Blood & Marriage🩸Feyd Rautha x f! Reader

09;

Alright so he was wrong for you. The Duke and Lady had done their only daughter one MASSIVE dirty.

Hakim had been on OVERTIME after that little almost dust up, we were either gonna stab each other or engage in some premarital activities.

Well, while that was a weird experience, oiling up a semi—nude man in a stone room with a row of creepy weirdos fully engaged, it was NOTHING in comparison to this.

You wished Paul was here, your parents, anyone.

"UNDER OUR GLORIOUS BLACK SUN," the crowd was mesmerising in a horrific way, a hundred thousand watchers in the colossal arena that had been gutted and turned into a monolithic stage, the announcer spoke like the maker itself had arrived, GUTTURAL voice shaking the sky, cheering SHUDDERING THE FOUNDATIONS, Harkonnen was a terrifying language.

The FLOATER, the baron himself gave you away, hovering at your side as he lead you through the single walkway to where the sand once lay, now a raised marble dais.

Here, women waited for men.

Alone you stood, Vladimir hovering to the far left, suspenders breathing with automated pumps, the crowd a sea of both pale and black in their flowing black robes, creatures in tight gear with horns and hooks standing like sentries around the triangle shaped stage while the narration rattled your bones.

In gold, gold that stood out even in this grim light, adorned with finery that would make Caladan seem reserved, you looked DIVINE, curled in silk, the train thirty foot long, the crown slightly demonic with horns made of carved diamonds, every hint of your heritage carefully removed, nothing remained except an eagle brooch, so tiny it may as well not be there at all.

Ink blot explosions tore through the paltry speckle of cloud, the vagina looking door opening—AND THE CROWD ROARED, so loud it bristled the earth, your hidden gaze catching with the baron before he laughed and simply watched his nephew.

How he strode out, a HERO, applauded, marching with a predatory purpose, and whatever underwhelming excuse for his attire was, grim and dark but billowing in the breath of the crowd and volcanic wind was made up by his appearance.

You steadied yourself, the sole foreigner on this soil, utterly vulnerable, Feyd reached the stand, long legs carrying him EFFORTLESSLY UP IT, the high priest blessing him with a wave of his crooked hand when the little prince stopped at your feet.

The announcer called for silence.

Nothing even blinked, the crowd settled in an instant.

Luckily for you, Harkonnen weddings were a short lived occasion.

Under instruction, Feyd took your hand with a tenderness surprising, maybe it was for show, slipping on a plain gold band, his eyes hadn't left you once, except now to stare at the crowd, at the soldiers raising their shields and pledging fidelity.

"ATREIDES," the hellish announcer bellowed, some hair—ripping boo wrinkling your lips, motherfuckers, until the Baron silenced them.

Gut—punched, crushed, a breathless mass unable to say a word, all you could do was take it when na—Baron offered his paw, you took it by his fingers, branding him with a ring from your home planet, generous silver, engraved with your great—great, x3 grandfathers ring, how easily it fit, his cheeks hollow as he sucked something invisible.

And just like that, scarcely ten minutes later, all that was left was a kiss. No vows, no words from either of you.

After the priests words, low and inhuman, mingling with chants and prayers, Feyd stepped forward, and removed that PESKY VEIL.

The light felt blinding, but his eerie blues widened, hairless brows raised, blinking for the first time slowly, bathed in a prism of hostile black—sun, beautiful, but cursed.

This was your first kiss? Couldn't you have done the rational thing and practiced beforehand? You knew Paul had. Your mind was bulldozing, close eyes? Pucker lips? Tilt your head? Make a noise? Be silent?

AND WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW IT, they fought like rabid slime and kissed like it too, your husbands hand snaked around your neck, pulling you in, EVIDENTLY the more experienced one, fat lips locking on yours with a hungry breath.

One you wouldn't want your parents to see, not as if they could, his fingers splaying into your meticulously combed locks of hair, and he held it there as drums played and the most important amongst them held hands to their hearts.

You wondered if his eyes were closed, hands against his chest, still he pulled away, a string snapping, nose tracing down your cheek before he spoke against your ear, "I have you now, little Atreides."