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myfanficacademia · 12 days

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"Painting" - Feyd Rautha x Reader

a/n: a drabble as a request for dad!feyd combined with some of the headcanons i've talked about @barbiedragon and @dreamlandcreations about hehe. i gave the harpies and the twins russian names as vladimir (the baron's name) is of slavic origin! 🩷

Summary: Painting Feyd before battle has become one of your favorite pastimes.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, pregnancy, tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 1,200

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 🩷

Painting your husband has become one of your favorite pastimes. It is an intimate moment before he walks out into the arena, risking his life. A moment where he just gazes at you, watching your delicate fingers moving along his chest, his abdomen, watching in the mirror as you paint his back. With his slaves, it was different. They seemed to be in a hurry to do it and get away from him, not wanting to risk his ire, not wanting to risk being left at the mercy of the Harpies. You, however, take your time, relishing in the closeness it allows the two of you. You smile up at him playfully when you move to paint his face, his hand grabbing your wrist before you can.

“What? I just thought I’d write my name.”

Feyd snorts out a laugh, shaking his head at you, “You’re ridiculous. But…” He pauses, meeting your gaze, “I wouldn’t be averse to you painting your lips and leaving a kiss above my heart.”

“What was that?” You taunt, peering up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes, “You want me to leave my mark upon you, my darling husband? Why… How positively sentimental of you.”

He rolls his eyes, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his voice a low rasp as he replies, “I suppose you’ve made a bit of a romantic out of this bloodthirsty warrior.”

“They’ll say you’ve gone soft,” you murmur as he dips his finger in the bowl of paint, bringing it to your lips, coating them in the black substance, his touch lingering on your skin a few moments longer than necessary, “That the great Feyd-Rautha has lost his edge.”

“They will be wrong,” Feyd whispers back to you, “They don’t realize that if one is fighting to come back to the woman they love, they will fight harder than ever before.”

He watches, his gaze so tender that it makes the same butterflies that filled your stomach the first time you saw him start fluttering again as you press your lips to his chest. Feyd gazes down at the mark you left behind, nodding to himself, lips parting to reveal his darkened teeth as he gives you a smile. It isn’t one of the threatening smiles he gives his opponents in the arena, or the false ones he gives his uncle. This one is genuine. And soft and loving. He rests his forehead against yours and you whisper the words you say to him before he leaves for every fight.

The words of his house that were always spoken before they sent their men into battle.

“Come back to me with your shield or on it,” you say, brushing your lips against his.

He nods, “I will, my na-Baroness. I will.”

For a final touch, you dip your hand in the paint bowl before pressing it to his chest, helping him into his gear, watching him stride into the arena to the cheers of the crowd.

Once your children are old enough to partake in this ritual, it becomes a bit more chaotic. The twins - Vanya and Katia - fight over who has to hold the bowl versus who gets to paint him. You watch the scene with amusement, as does Feyd, tiny little handprints all in black decorating his alabaster skin along with the meticulously painted lines you have already adorned him with.

“Papa, I want to fight in the arena too!” Vanya declares, “I can beat all these people! I can even beat you! You’re getting old, Papa, it’s time to let the man of the house take over!”

Feyd looks at his son, utterly amused, before glancing over at you, “Vanya, I need you here to protect Mama and the baby in my absence. Isn’t that more important than some silly fight in the arena?”

Vanya looks between the two of you, his gaze lingering on your rounded belly before nodding, drawing the mini crysknife from his belt, waving it in front of him, “I will kill anyone who tries to hurt Mama or the baby.”

“That’s my boy.”

“He’ll only end up killing himself,” Katia comments dryly as she continues painting her father, “He doesn’t know how to hold the thing.”

“I know better than you-”

“Oh, please, Vanya, we both know I can kick your ass-”

“Who taught you that word?” You question, arching a brow at your daughter, “Katia?”

You can tell by Feyd’s sheepish expression that it was him who did so, and unable to remain cross for too long at any of them, you shake your head, nodding at the Harpies, asking them to take the twins for their training. However, before they leave, Katia rushes to Feyd, tugging at his loincloth to get his attention, nearly making the poor man faint in his panic to keep it wrapped around his waist.

“Braid my hair.”

“Sweetheart, I have to be in the arena in five minutes-”

But the way she looks up at him with those big watery eyes, her lower lip wobbling ever so slightly reminds him far too much of you. And just like with you, he’s unable to say no to her, sighing as he sits down, quickly getting to work at braiding her hair while you and the Harpies try to keep Vanya occupied. Ania, the eldest of the Harpies, pretends to be grievously injured by your son, falling to the ground as she begs for mercy. He giggles as the other two, Polina and Maria, grab him and attack him by tickling him, joking that they’re going to test his mettle against their own and avenge their sister.

You watch the scene, a hand resting on your belly, feeling your third-born moving against you, feeling grateful for this small moment of peace in your and Feyd’s lives. Feyd’s fingers move deftly through Katia’s hair, styling it to perfection. He always enjoyed braiding your hair and seems to enjoy braiding your daughter’s as well, if the smile he tries to hide is any indication. He presses a quick kiss to her forehead, the Harpies escorting the twins out of the room, giving you and your husband a moment of privacy.

“Would you like your hair braided as well, my love? I still have ninety seconds,” Feyd smirks.

You roll your eyes, instead moving to press your lips to his chest, leaving your usual mark, “The little handprints all over you will make your opponents think you’ve gone soft, my Baron.”

“They’d be fools to think I’ve gone soft. I have a beautiful Baroness and three little demons to return to,” he caresses your cheek, smiling as you lean into his touch, “I have more to fight for than any of them, more that I wish to come back to.”

You nod as he rests his forehead against yours, “I don’t care about whether you come back with your shield or not. Just come back.”

It would appear motherhood has made you soft, if only ever so slightly, he muses as he leans in to kiss you, “I will always come back to you. Nothing will ever keep me away from you, my sweet, sweet wife.”

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myfanficacademia · 1 month

Note

So. You’re masters of the air fic? It killed me. I am ded. I need more. Like, immediately.

lol but in all seriousness, it was great. You write them so well, and really captured their personalities. I loved how it was spicy but we also got to see the softer side of their relationship too.

Would you ever be interested in writing something where we get to see more of their protective side for reader? I can picture with the period, maybe someone says something about how she acts with them and they defend her. Or maybe even more of a physical hurt. I just think that 3 hunky boyfriends would be perfect for the protective bf trope 🫶🏼

Author's Note: You just flattered the absolute hell outta me, nonny. Wanna get married? 😭💍 And I'm so into this idea, especially if she comes to visit the base or maybe the boys have passes to the flak house and she visits them there? 👀 Probably wouldn't be historically accurate, but that why we write, hm?

Warnings: angst, the use of the word *whore* as an insult, fistfighting, protective boyfriends <3

No one ever really took notice of you before, not because you weren't noticeable, but because you were one of many hundreds of women attached to an overseas soldier and that in itself wasn't too significant. The only reason you were being noticed now was because very few of those women made it a point to try and visit their sweethearts if they were deployed—a big reason for that was the amount of money it cost to travel so far and how dangerous it was to even try—and because of how close you seemed to be to the two most well-respected Majors at Thorpe Abbotts and their friend, Curtis Biddick.

Gale seemed to be the one you were closest to, wasting no time in marring his cheek with a bright red lip print and tucking yourself into his side as he spoke with some of the other pilots. But then John had snuck up behind you without missing a beat and snaked his arms around your waist, hugging you so dearly and with a grin while his best friend looked on with a fond expression.

"Thought you were gonna surprise me, didn't you, sweetheart?" John asked, wagging his finger at you good-naturedly. "You're a bad one."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," You feign innocence as he twirls you around, making you giggle. "I'm a good girl, Major."

"Uh huh." His eyes crinkle at the edges. "You wanna help me find Curt?"

You nod excitedly and look over at Buck, who reaches out to take your white glove-clad hand, kissing your knuckles.

"I'll be right here." He assures.

You disappear in a whirl of skirts out of a doorway with John and someone—a fairly new pilot on the base by the name of Greer—decides to comment on it.

"Don't you feel a little weird about that?"

Buck sips on his soda, face scrunching up in confusion. "About what?"

"Well," The pilot looks unsure if he should say anything. "Egan looks awfully cozy with your girl."

"We've all known each other a long time." He shrugs. "Honestly, she's the glue that keeps us together. Don't know where we'd be without her. Bucky'd probably be brawling in bars every night and I'd probably still be back in the states."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs. "She's the one who encouraged me to sign up as a flying cadet when I expressed interest. Don't know if I would have gathered the nerve to do it on my own."

Greer looks skeptical but Buck pays him no mind; the rookie takes it as his cue to find someone else to converse with, leaving the major in peace.

He doesn't show it, but the exchange leaves a bad taste in Buck's mouth. He downs the rest of his soda to try to get rid of it, grabbing the bartender's attention with a lift of his fingers.

"Gordon, could I get one more, please?"

***

Bucky holds the barracks door open for you and you both find Curt folding his spare uniform slacks to tuck away in his foot locker. He's alone and in his head, humming a song under his breath.

"Hey, baby boy." You bite your lip and his whips his head up, grinning immediately.

"Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?" He opens his arms for you and presses his face into your hair. "God, I missed you. You've no idea."

"I think I might have some idea," You mumble over his shoulder, your gloved hands holding him as close as humanly possible. "Try missing three people at once—you're all driving me bonkers."

He hums his assent, breathing in the perfume you so sweetly spritz across your letters. It makes him miss you despite having you in his arms now, makes him miss waking up in the mornings, tangled in your bedsheets and peeping through bleary eyes to watch you do yourself up for the day.

It can't be easy for you, he's sure of that, and it makes him all the more grateful that you've taken time out of your life to come all this way to see them and possibly give them a bit of a reprieve from everyday military life.

"I miss you, I love you," He mumbles again, making Bucky smile affectionately as he watches, crossing his arms. He normally has so much to say, but he knows how much this means—to all of them. He knows you need this, knows it's gonna break your heart to have to leave them here when you go back home.

Christ, it's gonna break his own damn heart.

"I love you, baby," You reply, willing yourself to keep your tears at bay. This isn't the time and you don't want them to worry when they have so much on their minds already, better to weep in peace when you're back on a train or in the privacy of your own home. "I heard you had a little tussle a while back."

"Some Brits were insultin' us," Bucky defends without wasting a breath. "I was gonna take 'em, and then Buck was gonna, but then Curt wanted a swing—"

"You're joking." You press your lips together and Curt has the decency to look properly scolded, but Bucky just raises his hands in mock surrender, not feeling the least bit sorry.

"Can't take these goons anywhere." A voice sounds off behind Bucky, leading you to crane your neck to look around him. A man you don't recognize grins as he walks into the barracks, and you surmise that your boys don't like this fella, not even a little bit, their slightly uncomfortable expressions giving them away.

"Angelico," Bucky forces a smile anyway. "Thought you had a weekend pass."

Angelico shrugs, hands in his pockets as he comes to stand in front of the three of you.

"Did. Missed my bunk."

Bucky hums, eyeing him suspiciously, but Curt scoffs in disbelief.

"Nobody misses their bunk," He tells you seriously. "Not over a cushy bed and a lady."

"Ladies up in London are boring," Angelico confesses, his roaming eyes making you feel uneasy as they pass over your figure. The way he observes you nearly makes you feel as if you're completely naked and not in a good way. "Not like your dame here."

Bucky's eyes shift into something dangerous, but he doesn't move.

"She's Buck's dame," He corrects. "You know that, though. Don't you?"

Angelico looks pointedly at the way Curt has his arm around you. "Doesn't look like it from here."

"We're all close friends." You steel yourself, unwilling to back down as you hold Curt to you harder.

"Close enough to whore yourself out to 'em, huh?"

Bucky lurches forward, fully prepared to defend your honor, but you're able to grasp a handful of his sleeve to yank him back, Curt reaching for him, too.

"Oi, oi, Bucky—"

"John, it's not worth it," You glare at Angelico as he just chuckles to himself. "Let's go back to the Officer's Club."

"I just want to say," Angelico takes his cap off, holding it to his heart, face morphing apologetically. "I meant no disrespect. I think you’re real pretty, honest!"

Bucky scoffs disgustedly at his nerve, allowing the two of you to pull him backward and in the direction of the door.

"What about adding a fourth? Could be fun!"

Bucky breaks away from the two of you, eyes nearly black from his rage-expanded pupils. The shouts and the protests he hears from you and Curt fade away; his ears ring as his balled up fist connects with Angelico's stomach, knocking the air from his lungs and making him double over. He pummels his other fist on his back, knocking him to the floor in a coughing fit.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when someone pulls him away from Angelico—doesn't even know who it is. He'd let the man get up at one point—wouldn't have been fair otherwise—and he'd admittedly given Bucky a run for his money. The ringing in his ears was made worse by a mean right hook to the face, and he was pretty sure his lip was split.

He's pulled along outside, a big hand underneath his armpit. Sweat is pouring down his chest and back through his uniform shirt, the night's breeze cooling him down.

"—hell's wrong with you, kid? Were you trying to kill him?"

He looks up into Colonel Harding's perturbed face as he's steadied by hands on his shoulders, fingering his lip as he catches his breath, looking down at the blood that comes away. It's because of this that he notices the blood covering his shaking knuckles.

"Major." Harding smacks a palm to Bucky's cheek, getting his attention. "What happened?"

The adrenaline wearing off, his voice shakes as bad as his hands. "I—Colonel Harding, I'm—"

The older man watches him for a moment before looking to his left.

"Biddick? You want to explain?"

Curt swallows. "Angelico provoked him, provoked all of us. Said some things to her—" He inclines his head toward your upset and curled in form, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly.

"—She's Cleven's fiancée."

Harding narrows his eyes as you sniffle, and looks back at Curt. "Some...inappropriate things, I'm guessing?"

"Yes, sir."

He looks back at Bucky, finally letting his shoulders go. "I want you to clean yourself up, you hear me? After that, I don't want to see you back on this base until next Monday. I'm sending you to the flak house."

Bucky's mouth opens in protest but Harding waves him off exasperatedly.

"With Cleven and Biddick. Christ, the three of you might as well be attached at the hip."

He starts walking back inside the barracks to presumably deal with Angelico with a shake of his head, but he points a finger at Bucky one last time.

"Get a goddamn handle on yourself. You can't just go around kickin' the shit out of my soldiers. Next time you're grounded for good, war be damned."

When Harding's out of sight, you rush to Bucky's side and cup his face.

"You're an idiot," You blurt with tears in your eyes. "Why would you do that for me, huh?"

He presses his forehead to yours.

" 'Cause I love you," He pulls your hand from his face. "Now come on, you're gonna get your gloves all dirty."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do. I paid three-fifty for those suckers."

"Buck's going to give you a lecture." Curt winces as they all walk towards the infirmary building in search of some antiseptic and possibly some butterfly bandages.

"I know, I know."

***

"Can't leave you alone for five minutes, Bucky, goddamn it."

"Ooh, I got him to swear."

"This isn't funny. You got us grounded for a week!"

"Oh, shut up and enjoy some downtime for once."

"If the two of you don't shut the hell up, I'm gonna punch yous. Baby's gonna be back any minute."

"Yeah, you hear that, Buck? Baby's almost back from the store."