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#dune imagine
sansaorgana · 2 days
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— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (VIII)
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PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SIX PART SEVEN
PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC
SUMMARY — Giedi Prime celebrates Feyd-Rautha's birthday and the hundredth kill in the arena. Meanwhile, na-baroness gets reminded by The Baron who pulls the strings and finds out unpleasant truth about the promise her aunt has given to the Bene Gesserit.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister. I wasn't sure what titles Feyd's children would have but since his brother is a Count, I assumed his children would be C(o)unts and C(o)untesses. I mean, his eldest son would become na-baron but only after his father would become The Baron, I assume 🤔 Next chapter we go to Arrakis, babes!!! 🤭 Thank you for all your comments, reblogs and messages! 💕
WARNINGS — arranged marriage, mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), violent behaviour, death, syringes, mentions of planned and scientifical breeding, blood pact
WORD COUNT — 6,670
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
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THROWN TO THE WOLVES (VIII)
You were laying on an examination table and staring at the black ceiling above you while the medic was busy with noting down some things and injecting you with vitamins, minerals and proteins. It was the day of Feyd-Rautha’s hundredth kill and his birthday but you hadn’t spent much time with him the past few days since he was restraining himself physically before the fight.
You still shared one bed with him, though. He wasn’t avoiding you as much as he had been the last time.
“How do you feel, na-baroness?” The medic asked and you smirked at him.
“Like you care about it,” you pointed out. “We both know you only care about the child.”
“I care about what I am being told to care about, my Lady. I follow orders,” he explained. “I asked na-baron the other day whether I should do everything to keep you in the best state possible or focus strictly on the child, na-baroness. He wanted me to ensure you would be alright,” he added and you tried your best not to show how surprised you were.
“He really said that?” You only asked.
“Well…” the medic looked down and laughed nervously, “he said that you might still be useful later, my Lady. Forgive my words.”
“The words are not yours, therefore you do not have to apologise for them,” you assured him. “Anyway, if I ordered for you to be killed, who would make sure I am alright?” You teased with a smile and he sighed with relief.
“So, how do you feel, na-baroness?” He repeated the previous question.
“I feel… different,” you told him. “I have these cravings…”
“Cravings are perfectly normal during pregnancy, my Lady,” he nodded his head.
“Yes, I understand. But recently I want to eat the same food as my husband although I still find it quite disgusting but… I still crave it. Feyd says it’s the child being whimsy but he is no medic…”
“It will pass,” the medic looked up at you and assured you. “The cravings will pass, my lady, after the pregnancy. Your husband is right about the child.”
“Other than that, except for feeling a little emotional at times, I do not experience any side effects of pregnancy. I don’t even feel sick in the mornings,” you told him.
“Yes, because I am trying my best to make this process go as smoothly as possible for you, my Lady,” he smiled and noted something down again.
“But…” you furrowed your brows, remembering something that had been worrying you lately. He looked up at you. “You see, during the celebration, I talked to my previous maids, perhaps you remember them. And they are pregnant, too. One of them told me the Harkonnen pregnancies are different and she warned me.”
The medic sighed and leaned back in the chair as he hesitated for a while whether he should explain this whole situation to you or not.
“There is no such thing as Harkonnen pregnancy, my Lady. We are humans just like you are,” he reminded you. “It’s the centuries of living on this heavily polluted planet that made us look the way we do and mutated some of our DNA but we are not of different species.”
“I understand,” you nodded. “Forgive me, I did not want to insult your culture.”
“Na-baroness does not have to apologise,” he bowed his head down slightly. “You see, our women are not very fertile because of the atmosphere on this planet. That is why our… medicine… has progressed so much. We needed to find an artificial way of ensuring population growth. The Harkonnen women – even boosted with injections – usually weaken a lot during pregnancies. But their bodies do not change much. When it comes to off-world women…” He hesitated once again and you sat up, listening very carefully. “Let’s say, your body treats your son as a foreign element. He is half Harkonnen – with the best genetic material from his father, of course – but your… clean and healthy body treats him as something polluted and poisonous. And what happens, my Lady, when you spill a drop of poison into someone’s drink?” He asked you.
“Diffusion,” you gasped and he nodded. Your heart skipped a beat. “So, the child is poisoning me?” You swallowed thickly as you asked. You could feel all your limbs go weak at the thought.
“No, na-baroness, not with me around,” he chuckled and shook his head. “But your former maids do not have such medical innovations, I’m afraid.”
“Will they die then?” You asked.
“No, they will not die. And their bodies might go back to normal some time after the pregnancy, once the blood gets rid of all the… toxins,” he added. “Forgive me, I did not mean to scare you, my Lady. And it brings me no pleasure to admit how truly poisoned our people are. It feels humiliating in a way.”
“So I have nothing to worry about?” You stood up and watched him carefully. He was visibly hiding something from you.
“Na-baroness doesn’t have to worry about the child taking away her strength, no,” he only said.
“What should I worry about then?” You raised your eyebrow at him, demanding an answer. You could see him panicking a little. He was the Baron’s loyal servant but you were being pushy and he was aware of the power you had recently gained. He couldn’t just lie to you so easily nowadays.
“I think you have been thinking of it, too, my Lady, of that possibility,” he whispered and you furrowed your brows. “Your mother, she… She died in childbirth, did she not? And everyone keeps saying how much you look like her, my Lady.”
“My mother did not die because she was weak in flesh,” you explained to him although you became nervous when he mentioned that. “She died because she was weak in mind. She couldn’t bear to live with my father in a loveless union. It killed her that on the day I was born he was with his pregnant lover. She died of sadness,” you informed him and he widened his eyes a little at that. You were aware that your explanation was not exactly very medically accurate.
“I can only say that I will try my best for the same thing not happening to you, na-baroness,” he stood up as well and bowed down, making you feel stupid for your outburst. Of course he was right. Your mother had died because she had lost too much blood.
She had died because of you.
Because of a child with a man she hadn’t loved. Because of a child she probably hadn’t even wanted in the first place.
Your whole life you had been imagining your life with her. How much she would love and cherish you. But what if she would not? Now, more than ever, pregnant with Feyd-Rautha’s son, you understood what your mother had gone through. She had been forced to give birth to you and she had paid the biggest price for it.
“I… I should leave now and prepare for the event,” you told the medic and he nodded at you and watched you walk out of the room.
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You walked through the dark corridor being led by the guards. You had been there before, a few days after your wedding, being taken to Feyd-Rautha preparing for his fight, scared of his reaction to see you disobeying him with the choice of your dress. These past few months, lots of things had changed. You walked confidently now with your head held high and waited for the guard to open the big, black doors in front of you.
You walked inside the room and spotted your husband in the middle of it, surrounded by the servants putting black paint stripes on his bare chest. One of the male servants was presenting the knives on a black, velvet cushion.
They all turned around to see you approaching them and you purposefully took your time while walking gracefully in a dress that was supposed to be one of his birthday presents. It was a mix of black latex – one of your new favourite fabrics – and black silk. Delicacy and vulgarity mixed together, wrapped around your curves and revealing just enough to let the imagination run free but not enough to actually reveal anything that belonged to Feyd-Rautha only. Your hair was loose but you wore a beautiful black diadem that had been a gift from one of the lords, given to you during the celebration feast thrown in your honour.
“Well, well, well,” Feyd’s eyes squinted at the sight of you as you stood right in front of him. You hadn’t seen him at all this morning because he had woken up very early to prepare. “I was just about to check the blade,” he pointed at one of the knives on the cushion. You saw terror in the eyes of the servants standing behind him.
Feyd reached out for the knife and balanced it a little in his hand before facing you and opening his mouth to show off his long tongue and licking the tip of the blade. You nearly gasped at the vulgarity of this act that made you ache in your core after a few days of not being touched by him at all. In your head, you imagined him dropping to his knees and burying his face right between your legs. It was making you feel dizzy to think of that and the tension between you two seemed to be under voltage.
But when you spotted his wrist tilting a bit, you already knew what would happen now.
“Tsk, tsk,” you hissed at him and he froze, confusedly looking at you. “It’s time to grow up, don’t you think?” You asked, teasingly. “Only spoiled little boys discard their toys so easily.”
You liked his bloodthirst and found it more than useful but you didn’t like to watch innocent slaves being killed for fun. You knew that it was not the custom of all Harkonnens to do that. A common lord would not kill so easily mostly because it would cost him money to get another slave. But Feyd couldn’t care less about the material aspect of it.
“Also, I do not understand why you decide to restrain yourself from fucking me but you can’t restrain yourself from killing before the actual fight in the arena. It makes no sense to me,” you added. “You need to be as railed up as possible.”
After a short while he lowered his hand and put the knife back on the cushion as the servants behind him sighed with relief.
“It’s not balanced properly,” he told the male servant. “Bring me another one, you useless sack of meat,” he ordered and the nervous man bowed down before hurrying out of the room.
“Good boy,” you praised Feyd, proud of yourself.
It was one thing to make him kill for you but it was another to stop him from killing.
“You want to weaken me,” he drawled through the gritted teeth. He was already railed up to the maximum and it was delicious to see him in such a state.
“Me?” You asked, playfully. “Far from that,” you explained. “I want you to be a rabid dog today, do you understand me?” You took a step forward to grab his crotch as your face remained inches away from his. The servants behind him widened their eyes and you felt a shiver going down his starved body. “Today is very important, my pet,” you whispered. “Do not disappoint me,” your hand squeezed him and let go as fast as you felt him hardening under your palm.
Feyd smirked at you.
“Rabid dog,” he only nodded, “for my Baroness,” he added and you felt a wave of pleasure crawling all the way through your skin.
You leaned in to cup his cheeks and place a kiss upon his forehead.
“Accept my blessing,” you breathed out, “and happy birthday, my darling”.
You took a step back and smiled faintly at him before bowing down slightly –  pure act of mockery after showing your unquestionable dominance – and walking away to leave the room to let him continue his preparations.
“I will make you proud,” you heard his voice when the guards opened the doors in front of you. To that, you gave no answer as you left the chamber and placed both of your hands protectively on your abdomen.
The truth was, he had no idea how important that fight could be for the both of you. Baron Harkonnen hadn’t spoken to you a lot the past few days and you had no idea if he had decided to listen to your advice or not. For a while you wanted to warn Feyd about such a possibility but you knew that it would only take away satisfaction and pleasure from him. And it was his birthday. He deserved his gift.
That is, if The Baron had listened to you.
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After being announced, you waved at the Giedi Prime citizens gathered in the arena as they cheered loudly at the sight of you. You gave them a wide but dignified smile before sitting on the chair next to the Baron’s and taking your binoculars from his servant.
“You will be pleased,” Baron told you as he watched you from the corner of his eye and puffed on his pipe.
“There are a lot of ways to please me, my Lord. Care to specify?” You teased and you swore, one of his eyes twitched at that.
“He will be given three Atreides soldiers that we kept imprisoned after taking over Arrakis. You might even recognise them,” Baron explained.
“I doubt,” you winced. “I never paid attention to soldiers,” you explained. “Not as individuals, I mean.”
“Well, you better pay attention to one of them now because he is not drugged,” Baron informed you and your heart skipped a beat at the revelation.
It made you both excited and terrified. You couldn’t show any of this to the Baron so you just nodded your head at him.
“If my nephew dies today, it will be on you,” he chuckled.
“It has no significance to you, does it? Your next heir is already in the making,” you pointed out sternly and caressed your womb. You dropped your formalities with him nearly at all because you felt that you no longer had to address him as my Lord. Not only you had advanced in his eyes in the ladder of his enemies but you also held the title of Duchess Atreides.
Oh, you had just realised. You really were Duchess Atreides now. And you would watch your husband murdering your own soldiers. That was dark, you had to admit. Baron still had his spirit.
“If my nephew turns out to be so weak to be killed today by a mid Atreides soldier, I am sure his son will be no better,” Baron’s voice got serious again and it caused a chill to go down your spine.
Well, you were trapped. Feyd had to win, otherwise you and your son would die, too. How stupid you had been to think that the Baron wouldn’t twist the game for his own gain.
“We will have to find a way to plant a better seed in your cunning womb then, my Baroness,” his eyes sparkled at you and then he brought the binoculars to his face and watched the arena.
You turned your head around to hide the way your body gagged at his words. You’d rather him to kill you than find a way to implant his spawn inside your womb, even if it would not even require touching him.
You took a deep breath in and watched Feyd entering the arena through your binoculars as the crowd cheered. What had you done…? Had you outplayed yourself? Would it be your end?
Your shaking hand squeezed your womb as if you wanted to comfort your son although he was too small to be stressed about it.
It’s going to be alright, you kept thinking, pretending you were talking to your child. Your father’s going to win it, my little one, don’t you worry.
You were so lost in the thoughts of stress and anxiety that your senses got numbed for a while and you came back to reality only when the whole arena was filled with a loud cheer as Feyd’s first opponent was killed.
You sighed with relief as he had only two to go now. You focused on the man who was not drugged and you realised that you indeed recognised him. He was an excellent warrior and it made you feel uneasy.
You tried not to look at the Baron at all but you could feel his eyes on you. And not only his.
You looked up through your binoculars and saw that on the balcony in front of you, the Bene Gesserit sisters were sitting together. Not only the local one but lots of them – hiding in the shadows behind their veils. Watching you.
You wondered if one of them was your aunt. Probably.
“Don’t you just hate them?” You fought your disgust and fear as you spoke up.
“Hm?” Baron asked.
“The Bene Gesserit,” you explained. “Their schemes and plans, they interfere with yours a lot, don’t they? Don’t you hate how much power they hold even over you?”
“Well, what would you propose to do with them? I can’t just throw them out,” he laughed at you.
“Why not? If I was The Baroness, I’d limit their influence in the Harkonnen systems,” you told him and he brought the binoculars down as the crowd cheered when Feyd dealt with another drugged warrior.
“Then perhaps you are not ready to become her yet,” Baron squinted his eyes at you.
“Why is that?” You brought your binoculars down as well and dared to turn your head around to face him as if you were accepting a challenge.
“You cannot reject customs so old and so common throughout the galaxy if you want to be a respectable House and not an outsider. I thought you’d know that, it’s basic knowledge,” he explained.
“I thought The Harkonnens were richer than the Emperor himself and with an army much bigger than his. Houses of such influence don’t have to care about the rules. They make them. I thought you’d know that, it’s basic knowledge,” you drawled.
If Feyd would win this fight, you would remain untouchable. If he would die, your life would be hell anyway. You had nothing to lose. You could speak to The Baron however you wished. At least your anger was telling you this and it was very tempting to listen to it.
But The Baron only chuckled at you.
“I like your fierceness. It is obvious you hold lots of hatred towards the Bene Gesserit but you cannot let your personal judgement overshadow the real situation. They can be useful,” he told you.
“I guess they can be,” you shrugged your arms and brought the binoculars back to your face.
“If it wasn’t for them, your dead body would rot in the Arrakis’ desert now,” Baron reminded you and you swallowed thickly.
You had other things to worry about now. Feyd was left alone with the undrugged Atreides warrior and he was struggling to win that one. You clutched on the edge of your chair with one of your hands as you watched him being nearly killed over and over. He was fighting back excellently but his opponent was more equal to him and his skills than you’d like him to be. You could see on the people’s faces that they all held their breaths.
But none of their lives were in as much danger as yours in the case of your husband’s death.
Your anxiety turned your hands cold and formed a gulp in your throat that was making you feel nauseous as you watched Feyd getting rid of all his cheating devices that were supposed to make him safe. He was full of adrenaline and wanted to show off – to make you proud. But he had no idea how much it all could ruin your life in the process.
“What is he doing?” Even Baron’s servant was shocked.
“Showing his worth,” Baron chuckled.
You wanted to scream at The Baron to make it stop and it was physically hurting you that you had to restrain yourself from doing so. You couldn’t show weakness but not only were you worried about yourself and your child but you had also just realised you were worried about your husband’s life.
It was an odd discovery but when you thought that you’d never be able to hear him call you pet or have him fuck you, you would miss it dearly. If you’d never be able to cup his angry face and watch it relax at your sweet cooing, you would be very upset.
It was pure torture to watch him fight now and struggle with the Atreides soldier. There was no way the Baron didn’t see the way your legs and arms were shaking. But it probably brought him nothing but pleasure.
When Feyd definitely killed the brave opponent and was announced a winner as he screamed in victory and raised his blade, you still couldn’t believe that it was happening for real. You needed a moment to go back to reality and when the cheers of Giedi Prime citizens reached your ears, you stood up abruptly. The people cheered even louder now at the sight of you and you approached the railing to look down at your husband.
You were aware that all binoculars at the moment were pointed at you so you tried not to show a hint of fear and nothing but pride. In Feyd’s eyes you spotted a sparkle at the sight of your satisfaction with his performance.
You turned around and passed the chuckling Baron without the word to reach the elevator as your guard followed you without a word. You wanted to be with your husband now.
It seemed like forever until the elevator was finally down and you hurried out of it to run through the dark corridor to reach the doors to Feyd’s chamber. On your way you spotted the Harkonnen servants dragging dead bodies of his opponents but you didn’t even flinch.
“Stay outside,” you ordered the guard and he nodded before you pushed the doors open and entered the room.
Feyd was standing there shirtless and smirking proudly at himself as the medic was tending his fresh wounds with some sort of liquid. You approached them and the medic bowed down at you as he moved out of your way.
You cupped your husband’s face and brought it down to press his forehead to yours. He was a bit taken aback by the aggressiveness of your moves.
“You did it, Feyd. You did it,” you felt tears streaming down your face and he furrowed his brows at your reaction. He grabbed your wrists and pushed you away slightly.
“You knew,” he only said and clenched his jaw. “You knew about that man not being drugged, did you not?” His pupils darkened. “What game are you playing? Trying to get rid of me with my uncle, huh? You want to be his little Baroness instead?”
“My Lord…” The medic tried to interfere seeing the way your husband was twisting your wrists to cause you pain. But Feyd only gave him a deadly glare.
Sometimes rabid dogs would bite their owners, too. You weren’t scared of him, though. He was confused and jealous.
“My darling, not only I knew but it was also my idea,” you told him and he froze to take a better look at your face. You smiled at him. “And now everyone on Giedi Prime respects you for the warrior you are. I have seen you train many times before, I thought the way your uncle gives you drugged warriors is humiliating to you,” you explained softly. “I couldn’t tell you before because it would spoil your fun. Happy birthday, Feyd,” you added.
He softened in an instant and let go of your wrists only to grab them again and bring them to his lips and shower them with hungry and sloppy kisses that would later leave the red marks. His kisses were never soft or gentle, you suspected he wouldn’t know how to kiss like that.
“Leave us,” you whispered almost inaudibly to the medic and he bowed down before walking outside the room.
When Feyd finished soothing your wrists, he pulled you closer to him and you placed a kiss on his forehead.
“You made me proud,” you told him and picked up the bowl of liquid the medic had left behind as you began to tend your husband’s wounds yourself. He shivered when your fingertip touched him gently for the first time and you shushed him quietly. “When you killed your harpies, your uncle caught me in an empty room and told me that the other lords call you weak now. I told him to give you a real warrior so the lords stop their whispers. But my real agenda was to show the nobility of Giedi Prime that you are a worthy successor,” you shared the details of your plan with him.
“What do you mean he caught you in an empty room?” Feyd’s jaw clenched.
“That is not important now, my pet,” you shook your head with a chuckle. Your fingers worked delicately and slowly on his smooth skin. You doubted anyone had ever touched him this way before.
“One victory like this is not enough,” he pointed out.
“I know. But now it’s going to be easier. We still have to be patient, though,” you looked up to meet his gaze. “Here, it’s done,” you announced and put the bowl away.
“You should leave before I ravage you,” he looked you up and down with so much hunger in his eyes that you felt as if you were already naked in front of him.
“You think I don’t feel the same after all these days of not feeling you?” You laughed at him. “Do it,” you dared him and his eyes widened. “I trust you won’t hurt me despite your starvation,” you teased.
Some part of you really trusted him. Perhaps because he was the only person in the world you could trust amongst the Harkonnens and you desperately wanted an ally.
Your plan would only work out if you had Feyd by your side.
“Later,” he shook his head, surprising you with the level of his self-discipline. “I can wait a few more hours but I will not risk the safety of my heir,” he explained.
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The birthday celebrations started but Feyd was not very excited about them. He had been way more interested in the celebration thrown for you and your son than about his own. He seemed to be bored and all the gifts presented to him were making him nod his head without any enthusiasm whatsoever. Birthdays were not celebrated as officially as other holidays on Giedi Prime so you were able to roam freely around the room and talk to people while he was doing his own thing. However, you were growing tired and exhausted. It was evening already and all the stress you had experienced earlier wore you out. 
You felt Feyd’s hands on your shoulders and you turned around to face him with a smile.
“I’m bored here,” he told you.
“It’s your birthday, you should be celebrating,” you caressed his cheek.
“I’d rather celebrate with you upstairs,” he smirked and you nodded softly. “I’ll go talk to my uncle now as he wishes to see me and you go to the bedroom and wait there for me,” he ordered and you leaned in to peck his lips. 
“Don’t take too long, I have more gifts for you,” you told him and his eyes sparkled as he nodded his head and walked away to go to his uncle.
You excused yourself using your fragile state and you left the dining room to go upstairs. Once again you were not guarded but this time you decided not to wander around the yet unexplored rooms and go straight to yours.
When you were about to reach the staircase, you heard someone else’s footsteps behind you. They weren’t as heavy as the usual steps of the Harkonnen guards or lords but they still made your heart sink in your chest. You turned around and spotted the local Bene Gesserit woman standing a few steps behind you. You wanted to sigh with relief but you were not stupid to think that her presence meant you were safe. Quite the opposite.
“What do you want?” You asked her.
“To talk,” she approached you and took her veil off. You were surprised to see that she was a regular woman like you were. You had never been able to spot that from behind the veil covering her face.
“Talk about what?” You gritted your teeth and she reached her hand out towards your womb. You hissed at her and grabbed her wrist to stop her.
“I mean no harm,” she assured you and pressed her hand to your abdomen for a while. Then she hummed to herself and took the hand away. “Impressive. Your aunt barely managed to convince the sisters to allow this union because your genes were not as strong as they wanted Feyd-Rautha’s children to have. However, I see that the Harkonnen medicine is progressing greatly,” she pointed out. “They brought the best out of you.”
“I don’t like the way you speak of me,” you snapped. “You don’t address me properly and you dare to insinuate my genes are not good enough to bear my husband’s offspring.”
Bene Gesserit smirked at you. She didn’t seem to care about your little outburst at all.
“However, it’s a boy,” she continued. “I mean, of course it is. I didn’t expect the Harkonnens to want anything else,” she added. “Your next one shall be a girl.”
“Excuse me?” You took a step back and clenched your jaw. “What I have next is my business. Mine and my husband’s, that is,” you placed your hand on your womb protectively.
“If you don’t give Feyd-Rautha a daughter, my Lady,” she emphasised ironically and you raised an eyebrow at her, “then I will.”
You nearly gasped at her insolence. Rage filled your whole body hearing her words. She threatened to lay with your husband? While she was inside your home?
“If you bewitch my husband, I will have you killed. I do not care about any of you,” you threatened her back.
“Your aunt promised us that you would be easy to control. As we both know, that is not true but we can let that slip. However, we will not give up on the promised daughter,” she explained calmly.
“Wh-what?” You stuttered out.
“Your aunt promised us that your first born daughter will be trained to become Bene Gesserit,” the woman answered and you felt a stinging pain in your chest.
Your aunt… whom you had never even met in your life. Of whom you had had no idea for most of your life. Yet she seemed to be the mastermind behind it all because of your grandfather’s sick ambitions to put his granddaughter on the Harkonnen throne. And your father… He passively had allowed that all to happen as Lady Jessica had cheered. 
“Is she here?” You barked at her. “My aunt? I want to talk to her.”
“The other sisters have left already, I’m afraid, na-baroness,” the woman told you. 
“If I have a daughter one day, I will not give her away to you witches,” you pointed your finger at her.
“There will be no need. She will stay here and I will train her,” she explained. “The Harkonnen countess would not be treated like a regular sister. Of course such powerful members have their privileges.”
“I still don’t want you near any of my children,” you told her angrily. “And I want you to stay away from Feyd.”
“You’re scared,” she smirked as she approached you, “because you know my poison is more effective than yours. I could really bind him to me in a way that is not accessible to you. You don’t hate us for witchcraft. You hate us because you’re not one of us,” she dared to whisper to you.
“I prefer holding less power but not being a blind follower of any idea nor force but myself and my own desires,” you answered proudly and straightened yourself.
You will obey me.
The loud and overwhelming voice boomed inside your head. You knew that voice very well. You had been growing up with it around.
“I will obey you,” you nodded and turned around to walk away but after a while you managed to fight this staggering sensation numbing your brain. “I will not,” you said.
“What did you say?” Bene Gesserit asked, surprised. You turned around to face her once again.
“I will not,” you repeated.
“How did you do that?” Her eyes widened.
“Growing up around Lady Jessica… You think I didn’t learn how to disobey your cursed voice?” You asked her with contempt. She didn’t have to know how much it costed you each time to be able to do that. You wanted her to think it was easy.
“That is impossible,” the woman shook her head. “You could not learn that by yourself.”
“Yet I did,” you shrugged your arms. “And no offence, but Lady Jessica was more powerful Bene Gesserit than you are.”
“Yes, she was,” she nodded. “That is why she was able to teach you this.”
“Teach me this?” You raised your eyebrow.
“Of course. Do you think you were able to master this ancient ability to fight The Voice by yourself? She had to teach you this. I only wonder why,” she hummed to herself.
Now you wondered, too. Perhaps some part of her wanted to protect you from whatever would come in the future. Perhaps some part of her cared about you.
And you hated to be grateful to her for anything but now you were.
“I might give you a daughter next,” you told the woman in front of you. “Having a powerful Bene Gesserit as my daughter can be useful,” you remembered Baron’s words. “But if you try to pit her against me or send her away to procreate with some gross lord far away from here, that is when I will intervene and you will regret this, witch,” you warned her.
She nodded.
“And if you touch my husband…”
“With all respect, I’d rather not touch him if I don’t have to, so just give us a daughter next,” she chuckled nervously.
You smiled at her. At first you were surprised hearing her words but then you remembered that most people did not see Feyd the way you were seeing him now. To them he was scary, unhinged and temperamental and his presence was deeply unsettling.
You left her in the corridor and went upstairs to your bedroom. You regretted not seeing your aunt because there were lots of things you’d love to tell her.
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Feyd joined you in the bedroom not long after. You were dressed in a nightgown already and sitting on the chair pulled away from his desk.
“What took you so long?” You asked him when the doors closed behind him.
“He gave Arrakis to me,” your husband informed you and stood above you as your eyes sparkled.
“What? He did?”
“Apparently Rabban is humiliating himself over and over there and embarrassing our family,” Feyd gritted his teeth. “I will be named the new Governor soon.”
“Well, that’s a gift I cannot possibly beat,” you teased and beckoned him over as he fell to his knees to be able to face you.
Feyd put his hands on your thighs as he opened them with his long fingers and you chuckled softly at him.
“Such an eager pet, aren’t you?” You teased him and he looked up. “That gift has to wait. Give me a knife,” you asked him.
He was confused but he handed you a short blade he was always carrying with himself.
“It’s so pretty,” you took a better look at the dagger in awe. It was really an excellent piece of work.
“Keep it,” your husband breathed out.
“But it’s your birthday, not mine,” you caressed his cheek gently.
“You need a weapon, too. I want you to keep it, just in case. When I’m not around and my uncle catches you in an empty room… For example,” he insisted.
“I don’t even know how to use it.”
“It’s a knife,” Feyd snorted. “You just stab.”
“Well, I guess. You can teach me more when I’m not with child anymore,” you proposed.
“I can,” he nodded and leaned in to place a kiss on your womb.
“So you do know how to kiss like that,” you teased and he looked caught off guard.
“I did it like you always do it… Did I do something wrong?” He asked and you swore, you could call him adorable in a way. You couldn’t believe it was the same man who had been slaughtering his enemies in the arena earlier.
“Aw, I’m only teasing. Give me your hand,” you ordered and he raised his arm as you slit one of the lines on his exposed palm. He didn’t even wince, so used to the pain much greater than this one. And he didn’t question anything you were doing either. It was almost sad, the way he obeyed you.
You watched his blood spilling down his pale skin; so dark and thick – it was nearly black and of a slimy texture. Then you cut yourself the same way, trying not to hiss out of pain as your own blood spilled, looking much healthier than his poisoned one.
You put the blade away and held his bleeding hand with yours to squeeze it tight. Feyd looked deep into your eyes, understanding the meaning of this gesture.
“I am yours and you are mine,” you told him. “Forever from now on. Your blood is my blood, my blood is your blood. We are one,” you whispered. “You do not exist without me and I do not exist without you. Together we will build our empire,” you continued and he nodded with a very serious expression on his face. There was pure admiration in his eyes, though. “We will not allow him to come between us.”
“We will kill him,” Feyd added angrily and you nodded at him. He was so eager.
“And everyone else in our way,” you assured him. “I shall be your anchor.”
“I shall be your blade,” he promised and you leaned down to join your lips together and mix your saliva like you mixed your blood.
You let go of his hand and straightened yourself, breaking the kiss. Feyd however brought your palm to his mouth and began to lick your wound as he drank the blood that spilled. Like dogs would lick their owners’ wounds.
“If I had known he’d give you Arrakis, I’d come up with a better gift,” you joked. Feyd looked up at you with your hand still pressed to his mouth, now stained with your blood.
“Nothing he’s ever given me can match you, my Baroness,” he confessed.
You smiled at him lovingly. It was a sight no one else in the world could admire – Feyd-Rautha on his knees, obedient and in awe. You finally opened your thighs in front of his face to give him what he had been waiting for since this morning. Most likely the gift he had been anticipating the most.
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MASTERLIST
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controld3vil · 2 days
Text
sand walking?
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pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic!!)
synopsis: requested by this ask!
⤷ alt: how to seduce someone walking on sand.
notes: there hasn't been confirmed for dune 3 yet but denise villeneuve has said he's writing for it to happen. ill patiently wait for the day it's confirmed :) ALSO there are fictional/made-up mentions of the novel for the sake of the reader. they're made to be gender-neutral!! and this includes platonic flirting between cast members. i MAY have gotten carried lmaoo
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“I mean- what do you think of the character? Do you think they deserved more screen time?” The clip starts off with you comfortably conversing with the interviewer. To say you weren’t deflecting their curiosity. In actuality, you were eager to learn what others thought about your performance and take on the character. The only other interpretation had on-screen was from the classic 1984 film by David Lynch.
The clip that has been widely retweeted back is of a cute moment you had from the first film of Dune (2021). Before release, little was known about your character’s potential. Apart from the enthusiastic book lovers, film viewers were clueless about what role your character would play after the first movie.
Denise Villeneuve didn’t reveal much to you in person. He wanted to keep ideas confidential until he was 100% on board making the project come to life. Still, rumors sparked through speculation and interviews with the cast members of Dune. Including an infamous short, that you forgot about, of yourself boasting about your hopes and wishes for your character.
“Yes! How could we not!” On the opposite side, the interviewer exclaimed as they leaned forward from their chair, closing into your proximity. Their hands clenched, tightening their grip on the flash card, full of questions. “The movie left us on such a cliffhanger. I think everyone would want to know what happened to Nerre,”
“That’s for Denise to decide,” Nodding you gave a relaxed smile while lifting one leg over the other. Your shoulders relaxed, feeling content and ecstatic about their response. “I can’t confirm anything until he gives me the green light to say anything,”
“I’ve also talked to Timothée this morning,” A shift in gears as the journalist flipped over another flashcard. You two had just fussed about the finale and its dramatic cliffhanger. “And all he had to say were the sweetest things about you,” At the mention of your costar compliments, you felt your skin heat up. Your eyes soften, expressing only fondness for the lovely message. A soft awh escaped your breath. “He’s very sweet. Timothee's always been fun to be around.” A fervent chuckle from the interviewer sends them into a feverish excitement. “And- he said- you had great flirting skills!” It was then your face morphed into complete shock and giddiness . “Really?!” The camera pans up on your initial reaction, eyes popping out in surprise and a bubbling laugh slowly erupting. “I’m glad someone appreciates my talents!”
Without context, the short clip seemed harmless. Your sheer reaction to Timothee's comment emphasized the fun chemistry the two of you had on set. Mirroring much of Paul and Nerre's friendship, you both complimented each other well in the first film, being the youngest surrounded by well-renowned actors. But the reason for the recent spike of interest was partially from Dune: Part Two and their interviews.
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Fast forward to the debut of Dune: Part Two, it made success at the box office. Even surpassing the first film altogether. The entire cast of Dune was proud of the work they've made. The introduction of new characters played by wonderful actors and actresses all around.
Weeks after the early IMAX screenings, press interviews were being published amongst of the young cast members. A particular interview by IGV Presents brings together Timothee Chalamet, Zendaya, Florence Pugh, Austin Butler, and yourself.
This would be considered to be one of your first interviews with the Dune cast after the box office release. You felt nervous yet overjoyed at the same time to be meeting your co-actors again after the conclusion of filming had taken place.
The spokesperson of IGV, Simon Harkness starts off the interview strong with a pleasant greeting. "Congratulations on an incredible movie. Uhm it is the definition of a sci-fi blockbuster and is absolutely phenomenal, so huge congratulations to you all!"
"Thank you!" The five of you all politely cherish his kind words.
"It's so lovely to talk to you. Um- Timothee, Zendaya, I'm going to start with you. This is probably the hardest question I've ever asked in an interview so you've been warned." An endearing giggle can be seen from Zendaya before allowing him to continue. "Sand walking, who does it better?"
Timothee immediately lifts up his microphone. "I'm going to give it to Zendaya here." Without glancing at her, you could tell Zendaya was happily smiling at his compliments. How quick he was to answer made it seem how well connected the cast was even given the amount of time spent together. The main lead continues very swiftly, diving more into how cinematic the shot was from an outside perspective, "I think it's the most- one of the most cinematic shots in the movie and she really has it very precisely down but it's the nature of the movie too that she's supposed to be better than Paul,"
"Is that what it is?" In return, Zendaya who sat next to him gave him a teasing look.
Quietly from afar where you sat, next to Austin Butler, you whispered. "He acted like he couldn't do it but," Soft snickering can be heard across the room.
"In fairness to me, I was going 65%- 65 to 70 too hard," Chalamet reasons justly as he glances in your direction before looking back to the interviewer.
"You dumbed it down," Harkness nods in a high-spirited manner. Right after, Timothee reluctantly agrees, keeping the mood light-hearted.
"I had to!"
"Just how committed you are!" Austin steps in, joining in on the joke.
"Zendaya, you can take that crown. I love that," The brown-haired man reassures as she recuperates with appreciative laughter. In truth, it was a beautiful scene between Paul and Chani you were lucky enough to witness behind the camera. And contrary to their light banter, you thought both actors did well at accomplishing what it was meant sand walk. Truthfully you had no scenes beyond walking through the desert but understanding the mechanics and traditions of the Fremen was as fascinating as it was watching it up close.
Suddenly it was Florence's turn to speak, "Zendaya taught me the other day and I had to just stop to stare at her feet."
"The swoopy swoop?" You asked in a cutesy tone, with furrowed eyebrows. You couldn't help but remember the few instances you witnessed your costars practice the sand walk to be one of the more adorable rehearsals you've seen on the sand.
"Yeah, her feet were so pretty! She was doing the swoopy swoops," The blonde acknowledges, waving her hands in a zig-zag pattern. As the replication of water and how her feet moved.
The interviewer's eyes light up, "Honestly I tried to swoopy swoop at home- um because we have a carpet in the bedroom."
"How did it go?" The mixed actress puts forward.
"Awful!" An assembly of bewilderment is seen between Zendaya and Florence as they quickly question why. However, they reassure him in the end that they would practice together in hopes of him archiving the sand walk.
Talks with simple questions went down the row. Florence discusses her experience from her beginnings, starring in Little Women, comparing those scenes in terms of royalty to Dune. In both films, she's worked with well-known actors and now Christopher Walken as the emperor and her father. She raves about how it was a dream come true. A dream she had when she was little. From this experience, Florence emphasizes the concept of learning and observing her fellow actors.
Another intriguing topic follows Austin for his experience between learning choreography fighting and Elvis's iconic rubber legs. In a sense, as you leaned forward on one of your seats, you became fascinated by the Elvis actor's comparison of it all. While Elvis's moves were televised and had to be precise for the camera, being a Harkonnens gave him more leverage in the freedom to move. It was a captivating question that you couldn't help but want to listen to more.
Comparisons aside, you didn't have much to note for your upcoming question. Which is exactly why you felt unprepared for what he was going to ask.
Harkness brings up your name for the finale. "You have done stunt work before. For the first and now second film, I've heard you compared it to rather- dancing. Is that what you think your relationship with the choreography has been?"
You gave a content hum, "You see it with the Fremen or Harkonnens right? Everyone moves so differently and for the course for me, I've had to adjust my choreo little by little. And I think that analogy you mentioned really does relate back to dancing. I don't know if it's because I was once a dancer or that I'm a visual learner," You shrug your shoulders, "But I see the choreography as a dance routine. You're moving alongside people, doing hits and jabs. Both are very hands-on so I would like to approach it as something I can always work on." Satisfied with your answer, you clapped your hands together.
"Kind of like sand walking no?" It was then that Zendaya swerved counterclockwise to face you.
Bringing back the conversation they had in the beginning about sand walking, your eyes instantly brighten. "Exactly like that!"
"I feel like you would be great at sand walking," Florence puffs, mindlessly shaking her microphone back and forth. "You- You already got the moves." Even Timothee came into agreement, humming and commenting you worked well with the choreography.
Austin Butler raises his microphone. "I think you gotta learn with me because I don't think I could,"
"Nonsense!" You give him a silly glare. "If you can do a killer rubber leg, I think you can sand walk." Florence and Zendaya both mumble their support and your male costar leans to have his arm around the back of your chair, warmly.
"Is that an open invitation I see?" The spokesperson, Harkness giggly pokes at than the rest of the cast turns to look at you. Your scowl morphs into an innocent one.
"Hm?" As you squint your eyes in hesitation.
"I feel like you could have the potential to sand walk but just with the right partner," Timothee chimes in, spreading his arms over his chair as well. Your brows furrowed accusingly, as if wanting to clarify what he meant by his comment.
And the French actor gives you a look, one you became so sure of. "Mm right!" A slight eruption of laughs before you straightened your back with proper posture. "With just the right partner,"
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There were also hints mentioned in your interview with Timothee surprisingly not. This was one of the more recent ones to be published, as you finally were able to pair up with your favorite co-star (besides Brolin) from the first film. The two of you had strong chemistry despite having less screen time together in the second film.
The beginning of the video cuts to a clip of you answering an innocent question. "What I think about every day, is Timothee going to send to me a meme today? Uh, I hope so!" You give a sarcastic look to your seat partner as he latently laughs in front of you. "Or when is he going to text me you know?"
It then transitions to an interviewer from Heart commercial radio as he shouts out your names. "How are you both?"
"I'm doing good!"
"Going great!"
The radio show was more relaxed than you would've expected as the spokesperson was very down to the earth with his conversation starters and contagious warmth. Timothee was able to catch up with him from his last interview when he premiered his Wonka film. Eventually, the interview became more casual discussing working together, cooking, and trendy topics.
Timothee and you both went back and forth on favorite memories you had of the first film. And talking about the new cast members and new elements it had brought to the table for the film itself.
"Cool new characters this time," As you played around with the fuzzy microphone the camera crew gave to you.
"Yup lots of new people to meet," Timothee adds on, nodding.
The interviewer proceeds with the question, "And also you have seen- there's a clip about of you running around actually." He signals to you, "Of your reaction to something Timothee said about your performance in the first film,"
"Oh! I've seen it," Almost instinctively, your co-star raises his hand. "I was supposed to send it to you but I forgot." As he turns, to finds you looking lost at the topic at hand.
"Really what was it?" You almost looked concerned, seeing how you didn't understand what they meant.
Luckily for you, the Heart radio spokesperson managed to get a hold of the video from his phone, "It was a little callback of Timothee raving about your flirting skills."
As it plays, the camera zooms in on you and your co-actors reaction. The French actor couldn't help but look slightly embarrassed but smitten when the timing of your reaction came on screen. While you held an intrigued stance, arms crossed and a content grin.
"I am pretty good at flirting,"
"You really are, huh." At the same time, you both turn to make eye contact.
"I also heard Tim- that you thought that they would be your love interest initially?" At the radio speaker's inquiry, you couldn't help but in mid-sentence, finally, swerve your head suddenly.
"Yeah well, fun fact actually," The male actor tries to reason, sitting up. "In the novels, Paul and Nerre almost did become a couple!"
It was a well-known fact of that in the first novel, there had been slight changes to the story. Initially, it was said that the author, Frank Herbert had planned for Paul and Nerre, the character you played to have a romantic connection after the fall of House Atreides. Nevertheless, it was later scrapped for another plot, that of instead having Chani as the love interest. But even decades later after the novel’s release, it was something fans still fuss about.
"Oh, I heard about that!" Almost in awe, you nodded, your attention fully on Chalamet, wondering how far he was willing to go beyond spoilers.
"Do you think Nerre would ever meet someone then?" The afro man questions, adjusting his microphone. "Since- Paul has Chani, I feel like if we ever get a potential third film, that could open some doors!"
"If a third film could happen," You start, fiddling with the lining of the mic cover, "I hope so! I mean I got the moves, I got the skills!"
"Keep practicing your sand walk and we'll see," Timothee cutely chimes as you proceed to blow a raspberry at him. Only for him to lightly swat you away.
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Despite your failures to have scenes of sand walking, your cast of a crew were more than happy to show you. Javier Bardem and Jessica Ferguson were quite supportive in your interest for something you did not have any part-time. A few behind the scene videos show the actor demonstrating from afar the slower version of the walk.
Though your back was facing the camera, viewers would pick up and recognize it to be you. Jessica as well was off to the side, in her luminescent costume of a million robes, clapping from side to side.
Another later pans to you taking long strides across the sand in the background. In front of the camera are Josh Brolin and Javier having their turn in the video, to discuss their relationship and the previous they have worked on together. However, viewers couldn't help but pinpoint your figure alongside the frame trying to master the patterns of what Javier taught you from the previous clip.
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barbiedragon · 2 days
Text
Intertwined
Dune: Irulan Corrino x Bene Gesserit!reader (who has Harkonnen eyes) 
Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)
WC: 1.4k 
Warnings: WLW, fingering, pregnancy, use of prana-bindu, mention of reader’s eye color and hair color as part of the Bene Gesserit breeding program, sparring, brief mention of Feyd x reader
Your fate is intertwined with Irulan’s  
*comments/reblogs are appreciated
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Irulan stood before you, clad in soft garments the same shade as the sands of Arrakis. You were used to her dressed in chain metal and the ornate, refined outfits reflective of her status, though you preferred this more relaxed side of her. She held a katana in her hand, the sharp blade glittering in the warmth of the midday sun streaming in through the windows in the training room. It was imperative the Emperor’s eldest daughter was well-trained in all aspects. Your fingers grasped your weapon, quickly adjusting your body in a defensive stance. You would allow her to strike first, sensing what her first move would be. As predicted, Irulan lunged forward, ready to strike and you quickly blocked her blade with the handle of your own.
“Very good.” Her praise was short and clipped. You allowed yourself a simple smile of satisfaction. Best not to let pride grab hold of you.
The sparring sessions continued where you used your concentration to study every flex of Irulan’s muscles and shift of her limbs to anticipate her strikes. Sweat beaded down your back so you used your abilities to slow your heart rate to cool off. Irulan took advantage when you did that, sweeping her legs across yours to bring you down. You hit the ground with a loud oomph.
“Never lose focus, little mouse,” she taunted, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
“Duly noted, princess,” you winced, pressing your palms into the ground to prop yourself up.
“You’re strong in your abilities and well practiced, but remember, our enemies will take advantage of any weakness you might show,” she explained before offering her hand to help you to your feet.
You grasped her tightly, but instead of standing, you yanked her down. She toppled, her legs straddling your waist as her knees thudded against the ground. A shocked look crossed her face momentarily before delighted laughter peeled from her lips. Her cheeks flushed as her hand cupped your cheek, staring into your eyes. Your mother had been a Bene Gesserit, a lower-level Harkonnen, with eyes black as ink. She had bred with your father, a descendent of House Vernius of Ix, who possessed the silver hair of his ancestors. You were bred to be an alluring luxury designed to pass your traits on to future children.
You gently lifted your head, pressing your lips to hers, melting into the soft kiss she willingly returned. You had enjoyed your time with her on Kaitain, serving and training by her side. Her father had the hopes of her becoming Empress, while the Bene Gesserit hoped to use her for their own ambitions in the future. You gazed into her green eyes, tucking a strand of loose golden hair behind her ear. You did not think she would ever belong to the Bene Gesserits; she was too willful and proud—attributes they did not value.
You were the meek little mouse designed for the breeding program. When Lady Jessica produced a son instead of the contracted daughter, they turned to you in hopes of placing you with the na-baron, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. It was imperative that the bloodlines of the noble houses continued on. You had always understood your place and never desired anything else—until you met Irulan. She had captivated you, mind, body, and soul. Almost as if a red string of fate had wrapped around your wrist, pulling you towards her. You believed she was your destiny, thoughts you worked hard to shield from your fellow sisters and Reverend Mother.
“Come, let us clean up,” she smiled, slowly standing up and helping you to your feet.
You rolled out your neck as you followed behind her through the winding halls of the impressive Imperial palace. A luxurious bath had already been prepared in her quarters, filled with cerulean waters scented with rose and jasmine. The steam wisping into the air alerted you to the temperature, and you longed for the heat. You helped Irulan undress, pressing kisses to her bare shoulders. She insisted on doing the same,
“Princess, you needn’t bother with a commoner such as me,” you teased, biting your lower lip as her nimble, slender fingers stripped you bare.
“Hush. You are hardly a commoner; you belong to the Bene Gesserit. Your place is special, perhaps even more valued than mine,” she whispered, her fingertips ghosting over the curve of your hips before giving your bare backside a playful swat.
Her fingers laced with yours, guiding you into the large, sunken tub. The warmth soothed your muscles immediately as you used your gifts in conjunction to turn your body to its normal state. Irulan’s head was tilted back against the edge, a contented sigh falling from her pink lips.
“Allow me to help you relax, princess,” you purred, the pitch of your voice changing and vibrating in the air.
“Oh, that’s not fair to use the voice on me,” she chided playfully, her voice soft and whining.
“But it will help you feel good,” you whispered, your voice taking on a seductive tinge that curled over her spine like warm velvet.
“Please.” You must admit there was a certain thrill in making the princess beg.
You hovered in front of her, focusing on making arousal pool in her belly as your fingers squeezed her wet flesh. With a twitch of your lips, her clit throbbed, and a husky moan caught in her throat. 
“Someone has been practicing,” she murmured.
“Mmm, I’ve been told the na-Baron needs one to have a firm hand and complete control at times. I must ensure I’m strong before I enter into a union with him. He is a man of pleasure and pain.”
“You will do wonderfully,” she praised as your hands kneaded her breasts, your thumbs teasing her peaked nipples.
Tendrils of damp, silver hair clung to your shoulders as your hands slipped over her sides. One braced on her hip while the other cupped her cunt. You shifted, allowing your fingers to enter her slowly as you pressed your mouth to her ear.
“Focus on my touch. Allow me to take you to the brink of pleasure,” you purred, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your lips.
You adopted a steady, pleasing place, feeling her muscles contract around you and reveling the warmth of her skin. Your hardened nipples brushed against hers while your mouth clamped against her neck, teeth gently scraping against her tender skin. The flush of her pink cheeks was beautiful.
Her rosy mouth parted as a blissful moan escaped her. You knew her orgasm was coming, every part of her body signaling to you. Her abdomen tightened, her cunt clenched around your fingers as your thumb circled her clit. Her pupils dilated, darkness eclipsing her green eyes as the orgasm washed through her.
“So beautiful,” you praised, your lips sealing around hers as you guided her body through it, making sure she felt all the bliss enveloping her.
“You are magical,” she grinned, pulling you closer once you removed your fingers.
“If I had a choice, I would never leave your side,” you admitted, even though it was dangerous to utter such thoughts aloud.
Her thumb brushed over your cheek. “Let us devise a plan then,” she suggested. Irulan had a clever mind, and you had a determined will.
“Yes, what a wonderful idea,” you smirked, black eyes sparkling with intrigue.
The evening was spent curled in bed with her with diaphanous silk draped over your naked bodies, indulging in the finest Caladanian wine, stuffed figs, and grape leaves as plans were discussed. Eventually, you fell asleep with Irulan’s knee tucked between your legs, one hand spanned across her lower back while you held her close.
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Irulan’s lips brushed over your temple as she cradled your swollen belly in her hands, feeling the movement of the babe beneath your skin. When the time had come, you ventured to Giedi Prime to become Feyd’s treasured concubine, the woman to bring forth his children. Irulan learned of Paul’s survival, so the long-devised plan was implemented. Feyd slaughtered Atreides and married Irulan, ensuring your role was again by her side. Now, you grew round with his child, enjoying the comfort of her arms. Feyd seemed unbothered by your bond with her, allowing you to do as you wish as he engaged in his own forms of pleasure and depravity. 
“Nothing will ever separate us,” she whispered, stroking your soft, silver hair.
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nonpoppin · 26 days
Note
alright i’ve seen a lot of arranged marriages with paul and reader is always the one who’s salty about it but what if PAUL was the salty bitch? never seen that before.
reader just wants to make him happy. she’s been in love with him since they were introduced as kids. Paul, however, ain’t about it and he’s all pissy and what not.
The Death of a Star
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Summary: Paul thought he could never love you but when a star starts to die, it sucks everything in and in your death, your rebirth, he learns he can.
Warning(s): Cheating! Not the sexual kind but the emotional kind! Toxic marriage, sorta dark Paul, almost sexual cheating, talks of bastards, child birth, violence, arranged marriage, pussy eating, fingering, PinV sex, creaming, use of the voice. Talks of baby making and brief pregnancy mention.
Note(s): I took your ask and shook it all about. And hi, hello, i got this ask basically THREE YEARS AGO! And its been sitting in my docs, brewing, growing longer and longer. This is 12k words. If you want more long fics like this from me and not two/three parters— PLEASE let me know. ALSO, shout-out to @cocoamoonmalfoy bc i bothered her with just random segments of this fic for two years I'm pretty sure 😭 this is so fucking long please don't tell me if there's mistakes im gonna scream.
A little after. (Same universe drabble!)
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There is something about motherhood that has changed you.
Of course, there have been obvious changes. You were a girl when you first arrived on Caladan, a girl when they dragged you under the twinkling stars and made you swear to the void you would never stray from your husband. A mere child who wanted nothing more to be happy, to make her family proud, a child who smiled at her husband no older than her and repeated words she truly didn't know the meaning of.
You had become a lady when your husband first laid with you, a woman when the single time was enough to bring forth an heir. It was what your ladies told you at least, bringing a person into this universe was a woman's work and you had done just that. Your son, Oliver Atreides, was born screaming, kicking and crying. The ladies said you were a woman now, covered in sweat, tears, and your own blood but you couldn't bring yourself to agree. You think some parts of the girl you once were resurfaced when they hand you, your babe. You had held him close and wept to him. ‘Oh, Ollie. My little Ollie.’
Motherhood has changed you, yes. It made you harder in spots where you were once soft. But nothing has changed you more than marrying the Atreides heir, Paul.
Once, you had thought he would've, could've, loved you. A child's dream, you realize now. An arranged marriage could never bring forth love, not when it was put in motion by scheming parents who thought of a future long after they were dead. Your marriage to Paul had made sure your family's name would never fade into obscurity, your parents had gotten your weight in jewels and coin’ a thousand times over, your marriage had meant everything to them. To you. But to Paul, to his family?
You had been a punishment. The closest and prettiest broodmare. His parents had thought it would stop his wandering, his rebellion in loving a savage girl who lived planets away. You had looked similar enough, curly hair, brown eyes and brown skin, they thought you enough to quell his hunger. But one can not simply trade swords, sand and love for silk, stars and a willing cunt. They never stopped to think how this would affect you, how his anger towards them, towards the universe would slowly turn to you.
Paul never hit you, never yelled and, somehow, this was a fate worse than any death.
Paul seldom spoke to you. You could count on one hand how many times he looked at you in the past four years. For four years, you had raised your son with the echo of his father, a shadow you caught out of a corner of your eye. You knew he made time for his son, the boy never kept these things a secret, the man dragged his son everywhere and anywhere, they rode horses together, danced and painted. In your eyes, he had gathered all the stars in the sky and displayed them for Oliver and left you in the dark. You both raised your son, never in the same room, never speaking ill of each other or to each other. It was, is, a cruel existence.
“Mama,” Your son's voice is a whine, he pulls at your hand for your attention, letting his body go limp in the opposite direction trusting you wouldn't let him fall. “‘M hungry.”
He's not hungry, you think. He had just eaten an hour or so ago, snacked a few minutes before. He's bored, his coloring forgotten in his effort to bother you and that somehow, worked up his appetite. Ollie whines when you don't so much as move under his effort, you keep your arm locked, your fingers gently wrapped his smaller brown hand. Still, you relent, caving just a bit as you think back to all the times you went hungry in childhood because your mother was worried for your figure. Sure, he wasn't hungry but he was willing to eat. You rather him eat something now than him having an unhealthy relationship with food in the long run. “Yeah? What do you want, Bubba?”
He brightens, drawing closer to you but never letting go of your hand. “Can I haves pie?”
You give him a look, wiggling your fingers in his grasps, he giggles as the tips of them dance under his chin and curls further into your space. “It's ‘can I have’ and no you may not.” You shush his annoyed whine with a kiss to his forehead and you stand from your chair, picking him up as you go. You sulked long enough, motherhood never ends and now your son wants attention and you are eager to give it to him. “But, you can have a sandwich. Do you want turkey or–”
“Can I haves–” Oliver interrupts excitedly then pauses, starting again just as excited. “Can I have the jam one? The one grandma gives me?”
You're already nodding your head in agreement before he even finishes, a short hum leaving you. You haven't the faintest idea what he's talking about, of course, your mind goes to the simple answer: a grape and peanut butter spread, a simple and favorite of yours when you were pregnant with Oliver but then you backtrack almost instantly. Jessica has a taste for the finer, sweeter, things in life. Expensive things. You love your mother-in-law dearly, deeply, but whatever jam she's giving your son is probably from some secret collection she only pulls out for him and with her being off planet, you have no access to it. No matter, you've dealt with worse and Oliver will survive without her expensive jam. You'll just make sure he gets a little something extra with this snack, not a slice of pie but maybe juice… a few candied nuts, even?
You ponder silently to yourself as you leave your room. Ollie talks your ear off— something about his grandfather, about the older man taking him to see bulls and whatnot, you respond halfheartedly, humming in acknowledgement. As you walk from your wing of the estate, servants bow at their waist, greetings of, ‘My lady,’ wash right over you as you pass, you only truly pay mind to the ones who greet Ollie before the greet you, slowing your pace to let the boy twist in your arms and greet them happily. A talker he is, curious and somewhat loud, the various servants respond just as eager to him as he is to them. It's an endearing sight and you find yourself smiling as he converses, a smile that quickly falls at the sound of a familiar name calling out to you.
“Lady Wife!”
Your eye nearly twitches at the title. You dismiss the servant with a dim smile and Oliver squirms out of your arms to rush to his father. You hesitate to turn and face him but having your son out of sight so close to him makes you a bit nervous, you turn only to pause. Paul kneels before his son, running a delicate hand through the boy's curly mass of hair, his green eyes sparkle as he smiles at his son. He pokes at the boy's chubby stomach and smiles wider, brighter, when Ollie giggles leaning into him. He looks handsome today, more present than he ever was for you. His hair looks clean, freshly washed, glossy and swept out of his face— you've grown so used to him wearing ridiculously fancy suits that seeing him wearing a tunic and a simple pair of pants sends your mind blanking.
You only realize you're staring longer than you should when Duncan— has he been standing there the whole time?— clears his throat. There's a slight humor that dances across his face when he sees your own mortification but it's gone quickly as he bows his head towards you, your name leaves his lips in a pleasant, near whisper as he regards you, “Where are you off to?”
“The kitchens.” You answer, smiling when he cocks his head in a silent question. “Not for me, Ollie is hungry and I was going to make him something.”
Paul makes a noise from the ground, a grunt but doesn't rise nor pull away from his boy. “We have servants for that, Wife.”
“And there won't always be servants, Husband.” You reply harsher than you intend and Paul's widen eyes snap away from your son to you in shock. You look away before your eyes can meet and they fall to the other guard by the mens' side. He's tall, taller than Paul but not quite as tall as Duncan; his dark hair is pin straight and slicked back but there are a few strands that purposely, stylishly, hang in his face. His eyebrows raise slightly as he watches you take him in and he puffs up under your gaze. He squares his shoulders, shifts his feet and folds his hands behind his back and when your eyes meet again, he gives you a wink.
Oh, you like him.
You huff a laugh, “Your name, soldier?”
“Emmett, My lady.”
You wave a dismissive hand, “Please, you may call me my name. Only my husband ever calls me Lady.” Duncan snorts and Paul doesn't respond, doesn't care to. He stands and your son is in his arms, still talking but in a whisper. Odd. “I haven't seen you around before, promoted recently?”
Emmett's lips quirk into an easy smile and his lips part to answer you but Paul steps into your line of sight and interrupts him. “I am going to visit a friend, but I must stop to visit my mother first. Oliver wants to go.”
Your brow dips. Your husband, Paul, didn't have friends. Not one. His words not yours, he has his parents, a guard and an advisor; Duncan and Gurney. He has you, his wife and even then you hesitate to describe yourself as much. Your mind racks itself for information and then it finds something. A sand covered, golden skinned, something.
It's been two weeks since he's stepped out on you for her. Two weeks— nearly three, he almost broke his record.
You will yourself not to be sick but the sudden bout of nausea is harsh, hot and it sends a bile creeping up the back of your throat. Your heart can't seem to decide what it wants to do, it tries to thunder— to pound its way out of your chests but it trips, stutters and damn near stops at the idea of him bringing your son to see that woman. You clear your throat and try not to scream; are you not good enough? You have wept for the man before you, bled and produce a fucking heir to continue his legacy. And yet…
You clear your throat again, you can't help it. Years of training fly straight into the sun. You know how to read, to cook and manage estates, you know how to hold a sword and parry a strike, you know because you were trained. Rigorously, endlessly. But it still leaves you unprepared because no one ever, ever trained to be emotionless in the face of the person who was supposed to love you the most. You were married off young to another young person for this very reason, the time spent together as you grew older was supposed to grow your love, to nurture it so by the time you were both older you would be an united front. An unshakable unit.
You wish you could throw the pieces of your marriage at all who thought it was a good idea. You want to roar; is this what you wanted? Is this the front you dreamed of? But the training, that god-damned training kicks in and you steel yourself. For the sake of your son. For the sake of your sanity. “Oliver has lessons he can't skip.”
Paul makes a face and your boy whines in his arms, “I'm sure he can afford to miss one, he's just a boy.”
Your nails dig into your palm and your lips pull up into a humorless grin. “You said that last time when you took him riding. Again when you said painting would be a better lesson. He has missed too many lessons, boy or not, he is a future leader and it is good we do this while he is young.” You unclench your fist and soften, just slightly as you draw closer to your husband, to the boy who pouts at you in his arms. You extend yours and he goes easily, much to Paul's dismay. “Come on, sweet boy. I promised you a snack, leave your father to play with his toys.”
Paul watches you leave with thin lips, his teeth clenching. He doesn't have to be smart to see the insult when you bare it to him unabashedly. Even if it wasn't directed at him, he is offended on her behalf. He lingers in his spot for a moment longer, stewing in a petty anger— how is he ever supposed to try with you when you hate everything he loves?
Duncan calls his name and when he looks at the man, there's a deep frown on his face. The look of disappointment is something he's familiar with, it's an age-old argument between him, between his parents, between her about how he treats you. Well, not you but your feelings. Duncan won't say anything about it anymore, not when he knows he won't listen, not when he knows the exact words Paul will say back to him.
'What of my feelings? Why do I have to suffer in a marriage I did not want— a marriage I protested the very idea of? I gave the family an heir. The least they can do is let me finally be happy.'
The two men look at each other and like always, Paul is the first to look away. He turns on his heels, his shoulder colliding with Emmett's who still stares after you instead of watching the tense moment before him and his oldest friend. He storms down the hall, his steps sure but fast, Paul runs from it all. From his responsibilities, his power, from you. Paul always runs.
Emmett lets out a whistle— he and Duncan linger behind their fuming ward— and Duncan raises a brow at the sound. Emmett smiles, dipping his head in your direction, “A proper one that one is. Real easy on the eyes.”
Duncan's brow drops, annoyed. “She is to command you.”
“Trust me, ser. I'd do anything she asked.”
Duncan resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's not like Emmett is the only one to fall for your looks, he has had to rotate multiple guards because of it— most, if not all, of them never tried anything other than looking but he couldn't bring himself to listen to all the vile things they said and when they tried touching, well. You could handle yourself just fine but Duncan doesn't deny the enjoyment he gets from acting on your behalf.
Still. Still, there are ones that you enjoy. There are some he can't send away and he pretends it doesn't bother him. It's the game, the chase of it all, he sees how you blossom under the attention, his attention. Sometimes, he sees it. The flickering lust in your eyes when a pretty soldier leans in real close or when he cradles your face. But you aren't like your husband, not like Paul because you never give in and while Paul has been stepping out on you for years, this small streak of rebellion only started up a few months ago.
Duncan shakes his thoughts clear and then swallows his annoyance. It goes down like shards of glass and lemon juice; he can't send Emmett away, not yet. Not when he's good at what he does and not when you blossom under his attention. He settles for indifference, a dry indifference as he mutters. “She’d eat you alive.”
He ignores Emmett's cheeky reply of, “Stars, I hope so.”
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“How is she?”
Arrakis smells sweeter than he remembers. It's hotter too, the sun set a few hours ago but the heat still clings to the air, to the sand that's almost uncomfortable to sit on. He sucks it up though because it feels like home and the sight is as pretty as it is familiar.
Said sight shifts when he doesn't answer, the fire light is gold against her face and her eyes are sapphire jewels in the night. Her fingers move quickly, steadily as she weaves her basket. Two bowls sit before her, one bigger than the other filled with a liquid that isn't water but safe for enough to handle and thin pieces of wood, the other bowl is filled with beads made of rocks, wood, bone and whatever else the carvers deemed bead worthy. “Muad'Dib,” She says and when he still doesn't answer her, she snaps. “Paul.”
It's enough to pull him from his thoughts, he blinks at her then he frowns. “She’s fine. I tell you the same thing every time you ask, I doubt it will change.”
Chani pauses in her weaving. “You told me she was sad once.”
He had. It was an off comment from years ago, when you cried and cried, and cried. Back then, it was rare to see you dry-eyed, rare to see you outside your room but you had gotten over it. You are fine now, you don't cry, you don't shout or pitch a true fit like he's seen other women do. You're just… fine. He thinks of your face when he told you he was leaving, that practiced control but the twitch of your lips giving you away. You were angry, maybe. But not angry enough to lash out, you were okay stewing in it. And that was fine. To you, to Paul. Everything is fine.
When Chani sees he isn't going to reply, she sighs again. Her fingers start to move again, faster than before and Paul tries not to be awed at the sight. She's a master at her craft, something he so rarely sees nowadays, “Nevermind.” She says and before he can speak, she asks, “How is Oliver?”
The smile that falls on Paul's face is easy. “He’s wonderful. His studies are going well– his tutors say he's picking up reading faster than I ever did.” He looks away from Chani and plays with the fabric of his pants, “I wanted him to come today.”
The thin piece of wood between Chani's fingers snapped. She looks up at him, her blue tinted eyes furious, “No, Paul.”
Still, he tries, “He would love you. If she only gave it a chance–”
“Do you hear yourself?” She hisses and he flinches at the tone. “You want to bring another woman's child to me? Do you hate her so much that you'd go this far to disrespect her?”
“I do not hate her. I could never hate her she is the mother of my child–”
“She is so much more than that.” She snaps. “She is your wife. She is the keeper of your estate, she is a person, a woman, you continuously hurt by visiting me.”
Again. It is always that argument, always the flag they throw up, the sand they throw into his eyes. It's always you, you, you. Why can't it never be him? Why can't he ever think for himself? Want more for himself? Paul shifts where he sits, “You wouldn't understand.” He whispers. Chani wouldn't, couldn't, get it. She's not him, she has never been in his place, she has never loved him as he loved her, she just wouldn't get it.
There is a certain fury that settles on Chani's face. It is thunderous, all consuming, a lightning storm that threatens to strike him thrice over and then, it clears. Faster than he can blink and she's standing, throwing the rest of her weaving into the fire. “Grow up, Paul.”
And he's at a loss for words. “What?”
“Grow. Up.” She says again, as if she hasn't said something world tilting. Paul feels like his chest is collapsing, like the sand around him is starting to swallow him whole. “I have put up with it for years. You complain about things not being fair to you.” She shakes her head, gathering all her finished baskets and her bowls of beads. “You complain and complain and complain. Do you see where I live? Do you see what my people have to do to survive? What do you know of struggle? Of suffering? You cry and whine about loving me, about caring for me but having to suffer a fate of never having me. I am not an object to own. I am not a prize to wave in your wife's face.”
She looks at him then, her face grim, haunting in the fire's light. “What do you know of suffering when you are here with me and she's alone with your son? What do you know of pain when she bled to produce an heir for you? I love you, Paul. As a friend, always a friend. Only a friend and I can't just sit here and pretend like you aren't ruining lives over petty childishness. Go to her, love her, see her as she is.”
“I–” Paul stumbles to his feet, nearly tripping to reach out to her. “I can't– do not do this to me, Chani– please, do not do this.”
Pity. There is only pity on her face. “Go home, Paul.” and she leaves him. Standing alone in the Arrakis' desert, surrounded by sand, stars and the sweet smelling wind, Paul begins to weep.
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It is hard to play dumb but…
“Higher, my lady…”
Emmett's voice makes you shiver slightly and you all but let yourself relax in his warm arms. They circle you, his hands on your elbows raising and steadying the bow in your hands. You force yourself to let your fingers shake and smile when his hands leave your elbows to hover over yours. He slides a forefinger over the back of your hand before it hooks under your wrist and holds the bow true. “Release.”
Whoooosh! Thunk.
The arrow misses.
Emmett lets out a polite laugh, his breath brushing against your ear and it's enough to make you bite your lip. If playing the role of the defenseless noblewoman was enough to get him this close, you think you'd do it all the time. “You’re laughing at me?”
“Not at you, my lady.” He chuckles. His warm embrace leaves you as he takes a step forward, a hand playfully gliding past your waist as he does— he goes for the many missed arrows from the previous tries and shoots you a smile. “At the situation, I suppose.”
“Oh?” You ask, coyly. “And what's funny about the situation, Ser Emmett? My lack of skill with the bow or my streak of missing the target.”
He gathers the arrows, his smile growing a tad impish as he picks up the last as twirls it between his fingers. Your eyes follow the movement instinctively— it glides between his nimble fingers, around and under, under and around— Emmett ends the small show with a flip of the arrow, catching it by the small bit of the notch, the dull arrowhead tapping against his lips. “What's funny is… the famed daughter of a very noble hunting family needs help with a bow.” The arrowhead presses into his lip when he smiles, “I heard said daughter used to bring down bucks the size of small shuttles but now she stands before me as if she never handled a bow.”
You tut, annoyed you've been caught but delighted he knew so much about you. “You aren't the only one who can do research.” You say, you move forward with graceful steps, till the both of you are face to face. “Emmett Deacon. That is an old name, you know. But strange as Lord Deacon has no heirs or living relatives besides his wife. Now, it is unbecoming of me to gossip– to listen to the words of those who whisper behind backs but… but I was, am, curious about you, Emmett.”
This close, you notice his eyes are green. They are far darker than the eyes of your husband, Duncan or Jessica. Emmett's eyes are the color of the forest after a thunderstorm; when everything is still dark near black underneath the clearing clouds. Emmett grins at your closeness, his eyes glinting, promising some type of mischief. “Careful now, my lady.” He teases, his voice light despite the subtle redness creeping up his neck, “You walk a dangerous line, some men would take offense to what you are attempting to imply.”
Carefully, you pull the arrow from the man's grasp, your lips quirk up in a humorless smile as you take a step away from him. “Attempting, Implying? Make no mistake, Emmett, I know what you are.” You give the man your back as you face another untouched target. Mentally, you thank yourself for having the thought to scatter them about the training area before approaching Emmett under the guise of needing guidance. This target is much closer to the door, just a few paces to the right.
“Do you?”
Suddenly you are warm. He is pressed right up against you, his hands on your hips pulling you flush against his body and you barely bite back a shiver as you right your posture as if he wasn't there. His breath comes out ragged, fanning against your ear and he holds you so tight he scrunches your silks. Emmett is pretty as he is eager for you, desperate almost. It is not what you usually go for but the men you usually do go far were always so hesitant, reminding you of your husband or the ever watchful Duncan. Emmett fears neither, it makes you like him more but you are not an idiot, Emmett Deacon doesn't exist outside of the Atreides Castle. Lord Deacon has no legitimate heirs, only bastards, hundreds of bastards he refuses to recognize unless they make a name of their own. There is no Emmett Deacon, only Everett Brightwater. Son of a working mother and elder brother to a handful of other siblings.
But in the Atreides castle, the castle of a bastard, those types of things tend to go overlooked. Most like to forget that technically, Paul Atreides was born out of wedlock, that he was legitimized by the former Duke Leto— it is a story all bastards wished for, what Everett wished for. Pity it is you, that always seems to take a fancy to them.
“I have bedded a bastard before, Brightwater. Void-forbid I don't recognize the touch of another.”
The sound that leaves the man is downright sinful, a ragged gasp and his hips damn near hump into you. “And you have made heirs–”
“A singular heir, Oliver has no siblings.”
“But he could,” He rolls his hips against yours backside again and you bite back a grin, “I could give you–”
The door opens and it startles you. Your fingers slip from the bowstring and the arrow is sent flying, hurtling towards the target as Emmett rips away from you like he's touched fire. Your husband stands at the door, his eyes red rimmed and looking downright furious. His eyes never meet yours, staying trained on Emmett who looks everywhere as the arrow hits its mark. Bullseye.
Emmett's voice is choked as he speaks, “Congratulations–” His eyes flicker over to Paul for a brief second as he rasps your name. It makes your heart nearly jump to your throat as you blink absurdly at the man but he pushes forward, inclining his head as Paul prowls closer, “Your talents amaze me–”
“Leave.”
Emmett pauses mid sentence, he blinks once then nods, his lips set tight. He says your name again, lower, sweeter, then his dark green eyes cut to Paul as he gives a shallow bow. “Your liege.”
He is out the room faster than you can blink and it draws a scoff from your lips as you turn to face your husband. “That was rude.”
That makes his face twitch. Like he wants to scowl or even pout down at you but can't decide which one to choose and it settles as a sneer instead. “Was it, now? I walk in on one of my men pawing at you–”
The laugh that leaves you is sudden and sharp, “You are being ridiculous.”
“He was all but humping your leg and you let him!” He hisses. Then takes a breath to blink and shake his head, “It is disrespectful, my son is only paces away–
“Oh, that is disrespectful?” You ask. Your blood is boiling, your heart thundering in your ears. How dare he throw your son in your face? The very boy you put to bed alone, hushing his cries for his father. The very same boy that spent the day talking about his father and his mysterious friend that he insisted Ollie call an aunt. “What about you trying to take my child to see another woman?”
Paul flinches then, just barely, but keeps the sneer on his pretty face. “That is different, you know that is different–”
“What of all the times I've found your letters to her? All the times you've left me for her?” You press, “All the birthdays, my birthdays wasted alone waiting for you, all the anniversaries? What do you know about disrespect, husband?”
He is silent, silent but staring, gaping, trying to muster an answer he knows he can't. But it is strange, odd, that he hasn't tucked tail and ran. In the rare arguments that seemed to happen between the two of you, he'd spit his poison and then choke on yours; floundering for a rebuttal before escaping to his wing of the castle and yet… he still stands before you, unmoving. Then, he speaks. He whispers, “I am sorry.” He clears his throat, “I am, for what I put you through, for everything but I want better for us, I want–”
“She finally did it, didn't she? She finally turned you away?”
He doesn't respond and that's an answer all on its own. You cast your bow aside, not caring how it crashes against the floor and your quiver soon follows. “You’re pathetic.”
You don't look at Paul as you go.
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Duncan stands beside you.
It's nothing new, of course. He is always there, whispering into your ear, a guiding hand on your back or teasing Ollie who was usually on your hip.
It's been nearly two weeks since the incident in the training room, since Paul came to you saying he wanted better for your relationship— nearly two weeks since you almost allowed Emmett to fall under your skirts and Duncan no doubt knows this by now and yet, he stands by you.
You're sitting on your bed with nothing but a thin sleeping shift with Ollie curled up into your lap as you gently twist and braid hair away from his face and Duncan watches, his eyes trained on your steady hands. Then, quietly, he speaks to not stir Oliver.
“It’s going to be cold tonight.” He says lightly, his eyes pulling away from your hands, letting them trace over the way the fabric hugs your form.
You don't look up as you finish a braid, using the tip of your nail to section out another braid, a distracted hum leaving your lips, “It is always cold, Duncan. It's Caladan.”
“It doesn't have to be.” He says and he hates how you pause when he says it, he hates the way his voice grows tender for you so he clears his throat, unwilling to unearth something you both ignore daily and plasters a teasing grin on his face, “Shall I call for Emmett? He is rather eager–”
He barks out a laugh when you toss a throw pillow at him, twisting out of the way before it even hits him. “Damn you.” You curse him despite the smile playing on your lips, “Speaking like that to your lady could be considered treason, you know.”
“Maybe on Somnus.” He teases as he slinks closer. He pulls the stool from your vanity and plops down on it next to you, his smiling falling just a bit as he asks, “How are you?”
“Fine.”
He levels you with a look that you don't meet, continuing to part and braid through Oliver's hair. He reaches forward then, to pull your hand free from the boy's hair and simply hold it— to command your attention towards him as he whispers your name, “I worry about you. Truly. I– Paul has told me what he said to you.” He holds your hand tighter when it jerks in his grasp, he searches your face, his eyes soft. “And it was cruel. You waited for him for void-knows-how-long and he comes to you when you finally search for another.”
Stubbornly, you purse your lips and force your eyes away from him. “I don't care.”
“It is not my place to call you a liar.” He says and it's almost automatic, years of training resurfacing as he searches for the right words. “But as someone who is close to you… as someone who cares for you, I think you do.”
You pull away and he lets you, your hands returning to Oliver's hair almost nervously. The boy doesn't even stir, “Your concern for me is endearing but it is misplaced.”
“Don’t shut me out.” He says, his voice tight and it makes your eyes slide back to him. “Your pretty words don't fool me, I know you. I see you, you have been miserable, you have suffered and it is okay to acknowledge that. It is only you, your sleeping boy and I in this room, you do not have to pretend.”
“What would you have me do, Duncan?” You ask, a touch incredulous. “Would you have me pitch a fit? You'd have me disgrace the Atreides name because what– my husband wants to be a husband?”
“I would like it if you cried.”
You flinch back, “What?”
“You haven't cried in years.” He says. “Oliver was born and you haven't shed a tear since, you have not mourned, you haven't grieved.”
“Those are the same things.” You start frowning at him. “Besides, I am a mother, a Duchess to a growing empire. There are whispers that I could be Queen, what do I have to cry about?”
“Everything.” He answers, his voice true. “Yes, you are all those things and more. But you are also young, you may be a woman now but you were a girl when you were wed.”
“That doesn't matter.”
Duncan looks at you like you've grown a second head. “It does matter. The very concept of your love was crafted for you before you ever got the chance to make it yourself. Do you like laying down and taking it or is that what you were taught? Do you like that he walks all over you or were you told to accept that?”
Your hackles rise before you can even stop yourself, “He is your lord.” You hiss, “Watch your tongue.”
Duncan throws his hand out, his eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. “You defend him and call him Lord, you do not call him a husband because that is what you are taught.” He lets his hand drop, “When I was your age–”
“You are not that much older than me.”
He continues like you didn't speak. “When I was your age, I experimented. I built my ‘love’ from the ground, I know how to kiss, how to fuck because I have done so with enough people to know what I like. That is not something that can be taught.”
You flush at the topic, imagine Duncan in such intimate situations would not be a… first for you. There were many lonely nights in your marriage and your mind often wandered. It was natural, of course, Duncan is kind. He is strong and sweet with a silver tongue, it is only natural that your mind went there when your hand traveled between your thighs. It was only natural that you had toyed with him out of pure boredom and curiosity. Moans of his name often left your lips when it was his turn to keep your room guarded. You had left your door cracked, catching his wandering eye once or twice as you… reached your peak. For voids-sake, you are quite certain Duncan has seen you in some state of undress more than Paul has and has not once mentioned it to you, has not tried to close your door or turn his head. Duncan has stood beside you for nearly six years, watched you for the same amount of time. You know you could say one simple word, a plea more than a command and it'd be just as damning and he'd be in your bed.
And yet…
You clear your throat and shake your head. Ollie jolts in your lap but doesn't wake, turning a curling deeper into your warmth. You steer the conversation back on course,“What does this have to do with me crying?”
“You were young when you were married.” He says again, like he truly doesn't understand why you don't get it. “You were young when you had Oliver, it was scary. Traumatizing, even. No one prepared you.”
“Yes they did, my parents, my tutors even–”
“Did you even get to say goodbye to the girl you once were before you were ripped away from home or did you bury her– throw her into this fucking sea the moment your engagement was announced?”
When you don't answer, he makes a noise— it's nearly a scoff but it sounds much too pitying. “I know you.” He says again, “I know that you hurt. I see it in the way you carry that blasted bow— it is all metal and wrong because your planet crafts from wood and vines. I see it in the way you hesitate at dinner because you want a second helping but the teaching of tutors or maybe even your mother told you it was unladylike. I see it when you look at Oliver because you were only a girl when you had him–”
“Do not.” You interrupt weakly, your eyes darting to your son. “I love my son.”
“I know,” He agrees. “You love him more than life itself, I'm sure, but it does not negate the fact that your family, this family, was okay with a child having a child.”
You swallow once, twice, then you blink hard. There is an odd pressure building up in your head, a pounding behind your eyes. You open your mouth to respond but your lip wobbles unsteadily. You struggle to find your words, your breath leaving you unsteadily— pinched as you try to control yourself and Duncan only smiles soft and sad. His hand resting on your knee, he speaks. “I’d have you cry.” He says again, “For the girl you lost, for the woman you became. Cry because you are a mother, a good one and you do it nearly alone, cry because you can– because it's okay. Over spilt milk or broken glass, cry because it feels right and it's a start.”
“And then?” You murmur.
Duncan shakes his head, “I can not teach how to feel better.” He says, “I can not teach you to forgive. I can only give advice— guide you through your tears. I want better for you, My lady. To give Paul a chance, to see if his word is true, if you truly want to stay in a place that caused you nothing but grief.”
“What could I do?” You ask and it hurts to hear how helpless you sound to your own ears. “If I don't want to stay, what would I–”
And for the first time since this conversation has started, Duncan hesitates— then, much quieter than before he begins to speak, “It was Leto who granted your marriage, while your parents drafted the contract– he was the one who allowed it. Therefore, if you were to go to him– if you were to air every grievance you have with Paul, tell him of all the cruel things his son has done to you… he could void your marriage.”
You shift, pulling your son up your body, cuddling him close and Duncan follows the movement.“ But what would happen to me, to Oliver?”
“Nothing.” Duncan answers. “You are the one approaching Leto here. You are the injured party and if you were to separate, you'd get half of the Atreides… well, everything.”
“What?”
“It is an old tradition.” Duncan explains quickly, “It went by many names; dissolution, annulment, divorce. You'd get half of everything– if not more, you'd get to keep your status as Duchess, you'd probably have enough money to build your own castle free and far from all of this.” He sighs. “You’d get to decide if Paul even got to see Oliver–”
“I cannot do that to him, he loves his son–”
“You are the injured party.” Duncan stresses, “It would be your choice, all of these would be your choice. I can not tell you what to do, my lady. But if you were to ask me, I'd cry first. At least once.”
And despite all the training saying otherwise, you let one tear fall. Then another and another and a–
Duncan lets you cry, his hand finding yours as you begin to curl around Ollie and bless the void— the boy doesn't so much as stir— and you sob for the first time in years.
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The next few days are… odd.
Paul tries, you give him that. He is there before you wake, lingering just outside your door with Duncan by his side. He greets you with a smile, a kiss on the hand then he offers you his arm— it varies where he leads you. Sometimes it's straight to Oliver, the boy wakes with a big grin and messy hair delighted at the sight of his parents together and other times, he leads you to a hidden alcove; a well furnished cave on a cliff side overlooking Caladans’ main sea. These moments are often spent in silence— you eat a bit and Paul watches you, you spend more time pretending not to notice then actually enjoying it but it is… time spent together and that is good, you think.
Today, however, is proving to be a bit different from most. You eat as you always do, you watch the waves crash on the rocks, you count the seconds between each of your husband’s blinks and take little glances at Duncan when the man sighs whenever Paul clears his throat. He always clears it,you find, a nervous habit only ever shown amongst close family or friends and most times, nothing would follow it, Paul would fall back into silence and the both of you would eat then go back to the castle.
Paul clears his throat and you look at him curiously because that is twice within a minute and as much as you detest him, you wouldn't want to see him choke and when you do look at him, he's fumbling with a bundle of grey cloth wrapped in twine, “Oliver,” He starts, soft and unsure and it makes you strain to hear him over the sea. “He says you like these so–” His fingers are slick because of his nerves and it takes a minute or so for him to unravel the twine but once he does— he places the cookies on the table and slides them towards you with a smile.
You look at the oddly shaped balls and smile— they are obviously handmade. They're big, clumpy and some even sink in on themselves, a few have seeds on them burnt and crumbling but seeds nonetheless and it gives you some pause. Your eyes flicker up, past Paul to Duncan who is giving the cookies an equally puzzled look. This isn't lost on your husband who frowns— he looks between you and Duncan and his brow dips, he fidgets with the edge of the grey fabric, then the skin around his nails, “What?” He asks a bit louder than he should, “What is that look?”
Your mouth opens to answer then it closes just as fast. Paul is trying. You remind yourself that he's spent much of the marriage away from you in his own universe, he wouldn't, doesn't know much about you. He is trying and so are you, trying to give him grace— he has given you cookies, as ugly and deadly as they might be, they are made by his unskilled hand and you can't help but appreciate that.
Duncan, though, is not you. “Were these made with sunflower seeds?”
Paul continues to frown, looking up at the man. “Yes, why?”
“Ah.” Duncan starts, his voice flat as you instantly push the cookies away with the butt of your fork. “Your wife is allergic.”
Paul turns red. From the tips of his ears to the ends of his toes— his mouth drops open and he founders, a choked apology starts to leave him but he only gets as far as, ‘I'm–’ before he stops because you aren't cursing him out or banishing him away from your sight. Hells, you don't even move from the table, you just watch him carefully, your eyes dancing across his face and he wishes that a sun– any one of them, explodes and spares him from this experience, from this life.
Sadly, no exploding sun spares him from this. There is no blistering heat or quick death, just your searching eyes and your cool words.“You wouldn't know.” You say simply, smiling and Paul is shocked that it holds no maliciousness. “Ollie seems to have tricked you because these are his favorite not mine but… I appreciate that you thought of me.”
“I–” He's still red, still choking on his words but his mind spins as multiple things fly through it; he can't be mad at his son because he would have pulled the same trick on his father, he is embarrassed, incredibly so because he had almost killed you because he did not know of a simple allergy but Duncan knew. He is your husband and he didn't know.“Forgive me.” He breathes, pleads.
For once, he wants you to be mad at him but you only frown, your hand carefully intertwining with his. “You didn't know,” You say, “We are… we are only beginning to know each other. We have much to learn. You didn't know and that's okay.”
Paul nods but his head spins. Duncan knew. His green eyes meet his trusted guard and he frowns, he then notices your closeness— even though your fingers are locked with his, you're leaning back towards Duncan and he is standing as close as possible to your chair. You both are sharing the same air and it is not like you and Paul who sits across from you with only a hand connecting you both. You breath out and Duncan inhales– shifting somehow closer, his lips twitching when Paul obviously catches the movement. Paul thumb strokes your hand and any negative feeling that was starting to build melts away when you smile at him, he pushes Duncan from his mind as he refocuses himself on you, a smile of his own forming.
“Well,” He starts and his voice is still shaky from the embarrassment. “Besides sunflower seeds, is there anything else I should be aware of?”
Paul doesn't know how he never saw it before. The warmth in your smile, the light in your eyes. Paul had begged for a Sun to end him, blind to the star burning bright promised to him. These years of neglect had not dulled your shine, your heat— you glow and Paul thinks he'd happily go blind if it meant staring at your light forever. “Well…” You start, smiling wide and warm.
The two of you spend the next five hours talking, laughing and trading stories of food illnesses to embarrassing ones from your youths.
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When Duncan is called to Paul's study, he already knows for what. Emmett pesters him with endless questions but the Brightwater man quickly falls silent at the mention of your name, he pales and Duncan clicks his tongue when the bastard excuses himself from the room.
To think you thought that man was bold. You thought him brave and uncaring, Duncan pretends he does not hear him emptying his stomach into the toilets. He knows the man fears he'll lose his job and Duncan does not bother to reassure him.
The route there is easy, quick. It's as if he blinks and he is there, pressing up the door and taking a step inside. Paul is sitting, facing a large window that shows Caladan’s raging sea. The waves crash on the beach's shore and drag the sand out with it, the sky has grown dark since your outing with your husband— a storm raging in the distance. A storm raging in the man in front of Duncan.
“For how long?”
Duncan doesn't bother trying to play stupid, he doesn't sit nor does he take a step further in the room. “Does it matter?”
Paul turns just as lightning strikes the sea. His eyes flash and Duncan is taken aback at the rage that is there. He doesn't not flinch away from it, he bares the storm that spills when Paul speaks. “She’s my wife, Duncan. My wife!”
Duncan blinks. “I am aware.” He then looks away. “She is aware of that too. It is by her hand only that I haven't landed in her bed.”
Paul stands, he is shaking. Duncan is his friend but this— he smoothes a hand over his face. His eyes sting but he does not cry, he did not do so when he caught the beginnings of something with Emmett so why would he cry now? He looks at Duncan and his heart clenches. Duncan is his friend. “And if she said yes–”
“In a heartbeat.” Duncan answers. He is cruel in his honesty but he doesn't care, Paul has been crueler with his own and he can't help the smile that twists at his lips. “Castle Atreides would be filled with more bastards than you, Paul.”
Duncan does not flinch. Paul in all his anger and crashing tides has made his way across the room, his blade to his neck and drawing blood. The cut stings, bubbles with his blood and Duncan doesn't not break eye contact. He has hid his love for you long enough and this is freeing, Paul would not kill him. He knows that because Paul is a trained soldier, trained to kill and his blade shakes against his throat. “You will leave.” Paul says and his voice is shaking. There is a tear threatening to spill from his eyes. “You will leave and you will not return until I call for you.”
Duncan's heart drops. “What?”
“You will not come when she calls.” Paul continues. “And she will call and you will not answer. Not for her not for Oliver. Do you understand?”
Duncan searches his young master's face for some kind of tell but Paul is serious. The blade presses closer and when Paul opens his mouth, it is The Voice that leaves it. It is hundreds of voices all at once, it is his mother's, it is his fathers and it is yours. The commands sinks into his brain, pulling at flesh and his eye twitches as it forces it's will deeper. He is being sent on a mission, he is being sent to Arrakis. The voices dig deeper and there is a dull alarm that coils around his heart, Duncan hopes Paul will not take his love for you away. His lungs tighten and the blade is pulled away from his neck as he falls into a kneel before Paul who still commands his existence. He is to forget this. This confrontation, this moment of insecurity and rage, he is to forget why he never wanted to leave Caladin in the first place.
Please, please, please. He begs when the voice doesn't fade, there is terror building in his blood but as soon as it grows it is wiped away by The voice, by the soft whisper of your voice. He is to bring Deacon's bastard son. The voice fades and Duncan is gasping, clutching at his neck and his fingers slip in his own blood. Paul stares down at him, his eyes blank, the storm raging on behind him and Duncan remembers… nothing. Just his mission.
He pushes himself to his feet, surprised when he stumbles. His blood flows dark and Paul doesn't look away, a thin lipped smile on his face. “You slipped.”
Duncan knows that's not right but he can't bring himself to question it. Paul is moving away from him, back to his desk and fixing his chair. “Best to prepare for your departure and send Emmett to me when you see him.”
Duncan knows his way to Paul's office and he knows the way back just as well. But today, he couldn't help but get lost on his way. He has a headache brewing.
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You like to believe you do not know who cries more when Duncan leaves. But Oliver stops crying within an hour, distracted by his grandparents and pulled away for a mini adventures and it is two weeks later when you burst into tears because you think you've smelt him.
It is embarrassing, unladylike but Duncan had told you he had wanted you to cry more and Paul took it in stride. Duncan had been your foundation for so long so for him to be sent away, you are left crumbling but Paul is there and more than eager to get to building. At some point, he had snuck his way into your rooms— he had wide eye amazement as he took in everything, the plants that climb their way up your walls to your blankets and how much thicker they are than his. Paul had smiled when he saw despite everything, you still favored his colors– your house colors. You and Paul sleep together but not sleep together. Your mornings had become shared, whispers and giggles shared the first time you both woke up together— you and Paul had talked into the night, Oliver curled into his side and his hand running through his son's hair.
Still days later, you find waking up next to him, your husband hasn't gotten old. Paul clings to you when he sleeps, he's incredibly warm and you find you no longer need your blanket when he wraps around you in the night. Emboldened by his soft snores, you pull away gently, taking him in the soft morning light. You brush a soft curl from his face and he frowns in his sleep, it strikes you just how pretty he is. He's the makings of every Prince you ever read about growing up, blessed by luck and kissed by beauty and all that. He nuzzles against your hand with a sigh, his frown melting from his lips and you realize you want to kiss him.
You pull your hand away out of pure embarrassment, flushing hot. You shouldn't be embarrassed, you try to reason with yourself. He's your husband— the father of your child, he's touched your naked body before, he's kissed you before but that was years ago and all of that stopped the moment you fell pregnant. You haven't ached for such affection from him in years yet here and now, you wish you could press your lips to his. How embarrassing, you simper trying to pull further away from him but Paul's hold is ironclad, he curls around you tighter, his legs sliding between yours, his hands settling on your back. “What are you doing?” He murmurs, “Where are you going?”
You thank every star that's ever existed that he doesn't open his eyes. He keeps his eyes clamped shut as if protesting the morning sun and he completely misses your fading flusteredness. “Nowhere.” You answer, trying to relax in his touch. He's drawing patterns against your back, trying and failing to lull you back to sleep. He's just so close and it was easier to ignore when you're too tired to be flustered. “I wanted to give you space.”
Paul frowns, blinking his eyes open. “Don’t want space.” Then processing what he said, he offers you a timid smile before he rolls away to yawn and stretch. “Sorry, that was…” He shakes his head and doesn't bother finishing what he was going to say. He gets out of your bed with another stretch, his bones cracking and your mind flounders, rushing to think of a reason to keep him in bed— you never thought a day would come when you wanted to keep Paul near you. Your mouth moves before you can think and through and—
“Oliver says he wants a sibling.”
The moment it leaves your mouth, you're clapping a hand over your lips in pure, unfiltered embarrassment. Paul is still frozen mid stretch, his eyes wide and his cheeks completely pink and you wish a moon would come crashing into the planet and take you out in its destruction. “What?” He asks, his voice is strangely pitched. His arms drop as he turns to face you.
“Nothing.” You say and your voice is a squeak, your mortification growing. What are you? A blushing virgin maiden? You should have stood your ground, repeated what you said proudly but you're suddenly… shy. Your heart is pounding and you pull your blanket up and over your head, “Forget I said anything.”
Paul says your name and you ignore it, pulling the cover tighter and it's a sight that makes Paul's heart soar. His lady wife is shy before him, it is a welcome change that has his own heart skipping delightfully. He can't help but tease you, he says your name again as he rounds the bed, he drags it out, stretches it across his tongue and you shiver under the blanket. His hand touches your covered leg and you jump and he laughs, sitting at your side. “My love,” He starts and he says it like he's sure of it, like you are his only love. “Can you repeat that?”
“No.” You hiss and it pulls another laugh from him. He pulls the blanket from your face and he is smiling like he's never smiled before, his peachy cheeks dimpling.
“Oliver wants a sibling.” Paul repeats and you purse your lips nodding, Paul's smile only grows. “I knew that already.”
You blink. “What?”
“Oliver has always wanted a sibling.” Paul starts casually, shrugging. “But if he told you and you told me that means– you've considered it.”
Your face flushes hot and you go to pull for your blanket but Paul puts his weight on it, stopping you from covering yourself. So you deflect, your lip pulls up in a halfhearted sneer, “I was making conversation. I was trying to be polite.”
Paul hums, slow and soft. “You thought it proper to a conversation by asking me to fuck you?”
You blink rapidly, your mouth falling open in shock. “I-I wasn't– I w-wouldn't–” Paul is smiling and you swallow. “You’re teasing me.”
“A little.” He murmurs, his eyes are searching your face. His hand raises from your blanket and you brace yourself when it caresses the length of your face, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip. “I wouldn't mind.”
Your tongue follows the path of his thumb out of instinct and when it sweeps across it, you swear you see your husband’s eyes flash. “Mind what?”
“Another child.” He says. “Sleeping with you.”
You're nodding and suddenly Paul is on you, his lips on yours as he cups your face to drag you closer. You are clumsy, unsure with how you kiss him— it's been years you remind yourself but Paul is so much more confident, he kisses you and it's nothing like the ones from years ago. Those had been pecks, his lips on yours to shush your moans as he humped into you, it all felt professional— a duty he had to perform but this, Paul is kissing you. It is all tongue, teeth and lips, he's eager with his nips and how his tongue drags across yours but he goes at your pace; or at least he tries, you whimpered and the kiss quickly grew messy— wet as he wraps his tongue around yours and sucks. It's an odd feeling and it pulls a startled moan from you. It is years of programming that has you saying it, your hands clenching at the fabric of his shirt, “Husband–”
“Paul.” He urges, his voice a touch desperate as his hands begin to roam your body. He's squeezing you in places you've never been touched before, his hands tickling up your sides— pushing your nightgown up. You are bare beneath them and Paul lets out an appreciative groan at the sight of your pussy. He barely looks up when he says, “Call me Paul when I touch you like this, please.”
You swallow and nod, you have to ask. You have to know. “Paul, did you ever–” Your voice breaks and you can hear how small you sound. “Did you touch her? While we were together?”
“No.” He says it so quickly, you're blinking but his voice is serious, he doesn't falter but his hands still. “I would never do that, not even if she offered.”
You take a breath. “But you left, Paul.”
“I know.” He murmurs, “I’m sorry. Will you let me apologize?”
“You already–” Your voice catches as he bends, he kisses his way down your body, hot opened mouthed kisses, his tongue dragging across your flesh. Your stomach clenches when he lowers and presses another kiss to your mound, uncaring of the hair there. Your legs try to clamp together but he is quick to keep them apart, his eyes meeting your frantic ones, “You don't– you never–”
“I’m apologizing.” He says simply and then his mouth is on you. There is nothing shy about the way his tongue drags through your folds, he licks and licks, and licks till he's drooling— he's making a wet mess out of you, his tongue dipping in and out of your fluttering hole as moans spill from you. Your legs tremble at the side of his head and you barely catch his eye roll as he pulls your thighs close to his head. He groans when they clench around his head and he licks his way back up to your clit and sucks hard, slurping loudly. Your back arches from the bed, a shrill shriek of his name escaping from your mouth, his head bobs with each suck, his tongue dragging and swirling hard against your dripping core.
“Oh, oh-” A curse he's never heard before explodes from you and your hand is carding through his hair and pulling closer to your cunt. His nose digs into your flesh and he lets out a puff of air before he flattens his tongue and shakes his head, your hand was keeping him centered enough but it loosens when he does this, flying to your mouth instead to muffle the squeal that leaves you. He keeps his mouth on you as he looks up, taking in your teary eye expression— your eyes meet and Paul can barely hold back the smile when he teases a finger against your slit. You moan, arching down towards it and it makes his nose grind against your clit as his finger slips in easily. You're incredibly wet and you would be embarrassed if Paul wasn't the one to blame for it, you could barely tell what was your own arousal or his spit at this point.
Paul presses another finger into you and it goes just as easy as the first, his fingers gliding against your clenching, wet walls. His fingers prod and rub and when they hook against a spot that has you twisting away from him, Paul is fighting to keep your hips from bucking wildly. “That’s it.” He encourages, his voice husky. His fingers bully a spongy part inside of you, pressing and rubbing as his other hand moves, his fingers rubbing tight, hard circles against your clit. It's an awkward position but Paul doesn't seem to care, his wild eyed look is trained on your leaky cunt and the way it clenches and flutters around his fingers. You smack at his hands because something is brewing— your stomach coiling right. He rides the waves your hips rock to, a crooked smile forming on his face. “That’s fucking it, so pretty like this.”
You cum and you swear you've gone blind. You've touched yourself before, you've made yourself cum before but this— this is something completely different, your back is arching off the bed, your moans are choked to a stop as you try to force air to your lungs. Your legs clamp shut but Paul keeps pumping his fingers inside of you, he's cooing like you're something precious and he's riding your high, his hand matching the twitching of your hips. You wheeze his name, your chest heaving and it is only then Paul pulls his hand from you, his fingers wet and creamy and he slips the digits into his mouth with a soft moan.
You're blinking up at him, your breath rattling in your chest and Paul meets your gaze unabashed, his fingers leaving his mouth to rub a soothing pattern in your thigh. “Are you alright?”
You quickly realize Paul can't help but do that. In the next week, Paul pulls you into every dark corner he can find. He'd drop to his knees, his mouth finding your cunt like it was home and he'd licked you till you were quivering, creaming all over his face and pushing him away. Paul licked your cunt like a man starved and again, you quickly realize with an odd twinge of fear that he loved it. Loved your legs clamped around his head, loved his nose buried in your scent at its source. He loved it so much it took nearly another week for him to bend you over his desk and actually fuck you.
“Oh, f-fuck!”
The office is filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, the squeaking of the desk moving forward. Paul has a hand splayed over the curve of your back, keeping you bent over as he rolled his hips into you. You're moaning, cursing really and it makes him twitch inside of you. He loves when you act like anything but a Lady and when you're clenching down on him, choking his dick and soaking his thighs, he thinks he might lose his head. Still, there are guards who roam the halls outsides, servants that go about their duties and you are just so vocal— his hand slips over your mouth and though he knows the damage is done and the outside world has probably already heard your sounds, he feels possessive; he wants to keep your moans and whimpers to himself. He used the hand over your mouth to pull you up and flush against him, groaning when you clamp down on him, fucking back on him without abandon.
His knees nearly buckle when you begin to set your own pace against him, one of your hands holds his hand over your mouth, your nails digging into skin as your other hand flies to your stretched cunt. You're so wet your fingers slip and mess their mark and Paul feels your frustrated groan vibrate against his hand as you try again, your fingers finding your clit and you rub furiously little circles against the sensitive nub. Faintly, Paul thinks you touch yourself a little too rough but you're tightening up on him and Paul moans, you feel so good. Better than his hand ever did and, his hips meet yours— it's almost frantic, animalistic in the way he fucks into you and when he cums, he shakes, a moan spilling from his lips as he continues to roll his hips, fucking his spend back into you and try to get you to finish.
And you do, you always do because Paul refuses to stop until you do. He could be shaking from pure overstimulation and he'd still fuck into you until you're creaming on his dick, his fingers, his face. Later, he tells you that he's glad you don't squirt. You had hit him on his shoulder, tried to hide your face from his lecherous gaze but he had cupped your pussy with a grin filled with heat, “You’d wash away all my work if you did.”
You had hissed his name in warning but Paul was already slipping his fingers back inside of you and you were mortified with how your body just accepted them.
Your recent… couplings had not gone unnoticed by the people of the Castle. While your ladies had more tact in asking you— your Father-in-law and Jessica were not. You had been tending to Oliver at dinner, trying to coax your son into eating his vegetables with Paul watching fondly at your side, his arm curled around the back of your seat.
Leto had cleared his throat, shifting in his chair as he watched the two of you warmly. He has been the more accepting of the recent change, greeting you both with a grin or a chuckle whenever you two stumbled into the room disheveled. “Would it be remiss of me to assume I'll be getting another grandchild soon?”
Paul snorts into his cup of wine, the red liquid spilling across his front and you are no better, the fork holding Oliver’s broccoli shakes and the vegetable falls on the boy who instantly whines in disgust. You are quick to clean him, apologizing in a coo as your face warms, you look anywhere but your in-laws and Paul takes charge. “Father–” He began, his voice warning but Leto showed his palms with an easy smile.
“I’m simply curious.” He amends, Jessica is deathly silent at his side, watching the conversation with an odd look in her eyes. “The castle hasn't been baby proofed since Oliver and I wanted to know if we should start–”
Oliver, hearing his name looks to his grandfather to you with excited green eyes. “There’s a baby?”
Your mouth opens, then closes, your face warm as suddenly everyone turns to look at you. “Well, yes but–”
The adults at the table all sit straighter, Paul's hand curls tighter against the back of your chair. “Yes?” He repeats a touch breathless and you risk a glance in his direction, and he has once again gone pink in the face. Your lips pinch and you look away, it is much easier to admit this to a child, your son, rather than his father.
“Yes,” You begin again, your voice strong but soft, a hand smoothing over his curly little head. “But the baby won't come for a number of months, Ollie.”
Oliver makes a face. “I’ll be five when it comes.”
Paul from your side lets out a watery laugh, his arm leaving your chair and settling on your shoulders. “Yes,” He replies, “You’ll be an older brother, Oliver.”
That has the boy smiling, he turns back to his grandfather already babbling about all the things he'll do as a big brother and Leto is smiling so widely, you think the grin might split his face. Paul uses it as an opportunity to pull you from the table and out into the hallway, his hand shaking in yours.
“Paul, I'm–”
He silences you with a kiss salted with his own tears. You return his kiss a touch confused and he lets out a puff of laughter against your lips. “Do not apologize.” He orders, leaning away, “Do not apologize for making me a father again.”
“I wanted to tell you differently.” You say, your heart pounding. “I wanted to wait another week just to be sure– wanted to surprise you.”
Paul is grinning, teary eyed and peachy faced. “I am surprised.” Then he's kissing you again.
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lovetwist · 9 days
Text
Veil of Deception (I)
SYNOPSIS: In a world where political alliances are forged in blood and treachery lurks around every corner, you find yourself thrust into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen. Born to be his perfect mate, you grapple with the terrifying prospect of becoming entangled with a man known for his brutality, obsession, and madness. As your union unfolds, you navigate a landscape of deception and dark desires, struggling to find your footing in a marriage fraught with danger and uncertainty. Caught between duty and defiance, summon your strength and resilience to survive in a world where loyalty is a luxury and love is a dangerous game.
WARNINGS (R18+): mildly dub-con, smut, first time, weapons kink, mentions of violence, manipulations, genetic breeding, power play
Word Count: 3.5k
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PART 2
Below the towering spires of obsidian and steel, against a backdrop of opulent extravagance that flaunted wealth and power, a tension hung heavy, pregnant with the promise of destiny.
As Lady Atreides, sole daughter of Leto Atreides, you stood poised on the precipice of a meeting that would shape the course of your future. Your heart seized with nerves as you awaited the arrival of your betrothed.
Since your 15th name day, you had known of your engagement to the na-Baron. It was an inescapable fate predetermined by the Bene Geserrit. Your mother, Lady Jessica, had gone against them by giving birth to Paul, a male heir for Leto. Two years later, she gave birth to you – a gift of compromise for both sides. In return, Lady Jessica and Leto achieved the familial harmony they wanted, through the sacrifice of their daughter.
Every year, the Harkonnens requested your portrait to be sent along with a lock of hair. In exchange, they sent House Atreides jewels, gold, silks, and spice; disguised bribes for the upkeep of such a fine lady. They had only sent a portrait of Feyd-Rautha once. It was taken during his coming-of-age ceremony, a lean young man dressed in black fighting leathers. You stared often at the picture, looking to find some clue that could reveal his character. His demeanor was unnaturally cold and collected, yet his dark eyes barely concealed a burning rage. You wondered if Feyd-Rautha poured over you pictures as you did his.
Years passed and the engagement felt more like a false formality than reality. Unlike other noble families, you never exchanged letters with Feyd-Rautha or even met as a courtesy. Having completed your Bene Geserrit training under your mother, you learned that such things did not matter when it came to pairings arranged by the Reverand Mother. You caught whispers of conversation between your mother and her Bene Geserrit sisters. There would be no chance of failure, this union would be perfect. You were genetically engineered to be his absolute mate. Attraction and physical compatibility was assured. Everything about you was designed to lure him in – your scent, your voice, your everything was to be his undoing from the moment he would lay eyes on you.
Yet the thought gave you no confidence as you stood here now in Giedi Prime. Sexual attraction differed greatly from love, he didn’t need emotions to breed you. Feyd-Rautha, the enigmatic scion of House Harkonnen, was a man followed by countless stories of brutality and wickedness. You heard that he laughed when Reverand Mother subjected him to the Gom Jabbar. He didn’t endure pain, he reveled in it.
Your palms grew clammy, breath becoming increasingly shallow as you pondered the dark fate that awaited you in the form of this formidable man. Would Feyd-Rautha be the embodiment of all the whispered sin that had reached your ears, or would he prove to be an enigma beyond your wildest imaginings? With each passing moment, the anticipation mounted, weaving a delicate web of uncertainty around your heart as your braced yourself to meet the man who held your destiny in his hands.
The grand doors of the chamber swung open with a regal flourish, your heart quickened its pace, echoing the rhythm of anticipation that thrummed through the air. Through the gray haze of incense, you beheld Feyd-Rautha, a vision of masculinity and charisma, whose presence seemed to command the very essence of the room. His eyes met yours across the expanse of the chamber, a charged moment filled with unspoken tension, as if the universe itself held its breath in anticipation of this meeting.
You were ensnared in a tempest of conflicting emotions, thoughts swirling like sand caught in a desert storm. You questioned your own composure, wondering if you could maintain the facade of confidence expected of a lady of House Atreides in the presence of the young Harkonnen and the terrifying Baron. Feyd-Rautha may be your future husband, but he was not required to provide you a good nor happy life. After all, why would he? You were the daughter of his family’s sworn enemy. He may have been bound in marriage to you by centuries of bloodline manipulation, but he maintained a free will.
Would his words falter, betraying the tumult and hatred raging within him? Or would he summon the grace and poise befitting his station, masking the turmoil that churned beneath the surface? Your apprehension mounted, a symphony of doubt and fear playing out in the recesses of your mind. Yet, amidst the chaos of your thoughts, a glimmer of determination flickered like a distant star on the horizon, urging you forward into the unknown with a quiet resolve born of necessity.
For in the labyrinthine dance of politics and power that defined their world, you knew that you could ill afford to falter now. With a steadying breath, you squared your shoulders and prepared to face your destiny, whatever form it may take in the guise of a madman husband.
Feyd-Rautha, with an air of effortless confidence, strode forward, his gaze a smoldering ember that ignited a spark within your soul. In that fleeting moment, as your paths converged amidst the darkness and mist of the surroundings, you felt a surge of something unfamiliar yet undeniable—an electric current that crackled between your bodies, binding your fates together inextricably.
Words eluded you as you struggled to articulate the wave of emotions that threatened to consume you. Yet, in the silence that stretched between you two, you found solace in the understanding that this meeting was but the first step on a journey fraught with uncertainty and possibility. He bowed without taking his eyes off you. In greeting, you extended a gloved hand, Feyd-Rautha grasped it with a firm sense of resolve. You knew that your lives were now intertwined in ways neither could fully comprehend nor stop.
And in that moment, amidst the hazy dream of your shared future, you glimpsed the faintest flicker of something akin to desire dance across his eyes. You noticed a dilation of his pupils as he laid a kiss on the back of your hand. Then, his grasp of you tightened and tightened. Your face contorted in pain as a crooked smirk appeared on his features.
In the dim light of the chamber, your eyes traced the contours of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips, searching for traces of the young man you once memorized in a portrait. Yet, try as you might, only a beast stood before you in the guise of a gentleman. When he stood at his full height with his darkened leer, you held yourself back from cowering. His gaze was vicious, his smile vulgar with blackened teeth, and he exuded an air of savagery.
“How delightful it is to finally meet you, Lady Atreides.”
His deep, raspy voice caught you off guard. What a performer he could be! Long gone was the ethereal allure he displayed when first entering the room, now you could see him for what he was.
“Likewise, my Lord Feyd-Rautha.”
Uncertainty lingered like a specter in the room, casting a pall over the impending union that would bind you with him. You let your gaze lower onto the floor as your parents approached to talk with the Baron and na-Baron.
You could feel his intense gaze burning through your body even as you moved away to be with your brother. Could his eyes pierce through your facade, unraveling the intricacies of your soul like fine thread? Such questions gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, casting shadows on your will to remain strong.
As the evening progressed, the tension in the air thickened like a fog, suffocating any semblance of ease. Seated at the long banquet table surrounded by your family, the Harkonnens, and noble guests, you found yourself ensnared in a delicate dance of propriety and peril.
Across from you, Feyd-Rautha lounged in his seat, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he watched you with unabashed fascination. His demeanor was that of a predator toying with its prey, his every movement calculated to instill a sense of discomfort. Your family would leave to Arrakis after the wedding festivities, then you would be truly left alone with him. The precariousness of your position tugged at your heart.
As the meal commenced, the atmosphere grew increasingly tense, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the strained chatter of polite conversation. You forced yourself to engage in small talk with those seated around you, your words measured and careful, lest you betray the fear that coiled like a serpent in the pit of your stomach.
Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure, you couldn't shake the feeling of being scrutinized by those dark, probing eyes. It was as if Feyd-Rautha could see straight through you, peeling away the layers of pretense to expose your most secret vulnerabilities. You found yourself growing increasingly unsettled. You longed to escape, to retreat to the safety of your chambers and away from the suffocating presence of the Harkonnen heir.
But you knew that there would be no reprieve, no sanctuary from the darkness that had descended upon your life like a shadow. For tonight, and every night thereafter, you were bound to him by the cruel machinations of fate, condemned to walk a path fraught with danger and uncertainty. And as you raised your glass to Feyd-Rautha’s toast to your impending union, you couldn't help but wonder what horrors awaited you.
“To the most beautiful bride in the world, I will certainly savor tomorrow’s…memories.”
The men at the table chuckled darkly while your father’s and brother’s jaws clenched. You lay your delicate hand over theirs, do not mourn me. If I am to die, I shall do so with honor.
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As your mother lowered your veil, you noticed tears forming in her eyes. You never thought you’d live to see the day the impenetrable Lady Jessica shed tears for you. I must really be walking into my death, you thought.
You looked at your reflection in the mirror. There were no words to describe the vision you saw. Crafted from the finest silk and satin, your wedding gown exuded an air of majestic elegance with flowing skirts cascading like waves of moonlight around your figure.
The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and delicate lace, hugged your curves with a tailored precision, accentuating a slender waist and graceful neckline. A row of tiny diamonds trailed down your body, gleaming against the smooth expanse of your back. While the front of the dress was conservative, your back was tastefully exposed through a combination of sheer silk, diamonds and pearls.
Your hair was pinned neatly into a bun with a delicate braid on each side. The veil was gauzy, making your face seem like a daydream. The ivory fabric of your dress pooled at your feet in a sea of frothy tulle and satin, forming a train that trailed behind you like a regal cloak. The wedding dress was embroidered with delicate motifs of growing vines, mountains and ocean waves – a reminder of Caladan.
At your collar, a border of intricate lacework added a touch of timeless elegance, its patterns catching the light in a dazzling display of shimmering beauty. With every movement, the gown seemed to whisper tales of romance and splendor, a clear hope to the love and devotion the seamstress had prayed you’d find. You choked down a sob.
You’ve made me an angel for him to ruin.
The wedding hall was adorned with such grandeur, you’d expect the emperor’s daughter was getting married instead. The flickering silver torches cast dancing shadows upon the ebony stone walls. As guests gathered in hushed reverence, the air crackled with anticipation, as if the very walls themselves whispered of your impeding damnation.
At the front of the hall, beneath a canopy of arched black silk, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stood, an imposing figure in his ceremonial garb. His porcelain skin was stark against the darkness of his clothes as he awaited his bride.
You approached with measured steps, hardening your grip on your father’s arm. Your eyes must’ve betrayed your fear and resignation because you could see Feyd-Rautha biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh.
As you reached the altar, his lips curled into a predatory smile, his voice dripping with malice as he spoke the vows that bound you together in unholy matrimony. The words echoed through the hall like a curse, sealing your fate alongside his.
As you exchanged rings, a union forged in the fires of despair, you vowed that though your body may be bound to Feyd-Rautha, your spirit would remain forever free.
Standing before him, you felt the weight of his gaze like chains around your soul.
With a solemn nod from the officiant, you and Feyd-Rautha were instructed to seal your union with a kiss. He removed your veil, his eyes lingering on your face. As his lips met yours, a shiver ran down your spine.
The kiss was surprisingly gentle, but devoid of love. You gasped when his tongue entered your mouth. It was a macabre dance of dominance and submission, a twisted mockery of affection that left a bitter taste upon your lips. You try to push him away, but he holds your hands firm against his chest. The Harkonnens roar with applause and laughter. As you pulled away, a sense of profound emptiness washed over you, a hollow echo of the dreams and desires that had once burned within your heart.
The rest of the wedding banquet was a blur. As you were led to the high table by Feyd-Rautha's side, you couldn't shake the feeling of being trapped, ensnared in a web of malevolence. The guests, mostly Harkonnen allies, noble families, and sycophants, feigned smiles and exchanged whispers, their eyes gleaming with a perverse curiosity at the spectacle of your union.
The feast itself was a decadent display of excess, with platters of exotic delicacies and goblets overflowing with rich wines. But the opulence only served to accentuate the suffocating atmosphere, as the room was closing in on you with each additional piece of ornate furniture.
Feyd-Rautha, ever the consummate host, played his part with calculated charm, his laughter ringing hollow in your ears as he regaled the guests with tales of conquest and murder. You watched him from across the table, his features twisted in a mask of false benevolence, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of revulsion mingled with a sliver of pity. He, too, was playing a part – ever the performer. 
Throughout the banquet, you were subjected to the leering gazes and whispered innuendos of the Harkonnen cronies, their crude remarks slicing through the thin veneer of civility like daggers. But you held your composure, steeling yourself against their taunts and jeers, refusing to let them see the cracks in your mask.
As the night wore on and the wine flowed freely, the mood grew increasingly raucous, the revelry descending into a frenzied ecstasy. You found yourself adrift in a sea of faces, each one a grotesque caricature of humanity, their laughter and applause a cruel mockery of your predicament.
And amidst the chaos and debauchery, you couldn't help but wonder what was in store for you, chained to a man whose heart was as black as midnight. As you absentmindedly finished your last sip of wine, Feyd-Rautha stood suddenly, his chair loudly rattling against the granite floors. A chilling silence descended upon the hall.
He extended a hand towards you and you immediately understood his intentions. You departed the hall, hand-in-hand as men watched with envy and women stared with pity. You couldn’t bear to look at the faces of your family, afraid that you might beg them to take you home.
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As you left the banquet hall with Feyd-Rautha, a heavy sense of foreboding settled over you. The echoes of the evening's macabre festivities lingered in your mind, each laughter, each lewd jest, a reminder of the gilded cage in which you now found yourself imprisoned.
You walked beside Feyd-Rautha, his grip firm upon your hand, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors of the Harkonnen estate. There was an eerie stillness in the air. With each step, you felt the weight of your predicament pressing down upon you, the reality of your situation sinking in like a cold, unyielding truth.
You stole a glance at Feyd-Rautha, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Occasionally fireworks would alight by the window, allowing you to see his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger that made you look away immediately.
As you walked in silence, your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions, a storm raging within you. You couldn't help but wonder what awaited in the bedchamber. You weren’t ignorant to the act of consummating a marriage, but your husband was no ordinary man. What horrors lay in store for a woman bound to a man as cruel and cunning as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen… what would satisfy a man like him? But amidst the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of desire burned within you, a stubborn resolve to claim him as much as he claims you.
He led you into a large room with double doors. Compared to the gaudy decorations of the wedding hall, this room was relatively simple: a chamber of dark elegance and understated grandeur. There were only the bare necessities required of a bedroom, but each piece had been impeccably handmade with the most exquisite of materials. At its center, a massive four-poster bed stands as the focal point, its frame crafted from polished ebony wood, intricately carved with motifs of serpents and ivy. Perfectly sized above the bed, stretching over the ceiling was pure reflective glass. You swallowed thickly, this man had no shame.
A grand chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its crystals casting prismatic rays of light across the room, illuminating the space with a haunting allure.
The walls are lined with dark, navy paneling, adorned sparingly with antique tapestries depicting scenes of forgotten battles and dangerously sharpened weapons. A sleek, black writing desk sits nearby, stacked with books on war strategies and adorned with quill and parchment.
A sense of regal simplicity pervades the space, each element carefully curated to its master. This is a sanctuary of solitude, where one can retreat from the heaviness of the Harkonnen world and immerse themselves in the embrace of peace.
Busy admiring the room, you didn’t notice Feyd-Rautha locking the doors behind you. You tensed when you suddenly felt the coldness of a blade against your back. With one precise slice, he cut your wedding dress open leading all the decorative pearls to fall to the ground. Your hands instinctively went to cover yourself, but his newfound grip on your wrists was even faster.
“You are mine now, pet.” His hands slowly guided yours down as he ripped away the rest of your dress. “Do not resist me, I want to see you in all your beauty.”
Your face flushed as you looked away from him. You knew objecting to his wish was futile, perhaps if you appeased him then he’d be gentler. You learned this was a useless thought the moment you saw his expression – raw, animalistic hunger chipped away at the edges of his sanity. His pupils dilated so wide that his eyes became monochromatic orbs of obsidian.
He removed his own clothes with swift and lithe movements, revealing pure sculpted muscle. Through the rapid rise and fall of his chest, you could see that he was barely holding back his lust. Feyd-Rautha was going to devour you without leaving a single morsel for the world.
“I-I… If you hurt me, I will scream.”
“Go ahead, it’ll only stroke my ego if you do. Scream loud enough for the whole banquet to hear. Let them know what pleasures your husband bestows upon you.”
With each step he took towards you, you took two steps back. When you felt the bed come into contact with the back of your knees, you realize you’ve been trapped.
“Lie down.” he commanded.
Sensing the tonal shift in his voice, you obeyed. You felt his long, slender fingers enter your most intimate place. When he curved against your inner wall, you let out an involuntarily moan – which he quickly swallowed from your lips. You had touched yourself before, but only rarely during occasions when you couldn’t sleep and the moon was hanging high.
However, this was different – he was different. His fingers reached places where yours never could. Your body made lewd sounds as he pumped in and out of you with torturous speed. The way you grind against his hand was indecent, but he rewarded you with such sweet friction. Hearing his low pants against your ear, you couldn't help but writhe into his touch. When you came undone, he smirked and licked your essence from his fingers.
Before you could catch your breath, he was on top of you again; caging you between his toned arms. He reached out to grasp your chin before roughly crashing his lips down on yours. The kiss was all-consuming, he was drinking in every part of you without letting you breathe. Your eyes wandered down to where his member stood unnaturally stiff and enlarged. Your new husband sneered at your expression before his right hand circled around your throat.
“Your throat… it shall be my axis tonight.”
1K notes · View notes
ghostgirl101 · 11 days
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Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅰ of Ⅱ
|| Word Count: 1.5K || Angst → Fluff ||
A/N: I had this as a big idea that I had to get down before the basic headcanons and stuff, so here's my take on our Lisan al Gaib 😎 if you like this then hit me up for some relationship headcanons and the like, I'm up for it all. Enjoy reading or watching the movie if you haven't already - I'm going again lol, and screen X is the best way to experience it fr Also I feel like I should write a second part to this lmao, if you liked what you read?
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You weren't one for dreams of destiny.
The dreams you had seemed meaningless, confusing, nothing to do with what ifs and what could. Not like his.
But you always seemed to feel some kind of atmosphere, an aura you couldn't quite shake off, even when you woke up from the darkness. There was no face to go with the voice, the voice in the dark that called to you in whispers that you didn't understand. Beautiful words that weren't yours, but sounded so soft and gentle and powerful, as they reached out to you from distant lands.
You could never place them, pin them down and study them, understand them, until the day the Emperor was challenged by a ghost of a lost House, thought to be dead, left to be forgotten. You stand near the Emperor and his guards and men, the Great Houses looming and listening from higher above, as the Fremen fill up the space to watch the confrontation in spirited anticipation.
The life debt was paid. The late Emperor was overthrown. The ascendancy of Paul Atreides rose and took from the throne to claim it.
His attention flicks from his eyes boring coldly into the Emperor's, to meet yours, his voice smooth and set, full of conviction and force.
"Our destiny is together. I'll take her."
Your eyes widen slightly as his words sink in, blinking through the shock and incredulity that rushes through you and makes your heart race in apprehension and wonder. Though his voice twins with your wandering dreams, you don't know whether to feel fascination and longing, or fear and cautiousness at some greater force beyond your understanding, playing out before your very eyes.
"I..." your voice falters in uncertainty and disbelief, and you try again. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me well," Paul responds with an undying, stoic certainty that's almost unnerving. "As I know you."
His eyes study you, his Spice-stained blue eyes bleeding into yours, scanning every freckle on your face and curve of your outfit. Assessing you, knowing you, ridiculous throngs of power filling his aura and projecting onto you with his intense stare. You have to fight not to shiver under it, ultimately failing.
"What of me?" is the wisest reply you can think of before the silence stretches into dangerous uncertainty.
"Everything," Paul says evenly, but there's no mistaking the challenge and determination in his tone, almost daring you to reject him, to disagree, a built-up desire of dreamt promises resolving his stand. "I choose you, as my Empress. We will rule together, over the Empire."
Scepticism and bewilderment washes over you and makes your blood heat and stir, retreating into silence as he takes a step closer to you, gazing at you as if you're the most curious, exotic being he's ever seen.
Desire threatens to override Paul Atreides' reason, clinging onto the hope and chance of a narrow way through to light, a light that could only be sought out with you by his side. Without you, there was nothing in sight but pools of blood replacing luscious marine life and oceans running through Arrakis, disarray and disillusion at every turn and infecting every heart.
You were absolutely perfect.
And you were already his, long before this moment, before you and he were born into the world and named. There was no manipulation needed, because everything was laid out for him to take, welcoming him to rule and grow higher and higher. Fate had bonded you and strung you along to here and now, and as you blink up into his bright eyes that narrow slightly at you, frowning softly as if you hadn't understood his demand.
"Do you know what I am?"
You pause for a moment, speaking slowly and cautiously, as the crowd of Fremen and the wary, late Emperor watch on in tense wordlessness. "You are Leto Atreides' son. Former Duke of Caladan."
"What I am," Paul repeats evenly, "not who I am." He stares at you in silence for another beat, before speaking up again. "Do you know of the Bene Gesserit?"
You stop yourself from glancing in Lady Jessica's direction just in time; the runes patterning her skin, her once soft eyes now spiked with an unfamiliar darkness of ages past. Anyone could get trapped in her watchful glare, and her son's holds almost as much intensity.
"No," you decide on hesitantly.
"Kwisatz Hederach," he adds, taking another step forward until you can feel his breath tickling your cheeks, standing above you with unspoken grace and vigor. "I see the future. A part of me is the future."
His hand is suddenly squeezing yours warmly and tightly, making you flinch slightly and glance down at them before looking back up at him.
"In this future, I am with you."
All you can do is stare at him in awe and wariness, not knowing whether to let your curiosity guide you, or distance yourself as far as possible from the boy who reigns over the dunes.
"Why?" you whisper, the crowds seeming to fade around you as you focus on the boy in front of you, his fingers tangling with yours boldly.
"I've seen it," Paul insists, his tone a touch softer in thought and wistfulness. "All of it. When I am with you..." His grip tightens over yours, the fire in his eyes returning. "We're unstoppable."
"And..." your words dry before you can speak them, and you will yourself to go on, unable to break away from the deep blue hues of his gaze. "And without?"
His jaw visibly clenches at your question, and his hand drops yours, shaking his head only answer as he glances away in slight frustration.
"You don't have the leisure of choice. It's all been made for you, written in the sands and stars, and what you need to do is walk in its path. I will show you the way. You have no other. Do you understand?"
The firmness is strong in his words and glare, making you look away from him too, still in a slight stun over the rush of events. In less than a day, your freedom has been stripped to this young man's desires and destiny, entwined with yours. You, who barely knew him until now, only familiar with his voice, his words, that echoed and rang in your head like a lullaby.
But this feels so harsh and strict. The eyes of the former Emporer linger between the two of you, and Paul's army of Fremen stand behind him attentively, some gazing at you in admiration and hope, of their messiah's promised bride. And she is beautiful.
"That's unfair."
"The future is unfair," Paul says calmly, his collected, cool tone wavering for a moment. "But it will be so much worse without you by my side, and I will not accept that. Not for my people... not for myself."
You stare at him in fascination and caution, lost for words. His fingers rise to brush against the skin of your cheek, sending tingles in their wake and making you fight back the automatic reaction, your eyes following his surprisingly gentle touch. Two fingers trace down the shape of your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head slightly upwards. Just one step closer, and your lips would be touching too.
"Name anything," he murmurs to you, the Fremen straining to hear his voice as it reaches you effortlessly, his expression earnest and determined. "Anything. And it is yours. Only if you willingly wed me in turn. Not as a concubine, nor a mistress."
You blink, then blink again, taken aback as a million thoughts and suggestions race through your mind and make your head spin for a split second. You glance at the elder Emperor, who gazes back at you and the infamous Lisan al Gaib wearily, his eyes clouded with sombreness and light spite.
"I... I don't," you shake your head, overwhelmed by an impossible choice. "I don't know..."
Paul's expression softens into a smile you haven't seen before, one that makes your cheeks flush with colour as you watch him; a gentle, amused smile that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar all at once, one meant just for you, as he disregards his surroundings.
"You will know," he replies quietly, "and I will have you, and protect you, rule with you. Love you. As I am meant to."
Paul suddenly brings you closer, pulling you into a searing kiss without warning. The exotic, earthy taste of the Spice on his tongue floods your senses and sends shudders of ecstasy and heat coursing under your skin and hushing the myriad of thoughts buzzing in your mind in an instant.
When he pulls away, all too soon, you find yourself chasing his lips before you catch yourself, and Paul gives you another soft smile, his forehead resting against yours as your eyes lock.
"And as I long to," he finishes against your lips, his words grounded with a look of protectiveness and desire that makes you instinctively relax further in his hold.
⊹⊹⊹
From beyond you both, his mother smiles slightly at the scene, a hand hovering over her rounded stomach.
The first step has been made.
══════════════⊹⊱≼ part two coming soon ≽⊰⊹══════════════
2K notes · View notes
cherienymphe · 25 days
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There Will Be Blood
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Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader x Lady Margot Fenring
Summary: Knowing that you are too afraid to ever find yourself alone with the Harkonnen heir, Lady Margot secures his heart's desire for his celebration day.
warnings: Dub-Con (use of the voice), blood, knifeplay, choking, threesome, mentions of cannibalism, non canon ages, spoiler free
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 
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“She looks almost good enough to eat,” were the words that reached your ears in that low timbre, head tilted as he gazed at you. “I don’t know whether to feed her to my darlings…”
The feeling of his finger underneath your chin was almost nonexistent as he tilted your head up. You were too anxious to look away—his reputation preceding him—and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. You felt paralyzed, held captive by that dark blue gaze you swore was actually black as night in certain lighting.
“…or make her one of them.”
You swallowed at that, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the subtle movement.
He was referring to his ‘pets’ as you knew he sometimes called them, the three strikingly beautiful Harkonnen women with an appetite for human flesh. The thought of being killed and fed to the women in question made your heart skip a beat…but the thought of being added to his harem made you shudder.
…and you couldn’t tell if the feeling was good or bad.
Hands slid over your shoulders from behind, making you shiver again, and your lashes fluttered at the feeling of soft lips grazing your throat. You faintly tried to remember how and why you ended up here, and you could only recall staring into enticing blue eyes. Her familiar face was all that stood out in your memory, features soft and lips curved into an even softer smile. With all of that being said though, you couldn’t remember your thought process behind following her perfect figure down the hall.
Lady Margot Fenring—golden-haired and willowy with that Bene Gesserit serene repose about her that you found subtly disturbing.
Usually.
In this moment, her calm disposition and quiet authority made your heart race. She was a comforting contrast to the man before you, his intense gaze and sharp features serving to make your imagination run wild with what he was capable of. He was so different from his brother, vastly so from his uncle, but he still possessed similarities with the two that made you nervous all the same.
Especially with his hand so close to your throat.
“This one isn’t for consumption.”
Her lips brushed your skin as her soft and even tone filled your ears.
“Not in the literal sense, at least…” mirth colored her voice at this remark. “I saw you watching her.”
Those words made your heart sink, and you were sure that the brief stab of fear you felt passed through your eyes.
Feyd-Rautha was psychotic. He was the kind of man that would kill someone solely because he felt like it. He had an animalistic stare that made alarm bells go off in your head, telling you to never take your eyes off of him—to always keep him in your line of sight. He was the kind of man you couldn’t let your guard down around.
He was the kind of man you didn’t want watching you.
As if he could read your worrisome thoughts, a glint passed through the man’s eyes, and he leaned in closer. Not one to conceal his feelings in any situation, his expression twisted into one of amusement, a sight that made your hair stand on end. Those soft hands slid over your shoulders and down your arms, gently caressing them.
Don’t be afraid.
A voice that didn’t sound like your own filled your mind, its influence settling into your bones and deep into the crevices of your subconscious. You felt yourself relax, felt the tension leaving you, and her soft hum had you leaning back into her chest. You didn’t want to be afraid, and you felt confident in repeating those words to yourself, confirming that there was nothing to be afraid of.
“You want her,” her fingers grazed your jaw, briefly touching his own. “…but she fears you far too much to ever find yourself alone with her.”
“I like them afraid.”
Those words made you blink, your lips parting at the sincerity in them. By the way he held your gaze, you could tell he wanted you to know he meant it, but that voice in your mind assured you that you had nothing to be afraid of. Not when he leaned in closer, and not when his hand traveled from your chin and down to circle your neck.
“You get too excited,” the blonde woman steadily told him, a hint of authority in her voice. “You would kill her.”
Her fingers on your jaw forced you to turn your head, making you look at her, and when she kissed you, you welcomed it. It was a comforting kiss, one that relaxed you further, and you couldn’t help but to close your eyes and bask in the feel of her lips touching yours. Your skin grew warm, and you touched her arm.
“I’m here to keep you in line.”
She spoke the words into your mouth, but she wasn’t talking to you.
Feyd-Rautha’s lack of protest or anger at her words gave you the impression that you were being included in something that already existed. He let her kiss you, the heat of his gaze burning a hole into the side of your face as she drew you in closer. The feeling in your chest was both light and heavy, and you felt as if you couldn’t get close enough to her.
Lady Margot had an aura about her that you’d always been ensnared by—the way she talked, the way she swayed when she walked, and especially the way those attentive eyes watched everyone and everything so closely. She smelled fresh and crisp, an airy feminine aroma filling your nose as her hand rested on the side of your throat, Feyd-Rautha’s arm long falling back at his side.
When she pulled away, only the tip of her nose lightly touched yours.
“He wants you to touch him.”
Her voice reverberated in your mind, influencing your thoughts and movements, and you found yourself turning to look at the man in question. Your advance was slow, hesitant in reaching out to place your hands on the black fabric of his shirt. He visibly shuddered at the contact, and despite the fact that you were clothed, you felt vulnerable and naked underneath his intense gaze.
“This one is fragile, Feyd-Rautha,” amusement danced around her words. “You have to play gentle if you want to keep her.”
Almost as if he wanted to defy her, his hand quickly wrapped itself around your throat, forcing you closer. Your heart stuttered at the action, and despite that brief bout of adrenaline—your body’s way of telling you that you were in danger—that influential voice in your mind told you that you were safe. Your breathing was shallow as you looked at him with wide eyes.
His own gaze traveled over your form, his perusal slow and his hand tightening. You reached up, grabbing his arm, and the noise of protest he made was a cross between a grunt and a hum. His nose touched yours, and when he spoke again, it sounded like there was gravel in his throat.
“Do you fear me?”
The thought settled in your mind that he wanted you to say yes, and so you did, barely whispering it.
That pleased him, and he presented you with a terrifying smile. His fingers were pressing into the skin of your neck, and his blue gaze studied yours, eyes flickering between your own. There was a carnal excitement there that told you he lusted for more than just your body, and when you winced at the grip he had on your throat, it only grew.
“Good,” he praised in a guttural tone.
Kissing Feyd-Rautha was nothing like kissing Lady Margot.
It wasn’t meant to be a gentle and comforting experience, but instead one that forced you to face every one of your discomforts head on. His teeth pressing into your lips, his hand cutting off your airway, the lack of warning as he pushed you back. Every action was designed to make you squirm, and despite that feeling, heat still settled in the pit of your stomach as his weight pressed down on you.
Lady Margot’s gentle touch made your leg tingle. She was pulling on it, making room for him while her other hand grabbed your arm, and you shuddered at the feel of her lips kissing a path to your wrist. The contrast in their efforts made your head spin, and Feyd-Rautha’s constricting grip on your throat only disappeared when his lips replaced his hand instead.
Pain blossomed beneath where his teeth were, and you gasped, chest arching up into his involuntarily. His hands on your frame were tense, like he wanted to twist and tear you apart, but something disallowed him from doing so. When he kissed you again, the pain in your neck lingered, flaring from spot to spot, and you didn’t doubt that bruises would be there.
When you were forced to sit up, the soft and thin fabric of your dress was pulled at by two sets of hands. A feminine touch loosened the back, her lips following behind where his once were, soothing the irritated skin there. He, on the other hand, was yanking your sleeves down, and the sound of a slight tear or two in the fabric could be heard.
The cold air hit you for half a second before a warm mouth covered a sensitive bud before it even had time to harden. The sharp feeling of his teeth pressing into the skin of your breast made you shy away, but with Lady Margot at your back, you had nowhere to go. Her lips along your neck and shoulder was a welcomed feeling, a soothing contrast against the pain the Harkonnen man was inflicting. It almost faded to the background completely when her hand found its way between your thighs.
Your lips parted, and your lashes fluttered, and you couldn’t help but to lift your hips. Her fingers were soft against your skin, the appendages sliding between your folds and stroking you. One of your hands reached down to rest on hers, riding along with her ministrations while the other reached up to grip the arm of the man intent on breaking skin.
The feel of Lady Margot’s fingers pushing into you and curving against your walls made you circle your hips.  The pain and pleasure were starting to blend together so closely that you couldn’t tell what you liked and didn’t like. His teeth scraping down your torso had your breath hitching, and the Bene Gesserit woman behind you hummed when you clenched around her fingers. It sounded like a noise of approval, and when she spoke, her tone and words confirmed that suspicion.
“She likes that,” she mused, her free hand coming up to run over your chest. “She’s starting to like the pain.”
She was right.
Almost as if that triggered something in him, the blue-eyed man relinquished control completely, fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as he pulled you forward. The action caused you to collapse, your head resting in Lady Margot’s lap as he finished removing your dress, the fabric falling around you in tatters. There was only a brief bout of alarm when he brandished a small blade from his waist.
There was that voice again, settling and taking up residence in your mind, telling you not to be afraid.
Pain flared along your skin in a singular path as the tip of the blade just barely grazed your flesh. It was so sharp that a thin line of blood followed the weapon’s descent, but it was gone as quickly as it came as his tongue slipped past his lips, ingesting your essence and soothing that sting. Your eyes closed, and you welcomed her kiss as she leaned over.
Feyd-Rautha’s own lips kissed you too…just before he sank his teeth into your skin.
You were given bites and nips between the kisses—along your hip and along your thighs and eventually in between your thighs. Your hips lifted, and your back arched, and you unintentionally bit Lady Margot’s lip. She smiled into the kiss, and you knew that she could taste the same blood you felt on your own tongue.
Feyd-Rautha was a mad man between your legs, tongue and teeth playing with you, the blade in his hand pressed against your thigh. The soles of your feet pressed into the bed, wanting to both run away from the pain and run towards it. Every shallow cut made into your skin was soothed by his tongue almost immediately, and you wanted to be embarrassed by how wet their combined ministrations made you.
When you found yourself on your knees, the blade at your throat and his naked chest at your back, you could see the way Lady Margot’s gaze held his. Her face was serene and thoughtful, almost as if she were having a silent conversation with the man at your back. The sharpness of his blade drew blood, and by the way his free hand smeared it along your skin, you knew that it turned him on.
“Gentle,” she reminded him, standing.
He wasn’t so gentle when he pushed his way into you, making you sharply inhale, but the blade remained light against your throat. You tilted your head back, both to relieve the sting and because the feel of his cock sliding into you had you submitting. His own deep grunts were right at your ear, and his bloody hand trailed down your frame to roughly knead into your skin.
The sound of skin slapping against skin made your ears twitch, and when he roughly pushed you down with a hand on your back, your fingers twisted into the sheets of the luxurious bed. Your head was bowed, forehead grazing the fabric as he fucked you, power and aggression driving every thrust. Lady Margot was right, you were afraid of the Baron’s sole heir, positive that you’d never find yourself alone with him before today.
Even if you doubted it, you would have never guessed this is how he’d choose to spend his birthday celebration. While fireworks were exploding and food and drink was being passed around, Feyd-Rautha was spending his time burying his cock in you. His fingers twisted painfully into your hair, making you yelp, and the sound only made him fuck you harder.
“Are you still afraid of me?” he roughly asked you, and when you started to nod, he pushed your face down into the bed.
Understanding what he wanted, you managed to force out a small affirmation.
“Yes,” you choked out.
The low laugh that he let out was menacing, and he was aggressive in pushing you onto your back. His hand was tight when it found a home on your throat, pinning you in place as he snapped his hips into yours. The force was enough to make you wince, and his brutal treatment didn’t go unnoticed, the blonde woman coming up behind the man.
Her gaze found yours, holding it as she whispered something into his ear that yours weren’t privy to. Her beautiful hands came around to slide along his smooth chest, her lips still brushing against his ear. Her lips traveled to his throat as he pulled away from you, pulling out and allowing the other woman to guide him to sit back.
He was uncharacteristically still as he watched her take his place.
“Come.”
Her simple command was impossible to disobey, and you sat up, doing as she said. With a hand on the back of your head, she guided you towards the man, an imposing urge to touch him descending over you. With your hands sliding along his lithe frame, her fingers applied pressure, and your head lowered.
Your lips stretched around him as you tasted his cock, tongue flat and cheeks hollowed. Feminine hands were gliding over your curves, fingers eventually sinking into you again. You closed your eyes at the feel, relaxing and heart calming at the 180 from Feyd-Rautha’s earlier brutality. At the thought of him, you peeled your eyes open, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.
It amazed you, how he could be so dominant and forceful with you but so obedient and almost subdued with her. With one look into his eyes or the feel of her hands against his skin, he became a momentarily tamed wild animal. The feral glint in his eyes couldn’t be done away with, the desire to cause pain coloring his features whenever his gaze connected with yours.
As Lady Margot gently curved her fingers into you, you found yourself craving that feeling again.
Your neck and torso still faintly stung from where his blade had drawn blood, and you got the feeling that your skin was already starting to bruise from where he’d tightly held you. You recalled her earlier words, about her presence serving to keep him in line, and your mind lingered on the aches you felt from what he’d done while she was here. You wondered what would be in store for you should he ever get you completely alone.
You suspected that she was right.
He would get too excited…and probably kill you.
When his lips curved into a small smirk, you knew then that your thoughts were written on your face—along with your fear. His hand on your head made you nervous, and still you slid your mouth up and down the length of him. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, Lady Margot’s soft ministrations stroking that fire deep within your stomach. It made you moan around him, and if possible, you swore Feyd-Rautha’s eyes darkened at both the sound and feel.
“She would make a well-behaved pet,” he haughtily said.
The way he stared into your eyes told you that was meant more so for you than her. They both shifted, leaning in and you heard them kiss above your head.
“I knew that you would enjoy her,” the blonde woman confidently said, her even tone unable to hide her satisfaction. “Provided you don’t break her.”
When she pulled away, she pulled away from you too, and with a hand on your chin, she lifted your head. She guided you to kiss him, her own lips resting against your cheek, her soft voice telling you not to be afraid. You wanted to listen, your own mind agreeing, and so you welcomed the pain when blood bloomed along your lips.
Feyd-Rautha enjoyed the taste, roughly grabbing your hands and pinning them behind you at the small of your back. He didn’t tell you to lie down, instead making you, and you winced at the feel of your hands trapped beneath your own body. His lips were stained red when he pulled away, and your mouth parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock started to stretch you out again.
You were completely powerless—at his mercy—and you cried out at the rough curve of his hips. He looked vicious above you, focused not on chasing his high but on seeing the register of pain on your face instead. That was what brought him pleasure, watching you wince and squirm beneath him and his intense thrusts. If his hand wasn’t on your throat then it was yanking your hair or digging into the soft flesh of your breast.
He seemed to like the sight of marking you up whether it be with his teeth or his hand…or that blade.
He held it against your throat while he fucked you, sometimes sliding the flat part down your chest, blue eyes transfixed by the metal pressing against your skin. Occasionally he’d turn it, the edge grazing you, making a cut just shallow enough and then he’d lean down to taste you. Spots of his own flesh was marred by your blood, and he obviously didn’t care as he smeared it over both of you with every movement.
With your hands free, you clutched onto the sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head. His hands were painfully tight on your waist, keeping your hips lifted for him as he thrust into you. Lady Margot—silently and appreciatively watching—slid her hands along the bed to grab your hands. Her fingers intertwined with your own, holding them down, and you welcomed the gentle kisses she placed on your wrists and then your cheek before finally your lips.
The man above you made a noise of disapproval, and after some time, she granted him what he wanted, his own rough lips replacing hers. You panted into the kiss, tasting your blood on his lips, and you felt almost delirious. It was a constant cycle of pain and pleasure that had you chasing him when he started to pull away. The laugh he gave at the sight told you his thoughts on the matter, but you didn’t care how much power you were giving him.
His gaze suddenly lifted, and his thrusts didn’t stop as he faced Lady Margot. You felt hypnotized as you watched them, eyes focused on the way Feyd-Rautha stuck out his tongue, elongating it in a way you didn’t think possible. The willowy woman had let you go, taking his own blade and dragging the edge of it down his tongue.
It was then that you realized the man inside of you enjoyed pain almost as much as he liked inflicting it.
You wondered if that was why he was so submissive towards her, why she could order him around and why she was so confident that she could keep him in line. You were unsurprised when they kissed, the brutal man kissing you after a while when they finally parted. You swore that his blood tasted completely different from your own.
A thin layer of sweat coated your skin, and you felt almost completely spent. You were sure that the celebration of his birth was still being had while he chose to celebrate between your legs. His strength and the knowledge of how easily he could snuff you out played a part in the way you clenched around his cock. You could feel that you were close—and so could he.
His hand completely obstructed your breathing, and you could only hold onto his wrist. With every thrust into your cunt, the heat in the pit of your stomach grew. Your heart was racing, and your eyes struggled to remain open, and your toes curled as he stretched you around him. A noise of appreciation reached your ears, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to snap your neck.
He could do it. The strength in his hand told you so and that he would probably barely exert himself doing so. You felt your neck strain underneath his fingers, and your nails drew blood over his skin. You knew he liked that because he kissed you again. Your shallow breaths hit his face, and just as you were on the verge of passing out, you came.
…and his hold loosened.
The rush of air into your lungs coinciding with the release of pressure inside of you made your world momentarily go dark. All you could feel was the snug fit of his cock—and the way your walls fluttered around it—and his teeth against your lip. You could faintly feel softer hands on your face, and a choked moan left your lips his hips continued to connect with yours.
His hand tightened again just as your vision started to return to you, and the smile you were met with was chilling. So turned on by watching you straddle death, the fearsome fighter came too but much more violently. He practically growled above you, the noise so animalistic and inhumane sounding. Your neck almost cracked beneath the force of his hand, and the overstimulation from the feel of his cock made you want to clench your thighs together.
You were struggling to breathe when he stilled, chest burning, and when he roughly let you go—pushing himself away from you—you gasped for air. You turned on your side, sweaty and bloody and feeling like you couldn’t breathe deep enough. A hand smoothed along the side of your face—a feminine hand—and when you looked up, the blue-eyed man was cleaning his blade with a crooked smile, terrifying teeth on display.
“I think I will keep this one.”
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itsbuckytm · 24 days
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"We'll meet Again." Feyd-Rautha
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Summary: As the twin or eldest child of the Atreides, numerous responsibilities came with the territory. Among them was the obligation to navigate diplomatic relations with various houses, particularly evident as your father finalized the contract for Arrakis and oversaw the spice harvest. During a meeting with the Harkonnens, Feyd-Rautha found himself captivated by the presence of the second pair of twins, unable to shake off his fascination.
Ps: English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any small grammar errors!
XOXO
Being the Atreides eldest child meant responsibilities. Some suggested getting married and yet the Duke Leto’s most profound plan was more than that. In fact, training his most prestige and intelligent children was yet to become a fruitful generation of the Atreides family itself. With how the Duke was just establishing his agreement for Arrakis. Things were just getting started. 
In the early hours of the morning, Duke received messages first from Harkonnen, then from the Bene Gesserit, expressing their desires to put Paul through the long-awaited test. And potentially discussing a marriage proposal for the daughter. A sister of the Bene Gesserit, Helen, sought Paul’s testimony, the agreement for which was expected that same evening. Despite the unspoken bond within the family, evident in your brother's gentle gaze and the shared understanding, the weight of his father's gaze lingered heavily. ‘Will my children endure this infernal place?’ he pondered, resolved to safeguard their legacy. 
You, on the other hand, couldn't help but dwell on your own outcome. Your brother's training sessions had just commenced, while Duncan had departed for the day as usual. You remained in your study as your mother fetched your brother's attire for his test, that same morning. Despite her attempts to mask it, her eyes betrayed her worry and sorrow at witnessing her second child assuming the mantle of their House. Being descended from the Bene Gesserit, you understood her emotions intimately, benefiting greatly from the shared similarities. A sense of satisfaction washed over you as you caught your mother's gaze, exchanging a knowing smile. Her subtle nod reassured you that everything would be alright. ‘Yes, everything will be okay. Paul is strong,’ you reassured her, the words lingering in your memory. 
As the Atreides tended to their familial matters, the Baron of Harkonnen, accompanied by his nephew Feyd-Rautah, received an unexpected but rather fruitful invitation to today's council from Duke Leto. Paul's inclusion in the invitation was urged strongly by your father, whose beseeching eyes left no room for refusal. With Paul's future as the Duke in mind, you felt compelled to comply. "Will father object?" you queried during breakfast, noticing your mother's absence as she assisted Dr. Yueh in preparing Paul for his impending test. Initially hesitant, you cited the traditional exclusion of women from male-dominated spaces and political affairs. However, your brother's persistence, coupled with his revelation of your father's endorsement, swayed your decision. "Father’s orders," he disclosed, highlighting the potential impact of your presence, particularly concerning the Harkonnen. With reluctance, you acquiesced, stating, "Very well, but understand that I do this for you." Paul's satisfied expression betrayed a hint of amusement. 
The following day dawned with Paul's early hours consumed by Helen's final test. The Bene Gesserit sister arrived unexpectedly early, not only focusing on your brother's training but also involving you both. Despite the Bene Gesserit's usual bore for daughters, Paul's exceptionalism as the heir and you being twins altered the dynamic. Helen took matters into her own hands, prioritizing Paul's training just as she had done with yours, although you were included as part of the package deal, inseparable twins as you were. 
Contrarily, you were well aware that today involved attending your father's council and orchestrating a proper reception for the Harkonnen. With a portion of their fleet bound for Arrakis, the Baron saw fit to bring his nephew along, a gesture of goodwill as they preferred to present it. While your mother urged you to accompany your brother, it was during breakfast that the next generation of Atreides convened. "Y/N," your mother's voice echoed in your mind. The test had concluded, your brother standing beside her, his expression inscrutable. This time, he exuded more confidence, yet there was a noticeable change from days past. His gaze barely left you as he silently confirmed his test's success. The trial had instilled apprehension in Helen, for both her daughter and now her son. Jessica had undoubtedly made an impression on her Reverend Mother, as expected. But something felt off–
"Father is awaiting your presence; the Council convenes shortly. Come, dress quickly," Jessica urged, her concern evident in her voice as she ushered both of you towards your father's chambers. "Of course, mother," You affirmed, Paul opting to fetch by your side as you readied yourself. His unease at the prospect of you encountering the Harkonnen was unmistakable, yet as you rose with assurance, adhering to your mother's instruction to dress appropriately, your brother remained silently supportive within the confines of the family abode. "Father will be pleased to see you alongside our new guests," he remarked, though the term 'guest' felt inadequate for the Harkonnens, known for their relentless pursuit of perfection within their domain—a trait reminiscent of the Bene Gesserit's own household.
"Ah, don't even get me started," you chuckled in response to his cynical remark, finishing your final adjustments in front of the mirror before approaching your brother. "You’re beautiful, Duncan would be damned not to see you right now." Paul admitted, though he was just as sparing with compliments as your father, if not more so. You chuckled again and tousled his hair affectionately. "Shame for him, indeed. Let's go then, Father must be waiting for us." 
Duke Leto awaited his children to join him as he heard approaching footsteps, realizing they belonged to you and your brother. It was evident from their tardiness that they would likely be teased by Halleck. Paul, with a subtle smirk, leaned towards the man, who promptly assigned you to sit beside him as your father entered the room. "Paul, Y/N," Duke Leto acknowledged, and both of you nodded, maintaining impeccable etiquette. A moment of silence hung in the air as your father took his seat next to Halleck, acknowledging the arrival of the guests, unmistakably the Harkonnen. "Bring them in," he instructed.
Feyd-Rautha, accompanied by the Baron and Glossu, made their entrance. You couldn't help but notice the Harkonnens' air of perfection and similarity, a trait you had been warned about during your training sessions with Halleck, who delighted in describing them as ruthless monsters. It was surreal to see Halleck now sitting beside your father without so much as a flinch, as if their inevitable downfall was already evident and he felt no fear in displaying his disdain for their kind. Meanwhile, both Paul and you were filled with curiosity, and you caught sight of someone observing you from a distance. Just as introductions were about to be made, your gaze met that of Feyd-Rautha. His name was revealed by the Baron in a manner that attempted to convey affection but came across as somewhat grotesque. 
Feyd-Rautha's gaze seemed fixed on yours, but thankfully, your father's voice signaled the beginning of the council, prompting everyone to take their seats for further discussion. Paul noticed, as he always did. He observed you clumsily attempting to handle a cup of water in a manner befitting of civilization, all the while sensing Feyd's unwavering focus on you. To him, you were his prey, much like how the Baron sought amusement during his stay on Arrakis. If it weren't for his insistence on accompanying the group, he might have missed the opportunity to encounter a face as captivating as yours. His smirk became more pronounced when the topic of your potential betrothal to a House chosen by your father was broached. You couldn't help but cough in surprise, prompting Paul to lean towards you and whispered, "Are you alright?" You nodded quickly, and you could have sworn you heard him chuckle. 
"Yes—" You started, but your coughing grew more pronounced as all attention turned towards you. Your father expressed immediate concern and moved to summon medical assistance, but you objected, requesting a moment alone. Rising from your seat, you were just moments away from agreeing to the medical aid. You couldn't shake the feeling of Feyd-Rautha's penetrating gaze, and perhaps Paul's knowing glance. To Feyd-Rautha's evident amusement, this seemed only the beginning. "Farewell, you may depart," your father concluded, dismissing the attention focused on you. 
"I suppose she's quite spirited, discussing marriage at such a young age, Poor thing." Halleck's voice remarked. It was something you had come to understand during your time in the opulent halls and corridors of House forces—that even the venerable Halleck, with all his gravity, possessed a degree of perceptiveness uncommon among men. However, this observation didn't sit well with Feyd. In fact, he couldn't resist making a remark, perhaps ill-timed and ill-phrased, which prompted Paul to rise from his seat, ready to confront him. "Surprising for an Atreides, she's not much for entertainment," he quipped, just before being cut off by Leto, redirecting the conversation towards political matters. But Feyd had other intentions. Aware that you had likely stepped out for some fresh air, he seized the excuse to excuse himself to the bathroom.  
Fortunately, you arrived just in time as Duncan returned from his visit with the Fremen. Upon hearing of his return, he also was well aware of the impending arrival of the Harkonnens. If it weren’t for Fremen business keeping him so late. Sensing your presence as their ships prepared to land, Duncan swiftly removed his mask and embraced you. "Is Paul not here?" he pondered, surprised as Paul typically would be the first to greet Duncan, followed by a later rendezvous in your study for practice. "In council, with father. Father insisted we both attend, and guess who's here," you replied, making it clear with your eyes that you were referring to the Harkonnens. You were cautious not to reveal too much, knowing that any hint would only provide more amusement for Feyd to torment you with. 
"Harkonnen. I'm aware," Duncan affirmed, sharing your sentiment, until his gaze shifted from yours to someone in the distance. It was someone who perhaps wasn't welcome if intruding but was expected at today's event. Duncan leaned in carefully, recognizing that whoever the man was seeking out for, it was likely you. "I suggest you go speak to that man. If there's one thing my mother taught me, it's to never ignore your own apprehension," he advised, tousling your hair gently as you tried your best not to pout in response, before he hurried off to join your father. 
On the other hand, Feyd couldn't tear his gaze away from the man's eyes. Was he someone he'd eventually have to confront? Such thoughts were irrelevant. All he craved was you, completely. As the pilot room emptied, a haunting silence filled the air. Duncan's words echoed in your mind, reminding you of the inevitable encounter with Feyd-Rautha as part of collaborating with the Harkonnens. As he approached cautiously, you flinched, muscles tensing. His nearness seemed to radiate warmth, almost as if your skin would brush against his. "So... It's you," his voice pierced the silence. It wasn't the tone you anticipated or sought. It was soft, yet carried a comforting warmth reminiscent of Arrakis's weather. “Atreides’s very own princess.” 
Your eyes never leaving his gaze. You could’ve sworn yourself that if you even tried to escape you couldn’t. In fact, your eyes even tried to sorrow for comfort elsewhere, but the darkness and contrast beneath his skin felt cold, slowly loosing yourself entirely within him all together. As his hand drawing near you, his fingers brushing around your waist… 
"Y/N. They're leaving." Paul's voice echoed in your mind, interrupting any chance of leaning closer and feeling the faint touch of Feyd's lips. You pondered: was this love, or merely a trap ensnaring a woman's blind eye? Oddly, your brother's voice now felt distant, but you quickly regained your senses as Feyd realized the moment couldn't last. He must resist, for now. His smirk grew more pronounced upon hearing the Baron's voice calling out his name, one of the most memorable yet unsettling utterances you'd ever heard. As Feyd cast one final admiring glance your way, he whispered, "We'll meet again, my Queen..."
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multific · 2 months
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In Sickness and In Health
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Paul Atreides x Reader
Summary: Paul fears leaving you while you are sick.
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Paul hated to leave you alone, especially since you haven't been feeling so well lately.
Paul knew he needed to go with his father, but he didn't want to.
"I will take care of her." his mother tried her best to reassure him, but Paul was worried.
The love of his life, his beautiful wife has been forced to bedrest for the last few days.
The doctors examined you and determined that you had a simple illness.
A simple one, yet you suffered greatly because of it.
You had a high fever, you could barely eat and sleep was a difficult task.
You were separated from Paul the second day of your illness, now, he was only allowed to visit you.
He was kind enough to bring you books or read you some of his own.
"You must go, Paul, your father expects you to."
"I do not care. I don't wish to leave you alone."
"I understand, but I will be fine, I do feel better already, so please, don't worry too much."
"My mother said she will visit you often," he said as his grip tightened around the book he was reading to you. "I still don't want to leave you." he promised to be by your side, in sickness and in health.
"I will be fine." you said with a smile. Your smile made him believe that it might be all fine after all.
Yet, his worry never left him.
The next day, he left with his father.
Lady Jessica kept her promise and visited as often as she could.
You even started conversations with her. And she did enjoy talking about Paul when he was young.
Then, she even mentioned her marriage, and how she wished you and Paul wouldn't have to face the same or similar difficulties.
The week soon passed, and you were much better as you awaited Paul's return.
And soon enough, you were told that he was landing.
You rushed over, by the time you got there Paul was already off the ship, making his way to you.
"Paul!" you smiled as you slowly jogged over to him, he fully started running.
You opened your arms and wrapped them around him as he lifted you off the ground. You giggled into his ear.
"I'm so happy to see you." he said. "You look so much better."
"Your mother gave me a special tea, it truly helped," you said as he finally put you down on the ground and kissed you.
"I missed you so much." he said and you laughed a little.
"I missed you, Paul."
Paul never felt so relieved in his entire life. He was worried about coming back, so when he saw you, full of life and smiles, running over to him, the weight from his shoulders just disappeared.
All his worries left his body in a matter of seconds.
He held onto you tight and strong, afraid to let you leave his sight as he watched your face, full of life, your eyes, filled with love as you looked at him.
Not even in his best dreams did he ever imagine coming back home and finding you like this.
He was forever grateful for his mother for healing you.
He made a vow to never leave your side ever again, and it is a promise Paul intends to keep for the rest of his life.
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Taglist: @castellandiangelo @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @brascaris @il0vebeingdelulu @deliciousfestsalad @groovyqueer
~Masterlist~
ˇAO3ˇ
/YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/
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andy-15-07 · 17 days
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hi! I love your feyd rautha fics 🥰 can you write one where the reader is pregnant with his child, a female, and he’s upset and cold with the reader because she’s not a male heir? but then, when she’s born, he’s so transfixed by her beauty and just the fact that she’s his, and that he just melts and swears to kill anyone for her?
My precious one
masterlist ! pairing: Feyd Rautha x reader
Dune Masterlist
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The halls of the fortress echoed with an air of tension as Y/n, heavily pregnant with Feyd Rautha's child, moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors. Feyd, the formidable heir to House Harkonnen, had been distant and cold ever since learning the gender of their unborn child. Tradition demanded a male heir, and Y/n's heart ached with the weight of disappointment as she faced the impending birth of a daughter.
"Y/n," Feyd's voice, usually smooth and commanding, was laced with discontent as he entered their chambers. "What use is a daughter to the House of Harkonnen? You were to bear me a son, a worthy successor."
Y/n's eyes welled with tears, but she fought to maintain her composure. "Feyd, she is still our child, a part of both of us. She will carry the blood of House Harkonnen."
He scowled, turning away. "A daughter will bring us nothing but weakness. I need an heir who can command respect, instill fear in our enemies. This changes everything."
As the days passed, Feyd distanced himself further, leaving Y/n feeling isolated and burdened. The weight of disappointment settled upon her like a heavy cloak, but she clung to the hope that when their daughter arrived, Feyd's heart would soften.
The day of reckoning came, the air thick with anticipation as Y/n went into labor. Feyd, though present, maintained a stoic silence, his eyes betraying the turmoil within. The labor was arduous, but when the cries of their newborn daughter filled the room, Y/n felt an overwhelming sense of joy and relief.
"She's here, Feyd," Y/n whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Our daughter."
Feyd's eyes met the tiny, squirming bundle in Y/n's arms, and for a moment, the hardness in his gaze softened. The baby girl had a delicate beauty that seemed to captivate him, a sight that defied his earlier expectations.
"What shall we name her?" Y/n asked, her heart swelling with love for their precious child.
"Feydra," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with a tenderness that surprised them both.
Feydra's arrival sparked a transformation in Feyd. The once cold and distant heir was now consumed by an overwhelming protectiveness and love for his daughter. As he held her for the first time, his fingers traced the contours of her tiny face, and he couldn't help but marvel at her innocence.
"She's ours, Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "I will do anything to protect her. No harm shall come to our Feydra."
From that moment on, Feyd became an attentive and devoted father. He would spend hours cradling Feydra in his arms, his stern countenance replaced by a softness that only she could evoke. The fortress, once a place of cold authority, became a haven for the blossoming love between father and daughter.
As Feydra grew, Feyd's determination to shield her from the harsh realities of their world intensified. He vowed to eliminate any threat that dared to cast a shadow over her, swearing to protect her with a fierceness that only a father's love could inspire.
One day, as father and daughter strolled through the fortress gardens, Feyd's eyes gleamed with an unspoken promise. "Feydra, my precious one, you are the future of House Harkonnen. No harm will befall you as long as I draw breath. I would destroy worlds to keep you safe."
Feydra, oblivious to the dangers that lurked beyond the fortress walls, gazed up at her father with adoration. In those moments, Feyd's heart swelled with a love that transcended bloodlines and tradition. The bond between father and daughter had forged a legacy that defied the expectations of House Harkonnen, proving that love could be a force more powerful than any political alliance or familial obligation.
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francis-writes · 26 days
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Hi! Can you write a Feyd-Rautha where reader is a servant, and he likes to tease her but starts to actually develop feelings for her?
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Warnings: he may be a bit softer in this but he's still a Harkonnen
Working for Harkonnens was never an easy job, no matter your position and where you worked. It was a constant threat of death, either from sudden outburst of your lord's anger (especially when you served Rabban or Baron), during testing a new weapon or just to ensure entertainment for him.
You spent most of your time with Feyd and it was maybe one of the more dangerous options; being perfectly obedient couldn't save you, you knew (and saw) that he regularly killed for pleasure. Victim didn't matter, it was just whoever stood close enough for his blade. He observed his victims writhing and screaming in pain and this sight only brought him excitement and pleasure.
He seemed to take liking for you but it was no good news. His teasing could also be a hidden threat as he often killed with a smile on his face or praising the victims who gave him a good fight.
But you kept doing your job with your head raised high and with a remark ready whenever na-baron teased you. It was a risky tactic but at least he respected those who didn't cower in fear before him.
Feyd observed you carefully while you were working. You were one of hundreds of people he passed everyday in the corridors. Servants, soldiers, officials, his concubines... he didn't care about most of them, maybe he was a bit closer with a few of his lovers. And recently he started to think that he would like you to join them.
At first he only noticed that you are pretty and he wanted to touch your body and take you to his chamber. But at first he decided to tease you a bit; Feyd liked to play with people the way cats play with their food. And it was probably the way you didn't avoid him, you kept your composure when he suggested something unsettling, how confidently you talked with him. Usually he liked to see fear in people's eyes but it was a nice change to have someone playing his game.
He straightforwardly asked you if you want to be his lover. If you say yes, the situation is clear. If no...
Maybe he decides to be more subtle with you and doesn't just order to take you to the wing of his concubines by force. But even then, his means may be unconventional. Certainly he would spend more time with you, maybe by teaching you how to fight (and every time you fear that this lesson might be your last) or ordering you to spend every minute with him, claiming that he needs your services. Of course you have to watch all his bloody fights.
However it works on you, Feyd won't take no for an answer. And eventually he will just take what he wants.
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sansaorgana · 8 days
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— THROWN TO THE WOLVES (VI)
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PART ONE || PART TWO || PART THREE PART FOUR || PART FIVE || PART SEVEN PART EIGHT
PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC
SUMMARY — Na-baroness becomes untouchable since she is carrying The Harkonnen heir. Her new status allows her to push her husband's boundaries more fiercely.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister. I started with Feyd's pov because I know some of you wanted it but also I wanted it as well 😁 As usual, big thanks to everyone commenting and reblogging 🤗 Some of you were asking how can I post so frequently – the answer is I am an unemployed student completely abandoning her uni responsibilites as I am hyperfixating lmao ✌🏻 I think this is the longest chapter so far!
WARNINGS — arranged marriage, mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut), violent behaviour, death, mentions of planned and scientifical breeding, syringes
WORD COUNT — 6,890
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
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THROWN TO THE WOLVES (VI)
Feyd woke up in the morning at the same time as always, his body was almost programmed to do that every day. The reason behind that was not only his need to practise but – most importantly – discipline. What had started with his uncle’s regimen, turned into his own self-controlling practices. At least when it came to pushing his body to the limit and training himself to become the greatest warrior in the galaxy.
Sex was the only sphere of his life where he was free and without any self-discipline at all. And perhaps the only sphere where he was really in charge. His daily life was filled with his uncle’s repulsive presence – Baron Harkonnen was like a big, fat spider; his sticky spiderweb was surrounding Feyd-Rautha and everyone else involved in his schemes. His presence was suffocating. Even in the arena Feyd could not be in control because everything was arranged by his uncle.
He looked at his sleeping wife. She was breathing calmly as her chest kept rising up and falling down rhythmically. Her throat was deliciously exposed and her lips slightly parted. She was a beautiful little thing and one swift movement of his hand would kill her. He always slept with a knife under his pillow. Feyd could picture it already; her pretty throat slit open and her red blood spilling all over the pillows and the mattress of his bed.
He had used to think of that a lot in the beginning of their marriage. How easy it would be to just kill her… for fun. For the sake of it. Because he could. Because she was his property.
But now, picturing that scene made him feel uneasy. He didn’t like imagining it and it was weird. He couldn’t understand why he found no pleasure in a fantasy like that anymore.
Perhaps it was because she could already carry his heir. But did it really matter? If not her, another one would. It was not that big of a deal after all.
He left the bed and went to take a quick shower before putting his clothes on. She was still asleep and he smirked at the sight. He wondered what her dreams were. He barely had any but he was sure it was not the case for her.
Not wanting to be late, he left the bedroom and walked towards the staircase when one of the Baron’s closest servants stopped him. It meant that his uncle had to come back from Arrakis already. Feyd knew he would come back quickly but it still felt too quick. He wouldn’t mind him staying there for a longer time.
“My Lord na-baron,” the servant bowed down as lowly as he could, “your uncle the Baron wishes to see you before your training.”
Feyd nodded at him and turned around to go to his uncle’s chambers. He couldn’t understand why he hated to go there as much as he did. He owed his uncle everything. He owed him the Harkonnen surname, he owed him his status and the future title of the Baron. Yet, seeing that old, sick man in his slimy black bathtub felt somehow pathetic, disgusting and enraging. If Feyd’s position on Giedi Prime was stronger already, he would murder his uncle with his bare hands. He wanted to bite the hand that feeds.
But his reputation was not good enough yet – most people saw him as a playboy who was only good at putting on a show in the arena. They knew his rivals were drugged and they knew he was his uncle’s puppet. Most people didn’t see him as smart and mature enough to be the future Baron.
Although his servants had told him that the same people liked his wife and hoped that the marriage would change him into a more serious man. People of Giedi Prime were mesmerised by their new na-baroness. Not only had there been no women in power in a long time on this planet but also she was of an exotic beauty that was making people jealous and curious.
Feyd stood in front of the door leading to his uncle’s chambers and nodded at the guards. They opened the door and he walked inside confidently before standing in front of the big tube where his uncle was sitting and smoking a pipe.
“You’re back,” Feyd greeted him coldly and clasped his hands behind his back.
“You don’t seem to be pleased, dear nephew,” Baron chuckled. “I left your brother in charge of Arrakis for now.”
“Why is he given this chance and not I?” Feyd’s muscles tensed. “Am I not your heir?”
“You are. That is why I need you here,” Baron smirked. “My servants informed me you had freed our baroness after one night in the cell. Is that true?” He changed the topic.
Feyd hesitated with an answer. First of all, he hated the way his uncle addressed his wife. He had hated it from the very beginning when they were talking about her – even before he had met her. After all, she was supposed to be his pet. But these days it was making him even more outraged.
Second of all, he knew very well he couldn’t answer honestly. He couldn’t tell his uncle that he simply hadn’t felt like locking his wife up in a cell for a few days. There had been no reason and she hadn’t been acting up after her family’s death. In fact, she was surprisingly stoic about it. At least when he was around.
“I wanted to fuck,” he answered but his uncle squinted his eyes at him. He knew very well that was a lie.
“You have plenty of others to satisfy your sexual desires with,” Baron pointed out.
“She is my wife. I don’t have to explain myself to you about what I do to her and what I decide about her,” Feyd drawled out.
“That is what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” Baron only chuckled sarcastically. “Have you bred her already?”
“I have,” Feyd nodded. “She will be inspected by the medic today.”
“Assuming she is with child, in nine months you will have to make a decision whether to keep her or not,” Baron reminded him.
Feyd knew that his uncle wanted to be the one to make this decision for him. He wondered what his opinion on that matter was.
“And what would you want me to do with her?” He asked.
“I have to observe her more thoroughly. She has good qualities and I wouldn’t mind keeping her around. She surprised me, I have to admit. But on the other hand… Her cunning nature is something I do not approve of,” Baron confessed and Feyd laughed contemptuously at that.
“Look who’s talking, dear uncle,” he hissed out.
“Either way, perhaps we will not have to make a decision at all,” Baron smiled mysteriously and Feyd looked at him questioningly. “You know that her mother died in childbirth. The medic told me that the chances for that are high with our baroness, too. But don’t worry, your son should be fine.”
Feyd’s jaw clenched. For some reason he didn’t like the possibility his uncle had just told him about.
“Stop calling her our baroness. She is mine, is she not?” He felt anger filling his whole body; his veins were on fire, his muscles tensed and head felt as if it would explode any given moment. He had to restrain himself, though, and that was when he found the self-discipline training indeed useful. “When you were trying to convince me to this marriage, you were luring me by telling me she would be my pet, my property, something for me to play with. Now you claim her as if she was your own.”
“Between us two, dear nephew. If I was younger and of better health, I would never give her to you,” Baron Harkonnen smirked with contempt. “Perhaps I’d still do it anyway but I just knew that Leto would never agree to that,” he laughed and Feyd felt sick at the thought. “She is more fit to become the Baroness than you are to become the Baron. Under different circumstances, she would be mine. And what belongs to you, belongs to me anyway, for as long as I’m alive. You owe me everything.”
Feyd hadn’t been that angry in a long while. Not only did his uncle play with his possessive nature but also managed to insult him by saying that his wife was more worthy than him.
“Can I go now?” Feyd only asked, breathing heavily and clenching his fists.
“Yes, my dear nephew, you are free to go… Kiss our baroness from me,” Baron’s chortle accompanied Feyd as he was walking out of his uncle’s chambers.
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After breakfast you were taken to the medic who was supposed to inspect you to find out if you were expecting Feyd-Rautha’s heir. You were not sure how to feel about it at all.
The idea of being pregnant with his baby was making you feel disgusted. And you knew that after giving birth to that child he would be able to kill you. On the other hand carrying his heir in your womb would make you untouchable for the next nine months and you could start playing your game with him a little rougher.
The medic smiled slightly and looked into your eyes as you were laying on the examination table. One of his cold hands was on your abdomen and the other was looking at some sort of device that you had not seen before. Giedi Prime was more technically advanced than your homeworld.
“You are with child, na-baroness. With a healthy baby boy,” he informed you.
A sudden wave of emotions spread throughout your body. Some unexpected warmth as you caught yourself smiling back at the medic.
“A-are you sure?” You asked.
“Yes, my Lady,” he nodded his head and moved away from you.
You carefully put your shaking hand on your womb as you took a deep breath in. There was a life inside you – half of your heathen husband, yes… but also half of you. And no one would take it away from you. It was your legacy.
Even if Feyd would kill you after you hand him your son for the first time, you’d always be written down as the mother of one of the Harkonnen barons in their big black chronicles stored in the fortress’ library.
“I will inject some vitamins and minerals now, my Lady,” the medic informed you and you nodded your head. You reached out your hand and allowed him to inject the substance that would help you to remain healthy for your son.
Now you were untouchable. He wouldn’t dare to hurt you. In fact, his job was to keep you and the child alive and strong.
“I wonder what he will look like,” you chuckled slightly and the medic laid his eyes on you. “Will he look more like me or Feyd?”
“The child you’re carrying, my Lady, is inheriting the best genetic material from both sides.”
“So he will look like me?” You teased and the medic chuckled.
“We will see. It is hard to tell, na-baroness. I have seen children of the Harkonnens with off-world women and it’s a lottery sometimes, really.”
“What do you mean? There’s been more?” You furrowed your brow but he remained silent as if he had just accidentally shared a secret. “Just tell me were the babies my husband’s?” You asked as your heart filled with fear and… jealousy?
“Oh, no, no, my Lady, not at all,” the medic shook his head and you sighed with relief. “You are free to go, na-baroness,” he added.
You stood up and let your dress fall down to cover your body properly as an idea popped into your head.
“Please, can I be the one to inform my husband about the child?” You asked the medic as he widened his eyes at you.
“You don’t have to ask me about such things, my Lady…”
“I just wanted to make sure if it’s allowed. I haven’t read much about the customs of this sort here,” you explained. It was true. Recently, while reading the books from their library, you focused more on learning their battle and war strategies, the origins of their glamorous victories and excessive violence.
“You are free to inform your husband on your own. I am going to talk to him later about it anyway. And I will inform the Baron in the meantime, my Lady,” the medic nodded his head.
“What do you mean you are going to talk to my husband about it later? Is there something you are hiding from me that is a matter of my health?” You raised an eyebrow at him.
You weren’t a child and Feyd was not your father. It angered you that there were things that were hidden from you as if your every single body function was your husband’s property.
“It is not…” the medic tried to find the right words, “...it’s for your own good, na-baroness. I do not wish to offend you with my words but… I will have to tell na-baron a few things… If he wants the baby to be safe, I mean… Na-baron will have to change some… Some of his behaviours, I mean…”
“Hush,” you smirked at him. “I know what you mean. Thank you,” you nodded your head and walked out of his room.
Despite carrying the devil’s spawn inside of you, you felt relieved. Perhaps in nine months you’d be killed and join your family but for those upcoming nine months you were the most protected person on Giedi Prime. And even your husband would be instructed to treat you gentler.
Speaking of him, you went to the courtyard where he had been training. You heard the noises from afar already but they did not startle you. In fact, you couldn’t wait to tell him the news. You wanted to see what his reaction would be.
Would he be pleased? Or would he not be interested at all? You began to enjoy that little game you had with him so much that every new situation like this – with a new possibility and a new scheming scenario to prepare – was filling your head with adrenaline.
When you entered the courtyard, you immediately spotted that Feyd was unusually angry on that day. You had been often watching him from the balcony as you had been eating breakfast and you had never seen him that furious during a training before. The slave man he was fighting already knew his fate on that day. Your husband wouldn’t be satisfied with the simple victory. There would be blood.
You nearly regretted bothering him. When he turned around to see you approaching him, he had murder in his eyes. It made your blood turn cold for a second. You only watched and swallowed thickly as he slit the slave man’s throat without even turning his head around to look at him. The body of the servant fell to the floor behind Feyd and he lowered his knife before approaching you.
“What do you want?” He asked, harshly. His eyes were still filled with rage. That murder was not enough to satisfy his appetite for destruction.
And it scared you a little how little you felt after witnessing it. Of course you felt bad for the servant’s life. But you were not terrified like you had been the first time witnessing him kill before your wedding.
“Why are you so angry today?” You tried to ask nicely as you tilted your head and bit on your lower lip.
He looked you up and down and you dared to touch the tensed muscles of his arms gently. He flinched but did not take a step back as usual.
“Doesn’t matter,” he drawled. “I asked you a question.”
“Aw, you’re not very nice,” you batted your eyelashes. He was visibly confused with your behaviour. “And I have very good news for you, dear husband,” you added ironically. Feyd’s eyes sparkled at that.
“You’re carrying an heir?” He asked and you nodded as your lips curled into a nervous smile. To your surprise, your husband smiled, too. It was one of his sneering smiles but it still counted as a form of joy in his limited body language.
“The medic says it’s a healthy baby boy. I’ve been injected with some vitamins and minerals, too,” you informed him. “He said he would have a word with you later.”
Feyd nodded at that. You noticed that his anger seemed to disappear now almost completely as his eyes kept wandering to your abdomen. You rolled your eyes and grabbed his empty hand to place it on your womb.
He tried to take it away and hissed at you but you kept clinging to it and pressing it to your body until he gave up.
“It is your heir, Feyd-Rautha. Your son, my Baron,” you whispered very quietly, seeing one of the real Baron’s servants approaching you from afar. “And it surprises me but I feel pride carrying him in my womb,” you added but what surprised you even more was the fact that these words didn’t feel like a lie at all.
“Na-baron, na-baroness…” Baron’s servant bowed down in front of you. “I am very sorry to bother but Baron Harkonnen wishes to see the Lady in the throne room.”
“Thank you,” you nodded at him. You wondered what that could be about but you assumed it was about the baby.
“I will go, too,” Feyd decided as he hid his blade and began walking even before you had moved. You followed him, not sure why he cared so much to be there as well. You had a feeling that something had happened this morning that you did not know of. And you didn’t like not knowing because every piece of information could be useful.
Not that you’d ever know everything going on behind your back. Not that you ever had.
When you entered the throne room, Feyd stood by your side in front of his uncle. It was perhaps the first time he didn’t stand behind you like a guard watching your every single movement. You weren’t sure if he did that intentionally but it made you feel more equal to him and you enjoyed that feeling.
The Baron was sitting on his throne and you smirked at the memory of conceiving your son there. You weren’t sure if it had exactly happened there but you liked to think so. There were also a few of Baron’s advisors sitting by the table filled with all sorts of papers.
“Baroness,” Baron greeted you and you nodded your head, gritting your teeth at the title he addressed you with, “I’ve heard that you’re carrying our heir. This pleases me,” he added and you heard Feyd taking a deep, shaky breath in.
“This pleases me, too, my Lord,” you answered calmly.
“But that is not the reason why I invited you here,” he explained. “As you know, your father and brother are dead,” he reminded you casually but it was obvious that he was watching your every little reaction. You felt your eye twitching but nothing else except for that. Feyd watched you, too, from the corner of his eye. You felt like a trapped animal. Showing weakness was absolutely forbidden.
“And Lady Jessica, too, I hope,” you only said.
“Of course,” Baron chuckled, “but have you thought what does that make you, then?”
“An orphan?” You asked, confused and that made the Baron laugh again.
“No, baroness. You are now The Duchess of The House Atreides,” he announced and your heart sank in your chest.
Oh, in what a twisted way your dream had come true. You had always wanted to bear this title; to be your father’s heiress. But you had never wanted to achieve it with murder and death. And now – indeed – you were the last living person of the Atreides bloodline. And it didn’t matter anymore that you were a woman because the title was allowed to be inherited by women in case of no male heirs.
“I guess I am,” you looked at the Baron. “But is not Arrakis now under your rule, my Lord?”
“We need you to sign a treaty of capitulation, Duchess Atreides,” he explained while using your new title sarcastically and he pointed at the table with all the papers. “Just a formality.”
You approached it and Feyd followed you like a dog. You furrowed your brow while starting to read.
“Take your time,” Baron mocked you.
Of course you knew that you had to sign it anyway. But you still wanted to know what you were supposed to sign. The treaty included allowing Count Rabban to become the Governor of Arrakis and a few more complicated details about the spice production. There were also points about you basically having no right to anything as the Duchess Atreides – you’d be her by the title only.
“And what about my homeworld? Caladan?” You asked.
“Caladan has been given to Count Hasimir Fenring by the Emperor’s order,” Baron informed you.
“Shame. You shouldn’t have allowed that, my Lord,” you told him. “Caladan was my family’s home for ten thousand years and it still officially belonged to my father while he resided on Arrakis. We lost Caladan then,” you sighed and leaned in to sign the treaty.
“I know your homeworld has sentimental value to you, baroness, but to me it has none. I only care about Arrakis and its spice,” Baron squinted his eyes at you.
“I did not expect you to give up on things so easily, my Lord. The more the better, is it not? Shouldn’t our ambition be unlimited?” You teased him and he remained silent for a short while. You started to worry that you had said too much.
“Either way, I have a gift for you, Duchess Atreides,” Baron waved at one of his advisors and they opened a black box in front of you.
It contained one of your father’s signet rings and you froze at the sight. It felt like a slap on the face.
Your father was really dead, you realised as a wave of shock went through your body. They were giving you his signet ring, most likely taken off of his dead body. You wondered what had happened to the second one but you didn’t want to ask them. Maybe they had no idea about it and you wanted to keep some secrets to yourself, too.
Your hand shook slightly when you took the signet ring out of the box. Of course it was too big to fit your pinky finger but it fit on your thumb. You would ask the jeweller to adjust its size later.
You had to chew on the insides of your cheek not to burst into tears at the feeling of your father’s signet ring on your skin. Not only it made your heart ache from the grief that you were trying so hard to bury deep down but it also made you realise that your dream of becoming The Duchess Atreides had really come true.
And now you wished it hadn’t.
You turned around to face Baron Harkonnen and you kneeled, remembering very well the diplomatic protocol for such situations that you had been taught as a child, thinking it would never be useful.
“I, Duchess (Y/N) of The House Atreides, pledge my allegiance to The House Harkonnen,” you bowed down and waited for his reply.
However, he was taking his time with it and you assumed it was giving him some sort of pleasure to witness you like this – and by you he had to mean all The Atreides. The longer you were kneeling the more angry you were growing. You started to fantasise about murdering him with your own bare hands when he finally spoke up.
“May your service be accepted, Duchess Atreides.”
You tried to stand up but your legs had gotten numb already and you clumsily lost your balance for a moment. It was embarrassing enough but you felt someone’s strong hands catching you and helping you to get up.
Your husband’s hands.
You were shocked with this gesture and so was he because once you were back on your feet, he gave you a very confused look and let go of you as if your touch was poisonous.
“You are both free to go,” Baron announced and you walked out of the room as fast as possible.
When you were already on the corridor, walking side by side with Feyd in the direction of your bedroom, you waited a while to get away enough from his uncle’s throne room. Then you moved rapidly and pushed Feyd against the wall.
He would swiftly grab your wrists and twist them or break your arms, of course he would. But he had never seen it coming even in his wildest dreams that you would do such a thing. So now he was trapped between the wall and your body.
Not that he couldn’t push you away. He would easily do that but he didn’t. He only smirked at you and waited for an explanation of this behaviour.
“Why did you let him make your brother the Governor of Arrakis? It should be ours,” you hissed out.
“I do not have to explain myself to you, pet,” Feyd chuckled. “You’re lucky you’re carrying my heir, otherwise I’d break your little hands and snap your little neck,” he threatened.
“Sure,” you rolled your eyes. “You always say that.”
You saw the sparkle in his eye die off slowly as he realised you were no longer scared of him. Or at least you did not show it because it was impossible not to be scared at all.
Before he would push you away as usual when you confused him, you joined your lips together to kiss him passionately. He kissed you back just as fiercely, as if he tried to show you that it was him who was in charge. You cupped his face and moved away slightly, watching the torment in his eyes as your touch was making him feel deeply uncomfortable.
“Shh, shh,” you cooed softly like you had used to the startled horses back on Caladan, “let me, shh, just let me,” you whispered and you began to caress his cheeks with your thumbs.
And then, just like that, something in him broke and you swore you could see the pain in his eyes. A real and raw emotion, no sneering and no mockery. His muscles relaxed slightly, too. A small victory.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Feyd,” you whispered to him. “I am not like him.”
He had to be aware of his dog-like nature. He needed an owner, he had been raised this way and it was something that would not be easy to change. You just hoped he would choose an owner who was good to him rather than the one who ruled by fear and terror.
“I only want the best for you. For us,” you added carefully. “So, please, tell me why it is your brother the Governor of Arrakis and not you?”
“Because,” he took a deep breath in, “I am needed here now. My reputation amongst the people and nobility of Giedi Prime is not yet satisfying. They do not see me as a worthy successor. But that will change soon,” he promised and the look he gave you made you smirk. It was as if he waited for your approval.
“Good boy,” you praised him. “Isn’t it easier this way? When you behave?” You asked him and caressed his cheeks again.
“What are you doing to me?” He breathed out. “You’re a fucking witch.”
“No, you know I am not,” you chuckled softly. “But the feeling is mutual.”
Feyd furrowed his brows at that.
“I am drawn to you like a shark to a bleeding wound. I might enjoy it a little too much,” you confessed.
“Do you seriously think I am stupid enough not to know that you’re playing some sort of a game with me?” He asked.
“Oh, the thing is, I don’t know anymore what is a game and what is not,” you admitted.
“Na-baron,” a familiar voice interrupted you. It was the medic. “May I have a word?”
You moved away from your husband and he nodded at the medic.
“I am going back to my room,” you informed them and walked away, smiling to yourself and playing with the signet ring on your thumb.
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You were laying on your bed in the evening and reading one of the books from the library as Astra and Cara were sitting on the edge and quietly working on the small diamonds attached to one of your dresses that had gotten loose overtime. You noticed that they were looking at you from time to time from the corner of their eyes as if they wanted to tell you something.
“What is it, girls?” You asked with a sigh and lowered the book down to put it on your chest.
“Oh, she’s just excited about the baby, my Lady,” Cara told you.
“You’re as excited as me!” Astra gasped at her. She looked a bit startled, perhaps afraid that you’d find it offensive.
“Come here,” you encouraged them to sit next to you and they abandoned their work to join you as they sat on both sides of you. You took their hands and placed them on your abdomen and watched their faces warm up immediately.
They were such sweet girls, you couldn’t imagine your life without them. Not so long ago you had found out how old they truly were and your heart had shattered to realise they were fifteen years old. You really had thought they were older and closer to you with age.
“I want you to train yourself in infant care,” you told them as they looked up at you. “I won’t trust anyone else with my child.”
“But, na-baroness, you will be given women who are qualified to take care of children, much more than we would ever be…” Cara tried to explain.
“They are… real women, not slaves, I mean,” Astra added. “They will feed the baby, too. We are not able to do that, my Lady.”
“I do not care,” you told them. “I will not let any of them touch my child and I will feed him myself anyway. No offence but I will not let any Harkonnen woman feed my son,” you explained. “I’m sure even your milk is polluted.”
“That is so unusual for noble women to do that, my Lady…” Cara’s eyes widened. “Did your mother feed you, too, na-baroness?”
You didn’t answer at first as her question unlocked a painful memory in your brain. It was unpleasant to remember because the truth was making you feel uncomfortable. Cara began to look scared.
“I’m sorry, please forgive me, my Lady, I shouldn’t have asked…”
“My darling, it is perfectly fine to be curious,” you answered her. “My mother died giving birth to me, remember?” You asked her.
“I’m sorry, how could I forget…” She looked down.
“It was Lady Jessica,” you whispered and they looked at you, confused. You weren’t even sure if they knew exactly who Lady Jessica had been. However, you were mostly talking to yourself at that point as your eyes were focused on the wall in front of you, absently. “I had a wet-nurse at first but when she was able to feed me as her pregnancy progressed, she took over. I still don’t know why she was doing that. Was she feeling sorry for me? An orphaned, unwanted little baby? Did my father ask her to? Was he feeling guilty? Or was she performing her Bene Gesserit witchcraft on me when I was a newborn as she fed me? I don’t know. And I will never find out,” you smiled sadly and looked at Cara again. Then, at Astra. You always wanted to make sure not to favour any of them. “Oh, how I wish you were not my slaves,” you blurted out.
“We are very happy and honoured, my Lady…” Astra started but you shushed her gently.
“No, you are not. You say that but even you know, deep down, that there could be a better life for you,” you caressed her cheek and then you caressed Cara’s.
“This is the best life we could ask for on Giedi Prime and even more, na-baroness,” Cara tried to convince you and your heart broke for them even further.
You watched them go back to the edge of the bed as they picked up the gown and continued to work on the diamonds.
You however were growing impatient. It was odd for Feyd not to come to your chamber in the evening. He would usually ask for you at that time but it was not happening tonight. You stood up and approached the doors leading to his bedroom but when you pushed them, they were locked. You were surprised.
“He locked me out,” you told your girls and they looked up. “What a bastard,” you mumbled to yourself.
You wanted to know the reason behind it and you didn’t want to let him think that you were so easy to get rid of. You left your bedroom to go out on the corridor and you approached the guards who were already staring at you with wide eyes.
“Open the doors to my husband’s chamber,” you ordered them.
“We were told not to, my Lady…” One of them informed you.
“I am your na-baroness and I command you,” you raised an eyebrow at him.
“We were told not to by the na-baron himself. We cannot…” He protested.
“Fine then. I am able to do it myself,” you took a step ahead to push on the doors yourself but the guard stopped you by pointing his blade at you.
Your heart skipped a beat at first but then you remembered that it was him who was in big trouble now – not you.
The doors opened anyway as shirtless Feyd stood in them and witnessed the scene taking place in front of him.
“What are those noises, what is going on here?” He growled at the guard and then looked him up and down with rage in his eyes. “How dare you point your blade at my wife?”
“Sh-she wanted to go inside your room, my Lord na-baron and you… You told us not to… Not to let anyone disturb your peace, my Lord…” The guard took a step back trying to explain himself.
“How dare you point your blade at my wife and my son?” Feyd was walking towards him slowly as he was visibly feasting on the guard’s fear.
You were tempted to watch that little scene and to witness the guard getting his proper punishment but you heard familiar giggles coming from inside of the Feyd’s bedroom. You walked inside and saw his pets on the bed, half-naked and in the middle of a heavy petting session.
He had been keeping them away from you since his fight in the arena after your wedding. You had not seen them since then and they had not shared his bed with him either because you had been occupying it every night. You couldn’t understand why he decided to do this again. It felt humiliating, especially on a day you found out about being pregnant. Especially on a day you thought you broke him a little.
You heard the guard begging and screaming but you did not care at all. Your eyes squinted at the three Harkonnen women and they smirked when they noticed you standing in the middle of the room.
“Master’s seed is growing in you, we’ve been told,” one of them hissed at you. “Good pet,” she praised you with contempt.
“And in nine months our Master will be all ours again,” the other one added. “I will eat your heart when he’s done with you,” she licked her lips in a vulgar manner, showing off her sharp teeth.
You instinctively put your hand on your abdomen to protect your child. That gesture made them sneer.
Feyd walked back inside the room as the heavy doors closed behind him. You gave him a look of disappointment.
“Get out,” he ordered.
You weren’t sure if he had been talking to you or them. But as his wife, you remained in one place and waited for his next move. However, the three pets remained in their positions as well. The atmosphere was tense. It was you or them and for a little while you really got scared that you’d lose this battle.
“I told you to get out!” He yelled at them and they startled. You had never seen him being so angry at his darlings. They gave you a very hateful look but they ran out of the room as fast as possible.
“How dare you bring your whores to this bed you share with me every night?!” You approached him when you were left alone as you pushed him fiercely. “I will not lay here again as long as I can feel their stench in the air.”
“Good,” he told you angrily and you gasped at that. What could he possibly mean…? Perhaps he didn’t find you attractive now when you were carrying a child. That could be an explanation. “You have to stay away from me,” he added.
“What are you talking about?” You dared to cup his face and he tried to push you away but your grip remained strong. “Look at me, talk to me,” you commanded.
“I can’t break you,” he finally gave up as he laid his eyes on you. “The medic said I have to stop hurting you when you’re carrying my son.”
You swore you could hear a hint of worry in his voice. It was almost delicious; you wanted to savour the feeling.
“Then don’t hurt me,” you chuckled at him.
“This is all I know,” he replied and grabbed your wrists to push you away but he did it… gently. 
You watched him turn his back on you and approach the balcony door to walk away as far as possible from you. He was broken, you thought. Well, almost. He was on the edge and he needed a little push. Just a little.
“Feyd-Rautha,” you addressed him in a harsh tone and he turned around to look at you, confused. “Come to me,” you commanded.
After a long while of silence and hesitation, slowly and carefully he began to walk towards you. You would never say that he was scared because you doubted such a word even existed in his dictionary. But he did not look as confident as usual either. When he stood in front of you like that, you suddenly realised how beautiful he was.
You had never expected to admit such a thing but he truly was stunning. Your husband was a handsome man with beautiful facial features and smooth skin on his muscular body. The moonlight creeping inside the room through the balcony door and the narrow windows was making him look even more mysterious and alluring.
You put your hands on his shoulders and then you pushed him down. Surprisingly, he gave in much more eagerly than you’d expect him to. In no time he was on his knees for you.
Oh, how exciting it was. But also… sad. You wished you could take away all the damage that had been done to him but you could not. You could only use it for your own advantage.
However, there was a new feeling blooming inside your heart. And it was not pity, it was not compassion. It was some sort of affection – disgusting, poisonous, unwanted and repulsive. You did not want to feel it but it was there and you assumed he was suffering from the same form of illness when it came to you.
“What did you do to this guard, Feyd-Rautha?” You asked him, sternly,
“I killed him,�� he confessed and you hummed to yourself as you nodded.
“Would you kill for me again?” You raised an eyebrow at him and he looked up to meet your gaze.
“Any time, my Lady,” he nodded.
Completely broken. Utterly shattered. In thousands of pieces.
You smiled at him gently as you placed your hands on the back of his head softly and pressed his face to your womb. After a short while, Feyd tugged on your nightgown and his body relaxed.
A large victory.
But for some reason you didn’t feel as proud of yourself as you expected to. For some reason you just wanted to crouch down in front of him and to comfort him, to kiss him, to hold him. You shook off that feeling quickly.
“You see…?” You asked him after a while and he looked up again. His beautiful eyes had never been that confused before. “You don’t always break things,” you pointed out and caressed his head lightly.
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MASTERLIST
2K notes · View notes
controld3vil · 10 days
Text
popcorn bucket
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pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (ALL platonic) synopsis: dune dune DUNE. thats it. notes: this completely out of genre for me but i genuinely really like these actor!reader fics !! they're soooo good. and the reader is intended to be gender neutral :D OH and no beta read..
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"Maude, a.k.a Maude'Dib for Nerdist!" There was a laugh coming from Rebecca Ferguson as you situated yourself next to her. "Hi! How are you guys?" The blonde woman who supposedly to be your interviewer, Maude Garrett, warmly welcomes the two of you with friendly gestures. "This is my first one of these,"
"This is my second actually," you recuperate back a loveable grin, scouting your back towards the chair. "For you... I'd imagine," then cast a glance to your seatmate, for her response.
"I've been doing them but this is my first." As Rebecca situates herself, holding her phone in one hand, and you, patting any creases found on your trousers. "I'm- I'm down to it - I'm googling..."
A short pause but no matter, as you leaned towards Rebecca's screen and read it out loud. "Dune's Popcorn Bucket,"
"Yeah I don't understand, what's happening?" she shifts the screen for you to have a better look before looking up at the interviewer in pure confusion and bizarreness. You knock your head sideways, trying to discern the confusing photo. A small pout forms on your lips as your brain toggles what exactly you're looking at.
"Oh, you don't know about the AMC popcorn bucket?!" The kind woman exasperates, eyes widening in pure surprise.
Not a second later, your eyes look up at the revelation. "Oh, I see it now!"
Rebecca lifts up her phone and presents what the two of you are looking at. "I'm seeing something but I'm not sure what's going on? What it is?" She still didn't understand what it was and you swirled your hips towards her in a swooshing motion.
"You're supposed to put your hand in there and eat the popcorn," Pivoting your head a little, a grimaced look is plastered on your face. "It's the worm!" The camera zooms into your disturbed expression and then cuts to the Garrett looking straight at them, giving a moment for the audience to register what had happened.
Your costar turns to you and her expression quickly switches to a mischievous one. "Oh." Your strained childish smile almost falters as you try to hold your laugh in.
A few significant chuckles from the blonde interviewee while Rebecca looks back and forth from the film crew to you, her, and the camera. "I don't think they had an intern that had a, you know, "different mindset"."
"How uhm,"
"Interesting!
"Sensual!" A short muffled laugh escapes your laugh coming off as a snort as you instinctively cover your mouth out of embarrassment. Rebecca's word of choice definitely caught you off guard which caused some ruckus behind the camera as well.
"How sensual! That's the perfect word for it," The camera pans towards your red puffed cheeks, looking forward nodding alongside the interviewee who is taking the conversation so charismatically well.
"Yes! Yes!"
"You could say you have to ride the sandworm to earn your spots," Garrett teasingly says while Rebecca and you nod in agreement.
"Well look at that. That's what happened back in the days of MGM, but thankfully we've moved on," she replies tiddling with the toothpick in her mouth as you held your breath for a second. A delayed puff comes from Garrett, looking at the actress beside you in shock.
To say the three of you had a blast through the next hour of the interview.
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In another interview, you were paired up with Josh Brolin who had played Gurney Halleck. In respect of your character, his pupil, you couldn't help but feel excited because in very few instances had they given you the chance to be in an interview with him.
Lainey Lui who was eager to talk the both of you, sat across from you both in front of a majestic poster of the project. The title, Dune Part Two was shown in its iconic font. The background was a still of one of the sets used in the film which displayed muted colors and curves.
The woman briefly introduced herself and you did the same. Spotting Brolin, you give a small wave before taking the seat beside him where he earnestly wraps his arm around your back. In full comfort and level of readiness, you felt the tiny jitters fly away.
"It's nice to see you two! So what about introducing Gurney and being able to reunite with someone that means so much to him?"
With a variety of cast members, the film was expansive to bring its sets to life. You felt it on day one of filming the first Dune movie. Yet you become more determined to do more when the production of the second film comes. It was phenomenal teamwork, from the film and cast crew. People in wardrobe and makeup were dedicated to making the costumes feel authentic and lived in. The works of Denise Villeneuve is something you've been fascinated with for a while, dating back to his early works.
It all comes back circle to Josh Brolin, remembrance in all of the heartfelt scenes he had done with Timothee of Gurney's and Paul's reunion. He reminds the interviewee that Paul's relationship with him is strong and familial. And that initially the scene was improvised due to their filming schedule.
"He really is like an anchor for him." "Yeah because for the past nine months, he's been spiraling and lost his family." Brolin nods in agreement, making an analogy with his fingers swirling down in a circle. You couldn't help but feel captivated about what they said, placing an elbow on your knee to better listen.
"And- This means no offense to your character!" Lui, the interviewer almost frantically calls out, moving the attention to you. And suddenly you wake from your trance of listening to being pulled back to their conversation.
"Oh no no! Not at all!" As you try to sweep the worry off, waving your hands in a panic.
A soft chuckle erupts from Brolin, seeing how almost innocently you want to pay no heed to the attention. "Of course, Gurney's moment with Paul could never amount to his and Nerre's- I mean I think their relationship really evolved in this movie than the last one," He sarcastically dismissed, crossing his arms while you dramatically gape at your co-star.
"Of course it did! What are you tryna to say, Brolin?" You leaned forward in your chair towards his direction almost like a child would when wanting to make a point.
"Come on, I hope you're not choosing favorites between your family," The interviewee cutely teases, giving a smile.
"I just think- You know for not having to see him for so long, you could've," It was a tiny joke you and the cast had made before while filming the exact scene he had discussed. In a similar scene to where Paul reunites with Gurney, he reunites with Nerre, your character, his pupil, and has been a father figure too. Shoots were slightly rocking as your reaction to seeing Gurney for the first time on the scene didn't go as satisfactory as Denise Villeneuve had intended. Instead, the two of you (and very much of the crew) couldn't stop giggling at your attempted sad faces. Nerre in the final cut, when meeting Gurney becomes teary-eyed and ultimately cries in his arms. While in actuality, you couldn't take it seriously enough to go rushing to give Brolin a hug. "Put much more of an effort to look happy?"
"That!" You wave an X with both arms, embarrassed how your own co-star would drag you out like this. "I say was very much my fault but we got the take in the end!"
"Sure we did," The older actor aimlessly nods, not once believing your words, having the biggest grin on his face. Evidently, the interview goes smoothly with occasional hits and jabs between the both of you regarding your performance. And sooner it comes full circle back to you and the dynamic of Gurney and Nerre.
"As you've said earlier," your head snaps back to the male actor poignantly, as if mocking, "I don't think Gurney and Paul's relationship would deter anything with Nerre. They're very tight-knitted because we are all family essentially," You spread your hands out as if mimicking a large circle, "I know a lot of people wanted to see Gurney and Nerre's growth and I'm glad we got to see that. But it's essentially Paul that we're seeing spiral toward madness. So it makes sense to see him meeting Gurney more meaningful."
"Yes, it really shows the stakes they all have to deal with!"
"Exactly, my point!" One last look from Brolin as he makes eye contact with you before raising his hand for a high five. Were you now going to compete for Josh Brolin's favoritism against Timothee without his acknowledgment? Of course, you are.
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Out in the deserts of Abu Dhabi, the vast bodies of sand were infinite. Much of the crew delivered and prepared props, and essential needs as their number one priority. In it's hot weather and shivering nights, the film production didn't discover much disturbance from the weather. It was rather quite pleasant under it's wake luckily. Some crew were happily taking pictures and filming some of the crew walking around to promote their upcoming project.
"This costume rocks!" You jump off from a small rock platform into the frame of the vertical camera focus and give two thumbs up. You then waved towards the cameraman with an enthusiastic smile. "Good morning!"
"Good morning!" Rebecca Ferguson's shout can be heard on the other side of the set as the view pivots towards her in full costume of robes and blue tattoos. "Another day of shooting!"
Day in and out, the production in Abu Dhabi was fun for you. It wasn't much of a nuisance you had feared due to the sand and hot weather but surprisingly pleasant with the luminescent scenery always present behind every camera view.
In another clip, it's shown in the grand hall at the climax of the movie. Where the massive amount of extras were standing, circling the space in the middle for the camera crew to shoot. Timothee was off in the background, practicing his moves with Austin Butler who supposedly would have a spontaneous battle against each other. On the side, you were happily chatting with Florence Pugh in her exquisite attire as Princess Irulan and Christopher Walken were only a few steps behind. You looked beyond curious and happy. A cute short was captured of you trying to poke the small blades on Florence's costume.
The camera expands to reveal all of the other cast such as Zendaya and Rebecca and Javier Bardem chatting. And Denise Villeneuve improvising a scene with Josh Brolin.
Lastly an endearing story comes from your story of Zendaya dragging you with water as you try your best to stand on your feet. You forget who had your phone (Was it Timothee? Or Josh Brolin?) but they were behind the camera, following you around as you struggled to walk to the table full of water cauldrons.
Zendaya was by your side, having a hand on your back, says, "Come on, you can do it!" An determined yelp for your name and you childishly groan.
"I feel like my legs are gonna fall off!"
"You should've taken more water with you kid!" It was Brolin's voice from the far right which confirms Timothee was the one behind the camera. The set production was a few feet, resulting in why cast members always to bring water. Yet from an odd perspective, you had tired yourself out too much. It was as if you had just run a ten-meter run.
Though it felt a marathon, you were doing fall stunts constantly up and down the hills of sand. And to say you were exhausted was an understatement. A chuckle erupts and the air feels lighter when Javier Bardem arrives into frame, seeing your poor state.
"Drink some more water!"
As your next story slides to you chugging down a full hydro flask of water like an animal thirsting for air. Your female costar beside you looked at you in horror, almost terrified of stopping you.
"Hey slow down!"
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This wasn't the final moment of your press for the film. However, it was the most captivating and relishing one. In the room full of your favorite people and an interviewee dedicated to the works of Dune, Naz Perez, you all delved into the complex characters you all portrayed onscreen and discussed the juggling topics of characters, love, and how to ride a sandworm.
One by one, the woman pointed out interesting questions for all of your cast to expand upon and you couldn't help but be pulled into a trance to what everyone said. From the dynamics of the new characters beginnings to the interior struggles they had, the room felt revelating of the dedicated work of Denise Villeneueve.
Until Perez perfectly transitions her attention to you after listening to Austin Butler's performance. "Speaking of elevating performances," A few of the people on the couch cooed and awed as you bashfully clamped your hands together in an innocent manner. Your name is spoken out. "Nerre's transformation in Part Two is really eye-opening. For someone who had started out as a young, skilled, and playful warrior to a more serious and revengeful one, how do you think they helped Nerre evolve as a person?"
"I've wanted to point this out before, yeah Nerre kind of starts out a free-willed comedic character," You nod trying to find the right words to describe your interpretation of your character. "But then after "losing" Gurney and being separated from everyone, they could only look forward towards the perpetrators which were the Harkonnen. And for that, they're consumed with the idea of revenge, taking back what was once theirs, their home. You see this when Paul or the other Fremen question their motives because that's a dark path to go by," Each person you mentioned turn their heads to listen to your words carefully, knowing how dedicated you were to the film.
"Right, and for better and or for worse, they have matured. They're being front about the decisions being made, and what's happening in Arrakis, so tell me the conflicts they must've had to deal with others."
"Mmm I would say a lot of their internal turmoil " You were hesitant to say if it was going to spoiler territory. But glancing towards everyone, made you feel assured you were doing fine. "Is always guarded against others. But upon the last film, I believe the revelation of the destruction of House Atreides opened their eyes to first found war. And it terrifies them you know, you have to put in perspective they were young teenagers. So seeing that and then meeting these new characters who are vastly different and want for change, motivates them to induce war. So it brings conflict to almost everyone because war will attract more chaos." You attempt to piece together your last remaining sentences, looking up and down at the interviewer.
"No words can be better said," Perez dazedly comments, placing a hand over her heart you flaunt lovingly. "Reminds me of a certain psycho."
"Right! You know Feyd-Rautha and Nerre could've been besties!" You snapped your fingers which made both Zendaya and Florence burst out laughing. While Austin stares at you smiling, nodding in agreement.
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barbiedragon · 22 days
Text
Turn the Inner Eye
Dune: Feyd-Rautha x concubine!reader 
Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)
WC: 1.8k 
Warnings: rough sex, biting, creampie, spanking, nipple play, pregnancy, major character deaths, a bit of canon divergence 
The Bene Gesserit trust in you to fulfill the prophecy 
A/N: This is my first Dune fic, and I'm rather proud of it. Hope you all enjoy!
*comments/reblogs are appreciated
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You perched on the balcony's edge, your violet cape draped across your shoulders as you watched Feyd spar. Intensity radiated from him, and you could see the fire enveloping in his dark eyes even from a distance. A booming roar cut through the air, making you jump as Feyd knocked his sparring opponent to the ground. Sweat glistened on his pale skin, bald head shiny with the persipriation as he raised his blade. His teeth gnashed as he readied himself to strike, 
“Feyd,” you gritted firmly, altering the pitch of your normal tone. It was enough to get his attention as he snapped his head in your direction, lowering the sword to his side. A feral growl rolled from deep in his belly, animalistic and sharp, before he stormed off. You allowed him his space before venturing after him.
Before entering his quarters, you slipped your feet from the soft, violet slippers. The wealth of the Harkonnens kept you in finery.
“What ails you, my love?” you hummed, your bare feet padding lightly against the floor as you approached Feyd.
Anger surged through his muscular body, radiating so fervidly from him that you could almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. The hairs on your body stood erect.
“Atreides! They say he is alive, along with his mother, and he is leading the raids.” he hissed.
Ah, yes. You should have guessed as much. You settled your hands on his pale shoulders, using Prana Bindu to send a comforting warmth through his body.
“You needn’t worry over him; you are na-Baron. Besides, those are merely rumors; he has likely been left to the sandworms. House Atreides will fade into distant memories while House Harkonnen rules strong and remembered for years to come,” you hummed, changing the pitch of your voice to soothe and calm him. Even if they were alive, there was a plan in place to eliminate them unbeknownst to Feyd.
His shoulders softened, his ivory flesh turning to putty beneath your fingers. You could feel his heart rate slow as the anger dissipated, the smell of sweat pungent in your nostrils as it cooled against his skin. He turned to face you, cupping your face in his large hands.
“I’m going to rip his head from his body and place it at your feet,” he sneered.
“I eagerly await the day, my love,” you smiled, rubbing your cheek against his calloused palms. Even the mightiest, hardened warriors needed a gentle touch every now and then. You pulled his hands from your face, pressing your small palm into his, and guided him to the bed draped in black silk. You bade him to sit before perching in his lap.
His eyes locked on you as your finger traced around his lips. “I have a secret to tell you, my love, one that should lift your mood.”
Curiosity took over his expression. “And what might this secret be?” He parted his lips, his tongue darting out to moisten the tips of your fingers.
“Your Uncle plans to remove Rabban from his position and install you as ruler of Arrakis,” you whispered, shivering as his teeth grazed across your wet flesh. A sinister look threatened to split his face. His hand darted out to wrap around your throat, sending your heart thrumming excitedly in your chest.
“That…is good news, indeed. Finally, the man has come to his senses.” He let out a dark chuckle before leaning in to kiss you. His tongue sipped into your mouth, claiming yours in a passionate, hungry embrace. The moment was woefully interrupted when Tamarlaine entered the room.
“Oh! My apologies,” she squeaked, quickly lowering her head. You pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you to Feyd.
“Nonsense, come. I will leave the future Baron’s care in your hands,” you purred, rubbing his chest before standing.
Feyd had varying tastes, depending on his mood, so he had his fair share of concubines to suit whichever craving he currently had; it didn’t bother you, for you knew the hold you had over him. Men had their appetites, and you had no qualms with him whetting his. You were fond of his other concubines, having helped to train them in the art of pleasing him, and they looked to you for guidance and approval.
“I will require your company later,” Feyd called behind you in a deep voice before drawing Tamarlaine into his arms.
You smirked, slipping your feet into your slippers before leaving. The loud crack echoed behind you, followed by Tamalaine’s mewl of delight.
~~
Before retiring to Feyd’s quarters, you received a message that Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohaim would visit you at the end of the week on Giedi Prime. You would ensure your plan to become pregnant tonight would come to fruition. You made your way to Feyd’s room; the diaphanous gossamer of your robe flowed behind you. It was clear he had been expecting you, the way he positioned himself at the end of the bed, legs spread wide with a salacious look on his face. He was naked, cock proud and hard, the tip leaking dewy beads in anticipation. The soft material of your robe billowed to the floor as you slipped it free before stepping into his embrace.
He grasped your upper arms, pulling you close, before stretching onto the bed with you on top of him. You straddled his waist as his hand skimmed over your hips before his large fingers curved over the delicate décolleté of your slip. A soft moan escaped you as he ripped the flimsy material in two, pulling it off your body. It was why you had chosen it in the first place. His large hands roughly palmed your breasts, thumbs grazing over your pebbled nipples. He gave each a sharp pinch, sending arousal pooling through you.
The soft curve of your ass rocked against his erection, the marbled flesh teasingly slipping between your crack. His mouth pressed to the curve of your slender throat, sinking his teeth into your tender flesh as you lifted your hips. The slick tip of his cock pressed between your folds, slowly splitting you wide as you lowered onto him. You allowed yourself a moment to adjust before setting the pace. His dark eyes glued on your tits as they bounced with your ministrations.
“You are wondrous,” he purred, one hand slapping against your flank.
“You flatter me,” you grinned.
When he filled you, you gave your body the signal to start fertilization. He trembled under your palms pressed against his smooth chest as you milked every ounce of him inside you. You bent your head to kiss him gently before slowly climbing off him. His cock had gone flaccid, so your hand slipped down his taut belly, stroking his balls before doing the same to his cock. You worked your gift, feeling his flesh harden against your palm. You rolled away, pushing onto all fours, giving your ass a cheeky wiggle.
“Come, we are not finished yet,” you smirked, peering over your shoulder at him.
He licked his lips, a wolf ready to devour his prey. His large hands gripped your ass, delighting in your soft squeals as he slapped your flesh, tenderizing his meat. His fingers curled around your hips, teasing your dripping opening, his cockhead sliding through your folds before finally entering you. He set a brutal pace, making your body jostle with each powerful thrust. His fingers tangled sharply in your hair, yanking your head back, and his flesh slapping against yours drowned out all other sounds. Sweat beaded over your neck, dripping a trail down your back that his tongue lapped clean. When he finished, his cum oozed down your thighs, holding you apart so he could enjoy the sight.
~~
You eyed the vial that Gaius Helen Mohaim pressed securely into your palm. She looked fragile. You had heard the speculation of her failing health, but did not wish to press matters at such a time.
“Basilia,” you whispered.
“Very good, when the time comes, you will know when to use it.”
You nodded, slipping it quickly into the pocket of your dress. She stepped closer to you, cupping your cheek almost tenderly.
“Our hope lies with you. I trust you will not make the same mistake as Jessica. We have worked hard to conceal the truth from her, allowing her to believe the prophecy lies in Paul.”
When the Bene Gesserit learned of Jessica’s betrayal in carrying a son for Duke Leto instead of the promised daughter, rectifications were made. She was no longer deemed worthy for the Kwisatz Haderach to descend from her bloodline. Your mother was sent to Caladan in deep cover to seduce Leto, a memory long wiped from him, where she conceived you. The sisters of the Bene Gesserit concealed the action from Lady Jessica, leading her to believe her egotistical delusions of Paul becoming Kwisatz Haderach and allowing her to train him in their ways. Jessica must pay for her arrogance. You knew the cold, hard truth; the Atreides line would end with Paul and live through you.
“I would never betray my sisters or the hope for humanity, Reverend Mother,” you whispered, guiding her hand away from your face to rest on your stomach.
“Wonderful. You have served us well, dear sister.”
“I understand my duties and my purpose.”
~~
You sensed when the time was right, coating the Feyd’s blades with the indetectable basilia when Feyd was chosen as Emperor Shaddam’s champion after Paul challenged him for the throne. You settled next to Princess Irulan, the hood of your violet robe draped over your face. You remained passive as the fatal blow was dealt to Paul, smelling the poison as it seeped through his veins. A smirk tugged on your lips as he took his final breath, and Lady Jessica wailed in grief.
You approached Feyd, tracing your hand over his blood-stained face, the crimson droplets clung to your fingertips. You turned to face Lady Jessica, watching her fight the water of life flowing through her. You used your gift to alter it back into a poison, turning it fatal in her veins.
“I will give birth to Kwisatz Haderach,” you bent to whisper in her ear, watching the life drain from her eyes. A boy grew strong in your belly.
Feyd pressed his forehead against your belly before lifting you into the air.
“You will be my wife,” he proclaimed loudly, “You will bear my children and continue the Harkonnen line.
Applause filled the chamber as satisfaction flooded through you. You had served your purpose and would be remembered for years to come. Your son would change the world. You glanced down at Feyd, a sinister smile curling across your lips.
“I do believe you promised me a head, beloved.”
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nonpoppin · 1 month
Text
BEGINNING OF THE END
Paul Atreides x Reader
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Summary: Things reach a boiling point.
Warnings: Sickness, hallucinations, talks suicidal tendencies, , blood, talks of medicine and needles! kissing, making out, brief dry humping. TELL ME IF I MISS ANYTHING!!
Notes: Look, this was supposed to be the end but it's a part two instead, please don't hate me y'all 😭 Part three is already in the works! This is like 8k words!! No cricket mention! Maybe in part three! The summary is sorta funny once you reach the end of the story please laugh-
PART ONE
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“You are being ridiculous.”
“When the worms feast on my flesh I hope I taste nice.”
The changing divider is just thin enough to allow shadows to pass through and because of this Paul sees the maid throw her hands up before he hears her curse in her mother tongue. Paul swallows a snort, a small smile playing on his lips as he flips through an old book— it's been like this for hours. Your new maid was kinder than your last and, her cruelest punishment was making you look like a proper lady, as proper as you could look when your sickness allows you to skip out on all the corsets, ties and uncomfortable bonnets with their big ugly bows and flowers.
Paul hears your maid curse, your shadows move and you giggle. It's a soft sound, so soft, he almost misses as he turns a page in the book he's pretending to read. Still, it rasps and he hears the little gasp of pain you take after the humor passes and he frowns. The new medication works but not well enough, it takes away your bigger symptoms but it puts new ones in its place. Pinching lungs traded for ones that squeeze and contract suddenly, your drowsiness swapped for the inability to sleep— the notes said nurses found you awake at all times of night, bleary eyed and delirious but filled with too much energy. Your lack of appetite was pushed aside for your constant hunger and its consequence was not being able to keep any solid down.
Paul flips another page, his frown falling into an indifferent line. He's not supposed to know that about you, he was specifically barred from reading your medical files— something about respecting your privacy and doctor– patient confidentiality. Paul flips another page, he hears you giggle and your maid chide you and tries not to twitch at the sound. You've been giggling a lot recently, not that he really cares, it's just… if the action brought you pain why do you continue to do so? How can you find humor in anything with your circumstances? Then, he wonders if it's another side effect.
Paul goes to flip another unread page when you finally step from behind the divider. You look… Paul clears his throat and politely looks away feeling exasperated. The maid, Lyra, is still busy with the workings of your dress— the deep green fabric falls off your shoulders, your breast barely contained by the sinking fabric, your hair wild but not horribly so, it almost looks purposely roguish but with the state of the rest of you, he knows that's not the case. You look at him, the smile on your face is a touch whimsical and your eyes misty and it's then he knows you're not all there— it's the early workings of your medication, he guesses, he was sent to fetch you not too long after a dose. “Paul, if you were a worm–”
Paul shuts down the conversation before it can even start. “No.”
It's almost cute, how you wilt into yourself. Lyra uses it as an opportunity to pull your dress up before it can fall and expose you completely. She fixes a few buttons and he hears a zipper, then the fabric is hugging your figure nicely. Lyra eyes your hair for a moment, a finger brushing away a strand that hangs in your line of sight and you smile at her, leaning into her hand with a hum. It only makes the woman frown.
“She’ll be fine once she gets some food in her.” She says to Paul. Though her tone is concerned, she pitches her lips into a soft smile, “Don’t think I like this variant much. She doesn't remember most of her day then she spends the other half throwing up.”
Paul doesn't think of your medical files. His nose doesn't twitch at the new information, he doesn't immediately file it away in his brain as another reason to hate this stupid new medication. Forgetfulness. The word repeats in his head and he closes the book, his fingers tapping across the cover before they stretch and repeat the motion– Lyra pretends not to notice it as she guides you back to your bed. It makes sense, he thinks, maybe you forgot the way you were supposed to be acting around him, the moment this medication was introduced you had dropped the formal address of ‘your majesty’, you had started to smile at the sight of him. His fingers twitch as you groan something to Lyra— your head hurts. Another side effect?
Paul is standing before he realizes. “I’ll talk to her doctors.”
Lyra looks a touch surprise, her eyes shooting away from you to the prince then back to you with twitching lips. “If that's what you want to do, my lord.”
He's out of the room so fast, she can't help the laugh that escapes her. “Oh, that poor boy.”
You blink up at her, “Hm..?”
She only pats your hand fondly. “I’ll tell you when you're more coherent.”
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Leto tries to outpace his son but Paul matches his stride. “–And she is throwing up her meals, what is the point of feeding her if she can not keep it down?”
Leto glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “I thought I banned you from reading her files.”
Paul blinks, but he doesn't stumble in his stride nor does he slow. “I didn't. I simply talked to her maid, she's very forthcoming.” He lies.
Leto turns a corner, Paul follows. So, the King tries a different tactic. “I thought you wanted her dead?”
That causes his son to trip a little. “I did. I do, but as future King I won't deny she is of more value alive–” Paul sees his father frown, the ends of his lips twitching downward and he rushes to add, “–but I also realize she is human, she's not that much older than me and she's sick and this variant seems to be making it worse.”
Leto slows to a stop, just a bit and actually seems to consider his words. “The doctors say this variant is working the best out of all the ones they tried–”
“Father, if you were to ask her, her name, she'd answer wrong.” Paul interrupts, his voice a touch annoyed as he thinks back to you. You'd probably ask about worms again or make some ill-timed joke about your possible death. His mind flashes images of you, sick, confined to bed to now; standing, delirious and breasts spilling out of your dress— he instantly puts a cap on that thought and clears his throat. “We are supposed to keep her alive and that is not living.”
“I’ll bring it up in the next meeting about her health–” Paul opens his mouth and Leto gives him a sharp look. “–No, you may not join. But, I'm sure Lady Balliol appreciates your sudden… interest in her care.” There's a touch of amusement in his father's voice and the King pats Paul on the shoulder as he moves to pass him.
Paul freezes as he tries to process that statement, “What?”
But only Leto hums in reply, his mind already elsewhere. Paul falls in step with him and tries again, his voice louder. “Dad, what do you mean by that?”
The man gives his son a sidelong glance before looking away, his lips pursing— suddenly any amusement he seemed to find in the situation is gone. “It’s nothing, really.”
“It’s obviously not nothing.” Paul says, “You never say anything without meaning, you, yourself told me that. So what did you mean by that?”
“It’s just,” The King starts carefully and Paul can see in his face that he is carefully picking his words. “You hated Lady Balliol from the moment you saw her, you called for her death– wanted her head to roll with her fathers’.”
Paul goes to interrupt but Leto continues, his brow dipping in thought, “If I listened to you the first time, the very girl you worry about would be dead, do you understand that? You brought me pages of what dead Kings would do to inspire me and now you come to me worrying about her care after talking to her, what, a handful of times?” Leto looks at him then, his eyes searching. “This switch is odd if not a little cute and this sudden interest; I can only understand if you grew fond of her in the moments you spent together. I am aware that you loiter around her room, after all.”
Paul goes pink in the face. “It’s not like that.”
King Leto frowns at him, “Isn’t it? Even in sickness, she is a stunning sight. Her wit, when she is sound, is astounding and I find her quite humorous— if you have a small fancy for her, it's okay. Truly, I would rather that than you see her as some type of pawn, she's—”
“Human.” Paul says, his face still pink as he looks anywhere but his father. “I know she is human. Flesh and bone like you and me.”
“And?”
“And what?” Paul asks, annoyed. “She’s sick.”
Leto has an odd smile blooming on his face and the sight of it makes Paul want to squirm right out of his skin. Whatever Leto sees when he looks at his son, it's enough of an answer but still; he is a father and can't help taking the moment to tease him. “You can still like sick people, you know.”
Paul seems to twitch at that. “Yes, I know.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it. In old times, when one was wed— they'd say ‘In sickness and in health.’ Nothing can really stop love, I believe.”
Paul stops walking, hoping that his father would continue without him. Though, his face falls when Leto stops too— the both of them are right outside his private office and Leto is still smiling like he knows something Paul doesn't. “In fact, I have even read some interesting works— The Kings of old marrying off their Princes to nations they took over.”
“Well, we don't always have to follow the ways of Old Kings do we?” Paul says, his face looking as if he sucked on a lemon. “We can see where they failed and learn from it, yes?”
“Oh, no, these marriages were quite prosperous. Brought peace to the realm and all that.”
“Dad?”
The King's smile grows, “Yes?”
“You’re going to be late for your meeting.” Paul inclines his head towards the office and Leto laughs.
“Oh, now you don't want to join?”
“I think I'm quite alright out here.” He says, his eyes darting away. “I have things to do, as you know.”
Leto chuckles and with a shake of his head, he slips into his office. Paul gets a brief glance of the men in there— at the doctors and their notes splayed across the table then he sees Duncan, two of them make the barest of eye contact before they both look away, though a thought crosses Paul's mind. If he couldn't have a say in these meetings— maybe he could convince someone else to be his voice.
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Lyra, your new nurse-maid, is a lot of things. She's a whole head shorter than you, plump and filled with curves and a mother. She gets nervous around you, treats you like porcelain when you cough or develop a wobble in your step but she's stern. Stern but not cruel, like your last nurse-maid and she tells you, you act like her youngest. A melancholy little five year old who knew a little too much about death and rot because of her father who happens to be a farmer. Lyra, stars-guide-her, treats you like you're her child and it makes you ache.
When you die, it will hurt her.
You don't voice this, of course. You've come to a certain realization that it's all you do— hurt people, curse them with an early death or the burden of your care. You had tried to warn your father off from it, tried to convince your brother to make him see reason and look where that got them; dead or banished for caring. You try to imagine what will happen to Lyra after your death, she just— she just cares too much and if she has her way, there will be a story about you twisted and pecked at till it made you look pretty. Your sunken cheeks passed off as high cheekbones, the dark bags under your eyes spun to be mysterious. You will die, yes, but some part of you will live on with a better life than you had now.
You sit, wrapped in thick blankets and an IV planted in your arm and your mouth chalky. They've been flushing the prior variant of medication out of your system— they had pumped you full of so much activated charcoal you vomited for a straight hour and now they're rehydrating you in preparation for the new variant. You wish they'd let you die, that someone would let that old maid in and let her pull the plug and bar the doors. You want to be put of your misery, you wish to save the time of every doctor and nurse experimenting on you and have them focus on something worthwhile like– like, you don't know, the creeping death that's been appearing on Arrakis?
But you are ignored. Of course you are— you are no princess and a lady of high standing no longer, you are a prisoner. A pretty one; a toy to play with until you give out and they get a new one. So, you pick at your fingers and think almost absentmindedly that you should be alarmed at how easy the skin peels and how you don't bleed and maybe it's odd because humans bleed but not you, not the King's favorite toy, you peel more and more and more and–
That's not right.
Your head is swimming but you are sure you bleed, you are sure you're human.
“You are something far worse.” Your father snickers and you flinch. You look up (— when had you looked down?) And you don't know how you didn't notice him the first time. He had always been a big man, commanding every space he entered and despite how ridiculous he looked in the small chair, he had a nasty sneer on his face, his brown eyes filled with hate.
That's not right either, he never looked at you like that. Your father loved you.
“I did, didn't I?” He mutters. “Loved you enough to forsake everything I built and this is how you repay me?” He gestures to you, the green and gray dress you wear with little embroidered hawks on the collar. “You would break bread with the enemy?”
“I have no choice,” You whisper and your voice echoes, thundering in your ears. “They won't let me go— they won't let me die–”
“I don't want to hear that.” Lord Balliol hisses, his face twisting. You can't help but to look away, his face is all wrong, too angry— too filled with hate. “You betray your blood with your very life–”
Your heart drops, this isn't right. He wouldn't say this, he wouldn't but he is and your lip wobbles, “Papa…”
“I wasted so much time on you.” He continues, his voice hard and it's like he can't hear you. “Do you realize that? Do you realize what you cost me?”
“I never meant to– I-I only wanted–”
“Be quiet!” He shouts and you flinch away from him. “You have cost me everything, everyone. My wife, my son, my people; you are nothing but a curse–” And when he spits your name, it sounds like it is. “You are my biggest disappointment, my worst regret and for that, I can not let you live.”
You are shaking, the blanket clenched between your fingers. “What?”
“I can't let you leave this room alive.” Lord Balliol says but he is warping; he is nothing but smoke when he throws himself at you. A creature made of darkness and death and smells of sulfur— his hands wrap around your throat and when he squeezes, it burns. You claw at his hands, only for them to faze through and then you call for him. For your father and not the monster that he becomes, he does not answer but his hands tighten.
When you wake it is with a scream. Your fist strikes the prince across his face but you are too blinded with fear to even notice. Paul falls back with a shout of surprise and you still don't notice because you are still screaming, clutching at your chest and heart as you scramble away with hiccuping sobs.
“Papa,” You cry as Lyra runs for you. The maid is at your side in seconds, catching you just before you fall to the floor and uncaring of your thrashing, “Papa, papa, I'm sorry!”
Lyra soothes you through your sobs, through the tremors that rock through your body, her hand smoothing over the silk bonnet that barely stays on your head and Paul watches. There's little else he could do now that he was nursing a bloodied nose.
Paul doesn't know what's more pitiful, the fact that you still call for your monster of a father in this state or the fact that you got a hit on him. He hates the thought the moment it crosses his mind — he is being mean again, he knows it's not you. Not really, he had caught the wild, dazed look in your eyes before you swung on him and honestly should have known better. You were having a night terror, he had been near your room the moment you screamed, entered only second to Lyra who seemed surprised to see you having one.
“It’s never this bad.” She had said, her eyes wide and her hands shaking. She had wanted to run to you instantly but this was— you had screamed as if you were being torn apart from the inside out and Paul knew he had to be the one to wake you, especially when you began to scratch at your chest and arms.
Finally, you had quieted. Your sobs turned into hiccups that tampered out to sniffles. Lyra holds you till you stop shaking and only pulls away when Paul calls to her, “You need to fetch a doctor.” He says and when she doesn't move, he uses what Duncan calls his princely voice, “Fetch them all if you need to, wake my father if you must. I'll stay with Lady Balliol.”
Still, she hesitates but one look at his face she disappears from the room. Paul waits a moment, then two as he wipes his nose, “You hit like a soldier.” He says it more to the air than to you but you respond all the same, forcing yourself to stand— using your bed as support.
“I was a soldier.” You mutter, “I was his weakest but I was trained.” Paul moves closer to you, his arms outstretched as if to help you climb back into bed but you curl away from his hands and his help and pull yourself back up on your own. The effort has you sweating and when you swallow, your throat burns faintly. Your hand shakes as you rub your throat and Paul sniffles from the spot near the door and the reminder that you struck the prince has your heart tripping over itself. “I’m–”
“If you apologize, I'll actually scream.” Paul says, his voice flat. “You have nothing to apologize for. I shook you awake during a night terror, of course you hit me.”
You fall silent, blinking at him owlishly. “But you're bleeding.”
“I doubt it'd be the last time I'll bleed.” Paul says, he smiles and it is small, “But if you want to get even, you can always tell me what you were dreaming about.”
Your eyes dart to the chair near the bed and you think of your father, of the creature he became and how it tried to kill you. You swallow and this time, you can't hide the wince it pulls from you, “It is nothing good.”
“Well, I suppose that's expected. You were dreaming of your father weren't you?”
You frown at him and Paul finds himself amused with how you bristle. You are nothing more than skin and bones but your hackles rise and he nearly expects you to hiss at him, instead you pull your blanket on to you, a barrier to separate yourself from him. “Why ask a question you already knew?”
“To see if you'd tell the truth,” He says, shrugging. “To see if you were lucid. It's nice to see that you are.”
You pull a face and it's almost so delicately confused, Paul nearly cooes at you. He missed this, missed coming to your room and having to argue his way into a conversation with you, he missed the you that despised him for who he was and what he represented. He draws closer to you and you don't budge from your spot on your bed, eyes following his every movement, almost unnervingly alert. He sits in the same chair your father sat in your dream and his is smaller, kinder as he finally breaks eye contact— looking away to grab tissue for his bloody hands. “Where’s Lyra?”
“Getting your doctors or my father.” Paul answers, “Why did the dream of your father scare you so much?”
Your lips purse as you look at Paul. He's still not looking at you, he's wiping fruitlessly at his hands. The blood smears but does not remove. You reach for your basin of warm water and grab a rag and when you hold a hand out, Paul's head snaps up almost automatically, “What do you–”
“Give me your hands.” You interrupt.
Paul hesitates before shrugging— what harm would you truly cause now that you're lucid? The only violence you craved when your mind was still was your own death. He gives you his hands and frowns when you begin to wipe them, you free his hands from his blood and in turn, you stain yours. Your hands shake as you pass over each knuckle and when his hands are clean, you reach out to his face— your eyes lock and Paul sees a girl. But not a scared one, you meet his eyes with a frown before they flicker down to the mess that is his nose and he watches you twitch at the sight of his blood. Your lip wobbles and Paul thinks you are about to ask permission to touch his face but he flinches when the cool rag touches his face.
You are gentle and he finds himself leaning into your hands as you wipe away the blood, another hand cupping his face gently to hold him steady as you do so.
Paul thinks you are disgustingly soft. Too soft to be a soldier, too soft to be the daughter of some deranged commander. He has only known you for a handful of weeks, nearly three months and he sees why you rot. You are too soft and it allows infection to dig its way into your flesh, you are being kept captive— a statement you had said plainly a hundred times over and you wipe at his face like he is fragile and that he is the one who had the nightmare.
Paul will miss you when you die, he thinks. He'll miss the arguments, the fights, the drug induced rants and most of all, he'll miss your softness.
It is a thought that has him yanking away from you. His stomach turns and he swallows back the sickness that creeps up his throat. You won't die, he forces the thought into his head, through the darkness that seeps into his mind— he isn't sure when it formed but he clears it as fast as he can. He promised you a cure, a long life and maybe, one day, when he is King– he'd pardon you. You couldn't die because he had plans for you, beyond you unsealing records of your family. Your softness, he realizes, must be contagious.
It's what's making him all gooey and twisty inside. It makes his cold heart melt and he forces himself to stand straight, his hands that are twitching, clenching and unclenching are forced behind his back as he clears his throat. He ignores how you frown at his reaction just as he ignores his urge to apologize. “Your dream?”
The rag feels heavy in your hands, and you twist it— wiping your knuckles clean. “It wasn't my father,” You say but your voice cracks as you drop the rag. “At least, not at the end.”
“Meaning?”
You blink at him, annoyed. “Meaning it was just a nightmare, my Prince. Not the key to the universe.”
Paul smiles like he knows something you don't, his eyes twinkling, “I find dreams to be forthcoming about future events. Maybe your dream is warning you?” You frown, a hand going to your neck and you flinch when you find the skin is raw. Paul frowns and takes several steps closer to you, bending at his knee, “Let me see.”
You hesitate but drop your hand and hiss when Paul's cool, prodding fingers brush over the flesh but he hushes you with a grimace. You try to pull back nervously but Paul follows your movement, standing and nearly climbing on top of you, “Paul, what are you–”
“These are burns.” He says, mystified. His touch is still gentle and it makes you shiver. “How in the world did you–”
King Leto clears his throat. Both of your eyes snap to him and the man is all but fighting a grin as your doctors linger just behind him, their eyes turned politely upwards. The sight they're greeted with is no doubt… scandalous, you are sure. The prince is all but straddling you, his hand while on your neck— are more caressing than choking or grabbing, his other hand is on your shoulder, keeping you steady. If you moved your head down or if the Prince moved his up, you’d be face to face and that thought has you instantly leaning away. You try to scramble from the bed— the King is before you and the proper etiquette is to bow before him but Paul keeps you to the bed, pushing you back when you try to get up.
“What are you doing?” He hisses, he shifts and his feet meet the ground again but he keeps his hands on your shoulders therefore keeping you planted on your bed. “Stop moving, you're injured.”
You swat at his hands, urging him to let go but Paul only bares his teeth in annoyance, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shift. “I need to bow–”
“You do not.”
“Your father is The King-!”
“And I am the Prince and I've yet to see you on your knees before me.” Paul snaps. Leto snorts and Paul feels himself flush red once he realizes what he's said but it seems to go over your head as you turn in his hold, Paul looks down, confused at your sudden silence but your hands sudden lash upwards, fingers tickling under his arm and Paul barks out a sharp laugh and bows away from you out of instinct. King Leto watches this unfold with wide eyes, his mouth opening then closing as you push yourself out of bed, ignoring Paul's glaring as you drop into a near perfect curtsy before him.
“Your Majesty.” You greet before you wobble just barely. Leto is quick to greet you back, his voice warm as he grasps your hand and pulls you from the curtsy. He's smiling but it drops once he gets a good look at you. His eyes flicker to Paul who stands only a step behind you, his arms clenched to his sides then to the room around you.
“There are no candles in here.” He says. Your brow dips in confusion but Paul takes a step forward, his voice low.
“Nothing in here can hold a flame. Nothing in here should burn. ” Paul says, he takes another step forward and this time his voice is worried, “Her medicine is not–”
King Leto’s snap to him, a frown forming. “Enough. It is not your place-”
Your hand twitches in Leto's grip and it makes him look at you— makes him realize that his hand is still linked with yours. You're frowning at the King and he blinks, surprised that you're showing him a negative emotion for once. He has only seen you witty and docile, you had sly tongue, yes. But you've only ever used it to plead for a quicker death, so to see this directed at him, it makes him pause and it's enough of an opening for you to speak, “Actually,” You start, your voice strong. “I would feel better if it was Paul's–”
Paul clears his throat. You blink, eyes flying to him and his eyebrows are raised and you stutter, face warm as you correct yourself, “I would feel better if it was the Prince’s place, Your Majesty.”
Leto drops your hand, his eyes flickering between you and his son with an odd look. The both of you are shoulder to shoulder, nearly pressed against each other and Paul shifts closer to you when his father lets go of your hand, as if bracing himself to catch your weight if you were to fall. Closer than strangers should be but neither of you shy away from each other, in fact,his son preens— his shoulders rolled back to stand straight, a smirk twitching at his lips. They make eye contact and it drops but Leto frowns. “Explain.”
“You all want me alive, yes?” Leto nods his head and you continue. “Well, with all due respect to you and the doctors– you're doing a horrible job at it. The Prince has been the only one keeping track of the side effects with each dose and if I'm being frank, he is the only reason I know what day it is. Sure, the new variant is keeping my heart beating but I don't– I don't remember anything, I am sure I'm losing taste and I keep having horrible nightmares and now there are burns manifesting on my skin.”
“The Prince has made it mission to see me every day and speak to me even when I'm choking on my own spit and asking bizarre questions. He sits and talks to me and it is the only interaction I have outside of Lyra, The Doctors and the rare visit from you, Your Majesty. You want me living but this isn't– Keeping me locked away in a little room is not that.”
The room is silent, Leto looking away deep in thought, his lips twitching. He can see why his son likes you— Paul had made the same argument but Leto had only brushed him off as a boy with a crush. He takes a breath and then— “Alright.”
Paul speaks first. “Alright..?”
“Your lady has spoken and it'd be remiss of me not to listen.” Leto says and he ignores Paul's huff. “The Prince will have a say in your health— in your medicine, that is. And you, Lady Balliol, may have your freedom.”
You make a face. “I always had my freedom. You said I did.”
“You do.” He agrees. “But I permit you to walk the halls, the garden— by the void, go horseback riding if you can muster the energy but I only have one condition.”
You look at him but the King is only looking at his son. “You are to be at her side and if you can not, you will be in charge of finding a suitable replacement. Is that understood?”
Paul looks at you from the corner of his eye then quickly away. “Of course.”
Leto nods. “Good, that starts tomorrow. Now leave us.”
The room snaps into motion at the Prince's dismal and suddenly Paul is on the other side of the room, being guided at the door by his father while the doctor's prod at your skin and usher you back to bed. Lyra loiters in the corner of the room but you don't look at her, instead you keep your eyes on Paul and he gives you one sharp nod before the door is closed.
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Paul took to his new orders like a fish took to water.
For the next week, he's at your door— prim, proper, with his hair curled and dressed comfortably. You had been in a much worse state, your neck wrapped to your ears in bandages, your eyes were bleary and your mouth had been thick as if filled with sand but every morning Lyra had dressed you in a cute dress that didn't reach your ankles in fear you'd somehow trip down stairs. Paul would always look you over, his lips would quirked up and say,“You’re beautiful.”
You had bare your teeth at him each and every time and he'd chuckled, unfazed by your intimidation. “You jest.”
Paul would look away but still offer his arm to you and you'd take it easily, stumbling into a steady pace with him. “I would not joke about one's beauty.” he'd say as he turned a corner, he would stop and let you look at the paintings on the wall. He'd bite back any cruel comment he'd spit in other situations and watch with a small grin as you took in every detail. “Would you rather I called you hideous?”
“I would rather us walk in silence.”
The second week, The Prince did just that much to your annoyance. Though, this time your trips were no longer in the castles but the endless courtyards and gardens. He'd offer you his arm, his lips sealed yet drawn in a tight smile that only grew when you'd turn to him and ask him questions of the statues or plants or ask him what he had for breakfast. The Prince would look at you, his lips unmoving but head tilted— he was teasing you, you realized. You had asked for silence and he granted easily knowing you'd soon ask him to help you fill it. Not willing to beg for him to speak to you, you had turned to childish tactics— you had tickled the Prince when he refused to answer your questions, chased him around the ground when he tried to escape your hands and threatened to tickle him more if he kept to his silence.
By the third week, you realize your Prince was a chatterbox. He'd talk about anything if you let him and you did— Lyra looked almost bored as she stood behind you watching as Paul ranted about the side effects of a new variant they wanted to introduce you to. The three of you had been nestled in one of the gardens, Paul had wanted to teach you chess but when he saw what a poor student you were, he simply gave up and allowed you to move the pieces mindlessly around the board.
“And get this– one side effect was urinating blood.” Paul threw his hand up then he glanced down at the board and moved a piece at random. “You would not believe how hard I had to fight to keep that out of the equation.”
You shoved his piece with your own, knocking it off the board but Paul caught it before it could hit the ground. “You should have let me try it, at least. Maybe it's the cure.”
Paul shot you a withering look, “It would have shut down your kidneys.”
You had met it with a sarcastic grin, “Oh, yay.”
The fourth week doesn't start the same. Paul isn't there to greet you in the morning and you try to swallow back your disappointment as Lyra helps you undress to get more comfortable. Once that's done, you dismiss her with a wave of your hand, you ignore her gentle concern and tell her you only mean to stay in bed for the day. You have spent weeks on your feet, you confide in her and while it is fun, you are tired. She leaves with little fuss, pressing a kiss to your hairline and promises she'll be back before lunch. You watch her go with a smile before you turn to your window.
Nothing says freedom like a room with a barred window but you know better than to take it to heart. You had spent the first few weeks begging for your death and now some still feared if they left you alone long enough, you'd throw yourself from the window. You had thought to do so once but now you just stare, watching with a small frown.
Distantly, waves roll and crash against the beach, dragging out sand for a moment only to push back new sand in its place. Seagulls squawk as they take flight, sparrows flitter about, sometimes a few land on your windowsill peering past the bars and meeting your gaze before taking flight once more. Distantly, there are servants of all ages and genders bustling about the castle, you can hear them talk, hear them laugh, you hear them living.
It is a strange thing to realize, that everyone, everything, is living in some way. That even the sand and waves will have someone who will look back on it fondly. That the people outside your room have family, friends, and legacies to carry their memories. It is strange not having that to yourself— with your father and his closest supporters dead, who will remember you kindly? Your maid and her silly stories? Your brother? The thought had your eyes watering, your brother was everything to you— he had allowed you to feel like a child when everyone else had treated you like an experiment, you remember his smile, his hugs and how he frowned when you coughed. It is with kindness, you hope the Royal family tells him you are dead.
Paul had told you he was safe, far away on a planet where hurt and sickness was unimaginable. You hope with him free of you, of your father, he worries for nothing and sleeps all day in the sun.
You turn in your bed, pulling your blanket high as you sniffle. Your mind races when there's nothing to occupy it and you find your thoughts settling on your Prince. You wonder how he'd remember you when you were gone— if he remembered you at all. Surely, your memory would get washed out by grander things, his coronation, the first day the crown sits on his head and he's referred to as a King. You try to picture it, him dressed in greens and gold, a beautiful lady on his arm— his Queen, your mind supplies and it has your mood souring even more.
The universe had cursed you. A sickness that could not be cured, it was shutting down your body even with the countless medications Paul makes you try. The void haunts you, a sickly little crush that clings to your skin and tears through flesh whenever you and Paul spend time together. You two have grown close— impossibly so. It was rare to see you not on his arm, you not poking at his sides, it was rare to see him not looking after you. His warm eyes trailing after you as you talked to Duncan or some other guard, your mind wanders and you wonder when the line had become so blurred between you two, you wonder when his absence began to hurt so much.
You are so lost in thought, you don't hear Paul enter the room. He crouches, his eyes meeting yours as his hand reaches out, he feels your temperature and frowns when finds you warm. “Are you okay?”
You blink at him, squinting through your lashes. “You’re late.”
Paul hums softly. “I am, I'm sorry.” His hand moves down, caressing the side of your face. This is also new; the touching. He's always doing it now, linking fingers or fixing stray baby hairs. “Have you waited long?”
You lean into his touch, a sigh leaving your lips. Paul is cool against your heat and your heart slows when he doesn't pull away. “I didn't wait at all.” He runs a thumb over your cheek and smears a tear into your skin, “Don’t be so full of yourself, Paul.”
“I’m sorry.” He says again, his voice is soft. He's still rubbing drying tears into your cheek and he opens his mouth again and you let out a tired breath.
“Paul, if you say sorry again, I'll shut you up myself.”
Paul's thumb freezes and it makes your eyes open, “Will you?” He murmurs but he's smiling at the familiarity of your words. His thumb starts its pattern again, “Is that a threat or a promise, Balliol?”
When you only stare at him, your eyes narrowing, he swallows. “I’m s-”
Paul's lips are soft. Softer than yours and that has you pulling away just as fast as you kissed him but you are not prepared for Paul to follow your lips with a sharp breath, his hand on your face curling to keep you close. He turns your soft kiss, hungry, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip as he gently leads you back against your bed. Paul doesn't break the kiss as he crawls on top of you and though he is gentle, the pressure makes you gasp and Paul slips his tongue into your mouth. The feeling has you squirming under him, you've only been kissed once and that was only a peck before the guard you convinced to do so felt bad and scampered off— you're new to this, to making out and kissing with tongue and Paul doesn't seem to mind, you're a little lost on what to do but you suck on the tongue that Paul swirls around your mouth, you're awarded a soft moan that has you heating up.
To say Paul was guiding you would be a stretch— Paul was only kissing you, pressing into your body and knocking knees until he fit close to you. He's careful with his weight, with how he moves himself but he's only kissing you, he won't stop kissing you. Even when you break from his lips with a small whimper, his lips only move down to your chin then your neck, his tongue swirling across your healed scars and when he nips, a small moan bubbles from your lips, your hands clenching at the fabric on his chest. Paul pulls away from you and he looks ruined, his face is flushed red, his hair is wind whipped and his lips as pink as they are swollen, glossed with your shared spit and he licks his lips as if your taste doesn't bother him. His lashes are fluttering with each breath, his chest heaving, “We must stop.”
The noise you make is tortured, your fingers tightening on his shirt. “We mustn't.”
One of Paul's hands clasps over yours and he presses your palms flat against his thundering heart, “We must,” He says again but he's still looking at you like he wants to swallow you whole, he's still on top of you. “You are sick.”
Your hands pull at Paul's shirt and he goes easily, “It’s not contagious.”
Paul breathes a soft laugh and rewards you with a kiss to your nose. He shifts and he's in between your legs, pulling your leg up to wrap around his waist. “You’re warm.” He tries.
Using your leg, you draw him closer. “I wish it were warmer.”
“My clever, darling girl.” He murmurs before kissing you again. You smile into the kiss, gasping when your Prince rolls his hips forward and it is a pleasure that you've never known before. Your hips buck to chase the fleeting pleasure, a whine leaving your lips. “Yeah?” Paul mumbles into the kiss, he stops his hips for only a moment before pressing deeper, his clothed dick grinding against your core, “You like that?”
You nod, face flushed and heart pounding as Paul grins and goes for a deeper kiss—
Lyra knocks twice against the door frame and Paul is slow to pull away, he sighs against your lips and runs a thumb over your warm cheeks. “Go away.” He orders but Lyra doesn't so much as move from the door.
“Time for her medicine and her lunch.” Lyra says her voice stern. “A lunch she is meant to have with the entirety of the royal family.”
“We can reschedule it.” Paul says but he's already climbing off of you and you're shaking in his absence— this is embarrassing but Paul acts like it's any other day. You refuse to look at Lyra even when she makes her way to you, clicking her tongue.
“I have a daughter around your age too.” She sniffs, settling the tray over your knees. Your attention goes from the wall to your medicine, the many needles and pills on the tray. “It is not the first time I've seen something like that. Expected better from the prince though.”
Paul's face is pink once more. “She kissed me first.”
You shoot him an offended look and he instantly apologizes, hands thrown up and Lyra laughs, disinfecting your arm. “That’s even worse. Making her do all the hard work.” She preps the needle. “Please go and clean up, Your Majesty. You look… disheveled.”
Paul wrestles a hand through his hair the moment she says it, his tongue darting over his lips. “Right.” He says, he smiles at you and takes a step forward, bends and pecks you on the lips. “I’ll see you soon, Balliol.”
You are left gaping as your Prince all but skips from the room and Lyra lets out a soft laugh. “Do brace yourself, my lady. You have opened a door I fear you can not close– here, don't tense your arm.” She pulls your arm straight, the needle presses against your skin and it breaks. It snaps and Lyra flinches back as it flies to the floor. She pulls your arm closer, her breath hitching. “My lady–”
The blood that leaves your arm is boiling. Bubbling and so dark, it's nearly black. You are so very warm but this— even as the blood leaks from your arm, you do not feel pain. Why do you not feel pain? “Well,” You mumble, watching as your blood stains your sheets. “No closing this door.”
Lyra lets out a near hysterical laugh.
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lovetwist · 6 days
Text
Veil of Deception (II)
SYNOPSIS: Forced into marriage with Feyd-Rautha, you must now consummate the union. A night of unsparing obscenity. His grip on you is deadly, perhaps worsening when you seek to escape him.
WARNINGS (R18+): dub-con, first time, biting, marking, sexual content, breeding, mentions of choking, power play, violence, weapons, cannibalism
Word count: 2.6k
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PART 1
The night seemed excruciatingly long, your body overwhelmed by the sensations ruptured by your husband: pain, pleasure, pure agony.
Feyd-Rautha was transfixed on the way your hair sprawled out on the bedsheets, creating a halo around your body. You had found it to be a strange request when you were informed to keep your hair long for the wedding. Now you knew exactly who had made the order each time your husband pulled, scrunched, and ran his calloused hands through your locks.
“Please – ah – slower!” you gasped underneath him.
What a mistake to beg or plead. His pace seemed to only quicken with every whimper you released. It had been hours, he was entirely relentless in his pursuit of unraveling you. Every time you felt as though you’d die, he’d slow and make you wet once more.
You hated the way you would arch for him, your physical body betraying your moral dignity. You hated how he would smirk every time, calling you ‘pet’. Most profoundly, you hated the mirror above his bed exposing the shamefulness of every position he took you in and the wanton expression you wore during them.
Feyd-Rautha was a skilled lover, but he was greedy in chasing his own release – which seemed to never end.
Your mother couldn’t prepare you for this, the Bene Gesserit had very little information on the na-Baron’s likes and weaknesses aside from rumors. He had killed the previous Sister sent to seduce him and broken the neck of another Sister who attempted to plant a trigger word in his mind.
Perhaps it would be a miracle if you survived your wedding night.
It was almost animalistic the way he pounded into you with limitless stamina. His seed was still dripping down your legs as he flipped you over like a hound. Your cheeks flushed at this positioning, he was treating you like a beast in heat.
“Cry for me, pet,” he’d sneer every time tears stung your eyes.
“I-I’m not your pet,” you’d pant trying to adjust to his speed. Your defiance and spirit would only set him off further into lunacy.
You’d never forget the raptorial look in his eyes when you first bled. He had prepared you well with his fingers and tongue, but his extraordinary size still pierced your hymen painfully. Feyd-Rautha arrogantly reveled in the fact that he was the first man to claim your maidenhood – and subsequently subjected you to every single one of his primal desires.
His bites on your body ached initially, followed by thorough licks of every reddened wound with his hot tongue. During the brief intermissions, he traced the bruises marked on your hips and thighs smugly. Your husband was a paradox, torment and pleasure wrapped into one.
The experiences he gave you differed wildly from anything you had read upon the marital bed. Though you were disappointed in the lack of romance, you did enjoy his physicality. His allure was striking with chiseled facial features, piercing eyes, and a toned body.
You didn’t fail to notice the flex of his muscles with every thrust into you or how his voice would drop several octaves when he was close to release.
His hands were rough, but his fingers were beautiful – the masterful way they would tease your breasts and sadistically wrap around your throat. You’d shiver when he licked your ears and nipped at your swollen lips.
Feyd-Rautha didn’t kiss you often, but when he did it could only be described as an unearthly procession of dominance. He was aggressive and vicious in the way he forced his tongue down your throat, exploring every inch of your mouth while his large hand locked your face in place. You couldn’t deny that your body was in complete submission of his depravity.
He smirked each time you moaned and mewled into his kiss, flattering his ego. The way he overpowered you so easily made your head spin.
“No more…” you groaned as you gripped the sheets beneath you, already wet with sweat and cum.
He’d sneer and scoff as he denied you, further burrowing himself into your hair and savoring your scent. You couldn’t oppose this predatory creature on top of you, not when he held your entire being in the palm of his hand.
“You belong to me, we stop when I say so,” he growled every time you tried to turn away. He held your wrists down with both arms, caging you beneath him like prey.
The last thing you remember from your wedding night were the rays of sunlight pouring through the curtains when you finally lost consciousness.
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The morning light filtered through gaps in the velvet curtains, casting a gentle glow over the chamber. You stirred, slowly emerging from the depths of sleep, your body still tingling from the intensity of the night before. Memories flooded back, mingling with sensations of arousal and embarrassment.
The bed was cold. Instead of your husband, you found a silver tray placed next to the nightstand with delectable plates of food.
‘Eat.’ was elegantly scripted on an adjacent card. You rolled your eyes at his overbearing personality but couldn’t deny the pangs of hunger.
After breakfast, you decided to take a bath. As you placed both feet on the ground to walk, your legs wobbled terribly. Sitting back down on the bed with a long sigh, you decided to wait for servants to eventually come fetch you.
Hours passed and no one came. When the sun rose high enough to be early noon, the doors burst open.
Your husband strode in, his presence commanding the entire room. His eyes, still burning with yesterday’s fire, swept over you. He took in your disheveled appearance with a hint of amusement.
"Good, you’re alive," he remarked, his voice laced with self-satisfaction.
"Apologies for the disappointment, but I don’t die so easily,” you retorted, unable to keep the edge out of your voice.
He ignored your comment, crossing the room in long strides until he stood before you, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers trailing along the marks on your chest in a gesture that was both possessive and intimate.
"You fainted,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I hope you’ve regained your strength.”
"Don’t touch me,” you shot back, unable to suppress the surge of defiance.
He grabbed your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You are my possession. Mine to use, mine to break if necessary,” he reminded you, his voice a low growl. "And you will open your legs for me. If not, then I’ll have to use your pretty little mouth."
You bristled at his words, but beneath the anger, there was a flicker of something else— fear, perhaps, or maybe something more primal, a recognition of the power he held over you and a heat forming in your lower core.
For a moment, you were tempted to push him away, to fight or defy him once more. Not all battles were won in a day, you thought to yourself.
Thus you didn’t protest when he ripped the sheet exposing your naked form, and you stubbornly ignored the fact that you came three times underneath him that afternoon.
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On the fourth day of your marriage, you become suspicious of why you never see servants. Every day you awake, and everything is remarkably already prepared.
“Why do I not have any servants to attend me,” you questioned.
“You do. Only, no one is allowed to enter my chambers without prior permission,” he replied flatly.
“Well then, I’d like to leave for my own chambers.” You weren’t confident if you even had chambers, but you guessed they must be storing your clothes and belongings somewhere.
“You will leave when I no longer require you here,” his voice boomed. “Aren’t you enjoying our honeymoon, pet?” he mocked.
“Do not call me pet, Feyd-Rautha. I am your wife, not an animal you can cage and entertain on a whim.”
“Right,” he drawled. “If you had been an animal, I would’ve already broken you a thousand times over,” his eyes glinted with interest. “Especially one that doesn’t know when to shut its barking, wife.”
As Feyd-Rautha's words hung heavy in the air, a tense silence enveloped the room. You could feel the weight of his brutal nature pressing down on you, suffocating any resistance that simmered to rise within you. With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders, refusing to cower before him.
"I demand to know why I'm being kept prisoner in this room," you declared, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and determination.
Feyd-Rautha's eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening with anger. "Prisoner?" he scoffed.
"You are performing your marital duties, na-Baroness. Do not sour my mood. Lest you’ve forgotten the purpose of this union, I need to fuck you until your womb swells with my seed,” he gritted his teeth, “It’s been pleasurable so far, hasn’t it? You moan like a whore under me each night."
Speechless, your mouth gaped at his profanity.
"It would be a mistake to disobey me."
A surge of frustration bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over. "And if I refuse?" you challenged, daring to meet his gaze head-on.
His lips curled into a cruel smirk, a glint of malice dancing in his eyes. "Then you will suffer the consequences – which you would not be able to bear, little one" he replied, his voice dripping with menace. “Do you want me to show you?”
Before you could respond, he clapped his hands twice. The doors to the chamber burst open, entering a group of armed guards standing at attention. Feyd-Rautha's expression turned into a dark leer.
"Escort my wife to her personal chambers," he commanded, his tone deceptively calm. "And make sure she doesn’t go anywhere without a guard. From now on, she is not to enter nor stay in my rooms."
As the Harkonnens moved to seize you, you realized with a sinking feeling that you were truly trapped in this gilded cage, at the mercy of a man whose cruelty you had yet to understand.
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Deep within you, a flicker of rebellion still burned bright, a willful resolve to reclaim your freedom and dignity, no matter the cost.
Your room, surprisingly luxurious, boasted a large balcony that offered an overhead view of the training grounds. It seemed purposeful, chosen to serve as a stark reminder of the life you had been thrust into: perpetual violence.
You weren’t alone in your room; servants flitted about, attending to your needs with a silent efficiency that bordered on eerie. They all looked the same, simple white garbs and shaven heads. Attendants moved like shadows, their presence barely felt and never acknowledged. It was as if they were part of the furniture, existing solely to serve.
As na-Baroness, you only had a few measly duties assigned to you: organize balls and events of state. This was laughable as events on Giedi Prime occurred only a few times per year, mostly none with consequence or importance.
There were two ways you could see your husband: on the training grounds or when he came to fuck you.
Feyd-Rautha was a formidable warrior with carefully honed skills and keen senses. However, he often flaunted his prowess to the point of showmanship. Having nothing else to do, you watched his sparring sessions sometimes.
Under the black sun of Giedi Prime, it all seemed like a colorless nightmare that you’d hallucinated. Blood, violence, and the never-ending screams haunted you even as you closed the balcony doors. This was no nightmare, it was reality.
Your husband was a disciplined man who adhered to a tight routine; training early each morning, proceeded by visits your room.
After your confrontation, he hardened towards you. There would be no conversation, Feyd-Rautha had the mind to only satisfy himself and left quickly afterwards. He always slept in his own his chambers.
His anger did not ever seem to dissipate, only replaced with lust temporarily.
The monotonous days left you feeling isolated and adrift in a sea of strangers. The only reprieve came in the form of letters you sent to your family. They’d ask you how you were faring and you’d carefully craft missives that painted a picture of marital contentment while concealing the ugly truth. Of course you couldn’t tell them, not when everything hinged upon the success of this union and the delivery of an heir.
On some lonely nights, as you lay by yourself in the large bed, you regretted asking to leave his side. After all, your golden cage hadn’t expanded and you still exercised no authority.
Four weeks later, you felt relieved that your blood came. True it was your purpose to bear a child, but there was a part of you that feared your husband would simply leave you alone for good once he confirmed a pregnancy.
That afternoon, you gently denied him access to your body. “My courses have come,” you explained, crawling off his lap.
He was shocked for a moment, but then slowly released his grasp on you. He left the room without a word.
Later in the evening, feeling brave or perhaps missing his touch – which you’d never outwardly admit – you decided to break one of the rules by visiting his chamber.
You thought of things to say to him.
I’d like to spend more time together as husband and wife.
I think it would help our marriage to get to know one another.
I want to explore the estate and Giedi Prime.
Your musings were interrupted by the synchrony of female voices and laughter coming out of your husband’s room.
In a momentary fit of shock and fury, you ignored the guards and pushed open the doors.
He was polishing his dagger leisurely with three naked Harkonnen women laying across his bed.
“How dare you enter my chambers without permission,” he hissed. You didn’t miss the way he angled the tip of the dagger towards you.
“Who are they?” you demanded, voice unable to conceal your disturbance and a hint of jealousy.
“My pets, they require special attention,” he replied coolly, at which the harpies giggled in unison.
You understood that they were pleasure slaves. It was common for noblemen to have concubines; you just hadn’t expected your husband would as well. Did he spend the night with them? Is that what he did after leaving your bedroom every day?
You stood frozen in place, humiliated at your naivete. You meant nothing to him, another whore but adorned with an empty title. A guard swiftly followed you inside the chamber, roughly grabbing your arm and beginning to drag you out.
“Na-Baroness, you do not have permission to be in here–”, the rest of his sentence could not be heard as Feyd-Rautha slit his throat and sliced his arm. The man fell where he stood.
“Perfect timing,” he growled. “My darling pets were getting hungry,” he squinted his eyes at the dead guard as though he was lowlier than filth.
None of the other guards dared to touch you after that display.
Monster. Traitor. Killer. 
When the three women ran down to divvy up the bits of his body, you had to fight the urge to puke. You stare at their markings, soulless ebony eyes, and sharp black teeth as they devour the man’s limbs, you’ve never felt more disgust or fear in your life.
Harkonnen. Monster. Traitor. Killer. 
Feyd-Rautha approaches you, expressionless and without any hint of remorse. “Go,” he commands. “Get out unless you want to become fodder for them as well.”
As you turned to walk away, tears fell like raindrops, marking the path of your departure with silent rage and hatred.
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