Blood & Marriage🩸Feyd Rautha x f! Reader

08;

Hakim had intervened, as if you were both bickering children, threatening to send word to THE FLOATER.

The hour was getting late, only sixteen hours you and the beast were legal.

And you'd covered his entire body, quickly working around his still, unblinking face that had been pretty mailable, turning his chin with just the slightest pressure from your fingers, readily exposing his neck, A TEST MAYBE, to see if you'd clench and squeeze, apple of his throat dipping.

On the palm to palm rub, exercising fingers between his, those blue, black framed eyes usually fearsome had been slitted, some magnetic heat radiating from his almost nude form, you guessed he hadn't been touched much, with any sort of affection that is.

"All of his body," the withered old woman commanded just as you thought you was done, attempting to hand out the bowl to the confused and UTTERLY terrified maids.

Uh...what was left? Chest, done. Back, done, arms, done, thighs? OH.

A puff of air left Feyd's nose as he leaned back on his hands, "she means where you've been avoiding, Atreides."

DAM THIS ALL. How embarrassing, not as if your husband seemed to mind, so intense about it.

You froze. Seriously reconsidering, the tension in the air thick, everyone holding their breath.

Some had placed bets on how long you could last, drawing pictures of you arriving back home whittled away, the poor Atreides princess doomed to be savaged by Harkonnen cruelty. PAMPERED. A BITCH. A WITCH. A WARRIOR AND SLAVE. IDIOT LITTLE RICH CHILD ABOUT TO BE SWALLOWED WHOLE.

No matter how much the Lady and Duke had hid the news, carefully crafted the narrative from the people, you knew no one expected you to do much except breed.

"My lady," Hakim urged, the Mentats eyes turning cloudy as he captured the scene, "do you refuse?"

Na—Baron raised a brow. "Maybe our little tribute needs to rest."

"I do not," there was a power in your voice, regality, it was better to be an awkward virgin than a limp wristed one that collapsed at the hint of a penis. DAMED PENISES. "I only wonder why your men must be so pampered, oils and massages, a contrast to the tales of battle hardened demons."

A low whisper travelled through the room.

Spurred on by pure pride, you pulled apart Feyds knees, in the middle of a pair of spread thighs, dunking your hands into the bowl.

Secretly wilting, hating how it was all observed, you told yourself this was for the greater good, kneeling down on a throw on the floor between his spreading thighs. WOMEN TOOK THIS POSITION on Giedi, men forbidden from showing any form of supplication.

What did he want you to do, worship him?

Feyd shifted his ass to the edge of the seat, looking down his nose.

The judging, grumpy, mentally, BALD, unsound man—boy had nothing smart to say. A mass of torchy breaths trying to play it cold.

You were WINNING, and not exactly, you begrudgingly admitted, having a bag time.

His thighs were long, toned, shivering underneath your albeit clumsy touch, working down the soft, sensitive inners.

And his backside was an inch away from slipping from the chair, palms clumped into the fine leather seat, gripping, both of you just existing in the fragile peace.

"Look at me, woman." It was one single step above Atreides, still not as respectful as it should be, yet COMMANDING, an order no one would really refuse, shattering the silence, the bowl clattering to the floor and spilling sadly when a hand cupped your chin, RAISING IT. "Don't strain away."

He was satisfied with your (masked) but quiet reaction before you remembered to remove your paws and fold them politely on your lap.

"Tomorrow is a momentous occasion," there wasn't any harshness there, a thumb resting on your cheek, pinching the fabric, "you understand if you humiliate me," his bottom teeth flashed, hung in black, "you humiliate my family."

Nodded, that's all you could do, "I understand."

"I hope you do," and he smiled, humming to himself as he stretched out his neck, "I won't tolerate any games."

Uh excuse him? Had you faltered? Ran away? RESISTED THE UNION? Cried to your parents and begged for them not to trade your womb in like you were cattle?

Had you actually not languished between these walls and waited for word?

THE FUCK? "You mistake me, Harkonnen, for someone who would jeopardise a chance at peace between our families." You pulled away, smoothing down your dress, tone surprisingly caustic, accidentally kneeling in the wet before standing up, Feyd followed you, not one to lose the high ground. "I CARE for my people, I LOVE my people, what I do, I do for them, and for the benefit of the entire imperium."

And you leaned in, smearing what was left on your hands across the mapped out structure of his solid chest, the action making his full lips hinge with a hard, sucking breath while YOU TOLD HIM RIGHT TO HIS UGLY (cross that) FACE YOU WANTED TO BITE, "na—Baron Feyd—Rautha—Harkonnen."

Everything flashed.

About to kiss you, right through your veil, his entire head tilting instinctively as he GRABBED THE SIDES OF YOUR FACE, his head knocking against the crown of the ornate fabric as he grit his teeth, and fuck, your eyes closed, lips parting, hands grappling to his shoulders on the slippy floor.

"And here I was thinking you was marrying me out of love." He whispered wickedly, some prolonged and PREGNANT silence between you as he debated it, rising chest nudging yours with each hasty breath. "Don't question my honour, woman, I sacrifice for my people, too," Gesserit training was rarely wrong, there was A WOUND on his expression, a loss, thumb ghosting just where your lips would be, "more than you could ever imagine."