Paul Atreides Imagine - Tumblr Posts

i love you - p.atreides

pairings - paul atreides x y/n (fem)

warnings - none! super soft - clingy paul :) - modern au

word count - 1k probably lmao

(NOT PROOF READ CUZ IM LAZY)

THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER WRITTEN.

                                                         <3

You sat on your and Paul’s shared bed, staring off into the distance as you contemplated your options. On one side you could obey his wishes of you staying in your room while Paul trains even though it’s 11pm.

OR

You leave.

As simple as that and before you knew it your legs were walking to the door and your hand turning the knob. You peaked your head around the corner, not bothering to look behind you since you knew your and Paul’s room was all the way at the end of the hall. You looked back at you room before waving your hand, the room’s light flicking off.

As you roamed the halls you couldn’t help but stare out the windows, the moonlight was gorgeous as it danced on the treetops and distant lake. It was like a picture frame, perfectly still despite the cold, faint breeze you felt on your face as your night gown swayed slightly.

You admired the view for a little more before you gently opened the door to the garden, your garden.

You walked along the pond, careful to not get your dress wet as you admired the garden. Off in the distance you could see your favourite reading spot, the middle gazebo of three. The white gazebo contrasted beautifully beside the red, orange and yellow roses which grew around it. Vines adorned the roof, giving a rustic, over-run look which you loved of course.

The whirring sound of the pond put you at ease, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The gazebo wasn’t just a gazebo, it was a safe place, for you, it was bigger than it seemed. It had a little kitchen space and a bed at the back, it was like a little home - inside the gazebo was adorned with fairy lights, a wall - shelved to the brim with books, pillows and a comfy throw on the window seat. A vinyl collection and a record player with a little tech to the side.

You walked to your gazebo, gently pushing open the half wood-glass hybrid door, the top being made up of glass majorly while the bottom being opposite. You opened the cupboard, grabbing some chamomile tea bags before boiling some water and placing your tea bags in.

You walked in, feeling a wave of relaxation wash over as you grabbed the book you were currently reading, “Pluto Projector’ By Rex County.

As you took your usual spot on your window seat which overlooked the river which connected to the pond, you felt happy. The gushing sounds of the river, soft moonlight illuminating the pages of your book, the few fireflies making their way past. But while you were enveloped in your surroundings you didn’t notice the sound of damp footsteps against the cobblestone path to the gazebo.

The whistle of your kettle pulled you out of your book you were so deeply immersed in. Your attention was drawn to a soft voice, “Y/n?” Paul spoke, “Can you open the door my love?” His voice was sleepy, worn out. You got up swiftly, unlocking the door for your husband. He smiled although his face was covered with curls adorning his face.

“What’re you doing up?” You asked him as you guided Paul to your window seat. “I was training and then I went to bed but I noticed that you weren’t there. I thought you might be out here and I felt like being with you. Is that wrong my sweet Y/n?” Paul smiled sweetly, “No, no of course not. I was just reading if you wish to join me my love.” You proposed as he lazily smiled. 

Paul quickly accepted as you poured your tea into two cups, placing them on the window sill. Paul sat down, stretching his legs in front of himself, patting the space between his legs which you placed yourself in between. Grabbing your book, you began reading in a hushed tone as your voice soothed Paul greatly.

You were right where you wanted to be, with the man you loved more than anything. 

He laid with your head on his chest, he felt at peace as he stroked your hair and kissed your head as the two of you relished in each-others company.

You both said the same thing, 

“I love you.”

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 )

So like, anyone gonna be making Paul Atreides smut or should I?

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.

;)

Little Accidents / Paul Atreides

Summary: Paul's obliviousness was soon shattered when frequent visits to the nursing room revealed the true essence of love at first sight.

Ps: This is a short fluff I had in mind, but I hope you enjoy and also english isn't my first language so bare with minimal errors, (once upload i always make sure to update now my works, if there is any errors) Enjoy! XOXO

As the heir of the Atreides' House, Paul effortlessly following in his father's esteemed footsteps. He possesses an acute sense of ownership, ensuring he's well aware of everything under his purview. Whether it's news of your battle injuries or workplace mishaps, Paul is always the first to know, abandoning any prior engagements to rush to your aid. While you're being tended to, his concern is palpable; his eyes scan for any signs of harm as he utters all while using the voice. ‘Where?’ This gesture of worry has become familiar, a reassurance you've grown accustomed to, especially when your visits to the infirmary often serve as an excuse to steal moments with him. ‘Dropped a weapon on my foot,’ you explain with a hint of ruefulness, ‘guess my impatience got the better of me, inadvertently knocking out one of the armories. Pity.’

Indeed, quite a pity. Paul couldn't help but notice your composure, devoid of any telltale signs of injury. It either seemed that the nurse had efficiently tended to you before his arrival—a stroke of luck, perhaps. However, Paul wasn't fooled; this wasn't the first time you'd urgently summoned him to the infirmary. Today, he harbored suspicions that you might finally reveal the true reason behind your frequent visits. “If you'd prefer I refrain from using the Voice," he remarked, a hint of seriousness in his tone, "you'll need to be more forthcoming than simply labeling it an accident, my dear."

However, you eventually reassured the head nurse, explaining that it was merely a minor issue requiring attention. Your heart fluttered with a mixture of nerves and affection as Paul insisted on tending to your wounds himself, rather than delegating the task to anyone else. As the room cleared, leaving just the two of you alone, Paul attempted to devise a plausible excuse while discreetly observing your work. This added another layer of challenge for him, yet he remained determined to keep a watchful eye on you. “Now tell,” A pregnant pause was felt soon as he sat next to you. “How I am suppose to know, that there is probably more reason than just a visit at the nursery?” 

You find yourself drawn in by his innocence, but observing Paul working alongside his father and their associates, it becomes evident that innocence was not his defining trait anymore. In fact, there's a possibility he understands more than he lets on. Maybe he's even willing to engage in the game you're playing. You nonchalantly dismiss any concerns, offering the excuse that you're just adding a bit of spice to the situation. However, Paul's reaction suggests that perhaps it's not the right moment to discuss such matters, especially anything related to the Spice itself.

Paul tilted his head, almost taking offense at your attempt at humor. Despite his awareness of your desire to spend more time alone with him, he understood that convincing him to stay a little longer each time wasn't as simple as it seemed. Even if his attempts at pampering you, like tending to invisible wounds that morphed into cuddle sessions, were charming, he recognized that your discussions about the 'Spice' were more about politics than relaxation. Poor thing– that was all he knew about out. This realization led to a soft chuckle from you, followed by an apology for bringing up the topic. However, Paul dismissed your apology, urging you not to discuss such matters, especially around him, as he couldn't help but wonder why you frequented the nursing room more often than before. “Now tell me, or I might just become as impatient as you’ll be when demanding kisses..”

His voice trailed off, almost seductive when Paul was right about to expose this little game of yours. Instantly you could feel his lip curve slightly into a smirk as he saw your expression, your eyes winding in shock, trying your very best to obliged. That you were the one who meant to shock Paul out of his work for some time but, perhaps you were indeed right about your wonders. That in fact, Paul knew that the exact reasons why you obliged yourself to the nursing room more often than ever. Only to find out, it was to spend more time with him. But Paul being himself, being the type of guy that he is, did not to confess his wrong at first or to be completely oblivious. After all– he is the duke’s son. 

"So, let me get this straight," Paul Atreides began, his tone tinged with a mixture of disbelief and introspection. "I, Paul Atreides, am so easily ensnared by your little charade? It's rather disheartening, truth be told." There was a hint of a pout on his lips as he contemplated your adeptness at expressing your desires, though he couldn't entirely fault you for it. With the constant demands of dealing with the Harkonnens and managing CHOAM affairs, finding time for you had become more challenging than he and you had anticipated. 

Unlike his parents, whose marriage was purely political, Paul had chosen a different path, one where your presence held a significance beyond mere political alliances. For him, building a future within the confines of the Atreides' House with you by his side was a deeply personal and cherished desire. Material wealth could wait; what mattered most was the connection he shared with you. With a sigh, he reached out to gently caress your cheek, a silent acknowledgment of your correctness all along. Perhaps it was time to prioritize his own happiness, even if it meant putting paperwork aside momentarily. "Maybe you're onto something," he admitted, his voice softening. "Perhaps you’re right, perhaps it's time for me to take a break from the endless bureaucracy and spend some quality time together. After all, even I need to unwind–."

Paul's words carried a weight of remorse rarely heard, especially within the esteemed Atreides family. As he neared the end of his sentence, you leaned in swiftly, feeling the soft brush of his lips against yours in a lingering kiss. The longing shared between you both was palpable, though circumstances often made indulgence impractical, intensifying the desire even more. When Paul finally pulled away, he gently nibbled at your lower lip, a playful chuckle escaping him at the sudden surge of hunger between the two of you. There was an undeniable yearning to touch, caress, and love you. "Perhaps I'll request a day off," he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of promise. “Perhaps you will.” You both end up chuckling as he cups your face, his eyes gazing from your eyes to your lips. Paul confessed once more,

“And perhaps, we don't always have to use the excuse of happy accidents, so I can exile from paperwork every now and then.” 

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.

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.”

Can I request a Paul x reader where they were put into an arranged marriage since birth and reader has strong feelings for him but he doesn’t share those feelings. Before they marry he takes in a mistress and still has one when they’re married. Reader tries to hold onto the dream that one day her and Paul will be happy, but her feelings slowly begin to die down when she begins her own affair. Paul realizes he’s liked reader for along time, but he was always scared on acting on those feelings since they were always at danger of being assassinated, and he didn’t want to live without her or her without him. I want the angst!

Always, Chapter 1 - Paul Atreides x Reader

...

You should've known it would end this way.

Paul. Paul Atreides. Lord of House Atreides, the love of your life.

...And the one man who wanted absolutely nothing to do with you.

If Paul was being truthful with himself, he’d have to admit that he couldn’t really find anything wrong with you. You were beautiful, perfect, wise, well-spoken. No less than an established member of the Bene Gesserit.

Then again, that was exactly why he didn’t like you - you had never been a choice. As long as he could remember, you were the only future, the only possibility. The Gesserit and his mother had made this choice for him before he was born.

It was for all these reasons and more, then, that Paul had decided to begin a romantic relationship apart from you. Chani was an incredible woman, no doubt about it, but the best thing about her was that she was his choice and his alone. His secret rebellion. Inside the walls of the palace, everyone knew that Chani would have been Paul’s preferred wife, but to the rest of the kingdom, you were the only princess they had ever known.

You knew your fate. You would waste away inside the palace like just another priceless work of art - never touched, never noticed.

Just one more thing for the Atreides to own.

Well.

It was over.

You were determined. You would go to Paul’s room, and you would tell him that it was over - you were leaving, running away. Away from House Atreides, away from the Bene Gesserit - away, even, from Paul.

You had a bottle of liquid courage in your hand. You knew what you had to do.

Confident and composed, you raised your fist to his door - pounding one, two, three times.

He didn’t answer.

“Paul!” you shouted, pounding on his door again.

 If he doesn’t come, I’m leaving.

...I don’t care.

You turned away from the door. Well, it was now or never. You knew he wouldn't have tried to convince you to stay-

Unexpectedly, you heard the creaking of the door behind you, and whirled around to see-

“Chani.”

“I... I know this is uncomfortable for us both...”

“No,” you said, quietly. “No, I knew, I just-”

She nodded, and something rose up inside of you, something determined. Seeing her here, in Paul’s quarters, made the rumors a reality you were forced to confront.

And you knew, in that moment, that it was your duty not to surrender.

You would stay.

...

Always Taglist:

@iwanttohitmyself @jutte-m @floofparker @hellolipoops @abnoses @dreamersince98 @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose @eventhedarkestlightshines @evokelasting @miraclealignertlsp369 @yurys-pyon 

I just wanna say that I am SO excited for the part 2 to your Paul Destiny fic. I have so many questions and Im excited to see if they get answered. Like if Paul is pledging his love to the reader then is the romance plot with Chani still relevant? Is the reader still the princess here? Very interesting

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅱ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.7K || Fluff ||

A/N: Honestly, I didn't think this would blow up so much- 1k+ likes??! Thank you all, it's sick 🙃 in answer to your questions, I didn't really specify if the reader (you) are part of a Great House or the Emperor's daughter, or maybe someone else, that's kind of up to your imagination. And yeah, sorry Chani fans, I kind of kicked her to the curb lmao; This is all about you, and so enjoy the second and final part of this destiny trope before I work on some relationship headcanons for Paul and Feyd-Rautha... Requests are open for Dune 2, so don't be shy 📩

You can't escape fate.

It's as real as the Spice that threads through the grains of sand blanketing Arrakis in heavy, warm golden waves. It twists and turns in the air, in the tides of change, something beyond understanding roping together reality and its lives to bond, whether in love or hate.

At least, with the newly ascended young Emperor, you know which side you're on. Since the day of his declaration and claiming of you as his Empress, you've never once left his sight, unknowingly or not. The boy is almost ridiculously close and observant, as if testing the depths of the events unfolding around him, testing to see whether you'll try to run from them, from him. But you can't run from fate, either.

"You aren't resting."

Paul's soft, low voice slices through the silence of the dusk, the only words you hear before you feel his warm, firm arms slipping under your arms and around your middle, pulling you into his front in a smooth, protective motion. His chocolate brown locks tickle your neck and cheek as he gazes up at you from your shoulder; wandering, curious eyes study yours knowingly, his natural hues tainted blue with the Spice.

"What troubles you?"

You hesitate in your response, unsure of the right thing to say. There's no point in lying, not to him, to a boy who could easily use the power of his Voice to make you tell him everything and anything with just a few words. He's done it to the Bene Gesserit, to those who speak out of turn and challenge him cluelessly, but never to you. And something tells you that he never will.

"I'm sorry," is how you answer instead, in a small whisper, trying to read his expression before his reaction.

But all Paul does is give you one of his soft, amused smirks, a brow raising slightly, unconvinced.

"Don't apologise to anyone for anything," he murmurs, his fingers drifting to lock with yours, his hand hot and strong in yours. "We are to be wed, you and I, soon. So what troubles you?"

"It's not you," you tell him as earnestly as you can, his eyes capturing yours and holding them as you blink up at him. "I'm just... nervous."

"Nervous?" Paul repeats gently, his hands squeezing yours for a moment, his face an inch away from yours. "What have you to be nervous about?" He grins slightly, not attempting to hide his teasing amusement. "A wedding?"

You can't help but smile at his tone, savouring the unguarded moments of the new, young Emperor, his boyish traits lingering beneath the newfound power and promises passed down to him.

You were nervous, because you weren't so familiar with destiny and its quirks, and yet, Paul Atreides seemed to be its master. Nervous, because although there was a strange pull between you and him, a deeper part of you somehow knowing him, at an instinctive ease with him, you had never met him before these past few days, and now, you were going to be joined together for time indefinite by marriage. Nervous, because he didn't just want you to rule with him, but alongside him, as a partner, a second part of him. His second half who's with him in soul, not just spirit, physically, not just mentally. And he's relishing in it.

"I've never had one before," you shake your head with a light smile, "I don't know what to expect. Or what's expected of me."

Paul hums to himself at your reply, pausing for a while as he thinks over his words.

"It isn't just a wedding," he tells you quietly, "it's so much more. This... this a beginning. A new dawn."

"Beginning?" You echo in bemusement, looking up at him in wonder. "Of what?"

"Of a new era," Paul says thoughtfully, his hands moving from yours to run over and down your sides, tracing over your figure absentmindedly, a gesture that makes you hold your breath for a beat as you watch him, "the first of many. You are more than a mere future. You're the future. My future. And the future of my people."

The sincerity and conviction in his voice makes you stare back at him in slight awe, taken by his certainty of what he's seen in the deepest stretches of his mind, the flickering images of you, adorned in all your natural beauty and grace that he could find nothing short of perfect. You were a fantasy and a hope materialised. Someone he'd wished and dreamed for so much, that you came true, just as you should have.

"Anything that happens to you," Paul continues, looking you straight in the eye as he speaks, "happens to me. You have always been mine, and I was yours before then. Absolutely and completely."

And his words make a home in your head, everything he says so poetic and beautifully surreal, but so honest and unwaveringly confident. He didn't need to practise what he said before he whispered the sweet words in your ear, in a voice only you could catch, in the long, warm nights on Arrakis. There was no need for practice. He had been made for this, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You let yourself relax slightly in his grips, giving him an earnest smile. "That sounds nice."

Paul smiles back at you, a bright, sweet smile that makes him seem so soft and normal, almost forgetting for a moment of his utter strength and glory over the planets, his dangerous darkness that he occasionally allowed to rule over his actions at the tensest of times, until those who stood up against him retreated in bewilderment and fascination and fear.

"It does," he agrees, his gaze dropping to look out at the dunes beyond you, "you can't imagine..."

You couldn't. But every part of you wanted to. And those parts won.

"Won't you tell me?"

Paul's attention shifts back to you after you speak, before you can stop yourself.

"Would it be kind to tell you?" He asks aloud, speaking half to himself as his eyes go to search yours again, studying every inch of you, almost unsettlingly intently.

"Do you dream?" Paul questions you softly, and you dither before shaking your head.

"Not like you do," you answer steadily.

"Like I do. Seeing your face amidst the streaks of sunbeams and every kind of ethereal power that could create wonders, planets, worlds. Waking up, and you're not here, though it felt so real," he goes on, his voice laced with longing, as if it pained him to remember the feeling. "Realer than I've ever felt anything before. Every sense in me was awakened, because with destiny, I saw hope. And I did not know that hope could be so.... beautifully... angelic."

Paul draws closer and closer with each word, pulled by invisible strings to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a long moment to breathe, breathe you in. The sight of it is almost dizzyingly hypnotic, staring at the little scattered freckles over his fair, lightly tanned skin, cheeks flushed golden. He moves his face to rub his cheek against yours, seeking out affection in an irresistible rare, vulnerable move. Your hand reaches up to brush your fingers against it, and he takes it in his immediately, pressing his lips against your fingertips as he speaks.

"I need you," Paul insists, his voice firm and pressing again as he stares at you with a spark of desperation. "I need only you. More than you can comprehend. By my side, always, where you belong."

"I'm right here," you reply a little giddily, looking away from his eyes slightly bashfully from the intensity and unbridled longing of his gaze. "I suppose I'm just not used to this."

"To what?" Paul questions, his fingers tilting your chin up softly to force your eyes back up to his, his face a little closer than before. "To being an Empress?"

Before you can respond, he's pushed himself closer over you, his warm, damp lips sliding and pressing against yours and parting to encourage you to deepen his affections. It sends hot shockwaves rushing straight through your blood, as Paul crouches over you, all patience and purpose forgotten in the moment where it's just the two of you in the calm, lingering desert night.

You fit together perfectly, too perfectly for his words to be untrue, and his head tilts keenly where your fingers skim his neck, his lips parting from yours as they tangle in his hair with a short gasp. He loses none of his confidence and persistence, his azure blue eyes a shade darker as he watches you with an open trace of adoration.

"A queen?"

"Paul," you start shakily, as he smirks at you fondly, his head ducking to trace his tongue briefly up the skin of your neck, with a faint chuckle.

"To being desired?"

You glare at him weakly, hanging onto his hands tight to find some sense of grounding. "You're just playing with me."

"I intend to do so much more than that," Paul grins at you, kissing your cheek before burying his face against your shoulder. "And so should you. Test the depths of our connection. Push it to its limits. Push me. Please."

You find yourself speechless again at his way with words, simple and truthful, but full of passion and unthought romance, a sensation he's been craving since the first shadows of your being in his hazy dreams and visions.

"Give into your destiny, sweet girl," he croons to you in a whisper, his lips brushing against yours and pressing down against your skin needily, hungrily. It takes almost inhumane strength not to crumble and shiver under his touch and desire radiating off him and his dark glare, the wanting over years of dreams and prophecies building up to its peak. "Give into me."

"I think I will," you whisper back in awe and giddiness, your arms having to hold tightly around his neck to stay upright. "I think I want to."

"That's good," he praises you with a soft smile, as his voice lowers. "And besides," Paul mutters in your ear, nuzzling against your cheek breathlessly, with that subtle, teasing look in his eyes, "I plan on taking you as mine well before the wedding."

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Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @minaxcarter @milaeth @ennycutie @weird0o0 @aoi-targaryen @jindongdongie

Gilded Lily

Summary: You were born to die and unlike the others around you, you have accepted that truth long ago. But then, things change. Your father is killed, the Atreides are made royal and you are captured.

Warning (s): Detailed death scene, sick characters, eventual smut, eventual major character death, talks of killing and murder, blah blah blah.

Notes: this is part one bc the doc was getting out of hand 😭 This is 4.8k words. Don't tell me if this is bad, imma burst into tears.

PART TWO!!

Twelve years of planning, scheming, and rebellion was lost in a single night. Twelve years of anger, unrest, and injustice were destroyed because a father loved his daughter too much.

In years time, when you are long dead and your family's legacy is nothing but a story told to warn others, you hope they offer your father grace. That for all his twisted and cruel ways, for all his betrayal plotting— they see that he is, was, a father. One who loved fiercely, who wanted to protect the only family he had left.

His execution is a slow process, The Duke stands dressed in a mix of blacks, greens, and gold behind his kneeling figure. His face set in a grim frown, he speaks of your father's betrayal; he details multiple attacks, and coups set upon the Atreides family and their supporters. He lists the dead, the people your father had killed, and the deaths he played a part in. The Duke talks and talks, and his people listen, they cheer and shout for blood to be spilled. They chant his name, they call him King.

Your father does not take his eyes off of you. He does not cry, he does not beg for mercy. He simply stares straight ahead, his lips pulled into a humorless smile. He may not cry but his eyes shine with unshed tears and his gazes waivers ever so slightly to the chains around your wrists and ankles, to the guards that are pinned to your sides. His grin wobbles and he blinks. But he does not cry. Not in front of you, in front of the Duke soon to be crowned King, and not for the supporters who linger in the crowd.

The executioner's blade rises, the crowd's cheers are near deafening, and the Duke looks away; he looks at you. There is a pity in his gaze but there is also fierce determination. The rebellion ends here.

The blade drops. You see it all in slow motion, the Duke turning his son away, his mistress watching on. The crowd jumping— cheering, mothers shielding the eyes of their children. Your father, he lets his smile drop, his mouth opens—

I love–

The sentence is never finished. His head falls, rolling into the crowd. The guards hold you up as you collapse, screaming.

The rebellion ends here.

➫➫➫

“I refuse.”

There's a hiss of annoyance from the servant. She holds your meal and your medicine on a golden tray, balancing them with the prior doses. It's been three days since the death of your father, two weeks since you last heard from your brother and nearly four days since you've eaten or taken your medicine.

It's starting to take a toll on you, the grief, and your sickness. Your mouth is constantly dry, and no amount of water is enough to sate your thirst. Your hands are constantly shaking, aching with an ancient pain, and most times you are confined to your bed because the ache in your bones is too much to bear.

When your bones don't ache, the pain in your chest takes the stage— making each breath feel like it's pinching its way out of your lungs. Your existence is miserable.

You had begged your captors for death, and they had denied.

The servant shuffles in her place, her face pinched. “The King insisted, Lady.” The title leaves her mouth sour as if she dreads to address you as such. “He wishes to remind you that you are not a prisoner here. That you are free to leave your room with a guard as long as you take your medicine.”

You aren't a prisoner, are you? With a room plated in gold and a constant stream of food and water, how could you be considered as such? You even had a servant— a maid who despised your very existence but was eager to listen to your every command if you so much as said it. You had tried to ignore it, to throw a sheet over the truth. You were more a spoil of war than a prisoner of it.

Still, you hold strong. “Tell the King, I refuse. Tell him the only thing I wish for is death.”

The maid takes a breath, you think she'll slam the try down and storm off. She had done so before, only to shuffle back hours later to do the same song and dance all over again, but she didn't. She places the tray down by the door and stalks further into the room, you watch with wary eyes as she sits to the left of you. In a plush green chair, her hazel eye stare is piercing. “You are being childish.”

You scoff and though the action is painful, you sink further into the bed and look away from her. She only sneers at you, continuing. “You are childish, selfish and ignorant of all those that surround you. The King offers a branch and you refuse to take it?”

“Your King killed my father.” You wheeze, your lungs giving a painful squeeze. “I think I'm allowed to be all those things and more.”

“He is not my King.” She spits, her voice a deadly whisper. “And you are not the only one who's lost people. My mother, my brother and my nephews are dead. Leto Atreides refused to do anything about the sickness sweeping across his settlements and my people paid for it.” She takes a deep breath, cooling the anger that dances across her face. “The rebellion is not lost. We still have a fighting chance.”

You give the servant a tired look. “My father is dead. Your leader is gone and even if he wasn't, he was a monster, he killed hundreds.”

“And what is that compared to this King's thousands?” She retorts. “Your father was not a monster, he was a commander. A voice for the scorned and your brother the sword to his cause. You can pick up where they left off, you can fix this.”

A laugh spills past your lips, it's damn near hysteric and it jolts the servant in her seat. “Fix what, exactly? I can not raise the dead, my brother is lost and my sickness threatens to claim my life. Preach your hymns to another light, Lady. Preferably not a pyre.”

She doesn't appreciate your joke, she stands abruptly, her lips tight and her brows furrowed. “Your father would not want this for you. Neither would your brother. They talked of you, constantly. Endlessly. They told us you knew nothing of their plans, that they kept you in the dark because they thought you'd risk everything to join them despite your sickness.” She looks to you, searching your face for the girl they spoke of. She looks away when all that stares back at her is a person rotting away. “It seems they were wrong.”

She doesn't let you get another word in before she leaves. The door slams behind her and your eyes struggle to find the movement. To think he would have supporters hid right under the King's nose— it was probably a backup plan; to have the very girl who dotes on you now, saddle up to the King. For her to get close enough to where his guard drops and she could sneak in the finishing blow, or maybe,it was insurance. Maybe, just maybe, your father knew he'd fail in the long run and to have people inside the castle was another way to protect you when he was gone.

Your eyes flutter shut with a huff, who was she to preach to you? To try to convince you to shove the very thing that cripples you to the side to take up the pipedream that was your father's legacy?

You loved your father, you love your brother. But you are no fool, they did not tell you in fear that you'd join them. They didn't tell you because you'd refuse to do so. You were not blind to the sins of Duke— King Leto, but they were things he could not prevent. The very sickness the servant speaks of was something incurable, something unstoppable and yet when the King tried to close borders to limit its reach, every trader rich and poor had complained. They snuck past guards and bribed their way into areas closed off and so, the sickness continued till all that caught it died and the only ones left were those who were immune.

Thousands died but their deaths were something not even the most talented healer could prevent. Thousands died and their King mourned with them, sending out provisions; medicines, food and clean water. He had offered to cut the land tax and offered the family of the dead a hefty amount of silver to help them in trying times. The King, then Duke, mourned his people and yet, some of them blamed him.

The King has his sins and he atones for them. He has to live with them. But your father? Your father had killed people in cold blood for not supporting his cause, he had robbed the sick and poor to fund his rebellion. Your father had cried; retribution! His people answered in blood.

Your father was not a commander, he was a monster and your brother his teeth.

Still, a part of you clings to the image of them they showed you. It clings to the father who'd greet you every morning with your medicine and a smile, it clings to the brother who treated you as if you've never fallen sick— who snuck you out for your planets first snowfall and showed you how to pet the serpents that laid in your riverbeds. It clings to the family, no matter how small and broken it was. Two truths could exist at once.

Your family were monsters. True. Your family was the only peace and safety you'd ever know. The truth.

You don't want to fall asleep but your body works against you, deciding that your pain will be more bearable if you aren't awake to feel every ache in your bones and stab in your chest. You can't fight, you don't really try to— but, as your consciousness fades, you hear your door open with a click. You can't force your eyes open but you hope it's the King, you hope he's granting your wish.

➫➫➫

Paul tries his best to understand his father. He studies his actions, his words and listens to whatever thoughts he chooses to share. He retraces his steps starting from the very moment Leto Atreides was named Duke and ending when he was crowned a King.

His father has suffered tragedy after tragedy, from the death of his own father to the death of his first wife and son.

Paul Atreides likes to think he gets his father, understands him on a level only a son could. But no matter how hard he tries, he can not, for the life of him, understand why his father spares the children of that traitorous Balliol man. Kings before him would have made examples of them— the death of their father wouldn't have been enough, they would have cut the hands off the son and forced him to fight in coliseums. They would have stripped his daughter bare, cut her hair to her scalp and parade her around their kingdoms till the elements took her. There would have been songs, plays made about the fall of the great Balliol family and the rise of the Golden King. His father, who has always told him to look to the past; to learn the stories of his grandfather and all before him, does not do the same.

He turns Paul away from the sight of his death. He sends his son, a man nicknamed The Butcher, away to a planet whose inhabitants were known to never anger or raise a hand in violence. He rids the Butcher of his weapons and collars him so any violence is punished with a painful zap. He keeps his daughter, a sickly girl, locked away somewhere deep in the castle with servants waiting on her hand and foot. He thinks it's a waste of resources— you were dying anyway, so why not cast you aside and let you rot instead of trying to cure you? He doesn't get it. He doesn't understand.

His father tells him it's because he's not thinking like a ruler. His father looks disappointed, horribly so, when he voices his thoughts and tells him, in a kinder way, to grow up. That he is no longer a future Duke, but a future King. With the defeat of Balliol and all his supporters, came a responsibility much bigger than the planets they left behind.

“It is a cycle, Paul.” His father rasps, his voice thick as he nurses a cup of liquor and a cigar to dull his migraine. His mother, ever diligent, ever loyal, is at his side. Her hands rubbed soothing circles into his skin. “A pattern, even. Of endless hurt. I cut the head off the Hydra. That should be enough.”

“No,” Paul protests, his voice hard. “When you cut off one head, two more grow in its place–”

“A cycle,” Leto says again, his eyes distant. “What shall I do when I cut those two heads and four sprouts in its place? Should I respond with violence every time? When does it end, Paul? Why must my hands be stained with blood endlessly when I can allow the two living heads to learn from the priors’ mistakes?”

For a moment, Paul is speechless. He looks to his mother for some type of support only to wilt when she has her head bowed away from him. She agrees with his father. Paul doesn't get it, endless possibilities run through his mind— his dreams do not hold solid answers, nor does Duncan when he turns to him. He doesn't get it and wants to desperately. So, he tries a different angle.

“Balliol was a monster.”

His father hums, he doesn't disagree. “He was a friend, once.”

“And because he was a friend, you pardon his children? His son?”

Leto takes a sip from his cup, chuckling humorlessly. Jessica sighs. Both sounds make him bristle. He watches as his father places his cup to the side, and his cigar in a tray before looking at him. Truly looking at him. “Would you kill for me, Paul?”

Paul blinks, chest tightening. “What?”

“If I asked it of you, would you?” Leto asks again, “If I told you it was the right thing to do, that if it'd save your mother, that you would never have to hurt again, would you kill for me?”

Jessica makes a noise of protest, her eyes flickering between the two of them but Leto holds up a hand, his gaze never wavering. Paul hesitates, only for a second before swallowing. “Of course, I would.”

“Why?”

“Because you asked me to,” Paul answers, slowly. He looks at his father unsurely, “I don't–”

“Why would it matter that I asked, Paul? Would you have answered differently if someone else asked?” Leto presses.

“Of course, I would–”

"Why?”

“Because you're my father!” Paul snaps. Jessica lets her eyes fall shut, taking a shuddering breath. Leto slumps into his chair, Paul continues unsteadily, “I would do it because you're my father. I would do anything you asked of me.”

Leto picks up his glass, his hands shake almost unnoticeably but the ice rattles like a snake in his cup. “ Exactly. So, why should I punish another son for doing what my own would do? Why would I punish a girl whose only sin was being her father's daughter?”

Paul doesn't answer. He doesn't have to, Leto's words sit heavy in his chest, on his soul. He squirms in his seat, under his father's gaze then—

“Paul–”

He's on his feet before he can think, storming away like a petulant child. His father grabs his mother by her arm before she can follow him, and he tells her to let him go. It is something he's never done before. But, it is something he is thankful for. He needs to think, he needs time.

He needs to think like a future King and not a boy.

➫➫➫

The air is cool when you wake. The ceiling is a glittering, sparkling silver, and the blankets that cover you are not blankets at all— instead, a thin gray sheet spills over you messily, bunched in some areas and dips to the floor in others. You turn your head just slightly, squinting as a glow orb floats over your head, it pulses at you almost curiously before floating off deeper into the room.

You blink. Your mind is trying its best to shake off the fog that clings to it. This is not your room. Well, not the room you were in before. This room is silver and white, its floor carpeted instead of marbled and every possible sharp edge of the room is rounded. Your eyes fall to your body, taking in the thick white nightgown that now covers your body to the IV embedded in the crook of your arm. Your lips part and your body shivers, for the first time in a long time, your constant thirst is bearable, the ache in your bones is nothing but a memory and your chest doesn't pinch painfully.

You take a breath, a deep one, and let it go. You stir under the sheets, trying to sit up but you struggle— days without food have made your body weak and most unwilling to respond.

“Here,” A voice starts and suddenly gentle hands are helping you upright. You blink at him, in shock, staring at his face wide-eyed and Paul avoids your stare, fluffing the pillow behind you. Though, when you don't look away, his eyes meet yours with a frown. “What?”

Yours snap away instantly and you flinch away from his grasp immediately, “Sorry. I'm–” Your heart pounds, you dare to peek at him again but he's staring above you at a monitor that displays your vitals. He watches the jump in your pulse with the same frown, if not deeper than before. Your hands grip weakly at the sheets, should you bow? Could you bow? There was a prince in your presence, towering over your bed. It was something of romance novels, of fantasy long lost and, it makes you sicker than you are. You wish for space, you wish for the room before and where they left you to rot. “Where–”

Paul steps away as if he was never close in the first place, his gaze trailing away from you and to a tray. It's smaller than any of the other ones, it only has a small bowl of oatmeal, paired with diced berries and a small cup of juice. Your medicine is nowhere to be seen but the sight of the IV in your arms tells you they resorted to other methods to get you to take it. Methods that were always out of reach for you when your father was alive. He waves a hand and the bot holding the tray rises with a whirring noise and wheels till it's near your bed and slowly, lowers the tray into your lap. You look at the tray, the food, and the bot, which lets out a delightful little beep then at Paul who is watching you with a careful look of indifference.

“You are still in the castle.” He answers your unfinished question from before. “We had you transferred to a smaller, safer room when you refused to wake. It has only been a day, you are lucky. They were considering a feeding tube.” He pauses, smiling listlessly. “They still are. Eat.”

You give the oatmeal a look. It's bland, even with the berries and juice. It smells of wet paper and paste and it makes your stomach turn on itself. “I’m not hungry.”

“And I'm not the son of a King.” He refutes. “You will get better food in time, when you prove you can handle this type first. We can't give you big portions or season it– it will only cause more pain.” When you make no move to grab the spoon, Paul considers you for a moment. His eyes search your face, fluttering in thought, “Can you move your arms?”

“Barely.” You admit, you can barely muster the energy to unclench your fist let alone raise your arms to eat. It is utterly embarrassing.

Paul sighs, “I shall fetch your maid and–”

Your pulse spikes, fast enough to make the silent monitor beep in warning. You do not want to deal with that woman again, she'll only rant about your father again or perhaps she'd refuse to feed you till you agreed to help her. She seems like the type. “No.” You hiss. Paul watches you shift in your bed, your face twisting in pain, “I can– I can do it myself, there is no need to get her.”

“You are being stubborn.” He says, his voice softening when you flinch again. His lips seel shut for only a moment, considering his words before he speaks. “She is meant to help you, my father assigned her, himself. She will not hurt you–” Your pulse spikes, and the monitor beeps in warning again. Paul falls silent, his face taunt. His mouth opens but the words catch in his throat, like he doesn't truly want to ask, he does so anyways. “Has she hurt you?”

“No.” You answer but his eyes aren't on you, it's on your pulse.

“You are lying.” He says, not accusing but shocked that you are doing so. He looks away from the monitor and back to you. “Why are you lying for her if she hurt you?”

“Because she hasn't hurt me, not physically. It doesn't matter. You don't need to get her, I can feed myself.” You respond, you urge your arms to lift, your fist to unclench and they're slow to listen. It feels as if you are lifting blocks of concrete but you push through it till your hands rest on the tray, your fingers only inches away from the spoon. “Thank you for the meal, my… my Prince. But I am sure I am keeping you from other duties, you are free to leave.”

Paul doesn't budge, he watches you disbelieving. “Eat.”

“I will–”

“No. Show me that you can bring the spoon to your mouth and I shall leave.” He takes a step towards you, his hair falling into his face. “Eat.”

How stubborn your new prince is. You swallow your annoyance and inch your fingers closer to the spoon, it's a snail's pace but you are moving and that's enough. Your fingers are slow to wrap around the handle of the spoon, even slower to lift— your arm shakes furiously, your wrist nearly gives out, it takes longer than you like to get the spoon in the bowl and when you try to lift it again, your body protests. You clear your throat, and narrow your eyes on your hand and try again, it doesn't move.

Paul sucks in a breath and walks towards you once more, he pulls a chair close to your bed and plops down gracelessly. Your eyes slide to him, ready to question him but he leans forward, snatching the spoon from your hand and pulls the try closer to him with his free one. “What are you–” He doesn't let you finish the sentence before placing a spoonful of oatmeal in your mouth.

You blink rapidly and swallow, opening your mouth again whilst leaning back, away from him. “Your majesty–?” Paul leans forward again and gives you another spoonful. He does this everytime you try to speak, looking faintly pleased to shut you up and most annoyed when you try to talk with your mouth full. So, you give up and let the Prince feed you,he makes quick work of it once he realizes you are no longer trying to talk and the bowl is quickly emptied and is placed to the side as he stands and grabs the cup and gently brings it to your lips. Your nose crinkles as you stare through the clear glass of the cup at him and he only raises his brows.

“You are very persistent.” You murmur, taking a small sip of juice. The taste of berries and hibiscus is sweet enough to make your stomach turn upon swallowing. Weakly, you turn and lean away from the cup, allowing yourself to fall back on your pillows. Paul lets you do so, grabbing the tray and handing it back to the small robot who beeps again. He places the bowl and cup on the tray and dismisses the bot.

He watches it roll out the room with his lips pressed together, then turns back to you. “You’re… sick.”

You blink tiredly at him, “Obviously.”

He lets out a huff, the corners of his lips pulling up into a smile before he smothers it. Shaking his head and tucking the messy strands of his hair behind his ear, he tries again. “I mean– How long have you been sick? There was no mention of it on any medical records.”

“I’ve been sick since I was a child.” Longer, if you were being honest. You were a sick baby, a sick newborn, sick in your mother's womb. “My father thought it would be best if we kept it a secret. We were a powerful warehouse and a sick daughter is a weakness that can not be fixed. Cured.”

Paul's hands drop, folding behind his back as he tilts his head. “Interesting choice of words. Do you truly believe you can't be cured or is that something your father drilled in your head?”

Your eye twitches, just slightly and you try to pull the sheets higher up your body. Eating food has made you drowsy, you can feel your body urging you to sleep once again. When the sheet doesn't budge, Paul pulls it up your body without much thought, waiting for your answer. You take a small breath, eyes closing, “It's something that I know. My sickness is incurable, I am dying and my medicine only pushes the date further and further out. It is a waste of resources to keep me alive. Something I told my father, something I tried to tell the King.”

Paul hums, considering, then, “Nothing is incurable, Lady.”

A tired snort leaves you. “Do you know how my father was caught?” Paul doesn't answer, your eyes crack open and there's a thin smile on your lips, “He believed he had found it, a cure for me. He wanted me to live, he had already lost his wife, he could not bear to lose a daughter. So he willingly covered his eyes with wool and ignoring the pleas of me and my brother, he went out to secure it. Do you know what he found? He found your father's men.” You sigh, “And now we are here.”

Paul shakes his head. “There is a cure for you, Lady Balliol. We will find one and when we do, I ask a favor from you.” You let out a questioning hum, your eyes falling shut. Paul ignores the way his heart thunders at the sight of you. Truly, you are sickly, horribly so. “Your father left behind files… we can not open them without active DNA from his bloodline. You are his closest living relative with your brother being light years away, will you open them for us?”

You murmur tiredly and Paul shifts, calling your name again. You stir sluggishly, your words slow, “And if you don't cure me? What do I get in return?”

“Well, you'll be dead if we don't cure you.” He snorts, smothering another smile when you chuckle in agreement, “But…but I give you full permission, with the void as my witness to haunt me endlessly. There will never be a day where my thoughts stray from you. Is that good enough for you?”

You can only muster a nod, your chest rising and falling steadily as you fall into an easy sleep. Paul doesn't leave right away, he lingers at your doorway, his eyes trailing over your face. Over the slope of your nose and the hollowness in your cheeks, he pictures you healthy, cured. Plump with fattening foods and with the very existence of life, you were already pretty but that image of you makes a much prettier sight. The robot rolls back in, beeping to itself in a sweet little tune and stops right before Paul, its mismatched eyes flickering up at him.

“Do send me a message when she wakes, Cricket.”

Cricket beeps in understanding and Paul lets him in, watching for only one more moment before shaking his head. He has things to do.

!!PART TWO!!!