Blood & Marriage🩸Feyd Rautha x f! Reader

18;

The pointed edge of a fierce blade stabbed IN and out IN and out in and OUT IN and out IN and OUT IN AND OUT IN AND IN OUT

GUTS collided with the floor with a steamy hiss, pouring from the mutilated slave waif that grunted so small through shards of agony, her bowl finally tipping and clattering to the red tinted floor, her thud following as she gurgled.

The grain and milk dropped, spoon flying out near his feet, blood and cream quickly mixing as they spread and kissed and changed to stinking rust.

And she looked at you, the poor thing, eyes clouding as she weakly clutched her belly.

You ran to her, on your knees, holding the wound, whatever life left slipping away.

"What are you doing here?" Na—Baron spoke, tone urgent, blood weeping from the knife he held onto the crown on your hair.

Before you could answer, whatever three FUCKING demons pouncing before you made you bend like a reed in the wind, their black, shark teeth snarling, covered in meat, dressed in skin tight clothes, hairless, wretched, THE UGLIEST DOGS YOUD EVER SEEN, such scary hissing bitches.

HEL, no. Reaching for your crystal blade they began to scatter, your clenching fist holding the one with the bar on its head by the throat, and it clawed at you, swiping, howling out, LOOKING UP AT ITS MASTER—. Cannibal Harpies? Ughhhh.

Before you could plunge anything into its sinister face, a boot trapped your wrist, "NO!"

The worst thing was the bar head bitches cackle, proud of itself, mocking you before it hopped up on its bed with its snarling sisters rubbing their faces into each others shoulders. Straight out rejoicing.

"I asked," Feyd lifted you by the same wrist, shame on his face, "what are you doing? I told you to stay in bed."

DID HE EAT PEOPLE TOO? oh, Maker.

He waited for a reply, taking his hand from you, blade hidden behind his back. "This is..." he explained at your DISGUSTED, HALF TERRIFIED, BLIGHTED EXPRESSION, entirely false, about to lie with no reasonable explanation for engaging in wanton murder with a squad of non—verbal slurs, "you shouldn't be here."

It was a strange feeling, a high of sorts, the ceiling spinning, the sight of the massacred maid in the corner of your watering eyes, YOU DESPISED HIM. WISHED HIM DEAD. Married to a sadist, a butcher—your parents had abandoned you, and he was speaking that gruff Harkonnen to his Harpies, soothing them. "SILENCE!"

His mouth nailed shut, body staggering back, his whores lunging behind their lounger.

"You're damaged beyond repair. Feyd, there is something broken in you, twisted. I can't save you." You were backing away, your HUSBAND TRYING to speak, unable to, "no one can."

And you ran—just like the first time you met him, suddenly knowing the way, dashing past Hakim, Rabban, "ATREIDES COME BACK." Wound open and oozing, he wasn't far behind, "HALT! CATCH HER!"

No one could, evading with smoke—like swiftness.

Feyd growled, his feet picking up, so close behind you could feel his breath, the tips of his fingers grazing your hair, "Y/N, STOP!"

The mingle of blood and milk made you slip as you flew around a corner, Paul would never, your dress bunched in his fist as he pulled you against him, flattening your arms to your sides, JUST TAKING THE KICKS AND spit and bites.

"Enough, enough," he SQUEEZED, dragging you both to a less public corner, "calm down," YEAH, SURE, LET THE MANIC MURDER MONSTER WITH A HARD ON FOR MORTAL COMABT JUST USE YOU LIKE A STRESS TOY, the head but to his front teeth pissed him off, blowing the need to slap you up from his mouth, "I'll hold you until you relent, foolish little—."