Blood & Marriage🩸Feyd Rautha x f! Reader

The Date, Part 2

okay just a silly little chapter :) literally wrote this without stopping so im sorry if the writing is messy and for any mistakes :) 

Feyd—Rautha had taken the effort to choose this place. The finest restaurant in the district. Understanding it was underwhelming but not too much on your little drugged out, hyper sensitive aristocratic system you'd freak the fuck out.

A new building, erected solely for people for who money was no obstacle. 

You seemed to like it, sat very politely with a little smile on a richly black, velvet chaise, in full colour, the strange shade of your eyes kinda beautiful. But most of all, happy be to here with him. 

He didn't really know why.

In fact, he could count maybe seven people that had ever smiled at him like that. Genuinely. Cheekily, doing that slightly irritating thing where you twiddled your hair as if you was showing it off to the bald population.

Fingers drumming on the table, the Na Baron let himself watch you, pretty little thing that had a high chance of dying tragically—, reading the menu the wrong way around with a frown, so likeable he could strangle you and feel bad. 

And for years and years he'd imagined all your future arguments, how much you'd loathe him, be repulsed, all those nights spent awake at night going over different scenarios in his young head...

and if his uncle hadn't painfully hammered in the suspicion you was only nice to get his guard down, he might actually like you a lot more than he ever should. or so Feyd told himself. 

He didn't mean to laugh and catch your attention.

"This isn't Harkonnen," you squinted, having not a single clue what any of this shit on the very nice paper meant. "Feyd? It's not Harkonnen."

"Harkonnen is a family, not a language, beloved." And Rautha swung his long legs out of hisseat, breaking protocol to sit right next to you on your long sofa.

"You don't speak Ktundi?" He took the menu, turning it the right way around. "What are you? Stupid?"

"K-whaa?" you blinked, 50/50 if he was joking. "I just want chicken."

"This is closest to chicken, and you pronounce it..." And whatever he said next was in a tone so deep and full of actual clicks he coughed after.

"You got a frog in your throat? Frog?" you patted his back, he didn't appreciate it, his thick muscle jiggling, "or is that vocal fry for me, an attempt to appear more desirable than you really are?"

He gave you a look which would kill if possible. "Your perfume is in my throat, wish to gas me, woman?"

"Yes." You bit, taking your hair out of a braid again when he let his long arm rest behind your seat. Oh YOU'D READ ABOUT THIS, YOU'D SEEN YOUR OWN FATHER DO IT...making moves on date night. 

He tapped some symbols on the heavy paper, face close to yours, his breath tinted with spice and whatever iron-rich meat he'd eaten before as he whispered WITH SOME INSANE FRY right into your ear. "Ready to be radically experimental?"

You observed him with a side eye. "In bed?"

Air shot from his nose, "well yes, but i was referring to the food."

"No." Was it you or was he inching a little closer? Until your thighs touched. "This isn't one of those places where they steam a grape and charge a million Solaris?"

"Yes, it's a complete sham." A thick bottom lip plumped out with a smile, his fingers toying with your dress strap, and you SURE he inhaled the scent of your hair. "But you can have some fish, too. It's caught locally."