Paul Atreides X Reader - Tumblr Posts

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

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!)

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.”

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Hello! Could I make a request abt platonic Paul Atreides and best friend (gn/m) reader where reader is feeling down/touchstarved and wants a comforting hug, but is too shy/stoic to ask, but Paul knows that when reader's feeling stressed/tired or just genuinely they'd appreciate a hug atm and is like "oooooh, you want a Paul huggie don't 'ya" (later hugs them ofc)? This could be like a one time thing (imagine) or hcs abt it happening multiple times. Howewer you want! Sorry if it sounds weird! Just feel like sometimes I'd appreciate some encouraging from Paul haha. And thank you in advance!

No problem!

Also loving the increase in requests <3

uhm i've never written headcannons so yeah :P

Hug Me, Please? (platonic paul atreides)

(headcannons)

- you never really felt enough courage to ask the question if you were being honest.

- but at the same time the feeling was building up inside and it didn't seem like the feeling was going away anytime soon, yay!

- you couldn't really remember the last time he or anyone had hugged you - even when you really needed one.

- the first time you realized you were touch-starved was when you came back from a trip with duncan.

- "you're back! for a second y/n i thought you'd finally left." paul joked as he barrelled towards you, arms wide open.

- " ah, you know i could never leave my best-friend. " you gushed as you gladly accepted his offer, all of a sudden the tension from the trip melted. you felt easy, at peace. when paul started to pull away you tightened your arms around his waist

- " guess you just really needed a paul huggie huh? " he kidded as you smiled at the old nickname, " mhm. " you mumbled into his shoulder.

- the next time you were down and or stressed he made sure to help you.

- it was a busy monday, you hadn't gotten much sleep since you had to train with paul the night prior.

- " keep your arms up, wouldn't want that pretty face getting bashed in or worse, broken do we? " paul laughed as you and paul circled one another.

- " no, we or you would hate that wouldn't you paul? " you joked, " remember, defense is always the strongest- "

- " offense, yes i remember the million times you've said that, where does that even come from? " paul questioned you as he closed in

- " old american saying from the 2000's, i think. " you spoke as you saw an opportunity, you swung your foot underneath paul's legs as he dropped to the floor before grabbing his arms and holding them behind his back. " y'know you could've just said you liked me y/n. " paul grinned as his device glowed red, showing signs of a breach.

- " hah, you wish. know go to bed. "

------------------------------------- ♡ -------------------------------------

- your muscles ached as your eyelids closed regularly, but you couldn't sleep. you had multiple mission reports to enter into the database.

- paul entered your room, the two of you were like brother and sister, you never really had boundaries. " hey y/n, you missed breakfast. " paul told you as he took into account the state of your room as well as you. multiple coffee mugs to your right and candy for a rush of energy.

- " yeah sorry. i'm just busy and done! what's up? " you said as your swivelled in your chair to face him, you had slight bags under your eyes and a messy ponytail, your lips were slightly cracked.

- he sighed, " you've been up since last night's training haven't you? " paul interrogated you as you looked up at the ceiling, " maybe. i had work to do. "

- paul's head hung low as he walked towards you then behind your chair as he slung his arms over your shoulders before kissing your head. " take a break, your always working. plus you have three assistants who's jobs are to do exactly this y/n/n. "

- " i know but- " you stood up to continue before being hugged, your shoulders, which you didn't even know were tensed, relaxed.

" thank you. "

" it's nothing, i love you, i hate to see you overwork yourself.”

from those few moments he made mental notes, hugs were the way to you.

( sorry if it's terrible idk how to write headcannons lmao <3 )

targaryenluv’s miscellaneous masterlist!

PAUL ATREIDES

— i love you

summary: it’s late at night and paul isn’t in bed, you go to your guys’ favourite place and wind down with him.

— hug me, please? (platonic hc)

summary: you’re too shy to ask for physical contact, even when you need it most.

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

— coming soon!

ELEVENTH DOCTOR

— birthday girl

summary: the chaos of your boyfriend the doctor, amy, and rory organising your birthday. but seems there’s some miscommunication and clashes when it comes to agreeing.

Can’t sleep without you

It was almost midnight on Caladan, but I couldn't sleep. Paul wasn't around. He was away with his father. And, as far as I know, he was supposed to return only a few days later. Lately, Duke Leto had taken Paul more and more on trips and meetings. Of course, it should be so, after all, Paul is the future Duke, the ruler of Caladan, but nevertheless this did not lessen how much I missed him. Paul and I got married a few months ago and I'm still getting used to my new role as his wife. The thought both terrified and excited me at the same time. All the responsibility that now fell on my shoulders. But I know that as long as Paul is by my side, I'm not afraid of anything.

I rarely slept well while Paul was away, and tonight was no exception. During the day I was busy, so it was easier to keep unnecessary thoughts from entering my head, but at night it was more difficult. That's why, instead of tossing and turning restlessly in bed, I threw on a robe and headed down the empty corridors of the castle to the kitchen. I love to cook, it calms me down. I know what I shouldn't be doing now, given my status and the number of servants who can do it for me. But like I said, I enjoyed doing it. And it made me feel like myself.

My choice fell on pancakes. Yes, yes, I know. Pancakes, at midnight? I know, but who will stop me?

While I was cooking, I mentally returned to my wedding with Paul. When the priest said the almost sacred words "now you can kiss the bride." And the sensation I had when Paul pressed his lips against mine. At that moment, I realized that now our destinies, souls, lives are forever connected with each other. And I didn't want amithing. Then the memories of how Paul held me in his arms during our dance, during the pronunciation of toasts and congratulations appeared in my head ... his hands were on me all evening. Then our wedding night...

  I was so absorbed in the memories that I didn't hear anyone approach me. I only returned to reality when I felt someone's hands on my waist. Using my reflexes, I grabbed a nearby knife and tried to stab my opponent with it, but a hand grabbed the knife from me before I could use it.

“My love, did I do something wrong? Is this how you meet your husband?” When I heard a familiar and beloved voice, but I realized who I was trying to stab.

"Paul, Gods! I thought.. Paul!” I hit Paul on the shoulder and hugged him tightly around the neck "You're back"

"I'm back, my love. Of course, I expected a different greeting, but still…”

"You scared me! I didn't hear you approach. Sometimes I feel like you need to wear a bell around your neck to let me know you're coming."

"Kinky" he said with amusement in his eyes "now I know I scared you, but do you think I deserve a kiss from my wife?"

"You're lucky I love you" I laughed and kissed him. The kiss quickly began to gain momentum and we broke away from each other only when both of them stopped getting enough air.

"Hi" I said and smiled

“Hi,” he softly replied, “I'm sorry I scared you. Couldn't keep my hands off you. Missed you too much"

"I missed you too. I can't sleep without you"

“So that’s the reason why you are now…” and looked at the table and stove behind me, after which his gaze returned to me “cooking instead of sleeping? I think I smell burnt"

“Damn” I abruptly moved away from Paul and removed the frying pan from the stove “they were completely burned out” I said sadly “I wonder whose fault it is” I looked meaningfully at my husband, but did not see a hint of remorse in his eyes

"Sorry," he laughed. "Like I said, I can't keep my hands off you" God, how I missed his laughter

“You arrived early. Everything is fine? How was the trip with your father?” I asked as I laid out the unburned pancakes on plates.

“It was…instructive. Good, but there is still so much I have to learn” His face immediately became serious. I knew how worried he was about his future role as duke.

“I'm sure you did well. I don't doubt you for a minute" I smiled and kissed him on the lips "I know it's late, but maybe you're hungry?"

"Very" he said in a hushed voice and looked me up and down.

"Paul..." I felt a blush appear on my cheeks.

"I love it when you're blushing," he smiled and pressed his lips lightly against mine. "But you're right, first we need to eat. You will need your strength tonight" he looked into my eyes and I immediately felt myself getting hot.

"Can’t wait" somehow I got the feeling that we won’t get any sleep tonight.

My Guiding Star

To say that life on Arrakis is not easy would be an understatement. But I did not complain, really. Despite the constant heat, the problems with the Harkonтen soldiers, the constant struggle for every drop of water and life itself, I was the happiest woman in the world. Because I was next to the man with whom I had decided to share my life. To whom only a few months ago, standing before the altar, I said "yes" and became his wife. The wife of Paul Atreides. Even if it sounds like a cliché and no one believes me, I do not care at all. Even hell can be endured if there is someone who is ready to share all the hardships with you.

For the first time in our long stay on Arrakis, among the Fremen, Paul and I found time for ourselves. Not far from the sitch, in the middle of the night, we lay on the sand near the tent and looked at the starry sky of Arrakis. Just him and me. Moments of happiness in the constant storm. We didn't need to talk. I don't know how, but we seemed to sense each other. I felt when Paul was worried, when he was again overcome with doubts and fears about his future, our future. And the prophecy. Which, on top of all the problems, hung over our heads like the Sword of Damocles.

- Paul..., - I began, trying to distract him from what was happening in his head now.

- Mmm..., - he muttered.

- You know that I love you, right?

- Of course. And I love you. But why are you asking?

- He turned his head in my direction and I saw in his eyes, which were already clouded with blue.

- Because I thought you needed to be reminded of it. You've been distant from me lately. But I don't blame you. Considering everything that's been going on, it was the truth. I really did think so, despite the aching pain in my heart that appeared every time I thought about it or said it.

- Do you feel like I've distanced myself from you? - he asked with anxiety in his voice.

- Yes, but, as I said... - I didn't have time to finish, because I felt his lips on mine. Paul kissed me tenderly, as if he was afraid that I would break.

- I'm sorry that you got that impression, my love. Maybe I've distanced myself, yes, but that's only because... - he lowered his eyes and took a deep breath, as if he was about to confess to a terrible crime or sin - sometimes in my visions I see that you die by my hand or because of me. No matter what I do. No matter how I try to save you, - he fell silent, closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to mine. There was only silence around, and then I heard his whisper "I can't lose you."

- Paul, look at me, - I asked tenderly. When he opened his eyes, it seemed to me that all the weight of the world that had fallen to him was reflected in them. He looked at me and did not look away for a second, - Paul, you are my husband. My beloved. The man I chose and will continue to choose forever. I know that you are afraid. You are afraid of jihad, afraid to go south, but I want you to know that you are not alone. I will always be on your side. Just... do not close yourself off from me, okay? Please, - I pressed my lips to his for a moment, and then continued, - always keep an open mind. You said that the future can be changed by any action, any word, right?

Paul nodded tensely and continued not to take his eyes off me. I felt that with each of my words his hands on my waist were squeezing tighter and tighter, as if he was afraid that I would disappear.

- So you and I will try to find the scenario of the future that will lead us to victory. To the prosperity of Arrakis. We will take revenge on the Harkonnens, the Empire, and all who have hurt us. And then we will turn Arrakis into a green paradise, we will become parents, and our children will be our continuation. And we will restore House Atreides to its glory.

- Will you be with me? Until the end?

- Of course, my love.

- And if I lose my way?

- Then I will be your guiding star, - I whispered and kissed him again.

His Voice

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: You thought you could escape him, how had he found you? And why now after all this time? He’d sworn to never use the voice  on you when he was still your Paul, but that obviously changed just as much as he did…

Warnings: Violence, Death

Word Count: 1539

You had no idea how you ended up running for your life. 

  You’d woken up and your entire village was in flames, smoke was painting the sky in a grey colour but the red and orange flames that encompassed your village evoked fear amongst you and your people.

 Dashing out of your tent, you immediately sought out the Chief of your village. Maneuvering your way through tents, you finally located the Chief’s tent; slightly larger than yours but still represented the equality that your tribe thrived on.

  You batted the tent flap out of the way and stormed into the spacious area, only to gasp and have your eyes widened. 

   The Chief was nailed to the wooden pole in the centre of the tent and it looked as though he’d been dead awhile. His eyes were staring lifelessly to the floor and he sagged almost comically in his place. 

  Slowly and cautiously, you approached his corpse and raised a shaky hand to grasp his cheek in a tender hold. You pressed your foreheads together and bid his spirit a safe journey to his next life, wherever that may be.

  You didn’t linger though, coming to the conclusion that whoever did this had a connection with the fire and was most likely still within the village.

  Grasping the knife you always kept tucked into your sleeve, you made your way out of the tent and ventured towards the camp’s centre. You were practically running but always checked around you in fear you’d see another dead body of one of your kin.

  But then you froze because a phrase left a bellowing voice you never wished to hear again.

   “Behold! Your Emperor, Paul Atreides and kneel to him.” Duncan Idaho, second hand man to Paul Atreides and his most loyal puppy. You detested the man after he killed your little sister years ago and swore that when you crossed paths with him again, you’d kill him with the very blade he’d gifted you.

  You couldn’t dwell on the past right now though, you needed to reach the crowd before people started dying, because you knew without a doubt that your tribe would never kneel to Paul.

  Paul, who used to be so kind and pure, is now corrupted with his need for power and universal domination. You’d both been so close once and now? He’s second on your to-kill list. A fact you deeply regret, but must exist for your kin’s protection and your own.

  Slowing as you neared the commotion, you crouched by a tent just before the clearance and scouted from behind.

  You saw a massive Ballista that had lowered itself onto the grassy floor of your planet and tried to spy how many enemies you’d have to somehow eliminate before the inevitable happens. 

  Your darting eyes stopped and settled on the lithe form of a young boy. Over the past few years, he’d definitely grown and he certainly suited this dark role he’d adopted.

  Though you’d never admit, your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him and an indescribable sense of longing consumed your very core, but you refrained from any brash movement you might have made had you not bit your tongue. 

  He stepped majestically onto the grass and seemed to study each one of your tribe as he spoke. “A certainly lovely planet you have here. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.” He began walking slowly towards the crowd gathered and had a thoughtful look on his face.

  “And you know full well why this planet would become useful in the future, don’t you? The natural and raw energy cores deep within your mountains are truly a delightful source of money.” 

  In the distance, you began to shake with anger, sensing where this was going.

  “Which is exactly why I claim it as my own.”

  That caused an uproar amongst your people, they began shouting in anger, some in fear but mostly in caution. Someone decided to speak head on and you braced yourself should this turn violent.

  He went straight up to Paul, causing his guards to raise their weapons but Paul dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and glared at him with a ferocious scowl. “How dare you come here and demand such a thing? This is our land, not yours! We were here first, not. You.” He accentuated this by jabbing Paul with his finger, a grave mistake.

  Paul glanced down at the slightly shorter man and narrowed his eyebrows.

  “Kneel.” 

  The man fell to his knees in an instant and regarded Paul with a slightly dazed look. He smiled down at him and mockingly petted his head. 

  Then Paul addressed the mass group of people almost cowering before him and repeated his command, “Kneel”.

  They too, fell to their knees. You watched in silent horror and rapidly tried to think of a solution to the dire situation. How could this have gone wrong so quickly? 

  Remembering when Paul first became a monster, you distinctly remember hearing him say he’d never use the voice to get anything that he could take so easily. He said it was a waste of breath. He’d said that before demanding you accept his proposition to become his Empress. You declined resolutely and ran away before his brain could catch up with your denial.

  “Sleep.” 

  Another command, one you weren’t affected by but felt the power emanated within it.

  He was silent for a minute, gazing down at the floor before his attention turned towards your direction. You abruptly crouched behind the tent and prayed to whatever God was listening that he didn’t know you were there.

  Whatever hope you had died when he chuckled maliciously. “Oh, (Y/N)? Come on out, darling. There’s no point in hiding now.” Of course you didn’t move but found you had no choice when none other than Duncan Idaho grasped you in a crushing hold and all but hauled you over to Paul.

  You screamed and thrashed and tried to stab him with your little blade but he greatly surpassed your strength. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Let me go, you bastard!” You yelled.

  You reached Paul quicker than you’d realised and immediately tried a different approach. For the past few years, you’d been practicing how to use the voice specifically for a moment like this. Glaring at him you opened your mouth and stated your command.

  “Let me go, Duncan.”

 He dropped you to the floor and his arms hung loosely by his side, before he knocked himself out of whatever daze he was in and went to pick you up again but was stopped by Paul.

  He had a proud look on his face that made you want to kill him all the more. “Been practicing I see. Any specific reason?”

  The bastard knew why you’d been practicing but decided to taunt you nevertheless. You conjured up what saliva was in your mouth and spat directly at his shoes, huffing indignantly. He huffed out a laugh and readjusted his posture to a more boyish and casual one.

  Raising an eyebrow, he questioned, “Now is that anyway to treat your husband, (Y/N)?”

“You are no husband of mine, you monster! Our marriage died the same day you did!” you said and prevented the tears that were gathering in your eyes from spilling, out right defying to show any more signs of weakness.

  He narrowed his eyes at you and one of them twitched.

  “Get up.” You shot up.

  “Stand here.” You stood next to him.

  “Kiss me.” Your lips connected in a ferocious kiss that would surely leave your lips bruised.

  It lasted a few seconds before he softened it and pulled back slightly. He raised his hand and stroked your cheek to gaze lovingly into your eyes. “There we go, haven’t you missed that?”

  You blinked rapidly and had a full body shudder before retreating swiftly a few metres. “Don’t ever take advantage of me like that again.”

  “Don’t aggravate me and I won’t have to, although I’ve noticed your resistance is stronger, little one.”

  Once again, you shook with rage and went for the knife in your sleeve only to slump to the ground and surrender to unconsciousness after he said, “Sleep, (Y/N).” 

  He shook his head fondly at you and knelt down to pick you up delicately. “Whatever will I do with you?” Then he turned to Duncan and signalled for him to burn the village and its people to the ground. Duncan saluted and immediately his soldiers went about lighting it up in flames.

  Paul walked up the ramp to the ship and sat down on one of the seats and set you up against his chest. He brushed a hair out of your face and bent down to kiss your forehead. He pressed his to yours and vowed, “You will never leave me again. When I’m done with you, you won’t want to.”

  Then the ship took off and they were heading back to his empire back home. He couldn’t wait to start reshaping you into his wife, empress and soldier. His to love, his to cherish, his… forever.

Having thots thoughts of overstimulating your husband Paul until he cries

He's moaning and on the verge of hyperventilating as you squeeze the base of his cock, preventing him from coming as you bring him to the edge—over and over again.

"Please, my love, please—" He sobs, tears escaping the corners of his pretty blue eyes to wet his dark curls. "I'll do anything—"

You laugh softly and lay your cheek against his naked thigh, softening your grip. He fists the bedsheets as he tosses his head back and forth.

"You're so pretty like this, Paul," You nip at the flesh of his hip affectionately. "So pretty when you're desperate for me."

He chokes when you lean forward with no warning and engulf the tip of his cock with your mouth. "Wait—ng!"

It doesn't take long to bring him back to the edge again—you've been teasing him for what feels like forever. He's heavy and solid against your tongue, his legs shaking with exertion. The intoxicating scents of sex and incense left over from the wedding fills the bedroom and you surrender your senses, preening delightfully when Paul manages to let go of the sheet to tangle his fingers in your hair instead.

"I'm so close—" He grits his teeth, tightening his hold on you. "Ohpleasepleaseplease—!"

You figure you've tortured him long enough so you lower your mouth further down his length, breathing through your nose. The desperate little thrusts from his hips throw you off and you gag, fueling the desire coursing through his veins as you let his other hand come up to cradle your head. Your eyes close as he uses you for his pleasure, forcing you to relax your throat. You feel him swell before he orgasms, sobbing with relief as white light bursts behind his eyelids and the thrum of blood roars in his ears. The salt of his come pours down your throat and you lick away the remnants from his softening cock, cleaning him as he tries to catch his breath.

"Too much," He tiredly shakes his head in protest, his tears leaving tracks on his cheeks as he tries to push you off of him. "It's too much."

You let him settle down even though there's a throb between your legs; coming up and carding your fingers through his curls and kissing away the salt from his eyes.

"Breath, Paul," You coo, stroking the skin above his brow as you lay to one side of him, propped up on one elbow. "You did so well for me. So, so well."

He moans into your neck as his breathing returns to normal, and he looks so relaxed that you almost want to leave him to his rest.

Almost.

;)

RESTLESS NIGHTS •°. *࿐

PAIRINGS— paul atreides x valkyrie!reader

SUMMARY—from a young age you’ve been paul atreides’ personal apprentice, your duty being to remain professional in protecting the life of the heir to the house of atreides. however, things change after a rainy night of comforting paul after he awakens from one of his terrible visions.

NOTE—this is my first time writing and publishing anything like this for a character, but after seeing dune two i just had to. expect more creations from me in the future. Constructive criticism is welcome, just keep it nice and kind. let me know how i did!

word count: 1.2k

Valkyries are very protective beings. In battle, their ultimate purpose is to carry the fallen warriors that perished in combat, and were worthy of eternal paradise, to Valhalla where their souls would reside in blissful harmony. However, there wasn’t just one type of valkyrie. A heroine valkyrie is what you were — the kind that only guarded the lives of those dearest to them. Your dearest was no one, but the son of the duke of atreides.

When you were first assigned to the house of atreides you just barely reached the ripe age of seven years old. In those times, your duty merely consisted of being the only company around his age the young boy had in his life. Innocent soft exchanges of giggles escaped from dimpled cheeks that ached from continuous smiles. Small pieces of grass littered the wild heads of curly hair the two of you possessed from previously rolling in the freshly cut grass the maintenance keepers recently trimmed. Within years, the grass turned to responsibilities, and the dimples into abstract bruises from the numerous sparing lessons shared between the two of you. Thus, your years of childish assignments were gone.

Now, you reside in the chambers next door to the young heir in case of any and all emergencies. You lie awake in your pristine silk sheets staring at the ceiling. The thunderous Caladan rain pelted down onto glass windows surrounding you, keeping you awake. This was your first night back from your annual trip to the emperor's headquarters where your sisters remain. No other planets you’ve ever visited didn’t have rain as loud as Caladan’s.

A loud groan breaks the song of raindrops singing along the windows.

You bolt out of bed and grab a dagger with the valkyries signature emblem on the hilt. Your hands turn white in contrast to your usual brown skin from how tight you hold it. Raising to the balls of your feet to remain as silent as possible, you trudge over to the door, leaving the comfort of your room. The marble flooring in the hallway tickles the bottom of your feet, but you barely notice due to your desperation to find the source the sound came from.

More thunder cracks. Another groan.

Your head sharply turns to the left toward Paul's room. Your body turns rigid.

Oh no.

Sprinting, you throw open his mahogany dark wood door making it slam into the back wall. There in rumpled sheets lies the source. His limbs are tangled in his blanket as he thrashes around in his bed, his face scrunched up in an expression of pure anguish. Wild brown curls surround him like a halo while the moonlight shines on his pale skin. He looks like an angel. A fallen angel.

“Paul,” you mumbled, letting your dagger slip from your hands.

He stirs in his sheets, letting out another low groan.

Rushing to the side of his bed, you dropped to your knees and cradle his face scanning the rest of body. Just in case.

“Paul!” you repeated.

He bolts up abruptly making your hands fall onto the bed. He’s panting as he looks around frantically before resting his eyes on you. His expression softens.

“Y/n?” His voice is raspier than normal due to the hours of restless sleep.

“It's okay, it’s okay,” you cooed. Your face filled with concern as you brush some of his wild hair out of his face. “I’m here.”

He sighs out the majority of the tension built up, rubbing his face from sleep with his trembling hands.

“More visions?” Your voice is so soft it tickles his ears creating a blanket of comfort. He doesn’t understand how a strong warrior could possess such a comforting voice, but that's one of the reasons he liked you so much. You never failed to make his worries disappear — not with a voice like that.

He only nods.

“Want to talk about it?” You rise from your spot on the floor to sit on the side of his bed making you at eye level and in closer proximity to the stressed boy. His eyes are slightly glossed over, and he’s avoiding eye contact as if he’s embarrassed.

“No,” he looks down in his lap before locking eyes with you, “I thought you were on your trip?”

You shake your head, “I came home early.”

Home. You saying it so casually almost makes Paul visibly melt.

“I missed you,” he whispers. His words hang in the air like a forbidden secret. Well, it was forbidden seeing as the relationship between the two of you was meant to be strictly professional. However, you two managed to lay on the thin layer of gray area in the matter.

You could only bashfully turn your head away towards the window. You hated how he’d say things like that in random moments. More so, you hated how much your cheeks would turn warm and your lips would scrunch to the corner of your face showcasing a deep dimple in the apple of your cheeks. The rain was still coming down harder without any plans to stop for the night.

The boy grabs your chin with his pointer finger and thumb and redirects your attention to his face. You could only look down at your lap before eventually looking into his eyes.

Desire. Burning desire is what his eyes scream as he looks at you.

You escape his hands and rise to leave a painfully lingering kiss on his forehead.

“Get some rest, Mr. Atreides.” You say, slightly teasing as you move to get off the bed. However, he reaches for your hand stopping your movements.

“Stay,” he pleads with desperation laced in his tone.

You hesitate.

“Please, Y/n, I need you.” His eyes are low and bright from the moonlight still coating the inside of his room. His blanket lies low on his waist hiding his boxers, and showcasing his chest of lean and faint abs from his weeks of training. He looked so…

“Fine,” the words slip from your mouth before you realize. Before you know it, he’s scooting over and raising the covers to allow you to easily slip into his sheets. They’re warm from his body heat making you release a sigh of breath you didn’t know you were holding.

He looks at your chest before shyly looking you in the eyes, “Can I-”

You tiredly nod your head and open your arms out welcomingly. The boy immediately goes to rest his head on your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist and tangling his legs with yours. This position feels completely natural and comforting from numerous other nights just like this one in the past. Your hands go to his curls and start massaging his head.

“Thank you,” he rasps out, barely staying awake, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Always,” you started, “I’ll always be here.”

You look down to find that the tired boy has already fallen asleep. With a small smile on your face you look up at the ceiling as more lighting cracks outside. You close your eyes assuming he missed your words.

He heard them. He always does.

In Sickness and In Health

Paul Atreides x Reader

Summary: Paul fears leaving you while you are sick.

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.

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/

Are your requests open??

I would love to see you where the reader/OFC is a concubine of Paul Atreides. She doesn’t get much attention from him but when she goes in to labor there is a complication and she becomes scared. Paul as the Emperor shows up to help her through the labor and starts developing a positive relationship with her and his child postpartum.

Thank you!! Please keep writing things you have passion for!! ❤️

Bonds Beyond Blood

masterlist ! pairing: Paul Atreides x reader

Dune Masterlist

Y/n lay on the ornate bed, her hand clutching the bedsheets tightly as pain wracked through her body. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her breathing shallow and labored. The midwives moved around her with practiced efficiency, but their words seemed distant, muffled by the intensity of her fear.

Paul Atreides, the Emperor, stood by the doorway, his expression a mask of concern. He had never been one to show much interest in Y/n, his concubine, beyond the duties of his station. But now, as he watched her struggle, something stirred within him.

"Is she going to be alright?" Paul asked the head midwife, his voice betraying a hint of anxiety.

The midwife glanced at him briefly before returning her attention to Y/n. "We are doing everything we can, Your Majesty. But there are complications. The baby's position is not ideal, and Y/n is exhausted."

Paul nodded, his jaw clenched. He couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness that washed over him. This was one situation he couldn't control with his political power or military might.

Y/n's cries filled the room, echoing off the walls of the chamber. Paul felt a pang of guilt deep within him. He had neglected her, taken her presence for granted. But now, seeing her in such agony, he couldn't ignore the bond they shared, however distant it had been.

Without a word, Paul crossed the room and took Y/n's hand in his own. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and pain.

"Paul..." she gasped, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'm here, Y/n," Paul said softly, his tone soothing. "I won't leave your side."

Y/n squeezed his hand tightly, drawing strength from his presence. Despite their past indifference, she found solace in his touch, in the warmth of his hand against hers.

Minutes stretched into hours as Y/n endured the agonizing pain of labor. Paul remained by her side, offering words of encouragement and support. With each contraction, he whispered words of reassurance, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of her fear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sound of a baby's cry filled the room. Tears of relief streamed down Y/n's cheeks as she held her newborn child in her arms.

Paul watched, his heart swelling with emotion, as Y/n cradled their child against her chest. In that moment, he felt a connection unlike any he had ever known before. It wasn't just the bond of blood that tied him to this child, but something deeper, something more profound.

"I never knew..." Paul began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the right words.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "Neither did I," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft cries of their child.

In the days that followed, Paul remained by Y/n's side, helping her adjust to motherhood and caring for their newborn child. With each passing day, their bond grew stronger, forged in the fires of adversity and nurtured by the love they shared for their child.

As they sat together in the quiet moments of the night, watching over their sleeping infant, Paul found himself opening up to Y/n in a way he never thought possible. He shared his fears, his hopes, his dreams for the future, laying bare his soul before her.

And in turn, Y/n shared her own hopes and dreams, her fears and insecurities, trusting Paul with her most intimate thoughts and feelings.

In the weeks and months that followed, Paul and Y/n's relationship blossomed into something beautiful and profound. They may have started as mere strangers, bound together by duty and circumstance, but now they were so much more than that.

They were partners, allies, confidants. And as they watched their child grow and thrive, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, united in love and devotion.

For in the end, it wasn't power or prestige that defined them, but the simple yet profound bond of family. And in that bond, they found the true meaning of happiness and fulfillment.

Warnings: mentions of political marriages, strangers > friends > lovers, kissing near towards the end, mentat at mind, lover boy at heart

The ordeal is simple — at-least on paper. You and Paul are meant to be wed on the single promise of a shared goal between the two of your houses, which come down to one thing and one thing only: security. Wealth, power and standing do not surmount to what, in Leto’s words, the Emperor has planned for the futility of house Atreides. He knows, Thufir knows, everyone knows, that Arrakis wasn’t branded to be some sweetly wrapped gift that fell into his lap when the time came to reward the duke. No - matters of this sort were much too systematic, especially at a scale such as this. Something must be done, to solidify the house of Atreides upon the rain-swept expanse of Caladan. Something to bind the Atreides to their mother planet long enough, so there might not be strife or conflict that sharpens whatever blade is held against them. So, wed Paul you must.

Simple doesn’t translate so easily against the obscurity that is the real world.

In the real world, the two of you are mere strangers. The only thing that binds the two of you is the responsibility bourne from the insignias that you wear, that are soon to culminate as two adjoining houses; whilst his happen to be two thick lines of silver against his collar, yours take on a different shape, a strange alterity between curves and striking lines, and shot through with gold against the sleeve of your garments. There is it — the mere tellings of your differences, as pure as day. He wonders how the symbols will look like, meshed together and serving as one. He wonders how he will appear next to you - frail boy or able man?

Half of the time, you catch his eye simply because you are there, sitting duly next to your father and ascertaining the weight of such a marriage past paper, when all is said and done. Other times, you are a blurring fragment in the hallways, swathed in your house’s colours and too fleeting to get a hold on, sometimes even flanked by your house’s livery. Mere strangers, he reminds the indiscernible feeling in his chest.

-

“Where is your head at? Focus!” Gurney growls out, more harsh tempered than his usual mood, as he crouches and takes Paul’s fair strike for what it was - a clean swipe that was meant for his chest, which now deflects smoothly off of the older, more haggard man’s shield, and sets the room abuzz with vibrations. And so the smell of ozone worsens, Paul calculates in his head, as he shakes his head thoroughly and shifts his grip on his weapon. Gurney isn’t impressed — not in the way he usually is. Paul knows he must answer.

“This is me focusing,” Paul offers, and doesn’t grit his teeth or possess a sudden candour with his strikes because he respects Gurney. But he cannot help the mood that has blanched him - voids, how he wishes he could confess those words, verbatim, to the older man who currently encircles his passes like a seasoned ring-fighter. But the word ‘mood’ had gotten him in line last week, when Gurney had simply upped his antics with the mere mention of it, “I’m just out of breath.”

“No, you’re not.” Gurney smiles, clenching his palm around the ragged hilt of the Kindjal. He knows, Paul thinks bitterly.

“No, I’m not.” Paul confesses. He tests a low swoop of his dagger - ill-advised - and reigns his laugh in when it catches Gurney off his feet, his back staggering against the training table.

Let’s see how you like this, lad, Gurney formalises in his mind, as he presses his defence like a bull and keeps his attacks slow and pulsing through the air, blinding all of Paul’s spots, “Is it the marriage?”

Cornered for tactics, and focusing mostly on not getting cleaved to pieces during training, Paul scoffs, “Of course it’s the marriage.”

“You’re scared.”

At this, Paul counters metal with metal, bounding back when it rings against his ears, rings against the room, “I’m not scared. I’m prepared to fulfil my duty, even if I am given options,” a dull parry, which still creates momentum, and thus space, between the two men, “I’m only uneasy because I’ve never actually met her.”

“You have. Several times. Or have you been asleep throughout your father’s meetings?”

Paul stresses a firm strike against Gurney, which repels off of his own shield by how close the dagger strikes the space between them. But he’s good at catching himself. Gurney, unused to Paul’s strange and newly learnt manoeuvres, falls short. He tries to counter, but cannot, but he is most impressed for it.

“Concede.” Paul breathes, low and attempting a threatening veil, as Gurney’s back meets the floor. The old man grunts, before nodding deftly as Paul hauls him to his feet with one palm alone. They settle in different corners of the room, silence beseeching both of them suddenly - they’re not two men for silence, but in Gurney’s head, Paul is undergoing a strange part of his life. He wonders if Paul fears it in the night.

Paul interjects Gurney’s thoughts.

“Do you - have you… met her?” his voice is meek. Uncharacteristic. Gurney smirks.

“Once or twice, in the hallways.”

“And? How is she?”

Gurney laughs. The boy is eager today.

-

The next time I see her, I will speak, he promises.

Better said than done. With no similar companions his age - a course of action being the very result of his heritage, his mother reminds him - he truly doesn’t know how to properly seek you out. You are more shadow than friend, more idea than person, and the more he sees you, the more he forgets.

“Something on your mind?” Duncan nudges him with the edge of some Fremen equipment, that bothers him well enough to dredge out Paul’s concerns. Not that he needs to. It is written on his face.

“Yes,” Paul confesses, readjusting for comfort, “It’s about my marriage.”

“You speak as though you will marry tomorrow. It is not set it stone. Not yet.”

Paul scoffs, “I know that. I just haven’t met her yet. And I want to.”

Duncan, in the midst of polishing some hardware and solar devices, that smell quite faintly of hot sand and the sun, pauses to glance away from Paul’s face. When his gaze returns, it is almost teasing, a smirk ripping across his face, “You’re in luck today.”

“What?” Paul swivels and —

Oh. Oh.

You’re standing there. Hands clasped behind your back, yes. Stoic, assessing expression, yes. Clothed in rich colours of your house, as you always are in his passing vision - only this time, it is a green so deep that it comes across as black. Suddenly, realising that you have been found out by not only Duncan Idaho, but by the Duke’s son himself, you uncharacteristically let slip your own embarrassment through wide eyes.

“Oh. My apologies — I, uh, didn’t mean to intrude. I was just curious by the - er - gadgets.” you fumble for words at a rate that would be comical if not for the morbid embarrassment seizing you by the seconds. You’re shaking your head politely, smile strained and legs rooted where they are and ready to melt into the various corridors - back to your own duties, you assume. Away from company. Paul, however, stands linearly and full of purpose, face constructed of hard lines that all smile at you.

“No, please. Join us,” his voice is smooth - you’ve never heard him talk, even around those board room meetings - and his hand is extended to gesture within the space, “I insist.”

Duncan raises a brow in amusement and Paul wants to tamp his feet down with a neat blow. That pulls a chortle out of the man, which only further startles you. Paul invites you cordially to take a seat, where you fit awkwardly, like you were truly imposing. However, in a manner of minutes, that is all erased when Duncan lets the two of you weigh the objects in your hand – sand compactor, weapons, stinted devices that were far too aged to be still of use but gathering attention nonetheless. When Paul passes it to you, he feels your soft fingers pass underneath his own, where a warm feeling curdles as an afterthought.

“This—is a sand compactor?” you ask warily, tilting the device as though it would spring up on you and dissolve to bits. Duncan barks out a laugh.

“For sand compacting, yes.” he humours you. You, however, are too lost on the object, still swirling it around in your palms; eyes peeled downwards.

“Yes. I see.” you reply.

The two men dissolve into a fit of laughter. You look up, eyes helplessly trailing from one to the next. The day is easy.

-

Paul is thankful for the event, and so are you. It doesn’t solve all his problems, and his head is always probing with inquiries and worries, but he can count on the off chance of seeing you in the hallways. He can count on the fact that you will pause, meet his eyes and smile.

You’re walking the countless hallways of the estate - Caladan had so much water to offer, but no one on your native planet ever mentioned the striking architecture, the hollowed out walls and think-pieces painted across rooms. High domed ceilings, with absolutely nothing to offer but soft light. Some rooms contained scintillating glass, chairs of different shapes and mediums, tables too big for just a few affairs. Others were bound shut, but that didn’t discourage nor intimidate you, nor your entourage.

On one such day, you’re caught in your explorations by none other than the Atreides heir.

In actuality, it is you who catches him first, stood perfectly still at the end of the corridor and holding a terse expression. When he spots you, his shoulders relax and he manages to blink once, before his mouth opens underneath the realisation that you were really here.

“Hello.” his voice is strong, and carries well.

That was awkward. This is always awkward. He curses himself.

You smile, and it swipes at the ground beneath his feet, “I didn’t expect to see you here.

“This is my residence, yes?” more jest than anything else. You snort.

“I am aware. Your residence is quite beautiful. I like to wander,” you say, finding yourself fixing a meandering pace beside him, and he smiles softly when he realises that he, too, steps beside you at a similar speed, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. Never.”

It is quick work after that – by pure coincidence, that you joke to Paul that is it is methodical instincts and ground-work as a mentat that he is able to summon himself almost anywhere you are present from that point onwards, you two bump into each other more and more in the corridors, and from there, it extends to the rather large library, the training space with Gurney skirting its edges, the ever-blossoming gardens even, which held more water than shrubbery in retrospect. Meetings pertaining to your marriage held an element of amusement now, as Paul actually tries to catch your eye this time, drumming his lithe and smooth fingers against the table in a way that could’ve passed off as a wandering of his mind as his father droned on about security measures and fuel caps, but you notice.

You hadn’t, not before, but you did now. To his pleasure, you even respond in a tiny flickering of fingers against the age-old meeting table, the vibrations a blur against his obvious contentment.

-

“You look glad.” Gurney comments and Paul realises how uninvolved his attention had been on the room before him. He quickly assesses it and whatever lays within it; table, check. Light source, check. Scratchy walls, check. Gurney’s ever-gracing height, check.

When had his habits, trained and chained to duty, begun to sweep towards you?

“Do I?” Paul asks, keeping his voice as still as he can manage. He had swiped at his face to rid the itch off his brow, but he unwittingly catches how warm he is. Not uncomfortable, no. But enough to leave a mark on his consciousness. It was like he was simply losing grip on his own composure when he thought of… something. It was still fleeting in his own mind.

He is too afraid to retrace his steps and find a familiar pair of eyes staring at him in the recesses of it.

Gurney slaps a hand on Paul’s shoulder, seemingly articulate with the latter’s feelings. Old man, Paul would curse out in jest, but he merely smiles. It is strained, and strange. Paul never puts an effort into his smiles, Gurney notes.

“Something is on your mind.” Gurney clicks his tongue.

Paul blinks, swallows, “Something is on my mind.”

“Out with it.”

Paul hesitates, which is strange, because in all his fights he is the first to stoke the flame. He isn’t vengeful – at-least, he doesn’t think he is – that’s why his strikes lack a hunger for blood and instead, settle for calculation. Briefness. No means to an end just yet. Or ever, he thinks.

But with you, it’s different. That’s what he spits out, what he lets Gurney work with. How you were a supposed intrusion into his life – something he had assumed would be awkward, like a stab wound that had scabbed over and began to weakly throb in pain, always to remind itself of its own compromise to work around demise. He thought you would be that; but upon meeting you, you were anything but that. You were curious and brilliant in your own way – similar to him, yet miles apart so that you were the form of a friend he had always wished for in his youth. You talked about your interests and spent double your time inquiring about his. When your hands brushed, his own grew clammy – that’s the strangest one of them all, Gurney – And something was blossoming – was it friendship? Was it trust? Was it fear?

What was this spattering and gooey mess slipping over the swell of his heart whenever you appeared? What was it?

He talks and talks and talks until Gurney squeezes his palm over Paul’s shoulder in a way an uncle would do to his nephew who he might want to reassure. Or a brother would to his youngest companion, as if to say: I see you. I hear what you say.

“Sounds to me like there’s an awful lot of trust between the two of you,” Gurney clicks his tongue again, only this time, Paul scoffs. Ah, there he is – there is the Paul Atreides I know, Gurney smiles, “And something else too.”

“What is it?” Paul asks. His eyes are curious, brows furrowed. Gurney holds down the laugh building in his chest, and the emboldened words in red: you’re falling in love with this friend of yours, boy, and instead, pats him on the shoulder.

“Piece of advice, if you’ll heed to anything I say,” Paul straightens with attention, “Let the truth flow. Do not stop it. Do not push it back. To live with the truth, you must learn its ways and be one with it.”

That night, Paul walks back to his room with the truth beneath his skin, and listens to his own heartbeat against his pillow. The rest of him warms with the realisation of, oh, oh, oh.

-

The next time you see Paul, you think you’d done something to offend him. Or bore him. Or something other.

It had become a pleasant habit; meeting him at the Caladan gardens, opting for a spot and sitting with your backs to the grass, counting the stars as you talked. Before, conversation had tipped forth whenever. Now, there was something in the air – tension. And it is him that brings it.

Paul avoids your eyes, settling instead for the vast colouring of grey across the hallway walls whenever he caught you in it. He had stopped sending you the familiar drumming of his fingertips across the meeting table, and instead always froze up when you met his gaze, whereby he turned red with anger – or was it anger? What was it?

He’d always be staring at your face, and you would wonder if there was a piece of parchment stuck to it, or if he was merely bored around you; most days, you allowed it. It stung, yes, but you had nothing ill to hold against him. But it accumulated, unbeknownst to you, and for him to miss your question yet again made you sigh in defeat – disappointment?

“You seem distracted,” you say, not bothering to shield the hurt in your words, though you couldn’t begin to understand why and when you had ever begun to crave expect the attention of his earthen-dusted eyes, “Am I boring you?”

He straightens up, his eyes wide, which in turn surprises you, “Bored? Seven hells, no. ‘Course not.”

“What did I just ask then?”

He cringes, “I promise I’m not bored. Just…”

His fingers flex in his lap, before curling into themselves, and his cheeks warm slightly. Is it happening now? Is he doing it now? The weather was right; a typical Caladan breeze, heavy with the wetting of the sky from the day, and now shrouded with clouds and a darkness that was impenetrable. Even as the two of you laid against the bare grass, no one outside could tell either of you apart from the ground itself. In the moonlight, you were almost one with it.

“Just?” you ask. You were curious of this now, “Just what?”

“Just!” he sucks in a harsh breath, his sharp face now boyishly soft and pliant in a way you hadn’t seen it before, “I… Just promise you won’t take offence to this.”

How ironic.

“I promise, Paul,” you smile, shoulder bumping against his as you glance at the side of his face, the way his nose shapes perfectly against the dampness of the Calandan wind, “Tell me.”

Be one with it. Be one with it. It is a mantra in his head.

“I realise that I have begun to grow a certain, uh, affection for you. Yes, I like you. I don’t know how it had begun. And I know it’s foolish of me to even act this way when we are set to marry. But I know, in my heart, that—“ a breath, as he nervously glances at your now surprised face and oh, he shuts his mouth. He opens it again, panicked, “My apologies. I shouldn’t have—let me—”

“Paul.” you stop him, hands against his one arm that seems to be quivering ever so slightly – how much of it can he hold?

He waits. Bated breath.

You smile, shy and sweet and it whips against him in a way that the wind of his mother planet had never managed to. Here is my dear friend, he thinks, my dear friend who was but a stranger a long time ago and is set to marry me once talks have been concluded. Here is my friend who I have poured my stupid, ill heart to and who still looks at me with kindness.

“I like you too.”

He blinks. He looks at you when you speak and watches, really watches, how your mouth forms against the words. I like you too.

“As a companion? Or friend, at best? Is that what your ‘like’ refers to?” he asks, nervous in the face of your admission. It makes you smile, as he rambles slightly, and though his countenance is that of poise and grace, beneath he is a a boy of tender heart. Smiling, you grab the front of his thick coat lapel and watch his words die on his tongue as you place a feathery, warm and soft kiss against his mouth. It was so unbelievable, he thought he’d conjured it all up – that you weren’t here, timidly kissing him with a sheepish smile on your face, and the stars of his home glinting against your skin. He lets his finger brush your cheek, still dumb-struck.

“Again.” he whispers. His heart hammers at the sound of your breathy laugh, as you repeat the action, conviction in your palms as they lay upon his cheek, “Again, please.”

“Again?” you ask, voice soft and muted as he hoists you atop of his front, chest to chest, and gazing at him like he was everything. Within the action, your golden insignia brushes his own, silver ones so briefly that he can make out a shape bourne from the contact of either two, before they separate. You wanted him, as he wanted you. And soon, you would wed, and the image of gold upon silver won’t be so unclear anymore. Maybe, somewhere warmer and less unbelievable, he could let himself grow familiar with the reality of you. But for now, he could settle for this to be a mere dream he had grown to relish so very much. Even now, he could almost believe none of this to be real, just a trick of the mind. Maybe fatigue or delusion.

He says your name so quietly, a plea, and it has never sounded sweeter, “Please.”

And yet, the soft press of your mouth upon his convinces him that it is so much more.

-

i wanted to incorporate some inferences of paul’s character from the early novel (mentat, solitude in terms of companions, great fighter), as well as the film, whilst wanting to stray away from the destruction of house atreides after the gifting of arrakis, which would explain why the marriage needs to take place. sooo no one dies! HURRAH!!!!!!!!! enjoy :]

© 2023 qvrcll. Do not repost any of my works on any platform.

𝓖𝓸𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓒𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

Paul Atreides x Reader

Request: „Paul Atreides falling in love with his father's younger wife, whom he recently married for political reasons, yet he remains loyal and in love with Jessica.‟

A/N: Request from anon. A very interesting concept that I thoroughly enjoyed writing. As always, I hope you will like reading my work, especially since this is my first attempt at writing for Paul Atreides.

Please remember that english is not my native language and mistakes might happen.

She reminded him of a goddess , a being from ancient books that survived the destruction of Old Terra. She was beautiful like Aphordite , full of warmth as Hestia and innocent and sensitive as Persephone. Yet her eyes were full of sadness , like those belonging to Oizys.

And the young duke hated it.

He hated her sadness. The sadness which was caused by his own father. Leto Atreides married her , but there was no love between them , there was only darkness and misery that was draining the young woman from the inside. In Paul's eyes, his father's actions were cruel. He did not deserve such a delicate soul , and much less he deserve it to destroy it.

He tried , almost desperately , to understand the man when his eyes followed him with his own mother , but in vain. Because he loved the woman he could not have too much to forgive him for what he did to her.

So he stopped. He stopped looking for forgiveness , which never existed.

Instead, he surrendered to the arms of forbidden desire , surrendered to the feelings he had been hiding so deeply inside himself, surrendered to her will without her even knowing.

His shadow began to follow hers, her steps became his steps , her breath became his breath.

And suddenly Paul Atreides became everything to her that his father never was. He became her protector , her rock , her guardian , her savior.

But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted more. He had to have more.

He found her in her chambers , she was sitting on one of the many cushions, reading. But when she felt a presence behind her she stopped , turning her head to the side , looking out of the corner of her eye at the young duke.

-Paul - she said softly , turning fully in his direction - What brings you to me? - she asked him , closing the book , which suddenly no longer seemed interesting to her.

He didn't answer , not immediately.

But as the silence lengthened between them , the tension begin to grow as well.

-I want you - he replied suddenly , and despite the seriousness of the sentence his voice was composed , remarkably calm.

-What? - the woman whispered, shocked.

His words seemed to cut through the air like the sharpest knife, leaving behind a mark that was impossible to erase.

-I want you - he repeated , slowly approaching her figure.

She watched his movements , stopping only when the brunet kneeled before her.

-But you already have me - she said , placing her hand on his pale cheek.

Paul grabbed her wrist and closed his eyes allowing her addictive scent to dull his senses.

-Not in the way I would have wanted - he confessed , tasting her soft skin with his lips.

At his words, the woman pulled her hand from his hold , moving away from her husband's son.

-We can't. You know it's forbidden - she announced, furrowing her eyebrows.

-I know - he responded , getting up from his knees to approach her yet again - But no matter how cruel the truth is , my father does not love you , he never will. And I hate him for it, I hate him for marrying a woman he is not able to love.

-The world has always been cruel Paul. You cannot change it , you are in no position to. You are not a god - she said with a shadow of sorrow in her voice , feeling tears involuntarily flow into her eyes.

-But I can change the part of the world you belong to.There will be no more misery , no more pain - he declared, approaching her , trapping her between the wall and himself.

-Don't say that. I am begging you , don't say that - she whispered , closing her eyes, trying to push the brunet away from her, but to no avail.

The man kissed her cheekbones , nuzzling his face into her thick locks.

-Tell me the truth - he asked , but was met with silence - Tell me the truth - he repeated , but his voice no longer sounded familiar.

-I love you more than life itself Paul. I'm willing to die if it means I can taste your lips, even for a slight moment - she admitted, but although her words were sincere, it seemed to her as if someone pulled them out of her, without her permission.

-And I love you - he said - And believe me when I say this. I will never stop loving you. My love for you will only cease to exist when the sun will rise in the west and set in the east , when the seas go dry and mountains will blow in the wind like leaves.

-One day , you will regret those words Paul Atreides - she professed , feeling her breathing become more shallow and her eyes more clouded.

-Never - he growled , before attacking her full, pink lips.

His kisses were the opposite of him. They were burning , chaotic , dangerous.

But despite this , she desperately grabbed his shoulders , trying to pull him closer and closer. Their hands traveled over each other's bodies , as their lips tasted one another, never having enough. They seemed to have forgotten about everything except themselves.

Suddenly the mortal world no longer existed. There was no fear , sadness , or despair. In their place came lust , desire and love. Feelings that were forbidden to them.

But they didn't stopped.

They didn't stop when their bodies merged into one. They didn't stop when the first rays of sun appeared on the walls of her chambers.

They didn't stop because there was nothing strong enough to separate Paul Atreides from his goddess.

“My Gem”

Paul Atreides x Reader Request: Yes Summary: Paul asks for the Emperor's eldest daughter's hand in marriage. Warnings: None, it's just pure fluff Word Count: 880 I don't own Dune or it's characters nor do I claim them as my own This is a short cute imagine, hope you all still love it x Comments likes, and reblogs are always adored and appreciated xx

Paul stood tall as he saw the Emperor’s daughter approach him with a graceful smile. He had asked for her hand in marriage, which she happily accepted. Paul had grown up with the Emperor’s daughter when he would visit Kaitain with his father and mother. The lush planet was always beautiful, and Paul had grown to love it as he grew older. During his visits, he became closer to the Emperor’s eldest daughter. Princess Y/n. In their teenage years, they both grew to have a crush on one another. Their hearts would skip a beat; when their eyes locked, they would shine like the brightest stars in the night sky. Paul replayed their first meeting as Y/n climbed up the steps towards him.

Paul’s head tilted as he observed Y/n play a game with her younger sister, Irulan. Paul smiled as Y/n hid behind a tree before jumping out and picking up Irulan. The younger sister squealed in delight as Y/n spun around, seeing Paul Y/n let Irulan down as the sister ran to find their father. Y/n wandered over to Paul with a smile “My Lord Atreides”, she curtsied gently, her eyes looking up through her lashes, a slight smirk on her lips. Paul bowed his head with a sly grin “Princess Y/n”, he held her hand, kissing her knuckles. “You are very pretty today, Princess”, Paul complimented Y/n, blushing at his words, looping her arm with his; they both strolled down the cobblestone path. “Thank you, Lord Atreides, and you are very handsome today, “ she giggled as Paul blushed, talking endlessly about their favourite things. Both of them knew then their relationship was only just beginning.

Paul exhaled, slowly holding out his hand for Y/n to grasp. Her fingers delicately slid along his palm, joining his side. His bride sat beside him at the wedding table, and his mother and father sat at the end with Y/n’s sister Irulan and her other sisters, Wensicia, Chalice, Josifa and Rugi. Paul had never met her other sisters besides Irulan, but he could see where all the daughters got their beautiful looks. Their mother, but to him, Y/n was the prized gem in his eyes. He held his wife’s hand on the table; a smile graced his facial features. Admiring her beauty, his eyes turned to look around the grand hall. Watching everyone cheer and laugh at his wedding celebration. When Paul stood up, he offered his hand for Y/n to grab. As she stood beside him, Paul led her out of the grand hall and towards the entrance. Strolling through the halls together, Paul made a detour from their new chambers and turned in a different direction. “There is something I would like to show you.”

Paul led her to the Caladan gardens, covering Y/n’s eyes. She could hear the calm sounds of water trickling and birds tweeting in the moonlit sky. Paul stopped and told Y/n to keep her eyes closed before his arms wrapped around her waist. His lips ghosted over her neck, his nose trailing over her pulse towards her ear. His eyes watched her chest rise and fall, his hands sliding up her stomach and up towards her chest. Y/n gripped his hands. “There will be plenty of time for that, Paul” “ she giggled; a deep chuckle fell from Paul’s lips; he grinned. “Hmm, I can’t wait that long, but if I must. Until then, open your eyes, my wife,” he breathed, kissing her jaw as her eyes fluttered open, taking in the gardens before her. “This is beautiful, Paul. I’ve always heard such stories about the Caladan gardens. Our gardens at home don’t compare to yours” She turned to look at Paul with shining eyes. Paul smirked, laughing. “Oh, I don’t believe that; your gardens are just as beautiful. As are you,” he whispered as he bowed. “May I have this dance?” he asked; she smiled, nodding, holding his hand. “You may,” she said, placing her other hand on his shoulder. Paul wrapped his other arm around Y/n’s waist as they danced in a circle. The only sounds were the waterfalls and sounds of fauna surrounding them as the newlyweds shared their first dance.

The Duke and Lady Jessica watched from the shadows with smiles. “Our son chose well; he will be just fine.” Leto’s arm looped with Jessica’s, and the woman hummed in agreement. “He has, but then they were destined to be together, Leto. She is his other half, as he is hers.” She pulled Leto away as they rejoined the wedding celebrations. Paul and Y/n were once again alone, away from prying eyes. 

Paul pressed his forehead against his wife’s; Y/n’s tender smile made him feel a thousand butterflies in his stomach. Fireflies danced around the husband and wife as Paul pulled her closer, breathing deeply and brushing his nose with hers. His eyes stared into hers lovingly.

“Careful there”, Y/n whispered. Paul chuckled lightly. “What do you mean?” Paul asked her with a slight smirk; his wife leaned in, her lips brushing his.

“You look like you are falling in love” Paul licked his lips, his smirk broadening. “I already have, My Gem”

If you’re inspired could you do a fic about Paul Atreides and Y/N’s first night as enemies to lovers? Like they hate each other but they’re in an arranged marriage? Maybe Y/N is scared of the pain she’ll experience during sex? Would love fluff at the end…

Thanks!

From Enemies to Lovers

masterlist ! pairing: Paul Atreides x reader

Dune Masterlist

In the grand halls of the Atreides palace on Arrakis, a tense atmosphere hung in the air as Paul Atreides, the young heir to House Atreides, stood before his bride-to-be, Y/N. The marriage between their families had been arranged as a political alliance, a union meant to strengthen their houses in the turbulent times ahead. But for Paul and Y/N, the prospect of marriage was fraught with tension and resentment.

As they stood face to face, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills, Paul could sense the fear and apprehension emanating from Y/N. He knew that she harbored doubts and insecurities about their impending union, just as he did. But duty and honor compelled them to carry on with the charade, to fulfill the obligations thrust upon them by their families.

"Y/N," Paul began, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation, "I understand that this marriage is not of our choosing. But we must make the best of it, for the sake of our houses."

Y/N's eyes flashed with defiance, her resolve unyielding. "I will do my duty, Paul, but do not expect me to pretend that I am happy about this arrangement."

And so, on their wedding night, as they found themselves alone in the opulent chambers of the Atreides palace, the tension between Paul and Y/N was palpable. Neither knew what to expect, their hearts heavy with the weight of obligation and uncertainty.

As they stood on opposite sides of the room, their silence filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, Y/N's fear threatened to overwhelm her. She had heard stories of the pain and discomfort that awaited her on her wedding night, and the thought sent shivers down her spine.

Sensing her apprehension, Paul approached her slowly, his movements cautious yet determined. "Y/N," he said softly, "I understand if you are afraid. But I promise to be gentle with you. We are in this together, whether we like it or not."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes searching his for any sign of deceit or malice. But all she found was sincerity and understanding, a rare glimmer of compassion in the midst of their tumultuous circumstances.

With a shaky breath, Y/N nodded, her walls beginning to crumble under Paul's reassuring presence. "Thank you, Paul," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I will try to trust you."

And so, as they lay together on the bed, their bodies trembling with anticipation and uncertainty, Paul and Y/N embarked on a journey that would forever alter the course of their lives. With each tentative touch and whispered caress, the barriers between them began to fade, replaced by a newfound connection forged in the fires of adversity.

As their bodies moved together in a dance of longing and desire, Paul and Y/N found solace in each other's arms, their fears and doubts melting away in the heat of passion. In that moment, they were no longer enemies bound by duty, but two souls united by love—a love that had blossomed from the ashes of conflict and resentment.

And as the first light of dawn filtered through the window, bathing the room in a soft golden glow, Paul and Y/N lay entwined in each other's embrace, their hearts overflowing with a newfound sense of peace and belonging. For in each other, they had found not only love, but also the courage to defy the expectations of their world and forge their own destiny together.

Unhuman (NSFW)

paul atreides x female!oc

summary: in the dark, a woman shows up in paul's room unannounced and gives him something he'll come to crave.

warnings: 18+, p in v sex, creampie, unnatural amount of cum, slight dubcon ? (paul is put under a spell to make him horny and in a trance-like state so idk), mention of knives, pure smut.

words: 1,852

a/n: i don't know where this character came from lol i just started writing. this makes no actual sense in the dune universe btw i just wanted to write about paul. also this took me over 10 days to write cus i kept procrastinating and i still don't really like it but oh well.

Paul awakens to a feeling that he is not alone in the bedroom he lays. A sense of unease creeps up the back of his neck, hairs standing, as he scans the room for the movement of shadow.

He sees it: a static movement in front of the closed door. He is able to make out the shape of the figure as his eyes adjust to the darkness. It's small but only seems to be a few inches shorter than Paul, however does not have the frame of any man he can think of. A woman, most probably.

"Who are you?" Paul asks. His voice is calm but his mind and rapid heart are not as he reaches for the dagger that usually rests without use under his pillow. He stands, hiding the weapon behind his back, the cold steel pressed against his bare skin.

The woman walks towards him with confident strides. Paul holds in a breath and tightens his grip on the knife. When she's mere inches from him, she draws a knife of her own from her side and presses the tip against the underside of Paul's chin.

"Drop it," she demands. He obeys on command despite the Voice not being used. Paul doesn't feel as though she possesses the ability to use it, and yet, he feels an odd inclination to do as she says.

Paul huffs out the air from his lungs. Her eyes are large and almost seem to be glowing; they're dark as a starless night sky, though he can't make out the colour. Her lips are plump and inviting. She pushes the knife upwards slightly, nearly breaking the skin, before dropping it herself. It clatters against the floor though Paul barely hears it. He has the overwhelming desire, suddenly, to kiss her.

"Who are you?" He asks. He wishes to be assertive in this moment, threatening to the unknown intruder, but he finds his voice will not obey and instead every word he utters comes out as a beg of a higher pitch. What is he begging for?

"It doesn't matter who I am." Her voice is soft and comes out unhuman, like an echoed whisper in the wind. Paul wonders if she's an angel, or a spirit, with her unnatural beauty. "I know who you are, and I'm quite surprised this is working so well on someone like you."

"May I...May I know, at least, what your purpose here is?" Paul's voice is low and hoarse and he can barely get the words out. He's been hypnotized by her - his hands squeeze together behind his back so as not to give into the urge to touch. She needs to leave.

She grins and looks down over Paul's half-naked frame. She rests a warm hand over the right side of his chest. His breath hitches. "I've come to give you something," she replies, her voice sweet and intoxicating. "I'm sure you'll like it, as will I."

Paul, without thought, places his hand over hers. "Has somebody sent you?"

She sighs and drops her hand. Paul's eyebrows furrow in worry; he doesn't want her to leave before she gives him whatever it is she's here for. All worries disappear when her hand returns to touch his face. "Yes, Paul, but I cannot disclose by who."

Paul's name on her lips make him gasp and lean into her touch. She's turned him into an obedient puppy, his eyes hazy and wide with anticipation and his red lips parted lazily. In a part of his mind that is usually far closer to him than now, he's disgusted with himself, his lack of the authority that's expected of him.

"May I see what you have come to give me?" His voice is a whine now. He wants to slap himself for his stupidity. He should tell her to leave, draw the knife to her throat and demand to know who she is, but he doesn't. Instead, he twists his head towards her palm and plants a soft kiss in the middle of it. She smiles at this gesture.

"Yes, of course."

Paul inhales deeply as her soft fingers slide from the side of his face and down his neck, fluttering over his collarbone then over his nipple, down his stomach. Her fingers leave a tingle behind on the skin she's touched. She stops once her hand is rested on his lower abdomen, edging dangerously close to his stirring arousal. "Please..." Paul whispers, barely audible.

"Will you lay down for me, Paul?" She asks sweetly. Paul nods, over and over, until he's rested on his back, his hands drawn up towards his chest in remaining insecurity over his fragile frame.

The woman is straddled over his lower hips in seconds though he didn't see her move, as if she used some sort of teleportation. She leans down until their mouths are barely touching, her breath light against his wet lips. "You're very beautiful, Paul. So delicate."

She reaches between their bodies and lightly grips his erection. A soft oh leaves his lips in a moan and he lifts his hips on instinct in search for friction. The head of his cock is wet and stains the thin material of his pants. He can almost swear, through the daze of his brain, that his erection is far bigger than it typically is, barely contained in the fabric. What he knows, for sure, is that his sensation to touch is amplified to an intensity he is unsure he can handle.

She connects her lips to his and they are as soft as Paul had imagined. He groans deeply into her mouth and pushes his wet tongue between her teeth. Their tongues dance together and her hand grips harder, stroking him frustratingly slow. "Please..." It's as if please is the only word he knows.

She pulls away and smiles, nodding in understanding, and grips the waistband of his pants to slide them down. His cock frees and makes a dirty slap against his stomach, loud in the stillness of the room. Paul reaches for her and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her back down so they lay skin to skin. She's so warm, and she's naked. Paul wonders if she's been naked this whole time, shadowed by the dark.

She leans into his ear, massages his curls between her fingers. "I'll make you feel good," she whispers so lightly Paul wouldn't have heard if it weren't for the deep silence of the room besides their breaths and his beating heart. He can't hear hers, nor can he feel it against his chest.

"Yeah?" Is all he can mutter, dizzy with desire as he feels her wetness slide over his cock, tip rubbing against her clit. Her pace is slow, too slow, so Paul grips her tighter and lifts his hips upward in a smooth rhythm, meeting her movements. She lets out a moan against his ear, so unhuman but so lovely he wonders if this is in fact a dream.

"Yes." With that, she lifts her hips and sinks down onto Paul's erection, filling her to the hilt. He shrieks an ungodly moan at the feeling and almost cums but manages to, somehow, hold it in. It's the best sensation he's ever felt.

"I can't, I can't," he repeats in huffs, "I don't think I'll last long, I don't—"

"Shh." She places her lips to his neck, sucking on the warm, salty skin. He goes pliant at this: arms slack and dropping to his side, his hands flexing and reaching for sheets to grip. He lets out a shaky whine. He wouldn't mind if his only purpose in life was to exchange pleasure with her, whoever she is.

Once she finally moves, her hips lifting slowly before coming back down again, his head pushes back into the pillow and a whimper escapes his throat. His neck is further exposed and she switches to the other side, sucking there. Paul lightly grips her hair, shorter than his own, and arches his back off the bed.

Her movements increase in speed and, against the sensitive skin of his neck where she's licked and sucked and nipped at, she asks: "Am I fulfilling my promise?"

A sobby whine vibrates in his chest as he nods, his cock leaking profusely with clear liquid inside of her. He's so blissed out he's unable to speak, eyes pricking with tears.

The noises that fill the room are unholy, wet slaps and heated groans of pleasure. She's mainly quiet besides the occasional soft moan when Paul bucks his hips upward to meet her in the middle.

She disconnects her wet, full lips from his neck and connects them to his lips once again, breathing in his steady flow of moans. She takes his cock fully and begins to rock her hips forward and backward, sucking on his tongue as she does so. He whimpers into her mouth at this sudden change of movement and grinds his hips to meet the rhythm of hers.

Paul turns his head to the side, disconnecting their lips, and throws his head back. He moves his hands from her hair to grip her ass and push her down, grinding harder with added force. He's close, and has a deep, forceful desire to cum inside of her.

"I'm gonna– Can I– Please–" Paul mumbles and whines against her ear, unable to form full sentences. His grinds become sloppy as his release climbs close and his grip on her loosens, hands flexed and shaking.

"Yes, Paul," she breathes against his ear, granting him permission. She plants a soft kiss against his cheek as he cums, calming him down with fingers through his hair as he writhes and moans loudly beneath her.

Tears run down his cheeks, cock pulsing inside of her heat and spurting out rope after rope of cum – an unnatural amount. He can feel the warm liquid seep out of her, pooling around the base of his cock and running down his tight balls. The feeling is so intense and delicious he knows that, if he is never to see her again, he may not be able to live with his craving for this. For her.

Once Paul has settled and his heart returns to a steady beat, she lifts her hips and his soaked, softening cock slides out of her and slaps against his thigh. More of his cum leaks out of her and onto his lower stomach. She smiles and places her hands on either side of his face, kissing him, then flips onto her back beside him.

Paul immediately rolls over and wraps his arms around her, unable to handle the lack of her touch. He rests his head against her chest and she lifts a hand to stroke his damp curls. "Don't go," he whispers.

The woman feels cruel knowing she eventually must. But she won't tell Paul this, not yet. Possibly she's been too harsh with her seduction, or Paul is far more sensitive to it than she assumed he would be.

"I won't," she fibs.

A sickly Paul Atredias with Chani or female reader as caretaker plz 🥹

The night has your name

Warnings: NSFW SOFT

Pairing: Paul/female reader.

A/N:Maybe not exactly what you wanted, but I always thought about what happened after Paul first confronted his mother's mentor. And he needs to be consoled, he is still only a young man…

What a strange night. The noise of the supply ships in the loading docks of the ducal castle of Caladan, as well as that of several visiting ships, had kept me awake at night. So much was happening.

The Atreides family was being shaken to its foundations. The announcement of the family departure to Arrakis was a move by the Emperor, and although we could not interpret it to its full extent, it had shaken the lords.

We, the servants had toiled for days to prepare for the move. While his parents were organising everything, Paul had spent his time walking on the beach, training, and processing the situation in solitude.His natural melancholy had deepened.

I knew that he hated this situation, because he sensed the evil intentions that the emperor harbored. Paul himself had told me about it, when he came to my small room some nights.

And, maybe, if anyone discovered our romance, they might think it was just a bit of sexual relaxation. But it wasn't just that.

We talked, we read together, and sometimes he asked me for certain opinions. He had told me about the war of assassins he had witnessed in his childhood. About the horrible executions he had to witness in his own home. How he had to run away.

His first direct contact with the Harkonnens. Only twelve years old.

He spoke about it in a cold, dispassionate tone. Those nights almost always ended in silence and hugs.Hearing him sigh when I stroked his curls warmed my soul at that moment.

He was a good boy, and he would make a admirable duke, worthy of the house of Atreides.

A heavy cranking of the engine brought me back to this reality.I couldn't tell what time it was, but given the turmoil of the night, I doubt anyone could sleep. I stared sadly at the ceiling. 

I turned over, trying hard to sleep.

The minutes slid down the clock, desperate grains of sand. One hour, two? At some point, between the noise and the silence,maybe I fell into a torturous dream, without the slides stopping passing by my closed eyelids.Images,places,fears…..

Three silent knocks on the door.

Dazed, I opened my eyes and snapped out of my reverie.It was like someone was calling me. Was I still dreaming?

The blows were repeated. So I didn't dream it. Someone needed me, earlier than usual.Oh, it seems, the day started earlier than I predicted. I barely bothered to light my room, leaving only a faint yellow globe in the gloom.

I Opened the door carefully. The hallway was in shadows and I barely noticed my visitor at first. I inspected the shadow, searching, when an unmistakable green flash made me stop my words.The remnants of my drowsiness were instantly extinguished. I didn't think it was him, but it was Paul.

Almost merged into the dimness.Fully dressed. I was instantly alarmed and gasped his name. He simply nodded and pointed inside, giving me a needy look. I let him in immediately.

I could only close the door silently, welcoming him.Still not saying anything, he wrapped his arms around me and sighed, pressing his face against my shoulder, the buttons of his jacket digging into my chest, making me shudder, through my simple long nightgown.

He inhales deeply like a long private sigh. His long, silky eyelashes brushed against me, as he rubbed the tip of his cold nose under my chin.I shivered, even more when I felt his warm breath on my chest.I stroked his hair,offering him soft caresses between the brown waves that made him sigh with pleasure.

At the moment, he only seemed to need silence and a long hug. I slid my hands up his sides, trapping his waist.

It took him very little time to collapse.I felt something wet on my neck. Paul was crying silently.I whispered into his curls.

"Oh,Paul,please....."

I didn't want to pressure him, I knew that sometimes he preferred silence and touch.

Finally his voice, muffled against me, was heard.

"Sorry, I didn't know what to do."

"Paul....it's okay, it's okay. Please tell me what happened"

He shivered softly.

"Gom Gabbar"

I nodded silently, understanding. I had read many manuals, codes, history of the universe. I knew what this cruel test consisted of.

I shouldn't have hated his mother, it was not in my power to judge Lady Jessica.Or the Bene Gesserit sisterhood, although now, with the sad product of their crosses in my arms, I would only wish to see each and every one of them die.

I held him to my chest, letting him cry. I caressed his back, and hugged him tightly in my arms. I wish I could make him feel like I was by his side, whenever he wanted.

I cry until I wet my nightgown, in silence.

And when I noticed that his sobbing had stopped, I was able to talk to him again, without forcing him to look at me.

«Paul......let's lie down on the bed.»

He nodded, and only whispered:

"Will you let me stay with you?"

"All my life, if you wish."

We undressed, without shame, seeing our bodies in the yellow light of the lamp filters, almost extinguished. With a graceful kick, he kicked off his boots. The shapes of the room were reflected in his body, so pale and thin, as he undressed.

Opening his jacket later, unbuttoning it. He quickly took off his white linen shirt, finishing messing up his hair. He opened his belt.

I slipped under the sheet, keeping it open, waiting for him.

Approaching the bed, he slid his pants down his thighs, along with his underwear. I swallowed, affected, repeating to myself that it was not the time.How could I not feel my whole body react, longing for the proximity of that flame of pale fire, naked before me?

Paul kept his gaze lowered, his eyes veiled by his eyelashes, half closed and hidden.

I could still make out the wet traces on his cheeks.

His soft, calm male member swung between his thighs as he leaned over my table, laying his clothes neatly next to mine. I was waiting for him inside the bed and I opened the sheet for him.

At times, I had joked with him about my uncomfortable bed, while he had a luxurious bed, with fine sheets at his disposal. 

And he always smiled, talking about his terrible suffering to visit me. We got involved in tickle wars, which ended in extremely adult games.

We made love sweetly and other times, we made it so wildly that it was not unusual to find traces in the form of bites or bruises on our bodies.

But aside from erotic thoughts for now. I offered him my arm as a pillow. He immediately leaned on me, bringing his cheek closer to my neck, while I hugged him.

His chest against my side, close to me. He always told me that I was much warmer than him, a little stove. He used to feel cold, and I was always caressing his hands and feet when I could. His leg slid over mine, trying to touch his foot with mine, while he put a hand between my breasts, holding them, caressing their tender softness. 

I laughed fondly and felt him smile against me.

Paul moaned softly as I wiped away the traces of tears that remained on his cheeks.

With my fingers, sliding my finger along his delicate and elegant nose. Paul came even closer,taking me, hugging me tightly against him. 

I buried my nose and lips in his forehead and hair, allowing me the pleasure of caressing him like this and getting excited with his aniseed, woody smell,deeply masculine.

Our breathing deepened, they matched each other.

With one finger, I lifted his chin, putting at my disposal his lips, pink like the corals of the Caladan sea, now still stained with tears. I kissed him tenderly, and he responded to me, happy for the first time on this terrible night.

He moaned when I kissed him, while he pushed my hip with his boner, his warm cock, increasingly ready and full.

His tongue, so fine and soft, slid safely between my lips,tangling with mine, moving sensually over my face.

We sighed together, moving under the sheets, looking for each other with increasing haste, between gasps that increased,making me as wet and ready for him as he already was for me.

There were still good things in the galaxy, there is still comfort and love in this strange life. And as long as we could meet during the night, the arrival of morning would not be so difficult.

And.....there was still the night.

**********

@kteezy997 I owe you a giant coffee with caramel.☕☕

tag list: @daydreaming-peach

With Want | Paul Atreides x Fem!Reader

Summary: Paul Atreides always had dreams. But from the very beginning, there was an invisible string pulling him to you.

Warnings: (MDNI 18+) Reader's secret name is Nuri, Set in Dune Part 2 , fingering, soulmate/destined pairing, shitty understanding of the Dune universe (only watched the first Dune move and only half of Dune part 2 whoopsie so I'm probably butchering some of the lore or whatever. Its fanfiction babes, I'm not writing this for accuracy),

Note: Hey hottees!! Y'all I'm not even finish watching Dune 2 and I started writing this. Timothee was doing something to me in this movieeee. Hope y'all enjoy!

*not edited at all babes*

---- ---- ----- ----

Paul Atreides had dreams. Both enchanting and horrifying dreams that would eat away at his mind and soul. And from the very beginning, he had always felt this small pull of a feeling. 

It was weirder than his dreams because even when he woke, he still felt it. Like it was a small tether, a light string in his heart and soul that hummed so softly. A light that was so dim that you would have to squint to see. 

After everything that happened with his father and being forced out of his home. The Fremen people found him and his mother. And that feeling grew stronger. He thought it was about the sayings of what his mother, the Bene Gesserit, would tell him but it felt more than that. 

It was odd, he could never see what it was in his dreams, or hear whispers of it like a name. But it was always that same enchanting feeling. So when Paul followed the Fremens, it continued to grow. By the time they walked deeper into the caves, it went from a strong pull to an overwhelming presence. 

And that’s when he saw you. 

“Who is she?” Paul asks Chani. The young woman already knew who Paul was asking for before she turned her head. A small smile engulfs on her face. “Nuri.”

Nuri.

Paul repeats your name to understand the feeling on his tongue. He hadn’t seen you before. Or maybe he did, he wasn’t too sure. The Fremen people covered their faces from the desert and a lot from what he was learning.

‘She moves like the wind.’ Paul says to himself as he watches you glide through the crowded room. Paul’s eyes meet yours briefly. Yours blue from your sclera to your irises. You stop moving through the crowd to stare at him. 

That feeling buzzed around him, stronger than ever within Paul as his eyes never leaving  yours. Your lips slowly turn up into a smile. Your eyes move towards Chani who still stands next to him, nodding in acknowledgement. Chani repeats the same gesture with a smile on her face, your gaze lingers back on Paul before a group of people walk in front of Paul’s view of you. By the time the people separate. You were gone. And the feeling suddenly fades from a sharp intensity to a dull buzz. 

“You should be careful around her Outworlder.” Chani says to him in a low tone as the common area starts to get a bit busy with people. The two of them sit down on a blanket as other where for food. 

“Was she with the group when you found me and my mother?” Paul asks, dodging the statement his acquaintance gave him. 

Chani shakes her head, chewing her food before speaking, “No. She doesn’t come with us all the time.”That intrigued Paul. He turns himself fully towards Chani, his bowl of food mixed with spice long forgotten . “So is she not a fighter?” 

“She is.” Chani says between chews, ”But she also walks with the Sayyadina.”

The Sayyadina. The Fremen’s Reverend Mother. 

“From what I’ve been told, her family was killed just after she was born. Stilgar took it upon himself to look after her. As she grew, the Sayyadina felt something within her. So Stilgar gave them the authority to let her walk with them. She is truly a great fighter, so when we need good fighters she will come with us when necessary. If not, she stays.” Chani continues. 

“A fighter and one that walks with the Sayyadina? Is that possible?” Paul questions. 

“To a nonbeliever? No. But to those who do? Yes. Stilgar believes in the old ways and in the faith. The Lisan al Gaib.” She says to him in a taunting tone which causes Paul to avert his eyes. The moment they came in, some shouted hatred towards him and his mother but others screamed in rejoice, calling him The Lisan al Gaib.

“Our people follow behind him, he is a good leader and his judgment is almost always right and trustworthy.” Chani finishes. 

Paul sits with the information he tells her, his hands slowly dipping in his bowl to start eating the food that was cold to touch but warm against his tongue. The heat of the spice warms his insides as it goes down his throat. “And what about you? What do you believe?”

”I don’t believe that you’re the Lisan al Gaib, that's for sure.” She chuckles. Paul feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment but urges her to continue. “I believe in our people. And she is a part of our people. And if she plays some part in whatever faith stories then so be it. But she has never faltered in training. She has never failed in the dessert and she is a good friend. She believes in our people as much as I do.”

After the words Chani said, Paul felt that she was over talking about you, more hungry and interested in the spice beneath her fingers. So Paul didn’t ask anymore. He ate his food in silence but his mind was racing with the thoughts of you. 

—— —— —— ——

The day had turned into night. Stilgar showed him and his mother the small room for them to sleep in for the time being until their fate was decided. A lot of them didn’t trust him and his mother, and for that Paul understood. 

His dreams woke him in the late night. Lifting his head from the makeshift pillow, he looks over to his mother who is still sound asleep. Her hand was placed on her lower stomach. 

‘Rest easy sister, I will be back.’ He says in his head before getting up and quietly leaving the room.

The caves are quiet at night. Besides from the guards that linger within the open spaces to protect those who rest. Paul doesn’t think it’s necessary but he avoids walking around where they are. Just in case to not stir any trouble. The people were calm at the moment since their fates were going to be decided soon enough. 

He walks to the small body of water his mother had told him about. The scared waters of the Fremens. The waters they would never touch. He sat there for a while. Enjoying the stilllness in the air and the calm look of the water. It reminded him of home. “I miss you father. I will take care of mother and sister.” He says to himself quietly. 

He wants to cry but reminds himself to save his water. “Don’t waste your tears on the dead” from what Stilgar told his mother. 

Paul sat still for a moment longer before he felt that pull again. That invisible string strong and tight as it pulls him to his feet. He absentmindedly walks into a dimly let hallway, his pulse quickening against his neck. His heat beating erratically against his chest as he turns the corner to see you. “You’re Nuri.” Paul states.

“You shouldn’t be out at night Paul Atriedes.” You say to him, your back towards him but he can hear the teasing smile within your words.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Paul explains to you simply, “And I made sure to walk where the guards can not see me.” The feeling nearly suffocates him as he walks toward you. 

“Ah.” You turn towards him, you’re dressed in almost the same comfortable linens as him. His a tan brown color and yours an off white. “You and your dreams.”

How did you know about that? He questions in his head, unconsciously taking another step towards you. You both now at arms length.

“I see you in my dreams.” Paul lies. 

“Do you?” You ask back, your tone sounds as if you know he’s lying. 

“No but I can feel you. In my dreams and out. And I don’t know what it is or what it means.” He explains. 

You hum in satisfaction as you slowly walk around him. Like a beast or a predator trapping its prey. “And what do you feel now?” 

He feels like his body is vibrating, His skin tingling and his veins jumping. His fingers buzzing as if he wants to reach out and touch you. He does what to touch you, he wants to feel your skin on his. “What do you feel?” Paul asks the question back to you.

You stop walking to stand behind him. The hairs on his neck stick out as he feels your body heat near him. Your lips slowly grazing his ear making his eyes flutter close. 

What the hell is happening to him?

“I feel like the spice on my tongue. I feel like the sand beneath my feet. I feel like the beauty you see in your dreams. I can feel you.” You whisper against him. 

Paul turns around to you, your bodies closer than ever. His lips inches towards yours as his flickers between your eyes and your lips. 

“You speak in tongues.” Paul whispers to you desperately.

“Shall I tell you in a way you understand?” You whisper against his lips. 

“Yes please.” he begs softly. 

And you don’t hesitate to put your lips on his. Paul moving quickly as his hands clasp softly against your cheeks. Moaning in the delight as he feels your hands glide against his chest, gripping his shirt. 

He feels you everywhere, but it isn’t overwhelming anymore. Now that he’s holding you and tasting you, your tongue glides against his. He feels a wave of warmth wash over him as his body and soul settle into the feeling of you. 

So warm and inviting. So enticing and serene. 

You push him towards a dark hidden spot in the hallway. Your bodies are engulfed in darkness but when you break apart for air, you can see him all the same. Paul moves you toward the wall, his body trapping you in as he kisses your neck. 

“I’ve dreamt of you, Paul Atreides. I’ve seen you in my dreams, felt you lingering in my mind, heart and soul.” You say to him breathly. Moaning quietly as you feel his tongue glide against your neck. Your guide his hand to touch your breast, causing Paul to move away from your neck and look into your eyes. 

‘So beautiful.’ Paul thought. He brings his other hand on your cheek and kisses you hungrily. Squeezing your breast, feeling the weight of it in the palm of his hand.His hand glides to let your nipple slip in between his fingers as he squeezes.“I want to dream of you. I want to see you in my dreams, want to hear your voice call my name.” he mutters to you in between kisses.

When you break away from his kiss, Paul starts to ask what’s wrong until he feels your hand on his and glides it up to your lips. You kiss his fingers individually as he stares at you in adoration and desire. You slowly slip his middle and ring finger into your mouth causing Paul to groan. His hips shifting upwards against you as he feels the wetness of your warm tongue glide against his fingers. He watches as you pull his fingers out of your mouth, his digits glistening wet. Your hands glide his now wet ones down and underneath your linen pants.

“Touch me and you will see me.” 

He lets his hand glide against you as is greeted by your wetness, causing you both to moan out in pleasure. You are sinking deeper into the wall and Paul sinking deeper into you. His fingers continue to glide there experimentally as you pull him back for a kiss. “Help me see.” Paul mutters desperately against you

. 

Your hands reach down in your lines to move his hand into the position you need for him to make you feel good. You mimic a small circular rotation with your fingers on the back of his hand that was still against you. Once Paul understands, he begins to move his fingers in the motion you instructed, making you moan against his lips. 

He pulls away to watch you. You looked more ethereal than any other being or spirit that was believed in all of Arrakis. Your head back against the mountain wall, your lips slightly open as you moan. Your hips moving against his fingers as if you’re chasing for pressure. Paul dips his head in the corner of your neck and kisses it feverishly as he applies more pressure in his movements. Causing you to hold on to shoulder and call out his name. Oh how he wanted you to say his name again.

Feeling a little confident he glides his fingers down, but keeps his them pressed against your swollen bud. He pushes his middle finger inside of you causing you to gasp. You hold onto his shoulder gripping his shirt as you breathe heavily. You drag his head from your neck to kiss him. With his finger going in and out of you at an agonizing slow pace, you kiss him sloppily. But Paul doesn’t seem to mind, he enjoys it. Humming against you with a smile. 

When you feel his ring finger follow in for a second is when you lose it. “Paul!” you say loudly. 

His tongue mingles with yours as he silences your cries. With the slow circling of his thumb against your clit and the way he pushes his fingers into you makes you clench against him. “Fuck.” he moans. 

You whine as you feel your orgasm growing inside of you. The feeling you both shared with one another makes you feel even more on edge as you grip Paul in anyway you can. You rapidly as you feel yourself getting close. “Pau-Paul -” you begin to tell him as such but the building pleasure doesn’t get you far. Paul places his other hand against your cheek, tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes hooded and his cheeks flushed. You feel his thumb brush against your bottom lip. 

“Let me see you.” 

His words are the final push that sends you over the edge. Paul kissing you to silence your cries, you mewling against his lips as his fingers never stop their learned rhythm. You shiver against his fingers, your body tingly and warm. He kisses your face from your cheeks, to your eyelids and everywhere in between as he waits for you to come down from your high. He whispers your name, making you flutter your eyes open to see Paul stare at you with want. 

“Show me again.”

The Union of Two Houses

Paul Atreides x Reader

Warning: Arranged marriage

Summary: To strengthen the connection between your family and House Atreides, you are to marry Paul.

“Lady Y/L/N.” came the voice from the entrance, letting everyone inside know that you have arrived.

Paul waited anxiously, often looking at his mother as she tried her best to calm him.

Keep reading

what are your thoughts feelings emotions about paul atreides having a breeding kink...... wanting so badly to knock his girl up......

creampie; soft paul; husband!paul & PAUL ATREIDES MDNI 18+

it comes to him naturally.

he’s always had the desire to reproduce settled in the back of his mind. he’s always wanted a family; a wife he truly loved, kids who he could see himself in. it was simple to him at first—base instincts of a man, especially the heir to the throne.

and then you two married, and it became something more primal. something more debauched, and therefore deeper into the base instincts. he couldn’t sleep as his mind was plagued with images of you, to the point where he needed to thrust these visions into reality. they were all within reach, all he needed to do was spread your legs and settle between them with the same determination he tended to push down in fear of scaring you off.

but he doesn’t think he could ever scare you off. not with how receptive and eager you are.

your legs opened to accommodate paul’s lithe hips in between them. your hands in his curls and pressed into the muscles of his back. really, your hands are everywhere. sliding down his torso, pinching his hips, pressing into the dimples in his lower back. you’re insatiable, trying to get more of him even as you drink in all of his air as you kiss him.

he’s just as bad if not worse.

his hands roaming your body. from your hair, to cupping your jugular, to pinching your nipples, all the way to teasing your cunt. he wants you, but he doesn’t want to make it quick. he wants it to last.

so he takes his time. each thrust into you is purposeful and artistically crafted. it’s not just a means to an end, it’s a rehearsed dance that he gets better at each time. sure, he has a goal—to shoot his cum as far into you as possible—but he wants it to be as enjoyable as it always is. he sucks hickies into your neck, he peppers loving kisses all along your body while he tells you how appreciative he is of you. it pains him, but he dismisses your cries to go faster and give you more. he wants it to be slow and romantic, his still blossoming mind only associating the two with each other and never with any other fashion of fucking you. love making, as he would call it.

until you hook a leg around his waist and beg. “will you cum in me, paul? so i can make you a father?”

god, you want to make him a father, the same way he wants to make you a mother. it’s so simple, nothing profound, but just that admission and your begging has paul’s hips snapping into yours. you have inadvertently gotten exactly what you wanted, and you’re vocal about how thankful you are. this is a different form of love making. it's addictive.

paul’s green eyes stare down at you the entire time, switching between taking in the way your face morphs into pure pleasure and how his cock easily slides in and out of you. he doesn’t know which view he enjoys more: the way your lips part and your eyebrows pinch together, or the way you’re literally creaming around his cock before you’ve even reached an orgasm. he tries to pay equal attention to both views, but he ends up focusing solely on the work he's doing below, his eyes attentive even through the weight of them.

he watches his cock drive in and out of you, so focused that he doesn't notice the speed that his mouth moves.

"yeah? you want me to?" he asks in relation to your begging. you nod, but he doesn't notice. he continues either way. "i'll put a baby in here, my star. i think you'd look so pretty. you always look so pretty 'f me."

he has a distant thought to focus on your pleasure, but it doesn't make it to the forefront. instead, he focuses on one thing: knocking you up. and he makes sure he gets his wish when he cums into you forcefully, his head buried in your neck while he keeps his hips flush against yours, his cock twitching inside of you as warm spurt after warm spurt flies out of him and settles into you. and even when he's done, he sits there for a while, refusing to leave in fear that the tiniest amount trickling out of you could damage the possibilities.

just to be extra sure, he fucks the cum back into you once he's pulled out, bringing you to an orgasm just by his fingers covered in his cum alone.

Something about protective Paul just does it for me 🫠

A Tiny Miracle

Author's Note: Went to see Dune part 2 last night and my brain hasn't shut off since. 🫠 This is just a tiny little Paul x Wife!Reader blurb set during the final fight scene.

"My lord."

Paul's eyes narrow after he hears Gurney try to get his attention. Shaddam seems to squirm, albeit reluctantly, under his narrowed gaze.

He glances over his shoulder to find Gurney holding a protective arm around you.

And the tiny little bundle in your own arms.

"Paul," You breathe, the sheen of sweat from your labors having already cooled on your skin, the blood still staining the lower half of your dress. "We have a daughter."

Paul is in front of you in an instant, cupping your face and hovering his other hand under your own that cradles the baby's head.

"You should be resting," He murmurs as he touches his forehead to yours. "You're exhausted."

"I'll let you do it next time, then." You tease as you close your eyes, content as he manages to peek down at her without relinquishing his touch on you. You had missed his presence during the birth but he had been occupied with the arrangements of this gathering. Your tired eyes look over his shoulder to see his Harkonnen cousin staring at you in particular and seemingly fascinated by your exchange with Paul.

"Her name?" Your husband asks fondly without looking away, his gloved fingers caressing her head of hair.

"I—" You shake your head, embarrassed, especially with everyone's attention directed at the three of you. "I haven't decided yet."

"That's okay," He assures, lips upturning as he presses his nose in your hair. He already knows what her name will be. "We have time."

You nod and someone directs you to sit down next to Jessica to rest. You've had your differences, it's true, but she seems to put those feelings aside when she smiles softly at you and the baby before surveying the scene before her.

Feyd-Rautha steps forward to begin the duel, pointing his blade towards Paul.

"I'm glad you got to see your child, Atreides. It will be your only chance."

Paul positions himself in a fighting stance, the black-toothed sneer Feyd directs at you sending a shiver down your spine, making you clutch your daughter closer to your breast. You wonder if it was wise for the Fremen to lead you here, to put the wife Muad'Dib front and center in front of the enemy.

He rakes his dark eyes over your blood stained dress, almost approvingly.

"Maybe I'll take your bride as a war prize when I win. I do love seeing a woman covered in blood."

Something dark passes over Paul's face at the threat. He can deal with threats to his own person, but you? He feels his own blood boil as the possibilities of this duel flash through his mind. A path, one that floods certainty through his veins, becomes as clear to him as the sands of Arrakis.

"May thy knife chip and shatter."