❝𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳.❞ You, an Atreides, the only daughter of Lady Jessica and Duke Leto are married to the violent bald Harkonnen.
I wrote all 20 + chapters of this in like three days so spelling...
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BLUB BLUB BLUB BLUB, i'm back, after another 2984 days, the world has changed, the planets are aligning, and i have been accused of being an AI due to my love of the em dash, kfdvfebgncf. ANYWAY, if anyone is still interested here are two silly chapters. THANK YOU DEARS, DARLINGS AND DELINQUENTS, 🩸🩸😭😌😌😈😈😈😈🫡🙏🏻ilyyyy
sorry for any typo's :P
🩸😭🩸
Ugh, spirits, some dirty little electric feeling was bouncing around in Feyd Rautha Harkonnens gut at the thought of him being tall enough he had to literally look down into those gross, wet, disturbingly beautiful (but honestly creepy) eyes of yours.
He would would have to peel off some of his skin and rub it with fire salt to soothe this illness.
But no one else but him could ever possibly know, that he was actually looking forward to curling up like a cave beast with you tonight, tangled in that sumptuous bed, your unsanitary hair splayed out over his naked chest while you listened in awe to tales of court scandals.
And in the quiet moments between stories both lies and truth, he'd watch your shiny lips chew something sweet, enjoy the sheer, spice-scented heat of you. And the nicest part, feel you finally give in to sleep and turn perfectly relaxed in his arms.
He walked down a far less travelled hall on a far away side of the Keep, careful not to get lost, sense of direction second to none, but danger would be harder to spot, this was your private wing, your spies would tell you he ventured down here. Especially dressed like this, freshly showered for his time with you, wearing only a loose-fitting robe of richly black silk.
The plump, happy, well kept slaves seemed terrified, good. Bowing deeply, offering celestial blessings.
And he knew you had built a secret tunnel to help slaves escape to better lives on friendlier planets with your own funds. Sucker, his Alia, he thought, such a pretty, vulnerable, soft hearted sucker.
"My Lord Feyd Rautha, may I be of service to you?"
The Na Baron tilted his head, spinning on his feet, vicious blue eyes targeting a tall, young man-maid who did the hand sign for glory most high.
But the maid-boy whimpered at the back handed slap to his young face, and cried at your husbands threat of being gifted to his uncle, curled into a ball as long, strong legs stepped over him.
He had to work quickly, Paul Atreides wouldn't have a free line for much longer with the movement of the satellites.
The Na Baron spotted a woman, draped in Atreides green, trying so hard to hide behind a plinth.
"You, woman-slave," he purred, tone not unkind as he prowled like some panther towards her.
She immediately kneeled, full submission, head to the floor, "my holy lord."
