anonymous fanfics

You hadn't noticed him till now - player 001. All you could see was his back at the voting podium; but there was a gravity there - an authority that made you hone in on him instantly. A curiosity perhaps. You lifted your gaze to the screen as the cheers erupted to see another 'O' join the ranks, signaling the games would continue. And when you looked to him again - the man was gazing directly at you. A viper between the enamored crowd. Silent. Still. Devastatingly handsome.

The sound of their cheers was almost a numb thing - like you were underwater. Floating in place. 001 looked at you long enough for a hot flush to creep up your neck, and you felt the need to shy behind the coverage of your fellow players; blend into the green. Was it getting harder to breathe in here? Why was he watching you for so long? Why did not one else notice? Why did it make your heart pound ferociously under your skin and make your mouth go dry?

You looked around, anxious to escape whatever it was that was flooding your senses. The others were oblivious. Or maybe just didn't care - caught up in the money or the notion of a new test to come.

You press your nails into your palms, grasping your sleeve at your sides. When you turned back, the man is gone from the front, the guards in red leaving behind the main entrance doors, which seal shut. Caging you in.

Voting was complete. You and the others would continue again tomorrow. The frenzied sea of participants begins to part.

That's when a wall shoves into you - or rather, a person; Thanos - the rapper with the purple hair and the cockiness to match. You don't fall - just stumble, but the force of it catches you off guard, makes you gasp. He and his friend are laughing together, as others are dispersing still to their bunks. They weren't even trying to knock you over - just mocking some other player - uncaring about how careless they were or who they trampled over for their own amusement.

You feel a hand at the low of your back then; warm. Sturdy. And your view is suddenly full of him - not Thanos - but him. Player 001. You hadn't even seen him near, melting into the others, or sense his stare. But he's close enough now to see the specks of brown is his dark - dark eyes. Feel the genuine strength in his arm that steadied you. You can smell him - a delicious mix of his cologne and whiskey, and something else that makes you bite your tongue.

"Are you alright?"

The timber of his voice was just as much heaven, rumbling through you at the proximity, even as he spoke with intentional softness for only your ears. You catch your mouth parted, and you close it as you feel yourself staring - muttering your apologies and averting from his intense gaze. You can't help but look at his lips before darting away. Plush. Slightly wet - like he'd licked them. Your cheeks heat quickly.

"Thank you sir - I'm fine -"

He's still watching, but his own eyes seem to trail your face; pleased. It makes you almost breathless. Thankfully you hear the doting of the older woman - 149 come to check on you, muttering about those stupid boys having no care for others. She's taking your arm, and putting her hands on your cheeks like a mother hen, warming your soul in a different kind of way - and you feel the heat of the man's hand slip from you. A loss.

You give one final glance as you're pulled towards the bunks, catching the way his eyes glint in the low light, and the small smile that pulls at the right edge of his mouth. A hidden kind of smile. just for you.

He was dangerous.

Not because you were anxious of him - but because you were drawn to him. And he seemed to tempt your senses entirely. Like he felt the same. You found yourself wanting him to. You must be crazy.

You let yourself push the thoughts away. Now wasn't the time to be daydreaming over a man you'd probably never speak to again - or see again. Who knew what tomorrow's game would bring; or how many would yet again survive. Who knew if you'd be here another day?

Instead you tuck yourself into the safety of your thin covers, inhale the dull soap scent of your pillowcase to distract yourself into sleep.

Even when the lights shut off, it takes you a long time to rest, heart racing wildly beneath your ribs, fluttering as though trying to break free from your flesh. You shut your eyes, begging your mind to release the memory of the heat against the small of your back, or the way the man smelled good enough to taste. Or the way your mouth watered at his proximity.

-------

It was only the second day, but groups were already forming, collections of players spread out all around the room, planning ahead and sharing ideas. Military stratagem.

The cool of the metal lunch tin soothed your heated palms as you searched for familiar faces to seek solace, teething at the skin of your inner cheek; bad habit.

"Y/N"! You recognize Gi-hun calling out to you; player 456. He was waving you down at a far corner of the room, a few others standing around him or on bleachers, blocking your view from some of the others he's sat with. Grateful for recognition, and friendly faces to escape to - you head towards him, casting a look around and brushing some hair behind your ears.

When you're toe to toe with the group - you pause - because one of those hidden from your sight previously is the man from before. Player 001; he sits to Gi-hun's left like an old pal. And his eyes are already on you. The room feels suddenly hot. You're frozen in place.

How didn't you see him?

"Y/N, this is Oh Young-il. He's joining us. We're talking strategy for today in case it's a group event."

You nod dumbly like a doe in headlines.

The reveal of the man's name is casual, in passing, but you warm at the knowledge of having something personal of his in mind, whispering it in thought to yourself like a secret. Young-il's honey gaze is heavy on you as he gives a slow nod of his head, Gi-hun motioning for you to sit besides as the introduction passes.

The open space is directly next to 001. A stiffness creeps into your spine as you alert to your high nerves like a live wire, shoulders rigid, heart a stampede once more. But you sit besides him anyways, casting your gaze downwards as you lower yourself - hoping to avoid that magnetism just a bit, if you can. Put on a show to pretend everything is as it should be.

Yet Young-il is warm besides you, wonderfully so, radiating a heat that eases into you; and makes you preen closer by a fraction. He leans back with a sigh, elbows resting on the step behind him, parting his legs just a bit so his thigh presses against yours. Like he's stretching. Showing off. It makes you stop breathing a bit, afraid of being caught. Of being seen for how insane you already were feeling. The depth of your attraction to him becoming known.

When you glance at him, he's listening to Gihun - or seeming to. Strong jaw angled towards your fellow players; flexing momentarily. The raw masculinity of him tests your limits, and speaks to you in such a base way. You never noticed it before; just how much that affected you - but it does. The man had simply held you tenderly and looked at you - but he had you weak in the knees and eager for his affection. Like some maiden in a romance novel. Not that that didn't appeal to you. You'd always been drawn to the power of protective men. Older men. Men who ached for something soft.

You try to pretend that Young-il's touch wasn't affecting you - reigning in your thoughts as you pick at your lunch slowly; though you make no move to adjust your own legs - telling yourself instead to breath. In and out. You pick up bits of information as the group discussed - what game they thought it might be next, how Gi-hun had experienced this before. You were grateful for them including you.

You steal another glance at 001. Studying the way his lips move as he speaks. He seems to feel your eyes on him - turning after a moment to meet your stare with his own, though this look is slightly heavy-lidded, and it makes you feel drugged. Like he was carelessly open about whatever this was between you.

He leans into you; neck craning towards your ear, dangerously close to the tender skin of your throat, and you think your brain short circuits as you feel his breath.

"Doing okay Y/N?" The sound of your name in his voice makes you curl your toes, reminding you of his soft attention yesterday.

"mhmm". It's a small breathy response - but it's all you can manage, following him helplessly when he pulls back a bit to study you with dark eyes. You see the way his gaze flicks to your mouth, his tongue coating his own, parting to respond a fraction closer to you; certainly closer than you both should be as total strangers -

But a flurry of curses fill your ears.

Thanos was punching some kid in the center of the room. Thud after thud. Followed by laughter and his ridiculous mocking. His henchman fanboy, player 124, was right along with him, adding to the verbal and physical jabs. It made you angry; reminded you of their carelessness yesterday for you and anyone else. You find yourself turning to say something to Gi-hun, when you notice Young-il standing.

No, not just standing - he's walking. Pushing past two others to step into the middle. Like a fighter in a ring - calm and collected; that same dangerous edge to him as he had the day before, when you first noticed him voting. He's scolding the boys for their carelessness and lack of respect. He reminds you of a general; commanding authority, and briefly you think you could see him wearing a uniform.

Thanos says something to him that makes him angle his head - though you miss the words - and instead see the rapper pull back to strike.

For a second - you suck air into your lungs - scared you're about to see 001 hurt. But your worries are quickly replaced -

Young-il has Thanos in a chokehold in seconds, with one hand. Like he was holding back the true strength he possessed - not wasting his full potential on such bratty behavior. It annoys Thanos, clearly - sneering and flailing at him - but Young-il is prepared. He kicks him again - gearing up as the other goon comes at him.

There's another kick - leaving one clutching at his leg on the floor, whining and groaning. Then Young-il puts Thanos on the ground, that hand around his throat, this simple hold all he needs to teach him a lesson. Young-il's hand is lifted, eager to hit him once more, breathing ragged.

You shouldn't be impressed; shouldn't be flustered by this, but you are. Something about this show of power makes you all the more enamored. Like nothing could stop him. Like of anyone here, he'd be the safest. All man - and authority.

----------

He pulls your bottom lip into is mouth, tugging at it and sucking soon after, a ragged groan rumbling through his throat as he fists the satin fabric of your nightgown, arching your back further into his hold. The leather of the chair creaks and you slip further into his hold. You are drunk on him. Delirious. Unable to speak, parting your lips for him again to take his fill, take a taste. He's groaning again, kiss-drunk on you, tongue tasting every inch of your mouth and leaving them swollen and pink in their wake.

"Again." You part your heavy lids to catch that dangerous glint in his eyes. He growls out the word again, and you don't know if you have the strength to answer him - delicate fingers twisting into his hair as you slide your tongue against his, seeking more of him lazily, greedy. Some wanton little thing. Nails rake his scalp.

His own hand moves from it's purchase on your hip to possessively twine in your hair, tugging you gently away from him, to crane your slender neck and force you to see him. To answer him. You sigh instead, head lolling as you bite your swollen lip, and he commands you again, voice faltering with his desire.

"Say it, Y/N."

"In-Ho." That's the magic word. His name on your tongue - real name - it drives him crazy. He's seeking your tongue again, open mouthed - wet and greedy, pulling you further against him in the leather seat. You can taste the whiskey on his tongue, adding to the warmth, and the cage of his arms around your waist is a tempting reminder of his strength.

You pull back from his mouth with a wet sound, saliva connecting you, and you watch him panting, straddling him - wavering in your balance slightly in delirium. His gloved hands steady you easily, a proudness creeping into in his expression at causing you to be so flustered. He loved this power play. The hold he had not only over you, but over this place.

"I gotta get back, baby. They'll notice i'm gone." You whine. At this, his eyes flash. Angry, a strong flex of his jaw as he seems to reel himself in; protectiveness and obsession for you paramount. He hated seeing you go back to the games every time; toying with the idea of how to keep you here with him forever. Locked away from prying eyes.

"They can wait." The growl in his voice, that neediness has you humming a sigh breathlessly; and you feel him pull you down to his mouth once again. Hot licks trail your throat; he finds that spot on your neck that makes you mewl, focusing on it with greedy sucks, groaning as he does it. Like he's starved. Like the taste of you is all that matters to survive.

You can faintly hear the games playing behind you on the screen; the doll's voice in red-light-green-light some strange lullaby as your lover marks you as his. You know after a while someone's bound to notice a missing player. You said it mostly to tempt him, to make that protectiveness flare, because you love it so so much, and now the thought of baring a little token of his appreciation? You loved it.

Maybe the others would ask about it.

After what feels like hours, In-Ho pulls back, leaning into his chair. His own mouth is swollen, and red, and it makes you picture staying after all. But you're not ready to let him win, tempting as it may be. This game of cat and mouse was always just so delicious. You know he craves it too.

The automatic door down the hall pings, a shift of air as it slides open, and you know it signals your time to leave. In-Ho adjusts the strap of your dress back above your shoulder, that hunger still rampant in his eyes - but he hates for others to get to see you like this - a sight meant only for him. The Square guard that appears after a moment waits for you to follow; always on orders, always obedient. Yet In-Ho seems to ignore him, gloved hand rubbing little circles at the base of your hip, licking the remnants of your kiss on his lips. It makes your brain fuzzy, and you know you'll be dreaming of him tonight. He will too.

The skirt of your dress pools around your ankles as you rise, washing your skin in satin, and you loathe the thought of wearing the track suit once more, away from your lover. But you have to. At least for now. Keep up the game of pretend until your Frontman calls you back to him.

This was to be the second fight you would witness of the Na-Baron's, a momentous celebratory event that filled arena's and sparked a sense of frenzy among the inhabitants of Giedi Prime. The first you had witnessed took place just months before your wedding ceremony; in part a testimony of the Na-Baron's prowess and strength, a claim perhaps to your hand, if you were to view it as such. The spectacle had left you breathless then, and you were certain this time such a reaction would be warranted as well. If nothing else, the racing of your heart and the thunderous chorus of the crowds stood attest to it. They were like beasts among the stands, delirious for their prince, and loyal to their homeworld above all else, chants in the air.

This particular occasion already felt separate. Opponents were typically drugged enemy houses or military prisoners let loose in the triangular space, as was custom. But not today. You had seen odd glances among the servants, and even whispers from other members of the Harkonnen house along passing corridors. Something had been changed in the lineup. But what? Had a prisoner been injured? Escaped before the fight? When you look to your handmaidens, they give nothing away but reassuring nods, pale skulls angling towards where the battle will commence after but a moment.

You could not deduce; instead aware of the light breeze that clips at the base of your neck, and the blinding light that reigns above. It casts sharp shadows over your party, jutting from the edge of the alcove's decorative ceiling.

You stand from your seat to walk the few paces to the edge of the balcony, the dark silk of your gown sliding across your thighs like rivets of water. It is just a few paces, but you feel as though you have stepped into a new world as the sun lathes you in it's blanket of heat. You press your palms against the stone that greets you, and eyes turn down, fixed at the doors to the far north of the arena. The ring on your finger sparkles brilliantly in the day, and for a moment, the roars around you are deafening.

Then, silence... and there he is.

You see that pale visage stark against the darkness behind him, hands gripping twin blades, and you are rapt with attention. Feyd's shoulders heave with his heavy breaths, armor only enhancing his form. You knew if you were to stand up close, his eyes would be endless black pools, ravenous for the blood that was to spill before him, striking against the milky softness of his skin. He was his own animal. Foreignly alien, and yet yours all the same. Husband.

You blush as his eyes find yours abruptly, and he stalks from the entryway, steps bringing him towards you in the sand, even as he is leagues below. Your mind drifts to just hours before, where the Na-Baron had caged you among ebony blankets in your shared chambers, leaving no escape from the broadness of him in the cool of the morning. Ghosts of his tongue and mouth have you heaving a breath; licking your lips as though parched. You knew you would dream of him again tonight, even as his arms would trap you like a vice in the safety of sleep. It thrilled and frightened you alike.

Feyd lifts his blade in oath above his head, like a promise to the heavens, and you nod in reply as that sharp edge glints in the light. This blood he spills for you. Always for you. As he would for any who dared to come between.

When he turns, he rolls his shoulders languidly with a tilt of his head. Ready to strike. And you shift to look towards the very same gates he had come through moments ago. That's when you pause - a breath catching in surprise.

The harpies - you were sure of it; their angled forms were roped about each other, a strangling mess of light limbs as they were dragged by burly guards towards the center of the sands. An offering before their dark prince. Proposed like some strange kind of sacrificial lamb.

Suddenly you knew - this was what had made everyone so surprised.

Feyd has turned again, his face now determined, set. You can see it in the sharpness of his jaw, like he vibrates with a new kind of rage. It's his declaration of his love. He will destroy the things that sought to destroy them and their bond; greedy creatures who cared not for the destiny set before their master. Only seeking flesh and carnal sustenance.

At one point, members of the Harkonnen house had thought to leash the Na-Baron with the harpy creatures; perhaps thinking such temptations could control him, avenues orchestrated by the Baron himself, or Rabban, though you assumed the former. But they had failed to see the lengths to which Feyd was devoted to you, had never known the dreams you both had shared since before your very meeting.

This was what he offered to you. Power and promise. Heady in the air, and ripe with opportunity.

---

When they were lifeless upon the sands, you meet your husband's gaze again. There is red painting his body like stars in the milkyway; and a gash covers his chest where one of the harpies had caught him in her claws. He sways a bit, almost drunkenly; and a bloodied grin paints handsome features as he picks up a pace towards you, black cloak carrying behind him like a billowing shadow. You know where he is headed, as his form disappears beneath. It sets your heart to a stampede, goosebumps prickling along the flesh of your arms, and you are swift to dart from the cover of your ladies.

He hunts you, a hulking form somewhere below, closer and closer.

You envision the Na-Baron stalking through the main doors as you flit between sunlight and shadows, a rasp low in his chest as he parts his lips to taste the air, bloodlust and craving. A needy hunger. It makes your legs feel unstable as you blindly chase between archways, imagining the ghost of your prince behind you at your neck. Would he grab you, you wonder...? Would such hands that had slaughtered moments ago trap you now? The horror. The wonder. Your fingers grasp fistfuls of your gown, bare feet pressing against the cool of the marble under your padded steps.

You huddle swiftly behind a wall to catch your breath, angling your jaw to listen as you puff air in and out of your lungs.

"I know your here, princess."

You startle in silence, running cold - gosh - that voice. It was a weak point for you, Feyd had learned swiftly (as had you). A dangerous piece of knowledge, used more often than not as a way to keep you in your shared bed, wanton and delirious as he sought you out. You knew he carried a dare in his words now. Try to run, little rabbit. Try and see.

You want him to catch you, you think. Though perhaps not yet. Your mind fights for what to do - envisions him around you, and you battle the fog of your machinations in a fleeting moment - dashing towards a new hall at the opposite side of the room.

His laugh is low and drawn out as you fly from him, turning into a growl. You are nearly through a new door when he has you - twisting your fighting form and pulling you with him into the unfamiliar space, strong fingers gripping at your waist.

Then he is claiming your mouth with his, pulling you down with him and into his lap, arms trapping you like you were meant to be there - precisely so - all tongue and taste; the two of you stumbling against a wall. You moan - preen against him, fitting to his hold like a puzzle piece that was perfectly matched.

The slide of his tongue on yours is wet and heavy - and in the haze of kisses you see his eyes heavy lidded, watching, following a growl and the nip of his black teeth. It has you sighing again, mewling like some wanton thing, and the silk of your skirts are gripped in his hand at your hip, which cranes to push you against him. The other angles your neck, tipping your mouth deeper into his, and you think for a moment there is no where else you could go. No where quite like this where you belong so completely. His touch is so warm, and broad - iron too, you are aware that even if you attempted a form of escape, he would have you again in an instant.

"- My prince."

His eyes flash at your breathy words. You two had danced this game before - pretending it was your first meeting, feigning some kind of unaware strangers scenario, though you were both well aware of the visions that plagued each other's sleep for years.

He couldn't ignore the calling of your soul even if he tried.

"My lady." He sounds debauched as he cranes to attach a hot mouth to the spot below your ear, and you arch further into him, brows knitting together at the sensation; fighting for control. You make that sound again - the gentle whine that makes his eyes nearly roll back in his skull, and he chases it with another lathe of his tongue, and a warning rumble in his chest.

Don't tempt me - he taunts.

You have half a mind to mark him the same.

"You're not leaving this time, sweet one. I still haven't even gotten your name." His words proceed a suck at your bottom lip, and you angle to taste him in the fog that covers your mind. You almost don't understand the words in your haze; but the smile you taste in his kisses brings you back, and you pull away enough to face him, lips detaching from his own with a wet gleam.

"But my lord - you know I am engaged." the rumble he makes is another warning, hips against your own as his hands hold you there.

"Then I shall cut him down like all the rest." There is a pride and a jealousy that glimmers in the Na-Baron's eyes, even in this pretend world the two of you have crafted, and it takes you a moment to snap out of your heady admiration of him, chasing after his tongue with your own as you lean back in. Heads turn this way, and that, the heat of your breaths and the wetness of your kisses filling the silence of the space you've chosen.

Feyd groans - followed by a gentle tilt of your head, and his lips are by your ear, his hand in your hair, a commanding hold - though you know he'd never hurt you.

"I quite think you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you, little one?" You pant softly in response, only able to suffice a delicate nod in his embrace, overcome with your desire for him. And that's all he needs to hear, sliding his tongue against yours once more before he's hoisting you in his arms, the fabric of your dress bundling by his hold, baring the soft tenderness of your thighs. It has the muscles in his neck craning with a ragged groan, eyes trailing to meet yours with barely restrained tension. A man at his breaking point.

His swift strides have you clinging tightly to him, nose against his neck, pressed just under his ear. The wafting aroma of his cologne and the sweat and blood of the arena are filling your senses. You know he brings you to your chambers; the grip of his hands and the speed of his steps tell you as much; it makes you taste your lip between your teeth, pressing just so against him.

This was the fifth time your family's entourage had visited Giedi Prime; your betrothed's home planet. Each stay got a little more familiar. Perhaps it was the smell of the air. The caress of the blinding black sun above; brilliant and strange; a blot in the heavens. You felt enraptured in it somehow. Like a feeling you could not shake, though in part you blamed the dreams.

You had yet to speak of them with him.

Had he dreamt too? Surely, the na-baron had. You thought often that he must, if not only for the way his eyes seemed to linger on you when you shared a space, no matter how many resided in it. You felt wholly consumed by it. There was a heaviness in his actions, weighted by their directness; when his gaze would meet yours, your pulse would quicken, breaths catch in your chest.

Sometimes, even in silence, in those spaces you shared among the others of your families, you found him lingering close. Felt the heat of him at your back. The hand at his side ever so close to caressing the edge of your hip. He was possessive. Protective.

You two had shared such few words, yet you knew this about him already. Nor could you deny the way it made you feel. A magnetism. Something at the edge that was just out of reach. For now.

"My lady." You startle at the closeness of his words, earrings brushing the curve of your neck as you whip swiftly to look up at Feyd.

You had been thinking of him; lost in your own thoughts. He seemed to read it in your gaze, dark eyes flitting between yours, shadows blanketing the angles of his face. There is a palpable silence as his gaze lowers to your lips. That heat you'd come to know with him. Your mouth waters at the ghost of his kisses in your mind. A seemingly distant future in visions of your marriage.

You vaguely catch the Baron's smug rasp to your father something about spice production, but they have trailed out of the room before you catch the full statement; leading a train of servants in their wake, and the hissing of levitation technology.

When you speak it is but a breathy sound.

"My lord na-baron."

"-Feyd." He quips. low and sudden.

You swallow thickly, a flush beneath your cheeks as you meet his eyes. His given name. You hadn't used it yet, save your own thoughts, and whispers to yourself at night in the safety of your room. It seemed a sacred thing. Something intimate. Something of your yet-to-be-husband's.

The na-baron watches you intently; his body imperceptibly closer, as though seeking to envelope you in his shadow. Predator and prey. You decide to broach the subject. The feeling between you...you must know if it is something of your own mind.

"Feyd Rautha". For some reason the use of his full name from your lips makes him smile. A bizarre sight, being so rare - and this grin looked almost amused. Like he had not been expecting the addendum, humorous. You are quick to try and follow up with your request, cheeks hot.

"I must ask something rather delicate, pertaining to our betrothal."

At that he seems to sober a bit, obviously unsure about whatever it was you were to follow with.

"Do you..." You wish you could know a thing beyond just your own feelings. The twisting of your stomach at the thought he could reject you tearing your insides.

"...Do you dream?"

For a moment, there is that heavy silence again, but then you see the slow curl of his lips, just at the edges. Oh, he seems to say. Followed by a soft and knowing hum.

"Is that what this is about?"

He is coming closer now, stalking you in a few calculated steps with that same smile. Your chest heaves with your breaths as you make way backwards, but then he has an arm about your waist, and mentally you are aware of the heat of him, and the strength. You feel like you've lost some game, or been suddenly caught cheating.

That's when you taste him. His mouth has tilted upon yours, slotted against you like you were meant to be there and you moan softly. Surprised that this moment has come at all - yet wanton for it too. How many nights had you dreamed of him holding you like this? Wondering what it might be like for him to lean in and kiss you?

Feyd swallows your sigh greedily. Readily. The arm he has around you pulls you into him further, and you are pleasantly surprised by how soft his lips are, and how good he tastes. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip.

You angle your head opening for him further, learning as you go. He was so quietly calculated, and yet he kissed you like a man starved, uncaring of who saw or who tried to stop him. Not that any being could. You would bet everything that the na-baron would slice any fool willing to try, to shreds. You'd seen his bloodlust, and his prowess in the arena. Such a feat might even excite him, with you as his prize.

He seemed eager to hold back his need for air - kissing as deeply as he could. Slow. Then fast. As though his control would slip and he has to taste more of you. More. More. His tongue sought yours in a dance, followed by teeth tugging at your lips. You mewled softly at that, eyes so heavy. You felt almost drugged, and after a moment too long, you both parted, breaths breaking the silence.

His hands are at your hips now, holding you steady, but your faces were still just a fraction apart. You felt proud of the way Feyd's eyes looked heavy lidded, or how his lips were tinged pink. It drew your eyes in a way that had him groaning.

"Careful, princess..." The nickname has your cheeks heating again, even after being kissed senseless, and he chuckles low in his chest. The smells of spice and some kind of foreign cologne fill your senses as he nears again, this time bringing his mouth towards your ear. You close your eyes, barely able to keep them open as you angle your head slightly to the side.

"-Or I might have to make more of my dreams a reality."

You were trapped, breaths coming out of shallow pants as you felt the scratch of the cement structure beneath your palms. He had you against the wall in a hidden alcove; along one of the lengthy corridors of the palace in Giedi Prime. Your mouths were just breaths apart. In fact the Harkonnen before you seemed intent on matching your breaths, mingling them. Tasting your tiny pants as his own. It made your eyes heavy, made you want to tilt your head back and close your eyes, give him access to the expanse of your neck.

"sweetness." He rasped, unable to control himself. The Na-Baron wrapped an arm about your waist, a vice arching you against him as he lowered a wanting mouth to your neck, licking and sucking where the two met. You mewled at the wet heat, felt him growl desperately at the taste.

The two of you hadn't even kissed yet - but the wait; the dreams - you both knew each other to the soul.

---- flashback ----------

The sands of Arakis and Geidi Prime alike carried mysteries of prophesies of the lisan-al-gaib. But midst such tales, the Bene-Geserit mothers also had worked to connect bloodlines through dreams. The Na-Baron and the princess of Arrakis had been bound by such since birth. A well-planned move to align feuds and place power into wanting hands in preparation of war. A web of politcal conspiracy only they controlled. Their plans could not be foiled.

But Feyd couldn't care less about such witchcraft; and neither, if one were honest, could you. The two of you had known of this binding since a young age. And when you had met as children too - the connection had been strong.

"Their line is bright" The reverend mother's voice had burned into your mind, even at 10 years old.

You remembered her cloaked form; a black shadow against the haze of the horizon, a tower above you as she turned from your parents. Her voice had been void of emotion, except for a smugness you didn't understand. But when you turned to glance at the older boy before you (such a uniquely beautiful boy; broad shoulders and smooth skin, black attire across a lithe form), his eyes shone with an intensity that surprised her. Dark, watching, intrigued. He intimidated you. He made you curious.

At 15 years of age, the Na-Baron hadn't spoken in their meeting; but he had felt more than he had imagined. The girl...she had made him feel things. It confused and awakened him to something he had never known. His uncle had never spoken of such a pull. A need.

When the ship had arrived to his homeworld, and the strange foreigners parted like a sea, Feyd-Rautha found himself straightening to his full height; head lowered as he studied them beneath an angled gaze. Garbs of strange colors - hair he had never seen before in elegant styles. He would be Harkonnen predator. He would be a warrior. Strike fear in these alien people, show the Baron he was not swayed so easily by something new.

But then-

Swathed in layers of white, a girl stepped forward; dainty and gracious above all else; practically floating across the landing platform. Yet her eyes betrayed her; darting to capture the landscape, thrown off perhaps by the infrared of Giedi Prime's black sun above them.

She was drinking in the strange newness before her, and then they found him. Feyd felt his chest tighten. Fists clenched. Heat brimmed under the chestplate of his armor.

She looked like some newborn animal, caught in his gaze. But they both felt it. The familiarity. The warm hum between them. It made you want to slip from the safety of your parents and stand beside him, as though his shadow was more protection than the whole parade your own family brought with them. You wondered if he'd felt the same.

Three nights later, you had dreamed of him. A bit older, hand in his as he raised it to his lips. His eyes had never left yours. As a young girl it made you blush. Now...

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You made a breathy sound as his tongue lathed the mark he had made, moving with a lazy carelessness across your pulse, hungry above all else, uncaring for decorum. He wanted to devour you entirely. He wanted you to see you helpless and delirious against him, just as you were now. As you were in all his dreams.

He knew you'd had them all too. His eyes on you at their wedding. His tongue against yours, moans and tastes and hunger. You watching from the arena as he slaughtered man after man, coated and heaving. He felt like a beast.

"Feyd-" His name barely formed, like a prayer from your lips.

His eyes nearly lolled in his head at the way you sounded, and he dragged his wanting mouth up to meet yours. Wet and wanting. Feyd's free hand shifted to engulf your slender neck, moving your head against his mouth to deepen the kiss, taste all of you. Consume.

The Na-Baron was all muscle and prowess, a looming figure that practically dwarfed you. The spanse of his shoulders alone were sinful, and deep down you loved how it felt to be completely in his grasp. Guiding you in your movements.

Feyd's tongue sought yours as much as he could, controlling and demanding - but you were a needy little thing too, weren't you? In the haze of passion you were pressing into him - leaning just as much towards his heat as he was pushing you both together. You sucked his plush bottom lip into your mouth - unable to help yourself. After all, why was he made so beautiful, if not to kiss? He was quick to follow, biting your own with a growl that made your knees practically give, and following with his greedy tongue.

"You're going to be my wife." the words are a promise, his eyes glittering under the low light; shadows flashign with the coming storm. You part your mouth as though to taste him again, a helpless 'please' slipping past as you arch in his grasp.

Feyd practically took you then and there. Enter the nearest room... make all his dreams a reality. His patience was nearly worn thin. Years of waiting, of hunger. And now it was here. You were in his reach, that tempting little waist; those hips. It made him absolutely insane.

He wets his lips, gaze feverish.

"tomorrow. tomorrow sweetness, hmm? Can wait that long?" He intends to tease you, but he knows he speaks to himself, his jaw locking as he adjusts his arms to press you against him.

You're so fucking soft. It makes him groan. Of all the things he's known in his life, softness was not one of them, save for the flashes of you in his dreams. He craved you like a creature starved. Thoughts of you made him fight better. Made him kill easier.

There's a rumble suddenly of a drone; Harkonnen orders breaking the silence in distorted code. The words don't make sense to your ears. Not yet anyway. You hope to make progress in the language, but it was a challenge; more than others. The variety of tones were a feat for any foreigner to take on; but this was to be your home. A lady of harkonnen would learn her husband's native tongue.