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wehornyhours · 22 days

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he tastes like the old gods

Pairing: Duncan Idaho x F!Reader Words: 3k Warnings: smut. pet names that might not be dune-accurate. angst. romance. grief. hair pulling. rough sex. character death. character not death. spoilers for Dune Messiah. Size kink. Summary: Duncan becomes more than a memory. A/N: @jettia requested a drabble with Duncan Idaho angst and I went overboard. I guess this could be a sequel to the stillness of remembering

The day itself swirls vibrant and hot through her memory. The terror. The clammy grip of Duncan’s hand around her wrist as he drags her through the palace. She remembers her feet - the pinched white flat of her shoes as she stumbles after him. The kick-up of dust. The yells and screams as the Harkonnen and Sardaukar troops fall upon them.

Duncan is fierce and utterly impenetrable. He slices through the wave upon wave of soldiers in only his nightshirt and linen pants. His black hair is tugged back and away from his face. His expression is hellbent - fury distorting his features and she finally understands why people fear him. He shoves her into an alcove and puts a sword in her hand. “Stay,” he orders before descending onto another group of enemies.

They cower and balk once they realize who he is.

The shields glimmer and flex - red - red - red. She bites her lip and screws her eyes shut and tries to breathe through her fear. She must stay strong for him. She must hold it together. Paul could be dead. The Duke. Jessica. She clutches the handle of the sword until it hurts. The sand is cold under her feet. There is sweat collecting at her hairline - soaking her nightgown. She’s still sore from Duncan and the hours he’d spent inside her. Too large. Too broad. She loved him.

She hears her name. It’s hard and brutal - bruising her flesh. She hears it again - shouting at her and then it all fades as a wave of blood splatters across the sand at her feet. It splashes her ankles - the hem of her nightgown. Her name comes once more - this time much softer and soothing -

“Hey,” Duncan grabs her gently by the shoulders and shakes her. His eyes are huge - dark as the sky above him. One of his hands comes up to grip her chin as his gaze bores into hers. “Sweetheart...”

She exhales sharply - her entire body shuddering. “I’m sorry,” she breaks. “I’m sorry - I’m just -”

“Stop,” he commands, scanning the area above her head. He’s always ready. He’s aware of every corner and angle and booted foot in the sand. He looks down at her again, cupping her cheek before kissing her fiercely. It almost stings - the harshness of it - the slip of his tongue and click of his teeth and it feels like goodbye. When he releases her, his lips twitch up into a thin smile. “We’ll get out of this. Just stay with me.”

***

They do get out. They find Paul and Jessica and she is so utterly exhausted and devastated that she allows herself to crumple. She drops to her knees in the sand and blinks away the dust and the smack of the bleached sun. Paul’s expression is anxious and she wonders when he got so brave - what must have happened back at that miserable palace to make him slip into a blinding sort of ease. The Duke was dead.

“Is she alright?” Paul asks.

Duncan is already behind her - lifting her up into his arms. “She will be,” he declares as they continue on their journey. She feels the warm wet heat of his mouth on her cheek - the side of her head.

“Not yet,” he murmurs against her temple. “We aren’t out of this yet. I promise we will rest soon.”

For a thousand years, I hope.

***

She’s waiting for him - rooted to the floor of the old research facility. She’s watching him - dizzy from lack of water and shaky from the constant running. They are not safe. Not yet. There are more coming.

Sardaukar. The worst and most formidable of soldiers and Duncan is going back rather than moving forward - toward her. The distance between them grows. No. No. She follows him - marches after his hulking form because it is as if she can read his mind. She knows him - she knows exactly what he’s going to do.

“Stay,” he growls and pushes her away from that tiny corridor. The sand is pale and cold and silky under her weight. The lights flicker. She blinks at him. His hand falls upon something and she hears the squeal and shriek of the doors closing. He stares at her with the briefest expression of regret before it disappears - shutters into something far more like him: easy and relaxed. He holds his sword to his chest and then his brow in a gesture of allegiance or good faith or something equally ridiculous and Paul is screaming at him and Jessica has her arms around her as she rips her backward. She hadn’t realized she was racing for him - not caring about the closing doors or the Sardaukar and she is not even a warrior. She can’t fight at all and she wishes he’d taught her. She would have brought nothing, but she could have at least said goodbye or kissed him or been crushed to death and it would have been sweeter than this -

“You cannot cry,” Jessica murmurs as she keeps her strong arms banded around her chest. “Don’t waste the moisture.”

Jessica is so steady and she is not. She was hanging by a thread and that thread has now been snipped as she stares at the closed doors.

Her breath hitches - the sob is climbing and then she swallows it. She beats her fist against her sternum. She nods to Jessica who offers a final firm squeeze.

She thinks she hears Duncan calling for her. She hears his powerful deep voice roaring in her skull and then it fades…

She thinks she might just sit down in the sand and wait for the doors to open because someone will have to come out eventually. She could wait and it would be alright. But Paul is dragging her away and his grief is written across his handsome face. He is stronger than her and so she goes.

Duncan is dead.

***

Paul changes. Emperor Paul Muad’Dib Atreides.

In truth - she does not pay much attention to what he has unleashed. The life with the Fremen turned brittle and burnt - bleached bone in the sea of golden grain. Blood. Rivers of it. She could taste nothing after Duncan and she didn’t want to. She wallowed - grieved and Paul allowed it because she acted as a memorial to their dead swordsman.

She is a counterpart - a cog for Atreides. A reminder. She becomes quite numb to the rest of it. Paul and his power -the emperor of the universe itself. She had watched him grow up and now everything was ash and barren and swathed in extremism.

There is talk of them marrying when he cannot present an heir. She is a symbol of Atreides and not related to him by blood, but it’s so disturbing that she shuts herself in her room for weeks.

“Of course - I’ve turned the idea down,” Paul assures her. “It’s obscene.”

“You’ve done worse things,” she mutters and he sighs as he always does when her behavior does not please him.

“You need to come out of your room.”

***

The Tleilaxu Face Dancer, Scytale, has brought a gift for Paul. She sits beside the Emperor in pale purple silks that remind her of the flowers back on Caladan. She rests her chin in her hands and watches as he steps to the center of the room with a broad, tall figure cloaked in shadows.

The light changes - flickers and vibrates. She hears Paul gasp and she glances at him. His eyes are wide and wet - his pink mouth parts in shock. He then says her name like he’s worried for her and she finally looks to the floor.

Duncan.

Alive. His wide thick chest rises and falls. His dark hair spills down his muscular shoulders just as it spilled over her pillows and through her fingers over a decade ago. His eyes gleam with the press of metal. They are strange, but they are fixed ahead and not on her. His body is relaxed.

“He goes by Hayt,” Scytale states before explaining where they had found his corpse - the massive head wound he had suffered. They had regrown his cells - turned him into this. A ghola.

She feels vomit curdle in her throat. Her heart snaps against her ribs.

Hayt walks forward - he has an assuredness in his step that only Duncan had boasted. The elegant and smooth way he had walked was reflective of his mastery as a swordsman.

The love she has for him crashes into her with the same violence that his death had left upon her nerves and emotional well-being. All of that corked - shattered - love now bursting from her lungs and her head and her heart.

“Does he remember me?” It comes out like a squeak - like a flustered delicate yelp. The audience turns to her and she remembers that not everyone knew of what she and Duncan had been. This is a gift for Paul after all.

Paul reaches for her hand - tangles his fingers with hers. He is warm and dry and she cannot hate him for everything that has happened. She can’t. It has spun out of his control. She can hear his heartbeat. His comforting smile.

”It’s alright,” the emperor assures her, and she proceeds to burst into tears.

***

She doesn’t speak to the ghola. She doesn’t call him by his name - Hayt. He follows Paul around and there is so much Duncan inside him - fueling his gestures and his relaxed, smug countenance.

She catches him looking at her during dinner. His strange eyes glimmering with the candlelight. There is recognition as he studies her face - as his gaze traces her hands on the stone table - the neckline of her dress.

Does he remember? Does he know what they had been and what they had done?

She collides into him in the hallway and he steadies her by the shoulders. She goes very far away - reminded of the night that Duncan had saved her from the Harkonnens and had guided her to safety.

He tips her chin with his blood-hot fingers. “Did I hurt you?”

She shudders and his hand cups her cheek. “I remember...” he whispers - his breath warm on her face - his heart audibly pounding. He is so handsome it makes her ache. “I remember you and...a garden?”

Yes - the gardens on Caladan. The sea-salt spray of the wind and the storm-thick atmosphere and oh - they’d been happy there despite the secret of their relationship.

She shoves him away and he does not miss a step. He does not stumble as Duncan would have done - always caught off guard when she found her strength or anger.

“There is nothing to remember,” she spits before fleeing to her bedroom.

***

It is much later. He has been around. She has grown used to him and one night she misses Duncan so terribly that it pains her. It is a wound. She feels an emptiness - a black hole opening up in her gut and poisoning the rest of her.

The ghola - Hayt - Duncan - comes to her room as if he could sense her. “You called me,” he says before trailing off - confused. “I can hear you...in my head.”

She is in a thin nightgown - her nipples pebble against the gossamer fabric. He notices. There is a hunger twisting his mouth as his gaze falls heavy on her bare skin and curves. She walks to the middle of her room and he follows - shutting her door. She spins around to look at him and wonders if this is wrong - if this is evil or malicious or if she is terrible for fucking the clone of her dead lover.

He stares at her - silent and rigid. His fingers curl and uncurl. She is trembling now - burning for him - exploding on the inside: i love you i love you i love you and i never got to say it -

He tips his head in curiosity. “I remember...moments...”

She says nothing - flinching beneath the weight of his stare. He doesn’t let up - screws her to the floor with it.

His gaze continues to wander across her face - searching for the next step - a hint at what she’d like - at what this is. It is too much and she is prepared to tell him to leave - to fuck off - but she reaches for him instead and he goes to her immediately.

One large arm circles her waist and his hand tangles in her hair and he lifts her clean off her feet - his mouth crashes against hers clumsily. It is bruising and it bleeds of Duncan Idaho and what they had once been. The flustered, messy fucking in hallways. The secret sex in her bed or in his small quarters back on Caladan. The last frantic night they’d shared before the attack on Arrakis. He draws back to look at her and then kisses her again - he does not stop kissing her. He places her down by the edge of her bed. His huge hands cup her cheeks and he presses his lips to her hairline - her nose and mouth and then down her jaw as he rips away her nightgown.

“Duncan,” she calls him and he grins - twinkling bright - his golden skin gleaming like copper in the shadows. “Yes,” he replies - as he gingerly tosses her on her bed.

She is on her back - knees spread for him. There is her bare cunt - the cool air brushing across her folds - Duncan’s eyes blazing as he tests her with his fingers. He slips one inside - groans as she clutches around it. He buries his head there - lapping at her soaked pussy as she scrapes her nails across the crown of his sable-black hair. It is wild and unruly - falling from his small bun.

His shirt is gone and then she really sees him - every divot and muscle the same as before. Gorgeous and blinding as he bares his weight above her. His pants disappear - shucked off and tossed.

“Sweet,” he murmurs as he dips his tongue into the cup of her mouth. His fingers tweak her clit - grasp her hips to hold her steady. “You taste sweet.”

There is the blunt, heavy press of his cock at her entrance. It’s stabbing at her - dragging across her inner thigh. Her skin is so hot and she mewls as he nips at her lower lip - he glides his sharp teeth over her jaw and collarbone. He draws back - hand pumping himself - positioning himself before he drives into her. His eyes flutter shut - his lashes like ink strokes against the apples of his cheeks and it really truly does look like Duncan. The eyes no longer silver-shiny. His face crumples in pleasure.

She digs her nails into the muscles of his back - they undulate under her palms as he fucks her. It is not slow and sure. It is fast and hard and the bed creaks and she loves it. He hitches her knees higher over his waist. There are the sloppy wet sounds of her taking his thick cock to the hilt again and again and again. Every stroke punches a moan from her mouth. She could shriek - she could sob and drown in Duncan. She wants to. She wants to die beneath him like this.

“Sweetheart,” he calls her as he fists her hair and slams into her. Their hips slot together - their bones shake and crack and the place between her legs is so utterly sore and chafed and raw and she wishes he would break her on his cock. He is stretching her impossibly wide - he is too big as he pins her - as he buries her into the bed. “Am I hurting you?” He noses at her hair - her heated cheek. The tenderness of the gesture coupled with the ferocity of his fucking disintegrates her into bits. She shatters around him - wetting him - soaking him. Years of pent up grief and want and desire.

“Again,” he orders in that quiet way he has. The arrogance in his grin reminds her that he knows her body and her secrets.

“I’ve bedded a thousand women on all sorts of planets. None of them are you and none of them ever will be.”

He places his hand on her belly and it feels as if the jut of his cock is stabbing into her heart. “You feel me?” he husks.

“Yes,” she hisses between clenched teeth. He rocks into her - grinding his pelvic bone against her clit. She blooms - unfurls - her second orgasm cresting before it breaks. She cries out into the hot skin of his huge chest where his blood pumps and pumps and he is so deliciously alive.

“You’re so small,” he grunts as he lifts himself up enough so he can slide his hand between them. He spreads his fingers over her mound where her folds are parted around the glistening length of his cock. This sex is brutal. It’s crude. It’s perfect.

She grabs his face to yank him down to her mouth. Another kiss. Another taste of his breath. He pants against her tongue as his pace stumbles and grows clumsy. She clenches around him - meeting him thrust for thrust. She fists his hair until he groans. He rears back before pressing forward - boring down upon her as he splits her - deeper - further -

She clutches at the backs of his arms. Enormous and bound in muscle. He says her name - slips it into her ear like a prayer despite there being no religion left for them - there is just the sand and the endless horizon of Paul’s empire.

Her hands find his ass so she can force him as far as he can get. She spreads her thighs. He fits her well - the two of them clamped together. There is his sweat and the damp hair at his groin and his heavy heaving body. She feels the warm rush of his seed inside her - his come - his life. His fingers grip the nape of her neck - massaging and caressing and forcing her head in place.

He stares at her - eyes gliding over her face in lazy strokes. His fingers dig deep into the base of her skull as he studies her. She opens her mouth - whimpering as he gives her one more slow pump.

“We’re out of it,” he murmurs as he knocks his nose against her own. The words blow over her lips - like the heavy winds of Arrakis - like the tremble of dust and the slam of heavy doors at the abandoned facility twelve years ago. There is a sob in her throat - the same sob she had not been allowed to release over him. The tears. The dreams. “We can rest.”

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wehornyhours · 25 days

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Love Thy Enemy

Summary; Y/N Atreides had always been a stranger to the entire galaxy, her bed wasn’t her bed, her home wasn’t her home due to the fact that she was sent to accompany and be sisters with Irulan. She had limited access to her actual family and over the years they grew distant. She thought she would be like Reverend Mother, alone, yet powerful, and soon she would realize that there was no need of being alone when a wild creature had his eyes on her for a long time.

A/N; Hi my little doves, I've missed you, I'm in love with my work lol I really enjoy writing this series so don't forget to share your thoughts with me. Don't worry, there will be SMUT in the future chapters. Sorry for any typos English isn't my first language.

TAG LIST IS OPEN! (Text me if i forgot to tag you little doves 🕊️ ♥️)

Warnings; Violence. Angst. Enemies to lovers. Female Bene Gesserit Reader x Feyd-Rautha,reader is reffered to as she/her.

Words; 2.232K

Chapter Four- ‘’Misery Begins’’

Giedi Prime, House Harkonenn

The air felt heavy in her lungs, the planet was orbiting a black sun, thus, everything outside looked black and white, no wonder these people were raised like animals, planet’s harsh conditions shaped their characteristics. The second she stepped out of the ship she hated every single thing but kept a firm stance.

Now she was settling in the guest quarters, the wedding was to be in 7 days and thankfully Harkonnen traditions says that they, under any circumstance, cannot stay in the same room.

Y/N had few of her personal maids and the rest was Harkonnen servants, all dressed in black with bald heads and pale, thin figures. Y/N noticed the looks she got from them, an outsider…

Inside the fortress one could see colors yet Harkonenns choose to keep it simple, her chambers consisted of a bedroom, a small living room, and bathroom. Without a word she moved to the velvet armchair which was facing outside, she didn’t want to engage in any conversation with anyone, ‘’Prepare my bath.’’ She ordered without looking at any of them and then moved to the desk in her bedroom to write a letter to her family saying that she landed on the planet safely and everything was fine of course she knew that every letter she would sent was going to be read by Feyd-Rautha’s most trusted politicians, maybe even by himself so she kept the letter short. ‘’Send this to my family.’’ She gave the metal, thin device which was the letter to a servant, ‘’Yes my Lady.’’

After her bath which consisted of warm water and bath oils she brought from home, she smelled fresh and felt better. She was on her desk reading when her door was knocked, ‘’Yes?’’

A servant girl entered, she looked sickly pale and thin, her eyes on the floor, her hands interlaced on her thin stomach, ‘’Na-Baron wishes to dine with you my Lady.’’ It wasn’t a wish, it was an order. ‘’The trip have made me exhausted, please tell Na-Baron that I desire to rest.’’

She noticed the girl’s change of body language, her eyes rose to look at her ladyship pleadingly. Y/N kindly smiled at the girl, oblivious to what was going to happen, she dismissed the servant girl.

The black sun of Giedi Prime shone bright just like the day before, Y/N decided to do some reading, learn more about the planet’s ecosystem. She had a light breakfast, the air still stingy in her lungs, she didn’t have much appetite.

Y/N Atreides was on her desk, taking notes and reading and her door knocked, ‘’Come in.’’ she was focused on the old books, ‘’My Lady.’’

‘’Yes?’’ she turned to face a man, he was a guard in his dark uniform. ‘’Na-Baron has a gift for you. He insists that you should open it after I am dismissed.’’ A strange request but what wasn’t strange about him anyways?!

Y/N couldn’t read the guard’s expression, his face was a blank slate, however he look more pale than usual skin color, was he ill? ‘’Thank you, place the box on the floor and you may be dismissed.’’ He did what he was told. She stood up and approached to the metal box, there was a strong smell of iron coming from it, it appeared there was no lock, no writings. Just in case, she placed the portable force field on her hand, activated it and tested it, working just fine.

Her hand went to open the metal box and her first reaction was to scream in terror, and her second reaction was to run to her bathroom and throw up her breakfast, shaking uncontrollably, on her knees like a wild animal.

Y/N Atreides didn’t know how many minutes or decades she had spent in that position, finally one of her old maids came for her rescue. ‘’My Lady…’’ she was an old woman with white hair and motherly touch, ‘’It’s okay now..’’ she was rubbing Y/N’s back gently and whispering kind words. ‘’Is it-‘’ she sobbed, ‘’is it gone?’’

‘’I took care of it my Lady.’’ She helped Y/N stand up and leave the bathroom. The metal box which had the servant girl’s head was gone and yet she could feel her eyes watching her every move. She threw the shield on her hand and marched out of her chambers. There was a solider guarding her chambers, ‘’Where is Na-Baron?’’ she asked trying to control her tone. ‘’He has a meeting with Baron Vladimir and Glossu Rabban.’’

‘’Take me to him.’’ She said, could feel the anger on her chest, so hefty. ‘’But my Lady-‘’

‘’Take me to him.’’ She used the voice on him, the guard, without a word started to guide her to the meeting room. The corridors of the fortress were mostly black, some grey and white here and there, there were guards on watch duties, servants cleaning or carrying stuff. It was so different than the environment she grew up in, in Caladan or Emperor’s planet was vivid and thriving, here it was just… lifeless. She cursed her fate.

There were two guards on the doors of the meeting room, ‘’Open.’’ She used the voice again and the doors were opened slowly, Baron Vladimir was sitting on a metal chair which was placed on marble steps, towering over Glossu Rabban and Feyd-Rautha who were standing and looking up at him, listening to him as if their lives depend on it.. well.. they weren’t wrong. Baron was surprised to see her. ‘’Lady Y/N!’’ he announced which made the boys look at her direction but she refused to look at them, her focus was on Baron. ‘’What a lovely surprise, I hope you quarters to your liking.’’ Y/N bowed in courtesy, ‘’Thank you my Baron, you are the most generous.’’ She had to control her anger and she was doing a good job, keeping things formal. She had to be respectful to the family otherwise her position let alone her life would be at stake, she remembered Feyd’s words; ‘’Try to humiliate me again and see what happens, little dove.’’ The room was barren with only a long marble table and chairs, the curtains were closed and white glowglobes lighting the room, no carpets, no ornaments. ‘’What do we owe the pleasure of your visit?’’ he asked, she could see he was trying to understand her moves. ‘’I must speak with Na-Baron. It is urgent.’’ Finally she turned to face him, even though he was standing far away she could see his body reacting to her words, he was alert and an animalistic shine on his eyes. ‘’Feyd, please escort your wife-to-be to a more secluded area and discuss.’’ His uncle said and Feyd bowed to him quickly, ‘’Yes uncle.’’ And then he turned to her, marching like a soldier, he held her arm and escorted her out of the room, his grip was tight, he made her follow him. Since there were guards and servants everywhere she didn’t dare to utter a word.

Y/N had no idea where they were going, the fortress was a maze and every corridor looked similar. They reached a door, Feyd dismissed the guards and opened the heavy black door. Quite frankly he threw her inside, before she got a chance to look around she spit her venom. ‘’What is wrong with you?!’’ Feyd looked puzzled, ‘’Did you really beheaded that girl just because I refused to dine with you?!’’ she could feel her whole body shake in anger, being in his presence disturbed her equilibrium. ‘’Oh, that.’’ He remembered, his behavior made it worse for her. ‘’Yes, that!’’ He didn’t close the space between them, his hands behind his back. ‘’Did I upset you, little dove?’’ was he mocking her? ‘’Upset?!’’ Y/N couldn’t believe her ears, what happened to that sweet boy she met years ago?

He started to move towards her like a predator, he was much taller than her, towering above her she had to look up to meet his icy blue orbits. Years had turned him into a killing machine, what a shame. She hoped to see remorse in those beautiful eyes but found nothing. Back of his hand found her heated cheek, touching ever so gently, it made one wonder how could he behead an innocent girl and then touch his wife-to-be like a tender lover. ‘’This is what happens when you reject my orders.’’ His voice calm and collective. ‘’I hate you!’’ and she pushed his chest but had no impact so she moved away from his aura. That’s when she noticed that they were in his quarters of the fortress, she remembered the fact that he dismissed the guards, no one to help her if things were to took a turn. ‘’You hate me?’’ he asked, still calm. ‘’What else… do you also fear me?’’

‘’No.’’ she simply answered. His none existent eyebrows rose, his pupils dilated ever so slightly, she noticed how still he was, like a statue. His nostrils flared with a passion she could not placed.

‘’No? So you don’t fear me.’’ He repeated back, folding his arms, he wasn’t angry, only curious. ‘’Not at all?’’

‘’You aren’t allowed to hurt me.’’ Her voice higher than his.

‘’Not allowed?’’ he tilted his head, his voice low and husky, ‘’and how can you be so certain of such?’’ a slight smile pulled at his plump lips, ‘’What makes you so confident in that?’’ he knew his own intentions but he was curios of what went on within her pretty head. There was a certain aura about Y/N that intrigued Feyd, he was watching, listening and studying her.

‘’Let me go back to my home.’’ She whispered, even she didn’t believe herself but that was her intention, to go back and ride her horse, walk in the lush gardens, laugh with her other Bene Gesserit friends. ‘’You assume you have the final word where you go.’’ He chuckled, his voice lower than before. ‘’I decide where you go.’’ His gaze grew sharp like an animal, ‘’I decide what you do. And what I decide..’’ Feyd laughed again, ‘’You’re going to obey.’’

‘’I had a life before you took me, I had a family and friends and, and..’’ she could feel her eyes getting blurry, ‘’And?’’ he insisted, ‘’I had a partner, a lover, and you scared him away!’’ she was practically yelling at this point, female rage taking over her body. ‘’A lover? Don’t make me laugh little girl. If he was so in love with you-‘’ he opened his arms looking around, ‘’where is he? Why isn’t he here defending your honor and saving you from me?!’’ with the mention of Y/N’a former partner Pyramus, Feyd-Rautha wasn’t so calm anymore, he could feel rage rising in his body.

‘’Because of you! You scared him and he ran! Otherwise he would be here-‘’

‘’Don’t be that stupid Y/N! He wasn’t so scared when I offered him a deal.’’

And with that Y/N was confused, ‘’What deal?’’

Feyd-Rautha was pacing in the room in anger, he couldn’t believe she was still ‘’in love’’ with that low life, waste of space. ‘’I offered him a supply of spice which will outlive him and his children and his children’s children. A generation wealth so to speak.’’

Y/N was shaking her head in rejection, her gaze focused on the floor, ‘’No, no,’’ she whispered, not believing what Feyd was suggesting. ‘’Yes Y/N! Your lover didn’t hesitate a second and took the deal.’’

‘’Then why did he try to escape with me?!’’ she yelled in pain, her heart was torn into pieces, ‘’I wanted you to see how pathetic he was and I staged it.’’ Feyd’s chest heaving with anger and he was so passionate to prove her he was right, he turned to go to the next room and brought back a metal device, he opened it, ‘’Here, he signed the deal.’’ She took it and saw the spice deal written on it, millions of gallons.. and Pyramus’ signature at the bottom…

Feyd grabbed the metal device and threw it on the couch near him, ‘’Not going to lie, you weren’t cheap.’’ And she slapped him.

Feyd-Rautha was slapped by a woman for the first time in his life, he froze for a second, shocked to see how bold she could be. He was even turned on a bit. With both of his hands he grabbed her delicate shoulders tightly, he was much stronger than her. ‘’LET GO OF ME-‘’

Feyd-Rautha didn’t care what she wanted, ‘’I might hurt you physically Y/N, but I would never do that to you. I would never sell what’s mine for something else. Do you hear me?!’’ his voice was rough and irritated her ears, her body was in shock and her shoulders hurting her. ‘’I would never leave what’s mine behind and walk away, I am a man, see me as a man not that little boy you met years ago!’’

Was that a love confession, no it couldn’t be.. someone like Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen couldn’t possibly feel something so pure and innocent, or was it just being possessive and showing her that her life was in his hands till death do them apart. The stress overcame her body, her vision was getting darker and the last thing she saw was Feyd’s pretty eyes.

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Thank you for reading. :)

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wehornyhours · 25 days

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Atonement: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: fic i wrote with @triluvial 's lovely idea

tw: 18+, smut but pretty soft, oral (f recieving), so so so so much angst, fluff after tho dw, swearing, hints of sa and pedophilia from the baron, baron is also creepy to reader but not explicitly, u gotta bear with my yapping in the beginning but it gets good i promise, inkpie

wc: 3.9k

When you married Feyd-Rautha, you were warned of many things. His cruelty, both in and out of the bedroom, his bloodlust, his uncontrollable rage, his violence, his complete and utter lack of mercy. They told you he was psychotic, he was a cold blooded murderer, he was insatiable and that you’d be lucky to last a year with him, and yet, they never cautioned you of his sheer, unerring indifference.

Before your marriage, you fancied that he’d be like fire; raging, searing to touch. You went as far as to wish to tame his inferno. Late at night, when you could not sleep and doubt wreathed your thoughts, you also considered that he’d be like ice, like the colour of his piercing eyes, glacial and cold, devoid of anything soft or sweet.

As a child, you saw him fight in the arena. There he blazed with passion, his victor’s smile a cruel curve upon his face, his knife blade stained dark with fresh blood: he was mesmerising. At that time you were beginning to understand that your future had been sold to this violent man, and you resented your parents for it - now you realise that it went deeper than that, that it was rooted in generations of religion, of whisperings of the Bene Gesserit. Still, even then, you found the way he burned intriguing, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But you were wrong. He turned out to be neither fire nor ice, just stingingly, dismissively apathetic. His eyes slide right over you when he happens to pass you in the corridors, as if you’re lower than a servant, lower than the rare rats that survive Giedi Prime’s conditions. You suspected your marriage would be painful, wedded to a man such as he was, but you didn’t think it would be this damn lonely.

You wished he hated you.

That way, at least you’d mean something to your husband. At least then vehement, savage emotion would rise within his gaze whenever he looked at you, not that horrible, polarising blankness. You wish you disgusted him, because then he’d at least he’d speak his mind - you had learnt that he spoke with brutal honesty, uncaring of the consequences.

Maybe to him, that’s all you are. A consequence of being high born, of being the na-Baron. You mean nothing to him, and he treats you as such; to him, you are less than the speck of dust on the floor, less than a grain of sand in his beloved arena.

It’s not that you wish for him to dote on you, nor love you or devote himself to you. You just wish he would look you in the eye and feel something; you’d rather him stare at you in revulsion and call you names that you can’t even think up yourself than the dead, lifeless detachment that clouds his face when he sees you in your shared chambers.

Feyd-Rautha has never laid a hand on you in violence; in fact he rarely touches you at all. The last, and only time he kissed was during the wedding day, and he makes no moves to be in bodily contact with you any more than he has to be. You are obliged to produce an heir from him, yet even in these infrequent encounters it seems as if it is a chore for him - he takes no pleasure in your body nor does he try to pleasure you, and he makes no sound when he takes you, staying as long as it takes for his seed to fill your womb before leaving without a word. On those nights, your thighs tremble as you stumble to the bathroom, only allowing your tears to fall once the shower water is searing on your skin.

During the first month of your marriage, you did everything in your power to please him. You thought maybe you weren’t pretty enough for him, maybe you were not desirable as a wife, so you always smiled at him, made an effort to fill the silence that pervaded the air around him, bringing up topics you knew he would enjoy, like the arena, like his love for knives and duels. To even that he would not reply, rebutting your questions with monosyllables or simply ignoring you. You stopped once he began to leave the room while you were mid sentence.

It is now your fourth month locked in this marriage with an uncaring man, and all you feel is bleak, crushing resignation. Somehow, Feyd-Rautha seems to take more interest in conversing with his brother than you.

You wonder if he has forgotten your name. He addresses you simply as ‘wife’ - that, and nothing more, the title leaving his lips like an accusatory curse, reminding you that if you did not serve a purpose to him, and if decorum did not restrain him, he’d have disposed of you by now, either by slitting your throat or simply abandoning you outside the palace grounds, not even bothering to end you himself.

The palace in question is lonely, but you feel the loneliest when you lay awake at night, shivering on your side of the bed as Feyd-Rautha slumbers to your right. Tears always prick your eyes during those moments, but you stifle them, afraid that you’ll rouse him with your crying; you do not know what you’ve done to garner his mistrust, but many times you’ve glimpsed the knife he keeps beneath his pillow, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight.

Often you wonder if he has a secret lover, and that is why he does not bother with you. You wake up sometimes and he is gone, but soon you realised that he would visit his concubines, especially after he had bred you. You would finish your shower, unable to wash off the feel that you were dirty, you were just an animal, a mindless thing to produce an heir for him, and he would be lounging in the antechambers of your quarters, ignoring your presence with the three harpies wrapped around him, whispering in his ears and caressing his moonlight skin. They accompanied him everywhere he wished, even in public, and to begin with, you felt humiliated that he would so explicitly show that you were not to his satisfaction.

Now, it just makes the solitude even worse.

You find solace in no one. More than once, you have walked in on the servants laughing behind your back, and as it became evident your husband was uninterested in you, they did not hide their mocking. The Baron’s other nephew you hardly saw, and the Baron himself terrified you: there was something in the way that he stared at you, his beady eyes glittering from where they were set deep within his putrid flesh, that made you feel more soiled than even after Feyd-Rautha took you.

So you remain isolated, speaking only when spoken to, drifting through the palace’s wide, dark hallways like a ghoul, a mourning spectre. You can barely remember your life before, just wisps and fleeting flashes of colour that ridicule rather than comfort you.

To Feyd, it is obvious who you are. A spy, commanded by his uncle to report every single one of his doings to you; he cannot slip up once around you, cannot reveal his weaknesses, that he is desperate to be loved, to be seen as someone whose only use is not war. He sees the way his uncle looks at you, hungry for information you do not have because he does not impart it, the way the Baron comments on you and the way you flinch at his words, pretending that you do not report to him.

Feyd is determined in his resolve to give nothing away. His uncle has held power over him since he was young, he refuses to give him even an inch over him now. He still has nightmares of it, which he wakes up from with his pale skin sheened in clammy sweat, clammy like the hands of his uncle.

Sometimes, he sees the tears in your eyes after he fucks you. The first time, he almost stopped, almost asked you where it hurt, but you turned away before he could, acting, always acting; acting when you smile graciously at him, acting when you ask him what his favourite type of blade is, what his favourite form of swordsmanship is. You are good at pretending, but of course you are - his uncle is the Baron, a man who bathes in power. No doubt he would get only the best of spies.

Tonight, you are not where you normally are. At this hour, you are usually asleep, or feigning it in the very least, curled up small on your side of the mattress, yet the bed is still made, the sheets unrumpled and smoothed down as they were this morning. Feyd thinks that maybe he might catch you reporting to his uncle, so he strides out of your shared chambers, pausing in the doorway to listen carefully; as a boy, he hunted in forests that have now been chopped down and industrialised, but he has maintained his keen ears long after the last wild plant on Giedi Prime’s surface choked on the fumes of pollution.

There’s a soft noise, barely perceptible, that echoes down the corridor to his right. Silently, he tracks it down the labyrinthine passages of the palace, servants scurrying out of his warpath, bowing their heads to him - he wonders if they too report to his uncle, if they travel now to his quarters to inform him of his beloved nephew’s whereabouts.

Feyd wishes he and Rabban were brothers first before rivals. Then he could have someone to rely on, someone who he trusted in this palace built on lies.

Pausing, Feyd cocks his head. You huddle in a crumpled heap at the end of the corridor, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, head low as if under a crushing weight. It occurs to him that maybe the Baron was displeased with your efforts to gain information and made it known to you - a pang of pity tugs at him, for he knows what his uncle’s wrath is like. At least you have been spared from the sole thing worse than that - the Baron’s thirst.

‘What are you doing, wife?’

Your head snaps up, Feyd-Rautha’s unfeeling voice kindling a rare burst of temper from you. Is it not evident to him what you are doing? Or is he just too blind to see the tears streaking down your cheeks? Your words are injected with venom when you speak, and you hope that it stings him for leaving you alone in this cold, dark place.

‘So now I am of concern to you?’

Feyd is taken aback by the indignant arch of your brows, the resentment displayed in your eyes. It takes him a moment to register the harshness lacing your voice - you have never addressed him in this way - and another to digest your words. There’s a bleakness in your wet, tear stained face as you stare up at him, and shock too, as if you did not expect yourself to speak against him this way.

Something clicks into place.

Feyd recognises that look in your eyes. He recognises it, because he’s seen it in the mirror a hundred times before; haunted, harrowed, lonely. He remembers nights when he trembled beneath the cold sheets of his bed, when he was small enough that he felt like he was drowning in the black satin, his eyes wide as the fabric seemed to wend around his limbs, tying him there as he lay fearful of everyone, fearful that his uncle would summon him. Even young, he was so terribly aware of not knowing who he could trust and who would turn to the Baron, bearing information like knives to split open his childish skin and spill his guts on the freezing stone floor.

It broke him. He is barely a shell of a sentient being, repressed emotions wreathing like ghosts around his frame, his eyes hollow, his heart decaying. In his fear, he was blinded, and he pushed you to the place where he had been all those years ago, so terribly, terribly alone - you are stronger than him, for lasting this long.

Sharp, plunging, dread sinks in his stomach, weighs down his soul; he has done unspeakable things to you, treated you like a dog, like a whore - worse. How can you look at him without hatred in your eyes, spite?

Bile rises in his throat, his heart seized by a dark, burning anger. He has done this to you, he has slashed your skin and left you bleeding, and yet all you did was try to please him. In an effort to save himself, he trampled you under foot; in order to keep you out, he left you surrounded by shadows. Feyd has never hated himself so much, has never despised who he has become with this much furor.

Slowly, he crouches before you. Eyes wide, you shrink away, misreading the direction of his rage, flinching when he reaches out a hand. Pressing your back against the wall behind you, you turn your head away from him, fear causing tears to spill down your cheeks: he sees the way you will the stone to swallow you up, knows the feeling.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ you choke out, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Something deep within Feyd’s soul withers and dies at your words. Forcing his jaw to unclench, his hands to release the fists they held, he shoves down his anger. The fury is for later, for when he has made things right - for now it is you that is his priority. Too late, a voice whispers in his ears, too late, too late, too late -

Gods, he deserves to burn at the fucking stake for this. He deserves eternal hell for this, he deserves worse. He is a fool: a blind, blundering fool, stuffed to the brim with paranoia and cynicism.

He sucks in a breath. ‘I will not hurt you. You have my word, whatever it is worth to you. I - I have made an irredeemable mistake, I - ’

After his first sentence, you have not heard him. Tears of relief soak your face, and you whisper needless apologies for them; it is an arrow through his heart that you fear him so - yet the pain is where it is due, justifiable for the way he has shamed you, belittled you.

‘May I - may I touch you, my wife?’

You do not know why you nod in reply of your husband’s strange request, but the moment you do, strong arms pull you into a solid chest, and a sob leaves you - he is so warm, warm enough to banish the seeping cold embedded in your bones, warm enough to let your sorrow flow anew, soaking his shirt as your hands bunch in its fabric, so that if he is cruel enough to leave you here, at least he will have to fight to do so. You have not been held in a long time.

Each of your shuddering sobs is a knife blade twisting in Feyd’s spirit. He lets the pain wash over him, clings to the way you burrow into his arms, a kind creature in the embrace of a monster. At one point, in the throes of your crying, you beat at his chest, telling him that you hate him, and he takes it with a bowed head, stroking your hair and holding you tighter once you exhaust yourself; this is only a fraction of his atonement.

You fall asleep in his arms. He carries you back to your quarters, and only once the door is closed behind him does he let his tears mingle with yours. Keeping you cradled to his chest like a child, he pours a glass of water for you to drink in the morning, knowing you will be dehydrated; he sets it on your bedside table before laying you down on the mattress.

You don’t let go of him, even in your sleep. His heart clenches, tight in his chest, and he drops a kiss in your hair before lying down beside you.

He believes he will love you, if you will let him.

Consciousness leaks slowly into your mind, and you blink, squinting through the beam of light that filters in through the curtains. From your months spent here, you’ve realised that Giedi Prime’s atmosphere is normally churned up with violent storms and choked with pollution, so this ray of sun that falls against your pillow, warming your face is far from unwanted - nor is the pale forearm tucked around your waist, firmly so, but not trapping you either.

Your husband’s chest fits snugly against your back, his breath warm and steady against your skin; his fingers splay out across your stomach, gentle, communicating so many things that were left unsaid. Vaguely, you remember falling asleep, nestled against his chest, tears drying on your cheeks.

When you roll over, you’re unsurprised that he’s already awake. With blue eyes softened by the sunlight, he regards you, fingers settled at the small of your waist. Something clouds his gaze, and he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

‘I owe you an explanation.’

You wait silently, unperturbed by the way he clenches his jaw. He vowed to you last night that he would not hurt you, and you trust that. Wordlessly, his lips open, then close, and you patiently watch him, far too well acquainted with how this man struggles to let down his guard - even now, you cannot read the twisting of his features, the way his eyes squint as he looks at you.

‘I - I thought you were a spy sent by my uncle,’ he finally confesses. ‘My uncle… when I was younger, he,’

Reaching out, you cup his jaw in your hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone until he relaxes. You see the battle in his eyes, to let go, to tell you the knowledge that he thinks you deserve, but you see with it the years of hurt, of solitude. Something hopeful, something beautiful blossoms within you - the realisation that this wounded beast before you is someone that you could grow to love; you want him to bare his scars to you, those that are long healed and those that still seep with blood.

‘All in good time, Feyd,’ you assure him quietly.

He sighs, touches his lips against your palm. ‘I am sorry, my wife.’

Slipping your hand down to grip his shoulder, you lean closer towards him so you can kiss him. An anguished sound leaves him, and you see clearly how he realises that he has wronged you, how it pains him, and yet how the taste of you awakens something tender within him - you marvel at it, that it has survived, buried within him for so long. Perhaps he will let you love him.

Feyd is neither forward nor insatiable in the way he kisses you. In fact, he pulls away first, moving to get up from the bed despite the way your hands grip his shoulders, and you almost doubt that he wants you before you glimpse the longing in his eyes that lingers before he pushes it down. You wonder if this man knows how to make love or if he just knows how to fuck, you wonder if he feels the same molten feeling in his stomach that you feel and that is why his movements are tinged with nerves as he gently escapes your grasp. It is clear to you: he does not want to scare you.

‘Must you go?’ You ask, tugging at his fingers.

He tilts his head. ‘I don’t know if you want me here, after what I have inflicted upon you.’

A streak of bravery takes ahold of you. ‘Please, Feyd, I want you.’

You delight at the fire that ignites in his eyes upon your words. He wastes no time in returning to your side, dropping a sweet tasting kiss to your lips before taking your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours as he sits between your thighs.

‘Tell me if you want to stop,’ he says. ‘Yes?’

‘Yes,’ you echo, blood heating your cheeks.

Feyd kisses you again, giving you time to rescind your reply if you want, but you just tug at the hem of his shirt, drinking in his sculpted chest when he pulls the black cloth over his head. Delicately, he trails his lips down your skin as he undresses you, his broad hands warm where they encircle your waist, holding you flush to him as his calloused palms explore your body, skimming over your spine and caressing your breasts before settling on your thighs and pulling them open.

You’re terribly aware of how wet you are when his eyes settle on your pussy. Instinctively, your knees tip inwards, your face growing hot at the hunger in his gaze, but his broad shoulders block your legs from closing, followed closely by his hands which gently push them back open. He smiles at the blush high on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb over your ankle in order to put you at ease.

The sound you make when he pushes his fingers into your cunt and curls them almost makes Feyd moan. You tremble for him, bashful, and he can feel himself rock hard against the mattress, aching for the tight clamp of your velvet walls. He wants to bury himself between your thighs, and so he does, your sweet slick exquisite on his tongue - he presses kisses like butterflies to your thighs, your hips, worshipping you as his fingers pump in and out of you to the same pace as your heaving chest.

You look beautiful, gilded by the sunlight, lower lip trapped between your teeth, but he doesn’t miss the way you grip the sheets with one hand, the other clapped over your mouth, panting as he pleases you. Stroking your thigh, he pauses, licking your slick off his lips.

‘Let me hear you,’ he bids.

You blush again but obey him, tremors wracking your body as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over it until you throw your head back, eyes rolling as you come, your honeyed moans and hot release exquisite upon his senses. He wants more, needs more of the taste of you, but you tug at his shoulders, whining for his cock, and he’d rather die than deny you.

The way you say his name when he buries himself inside you sets his soul on fire. You look beautiful beneath him, shaking and whimpering from the hot pulse of his length, clawing at his shoulders until he wears red marks that he’s proud to bear, moaning into his mouth when he kisses you. It seems you cannot get enough of him, and Feyd is more than fine with that because he finds himself addicted to the feel of you under his hands, begging him for more.

Feyd remains entranced long after he comes inside you, with you, your cunt spasming around him. You draw close to him, intertwining your legs with his as he kisses your face, your neck, your chest, making sure he has not hurt you, making sure you are sated. Curling your fingers under his jaw, stopping him, you look him in the eye and smile before kissing him, and he finds himself mesmerised again by you.

He is certain you will let him love you. He is yours.

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wehornyhours · 2 months

Text

in the stillness of remembering

Pairing: Duncan Idaho x F!Reader Words: 3k Warnings: smut. probably ooc vibes bc ive only seen the film. angst. forbidden romance. hair pulling. hallway sex. possessive rough sex. jealousy. Summary: He can’t stay away just as you can’t look at anyone else. A/N: title from Fleetwood Mac's Dreams obvi.

Duncan manages to be reserved and rugged and wild all at once. He is the embodiment of duty. He is a stretch of lightning that has been bottled up and brought to heel.

“House Atreides is all you serve,” you bite out as he presses himself against you. His breath fans your cheek - his lips ghosting the skin of your temple. You can feel his grin.

“I serve you,” he argues.

“Because I’m part of the great Atreides machine.”

He chuckles in that low way he has. It rumbles through his chest and creeps between your legs. Your fingers catch in his nightshirt. “No,” He’s adamant. “Because it’s you.”

They have so few nights together. Clandestine meetings in empty hallways. Trysts. He goes out of his way to sit across from you at state dinners. His boots knock against your toes. His eyes trace your face and there is the tinkle and spark of cutlery on plates and someone asks him to relay his tales of all the battles he’s won. He’s unstoppable. A legend. His skin shimmers like sun-drenched sand and there’s the tiniest flecks of gold in the dark hair that is pulled away from his handsome face. He grins at you among the flicker of candlelight and stone and you feel it in your stomach. Knotted. Weighted. It hurts.

He’s fucking the Duke’s ward and it is probably the only disloyal thing Duncan has ever done against Leto.

He can’t stay away just as you can’t look at anyone else.

***

“Do you think he’ll marry me off?” you ask him while he’s still inside you. Your breath is hitched and your stomach is in your throat. His strokes are long and slow and inexorable. He can fuck you like this for hours - patient and deliberate as if he is savoring each part of you. Duncan is so big - everywhere - that sometimes you think he’ll keep going until he hits your heart. It stings and it’s perfect.

He stills - his body going rigid. His brow furrows and his expression twists into incredulous. The shadows of Caladan’s moon slip over your bed and force Duncan’s features into sharp relief. “What?”

His tone is blunt and almost angry, which is exactly what you wanted.

“Leto,” you murmur as you dig your knees into his waist - as you clench around him - making him twitch and slide further into you. “He might marry me off to strengthen the alliance.”

His jaw ticks. His nostrils flare. Something ugly and coarse sounds from his chest. He plants his knees and hitches one of your legs over his shoulder. “Duncan…” you start - suddenly thinking that maybe that had been in poor taste. But the apology is crushed and forgotten when he draws his hips back and then slams forward.

“Do you think I would let him?” he grunts as he fucks you into your mattress. You can’t anchor yourself. You scramble to hold onto your headboard - fist your sheets. There’s no use so you grab at his broad shoulders - his back - scrape your nails down his spine. He is unforgiving - the very flash of who Idaho is burns through him as he thrusts into you again and again. No respite. No gentleness. His hands catch in your hair and he presses you deeper into the bed - pinning you in place - biting your lower lip and sucking at your neck - your tongue - whispering things to you that make you shudder: I would never let another man touch you - I would kill them - You’re mine - this is mine - why do you like to taunt me like this - do you enjoy it - do you want to drive me insane enough to fuck you until you can’t speak - walk - my love - tell me

You break apart - squeezing him impossibly tight as he bites into the sweat-slick flesh where your neck meets your shoulder. He follows you not long after - hips stuttering between your spread thighs. You’re stretched around him and everything is wet. His pace loses all of its easy grace as he grinds to the hilt, filling you with hot lashes of seed. When he eases out, you can feel it on your cunt - warm and sticky. You’re empty. You miss the heft of him inside you. Duncan sits back to stare at what’s he’s done - his lips quirking smugly before he uses two of his thick fingers and plugs it back into your sex - marking you - branding you -

It's too erotic and intimate at once.

No words are shared between you aside from both of your strained breathing. You can hear the trickle of water from the fountain beyond your window. The wind pulses through leaves and grass. Dawn is intruding. The pink-purple threat of it drips over the line of his shoulders. There is the scent of incoming rain. The brine of the sea riding the air and you wonder when he will leave again. Not soon. Please not soon.

“You’re a demon,” he finally declares - scrubbing a hand over his face as if he is just waking up - as if he had momentarily lost himself.

You reach down - pressing between your legs where everything is sore and achy and feverish and his eyes follow - his gaze heavy and hungry and darkening with each swipe of your fingers.

“I suppose you’re right,” Your lips curl. “No one else can do what you do.”

He groans. “You’re terrible.”

After a beat, he reaches for your ankle and tugs it over his thigh. He needs something to do. He’s never just still - just willing to float and relax. It’s symbolic of your relationship. He goes and goes and you wait for him. Frozen in time. His thumb digs into the bones of your foot as he circles the soft flesh. He could break it easily if he wanted. He could break you and you’d still wait for him.

“I am, but your humble servant.”

He laughs and it’s bright in the dim blue light of your bedroom. It bounces and rolls off the marble and stone. It echoes inside the clutch of your ribs. It’s so gorgeous that it nearly makes you cry. “You and I both know that you’re no one’s servant.”

“I’m Leto’s.”

“You’re not. He’s far too soft on you.”

“I am,” you hiss as your head falls back into your pillow. Your stomach rolls and there’s a sharp soreness between your legs that you want Duncan to remedy by touch. “He’s going to turn me into a breeding sow or something equally dehumanizing.”

You feel Duncan’s caress pause on your ankle. The humor in the room vanishes with a cold suck. You glance at him and there’s an unreadable expression on his face. The shadows don’t give him all away, but you’re certain you see his jaw flex and his lips peel back to bare his white teeth. A flicker of disgust - regret. “That won’t happen.”

“You can’t stop it.”

For House Atreides - marriage is about alliances. It is about burrowing their family lines throughout the various pathways of the galaxy. You are not Leto’s by blood, but you have been raised as his own and that still counts. He didn’t even marry Lady Jessica.

It's not about love.

Duncan studies your foot in his hands - his calloused fingers slipping over your skin. “Don’t say that.”

The temperature of this interaction has gone dark. You hadn’t meant for that to happen. You were simply stressed - panicked and flustered that you would lose him. Every time that you have Duncan - every time that he comes to your bed - you fear the day that he won’t.

You need to change course and so you sit up and crawl over to him. You wrap your arms around his muscular shoulders and press your mouth to his throat. Your touch dances over his battle scars - the knots of flesh and tissue from blades and projectiles and whatever hideous things he’s fought throughout his life.

“I’m sorry,” you say and he lifts his hand to clutch your wrist. He seals it against his chest and sighs. You kiss his cheek before carefully turning his face to yours. He is so close. He is right here. “Duncan?” you exhale over his mouth.

“Hmm?”

“Would you still want me if I was Harkonnen?”

His eyes widen in surprise and you grin - pleased that you’ve shocked him. He tries to suppress a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Would be a little challenging.”

You are already forbidden.

“That’s not an answer,” you point out as you chew your lip. “What if I had no arms?”

He groans - squeezing your wrist harshly in reproach. He grumbles about how difficult you are as he pushes you backward. He sinks his tongue inside you to shut you up.

***

You hate the thought of Arrakis. You want to revolt. You’ll dry up there with the harsh sun, the smoke trees, the palms, and saguaro. Paul told you about the sandworms - enormous and horrific. They’ll swallow you all. They’ll swallow Duncan.

Idaho is always gone - accepting whatever stupid mission Leto has forced him to accomplish in order to prepare for your arrival. Of course, you learn that he adapts and befriends because that is simply who he is. His loyalty shines strongly enough that even the Fremen find him impossible to resist.

“He works you too hard.”

“It’s my duty. I know it’s difficult for you to understand since you are the most stubborn woman alive.”

The both of you fight until it burns out - quiet arguments hidden in deserted passageways of the castle.

I don’t want to go. It feels strange. The Harkonnens have poisoned it.

There’s nothing you can do. You can’t just stay on Caladan.

You storm off to your room and he inevitably follows.

***

It is miserable. Unbearable. The dust bites at your skin and coats you in a thin film that you cannot seem to wash away. The Harkonnens left their stink on the fortress and it unnerves you.

It doesn’t help that Paul had confided in you about his dreams of late.

When Duncan arrives at Arrakeen, he tells you and the others how close it was - how he had tasted death. He’s laughing. He finds it funny. You can’t control yourself - don’t have the strength to hide your horrified expression. He pauses in his tale - his brow creasing.

“What?” He reaches for you and you jerk away from him. “What is it?”

It’s all very public. Paul sees. Gurney sees. Your face crumples and tears spring from your eyes and you run from him.

You are not like Paul. You don’t know or see things before they happen. But you feel it. You can sense something vibrating in this fortress. It rumbles under your feet. You cannot get a full breath in. Your heartbeat is too fast.

Something is wrong.

You run and run and of course he catches you - his hands in your dress as he hauls you to him. He lifts you as he would a doll before he buries you into the wall with the length of his body.

“Stop” you beg - shoving at him. It’s like knocking your fists against a stone door. “Stop. I can’t do this.”

You think that if he takes you again, you’ll actually go mad. He is screaming death - it permeates his clothes and skin. You don’t want to lose him. He’s been yours for years. He’s only been yours. He is the one thing that you have.

He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him. He is so beautiful that it hurts. You’re going to lose him. His eyes bleed umber - his long hair is pulled back - his beard cut along his jaw. There’s a bit of sand on his chin. “What are you doing?”

“If you die,” you whimper. “I’ll never- I won’t survive it.”

He searches your face - bewildered. Finally, he sighs with the same sort of tone Leto would use on you as a girl. A petulant child. You should understand this. He’s a warrior. He is always touching death. He is always seconds away - an inch or mile.

He palms your cheek before gripping the hinge of your jaw and crushing his mouth to yours. His tongue slides between your lips. You can feel how hard he is against your stomach. He is thick with muscle and hot-blood and he’s been in the desert for weeks. He only wants you - the comfort of you - the familiarity of their bond.

He pulls back just enough to speak - his breath on your breath. His heart thumps strongly against your palm and you long to capture the beat of it. You could collect it and save it for him and use it if he fell. “If I die, you won’t. I forbid it.”

“You won’t be here to stop me.”

His gaze narrows. “No.”

You open your mouth again -

and choke on your words -

His hand has found its way between your legs - his thumb circling the peak of your sex underneath all your wispy fabric. He pushes his fingers into you - curling and scissoring as he deliberately drives you to a quick climax.

I want to save you.

You’re not Paul. You have no gifts beyond the face that seduced the great Duncan Idaho.

He leans forward - mouth brushing over yours.

“Is it because of what your brother said?”

Her baby brother. No blood between them. Sometimes you call Leto father because he is in all the ways he’s tried.

Duncan had been young when he had first seen you.

You were soft and sweet in that garden outside the Duke’s room. I never forgot. I always tried to make excuses to speak to him so I could catch a glimpse. You were so shy.

His fingers are gone and there is the blunt heavy pressure of his cock sinking into you - breaching slowly with all the warrior-patience Duncan possesses. He’s carrying you - anchoring you to the wall. You wrap your legs around his waist. Open up for me. You stroke the wrinkles around his eyes - his brow. Laughter lines. He was always laughing.

“Tell me,” he pleads in a way that sparks like an order. His cock is sheathed to the hilt - shallowly dipping in and out. His fingers on his other hand continue to trace the shape of your cunt. He knows your body too well. There will never be anyone else for you.

“Paul saw it,” you whisper - grief curling around your insides. “Paul sees everything. He knows.”

“He doesn’t,” Duncan snaps. His thumb digs into your jaw - his expression pained and somewhat frantic as you crumble in his arms. He wants you to believe him. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You can’t promise me that.”

“I can try.”

***

Leto had tried to match you with a suitor once. A son from House Corrino. Their grip on power had been waning steadily - leaking out.

There’d been a party - a dance. Jessica had made sure the palace was lit up. The very ceiling of the great room had been hung with tiny lights and blue draping to mimic the very image of the galaxy. The starks winking and trembling with the swell of the music.

Duncan had seethed in the corner. The man famous for his charm and his carefree spirit was consumed with such a rage that everyone noticed. Gurney had to speak with him. You danced and spun and laughed while he sulked. You’d been at that age where you only wanted to needle Duncan in order to make him possess you.

By the end of the night, he had finally caught hold of your wrist and dragged you down the hall. He shoved you into his quiet bare room and then thoroughly fucked you until you could say nothing but his name.

“Do you remember that man? Luther?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You’re very sensitive.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

You had loved the taste of his anger and his jealousy. It had been a time where he didn’t know if you were his and you had played upon that knowledge. He couldn’t claim you as he does presently.

Now - you both don’t care enough to be anyone else’s.

Now, you despise Leto’s strategies after realizing what you could lose. Leto’s machinations were only entertaining when it wasn’t you on the board.

***

“Should I ask him for your hand, then?”

You’re lying on his chest - your ear firmly glued to the press of his heart. The heavy and relaxed thump thump thump like music. You sit up to stare at him. He’s naked - warm and at ease with his hair spilling over your pillow. It’s a rare state for him.

When you say nothing, he cocks his head slightly. He’s so enormous that he takes up most of your bed. The corner of his mouth twitches as he regards you with a mellow amusement.

“Do you think he’d say yes?” you finally reply.

He closes his eyes and shrugs. “No.”

Would it matter? Couldn’t we just refuse him?

“Perhaps - I will just never marry,” You trace your name across his olive skin. He shudders before snatching your hand and placing it against his mouth. He doesn’t kiss it, but caresses it with his lips. You inhale sharply - suddenly dizzy with him.

“Perhaps - we can wed in secret,” he hums - his lashes dark and long against his cheek. His lids still firmly shut and you wonder if he's gone somewhere in his head. “I’ll simply kill any other suitors he puts in front of you.”

“That would go well.”

He opens one eye to peek at you. “I’ll do it quietly. He’ll never know it was me.”

“Yes, he will,” you protest. “You’re his greatest soldier.”

“Then I’ll make it sloppy.”

You laugh and it tumbles out of your throat - bouncing against his firm chest. He flashes a grin and you finally understand that that had been his intention all along. He wants you to be happy. You hadn’t smiled here - in this wasteland. Not until now.

He slips his knuckles over your cheek. His expression is docile and pleased and you don't grasp how he can be so reverent and gentle when he has killed hundreds of men. You’ve heard the stories. You’ve seen him train.

You watch each other in silence - unknowingly memorizing the other's face. The silence itself is rare. Usually, you’re always lashing out and he is always keeping the balance - protecting you and soothing you until your nerves dim.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

You should tell him that.

You hear a noise outside, but Duncan doesn’t seem to notice. There’s a thump and then a buzz of commotion before it fades to nothing. Perhaps, someone fell.

You bite your lip - strangely nervous. He sinks the tip of his thumb into the soft flesh to stop you. The unsaid don’t in his pointed stare. A wave of uncertainty churns in your belly. You lean into his hand.

“He saw your death, Duncan.”

“Dreams are just dreams,” he promises.

Part Two

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