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ooihcnoiwlerh · 5 months

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Happy Sunday, my Darlings! I have a new Feyd-Rautha/Reader chapter up! (18+ Only)

Tags for this chapter: arranged marriage; dubious consent; breeding kink; overstimulation; blood kink; period sex; pain kink; oral sex (m+ and f+ receiving); vaginal sex; Feyd-Rautha who is his own walking content warning; problematic smut; slow emotional burn; Feyd-Rautha having the most insane recovery period; discussions of pregnancy; implied/referenced past abuse; implied/referenced self-harm

Tags and notes for this story overall and full chapter below the cut. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged when I update!

CW for the entire fic: arranged marriage; forced marriage; forced pregnancy; dubious consent; implied/referenced child abuse; implied/referenced sexual abuse; implied/referenced incest; sadomasochism; pain kink; rough sex; problematic smut; vaginal sex; vaginal fingering; oral sex; blood kink; breeding kink; orgasm denial; eventual switching

Just as a note: this fic was going to be a lot shorter and completely plotless but that was 40k words ago and there's no end in sight, so I'm going to make some minor edits and rewrites to earlier chapters, but this story will end up factoring into the greater plot of the story.

Chapter Five: Playin' with Fire Burns a Little Bit

He keeps his word. It’s still somewhat dark outside when you wake to a hard cock against your backside and an arm wrapped around you, and you remember where you are and what happened.

Your ass doesn’t sting as much as it did last night; the more pressing matter is that Feyd-Rautha’s cock is slotted against the small of your back, just over the slope of your backside, and his arm that’s been looped around your ribcage is moving. His palm presses against your stomach. You give a soft grunt as you shift in his grasp and he raises himself up on his opposite elbow to get a good look at your face and your now-opened eyes.

“You’re awake,” he notes, voice even rougher first thing in the morning, and with that information decides to slide his hand from your ribcage to your crotch.

“You really meant it when you said first thing ,” you say, still drowsy, voice still laced with sleep.

“I have a busy schedule,” he says, rubbing down and sliding his fingertips along your slit before giving a quiet hmm as if to say, ‘ Not quite wet enough yet. Unfortunate .’ So he keeps circling your bud, nuzzling against your neck and jaw as you start to warm up, your breaths getting shorter.

When he wrings your first gasp out of you, he brings his fingertips back to your slit and gets the affirmation he wants that he’s getting you wet, enough that he can commence with his actual plans for you. In any case, you’re wide awake now.

You remind yourself that this isn’t the most depraved thing you’ve heard of on Geidi Prime. You don’t have to remind yourself that even as off-putting a concept it is, it felt great last night.

He turns you on your back and wastes no further time bringing his head between your legs. He takes just a moment to smell the blood between your thighs before he’s alternating between licking over you, wriggling his tongue inside of you, and suckling at your bud.

This time your hands are free to explore, to press against the back of his neck and scratch along his shoulders and biceps, to cup your own breasts to add to the stimulation until he covers them with his own.

He’s good at this , you realize, head falling back against the covers, hips arching up, and you have no frame of reference, no comparison for this, so it’s just a feeling. You’re pretty sure he likes this, likes the way you taste perhaps in part because of the blood coming out of you, and you’re willing to set aside how morbid that is if he keeps this up. You pant and moan, unconsciously grinding against his mouth and he lets you, lets you grip the back of his head as your breath comes in harsh and your entire body flushes hot. You couldn’t form a coherent sentence if your life depended on it.

Your whimpers turn into a warning, one that he ignores as he keeps going, pulling back only to spit on his thumb and bring it to your bud as he presses his tongue back inside of you. He doesn’t let up, either, when you shake and come, trembling against his mouth. If anything it spurs him on, giving you too much.

You wish he had hair so you could tug on it to pull him away and give you a moment to cool down. You’ve never just kept on going after coming and it’s too much, it’s too intense. And that, apparently, is the idea because he keeps your hips pulled to him, his face still buried in between your legs. You groan, frustrated, knocking your head back against your pillow as your hips clench and you give another spasm.

He rocks his hips against the bed, devolving into grunts and moans against your sensitive skin, like this might be what sends him over the edge, too. Not that you realize it yet but he actually could. If he chose to, he could let the friction between his cock and the sheets below him get him there. But that would be a waste of his seed that he’s bent on spilling inside of you.

So after a minute he pulls away so he can sit up and flip you onto your stomach, pulls you up by your hips, and takes a moment to look at the remnants of the damage he did last night. It must be still sufficiently red and look as tender as it feels because he wastes no time squeezing the cheeks of your ass, probably smirking at your responding pained whine.

He chose this position on purpose, you realize. You’re still sore from last night, and you’ll feel the sting of his hips slapping against your ass, especially at the punishing pace he often sets. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he quickly, wordlessly, assures you this morning’s no different.

When he makes a ponytail out of your hair and tugs, spurred on by the noises you’re making, you wonder about the collars in the armoire. Are those because women on Geidi Prime don’t have hair to pull? Or will he use those collars on you, too?

He starts talking; a little unusual for him, since he doesn’t normally talk while he’s inside of you, but the words spill out of his chest in his gravely timbre. You just have no idea what he’s saying, it’s all guttural Harkonnen battle language that you haven’t learned yet.

You barely manage to hold your upper body upright, and you’re sure that’s mostly because of Feyd-Rautha’s grip on your hair. He stops talking altogether and his speech devolves back into grunts and growls with each snap of his hips that almost drown out your moans and whimpers.

And then it’s done, he comes, one hand clutching your hip and the other still buried in your hair. For a few moments he stays there, still holding you onto him as he begins to soften, then he moves his hand from your hair to your stomach, coaxing you up until your back aligns with his chest. He breathes in, shifting his hand upwards until it curls loosely around your neck, which you turn in alarm to try and face him. Your blood is quickly drying, tacky and dark, on his mouth as he tilts his head and presses those blood-stained lips to yours. He only gives your neck the lightest of squeezes, a reminder of what he’s capable of but not a real threat, before moving his hand to your breast, palming it roughly. He keeps at it, kissing and fondling every exposed part of you he can reach until he gets hard again and you gasp at the feel of it, him filling out and stiffening inside of you once more.

Is this…normal? It can’t be, right? You’d probably have heard about it if it was.

He’s not a normal man , you have to remind yourself.

He took you in this position a couple of nights ago, when he had you brace your hands against the headboard as he fucked you, but right now the headboard’s too far away and so you rely on him holding you onto him, one of your hands reaching behind you to grab his hip as the other rubs down against your bud, your cries high and reedy as your fingers brush so close to where he’s pistoning in and out of you. His grunts and growls against your ear grow ragged; you half-expect him to snap his jaws and sink his teeth into your neck for the animalistic way he fucks you, like being inside of you makes him an even baser and more primitive creature. It makes you rub harder, feeling helpless to do anything else.

He lets you come this time.

For a full minute afterwards, he holds you to him, his breath going from panting back to normal, his pulse slowing back down, before he wordlessly tilts your hips forward and coaxes you on to your front before pulling out of you. You shut your eyes for a moment, hearing the telltale sounds of him padding over to the bathroom and take a moment to readjust yourself, shifting to lie on your side, waiting for him to come out.

When he does, his face and cock have been cleaned off and he heads for the dresser, and you’re about to get up to use the bathroom for yourself when he starts talking.

“I’ll grab you again in three hours for breakfast,” he says as he reaches into his drawers for clothes to train in. “When you didn’t show up yesterday my uncle was concerned that I may have been too much for you and wanted to verify that you’re still in one piece.”

“Was he really?” you ask. The best opinion the Baron seems to have of you is one of polite indifference; an adequate broodmare for the Harkonnen line.

“Harkonnen men can get overzealous,” he says. “He wants to make sure that I’m taking care of my new bride.”

That’s one way to put it , you think, shifting again to sit on the edge of the bed. It’s an effort, and even though the sheets are soft you can’t help but wince at the feeling of them against your well-used backside.

“Fine. I might get an hour or two of sleep before then.” You could certainly use it; your husband has certainly proved his stamina and energy in bed.

He glances over at you as he reaches for a training shirt. “I’m going to have a door installed connecting your quarters to mine. It’ll make it easier for us to meet at night,” he says, as if it wasn’t already easy. “Save us the trouble of having to get dressed before and afterwards.”

You could almost laugh. It would figure that’s his reasoning.

“Alright, I’ll be up in just a second.”

You’re a little surprised he’s not openly smug about how he wears you out. You’d almost expect him to joke about how hard it is to keep up with him, but he must realize he doesn’t have to. The way your legs shake a little as you walk over to your discarded clothing, the way you wince as you bend over to pick them up, speak for themselves. He does watch you, though, the rest of his clothes momentarily forgotten, as if trying to commit the sight of you to memory before you leave.

**********

You manage to get another hour’s sleep in which you quickly realize that sleeping on your back is out of the question for now.

Idrisa comes in shortly after you wake up to bring you water and coffee and prepare a bath for you. You’re so grateful for it that you could cry, hissing as the water hits your backside.

Idrisa peers in, concerned. “Everything alright, Na-Baroness?” she asks.

You look over at her. “Would you be so kind as to get me a glass of water and one of those menstrual pain tablets?” you ask.

**********

You finish getting ready just in time for the Na-Baron to greet you in what you’ve gathered is his typical politician’s attire; black, clearly high-end and well-tailored material to show off his form. Too formal to train in but fitted for ease of movement. He has a holster on his thigh that holds a knife in its scabbard.

He gives you his arm for you to take; it’s almost whiplash how he oscillates between fucking you like a beast and having you on his arm like a courtly gentleman, but you accept and stroll down the hall together in silence for a moment.

He looks ahead as he says, “It’s going to be uncomfortable for you to sit down for a couple of days.”

“I figured that out earlier, but thank you,” you say.

“He’s going to notice and he’s going to bait you. Don’t acknowledge it. Getting flustered will just add fuel to the fire,” he adds.

“ You like seeing my discomfort,” you tell him.

His jaw tightens. He opens his mouth enough to run his tongue–strangely pink despite everything else being black–over his teeth before he clicks his tongue against them. “I like it for my own amusement, not his,” he says.

You reach the Dining Hall, with a spread being set out. It’s already too much food for three people, but with the Baron it’s unlikely that it’ll go to waste.

You stop and curtsy as Feyd-Rautha pulls your chair out for you.

“Good morning, Baron,” you say, face downcast, waiting for him to give you a nod before you sit down.

Feyd wasn’t lying, sitting in a chair’s even worse than sitting on a bed. You try not to shift around to get more comfortable; you just know that they’re going to notice.

“I suppose you’re still adjusting to Geidi Prime and married life?” the Baron asks you. You know he really means, Still adjusting to getting railed by my nephew, eh? Can’t say I’m surprised; I’ve heard that he’s hung like a donkey.

“Yes, Baron. It is getting easier, though. Everyone’s been accommodating,” you tell him as you take a sip of juice and avoid looking directly at him. He can probably sense your dislike despite your best efforts to be polite and deferential. He probably doesn’t care. He probably likes that you have to simper and fawn over how gracious he is when you wish you never had to speak to him.

“The relaxation chambers are still at your disposal, if you’ve changed your mind,” he says.

“Thank you, Baron, that’s an excellent idea.” And it is, much as you hate to admit it. All that worries you is the idea of anyone but you, Feyd, and Idrisa knowing that there’s no way that you’re pregnant yet. You’ll have to investigate first and see how bad the risk is of exposure. If word got back to the Baron…you’re certain he would be less thrilled than his nephew.

Conversation quickly turns to Arrakis. Since regaining it from the house of Atreides Rabban apparently has been struggling to overpower Fremen rebels. You’re a little taken aback that they’d be willing to discuss this in front of you and realize that it’s because you have no one to talk to about this anyways. The Atreides have been all but exterminated, not that you really knew any of them in the first place. Even Father was shocked to see how swiftly they met their end when it happened.

The Fremen, it turns out, are another story. It’s not a surprise that they can match the Harkonnens in brutality; they’re the only ones who inhabit a planet just as hostile and unforgiving as Geidi Prime and they’ve found ways to adapt to Arrakis that the Harkonnens haven’t needed to before.

“We’re going to need to train our men harder,” Feyd-Rautha says. “We’ve allowed ourselves to get complacent when we can’t afford to. The Sardaukar army helped us win back Arrakis; we need to hold ourselves to their standards. Until then, Rabban needs to stop trying to ply his ego with direct combat and use aerial strikes instead.”

The Baron looks up from his food and sits back for a moment, considering his nephew’s words with a small smile. See, this is why you’re my successor and not him, he seems to think, even when their conversation leads elsewhere. It’s the look of a man who’s playing a game he has yet to reveal, and it sticks with you for the remainder of breakfast.

What else does he have planned for his nephew?

******

Feyd-Rautha walks with you out of the Dining Hall, still playing the courtly married man, taking your hand on his arm as you pass slaves and soldiers alike who lower their heads in deference. It’s going to take some getting used to. He apparently has a meeting to attend, though, as he escorts you back to your quarters.

“I’ll see you this evening,” he says, with no need for innuendo.

And so it continues for a few days. At night he takes you into his own bedchambers, tastes you until you nearly weep from the overstimulation, fucks you until you’re sore and shaking, sleeps with you, and wakes you up early the next morning to do it all again before he leaves to train. You save your energy during the day by staying more sedentary than you’re used to, remaining in the library or your quarters and listening to recorded lessons of basic Harkonnen words and phrases. Your pronunciation when you try to mimic the guttural tones is laughable, but you put in an effort. You’ll save the relaxation chambers for when you start training.

The fourth night, before he buries his face between your legs, he has you do the same to him; has you kneel as he sits on the edge of the bed and pushes his cock into the confines of your mouth.

“ You’ll learn to take everything, ” he tells you, one hand buried in your hair as he pushes you down farther than you’ve managed before, until tears spill out of the corners of your eyes and the noises your mouth makes around him sound utterly obscene. He lets you brace your hands on his legs and it’s between then and when he pulls you off of him to bring you up into bed that you notice something. The scars on his inner thigh have an uneven mirror; there are scars on his other thigh, as well, along an invisible inseam, but they don’t match. Those other scars look shorter and like they run deeper. It’s yet another question you’re sure you won’t get to ask anytime soon. Before he devours you, though, he cups your chin in his hand and looks over your tear-stained cheeks and lips puffy from sucking his cock with unrestrained lust.

“What is it about me like this, husband?” you ask, after it’s done and he’s come inside of you. You’re both naked, sprawled, and spent in his bed. The blood’s been lighter and lighter and soon you imagine these visits will go back to just the evenings. “Do you only like tasting women when we’re like this?”

He looks over at you and draws one arm behind his head. “Not only then,” he says. “But I like enjoying something other men are too weak to even attempt.”

You wait for him to continue his explanation, but he doesn’t. You’ve been continuously worn out and sore since your wedding night, but there’s something pleasant in your ache. Perhaps it’s just your body getting used to being thoroughly debauched on a regular basis for the first time in your life, but there’s also a part of you that’s starting to enjoy it.

“It’s time,” he adds. “To start training you. It can’t last long so it will have to be comprehensive.”

“I already have training,” you tell him.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says. “Tomorrow morning.”

You consider this. “Fine. Do I sleep here tonight or in my room?”

He gives it a moment’s thought. “Yours.”

You’ve been sleeping with him the past four nights; you suppose it had to end eventually. You’re surprised at how easy it was to fall asleep next to him even with the early mornings.

“Now?” you ask, trying to keep the conversation as business-like as possible. It’s just easier that way; to shut off any impression that you want intimacy from him that he simply can’t provide. You’re pretty sure it’s impossible for him.

He looks over at you, considering. “In a few minutes,” he decides. “I’m not sure if I want to go again tonight or not.”

As it turns out, he doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop him from glancing over at you a few times, his eyes-half-lidded as his gaze goes up and down the length of your body. When you meet his gaze he looks back at you as if to say, What? Am I not allowed to look at my own wife?

He finally tells you what hour he wants you up. “Get a good night’s rest,” he adds. “You’ll need it.”

He sits up to watch you as you rise from bed, padding naked over to his dresser. He stares unapologetically at your form as you get dressed and leave for your quarters. Construction for the door connecting your bathroom to his is almost complete, and soon you won’t need to leave your quarters to meet him in his.

********

Idrisa wakes you up early.

“My apologies, my Lady, but the Na-Baron wants you to meet him in the Training Halls before breakfast,” she says, holding a pair of flat boots and a couple of other garments in her arms. “He has this for you to wear,” she adds, setting the boots on the floor and everything else on the dresser. “Your coffee is on the desk. He’s given you half an hour to get ready and wants you to bring your dagger.”

You blink, trying to take in what she’s saying before rubbing the heel of your palm against your eyelid. Right. The training.

“Would you like any assistance, or would you like me to wait by the door?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” you say, wondering for a moment if Feyd-Rautha was preparing you to get up this early for the past few days knowing that you’d be training with him.

Probably not. I think he just wanted to fuck in the mornings too .

You sip your coffee before plaiting your hair and taking a look at the clothes your new husband wants you to wear.

It's a practical training outfit; you're pretty sure that Geidi Prime doesn't make training clothes for women, and that he had this commissioned for you given that it fits better, especially in the hips, than you expected. Women on Geidi Prime don’t serve in combat, much like your own planet and if there’s any formal training for women you haven’t heard about it yet.

You manage to make it to the Training Halls in time but still not feeling fully awake.

Feyd-Rautha senses you from the moment you enter, even at the farthest end of the room. It occurs to you that you haven’t seen him in something as innocuous as training gear yet; simple trousers and boots, a fitted but breathable black shirt that stretches across his chest and shoulders, a holster strapped to his thigh. If it weren’t for his bearing he could almost blend into his surroundings.

“Good morning, Na-Baron,” you tell him with a polite incline of your head, figuring that his most formal title would be best to address him in front of the very men he’s meant to lead. You imagine that you make an unusual match for him as it is given how unambiguously foreign you are.

“Good, you’re here,” he says. His tone is casual, light; in front of his men, you may as well be an acquaintance. “We have a lot to cover, but today my main agenda today is to see your skill level as it is now. When we first met you said you were out of practice. How long has it been since you’ve sparred?”

You try to think. “It’s been about eight months since I’ve done anything,” you admit.

“And when did you start?” he asks.

“Age fifteen,” you tell him.

“And how often would you train?” he asks.

“About an hour, two or three times a week,” you tell him.

He looks both unsurprised and unimpressed with this new information. Instead he takes a small, black device from the waistband of his pants and holds it up. “Have you used one of these before?” You immediately recognize it as a shield activator.

“I have, Na-Baron,” you tell him. “During fighting lessons.”

“Good. You’ll be using one for all of our sessions, just in case.” He hands it over to you to clip onto your own waistband before he signals to another man who’s slight of build and several inches shorter than him. The man strides over to you and lowers his head in deference.

“Na-Baroness,” he says.

“This is Korvo,” Feyd-Rautha says. “He’ll make a suitable opponent,” he says, looking you both over as if to confirm that the two of you are in a similar enough weight class. “Which are you more familiar with? Knife or dagger?”

“I would say the dagger,” you tell him.

“Then I’ll start you off with the knife,” he says. “Start with mid-range fighting and work from there.”

“Alright,” you say, looking over at Korvo, who finally raises his head to look you in the eye. They’re dark brown; there’s a scar along where one of his eyebrows would be. His expression is entirely neutral; if he has a single opinion about you, you’d have no idea. It’s been a week since the wedding and you still don’t know how any of Harkonnen's subjects feel about you.

Feyd-Rautha pulls a knife from one of many lining the walls and hands it over.

“Thank you,” you say softly, taking the handle. He releases it immediately, watching you adjust it in your hand.

“How’s the grip?” he prompts.

“Fine, thank you,” you tell him, glancing over at him before he steps back to a safe distance, and turning your attention back to your opponent as you turn on your shields and settle into position. Korvo does the same, staying still until you both hear Feyd-Rautha’s voice give the simple command, “ Go. ”

You circle each other, and you try to remember your footwork, trying not to cross one leg in front of the other, keeping your stance guarded.

Korvo waits, letting you get nervous as you keep expecting him to make the first move. He makes no offense until you finally think, Oh, get on with it, and lunge first.

For a minute Korvo seems to let you get reacquainted with the practice; one of you strikes, the other blocks, still circling each other. You remember to play to your strengths, which you’ve been told is your form and your flexibility.

So far so good, you think as you block a blow to your shoulder. Then he sweeps his leg, nearly tripping you, and you realize that you haven’t been paying enough attention to his footwork, too preoccupied with his upper body. You startle and recover, regaining your balance just in time for him to swipe, and he’s closer than you realized. When did he get this close?

Too fast! you think, gasping as you try to lean back, as Korvo’s knife swipes just under your breasts, your ribcage protected only by your shield that reverberates with the resistance so hard that your teeth chatter.

“One,” Feyd-Rautha says. He sounds like he’s moving to get a better view as you and Korvo progress. You try to tune him out, inhaling sharply, before finding an opening at your opponent’s left side and lunging.

You’re proud of yourself for about two seconds in which your knife meets Korvo’s shield, even as the humming of it reverberates in your bones. Korvo counters with a knock of his forearm against yours with a force that knocks you off balance again before you realize that he’d been holding back. There’s a mechanical coldness in his eyes as he moves. You can only counter and have no time to lunge or attack, just trying to keep up with the barrage of swipes as he gains on you, forcing you back, before he lunges.

You stumble and trip, falling flat on your ass and in the blink of an eye Korvo’s on top of you, his blade at your heart, and you scream.

Were it not for your shield you’d be dead , you think as you stare, panting and wide-eyed up at the man who’s far more lethal than his appearance would suggest.

He immediately withdraws the knife. “Na-Baroness,” he says, tone apologetic, as he offers you a hand to guide you up. You’re just glad you fell on the flesh of your backside and not your tailbone. You hadn’t realized it was happening, too caught up in your work with Korvo, but people are watching you.

Of course people are watching; you’re new, you’re unfamiliar, and you’re the future Baroness. You sense their gazes on you but you ignore the embarrassed flush and turn to look over at Feyd-Rautha. It’s been a while since you’ve practiced this, and longer still since you felt so out of your depth.

He considers you, head tilted, arms crossed, as he looks between you and Korvo. Finally he speaks, stepping in closer to you both. “Alright, you have some decent baseline form and technique but you still need to reacquaint yourself, especially with speed and footwork. Korvo will continue to train you.

“Speaking of which,” he turns and immediately punches the man hard in the stomach and as the man drops, raises a knee to spike him in the jaw. You recoil at the sickening crunch.

“For scaring my wife,” he explains to the man now crumpled on the floor.

“ Was that necessary? ” you demand, voice cracking.

“He’ll be fine,” Feyd says. “We have Healers for anything broken, and I can help you with the rest of our session today. I’ll test out your skills with that cute little letter-opener you keep hidden in your boot.” He grabs another shield activator from a nearby table and clips it on.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Korvo slowly getting up and spitting a small wad of blood onto the floor before shuffling to his feet. An attendant quickly comes to his aid and escorts him from the Halls. You look down, not wanting to see whatever Feyd-Rautha may have done to his mouth or jaw.

“Now I’m going to want to get an idea of where you stand with the dagger,” Feyd-Rautha says, getting your attention again, holding out his hand for you to hand over the knife, which, once he has back, he hands over to another attendant to set amongst the others.

“Let’s see it,” he says when he turns, nodding at your boot.

You haven’t pulled it out of its holster since your last lesson eight months ago. You’ve been carrying it around with you more as a good-luck charm rather than a weapon since then. You pull up your pant-leg to unclip it and draw it out. It’s a very pretty blade, if you do say so yourself. The handle was made with a woman’s sensibilities in mind. Feyd-Rautha waits for you to unclip it from its holster and tilts his head when he sees it.

“Ornamental,” he says.

“Still functional,” you tell him as you hand it over and watch him twirl it in his hand and examine the blade. It was designed specifically for you, so it’s almost baffling how deftly his larger fingers twirl it with such ease. He looks at it as if it shares deeply guarded secrets about you before looking back at you.

"The dagger's close range," he says, as if you didn't already know. “What were you taught about evasion and disarming techniques?”

“In the event of an ambush, don't rely on brute strength, don't hesitate, and don't bother trying to fight honorably. It’s not a duel; they're not looking for a fair fight, either.”

“Good. Let’s start with disarming techniques,” he says. “In case you’re caught unarmed or unable to reach your weapon.”

The first exercise is easier; it’s one of the first things you’ve ever learned, the way to grab his wrist and pinch the flesh of his palm. This is familiar, and you ease back into the confidence you’d had earlier. After a few goes of it, Feyd-Rautha watching your form, decides to move on–you have no doubt that he’ll come back to this, go faster, go meaner. This all seems to be a diagnostic, something he can use to gauge your potential.

“Alright, you get the concept,” he says. “Let’s move on to disarming an opponent who’s behind you.”

Fine . You assume nothing will phase you quite as much as sparring with Korvo earlier as you get back into a neutral stance, waiting for the tell-tale signs of moving feet, but instead you feel the long, chiseled lines of your husband’s chest and stomach against your back, his free arm wrapped around your ribcage, and your own dagger at your neck. Or rather, you feel the hum of both of your shields vibrate at the contact.

Oh. This kind of close range . You inhale sharply. You don’t need to see Feyd-Rautha’s face to see the unrestrained delight in his eyes.

“Nervous?” he asks.

Exposed . Your pulse quickens. He hasn’t done anything, he’s fully dressed. His hand is on your ribcage, not your breasts or between your legs, but you feel like the two of you shouldn’t be doing this with other people around. They have their own training to get through, of course, but they’re noticing. Even as they keep their heads down and try not to stare, they’re paying attention. They’re probably wondering how you take the Na-Baron's cock inside of you each night.

The vibration of his shield merging with yours doesn’t help.

You take a breath and twist in his arms before he tightens his hold.

“Sloppy work,” he says.

You would argue in your defense that your previous instructors for this weren’t men who’ve been inside of you or licked your pussy until you screamed from the nerve-shattering pleasure of it. It’s more distracting this way.

He starts the position again, his front against your back as he presses the dagger just up against your shield, the hum of it so close to your throat it gives off an almost-purring sound.

Do you like being pressed up against me? you want to ask.

He answers before you get the chance. “I changed my mind. I’ll instruct your close range fighting personally.”

You could laugh, but instead you simply reach behind you, grabbing his crotch and twisting hard–with the shield it won’t hurt him in the slightest, but you were told it was one of the most effective ways to disarm a male opponent.

He snorts and presses the tip of your dagger further against your neck. “Should’ve known you’d go there, pet,” he murmurs in your ear. “It’s not always a reliable technique.”

He’s aroused. You can feel the outline of his cock straining against his trousers as it presses against you.

“Try again,” he says.

*********

Two hours later you’re worn out and beset with what you’re sure will become bruises. So, all in all a very typical two hours with your groom.

You part ways so you can each shower, change, and reconvene for breakfast.

“Unless you’re actually sick or he’s elsewhere, my uncle wants you to attend breakfast and dinner with him as a sign of respect,” Feyd-Rautha tells you. “But you’re free to do as you wish and go where you like during the day.”

That freedom would sound more appealing if you enjoyed going outside, but you still get short of breath easily every time you go out under that black sun, so that means more research, more time listening to language recordings, and more time re-learning everything you forgot plus everything you hadn’t realized you didn’t learn about self-defense.

But today you end up re-reading from books you brought from your old home and writing letters to each of your family members. You write to them about learning basic battle language, about how your husband has recently taken the liberty of teaching you what he knows about self-defense to build on what you’ve already learned. You ask them about the weather, about your friends, about how their lives have changed since you last saw them. It feels far longer than a week. You ask about the stars, about the natural light displays. Your planet has a beautiful night sky. You have to keep reminding yourself that you’ll see it again one day, even if it’s not as soon as you’d like.

Feyd-Rautha’s as polite and restrained towards you at dinner as he always is in his uncle’s presence. During your meals together he seems detached, almost indifferent to you when you’re pretty sure he’s not. He doesn’t show an ounce of warmth but always pulls your chair out for you and waits until you’re seated to sit down himself.

You find that you prefer it; you don’t want the Baron to get so much of a glimpse of the carnality of your marriage and the way his nephew takes you apart with enthusiasm that’s almost frightening.

The only indication that Feyd gives of his interest in you is when you’re both leaving the Dining Hall and he stops to mutter in your ear, “Tonight I’ll come to your chambers instead.”

You think about how he’d gotten hard during practice. When you’re getting ready for the night’s rendezvous you wonder if he took care of it himself in the bathroom later that morning or if he decided to hold off until he could unleash his pent-up lust on you.

You get your answer when you’re in only your robe.

“Your husband, the Na-Baron,” Idrisa says, eyes downcast, as she opens the door for him. He’s barefoot, in just a pair of trousers he quickly undoes, and it’s clear both that he’s already hard and that he’s wearing nothing underneath. Your eyes widen.

Idrisa’s still in the room! you want to snap at him. She doesn’t want to see you like this!

Instead you watch as he steps out of his trousers and hands them off to Idrisa without a word or a look back at her. She inclines her head, accepts the garment, and turns to neatly fold it and place it on top of the dresser.

“Thank you, Idrisa, you are relieved,” you tell her, and she inclines her head and leaves after a soft, ‘ Thank you, Na-Baroness .’ You drop your robe, standing beside the bed as he comes closer. You look at each other for a moment. He raises his browline at your wide eyes.

“Is this another test?” you ask finally.

“Just something new,” he says. He glances towards the bed and back at you. Go on, get in , he seems to say.

You keep your eyes on him as you slide into bed, sitting up with your hands braced behind you as you wait for him to follow, unsure what position he’ll want you in.

As it turns out, you’re exactly where he wants you. You feel the dip of the mattress as he gets in, planting one knee in between your legs, then the other, before descending upon you. He leans in and you lean back, letting your head hit the pillows as he braces himself above you and latches his mouth to your neck, nipping and sucking what you’re sure will be little pink and red marks that his men will notice tomorrow when you train.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for hours,” he says. “I was nearly about to fuck you in the Training Halls during our session.”

“There were other people there,” you tell him.

“I could’ve told them to leave,” he says, in a tone that suggests he wouldn’t have cared either way. “Next time I might. And then I’ll pull down your pants and claim you on the floor.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to give you a rebuttal before he kisses you fiercely and you can’t help but respond in kind, as spent as you feel.

You cry out, back arching at the first full thrust of him inside of you, and he smiles.

Oh yeah , he seems to think. I’d make sure everyone can hear the noises I draw out of you . He braces one arm beside your head, holds your hip with his free hand as he normally does at first when he’s taking you in this position. He watches your face, your breasts and the movement of them as he rocks into you, his mouth open as he slides his hand from his hip to the small of your back. And then he sits up on his haunches, taking you with him. You gasp, a high-pitched moan spilling out of you at the change of angles. You scramble to get your knees under you in time as he continues thrusting upwards, one arm around your back and his other hand still clutching your hip.

“Ah!” you manage, sliding down onto him. It’s the most leverage you’ve gotten with him, making you gasp and whine as you hold onto him; it’s the most he’s really let you move and it comes instinctively. He lets you take over the rhythm that he started as you roll your hips on top of him and clutch at his back.

In a sense it feels almost like you’re the one fucking him, him rocking up to meet your movements and his hands on your hips encouraging you. The heat grows faster this way, with the angle and the friction and the way he eases up and follows your pace, his harsh breath against your ear as you keep thinking about how you want to kiss him but your gasps and moans against the open air are too much for you to collect yourself enough for that. The desperate noises that he pulls out of you, that you pull out of yourself, spill from you without thought, louder than his own grunts and growls. You just keep moving, faster and harder, your nipples stiff and your entire body flushed as your body chases after your release.

I’m close. I’m so close , you want to tell him if only you could speak. Instead you find a spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and lean down to bite down as you keep grinding down on him. That’s the moment that does it for him, and you gasp, rocking down onto him one last time as he comes within you. Your hips jerk and stutter as you feel him painting your insides and remove your mouth from his neck with a sloppy lick and try to find your bearings. You’re still on top of him, he’s still inside of you, you’re both panting and you wonder if he feels as close to delirious as you do. You’re still hot, still pulsing, and give a closed-mouth whine as you squirm on top of him. C’mon, please , you want to tell him. I was almost there .

He presses his forehead against yours, panting against your mouth, before with a snarl he grabs your hips to hold you still and brings his thumb down to where you’re joined. It takes only a few passes, especially when he brings his mouth just under your ear.

You come around him, shutting your eyes around the intensity and digging your nails into his shoulders; you’re starting to grow them longer for this very purpose.

He holds onto you, his forehead resting against your shoulder. He stays inside of you as he wraps one arm around your back, uses his free hand to clutch your hip as you readjust for the second time and he lowers you back down on the bed.

You assume that once you hit the mattress again that he’ll pull out and pull away but he doesn’t; he pulls his hand out from under you but otherwise stays where he is, buried inside of you and draping over you to rest his head against your sweat-damp collarbone. It’s like he’s sinking into you, laying on you, still inside of you even as he’s going soft. It feels oddly nice. Like he’s finding a home within you. As if the two of you are actually coupled by choice rather than mandate. Even the weight of him on top of you feels somehow reassuring.

You absently stroke his back and wonder what he’d look like with hair. What color would it be? What texture? He has long eyelashes, but there’s little else to go off of.

“Is my hair going to fall out?” you wonder aloud after a moment. It’s a reasonable question to have; none of your body hair has grown in again, not even a hint of stubble.

Feyd-Rautha pauses and raises himself up on one forearm to look at you properly, perhaps trying to figure out if there’s an implied insult in your question.

“I just wonder how all of that works here,” you tell him.

“You can’t lose something that never grows in the first place,” he says. “People born on Geidi Prime never grow any as long as they’re living here.”

You frown as you run your fingertips along the back of his head. “But you weren’t born on Geidi Prime, either. I looked it up; you were born on Lankiveil.”

“When I came here I was ordered to have everything shaved off,” he says. “None of it ever grew back.”

You consider this, enjoying the tenderness he’s letting you show him for now. “Is that why you have eyelashes?” you ask, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. There’s the faint memory of freckles on his cheeks; it makes you wonder what his pigment would be on a planet with a proper sun.

“Yes. He didn’t think removing them was necessary,” he says, not needing to specify who ‘he’ is, and his tone is clear: I don’t want to talk about my uncle while I’m still inside of you .

Fair enough. He sinks back down, content to forget the entire conversation, and you drop it, but because this is the first time since you’ve met that you truly feel comfortable with him, you keep talking.

“What was it like on Lankiveil?” you ask him.

He gives an irritated huff. “Why,” he says.

“Just curious,” you say. “The climate sounds a lot like my planet. I grew up surrounded by water, too.”

He sighs, his chest expanding. “Then there’s not much to tell you, now is there,” he says again, voice flat. After a moment, “Even if you were blind and deaf you could smell that you were on an ocean planet just from the salty air. It was cold, damp, dark.”

“ Hmmm .” There are so many questions you want to ask. Did you like it, though? What did you like about it? Have you ever missed it? Were you happy back then? Did you love the family you’ve lost? Have you ever tried going back? You won’t ask them, not anytime soon and potentially not ever. “It’s not a smell you ever think you’ll miss,” you say instead, both hands absently stroking his back and shoulders in no particular pattern.

“Didn’t say I missed it,” Feyd says immediately.

“I do, though.” You already miss the sounds of the ocean crashing against the rocks and stormy sunsets over the rolling tide. Geidi Prime has nothing. It’s a wasteland devoid of life, devoid of seasons. You try not to think about that, and instead the new information Feyd-Rautha’s given you.

Your children will be hairless . You’d implicitly assumed, but it paints a more vivid picture of what to expect.

“You miss home already?” he asks.

Of course I do. Geidi Prime's atmosphere is overwhelming and you're far away from your family. Idrisa’s the only friend you've made and she's obligated to spend time with you. Of course I'd rather be home than here.

But you're not about to tell him that right now, not while you’re the closest thing to content that you’ve felt since you landed. “It’s just what I’m familiar with,” you tell him. “I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

He finally slides out of you as he raises his head again, and you can’t place his expression, but you’re struck with a thought as you bring one hand to his face.

I really want to kiss you right now.

You almost do, and maybe he can see it in your face. You’re not sure how you’re looking at him but he blinks, looking at first your eyes and then your lips, and before you can lean up he gets up, slides out of bed, and pads over to your bathroom. You turn to your side to watch him go, to see his shoulders taper down to a narrow waist, the slope of his ass, and those long legs and how even when soft his cock hangs between them. Tomorrow construction will be complete and your quarters will be connected to his.

Given his abrupt departure to the bathroom, when he returns you expect him to pull on his trousers and leave, but instead he slides back into bed alongside you without a word.

He settles for a moment, turning to face you. He seems thoughtful for a moment.

“Even with the protections you have, it would reflect poorly on me and the Fortress if we had you training while you’re showing, if you’re not pregnant already,” he says.

“I’m no Bene Gesserit,” you tell him. “I can’t tell if I’m pregnant yet, can’t control or predict the sex of the baby–”

“I wouldn’t want a Bene Gesserit wife,” he says. “I can barely tolerate them as is. That’s not the point. We train you as well as we can for the limited time you have.

“But while we're talking about the Bene Gesserit, they will be visiting in three weeks for my birthday. They'll be able to sniff out right away if you're pregnant or not.”

“Given the rate that we’ve been going, that won’t be an issue,” you tell him.

He looks down at your stomach, as if picturing how soon it’s going to swell with his progeny. “Training to be a warrior starts early,” he says. “I was seven when I began and that was later than normal, so I had to work harder than the others to make up for lost time.

“This is not an easy planet to grow up on, so the training is necessary. Especially with Arrakis. We’ve been in conflict for decades and it’s only gotten more severe.”

“Spice production isn’t your only means of industry,” you tell him. What Geidi Prime lacks in vegetation it makes up for in fuel and minerals that get heavily mined.

“Maybe not, but it’s our most lucrative, and until we find a different planet with as much spice as Arrakis, we won’t end our occupation there. In any case, we need to remind the Fremen of our might. I want to build my troops to be the most powerful in the universe. That’s what our children are meant to inherit. That’s what I want to lead and for our son to take over after I’m gone.”

After I’m gone .

Within ten minutes he takes you again, against your headboard as he holds you up, hands under your ass and your legs wrapped around his hips. He mounts you like you’re an animal he killed for sport and hung up on his wall as he murmurs something in Harkonnen battle language against your neck and all you can make out are my woman and something about his semen. He controls the pace this time, fucking you up the length of the headboard as you hold onto him, moaning and panting.

Afterwards you lay side by side, and you look over at him as he starts to doze off, one arm across his ribcage, the other behind his head, one leg bent at the side. His lashes flutter closed. He looks peaceful. He'd be blond, you realize. His lashes are fair so his hair would be some shade of blond. Or rather, he was blond, once.

Perhaps he’d be too beautiful with hair and a normal mouth, you think. Maybe the strange appearance is another layer of armor. The teeth certainly are; he must dye them with some kind of charcoal.

“What,” he says again, his tone annoyed even as he doesn’t open his eyes.

“Nothing,” you say simply, and turn away. When you’ve slept together it’s been with his chest against your back. Neither of you have discussed it, but you both seem to prefer it.

As you drift off you picture a version of him with more pigmentation; sun-kissed skin sprinkled with more freckles; wavy blond hair and tawny eyebrows, a white-toothed smile. A version of him almost too pretty to look at, in a life he was never going to have.

**********

You wake up as the early morning trickles in a sickly gray from the window.

Feyd’s turned away from you at some point during the night and it registers as odd, not having the already-familiar sensation of the warmth of his body against your back and his cock nestled against you. You blink, turning around, and seeing that his back is turned towards you. For some reason his scars look worse in the morning light. Your pink little scratches and bite-marks will fade soon and be replaced by others; the lash-marks will probably never go away.

You reach out, fingertips skimming his back. The unmarred skin is so soft, stretched over the sinewy muscle, that the raised skin of his scars feels like a road map of what he’s quick to endure. You wonder about the scars along his inner thighs, if he’d let you touch them. You think about how you’d like to, how you’d like to explore more of his body as you trail your fingertips along the deepest and ugliest of his lesions.

No sooner do you think that then you can sense Feyd waking and turning to face you in an instant. It takes you by shock, barely able to comprehend what’s happening, as he grabs your wrist in a vice.

His pale eyes look silver; his nostrils flare, his jaw clenched. For a moment it’s like he doesn’t see you.

You want to pull back but he holds onto your wrist–for a moment you worry that he’ll squeeze tighter and shatter the delicate bones. The two of you stare, caught in silence. Then he blinks and seems to take in the fear and confusion in your eyes, and whatever he saw wasn’t you, not with the recognition sinking in. He releases your wrist, looks away, and rolls in the opposite direction of you.

“What are you–?” you start, stunned. You feel utter whiplash from the difference a few seconds could make, unsure exactly what you did.

He gets up without a word. He doesn’t look back at you as he pulls on his trousers.

“What did I do?” you ask him.

He pauses, starts to look back, and turns his head back to the door and leaves. You stare after the door once he’s shut it behind him, wondering what happened.

You don’t go back to sleep. You lay in bed for the hours it takes for light to more prominently trickle in.

Not that he said it out loud, but you think you just got confirmation for how he got those scars.

Tags: @richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai

#feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha smut #feyd smut #dune part 2 #dune 2 #feyd rautha x you

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insoukokuhell-434 · 1 year

Text

Chuuya Takes Care of Dazai Fics

Includes:

Emotional Hurt/Comfort (long term & immediate)

Physical Hurt/Comfort

The format I’m using is:

Title - writer (ao3 link) Fic length Time period (teen/mafia skk, 22! Skk, all ages) Additional tags (Tags in bold added by me for extra info) TW

Some fics have parts of the summary/ comments added for additional info

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Long Term (multiple instances)

hey look, the sky's falling apart - saffroncassis

24.8k TEEN SKK (16/17) AU - Canon Divergence Protective Nakahara Chuuya, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Developing Relationship Found Family (the Akutagawa siblings, Oda's kids, Kyouka, Oda, Ango) TW- Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse and discussions of both these, also cw food for the whole fic

Summary - "At age 16, Chuuya defects from the Port Mafia and drags his partner with him not so much kicking and screaming as silently begrudging, and the rest follow suit in time."

Mostly Chuuya helping Dazai, but Dazai supports him too <33

[Really realistic depiction of the relationship between a depressed person and their supportive partner!]

For the Record - zombiemarker

19.1k TEEN SKK AU- Spies & Secret Agents + Physical Hurt/Comfort Nightmares, Childhood Trauma, they get all dressed up and go to a gala, Implied Sexual Content, Fluff & Angst, Literal sleeping together, Getting together, First kiss, Developing Relationship TW - Blood and Violence, Childhood Trauma

From tags: "Chuuya's a government experiment, Dazai's been with Mori for years, they've both got trauma now"

Mostly Chuuya helping Dazai, but Dazai supports him too <33

A mouth to empty into - series by osamuchuu

Not listing all 4 fics cause this post is already so long, but they’re all amazing pls go read them!

The series depicts depression + CSA trauma so well!

This is my favourite -

Love is not a victory march - osamuchuu

8.7k 22 SKK Soukoku taking care of each other, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mental Illness, Depression, Drug Addiction, Blood and Injury, Healing, Recovery, Soukoku Tenderness, Light Angst TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide References and Attempts, Addiction, Drug Use

believe me darling, the stars were made for falling -communist_sasuke

14.6k ALL AGES Worried Chuuya, Love Confessions, Dazai is a Mess, Angst, Self-Harm , Fluff & Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon timeline, First Kiss, TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions , Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt

Trust Fall - insi

3.5k ALL AGES (Dark Era, Post-Dark Era, 22 SKK) Emotional Constipation, Mental Health Issues, Dazai has issues TW - Implied/Referenced Suicide & Self-Harm, Suicidal ideation

From tags: Chuuya has met Dazai on the rooftop many times throughout knowing each other.

Immediate

Emotional H/C

Even the Darkness We're Watching Is So Beautiful - NastyaEx

4k 22 SKK (post-109) bsd 109, Fluff, Dazai Needs a Hug, Dazai is a Mess, exhausted dazai, dazai cries but only a little bit, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sharing a Bed, Soft skk, Dazai centered, yosano is a bit here and she's great

I'll Make A Home In Your Gut Because its Somewhere Warm to Sleep - arahabakii

8.9k 22 SKK Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Making Out, Getting Together, Domestic Fluff, Touch-Starved Dazai, Dazai needs a hug, Chuuya needs a hug TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide References

stay- neon_toad

4.6k 22 SKK (pm!skk flashbacks) Suffering Dazai, Dazai Needs a Hug , Dazai is Bad at Feelings, Oblivious Dazai Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hugs, birthday, Birthday Presents, soft skk TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide References

where are you? - doeinstinct

2.8k 22 SKK Depression, Disordered Eating, physical symptoms of depression, Mentions of past self harm, m because they shower together, canon adjacent, meal replacements, Love Confessions, They're In Love Your Honor

Run Away With Me - Anonymous

5.3k Dark Era Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, Suicidal Thoughts, Soft Soukoku, Dazai Needs a Hug , Dazai Has Feelings, Pining, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sharing a Bed, Chuuya Needs a Hug, Kissing, Dazai asks Chuuya to run away with him

stay the night - Shinkirou

3.6k 22 SKK Gen or Pre-Slash, Developing Relationship, Character Study, Sharing a Bed, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dazai's depression

Physical Hurt/Comfort

Fool for loyalty, or some other word - osamuchuu

1.7k Dark Era Aftermath of Torture, Blood and Injury Light Angst, chuuya deals with so much tbh, what a champ, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Relationship, Established Relationship, chuuya being Dazai's nurse because he absolutely was Dazai's angry nurse

under wraps - Coffeebiscuits

5k Post-Dark era + Emotional hurt comfort Love confessions, deep talks, Light angst, Fluff and angst, kissing, crushes, sharing a bed, Suicide, Self-Harm, Tending to Wounds TW - Dazai-Typical Suicide Mentions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

From tags: “basically chuuya has to patch dazai upand they talk about some things they need to discuss”

Chuuya also gets some emotional comfort

EXHAUSTION

So if you go too far I'll be there - Kimisu

2.5k 22 SKK - Pre-Fyodor | Cannibalism Arc No Plot/Plotless, Literal Sleeping Together, Some Fluff, Canon Timeline

From Summary: Based on a HC that Dazai spends days before every major arc planning and arranging the pieces in order for everything to 'work'. He also pushes his body limits a bit too far when doing that sometimes.

SICK FIC

Nothing More Important Than You - StormDew2

3k MAFIA SKK (15) Sickfic, Soft soukoku, Vulnerability

Please like/reblog if this helped u find a fic, I'd be delighted to know asjsj <3

“Dazai takes care of Chuuya” recs here

Fic rec masterlist here

#soukoku #soukoku fic rec #skk #skk fic rec #soukoku fics #skk fics #really hope the categorizing makes sense!#didn't know how else to do it ;-;#15 in total :D #sierra’s recs #edit: added 'where are you'#Sierra’s posts 🌸

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beautifulsnake2162020 · 23 days

Text

We have it all (Hualian adopted daughter fanfic) Chapter 4

Gif by shiruba-tsuki

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I only do this for fun.

Premise: Not long after comforting a bullied girl named Meng Ai, Hua Cheng and Xie Lian find themselves adopting her and together they form a family they didn't know they had needed for awhile.

Story/Genre tags: Slice of life-ish (mainly), Family focused, Hua Cheng's houses finally become homes, there may be an overarching story but that's not the focus, Hualian being parents, Fengqing being uncles, Lang Qianqiu falling in love with someone who was raised by the Xianle squad, technically post-canon (though I haven't read the books so if there are some ooc moments please forgive me).

AO3 Link

Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3

Follower tags: @anonimgato1507

CW: If you are sensitive to things involving blood (it will just be discussed not shown), self-harm or self-harm adjacent things (discussed not shown) and potentially the dark side of things please proceed with caution.

Chapter 4

"Aiai, have you finished your dinner?"

"Yes mama."

"Okay, wash-up and prepare for bed."

"But mama it is still early. The sun just went down." Meng Ai whined as she helped clean the dishes.

"If you wash-up early I'll give you something."

"Oh what is it?"

"Wash-up first." Meng Ai knew that tone well enough to know that her mother did not allow any disobedience from her right now. There must be something happening tonight that she's not allowed to know about if she's being made to go to bed early.

And it must be so terrible that even her mother is scared.

She's a good girl, she doesn't want to cause her anymore pain. It's why she never told her or her father about the bullying children. She pretends not to know that they are worried about something. Something involving her going missing. She doesn't know what it is but ever since she met Hua Cheng and Xie Lian she wants to tell her that everything is going to be okay.

But she has something in her mind and has been watching the new soldiers put up protections around the shrine. So she'll just be a good girl and do as she says.

"Our soldiers have made preparations, they'll inform us when they arrive."

"I've also made a barrier around the shrine. So as long as you both stay inside you'll be fine."

"Thank you General Nan Yang and General Xuan Zhen. Have you two eaten dinner yet?"

"Oh we don't need to eat-"

"Meng Ai will wonder why you two haven't eaten yet but still have plenty of energy."

"Eh, she already knows we're not mortals." Mu Qing says non-chalantly.

"I insist Generals, think of it as my offering of gratitude to both of you. It will also save me time from repeating the story multiple times when the time we have is uncertain. Especially tonight."

"Hmm" Feng Xin takes one last look at the protections that they've placed and the positions of their soldiers.

"We've done all that we can. We're just waiting for them to show up."

"And if they show up while we are having dinner?"

"You know, our scouts are going to immediately run inside and get us. Might as well be comfortable while we still can."

"Excellent." Mu Qing follows the priestess inside. After taking one last look and running a few checks with his second-in-command Feng Xin follows them inside.

Thankfully, her cooking was a lot better than Xie Lian's.

"Hmm, maybe I should convince her to be in charge of cooking for Dianxie's temple."

"You'll have to ask permission from Xiwangmu."

"And?"

"You really are an idiot if you think Xiwangmu is going to give one of her oracles to you just because you like her cooking."

"I could use an oracle. None of my followers have that gift."

"You're supposed to give it to them you bone-head. But maybe that's all for the best since they all think the only gift you're capable of giving is D-"

"DON'T. Not now."

Mu Qing couldn't help but chuckle.

"What's so funny Fu Yao?" Meng Ai asks as her mother helps settle her in the bed.

"I'm just reminded of a mistake with massive consequences involving Nan Feng's God, Nan Yang."

"You don't have to tell her that!"

"Huh?"

"You'll find out when you're older Aiai." She herself chuckles a bit as she makes sure that Meng Ai is settled in the bed before she goes back to the kitchen area and returns with two dishes.

"Aiai asked me to ask you two which among these is the best flavor for her birthday moon cake."

"Because I can only have one flavor each year!"

"She couldn't decide between Lotus Paste and Red Bean filling. So I made a few experiments. This dish-" she puts it on the table between them.

"Has three with Lotus Paste and Three with Red Bean filling. And this dish -" She places the second dish beside the first, this time closer to Feng Xin.

"Has variations of both. Two of them with exactly half of each, Two of them with more Lotus and a touch of the red bean, and the last two are more of the red bean paste and a touch of the lotus paste."

"Can't we have all three?"

"You can't have three birthdays in one year Aiai."

"Please."

"You can get the other two if you can buy the ingredients with your own money."

"Aw." Her frustrated expression was so endearing that it made both generals laugh.

"Don't worry Meng Ai, we'll take this decision very seriously." Feng Xin says as he takes a large bite out of a red bean filled moon cake.

"We better be invited to the party."

"Of course you are Fu Yao. Both of you, and Hua Cheng and Xie Lian."

"Speaking of birthdays, here is one of your first presents." Meng Ai is given a book to her delight.

"Is this a new story mama?"

"Yes, a rare new story. Would you like me to read it to you?"

"Yes please."

______________________________________________________________

"Don't worry your Holiness, I made sure to make a few detours before going to the temple."

"Thank you Meng Zhiyuan, while we serve the Goddess who has power over life and death, I'm afraid we will need the assistance and protection of a nearby martial God if anything should happen."

Those were the last couple of things Xie Lian and Hua Cheng heard before the priest exits from a private dining area. He bows before both of them as he makes his leave.

"Good evening, Ji Huifan." He looks up at them as he hears Hua Cheng call him by the name he had thought long dead. But here on front of him was the couple the Great Mother had showed to be the best option to raise and protect Meng Ai. He just needed to do his best to convince them.

Meng Ai was innocent of the crimes he and his family had done. His sins should not deprive her of the chance to live.

"There's no need to be nervous Ji Huifan. We just want to know a few things." Xie Lian says in a calming voice.

"Of course, what would you like to know?"

"Start from the beginning." Hua Cheng says firmly.

______________________________________________________________

"Long ago, there was a beautiful Goddess named Chenxi, who loved dwelling in a place where many cultures met. She was a scholar with a natural curiosity to know more about the world beyond the lands she and her family were worshipped in. For it is well known that Gods cannot go into lands where they are neither worshipped or known."

"Why mama?"

"Gods need worshippers for them to dwell anywhere. And if they cannot have worshippers, they must at least be known by people to still have power. It is why whenever a new temple is built dedicated to a God, that God is happy."

"Oh."

"Chenxi loved meeting new Gods from other cultures. This place was the further most spot she could dwell in without depriving herself of the power of her worshippers or scholars. One day, a bright mortal man named Hou Lijie entered into her city as a scholar, and the two fell in love. But Chenxi's heart was heavy for she was born as a Goddess, and the love between a Goddess and a mortal almost always do not end well."

"Why?"

"Because the mortal almost always dies first."

"Oh." Her mother gives her a sympathetic smile.

"It's perfectly fine if you don't understand it now. Sometimes things only get clearer the older we get." In her periphery she could see that the two Generals were also paying close attention as they were snacking on the mooncakes she gave them.

"For their love to bear fruit, either they must both be mortal or both must be immortal. Chenxi asked her parents if she could give Hou Lijie a peach of immortality, for it is easier to make her beloved immortal than to make herself mortal."

"I thought the opposite would be easier."

"Aiai, the mortality that Chenxi must face isn't in the form of an avatar but her entire being. To become mortal is to enter the uncertainty of the cyle of Life, Death, and Rebirth. Chenxi cannot choose what face she will have, what body she will inhabit, or even where she will be born. And Hou Lijie loved her for who she was and she didn't want to change that."

"Hmm so what happened?" Feng Xin asks now curious and intrigued.

"Her parents refused, but Chenxi loved Hou Lijie so much that she snuck inside the orchard of her parents and gathered several peaches that granted immortality. She knew that Hou Lijie loved his family and would be upset if he were to leave them. She came to dwell in his home bearing the peaches, only to discover that her beloved had already passed. She realized then that the reason why her parents did not want to give her the peaches was because Hou Lijie was already dead. His family gathered because they were grieving. And then she realized her mistake as the family of her beloved surrounded and trapped her."

______________________________________________________________

"After they trapped her, in their grief of not wanting to lose anyone else, they gobbled up the peaches of immortality amongst themselves. But they didn't realize that it is only because of Chenxi's love for Hou Lijie that the peaches still had their power in a place where their power as Gods are not as potent. Chenxi's love was a spell on her own, and the moment she became frightened and trapped by that family, the power of the peaches was darkened."

"Darkened how?" Xie Lian asks as he took mental notes of the story.

"The peaches will still give them immortality, that is not something Chenxi could change. Normally when a peach of immortality is fed on whomever consumes it will become ethereal and more enlightened. But in this case, the family members who have eaten the peaches...while they are still immortal the curse is that only the life of anyone frightened, or in pain will satisfy them. But even then, that satisfaction will not last long and it only leads to more suffering. I...I think I don't need to say out loud what my family used to do."

Seeing that Hua Cheng and Xie Lian nodded he gathered himself for a bit to continue. He may not be able to read their expressions but no matter what they think of him he just needs to keep reminding himself that this was for his daughter.

"One of my relatives soon realized that we cannot continue to live in a place wherein our cursed immortality was present to anyone who was smart enough. So as we continued these blood rituals to keep our temporary satisfaction, we worked extremely hard to make Fu Dao into a prosperous kingdom. A kingdom's royal family doesn't need to make frequent public appearances, and only those we most trusted would know our secret. It would be easy enough to be isolated from everyone else and to hide that another effect of the curse is that all members who have partaken in it will be infertile."

"Let me guess, because when you're mortal in order to continue being on this earth you need to reproduce to pass on the family line."

"And that is no longer necessary or a concern when you are immortal. Is that right?"

"Yes, Xie Lian, you both are. I've never really liked consuming blood and when I was grown enough I endeavored to study magic of various kinds to try to find a cure for our suffering. I got tired of everyone of us taking turns to rule the Kingdom when all I wanted was to be free from our suffering."

"May I ask Ji Huifan, how did you manage to keep up appearances for so long?" Xie Lian in curiosity.

"We still continue to age - why we do I don't fully understand, but at some point those who appear elderly will take three times the amount of our regular consumption and they would be rejuvenated back into their forms as children. That's how we kept the public thinking that there were different generations ruling in our family."

"I see, but then how were you able to have a daughter?"

"I fell in love. Jing Mei was the first person who loves all parts of me and is stubborn enough to join me in my quest to find a way to remove this curse. Since she was an adept at the time she arranged for my family and I to consult an oracle asking for the cure to our suffering."

_____________________________________________________________

"What did the oracle say?" Mu Qing asks finding himself intrigued by the story. He and Feng Xin had since moved their stools closer to Jing Mei and Meng Ai. Meng Ai had since fallen asleep and Jing Mei had touched a pressure point to ensure that she would remain that way for awhile. This is the part of the story that she isn't ready to hear yet.

"Blood for blood, blood that you take will be cured by the blood that you give."

"Ominous."

"It is General Nan Yang. But I also don't blame my Goddess for giving that as a punishment. It is her daughter whom they have trapped, kept imprisoned, and tortured."

"Why didn't they just release her? They already had immortality although it is cursed." Mu Qing asks as he starts theorizing in his head. Jing Mei gives a sigh of frustration.

"I also don't know why. But after the oracle gave this answer things got worse for Chenxi. Bocheng, the patriarch of the family began interpreting it in a gruesome way. Before then, Chenxi was merely imprisoned and given the bare minimum to keep her satiated. Probably to make sure she isn't strong enough to give them another curse. After the oracle's answer to what would free them from their suffering, Bocheng began draining her of blood, feeding her blood to whomever the intended victims were before they were consumed in the family blood ritual. The worse part was because she is immortal, she too cannot be free from suffering and will carry this trauma for the rest of her immortal life."

"Fuck"

"I know. When I learned of this, I gave Ji Huifen, Meng Ai's father an ultimatum. He could continue to blindly join his family and the depraved acts they did; but in doing so I am going to completely cut ties with him and take the path of cultivation through abstinence. Or he could marry me under the blessings of Xiwangmu and get the freedom he had sought for."

There was a mutual relief shared in the telepathic bond as they both realized that Meng Ai's very existence was proof that her father had changed.

"But my Goddess loved me and did not make it easy for him. Before she allowed us to be married, she gave him two tasks. Cure himself of the curse, and free Chenxi. Obviously his grandfather's interpretation did not cure anything but merely made their relief last longer. He managed to free Chenxi and I personally nursed her back to health. In gratitude she clarified what her mother demanded from them to cure them from their suffering."

"Which was?"

______________________________________________________________

"An offering of my own blood. I won't tell you the details but Chenxi explained that by refusing to grieve we have tainted the nourishment of the peaches of immortality. It was why the more blood we consumed the shorter our relief lasted with each successive one. Had we dwelled with the discomfort of the loved one we all lost, had we learned to let go, the seemingly insatiable hunger for the lives of others while painful would also go away. But because a lot of the blood that now flows in our veins are from the blood of our victims, it is only cured by pouring them out." He takes a drink from his cup to refresh himself.

"And so I did, on front of Jing Mei, on front of all of Xiwangmu's priests and priestesses, and on front of Chenxi. They all witnessed both my blood and my grief finally pouring out." He doesn't need to see them to know that they are probably horrified. Hou Lijie while technically a cousin was more of a big brother and one of his best friends. When Hou Lijie fell in love with Chenxi he could now admit that he was jealous and didn't want to lose someone so dear to him.

Only for death to have claimed him first before Chenxi ever did.

And so he joined in the family in imprisoning and torturing her thinking that she was the cause of his death.

"The next time I woke up I no longer felt the underlying thirst to consume blood. And not long after Jing Mei and I were married with Chenxi present. I was excited to share the news with them, to tell them that I now understand the words of the oracle and that there was hope. Sure I was mortal again, but after centuries of being immortal and being satiated only with the thirst for blood drained when the victims were in fear and in pain...it was a relief that I had never thought possible. The opportunity came when it was time for another blood ritual to take place. What better time to tell them of the solution? Xiwangmu through her powers prevented me from being physically there. And it was on that night that I discovered that they had been spying on me but now they somehow believe that the cure for all of them would be to sacrifice Meng Ai, the first new life in our family in centuries. Under Xiwangmu's protection I tried to tell them and explain to them what the cure was. Then I was branded as a traitor. And so gathering everything I could, I took my family and fled from Fu Dao."

"You changed your name to Meng Zhiyuan to cover your tracks."

"More to extend my life by a little bit. When Meng Ai was born, Jiang Mei had a vision of the three of us dead. Or more specifically that she and I were dead and my grandfather personally skinning her and letting her blood pour out on Xiwangmu's altar. We panicked and Xiwangmu herself came into our dreams."

______________________________________________________________

"What did she say?"

"That as long as one parent is dead and one parent was alive, she would be safe from that cursed family." Jing Mei stood up and brushed a stray strand of hair that was covering Meng Ai's left eye. She presses a kiss to her forehead before she makes her way to her satchel.

"Chenxi knew us well enough that we wouldn't want Meng Ai to grow up with only one parent. And clarified that being a parent does not mean that there is necessarily a blood relation. So we began praying to her mother to help us find a loophole, even if it means we will only have her for the first few years of her life. Meng Ai deserves to live life to the fullest, and if it means that someone else will be her parents then so be it. After we've been fleeing from place to place Xiwangmu lead us to Hu village and told us that she has found a solution but nothing is certain yet. Then recently when Meng Ai went missing and we were worried. Xiwangmu then showed us that she was with Hua Cheng and Xie Lian. Then everything made sense."

From her bag she brings out two thicker books. And hands each one to each General.

"These copies contain the more extensive version of the story that Ji Huifen and I have personally written. I don't know how much time we have left with her - but when you feel that she is ready to know the actual story, have her read this."

"Two copies?" Feng Xin asks as Mu Qing carefully stores one magically.

"The other copy is for Hua Cheng and Xie Lian. Hopefully, if Ji Huifen is still alive, he would be able to convince them to take her in. The sooner she's with them, the safer she'll be."

"General Nan Yang." A soldier enters as Feng Xin stores the other copy magically.

"It's starting. They're using some sort of cloaking magic."

"We'll be there." He nods to Mu Qing as he makes his way out.

"Thank you again Jing Mei. Just stay inside and don't come out until we get both of you." It was obvious to him how much she and her husband loves Meng Ai. So much that they would sacrifice their life with her to ensure that she lived life to the fullest.

It reminded him of his own mother.

Filled with newfound determination he headed out and joined the ensuing battle.

AN: Wow consecutive chapters in one week! That's a personal record for me. I hope the dark subject matter and triggering potential elements weren't too painful.

Chenxi - Morning sunlight

Hou - Lord/Nobleman, Li Jie - To reason

Jing - Bright, Mei - flower (Confession: I just picked Mei because it was one of the more common female names)

Meng - Dream, Zhiyuan - Distant Ambition

#We have it all #Chapter 4 #Hualian #Hua Cheng x Xie lian #Xie Lian x Hua Cheng #Fengqing #Feng Xin #feng xin x mu qing #Mu qing #Hua Cheng #Xie Lian #tgcf #Heaven official's blessing #fanfiction #fanfic

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soggie-saboteur · 2 months

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Intro Post

Hello there friend! My name is Sebastian Solace, but you probably already know that given how much you all seem to like me. I use It/Its pronouns, and I ask that you please respect my boundaries and ask before touching me. Aside from purchasing items of course, that's fine to do.

Somehow an expendable managed to sneak a phone in here, but ended either losing it or maybe just left it since it was right next to water... Anyways, it somehow still works and I'm desperate for interaction so I've made this blog.

OOC

Canon and fan character interactions are welcome! Including duplicates hehehe.

Please note that this blog may contain triggering content (will be listed below and updated as needed as well as tagged) due to the illnesses Sebastian has. You are more than free to ask it about these, but please understand I am not a medical expert, nor is Sebastian. Please don't ask for medical advice here and instead speak to a doctor or therapist.

Small DNI specifically for some of the mental illnesses here (subject to change if need be): Endo systems + other non-traumagenic systems, transid/transabled (unless you are someone with BIID who reclaims the phrase)

CWs:

Discussions of: self harm, self mutilation, gender and atypical dysphoria, depression, anxiety, dissociation

#pressure #pressure roblox #sebastian pressure #pressure ask blog #pressure roleplay #sebastian solace

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deepsea-angel · 2 months

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Intro Post

H-Hello! M-My name is Gabriel, I am a former archangel of heaven. I attempted t-to kill the council and failed, as such I have been sent away to work for this "Urbanshade" place. I-I will admit I'm quite scared, I've been told that if I complete some task for them I can return home but... I don't know if I trust them, and I'd rather not go back there...

I use It/Its pronouns and prefer gender neutral and feminine terms.

OOC:

This is an AU of my other blog @gods-most-anxious-angel where the split at attempting to murder the council, and failing.

Canon and oc interactions are perfectly fine!

(v Below is copied from my other blog v)

Please note that this blog may contain triggering content (will be listed below and updated as needed as well as tagged) due to the illnesses Gabriel has. You are more than free to ask it about these, but please understand I am not a medical expert, nor is Gabriel. Please don't ask for medical advice here and instead speak to a doctor or therapist.

CWs:

Discussions of: self harm, self mutilation, gender and atypical dysphoria, depression, anxiety, dissociation

#ultrakill ask blog #ultrakill roleplay

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gods-most-anxious-angel · 3 months

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Intro post

Hello there, I am Gabriel. I'm the former right hand of God, but now simply a fallen angel trying to survive in hell. A friend suggested I make a blog to help me socialize as I tend to be too anxious to interact with others in person.

Please note I use It/Its pronouns and prefer gender neutral or feminine words/terms to refer to myself.

OOC:

Hello everyone, this is a blog I've made of myself (a Gabriel alter) to project my mental illness onto it and have fun while role-playing ^^

Canon character and oc interactions are allowed and encouraged!

Note: any anons signed by P&W are my wife, and any rude stuff from these is a joke. Please don't go harassing my wife (proof)

CWs:

Discussions of: self harm, self mutilation, gender and atypical dysphoria, depression, anxiety, dissociation

Tags:

cw (insert trigger here) - how the content warning tags are set up

ooc posting - when the mod posts ooc

#ultrakill #ultrakill ask blog #ultrakill roleplay #roleplay blog #ask blog #gabriel ultrakill #ultrakill gabriel

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laurajameskinney · 1 year

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btw for those that were wondering. heres the pages i was referencing in the tags of that post. first 9 pages of x-force 2008 #4. under a cut because its Rough

cw for (in order) discussion of near-fatal forced heroin overdose, logan physically attacking laura (no claws) (jimmy had to fucking pull him off), self harm, and laura allowing rahne to inflict lethal wounds to her (as a result of something logan said).

these pages make me feel like im trapped in a dark pit and not going to make it. like i have so many thoughts about x-force and laura and how bad that was for her and also how she won't allow herself to conceptualize it as anything approaching how bad it actually was.

also this is definitely what i mean when i say logan was not a good dad to her. obviously the above scene is not representative of the sum of their relationship, and x-force in general/this scene in particular is probably like, the worst of it.

there are moments where logan is actually very good with her. however those moments are always going to be weighed down by "that time Logan choked Laura against a tree and told her that she is expected to die for someone she barely knows."

#gg og #laura kinney #logan howlett #james proudstar #rahne sinclair #josh foley #x-force #wolverine #x-men #child abuse

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bluravenite · 1 year

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Can people please put content tags and warnings when they talk about regressed ghouls????

CW: mentions of trauma and abuse, fetishization of age regression, sexual abuse, parenting? Just complaining about people romanticizing age regression, trauma, abuse and treating other mental illness/disorders badly... Also very brief mentions of self harm and eating disorders...

Summary: I'm upset

I feel like people baby ghouls a lot, and while I understand that age reg and little space is a trauma coping mechanism, trust me.. I know... I also just feel like sometimes I open Tumblr to a bunch of people babying ghouls in ways that make me upset...

I think often the way people handle regressed ghouls is by treating them like dumb little babies, instead of the actual procedures that should take place to ensure someone who is regressed is emotionally and physically safe... It's not just about which toys they love playing with, or which sippy cup they use most, it's also not A GATEWAY FOR YOU TO WRITE AGE REGRESSION AS A SEXUAL FETISH, I understand that sometimes when you regress your body may still experience those feelings, but mentally???? It's not going to be safe or enjoyable, cannot consent properly either BECAUSE ITS UNDER A TRAUMA RESPONSE, and also??? It can be even more traumatic and DANGEROUS for a person HANDLING a regressed individual, to engage in sexual acts WITH A REGRESSED INDIVIDUAL

I get that Tumblr used headcanons as comfort, but if you're going to talk about traumatized ghouls experiencing age regression and instead of having people/other ghouls take care of them safely and properly, then I can't stop you but at least TAG THEM PROPERLY??? This goes to mentions of SH and EDS, should not be romanticized... Can it be talked about? Part of a story? Yes, just like it can be part of people's lives and needs to be discussed... But please just don't romanticize it... Don't make regressed ghouls engage in it too if you're not going to properly explain the content and the reasons why it's there.

I have my own way of dealing with small children, age regressed individuals (and littles)... It may not be correct, but it caters towards listening to the individual I am responsible for taking care of...

You don't know what they want or need, you need to talk to them and ask them how they're feeling, how you can help, what they would like, what is safest for them. Get them something of comfort, something for entertainment, and at all costs try to ensure their safety, even if you fail, you can talk them through calming down. I do understand that 1. Children can be difficult sometimes, it depends a lot on the kid... 2. Not all instances will have bad experiences or feelings involved, but sometimes they might, which is why you need to understand age regression is a trauma response... 3. You cannot treat children as dumb brainless babies, AND YOU SHOULD NOT TREAT AGE REGRESSED INDIVIDUALS HAVING TROUBLE PROCESSING EMOTIONS like CHILDREN.

My point being, just try to learn some gentle parenting. It doesn't always work, it doesn't always ensure everyone's safety... Yes you can still have your cute headcanons of things people enjoy and it does not have to be exclusive to age regression...

I have spent entire summers volunteering with special needs and disabled kids, as well as having my own mental issues and disorders and I'm just tired of seeing people treat a lot of them like they're toys to play with and sexualize... And since I know I can't stop anyone from doing that, AT LEAST FOR SATAN'S BELOVED COCK, USE TAGS

#raven vents

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sasukeisawake · 2 years

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BODYLINE; a @derridaspectres wip intro

genre: sports drama, pulp, murder mystery, noir

status: drafting

cws: violence, death, blood and gore, self-harm, alcohol abuse, unhealthy relationships, discussions of classism, casteism, and anti-indigenous and religious discrimination

elevator pitch: whiplash (2014) meets raymond chandler, expect they’re all talented and deeply obsessive sapphic cricketers.

summary:

The river water had had its way with Ekta Munda by the time the cops found the body. The thick-dark spill of her hair was knotted through with water hyacinth and her flesh was marbled white. Her face, they said, lay frozen in a death-rictus smile...

Kriti Sinha and Ekta Munda were once a devastating, inseparable batting duo. On the cricket pitch they terrorised opposing bowlers, racked up unthinkable run totals, and for a brief and glorious moment lay siege to the impenetrable walls of the ‘gentleman’s game’. But when they were both sixteen, a fateful match and a keen-eyed headhunter sent their lives hurtling in different directions: Ekta’s to the fame and fortune of franchise cricket, Kriti’s to the unspeakable mundanity of assistant coaching her old (and patently terrible) high school team.

That probably would have been the end of it, too, if Ekta’s dead body hadn’t been found floating in a river days after her most successful franchise season to date. And while the rest of the cricketing world seemed content to express, ad infinitum, their deep sorrow at the death of such a promising young player, her old partner suspects foul play. Grieving and paranoid, Kriti makes a desperate bid to wrangle her way into Ekta’s old team in order to conduct a private, off-the-books investigation.

But Kriti soon realises that the glamorous face of franchise cricket has an underbelly darker and seedier than she could have ever imagined-- to keep her wits, and indeed her life, about her, she can’t trust anyone. Not the team’s glamorous and stunningly beautiful actress owner; not the sainted playing eleven their seethingly jealous substitutes; and certainly not Arya Pandey, the icy and prodigious opening batsman whose contempt for Kriti is only matched by their incredibly effective partnership on the pitch together. Arya bats like a dream and behaves like a living nightmare, but there’s something about her that Kriti just can’t ignore-- something dark and compelling... and maybe even murderous?

what to expect from this wip: long, loving descriptions of bombay, cricket and playing cricket in bombay | complicated relationships | unreliable narration | meditations on sport as nation and sport as religion | the dehumanisation of fame | corruption, conspiracy and scandal | prose that’s just seven raymond chandler impersonations in a trenchcoat | ‘they’re all gay but trust me, that’s the LEAST of their problems’

please ask if you would like to be +/- from the taglist!

#writeblr #writing community #wip intro #original fiction #original wip #cricket wip #omg its been SO long since i've used these tags... feels good feels organic :'))#n e ways very excited to finally post a proper proper intro!! will probably add a meme dump at some point too b/c i can never be serious

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 1 month

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WHAT UP, MY DARLINGS

Sorry for the long hiatus. New full-time job was kicking my ass, and I also realized there were a lot of changes I wanted to make to what I'd already written. That said, new chapter of my Feyd Rautha/Reader arranged marriage!AU is up.

Link to full AO3 fic here

Tags and CW for this chapter: switching; riding; body worship; come-eating; knifeplay; nipple play; oral sex (M+receiving); mentions of past self-harm; masochism; orgasm delay; teasing; subspace!Feyd; pregnancy discussions; dom!Feyd as well as sub!Feyd; both dom! and sub!reader; subspace and subdrop; collars; leashes; blindfolds; face-fucking; implied/referenced past child abuse; implied/referenced past incest; the Reader being an unreliable narrator/having way too much trust in the Bene Gesserit; mentions of Feyd's mommy issues

This takes place seconds after the previous chapter so if you need a refresher I also have the previous tumblr chapter here. Even with the tags up above this is definitely the softest and most romantic chapter I've put up so far. Like, by a significant margin.

CHAPTER TEN: UNLEASHED

For a few minutes all you do is kiss, lazily, trying not to move your hips too much as you lay atop him and his hands pass over your ribcage, your sides, your hips, before curling into your hair.

You're sweet like this, you almost say. Never thought I'd be able to say that about you.

You drop your head and bring your mouth just below his ear, at the juncture of his jaw and neck. Past experiences dating even prior to him taught you that this is a weak spot for you, and it appears to be the case for him as well as he gasps. You remember the knife beside you, think about how he always enjoys a bit of pain to heighten his pleasure, and curl your fingers around the hilt.

You’re almost stunned at your own confidence as you do it, your bone-deep certainty that Feyd will enjoy this, as you lean upwards, taking the knife, and just barely pressing it against his chest, drawing a thin red line that ends just above his left nipple. The cut’s shallow and the knife’s sharp so it probably doesn’t hurt much, even as Feyd shifts and arches his hips, browline furrowing and mouth falling open in a silent gasp. And then you lean down and lap up the blood welling up in slow, deliberate licks.

His dick twitches inside of you, and you gasp as it starts to fill out–slower than before, but awakening all the same. He gives a rattling breath as you close your teeth around the nipple and tug lightly. His hand curls around the back of your head but applies no pressure, as if he isn’t sure if he wants you to keep going or pull back, groaning and filling out more as you gently roll your hips and set the knife down beside you. You smirk around his bare skin, clench around his finally-stiff cock, and think, Alright. I think it’s safe to say you’re ready for round two .

You sit up all the way, then, fanning your fingertips over his chest at first, fingertips of your right hand catching the last tear-droplets of blood that you bring to your mouth, sucking on your fingertips as you roll your hips properly. Will he wear his favorite collar next time he lets you use him like this? Will he still lie docile, waiting for you to command him?

You picture it, and groan at the idea: him with his hands tied–wrists bound above his head, or maybe, oh, Great Mother, tied to the bedposts. Is that why he has hooks on each of his bedposts? You laugh, the heat already building up your spine, coming swiftly for you as you bear down on him, head falling back as the laughter turns into a moan as you shift your hips in just the right angle. Incredible . You can’t help it as the words spill out of you. “I could do this all night,” you tell him. “I– oh, fuck– I could ride your fat cock all night. Would you like that, Feyd?”

He groans an affirmative, and you feel all the hotter for it, stunned at how quickly the heat builds again, at the obscene squelch of your slick around him. You move his hands from your hips to your breasts and he immediately understands your instructions, squeezing and fondling them as you topple effortlessly into your third orgasm, leaning back at just the right angle, both hands braced on his thighs.

Thing is, you meant it when you said you could keep going, if nothing else than sheer force of will. You keep moving, desperate to come again, desperate to keep him inside of you for just a little longer, searching for the moment where you hit your threshold.

“Don’t come yet,” you tell him, panting. “Not until I come again.”

Feyd groans under you and it takes you a moment to realize that it’s not out of protest, but arousal. You try to make sense of it as you finally understand the phrase ‘ drunk with power ’ because the hold you have over him right now is utterly intoxicating.

It makes sense; one of Feyd’s strongest qualities is his discipline. You venture further, trying your luck. “If you want to come then make yourself useful, Feyd,” you tell him, and he gets to work, spitting on his thumb and bringing it to your bud, as if you’d need the extra lubrication when you can feel his previous spend leaking out of you.

You reach down and pinch both nipples, twisting. His hips jolt up, nearly knocking the wind out of you as it feels like his cock is all the way up in your ribcage, but he doesn’t come, even as he gives an agonized groan and the cords of muscle in his neck bulge. He arches his back, jaw clenched, eyes shut.

Oh, that won’t do .

“Look at me, Feyd,” you tell him. You want him to see your face when you come, and it’s so close you’re about to lose your mind. Four times in one night . You didn’t think such a thing was possible.

He obeys you with a low groan, working your bud faster, managing to meet your frantic pace, his pupils blown wide, beautiful and pitiful and vulnerable and entirely at your mercy. His cock has never felt so good , you think, one final roll of your hips hitting just at the right angle inside of you.

You come with a guttural wail, head falling back, trembling and feeling utterly possessed, hips still moving but quickly losing rhythm, just frantic grinding on top of him to wring every last drop of pleasure you can get out of him.

Feyd gives out a pained growl of his own but you don’t feel the tell-tale sensation of him spilling within you. You open your eyes as you pant and stare down at his slack face.

Please. Please tell me I can come, Y/N, he seems to be pleading with you . I need your permission to come. Have I not been good for you? he seems to ask. And he has been good, hasn’t he? So good and obedient, laying there and taking it, letting you use him. The grip he has on your hips is going to leave bruises and you’ll prod at them later with fondness.

“That’s it, come for me, Feyd,” you tell him, and he does, spasming, hips bucking up into you as he groans, still sounding like he’s either in paradise or agony and that he loves it either way. The moment lasts for another moment, him spurting inside of you as every muscle seems locked, and then on an exhale he sinks back down, his grip on your hips and thighs loosening.

He shuts his eyes as he gathers his breath and his face starts to relax.

“Hey,” you say, voice gentler this time, waiting for him to absorb the words. “Look at me,” you tell him as you stroke his cheek. He does, eyes opening wide and bright, full lips parted. You smile down at him, thinking, you’re so beautiful . And he is beautiful, in the way that a briefly-tamed beast is beautiful. For a moment you remain still, sitting on him, feeling him softening inside of you, wondering what he’s seeing when he stares up at you. If it’s as stunning to him as he is to you right now. Then you finally dismount, panting, looking at the pallor of his face as close to flushed as he’s ever going to get.

You wonder–while he’s like this, open and vulnerable, if maybe he’d–? Even still in a near-euphoric haze, you pay close attention to the way he breathes when you lean down and kiss his neck, when you nip at his pulse point again. He gives a soft sigh and you slide down further and scrape your teeth across one of his nipples. This time he gasps, hands leaving your sides to clutch at the sheets.

“Yes, that’s good,” you murmur. “Keep them there.”

He does, and you watch the corded muscles of his forearms clench and shift to obey you. You smile again, feeling strangely fond, as you go lower.

His pants are still around his knees and it doesn’t take much effort to tug them down and toss them over the edge of the bed. His cock is utterly coated in both of you, and a thought occurs that’s so obscene it surprises you, but piques your curiosity.

After half a second of hesitation, you lick the spend off of his cock and go lower, to where it’s drizzled down one testicle, and then the other. He’s never let you do this before, never let you taste and touch him on your own terms rather than feeding his cock into the cavern of your mouth, and the idea of continuing to play with him is too tempting to ignore.

His breath hitches and his stomach clenches, and for a moment you pause, waiting for him to tell you to stop, but he doesn’t. He trembles under you, spreading his legs a little more, and you look up to see his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a wet gasp.

“Do you like this, husband?” you ask him. You keep your voice quiet, as if any volume above your near-whisper would penetrate the fog that’s settled over you. He jerks a nod.

It should probably feel subservient, licking him clean like this. It doesn’t. You’ve never felt more powerful in your life. You kiss the top of one thigh, wanting to bring your mouth to his scars, but refraining. He’s being so pliant, so patient for you–you don’t want to risk ruining it, uncertain if such an intimate touch there would. Instead you finally bring them up. “These scars don’t match.”

Feyd makes a noise like he’s only starting to come back to his senses, but still foggy. Still lost.

“The scars on your legs. One of the legs has different cuts from the other.” You stroke his hip and outer thigh as you stay propped up above him. “How’d you get them?” You don’t think they came from the Baron.

“Left leg, seventeen. A woman did it to me,” Feyd says. “I asked her to.” Asked . Not commanded. Interesting. “Right leg, a few weeks later. Did it to myself, wanted to replicate the feeling.”

You glance back down between his thighs as he’s still obediently laid out before you. The scars on his right thigh look deeper and angrier with shorter strokes. “Did it work?”

“Not really. It’s not the same if you do it to yourself,” he says. “I just ended up losing a lot of blood and passing out.”

You give a soft hum and nuzzle your cheek against his inner right thigh before turning your head and licking along the scars. His breath hitches, and you sink your teeth in. It’s more of a playful bite, not hard enough to even try to break skin, before coming back up, face to face with him.

Feyd kisses you languidly, accepting the taste of you, of him, on his tongue, and burying both hands in your hair. He sighs into it, closing his eyes, relaxing into it and letting you control the pace until you break away, coming down from the peaks you’ve reached.

You’re an utter mess between your legs, you think as you set the knife on your nightstand and the two of you pull up the covers that had been kicked down around both of your ankles earlier.

How did they end up that way, again? Oh, right, my husband ambushed me in bed while I was asleep and rewarded me by letting me use his body as my personal playground .

“You know,” he says, still seeming somewhat out of it–and no wonder, you are, too– “there are devices, something I can wear next time you ride me. It would delay things even further, making you able to come five times for every time I come once. You’d be able to ride me for hours, if you wanted.”

Part of you would prefer to test his self-control to its furthest limits without the use of an aid, but his suggestion makes you smile as you settle in with him. “That so?” you ask.

“You took to it like nothing I’ve ever seen, Y/N,” he says, as you settle back, turning off the lights once more.

He turns to lay on top of you; you feel him squeeze his eyes shut as he rests his head against your shoulder. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you gently stroke the back of his head and neck and wrap your other arm around his back.

It’s something wonderful and powerful he’s given you, and you’re certain that he wouldn’t have unless he felt you earned it.

He takes a deep breath as he wraps his arms around you, as he moves his body down lower and lays his head on your stomach.

“Is this what you need, husband?” you ask. There’s probably proper terminology for this sort of thing, but you don’t know it.

He nods.

“In a couple of days we’ll find out if life’s growing in there,” you say idly as he nuzzles against the soft skin of your belly.

“There is. A boy,” he tells you and you laugh. Wishful thinking. How could he possibly know?

“I saw him,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. “Dreamt about you giving birth to him.”

“A dream doesn’t predict the future, though,” you tell him as you absently run your fingers over the back of his head and neck.

“It’s not the first time I’ve dreamt of something that came true, faces I’d never seen before but met later on,” he says.

“Oh?” you ask, and he gives a grunt in the affirmative, but says nothing else. His breathing grows slower and his muscles slack. You lay there in silence with him as he drifts off, still nestled against your stomach.

It's not the most comfortable position to try and fall asleep in, but you'll give him this. You laugh quietly to yourself as you look up at the ceiling.

You have to remind yourself that your husband of one month just pretended to be an assassin to test your training and reflexes, and it’s somehow brought the two of you closer together than ever before.

You wake hours later to an empty bed. There’s enough gray light streaming in to tell you before you’ve even looked at the timepiece on your nightstand that you’ve slept in. You rub the sleep out of your eyes as the events from the previous night–into the early morning–trickle back into your consciousness. For a moment you could almost believe that last night had been a dream, but the knife’s still on the bedside table and you feel a delicious soreness in your legs and abdomen and the less-enjoyable feeling of flakes of dried come on your lower lips and inner thighs. You can’t help but smile remembering Feyd slack-jawed and moaning underneath you, how good he felt inside of you from that angle, how insatiable you were.

There’s a knock at the door and you instinctively pull your sheets up to cover your breasts. “Who is it?” you call out, to hear Idrisa’s voice muffled from the other side assuring you that it’s just her with some morning refreshments.

“The Na-Baron wanted to let you sleep in, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says as she comes in and sets down a tray.

“Oh?” you ask, reaching for your robe to put on as you swing your legs to the side of the bed and sit on its edge.

“He said you could take the morning off, Na-Baroness,” she tells you. “He said you had an eventful evening and you’re going to have a busy day. He said he wanted you well-rested.”

Last time he'd given you the morning off, it'd been because he was furious with you. You can't imagine that being the case today, but you’re also not entirely sure, and that makes you nervous. His birthday is two days from now; you can't afford to be on poor terms with him right now, between the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow and Feyd 's arena showing the day after that.

“How did he seem?” you ask, trying to process everything and imagining that a little caffeine will help.

“I did not see him, Na-Baroness,” Idrisa says. “I’d received word from a Fortress guard what his instructions had been. I heard nothing to suggest that he was in a foul mood, though.”

“Alright,” you say, still thinking, still wondering what the shift last night started will mean for you, in and out of the bedroom, going forward.

At breakfast there’s of course no acknowledgement of what transpired last night; neither of you would ever have that conversation in front of Feyd’s uncle anyway, but there’s a cool detachment in how Feyd treats you that feels tangible.

“Your brother sent word that he will not be attending your birthday festivities,” the Baron tells his nephew as soon as you’re seated, presumably continuing the conversation they were having before you came in.

“Best idea he’s had in months; it’ll save him the embarrassment of showing his face here,” Feyd says, wordlessly passing you a tray of fruit. The Baron narrows his eyes for a moment, looking between the two of you, as if there’s something conspicuous about a man passing a plate of food to his wife during breakfast. You look away, accepting the plate with a mouthed ‘ thank you ’ and pretending that you didn’t notice.

The conversation goes back to Feyd’s arena performance, with a brief discussion of the new Mentat, a man named Kalevi Itkonen. It’s a name you realize is familiar because he was one of the first faces you saw landing on Geidi Prime, and one that made another appearance at your wedding; a lean man who had greeted you and your family with a friendly smile that didn’t reach his dark, deep-set eyes. Affable, certainly compared to other Harkonnens, but seemingly amused at your dread and discomfort.

“May I ask what happened to the previous Mentat?” you ask.

The Baron sighs. “An unfortunate casualty during the fall of Atreides. It’s a shame; he was good. Of course, Itkonen’s fit for the job as well, if only Rabban was willing to listen to his statistics.”

If Rabban’s this bad at his job then why not reassign him to something else? Something where he isn’t in charge of Harkonnen lives? you want to ask, but instead offer your condolences. It’s thankfully the most you and the Baron interact but you don’t get any private time with Feyd to set him aside and ask if he’s alright.

Not long after breakfast Idrisa escorts you to the Dressmaker’s atelier, and the Dressmaker curtsies low and deep at your arrival.

“As requested, your gown for the Na-Baron’s birthday,” she says, stepping aside to show you the gown she made out of your measurements.

The dress is all black; common but not a requirement, you’ve noticed, for Harkonnen fashion. Shades of charcoal and gray are also in vogue, even tinted with navy or forest green. This, however, is as utterly devoid of color as Geidi Prime’s sun. That’s not what makes your eyes go wide.

“It’s revealing,” you say after a moment. The top half has thin straps, and you’re pretty sure the leather-like bands around the ribcage were added to make sure to not completely reveal your breasts, because it has a plunging neckline and no real back to speak of, you realize as you slowly walk around the mannequin. It’s fitted tight from the ribcage to the hips, only flowing once the hourglass shape ends. There’s a slit in the skirt that will reveal the curve of your thigh every time you walk. On the floor beneath it are a pair of black boots with a reasonably high heel and around the mannequin’s neck a necklace that looks almost like one of the collars Feyd-Rautha has used on you.

The Dressmaker’s face falls. “Does the Na-Baroness not like it?” she asks. “The Na-Baron specifically requested a gown that would show off his wife’s assets.”

“Thank you,” you say, realizing that you won’t be able to wear anything underneath to protect your nipples. “If that’s what he asked for then that’s certainly what he’s getting. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

It also sends quite a message. Look at the fecundity of the Na-Baroness’s body. Look at what the Na-Baron gets to take for himself whenever he wants . Look at how he owns her.

But that's the image you're meant to play. After his birthday will come the news of his upcoming fatherhood, and depending on how you play your hand, either the birth or Feyd 's coronation will come next.

You spend the afternoon practicing Harkonnen pleasantries and as such don’t see Feyd until dinnertime; he doesn’t say much, not to you or to the Baron, who reminds both of you about the Bene Gesserit visiting tomorrow.

“I trust you’ll have the results that they want,” he says, leaving the implications hanging open in the uncomfortable air between the three of you like wet laundry.

“We’ve done our part,” Feyd says, voice curt, tearing his bread in half with a little more force than usual. You’d not blame him for his irritation with his uncle but for the fact that you’re stuck here, too, sitting in uncomfortable silence, supposing you ought to be grateful that the Baron’s little jabs at your potential childbearing abilities aren’t out of any interest in you. But of course that’s due to the possibility that even though he probably hasn’t forced himself on his nephew in nearly a decade, he may still get some secondhand voyeuristic satisfaction thinking about how he performs in bed and the thought of that puts you off the rest of your dinner.

After the fact, while you’re getting ready to leave Feyd places a hand on your arm.

“Meet me in my room tonight,” he says quietly. You nod, glancing back at him, hoping for some sort of barometer for tonight and getting nothing.

Feyd’s naked, as he typically is during your night-time rendezvous, and you’ve matched him coming into his chambers. He stares at you for a moment without a word, cock not-yet awakened, his expression inscrutable.

You finally ask the question that’s been bothering you all day, hoping the honorific at the end will appease him. “Are you upset with me, husband?”

Feyd tilts his head ever so slightly. “Why would I be upset with you?” he asks, probably knowing the answer and pulling it out of you anyway. You fidget and twist your hands, trying to look him in the eye. Right now they give nothing away.

“Last night…we did something different. I liked it. It seemed like you liked it. But now I don’t know how you feel about me seeing you…like that.”

“Submissive and obedient?” he prompts you.

“Yes,” you manage, blinking, looking down, forcing yourself to look back up. Feyd’s gaze is dark, and for a moment cruel in the brief seconds of silence that drag on and make your heartbeat speed up.

“I do like it that way sometimes,” he says finally. “And I enjoyed it last night. So no, I’m not angry with you; you passed more than one test. If I’d known what you were capable of sooner, I’d have allowed you to take control sooner, but I wanted to wait to make sure you’d be equipped.”

“ Equipped? ” you repeat, raising your eyebrows. “Why?”

“Because in the past I’ve killed people who put me in that role but didn’t do it correctly,” he says. He sounds so casual and detached as he says it. “You know me well enough at this point that it won’t be an issue. My trust is not something I give out easily, so don’t take it for granted.”

“I won’t, husband,” you say quickly. “I assure you that I,” you take a breath, “I appreciate the…the trust and patience you showed me. But may I ask, why did you seem withdrawn earlier? It seemed like you regretted last night.”

A faint hint of a smile appears at the corners of his mouth. “Because it made me wonder if I could have the same effect on you.”

“I don’t think I understand,” you say. When have I not been at least to some extent obedient in bed with you? I’ve almost always been submissive.

“Don’t be naive, pet. It doesn’t suit you anymore. You saw how I got when you were on top of me, like I was almost delirious. Seemed at times like you were, last night, too. I wanna see if I can get you to that place where I’d gone last night. You’ve gotten close, but never quite there.”

You try to think. Yes, you suppose there have been times where you’ve felt a level of catharsis, exhaustion and relief, when he’s pushed your boundaries and tested how much you could take, what you enjoyed despite yourself. Thinking about it, though, he’s right. You never felt quite so dazed as Feyd looked, like he’d disappeared within himself.

Could you get there? Maybe. “So how do you want to go about it?” you ask.

“I want to see how much of it’s natural for you, see how much you trust me.”

“What makes you think you haven’t earned my trust?” you ask.

He looks at you and you can tell that if he had eyebrows, they’d be raised right now. “Because I still frighten you,” he says. “Not that I blame you; you know who and what I am, but even when you’ve enjoyed submitting to me, you’ve never quite let go and allowed me to possess you the way you did with me last night.” He crosses over to his armoire and opens a compartment in the lower drawers. “What’s been bothering me isn’t what happened last night. It’s that all day I’ve been wondering if I can really do the same to you.”

He pulls out a blindfold. You stare at it as you think about the collars, the leashes, the floggers, the clamps, the ropes and chains–the moments of shame for being subjugated replaced with shame for enjoying the sensations of it and his hungry gaze on you.

“So,” Feyd says, seeming to watch for any potential signal on your face. “Will you allow me to try?”

You’d gotten so wet last time he’d put you on a leash and collar that you’d been able to feel it trickling down the inside of your thigh. The only humiliation you’d felt then was knowing what your friends and family would think if they knew you were learning to get off to things like this. But they’re not here; it’s just you and Feyd.

You look at the blindfold for a moment before meeting his gaze again.

“Yes,” you tell him.

Feyd sets out his favorite collar for you alongside the blindfold on his dresser. After he grabs a length of silver chain he takes a step back and looks over at you as if to ask, Think you can handle it?

You simply brush your hair to the side so he can get the collar around your neck and he grins.

“Comfortable?” he asks as he fixes it around you.

“Yes, husband,” you tell him, and he gives a soft hum as he takes the blindfold and wraps it around your head. It's soft; your eyes flutter closed at the silk. His touch feels somehow more intimate with one of your senses gone.

“Good?” he asks again, and you nod. “I want a verbal confirmation.”

“Yes, husband,” you answer, meaning it. You can feel your nipples stiffening as the faint gust of his breath against the shell of your ear, hear the clink and swallow at the sudden weight of the chain being clipped to your collar. If you concentrate you think you can hear him breathing.

“Kneel,” he says, and you do, taking a deep breath, your hands at your sides. The chain starts to have more give, being tossed to you in increments as he seems to be walking way, to another spot in the room.

“Crawl over to me,” he says. “Follow the sound of my voice.”

You think you manage the right direction, moving slowly, until you hear him speak again.

“Stop right there, stay where you are,” he says, and you do, staying on your hands and knees, waiting for the next instructions. Several seconds tick by, and for a moment you drop your head, wondering what the next signal will be, what Feyd wants from you next. It doesn’t sound like he’s moved, but he can be utterly silent sometimes, so hard to detect. He’s still here, at least; you can feel the chain being held upright.

Please say something, do something. You wait, suppressing a whine, trying not to get agitated as the silence grows. You breathe in, breathe out, and try to focus on what’s grounding you–the marble floor below you, the leather of the collar and the weight of the chain. The certainty that there’s someone on the other end of it, holding it for you.

“I’m here, pet,” you suddenly hear above you. “Get on your haunches.”

You exhale. It occurs to you that a month ago you wouldn’t have imagined being relieved at the sound of a voice as rough as his, but warmth floods your belly as you do, sitting back on your heels and settling your palms on the tops of your thighs, waiting for more. Give me more. Push me. Show me what I’ve been missing and the place you went to last night while I was on top of you .

He leads you up to your knees and without thinking you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He’s only gotten you in this position before for one purpose, so the gesture comes naturally. There’s nothing to it, you realize.

Feyd laughs quietly above you. “That’s it. You know what to do,” he says as he pushes his cock inside. “My pretty, perfect cockslut. You love this, don’t you?”

You feel yourself flush, heat flooding your face and licking up your spine. No one’s ever called you a slut before; you’d bristle at the term were it not for the fondness in Feyd’s voice, the warmth of his palm cupping your face and traveling into your hair. Without letting yourself question it you moan an assent, hands at your sides, focusing on breathing through your nose.

“Sometimes I think about claiming you in the arena,” he says, one hand secured on the chain, the other clutching the back of your head as he presses in deeper. “Showing my people how breedable you are. But I’d kill anyone else who’d ever see you like this.”

You whimper around him, trying to swallow down, trying not to gag, feeling all the wetter for it even as tears prick up at the corners of your eyes and dampen the fabric of your blindfold.

He pulls out, giving you a few seconds to breathe before pushing back in, and he’s in so impossibly deep, down your throat, that you don’t understand how you’re even taking him, but everything feels as if it’s encased in mist. All you can feel is the marble under your knees, your husband’s hands stabilizing you, his cock so close to cutting off your airflow until it doesn’t, and he releases you again–this time for an even shorter reprieve. You whimper again around it, holding still as he rocks his hips.

“You’re getting so good at this, pet,” he says. “Such a smart girl, learning so quickly.” He stops moving his hips but holds your head still for a moment, as if he’s simply curious to see how long you can take the length and girth of his cock in your mouth and down your throat, how long you can push past the discomfort and keep him there. And then in one practiced movement unlatches the leash from your collar, letting the chain fall to the floor. His grip relaxes in your hair, his hold barely more than a touch. You could pull off if you want, you realize, but he said he wants to see how obedient you can be, so you keep your hands at your sides as you swallow around him, the tears collecting in your lashes as you try to breathe through your nose.

The next time Feyd applies pressure, it’s to pull you off of him. You’re not entirely sure how long you had him down your throat, but you can feel the string of saliva connected to his cock as you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering. Your head swims. Feyd swipes his thumb over your chin and lips, collecting the saliva that’s pooled around the sides of your mouth. You’d give anything to see the expression on his face right now, but you also don’t want to take the blindfold off, not until he says so or does it himself.

Without thinking you nudge your head forward, once you’ve regained your breath and you’re certain you can take more–you can take anything he gives you and you gasp as Feyd stops you, your breath close to the head of his cock, you’re certain, but not quite touching it.

Give it to me, Feyd. Please, I can handle it. I want to prove it to you . You say nothing; you wait.

For a moment the tip of his cock brushes against your cheek and you turn your head, lavishing your tongue along his frenulum, wrapping your lips around the tip of him. You moan, utterly shameless, to try and encourage him to push in deeper. He just stays that way for a moment, though, not thrusting in, not burying his head in your hair to push your mouth onto him, either. He simply lets you feel the weight of him on your tongue before he takes a step back, slipping out, and you wait, unmoving, for what comes next, wet and pliant and ready. It’s only the marble beneath your knees that grounds you.

And then without a word he takes off your blindfold and you blink against the sudden light before you realize Feyd’s staring at you with his pupils blown wide like last night, chest heaving and mouth open. He cups your chin in one hand, eyes darting across your face. Does he see in your eyes what he felt last night?

“Get back on all fours for me, pet,” he says.

For a moment you feel disoriented. Does he want you on all fours on the bed or…?

“Right here, pet,” he says, knowing what you’re about to ask before you can ask it. You can’t speak, can’t form coherent words as you lean forward and brace yourself on your forearms, breathing in, then out. His voice sounds almost like it’s coming from another room or inside your own head, you think as he kneels behind you.

He wordlessly slides his head along the line of your spine, applying only the faintest of pressure, guiding your top half down, down, until you rest your cheek against the floor, your forearms a cage bracketing your head, your ass raised up to expose it and your weeping cunt to him. The cool marble feels nice against your flushed cheek.

He trails his fingertips along your slit, getting all the verification that he could need of what this is doing to you.

“Greedy, eager thing, aren’t you?” he says softly, and you sense him gripping his cock in his fist to line up against you. You can’t help the giggle that spills out of you. You really are, aren’t you?

He finally pushes in and you arch your back into it, wanting to slide the rest of the way onto him but waiting, knowing that you’ll accept what he gives you because you can.

“ Oh ,” you manage when he bottoms out inside of you. He’s still for just a moment, and for that moment you wait in delicious anticipation before he starts thrusting.

He doesn’t hold back, grabs your hips, kneads your ass, knowing you’ll stay face-down because there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. You probably sound needy and pathetic, but you don’t care. There’s no one here but the two of you as he pulls you onto his cock again and again, taking you on the floor, the sound of skin slapping skin, his grunts as he changes his angle that hits your insides differently, dragging against a spot within you that has you seeing spots and stars instead of the vantage point you have of the bed only a couple of meters away. You open your mouth in a silent scream, hips jerking uselessly, stomach clenching.

Feyd, ever so clever, senses your shift immediately and bears down on you from this new angle that’s probably strenuous on him, from the way the muscles in his thighs clench and his grunts become harsher, but he keeps going, giving you everything he can, everything you can take. You want to touch yourself, bring a hand between your legs, but you’re not going to. Feyd will handle it or he won’t. You feel drunk even though you haven’t had anything that could get you drunk in over a week.

“You want to come, Y/N?” Feyd asks behind you, and you moan an assent. “You’re gonna have to use your words if you want me to make you come,” he says, tone on the verge of scolding, but still playful enough to keep it from stinging.

It takes a moment to form any coherent words, the four syllables laborious. “Yes, please, husband,” you manage, voice sounding wrecked, and Feyd obliges you as soon as you get the words out, bringing his fingertips to where the two of you are joined, collecting the slick there, and rubbing circles along your bud. You can’t help but buck your hips, your moans desperate.

“That’s it, pet,” he says, rubbing harder now, probably relishing the sounds you’re making as he brings you over. You nearly black out, tears streaming down your face, clenching again and again around him, coming so hard you think you might actually be drooling, and then when you think the most intense shockwave of it has passed, you feel his seed filling you up.

I feel so full, Feyd , you think, delirious.

You can hear him panting and grunting behind you as he pulls out part way, the last of his come landing hot and viscous on the small of your back. You gasp, feeling decidedly marked up, but you don’t move, waiting for what’s coming next.

Feyd pauses; you hear his breath even out, and from the shift behind you you’re pretty sure he’s settled back onto his haunches. It seems to take him a moment to decide what he wants to do with you next before he’s kneading the soft flesh of your ass. You sigh at the contact, arching your back, and feel your mouth pop open in a surprised “Oh!” as Feyd’s tongue makes contact with your lower back, licking up the remaining droplets of his spend in one long stroke.

And then it’s done, but you don’t move, and for a moment neither does Feyd, who you suppose must just be staring at you and the way you’re exposed to him in a way that you could almost recall being humiliating around the time of your wedding but feels titillating now.

After a minute Feyd starts to get up, but you stay where you are, still face-down, ass-up, presented to him as if he were to start again immediately. He might. You can handle it if he does, you’re certain. You have no idea how long you remain there, the side of your face pressed against the floor, your body weight on your elbows and knees. The combination of yours and Feyd’s fluids seeping out of you start to turn sticky, but you’re utterly calm. You feel weightless. Your breathing evens out.

“Sit back up for me, pet,” you hear as if Feyd was a thousand leagues away. You blink and start to rise up on your forearms, stretching like a cat, rising up to sit on your haunches.

Feyd comes back into view, taking your chin in his hand. You don’t know what he’s seeing in your eyes; perhaps what you saw last night in his. He drops his hand from your face and extends them both to you in a silent offer to help you stand.

Once he has you up, he tips you, a hand behind your back, and you hardly realize what’s happening before he has you in his arms, carrying you to bed. He sets you down gentler than you expect before pulling the covers over you and climbing in with you. Smart idea; you hadn’t realized how cold you suddenly feel, shivering as Feyd gets under the covers with you, braces himself above you, and leans down for a kiss.

You kiss him back immediately, suddenly desperate. Up until this moment you’d felt almost like you were floating on a string, and now that string's been cut and you’re crashing to the ground. You gasp into it, clutching his back. You dig your nails in, your breath ragged, and after a moment Feyd pulls away, eyes darting across the different points of your face.

“You’re shaking, Y/N,” he says.

Yes, you are. A fresh batch of tears comes and spills down your cheeks and you don’t know why. If you didn’t know any better, Feyd looks almost concerned, an expression you’ve never seen on his face before that takes you a moment to place. Has he never reacted this way before? Never been affected quite this way before?

“Can you please hold me?” you finally manage, and he complies wordlessly, shifting to lay on his back, wrapping his arms around you. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, why you’re crying. You’re not sad, not angry. Just spent in a way that you’ve never felt before.

After a few minutes your breathing evens out again. The solid wall of the man holding you and the steadiness of his heartbeat against your ear helps. Feyd senses it and reaches for your collar.

“Let me keep it on for now,” you say, and Feyd stills his hand. “Please.”

Feyd looks for a moment like he wants to ask why, but doesn’t, instead keeping an arm wrapped around you as you nestle against him. You can’t explain it; right now you feel kept, like you’re something precious.

“Better?” he asks after a moment.

You nod against his chest. “But I wasn’t feeling bad before,” you manage, speaking slowly and trying not to slur your words. You doubt you have it in you to do all this over again, even if he asks, even if he manages to get you floating again. “It was just overwhelming for a second.”

“I know,” he says, and when your grip on him relaxes he shifts, moving to sit up, and you furrow your brow, wanting to follow him, nervous at the idea of being alone in this bed.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “I’m not leaving this room, pet,” he says, getting up. You notice that this time on the side table the water pitcher has two glasses and he fills both.

He notices your hands are still shaking and lifts the glass to your lips himself, watching as you gulp half the water down first, then take small sips of the rest, not setting it back down on the nightstand until it’s finished.

“When I first met you I’d never have taken you for such an affectionate little thing,” he says before taking a sip from his own glass.

“Neither would I,” you tell him. “Definitely not with you.”

Feyd smirks at that above the lip of his glass before setting it down next to yours and settling back in with you.

“I’m going to take the collar off you now,” he says.

“Okay,” you manage, fading, tilting your head to give him a better angle as he unfastens your collar and sets it on his nightstand. Not that you want him to get up and leave you alone in bed again, but you’re a little surprised that he doesn’t immediately and meticulously set everything back in his armoire. He’s not the type to leave things until the following morning. But he’s doing it now; he turns off the light and quietly turns you around so he can pull your back to his chest and slide one muscled thigh between your own.

You’re not sure what the name is for what you’re feeling, the way he shifts and wraps an arm around you and nuzzles his face into your hair. It’s a sinking feeling rather than the floating feeling you had earlier, but nice all the same. You start to drift off, the feeling of his heartbeat against your back, his breath slowing down, and just before you fall asleep you remember the word you’re looking for.

Peaceful .

The next morning you don’t wake up until you feel the absence of a solid form behind you and sit up to notice Feyd almost-fully dressed, putting on his boots.

He gives you a small smile when he senses you watching him.

“Excited for tonight?” you ask him.

Feyd’s smile fades as he stands. “It’s an obligation like the rest. We’ll make a good appearance for the guests, Uncle will get the confirmation he needs, and we can plan for tomorrow.”

“So is that a no?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard.

“I obey the Bene Gesserit’s instructions. I don't have to like them,” he says, voice flat.

You look down. He’s implied it before; you’d assume it’s because the Bene Gesserit tend to make powerful men nervous but there’s likely more to it.

His mother was Bene Gesserit. You’re not about to ask if she treated him like a son or a cog in her Sisterhood’s larger plans. Not this morning, perhaps not ever, you think as he watch him leave.

The entire Fortress is bustling, preparing for incoming visitors; not just the Bene Gesserit but Harkonnens living off-planet in colonies and fiefdoms as well as a few guests from other Houses. Your family will not be among them, but they’ve sent a gift–casks of some of your planet’s finest liquor, apparently.

Not that you blame them for not wanting to come to Geidi Prime, but it would be nice to see them, especially when you can feel the mounting pressure on you like a valve you wish you could release.

It’s both too soon and later than you realize when you have to change into a different dress that’s thankfully more modest than your gown for tomorrow, complete with long black gloves and a lace cloak meant to evoke the often-veiled and hooded style of the women you’ll be greeting.

Itkonen will be the first Harkonnen official to greet the Bene Gesserit after they receive their medication to help with the atmosphere, at which point you and Feyd will accept them and act as intermediaries before bringing them to the Baron. The Baron’s also reminded you and Feyd that they’ll examine you to make sure that you’ve secured an heir for the Harkonnen line, as if either of you could forget. As if that’s not the entire reason the two of you even met.

The anticipation builds as you and Feyd wait in the Reception Hall, you on his left and half a step behind him in deference. In front of both guests and other Harkonnens, you call Feyd exclusively by his title, because as far as Harkonnen politics are concerned, you may be his wife, but you are not his partner. You are his subject, and as such you will keep up the appearance of being his doting subject, his broodmare, his doll that dresses and presents herself as he chooses. You’ll live with it, and some part of you might even want to smirk at how the people won’t be privy to what you and him have developed. They won’t see how you’ve fucked him into an incoherent state, how worshipfully he licks your cunt, or how he likes holding you against his chest at night when you fall asleep, but the two of you will know better.

You’re also reasonably certain that these women, certainly the Reverend Mother Mohiam, will know better as well.

Itkonen steps in, inclines his head, and announces your Bene Gesserit guests. His dark eyes slide towards them as they enter, a hint of a derisive smirk on his thin lips that only you and Feyd see as he glances back at him. Duplicitous whores, the lot of them, aren’t they, boss? his eyes suggest.

All the women are veiled, most with their faces hidden. You incline your head in a slow, respectful curtsy. This is what you’ve been training for your entire life. You were made for this, you remind yourself as you then lift your head with a polite smile.

You only recognize the Reverend Mother Mohiam, but there’s another just behind her, one who’s quite beautiful with almost cat-like eyes and high cheekbones. You noticed her, though, not because she’s beautiful but because you could sense Feyd-Rautha just barely stiffen for a moment beside you as they entered the room, and when you glanced over at him saw a glimmer in his eyes that suggested uncomfortable recognition. If you hadn’t been so close to him you wouldn’t have noticed but it’s unmistakable.

They’ve met before , you realize, even as they don’t exchange a word of conversation and the woman doesn’t spare him so much as a second glance, her gaze on you.

Feyd seems to recover almost immediately as he greets the Reverend Mother. “We offer our fondest welcome to your Reverence and your Sisters on behalf of the Baron and Geidi Prime, and gratitude for making the trip here for the occasion.”

Reverend Mother Mohiam looks both unsurprised and unimpressed that the Baron himself couldn’t be bothered to get up from his throne but accepts the greeting with the same dignified coldness she’d shown you back on your planet. She looks over at you, taking inventory of your still-intact hair and eyebrows, and looks back at Feyd. “We appreciate your hospitality, Na-Baron Harkonnen,” she says.

You’d almost forgotten that Feyd does a decent job despite having a menacing presence at playing the part of statesman and representative. Not that he was ever quite able to fool you into thinking that he’s harmless–and he certainly doesn’t fool them–but he manages to keep the small-talk polite without being insipid as the two of them lead the conversation towards the Baron’s throne room.

The Baron stays seated in his suspensor chair, which whirrs forward as he nods his head in acknowledgement. “Welcome to Geidi Prime, your Reverence,” he says. “We do hope you and your Sisters enjoy the festivities during your stay. My gentle niece-in-law will be especially accommodating. She’ll be relieved for female companionship.”

Much as it makes you want to grind your teeth and glare at him to speak as though you aren’t there, he’s right about that. How he’d even know, you’re not sure. He’s certainly not asked you.

“Our services will take only a minute, but we appreciate the invitation to enjoy Feyd-Rautha’s birthday,” the Reverend Mother tells him.

“Forgive me for not knowing the exact details,” the Baron says, “but what process do you use to determine if young Y/N has secured the Harkonnen bloodline?”

“Nothing invasive, Baron,” the Reverend Mother replies. “Just a private meeting.”

“Well, then, you certainly have your opportunity now,” the Baron says, gesturing loosely towards you. “The people of Geidi Prime will be happy to know that my nephew has continued the Harkonnen bloodline.” He looks at Reverend Mother Mohiam expectantly, as if to say, alright, let’s get it over with. Show me if my nephew knocked up this Y/H whore or not .

She holds his gaze. “We’ll conduct the test privately, absent of any men,” she says.

The Baron blinks and looks at her as if to say, Are you dismissing me? Have you lost your mind? You can’t possibly expect me to wait outside , before beckoning a servant over.

“Show the Na-Baroness and our Bene Gesserit visitors to the next room, on the left. It should more than suffice for their needs,” he tells her.

It is; a sort of lounge area that tomorrow will be teeming with guests, you notice as you trail in. There are ample seating areas, tables that can and will hold down trays of food and drink. The lighting is even somewhat hospitable.

“May I ask,” you start as you’ve all filed in, “how you’ll be conducting the investigation, your Reverence?”

The Reverend Mother looks at you. “You seem healthy,” she says. She means, Feyd-Rautha’s been civil towards you?

“Thank you, your Reverence,” you tell her. “Geidi Prime requires an adjustment period, but I believe I've been able to find some decent footing here.”

The Reverend Mother looks a moment longer at you before speaking. “Have you met Lady Margot Fenring before?” she asks, extending her arm to the woman you couldn’t help but notice earlier.

“We have not met officially, your Reverence,” you say, looking over at her. Fenring . She must be the wife of Count Hasimir Fenring, then, even if she looks like she must be a good thirty years younger than him.

“Lady Fenring here is expecting as well, Na-Baroness Y/N,” the Reverend Mother says. “She has a certain talent for detecting pregnancy in other women before doctors even can.”

You glance at Lady Fenring’s stomach and don’t see a bump–a still-recent development, then. She sees where your gaze drops and explains, “I’m only two months along,” she tells you. “A daughter.”

“Congratulations, Lady Fenring,” you tell her, cautious, wishing you knew more about Bene Gesserit customs. Nothing invasive, they said, watching as Lady Fenring delicately pulls off the glove of her right hand and reaches for your stomach.

You take a small step back before you realize it, and Lady Fenring gives a coquettish little smile.

“ Don’t be afraid ,” she tells you, her voice pleasant and melodic, and she slowly places her ungloved hand on your lower abdomen. For a moment, your heart slows down, your limbs feeling heavy, and you’re not entirely sure if her words were spoken aloud or if you thought of them yourself.

The woman closes her eyes and you can’t help but stare, vulnerable at her gentle touch but unable to move. You feel lost, reminded of the early morning fog on your planet, before the sun starts rising. You close your eyes as well to try and snap out of it, but the same murky feeling persists where fear and dread had been.

Did she just…did she just use the Voice on me?

That can’t be right. The Voice is forceful, commanding, or so you’ve heard. Margot Fenring is anything but. You breathe in, breathe out, and wait, until she speaks again.

“Congratulations, Na-Baroness Y/N. Your union has proven fruitful.”

You open your eyes and gasp, unable to tame your reaction before it comes, unable to stop your smile and breathless, “ Really? ” You suddenly feel sharper, everything brighter, as Lady Fenring removes her hand and you move yours to where it had been.

“The life growing within you is new, the seed still very small, but it’s there, and it’s growing,” she tells you.

You can’t help but laugh a little, bringing a hand to cover your mouth as you do. You did it . How long has it been forming? A week? Two? Three? Is it smaller than an apple seed? Can this woman tell if it’s a boy like Feyd claims he dreamt of?

And then you think about the other man waiting for the news outside, probably more impatient for the results than your husband. Your smile fades and you drop both hands to your sides.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her. “The Na-Baron will be pleased.”

You need to help me keep the Baron away from it, keep him from c orrupting it. If you’re anywhere near as invested in keeping it safe as I am then …

This is why they’re here, you remind yourself. They need you and your progeny to be healthy. They’ll look after you.

You emerge with the Bene Gesserit sisters trailing behind you.

“We bear good news,” the Reverend Mother says. “The Na-Baroness is with child.”

Funny thing is that before all of this, before you thought you'd get married to a Harkonnen, you'd never had any expectations about how the moment would happen, when you would find out you were pregnant for the first time and told your husband. It hadn't been a situation you'd ever really entertained even as it was always inevitable. And yet this feels disappointing, not even being able to say it yourself, and having the news shared in front of your vile uncle-in-law as you try to seem demurely pleased and nothing else. You try not to make direct eye contact with Feyd. This isn't for either of you as individuals. It's for the Harkonnen bloodline, for the Baron, for the Bene Gesserit and their selective breeding program. So when it stings a little that Feyd 's only response is a nod in your direction as if to say, Well, done, you feel silly for it.

The Baron says, “We’ll wait until after Feyd’s birthday celebration to make the announcement; we don’t want to overshadow his match. Still,” he glances at you, “the people of Geidi Prime will be delighted to know that he’s continued the Harkonnen line.”

You lower your head. He truly has a gift for being able to suck the joy out of any celebration. The baby growing in your womb will have to share space with the gnawing twin feelings of disgust and dread settling in your stomach.

After that, though, the Baron makes it abundantly clear that his main purpose for inviting these women has been accomplished and foists the responsibilities of entertaining all but the Reverend Mother onto you.

“Mohiam will speak with you tomorrow, young Y/N,” he says to you. “But in the meantime, I’m sure there’s lots for you to discuss with our other distinguished guests.”

You curtsy and assure him that you’ll be an exemplary hostess in your most deferential tone before you and the other women are escorted back into the room you’d just been in; servants have already begun laying out plates of foods, various delicacies representing different Houses, goblets with pitchers of water, juices, and wine.

The veiled women wait until the food and drinks are set out and all the male servants have gone before they show their faces, lifting their veils to take the first sips and bites. Their ages range from possibly even younger than you to their seventies, all quiet at first.

Lady Fenring ranks above the rest of them both in title and within their ranks, it seems, as they defer to her and she’s the one who initiates conversation with you.

“It appears you’re adjusting well to Geidi Prime,” she says.

“Thank you, Lady Fenring,” you tell her. “It was an unfamiliar environment to which to adapt, but the Fortress has been accommodating.”

“We’re in casual company now, do feel free to call me Margot,” she tells you, and you blame it on the fact that you haven’t gotten to talk to any of your friends in over a month that you smile, feeling warmth flood your chest.

“Then feel free to call me Y/N,” you tell her.

“I was curious about your hair,” one of the Sisters says. “The fact that you still have it–was it your decision or your husband’s?”

“The Na-Baron informed me shortly before the wedding that I could keep my hair. It’s my preference as well, but I would’ve made a concession if it had been required,” you tell her. He only allowed the hair I have growing out of my head, though, you don’t add.

“About the hairlessness–is it a personal choice or are Harkonnens simply incapable of growing any?” she asks.

“They are while living here,” you tell her, knowing that everyone’s listening. “Geidi Prime’s bustling with industry but not organic life. I’ve heard that it’s only possible for Harkonnens to start growing hair if they live off-planet for long enough.”

“It is indeed,” Margot says. “The late Abulurd Rabban had not only a full head of hair but a beard when he died, but at that point he’d been living on Lankiveil for over twenty-five years. Have you ever seen a picture of him?”

“I have not,” you tell her. “His memory isn’t widely celebrated here, for obvious reasons.” You’ve never seen a picture of either of Feyd’s parents, but you’ve wondered what arrangement of features they each had that they could have produced such different-looking brothers as him and Rabban.

She looks at you a moment longer, as if contemplating what next line of questions she has for you.

“I’ve done a bit of research,” you say first. “The Harkonnens are of course better known for commerce and warfare but the library they have in the Fortress is very impressive.” You wonder how transparently you’re trying to play ambassador. You wonder how much it’s working.

When you all conclude your meal, and once all the plates are cleared, the other Sisters find conversation with each other, leaving you and Margot alone, and the thought gently scratching at the back of your mind becomes clearer; this friendly conversation is a soft interrogation. Margot will relay everything, your words and the tone with which you speak them, back to the Reverend Mother. Whether or not she is actually interested in your opinions is entirely beside the point, but even with this she certainly makes you feel that way. Her body language is demure but inviting, her questions polite but never overtly invasive as she asks you about your upbringing and your hobbies, how you spend time on your new planet.

You’ve never met someone who seems both serene and somehow unsettling in a way you cannot articulate but feels tangible. She has a certain poise you realize the longer the two of you sit in the same vicinity, that you just haven’t matured into yet. She’s older than you and Feyd, more complete than either of you.

She tilts her head at you at one point and says, “Forgive my questioning, but had you ever been courted or had an intimate relationship before your marriage?”

“A brief-lived courtship,” you tell her. “Nothing substantial ever came of it nor did I expect it to; neither of us had high hopes that my father would approve of him as a potential husband, and I suppose I’ve always been too practical to entertain the concept of a love-match.”

Margot blinks slowly, and her next words are as diplomatic and polite as anyone can manage with the subject you realize she’s about to breach. “I ask only because I’m sure you’ve heard some discouraging, perhaps intimidating rumors about Harkonnen men?”

Ah . There it is .

“I have,” you tell her. “But I’ve also heard for years about how the best way to temper a man is through catering to his desires,” you tell her. “Even without any substantial prior experience it didn’t take long to understand what my husband wanted and how to provide it for him.”

You don’t need to delve any deeper. She’s both Bene Gesserit and married; she’s known this for years before you did.

But there’s a part of you that wants her to know that you’re more observant than people may realize. There’s an even greater part of you that wants to know what caused Feyd to nearly flinch when he saw her when you’d never seen such a reaction from him before.

“May I ask how you first met the Na-Baron?” you ask, trying to keep your voice a mask of politeness and casual indifference.

She doesn’t look surprised at your question, which unnerves you further. “I was assigned to test him,” she says.

“On what?” you ask, fairly certain you know the answer.

“Whether or not he could play into our larger plans. What I found was interesting. Despite being a man with no Bene Gesserit training he possessed a level of prescience I’ve seen only in my Sisters.”

He dreamt about our son . You try not to let your nerves show.

“And then there was his pain tolerance,” she adds, cat-like eyes on you.

You keep a straight face as you wonder how she’d be familiar with it. Has she bitten him? Flogged him?

She keeps you waiting for only a second before continuing. “Have you heard of the Gom Jabbar?” she asks.

“I think so?” You weren’t sure if it was a real thing or a myth concocted to instill fear of disobeying the Bene Gesserit, but you’ve heard of a test meant to bring whoever takes it to the extremes of pain, and that many of those subjected to such a test did not live to pass it.

“He not only passed, but he lasted longer than anyone I’ve ever tested.” She meets your gaze as she says, “I’ve never seen anyone react to it quite like he did. He didn’t just endure it; he enjoyed it.”

Oh . Well, that would explain how they know each other, you think, trying to parse your own jumbled thoughts. That’s probably all she did; she has a husband, after all, and she was testing Feyd to see if he’d be a good match for you , not herself.

But despite yourself you imagine her riding him with slow, deliberate movements rather than the grinding, bouncing desperation that you had doing the same thing two nights ago. The image makes you inhale and glance away as you try to shake it from your mind.

Weeks ago the thought of him satiating himself with someone else would’ve been a relief. Now a shameful ball of jealousy blooms in your chest, and she can sense it. The Bene Gesserit aren’t truly omniscient, you know this, but she seems almost close to it. It’s embarrassing how transparent and vulnerable she makes you feel, like a child trying to keep pace with an adult who’s skilled at a game you’re still learning.

For her part she seems politely amused when you look away, feeling yourself flush. You won’t ask if she saw him in the arena and took to his bed. You don’t want to know if she indulged him in some of his darker fantasies or if she was able to coax him into a submissive state that took you a month to discover.

Focus on what she just told you, you remind yourself.

“You've seen it in him,” she says. It's not a question. Not from her, in any case, but the Reverend Mother will want to know, and it takes only a couple of seconds to cave.

“I have. Both his masochism and his prescience,” you admit. You won’t share any specific details, though; it’s too intimate to share with this woman, even as it feels as though she’s seeing you naked, like she can extrapolate your most personal moments with Feyd from a single glance.

Margot smiles. “Her Reverence will be most impressed with you.”

The evening concludes when it seems as though the Baron’s meeting with the Reverend Mother has, and servants come in to escort the Bene Gesserit to the guest suites.

As you all emerge you see Feyd, stone-faced, glancing between you and Margot as he notices the two of you walking alongside one another. You look over at her, who curtsies towards you.

“It was a pleasure speaking with you, Na-Baroness,” she says, undoubtedly aware of the attention the two of you are getting.

“You as well, Lady Fenring,” you tell her as you incline your head.

Feyd barely manages a curt nod in her direction before turning away, presenting his arm for you to take as you head back to the private residence wing.

You don’t say it; if you say it you won’t be able to take it back, feign ignorance. You don’t say a word on the walk back, and for a solid few minutes, neither does Feyd. He offers no recourse, and doesn't tell you what he, his uncle, the Reverend Mother, and Itkonen were all discussing over dinner and beyond it. His silence lasts just long enough to set you on edge, make you wonder if he’s upset about something.

“You did well tonight,” he finally says, as the two of you reach your quarters. “Uncle doesn’t care to entertain female company,” he adds, the closest thing to innuendo he’s suggested when it comes to the Baron, “so while he won’t say it, he was relieved to push them onto you.”

You smile. “Diplomacy is what I’ve been training for since I was a child,” you tell him. “I wasn’t prepared for the intimate parts of marriage, but I trained for the politics of it for most of my life.” Marriage is politics for a woman in my position . “Although I’d like to think I’m getting reasonably good at the intimate parts as well,” you say, leaning in, looking up at him as if to ask, Your room or mine tonight? You start to wrap your arms around his shoulders, thinking about how you’ll get to sleep more easily if he’s there, nestled behind you like he usually is.

Feyd doesn’t move, instead staying where he is, rigid and unyielding. “Not tonight,” he says.

You’re confused at first, pulling back, certain you misheard, but he’s completely serious. Hadn’t he talked about wanting to spill his seed in more places than just inside of you? How he’d wanted to continue fucking you even after confirmation of your pregnancy?

You drop your arms and take a step back. Did seeing Margot Fenring put him off? Is she the type of woman he’d prefer? Not a Bene Gesserit, he’s said as much, but a woman with more effortless poise? Or does he intend to find someone else tonight now that he doesn’t need to take you?

“I understand,” you say, trying not to let your hurt and indignation show. “We’ve done what was necessary to secure an heir and now there’s no need.” Not for another year at least .

Feyd looks amused for a moment, taking in your disappointment that he’s not going to bury himself inside of you like usual. It is sort of funny, in a sense. Weeks ago you would never have anticipated wanting his touch and feeling disappointed at not getting it.

“I abstain from indulging any kind of carnal desires the night before arena matches,” he says. “With others or with myself.”

Why? you want to ask, pretty sure the answer lies in something along the lines of discipline or wanting to save pent-up energy to put on a show for his audience.

“I’m pregnant ,” you say instead, more to yourself than to him. It’s almost incredible how shocked you are that the realistic outcome to the past month is finally here. Like being surprised that a seed you’ve planted and watered every day is starting to sprout.

His almost-smile turns as close to soft as you’ve ever seen on him. “How ‘bout that?” he says quietly, pressing the palm of his hand to your stomach. His touch is gentle, his eyes drifting to where his hand rests. For a moment you don’t think you’ve ever felt closer to him. For a moment you’re not concerned with politics, with the Baron, with your future, and you can insulate the two of you inside the warmth you feel blooming in your chest.

“Can I kiss you, at least?” you ask. He looks at you and nods, and you take your opportunity, cradling the side of his face and wrapping your other arm around his shoulder as you pull him to you.

He breaks the kiss first, but still rests his forehead against yours, his hands on your waist. You can’t resist giving him one last peck on the lips, needing to pull away because otherwise you’re going to keep holding on.

“Good night, husband,” you tell him, your voice thicker than you realized, feeling a rush within you.

You finally have allies here; you’ll be able to talk to the Reverend Mother, devise the best way to keep the Baron away from your children so that what happened to Feyd will never happen again.

You will find a way.

You wake up in the morning feeling resolute. It’s not the same quiet dread that you had on your wedding night, but the tension in the air still feels thick.

You won’t be seeing Feyd until it’s time to adorn him with war paint; you will dine separately, prepare separately, and once you have finished painting his body will sit in the stands waiting for his not-match. After that the people of Geidi Prime will shower him with their praise and adoration and the entire Fortress will celebrate the Na-Baron’s birthday. You’re not likely to have any real privacy with him today, certainly not until bedtime and even then you imagine it’s going to be a late night of entertaining well-wishers and keeping up appearances.

Your food is brought to your quarters, and you find you don’t have much of an appetite, between the snug fit of your dress’s bodice and the thudding feeling that starts in your ribcage and spreads downwards. Not just Idrisa but another attendant helps prepare you to look as anointed and pristine as you were on your wedding day.

You wear your hair down, save for two braids starting at your temple and connecting at the back of your head. It’s not defiance against the Harkonnens; they surely know that you look precisely how the Na-Baron wants you to.

Lips painted black aren’t any less common here than teeth dyed the same color, you think as you apply your cosmetics. In fact, when you apply it, you think about how your mouth resembles an inverse of your husband’s.

Your husband .

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is beloved by his own people, feared and despised by others. He’s a force of violence, a killer and stone-cold executioner. He’s a sadomasochist who comes from the most dysfunctional family you’ve ever seen and is set to lead the most bloodthirsty population in Landsraad. He’s also known you with such tangible intimacy that it’s sometimes overwhelming. He’s brought you to heights of pleasure you hadn’t thought possible. He’s the man whose child you’re carrying in your womb at this very moment, even if the whole of Geidi Prime doesn’t know yet.

You are going to go out and watch the arena match as the Na-Baroness, and as the bridge between his world and the rest of Landsraad, both of and separate from the Harkonnens.

You keep your head held high, the quiet clicking of your heels against the floor the only sound you make as you and Idrisa head for the chambers where your husband’s preparing to make his appearance.

At the entrance is another girl whose name you don’t know, and they flank you down a flight of stairs you’ve traversed only once, and two a set of double-doors guarded by two men in white who bow their heads, eyes downcast before opening the doors for you.

On the other side of the room a pair of young women wait, one of them holding a bowl and the other a pair of translucent gloves.

And there’s the man himself, stripped to ceremonial loincloth, watching you enter. His gaze sweeps up and down the length of your body, taking in the sight of your long, unadorned hair, painted-black lips, and every feature your gown shows off to almost exaggerated effect.

You stop for a moment and incline your head. “Happy birthday, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

“Come to give me my gift, then?” he asks, and a month ago you’d have thought his tone cold and mocking. Now it sounds as close to playful as he’s willing to get with other people present, especially as he’s still staring at you.

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you tell him, and glance to the side, at the raised platform jutting out of the wall. His Darlings are all curled up in a pile, lazily but contentedly watching the two of you. They’re wearing clothes this time, matching outfits.

“You dressed them for the occasion?” you ask Feyd.

“I had servants sedate, bathe, and dress them, but yes,” he says.

One has a stripe painted on her forehead; she seems to be the leader of the pack, moving first and the other two deferring to her, and she leans over as far as she can manage, nuzzling against your side

You inhale sharply, picturing her not for the first time taking a bite out of your lower abdomen with those black fangs.

Feyd can sense it. “They won’t hurt you,” he says. “They like you.”

I wish I could say the same about them , you think as she purrs–another feature no doubt installed by the Bene Tleilax.

“Do they smell it?” you ask. The baby?

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they did,” Feyd says,

I won’t allow them near the baby when it’s born , is a conversation for another place and time, when there aren’t other people around and you don’t have an imminent task. The girl holding the bowl steps forward, head bowed, to remind you why you’re here.

“Let’s prepare you, then,” you say, and Feyd gives you a small smile before turning his back to you.

Maybe when he first told you to paint him, he thought it would demean you, but it doesn’t. You doubt he feels that way anymore, either. He rolls his shoulders back briefly, and you watch the taut muscles ripple under his pale skin.

I was terrified of you the first time I saw you like this, you don’t tell him as you press your fingertips against him, but even then I thought you were impressive to look at. Maybe not a traditionally handsome man as far as I was concerned, but I liked seeing you in a loincloth back then, too.

One of the girls holds the bowl for you, and the other gives you a pair of gloves to keep you from staining your hands. You looked up the design–they change depending on the occasion and a birthday or other holiday requires its own set of strokes.

“Is this correct?” you ask, feeling pretty certain that it is.

“Yes, that’s right, Na-Baroness,” the girl holding the bowl says softly, hardly more than a whisper.

“Very good, Na-Baroness,” echoes the girl just beside her, waiting to take your gloves off for you once you’re finished.

Feyd’s silent as you work, turning his head briefly and giving you a view of his profile as he glances over his shoulder at you as if to speak, but ultimately remaining silent. You don’t have much to say, either, nothing that you want an audience for.

He’s going to kill people today; you assume prisoners of war, former soldiers who would put up a tough fight if the playing field were even. Instead they’ll be drugged before meeting your husband, their ruthless and efficient executioner. It’s not fair, it’s not good. It’s not something you can call yourself proud to be associated with, but it’s him. And you’re a part of his life, his legacy. A knot forms under your ribs as you finish with his back and focus on his chest and stomach. Does he share the combination of power and vulnerability you feel now, as he stays still for you to adorn his body with ceremonial paint? Is he looking forward to cutting down total strangers in front of thousands of cheering people? Because for all the discussion in the Fortress for it, Feyd seems less excited for it than everyone surrounding him. Does he quietly long for the thrill of a real fight? A challenge amongst everyone catering to his every desire?

You finish painting him and take a step back, allowing the girl next to you to pull your gloves off before she and her partner scurry to the side. For a moment it feels like there’s no one else in the room, and you think as you look at Feyd in his loincloth and ceremonial paint that he’s devastatingly beautiful.

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you tell him.

His eyes look dark in these halls; it’s tough to find the blue of them. “For making me a part of this,” you add. “A part of your culture.”

He stares at you for a moment, expression inscrutable, before snapping the fingers of his right hand. Idrisa and the other girl hurry forward, hands clasped in front of them and eyes downcast.

He still looks at you. “Uncle will sit in his usual spot, that's his alone. He’ll have you sit in the private box with the Bene Gesserit Sisters. It’s a gesture meant to insult you, but don’t take the bait. Just keep being hospitable to our guests.”

“Yes, Na-Baron,” you say.

A figure enters; a fat man carrying a cushion laden with knives–the swordmaster. Feyd’s eyes flicker briefly towards him before turning back to you, and he gives a small nod. Dismissed .

For a moment you’re not entirely sure what to say. Good luck? It would be insulting to imply that he needs it. I can hardly wait? He knows that’s not true. In the end you say nothing, opting to curtsy before leaving, taking the same steps you’ve taken once before, ready to play your part as he plays his.

The slaughter awaits.

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