I saw a comment by someone on reddit who said they no longer comment on any fanfiction because of the risk of it being AI and ... that just seems like such a cop out to me, not to mention incredibly cruel to authors.
Please please please do not stop commenting on all fics or interacting with authors because you are worried about things being AI. The risk is slim, and the damage you do to authors by doing this is awful.
Writers put so much effort into their fics. For people to openly admit they still read and consume these fics, but choose not to comment on anything because of the possibility of someone using AI for their writing is incredibly selfish. You're punishing authors by doing this. You're not being moral or helpful or crusading for any useful cause - you're just hurting authors.
Ironically, by doing this, you're actually more likely to cause authors to stop writing (silence does this), and people who can't write will fill the gaps left by creating AI writing - so you're making the problem worse, not helping anyone.
If you want to support authors and writers, then SUPPORT them! Reblog work and send authors asks, leave comments and kudos, and above all don't punish people with silence.
Its pure smut and since its about Feyd, there are some warnings: he is not so gentle. There is desire on both sides and it ends up getting in the praise kink/forced orgasm territory.
Summary: Your planet has brought magic into the galaxy - a source of new spice- and upended the political status quo. You are the sole heiress of your house and the emperor decided that the best way to protect your family's survival is to betroth you to the most enigmatic but violent fighter in the known universe: Na Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, dangerously seductive and very intrigued by you …
2.203 words
one shot ( for now)
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Your whole body was tense, filled with anticipation and nervousness. You noticed your fingers were unconsciously playing with your belt again, and with effort you made yourself refrain from doing so. It was not your first time in the Emperor's court, nor was it your first state reception. Still, it was the first time you had set foot on Kaitain since the new spice was discovered on your planet. Something that had been considered impossible for millennia and that would shake the existing power structures in the Landsraat and the entire known universe. From an insignificant house on a planet beyond Orion, blessed with centuries of stability because of it, your family has been catapulted into a position of a central political player. Your fate, albeit a small piece of a power play against the backdrop the these developments. "Our task is greater than ourselves. Our fears, smaller." The mantra that helped you hold a steady course. You relax your shoulders and notice how your back straightens.
At that moment, a festively dressed servant entered the room to announce Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and his nephews arrival. Even though you had been prepared for this encounter, the sight was a shock to her. At the first glance he is less imposing then Rabban, who moved into the room like a mountain of muscle and leather uniform. But there is a slow and steady menace in the way he carries himself. His demeanor, both elegant and commanding, reminded you of a marble statue brought to life; his skin almost seemed to illuminate the room, a contrast stark against the dim flicker of torches.
If he had eyebrows, he would certainly have raised one a little crookedly by now. But as it was, his ice-blue eyes suddenly started at you, and you sensed a hardness in his entire demeanor that you weren't used to at home and whose traces you might have felt in her upbringing with Bene Gesserit, but which had always been wrapped in a velvet glove. But power, violence and strength were clear to see in this man. The reason why the Emperor wants to make him your husband - the only one who can apparently guarantee the safety of your planet. He was not used to having to hide his true character. And that is exactly what you would make his downfall.
The formalities dragged on endlessly, time seems to slow down under his gaze. He cannot comprehend you, the strangeness of your features, the luxuriant curls of your hair falling over your shoulders in an elegant half updo, the waves of burgundy silk of your cloak adorning your shoulders, your dress of the same silk and lace - how can anyone appear so vulnerable and exposed? Especially one who holds the key to the most coveted of secrets - a new spice, as powerful as the one exported from Arrakis, but with fewer dangers, Fremen rebellions and more sustainable methods of harvesting. Only this thin fabric separates you from him, something his knife could shred in seconds. He notices that your eyes have left his and are now focused on his hand, gripping the blade at his waist so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He unclenches his hand and offers it to you, bowing slightly.
"My lady, would you allow me to escort you?"
You place your hand on his and he almost jerks back, surprised by its warmth.
"A mere twist of nature, I tend to forget how shocking it must be to someone not from my home. Our temperature has evolved to be slightly higher than the average, so that when the temperature drops at night, we never fall below a certain threshold".
He listens to you as you walk down the hall towards the banquet room, taking in your voice, the slight swish of your gown on the floor, the click of the delicate gold chains around your neck disappearing into the modest cut of your dress.
His thoughts oscillate between genuine intrigue with you and your planet, both of which he will soon call his, and a burning desire to test your seemingly obvious fragility, to see how many times he can take you before you beg for mercy, how many bites into your skin will make you whimper, how many slaps on your ass will bring you to your knees regretting whatever misdeed you may have done. You can see his hunger, thinly veiled by manners, and you are sure that he is not accusing you in front of everyone for being in the Emperor's house and not on Giedi Prime. He seems so lost in thought that you have to repeat your question.
"Are you all right, Na Baron? Is something wrong? My conversational skills must be truly dull to bore you so".
He seems to come back to the present, his eyes resting on yours again, the colour of pure blue, like a deep frozen mountain lake. You look down, and just as he finds his voice, the Emperor rises to end the banquet.
"Then I shall bid you good night. If you wish, join me in the botanical garden tomorrow before noon. Perhaps my conversation skills will have improved by then".
He nods and stands to pull out your chair, taking the opportunity to let his fingers slide down your spine through your dress as he moves the chair to the side. He will join you tomorrow alright.
_____
The sun flickers through the canopy of trees above you, leaving a mosaic of shadows on the small, flat cobblestones of the path. You have your hair in a braid that sits like a halo around your head, your arms bare in the sun, dressed in a light linen top and form-fitting trousers that allow for more movement as you tend to the plants. The small patch in front of you is half empty, with small plants dug up. Their purple roots are gnarled and wobbly, while the vines are the darkest shade of green. A tiny bead of sweat clings to your eyebrow, and you pull off your glove to remove it.
"Is this how my intended likes to spend her time?" His voice behind you, rough and deep. You are startled and drop the glove. He picks it up and holds it out to you, looking straight into your eyes again.
"Thank you. Sometimes I do," you give him an open smile and take the glove back from him, he holds it for a second longer than necessary, seemingly puzzled by your open expression once again. "These plants are from my home, the Emperor tries his best to cultivate them here, but we cannot figure out why they do not develop as they should," you look up at him, his gaze still unmoved from your face.
"Am I boring you again, Na Baron?"
"Not at all," his tongue moves over his lush lips, brushing his cupid's bow.
"Well then, these tiny plants are one of the main factors in the production of the new spice. Their sap is..." You take a small knife from the box beside you and just as you cut into one of the roots, your hand slips and a red streak of blood appears on your left hand. In an instant, a small trail of red drips down your palm and onto the light stones at your feet.
His eye darkens as he grabs your post, ignoring the plant in the flower bed, and brings the injured hand to his lips. A shower passes through you, his tongue brushing your skin, electrifying.
"You should be more careful, my lady."
His voice almost a growl, his soft and plush lips sucking lightly at your skin, leaving a red mark around them.
"Yes, I should, Feyd," you are not sure if calling him by his name was a familiarity you allowed yourself too soon, but his reaction proves you wrong. His arms are wrapped around your waist, his face inches from yours. You feel your breath mix, his scent sweet and musky around you.
"Say my name again" There is no politeness to hide his hunger now.
"Feyd..." An almost unbearable exhalation is all you can manage. And with that, he closes the gap between you and descends on your lips, devouring you. His kiss tastes slightly metallic as you taste your blood on his lips, his tongue touching your teeth, demanding entry. You give in, melting into his ministrations, your hands unable to stay still, reaching for his neck, nails digging into the porcelain skin, he almost Monas into the kiss, his hands clawing at your bottom, gripping the flesh in an iron grip. You make a small sound that seems to be all he has been waiting for. Leaving your swollen lips, his attack continues in your jaw and neck, leaving small marks. You feel his arrousal pressing against you and your right hand lets go of his throat and slides over the leather in a rhythmic motion. Before you can think how you can take so much, his size is obvious even fully clothed, he grabs the knife from before and cuts open your top, not bothering with the buttons, leaving your chest exposed to him. His mouth travels to your nipples, his tongue dancing around them before his mouth closes on them and his other hands pinch the other hard. You moan, the pain delicious and unexpected, making you arch even more towards him. He unties the rest of your clothes, leaving you bare to him. A drop of your wetness makes its way from your core along your inner thigh as you melt in his arms. His hand wanders deeper along your hipbones and thighs and as he catches the drop his predatory smile becomes a grin.
„My lady seems to be enjoying herself... Kneel down".
You obey, the hard floor hurting your knees almost immediately. He pulls his swollen cock out of his trousers and strokes the head along your lips. You open your mouth and begin to lick his shaft with broad strokes, sucking the tip in and letting it fall from your mouth with a wet plop. He watches your every move and pushes a lock of hair that has come loose from your braid out of your face.
"Yes, that's a good girl, keep going."
Spurred on by the praise, you redouble your efforts, disregarding the discomfort of kneeling on the pavement and look up at him to find him completely mesmerised. He cannot believe how willingly you give yourself to him, without reservation. He feels as if he has found something sacred, something so precious and wild that he cannot imagine ever getting enough of it. He steadies your neck and finds his own rhythm, fucking your throat hard, the gurgling sound coming from you like music to his ears, you are struggling for air but he is relentless, filling you with his cum until you swallow every last drop. Your eyes almost in tears, you try to catch your breath, but Feyd has other plans as he helps you to your feet and lays you down on the patch of fresh earth. He spreads your legs and caresses your core. The pain seems to dissolve into a sea of pleasure, leaving you disoriented and greedy, your hands pressing the back of his head into your cunt. He moans in approval, sending more delicious vibrations through your cleat and as his tongue fins you entrance, you lose yourself in the orgasm, chanting his name with more earnestness than any prayer that was ever to leave your lips.
He looks up at you and just when you think you are going to get a break from his ministrations, he pauses only to strip, his leather overalls falling to the floor and revealing his muscles. He grasps your hips and you spread your legs even wider, giving him an unobstructed view of you and your pulsating cunt.
"So ready to take me, my lady, so ready for my cock to fill you," he smiles, aligning himself with your entrance and thrusting in at once. His cock, thick and throbbing, disappears inside you as you continue to chant his name. He rams into you with abandon, his head touching your wall as his hands wander from your hips to your breasts, kneading them, whipping you into the frenzy of the second high, spasming even harder around his cock.
"I think you can come again for me, my Na Baroness," he whispers in your ear as he lowers himself over you, one hand loving your breasts to study himself on the floor, the fingers of the other circling your clit. You moan, overstimulated and hot, writhing under his touch.
"I know you can do it," he continues, not slowing down, and he is right as you cum again, this time sending him over the edge, his movements becoming ragged as his seed fills you. As your both breathing calms, you look into his eyes again and you know he is a goner, lost to the magic of your touch and how your desires dance together.
And all the pieces fall, right into place // Part Four
So these two slightly disturbed and (one of them at least) psychotic doves had to get married eventually ..
All feedback is welcome <3
English is not my first language
Part One // Part Two // Part Three
Warnings: Its finally smutty and its about Feyd, so....
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Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader
FxM
3.212 words
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Your descent is quiet, as you are still unable to think or speak clearly, while Feyd Rautha seems tense and concentrated. With the ease he demonstrated on the ascent, you are sure that this has nothing to do with him facing physical challenges with the task at hand. You want to ask him about it but decide to stay silent instead, afraid to reveal more of yourself than you already have. He was promised a Bene Gesserit bride, and so far, you have behaved more uncontrolled and wanton than you ever could imagine.
The sun's rays bask your ancestors' home in a golden blanket as you enter through the gates again, where servants are already waiting for you. The exertion of today takes its toll on you, and your limbs feel heavy. Na Baron, graceful and still full of vigor as if he had done nothing but rest all day, turns to you, taking your hand in his firm grip. The touch of his lips on your knuckles sends an electric current through your core, filling the air between you with something akin to longing. "My Lady," his voice a low murmur, a force veiled in restraint, before he enters the corridors of the castle, shadowed by the servants.
Left to navigate the tumult of your own mind, you all but flee to the room where the chaos began for you, the guest library, as if the essence of the last evening's events might still be found among the scrolls and candles in it. The door gives way under your touch, revealing the Reverend Mother and Lady Jessica in the velvet-draped armchairs, their gazes piercing the flickering light. "Ah... I just wished to—" Your words faltered, and you felt like yet again you are on the precipice of stumbling into something you cannot undo.
A welcoming smile graces your mother's lips. "I knew you'd come to us," she says, the question of how lay unasked as you stepped into their world, closing the door on the shadows that trailed you. You are not even surprised and just let the question of how go unasked.
The Reverend Mother's voice, calm and unfazed by your confusion, carries the explanation, so clean and cutting that you are shocked by the directness of it. "The Reverend Mother Margot at the Emperor's court has failed. She has convinced the emperor that she will bear him the Kwisatz Haderach," her words with an icy undertone, mixed with disgust. "The Emperor fears the loss of power, the alliances of our houses a threat he cannot ignore. The presence of the Harkonnens here is no accident; it's a guarantee of our safety."
Dryness claims your throat as the implications of this take form in your mind. "Does Father know? Am I the last to be told?"
"Your father is aware. Na Baron remains in the dark, but neither he nor the Baron Vladimir is blind to the currents of politics. Paul suspects as much." It takes all your resolve not to fall at your mother's feet as if her embrace might save you from any harm coming her way and your unborn sisters' way.
"Yet, it was he who wished that Arrakis be governed by us. My marriage, arranged from birth—" you state, confusion still swirling around you like dust in the air.
"Indeed, child. But Margot Fenring's betrayal has set a new course, one that places you at the heart of the Emperor's plans. The future is yours and Paul's to create now. If his marriage to the Fremen Princess is successful and you ensure you can manage some of Feyd Rautha's more volatile tendencies," the Reverend Mother pauses, "then your bloodlines will take control of Landstrad without even trying, and CHOAM holds loyalty to the Duke of Arrakis, no matter what they proclaim otherwise."
In the following days, you keep coming back to the library, training with your mother and Reverend Mother as much as you can. Lady Jessica couldn't help but feel a sting of pride at your eagerness and concentration, pushing yourself to your limits. This left you exhausted and almost silent during dinners, keeping your interactions with the Baron to fleeting gazes. It felt like each sight of him frayed your strained mind a little bit more, with darkness creeping into the edges.
You are aware that Na Baron continues his daily training undeterred. You hear Gurney and Duncan whisper about it amongst each other. They seem impressed with his combat skills, something that you don’t see them being often. You tell yourself that after making yourself rare for the last few days, it's only polite to see your betrothed the day before your wedding. Arriving at his guest quarters, you knock, but no one answers. Guided by an urge you are too afraid to name, you press on the indentation on the door, and within a step, you are in his chambers. His attire is folded with immaculate precision along the shelves, his blades, gleaming, lay in a seated shelf. It feels so intimate to get a peek into his tiny world here, an exhilarating feeling rushes through your body.
„What are you doing here?“
A hissing, high pitched voice behind you startles you. You swirl around and look into black eyes of a woman, boys as Na Baron, dressed in leather overall, if those tiny scraps couldn’t be called clothing at all. Her eyes have to whites or pupils, but are just filled with back, making her seem like a wild animal.
„Who are you“ You spit back at her.
„She is in Lots quartersssss… she will take him from ussssss“ Two other creatures appear from his bedroom, three of them looking together identically, The hair in your neck rises
„I am not the once to answer you. Now make space“ You take a step back, but the woman only come closer, his limbs moving slowly and in unnatural angels.
„Dont thinksss soo. Why let you leave if we can kill you and have him to ourselfesssss“ and with it one of them lunges at you, her nails at your neck, her meta smelling breath on your face. You smack her away, but its three agains one and you feel a stream of blood running down your gown and arms, the pain searing.
„Stop now“ within seconds you are free, crawling backwards and scrambling on get your feet
„Who are you?“
The creatures only make cracking sounds in return. „Well then,“ you finally regain composure and try to ignore the drops of blood on your hands. „You can keep that to yourselves as a last thing you do.“ And just as you are about to use your voice on them again, Na Baron appears with sweat running along his cheek, this tunic clinging to his body, revealing the chilled muscles of his chest and abdomen. His gaze wanders between you and the women, between your blood on the floor and the blood on their claw-like nails.
„ I see you could not behave as I told you“
For a second you are enraged only to realize that he is not talking to you. „What did I say?“ His voice is pure fury. „We are so sorry, my Lord. She was here uninvited, she shouldn't“" So you decided to lay your hands on my future wife? On my betrothed?“ The women treble with each word „“Forgive us my lord“ the pleas, black tears running down their cheeks. „I forgive you“ he says, looking into their faces and with a low, wishing sound he releases the blade from its holster on his hip, slinking through their throats in one motion.
You stare at the scene before you, the pool of blood crawling to your feet. He steps right through it and gazes into your eyes. „No one will hurt you again, my Lady. No one will ever lay hands on what’s mine“ You only nod and let his kiss seal the promise. Whatever softness he has shown before is gone and is replaced by hunger and ferocity that leaves you breathless. He seems to devour you with his tongue and as you come for air there is wickedness in his features. „I think you should run now, my princess, for I am not sure how long I can hold back myself“ Your feet run on their own, leaving him laughing in the wake. So this is a glimpse of what his true nature is rumoured to be, You would be lying if you would say you are enamoured with him even more now.
____
On the day of the wedding ceremony, you stay in your chambers. Duke Leto tries to protest as Paul comes to you, but his words fall on deaf ears. Only now do you begin to think of how many secrets had been whispered within those walls for centuries? Your handmaidens dress you, the gown is long and heavy with beads, mixing the vibrant green tones of Caladan, covered with floral patterns. As you move the beads sound almost like raindrops on cobblestones, a Melodie that carries you through the day.
When it is time, your father leads you to the grand hall, where guests are gathered in the sea of candles. The light of the flickering flames is mirrored by your dress and you hope it can distract from the crimson creeping up into your face. Na Baron stands at the end of your walk and suddenly you feel the weight of the legacy you are carrying, how the cloth that is going to bind your hands together will bind the destiny of your families into one. His figure is dressed in a flowing black coat, that od closed at his shoulders with chrome insignia of his house. His waist is lacking the ear so he presents knifes. He is a presence of solemn elegance. When your eyes meet, a hunger flickers through his composure, but otherwise he aims almost motionless. His white skin almost glows in the light, his posture reminiscent of the pillars at the entrance of the hall. The words of the vows are spoken and with the knot at your wrist, all the whispers of the future materialize in front of you. You can feel the heat radiating from your husband's body, but he doesn’t take your hand and his expression is more guarded than you could ever give him credit for. A small disappointment rears its head, but you focus on your breathing. Your prance, the paragon of elegance and dignity, stand at your side, while Baron Vladimir and his nephew, both imposing in their own way, seem to scan you and your family still with a touch of confusion, as if they are still unsure if this is the inevitable turnout of e union, their leaves whispering in the gentle breeze, a melody of timelessness and change.
_____
The feast seem total stretch itself into an eternity, with each new dish brought forward, each cheer to the couple more grating to your ears than the other. Feyd Rautha seems to sense your absentmindedness as he touches your lower back, startling you. A laughter roars through the halls as he presses his lips hungrily on yours his tongue in your mouth and his grip on your back. You feel the eyes of the guests in you and cannot believe that this is actually something that is happening to you. Such a display of attraction is not something you are used to seeing and even less experiencing. When he finally lets you go, your face is red and flustered and with him leaving into your ear, your hands try to hold him at a distance.
„None of that now, dear Na Baroness“ his voice sweet and low, as sweet as the snakes gaze at the rabbit it is about to devour. „You are mine now, remember“. You tremble at him addressing you with your new title, another piece of the puzzle setting into the new reality you are facing. Two handmaidens appear at your side and you are gestured to leave the halls. The cheering gets even louder and from the corner of your eye, you say Jessica raising an eyebrow at the Duke, who try to remain graceful and stoic through the ordeal.
Instead of your rooms, you are brought to the east wing. The chamber's candles mirror the grand hall, a subtle echo of their grandeur. The handmaidens leave out a nightgown for you, a whisper of black silk and lace and run a bath, fragrant with myrrh and pine. Hot water mist rises up from the basin, with tiny droplets lingering on your hair and gown. Just as one of the girls begins to untie the intricate laces of your corset on your back, Feyd Ruth’s voice fills the room.
„What do you think you are doing?“
„We are..“ The girl, clearly afraid bows down and tries to explain herself.
„You are leaving“ he declares and they follow the command at once.
You stay frozen on the spot, the small sounds of the dress beads on the floor retrying your shiver.
He is right behind you, the fabric of his cloak mixing on the floor with yours. His breath is on your neck, intensifying the shivers, which are now infused with anticipation.
His hands resume the handmaiden's works, unrevealing the masterfully woven ties until your back is exposed to him, your dress holding on to the sure edges of your shoulders. He lets his nails glide along your spine, leaving tiny red lines on your sensitive skin. When his fingers leave your skin you feel a twinge of disappointment, but within a glimpse of a second, they return to push down the dress, as it now gathers on your hips, being held in place by the last pieces of the laces. You feel exposed and try your best to to ver up, as he circles you, with the precision of a vulture hunting down its prey. Whatever restrain he had it seems to fade by a second. His Tonge flicks his lips, as he places one hand on your neck and disposes of the rest of the dress with the other. You are standing now bare infant of him, unable to log away, as his left palm holds your face in a position facing him. His right hand disappears uncerismonuoisly between your thighs, and brushing over your sensitive sport, circling your entrance. „ I am pleased to find you so welcoming“ he smirks, feeling the wetness of your folds. You try to say something in return, but your mind is wiped clean, when his lips are at your neck, sucking at the skin around your collarbones and leaving bruises in their wake while his other hand is still at your core.
He thought about this moment since your first kiss, letting all kinds of scenarios wander before his eyes. The Imagery of you bound to his bed, on your knees in-front of him, your hands behind your back and his hand in your hair. But for now, none of them seem enough to brand you as his. Your readiness however thinly veiled spurs him on and when he is satisfied with the chain of marks on your neck, he continues with your breasts, sucking and biting, which each whine you can hold back making him even more ferocious, The moonlight mixes with the candles, letting you appear like an ethereal creature, with soft curves and redness to the bitten spots, something divine and foreign to him. When your hands find his shoulders, still fully clothed, his voice is full of mischievous glee, like a spider that sensed something juicy got caught in the net.
„ I don’t remember allowing that, my Lady. But it's your first transgression, so see it as a chance to learn.“
A glimmer of fear finds its way into your mind, the memory of his hand cutting a human throat quite fresh on your mind.
„Now be a good girl and turn to the wall. You obey, feeling the relief of the tapestry pressing into your skin, a friction so irritating and delicious you almost cannot stay still.
„You are only getting 5 blows, but you are going to count them loud for my, my Na Baroness“ You sense how eager he is and brace yourself. Yet the pain is so searing on your bottom, ah his hands land flat on it, leaving a screaming red mark immediately that your legs tremble.
“It seems you didn’t count this one, so we have to start again“ Another blow on your butt cheeks lands with an intensity you didn’t expect.
„One..“ You manage to press between your teeth.
„Now that's better“ He almost purrs, a cat satisfied with its cats.
By the time the last blow lands, your are a mess of pain and desire.
You lay on the bed, your mind and body in a haze of desire and angst, as his clothes are disappearing on the floor. Your eyes wander dawn from his abdomen to his groin, where an unmistakable proof of his desire is covered in precum. He notices your reaction.
„It seems like you are ready for me, but you have to prove it to me yet“. He gestures you to get on all fours, your face to him. His thumb runs along your already swollen lips, and he nudges then apart. He fills your mouth, while clawing at your har, and when you look up to him, the blue in his eye is almost gone. His thrust are hard and fast, a gagging sounds that seem to please him and just as he settles into a ferocious rhythm. But just as you think his peak is nearly there, he stops and you see how a human in him disappeared and a relentless beast has emerged. He scoops you up and oxeye you are place with your back on the silken sheets, he aligns himself with your entrance.
„All mine“ he growls and enters you in one motion. As much as you anticipated this moment, you feel utterly unprepared by being filled out like this. He doesn’t pause and takes up the pace from before. You close your eyes and another orgasm makes you scream his name like a drowning person screaming for help. His Whole body is towering over you, a marble statue that came alive. The veins on his forearms becoming more prominent, his breathing ragged and shallow. To see him unravel spurs you on even further and your nails find his shoulders and back again, gliding down to his butt, revealing red stripes on the marble in their wake.You feel your whole being clinging onto him and his own peak follows closely. You feel his warmth filling you, his last pumps weakening, as hi almost collapses onto you. None of you is able to speak. There is a tiny trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades and along cheek bon, With an inexplicable urgency you flick out your tongue and lick it up from his face. With some of the icy flu of his eyes returning, he regards you with a satisfied smirk. „Please rest assured, that I am not done with you yet, my lady“.
Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x a bodyguard he did not ask for
Feyd Rautha was not a particularly patient or obedient man. His skills as a fighter earned him a reputation of a ruthless combat machine, someone who knew no fatigue in battle. The pleasure he found in honing his prowess, regardless of the cost to his surroundings, was well known beyond the lands touched by the infrared sun of his home planet Giedi Prime.
However, when the family's mentat, Piter de Vries, appeared in his training chamber to inform him about his uncle's request, Feyd knew better than to argue. He owed his uncle a lot and knew that he clearly preferred him to his cousin Glossu Rabban. What Rabban brought in sheer strength, he lacked in political skill. And the fate of House Harkonnen would not be decided by strength alone, they all knew that.
They crossed the halls swiftly, passing a web of sideways and starecases. Feyd Rautha did not ask, and the Mentat offered no further explanations for the command to appear, which was only sparsely disguised as a request. In the throne room of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, it was, as always, sparsely lit, the ceilings of the room were so high that they could not be seen in the darkness. As in the rest of the fortress, the harsh environment of Giedi Prime continued inside the building: The walls were kept in shades of gray, the floors lined with dark marble, evincing rather somber and sorrowful thoughts then any musings on relaxation or warmth. Shaping the rocks according to their wishes was a clear sign for the inhabitants of the planet and for any visitor unfortunate enough to find themselves here.
Upon arrival, his uncle's seat was vacant, only a spider-like animal crouched in the shadow filled corner of the room. However, standing in front of his uncle's seat was something very surprising: a servant, yet not dressed in the usual roughly woven gray robes, but in a tight-fitting and shiny leather, her back as straight as if she were standing guard. The mysterious figure had no customary collar, but a chrome protector on her shoulders and chest, reflecting the sparse light of the room. Her face was half-turned to him, so he could observe the fine lines of her profile, with sharp cheekbones and full lips. Under her hairband, which held a short veil in place, he guessed a tightly bound braid.
He almost reached out to her, to consider the addition to the household. With this figure, she is an excellent addition to his pets, he thought, and was pleasantly surprised to receive such a gift from his uncle. "I ask you to refrain from that, my lord" Her voice with full with dignity and clarity that was unbecoming for a servant. The figure did not stir, so he briefly doubted whether she had really spoken. A mocking laugh escaped him
"Since when do my pets have wants? Just for this impudence, you deserve to be punished" and with a fluid movement, he reached for the knife at his hip, only to have it just as precisely parried. The reaction, as unexpected as it was, only spurred him on further. Through every move he felt a spark of the excitement ignite In him.With a predatory gaze, he glanced up and down her body
"Oh, I didn't know the pet was in the mood for play" He grinned, revealing his black teeth. However, the woman blocked every further attack of his, until the tip of her knife penetrated his shield and stopped just millimeters before his skin. In disbelief, he looked at the red-flaring shield at the breached spot.
"I see you have gotten acquainted with each other," Baron Vladimir Harkonnen floated into the room, black spheres following him, emitting a slight buzzing sound. The Baron's body was becoming more and more like one of these spheres, round and voluminous. In a matter of seconds, the woman let her blade drop and her weapons found their way back to her holster. Feyd's blade, however, still aimed at her throat. In his defiant eyes, an unspoken question.
„My dear Nephew Feyd, I want you to meet your bodyguard. You are the future of this planet and if it's up to me, of the known universe. With the journeys to Kaitain and Arrakis, I will leave nothing to chance. Feyd felt the bitter taste of bile and anger fill his mouth, his ice-blue eyes directed at the completely superfluous guard, while her gaze fixed on his uncle.
„No warrior in the known universe is my equal. I certainly don't need protection, and even less so from her" His words were like poison arrows
„And yet she just effortlessly penetrated your shield," his uncle laughed, the sounds like sharp bubbles in his oil bath. "Effortlessly" Feyd almost hissed.
"You are dismissed, I do not require your services" He said with as much pride as he could summon through the anger raging in his mind and body.
“My services were summoned by the esteemed Baron Vladimir. As long as he does not dismiss me, I stay where I am." For the first time, their eyes met, his blue against her dark green. So much defiance would have been allowed neither to a servant nor to a pet. "Piter de Vries, please show Lady Margot Fenring to her quarters," said the Baron, and only then did it become apparent that the mentat had never left the room. Feyd believed he detected a hint of a smug smile on his lips, but he was mentally too busy devising a plan to get rid of this new acquaintance.
How on earth do the writers here manage to produce masterpieces almost every day? I admire anyone who manages to create continuously, but this week was so exhausting that I only managed one chapter. I'm looking forward to sharing it with you soon.
Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?
Pairing: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: he steps on your hand, non-consensual kissing, slapping
A/N: In which you try to stand your ground against Feyd and it just makes him horny
Palpable tension fills the room. You notice, not happily, the heavy presence of guards. As pale and unmoving as the walls, you wouldn’t have recognized them if not for the subtle hand signals from your mother. Jessica’s fingers twitched in the ancient Atreides language.
Stay on guard, she warns you. You don’t even have to look at her to know what she’s saying — you learned the secretive hand signals before you could even speak. Even just a quick flash of her fingers in your peripheral and you understand.
Will this day end in bloodshed?
The thought rags at you.
“Welcome,” the Baron finally bellows, voice thick and rasping as sand over the dunes of Arrakis. “It is truly an honor to receive you here today.”
Leto nods, ever the diplomat. You’re grateful for his lead and the prowess of his social navigational skills because, at the moment, you’re afraid that you won’t be able to speak. Not in the face of your destiny and certainly not under the severe scrutiny of your betrothed.
The Baron beckons you and your family closer and you swear that you notice Feyd-Rautha lean forward in interest.
“I trust your journey from Arrakis was well,” the Baron says.
Your skin prickles at the mention.
“Certainly. It was a smooth ride. I’m sure you’re familiar, since you’ve taken it recently,” Leto replies coolly.
The Baron snaps, “And will again soon.”
An insurmountable current of hostility perpetuates the room, not visible but impossible to not to notice. The Baron claps his hands together, the sound resonating. “But we aren’t here to discuss space travel, are we? Lady Y/N, step forward so that we may see you.”
The slightest nod of approval from Jessica. Her hand brushes yours as you pass by her.
It’s unknown to you how far you should go but you take several large steps away from your parents until you’re completely vulnerable. You hope no one is able to perceive your nervousness, or the slick state of your palms. You keep them hidden in the folds of your dress.
“Mm, lovely enough,” the Baron remarks. His repulsive gaze travels your form. Not in the way that one might appraise a mate but rather a livestock for purchase. “Excellent hips for birthing.”
You bite your tongue to stifle your retort.
From the shifting of garments behind you, you know the comment has unsettled your parents as well. Your mother warned you that the situation was delicate, that the Harkonnens would wait for the slightest aggression to attack. You do your best to maintain a comprise of neutrality, the cool indifference your mother manages to exude.
“Still an Atreides,” Rabban growls, low enough only for you, the Baron, and na-Baron to hear.
The Baron ignores this. “Well, nephew, won’t you greet your betrothed?”
A small exhale escapes you.
Feyd-Rautha lopes from his position beside the dais to stand before you. His proximity is overwhelming, the sheer size and force of his presence eclipsing all else; his lips have not loosed from their taunting smirk, an infuriating expression you wish to rid him of.
“Hello, betrothed,” he says. His voice, too, rasps against your ears, cool and unbothered.
“Hello,” is all you manage.
In a move that startles you, Feyd-Rautha unsheathes a dagger from his armored uniform. It glints dangerously in the low lighting. Although you can’t see her you hear Jessica cry out in surprise, in objection, and the guards at the perimeter of the throne room coil with anticipation. However, you keep still.
Feyd-Rautha presses the tip of the dagger lightly into your neck, below your ear. His dark gaze flickers down the column of your throat, following the trail of the blade. It’s a strangely sensual act, intimate in ways that disturb you, the fragile balance of trust and power it commands. Feyd-Rautha stops at the dip of your throat, where your heart is beating wildly, directly above the Atreides clasp.
He clicks his tongue. “You won’t be needing this.”
The Harkonnen slices at your cape faster than you can ever react — the garment flutters from your shoulders to the ground. It’s then that you realize he’s cut away the clasp and effectively stripped you of your Atreides title.
The clasp bounces against the polished floor.
Compelled by shock, by pure reflex, you bend down to grab it. Feyd-Rautha’s boot closes down on your hand before you can retrieve the clasp, slamming your palm down over it as he traps your hand against the floor. You gasp in surprise, and pain, the pressure of his booted foot clearly more demonstrative than punishing. For now.
“I told you that you won’t be needing that,” he says, exasperatedly informal. “Stand up.”
Teeth gritting, you squirm beneath his boot, trying desperately to reclaim your hand. “No!” You shout at him. “It is rightfully mine.”
He presses his boot down harder. You squeal.
“You are rightfully mine. And you will do as I say. A wife with a broken hand is still capable of fulfilling her duties.”
Shame burns your face and couples with the disgust taking root in your chest. Feyd-Rautha regards you coolly from above. If you thought you would survive the attempt, you’d snap his leg.
“Fine,” you spit out.
His smooth brow raises. “What?”
“Fine.”
“Louder,” he orders. “I want them all to hear you. Forfeit your Atreides loyalty.”
In the few seconds that you take to consider this, he pushes his entire weight down on your hand. The pain steals away all rational thought as stars appear in your vision. Your breath saws painfully in and out of your lungs. It takes all of your strength to grit out, “I forfeit my Atreides loyalty.”
A bout of protest explodes from Leto and Jessica, and the sound of their disbelief cuts you deep. You collapse onto the ground, clutching your injured hand and watch in horror as Feyd-Rautha stomps on the clasp and shatters it.
Pieces go flying.
There’s a terrible joy in the Baron’s voice: “Enough, nephew. I believe you’ve made your point.”
“That was completely unnecessary —” Leto begins. He quiets as a trio of Harkonnen guards gather not towards him, but you, weapons and lasguns trained on your crumpled form.
A memory emerges from your subconscious, an afternoon in which Leto mentioned that having a child is like having a lasgun pressed to your temple at all times.
His throat bobs with suppressed emotion.
Your parents won’t try anything if it puts you in peril. Even Jessica’s control of The Voice is useless.
“Lady Y/N is now a member of the House Harkonnen. Her husband will do with her what he sees fit,” the Baron declares. “Nephew, have you had quite enough?”
Feyd-Rautha faces his uncle. “For now.”
You tremble beside him. A heady mix of pain and anger boils beneath your skin. The Harkonnen soldiers fall back as the Baron waves a massive hand.
“Take her to her chambers. I’ve had enough.”
You protest, “No! I need to say goodbye to my family!”
A sickening smile spreads on the Baron’s face, and he holds out his arms. “We’re your family now.”
You don’t even get a final glimpse of your parents as the soldiers hoist you to your feet and corner you off from them. The roughness of the guards jostles your injured hand. “Get off me,” you growl, yanking yourself free from their grasps.
The soldiers move to contain you once more but Feyd-Rautha rasps, “Listen to your future Baronness.” You gape at him. The faint hint of a smirk returns on his face, and he steps toward you. “I’ll escort her.”
Then he grabs your injured hand as a tether.
The doors to the throne room slam shut.
Feyd-Rautha’s grip on your hand is strong, undoubtedly a reminder of his control. It takes more than a few pulls to dispatch him and, once you do, he whirls on you with a curious, almost bewildered look.
You seethe, “What is wrong with you? How dare you destroy my family pin.”
“You cannot be my wife if you have loyalties elsewhere,” he says, as if the explanation is obvious. “Your loyalties are to me and the House Harkonnen.”
“I decided where my loyalties lay,” you tell him. “And they belong to no one but myself.”
Feyd-Rautha studies you, then huffs.
“I’m being serious,” you hiss.
“I know.” He steps casually toward you, though it’s anything but. Your body tenses. “So am I.”
An indescribable feeling crashes over you, sweeping you nearly off your feet. Everything you’ve heard about him vanishes. In a move that surprises even yourself, you advance on him, close enough to see the glint of glee in his dark eyes. He’s actually enjoying this.
“You have taken everything from me,” you sneer at him. “My home. My family. My name. My future.” You inhale shakily, fighting back a sob. “But you will not take away my allegiance.”
“Do you think that I wanted this?” Feyd-Rautha asks bitterly. “And don’t pretend as if you didn’t just forfeit that allegiance. To me. Have you already forgotten?” He touches your face, much to your chagrin. He crooks one finger under your chin and raises it. “Need I remind you?”
“You’re a monster.”
Feyd-Rautha’s handsome features arrange into what you can only describe as satisfaction. “Yes I am.”
You recoil as the Harkonnen then presses his lips to yours, holding your chin in place to keep you from shying away. It’s brief, almost perfunctory in nature. A passionless, predatory claim.
He pulls away, and the subsequent sound of your slap reverberates through the empty corridor.
Feyd-Rautha clenches his jaw. Your hand stings from the strike, and you hold it at your side in anticipation of a retaliating blow. He rolls his neck. An eternity passes before he turns his attention back to you, pale cheek still reddened by your hand. It pleases you to notice it.
“We’re even now. Wife.”
Feyd-Rautha snatches your hand, which until that moment the pain had been subdued by adrenaline. You wince. He kisses your already mottling knuckles, the sensitive skin of your wrist, never pulling his eyes from yours.
You refuse to react, to acknowledge the flicker of heat ignited low in your belly.
Feyd-Rautha drops your hand then and, as if nothing had happened, turns on his booted heel and starts down the opposite direction. “Come, wife. It’s time I show you our quarters.”
Look I'm back on HOTD shit agains, so i was thinking Feyd Rautha reunited with like an aunt figure (or just an older oc/reader), who he's been fascinated by since he was a child. And she's all like domineering and assertive bcz yk she's older so she feels superior
Hmmmmm.... i do see where you coming from, buut I am not sure if this is something I would be good at. But HOTD Season 1 Scenes were hot as hell
Hey, i have this idea in my head where the reader is appointed as Feyd Rautha's right hand (wo)man/bodyguard/assistant? due to the fact that she is a skilled fighter and super smart. Maybe she was a hitman or a bountyhunter and the baron is obviously overprotective of his heir.
So if you're interested you could write about that
I love this Idea! I will absolutely write something about it, not sure of it will be a one shot or multiple parts though. Thanks for your input
Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?
A/N: Hello! If you’re here then there’s probably something wrong with you too, so let’s be friends. I haven’t been able to write anything lately until I saw the latest Dune movie and then all of my thoughts became dedicated to Feyd-Rautha. I must get these thoughts out. Help. Me.
“Chin up.”
Your mother brushes your hair back, bronze, like hers, and lifts your chin. Her gaze is critical. You stare back, thinking only of the things that she will find fault in you. An endless amount, you muse. The slightest flicker of expression on Lady Jessica’s face informs you that she suspects what you’re thinking. Your teeth grit.
“Must you do that?” You hiss through your painted lips. The servants have dressed you specially for the occasion. A floor-length black dress and, settled on your shoulders, a red cape clasped together with the House of Atreides insignia.
Jessica withdraws her hand. Your mother radiates femininity and power, a feat you’ve yet reached. Even the cool way in which she regards you drips with regality.
“Do what?” She asks, feigning innocence.
“Don’t make me say it.”
Jessica’s blue eyes harden. “You don’t have to, daughter. It’s plain enough.”
Mother and daughter stare at one another.
She tried to teach you the ways of the Bene Gesserits, but you failed to take to it. You were too expressive, too…volatile. You struggled to detect the slightest change in voice, you could never sit still long enough to study, and your facial features always betrayed you. The only aspect you succeeded in was combat — there was no need to mask your feelings, your thoughts, able to just completely lend yourself to the blade.
But it wasn’t enough.
“You’re fortunate the Reverend Mother has chosen to see through with this arrangement,” Jessica all but snarls. “There’s hope for you still, in form of an heir.”
The Kwisatz Haderach.
The only reason your mother still spoke to you, affords you any attention at all. The fact that you’ve been painstakingly bred to produce him: a Bene Gesserit of male origin, capable of accessing the memories of his ancestors and see through time and space itself.
A terrible mantle for an unborn child.
In the black of night, you sometimes lay your hand on your abdomen and utter apologies to the egg nestled in your ovary; burdened with horrible purpose. If only you could avoid its fate. But you were not even in control of your own.
“I want to stay here,” you plea finally, pitifully.
Jessica steps away from you, brushes off her skirt. “You know that you cannot.”
“I can help Father,” you insist. “You know that he worries about gaining the approval of the Fremen. I can —”
“Enough!” The Voice. It snaps your mouth shut and renders you mute. “This is bigger than both of us.” Jessica snatches your upper arm, pulls you close enough to feel the heat of her anger. “Your father wanted a son. A heir. But it was my duty to produce a daughter. I ignored the pleas of your father because I understand what it is to serve. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
You swallow your disgust, though it lingers like a foul taste on your tongue.
This isn’t the first time that your mother has told you this. Nor did you think it would be the last.
Perhaps making a home among your enemies would be better than staying here among family.
“Fine,” you say. You wrench your arm from her grasp then turn away. It’s futile, you know the heighliner will be here soon to whisk you away, but you can’t stand to be in the presence of your mother any longer. Fortunately she lets you go.
You’re not even aware of where your feet are taking you until the familiar sound of the baliset meets your ears. Gurney rests lazily on the ground in the massive corridor, back against the wall and string instrument in his scarred hands. He doesn’t look at you as you approach nor when you collapse down beside him.
Usually Gurney’s situationally appropriate songs bring you a modicum of comfort, but today it seems more ominous than insightful.
“I won’t miss your singing,” you say.
He stops playing. “You jest.”
Playfully, you crack open one eye and peer at his baffled expression. You try not to laugh. “I don’t.” A sigh escapes your mouth then, and you slump further down, uncaring if you rumple your gown. “I will, however, miss the singer.”
“Don’t bother appealing to an old man like me. It won’t get you anywhere.”
“Hm,” is all you say, lost in thought.
Gurney sets the baliset to the side. His hand finds your knee and he squeezes. “You will be fine, Lady Y/N. I’ve taught you well.”
“Not even what you’ve taught me will suffice for what I’m up against.”
“Nonsense.”
Both eyes open now, you stare pleadingly at the swordsmaster. “Just come with me. Please.”
It’s Gurney’s turn to sigh. With a groan he heaves himself to his feet and offers you a hand. “You know that I can’t,” he murmurs.
His loyalty to your father doesn’t extend to you.
He is Leto Atreides, Duke of Arrakis, after all. And you are just his daughter. A pawn. A womb and nothing more.
You reach out to ghost your fingers over the scar on Gurney’s cheek. “Tell me about them.”
The Harkonnens.
“There’s nothing you don’t already know or haven’t learned from the filmbooks,” Gurney says to you in a terribly soft voice. It’s unfitting of the great soldier. “They are a cruel people. Do not trust them.”
You nod, irrationally devastated that your final plea to Gurney did not work. But his words were not anything new.
Nothing you learned about the Harkonnens has been pleasant — from their oppressive rule and misogynistic society down to their industrialized homeworld. Your chest aches.
First you were forced to leave the lush beauty of Caladan for Arrakis. You had even grown admittedly fond of the desert planet, just to yet again be snatched from another home.
“Thank you, Gurney. For everything.”
He dips his chin in acknowledgment, then holds out his arm for you to take.
Gurney has been like a second father to you over the years. While Leto was out securing political alliances and holding meetings, it was Gurney who kept you company. He aided in your combat training and believed in you when no one else did. To lose him would be to lose a great friend, indeed.
By the time you return to the antechamber where you’d been, Leto has arrived. He looks as cunning and handsome as ever, and the smile he flashes you is enough to cut you to the bone.
If what Jessica said was true about your father wanting a son and being sorrowful he did not get one, you would never know. He has only ever made you feel loved.
“My beautiful daughter,” he greets you. He smells wonderful. The same way he did all of those years ago when he would tell you stories of your grandfather and tuck you into bed, his beard tickling your cheek.
You breathe him in for one of the last times. “Hello, father.”
“You look marvelous,” he says. His smile falters slightly. “Are you ready? I wanted to ensure that you’ve said your goodbyes before we leave.”
Bitterly, you think, Before I leave. Everyone else will return to Arrakis and you will be moored on Giedi Prime, married to a bloodthirsty monster and forced to grow round with his child.
The thought makes your knees tremble.
The Harkonnens controlled the fiefdom of Arrakis before your family and were unbelievably outraged that it, and the flow of spice, had been stolen from them. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what your reception on their planet will be like. It’s any luck if you don’t get slaughtered upon arrival.
Especially since the Baron’s nephew, the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha — your betrothed — was known for his brutal nature. You hoped stupidly that the arrangement of marriage and promise of an heir would be enough to keep you alive.
At least for awhile.
Feyd-Rautha killed his own mother. Who knew what the status of wife meant to him?
“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer Leto. He squeezes your hand.
You hug Gurney goodbye then board onto the heighliner after your parents. It’s difficult to suppress the tears threatening to fall as the ship takes off in a flurry of sand and departs.
Normally you’d be completely enraptured with the endless golden dunes, but today you stay rooted to your seat and refrain from crying.
The flight to Giedi Prime happens much too quickly for your liking. Already your heart is in your throat, hammering out your nerves in a steady rhythm.
The view from your seat reveals the strange nature of your new home — a black sun. Never again will you see the stretch of blue sky from Caladan or feel the formidable heat of Arrakis. The entire world outside the ship stood in sharp black and white contrast, all color drained from the surroundings and its people.
You spy hoards of Harkonnens gathering beyond the ship, awaiting the arrival of the na-Baron’s wife and their future Empress.
Your stomach churns. How could you ever lead such ugly, wicked people?
Jessica’s voice engulfs you. “Chin up,” she says again to your dismay. “You mustn’t show any weakness. Not here.”
You raise your chin the slightest amount. Jessica nods stiffly in approval, and it’s in that moment you understand that your mother’s harshness has been preparing you for this. While you hardly feel the urge to forgive her, an odd sense of calm washes over you.
You are an Atreides. And you always will be.
No one can take that from you.
The boarding ramp disengages and you’re the first one to step onto it. A hush of silence befalls the crowds.
You stride forward with as much confidence as you can muster, focusing not on the leering eyes of the Harkonnens but instead on the Baron’s fortress. A large pathway separates you from it, granting you plenty of time to get your fill. It’s as grand as it is excessively boastful; tall, pointed towers cleverly connected, all sharp lines and edges. It leaves the impression of a finely crafted dagger.
A display of power and wealth.
Behind you your parents emerge and the carefully observant crowd launches into disarray — shouts and yells of anger, of hatred, grate your ears. You know that they take it in stride, however, and their strength fortifies your own.
By the time you’ve crossed the distance from the heighliner to the inner walls of the fortress, your eyes are blurried by the strong contrast outside now given away to darkness. It takes a few moments for you to adjust. When you do, you quickly look over your surroundings.
There’s few decorations or art. It’s cold and impersonal and extremely clinical.
Your slippered feet reverberate off the high ceilings.
Bracing yourself, seemingly, has been for no reason. For it’s not the Baron and his nephew that meet you but rather a line of Harkonnen soldiers. Their faces are stoic.
You bristle. “Where is the Baron? And my betrothed? Do they not wish to receive us?”
The soldiers do not answer.
A man appears then from down the hall, a Mentat by the look of him. He’s pale and bald and clad in black like the other Harkonnens.
“My apologies, Lady Y/N,” the Mentat says. “My name is Piter de Vries. I am here to escort you. The Baron and na-Baron will receive you now in the throne room.”
Leto lays a hand on your arm as if to stifle your response. “Please, Piter, lead the way.”
You can’t help but glance curiously at your father. This entire situation was delicate, you knew, but you wonder at his subservience. It’s an insult not to be immediately greeted by their hosts, especially when your guests happen to be the Duke of Arrakis, his concubine, and their daughter. If Leto agrees with this affront, though, he doesn’t show it.
Leto simply strides after Piter with you and your mother in pursuit.
The fortress boasts sleek walls and floors, polished to perfection. Piter guides you to the throne room a short distance away, the sight of it stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s larger than any room you’ve seen before, outfitted on the far side with steps leading up to a grand dais.
And upon the dais, demanding your attention, is Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. The man is as large as the throne room itself but not nearly as impressive, pale and beastly, his enormous weight supported by suspenders. He makes no movement as you enter.
Your gaze moves quickly, eagerly, away from him.
Standing on either side of the dais are his two nephews. Aware that you can’t stand to face your betrothed yet, you fix your attention on his brother. Rabban, you recall his name.
Rabban is bound with hard muscle and swathed in what you can only describe as thinly veiled anger. At his side, his fists clench and unclench restlessly.
Then, without permission, you look to your future husband.
Feyd-Rautha stands as tall as Rabban but roped instead with lean, attractive muscle. His brow sits above dark eyes and a generous mouth. There’s a frightening intensity to the way he stands, encapsulating both nonchalance and a dangerous arrogance. Clearly this man is used to getting his way and will stop at nothing to do so.
And it’s this man that makes no effort to disguise the way he studies you, starting at the top of your head and trickling languidly downward.
A chill dances down your spine.
When he catches this, catches you watching him — he must’ve known that you were — his lips twitch into the faintest of smirks.
me, pre-dune 2: not the biggest fan of austin butler, but i’m very interested in seeing how his feyd-rautha fares in comparison to book feyd-rautha! i sure do hope nothing happens to the arrangement of my brain cells!
movie feyd-rautha, bald, foaming at the mouth, very clearly in need of several million extra screws and solitary confinement:
me, post-dune 2 at six in the morning: i need him.
And all the pieces fall, right into place // Part Three
Just had to write more imideately - these two just had to get closer. But it seems like Feyd in this story has a somewhat soft side to him. Lets see how long it will stay this way
All feedback is welcome <3
English is not my first language
Part One // Part Two
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Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader
FxM
1.626 words
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Na Baron Feyd Rautha awoke to an unusual, high-pitched sound in his room. It was like the clinking of glass, but lacked its acrid edge. All his senses went on high alert as he opened his eyes wide and, as inconspicuously as possible, reached for the blade at his right. His fingers curled around the hilt, ready to neutralise the source of the noise. It was only a moment later that he realised the sound was coming from a bird on the windowsill. The bird, completely unfazed by the weapon, continued to trill, looking back at the Baron undaunted and curious. Its feathers glistened in the first rays of the sun. When Feyd Rautha took a step towards him, the bird thought better of it and vanished with a flap of its wings, leaving only a long blue feather as proof that it had ever been there. The Baron looked out of the window, where a tranquil sea of grass stretches beyond the walls of Arteries castle. Everything on Kaladan seemed deeper: Colours were more vivid and blended. His guest rooms were lined with soft fabrics, the carpet beneath his feet plush. The abstract notion of the differences between Kaladan and Giedi Prime was evident in every aspect. With a soft knock, the door to his room was flung open. The servant was confronted with an unusual sight. The Baron was completely naked, his muscles covered by marble-coloured skin, his broad shoulders kissed by the sun, his blade in his hand.
"Please forgive the intrusion, Venerable Na Baron," the servant bowed deeply. "Lady Atreides requests your presence. She expects you at the west gate in 15 minutes."
"Lady Jessica?"
"No, my apologies, Na Baron, I meant the Princess, of course. Do you have appropriate attire for a climb?“
The morning wind settled, carrying away the remnants of the clouds. Standing before the gate in your usual gear, you felt safer than the previous night. The sensation of his unexpectedly soft lips on yours, his desire for you, left you not indifferent. Yet many questions pressed on you, for much seemed to deviate from the original plan. For now, you shook off the worries. If your soon-to-be husband was on your home planet, then he should see something of it. His figure emerged from an exit and moved towards you. His body was clad in a uniform you recognized as for combat training, complete with a leather vest and knee pads, a belt from which you spotted two blades. His heavy The morning breeze died down, carrying away the remnants of the clouds. Standing in front of the gate in your usual clothes, you felt safer than the night before. The feeling of his unexpectedly soft lips on yours, his desire for you, did not leave you unaffected. Still, many questions plagued you, for much seemed to have changed from the original plan. For the moment, you shook off your worries. If your future husband was on your home planet, he should see something of it. His figure emerged from an exit and moved towards you. His body was clad in a uniform you recognised as combat training, complete with leather vest and knee pads, a belt from which you could see two blades. His heavy boots had been replaced by lighter shoes. Approvingly, you nod.
"Good morning, Na Baron, I'm glad you could join me," you said, handing him a dark brown rucksack.
"I could hardly resist an invitation," he said with unmistakable sarcasm.
You contemplated replying, but decided against it.
"Then we should get going, we have a long way to go," and with these words you set off. The walk began in silence, you noticed Feyd Rautha struggling between irritation and astonishment. A man like him wasn't used to being ordered around, and on Giedi Prime you couldn't afford such liberties. But you had the home field advantage, and you intended to use it. His voice, a little hoarse, broke the silence. "Is it always so... intense here?"
"Intense? What do you mean, my lord?" The word rolled off your tongue, and you noticed he was eager to hear it again.
"The colours, the sounds..."
"No, in winter it's much quieter, the snow lies like a blanket over everything and muffles all sounds. It's all white as far as the eye can see. Do you have snow on Giedi Prime?"
"No, our planet is different. It's much less forgiving," he says, his eyes wandering between you and the surroundings. By now you had reached your destination: a rock face full of roots and small plants, with veins of chalk.
"I think you'll find that Kaladan has its rough edges, too," you said, unable to resist teasing him. "I hope you're as well trained as you look."
You hear only a snort of irritation behind you as you begin the climb. Your fingers find the usual notches in the stone and you pull yourself up quickly. Feyd Rautha's gaze burns into the back of your neck, and when you turn around, you meet his ice-blue eyes. He seems to take the challenge very seriously, and after his gaze sweeps over your body once more, he makes a surprising leap to the side, overtaking you in a matter of moves. His form seems to merge like water with each challenge of the mountain, each movement calculated and seemingly effortless. By the time you reach the top, he's already standing on the cliff, looking down at you with a hint of mockery in his eyes.
"So you like to keep your guests waiting, Princess. It's not very polite of you."
With a frustrated sigh, you pull yourself over the edge and he makes no move to offer his hand. You walk a few metres ahead and gesture for him to sit next to you. From your rucksack you pull out a blanket and several tins of food. He reaches into his backpack and finds food and drink as well. Again you sit in silence, trying to take in the view. Soon the view would give way to a monochrome, desolate landscape under a black sun. Under the blue sky, waves of pale green grass were interspersed with purple and gold flowers. Small streams meandered here and there, reflecting the image of the sky. Their babbling mixed with the rustling of the treetops as they swayed in the wind. He followed your gaze, and you could almost hear the individual mental gears in his brain. Silently, you pour wine for both of you and toast him.
"To new adventures, Na Baron." He returned the gesture and drained the glass in one gulp.
"Why did you bring me here?"
"This is my home. Think of it as a kind of revelation from me: When you see this, you see a part of my soul. Soon I will follow them to Giedi Prime and the sight of them there will tell me something about them".
He seems to savour the answer on his tongue.
"I see before me something barely tamed."
You try to answer, but get lost in his eyes. A ray of sunlight lands on his cheek and before you can think, you reach out. His skin is soft, warmed by the sun, and as your fingers slide over it, he catches your wrist and brings it to his lips. Your tongue moves over the skin, picking up a light film of salt that has formed from the previous exertion. Your arm relaxes and it's the moment of weakness he's been waiting for. With a movement, it is on top of you, pressing down on your back and the grass-covered ground beneath you, your hair loosening from its braid and spreading across the blanket. The same wild expression as last night flits across his face.
"A princess alone with a monster in a remote place, how foolish, how reckless," he breathes as he spreads kisses down your neck. You turn your head slightly to the side, giving him more surface to work with, your arms held above your head in his hand.
The kisses turn to a bite, so sharp it makes you cry out. He licks over the small wound and the red smears around his lips. His other hand slides over your chest, dressed in tight hiking clothes that offer much more than the flowing evening gown of last night.
You squirm and try to free your hands, but to no avail. However, he seems to enjoy your efforts as he undoes the fastening of your jacket. Your nipples immediately become hard and as he sucks on one breast, your body bends towards him. He finally lets go of your hands, but only to hold your neck as he turns his attention to the second breast. A wave of desire sweeps over you, your nails running down his neck and finding their way under your shirt. You claw at him and he lets out a hiss. He doesn't let go of your breasts, alternately biting and sucking them until you're wriggling your hips underneath him, unable to resist a climax. As if possessed, you call out a name and he looks up at you, greed and lust clearly written on his face.
"You wish to wait, Princess, your wish is my command. One word from you and this peak will be only one of many".
Your tongue disobeys, your thoughts refuse to form. You feel a few drops of moisture slide down your inner thigh under your clothes. The desire for him and the shame of your weakness mix.
When you don't answer, he gets off you and lies down on his back next to you, looking up at the sky.
And all the pieces fall, right into place // Part Two
So Feyd Rautha is still on my mind, so that’s my second try of writing about him and an Artreides!Reader.
Things are getting warmer between you and Fred rautha, but not smutty yet.
All feedback is welcome <3
English is not my first language
Part One // Part Three
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Na Baron Feyd Rautha x Atreides!Reader
FxM
1,721 words
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The new arrivals stride towards you, the procession is so coordinated that the Harkonnens look like a single entity, clad in black leather and gleaming chrome. They have arrived with the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohaim, whom you immediately recognize by her distinctive walk as your mother's former mentor—commands a presence that is both unnerving and awe-inspiring. You’ve never seen your mum look so reverent. Her harsh form contrasts with her surroundings, somehow managing to draw every eye to her, captivating and commanding in equal measure. You strive to be the perfect lady in this spectacle, gently bred and regal. The less you reveal yourself now, the more you hope to elicit reactions from your future husband. But he seems to be following a similar plan, his gaze exhilarating.
Your father's voice, deep and commanding, rings out over the crowd. "Honored Baron, allow me to welcome you. My house is yours. Come in and be welcome!" The words speak of hospitality, but there appears an undercurrent of tension to them.
"Duke, it is an honour. Please allow me to introduce my nephews.“
The Baron's voice seems to rise like soap bubbles from him, the words rolling out of his mouth. His body rotates slightly towards Rabban.
"My nephew Glossu Rabban." Rabban nods silently and bows.
"And my successor, Na Baron Frey Rautha." Feyd's bow is deep; you think you can hear the slight creak of his leather. And that's exactly what irritates you: The gesture is exaggerated and artificial, even for this occasion. In your mind, the question becomes clearer: What is his plan? Tying you to your house through marriage is certainly strategically clever for both sides. But for a purely political union, he wouldn't have to act like this. When he stands up, his eyes rest on his father: "I hope to be worthy of your hospitality." "I have no doubt, Lady Jessica, and I am sure that you have not made the journey in vain. My son Paul Atreides." Paul steps forward and nods. "And my daughter, whose hand Na Baron will soon take in marriage." You curtsy slightly, and the layers of your dress make a cascade of golden-brown waves. The second time you dare to look directly at Na Baron, he stares back with curiosity. With the arrival of the Harkonnens, a new flavour mixes with the lust. It is something heavy, almost oily, which lies on your tongue like a film. The guests are invited into the fortress, and Paul escorts them to their rooms. Lady Jessica indicates that you follow her in the opposite direction. Feyd Rautha takes one look at your wealth and only sees your figure moving further away.
At the official banquet, you sit next to your mother, Na Baron a little further away. While the tension has subsided, you are still on guard. He seems engrossed in a conversation with Gurney and Duncan, while you sit as a silent listener next to your mother, who in turn sits unusually quietly next to your father and the Baron. For a moment, she seems to run her fingers over the side of her neck, betraying her inner tumult. You take her hand to soothe her and bring her back to the here and now. With a few hand gestures, she signals to you, "Guest Library, after the Meal." You nod and turn seriously to watch others. Na Baron seems to be enjoying his conversation, his eyes fully turned to his dialogue partners. His pride from earlier seems to have given way to genuine curiosity, and, however small, a seed of hope rises in you. With a little openness to each other, your union will be based on mutual respect and not just co-existence, which is more than some marriages have. Suddenly, his gaze rests on yours again. And his curiosity changes like the colours of a chameleon into something intense. Without taking his eyes off you, he plunges his knife into the unfortunate steak on his plate, from which a trickle of pink juice oozes out, and runs his tongue over your lips. A shiver runs through you, the innuendo unmistakable. The hope you had just a moment ago gives way to the wish that the distance to Na Baron would be better.
As requested by Lady Jessica, you make your way to the library, and your breath catches when you see Na Baron. She accompanies him to the door but stays outside. As quickly as your feet can carry you, you run around the corner, up a set of steps, and crouch next to a small window that leads to the room. Invisible from them, it offers you the opportunity to observe what is happening. You hear muffled voices first, but then the Reverend Mother speaks up.
"Kneel."
The vibration of the voice permeates, even if it is not directed at you. Realization comes like a wave of cold sweat. The Reverend Mother is talking to the Na Baron. The same dark room full of scrolls, the Reverend Mother's veil, the metal box on the table next to her. Na Baron must prove himself human. You feel a pang in your heart, the memory of the box's blazing flames as fresh as the day you experienced them. But you hear nothing; your betrothed doesn't make a sound. Like a porcelain figurine, he kneels in front of the armchair where the Reverend Mother sits, Gom Jabbar in her hand, mere millimeters from the skin on his neck. Your breathing becomes faster and shallower; with each passing second, the fear inside you gains ground and sinks its claws around your heart. You blink rapidly to shake it off. Someone who you can't even be sure will shape your marriage in the same spirit should at least be human. Before you can finish contemplating the emotions rising in you, the Reverend Mother releases Feyd Rautha.
"So you are human?"
"You doubted me? Even now?" He doesn’t make an effort to conceal his despise towards her. You see his chest heaving and his nostrils flaring. He seems undecided as to whether he will release himself like a tightly coiled spring and go for the woman around the armchair. But he rises and takes quick steps away from the room.
As if pulled by your limbs by a puppet master, you stand up and follow him into the courtyard. The blood rushes in your ears, the memory of your test and the sacred ceremony you have just secretly witnessed have heightened all your perceptions. Feyd Rautha stands with his back to you, his eyes fixed on the sky. You can see his left hand trembling slightly, which he tries to suppress by clenching his fist.
"Do they need the North Star's help to find their chambers, my lord?" You ask, and he turns around instantly. Within a blink of an eye, he moves towards you, stopping just a few centimetres away. You involuntarily back away half a step. "Can I help you find your way back? Should I call a servant?" The question about the test doesn't cross your lips, although it seems to prickle on your lips and all over your skin like an electric charge. His expression becomes even more like a tiger about to pounce.
"You know what just happened," his voice is deep and dark, like syrup. It envelops you, and in your chest, the desire to reach out to him fights with the desire to run away.
"Yes," you say, taking a deep breath. "I'm human, I know it too."
"Then you also know that humans can be the worst monsters."
"When it comes to our families, we all have to do things sometimes."
"Is it something you have to do?"
"This...?"
"This wedding?" He's right in front of you, his smell musky and sweet, a new mélange in this familiar place and something entirely new. There's a hunger in his eyes, but no anger. Before you can get your answer out, he pounces. The adrenaline from both of you pumps through your veins so that everything but his lips disappears from your perception. His tongue is demanding, and as soon as you let it in, he pulls you both into a whirlwind of pleasure. Your hands find his neck, his cheeks, the skin so soft and smooth that you can't get enough of the feeling. A low sound escapes his throat, and his hands move from your waist to the fastening of your dress at the back. At that moment, you want nothing more than to let him have his way, and a small sound leaves your mouth.
"It seems my uncle might underestimated you" he breathes into your ear, his breath like fire on your neck.
"That could be," you say, still out of breath, with strands loosened from your hair. "Then why don't we find now?“
"No." With all the strength you have, you move away from Feyd. "I will tie the ribbon of my life to yours. My life will be yours. But that means it won't happen until the wedding. Not in my parents' courtyard."
„Well, we could relocate to your chambers then“ His voice is laced with desire.
All you manage is shaking your head.
He looks puzzled at first and then a little irritated, his gaze wandering up and down your body, lingering on your red, swollen lips.
"What difference do these couple of days make?" he blurts out.
"It is the difference of respect." Your voice is filled with indignation, trying to recall and embody the composure and pride that is appropriate for a Duke's daughter. "We both know that our destiny is decided for us. It doesn’t mean I have no say in how I get there. Good night, Baron. I expect you'll find your way back on your own," and with these words, you retreat into the building, hoping that your dress hasn't soaked through.
As you assert your resolve to maintain dignity, the connection between you has shifted. Feyd Rautha finds himself in the position of watching you leave for the second time in a day. He will be patient, but when the marriage is finalized, you will pay a high price for his patience. All the more time for him to think about what he can do with you.
