Does Anyone Know Some Great Blogs Or Posts On How To Create Fanfic Master Lists, How To Do Tag Lists,

Wrecked (Part 1)

Summary: Dean's in the mood to push you to your limits tonight...

Pairing: Dom!Dean x sub!reader

Word Count: 1,000ish

Warnings: language, smut (dom/sub, sex toys, bondage)

A/N: This is part 1 of a 2 part fic I wrote with my friend Elaina (aka @campingmonkey )! To see part 2 written by her (linked below), be sure to hop over to her blog! Pst, she also makes gifs too!

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You arched your back, sighing quietly through your first orgasm, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. Dean slid his body back up to yours, stealing your lips away for his own pleasure, smiling against them. You went to reach for his hair, keep him close, but felt the gentle tug of the padded restraint on your wrist.

“Good girl,” Dean murmured against your ear, one hand sliding between your bodies, finding your breast and brushing over your pointed nipple. You groaned as he teased it. A pinch here. Roll of the fingers there. You strained again, huffing when he tsked you. “Greedy tonight, are we?”

“Dean,” you growled, pouting when he stopped playing with you completely. His face hovered over yours, a dark smirk on his face.

“Good girls get orgasms and you’re not being very good right now. Maybe I ought to remind you how to behave.” 

“No! I can be good,” you said, Dean already winking and disappearing from view. You swallowed when he rolled off the bed, rummaging around. You lifted your head, frowning when he returned to the end of the bed holding a small black tube. 

“I love this little thing,” he said, flipping the switch on. You swallowed thickly, Dean grinning as you squeezed your legs together. “No, no. You wanted me to give you my full attention and you’ve got it.”

He swatted your thigh, the two of you staring at one another, silently fighting for control. “Open now or I edge you for an hour and you don’t get to come again tonight.”

You closed your eyes and relented. You spread yourself wide for him, Dean humming his satisfaction at your compliance. Your breath hitched as the bed dipped, the low vibrations of the mini vibe against your clit pleasant but nowhere near enough to get you off.

“Give me one, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing up your body, mouthing at you nipple. “Just one and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days.”

You arched your hips up into his hand, Dean teasing you by pulling the vibe away. You yanked on the restraints again, Dean toying with your breast with his free hand, his mouth nipping at the other. With an ungodly amount of willpower, you forced your legs to go still and body to ease back into the bed. Dean rewarded you with the vibe, a thin layer of sweat breaking out over your warm skin. 

You whole body was tingly, wanting desperately that second orgasm that would blow the first one out of the water. Dean Winchester was a man that knew how to deliver on the first go around but there was nothing he loved more than pushing you to the edge of your limits and then some. Which was clearly his goal tonight. You could feel that familiar pressure in your core growing but Dean wanted that elusive nipple orgasm that you’d only managed a few times before.

He sucked hard on your breast, his pinching becoming borderline painful but god, it felt so damn good. Sparks of pleasure ran from your nipples straight to your clit, Dean humming as you started to grind against the vibrator. Hips rolled in time with his assault on your breasts, Dean sure to leave bruises behind. Fuck, you were right there, Dean greedily crushing the poor bud under his strong fingers.

And then the vibrations stopped and you thrust up into open air, clit throbbing as your deep, low orgasm rumbled through you, turning sharp and pointed when Dean didn’t let up teasing your breasts. You cried out, legs scrambling for something to squeeze, Dean pushing you through it until you were sucking in deep breaths.

“And you say you hate that toy,” he chuckled, swiping his tongue over your nipple, an ungodly spark of pleasure coursing through you. “So…sensitive.”

He brought the vibe up, leaning down to kiss you roughly as he let the tip of it drag over your swollen peak. You squealed straight into him, Dean’s tongue mapping out your mouth for the millionth time. You pressed your chest up, Dean kissing you harder as your head spun, a brutal wave of pleasure building up in your body.

“You’re right,” he said, suddenly pulling everything away, your head spinning as the cusp of another high was stolen. “Such a silly little toy. I ought to go throw this away.”

Some garbled half moan, half screech left your lips, Dean grinning and climbing on top of you. The tip of his cock hit your clit and you nearly forgot how to breathe.

“One more for me, sweetheart.” You were so wet there was no need for lube. Dean slammed himself inside of you in one go, resting one hand by your head. You squeezed your eyes shut, Dean’s lips finding yours. “Go as many times you need to, sweetheart, cause I ain’t stopping until I give you all I got.”

Dean’s hips snapped forward, your walls trying desperately to clamp down onto him as he fucked your pliant body hard and fast. You shouted against his closed lips when the vibe touched your clit, an orgasm rocking through you, head pounding. Dean didn’t falter one bit, even with the added friction of your death grip on his cock. Over and over, your toes curling, legs wrapped around his back so hard you knew you’d leave marks on him.

Your orgasm barely faded before you rolled into the next one, Dean kissing under your jaw as you openly shouted. Too much pleasure rocked your body, too much heat, too much of Dean’s scent, his kisses, his body all around yours.

You threw your head back hard when you came around him, Dean biting your collarbone, his cock throbbing as he came deep within you.

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A/N: Be sure to check out Part 2 here!

I'm 100% following your paul x reader x feyd idea, I cannot even begin to explain how much I would gobble down that fic. The idea alone has me 👁️👁️

I'm normally a silent reader (working on bettering that habit), but I'm hoping people also support your idea loudly bc it sounds delicious and super fun to read!

Hoping you decide to write it!! Good luck 😊

Thank you so much!! I’m really having fun figuring out the plot and order of events and how certain parts of the books and film will come into play and what will change.

Thank you so much for the encouragement!

* The heart is not meant to rule *

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader

Tag list: @wo-ming-bai

Slow burn, knife kink, blood kink, strangers to lovers, softer!Feyd-Rautha, CONSENT, 18+, arranged marriage, assassination, poison, murder, etc

Previous Chapter - Burning Palms Current Chapter - Only I Will Remain

***

You return to your chambers alone, still shaken from the earlier confrontation. Hours pass, and the silence is heavy with your thoughts. Finally, the door swings open, and Feyd enters, his face a mask of frustration. The remaining meetings had been incredibly boring and annoying, leaving him seething with pent-up energy.

Without a word, he crosses the room in a few swift strides and takes you in his arms with more force than needed. His grip is tight, almost bruising, and he doesn't wait for anything. He starts to kiss you angrily, his lips harsh and demanding. You squirm under his touch, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you, but this only seems to edge him on.

Feyd's hands roam your body with an urgency that borders on aggression. His kisses are rough, bruising, as he pours all his frustration into this moment. Your protests are muffled against his lips, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Feyd, please," you manage to gasp between his feverish kisses, but he doesn’t slow down.

His response is a growl of frustration, his fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself. You can feel the intensity of his emotions—anger, desire, a desperate need for release. It’s overwhelming, a whirlwind of sensations that leaves you breathless.

You push against his chest, trying to create some space, but he only pulls you closer, his eyes dark and wild.

"I need this," he mutters, his voice a strained whisper. "I need you."

Your heart aches at his vulnerability, buried beneath layers of anger and frustration. Despite the roughness, you can sense the depth of his need, the unspoken plea for understanding. Slowly, you relax into his embrace, your hands moving to his back, offering silent reassurance.

Feyd’s grip softens just a fraction, his kisses becoming less punishing and more desperate. You can feel his heart beating wildly against yours, his breath hot against your skin. This moment is raw and intense, a collision of emotions that leaves you both shaken.

As he pushes you towards the bed and take out his dagger, making you squirm even more than before. As he cuts your dress off, he plants possessive kisses on the exposed skin, working his way down, cutting everything off your body and leaving you naked in front of him. He’s on his knees in front of you.

“Sit.” He demands darkly, his eyes darting to the bed. “What about you?” you ask in defiance.

He didn’t waste any time allowing you to talk back at him. He stands back up and forcefully pushes you back, one of his hands on your mouth. He wants you to be completely submissive right now, so you oblige just this one time. As you fall backwards on the bed, he’s on you like a wolf, hungry for blood. His dagger at your side, sharp and dangerous.

“You will learn not to doubt me, even if that’s all I can teach you.”

He spits out at you, referencing the doubt he saw in your eyes before.

You had to admit while he was scaring you a little, you reminded yourself that his feelings were mostly right at the surface. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have already done that months ago.

He returns his anger towards your body instead, cutting you with his dagger and licking it up like a mad dog. The lower he goes the more he starts cutting, until his head is between your legs, lapping at your entrance like a dog starved for water. Your blood is in splotches over his face, painting his pale face a brighter colour.

He’s slowly driving you insane, the fear turning into pleasure as he continues his assault. You keep quiet like he demanded, his submissive little wife, as he gets up from between your legs, eyes darker than the black sun. As he releases his hardened cock from his pants, he doesn’t need to do more than just look at you, taking the hint immediately. As you move towards the edge of the bed, he forcefully grips your hair in his hand and positions you perfectly in front of his cock. The dagger in his other hand grazing your cheek as you take him in your mouth, throbbing with need.

He lets out a loud sigh of pleasure, his hand tight in your hair, holding you down a little bit longer than you can handle, making you choke. As he pulls you back, he looks down at you, his face contorted in a snarl. His anger still very at the surface as he starts to pump into your mouth, making you sound completely indecent. You hold his legs in a way to keep yourself from falling off the bed and grounding yourself, as he relentlessly fucks your mouth.

“Sometimes you talk too much, wife,” he snaps at you, “I should do this to you more often. Maybe you’ll finally learn then.”

His dagger pressing into your cheek, drawing blood as he keeps his pace steady and fast. You’re barely able to understand what he’s saying at this point, feeling like a fuck-doll at this point. You decide you have enough of this and manage to push his legs away from your face, making him stumble backwards a bit as you manage to take a few gasps of breath.

You look at him angrily, wiping your own blood off your cheek. His jaw clenches at your movements and how you position yourself back on the bed. He steps forward and grabs one of your legs, pulling you towards him as you struggle to find your footing again. He’s enjoying this, watching you flail in his strong grasp.

“Stay still woman!” He demands of you with his dagger at your neck.

You freeze, not that you think he would actually kill you, but you also don’t want to be made into an example of accidental death. You huff out at him, brows frowned at him. As his free hand goes down to open your legs with haste, you manage to turn around, your back facing him but he’s straddling your hips sooner than you thought.

His thick member slapping on your ass as he pushes himself onto you, making you lay flat against the bed, effectively squishing you. You feel the same dagger at your other cheek, almost sticking into it, probably drawing blood as you don’t really notice the pain anymore.

“You’re so pretty when you struggle wife,” he snarls as he slaps his cock a few times on your ass, the movement giving you an unwanted wetness between your legs.

He’s heavy and dominating, this is the Feyd people warned you about, you’re finally seeing the true Harkonnen in him. As you struggle to breath, you feel one of his fingers circling your ass, wet with the slick from his cock. As he pushes his thumb inside, you let out a short gasp, the feeling completely foreign to you. You notice he won’t give you the time to get used to the feeling, as he’s lining up his cock with your other entrance as you try to figure out the difference between pain and pleasure.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to do this?”, he speaks as he lets his tip enter you. “One hundred and fifty-two days exactly”, he chokes out as he wastes no time penetrating you fully.

It’s all too fast and hard for you to handle, as you let out a pained moan under his weight. You’re barely able to breathe properly at this point, so your breath comes out in short gasps, trying not to faint at the feeling. Feyd is fully sheathed inside of you, and he feels bigger than before, harder than you’re used to. He has been keeping count apparently, but so have you.

“One hundred and fifty-three”, you blurt out.

He freezes for a moment and starts to pump into you relentlessly, eliciting the foulest sounds from your mouth. While he keeps his dagger at your face, he lifts his body from your and you’re finally able to take in more air. You manage to raise your butt a slightly bit higher, so that you can move along with him, his thumb in your ass keeping you in place as he pounds you hard and fast.

He can feel your wetness and it’s driving him even crazier than he thought. As much as he loves it when you’re being dominant, he loves seeing you even more when you’re submissive, offering all control to him, allowing him to decide your boundaries. He’s been waiting for five months to have you in his arms again, in his bed again.

You had also been dreaming about this moment, although, maybe slightly less violent, you welcome it, however. Feeling his utter need for you takes away all doubt, the fact that he’s being so open towards you makes you feel wanted. Maybe if you can allow some violence into the bedroom, he won’t be so violent in everyday life.

Feyd strikes your ass hard, making you snap out of thought. His dagger lay in the bed now, his free hand gripping your ass as he picks up his pace, even inhumanly fast as it feels. You almost scream out at this point, everything an overstimulation of the next, and as you cum on his cock he turns you around and forces his hand inside of your vagina, letting you ride the wave as he pulses against your g-spot, effectively making you squirt multiple times.

His face is soaking wet, as he laps up most of the fluid from the source. Taking his dagger again he places it in your hand.

“Cut me,” he says as he starts to line up his cock again as you lay flat on your back.

As soon as he enters you, he hovers over you, holding you down, his cock feeling heavy and full inside of you, his girth stretching you open as your back aches from the bed. He snakes an arm under your back to hold you there, sucking at your nipples. As you take the dagger and cut him on the side of his neck, he shivers with pleasure.

The blood drops down onto your chest and he looks at you, pleased. His pace starts to become more erratic the more you cut. Four, five, up until ten times you do this on different spots on his body, all while he’s fucking you senseless. Your body the canvas of his blood and sweat. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, how he was even allowed to touch you, he couldn’t understand.

“Feyd,” you gasp out as you’re feeling another wave rush through you, “faster.”

As you both continue, his anger fades, replaced by an overwhelming sense of urgency. He clings to you as if you’re his lifeline, the only thing keeping him grounded. And in that moment, despite the fear and uncertainty, you hold him close, offering what little comfort you can.

You come with a lightning strike shooting between your eyes it seems, completely overwhelmed. As he bites down in your shoulder you feel his seed filling you entirely, as he pumps the last of his energy into you. He turns his face to face yours, and he slowly continues to move in and out of you, making sure to keep most of it in. You kiss him softly, a tear slowly falling down your cheek. He kisses you back softly, his anger completely gone, as he positions himself next to you.

Your chest blood red and glimmering in the dim light of the room, he looked you up and down, almost waiting for you to say something first. He wasn’t easily ashamed but somehow, he felt a little bit more aware of what he had done just now. He hoped you would still love him after the display he just left you with.

“Blood of my blood,” you say as you cup his face.

His eyes close slowly at your touch, no one would ever take this away from him again. And the both of you fall asleep in a newfound bliss with each other.

A Trade

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: When Feyd asked for your hand, your father refused and took you away from him. Now he’ll do anything to get you back, and he’s not above kidnapping your sister to offer a trade.

Notes/Warnings: kidnapping and threats of death. I think that’s it. Feyd’s soft for reader.

Words: 4000

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

He sits quietly, his chair facing another of its matching set, and leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees. His hands clasp, fingers squeezing and releasing and squeezing and releasing in an effort to suppress the rage he hasn’t been able to let go of for weeks.

With eyes scanning over the figure sitting his opposite, Feyd’s teeth grind, wearing down the grit of his molars. It’s hard not to scrutinize. As he takes in every feature of her face, his lips and eyebrows involuntarily quirk in distaste. It’s not that her features aren’t nicely proportionate or well-placed on the structure of her face; they’re just…wrong. Familiar, but incorrect. 

“You don’t look like her,” he says. 

Her stare is just as intense as the one he knows so well. And though she may not look quite right, the aura she exudes does not stray from what he expects of someone with her blood. 

She jerks on the binds that are keeping her wrists locked behind her back and huffs when they don’t give way to her strength. “Well, we aren’t twins,” she states. 

There’s a bite there, but no soft edge to cushion the blow. She doesn’t know the proper way to deal with him. She doesn’t know how to ease the tension in his bones with her words. He supposes that is one of many things that makes the difference. It’s why he loves you and would not love a woman like her. 

Again she tugs on the ropes confining her. 

“Don’t bother,” he says.

She lets out a groan before finally surrendering. “You know, she told me all about you. About what became of the two of you. How it happened,” she says. “And I understand. I do. But do you honestly believe having your men abduct me was the best idea?” 

Feyd leans back in his chair. His arms cross over his chest. You are the only one who questions him, the only one allowed to question him, and his jaw ticks as he pulls back on the desire to slide a blade across your sister’s cheek.

“I do,” he says. 

Your sister shakes her head. “You know they’re giving her to Kenric. Father is with her on their planet in the process of signing a formal agreement.”

Feyd shoots up, hungry acid eating his insides. He’d heard news of the pending engagement, but he does not care to listen to those words strung together for a second time, especially not in a voice that so closely resembles yours. It makes him want to hurt something, damage something, but when the nearest target flinches at the sharpness of his movement, he pauses. You would want him to pause. He takes a breath and runs his hand down his face before circling to the back of the chair and gripping the edge of the seat. His knuckles whiten. 

“She is not marrying Kenric,” Feyd says. “Your House will give her back to me if I offer them you in return.”

She hums, unconvinced, and a crease forms at the center of his brow. He’s far from appreciative of how unsure she seems, considering this plan was the only one well-formed enough for execution. As the second born, she may not be as important as you are, but she’s a daughter of a Great House nonetheless, and no elite would allow the death of one of their own, certainly not their child, without some attempt at preservation first. They'll have to agree to his terms.

But if they don’t…

Feyd stares into the blank space by your sister’s head, his vision hazy, shapes blurring with each image of you that travels around his mind. Things had been so well. Content, yet passionate. Fulfilling. They’d been as close to perfect as Feyd could recognize from others’ descriptions of the feeling. 

You were a gift unto him without anyone realizing it. Your parents sent you for education, for experimentation, for practice in learning how to infiltrate other Houses so when the day comes for you to lead beside another, you would have the knowledge and skillset to manipulate any Great line from the inside out.

It wasn’t presented that way to his uncle, of course. You were introduced with the suggestion that the Baron see a curious girl, an innocent flower wanting to expose herself to foreign practices. But the act did not fool Feyd. He instantly saw the spots where the rose’s thorns had been clipped. What stood before him was a weapon briefly tamed for the sake of disguise who would grow back her barbs once planted within his walls. And he found much amusement in your deception.

It took mere weeks for you to fall with Feyd into deep affection. You were always around, always peering where you should not have been peering, listening to what did not belong to your ears, and when he got fed up with your lack of covertness, he confronted you. Confrontation which led to lessons in stealth that tucked the both of you into dark corners hidden from prying eyes. Dark corners that only shadowed your bodies if you were pressed against one another. Bodies that were so close breaths couldn’t help but intertwine. Breaths that brushed heat over faces and ceased only when lips met.

And then with one mistake, one request, you were gone. Kidnapped by your family’s guards. Taken from behind his turned back. Sand through his fingers.

“I believed her when she told me you loved her,” your sister says, snapping Feyd back to attention. Her mouth is parted, and as her eyes scan his face, they’re alight with something akin to wonder but with a few tainting specks of disgust. A reasonable reaction; one he anticipated. Her sister in bed with a Harkonnen—how horrible. “Nevertheless, it's fascinating to witness for myself.”

Feyd’s eyes narrow. His spine straightens. He squares his shoulders. “I asked for her hand first. She should be mine.”

A scoff bursts from your sister’s throat. “That is not what I have heard,” she tells him. “You did not ask; you demanded. And you were both naive,” she says. “She was not sent here to fall in love. Not to mention, your family has a reputation you should not forget.”

“She does not fear me,” he snaps. 

“She does not have to.”

“I am a Lord, an heir, as much as any other son of the Great Houses. My title makes me worthy. They had no valid reason to reject me and take her.”

“Do you think there isn’t more to it than any title put upon you?” she asks before she says, “It’s the wars your House involves yourselves in. The greed. The possessiveness. The pale hands in everyone else’s pots. The children you would produce.”

His jaw clenches. “And what would be wrong with our children?”

“What would be right with them? Everyone would fear the deplorable monsters they might grow to be with your blood coursing through their veins.”

Feyd’s heart prickles. 

He hadn’t thought much of children; he’d simply thought of you and what it would take to keep you by his side. Anything else he’d deemed the concerns of a much later time, but now, with it forced into his mind, he finds himself unexpectedly devastated. Normally he wouldn’t care about opinions, but to understand what ideas others might conjure up at the possibility of your union sickens him. The children you would create would be nothing less than flawless. Warriors. Survivors. Leaders. A pristine blending of you both. He knows it. 

Your sister’s chest caves with a heavy sigh. “Look, I do not say these things to hurt you in retaliation for dragging me here against my will. They are fact.”

In his silence, Feyd can feel her studying him from the inside out, not wasting a single passing second. Her position—the ties around her wrists that keep her bound to the chair—which would cause great concern to others, seems to fade in importance against her consistent, concentrated observing. It does not last long before he grows tired of it. 

“What?” he spits.

Pity bleeds into her irises. “She did try to convince them,” she says. “She claimed you’re different than you appear. Not as harsh. Not as impulsive as everyone believes.”

His gaze falls to his feet. “She was lying.”

“Clearly,” your sister agrees. Then her voice tips; softens. “But she was desperate. She would’ve said anything, though it wouldn’t have mattered. They refused to listen.”

Feyd’s eyelids pinch. He can picture you as desperate as he is. Begging. Begging as a Lady such as yourself would beg: with wit and strategy, utilizing every trick in the book short of falling on your knees. You’re like him. He begs as you do, but in his own way, with his own tricks.

“What do you believe will come of this? Really.”

Feyd looks up at her. “I told you, she will be mine again,” he doesn’t hesitate to say. “That is what will come of this.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” she asks. “Will you stop?”

“What do you think?”

As if he had cracked open her skull to reveal her brain, Feyd has an unobstructed view of each one of her thoughts nestling deeply into her mind. She said so herself what she and her House—what all Houses—think of him. War, greed, possessiveness. And he is but a fraction of the Harkonnen’s totality of power. What he’s done by taking her brushes the cusp of his capabilities, and his uncle would not restrain him from conquering another planet and snuffing out an elite lineage to obtain what he desires.

As your sister runs through the many repercussions of his plan’s potential failure, he decides he has wasted enough of his time on her. He can no longer stand to look at the face that lacks the features he prefers.

“Where are you going?” she says when he turns on his heel. 

“We’re done for now. You’ll be escorted to the guest quarters.”

“Not a cell?”

Feyd halts. 

“You’re her sister,” he says over his shoulder. And then he leaves her behind. 

—

“They’ll come today.”

Your sister looks up from the plate of food in front of her, her eyes landing on Feyd as he stops just in front of the dining table where she sits.

He’s reminded again how different she is from you. How when you sat in that same seat—a seat he is struggling not to scold your sister for occupying—you were the lone bright object in the room. Nothing about this soul-sucking black hole was capable of dimming you, and yet your contrast fit perfectly. You slotted into his fortress as if you were meant to one day rule over its every occupant, himself included. But Giedi Prime’s design does not blend well with your sister. She’s a royal-purple-velvet, gold-embroidered splotch in a sea of onyx black, and he wants nothing more than to remove her.

Soon. You will be back with him soon. Soon, you will be eating in that seat. You will be wearing his clothes. You will be existing in this space as you should be.

“How do you know?” your sister asks. 

Feyd blinks. “It’s been three days. Enough time to have been informed of your absence and return home to confirm it,” he says. “And she’ll know where you are.”

“You’re so sure?”

He gives a single nod. “She knows me,” he replies. “She knows taking you is not out of the realm of what I would do for her.”

---

Reader POV

You know where she is. From the moment your parents were informed of her disappearance and the three of you rushed to your home planet, not a single of your seconds was wasted on juggling alternative possibilities. How it is not blatantly obvious to everyone else is a shock, but perhaps your sister’s missing presence from the palace has turned frantic minds to mush. You’re the only one who isn’t running about, searching through closets and under beds as if a grown woman is playing a child’s game. 

You have to tell them. Recovering your sister cannot be a solo mission, despite how much easier that would be. Not to mention, to leave for Giedi Prime without notifying your parents would rightfully increase their panic, and no good would come of that.

So you speak his name.

They call him a demon. A monster. They curse and condemn him. How dare he demand one daughter and, after being denied, so quickly move on to stealing another. The implication that he’s taken your sister to replace you makes you ill, but to defend the love you share with him would further stir their tempers. 

“You’re certain?” Your mother asks through the trembling hand covering her horrified mouth. 

You meet your father’s blazing stare and try to ignore the hateful bile gathering at the corners of his lips. You nod. “I should go alone,” you tell them. 

“Absolutely not.”

“He’ll listen to me. He will not be cooperative with you.”

“That creature will listen to no one!”

“I know him. His thoughts, his tactics,” you argue. “I’m the one person who can get through to him.”

To his credit, your father takes a calming breath. It can not be denied that his emotions often guide him over logic, but he’s not a man known for idiocy. He sent you to the Harkonnens, and he’s not forgotten how well you’ve been trained to learn from your environment.

“Fine,” he eventually agrees. But he does not accommodate you beyond that. 

All efforts to ease his disgust for your lover fall on deaf ears. He won’t hear that Feyd hasn’t hurt your sister. He won’t believe that he hasn’t peeled her skin from her bones or starved her out of her perfectly tailored dresses. And though his eyes threaten you to surrender your conviction, to confirm his ideas and stoke the flame of his fury, you don’t give in.

Arriving at the doors of Giedi Prime’s fortress is done without guards flanking your sides. They stay on the ship. “He doesn't respond to intimidation strategies,” you tell your father. “It’s best not to storm his home with forces in tow and demand things of him.” Not lies, but you can’t say you’re honest for the sake of striking a deal without inflicting wounds on each other’s guards. True that it’s best to avoid an all-out battle, but it’s more true that your motivations are guided by seeing him again. 

When you do finally see him, you see no one else. The world falls apart and you cannot tear your eyes from his face. Neither can he keep his off of you. You’re yards apart, a rooms-span away, and yet you can already feel him from the anticipation of being in his arms. You’ve been living off of the memories of his touch, and now here he is, almost within reach.

Your father is shouting, but your heartbeat thumping in your ears shields you from the full power of his voice. “You dare steal my daughter!” you think he says. “Where is she!”

Feyd ignores him. He stares still. His mouth parts. And then, with determination in his steps, he walks to you. 

Before you can bask in the warmth of his looming closeness, his arm is reaching toward you, and in what seems like the blink of an eye, his palm slides across your cheek, his fingers weave with the strands of your hair, and he pulls you into a kiss.

Instantly, the long-awaited sensation threatens to kick your legs out from under you. Your bones warn of their weakening strength. Your heart briefly stops, but then beats return with a ferocity that could shame a beast in battle.

The *shing* of your father’s metal blade unsheathing is met with its sister sound from the multiple swords of Feyd’s guards. It buys you a few more seconds of holding each other, and you use those seconds to give all that you can.

Feyd knows how to kiss you. You know how to kiss each other. Though relatively tame in front of your current audience, he kisses with the promise of what his mouth would do to yours were you alone; echoes of what you shared before you were taken.

When you sense your time is about to run out, you plant your hands on Feyd’s chest, and as he cups your cheeks, you break the kiss. Your eyes find home in his. 

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper. 

He grins ever so slightly. “They can have her,” he says. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones and he rests his forehead against yours. “But I’m keeping you.”

I’m yours is on your lips, but his body is partially jerked out of your arms before you can speak. All gentleness in your lover switches off like a light. 

“Get off of my daugh–” 

Your father chokes, his nails clawing at the hand around his neck. 

“You don’t tell me not to touch her!” Feyd shouts with a squeeze, slowly pulling your father closer. Being inches shorter, your father must stand on his toes to keep Feyd’s grip as loose as possible, and as much as you find yourself enjoying the sight, you cannot allow it to continue.

“Feyd,” you start. As you caress his flexed bicep, you keep your tone velvety. “Feyd, let him go.” But he does not hear you. Or he does not listen. His fingers tighten. Your father’s face swells red. “Listen to me. I love you. No one is going to take me away from you. I won’t let that happen. You won’t let that happen. We will be married. We will be here, together, just you and me as we planned,” you tell him, “but I want you to let him go.”

A beat passes. Two beats. Three. Then Feyd expels the breath he’d been holding. His chest deflates, and one by one, his fingers unpeel from your father’s skin. 

Your father heaves. “Y-You…” he says through his attempts to recover. His hand rubs his rapidly bruising flesh. “You are promised…to Kenric. The agreement was all but–” he coughs “–but signed.”

A growl emerges, and from your left, Feyd lunges. Your father gasps. His eyes widen as he stumbles a step backward. 

“No!” You rush in front of Feyd to grab his face. Shaking your head, your thumbs stroke his cheeks. “No,” you repeat softly. 

The heat in his irises soothes as he keeps his eyes on you. His arm curls around your waist, and his gaze drops to your mouth. You want to kiss him again. You almost do, but then you remember why you’re here.

You look to the nearest Harkonnen guard, one of many you’re familiar with after your time on Giedi Prime. “Bring my sister. Please.”

He glances at his Lord, who nods in response to the silent question. Then Feyd’s attention returns to you, his eyes go to your lips, and he leans in. 

You struggle to care about anything other than his taste. After you were taken, you were lost to the devastation of believing your mouth and tongue and teeth would never have him again. And you’re lost now. Lost in the pleasure of those fears extinguishing. So lost that not even the echo of approaching footsteps is enough to cleave your bodies apart. 

“A relief to see that clothes are still on,” your sister’s voice greets. Reluctantly, you unseal your mouth from Feyd’s to look past his shoulder at your sister. There’s an unreadable expression on her face as she watches him bury his face in your neck. Acceptance, or revulsion.

Thankfully, your father seems to have missed her comment, so focused on seeing her well and unharmed. He takes an unsteady step in her direction. “Daughter–”

The Harkonnen releases your sister from his hold and she meets your father the rest of the way. “I’m fine, father.”

“That monster–”

“Didn’t do a thing.” Her eyes flick to the hand covering his throat. One brow arches as her head turns your way. “To me.”

Your father draws her into a hug, his hand going to the back of her head. “Good. Good,” he says. “Then let us take you both home.”

A chill runs throughout your limbs. Feyd’s arms cinch around your waist. He lifts his head, his vision glazed over as his eyes prod yours. “You’re not leaving,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “I’m not leaving.”

“You are leaving,” your father intrudes, his voice dropping an octave. “You are leaving this place. You are leaving that beast.”

Your sister sighs. “Father…”

“You are returning home, and you will marry Kenric.”

A muffled noise rumbles in Feyd’s throat. Like thunder on the horizon. A threat of a storm. You press your palm against his heart to feel the beats harder, faster. 

“We departed before anything was signed,” you say. 

Your father stomps his foot like a petulant child. “You made a commitment!”

Your head jerks back, and suddenly, red infects your sight. Intent on approaching your father, you untangle yourself from Feyd’s arms, but fingers latch onto your wrist, keeping you from gaining significant distance. You let him hold you back. 

“You made a commitment!” you snap.

“And I will keep it!”

Nails dig into your pulse point, and you know Feyd is straining against his urges as much as you are. “No,” you push. “You will walk free with one of your daughters, and the other will remain where she belongs!”

“You do not belong here!”

“Yes, I–”

“Father,” your sister repeats. 

He whips around. “What!”

“Let them be,” she says. 

Silence falls over the room. Feyd’s grip eases but does not disappear.

“He is selfish and stubborn and feels no guilt in how he loves her,” she continues. “I can’t say I’m interested in seeing what else he’d be willing to do to get her back should she be ripped away from him again, but I have no doubt it would be devastating. And I’m sure you would not survive twice.” 

Your father’s brows dip in the center. His fist clenches. “Do not disrespect me.”

“It's not disrespect,” she says. “I would fear for you, for our people, our home. Leave her, and I will marry Kenric.” 

You suck in a sharp breath.

“I have no attachments to any man. It causes me no harm to step into my sister’s place.”

“No.” Your father shakes his head. “I won’t allow it.”

“You will if you’re smart,” she replies. Tension radiates from your father, his body practically shaking where he stands. “And surely you aim to be a smart man. Surely you don’t intend to take unnecessary risks that could hurt everything our House is meant to protect.”

He opens his mouth, but the threat of humiliation is enough to shut him up. It has always been an area where he falters. Inadequacy and the fear of being looked down upon. It’s why you were marrying the son of Lord Kenric. Your House is not a weak one by many standards, but your father could not let go of the whispers among other Houses that they are stronger. He sought a match effective in showing your equals the value of his House and offspring. And blinded by his decision, there was no room for him to consider the consequences.

You watch in awe as he stands down, shrinking in the shadow of your sister’s wisdom. A smart man indeed. 

When your sister nears you, she reaches out to take your hand in hers. Feyd releases you as, for the moment, his nemesis has been subdued.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell her. “I’m prepared to fight him tooth and nail.”

She lightly chuckles. “Your brute would burn down the world. This is what’s best. Safest.”

“You’re sure?”

“I'd decided on this path before you arrived,” she says.

You look for hesitation, any regret, but she’s a stone wall—sturdy in her decision—and you recognize that arguing would implant a tone of dismissiveness of her wishes. 

“Thank you,” you mouth.

Your sister squeezes your fingers. She tips her head to you before she glances at Feyd. You peek over your shoulder, but his face is blank. Whatever passes between them is indecipherable—some unspoken understanding. 

“Keep him in line,” she says. Then she steps away from you.

Your father glares the entire way out of the fortress, and you know you’ve severed your ties today. You’ve made a choice, picked a side, and neither he nor your mother will ever understand. Whether or not they’ve become an enemy you will learn in time, but at the very least, it is unlikely you will be welcomed into the home where you grew up. A sacrifice you accept. 

As the doors close, Feyd comes up behind you. His arms circle your waist. Your back meets his chest. His lips plant on your neck. “Come to bed,” he says. 

You grin.

---

A/N: thanks for reading! If you liked it, let me know :)

An Heir: Part 2

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You and Feyd intend to be together forever--marry, have children, lead Giedi Prime side by side--but your plans are disrupted when the Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit reveals Lady Fenring is pregnant and, to Feyd's utter shock, the baby is his.

Notes/Warnings: pregnancy

Words: 2100

Part 1

Reader POV

Composed as you can, you rush out of the room, your footsteps melding with the scraping of chair legs against the floor as Lords and Ladies rise from their seats. Through the cacophony, you can almost make out his steps—his distinct stride—but you keep going, keep pushing to reach a haven. Where you will find one, however, you have no idea. Your frantic thoughts are interfering with your once-memorized layout of the fortress.

The door thuds as it closes behind you, forcing the voices of great leaders to blend into one thick mass; gurgly and distorted as if your head has been dunked underwater. You can feel the air being sucked out of you, lungs straining for breath after breath as you hurry down a hallway.

Another thud bounces off the walls, followed by footsteps that quicken in pace. You gasp, pushing yourself to run faster, but your skirts work against you, the fabric catching under your shoes. If only you could kick the heels off, rip through the stitched seams of your dress so it may fall to the floor. But what would that do other than leave crumbs for him to find?

You meet a corner and are faced with three options: two halls with no nooks to tuck yourself into, or a door, which you hope can be locked tight from the other side. You go for the door.

Thankfully, the knob twists without resistance, but as you push open the metal slab, an arm wraps around your waist, a body presses against your back, and you’re shoved inside.

Once in the room, he releases you from his grasp and you spin around to find him locking the door; a click that seals you within your cage. Slowly, he turns to face you.

His breathing is heavy. His chest and shoulders rise and fall with each intake and release of oxygen. Blue eyes are wide, trained on the floor at your feet for what feels like an eternity before they start on a path up to your face.

The stare is agonizing, and within it a mixture of conflicting emotions that shakes you to your core. Then his gaze slides down to your abdomen. He swallows and begins to take cautious steps forward.

You’re frozen solid, a statue vulnerable to whatever he intends to do or say, and your mind runs wild with possibilities. But when all that separates your bodies is a few remaining inches of stifled air, he drops to his knees. His hands rise to rest on your stomach, and as his eyes close, he presses his forehead against the slight bump.

“How could you not tell me this?” he says.

Your throat constricts, trapping your words. You try to ignore the heat of his touch seeping through the layer of your clothes; a burn that works to melt away all barriers and leave you raw and real in front of him.

“Answer me.”

“It–” Your tongue darts out to moisten your dry lips before you attempt to choke down the grit that lines your throat. You shouldn’t say it, but it’s right there, trying to pry out of your closed mouth. “It wasn’t your business.”

Feyd’s head snaps up and he shoots you a look that you've seen many times. One that imbues his opponents with utter fear; a shock of chilled skin and chattering knees. And despite how unenjoyable it is to have that look directed at you, you stand strong against it.

“I’ll allow that to slide just this once,” he says, his voice low in warning. His eyes return to your stomach, hand grazing over the bump. “How far?”

The pause lingering in the air you struggle to admit to yourself is not because you do not wish to tell him. Not that it would matter.

Now that he's aware, concealing the truth would be wasted energy. Not to mention, the likelihood of him ceasing his interrogation is practically zero. But the truth is a hard and unrelenting devastation, and to speak it aloud only ripens the pain.

“How. Far?” he repeats.

You take a breath. “Four months,” you tell him, and Feyd’s brow pinches. His lips part. You think his eyes go glassy, as yours had when you’d learned of your condition, but he blinks before you can confirm it. “I didn’t know it,” you continue. “When I left, I didn’t know.”

You watch as each stage from denial to acceptance passes over his face. “Your parents?”

“They haven't noticed.”

“It's obvious.”

“Not to everyone else,” you say. “I hide it well; you just–”

He looks up. “I what?”

Lost nights pop into your mind, the hours spent in bed under low light where his eyes and fingers would map out your body, attending to neglected skin, loving on the marrings scattered about your flesh. If anyone were to see it—you—it’s him.

You sigh. “You know my body.”

In the beat that passes, Feyd’s adam’s apple bobs, then he stands. His thumb rubs back and forth along the curve of your stomach, and as he stares at his hand, you can see wheels spinning, the thoughts tumbling around in his head.

“I’ll kill them,” he says, and your gut instantly somersaults in rejection. “I’ll kill them both. I don’t care. She is not yet my wife, and that thing inside her is not my heir.”

“Feyd…”

“We’ll inform my uncle that you're pregnant. He will accept it, you and I will marry, and he will acknowledge our child as an heir,” he continues. “All he wants is a guaranteed continuation of our line. He'll be satisfied.” Feyd’s palms cup your cheeks and he plants a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’ll take care of it.” Then he starts toward the door.

It takes a moment for the rapid expelling of his words to process fully in your brain, but once you catch up, a swell of panic fills you. There is a baby in that woman. A child—his child—innocent of it’s mother’s actions.

You rush after him and grab onto his arm. “Feyd, stop.” You pull harder as he reaches for the knob. “Just think about what you’re–”

“No!” He shouts, spinning around so harshly that you flinch back. His eyes are pointed daggers, and your hands fall to your sides. “You left! Those witches plotted and schemed and you left!

“I—I had to leave.”

“Why!”

Feyd groans. His hand runs down his face. “I thought I’d been with you that night,” comes out gritty and harsh as his index finger and thumb press against his closed eyelids. “Until she shoved the memories into my mind, I didn’t remember so much as interacting with her, let alone being in a bed with her,” he says. His hand falls away from his face. “And you didn’t give me a chance to explain that.”

“Why?” you huff, your eyes narrowing. “Why?” He can not possibly be this daft. “Because my heart broke! Did you expect me to watch you marry another woman and father another child? I was not going to be your concubine!”

“Why would I?” you spit. “I followed you. I saw you with her. It didn’t require an explanation.”

“And knowing what she is capable of, you thought I was there by my own choice?” he snaps back.

You open your mouth for a retort, but you quickly close it as the remnants of his voice echo around the room. Your eyes are glued to his, but once his voice fades, you’re the one to break the stare-off. Your head dips, gaze dropping to your feet.

Time passes in silence. Then, in the edges of your vision, you see his tense shoulders relax and his clenched fists slowly release.

“You really thought I wanted it,” he says, and it’s a little blade piercing your heart.

Despite how poorly you’ve hid your emotions, you hate that he has so easily cracked you. That your mind is exposed for his exploration. That he can now probably see every painful image that has entered your mind from the moment you saw him follow Lady Fenring into that room.

You sigh and your head raises. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. What matters is what is,” you tell him. “And what she is, is pregnant. The Harkonnen line is secured by another.”

“I don’t want her child. I want ours.”

“Feyd, we are too late.”

“No,” he counters, shaking his head. “I am not losing you twice. I refuse to. You became pregnant before her. You will give birth before her. Our child will be my rightful heir.”

“A Bene Gesserit child will be seen as more valuable than–”

Feyd reaches for you. His hands cup your face again, and his lips meet yours, and as much as you know you shouldn’t allow this, you can’t push him away. It feels too good. Too right. You missed him too much.

Your protective walls crumble so you can take it all in. His taste, which has always been like a drug, pours into your mouth. A warm sensation passes through your veins. Addictive. Pleasing to your brain and nerves. And who cuts themselves off in the middle of a high?

His hands slide into your hair and he holds your head steady as his mouth ravages yours, as his tongue licks yours, as his nose brushes against yours. But then he pulls away.

“Stop this,” he whispers in the hairs-width of space between your lips and his. “You’re staying with me, where you and our baby will be safe. You will marry me. We will have our child,” he says. “I will set this right.”

Your bottom lip quivers, sudden tears surfacing but unshed. “How?

“However I have to.”

—

The Reverend Mother has always been a force—a stony figure; a formidable structure in bodily form—but as she sits across from where Margot stands, her presence has never been more overwhelming, and Margot, who is not one to shrink in front of power, has never felt more squeamish.

“It has been months.” The Reverend Mother’s voice fills the space, her gaze as unbendable as tungsten. “You should be with child by now.”

Lady Fenring bows her head. “Forgive me, Reverend Mother.”

“We can only disguise your lack of progression for so long.”

They’re words Margot has heard many times over the months. However, as the days have tallied, the urgency and threat behind those words has increased. With each visit from the Reverend Mother, her frustration has become more palpable.

“I am aware,” Margot says, “But he grows stronger.”

“Stronger!” the older woman’s voice booms within the cone of silence. “Stronger how?

While not unheard of throughout the millennia, stronger is not a common concern for a Bene Gesserit. Rare can a man’s—or anyone’s—conscious curb the Voice, and Lady Fenring had assured the Reverend Mother of the task's simplicity. After coaxing Feyd-Rautha into her bed on the night of his birthday, she was certain of her success, only to be met with the troubling discovery of her failure. His seed had not implanted within her womb.

At the time, she could not make sense of it. But as she continued to observe him, clarity struck her.

Some part of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen fought back that night. His body had rejected her, and it continues to do so, her capabilities becoming less and less influential with each wasted attempt to seduce him.

“His anger—it aids him in resisting my Voice,” Margot reveals. “And if he cannot hear me, he refuses to touch me.”

The Reverend Mother’s brows dip. Her lips purse in consideration. “He has always been an angry boy. What anger could be potent enough to resist the Voice?”

"He..." Margot swallows hard, “He yearns for her,” she says. “She occupies his mind. There is no room for me.”

The Reverend Mother releases a scoff. “Impossible.”

“We’ve heard of such instances before.”

“And yet, they always break in the end.”

Lady Fenring lightly shakes her head as she recalls her many failed attempts. “I fear he will not,” she counters. “She is here. She arrived with her House this morning. He won’t let her go now.”

The Reverend Mother’s spine straightens in her chair. Her hands clasp the ends of the armrests—a sign of displeasure, not often displayed by a woman of such practiced composure. Margot all but shrinks under her glare.

“Then remove her.”

anyone interested in a part 4 for my stucky omegaverse (milk and honey) au??👀👀

What He Likes

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: When five daughters of Great Houses arrive on Giedi Prime, Feyd is meant to select one as a wife. But out of all of the foreigners on his territory, it is the Princess of Kaitain’s handmaid that catches his eye.

Notes/Warnings: Feyd is possessive as usual.

Words: 3100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen likes what he likes. There’s no complexity to it. No hidden criteria. What he likes is decided in a straightforward manner based solely on gut instinct, and questions of whether or not it is wise to like what he likes do not follow. He simply sees a thing, enjoys how it looks, and therefore, likes it.  

When the eligible women of five Great Houses stand before him in a neat little row, he likes none of them. Four Ladies and a Princess, all of whom do not hit him in the gut with that feeling, and all of whom have flaws fatal to the name of House Harkonnen. 

Atreides—a lame attempt at a peace offering. Fenring—a Bene Gesserit witch. Corrino—a spoiled, royal brat existing under the shadow of her eldest sister. And the other two, Kenric and Wallach, have faces he cannot be expected to look upon for the rest of his life. 

Not one brushes the cusp of satisfactory. Not one is good enough to take for a bride. But then, as he dismisses them so they may return to their quarters before the evening meal, Feyd spots a thing he likes. 

The Princess’s handmaid. A woman who pays him not a lick of attention as she trails the royal out the door. A woman who forces the pace of his heartbeats to thump twice as fast.

Perfect, he thinks. Stunning.

And without hesitation, Feyd selects his wife. 

—

Reader POV

“The na-Baron has sent a guard to collect you,” Fenring’s handmaid informs you as she comes back into the room, tying a robe around her waist and plopping down on her assigned bed beside Wallach. 

A lump settles in your stomach. The na-Baron—the man who has encouraged your future demise at the hands of the Great Ladies due to the attention he has neglected to provide them in favor of keeping his eyes on you. 

Over seven days, they’ve been ignored entirely, as has his sense of propriety. He has invited you to dine beside him, filling your plate before bothering to notice if the women of high status have had their plates filled. He has asked you questions and listened attentively to the answers you’ve felt obligated to provide. He has ensured you’ve had a seat of phenomenal vantage to witness his arena duels, seeking you out and smirking at you as lifeless bodies slide off of his blade. 

For every new morning there comes a new method of making fools out of the women who could have your neck sliced open should they so choose. And now, so it seems, he intends to bring that trouble into your nights.

“Why?” you ask, trying to cast aside the painfully obvious. You would be thrilled if one of the other handmaids could chime in with something unexpected, something not nearly as vulgar as what you’re imagining he wants from you. 

Wallach and Fenring shoot you a look that suggests you can’t possibly be so ignorant. 

“Why do you think?” Atredies says. “I’m surprised it took him this long.” She swipes a comb through her long locks before pointing the end of the tool at you. “You need to find a way to end whatever this is before it gets you executed. Our Ladies are just as irate over the situation as the Princess.”

Irate—a gentle word. Requests from the Princess have been trivial to a degree you’ve never before dealt with in her servitude. She has snatched any opportunity to humiliate you, degrade you. It is a burden you have shouldered with grace, but so long as the na-Baron refuses to find enjoyment in your torture, your unprotested compliance will continue to mean nothing to the Princess. 

You wish he would laugh with her, just once. It would do you a world of good. But he’s not required to amuse the Princess. He does not have to bow to anyone since the Harkonnen’s growth in power shifted the hierarchy of the Houses. 

“What do you propose I do?” you ask. 

“Let him have you,” Kenric says. “Let him get you out of his system. If he’s no longer infatuated with you, he will finally choose a bride.”

You blanche but you do not immediately dismiss her suggestion. Kenric’s handmaid is older than you by at least a decade, and when she speaks, the rest of you listen. She has watched handmaids come and go from the mistakes they have made. She has seen how replaceable a young woman of humble birth with a limited skill set is. She knows the fights worth fighting and the fights worth surrendering, and there is much to be learned from her experience. 

“That simple?” you say. 

“If you make it that simple,” she replies with a nod. Then she grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around, lightly shoving you toward the door. “It’s for your own good. So go.”

Your heart batters your ribcage as you recover from a stumble. Your first steps are hesitant, unsure if you’re doing the right thing. But you collect yourself, and without looking back, you continue onward, coming face-to-face with a towering figure; pale, a ghost stark against the shadowed hallway. 

“Do not lag behind,” is all he says before he turns on his heel.

You follow him through darkness, past door after door, rounding corner after corner until he finally halts and gestures for you to enter a room. Knowing it isn’t a choice, you step inside. 

You’re relieved to find the space decently lit from the glowing orb of white light hovering near a desk. You scan the area. His bedroom, each inch of it covered top to bottom in black. Painted walls, marble floors, drawn curtains, furniture—all a shade so deep that if you peer too long at any given section, your mind will begin to play tricks on your vision. 

“What’s your name?” suddenly greets your ear in a gravelly voice. Your body flinches and your head whips in the direction of the sound. Somehow, you hadn’t noticed him leaning on the wall with his arms crossed, his brow low, his chin tilted toward his chest. 

He stares at you. Intensely. Unceasingly. A gaze that reaches past what you’ve witnessed in your lifetime. You’ve seen a lover’s stare between couples, but this is different, and it’s clear you’ve lived naive to how deeply a man can look at a woman. 

Heat blooms on your face. “My name?” You hadn’t noticed that he’d yet to ask. To be fair, though, no one ever asks for your name. Perhaps he understands the danger of doing so in front of others. 

“You have one, I assume,” he says. “Or do I need to give you one?”

You frown. “I’m not a slave.”

The na-Baron’s lips twitch in a smirk. His chin lifts and you get a full view of his face. The angles of his cheekbones. The straight line of his nose. The edge of his jaw, sharp from the shadows butting up against his illuminated alabaster skin.

He’s beautiful—you can’t pretend otherwise. A rare kind of beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes no sense. Strange, alien beauty that wreaks havoc on your heart rate. 

You haven’t let yourself appreciate just how beautiful he is prior to now, always making an effort to look downward in his presence. And thank goodness you had enough sense. Had you taken a moment to truly observe him, you might not have been able to resist admiring. 

“Then tell me your name,” he says, and gulping down the knot in your throat, you do as he asks. He tests the word on his tongue. He nods. “Good.”

“Good?”

“I like it,” he tells you. “Which means I don’t have to change it.”

You tamp down your offense, steeling your face as you remind yourself of how little control you have. A handmaid versus the na-Baron of Giedi Prime. Your odds are poor. 

“With all due respect, my Lord, what is it I can do for you?”

His eyes continue to be invasive, hungry, like the lions you used to read about in your spare time. Practically uncanny. The na-Baron captures the predatory glare of the beast so well that they could stand side-by-side and you would not be able to decide which of the two is more menacing.

Pushing off the wall, he slowly closes in on you until he’s a single pace away from colliding with your body. His smirk drops, then he says, “How would you like to be my wife?”

Your lungs seize. Death flashes before your eyes, a scene more horrific than what you’ve been conjuring over the last handful of days. Instead of the Princess’s hand around your neck, all of Kaitain will be chanting for your head on a spike. If they hear of the handmaid who went to Giedi Prime as a servant only to attempt stealing from the Princess, they’ll drag you to public slaughter. The handmaid who overstepped her bounds—let us make an example of her betrayal. 

“I asked you a question,” he continues, yanking you from your thoughts. 

You take a breath. “My Lord, I am not the offering from Kaitain. I am the Princess’s handmaid.”

Blue orbs lazily rake up and down your figure. You contain a shiver. “Yes, I have eyes.”

“Then you know she is the one for you to choose.”

“The Princess does not suit my taste,” he admits shamelessly, unbothered. His gaze falls to your lips, neediness passing between you as if he’s desperate to claim them with his own. It quickly fades, and he meets your eyes again. His voice is soft when he says, “The Emperor should not have sent you with his daughter. He knows what you look like. It is not my problem if he is foolish enough to tempt me with something better than what he views as his best.”

The dangerous flattery makes your stomach flutter, but then it flips unpleasantly. “There is no better choice than the Prin–”

“That was not a statement up for debate.”

Your teeth pierce the delicate flesh of your inner cheek. “You have many other options,” you say.

“And I have decided you are one of them.”

At your lack of retort, the corner of his lips quirk. He’s dead set, and you’re not sure you have the manipulative abilities to change his mind. Still, you try.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the blood for it, as you know,” you say in a final attempt. “Noble blood mixes with that of its status.”

“Noble blood does what it wants. That’s why we have all that we have, wouldn’t you agree?” he says, and you do agree. You have to. Noble blood knows only how to take. “There is no logic to me selecting the Princess. Should I marry her, you will be brought along as her handmaid, and she will find herself alone in a cold bed while I will be keeping you warm in mine. Is that the kind of marriage you think she envisions?”

He allows the question to hang in the air, and in that time, you imagine what he’s suggesting. You imagine the Princess shunned to another room. You imagine his body on top of yours in the bed that stands behind him, his mouth attached to your neck, sucking in time with the thrusts of his cock. Against your will, you imagine how he would feel, the pleasure he would grant you over and over, and you shake your head to banish the thoughts. 

It can never happen. You know what the Princess wants. Should she become the na-Baronness, she will want him as her husband in more than name alone, alliances solidified through multiple heirs, the power dynamic rebalanced. For that to occur, his affection and a willingness to sacrifice his dominance is required. And you cannot be the thing to throw that plan into a state of turmoil. 

“If I give myself to you now, will you be satisfied?” you ask. 

His brow pinches, the expression on his face nestling somewhere between irritation and confusion. “For tonight,” he says. “But what of tomorrow night, and the night after? Am I expected to have you once and never again?”

“Anything more will put my life at risk upon my return to Kaitain. If the Emperor learns of it, it will be an embarrassment, and regardless of whether or not you choose the Princess as your wife, he will have me killed for daring to be a threat to your union,” you tell him. “And if you do choose her and I return here as her handmaid—though I suspect she will be selecting a replacement soon enough—she will kill me the second she sees anything other than disgust on your face when you look at me.”

A beat passes. The na-Baron hums. He reaches up and takes a lock of your hair, rubbing the strands together and curling them around his finger. A wave of goosebumps makes its way up your arms. 

“Then I suppose you should not return to Kaitain,” he says. 

Your head jerks back. The hair falls from his grasp. “What?”

“If your life is at risk, then you will not leave Giedi Prime. The Princess can go, but not you. The Ladies, the other handmaids, I will send them back tomorrow,” he says. He leans down, his nose mere inches from yours. His breath blankets your skin. “But not you.”

“You can’t just do that,” you whisper, but you know they’re wasted words. There’s already an overarching sense of loss on your side of the room. 

His hand returns to your face and a gasp catches in your throat as his knuckle grazes down your cheek. 

“Of course, I can,” he says. “The Houses bend to Harkonnen will. I can do whatever I want; have whatever I like.” He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your mouth, pulling down on your bottom lip before releasing it. “And what I want is you. So I will have you.”

Your pulse thrums, ears ringing. “Solely for the sake of sating carnal desire. Being your wife is not nec–”

“Carnal desire is a present concern,” he says. “But I will not have another claiming you after I have done so. What’s mine is mine. You will be my wife, and in time, we will know one another in all ways.”

The uproar. News will spread like wildfire, and you are unlikely to survive its rage. The other Great Houses will do nothing, you know, as they do not have the means or might to push against the Harkonnens, but Corrino? The Emperor? 

Surely the na-Baron is aware of the intellect of Kaitain’s leaders. He must understand that the snubbing of the Princess will undoubtedly incite retaliation from the Emperor. And you’re fairly certain in which form that retaliation will come. Where the Sardaukar's strength would fail against Harkonnen forces, their assassins’ infiltration would not.

“I’ll protect you,” he says. “If they dare, I’ll protect you.” 

You could scoff. 

Protect you. Why bother?

Surely, he doesn't want you enough to go to those lengths. You aren’t import–

Suddenly, his hand is sliding around to the back of your neck, and your face is involuntarily heating, and he's muttering a faint “come here” as he quickly draws you into a kiss.

There’s a softness to it that offsets his hardness. A gentleness in the caress. But he has caught you unprepared, cut you off at your thoughts, and the shock has you planting your palms on his chest and shoving.

His lips are parted, his chest expanding and deflating with heavy inhales and exhales. He says nothing as unexpected regret sinks into you—regret that isn’t there simply because he is the na-Baron and you are a servant who shouldn’t be bold enough to interrupt him as he’s doing as he pleases, but regret rather because for that brief moment he felt…good, and you’re overwhelmed by the sense that you’ve cheated yourself. 

You want to try it again, just to see, just to test the feeling, just to understand why you crave more. So you let the tenseness in your shoulder muscles relax. Your heavy lungs release a long-held huff of air. He watches your guard collapse at your feet. 

Slowly, he reaches for you again, but he pauses just as you are ready to feel his touch as if expecting you to flinch, to run, to hide. You do none of those things, so his fingers knit into your hair and he guides your lips back to his. 

Soft still—gentle—but then it changes to passion and greediness, and like the strike of a match, every inch of you is consumed by a flushing fire. Your heart races. Your brain fuzzes. Appendages tremble until the pleasant pressure of his lips on yours settles into your bones. 

His tongue seeks entrance and you willingly open for him. When your tastes blend, his arm sneaks past yours to lock around your waist and he jerks you forward, welding your chest to his. 

The Princess slices through the haziness in your head and you feel the intrusive instinct to end what is happening, but you can’t quite bring yourself to do it. The capability is just out of reach, and it floats further and further away with each second of him kissing you; kissing you as if trying to prove to you how right this is. And you suppose he is succeeding because the thought of stopping makes your gut twist in protest. 

Then he groans—a sound that reverberates throughout your entire body, that makes your veins pulsate and your nerves tingle—and any lingering fear of the repercussions of betrayal dissipates to a barely detectable twinge; enough to permit the removal of your restraints. 

With newfound freedom, you grip his shoulders and attempt to bring him closer than physical bounds will allow. You let your tongue play with his. You nip at his lips. You think you’ve lost your mind, maybe slipped to an alternate universe where this makes sense, but his arm clutches you tighter, anchoring you to reality. 

Well before you’re ready, he breaks apart from you, and with great difficulty, you keep yourself from chasing after his lips like a magnet drawn to its other half. 

He grins at your obvious struggle. 

“You’ll do just fine as my wife,” he says, his hand coming around to cup your cheek. His thumb strokes back and forth along your cheekbone. Another peck lands on your lips. “You might even find yourself enjoying the position…and everything I intend to offer you.”

I need a little help for my Feyd x Reader x Paul story. I really want a name for reader rather then (your name). Yes or No? Ideas??

What about nicknames for reader? What are some nicknames Paul and Feyd should use?

Hellooooo!

Absolutely obsessed with your blog and writing!! *chef’s kiss*

I was wondering if you could write something where the reader/OFC is the concubine of Paul Atredies and is tasked with giving him an heir which Paul is happy about. The reader/OFC is scared, so Paul being a dominant helps her through her first time and finds out she has a kink.

Okay so I have tweaked this a bit, I hope that’s okay. And I’m sorry this took so long

The Heart of a Bene Gesserit- Part One//Paul Atreides

Reverend Mother Helen Gohiam had tasked you with bearing the heir of House Atreides. You knew that it was not to prolong the Atreides line, per se. It was well known that the Bene Gesserit had deemed the Atreides as “too defiant” and “dangerous,” which was why the Reverend Mother counseled Emperor Shaddam IV to extinguish the Atreides when they settled onto Arrakis.

But it had come to light that Paul Atreides, the Duke Leto’s son, along with the boy's mother Lady Jessica, were still alive. Paul had spent months and months in the desert, fighting alongside the Fremen in the war against the Harkonnens, eventually becoming a leader among the Fremen, known as Muad’Dib.

In the end of his plot for vengence, Paul confronted the Emperor Shaddam IV, where the old man admitted to killing his father. The Great Houses were subsequently informed about the Emperor's part in the fall of House Atreides and the Corrino family lost the throne forever. Paul Muad’Dib Atreides became the new Emperor of the Known Universe.

The Reverend Mother Mohiam was a witness to all of it, and she knew without any doubt that Paul was the long-awaited Kwizatz Haderach. The male Bene Gesserit bred to bridge space and time had been born a generation early.

Paul had taken the Water of Life. A ritual tasked only to Reverend Mothers; the Water of Life was lethal to men. Paul not only survived, but he had seen the past, and in turn his possible futures. He had the ultimate power, the likes of which the world had never seen before.

Thousands of years had been dedicated to bringing forth The One, you knew this just as well as anyone. You were Bene Gesserit. The sisterhood was intent on saving the bloodline of the Kwizatz Haderach. And it was through you that they wanted to see it thus. You were to seduce Paul.

Luckily, you had known Paul since you were children. You were born on Caladan, and your parents worked for the Atreides. Your father was a soldier under Duke Leto and your mother a housekeeper that worked directly with Lady Jessica.

You spent a lot of time in the Caladan castle growing up, and you could remember seeing and talking to young Paul back then. You weren’t allowed to play together as typical children, but you did discuss books, history, and languages. Paul would even show you how he had been trained to fight by Gurney Halleck and Duncan Idaho, as well as his Bene Gesserit mother.

Paul would teach you what he had learned, and this was as close to play as you would get. You were taken away for your own training when you were still young. You were incredibly sad to leave your family and Paul. It was difficult to leave your only friend. You wondered if it was an equal struggle for Paul, the lonely son of a Duke.

Even as a child, you always thought Paul was handsome, kind, and thoughtful, but those days were long ago. He was now the emperor with the weight of the universe on his shoulders. He had no time to grieve his father when he was killed. He and his mother had been dumped in the desert to die. To survive, he had fought in a war against the sadistic Harkonnens.

On top of it all, he had essentially lost his mother, she was no longer the woman who had raised him, she was a Revend Mother herself who thought only of the Lisan Al Gaib prophecy. She didn't see him as her son, Paul, not anymore. This was a hardened man you would be dealing with, not a precocious young son of royalty.

..........

When you arrived on Arrakis, you knew that Paul would be privy to Bene Gesserit tricks, so you would not be effective if you used your training to seduce him. Not that you even wanted to. You really cared for Paul. Though you hadn't seen each other in years, the love you had for him had not gone away. You would use your own heart to win him over.

Word had been sent to Paul about your arrival. He had been notified before you had left for Arrakis. He did not respond to the message, but he did not deny your trip either. As Emperor he had the power to control space travel. Perhaps he was looking forward to seeing you again, but he knew that you were Bene Gesserit, and he wouldn't trust you completely because of that.

You were able to blend in and stay out of the way on your first day in the Arakeen home of the Atreides. As the sun went down, you wanted to find Paul.

One of the servants led you to the Emperor's private wing. You saw him, looking just the same as your last image of him, but taller and stronger, more grown up. His raven curls and boyish good looks were everlasting. "Your Majesty." you greeted him, bowing.

He turned, looked at you, and his face softened some, "Y/n, I've seen you in my dreams. I knew you'd come. It's great to see you, my dear old friend." he walked over to you, and his smile grew. "My, you have grown into an absolute beauty."

You were delighted when he put his arms around you in a hug, giving you a snug embrace. “You have grown too, you look strong, Paul Atreides.” you hugged him back, “I cannot believe my childhood friend is now the Emperor.”

Paul nodded, looking down, “Yes, well,” he looked back up at you, “it was the only way to avenge my father.”

“I am so sorry. What they did to your family was beyond cruel and dishonorable. Such a tragedy for you and your mother, Paul.”

“I know that your Bene Gesserit were also behind it.” he said this bluntly.

His sentence cut like a knife. Was he going to blame you? You said nothing.

“Though I know you personally had nothing to do with the massacre of my family, I simply cannot trust Bene Gesserit tricks, which I know you possess, y/n.”

“I do not intend to use any of my training on you. You are my friend, and I want to treat you as such, Paul.”

He smiled softly, “I know that you speak true. I admire you for that.” he stepped toward you, took your hand, “Everyone around me calls me, “my Lord,” or “Lisan Al Gaib. All this power I possess does not allow me to have real friends. So, I look forward to your staying here, to have someone treat me only as Paul.”

The sweet look in his eyes and the way his lips curled made you almost shiver. But you couldn’t do that in front of him. Not yet could you show weakness.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @bitchyunknownuser @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @briefkittenearthquake @jindongdongie

I’ve got multiple parts for my a/b/o Paul x Female Reader x Feyd-Rautha story. I’m writing the entire outline, that way every post (chapter) coincides with the plot. I have decided to go with Y/N and nicknames thanks to your feedback.

I have one more question: What do I do with Chani? Does she exist? Does she and Paul have a relationship while you’re separated from Paul? Do they have a child (twins) like in the book. Is Chani perhaps a jealous scorned lover?

Any ideas would be lovely.