Sun

It was fated long ago. You were always meant to be Feyd’s. And he has bided his time, waiting for the right moment to claim his bride. When he breathes in the familiar Arrakis air, the faint scent of spice on the wind, he knows you’re there. He can’t explain how or why, but he knows you are still in the palace. He follows his brother and uncle inside, smirking to himself when he sees you being restrained by Dr. Yueh outside the chamber where Duke Leto is being kept. You’re shoved into his arms, and the Baron suggests that he has you made presentable for the wedding. Feyd sees the way your jaw ticks, your nostrils flaring with anger, the way your chin juts out in defiance.

He grabs you by the back of the neck, moving you through the halls toward where he left his concubines. You give him a dirty glare from the corner of your eye, thinking that he won’t notice. But you underestimate him. He is Feyd-Rautha. The greatest warrior in the known universe. There is little that escapes his notice. He chuckles darkly, squeezing your neck a bit harder, turning you to face him.

“You’ve grown into quite the woman. The last time I saw you, you were just a little mouse. Hiding behind your father and brother, clinging to your mother’s skirts.”

You shoot him a dirty look, lips pressed together in a thin line. Feyd remembers how terrified you were of him the first time the Harkonnen visited Caladan - to secure the marriage treaty. He smiled at you, a toothy grin, his dark teeth making you grab your brother’s hand, fear in your eyes. He doesn’t see that same fear anymore, but something even more exciting.

Feyd sees defiance.

He shoves you toward his concubines, those cold eyes trailing over your body as you fight against their grip, snarling at them when they coo at you, calling you a pretty little thing. If looks could kill, he’s sure they’d be long dead by now, him buried alongside them. 

Feyd smirks, “Make her look beautiful for me. It shouldn’t take too much effort. But everything needs to be flawless for the ceremony. And the hunt.”

You speak to him directly for the first time, your voice ringing clear and confident despite your obvious disadvantage in the situation, “What do you mean ‘hunt’?”

“For someone who has long known she is going to marry a Harkonnen, you’ve done very little to familiarize yourself with our traditions,” he replies, a mocking, condescending edge to his voice. He uses the hilt of his knife to force your chin upward, making you meet his gaze, a cruel smile playing on his lips, “After the groom drinks the blood of his bride and she partakes in his, the groom hunts her down within the walls of their new home. And when he finds her, he takes her to their bedchamber and claims her body.”

You freeze, eyes going wide at his words. There it is. That fear. So familiar, so delicious. And combined with the way you try to stand your ground, your hands trembling but determination still burning in your gaze. Feyd moves his palm to caress your cheek, allowing it to linger on your soft skin, smirking when you wrench yourself away from him with a scowl. His concubines lead you into the room where you are to be prepared for the ceremony, and Feyd leaves to make his own preparations.

Though the Harkonnen tend to dress exclusively in black, the wedding night is an exception, at least for the bride. He watches as Rabban all but drags you down the aisle, watches as you make a futile attempt at digging your feet into the ground so that he won’t lead you any further. Feyd revels at the anger in your eyes as your hand is placed in his, so soft, so warm, so perfect. As the Baron, his uncle weds the two of you, a self-satisfied grin on his face, knowing that it’s his nephew who will father the Kwisatz Haderach. Each of you is handed a blade and to cut the other, enough for their blood to fill one of the chalices laid before you. Feyd extends his arm, cutting deeply, allowing his blood to fill the glass.

You stare at the blade, as if weighing your options. Feyd knows that right now, you’re contemplating stabbing him and running to the desert to join your mother and brother. But Feyd also knows that you’re not stupid. If you stab him and run, you’ll likely be killed before you can even set one foot out of the palace. And if, on the off chance, you make it to the desert, it will claim your life long before you’re able to find your family. So, you extend your arm as well and make a cut along your unblemished skin, watching as your blood flows into the chalice in front of you.

Feyd hands you the chalice filled with his blood, and you hand him yours, the two of you being instructed to hold them above your lips and let the blood drip into your mouths. It’s a messy ordeal, and Feyd can see you want nothing more than to toss the glass in his face. But he simply lets out a groan of pleasure as your blood falls onto his tongue, dribbling down his chin to his chest, watching as his own blood stains your lips, your chin, your neck…

“Kiss your bride, na-Baron.”

He pulls you in for a hungry, bruising kiss, one that he feels you pulling away from, but he holds you in place, his blood stained hands sullying your skin. He can taste the coppery tang of his blood mixing with your own, smell your sweet scent as his mouth devours your own, only pulling away when he finds it absolutely necessary to breathe. You glare up at him, fire in those beautiful doe-like eyes as you move your hand to wipe your mouth, grimacing in distaste.

Feyd doesn’t think he’ll find as much pleasure in anything as he will in hunting you down and breaking you.

Your heart races as the horn is blown and you’re told to run from your husband. Never in your life did you see yourself ending up here, the train of your wedding dress flying behind you, your footsteps echoing through the corridors as you run for dear life. You’ve dreaded marrying the Harkonnen Feyd-Rautha from the moment you met him as a child. You dreaded it because of the dreams you had of him, dreams where he held you in his arms, whispering words of devotion to you, claiming your body, making it one with his own.

House Harkonnen has always been House Atreides’ sworn enemy. The Baron killed your father and usurped Paul’s birthright. You should hate Feyd-Rautha and everything he stands for. You do hate him. And yet, you feel an undeniable pull toward him. And as you run, you fight every instinct that screams at you to let him catch you.

You hear that raspy voice of his, low and sensual as he calls out, “Slow down, little mouse. You almost have me thinking you don’t want me to catch you.”

His voice sends a chill through your body. You glance down at the high heeled shoes you were given to wear for the wedding and make a split-second decision to remove them and toss them in the direction opposite to where you plan on running, praying that he takes the bait. You can hear the sound of your blood pumping, your heartbeat thudding against your ribcage as you sprint toward the room that belonged to your mother and father only this morning.

It’s an obvious choice, and deep down you wonder if you’ve come to hide here because deep down, you want him to find you. You rationalize the thought away, trying to convince yourself it’s only because you miss your father and mother and Paul that you’ve sought out the familiarity of this room. Your father’s things still lay scattered about, your mother’s robe hanging off of the chair in front of the vanity. You’re tempted to reach out and grab it, if only to inhale her familiar scent one last time before your life is forever changed.

Before you can get any farther than grazing your hand against it, however, you hear the heavy footsteps of your husband getting closer and closer. Your eyes widen and you crawl underneath the bed your parents once shared. You cover your mouth to mask the sound of your breathing, nearly letting out a noise of disgust when you realize his blood now coats your hands. You steady your breaths, making sure they come slowly and quietly, watching as his shoes come into view. You swallow thickly, your heart racing.

“I know you’re in here, little mouse…” Feyd’s voice never fails to terrify you. But you hate that a small part of you is glad when he continues to speak, the husky timber making you shiver slightly, “You weren’t so difficult to find. Almost as if you wanted me to find you and take what’s rightfully mine.” You wince, the words hitting a little too close to home. You hear the sound of his dagger scraping against the wall of the room, listening as he continues, “You’re a foolish little girl, thinking that you can escape me. You belong to me. You always have.”

His footsteps still, and you hear him let out a dark little chuckle. And you realize you must have left your bloody handprint on your mother’s robe. He knows you’re in here. And there’s only one place left for him to look. You hear him drop to his knees and immediately try to scramble out from the other side. You break into a run, only to be grabbed around the waist, Feyd manhandling you onto the bed with ease, his blade pressed to your throat. You glare up at him, your chest heaving with exertion, spitting in his face, an act of defiance which seems to do nothing more than excite him, judging by the little moan he lets out.

“I promise you,” you hiss, eyes narrowed, “If you force me into this marriage, I will make your life a living hell.”

“Oh, little mouse,” he coos, pressing the blade against your neck just hard enough to draw blood. He eyes it greedily, bringing the dagger to his lips and tasting it, letting out another throaty moan, “I think you enjoy this more than you care to admit. I’ll teach you to admit that you enjoy my affections.”

You glower up at him as he grips your jaw with his hand, holding your face in place, “I will never enjoy your affections, you snake.”

“I think you already do, my pretty little wife.”

He leans in to kiss you, his gaze holding you hostage. But, taking advantage of his distraction as he nears you, his eyes focusing on your lips, you raise your knee and hit him where it hurts the most. Feyd lets out a grunt of pain, releasing you for a brief moment, allowing you to squirm out from under him and try to make a break for the door. Before you can touch the handle, he’s tackled you to the floor, pinning you beneath him, a wicked smile on his handsome face. You thrash against him like a wild animal, moving to claw at him, but he just stares down at you with something akin to amusement. Maybe even affection. His grip tightens and he pins your arms above your head, his free hand holding his dagger to your cheek.

Feyd’s voice is a low rasp as he whispers, “You’re so beautiful…”

You hate the way heat pools in your belly at the way he stares at you. Like he wants to eat you alive. Like he wants you so desperately that he’d do anything to have you. When he finally presses his lips to yours, it isn’t chaste, it isn’t like the first kiss you imagined as a little girl. It’s so much more. It’s raw and primal and the culmination of every dark desire Feyd has ever felt for you. He’s kissed you like this a thousand times in your dreams, taken you to his bed and spilled himself inside you, his seed quickening in your womb. And today, it seems it will all become a reality.

He cuts open the bodice of your wedding dress, eyeing your breasts with no small amount of greed. You watch him as he cuts open the beautiful blood-stained garment, tossing it aside. A smirk curls at the corners of his lips when he sees your folds, slick with evidence of your arousal.

“I was right,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing your slit, watching your cunt clenching around nothing, “You are enjoying this, little mouse.”

“No, I’m not!” You insist sharply, trying to squirm away, only for Feyd to land a harsh slap between your thighs, making your jaw drop in surprise, “Did you just…”

And he does it again, smirking at the shocked look on your face. And a third time for good measure. You glare at him angrily, indignance coloring your expression as he hooks his arms beneath your knees, pulling you close.

“Don’t act like you’re not enjoying it, my pretty little wife,” Feyd chuckles, “I know just what it is you’ve been dreaming of all these years. I’ve shared your dreams.”

You freeze, staring at him, like a rabbit caught in a snare, “You… You’ve had them too?”

He nods, that ever-present smirk widening as he tells you proudly, “In my dreams, I make you scream my name as I breed you, your legs wrapped around my waist, fingers clawing at my back as you beg for more. That is our future, my sweet little wife. So stop resisting and let me claim what is rightfully mine. You were fated to be mine from the moment we were born. And I was fated to be yours.”

Feyd kisses you again, hands moving to undo his shirt and pants, his long, lean body revealed to you. You hate that the sight of him alone is enough to make your entire body tremble with desire, watching as he gives his cock two solid pumps before pushing himself inside you, splitting you open on his cock. You gasp, watching as he moves to push your knees to your chest, slamming into you over and over and over, his cock filling you, fucking you deeper and deeper with every thrust. You hate yourself when you reach your peak, screaming his name, letting it fall from your lips like some sort of debauched prayer as he continues fucking you.

“You look so pretty covered in blood,” he groans, rutting against you faster and faster, one hand still holding his blade to your throat while the other moves to rub at your clit, making your hips buck up against his, “But you’ll look even more beautiful pregnant with my heir.”

Your eyes roll back, toes curling as the tip of his cock brushes against that spot deep inside of you that has you clenching around him like a vice. Feyd tosses his blade aside, moving to grab your hips, holding you in place as he pounds into you over and over, grinning at the sight of the bulge of his cock against your lower stomach.

“My pretty little wife. Anyone else would be torn apart if I fucked them like this,” he taunts, “But not you. Not the one who was made for me. Made to be fucked by me, bred by me, loved by me.”

His words make you lose yourself and you reach your peak, your pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave yet again as he spills himself inside you, his hot seed painting your insides. He remains like that, letting his cock soften before pulling out. Feyd lifts you in his arms and drops you on the bed, staring down at you before crawling over you yet again. Still shocked by the events of the evening, you gaze up at him, finally speaking your mind.

“I have dreamed of you… A thousand times. Of being loved by you.”

Feyd nods, resting a hand against your cheek in a gesture that is both possessive and tender, “In my dreams, I’ve loved you. But they’re no longer dreams, little mouse. They’re real.”