#feyd

Special Attention

The fortress of House Harkonnen on Giedi Prime seems like a scar against the planet’s blackened horizon, its spires clawing at the ashen sky. 

Inside, the air is heavy, laced with the metallic bite of industrial fumes and the faint, sweetness of incense, a hallmark of Harkonnen decadence. 

You navigate the labyrinthine of corridors, your footsteps softened by the polished obsidian floors that reflect your silhouette in distorted fragments. 

The walls pulse faintly with conduits, their rhythmic sound a constant reminder of the fortress’s artificial life.

You are no stranger to these halls, as Feyd-Rautha’s favorite, you’ve learned to move with purpose, to keep your head low and your senses sharp. 

The na-Baron’s favor is a double-edged sword, privilege laced with peril. You’ve seen others fall from his grace, their fates whispered in the shadowed corners of the fortress: some cast out from his bridal court reputations tarnished, others returned to their home planets permanently altered.

Yet you’ve endured, rising to be kept as his favorite, a position that grants you luxuries beyond your wildest dreams, but demands everything in return.

Today, the summons came at dawn, delivered by a silent, black-clad servant who pressed a data-slate case into your hands.

Your pulse quickened as you read it, a mix of dread and anticipation coiling in your chest.

You pressed the case open already knowing what awaited inside. 

Four cuffs, synthetic and unbreakable, embedded with neural sensors, a gift from Feyd- Rautha, a symbol of his claim. 

You wear them now concealed beneath the flowing sleeves and floor length hem of your gossamer robe, their cool weight a constant reminder of what awaits.

The fortress seemed silent with muted tension as you prepared. In the bathing chamber, you rinsed in a pool of mineral-rich water, its surface shimmering with iridescent oils.

The heat soothed you, but your mind raced. Feyd’s moods are unpredictable, sometimes cruel, sometimes almost tender, but always insatiable. 

Tonight, you sense, will test your limits.

You anointed your skin with a fragrance distilled from Arrakeen flora, its soft notes designed to please Feyd’s heightened senses, and your hair is left loose, without constraint, as he prefers.

The robe you wear is a diaphanous veil, its fabric clinging to your curves, and beneath it the cuffs gleam faintly, their sensors dormant but ready to sync with whatever devices Feyd has prepared.

You’ve learned to expect the unexpected, his chambers are a gallery of perverse ingenuity, filled with devices and tools that blur the line between pleasure and pain.

As you leave the seraglio, a guard escorts you through the fortress’s upper levels. The corridors grow darker, the air colder, as you approach Feyd’s private wing. 

The guard halts at a massive door of black alloy, its surface etched with the Harkonnen crest. He inputs a code, and the doors hiss open, revealing a dimly lit antechamber. 

“He waits within,” the guard announces, then retreats, leaving you alone.

You step inside, the door sealing shut behind you. The antechamber is sparse, its walls bare save for a single holo-portrait of Feyd in the arena, his pale, muscular form stoic after a kill, his blade covered in blood, his tongue licking the edge in victory. 

The image sends a shiver down your spine, not from fear but from the raw power he exudes. You’ve seen that expression in person, felt its weight when he pins you beneath him, his raspy voice whispering promises and threats.

A second door opens, and Feyd’s voice cuts through the silence. “Come, pet.” It’s a command, low and gravelly, laced with an intensity that makes your knees weak. 

You obey, stepping into the main chamber, the same obsidian-slabbed room as the previous, except with biotech panels and a raised dais in the center, like a stage set for a performance only you and he will share.

The air is colder here, heavy with the scent of incense and something sharper, like the sky before a storm.

Feyd stands at the room’s center, his back to you, his muscles gleaming under the bluish glow as he adjusts settings on the biotech panel platform.

He’s shirtless, his physique sculpted by years of combat and cruelty: broad shoulders, narrow waist, hard muscles defined to perfection.

His slacks, black and form-fitting, do little to hide how substantial he is, and the sight of his size sends a pulse of heat through you.

He turns slightly, his blue eyes locking onto yours, and his black teeth flash as he smiles, like a predator sizing up his prey.

“You’re late,” he says, though there’s no real anger in his tone, only a teasing edge that promises retribution. 

He strides toward you, his movements fluid, intentional, like a panther stalking its kill.

You hold your ground, though every instinct screams to kneel, submit. 

He stops inches away, his heat radiating against your skin, his scent, leather, metal, and something uniquely him, filling your lungs.

“I wasn’t,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. 

Defiance, however small, is part of what keeps you in his favor. He likes the challenge, the spark of resistance he can bend but never fully break.

His smirk widens, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing the edge of your robe.

“Cunning,” he rasps, his voice a low sound that vibrates through you. “I will savor dismantling that.”

His hand closes around the fabric at your chest, and with a single, sharp pull, he tears it away, leaving you exposed in only your cuffs.

The cool air touches your skin, raising goosebumps, and your nipples harden under his gaze. His eyes darken, pupils dilating with lust, and you can feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch.

He circles you, his fingers trailing over your shoulders, your spine, your hips, leaving trails of fire in their wake. 

Each touch is intentional, testing your reactions, mapping your body like territory he’s claimed countless times before,but never tires of exploring. 

Your breath catches as he pauses behind you, his hand sliding up to grip your throat.

His thumb strokes the pulse point beneath your jaw, and you know he can feel your heart racing.

“You’re shivering,” he grins, his full lips brushing your ear, his black teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Is it fear? Or need?” He rasps.

His other hand slips between your thighs, not touching your core but hovering close enough to make you flinch.

Your body betrays you, a soft sigh escaping your lips and a low, satisfied hum rises from his chest.

“Need,” he discerns his voice barely a breath, and his grip on your throat tightens briefly, a silent approval.

“Good pet,” he says, releasing your throat and stepping back. He gestures to the obsidian dais at the room’s center, its surface draped in black silk. “Lie down. Spread yourself for me.”

Your heart pounds as you obey, climbing onto the dais and positioning yourself as he commanded. The silk is cool against your overheated skin, a stark contrast to the fire in your veins.

You spread your thighs, exposing yourself fully, and the cuffs activate, their neural sensors linking with the dais restraints. They lock, anchoring your wrists and ankles down, leaving you trapped and vulnerable with anticipation

Feyd watches you, his expression dark with satisfaction, his cock already straining against his slacks. He approaches, his hands steady as he reaches for the table’s devices: vials, toys, remotes…things that will soon push you to the edge of oblivion.

“Tonight,” he says, his voice a raspy promise, “I am feeling especially generous.” He discerns, his eyes dark fathomless voids as they rake over your body.

You shiver, knowing this is the moment you become his canvas, his obsession…how you earn the position of his favorite…

You lie there, bound by the cuffs anchoring your wrists and ankles to the edges of the dais, your body splayed for his attention.

His pale, muscular form is a vision of brutal beauty, his skin smooth like polished marble, stretched over ridges that shift with every movement. His black teeth glint in the low light as he smirks, savoring you, his voice raspy and low, cutting through the silence.

“Such a good pet,” he praises, his voice filled with feral delight as he reaches between your spread thighs, his hands gripping into the soft flesh with enough force to bruise.

“Already weeping for your na-Baron’s blade,” he says, his fingers lowering to slide through your slick folds, teasing your clit as it throbs, feeling a desperate ache blooming under his touch.

He reaches for a small, metallic device on the nearby table, a slender, curved phallus designed to fit inside you, attached with two black tiny nodes at the top. He coats it in a shimmering lubricant, the liquid tingling against your skin as he presses it slowly into your entrance.

Your hips push up involuntarily, but he pins them down with his other hand, his strength overwhelming. “Patience, pet,” he soothes, continuing to glide it in.

The stretch is immediate, the phallus filling you deeply, its nodes pulsing faintly against your inner walls.

You wince as your core tightens around it, and Feyd’s eyes darken with lust as he retrieves the phallus, pulling it from your body with the nodes now gone, already lodged deep inside of you.

“This,” he instructs, holding up a small spheroid, his thumb hovering on its sleek button. “Will make you come for me on command.”He says, his other hand lowering the fabric down his waist as his pale cock juts out proud and vicious, the thick veins pulsing beneath pale skin.

The head is flushed a deep rouge, and he wraps his long fingers around the shaft, stroking himself with slow pulls, the motion making the ridges along his cock flex under the low light, and with groan of anticipation, he presses the button.

The nodes surge to life inside of you, a relentless vibration that targets your core and sends shockwaves through your body.

Your back arches, a strangled moan escaping your lips as your walls clench and throb around nothing.

The pleasure is overwhelming, a white-hot current that drowns out everything else.

Your clit pulses in time with the vibrations, and you’re already moaning, body tensing, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Feyd watches, his thick, pale cock already leaking with precum, twitching against his strokes.

“Not yet,” he taunts, and shuts off the nodes just as your orgasm begins. The sudden absence of sensation is agonizing, leaving you panting, your body trembling with unspent need.

Feyds eyes darken with desire as he sees the slick forming along your folds, and he places the spheroid down on the dias, lowering himself between your thighs feral for it.

His tongue delves in deep, savage and unrestrained, devouring every drop with guttural groans that vibrate against your sensitive skin.

He sucks and licks at your clit with primal fury, his black teeth grazing your inner lips and he buries his face deeper, inhaling your scent like it’s a drug.

You are shivering as his hand digs into your inner thigh, holding you open wider, and your already sensitive clit is pinched between his fingers, rolled and tugged with a precision that makes your hips twitch.

Each twist sends a jolt straight to your core, your body jerking against the restraints as he lowers his mouth again, black teeth grazing your clit before he sucks hard, the wet heat of his flicking tongue exquisite torture as your nerves pulse in pleasure.

You moan until your voice is hoarse, until weak, broken cries spill from your lips, making him groan with a low, animalistic sound that vibrates through your core.

He thrusts his tongue in, just enough to make you come, and as you twitch and writhe in pleasure, he soothes you with slow, soft licks.

Your body is in overstimulation, every touch amplifying the ache deep within, and he pulls back, his hands trailing down your stomach to your clit and spreading your folds with his fingers, exposing the swollen bud.

You feel the cool kiss of another device, a small suction cup that he fits over your clit, and you tremble as you down look at it.

“This will latch on and never let go,” he says, his voice a dark promise as the device forms a soft white halo beneath its translucent shell. “It will kiss you deeper than my mouth ever could.” he reveals, as it begins to glow in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.

It pulses gently at first, a teasing pressure that makes your hips writhe, but when it activates fully…it’s like a supernova.

The suction becomes firmer, drawing a pulse to the surface of your clit, making it throb with an intensity that borders on overwhelming.

Your whimpers turn to cries, your body tensing as the first orgasm rises through you, your walls spasming around the nodes still lodged inside.

“My perfect pet.” He says, watching you moaning his name in exquisite bliss, and he presses the spheroid, making the internal nodes vibrate in sync with the clit device, prolonging your climax until your body is rocking against the table, your hips grinding as if fucking an invisible force.

But he’s far from done.

He climbs over you on the dais, his muscular frame blocking the light as he aligns his cock with your entrance. The nodes are still inside as he pushes in alongside them, the added fullness taking you over the limit.

He groans, his jaw clenching, the exquisite pleasure extending to him as the vibrations hum against the thick length of his cock.

He loses himself, his face softened in ecstasy, his eyes fluttering in bliss as he grinds the head of his cock against the nodes, his cock twitching at the dual sensations.

The overstimulation morphs into a deep, throbbing pressure as he thrusts, groaning deeply in his throat. His cock slides slickly in and out, dragging against the vibrating nodes with every powerful thrust of his hips, until his voice fractures in pleasure.

“Made for my blade…made for me,” he rasps, his hands gripping your thighs, as he begins pounding into you. Each thrust drives the nodes deeper, the vibrations syncing with his rhythm, and your walls milk him with every pulse.

He leans down, his full lips brushing your neck, your jaw, his black teeth nipping your skin. “My favorite pet” he praises, groaning as his cock twitches inside of you. “You break so beautifully, clenching around me like you’ll never let go…..None of the others endure like you.”

Your gaze up at him, your moans lost in the overload of sensation. Every time he thrusts, he pushes the nodes as they slip around his cock, and you want to cry it feels so good, you want to scream but your body can’t react as you drown in the abyss of overstimulation.

He reaches for a vial on the dais, a shimmering, iridescent liquid that he uncorks with his teeth. He tilts your chin back, lining it to your open mouth, and pours the liquid onto your tongue.

It’s sharp, like spiced wine, and within seconds, a warm, euphoric haze spreads through your body, heightening your senses, every touch magnified, every thrust amplified. The drug extends your climax, keeping you teetering in oblivion, your body writhing beneath him in unbridled ecstasy.

Time loses meaning under his relentless attention, and he uses the spheroid, pressing it to trigger orgasm after orgasm, each one more intense than the last, until your body is a quivering mess.

Your heart pounds erratically, your breaths shallow, and suddenly, a sharp pain lances through your chest.

Your vision darkens, your body seizing as cardiac arrest grips you. The sensors monitoring your heart rate in the cuffs go off, and Feyd’s eyes narrow as he looks up at the biotech panels with a flicker of anger.

He tsks, quickly reaching for a small, patch-shaped device, its surface etched with metallic glowing patterns. He presses it to your chest, directly over your heart, and a jolt of energy surges through you. Your body arches, gasps tearing from your throat as your heart stutters back to life.

The medical patch stabilizes your cardiac rhythm, and Feyd watches, his expression unreadable. “I’m not done with you yet,” he says, almost tenderly, his hand stroking your sweat-soaked hair.

His thrusts are slower, savoring the way your overstimulated body reacts, your walls fluttering around him, your body leaking sweat, tears, slick; every inch of you exhausted, spent beyond endurance.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he groans, a deep, guttural sound, and spills inside of you, his cock pulsing as he rides out his release.

When he pulls out, he brings the phallus to your slick entrance and clicks a button as the nodes slip free, attaching to it, leaving you empty and aching.

He leans over you, pressing slow kisses on your chest before licking a stripe up your neck. His tongue seeks entry to your mouth, and as you accept, he swirls it against yours as he cups your face.

“My chosen one,” he whispers, his voice a soft rasp as he lowers his fingers to your clit, “I would never let anything take you from me.” He vows removing the suction device, and he presses a hand to your pelvis in a rare moment of gentleness.

“The agony I would feel without you by my side,” he breathes, his nose brushing along your jaw, the admission pulled from somewhere deep and unguarded, the thought of almost losing you lingering in his voice.

“I will have you as my only one,” he whispers against your skin, his fingers circling the steady beat of your heart. “I will breed you, fill you with my heirs,” he says, his hand sliding over your stomach. “I will arrange our union under the Baron, my uncle’s blessing to bind you to me eternally.”

You blink up at him, voice heavy with exhaustion and awe. “You would….have me as your Baroness?”

His hand lifts to your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip with quiet possession. “My days as a playboy are over,” he says, studying your face as if committing the moment to memory. “You are my endless satisfaction.” He confesses.

He presses a button to release the cuffs, and you immediately cling to him, your body aching and sore, your mind drifting off in a haze, the patch still attached to your chest, the aftershocks of his touch lingering like a brand.

“You are mine now…title and soul”…he says, claiming you completely, his chosen one, his baroness, every pulse of your heart,and every part of your flesh, bound to his special attention. “forever.”

END ⚔️

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“Hmm.”

Yet, you were not ready to die. Within all the darkness, you had found little glimpses of light: your friends, small treats you would sometimes get. You were an ordinary slave, not required to work in the mines, the arena or the pleasure wing. Looking from afar, some Harkonnen men were easy on the eyes. All in all, life could have been worse.

You could feel his eyes burning: “what did you say?” There was softness in his voice. 

Fear struck you. You could not confess the crime you had committed. 

“I don’t like to repeat myself” his foot pushed harder. “We both know you will speak” in a tone suddenly becoming more filled with anticipation. 

Maybe he merely meant to toy with you. For a flash of a second you dared to look up, seeing him look at you more in a manner showing intrigue than anger. He was no longer just asserting this dominance. He was seeing you as prey to be hunted. 

“My lord…”

His knee dropped next to your face. A last reminder, or a first step in his game?

Refusing him would add another crime. Your mind was running all over the place, in this fairly simple room where the heir enjoyed one of the many functional meals he would eat on a day. Meanwhile, your friend glued themself against the wall, breathing as silently as possible, trying to be as inconspicuous, eager to disappear among the pillars.

“I said I was happy, my lord na-baron” you answered with a shivering voice, no more witnesses other than your friend. 

“Happy?” the na-Baron said confused. “Why?” Something in his demeanour suggested that he seemed genuinely interested. 

The tone startled you. “Because I got a little gift from a friend. Nothing much. Nothing worth your time, my lord.”

“What gift?” his hand finding your head, petting it. “Why wouldn’t I like my slaves happy?” he said, voice void of the obvious sarcasm.

Your life was over already, so you decided to just get this over with. “My lord, please have mercy on me, and kill me swiftly. I committed a crime” you wept, fearing the worst. Prostrating yourself may be a good way to earn at least an easy way out. “My body has been tainted without your benevolent approval.”

He chuckled. “Oh, is that so?”

“I…. I… my body is marked. I have a new tattoo.”

“Show me” he said amused.

It was on your back. A little black heart. No bigger than a fingernail. 

He did not wait for you to uncover, tearing your robe off you. “Cute, is that what you call this?”

You felt his gaze weighing on you. The air started to fill with something unknown while he used the robe to cover you again. This was out of the ordinary: did he do this to provide you with much desired modesty, or was it a last token of friendliness before the kill - just to push you out of balance? Dread filled your body. You had heard of the young lord taking a liking of people he encountered. He could be friendly, pleasant even. Their life would never be the same again, some ending in the pleasure quarters, some with better assignments, some never to be seen again. All in all it wasn’t coveted attention.

His hand found your jaw, pulling you up. Being led away, your voice betrayed you, whispering the name of your friend who had skilfully inked you. “Bring them” he ordered your friend, knowing you had just signed the artist’s death sentence as well.

You found yourself in his chambers, larger than the spartan eating room you were in just now. Luxurious. No expenses were spared transforming this into his dark private sanctuary. Precious materials on the floor and walls. Furniture carved to fit the room perfectly. No art, other than ancient weapons mounted. At the end of the room you could see the reflection of a large bed surrounded by four pillars and carabiners.  Yet, it was devoid of anything unnecessary. Your friend started to mourn you the moment you exited the dining room, understanding you had no choice but to give up the name, as was how things went in Giedi Prime.

“It is fresh” he observed, while you stood in front of him, showing the ink, while trying to protect your modesty with your torn clothes wrapped around your waist and clutched tightly across your chest. “It does not fit Giedi Prime” his hand rested on your hip, his thumb brushing over it.

You knew there was no escape, anything could happen at any time. Your heart raced, as you tried to keep your cool. You still had influence. You still could dictate whether you would survive or not. At this moment, there was no inherent threat coming from this man.

“It needs to be covered,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “But with what? What could possibly be large enough, meaningful enough, to erase this insult, this crime?” His other hand found your waist, pulling you against his hard frame, his mouth near your ears. “If my uncle learns of this, it will be a painful death” he spoke with a threatening voice. “He does not allow such… indiscretions. He… sets examples.” The fear that wrapped your throat did not even come from what he said, it came from the hint that he was playing with you. Such play would never result in a swift end; it was meant to be carried on and on. And despite how much you tried to keep your fear under wraps, you could not, despite knowing that this by itself fueled his excitement. A chuckle coming from him after he startled you deliberately, proved just this.

You had heard rumours of how the Baron would go about, sparing no-one, not even his own nephews. Compliance and submission were everything on this planet.

His enthusiasm hardened against your lower back. Fate was inevitable. Eyes closing in acceptance, you did not even care about asking how he could save you. A mere toy is what you were.

His arms moved from your hips to your hands, opening them, releasing your last protection.

“How would my uncle feel if he knew I let this go unpunished?” he questioned while twitching against your back. He wasn’t even speaking to you - he was creating his own little imaginary playground. A place where he could feel powerful, be aroused. You were just there because you happened to be there. A means to an end.

“I will help you cover up” came out of his mouth, menacingly, a hand clenching on your hip, while the other pushed you forwards to fall on your hands against a cabinet. Suddenly, the room started to close in around you, your throat tightening without any external force. Blood flowed away from your head. It became difficult to stand without falling.  While fingers found their way into your folds, you could not even think about the many potential meanings behind these dreadful words. It was too much. Too many things happening at the same time, while you also had to fear for your death. Was he planning on locking you up? Burying you? Would he tattoo a cover up himself? Would he sear it off? All potential outcomes, all likely. 

You wanted to flee, but his fingers kept you there, moving in and out, creating a path, stretching you. Making you accessible. You had heard the rumours before. You had your suspicions when he was pushing himself against your back. The mere fact that he took this time showcasing his benevolence instead of slitting your throat on the spot. So, you could do nothing else but stay and endure it, comforting yourself that he was showing you mercy, and this was not all just a ruse to get you to lower your guard before he could strike.

He found himself deeper and deeper, taking his time, enjoying himself. You had already learned not to expect any autonomy or agency, so you complied. You were nothing out of the ordinary, with the exception of that little heart. You let your body run its course, respond to his ministrations as he intended. No longer hide the little moans of pleasure you were suppressing, no longer force your body to stay still where it wanted to move. If only, it would serve to give you clemency, or as bare minimum some escape before your demise.

“A nice plaything. Not pretending, still scared. Pure. Just good for moments where I need a quick release” he commented. 

You did not dare to respond. You did not want to get him out of his reverie. He was treating you as nice as you could have ever expected. 

While you bowed your head down to let pleasure roll through your body, clenching on his fingers, you heard his buckle open and drop to the floor. It was no surprise when he found himself in your embrace, exhaling a grunt, starting to seek that swift liberation. Despite his seeming lack of dedication - for you this was a first with a highborn, for him you were mere afternoon entertainment before his next training - he was too well built, too girthy, too experienced to prevent you from having any pleasure. From the first moment his tip entered you, you were engulfed in a trance. Incapable of thinking of anything else than how he felt inside of you. Godlike, as if you were being fed the nectar of the gods. You could do nothing else but submit and accept. 

You were riding the waves presented to you, wrapped up in new delights you had never experienced. You had heard the whispers of how he left his subjects fulfilled, eager and never finding a substitute. But, as if he were to punish you, while you were nearing another peak in a mountainous chain of ultimate pleasure, he suddenly pulled out of you. You did not dare to protest. A few grunts is all you could hear, while he kept you steady and resting on your hands, before you felt his cum splattered over your back. For what seemed to take an eternity, he came over you. The places where you felt his warm cum almost felt deliberate. 

The weight of his body starting to lean onto you through his hand, you felt him come at ease. You had done nothing, yet you had done everything to take some restlessness from him. 

“Stay put” is what he told you, while he removed himself from the scene, after catching his breath.

For what seemed like another eternity, you waited for him to return, not knowing what to do, apart from obeying. You were starting to get cold, yet remained still, expecting his return patiently. You went over the events of the last few days, and especially today, that had led to your current predicament, knowing that if you had just kept your mouth shut in the diner room, you would have never ended up here.

That is when he returned. Not alone. 

“There” the na-Baron spoke, clearly pointing at you in all your vulnerability, still layered in his black cum that had started to dry up. “Ink that silhouette, pitch black, and you will live with your remaining hand.”

“Yes my lord” a familiar voice, in pain, said. The person who had gifted you the black heart.

From that day on, not too much changed, to your quiet relief. You remained a servant, summoned whenever the young lord sought a quick release. Always demanding, sometimes almost gentle, never kind - unfailingly pleasing. What truly marked the shift was your attire: mandated to bare your back at all times, displaying the proof of his mercy through ownership inked in black.

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This fic is the second in a Inked x Austin Character exploration - List of Feyd / Austin inspired one shots / Inked - Vernon Jefferson Peak

My writings are not to everyone's liking, and this one is somewhat dark. Tags based on whom I am kinda sure somewhat enjoyed any of my last 3 fics and who I think may enjoy this particular fic - let me know if you want to be included

Feyd-Rautha had never been one to hear the word no—not truly. It was a word that rarely, if ever, carried any weight behind it. In the orbit of his world, where power and privilege spun like moons around his name, denial did not exist. From the moment he was plucked from the obscurity of childhood and placed beneath the ever-watchful eye of his uncle, his life had changed irrevocably.

To be mentored by the Baron was to be both elevated and cursed. It was not a mercy. It was a burden masquerading as a gift—a double-edged sword gilded in gold. Feyd was given everything a young man could possibly want, and far more than he ever asked for. Fame followed him like a shadow; wealth was piled at his feet in obscene excess, and women were offered as distractions, rewards, and amusements.

Everything—everything—was handed to him, the world cracking itself open in servitude to his whims.

And Feyd, for all his cunning and cruelty, accepted it all without question. He hoarded his blessings with the greed of a dragon, curled protectively around his ever-growing treasure, arrogant and untouchable atop a mountain of gold and blood. He had grown accustomed to indulgence. To taking what he wanted. To expecting—deserving—the very best the universe had to offer.

And then he saw her.

Posture so perfectly poised, voice soft and refined, steeped in the etiquette of royalty. The Emperor's youngest daughter, untouched by the ugliness of the world he knew. A Corrino jewel, kept gleaming and polished behind silk veils and steel walls. She was sweet, they said. Innocent. Naïve. A creature raised in golden cages, schooled in politics but protected from its venom. She had never known true hunger, the stench of war, or the taste of ambition burning on the tongue like poison and honey.

And Feyd—he wanted her.

Not the way he wanted others, the women who were thrown at his feet, their eyes lowered and mouths painted to please. He wanted her—untouched, unclaimed, unbroken.

And want was not something Feyd ever shied away from.

"Who owns this pussy, princess?" he growled against her shoulder, his voice rough and ragged, each word escaping between clenched teeth. His lips ghosted over her flushed skin, leaving a shiver of heat in their wake. "Say it louder," he demanded, the edge of a threat woven into the velvet snarl of his voice.

There was no gentleness in the way he spoke, nor was there softness in the way he gripped her hips, holding her in place as if she might try to run. His breath was hot against her skin, coming in shallow pants, the scent of spice and sweat thick in the air between them, mingling with the smell of sex.

Feyd didn't make demands unless he was ready to drag the truth from her lips, one brutal thrust at a time. And he was prepared to do just that.

If only the Emperor could see his darling daughter now, bent and broken over silken pillows, stripped of her titles and trappings, reduced to nothing but need and whimpering want beneath the heir to House Harkonnen—he would have ordered Feyd flayed alive.

A thousand knives for every bruising kiss, every growled command, every filthy sound torn from her lips.

But it was too late.

She was already his.

And it hadn't even taken much.

Just a few smiles, all teeth and hunger, the glint of something wicked in his eyes. The slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over one of his black canines, a silent promise of the kind of pain that made pleasure burn all the brighter. A step closer. A hand against the wall, boxing her in. Whispered threats dressed as promises, words like silk-wrapped daggers in her ears.

'I'll ruin you, princess. I'll break that pretty little crown right off your head.'

She'd trembled—and he'd known she was his.

He'd smelt her arousal. How it clung to her, a perfume of desperation. That scent had damn near driven him mad, made his blood thrum with the anticipation of what was to come. And now, finally, she was here—tied, exposed, undone.

The remnants of her once-impeccable dress hung in tatters around her waist, the fabric torn and twisted into makeshift bindings that kept her hands locked tight behind her back. Her face was buried in the pillows, muffling the desperate, high-pitched moans that spilled from her lips with every harsh snap of his hips. She was soaked, thighs gleaming with the wet sheen of her arousal, welcoming him with every thrust. 

It was obscene how she responded to him—her royal upbringing, all that prim-and-proper training, dissolved beneath his touch. How the girl raised to rule, to be bowed to, to be protected like a sacred relic was nothing but a trembling, breathless, gasping slut for his cock.

She was supposed to be untouchable.

A precious jewel locked behind a dozen doors, veiled and cloistered, far too delicate for the hands of any man who hadn't been sanctioned by the Imperium. But Feyd had never believed in asking for permission.

And her body? It didn't want gentleness. It wanted this.

Rough. Unrelenting. Merciless.

Feyd gave her no room to escape, no room to come up for air. Just the rhythm of his hips, the tight press of his body caging her in, claiming her with every stroke. Her cries were muffled, but he could feel the truth in them—the desperation, the hunger, the way she pushed back against him, needy and aching and feral beneath all that silk and bloodline.

She had been raised to wear a crown.

But tonight?

Tonight, she wore nothing but bruises and his name.

His palm struck her backside with a brutal crack, the sound echoing, sharp and merciless. She cried out, the scream torn from her throat before she could swallow it. He struck her again, harder this time, savouring the way her royal cunt tightened around him—scorching and soaked with need.

With a fist tangled in her hair, he yanked her up, refusing to let her stay in the pillows, refusing to let her hide behind the silence, dragging every sound from her lips like it was owed to him.

"Answer me, princess." He growled the words, blackened teeth grazing the shell of her ear. He shifted pace, abandoning the punishing rhythm that had her dripping down her thighs and painting his skin with need. Instead, he sank into her with slow, deliberate grinds—deep enough to make her eyes flutter and her breath hitch. 

Feyd held her upright and kept her on her knees. He wouldn't let her collapse, refused to let her fall into the mess of tangled sheets and sweat-soaked silk. Her legs shook, thighs quivering with exhaustion, but his hands kept her there.

His fingers slid down to where she was stretched around him, teasing her slick folds before landing a sharp slap against her swollen clit. The reaction was immediate—her cunt clenched hard around him, greedy, trembling, at his mercy.

When she was silent for too long, holding her tongue as though to test his patience, he did it again—calloused fingers landing against her aching clit, harder. The sharp sting sent a jolt of electricity through her, making her body jerk, hips twitching in protest or need—he couldn't tell, and didn't care. He kept going, a third slap, until she was writhing and breathless.

"Say it," he snarled.

"You," she managed, voice broken and trembling, the word torn from her throat like a confession.

He growled against her ear, the sound guttural, a dark velvet rumble threaded with savage satisfaction. His fingers found her clit again, pressing down cruelly—just enough to make her body seize and tremble.

"Good. Fucking. Girl." Each word was driven home by a brutal snap of his hips. His cock plunged into her, splitting her open, slick and greedy around him. Every thrust drove him deeper, like he meant to carve a place for himself inside her, to brand her from the inside out. 

She choked on a moan, the sound caught and smothered as he shoved her down, one hand tangled in her hair, forcing her face into the pillows. Her cries were buried, but he heard them all the same—felt them in the way her body trembled, in the way she clenched around him with every thrust.

Her thighs were slick with arousal, glistening, the wetness trailing in delicate strands from her royal cunt and soaking into the sheets below—evidence of just how thoroughly he'd undone her. The wet sound of their bodies meeting was obscene, filling the room. Feyd leaned in, breath scorching against her ear, his chest pressed to her back as his grip tightened around her hip, the other hand yanking on her hair.

"You were made for this," he growled, voice rough and ruined by lust. "To be fucked like a slut. To be mine."

When she whimpered—small, broken, desperate—he fucked her harder, dragging her back onto his cock with a force that stole what little air she had left. She was unravelling, falling apart with every thrust, and Feyd revelled in it. Because this wasn't about power. It was about possession.

And he wouldn't stop until she wore the proof of it, until she collapsed beneath the weight of what he made her feel.

"Not a princess," he snarled, voice thick with heat, each word spat against her skin like a brand. "Just a whore."

He didn't falter, not for a second. The brutal rhythm of his thrusts continued, relentless and deep, each one driving her higher, pushing her further toward that edge.

"Fuck," he hissed, head falling between her shoulder blades, breath ragged against her skin. "I feel you—so fucking tight. So wet for me. You like this, don't you? Being my whore?

His hand slipped from her hair to wrap around her throat, pulling her up and against him, forcing her to feel every inch of him, every growl that rumbled in his chest as he claimed her.

"You're going to be a good whore and cum for me, aren't you?" he snarled, the question more a command than anything else. His fingers tightened around the sides of her throat, not enough to hurt—just enough to make her dizzy, to steal the edges of her breath, to send her pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. Her body reacted instantly, heart racing, thighs trembling, need spiralling higher under his command.

Her answer came as a gasp, caught in her throat, swallowed by the heat building between them—but Feyd wasn't the kind of man to wait long for obedience. He'd drag it out of her, again and again, until there was nothing left of the princess. . . only his precious whore.

She came with a cry torn straight from her throat, an orgasm crashing through her like a wave that could not be denied—violent, all-consuming. Her cunt clenched around him as a gush of release spilled down her thighs, hot and slick, coating his skin and soaking the mattress beneath them. It was primal, beautiful—and he drank in the sight of it with a hunger that bordered on reverence.

"Fuck, look at you," he growled, slamming her back down, both hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. He didn't slow. He couldn't. He fucked her through the high, relentless, until she was shaking and sobbing into the pillows, her body overwhelmed, her voice breaking with every cry.

His release was building, coiling violently at the base of his spine, molten heat roaring through his veins. Every thrust brought him closer, flames licking from his fingertips to his toes until it finally broke.

With a guttural growl, he came—hard—his cock buried to the hilt as thick ropes of his cum spilled deep inside her. He held her there, pressed against him, filling her until her quivering walls were painted with him, until her womb held the evidence of who she belonged to.

No other man would ever measure up. No one else would ever touch what he had claimed. He would mark her. Ruin her. And when she carried his child—when her belly swelled with the proof of what they'd done—the galaxy would know.

She was his.

His lovely, obedient little slut.

Paul was sitting on his gold throne, the colorful windows at the ceiling casted rainbow lights on the marble floors of the throne room. He was dressed in Atreides colors, red and after his victory dark shade of green. Irulan was already there, Chani smiled at you kindly and took her place. Paul didn’t even notice you, he wasn’t a bad person, he took you in because you were an orphan and you had great skills. Especially healing, because at the Siech you helped your old Reverend Mother, she thought you many things. You stood in your space, facing the tall doors and waited. “Let him in.” Paul’s voice was heard and the tall heavy doors opened, you wondered about the person you were about to see. He must be important.

You saw a tall, bald headed man walk in with pride, his uniform was jet black, his combat boots made it sound like he was marching to war… or was he?

“Bow before your Emperor Paul Muadib Atreides.” Duncan Idaoh’s voice harsh voice echoed in the throne room. The bald man looked at Idaho and then Paul, and he fell on his knees. “Your message intrigued me.” Paul began which made the man look up at him, “Rise and explain your scheme, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.” He finished and you felt your heart burn in fire, “A Harkonnen?!” You thought, they were the reason you were an orphan, they were the reason why your people suffered for years. Your hands were in fists you had to be calm. Your harsh gaze found his already staring blue eyes, his eyes were originally blue not because of the spice. His eyes trailed a path on your body and found your face, you were wearing a tight orange dress, your long hair loose, you had golden bracelets on your arms. You didn’t flinch from his stare, in fact, you stared back into his eyes with primal fury in your soul. His gaze turned back to Paul, ''I have interesting news about my uncle and I thought you might like to hear and make an alliance.. so to speak.'' his raspy voice sent shivers to your body, so dominant and cold. Paul didn’t say anything, just let him speak.

“Baron Vladimir Harkonnen has been gathering troops from Salusa Secundus.”

Duncon Idaho whispered but enough for you to hear, “Old Emperor’s troops.”

“He is planning on attacking Arrakis in a few days.” He finished, staring at Paul with a smirk.

Paul regarded him suspiciously, “Why are you telling me this? He is your uncle after all.” He was right.

“I am tired of being Na-Baron of Giedi Prime, I desire to be it’s Baron and only ruler.” He confessed one of his deepest desires, Paul raised an eyebrow, “I would like to discuss this with my advisors. In the meantime you’re our guest. You shall have a second of the palace for yourself and servants to attend your every need.” Paul swiftly stood up from his throne, and walked down the stairs, his subjects including you following him. You never liked these situations where you had to follow him like a puppy. You wanted to stand next to him as his concubine. He was a nice man to you but it was obvious that his affections laid with Chani, not you and certainly not Irulan. You desired to be held by him, considered to be his equal but he discarded you so many times. His cold eyes never regarded you with… anything really. To him and others you were just a Fremen healer girl.

As you walked past Feyd-Rautha, he looked at you again, in a way all women wanted to be looked at… your trainings had told you so but you brushed his intense gaze off, kept your composure and walked past him gracefully.

Next day you were having breakfast at the gardens, the palace had gardens but the part you usually went was at the back. Not many people visited here so it was peaceful and calm. You were seated by the fountain which used to overflow with water but you made the servants cut the water. To you it was a waste of water and Arrakis was never kind to her residents whom regarded water as insignificant.

Over time you started to tend to the flowers and trees, ever since you became Muad’Dib’s you could access to knowledge of anything thanks to the lavish library. You started to learn about plants which you have never seen or heard before and slowly it became your passion. You were in your deep thoughts when a sudden cough attracted your attention, you turned to face the owner and it was him. Even though you didn’t want it you had to get up and bow respectfully, “My Na-Baron.” You greeted him. He was wearing a sleeveless tunic and satin, loose pants. His arms looking strong, up close he looked paler than usual. “What’s your name?” His direct question startled you. “Y/N. My Lord.” You said, still in shock.

“Your name is pretty as your face.”

You could feel your cheeks heat, it had been a long time since someone had complimented you.

He sat on the empty seat, “Sit.” He gestured for you to sit and you did. “Eat.” He said as he started to eat a fig from your plate. You continued eating, there was a silence, noticing his piercing blue gaze on you.

“What are you to him?” He was the one who broke the silence.

You understood what he meant, “I’m sure my Lord already knows.” You replied, didn’t want to say it.

Feyd smiled wickedly, was he playing a game?

“I do… but I want to be sure.”

You sighed before you spoke, “I am Paul Muad’Dib Atreides’s concubine.”

He scuffed in annoyance, “A concubine who doesn’t warm a bed isn’t truly a concubine.” His remark made you look up at him sharply, he was still smiling. How did he know that Paul never had you? Not even once…

“Our Muad’Dib-“ he cut you off, “He doesn’t care for you-“ he paused for a split second, “properly. Does he?” His tone carried something carnal. You couldn’t reply back to him for he was telling the truth.

“If you were mine you would be… looked after and taken care of.”

What was he trying to say to you?

You had heard so many horrible stories about him and how he treated the slaves he took to his bed or his servants in general. Most died in a few days. Thankfully you weren’t alone. You belonged to someone, even though he didn’t want you in that way.

''My Lord Na-Baron..'' you protested in shock, didn't know how to reply in a respectful manner and you saw the wicked smirk on his face. He got up from his chair, got a purple grape from your table and he leaned on the small table, you had no idea what was going on before it was too late. He made you open your mouth and eat the grape, the juice running from the corner of your lips, he wiped the juice with his thumb and licked it, ''Just saying.'' he said and left.

The rest of the day you couldn't eat anything or focuse on anyhting, even the servants around you had noticed but didn't dare to utter a word.

The second day he was on the palace you ran into him. You were walking to accompany Princess Irulan in her chambers, you had to bow when you saw him, ''Lord Na-Baron.'' you greeted him properly, you had no choice but your cheeks flushed with the memory of yesterday. He hummed in pleasure when he saw your cheeks, he had two bodguards wgiven him by Paul hismelf. Of course they were spying on him and reporting everyhting he did so he wanted to put on a show for him, ''Lady Y/N, how lovely to see you here.'' he began, his raspy voice wasn't something one could get used to, it sent electricity to her body, she nodded in return. ''May I accompany you to your destination?'' he offered extending his arm to you and you could not refuse a Na-Baron.

You took his arm and together headed to the section of Irulan's chambers, ''I cannot stop thinking about our conversation yesterday, I would love to talk to you more.'' he mentioned, making sure the bodyguards aka spies heard him correctly. ''I do love to entertain you with conversations Na-Baron but unfortunately I am very busy.'' you reached to Irulan's double doors, no men was allowed from here.

''I must attend to our Princes Irulan. I bid you good day.'' you said getting your arm back from him, he swiftly held your wrist and planted a kiss on the back of your palm, ''Till next time.''

You walked into Irulan's chambers dizzy.

The news of Feyd's interest in you have reached Paul's ears. He was in his study when his spies had explained the situation, was this a game or was he actually interested? Nonetheless you were his, his concubine. It was unacceptable. He specifically asked if you were also interested but his spies only said that you were respectful and didn't cross a line, he was glad to hear that your loaylty laid on him.

It was the 5th day of his arrival that he took things further, until today he kept teasing and impyling things to you but you were stubborn. Why did you insisted on belonging to someone who didn't take you? Or showed any interest at all. In these past 5 days all he had seen was that you followed Chani and Irulan like a lost cub, you hid behind the shadows but no longer. His plan was to tear you from the shadows and give you the spotlight you deserved.

As he was dwelling on these thoughts siren was heard, it was show time. He had told Paul that it was most likely for Baron to strike on the 5th day and he was right, he quickly wore his uniform which was given him by Paul himself, earlier today he was visited by him.

''I want you to lead the attack. I want Baron to see you in Atreides unfirom.'' he demaned and it was the perfect opportunity for Feyd, ''If I do so I might ask something in return.'' he replied as he was holding the dark green uniform with a golden Atreides badge on the left shoulder, ''You shall have your planet and rule it as it's Baron, as we have agreed.'' Paul pointed out the agreement, ''I know but I want something else too.''

Paul was intrigued, ''Which is?''

''Once I have won your battle for you I will reveal it. Do not fret.'' Feyd placed his hand on Paul's shoulder and gave a wicked smile. Paul didn't know what it was but if it was soemthing he could give then it was settled if he won the battle of course.

The battle took only few hours for Atreides soldiers ready and plannes have been made beforehand thanks to Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. He led the troops to victory, as he fought his brother Rabban in a combat he got injured but he managed to defeate Glossu Rabban Harkonnen, by defeat Feyd took his head and put it on a spike and placed it on the battlefield, after that Atreides chanted their voictory shout. Baron was sent to prison along with remaining Sardaukar soldiers.

Feyd marhced the marble halls of the palace to the throne room, the doors opened for him, he heard Paul clap in victory, ''As you have said, Baron attacked on the 5th day and you have defeated him. Bravo Feyd.'' he greeted him with a smile, seated on his golden throne. Feyd was glad that he had audience, advisors, politicians and highly ranked soldiers.

His eyes found you, behind Irulan and next to Chani, and yet you had chosen to stand a step behind her. You wore jet black today, why? He loved the color on you and he couldn't wait to touch you. Your eyes also found him, he was covered in blood and you noticed that he got stabbed. Why was he here instead of getting treatment? He was a crazy man you were sure now.

Others had followed clapping, chanting in his name.

After the loud sounds died down Paul spoke, ''As I have promised, you shall have Giedi Prime and run it as its new Baron. I am sure our alliance will continue from generation to generation.'' he announced.

Feyd bowed on one knee, ''Emperor!'' he raised his head from his place, ''I have another wish too. A small and pretty one.''

''Oh, yes you have mentioned something earlier, pray tell.''

''I do not wish to run my planet alone. I want a woman by my side.'' he began which attract the entire ton's attentin.

''I want Lady Y/N by my side, as my wife.''

And everyone held their breaths, everyone in this room knew that you were an untouched concubine, his least favorite companion. However you were still Paul's. You were in shock, was he serious or joking? Harkonnens do tend to have a strange sense of humor. Chani held your hand and squezzed in reassuringly.

Paul Muad'dib's face was stoic, not giving any clue on how he felt or what was he about to say. His most rusted soldier and advisor was by his side, Duncon Idaho looked more stern than his Emperor.

''She is my concubine, as you know.'' Paul's voice was flati matter of factly.

There wasn't a single sound in the entire throne room, Feyd got to his feet, he could feel his open wound, throbbing softly but he didn't mind.

''Haven't I been generous?'' Paul said questioningly, ''You have your own planet to yourself now and no doubt high ladies in Giedi Prime would love to be your wife.'' Paul didn't understand Feyd's reasons behind this request.

''You are right, however I do not wish to have any of them. I only want Lady Y/N. In my time I have come to a realization that,'' he turn to the audience to gain their favor, ''she is the only one who could be my equal and represent my name with respect. Her loyalty is unmatched and If you let me,'' he turned back to Paul. ''I am going to take care of her and make sure she is comfortable till the day she closes her eyes to this galaxy.''

Your heart was beating at it's full capacity, was he telling the truth or was this just a game? It was true that these past days he was courting you and trying to get your attention but now it was serious.

The ton started to ramble, he heard whispers saying that

''He betrayed his uncle for god's sake''

''New Baron looks devoted''

''He won the battle in few hours''

Paul raised his hand to silence the crowd, ''Due to Feyd-Rautha's outstanding victory in the battle and his sacrifice of his family, I would love to give Lady Y/N to him, however..''

he looked around, testing the waters, ''It is for her to decide. It isn't my place.''

Paul was hopeing maybe you would stay, now that someone was interested in you he thought how beautiful you were... it was too late though.

Chani urged you to walk, you walked down the stairs of the throne and you bowed once you were below Paul. ''My Emperor, thank you so much for your protection over the years,'' she began, her body was calm but her mind was screaming at her ''What are you doing?''

''I believe I have served you enough. I would like to be on Baron Feyd-Rautha's side.'' once the words slipped her mouth there was no going back. She couldn't believe herself.

''Then it is settled. Congradulations.'' Paul announced with a sullen look but only Duncon could tell.

You turned and walk to Feyd quickly with the worry in your eyes, ''Let's take care of your wound my Baron.''

He liked it. ''My Baron.''

Back at his chambers you were stitching his sound on the side of his stomach in silence, the events of what happened still ringing in your ear. ''Why?'' he asked calmly, watching your sitting form, your hands quick and with his question you hurt him unintentionally of course. ''Sorry,'' you looked up, ''Why did you accept me?'' he asked directly.

You were silent for a few seconds, after you were finished with his wound you rubbed an oil to heal it quicker, his back was leaned on the couch, legs spread, you got up from the couch, placed your healing stuff back to the kit and turned to him, ''Because of you.''

He looked puzzled so you explained, ''You look like you would kill an entire nation if someone touched a strand of my hair. Paul could never give me that.''

It was true and it made Feyd smile to see that you understood how possessive and protective he was towards you.

He got up from the couch, walked to you and his hand went to your hair, he had never seen scuh beautiful color and length, he had wanted to touch your hair for so long and now he felt how soft the strands were, ''You and I, against the galaxy.'' he whispered as he leaned for a kiss.