#mrs feyd rautha Harkonnen now

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 7

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?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: depictions of killing/death, a blood oath, oral sex f receiving, fingering, edging, dirty talk, p in v, no protection, breeding/pregnancy kink, creampie kind of

A/N: I hear wedding bells🎉 This took me a hot second to write up and edit, but it's also a little bit longer than I usually post. I hope you enjoy💕

Sleep evades you. The day of your wedding slips in uninvited, a wash of sunlight to chase away the shadows from your room. The bed is empty. Feyd-Rautha hasn’t returned or, at least, hasn’t visited you since.

You convince yourself that you don’t care.

But still your thoughts stray traitorously to him — where he is, what he’s doing, what he’s thinking and if it’s of you.

You stare out at the Grand Arena. It’s more or less attached to the Harkonnen fortress and, to your understanding, typically reserved for political rallies. It’s the only place large enough to host a wedding where the entire planet is invited, though, plus the added benefits of its close proximity.

A platform has been erected and already citizens are filing into their stadium-style seats despite the early hour. They will wait all day to sit front row at the marriage between House Atreides and House Harkonnen. A historic event, you realize with detached clarity. To be remembered for generations to come.

This does nothing to quell your roiling stomach.

You turn at the sound of your bedroom doors opening, hope lifting stupidly in your chest. Because it is not Feyd-Rautha who enters, but Lady Jessica.

She looks more radiant than ever, though you suspect this partially has to do with the time apart that you’ve spent.

“Mother?”

Perhaps your lack of rest has warped your vision.

Jessica smiles softly, confirming both your deepest fear and most shameful want. “Daughter.”

For the first time in your life, you run to her. She embraces you, cradling your face into her neck. She smells like home and the memory of Caladan has you blinking back tears. “Why are you here?”

“Did you really think we would miss your wedding?” Jessica brushes your hair back. “They are treating you well? You haven’t responded to any of our correspondences.”

“They are treating me well,” you tell her. You can’t help but think of Feyd-Rautha’s lips on your skin, between your legs, but quickly dismiss it. “And I haven’t received any correspondences.”

“Mm, as I suspected. Your father thought that you might be too busy to write but I knew better.”

“He’s here, too?”

“Of course.” Your mother presses something cold and metallic into your palm, curls your fingers around it. “I wanted to give you this.”

You frown. After closer inspection, you realize that it’s a necklace. Simple, elegant, with a thin silver chain and delicate pendant. “What is this?”

“I wore it when I first met your father. Although we are not married, our relationship has obviously grown past that of an arranged partnership. I can only hope you find similar happiness.” She pauses then, examining you. “I know you are aware that your birth was…orchestrated. But that does not change our love for you. You are our greatest treasure, Y/N.”

Your mood falters, slipping from between your fingers and shattering on the ground like glass. “This is a fertility necklace.”

“Yes,” Jessica says, dipping her chin.

You have the overwhelming sense to grind the necklace under your heel. The tears in your eyes now belong there for an entirely different reason.

“I thought you came here today to support me but instead you’re just carrying out your Bene Gesserit schemes,” you hiss. A dry laugh rattles in your throat. “I’m such a fool! You don’t care for me. You only care about what I can provide. My whole life, everything has been for them. Everything.”

Jessica’s jaw clenches. “That’s not true.”

Aggravated, you spin on her, teeth bared. “Then tell me you came here today of your volition.”

Jessica holds your gaze but does not reply.

“I knew it,” you all but snarl at her.

“I thought these past few months would’ve opened your eyes to your potential, the importance of your duty,” Jessica snarls back, matching your viciousness. “But still you are blind to the truth. You blatantly refuse to accept a plan that has been in effect for centuries. Ten thousand years of deliberate planning and you act as if you are here as punishment. You are living proof of the Bene Gesserit’s power, Y/N.”

Chest heaving, you shutter your raging emotions. “Leave me.”

“That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

“I speak to you not as a daughter,” you retort, “but as the na-Baroness of House Harkonnen. And seeing that you are nothing but a concubine to the Duke, I demand that you leave.”

You know that with The Voice, Jessica could force you to bend to her will, to do any inexplicable amount of things. But she does not. She stands there, wavering, before striding back from which she came from without another word.

You hide the fertility necklace in the pot of a synthetic plant, and no one is the wiser when they come to prepare you. For the servants this is a joyous occasion and you do not want to dampen their enthusiasm. You mask your growing unease, laughing and joking with the girls as they recreate you into the image of na-Baroness.

“You look stunning,” Asha tells you privately. There’s quite some time before the ceremony starts, and she’s pulled you into a quiet corner of the room. “The na-Baron isn’t going to know what to do with himself.”

Oh, you very much doubt that. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

Your wedding dress is a subtle combination of both Atreides and Harkonnen culture, a blend of elegance and functionality.

The dress itself is made from a lightweight, flexible material that mimics the look of metallic plates. Featuring overlapping panels that creates a segmented, scale-like effect, the bodice gives the illusion of Harkonnen armor. But the skirt, full and flowing, is entirely Atreides — layers of fabric cascading to the floor. Small, metallic accents line the hem that shimmer with your every step.

And, completing the look, a headpiece that forms a sort of M over your forehead and down your cheeks, adorn with jewels.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. “Have you seen him today? The na-Baron.”

“No, I haven’t. Why?”

“No reason.”

Asha’s mouth quirks teasingly. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” you say, too quickly, “well, yes. But not because of him, because of the ceremony. This will be my first time in front of Giedi Prime.”

“They will adore you,” Asha says. She waves a hand flippantly. “And if not, then your husband will have their heads.”

You grin. “I suppose that’s comforting.”

“Of course it is.” She squeezes your hand.

Your moment with Asha passes as you’re both pulled back into the revelries — spice-laden champagne, food that looks suspiciously like harvested organs, and the pounding, ear-splitting music that’s popular among the Harkonnens. By the time you’re called for the ceremony, your mood has lifted significantly, almost enough to make you forget that you’re the reason for celebration. It’s a sobering reminder.

Your heart threatens to burst from your chest. From inside the walls of the fortress, the roar of the crowd crests and falls like a tidal wave sent to sweep you away. The corridor is alive with mumbled conversation. A procession will precede you to the altar — noblemen and the likes, your parents, who you avoid — along with your betrothed, who is nowhere in sight. The gathered members of your bridal party shift and part, panic seizing you with white-knuckled fingers as the Baron maneuvers toward you.

He greets you with a saying repeated to you many times that day, one that after several iterations you’ve come to understand means, “May your death be swift in battle”.

How it relates to marriage, you are too nervous to inquire about.

“What a wonderful day,” he muses in a rasping lilt. “It would be a pity for someone to ruin it.”

“Indeed,” you reply, eyes narrowing.

“You understand the importance of the ceremony, don’t you?” You don’t respond, sensing that he will tell you nevertheless. “This is just one more step for Feyd-Rautha toward taking my place as Baron. How the ceremony goes will influence his standing with his people.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Of course this was just another political move. What did he think you would do, riot in the middle of the ceremony? You retort, “I understand.”

“Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

The chill that brushes down your spine, seeping into your bones, is deterred by the sudden clash of a gong. War drums erupt in tumultuous exalt. The very sound of them resonates deep within you, invoking a primal response of adrenaline, as if your body is preparing you for battle.

Which, you suppose is fitting.

And who else to be summoned by the promise of war then Feyd-Rautha.

He enters the room as he always does, commanding the attention of everyone in it. The effect is only amplified today, though, in his polished ceremonial armor and resolute intensity, a heady combination of brutality and valiancy.

Gazing at him us purifying fire, searing you from the inside out, and you take your time charting the unholy beauty of his face, gazing back at you with terrifying reverence.

In that moment, you possess no past or future — there is only him. An eternal now.

And then he steps past you and into the black sun, exultant, thrusting the knife above his head.

A championing cheer follows, impossibly louder than the thunder of the drums. Feyd-Rautha lingers and something in your chest expands at the sight of him dwelling in their approval, their admiration, somehow transcendent of any humanity he manages to have.

He truly is a god.

From your secretive position, you peer at him as he strides down the aisle to the platform where the officiant is waiting for him. At the top of the stairs, he turns and faces his people. In an act that surprises you, everyone who isn’t already on their feet rises, and in sync pound their fists to their chests. One two three.

Their utter devotion to him is staggering.

Feyd-Rautha raises his chin, simultaneously moved and expectant of this. He then takes his place at the altar.

Which means it’s your turn.

You loathe having to follow such a devastating display of power and love. There’s no telling how Giedi Prime will react to you, after all, considering that you are technically the enemy. Asha’s words come to you, emboldening you, and you lift your gaze. You will not falter.

A shushed quiet falls over the arena as you stride out, then enormous applause. You can only imagine what you look like to them, your people, but the only one who matters looks upon you with such unwavering devoutness that it nearly brings you to your knees. As you climb the steps to the altar, Feyd-Rautha’s hands clench into fists, a gesture you interpret as a sign of restraint.

Oh, if only he could touch you with those hands.

The officiant, a representative of the Imperium, begins to recite the traditional Harkonnen wedding script. A translator repeats the words to you, but you let the harsh language wash over you as you focus instead on the row of guests at the base of the altar. Your parents — looking fiercely protective, Leto smiling somewhat reluctantly; Jessica maintaining her cool demeanor — the Baron, emotionless, and beside him Rabban.

Did he wish it was him on the stage?

He catches you staring and flashes you a sickening smile. You look pointedly away, a fist forming in your stomach.

The beginning of the ceremony is tediously long and drenched in tradition, most of which you don’t understand even with the translator’s help. Marriage is not generally a romantic affair for Harkonnens, and the proof can be found in their strangely clinical rites. Again it’s impressed upon you that you are preparing for battle, one in which you would reside besides the most fearsome of its participants.

A pause on the officiant’s part draws you back to the present. You know what comes next, and the thought repulses you — Harkonnens of the Imperial House do not get married with the weight of enemies on their shoulders, pursuing a clean slate of sorts. You watch as a row of prisoners are led before the altar, hooded and bound and forced to their knees by a Harkonnen guard. You shiver despite the insurmountable heat.

You are familiar with war, with combat, the knife-thin edge upon which each fight balances. Life or death. But you can hardly stomach the idea of executing a helpless opponent, even if they are an enemy of your House.

Your throat thickens as Feyd-Rautha is bestowed a ceremonial blade.

Each hood of the prisoner is removed except for one, a man at the end who wavers to stay upright. Feyd-Rautha ignores this man, starting at the opposite end. His grin is apparent as he slashes through the throats of the prisoners, the blade his brush and the bodies his canvas, painting them both with ink-colored blood.

When Feyd-Rautha makes it to the still-hooded man, he pauses, shoulders heaving with the exertion of his wicked precision. Rivulets of blood stream down his armor. He says something unintelligible to the man, then removes his hood.

Your blood runs cold as you recognize him.

Ze’ev.

Now that you know who it is, you inspect him closer. There’s hardly any traces of the man you briefly knew. He is emaciated, bones lining his scarred flesh, clearly beaten within an inch of his life. After your encounter with Feyd-Rautha, you know that Harkonnens heal quickly, and the scars on his body indicate to you that he had been torn open again and again.

Feyd-Rautha turns. When he approaches you, his face is full of such naked adoration that it causes you to take a step back. He offers you the bloodied blade.

“For you,” he rasps.

You whisper fiercely, “What are you doing?”

“He is a gift, for you. On the day of our wedding.”

Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to refuse him. But to do so would be to decline your husband, shame him in front of his people — bile rises in your throat as you accept the blade, your fingers wrapping around the handle.

You breeze past him, refusing to meet his eye.

Ze’ev trembles as you advance on him. Though from his delicate condition or fear, you can’t be sure. His lips form a sneer. “You won’t do it.”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” you say dryly. “I thought you were dead.”

“I should be. Your husband certainly brought me to the brink of it and back, telling me that he was saving me. For you.” Ze’ev spits at your feet then, a dark and bloody glob.

On Arrakis, this would’ve been a sign of respect.

But this wasn’t Arrakis.

You raise your arm in an upward swing, then across your body with exuberance, his blood hissing as it splatters the ground. Splatters you.

The crowd applauds your demonstration, and the sound of their approval echoes in your ears as you take the stage once more, the prisoners’ bodies carted away quickly. You feel numb. Bewildered.

But also deliciously righteous.

You face the man who put you in this position, who put the blade in your hand as a gift without considering the consequences. And he smiles because he knows — he knows that you are delighted, that the freckles of drying blood elicit an indisputable, terrifying delirium in you.

He coaxed this from you, what was better left in the dark.

And you don’t know if you should thank him.

The officiant switches to the common tongue. “The time has come to bind these lives together in the sight of their people. As na-Baron and na-Baroness, they pledge their loyalty and protection to one another, their flesh and blood now shared in duty and alliance.”

A second blade is brought out on a satin cushion.

“na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baroness Y/N, to uphold her honor and safeguard her well-being, as your duty demands?”

“I swear.”

“na-Baroness Y/N, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, to uphold his honor and safeguard his well-being, as your duty demands?”

You dip your chin. “I swear.”

“Then, as symbol of your shared duty and alliance, I ask you to exchange your blood.”

Feyd-Rautha takes the blade and, with surprising gentleness, turns your palm over and kisses it before gliding the tip of the blade over it. Your blood wells, bright red.

You take his own hand — large, scarred and calloused — and repeat the action.

Before he can heal, the officiant wraps a white cloth around your now joined hands, red blood mingling with black.

“You are my body, an extension of myself,” Feyd-Rautha rasps.

You tense. This isn’t part of the ceremony.

Feyd-Rautha, one hand still clasped in yours, uses the other to beat his chest. One two three. You watch as the crowd responds in kind: the same gesture, reverberating throughout Giedi Prime.

It’s incredibly intoxicating, to be the focus of such a powerful gesture. You let it wash over your skin and infiltrate your bloodstream, alter something inside you, rearranging your very cells into what it takes to be a fearless ruler. You would do anything to garner such a response again.

The officiant waits until the last thump can be heard before he declares, “May your bond be as unbreakable as the strongest fortress. United by duty and alliance, I present to you — the na-Baron and na-Baroness!”

Having spent so much time dreading the ceremony, you never stopped to think about what would happen after it. Currently you sit atop the dais in the throne room, accepting an endless line of Harkonnens who want to congratulate you on your feat of an arranged marriage. Your palm that the blade cut stings with every hand you shake.

After what seems like a small eternity, it’s time for you to join the nobles at the reception. Memories of the last time you sat at the table trickle in through your exhaustion — which you promptly shove away.

The feast passes in a blur. You don’t have the appetite for any of it, but hopefully do a convincing job of moving your food around on your plate.

And then: it’s time for your first dance.

Reluctantly you let Feyd-Rautha sweep you into the center of the room, the usual security you feel in his presence succumbing to your own fears. He holds you tight against him. His tone is clipped, political, plush lips on the shell of your ear, “You had never killed before.”

Ah, your first words as husband and wife.

“No I had never killed before,” you snap at him. “Not everyone goes around just slaughtering whoever they feel like.”

Feyd-Rautha is a surprisingly agile dancer, though you figure that it isn’t all that removed from fighting. “I didn’t intend to upset you.”

“Perhaps, but you did.” Your throat thickens. “What I did is irreversible.”

“You told me you wanted him to pay for what he did.”

“I-I did. I just didn’t think —”

“If you let someone who crosses you live, then others will try,” Feyd-Rautha says, incensed. “You must strangle the serpent while it’s a hatchling, for once it grows, it will seek you out while you lay in your bed and slip around your neck.”

You can’t suppress your shudder. What a lovely metaphor. Apparently Giedi Prime has loads of fun phrases alluding to death.

“You could’ve told me,” you mutter in lieu of a response.

“It was a gift.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. Was that all it was? Another part of your game?

“Most people give jewelry as gifts,” you retort.

Feyd-Rautha’s lips twitch. “I am not most people.”

“I know.” To prove your point, you coast your fingers over his side where the dagger went in.

He pulls you tighter against him. “I would have you right here in front of everyone if you’d let me.”

You can’t help but smirk. “I know.”

He opens his mouth to continue but he’s interrupted — by Rabban, nonetheless. “na-Baron, I request a dance with my sister in-law.”

Feyd-Rautha’s grip on you tightens. “No.”

“Yes,” you say, loosening his fingers from around your waist. “It won’t be long.”

Feyd-Rautha stares after you unhappily as his brother leads you away. Other couples have now taken to the floor in an elaborate dance that you don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, seeing that Rabban just drags you after him for each step.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he says finally.

“You suppose?”

“If it was up to me, Feyd-Rautha would be the one extending his congratulations.” Rabban’s small, dark eyes examine you. “Though the Bene Gesserits have chosen well for a Harkonnen bride. You are a formidable force.”

“Thank you,” you reply, sensing more.

“There are…things…in order that will happen because you will not submit to me,” Rabban says.

Your jaw sets. “Like what?”

“You’ve made your choice.” There’s a twinge of pity in his voice. Not for him. For you? “I thought I should forewarn you.”

“Rabban, what are you talking about? You never said anything about —”

“The day of the Crucible. I told you my wishes and you denied me them.”

“You said nothing that would warrant a warning. I thought you just envious of your brother for obtaining something else that you can’t have.”

“Envious? No. More deserving? Perhaps.”

Behind Rabban, a soldier materializes from the crowd. Sardaukar. You stiffen — it hadn’t come to your attention that anyone from the Imperium had attended your wedding.

“Excuse my interruption,” the soldier says. “I wanted to congratulate you on your union on behalf of the Emperor. He extends his deepest apologies that he isn’t t able to be here himself.”

You nod curtly.

The soldier’s gaze slides to Rabban. “May I have a word with you?”

Begrudgingly, Rabban releases you with a final look. You watch his retreating form, mind reeling with confusion. What did the Sardaukar want with Rabban? And why did the soldier look so familiar to you? Idly, you wonder if the violent nature of the Sardaukar soldiers remind you of the Harkonnens.

No, that isn’t it. That soldier had been here before, at the dinner a few weeks before. He had been the one to call the Baron away, you recall. But he had been dressed as a Harkonnen soldier then, not a soldier of the Imperial army.

The revelation creeps over you uneasily.

Before you can give it much thought, however, someone whisks you away into the next dance. A protest forms on your tongue before you realize it’s Asha — cheeks pink and beaming at you.

“Asha!” You can’t help but laugh, partly out of relief. “I thought you were another terrible admirer.”

“I am an admirer,” she says, “though I would hardly consider myself terrible.”

“Terrible for taking so long to get to me.”

“My apologies, but the na-Baroness is in high demand.” You settle into a comfortable rhythm as the music plays and Asha leads you in the unfamiliar dance. After some time, she grows uncharacteristically serious. “I know your feelings for the na-Baron are…complicated…but your ceremony was beautiful.”

You raise a brow. “Really?”

“The way he saluted you…” Asha trails off, waving her hand as if to ward off tears. This reaction spurns your curiosity.

Trying not to sound too interested, you ask, “What does it even mean?”

A slightly dreamy expression crosses Asha’s face. “Generally it’s reserved for military generals as a sign of respect, something that soldiers do to show their loyalty.”

“So when he did it to me…?”

“He was signaling that he sees you as someone superior to himself, someone to respect. That he is your willing soldier.” Asha grins. “Everyone has been talking about it.”

“Oh.” It’s all you can think to say. “Should I have done it back?”

Asha shakes her head. “Definitely not. It would’ve been an insult to him. His judgement. You did the right thing.”

You’re not sure what the right thing was, but you let the subject go. It lingers in your mind, however, to the point that you over-analyze the moment during the ceremony, replaying Feyd-Rautha’s expression as he saluted you.

You want to confront him about it, but apparently your first dance is all you will see of your new husband on the eve of your wedding. Even trying to catch his eye is impossible as you are both continuously pulled in different directions.

“Is this a bad time?”

At first you bristle, afraid that you’ve been caught sneaking away from the festivities. You have no idea of the time but it has to be well into the morning now, and you just wanted a moment to collect your thoughts. The spot you’ve chosen in a darken alcove gave you a perfect vantage point of Feyd-Rautha, infuriatingly charming as he speaks to a pair of nobles out of earshot.

You tear your gaze from him.

“Father!” You run into the arms of Leto, Duke of Arrakis, who ambles down the hall to you. It’s reflective of your greeting with Jessica this morning, but he inspires only warmth and fond memories. The brush of his beard across your cheek fills you with longing. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

“I apologize for not going this morning to visit you. Your mother insisted she go alone.” A frown tugs on his handsome features but disappears as quick as it appeared. “You look breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” you sigh. It’s as if you are a child again, the light of your father’s attention basking you in a sunny glow.

“I…” Leto pauses, deliberates. Your father is usually not someone to be lost for words. “I wish I had done something to prevent this.”

You touch his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

“I blame myself, it’s true. What kind of father willingly hands his daughter over to that…monster?”

“You had no choice. Neither of us did.”

“Listen, Y/N, your mother regrets how your conversation went this morning. She has only wanted the best for you,” he adds softly.

His words prick at you, and suddenly the warmth of his light diminishes. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Her intentions can be…muddled by her Bene Gesserit training. But that doesn’t change the love she feels for you.”

“Her love.” You chuckle bitterly. “All that she loves is what others can do to forward the Bene Gesserit agenda. You. Me. Don’t you realize?”

Leto’s expression softens. “Just come with me. She’s waiting for us. She wants to try again.”

Anger seizes you with white-knuckles and stifling heat, blooming in your chest. “I’ve given her too many opportunities to make things right. You just told me that you wish you could’ve prevented this. She could’ve prevented this. I do not wish to speak another word to someone who has orchestrated my entire life since conception.”

Perhaps you can blame the time that you’ve spent apart, the exhaustive events the day has presented you, but there is a side to Leto that you have forgotten — his frightening, unwavering loyalty to Jessica. A loyalty that not even you, his daughter, can temper.

His voice is that of a diplomat, detached and commanding as he says, “You will not speak of your mother in such a way.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but jumping to the defense of your mother cuts you deeper than any knife can. You swallow your disappointment.

“You’re fooled by her just like everyone else.”

Leto’s mouth tightens into an angry slash. “You are not the daughter I remember.”

“No.” You tilt your chin. “She is gone.”

“Then I have no business with you.”

Your tongue rolls in your cheek, over your teeth, carefully selecting your next words. “So be it. I won’t inconvenience you with my company.”

You can’t stand to witness his expression, or let him see the grimace of pain that graces yours, so you turn from him before either happens. You go, not back towards the party, but away — you can’t be here any longer. It feels as if your bones are trying to flee from your skeleton, your skin suddenly stretched too tightly.

Truthfully you have no destination in mind but your feet carry you to the one place that you know will guarantee silence.

Feyd-Rautha’s strategy room.

In the dark your fingers find the seam of the door and you ease it open, slinking inside. For the first time since this morning, you’re alone, and there’s no auditory assault of voices or music.

Back against the wall, you slide down to the ground and pull your knees to your chest. You will tears to your eyes but there are none to summon, lost to the icy numbness claiming you. Any other feeling is cast adrift.

Could it have only been three months ago that you were on Arrakis, sparring with Gurney?

You no longer recognize yourself.

The closest identifying factor is when the door open and Feyd-Rautha appears. There’s a resemblance there, a call of darkness in him that something within you answers. Your mouth twists in distaste. How did he find you?

“Go away.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“I don’t care. This is my strategy room, and I can come and go as I please.” Cast in shadows, you can barely make out his face, but the scorch of his gaze is telling of his scrutiny. “Get up off the floor.”

“No.”

“Get up or I’ll make you.”

You weigh his words. Then you reluctantly rise to your feet, unable to look at him.

“This…attitude is unbecoming of you.”

“You’re a prick,” you fire back.

“A na-Baroness, brooding alone — and on the floor, nonetheless, like a common stray. I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

“Or what?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “I will have to remind you who you are.”

Heat flickers in your belly, a weak flame. “And what is that? A whore, a womb? I am nothing but what others have made me to be.”

Feyd-Rautha laughs.

He actually laughs.

The sound of which is so unnatural, so unnerving, that your muscles tense like they’re anticipating a fight. You flush with shame — anger — and raise your hand to strike him but Feyd-Rautha catches your wrist. His words lilt with ill-timed amusement.

“Surely you don’t believe that.”

You struggle to wrest yourself from his grasp, but the effort is futile. “Let go of me.”

“No. Never.”

Feyd-Rautha’s lips crash into yours. He steers your back to the wall, colliding with your spine. He swallows your cry of pain with his mouth, slanting it over yours, hands bracketing either side of your face. His fingers delve into your hair, pads of his thumbs pressing against your cheeks. The weak flame inside you ignites into a raging inferno.

He kisses you with a fierce, concentrated energy, as if his sole purpose is to bruise your mouth with his own. His tongue flickers across your bottom lip, behind your teeth. You moan at the same time Feyd-Rautha chooses to coast his hands down your sides and your head lolls back, neck bared.

He grabs onto you as his mouth flies to your exposed throat, hands greedily clutching at your waist. Feyd-Rautha presses a series of kisses that turn swiftly into nibbles, bites. He sucks and licks at your neck, no doubt creating a necklace of love marks, eagerly staking his claim on the sensitive skin. Each bite and lick winds you closer and closer to an orgasm, the idea of his lips marking you wickedly delightful.

Feyd-Rautha moves his hands to your ass, to the underside of your thighs, and hikes you up. Without thinking, you lock your legs around him. The action brings his hardened length nudging against your center and you whimper, grinding into him, desperate for friction.

“I want you so fucking bad,” you pant. “Please.”

He hums against your neck. “What did you say you were — a whore?” His hips roll with yours, the memory of him inside you inciting a moan from your lips. “The na-Baron doesn’t bother fucking whores.”

“Please,” you say again.

In response, Feyd-Rautha bites down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You wince even as pleasure floods over you. “Beg all you want but I won’t fuck a whore.”

You fail to conjure a response as he pins you to the wall with his hips, your arms thrown around his neck, and effectively loosens his hands in order to hoist your dress up. Your flesh pimples as it’s exposed to the cool air of the strategy room.

Feyd-Rautha’s hands skim over you, brush over your center. You whimper, “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me who you are,” he rasps.

Feyd-Rautha teases your clit through your panties, drawing lazy circles with his fingers. You buck your hips in an effort to gain reprieve but he denies you this.

Your voice pitches nearly into a whine. “I-I don’t know.”

And you don’t — not after the sequence of your day, not with Feyd-Rautha unraveling you with his his hands and his mouth. You are infinitesimal, insignificant, clay waiting to be shaped in his capable touch.

“Then I will remind you,” Feyd-Rautha says. He pushes your panties to the side, ghosting his digits over your entrance so that you writhe in desperation. “You are my wife, the na-Baroness of the House Harkonnen. You will raze cities to the ground and bring men to their knees. I will fuck you often and fill you with my seed, keep you pregnant so that you bear my children. You are not nothing, you are magnificent.”

His words are punctuated by his short, breathy pants, fingers pressing to your cunt without giving you any of the pleasure that you seek.

“Now — tell me who you are.”

“I-I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife.”

A wail looses from you as Feyd-Rautha plunges his fingers inside you, relieved from your aching by his careful ministrations. Each pump of his hand brings his palm to your sex, quick and authoritative. A hand that had killed six men today, saluted you, bled with you, and the severity of the situation has your walls clenching around him — he is Feyd-Rautha, and he is fucking you with his fingers, littering your body with bites and kisses and mumbled, appreciative praises.

It’s not surprising that this drives you to orgasm with record speed, to alleviating the pressure building between your legs —

Feyd-Rautha removes his fingers, depriving you of your release. You almost howl in frustration.

“Close,” he says. “But I’m not convinced.”

“No, please —”

“You can cum once you’ve convinced me that you remember who you are. Until then — your pleasure will be withheld.”

Again, he punishes you with his fingers, splitting you open as he inserts them. Your back bows.

“Now,” he pants, “tell. Me. Again.”

“I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife,” you repeat, mustering as much conviction as you can. You would tell him anything if it meant cumming on his fingers.

Harder, faster, wrist snapping: “And?”

“And…I am magnificent.”

Feyd-Rautha’s satisfaction is evident even in the dark, judging only by the pulse of his fingers, the breathy laugh fanning into your neck. He removes his fingers again, though, to your chagrin, trading positions for one that allows him to see your face. “Oh, you are,” he purrs. “And I bet you taste even better.”

You hitch your legs around his shoulders at his prompting. Feyd-Rautha sinking to his knees while applying enough weight to keep you trapped against the wall. You suppress another whimper. Your thighs are nearly flush with your chest as Feyd-Rautha dips his head to greet your cunt, driving you higher up the wall and forcing you to grab onto his armor for support.

You can’t see him with the skirt of your dress in the way, but you feel his mouth hovering your entrance.

Feyd-Rautha presses a kiss to you. He flicks his tongue over your clit, then licks a stripe up your center back to it, lapping eagerly between your thighs. His mouth works in tandem with his tongue, his teeth, treating you to the same nipping and sucking that he administered to your neck. Your hips buck to meet his every stroke.

And then, there it is again, your orgasm fighting for completion, raking claws of molten lava through your belly, your pelvis.

From between your legs, Feyd-Rautha rasps, “Convince me and I’ll let you cum.”

You swallow down a cry of protest. If you don’t get your release, you might actually implode. You do your best to summon his words from before, “I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife. And I am magnificent.”

“And how will I fuck you?”

Your teeth grind as you recall, “Often.”

“Why?”

“To-To keep me pregnant,” you stammer out. You rarely allow yourself to imagine your body in such a state, afraid of what it will invoke, but you do now: belly swollen with Feyd-Rautha’s child, breasts full, a physical manifestation of the vigorous fucking he regularly bestows.

And just like that, like the snapping of a rubberband, he returns his mouth to your cunt and laps at you until you finally, finally, reach your orgasm. Feyd-Rautha holds you steady as the prolonged release cleaves you in half, shuddering against his mouth, your vision swimming with stars. Tears wet your cheeks with your relief.

You sag into him, and he effortlessly lifts you back to your feet, still trapping you to the wall, one hand lazily skimming your hip.

“Do not, ever again, think so lowly of yourself. Do you understand?”

Your head bobbles stupidly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He brushes hair back from your face, runs his finger along the scattering of angry welts he’s left on your neck. “Now, my jewel, how do you want me to fuck you?”

You commit him to memory, this renegade angel, a contrast of darkness and your own personal deliverance. “I’ll let you choose.”

Without missing a beat, Feyd-Rautha carries you to the strategy table and lays you flat on your back, maneuvering to grab your ankles, one in each hand and spreading you wide. He takes his straining cock from his pants and strokes it as he admires you. “Mm, my beautiful wife, so eager for me to fuck her.”

He traces your entrance with his fingers, then notches his cock there, sliding the tip of it between your slick folds. You ache to take him but with your ankles in his grip, he keeps you firmly in place. Like a silly, wanton thing, you try desperately to grind against him as he drags himself, up and down, teasing you.

“Please, Feyd,” you beg, “please fuck me.”

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me, Feyd. Please.”

The ridges and crests of the strategy table bite into your back as he drives into you. The ecstasy of finally having him inside you is almost too much to bear — hips snapping, groans rumbling through his chest. He is inspired like this, immersed in the feel of your walls clamping down on his cock, pupils blown, plush lips parted with each panting breath.

If you only you could bottle up this moment, savor the way you both rise to meet the other like waves upon the shores of Caladan.

He pounds into you in a borderline frenzy, each near-violent thrust surging your orgasm higher.

Then Feyd-Rautha releases your ankles, your legs returning around his waist, and he captures your wrists instead, holding them over your head. The angle allows him to press himself to you, spearing you deeper, winding your desire tighter and tighter.

“My wife,” he rasps, “my jewel. Look at me.”

You meet his gaze. Feyd-Rautha smirks, pleased with himself, with you, and thrusts into you with swift finality. Your orgasm peaks and suddenly you’re shuddering and convulsing beneath him, pleasure wrought from every fiber of your being.

Distantly, you feel your cunt draw out Feyd-Rautha’s own orgasm, hips rolling against you as he spills himself inside you. He collapses on top of you, both of you panting, greedily drinking in lungfuls of air. Ostensibly, he recovers first and peels himself from you, tucking his cock back into his pants.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him breathlessly, thighs quivering as you stand, the wrinkled skirt of your dress cascading back to the ground.

“I suppose no one will question whether or not we’ve consummated our marriage,” he says.

Your cheeks burn. “Does it matter?”

“It’s typical for someone to watch to confirm,” he tells you, lifting a shoulder. “I said that it would be obvious enough.”

You gasp and swat his chest. “You didn’t.”

“The alternative was some noble peeking in on our fucking. Would you have preferred that? I do know you like to watch.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t,” you admit.

“Precisely.”

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes flicker over your face, and you can only guess what he sees there — you’re coated in a thin sheen of sweat and, undoubtedly, love marks, hair tangled and headpiece askew.

You shy away from him. “Do we have to go back to the reception?”

“No,” he nearly snorts, affronted that you would even suggest such a thing. “I fully intend on taking you to my bed and fucking you until you’re a mewling, quivering mess.”

Your cunt, still full with his cum, dripping with it down your thighs, clenches in anticipation.

“Then what are we still doing here?”

Part 8

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney

[psycheetamore]

Feyd-Rautha’s benevolent teachings for his favourite soldier

Summary: you are the favourite concubine of the na-Baron. After a gruelling day of battle on Arrakis, he wanted to wind down. But one of his most prized soldiers, Ivan, had again saved his life, granting him one wish to be fulfilled. And again, he chose to have you, or in any case tried to do that. The young lord tried to settle with offering entry to his annual underground rave, and one of his other concubines, not wanting to share you again. But Ivan was not having any of it. Where initially the men started to quarrel over you, it ended with them examining who could fuck you best.

Tags: the works – MDNI, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Is His Own Warning, explicit smut, Feyd-Rautha is physically imposing, Feyd-Rautha as benevolent teacher, oral (trying to dry her out and weirdly not succeeding in it), p in v, public, little ménage à trois (mfm), punishment, Feyd-Rautha having someone else pressing down their hand to feel the na-Baron’s cock, reference to a na-Baron shaped toy, interaction between concubines, dubious consent, no beta we die like duke Leto, the author regrets nothing, the author was set up to write this by @houserautha & @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal following a convo on the meme above I made recently

Word count: 5.4k

+++

“Ivan, you seem to have done everything you could to save me” Feyd-Rautha growled. Although it should have been his soldier’s task to protect the na-Baron, the former had learned that the latter would upkeep tradition that anyone who saved a member of the Harkonnen family could ask for anything they wanted. Which could only be refused through a battle to the death.

“I do not believe there was a second where you were not hovering around me” the young lord continued. “And” while the men stood to look at how Ivan had overcome a Fremen who flown from under the surface of the sand to kill “it appears as if you have succeeded.”

Ivan smirked, crow feet forming around the eyes on his tanned and quite rectangular face. This man did not even try to feign what he was after. Light brown curling hair and green eyes: quite the opposite of his master. Years in battle had roughened his body and face, but had never managed to remove his boyish twinkle in his eyes and lips. And that would not change now.

“We both know why you did that” Feyd-Rautha sighed. Laying his hand over the shoulders of this brother in arms, he asked: “what do you want this time? And please don’t ask me anything that will make me kill you.”

“Sir, you know what I desire, and you know what I will ask” he said, as the men walked back to the ornithopter.

Another sigh left the body of the Harkonnen heir, as he replied: “how about tonight? Join me at my gathering. You are my special guest. And maybe I can teach you a thing or two.”

Ivan nearly jumped, getting this honour bestowed upon him. Never had he participated in this infamous event, despite longing to do so after hearing many rumours. Feyd-Rautha wanted to continue his annual fête, even if he no longer was in Barony. Organised within the belly of the Arrakeen palace. A party, fuelled by spice, sounds and sex, continuing for multiple days. There were no limits, other than the darlings of the na-Baron. Not even the body of the heir was inaccessible.

+++

As you were preparing yourself for the evening, which required your participation, Feyd-Rautha stepped in your room. He always did this, visiting his different concubines, comforting that he came back in one piece, even if that was a given. As his favourite, he would first come to you.

“Feyd!” as you leaped at him and wrapped your arms around him. You knew he disliked you seeing his return as a special achievement. Still, you could not overcome the worry, and allowed yourself this little insubordination. It was good you were not yet dressed, as this hug covered you in blood – again.

Kissing him on the cheeks and hugging him, relieved he was back again, safely in your arms, you asked him whether the raid was squashed.

“Yes, it was my darling. I told you to never doubt me” he stated, with some displeasement in his voice.

“I am sorry my lord. You know I just cannot deal with the uncertainty, however small the chances may be of you being hurt” you explained with an exhale.

He petted your hair, as he said, surprisingly understanding: “I know. You explained it before. You know that I carry good protection with me, who has proven to be very reliable once again.”

You looked at him, perplexed. He was not one to admit someone or something had saved him. Your heart stopped beating for a second. The last time he told you something like this, you ended up being fucked by him and Ivan.

You still thought about that every night that you were alone, and also sometimes when Feyd would own you. You would close your eyes, and as the na-Baron was fucking you, you thought about how it was actually Ivan driving himself in you, relentlessly, punishing. Soldiering through. You had always found both of them to be very attractive. Knowing the pleasures the soldier was willing to bring you, made you keen to see him again. Who knew what could be the situation now, and why he had mentioned it. You just hoped it was Ivan again, who had saved him, and that he had requested your favours again. And at the same time, you felt incredibly guilty. The young lord had allowed you to live in a lap of luxury, protected and provided with everything you needed, including his own companionship. Unless you had acted up, he would always leave you satisfied, give you more than you could deal with. There was nothing to complain. But still, being surrendered to another man enticed you. Perhaps even more knowing the menacing na-Baron was appalled, or even offended by it. You felt alive. And having some hair to hold yourself to was also nice for a change.

As you gathered your wits to ask him, he had already wrestled him from under your arms, kissed your hand and bid you a good evening, only to see you at the gathering.

With a flutter in your stomach, you continued your preparations.

+++

Feyd-Rautha walked into the deep basements of his palace towards the source of relentless beats. He was adjourned by his concubines, two of whom walked next to him, as he had wrapped his arms around their waists. You were one of them, being fully covered in a form hugging leather brown one-piece, held together through zippers and buckles. He had opted for mere leather trousers, showing his impressive pale physique. Walking into the large basement area with the prince of the party caused you to bask in the limelight.

No time to waste, Feyd-Rautha did not stop to join one of the halls where guests were focussing on dancing. He went directly to the more scarcely lit rooms, deeper into the castle. The rooms where people found each other. Where they joined their limbs and became one. As you got deeper and deeper, less people were dancing and more people were groping each other, pushing themselves into each other, licking and sucking each other. In corners, trying to find places with more shade. As you got deeper and deeper light became scarcer all together, as was the case with people’s inhibitions. The sound from the party softly died down, allowing for the more physical noises to take over. Even if you could not see them, you could hear and smell bodies merging repeatedly with pleasures being found.

Nothing was off limits, apart from the darlings of Feyd, as well as the platform on which a custom bed was placed. You found your way through the mass of people laying on the floor, standing against pillars and sitting on couches while fucking each other high on spice, to find the matrass large enough to cater to a considerable number of people. Soft, sturdy, surrounded by poles. Curtains could be drawn, or not. Although it was not roped off, everybody knew this was truly Feyd’s territory.

He went straight for the bed and laid his tired body down to rest. You knew he loved to watch people lose all inhibitions, submitting to fornication. It made him feel safe, relaxed. He pointed at one of his other concubines and ordered her to take of the outer layer of her clothes. Watching her follow his orders, he winked to have her come stand next to him. He moved her panties to the side to push his fingers in her. “Warm and wet. You will do” and ordered her to sit at the end of the bed.

“Ivan, come claim your prize” he shouted, and as if coming from the woodwork, an excited soldier emerged from the shadows. “There, you can take her. She is ready for you. You will like her.” He turned around, as this conversation was now over as far as he was concerned. He wanted to avert his attention to you.

But Ivan was not having that: “Sir, the woman you offer is lovely. But, I want her” glancing at you, while both arms of the na-Baron were wrapped around you. “I have never encountered a cunt so velvety, so sweet, so full of desire.”

“Ivan” he said menacingly.

“Sir” he replied with a light tremble in his voice.

You heard a sigh, as your heart was racing. You were so close yet so far. You had been longing for Ivan. You had never expected to have this opportunity again. But the thought of him fucking another woman, mere meters away from you, it was devastating. You knew you could not plead to Feyd, you could not beg. But how you wanted to. Clenching your jaw to control your emotions, you decided to accept this situation.

But Ivan would not, and he moved closer to the bed, ignoring the woman he so brutally had rejected.

The atmosphere shifted and you felt the men size each other up. From the look in his eyes, you knew Feyd-Rautha could lash out any moment now. Before you could control yourself, you grabbed his face, turned him towards you and kissed him, dragging him into you. Knowing what you were doing, he shoved you away and leaped up towards Ivan.

The men started to fight and soon ended up wrestling on the floor. Rolling over each other, trying to get each other to submit. All, to be able to claim your favours this evening. How you were willing to share them with both of them, as you had a while ago, they would probably never know.

Panting, Ivan said: “I have trained you, I know your weaknesses. Keep your promise. It is always the same with you Harkonnen scum” as he pounded away at him. Ivan had managed to mount the young lord and was throwing punches at his abdomen and face. Some landed, some not, but Feyd-Rautha was pressed into the defence. You wanted to intervene. You needed to intervene. But how could you, without insulting your lord? You knew your concubinator would be able to salvage himself, but you wanted to protect Ivan. Winning from your lord would come with repercussions. He should have known that, but he clearly did not care, as he continued to fight.

So, you did the one thing you could think of, that should not get you in life-ending trouble. You crawled towards Feyd’s other concubine, who had been sitting at the end of the bed, nearly naked and alone. From the corner of your eye, you could see they were slightly disrupted by your actions, keen to learn what would happen.

Once you found her, you spread her legs to kneel between them, and started to kiss her. If neither of the men would entertain you, you would find someone else.

As you kissed her, your hands flowed down over her body, across her back, her waist, her hips, her legs. You pressed her mouth on yours, as you placed her legs further apart. Starting to push her backwards, your fingers found her folds. Still warm and still wet.

You wondered what kept them from intervening. Were they so taken in by their fight, that they would ignore this?

While in the process of exploring your fellow concubine, you suddenly felt yourself being torn off her.

“Woman, why did you distract me?” as Feyd-Rautha turned out to be the one holding your ankle, as he pushed you on your belly and slapped your butt cheek. “I thought I taught you to never cause any distraction” as he slapped you again. Feeling the leather surrounding your body was holding you back from feeling the true pain, he started to unbuckle the back of your jumpsuit. He needed to find your bare skin, allowing his hits to have their full impact.

But before he could continue, you heard Ivan speak to him: “sir, I believe that this night I get to implement your punishment. I saved you, and now I bested you. You need to keep your promise.” It was followed by a growl, and movements on the bed.

Soon hands continued to uncover your backside. “Milady, I am terribly sorry, but I must enact the punishment your lord has ordered for you.” He continued: “my lord, how many blows should she get for this?”

“Ivan, do you want me to kill you?” was the response that came.

“No sir, I just want to follow your orders. Ensuring discipline is key in managing both your army and your harem” Ivan responded.

“Ivan, I will not forget this. You will be punished.” He sighed, clenching his jaws out of frustration and spat: “give her 10” as you felt him fall back to the matrass again. “And make them hard. She needs to regret what she did.”

“Yes, sir” as he caressed your butt, before he started to hit.

You decided you would not give Feyd-Rautha the pleasure of hearing you scream of pain. The first slap caused you to bite your teeth. You could handle this.

The second blow resulted in you biting your lip.

The third strike was harder than the two before. You were not anticipating that and grabbed the covering on the mattrass to project your pain.

After the fourth slap you could not stop yourself and groans left your mouth. Your buttocks were turning red, the palm of his hand started to show and a fire was ignited inside of you. Laying bare in front of him, no panties covering any sights, allowing him to see right into your core.

By the eight slap your response had turned into screams every time his hand hit you.

At the tenth slap you were trembling, trying to recover from the pain, dripping from your core.

Ivan crawled over you, with you still laying on your stomach as you tried to breathe the pain away, whispering in your ear: “I will make it up to you. You have no idea how much I have longed for you. No woman could compare after I had you. I would give my life for a last fuck with you. I want to bury my cock in you, and stay there until I die. I want to be deeper in you than any man has ever been. I want to be so deep in you that I am lost, can no longer leave and are to life there forever.”

As he pushed his fingers in you, he continued: “you are so fucking wet. So warm. Hmm, I believe you wanted to be punished. Didn’t you? If I would not know better, I would have thought you had already come, so slick, so precious.”

From the back of the bed, a smoky voice shouted: “stop the charade, fuck her already and get it over with. You don’t want to keep your master waiting.” You felt the tension rising again, causing your heart to skip a beat. “And you know: you cannot come in her pussy. That is reserved for my cum that she will get tonight, if she behaves. But we are still a long way from there as punishment of this distracting thing is not yet over.”

“Yes, my lord” as he unzipped his pants, pushed your legs wider and drove himself into you while pushing your chest deeper into the matrass. You felt him fuck you without any gentleness, just as you had remembered. No build up, no soft beginning: menacing from the start. You tried to stop yourself from coming so quickly, but you were so ready for him. You had been ready for him ever since he had spilled himself in your ass a while ago.

In the aftermath of that first and last time, feeling his cum leave your body, as Feyd’s left your cunt, smelling both of them on you – it drove you insane. Feyd knew his concubines could have appetites he could not always fulfil as he needed to attend to all of them, so he had gifted each a toy replicating his manhood. You used this gift to satisfy yourself, with what they left as lubrication. It wasn’t as good as with either of them, but it was successful none the less, being filled and stretched by this correctly dimensioned yet larger-than-life replica.

You wanted to savour these moments. Cherish them. But your body wasn’t capable of stopping itself, and within what felt like mere seconds you came; barely being able to shut your mouth, as you would have otherwise moaned Ivan’s name.

 “Coming so quickly? Little needy cunt that you have. Didn’t your lord satisfy you, while I was away? You needed me, I see” he whispered. “Nice tight little pussy, all for me. I spoiled you. It knows it will never get a better cock.”

“I fucking heard that, Ivan. I can still kill you” the menace behind you threatened.

As Ivan kept driving himself in you, he looked to Feyd-Rautha and you could already imagine that he would say the most taunting things. Just like last time, when he chose a balancing act putting his life on the line to achieve his satisfaction.

He did not disappoint: “tonight, you will watch me fuck your favourite. You see how quickly she came? I can teach you that as well, sir. Or maybe you just need to give her to me.” As he continued to engulf himself in you: “you can borrow her sometimes, if you ask nicely” while squeezing one of your cheeks so hard that it left the marks of his fingers and nails.

You had learned to read men. To understand men. It was a matter of seconds before Feyd-Rautha were to challenge him again. But there was nothing you could do.

And you were right.

Ivan was pushed aside, causing him to leave you mid-thrust without a warning, resulting in a large thumping sound and a ripple on the platform. As you turned around to see what had happened, clenching your thighs together to keep the pressure on, you saw Feyd kneeling where Ivan had kneeled just moments ago, whipping his cock out, ready to replace his trainer.

“My darling” he said, as lovely as he could do that, tiling his head forward and gazing straight into your eyes, “you will need to tell me, us, who fucks you better” as he pushed you on your back, drove your legs apart and found himself where he had just caused emptiness.

Despite the perhaps deserved disciplinary actions inflicted on behalf of Feyd and despite all the efforts of Ivan, your walls still needed time to adapt, causing you to curl under Feyd’s relentless punishment. Your lord knew you needed time to adapt, you always needed that. But he did not give you that luxury this evening, no time to get accustomed, every centimetre he possessed was driven inside of you at once.

“Tell me woman, who feels better? Who claims you better? Who gets you wetter?” he growled.

But all sense had left your head as you were heading towards a new high. Something that would save your life. The only sounds you were capable of making were involuntary moans. It must have been a sight to behold, in front of his other concubines, in front of his subjects, fighting over a single woman. Neither of them made any effort to hide or somehow protect your modesty. There was only one thing on their mind, or perhaps two: best each other and find their own highs.

“Sir, I do not believe she will make for a very objective judge” while looking at you as you fell apart. “We need to find another way to determine who takes her better, who she hungers for more” Ivan suggested.

Continuing to own you, Feyd thought about this. The ever-benevolent leader, he had always been willing to learn sensible ideas from his men. He had no patience for stupidness, but he had grown accustomed and perhaps even had started to appreciate Ivan’s forwardness. Any other man would have already been laying to bleed dry on the floor for the insolence shown just this very evening, but not this man.

“What other way, soldier? How can we compare? Through her wetness? How quickly she comes? How hard she moans?” The young lord’s brain capacity was available only partially, as he was primarily focussing on you.

“Yes, let’s start with that. We cannot compare how much moisture comes from her anymore. She is already too wet.”

“No. You need to think in solutions. You can lick her dry” the na-Baron replied.

“We can try, sir”, an enthusiastic Ivan replied.

“No soldier. You do not try. You succeed” as he removed himself from you, allowing Ivan to proceed.

Your mind still in a haze, you could not help but feel that the young lord knew what he was doing all too well, as Ivan started sucking your pussy, starting the quest. A tiny moment that your eyes locked was enough to convince you.

The man’s tongue and mouth worked for your pleasure, even if that was not his primary goal. Not stopping but continuing. You could no longer recall where one high started and the other ended; it became one big wave you surfed high.

As was the case with everything between these men, this too became a little fight between them. Trying to drive themselves in to deplete the source of all the moisture, seeing who could achieve that first.

But in the process, they only enticed you to share more.

“Sir. I hate to say it, and I would love to continue, but quite unexpectedly I am coming to the conclusion that we may not reach out goal anytime soon. She is expelling too much of her liquid gold” after which he continued to fulfil his duty.

“Let me have a better look. Continue” his master said.

How he knew what he was doing. He always knew. A more cunning man than his cunning appearance even suggested. Knowing you were on full display did cause you to startle, but the delicateness of Ivan’s movements soon took over.

“Ivan?” he growled.

“Yes, my lord?” while continuing to suck.

“Why are your fingers in her cunt?” he said laced with a tone of annoyance.

“Uhm…” as he removed his fingers instantly. “A matter of habit sir.” He answered like he was caught doing something naughty.

“I will show you how it is done” as he pushed Ivan away.

“Sir, please. Leave some for me” Ivan said, trying to find out how he could participate without taking the pleasure of his master away. The men had fought in battle together, finding ways out while being under fire. They could master this situation as well.

“Ivan, you have misunderstood the assignment. If you are thirsty, grab something to drink. It is about comparing who is best at fucking her.”

The men stood up to start arguing. They had always added physical intimidation to their discussions. In the process, they started to ignore you, allowing you to recoup again. The concubine that had been sitting at the end of the platform moved slowly to you, lifting your head up her lap, petting your hair. She felt you panting. She knew how relentless the young lord could be. How he could push his female companions to their limits. She wanted to help you, support you, recover. She was a dear friend. In her arms you felt yourself slipping away into a deep rest, which was her trigger to try to get you covered up again.

As she started, you felt a hand yet again on your ankle, pulling you away from her, again.

“Don’t. Intervene. Ever” Feyd-Rautha said punishingly, causing her to scurry away. “I will give you your punishment after the party” he promised.

You would have been perfectly happy calling it a night, but that was not your destiny this evening.

Feyd-Rautha looked upon you, still holding your ankle. “Neither do I believe she will be responsive enough anytime soon to be a good judge.”

After giving it some thought he said: “explain to me how you fuck a woman on her back, and I will do the same. That will show us who is best.”

Ivan nodded: “I can agree with that, sir.” Looking at his lord, he asked: “may I?”

“Yes, Ivan. Here you go” as he gave your ankle to Ivan to position himself.

You decided to help out and spread your legs while placing your feet on the matrass. Ivan positioned himself between your legs and started his process: “sir, I would first of course check whether the lady is wet enough to have me. It is otherwise not pleasurable for either of us. But I will skip that for now, as she is.”

Feyd-Rautha hummed, as he had placed himself next to the bed to look at you, pushing his swollen cock back into his pants. He too needed to recoup, although he would never admit it.

As Ivan placed himself at your entrance, he continued: “typically, I would proceed quite gently. Allowing the lady to open herself up to me. Although it can be interesting to know I am hitting her cervix, it causes her pain, which again, makes it less pleasurable for either of us.”

“Continue” the na-Baron said, as he had placed his hands on his hips to observe.

“With the tip of my cock placed at her entrance, I do not need any support any more. A woman like this makes a man like me hard enough to do without any guidance.” He had placed his fingers on your folds and explained: “depending on how wet she is, I will either push her open with my fingers or not. Like this” as he showed how he would do that.

“But in this case, this little treat does not need that. She is wet and open enough already. So, I just push myself in, like so” as he did exactly that.

“With sweetness so ready for me like she is, there is not need for patience” as he started his relentless pace. You curled your back and grabbed the sheets again. It was all still so sensitive and here you were being slaughtered again. Yet, it felt so good, knowing also this was being condoned by your concubinator.

“I see. Not bad” Feyd-Rautha said with genuine interest. “There are however a few things you can improve on. I will show you.” Ivan left you and moved away to give the na-Baron room.

“You need to look at the state of a woman. This one here is nearly done. Or even done. She would like to curl up like ball” as he grabbed your hips and pushed his clothed hard cock against you. “Don’t you, my darling?” he said, for the first time in a while addressing you. Ever sensitive for your position, you knew what to say: “never, my lord. I will cherish all benevolence you have to share with me.”

“She is lying, Ivan. That is perfectly fine. I want my pets loyal. I want them to sacrifice themselves for me. For my pleasure. And that is exactly what she is doing.” Pinching your hips, he addressed you again: “a good little pet you are.” Looking at Ivan he continued: “I have fucked her bloody, raw. I have fucked her so hard that she ran out of moisture, and she still would not try to refuse me.” Crawling over you, he whispered: “because you know I treat you like a good master. And because you know you would not survive that.”

Standing up straight again: “the first step, Ivan, is to set the right atmosphere. Half of how well you fuck does not come from your cock, but from enticing their heads.” Moving his lips to your neck: “you would not survive that, because you could not live without my cock. You need it, as you need air and water, don’t you, my precious darling?”

You moaned agreeingly.

“Speak” as he placed his teeth on your neck, and applied pressure.

“Yes, Feyd. I would die without your cock” you said, still happy for the moments you got to replenish your energy, as you knew this was anything from over.

“So, that’s where we start, Ivan. With their heads.” He opened his trousers again. “With that out of the way, I will now proceed to fuck her. But, I like my pets needy. Yearning for me. They need to be addicted to me. This means I need to get her to crave me again. Her body will adapt. It will start to seek for a high again. And I will not be giving that anytime soon. The longer I delay their peak, the better their peak is. That is what makes my cock so addictive.”

“Look at how slowly I will push myself in her. There is no need for speed. Her walls are already tired.” Under Ivan’s watchful eye, Feyd-Rautha sheathed himself in you, centimetre by centimetre. “And if you pay close attention, you will see how she starts to move. She is now positioning herself to have me hit her most sensitive bits.” As you did exactly that, involuntarily, he pointed out: “see? How she tilts her hips, how she opens her legs, how she tries to draw me in by pushing her butt just out a bit? If I do this well enough, I don’t have to move at all. She will do all the work.”

“Sir. I must say that I am impressed” Ivan complemented.

“I will show you one other trick, Ivan” as he removed himself from you. “Here, hold her leg just a bit wider” and pointing at his other concubine: “you hold this one.” He placed his hand under your behind and moved you to the edge of the matrass, allowing him to stand. With your legs wide open, your cunt had no place to hide. Ivan could not help himself but dip his finger in you for a taste of the sweetness that had got him enticed.

“I will keep one hand under her back, tilting her backwards. The other hand will stay on her hip to help me stabilise”, as he thrashed in you again. Thrusting harder and harder, deeper and deeper. He hit the front of your walls with new found energy. It was overwhelming. Being taken by your lord in front of Ivan. The men competing over who could fuck you best. The deep vibrations coming from the music. Being on full display while your master taught his soldier. While your master taught everyone in the room. It was as if your mind had left your body, as you looked up the mirror filled ceiling of the platform to see yourself being fucked.

You saw your lord look at Ivan again: “if you pay close attention, you can see my cock protruding through her belly” his balls slapping violently against you. “Here, place your hand on her abdomen.”

As Ivan complied, he gasped. It was as if he felt the cock of Feyd-Rautha hit his hand. He felt the power that was behind each thrust. Knowing the distance from your entrance to where he had his hand. Seeing you unfold again in pure chaos, how you submitted to the na-Baron, how you were willing to break down just for his pleasure, Ivan could not do anything else but accept that he was bested: “sir, may I ask you to teach me?”

+++

After note: sorry, I could not help myself and add some Feyd-Rautha Managerial Examples. And yes, the favourite of our favourite is also Ivan’s favourite.

[harkonnen-darkness]

𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen X f! Reader

~ Smut

Warnings: Reader is hurt and unconscious, soft and dark Feyd, you bite him bloody-> pain, oral (f receiving), dark romance?, Feyd being Feyd, genital rubbing etc.

Thank you for beta reading, @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal. 🫶🏻

For once in his life, he should have believed Rabban's words: there really were thunderstorms on this planet, and you shouldn't underestimate them. Especially not when you were in the middle of nowhere and had an unconscious companion with you. Feyd cursed in various languages as he ran you, his Na-Baroness, on his back; through the pouring rain, trying to find the cave where you had hidden your equipment. Fuck...! The afternoon's training had obviously taken you both further away from your starting point than you had planned.

By now, you were both soaked to the skin and although Feyd was certainly used to enduring worse things, he felt a certain anticipation at the thought of dry clothes.

He recognized the split rocks. To his relief, it was only a few more steps before he spotted the hidden entrance to the cave in the pouring rain. The female on his back moaned softly in his ear, but did not wake up. Feyd looked over his shoulder at you and was reassured that your breathing was steady. You had fallen and hit your head hard enough to be knocked unconscious immediately. Blood was coming out of the hairline on the side of your head facing Feyd; and the Harkonnen hoped you wouldn't get too badly concussed. He might push you mercilessly, but if you spent the next few days lying around limp and throwing up all the time, there was no point in training.

He reached the cave entrance just as a flash of lightning briefly lit up the sky completely. Hail fell and quickly covered the ground. Feyd enjoyed finally being in the dry. He gently let you slide off his back and laid you down on one of your soft blankets. He checked your breathing, which was steady, if a little shallow. Were you in pain? If not now, then definitely tomorrow morning, without a doubt. He checked the medkit for painkillers and found some injection ampoules. Just in case... Actually, a little pain would be a good lesson for you. On the other hand...

❝Nhh...❞, you moaned softly and Feyd glanced at you. You had started to shiver and the Na-Baron felt that he also was getting cold in his soaked clothes. He found a lighter in your backpack and made a place for a fire from the dry wood you had collected as a precaution. He gently blew on the embers and kept an eye on you, seeing how you were chattering your teeth a little by now. You still hadn't woken up and that worried him a little. As the embers smoldered and set the branches on fire, he straightened up and took off his top. Goosebumps spread over his wet, muscular body and he shivered to bring back the warmth. Then he searched your backpack for clothes for you. He found one of the tighter training shirts and a pair of long jogging pants with underwear in the pocket, which made the Na-Baron grin wryly for a moment.

You let out a sigh and this snapped Feyd out of his thoughts. He crumpled up the clothes and walked towards you. Your skin was clammy and he could already vividly imagine how delicious a cold you would catch - because of one single mistake you made. Feyd hesitated for a moment, but then his fingers moved to the zipper in the middle of your top. It covered the most necessary things, but didn't seem obscene, on the contrary. You let out a sigh as soon as he was free of the thick leather wrap. Feyd's throat went dry and he had to clear his throat. Oh, damn. As cold as you were, your nipples were hard. The sight was enough to cause a longing tug in his loins. Feyd stroked a finger over the soft skin. He knew you liked that, and sure enough, you made a little sound. Your eyelids fluttered but remained closed. Feyd stroked your belly, where the skin was also cold and shimmering bluish. Ah, he loved the curve of your ribcage, your wider hips, your slightly visible muscles - you were perfect; a woman, a warrior, just to his liking. And he hadn't even known it before you. To Feyd, your body was perfection, with all your scars from previous battles, with his hickeys and especially with his love bites. You were a warrior like him, a woman he would make even better than she already was.

The buttons on your trousers were no problem for his deft fingers and he energetically pulled the fabric from your skin. He struggled a little with the clammy fabric, would have liked to tear it, but controlled himself. He patiently unbuttoned your boots and then threw them aside with your trousers. Under your black trousers you had been wearing white underwear, which was now transparent and damp against your skin. Feyd cursed as he noticed the erection building up in his equally soaked trousers. Until just now he had completely forgotten that he was still in that wet thing. Feyd knew how he could warm your body and his own, but in his eyes it would be rape. And he wouldn't and couldn't do that to you. You were too important to him, he didn't want to hurt you. Not mentally or physically. Not after your violent experiences in front of him. Never, because he loved you. Albeit in a slightly different way than usual.

But maybe he could still do something good for your body? Would you feel it even if you were unconscious? Or was it Feyd's pure selfishness? Furious with himself, he growled, listening to the hail, the wind and the thunder. His cold eyes wandered to the dancing fire, which reminded him of you at that moment. Once you were in a rage, you were unstoppable. He had seen you kill one of his comrades because he had insulted you. You had once given Feyd a small dagger, which you had hidden in your pants when the baron had provoked you. "Here, you better get this off me before something worse happens." Feyd grinned wickedly as he recalled more scenarios. Oh, that was one of the main reasons why he fell for you. A woman who knew exactly how to spill blood. A woman who knew how to defend herself in a fight.

He kissed your knee, the skin ice-cold against his warm lips. Cold like his heart, but in which you had kindled a fire. He still didn't know when exactly this had happened. He only knew that no one had done it before you. Not even his pets. The Harkonnen's fingers continued to stroke your cool skin, as gently as he had ever touched anyone. But he abruptly removed his hands from you and roughly tugged down the fabric of his pants. He had a second one somewhere. His pale fingers gently pulled your underwear from your skin, which he carefully set aside.

Feyd couldn't resist and gripped his semi-stiff member, letting out a low growl. Seeing your na-barones lying here, unconscious but in all your glorious nakedness, excited him more than he wanted to admit. Lost in thought, he gripped himself a little tighter and growled harshly. Oh, he would take you... later. Now he was going to work up his appetite...

How many times had he taken you, kissed your velvety lips while he penetrated you with his tongue? How many times had he taken that rosy bud between his lips and sucked on it...? Your moans were music to his ears, every time... Feyd gripped your thigh, gently pushing it aside a little, wanting to see more of you. How wonderful your soft moans were when he slid his member over your labia. It was those nights that bound you inseparably together.

Feyd couldn't resist letting the tip of his tongue caress your velvety skin. He could hear you sigh and your thigh twitched, but you still didn't wake up. That's good. He liked the fact that he could take what he wanted. Your body willingly played along as he took your bud between his lips and sucked lightly on it. Your clear nectar was like an aphrodisiac on his tongue, greedily he tasted it, penetrated it with his tongue, felt the trembling in his body. He kissed your velvety soft labia, massaging your entrance with two fingers.

Feyd straightened his upper body and began to massage your clit with his thumbs. He couldn't take his eyes off your beautiful face. He could have sworn your cheeks had turned a light shade of pink. Even if your mind remained unconscious, your body welcomed him. What a sign of confidence, Feyd thought to himself. And he didn't want to break it. His dick twitched violently as he heard a longing little moan from you. He leaned down, letting the tip of his tongue, where he could still taste you, glide over one of your hard nipples. He knew how you appreciated those touches, and indeed, the small muscle under his thumb only twitched more. As he bit your breast, your pelvis jerked towards him and jerkily he pulled back.

❝[Y/N]...❞, he murmured your name, rumbling deep in his throat as he grabbed your thighs with both hands and pulled you to him without a gap. Feyd gasped as he felt your heat as he slid over your womanhood. He felt your clit twitch at his tip. If you had been awake, you would have whispered his name comfortingly. The Harkonnen had to refrain from doing so now, however. He gripped your hips tightly and slid over your wet labia at a steady, not too fast pace. He savored the heat, the sight of your wonderful body. Perhaps it sounded presumptuous, unimaginable for a Harkonnen... but you had kindled something in him. He couldn't grasp it with his hands or put it into words... But perhaps that was what others called Love?

He bent down to you, kissed your lips, your cheeks, down your neck. Just as he reached your breasts, a sharp pain dominated his body. Startled, he moaned hotter, already feeling his hot blood running down his torso. Watched it drip onto your skin. His vision deteriorated briefly, his senses had to process the shock and he blinked a few times. It all happened within a second or two. Your teeth had buried themselves deep into his trapezius muscle and your fingernails were slowly scratching his hard pecs. He was overwhelmed for a moment, didn't know what to do. Rip you violently from him and risk a probably large wound, or-? Your eyes met his with full force and before Feyd could react, you managed to push him to the ground. His back hit the ground hard and not a second later you would have a small knife in your hand - the cold blade clearly noticeable on his carotid artery.

Your eyes looked down at him devilishly and Feyd didn't take his eyes off you. He felt your breath on his cheek as you leaned down to him and growled. ❝Be glad I was awake. Or why do you think my body reacted to you like that?❞ He pressed his hand lightly against your torso, hoping the blade would take its distance from his neck. ❝Be glad I was awake, Feyd.❞, you whispered the words again; much calmer this time. He gently felt your lips on his cheek and purred pleasantly at your touch. His hands slid over your waist, he rose up and kissed you longingly. You pressed tighter against him as his body was as warm as the fire next to you. His lips sucked on your neck and he placed his forearm under your bottom, lifting you up a little to find the perfect rhythm and pressure for you and your body.

He tortured you in between, didn't let you come to the redeeming climax a few times - as punishment for being awake. (He didn't really care since when.) His dick hurt, but it was a pain he could handle. Perhaps he even deserved it himself. He loved your twitching body when the orgasm offered you almost no release, because it was so violent that it almost hurt. Breathing heavily, you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, looking at the bleeding wound. The red liquid had smeared your upper body, but that didn't bother you much. The wound hurt him, but he tried not to give any sign of it. What he learned from this, however, was not to underestimate you. His warrior, his Na-Baroness, his love.

[tragady]

                     CHARLES  WOOD         BEATING  SOUL  AND  BREATHING  BLOOD.

basics.

given  name.     charles  wood. nickname.     charlie,   chuck,   give  him  some.     call  him  anything  but  charles. age.     thirty-three   (   november  10,   1990   ). place  of  birth.     long  beach,   california. song.     mr  sandman  by  the  chordettes. orientation.     bisexual,   slight  preference  for  women.     probably  left  many  a  situationship  at  home  but  would’ve  still  called  himself  single. occupation.     the  wretched  butcher  for  a  glum  town. education.     passed  high  school:   held  no  love  for  his  studies. religion.     possibly  been  baptised  but,   otherwise,   holds  no  emotion  towards  any  branch  of  faith.     occupied  his  younger  brothers’  weekends  by  sending  them  to  sunday  school.

physical  characteristics.

height.     one-hundred  seventy-eight  centimetres,   five  foot  ten. eyes.     shy  of  a  deep  brown,   livened  in  the  light  when  he  flashes  his  teeth. hair.     jet  black.     can’t  gel  his  hair  properly  anymore;   absolutely  slicks  it  back  with  his  sweat  now. gender  identity.     cis  man   (   he   +   him   ). build.     broad  shoulders  and  long-legged. distinguishing  marks.     a  white  grin  dripping  red  from  his  bloodied  lip.     ever  the  charmer.

personality   &   behaviour.

hobbies.     the  demanding  kind,   especially  pertaining  to  his  hands:   fiddling  with  a  car  engine,   sculpting  wood,   scaling  stone  walls  and  chainlink  fences.     with  all  the  time  in  the  world,   these  hobbies  probably  bore  a  craftsman’s  hands.     a  big  gamer,   and  winner  against  his  brothers.     recently  began  hunting  before  arriving  in  the  town. likes.     shuffling  a  pack  of  cards,   watching  the  moon,   now,   and  the  path  it  lights  for  him  to  follow,   when  a  vein  pops,   a  crowded  bonfire,   cracking  full  beer  bottles  against  skinny  trees   –   for  target  practice,   of  course. dislikes.     the  songs  crickets  sing,   dry  mornings  peppered  by  an  animal’s  lightfoot,   true  silence,   a  bedroom  of  his  own,   freshly  cleaned  hands. quirks.     bites  his  bottom  lip  so  often   –   therein  will  lie  a  moment  of  genuine  emotion:   his  deep  sneer  and  lowered  chin   –   that  it  often  looks  swollen. strengths.     when  he’s  talkative  in  a  way  that  reads  as  friendly. weaknesses.     when  he’s  glib  like  a  hungry,   pink  cat. moral  alignment.     chaotic  evil. character  inspiration.     lalo  salamanca   (   better  call  saul   ),   feyd-rautha  harkonnen   (   dune   ),   billy  butcher   (   the  boys   ),   wade  wilson   /   deadpool   (   marvel   ),   spike  spiegel   (   cowboy  bebop   ),   tyler  durden   (   fight  club   ),   vaas  montenegro   (   far  cry  series   ),   mr  blonde   (   reservoir  dogs   ),   handsome  jack   (   borderlands  series   ).

background.

before  your  mother,   there  is  your  sister,   biting  your  shoulder  after  you   –   wide  and  itching;   greedy  down  to  your  fingertips   –   stole  another  fry  from  her  plate.     your  mother  isn’t  there,   in  your  mind’s  eye,   but  she  must  be,   ignoring  your  sister’s  indignant  cries.     but  not  your  reddening  cheek,   nor  the  deep  teeth-marks  now  dampening  your  washed  shirt.     the  cupboard  hinge  creaks,   the  sink  continues  to  drip,   and  your  mother  watches  a  salt-lipped  smile  cling  like  a  loose  scab.     there’s  a  pinched  cheek,   and  a  wet  temple.     a  gaunt  laugh.     this   is  how  she  pockmarks  your  memory.     how  you  mark  your  territory.     yes,   your  mother  was  there.     it  wasn’t  your  aunt,   or  their  mother,   or  a  neighbour.     or  a  kind  stranger  at  the  supermarket.     she  was  there.

after  you  and  your  sister,   there’s  a  flock  of  younger  brothers.     stretched  years  between  you  and  them;   your  hands  must  warm  their  blankets.     offer  their  toothless  mouths  your  food,   this  time.     your  mother  is  less  than  a  memory  now,   barely  a  footnote.     your  sister  knew  this  before  you  did.     she  accepts  a  dream  for  what  it  is,   and  then  provides  anew.     chips  the  colour  away  with  her  nail  until  their  beds  remember  what  mother  means  in  this  house.     how  it,   too,   yearns  for  that  woman’s  touch.     weeps  its  paint  off  the  old,   plaster  walls.     it  admits  something  that  you  never  will.     not  even  when  you  surrender  to  the  same  fate.

there  is  a  man  in  the  house.     out  on  the  patio.     in  the  garden,   amid  the  wilted  soil  and  yellow  grass,   leaning  against  the  old  tree.     just  as  crooked,   bending  into  the  neighbour’s  garden.     the  silhouette  of  a  man,   which  is  all  any  of  you  could  know,   without  you  in  the  house.     you  learn  to  provide   –   under  the  quiet,   harsh  press  of  your  sister’s  thumb   –   with  quick  work  cutting  meat  at  the  book-end  of  a  grocery  store.     uniformed,   yet  rowdy.     you’re  messy  when  you  skin  an  animal.     your  teeth  are  still  white,   like  the  milky  edges  of  your  eyes.     you  are  the  man,   and  now  you  are  the  silhouette  too.     your  mother’s  son,   your  father’s  legacy.     your  own  rotten  dream.

where  was  charles  when  he  saw  the  tree  and  the  murder  of  crows?     where  was  he  going?     was  he  travelling  alone?     how  did  he  feel?

he  was  returning  to  the  family  cabin  after  a  morning  hunt.     alone,   of  course,   like  any  older  brother  would  be.     and  the  empty  pit  in  his  chest  that  comes  with  it.     if  anything,   he  thinks  of  the  cold,   and  how  he  needs  a  new  jacket.

describe  charles’  first  day  in  town.     did  he  arrive  in  the  daytime?     was  he  warned  by  the  residents?     did  he  have  to  be  restrained?

roved  through  the  red-sunned  woods  for  a  while.     despite  knowing  the  trek  is  longer  than  it  should  be,   he  levels  his  hunting  rifle  at  the  first  person  that  crosses  his  path.     you’re  trespassing,   he  would  say,   this  is  my  land.     but  there,   he  learns  that  there  is  no  land.     or  how  all  that  remains  is  land.     the  news  doesn’t  disturb  him   –   not  in  the  way  the  villagers  might  expect   –   he  just  laughs  and  laughs.     forgets  that  there’s  a  rifle  in  his  hands.     sun-blistered  face,   again,   under  a  new  set  of  stars.

what  did  he  leave  behind?     what  was  his  life  like  on  the  outside?

he  leaves  a  family  that  was  rich  with  warmth.     the  sister  that  will  look  into  the  mirror  in  his  room,   and  see  her  mother’s  face.     the  butcher  will  only  notice  that  his  hand  shakes  more,   now  that  he  cuts  more  meat.     charles’  empty  heart  joins  him.

[poppy-in-the-woods]

So, we haven't seen Dune yet, but I want to speculate a bit, so bear with me.

Well, maybe not speculate, but talk a bit about what I would cast as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and Princess Irulan.

As Feyd I would cast someone that can be charismatic, can play the part of a vain, narcissistic individual with the muscles of a gladiator and fairly cunning. Also, the actor would have to be close in age to Timotheé. So, with that in mind, I would cast Cody Christian.

Look at him and tell me he can't play the part. I can see the arena scene perfectly in my head with him as Feyd.

Now getting to Irulan... that is a tricky choice, but for me, the obvious one is Saoirse Ronan. She looks good with any hair colour, she is a very good actress and she has worked before with Timotheé and they get along, which is a plus, imo. I have seen some people say she's not pretty enough, and I have to disagree. Also, did you see her dress at the 2018 MET gala? Totally space princess.

If not Saoirse, my second choice would be Anya Taylor-Joy, who also looks great in any hair colour, is a good actress and I am sure she can play the part.

I think it could be very interesting to see any of these actresses play Irulan against Zendaya's Chani.

This is my personal fancast, of course, but I would love to hear what do you think and who would you chose if you were mr. Villeneuve.