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alavestineneas · 26 days

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i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, daddy and sister issues, bald men chapter 1 - chapter 2 word count: 6,5K

author's note: hi beautiful people! this chapter may be classified as a prologue (yes, I am aware of its size, sorry, lol), but it is still integral to the story. we love evil people, especially evil bald people, in this house, so have fun and don't forget to wash your hands before reading! also, if you see things that are not canon, just know that me and the books are two parallel lines and we do not cross. feel free to point out grammar mistakes, though - english is not my first. love you!

Kaitain, 10176 AG

The violent streaks of light fight with the heavy cloth of drapes to find their way into the small, stifling chambers. The time was slowly crawling towards noon in the heavy summer heat, and the woman lying on the heavily decorated sheets was battling to get a breath in. Whether because of the annoying star, or the poisoning waiting, the patterns of sweat stained her tired face with esculent ornaments. Her lips, formed into a thin line, gleamed with small spots of dried crimson.

''Where is the messenger?'' The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes glued to the dancing light filtering through the window. ''The girl is strong; I can't hold her for much longer.''

The black figure on the chair in the corner slightly shifted at words. She was veiled, despite the heat—like a black hole, she seemed to suck the little air left. ''Forbearance,'' her raspy voice cuts through the room. ''The child makes you impatient. Control yourself.''

''I've waited, and waited long enough,'' the woman snapped, her frustration evident in her trembling hands. ''A few more minutes and all that is left of her will be a corpse.''

''Be quiet, Echidna. The child will live. If not, she was never meant to be part of our world in the first place.''

The woman clenched her jaw in a wave of pain and nodded. The girl ought to see the light of this planet today. Deep in her thoughts, she almost missed the rushed steps behind the door.

One of the Emperor's guards burst into the room, his eyes almost frantic. ''Lady Anirul has graced the Imperium with a daughter.''

Echidna smiled in relief, but her expression quickly changed as a beast-like cry pierced the air. The child was coming, with little care for the damage it caused to her aching womb. She tore the tissue down to the individual cells, gnawing her way with fists and elbows, moving the bones aside with brute force. Soon, her own cries were answered by much louder ones, as the head of the girl showed itself, covered in a thick layer of almost black blood. Just for a moment, the woman wished it would not steal another breath from the room, but she sharply composed herself. With a final push, the child left her body forever, leaving it a raw wound.

The small creature shrieked when the black figure approached, and slender, wrinkled arms took it from the warmth of rufous-red liquid. Echidna watched as the figure carried the girl away, resting her hurting body against the soaked pillows. She fulfilled her duty; she granted Bene Gesserit the daughter they wanted. She is bleeding under a beautiful sun; she is holding the ghost of her child in her arms—the real one was never hers anyway. Echidna knows the Emperor will not come. From now on, it is just her and her never-passing pain. Thus, Kaitain, home to the Corrino dynasty, was warmed by the light of a new sun—Princess Irulan, an heiress to the Imperium—and chilled by the shadow of her sister, born a few minutes later.

The calmness of the gardens was disturbed only by the soft strokes of brushes against a thick canvas. YN sighed, her eyes still fixed on the tree nearby, its young branches swaying with the wind. Her body ached from stillness, the tension in her neck from holding her head slightly bowed spreading down to her small back. They posed for a portrait of what seemed like an eternity to a child, and was almost it to an adult who dared to inquire; the painter, while satisfied with the draft, looked at the group of young girls almost in fear—no normal child of that age would be unmoving for three hours. And yet, they were.

YN felt one of her sisters shift even through the thick fabric of her silver dress. Small Chalice turned, her cheeks red from the heat or tiredness, her lips forming a pout—the child was tired, sleepingly rubbing her eyes. YN thought for a moment, debating if the punishment would be worth it, or if her sisters could wait just a little bit more until the man with colours would end the session for today. She noticed how Irulan's face was starting to droop, her eyes fluttering closed and opening just a second later. Their youngest, Wensicia, was already asleep in Irulan's arms; her golden hair spread across her and YN's laps as a beautiful cover, shining under the faint sun.

''I am tired, Master Chen. We should end the painting for today,'' YN finally spoke; her voice was almost a whisper. She did not know whether it was not to awaken her sister or out of fear of the Emperor's anger; it did not matter. The man nodded and left, taking his canvases with him, leaving only a few drafts behind. Then, the sisters were left alone in the garden.

''Thank you,'' Irulan said softly, placing her head on YN's shoulder.

YN only nodded. Her eyes found the paper not so far away, her gaze studying the strokes of the pencil with interest. Wensicia, a beautiful girl of two, was smiling brightly, holding an olive branch in her chubby hands, her small feet peeking under the hem of her white dress. Small Chalice was at the opposite end of her, her curly hair surrounding her head like a halo as she leaned forward, holding a small dove inside her palms. Then, sitting at the bench, surrounded by lush greenery and bushes, they. Irulan and the Other.

YN was placed just a step away from her older sister, her head turned away from the gaze of the viewer. The delicate folds of her silver dress carefully cascaded down, creating an air of mist around them. Her hands were empty; she did not know if the artist hadn't decided with each object to grace her with, or left them hollow intently. She looked like a shadow—a ghost, maybe; her eyes were escaping the viewer as if hiding a secret.

Irulan was different. She was a sun-kissed creature, her head facing straight ahead. Her eyes, as if inviting for a challenge, were made from duty, steel. With a burning star on her regal forehead, crowning the streaks of golden hair, Irulan was water and air, dulcet and ever-bending; her figure held the place and her pose was distinct and commanding.

YN looked at the girl beside her, who was now quiet nearby. Irualn was wise, the wisest of the sisters; her eyes were all-seeing, her heart all-knowing. She was created in the shape of a mother since they could walk, and the small ones bathed in her light, drinking her till the last drop —like flowers following the warm embrace of the sun. The only one who could not enjoy the love was her, the Other. The other sister, the other half. For they have been too close in age, too similar to let each other pretend the burden was not a heavy one to bear.

When Irulan was natural in her all-caring shape, YN had to claw her way to the only role left—the father. An unbent tree, a silent soldier—she was not born to fit as one, but wishing for a different order of things was almost blasphemy. That's how it always was with them—out of two, one was the protector, the other - the protected. "Husband," Irulan humorously called her often. She smiled, and, for a moment, the wave of resentment in YN's soul calmed. She never called her wife in return: Irulan was too whole to be one, too proud to be moulded into. She stood alone, on a higher pedestal than all of them, closest to the Emperor, whom the Other was to call father, and closest to the Truth. No, Irulan was God.

God does not know how to love someone who is not his servant, because there is no one who would refuse to serve him; it is the only way. God guides, despite all one's protests. God gives, and God takes. God demands; Irulan demands—silent obedience without a need to explain or answer. That, she takes from their father. So, the Other takes a blade into her hand without compassion for her dead wishes and learns to wield it in God's name. She is the one little ones turn to when the world is too wicked for their fragile souls when the creatures under their beds lose all of their human form and turn violent. She takes their sins and bears the punishments, for they are not deserving of such cruelty. YN thinks not of her own guilt—what difference would one scourage make to one who counts in centuries? And when the sun shone, and God smiled, the Other almost forgot of the bruises she carried.

The first time he saw her, it was not supposed to happen at all. Feyd-Rautha just closed the door to Maester's chambers with such force that it shook against lean walls; the grumble echoed in the long corridors of Giedi Prime's fortness. The ache in his body was muted, but still present; the torn flesh inside his heart howled and clawed, slicing the ribcage in half. He would've screamed, or perhaps beat his hands bloody against the concrete until the dull pain turned into something as sharp as his knife's blade. Maybe he would've drowned himself in a small water bowl by his nightstand and done anything to escape the shame and humiliation that consumed him from within. But instead, Feyd-Rautha stood still, his jaw clenched tight and his breathing shallow. One day, it will pass. One day, he will see the world choke on its own spit.

That's when he noticed a small, shadow-like figure at the end of the hallway staring at him. A girl, not older than him, was in a dress so foreign to him that it hurt his eyes. The daughter of the Emperor, he guessed. One of many—only then would the golden stitching on her sleeve would make sense.

''What are you doing here?'' he barked, caring little for the common courtesy. Of course, she was a guest almost as prized as her father, but she was in his territory and dared to look at him for long enough without averting her eyes. Long enough to notice the bruising on his pale skin and a swelness surrounding his lips. Long enough to hear him cry.

''I was walking with my mother, but then I turned into the wrong hall,'' she shrugged. ''Will you be kind enough to show me the way out? Or should I find it myself?"

Feyd-Rautha ignored her question. What a weird creature she was—with cascades of hair and eyes that seemed to see too much. ''It is dangerous to walk these halls without guard, Princess.'' It is dangerous to be here, alone with him and the weapon strapped to his hip, but he did not add it.

''There is no use of guards if the one who wishes to kill you is their master.'' The girl took a step forward, pointing to the weapon at his side. "I am not afraid."

Feyd-Rautha laughed. It came out more as howling than human sounds, the abrupt nature of it ringing with high notes, tip-toeing down to hysterical; it sounded creaky, like his throat was not made for such sounds; yet here he was, laughing. ''Come,'' he gestured to her, his hand moving quickly, like ordering a slave around. ''I will show you why you should be.''

So, they walked. Inside the grandiose chambers and small rooms, filled with ancient artefacts or the newest technology Harkonnens came up with; inside the green lavish garden inside the dim castle and the training grounds, Feyd-Rautha showed every place that was built to display the greatness of his house and bestone fear inside both guests and people inhibiting it. He wanted to see the horror in the girl's eyes, to make her eyes water and her frame flee. Instead, he listened to her steady breathing just a step behind him, her curious questioning satisfying another need he did not know his heart possessed: reverence.

He was the youngest member of the ruling line, the smallest stone in the castle of power his uncle had built. His title meant nothing within these walls; he was too small in comparison to the Baron and his authority. Feyd-Rautha was feared, despite only being nine; he was the shadow in the corner that grew longer as the sun set, the whispered name that sent shivers down spines. But here, in the hallway he led the girl into, he turned out to be something else.

''Stunning,'' the girl whispered beside him.

Weapons. The walls, from the floor to the high ceilings, were covered in ritual and fighting blades. The pride of house Harkonnen, the tree of their dynasty, black, silver, golden, and steel knives, swords, and daggers gleamed in the dim light. Feyd-Rautha smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth. "Welcome to our burial ground."

They stopped near every one, his voice briefly covering the story of each blade and his owner; barons that came before him; fighters and rules that defined their legacy. Some still have blood on them—the highest honour; some look almost virgin. The small signs underneath them tell the names of people who wielded these weapons, their stories forever immortalised in the cold metal. ''Each Harkonnen ruler is crafted a blade of his own, the one he is to honour in battle.''

The girl nodded, her fingers tracing the shape of the last blade carefully. Her palms danced around the sharp edge, taking in the ancient symbols she had no chance of knowing. ''Will you have to kill Baron Vladimir in order to have one, like he did with his father before?''

Feyd-Rautha paused. Of course, he has thought about it before. The idea he repeated like a mantra in his head for all of his short life, the belief that spread burning flames down his spine. The words left his mouth for the first time but felt almost natural against his cracked lips. ''I dream of the day I have the chance to.''

The pair of foreign eyes that stared back at him held a glint of intrigue that quickly changed with a flash of acknowledgement. Feyd-Rautha held the gaze; not a single thing about it was hard. Still, he was the first to turn away; the burning sensation of being seen made him want to tear his flesh apart. ''Let me escort you to your rooms, Princess. The walls grow colder as the evening approaches.''

The weather on the planet leaves too few guards out of their breath, Irulan notes. The striking sun burns through the rounded windows of man-built walls, the frankly depressing landscape of huge boxes constructed with little intent for anything else but utilitarianism. She must not fear, while those lands will also be under her power with time, but the dreadful atmosphere of the lonely planet makes her skin break out in hives.

She believes the people here are more terrifying. White, hairless creatures with eyes as dark as the sun above them speak with just nods and courseys, paying little to no attention to the world around them, save for the concrete floors. ''Tell them to set themselves on fire, and they will,'' Irulan recalls Baron Vladimir telling her father over the banquet. She believed it to be a simple boast at first, but now, after a few days in the strange world, the words make greater sense.

Perhaps, the harsh weather made people here hardened. Perhaps, such cruelty is necessary for survival. What terrorised her more was her sister—the one who now silently reads nearby, her long dress carelessly spread on the floor. Irulan would never allow her dress to wrinkle before the concluding dinner, but she is not Irulan. Despite them being demisisters, they shared fewer similarities than one could guess. Two lambs, as many in court would call them—the white and black ones. They knew one another better than anything else; where one went, the other followed. Where Irulan failed, her sister succeeded. What was allowed for her sister, was fobility towards Irulan. No one was embedded in their small circle; no one could get close enough to understand the bond they shared—together, they were whole.

Yet as they grew older, the bond seemed to thin. The path to the mind of her sister was more often closed to her now, her thoughts veiled by the silence rooted deep into her veins. Irulan knows they are just growing up, trying to find their path in the unknown. But she is scared; what would be of her without her sister? What use would the river have without fish to fill it?

''I shall go,'' her sister says, closing the book. ''The dinner starts soon, and I wanted to return the book before it.''

''Is it the one Na-Baron recommended?'' Irulan voices. Truth be told, she would never touch anything that Baron or his family possessed, even more recommended, but her sister seemed to enjoy the ancient text.

''It is. Rather interesting are the traditions of these people. Did you know their slaves have no tongues?''

Irulan feels sick to her stomach; the thought of having slaves brings the small bits of her recent meal to her very present tongue. ''Can I come with you?'' she asks, instead of answering. Irulan does not want to leave the faint safety of her rooms, but even more, she does not want to be left alone. She feels vulnerable—she is not of power here, despite being the embodiment of it in all of the other corners of the Imperium.

''You know I walk without guards.''

Irulan knows. While she is not able as much as bathe without the presence of someone with fighting knowledge, the rules do not seem to apply to her younger sister; she can move freely, as she wishes. Was it because she carried a thin blade with her and knew how to use it, or because of the lack of care from their father? Irulan was not sure. What she was sure of, was that no woman of twelve should leave her sister alone in the halls of Harkonnens' fort.

''It is just to the reading room and back, is it not?''

''Yes,'' her sister nods. ''I'll take you,'' it means.

So, they walk. Fortunately, the guards usually waiting outside are nowhere to be found, and they manage to slip away unnoticed. Irulan holds the hand of her sister tightly, with each noise from the outside digging her nails deeper into her soft palm. Her sister says nothing; she steps calmly into the labyrinth of corridors, navigating them without much evident trouble. Soon, they find themselves in front of a huge black door, incarnated with words Irulan hold no knowledge of.

Inside, the chamber is massive; it forms a beautiful, round circle with ceilings so high that the air in it is always chilly. Rows of books and manuscripts fill the shelves out of oxidant, contrasting starkly with the white wall. The black circle table of cold stone is filled with replicas and ancient artefacts, each emitting a soft glow.

Who knew the small, desert planet held such treasures inside? Irulan forgets about her sister entirely—the texts call to her, golden lettering shining under the light. Irulan follows the names on the covers: legends, myths, histories, and art overviews. Some even contained gardening and soil research; Baron likely held those for a good laugh.

Irulan travels deeper and deeper until the voice of her sister addressing the only library keeper almost disappears, consumed by tall bookcases. The section she finds herself in is solely dedicated to martial arts; where, if not here, would the hundreds of books on such a topic be stored? Some of them are used; the spines are slightly older; others look brand new.

Irulan is brought to her senses only when she notices a black figure moving in the corner of her vision. She puts the book back and Listens. Just like the Sisters taught her, her inner ear picks up the faint voice of her sister, and the moving of two sandaled feet—the slave handling the books. She feels something else, too. A presence familiar enough to recognise but not enough to name.

''We have to go,'' she says, grabbing her sister by the shoulder and pressing. ''We will be late,'' she explains to the slave. Not that it would question the whims of the princess.

''Why?'' her sister turns to her, confused. ''I was looking at some other books. Weren't you also?''

''Please,'' Irulan whispers. ''We spent enough time here as it is.''

Just as her sister was about to answer, the atmosphere shifted. The air, sitting in its calmness, heavied. The silent before slave turned on its feet, its eyes burning holes in Irulan's body. It lurches towards them, opening its obsidian mouth to show the blackened void inside—indeed, it possesses no tongue.

Irulan freezes. The void seems to suck her in, the sharp mouth growing wider as its owner approaches her body. The fear paralyses her, planting her otherwise quick feet deep into the ground. Now, her training as Bene Gesserit should awaken—she should oppose, or at the very least dodge, the attack. But the black mouth continues to draw her in, clouding her thoughts with terror.

The body beside her shifts; her sister is quick. With one strong thrust, she pushes Irulan aside. '' Hide ,'' the voice within her head commands, and Irulan has no force to object to the technique. She crawls under the heavy stone, frantically looking for something—anything—to protect herself with.

Despite the long skirts, her sister moves like Adam's wine; she bends and turns, and strikes the man far taller than her, but he seems determined on the idea of killing her. Her sister grunts under the heavy hits; one sits in her abdomen, and another lands on her knees. The slave's nails leave a trace on her skin, rough enough to pierce the young dermis.

Eventually, her sister grows tired; the slave pushes her to the ground, pressing his slender body on top and closing its white, almost translucent hands on her throat. Irulan clasps the found sharp cutting instrument to her chest, desperately trying to calm the wave of fear forming there. ''I must not fear. Fear is a mind killer,'' she whispers again and again.

She watches as her sister's hand slips under her clothes and emerges an illicit, slender blade—it shines under the light just as lettering did on the books a minute ago. To Irulan, it feels like a year's hundred. ''No!'' she wants to shout as her sister raises the steel and preys it into the eye of the slave, but the words are unable to leave her throat. Like a waterfall, crimson covers her sister's face, staining her light grey dress in hot circles.

The slave falls on his back, his hands leaving their place on her sister's neck.

''Enough, please! Sister, stop!'' Irulan cries, crawling out of her hiding spot but daring not to get closer.

Her sister doesn't hear; she lurches towards the man in a slick puddle and takes his life quickly, cutting his throat in one swift motion. The blood from his arteria leaves the body in pulsations; they spatter everywhere, some drops going as far as touching the shelves.

The silence settles in the chamber once again; only the sound of weakly flowing blood disturbs the stillness. Her sister does not shed a tear; she meticulously cleans the blade with the slave's white cloth and slips it back into the folds of her gown.

''What have you done?'' Irulan whispers. Her hands tremble; the sight before her crawls into the deepest corners of her mind and tears everything there down. How can one kill so easily? How can one be so cold and calculating, as if it were nothing more than a daily chore? How could that one be her sister, the one she shared a life with?

''I protected.'' Her sister's voice is hoarse, but firm. There is no remorse in her tone, only weariness. ''What have you done?'' She turns to face her. Her hair, carefully braided by servants for dinner, is undone; the wet strands of it grip her face like a vice, framing the unseeing eyes.

Like that, she looks like a woman mad. Irulan backs into the safety of the doors, feeling her fear turn into something much greater. ''Do not come near me,'' she commands. Just as the heavy doors close behind her, she sets off running.

YN waits until the footsteps of her sister are no longer heard, and only then does she come out of the reading room. She pays the body on the ground little attention; no one would bet an eye on the death of a useless creature like that. It did not intend to kill; rather, someone made it do it. Who, in their right mind, would try to harm the heir of the Emperor? How would they know that Irulan would follow her there?

Irulan. The one who watched as the Other almost gave her life for hers, the one who had the nerve to be repulsed by the blood on her hands—the blood she spilt protecting her. What do you do when you are not allowed to be angry at God? Why does God shame one for the will she herself inflicted on one to bestone? YN would ask the sun, but it hid behind the walls of the fort. She would ask, but no one would answer.

So, she does what she is meant to do—finds her way into the large dining hall, where everyone, of course, is starting to gather. The Emperor would be dissatisfied to find her not there on time; she has no time to fix her appearance. In light of the slight possibility of shaming their House with her muddled hairstyle or suffering yet another punishment for being even late, she chooses the first option.

The guards let her in without saying a word. YNr watches as the shield slides open, revealing a full hall. Rows and rows of tables, filled with foods one would imagine never would have made their way to the Giedi Prime, and laughter not so usual for a harsh realm.

''Princess...'' the servant starts, announcing her arrival, but she shushes him with a slight wave of her palm. She does not notice the crimson liquid staining it.

The Other makes her way to her seat calmly, careless of the way people around her stumble and twist their faces in shock. The only eyes that watch her without fear at the Emperor's table are those of Lady Echidna. Her face betrays no emotion at all—hidden by her veiled black cloth, it only slightly moves when the YN passes her seat.

She holds the angry gaze of the Emperor calmly. He will demand an answer, of course if Irulan has not whispered the truth into his aged ears already. Her sister probably would do no such thing; in that, she would admit to disobeying the orders bestowed upon her. YN is puzzled at the attention directed towards her humble figure—the first thing a Bene Gessarite in training learns is not to be repulsed by the anatomy of her body. Why be grossed out by the liquid coursing through her veins—the liquid she carries all her life? Why be scared of death, when it is always at your doorstep? In the sway of her thoughts, the Other also seems not to perceive the pair of icy blue eyes glued to her figure as she finds her seat and takes her place.

"The boy follows you around like a dog." The mother's tone stands not in judgment but rather simply states the truth.

Lady Echidna is not veiled now; her heavy hair is still tightly braided out of her face. Just a small black ribbon highlights her status as one of the Emperor's senior concubines, a position most would bear with honour. To her, it was yet another stain on her earthly body—the body she could not call her to possess. The black sun of Giedi Prime is finally long behind them; nothing but a few light orbs floating around illuminate the chamber, yet her intense gaze seems to pierce right through the girl that sits across her.

"I know, mother. His steps are heavy; his thoughts are even heavier; they follow me much more often."

The woman's fingers stop working on an intricate needlework for a moment, before continuing as it was. "You are to call me Sister, girl," she speaks, her voice low.

YN drags her teeth across her tongue, feeling the anger flow through the veins in her body. She wishes to be far away from this small chamber, to run and never face the woman's eyes again. "The girl has a name, Sister. Or do you fear to voice it?"

Lady Echidna places the cloth on the table beside her gracefully, as if paying no attention to the words spoken. But YN can sense can feel the resentment that burns inside her mother's stomach, spreading its molecules to her throat. "A name holds meaning; for a person to have a name, one must first be of character and substance. You are none."

YN bit the soft flesh inside her mouth; it tasted bitter. It was better if her mother shouted, if she hit her if she did anything to prove YN is still here in her eyes, that she was not just a void the woman spoke her riddles into. Maybe then the pain inside her would have a meaning, would have a reason better than just childish hurt. "Did I not have a beating heart when I left your womb, Sister? Did you not hear it loud and clear? What kind of proof is needed more of me?"

"My daughter died that day, screaming. You took her place. So do not bother me with your foolish talks anymore, for we both know they just waste the air we breathe. Am I heard?"

She was. The tears dried on YN's face before having the chance to spill, and she turned to her studies. Once more, a feeling of ever-lasting cold surrounded her shoulders. The never-leaving vision in her mind appeared once again—her mother's quick steps as she walked away in another corridor of Giedi Prime's fort, her head straight ahead as YN pleaded not to leave her alone, her legs glued to the command spoken. It was a blessing that the boy found her earlier than his uncle.

Time has passed since the first time YN's eyes saw the black sun of the foreign planet so far from hers. The Other trained, restlessly, in the tongues of ancient warriors and the most prominent whisperers, slowly earning the right to bear Knowledge in her crown-empty head. She had much yet to learn, but the prospect did not frighten her; with every passing day, she felt power building in her hands and soul. Patience, the greatest virtue of all. She was alone now, without her half of a sister; alone, in her solitude, the heavy bearings seemed not as heavy—she had no one to enlighten about her battles. Still, God was on her mind; YN felt her presence near, her watchful eyes guiding her. Like the tight, dampened cloth on her bruised knuckles, her sister was stuck to her open wound of a soul.

Irulan has grown. Her complexion changed; she no longer looked like a bright-faced girl who left her sister alone in Harkonnen's library; the plump cheeks were gone, and so was fear. At the Other stared a sole statue of power she bloomed into. Silver collars, light blue waves of fabric—the cut is, as always, straight. The Other eyed her up and down, taking in each detail of the painting-like sight. Irulan did the same—a slight disgust at the Other's simple tunic and pants, creased from the sparring. Irulan did not need to be broken in order to be a Sister in the Bene Gesserit; they wanted her Corrino first, and a servant second. The Other, however, held no such value—a child carried not by the lawful wife, a second, a spare. So, there would be no bone in her body left untouched by the lessons, no string in her soul unharmed by the knowledge. They crushed her cartilage in grey sand and forced her to swallow the bitter truths of their ways. Yet, God remains undisturbed—stoic. Eternal.

''Will you not eat again?'' Irulan musses, putting another piece of dish in her mouth.

The Other would take it as a cruel joke from anyone else, but not from God. She shakes her head instead. ''I am forbidden.''

Irulan hums. It was not the first time YN would be disciplined this way; the cycle of punishment and forgiveness was all too familiar to her. The room is silent; there is no one but the two of them. She could offer to eat, and no one would know she did, but Irulan won't offer. The Other does not expect her to; pity is not something a sister can possess.

''How are your lessons going? A fresh knowledge, perhaps?''

YN nods. If she opens her mouth now, her voice will betray her. She could cry all she wanted in the presence of a sister, but it is not appropriate for a thirteen-year-old to behave this way in front of God. The Other is reminded of that with an absence of bruises on Irulan's skin; her hands were never cut by the sharp blades, and her mouth was never starved. ''Why was I summoned from training?'' She asked, directing her eyes to the figure in front of her.

''I am here as a messenger from the Emperor.''

YN's eyes narrowed. ''And what does our dear Emperor desire to tell me now?'' She wishes not to hear anything he has to say; the Other is perfectly content here, amongst her Sisters. Here, she is of cost.

''Recently, Baron Vladimir turned to our House for guidance. He and na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen felt misled by the House Artreidis, and their promise of a bride that did not come. Our father has graciously offered to negotiate the conflict and pay the needed price for the Baron's cooperation.''

''Of course, he did. With all of our might, we are still afraid of the savages that made Arrakis their home. With what advice, may I ask, did the Emperor provide the Baron?''

Irulan's lips turn into a straight line, with the small wrinkle on her forehead appearing. Something that she carried with her through childhood. Something that still reminded of home. ''With the proposal of a woman of our House to na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.''

''A gift? Irulan, I am so sorry.''

Sure, the bridge between them was long forgotten, growing with tall grass and wildflowers, but the weight of their shared history still lingered in the air. Irulan was still her sister, no matter how many times the Other tried to tell herself otherwise. And no woman sane would consider giving her sister to the inhumane brutes that were Harkonnens—the people even Bene Gessarit wished to observe from afar; the people so ruthless mothers told stories about them to their small offspring in an attempt to instil fear and obedience.

Irulan does not answer. She hides her gaze, her eyes following the wooden panels of the quarters.

''What is it, sister? Speak .''

''The offer Emperor found the most fitting would be of your hand, not mine.''

The Other exhales. As if a heavy stone were put on her chest, she fights to bring much-needed oxygen to her bloodstream. She almost feels the erythrocytes scatter from her face into her neck, hidden by the cloth, and gather there in an attempt to regrow their might. Her throat twists and closes, its muscles compressing until not even an ounce of air can get in. All of her organs, from heart to stomach, made their presence known; one by one, they tensed and burned, forcing the otherwise relaxed hands to grip them.

It was supposed to be Irulan. The first one to marry is the oldest sister; the title high enough to satisfy the ambitious Harkonnes would be hers, no less. Yet, here she stands, not even looking at the one taking her place as she sentences her to an ultimate death. No matter how much power the Corrino name held, on Giedi Prime, she would consider herself fortunate enough if she were to meet her end quickly.

''Why, Irulan? Have I not been a loyal servant to you all those years? Have I not followed every order without question? ''

Irulan is unmoved in her position. ''We can not risk the Harkonnen blood getting on the throne, you know it.''

''You mean we can not risk you? We are not eight anymore, dear Irulan; you can speak truthfully now. Do you really think the Emperor will treasure you more if you say nothing now? We are no sons, Irulan; we are sisters, you and I. Please, spare me this fate.''

''Yes,'' the girl lifts her eyes, taking a step closer. ''We are no sons; you knew that one day we would marry for the peace of the Imperium. Why do you shout now?''

''Married, yes, but not murdered for the sake of the fucking old man who could not hold his promise. They are monsters, Irulan, spilling innocent blood for the fun of it. I beg of you, sister, show me the mercy I know you are capable of.''

''You are worried about blood? What could one more splash of blood mean to you? You have been no sister for a long time; I order you, as an heir of the Emperor and as the messenger of his will here, to comply. Do not make it harder than it has to be.''

The Other smiled—she would not grant the pleasure of tears. ''Very well, then. Someone needs to go first. I'll go; I'll be first, at least here. Tell the Emperor that I will comply with any of his wishes, whether it be to throw me to the sharks or to feed me to the sandworms. As a confirmation of my undying loyalty, you may show him this:''

She slaps her. She slaps her not like a warrior, not like the trained assassin she was raised to be; she slaps her like a sister, bitterly, harshly. For the first time in her short life, YN raises a hand on something she deems holy—the God's shocked face brings a sense of satisfaction to the Other's veins, even if the same blood courses through them. She turns on her heels and walks away, leaving the forsaken room behind. Leaving God behind.

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vaultlucy · 1 month

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#they ate (literally)#house harkonnen #giedi prime #also crediting them/naming them harpies is so fun #harkonnen harpies #dune part two #dune #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #*

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space-mango-company · 1 month

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Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

#feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune #dune part two #baron harkonnen #baron vladimir harkonnen #house harkonnen #house atreides #giedi prime #austin butler #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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feyd-rautha-aesthetic · 28 days

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 - Chapter I: Sinners

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen X f! Reader

-𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬! 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭! -

Words: around 7.000

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Bit Softer! Feyd (but only to you), forced marriage, dark romance, violence, sexual themes, oral (f receiving), friction of genitals, blood and gore, bloody act, hate and aggression, mention of rape, aftercare(?)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You never thought you'd have a Harkonnen by your side. Never. And then of all people, whose name everyone in this galaxy knew: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. But you soon realized that the dark world, Giedi Prime, doesn't scare you as much as you thought it would be. You were starting to like it there. But you also have to learn to live with the downsides.

English isn't my first language, but I always got a good grade. Please tell me if mistakes are too bad.

A loud crash awakens you from your calm sleep. It rang again, and then again. Surprised, you lifted your head out of the soft satin pillow and looked at the heavy velvet curtains, which moved slightly in the breeze as the balcony door was open, so you could see that it was already light outside. Again, the loud noise rang out and it struck you like a flash. How could you be so stupid? Grinning, you turned to your still-sleeping fiancé, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. Today It was his birthday. Peacefully he slept next to you, on his back, his face turned away from you. His chest, only half covered by the soft blanket, rose and fell evenly. You pressed a tentative kiss on the sleeping warrior's shoulder. On your side of the bed, you reached for your water bottle, drank a few sips, watched the light and shadow spectacle of the heavy curtains. Like Feyd's, your torso was completely free. Last night, you had a little exercise, and it took some effort to put on black sweatpants. Even the Na-baron had been completely exhausted last night. He had taken off your sports bra and, like almost every night, held you tightly against him like a stuffed animal. Together, you fell asleep in a few minutes. Your eyes went back to him when he moved a little, but didn't wake up. Only a deep exhale could be heard from him. During the day, he reminded you of a large and continuously hungry robbery big cat. Aggressive and always ready to attack. But when he was asleep, he looked like a kitten. Almost peaceful. Your eyes dropped to his pectoral and abdominal muscles, which looked tense even when he was asleep. You'd never thought it super important to have a fully trained man by your side one day, but now that you had it, you were pretty happy about it. Grinning, you put the water bottle on your lips again. You opened a little drawer on the bedside table, and you dug out a box of pills that the doctor had given you when you confessed that you and Feyd were already intimate. And if that were to give birth to a child, bad would be in store for you. Maybe even death.

Because of the fireworks, you quietly got up from the bed and aimed for the balcony door to close it. But no sooner had your legs moved away from the bed than you fell back onto it when Feyd grabbed you from behind by the waistband. ❝Where do you think you are going?❞ his rough morning voice rang out as you realized what had happened. He smiled gently at you and stroked a strand of hair out of your face with his index finger. His hand then reached for his own water bottle to drink. He looks at you from above, his eyes wandering from your face to your naked breasts and back again. and placed the bottle on the floor, he whispered coarsely, ❝What a beautiful sight.❞ His grin could not be missed. You laughed softly for a moment, your slender fingers stroked his pectoral muscles. One of his hands also rose, grabbed your hand and pressed it against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat and looked at your hands. His gaze wandered to the balcony, his name faintly audible. Some of the Harkonnens had probably already gathered in the arena to watch his fight later. In about two hours, it would begin. You sat up and spread several gentle kisses on his throat. ❝Happy birthday, Feyd.❞, you whispered with a smile. His grip on your hand strengthened, but it didn't hurt. He wasn‘t a man who gave a “Thank you“ of himself. At least not in words. But you knew that. He was still looking toward the balcony, but his other hand quickly grabbed you by the neck, and in that second, he turned his face to you to put a firm kiss on your lips. Firm, but somewhere full of emotion. Your free hand wrapped around his shoulders. But you had to get away from him in order to catch your breath. In a variety of ways, he often took your breath away. With a grin, he suddenly let go of you, and with a muffled sound, your torso landed back on the bed. Feyd stood up and pulled the heavy curtains aside to enter the balcony. His actions did not go unnoticed by the others, the voices grew louder. You smile briefly, enjoy the way so many shouted your future husband's name. It made you proud to have him by your side. For only a few weeks now, Giedi Prime has been your home. You had chosen Feyd and he had chosen you. The age-old tradition of getting married to someone, you both didn’t know before. You shook off the thoughts and sat down on the edge of the bed. Your gaze went to the closet, and you thought about what you could wear today. You wanted to dress up pretty today. For him.

But you also wanted to show the people that the title 'Na-Baroness' was important to you. ❝I'm going to take a shower.❞ , you said, but you thought he hadn't heard you anyway. But you were wrong. His strong arms snaked from behind over your naked breasts. ❝Come outside, I want to show them my queen!❞ Even if it was just playful, you didn't stand a chance against his strong grip. ❝Feyd!❞ , you laughed nervously as he pulled you out onto the balcony. The brightness irritated your eyes for a second. As many Harkonnen had already assembled, your hands lay on his, hoping that he would not release his strong grip now. The crowd grew louder when they saw you, the future Baroness. The nervous smile never left your face; somewhere you liked the cheering. The man behind you gave kisses on your shoulders and asked if you would watch him fight later. ❝Of course, what do you expect?❞ , you laughed confusedly and looked at him over your shoulders. His eyes hit yours, his kisses stopped. ❝Oh, did I say something wrong?❞ , your voice echoed uncertainly. Feyd didn't say a word. His grip tightened, and he pulled you back in, towards the bed. ❝Lie on your stomach!❞ , he said decisively, but not menacing. No sooner were you in position, he followed you and sits on your butt. You could feel his knees on your waist as he squeezed them tighter, as if you couldn't escape his grip. You heard him lean down, growling softly, his hand freed your hair from your neck, and began to kiss you down to your shoulders. His fingertips slid down your back, and you shook briefly when it tickled too much. You heard the Harkonnen laugh hoarse before he continued his game.

His fingers also ran down your upper arms as he whispered between the kisses: ❝I will see that they too soon call out your name with force. Let them adore you!❞ It sounded like an order, ominous. The cheering of the crowd seemed to have a positive effect. ❝Like a goddess!❞ His tongue made its way down your spine. His kisses became gentle bites. His growl, deep from his throat, can't be misunderstood. You felt the tingling between your legs and draw in your breath, trembling. ❝Do we have time for this, my beloved?❞ , you murmured softly. No louder than a breath. Feyd's lips moved to your ears and whispered harshly: ❝We have time for everything when I say so!❞ When he said it like that, it had to be true. You took a deep breath, enjoyed his touch. The first time he did that was when he realized one night you couldn't sleep, maybe three weeks ago. It was actually more beautiful to you than sex. You could do that act with anyone, without feelings. But not what Feyd was doing at that moment. Who could kiss and desire someone like that without feelings for each other? His hands slid as easily as soap under your torso, onto your breasts. Like a tight hug, he wanted to feel more of you. Your ears continued to hear his growl, which you loved so much. The animal and the warrior inside him. You felt safe at his side, even if you could fight yourself. Knives and swords, like him, had been in your hands since childhood. Another gentle bite on your back brought you back to the here and now. You didn't know your back was already red. Feyd, however, enjoyed the sight. He had inflicted bites on you several times, which could be seen for a few days, as well as hick spots. He wanted to mark you, let others know you were his queen, no other woman. But you had to turn him down a couple of times. The wounds didn't make a good impression to some others. A lot of marks were hard to cover. Like your neck or your arms. Depending on his mood, he bit you wherever he wanted. In fact, recently, he even bit you in the hand. Your stomach, and particularly your thighs, were also almost never spared. You both knew that the Baron, Feyd's uncle, didn't like your passion for each other. The rule is that you weren't allowed to get intimate with each other until after the wedding, in any way, but soon you both didn't really care about that tradition anymore. Too fast.

Once again, you were swept out of your mind as Feyd turned you around and continued his kisses and bites on your breasts. He knew you loved it. His blackened teeth nibbled at the flesh of your breast, feeling his tongue over and over again. You moaned soflty. ❝Louder, I want them to hear you!❞ , he growled. He could already smell you wetness, your body craving its touch. ❝I want them to know you belong to me!❞ Had another man said those words, your flat hand would have landed in his face. You knew Feyd meant those words differently. You exhaled the air, shivering, as Feyd's fingers clawed into the waistband. With rapid movements, he pulled your sweatpants and underwear off your legs, letting your clothes fall to the ground carelessly. And even though he already knew your body, he always took a few seconds to take a closer look at you. The red stains caused by his lips and teeth. A few scars that you'd picked up in fights. His cock was already hurting, but he was trying to ignore it. He knew it was important to take time for you and your body, and he loved to do it. Redness shot into your face, in shock, you grabbed one of the pillows next to you to cover your face. Before him, you'd experienced sexual violence. You'd never told anyone about it - not your parents, not even a doctor. Many nights you'd cried yourself to sleep, fearing it might happen again. Pleasing yourself was hardly possible. Until you met Feyd.

He pulled the pillow out of your hands and giggled rough. Your face was fiery red, and it was hard for you to look him in the eyes. What did you do to deserve him? After the other cruel man, what did you do to deserve someone who could arouse you so much? You couldn't give him everything right away, he knew it. And he understood. A deeper conversation had been enough for him to understand your feelings and vulnerability. He had also told you about his pets that he had often used for his own pleasure. But since you showed up, he had never touched them again. Even now, weeks later, the three ladies kept trying to persuade him, but he only threatened them to have respect for their future baroness, or they would end up as food. Or or or. "You can choose." he had told them. "Keeping you alive is reward enough." He clenched his hands into fists and placed them next to your head on the black satin bedding. ❝How... sweet.❞ , he grinned, his nose buried in your neck. ❝Still shy, huh?❞ , he teased hoarse, suddenly biting hard. ❝Ouch!❞ , escaped you meekly. You felt one of his hands slip slowly between your legs to feel how excited you were already. ❝My my...❞ , he whispered, grinning as he realized how wet you were. His other hand on the back of your neck. Not so tight that it hurt, but still dominating. ❝Don't move, my dearest.❞ His voice whispered. His head was placed next to yours, and he briefly watched you breathe out slowly through your lips to calm you down, not because you were so scared, but because Feyd was emotionally messing you up. You were almost embarrassed somewhere to be aroused, even if there was absolutely no reason to. He noticed, and his wet finger fell right on your clit. His lips crashed on your throat, actually wanting to bite so hard you couldn't breathe. His hand pulled away from your private parts, and it almost made you sad. Feyd's tongue made its way from your neck to your torso between your legs. He spread two kisses on your abdomen before his tongue tasted what he thought was sweet nectar. Your brief moan almost sounded as if you were suffocating. But he knew he didn't have to worry about that down here. It only aroused him more. One hand pressed one of your legs onto the mattress, the other wrapped around your bent thigh to somehow get a grip on you. Even though he knew you weren't going to leave. Absolutely not.

Outside, fireworks rang out again. Throughout the day, deep into the night, everyone should be reminded that today was his birthday. ❝Ah, by the way...❞ , he suddenly came out, and you stopped, dared not look at him. ❝...thank you for a lovely breakfast this morning. A perfect gift.❞ His hands clutched your hip so tightly that you thought you might bruise later, when his tongue and lips fondled your pussy again. Here, too, his teeth sometimes came into play. But when you were about to reach your climax, there was a knock on the door. You two paused for a moment. It knocked again. ❝That's not true…!❞ Feyd growled, incredibly angry. ❝Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. You're expected for--❞ ❝WAIT TEN MINUTES AND GET AWAY!❞ , he shouted furiously at the male voice, and you dared not say a single word. You had even stopped breathing. He looked at you, his gaze was serious, but you knew the expression wasn't directed at you. With a little effort, you raised your torso, but the Na-Baron pushed you back into the mattress. You shook your head. ❝Later, fresh up and change. We'll have all the time in the world later this night.❞ , you tried to calm him down, stroking the back of your hand across his left cheek. He reluctantly agreed and rose to jump under an ice-cold shower. For a moment, you thought about lending a hand yourself. He wouldn't know about it right now. Would he?

You shook your head and hastily reached for your underwear lying on the floor to put on your clothes. You might as well take a big shower or a nice, comfortable bath. You could hear your bare feet walking towards the closet. He had stored some of your things in his closet. He preferred you to sleep in his chambers, rather than alone in yours anyway. Seldom did that. At least for the moment. You pulled out from the closet a simple black, slightly trimmed black shirt with a short sleeve and pulled it over. You could easily do without a bra. There was a brush under your clothes, and you quickly ran through your hair with it when it knocked again. Feyd was in the shower, and you decided to open the door. ❝He said in 10 minutes!❞, your voice rang out. But when you opened the door, you saw his three former pets. They started looking at you with big eyes, startled. But just a second later, their gaze went dark, and the lady standing right in front of you pushed you aside. ❝Hey!❞ , you said angry. They didn't care, and they stepped in as if it were their chamber. ❝Our Na-Baron, Master, we want to wish you a happy birthday!❞ , shouted another. They saw his closet open, and immediately saw your clothes. They stared furiously at each other. They couldn't fight like you, probably not even close. But you seem to be making a different impression on the ladies at that moment, in your sweatpants and your simple shirt. None of you had heard the shower was off. Feyd had scarcely stepped out of the bathroom with a black towel tied his waist before his powerful hand wrapped itself around one of the ladies’ throats. ❝How dare you step in?❞ , he growled, his veins visible on his neck and arm. The strangled one could not utter a single sound, not even a sound. He looked at the other two, waited for an answer, but it remained silent. ❝We... we wanted to congratulate our beloved Na-Baron.❞ , said one of them. ❝But why is that tramp with you?❞ , she asked, looking at you disparagingly.

For a second, you lost your tongue, but Feyd spoke up. ❝What did you say?❞ The strangled one fell to the ground, coughing. You wondered if she had liked it. Feyd walked up to the other, growling, and his flat hand landed so hard on her face that her lip bled. You hesitated at first, but decided to intercede for once. On his birthday, he shouldn’t get so upset. ❝It’s okay, lignore them.❞ ❝Leave!❞ he growled low, and it almost turned you on. Not what just happened, but his pitch.

The three ladies looked at you again in anger as you leaned your head against his shoulder and continued to stroke his arm. Little did you care what those Harkonnens thought of you. Feyd’s well-being was far more important to you. They did as they were told and left the room. You and he knew that this would not be the last encounter with them today. ❝I should throw them to you, as food!❞ , he said more to himself, and you slowly read him off. As he changed clothes, you stepped back to the balcony for some fresh air. You skilfully ignored the shouting crowd. The temperature was neither too hot nor too cold. But even after weeks, it was still strange for you to see this world only in black and white during the day. Your skin, your hair. Completely colorless out here. ❝Come here!❞ You heard his voice. You could still hear anger in it. You kindly stepped in his direction, his hand resting on your neck, pulling you closer. ❝I want to see you again before the fight, understand?❞ , he whispered against your lips and pressed a kiss on them. What's tha-?❞, you interrupted yourself as he grinned perversely at you. ❝You should know, Harkonnen have much more pronounced senses. I'm going to have your taste for a while on my tounge.❞ , he declared, leaning his forehead against yours. A few seconds later, he broke physical contact and walked to the door. ❝One more thing!❞ His voice rang out again, and you looked up. ❝Don’t touch yourself! If I have to wait till tonight, so will you!❞ The grin from his face was gone. You just nodded, too ashamed to answer. Red on your cheeks again, and Feyd realized he had to leave. Otherwise, he would find himself on the bed with you.

•

He found the black paint cool when the first stroke was applied to his body. He had ignored the ladies in the black clothing until now. ❝Did you sleep well, Na-Baron?❞ , asked a lady in white who was painting him. The man nodded. ❝The Na-Baroness was by my side.❞ , Feyd said. ❝She looks pretty. She is a good choice for our house, Na-Baron.❞ , another lady in white chimed in. ❝She is not worthy of the house!❞ , hissed one of his pets, who tended to stay in the background. As usual, all three sat together. Feyd's hands clenched into fists. One of the ladies stood in front of him and began to paint his pectoral muscles. Also to distract him from the comments. But it didn't help at all. He was so angry that his muscles twitched. ❝I like her.❞ , the lady in front of him said hastily. And she really did. Most of them liked you. So far(?), there were only a few who didn't like you. ❝She's a fighter, like you, Na-Baron. I think those are the best qualifications for Giedi Prime, my lord.❞ , she shared her opinion. Her eyes focused on the paint on her fingers. Feyd looked at the female in front of him. ❝Right.❞ , was all he said. He couldn't tell at that moment if she was trying to suck up or if she really meant the words. ❝She was aroused earlier, we could smell it!❞ , protested another one in the background. Feyd grinned darkly, thinking he could still taste you on his tongue as he moved it into his mouth. ❝Yes, she was...❞ , he replied without turning around. ❝... why wouldn't she?❞ , he asked them now. ❝Why are you sleeping with her and not with us anymore?❞ Two of them asked at the same time. ❝We're better!❞ , added the third. All the other women in the room held their breath in shock, their heads bowed respectfully. Feyd was in no mood for pointless discussions. It would lead to nothing. ❝Besides, Master, why are you already intimate with her? It's not allowed until after the wedding. We're for you-❞ ❝SHUT YOUR MOUTH!❞ , he screamed angrily and everyone in the room flinched.

Feyd lowered his arms and the ladies with the paint took a step back. The Na-Baron turned to the three pets, they looked at him with interest and expectation. They didn't seem to care that he had shouted at them, or they interpreted it differently. He slowly approached them and grabbed one of them by the jaw. But instead of showing respect, as he would have expected at that moment, she kissed him. She recoiled, however, when she detected a certain smell and taste. Feyd grinned knowingly. ❝Master, why did you please her?❞ , she asked. Her black eyes widened in shock. ❝You ask why I am pleasuring your future baroness?❞ Silence reigned in the room. But Feyd suddenly wondered something else entirely. ❝How do you know what pussy tastes like?❞ The two ladies looked at each other briefly, the third still firmly in Feyd's grip. He rolled his eyes. Couldn't he have guessed that? But maybe there was a benefit for the three of them after all. ❝Listen!❞ , he began again and his grip on her jaw tightened. She grimaced painfully and the other two didn't dare look away. ❝I'll either kill you if you don't stop. Or...❞ , he paused for effect. ❝... I'll keep you, and I'll hire you to pleasure her when I'm not around. And I will know immediately if you don't do as I say!❞ They just actually remained silent and looked at him with wide eyes. ❝Why should you only be of use to me when the Na-Baroness can use you in the same way. Isn't that right, darlings? And don't even think about Na-Baroness (y/n) touching you! You're just a means to an end, nothing more. But that's never bothered you before. I would never have touched you the way I touch her! Like I touched (y/n) this morning!❞

Feyd let go of the pet in front of him and she gasped for breath. She hadn't dared to breathe again. ❝Did you like it? Her taste?❞ , he asked harshly with a scowl. She didn't know what to say. Anything negative could be a mistake for life. So she nodded. ❝Good.❞ Feyd spoke slowly and stood back in his place, raising his arms as a sign for the other females to continue painting. He was glad to see you again in some minutes for a moment. He looked around the room once. ❝Not a single word to the Baron, do you all understand?❞ , he said aloud and a chorus of. ❝Understood, Na-Baron.❞ , echoed back. Feyd smiled slightly and nodded. Most people here could be relied upon. ❝Pets, she and I had to interrupt our time together this morning because we were disturbed.❞ , he sounded almost sad. ❝But as Na-Baroness (y/n) said, there will be time tonight. And certainly not just for one round.❞ Feyd was absolutely not uncomfortable. In front of all Harkonnen in this room. No one on Giedi Prime would ever dare to mock him. Not a single one. Not even close! The three ladies in black felt jealousy and envy boiling inside them. They had never wished to be touched in this way from him. Because they had always assumed that he, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, would never do that anyway. They thought he would only ever want to get, but never 'tongue' some other female. They were wrong, unfortunately.

•

❝My Lord, the Na-Baroness has just arrived. May she enter?❞ , asked the man who had handed Feyd the knives a few minutes ago. They had not been sharpened to his satisfaction. The Na-Baron sat on the floor, his back to the door. Before fights, he sometimes tried to find a little peace, like meditation. His blue eyes opened and a soft ❝Of course.❞ , escaped his lips. Shortly afterwards, he heard your footsteps coming towards him. One corner of his mouth pulled up slightly, he could already smell your actually subtle perfume. It smelled classy, not cheap and not too flowery. The scent also reminded him of a rainy summer day. He heard you stop. The young man half-turned towards you and spoke harshly, ❝Oh, don't mind the mess. It'll be cleaned up.❞ , he explained as you looked at three bodies lying on the ground. Two of the ladies in white clothes had been literally eaten away, the other lady, in black, had her chest completely opened. A huge pool of blood littered the floor. The sight of violence didn't bother you, you had seen a lot before Giedi Prime. But sometimes you were surprised since you lived here. You walked around the corner and there, just like that, out of nowhere, could be a corpse. But at that moment there were three of them. Your slender legs carried you to the man sitting on the floor to sit down as well. As you took a seat in front of him, you looked at his markings on his chest. You probably wouldn't have been able to admit it, but you found it more than just attractive.

You saw the dried blood on his hands, which were completely covered in it. Some red splashes had also made their way over the rest of his body. You swallowed nervously. What happened? ❝I wanted to test my weapons for the fight, of course. But they weren't sharp enough for me. I'm sure they will be in a minute.❞ , he explained, as if it was something completely normal. He looked at you now, his blue eyes scrutinizing you from head to toe and back again. ❝You look pretty, my Baroness.❞ , Feyd continued. His bloody hand tentatively grasped your necklace, which ended right at your breasts. The Harkonnen symbol, gleaming in silver. Your clothes were black again. You opted for a figure-hugging jumpsuit made of silk. With quite a deep V-neck, but not too obscene and no arms. Your arms were slender, but a closer look revealed a slight muscular structure. You were certainly able to show them. Your hair wasn't styled, it was just left loose. Your face was adorned with very subtle make-up. Quite enough for Feyd. He wasn't a fan of women putting themselves on show. ❝My beautiful queen…❞ , he spoke calmly and his hand wandered along your arm. Your skin was surprisingly cool. ❝Are you nervous? The arena will be completely full today.❞ , you asked him. ❝No, not really.❞ , he replied, his hand still on your arm. ❝One of them will just be a bit drugged, I was just told... otherwise it's boring.❞

((There was never any talk of no drugs at all, I reflected. That would emphasize Feyd's annoyance more clearly.))

❝You never know how they'll react under drugs. Some of them are dazed, others can become very aggressive... once I was bitten on the leg.❞ , he told you. ❝Sometimes I can kill someone after five seconds, another after five minutes. It's different for everyone. Makes it difficult, but interesting.❞ You didn't want to admit it, but you were a little scared for him after he said that someone had managed to bite him once. ❝I have a gift for you.❞ , he said suddenly and you looked at him with raised eyebrows. ❝Why for me? It's your day!❞ , you said irritated. He turned his head to the right and summoned another Harkonnen. He handed your fiancée a red velvet box. ❝Get out!❞ , he said in a harsh tone and turned his head back to you. He briefly examined the box himself, feeling the soft, shimmering red fabric, before placing it on the floor in front of you. You looked at him uncertainly. He nodded towards the box. ❝Go on, open it!❞ , his voice rang out excitedly, but quiet. Your delicate fingers briefly felt the velvet. The contents left you speechless for a moment as you opened it. Your lips were parted, he realized that you wanted to say something, but it had literally left you speechless. ❝Because I can't give you my own, I've just spontaneously thought of something else.❞ , he began to explain. Your eyes wandered to him, still not knowing what you might say. ❝You know I'd give you my heart, right?❞ , he asked you. He was a psychopath. Completely sick. You realized once again that it didn't bother you or scare you. On the contrary, you found it interesting. Smiling, your fingers grasped the still bleeding heart and you squeezed it lightly with your fingertips. You had never held a heart in your hands before. You even thought it was still a little warm. You didn't even notice how he leaned to you and watched you closely. ❝Do you know?❞ , he asked again. His tone still dark.

Feyd wanted an answer now. You carefully put the heart back in the box and closed it. You put it to one side and your fingers reached for the bowl of black paint instead. The warrior tilted his head, irritated but interested. You dip your fingertips into the paint and place them on his pectoral muscles. All his muscles tensed, you liked the sight. No, you loved it. Your fingers made another stroke on his chest. An X directly over his heart. Feyd wasn't sure he really understood. ❝Yes, I know now.❞ , you grinned wickedly and set the bowl aside. ❝Don't stop.❞ , he purred. With red cheeks, your fingers slid back into the paint and you traced his other paintings once more. Feyd enjoyed your gentle touch. He had never felt this before you, nor did he know that he would ever find this kind of physical contact pleasurable. Your gentle kisses, your hugs. All of this. He reached for your other hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it several times, when he suddenly stopped. For a brief moment he was frozen, but his eyes opened and looked straight into yours. ❝What is it?❞ , you asked, startled, and slowly withdrew your hand. But with a lightning-fast hand movement, he grabbed your wrist and looked at your slender fingers. ❝You touched yourself!❞ , he said sternly, staring at you with menacing eyes. ❝I can smell it!❞ Redness rose in your face again. You really hadn't meant to do it. But when you were lying on the soft bed again, the shouting crowd in the background, it just happened. You had been aroused by what had aroused him before. Power.

And even though you'd been in the shower, even washed your hair, could he smell it? It was shameful. You were so ashamed at that moment that you wanted to sink into the floor or be one of the dead women to avoid an awkward conversation. But neither was possible. Feyd's expression hadn't changed. His eyes still stared at you menacingly. It was a joke to him. He didn't mind, not at all. But he was having fun playing with you. His grip on your hand loosened a little, but he didn't let go. He smiled a little. ❝Were you thinking about me?❞ , he asked. You swallowed and your head should probably be as red as the blood on his hands by now. You could only manage a nod, your body was incapable of anything more. Feyd's other hand quickly grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him. ❝And what were you thinking about? What scenario was going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?❞ , the Harkonnen asked, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as he looked deep into your eyes. You couldn't manage a word. Your lips were open, but your brain wasn't producing any words. Your eyes were glued to his blue ones, which were now looking at you gently, but also slyly. ❝Did you imagine how and where I kissed you this morning?❞ , he asked in a whisper and you nodded. ❝Did you continue to imagine the situation in your head as it would have happened if we hadn't been disturbed? Is that right?❞ You nodded again. Nothing more was possible. His raspy voice held you spellbound like the singing of manipulative snakes. He pressed his lips so hard against yours that you could feel his teeth. He pulled your slight body onto his lap, your legs automatically wrapping around his hips. He placed your hand on the back of his neck and the other followed when he let go of it. ❝Do you often not listen to me?❞ , Feyd asked with a growl. His lips just millimeters away from yours. He just wanted to play with you. He was just having too much fun with your terrified face. You shook your head. ❝I always listen to you. Well... usually always.❞ A hand grabbed you by the jaw, but much more gently. Feyd let his lips brush yours, but there was still no kiss. He wanted to tease you. And he succeeded. And he loved it. He pressed his lips against yours, pulling you even closer to his body. You had already felt the excitement between his legs a few seconds ago. His fingers found the zipper at the back of your jumpsuit and pulled it down. He pushed you to the floor and pulled the beautiful garment off your body. He threw it into a corner, careful not to get it in the blood. Your simple but beautiful underwear was quickly removed by his skillful fingers. ❝All mine.❞ , he murmured and kissed your stomach, up to your breasts to bite them again. You moaned hoarsely and goose bumps covered your whole body as his tongue slid over your nipples. He could feel your rapid heartbeat. ❝No one comes in until I say so! I can't wait until tonight, my Baroness!❞ One of his strong hands pressed under your back so that your spine was not placed directly on the hard stone floor. He discovered his bite mark from the morning on your neck and he bit it hard again. Startled, you caught your breath. Vladimir Harkonnen would have you killed for this, you were sure of it. Feyd ran his tongue over the wound. ❝Much sweeter.❞ , he growled happily. You didn't notice him dipping his hands into the pool of blood. Not until he started to paint you with the red liquid. Confused, you opened your eyes, but Feyd held you in place. ❝Stay still, I want to see the whore's blood on you!❞ , he growled excitedly and his lips made their way down your body, his fingers spreading the blood between your labia. You were shocked that you liked it in a beastly way. You covered your mouth with your hand as you felt his tongue on your flower-rose again.

Your eyes settled briefly on the dead pet, her jaw visibly broken. Now you knew why her chest was completely cut open and disemboweled. You were torn from your thoughts when Feyd grabbed your hands with one of his and placed them over your head. Not letting go. ❝The others have escaped. I'll deal with these whores another time, I promise!❞ , he murmured hoarsely, biting your neck again to taste your blood. His eyes scrutinized your upper body again and the silver chain that sparkled brightly in the dim light. Some of the red marks from this morning were still clearly visible. Also the places where he had bitten you. He loved it. He briefly let go of your hands to position you the way he wanted you. Your legs wrapped around his hips again so your abdomen was a little higher. ❝Good lady.❞ , Feyd murmured. He bit your ear tentatively as you felt his cock against your labia. You both let out a sigh of pleasure as he began to slide his length over your sex. The pressure on your clit was perfect. Your hands wrapped around his shoulders to press him even closer to you. His face was buried in your neck and his hot breath was driving you crazy. His pace was calm, slow. But it excited you much more. And he had no problem with that. One of his bloodied hands went under your head to support it. A brief wave of heat rolled over your body as his hoarse moans became a little louder.

Feyd would have loved to bite you all over, but he knew he had to hold back at least a little. His movements in his hips stopped and you thought he had already come. But he didn't. His free hand brushed through the pool of blood next to you, then he held his fingers against your lips. ❝Taste it!❞ , he commanded. You hesitated for a moment, even though you were very familiar with the taste of blood. But your tongue slid over the underside of his thumb as if of its own accord, the other fingers resting on your face. It tasted like any other blood to you, but Feyd seemed to taste differences in every body. ❝So?❞ , he asked as he licked his own fingers. ❝Like filthy rotten flesh.❞ , you answered him breathlessly. In the hope that he was satisfied with this answer. And he was. Hungrily, his lips attacked yours. His hand gripped your jaw, not firmly. Just to hold you in place. Your tongues danced together, your lips and teeth smeared with blood. He pressed the tip of his cock against your clit, you tried to gasp for air, which was very difficult because of the kiss. But he had to release as he came and moaned deeply. His movements didn't stop, however, as he knew you weren't ready yet. He continued to slide his tip against your pearl, you felt his liquid running down your inner thigh. When his tongue caressed your bloody cleavage and his free hand stroked one of your breasts, it was too much for you and your body jerked to climax. You squint your eyes because the feeling was almost unbearable. Feyd lingered on you for a few seconds after your climax. He would have loved to give you a second, a third, but his absence would not go unnoticed.

In a flash, the man rolled onto the floor, pulling you with him so that you were now lying on his chest. You both found it hard to breathe, you were still shaking a little. You didn't say anything for a few seconds until you heard him growl. Startled, you jumped up and looked at him questioningly. What had you done wrong? ❝Never touch yourself again when I'm around, do you understand?❞ , Feyd asked you, still breathing heavily. ❝Only when I'm going to be away without you. For whatever reason.❞ , he continued. ❝Understood, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.❞ , you grinned at him. Growling, the man sat up and you remained seated on top of him. Fearing what would follow. ❝I hope so for your sake.❞ , he whispered and his hand placed on your cheek, pulling you into another deep kiss. When he broke away, he looked at your bloody body. There was blood on him as well, but no one wouldn't see it through the clothes he was about to wear. He would just have to wash his face, hands and arms. You too. ❝Don't wash it off!❞ , he ordered you. Before you could expand, he added, ❝I want to see it on you tonight!❞

I somehow can't imagine that there are condoms in the Dune Universe, haha. Let's forget about all the side effects of the birth control pill here. They don't exist in this Universe.

\ ⬇️ Chapter II ⬇️ 🖤 Tagslist open /

#dune part two #feyd rautha #feyd rautha dune #dune 2 #dune part 2 #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #feyd x you #austin butler x reader #love bites #vladimir harkonnen #dune 2024 #giedi prime #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha harkonnen smut

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vhagars-dementia · 1 month

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Me arriving at Giedi Prime, asking for the Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

#feyd rautha x reader #dune #giedi prime #harkonnen

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nyrasproblm · 1 month

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Useless - prologue

Feyd-Rautha x reader (wife)

Word Count: 1,1K

Warning: angst, toxic Feyd-Rautha behaviors (as always), arranged marriage (yes, again), misogyny

series masterlist dune masterlist

Ginaz 📍

Sadness has flooded your life for as long as you have known. Being born into a practically destroyed house, without the same prestige and respect as before meant that you didn't have much.

House Ginaz was still considered a Major House, despite having lost the war to the Moritani, their planet and home were still considered the birthplace of talented swordsmen and weapons masters.

Even though your parents were dead, you had your older brother to guide you, care for you and love you. You trusted him with all your life and heart.

You thought that until he did what he did.

— This is treason. We have an agreement with House Atreides. — you argued.

— House Atreides did not help us in the war, our parents then dead because of them. — he rubbed his temple, irritated.

— Our parents are dead because of House Moritani, the Atreides helped us but the war was lost. Do you have any idea what will happen if they find out you want to marry me to a Harkonnen?

You sat on one of the chairs at the large table, reached across the table and held his hand, he raised his face, his eyes looked tired, he was exhausted.

— Reconsider this, brother, please. — you said almost in a whisper. Even though your brother had carried out an investigation and had all the traitors inside the Palace killed, you still feared that some information would be heard and used against you.

— We need some way to get closer to the Empire, our House can return to its glory and the Harkonnen are our ticket to do so. — he shook your hand.

— The Atreides have just been appointed by the Empire to control spice production, your logic is meaningless. — you frowned.

Your brother swallowed hard and looked away. He was hiding something, you knew it. Your brother practically raised you and invested everything he got into your education, you had knowledge of politics, geography and many other arts, and you could speak your mind on these subjects in his presence.

— The Harkonnen are closer to the Empire. — he leaned back against the back of the chair.

— What about them practicing cannibalism? You will send me there, I will have his heir and then I will be devoured, literally. — you sighed irritably.

He turned his head violently towards you and sat up straight, squeezed your hand tightly and took a deep breath.

— Don't say that, I can't lose you.

Even though you were very angry about what he had done, you knew he loved you. You squeezed his hand and closed your eyes.

— You're going to accompany me there, right?

-----------------------------

Giedi Prime 📍

— And why can't I take her as a concubine, anyway? — Feyd-Rautha asked as he twirled one of his blades in his hand.

— Because political agreements aren't made this way, nephew. It would be disrespectful and like it or not, she still belongs to a greater house, all the most talented swordsmen in the known universe leave there. — the great baron gestured with his hand full of rings.

— And they still lost the war. — Feyd sneered.

The baron floated until he was facing his youngest nephew.

— They still have great military power and our armies can increase their skills with them. Furthermore, you would provide an heir to our House, to ensure the Harkonnen future.

Feyd stared at his uncle's fat face without looking away.

— And before you ask, we can't discard her after she bears you a child, we need to keep this alliance standing. You can do what you want with her, you can have as many children as you want, but don't be so heavy-handed, I don't want her to complain to her brother. — Baron Vladimir placed his fat hand on his nephew's face.

Feyd clenched his jaw.

— When will she arrive?

-------------------------

Feyd faced the ship's ramp opening next to his uncle, his hands clasped behind his back, his face as stoic as ever.

The ramp opened fully and your brother walked out in front, you were being escorted by some guards from your house. Your brother started down the ramp and walked along the open path until he was in front of the Baron, you followed behind him.

You looked around lightly, feeling uncomfortable at the sudden lack of colors, the black sun of Giedi Prime bathed everything and left everything in black and white. The air was thick and uncomfortable.

— My lord Baron, it is a pleasure to be in your homeland, thank you for welcoming us. — your brother bowed slightly.

— My lord, welcome to Giedi Prime. — he opened his arms and turned slightly in his chair, as if trying to show the magnitude of his planet. — This is my youngest nephew, na-baron Feyd-Rautha.

You looked up at the mention of his name.

— It's a pleasure, my lord na-baron. — your brother bowed slightly again and turned, gesturing for you to come closer and as you did so, you felt the weight of the gaze of the two men in front of you. —This is my younger sister, the beautiful future of the Ginaz house.

You took a few steps forward and bowed.

— My lord Baron, my lord na-baron, it is an honor to be on Giedi Prime. — you said politely.

— Come closer, my dear. — the fat Baron said and extended his hand to you.

You walked over and accepted his hand, you didn't face the young na-baron directly, but you still felt his heavy gaze on you.

— We were blessed with something as beautiful as you in our family, an extraordinary beauty, isn't it, nephew? — he turned his face to Feyd and pulled your hand towards his nephew.

You swallowed hard as you turned your face to face your future husband. Feyd took a few steps towards you and took your hand.

— Indeed, uncle. — he brought your hand to his lips and kissed it, you shivered. — Such a beautiful thing.

You heard your brother shift uncomfortably behind you. Before you could pull away, Feyd leaned over and whispered in your ear:

— I can barely wait.

You pulled your hand away and approached your brother again.

— The wedding will take place on the same day as my nephew's birthday, Feyd will come of age and we will have a tournament in the gladiator arena, you are invited to watch. — the baron turned to your brother.

You saw the amused look on Feyd's face and looked away.

#feyd x you #feyd x reader #feyd rautha #dune fanfiction #fanfic #giedi prime #fem reader #x reader #writers on tumblr #writing

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maracllea · 30 days

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He can be controlled.

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starfall-xo · 2 months

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Austin Butler as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen photographed by Greig Fraser from the set of Dune: Part Two (2024) for Entertainment Weekly

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noconcessions · 1 month

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#dune part two #dune part 2 #giedi prime #house harkonnen #lady margot fenring #bedroom #bene gesserit #feyd rautha #austin butler #lea seydoux

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erinmakesgifs · 18 days

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AUSTIN BUTLER as FEYD-RAUTHA HARKONNEN in Dune: Part Two (2024)

#I can't stop giffing this hobgoblin of a man #austin butler #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha edit #dune part 2 #dune #dune movie #dune gifs #duneedit #dune edit #house harkonnen #harkonnen #giedi prime #scifigifs #scifiedit #austin butler fandom #erinmakesgifs

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houserautha · 30 days

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hcs about giedi prime as a planet in general?

I am SO GLAD you asked!!!!!! Hold on to your butts because a lot of this is probably just me rambling

• Harkonnens are obviously a very proud people. In my mind it’s a war planet that loves combat and conquering. It’s also canonically heavily, heavily industrialized

• SOOOO a lot of their culture and traditions revolve around the warrior/high productivity mentality

• House Atreides canonically has roots in Ancient Greece, so I think it’s fun to play with Harkonnens ancestry. I don’t know if there’s anything canon but I like to think that they at least have adopted some of the social/cultural aspects of Sparta (I know it’s basic but hear me out)

• Obviously because Sparta was known to be military-focused and just because their brutality and social structure seem fitting with what’s in my head for Giedi Prime

• Children, boys and girls, are ruthlessly trained at a young age and conditioned into little warriors. Propaganda of the great Harkonnens shoved down their throats

• I think that women would have some power, similar to Sparta. Obviously not as much sway as other planets might have but they’re educated and trained to fight because what’s the point of a weak individual?

• Combat is their greatest source of pride and entertainment so fighters are basically celebrities

• If you live to old age on GP then you’re either the baddest bitch around or a coward and your social acceptance will depend on how others perceive you

• the black sun basically sucks out all color so they never even bother with colorful clothes or buildings and that’s why they always wear black (also it’s badass) (also this might not really be a HC but)

• GP is devoid of basically any plant life so their food is pretty dull and flavorless unless you’re wealthy enough to import spices and the likes

• The black markings that Feyd sports on his chest in the movies are tattoos, each bar corresponding with an inordinate number of people killed in combat. Most Harkonnens will only have one or two if that

• they actually have hair (albeit shaved close to the head) until they graduate their training school and then they’re inducted into adult life by dunking their heads in this acidic formula that permanently kills the hair follicles. It’s also a show of strength and resilience and not everyone survives this.

• No hair = nothing to grab onto in a fight

• Not very many animals can survive on GP and if they do there’s a 1000% chance it will kill you

• they would crumple so fast without all of their technology, they depend very heavily upon it not only for jobs and exports but also daily life

And more HCs will be included in These Destined Ends, particularly ceremonies such as weddings, births, funerals, etc 🫣

#dune #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd headcanon #headcanon #giedi prime #world building #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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alavestineneas · 13 days

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and if you are there, why do i feel alone in this room?

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, mentions of sa (!), blood and other parts of body, very non-healthy relationships chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 !this work is part 2 to the i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest! word count: 7,3k

author's notes: hi beautiful people! today, I have finally finished this chapter and am thrilled to say that this fic requires part 3! be aware that this piece of literature is explicit and touches on some very heavy themes, including sa and child abuse. Please be mindful of it! As always, your opinions, suggestions, and critiques are welcome in the comments. Love you, and have a tasty read!

There are a lot of books stored in her memory, locked in the neurocytes safely. They are tucked into the cortex with love and tenderness that YN otherwise taught herself to suppress as a sign of her weaker self. But papers were non-living, so she felt like it was less dangerous for her to show warmth towards them; after all, if the objects can not acknowledge your love, does it really count as real? She read everything, mostly in an attempt to prepare herself for something she did not know the face of; she read to build the shield around herself, in desperate hope to be able to help at least her future self. YN read even now, although her foolish childhood desires were long gone, just to get a glimpse of the girl she was before the monsters escaped the pages.

The book she re-read the most was nothing special, nothing suiting the image she moulded herself into—a giant, relatively old encyclopaedia of animals inhabiting the furthest corners of Known Imperium. The letters inside, although faded a little, were left almost untouched by eyes—maybe it was what drew her in in the first place—to cherish something seen as unneeded. YN learned the small paragraphs almost by heart; she liked the idea of someone taking enough time to observe something as small as a roden to know its habits. She liked the idea of it happening to her one day. As it always is, it did not.

She chose her favourite animal without that much thought. Although even the notion of having something beloved was foolish, YN was made to choose; she and her sisters played the game of forest most often. The game was simple: pretend to be a creature you are not, forgetting the countless rules they had to follow. Pretending they have claws and teeth; pretending they can protect themselves not through intrigues and hidden motives but through open, bold force. Irulan was always a Katanga Lioness; she liked it because of the proximity to their house's symbol. YN did not; the grey pages of her beloved book described them as "observed to also scavenge on carrion of animals that were killed by other predators or died from natural causes''. What king of the animals steals the work of others simply to feed themselves? She did not tell Irulan that, of course—why would she?

YN chose a mountain lion for herself. Sure, she may have made a mistake thinking it was just another type of lion, but the game went too far to change anything, so she stuck with that. She even grew to love it—the drawing of the mountain lion on her character sheet, the way it prowled through the forest in her mind's eye. It had many names and many homes. Adaptive. Captivating.

She does not know why it came into her mind suddenly—maybe it was the dim light of the closed arena. The air circulated here freely, cooling through the complex systems of vents, even though it seemed to be deprived of any life—just a mechanical circle of the same molecules moving around her seated figure and returning to the hidden openings again and again. YN looked straight ahead; the two men were still sparring.

From her bench, they looked like one—two bodies moved so swiftly that one was unable to differentiate where the lines of their limbs ended. YN squinted her eyes; she was alone in the seating area, and still, she dared not move closer. The taller, thinner figure possessed skin so white it looked almost translucent underneath the cold light—YN wondered if she would be able to see the structures in his body through his clothed stomach. He moved well, almost too well for her not to press her lower row of teeth to the top one, hiding the tongue in a cave of pearl bones—she had hoped he was worse with his bare hands. YN had counted four hundred and five seconds before he made a mistake in his steps; it was a lot more than her own results, but for a man, he was good.

Feyd-Rautha had style; she had to give him that. He fought like a serpent would: calculated, precise. His fists knew the most effective targets, and his legs knew how to escape the blows of his opponent. If YN was to guess, he relied on muscle memory less than a usual fighter would, preferring to dwell in the moment instead. It made for a good show, sure, but it was not practical. She smiled to herself; of course, the na-Baron could not know what the real battle was like. How unfortunate for him—how delightful for her. YN still can't believe he let her watch his training every morning—was he really that stupid not to realise her motive? Was he too confident to consider having weaknesses?

Regardless, she saw what she needed to do - for three hours every day, she set unmovingly on the third bench in a small fighting ground, imprinting his every move in her mind. There are so many moves you can use and so many tricks you can do before she learns them all. YN did not care for the cold gaze thrown in her direction when Feyd-Rautha collapsed on the ground, taking a moment to rest before lurching onto his opponent again. She can wait.

Mountain lions are stealthy predators.

The days she spent here changed into months, their slow steps morphing into each other until time became a blur, a concept she did not grasp. Feyd-Rautha was a hard one to warm, but before she would mould him into something she wanted, YN needed to heat his DNA to a certain magnitude; otherwise, he would simply break. She would've gladly accepted this turn of fate too, but right now, keeping na-Baron alive is far more convenient for the Bene Gessarit. For her.

A concubine. A slap in the face: it seemed like life was determined to dissolve the small bits of her dignity in its endless pool of secrets. She was not a wife to Harkonnen na-Baron; no, she was to be his whore. If she was not too tired, she would've felt a pang of fear on her rising with oxygen lungs; a concubine's position is even lower here compared to one of a lawful wife's. YN remembers the words of her teacher as she prepared her for the union: Harkonnen concubines are killed after their first night in a position; if one is lucky enough to escape the fate by being with a child, she bears him until it's time for the baby to be born. One of the greatest honours for a Harkonnen is to take the life of his mother as soon as he enters the world.

She was to join na-Baron for breakfast today—a proposal YN waited long to receive, but part of her wishes she never did. It was worded like an invitation; YN knows it was not. Harkonnens rarely spoke when they did not give orders—a creature of habit, she supposed. So, she did what she had to: follow the slave to the chambers designated for the meal. The hem of her dress shone with a colour so foreign to the fort around her; YN needed to make herself stand out. Men are much like children, she learned—the more colourful the toy, the more likely they will want to play with it.

The walls were heavy here. They didn't bend in the shapes she was used to, preferring to stand tall. They didn't have to hide their strength underneath a complicated facade—quite the opposite. They paraded it, wearing it like the honour it is. Staying unremorsefully unbending. Maybe it's the air or a different measure of gravity; maybe it's her habit of soaking up the surroundings and letting them poison her insides, growing rotten in between the folds of her stomach tissue, but her legs are metal, stone-cold, pulling YN deeper and deeper into the floor. She tries so hard to ignore the three creatures in the corner.

They are hairless, much like the man in front of her, and dressed in matching black. YN would've mistaken them for Harkonnen royalty if it were not for the iron collars on their necks and the glowing black eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She would've been happy to have some company and not be forced into solitude with na-Baron if it were not for a still convulsing body on the floor. A body she did not recognise, but it could've easily been her own.

The creatures seemed to enjoy the involuntary moves of the soon-to-be corpse; they closed their eyes in delight and bared the sharp, black-coloured teeth in sheer pleasure as they lurched into the white flesh. They ripped it apart with only their hands, not bothering to use the prepared knives for more than a big incision from head to stomach. The sounds of chewing and gnawing filled the room, echoing off the walls and sending electric impulses down her body. YN was used to the metallic smell and the bright colour of arterial blood, but this was not a simple death. It was a show, and she was the long-awaited watcher.

Feyd-Rautha seemed unbothered by the sight near him. His hands, covered in thick streaks of blood, were deep to his elbows in the body. He dissected the corpse with precision, his eyes focused and his grip steady. He looked calm, even peaceful. Na-Baron was in good humour today. ''I must say, your arrival has graced us with much more than just the dowery; nothing could've made this union more auspicious—such a rare bird you are, daughter of our generous Emperor. A princess, yet treated no better than a common slave.''

Here it was: the thing she was thinking about all the way to this strange, garbage planet in the dress that pokes bleeding holes in her abdomen with each glass she downs. From his lips, it sounds even more bitter; even savages found the way the Emperor sold one of his daughters so easily strange. "Both of our houses have traditions far beyond our understanding," YN shrugs, scaring her thoughts away like annoying flies. Here, in a room so far from the comfort of her home, they moved too fast, bringing nausea to her throat.

She is here to secure the bloodline of House Harkonnen, to ensure the balance needed in the Imperium. YN does not notice how suddenly her gaze darkens or how tightly the hands that rested on the chair are now holding the pleated velvet of her ruby-red gown. Oh, the baby. The tiny creature inside her womb, the future head for the Baron's crown to be placed upon. The yet unconcieved child she could not feel love for. She was given no other choice but to risk its life before even giving it a chance to obtain its gift.

''Then you will find my present to be quite fitting.''

YN watches in silence as na-Baron reaches inside the rib cage of the corpse. He reaps out an organ with one swift motion, almost like plucking a harmful sprout from the garden. The organ is broun and rosewood, a weird mixture of shades that make it harder for her to focus on anything but the thing in his large hand. The gift he meant to give was a human heart.

She feels his walk long before she sees a figure departing from its place at the table; she guesses the end point of his manoeuvres too easily. It's almost funny—a cruel, senseless joke; how obvious the slight tremor in her hands is; how heavy her eyes become at the sight of Harkonnen black. The body positions itself near; if she squints, she can hear the hot breathing somewhere between her shoulder blades. His hand snakes around her neck quickly, positioning the organ right in front of her mouth. YN can detect the smell hitting her nostrils before she closes the receptors in them. She wants to scream, but the notes die in her throat. Who would she scream for? She hears the creatures hiss and whisper—the heart is a good part, from what she can make out. It did not need to be wasted on people like her.

''Will you not accept it?'' Feyd-Rautha's words are mocking, but his dark blue eyes stay virgin to the laughter. They drill small spots on her neck from behind with such force that YN can almost feel the burnt smell of her sweat-covered skin.

She takes a breath. Her own heart shrinks, its vessels beating with intensity twice as much as needed. Still alive, she notes absently. Still breathing. The feeling is natural and easy; the forced calmness in her body tingles the muscles, braiding her nerves into a pattern similar to the netting. Then, she opens her mouth.

"If I shall lick the blood of your hands, Feyd-Rautha, dare to make it your own."

That's it.

Maybe the Emperor was right to spare her none of the Sardaukars and a quarter of her dresses. She did not need more; she was not expected to survive long enough to use half of her clothes. YN chucked under her breath. Dead over diet preferences—how profound.

After a moment, the pale face behind her also twists, allowing the blackened teeth to escape the grip of thin lips. Like this, na-Baron looks less human and more like the evil he was said to be. He throws the heart to the creatures—they catch it greedily—and places a bloodied hand on her shoulder, the droplets of crimson going unnoticed on the brightly coloured cloth. ''Very well, then. Let us eat.''

YN nods. She looks around almost instinctively; nothing could make her eat a thing after the sight she just witnessed, but she refuses the na-Baron once; she is not about to do it again. The food is a lot, but her plate is almost empty: only a small amount of salad is here, sadly staring into the hunger in her eyes and a now featherless creature in an unnatural pose, suggesting its non-poetical death. The bird is small, almost delicate; its wings are pitifully glued to the body. YN does not want to let her mind draw the comparison, and does not allow her brain to admit a direct analogy; she dissects the bird with a dull knife and puts a piece in her dry mouth. The creature tastes good—almost too good to be expected in this brightly lit hall.

Most often deer is the mountain lion’s staple diet. However, they can survive preying on small animals as well.

The night covers Giedi Prime rather quickly; it never lingers, politely waiting for its masters to finish their daily affairs; it hits like a coward, from behind, trapping those not careful enough to hide before its arrival. The harsh, toxic waves of lazy winds hit the walls of the halls coldly lighted with a few sphears; they look like deep forest clearings, forming a system of endless options, ultimately leading to one, inevitable, end. His work chambers aren't big; he does not visit them often for them to be. The solitary metal desk before him is filled with letters, drafts of laws, and official documents, all waiting for his approval. It exhausts Feyd-Rautha to no end, the sheer stupidity of most of the advisers here; almost half of the documents were riddled with errors and inconsistencies. The forever present in his head dull migraine grows stronger when he opens the shortest letter; he almost busts his skull open when the pain heavies.

He ponders too much—the type of thoughts you can feel running on your tongue but never escaping. He is not used to being in the mist; all of his life is so painfully contrasted that no doubt of its nature can survive the sharp edge of his mind. There are things he can escape—forget, even—but some linger in his ribcage too long for them to vanish. Soon, they grow into his lungs with small, unbreakable threads, becoming him. He used to try to get them away from his heart, as if it held some value. Now, he is smarter, older, and more indifferent, he lets them pierce yet another piece of human flesh with no sorrow.

Of course, he remembered her face. The same face that haunted his sleep ever since she dared to appear before his eyes. Feyd-Rautha, naturally, found her little frolic that day. He spent an entire evening studying her work, analysing every move she could've made with her blade to achieve such outcomes. Sure, some things he would've done differently, but the sheer brutality of an animal he would not have guessed the girl possessed charmed him. Feyd-Rautha was a proud man, but he, too, held a love for beautiful things. For that, he hadn't told the Baron of the sight he discovered in the reading room. For that, he is now willing to pretend to believe her eyes when the fear fleshes in them.

Feyd-Rautha curses; she sickens. Like a bone stuck somewhere down his throat, not letting him live without a pang of mocking. She lurks, and whispers—Feyd-Rautha wants to smash her pretty head against the wall just to reveal the secrets she hides from him so he can finally understand the hold she retains. He is no stranger to the desire to own, or devour, but the fear in the back wall of his stomach is an alien in his body. He tries to hide it—to paint over it with anger or violence—but it remains a constant presence, gnawing at him from within. It's no use; the woman is a shark, designed to sense the fright. Maybe that's what brought him in in the first place—the steel eyes so similar to his own in a narrow hall all those years before. Maybe he was so used to the danger that he craved it subconsciously, looking for it to make him feel like himself again. A reoccurring childhood nightmare he can't escape; he doesn't want to escape.

Feyd-Rautha finds the chair to put his weight on and waits until the tingling, spinning sensation spreads from his temples down his neck, finding its way into his bloodstream and passing his organs one by one, until none are left uncorrupted. Of course, he expects it. The woman slipped into his brain and now chews her way into it like a parasite downs the rotten body. He knows he should be terrified, but instead, he feels a strange sense of relief. Feyd-Rautha can hear the whispers of his own mind fighting to remain the only owners of the secrets and desires buried within. He feels his eyelids heavy; a second later, the whites of his eyes are staring at the ceiling, the blue eye lenses dissolving in light.

Water. The first thing he feels is ice-cold water dripping onto his face, filling his lungs, and sending a shock through his arms. This body does not feel like his; it's too small, too narrow. His eyes are trying to adjust as fast as they can, jumping from one blurred spot to another until finally catching a glimpse of the surroundings. His brain does not have time to process the picture; his nose is filled with fluid again, and his open mouth is gasping for air but only taking in more liquid. He tries waving his hands around, but the stronger grip is firm on his nape, pulling him further down into the depths. The hand yanked him out just as he was about to fall into darkness again, the sound of water changing to loud screeching.

''How dare you hit me, devil child? Let the water wash away your dirt. Repent; beg for forgiveness for all of your rotten nature.''

The voice is unknown to him; it is harsh and filled with fury. The woman's face is twisted in anger; splashes of water on it match his. He can't tell if they are from his antics or tears. The woman's grip tightens, her nails digging into his skin. The black clothes on her figure make her status known - a Bene Gessarit witch. Feyd-Rautha tries to lurch forward and hit her back, but her strength is overwhelming. He feels panic coursing through his veins instead of oxygen—a sensation he did not think he could experience anymore. He wants to bark a response to show her that he is not afraid, but his voice catches in his throat.

Feyd-Rautha has no time to wonder what the woman wants; she brings his face to the bathtub again, and he opens his mouth involuntarily, frantically begging not to do it anymore. He says everything she wants to hear; he cries out and promises to wash his sins away. The voice does not sound like his at all. He is desperate to end this nightmare now, but some force holds him here. The woman is not satisfied; her ears are deaf to his pleas.

His face ends up on the water surface a moment later, his nose hitting the wall of the bathtub as the woman holds him down. He feels his body go limp with utter horror; this time, the shouting woman won't stop. Her voice grows quieter, replaced by the sound of small waves hitting the brim and spilling; from right to left, the water turns red, and his tongue tastes the iron he knows from sliding blades into his mouth.

''Echidna, what the fuck are you doing? Let her go; she is going to choke!''

''Get that spawn to me, for I will not let her ruin my life anymore! I must finish what I have started!''

Feyd-Rautha's head is filled with oxygen once again; his lungs take a desperate breath in, sending too much air to his blood system. He falls on his back, the world spinning. He does not care for the weeping woman in black or the chaos unfolding around him. His only thought is that everything is finally done and that the white floors are a magnificent place for drops of liquid to fall from his normally bald head's waterfall of hair.

He wakes up suddenly, the sensation long gone. His steps are heavy again; the body he inhibits no longer feels like a cage. The voices have left him for now, and the only thing on his forehead left is small drops of sweat and a pathetic, frightened, beating heart. The cold breeze from the darkened sands surrounding the city wishes to prove otherwise—it heavies and plants its spikes into his reddened cheeks. The horizon gleams at him, almost taunting; not a single star is to be seen under the imposing clouds. He will kill her; maybe he will even enjoy it. Feyd-Rautha can handle a lot, but not the shame of being seen. Not the guilt of being caught wanting.

There are only three ways to hunt a mountain lion: tracking, waiting in ambush, and with dogs.

The gliding motions of heavy fabrics across the wooden floors created a strange pattern of a song now centuries old. Here, in a room so long that the wind travelled through the hollows, her careful steps seemed to almost fall silent. Nothing was there for the preying eyes to see. YN closes her eyes; with that, even for a moment, the world stays still. She knows where the hollow staircase will lead her; she feels it in her stomach with every step she takes. YN knows nothing about the future, but the past lives deep in her memories, haunting her every move. She knows she shouldn't have done it. Travelling through one's mind is a sin she can't escape; she will pay the price for it in her blood, but the Bene Gesarit did not send her here to survive, so it's of no use to be afraid now. It makes no difference for the dead if you weep at their grave or not.

The burning sphere of light in the hall stops spinning; the doors open without any noise, although if the pounding eardrums had not stunned her hearing, she could've noticed the faint thuds. YN waits; there are no flashes of her happiest memories or the faces of her loved ones in her drained mind. No, in what seems to be her last moments, she thinks of what she could've been if the world had not given her a sword to turn into.

Feyd-Rautha appears in the hall; his steps aren't rushed, and his expression is stone-cold. She eyes him shamelessly: nothing. She sees nothing; she senses it deep in her crying bones. He drags her by the hair like a mother would with her misbehaving child; roughly, he pulls her towards the exit, his grip tightening with each step until the door behind them closes and her knees meet the cold ground with a nasty thud. The bruises will stain them soon, not that it matters now.

''You should've known better than to cross me,'' he hisses, his voice gruff. It's cold, chilling—the way his lips part to reveal a sinister smile. ''Now, you can think yourself vanished, little witch.''

YN does not answer—what fool would beg the deaf? The blade against her chin is sharp; she knows how attentive he is when it comes to inflicting pain. It pokes right into the Omehyoid muscle, a dull pain shooting through her body. If she has got to die, it may as well be from his skilled arms. How beautiful he is in the twisted pleasure he finds in her suffering. Unearthly, almost too perfect to be made of simple flesh and bone. Something was unnerving, unforgettable in the net of veins under his pearly skin; it was as if he were a work of art, meticulously crafted to bring physical pain and optical pleasure in equal measure. A silver glint under the defined cheekbones, a redness of lips filled with blood vessels. For a second, YN wonders what it would be like to bite into it, like an apple that lay too long under the golden sun; would the blood slip as generously as the sweet nectar? Handsome as poison, as a black sun on his forsaken planet, as death.

''Go on. Kill me, then; let me escape you once and for all.''

Under the deep sea of his eyes, something moved; his eyes dipped into her, part by part. Like the slow, deliberate dance of a predator stalking its prey, his gaze lingered on her, calculating and intense. YN lowered her head to push the knife a little deeper into the flesh. A strange thought lingered in her brain; she found herself on her knees in front of him, almost willingly. She has worshipped God all her life; who, if not her, can recognise his creation? The Devil. Lucifer. Satan. The man with horns so big they once touched the skies; a corrupt angel, fallen from grace so long ago he couldn't remember way back if he tried. They have warned her about him, but is it her fault that God has disowned her earlier than she could? Did it really matter to her, before whom to kneel, as long as she felt a sense of power and control in her submission?

All that mattered now was that he wanted to hurt her. He wanted her.

She sees the recognition flicker on his face. Caught. The blade slides quickly across her exposed neck, the blood sprouting out in a weak, painfully quick stream. Feyd-Rautha kissed her, biting her bottom lip till the stream of boldly coloured blood trickled down his chin. He did so like an animal would, baring his teeth and dragging them across the pulsating vein on her neck. YN's laughing cry echoes in the empty room; she is forced to admit that he felt good.

Never approach a mountain lion; most mountain lions prefer to avoid confrontations, so never approach them and make them feel cornered.

The woman—a siren, some kind of sea beast lurking in deep, salted waters—sits near him with the ottoman under her feet that still seemed to deny her the comfort of rest, her eyes glinting with mischief when she notices his stare. Taunts, even, forge obliviousness to the spells she casts. Strange, otherworldly—redundant. Everything about her, down to the light gown and a headdress that showed little of her face, Feyd-Rautha was not used to seeing. The beautiful substance of her hair caught the light from the sun like a mirage in the desert, reflecting in his eyes with painful hits. The jewels, too, have found their way onto her clothes, but they were hidden beneath the layers of fabric. They shined brightly, impertinently, framing her figure in a glow that seemed to come from within.

To his surprise, the skills woman possessed spread out to politics as well, with her witch training proving useful in court. Feyd-Rautha did not miss how his advisors grew more uneasy when she entered the room, her careful eyes scanning their faces for even a hint of betrayal or deceit. Like a proud discoverer, he ached to share his new-found wonder with the blind audience, but something in him protested in a mare thought of showing the precious jewel of his eye to the cluster of unworthy. So, Feyd-Rautha did the only thing he knew how— all of his secret observations were done from afar, masterfully hidden behind the facade of casual indifference.

As he drags yet another blade across the surface of the whetstone, he thinks about her delicate hands on his neck, her ringed fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. It doesn't matter; YN is nothing of the sort. A concubine, a possession, a tool for pleasure and procreation—the Harkonnen way was simple.

''Are you done eye-fucking me now, or do you need more time with your blade?'' she sneers, her voice mocking. Only she could get away with such bold defiance in his presence, but she does not seem to care for the unusualness of it.

YN motions for him to come closer, her eyes studying the way his legs move. Feyd-Rautha has no control over them; the steps make themselves. She plays the game very well; the chase fuels something primal within him. Thirst. Hunger. It was the Harkonnen training talking to him—the wild, ancient sensation taking over his insides and imprisoning his mind in a cage of helpless desire. It spread its tentacles down to his fingertips, nesting in his abdomen. He positions himself in front of her, his body betraying him as he leans in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Feyd-Rautha's hands repeat the ritual almost instinctively, rolling the hem of her deep purple dress up to her waist.

''Stop for a second,'' she whispers against his ear, her breath warm and inviting. ''Can I give you a piece of advice?''

Feyd-Rautha can feel the anger creeping into his body; he does not like to be refused. ''No,'' he grumbles, turning her around forcefully. "I don't need your advice," he snaps, his grip tightening on her arm.

YN does not seem to care for it. ''Don't do it. It will only lead to trouble.''

''What?'' He stops, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the woman's words. The doubts that had lingered in the back of his mind suddenly grew louder, echoing through his mind. He releases her arm, his expression stoic. ''You are insane, woman. What are you talking about?''

''You know what I mean.''

The unease boils in his stomach. How could she know? He was careful not to slip anything; she wasn't able to cast her spells anymore either. But her knowing gaze tells him otherwise. ''You can not know the future,'' he pronounces.

''I don't need to know the future to see the truth, Feyd-Rautha. Your judgement is clouded by rage, and your mind is not as sharp as it usually is. You are not as invincible as you think you are.''

She is bluffing, he thinks. He hopes she is. Feyd-Rautha almost wished there was no cloth covering her face, nothing to hide her expressions as she lay beneath him. He catches her flamed eyes and the way they circle his face in one swift motion before settling on the ceiling above. It unnerves him, but he refuses to show it. She is no master here; she is simply a servant. That is not what power looks like, if he ever recognised one, and Feyd-Rautha knew power.

''Get out, now.''

Nothing was portrayed on her face as she curtseyed; nothing was there when she turned and walked to her rooms, leaving nothing but the ghost of the human body's warmth.

Mountain lions are more at home in brushy areas than in open prairies.

And then, he disappeared. Like the sound of the morning birds falling silent in the cacophony of voices of the city on her home planet, there was no trace of na-Baron in the entire Harkonnen fortress. YN thought she was slowly but surely going mad; no one but her noticed the usual place by the window empty, and no one but her seemed to care enough to know where he went. She caught strange looks from a few, and frankly, she thought they were right. She looked like a mad woman, her hair quickly plated and her dress hurriedly laced, her eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of Feyd-Rautha's massive figure. Noon was dragged into the evening, and then night, for three, long days until she heard the long-awaited news: na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen had tried to usurp his uncle and had failed.

She has told him so. A fucking brainless ram, with stubbornness bigger than his cock—why did he think he could outsmart the Baron? He will pay for his dumbness with his blood, perhaps even his limb—the thought brought nausea to YN's throat. She was lucky the Baron did not consider her important enough to be knowledgeable of such schemes; she lowered her head in the desert, hiding from the sand storms of Harkonnen politics; she waited for two long weeks until the announcement was made; Feyd-Rautha was forgiven. The celebration in honour of this news is to be today; she is to attend it. Not like his concubine, YN supposed, but more like the princess she still was.

Now, she took her time. YN chose a gown she wanted long enough to make even a tireless slave yawn, savouring each moment before their meeting. She was a victor now, in their small game of cat and mouse. He was a cat, but the mouse could still outwit him with grace and style. YN smiled at the wondering attendants; she looked good, and she was going to meet him.

The walk from her chambers to the Grand Hall wasn't too long; she would've walked a thousand more stairs if it was needed. The doors opened without a sound, revealing nothing but a mere celebration of yet another year under the reign of Harkonnens. The lines of slaves changed one another, the uneven circles of people dancing appearing and fleeing to the cheerful tone of strings. She was set somewhere between two Harkonnen lords she had no chance of knowing; she felt a sense of unease creeping up her spine as she tried to maintain a polite smile. Their gazes didn't look right; something sinister lurked inside them—hiding a secret she had no chance of knowing.

One of them turned to her, a chilling smile spreading across his face. "How are you finding the evening, lady YN? Or, what should I call you?,'' he mastered a fake confusion. ''Perhaps, darling? Concubine has a cheap wing to it; quite unworthy of a face so lovely as yours, don't you think?"

Dirt. The thing that crawled under her skin at his words was like dirt, making her feel unclean and exposed. She forced a laugh, trying to brush off his comments, the crown of her hair moving with muscles underneath her skin. "I am a princess, my Lord. Address me as such."

It would be enough every other noon, but today. The man's face twists, as if he just remembered something; he turns, the wine in his goblet splashing on the tablecloth. ''I think na-Baron wouldn't be too angry if I stole a princess for the night," he sneered, his eyes darkening with malice.

''Does it matter to you either way?''

YN watches as the smirk, so similar to Feyd-Rautha's, appears on the men's lips, although it doesn't feel the same. She fights back disgust as the man nods, biting into a hefty chunk of prey. His eyes, once focused on her, drifted away. YN chose to follow them; the string of fat streaming down the man's mouth onto the silver tablecloth made her nauseous. She looked from one unfamiliar face to another, until the cold feeling in her abdomen crept its way onto her chest.

There he was. His figure is unusually crouching as he sits on the podium reserved for members of the dynasty. The dark blue eyes are red now; the thin blood vessels in them are torn and emptied. His body seemed to suck the light out of the hall inside, casting a shadow over the room. There are no scars on his smooth face, but the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes spoke of a suffering that went beyond physical wounds. YN almost wished she saw him dead; whatever this was, it was surely much worse. He raised his eyes slowly to meet hers; something flickered in them before turning back to their empty state. Feyd-Rautha parts his dry lips to say something to her—she can't understand a word he draws with his breath.

From the place nearby, the Baron's voice booms, his low, almost whisper-like vowels mending into one. His face, covered with layers of skin and dead cells, twists into what was meant to be a welcoming smile—the corners of his paper-thin lips dance, lowering themselves only to jump higher, and his eyes travel from one corner to another, unable to be still even for a moment. He speaks of things YN knows nothing about court intrigue, power struggles, and alliances that shape the fate of their world, heavy with hidden meanings and unspoken threats. She does not listen until he gestures towards her, a scent of spice and decomposing flesh lingering.

''Sergeant Voss has served me well, and his loyalty at the right time is not to be forgotten. Here, I bestow upon him the highest honour of all; what was once mine, is now his. Do not let go of her if she screams, Sergeant; the girl is a fine one.''

No. YN almost does not recognise the hand as her own as the man drags her to the bed that appeared out of nowhere, freezing with horror as the people around her continue to watch in silence, their eyes devoid of any emotion or empathy. The tradition, she notes, is the one she learned so much about bedding in front of the entire court as a symbol of unity. She choked on her own tears as the man smiled at her pleas for help; they seemed to make him even more pleased.

YN looks, frantically, to the place she saw Feyd-Rautha sitting just a moment before. He would help; surely, he would not let them do it to her—his servant, his concubine, his. But the seat is empty. The scream echoing through the hall does not register as hers right away; he has sold her. For his own freedom, for a chance to be free from the consequences of his own stupid actions. Surely, the Harkonnens could not get rid of her openly—it would mean war—but she was not immune to the man who now owned her. His hands travelled her body with such audacity that YN wanted to cut them off—to cut her chest just so she could not feel the fingers digging into her skin. A sole reminder she was a woman first and a human second.

Mountain lions are solitary hunters.

The man undressed himself quickly; all of the soldiers were trained to do so. She should run; she should fight back, but the pair of unmoving hands pinning her wrists down was a stark reminder of her helplessness. The man lowers himself closer, his hot breath against her neck making her shudder in fear. She can feel him against her skirts; she can feel the weight of his body pressing down on her. The adrenaline is pumping through her veins; she will survive. Whatever it fucking takes, even if her body is bruised and broken, she will survive.

They prefer to ambush their prey from behind by swiftly and cleanly breaking the neck.

She bites—her teeth launch towards his cheek, feeling the warm flesh give way beneath her. She sinks them deeper, making holes big enough to draw blood. It's hot, and sickening on her tongue, but she does not have time for these thoughts; her next blow is in his stomach, with his knee jammed into his gut. She can feel his body convulse in pain, giving her a chance to throw him on the bed, his broad back facing her.

If they haven’t broken the neck, they will suffocate the animal.

There is nothing around that could serve as a knife; her captors made sure of that, and the sheets are too thin to wrap around his neck. She looks around the room, desperate for something to use, but the space around her is empty. YN curses as the man regains his composure and begins to struggle against her hold. Her elbow meets his nose with a sickening crunch, causing blood to spurt out. She takes a breath in; her hand wraps around his neck, forming a tight hold as she goes into the headlock. She chokes him, so desperately trying to live. And the man trashes against her grip, his white face turning a deep shade of purple before finally going limp in her arms.

Shame.

A thing that followed her after every life she took is now absent. Maybe the Giedi Prime's cruelty did have its effect on her; YN feels nothing but a sense of emptiness as she stands over the lifeless body.

''Do you have any more men to gift me to, Baron Vladimir? The night is still young.''

Her voice has changed. It holds a certain hiss now, a rasp that wasn't present before; it has matured and bloomed into half an octave deeper tone. It bites through the noise easily, cutting sharply.

The Baron laughs. His eyes gleam with amusement as he gestures towards the door. "Plenty more where that came from, my dear, but it's enough for today. Here,'' he throws something in her, a smirk ghosting on his lips. ''You've earned it.''

YN catches it and inspects the object in her hand. A small, golden broche catches the light, glinting in the dimly lit room. A head of the Bighorn ram stares back at her, the symbol of House Harkonnen. The taste of victory mingled with the metallic tang, leaving a bittersweet sensation in her mouth. Joy courses her veins—she isn't afraid. Finally, she is not afraid. Finally, she can look at her blood-stained hands without humiliation. Is it her fault she was born a better knife than a person?

Bighorn sheep are not a primary food source in most areas. However, when a lion does kill a sheep, they typically will continue to do so over and over again, until the herd is depleted.

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