Blood & Marriage🩸Feyd Rautha x f! Reader

10;

"I hAvE YouU NoW."

Oh fuck him.

Fuck this planet.

Fuck the FLOATER.

Fuck your parents.

Fuck this actually DISGUSTING excuse for a marriage dinner.

Rabban, the outright loser, your husband, THE SHEESH SMOKING baron and yourself, one HELLUVA party, HAKIM, and that haggard reverend mother Mohaim that had frequently terrorised you were the only people you knew on sight.

Ezza was as usual stuck to the wall with her glowing head down, every now and then giving me pointers I couldn't understand until Rabban gave us a quick HUFFY LOOK and we had to stop.

You'd kicked him under the table several times, and he couldn't do shit because he was slightly afraid of his younger...relative. Who knew all these guys were interbred.

Thought he was funny, too, his hatred out and proud, quipping about killing your ancestors before you hit him with how puny and irreverent his tiny house minor was in comparison. THE LOSERS OF THe IMPERIUM. Who no one actually liked.

The voice was available to make them all jump from the window and splatter on the floor, strip bare and humiliate themselves, you were an EXPERT, surpassing Paul, somehow better than Lady Jessica, but Mohaim was a foot away and would destroy you.

Other talk was mainly about spice, production and refinery of spice, how the Fremen bribed the guild with spice, how spice tastes like cinnamon, pretty much SPICE was the most important thing in the universe...oh yeah. But all you could think about was tonight...how it was about to feel squirming underneath that pale, honed body.

Speaking of there was only Feyd that looked bored with it all, indifferent, sometimes you forgot he was only a year or so older, a true case of eighteen? Or forty nine?

Sipping from your goblet, between The Reverend Mother and Hakim, you shot him a glance, some inner turmoil going on in his head, frequently fiddling with the ring on his finger as if he wasn't used to the weight, a new sensory experience he'd just blink.

Your eyes met, you tried to hold it but he looked away, picking at his lunch.

Like you thought fuck these Harkonnens. They'd even served you smaller portions.

Ezza serving Rabban, who ate exactly like Duncan and Gurney described, SICKENING, the last thing on your plate was some odd fruit, wrapped in a hard, green shell, but inside...HEAVEN. Like melon, and powder fine sugar, you could have eaten a thousand, they only gave you two, the first one already open.

SOMEONE wanted you to struggle and wreck yourself.

Fork in hand, you kinda...stabbed at it, trying to pry the shell, crack it open like an oyster, it didn't budge, RABBAN was eyeing it all, expression as if he'd smelt his own backside.

Still nothing, and you couldn't get hold of it and smack it against the wall, in public anyway.

Becoming quickly frustrated, unconcerned about how quitet it had become, you took a spoon, wacking it too hard, the fruit becoming a serious projectile that sped from the plate and thumped the Baron right on the forehead, before pining to the floor, sliding with true wrath to come to a stop at Ezzas daintily socked feet.