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lanasblood · 1 year

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JUST NETEYAM | neteyam x reader

pairing: olo'eyktan!neteyam x f!reader

summary: despite being from a different clan and expected to marry the leader of the omatikaya without knowing him, you agree to it for the sake of your family, but doubts start haunting you the moment you set foot in the clan, causing you to plan your escape on the day of your mating ceremony.

word count: 8k

warnings: arranged marriage trope, fluffffff, love-at-first-sight kinda thing, a bit of angst in the beginning, traditions, non-sexual nudity, prejudiced reader, royal neteyam, he is just such a prince it's unreal!!

note: all characters are aged up by five years. the title eyktan/eykte (leader) being unofficially reserved for the olo'eyktan (clan leader)'s mate made sense to me since both are supposed to rule together. please correct me if i’m wrong. see end notes for more.

* gif‘s not mine.

You will learn to love her. He remembered his mother's voice, and he recalled the vast expanse of the sky, where billowing clouds danced gracefully and the wind embraced him with gentle caresses. The sky, like an endless canvas, painted in hues of blue, purple, and gold, held a beauty that stirred his soul.

Instead of roaring waves crashing against the cliffs, he witnessed the majestic flight of ikrans, soaring high above the jagged peaks. Their wings, strong and mighty, carried him through the heavens, as if he were a part of their elegant dance. Gone were the humpbacked sea surfaces, replaced by the boundless freedom of the open sky. The white foam, once adorning the ocean's crown, now transformed into fluffy clouds, resembling intricately woven blankets. It was as if the heavens themselves provided a soft embrace, offering comfort and warmth.

They were little things, nothing really worth mentioning, such as the sun rays tickling his soft skin, or the laughter of his siblings echoing in his memories, not as they played with ilus in the water, but now as they soared alongside him, sharing the pure joy of flight. Even the taste of sea salt, carried on the wind, found a place in this ethereal domain. With closed eyes, he could almost feel a delicate touch of salt upon his lips, a reminder of the distant ocean and the memories it held. He missed those times. Not because he preferred swimming over climbing, or blue over green, that was completely not the case, but because he missed his youth, even from a time when his family sought shelter. He missed being careless, learning new things, having fun, and he would've laughed at his younger self who, even though rarely, complained about the number of duties and responsibilities he had on his shoulders — because nothing could compare to the duties and responsibilities he faced now as Olo'eyktan.

So for once, he liked to lose himself in memories of the sea before he pictured himself back in the sky, on the back of his ikran, where he found a world of wonder, where every little detail became a cherished treasure. The sky had become his limitless playground, an infinite expanse that awakened his spirit and filled his heart with boundless freedom.

He had been incredibly nostalgic ever since his parents had announced the arrangement for him; how overjoyed they had told him that they had found a mate for him, and he guessed it was self-explanatory why a part of him wanted to hold on to his past; not ready to take that further step.

Standing there and observing the preparations and exquisite decorations his people had arranged, he realized that the efforts he had endured for this ceremony were not in vain. The Omatikaya had gone to great lengths to create a magnificent celebration, honoring the union of a new pair; the one of their clan leader. Intricate craftsmanship was displayed in the decorations made from natural materials, the delicate floral arrangements that adorned the surroundings, and the gentle flicker of candles all held meaningful details. However, despite the beauty surrounding him, he couldn't help but yearn for the moment when it would all finally be over.

Five moons ago, he had thought not much of it, he had been convinced he'd find a way out of it, and here he was. Trapped in memories, in the infinity of the skies and seas, here, time stood still, so that eternity could begin, and right here he felt well, he felt safe.

"Bro!" A hand clawed onto his upper arm, abruptly pulling him out of his thoughts, as a breathless Lo'ak stood before him — or rather, hunched over, supporting himself with his other hand on his knees, and breathing deeply, inhaling and exhaling heavily.

"Mawey, brother." Neteyam carefully placed his hand on his brother's head and sought his face, trying to understand the situation. Lo'ak just shook his head hastily, trying to control his breathing.

"Are you okay?" Lo'ak was clearly not okay, yet Neteyam tried to maintain his composure as unpleasant images infiltrated his thoughts, his mind going through any possible worst case scenario. He hoped that nothing had happened to his family, and involuntarily, he felt annoyed that he hadn't seen Tuk and Kiri for a while, worrying about them.

"I got it, I got it." Lo'ak shook his hand off, breathing normally again. "It's.." He took a deep breath before saying it all at once, "It's your mate-to-be."

Neteyam's ears perked up in alarm. Lo'ak, having somewhat calmed his breathing, cringed, now struggling with his words instead. Perhaps he shouldn't have announced this so dramatically in front of his older brother, because he now feared that one problem would become two.

"Yes?" Neteyam patiently but firmly encouraged him to continue. He was suddenly caught in a conflict within himself, wrestling to keep his expression neutral, knowing that it would raise unease among curious ears and attentive watchers.

Apprehensive of his brother's reaction, Lo'ak didn't know how to say it, "Uh, I kinda… please don't be mad at me."

"Spill it, Lo'ak," Neteyam hissed through gritted teeth, now impatient and slightly on edge due to his younger brother's panicking behavior.

He feared the worst now but he didn't want to jump to premature conclusions. Still, something clearly must've happened and he inwardly hoped for her to be alright and safe. Yes, she was a stranger to him whom he had never seen once, but she was soon to become the closest and most important person in his life after all.

Lo'ak's gaze was filled with guilt, when he unsurely admitted, "I, uh… lost… her…?"

And that was it. All the facial features of the otherwise composed clan leader contorted as he looked at his brother in disbelief. Lost her? How do you lose a grown person?

The inner leader within him knew that he immediately had to gather as much information as possible about this situation. Finding her before the ceremony was crucial, and he should coordinate efforts with their best trackers and devise a strategic plan to cover all possible areas she might have gone.

His false, rationalized side tried to reassure him, suggesting that nothing had happened. Perhaps Lo'ak hadn't seen her in the tent, or she had been engrossed in a conversation. Maybe she simply got caught up in preparations and lost track of time. It's not uncommon for delays to happen before important ceremonies.

His emotionally calibrated side couldn't help but worry about her well-being, as well as the well-being of others. What if she had sustained an injury? What if she required assistance? And with a touch of paranoia, he feared something much worse, considering sabotage and abduction.

His reflected psychological side, however, completely dismissed these possibilities, because most likely, his family had intimidated her, and she had gotten cold feet. And if she truly matched him as well as his parents had described, then he could assess her emotional state and he had a feeling where she would be right now.

Ultimately, his strategically valuable side gained the upper hand and decided to embark on the search immediately, knowing exactly where to start.

"What did you tell her?"

Lo'ak looked at him completely lost, "Nothing, really, just that you're Olo'eyktan," he shrugged, "It's not like she didn't know that already."

And once again, he remembered his elders' words, and for the first time, a subtle sense of doubt began to creep into his mind, when he recalled what they had said:

You will learn to love her.

TWO HOURS AGO.

"I must inspect her body." You had expected many things, but not this. You had already come to terms with the idea of never being able to make your own choices again after everything you had experienced in the past couple of hours. And yet, you found yourself taken aback by this one simple sentence.

Five moons ago, you had been sitting in your family's tent in front of your parents when your mother had dropped the announcement that had changed everything. That day, you had been feeling uneasy from the moment you had gotten up, unable to quite place why. But when your mother had revealed the news, it had all become clear, changing everything.

"My daughter, you have been chosen by the Omatikaya to become their Olo'eyktan's mate," your mother had said, beaming with pride.

Immediately, your heart had sunk. While you had heard of the clan, you had remained a foreigner to their lands, unfamiliar with their Olo'eyktan, a man you had never encountered. It had become painfully clear to you that you were not ready to unite in a mating ceremony with a complete stranger, devoid of both familiarity and love.

"Do I have to, mother?" you had asked, your voice shaking with emotion.

"But yes, this is a great honor for our family. You were chosen, out of all the clans, out of all the girls in our clan, to marry Toruk Makto's eldest son," your mother had said, trying to convince you, "It's a sign of respect and trust."

"But what if I don't love him? What if we're not compatible?"

"My daughter," your mother's voice had carried firmness, "you are being unreasonable. This is not about love. It is about the well-being of our clan and the future of our people. Arrangements are part of our traditions for generations, and they have served us well. Your father and I, too, entered into an arranged union, and we have found happiness together."

She had continued, her tone resolute, "He is a commendable man. We have known of him and his achievements since he was but a child. As the successor to his father, he carries the legacy of our shared battles against our enemies." You had remembered all of the stories and tales, about a time before your time, about your father and mother fighting against the skypeople at the side of Toruk Makto. "For he led the clans to victory and if his son has inherited even a fraction of his character, you could not ask for a more suitable companion. He is talented, responsible, a formidable warrior, and an exceptional leader."

Your father had spoken up for the first time. "Your mother is right. The Omatikaya are good people, and their Olo'eyktan is a good man. He will take care of you and you will be happy together."

You had felt like you were suffocating at the realization that your own family had been willing to force you into a loveless marriage just for the sake of tradition, honor, and alliances.

"But what about my own happiness?" your voice had been barely above a whisper.

"Your happiness is important, my daughter," your mother had spoken, "But this is not just about you, you have a duty for our clan. You will become Eykte, and eventually Tsahìk, too, you will grant our clan safety and protection for generations to come."

You had known you weren't going to win this argument, feeling trapped, and so, so helpless. Looking down at your hands, you had been feeling tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn't imagine a life with someone you didn't love.

Your mother had put a hand on your shoulder. "It is okay, you will understand one day. We are doing what is best for you and our clan. Trust us."

But you couldn't have brought yourself to trust them, not after such a betrayal. You had known you had to find a way out of this marriage, but you just hadn't known how. You had looked up at your mother and nodded, pretending to accept your fate. While you had been internally determined to find a way to escape somehow, your mother had smiled at you proudly, and you would probably never forget her following words.

"You will learn to love him."

And now you stood here, in front of the Tsahìk of the Omatikaya — who was so different from the one in your clan — and were forced to undress and be inspected by her; for what purpose, you were not told, but you assumed that the degree of your flawlessness had to be determined and confirmed before you would be presented to the oh-so-great Olo'eyktan. The thought alone made your stomach churn.

"Grandmother, she clearly feels uncomfortable."

"Kiri, you know that it is not me who dictates the rules, for they are woven into the fabric of our existence itself," although her words were thoughtful and calm, her facial expression was anything but. Her gaze bore a sternness that bordered on intimidation, contradicting the tranquility of her voice. "Before the sacred union, both woman and man must embark upon this profound step."

"I don't want to," you said with a determined voice, "No one in our clan does that."

"Well, daughter of a great warrior, you are not in your clan anymore. Starting from today, you are Omatikaya, and you will learn to accept our ways if you want to or not."

A soft cough broke the silence outside the tent, followed by a deep voice asking, "May I enter?"

"Ah, I am too old and weak for such childish affairs," The elderly lady complained before muttering a prayer to herself, clearly at the end of her nerves, and it was more than evident that she was complaining about you and not the man who asked to enter the tent.

"Sure, you can come in," responded the girl standing by your side, who had been your companion throughout the day. Her name was Kiri, and amidst the chaos of the day, she appeared to be the most grounded and relatable person you had encountered; she was clearly the most normal person in this whole clan, that was for sure.

The Tsahìk waved her arms dramatically in the air before clutching her head, expressing dismay, "My days are numbered, and my strength is waning. I cannot keep up with this behavior."

A gruff laughter filled the air as the man stepped into the tent, placing the stack of white fabric on the table before he gently rested a reassuring hand on the elderly lady's shoulder. "Ma dear Tsahìk, you're lookin' healthy and mighty strong, and we're gonna keep you here with us for many cycles to come. No need to worry 'bout a thing, trust me."

"Be careful, jakesully, you begin talking like skypeople again," the woman said bitterly before her stern gaze fixated on you again, "Just where did you find this stubborn girl?"

Both the man and the elderly lady turned their attention towards you. The older woman's expression held a tinge of disgust, while the man offered an apologetic smile, as if trying to reassure you. Silence hung in the air, and without thinking, the words spilled from your lips, words that had plagued your thoughts since stepping foot on this new land that morning.

"Will I be introduced to the Olo'eyktan soon or…?"

The elder dismissed your question with a scoff, shooting a meaningful glance at the tall man beside her as if to say, Do you see what I mean? Instead of providing an answer, she posed a statement, her tone laced with accusation. "She reminds me of you. Is that why you chose her?"

The man shifted his gaze to you, offering an awkward smile before turning back to the Tsahìk. With confidence that appeared to stem from his own conviction, he declared, "She will learn our ways."

You will learn their way.

You will learn to adapt.

You will learn to love him.

The only thing you would eventually learn was to obey.

"Well, she has to learn a lot. That poor soul lacks understanding and respect for our ways and traditions. So far, I'm not convinced she's the right person to lead alongside the Olo'eyktan," the elder remarked, her words heavy with skepticism.

"Ma Jake? Are you here?" Before anyone could respond, a stunning woman entered the tent with grace and elegance, capturing the attention of all present.

"There is so much more to do, and so little time left," the Tsahìk remarked, brushing off the interruption.

The woman gently placed a hand on the elder's shoulder, mirroring the gesture of support shown by the man named jakesully earlier. Her presence exuded confidence and a calming aura, diffusing some of the tension in the room.

"Mother," she spoke in a soothing tone, her voice carrying a hint of authority. "Why are you stressing yourself out? It is a big day for your grandson, and you should take it easy."

Grandson. Your eyes widened almost imperceptibly. The family dynamics suddenly fell into place. It all made sense. You found yourself in a room surrounded by the closest members of your betrothed's family, yet there was no sign of him. His grandmother, his father, his mother, his sister were all present right in front of you.

The Tsahìk sighed and looked up at her daughter, concern etched on her face. "I know, Neytiri. But there is so much at stake, so much to be done," she replied, her voice laden with a sense of responsibility. "As the wisdom of time falls upon me and by the guide of Eywa, it is my duty to examine her physical form before the mating ceremony, and all she does is protest and complain."

Jakesully cleared his voice, "I mean, we cannot force her. If she doesn't—"

"She has to, ma Jake," Neytiri, the graceful woman who had entered, interrupted him with a serious gaze, "And she will." Then she shifted her gaze towards you, her eyes filled with compassion.

Leaning closer to her mother, she said, "You have guided our people for generations, mother. Today, let us handle the preparations while you focus on preserving your strength."

The Tsahìk seemed hesitant to relinquish control, but after a moment of contemplation, she nodded in agreement. "Very well, my daughter. I entrust this responsibility to you and Jakesully. May Eywa guide your actions."

Neytiri smiled warmly, her eyes flickering with gratitude. "Thank you, mother. We will do our best to honor our traditions."

With a sense of relief, the Tsahìk rose from her seat, her weariness momentarily lifted. She turned to you, her stern expression softening ever so slightly. "As for you, young one, understand that our customs are not merely rituals, but a connection to our ancestors and the land that sustains us. Embrace our ways, and you will find your place within our clan."

You met her gaze, a glimmer of kindness in hers as you didn't falter your firm expression whereupon your understanding of tradition began to shift, morphing into a newfound curiosity.

Jakesully stepped forward, his voice resonating with encouragement. "It may seem overwhelming at first, but with time, you will come to understand, trust me."

Neytiri joined his side, her presence radiating strength, "Neither you nor Neteyam are alone in this journey. We will walk beside you, supporting and guiding you every step of the way."

Neteyam. So that was his name. Exactly in that moment, it dawned on you that you had never bothered to ask about his name but so did no one bother to tell you before, as if it was something you should've already known.

"Where is he right now?" you just asked. If the topic of Neteyam had already been mentioned, you didn't want to waste the opportunity. The couple in front of you — his parents — exchanged a brief glance, before you got an answer.

"He is busy with the preparations, but we'll see after him now," Neytiri expressed with a gentle tone and smiled at you. "Kiri will stay here to assist you."

Once again, your question was avoided, and it was becoming increasingly strange. You chose to ignore how one by one, your future family left the tent, leaving you all alone. Kiri had assured you that she would hurry back as she needed to gather some materials. As far as you were concerned, she could take all the time in the world, as it wouldn't change anything about your situation anyway.

"Neteyam." You let the name roll off your tongue, practiced the pronunciation, and let your ears become accustomed to the sound of it. Neteyam. You chuckled to yourself, even though you refused to admit it openly, it was a remarkably beautiful name. At least you had to give him that, you would have a mate with a pretty name. And you could add that to the list of things you knew about him: His name was Neteyam and he was the Olo'eyktan.

You sighed, recalling the conversation with the young man from earlier today. Once you and your brother who took the role as your guardian for today had arrived, this guy had accompanied you through the village, like a personal assistant assigned to you. It seemed as if his main task had been to keep you away from the other villagers, as if you were a disease or plague. Something had seemed off. He hadn't answered many questions, deflecting them instead. And eventually, when the questions became too much for him, he had left you in the caring hands of Kiri and disappeared elsewhere. It had been an interesting encounter with him, for just like Kiri, he possessed an extra finger and hair that gracefully cascaded over his eyes. In retrospect, it dawned upon you that he must surely be a part of the family, and you assumed that Neteyam would likely bear a similar resemblance. Such differences held little concern for you, as they were merely superficial nuances. Before your departure, your friends from your clan had instilled fear within you, weaving tales of demon blood and disfigurement. Yet, you chose to disregard their words, wanting to see for yourself.

Still, the fact that you had not laid eyes upon him and the pervasive silence surrounding his name within the village stirred a faint sense of unease within your core. Could he truly be an outwardly fearsome beast, compelling others to shun him from their thoughts? Or perhaps, he was a cruel leader, commanding such reverence that people dared not utter his name. A sigh escaped your lips, knowing that this enigmatic figure would soon become your better half, your partner in life's journey, and he would be the one to father your offspring. The question lingered, like a whisper in the wind: Could cruelty be inherited, passed down through bloodlines?

At least now you knew your future mate's name.

"…te Suli Neteyam'itan."

"Or y/n'ite," you flinched involuntarily as you heard Kiri's voice when she reentered the tent, and instantly a slight blush crept onto your cheeks, "You know what, kind of eww because he's my brother but it's good that you already think about your children's names," Kiri said smiling smugly.

"I was not—"

"No, I mean it, repeat that in front of my grandmother and she will be head over heels for you." You highly doubted that.

You spent the next hour doing what Kiri instructed, and it wasn't nearly as daunting as you had imagined. The physical examination wasn't a thorough scrutiny of your body. Instead, you were coated in a gentle, liquid healing clay, and it wasn't uncomfortable to have a stranger touch you. Kiri was remarkably professional, but she asked you not to pose distracting questions while she worked. Later, the clay was washed away with water infused with blessings and flower petals, which filled the air with a delightful scent. Once everything was finished, you felt refreshed and rejuvenated, as if reborn. Only then did other people approach you to dress you in exquisite fabrics, feathers, and precious jewelry, and gemstones. The women all appeared kind, but none of them seemed eager to engage in conversation with you. You sat quietly on the mat, your legs folded underneath you, gazing at the wall ahead, as multiple hands adorned you.

As the preparations came to an end, you had still an abundance of questions left, a multitude of them swirling in your mind, and you voiced each and every one of them, undeterred by the avoidance of an answer.

Is he handsome?

Is he kind?

Is he warm?

Cultured?

Artistic?

Athletic?

Strategic?

You persisted in asking, refusing to give up, until you received a satisfactory answer.

"Is he dull? Not very smart? Mentally slow? I can work on those."

However, every response you received was completely off-topic, such as "We can discuss the order of the mating ceremony" or "Our Tsahìk sent over blessings for you to recite during the ceremony..." It was beyond frustrating.

"Is he, like, ugly or something? Maybe he has some kind of physical deformity, but you know, true beauty comes from within anyway and such. Well, not literally from within, but I believe in being a good person and I could deal with it."

At this point, it felt like you were having a one-sided conversation, with question after question piling up like a mountain, and not a single one of them was ever answered sensibly. Instead, you were met with empty platitudes intended to appease you, but it was all in vain: You are going to be an amazing mate, an amazing mother, and an amazing eykte.

Just as you were about to give up, you turned to the young girl who helped you put on some golden beads on your hair, the one that Kiri had referred to as her sister. The youngest Sully child had also joined your company at some point, a truly adorable and vibrant teenage girl whom you had quickly grown fond of. "Can I ask you about your brother?" you feared that the topic was about to be avoided again.

But contrary to your expectation, the younger girl beamed a smile at you and nodded her head in agreement, "Sure, ask away, what do you want to know?"

"What is he like?" You asked your voice filled with curiosity, anticipating her answer and paying attention to her body language.

"I mostly like him, more than Lo'ak at least," the younger girl began venting in a nonchalant tone, "but today I'm so angry at him, he really—"

"Tuktirey!" The stern voice of her mother, Neytiri, suddenly interrupted, causing the girl to look up instantly. The girl fell silent, her eyes wide with attention. "Come help me, please," Neytiri said with a nod towards the forest, before she swiftly exited.

Turning her gaze back to you, a sweet smile still graced her lips. "Don't worry, he's actually the very best," she whispered.

"Tuk!" Neytiri called again, prompting Tuk to rise from her spot.

"I'm sorry, I can't say anything," she hurriedly apologized before rushing towards the tent's exit.

"Tuk, please," you said, reaching out to hold her hand, trying to prevent her from leaving. "Tell me... is he cruel? Is he dumb? I can work with dumb, you know, I just need to know."

Tuk was about to respond when her eyes suddenly widened imperceptibly. You followed her gaze over your shoulder and saw the young man from earlier standing there.

Tuk smiled at you and said, "Did anyone ever tell you how pretty you are? You're going to have wonderful children, I know it." And just like that, she left. Whatever she was about to say, first her mother and now this man had stopped her.

"What is your problem?" you asked, irritation seeping into your voice as you stood up from your place. "We were having a conversation, why did you stop her from talking?"

"I would never do that to my own sister," he replied seriously.

So Kiri, Tuk, and this guy, probably Lo'ak, were all Neteyam's siblings.

"Why are you here?" you inquired, your bad mood getting the better of you.

"I'm here to assist," he answered nonchalantly.

"Okay, then you tell me," you demanded, your voice filled with anticipation. "Tell me about the Olo'eyktan."

A thoughtful pause lingered in the air before the guy responded, his gaze holding a promise of an imminent encounter. "You will meet him soon," he assured you, sensing your yearning for immediate understanding.

"I want to know now," you pressed, a hint of urgency coloring your words.

He let out a weary sigh, acknowledging your eagerness. "He is our clan leader — the clan of the blue flute," he began.

"Yes," you affirmed the initial fragments of knowledge that you already knew.

"He has held the esteemed position of the successor of the former Olo'eyktan since his childhood, as he is the firstborn child," he continued, acting as if it were the most revealing information.

"Yes," you echoed, impatience in your voice.

"And for two cycles of harvest time, he has guided us Omatikaya as our chief," he concluded, underscoring the same repeated information, now for the third time.

"Yes," you mused, the repetition of information giving rise to a discerning observation, one that definitely confirmed your gut feeling. "Okay, so you've told me he is the clan leader, he is Olo'eyktan, the chief of the Omatikaya, the firstborn, and the successor since birth... these are all the same things."

"Yes," he acknowledged, his face looking serious and his voice carrying a hint of nervousness, "but they are all facts."

You stifled an annoyed sigh as everything felt so strange here from the moment you arrived until now. It was baffling that nobody, and absolutely nobody at all, was talking about him. It almost seemed like a conspiracy, leaving you perplexed.

You realized your parents were wrong from the very beginning, and that's when you decided to put an end to it. You refused to stay any longer in this clan, let alone mate with him.

"Excuse me for a moment," You muttered as you tried to pass by Lo'ak, but he positioned himself at the exit in a way that blocked any way out.

"I'm really sorry, but you'll have to stay here until the ceremony," he explained, wearing an awkward smile on his face.

"Sure, but I really need a moment of privacy."

"Yeah, of course, I won't bother you in the tent."

"No, you don't understand," you made one final attempt, but no matter how obvious it seemed, Lo'ak couldn't grasp the situation. He stared at you with a perplexed look as you let out a sigh and concluded your statement, "Nature is calling."

"Oh," his eyes grew wide within a second, "Oh, uh," he stammered, "Yes, um, sure, you can– you can just go over, uh, there," he cleared his throat several times and pointed in two different directions with his hands, a light blush visible on his cheeks, "D-do you know the way? You do, don't you? Should I…?"

"I'll manage, thanks," you gave him a fake smile as you walked past him and headed straight into the forest. Once you were certain that no one was following you, you began to run. Every second counted now, and you had already devised an escape plan. You didn't care about your family or your clan, or the shame it would bring upon them for they had abandoned you anyway. Without a second thought, they had turned their backs on you and your future, so you were ready to do the same. You would rather be alone for the rest of your life than mate with that demon no one dared to talk about.

The soft melody of baby ikrans chirping above you, their cheerful tunes harmonizing with the gentle breeze that rustled the leaves of nearby trees, calmed your nerves a bit. Amidst the serene ambiance, you had fought your way from the woods after running quite a distance from the village, now standing in front of high rocks, your expression reflecting a sense of bewilderment and uncertainty, you looked for a way to climb them up.

Lost in your thoughts, and trying different ways, you remained oblivious to the presence behind you, until a man cleared his throat and approached you.

"Um, are you in need of assistance of some kind?" he asked, his voice gentle and filled with genuine concern.

You startled, letting go of the vines on the rocks for a moment and a flicker of suspicion crossed your eyes as you turned to the person. "Uh, I am quite fine, thank you," you responded annoyedly, your thoughts silently questioning the identity of this stranger. Where did he even come from and why did he bother you? He probably knew who you were given your extravagant looks, but who was he? "You can go back and wait with all the other gawkers for the ceremony."

The man's lips curved into a soft smile when he took a step closer to you, his hands resting calmly behind his back. "I...will. But first, I'm curious, what are you doing?" he inquired, his tone curious and laced with intrigue.

A hint of defiance lingered in your voice as you replied, "Nothing." You struggled to maintain your composure, your words betraying your actions.

"You're doing something," he persisted.

Frustrated, you sighed, "I am not."

With the sound of ikrans shouting above you, a moment of pause settled between you. In that fleeting silence, you decided to reveal your purpose, hoping he'd then mind his business and go away. "If you must know, I'm trying to find out the best way to climb over these rocks."

"Climb... whatever for?" he questioned, genuinely intrigued by your confession.

"Because I think he may be a beast. Or a demon," you revealed muttering to yourself, sarcasm in your voice but also hinting at a hidden fear.

Perplexed, the man who had definitely heard you inquired further, "Who are we talking about?"

"Oh, well, that was actually mean of me," you mumbled to yourself, reminding yourself that the man in front of you was probably loyal to his Olo'eyktan and wouldn't like you talking bad about him. That thought made you find some amusement in your own thoughts before speaking louder, "None of your business."

He gazed at you expectantly, awaiting an honest answer. The stranger didn't seem like someone who would immediately betray your secret — later perhaps — but he could be of use to you right now, maybe he could even confirm or refute your theory.

"The Olo'eyktan," you finally added, your voice softer, "No one will speak of him. No one. He is clearly a beast or a demon."

Realization dawned upon him as he nodded, absorbing your words. "Understood."

You turned your back to him, focusing on the rocks again, and suddenly you had a plan, "You know, if I grab there... yes!" you looked back to him over your shoulder, "You could assist me by lifting me up."

Confusion crept into his expression as he hesitated, contemplating your request. "Uh, one question. You do not like beasts or demons? What he looks like matters?"

You rolled your eyes, "I don't care what he looks like. What I don't like is not knowing. Now, here. Just take a hold here," you instructed, pointing to your waist. "With a lift, I... I believe I can make it over the rocks and to my ikran."

He considered your words, pondering the consequences. "People will notice you are missing, will they not?" he queried, concerned for the potential repercussions.

"I will worry about that later. Now, if you please..." you turned your back to him, still determined to proceed. "I just need a little help. Come. Hurry up."

The man licked his lips, caught in his own contemplation, before taking two slow steps forward. "I have absolutely no intention of helping you," he declared, surprising you with his refusal.

You stopped in your tracks, slowly turning to face him as if you had misheard, giving him the time to correct himself. Your eyes widened in surprise and a bit of anger, too. With sure steps, you approached him, closing the distance between you.

"I'm a woman in need of help. And you refuse?" you confronted him, your voice tinged with disbelief.

The man tilted his head to the side, his expression contemplative. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he responded, his voice carrying a touch of playfulness.

"I refuse when that woman in need of help is trying to go over the rocks so that she does not have to be my mate," he stated, his words hanging in the air, revealing a truth that caught you off guard.

Shock rippled through you, and you gasped softly, feeling as though the air had been caught in your throat. Your eyes locked onto his golden gaze, desperately hoping that you had misinterpreted what he said. But deep down, you knew the truth had found its way to you, settling heavily in your core. It couldn't be... you had seen his siblings, and they didn't possess the distinctive features of the clan. Yet, here he stood, a true Na'vi through and through, without any doubts. He was remarkably handsome, almost too handsome. Yes, you had noticed his striking appearance the moment you laid eyes on him, but then it didn't matter much since he was just a random person, but now, with this revelation, they held significant weight in your thoughts.

He wore a smirk on his lips, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his gaze. He knew.

"Hello, y/n," he approached you, his smile radiant and unmarred by the revelation. As he stopped directly in front of you, he lifted his hand to his forehead, greeting you with a formal gesture. "I'm Neteyam."

The realization dawned on you, and suddenly, the words you had wanted to speak failed to find their way out. Your tongue forgot its purpose as you just stood there, caught between astonishment and uncertainty.

An apology, you thought, your mind searching for the right words to offer at least that.

"I am deeply s..." —orry. Your voice faltered, carried away by the cool wind that brushed past you. The weight of the truth settled upon you, realizing that he was the successor of the former Olo'eyktan, the firstborn of Toruk Makto, your mate-to-be.

"Ma Olo'eyktan," you stammered, attempting to bow in respect, but he intercepted your gesture. His hands gently caught yours, intertwining your fingers in the process, and he lowered your hand in a graceful motion, bringing your hands together. His hand on yours became the focal point of your gaze, while you could hear your heart pounding in your ears.

"Not your Olo'eyktan," he corrected you in a soft-spoken manner, withdrawing his hand. "Neteyam."

You tried to read his face, searching for answers in the depths of his eyes.

"I mean, yes, your Olo'eyktan, but to you, just Neteyam," he clarified jokingly, the sound of his beautiful laugh after made you speechless.

"I am…" you began, but the sentence remained unfinished, your shame preventing you from pronouncing the word 'sorry'. "Please accept my apology. If I had known that you were you—"

He interrupted you, his gaze unwavering. "You would have what? Not told me that you were trying to escape?"

"Well, yes. I mean…" Your words stumbled over each other, attempting to form a coherent defense.

He chuckled, a sound that filled the air around you with warmth.

"I do apologize, ma Olo'eyktan," you said lowering your gaze, your voice a soft admittance.

"Neteyam," he corrected you once again, a gentle reminder. "Just Neteyam."

You nodded, your eyes looking up and meeting his again, the weight of the moment hanging between you. And then, he leaned closer, too close for your liking, and you held your breath when he whispered into your ear.

"The title situation. It towers over us. An accident of birth on my part," a shiver ran down your spine as his warm breath met your skin, "But I thought, maybe, perhaps as my mate, you could ignore it, and I could be just Neteyam to you."

You gazed at him, your heart fluttering with newfound affection. The weight of his words sank in, and you found yourself captivated by the vulnerability he revealed.

"That was, of course, before I found out that you don't want to be my mate," he confessed as he straightened up, and you couldn't ignore the hint of disappointment in his deep voice.

"I didn't say that," you quickly defended yourself, your voice laced with sincerity.

"Oh, you did," he emphasized, now a playful glimmer in his eyes.

"I did not," you insisted, your tone slightly nervous.

"You did," he persisted, his smile widening.

"It is not... mhm. I don't know you," you admitted, your voice growing softer as you laid bare your doubts and reservations.

He stretched his arms out in a dramatic gesture. "I don't know you either," he admitted, his smile ever so wide, "Except that you are terrible at climbing."

You became defensive, a playful spark igniting within you. "You try climbing a wall in all of these," you retorted, gesturing towards your elaborate clothing and jewelry. As you looked up to meet his gaze once more, you found him already watching you, a broad smile adorning his face and a dreamy glint in his eyes. It was a contagious expression that tugged at your lips, and you couldn't help but smile in response.

"What?" you asked softly, your curiosity piqued.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, contemplating his words. Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with a sincere and gentle admiration. "You are incomparable."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a blush rising to your cheeks. You remained silent, allowing the warmth of his compliment to wash over you.

He continued, his gaze shifting to the left as he spoke, his words a tender confession. "No one told me you'd be this beautiful. You may be too beautiful to be my mate. People will talk... given I'm a demon."

"Ma Olo'eyktan—" you started, wanting to apologize again, your voice trailing off as he corrected you once more with a playful glint in his eyes.

"Neteyam."

You chuckled softly, your heart opening up to the gentle familiarity of his name, "Neteyam," you said softly, giving in to the connection forming between you. The sound of his name on your tongue felt even more different now that he was standing in front of you, almost comforting in its own way.

The sun began to set behind him, casting a warm glow over the lush landscape of Pandora, and a golden hue around both of your bodies. The air was filled with anticipation, and you could feel the weight of the moment.

"What do you want to know?" he asked all of a sudden.

"What?" you snapped out of your thoughts, momentarily caught off guard.

"You don't know me. What do you want to know about me?" he repeated, his gaze fixed on you.

You didn't expect this question at all. "That is quite, uh…"

"Mm-hmm," he playfully encouraged you to continue, his head tilted to the side.

"Uh…"

He gave you his full attention making you nervous, a smile playing on his lips, his canines peeking out with a small smirk.

You realized that he seemed to enjoy the situation you were in. Gathering your thoughts, you mustered the courage to speak.

"I suppose... everything," you said, your voice gaining confidence. "I want to know everything about you."

He was briefly surprised, the smile disappearing for a second. "All right," he said, clicking his tongue.

"Uh, everything?" he asked to confirm, and you nodded confidently. "I was born prematurely, and everyone thought I was going to die, but I did not. I am a fair shooter, and an even better archer. My favorite food is srakat vey. I will not eat fungus soup, it is horrible. I like flying and hunting and good conversation. Most of all, I like science."

"Science?" you asked, genuine curiosity in your voice.

"Yes, the study of the physical world, especially astronomy. The stars in the heavens," he explained, a spark of enthusiasm igniting within him as he continued. "I'm quite the artisan. Probably would be an artisan if I were not already occupied."

Pointing to his scar above his chest, he added, "I have a scar here from falling off my ikran."

"Really?" you asked, surprised at the revelation. He didn't seem to be the type to have experienced such a simple accident.

"Either that or skypeople were the cause, it's long ago," he replied hinting at the mystery, and by the way he said that you were sure that skypeople were the cause of his scar, and he knew that you came to the conclusion as well, almost wanting you to see through him.

He then pointed at his hand. "A scar here from just being incredibly clumsy with a hunting knife as we were kids." As your eyes focused on his perfect hands, he met your gaze again, and the silent connection deepened.

"And I'm very nervous," he chuckled, "about mating with a girl I'm only just meeting minutes before our ceremony."

You were left speechless, absorbing the honesty and vulnerability he shared. Nodding understandingly, you appreciated his nobility. "But I cannot show it and climb over rocks and fly away with my ikran because I am Olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya, and that would cause a scandal. But I promise you, I am neither a demon nor a beast," he reassured, his eyes ever so dreamily locked with yours. "Just Neteyam."

Long, intense eye contact held between you, the unspoken emotions weaving a tapestry of unexplored possibilities. Before you could process the moment, your brother appeared out of nowhere, breaking the trance,

"Sister, we have been looking everywhere for you. What are you—" he stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening in awe as he recognized Neteyam. "Ma... ma Olo'eyktan," he greeted respectfully, bowing even.

Neteyam approached your brother and greeted him back. "You must be the man responsible for my possible future happiness."

"Sure. Um, my apologies. Yes. No—" your brother stumbled, caught off guard by the unexpected encounter.

"Well, you have arrived at the most opportune moment. She was just deciding..." his words trailed off as his eyes met yours, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips, "whether or not she wanted to be my mate."

A rush of heat flushed your cheeks, feeling exposed and vulnerable under the scrutiny of both Neteyam and your brother. You watched as the realization sank in, causing your brother's expression to shift from surprise to concern.

"Oh, she is overjoyed to become—" your brother tried to speak, but Neteyam interjected, his voice calm and measured.

"No, she's still deciding. She might go over the rocks instead. Either way, the choice is entirely up to her." The corners of Neteyam's lips curled into a gentle smile, his words reassuring and respectful.

Your heart swelled with awe. The weight of the decision had suddenly become lighter, knowing that Neteyam understood the importance of autonomy, and that he was willing to accept any outcome as long as you were the one making that decision on your own.

Your brother forced a smile, his eyes reflecting a complex blend of emotions. Perhaps he recognized the sincerity in Neteyam's words, or maybe he understood the significance of your journey toward happiness, whatever it was, he kept quiet.

Neteyam broke the silence, his voice filled with a determination worthy of a leader, and a pinch of amusement, "Now, I should get back because I suspect that by now there are some very anxious warriors who think I am kidnapped."

He stepped closer, taking your hand in his, his delicate touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Excitement emanated from him as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

He said your name with so much passion, you were almost hypnotized by him, his breath warm against your skin. "I hope I see you there." He lingered for a moment, his eyes locked with yours, a silent promise of a future yet to unfold.

With a nod and a soft smile, he released your hand and turned to leave, but then he paused and turned back, "And if so, I am the one standing between Tsahìk and Toruk Makto."

You smiled. He smiled.

His eyes met yours for the last time, and in that gaze, you found a reflection of your own desires and hopes. And then he started fading into the distance. The weight of his departure settled upon you, you were left standing there, your hand still tingling from the touch of his lips. The intensity of his presence lingered in the air, and you found yourself lost in a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts.

Your brother rushed to your side, concern etched on his face. "Don't tell me you are still hesitating," he said, his voice filled with worry and impatience.

With the setting sun as a witness, you just looked at him, a newfound sense of clarity shining in your eyes.

Well, maybe this wasn't that bad after all.

note: yes, this was inspired by that scene from "queen charlotte", and if you can't get enough of neteyam and enjoy the arranged marriage trope, I highly recommend checking out the chosen by eywa series by @randxmthxughts and the monster in me series by @andraga12, their writing is exceptional, and the way they craft beautiful narratives from chapter to chapter is truly magical, definitely don’t miss out on them!! <33

and as always let me know if you like my own attempt at this trope by liking, reblogging and/or commenting 💕

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yandere-wishes · 26 days

Text

｡⸝❀Desert Rose ❀⸜｡

𐙚 Yandere! Paul Muad'Dib Atreides x Reader x Yandere! Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: You miss the desert. Miss the sun and the sand and the place where they buried your heart. So you run and pray that they won't catch you.

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies blood and gore, bloodplay, knifeplay, injuries, Feyd being Feyd. Paul is high on spice for 60% of the story. Part two will be much more fluffy.

The thing they don't tell you about the desert is that it's alive. A breathing creature with feelings and a beating heart.~💜

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious.

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped.

How terrifying it is to be betrayed by that which you love most. How terrifying it is when you've forgotten how to harmonize with that which love most.

That applies to the desert.

That applies to people too.

There's something about the sun that's never been more poetic. It's harsh in its lashes, a cruel master, reminding you of what you'd been born into. It beats down something terrible and you can't help but suppress the frantic giggle that escapes your dry lips."You're so mean" you mumble, the glimmers muddle your focus. You see silhouettes of blue-eyed warlords and tar-painted gladiators. Feel phantom kisses rummage across the hollow of your bones.

All of this is too familiar.

It makes you sick.

Back then your father had reveled in Muad'Dib's coming. Proud to meet a warrior such as he. He'd spent hours refining his war plans, polishing his battle tactics. It's always such a strange site to see excitement in such a strict man.

He introduced himself as destiny's child when he arrived. Dissolved and dehydrated with curls coated in sand. He was the desert's golden boy sent to fulfill every prophecy you'd ever been told.

And yet, to you, he'd simply looked like just another heartthrob.

Just another boy's name to whisper to your friends during blasphemous games under the starry night sky. He had been no different than any tribal leader or warrior's son. That was truly such a miraculous time, back when such an atrocious thing had been merely a girlhood toy.

Your father hadn't proposed marriage or alliances. That's not the Freman way, not during war. That doesn't stop the renegade gaze you've felt since he arrived. There's something stalking the desert, something too powerful to contain. You feel its chill, like the space between breaths before the breaching of the shai hulud.

"You can call me Paul..."

Lisan Al Gaib

The desert is a cacophony of dreams and nightmares. Deadly once the blood-deep navigation atrophies from constant complacency. You try to remember the prom of each foot. When to straighten, when to bend. Each step feels like treading through a mirage, murky and viscous. Too thick, too loose, you think you might sink. Fall through a false bottom into something great and endless.

There is no bottom, no end.

Only darkness, vast and perpetual.

You wonder if that's what it feels like to be swallowed by a sandworm. If there is security in its infinite stomach. If it's better than the Arrakeen Palace. Daunting, soulless structure, home to monsters and killers.

The sand grows thin.

It's always the thinnest nearest a Sietch.

You made it...

You wonder why it had all felt so gruesome, so unholy. Paul's cacoon of naivety was breached, its remnants nesting underneath his feet, their spines snapping with each ground-quaking step he took. Arrakis had given birth to something monstrous, something ravenous. Yet all you had seen was a youthful face that tells not of horrors or suffering. It only promises freedom.

Freedom was supposed to taste sweet, satisfying. The first sip from a childhood oasis. And you guess it had, for a little while. Before the realizations set in. Anyone who so openly grants freedom can take it away too.

Paul inhales the reverence of the crowd. Savors the saccharine taste of victory on his tongue, before he spits out the essence of his hatred. Watching the blood scorch away under the desert sun.

He swears he sees the sand dunes bow from the corner of his eye, they're towering magnificently bestowing something lethal onto him. Something they've yearned for, something fragile, something ancient. He deems it responsibility, duty, divinity and spins it into an enamelware crown.

Paul had become king. Not emperor, not sovereign, not overlord. Not yet at least. He's not the boy-prince from a distant planet anymore either. There no longer exists a boyhood carved of temperamental weathers and jagged salt-covered rocks. No more fairy tales of great dukes fighting bulls by the seaside and young princes running off on fighter jets to save mystical witches. There is only the sand and the giants underneath it, only a prophecy cracked whose ichor covers him in gold and stardust.

He is Muad'Dib, savoir of Dune.

Paul's eyes rummage through the crowd. Hungry, desperate

seeking out something, someone whose devotion does not show.

He memorizes the scowl on your face, the dip of your lips. How he longs to feel them under his thumb.

Duels concluded in death. When the ground has been fed its blood depts. When Jannah and Jahannam are granted another soul. That is when the victor arises. Duels end in death, in a chipped knife and a broken body on the floor.

This one did not...

The memory still haunts you.

Not in its breach of rite.

Nor its contradictions to morality.

But in what comes after.

The fear of the thing that was allowed to live...

Paul hadn't killed Feyd. Beaten, mauled, tamed. But not killed.

There is a rostrum made of sand and burnt bones. It was meant to serve as a victory throne, a symbol of a war and a revolt. You aren't so sure about that anymore. Not when it's being desecrated, by a survivor of the very thing it vowed to eradicate. Atop the dias, Paul stands, fingers swathed tightly around a pale, maimed wrist. The crowd stares, speechless as the prophetic son appoints a battered and bleeding Harkonnen Na-baron as his aid, his duke.

Feyd-Rautha is all jet blacks and blood reds. His eyes hold daggers, impaling anyone who dares to look into them. You can not fathom why Paul, the one who promised a paradise and an end to the Harkonnen oppression would do such a thing. You never thought him holy, you didn't consider him cruel either.

Paul hands over the spice trade to Feyd. He speaks of concentrated zones away from life. Somewhere deep and forgotten. He says "virtuous" as if it's a sermon only he can comprehend. "We need the funds, we need to rebuild, to fight. The spice is valuable and it will not hinder the awakening of Dune. My cousin will oversee its harvest and trade. The finances will be brought back to Arrakis, back to the Freman."

Maybe it's sorrow, a slithering nuance that won't leave. Maybe it's guilt twice folded and misplaced. Desperation for a kinsmanship

with a family, he had thought all lost. The way he looks at Feyd speaks of hope and trust and everything else a little boy feels when he's dragging his friend by the hand through a forest made of splendor and ideation. But Paul isn't a little boy anymore and Feyd has never been naught save a killer. And you, you can't help but notice how the Muad'dib begins to lose his golden hue.

The Sietch is cavernous, domed ceiling that expands into the rocks and sandy tiles that stretch as far as the eye can see. Unaltered spice particles dance in the gentle filtered rays of the sun. It feels like home. Like freedom and paradise and everything else those two men had stripped you of. Your body slumps by one of the etched walls. Awaiting your fellow Freman to find you.

There is a stiffness in the Freman, an elegance that must be mastered. You'd once thought it inherited, a mere bone structure passed on from mother to child. You're not so sure anymore. The stiffness reverberates off the Sietch walls, it's obvious now that it's never been about straight spines and high-held heads. It's the ideals, the loyalties that Fremen carve into their souls. Sooner or later someone will inform the king of where his darling hides.

All of Arrakis knows who you belong to.

One of the older women tunnels water down your throat, she cradles your head and shushes you when you try to speak. She spills advice, motherly advice, into your veins. Telling you of how blessed you are to be chosen by the Lisan Al Gaib and his blood. Her embrace is a vice, coddling suffocating and not at all unpleasant. There is a sleek comfort between the witherd silk of her chador. It heartens fatigue residing stubbornly between your bones. It causes your eyes to fade and your mind to race. You forgot the terrors that lay outside, the advancing menace carrying crystalknifes and a voice that shakes worlds. Darkness beckons, a welcomed change. For the first time in months, you feel safe...

You are still a Freman, born of sand and spice. There is a future somewhere with palm trees and rosa persica. You intend to find it, to hold it between your hands running tired fingers over soft cloud-light edges. Arrakis has stood for longer than most planets have existed. You refuse to abandon its fate to a spice addict and a manic.

It's obvious, isn't it?

Maybe it always was...

Arrakeen palace is shaped like a heart, something eternal ungraved. It was young when you first marched through its grand gates. It had felt no less threatening than the sandworms beneath your feet. The spice that flew through the halls was suffocating, a distant, permutated relative of the elixir that had raised you.

Paul's chancery is something empty, a cut out of Kaahgel masquerading as a citadel of dominance and perspicuity. It, much like the rest of the palace is novice and new. Paul sits in an awkwardly placed plush parlor chair, one retrieved from Caladan no doubt. He squirms in his seat as if his body has too many angles to fit properly in the rounded chair. He's far too accustomed to soft sands and jagged boulders. To sitting cross-legged on something loose and malleable. This luxury is unwelcomed, uncomfortable. You only notice Feyd when his demonic eyes suddenly land on you. He's languidly draped on the carpeted floor. His back half propped up by a quarter-painted wall. He's feeding slices of fruit into his mouth, savering the nick of the knife along his tongue.

They look so innocent. Sinless, carless little boys playing in a sanctuary fort. Hiding from life and its crushing expectations.

Paul follows his cousin's gaze, he's out of his seat and across the room before you have time to knock. You note the blackness under Paul's eyes, how the synthetic blue feels distant and sunken. Almost as if they're looking at you from meters inside a cave. He's wandering through the twilight of exhaustion. Paradying awakeness like a lost bat caught in the afternoon sun. He's only surviving on artificial energy from the spice he so readily consumes.

There is an exhilarating lilt in the timber of his voice. A galvanization in the way your name spills from between his lips. "What brings you here?" Paul's fingers dance across your shoulders, gripping them as one does their favorite toy. His eyes hold a fragile reverence, something unstable, denating with the slightest breath. "Lord Usul..." you begin, eyes bouncing between the sandy beiges of the walls. "You don't need to be so formal. Just say my name, like the first time we met." His nails start to dig into your arms, a jovian strength only a divine may possess. You don't remember leaving a deep impression.

"Paul, I-I need to talk to you about..." Your vision cuts to Feyd, a hidden flare penetrates his legs, you don't dare look the Harkonnen in the eyes. He's far too feral for such raw exhibitions of hate. Yet you want him to feel your abhorrence, your detest. Paul understands, he knows what you're going to say before you've even finished rehearsing in your head. "Feyd doesn't mind, you can talk freely in his presence, I promise you, he won't bite." You swallow the need to argue, to protest, he bites, he definitely bites, and lacerates and kills...

It's easy to fall between the crevices of his voice, to allow the gentle nudges to sway your decisions for you. You wonder if the words coming from your mouth are even truly your own. They had sounded so absolute in your head. So firm. Now they sound dented, feeble, like a child begging to remain awake. You tell the king of how you disapprove of the spice trade, that it should be ceased. Its termination can only benefit the war, hindering the galactical navigation of your enemies. Paul listens with a distracted sort of attendance. His eyes melt into you, tracing your features with a delicate precision. You feel like a map, laid bare, feeding him information. Information he ignores, opting to busy himself with tracing continents and oceans. "Paul please listen" you beg. "Please". You notice an ignited flicker in his eyes, snapping him out of his lucid trance. "You know, since you feel so strongly about...everything. Maybe, maybe you should stay here. With us. Be the queen or duchess or whatever. You can help us rebuild. You can-"

"What?" Your body jerks back, his fingers don't leave your forearms, pulling you back, closer. "Lord Usual...Paul...what are-" Something slithers between your bones, your skin, your muscles. Pushing past the cracks and sliding inside you. His mind grasps yours, echoing his desire, mapping out its constellation between your crux.

Paul feels in blues, blues that make up the nuance between worlds.

The ocean behind the largest dune

The lake beneath the greatest mountain.

The lamination of spice over one's eyes.

It somehow ends with you. Covered in a color that mimics ambitions and dreams and something practically attainable.

You feel him reach out, pushing you back into the physical world. Away from the luminous tints and flickering landscapes.

"I'm saying that everything I do reminds me of you. It's hard not to dedicate every single breath to your memory." Paul's eyes are blown wide, there's a lament carved into his voice. He's pleading, desperate, like trying to chisel rock with a pebble. You don't like where this is going, don't like the mania, the love that's painted so vividly on his face. Your stomach churns, false ecstasy pumping in agonizing doses. This is wrong, you shouldn't feel flattered, gleeful. This isn't a miracle or a blessing. It's a curse, you know this, you have to run to escape. But something in you freezes, a sickly silver of devotion, of habit, a tradition force-fed into your soul keeps your legs stiff and still.

Devotion is such a slippery thing. Always so close to suffocating. Sometimes all it's good for is a knife that kills. Just a grain of salt in a pulsing wound.

Your eyes flicker across the room, trying to look at something, anything but him, anything but the Muad'dib who could make you grovel at his feet like a doll without even opening his mouth. It's only in your frantic search for an affix point, that you notice the beast is missing. His dominion left empty. You feel a chill in the room. Something stalking closer, something lethal and rogue. You scream shriveling into Paul's arms as someone grips your waist from behind, encaging you. "You were right cousin, she's as beautiful as you described...and as brave." Your breath hitches, he's touching you. Your body twitches as a cold sweat breaks. "Paul" you plead looking up into his electric blue eyes. He only smiles, contorting his features into something they're not, something soft and arrogant. You see triumph shimmer through his mind. He's won a game you didn't know you were playing. Crowned victor by fate and circumstance and...

and prophecy.

Paul cradles your cheek in his hand, tilting your head up to look at you.

"The first time I set eyes upon you, I knew you were the girl in my dreams. The desert rose beckoning me to Arrakis, to Dune. Don't you see, we've been bound by fate?"

No.

Feyd slowly licks the shell of your ear, he hums in satisfaction, an action you didn't know could be laced with so much malice. He murmurs something into your jugular, something too violent to decode.

No.

Please no.

It's easier to love than to be loved.

There's a jolt that rings you awake, something violent crawling under your skin. You feel it before you witness it, witness the cold and loneliness not viable in the desert temples.

The halls scream in silence,

Hollow, employed out.

"Hello?" The eerie reverberation of your words leaves you shivering. Scraping along the walls, tumbling into doorless rooms trying to find someone, anyone. You can't remember the last time you'd been alone.

Utterly alone.

You didn't notice it at first. Didn't notice the unnatural stillness and the deafening silence. there is no life here, but it takes a practically mangled corpse for you to look down at the floor.

There's blood on the Sietch floor, red and thick and sacrilegious.

You thought you had run far enough, fast enough. You thought you had escaped. You turn and you run, back from that which you came, feet thundering across the sand-dusted floor. You don't know where you're going, why even run? Helplessness swells inside you, coiling in intricate knots. Only to snap violently when you cross the third threshold.

The corpses lie at his feet. your frenzied brain tries to count them, only going up to eight before it forgets what comes after. There is more, more bodies, more blood...more bones? But you can't focus on anything else except the glabrous man standing over them, knife pointed downwards, dripping into an endless sea of red.

Your father used to tell you tales of rivers made of blood. Of mad men claiming divine crusades as they fed bodies into the endless stream.

You never thought you'd witness it.

It shouldn't feel as conflicting as it does.

"Darling..." Feyd's voice is gravel on gravel. Rough and coursed. It grinds against your skin reawakening every half-healed scar.

"no, dear maker, please no" Feyd's gaze rakes over you, lingering on every detail. Toying and probing, much like a predator sizing up its frightened prey. "I missed you" his voice is purely threatening, mocking, he wants you back, needs you back. You can't be forgiven for this deliberate offense.

You try to bolt passed him, it's like a gallon of adrenaline has been shot straight into your chest. There's a scream in the air, you're not sure who it belongs to. you make it to the hallway leading to the contraction arena. Where the bearers of the water of life are nursed. You can see the stone-carved stairs and someone sitting there...

The ground slips beneath your feet, the red liquid having leaked under your soles. In the next breath, you're plunging into redness, shrouded and engulfed and bathed in the blood of your own kind. It feels warm and safe and disgusting. Like watching the stars of your favorite constellation collapse within themselves. It's a destructive kind of comfort, one that only ends in pain and bruises and fractured bones in places you can never wholly identify.

You're drowning,

the more you thrash the harder it gets to stand.

You feel the blood entangling you, weaving around your body like a net.

and then like a shadow, he's over you.

Looming with the promise of pain, of the misery of the savagery only he can offer.

"Feyd..." his name is razorblades upon your tongue. Your eyes catch his, distant voids colliding. Since when did you start looking into his eyes? When did the torture become worth it? His fingers ensnare your jaw, pushing cheeks and bones together. Feyd straddles your body, knees splashing into the blood. He tugs your head forward violently, before pounding it onto the floor. You moan out in pain a mangled, distorted noise. He only chuckles. Before repeating the motion. "You ran from us, you left us. I should kill you here and now. Bleed you out with the rest of these traitors!" it's hard not to notice the pain his voice harbors, odd how even a monster like Feyd can have his feelings hurt. He lifts his knife, wrapping both hands around the handle before plunging it into your abdomen. You choke, on a shriveled scream or a throat filled with blood you do not know. The colors are dulling and pulsating, somehow too dark and too bright at the same time. Everything feels like it's made of flowing water. Precious streaming water. You can feel the throbbing at the back of your skull, you feel the giddy patter of your heart, and the nervous ticks of your hips under Feyd.

Feyd...

Has he always been so beautiful?

Your body feels so hot and your mind feels so distant.

Everything feeds into his endless beauty.

Why are your lips pulsing?

your teeth sink in, trying to still the need to kiss.

"What's wrong princess, trying to play innocent? I know your tricks."

Feyd traces your lips with his. Fingers snake into your hair, pulling at odd intervals. "my sweet stupid little girl" he whispers, a curse and a blessing. He sucks on your bottom lip biting it harshly. Slipping his tongue between your teeth. His kiss is possessive, and swallowing. You feel yourself sinking deeper, wanting him to consume you whole. When he pulls back you feel like you can't breathe, you only existed within his kiss. It's the last thing binding you to this world.

But then his head dips down. Leaving open-mouthed kisses upon the gushing injury. Feyd drinks deeply from your open wound, ravaging the blood and pushing in silver of a forgotten moonlight. The way his tongue laps at the gaping hole and torn ligament sends a shutter up your spin. When he lifts his head again you watch mesmerized by the way your essence drips from his lips. He kisses you again ferocious and deep and all conusiming.

You feel so lost and so found.

Grounded and afloat.

It's only when a scream, a familiar one, in a distance distorted sort of way, rings across the hall that you start to pull away. You push yourself up, palms slipping on the liquid life. From behind Feyd, you notice a man and a women. Young, scared. There is revulse in their blue eyes, yet you can't navigate its direction. You're sure if you weren't bleeding out you could identify them, you're sure you knew them in this lifetime. You hear the blood gushing, hear the crisp whistle of the blade as it slices through flesh.

Once

Twice.

Only then does the alluring migraine sober. The metallic tang of blood wafting through the air makes you sick. It's odd how the repugnant scent had alluded you until now. Even if you'd been lying right in it. You wonder if such a scent would bother them. You doubt it, they tend to revel in the red glory and its hypnotizing associations.

"Took you long enough, cousin" Feyd's head is turned watching as Paul steps past the corpses. His eyes are vibrant, a sapphire blue that cuts through time and space. He kneels next to you, gaze devouring you in your pitiful state. "why did you run?" he is cold, hurt. His blue eyes betray a degree of relief hidden by a defrauding glower. "I-we love you, you mean everything to us." You look away too exhausted to put up an argument. "I missed being home." You mumble. You swore for a minute something akin to comprehension ripples through the air. You're too delusional to believe in anything solid anymore. But maybe Paul understands, maybe he yearns for the desert too. Maybe he'll go easy on you...

Paul's fingers glide across your stomach, scattering the dust particles that have landed on your still form. The light from the high windows glimmers off the three of you painting something holy, something right, in another world, in another lifetime. When he sees the wound Feyd created he chuckles. " Stars Feyd, at least try to keep her alive." Paul's nails gently rack across the torn ligament, idly playing with the loose skin. Feyd laughs deep and psychotic -is it wrong to say you missed it?- "I couldn't help myself, you should have seen her. Eyes blown wide covered in blood. Stars I just want-" you interrupt him with a low moan. Paul rubs his calloused thumb over your wound, soothing the cut before he presses down. Hard.

when he hears the moan he presses harder. Making you wither and hiss. "This is a punishment, (y/n), you're not supposed to be enjoying it." His fingers slither into the open wound, stretching out the ligament " You jolt and holler and cry, begging him to stop. "You're my oasis, the only thing I love in this world. But you ran. YOU LEFT US." His words glitch and crack, the voice shining through penetrating you with a knife seeped in guilt. "I'm sorry." you choke out, only to be rewarded by another harsh cut from Feyd's knife. "I'm the daughter of the desert..." you protest, tears slipping past your hooded eyes. "You're our lover" Feyd barks defensively, aggravated. When the tears begin to leak the pain stops. "Don't waste your water" Paul mutters, wiping away a tear and sucking it between his lips savoring your delicate taste.

Paul cradles your bleeding head in his lap, lowering his to kiss your crimson-soaked lips, "I love you" he mumbles against you, trying to press the core of his words into you. Making you feel him, making you believe. Feyd tucks your hair out of your face. Slowly pulling you up by your shoulders. The thin smile he offers is such a rare sight it makes your heart explode.

Why did you run away?

Why did you leave the ones you love most?

Your heart is laying on a bed of nails.

Somehow that feels fitting.

Feyd pulls off the top of his stillsuit, discarding the armor-like pieces. Slowly he lays in the gore, he pulls you over him. His motions slow, mesmeric. You follow just another wave trapped in the current. You're so torn and hurt, broken in ways that can never properly heal. You let it happen, it's easier this way. Slowly he licks his blade clean of your blood, he grabs your wrist places the hilt in your hands, and tucks your fingers over it. "Hold on tight," he advises as he draws your hand back and brings the knife down between his defined muscles. The moan he lets out is profane, it makes you feel euphoric, filled to the brim with the merriment of guilt. Feyd kisses you again, his tongue pushes past your teeth, his conquest of you feels Harkonnen in every way. His tongue down your throat feels like a heavenly bliss. From behind Paul breaks the back of your stillsuit, he licks a strip up and down your spine. You moan into the kiss with Feyd. Slowly Paul starts to whisper firefly kisses into each vertebrae. Sucking melodies into the frail bones. His teeth snick between the cartilage, all scorpion stings, and cobra bites. It feels so right.

Feyd is a cannibalistic star, relishing in the way your wounds bleed into his. He feeds off your pain, feeds off the pain you grant. He's delusional with a cosmic kind of lust. Pulling celestials from their homes to burn into his own body. He loves you, loves how you penetrate him with a knife clad in anathema and adherence too turbulent to understand.

Paul is, in many ways Feyd's opposite and in many others his equal. The quintessence of the path to hell being paved with good intentions. His kisses are the desert's curse and it's love. He's an entire solar system revolving around the only two people he has left to love.

Slowly the world grows dark. You feel it hard to remain awake. "Sweet dreams princess" you hear Paul whisper as Feyd shuffles under you. You fall into his expecting arms. Safe and strong. The day has been so long and bootless. so tiring. so vexing.

Yet somehow, in the endlessness of the moment, it matters all so little. Paul is here and he can hang the stars upon the night sky. Feyd is here and he can slaughter the universe and call it entertainment. You are safe with them, safe and happy and satisfied.

ngl this is the longest tag list I've ever gotten. THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!💜💜 Let me know if you want to be added to future taglists

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