Blood & Marriage🩸Feyd Rautha x f! Reader

04;

So your first experience with a man had not gone too well.

And it was worrying as you couldn't figure out if that was his normal behaviour.

You'd told no one. How would you even? Explain to your mother you got jumped in the livery by the bald man that did the entire I SEE WHO YOU ARE, he didn't...he had no clue.

And it had been the last you'd seen of him before he walked away without saying goodbye.

Had he thought you a coward? Was he underwhelmed? Why didn't you just knife him, take the FLOATER hostage and colonise Gidei Prime for yourself? Did he think you was some shivering daisy he could wrap around his finger and control?

If only Paul knew...you had thought about bringing up this creepy little tid bit at the last dinner you had with your family, but there would be no more hiding behind your fathers sword, your brothers rage or your mothers sharp cunning anymore.

The journey to Giedi Prime was long, you'd mostly slept, curled in a defensive ball on the ship, in finery yes, but everything about these brazen snakes was cold, EVERYTHING IN BLACK to the point such little colour remained, the food dull and lifeless, now barely three hours remained until you touched the forsaken land.

Sat in a makeshift study, the cosmos passing by, the ship too large to even comprehend, you'd been studying, as usual, putting Irulan to shame, a ball of splendid white light hovering at your side.

No maids had ventured with you, how could you comprehend subjecting someone else to this? And the Baron had sworn to the lady and duke all your needs would be met, your life on Caladan surpassed. WELL, that was a LIE.

—page 665, women on Prime were second class citizens, owned by fathers until marriage, sons more valued than daughters, entire industries and seats of power forbidden to be held by anyone with a vagina.

Wages were low. The atmosphere so corrupt it was almost poison. Barely any plants or fauna grew on the volcanic soil, and the days were over 33 hours long.

How much older did that make the knife slinging ghoul? Actually, how old was he?

You ran your fingers feather soft over the vase of yellow and pink native flowers, wrapped in a long, white gown, listening intently to the harsh, guttural speak outside the locked and guarded door.

No one knew you could speak Harkonnen, mother had deemed it was for the best. And bile rose in your mouth when you realised the talk was about you.

"Never had a highborn before."
       "I wouldn't think about it."
"We could give her sedatives, have our fun."
         "The bitch would know, and so would Na—Baron."
"Fine, just a little touch. Bring that snooty hairy rat back down where she belongs."
          "And how would you make her drink it?
"She already has."

Your stalked out eyes pounced on the untouched goblet, inhaling, container in your hands as you sifted and swished the contents—those FUCKS really had.

So this was it? What you always had to plan for? Assault? Assassination?

They'd taken your knife, but you found yourself patting your hip and thigh, bereft without it, you'd gut these swine if they even tried dagger or not.

An hour passed for them to make their move, when the other battalion of guards were changing shift, a quiet time where the crew prepared for landing.

And you'd taken your place, pretending to sleep in the cot, the pin adorned with diamonds in your hair doubling as a weapon clutched in your hand and hiding under your pillow, easy to slip into eyes and arteries.

The doors unlocked, two pairs of feet SNEAKING IN, facing the wall you didn't see them, smelling though—ugh, sweat, unwashed man, their ugly eyes in their stupid bald heads all over you.

The tallest one crept over on his tip toes, looming over your still form like some brainless harpy, POKING your back to check for life as he whispered to his equally stinky friend with the squeaky voice. "She's out, get her legs."

Damp, perspiring paws had the cheek to touch your bare ankles after throwing down the blankets, was all Harkonnen skin cold? Their glee unmasked, READY for a good time. "I go first, it was my ide—."

"STOP!"

You couldn't say you could stand the Bene Gesserit, but the voice was a good trick.

Both flushed face goons froze, drooling as their arms fell limply to their sides, the unmistakable boom of the command still echoing around the room.

Maybe if you informed the Baron he'd have them fed to deep space? Or would it be better to make them strip naked and bash each other in the balls until they exploded?

An example needed to be made while you chewed the end of a cherry stem.

It had been said by your father you were too soft, 'too full of love, as was my greatest mistake,' mother would recall, even as a child, Gurney and Duncan had immersed you in combat—AND FOAMED AT THE MOUTH when you ALWAYS FORGOT TO WATCH YOUR back.

A shorter, stump like foot—soldier had sauntered in behind you, encouraged by the others, the flash of a heavy leather gag in his hand in the dimly lit mirror before his WAKE UP snapped the others from their trance.

The leather tasted DISGUSTING, making you whine out, kicking and bucking before all three got hold of your hair, JEALOUS CRETINS, Atreides were small for their age...and it made it all the easier for these overcrown chicken shits to drag you, fling you around like a rag doll, your tongue trapped with the brutal cow—hide as they argued about how to make you forget.

At you managed to break some fingers, crunch a nose, their groans of pain muffled as they decided NOT to hit you back, bruises and all, but the shorter one who'd crept up, smiling huge with this nasty teeth poured something on a rag, holding it to your nose—and it was getting darker, the pungent smell hollowing out your chest, one last shriek leaving the slight part of your lips.

And back on the bed, seconds away from passing out—eyes hazy, sighing meekly, foot knocking over your arrival dress draped on a mannequin, someone tall, corpse pale, and EXCEEDINGLY pissed marched inside your quarters.

All three of the stooges simultaneously soiled their uniform, fighting to explain. Such lame, WEAK excuses, giving each other up.

You sat up on the cot, holding your throat, hair pitifully out of place. And you wasn't crying, but the stench had made your eyes water as you gasped for breath.

Feyd hunted your expression, ENRAGED, everything about him just reeking power, dressed in a long, black coat with military lapels. Until you remembered to shield your face, turning with a gasp to the wall.

He didn't say a word, moving like smoke and mist, fast enough you felt the air shift.

The slunk of steel into meat was unmistakable, wettish slices and hacks, stab stab stab stab stab stab, barely breaking for breath, one after the other bodies hitting the floor—until silence, the colossal room full of nothing but the ringing in your ears.

"Did they touch you?" It was a weird thing, his voice more tempered, foot fall coming closer as you shimmied further up the bed, "did they hurt you?"

It was hard not to turn around while you shook your head, "no."

Eyes burned on your back, something splashing on the floor, time passing painfully until he resigned, "very well," and spoke to a commander who didn't DARE even blink, "string them up in the streets, make an example of them, find their families."