Blood & Marriage🩸Feyd Rautha x f! Reader

36;

Back in the Pavilion, which was so huge and exotic it could barely be called a pavillion at all.

There was gilded velvet on the ceilings.
Cushions stuffed with Fremen hair.
Even the wine glowed faintly with liberal sprinkles of spice.

And Feyd Rautha lounged like a fully fed panther in repose, so drippingly bourgeois— knuckles busted, shoulder bruised, the victory chain so very Harkonnen in its disgustingly expensive simplicity hanging from his neck.

Shirt half-buttoned, loose black trousers sitting so low on his hips it was a threat or a promise with the bloody sabre at the edge of the couch, he tapped his boot slowly, a feline curling it's tail.

Every hanger on, sycophant, blood sucking leech, trader, aristo, high class whore, madame, noble and member of court toyed around him, so full of gossip, EATING, INDULGING. Enjoying the party.

They'd raised their glasses, cheered him, oozing in fawning.

Lady Ophelia—the most desired, most genetically blessed, most Harkonnen-trained seductress alive—lounged across his lap, disgusting really, ample breasts spilling, dress, or an imitation of one rolled up her thighs.
Gold rings. Thick lashes. A voice made of syrup.

She frowned, having repeated the same thing three times, and very bravely, after being ignored, her dainty hand reached out to stroke the underside of his jaw. "My only love, what bothers you?"

Eerie blue eyes sailed down, his ringed hand gently pushing hers away, "don't pet me."

This was exactly what she was afraid of. And in that second as she adjusted her dress to sit up, she really hated you, ever since you stepped foot on this planet it had revolved around your perfect halo.

It wasn't him, but you. Evidently done something to upset him. Otherwise he'd be behind her on the grass rutting out all that unspent energy.

Ophelia sucked her lip, letting it brush against the ear she whispered down, "let me take you somewhere quiet, I can show you—."

"Don't be so cheap," Feyd breathed, black teeth shiny as he pulled away, "you're crawling on me."

"never used to mind." the blonde bit, rapidly controlling her tone at the warning glance, allowing a noble in furs to pass first, "I mean, my lord, what has that hairy brat done now? The Atreides rat shouldn't ruin this victory for you."

A soft breeze floated through the pavilion, the entertainers breathing fire.

"What did you say?"

She startled at the barbed tone, laying a hand over his.

Feyd Rautha blinked down at it. Not pulling away.

"Break out of the spell," Ophelia touched her hair, a self soothing gesture, "people might think you're in love."

He stopped breathing. Frowning.

"Do you?" The blonde asked, clinging to his arm. "Love her?"
The silence lasted too long, guests feeling the shift. "No."

Ophelia grinned.

But he let his smallest finger trace hers, turning his body. "Brat, yes, hairy, very..."

He exhaled in her face, cinnamon, wine, "but call her a rat again and you'll go over my knee, she's not the one scurrying for crumbs."

The blonde opened her mouth, closed it again, all of a sudden feeling very under dressed, his tone was teasing, but he meant it. That stung more than the blisters on her five inch heels.