celestibabs

[celestibabs]

Is he toying with him? No... Paul has never killed a man.

[celestibabs]

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.

dune masterlist

[celestibabs]

Are you going to link your old blog to your new one and make a masterlist? That’s be awesome

hi nonny !!

i am trying to leave my “old blog” behind, in honesty! As of right now i have no plans — maybe in the future when i feel a little more confident in my old blog because as of right now it makes me want to tear my hair out!

much love!

[celestibabs]

[celestibabs]

Feyd Rautha’s blade sings as the Na-Baron swipes the flat side of his weapon across the soft, exposed skin of your back. The sharp, serrated edge catches slightly on each ridge of your vertebrae, threatening to split the skin.

The same blade had slit the throats of many concubines to test its sharpness, and had plunged between the ribs of countless Atreides hostiles in the Harkonnen arena. Feyd didn’t enact such violence against you, however– he made the metal kiss your skin instead, tracing the threatening point across your jugular with a steady hand.

“You still fear me,” Feyd acknowledges your shaky breath, stroking a fight-calloused palm across your naked skin to feel the goosebumps that prickle your arms. He pulls your back to his solid chest, the sharp edge of his cupid's bow brushing against the shell of your ear as he muses quietly; “Good.”

Sliding his hunting knife beneath the curve of your jaw, a groan rumbles in Feyd’s chest as he begins to apply pressure. Crimson dribbles down the steel blade, and you feel the Na-Baron’s firm erection grind against the curve of your hip as he drags the flat of his blade across his tongue.

“I can taste it,” he murmurs, a sadistic smirk playing across his lips, “Your fright.”

“Na-Baron,” you whisper, your voice trembling as he tosses the blood-smeared blade aside, choosing instead to dip his hand between your drenched thighs. A whimper slips past your lips when his thumb presses harshly against your clit.

“Would I taste your fear between your thighs, Pet? Or would I taste your arousal instead?”

post that inspired this | dune masterlist

[celestibabs]

“Deal with this prophet. Show me who you are.”

[celestibabs]

How are you doing?

hi nonny, i’m so sorry i went so long without responding xx

i’ve been better and been worse!! i have been away a long while because i havent had the want to write… until now! it’s still quite hard for me to sit down and do it, but i think i’m on the way there…

thank you for checking in on me, love! how are you? xx

[celestibabs]

Feyd Rautha relishes your ability to withstand his rabid sex sessions after a hunt in the Harkonnen arena. Each evening is the same, spurred on by the echoing cheers of the crowd. He bursts into your quarters, crimson blood spatter speckling his porcelain skin and eyes crazed from the adrenaline.

Grasping the base of your neck with hands that had committed atrocities, Feyd forces you into his desired position. Face pressed harshly into the mattress of the absurdly large mattress, you feel the nick of a blade tip cutting into the soft skin of your ribs when it rips through the expensive fabric you wore. You imagine Feyd viewed your clothes as an adversary, carving through them with his dual hunting knives like he did the many Atreides he fought in the arena. 

He holds your chin in a vice grip, his fingerprints bruising into your jawline as he pulls you back, leaning in to force a ravenous kiss onto your mouth. The coppery taste of fallen Harkonnen prisoners coats your tongue, and you find yourself moaning at the familiar taste. To the Na-Baron Feyd Rautha, blood meant sex– meant burying himself in your weeping cunt to burn off the residual epinephrine rush from the slaughter. You’d come to associate the flavour of iron with the stretch of his cock. 

The soft silk of the cool bed sheets beneath you do little to soothe the hot sting of Feyd’s nails sinking into the soft, naked flesh of your hips. Crescent moons that pearl with maroon. If you’re lucky– if you’re good, Feyd drags his tongue over the weeping wounds. 

When the Na-Baron sinks his throbbing cock into you, there’s no warning. He likes the shock it causes, the gasp that rips through your chest when he lips your hips and rams inside of you harshly. It’s so much, too much at once; the stretch in your fluttering cunt, the rippling of Feyd’s abs against your back when he pistons his hips into you. He’s feral, each thrust driving you further up the mattress. 

You’re almost certain the pretty little whimpers that he punches out of you with each push of his thick length gets the Na-Baron off quicker. You’re like prey beneath him, at his mercy. Those black eyes spark with arousal when you submit to him entirely, baring your throat and whining his name as your arousal teases at the edge of your consciousness. 

He responds in kind, cumming deep inside your cervix and baring his teeth. A predator reminding you that he would force you to submit– or devour you.

dune masterlist

[celestibabs]

𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐟𝐞𝐲𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐚 »

imagines: [ i ] [ ii ] [ iii ]

𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥 𝐦𝐮𝐚𝐝'𝐝𝐢𝐛 𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 »

imagines: [ i ]

[celestibabs]

Austin Butler as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen in Dune: Part 2

[celestibabs]

three depressing things that are absolutely a certainty in life:

• death

• taxes

• verstappen pole + race win

[celestibabs]

BABS — fanfic writer

about me. hi ! i am celestibabs/babs ( she / her), a 23 year old from the united kingdom who’s obsessed with all things nerdy, sporty and taylor swift-y.

requests. are closed, but please feel free to send thoughts / thots into my inbox ! i’m trying to make friends with similar interests <3

MY WORKS — recent releases

feyd rautha imagine i

feyd rautha imagine ii

feyd rautha imagine iii

masterlist . taglist . library . wips

[celestibabs]

pairing; billy hargrove x f!reader

contents; 18+ mdni. boudoir photography, heavy petting, dry humping if you squint | wc: 1k

note; starting off simple for my return to writing... nothing too long or too spicy, but we all know that won't last very long.

Billy snatches the cigarette from his mouth as if it scolded his taste buds, flipping the envelope you’d handed him in his hand with intrigue. His perfect blonde eyebrow raised in query, he raises his gaze at you pointedly. 

“What is it?” He speaks flatly, exhaling the smoke in his lungs slowly so it kisses at his cheekbones. 

“Just open it,” you murmur quietly, worrying your lower lip with your teeth. Billy hums softly, fussing with the lip of the envelope with his fingertips and teasing your nerves. 

You’d tortured yourself over a Christmas gift for Billy, thinking of all possible options and how he’d be entirely unimpressed. Minus a new set of weights or a large tub of some kind of protein-shake powder, you knew he’d probably shove your gift in a cupboard and forget about it until he needed to take the Christmas lights out next year. 

Desperation had kicked in around two weeks before Christmas day. Wandering in and out of the few shops in Hawkins like a demented zombie had resulted in empty hands and muttered curses of frustration. Unprompted comments by Billy insisting that he didn’t want any gifts had fueled your indignation, especially given his tone had somehow strayed into something pitiful in comparison to the monotonous, bored drawl he usually offered.  

The idea came to you spontaneously. Nancy had called to tell you about a playful tiff she’d had with Jonathan over some Playboy magazine’s she’d found in his bedroom while moving her things in for Christmas. Her voice had practically faded into oblivion when you’d remembered the torn-out Playboy pages plastered to the wall above Billy’s dresser. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that Billy was pulling apart the ribbon you’d tied around the neatly wrapped gift, you’d begun to feel queasy.

Before tearing the wrapping paper, Billy prolongs your suffering with a smug smirk, clearly noticing your anticipation. He lifts the item, shaking it like a five year old rattling their present box as though it would offer insight into what lay inside. “Give me a hint.”

“Billy,” you huff, exasperated already with his antics, “Just open the stupid thing before I take it back.” 

He hums, finally pinching the edge of the wrapping between his thumb and forefinger before pulling upwards, the paper ripping open to reveal the contents inside. 

Billy paused, slowly exhaling the dregs of his cigarette in a gentle stream of smoke through his nose. 

Your heart catches. 

The glossy pages of the personalised Playboy Magazine rippled slightly as Billy brought the images closer for a better look. It was unmistakably you on the front cover, perched in a seductive position on a stool dressed in an unbuttoned blouse with peaks of the black, lacy lingerie you wore underneath. 

Poor Jonathan had been mortified when you’d begged him to take the last minute images. Despite his reluctance, and Nancy observing his every move to ensure he didn’t stare too long, he’d worked hard to ensure he could emulate the magazine quality. Of course, you hadn’t told him who they were for.

You knew you looked fantastic, but Billy’s silence was unnerving you. 

“There’s more inside,” you murmur, cheeks burning, “Some don’t have my face in them so you can tear them out and put them on your wall.” 

Another slow exhale, Billy’s eyes flitting over the magazine cover had your heart lurching in fear. Was he angry? He still didn’t say much when he began to thumb through the pages, stopping on a particularly scandalous page where you swept aside the bounce to reveal the curve of your breast, lips parted seductively but the image excluding the rest of your face. 

“Billy, I’m–” 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, taking his cigarette from his lips and stubbing it into an ashtray settled on the arm of the sofa you’re both perched on. “You want me to pin photos of you half naked on my wall, for everyone to see?”

Billy reaches forwards, taking a hold of your chin in his palm and pulling you forwards so your noses bumped together. Your breath hitches, seizing in your throat when you feel Billy’s breath fan across your face. 

“You little slut,” Billy coos, his free hand working its way between your knees to inch up the inside of your thigh. His touch leaves a delicious burn, like the smouldering embers of his cigarette end had set his fingertips alight. 

Billy’s lips brush against your own as he speaks, his fingers ghosting over the seam of your trousers to apply slight, teasing pressure to your clit. “I’ll put them up on the wall opposite the door. Make sure everyone gets to see how much of a slut you are for me.” 

You can see Billy’s cock straining against the right denim of his jeans. He’s all worked up at the idea of showing you off like this, and seems intent on dragging you down into a horny-haze too. 

“If you’d like that,” you whisper, voice catching slightly in your throat as Billy leans his head down to drag the flat of his tongue across your pulse point. You hear him chuckle softly, feel the rumble against your neck, and you’re almost certain it’s because he can somehow taste your arousal through your skin. 

“I’d love that,” he smirked, his hands slowly working their way beneath your shirt and pushing it upwards to expose the naked flesh of your stomach, squeezing at your breast when you arch your back for him. 

“Merry Christmas, Billy,” you laugh at that, your giggle faltering into a soft whine when Billy punches at your nipple, rolling the stiffened bud between the pads of his thumb and forefinger to tease you further. “Mhmmm,” Billy hums, nipping at your neck and slowly laying you back against the couch. He doesn’t seem to mind that the ashtray that had balanced on the arm of the sofa tips off onto the floor, or that the magazine falls to the floor. He’s far too busy grinding his hard cock against you. “A very merry Christmas it is.”

[celestibabs]

billy starts taking later shifts at the pool when you come along. avoids the 'rush hour' of the kids coming out of summer camp to get the perfect view of you in that positively skimpy bikini that he's absolutely certain you wear for him. he's obsessed with the tangy taste of chlorine on your skin when he drags his tongue over the soft skin on the inside of your thighs, addicted to the echoes of your devastated moans of billy’s name bouncing off the tiled walls of the changing room. the way you tug at his blonde curls is more than enough to make up for how much the chemicals in the pool from back to back shifts had practically ruined them...