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houserautha · 2 days

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These Destined Ends

Part 9

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: kind of (?) sub!Feyd, oral sex f receiving (there’s an imbalance in oral sex but I promise reader shows him some love too), p in v, “no hands”

A/N 1.0: Two updates in one week?? I probably should edit this more but I’m just excited to release it hehe

Feyd drags his tongue down your navel, dipping into the divot of your belly button to lick out the poison. You’ve taken to creative methods of your daily dosages, the current which gives you shudders of delight. His tongue is warm and wet, his grin roguish, and his dark eyes sinfully gorgeous; there are certain instances when you can hardly stand to look at him, this being one of them. You honestly don’t know what he will see reflected in your own eyes.

His tongue darts out to capture any residual poison from his lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Fine.” You sit up, pulling your shirt back down. Disappointment is evident on Feyd’s face. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

He pulls you to the edge of the table and nudges open your legs so that he might position himself between them. “They’ll wait.”

“We don’t want to anger them.”

Feyd’s tongue rolls in his cheek. “Don’t we?”

“No.” You hop off the table. “Come on.”

“You haven’t taken your dose yet.”

You fix him with an exasperated look. Feyd pours the measurements into the glass, then into his mouth. His expression is comically triumphant. You roll your eyes as you close the space between you, then press your mouth firmly to his.

His kiss is as dangerous as the poison itself, spilling out from his lips and down his chin, down your chin, coating the inside of your mouth as his tongue pushes into it. You greedily kiss him back, poison forgotten. It’s him that you need the daily dose of, a perilous addiction that would render you sickly without. And he pulls you in like he knows this, that it’s only the poison from his lips that you seek.

You withdraw, breathless and wiping at your chin. “Satisfied?”

“For now.”

Rabban is departing today for a political mission, one that neither you nor Feyd are privy to — to his chagrin. You were both requested by the Baron to attend his send off. As you stride beside Feyd to the thopter hangar, the sight of the Baron seizes you with burning hatred.

He floats next to Rabban, muttering something to him that you can’t hear. Both cease their talking when you arrive. Frankly, you don’t know if you want to tear out their throats or leave them to Feyd’s concubines.

Rabban wordlessly boards the thopter. It will take him to a more secure location to be delivered to a heighliner, from your understanding. As you observe the scene with thinly veiled disgust, you notice a commotion to one side — it’s the same Sardaukar soldier from before, along with a handful of others. Today they’re adorn in the typical Harkonnen armor, distinguishable only by the fuzz of closely shaved hair on their heads.

You grab Feyd’s arm, lean into him. “Who are they?”

“Sardaukar. Though I suspect you already knew that,” he says without tearing his gaze from them. “I don’t know what business they have with my rotten brother.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

He breaks away from you and storms to the Baron. They share a short, heated exchange, one that has your stomach clenching. How he stood to even be near his uncle bewildered you, though you supposed in some sense that he was unable to completely divorce himself from the man. Feyd was his heir, after all. A fact that the Baron wields over him. Your hands form into fists.

“He said that the Emperor’s soldiers are assisting them in the mission. Something about a shared goal.”

You frown. Both of you stand silently as the soldiers climb into the thopter after Rabban, stirring dust as its wings snap out and then ascend into the rings of smog circling the hangar. The Baron glides toward you both.

“Your brother is a fine soldier,” he rasps, “I know I can rely on him to secure our objective.”

Feyd’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “He has plenty of time to considering he doesn’t have any other obligations.”

“There’s a reason I made you the na-Baron,” the Baron replies coolly. “Your brother has a different fate.”

This response unnerves you. You stare after his bulbous retreating form, then flick your gaze to your husband — Feyd’s entire body is rigid with fury. You wonder briefly if he had spoken to Rabban, and what he said if he did. The more days that have passed since your wedding, the less time you had to spend together.

You were coming up on one month now.

“We dont need to stay here any longer,” you tell him.

Feyd wrenches his arm from your grasp. He snaps, “I have something I need to tend to.”

And then somehow you were left alone in the hanger, a mixture of emotions forming within you. You wanted to chase after Feyd but your better senses warned you not to — he could be volatile like this, and you weren’t really in the mood for a verbal lashing.

Instead you wander the fortress grounds. It’s taken some time, but you’re finally used to the black sun. And the guards no longer believe that you’re an Atreides spy or, at least, any threat. You want to comment on this but it’s a nice freedom, and you nod to them as you pass by. Your aimless stroll is interrupted by a loud yelling, however, drawing you to the massive gates that barricade the fortress from the rest of Giedi Prime.

Before today, you’d never even seen them open.

There’s a crowd of citizens gathered outside, obviously agitated. Guards stall them from entering with their spears, though, to the credit of the citizens, they’re doing a fairly decent job of holding their own. You spot Asha amongst the number of servants aiding in the crowd control.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

“They’re here for their monthly audience with the na-Baron,” Asha explains, “but he’s refusing to meet with them. They aren’t happy.”

She grimaces as an angry shout pierces the air.

“Why is he refusing them?”

Asha casts you a sideways glance. “He’s the na-Baron, he doesn’t need a reason.”

You survey the crowd.

“Tell them that their na-Baroness will receive them.”

“What? Are you sure?” Asha stares at you as if you asked her to behead them all.

“Give me a few minutes, first.” You flash her a smile and then turn back towards where you came from, the clamor of the crowd subsiding.

In your chest, your heart pounds furiously. You didn’t even know Feyd took audience with the citizens, much less what to do with their requests. But you could handle it, you were sure. It was about time that you contributed to the baronship.

Quickly you change into a formal dress and then make your way to the throne room. Your footsteps ring out through the space as you climb the dais steps and take your place on your husband’s throne. It’s to the right of the Baron’s, not quite as grand, and you have half the mind to sit on it before the doors open and the citizens of Giedi Prime spill inside.

The first citizen is a woman, dressed in a worn white dress. Her eyes are sunken. “na-Baroness, we are grateful for you to receive us today.” The woman nervously licks her lips. “I wouldn’t know what to do without my stipend. None of us would.”

Those that can hear her nod their assent.

You do your best not to let your surprise show on your face. You wave a hand. “Of course.”

Most of the citizens are all there for similar reasons: their monthly allowance bestowed upon them by the na-Baron. You learned that families that served in the Harkonnen military received a slightly higher amount, including those retired from it. You were loathed to be impressed by Feyd but you couldn’t help but admire his rule — he was many things, but an excellent na-Baron happened to be one of them. He supported his people in ways that others would not have bothered to.

Of course, not everyone comes to you for money.

You settle a dispute between two neighbors arguing over property lines, and a factory employee declaring unfit working conditions. It rather surprisingly becomes very easy for you to delegate the matters of these people — you found you cared about their problems, making them your own. The crowd had dwindled down quite a bit when you’re faced with two men who can hardly look at each other.

“na-Baroness,” the taller one says. He introduces himself as Anagon.

The other man remains silent.

“We are here today for your gracious judgment,” Anagon continues, unbidden. “You see, this man has forsaken me and my family.”

You examine both men. Anagon is dressed in the style typical of nobles, the other in a simple tunic and pants. He refuses to meet your eyes.

“I see,” you say. “How so?”

“He stole my family’s ceremonial dagger. Straight from my manor!”

The other man finally says, “I didn’t!”

“He deserves the swiftest punishment for his crimes against me,” Anagon continues as if the other man never spoke, “the lower citizens of Giedi Prime must learn their place.”

Anagon’s face falls as you ask the other man, “And what do you say?”

“I-I did find the dagger but —” he raises his voice to be heard over the noble’s protests, “I found it while demolishing the old factory. It-It was buried under the building, lost and forgotten. I fully intended to return it to its owner.”

Anagon hisses, "You did not!"

"You can not know his intentions," you remind him pointedly, then, to the other man, "is this dagger here today? Let me see it."

"My-My name is Res," the man says as he approaches. He offers to you a ceremonial dagger, one that you notice is badly bent out of shape and tarnished. It certainly looks like it’s been buried under a factory.

“Did you know where the dagger was? Answer me truthfully, for I will know if you have lied.”

Anagon shifts his weight. “No, na-Baroness. But it is my family’s ceremonial dagger. It-It was misplaced in the civil war two generations ago.”

You gaze between Anagon and Res. Taking the dagger from the latter, you hand it blade-first to Anagon. “This relic belongs to you. But you must compensate Res for his troubles — you accused him wrongfully. It is not your right to put whoever you see fit into place.”

“Fine. And how do you recommend that I compensate him?” Anagon asks, clearly displeased with your decision.

“You will give him a job under your employ.”

You had sat in on quite a few political meetings with Feyd, and knew the factory that Res spoke of. It had to be demolished and thus left many workers displaced. Anagon, a man you knew only by name until today, was the wealthy head of a series of factories that produced weapons.

Anagon’s jaw flexes. “na-Baroness, there must be another way —”

“You will employ him or I will take that ceremonial dagger and cut your throat with it.”

“She’ll make quick work of it, though,” a familiar rasping voice says. You shift to discover Feyd in the doorway of one of the throne room entrances, the one used for servants. Anagon and Res both stare wide-eyed at him. “You heard her.”

Anagon and Res exchange a glance before the noble mutters something akin to an apology, and promise of employment. Anagon lingers, seemingly for Feyd’s disapproval or your ire, but when neither of you speak, he turns and storms away. Res blinks up at you gratefully.

“Thank you, na-Baroness. You are exceedingly generous and fair.”

You dip your chin. Res takes that as his invitation to leave, smiling softly as he does so.

“That’s it for today,” Feyd announces. “I will receive the rest of you tomorrow.”

The remaining crowd grumbles but filters out of the throne room, leaving you alone with Feyd. He stops on the stairs at the bottom of the dais and gazes up at you. “You belong on a throne.”

Your brows furrow, and you ignore him. “You did not have to intervene, I was managing it quite well.”

“Clearly.”

“Then why did you dismiss them?”

Feyd examines your face. “If a noble claims that a lower-class citizen stole from their house, the citizen would receive death. No questions asked.”

“What?” Outrage shoots through you. “That’s ridiculous. You saw what happened —”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, wife. I am merely stating the truth of the law.”

You bristle. “Do you suggest I call them back here and slaughter the poor man for something that he did not do?”

“While that would be entertaining,” Feyd retorts, “it would demean your decision. The only real danger of it is that the citizens of Giedi Prime will be disappointed if I receive them now.”

“Maybe for good reason,” you sniff. “Why did you desert them today? It is clear to me that these people rely on you.”

A shadow of anger passes over Feyd’s expression. “I was not equipped to handle their problems, which look minor in the face of my own. My emotions would’ve clouded my better judgment.”

“That’s no reason to leave them,” you counter.

“And what do you know of ruling?” Feyd snarls. He advances on you, still towering above you despite your position on the throne. “You played the part of doting daughter to the Duke for all these years. This is your first taste of it. Do not tell me how to rule over my people.”

“Our people,” you dryly correct, “as you married me and thus gave me equal power over them.”

He sneers. “Perhaps a mistake if you think you know more about ruling than me.”

You curb the flare of your irritation, barely, by lifting your chin and looking your husband squarely in the eyes. He is a storm, crackling with dangerous energy, ready to unleash upon you.

And you tell him, “I know plenty of ruling. Get down on your knees, Feyd-Rautha, so I may prove it to you.”

Recognition flickers in his eyes. As much as the beast in him calls to you, the opposite is just as true. You love him like this — wild and beyond your control, fraying at the seams of his sanity. You want to pull on the threads until he unravels completely.

You lean forward slightly. “I said kneel.”

Never breaking eye contact, Feyd sinks to his knees before you.

A heady surge of power crashes over you then, threatens to encompass you, the brightness of the sun after an eclipse. And you are drunk on it, gulping greedily from the golden chalice that it embodies.

“You pretend that I am nothing but a duke’s daughter,” you hiss, “when I am your wife, the wife of the na-Baron. You say I know nothing of rule and yet here you are, submitting to me. How does that speak to your assumptions?”

Feyd says nothing. His gaze burns you.

You continue, unbidden, “I should punish you for your impudence. Tell me, na-Baron, what does your law say of this?”

“It says whatever you would like,” he rasps.

You can see his cock straining against his pants, feel the heat of his desire. And yet he gazes upon you with utter devotion, ready to follow out your orders without hesitation.

“I would like to put that mouth of yours to better use than making false claims.”

Feyd wavers.

“No hands,” you instruct.

You do him the favor of hiking the skirt of your dress up around your hips, then spread your legs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he marvels you. With the slightest indication of your chin, he all but crawls closer to you, breath fanning the sensitive skin of your thighs. He moves as if to brace his hands on either side of you and you press the toe of your heel to his cock.

“No hands,” you repeat, alleviating the pressure on him only once he’s locked his hands behind his back. A frustrated groan rumbles through his chest, eyes flashing. You say, “Continue.”

Your back bows as his cheeks nuzzle up against your thighs, his mouth ghosting over your cunt with perverse refrain. Unwittingly, you snap your hips to meet him — you didn’t tell him to tease you, you wanted him to fuck you with his mouth, with his stupidly plush lips. Feyd’s breathy laugh warms your exposed entrance, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, of the throne itself.

Finally he presses his mouth to your entrance and licks a stripe of your center. You shiver in delight. He drags his tongue through your slick folds, slow and savory, deliberately avoiding your clit. Feyd has no hair for you to anchor yourself so instead you grab the base of his neck and push him closer; there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s strong enough to resist you, but he assents to your touch. Feyd’s tongue spears you, stroking your inner walls before withdrawing and paying attention to your aching bud. His mouth closes over your clit and sucks.

The action sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You hold him to you, giving him no other option but to worship you, his licking and sucking becoming almost lewd, fervent, coating his chin with your wetness as he laps at you.

You pull on the back of his armor. Feyd releases his mouth from your cunt, shoulders heaving from his effort. You behold him like this — yielding to you, slick with your moisture, on his knees — and you feel a pulse of want. It drives you to kiss him, to push your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself. Feyd kisses you back just as passionately, mouth working to devour you, devour every logical thought you might conjure.

“Now,” you say, breathless, “I want you to fuck me right here on your throne, so the next time you doubt my competence you remember this moment.”

Feyd nods eagerly. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, na-Baroness,” he amends, rasping.

You smirk at him, pat his cheek. Feyd remains kneeling as you step from the throne. His body quivers with the slightest hint of his lust, visible to your eye as you circle him from behind. Drinking in his broad shoulders, his tapered waist, the shape of his ass, you swallow, exhilarated by your power and the man before you.

“Sit down. On the throne.”

Feyd obeys. He moves his hands from behind his back to the armrests. There’s a tension in the line of his jaw that tells you it’s taking every ounce of his strength not to touch you.

You set to removing his armor. “Lift,” you instruct and he does as you ask so that you can slide his pants down. His cock springs forth, slapping up against his toned stomach. You trail the backs of your nails up his length, under the curve of his head, and Feyd nearly whimpers at the contact.

You straddle him, and his entire body coils. There’s a tremendous release of endorphins when you finally sink down on his cock, clenching your walls and taking him all in. Feyd groans. You wiggle your hips appreciatively and let yourself adjust. He bucks into you then slightly, which you respond to with an agonizingly slow withdraw, lifting up on your knees so that he’s once more exposed to the cool air. His cock twitches.

“Fuck,” he all but seethes.

You slam back down on him and he howls out. Joining him with a cry of pleasure, his cock piercing you almost painfully, you set a violent, unsteady pace, instincts guiding you to seek out your own orgasm. It washes over you too quickly, stills you as it takes a hold over your senses.

“Please,” Feyd mutters. He grinds against your cunt, eager to keep up the friction.

You hum “Please what?”

“Please let me touch you,” he begs, “please, na-Baroness.”

You pump his cock slowly, lazily, and he grits his teeth in agony. Feyd trembles. “Fine,” you say, his hands on you before you can even finish the word. His touch is electric.

Feyd grabs hold of you, curls his fingers into the dip at your lower spine, and thrusts with you, over and over. He’s the one sitting on the throne but you are the one in charge — holding power over him by the snap of your hips, the way your cunt coaxes out his orgasm, your lips on his neck. And he is all too willing to be the slave to your pleasure, aiding you to orgasm twice more before finally coming inside you.

His thick cum fills you. You moan into the juncture of his shoulder as he wrings his own pleasure from you, shuddering, breath warming the side of your face.

“I-I won’t make that mistake again,” he rasps.

You can’t help but laugh. “Mm, pity. I quite enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it,” Feyd says. His expression turns into one of introspection. “I’ve never…given…myself to someone like that before. Not on purpose.”

Your heart twinges. “I wouldn’t have —”

“No. No apologies. I did it willingly. It was a show of…trust.”

The pain you feel at his behalf melts away to something even more confusing and impossible to name. You don’t say anything as you both adjust yourselves; you, slightly uncomfortable as his cum slides down your thighs, him, looking neither abashed at his admittance nor pleased. Just…content. A look you’ve never noticed before gracing his handsome features.

Unspoken between you, the two of you return to your quarters. Fatigue seizes you. But there’s a tiny bird trapped in your chest that beats its wings against your rib cage — hope. A foolish, tragic brush of promise that you wish to silence.

From your place on the bed, where you collapsed upon arrival, you covertly watch Feyd. He cleaned you, gave you a new dress to wear, and now is ensuring that he’s fit for the view of others. You trace the shape of his body, so achingly familiar to you, hidden mostly under his armor. He catches you staring and lifts a brow, dark eyes glinting.

“Yes, wife?” He turns. “Or should I say, na-Baroness?”

You grin at him.

Sitting on the tip of your tongue, a confession lies, your judgement loosened by this moment of peace between you. You want to tell him about the beating of your heart, the way that he’s properly — unavoidably — invaded your mind, but the opportunity passes as soon as you have the chance to grasp it.

There’s a commotion outside of your quarters.

Feyd beats you to the door, shields you with his body as you both survey the servants pacing back and forth. They seem to be mumbling between each other hastily, worriedly, obviously uncertain about what to do with themselves. You can’t miss their pitying glances.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Feyd’s expression is grave. “I don’t know.” He grabs the arm of one of the passing servants. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“na-Baron!” The servant’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t know, we haven’t been told —”

Suddenly you hear your name being called over the clamor. Asha elbows her way through the servants, face stricken, and grabs you by circling her arms around your neck. “Y/N, I’m so sorry —”

“What? What are you sorry for?”

She holds you at arms length. There are tears in her eyes. “The House of Atreides has fallen.”

A/N 2.0: I’m sorry Leto, you don’t survive in this universe either😭😭😭 Also, part 2 of Feyd and reader solving their disputes with fucking.

For the life of me I can’t remember who but I dedicate this chapter to whoever reblogged Part 7 and added something like “I wish Feyd would fuck away my disbelief and insecurities”. Because same.

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney @stopeatread

#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #feyd smut #fanfic #feyd rautha harkonnen #yes na-baroness #why talk when we can fuck #I’m sorry Leto #you gorgeous man #but you were kind of a dick to reader so

174 notes · View notes

youaintnothinbuta · 13 hours

Note

Could you possibly do something where Feyd and y/n are Wed and while he tends to his duties as Na-Baron y/n decides to look around and runs into Rabban and attempts to make and ally and while Feyd is looking for y/n he sees this and f*cks you in his brothers chambers and continues even when his brother walks and threatens him into watching. Love you (not in a creepy way) 😌😌

Love u too (not in a creepy way)!! I hope you don’t mind but the voices took over and told me to make Rabban sort of the opposite of an ally 😋

“You'll watch, and you'll learn that you will never win.” — feyd rautha x reader

Summary: see request^^

Pairing: feyd rautha x fem!reader

Word count: 1.5K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, graphic violence (not towards reader), fighting, blood, injury, (all not aimed at reader) probably typos :/

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You wandered through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen residence, your footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. As Feyd-Rautha's wife, you were no stranger to the opulent decorations and intricate architecture of the for lack of a better word, palace, that you called home, but you still found yourself getting lost in its winding passages every once in a while.

Feyd was often busy, caught up in his Na-Baron duties, leaving you to your own devices. You didn't mind, really. It gave you the freedom to explore, to discover hidden nooks and secret gardens that even the most seasoned residents might not know about.

As you turned a corner, you came face to face with Rabban Harkonnen, Feyd's older brother, who was just stepping out of his chambers. His thick, brutish features twisted into a scowl, and you could sense the weight of his gaze upon you.

“Ah, Feyd’s little wife,” he rumbled, his voice like thunder in the confined space. “The little Na-Baroness, all alone and unattended.”

“Drop the act, Rabban. I’m just talking a walk.”

Rabban snorted, his eyes roving over your body. “What is it exactly that he sees in you?” He spoke quietly, attempting to insult you.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as Rabban's eyes roved over your body, his gaze lingering on your curves. You tried to step back, but Rabban was too quick, his massive hand closing around your wrist like a vice.

“Let go of me,” you fought.

“Oh, I don't think so,” Rabban purred, his hot breath washing over your face. “I've been wanting to get my hands on you for a long time, and now that Feyd's not around to protect you... well, I think it's time we got to know each other a little better.”

As always, Feyd-Rautha appeared from behind you with perfect timing, his eyes blazing with fury as he watched you struggle in his brother’s grip.

“Rabban, you bastard,” Feyd snarled, his voice low and deadly. “Let her go.”

Rabban didn't even flinch, his grip on you tightening. “Oh, come now, Feyd,” he sneered. “You know I've always wanted her.“

Feyd took a step forward, his hand on the hilt of his dagger. “I'll kill you, Rabban,” he warned.

Rabban just laughed, his eyes never leaving yours. “You'll do no such thing, little brother,” he sneered.

Rabban liked to play this tough guy game. That was the difference between him and Feyd. Rabban liked to appear angry and threatening to everyone, even his family. That’s not to say he never truly was angry though. He was, always at Feyd, who was a smarter, stronger and more respected, despite being younger than him. Feyd however, actually was threatening to everyone, except you, of course.

You smiled at Feyd, feeling complete protection despite being in the arms of his brother.

With a swift, deadly motion, he drew a blade from his belt and plunged it into Rabban's shoulder, just above the collarbone, instantly, his grip on you was released. Rabban's eyes widened in shock as he realized he couldn't reach the blade to pull it out.

Feyd's voice was low and menacing. “You should have kept your hands to yourself, Rabban. Now, you have a choice to make. You can watch us, or... the blade goes deeper.”

Rabban's face twisted in rage and pain, but he knew he was trapped. Feyd's grip on the blade remained unyielding, his free arm welcoming you into his embrace. With a cruel smile, Feyd dragged you towards Rabban's bed, the velvet drapes billowing around you like a dark cloud. Rabban's was dragged along by the blade, his gaze burning with hatred and humiliation.

Feyd's voice was a cold, calculated whisper. “You'll watch, Rabban. You'll watch, and you'll learn that you will never win.”

The blade remained lodged in Rabban's shoulder, a constant reminder of Feyd's power and control. You knew that if Rabban tried to move, the blade would be shoved deeper, a cruel and merciless punishment.

“My darling girl,” Feyd growled, his hands roaming your body. He wasted no time bringing a couple fingers between your thighs, rubbing softly as he kissed you. You felt a rush of excitement, as Feyd pulled you closer. You reached your hand out to his body, pressing against his growing erection, eliciting a growl from him.

Feyd encouraged your touch, pressing you onto his brother’s bed. Rabban's presence seemed to egg him on, his brother's gaze a twisted, voyeuristic thrill. That’s another thing Feyd had that Rabban didn’t — a sex life. Feyd continued to ravage you, stripping himself and you of all clothing. Rabban's eyes locked onto yours, a cruel glint in their depths. Rabban's face twisted into a snarl, but he didn't move, didn't intervene, as Feyd continued to take you, right there in his brother's chambers.

“Nice and wet for me, princess,” Feyd breathed, testing your waters with his fingertips before lining the tip of his cock up to your sex.

You let out a gasp as his length filled you up, you felt your muscles being stretched out around him. You would never get used to his size. The burn was welcome, a familiar feeling you hated to love. A cry escaped your lips, Feyd kissing you, mumbling encouragement as he let you adjust.

“That’s it, there you go,” Feyd mumbled, feeling you relax around him. He began to thrust, slowly. Feyd was draconian, and sadistic, evident in the way he made eye contact with his brother as he fucked you. His cock repeatedly brushed over your g spot, making you whimper in pleasure. He licked his thumb, coating it in his saliva before pressing it to your clit, drawing over it just the way you liked. For Feyd, sex was always about you. Never him. Even when he just needed to rough you, or punish you, it was never about depriving you of pleasure, but rather, overwhelming you with it.

“There's my good girl,” he praised, your hips beginning to match his rhythm.

“Oh my god, don't stop.” You moaned, trying to get your legs even further apart, wanting Feyd as deep inside of you as he could be. It wasn't long before your orgasm started to build, Feyd squeezing your nipple between his teeth as he held your head down to the bed, fucking you like an animal.

Feyd felt your walls began to clench and release around him, he knew that feeling well, he knew you were about to come. He sped up his thrusts, trying to bring himself to the edge of release too, wanting to cum with you.

“Come,” he growled in your ear. His words sent you over the edge, and you came hard. Your inner muscles gripped him tight, he groaned as he bit down on your shoulder, filling you up with his seed. He continued to work your clit, stroking the tiny bud until you cried out again in pleasure, your orgasm peaking yet again as his cum continued to spurt inside of you.

He continued you stroke you through your release, until slowly pulling out of you. He stood, panting as he made eye contact with his brother. He walked over to him, his cock still twitching as his blood flow gradually calmed. Without a word, Feyd buried the blade hilt deep into Rabban’s shoulder, the sound of metal scraping against bone echoing through the room. Rabban's eyes widened in agony as he screamed, his body arching backward in a futile attempt to escape the pain.

Feyd's face was a mask of cold, calculated cruelty, his eyes glinting with a malevolent intensity. He leaned in close to Rabban's ear, his voice a low, menacing whisper.

“Thinking you had a choice. Laughable. You should have kept your mouth shut, brother. You will never have what’s mine.”

Rabban's screams grew louder, his body thrashing against the cold ground as Feyd twisted the blade, ensuring it was lodged deep within his shoulder. You watched in horror, and yet, sadistically, enjoyed the way Feyd would quite literally stop at nothing to protect and show his love for you.

Feyd finally withdrew the blade, his movements slow and deliberate. With a flick of his wrist, Feyd sent the blade spinning across the floor, its tip clattering against the cold stone on the far side of the room, leaving tiny blood spots in its wake.

As Rabban's cries of outrage and humiliation continued to echo through the chamber, Feyd turned his attention to you, his movements calm and deliberate as he helped you to dress. His fingers brushed against your skin delicately, as he fastened the intricate clasps and ties of your gown. His touch was gentle, tender, a stark contrast to the brutal intensity of his passion just moments before.

Once you were fully clothed, Feyd turned his attention to himself. He adjusted his attire to his body, his eyes never leaving yours as he worked. When he was finished, he offered you his arm.

“Shall we, my darling?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, as if the scene that had just played out had never occurred.

You took his arm, a small smile gracing your face as you realised just how much you were enjoying something you really shouldn’t be. Feyd led you out of Rabban's chambers, the sound of his brother's angry cries and threats fading into the distance as you left the room behind.

115 notes · View notes