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goldenatreides · 7 months ago

Text

- training season -

[ paul atreides x reader ]

2.7k words, oneshot, smut, friends to lovers

summary: in a pinch, a dusty old weapons closet is just as good a hiding place as any.

content warnings: 18+ (minors shoo!) no use of y/n, all characters are over 18, f!reader, smut, religious imagery, mentions of violence, use of the Voice, implied consent, m/f pairing, fingering, PiV sex, semi-public unprotected sex, creampie, uhhhhh overuse of italics, gurney halleck jumpscare,

author’s note: you will pry my italics and religious imagery from my cold, dead hands. i need to be sedated. all feedback is appreciated and lmk if u find anything wrong, it’s my first time writing in a decade i think!! thank you to @earthshells for editing and teaching me about shrimping in bjj <3

🤍 masterlist 🤍 about 🤍 read on ao3 🤍

The clash of two blades resonates through the training room of Caladan.

Paul swipes at your side with his blade but you dodge, elbowing him hard in the ribs, catching him off balance. As you back away, he grabs your arm and pulls you down with him, pinning you against the ground; your face down on the cold stone floor, his legs straddling your back.

Your chest burns at the impact, flush against the floor. You feel his entire weight on top of you, heaving from exertion. His legs keep one arm locked at your side, under him, the other still caught in his grasp, pressed to the ground. Your blade scrapes against the stone.

“Do you yield?” His voice is much closer than you expect. His breath is close, tickling the back of your neck, too close, too warm—a shiver snakes down your spine.

(Why does it do that?)

Dark messy curls fall into your field of vision, some brushing the shell of your ear. A prickle against your jugular taunts you — his knife at your throat. Your shield buzzes with the contact.

(Ah.

He’s pressing it harder today than ever before.)

You make a small noise in answer, sound muffled by the ground.

Paul shifts his weight on top of you by sitting up, his legs still caging your back, knife at your throat. He relaxes the hand that holds yours bound.

(That’s new.)

Instead, Paul grabs a fistful of your hair at the back of your neck, lifting your head slightly. It hurts — but you can’t lie and say it’s… entirely unpleasant.

(Oh.

That’s new too.)

“Well?”

You can hear the teasing grin in his voice. Years upon years of training with him and still, he knows your left side is your weakest. But you’ll be damned before you give Paul the satisfaction of beating you for the third time in a row this week.

You wriggle slightly under him, testing his hold — why is he still clutching your hair? — and finding it looser than you expect, you rotate, using your free arm to lurch back and upwards suddenly, knocking him off you. You hear him land to your side with a thud and a surprised grunt, blade clattering to the ground.

Fingers curling around the hilt of your blade, you spin around, hooking your legs against his to trap him. Now, you straddle him, your knife pressing against his throat.

“What’s gotten into you today, Paul?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” he answers, still grinning.

His eyes are deadly, dark green.

Ignoring his choice to play stupid, you hiss: “Do you yield, Atreides?”

His holtzmann shield buzzes a bright red at his neck.

Your pulse buzzes too.

(Just the adrenaline.)

You want to wipe the smug grin off his face. He could have won so easily, you were distracted, why didn’t he?

Maybe he let his guard down too soon, or maybe — and you’ll never forgive him in this case — he’s going easy on you.

You feel the pinprick echo of his hands clutching your hair. A knot ties in your stomach, but you refuse to associate the two feelings.

(It must be close to lunch by now.)

Surely that must be it.

Paul laughs. It’s bright, airy — did your heart just skip a beat?

“Never.”

He reaches for his blade — that he shouldn’t have lost in the first place, he knows better than that — and as you lean forward to stop him, he uses your momentary distraction to free his other hand.

Which he promptly knots into your hair again, pulling you down by the back of your neck. Your legs slide out from under you against the slippery stone floor. Curse whoever built this castle.

Your own shield joins the buzzing, his knife finding your neck once more, yours still pressed against his, noses a hair’s width away.

His chest moves yours with each breath, every exhale waving strands of your hair that escaped his grasp.

You lie frozen above him for a moment or two. His eyes are so close you can count every individual lash, his pupils so blown you can see yourself reflected back at you.

Something about them is different today.

You’ve been staring at those eyes your whole life. Countless wishes cast on those same fallen lashes, gold flecks sparkling through a sea of forest green. You’ve seen them beam with childish mirth when you stole pastries from the kitchen, both your hands sticky from the bun you shared, giggling under a heavy oak table. You’ve seen them sorrowful and sullen, his under eyes as dark as bruises as he snuck into your room for comfort in the middle of the night after a bad dream, innocent adolescence.

Now, from so close, they’re dark, darker than you’ve seen—a raging sea, so bewitching it can drown you with no warning if you don’t tread with caution. You’ve caught glimpses of it before, in darkened hallways and after too many glasses of crimson Caladan wine, when he didn’t think you were looking—but never with such feverish intensity.

(Just the adrenaline.

He’s just caught up in the fight.)

Paul’s lips part slightly as his chest heaves up and down beneath you. You feel heat creeping into your cheeks, and a mirroring rosy blush dusts his high cheekbones. Few faint freckles dot his cheeks during the summer season and you see them now like clusters of little stars.

His eyes never leave yours, but his tongue darting out and slightly wetting his parted lips grabs your attention and you can’t help but stare. You trace your gaze along the dip in his cupid’s bow, the regal arch of his pointed nose, the cheekbones sculpted as if from marble of antiquity.

(Oh, Maker.

I’m staring.)

You cough to clear your throat from the thick silence that settles over the two of you, broken only by your mingled breaths. His mouth closes, lips curling into a coy smile as he sees you flush more under his stare.

“Something wrong?” his voice comes out husky, deeper than you’ve heard before. Why was the room suddenly so hot? The castle’s heating never worked so well.

You refuse to meet his piercing gaze again, mortified at the situation, desperate to look anywhere but at the boy below you. The boy —your childhood best friend, you remind yourself in an attempt to clear your head of whatever is happening—is different today.

(And whatever is happening is definitely not happening.

It’s just Paul.

He’s just messing with you.)

Still avoiding his eyes, you sit up, excuses already tumbling from your mouth—cut off by Paul tightening his grip on your hair, sending electric sparks tingling at the roots of your scalp.

Your breath hitches in your throat as his voice comes out not fully his own—distant, many echoing voices folding in his own all at once, commanding your undivided attention and acceptance:

“Look at me.”

Your stomach falls through the floor as your eyes snap to meet his. Maybe all those lessons he skipped to hang out with you were not so useless after all.

You feel every point of contact with him a thousandfold. His hand in your hair, yours on his chest, his toned waist between your ever-so-slightly trembling legs. His other hand drops his knife, and slides up to rest on your waist, lithe fingers delicately brushing the stitches of your clothing.

“Paul—” Your voice comes out more of a whispery mumble than you expected.

(Maybe the floor will open up and swallow me whole.)

The hand in your hair relaxes, and his palm slides down to the back of your neck, fingers light as a feather. They hook your jaw, cupping your cheek. You think you’ll suffocate under the weight of his gaze on you.

Paul breaks the stare first, his eyes clinging to your mouth.

His thumb gently traces the outside of your lips, teasing your bottom lip. You hope he can’t feel how your pulse thunders against your neck, your heart threatening to escape your chest at his very touch.

(He definitely can.)

Heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway outside break the spell and you both freeze in a moment of panic. A familiar voice calls out for Paul, as you jump off him and he scrambles to his feet.

He looks around the room quickly, and seeing an old and dusty weapons storage closet, he grabs your hand and pulls you into it, shutting the heavy door as quietly as possible behind him.

Not a moment too soon, as you hear Gurney Halleck’s voice coming from the training room.

“Paul?”

After a beat of silence, Gurney sighs in frustration and you hear the training room doors click as he leaves.

You and Paul breathe a sigh of relief. You’ve both skipped out on one too many tutors this week, but the consequences can wait until…later.

Your eyes adjust to the lack of light in the closet. In the inky darkness, you feel Paul standing in front of you, so close in the cramped space that with each breath his chest flushes against yours. He smells of cedar, of bergamot, of honey. Comforting. Familiar. Paul.

What the hell just happened in that training room? You’re not willing to break the heavy silence first. Neither is he.

Instead, he kisses you.

Your mind goes blank as you feel his lips, softer than a pillow, press against yours. The kiss is gentle, shy, nothing like the fierce training you were practicing earlier, nothing like the commanding voice of the Atreides heir.

(Oh, fuck it.

Maybe it is happening.)

As Paul starts to pull away, you open your lips and kiss him back—feverish, hungry, devouring—your heart hammering out of your chest.

It was as if a rubber band had snapped, releasing whatever was holding either one of you back. He deepens the kiss, and you melt into it—his lips crashing against yours, his tongue tracing against your own. He catches your bottom lip between his teeth and softly pulls, wrenching a deep moan from you that he stifles with his lips.

His hands find your waist and he pushes you back against the wall, lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his middle as he presses into you, his hips slotting perfectly between them.

The sudden movement sends a rack of old weapons crashing down, a cacophony of metal and plasteel, undoubtedly ancient and expensive, startling you both.

He pulls back from you for a moment and breathes heavily, both of you straining to hear if anyone noticed. As you relax, he presses his forehead against yours. A stray curl brushes your lashes. If someone were to find you here, like this, you’re both good as dead for the foreseeable future.

In the darkness, your labored breaths intermingling, his voice comes out as barely a whisper.

“Is this alright?”

Your head spins and you think if you don’t have him right now, immediately, you might die.

Instead of answering, you grab Paul’s face and pull him back in for a kiss. He moans into you, a deep guttural groan, rolling his hips forward, starving hands roaming against breathless skin.

Heat pools in your stomach as he continues to roll his hips against yours, his lips plush and addicting. You knot your fingers into his unruly curls, gently tugging and the groan that leaves his lips is more holy than a hymn.

(Maybe you could stay like this forever.)

He peppers desperate butterfly kisses along your lips, along your jaw, along the length of your neck. As he presses his lips to your pulse in the crook of your neck, you hear him chuckle as you feel the thud-thud thud-thud thud-thud of your racing heartbeat.

His hands fall from your waist to cup your thighs as he continues to kiss and nip at your neck, grazing his teeth along your pulse, leaving barely a mark. The heat between your legs only grows, electricity shooting upwards with every push of his hips. Even through the layers of cloth you can feel him against you and every cell in your body screams more, more, more.

Paul’s hand slides up your inner thigh, and grazes a sensitive spot through the fabric of your underwear. Instinctively, you arch into it, but he stops and pins your back harder against the wall until you can’t move an inch, trapped by his arms and his presence.

You know he’s grinning like a devil in the dark. You don’t want to wipe it away this time.

He toys with the waistband of your underwear, slipping a finger behind the fabric, teasing in lazy, languid strokes. You whine softly, unspoken begs for more of his touch that set your cheeks ablaze and your head whirling.

“What is it?” Paul asks, lips at your neck, kissing at a delicate spot right under your jaw.

“Please,” you groan.

His breathing is ragged as he continues toying with your waistband, a teasing finger occasionally traveling down between your legs.

You think you’re going to die waiting.

“Please what?” He’s toying with you, his voice laced with honey.

If you do die, you’re going to drag him to hell with you.

But in between bruising kisses, all you manage is a whimper that Paul swallows with his kiss.

“Use your words, my star.”

His lips trace the shell of your ear sending electric shivers down your spine. His teeth tug slightly at the lobe and the world echoes until the only thing left is him and his hands and his voice.

“I need you, Paul,” you breathe, the words leaving your mouth before you even think of them, pulled out by his Voice, “Please.”

A lithe finger finally slips under the fabric, pushing it aside. His thumb traces hurried circles around your clit, everything already slick from his relentless teasing.

He presses his lips to yours again, silencing his own groans. Just as the knot in your stomach starts to build, he slides a finger down your slit, and you sigh at the loss of his rhythmic movement.

But you don’t have time to voice your discontent—you feel him slide one of his long fingers inside you and you press into his touch. You don’t even have time to think before another finger slips in and you feel the slight burning stretch. Your head falls back against the cold wall as you pant, and his hands work in and out, chasing your pleasure.

You dig your nails into his back. His hand works faster and faster, and in between whispered curses and pleading prayers you find your release.

Through the haze of your high and waves of bliss, you’re vaguely aware of Paul’s belt buckle falling to the ground, somewhere. In the tangle of roaming hands, messy hair and skin plastered with a thin sheen of sweat, Paul’s shirt buttons come undone — likely by your doing — and your own soaked underwear gets lost in the dark — definitely Paul’s doing.

However, you’re very aware of every inch of Paul as he slides himself into you, your name falling from his lips like a prayer over and over again.

“You’re doing so good for me, my star,” Paul sighs into your ear, his hips flush against yours, fully inside. “You’re doing so well.”

With every thrust of his hips, you welcome the feeling of fullness as your nails rake down his back, leaving delicate red marks and half-moon indentations. Every push, he reaches a deeper part of you, his hands guiding your hips to meet him again and again, goosebumps covering your skin at his feverish touch.

Through half lidded eyes, you see his silhouette in the dark, tousled dark curls haloed by a sliver of light from the doorframe, strong shoulders and toned arms keeping you pressed against the wall even as his hips stutter in his desperate rhythm inside you.

He falters and you feel him twitch, consequences be damned, as he sinks completely inside you, hands bruising your hips and voice groaning as his own release catches up to him.

He looks almost holy this way, completely undone inside you, and whispering your name as if it can save him.

(Maybe it can.)

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ofsappho · 8 months ago

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THE KNIFE OF MUAD'DIB (Paul x OC!Reader x Chani)

Wherein na-Duke Paul Atreides is not the Bene Gesserit's only prospect for the Kwisatz Haderach. Raised by Paul's side as his playmate and servant, Chryse, the Bene Gesserit's cuckoo child, will forge a new future for her master.

(previously posted on AO3 as Themis)

PART II: PAUL

He pressed play on the filmbook viewer again. Before Paul’s eyes, the swamps of Ecaz came back to life, the projected mist swirling through his room so thick he could barely see his hand through it. The boy could almost taste the sweet moss and rich earth on his tongue if he breathed in.

What would it be like, to wander those marshes and see the fogwood bend to his thoughts? To watch weavers knot krimskell rope with their practiced, scarred hands?

Paul swallowed thickly. He’d never be allowed to go off-world until he was older. He passed his hand through the fog again and pretended he could feel beads of water gathering on his palm.

Father had started him that day on his lessons with Hawat. He remembered the weight of the Duke’s hand on his shoulder as his father brought Paul to the study chamber where the old Mentat waited. Before he could turn and ask his father to stay, he was gone. Not even the Duke had time enough now for his heir.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Paul felt ashamed of himself. Father had enough on his plate. What sort of son did he make, gathering resentment? A poor one.

The filmbook switched to the glittering gems that miners could find on Hagal. He sagged back into his chair and watched the images flicker on his wall.

Mother liked to smooth his hair back with a single palm and say in that still-water calm tone of hers that he would be greater than his father someday. Paul brought his knees up to his chin. The lonely dunes of Arrakis replaced the scenes of shining jewels trundling from the depths of Hagal mines.

No one could be greater than Father.

He’d watched the Duke turn down the dimly-lit hallway before the Mentat retainer rapped the table with his wizened knuckles to call his attention.

Thufir Hawat was pleased as always to see him, if a bit gruff in his mannerisms.

He’d set Paul to a variety of tasks that were difficult, at best. Thinking that felt like admitting defeat.

How was he supposed to be the heir to House Atreides when he couldn’t even memorize the endless formulas and calculations Hawat laid out in front of him?

Mother always told Paul he was good at remembering and liked to play games with him over breakfast. What had changed in their dining room that day?

She had endless patience and endless persistence. Thufir had comparatively less of the former and about the same amount of the latter.

He bit back the urge to throw the cup next to him filled with day-old tea at the wall.

Day in, day out. Filmbooks, lessons, meals with Mother.

Even if Paul wanted to leave the compound to explore the same pastures and beaches he’d wandered a hundred times over as a little boy, the chafing security team his father insisted upon would have followed him around.

He wasn’t a little boy anymore. Paul was too old to play around in the sand like a baby.

Last week, he’d pestered Duncan to start his combat training. “I know you think you’re old enough,” the swordmaster had said. “But you’ll have to wait a little longer, Paul.”

It wasn’t fair.

Paul unfolded his lanky frame from the chair to carelessly pick through the steel toy figurines of an Atreides legion on his side-table, now arranged in a battle against a battalion of porcelain Imperial Sardaukar.

The Sardaukar, crouched behind their defense of a stack of filmbooks, were losing.

He could imagine how glorious the battle would be! Paul Atreides with Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck by his side, victorious, a field of felled enemies before him-

With a random twitch of his hand, he accidentally swept the Atreides soldiers onto the floor.

Paul despised his occasional clumsiness.

The boy bit back a sigh as he bent to collect the fallen figures.

He studied one of the toy soldiers, the battle lance in its hand and the shield on its wrist. Perhaps he ought to steal a shield from the training room. The weapons were kept separately, locked up where only the swordmasters could get them, but the swordmasters kept the shields in locked cabinets. If Paul could show Duncan he knew how to use a shield-

A conspiratorial smile came to his face. With a shield, Duncan would have no good reason not to begin his combat training. The Ginaz swordsman might even cheer him on for his ingenuity.

With that pllan in mind, the young boy turned off the filmbook viewer and slipped out of his chamber, careful not to make a sound as he padded along the gray stone hallways towards the closest training room. The cupboard that housed the shields was only loosely padlocked; shields were hardly the most dangerous things in this wing of the manor.

There was no key to be had nearby. Not that Paul expected one - it wouldn’t be nearly as impressive if he’d simply unlocked the cupboard with little fanfare.

Mother liked to repeat odd little sayings to him with an expression on her face that told Paul he really ought to understand them more than he did. He figured it was some sort of weird Bene Gesserit thing. Sometimes the sayings stuck; other times, they didn’t. “My mind controls my reality.”

He’d come to resent that one. It’s not like if he thought hard enough, Father would see him more often, Duncan would start his combat training, and Thufir’s games would come easier.

The padlock was standard, with knobs and buttons that had to be arranged in precisely the correct pattern and order for it to open. Each time it closed, the pattern and order would change.

Paul had opened these dozens of times if he thought about it.

In his hands, the lock came apart quickly. The remnants were put to the side softly so no servant walking past could hear him rummaging in the cabinet.

Some of the wrist units were dusty, old things probably made in the year he was born. The new shield units were… there!

He reached out and grabbed one that looked like it might fit.

Paul was far too intent on measuring his prize to his wrist to hear the barely-there sounds Duncan made as he snuck up on the boy.

“Paul.”

The swordmaster’s voice, low and rumbly, scared him. Paul tried to hide his instinctive twitch, but from the self-satisfied look on Duncan’s face, he hadn’t succeeded.

Oh no. The shield. The Atreides retainer had already seen it in his hand. He tightened his grip on it and tried to square his shoulders to look Duncan straight in the eye. Much to his dismay, Paul had to tilt his gaze up.

His voice sounded tinny and high in response. “I got it, didn’t I?”

“I’m impressed. You did.” The older man made no move to take the shield from the boy’s death grip. Duncan looked at him sternly for one long moment. A fond chuckle followed, and he reached out to ruffle Paul’s hair. Paul hated it when he did that but could never duck out of the way fast enough. “And you thought stealing this would be a good idea… why?”

He set his jaw and tried for some of Father’s severity and larger-than-life presence. “I know how to use the shield. I’ve got one. You needn’t worry about my safety now, and you have to teach me how to fight.”

One of the man’s scarred eyebrows raised. “Do I?”

“You do!” Why wasn’t Duncan taking him seriously? “I order it.”

“Young master, when you can look me in the eyes without looking up, and your voice drops lower; I’ll consider following your orders. In the meantime, I only follow the orders of your father, the Duke.” The good-natured tone in his gruff voice did little to mitigate the sting of his words.

Paul slammed the shield down on the empty weapons table in frustration. “It’s not fair. I’m not a little boy anymore. And- and if you don’t teach me to fight now, when will I learn? How long do I have to wait?” No, it wasn’t enough for the swordmaster to chastise him like he was a baby. Of course, Duncan had to just stand there and not say anything back to him at all. The lack of response made the boy feel infinitely worse.

“For my father, the Duke, to decide I’m ready? He doesn’t- he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t even see me every day.” Paul’s words hung heavy in the air between them, and he knew instantly that he’d made a mistake.

He’d gone too far to back down now.

The warrior broached the distance between them in two long strides.

His large, scarred hand clasped Paul’s jaw in a tight grip, forcing the boy to look up at Duncan’s face instead of staring, shamefaced, at his bare feet.

“You’re a good kid, Paul, so I’ll say this once, and we’ll be done with it. Duke Leto Atreides, your father, is the best man I have ever known. Everything he does, he does for the prosperity of House Atreides. For your prosperity.” Unbidden, tears began to form in the boy’s eyes. He did his best to will them to stop.

“You don’t know anything about what your father, my lord, has done. What he’s sacrificed.”

Even in Duncan’s grasp, Paul kept his jaw tight and shoulders back. His pride wouldn’t allow him to do anything else.

“The Duke may be too busy fending off the Harkonnens to chastise you properly, but I’m not. I’ve allowed you to be a little shit right now in my training room. Do not expect me to permit this behavior going forward.” His tutor let go of him suddenly, and the boy staggered back. “You will sit your studies. You will behave. You will learn how to fight when we deem you ready to learn. Above all, you will not disrespect your father like that again.”

Resentment bloomed in Paul’s chest, hot and heady. He tamped down on it with the control Mother taught him. “I understand.” The bitterness was replaced by painful embarrassment. How immature must he have seemed to the great Duncan Idaho, lashing out like the baby he professed not to be?

Father… Shame coated his throat. His father was out there somewhere in the Imperium, risking his life fighting Harkonnens, and Paul was here in his mother’s wing, throwing tantrums.

The swordmaster’s bearing softened slightly at the sight of Paul’s embarrassment and shame, scrawled plainly across his charge’s face. “I get it. I understand what you’re feeling.” Duncan clapped him on the back. “You’re the heir. One day I’ll serve you. Better you get that outburst out of your system now than let your father see any of it.”

The floor suddenly became very interesting.

He tucked his chin to avoid the older man’s regard.

“I don’t reward bad behavior. You know that. I am, however… impressed that you managed to get into one of the cabinets without the code.” Paul caught a glimpse of the shield in Duncan’s hand as he lifted his head.

He caught the shield band in one hand before he had even realized the man had tossed it at him.

“Get used to wearing that all the time, as we do. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out. We won’t be starting live edges. I will see you in this training room every day for practice on your sayaw forms. If you behave, we’ll spar with bokkens.” Elation ran through him. Paul had thought himself well and truly in trouble for a moment there.

Forms training every day was a far better outcome than nothing. He would make Duncan proud. And Father would be proud if Duncan gave him good reports on Paul’s progress.

The Ginaz swordmaster strode from the room. Before he exited, he stopped in the doorway. “Paul…” The boy could see no traces left of sternness left on his rugged, tanned face. “You’ll be alright, kid.”

Paul watched him go.

He thought of the filmbooks. Ecaz. Hagan. Arrakis. All the places he could go one day. Paul looked at the shield in his hand. He would do his best in the classroom with Thufir. He’d show Duncan that he deserved to fight with live edges. Resolution formed in the depths of his mind. Paul would surpass them all.

Mother had found him later that week in the same training room. Duncan left much earlier, while Paul elected to stay behind. Pattern after pattern, he whirled on the training mat, weaving around imaginary opponents. The sayaw forms were the foundation upon which the Atreides Eskrima rested.

His skinny limbs ached, and he could feel sweat trickling down his back under his loose tunic, but Paul kept going. Duncan had called the forms a type of dance. While he hated the dance lessons his mother kept him in, the rhythm of the sayaw forms was far more appealing.

A fight had the same beats as a live pulse, he’d found.

The new training regimen gave Paul something to do, a goal to work for. But when he wasn’t training with Duncan or struggling through Thufir’s mind games, the emptiness would creep back in.

Paul would watch filmbook after filmbook on the countless planets of the Imperium. Even anything with information of what lay beyond the Imperium. Anything but the hollowness of the Atreides manor.

Even the promise of live-edge dueling shortly did little to stave off the immense pressure Paul faced when he was alone with himself or the lingering fear that he would never live up to that pressure.

He attempted to take Duncan’s words about his father to heart. The bitterness that welled up inside Paul remained. The Duke deserved a better son, he thought. But he would have to make do with me.

When Mother came to him that afternoon, he could feel the tiniest bit of terror emanating from her serene countenance. Her face was calm as always - yet the slight razor-edge of her fear sent a chill down Paul’s spine. “Paul.”

“Mother,” the boy said, pulling out of his lowered stance to stand up straight, wiping his brow with the edge of his tunic.

She pressed her lips together. “Come. There is someone you must meet.” Without another word, his mother turned away from him sharply.

Curiosity and dread warred for dominance in Paul’s thoughts. His mother, Lady Jessica, was Bene Gesserit and fearless. What could frighten her?

Dutifully, he followed after her. Just as Duncan had taught him that week, he took extra care to make his steps as silent as possible.

The lady stopped abruptly in front of her presence-chamber. Paul could see his mother’s reluctance to enter, though she conquered that reluctance after a moment and pushed the door open. A slip of a girl sat on the bench by the far wall. Her face was blank and hollow under the light of the glowglobe. He thought she looked awfully skinny, even more so than him.

“Paul, this is Chryse. She will be joining our household as my new handmaiden, though she is still in training.”

The boy looked over Chryse once more. His mother rarely took on new handmaidens and always ones that came to her fully trained. Perhaps that knowledge should have put him on guard, but Paul somehow knew he had nothing to fear. The girl’s dark almond-shaped eyes, too large for her face, met his gaze.

He straightened up under her scrutiny. Paul wanted her to… be impressed. “Hello.” The boy tried for the deep resonance of his father’s voice but only sounded gravelly. He winced.

“Hello.” Someone else might have been daunted by the expression on Chryse’s face - like a frozen-over lake on Lankiveil. Lankiveil’s eternal winter was inconceivable to Paul. He’d only seen snow in the filmbooks.

Even around him, his mother’s own look never defrosted. The boy was used to it.

Lady Jessica stepped forward as if to come between them. “She will be joining you for some of your lessons. I’ve already spoken to Duncan. I hope you will come to regard her as a… companion.”

A new sparring partner! Well, that made the girl’s presence chafe less. Paul disliked his mother’s implication that he required a companion. He was doing just fine without one. Then an unexpected wave of giddiness swept away his dislike. Sparring with Duncan was unfairly one-sided. Paul enjoyed the thought that he could have an opponent against whom he might win. Maybe when she wasn’t attending to his mother or in lessons with him, Chryse would watch filmbooks with him. Paul could show her everything he knew. The girl might command his Sardaukar figurines while he fought her with his Atreides legions. He wasn’t entirely sure how girls acted typically, but his mother’s new handmaiden seemed like she’d be willing to play with him.

Thoughtlessly, he darted over to her and grabbed her hand. Paul dragged her with him as he skipped towards the door. Mother made an odd choked sound in her throat at the sight of the two of them, but he ignored her.

The girl stopped suddenly just before the doorway. He turned towards her and his mother. Why the delay? “Well, come on! You haven’t explored our wing much, have you?”

Chryse looked to his mother for a moment as if silently asking for permission. When she received a nod, the girl turned to look at him once more. “No, I haven’t.” Her voice quavered. To Paul, she sounded like she didn’t speak often. Weird.

“Let’s go!” His mother let them leave her chamber without any words in protest.

The younger girl’s hand was cold in his, but as her palm warmed, she began to match his tight grip.

When Paul looked back to see if she was paying attention to him, he saw the slightest smile on her face directed at him.

Man tumblr was tweaking when I tried to post this the first time. I had three chapters of this story completed before I dropped it and I'm now writing the 4th. Thanks for reading!

Tagging: @redskull199987 @itsemy01 @blahzaiblahsheep @herebereblogs

#dune #the dune books #dune books #dune movie #dune 1 #dune part 1 #dune part 2 #paul atreides #chani #paul atreides x you #paul atreides x reader #timothee chalamet #lady jessica #paul x chani #paul atreides x chani #paul atreides x you x chani #dune fanfiction #the knife of muad'dib

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supernovafeather · 1 year ago

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The Unofficial Bound

Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Summary : After finding out about an ancient law loosening the rules to conceive an heir, Duke Leto tries to share his discovery with the person he hopes to be the perfect mother for his kid.

Content : mutual pining, slight breeding kink if you squint but nothing gross or openly sexual, fluff fluff fluff, love(?)confession, friends to potential lovers

Leto had started to act strangely last week. An undecipherable frown crowned his face more than usual and his gaze looked different once set on you. Others noticed it and tended to look away as if you weren't there. Despite years of dedication to the House Atreides, you felt closer than ever from getting thrown away like some garbage bag to the ocean's mercy. As soon as you noticed his changing demeanor you attempted to get more active during meetings out of self preservation but still ended up closing yourself to the outside world. Gurney Halleck tried to reassure you about it, telling you that never Duke Leto would get rid off his best elements, but still wasn't able to give you any further explanation about the whole predicament. Himself felt uncomfortable with details and repeated that he wasn't the one able to provide you any satisfying answer.

A mourning soul wandering alongside the shoreline could be a great depiction for the lonely silhouette the Duke saw that morning. Your eyes caressed the waves shaken by their own rolls as well as by the few warships flying low during some military trainings in the horizon. The Duke's heart beat furiously as he battled to swallow back the constriction trapping his throat while walking slowly up to you. His palm's wetness disappeared once he rubbed them against the back of his long coat.

"Good morning General," he started with a stable voice, "I am glad to see you here."

Perhaps he shouldn't have startled you like this as you turned around with widened eyes. This would only complicate things.

"My Lord," you saluted him, "may I help you?"

After a quick glare at your tired face he realized that Gurney hadn't exaggerated at all. He felt guilty to say the least but was willing to ease your worries. Hopefully this would all go smoothly, at least as smoothly as possible. It's been a long time since he's done a similar thing. The man cleared his throat, then chose the coward option to take his black gloves from his pockets, fleeing your anxious gaze as he put them on.

"I think you may. Actually, there is something I need to tell you. It is such a particular and… bizarre matter in fact that I am not certain of how to get to it in a proper way." "I… see. Please take the time you need sire."

Leto wished it was such an easy task that words would roll out his tongue as a simple "good morning" or as a formal "how are you", but alas this wasn't the case. After a deep breath he turned back to you and this time you were the one looking away briefly.

"Before I get into this same matter I wanted to reassure you: there is nothing involving any demotion. I know you have been feeling somewhat nervous about it lately and I wanted to make it clear. I apologize for my lack of communication. I know better"

This silent exhale coming out from your mouth felt endearing, the kind of unfiltered reaction so uncommon from someone of your rank bringing some courage he desperately needed. If such things depended on him and him only he would make sure no one would ever take this General uniform out of your closet. It suited you all too well during official gatherings. The casual outfit you worn on this breezy day suited you perfectly as well. A less intimidating aura that felt welcome in such an important morning. This humble white oversized shirt still looked sharp enough to pass as a work outfit with its sleeves stopping by your wrists and its bottom tugged in your long and black skirt. It floated elegantly in the wind around your shape, letting some room for imagination. Nothing inappropriate, merely… poetic and passionate.

"Thank you for sharing this with me my Lord," you thanked him with a smile, "so what is this important matter?"

The Duke mirrored your small smile before looking down as a sudden breeze slapped him as to make him keep his words for himself. It was madness to even think of saying these thoughts out loud. He closed his eyes briefly, biting his tongue as he tried to turn his case under a purely administrative light.

"Well, recently I have found a document that stated a curious right for the Caladan leader. One I would have never believed in if not for that same document."

It didn't sound anything like what he intended and he hated himself for that. He was only a man deep down, not a senseless machine obsessed with control and titles and perfection.

"My Lord, this right you are talking about sounds… pretty bothering to you…" "Well. Not exactly. It sounds more absurd than anything else especially for such an important matter."

Despite his timid nonsense you stood there calmly, trying to decipher his intentions. He liked to see so much attention from you. In a way this reminded him of all those meetings where you would set your gaze on him as you listened closely to each of his words, your pupils glued to him and repairing your arguments depending on your opinions.

"Is it something concerning your legitimacy," you asked, "or that could ternish your reputation?" "Indirectly yes. As you know due to current circumstances I am unable to get an heir. And this document stated a… rather disturbing solution."

Your alarmed face warmed his heart a little despite the second violent breeze whipping him in the face. Being Duke was a rather lonely existence despite all those suppers, meetings, ceremonies, gatherings, trainings and his ability to witness such honest reaction was a good change.

"Do you think there might be a risk for somebody to plan a coup d'etat justified by this?"

His mouth opened, then closed. That fierce and scandalized face…

"No. I mean it remains a possibility indeed. But the matter is that this law - or bill or right whatever - basically states that even during a celibacy period the current Caladan ruler can still choose an unmarried partner - a concubine without any prior romantic attachment - and still give give her a child without this same child being considered as a bastard." "And… all this while remaining in an unmarried relationship?"

Seeing your surprise mirroring his reassured him a little.

"Apparently. As concubinage but without any deeper link between the ruler and that person. The goal was to make it easier for House Atreides to keep on ruling on its land." "So such an ancient family felt willing to give up a little on traditions to keep on existing? That is not a common thing. I guess some of your ancestors were terrified of this possibility. And why does this affect you so much sire? Do you think you want to use this right?"

Did he want this or was he acting like a fool not to face his own problems? Could he consider himself as ready to give a kid - his heir - to a woman married to her duty and that had never been involved into anything with him? Was he doing this genuinely for his legacy or for his own interest?

"I might have to consider this option. This would decrease the risk of foreign interference. And… it would feel more honest from me than an arranged marriage."

Still unable to translate his deepest thoughts he chose to look at the sea. He remained a healthy and powerful man but he noticed the first greyish hair. His features hardened throughout the years and stress wouldn't be forgiving neither. All he wanted was this burden of getting an heir done as fast as possible to honor his promises done to his family. The idea of dying alone without a son or a daughter, without anybody to love him and the child or children… it started to punch him in the guts. Him, Leto Atreides just wanted to start a family but had no idea of how to do it. Simple men from unknown families managed to get a lovely wife to love them and run their hands through their hair, so why couldn't he get this? Why couldn't he get a happy family that would make him feel complete?

"It's touching to hear you staying true to yourself my Lord. I wouldn't even know what to do in your case. Arranged marriages are not what I dream of neither," you sighed.

Encouraged by your soft voice, he turned back to you, his mouth dry as you seemed to feel slightly down.

"There is no more details about its enforcement. It would be to the Duke to make an official announcement about it after finding a partner."

Leto kept on staring at you and felt his own features relaxing as he started to imagine you differently. A quick picture of you waking up by his sides instead of waking up in a large and empty bed. A soft smile after a good morning, a quick kiss on your cheek, you playing with a toddler after a long day commanding his army. Everything now made sense to you as your mouth opened in shock, eyes widened as you locked his gaze. After a few blinks and a series of flustered smiles you gathered enough composure to give an answer to his hidden question.

"My Lord I feel flattered by your offer. But… may I know why?" "You are the woman I trust the most in this world. One of the few beings I know I can rely on. And even if I had a kid and for some reason couldn't take care of him or her you would be perfect to protect my heir. Your dedication is sincere. We share similar values. Even though you never shared any indication that you wanted to start a family, I do think you would be perfect as a mother. And if I may add I find you absolutely gorgeous."

It felt good to finally be brave enough to say everything out loud and also to see that even as responsible grown ups so high in the planet hierarchy you could still become such a childish mess. Your smile was stunning. He felt as if he was a teenager again ready to fall in love for the most beautiful foreign young lady at the ball.

"Well… I will be honest with you and say that I need some time to… think about it," you said, "this is unexpected but I appreciate your kindness. I am also happy that you consider me with so much respect." "I understand General, please take the time you need. This was very sudden for me but even more for you. I apologize." "And about this… this right. Does it involve marriage?"

The interest in your eyes and in this mischievous smile sent a delightful shiver down his body as he failed to control his boyish grin.

"From what I found it only involves intercourses. Then this might lead to a marriage if wanted." "I see. Well… consider me as interested. I would feel honored to carry your heir. The only source of worry for me is my rank. I don't think that a General getting pregnant with her Duke would get any benevolent attention."

Leto rarely felt any similar joy of his life. It was a mix of manly pride and the feeling of crossing an important threshold of his life.

"This wouldn't make you mine officially. This would make our child the official heir If you will. You would remain at your post until you feel too unwell." "I will think about it," you replied, "and give you my answer as soon as possible my Lord. I wouldn't want to delay our duty for too long."

He wasn't prepared for the quick peck on his bearded cheek, and certainly even less for your whispered "see you very soon sire" that made his heart beat hard.

- - -

Thanks for reading please comment and reblog! ☺️

@queen-of-elves @qrjung

#leto atreides #leto atreides x reader #oscar Isaac

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narcosfandomdiscord · 1 year ago

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narcos fandom smut alphabet - finished!

you know what goes really well with summer sunshine and narcos tv rewatches? SMUTTY FIC!

(they put that bisexual lighting on Isabella for a reason, after all!)

this was our first month of prompts over at @narcosfandomdiscord! for every letter of the alphabet, we had two smutty prompts that fanfic writers used for inspiration. 🥰 our group ambition was to create at least one fic per letter—26 new narcos smut fics during the month of July—and we totally smashed it, in large part thanks to prolific work from @salt-is-a-terrible-currency. happy reading!

if you prefer reading on ao3, check out our collection. all fics tagged as #nffalphabet on tumblr. and it's just that simple 🥰

if you have any questions, you can message us on tumblr or join our narcos fandom discord here!

🍰 Prompt List & Fic Masterlist 🍰

July 1 — A — angry sex, anal

Right For Once by @drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, angry sex, 2.3k

Infuriating by @salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, angry sex, 1.5k

Our Man In Mexico by @hausofmamadas — Horacio Carrillo x Andrea Nuñez, angry sex, 2.5k

July 2 — B — blood, bound & begging

Final Warning by @purplesong1028 — Amado x Pacho, bound & begging, 490

Please (with your finger) by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, bound & begging, 1.2k

blood on vacation by @ashlingnarcos — David Barrón x f!Reader, blood, 1.8k

July 3 — C — cuffs, choking

If I go too far by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, choking, 737

mentirosos by @narcolini — Kitty Paez x gn!Reader, cuffs, 1.1k

July 4 — D — domesticity, “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us.”

Taking Care by drabbles-mc — Diego Ramirez (Narcos OC) x F!Reader, domesticity, 2.1k

Lipstick's smudged by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, domesticity and “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us", 447

A Few Moments by @purplesong1028 — Miguel Félix/Pacho Herrera, “don’t make a sound or they’ll hear us", 482

July 5 — E — edging, eldritch

The first time I felt a ghost by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, eldritch, 716

July 6 — F — fight or fuck?, friends with benefits

No relationship talk by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, friends with benefits, 422

Unbroken Rules by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, friends with benefits, 2.9k

July 7 — G — gag/gagging, gun play

Paper-thin walls by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, gag/gagging, 361

Whatever He Wants by purplesong1028 — Amado Carrillo Fuentes x Miguel Félix, gun play, 416

July 8 — H — honor bondage, hatesex

Dress blues by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader x Gurney Halleck, honor bondage, 1.8k

THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US by hausofmamadas — Enedina Arellano x David Barrón, honor bondage, 2k

July 9 — I — infidelity, in public

Never meet your heroes by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, in public, 955

Don't Mention It by drabbles-mc — Javier Peña x f!Reader, infidelity and in public, 2.7k

No Strong Suit by purplesong1028 — Miguel Félix x Pacho Herrera, infidelity, 439

July 10 — J — jealousy, "just shut up already"

Unprofessional by drabbles-mc — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, jealousy, 4.3k

A bad idea by @artemiseamoon — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, jealousy, 2.3k

The ring by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, jealousy, 1.1k

July 11 — K — knotting, knocked up

Which time? by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, knocked up, 418

Secrets in the night by artemiseamoon — Horacio Carrillo x Original Female Character, knocked up, 3.5k

Someday When It's Over by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x Original Female Character, knocked up, 2.8k

July 12 — L — luxury, lingerie

Eres guapa by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, lingerie, 544

Desire by artemiseamoon — Enedina Arellano x Original Female Character, lingerie and luxury, 3.9k

Round-trip Ticket by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x Original Female Character, lingerie, 7.7k

July 13 — M — mirrors, "make me forget (all about him/her/it/them)"

Another brick in the wall by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, make me forget, 812

Favors Owed by drabbles-mc — Maria Elvira x gn!Reader, make me forget, 2.7k

Like Old Times by artemiseamoon — Judy Moncada x Original Female Character, mirrors, 1.4k

July 14 — N — nipple play, "no one does it like you"

No One Like You by drabbles-mc — Javier Peña x f!Reader, no one does it like you, 2k

Sore by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, nipple play, 580

July 15 — O — on all fours, one night stand

Cascade by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, one night stand, 580

July 16 — P — praise kink, pulling hair

Dress blues, pt 2 by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader x Gurney Halleck, praise kink, 404

July 17 — Q — quiet (or trying to be), quickie

Sweet, sharp, addictive by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, quiet (or trying to be) and quickie, 464

July 18 — R — role reversal, ruined

Bad Guy Treatment by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, role reversal, 3.8k

What is she to him by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, ruined, 444

July 19 — S — submit, "say my name"

Stoke the flames by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, submit, 387

July 20 — T — trapped together, tied up

On company time by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, trapped together, 574

July 21 — U — upper hand, underwater

The Weight of It All by drabbles-mc — Walt Breslin x Sal Orozco, underwater, 2k

he keeps his rules. you keep him. by ashlingnarcos — Horacio Carrillo x gn!Reader, upper hand, 1.1k

Polkadots by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, underwater, 359

July 22 — V — virginity (loss or roleplay), video

Off the Backburner by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x f!Reader, virginity, 4.1k

In this moment of pretend by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, virginity roleplay, 435

July 23 — W — "we probably shouldn't do this", worship

Stay A Little Longer by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, "we probably shouldn't do this", 1.5k

Lunch break daydream by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader, "we probably shouldn't do this", 497

July 24 — X — exhibitionism, exes having sex

It's complicated by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Helena, exes having sex, 971

Not Yours Anymore by drabbles-mc — Steve Murphy x Original Female Character, exes having sex, 3.2k

no witness by ashlingnarcos — Walt Breslin x f!Reader, exes having sex, 2.4k

July 25 — Y — yearning, "you look good like this"

Superman (4) by @garbinge — Javier Peña x f!Reader, "you look good like this", 5k

Lost Time by drabbles-mc — Horacio Carrillo x f!Reader, yearning, 2.9k

If he closes his eyes by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x Original Female Character, yearning, 442

July 26 — Z — zipper, zeal

Things Like That by drabbles-mc — Danilo Garza x f!Reader, zipper, 2k

Zealot by salt-is-a-terrible-currency — Javier Peña x f!Reader and Nathan "Cable" Summers from Deadpool x f!Reader, zeal, 4k

(note: we hit the link limit on this post so from now on, links will be to fics + to authors on their first appearance.)

#narcos mexico #narcos #narcos imagine #narcos fanfiction #nffalphabet

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brightlycoloredteacups · 10 months ago

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Someone To Come Home To

Happy super late very Merry Christmas/New Years @salt-is-a-terrible-currency! This is what I wanted you to read so bad. Hope it lives up to the hype.

Gurney Halleck x F!Reader.

Part One.

The news of Gurney’s death refused to register in your brain. Gurney couldn’t be dead, he was too strong, too smart. He meant too much to you to be dead. As Leto placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on your shoulder, your very form seemed to crumble. Leto caught you before you hit the floor, all but dragged you to a hard seat as you tried to process the news. You just couldn’t put it together. Gurney. Dead. Dead Gurney. Gone. Gurney was gone, forever. He wasn’t coming back, he wasn’t returning. Leto, stalwart, rock solid Duke of some far away kingdom, held your hand tightly, thick brows knit together, wondering what you were going to do next.

To your credit, you didn’t lose your ever-loving mind in the middle of the hospital. You hiccupped, turned to Duke Leto, and whispered, “Can I see him?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Leto says gently, “He was severely wounded…” The Duke swallows thickly, emotion threatening to overtake him as well. “It’s bad.”

“Please,” You sniffle, “I need to say goodbye.” Leto hesitated for only a moment before relenting. He began to give orders to the hospital staff, then when you were ready, holding tightly on to you, he led you to Gurney’s room.

It had been cold in that room, Gurney’s body covered by the thin hospital sheet. His hand stuck out on the edge. Leto let go of you and stood back in the hallway, so you’d have some privacy. You stood next to Gurney’s body for what seemed like eternity before you gathered the courage to tell him in death what you couldn’t in life. “I love you,” you said, your voice little more than a whisper, thick with emotion. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.” You grabbed his hand, marveling at how warm it still was. You choked on a sob, squeezing his hand, wishing you’d told him this months ago. Leaning over his dead body, you kissed his forehead. “Bye Gurney.” With that, you let his hand go and walked out of the hospital, wondering if you’d ever be happy again.

That had been a week ago. Today, Gurney’s funeral was attended by yourself, and four other people. Leto, Paul, Jessica, and Duncan, Gurney’s only friends. Leto invited you to dinner, trying to goad you with information on Gurney’s will. Apparently, the old man left everything to you, which was substantial, considering he’d been Leto’s well paid bodyguard for years. You declined roughly and walked away from the Atreides family as fast as you could. A big part of you blamed Leto for Gurney’s death, you just couldn’t face him right now.

You made it home just before dusk. As you walked into the increasingly darkening apartment, you didn’t bother taking off your shoes, your jacket, nothing. You simply threw your purse into the belly of the beast and made your way to your room. You flop down on your bed, curl up, and cry yourself to sleep.

Hours later, when it’s totally dark, you’re not sure what awakens you. Your brain is screaming ‘something is wrong’. You lie there, the very same position you fell asleep in, and listen, trying to puzzle it out. For the first time in a week, you feel something other than overwhelming grief as sounds from your living room reach your ears. You reach for the bat underneath your bed and roll out of it. Kicking off your nice shoes, you hear the intruder walking down the hall. Positioning yourself by the door, your grip the bat tightly, praying your sweaty palms don’t fuck things up for you. As soon as whoever managed to break into your home opens the door to your room, you swing, making contact. The intruder lets out a satisfying “Ohh!” And falls to the ground, you swing down again, as hard as you can. Before you can get a third swing in the person kicks your feet from under you. You land hard on your ass, teeth clicking together. You don’t have time to gather your wits before they’re on you. You immediately begin to struggle with all your might. “It’s me!” They yell, “Darling it’s me! It’s Gurney,” You go limp in the darkness.

The familiar smell of him envelopes you, making you realize that it isn’t just a dream, “There now,” he says, rolling off you. The light flickers on, you blink rapidly as your eyes adjust. Sure enough, there’s Gurney Halleck, offering his hand to help you off the floor.

Something inside you snaps. You snarl viciously, get up, and tackle him back to the ground. You get a few good hits in before he begins to block your fists with his forearms. “What is wrong with you?” You screech, “Was this some kind of sick joke?”

“No!”

“Then why, why did you do it?”

“It had to be done!”

“What had to be done? Why? Was it Leto, did he tell you to do it?”

“Leto doesn’t know!” This stops you in your tracks completely. Sensing you’ve calmed down, Gurney peeks out from behind his massive forearms to chance a glance at you. “Leto doesn’t know?” You repeat. The thought of Gurney keeping something from Leto seemed more inconceivable to you than Gurney dying. “What doesn’t Leto know?” You ask, staring hard at the man beneath you. “That I’m alive. Only you do, you and Duncan.”

“Me and Duncan,” You repeat. Gurney lets his arms down completely as you puzzle it out. He rests his hands on your hips, unsure of which way things are going to go after this. “Gurney, what is going on?” You finally ask, getting off him.

He follows suit, getting off the floor, following you into the kitchen. “I faked my death,” He explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Why?” you ask, wincing as you turn on your light. Normally you kept a tidy household, but you hadn’t been able to do much since his fake death. Take out containers, delivery receipts, and used plastic utensils littered your kitchen counter tops. You’d gone in there to make tea but decided to clean instead.

As you grabbed a garbage bag and began throwing things into it, violently, Gurney began to explain. “It was after the Tuscany incident,” you grunted to show you were listening. Tuscany had been one of the worst missions Leto sent Gurney on. Your man had come back beaten, bruised, and sick with a cold. You nursed him back to health; it was then you began to hate Leto. “It was in Tuscany I realized something…” He trailed off as you tied the bag shut. You placed it next to the overflowing garbage can and took out another bag. “Then, when I got home, you told me what I’ve been needing to hear for years. It was time to get out. I knew Leto would let me go if I asked, but the moment he or Paul got in trouble again, he’d try to pull me right back in.”

“What was it?” You asked, cutting Gurney off, unwilling to give Leto a thought. You finally turn to Gurney, exhausted from your week, angry at him, at Leto, at Duncan. “What was what?”

“What the thing you realized in Tuscany?” Gurney crosses his arms, clearly uncomfortable. “That I had someone to come home to. Someone that I loved, deeply, and that someone loved me. That for once, I couldn’t just die in some shit filled back alley because there was a job that needed to be done. I needed to get home. I needed to get home in one piece.” The silence behind his statement hangs heavy in the air. You want to yell at him, scream, tell him you’re never going to forgive him. Instead, you drop the trash bag, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Gurney rushed across the kitchen pulling you into his arms. You let out a sob that broke his heart. You were angry and relieved and grief stricken all over again.

As you sobbed, he didn’t say anything, simply stood there and allowed you to get his shirt wet with your tears. He promised that with all he had in him, however many days he had left, he’d spend all of it making things up to you. He had to, you were his life, his world, his love, he owed that to you, and so much more.

#dune #gurney halleck #gurney x reader #friend's fic

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mariamariquinha · 1 year ago

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True Blue (Gurney Halleck x f!reader) - part 2

Part 1

Summary: You got back to Caladan for good.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: I still don’t know shit about Dune universe. Sorry. This is still REALLY experimental. Other than that, nothing to worry about here.

Author’s Note: I’m still in a thing for Josh Brolin and since the new material of Dune 2, this got worse. Gimme traumatized men.

This is the end of the line for Gurney though, at least here. Writing for him was an amazing experience!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

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

Nefertari hugged you firmly, which was always impressive from how delicate people assumed she was. Well, indeed, the girl held herself with such femininity - anyone would guess this façade transcended to her physicality. She had strong hands, large hips to sustain healthy heirs.

You would miss her.

When the news of the marriage came to be a thing, Lady Holda received a letter that made her give you a side glance, then an order for a particular reunion to discuss the matter. You thought, perhaps, that she could be still weighing her options towards your companion, and you were right. It was the first thing that left her mouth that night.

“Recently, though, I’ve been informed that your presence might be required for a political position. For our planet, of course, but not here.”

“If not here… where?”

“Caladan.”

Later on, during other discussions that would proceed the information and secretive way Lady Holda insisted on maintain towards the matter, you’d come to know that it was a personal advice from Lady Jessica herself to the Duke, less of a courtesy from the friendly partnership between families and more of a conscious strategy (as was said in these same future conversations).

You just knew for sure your new capacities when, during a visit from House Atreides, Lady Jessica requested a much less politicized private conversation; with Nefertari's permission, the two of you sat at the table in her guest room and drank tea.

“I assume that Lady Holda mentioned my suggestion for you,” She said mid sips, eyes wary while watching you fiddle with the cup in your hands.

“She did.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

Again, you had the feeling that she was testing you, using the right words and the right questions, planning her analysis. She had that in her, a passiveness calm with a lot to say but enough control to prevent an unnecessary waste of time. You didn’t think, for a single moment, that she would want to be your friend; after all, it was her suggestion, and she wanted to be sure of it.

“... Surprised,” You took a small sip of the tea, unpleased by the taste, but averting your gaze for more than to hide your discontent.

“Not shocked.” Lady Jessica pointed out.

“I was expecting a move since the proposal. Couldn’t have guessed that it would come from Caladan.”

“Any particular reason?”

The letter Gurney had written, at that point more than a year old from its delivery, was still fresh in your mind, as well as safely tucked away in your chambers. For some reason, you kept that secret as something to feel, the hope that one day, when Nefertari was gone, you could follow a path that would lead you to something as warm and gentle as that.

You didn't consider that maybe he brought it up to someone during that time; judging by the way Lady Jessica stared at you, giving her a barely perceptible crooked smile, you were afraid that it would finally take shape and interfere with a friendly farewell with House Kio. Your face burned in embarrassment. She must’ve known about the whole thing, even if there wasn’t a lot to see.

“Lady Holda is still reticent about the invitation,” With the same low tone she used to start the topic, she mentioned a subtle change. “Says you could have more value here, perhaps in another position. I’m yet to see your talent with music as she so much said.”

“I believe this is a statement on this planet.” You smiled a little, which made her tilt her head to the side - the slight reference of amusement.

“Maybe.” Was all she said for a moment, measuring your crouched and shy posture discreetly.

You two shared the rest of the tea in silence, the talk about the planet being more persistent than anything related to you. Soon, there would be a dinner for her and the Duke, so no one could waste any more time circling such serious themes.

Still, when you were at the door, Lady Jessica said something you wouldn’t forget for days.

“Some of the members of our House will see the news with good eyes. Be sure that, whatever the answer may be, you’ve made quite an impression.”

“I can say the same about them.”

And you hoped, with all vigor, that it still included Gurney.

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

“At least you’ll keep in contact? I wanna know everything,” Nefertari grabbed both of your cheeks, the party of her wedding long forgotten behind the big doors that separated the corridor where you both shared your goodbyes.

“Of course I will. And you, I hope.”

“You know me. I wouldn’t be able to keep my mind in peace now that I’ll lose you.”

“But you’ll have a prominent husband - soon, beautiful heirs as well. I’m sure you’ll be fine without me.”

From afar, Lady Holda kept still, face skeptical while watching the scene. When her daughter hugged you again, you could see her on the verge of impatience, indicating that this should end soon.

The decision of making everything almost hidden was from Nefertari’s father. Being a very reserved man, he recognized that even if it was a good trade, the attention shouldn’t be turned to a dramatic scene instead of the wedding - he knew his daughter well. Your belongings were organized and ready to go for weeks, away from the preparations of the then soon-to-be bride, so the expectations were rational. At the beginning, you should’ve left after the party, but Lady Holda held a touch of her dissatisfaction with her husband’s decision to let you go and made it as quickly as she could.

“I better get going, Nefertari. They are waiting for me,” Against your better judgment, you got away from her embrace, taking two small steps back and preventing any tears from spilling out of your eyes while looking at her mother.

Truthfully, you didn’t know if anyone would be waiting, indeed, for you. While on the way, watching Chusuk disappear from your view, you felt apprehensive, then anxious. Of course Caladan had been a welcoming place, beautiful from its depths and diplomatic towards other planets you had the chance to see - still, you couldn’t calm your heart, ponder around the idea that from that moment on, you would be by yourself.

You thought of Gurney. Would he still be there, remembering your little and fast moments together, drinking in the same imaginative feelings? You wondered, hands gripping your dress, if he would share those shy glances again, if he was married, if he decided to just be professional since you were there for another capacity. You wondered if you two would see each other often or not at all, if he could play something nice - if you would be allowed to such a pleasantry.

Yes, you really thought of Gurney. You yearned for those same dreams and memories of him.

And as much as you loved Nefertari, you felt more comfort knowing that, somehow, that man would be a regular occurrence.

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

You didn’t see him for the first two weeks. It sounded… fair, even if not pleasant. You weren’t so free of time like you were before, the sides of the castle you started to visit weren't the best ones, the parts dedicated to the visits. The reception was less warm than the first time, limited to bureaucracy matters and none of the Duke’s inner circle.

They gave you instructions, medical surveillance and clothes that you should wear. You would take care of one Chusuk’ diplomat schedule, almost the same duty you did to Nefertari, but with more political terms and less beautiful gowns. Those clothes, which were skirts and shirts and pants in neutral tones, were specially designed to make you a part, but not a full picture. It was… natural, for you. Easy.

During those two weeks, you resisted the urge to ask about Gurney. Too early, maybe, or too suspicious in a way. You didn’t want to get under the impression that you were disrespecting your new duties or your determination to learn more. This diplomat, named Donkor Ziad, soon presented himself as a great friend of House Kio and you two recognized each other just as fast. It should make you more at ease, and it did, but Donkor Ziad wasn’t as magnetic as Gurney; not enough to make you forget the man.

“What are you thinking of your stay so far?”

You could’ve just guessed that your presence at that dinner was, at best, arranged as a formal condition. There were a few other members from the politics, a small participation for something you couldn’t quite catch, and perhaps Lady Jessica found the best moment to speculate about your presence. You looked at her, then around, as if having a deja vu from your first time on the planet.

“Pleasant. Donkor Ziad is a good tutor.”

“And your house? Is it any of your likings?”

There was a part of him, a sensitive and modest part of him, that recognized her intentions in being so succinct with her questions. Surely she wasn't so worried about you, such an insignificant person in an inferior position, but something that could have been on her mind since your visit so long ago. You considered asking. Knowing enough about the Bene Gesserit, you thought it might be disrespectful to act suspiciously, so you limited yourself to a nod and a coy smile.

“Of course.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She didn’t mention that your house was close to the military buildings, where most of the soldiers lived, nor that their training could bother you somehow. It didn’t honestly; you always woke up wishing you would have the luck to see Gurney somehow.

Then you sensed it; the presence. He wasn’t one to wear strong fragrances, but his presence itself could be known just by his aura. You turned slightly to your left side and… And Gurney was there.

He was just the same as you remembered. Stern, indeed, but with a warm gaze directed to certain privileged people - the same ones who would have his voluntary attention. Magnetic from the way he stood there, watching your face with surprise and some sort of admiration, probably with the same reaction as you. Your cheeks were warm; your hands, both holding a cup of a drink, gripped the object with a nervous strength.

“... Warmaster Halleck.” You said first, suddenly aware that you’d been watched. Gurney blinked a few times, cleared his throat and averted his gaze to look at Lady Jessica before turning to you again.

“Good evening.”

And he bowed his head respectfully, eyeing the extension of your chest and face while coming back to a firm stance. Just after that, you noticed Duke Leto coming closer, and that seemed like your sign to distance yourself. You saluted him, Lady Jessica; when you gave two steps back, ready to withdraw your presence, you could see Gurney extending his hand discreetly, as if searching for you, before recoiling again.

Your heart sank inside your chest, your fingers tingled with desire to touch him and your mouth went dry at the thought of saying so many things, of being able to choose the same words he chose to confess an adoration you also had for him. Still had, yes.

He watched you go from afar, your feet heavy and eyes weeping with emotion.

For the first time since your arrival, you felt the delusional feeling that you’d found what was missing inside those walls or beautiful landscapes or receptive people or rich culture.

Caladan wasn’t the same without Gurney.

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

He was outside your house, later that night. Ready to sleep, you saw him right after changing into your nightgown, standing a few steps away from your front yard (still in need of a human touch). The tip of your fingers touched unconsciously the strap of your clothes and you considered the man for a moment too long.

When you opened the door, Gurney blinked without reaction. When you took a step back, silently letting him in, he came cautiously, the uniform reflecting in the moonlight just as beautifully as his face.

No one said anything after he entered your house and closed the door. You two eyed each other, measured your faces again as if taking everything in, and your body shivered when he raised that same hand from before, this time not resisting his urges to touch you. It was subtle, discreet - he brushed the fabric covering your belly, made you whimper without thinking.

“Are you real?” Gurney got closer, eyes wandering every inch of your body now, openly admiring a not so modest view. You knew the fabric stuck on your skin, the evidence of your excitement more evident now that he was there.

You should feel ashamed, but you couldn’t. It was like he was meant to see you like that, bare and open for him to see.

“I am,” You managed to say, whispering, finger closing around his. “I am real.”

The first kiss was brief, but enough to make you lose the stability of your knees. With soft lips and the delicate brush of his goatee on your face, Gurney didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your body weakened by the sensation and pull you close. His palm splayed the extension of your nude back, the feeling of his calloused skin touching your sensitive one making you grip his arms firmly.

“We should wait,” His voice was rough against your lips, a small warning when you opened your mouth to receive him more warmly.

“Wait for what?” You asked, dissatisfied with having already waited so long for that and afraid of not having it anymore.

Gurney raised his head, opened his eyes and smiled.

“For you to become my wife.”

You couldn’t believe your ears, nor could process what he just said to you. Marriage, he said, the consummation of what you could only describe as love. And he was there, smiling, daring to ask you if you were real when you said words so full of meaning. Gurney was fulfilling a dormant dream of making you his.

“Soon?”

“There isn't a time close enough to satisfy my heart's desire to make this all ours,” But instead of any affectionate expression, his face fell in sadness. You frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“I should have said something sooner, gone after you before you could leave again. Deep down, I knew you were… It was you and… All I did was write a letter. I was a coward.”

“You filled my heart with so much hope, Gurney. A coward wouldn’t do that, not with me. You are certainly someone I would spend the rest of my life with.”

He was a man with so many scars, fears and experiences of a lifetime of pain. Nothing in the universe, you wanted to say, would make you believe that a man like him, with all the right to be a menace, a monster, decided to choose you that easily, someone who wouldn’t have much to offer than pure devotion and a joy of an unexpected love that transformed you so much.

Yes, you wanted to say all of this, but instead of a stumble of words, instead of trying to be just as delicate and dedicated as him, you kissed him again. Truthfully. And when you started to touch the buttons of his uniform again, he didn’t stop you.

“I’m yours. I want you to have me like this.”

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

#gurney halleck x reader #gurney halleck #gurney halleck fic #warmaster gurney halleck #dune #dune fic #female reader

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dunefeather · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! Here i am again 🙈 i would love to make a request for a Gurney x reader imagine! The reader and Gurney love eachother but haven't told the other yet. Gurney is hessitant because he is older and reader is hessitant because their past relationship was not so great. So maybe Gurney comes back from a fight hurt and the reader takes care of his injuries, they talk and finally confess their love for eachother. Some smut at the end please!😊 Hope everything is alright!

Here it is ! Thank you for requesting ! 😊

Secret Unveiled (18+)

Gurney Halleck x F!Reader

Content : smut, protected sex, medical exam, love confession, mutual pining, friends to lovers, age gap, fluff, angst.

Gurney Halleck is no stranger to you and this little light in your eyes each time you welcome him in the infirmary, whatever the reason. It was simple for him to find some explanation : a guard hurt during his duty, he happened to walk nearby and decided to visit you, or a quick meeting with the staff to ask for any improvement needed.

This man is proud of his missions and achievements throughout his life. To be fair he is even pretty satisfied with his ability to keep himself in shape despite his age. Of course years are showing but he keeps discipline and physical condition at heart. He is respected, listened to. Sadly he doesn't have anyone to share his life with. He may not be the most romantic soul of this castle - and would never equal Leto Atreides' level around Lady Jessica - but his loneliness had started to take a toll and it got worse around you.

"The day you tell me you trained with live ammunition I won't even be surprised," you sigh, "I guess this soldier was upset for some reason ?"

It's hard to focus around you. Gurney feels ashamed of this attraction he feels whenever you come into his eyesight or - even better - when you get to touch his bare skin to heal him. A part of him wants to show off around you but is afraid of crossing the line that would condemn him to being seen as a creepy old man. With all his experience and years of restraint and sacrifices in many aspects of his life he should be able not to shudder at soft feminine hands on his bare chest. He is no longer the young soldier that could have an excuse of falling for the first cute nurse he sees after a traumatic accident.

"No live ammunition I promise," he chuckles, "not as long as you could do much worse as retaliation."

"I don't know who would have to fear this the most, you or the idiot that would have accepted to obey that kind of orders."

It feels good to have someone to share a few laughs despite the bruises your are examining. He likes your stern eyes.

"I hope you would take care of that idiot then, there are days where teaching them not to listen to everything they hear is more difficult than others." He admits.

"So they have to learn to obey at everything but at the same time to anticipate what could get them into troubles ?"

"Of course."

Gurney tenses up as you push him gently to seat onto a table, a few shameful thoughts crossing his mind as you make him lean backwards a little to take care of some wound. You are standing there in your white dress, face invisible as you are leaning towards him. He hopes he lost enough blood during that stupidly dangerous training not to show you any unexpected excitement down there.

"I am going to apply some balm on your belly and ribs." You mumble before walking to the right. "some serious bruises that are going to get pretty painful if we don't do anything."

He wants to show off so badly. Humour will help him to get more comfortable and stop thinking about inappropriate details.

"You can tell me if you want to touch you know," he jokes with a cocky tone, "enjoy it for as long as I still have a body."

"Then spread your legs Warmaster instead of bragging." You chuckle as you come back at the spot right in front of him. "I need room to treat your silliness."

Shit. You're not making things easier do you ? Gurney decides to look up at the ceiling, his knuckles turning white as he grabs the corners of the table firmly to distract himself from your insanely close presence. He'd love to have a beautiful girl like you bent over that same table, or even better in his bed. How many times he came back to his quarters like a stray dog beaten up by strangers and only wanting some kind touch in a safe place ?

He swallows hard as he spreads his legs for you to get closer, and attempts to think of something else than his inexistent sex life. He's a grown ass man, he can deal with a cute nurse with no problem. Yes but with an interesting cute nurse that's different.

"Do you want me to give you some painkiller? You look like much more in pain than when coming in." You ask with worry clear in your voice when you rest your hand on his forehead. "Do you have any other injury ?"

"Not that I know of," he replies.

"Mh. Adrenaline must have been erased by your body now, you should feel any wound that could have escaped your attention."

"I'm fine. Old man joints."

You snort at this and he regrets the precise moment when you remove your hand from his forehead.

"Gurney, you are not that old," you scold him.

Your head is lowered to the area around his belly now covered with bruises. It's certainly his imagination but the way your fingers hold that tissue covered in transparent balm over his skin feels sensual to him. The cold substance sends chills down his back. Slow circles, very little pressure... and that low wet sound feel all too good despite the slight pain.

"I am that old. But thank you for denying the truth." He whispers.

"Nah. Look at you. Still a healthy Warmaster able to resist a mine with no major problem."

The softness of your gaze is hypnotizing as well as this grin. He had always heard that younger women were a danger to weak minds and he has to admit that more than that you are the only one weakening him that way.

"I had a special protective outfit on and the mine was disfunctional."

"Still. That's quite impressive."

"You wouldn't have said that if I had lost a leg. You would be screaming at me."

"I'd be crying you mean." You say with an offended tone as you lower the tissue to right above his waistline. "No way I let you get rid off your old man joints like that as you call them. I'd do it expertly without any pain."

He shouldn't laugh like that and soon enough he regrets it as his belly hurts all too much for his comfort. You stop applying the balm and grab his bare shoulders themselves covered with bruises here and there. He likes you what the hell can he do against that fact ?

"So I have old man joints." He taunts you as you cross your arms.

"Oh shut your mouth and stop being silly," you smile brightly, "you are lucky it's a small day or I'd have kicked you out of this infirmary a long time ago. You are a strong old man fully capable to overcome big bad bruises."

He wants to kiss you hard, to taste your lips and the saltiness of your skin on your throat. How blessed must have been the men that were part of your past. Having you saying their name with a panting voice must be a delight.

How long has it been since the last time he saw a naked woman ? Especially one like you ? As young as you ? He forgot how satisfying and beautiful it looks, with a face still relatively innocent yet capable of those feline stares.

"Are you hurt anywhere else ?" You ask sheepishly before turning around to walk hastily to your first aid kit.

Uncertain, he pounders whether or not he should tell you. He doesn't know what that balm could do to his sensitive parts. After all they don't hurt anymore. But after all you are a nurse, and humor sounds like something perfect to deflect any uncomfort between you.

"Hm... well I felt some pain down there as I fell onto a rock." He admits with a grimace as he remembers the atrocious pain it sent throughout his body. "But I'm doing better. Don't worry about it."

"Are you alright ?" You ask with an embarrassed grin. "I can check if you feel like it could have gotten wounded. Did your outfit get opened under the shock ?"

"Maybe. I don't know, I wasn't really thinking about my outfit at the moment. And I know... well last time you talked about a guy you appreciated so I don't want to make things awkward if you come to talk about the Warmaster's crush nuts to him."

He is ashamed at how impatient he is to get your answer, and at how proud he is as you chuckle and release the tension of your shoulders.

"Don't worry I take care of my patients' privacy. And that guy is part of the past anyway. Like all the others."

The faint crack of your voice make him both guilty and happy. Of course everything had to end up with those idiots. They don't deserve you. Honestly he does think he does, but you must have other goals in your life.

"I'm sorry for you. You sounded like you appreciated him at least a bit."

"I did. But you know how the soldiers are when they see a nurse taking the role of their mother when they were little kids." You laugh as you shake your head. "They get attached, make you hope a lot with the bright light in their eyes and... well they are adults so they have different priorities than children and suddenly it's not the maternal side that interests them and... and they leave."

How can anyone treat you like shit like that ? That brief sadness and uncertainty over your face shouldn't exist. It makes him angry, it's as simple as that.

"You are a wonderful woman they would run up to the day we get at war." He grumbles with a stern look. "They are cowards that think of themselves as more important than they are. The day you meet someone deserving your attention you'll know it."

"Thank you." You smile softly as you rub your thumbs against each other. "But don't worry about me."

"You are charming. I'm pretty sure you already have all the men at your feet trying to seduce you."

"If they could be as interesting as you are it would be much better."

"I beg your pardon ?"

It's unbelievable how little it takes to make him feel as light as a feather despite his exhaustion. A boyish grin forms on his lips as he witnesses you all flustered but trying to stand your ground.

"For an old man you are interesting. Don't get too confident." You half scold him with a huge smile.

"It's good to know. Finally you acknowledge that you can tolerate me."

"Of course I tolerate you, it's even nice of you to visit us so often."

"How could I not to when there is the most beautiful nurse of this planet right there ?"

"Stop it I swear." You laugh out loud.

"You are pretty attractive I would be a liar of I pretended the opposite. If I were a young soldier I would fall in love, not use and throw away as they do."

"Well... I don't consider you as old. So I guess you are young enough to fall ?"

"I'm still young enough for this." He confirms.

You are a bad actress pretending to look for something but It's so good to feel that ego boost after a depressing morning.

"So," you start again with a low voice when you turn around, "does it hurt ?"

"Yeah."

"Do you need some medication ?"

He nods and the nibbling on your bottom lip activates something on him. Not enough to harden at the mere thought of you seeing his manhood, but enough to convince h that he won't be able to repress his body instincts for long.

"Stand up and take your pants off please." You instruct as you get another tissue ready.

His heart is pounding and his boots reach the ground, his calloused hands undoing his black belt to keep it open around his waist. He feels that electric shock so maybe it wouldn't be a useless exam.

"I'll have a look and tell you whether or not you need a fecundity test, it could have affected your..."

His eyes don't leave the back of your head and he grins at the slight jolt you have when his pants reach his ankles, the metallic sound of his belt reaching the ground making his state obvious. His black boxer is the only thing separating his private parts from you and it's thrilling.

"Well. Let me see. Describe the pain."

You turn around and walk up to him, hesitant eyes glaring at his confident ones.

"Electric shocks in my testicles under some motions." He states calmly. "I got it at my penis as well but I don't have any pain."

"Do you still feel them ?"

"I do."

"Alright. Lower your underwear."

Gurney loves the way your eyes widen so subtly as they lower on his manhood. It sends a pleasing warmth in his belly, his hips ending up. You like what you see.

It gets even better when you kneel down, a pair of rubber gloves on his thighs to make him spread them. Your head is only made of hair from his point of view, and really dirty things start to find a way to his mind.

"You have a pretty bad bruise on your right testicle, up to your waistline." You say breathless.

"No wound ?" He purrs ?

"No wound."

His eyes close by themselves as he knows he is fucked the second your hands start to press his balls slowly. Really precise circles at some spots. His pubic hairs react at the goosebumps your touch create, and he gets ecstatic at how well you manage to keep your voice still despite his erection starting to show and his balls still holding the seed he has dreamt of making you swallow for months.

"The left one looks correct." You say absentmindedly.

"I'm sorry for... you know." You says with a smile as he stares at the wall before him.

"It's natural." You chuckle. "It's... all natural... may I touch it ?"

"Yes."

He silences the moan forming in his throat as his feels the rubber pressing his hardening shaft. It has nothing to do with masturbation, he does understand you are testing his sensitivity but by the Gods it feels both frustrating and relieving.

"Is it alright ?"

"More than alright." He whispers.

Fuck it if that makes him look like a pervert. He is tired of pretending you don't arouse him. He hasn't had sex in an eternity, the girl of his dreams is there after a mine explosion that could have cost him so much more than a pubic exam. He is not complaining.

"A bruise there." You say quietly as your finger brushes up the right side of his shaft. "All the way up to the tip, it follows the vein."

Gurney swallows hard as you keep caressing the same area a dozen of times, much more than necessary until his erection rests on his belly. You get up, your hand still brushing this side and your eyes demanding his attention with a clear desire lightening them up. He want to fuck that pretty mouth, to claim you as his from behind, to taste your wetness.

"Is it misplaced to desire you as much as I do right now ?" He asks as you let him cup your face.

"Do you actually think you are the only one having such thoughts ?"

Your thumb now circles around his tip, your hand wrapped around his warm and throbbing flesh. It does hurt a little due to his bruises but he isn't complaining.

"I'm flattered you think of me this way." He admits as his hands go down to the thin skin of your neck.

"Do you think of me as... some fresh flesh, or as... more ?"

It's enough to make him grab your wrist at the sudden heavenly sensation threatening him to come already. He can't let himself do that despite how tempting it is under your now playful smile.

"More. Definitely as more." He whispers as your thumb keeps on taunting him.

"Are there... feelings ?" You ask with begging eyes.

"There are feelings. Yes there are feelings. Strong ones. They've been there for a while."

Gurney doesn't let your kiss go as soft as you intended it to be. He devours you and you follow his guidance faithfully until feeling his tongue against yours, his chest covered in balm staining your white dress as his strong arms press you against him. You are burning too, fully reactive to the tension eating him up from the inside.

"I need to..." you whisper breathlessly.

Your sentence gets cut off as he lifts your dress up to your waist then forces you to sit on the table, them takes the fabrics off. His lips are busy kissing and nibbling your neck, his hands conquering any spot of bare skin available.

"Gurney fuck I need some protection I can't... I can't do it like that..." You whisper desperately as your bra gets tossed to the ground.

"You're magnificent." He groans before sucking on your right breast avidly.

He loves how eager you are to give yourself to him, he wants to feel you come undone under his hip thrusts. He wants to claim you as loudly as possible so any other nurse or doctor in the other rooms can hear you. Oh yes how hot it is to make them know when he will make you shake with pleasure.

"Gurney please I..." You moan as he attacks your other nipple.

How greedy your hands are as the explore his toned body. He is clearly not old enough to disgust you despite what he was afraid of. You are starving for good time like he has been, welcoming his body and feelings completely.

"That's why I love you, always so perfect." He purrs before starting to leave a mark on your throat.

Your bare legs wrap his waist firmly as he feels your arm looking for something, opening a plastic or something similar as his thoughts go completely blank at the mere anticipation of filling you up. Then he sees a white color flashing on the side and leaves some room between your crotches.

The time you insert your own protection inside you he leaves a trail of sloppy kisses on your chest, his hands massaging your breasts.

"Go inside." You whisper.

You are exactly as tight as pictured in his dream from a few nights ago, your warmth swallowing his thick shaft relatively easily. Your protection is not as wet as your core yet, but it's only a matter of seconds the time the lubricant spreads at his thrusts. He stares at your clouded eyes with authority, a hands grabbing your nape as he gets deeper and deeper, your shaky exhale turning into a sensual moan.

"My beautiful." He mumbles before pressing his balls against you.

"Gurney." You squeal with your hand in his hair. "Please my love please."

The first stroke is both slow and brutal, his forehead against yours.

"Repeat."

"Please my love," you whisper.

He thrusts out then in.

"Again."

"Please my love," you moan.

It's good to have you now moaning in his mouth, his hand on your bare breast, his cock pounding inside you. He is no fool, he knows anyone right outside the room can hear you, even listen to you if they wanted to. But that's perfect. Make them know you are calling him, the Warmaster, "my love." Make them hear it again and again.

He clenches his teeth with his forehead on your shoulder as he watch a breast bouncing at the corner of his eye, his climax so close. Any woman would have driven him crazy after such a long abstinence but you are making it so much better.

The second he forces you to look at him he knows it's over for you. Your eyes rolling, your body exposing him your breasts even more, the sensual loud moan leaving your lips, your sex clenching around him... you are cumming hard and don't care about how hot you look to him and how hard he ejaculates in you, weeks of seed filling you up and dripping on the table as he pulls out.

- - - -

Thank you for reading please comment and reblog if you liked it ! 😊

#gurney halleck #gurney halleck x you #gurney halleck x reader #dune #josh brolin

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salt-is-a-terrible-currency · 8 months ago

Text

You're my port in a storm, chapter 12

Fandom: Dune

Pairing: Gurney Halleck x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings*: graphic depictions of violence, past slavery, heavy angst, comfort, politics, eventual smut, religion

*this is the general warnings for the fic as a whole, I'll add any chapter specific warnings to the beginning notes of the relevant chapters over on AO3

Tag list: @ohsnapitzmarvel @captainpoopweinersoldier

@nightonblogmountain @futurewife @peterfrauchen

Hello, yes, I'm alive. Surprise surprise, life has managed to get even more hectic. On the plus side, chapter 13 is like 75% done since I ended up moving the last couple of pages of this chapter to chapter 13 or else this would've become unbearably long.

Excerpt

The knife slips in your grip again, narrowly missing your fingertips as you try to focus on the task at hand: cutting flower stems so that Moyra may use them for another cooking experiment. The task is much too menial to be able to distract you from the thoughts regarding this…new information you’ve received. You’ve never been a good decision maker. Or at least that’s what others have told you. ’You fret too much, you take too long to consider the choices’, that sort of comment has followed you for as long as you can remember. You’re inclined to protest though. Not everything should be rushed, least of all things regarding the heart. ‘He’s been waiting for you to take the first step’, Duncan’s voice echoes in your head. God above, what are you going to do?

Finish on AO3

#gurney halleck fic #gurney halleck x f!reader #dune fic

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salt-is-a-terrible-currency · 2 months ago

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You're my port in a storm, chapter 13

Fandom: Dune

Pairing: Gurney Halleck x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings*: graphic depictions of violence, past slavery, heavy angst, comfort, politics, eventual smut, religion

*this is the general warnings for the fic as a whole, I'll add any chapter specific warnings to the beginning notes of the relevant chapters over on AO3

Tag list: @ohsnapitzmarvel @captainpoopweinersoldier @nightonblogmountain @futurewife @peterfrauchen

There's a time skip of roughly a year in this chapter, it's marked with a little headline. The fic started in (roughly) spring of 10,190 AG* and after the skip we've landed in late 10,191 AG. *AG - After Guild

Excerpt

“Help me with my dress?” It’s not a complicated thing, just one of the plain ones you change into after work to escape the smell of dog food and wet fur, but you worry your hands will begin to shake and cause him to think that you don’t really want this. He gets up, offering you his hand and helping you to sit up. He loosens the front, helps ease the sleeves down your arms to reveal your smallclothes. This is as far as it’s gone. You jump the hurdle, standing up and pushing the dress down to reveal your bare legs and the set of standard issue underwear - fitted top and briefs. He watches you, his gaze seeming to stick in places as if he’s found something that piques his interest.

Finish on AO3

#gurney halleck fick #gurney halleck x f!reader #dune fic

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salt-is-a-terrible-currency · 1 year ago

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You're my port in a storm, chapter 10

Fandom: Dune

Pairing: Gurney Halleck x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings*: graphic depictions of violence, past slavery, heavy angst, comfort, politics, eventual smut, religion

*this is the general warnings for the fic as a whole, I'll add any chapter specific warnings to the beginning notes of the relevant chapters over on AO3

Tag list: @ohsnapitzmarvel @captainpoopweinersoldier @nightonblogmountain @futurewife @peterfrauchen

Excerpt

Elias leads the way up the hill, the old speeder putting along as it strains to make the ascent. You’ve been assigned the long morning walk today, wrangling 20 dogs into their harnesses and leashes before attaching them to the speeders and taking off along the scenic route around the lake dominating the space port. The sun is shining but it’s that sort of annoying warmth where you sweated on the way to the kennels, started freezing as soon as you got on the speeder, and no doubt will begin sweating again as soon as you begin to move. Ahead of you, one of the dogs stumbles before falling back into an odd run. Then another and another until it becomes clear that something is amiss.

Finish on AO3

#gurney halleck fic #gurney halleck x f!reader #dune fic

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salt-is-a-terrible-currency · 2 years ago

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You're my port in a storm, chapter 6

Fandom: Dune

Pairing: Gurney Halleck x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings*: graphic depictions of violence, past slavery, heavy angst, comfort, politics, eventual smut, religion

*this is the general warnings for the fic as a whole, I'll add any chapter specific warnings to the beginning notes of the relevant chapters over on AO3

Tag list: @ohsnapitzmarvel @captainpoopweinersoldier @nightonblogmountain @futurewife @peterfrauchen

Excerpt

You wake up to the blaring sound of an alarm and - with a startle - you realize that it’s not yours. Neither is this armchair your bed. Trying to ignore the way your heart starts up a frightened dance at the prospect of having fallen asleep away from the safety of your own chamber, you peer around you to take in your surroundings.

“Gurney?” you ask, catching the quivering tone in which it comes out. No answer. The alarm keeps blaring and with no small amount of willpower you hoist yourself out of the armchair and follow the noise through his quarters until you reach a door that’s always been closed during your visits. You raise a hand, knocking at it.

“Gurney?” you call again but receive no answer. Either he’s left or he’s in trouble. Still hesitant, you open the door.

Finish on AO3

#gurney halleck fic #gurney halleck x f!reader #dune fic

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salt-is-a-terrible-currency · 1 year ago

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Dress blues

Written for day 8 of the Narcos fandom smut alphabet over on @narcosfandomdiscord

Fandom: Narcos/Dune

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Words: 1 795

Pairing: Javier x f!reader x Gurney

Prompt: honor bondage

Warnings: smut, uniform kink, oral, brief mention of mental health struggles

I saw "honor bondage" and knew I had to get Gurney involved somehow so here we are lol. I also might've fucked up the uniform, I don't know. Mandatory I'm not from the US and I know next to nothing abut the marine corps but I did some research in an effort to not be completely wrong.

He wouldn’t normally do this, Gurney’s had to tell himself that over and over ever since tentatively accepting Javier’s offer. He wouldn’t normally do this.

The two met at a support group intended for those who had seen some form of combat, whether it be as a soldier or as an agent. Gurney went because he knew he needed to. He could see the warning signs of an oncoming depressive episode and, practical as he is, decided to do what he could to nip it in the bud. Javier on his end was strongarmed into going, presumably by either his father, his girlfriend, or perhaps by both. They’ve met up for beers a couple of times after that and when Gurney was remodeling his patio he got Javier to help in exchange for more beers and a week's worth of steak dinners.

⁂

“What is it with women and uniforms?” Javier wonders.

“What do you mean?” He has some inkling as to what Javier’s talking about, but the topic is far from what they usually talk about - sports, work, and on occasion the weather - so he plays it safe. Javier sits back in the worn out booth.

“How it gets their attention, riles them up.” He gestures vaguely to a trio of women at the opposite side of the bar. “You ever experience that while you were serving?”

“Once or twice,” Gurney admits. Javier hums but says nothing else for the moment. They each go back to their beers, studying the crowded bar in between sips. By the time Javier speaks again, minutes have passed and Gurney has just started thinking about heading home for the night.

“My girl, she’s like that.” The statement has Gurney pricking his ears up. “So I promised I’d see what I could do.” Javier continues talking but Gurney’s too lost in thoughts to catch the words. As Javier’s lips move, all Gurney can hear is his girl’s laughter, see the way her smile lights up any room she’s in. She’s a pretty one, and from the few times they’ve spoken she’s got a good head on her shoulders as well. He wonders if- he stops that train of thought before it can go completely off the rails. Javier’s voice cuts through the haze:

“Want me to set up a meeting with her?” For a second, Gurney thinks that Javier has read his mind. That he’s seen the inappropriate thoughts playing out like a cheap porno in his head. Then he understands what his friend is asking. Oh. Gurney hesitates. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he very much does judging by the spike of heat going straight to his crotch, but something deep within him protests. That’s not how a relationship is supposed to go, that’s not how he was raised to do things. And yet…she’s a pretty one.

“Nothing would happen at it,” Javier clarifies. “It’d be more of a discussion. See if you get along, and if you do, well then…” he trails off.

“A one time thing?” Gurney asks. He tries to sound neutral. Javier takes another sip of his beer before answering.

“You’re shit at dating, and she loves a uniform. Let’s see what happens.”

⁂

When the doorbell rings, Javier pulls away from you.

“You ready, baby?” he asks, rubbing your arms in a gesture that you think is meant as soothing but is only getting you more worked up. You’ve thought about this ever since sitting down for coffee with Gurney in the park last week. The first time you met him was when you came to pick up Javier from the bar and your first impression was, quite frankly, that he was hot as hell. Not in the same way as Javi but handsome all the same. Last week’s conversation with him did nothing to lessen your desire to find out how he kisses and if he’s as good with his hands as you imagine he is.

“Mhm.” Javi helps you down from the kitchen counter, then heads for the door. You stay behind to adjust your dress, hearing muffled voices in the hallway as they no doubt go over the arrangement again. Approaching the two of them, you’re met by the sight of Javier face to face with Gurney. The latter of which is just closing the door. He’s come in his marine corps dress blues, complete with ribbons on the left side of his chest. Your heart does a somersault that would make Kim Zmeskal proud.

“Here she is.” Javier turns to you, beckoning you closer with a curl of his fingers. You step in front of him, feel his hands at your shoulders as he holds you there for Gurney to inspect. The slightly older man steps forward, eyes you from head to toe. His gaze seems to linger at your waist, shoulders and lastly your face.

“You look lovely,” he says, the gravel in his voice making you weak in the knees.

“Thank you, sir.” He takes your hand, rough fingers wrapped around it, and brings it up for a kiss to the back of it.

“She’s all ready for you.” Javier squeezes your shoulder. “Aren’t you, baby?” He spent the last 30 minutes before Gurney’s arrival working you to the edge, over and over, all the while promising that once his friend joined you’d be allowed to cum. You begin to nod, then remember yourself.

“Yes, Javi. Sir.” Verbal answers, or you’ll have to stay put in the bed - alone and unsatisfied - while they go have a beer in the kitchen. You’re already sore from Javier’s treatment and acutely aware of the damp spot in your underwear but you remain still, not wanting to do anything that might provoke a punishment from either of the men at your sides. Gurney smiles, nods.

“Good.” His fingers find your chin, tilting your head to meet him in a kiss. The quick press of his lips to your temple after the coffee meeting did nothing to prepare you for this. His skin is scorching hot, the scruff at his chin tickling you in a way not dissimilar to Javier’s, and the hand not at your face slides across your dress to land at your back. Javier doesn’t leave. Like agreed, he stays with you. His breath fans across the top of your head and the familiar rhythm of his breathing reminds you that you’re safe. That even if you’ve misjudged Gurney’s character, Javier won’t allow him to hurt you. It makes it all the easier to lose yourself to the kiss. When Gurney pulls away, you choke back a sob. He nods at something behind you, either Javier or the bedroom door.

“Let’s go see what we can do about that ache between your legs, sweetheart.”

⁂

Javier sits behind you on the bed, his back against the headboard and your head in his lap. Your eyes flicker open and close: every time they open they search him out, wide with wonder, and every time they close he sees your brow pinch together as Gurney pulls another sensation from you. He’s painfully hard, and with every shift in your body as Gurney tongue fucks you the back of your head brushes against Javier’s crotch - forcing him to take deep breaths lest he cums in his pants like a teenager.

“Legs wider apart,” Gurney instructs and you obey without delay. Your hands have remained in the same position, palms on either side of you and flat against the bed, but the legs have shifted to accommodate Gurney as he’s changed positions. His friend’s currently face down between your thighs, hands wrapped fully around your hips and keeping them pressed down. Thankfully, it’s a chill evening and Javier’s done what he can by blasting the AC in preparation but the old major general’s brow is still dripping with sweat, in full uniform as he is. You sniffle, drawing Javi’s attention, and he swipes a thumb to catch the tear rolling down your cheek.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he soothes and the smile you give him in return is blinding. Gurney’s bright eyes peer at the two of you from beyond your exposed mound.

“You can move your arms if you need to.” He punctuates the statement with a nip at your inner thigh. “Ten seconds and then I want them back in position.” Your eyes flit to Gurney, then back to Javi.

“Babe.” You paw at his zipper but find no purchase, your fingers slipping as if Gurney’s fucked the fine motor control out of you. Javier’s chest puffs with a sudden intake of air. He’s been waiting for this, for a signal that you want him to join, and while he would’ve been okay with waiting for however long you wanted he must admit he’s relieved that he’ll get his release sooner rather than later.

“Here, baby.” He shuffles out of his jeans and underwear as fast as he can without disturbing your and Gurney’s positions, then spits into his upturned palm.

“Here,” he says again, kneeling beside your head and angling the head of his cock to your lips. You huff, bending your neck at what looks like an impossible angle and open your mouth to receive him. Javier’s barely got time to notice your hands rising to grab at him when his friend barks out an order.

“Hands on the bed,” Gurney commands. He’s lifted his head from between your legs, slick making his trimmed beard shine in the dimmed bedroom light. Your hands twitch but they sink back onto the mattress. Cock nestled between your lips and fingertips petting your cheek, Javier begins a slow pace of back and forth. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. With him in your mouth and Gurney’s between your legs, you begin to shake. Javier feels it before he sees it, the way your lips tremble around him, and just as your body tenses he presses forward. You make the most wonderful sound, a little bit of saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth as the orgasm burns through you. Between your legs, Gurney groans. Javies eases up, slides his still hard cock halfway out of your mouth, and waits a beat to see if you’ll want out. Your hands ball into fists but you don’t tap out.

“Good,” Gurney rumbles. “Very good. Now, hands behind your head. And legs like this.” He guides you into bending them at the knees, planting your feet onto the bed, then squeezes your calf affectionately. Gurney gets up from the bed, and while Javier begins to rock his hips again he keeps his eyes on his friend as the man begins to remove his uniform for the next part of the night.

#nffalphabet #javier pena fic #gurney halleck fic #javier pena x f!reader #gurney halleck x f!reader #narcos fic #dune fic

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