These Destined Ends: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you? Disclaimer
Part 1 Part 6 Part 11 Part 16
Part 2 Part 7 Part 12 Part 17
Part 3 Part 8 Part 13 Part 18
Part 4 Part 9 Part 14 Part 19
Part 5 Part 10 Part 15 Part 20
Oneshots:
This Body, This Flesh: Feyd-Rautha ghola AU
Only Pleasure Remains: Feyd-Rautha x GNFremen!Reader (18+)
These Destined Touches: Feyd’s POV from Part 4 of TDE
Pain & Pleasure: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader, MDNI
Truth Be Told: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader, MDNI
Life & Death: Feyd-Rautha x gn!Reader
That’s Enough: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader
More than Enough: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader
Blade (cont.): Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader
Mine: Feyd-Rautha x gn!Reader
Without a Prayer: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader
Imagines:
Amtal Rule
Blade
Handmaiden
Playlist
Disclaimer: gifs are not mine (tell me if you recognize one of yours and I will tag you), nor are the Dune characters
I have two fic ideas I’m kind of playing around with right now
1) I saw a discussion about how Leto Atreides couldn’t deny the Emperor when he offered him Arrakis, even if he probably wanted to. This would send the other Houses after him. Methinks this would make an excellent excuse for Feyd to go after Leto’s child
2) Feyd (RIP) is still a baby daddy and his daughter will probably be a teenager(ish?) in the new movie. I think an angsty fic similar to my one about the ghoula would be perfect
When there’s a new Dune movie coming out, I’m four months postpartum, still obsessed with Austin Butler/Feyd, and I need the stress relief of writing smutty fanfiction
Hello! TDE is one of my favorite Feyd/OC fics and I was doing a reread of it, no pressure/offense but I was wondering how their story ended? (happy I hope *crosses fingers*)
Hello! Thank you for reaching out🫶🏻
It’s such a deep regret of mine that I haven’t TDE yet. It’s my first long fic and I wrote it postpartum in a time when I felt like I was drowning. Now just a few weeks (days?) from having my second, I think about it a lot and I hope to finish it. Feyd and Jewel mean so much to me.
I would like to write how I wanted it to end, in case it doesn’t happen. It’s not really a happy ending, per se, depending on how you look at it. I think it’s the happiest one possible. I started writing it because I wanted to explore fate and destiny and inevitability all while making it a love story.
SPOILERS
Jewel and Feyd have their son, who I have decided to left unnamed. It’s up to you. Jewel and Feyd are responsible for Arrakis and trying to heal the Universe, all while Jewel is still being praised as the Chosen One and she feels unsure about her place and the title.
I wanted it to kind of reflect Paul’s journey — even though she was born a woman, and tried to resist the Bene Gesserit agenda, she still ends up being the Messiah that ultimately brings about the Holy War.
Tensions are high. Jewel and Feyd live with their son in happiness, both of them working behind the scenes to try and find Rabban, who escaped after the coup. On the eve of their son’s first birthday, his birthday party with friends such as Asha and Stilgar, Rabban launches an attack.
Feyd ends up killing his brother, protecting his family, but not before Rabban can land a devastating blow. Jewel is there with him in his last seconds. He tells her that his nightmares had been haunted by these moments — his death. He says it’s always her, a version of her, that kills him, and that it’s the sweetest death he can imagine at the hand of his Jewel. He tells her not to worry, and that he loves her and their son.
As he takes his last breath, Jewel removes the killing blade and puts it into his hand so that he might die a soldier’s death and ascend to the Heavens. (A la chapter twelve) He lived, and died, his whole life fighting and she wants to give him a chance at peace. This is also another instance of being unable to change fate, as she’s ultimately the one who kills him by removing the blade.
The story ends with Jewel holding their son after Feyd’s funeral. The last line?
After all, nothing could change these destined ends.
(I listened to “The Prophecy” by Taylor Swift so many times while imagining the ending of this. Not so much in the frame of mind of wanting a soulmate but just changing her fate)
Summary: You're sent to Giedi Prime to spread the Word. You're not sure what to expect, especially when the brutal Na-Baron takes an interest in you.
Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: This is unfinished, and I’m not sure if it will get finished, but I was looking through my drafts and I was proud of my writing in this one!
A/N: Inspired by Lady Gaga’s Disease, which I listened to an obscene amount of times while writing this, and this post
Paradise on my right, Hell on my left, and the Angel of Death behind. — excerpt from the Accumulated Book, page 791
You’ve had days to steel yourself for Giedi Prime.
Tucked away in your small quarters, you poured over every filmbook and inscription that your covenant owned about the planet. When they sent you off, you assured them that you knew what you were getting into. “After all,” you told them, “it’s the darkest places that need the most light.”
You expected the barren wastelands, which you observe from the descending cruiseliner, broken apart only by the sprawling industrial plants. But it’s only once you’ve landed, once you’ve disembarked into the oppressive heat, that you realize all of your studying left out one crucial detail — there is no sound on Giedi Prime.
You stand frozen on the ramp while you process this in a series of disjointed thoughts. Giedi Prime is, by all means, an inhospitable planet. There is no vegetation except for the extremely profitable pilingitam tree, which is not found here, in the courtyard of the Harkonnen stronghold. Thusly, there is no rustle of leaves or grass. No animals. No hum of insects. And the droning sound that you initially mistake as the blood pounding in your ears proves to be the dark sun baking the dry, cracked ground.
“Move,” the Harkonnen attendant barks from behind you. Their language, brusque and unnatural, frightens you into motion, scurrying down the ramp.
Sweat already pools under the collar of your habit, rolls down your neck beneath your wimple. You take a few steps before the attendants sweep by, leading the procession to meet the group of soldiers waiting for you a few feet away. Beyond them, the Harkonnen stronghold looms. It projects impossibly high into the sky, a display of wealth and power, crafted from obsidian with threads of lighter grey throughout. It’s a marvelous spectacle. Before you can properly admire it, however, you’ve reached the soldiers, who are all regarding you rather keenly.
You greet them with a small smile.
“Welcome to Giedi Prime,” one of the soldiers says, then as an afterthought, “Sister.”
When you received the news that you would be performing missionary work on Giedi Prime, you were shocked to discover that it included taking residency at the Harkonnen stronghold. No one had ever been given permission to come here with the sole purpose of spreading the Word, so you didn’t know what to expect.
“We’ve been given strict instructions to escort you to meet with the Baron.”
“Very well,” you reply. You suspected as much. After all, he was the one overseeing this enterprise. Curiously, you follow the soldiers into the stronghold, relieved to find it conditioned with air. The interior was sparsely furnished, the only constant being the braziers along the walls emitting a faint, flickering glow.
You stride behind them, hands in the pockets of your habit and smoothing your thumb over the beads of your rosary. It brought comfort to you in times of turmoil. Especially now, when your fear lingered as dually as the sweat cooling on your skin; with no sense of where you were going, you would’ve believed they were marching you to the dungeons instead of a place of importance.
“What is he doing here?”
You snap to attention. The soldier who spoke flanks you to the right, shifting his weight.
One of the other soldiers hisses in reply, “I thought he was supposed to be Off Planet.”
From your position encircled by the soldiers you can’t see who they’re talking about, but the tension is palpable. You muddle through your own fear to make sense of theirs, confused about who could possibly frighten these formidable men.
“Where are you going?” A deep, rasping voice calls out, steeped with authority.
“We are under orders by the Baron to deliver this guest to the throne room.”
“A guest, you say?”
Between the bodies of the soldiers, you catch a quick glimpse of a man but nothing more. “Yes, na-Baron,” the same soldier says.
“Why wasn’t I made aware of this?”
In way of reply, the soldiers at your front step to the side, exposing you to this man. The na-Baron.
Feyd-Rautha.
He’s more handsome than you imagined, which arrests most of your focus. He’s bare as any other Giedi Prime native but possessing of a cruelly elegant nature, with dark eyes and plush lips. A strong jaw is framed by a fitted, high-collared jacket. The trousers he wears boasts reinforced panels along his knees and muscular thighs before tapering into matte black boots.
Feyd-Rautha glowers at you for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally he declares, “I’ll escort her the rest of the way.”
“na-Baron, sir, we were given strict —”
“I don’t care.” Feyd-Rautha’s penetrating gaze has yet to stray from your face. “Leave us.”
When the soldiers hesitate, a muscle jumps under his eye, almost unnoticeable, and in the span of a single heartbeat he’s unsheathed a blade and posed it under the chin of the closest one. “You question my authority.”
A statement. Not a question.
“Never, na-Baron,” the soldier chokes out.
“Prove it.” Feyd-Rautha removes the weapon, holding it out at his waist instead. “Run yourself through on my blade.”
A strangled sound escapes you. “What? No —”
You’re helpless to intervene when the soldier forcefully steps forward, the blade breaking through his armor and into his stomach with a sickening squelch. The coppery smell of blood assaults your senses. You watch as the soldier staggers, reaching out to his na-Baron for support, who in turn withdraws the blade — you think, in a disconnected way, that it’s over — and then plunges the blade back in again.
In. Out. In. Out.
Horror swallows you and you have nowhere to go as the soldiers maintain their tight formation. You cry at them to move please but they refuse to budge, undoubtedly in an effort not to join their fallen comrade. When it dawns on you that you’re trapped, you spin around, eyes wide.
Feyd-Rautha contemplates the bloody blade, glinting in the light of the braziers, then asks, “Does anyone else wish to prove their loyalty?”
“N-No, na-Baron.” The soldiers genuflect, a gesture unbefitting of this man — this monster — and all but scurry away, leaving you alone and completely vulnerable.
Your entire form trembles.
Feyd-Rautha, with nowhere else to direct his attention now, affixes you with a glare.
“State your name and business.”
You breathe out your name. “I-I’m a missionary.”
“A missionary. How curious.” Feyd-Rautha moves closer. You hold yourself as still as you can, willing yourself not to glance at the blade.
“You killed him,” you whisper. You can’t think to say anything else.
“I did.”
“But why? He wasn’t —”
“Does your god not challenge you? Ask for you to demonstrate your loyalty through hardships? Do you not swear fealty to him every day with your prayers and your mass?”
You swallow, summoning your courage. “You’re going to liken yourself to God?”
Feyd-Rautha’s lips twitch upwards the slightest amount, amused, and a kernel of anger forms inside you at the sight.
“He would never do such a thing,” you continue, invigorated, “He is a kind and merciful God.”
“Then perhaps that is why he must send young women out to spread the word of his greatness,” he rasps, “while everyone knows who I am.”
You look away, ashamed of the powerful hatred that you have for him. You hate that he’s right. More people tremble before the wrath of Feyd-Rautha than worship at God’s feet. The Father of your childhood congregation often said that love was greater than fear, but was that true?
Love embraced you, comforted you. It was a warm, nurturing presence, lulling you to sleep. But fear was a blade at your throat, alerting the senses. You could not be complacent in its care.
“Come with me,” Feyd-Rautha says.
“Are you taking me to see the Baron?”
“No.”
“I must make an audience with him.” You cling to this like a drowning man to a lifesaver.
“I’ll save you the displeasure.” Feyd-Rautha wipes his blade on his pants before sheathing it. “My uncle wishes to appeal to the Emperor. He’s going to…entertain you as long as it takes to appear compliant to his whims.”
In your pocket, you clutch your rosary. “I would like to hear that from his own mouth.”
“Trust me. You don’t.” Feyd-Rautha pauses as if to say more but ultimately does not, rolling his tongue in his cheek. He sighs. “I must confess, my present company leaves me…uninspired. But you intrigue me. This place hardly fosters real discourse, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Oh, well —”
“Join me in my quarters.”
“Your quarters?” You stare at him in surprise.
“It offers the privacy and refinement such a conversation deserves.” The intensity in which he regards you is equally unnerving and flattering.
When has anyone taken an interest in you, beyond the necessary?
Besides, it’s not like you can decline this man. You wouldn’t want to meet the end of his blade, too. And is also your host, in a way, so you simply dip your chin in acquiesce.
Feyd-Rautha, never one to be denied, turns like he expects your subservience. This fans your anger, but you quickly, mentally recite a prayer, searching for guidance. You were here to convert the people of Giedi Prime, weren’t you? Even if it was just a scheme like Feyd-Rautha said, you could do good work. Help people. Though, as you fixed your gaze on the na-Baron’s shoulders, staying a step behind him, you wondered if some people simply could not be helped.
It does not evade you that this man had just killed one of his own soldiers, and was now going about his business as if it never happened. You linger in the doorway of his quarters as he removes his jacket and folds it carefully over a settee. A mesh undershirt beneath reveals the sharp contours of his body and once again you’re forced to look away, should the heat in your cheeks betray you.
Feyd-Rautha motions for you to join him. The antechamber hosts a sunken inner circle with plush couches, which you select purely based on distance from the na-Baron, who has ambled leisurely to a set of floor-to-ceiling windows, his back turned to you.
“What do you hope to achieve here, Sister?”
The question surprises you. “I-I hope to bring salvation.”
“I must admit, the notion of bringing salvation to Giedi Prime seems almost comical.” He pivots slightly, sunlight limning his face. “What do you think it is these people lack? Faith, purpose?”
“They lack hope, na-Baron. Faith offers the downtrodden a light in the darkness, a way to endure the suffering that surrounds them.” The words are strangely reminiscent of what you said only this morning.
“My people thrive on ambition, Sister, not hope. But you speak as if you know their suffering intimately. Tell me, what does your faith teach about the flesh — about living?”
“The flesh is but a vessel for the soul,” you recite, “though I suspect you already knew that. To indulge it too greatly is to invite ruin. True fulfillment comes from rising above worldly desires, finding peace in service to others and to God.”
The na-Baron turns fully to face you. He prowls closer, dark eyes glinting. “Isn’t that denial? To deny the flesh, to reject the gifts of sensation and pleasure, is that not to deny the Creator’s handiwork itself? Are we not meant to embrace what we are given?”
“Pleasures of the flesh are fleeting, na-Baron, distractions from the path of righteousness. To fall victim to them is to stray from God’s will.”
The answer falls from your lips with ease, like petals from a flower. But your chest tightens with each of his questions — have you not wondered these things yourself, late at night? There’s no way that Feyd-Rautha could possibly know this about you, but he’s looking at you like he can see every thought stripped bare, like the proof of your doubt is imprinted on your forehead.
Feyd-Rautha halts just inches away, having joined you in the sunken level of the antechamber. His presence eclipses all else, voice rolling down your spine like an ill-fated caress. “How, then, can you claim to know life? Tell me, Sister, have you ever felt something so deeply it consumes you? Have you ever surrendered, if only for a moment, to something greater than your will?”
“I have surrendered my life to God, na-Baron. There is no greater fulfillment than that,” you reply, your voice strong but hands trembling at your sides. You clutch them.
“A convenient answer,” he muses. “You’ve lived by denial, which is not the same as transcendence. How can you claim to…save…my people if you don’t understand the depth of their desires? Their need to feel alive?”
“I seek to show them a path beyond their transgressions. I have no need to understand their indulgences to do so.”
“Hm.” Feyd-Rautha studies you. Up close, the softness of his mouth is infuriatingly inviting, the obvious strength in each movement calling to your body in a way that you refuse to acknowledge. He does not touch you, but your skin burns as if he has. “You’re afraid. Afraid that if you allowed yourself to feel it, to experience it, you’d discover how much you’re missing.“
“I came here to spread God’s word, nothing more,” you tell him. Unable to stand being so close to him, you turn away. His presence at your back is both daunting and exhilarating.
“Perhaps you’ve come here, Sister — not to save, but to be tempted.”
Sunlight slips through the small window and slants across the floor over the small altar that you’ve erected. It’s a private storage room that your hosts generously have let you carry out your morning and evening rituals in, kneeling on the hard ground and saying your prayers.
You’re not surprised when the door swings open in the middle of meditation a few days after your arrival, preceded by the thud of deliberate footsteps. “You spend a lot of time on your knees for someone who has never known pleasure,” the na-Baron says in way of greeting.
“I see you’re still concerned about my experience,” you reply. The amount of time you’ve had alone has given you ample opportunity to mull over your discord with Feyd-Rautha, and how you would proceed next. Strangely, you were looking forward to this interaction.
Feyd-Rautha steps into your view. He’s traded his jacket and mesh undershirt for a long, asymmetrical tunic; still the same piercing, menacing gaze. Today, however, you accept it gladly, chin thrust in the air.
“I intend to take you up on your…hospitality.”
A ripple of surprise crosses his features, gone before you can make anything out of it. “Do you?”
“You say that I cannot hope to save your people unless I understand their…ambitions.” You didn’t think you could say desires in front of him without stumbling over your words.
“Correct.”
“Then you will show me these indulgences.”
His brow quirks slightly. “I will?”
“And,” you add, ignoring his amused tone, “in return I will share with you the teachings of the Accumulated Book.”
Feyd-Rautha appears to consider this. He crouches down to your eye level, searching your face. The gesture is commanding and subservient all at once. Vulnerable, lowering to your level. But the na-Baron is so effortlessly powerful that he cannot completely divorce himself from it.
“Okay,” he rasps.
“Okay?”
“Did you expect an argument?”
“Well, you’re so fond of having them.”
“That,” he says, “was friendly discord. Not an argument.” Feyd-Rautha’s lips curl up. “You’ll know if we’re having an argument.”
You quickly make the sign of the cross, then rise to your feet, paralleling your former stance with the na-Baron. You can’t help but think he looks delighted at the shift and, heart fluttering, shove the observation aside. “Shall we?”
“You’re going to let me choose first?” He asks. “I thought perhaps we could do more work on our knees.”
“Morning ritual is over,” you say, lifting a shoulder like that explains it.
In reality, you had yet to decide what you actually wanted to teach Feyd-Rautha who, at least in your brief interactions, seemed familiar with the Orange Catholic Bible. You convinced yourself that if he started this transaction then you would find something equally as telling as his.
Summary: Feyd-Rautha’s ship crash lands near you, and you feel responsible to care for him as he struggles to regain his memory and heal from his injuries. When his past starts to close in, you’re left to wonder just how far for you will go for this volatile man you’ve fallen for.
Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha is his own trigger warning, smut, a bit of macabre - more tags to follow
Thanks to: the Project Feyd-Rautha Fandom ( @houserautha @psycheetamore @seraphicsage @austinbutlerslovers @mystra-midnight @peageetibbs-ab @sandwormrp @unicoo)
Want to re-read part 13? Here it is.
You hesitate. You know you’ve already made up your mind before he even asks but still you can’t help but hold your breath. “How can I trust you? Everything I’ve heard about you and your planet, what would I be to you?” He takes a step closer, his hand forming a fist and dropping to his side. For a moment you think he’s giving up and planning on leaving without you. Until you meet his eyes, that fierce determination is still there, as if he’s completely unwilling to let you go. There’s also confusion, as if he doesn’t truly understand what you’re asking him.
“What does that even mean? ‘What would you be to me’, has the time we spent together not shown you?”
“You are not Alejo, I think you’ve made that clear. I don’t want to be some girl among a hundred that you pick up and drop whenever you wish. I can’t live like that.” Somehow, despite your words, you know you would. You love him, Alejo or Feyd, whatever he calls himself. The idea of being without him hurts more than the pain of becoming some sort of plaything for him.
"Let me prove it to you." When you hesitate, he adds, "Pretty words won't convince you."
You smile wryly. "They won't."
"Come with me. If I do not prove what you are to me, then you can leave. I'll see to it."
"And you'll let me leave?"
His jaw clenches. "If that's what you desire."
Feyd seems less than happy to comply to this, but it's a start. You consider joining him on his planet, how different it would be from your life leading up to meeting this infuriating man. You should've known from the first day that nothing would ever be the same.
"I can't make a decision like this." You gesture vaguely at your surroundings, the darkness that's started clinging to the trees. "Let's go back."
Thunder rolls in the distance. By the look on his face, Feyd might as well have summoned it.
"No."
"It's getting dark. We don't want to run into another one of those...things," you say with a shudder. "Unless you have more explosives?"
"You'll decide here."creatures
"It's a big decision," you argue. “I’d rather not make it while wondering what’s going to hunt me next.” A crack of lightning. “And it’s storming.”
The same hand that extended such a gentle invitation, punctuated by a soft please, snaps out faster than you can react. His fingers curl around your jaw and squeeze. Feyd murmurs, almost lovingly, “You will decide here. Tell me.”
You’re not sure what you’re doing. Your heart is pounding thunderously, and the proximity of his body to yours is nearly enough to make all of your resolve unravel. Something about him just sears through you like wild fire — white hot and all consuming, and instead of trying to tame it, you let it raze all of your better senses.
In reply to his demand, you bite down on his thumb.
The leather of the glove is tough and salty. When he backhands you, it whips across your cheek with a delicious sting.
“Don’t pretend like there’s ever been any other answer than yes,” he seethes at you, “denying the inevitable is futile.”
The sky cracks open. Rain pours down on you both in a torrential current, instantly wetting you to the bone. A cosmic intervention.
Feyd grabs you by the waist and crashes his mouth into yours.
You should resist, push him away. But you don’t.
Denying the inevitable is futile. Isn’t that what’s been happening all along? Denying that the entire trajectory of your life hasn’t been irreversibly changed, denying your feelings? Denying that the answer is, indeed, yes.
Feyd is anything but gentle as he holds your face in both hands, kissing you with a passionate urgency. Desire rises to meet the painful burn in your cheek. You clamor for him all the same, hands roaming over his body like you want to consume him entirely. It’s a clashing, messy effort, two soldiers on a battlefield fighting for the same liberation.
“Get down on the ground,” Feyd orders. Rain streaks down the marble bannister of his cheekbones, pools down his neck into the hollow at the base of his throat.
You sink to your knees. Feyd nudges his boot into your shoulder, pushing you onto your back. Mud has already started to form on the ground, and the sound of the storm rumbles overhead. There’s another flash of lightning as he stands over you, silhouetting his broad form. He’s palming himself through his armored pants, and the sight of his strained cock stirs something primal inside you.
Feyd lingers, watching over you long enough to make you squirm with impatience. There’s no saying what he sees as you lay there in the wet earth, a bed of mud and undergrowth and blood.
“It seems you want me to prove myself first,” he muses, more to himself than you. Feyd kneels, parting your knees to rest between them. “Is that right?”
You nod. He won’t get any form of yes, yet.
Feyd peels your pants down your hips. They cling to your skin, wet and dirty and bloody, and he growls. There’s the flash of a blade, and then he’s cutting away the protective fabric and removing it to reveal your naked form to him. A chill settles over you as the rain falls. You lift your hips up to avoid the unpleasantness of the mud, and he takes it as an invitation, bringing his face first to your navel, nose brushing downward.
His mouth hovers over your skin, the one thing you’re desperate to feel. Like he knows this, he continues past your center, down to your thigh.
“It’s infuriating, hmm? Not getting what you want.”
“Don’t do this,” you breathe out.
Feyd stops near the inside of your knee. “All I need is a simple answer.”
You grit your teeth. Both out of determination and the fact that he’s blown a stripe of warm air over your aching cunt, further pushing you towards desperation.
Feyd parts you with his gloved fingers, dark eyes drinking in every inch of you. You need his mouth, his fingers, something. You can’t take that he’s just playing with you like this. Feyd draws one finger down your center, inciting a full body quiver to erupt from your core down to your limbs. The finger follows the path back up, then presents itself before your mouth.
Swallowing thickly, you open your mouth and suck the wetness from his gloved fingers. The tough surface glides over your teeth, your tongue, and you’re reluctant to let go.
He smirks like he knows. “Just say yes, pet.”
You growl in way of reply. Feyd’s huff of amusement fans over you, then he plunges his gloved fingers inside you. A yelp escapes you, hips lifting off the ground as he stretches you out, fingers stroking you at a quickening pace. The storm rages around you but all you can focus on is his careful ministrations, practiced, knowing exactly how to make you see stars.
You’re gasping for air by the time he withdraws, the haze of your impending orgasm fading at the edges. “Feyd,” you growl again.
He traces your entrance again. “You know what I want,” he replies.
And so it goes on — Feyd fucking you with his fingers until you reach the end and then revoking your pleasure, over and over until you feel like you might burst. You’re howling by the end of it, not caring that you might summon something from the forest, not caring that your cries are drowned out in the thunder.
The whole forest seems to bow to Feyd, react to his touch like you, a force more powerful than nature. Finally, with tears streaming down your face, you whimper, “Fine!”
Feyd pauses, this time with his fingers inside you and his thumb circling your clit. “Fine, what?”
“Fine, I’ll —” you wince, wiggling with impatience, “— I’ll go with you.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Feyd doesn’t even bother pushing his pants all of the way off before he positions himself above you. His cock nudges into your belly. He instructs, “Lay on your stomach.”
You obey. The smell of your sex mingles with that of the earth and the rain. There’s no sweeter bliss than when Feyd’s hands grip onto your hips and he guides you up, ass in the air. He wastes no time notching his cock at your entrance.
“I don’t care to be delayed in my desires,” he murmurs to you. A handful of your hair ends up in his fist, yanking your head back. “Do you understand?”
“Y-Yes,” you stammer back. Tears well in your eyes again, pain pricking across your scalp.
“Good.”
Feyd shoves you down. One large hand on the back of your head, the other at your hip, he thrusts himself inside you. You cry out. No matter how many times he fucks you, you’ll never be used to his sheer size. Feyd forces your head into the mud, which squelches beneath you each time his hips rock into yours, fervent and punishing. Mud invades your mouth, your nose.
You sputter against it but he never relents, if only going faster, harder, threatening to cleave you in half. He’s muttering something angrily, something about making him wait, but you can’t make it out clearly over the blood rushing in your ears. Your body screams out at you to fight, to breathe, but there’s a fine balance in the panic — you know he won’t let anything happen to you.
This is his punishment, his vulnerability, revealing to you how much your hesitance has bothered him. Feyd only knows violence as a tool for absolution.
It doesn’t take long for you to come, choking on mud as you inhale, sputtering at the taste. It coats the back of your throat. Feyd lifts your head long enough to praise you. “Good girl,” he cooes. “Say it again. Yes.”
You’re heaving in large mouthfuls of air. But you manage to gasp out, “Yes.”
“Again.” He grunts as he ruts into you.
“Yes,” you say.
“I’ll prove myself to you over and over,” he swears, his thrusts growing uncoordinated, punctuating each word, “As many times as I need.”
“Feyd, please,” you beg. You’re close again, and you can tell that he is too.
You move together like the storm, Feyd the rolling thunder, you the lightning that crashes in response. It encompasses you both. There’s no telling who comes first, both of your euphoric cries lost in the flurry of rain. Feyd’s cock twitches in you, and he removes himself gently, tucking himself back in his pants before turning you back around.
There’s a tenderness in his otherwise sharp face.
No words can effectively capture this moment. So you kiss him, gently, on the mouth.
“There’s a river not far from here,” he tells you.
You nod. Exhaustion wraps itself around your bones. And now that you’re not, er, preoccupied, the pain in your ankle returns full force. Not to worry. Feyd scoops you up in his arms and carries you the short distance to the river. Despite the storm, it’s fairly calm, enough that he steps into it without trouble.
Feyd washes the mud from your hair, your face, studying you to ensure that it’s completely gone. Only after you’re cleaned — as best as you can be — he washes himself. He removes the shirt under his chest armor and gives it to you to wrap around your waist.
There’s a hint of a smile on his face when he turns to you. “Let’s go home.”
me as a kid reading Dune: I appreciate the detailed world-building that justifies why everyone fights with swords and has mental powers, but the idea of a Butlerian Jihad against computers is pretty silly
me in 2025, trying desperately to find the three (3) places you need to go to to disable the latest helpful AI assistant that's inserted itself into my work chat and is advising me to do things that would be a breach of federal law: Oh Now I Get It
