Your fav's dom

“The more I think about it, the more I like the idea, Mims,” you confessed in a hushed tone. “You’re not imposing. I’m the one asking now. So, can I? Can I take care of you?”

He hesitated for a split second before nodding furiously. You put both hands on his chest, and he swatted them away and sat down. “Ground rules! Ground rules!” he exclaimed like he was calling a timeout.

As he established these ground rules, it was surprising how many euphemisms, apologies, asides, verbal fine print, and flustered reactions he could manage, given the pain he was in and how close he could be to relieving it. It took about 5 minutes to establish two rules.

“That’s all?” you asked. “No kissing and no valve stuff?”

“That’s all I can think of at the moment, but I’m sure I’m forgetting somethi-i-ing!” His voice warbled as you pushed him back towards your bed. When he flopped back onto your mattress, his eyes were like Victor Frankenstein’s upon realizing what a monster he’d unleashed. Your smile complemented his in turn, growing almost sinister as you thought about how you might make his worst fears a reality. You straddled his abdomen and towered over him, menacingly.

“Please, I already—there’s no need to be seductive, we can go about this, um, professionally, can’t we? Clinically. Yes, clinically. You don’t have to look at me like that.”

You pouted dramatically as you traced a finger across the plating on his chest. “Ohhh, I thought you wanted to play games?”

“I assumed that was a human custom! I was just going along with it!” he pouted indignantly.

“Nuh-uh-uh, what was it you texted me earlier? ‘My dear, entertaining you is exactly what I plan to do.’ What happened to that, huh?”

He buried his face in his servos. “Primus, what a stupid line…”

“But an accurate one.” You tilted his chin up with a finger and examined him admiringly. “I am very entertained right now. And I’m not of the puritan ‘after marriage, exclusively missionary, lights off, only for making babies, and with a lot of guilt’ mindset. You can feel guilty if that helps you sleep at night. But I… I have wondered.”

“Blindfold! Blindfold, please!” he begged, unable to look away as your hand drifted down his torso. You pressed a knee down on his thigh as you leaned over him to pull the case off a stray pillow, giving him a memorable last look. “You’re going to kill me,” he whispered with both horror and awe.

“We can stop,” you offered in a gentle voice and snapped the pillowcase taut between your hands.

“Heavens, no.” He tilted his head up so you could tie the impromptu blindfold behind his head.

With him now blinded, you took the opportunity to surprise him by running your tongue down his torso, earning a sharp gasp. Your cheek rested against the inside of his thigh, your hands rubbing the outsides of his hips. “Let’s see it, Mims.”

If your face had been any closer, his pressurized spike would have given you a black eye, yet just as quickly as it involuntarily sprang out, he curled up to preserve his modesty. “Oh, no, oh no no no no no, you cannot be saying ‘Mims’ that way. That will be all I’ll be able to hear when you use that nickname. And I really like it when you call me that. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Then why do you always act so grumpy when I say it?”

“I— I don’t know, I don’t handle affection well, or something. Stop trying to get information out of me when I’m in this state!”

“Alright then, Ambus, show me what you’ve got.”

“Ahh… are you sure? Can you promise you won’t see me differently after this? Maybe we can get you a blindfold…?”

“Yes, I promise. And if it’s any comfort, I like what I’m seeing now. It certainly doesn’t make me want to stop spending time with you. But if your terms for moving forward are double blindfolds, I’ll acquiesce. It’ll just be a lot clumsier.”

“Well… no need, then. If you’re certain.”

You ran your hands along his legs. “I’m not going to ask a third time.”

Sheepishly, he uncurled. As you had imagined, his spike was green and white with red biolights pulsing desperately. From the corner of your eye you saw him grab the uncovered pillow and grip it so hard you thought he might put a hole in it as you absentmindedly traced a finger up and down to feel the ribbed, silicone texture of his spike. “Fascinating,” you murmured, studying it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” he yelped, as though your remark came from a doctor examining a potentially life-threatening wound.

“I’ve just never seen a spike before.”

He scrambled to cover up yet again. “You didn’t tell me this would be your first time! I— I— you should be doing this with someone you— Not this casually, this unceremoniously, you—”

“Hey.” You grabbed his chin to stop his babbling and his frame went rigid. “What did I tell you about that puritan talk? Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t want.”

“But what about— you told me there was someone you, ah, had your eye on? What about them?”

You smiled. “That’s none of your business, Ambus. This is what I want.”

“Even so, if you don’t mind… I actually do think it would make me more comfortable if you had your own blindfold.”

“As you wish.” You tugged a pillowcase off another pillow, twisted it up, and handed it to him. You leaned your body against his, tucking your chin on his shoulder. “Would you do me the honors?” He put a servo to your cheek to cautiously feel around for your eye level. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch, and more through your chest than your ears you were able to hear a small machine-like whining inside him. You took one last good look at him, committing to memory the sharp, elegant lines of his face, the dimmed glow of his red optics beneath his own blindfold, and how utterly adorable he looked being this many light years outside his comfort zone. Then all you saw were the wrinkles in the fabric of your pillowcase as you felt his fingers at the back of your head working to tie the knot. As he did so, you reached down to lay your hand on his spike, drawing a small, surprised yelp from him.

“It’s very pretty, though,” you observed as you picked yourself up and felt your way back down his body, envisioning where each hand laid on the meticulous mental map you had made of his body over months of stolen glances. “Can I say that?”

“I would prefer it if you didn’t,” he winced, even as he almost imperceptibly moved his hips back and forth under the light touch of your fingertips.

“Then it looks entirely unremarkable, I promise.” You continued the light motions with your hand and his bucking slowly became less restrained.

“If you don’t mind, the teasing seems unnecessary," he said through gritted dentae.

“I mind.” You reduced the touching to only one finger as punishment. “And trust me, it’s necessary. Just think of how nice it’ll feel when I finally let you fuck me.”

“Fu—you’re going to—I’ll get to—”

“What did you think was happening here?”

“Something a little less intimate, like, um…”

“A handjob?”

“If that’s the term, yes. It wouldn’t be right to—this isn’t exactly the way I had hoped this might— um—”

“You hoped? Hoped for what, dear Ambus?” Luckily, he couldn’t see the smile spreading across your face.

“Duct tape! Please! Now!”

Both of you felt around the bed for the duct tape. When you found it, you ripped some off the roll and delicately put a hand on his neck, then ran it over his chin, up the severe ridge of his cheek and under his ‘facial insignia’— you couldn’t resist the once-in-a-lifetime chance to pinch it and run it between your fingers, even as he grumbled in protest.

“That’s—”

“—not a moustache, I know, it’s the crest of House Ambus, but I need to figure out how to gag you, don’t I?” you said, as if the geometry of his face weren’t already engraved on your brain. You ran a thumb along his bottom lip as you chided him, then, with your target acquired, carefully smoothed the duct tape over his mouth and under his insignia. “Don’t worry, Minimus. I’m going to take good care of you. And eventually, you might even let yourself enjoy it.” Then, as an afterthought: “Tap me twice on the shoulder if you need me to stop… emphasis on the word ‘need.’ Don’t tap just to tell me you feel guilty for liking something.”

Now that he wasn’t going to protest every little thing you did, you slapped your hands to his chestplate and dragged them down along his waist. Again, he jumped, and you felt his hand hovering over your shoulder as he decided whether or not to tap. You froze until he retracted it, then turned your attention back towards his frame. You had always admired the way his body curved and took your time feeling the ridges where the pieces of his plating met as you dragged your hands back down.

You set your palm at the base of his spike and slowly ran your hand up and down; you heard a couple adorably pathetic moans as he started rubbing himself against what little contact you offered. You added some more pressure and gradually wrapped your hand around him, earning you more noises and more desperation. “I love the sounds you’re making, Mim—Ambus. If I’ve already got you this worked up, I wonder what you’ll sound like when you’re actually inside me.” You got more complex muffled noises for that one—it seemed that he couldn’t help but try to speak. He covered his face in embarrassment. You wrapped your hand all the way around him and started giving him some real relief, not letting him put the thought out of his mind.

You put your knees on his thighs and used your free hand to pin him at the shoulder as you started working him, and he started really fucking into your hand. His chassis rose and fell beneath you as his fans kicked into a gear you didn’t think was possible. “Something tells me you like that, don’t you? Do you like being pinned down like this?”

Some hesitation, then a sheepish “Mmhm.”

“How cute!” A defeated whimper. You put a hand on the side of his helm, affectionately rubbing under his chin. “Say, have you ever gotten head before?”

A noise like a question mark.

“I thought that might be the case.” You positioned yourself between his thighs, making sure to get your hot breath on his spike as you spoke. “Well, this is how we do it on Earth.” You set your tongue at the base and he shivered, his frame was tense and rigid like he was trying very hard not to move; you licked all the way up with a dramatic pause before putting the top in your mouth. Minimus yelped, then whimpered as you started sucking. You retracted; “Oh, you really like that, don’t you?” Fervent nods. “Hold on tight,” you said as you hooked an arm under his leg.

You took him in your mouth again, bobbing slightly as he whined. His noises got more and more depraved as you went on. “Those are some great sounds,” you remarked, taking your head away again. His hands reached out blindly for you, settling on the back of your head and pulling you back towards his spike. “That’s the first time tonight you’ve told me what you want! Very proud of—” He put your lips back on him, and you got back to work with a smile. He cupped the sides of your face, running a couple fingers through your hair as he gently moved his hips up and down, never going too far in. As you got very familiar with the ribbed texture of his spike, you couldn’t help but dream of how it was going to feel going in and out when you gave him what you knew he really wanted. That was it— you had been too absorbed in your task to really worry about yourself, but you couldn’t resist touching yourself anymore. You pulled back to tease, making it obvious in your voice how turned on you were, “Oh, so you can be bossy too, huh? You’re lucky I find it cute when you’re desperate.” You licked him from base to tip again, then sank back onto him, going about halfway down, earning the loudest noises you’d heard yet— either pleas or thanks. You gripped the remainder of his shaft with a hand. He held firmer to your head and started going in and out again, setting a pace he preferred to your slow motions. You made sure he knew exactly how you were pleasing yourself, too, brushing your arm against him so he could feel the motions of your hand matching his rhythm.

After a minute, you pulled back to ask him, “What has gotten into you, Minimus Ambus? You had been so nervous and hesitant before, but here you are, fucking my face.” The sound he made was almost like a shriek of embarrassment. “It’s true!” you laughed, “That’s what it’s called!” He mumbled like he was trying to say something, then nudged you with his fists together, palms up, seemingly asking you to cuff him. “Alright, if you insist. Not saying I minded.” You searched for the duct tape again and grabbed his wrists, holding him steady as you tied him up. You set his bound hands on the back of your neck as you lowered yourself again. Even restrained, you felt the pressure of his hands almost holding you, pressing on you gently as you went back to ruining him. At the same time, you set to preparing yourself with your hand and some lube you had set out earlier. This was going to be a wild ride, and you didn’t want to go to work in the morning walking funny.

You pulled away suddenly without warning, entirely depriving him of any stimulation. He curled up a bit as if punched in the gut and started whining and panting desperately while you got into place above him. “Don’t worry, Minimus, you’ll have what you want in just a second.” You were almost straddling him, hovering just out of his reach, and he began mindlessly bucking his hips even though you weren’t even touching him yet. “Down,” you commanded in an authoritative voice, taking great pleasure in his immediate obedience as he froze. “Good.” You placed your hands on his chest to steady yourself, feeling him tremble as his vents blasted you with hot air. Slowly, you lowered, lining him up, pressing slightly against him. He was begging for mercy from behind that duct tape, and slowly, you granted it to both him and yourself. It struck you dimly that less than an hour ago you were shyly wondering if this was a date, and now the tip of his spike was gradually pushing inside of you as you sank down to your comfort level, then raised up again, getting used to the feeling of his ridges moving inside you. You gripped his trim waist as you went up and down, hands pressing into him so hard that you would have left bruises if he weren’t made of metal.

You slid down to the depth that felt most satisfying and stayed put, focusing for a moment solely on touching yourself. Minimus started thumping his pede rapidly, as if he was in pain. “You alright, Minimus?” He shook his head no. “What’s wrong? What do you need?” You could tell he was struggling to sit up, unable to fully prop himself up on his elbows, so you reached out blindly to grab the collar-like part of his plating where his neck began and leaned back to pull him up. For a moment, your bodies were pressed together, and you both froze. You felt his fans on you like hot, heavy breath before he started adjusting himself, tucking his legs in like yours. It would be so easy to kiss him right now on the nose or over the duct tape, just to ‘accidentally’ brush your lips against him as he moved around. But there wasn’t much time to think about that. Just as suddenly, you felt his tied hands against the small of your back, lifting you with him as he went up to his knees and let you down roughly on your back, almost knocking the wind out of you as you bounced against the mattress. Through your blindfold, you could see his silhouette above you. He continued at the slow pace you had set before but whined for permission to go faster. “Oh, Minimus,” you said, voice dripping with dramatic pity, “It must have been so hard controlling yourself as well as you have been, letting me toy with you, huh?”

“Mhm, mhm!”

“But you’ve been so good for me, letting me take exactly what I want, haven’t you?”

“Mhm, mhm!”

“Then I think it’s your turn, Minimus.” You hooked your fingers into his collar and jerked his audial close enough for him to feel your breath as you hissed, “Stop. Holding. Back.”

He shuddered and moaned gratefully as he got faster. You heard and felt the slap of metal plating against your skin. The sensation of his ribbed spike going in and out of you at an unpredictable pace was almost overstimulating. His sheer desperation made up for his lack of technique— he went at it with both a mindless biological drive and the desperation of a man who thought he would never have the chance to do this again. It was truly a shame that he asked for the duct tape. What might he be trying to say right now? Would he be thanking you, pleading with you, praising you, confessing to you what he had always felt? You laid your head against the pillow and forgot about everything but how bad he needed you right now, and how completely you finally had him.

“Mmmm, Minimus…” You heard him thump his pede a couple times as he slowed to a stop and tried to speak through the tape.

With some effort, you reached up to peel it off enough for him to speak. “Please, please, any name but my own, that’s too much to handle.”

“Wh— what? You want me to say someone else’s name while you’re fucking me?”

“Great idea! That would be a tremendous psychological help.” His voice was as friendly and mundane as it would have been a week ago, even as he continued going at it.

“You’re ridiculous, but okay, okay, I can try to think of someone else,” you half-laughed as you smoothed his duct tape back on. You dramatically begged with a hidden smirk, “Oh, please Ultra Magnus, sir, please fuck me.”

He stopped entirely for a moment, almost frozen in fear. “... Mphmph Mphmph?”

“Hey, you can’t question my taste in mechs if you’re the one telling me to say someone else’s name!” you objected, knowing full well why he had stopped. “Now go on, Ultra Magnus, sir, haven’t I been doing so well at my job? Don’t you want to thank me?”

That got him going. You could tell it was your name he was desperately whining over and over behind the tape as he picked up speed.

“Oh thank you, thank you sir, I’m honored that you’d even notice someone like me!”

He laid his warm body on yours for the first time with a shudder, his bound arms now resting against your own.

“Tell me, sir, have I been helpful?”

“Mm-hmm!” he nodded into the crook of your neck, which turned into a full-blown nuzzle.

“Have I been good for you?”

He brought his head down to his tied hands beneath you to rip off the duct tape on his mouth, unable to hold back his praise; this pushed you down into the mattress, and he barely seemed to notice as he started pumping in and out of you with reckless abandon. “Yes! Yes, so, so, so so good! You’ve been the best! I would be drowning without you, I would be losing my mind!”

“You have no idea what you do to me, sir!”

“The thought of you keeps me up at night. It kills me that I can’t tell you how much you mean to me.”

“But you can, and you do, sir! I remember every kind word you’ve ever said to me. I even touch myself thinking about them.”

“You— you do?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“No, ambassador, that’s exactly what I want to hear. Exactly what I want to hear,” he whispered, losing his remaining composure and brain cells.

You put your hand over his own. “Mmm… Oh, Ultra Magnus, Ultra Magnus, sir, I love you,” you confessed. A warmth grew in your stomach.

He panted your name a couple times in your ear. “I love you too, I love you too.” By his tight hold on you and his unsustainably fast pace, it was clear that he was on the verge of overload.

It occurred to you that you hadn’t discussed it with him, and that he might be under the impression that transfluid is unsafe for humans. But you couldn’t have him pulling out when you were so close to orgasm. “Please, Minimus, I did my research, I want you to cum inside me,” you assured him some drool gathering at the corner of your mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?!” he asked, overjoyed. It took him barely any effort to rip apart the duct tape on his wrists; his hands suddenly grabbed your waist, fingers pressing hard into your skin and moving you easily to better thrust into you. He started panting desperately, almost pathetically, and pressed his body flush against yours, keeping you as close as possible. You jumped and your hair literally stood on edge as crackles of electricity jolted against your chest. He got harder inside you, his spike twitching; you felt yourself grow warmer and wetter as he came inside. Yet he kept going with small, quick motions deep inside you, hitting just the right spots, sending you over the edge. “So, so good for me,” you praised him under your breath as he rutted. Unable to think of anything else to say, you brought his hands to your mouth but just barely remembered rule #1 and put his fingers on your tongue instead of kissing them. He slowed down as your senses returned to both of you.

There are so many eyes. 

Eyes have been on you all day. 

Eyes followed you down the aisle. They watched you recite your vows. They trailed your body as you took part in the festivities. For hours upon hours, eyes were in abundance, gazes thick with impenetrability, and though fewer pairs stare at you now, the heaviness of them makes you want to curl into yourself.

It’s tradition here, Feyd told you. The purpose is to confirm our union. 

At the time, his explanation hadn’t seemed so terrible. But now, as you stand in front of your marriage bed, alone and yet not in solitude, it’s possible your opinion on the matter was cushioned by the many months still to pass before your wedding. 

Twitching fingers are loosely clasped and fiddling with each other as you wait for him. Your bottom lip suffers under your clenched teeth. The back of your neck aches from how long your head has been tilted down, your eyes glued to the floor. 

He’s late, isn’t he? Surely, he has to be. You’ve been standing here for ages, trying not to shrink within the shadows of the many men surrounding you. 

A chill licks down your spine from the lecherous gazes that line the silhouette of your body, a shape accentuated by the nightgown that nips in at the waist and holds your breasts a little too high. 

Despite the flowing silk skirt that hides your legs, the dress is much more fitted than what you’re used to from home. The people of Giedi Prime are not known for their modesty, and when you arrived, you were shocked at the amount of pale skin peeking through cutouts in leather dresses; the material that was suctioned to feminine bodies, displaying every curve, and the women who seemed to bask in the ogling of men. 

You, however, are not a woman of Giedi Prime. And though the gown you’re wearing could be considered a reasonable compromise between your planet's traditional modest style and the style of your new home, it proves to garner as much attention as the leather pieces. 

You count the seconds. Six-hundred-eighty-two. Six-hundred-eighty-three. Six-hundred-eighty–

Then from behind you the door creaks on its hinges, and a moment after that, the slab of metal thuds as it slams. You don’t turn around, but when you look up, those many eyes have fallen away from your figure and settled on someone new.

You startle as a hand lightly grips the back of your neck, thumb brushing over the highest notch of your spine before a warm palm slides along your shoulder. As he steps around you, that hand grazes down your arm until his fingers are wrapped around your wrist.

He’s silent as he stands at your side, head turning left and right to take in the mass of men in the room. Then he starts to move toward the bed, leading you along with him. 

Each step heightens your nerves as you ease closer and closer to humiliation. These men will watch your new husband undress you, see your skin bare to them inch by inch, observe every involuntary reaction your inexperienced body has from touches in new places. And in your stomach, making room amongst the nerves, a ball of sadness forms. 

You won’t experience this again. 

Though you don’t know what to expect from Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen—you don’t know how he takes a woman, whether gentle or hard or harder—it is still the first time he will be holding and handling you. Your first time together, your first time at all, and yet, you will not be able to focus. Not on him. Not on his pleasure. Not on yours, if he cares for it. Not on his face to see how you might make him feel. Eyes of old men will overpower the blue orbs of the one whose body will engulf you, and you wonder if that is what you will remember every subsequent time your husband is inside of you. If, even with closed eyelids, you won’t be able to help picturing the crowd’s lingering ghostly presence. 

Feyd releases your wrist and faces you. Deft fingers begin to untie the silk band holding the robe around his body, and once it falls to the floor, you gasp. 

There is plenty that you expected: more pale skin, a chest free from any dusting of hair, ridges and valleys of muscle. But for some reason, you didn’t expect that the flesh between his legs would already be hard and long and straining toward you. 

Other than the gulp you shove down your throat, you can’t move. Your lips are parted slightly from the gasp, and due to your shock, you don’t notice his fingers slipping under the chiffon-capped sleeves of your gown and sliding them down until the cups of the bodice are no longer containing your breasts. Were you not frozen, your arms would cross over your chest, attempting to conceal what has already been seen, but you simply stand there, drowning in incapacity. 

Uncovered to your midriff, he pauses his removal of the material and lets it pool at your hips. He takes a step back, eyes roaming over every curve and dimple for long beats of your heart. Your blood pumps faster, flesh undoubtedly tinting with a tinge of pink. Then he quickly closes the space between you, cupping your breasts in his palms and burying his face in your neck. 

The groan he makes when he licks your skin pebbles the buds under his thumbs, and you can almost forget they’re here, surrounding you. Almost. 

You’re briefly distracted when Feyd bends at the knees, curls his arms around the backs of your thighs, and lifts you up. Instinctively, your legs circle his hips. Your fingers lace at the nape of his neck to keep yourself from falling before he lays you down on the mattress, jerking off the remainder of your gown and tossing it aside. And that’s it—you’re uncovered. No protection, no shield, no barrier, and eyes are there to drink you in. 

Feyd’s body eclipses yours, providing you a scrap of dignity. His knee shoves between your legs. His touch leaves a blazing trail as it travels from your breast to your waist to your thigh. He hikes your leg up and around his hip, grinds his length against your core, kisses you to catch your sharp exhale of air. 

Their stares are hotter, and you refuse to open your eyes, fearing what you might catch in your peripherals—men licking their lips, palming the hardness confined in their pants? Would some of them have freed their members, a tight grip squeezing flesh? Tradition or not, they’re watching your husband about to take you, and while you may be used to modesty and gentle teachings, you are not so naive as to believe all men can control themselves when witnessing what is before them.

Your body has been theirs to see, to devour with their ogling, but the heaviness of your breaths that he pulls from your lungs, the gooseflesh he forces to sprout on your skin, the warmth between your legs, cannot be theirs as well. You don’t want them to have the image of your writhing anatomy permanently seared into their brains.

It’s then that tears fill your ducts, one escaping from under your lashes to trickle down your cheek.

You sniffle. 

Lips disappear. 

Thumb brushes away tear. 

“What is this?” you hear. You shake your head. “Look at me,” he commands. “Now.”

Reluctantly peeling open your eyelids, you find his brow pinched, and a sting of disappointment pierces you. Disappointment from disappointing him. But you can’t change the swirling sensation in your stomach from being watched.

“I…” you whisper. “I can’t.”

His eyes dart between yours, searching for something. Perhaps whether you are serious or instead playing a cruel joke on him. “There is no choice. We must consummate–”

“No,” you interject, sniffling and shaking your head some more. “Not you. Them…I can’t.”

Feyd’s head lifts and he scans the room. You don’t follow suit, unprepared to see what he might be seeing. When he looks back at you, your muscles relax a touch at the lack of frustration on his features. But then he presses another kiss to your lips. A shiver trickles down your spine as you assume he is disregarding your discomfort.

The kiss lasts mere seconds. There and then gone. Then he’s rising up on his knees and reaching across the mattress to pull on the dark curtains attached to the metal posts of the bed's frame. 

“My Lord–” one of the men starts, but Feyd ignores him, and one by one, faces disappear until you’re enclosed in a space he has designed for only the two of you. 

His body eases back down on top of yours.

“But they can’t see.”

“They can hear,” he tells you. “They'll survive.”

You cry harder from relief. His lips reattach to yours. They go to your cheek, your jawline, your neck, your collarbone. And then he enters you, and the tears form for an entirely new reason. 

It hurts. A sharp pain mixed with an ache. An agony that tenses your body. Strange. Foreign. You would’ve thought someone might have warned you of this prior to your wedding night—your mother, your House healers, your experienced handmaids—and you feel somewhat betrayed. But you trust him more than anyone else in this moment, and so to anchor yourself through the hurt, your arms wrap tightly around him.

“Relax,” he whispers, lips ghosting along your neck. “Relax.”

Slowly, he pulls out, the drag against your walls making you whimper, then he pushes back in. Again, just as slow. Again, careful.

It aches each time, but by the eighth thrust counted, the pain starts to subtly subside. You can finally acknowledge the feel of him. The fullness as he fills you. The stretch from the thickness. A new ache, one that builds and twists a warm coil in your stomach. 

“O-Oh,” you breathe. “That feels–” Your back slightly arches, pressing your chest harder against his. 

“Good,” he finishes for you.

You hum shakily. 

He moves in and out of you at a reliable pace, in and out as your bodies thrum in sync, until a wave of pleasure spreads from your core and floods your limbs. You make a noise you’ve never made before. Feyd makes a noise you’ve never heard before. You tremble from something other than shame.

Once your senses settle, you open your eyes. Feyd’s mouth is still at your neck, strong exhales heating the skin. You run your hand down the muscles in his back, and the taut cords loosen. 

Then he says, “Leave,” his voice deep and firm, and you spend a moment with a sunken heart at the thought of him kicking you out as if your usefulness for the night has expired. But feet are shuffling across the floor, and the door is opening and shutting, and the space is cleansed.

Feyd rolls onto his back. You rest your hands on your stomach, one above the other. Your mind tumbles in the aftermath, thoughts of what was done, of what he did for you, the defiance. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into the silence. 

The silence lingers, and as you both stare at the ceiling, you fear his lack of response means he has slipped back within the stony outer coating he is known for, a coating you were so used to seeing before tonight’s events. 

He quells your concern when he suddenly says, “You’re my wife. You will be the Baroness one day.” He turns his head to you. Your eyes connect, the only eyes that do not feel like a boulder on top of you but rather an unanticipated comfort. “You will have the respect you desire.” 

An alliance with the Harkonnens, who had grown rich through spice mining and her house.

In return, her father would provide ships and planets.

Good blood would result from the marriage...though there was still at least some time left.

Now she was here, on the tribune, white stone beneath the sun, the servants stark, pale white, her dress holding firm as she took her place as guest and, at the same time, of honor - as future wife and baroness at Feyd’s side.

“Observe your fiancé, accustom yourself to his lust for violence” the Bene Gesserit’s voice said calmly from the seat beside her; she did not need to look at the old woman to know that her gaze held the earnestness of duty.

“Will he accept me?” her question went unanswered; trained in the ways of the Sisterhood as the heir to her house.

She was certain of her duty…yet her inner devotion to caring for others had led her to see him as the ideal match - supposedly - or the psychotic warrior.

But how did such bloodlust fit with something so carefully cautious?

Looking through her binoculars at the corpulent Baron, she saw, even from a distance, his smug expression.

“A duel in honor of the betrothal of our Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen!” the announcement sent the spectators into a frenzy as, mere moments later, a figure stepped into the center of the arena.

Turning her gaze downward, she saw him, not for the first time, but now she could see his body: pale, almost white-gray muscles of strength, dark teeth as pitch-black as the eyes that scanned the crowd.

For a moment, he looked at his uncle, raised his dagger in a gesture of promise for a good fight before Feyd looked up at their box.

The bald man did not raise his sword; he stared at her with that amused, chaotic gaze, his tongue licking his lips - a pale thing between black teeth - before the gates opened and the fighters entered.

“Even a wild spirit seeks peace at some point” she muttered.

The older woman didn’t spare her a glance; instead, she looked down as the fight began.

Three men from one house, muscular, dangerous…at least before they were incapacitated by drugs or so it seemed.

She knew the Harkonnen customs and practices, yet even Feyd had immediately recognized what his uncle had done. Instead of stepping back, however, he merely laughed.

“Look, woman, what I’m doing for the alliance!” he shouted, ramming his dagger almost effortlessly into the stomach and chest of one of the men, quickly and slowly, so that the shields could be pierced.

He skillfully dodged the next man’s attack, rolled to the side, and swept the man’s legs out from under him.

As they wrestled back and forth on the ground, she moved forward slightly to see more - only to see Feyd, not the fight.

The one who was killing for her.

He leaped away from his attacker; blood had splattered lightly on him as he’d slit the man’s throat.

Cheers and shouts encouraged him, calling his name as only one attacker remained.

He made a mistake; he seemed to want to dodge when he noticed the last one, only to be kicked from behind, another roll, another dodge, Feyd stabbed the man, catching him in the leg.

The last one didn’t seem to give up; he swung at Feyd himself, had grabbed the na-Baron by the collar, the Harkonnen couldn’t break free and even as Feyd stabbed his attacker in the heart, the attacker’s dagger landed in his side, piercing the white skin.

Causing the young warrior to bleed and let out a screaming laugh as he victoriously pushed his opponent away.

“A glorious alliance in blood and death!” he shouted, not at her, but at the crowd as he let himself be celebrated; the Baron seemed satisfied.

She herself, in that moment of pain, had risen from her seat and clung to the stone of the tribune; she had almost believed she would lose him, her duty…her betrothed.

A glance downward, however, and Feyd Rautha Harkonnen still stood victorious, bleeding as he was celebrated; he stepped slowly back into the interior, a gesture that mirrored her own, for she would now seek out her betrothed.

To show his pain that there might be a solution other than violence.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her steps were purposeful; despite her brief stay, she was familiar with the palace’s layout, even though the guards and the servant at her side were merely a formality.

“My lord, your fiancée wishes to see you” the servant announced loudly enough for Feyd to hear it from behind the great doors; a silence spread before a rasping, cracking sound could be heard.

A sign of death - and she entered as she stepped into his chamber and closed the door behind her.

The dark chamber was illuminated by a whitish light; a pool of blood spread across the floor.

Apparently, Feyd had not liked the healer or the care associated with it.

“My lady, my fiancée…my future wife, I have killed for us. What do you want from me?” he did not move toward her; Feyd stared at her, his head tilted slightly as if he could see right into her.

Instead, she stepped forward, ignoring the body still twitching slightly, stepped over it, and paid the doctor no mind, nor did she pay any attention to the smiling pets in the corner who were watching their owner’s antics with interest.

“You’ve won, amused your uncle, fascinated me…spilled blood” she replied, her fingers slowly moving toward his side, but before she could touch him, he grabbed her wrist harshly, painfully tight.

It was Feyd who began to move now, releasing her wrist only as he walked around her, a hunter surveying his prey; though a hint of a smile played on his lips, she could still see the pain in his eyes.

“Blood, the pain, enjoy it, you couldn’t give me anything better” his reply was insincere, amused, that of a young warrior who was unsure of her, who didn’t know what she wanted.

Her knowing nod made him stop; her hand didn’t reach for him but instead moved toward the bed.

“Sit down, my future husband. I’ll give you something completely different” she said, sensing the hint of anticipation in the air as she hoped he’d jump at the chance, that the warrior would let his guard down.

Dark eyes gazed at her intimately one last time before he sat down on the bed; a hiss escaped him as pressure was applied to the wound, yet a smile appeared on his lips.

She, however, did not go to him immediately; she went to the dead man, whose body had stopped twitching, the life having drained from him.

She stepped over his body once more and took the medical supplies from the broken bowl.

Feyd’s interested gaze rested on her as she returned to him; instead of sitting down beside him, she knelt beside him, knowingly stepping into the blood that had since spread across the bed.

She could feel his gaze upon her as he took in the sight, relishing it; his fingers clawed at his dark pants in a mix of pleasure and pain as she began to slowly close the stab wound.

“What does such devotion in blood show me?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

As she looked up at him, she could see that he was holding himself back, refraining from claiming her in the blood, from taking her before the wedding.

His body trembled slightly, his hands digging deeper into the fabric.

“In all this brutal chaos, I show you nothing but care” her answer made him pause; he knew he was pondering, trying to get used to this new thing that wasn’t made of blood and death.

Only after she had closed the wound and looked up at him again did he suddenly grab her jaw and pull her roughly up toward him onto the bed, heedless of the blood that now stained him as well.

For a moment, her fear, an instinct, flashed through her, stirring him, but just as quickly, they both regained their composure as she lay beneath him, their gazes met, and his hand, cool against her warm skin, remained.

“Care, is that what you bring me, wife?” he asked, moving closer to her, feeling his tongue trace the curve of her neck, licking over her pulse, her own hand not stopping him.

“Care and everything you want, you’ll see, gentleness is arousing,” she replied, placing her hand gently on his cheek, watching as such a touch confused him, almost making him flinch, until he gradually began to enjoy it.

They were both in danger of losing herself in that moment before Feyd pulled her into a passionate kiss.

His own care.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist

“As I’ve already said, the Atreides are slow to grow.” Your mother’s tone didn’t hold even a semblance of a bite to it, not like you expected. She was usually fiercely protective of you and your brother. 

Your finger twitched, causing the woman to stifle whatever disapproving comment she was about to make. Being caught eavesdropping like this certainly wasn’t ideal, but you found it impossible not to be curious. 

“She really is just like her brother,” More like he was more like you. You’d always been the rowdy one of the two. Paul must have been listening in as well, and you imagined that he was more insulted at the comments of his lack of height and muscle than you were. “The little rascals.” 

There was a beat of silence before the woman began to crone again. This time you opened your eyes just a sliver, staring into the dark abyss of your room so that you could make out the shapes of your mother and the stranger. 

“Rest now. Both you and your brother need to be prepared to meet my Gom Jabbar.” The reason couldn’t be pinpointed, but there was something about her tone that filled you with dread.

Your mother woke you up the next morning, bright and early. 

Not even the breathing exercises that your mother had taught you had been able to calm you down last night. The darkness had swallowed you whole, which resulted in a dreamless sleep that left you feeling just as unrested as you had felt the night before. Your mother noticed your hesitations, the skirts of her dress dragging against the stone floor as she moved in the direction of your closet. The dress that she picked out for you was one of your more official garments, the red hawk of the Atreides crest proudly sewn onto the right breast. 

“Did you sleep well?” She questioned as she laid the dress neatly onto the edge of the bed, urging you to stand once her hands were free. 

You blinked at her, nervously brushing your hands along the soft cotton of your nightdress. Your voice felt stuck in your throat, but you still managed to lie. 

“Yes, of course.” Your tone was flat, and for once she didn’t question you on the reasoning. She knew exactly what had you feeling so uncomfortable in your own home. 

Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar. 

What exactly did the old woman want from your family? Lady Jessica was a Bene Gesserit, which could only mean that this woman was a higher up, sent to pay you and your brother a visit. You knew nothing about any “coming of age” rituals. 

Paul barged into the room, dressed in his finer clothes as well. He leaned against the wall of your room, lips pursed as if he was deep in thought. You tilted your head to the side, leveling him a worried glance. He simply shook his head, and you knew at once that he wasn’t trying to dismiss your worries. 

‘Not here. Later.’ His expression told you, and for once you obeyed. 

“The reverend mother is waiting on the both of you. Paul, get out of your sister’s room so she can get ready.” She commanded, her tone leaving no room for whining or disobedience. 

He groaned, pushing himself off of the wall so that he could head back out and into the hall. You shrugged out of your dress quickly at the hurried insistence of your mother, allowing her to do up the clasps of the dress for you. 

“Who is she?” You asked simply, brushing your hair to the side so that she could get a better grasp of the dress. 

“She was my teacher at the Bene Gesserit school and now she is the Emperor’s Truthsayer.” Your mother sighed out your name, turning you quickly so that you were facing her. “You need to do exactly as she says. There is no room to be prideful today, do you understand?” Her eyes were pleading, and you knew that she had your best interests in mind. 

You and your mother walked wordlessly out into the hall, catching up with your brother who was busy running his fingers along the uneven stone walls. You flashed a quick look at your mother before jogging to catch up with Paul, taking the hem of his sleeve into your hand. 

“What do you know?” You whispered, turning your head so that you could look at your mother. Much to your surprise she seemed to be in no hurry to separate the two of you. 

“I’ve had dreams about her before,” He whispered, and you had to pick up your pace to keep up with his strides. “And mother told me this morning that I have to tell her about my visions.” 

Your mouth went a bit dry at the realization that this woman truly was here just for you and your brother. What is the Gom Jabbar and what did it entail? There was no telling. 

“She’s in my morning room, you two.” She called out after you. 

Jessica caught up, leveling the both of you a disapproving motherly look that had the two of you slowing your strides to match hers. She seemed a bit hesitant, eyes flickering between you and your brother and the closed door. 

The “reverend mother” sat in one of the tapestried chairs, her arms perched on either side of the armrests as she watched the three of you come in. The view behind her was beautiful, the sprawling, green farmlands of the Atreides family holding on full display through the large windows behind her. You glanced at your brother, eyes widening when you realized that he was already looking at you. He bowed in her direction and you followed his lead. 

“They are a cautious bundle, aren’t they?” The witch-like woman croaked, looking between the two of you. 

“As they have been taught, your reverence.” 

In this room, here in front of this woman, Jessica was no longer the Duke’s concubine nor your mother. She was reduced to that of a pupil in the face of her teacher. You kept yourself from fidgeting, clasping your hands in front of you. You fought the urge to reach out and grab your brother’s hand, as the two of you so often did when faced with anxiety as children. Fear hadn’t regressed you to that of a blubbering child in years. 

Your mother also seemed to fear the woman before her. There was something in her tone that led you to believe that whatever she was here for, it surely wasn’t a pleasantry. Your brother was tense at your mother’s other side, jaw tense as he stared the reverend mother down. 

“Teaching is one thing, but there are some things that cannot simply be taught,” Paul’s eyebrows furrowed as she spoke, and as if she was dismissing a servant of the castle, she waved your mother off with a flick of her wrist. “You and your daughter leave us. It will be her turn soon.” 

For the first time that morning your mother hesitated, eyes softened as she looked upon her son.

“Your reverence, I-” She began, but was cut off before she could finish whatever it is she was going to say. Surely it was meant to be an objection. 

“Jessica, you know that this must be done.” Her voice held a tone of finality. There was no room for your mother to try and wiggle the both of you two out of this trap.

“Yes. . . of course.” Your mother straightened, turning towards both of you. 

“This test. . . It’s very important to me, you two.” She spoke in a hushed voice, eyes still fearful. 

“Test?” The two of you questioned at the same time, looking at one another in concern. You were confused, even more so than you were before. 

“Remember that you’re the duke’s son.” And with that your mother was grabbing your arm, pulling you in the direction of the door. 

“I suppose that it is my turn?” Your voice shook with anger as you practically tore the door off of its hinges, anxious to take your brother’s place. His cries and whimpers did not go unheard, even with the thick wood separating the two of you. 

Looking at him now, his right arm still shaking from the pain, was like being slapped across the face. 

“Right you are, girl. Jessica, please escort your son out of the room.” There was a silvery glint in her bright eyes- a challenge. She could sense it in you. 

Your mother didn’t interrupt this time, and without any words exchanged the door closed. Your brother was too shaken up by whatever had taken place in that room to fully comprehend that the same thing was going to happen to you. He tossed a terrified glance over his shoulder at you just before the heavy doors closed. The sound of it echoed around the room, pulsing in your chest as you tried to steady the adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

“Your future. . . do you know what is expected of you?” 

You eyed the black box that sat next to her as you began closing the distance between the two of you. The question she had asked. . . it was a touchy subject with you. Of course you knew. A day didn’t go by that you weren’t mortified by the prospect of your future. You only had three short years to live and enjoy before you would be forced to abandon your family to join hands with another one. 

“Of course I do. It is my duty to marry.” Your voice had a bite to it, your eyes unwavering as you stared her veiled face down. 

“It is your duty to marry a Harkonnen. It is an honor to be the only reason that these two great Houses are allies. Your heirs will be powerful beyond comprehension.” The way she spoke. . . she truly believed the shit she was spouting. 

It was impossible to consider marrying Feyd an honor. It was an ever-present looming threat. 

“Put your right hand in the box.” She commanded, nodding her head in it’s direction. 

It seemed harmless enough, nothing more than a metal box. You bent your head ever-so-slightly, trying to have a look inside. It appeared to be a pitch black, endless void. No beginning or end in sight. 

You did as you were told, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from muttering anything too disrespectful under your breath. If Paul’s screams were anything to go off of then this was going to be painful. Still, you were shocked by how cold the box was. You wiggled your fingers a few times, feeling the metal encasing them. Slowly a tingling sensation began, almost as if they were falling asleep. 

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? There’s an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain, feigning death that he might kill the trapper and remove a threat to his kind.” 

The tingling sensation somehow melded into. . . heat. No, not heat. Burning. It felt as though you had your hand held up to a bright flame. You flinched, but froze when you finally noticed that the reverend mother was holding something against your neck. Your eyes flickered the best that they could to her hand, not wanting to turn your head. 

“What I hold at your neck is the Gom Jabbar. The tip of the needle is dipped in poison. Remove your hand from the box and I will plunge it into your neck.” 

The palm of your free hand began to sweat, the gravity of the situation finally landing on your shoulders. You would be forced to endure the pain and there was nothing that anyone outside of the doors could do. No guards had come to protect your brother when it was his turn, and no matter how emotional your mother had gotten whilst hearing his screams she still hadn’t rushed in after him. You could truly die here in this room. 

“Why are you doing this?” You urged, wincing again as the burning continued to worsen. 

Now it felt as though you were almost touching a flame, fingers dancing dangerously close. It wasn’t just uncomfortable now but painful.  “To determine if you’re human. Now be silent.”

Meant for greatness, yet stifled before her prime. 

It was impossible for your clipped wings to take flight. The Bene Gesserit had instilled in you your purpose from a very young age, letting it be known that you were little more than cattle to be sold off to breed. The whole arrangement was dehumanizing, but this was the way of galactic high society. Every House had been developed by the close, watchful eye of the Bene Gesserit. Your mere existence was a result of a centuries long breeding program, so how could you ever expect for your own life to be any different? 

Every child, especially in their naive youth, dreams of greatness. There was a point in time where you had hoped to mean something. There were differences to be made, rules to be broken, wars to be raged- but you would never be at the helm of any of it. But Paul. . . Paul was different. 

“You know something that I don’t.” You weren’t asking Paul, rather telling him what you already knew. 

Where you were used to your brother pulling no punches, he had been overly cautious with his treatment of you during training today. For a second he just stared ahead blankly at the wall, and you wondered whether he would try to lie. The older you’ve gotten, the stranger other people’s treatment of you has become. Women were little more than something to be owned. It was a hard lesson to learn and was one you were still grappling with. 

Your femininity were the chains that bound you. And what of your ambition? It was currently acting as the flames licking at your boot heels. Soon you feared that it would fully engulf you; become your undoing. 

“Tell me.” Your lovely features crumpled, and as childish as it was you found yourself giving his arm a slap. 

He jumped at the sudden contact, eyes widening as he turned to face you after what felt like an eternity of prolonged silence between the two of you. The hard flooring felt cool beneath your legs as you stretched them out beneath you, and for a second you found it hard to keep yourself up in a sitting position. The world felt unsteady beneath you, both literally and figuratively. 

Paul didn’t have to say anything at all. You looked, you saw, you felt, you understood. Your shared connection had nothing to do with your genes, rather it had to do with your likeness. Two bodies, two minds, but one soul. Your twin’s features crumpled, mirroring that of your own as he pushed a few strands of dark hair away from his face. 

“So there is nothing I can do? My fate is sealed.” Your lips felt numb as you spoke. 

Your brother’s visions were more frequent than they had ever been before. “Horrors”, he’d described them.

“If there was something I could do. . .” He started, turning quickly to face you, tucking one leg beneath himself. “My hands are tied. Mother and father’s hands are as well.” 

Hiding you away or knowingly allowing you to escape your duties would be seen as an act of treason. You’d be putting your parents and their status in danger, and no matter how desperate you were to get out of any sort of marriage pact, it was far too late. Since the very moment you were conceived, this was what you were meant for. 

“When will the orders come down, you think?” You pulled your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them tightly. 

You wished that you could stay like this forever, protected from the rest of the world. If only you hadn’t been born as twins at all. You wanted so badly to be like Paul. 

But the galaxy didn’t work like that. You were not fortunate enough to get what you wanted. 

“Soon.” 

You felt comforted by the hand that he placed on your shoulder, and even more so when he kept it there until you felt as though you were able to stand up. 

You were to marry into House Harkonnen. That was your purpose; to unite the feuding houses and birth powerful offspring. You had met Feyd once before, but only for a fleeting moment. It hadn’t been awkward- no, back then the two of you hadn’t cared enough to pay any mind to the looming threat that was your betrothal. You’d been too young back then to fully grasp the severity of the situation. 

You remembered being shocked by his size. He towered over Paul, appearing to be years older than he really was. His hair had been dark back then, thick and slightly curly. 

He had only just been taken under his uncle’s wing at the time. The environment of Giedi Prime had yet to fully sink into the young boy. The Harkonnen’s looks had always been startling to you, no matter how many times you’d been exposed to it. They were dark creatures, brooding, hairless with skin as pale as milk- not to mention violent. 

The desperate way that Paul had clung to you was not lost on you. You let him squeeze you as tightly as he needed, your arms locking around his back. This meeting would change everything. In a matter of moments your life as you knew it would be taking a drastic turn, and not for the better. 

You’d made that very same trek to the parlor room a million times. This was your ancestral home- had been in your family longer than you thought was conceivable, and yet this felt new to you. Wrong. The shadows from the windows were casting strange lights on the wall beside you, and your footsteps sounded muffled in your ears as your pounding heart nearly deafened you. Your father’s hand brushed against your palm a few times, his attempt at showing you physical comfort without causing any sort of scene. You knew that this was Feyd-Rautha’s right. 

You were Feyd-Rautha’s right. That simple fact alone was enough to send you reeling, that morning's breakfast churning in your stomach. 

“It will be fine.” Your mother’s fingers shaped the words at her side, a comforting and silent presence. 

Your parents had always protected you. They had taught you well in all aspects of life. She was right. You had to trust yourself just as much as you trusted them. This will be fine. You will survive. 

But god, you wanted to live. 

Your worst fear was being locked up like a caged animal, only taken out to be played with or paraded around. You didn’t want to be somebody's little wife; you were no homemaker or bed warmer. 

‘I am better than this.’ You thought to yourself, your hands balling into fists at your sides. 

As the double doors began creeping open, you felt the sudden urge to run the opposite direction, your parents be damned. The feud between House Atreides and House Harkonnen would surely become deadly if you were to turn your back on the promise now, and that was the only thing that steeled your feet. You stood, back straight and hands clasped tightly at your front. 

You looked to be a pillar of strength, but oh- you were so close to crumbling. Your father took a step past the threshold, eyes hard as he bowed his head respectfully in the Baron’s direction. There was still time to turn around. The door was right there, and you were sure that you could commandeer a ship. You’d piloted a few times before in your life, and while you weren’t the best, you were certain you could get yourself the hell off of Caladan. You shuffled your feet, eyes wide as you looked up and caught your mother’s gaze. Her lips were parted, and you could tell that she was trying to decipher your expression. 

“What are you doing?” Her hand moved quickly at her side, the flowy gauze-like material of her skirts hiding her frantic movements from the visitor’s view. 

Nothing. You were doing nothing. There were no options yet. If you fled then the insubordination would fall back on your parents. If you downright refused then the outcome would be the same. There was nothing you could do but keep your mouth shut and try not to show the Harkonnen even a semblance of vulnerability. 

Disdain rolled off of you in waves as you breezed into the parlor, eyes locked on the side of your father’s face as he conversed with the baron. Tensions were high, even now. No pleasantries were being exchanged, that you were sure of. The Harkonnen’s stark black attire was a startling contrast to their pale skin. There, in the middle of two other men, whom you were sure were present for reasons of protection, was Feyd. 

He looked the same as the rest of them. Hairless, blue eyes dripping with something that could only be described as malice. Gone was the curly haired child that you remembered. In his place stood someone unrecognizable to you. You wanted to question what the Baron had done to Feyd, but you already knew. Perfection was expected on Geidi Prime. 

He had shaped Feyd into the very likeness of perfection. The once dark haired boy was now a walking, talking machine; not even a dead leaf echo of the boy you met all those years ago. 

You tried to map out every single one of his microexpressions, searching desperately for any sign that he might disapprove of the predicament the both of you had found yourselves in. He tilted his head to the side, observing you with a horrifying level of concentration. The Baron began to speak, saying something that you didn’t care enough to listen to. You were too distracted by the terrifying man before you. 

“She will come back home to Geidi Prime with us. No objections, correct?” 

You were marrying him out of an obligation, this he was already privy to. He had seen the reluctance written plain across your face as you’d entered the room. You’d wanted to run. Away from him, away from your responsibilities- and he could not blame you for it. His understanding stopped there though, simply because this proposal wasn’t going against his own wishes. 

“The wedding isn’t taking place for another week.” The Duke didn’t seem to like the idea of his unwed daughter leaving his side. 

Feyd fought back a smile, having known that the Baron’s sudden request would have this effect on the Atreides family. He watched you squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass, your hand moving at your hip. For a second he thought that you might be tugging at the seam of your dress, writing it off as nothing but a nervous tick- but then he saw the way your mother’s eyes followed those movements. 

The two of you were communicating. 

“That may be so, however I think that it is only right that your daughter,” Baron Vladimir motioned in your direction. “Becomes better acquainted with Feyd. You don’t agree?” 

His uncle decided that it was best to test the boundaries of this alliance. He was pushing the Duke, seeing how far he could get. Leto’s lips twitched, his eyes flickering thoughtfully towards you. Feyd was finding it hard to pay attention to anyone else other than you in the room. He’d spent years imagining what you would look like as an adult- dreamt about it. He’d eagerly been awaiting this moment, counting the days that he could finally be reunited with you. 

It wasn’t just because he had been promised powerful heirs. It was the thought that someone was fated to marry him. Since before he was even conceived, you had always been promised to him. That idea had been put into his head since childhood. You were the constant topic in his mind, a person that was unavoidably meant to be in his life for the rest of his days. 

In a strange way he had loved you since he was but a child. 

Seeing you for that first time had been better than he had anticipated. You were a beautiful little girl, but now? The child that he had met all those years ago did not hold a candle to the grace and brilliance of the woman that stood before him. Nobody else could ever compare. You didn’t have to fall for him right now, he was content with that. Hell, you didn’t even have to tolerate him.  He would find pleasure in wearing you down. He was going to make you love him.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. 

The adrenaline had run its way out of your system, leaving you cold and alone on a planet that was so incredibly alien to you, you weren’t sure how you’d ever be expected to adjust. Even the oxygen felt different in your lungs- the sweet, acrid smell of chemicals tinging the air around you. It was nothing like your home on Caladan. Your home was a stone castle, but this? This was a cold, black fortress. 

You weren’t sure if it was meant to keep people out. . . or in. 

You thought back to that fateful day with the reverend mother. 

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? There’s an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain, feigning death that he might kill the trapper and remove a threat to his kind.” 

You couldn’t chew your leg off to be free of this. No, you had to lay in wait. Only then could you strike if the situation called for it. 

“Striking” could wait until tomorrow though. For now you wanted to rid yourself of the anxiety. Sleep was the only cure you could think of. 

“Is the room to your liking?” That husky voice of his was already grating on your nerves. 

Feyd had only attempted to speak to you a few times and already you were sick and tired of his presence. He was a constant reminder that you would never know what it was like to be free. Then again, was anybody in the galaxy truly free? Feyd sure seemed to be carefree in his current position. 

His tone felt off, like he was toying with you. 

“I would be far more pleased about my new living quarters if you were to leave.” You said simply, pulling the slate gray blanket up and over your chin. 

You weren’t sure if it was due to his ill-breeding, but he didn’t seem to care that you were in nothing but your night dress. He walked into the room in long-legged strikes, letting the door shut behind him. Never before had the two of you been alone together, not since you were children at least. If you were back in your family home you would feel safer during a moment like this. 

You were in his territory now, meaning he had full reign over everything. Your father and family name couldn’t protect you on Geidi Prime. 

“You’re in quite the rush to be rid of me,” He didn’t falter for even a second as he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the plush mattress with a small sigh. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you didn’t like me.” He didn’t seem upset at the notion of you disliking him. In fact, there was a glint in his eyes. That same sort of silvery glint you’d seen in the reverend mother’s eyes all those years ago: a challenge. 

This was nothing but a challenge to him. You were a conquest, and you detested that. Your stomach soured, your face becoming pinched as you glared at him. This was all too much too fast. You were in the comfort of your own home not even four hours ago, and now you were expected to make small talk with the source of your life-long discontent.  

“And what of your concubines? Could you not pester them tonight and give me a moment's peace?” 

“I dismissed them from their duties, permanently, weeks ago.” He said simply, his fingers running along the cotton of the comforter. 

“What?” You’d never heard of such a thing. 

“Spending time with them would be a waste.” His blue eyes flickered up to meet your eyes. “Acquiring concubines had just been a show of status.” 

It took you a few moments to process what he was saying, the burning hatred you had felt just moments ago flickering out into a dull flame. 

“Why would spending time with them be a waste? Am I expected to spend that much time with you?” A horror, truly. You had hoped that you’d be able to get away with spending a night or two a week with him, if only to achieve the Bene Gesserit’s goal of siring an heir. 

“A waste of time. A waste of seed,” He looked at you pointedly, his lip pulling up into a smile that revealed more of his black teeth. “And both of those things are important to me.” 

Your stomach hollowed out as you were once again reminded of what was expected of you. You had a week to prepare mentally for your wedding night, which you weren’t sure was enough. 

“And what happened to the concubines? Are they still being housed here?” 

“Why? Are you jealous?” He was smiling even wider than he was before. 

A shiver ran through you as you noticed how predatory his body language was- you felt like prey under his haughty gaze. It was hard to believe that Feyd had been administered the Gom Jabbar test and passed. 

This man was no human. He was an animal, that you were certain. 

“Wickedly.” Your tone was flat and noncommittal. Even now, you never saw Feyd as a potential lover. 

The man that was your so-called “destiny” was also your jailer. 

“Well then you’ll be happy to know that they no longer live here. . . or anywhere, for that matter.” He sat up, rolling his shoulders back to stretch his broad muscles.

The blood drained from your face as you stared up at him from your spot on the bed. He must have felt the weight of your gaze and turned his head, his eyes alight with. . . pleasure. Violence was as ingrained in him as breathing was. It was his life. Standing before you was the prince of death- pale, striking and terrifying. 

Animal, indeed. 

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. 

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