Warnings: Mentions Of Political Marriages, Strangers > Friends > Lovers, Kissing Near Towards The End,

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗵𝗱𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲

Dark! Paul Atreides x fem crybaby!Reader

Where in the midst of a crowd, you, the Mahdis wife, get shoved by accident, and Paul isn’t so happy about that.

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ට

Paul usually didn’t let you out of his sight, he knew better. It always ended up badly, someone would hurt you, or hurt your feelings, and you’d cry. Like you always did.

But you had 𝘉𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 him to go for a walk with your friends. Fremen friends that you had known longer than you’d known him. He had only met you two years ago. But once he met you, he claimed he’s had visions of your pretty face, standing in the desert, smiling at him with your gorgeous smile.

He claimed you were to be 𝘏𝘪𝘴. So he married you mere days after you’d met. Stilgar having no problems with it as apparently it was in the prophecy, also known as Stilgars obsession.

You wanted to marry him though, you felt connected to him. There’s wasn’t many people that had put up with your emotional personality, but oh how he 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 it. He loved seeing tears in your eyes as you’d cling to him, burying your small face in his chest, how minor things he’d do for you made you emotional, and most of all how you relied on him to make you feel better.

So that’s why you barely went anywhere without him, it was really just easier for everyone. All the Fremen held huge respect for you as you were the wife of their messiah. No one 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 to merely touch you.

So on this particular day, you had begged your husband to let you go with your friends for a few hours. Inside the ancient temple of your sietch, all your people would gather and celebrate. It was an annual day. Celebrating your cultures and beliefs.

Crowds would gather and people would mingle, meeting and seeing friends. It was just an all round fun day. But this one wasn’t.

It had started off quite well. Paul allowed you to meet your friends for an hour or so, making you promise you’d meet him at home later on. You gladly did, kissing his cheek and leaving to see your friends.

Once you did, you and your friends gathered talking and dancing for what felt like forever. After a while you knew you probably should leave to meet your husband.

Paul had joined the celebrations, as he was their mahdi. He had been watching you for a while, making sure you were alright. When he saw you making your way through the crowds he began to walk too, so he’d meet you halfway.

The crowds were pushy, 𝘛𝘰𝘰 pushy for you clearly, as you took a step but we’re roughly shoved by a man on your right. You went flying face first onto the ground, hitting your head when your did.

The man turned to yell at you

“Watch it you- Oh my lady, I-I apologise deeply!” He yelled, not realising it was you. He was a dead man and he knew it.

Mad if he wasn’t already 6 foot under from his actions, to top it off completely, you began to cry, actually you began to ball your eyes out.

The entire sietch became quiet. Many around you quickly tried to help you up, but you were having none of it, and if anything it made you cry harder. The man that knocked you began to shake in fear as he saw Paul make his way to the scene.

The people had never seen their Mahdi with such a hateful and raged look. He shoved passed people in the cowds to get to you. Once he did he bent down to your bleeding face, wiping your blood and tears before picking you up in his arms, giving one last glance to the man that had caused your accident.

“Make sure he waits outside my tent” he growled to three Fremen on his left, before swiftly turning and leaving with you in his arms.

You cried the entire way back to your tent, clinging onto your husband as your face stung. Once you two arrived, he put you into bed, sitting down beside your lying form.

“You must stop crying my love, it’s alright now” Paul said kissing your forehead gently, wiping stray tears on your cheeks.

“Don’t waste them” he muttered.

You did as he said, but still slight hiccups every few minutes remains. “My head hurts” you whispered with an unhappy look on your face.

“This is why I don’t like you out of my reach” he told you, tucking you under the sheets.

“I know Paul, I’m sorry” she said holding back tears at the thoughts of upsetting him.

He smiled at you tenderly, before giving you a gentle kiss, and letting you fall asleep in bed.

He angrily turned towards the tents exit. He took the man waiting outside fearfully in his arms, dragging him away from your sleeping form.

Once he was out of hearing distance from you, Paul shoved the man onto the ground. Taking out a knife, and placing it at his neck.

“How dare you harm hug wife” Paul yelled.

“Mahdi I- it was an accident!” He said almost crying.

“It don’t care. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦, harms her, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳.” He yelled, before yanking the knife away from his neck, giving him a tiny knife before plunging the knife into the man’s side, and getting up and walking back to you.

Many Fremen watched, not daring to say anything. They knew better. They knew what he was like when it came to you.

Paul made his way back to your drowsy form, half asleep in your bed. “Paul you whispered” with a pouty look.

He got into the bed beside you, taking you into his strong hold, kissing your neck. “Sleep now sweetheart” he told you, and of course, you complied.

⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ටᆼට⋆⋆ට

Just wanted to write something small, I know it’s not much ♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎