Feyd Rautha Harkonnen X You - Tumblr Posts

I love him so much!! 🥰🥰😍😍

"Higher Purpose" - Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

a/n: i went a lil crazy with this one idk dawg. based on several anon requests + one from @the-shadow-queen02 🩷

Summary: The Reverend Mother always told you that you were meant for a higher purpose. What happens when your brother throws that into jeopardy?

TW: dubcon (reader uses the voice but not to solicit any sexual acts), profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, PUBLIC sex, mommy kink tbh, switch!feyd and switch!reader, cannibalism (the harpies ofc), blood kink, knife kink, breeding kink, oral f receiving, choking, handjob, p in v sex, inkpie, death/murder/violence

Word Count: 3,500

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

All your life, you have been told you were born to serve a higher purpose - a cause greater than yourself. That you were meant to birth the Kwisatz Haderach, the Chosen One, who could see through time and space. For this higher purpose, you were taken from your home when you were barely weaned from your mother, though she did not care. She would soon be with child once again, this time? A male heir as a testament to her love for your father. You often thought about your family, wondering if they also thought of you. You saw them in your dreams, often calling out to your mother and your little brother, though if they heard you, they gave no indication.

And after some time passed, your longing for family grew into bitter resentment. Your anger toward your mother and father and younger brother grew and grew, and instead of missing them, you threw all your efforts into your training, wanting to become the most powerful Bene Gesserit in existence. You took all the sisters’ teachings to heart, working longer and harder than any of the other novices. And it was noticed. The Reverend Mother gave you praise she afforded no one else, stating that you were the most skilled Bene Gesserit she had seen since your mother. But that wasn’t enough for you.

You wanted to be better than her.

Your hatred, your anger, your bitterness… It all fueled you. Molded you into the woman you are now. Some of the other sisters voiced their pity for you, having to marry and procreate with a barbarian Harkonnen like Feyd-Rautha. But you? You have no qualms about it. After all, you were always meant to serve a higher purpose.

A purpose that is put into jeopardy when your mother begins calling your younger brother the Kwisatz Haderach, the Mahdi. The One. The Reverend Mother pulls you aside after visiting Caladan, admitting her doubts about Paul’s worthiness to be given the esteemed title. Rather than waiting until your twenty-first birthday to send you to Giedi Prime, she wishes to send you now. She wishes for you to seduce the na-Baron and bring forth an heir - the true Chosen One - as soon as possible.

As far as you’re concerned, this is the perfect form of revenge against your family. So you agree without hesitation.

Feyd waits at the landing platform to welcome you as you step under the light of Giedi Prime’s infrared sun. He is tall, his presence looming and threatening as he walks toward you, with all the grace of a lion about to attack a gazelle. What he doesn’t realize is you are no harmless prey. In fact, it is the law of the jungle that the lioness is fiercer than the lion.

He circles around you, twirling his crysknife in your hand, as if evaluating you before remarking, “You are… Shorter than I expected.”

Your lips curl upward at his words, “Is that a problem, na-Baron? Perhaps I can ask them to send someone taller.”

Rather amused by you, he steps closer, using his blade to tilt your chin up toward him, “They say you Bene Gesserit are to be feared. That you’re witches. But there is nothing intimidating about you, little witch.”

“I warn you, my lord,” you reply coolly, meeting his gaze without any reluctance - something that seems to surprise him, “You should not underestimate me.”

He chuckles, staring you down, his blade pushing off your hood and revealing your face in its entirety to him. His expression seems approving as he comes even closer, tracing the contours of your cheeks, your jaw with his knife, reveling in the fact that you do not so much as flinch.

“I suppose we’ll find out whether you have as much fire in your veins as you say you have,” Feyd presses the blade to your throat, his breath hot against your skin as he demands, “Show me that you do not fear me, little one.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting your hand over his, pushing the blade even harder against your neck, nearly enough to leave a cut, “It is a fine blade, na-Baron. But I do not fear it, nor do I fear pain. But…” You pause before impressing him with your mastery of the Voice, ordering him, “Tell me what it is you feel.”

A chill runs down Feyd’s spine, his words tumbling forth in spite of himself, a low groan erupting from his throat as he admits, “Excitement. Fear. Confusion. Arousal.”

You lean in, your lips nearly brushing against his as you whisper, “Good.” And just as quickly, you pull away, gesturing toward the three women standing behind him, “Would you mind having one of your ladies show me to my room? I’d quite like to freshen up before dinner.”

Feyd nods, watching his Harpies flock to you, cooing their admiration, while you soak it all in. He watches them lead you away, thinking how much he looks forward to dinner.

Perhaps wedding an Atreides won’t be as horrid as he thought.

Your husband-to-be summons you to the training room rather than his chambers, where the two of you are meant to dine. However, you know what this is. His attempt at exerting dominance over you, forcing you to watch a display of his strength. Amused, you go to the training room, happy to play along with this little game. Feyd is lethal, in the most beautiful of ways. You watch the way he easily brings each one of his opponents to the ground. No mercy, just sheer brute strength with an effortless sort of grace. You watch with interest, something that seems to please him, smirking as he delivers the killing blow, his face coated with the blood of his felled opponent.

“Well done, na-Baron.”

Feyd walks toward you, “Thank you. I needed to take the edge off my… Appetite.”

“I’d have been all the more pleased if you had kept that edge, my lord.”

He chuckles at your words, and the fact that the blood does not seem to bother you, moving to grab you by the hips, tugging you closer toward him, “Be careful, Lady Atreides. You might entice me into acting out my desires here and now.”

Your future husband notices the way your eyes grow cold at the mention of your family name, the ice in your voice as you reply, “I do not go by that name, my lord. I quite preferred ‘little witch’.”

Feyd nods, “As you wish, my lady.”

The two of you walk toward his private chambers, the mood soon returning to the playful flirtation of before as you comment, “To answer your earlier statement… Let’s file that idea away for later, shall we? I heard that public displays are not uncommon here.”

“And here I was thinking the Bene Gesserit were pure and proper.” You come to a stop in front of his chambers, Feyd’s front pressed up against your back as he opens the door and whispers in your ear, “Do you know what kind of thoughts you put in my head?”

You turn your head slightly to face him, so close that your noses brush as you murmur, “Unless that is a knife you have pressed against my backside, I have a decent idea of what those thoughts are, na-Baron.”

“Oh, you really are a little temptress, aren’t you?” Feyd grins, those darkened teeth of his doing nothing to deter you as he leads you inside.

You take a seat at one end of the table, crossing your legs, resting your chin on your palm as you lean forward. You notice the way Feyd’s eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of your thighs, your cleavage, your neck… He has fallen for your wiles, hook, line and sinker. You brush your foot along the inside of his calf as you sip at the wine one of his slaves brings forth, smirking at the low groan he lets out.

“Do you have any idea how hard you’re making it to control myself?”

“Patience is a virtue, na-Baron. You’re a great warrior. I am sure you already know the value of waiting for the opportune moment to strike.”

He shakes his head, dragging his chair to sit beside you, his forwardness and eagerness to be near you being somewhat endearing, bringing a smile to your face as he rests a hand on your thigh, “Indeed. But sometimes, a warrior must also let go of his inhibitions.”

By the time the slaves return with your meal, you have seated yourself in your na-Baron’s lap, your lips moving against his in a messy, heated kiss. Feyd’s hands tangle in your hair, tugging eagerly as you move to whisper in his ear.

“You’re not half bad at this.”

“This…” Feyd pants, moving one hand to squeeze at your breast, “This is still the appetizer.”

Since he seemed to enjoy your use of the Voice on him before, you do it again, staring into his eyes as you question, “Tell me what it is that you desire…”

He shivers, eyes nearly rolling back at the sensation of surrendering himself to you, inhaling tremulously before he replies, “I desire you. All of you. Like I have never desired anything else in my life.”

Your tongue trails along the shell of Feyd’s ear, a grin blossoming on your face as he lets out a ragged breath, pulling you even closer to him, his face nearly buried between your breasts as you tease, “And as your wife, you will have all of me.” You pull back slightly, fingers caressing his throat before wrapping around and squeezing, ever so gently, “You are a complex man. With the desire to dominate as well as to be dominated.” You move to kiss his Adam’s apple, nipping at it and reveling in the way he hardens against your thigh, feeling you grinding against him, “It is a desire I share. To both receive and to give. I think this partnership will work out quite well in that regard.”

He grunts, panting slightly as you move to palm at his cock over the fabric of his leathers, his entire being screaming at him to bend you over the table right now and make you scream his name for all of Giedi Prime to hear. But, on the other hand, the delicious torture you are currently inflicting on him is equally as desirable. His hands move to squeeze the flesh of your ass, letting out a shuddering moan as you nip at his earlobe.

“You are the perfect wife for me, my na-Baroness.”

It does not take long for Feyd to realize just how much the two of you have in common, something that endears you to him all the more. You grow closer and closer with each passing day, your wedding approaching. You share the same bloodlust, the same desire for power, the same cunning, the same drive to do better than your siblings.

Something which has brought you to where you are now, reveling in the glory of Rabban’s defeat at Feyd’s hands, your husband having now taken command of Arrakis. You watch as he slits the throat of one of his slaves before shoving the poor thing at the Harpies. He brings the blade to your lips, cock straining against his pants as your tongue darts out to lick the knife clean.

“Arrakis is just as you described,” you muse, “Quite entertaining.” Feyd takes a seat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, feeling the way you lean into his touch before murmuring, “Shall I tell you about my relationship with my own brother?” Feyd turns to you, slightly surprised that you are willing to open up to him about the topic, but nods. “My mother had me for only one purpose. To assuage the Bene Gesserit. She said I was meant for a higher purpose, and sent me to them when I was barely weaned from her breast. It was Paul she wanted. So arrogant, thinking she could bring forth the Chosen One when it was I who was meant to bear him.” Feyd listens to your story intently, the pieces falling into place as you explain the reasons behind your bitterness toward your family, “My brother… I have seen him in my dreams, calling himself the Mahdi. He is nothing more than an arrogant child. I eagerly await the day you meet him in battle and will cheer your name louder than anyone as you strike the killing blow.”

Feyd moves to rest a hand against your cheek, his voice a low rasp as he whispers, “I will kill him for you, my na-Baroness. I will lay his body at your feet as a wedding gift.”

He kisses your neck, his arousal only growing as you murmur, “I want you to wed me as he lays dying. I want him to breathe his last breath, watching as you fill me with your seed. Knowing he is not the Chosen One, but rather it will be the child you sire, the one that will grow inside me. Is that acceptable to you, my lord?”

Oh, it is more than acceptable.

The day where your husband-to-be and your brother meet in battle comes sooner than anticipated. You are surprised by Paul’s audacity in challenging the emperor for the throne, but even more so at the gall he displays after learning who you are.

“Brother,” you welcome him with an icy smile, your arm looped in Feyd’s as he arrives at the Arrakeen palace, “Welcome to our castle.” He stares at you in confusion for a moment, looking between you and Lady Jessica - the woman who gave birth to you but you will never acknowledge as your mother. You let out a bitter little laugh, sneering, “Don’t you recognize me from your dreams, little Paul? Or am I meant to call you the Lisan al-Ghaib now?”

Paul’s lips part in shock at the realization, but he quickly recovers, meeting your gaze, “You have changed, sister. But I must ask why you stand at the side of those who killed our father. Do you have no loyalty to your family?”

“Your family. Not mine,” you cut him off sharply as Feyd pulls you closer.

“You are not just a Bene Gesserit, sister, you are an Atreides-”

“That name means nothing to me. Nor do you nor our father nor mother.”

Paul stares at you, completely taken aback, his voice and eyes turning to steel, “If you and our cousin bow to me and swear your allegiance, I will spare you.”

You shake your head, resting a hand on Feyd’s chest, “We would die before bowing to you, little brother.” You turn to your mother next, eyeing her disdainfully, “You truly thought you could rob me of my birthright? My purpose? It is I who will bear the Kwisatz Haderach, Lady Jessica. Your son is little more than a pretender.”

It does not come as a surprise when the Emperor chooses Feyd as his champion. You stand beside your betrothed, taking his hands in yours, an ancient proverb of House Harkonnen crossing your mind, one you read about when you learned it was a Harkonnen that you would marry, Giedi Prime that would become your home. You pull Feyd into a passionate kiss, one that has him gripping you by the hips as if to ground himself in reality.

“Come back to me with your shield,” you whisper against his lips, “Or on it.”

Feyd lets out a low growl, holding you even tighter, your commitment to him and his house affirmed. Then, he turns from you and begins the battle in earnest. You watch with admiration as Feyd leaps into action, every movement purposeful, with the singular goal of defeating your brother. Your heart pounds against your chest, eyes gleaming with excitement as Feyd manages to stab Paul once, while Paul has not even landed one hit. Your brother, in all his arrogance, will never be half the fighter your betrothed is. The fight continues, and though Paul does his best, Feyd defeats him with relative ease. You walk toward his fallen body, listening as he gasps for air, blood pouring from his wounds. You stand before Feyd, wiping the blood from his face with a smirk.

“Well fought.”

“I have kept my promise to you, little witch,” he chuckles, pulling you into a kiss, “And now I will make good on the other promise I made.”

Paul clings to life long enough to watch as Feyd holds the Reverend Mother at knifepoint, demanding she proclaim the two of you as bound in holy matrimony. Feyd wastes no time in pinning you to the ground beside Paul, your arms wrapping around him, lips crashing against each other’s in a desperate, feverish kiss. Feyd pushes your dress up just enough to reveal your bare cunt to him, groaning as his fingers trace your slit, feeling the wetness that has pooled between your thighs.

“I had no idea seeing me fight would arouse you so,” he chuckles darkly.

“Everything about you arouses me,” you reply playfully, glancing over at Paul who grows weaker with each passing moment, though the anger on his face remains as Feyd moves to lap at your slick folds, preparing you for his cock, “My husband, let me bear your heirs. Let us bring forth the Chosen One. Let us serve the higher purpose we were meant to.”

Feyd moans against you, mouthing at you eagerly, the sloppy, wet kisses he lands on your bare core, the way his tongue delves inside of you, his bloody hands staining your thighs crimson as he tastes you… It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak, pulling him closer, wrapping your limbs around him as you palm at his cock. You undo his pants just enough to free it, giving it a few quick tugs, guiding him inside you. Feyd lets out a low hiss as he feels your wetness squeezing around him, rutting against you like some sort of depraved beast.

You grin as your eyes meet his, Feyd’s lips capturing your own in yet another hungry kiss. You know that Feyd belongs to you, his body, his soul, his heart. And in the same vein, you do not mind allowing yourself to belong to him. Not when he has given you the justice you have so desperately craved all your life. Not when he is about to give you what it is you have always wanted. Each snap of his hips fills you once more, making you moan his name in ecstasy, the two of you enjoying the eyes of all those present on you as you make love right there in front of all of them. And the both of you smirk to yourselves as Paul lets out his dying breath, the last thing he sees before he dies being Feyd spilling himself inside you, his black seed coating your thighs.

That night, you lay in bed beside your newlywed husband, the two of you completely bare having just consummated your union once again, a wicked smirk playing on your lips as you muse aloud, “The False Prophet died watching the true Chosen One to be conceived.”

Feyd barks out a laugh, watching as you move to straddle his hips, letting out a satisfied groan as you sink down onto his cock, letting him fill you once more, “Poetic, almost.”

He loves the way you admire his chest, his toned stomach, your hands running all over him, smearing his battle paint, before your tongue follows the same pattern. You roll your hips against his as you take one of your nipples between your teeth, nibbling slightly, making him groan as his hips buck up desperately against yours. Never has he felt so desired, so wanted in a coupling as he does with you. Though your marriage may have been arranged, it would seem the two of you cannot live without the other now.

“Why stop at Giedi Prime and Arrakis?” You ask him, his eyes transfixed by the sight of your breasts bouncing as you ride his cock, “The emperor is old and weak. He has no sons. The seat is ripe for the taking.”

Your words strike a chord in Feyd, and he gives you that blackened grin, nodding as he holds your hips in place, desperately thrusting up into your warm, wet cunt, “Yes… Emperor Harkonnen and Empress Harkonnen…”

“Our reign will be one to remember,” you moan against his ear, “And our son… The Chosen One… He will take the throne after us. A higher purpose. The world is ours, my love. If we only reach out and take it.”

And as your hands squeeze his throat gently and he spills himself inside you again, he realizes just how right his little witch is.

His empress.

I love him so much!! 🥰🥰😍😍

"Higher Purpose" - Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

a/n: i went a lil crazy with this one idk dawg. based on several anon requests + one from @the-shadow-queen02 🩷

Summary: The Reverend Mother always told you that you were meant for a higher purpose. What happens when your brother throws that into jeopardy?

TW: dubcon (reader uses the voice but not to solicit any sexual acts), profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, PUBLIC sex, mommy kink tbh, switch!feyd and switch!reader, cannibalism (the harpies ofc), blood kink, knife kink, breeding kink, oral f receiving, choking, handjob, p in v sex, inkpie, death/murder/violence

Word Count: 3,500

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

All your life, you have been told you were born to serve a higher purpose - a cause greater than yourself. That you were meant to birth the Kwisatz Haderach, the Chosen One, who could see through time and space. For this higher purpose, you were taken from your home when you were barely weaned from your mother, though she did not care. She would soon be with child once again, this time? A male heir as a testament to her love for your father. You often thought about your family, wondering if they also thought of you. You saw them in your dreams, often calling out to your mother and your little brother, though if they heard you, they gave no indication.

And after some time passed, your longing for family grew into bitter resentment. Your anger toward your mother and father and younger brother grew and grew, and instead of missing them, you threw all your efforts into your training, wanting to become the most powerful Bene Gesserit in existence. You took all the sisters’ teachings to heart, working longer and harder than any of the other novices. And it was noticed. The Reverend Mother gave you praise she afforded no one else, stating that you were the most skilled Bene Gesserit she had seen since your mother. But that wasn’t enough for you.

You wanted to be better than her.

Your hatred, your anger, your bitterness… It all fueled you. Molded you into the woman you are now. Some of the other sisters voiced their pity for you, having to marry and procreate with a barbarian Harkonnen like Feyd-Rautha. But you? You have no qualms about it. After all, you were always meant to serve a higher purpose.

A purpose that is put into jeopardy when your mother begins calling your younger brother the Kwisatz Haderach, the Mahdi. The One. The Reverend Mother pulls you aside after visiting Caladan, admitting her doubts about Paul’s worthiness to be given the esteemed title. Rather than waiting until your twenty-first birthday to send you to Giedi Prime, she wishes to send you now. She wishes for you to seduce the na-Baron and bring forth an heir - the true Chosen One - as soon as possible.

As far as you’re concerned, this is the perfect form of revenge against your family. So you agree without hesitation.

Feyd waits at the landing platform to welcome you as you step under the light of Giedi Prime’s infrared sun. He is tall, his presence looming and threatening as he walks toward you, with all the grace of a lion about to attack a gazelle. What he doesn’t realize is you are no harmless prey. In fact, it is the law of the jungle that the lioness is fiercer than the lion.

He circles around you, twirling his crysknife in your hand, as if evaluating you before remarking, “You are… Shorter than I expected.”

Your lips curl upward at his words, “Is that a problem, na-Baron? Perhaps I can ask them to send someone taller.”

Rather amused by you, he steps closer, using his blade to tilt your chin up toward him, “They say you Bene Gesserit are to be feared. That you’re witches. But there is nothing intimidating about you, little witch.”

“I warn you, my lord,” you reply coolly, meeting his gaze without any reluctance - something that seems to surprise him, “You should not underestimate me.”

He chuckles, staring you down, his blade pushing off your hood and revealing your face in its entirety to him. His expression seems approving as he comes even closer, tracing the contours of your cheeks, your jaw with his knife, reveling in the fact that you do not so much as flinch.

“I suppose we’ll find out whether you have as much fire in your veins as you say you have,” Feyd presses the blade to your throat, his breath hot against your skin as he demands, “Show me that you do not fear me, little one.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting your hand over his, pushing the blade even harder against your neck, nearly enough to leave a cut, “It is a fine blade, na-Baron. But I do not fear it, nor do I fear pain. But…” You pause before impressing him with your mastery of the Voice, ordering him, “Tell me what it is you feel.”

A chill runs down Feyd’s spine, his words tumbling forth in spite of himself, a low groan erupting from his throat as he admits, “Excitement. Fear. Confusion. Arousal.”

You lean in, your lips nearly brushing against his as you whisper, “Good.” And just as quickly, you pull away, gesturing toward the three women standing behind him, “Would you mind having one of your ladies show me to my room? I’d quite like to freshen up before dinner.”

Feyd nods, watching his Harpies flock to you, cooing their admiration, while you soak it all in. He watches them lead you away, thinking how much he looks forward to dinner.

Perhaps wedding an Atreides won’t be as horrid as he thought.

Your husband-to-be summons you to the training room rather than his chambers, where the two of you are meant to dine. However, you know what this is. His attempt at exerting dominance over you, forcing you to watch a display of his strength. Amused, you go to the training room, happy to play along with this little game. Feyd is lethal, in the most beautiful of ways. You watch the way he easily brings each one of his opponents to the ground. No mercy, just sheer brute strength with an effortless sort of grace. You watch with interest, something that seems to please him, smirking as he delivers the killing blow, his face coated with the blood of his felled opponent.

“Well done, na-Baron.”

Feyd walks toward you, “Thank you. I needed to take the edge off my… Appetite.”

“I’d have been all the more pleased if you had kept that edge, my lord.”

He chuckles at your words, and the fact that the blood does not seem to bother you, moving to grab you by the hips, tugging you closer toward him, “Be careful, Lady Atreides. You might entice me into acting out my desires here and now.”

Your future husband notices the way your eyes grow cold at the mention of your family name, the ice in your voice as you reply, “I do not go by that name, my lord. I quite preferred ‘little witch’.”

Feyd nods, “As you wish, my lady.”

The two of you walk toward his private chambers, the mood soon returning to the playful flirtation of before as you comment, “To answer your earlier statement… Let’s file that idea away for later, shall we? I heard that public displays are not uncommon here.”

“And here I was thinking the Bene Gesserit were pure and proper.” You come to a stop in front of his chambers, Feyd’s front pressed up against your back as he opens the door and whispers in your ear, “Do you know what kind of thoughts you put in my head?”

You turn your head slightly to face him, so close that your noses brush as you murmur, “Unless that is a knife you have pressed against my backside, I have a decent idea of what those thoughts are, na-Baron.”

“Oh, you really are a little temptress, aren’t you?” Feyd grins, those darkened teeth of his doing nothing to deter you as he leads you inside.

You take a seat at one end of the table, crossing your legs, resting your chin on your palm as you lean forward. You notice the way Feyd’s eyes are drawn to the exposed skin of your thighs, your cleavage, your neck… He has fallen for your wiles, hook, line and sinker. You brush your foot along the inside of his calf as you sip at the wine one of his slaves brings forth, smirking at the low groan he lets out.

“Do you have any idea how hard you’re making it to control myself?”

“Patience is a virtue, na-Baron. You’re a great warrior. I am sure you already know the value of waiting for the opportune moment to strike.”

He shakes his head, dragging his chair to sit beside you, his forwardness and eagerness to be near you being somewhat endearing, bringing a smile to your face as he rests a hand on your thigh, “Indeed. But sometimes, a warrior must also let go of his inhibitions.”

By the time the slaves return with your meal, you have seated yourself in your na-Baron’s lap, your lips moving against his in a messy, heated kiss. Feyd’s hands tangle in your hair, tugging eagerly as you move to whisper in his ear.

“You’re not half bad at this.”

“This…” Feyd pants, moving one hand to squeeze at your breast, “This is still the appetizer.”

Since he seemed to enjoy your use of the Voice on him before, you do it again, staring into his eyes as you question, “Tell me what it is that you desire…”

He shivers, eyes nearly rolling back at the sensation of surrendering himself to you, inhaling tremulously before he replies, “I desire you. All of you. Like I have never desired anything else in my life.”

Your tongue trails along the shell of Feyd’s ear, a grin blossoming on your face as he lets out a ragged breath, pulling you even closer to him, his face nearly buried between your breasts as you tease, “And as your wife, you will have all of me.” You pull back slightly, fingers caressing his throat before wrapping around and squeezing, ever so gently, “You are a complex man. With the desire to dominate as well as to be dominated.” You move to kiss his Adam’s apple, nipping at it and reveling in the way he hardens against your thigh, feeling you grinding against him, “It is a desire I share. To both receive and to give. I think this partnership will work out quite well in that regard.”

He grunts, panting slightly as you move to palm at his cock over the fabric of his leathers, his entire being screaming at him to bend you over the table right now and make you scream his name for all of Giedi Prime to hear. But, on the other hand, the delicious torture you are currently inflicting on him is equally as desirable. His hands move to squeeze the flesh of your ass, letting out a shuddering moan as you nip at his earlobe.

“You are the perfect wife for me, my na-Baroness.”

It does not take long for Feyd to realize just how much the two of you have in common, something that endears you to him all the more. You grow closer and closer with each passing day, your wedding approaching. You share the same bloodlust, the same desire for power, the same cunning, the same drive to do better than your siblings.

Something which has brought you to where you are now, reveling in the glory of Rabban’s defeat at Feyd’s hands, your husband having now taken command of Arrakis. You watch as he slits the throat of one of his slaves before shoving the poor thing at the Harpies. He brings the blade to your lips, cock straining against his pants as your tongue darts out to lick the knife clean.

“Arrakis is just as you described,” you muse, “Quite entertaining.” Feyd takes a seat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, feeling the way you lean into his touch before murmuring, “Shall I tell you about my relationship with my own brother?” Feyd turns to you, slightly surprised that you are willing to open up to him about the topic, but nods. “My mother had me for only one purpose. To assuage the Bene Gesserit. She said I was meant for a higher purpose, and sent me to them when I was barely weaned from her breast. It was Paul she wanted. So arrogant, thinking she could bring forth the Chosen One when it was I who was meant to bear him.” Feyd listens to your story intently, the pieces falling into place as you explain the reasons behind your bitterness toward your family, “My brother… I have seen him in my dreams, calling himself the Mahdi. He is nothing more than an arrogant child. I eagerly await the day you meet him in battle and will cheer your name louder than anyone as you strike the killing blow.”

Feyd moves to rest a hand against your cheek, his voice a low rasp as he whispers, “I will kill him for you, my na-Baroness. I will lay his body at your feet as a wedding gift.”

He kisses your neck, his arousal only growing as you murmur, “I want you to wed me as he lays dying. I want him to breathe his last breath, watching as you fill me with your seed. Knowing he is not the Chosen One, but rather it will be the child you sire, the one that will grow inside me. Is that acceptable to you, my lord?”

Oh, it is more than acceptable.

The day where your husband-to-be and your brother meet in battle comes sooner than anticipated. You are surprised by Paul’s audacity in challenging the emperor for the throne, but even more so at the gall he displays after learning who you are.

“Brother,” you welcome him with an icy smile, your arm looped in Feyd’s as he arrives at the Arrakeen palace, “Welcome to our castle.” He stares at you in confusion for a moment, looking between you and Lady Jessica - the woman who gave birth to you but you will never acknowledge as your mother. You let out a bitter little laugh, sneering, “Don’t you recognize me from your dreams, little Paul? Or am I meant to call you the Lisan al-Ghaib now?”

Paul’s lips part in shock at the realization, but he quickly recovers, meeting your gaze, “You have changed, sister. But I must ask why you stand at the side of those who killed our father. Do you have no loyalty to your family?”

“Your family. Not mine,” you cut him off sharply as Feyd pulls you closer.

“You are not just a Bene Gesserit, sister, you are an Atreides-”

“That name means nothing to me. Nor do you nor our father nor mother.”

Paul stares at you, completely taken aback, his voice and eyes turning to steel, “If you and our cousin bow to me and swear your allegiance, I will spare you.”

You shake your head, resting a hand on Feyd’s chest, “We would die before bowing to you, little brother.” You turn to your mother next, eyeing her disdainfully, “You truly thought you could rob me of my birthright? My purpose? It is I who will bear the Kwisatz Haderach, Lady Jessica. Your son is little more than a pretender.”

It does not come as a surprise when the Emperor chooses Feyd as his champion. You stand beside your betrothed, taking his hands in yours, an ancient proverb of House Harkonnen crossing your mind, one you read about when you learned it was a Harkonnen that you would marry, Giedi Prime that would become your home. You pull Feyd into a passionate kiss, one that has him gripping you by the hips as if to ground himself in reality.

“Come back to me with your shield,” you whisper against his lips, “Or on it.”

Feyd lets out a low growl, holding you even tighter, your commitment to him and his house affirmed. Then, he turns from you and begins the battle in earnest. You watch with admiration as Feyd leaps into action, every movement purposeful, with the singular goal of defeating your brother. Your heart pounds against your chest, eyes gleaming with excitement as Feyd manages to stab Paul once, while Paul has not even landed one hit. Your brother, in all his arrogance, will never be half the fighter your betrothed is. The fight continues, and though Paul does his best, Feyd defeats him with relative ease. You walk toward his fallen body, listening as he gasps for air, blood pouring from his wounds. You stand before Feyd, wiping the blood from his face with a smirk.

“Well fought.”

“I have kept my promise to you, little witch,” he chuckles, pulling you into a kiss, “And now I will make good on the other promise I made.”

Paul clings to life long enough to watch as Feyd holds the Reverend Mother at knifepoint, demanding she proclaim the two of you as bound in holy matrimony. Feyd wastes no time in pinning you to the ground beside Paul, your arms wrapping around him, lips crashing against each other’s in a desperate, feverish kiss. Feyd pushes your dress up just enough to reveal your bare cunt to him, groaning as his fingers trace your slit, feeling the wetness that has pooled between your thighs.

“I had no idea seeing me fight would arouse you so,” he chuckles darkly.

“Everything about you arouses me,” you reply playfully, glancing over at Paul who grows weaker with each passing moment, though the anger on his face remains as Feyd moves to lap at your slick folds, preparing you for his cock, “My husband, let me bear your heirs. Let us bring forth the Chosen One. Let us serve the higher purpose we were meant to.”

Feyd moans against you, mouthing at you eagerly, the sloppy, wet kisses he lands on your bare core, the way his tongue delves inside of you, his bloody hands staining your thighs crimson as he tastes you… It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak, pulling him closer, wrapping your limbs around him as you palm at his cock. You undo his pants just enough to free it, giving it a few quick tugs, guiding him inside you. Feyd lets out a low hiss as he feels your wetness squeezing around him, rutting against you like some sort of depraved beast.

You grin as your eyes meet his, Feyd’s lips capturing your own in yet another hungry kiss. You know that Feyd belongs to you, his body, his soul, his heart. And in the same vein, you do not mind allowing yourself to belong to him. Not when he has given you the justice you have so desperately craved all your life. Not when he is about to give you what it is you have always wanted. Each snap of his hips fills you once more, making you moan his name in ecstasy, the two of you enjoying the eyes of all those present on you as you make love right there in front of all of them. And the both of you smirk to yourselves as Paul lets out his dying breath, the last thing he sees before he dies being Feyd spilling himself inside you, his black seed coating your thighs.

That night, you lay in bed beside your newlywed husband, the two of you completely bare having just consummated your union once again, a wicked smirk playing on your lips as you muse aloud, “The False Prophet died watching the true Chosen One to be conceived.”

Feyd barks out a laugh, watching as you move to straddle his hips, letting out a satisfied groan as you sink down onto his cock, letting him fill you once more, “Poetic, almost.”

He loves the way you admire his chest, his toned stomach, your hands running all over him, smearing his battle paint, before your tongue follows the same pattern. You roll your hips against his as you take one of your nipples between your teeth, nibbling slightly, making him groan as his hips buck up desperately against yours. Never has he felt so desired, so wanted in a coupling as he does with you. Though your marriage may have been arranged, it would seem the two of you cannot live without the other now.

“Why stop at Giedi Prime and Arrakis?” You ask him, his eyes transfixed by the sight of your breasts bouncing as you ride his cock, “The emperor is old and weak. He has no sons. The seat is ripe for the taking.”

Your words strike a chord in Feyd, and he gives you that blackened grin, nodding as he holds your hips in place, desperately thrusting up into your warm, wet cunt, “Yes… Emperor Harkonnen and Empress Harkonnen…”

“Our reign will be one to remember,” you moan against his ear, “And our son… The Chosen One… He will take the throne after us. A higher purpose. The world is ours, my love. If we only reach out and take it.”

And as your hands squeeze his throat gently and he spills himself inside you again, he realizes just how right his little witch is.

His empress.

"Runaway Bride" - Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader

a/n: combined two anon requests with one from @the-shadow-queen02. i hope y'all like this 🩷

Summary: When you escape your husband, he follows you, vowing that he will always find you.

TW: DUBCON, profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, chase kink ig, free use kink, breeding kink, public sex, degradation, inkpie, p in v sex, fingering, cock warming, spit kink, tiddy succin, overstim, murder

Word Count: 2,750

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Ever since you were a young girl, you were told that when you left Caladan for Giedi Prime, you would cease to be an Atreides. That when you married Feyd Rautha, you would become a Harkonnen. The idea terrified you even then. You loved your parents and Paul deeply. Abandoning them forever, giving up such an integral part of your identity… You knew your betrothed was a famed fighter. So every night you prayed that he might fall in battle. That his blade may chip and shatter. But he remained undefeated. And you? You continued being trained by your mother into being the perfect little wife for the Harkonnen. She never had much interest in you, though she did love you dearly. You always felt she preferred Paul. Your father, however? You were his little darling. You could do no wrong as far as he was concerned. The day you left for Giedi Prime, it was he who you found most difficult to leave behind, bawling into his chest.

Your betrothed was much different than you expected him to be. In fact, you’re not sure what you expected at all. But it wasn’t him? It surprised you that he had no hair, but you had to admit the lack of it emphasized his refined features, those aristocratic high cheekbones and piercing eyes, those full lips hiding his teeth, painted black to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. Perhaps that’s what you were too. His enemy. For he certainly struck fear into your heart when he approached you, with all the grace of a predator stalking its next meal. He circled you appraisingly, seeming fairly amused at the way you tried to hold your head high, the way you tried to show no trepidation at marrying him. Feyd stopped short in front of you, his stare boring into your own. Though you wore the dress sent for your impending nuptials, his gaze made you feel as though you were as naked as the day you were born.

“Are you afraid of me?”

His voice wasn’t at all how you imagined. Feyd sounded almost more like an animal than a human - a low rasp more than actual words. He sensed your hesitation in responding, a cruel smile spreading across his lips at the realization. 

You saw no point in lying, so you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, “Yes.”

Feyd seemed almost impressed by your candor, though it’s fleeting as he leans in, his breath hot against your skin, making the hairs on your neck stand on end as he murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “Good. You should be.”

The wedding customs of the Harkonnen were already known to you. From the exchange of blood to the bridal hunt, you were fully aware of everything. The coppery tang of Feyd’s blood lingered on your lips as you ran through the halls, the heels of your shoes clacking on the black marble floor. It was laughable, how quickly Feyd caught up to you. He grinned down at you as he pinned you to the ground, your arms above your head.

“Were you even trying to run?” He mocked, running a hand along your side.

You remember it vividly - the way he stared at you, the way he used his knife to cut open your dress, leaving your body bare and vulnerable before him. The way he used his fingers to ease you open for him, claiming he was too large to fit otherwise. You doubted it until he disrobed, right there in the hallway, his length swaying from side to side as he grasped the base of it, giving it a few quick tugs, working himself to full hardness. Feyd Rautha was beautiful, in a lethal, terrifying way. And you hated yourself for the wetness between your thighs, the way you parted your legs to accommodate him. The way you allowed him to fuck you like a whore on the ground, only meters away from the chambers you were going to share with him.

Feyd was a man of voracious appetites, and he seemed to want you at all hours of the day. Given a taste of physical love, of the pleasure and the pain he could give you in perfect harmony, you were addicted. You hated him, but you were addicted. It wasn’t uncommon for him to simply take you at the breakfast table, lifting you up and burying himself between your thighs, his inky black spend dripping from your cunt as you walked back to your chambers to clean yourself off. He became so obsessed with the thought of having you, of breeding you, that he even started calling you into his strategy meetings, if only to have you sit on his cock, “to keep him warm and ready for afterward”.

And so, you’d do as he asked, moving your dress aside, revealing the fact that you’d foregone wearing any undergarments - at his insistence - slowly sinking down on his cock with a soft gasp, doing your best not to move. At first, the other Harkonnen, particularly Feyd’s brother Rabban, were skeptical about your and Feyd’s escapades, particularly during these meetings. You were a member of the House Atreides, their sworn enemies, after all. How could they trust that you wouldn’t go running to tell your father their secrets? Their plans to reclaim Arrakis after it was given to him? What if you were a spy? Feyd would merely chuckle, shaking his head. And one day?

He simply bent you over the table, holding your hands down as he fucked into you like a hungry animal, declaring to all those present, “She’s no spy. She’s a cock-hungry whore. All she wishes for is my seed. For me to fill her with my cock, over and over again.” 

He tugged your hair up, forcing you to meet the gazes of the men present, particularly Rabban, your eyes glazed over with pleasure as he continued rutting against you. His large hand moved to grasp at your throat, making you choke ever so slightly as his thrusts began to slow, his balls slapping against your ass, tightening before he reached his release, filling you with his seed. And like the good little cockslut that you were, you came around his cock mere seconds later. Feyd always demanded you be dressed in white so the evidence of his claim on you could be seen in the stains on your clothing. You were so submissive for him, so docile and pliant. Always so ready and willing for him to take you.

That’s why it came as such a shock when you did indeed betray him upon hearing the plans that Baron Vladimir had for your father. All this time, you had been listening, waiting for the right moment to escape. Your words of affection, spoken in the dark of the night as you lay in each other’s arms, meant nothing, it would seem. The first chance you had, you went running back to your pathetic family. To Arrakis, where they now resided.

Feyd knows Arrakis. He’s visited there more times than he can count. You? A sweet little thing like you won’t last a day. Besides, you need him. Despite the letter you left him stating that you hated him, hated his family, and he’d never see you again, Feyd knows your destinies are forever intertwined. That he is bound to you and you to him, whether you like it or not.

So he is going to find you. And he is going to bring you back, his precious little wife, willingly or in chains.

Feyd arrives on Arrakis, his uncle having already laid siege to the palace at Arrakeen. Feyd has no interest in what happens there. Whether Duke Leto, your mother, and Paul survive or not isn’t his problem. His sole prerogative here is to find you. To reclaim what belongs to him. Because wherever you go, he vows he will always find you, always be watching you.

He has no qualms in torturing the poor Atreides soldiers into giving up your location. Your father sent you off into the desert, it would seem, trusting that you’d be able to survive, while your mother and Paul were taken hostage. Feyd lets out a low snarl, immediately slitting the throat of the soldier who informed him before moving onto the next for information about which Sietch you may try to seek shelter at.

He kills every Atreides, every Fremen who gets in his way. His pursuit is relentless. The winds whip around him, the man in black walking through the dune, but his focus is singular. He is going to find you. His mercenaries follow behind him, his blade already coated with the blood of so many who refused to give you up. And even those who did.

The dune is harsh, unforgiving. You won’t last a day. Feyd knows that. So he counts on you slowing down, needing water which you don’t have. He despises the hold you have on him. He hates how addicted he is to you, how he craves your presence, your love, your affection, your body… He hates the power he’s given you over him. Feyd blames you for his suffering, for this addiction, this obsession. 

This weakness.

He thought he had you eating out of the palm of his hand, and yet you refused to bend to his will. He hates you. He hates you so much. But he hates the thought of losing you even more. Feyd holds a blade to one of the Fremen’s throats, demanding to know if you’ve passed. He’s catching up now, only an hour behind you, stalking you like a lion stalks a gazelle in the savannah. He can almost taste your scent on the wind, the spice in the air making everything so much more pronounced. He wonders if you’re with someone else. A lover perhaps.

No. No, he was your first. He knows that. Feyd continues pushing forward, demanding his mercenaries follow him. It’s burning him up inside, the thought of you with someone else, in their arms, being loved and cared for by them. He won’t let you go. He can’t let you go.

And when he finally catches up to you, finding you in your stillsuit, staggering through a sandstorm, on the brink of collapse, you still try to run from him. Feyd grabs you by the arm, snarling and pulling you toward him angrily, making you stumble against him. You try to resist him and it both infuriates your husband and arouses him. How dare you? After he’s come all this way? He’s come so far for you, and you run.

“Let me go!”

Feyd scoffs, a bitter laugh leaving his lips as he pulls you in even closer, forcing you to face him, “Why should I let go of what belongs to me?”

He drags you back to the thopter waiting nearby, his grip hard on the nape of your neck. He has you gagged and your hands tied, making sure that you’re unable to use the Voice against him, unable to fight. You sit there seething, glaring at him as you begin to make your way back to the Arrakeen palace. Feyd meets your vitriolic stare with one of his own, matching you in intensity. Your glare, your rage. It doesn’t faze him at all.

You’re marched to the grand hall where your father would entertain his guests. All eyes are on you and your husband, watching as he pulls you along while you glower at him. Feyd knows you aren’t entirely confident in your skills using the Voice. That your mother focused more on training your brother than you. So he removes your gag when you reach the chair that once belonged to your father. He smirks, pulling you into his lap, his hand running through your hair. Your anger amuses him, your reactions excite him.

You still look so beautiful, your hair mussed from the desert wind as he rips the stillsuit from your body. You let out a low snarl as you glare up at Feyd, the Harkonnen standing guard nearby. Close enough to wrangle you in if the need arises. Suddenly, he knots his fingers in your hair, tugging harshly, pulling you close to him.

“Did you truly think that you could escape me?” He rasps, practically ripping your undergarments from your body, leaving you bare and vulnerable against him, while he remains fully clothed - a further testament to the power divide between the two of you, “Did you think I would not find you? I will always find you. You’re mine.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss as he bites down on your neck, his fingers moving between your thighs, toying with your wet cunt. He loves the way your body responds to him. Your mouth may lie, say that you don’t want him, that you don’t love him. But your body never does, “I’m not yours.”

Feyd pushes two fingers inside you, making you let out a moan, his breath hot against your ear as he hisses, “Yes, you are.”

He can feel it in the way you squeeze around him, the way your head lolls back against his chest. He can feel it in the way you spill yourself so quickly, your arousal coating his fingertips, which he forces between your lips to lick clean. Feyd turns you around to face him and he can feel it in your eyes, the way you watch him undo his pants, stroking at his cock. You hate him. But you desire him just as much. He moves toward you and you spit at his face, making him let out a dark laugh. Feyd merely grips your jaw, forcing your lips apart and spits, letting it land on your tongue, forcing you to swallow it, asserting his dominance over you.

And while you glare up at him disdainfully, your lips part in a moan of his name as his cock pushes past your folds. He sheathes himself inside you to the hilt, filling you completely. Feyd lifts you up onto the table, pushing you down on your back. He crawls over you and begins to pound into you like a man starved, his grip on your throat bruising, pinning your hands above your head. You feel his lips around one of your nipples, his darkened teeth leaving their stain on your skin.

He draws the filthiest noises from you, the wet squelching noise of your cunt as he moves in and out of it, the screams of his name as he brings you to the edge over and over and over. He’s going to fuck his heir into you tonight. He’d like to see you try to run after that. You reach your peak well before he’s anywhere near finished with you. Feyd pushes your knees up to your chest, his own on either side of your hips, fucking you harder and deeper than ever before. His seed will take tonight. And he will fuck you over and over and over until you learn that you belong to him. You try to turn your face from him, but he holds it in place.

“I want you to look at me,” Feyd rasps, “I want you to look me in the eyes as I spill myself inside of you. That deceitful little tongue of yours can lie, but your eyes cannot. I can see the love you have for me. The hate. And I will take it all because I can bear it. I am the only one who can.”

And so, as he spills himself inside you, his black spend dripping from your cunt, coating your thighs, your eyes remain locked on his. He uses his fingers to push back whatever leaks out back inside you, intent on keeping you here with him. Your overstimulated, sensitive body shivers at the feel of his fingers, but Feyd doesn’t care. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve brought this upon yourself.

Feyd sees how exhausted and utterly spent you look. Using his almost inhuman strength, he lifts you into his arms, carrying you out of the room, shooting a satisfied smirk at all those who have been standing around to hear the… Aftermath of your reunion.

Feyd hates you. But he loves you in equal measure, if not more. And you feel the same for him. You two are bound now. Forever.

Feyd Rautha would understand the gravity of impregnating a member of the Bene Gesserit. The promise of a powerful heir born with the voice and truthsaying abilities meant a stable driving force for House Harkonnen with ties to those closest to The Emperor. But when you grow a swollen stomach, round and full with his child, the political chess moves are far from his mind.

The Na-Baron is obsessed. At first you note his unwillingness to leave your side, refusing to take to the arena and slay Harkonnen prisoners while you are with child. His dual hunting blades gather dust, Feyd choosing instead to pose his aggression against any male Harkonnen that dares look your way.

Usually unaffectionate, Feyd lays claim to you by placing his hands on you often. His palm presses against the swell of your stomach, feeling the tiny kicks of the child inside. It almost makes him more protective, insisting he, alone, protect you.

Seperate from prying eyes, Feyd cannot keep his hands, his lips, off you.

“You witch,” he hisses between heavy kisses, his firm grip hoisting your thighs over his hips, “You have poisoned me— Bewitched me with your Gesserit powers.”

But when Feyd sinks his cock deep inside you, his palms splayed across your swollen stomach, he’s too busy growling out your name to accuse you of sorcery. In truth, Feyd Rautha would readily fill you with his seed again and again to watch you swell with more of his children.

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