peggyao3

[peggyao3]

Austin Butler MLB All-Stars Preview

[the book part] [the book part 🔥]

[peggyao3]

Holy Seed

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: Feyd so badly wants to plant his seed deep inside his wife's belly.

WORD COUNT: 2,554

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her pronouns, AFAB FMC, porn without plot, smut, explicit sexual content, Dom/Sub undertones, vaginal sex, Switch!Feyd, Switch!FMC, breeding kink ❗, without actual breeding, Orgasm Denial, Power Play,  Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, cum eating ❗

A/N: This is pure breeding kink and filth, you might need a shower after this one 😩

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

There is no possible way to resist when his wife seduces him in the sanctity of their shared bed chamber. A wisp of translucent, gauzy gowns that flow around her curves while she lounges on the bed teases him, and then that modicum of fabric is gone too, pulled over her head by nimble hands. She rolls on her stomach, arching her back, elevating her ass. Her little toes with painted nails wiggle invitingly in the dim light of the glow orbs.

Not even a string of words whispered by a manipulative Bene Gesserit mouth would have been more effective than this. Feyd strips his sleeveless tunic and kicks off his lounge trousers, nearly tripping over the fabric around his ankles.

She makes a show of trying to crawl away from him, towards the pillow and headboard, spreading her thighs a smidge so Feyd sees the shimmer of wetness that clings to her lower lips. Swiftly, Feyd leaps on the bed, dragging his knees over the comforter to get to her quickly.

Pale hands capture her hips and she makes an adorable, little squeak when he yanks her backwards and her pussy bumps against his cock head whose texture is like taut velvet. Immediately, a palpable twitch goes through his manhood and his length cranes upwards, throbbing against her folds, once, twice.

She lets out a seductive chuckle, squishing her thighs together to trap his cock, but Feyd pulls back and brings the plump head to her hole with one fluid stroke, knowing her body like he knows his blades.

"Ouch!" She yelps and Feyd presses harder, taming her squirming hips with a harsh squeeze of battle-calloused hands that have been trained to know that a tight grip can be the difference between life and death. His teeth slide over her back and close around the softness between her nape and shoulder. Quickly, she succumbs to him.

She is unprepared save for the wetness she's mustered from watching him from across the room. "You can't tease me and expect me to play with your pussy before I come and fuck you."

"I c-can't really, can I?" She gasps and chuckles, instinctively trying to inch away from the abrasive pressure against her tight walls, but Feyd hooks one wiry arm around her hips, angling her ass up the way he needs. Willingly, her spine adjusts to his soft manhandling and her cunt flutters lightly. A primordial part of her thinks there is nothing greater than being taken like this, by a beast that comes and mounts her when she lures it.

Feyd's perception is narrowed down to what transpires between their bodies, the slow throbs of her cunt, the wetness that begins to slick up her walls, the tremors in her flesh while he splits her open, forcing her puffy lower lips to spread themselves around the thick base of his cock. His wife mewls and snarls like an angry kitten, purring and writhing against his taut chest.

She blatantly enjoys the physical strength of him - superior to her in any way, hard where she is soft, his flesh bulging with lithe muscles. His torso curls against her back, bending and moving as he ruts into her like a dog, bringing one arm to the front to support his weight on his hand right next to her own smaller one that clutches the sheets.

Feyd thinks there must be a reason why most animals choose this position to consummate their mating. Even though human anatomy allows for a myriad of different ways, there is nothing like bending over your woman and trapping her in a cage of arms and legs while she takes your cock like she was built to.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She purrs, trying for a smug tone, but her breath is labored and strands of hair cling sweatily to her neck.

"I quite enjoy it when you know your place, my wife." Feyd's hand slides around her body, cupping her lower belly where he knows his cock is buried and will be pumping an offspring into her. "This'll be round and full soon," he grates out, moaning when he presses down harder on her abdomen.

"Ahhh, it's too deep!" She complains and he feels so sorry for bruising her poor little cervix.

"It must be deep, so it'll take."

She chokes out a moan and her arms buckle, chest and face falling against the mattress while her ass remains high, cunt spread open by his thick, milky cock. She is beautiful, back arched into submission, ass cheeks burning from the constant smacking of skin against skin.

"Your body likes that, wife," Feyd giggles. "There, you clenched again." He repositions his supporting hand, planting it in the nape of her neck instead. A hoarse whimper is muffled by the comforter and her toes curl. Her knees move in a pathetic attempt to crawl, but Feyd shifts his knees closer together, bracketing her body with warm, smooth thighs on either side while his cock pounds into her puffy hole over and over.

"You're trapped," Feyd purrs and bends over to nip at her back. "And you're going nowhere until I've planted my seed in you. And then I'll stay inside you as long as I feel like it. I won't let a single drop escape until it's nestled in your womb." He hits some higher notes in the end, growing immoderately excited over the idea of finally seeing her belly distended with his spawn.

His wife chuckles like she thinks that's a cute idea.

She brings a hand under her body and reaches back between her thighs. At first, Feyd thinks she's just going to play with her clit (things like that sometimes end up being neglected when one's mind is in a mating frenzy), but her nails scrape against his inner thigh. A soft moan escapes him as she traces the rippling muscles under perfectly smooth, hairless skin. His heavy balls wildly smack against her forearm. 

"It's time you stop," she purrs, wriggling her ass against his pelvis. "I can feel you twitching."

"No, not this time, wife! I won't pull out, you can't make me- Agh!"

Her hand forms a claw around his sac and her nails dig into the smooth, flushed skin, squishing the globules full of seed that are nestled inside, aching to be spent.

Stubbornly, Feyd's hips keep snapping, filling her pussy with more cock than it should be physically able to take. His torso undulates and shivers against her back and a low groan reverberates in his throat, like a cornered animal threatening to bite, but she knows she's got him on a leash.

"Husband…" She threatens and Feyd is ready to strike, both hands snapping to the meat of her hips to pin her down and rut hard and bestially until his seed is spilled into her willing cunt while her unwilling mouth screams and curses him.

But his wife has learned to strike quicker than he does. She curls her fist around his balls, gripping them right by the base, and tugs until he wails and withdraws, pulling out of her pussy. Her terrible hand releases him and his cock is left throbbing, angry and hard like steel, the head flushed dark grey with inky Harkonnen blood. Her pussy taunts him, her lips still parted, puffy and wet with her juices.

"No…" Feyd weakly declares, shaking his head when she turns around and sits on her knees. Her skin shines damp with sweat in the low glow orb light and she points her index finger to the side of the bed. "No, don't make me spill it," Feyd whines and brings his hands in front of his cock, protectively cupping it. His flesh is hot and sticky and the lightest of touch makes him buck into his own palm. His balls look swollen and darkly flushed, peeking out behind his fingers.

"Don't be sulky. There. To the edge of the bed."

Feyd pants heavily, jaws twitching. Then he obeys, stunned that his wife dares to talk to him like that, as if she had a chance to stop him if he really wanted to pump her full or seed. He kneels on the bed, chest and hips pointing towards the open room.

"That's a good husband."

Feyd's mouth is still turned downwards and he stares at his pelvis until his wife's hands gently curl around his and pry them off his manhood. The sound she lets out at the flushed, twitching sight he is, can only be labeled as admiring. Feyd-Rautha surrenders to fate when her fingers curl around his length and he is ever shaken by the size of himself and how she struggles to encompass the entire girth of him, squishing the bulging veins so her fingertips can touch.

She is at his left side, intimately close, and begins stroking him with her left hand. He moans softly, watching with awe how her smaller hand slides confidently up and down, spreading her juices over his solid shaft and the swollen head. Feyd thanks her with whimpered voice, fists twitching at the sides of his body. 

Her right hand slides over his flexed glutes and between his thighs from behind, cupping his tortured balls with a much gentler grasp. Still, Feyd twitches fearfully and a bead of pre-cum gathers at his slit.

Her head then pushes between his arm and his side, so her cheek is pressed against Feyd's ribs while she strokes him with one hand and fondles his sac with the other. The way she holds him is like only a wife would dare to hold him, never a pet,  and Feyd's hand defeatedly settles on her head, cupping it against his heaving side.

"I'm so close," he whines, eyes fluttering shut. "It's not too late."

"Your cum goes right where it belongs, my husband." She nips at his soft, milky flesh over hard muscles.

"N-No, ahhh~"

She feels his climax in his balls first, how they churn and lift against his pelvis, how the flesh pulls taut, followed by lazy throbbing that translates into his impressive cock and culminates in the swollen head. A pathetic moan rumbles in Feyd's chest as glistening strings of inky semen spurt on the floor tiles, going to waste. His climax ends with a few last droplets that dribble sadly into the black, little puddle.

Proudly, his wife purrs against his side and kisses his torso while cruel hands still gently massage his manhood, even though he is spent and softening.

"You know they're all waiting for an announcement." Feyd's voice pitifully trembles and he sounds like a pouting boy, hips twitching with each soft tug on his cock and balls. The royal court probably thinks him impotent by now.

She slips away and leans back, lounging on her back like a cat. "Well that's too bad because I have so much fun playing with you. And I know you like it when your holy seed spills on the floor" His wife chuckles a little and Feyd bares his charcoal teeth, far too aware of how right she is. The shape of his balls feels heavy and hot and they throb against his smooth thighs with each pulse of his own blood.

"One day I won't let you do this to me," he threatens with grating voice.

"Come, snuggle me." She spreads her arms and Feyd obliges at once, nestling his face against her collar bone while she traces his shoulder blades. His flaccid cock is squished between his tummy and her side. They calm their breaths for a peaceful little while.

"Should I call in the servants to c-clean up?"

"No!" His wife snaps and Feyd endlessly enjoys her visceral reaction. "It's all mine and no one will touch it."

"It's all yours, my wife." Feyd's eyes are like black, shiny marbles when he peeks up at the possessive expression that adorns her face. Plump lips press against her neck.

"Would you fetch it for me, please?"

A tremor of excitement seizes him and he dutifully gets up and squats down next to the bed, briefly mourning what had become of his spend when he looks down at his empty cock and the inky puddle on the tiles. But at least he gets to do this to her. For a moment, she only sees the smooth shape of his head bobbing slightly back and forth, his rounded, muscular shoulders moving. He reminds her of a hairless beast, feasting on a corpse, but he only scoops up his cum as best as possible and smears it against his hollowed palm. It's by far not everything, but it'll do. 

Feyd climbs back on the bed, approaching his wife whose expression is much more docile now and her hands are clutched over her chest as if she's impatient or nervous or both. Her thighs rub together, but he can still see her swollen lower lips peeking out. Grinning, Feyd settles down at her side, supporting his weight with the elbow of the arm that holds his precious cum.

"Open," he purrs and she obediently parts her lips, covering her bottom row of teeth with her pink tongue. "That's my darling," he praises and gathers cum on the tip of his middle finger which then finds the center of her tongue. Whining quietly, she suckles the offered digit into her mouth, curling tongue and lips around it, careful not to scrape him with her teeth, as if she hadn't nearly squashed his balls only minutes prior.

Feyd reverently watches, and when he slowly slips his finger out of her puckered, pouty mouth, it comes out clean and glistening. She opens her mouth and presents her tongue, proving that she's dutifully swallowed his holy seed.

"Pretty," he praises with a low rumble. "Do you want more?"

His wife nods with her tongue out, so Feyd feeds her semi-translucent, inky cum from his palm until there's nothing left to scoop up. She grabs his hand then, one hand curling around his wrist, the other snatching his calloused fingers, and brings it to her mouth. Greedily, her tongue flicks out and she licks every last remnant of sticky seed off his skin, big eyes peeking at him over the edge of his pale hand.

"You're so messy." He whispers it as a compliment. His wife's lashes flutter and she nods.

Her submissiveness makes Feyd's core clench agonizingly with the need to breed her, but his balls are empty. "If I still had anything in me, I'd fuck you right now until you're full of child. I wouldn't stop!"

"Mmm-hmm~" She slurs around the heel of his hand, suckling on it before letting go of it with a pop.

"I'd put it deep in your belly."

"Your seed is in my belly, my na-Baron," she giggles.

"Or I could simply scoop up some more from the floor and stuff it into your cunt with my fingers." Feyd's pupils widen and flicker as he cups his wife's cheek with his saliva-coated hand, caressing her wetly. She doesn't flinch.

"You wouldn't do that," she confidently purrs and cups his smooth cheek in return. "You want to breed me honorably."

"Will you let me someday?" Half-lidded eyes study her face.

"Perhaps," she coos. "If you behave."

A/N: Going through a reeeaally mentally draining period of my life right now, so all I can do is upload one of my "old" fics from ao3 🥺 But I'm working on Relic and I should have a new chapter for you this weekend!! <3 Whoever reads this - I hope you're doing well today!

FEYD TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

[peggyao3]

Need you to know that I recurrently think about both Crossfade and your other Feyd fics. Love the way you write him upset.

waaaaahhhhh thank you so much for this ask 😭❤️ literally put the biggest smile on my face to know that you've been thinking about them 🥺☀️🥺☀️ *sending only the best vibes to you*

I've been critically overwhelmed lately so I don't know when I will next post anything substancial, fic-wise, but I do want to say that I've been thinking about a hypothetical third chapter for Crossfade where the FMC dresses her boys up in jeans and leather to take them on an adventure by bike 🥹🤭

[peggyao3]

For my second fic rec of the month, I would like to recommend a brilliant story that will haunt you in the best way with its lyrical prose and incredible imagery, in which Feyd keeps finding his cousin Purity in her visions, or is she perhaps the one finding him? 🧡

— I'm here, Atreides by @moonbeammist

— PAIRING: Feyd Rautha x Fem!Paul Atreides

— SUMMARY: Instead of Paul falling into a near-death coma after taking the water of life; An alternate universe has Fem!Paul taking the water of life, finding herself wallowing in a paranoid fever dream, where prophetic visions blur the lines of reality and her own desires.

— TAGS: Female Paul Atreides , Alternate Universe - Gender changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, dark themes, psychological horror, violence, blood, injury, erotic undertones, sexual tension, kissing, licking, touching, intimacy, praise, feyd rautha harkonnen is his own warning, prophetic dreams, prophetic visions

Do you not see this, Chani? Do you not know the sacrifices I have already made? She had sacrificed her mental state to be the Lisan al Gaib. To lead them to paradise. To day-walk paranoid.  He is nothing like her. He is evil incarnate. He is all that she fights against. All that is soiled and rotted. He is the impending doom of humanity.  He waved to her, pitch-black mouth open and turned up.

— moonbeammist

@dailydoseofaustinbutler || dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[peggyao3]

Feyd-Rautha? He’s psychotic.

[peggyao3]

The Art of Empathy

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: After the fall of House Harkonnen, an innocent poison flower is planted in their evil heart to teach them the art of empathy.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, mixed POVs, Feyd-Rautha feels things, Angst, Fluff, Hurt and Comfort, Political Schemes, Morally Grey Everything, Giedi Prime Realness, Knife Play, Minor Character Death, Mentions of Violence, Slice of Life, Character Analysis, Feyd being Feyd, Vaginal Sex, Squirting, Porn with Plot, Creampie, Soft Feyd by the end of it, Can he be redeemed?!

WORD COUNT: 6.3k

A/N: I posted this one on ao3 ages ago but not on tumblr. I hope you enjoy <3

Reposted from Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

After the fall of House Harkonnen comes the slow decay. A whole folk is left floundering and looks up to their new leader for guidance, Baron Feyd-Rautha, to whom the title is a slight. There is no use for the Baron of a powerless House. The Atreides should have annihilated them all. Instead they are humiliating them and calling it mercy. 

And so, House Harkonnen rots, aimless and torpid. Violence festers in the streets, the military disassembles itself, the House’s spice stocks have been confiscated. And their new leader? He sits and stews in the family keep where Harkonnen and Atreides guards alternate and the latter keep a sharp eye on everything Feyd-Rautha does.

He is a man doomed who refuses to lead a House of shame.

All that remains is to distract himself and search for culprits. His uncle, yes, but his uncle is already dead. The Emperor, the Fremen, the Atreides. They’re all ripe for the killing but House Harkonnen can’t even provide for their own spice addicts.

And then one day, a new resident moves into the palace.

She is a gentle poison flower, planted by the Bene Gesserit. They had thought her a weak witch at first, with no poise and little use. She had only barely passed the Gom Jabbar test, crying and screaming like an animal, but she hadn’t pulled her hand out of the box, so they couldn’t dispose of her. Only much later did the sisters realize what a useful asset she could be. 

De-Harkonnification is the word whispered off the record. A new era of breeding will commence, for the better of the universe. The experiment will start with their leader. It has to.

The suddenly useful Bene Gesserit woman has been chosen to teach Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen the delicate art of empathy.

To force him into bland lessons will bear no fruit. The new baron needs to think he’s discovered wisdom all by himself, only then will his skin peel away and make room for a fresh layer. The slow blade of curiosity will penetrate the shield and kill a Harkonnen, and let him be reborn as something new.

This new woman, she is so soft and… mundane. 

With great irritation Feyd-Rautha takes notice of her moving into his palace where she occupies a medium-sized chamber that has been painted in all the warm colors that aren’t native to Giedi Prime.

“I know you’re a witch,” he tells her the first day, standing in her doorway like a beaten bull who is still ready to charge. “I have no business with witches.”

“I won’t force you,” she replies with a short smile which renders the new Baron momentarily speechless.

The next day, he returns with more anger and piercing eyes that won’t know peace until he finds the answers he seeks. “What is your purpose in my palace?”

“I am to live here,” she announces while sticking her finger into the soil of a gross looking potted plant with wide, green leaves to test how moist it is. Frustratingly, Feyd is unable to detect any deceit in her voice, even though she is a Bene Gesserit, so there must be deceit. He won’t be manipulated.

Throughout the weeks, Feyd realizes everything she does is boring. So boring that he finds himself returning every day and watching with blatant interest, wondering how anyone can live like that.

In her free time, this woman reads literature that has no educational or strategic value. She also says she enjoys naps and she considers having to do nothing at all a rare blessing that not many are free to relish in a world that is battered by politics and war. She reminds Feyd of a lazy housecat who cripples her own potential.

Her survival instincts are so meek, sometimes she won’t even wake up when he enters her room. Feyd is tempted to do a number of things to her sleeping body, but in the end he always just stands there, next to her bed, waiting for her to finally wake up and take note of the danger. With a blade at her throat he tries to teach her to be more attentive, relishing the naked fear in her eyes when she startles from her sleep and finds pain against her neck.

In those moments, she is such a fun toy and Feyd wants to thank whoever is responsible for sending him such a pitiful witch.

Another thing she likes is daydreaming, she says, and when asked to tell him what about, she just smiles mysteriously and shakes her head no, followed by soft laughter. Feyd assumes those daydreams must be about violence, because no human mind goes without violence. And so he smiles too, thinking to himself that he's learned a dirty secret of hers that takes away from her perceived purity.

There is at least one point on which they seem to agree, and that is their interest in good food and drink, though their ideas of ‘good’ differ.

“Do those… pastries you’ve got there strengthen your body?” Feyd peers at her over the table, licking bloody meat residue off his pale fingers.

“Hmmm. I don’t think so, but they’re very tasty.” And that again is something so mundane, Feyd can't wrap his head around it. “Would you like to try one?”

He hesitates, regarding the icing and powdered sugar on the tiny cake. “No. There’s no point in eating it then.”

“Aw.” The woman looks briefly disappointed but then resumes eating.

“Don’t you want your body to be strong and capable of attack and defense?!”

“I suppose that would be nice…” Feyd has noticed a while ago that she seems to have trouble looking him in the eyes and sometimes he thinks he has been deceived and this woman is no Bene Gesserit at all, but a stray that has been deposited in his palace because the sisterhood wanted to get rid of her.

“If I attacked you right now, what would you do?” Feyd stands up and grips her plate, pulling it away so she is left with only the cutlery in hands, looking a little helpless.

“I would scream for help.”

“And if no one came?” The idea amuses Feyd-Rautha and the corners of his full lips twist into an alluring smirk. The temptation makes his skin warm and his core tight.

“I could try to hurt you with this knife and fork,” she proposes and presents her weapons of choice, targeting Feyds clavicles with her mellow eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to try it?” He purrs and slinks closer, rubbing his hand up her arm and shoulder, cupping her throat. He really could do anything to her and she’d have no choice, no matter which weapons are in her meager hands. His cock strains against the dark trousers he wears and she either ignores it or doesn’t notice in her endless languor.

“No, of course not!” She yelps with the high-pitched tone of an animal stupid enough to walk into a blatant trap.

“You bore me to death, woman! I wish you weren’t here.” Feyd rumbles and releases her throat with a punishing squeeze that knocks her backwards, then he sweeps her plate off the table so the pastries bounce across the carpet, leaving a trail of crumbs.

“Then don’t come and see me!”

His loins are left throbbing and he feels so strangely dissatisfied when he leaves that day and cannot help but picture the woman crawling over the carpeted floor, picking up the mess he’s made, and for some reason this image makes him unhappy.

In his churning mind, Feyd keeps wondering why she was brought to him and after enough twisting and turning, he commences an era of harshness in which he thinks she was given to him for his amusement, to be molded by him. The ways to torment her are as manifold as they are fun. Something as simple as twiddling with his knife can draw the warmth out of her cheeks and make her pull her feet under her body, as if fearing Feyd-Rautha might cut her toes off otherwise. 

Now, if only he could make her see how enjoyable pain is. The cuts and nicks on her body tell stories of his attempts, as do those on his, when he guided her unwilling hand to carve lines and half moons into his pale flesh.

The assortment of her scars stop around the middle of her thighs, even though he could easily lift her dress higher and leave his marks of his ownership wherever he wants. There are desires left unspoken and he revels in her fear, because she knows it will happen, just not when.

But the worst thing undoubtedly he's ever done to her, is when he brings her to the former preparation chamber behind the deserted colosseum that was once his gladiatorial arena, when House Harkonnen still had pride and honor. 

In the dark he shows her his assortment of blades, left untouched by the defeat of his House. He laughs when she nods and smiles uncertainly at the slave girls who stand gathered around with bowed heads.

“You’re a Bene Gesserit. You don’t need to smile at them.”

“But I want- Oh!”

With a swift thrust of the arm, Feyd swings his blade in a half circle and slashes two girls’ throats at once. Their willowy bodies drop to the floor, landing on top of each other with tangled limbs and inky blood dripping down their chests.

Feyd turns his head, tilts it slightly to the side and smiles at the woman who grows sickly frigid and barely manages to turn before she throws up as the overwhelming smell of fresh blood assaults her nose and gurgling last breaths her ears. She turns and runs, finding the door unresponsive to her pushing and pulling, so she backs away into the furthest corner and curls into herself, staring fearfully at the pale Harkonnen who still looks at her with an air of boyish fascination.

He lets her go after half an hour but soon learns a harsh lesson. When he seeks her out in her quarters that evening, she acts like a skittish rabbit and hides herself away in the bathroom. For some reason, this enrages Feyd so immensely, he can’t help the immediate tantrum that bursts out of him like gunfire.

For one whole week she doesn’t speak with him and Feyd finds absolutely no fun in that. This week is the worst of his life.

Desperately, he needs her to be the way she was again, the timid creature who peacefully lazes around all day and sleeps, unaware of danger. Now she won’t let him get close, glaring at him over the edge of her book whenever he loiters in her quarters like misplaced furniture, a black and white abomination in the warm, soft capsule she has created for herself on Giedi Prime.

On the seventh day, Feyd  walks up to her awkwardly, like one ready to confess his sins, or a beaten puppy the size of a man. She stiffens in her bed and is fully aware of her defenselessness, fingers tightening around the book as the mattress dips under Feyd-Rautha’s weight. But he only crawls over her and wraps his arms around her middle like he would hug a slain opponent in the arena before letting them drop into the sand.

“I wouldn’t do this to you ,” he rumbles and finds his breath uncomfortably quick and his throat uncomfortably tight. He can’t look her in the eyes.

“But you did this to them ,” she whispers and Feyd is left speechless as to why she would care. Yet for some reason, she drops her book on the floor and hugs him back, hiding her sniffling face in his shoulder. Like a toddler walking his first steps, Feyd pets the back of her head until her tears diminish to a small trickle that is soaked up by his shirt.

Months go by and the woman’s chamber becomes a place of forbidden things. No servant ear must ever hear about what goes down in there, how Feyd stains his hands with softness and sleep, not because he is tired but because he feels like it, how he eats the pastries that are made for her mouth not his, how he reads the pointless literature that forces him to imagine places he’s never been to and people that aren’t real. 

The woman doesn't even want anything from him in return and doesn't complain when he lays his head in her lap when he decides to sleep. She softly scrapes her nails over his scalp without being prompted and he never takes long to fall asleep. She could have plotted his death this whole time long, killed him now with a Gom Jabbar, and he wouldn't have cracked an eye open.

Feyd awakes in the late evening, though he can’t tell the hour of day through the ever-drawn curtains that block out the sun’s harmful wavelengths. Consciousness returns to him as a slow stream and he breathes drowsily against her thigh, listening to the seconds on the clock tick by. She has finished her book and placed it aside, now only focused on stroking his head.

“Do you sometimes think about me?” Feyd slurs, which leaves her wondering if he’s still half asleep.

“Of course, I think about you.” Her fingers curl around his jaws and the pad of her thumb finds the apple of his soft, pale cheek.

“Even when I’m not around?” He inhales the scent of laundry detergent and the subtle note of perfume that clings to the layers of her gown. The warmth of her lap perfuses the fabric and a light current of arousal flows through Feyd-Rautha’s awakening body. Hardness takes hold of his drowsy cock and he wonders when she will finally make a comment or do something about it. He finds himself wanting to hike up her dress and kiss the parts of her body that he has never seen.

“Especially when you’re not around.”

“So, you miss me?” Feyd’s voice becomes sharp like the cutting edge of a blade and his ears perk up. She only laughs softly upon that and curls both arms around his shoulders. Feyd is glad she can’t properly see his face now, ashamed of jumping to such a conclusion.

“You can’t go out there. It’ll make you sick.” Feyd stops the Bene Gesserit woman in the hallway. One half of her body is already bathed in brightness and one eye squints into the unforgiving sunlight.

Even though she seems to have been so very content in her quarters so far, a flash of disappointment washes over her face. “Not even for a short walk?”

“It’s not safe when you’re not Harkonnen. It’ll make you sick,” he emphasizes. “And there’s nothing out there. Only desperate people.” He curls his hand around the crook of her elbow and tugs her away from the light, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when color returns to her skin and hair.

The next day, Feyd is in for an unpleasant surprise.

The woman is found wandering in the sunlight without an umbrella, not even a protective shawl wrapped around her bare shoulders. A pair of Atreides guards spot her slumped over in the shade of a building, blinking disoriented into the light with a colorless rash of blisters on her exposed skin.

Half an hour later, she is back in her darkened quarters, tucked into bed with a soothing ointment applied to her skin.

Her eyes are glazed over with half-translucent milkiness as she stares at the ceiling above her bed. Her lungs still ache and wheeze from the residue toxins she had breathed from the polluted air and her temporarily blinded gaze flitters with silvery dots. Just barely she can make out Feyd-Rautha’s angry, white skull moving back and forth..

“This wouldn’t have happened if you read something substantial every now and then,” Feyd hisses, pacing in front of her bed. “If you had at least worn protection for your eyes and flesh.”

“It was so warm outside.” She tries to justify her lack of protective layers.

“Yes, because of the infrared radiation that cooks the atmosphere!”

She attempts to turn her head away so as not to see the flickering vision of Feyd’s accusatory visage, but he leans down and cups her face with both hands, drawing a whimper from her. The splitting headache turns every movement into agony.

“A few minutes later, and you would have gotten caught up in the sour rain.” Feyd’s voice quivers now. The sour rain brings cancer to foreigners and no one knows a cure for that.

“There was no sign of rain when I was out,” she meekly defends herself, cradled by two strong hands.

“The climate is turbulent on Giedi Prime and our storms are as ferocious as they are sudden. You know what the sour rain does.”

“I'm sorry.” Blistered hands carefully wrap around Feyd-Rautha's wrists, neither pulling nor pushing. Her fingers softly slip over the veins that coil over the back of his hand and between his knuckles.

“But you're a Bene Gesserit. You have control over your own cells, you could have reversed the damage, had it happened.” Feyd's gaze jumps from milky eye to milky eye, wondering why she isn't doing anything against this. “Right?”

She only breathes a soft sigh against his lips as he hovers impossibly close. “Feyd…”

Her lips brush against his as she speaks and a jolt of surprise prickles through the both of them. Feyd is suddenly overly aware of the weight of his own body and he cannot push himself away from the woman. A pull stronger than gravity tugs him down and his lips fall to hers, softly kissing, tasting her saliva and a note of ointment.

“Feyd, everything hurts.” The meek whisper is barely audible, even to her own ears. Her body yearns and arches, separated from him by thick layers of blankets. 

“Kiss me now, before you get yourself killed out there and we don’t get the chance.” Feyd knows he shouldn’t. Even her lips are colored red with a rash, but her hands slip from his wrists to his cheeks, holding him close. Moaning, Feyd’s lips part and he moves his mouth and tongue with as much gentleness as he can muster, softly rutting against her hip over the blanket.

Feyd rumbles: “I should keep you on a leash for your own safety.” The idea makes his cock jump against the blankets and after so many months of thinking about so many things, his balls feel plump like ripe apples.

But they only kiss while sour rain slaps against the windows.

“Do you ever fight?” Feyd ponders while sticking his finger into the soil of the lush potted  plant with wide, green leaves to test how moist it is. It could use a little water.

“You know what I do all day. Have you ever seen me fight?” The woman perks up, her skin healthy and her eyes clear again, like the lakes of Kaitain.

“Let me specify. Did you ever fight?” Feyd lets water from the can splash into the flower pot and the longer she looks, the more she gets used to the view of other things than weapons in his hands. She cocks a brow at him, no longer having so much trouble looking him in the eyes that are dark but usually glazed over with harmlessness when he is around her. “I’m only asking because you seemed so… bored, before the incident happened.”

Guilt drums against his heart with a soft pitter-patter that is like the droplets that soak the soil. He wishes he could offer her more. The longer she ponders, the more awful he feels.

“I sometimes fight with myself.” Her tone of voice indicates this is a big confession.

“How so?” Feyd is confused. He sets down the can and cautiously stalks closer with cat-like grace, head tilted to the right.

“It's a fight that I can't win, I can only delay it.”

“I don't understand that.” Slowly he blinks once, lowering his gaze, then lifting it again. The soft golden light of the glow orbs frays against his blonde lashes.

She pensively sighs. “Are you never angry with yourself? Or dissatisfied?”

“... No.”

She chuckles like she so often does, like he’s missing an obvious clue and Feyd angrily bends down, caging her on the sofa with both hands planted on the seat cushions on either side of her. “Don’t laugh at me, woman. I hate when you do that!”

“Then you know why I’m doing it, or else you wouldn’t hate it.”

“You’re not smarter than me.”

“I am indeed not.” Her eyes dig brightly into his and Feyd swallows. His jaws work and after a minute he pulls away from the intensity of her gaze, looking down at her chest instead. Softly, her hand cups his jaws and her fingers dance over his skin like feathers.

“But that’s not a real fight. You know that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about training and… gladiatorial games.” Petulantly, his eyes lift to hers again.

“How is self doubt not a real fight?” She tilts her head and Feyd swears she never did this at the beginning of their acquaintance.

“I… I didn’t want to talk philosophy, I just wanted to offer you a distraction from your boredom. I thought you might enjoy a fight.” Upon that, she giggles, something flustered in her voice, and Feyd grips the hand that cups his jaw, sliding it to the front so he can kiss her palm with plush, pouty lips. “Always laughing at me,” he grumbles and proceeds to kiss the inside of her hand until she wraps her arms around his head and locks her lips with his.

Much later, Feyd realizes he probably missed a hint.

The right moment is now! No. Yes. Another breath, another minute, another turn of the page while she caresses Feyd-Rautha’s face in her lap. With her Bene Gesserit awareness (Feyd still isn’t sure if she even possesses it), she can probably hear his labored breathing and quick heartbeat. His clammy palms occasionally slide over the blanket she had thrown over her legs before Feyd settled there.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?” Her thumb settles right over the point of his neck, between muscles and tendons, where his pulse hammers the hardest.

“I’ve been wondering…” Feyd twists the blanket and stares at the potted plant. “Are there other things you like to do just for the sake of it? Just like reading or napping…” 

In his whole life, he has never had sex for any other reason than to demonstrate power, or the desire to hurt and be hurt. To think he could have some just for the mundane pleasure of it feels almost forbidden. Feyd is ashamed to ask plainly, but she can read the thoughts behind his boyish eyes. 

She has been expecting this to happen and she is prepared, yet she is not. Before her stands a human now, with all the facettes one should have. 

“Yes, there are…” Pensively, she looks down at her lap. A faint warmth has risen to her cheeks and Feyd-Rautha takes proud notice of her coy glance, raising himself on his hands on either side of her lap.

“Then why did you never…?” His question trails off into nothingness when he notices the petulance in his own voice. He attempts to sit in a way that hides the tent in his pants.

“Don’t,” she scolds him and places her hand on his pale wrist, curling her fingers around the curve of the bone. Feyd inhales sharply and allows her to peel his arm away from his body. For the first time, she actively looks at the bulge of his clothed cock and Feyd has never felt so scrutinized. In an instant, her hand is beneath his shirt, fingers splayed over his hard tummy below his navel. “Why didn’t you?”

She moves her hand as if wanting to slip away and abandon his scalding skin. “Don’t stop~” Feyd whispers, half-lidded eyes dropped to her wrist that disappears under his shirt.

A moment later, her fingers curl around the waistband of his trousers and his grip the laces of her gown and they tear each other’s clothes away with awkward impatience. When Feyd is naked before her, she sinks into the pillows with a meek sigh, swallowing when he climbs on top of her and parts her legs where her pussy sits flushed and wet at the apex of her thighs, waiting for his caress longer than her pride allows her to admit.

She marvels at his hard curves and planes of marble, so pale, so soft. So seraphic. His nipples harden when she slides her palms over each pectoral. For now, she avoids looking at his cock but she feels the ghost of its scalding touch against her soft thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” Feyd breathes, raking his eyes down her exposed skin, studying each mark, each fold, each dimple.

“I was never certain if you found me beautiful,” she whispers and Feyd picks out the insecurity in her voice. His tongue presses against the backside of his inky teeth, wanting to call her stupid for assuming he might not find her beautiful, but he realizes he is no better himself. Anxiety pricks against his stomach like ice shards.

The woman smiles and cranes her head to brush her lips against his, then giggles softly. “Yes, I find you beautiful too.”

The anxious knot unravels and Feyd bares his teeth, chasing after her mouth until he’s got her pinned against the pillow and steals her breath. His hard chest presses against the soft mounds of her breasts and his cock slides against her thigh, bending downwards so it is wedged between their pelvises. The essence of her yearning cunt coats its upper side.

Their kisses turn desperate and sloppy and they part for breath, piercing each other with lust-heavy eyes. Feyd-Rautha’s plush lips are swollen and a low moan escapes him when she presses her mouth against the underside of his gently curved jaw, nipping and smelling his skin while Feyd’s fingers slide from her knee down her inner thigh and brush against the tender, hot parts of her.

He never used to pay attention to how soft and hot and responsive a woman can be there, how willingly her hips jump against his hand when he circles the tender bud of nerves with his fingertips.

When he slides two fingers into her weeping slit, her mouth detaches from Feyd’s jaws and her head drops back on the pillow, eyes closed, spine arched. His fingers sink as deep as they can go, soaking in her essence that generously spills from her inner walls.

“Did you think of this often?” Feyd rumbles and the grating sound of his voice makes her jump. Her eyes snap open and her pussy squeezes his fingers. Leisurely, he drags them against her inner walls, curling them slightly, so her eyes gloss over and her wet lashes flutter. “You did, didn't you? You daydreamed about my fingers in your little pussy.”

She doesn't need to reply for him to know it's true. Her knees bend further up against her chest, angling her pelvis so he plunges into her cunt just right. As pleasure rises, her neck writhes  from left to right, teeth on her lip, toes flexed. Feyd knows how to read the signs.

Mesmerized, he sits between her legs, watching with boyish fascination as his fingers sink into her puffy hole and come out glistening wet between her lower lips, how her essence dribbles down the cleft of her ass. His unoccupied hand sprawls over her lower belly and toys with her. With his thumb, Feyd pulls up the hood of her clit and marvels at the little nub that throbs for attention.

Her hips buck, fucking herself on his fingers while he lets a thread of drool drip down on her clit. She whines when the warm liquid drips over the tender bud, bending her leg even further. Feyd has never touched a woman so attentively. As soon as his thumb rubs over the lubricated little nub, she thrashes, moaning and clawing at his knees. But Feyd pacifies her with her soft circles over the maddening spot, turning her legs and brain into mush. 

“Wait~”

Feyd doesn’t wait. Three splashes of wetness squirt against his wrist and the woman covers her face with her forearms, moaning and whining as her release rolls through her in hard waves. Mesmerized, Feyd regards the liquid that dribbles hotly down his skin. 

Her limbs feel like putty, like a doll's that he can bend and fold as he likes. Feyd's fingers slowly slip out of her puffy hole which feels as ready as it can be to accommodate his cock.

She whimpers weakly, not ready to face reality and Feyd-Rautha's wet skin and the awe in his eyes with which he regards the glistening web between his fingers. Only when he nudges his cock between her boneless thighs, she stirs and dreamily eyes the pale, flushed monster that pokes needily against her cunt.

“Yes, take a good look at what I'll fill you with.”

The velvety head with its weeping slit nudges between her lower lips and her cunt yields almost too easily under pressure. Like a sheathe, she hugs him tightly, wetly squeezing inch after inch as he conquers her.

A wild  touch of something possessive and dangerous flashes over Feyd's lust-struck features. This soft thing will soon be his entirely, once he places his ultimate, inky mark against her cervix. Whether she neutralizes it with her Bene Gesserit tricks or not.

A guttural sound escapes her when the thick length pushes against the apex of her channel. The woman's arms snake around Feyd's neck, pulling him in a sweet embrace with her entire body.

“Why are you here?” Feyd repeats the question from many months ago, softly rutting against her core.

“Because I was sent here.” She gasps, pressing her face into the crook of his shoulder.

“And how do you feel about that?” Feyd's nose brushes against her hair, inhaling the sweetness and the freshness of her soap.

“You tell me, Feyd-Rautha,” she softly sighs, arching her spine against his undulating body.

“You are discontent.”

Upon that, the woman's lashes flutter, tickling his shoulder. “Hah, n-no, I’m not.”

“You’re lying now, but you usually don’t. What are you hiding from me, my darling?" 

“I’m not!” Her mouth stands agape and her back arches off the bed, pebbled nipples kissing Feyd’s silky chest. 

“My darling,” Feyd repeats and she purrs like a little cat for him, wrapping her legs around his waist. So, she likes being his darling, Feyd notes with a skipping heart. "Why would you lie to me?"

“I didn't want to be here," she admits. Wet eyes look back at him when her head sinks into the pillow. "It’s not nice, being called useless.”

“Useless?! By whom?” Anger fuels Feyd's movement but the brief pain of nails digging into his shoulder blades soothes him and a soft moan curls around his lips.

“By my fellow Bene Gesserit sisters, of course. They had no use for me until the fall of your House.” The slightly quicker rhythm makes her hiss through her teeth. "They can rot and die for all I care."

Feyd's eyes grow wondrous and wide, hips stuttering as he regards his darling with endless fascination. Her violence is sweet like berries. How lucky he is to bear witness of it tonight, all the while her warm, sodden pussy holds his cock in a lover's embrace.

“I manipulated you,” she confesses under tears and thinks Feyd-Rautha will probably flay her alive now. “When I went out into the sun and made myself sick, I just wanted to see if you’d take care of me.”

“You sound like you think I’d be mad.” Avidly, Feyd rolls his pelvis. Pleasure flutters through his nerves with every heartbeat, sweet and wild. Her eyes meet his with equal fascination and her fingertips dip into the groove of his spine.

“When did you become so… so…?”

“So… gentle?” Feyd purrs, laughing softly like she did so many times. “You made me this way.”

“Yes, and it was wrong! What gave me the right?” Her voice trembles with anger now and she claws at his back like she wants to flay him, strip the layers of faux skin off so he may become what he was again.

Feyd chuckles louder now, lips pulling away from inky teeth as he ruts quicker into her cunt, making her groan through gritted teeth. “You just gave me something I didn’t know I missed.”

“But what if-”

“No.”

“What if I killed you?”

“Killed me?” Feyd’s dark eyes sparkle with humor. “You’re a funny witch. I’m still here.” His palm slides over her breasts and pebbled nipples, settling heavily on her clavicles before closing around her throat. Her cunt reacts in an instant, clenching around him. “I can give you more proof.” Feyd leers at the woman who lies beneath him in submission. “Do you want more proof?”

Eagerly, she nods, exhaling a soft, strained moan, lips parting as she struggles for oxygen.

"Would you like my knife against your throat and your tits?"

Heat rushes to her cheeks so they feel like two ripe apples, ready for the harvest. "Yes, please~"

“You’re so sweet when you’re worried for me,” Feyd giggles. His voice is like stones grating against one another as he reaches for the kukri in the sheath at his belt which lies discarded in the folds of the soft, crumpled sheets. Feyd brandishes it with a flash of painted metal. A soft shade of gold, because the world has been feeling lighter lately.

Still humored, Feyd raises himself high enough to create generous space between their chests, so he can brush the blade featherlight against his woman's nipple. "Would you like me to make a cut, to prove I'm still in there?"

Avidly, she nods, bare heels digging into Feyd's ass cheeks as she clings to his rolling hips.

Feyd slashes the blade over her breasts, one, two, three, creating shallow lines from which red droplets bead like tiny berries and meander down her sternum along convoluted paths. She moans sweetly for him, muscles in her neck flexing against his calloused hand. "There, now we're even. We both lied a little. I said one cut and made three."

Feyd's lashes cast long shadows over the glinting metal when he brings the blade to his mouth and gingerly laps up the red beads. The woman's hand slips over his hard, smooth shoulder and the muscles that ripple underneath. She circles his wrist to guide the blade away from his plush mouth, then plunges her thumb past his soft bottom lip, swiping over the wetness of blood and saliva.

"Drink it from the source then," she softly hums and Feyd obeys, dropping the knife and bending over her heaving chest. He laps the salt off her skin and then finds the stinging wounds with his tongue, tracing the hairline cuts from bottom to top, tasting iron. Feyd nurses nectar from his flower. Moaning, he peers up at her through feathery lashes as his body undulates against hers with increasing pace.

The drag of his cock shoots molten pleasure through her core and she clings to him with arms and legs, like he is the only soft and living thing on Giedi Prime. She moans his name and Feyd is swathed in a web of hazy bliss, raising his face from her chest. A little streak of crimson still clings to his smooth chin and she pulls him down to kiss the blood off his skin.

His fingers flex around her throat, rather holding onto her than strangulating her. She gladly lets him and regards the sweet despair in Feyd's eyes as he chases after his high in the warmth of her body, stretching her with each drag of his cock.

Feyd wonders if he should make her cum again, if that's what a lover would do, but his building climax coils like a snake in his guts and there is no space between their sweaty bodies for his hand to slip between her thighs and tease her bundle of nerves. Like roots slung around a tree trunk, her legs are wrapped around Feyd's hips, reeling him in, again, again, again. The rhythm hypnotizes him and he cannot fight against the pull of release.

His jaws go slack and his entire complexion softens when his climax rolls through him in long waves, each one pulling him deeper and deeper into the weave of his mellow darling's body and soul. While he still fills up her cunt with thick ropes of seed, blissful mellowness spreads through Feyd-Rautha like a touch of mercy. 

Moaning, he slumps down and her body is his pillow. He's never shown a semblance of vulnerability after fucking a woman, but now fatigue pulls on his bones and he suckles softly on the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. His balls and pelvis are nestled against the woman's warm, full center and his broad chest against her breasts.

“My darling…” Feyd hums.

He crawls into her embrace and curls against her frame like an unborn against the womb, momentarily stripped of cruelty and all the black and white illnesses that fester on Giedi Prime.

Out of one gentle poison flower might yet bloom an entire garden, if nurtured with love.

FEYD TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

[peggyao3]

For this month of ddofab I would like to recommend a couple of amazing Feyd fics, starting with a wonderful story that is complex and smutty alike, in which the FMC not only can have it all but will have it all; everything that the twin brothers Feyd and Rautha have to offer 😳💍 Thank God I have two ring fingers because I need both of them disrespectfully 🙏

— Shattered by @thefloatingpickle

— PAIRING: Feyd x f!reader x Rautha

— SUMMARY: You are set to marry not one, but two twisted Harkonnen in a bid to help your family rise in the Empire.

— TAGS: 18+, TWINS, dub-con themes, explicit sexual content, forced/arranged marriage, rough sex, forced orgasms, double penetration, angst, jealousy, eventual character growth, they just want to play with their bunny/treasure/kitten goddamn it

"But you'll learn to listen to me. Just like he does."

— thefloatingpickle

"It's not a game, Treasure. It's fucking our fiancee. And we take it as seriously as war."

— thefloatingpickle

@dailydoseofaustinbutler || dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[peggyao3]

tagging games - get to know the moots

Thank you for the taggg my dearest @guiltyasdave, only took me 18 business days ❤️😩

READING: "The City and the City" by China Miéville (and it's just like Sacred and Terrible Air, or at least similar enough, and I'm freaking out, I'm so picky about books!! Does anyone have hard sci-fi or weird fiction recs???)

LAST SONG: "The Plan" by Travis Scott

LAST SERIES: "Ghosts" on Netflix

LAST MOVIE: God if only I knew. What am I even doing all day.

SWEET/SALTY/SAVORY: Salty & Savory 🧂

COFFEE / TEA: Tea, but I do love an iced coffee that just barely tastes like coffee :3 (and also tea in the metaphorical sense)

WORKING ON: My big ass Feyd x OC fic that I've been plotting since October and writing since March 🧎‍➡️ but also a threesome fic that might have you look at me like "🤨😫"

No pressure tags: @thefloatingpickle, @28bohemianmoons, @ooihcnoiwlerh, @mystra-midnight, @moonbeammist, @circuit-ghost, @sebastianswallows, @faegoddessog, @slowsweetlove

[peggyao3]

@28bohemianmoons You really hit the nail on the head for everyone's characterization ommgg 🤣🙏 Steve trying to talk him down and Jonathan taking ✨candid pics✨ I literally guffawed 🤣

To settle the impending physical fight, I feel like Eddie would suggest to resolve the whole thing like *proper men* - via a round of DnD!

Billy and Feyd don't know what that means so they agree and all five of them settle around the picnic table. (We have to make some room for them, or pick a lap to sit on.)

Once Billy realizes what this is about, he snarls, "Are you kidding me, Munson? This is bullshit. A fucking bullshit game for little kids." He leans forward on the table, cigarette tucked begween his knuckles.

Feyd however seems oddly interested and leafs through the manual, reading about sorcerers and warriors...

Steve runs a hand through his hair, saying to Billy how it's *actually* not so bad at all. And he only knows that because Dustin forced him to play once, you know, not because he actually likes it.

Billy looks over to Steve with a smoldering glare, then smirks, shakes his head and takes a drag, making some comment about how deep the king of Hawkins High has fallen from grace....🤣🤣🤣

I see your blorbo

You see my blorbo

?

Our blorbos are on a playdate while we sip wine in the sitting room

[peggyao3]

me stalking your blog again and seeing all your ghost reblogs and staring with stars in my eyes because that band is amazing

Waaaaaaaahhh I'm so happy you're a fan too 🥹😍❤️ I'm not often a *fan* of a band or singer, but in this case I am 😭 I even hung up a poster and my concert ticket on my wall, like a teenager 🤭

What's your favorite song from them? 👀

[peggyao3]

The most uncomfortable playdate ever - for them!! - we'd be having the time of our lives 🤣❤️🤭

I see your blorbo

You see my blorbo

?

Our blorbos are on a playdate while we sip wine in the sitting room

[peggyao3]

@mystra-midnight YOU'RE GONNA MAKE MY HEART EXPLODE, ILYTTTT MY DEAR😭💖 it's a wonderful day when you're in my notes 🥺

do your ever get excited to see certain mutuals in your notes like yes i pleased the Friend

[peggyao3]

PROJECT HAIL MARY (2026) dir. Phil Lord, Chris Miller

[peggyao3]

I’M ACTUALLY SCREAMING—MY FEYD COMMISSION JUST DROPPED 😭🖤

The texture here goes crazy and I had to share the beauty with everyone. Come and get a slice of this...! Enjoy!

The art was commissioned from an amazing Chinese artist (they’re not on Tumblr or Western sites but if you want the info lemme know!!)

Artwork is watermarked — please do not edit or use commercially.

[peggyao3]

the bikeriders (2023) dir. jeff nichols i mean, it can't be love. it must just be stupidity.

[peggyao3]

Here comes the Sun [1/2]

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: Feyd-Rautha is the center of attention for an entire planet, but it counts for nothing because his favorite concubine isn't paying attention during the fight. How dare she ruin his birthday?

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, mixed POVs, mutual pining, gore, cannibalism ❗ (just a lil), Baron being a homie, Feyd has that bratty vibe, God Complex Feyd, jealousy ❗, other concubines begone, arguments, insults, hate love relationship, enemies and lovers, porn with plot, marriage proposal, vaginal sex, knife kink, pain kink ❗, smut in chapter 2, semi-public sex ❗, angst with happy ending

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Next Chapter →

Feyd-Rautha’s cock is always half-hard when he fights. Adrenaline and Testosterone have an almost equal effect on his body. Sheathing your blade in a foe’s flesh is not so different from sheathing your cock in a woman’s cunt.

Today, he is almost fully hard. Here in the center of the arena, on his birthday, he is the center of the world, of the known universe maybe.

The curved, polished steel in his hand was forged under the merciless sun of Giedi Prime, just like the Gladiator who wields it. The blade slides into the prisoner’s thorax, finding the entry point between two ribs with effortless grace. Feyd holds him close, so he can hear the man’s last dying breath as a whisper in his ear. The sword glides out of the man’s limp fist and he is dead before it hits the ground. A mouth full of tar is the last image etched into his retina.

The arena roars with one voice, its echo booming all the way up to the stratosphere. Feyd raises his blade to the black sun. Paul Artreides may have been a messiah but Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is a God, worshiped by hundreds of thousands who rage, stomp and chant. Feyd-Rautha.

His gaze lifts to the box where the royal family sits, his uncle, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, Feyd’s brother Glossu Rabban and Feyd’s concubines. Searchingly, his eyes trail to the very left and the fiery warmth of triumph in him implodes, leaving him with an icy void in his guts.

His cock immediately goes flaccid when he realizes that she isn’t watching.

Sullenly, she stares down the gargantuan, triangular colossus of black walls and bald Harkonnen heads. Compared to them, she and the other women seated to her left are canaries, strapped in opulent gowns and jewelry, though Giedi Prime's sun strips them of color all the same.

Half showman, half gladiator and fully deranged, Feyd-Rautha tears through his opponents like a birthday boy through gift wrapping. Every year he takes on more enemies in the ring. On his 18th birthday it had been three. Today he faces eleven and has just cut down the fourth. She has been counting.

When the audience roars, she looks down at her tense hands in her lap. She doesn’t want to see his black, grinning mouth, not the mad elation with which he looks up at the box, gasping for approval like a dog.

Next to her, the gathered concubines burst into exaggerated applause. It is hard to tell who is genuine, who is about to throw up, who secretly shits their lingerie under the dress and who fantasizes about being the next one to be gutted by Feyd’s blade. They are daughters of almost every esteemed Major House. The Harkonnen’s pretty little hostage collection. Unofficially, of course.

There he has it. Plenty of approval.

Feyd’s hunger for violence must have rubbed off on her, because she pictures her hands around some of the throats next to her. She doesn’t know how many of them Feyd actually beds, but seeing them all together conjures mental images that are far more nauseating to her than the festive bloodshed in the ring.

Her hatred is like ice. Her jealousy a cluster of thorns in her guts.

She jumps slightly when suddenly the Baron’s gravelly breath rolls over her shoulder.

“Are you feeling unwell?” A pasty, ringed hand waves for the servant who lingers in the back. The black sun’s radiation can cause migraines for individuals not raised on Giedi Prime, hence why Feyd’s concubines, all of them foreigners, are advised to spend most of their time indoors. The servant offers a small, black pill.

The Baron knows his nephew will be displeased with his favorite concubine’s inattentiveness.

“I’m quite alright,” she dismissively waves a hand and lies, though physically she is fine, she supposes, if one doesn’t count the nausea of jealousy. The servant retreats and Baron Harkonnen hums, leaning back into his chair with the aid of the anti-gravitational device implanted in his spine.

Her fellow concubine and seat neighbor from House Metulli cringes away from her with thinly veiled horror. She is not one of them. She doesn’t socialize with them, if it can be avoided. She doesn’t go to her fellow concubines to cry about how cruel a monster Feyd-Rautha is. She talks to Baron Vladimir Harkonnen as if he couldn’t publicly flay her at any given moment for taking a wrong tone.

The Baron regards the back of the woman’s lowered head and the hostile tension in her shoulders.

At the very least, his nephew’s temper tantrums will be amusing. Baron Harkonnen lifts his binoculars and sees Feyd spraying spittle over the next opponent as he stabs the kukri down the man’s throat and splits it in half.

The Harkonnen palace is the evil product of elegance and brutalism. Concrete, marble, metal and obsidian twist into almost frigid hallways and atriums. Colorless sunlight occasionally spills through the intersected ceilings, futilely attempting to heat up the palace to match the blazing summer outside. Every now and again, an open window lets a gust of warm wind inside and the velvety black banners that proclaim na-Baron Feyd-Rautha’s birthday sway in the breeze.

The footsteps of her heeled boots resound from the walls, announcing the arrival of an angry canary to visitors and palace staff. Only the visitors look up with alarm.

She is on her way to her chambers where she intends to sulk away the hours until the birthday banquet starts, which she is forced to attend, unlike the rest of the festivities which overtake the capital. For many Harkonnen, this is the only holiday of the year.

About halfway to her chambers, she hears Feyd-Rautha's raging footsteps. He had used up his grace in the arena, now he is only a fuming man with a sore in his heart.

The runaway concubine is as angry as she is relieved to hear the raging bull approaching. Her footsteps quicken. At least he is chasing her. It makes her heart soar.

With lifted skirts she breaks into a jog, chin held high. A smile of satisfaction would like to seize her mouth, but the nasty claws of jealousy still bereave her of such signs of mirth.

The windows in the concubines’ corridor are darkened by black cloths to shield them from the radiation of the alien sun. Artificial light spills from pointy wall lamps and color bleeds back into her skin, dress and hair. Color might not be the only thing that bleeds once Feyd-Rautha catches up with her.

She makes it into her chambers before he does. The door is no obstacle to him, but at least he will be in her little domain during the confrontation.

The tail of her colorful dress taunts him as she slips into her chambers and slams the door like a child.

She could have fucking joined him during the ritual washing after the fight, where war paint, sweat and blood are traditionally washed off the na-Baron’s victorious body. The black concoction of water, blood, salts and oils stimulates healing and muscle relaxation.

Instead, he is chasing his own concubine through the palace, sweat and war paint gluing his shirt to his torso. Only the light polymer chest piece of armor lies discarded in the bath chamber.

Like a boy he had hoped she might be playing an elaborate little game with him, that her behavior during the fight only served the purpose of egging him on, so he would put on a more gruesome show and she could reward him in the bath chambers after. He had waited for five minutes, then killed the slave girl who had asked him if they shall begin the washing.

Insidious eyes like little coals in his sclera glisten wildly when he slams his palm against the panel that opens her door. In he goes and finds her waiting for him, chin held high, a haughty look in her eyes and a tremor to her lip.

“You’ve ruined my birthday!”

“Oh, have I? Well my day wasn't exactly pleasing either.” She pretends not to care as his spit sprinkles her face and hands stained from murder clutch her upper arms and walk her back against the wall..

Feyd-Rautha's musk smells of sweat, blood and dust and his eyes are darkened with thunder.

“Care to explain what was so interesting while I was fighting in the area?! Did my performance bore you?”

“Even your uncle was more caring than you. He assumed I might have a migraine.”

“But you didn’t.” Feyd knows the black sun doesn’t affect her all that much anymore.

“You had the attention of hundreds of thousands of men and women. Today is all about Feyd-Rautha.” She scornfully mimics the booming battle-chanting that still haunts her bones. “Surely you can go without the undivided attention of one of your numerous concubines.” Her head jerks to the side, facing the half-hung window through which white sunlight filters inside.

Feyd snarls and his mouth suddenly twitches with humor. “Does their presence intimidate you?” She decides not to reply to that and his thumb brushes over her chin as he leans down. “How so? Obviously I need them all to sate my appetite. Someone didn't even manage to attend my washing.”

“I despise you, Feyd-Rautha!” She slams her palms against his chest. “Go bathe. You stink like a mutt who's rolled in piss.”

“At least look at me now!” Feyd roars, smugness consumed by the rage that kindles so darkly in his chest. “Look me in the eyes when you tell me you hate me!”

One pale hand cups her jaws, thumb and middle finger digging into her soft cheeks on either side, pushing between the rows of teeth, so her lips pucker and her mouth opens. Feyd-Rautha leans down and his plush mouth ungently connects to hers, taking a fragment of what he thinks he deserves on his Birthday. Her mouth tastes bitter and his tastes like blood.

Huffing, she endures, eyes raised to Feyd's while he assaults her mouth. Her breath is quick, her heartbeat quicker and the heat in her abdomen wetly coats her walls that are conditioned to react to Feyd-Rautha's violent love. Her cheeks hurt but her tongue meets his willingly, even when he punishes her with cruel, black teeth.

Her fingers twist into his sweat-damp shirt, tearing on the fabric as if she means to rip it to shreds and stuff her pillow with it. Painted fingernails dig into the only injury she knows he had sustained during the fight, a small cut on his abdomen, hidden by the shirt.

“So you did watch…” Feyd's raspy breath caresses her mouth and the thread of saliva that connects them trembles in the draft of his breath.

“Occasionally.” She wills her voice to be calm and lets her fingers slip under the shirt and trail over the taut, damp flesh until she finds the tender cut. Mercilessly, she digs inside, collecting gore under her nail.

“A-Ah~” Feyd's posture briefly falters, knees trembling as he leans into the cathartic pain.

“You sustained that one when you were getting reckless near the end. You kept staring up at us, like an idiot.”

“I was looking at you, cunt!” He spits and the sliver of weakness is gone. The loveless nickname leaves her unfazed but his evil mouth doesn't as he kisses her roughly. His death-stained hands don't either as they roam around her body, searching for a gap in her dress so he can access her flesh and taint her with his rot.

The hard outline of his cock presses against her stomach and she is almost tempted to give in, free him from his trousers, sink on her knees in submission and take him down her throat, then later into her cunt. It's his birthday after all and she craves his violent hands.

“Get on the bed,” Feyd rasps.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Rage clouds his eyes and she knows he’s going to try and slap her across the cheek. The gust of air hits her skin, but his hand does not. She had dodged him just in time - A feat she wouldn’t have been remotely capable of when she first met him.

Feyd stares perplexed and then he laughs, that boyish note that makes her hair stand on end. He withdraws and rubs one hand over his scalp, pacing around her chamber. She knows he's thinking of all the ways he can pluck her limbs and pop her eyeballs.

He becomes violent when he’s helpless. Really, she doesn’t mind it. She’d rather have him take it out on her than anyone else, and that desire is wholly and completely selfish.

“I should take my reward from one of the others then.”

She stiffens and her chest is so tight, she can taste the bile in her throat. Feyd knows many forms of violence but chose the one that would cut the most lethally into her flesh.

Grinning widely, he stalks closer. “Say what you have in mind. You want a gift on my birthday, isn't that right?”

For most others, Feyd-Rautha's sole attention, being his only one, couldn't be further from a gift, but yes, it's exactly what she wants. But she isn't going to beg for it like a starving dog for scraps.

“That's what it would be to you? A gift from you to me?” She thinks she has never been so insulted. “That gift is a pittance then.”

“So, you don't want it?” His breath tickles her cheek and a ray of sunlight washes over his skull, making it black and white.

Feyd knows he could force her on her knees and reap his pleasure and hers, or pain which is essentially the same, but breaking her body and spirit won’t give him what he desires, at least not anymore. 

“I want respect,” she coldly hisses. For what we have.

“Then respect me. Attend the banquet. Dance with me.” His nose brushes against the side of her cheek, then his tongue slides out and curls around the edge of her jaws.

“Of course, na-Baron,” she snaps and Feyd withdraws, wearing a smug midnight-smile. His lithe figure retreats and slips out into the corridor, probably to finally go bathe and wash the stink off his skin.

Only if Feyd-Rautha willingly drops on his knees for her will she ever dance with him.

A/N: Chapter 2 following sooooon!

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[peggyao3]

Feyd and Paul share a connection. Whether by politics or fate, the concept of the Kwisatz Haderach and characters having access to ancestral memories can be interpreted in so many ways, some religious, some (meta-)physical and all of them super interesting.

@dailydoseofaustinbutler