of security is, you allow it to press your feet forward until you're standing directly in front of him. Close enough that if you reached your hand out you could touch him; feel the warmth of him underneath your palm. But even with the protection of holding a blade, you still don't have the strength to slip your fingertips over him. The resolve that you've just hardly managed to build might crumble and wash away if you do, leaving you vulnerable and susceptible to whatever roguish, sinister alure he might use against you. But then he makes the move for you, firmly grasping your wrist in a tight grip. 

That challenging glimmer is strongly burning in his eyes like he's waiting to see you flinch back or to try and tear your arm from his clutch. And when you make no effort to, a smirk lifts at the corners of his lips like he's pleased or amused. Or both. It's smug and arrogant, and it has annoyance flaring inside of you, but you don't have much time to dwell on it as he guides the knife to his chest and hitches the point of the blade there like he means for you to drive it into him; past the protection of bone and muscle to pierce his heart. 

It has your body falling stock-still as every ounce of your concentration narrows down to a fine point to train on him, the deadly glint of the weapon and lethal ardor in his eyes. You watch his mouth parting open, listening intently to the low rasp that nearly purrs from his chest. "What will you do, Atreides? Will you seek retribution for your fallen brethren? Strike me down before I can bleed the life from your body?" 

But the last remark doesn't sound like a direct threat. It's said with a tone that's entirely too sardonic. Like he means to mock you for your concerns and anxieties. Like you're foolish for having reservations about your union. About him. The sound of his taunting is enough to have scorn prickling at your fingertips and face, burning in the pit of your stomach like boiling water. Almost blindly you press the blade forward, digging the sharpness of it into the barrier of the thick leather of his vest. You expect him to stop the drive of your arm. To seize it tight to halt the force of it, but he makes absolutely no moves to. Not even when the fatal tip of the knife breaks past the material of his garb, no doubt splitting skin underneath its edge. But his hold on you doesn't flinch or wince out in pain. You see a hint of euphoria pass through his eyes again. The same elation that you had spotted when you had cut his palm open at the alter; the pleasure that had burned in him when he commanded you to sink your teeth into his flesh last night. 

Like just the faintest traces of pain and the very thought of you piercing his body with a blade is nudging him towards the emergence of some sort of high. It's disgusting how something so simple can mutate the heat in your body from righteous anger to a treacherous kind of ardor. The sane half of you loathes how easily he can shift the indignation and reluctance inside if you and direct it into lust with so little effort. It's shameful. Revolting even. But the way that he looks at you when he bears his flesh to you is nearly debilitating. There's always a kind of wonder in his gaze. It's starved, greedy and formidable, but there's also a kind of open vulnerability to it. It makes you just as gluttonous and wanting, and it's difficult to see past that as much as you should. 

All you want now is to see that hungry glint smoldering in his eyes again. It's dangerous, the push and pull of power that you feel when he's underneath your fingertips, searching for the sting of your teeth with bated breath. Almost mindlessly, you seek out more of his want and it has you dragging the point of the blade upward. He watches you with an open curiosity, but the grip he still has on your wrist doesn't strengthen to impede the path you've set with the knife. He allows it. The anticipation emanating from the both of you is electric and smoky, like the aftermath of a lightning strike that leaves the earth hot and glowing with embers and warm smoke. 

It's suffocating; devouring the stubborn scraps of your reluctance until it's little more than an afterthought. Weak, shadowy phantoms in the deep, recesses of your mind that bend and fade underneath the weight of your desire for him. It guides you to drag the point of the knife up until it slips past the edge of his clothing and meets skin, dragging along the slope of his throat. His eyes visibly cloud over when he feels the scrape of it along his flesh; half lidded and longing when you firmly fix the point of it along the edge of his chin. Applying enough pressure for a divot to form around the press of the blade. 

You still can't fully comprehend that he would allow you to place him such an unguarded position. It should annoy you that he doesn't fully view you as a threat. But then it strikes you that he might. He might see you as a danger, a risk to his life and still he bears his throat to you. Even with his features schooled and betraying nothing, you can see the eagerness in his eyes clearly; gluttonous and fervid. You've toed close enough to him to see the gorgeous blue shade of them. Pale and delicate despite the cunning and control always present in them, but now they're tinged with lust. It has you angling you face towards his, fueled and nearly drunk on a rise of confidence to teasingly glide your lips along the cut of his jaw. It's difficult to make out his expression from being so close, but you can practically feel the tension wafting from him. 

"I could," you finally answer. You voice is hardly more than a whisper, murmuring lowly across his skin to tease. "But that would be mercy. I should keep you alive. Choke the life from you slowly." The threat should be spat out with venom, and hatred, but it's spoken too lightly for that. Delivered with the same care as a sweet confession or a proclamation of affection. Your chest brushes along his with your inhale, pulling in the scent of him to pool heavy in your lungs. Dangerously, it makes your head nearly cloud over, but you manage to keep ahold of your sense of control just enough to drag your lips over his. Hinting at what could be a kiss. But instead of pressing them against his, you press the edge of the blade deeper into the tender skin beneath his jaw and you're rewarded with an eager, almost wanton spark in his eyes. "Would you let me?" 

"If it pleases you," he answers calmly. But something passes through his expression. It's evaluating, curious, but something amused blends with it once he finds what he's searching for. "But would that truly please you, Atreides?" 

It all seems to strike you at once. Each word knocking through you like a nail being beaten in by a hammer. It's not the admittance alone that surprises you. It's the resolution behind it. The lack of hesitation. The submission a complete opposite of how he had been last night; the attention he had commanded when he ordered that you beg for him. But this was said so easily. As though it were a simple fact. A truth that he was revealing. It has the walls that you've meticulously built up throughout the years, cultivated by rivalry and shared hate, fracturing down the center and threatening to crumble from the fissures and cracks. As an Atreides it should shame you. How compliant you have become under the influence of your enemy. Not only a Harkonnen, but the heir to the Baron title and Giedi Prime. That should be more than enough to strengthen your reservations, but it seems to be slipping from you by the second. 

But it's his question that truly rings through you, rattling throughout your brain and searing at your subconscious; would it truly please you, Atreides? 

It should please you. The prospect of driving a blade into his chest and carving out his life should fill you with retribution. It should be a balm on the wounds left behind from your shared ancestors' strife. The rivalry, the slaughter, the assassinations plotted throughout the years. The open confidence - the arrogance he holds that you won't strike him down has something molten and venomous burning in your veins. You can see it in his face, flickering in his eyes like a healthy fire. He doesn't think that you have nerve to kill him. Even more damning is that he's right. The blade in your hands feels burning and acidic against your palm, itching like a rash from the mere thought of raising it against him with the intent to kill. It's completely ridiculous how you can't even stand the possibility of harming him. A man you've only just met. A man that's committed countless atrocities - taken lives all in the name of his House's hellish thirst for power. He's slaughtered in your name as well. Four souls have already been taken under the banner of your union and it's only been two days. 

But the realization rattles through you violently and sets your teeth on edge. You don't want to kill him. You can't. The betrayal of it tastes like vinegar and ash. The urge in you to lift the blade against him settles into little more than an afterthought. The ghost of it is only a soft impression against your muscles, even while the hatred that's been instilled in you since a child lurks within the recesses of your mind, trying desperately to win out against the twisted sense of affection that lives and breathes within the cradle of your chest. All the while his gaze scans over you, flickering over the conflicting emotions that must show on your face; openly revealing your internal struggles.

You hate how much you admire them. The pale shade of his eyes. A soft, light blue. Much too delicate for someone so violent and callous. Sometimes it hurts to look at them. Each time you do it tears a part of you away and dumps you on the grounds of a familiar planet, where the sea meets the rocky shores in frothing, bubbling waves. The ocean stretches forever there, shifting and fluctuating underneath the influence of the air and the moon. A large expanse of rolling, changing blue; perfuming the air with salt and brine; stretching deep across the planet's face until the cerulean water's expand beyond the suns reach and bleed into a dark void. But that sense of familiarity runs so much further than that. Physically, you've only just met the na-Baron. But there's a piece of you, something buried and cardinal that's known him forever. Your psyche - a fragment of your soul or mind has always been aware of him. It's visited him at night while your conscious slept, catching glimpses of a shocking brutality and cunning. It's bridged lightyears together to admire the smoky caress of his voice, to feel the pale ripple of his muscles underneath your hands. You've seen flashes of his violence in your mind before. The silver wink of his blade slicing through the flesh of his enemies and the trace of obsidian snarl stretched across his face. You had never shied away from him in your dreams, and that treacherous half of you begs that you don't shy away from him now and it has you parting your lips to form a question: 

"Will you kneel for me?" 

It's almost like time halts in this moment, punctuated by the constant thunderous blasts of the otherworldly fireworks outside; thrumming along your bones and sinking deep with from the consuming way the Feyd evaluates you. He makes you feel as though you've been laid bare and found wanting. Reduced down to your most basic components: nerves, flesh, and soul.  It has your body singing like you've been lit on fire and strung up for examination. But even that isn't right. It's too intimate, the way that he looks at you. Like you're both an ancient deity incarnated and an enemy that he must overcome and strike down in a splatter of violence. It's familiar and vulnerable. Covetous and scathing. You can taste it on your tongue. Metallic like the blood that you had spilled earlier in your union, musky like the flavor of his sweat. You want more of it. 

Still it shocks you when he bends his knees and lowers himself to the floor without daring to tear his eyes away from yours; gazing upon you with an intensity that seems to settle bone deep and melt in with the marrow. He's entirely calm and collected, but he watches you like he's awaiting an instruction. Like you could order him to wage a war in your name and he'd enact it out with the dedication of solider, of an acolyte. It makes you feel empowered, bold and yet entirely too weak; naked. You struggle to stomach the equal rushes of strength and vulnerability that it inspires in you. You aren't sure if you want to quail away from it or if you want to fully bask in it. 

So the next move you make is completely mindless, done out of some sort of instinct rather than deliberately made. You let the grip around the dagger grow weak as you begin to lower yourself, descending until your knees press against the harsh chill of the floor from the underneath the cover of your delicate skirt. You think you catch the suggestion of uncertainty pass through his stare as you settle in front of him, but it's gone before you can fully notice it, vanishing entirely when you lean close enough to him to feel the tip of his nose ghost along yours. It's like treason to yourself when you sit the blade down alongside the both of you, allowing it settle on the floor on neutral ground. The steel chimes softly when it meets the stone, and you can practically hear the sharpness of it. 

It's close enough to him that he could easily reach out and take it into his own dexterous hand. He could drive it into your body before you could even manage to blink. But his attention hasn't so much as flinched from its place on you. The captivated, fervent way he regards you gives you the incentive to move shift even closer, filling out the narrow gap that separates your bodies. You fully release the blade then, dragging your fingertips across the hilt one last time as you lean into him. Just enough that your lips caress his while your eyes meet his, staring into that consuming, starved shade of blue. But you don't find the urge to hide from it. The urge to bare yourself to it rises up high; needy and certain. 

"Let us be equals then," you propose, and your voice is soft yet stable in your hope. 

The hint of a smile might perk at the corners of his mouth, and you can see amusement flicker in his scrutiny of you. But you're unable to catch even a shred of scorn or repulsion. The mirth he expresses is genuine and blends into a curiosity that makes him look deceptively sweet, even with the vulpine darkness that always lurks within the corners of his eyes. 

"Equals." It sounds like both a strong agreement and a dawning realization coming from him. Like he's sounding out a word that's never been said before. Now the hint of delight that you had earlier truly shows across his face, baring his blackened teeth from his sharp smile. "Does this mean that I'll go without the pleasure of having your knife to my throat?" 

That sentimental burst of devotion and joy blooms throughout your chest, candid and clement in its warmth, nearly nudging out a small puff of laughter from your lungs. It sizzles underneath your skin like a low electrical current, fueling you with equal parts excitement and longing and the urge to kiss him tingles across your lips, urging you to press forward to taste him. But you don't give into the desire yet. Instead you remain fixed in place, but you allow yourself to slip your hands along his shoulders, savoring the stability of his warmth and strength under your palms. 

"I'll consider it. If you ask me nicely." The lighthearted tease comes out easily enough, like you're both old lovers, breathing in each other's air like it's where it belongs. Untainted from the brutality of the universe and the separate world's that raised you; unaffected by the hatred that you should feel for each other. 

Now he's the one that leans in closer and the impression of his presence hums over your skin, stuffing your head full of cotton and fuzz that's saturated with the scent of him, all fresh musk and resin. It nearly makes you miss the light, metallic drag of a blade scraping across the floor. You catch the shine of it in your peripheral vison, and the subtle thrum of concern that it invokes in you is punctuated by the heavy, relentless ring of the strange fireworks outside. But he doesn't make any moves to stab you or turn the weapon against your skin in an effort to mar you. He holds it like he means for you to take it, flipping it in his fingers in a way that's reminiscent of when he had offered you the ceremonial blade at the altar. You can see the request in his eyes, unwavering and wanting. 

"This is me asking," he answers. 

His request is hardly "nice." It isn't embellished with a plea, or soft in its desire. Like everything he does, it's spoken with an air of certainty and security. It makes you want to taunt him. To refuse him all together and demand that he asks you properly, but the command doesn't rise to the tip of your tongue. It stays stuck inside your chest, losing its vigor until it dissipates into nothing, replaced by the need to just feel him. It has you reaching out for the blade, and your fingertips brush against the rigid shape of his wedding ring when you do. It's heated from the warmth of him, and as farfetched as it is, some part of you entertains the idea of it burning into your skin and leaving a visible mark behind. Something more noticeable than the stinging cut along your palm; the cut that would heal and fade into a faint sliver across your skin. You want it to be obvious. A clear declaration of your union, like the gnarly laceration you had cut into his shoulder with just the weight of your teeth.

The reminder of his wound nudges at you, and the need to see it claws at the back of your mind with hungry, desperate talons. You're like a woman possessed when you lift the Atreides dagger to his stomach, and instead of driving into his gut like you would an enemy, you only nudge the tip of it between the lapels of his leather vest and into the material of the dark garb underneath. It nearly shocks you how easily it slices through the layers of his attire, parting the fabric around its lethal edge like heated butter to reveal the defined contours of his body underneath. 

You don't miss the lust the burns in his eyes when the sharp rip of tearing cloth sounds across the heavy atmosphere, when he no doubt feels the sharp sting of the blade dragging over his skin. The weapon leaves a delicate trail of red, raised flesh in its wake, a gorgeous contrast to the near white shade of his complexion. The sight of it douses hot liquid over your body, settling between your thighs and murmuring against your fingertips. But the sensation of it is only amplified when the blade rises up and over his chest and he tips his head back to allow it to cut through the collar of his garb that's secure against his throat. The remaining strip of fabric gives underneath the dagger with a pronounced pop. The subtle snap of the last pieces of thread giving from the weight of your hand has you drawing in a deep breath, but it does little to ground you with the downright ravenous way that he's staring at you. Like he wants to take you apart piece by piece and eat you down to the bone. 

It's nearly horrendous how badly you want him to do just that. To take you into his mouth and lap at you with tongue and teeth until your body is writhing in a twist of agony and ecstasy. But the need to see the mark - your mark gives you enough strength to repress that urge. It guides your free hand upward to grip ahold of his shredded attire to lift it back. And there it is again, the sickening sense of desire and satisfaction when you see the torn cut of your teeth in his skin, tender and rosy around the edges, clearly marking the junction of his shoulder. You feel the need to chastise him for the lack of a bandage, but something tells you that it'll fall on deaf ears. The unbothered look you get in response to your berating glare is confirmation enough. 

You glide your thumb near it, not close enough to irritate the damage, but enough to inspect the wound. It doesn't seem to be infected, just a little red from the recent injury and that's enough to give you some kind of comfort. Satisfaction builds inside of you, and it's quickly joined by the burn of something possessive and starved; entranced by the deep mark left by your teeth; a permanent signature in his flesh. When you brush your fingertips along the blunt, angry impression again, it's completely unintentional. An apology is already bubbling up to your throat but the way that Feyd nearly shudders beneath your hand causes the words to disappear - snuffed out and dead. It was so light that you wouldn't have caught the full body thrum that wracked across his muscle and skin if you hadn't been so transfixed on him. 

You can see it in his eyes, somehow bright and dark all at once, smoldering and zealous in his lust, and it reminds you of how he basks in the sting and ache of pain. Like a glutton you seek out his pleasure, and even with reasoning and reluctance looming in the back of your mind, you find yourself bearing pressure down on the wound with the pad of your thumb.  The look of it, red and raw against his skin, the way that he leans into your touch even though the weight of it is setting his nerves on fire makes you feel as though you've been dipped into a flammable liquid and coming alight by sparks and embers. It's a reminder that he's yours. Wholly, completely. It doesn't matter who may look upon his body, sleek and flawless without a single cut or scar - all except for the ones that have been made by you. If anyone was to gaze at him, they'd know that you had been the one to touch him and leave your mark.

In that moment you decide that he needs more, and the violent, craving look that he gives you tells you that he wants the same. It has you dropping the dagger, leaving it to clatter noisily against the floor as you clamor onto his lap, gathering up your skirt to aid in your ascent. You just barely feel the weight of his hands raising to grip onto your waist in a hold that's going to leave your flesh tender and sensitive, but you welcome the possibility of it. Like an animal you sweep downward to press your lips against his throat, showing your teeth to the graze and nip them along the sensitive skin there, fueled by the desperation to leave bursts of purple and red behind. 

He tilts his jaw back and tears his clothing free from his shoulders to offer more of himself to you, and like something starved and uninhibited you sweep your hands over the bare expanse of his chest and ribs, even when the cut underneath your bandaged palm throbs with traces of a white heat. But it's of little concern to you now. A faded afterthought underneath the lust and wild ardor that clouds over the room like a plume of smoke. You can taste him against your tongue, the subtle salt of his skin and the herbal, earthy notes of the oils that must have placed in his bath before the wedding ceremony. He's already hard underneath you, confined by the material of his pants but it does nothing to hide or impede the length of him. Heavy and firm against the space between your legs, smearing the wetness that's dampened the inside of your thighs and nudging against your clit in a way that nearly has you moaning against his skin. 

But a ragged gasp is ripped from your lungs regardless, pulled from you when a chill rushed over your back and the harsh rip of fabric tearing echoes across the cavernous walls of the room. Your fogged over brain just barely manages to register that he's taken ahold of the blade again and has slit the back of your dress open from the tailbone and up to the collar, exposing your body to the tepid air. You hardly get time to adjust to it before he's shoving you from his lap, tugging the scraps of fabric free from your body as you fall like it's presence on your body offends him.

The frigid press of the floor underneath you is jarring, and it leaves you a little muddled and lost while you stare up at the tenebrous expanse of the ceiling. Left disoriented and exposed with the cover of your dress gone to show off the rise and fall of your heaving breasts. And then wandering, determined hands sweep down your hips to guide the tattered pools of fabric down your legs. You just barely have the articulation to help him in pulling the ruined dress from your body, but he manages just fine on his own. It tears your shoes off in his near wild scramble to get you naked, ripping them from their places as he guides the fabric around the heels of your feet before tossing it somewhere in the distance. 

And then he's rushing over you like a creature from an old fable, like a monster that comes in the night to seek out foolish maidens, securing a place for himself between the welcoming cradle of your thighs. Looming over you with his hands posted on either side of your head, keeping you secured and trapped within the confines of his body. His eyes are glittering again, flickering underneath the erratic glimpses of light that slip in through the narrow widows, projected by the fireworks that shriek and rupture across the dark sky. It makes him look feral and otherworldly, like the beings depicted in old religions, a dark spirit or a demon sent to torment and tempt you specifically. To tip you into the throes of your basest wants and desires. 

"So eager to claim me, little Atreides," he murmurs, leaning close enough for you to feel the hint of his mouth against yours. One of his hands lifts from its place on the floor to coast along the length of your leg. Sweeping fire and ice across your skin with the heat of his bandaged palm and the subtle warmth of his wedding ring when it grips into the crook of your knee.  He guides it upward to cinch it over the back of his waist, locking you against him. The pressure of his body pins you, keeping you secured in your spot on the floor as his eyes flicker along your face. Once you're held in place, unable to move, having no desire to, does the hand on your leg leave. But it isn't free from you for long. Before you can even realize it, the press of it is firm and wrapped around your throat, nearly suffocating in its warmth and weight, but you delight in the sensation of it regardless. It threatens to make your head go fuzzy and light, but his grip doesn't tighten enough to fully nudge you to that point. It keeps you stuck between the edge, dangling and wanting while that molten desire settles at the base of your spine. "So have you made your decision?" 

The question leaves you confused, and slow-moving nature of your thoughts - saturated and bogged down like they've been dipped in melted sugar and wax, does absolutely nothing to aid you. That dark type of amusement flickers across his expression, but whatever intent you have to scold him evaporates from you like scalding water and vapors when he places a kiss to your lips, snapping the tender flesh between the rows of his teeth harshly enough for iron to blossom across your tongue, drinking down the breathy moan that leaves you. 

"Head," he intones softly, dipping his voice into a low rasp. He licks at the shape of your mouth, no doubt scooping the taste of your blood onto his palate before he slinks downward to drag his nose along your chest in a teasing glide. You feel the whisper of his voice over your skin before you hear it, sweeping dangerously close to the swell of your left breast, hauntingly close to where you wish he would take into his mouth. "Heart." 

He hovers there like he's listening to the wild pulse of the organ thrumming underneath your flesh and bone, relishing in the near frantic sound of it. His tone leaves his query open-ended, but even in your daze you're finally able to catch onto his line of questioning and it sweeps you entirely off guard. It left him so casually that the surprise of it could have made you freeze still if not for the restless drag of his lips across your skin, humming and pleasant against you. They settle along your stomach, nipping and mouthing at the delicate flesh there like he might bite through you and smear his face with red, but the damp glide of his tongue is too soft. Like he's praising you with his mouth. And then that raw, accented lilt rumbles out again. "Perhaps a kidney." 

And with that he slips lower, giving you hardly any time to come to terms with the promise of his words; the bloody, gore-soaked request he desires you to make, the three lives that he wants you to strike down with the will of his hand. But the worry and concern in you falls into the foreground, blurring at the edges while your desire and lust continues to rage on and cloud your head with a perfumed fog. When the brush of his nose traces downward, settling just underneath the plush of your abdomen every thought nearly falls flat and quiet, almost knocking your mind into an empty void. 

"Or maybe . . . You still need help deciding." He drags the sharp edges of his teeth against the tender expanse of your inner thigh, dangerously close to the sore mark he had left there with his teeth last night, making your nerves spark and the heat between your legs throb. Your hips try to roll in an involuntary search for pleasure but the heavy grip he has on your body keeps you secure and stuck in place, helplessly pinned to the cool tiles. It nearly has a whine bubbling up from the depths of your throat, but when you glance downward to glare at him the expression on his face has you swallowing it down. He looks far too smug from his place between your thighs, with the plush of his lips stretched into smile and a mischievous sort of glint in his eyes. It has a prickle of irritation growing in your chest. The urge to have him underneath you again rises up strong, to have him stare up at you with that frayed sense of self-restraint and hunger. You want to feel him tremble and take him apart with your tongue like he had done to you. 

You hardly think before you move. In a blink you're rolling yourself upward, and with the momentum your positions are flipped in a quick blur. The only thing to ground you is the steady weight and warmth of Feyd pinned underneath your hips and the shape of his throat held underneath the grip of your good hand. You can feel the steady pulse and rush of his blood against your skin, rich with the flow passing through his jugular vein. But even with his life centered within the palm of your hand he's as calm as can be, practically lounging along the floor with his arms sprawled on either side of him and an expression of steady contentment on his face.  

"I can make that decision perfectly fine on my own," you assure softly. When you dare to flex your fingers along the sides of his throat his eyelids droop low again, nearly giving him a dazed, intoxicated look. It's the same one he had given you when you had pinned the dagger against his throat, threatening to slice but never truly willing. It's enough to send a thrill through you. The fact that you have someone, notorious for their violence and cunning, complacent and amenable from something as simple as your touch. You think that you could get drunk off of power like this. Fueled by the heat of his skin seeping into your thighs and the pale weight of his stare, equally devoted and gauging. Like he's trying to assess if you're a deity worth his worship, if you're willing to accept the tokens he offers in the form of bloodied heads and stolen organs. But you have your own evaluating to do. 

It has you leaning downward, squeezing the length of his throat as you do, and you're certain that you catch the mild thrum of a pleased groan scattering across your palm and fingertips. It has a smile nudging at your lips as you look at him. "Will you let me have you?" 

"I'm yours to take," he answers promptly, voice soft within its gravely cradle. It's spoken like a vow, a desire, a need. And you need him just as badly. 

Without anymore prompting you slink downward to shift between his legs. A part of you mourns the loss of his throat underneath your hand, but those thoughts easily drift to the distant corners of your mind once you're settled in front of his hips. Your attention shamelessly locks on the bulge straining against the confines of his trousers, and you can feel saliva pool in your mouth at the sight of it. As eager as you had been last night, even with all of your desire and want, your inexperience had left you astray in certain aspects. Led you to uncharted territory by your lust, but this was something that you could do and do well. And the longing to see him unwind and quiver underneath your tongue is more than enough incentive to have you unfastening the fixtures of his pants. You work to get the lacings undone as deftly as possible, but even with your determination the leather strips threaten to slip from your shaky fingertips. You're certain that the low, amused huff that he lets out is in response to your uncoordinated eagerness, but he makes no verbal remarks. The only assistance he offers you is when he lifts his hips up just enough to aid you in your effort to tug his pants down from the slope of his hips and ass.  

When he springs free from his pants, you can't help but to stare. You had seen him last night, but that had been well after the tryst in the bath, and you had only felt the full length of him when his lower half had been submerged in the inky water. His size had been apparent, even then. But seeing him now, uninhibited by the steaming black liquid of the bathhouse, reveals how daunting his size is. Admittedly, he isn't the largest you've seen or even handled, but that doesn't make it any less intimidating. Though it's still difficult to focus on the uncertainty prickling at you when the urge to take him in your mouth hangs over you and sinks in deep. 

The amused glimmer in his eyes is back with a vengeance, burning and dark as he admires you from your place between his thighs. And as much as you'd like to berate him for it, you're completely entranced when his hand slips down the rippled planes of his body. The black band around his wedding finger glints lowly, attracting your attention to it while his fingers enclose around the thick girth of his cock. His chest rises in a deep, controlled breath when he drags his fist over himself, probably relishing in the rough texture of the dark bandages dressed around his hand as it glides along the sensitive skin. He's probably enjoying the sting that the weight of it brings to the slice across his palm too. 

He props himself on a single elbow so that he's able to easily watch himself. To watch you as well. You can practically feel his eyes on you while he idly works his fist over his cock in slow, teasing strokes. But it seems like he's taunting you rather than himself. Delighting in the way that you're transfixed on him, like a dog salivating over a bone.  When he strokes his hand up his length, twisting his hand in the motion, you watch with frozen lungs as a small rivulet of precum pours from the head of his cock, just as dark as his blood. 

Like a heathen, your mouth waters at the sight of it and temptation begs for you to move forward. You can see the open invitation in his eyes, silently encouraging you to take him. And like a slave to your desires, you do. Without any thought, you tilt yourself forward and part your lips to sweep your tongue over the length of him. A contented hum rises from your throat when you catch the veins of his cock, when the taste of him spreads along your mouth; subtle salt and the musk of something earthy. A part of you had feared that he might taste odd or even bad considering the strange coloration, but it's hardly different than any other man you had been with. It might even be considered good in a way that's decidedly organic. It has you stretching your jaw open to slip the crown into your mouth, desperate to feel the weight of him and you hardly give yourself time to adjust before you fill yourself with even more of him. The weight of him nudges along the back of your throat, threatening to suffocate you around his girth, but it doesn't make you panic. It only serves to stuff your skull with a delicious fuzz until all you can feel, and taste is him. 

Your saliva is already coated along his cock. It's messy and debauched but it only has a thrum of excitement rushing down your spine in an electrical current and settling over your clit like a smoldering heat. You moan around him, and you blindly reach up to slip your good hand around the girth of him, impatiently nudging his own out of the way in favor of doing it yourself. You're quick to pick up the rhythm he had set for himself, matching it to the motion of your mouth and the glide of your tongue while he rolls his hips to welcome the wet heat. 

It's almost absentminded when you glide your other hand along his hip, briefly delighting in the feel of it underneath your palm before you curl your fingers inward to harshly dig your nails into the smooth flesh. You're sure that it's rough enough to leave marks behind. Maybe even enough to break skin and make him bleed, but the way that he throbs in your mouth tells you that he likes it plenty. His hips jerk harshly at the sensation of your nails cutting into him like talons, and the sudden presence of his hand pressing down on the crown of your head nearly makes you gag. Tears threaten to pour past your waterline at the rough thrust, but you force yourself to open your eyes, desperate to witness him even while you blink back the blurred hindrance of tears. And you aren't disappointed. 

He looks like a painting. A work of art. The pale shade of his skin is nearly bright against the darkness of the room, and the dim lighting casts faint shadows across the planes of his body, pronouncing the edges of his physique. Magnifying the twitches that seize across his abdomen, making the defined muscles their flex and contract; the curve of his Adam's apple, amplified by the way that his head is tipped back from pleasure; the plush shape of his lips which are parted to release low intakes of air. But your favorite might be the blotches of violet and crimson marked along the column of his neck, branded there by your lips; the angry, permanent impression of your teeth, rosy and red along the junction of his shoulder that claims him as yours. 

He had been unblemished before you had touched him. The pale slate of his skin had been unmarred and smooth despite being such a violent fighter - proof of how untouchable he is within the ring or battlefield. Free from a single scar or bruise. But now everywhere you look there's evidence of your presence on his skin; skin that he's eagerly offered to you. To have him so willing and wanting makes you feel as though you've tamed some sort of demigod and imprinted your name on his soul. The thought alone has you moaning around him, twisting your wrist around the length of him as you encircle your lips around the flared head of his cock, drinking down the precum that flows from it in a steady pour. It's almost whorish, the way that it has you clenching around nothing, and your body thrums in a burning, unsatisfied heat from being left dreadfully empty. 

But all of that fades into the background, the ache of the cold tiles against your knees, the sting of the irritated cut along your palm, the uncomfortable stretch of your jaw around his girth. It's all so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The pain is more than worth it when those low, graveled groans huff from his chest, getting forced out of him by the tight restriction of his ribs each time he drives his cock into the back of your throat, threatening to choke you on your own tears and trapped gasps. You have to concentrate to breath out of your nose, reminding yourself to draw in tight breaths in between his mean strokes. His fingers squeeze at the back of your skull, gripping onto your hair while he drives himself into you deeply enough for your nose to press into the smooth skin of his groin with each thrust. 

It should make you angry or hurt to be used this way, like a doll whose only purpose is his pleasure. But there isn't an ounce of scorn or disgust in your body, only want and bliss. Lust smolders within the cradle of your hips, searing deep at the base of your spine while arousal smears down your thighs in a debauched display of ardor. It's a fight to find a sense of coherence through the haze that's ravaged your mind, but you manage to find a shred of it just long enough to will your eyes to open, blinking through the tears. Something molten and smoky douses over you when you lock you gaze with his, meeting the fervent, wild glint in his stare from your place between his legs. It rips a frayed moan from the depths of your burning lungs, pulling even more oxygen from your body and it has you going lightheaded, your skull airy and empty apart from the intoxicated stuffing that's been packed into it. 

Something passes through his gaze then, and his lips twist up in a way that's animalistic. If it's a nasty smile or a snarl, you aren't sure, but the sadistic amusement in his eyes is telling enough of his mood. "You're quite talented with your tongue. I never would have expected my wife to be such a whore," he remarks cruelly and now you're certain that it's a rueful grin on his face. You do your best to glare up at him from your place on the floor, though you refuse to remove your mouth from him long enough to offer a scathing remark of your own, far too drunk on the weight of him pressing against your throat to let up. But then he's the one shifting, sitting himself up on his haunches to tug you of off him by the grasp on your hair. 

Your lips slip from him with a depraved pop, smearing saliva and cum across your mouth as the delicious weight of his girth slips free from your tongue. Even while your body relishes in the blissful pulls of oxygen filling up your deprived lungs, you can't help but to mourn the loss of cock pressing down into your throat, and the downright pathetic whine that leaves you expresses as much. The light brush of embarrassment prickles at you when a mocking, patronizing coo hums from his chest as he guides you to shift between his legs, ushering you up on your knees so that he can nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. Your lashes flutter when the wet drag of his tongue runs along the tender skin there, nipping and sucking with his teeth. "It doesn't matter. You're mine now." 

That's the only warning you get before he's shoving you back onto the rigid chill of the floor and filling you up with a single stroke, forcing the sore walls of your cunt to stretch and give around his girth. It punches out the little bit of air that you had managed to gulp down out of you completely, and your jaw drops open in a strangled cry. It splits your brain down the middle, melting you into a puddle while your body seems to rupture between the equal divide of pain and pleasure. You had taken him just last night, but the experience had left you aching and sore. Your only saving grace that keeps the heavy drag of his cock from absolutely tearing you apart is how completely soaked you are, allowing the rough glide of his cock to work into you easily. It has you sobbing, from the flaring heat of your frayed nerves or the decadent liquid rapture that blossoms in the center of your abdomen, you aren't entirely sure, but the relentless pace that he sets doesn't give you time to discern it.  

You have no choice but to latch onto him and hang on, sweeping your arms around the width of his body to claw mindlessly at his back, leaving angry scratches along his flesh. The pleased groan you get in response to the sensation of your nails driving across his skin is heavenly; low and rumbling against your throat from hold he still has on you with his teeth. He's only just started, and you already feel as though you're being pulled from your body, being set on fire and turned inside out. 

You can hear him moving in and out of you. The sound of his hips smacking against yours and the wet plunge of his cock working into you echoing off of the walls of the chamber. He feels deep, settling so far inside of you that you swear he's in your stomach, punching against your lungs and shoving the breath from your chest with the steady force of his rhythm. His pelvis grinds over your clit with every thrust, liquifying your brain and making your eyes roll back in your skull. You think distantly that you might be drooling; lips smeared and wet with your spit and the salt of his cum, but the ability to think is next to impossible now. The ability to produce a single, coherent thought alludes you completely until you're little more than a weak pile of flesh and bone. Even when your legs lift to wrap themselves around his waist, it isn't a conscious decision. Your body acts on its own, hooking your heels near the base of his spine to keep him close to you, like any amount of unnecessary distance between you might send you to your early death bed. 

You're certain that you're moaning his name now, spewing it like a zealot's chant; an endless string of, feyd, feyd, feyd. What you're asking for you don't even know at this point. Stuck between craving your release and wanting to be suspended in ecstasy forever. But it seems your body is set is making the decision for you. It seizes up tight, making your thighs and back pull taut while heat licks at your fingertips and toes. The warning rests heavy on your tongue, waiting to be voiced but your ability to speak as vanished as your impending pleasure ravages your body. 

Feyd finally releases his teeth from your throat, soothing the irritated skin with his tongue before he lifts his head up just enough to lap at your mouth, swallowing your wanton, keening gasps. "Go ahead. Take your pleasure, let me feel you." 

It's like you needed his permission because as soon as his words leave him in that graveled rasp, your draw up tight, the muscles of your cunt clamping down around him in an unrelenting grip like your body is trying to evict your soul from it. Light bursts behind your eyes much like the fireworks still raging on outside, and for a moment you're suspended in time. Floating freely with nothing but the pressure of your ragged cries and the relentless debilitating heat of your orgasm eating you from the inside out. It has you sobbing again, nearly writhing along the floor while electricity cuts across your limbs and sears at your gut, wringing you of fire and melted euphoria. The bliss ebbs away in steady, sapping pulses that leaves your limbs twitching and weak. But the walls of your cunt are still sensitive and tender, setting your nerves alight and fizzling and it's in your drunken stupor that realize that Feyd hasn't stopped. 

He's still driving into you wildly, working his cock into you like a man starved. It has you shaking and nearly thrashing, like your body can't decide if it wants to pull him closer or shift away from him. 

"Feyd, I-" 

"You can handle it," he assures confidently, like it's a promise. He leans down to press soft kisses along your face, tracing the plush of them over your cheekbones, the rise of your nose, the edge of your jaw; so sweet compared to the way that he plunges his cock into you in deep, almost brutal strokes, like he's trying to carve a place for himself inside of you. His nose nudges along yours, urging you to look at him, and it's the dark, searching glimmer in his eyes that truly grounds you. It forces you to hold his stare, even with the tears pouring down your face and the sting of your overstimulated nerves begging that you close them. But you can handle it. You will. Your body cries for relief but also pleads that he keeps going. That he works you into another bout of fire and rapture, except this time you hope that you both burn together. 

It has you rocking your hips against his, settling yourself to meet his pace while your lungs and body longs for a reprieve and ecstasy. You can feel the impression of his smile against your cheek when he nuzzles along your face, the blunt edges of his teeth threatening to scrape along the skin. He has you fully caged underneath him, trapped with the stretch of his body looming over yours, nearly suffocating you with the heat that emanates from his sweat slicked flesh. But you couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else in the universe. Despite the searing heat that he invokes, the simmering bliss that threatens to tear you apart and splice you open at the atoms, you've never felt safer. There's a comfort in the weight of him. In the dangerous way that he carries himself and the brutal edge that's always projected in the dark of his eyes. You should find no solace in someone like him. Someone who's been crafted to be unforgiving and ruthless, but there's a tranquility in him that you've never found in anyone else. His body is a shrine, a temple for you to find reprieve and love in a world so harsh and indifferent. A creature of death that offers you devotion in form of blood and sanctuary. 

You've ravaged each other with teeth and blades; bared your throats and blood and neither of you have wavered. You've been reluctant of him, his loyalty, but the urge to truly run has never rose. And he's accepted you just as greedily. Always fervent and sometimes rabid in his want for you. The passion that he holds for you might have concerned some - people with proper sense, maybe - but you feel nothing but the urge to bask in his attentions. To return it tenfold until it suffocates you both and devours you entirely. 

You can feel yourself seizing up tight again, bliss sizzles at the tip of your tongue and forces ragged gasps and whines from your chest. Your cunt is gripping him tightly again, squeezing ahold of his cock like it doesn't want him to leave. His pace has faltered just the slightest, not enough to damped or ruin the fire in your gut, but enough to hint that he's nearing his end. The rise and fall of his chest against yours is sharp and almost labored, telling of the low, guttural groans that spill past his lips making him pant along the curve of your jaw. He can't be much farther off than you. 

"Feyd, please," you moan, tilting your head enough to nip at shape of his ear. "I wan' you to fill me up. I - fuck - I need it. Please." 

That apparently does something for him, because he bears down on you, gripping you by the thighs to hook your legs over his shoulders. The change in the position is hell on your muscles, the strain of it searing along your hips and the slight notches in your spine dig into the flat of the floor painfully. It nearly makes you wish that you had decided to take this to the bed that's only a few paces away from you both, but the way that he drives his cock into you with even more vigor effectively wipes your mind clean. You're truly forced to lay and take it; fingertips slipping across the floor to latch onto the groves in the tiles like it might save you. Somehow he's even deeper now, ravaging your insides with each stroke, and he nudges against the devastating spot inside of you with every plunge, twisting your mind into mush and static. 

"Then take it." 

His snarl is the last thing you hear before you're abruptly ripped under and pulled down deep like an entire ocean had collapsed over you. The silence is deafening, with each of your senses seeming to black out in favor of honing in on the bliss and euphoria dousing you and sweeping along your entire being. It devours you soul and all, until you're nothing but a writhing, sobbing vessel. Even when the waves slip over you, waning in their effect, it's difficult to see or feel past anything other than the press of his body along yours. But you still have enough concentration in you to notice the choppy, sluggish pace that his hips have shifted into as he tips close to his end. The groan that rumbles from his chest is the only warning you get before a searing warmth floods you from the inside, filling you up and stuffing you full of his release. It has your cunt fluttering around him weakly, desperate to draw him in, even while your body is completely sapped of its strength. 

He slips your legs free from their place on his shoulders, taking care to do so slowly as you hiss out from the dull sting. But he still manages to tear a ragged swear from your chest when he all but collapses on top of you. The only thing that keeps you from being completely crushed is that he manages to catch himself on his elbows before he plops his head on your chest with a contented sigh, listening to the wild pulse of your heart. 

Your body still thrums from the aftershocks and aches from the marks he had left with his teeth and cock, but the afterglow that dips over you is gentle and balmy. A complete juxtaposition to the feral glide of tongue and the flow of blood that had just taken place. But even under the soft atmosphere, cradling and inviting like a familiar embrace, darker thoughts stir. But to you they don't seem so violent anymore. It's a promise. Entirely giving and pure in its intention, despite the horror that comes with it. It should concern you, how it doesn't seem so daunting anymore. It's less troubling, not as sickening as it was before. But maybe this is what it means to accept his love. To offer yourselves to each other completely. You think that you'll give him a son, but first you need something from him in turn. 

You glide your fingertips along his back, lightly tracing the soft impression of his spine in their trail upward. When you whisper his name, your voice is raw and light from the sting of your used throat, but it manages to grab his attention regardless. He lifts his head up from your chest, allowing you to cup the side of his face to sweep your thumb along the subtle ridge of his cheek. His eyes are lidded and soft, but the curiosity and intensity in them still isn't lost as he evaluates you, and his brows raise in a silent question, prompting you to speak. 

You expect the words to feel like venom on your tongue when they leave your lips, to burn and sear at your flesh. For betrayal to slice at your chest and tear open a wound, but nothing but a tranquil sense of peace hangs over you as you speak. It feels right. 

"I want their heads." 

You wait to see surprise flicker across his face. Maybe even a kind of uncertainty, or a clue that his earlier promise had only been a joke or a test. A test that you've now just failed. But you see nothing of the sort. Instead a feral smile breaks across his face. Possibly arrogant, but mostly affectionate in his mirth. His gratification. Like he's reveling in your choice. But it's a good enough answer for you as well. You can see it reflecting in the dark of his eyes. The answer, the promise there that runs deeper than any wedding vows ever could. It reflects an adoration that only violence can. The promise of devotion and protection that he had pledged to you the moment that you'd seen each other in your dreams; the very second that he had slit that general's throat for you; the instant that he had proposed to deliver his lovers' hearts to you on a silver platter. It's a truth that he bares to you willingly - eagerly; and you accept it completely with your soul, and body, and mind. 

He would burn the universe down for you. 

@moonsoulk, @eloquentdreamer