#Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

perlelune · 2 months

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Play with Fire | Feyd-Rautha

Your secret tryst with the na-Baron should have ended the moment you returned to your betrothed on Caladan. And it would have, if your lover was willing to let you go.

Warnings: NON-CON, Knife Play, Blood Play, Breeding Kink, Jealousy, Cheating, Blackmail, Murder, Slight Paul Atreides x Reader, Incest

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

A raspy moan erupts from Feyd-Rautha’s throat as your slick walls squeeze around his hard cock. Your head tosses back, pleasure swirling through your core. Your nails rake across his sculpted, ivory chest and he purrs. You bury them in his flesh, scattering crimson lines across his skin. His hands curl around your hips as he thrusts into you more vigorously. You dig your heels into the rumpled sheets, your mind blanking as his pelvis massages your bundle of nerves.

You chew on your lip, willing yourself to be more quiet. The most arduous task considering the mind-blowing sensations coursing through your heated flesh. Your reputation hinges upon it. If anyone brushed past the na-Baron’s chambers and recognized your voice…you would be ruined.

What a lewd picture the two of you must paint from afar. You, a proper lady from a noble house of Caladan, riding Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen’s cock with wanton abandon, your dress bunched around you, sweat glistening off your panting frame. The Harkonnen heir-designate is in quite a disheveled state himself, grunting below you, his dark gaze hazy with lust.

“You are a goddess, my darling,” he lauds.

The echo of his gruff baritone ripples across your skin. Feral need bleeds from his words, his ravenous gaze riveted to your writhing form above him. It’s evident the na-Baron is basking in this sight, his tongue flicking through his lips every once in a while. The trail of his dusky eyes goes from your bouncing chest to your entrance, greedily sucking every inch of his length.

“Then fuck me like a god would,” you dare him with a smug smile. A risky move, particularly considering how deep inside you he already is, pulling broken moans from you each time his taut hips meet yours. But you want to push his buttons even more, see how far you can take it.

Grazing the flickering candlelight isn’t enough. You want a blazing inferno to engulf you whole.

You cock your eyebrow and sneer, “I expected more from such a great warrior.” You grab the long silver dagger lying beside him. Feyd-Rautha hardly goes anywhere without a deadly weapon nearby. His bed is no different. You push the tip against his throat. “Fuck me as if your life depended on it, na-Baron…because it does.”

Most men would cower at such words. But Feyd-Rautha isn’t most men. A wild glint of excitement blooms in his orbs. His throat bobs, a look of satisfaction so intense crossing his features, you wonder if he’ll spill himself inside you right at that moment.

He welcomes the threat upon his life like the most wondrous gift, making no move to shirk away from the sharp edge kissing his throat. Bliss decorates his features as you nick him in various spots with the blade, lingering so he feels every ounce of the sting when his flesh is sliced. Your blade curves meticulous patterns in his ivory flesh, drawing raspy moans and elated growls from him. You spread your hand across his chest, pressing your palm into the fresh wounds. Dark blood is smeared across his pale chest. The na-Baron moans at your touch, the pain delighting him. He embraces it as much as the pleasure. Perhaps even more.

He accepts the challenge you give him. A squeal shoots through your lips as he flips your bodies, forcing you on your stomach. He pushes the flowing fabric of your dress up until your dripping folds are bare to him. A shiver of anticipation courses through you when his thick tip presses against your weeping entrance. The blade slips through your fingers, a soundless scream parting from your throat when he slams his cock into you from behind.

The metallic taste of your own blood rains on your tongue when you bite your lip, confining every sound fighting to be unleashed. He wraps his hand around your nape, shoving your head into the mattress, allowing you no time to gather your breath. Each of his thrusts is brutal and unforgiving. He ruins your walls without a care. You find yourself almost wishing you didn’t agitate the beast inside him. Almost. If the sinful dance of torment and bliss weren’t so entrancing, perhaps you would regret it.

His muscular frame covers yours. His scorching breath glosses over the back of your neck as he inquires, “Does my cock meet your high standards, my Lady?”

Your chest heaves as you whimper underneath him. You are so delirious with both pain and pleasure that it’s hard to even think coherent words, let alone utter them. Feyd tears you from your haze with a pointed pinch on your swollen bundle of nerves, making you cry out.

“It’s…a-adequate, my Lord,” you stutter between panting breaths.

“Just adequate?” he scoffs. “Well, this will not do.”

Determined to have you choke on every taunt you threw at him, the na-Baron isn’t satisfied until you’re passed out underneath him. He finds his release as your walls spasm around him. Even as you’re on the cusp of collapse, you urge him to pull out, coaxing him to spill himself over your belly. A sliver of annoyance passes over his features before he surrenders to your wishes. Relief fills you when his warm, sticky seed coats your stomach.

You doubt your fiancé would respond well to you returning with a Harkonnen bastard growing in your womb.

As you wipe yourself with a damp cloth on the edge of the bed, you inform, “My mother and I are returning to Caladan tomorrow.” He doesn’t acknowledge you at first, sitting with his leg bent, completely unabashed in his nakedness. You let your gaze roam over his smooth, hairless muscled flesh. It’s a pleasant sight, one you commit to memory. You’ve enjoyed your time with the na-Baron. And not only did you enjoy yourself, you’ve shed the fear you harbored regarding your wedding night. You loathed the idea of being some shivering, terrified maiden before your husband. You long for more. Giving pleasure but also receiving it. Reciprocity.

Feyd’s head turns. His alabaster face betrays no emotion. He observes, “This was a brief trip.” He tilts his head. “Must I expect your next visit to end as swiftly?”

Mirth tugs the corners of your lips skyward. You crawl towards him.

“There will be no more visits.”

His jaw ticks.

“Is that so?”

You cup his cheek and state, “I am to be married soon.”

A hint of possessiveness flashes across his stony features. Subtle, but there nonetheless. You’ve learnt to decipher the minute shifts in his expression in the two weeks you have spent on Giedi Prime.

He snickers.

“To some lesser man, I reckon.”

You bend over his shoulder. A teasing lilt sneaks into your voice.

“Are you seized by jealousy, my lord, consumed with burning rage at the thought of another man touching me in the ways you have…” Your lips graze his earshell. “Perhaps even being inside me?”

His hand shoots out to clasp around your throat.

“Jealousy is for the weak,” he grates, his cheek pulsing. You smirk. Stoking the flames of his ire often yields…interesting results.

“Then does that make you your weakness, na-Baron?” you jest boldly.

The hand around your throat tightens, impeding your airways. A whine escapes through your lips. He hauls you off the bed and shoves you onto the floor.

“Darling…” he warns, his grip around your neck unwavering. “You speak too much when your mouth should be full of me. On your knees.”

You scowl at his imperious inflection but comply regardless. This is your last encounter with Feyd-Rautha. The last time you bend to his whims. While you’re not fond of his tone, you can discard your disgruntlement for a brief time.

You wrap your fingers around his length. Your dauntless gaze rises to meet his as you start planting kisses along the dark, swollen tip of his pale cock.

“Your wish is my command, my Lord na-Baron,” you whisper teasingly.

You never expected to entertain a secret affair with Feyd-Rautha of all men. For the entirety of your girlhood, you heard horror stories about the Harkonnen, how ruthless and cruel they are, how their wasteland of a planet is a cold, inhospitable rock.

So when your mother announced the two of you would be going on a diplomatic trip to Giedi Prime, you weren’t thrilled. In fact, fear surged through you that day. You kept picturing some awful thing happening as soon as you landed. You thought it to be a punishment, and wondered if perhaps you had offended Leto Atreides and his family in some form without realizing it.

However your parents explained the idea stemmed from a clumsy attempt at quelling the long-standing rivalry between House Atreides and House Harkonnen. Keep those tensions from building into an all-out interstellar war.

While Duke Leto Atreides will not risk his son’s life for a last ditch attempt at peace, the lives of members of a House Minor who swore him allegiance many years ago are more…expendable you suppose.

It is how you, daughter of an Earl with close ties to house Atreides, found yourself on Giedi Prime. Your father voiced his hopes that your sweet disposition would rub off on Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen as he bid you goodbye.

Perhaps that plan worked a bit too well.

You barely understood how it happened. How your path and Feyd-Rautha’s collided in such an...unexpected way.

It all started the day you watched him - admired him truly - through your binoculars as he performed in the gladiator arena. That day, a hundred doors opened up inside you, each clamoring to be crossed. Like a castle brimming with rooms you never explored.

The spectacle of death should have repulsed you. Instead, you found his bellicose dance over the sand as the crowd cheered him on fascinating. You were unable to tear your gaze away that day. Inexplicably drawn to something twisted and sick you shouldn’t crave, yet did anyway. You found yourself wondering if those deft, pale fingers are as apt with…other things as they are with blades. It kept you awake at night and obliterated every other thought. How he’d be like. What he tasted like. What it would take to coax out that ferocity you saw in the arena in wildly different circumstances. That strange, irresistible force kept pulling you into his orbit.

So one day, you surrendered to it and snuck into his chambers, offering him your maidenhood. And he took it without hesitation.

In a life in which every decision is made for you, either by your mother, or your father or the Bene Gesserit…It is freeing to finally make a choice for yourself, one that only serves you and not the ends of a mysterious sisterhood whose obscure prophecies mean nothing to you.

However, while you have plucked a modicum of gratification from this affair, it must end. For not only are you spoken for but, during your time on Giedi Prime, you have borne witness to the depth of the na-Baron’s heartlessness.

While you admire his prowess in the arena, you resent his disregard for human life. You’ve trembled as you watched him slaughter servants to test the sharpness of his weapons, slice a cook’s throat for bringing him a meal he found under-seasoned or not warm enough, gut innocent bystanders simply because he had the impulse to do it.

Feyd-Rautha is a mercurial beast. A prime example of the Harkonnens’ capacity for unprovoked, gratuitous violence.

Therefore a flurry of comfort flows you through at the prospect that you’ll be going home soon, back to Caladan’s familiar, flourishing landscapes. Whatever thrill the affair elicited before is beginning to wear off. You long to be home and return to your fiancé.

However that sense of peace crumbles when you return to your chambers that night and find your mother waiting for you on the bed. You smooth out the wrinkles in your dress. It’s useless. The evidence must be all over you because she stomps in your direction, a wild look of rage distorting her usually demure features.

“Have you lost your sanity?” she roars.

You shake your head, feigning ignorance.

“Mother, I have no idea-”

It’s not until the sharp ringing of your mother’s palm flying across your face fills your ears that you realize that she just hit you, the searing sting of pain spreading belatedly. Almost like time stood still in the crux of that instant, leashed by your shock and disbelief. Your mother has never laid hands on you before. Not even once.

Your wide eyes find hers.

She shakes a berating finger at you.

“Do not lie to me, child. How many kinds of an idiot do you believe me to be?” Your mouth shudders as you clutch your throbbing cheek. The strength with which your mother struck you still pulses right below your fingertips. “You even reek of his foul stench. My own flesh and blood…smelling like a filthy Harkonnen whore.”

Your face burns, from both pain and shame.

“You foolish girl.” Her gaze narrows as she leans back, gulping a wide lungful before speaking again. “After your father and I moved the heavens to secure a worthy match for you?” She shakes her head. “You are lucky we are leaving tomorrow and that your father will not hear a word of this.” She pauses, sadness and disgust tinging her tone. “You were such a sweet, kind little girl, so curious and clever, always clinging to my skirts…” Your mother sighs. “So dutiful. What mistake did I make in raising you for you to become such an utter disappointment?”

Your heart shrinks under her accusing glare. A sheet of guilt pervades you as you fall silent, finding no word to stand up to your mother. She is right. Reality crashes over you. You were in a haze, a lust-driven fog. Now you’re wide awake, as if a bucket of freezing water was poured over you. You have besmirched yourself and your house, tossing away your virtue for…what? Ephemeral moments of delight. The more you mull over your actions, the more you realize how impulse-driven and dangerous they were…that all of it was a mistake.

Your mother’s words drop a hot stone of shame in the pit of your stomach, one that remains lodged inside you even as you land on Caladan. Not a single word is exchanged between the two of you in the brief time you sit together in the starship transporting you back home. Instead, a heavy silence rife with animosity fills the air.

You’re grateful Feyd-Rautha is notably absent the day of your departure. You don’t have the fortitude to peer at him, face your mistakes. And it’s what he is. The walking, breathing embodiment of your mistakes.

So in the ephemeral span of time required for time and space to fold and bring you back home, you sink back into your role of virtuous and demure lady of your house.

As you and your parents disembark, you let your eyes soak in Caladan’s beautiful landscapes. Lush, green plains fill your sight, their familiarity sending a wave of calm through you. Finally, you’re home. Light-years away from bloodthirsty warriors and caliginous planets with blotted skies rife with smoke and pollution. You are ready to bury the entire ordeal behind you and return to normalcy.

Expectedly, the Atreides clan is there to welcome you and your parents back home.

A small smile appears on Paul’s face when your gaze lands on him. Your stomach knots as you return it. He can never learn what occurred on Giedi Prime. That secret will follow you to your grave. You approach him, pointedly ignoring your mother’s sizzling stare.

Her apprehension permeates through you even from where you are. There can be no other mistakes.

Your match with Paul Atreides must be a success. For both your house’s sake and the safe continuation of the Bene Gesserit’s breeding program. The pinnacle of centuries of scheming and puppeteering from the shadows. Your mother impressed it upon you many times over the years. How the purity of the bloodlines must be preserved. How all of it serves to bring humanity closer to its age of enlightenment. And while you are not so conceited to believe you will bring forth the long-awaited Kwisatz Aderach…you understand your role in producing an offspring that perhaps may nudge the sisterhood closer to that goal.

You suppress the tremor in your hand as your cousin plucks your hand to kiss the back of it.

“May we walk together for some time?” he inquires.

Relief swells inside you. Chatting away from prying ears is a welcome prospect, the combined scrutinies of both your families flaring your nerves. You can even feel Lady Jessica’s attention on you now. What if your mother’s half-sister saw right through you? Your aunt’s sharp Bene Gesserit’s senses have always stirred a vague unease within you. Today even more so, as you choke on so many secrets you can barely breathe.

“With pleasure,” you respond, accepting his hand as he guides you away from the welcoming committee.

The two of you engage in a tranquil stroll across the grassy field.

“I trust your journey went well, cousin,” Paul says.

Flashes of torrid nights spent in a bed you shouldn’t be in force their way inside your mind. You quell the pesky memories, your brows knitting.

You coax a demure smile onto your features.

“It was a…learning opportunity. One I wholly embraced.”

Naturally, you spare your soon-to-be husband the details of what it is you learned and with who.

Your fiancé nods.

“It sounds delightful.” His green eyes soften as he mumbles, “You were missed.”

“By you, my Lord?” you beam, happiness fluttering through you.

Over the last few months, since the official announcement of your betrothal, your fondness for Paul grew the more time you two shared. The crush you harbored for him as a child blossomed into more, his kindness and nobility of heart winning you over. But you never expected him to reciprocate those feelings.

A hint of pink dusts Paul’s cheeks. Straightening his spine, he clears his throat.

“Many…including myself,” he answers evasively.

Your smile widens. “I would hope my betrothed noticed my absence.”

Warmth rushes through you as replies, his tone dropping, “It was definitely noticed, my Lady.”

He suddenly falls quiet. Thoughts seem to lurk in his mind, causing a deep frown to carve his brow.

Concern tickles your insides.

“Is something troubling you, my Lord?”

He hesitates, his thin lips squeezing before he reveals, “Mother believes I should take you as concubine, not as a wife, in case another marriage prospect presents itself to me.”

You ponder his words. It does not surprise you coming from your cunning aunt, that she would encourage her son to keep his options open the way his father did. A sliver of bitter disappointment percolates through your chest. Being Paul Atreides’ concubine would have its range of perks. You could stand beside him, share his bed and perhaps even a genuine love one day. One as deep and true as the one his parents have nurtured for years.

But it would also mean that while you’d undeniably be his, Paul would never truly be yours…that he could become someone else’s overnight to secure some treaty or alliance with another house.

Still, you conceal the panic rushing through you with a meek nod.

“It would be a clever move,” you say. You hold his eyes. “What did the Duke say?”

“That he regrets not making my mother his Duchess everyday.”

He seizes your hands, his fingers curling tightly around yours. Determination steels his olive gaze. “I do not wish to repeat my father’s mistakes,” he states.

The worry building inside you is stifled by his soft reassurance.

“That is a relief to hear, my Lord.”

As Paul’s fond gaze rests on you however, guilt creeps inside you once more, your mind wandering to the debauchery you surrendered to on Geidi Prime. Self-loathing fills you.

You tear your hands from his, your focus tumbling to the ground.

“Are you unwell, my Lady?” he asks, his tone dripping with concern.

You shake your head, giving a false smile.

“It’s nothing. I was simply lost in my thoughts,” you lie.

Interest blooms in his green orbs. “Would you care to share them with me?”

The blood in your veins freezes. You pale to think how Paul, your beloved, his beautiful eyes overflowing with love and trust, would look at you if he knew. The mere thought makes you queasy. He can never know.

“I was simply overwhelmed with excitement at the thought of our union, my Lord.”

He accepts your explanation without a shadow of doubt in his eyes. He takes your hands in his again, fervently promising, “I am aware that greater forces may have rushed our union, but I want you to know. I will love and cherish you with my whole heart.”

For several days, you get to bask in your renewed peace, finding solace in returning to your habits and focusing on the wedding preparations. While your mother’s coldness remains, you don’t let her behavior cast a pale on your happiness. Besides, she will be compelled to acknowledge your efforts over time, how much you strive to do nothing but bring pride to your house. You may have faltered on Giedi Prime, yielded to your baser instincts. But it is all in the past.

The dusky planet will fade. Feyd-Rautha will fade. And soon, memories of your life with Paul will replace those fleeting moments of weakness.

So, for a while, all is well, your mind at rest and your spirits lifted. All is well... until nothing is.

Until a handmaiden brutally tears you from your slumber one morning.

“My lady, you must awake now,” she whispers, urgency laced in her tone.

“Arisha…The Devil himself must sleep at this hour,” you groan, burying your head in your soft, comfortable pillow.

A Harkonnen ship just pierced through the Caladan exosphere. Its landing is imminent.”

Dread shoots through you.

The news has you leaping out of bed, abruptly hurling you into a state of complete wakefulness.

You whirl towards her.

“A Harkonnen ship?” you screech, your voice wavering.

“Yes, my Lady,” Arisha confirms.

Your mind throbs as alarm pulses through you. A Harkonnen ship…here on Caladan? This isn’t just strange. It is unprecedented.

“Help me get dressed, at once,” you command, already shedding your nightgown.

You rush to get ready, joining your family as they hop on an aircraft to reach the landing site. Your chest is tight the entire time.

When you arrive, a striking scene welcomes you. On one side of the large landing strip, the Atreides army stands proudly, flanking the Duke and his family, while on the other there is a Harkonnen battalion, accompanied by a large swarm of Sardaukar soldiers.

A thick layer of tension coats the air, so palpable you feel its weight on your skin as you join the Atreides’ side. Both sides are poised for battle, ready to draw their weapons and unleash hell if need be. The fresh morning Caladan breeze is heavy with the threat of imminent bloodshed. Your gaze drifts to the mighty Duncan Idaho. The swordmaster’s face is uncharacteristically stern, the usual cockiness he dons gone from his features.

You swallow past the dryness in your throat.

You pivot to Thufir Hawat, the Atreides’ mentat. A hushed question rushes through your lips. “Thufir, how much will it cost them, traveling this far from Giedi Prime to Caladan?”

The mentat’s orbs gloss over with a white veil as his genetically altered mind runs calculations faster than any regular human could. Within a few seconds, he supplies a precise answer. “Two guild navigators, a total of one million two hundred ninety thousand fifty three and a quarter solaris round trip, my Lady.”

You release a quivering breath. The cost of the trip alone has a pang of foreboding twist your insides. Who squanders such a vast amount of solaris over a courtesy visit in enemy territory?

Only a fool or a madman would do such a thing.

Your eyes travel across the field. A familiar dark gaze corrals yours. Your heart skips a beat. For brief seconds, familiar pale lips rise in a taunting smile.

A shudder rocks through your frame. You lower your eyes, keeping them on the grass.

Him? Here? On your beloved Caladan? Adrenaline pumps through your blood, your pulse spiking. A frown forms on your brow. Sense is amiss here. You thought him a beast, driven by nothing but violence and lust. But as you take in the scene unfolding before you, the two enemy armies trapped in a standstill, you understand more clearly.

This is not some impulsive, foolish attempt. This is a calculated move. No side can hurt each other this openly without annihilating each other and causing a global, intergalactic incident. The other houses of the Landsraad would be forced to declare allegiance for one side or the other. The Imperium would be compelled to respond. Chaos would erupt.

And it’s blatant the na-Baron knows it, a smugness etched on his face despite standing in enemy fields.

You are so consumed by your raging train of thoughts that you nearly miss the tail end of the conversation between the Duke, your father and him.

Shock bolts through you when you catch the suggestion that he should stay in your family’s estate.

Indignation pulses through your words.

“In our home, father?”

Your father shoots you a withering glance. Your head dips as you bite your tongue. No protest should have risen from it. As an Earl’s daughter, your opinion in such matters is irrelevant. So despite the frustration and horror swelling inside you, you bind every objection to the cage of your sealed lips.

His gristly, arrogant baritone booms across the field.

“In light of the…belligerent history House Harkonnen and House Atreides share, I believe it may be ill-advised for me to stay at Castle Caladan.” Despite your bowed head, you can paint a vivid picture of the haughty smile stretched on his lips as he says, “And since our two houses have grown undeniably close, thanks to your daughter’s most skilled, clever tongue...” Your heart races as you quietly pray no one present deciphers the lewd implication behind his words. “It is where I shall take residence for the duration of my stay.”

Later that same day, Feyd-Rautha wastes no time in finding you, making the purpose of his visit clear when he sneaks into your chambers. His reflection in your vanity mirror as you remove your headdress startles you.

You jump to your feet.

“Guards?” you call sharply.

He cocks his head, a smirk ghosting over his plump lips.

“Guards?” he repeats, openly mocking you. “I have Harkonnen soldiers at your door, my darling.”

A shudder ripples through your spine. You lift your chin, your tone firm and commanding as you say, “You can’t be here, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. It is inappropriate.”

He snorts.

“Inappropriate?” A predatory look crosses his features as his dark gaze roams over you, seeming to peel the layers of your dress. “I do not recall that being an issue when I had you spread over my cock back on Giedi Prime.”

Heat rushes to your face at his lewd reminder.

“Y-You must leave,” you insist, fighting to quell the tremor in your voice.

“Or what?” he challenges, taking slow, lithe steps in your direction. Your pulse soars. “Will you scream?” A crooked slant appears on his mouth, the prospect clearly filling him with great delight. He hums low in his throat. “Then how will you explain my presence in your chambers?”

You recoil, every hair on your body bristling as he inches closer. The realization that you are alone with him, with no help coming, that power you held before now robbed from you, has dread steadily mounting inside you. On Giedi Prime, he was a leashed monster, one you felt you could sway as you like. Here in your room, he is a ravenous creature, hungry for blood and retribution. One you no longer have control over.

You dash towards the exit. He smoothly impedes your attempt at escaping, his fingers fastening around your wrist while he grabs your body from behind. He yanks you backwards, pulling you against his chest.

“Not so fast,” he sneers. His tongue slips out to drag across your temple. You wince, jerking in his embrace to free yourself. You bend over him and sink your teeth in the flesh of his arm. He purrs in pleasure, his hold on you tightening. His gravelly whisper summons goosebumps on your skin. “Oh darling, such a slippery one you are, always trying to run from me whenever things start to become most…interesting.”

He hauls you to your bed. Your heels dig into the ground to resist. His patience fizzles out and he throws you onto the carpeted floor instead. The clamor of your drumming heart rises to a crescendo in your ears. He looms over you, his body caging yours. Terrorized, you gape at him, an helplessness you never felt before pulsing through your veins. Your chest heaves rapidly, alarm widening your gaze as he reaches down to pull down his black pants. His erect, alabaster cock slips free, the swollen tip already shimmering with the evidence of his need. A scream dies in your throat when his fingers wrap around your neck, bruises already forming in his painful grip.

You thrash beneath him, clawing and biting every part of him you can reach. Your feistiness only serves to galvanize him further. A demented look of amusement decorates his handsome face as you struggle underneath his frame. His throbbing length pokes your stomach. You kick your legs, desperation radiating through your chest. He places himself between your thighs, pushing your dress out of the way until it’s bunched around your waist. A raspy sigh leaves him as he nudges his thick, leaking tip against your dry entrance.

Terror sings through your veins.

He revels in every bit of fight you give him, plucking satisfaction in watching you exert yourself to delay the inevitable. A hungry wolf toying with a lamb before sinking his teeth. Even as you grab the dagger hidden under your skirts and try to stab him, he’s undeterred, the flicker of surprise shifting to a smile when you nick his shoulder blade. He wrenches it from your hand with little effort, once more demonstrating that whatever frail control you thought you ever had…was just an illusion. You squeal in pain as he twists your wrists above your head, his steely grip nearly snapping your bones.

“No…don’t you dare,” you hiss, the confidence in your voice faltering as you feel him push inside you.

His warm breath brushes over your face. “I traveled across the stars to find you again. I will take what is rightfully mine.”

Your back folds as he spears you with his cock. The room blurs around you, the sudden searing pain as he begins to move inside you almost knocking you unconscious. He never took you like that. Like an animal in heat, desperate to reach his high. You choke on your breath with every one of his quick, feral thrusts.

His lips sweep over yours, ravenous and possessive. You bite him and he growls, somehow growing harder inside you. His sick enjoyment of this makes you shudder. He fondles your soft flesh, groaning into the bloody kiss. Black teeth trail possessive bites along the quivering column of your neck. His hands feel everywhere on your reluctant flesh, the weight of him suffocating as his greedy mouth tastes yours.

“You thought you could toy with me and toss me aside when it pleased you,” he rumbles, squeezing your jaw. His fingers dig painfully into your cheeks. “I am Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. I am not some spoiled little princess’ toy.”

The last remnants of bravado inside you are swiftly pushed by the hasty, merciless snap of his hips into yours. You try to ignore the horrid heat gathering in your lower belly, the spasms rocking through your core every time he hits those tender spots he’s come to know too well.

“I’m delighted to see your body hasn’t forgotten me, darling,” he taunts, yanking a drawn-out whimper from you as his cock punches through your walls.

Your chest grazes his, his form draping over yours as you sag against the floor of your bedroom, completely defeated.

“Please…” The desperate, feeble cry falls from your tongue in a last ditch effort to get him to stop. It only makes him smile down at you, a glint of victory illuminating his dark orbs. Tears well up in your eyes as you grow overwhelmed with fear, confused and terrified by the way your body yields to him. Your walls constrict around him, hugging his cock as if welcoming the assault. A wave of sickness spreads through you.

His tongue traces a slow path across your cheek, collecting the salty trails streaming down your face. He moans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Your tears taste sweeter than I could have imagined. Almost as sweet as that tight cunt of yours.” He licks his lips. “Perhaps I shall aim to make you cry for me more often.”

When his warm spent glazes your ruined walls, his sweat-covered muscular frame covers yours. He remains buried inside you, crudely pushing back the sticky excess with his fingers. You shiver beneath him, weeping quietly, forever destroyed, forever changed.

Head nestled in the crook of your neck, he whispers, “We shall see how well my seed blossoms in your garden, my darling.”

“I do not understand,” Paul says, turning a dismayed frown upon you. “You are to be his willing bride?”

Swallowing a deep breath, you recollect the events that have led you here. Led you to stand here before the members of House Atreides, before your fiancé, to announce that you will not marry Paul. Led to you disgracing yourself and your house.

The wayward memories slip through your grieving mind.

Focusing on their conversation is hard, the discomfort in your body making it hard to walk properly. Feyd-Rautha relishes your torment, occasionally tossing taunting glances at you above his shoulder, a secretive smirk hovering on his lips. Your fingers clench in your lap. He insisted your father give him a tour of the castle this morning, and as his supposed ‘friend’, you are naturally expected to be present. Nevermind the sickness and resentment taking hold of you whenever you look at him.

As the tour nears its end, your father asks, “Do you have everything you need, na-Baron, or do you require any further accommodations?”

Feyd-Rautha hums, as if he were truly mulling over this offer.

“Any further accommodations?” He smirks, pausing before resting his eyes on you. “I suppose your daughter’s hand in marriage will do.”

Your head snaps up, a stunned exhale bursting from your mouth.

Your father turns a puzzled frown towards the ivory-skinned young man.

“My daughter’s hand? Is this a joke?”

There isn’t a hint of mischief on the na-Baron’s face, his expression deadly serious, making your father realize…his request must be as serious. He halts in his tracks, the smile vanishing from his face.

Feyd-Rautha approaches your father, ordering rather than asking, “Cancel the match with Atreides, old man, and give your daughter to me instead.” He snickers. “Her virtue is already mine anyway.”

This sends your father into a blind rage. He draws out his sword and lunges himself at the na-Baron.

“You rascal. I will teach you-”

Your father was a great warrior once, a fearsome force on the battlefield. Duncan Idaho himself would attest to that, having fought at his side several times.

…But that was decades ago. Nowadays with his body slowed down by age, he is no match for the quick, ruthless Feyd-Rautha. He barely gets the opportunity to swing his sword at the young man once before Feyd-Rautha guides his blade below his chin and through his skull. Blood gurgles from your father’s mouth, raining over his neck and clothes before he falls into a heap on the floor.

Your stomach drops. You watch in horror at his split skull, matter spilling from it across the tiles, his rolled back eyes, his still open mouth.

You sink to the floor, crawling to his corpse. Fresh blood stains your palms as you cradle his head.

“Father!” Tears blur your sight. You lift your eyes, yelling out orders with a broken voice. “Guards! Detain him!”

Shock ripples through you as the guards ignore you, staring ahead blankly as if the gruesome scene before them didn’t exist.

Feyd-Rautha kneels at your side. He frames your chin, bending over your shoulder to whisper,

“Oh darling, do you not understand?” You hear the wicked smile in his raspy baritone. “Your house isn’t your house anymore. It is mine.” Ice bursts through your veins. His gravelly voice lowers, as if he were sharing a secret with you. “Do you wish for your sisters and mother to meet the same fate?”

Your chin wobbles in his grasp. “N-No.”

He strokes the side of your face.

“Then do everything I say.”

“Y-Yes, my Lord,” you reply with a tremulous nod.

Ire trembles through Paul’s voice, his fingers clenching into fists at his side. Disbelief and hurt contort his boyish features.

“I do not believe it. I do not believe you,” he says, pinning you with an unflinching stare. You lower your gaze. You can hardly believe it yourself. How your entire life fell apart, your future in ruins…your father’s blood now on your hands. You blink back budding tears and take a deep breath to thwart any hint of trembling in your voice. You’re grateful for the funeral veil concealing your expression. “I apologize for breaking the promise my father made.”

Paul’s jaw clenches.

“You’re lying.”

“Son…” Leto Atreides begins, a slight warning in his tone.

“There is something she isn’t telling me, father,” Paul insists, his green gaze narrowing. “Speak the truth.”

You shiver before feebly uttering, “My Lord…”

“Silence!” You flinch at the sudden wave of power engulfing you, forcing you into quietness as if someone snatched your tongue from your mouth. You release a shaky breath, staring up at Paul in shock. The Voice. Paul used the Voice on you. A Bene Gesserit skill meant to make the target bow to the user’s will. Your wide-eyed gaze rests on Paul. You never expected him to use this on you. As if you were some enemy he needed to interrogate.

His anger cracks in the air like a whip.

“I said…Speak the truth,” he snaps, using the Voice again.

A great pain settles in your body, pins and needles coursing through it. Sweat breaks out on your skin. Words tear from your throat on their own, aching as they spring from your tongue.

“I offered myself to him on Giedi Prime,” you blurt out.

Your hands fly to your mouth as soon as the words pour out of you. Your eyes fill with tears. Paul looks at you in a way he never has before. Like you’re a stranger. Your heart sinks.

“I see. So it is true.”

Meanwhile, at your side, Feyd-Rautha basks in every second of the spectacle, twisted mirth swaying in his dark orbs. He hasn’t said more than a few words during the whole exchange but it’s clear he’s plucking joy from this, reveling in your misery.

Paul nods, stepping away from you.

“You are dismissed, my Lady. You may go to your future husband.”

Paul’s icy timbre shatters what is left of your heart. He turns his back to you and you feel more alone than you ever have in your entire life. Your lips clamp shut, a cold wave setting all the way to your bones.

Even Paul’s parents, the Duke and your aunt the Lady Jessica appear disappointed in you, their eyes bereft of its usual warmth as they watch you leave with the enemy.

You have nothing, no one. Just the monster beside you. Your soon-to-be husband, who won your hand through bloodshed and deception.

Feyd-Rautha’s hand curls around your waist, guiding you towards his starship. With every step you take, further away from the Atreides castle, you feel more hollow.

“Come with me, my love. Let us go home to Giedi Prime,” the monster whispers.

You don’t put up a fight as you’re nudged inside the vessel, silently accepting your defeat. Feyd-Rautha plants a deep, slow kiss on your lips and you passively let it happen.

You admire the beautiful green fields of Caladan one last time before the doors close. An errant tear skips over your cheek. You likely will never see your planet again. And even if by some miracle you could return, you would be the enemy to all of them…even to your own family, who holds you responsible for Father’s untimely demise.

You peer down at your hands. If you let your mind wander, you start to relive that awful moment. That moment your father’s wet, warm blood coated your hands, dripping between your fingers. You will never wash off the stain, shed the guilt.

You wanted to feel the flames, experience the full-blown heat of something thrilling and new. Something you never had in your tedious, predictable existence before.

You in fact got to feel this heat. You walked through the fire and the flames consumed everything you held dear.

And now you stand amidst the ashes, everything you ever knew ripped from you forever.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #dune fanfiction #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha #dune #dune part 2 #feyd-rautha harkonnen #dark!fic

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cherienymphe · 2 months

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There Will Be Blood

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader x Lady Margot Fenring

Summary: Knowing that you are too afraid to ever find yourself alone with the Harkonnen heir, Lady Margot secures his heart's desire for his celebration day.

warnings: Dub-Con (use of the voice), blood, knifeplay, choking, threesome, mentions of cannibalism, non canon ages, spoiler free

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies

⭑

“She looks almost good enough to eat,” were the words that reached your ears in that low timbre, head tilted as he gazed at you. “I don’t know whether to feed her to my darlings…”

The feeling of his finger underneath your chin was almost nonexistent as he tilted your head up. You were too anxious to look away—his reputation preceding him—and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. You felt paralyzed, held captive by that dark blue gaze you swore was actually black as night in certain lighting.

“…or make her one of them.”

You swallowed at that, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the subtle movement.

He was referring to his ‘pets’ as you knew he sometimes called them, the three strikingly beautiful Harkonnen women with an appetite for human flesh. The thought of being killed and fed to the women in question made your heart skip a beat…but the thought of being added to his harem made you shudder.

…and you couldn’t tell if the feeling was good or bad.

Hands slid over your shoulders from behind, making you shiver again, and your lashes fluttered at the feeling of soft lips grazing your throat. You faintly tried to remember how and why you ended up here, and you could only recall staring into enticing blue eyes. Her familiar face was all that stood out in your memory, features soft and lips curved into an even softer smile. With all of that being said though, you couldn’t remember your thought process behind following her perfect figure down the hall.

Lady Margot Fenring—golden-haired and willowy with that Bene Gesserit serene repose about her that you found subtly disturbing.

Usually.

In this moment, her calm disposition and quiet authority made your heart race. She was a comforting contrast to the man before you, his intense gaze and sharp features serving to make your imagination run wild with what he was capable of. He was so different from his brother, vastly so from his uncle, but he still possessed similarities with the two that made you nervous all the same.

Especially with his hand so close to your throat.

“This one isn’t for consumption.”

Her lips brushed your skin as her soft and even tone filled your ears.

“Not in the literal sense, at least…” mirth colored her voice at this remark. “I saw you watching her.”

Those words made your heart sink, and you were sure that the brief stab of fear you felt passed through your eyes.

Feyd-Rautha was psychotic. He was the kind of man that would kill someone solely because he felt like it. He had an animalistic stare that made alarm bells go off in your head, telling you to never take your eyes off of him—to always keep him in your line of sight. He was the kind of man you couldn’t let your guard down around.

He was the kind of man you didn’t want watching you.

As if he could read your worrisome thoughts, a glint passed through the man’s eyes, and he leaned in closer. Not one to conceal his feelings in any situation, his expression twisted into one of amusement, a sight that made your hair stand on end. Those soft hands slid over your shoulders and down your arms, gently caressing them.

Don’t be afraid.

A voice that didn’t sound like your own filled your mind, its influence settling into your bones and deep into the crevices of your subconscious. You felt yourself relax, felt the tension leaving you, and her soft hum had you leaning back into her chest. You didn’t want to be afraid, and you felt confident in repeating those words to yourself, confirming that there was nothing to be afraid of.

“You want her,” her fingers grazed your jaw, briefly touching his own. “…but she fears you far too much to ever find yourself alone with her.”

“I like them afraid.”

Those words made you blink, your lips parting at the sincerity in them. By the way he held your gaze, you could tell he wanted you to know he meant it, but that voice in your mind assured you that you had nothing to be afraid of. Not when he leaned in closer, and not when his hand traveled from your chin and down to circle your neck.

“You get too excited,” the blonde woman steadily told him, a hint of authority in her voice. “You would kill her.”

Her fingers on your jaw forced you to turn your head, making you look at her, and when she kissed you, you welcomed it. It was a comforting kiss, one that relaxed you further, and you couldn’t help but to close your eyes and bask in the feel of her lips touching yours. Your skin grew warm, and you touched her arm.

“I’m here to keep you in line.”

She spoke the words into your mouth, but she wasn’t talking to you.

Feyd-Rautha’s lack of protest or anger at her words gave you the impression that you were being included in something that already existed. He let her kiss you, the heat of his gaze burning a hole into the side of your face as she drew you in closer. The feeling in your chest was both light and heavy, and you felt as if you couldn’t get close enough to her.

Lady Margot had an aura about her that you’d always been ensnared by—the way she talked, the way she swayed when she walked, and especially the way those attentive eyes watched everyone and everything so closely. She smelled fresh and crisp, an airy feminine aroma filling your nose as her hand rested on the side of your throat, Feyd-Rautha’s arm long falling back at his side.

When she pulled away, only the tip of her nose lightly touched yours.

“He wants you to touch him.”

Her voice reverberated in your mind, influencing your thoughts and movements, and you found yourself turning to look at the man in question. Your advance was slow, hesitant in reaching out to place your hands on the black fabric of his shirt. He visibly shuddered at the contact, and despite the fact that you were clothed, you felt vulnerable and naked underneath his intense gaze.

“This one is fragile, Feyd-Rautha,” amusement danced around her words. “You have to play gentle if you want to keep her.”

Almost as if he wanted to defy her, his hand quickly wrapped itself around your throat, forcing you closer. Your heart stuttered at the action, and despite that brief bout of adrenaline—your body’s way of telling you that you were in danger—that influential voice in your mind told you that you were safe. Your breathing was shallow as you looked at him with wide eyes.

His own gaze traveled over your form, his perusal slow and his hand tightening. You reached up, grabbing his arm, and the noise of protest he made was a cross between a grunt and a hum. His nose touched yours, and when he spoke again, it sounded like there was gravel in his throat.

“Do you fear me?”

The thought settled in your mind that he wanted you to say yes, and so you did, barely whispering it.

That pleased him, and he presented you with a terrifying smile. His fingers were pressing into the skin of your neck, and his blue gaze studied yours, eyes flickering between your own. There was a carnal excitement there that told you he lusted for more than just your body, and when you winced at the grip he had on your throat, it only grew.

“Good,” he praised in a guttural tone.

Kissing Feyd-Rautha was nothing like kissing Lady Margot.

It wasn’t meant to be a gentle and comforting experience, but instead one that forced you to face every one of your discomforts head on. His teeth pressing into your lips, his hand cutting off your airway, the lack of warning as he pushed you back. Every action was designed to make you squirm, and despite that feeling, heat still settled in the pit of your stomach as his weight pressed down on you.

Lady Margot’s gentle touch made your leg tingle. She was pulling on it, making room for him while her other hand grabbed your arm, and you shuddered at the feel of her lips kissing a path to your wrist. The contrast in their efforts made your head spin, and Feyd-Rautha’s constricting grip on your throat only disappeared when his lips replaced his hand instead.

Pain blossomed beneath where his teeth were, and you gasped, chest arching up into his involuntarily. His hands on your frame were tense, like he wanted to twist and tear you apart, but something disallowed him from doing so. When he kissed you again, the pain in your neck lingered, flaring from spot to spot, and you didn’t doubt that bruises would be there.

When you were forced to sit up, the soft and thin fabric of your dress was pulled at by two sets of hands. A feminine touch loosened the back, her lips following behind where his once were, soothing the irritated skin there. He, on the other hand, was yanking your sleeves down, and the sound of a slight tear or two in the fabric could be heard.

The cold air hit you for half a second before a warm mouth covered a sensitive bud before it even had time to harden. The sharp feeling of his teeth pressing into the skin of your breast made you shy away, but with Lady Margot at your back, you had nowhere to go. Her lips along your neck and shoulder was a welcomed feeling, a soothing contrast against the pain the Harkonnen man was inflicting. It almost faded to the background completely when her hand found its way between your thighs.

Your lips parted, and your lashes fluttered, and you couldn’t help but to lift your hips. Her fingers were soft against your skin, the appendages sliding between your folds and stroking you. One of your hands reached down to rest on hers, riding along with her ministrations while the other reached up to grip the arm of the man intent on breaking skin.

The feel of Lady Margot’s fingers pushing into you and curving against your walls made you circle your hips. The pain and pleasure were starting to blend together so closely that you couldn’t tell what you liked and didn’t like. His teeth scraping down your torso had your breath hitching, and the Bene Gesserit woman behind you hummed when you clenched around her fingers. It sounded like a noise of approval, and when she spoke, her tone and words confirmed that suspicion.

“She likes that,” she mused, her free hand coming up to run over your chest. “She’s starting to like the pain.”

She was right.

Almost as if that triggered something in him, the blue-eyed man relinquished control completely, fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as he pulled you forward. The action caused you to collapse, your head resting in Lady Margot’s lap as he finished removing your dress, the fabric falling around you in tatters. There was only a brief bout of alarm when he brandished a small blade from his waist.

There was that voice again, settling and taking up residence in your mind, telling you not to be afraid.

Pain flared along your skin in a singular path as the tip of the blade just barely grazed your flesh. It was so sharp that a thin line of blood followed the weapon’s descent, but it was gone as quickly as it came as his tongue slipped past his lips, ingesting your essence and soothing that sting. Your eyes closed, and you welcomed her kiss as she leaned over.

Feyd-Rautha’s own lips kissed you too…just before he sank his teeth into your skin.

You were given bites and nips between the kisses—along your hip and along your thighs and eventually in between your thighs. Your hips lifted, and your back arched, and you unintentionally bit Lady Margot’s lip. She smiled into the kiss, and you knew that she could taste the same blood you felt on your own tongue.

Feyd-Rautha was a mad man between your legs, tongue and teeth playing with you, the blade in his hand pressed against your thigh. The soles of your feet pressed into the bed, wanting to both run away from the pain and run towards it. Every shallow cut made into your skin was soothed by his tongue almost immediately, and you wanted to be embarrassed by how wet their combined ministrations made you.

When you found yourself on your knees, the blade at your throat and his naked chest at your back, you could see the way Lady Margot’s gaze held his. Her face was serene and thoughtful, almost as if she were having a silent conversation with the man at your back. The sharpness of his blade drew blood, and by the way his free hand smeared it along your skin, you knew that it turned him on.

“Gentle,” she reminded him, standing.

He wasn’t so gentle when he pushed his way into you, making you sharply inhale, but the blade remained light against your throat. You tilted your head back, both to relieve the sting and because the feel of his cock sliding into you had you submitting. His own deep grunts were right at your ear, and his bloody hand trailed down your frame to roughly knead into your skin.

The sound of skin slapping against skin made your ears twitch, and when he roughly pushed you down with a hand on your back, your fingers twisted into the sheets of the luxurious bed. Your head was bowed, forehead grazing the fabric as he fucked you, power and aggression driving every thrust. Lady Margot was right, you were afraid of the Baron’s sole heir, positive that you’d never find yourself alone with him before today.

Even if you doubted it, you would have never guessed this is how he’d choose to spend his birthday celebration. While fireworks were exploding and food and drink was being passed around, Feyd-Rautha was spending his time burying his cock in you. His fingers twisted painfully into your hair, making you yelp, and the sound only made him fuck you harder.

“Are you still afraid of me?” he roughly asked you, and when you started to nod, he pushed your face down into the bed.

Understanding what he wanted, you managed to force out a small affirmation.

“Yes,” you choked out.

The low laugh that he let out was menacing, and he was aggressive in pushing you onto your back. His hand was tight when it found a home on your throat, pinning you in place as he snapped his hips into yours. The force was enough to make you wince, and his brutal treatment didn’t go unnoticed, the blonde woman coming up behind the man.

Her gaze found yours, holding it as she whispered something into his ear that yours weren’t privy to. Her beautiful hands came around to slide along his smooth chest, her lips still brushing against his ear. Her lips traveled to his throat as he pulled away from you, pulling out and allowing the other woman to guide him to sit back.

He was uncharacteristically still as he watched her take his place.

“Come.”

Her simple command was impossible to disobey, and you sat up, doing as she said. With a hand on the back of your head, she guided you towards the man, an imposing urge to touch him descending over you. With your hands sliding along his lithe frame, her fingers applied pressure, and your head lowered.

Your lips stretched around him as you tasted his cock, tongue flat and cheeks hollowed. Feminine hands were gliding over your curves, fingers eventually sinking into you again. You closed your eyes at the feel, relaxing and heart calming at the 180 from Feyd-Rautha’s earlier brutality. At the thought of him, you peeled your eyes open, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

It amazed you, how he could be so dominant and forceful with you but so obedient and almost subdued with her. With one look into his eyes or the feel of her hands against his skin, he became a momentarily tamed wild animal. The feral glint in his eyes couldn’t be done away with, the desire to cause pain coloring his features whenever his gaze connected with yours.

As Lady Margot gently curved her fingers into you, you found yourself craving that feeling again.

Your neck and torso still faintly stung from where his blade had drawn blood, and you got the feeling that your skin was already starting to bruise from where he’d tightly held you. You recalled her earlier words, about her presence serving to keep him in line, and your mind lingered on the aches you felt from what he’d done while she was here. You wondered what would be in store for you should he ever get you completely alone.

You suspected that she was right.

He would get too excited…and probably kill you.

When his lips curved into a small smirk, you knew then that your thoughts were written on your face—along with your fear. His hand on your head made you nervous, and still you slid your mouth up and down the length of him. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, Lady Margot’s soft ministrations stroking that fire deep within your stomach. It made you moan around him, and if possible, you swore Feyd-Rautha’s eyes darkened at both the sound and feel.

“She would make a well-behaved pet,” he haughtily said.

The way he stared into your eyes told you that was meant more so for you than her. They both shifted, leaning in and you heard them kiss above your head.

“I knew that you would enjoy her,” the blonde woman confidently said, her even tone unable to hide her satisfaction. “Provided you don’t break her.”

When she pulled away, she pulled away from you too, and with a hand on your chin, she lifted your head. She guided you to kiss him, her own lips resting against your cheek, her soft voice telling you not to be afraid. You wanted to listen, your own mind agreeing, and so you welcomed the pain when blood bloomed along your lips.

Feyd-Rautha enjoyed the taste, roughly grabbing your hands and pinning them behind you at the small of your back. He didn’t tell you to lie down, instead making you, and you winced at the feel of your hands trapped beneath your own body. His lips were stained red when he pulled away, and your mouth parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock started to stretch you out again.

You were completely powerless—at his mercy—and you cried out at the rough curve of his hips. He looked vicious above you, focused not on chasing his high but on seeing the register of pain on your face instead. That was what brought him pleasure, watching you wince and squirm beneath him and his intense thrusts. If his hand wasn’t on your throat then it was yanking your hair or digging into the soft flesh of your breast.

He seemed to like the sight of marking you up whether it be with his teeth or his hand…or that blade.

He held it against your throat while he fucked you, sometimes sliding the flat part down your chest, blue eyes transfixed by the metal pressing against your skin. Occasionally he’d turn it, the edge grazing you, making a cut just shallow enough and then he’d lean down to taste you. Spots of his own flesh was marred by your blood, and he obviously didn’t care as he smeared it over both of you with every movement.

With your hands free, you clutched onto the sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head. His hands were painfully tight on your waist, keeping your hips lifted for him as he thrust into you. Lady Margot—silently and appreciatively watching—slid her hands along the bed to grab your hands. Her fingers intertwined with your own, holding them down, and you welcomed the gentle kisses she placed on your wrists and then your cheek before finally your lips.

The man above you made a noise of disapproval, and after some time, she granted him what he wanted, his own rough lips replacing hers. You panted into the kiss, tasting your blood on his lips, and you felt almost delirious. It was a constant cycle of pain and pleasure that had you chasing him when he started to pull away. The laugh he gave at the sight told you his thoughts on the matter, but you didn’t care how much power you were giving him.

His gaze suddenly lifted, and his thrusts didn’t stop as he faced Lady Margot. You felt hypnotized as you watched them, eyes focused on the way Feyd-Rautha stuck out his tongue, elongating it in a way you didn’t think possible. The willowy woman had let you go, taking his own blade and dragging the edge of it down his tongue.

It was then that you realized the man inside of you enjoyed pain almost as much as he liked inflicting it.

You wondered if that was why he was so submissive towards her, why she could order him around and why she was so confident that she could keep him in line. You were unsurprised when they kissed, the brutal man kissing you after a while when they finally parted. You swore that his blood tasted completely different from your own.

A thin layer of sweat coated your skin, and you felt almost completely spent. You were sure that the celebration of his birth was still being had while he chose to celebrate between your legs. His strength and the knowledge of how easily he could snuff you out played a part in the way you clenched around his cock. You could feel that you were close—and so could he.

His hand completely obstructed your breathing, and you could only hold onto his wrist. With every thrust into your cunt, the heat in the pit of your stomach grew. Your heart was racing, and your eyes struggled to remain open, and your toes curled as he stretched you around him. A noise of appreciation reached your ears, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to snap your neck.

He could do it. The strength in his hand told you so and that he would probably barely exert himself doing so. You felt your neck strain underneath his fingers, and your nails drew blood over his skin. You knew he liked that because he kissed you again. Your shallow breaths hit his face, and just as you were on the verge of passing out, you came.

…and his hold loosened.

The rush of air into your lungs coinciding with the release of pressure inside of you made your world momentarily go dark. All you could feel was the snug fit of his cock—and the way your walls fluttered around it—and his teeth against your lip. You could faintly feel softer hands on your face, and a choked moan left your lips his hips continued to connect with yours.

His hand tightened again just as your vision started to return to you, and the smile you were met with was chilling. So turned on by watching you straddle death, the fearsome fighter came too but much more violently. He practically growled above you, the noise so animalistic and inhumane sounding. Your neck almost cracked beneath the force of his hand, and the overstimulation from the feel of his cock made you want to clench your thighs together.

You were struggling to breathe when he stilled, chest burning, and when he roughly let you go—pushing himself away from you—you gasped for air. You turned on your side, sweaty and bloody and feeling like you couldn’t breathe deep enough. A hand smoothed along the side of your face—a feminine hand—and when you looked up, the blue-eyed man was cleaning his blade with a crooked smile, terrifying teeth on display.

“I think I will keep this one.”

#feyd rautha #feyd-rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd-rautha #margot fenring #lady margot fenring #margot fenring x reader #dune fanfiction #dune imagine #feyd-rautha imagine #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler imagine #lea seydoux

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lady-phasma · 1 month

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Diplomatic relations

Feyd x gn!reader

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI! NSFW, spit as lube (I guess, kinda), penetration, honestly a little tame compared to my usual stuff.

The poll came in at 57% soft!Feyd so here we go. This is probably as soft as I can make him.

Summary: No physical description of reader. Feyd is on a diplomatic tour of an unnamed planet (not Caladan) under Harkonnen rule. You catch his eye, smuttiness ensues. Plot if you squint. 4k words

You looked away almost as soon as his eyes met yours. You didn’t want to be caught staring at the na-Baron. Feyd-Rautha’s presence on your planet had cause quite the uproar. Though many of the houses were pawns for the Harkonnen, some still remained who defied the colonizers. Your house couldn’t openly oppose the Harkonnen, but you knew that they were not respected. They were feared. They were fearsome after all. The na-Baron’s delegation had been sent to keep the peace, to quell uprisings, to provide confidence to the planet. You supposed it worked for some.

However, you wondered if the na-Baron was enthusiastic about his diplomatic responsibilities. He looked bored and distracted. You hadn’t thought it would be possible for him to notice one person out of the hundreds who crowded the city streets to show allegiance. But someone had caught his eye. He straightened a bit, turning his head slightly to look at you as the procession moved on. You swallowed hard and looked away again.

Your thoughts whirled and spun the rest of the day. That night, you would be in the same room as the na-Baron, possibly as close as the next table. Your house had the “honor” of hosting him on his first night in the city. You were preoccupied as you went about your errands, looked over the financial ledgers, dressed for the dinner. The hours seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly, dragging on for days.

As you walked into the main hall that evening your eyes searched for the na-Baron. You didn’t even realize you were doing it until a servant spoke to you and you hadn’t heard them. You nodded, unsure to what you were agreeing, and walked through the groups of people mingling and conversing.

You found your seat at the secondary table. The head table was reserved for the Duke and his guests. You continued to scan the room, lost in thought, unable to put your finger on why you were intrigued by the na-Baron. You barely heard the sounds around you, the chattering was a dull noise. You felt a chair pull out next to you but didn’t register who the occupant was until it was too late.

Feyd’s fingers stroked the utensils on the place setting, lightly aligning any that were askew. You looked up from his pale hands to his face. You were startled to see that he was staring at you. The Harkonnen skin and hairlessness were disarming amidst the bright colors of the hall.

“You must be old enough to know that it is rude to stare,” Feyd smirked as he spoke. “Surely you have seen a Harkonnen envoy before?”

“I- I-“ you stumbled over your tongue, then swallowed. “Yes, my Lord na-baron, I have seen such an envoy before.”

“And?” Feyd stretched the word out.

“Yes, I came of age last year and I know my manners,” you replied. You straightened your shoulders, squared them, and turned to face him more fully. “Did you need assistance to find your seat?”

Feyd laughed. His black teeth caught the light and you stopped a gasp before it could leave your mouth. They were almost horrible to look at, but the lips that surrounded them dulled that impression, somewhat.

The laugh was mocking but amused. He understood your tone as well as your impertinence. His blue eyes on you sent a chill down your spine. Almost as quickly as the laugh had appeared, it was gone. The grin that replaced it was somehow worse.

“No,” he spoke so lowly that it sounded as if the words rumbled from his chest. “No, I believe I already found my seat.”

There was no one on the planet who could make him move and the Duke was too subservient to object. Resigned, you turned back to the table and sipped your wine. All of your emotions mixed together: anger at his presumption, mild fear of his capabilities, and, strangest of all, curiosity. This man was intriguing and intensely attractive in a completely mad way.

Your food was unremarkable and you barely noticed if you had eaten any or not when they carried the plates away. Your dinner companion barely spoke at all. His interactions with the nobility were perfunctory and diplomatic. There was constantly an air of boredom about him. As imperious as he seemed, you didn’t think that this detachment was intentional. He understood his role here, his duty, but his thoughts were constantly elsewhere.

Only once during dinner did you interact with Feyd. Purely by accident, you turned to him to ask a very discourteous question. You caught yourself but he saw your face and wouldn’t let you go. Like an animal in a trap.

“How may I be of service?” His grin was infuriating. Without context, anyone looking on would think he was being as pleasant as was possible for him.

“It was nothing,” you tried not to spit the words at him, irrationally angry at that grin.

“No, please,” he leaned forward onto his elbows, grin falling just a bit as he dropped his voice. “Go ahead. I won’t command you, but I could.”

Your eyes widened at this, this threat. Was it a threat or a jest? You couldn’t read that infernal mouth. You made your face a mask, attempting to conceal any emotion.

“You could…” you began. “However, that shouldn’t be necessary.” Your chest began to tighten as you spoke. The feeling in your stomach wasn’t new but you hadn’t felt this in a long time. You felt like, no, it wasn’t possible… You felt as if you were flirting with him, and he with you.

“I was going to ask, Lord na-Baron, what is it you would rather be doing that sitting here? It’s a rather improper question, so I bit my tongue.” The truth seemed like the only way out of this trap.

You did not expect his smile to fall completely. Only for the briefest of moments he let his surprise show. He recovered and quipped back at you.

“Quite improper, but my answer would be much more so.” He grinned and leaned back in his chair, feeling he had won this round. A blush ran up your face, evidence of his victory.

After the Duke and his retinue offered the required pleasantries and excused themselves, the guests rose and began to leave the main hall. You stood before Feyd and succeeded in not looking at him as you began to walk away.

As you turned down the passageway, headed to your quarters, you heard heavy footfalls behind you. You glanced over your shoulder and the tightness in your stomach redoubled. There were only a few of the household staff remaining in the halls. You were nearly alone with the na-Baron. Your mind offered, unbidden, the word exhilarating.

His strides were long enough that he caught up with you in little time. His height was impressive after having been sitting next to him. Not much taller than yourself but tall enough to command attention.

“Were you tired of my company?” One corner of his lip curled in a smirk. “Or were you nervous I might answer your impertinent question?”

You stopped walking at this. He turned and looked at you, studying you.

“No, my Lord na-Baron,” you replied levelly. “I could not tell which you enjoyed more: my company or mocking me.”

His smile faltered then grew. You assumed no one ever told him the truth. You knew you could become afraid of him, perhaps should be, but you weren’t yet. Two chattering guests walked past and you moved to the edge of the hallway to let them pass.

Feyd stepped past you and leaned against the wall, his long coat belying the muscular figure underneath. Your breathing became shallow. His proximity to you was informal. It was unnerving. You couldn’t know what he was thinking and his smile was always simultaneously pleasant and malicious.

“Your confusion shows on your face,” he whispered. “What are you trying to discern?”

“Well, um, you, Lord na-Baron,” you dropped your gaze from his. “I do not yet know if I can trust you.”

Feyd dipped his head to meet your eyes and force you to look at him. He was barely smiling at all. His brows furrowed earnestly.

“You can trust me. I am only ever what I seem. I am an open book to any who care to read closely,” he whispered, mere inches from your face. He straightened and your eyes followed his. “Those who see that, don’t often call me ‘na-Baron’ every time they speak. Though I understand the risk one takes with using my name. I am quite…. impulsive.” And that smile again. This time with a touch of fondness in his eyes that suggested he was recalling a pleasant memory. Though you couldn’t imagine that murdering someone for using your given name would be pleasant. From what you knew of Feyd, he probably had done just such a thing.

“How might those who ‘read closely’ decipher your enigmatic smile?” Finding your voice, you spoke directly at him. This made him grin even more, showing his black teeth.

“Perhaps that may always be a game of guessing,” he quipped back. He took a step away from you and waited for you to follow. Your heart was almost pounding in your chest. You walked beside him, but allowing yourself to have some distance to think by staying one step behind. You tried not to stare at the slope of his head down to his neck, his hands, the only visible parts of his body. But they seemed to glow against the black cloth of his coat.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. The silence was tense but not uncomfortable. You weren’t sure you could guess anything about him. Your first appraisal of him may have been entirely incorrect, or mostly.

The main house sprawled, much like a palace though more understated. You knew the halls and passages by heart, but you weren’t guiding Feyd. You followed him without thinking. Your instinct told you to gather yourself and head directly to your chambers without a backward glance. Your curiosity was stronger than your instinct. Curious about him, yes, but also curious as to why he was so interested in you.

Feyd didn’t stop as he opened the door and entered his room. You paused, waiting for an invitation. He held the door and looked at you, no expression on his face. Your choice he seemed to suggest. He didn’t hold out his hand in a welcoming gesture either. You took one more breath to make your decision.

His room was probably a drastic change for him from his home on Giedi Prime. He had been given a guest room fitting of his station. The sumptuous fabrics and ornate furniture were more grand than those in your own quarters. You paused near the middle of the room. If he sat you would join him. He didn’t.

He stepped in front of you, looking, not speaking, and you felt that damnable blush rise to your cheeks again.

“If I may,” he began. “I’ll answer your question.”

You tried to nod but couldn’t. Your mouth was as dry as Arrakis.

“No, I did not want to be trapped at that farce, the quiet tension so palpable one could cut it with a knife. I was thinking of all the things I had in mind for you.” He took a small step forward and tilted your face up to his, fingers guiding your chin. His eyes were fierce and you saw no mocking in his slight smile now.

“Then you were correct, your answer would have been quite improper,” you managed to reply, mustering the last of your propriety.

“Yes,” he drawled. “Yes, then it would have been improper, but we’re alone now.” He swept his hand, indicating the empty room but he didn’t look away from you. He didn’t wait for your to respond. “You aren’t deferential to me like the others in your house. You are… intriguing. As I sat next to you, I decided I wanted you and I get what I want. Always.”

Your body tensed as he leaned forward and kissed you. At first you were rigid, unsure of what you truly wanted, but as one of his hands found the back of your neck you realized you had actually wanted this all along. Still wary of him, you kissed him back but did not move to touch him. His other hand slid to your waist and gripped you firmly, fingers digging into your flesh through your clothing. You exhaled and softened in his arms. You felt his smile against your lips. You assumed it was a triumphant grin but set your pride aside and opened your mouth to him.

Feyd’s tongue slipped into your mouth. His hand gripped the back of your neck harder. You placed your hands on his chest, tentatively, testing this new closeness. He slid his hand from your side to your back and pulled you in closer. You didn’t want the kiss to end but he pulled away and looked at you.

“Was that so bad?” he ask, finally without a grin.

You could only shake your head as your heart thumped in your chest. You moved your hands upward, slowly, to his neck. Using both your hands, you pulled him back down to your mouth. A small groan left his mouth and he pressed his body against yours. You licked his black teeth, growing braver. You still felt hesitant, nervous, even a little frightened. You had experience, you weren’t shy, but those were with people from your home planet. He was a Harkonnen. Completely hairless, scarily pale, and notoriously cruel. Something about the combination of those thoughts made you press against him in return.

His lips left your mouth and he drug them along your jaw, down your neck, the graze of teeth making you shiver. You let your hands rest on his shoulders, resisting the need to move your hips against him. Patience, you thought.

Without warning, Feyd let you go. Suddenly, his arms were gone. Then he spun you around so your back pressed into his chest. He wasn’t going to be patient. He clamped one hand on your throat and rested the other on the lowest part of your stomach. His lips grazed your ear and his breath was hot as he spoke.

“Are you going to give me what I want?”

“Yes,” you replied though you weren’t sure the sound was audible.

“Say my name.”

“Yes, Feyd,” you swallowed, feeling his hand move on your throat as you did. “Anything you want.”

He chuckled at this, the sound vibrating into you from his chest. His grip on your throat wasn’t tight but it held you in place as he slid his hand farther down your stomach. You didn’t let yourself moan as his hand grazed your thigh but you involuntarily moved your hips. You didn’t want him to take his time. Your need was getting the better of you. This seemed to be happening so fast, yet it had truly begun at dinner. Your desire had been growing with every step toward this room.

Feyd kissed just behind your ear, down your neck, as his hand dipped between your thighs. You knew he could feel your arousal even through your clothing. You wanted to push against his hand and gain more friction. He continued to tease, up and down, but then his hand slipped under your clothing. His touch on your bare skin elicited a groan from you. He released your throat and used both hands to free you from the garments.

You were momentarily embarrassed at your sudden nakedness but that was pushed out of your thoughts when he put his mouth on your shoulder blades, kissing each in turn. You began to turn to face him but he stilled you with his hands. You looked over your shoulder as he tossed his coat onto a chair and pulled his shirt over his head. He was actually magnificent you realized. He was hailed as a great fighter but you understood now it was more than skill, it was also strength. You watched him take his place behind you again then turned to face front once more.

You realized Feyd wasn’t just clever, he was always a step ahead of everyone. When you had entered the room you had been so anxious that you only took a cursory glance around the space. However, he had maneuvered you to stand in front of the bed. Now that you saw it, your breath caught in your throat. He was kissing your spine, your ribs, letting his hands explore everywhere but where you needed him. You took a deep breath and instead of the exhale you expected you moaned. He kissed his way up your back and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“I take it you are no longer confused by me?”

“Quite the opposite,” you replied. You moved your hands behind you, finding his hips, and pulled him to you, back to chest again. It was infuriating that he still had his pants on. You slipped your fingertips under the waistband. Even half-clothed his erection was obvious against your backside.

Feyd gently pressed your arms to your sides and you felt immediate disappointment. But then he began to unfasten his pants. The heat from your body flooded to your core. The need, the ache, that had been growing there was now fully aflame. You felt one of his hands rest gently on your hip when he came back to you. Seeming to keep a bit of space between, you he guided your forward until you were only inches from the bed. His hand slid up your side, to your chest encircling you. You sighed again. His mouth explored and made its way back to your ear.

“Lick,” he commanded, holding his other hand in front of your face. It took a moment for you to understand and another moment for you to summon the courage to follow the command. He made you feel things you didn’t know existed. In a spilt second he made you feel like you were doing something wonderful yet illicit. It thrilled you and, as soon as your brain sent the signal, you lapped at his palm. He made a sound like a chuckle, but deeper. You pleased him.

You couldn’t see but you heard Feyd stroke his cock with his recently wetted hand. You whined. Not a moan but an actual, involuntary whine. The waiting was excruciating even if you couldn’t predict his actions, whatever was to come would surely feel amazing.

Feyd’s hand moved from your chest around to your back, rested gently between your shoulder blades, and began to press you forward. With your heart racing you leaned forward, placing your hands on the bed.

“Such a good pet,” he growled. You would have blushed if there had been any blood left in your body. It was currently all pooled in your core, throbbing with that need for him. He slid his hand down your back and gripped your hip. After what seemed like an eternity, you felt his cock between your thighs. You couldn’t control yourself and you pushed back a bit, trying to feel more of him. He gently held you in place. He moved so slowly, teasing you with his length. When he had the angle he wanted he put his hand on your other hip and pressed against you.

It was so slow. Every movement was wonderful torture. You tried not to push against him, so you pressed your face against the bed and groaned. He pulled back and began pressing into you again. You realized he hadn’t yet given you his full length and you gasped as he bottomed out. Over your breathing you heard the most delicious sound come from him. It was a groan, perhaps a word, but certainly a sound of extreme pleasure. Now, you did push back into him.

You looked over your shoulder as you ground your hips slightly and his eyes were open, watching your ass. His eyes were heavy-lidded and his mouth was slightly open. You had never seen anything so beautiful, so unique, in your life. Before you could appreciate him any longer he pulled back, started a new stroke, and caught your eye. He winked at you, cocky yet comforting.

You couldn’t take it, you buried your face in the bed clothes, overcome with desire. This man was your undoing. Just as that thought flickered in your mind Feyd increased his pace. With steady movement he brought forth a litany of noises from you. As he sped up you moaned and pushed back onto him. His low, rumbling groans were intoxicating.

Feyd’s hands roamed up from your hips, over your back, around to your stomach, ceaselessly exploring you. When he leaned forward, pressing his stomach along your back you reached behind you and grasped his arm. Pulling him down on you by his forearm, then traveling up to his bicep. Your fingers dug into his muscle His rested his forehead against your shoulder.

You felt the pressure building in your core from the consistent rhythm. You were lightheaded, dizzy with the feeling of Feyd’s weight on top of you, his scent, his sounds. Then a brightness shot through the fog as he reached around you and stroked the center of your heat. You made an undignified sound.

“Please, yes, there,” you groaned, unable to decide if you wanted to press forward into his hand or back to meet his hips. “Please, Feyd, don’t stop.”

“Of course not,” he replied as he kissed your shoulder and stoked the heat in your belly. He growled against you as he sped up. Pounding into you, his hand between your legs, his body pressed against yours, Feyd dominated all of your senses. You had no thoughts. Only the growing pressure inside you.

“Wait for me,” he said quietly but firmly. You could barely nod, much less speak to answer him, as all your concentration was focused on holding back the cresting wave.

Feyd’s strokes were deep but quick. He grazed his teeth over your skin. His unoccupied hand dug into your hip so he could fuck you that much harder. Then you felt it. The stutter of his hips. His hand between your thighs sped up. A flood of heat ran over your entire body. At the same time, your core seemed to explode. His grunting made you cum that much harder.

He let out a final, deep moan, mingled with your name, and spilled his black seed inside you. You inhaled shakily, smiling to yourself. The lightheadedness was back and you felt emptied, completely hollowed out. You stayed still as he caught his breath. You tried to relax as he pulled out, but were unable to stifle a small gasp. You were ruined but never wanted this to end.

Feyd gently stroked your back and then began to guide you up, almost lifting you from the bed. When you were standing in front of him he kissed you on the forehead, then the lips. With his hand on the small of you back he led you to the side of the bed. He didn’t instruct you to lay down, you didn’t have a choice. There was no way you could remain standing on your shaking legs any longer. He covered you with the blanket then stepped away for a moment. Unable to keep your eyes open you listened for him.

He soon walked to the other side of the bed and slipped into it, pulling you against him. He tucked you as close to him as possible. He kissed your neck. Then nuzzled his face against you before resting his head close enough so you could feel his breath on the back of your neck.

“I always get what I want,” he whispered. Your lips curved into a gentle, satisfied smile.

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timotheecontent · 21 days

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DUNE: PART 2 (2024) dir. Denis Villeneuve

#dune part 2 #austin butler #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet #feyd-rautha harkonnen #paul atreides #filmedit #filmgifs #moviegifs #gifs #dune 2 #~#that is one pissed off mouse #me no talk me angy

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mareestoermers · 1 month

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AUSTIN BUTLER AS FEYD-RAUTHA HARKONNEN Dune: Part Two dir. Denis Villeneuve

#austin butler #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha harkonnen #dune: part two #dune #dailyflicks #cinematv #movieedit #chewieblog #userbecca #useraurore #userpayton #usersugar #mine #my gif

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feirceangel · 1 month

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Imagine | Dance (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd attending a ball and being bored to tears until you appear in the crowd.

A/n- thanks to everyone who read and supported my other Feyd fic!! I hope you all enjoy this one too :)

Word Count: 1,353

Warnings: none

The ballroom is overrun with diplomats and politicians. All dressed up in their very best attire, each one is hoping to impress those richer and more influential than themselves.

Feyd observes with a bored demeanour, swirling the blood red wine in his goblet. He’s leaning against a white pillar, staring out at the people with keen dark eyes.

A celebration of this degree isn’t something to be missed, his Uncle had said, insisting on his attendance.

So he attends, although he is bored from the lack of any meaningful conversations or actions. The feast was the best part, his favourite piece a bloody rare steak that practically melted in his mouth.

No one has come to speak with him out of a desire to just chat. No, each person who spoke had an ulterior motive and fear in their eyes. They want to be on the Harkonnen’s good side, lest they become victims instead. So, they chat about inconsequential things, all the while their hands shake and betray their frayed nerves.

Feyd found it amusing at first, but has since grown tired of it. These fickle politics and the endless pursuit of money. Money and power make this universe worth living in.

Music begins to play, a sensual drum beat joined by the strumming of string instruments and an angelic vocalizer. The sea of mingling people part as they allow the dancers the necessary space to move.

Feyd’s lips curl as he watches people join in the dance, the ballroom finally used for its original purpose.

People in skin tight dresses, fashionable suits, those showing too much skin, some showing none- the room is flooded with a menagerie of humans.

Each one is dancing with a partner, bending and swaying to the rhythm. All accept one.

He watches her move in perfect synchronization with the lilting music, lifting her arms high in the air. She avoids the stuffy aristocratic dancers who hardly allow the music to carry them.

She looks like a woman possessed. As if the melody has taken root deep within her and bids her to perform a marvellous spell.

It must be a spell, for he finds himself bewitched.

No one else has captured his attention so profoundly this whole event. He hasn’t even spoken with her yet and oh how he wishes too.

He must.

Feyd has never before desired to dance. Not unless it was the dance of battle, of blades clashing and blood dripping.

You have changed that.

As he watches you deftly twirling and clapping gently to the song, he cannot stop his body from acting on its own accord.

And Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, fearsome warrior, finds himself pushing through the crowd to join you in your hypnotic dance.

You notice when the handsome stranger leaves his spot by the pillar, his eyes fixated only on you. You’re not sure how to feel.

During the dinner, you had walked by him on the way to your designated place. You’re from a minor house, not fit to sit with the guests from the major ones. Not that you minded, it’s always been this way.

He had caught your attention immediately. Brooding and gorgeous, with full, sensual lips and the palest skin you’ve ever seen, how could you resist admiring him?

He hadn’t noticed you then.

He notices you now.

A soft smile graces your lips as he reaches you, dark eyes boring into yours. You stop as he reaches out a sculpted hand.

You take it.

His hand is warm, and you can sense the strength hiding just beneath his skin. This man is dangerous, you realized that when you first spotted him.

To your surprise, he is an excellent dancer, leading you in perfect harmony to the music. You can barely hear the music over the pounding of your heart.

This wasn’t what you expected.

“You are a wonderful dancer,” you whisper once you’re close enough to hear each other.

His smirk is prideful, “A fighter must be lithe and nimble, my lady.”

His voice is raspy, deep. Again, you are taken by surprise.

“You must be an excellent warrior too.”

You spin around, his hand guiding you. He has dropped his smile, replaced it with a predatory look reminiscent of a hungry panther.

“The best,” he replies, supporting your back as he dips you downwards.

The other dancers seem to fade away as you dance with him, this frightening stranger. His touches are like a fire unto you, his gaze a steady burning.

He dances as if it’s a battle of dominance. He leads without hesitation, and you answer with the fluidity and grace befitting a lady.

It’s exhilarating.

And it’s gone too soon as the music dies down and the other clap for the musicians.

Breathing heavily, you simply stare at this man who joined you in rapturous movement, not wanting it to end.

He hasn’t let go of your hand.

You don’t want him to.

“What’s your name?” You ask before he can slip away and disappear forever. If he did, you’d at least want to remember his name.

He smirks, “You don’t know me?”

“No, or I would not have asked,” you point out.

He chuckles, revealing blacked teeth, “I am na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, my lady.”

You blink at this revelation. You’ve never met a Harkonnen before, let alone a such a high ranking one.

Feyd expects you to recoil in fright, surely knowing the brutality his house is known for. He is taken aback when you smile.

“I am pleased to meet you,” you in line your head slightly as you supply your own name.

He realizes his hand is still clasping yours and that you don’t seem to mind it one bit. Feyd gently tugs you towards him, “Come, it is too crowded here.”

Perhaps foolishly, you allow yourself to be led away from the ballroom and into a quiet hall.

It’s late, and you can see the stars through the sheer curtains of the hallway.

“Are you enjoying the festivities? You seemed unhappy,” you ask. “I saw you by the pillar.”

“I was bored,” he admits without care. “Before the dance.”

“And now?”

“And now I have welcome company and my boredom has fled in the wake of your beauty.”

He traces a hand, still so warm, down your cheek. You bask in the attention, wondering if this is all a dream you’ll wake from in a moment.

Feyd’s hand goes lower, until it grasps around your neck and tightens. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to still your breathing. With his grip tight, he pulls you forward and kisses you deeply.

It’s intoxicating.

He kisses like he dances, dominating and alluring. You bring your hands up to grip his shoulders as he continues his assault on your senses.

“Everything was dull until you danced into my sight,” he rasps as you catch your breath. “I’ve never seen such a vision.”

“I have never seen a man like you,” you confess, resting a hand on his chest. “You have such intensity…”

“Does it frighten you?”

“No, no it thrills me, my lord.”

The way those words roll off your tongue has Feyd hooked, his mouth latching onto your neck as he cups your face with one hand.

“Do you know what I’ve done?” He asks, unsure why he’s asking.

“I know you’ve danced beautifully,” you smile. “And I know your touch feels electrifying. And I know you’re going to take me into an empty room.”

You withdraw from him slightly, awestruck at the hunger in his eyes.

“And what happens then?”

He retakes your hand, not too gently this time, and practically drags you to the nearest room, slamming the pen the door.

Luckily, no one is in there.

“You know what happens next,” you say, already stripping him of his fine shirt before doing the same to yourself.

Feyd is glad he decided to come to this festival, thanking his lucky stars as he stares in awe at your beauty.

He wonders if you make love as spellbindingly as you dance.

He’ll soon find out.

#female reader #reader insert #feyd x you #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd oneshot #feyd x reader #feyd-rautha harkonnen #dune part two #dune x reader #feyd imagine #dune

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happy-xy · 2 months

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Austin Butler as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen DUNE: PART TWO (2024) DIRECTED BY DENIS VILLENEUVE

#duneedit #austinbutleredit #filmedit #Austin Butler #Dune: Part Two #dune 2 #Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen #feyd rautha harkonnen #movies #men #gifs #mine #i can take him.

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mortsubiteart · 2 months

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Atreides supremacy.

#dune #paul atreides #feyd rautha #austin butler #timothée chalamet #Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

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adaricruz · 3 months

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some dune fanart bc i got to see the film a few days ago in a fan event here in mexico ! i got to see the cast & had a great time 🖤 gave chani her red hair & paul his darker hair too , & a moebius insp feyd

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gaybuckybarnesss · 2 months

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AUSTIN BUTLER Dune: Exposures

#austin butler #abutleredit #dune #dune: part two #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd-Rautha #florence pugh #love this baldy #his lips too

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perlelune · 2 months

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Young God | Feyd-Rautha

The mercy you show towards an enemy in the aftermath of battle yields tragic consequences for you and your people.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fremen!Reader, Kynes!Reader, Kidnapping, Unrequited Love, Mentions of cannibalism, Knife Play, Masochism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

The aftermath of battle is often the same ritual. Corpses are taken away to scavenge for bounty and salvage the water in their bodies. Moisture is too precious, too rare in the air and the dry desert sand covering your home world to be wasted. Harkonnen foot soldiers especially. No sympathy is spared for the cruel beasts who slaughter your fellow fremen, ravage your land, and bleed your beloved home planet Arrakis of its most valuable resource. The Spice.

Today is one of these days. After fending off another attack by the Harkonnen army, your entire tribe is sifting through the desert fields. The proud white-skinned soldiers weren’t expecting the swarm of Fremen that unleashed upon them. Thankfully Muad'Dib had a vision of the attack and managed to convince enough of your people to raise their blades in unison to stand against their oppressors. While you balk at violence, preferring to stay back and sink into your role as a healer, you still wish to offer assistance in cleaning up the battlefield and checking for any potential injuries. You were a little shocked when you arrived and were struck with the realization that there is so little for you to do, the number advantage having been so overwhelming.

Still, you find a few warriors that require medical attention. Their injuries are deeper than you expect. Apparently one of the Harkonnen soldiers wouldn’t let himself be slain, unleashing a storm of fury all on his own and taking several down with him. You gingerly finish dressing your last wound, lifting your head as you notice your cousin heading north.

Wiping the blood on your hands with a rag, you get to your feet.

“Chani, where are you going?” you inquire.

She stares ahead, crysknife in hand, determined.

“Some may have survived and slipped away from us. We’re checking the caves nearby.”

You give a nod and follow after her. “I’ll come with you.”

While your voice didn’t waver earlier, your stomach is in knots as you join the search. You and Chani split up. She points in a direction and you acquiesce, rushing the opposite way. You sneak underground, climbing down a row of steep, slippery rocks before you find a small cave.

You practically have to crawl the rest of the way inside, the lichen-draped overhang almost too bent and crooked for you to advance any further. It’s no wonder no one thought to check this place. It’s hard to imagine any wounded Harkonnen soldier gathering the strength to hide in such a place.

You’re forced to swallow your words however when you find the outline of a pale form lying across the cave floor.

Your jaw drops. You inch closer to the corpse, already planning on calling another Fremen to help you extract the water from the body.

But the man’s chest lifts, his mouth shuddering ever-so-slightly.

Tamping down your fear, you hunker down and inspect his armor. Your brows knit. A long, deep jagged cut slashes his side. The kind of deadly injury that makes you wonder how the man is still breathing, as it’s impossible no internal organs haven't at least been nicked.

Yet, somehow he is, still breathing that is.

Though you gather not for long based on the way blood gushes from the wound.

You hear your name called from outside the cave. Pulse soaring, you climb your way out of the concealed shelter with haste.

You’re faced with Chani’s questioning stare. She must be done with her own search. You note the tinge of crimson on the tip of her blade. Your insides wrench.

The lie flows from your tongue with frightening ease.

“I already checked that one. It’s empty.”

She nods and walks away. You wait for her to be at a safe distance to return inside the cave.

As your slow, fearful steps bring you closer to the wounded man, your mind rages, at war with itself.

You are of two worlds. Daughter of the fallen Liet-Kynes, imperial planetologist, and a member of the Sietch Tabr. The Harkonnen are your people’s ancestral enemies. Oppressors who annihilate whoever stands between them and their unquenchable thirst for more wealth and power.

They are monsters. There is only one rational thing to do when one is faced with one of the pale-skinned warriors. Only one thing that is right to do.

You unsheathe the crysknife at your thigh from its scabbard. The blade is shimmery and new. So perfectly sharp. For you have never used it. Not even once.

You approach his unmoving form and lift the blade high in the air.

The crysknife in your hands quivers above his chest. It’d be so easy to end it. So quick. Over within a few minutes. You’ve seen countless members of your sietch do it, not a sliver of hesitation in their smooth, practiced motions. Some even enjoy it, reveling in seeing that spark wither in their enemies’ eyes.

For a moment, you let yourself wonder, picture yourself snugly gripping the blade and driving it through the Harkonnen’s alabaster throat. The watery coughs he’d let out. The blood seeping from his neck and pooling around him. The light in his onyx orbs flickering before going out.

It should satisfy you. After all the evils they’ve inflicted upon your people, upon your planet, the prospect of retribution should fill you with immeasurable joy.

Yet it doesn’t. Chest heaving, you slowly lower the weapon until it slips out of your hands, its clattering echoing in the cave.

Your shoulders sag as you unleash a tremulous breath, one you didn’t notice was even caged inside your lungs.

An unyielding truth swaddles you as you watch your pale-skinned enemy draw feeble, dwindling breaths. You can’t take a life. You are a healer, through and through.

You gasp when you suddenly feel the cold bite of metal against your throat.

Your eyes widen. The Harkonnen is awake, heavy, wheezing breaths bursting from his chest as he presses the blade against your neck.

“I-If you kill me, you will not survive,” you stammer, your chest clenching in fear.

He shocks you by flipping the blade and handing it to you.

“Then give me a warrior’s death,” he says, his gaze unwavering. You study him. He looks worse than before. What he just did must have taken his last bit of strength.

Steadying your hammering heart, you glower at him.

“The glory you seek isn’t in a dank cave, Harkonnen.”

As soon as he collapses over the cold, hard stones, you get to work. First, you check his pulse. Though it’s faint, you find a steady heartbeat. He must be quite strong, you surmise. You’ve never seen anyone survive this long with an injury this deep. Logically, he should be dead.

But he isn’t. So while you shouldn’t feel this way, every fiber of your being craves to pull him from the brink.

You peel the layers of his armor off him. Heat nestles inside your cheeks as your gaze roams over the hard, defined planes of his muscular form. You shake off the sensation, reminding yourself that you can’t proceed unless you have complete access to the wound and need to assess for other potential injuries.

You reach for your medpak and pouch. You use a mix of wound sealant and medicinal herbs to curb the bleeding. You then clean the wound with antiseptic and press onto it firmly. Eventually, it stops. Once the bleeding is under control, you pull out a needle and thread from your pouch and begin sewing the wound. Every stitch is nice and neat, so tight that you know he will barely scar. You squint as you work, the dim lighting of the cave making you miss the right spot in his skin a few times. You keep a cool head the entire time, simply starting over whenever necessary.

After the wound is sealed, you set up a hypovial with a plasma bag. Finding the bulging vein in his arm isn’t too hard. It’s quite easy in fact, as every part of him appears carved from stone. You slip a dash of spice melange in the IV. A potent cinnamon smell fills the air. Just the right amount to keep him awake. Now that his life isn’t on the line anymore, his peculiar body chemistry should do the rest and recover.

You unleash a deep breath and wipe the sweat doting your forehead. You sag against the cave wall.

Your eyes drift to the night sky, visible through a small opening in the overhang.

For the first time since you snuck inside the cave, the tension woven through your limbs comes loose.

Nights on Arrakis are a thing of beauty. You are willing to bet there are no more beautiful skies in the entire galaxy. None so clear and vast and with stars twinkling this bright. Mother used to say the same thing, that the boundless empyreans of Arrakis were the most beautiful sight she ever laid eyes upon. And as an imperial envoy, your mother traveled far across the known universe. So she must have been right.

You cast one last glance at the Harkonnen warrior. He’s stable. Or stable enough at least.

It’s time for you to return to your sietch before too many questions are asked.

“You were gone a while,” your cousin blurts out when you return to your sietch. You weigh her tone. There is no suspicion laced in it, just curiosity.

“I was just making sure we didn’t forget any of them,” you casually reply.

Chani heaves out a deep sigh. “You don’t have to. You have no heart for killing, cousin.” She turns her focus to the rest of your tribe. “We need you here, tending to our wounded. It’s where you shine best.”

You nod in acknowledgement. No one in the sietch ever expected you to fight but you often wish that you could do more. You think of your mother’s untimely death, of the way Fremen laid down their lives today. Your heart sinks. If anyone learned of what you did, you would be exiled. Rightfully so. Your eyes wander to your cousin, now besides Paul Atreides. Longing gazes lock and fingers twine before they disappear into their shared tent. You look away.

You hope one day that twisting inside your chest whenever you see them will cease. You are happy for them; you truly are. Nevermind that you felt a pull towards the heir of House Atreides from the moment you met him, that you felt it was returned when his gaze rested upon you. That all of it vanished the moment his eyes crossed Chani’s.

A seer from your tribe foretold that a woman in your family would have a great destiny, one that will change the fate of worlds. You now understand, that woman is Chani, and she and Paul aren’t just destined to one another. They are fated.

And who are you to stand in the way of fate?

“You must be insane, girl,” the Harkonnen soldier scoffs as you remove the needle in his arm. Since he appears to have regained some color…or whatever consists of “color” for a Harkonnen, you elected to remove the plasma bag this morning.

A sliver of shame flutters through you that you were almost relieved to find him alive. You saved a life. Perhaps not the most worthy one, but a life nonetheless.

“Striking an enemy while he’s down isn’t brave,” you reply with nonchalance.

A crooked smirk cants his plump lips, baring a hint of the black teeth underneath.

“Insane and stupid then,” he sneers, the gristly echo of his voice resonating in the cave.

Ignoring the way his comment chafes you, you retrieve the little vials you packed this morning.

“Drink that.” He sits up, humming low in his throat with the movement when you’d expect him to wince or groan at the pain. It’s almost like he’s enjoying the pain he surely must be experiencing, but you discard that thought, because it’s ludicrous. What kind of person enjoys pain? “It’s water.” He studies you, making no move to grab the water. You fidget, unnerved that you can’t read his expression, his lack of eyebrows making it even more difficult. “I could only steal a little from the deathstill. It’s all I could get before anyone could see me.”

You briefly considered trading your mother’s water rings, the ones you inherited upon her death. The symbol of her standing and wealth within the Sietch Tabr.

Though while you may have saved your enemy, you want to hold on to that piece of her for as long as you can.

“I also have some food.” You rummage through your pouch to pull out dried fruits, slices of meats, bread and spice honey. It’s the best you could gather on short notice without drawing suspicion.

His dark gaze flicks over you as he taunts, “Perhaps I shall eat you. You look far more appetizing than…whatever this is.” You shudder, acutely aware that while cannibalism isn’t widespread amongst the Harkonnen…it’s also not unheard of.

He snickers at your expression. “Do not fret, desert rose.” His gravelly voice drips with suggestion as he licks his lips. A chill runs through you as his black tongue and teeth are bared to you. “I’m not quite that hungry…yet.”

Your shift, discomfort slithering through you. There is something profoundly unsettling about the Harkonnen, even more so than a typical one. The blood leaking through the bandage draws your gaze.

“I should dress your wound and redo the stitching,” you offer, clearing your throat.

When your hand stretches towards his wound, he growls at you.

Your heart leaps and you retreat your hand.

“Please,” you insist. “You’re bleeding.”

When he doesn’t make another threatening sound, you take that as your cue. You quickly gather your supplies and approach him. The drumming of your heart inside your ears is a clamor, but you pretend it isn’t there, removing the bandage and driving the needle through his wound to sew it shut again. He doesn’t flinch, showing no hint of even feeling the needle. His sizzling scrutiny sears through your flesh, almost causing your usually steady hands to quake. You sharpen your focus, remembering your grandmother’s teachings. Steady heart, steady hands.

He tilts his head, dark gaze trained on you. “I threaten to eat you and you tend to me still. What a peculiar creature you are, desert rose.”

The days fly by in a strange haze, your days spent preparing for the new Reverend Mother while you sporadically check on the stranger. He recovers faster than you expect, even without you needing to use the spice melange again. Considering he was at death’s door when you found him, you can’t help but be a little amazed.

You sense the time to go your separate ways is near. You have done a lot, likely more than you should. The alabaster-skinned warrior is well enough to roam the desert and find his way back to his people through his own means. You brought him supplies, food and a stillsuit. Whatever befalls him will be up to fate and his own wits. You don’t plan on returning after tonight.

“You’re looking better,” you note, checking his wound for the last time. You leave the bandage for good measure even if it’s clear he doesn’t need it anymore, the wound having begun to fade since you removed his stitches yesterday.

He pins you with that unsettling stare once more.

“That song you sang…” he rumbles.

“A song?” Your head tilts as you comb through your memories. It comes back to you. You sometimes hum it to yourself. It calms you down. You didn’t even realize you’d done it in his presence. “Ah, that song.” You shrug, a small smile sneaking onto your lips. “It’s just a lullaby my grandmother used to sing to me before she passed, to teach children about the Shai-Hulud.”

He looks at you in what you believe to be confusion at the name, though you can only assume.

“Your people call them… sandworms,” you explain. “They are sacred and should be revered.”

Silence hangs between you and the Harkonnen. His deep raspy voice shatters it after some time.

“Songs…I had a blade in my hands from the moment I could walk.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, unsure what else to say. He doesn’t seem sad, more reflective, but it seems you should say something. “Do you…Do you ever think of what your life would be like if you weren’t Harkonnen?” When he looks at you blankly, a nervous laugh peals from your lips. “I’m sorry. That was a silly question.”

Your crysknife materializes in his hands from behind his back. Your blood runs cold as you pat your thigh. You don’t remember ever leaving it around him.

“My older brother...He took me from our parents when I was a baby,” he utters, sounding detached, almost as if he were recounting someone else’s life. “My uncle raised me. I don’t remember my father. And my mother…” His lightless gaze slams into yours as he smiles, exposing his glistening, black teeth. “I killed that whimpering, meddling bitch.”

Your breath snags in your throat. Perhaps…you let yourself get too comfortable around the Harkonnen. The crude reminder of who he is, who they all are, yanks you back to reality.

You bolt to your feet, coaxing a tremulous smile onto your face.

“It’s getting late. I should return home before the sandstorms grow too strong.”

As you prepare to leave, the muffled pitter-patter of footsteps above you freezes you in your tracks. Your eyes bulge. Dread sinks within you as you realize someone’s right above you.

Before a single sound can make its way past your lips, the Harkonnen’s large hand envelops your mouth. He pulls you flush against his bare chest as he whispers into your ear, “Quiet.”

His muscles go taut against you. You catch him twirling the blade with smooth precision, clearly ready to fight if need be. You hold your breath, bridling your stuttering heartbeats.

Two men in full Harkonnen livery leap inside the cave. Panic rushes through you.

However, instead of a fight breaking out, relief fills the soldier’s faces as they see him.

“Na-baron. We received your beacon.”

Na-Baron…The air is knocked from your lungs. The title isn’t that common amidst the known universe. In fact, it’s quite unique and you only ever heard of one man from one specific house using it. Na-baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the heir-designate to Baron Vladmir Harkonnen.

He is a monster, a ruthless killer…and you nursed him back to health. Allowed him to get well enough to hurt, maim and kill as he pleases. The cave seems to twirl off its axis around you.

Perhaps he was right that night. You might be an insane idiot.

You feel the subtle lift of his lips against your scalp.

“Right. Did I forget to mention my name?” he taunts, as if he could read every thought zooming across your head. Giving you no time to even try to run or fight him off, the na-Baron slams your head against a nearby wall.

Pain explodes inside your skull. Your vision dims as you grow too weak to stand, your knees buckling beneath you. You fall into his arms and he holds you against him. He strokes the side of your face, a fire burning in his onyx orbs. Consciousness slips from you, his last words reverberating inside your ears.

“You and I are going home to Giedi Prime, my desert rose.”

You awake startled, jarred by the softness of the sheets and the largeness of the bed around you. This is nothing like the cot you used to sleep on in the desert. You leap from the bed, clutching your face and hugging your frame, stunned to note you are without your stillsuit and face mask.

Instead, you are wearing a sheer white tunic that hugs your curves in a way that leaves very little to the imagination. The outfit is unlike you, impractical in every way. Your pulse escalates.

You rush to rise and nearly crash down on the bed again.

Your forehead creases.

You wobble around, struck by the difference in gravitational pull, humidity and atmospheric pressure. Every breath you take exerts you, bearing heavily on your lungs.

Your head spins as you glance at the unfamiliar room. Every single detail of it is cold, somber, opulent.

Horror twists your insides.

You’re not on Arrakis anymore.

“You’re in the Harkonnen keep, darling.”

The gravelly voice erupting at your back has you whirl around. A half-exposed Feyd-Rautha fills your sight, his carved alabaster muscles and bald head shimmering silver in the low light.

You swallow hard, fighting to keep yourself breathing normally in the brand new air.

“The Harkonnen Keep on…”

“Giedi Prime, yes,” Feyd-Rautha finishes.

While you understood it on your own, having it uttered out loud sends you in a renewed state of alarm. You are away from your family, your friends, your home. You are alone on a foreign planet. A hostile, enemy planet.

“In secluded apartments away from my other concubines,” he further informs. A shadow of mirth lurks in his gaze. “They’re quite the jealous kind. They may even try to take a bite out of you if they learn of your existence…” He leers at your shivering frame, making no effort to hide his lust, the evidence already bulging in his pants. “Though I don’t think I could entirely blame them.”

He inches closer to you. “How does the weight of a real planet feel?” he asks, a twisted excitement swaying in his dark orbs. “Is it crushing your bones? Is every cell in your body screaming in pain, my desert rose?” He grips your chin, studying you oddly, almost as if he wishes he could absorb every bit of your agony and discomfort.

You glare up at him, your insides white hot with rage.

“H-How could you do this? I saved you.”

He frames your chin, squeezing tightly. “Oh darling, you should have killed me…” A squeak spills from your throat as he drags his tongue across the side of your quivering cheek. His lips brush over your earshell as he mumbles under his breath. “Because there’s nowhere in the galaxy you will ever be able to hide from me now.”

“I belong in Arrakis with my people. You have to let me go,” you plead.

You search his impassive face, scouring for an errant ounce of humanity. The emptiness you find has tears rushing to your eyes. You mourn the tragic loss of moisture, willing yourself to stop crying. Ever since you were young, you were taught never to waste your precious water...especially on something as trivial, as painfully unnecessary as tears.

...But you can't quell your weeping.

He tilts his head.

“You belong with me…No, to me, desert rose. In my arms, screaming as I ruin that pretty cunt of yours with my cock.”

Fear floods your entire being. Your eyes scan the room. A faint spark of hope blooms inside you as you spot a long, sharp knife on a stone table nearby.

Pushing past the queasiness you experience every time you move on the unfamiliar planet, you race across the room and grab the knife.

You point it at him. Instead of cowering, Feyd-Rautha opens his arms, smirking.

“Do it,” he urges, making no effort to protect himself from the sharp blade in your hand, inviting you to strike him as his tongue darts across his lips.

His uncanny anticipation coats the air. Confusion fills you.

“I will,” you say, trying to appear braver than you feel. Still, the blade quakes in your hand.

“Please. I beg of you,” he purrs, gliding towards you. As he watches you hesitate, he cruelly reminds you, “You will never go home, never see your beloved planet again. In fact,...” He hums, his eyes lighting up as if a wonderful idea just occurred to him. “I think I might slaughter some of your family and friends just for sport.”

A wave of wrath surges through you. Bereft a thought behind it, your hand slashes across his chest, a small cut forming there. Droplets of blood so dark it appears black drip down onto his alabaster flesh.

“More…” he rasps, pleasure leaking from his gravelly voice.

The sight of the bleeding wound rattles you, causing you to retreat.

But he doesn’t let you remove the blade, his fingers cinching around your wrist and keeping its sharp tip over his bulging pec. You sob as he forces you to drag the blade across his chest, a blissful expression spreading across his features. A long dark cut oozing dark red blood decorates his body now, going all the way to his defined abs.

Terror and confusion tangle within you. You stagger backwards, the dagger slipping from your lingers and hitting the floor.

“You’re sick.”

“I didn’t realize there was such a fire inside you, desert rose. If I don’t have you now, I think I’ll go mad.” His hoarse, lewd tone scrapes against your eardrums, causing your insides to twist in dread. He cracks his neck, black tongue sweeping over his lips as he approaches you. “No, I definitely will.”

It’s the only warning you get before he tosses you on the bed and rips the clothes off your frame. Tears brimming your lashes, you squeal in protest, scratching and punching every part of him within reach. You slap him hard and he cackles, baring his black smile in sheer delight.

“Come on, desert rose, I’m sure you can hit even harder,” he sneers.

To make him eat his words, you hit him again. Harder than before. His laugh gets louder as you watch a faint bruise form on his cheek.

Pinning your wrists besides your head, he bends over your chest. His tongue swirls around your nipples, his cool tongue causing you to hiss and shake. Sharp teeth graze your breast and the breath hitches in your throat. You squirm on the sheets, completely at the mercy of Feyd-Rautha as he licks, bites and kisses every part of your flesh. As if he wanted you covered in marks of his ownership, wanted to ensure there wouldn’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind that you were his if they stole a glance at you. You loathe the way your traitorous body writhes and pants, a disgusting dampness gathering at the apex of your thighs.

The tears in your eyes swell. Your body is divorcing your frazzled mind little by little, yielding to his rough, wanton touch.

He grabs your thighs and dips between your legs, diving straight for your center. He licks a long stripe up and down your folds and you tremble. As his devilish tongue swirls around your clit, your eyes flutter, blinding pleasure building in your core. Hot waves of delight engulf you as he gathers your arousal with his tongue and drags it around your tender spot. The slow, unrelenting patterns he traces with his mouth have you fight the urge to buck your hips into his jaw. Your juices drench the entire bottom of his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind, greedily devouring your cunt as if he’ll never get to do it again.

As you quiver against him, your orgasm flowing through you, he chuckles against your wet cunt.

“Your body can’t even deny how much it craves me, desert rose.”

Shame pulses through you with his words.

He crawls over you, cutting his pants loose with one aggressive shove downwards. Only a glimpse of his thick alabaster cock, glazed with his need at the tip appears in your vision before he shoves the entirety of himself in you. The pain is so intense, flames alongside your walls, that it robs the words from your throat. He sinks inside you until his tight balls chafe your cunt, his hand wrapping around your throat while the other keeps your wrists above your head.

You whimper beneath him, defenseless against his sharp, piercing thrusts. Pleasure builds within you, his cock overwhelming you with shameful sensations each time it grazes your sensitive places, making you see stars. Gargled sounds pour from your throat as his girth splits you apart.

He grunts as your walls constrict around him, slamming into you even harder.

“You’re so delightfully tight around me, darling.” He bends over you to whisper, “I bet I’ll turn you into my perfect little cock-hungry whore in no time. Have you on your back and knees for me whenever I wish it.”

The Harkonnen heir’s pace fastens, his cock hitting spots that have you question your sanity. So delicious that you can’t help but let pathetic little moans escape from your throat.

He buries himself inside you even deeper, the pain and pleasure blending in crescendo. Your eyes roll back as you near your peak. Meanwhile, Feyd Rautha’s hunting his own release, his quick thrusts growing sharp and slow, his bald head grazing your bare chest.

Pleasure rolls over in a tidal wave, your back curling alongside the sheets. His own release comes after yours, thick ropes of his seeds painting your sore, sensitive walls.

As you crash in a boneless heap on the sheets, he wraps his hand around your jaw and steals your lips for a sloppy, heated kiss.

You cry out in pain as he sinks his teeth into your neck, placing a visible puncture wound that won’t disappear for a while.

Still nestled in your warmth, he scatters more bites along your shoulder.

“Any man would be insane to let you go after tasting such a sweet cunt, desert rose.”

You know he wants you to see, doesn’t want you to miss a single second of the spectacle. It was a split second moment, one that could have easily resulted in his death.

But at the very last second, Feyd-Rautha prevailed and dodged Paul Atreides’ attack. He then proceeded to stab him in the heart in front of his heartbroken mother and your cousin.

You don’t want to believe it. It must be an awful dream, one you will soon wake up from. One that lasted entirely too long. While seeing Paul’s body sink to the floor, your heart shattering into a million tiny pieces…Watching Chani glare at you with pure hatred in her eyes from across the room is almost worse. You want to run to her, embrace her, tell her you never meant to leave, tell her you aren’t a traitor to your people despite what clothes you may wear now, what marks may brand your skin.

But it’s all for naught. Paul is dead and with him the hopes for your planet, for your people have died as well.

And you are left with nothing, no one. A stranger in a strange world.

It’s what he reminds you as he has you caged beneath him that night, burying himself inside you again and again with abandon.

“You’re mine, desert rose. And nothing, no one can take you away from me. Not my uncle. Not Paul Atreides. Not the Emperor.” He chuckles darkly, whispering against your ear. “...And not even you, darling.”

He is right. You are his. And with no one to challenge the rule of the now Baron Feyd-Rautha, ruler of House Harkonnen, it is as he said…There is nowhere in the galaxy you can hide where he will not find you.

#feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #dune fanfiction #dune part 2 #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha #feyd-rautha harkonnen #dark fic

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