#rebecca ferguson x you

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Desert Storm

Reverend Mother Jessica x Fem! Fremen Reader

NSFW 18+- MINORS WHO INTERACT CAN AND WILL BE BLOCKED.

Request: “Soooo I got this idea stuck in my mind. RM Jessica falls for the woman that her son, Paul, is also in love with. Basically, reader is like Chani, but not really 😅 So, RM Jessica will do everything in her power to steal her away from her own son (successfully coz she got me on a chokehold fr wink*). Yandere vibes or something close to that. I'll let you decide if you'll add some spice and everything nice.” from @buttercandy16

Warnings: Ritualistic groping, sweat and tear ingestion, erotic lactation and breastfeeding, Jessica and Alia telepathically beefing, Jessica is her own warning

A/N: Don't look me in the eyes, believe me, I know how the warnings sound. May my Catholic mother's prayers cleanse these sinful hands that hath created this abomination. (Sexy abomination, *wink wink*).

Word Count: 4.4k of filth

The water of life had opened her mind in unimaginable ways. What once had been a struggle to do, power that had been a struggle to wield, became light. Jessica could see things and feel things that felt almost wrong to be able to digest. Waking up in the midst of the Fremen Sayyadina as they were panting and sighing in ecstasy felt strange. They’d drank of the sweat on her forehead, and the potent spice had acted as a powerful stimulant, and in some cases an aphrodisiac. Jessica watched as a pair of the Sayyadina grasped another, the two of them passionately kissing one another. It was odd to see such open intimacy between two people, between two women.

“Reverend Mother, they wish to make (Reader) a Sayyadina with you.” a Fremen priestess murmured, drinking from her skin as a trickle of sweat came down her forehead.

“Bring… Her in.” Jessica whispered.

The dead Reverend Mother was bound, carried away as the remaining lucid Sayyadina did their part to prepare her. The soon to be Sayyadina, (Reader), was brought forward. Jessica stared up at her with newly blue-stained eyes. 

“You must drink of the sweat on her face.” the sayyadina instructed the girl.

Jessica watched as you kneeled in front of her, gently searching for a bit of sweat to ingest. Most of it had been taken already, only a patch on her upper lip remained accessible. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to the flesh just below her lip, gently licking away the sweat there. Jessica reached forward, hands grasping desperately at you.

“I see.” Jessica whispered, grabbing your face. “Oh, I see what he sees.”

Jessica promptly closed her eyes, dropping into a sleep of pure exhaustion. As she slept, as she dreamed, she dreamed of you. With one little touch, she’d been granted powerful insight into your being, your composition and your bearing. You were Fremen, desert strong. Capable of withstanding more than some of the most acclimated soldiers. And Jessica liked that.

“Stay with her. We will tell the man child.”

You were left to watch over the new Reverend Mother, the slow potency of the spice saturated sweat causing a slow smoldering heat in you. Several Sayyadina around you were in the middle of hunting down their husbands and partners, overcome by the effect of it all. You sat still, observing the slow breaths of the new religious leader in your group. 

<>

“Mother, she’s Paul’s!” Alia spoke to Jessica. 

It had been several weeks since Jessica had taken the water of life, several weeks since Alia had gained consciousness and begun speaking to her in utero. What had first been a new blessing had become another aggravation. Alia was sweet. Dedicated, loving and loyal to a fault. Every bit her father’s child. But Jessica shared a connection with her that allowed the child access to her foremost thoughts, desires and ideas.

“If you don’t hush.” Jessica whispered back.

“What did you say?” you asked, frowning.

“My child speaks.” Jessica replied, then adding, “Of nonsense.”

“Mom!!!” Alia cried.

You saw Jessica’s face contort into a steely expression as she appeared to silently reprimand the conscious fetus inside of her. It was strange, watching her interact with her daughter. Moreso, it was strange watching the other Sayyadina react to it all. You were with Paul mostly, attacking Harkonnen spice mining crews and machines, but recently Jessica had been requesting your presence on a frequent basis, requiring you more and more often. 

“She is… Fully conscious?” you asked, eyeing the soft bump warily.

“Mmm. Yes.” Jessica replied, eyeing you with indiscernible interest. “She speaks like an adult, I believe she has the intellect of an adult as well. However, she is inexperienced in the ways of the world and knows it only through ancestral memory. She must learn to listen to her mother.” Jessica finished, a deadly warning in her expression meant for an individual without eyes to see it with.

Jessica extended her hand.

“Feel.” 

You walked forward, a bit nervous. She was only ten weeks or so along, there was hardly a bump there. You placed your hand in hers, and she smiled, bringing it to rest quite low.*

“The baby will sit just above my pubic bone, you won’t feel movement, but you can feel the soft bump.” Jessica whispered, eyeing you in that strange way she was quite fond of.

“Oh. Thank you, Reverend Mother.” 

Jessica smiled again, gently toying with your blue headband.

“You’ve begun to wear this quite often. What does it mean?”

The question caused you to blush. The piece of fabric was quite irrelevant, but the color was significant for many things.

“Oh… Well. We Fremen wear blue when we’re in love.”

Jessica’s eyes grew sharp and her hand stilled.

“With who?” 

“Well, your son.” you admitted.

Jessica was quite silent for a period that was out of character for her. By the way she stared straight ahead, it was clear that she wasn’t talking to Alia. Her lips would often quirk when conversing with the child, and her eyes would dart around in thought. But she was deadly silent at this moment. No quiver of her lips, no movement of her eyes, not even the slightest twitch.

“I see.” Jessica finally said. “You make a mistake, assuming he can love you.” she whispered, leaning in predatorily. “My daughter Alia reminds him often that he must reserve his hand for the most diplomatically beneficial match.” 

You clenched your teeth, drawing away from her.

“Paul can make his own choices without you two involving yourselves.” you replied, venom boiling through your words.

Your feet moved of their own accord, drawing towards the exit and out of Jessica’s room, forgetting the code of conduct. You were to formally greet and bid goodbye to the Reverend Mother at all times, to provide respect.

“Stop.”

You froze, breath caught in your throat at the barked order. She’d never used the Voice on you before, and you’d never seen it used.

“You will respect your Reverend Mothers.” Jessica spoke, in a two-toned voice. “All of us.”

Chills ran up and down your spine as you turned, viewing Jessica in fear.

“Come here.”

You were forced to walk back towards her. She grabbed your face with both hands, eyes wild as she observed you. 

“I will be leaving to spread the news of Paul in the south. You will come with me.”

You shook your head. You were Feydakin, and a fighter. Your primary role to the tribe was not being a priestess, but being a fighter. To leave Paul to fight without you would leave him vulnerable, without relief from his dreams. Sure, he had Silgar, but the man was a fool and only fueled the Bene Gesserit delusions. Who would be the voice of reason amidst all of this?

“I am Feydakin.”

“No, you are Sayyadina. You go where I tell you to go, when I tell you to go. And as your Reverend Mother, I have the say over the matter. I want a fighter by my side, can’t you see?” Jessica whispered, eyes clouding over in soft anxiety. 

Even though Jessica was Bene Gesserit, you’d always had a six sense for when someone was playing you. This was Jessica playing.

“You defeated Stilgar.” you retorted. “You are fighter enough.

“But I am pregnant.” Jessica replied. “And that was weeks ago. I will only continue to get bigger, to become more immobile. I will need a trusted protector.” 

You eyed her with extreme skepticism, taking a moment to let her words hang. Most liars filled silence by instinct, word vomit flying out of their mouths under pressure. But Jessica knew that trick. And although her real reasons for having you close to her weren’t reasons previously given, her being pregnant was a viable excuse she could use if needed.

“It’s because you don’t want me to date Paul, isn’t it? My common Fremen blood isn’t good enough for him?” 

Jessica laughed. It sounded unkind.

“No. Paul would be lucky to have someone as headstrong and wise as you for a partner, especially someone who is both those things and young, fertile. But his future lies elsewhere. And I do care for you. I would hate to see you hurt.”

She stepped forward, placing both her hands on your shoulders. She was back on her game. You had a sense that she was telling the truth, but only partly.

“Paul will join us in the south when he is ready. Distance will fizzle out the bond or… Make it stronger.” her face twitched. “But I believe it will be solidly the former.”

It was a struggle to stay in that room. You wanted to run out of her room to find the nearest corner to lie in. Not cry. You were Fremen. You didn’t cry over broken hearts and star-crossed love affairs. Not even the dead.

“I wish to be dismissed.” you managed, voice hoarse.

“No. You will stay with me, in my sight until we leave. It is better this way. Separate yourself where you can.”

“Reverend Mother, I wish to leave.” you repeated.

You needed a quiet corner, a place to breathe out and vent your pain without crying. This was humiliation, this was hurtful, this was heartbreak. And you needed to deliver the burden outward. Not in front of this woman with words shaped more like daggers, chipping away at year’s worth of armor to prevent you from crying. 

“No.” 

“You don’t understand, I need-”

“I am well aware of what you think you need.” Jessica interrupted, “And I assure you that it would be better to stay with me. I am what you need.”

It was a battle. Both internal and external. But you weren’t the only one boiling with voices too loud.

“Mother let her go, mother let her go!” Alia repeated over and over. “She will crack, she will waste water, you cannot let her waste water.”

“Silence!” Jessica spat, clutching at her womb. “You, sit.” she pointed.

Her usage of the voice was becoming more and more frequent, and it was directly tied to how in control she felt. It wasn’t something she used lightly, but as tensions and excitement rose, her composure would wear slightly, and she’d use it less sparingly.

“I do not care for your insolence, Alia.” Jessica began to berate her daughter aloud. “It is both rude and unwelcome. These are adult matters. I.. Hold your tongue. Stop interrupting me.. No, I don’t care if you have an adult mind, it is quite literally irrelevant to your circle of control.”

The argument once again turned internal, with Jessica’s lips twitching wordlessly. The debate was intense, and evidently not meant for your ears.

“There.” Jessica sighed, massaging her temples. “Forgive the interruption, she is just so opinionated.” 

Her eyes flashed with her last statement, a hidden anger rooted there. Then she moved, sitting beside you with a sigh. You were still fighting tears. She reached a hand out, moving to fold a bit of your hair back into the bonnet.

“Don’t touch me.” you snapped.

Jessica snorted, continuing to fuss over your hair.

“Your hair is covered in sand.”

“We’re on a desert planet.” you retorted.

Jessica didn’t respond. Instead, she got up and grabbed a comb, undoing your day’s old braid and gently combing out the dust and sand. She braided it in a style that was a bit foreign, beginning the braid from the crown of your head instead of the root. Once complete, she tied a scarf over your hairline. A soft beige. Decidedly neutral. The blue bonnet was confiscated.

“So you’re deciding what I can and can’t feel now?” you said.

Your words sounded more wounded than you intended them to.

“No. I’m simply tying a fresh scarf over you. This one needs to dry.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You can’t clean things in the desert.”

“Air does wonderful things. So does the sun.”

The urge to backtalk her more was deafening. The words posed on the tip of your tongue, like a serpent waiting to strike.

“Come. It is time to rest.”

“It is midday, Reverend Mother.”

“And I am tired, and I will not allow you to escape from my watch. You will join me.”

Her words were not laced with a command of the Voice, but she probably could add it if you didn’t comply. Her hands pulled your outer robes off. She kept herself in a thin, sleeveless dress, pulling you into her. Why Jessica needed you this close was up for debate. You assumed it was because she desired control. She assumed that too, but a third voice quietly thought otherwise.

“You smell like the sun.” Jessica murmured, pressing her nose into your hair.

“And you smell like sweat.”

Neither scent was necessarily bad in the Fremen culture. No one would tell Jessica that her sweat was bad, a body was just a body, and it smelled as such. And the slightly burned scent of hair was just that. The sun roasted strange scents and colors into a person after a while. You would smell as such.

“Are your periods still regular?” she asked, the question phrased not unkindly.

“Yes.” you murmured. 

“Good, that’s good.”

It was odd that she’d fret over your fertility while simultaneously resenting your relationship with Paul. But she was an odd character. It would be natural for her to have odd questions.

“Closer, lie closer to me.” Jessica whispered.

This rest, you would not.

<->

“Closer, I need you closer.” you whispered, pressing your face into Jessica’s neck.

She hummed, sleepily pulling you in, adjusting the pillow around her swollen belly to accommodate your increased closeness.

“You’re needy this morning.” Jessica sighed.

“Hmm?” you frowned.

“Not you, Alia.” Jessica sighed. “You’re always welcome for a cuddle.”

She let out a contented hum, pulling you as close as she could with her belly protruding. Her nose rested against your forehead, you could feel the moisture of her breath. The cuddle lasted a few more moments before a Sayyadina entered, informing Jessica from behind the fabric curtain of her yali that breakfast would be served in a quarter of an hour.

“Help me up.” Jessica murmured, rubbing her eyes.

You gently helped her to sit, pulling back the thin sheet. Her feet were swollen.

“Oh.” you winced.

“The joys of pregnancy, I know.” Jessica sarcastically grimaced.

Her sighs of pain turned to those of relief as you slowly worked your hands over her feet, massaging the swollen calves and tendons. The Reverend Mother propped herself up with a pillow, drawing slow circles over her belly as you worked on her feet. Her lips were pursed, she was in deep conversation with Alia. Jessica laughed a little at whatever the child said, and then nodded. You watched in fascination as her belly began to tremble slightly.

“Morning exercise.” Jessica explained. “Feel.”

She held your hands over her large belly as Alia kicked inside. You could feel the consistent, violent movement inside.

“You let her do that?” you frowned.

“It’s good for her, she needs to move her limbs, she needs the stimulation. But she does ask before kicking, or does so when she requires touch.”

The explanation was sufficient, and fascinating.Hers and Alia’s relationship was complicated, but amusing from the eyes of an outsider. You grabbed her robes and yours, helping her dress. She preferred bare feet most days, but today you coerced her into wearing soft moccasins to support her tender feet. Her hands lingered over yours as you adjusted her outer robes. 

“Thank you.” Jessica murmured, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. 

Following breakfast, Jessica drew you towards the Fremen temple where the masses were meditating. Today was a more quiet moment. Jessica was requiring of a specific ritual of group contact today, a spring rite. She brought you forward, resting her legs around your hips, yours fitted loosely around her bottom. Another Sayyadina came behind her, resting her hands on Jessica’s abdomen and pressing her pelvis into Jessica’s bottom. Spice was passed around, and members slowly began to sway together in a throng. But something was different today. More Fremen holy men and women began to touch more freely with one another. The Sayyadina with her pelvis pressed against your back began to sway with you. Desire. Her breath was hot on your neck, and her hands fitted loosely on your stomach. Jessica leaned into the arms of the Fremen priestess behind her. The breath of the group began getting heavier, labored. You could feel the energy surrounding you, the heaviness in the air. Touching slowly became more sensual, caresses of the torso more common. 

Jessica kept your hands in hers, swaying more frequently. The Sayyadina behind her began to draw her hands over her more sensually, as did the Sayyadina behind you. Fingers pulling at the fabric of your robes, hands drawing over your abdomen, over your thighs, and eventually slipping up your collarbone. The Sayyadina behind Jessica was more brave, fingers kneading the swollen curves of her breasts. It was a spring ritual, meant to further the fertility of the Fremen, meant to inspire the energy of life around them. It was what the people needed, it was what the people required. But your role in this was confusing. Why had Jessica placed you opposite her? Were you a symbol of the Fremen’s future? The Sayyadina behind you placed both her hands over your womb, and a distant chant for fertility began in the back of the room. It bloomed until everyone aside from Jessica and yourself were chanting. It was deafening and was confusing. The sight in front of you didn’t help. The Sayyadina behind Jessica had her hands pressed firmly against Jessica’s chest, groping and pulling at her swelling breasts. It should have disgusted you, this sight. But it didn’t. A distinctly different feeling came forth. It wasn’t until you were out of the ritual, back into Jessica’s chambers, that you pieced it together.

“You ran off fast.” Jessica rasped, soft footsteps filling the yali.

“I had a lot to think about.” 

You noticed her bare feet. Feet that you distinctly remembered placing in moccasins earlier. Another stab of jealousy snuck up through your throat.

“Where are your moccasins, Reverend Mother?”

“Nabiya has them. I didn’t want them anymore.” Jessica sighed.

“Nabiya?”

“The Sayyadina behind me during the ritual.”

You clenched your jaw, looking away. They were confusing, these feelings you were having as of late. Jessica noted your closed off nature, laughing a little.

“Oh come on, now.” Jessica sighed, wrapping her arms around you, her belly pressing into your back. “It was a ritual, I am a pregnant, fertile woman, and a Reverend Mother. You are too. This will bring the Fremen much joy, to see their holy women fertile and strong.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

Jessica rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue softly.

“That ritual isn’t done every year. I distinctly remember the last Reverend Mother doing it last year.”

“Yes, but I am a new Reverend Mother, and we are in a time of great anxiety and excitement. It is important to encourage the community to reproduce.” Jessica murmured. “It is important to remind you of the beauty of your youth…”

“Paul is my chosen-”

“Hush.” Jessica cut you off. “None of that.”

There was a burning in your eyes, and you looked up at the ceiling of the yali to avoid crying.

“Shh, shh.” Jessica murmured, stroking your head. “You have such a limited idea of what your life could be.”

“I’m useless here.” you protested. “I should be beside him, I should be fighting for my people instead of sitting in rooms while people touch me and praise my unproven fertility.”

Jessica hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Her hands hadn’t stilled their soothing caresses over your face and neck.

“Come, lie on the bed with me.”

You were weakened to her requests as it was a matter of compliance as well as comfort. Jessica’s arms encircled your body, and she hummed softly, drawing her fingers over your scalp.

“There will be another. One for you to love.”

“Reverend Mother, Paul said he loved me.”

Jessica smiled sadly, placing another kiss on your forehead. Her hands drew lower, resting on your neck.

“He has found another.”

All of the air escaped your lungs in a wheeze. Jessica’s forehead softened, and she brought you in for a deeper hug. 

“Don’t cry, I know, I know it hurts.” she murmured.

You got the sense that she did care. The months spent at her side as Alia had grown resulted in softer, more empathetic moments from the usually hardened holy leader. And besides Paul and Alia, you were one of the few people she cared for, probably the only Fremen she viewed as anything except a pawn.

“Who?” you whimpered. “Who does he love?”

Jessica shook her head. She pressed kiss after kiss over your face, fingers drawing up and down your back.

“Another from the North. I do not think it wise to tell you who.”

A dry sob came from your throat. You weren’t crying tears, but you were still vocalizing, much like the women of the tribe would do for the dead.

“I know it hurts.” she repeated. “So give it to me.”

Her hands held your face, and as the first tear slipped down your cheeks, her lips were there to catch it, drinking in the moisture. You only shed a few tears, it was all you dared spare, but what you didn’t expect was for her to give it back. Her lips brushed against yours, delivering a soft bead of saliva onto your tongue. She did this so tenderly, fingers stroking over your cheeks softly.

“You have such a limited idea of what your life could be.” Jessica whispered, repeating her earlier words with a hint of sensuality, with a hint of more care.

She leaned in again, her nose brushing against yours. You looked into her spice stained eyes, tentatively drawing a thumb over the tattoos on her cheeks. She smiled softly, and leaned in all the way, lips slowly dancing over yours. It was the reprieve for the ache in your heart. You were heartbroken over Paul, but over the months spent with Jessica, you’d slowly come to care for her too, and the infant child inside of her. You noted the unusual stillness of Alia, the dormant nature of the child. A hand on Jessica’s abdomen confirmed her sleepy state. If the child had been awake, there would have been a soft pressure on the other side as she touched back. Jessica pulled away, stroking your cheek. Her eyes were clouded over in a glow of satisfaction, and the telltale signs of her scheming lay in the intensity of her gaze.

“Do me a favor.” Jessica murmured. “My milk is coming in… Only a little right now, but it is better that it be extracted and taken into a body immediately.”

“I’ll get the pump and the straw so you can drink what it collects.” you assumed.

Jessica laughed softly, pulling you back into her arms before you could leave.

“No, no dear. If I was going to pump it, I would’ve done so this morning. I wish to share it.”

You balked at this, and Jessica laughed even more, her hands encircling your hot cheeks. 

“Sweetheart, please. It is a gift, and cannot be given to anyone else.”

Jessica gently parted her robes, exposing a swollen breast. Your first instinct was to turn away, but Jessica was quicker, firmly cupping your face, forcing you to meet her eyes.

“No, no. Do not pull away. Accept the gift.”

Jessica’s phrasing of the request was despicably deliberate. The gift of water was a holy, sacred act. A symbol of someone’s devotion to another. Usually it was done via spit, but if it came from the body, sharing it was a devotional act. To deny it was like denying the person, a sign of great disrespect. It was the tender touch of her thumbs over your cheeks that convinced you. A soft kiss was all the reassurance Jessica gave before she pushed you down.

“A soft latch. That’s all that’s required.” Jessica directed.

You nodded, leaning in and wrapping your lips around the stiff, brown nipple. It was warm, growing stiffer immediately between your lips. With a soft, experimental suck, a bead of milk landed on your tongue. Jessica let out a relieved moan, her hands tightening in your hair. Alia stirred slightly, but settled. She was unaware of this exchange.

“Again.” Jessica pleaded.

You’d never heard her use this tone of voice before. It was breathy, needy even. It inspired stirrings in you, made you more eager to please. You moved your lips slowly, imitating the suckling of babies you’d witnessed in the past. It required a bit of tongue and throat movement, but you managed to produce the correct combination, milk landing in steady streams on your tongue. Jessica let out pleasured hums of relief, her hands stroking over your head. It was a small amount of milk, and she went dry quickly.

“Other side now, beloved.” Jessica murmured. “And save a mouthful for me this time.”

The suggestion was odd, and a bit exciting. You were less unsure of yourself this time around, and you were careful to keep a decent amount of milk in your mouth at all times to fulfill her next request. It made the process a bit slower, which Jessica did appreciate. Her fingers could dance over your cheeks as they rhythmically hollowed. She could commit the sight of your lips on her breast to her private memory. You pulled away as she went dry, holding what milk remained in your mouth. A soft tap on your chin directed you upward, and Jessica opened her mouth, awaiting what you had collected. You released the liquid back to her in a steady stream, and she swallowed greedily, but she didn’t stop there. Her lips and tongue collected what was left, her tongue searching every crevice of your mouth for the sweet milk that remained. Her breasts dried in the humid air, and she leisurely swirled her tongue over yours, enjoying the remaining traces of her milk on your tongue. 

“Lovely.” Jessica murmured. “Now I’m nice and empty, and you’re full of my nutrients.”

There was a mildly deranged look in her eyes, and you wondered just how much her ego had swelled now that you’d nursed from her, now that you’d shared her own kiss. Her hands drew you back in, pressing your face to her neck, fingers tracing delicately through your scalp. The smell of her breast milk lingered, a sweetness that complimented her natural odor.

“Oh… The things we will be…”

[jolenes-doppelganger]

This is the part two of the fic I originally reblogged via AO3 link. This writer is astoundingly talented and deserves FAR more recognition for her work than she is getting. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!! Read, like, REBLOG and follow this creator. Her work is soul stutteringly touching.

how much sand can a hand hold?

_ Chapter 2, "Sand"

Pairing: Lady Jessica X Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Tags: fluff!!,

Summary: Lady Jessica needs to be held. You're the one to do it.

Author’s Note: I just feel so deeply for this woman, I can barely handle it. This is also on my AO3!

The entirety of Castle Caladan could fit into the massive frigate you’re brought on board of, early in the morning before the sun has even risen on your home planet.

You’ve handed off all of your worldly possessions to whichever guard is to be trusted with them, so with nothing in hand, all you hold are images of sandworms and Harkonnen soldiers as you step onto the massive ship.

There’s a lump in your throat, an uneasiness in the pit of your stomach. You’ve never flown before, not even on one of the small No-Ships that the Atreides family so often employed. Your feet have never left the ground of Caladan, and you’ve the nerves to prove it.

You may not be prepared for a journey to Arrakis in the slightest, but least you look the part.

Jessica had kept her promise, as much as you begged her not to, you’ve been supplied with all of the lightweight cottons and shimmering chiffons that you could ever dream of. She’s kept you as her stylistic twin, as she’s always said you look prettier in her clothes than she does. You hate to disagree with your lady, but she has never been so wrong.

Stepping onto the Atreides’ utilitarian frigate, there’s an eerie silence. All of the royal guard have been strapped into their seats, with only a few remaining for you to fill, along with the royal family. You truly believe that this is the scariest day of your life, and you have yet to encounter the army-swallowing worms that inhabit your new home.

You follow behind your royal family obediently, hands lifting Lady Jessica’s long train, so it never dares to touch the ground. The duke takes a seat in the foremost row of the ship, his doting son and ever compliant concubine seating themselves beside him. You quickly take the seat next to your lady, hoping you can pass it off as need to keep an eye on the beautiful dress she’s only just received. You wouldn’t dare to let it get dirty.

The moment that you sit, strapping yourself into the many buckles of the ship’s seat, your leg begins to bounce entirely on its own accord. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your mind at bay when the large door of the frigate finally closes, preparing to lift you from the ground. You grip the organza between your fingers so tightly that you fear that it may rip. That’s certainly not the only thing you fear, but it’s better to focus on your lady’s dress than the fact that you’ve now left the only home you’ve ever known.

Your body is working overdrive, heart racing, eyes fighting back tears, eardrums so full of noise that they’ve started to muffle every minute noise within the ship. And it works, except for one voice. Your lady’s.

She’s laid a hand over top of your own, putting enough pressure to calm their frantic squeezing.

“You must not fear.” She whispers from behind a sheer curtain of fabric, and when you turn to face her, all you see is yellow over yellow, jewels sparkling under the harsh white lights of the ship. “Fear is the mind killer.” You’ve heard the Litany so many times in your life, when Jessica has been verbally abused by the duke or during the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam’s many visits. You’ve heard it enough times to have the entire passage memorized by heart, and yet, it does nothing to soothe your nerves. They are just words, and words do not remove the fact that you will likely never see Caladan again.

Jessica must have noticed that the duke and his son are in bustling conversation, and none of the men on this ship would ever pay mind to the two veiled women that sit amongst them, so she pushes herself even closer to you, giving your hand another firm squeeze.

“I know you are frightened, my love. Hold my hand. It will be over soon.” She whispers only to you, only focused on your feeling, on calming your mind and holding your hand. The way that her voice lightly cracks tells you that she is awfully scared too, and you quickly upturn your hand so that you are interlocking fingers. You swallow the bump in your throat, praying that your time spent on this freight ship will be minimal, and you will be on Arrakis soon enough.

“I’ve heard that Arrakis is beautiful right as the sun sets.” You whisper to her, trying to rattle off whatever information you’ve learned from the many filmbooks that you’d sped through in the days prior to your journey to the desert planet. “The videos were gorgeous. Orange and red and pink... Nothing like anything we’ve ever seen on Caladan.”

“Then we shall watch the sky tonight. Together.” She responds quietly, hand lifting up to tuck a loose curl that had fallen from your intricate braids. A house’s first arrival on its newly claimed planet was truly one of the most important events in a young maid’s life, so you had begged Jessica to help you make your hair as decorative as possible, even if it were to be covered by a veil soon thereafter.

“I would like that very much.” You smile shyly to her, giving her hand a squeeze, a pain shocking through you when you come into contact with the ring that she’d worn all while you’ve known her. Though the duke would never be able to set down his pride and marry the woman that he forces to be subservient to him for the rest of his life, he had caged her with this ring, staking his eternal claim over her.

The ship had started to rattle, loudly booming out of nowhere. It causes you a great deal of strife, shutting your eyes tight to try and find some happier image, but no such image comes.

“It’s only the Heighliner. The larger ship that will carry us to Arrakis. Don’t worry, darling.” It pained you to think that a ship greater in size than your current frigate was even possible. This Heighliner would have to be larger than all of Caladan itself to be able to contain several ships in its hull, and the thought only made you more uneasy.

You try and shake your fear, try to hold on to your lady’s soft grasp, try to find your center. Jessica had taught you the Bene Gesserit calming breath, and as many times as it had worked, it had failed twice as many. You were simply cursed to be eternally hurt, with no remedy but your lady’s kisses, a cure-all that was never readily available to you.

You forced your mind to conjure ideas of your new home. You tried to distract yourself with thoughts of decorations, mentally scanning through your few suitcases to take a list of everything you’ve brought. All of the woven wall-hangings and small paintings that you had accumulated over a few weekends spent perusing Caladan’s markets with Jessica, the small statues of creatures from other lands, the one stuffed toy that you held at night when the thunder crashed too violently. You hoped to bring even a small bit of Caladan with you, and though you were sure that Arrakis would never truly feel like home, you could try to make it at least a little more comfortable for your stay.

Your heart calmer now, your eyes finally fluttered back open, returned to Jessica. Her own eyes closed, body slightly bent forward, and the hand that’s not holding yours is pressed against her temple. Prana-bindu. You’ve rarely seen her do it; there isn’t much that stresses the fair lady so much that she must control each muscle and organ of her body in this manner. You feel a tinge of worry shock through your heart, knowing that if Jessica is fearful enough to practice such a technique, then she must feel completely awful. You have always been entirely empathetic, but only towards your lady. When she has ever hurt, you have taken on twice the amount of pain.

You would do truly whatever it took to make her feel better. It ripped your heart in half that there was nothing you could do for her now.

♱

It’s a light the likes of which you’ve never experienced.

Even the brightest sunrises on Caladan were never true sunrises. They were always hidden behind clouds or mist, a grey-green hue covering the shimmering sun. You had started to lose faith that there even was a sun on your home planet, that maybe it was just a giant, fluorescent glowglobe put in the sky by someone that wished for eternal night.

No, you had never seen this kind of light. But something was telling you that your awe of the colors would be short-lived, and you’d soon grow tired of the total-orange of Arrakis.

Eyes squinting, pupils contracting to save yourself the pain, you look out at hundreds—thousands— of humans standing in the sand. Those to the right wave the Atreides flag, that garish green and black that appears to you only as a blur of color. Those to your left stand still, and as your eyes adjust to the light, you find that they’re only eyes. Eyes and mountains of fabric, robes flapping in the wind, eyes staring straight at your direction. They don’t seem pleased, though they don’t seem particularly angry either. Simply content. As if they have an obligation to be here. Much as you do.

“Shields!” It’s a voice you don’t recognize, don’t care about. A voice of a random lieutenant, who is clearly more important than you, for he is standing much further forward in the freighter than you are.

And then it dawns on you— everyone on this ship dons a shield. Except for you. You and Jessica. The only two women on board, the only two people deemed disposable enough that a stray bullet may hit you on this newly claimed planet and not much strife would come of it. You’re sure it has to do with the duke’s ego, that he feels himself strong enough to protect his lady if a riot were to break out as you step onto Arrakis. At least he would look noble as Jessica sighed her dying breath.

You suddenly feel even more unsafe than you had while hurtling through space.

You feel truly scared, especially as you watch as Jessica is one of the first bodies to step off the ship onto the sand.

Your fear is quickly overtaken by anger when a large, gloved hand grabs onto Jessica’s, squeezing it tightly, though it lets go, moves with the quick stride of the duke before the heads of the household step off of the ship. You feel furious, watching Leto’s confident stride towards the dunes, leaving his concubine to step off the ship alone. How can he even call himself a man and not offer a hand to a terrified woman stepping onto a new planet for the first time— especially while wearing the platformed shoes and tight dress that Jessica has chosen? It was surely no way to treat a lady.

You quickened your own pace, stepping onto the sand hastily and extending an arm to Jessica, scanning her face just as she had once taught you to. Though it was covered by veil, you could still see the worry carved into her forehead, the shine lost from her eyes. It would be cruel to say that she appeared lifeless, but her demeanor now was one of a statue. The Prana-bindu technique had worked.

You continued to follow the house silently, assisting your lady with her dress against the whipping wind of the dessert, eyes frantically searching the crowd with a newfound fervor. The knowledge that you were completely on your own in the middle of the dessert, hordes of people who had spent the last few decades under Harkonnen rule staring you down, had your body on high alert. You were prime targets for a projectile, and any number of these Fremen could be concealing a weapon beneath their robe.

Your awareness so high, you were the first to notice the yelling in the crowd. Trough filmbooks you had only picked up a few words in Chakobsa; zahra, meaning flower, malak, an angel, and habun for love.

Clearly, you were only focused on words you could use on Jessica.

The words flung at you by the crowd were entirely unknown to you, though you noted a sense of reverence in them. If you followed the pointed fingers of the crowd, you would see the led towards Paul. Perhaps they saw in him what the Bene Gesserit did not.

♱

“My men have swept the city twice over, and each wing of the residency more times than I can count.” You were barely listening as the old Mentat spoke, your mind too occupied by the architecture of the grand space you’ve just entered. The Arrakeen Governor’s Palace is probably twice the size of Castle Caladan, with ceilings higher than, you’d bet, even a suspensor system could reach. The windows are just as tall, shining that beautiful orange hue across the rock-cut walls, across Lady Jessica’s freckled face.

You have to force your mouth closed, as you’re sure it had been hanging open since you first stepped foot in the palace.

“You’ll find that the duke and his heir have each chosen rooms in the western wing of the residency, close to many of the council’s strategy and training rooms. The past ladies of the house have taken their stay in the east wing. It’s further from the entrance of the house, and many of the rooms are conjoined for maids to move as they need.” Hawat spoke calmly, though he carried an air about him as if he were desperate to get out of this conversation, to go and talk with the rest of the Atreides guard instead of the two women that would soon be forgotten all together in their own wing of the house.

“Thank you, Thufir.” Jessica said, voice more monotone than usual. It seemed that some of the life had returned to her cheeks, yet clearly, she was still trying to keep herself as far from emotion as possible.

As Hawat walked off, you quickly made your way to your lady’s side, grasping her cold hand in your own. How the slender fingers still managed to be freezing on a planet so warm, you weren’t sure. She had probably forced her heart to stop pumping as much, leaving her extremities with less-than-optimal blood flow.

“It’s beautiful.” You smile up at her, and her eyes only flash over yours for a second before they once again stare into nothingness, as though she’s looking down a long hallway in which only a Harkonnen army stands at the end of.

You begin walking, nearly dragging your frozen companion down the long, silent corridor, until you’re out of sight of any other human in the building.

“My lady.” You hum, flipping up her veil, unclasping some of the jewels that weighed heavy against her face. “You can let go now. We are safe.” You give her a smile of weak encouragement, though your upturned eyebrows betray the fact that you are just as scared as she is. You both know that your words aren’t true, that you’ll never truly be safe on Arrakis. You both feel the tense air around you, but it’s better to focus on each other than it is the potential jihad looming over your heads.

Jessica softens a bit under your gentle grasp, her stiff control over her own muscles beginning to weaken. Her eyes regain their glimmer and her head droops to lean into your fingers, which have slid down to lightly rub at the back of her neck.

“This planet…” She begins, leaning forward until her forehead connects to your own. Her breath tickles against your nose, her hands finding their favorite resting place on your hips. Her voice dies out, as though she’s unable to articulate the multitudes of feelings in her heart towards the planet on which you stand. She must be impossibly tired, and it shows around her eyes, but she still holds herself strong against the test of her fatigue.  

“My lady, we should find a room. You ought to lady down for a while.” You purr, pressing a light kiss to her cheek. You’ve found yourself suddenly cautious of the moisture of all things—from the wetness of your lips to the water-plump flesh of Jessica’s cheek— you’re acutely aware of it now.

It’s safe to say that your worried nature about all things is not going to do well on a planet on which you need to worry about your minute-to-minute survival.

Jessica begrudgingly pulls her head away from your own, looping her arm through your elbow, leaning most of her weight against your shoulder. You lead her down the hallway, the taps of your shoes echoing all around you as you peek into each door. You find a few empty closets, restrooms, and a large room that you assume was once used for an indoor sport of some kind, but your main concern is finding a bed for Jessica. You can feel exhaustion radiating off of her, and you’re not quite sure that she’ll remain awake much longer. You soon find a room, the one that must have belonged to the past lady of the house, for its grand ballroom style and large canopy-covered bed seemed only befitting of the lady of a Great House.

Leading Jessica to sit atop the bed, unsure who had left it covered in satin sheets but quite happy for their presence, you begin stripping her of layers of translucent fabric, creating a small pile on the floor of her yellow veils and jewels. You swiftly remove her shoes and add them to the pile, not caring much for the wellbeing of the clothing when the wellbeing of your lady is at hand.

“Please, try and rest.” You hum, laying Jessica back against the soft pillows of the bed, pleased enough with the air circulation within the palace to lay a blanket over her lap. You press a kiss against the woman’s forehead, and it’s not too long before she’s asleep.

As your lady slumbers, you decide to make a quick check of the room and all of its doors. The closets are bare, and you are quite thrilled to fill them with Jessica’s gowns; you know she has enough to fill every closet you passed on your way down the corridor. You open the largest door on the far side of the bedroom, swinging its heaviness to open upon a wrapping balcony.

A gasp escapes your lips as you step onto the orange stone, looking out across the tan buildings and colorful fabric tents of the city. The sun sits low enough in the sky that you can just make out the dual moons, better the one that, if you remember correctly, the Fremen call Krellin, the Hand of God. If you squint hard enough, you are able to make out the claw-marked pattern on its side.

You stand in the wind of Arrakis, eyes closed against the sand particles that lightly nip at your face. You kick off your own shoes, leaning against the banister of the patio, fingertips running over the soft rock there. Though it will never compare to the rain of Caladan, the quiet of this balcony may someday bring you a similar peacefulness.

♱

You’ve lost track of time, standing with your bare feet against grainy rock, ears listening intently to the village commotion less than a mile from you in one of the more heavily populated streets of Arrakeen. You’ve nearly met your meditative state when a pair of arms wraps around you, a nose nuzzled into the braids at the nape of your neck.

“You slept well?” You muse, hands trailing down your body to wrap over the frail ones that rest at your stomach. You notice they’ve regained their warmth, are no longer icicles attached to your lady’s palms.

“Yes. Thank you.” She whispers softly against the shell of your ear before pressing a kiss there, then a few to your jaw. She is back to herself, with that soft voice and wandering hands, though she still grapples against the tiredness.

“I’m pleased.” You return, pulling her arms even tighter around you as you open your eyes, playing with one of the many bracelets around her wrist. “This room must have belonged to the Countess Richese. It seems it’s not been used in many years; it has a feminine touch that I very much doubt came from Baron Harkonnen.” You giggle lightly, dropping your head to hide your eyes from the now setting sun. You’re sure it’s been dangerous for you to spend this much time out in the sun’s heat, but after so long in a state hidden from the sun entirely, you figure your body will much welcome it.

“It’s also connected to that room.” You point to your left, down to the end of the balcony where lies another entrance door. You smile at the thought of being a mere knock’s distance from your lady, that you may even spend most nights in her bed instead of your own.

“Well then, I do believe it’s perfect.” She purrs against your skin, arms squeezing hard enough against you that you fear she might strangle you if she adds any more pressure. As was Jessica’s way; she always clung to you as if her life truly depended on it, as if someone were trying to tug you away. The strength behind her grasp was always welcomed by you, even when you felt she was going to take the air from your lungs.

Though, Lady Jessica was capable of taking the air from your lungs with only a look. You’ve grown quiet used to lack of breath in her presence.

You are simply entranced by the peach color of the sky around you, the bustling street only becoming louder as the sun tucks itself beneath the horizon. It made perfect sense that Arrakis would be a planet of primarily nocturnal individuals; you could feel the air drop ten degrees when the sun disappeared entirely.

“Don’t you fear someone may see us?” You question, the thought of being caught curled up in your lady’s arms completely enticing, yet when you truly weigh the consequences, it creates a small knot in the pit of your stomach.

“Let them.” Jessica says in her oh-so very serious tone, without an ounce of humor, so you know she’s serious. Her voice vibrates against your skin as she presses her nose to the crook of your neck.

You blush, eyebrows peaking in shock when a small run of lights against the bottom of the balcony suddenly illuminates, seemingly in tune with the sun’s cycle. It seems that every aspect of this land works in tandem with its ruling sun, something that you’ll soon do as well.

You lean back, letting Jessica carry most of your weight, but more careful than normal because of the fatigued state you know she’s in. You play with her fingers, staring up at the moon, trying your hardest to remember the filmbook narrated by a Liet... something…  you couldn’t remember the name, but you knew them as the planetologist. Really you had only spent so many hours retaining this information so that you could impress Jessica with all of your knowledge.

Here's hoping you can remember your fun facts when they’re actually necessary.

“I do hate the thing.” You hum into the warm air, fingers toying at the ring looped around Jessica’s finger. You’re a bit shocked that you’ve made the statement, that you’ve aired one of the many grievances you hold against the duke. You do hope it’s not an overstep.

“What’s that, my love?” Jessica lifts her head from its spot against your shoulder, and you can feel her large green eyes boring into you. Though you won’t turn your head to meet the gaze, you can feel its intensity.

“Oh… it’s nothing, my lady.” You hope your false disinterest in the subject is fooling her, your eyes stuck to the large hand in the moon, admiring how it casts its great glow.

You should be smart enough to never wish foolishness from your lady.

Jessica plants a kiss to your cheek. “I think we’re well past honorifics.” She says, and you can feel her smile against your flesh. “What is it that you so hate, rouhii?”

You have to take a moment, several moments, for your mind to catch up. Not only has the woman you so dearly loved practically just announced that she cares for you enough to forgo the years of formality built up in your relationship, but she’s also spoken in a language that makes your knees go weak. You’ve now leaned into her entirely, but Jessica’s arms are strong enough that she’s holding you up. She won’t let you go anywhere, not until she’s learned of whatever little secret you’re hiding from her.

“I…” You mutter, eyes shutting for a moment for you to find your footing in the conversation again. Your fingers twitch against her jewelry, and you remember what it was that you were talking about. “Your ring.” You finally manage, standing up a bit when you feel your knees aren’t about to give way at any possible second. “I despise it, really.” You know you’re being bold, but you know that’s what Jessica wants. She’s kept in the dark about so many things, that it must be a breath of fresh air for her to hear someone’s true feelings without having to put in the work to hear them.

“Why is that? It’s a gorgeous color, don’t you think?” There’s a satirical tone to her voice as she picks up her hand, fake admiring the ring in the light cast by moons.

“I’ve always disliked green.” Your cheeks are blushed as you turn around in the woman’s arms, looking into her eyes, the green-blue that meets you making you immediately retract your statement. “It’s just that… I hate what it means. That the duke possesses you, yet he will never give you a true ring. I just… You deserve more.” You’re rambling, and you know it, and you lose your ability to maintain eye contact with the woman, so you drop your head.

There’s a smirk on her lips now, but it’s only there to conceal a more genuine expression. It’s hiding the fact that she wants to cry, that she does agree with you, that she wants to rid herself of the duke altogether.

“You think you should be the one that possesses me, then?” She hums, her voice still sly, but now with a tinge of the seriousness that you know to be so purely Jessica.

“No, my lady. Of course not. That’s not at all what I—” You’re cut off when Jessica pulls the ring off her finger and tosses it over the balcony as if it’s no more than a stray leaf that had landed in her hair. Your mouth hangs open, quite shocked that she would take your words so seriously, that she would discard something simply because you conveyed a disliking of it. It’s Jessica’s thin fingers that cup your jaw and force your mouth closed.

“I’ve hated it since the moment that man forced it on my finger.” She hums against your lips before planting a kiss to them, pressing you against the balcony’s railing. “I am yours, and you are mine.” The declaration makes your heart begin drumming a million beats a second, a sudden wave of desperate love for the woman crushes against you. You kiss your lady back feverishly, hands bunching up the remaining fabric at the small of her back, tugging her so that her chest is flush with your own.

“I am yours.” You whisper back in the millisecond you have to breathe between heavy kisses, back arching into the strong, yet so very delicate grasp of your Jessica.

Her tongue swipes against your lower lip, pressing for entrance, which you greedily accept, and you wonder how the Fremen in the deep desert would feel about your current exchange of moisture. The thought doesn’t last long, though, as Jessica’s tongue presently dances with your own, and she’s pressing against you so hard that you’re nearly bent backwards over the railing.

It’s just as her thigh slips eagerly between your own, that there’s a shuffling behind you, a knock on the door. You gasp against her lips before pulling away, licking at the saliva that’s accumulated on your swollen lower lip. You sense Jessica swallowing hard, flushed face whipping towards the door of the bedroom. When no one enters, she turns back to face you.

“Go.” She demands, and her voice is pitched so that there’s a hint of the voice in it, like she’s been caught so off guard that her forcefulness slips out. You immediately obey, and whether it’s on your own volition or if Jessica has truly forced you to, you can’t tell. You race towards the door to enter your own bedroom, praying you haven’t slammed the door behind you too hard.

When your bated breathing has calmed as best as it can, you sit with your ear to the wall shared with Jessica’s room, listening in with hopes of hearing the intruder on the other side. Much to your distaste, you immediately pick the voice out as belonging to the duke.

“Why have you chosen a room so far from my own?” The muffled voice more commands than asks. “You’re lucky you’ve yet to unpack. You’ll select another.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” You can hear the frantic nature of her voice, there’s a light shake that betrays her, but the tone conveys enough of the lady’s confidence that you believe the duke will argue this no further.

Your ears are straining as best as they can, but you’re unable to make out the rest of their conversation. Duke Leto always had a way of lowering his voice when he spoke to Jessica, so that none may hear the distrust that filled each of them when they spoke.

Giving up on your panicked listening, you decide to turn to face the width of your new room. It’s much bigger than the room you’d inhabited on Caladan, if you could even call the thing a room. Your bed was much bigger too. Though you weren’t sure you would be spending much time in it.

It would certainly make do.

You find yourself quite lucky to have your own vanity for the first time in your entire life, and a twinge shoots through your heart when you pull out the wicker chair and sit in front of the mirror. Your cheeks are deeply blushed like it were the middle of winter, lips puffy and small red marks along your jaw from Jessica’s nipping kisses. You never want them to leave. They were a sign of who you belonged to, and you’d have them permanently tattooed to your skin, if the idea didn’t sound so painful. You’ll simply have to have Jessica re-mark you each night, you suppose.

Though it pains you to remove the intricate work your lady had done so thoughtfully this morning, since you still haven’t been brought your bags to change out of your arrival attire, the only thing you can do now is begin to unpin your hair, which is sure to come undone in a mess of curls that you’ll need to tame.

In a while you’ll go to check on your lady, you’re sure you’ll need to mend her spirits and make her a meal with whatever Arrakeen spices you can find in a kitchen, and it pains you to know that she currently stands in a hushed argument with the head of the house, but all you can do now is run your fingers through your hair, thinking about that little green ring that sits in the bottom of a bush in the garden below you.

[controld3vil]

atreides and bene gesserit

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic), austin butler x actor!reader

synopsis: requested by this ask!

⤷ alt: as clueless as you were about your sister's role, it brought you much surprise and joy to see her on the same carpet as you.

notes: reader uses fem pronouns as she's playing a role as a bene gesserit. reader is also described as wearing a sleeveless jumpsuit. and i really enjoyed lea seydoux's performance and hope to see more of it !! this is also COMPLETELY separate from the first two posts ive made since the readers r playing different characters yeah?

When Denise Villeneuve asked you about the role of Lady Margot Fenring, you were genuinely shocked about his decision. You appreciated his works but have never gotten close to any of his sets before. You have worked with directors who've admired Villeneuve for his imaginative mind. And now, you witnessed his creativity in person for the first time.

The role was small and not as significant as the other main leads. Regardless, your character was just as enigmatic and complex as any other in the Dune franchise. Even though your time was short, it was a fun experience to learn and observe from. You weren't able to meet the entire cast after production, but with the NYC premiere, you were able to link up again.

You heard your name being called out. "Hello! How are you?" The well-known comedian and presenter by the name of Amelia Dimonberg was now beside you. In her jet-black corset dress, her style is chic and elegant. She hands you a microphone with the film's title plastered on it. "You look beautiful!"

"Thank you!" you sweetly recuperate, diverting your shoulders to the sight, cutely. You give a little pose before complimenting her own outfit. "You as well!"

"Do you have a memorable day on set that sticks out to you?" Amelia questions, subtly leaning toward your direction. And now you noticed her detailed eye makeup which enhances her outfit altogether.

"Well- I've had, like, only a few days," You let out a quick sigh. Truly it was nothing to be embarrassed about but you could not help but feel shy about it.

"Mmhmm! So all of them?"

"Yeah, all of them!" With ease, your shyness turns into giddy laughter as all you remember from your times on set. Recalling those tiny moments brought a small smile to your face. "Every day counted for me and that was enough."

"Oh absolutely!" Amelia chides, nodding in agreement. She quickly then moves onto the next question, "How long do you think you could last in the actual desert?"

"Oo that's a tough question," Lifting your fingers to rest on your chin as you try to contemplate an answer. "Ideally no- I feel like I could never recover from the heat."

"Yes yes, the heat's very intense,"

"Yeah- no I don't think I'd ever leave my house for that-" You shake your head nonchalantly, acknowledging how most of your scenes already were indoors. You could imagine how you would do in the desert of Abu Dhabi. It makes you appreciate the cast and crew even more for their effort to make filming more comforting and tolerable.

"Where would be your dream location to hang out? I'm assuming your home then since you prefer to say inside?" The blonde interviewer quickly catches on, eyebrows raising intrigued by your response.

Instead, you hummed bashfully, "Actually I think an oasis would be nice." The camera catches onto Amelia's face, fully fixated on you. "Which fits perfectly if I were to live in the desert actually!"

"Mm yeah, smart choice!" She responds more cheerily. "You can maybe go for a swim, you know-"

"Right right," You give her an playful look, "And you don't have to go thirsty!"'

"Absolutely, the best of both worlds," Amelia chirps, doing the same expression. "So this film centers a lot around dreams. Do you have vivid dreams of yourself?"

"Yes! I've uh- I've had many dreams of myself. I mean, this one, for example-" You turn to the camera, waving with the most adorable smile on your face. "'I'm living my dream right now!"

"You're living your dream right now!"

In another section of the premiere, you were walking down the carpet for press interviews and photography. The set where the premiere was taking place was gorgeously made in the shades of black and orange, the perfect theme of the film. The entire venue was outdoors, allowing you to feel the cold air and be more at ease in the crowded space. There were more paparazzi than you had expected, and you suddenly became aware that you were alone. Without any friend or acquaintance to accompany by, you searched aimlessly for a familiar face.

Then there was a holler. And then multiple more came after, it made you confused really. Your head swerves to the sound of the person you so try to look for and immediately you're struck in awe.

"Anya?!" In an instant, you're seen running towards your sister in the far back of the premiere wall. People were reluctantly used to fast-paced relocations around the carpet. Therefore most did not mind your hasty stumbles through the crowd. It was almost comical how apparent your demeanor changed when you heard her, in fact, videos and pictures caught all of it.

"Hi!" She beams in her white dress robe. Her makeup was glowing, making her skin seem angelic, and sheer without impurities. Her outfit covers her like a nun, covering her head and body in almost transparent cloth. Yet it flows around her so elegantly, almost like she was an angel from the stars. She squeezes your figure firmly, only after releasing to gush about your appearance.

You adored a beige sleeveless jumpsuit. The color is complimented with tiny designs of sparkle. Its seams captured your figure perfectly, as you also wore a gold chain and bulky rings. From the lighting, it looks as though your outfit is shining. And to be completely honest, you prefer comfort over the judging looks of fashion critics. Therefore you wanted to wear something that you could still move comfortably in. Thus you were able to run over to your sister with ease.

Through the other lens and camera, they could pick up some of her words after. "You look so gorgeous! How are you here?!" Anya's expression changes into a perplexed one as she gets a hold of your shoulders, shaking them back and forth.

"I was invited obviously, "You said, mimicking her voice while holding onto her arms on yours. "You didn't tell me you were a part of Dune!" Viewers from afar could tell you were pushing an act, reacting as though you were petrified about how Anya managed to be here in the first place.

"I didn't know you were either!" She giggled, closing in on your right ear. Your sister whispers to you slowly, trying to withdraw from the camera and recordings. "Villeneuve had mentioned something but honestly I just thought it was a joke."

It was your turn to guff. Your mouth opens wide flabbergasted, looking sarcastically offended. "Why would you think he's joking?!"

Anya scoffs lightly, wanting to go further with the joke. "I don't know- I just didn't take his word seriously,"

"Why? Because you didn't think I'd make it into the film?" You accused, eyes widening with a hand over your heart. "You're so cruel."

"So cruel," She smirks up at you, then moves back to be by your side. You see her face forward the flashing cameras, as you do the same. "Come! Let's take some pictures!"

"Your outfit looks beautiful by the way!" Anya Taylor muses, eyeing down at the fine details on your jumpsuit. "It's very... you!"

You give her a nod, before flattening some of the creases, "I thought this color was so exquisite, so I thought it would be perfect for the premiere." You lift your head to look at your sister, before realizing behind her, the upcoming stars of the film were getting ready to take cast photos. "Oh Anya- I think you should go!"

Your sister turns and then gazes back at you with a soft smile. "You should come with me!"

The thunder of cameramen and journalist blurred your focus for a moment. "Are you sure-"

Again the sound of your name is hurdled but this time from someone you haven't seen in a long time. Jessica Ferguson, who too wears a black body suit with veils and bold makeup. She waves her hand almost too eagerly to have you come closer alongside your sister. "Come, join us!"

Videos were filmed of the people gesturing to the cast of Dune in a line. Little by little, the row of people is filled and organized to be in the center of the camera's focus. Some actors had to move spots, due to lack of space or better color semblance on the other side of the row. You stood next to Jessica and Florence Pugh was beside your right, as you tried to stand closer for the picture.

Anya Taylor was on the opposite side, with Austin Butler and beside him, Timothee Chalamet. A noticeable clip taken all over was when the French actor went to greet the English actress, warmly, clasping her hand with both hands as a proper salute as on-screen siblings.

You did not mind the lack of attention. You were happy for Anya for achieving a great role. One with a welcoming cast and crew. It was then your eyes scanned down the row, from Zendaya to Stellan Skarsgard. Then to Austin, whom you've been familiar with since day one. Only him to find your gaze seconds later. You give a little nod and smile before averting your direction to Anya who is already staring at you with gleaming eyes.

You were going back and forth with Jessica and Florence on your travels for a while. From plans reception to favorite desserts, all you three wanted to talk about was food. Paparazzi caught onto your banter quickly and snapped a few photos. You even went out of your way to do silly poses. Followed by Jessica and Florence, then did the same, sticking their tongues out in a rock star kind of fashion. You throw out piece signs, giving a dramatic frown as another flash happens.

Catch-ups were definitely refreshing and fun. Thus why you nearly jump when Austin appeared behind you.

"Oh my gosh, hey!" You stuttered, giving him a quick hug to calm your nerves. "You scared me!"

"Sorry sorry! I just wanted to surprise you!" He leans his head slightly, allowing better eye contact. You felt a few taps on your shoulder and noticed Jessica and Florence scurrying away, with their thumbs up, all goofy and excited.

Your eyes make it back to his. "I would've said hi back at the cast photo, but you were so far away," Shrugging you dismiss your failure as a mild missed opportunity.

But Austin shakes his head in an averted manner. "No- Don't worry about it." You could already sense interviewers and others with microphones closing on you two. You were out in the open, and it's bound to happen. "I wanted to- you know, say hi to you in a less chaotic place."

"I tried looking for you but there's just so many people," You give your costar an exhausted look. It was then a keen young man approached the pair of you. It was the People magazine, as you became aware of the logo alongside their camera and microphone.

"Hey, would you two mind a short interview for People's magazine?"

Truly, this was what premieres were about. The cast and crew meet with fans to show what they have worked so hard for. You brought you no better satisfaction than to praise everyone's efforts. The interviewer then proceeded to have a quick introduction of you and Austin beside you. You both had separate microphones in each hand. Once the video started rolling, you peered at the camera and gave the audience a grin.

"So how are you guys doing? Met all of your lovely cast members yet?"

"Oh absolutely," You emphasized every syllable, nodding. Austin only glances at you in amusement. "It's crazy how many people are here I was so overwhelmed!"

"Yeah, it was pretty crowded," The male actor adds, lowering his microphone slightly.

"Hopefully it will die down!" The interviewer beams. "So what was it like getting to know each other in this film? How was the first day on set like?"

"Oh, well it went very smoothly," You start, staring up at Austin in approval. "Even though my time was short on set, I feel like we had a pretty good rhythm starting out."

"I was about to say! The scenes with Feyd and Lady Margot were really something!"

"Why thank you, we appreciate it," Austin nervously laughs, scratching his ear.

The interviewer takes the lead to discuss your preparation for the role and how it was working with Villeneuve. As new characters, you and Austin both talked about your views on both of your characters. Both are very different yet mysterious to the viewers. Additionally, you two were introduced in a similar scene of the pit fight. The People's Magazine interviewer was compelled to compliment Austin on his opening scene. You knew he had practiced the choreographed fights vigorously. And of which you were lucky to witness on the days that you were present.

"It was completely freeing and different than what I was used to doing," Austin probes, leaning toward your direction. "Were you there for the pit fight?"

"I think I was," You turn, similarly. "I remember watching from afar and thinking wow." Immediately you could sense him eagerly looking down at you with a sly smile. "He was- Austin did amazing with the fight choreography, I was impressed!"

"Was this the first time seeing him in full costume too?"

"Oh yes!" You bonked your hand on your forehead, "He was and I just- couldn't believe it was him!"

Suddenly Austin jumps in, "She was startled when I first came up to her in full costume."

"You came out of nowhere, by the way!" You rebutted, giving him a side glance.

"I didn't mean to," As he tries to reassure his actions, "I wanted to give a good first impression!" It was humorous how playful you two were together despite having dissimilar filming schedules. Though most of your scenes involved Butler, your friendship only became more apparent weeks after working together. It was off and on for months at a time due to being busy in other countries simultaneously.

Eventually, you were able to link up again weeks before the premiere. After waiting a long time to meet up, you almost felt relieved that you hadn't seen your costar in a while.

"And Austin, how was filming with her?! From a character's standpoint, what kind of dynamic do you see playing out?" The People's Magazine interviewer perks up, having the camera transition from his face to Austin's.

"Well I'd say, she's great. You know I've got to meet a lot of amazing people in this film. And," He says your name sincerely, "She's- she's one of those people. I can't say much for Lady Margot and Feyd's relationship- you know there's a lot of that's still not uncovered. We don't really know what's happening but kind of have an idea of something. And to have such a great actress like her, it makes everything feel authentic and- feel the tension." It felt as if you were in a daze, eyes completely focused on his words with such admiration and grace. Before you knew it, you were smiling as if you had won the best possible prize in the world. His compliments to you meant more than you had anticipated really.

Unbeknownst to you, the cameraman had caught your lovestruck expression before directing attention back to the interviewer. "And how about you, Miss Margot?"

"I'd say it's the same," Now looking at the interviewer, only momentarily back at your costar. "Austin's- he's great at all the stunts and acting like a scary dude. Every scene with him was fun to do. Like he's all serious in character but once they yell cut! he's so nice and funny!" Your bubbly laugh breaks as you can feel your face growing hot.

"Well I appreciate you liking my humor," Austin pokes fun at you, fanning a little air towards you.

You mutter a soft thank you! before continuing, "And he's dedicated you know? I remember one scene, a little spoiler, where Feyd is about to be tested by Lady Margot, and I just couldn't do it! I couldn't keep a straight face!"

"Really?!"

"She just kept breaking, I don't know why," The actor shrugs, his attention closely drawn to you. "We had a few takes on a few days."

"We did! We did!" You gave a big frown, "You just have a really distracting face."

"Do I?" Austin asks, between the lines of teasing and coolly.

By the time, other premieres had occurred, people were still focused on your interactions with Austin Butler. Your chemistry on and off screen on the carpet was hilarious. And with how polarizing your characters were, it made many clips of your shared encounters gain attention.

A few short videos were recorded after the People Magazine interview of you and Austin, bashfully talking behind the stage. The two of you went back and forth whispering in each other's ears about what was unknown to the viewer. Through a bird's eye view, the video also catches you hugging your arms before zooming in on Austin's placing an arm around your figure.

Another clip that had been reposted many times was when you both took duo pictures together. As you comfortably shift your weight on one leg, as you turn to have your side face the flashing paparazzi. Whilst the Elvis actor stands beside you at a pleasant distance, doing the same pose to the other side. There was one instance where you lifted your head to make eye contact with your eyes instantly brightening. As Austin's smile widened, only to blow air in your face.

[madisoncounty]

"This is her curse. In each life she makes the best of a bad situation, finds love where anyone else would settle for icy tolerance, makes everything work for however long she has and every damn time it is taken away and- In the next life, she promises, in the next life she will do better."

from the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed by @electricbluebutterflies

[valkubanging]

Let's talk about the woman. Someone killed four of my men today. I'm assuming it was her. I want her, Lark. And you're gonna bring her to me.

[atrxides]

my roman empire is knowing that people who never read dune but watched the movies actually think that Jessica had a son so she could birth the Kwisatz Haderach when in the book she actually just had a son cause Leto wanted a son (both her and the Reverend Mother confirm this in actual spoken words) and she doesn't even think/believe he could be the Kwisatz Haderach until the tent scene after the attack on Arrakeen she genuinely just loved Leto and wanted to protect her family and because of the movies people think she's some power hungry witch who wanted to birth the Kwisatz Haderach (I have gotten so many comments actually calling her this and similar things)

[estellaestella]

MACBETH // DUNE PART ONE & DUNE PART TWO

There's more of course. Prophecies. Visions of daggers and talking babies, etc

[sluttyhenley]

I’m coming with you.

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE - FALLOUT dir. Christopher McQuarrie (2018)

[betweentwoceremonials]

I thought we had more time.

[grechkathekasha]

*silently shows the wheel of time oc she ships with lanfear with zero cringe behind those eyes*

[jolenes-doppelganger]

Pirates Do Pilates- Kinktober Week One

Ilsa Faust x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI 18+

Summary: A mission gone awry leads to a cramped hideaway in a vent. What could go wrong?

Kinks: Forced proximity, sex in tight spaces, pussy eating, 69, squirting, forced muffling.

Warnings: This is a Kinktober fic and just pure smut. If you read this as a minor, (and I see that you've read it by checking the age in your bio following your like) YOU WILL GET BLOCKED!

A/N: Starting off Kinktober with a bang ;)

Word Count: 2.9k

Reblogs and comments are encouraged and appreciated!

In the cramped, stale air of the vents, Ilsa’s breathing echoed grotesquely, sliding off of the walls in wet puffs. Your breaths were as raspy as hers, lungs burning as you tried to quiet them. Every puff of air traveled down, skittering off the walls and potentially giving away your location. Taking larger, slower breaths was better than trying to force anemic, barely there whisps of air like Ilsa. The risk of being detected for the sound of your breathing was minimal, there was no sense trying to force oneself to be quiet. Ilsa’s breathing got heavier, more painful sounding. You couldn’t blame her, this position sucked. The mission had required sneaking into a russian outpost to steal away a blueprint for the next big weapon of mass destruction. It was boring, basic, and otherwise uninteresting. And it went well. That was until one of your tools had tripped a detection alarm. Who puts lead in a wristwatch anyways? Climbing into the vents was a last ditch effort to stay safe, but you’d both entered it differently.

Your coverage to escape detection was a slab of concrete about six feet wide and three feet tall. Behind it lay your hiding spot. The concrete blocked a section of the air vent, thus making your position undetectable by thermal cameras and metal detectors. Being trapped in a vent together for a mission wasn’t ideal, and it would’ve been bearable. That was if you hadn’t entered the vent like you had. Ilsa had done the sensible thing, climbing into it head first, face down. You’d swung your legs in so that you were on your back. The maneuver was so quick that neither of you noticed the problem until you were trapped in that small space, her knees on either side of your head and her face inches from your crotch. Both of your bodies had to stay behind the block, and this is where the trouble began. Being the senior agent on this mission, Ilsa had the responsibility of teaching you to learn from your mistakes, but in this moment she was the one suffering for them.

You could hear her breathing getting worse as she continued holding a plank to avoid touching you. It was professional, and courteous, but she’d been at this for at least fifteen minutes, and the strain was obvious. Wheezes and gasps came more frequently, making it clear just how tired she was. Speaking was deadly in such a noise conducting space which left morse code as your way of communicating.

“D/O/W/N.” you tapped out on her thigh, firm enough for her to feel it through her oppressive leather leggings.

Ilsa didn’t comply. If you had been able to see past her ass, you would’ve watched her vehemently shake her head, determined to push through. There was no pushing through this, she was exhausting herself needlessly. Again you tapped out a command.

“D/O/W/N B/R/E/A/T/H L/O/U/D.”

Ilsa muttered a small curse, a sound made detectable due to the metal of the vents. It didn’t echo as far as it could have, but the both of you tensed as the sound slithered away into the vent. Her abdomen began to tremble, breathing growing louder and more punctuated as she fought a losing battle. Ilsa’s stubbornness would get you both killed, it didn’t take experience to see that. Pressing down on her hips caused the plank to crack, and she slumped atop your body. There was no noise of protest, just slower and more controlled breaths as her tired abs were given rest. She didn’t dare move, and you didn’t either. It was uncomfortable, your view was the dim outline of her ass against metal, but it was temporary. Both of you laid without comment, balanced grotesquely like a yin-yang. Minutes passed without interruption. Heat grew between you, the weight and material of your leather bodysuits conducting and roasting you both in the claustrophobic space. Sweat trickled down your brow, and again you heard her breathing worsen. There was no way to access your own zipper in this position, her body covered yours and the position kept Ilsa’s inaccessible to herself.

“H/O/T C/L/O/T/H/E O/F/F H/E/L/P” Ilsa tapped your thigh, just as you were sure you were going to be boiled alive in your gear.

The heat was mutual, it seemed. Taking in another big breath, Ilsa mustered the strength to lift herself off of your body. Your hand fumbled in between your bodies, groping around depressingly until you found her zipper, pulling the suit open. The angle made it impossible for you to grab your own zipper, so Ilsa intervened, reaching under her body and roving around your chest with her fingers until she found the zipper and yanked down. Desperate rustling ensued as you both tore off the leather, leaving only your loose undershirts. You swore you saw her skin steam, and it clicked just how hot she would have been, trying to maintain a plank in that jumpsuit for as long as she had. It made the endeavor all the more commendable, and the feeling of air on her skin must have been twice as liberating. The vent echoed as Ilsa sighed, slumping atop you again. 

“P/A/N/T/S” she lazily commanded. 

The pants should come off too, you silently agreed. Reaching for the zippers on the sides of her calf was easier, and you were able to completely rid each other of the garments without much maneuvering, except for raising the hips briefly. Again she sighed, resting her head on your thigh as air caressed her sweaty skin. Neither of you gave much of a shit about being in tank tops and underpants around each other, not when you’d both been minutes away from cooking. You’d been in worse straits, but the immediate relief of discomfort made this one memorable.

A peaceful silence filled the vent, and the two of you simply relaxed, waiting for the search to stop. The security below was good, but not good enough to discover, let alone guess where you’d hidden away. The two of you were persevering enough to stay camped out here until they gave up the search and blamed the disappearance of plans on an intern. The facility light below turned off, leaving the vents in total darkness. Lesser agents would’ve scurried away at this moment, but Ilsa knew better. She’d taught you better. The two of you weren’t out of the clear yet. 

Ilsa’s breaths felt more pronounced now, the rise and fall of her chest and the weight of her body on yours felt striking in the darkness of the vent. The more you focused, the more you could feel her breath ghosting over your thighs, sweaty head pressed lazily against the curve of your hip. In any other context this position would’ve been exciting, but this was your senior mission partner, and thus there couldn’t be anything sensual about it. Sure, agents were notorious for hooking up when on long term missions like this one, but never once had Ilsa ever made a move on you. Private lives weren’t on the table for discussion, so you’d always assumed she had a reason to refrain from hooking up. She was pretty, experienced, and probably more than acquainted with living a double life. Physical proximity blended with emotional distance made your relationship all the more befuddling. You’d both caught each other masturbating in the shower on several occasions, but it was never discussed. The door was just closed, and you waited until the other was done before you returned. Agents did what they had to do to stay sane on missions. That included never speaking about what they did to stay sane.

The vents were getting colder now. The heat of her body and metal beneath your back kept you insulated enough to hardly feel the chill. Her breathing grew shallower as she relaxed, making the breaths against your thigh more conspicuous. There was a new smell in the shaft too. Earthy, sharp, even musky. You couldn’t tell if you liked the smell or not, it was just odd and all encompassing. Even if you tilted your head in the attempt to dispel it from your nostrils, you couldn’t. The next several minutes of distraction consisted of trying to guess what it was. The distraction was only so good, and soon your awareness returned to your own sensations.

Ilsa’s breath was ghosting over your inner thighs more regularly as she waited, soft puffs of air curving down, sliding over that intimate flesh just below your panties. Soft, barely there caresses, teasing the tiny hairs, tickling them and drawing your awareness exactly where it definitely should not be. The sensation was driving you up a wall, igniting an inescapable conundrum of conscious feeling in your mind. Not only was it aggravating, your body was responding to it. Toes curling, goosebumps erupting, and worse, a distant throb in your pelvis. As you processed the first sensation of wetness against your panties you knew you were screwed. From front to back, side to side, posterior to anterior, and from the top of your head down to your big toe. Screwed.

Sure, it was pitch black, and there was no way she could see, but fuck, her face was right there. In this twilight where senses were heightened by the lack of other stimulation, there was no way she wouldn’t smell something. The smell from before was getting stronger as your breathing got heavier. It was everywhere now, and as you tilted your head up to figure out where it was coming from, the tip of your nose found its source. Slightly damp, musky, and definitely biological, you realized too late what you had been smelling, and you realized that your breath had tortured Ilsa as much as hers tortured you. 

“Hey-” Ilsa shrieked at the contact, cutting herself off with her hand as the sound echoed down the vents.

Below, the sound of boots was heard hitting the ground in rapid succession, following the echo of the vents right below where you and Ilsa were hiding. Your breathing accelerated, and that too became acutely obvious in the sound-conductive metal shaft. In a moment of panic, a desperate attempt to muffle your breaths, Ilsa pressed herself down, muffling you with exactly what had been the cause of this faux pas. Her pussy.

All you could process, all you could feel was Ilsa’s panty covered cunt muffling your breaths, bearing her pubic down against your chin, skull pressed against the metal vent. Your nose was covered, and you desperately opened your mouth, breathing through the cloth of her underwear to gather enough air to function. You were muffled, but at what cost? Every single breath taken in was mingled with the smell and the subtle taste of her arousal. Ilsa’s breathing was just as obvious as yours had been a moment earlier and as the bootsteps drew closer, Ilsa, whether out of spite or tortuous ingenuity, buried her face against your pussy. Not a single wisp of sound was heard in the vent, clumsy footsteps and distant shouting erupting as the scouts lost their trail. The two of you lay there, breathing around the other’s fluttering sex. Minutes passed like this, the insufferable torment of the most mild stimulus conceived against both of your aching pussies, leaving the both of you in a purgatory of almost-sensation.

Your senior mission partner, whether out of wisdom or madness, (you couldn’t be sure), was the one who broke the tension. Ilsa’s tongue darted out, tracing the subtle lines of your labia with her tongue through your panties. Slow, delicate patterns, machinations of desire causing a delicious tension to form in your very center. The moan of relief you delivered was muffled by her pussy, but she squeezed your thigh viciously regardless. The message was clear: You had to be quiet. Not a sound, not a gasp or a whimper. The price of deliverance was steep, but there were ways to pay it forward. You were kinder to Ilsa than she was to you, pulling her gusset to the side before you traced her gaping entrance with your tongue. Her smell was inviting, now that you could identify it. The lack of light made the experience purely tactile and olfactory, occasionally audible if you moved your tongue or lips clumsily enough to cause a squelch. 

With every soft lick, Ilsa’s cunt fluttered, winking open and closed, beckoning you further. It was a soft feast of flesh and tongue, your lips delicately tasting her arousal as the two of you descended deeper into madness. (Or bliss).

Ilsa, motivated by your soft stimulation, pulled your panties free of your thighs, leaning down and rolling your clit between her lips and tongue. The hard points of her teeth dug in around the flesh of your clitoris, the nerve brushing against the sides as her tongue rolled it in tantalizingly slow circles. Though she couldn’t speak, deprived of all noise except the rush of air in and out of her nose, her body spoke, begging for more with soft flutters, flirtatious drops of arousal, and most overtly, by the press of her hips down against your face. 

Her hips danced in slow circles, rubbing her clitoris into your mouth as your nose pressed against the wet ridges of her opening, spearing it open and closed with wet plops of air as the rocking continued. Every lick was rewarded, every devout act of passion returned. Her hands dug into your thighs, using the muscle as leverage to push her hips down and face forwards again and again and again. Your arms found purchase around her hips, fingers tracing the dimples of venus that rested just above the curve of her ass. The delicate rocking continued, you both cradling the other as the debauchery continued.

Every cant of her hips made her smell more prominent, her taste more concentrated, the warmth of her flesh more noticeable until you were drowning in it. Your lips latched to her clit, tongue rolling over it in a tender, infinite figure eight. Ilsa followed your example, dragging the both of you closer to a release as she spread your labia open to deliver a firmer suck to your engorged clitoris. The wet sounds that filled the vent weren’t subtle, the threat of discovery still remained ever present, but what mattered to you both was finally, finally getting off. The scouts had left this room anyways, and if they were going to kill you it’d better be after the two of you climaxed. 

The soft rolling of Ilsa’s hips evolved into regular circles as she delighted in the pull of her clit in and out of your mouth as you suckled fervently. She returned the favor with the laps of her tongue, fingers tugging your clitoral hood back entirely. Her breath wooshed over your entrance as she nipped and sucked at your clit, teasing the coil of release higher and tighter until your legs clenched painfully. The action was deceptive, Ilsa orgasming first. She breathed heavily out of her nose as her cunt violently fluttered around your nose. Whatever plans you had to enjoy the moment were ripped away by her desire to share the moment. She took out all of her pleasure on your poor clit, suckling so violently that your body throbbed from your pussy, up to your neck and back down to your toes as your body trembled in a violent attempt to stay quiet. White stars exploded around your eyelids, arousal dribbling out of your hole and urethra as your body felt stimulation through every angle. You kept your mouth against her cunt, muffling yourself lest a single sound escape. 

The moment faded away, leaving the two of you heaving for air, as close as you’d ever been. Neither of you could handle another, remaining limp and breathy as you processed your highs. 

Rest wasn’t available to agents, even post-coital. Ilsa’s watch vibrated, alerting her that an exit had opened up. Scrambling for clothes, the two of you managed to slip on about half of your suits, crawling out of the vents and slipping through the facility as fast as humanly possible. Your legs wobbled, her knee almost gave out. It was a high in itself, escaping with her like this.

←→

Inside the safehouse your high continued. Giggling like school girls and playfully shoving the other out of the way, the post-mission high had never been so dizzying. You were both tearing off your clothes, desperate to be the first into the shower, to wash the sweat and fluids off. She was a mean fighter, dragging you onto the floor by your half-off undershirt, you snagged her ankle so she fell on her front. Even as you achieved victory, the coldest, most heavenly burst of water raining down over your flushed skin, she still wasn’t done fighting. Slipping in the cramped stall, Ilsa manhandled you out of the way, pinning you to the wall as she scrubbed her face under the showerhead.

“Bitch.” you snarked, slapping her ass 

“Yeah, well you squirted on my fucking face.”

The two of you stared at each other in silence, water thrumming against the shower walls as you both processed.

“... Am I supposed to apologize for something you enjoyed?”

You both erupted in giggles again, limbs and suds tangling together as you took turns scrubbing the other clean of your fun. What was October without a budding romance?

Tags: @ilovehotactresses @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange

If you want to be added to my tag list for Kinktober (or generally), please let me know!

[jolenes-doppelganger]

YOU’VE DONE IT AGAIN!!!!

The imagery is astounding, the pain, the uncertainty, the unfinished aspect of this fic is the perfect chapter.

But for the people who don’t have your mind (and Chakobsa in their brain), what do these words mean?! I’m so greedy for more detail, lol.

how much sand can a hand hold?

_ Chapter 2, "Oasis"

Pairing: Lady Jessica X Reader

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags: hurt/comfort, lots and lots of tears, mixing the book events with the movie!

Summary: You mend jessica's heart, and in the late night, she discovers a gift that you may share.

Author’s Note: I wrote most of this at about four in the morning, so i do hope it's not a mess. It's been proofread in the light of day, so I do know it's legible! This is also on my AO3!

It’s been just under an hour.

Your bags have finally arrived at your door, and though your excitement to unpack, to run your fingers over your beautiful new garments, is overwhelming, your worry for your lady trumps all enjoyment you may feel. You haven’t heard her voice since the duke came with his complaints. It’s been silence. Silence, and you’re not sure if she’s even still in the room, but if she is, her silence is extremely concerning.

Jessica’s emotional delicateness was a poor match for the Bene Gesserit desire to hide all sentiments the body may feel. She is, to her core, a destroyed woman, a woman you yearned to build back up, to heal of the wounds to her heart. It would take time, and you know she’ll always be that motherless child left out in the rain, but you’d find a way to give your Jessica all the affection she’s owed.

When you can’t take it anymore, can’t house the beating heart or the racing thoughts any longer, you stand to rap against the door that connects your bedrooms. You knock the specific rhythm that Jessica had taught you once, one that she promised would not be easily replicated, so that she would always know of your presence behind a door. She’d devised several plans to ensure your rendezvouses remained in total secrecy, and they’d never once failed.

“My lady?” Your voice is low against the door, and you crack it open a hair once you feel enough time has passed. You’re given no response, but you can feel the heaviness of Jessica’s presence in the room, so you push the door all the way open.

She’s sitting on the floor, curled into herself, wedged into the corner of the room. The corner furthest from the door where the duke had so loudly made himself known. She’s fallen into a state that you’ve seen her in far too many times, her head in her hands, tears still pouring from her eyes, but the uncontrollable shaking of her shoulders has long since ceased.

The sight nearly brings you to tears of your own, and though you can feel the water pricking at your lashes, you force it back down. A skill that will be useful in a coming livelihood on the desert planet, you think. You drop to your knees in front of your lady, forcing her hands away from her face and replacing them with your own. Her eyes are alert, not yet glazed over as they do when she forces control over her body, though you can tell she’s mere moments away from such control.

“Jessica…” You hum, pushing hair out of her face, wiping her ever-flowing tears as they drip down freckled cheeks. She looks impossibly beautiful when she cries, it’s simply unfair that a woman may look so lovely while in such a miserable condition. Her large eyes sparkle with wetness as they look up at you for guidance, like a lost child searching for their mother.

She’s nonverbal, tired hands making their way to hold onto you as you settle beside her, laying gentle kisses to her cheeks as her tears continue to glide down the curves of her face. Her grip is weak against you, but impactful enough that you know how much it means to her that you’ve come to check in on her. You would have come sooner, had you known what was behind the closed door, but you fear the duke just as much as Jessica does, so you kept to yourself for too long.

“I’m so sorry.” You offer her a reassuring smile, though it feels wrong to smile when she’s in such a joyless state. What you’d like to do is march to the house’s west wing yourself and give the duke a piece of your mind. You’d also like to keep your life, so such a thing would have to exist only in your mind. “He’s awful to you. You’ve done nothing to deserve this.”

The universe has been so cruel to your Jessica. Since her birth, she’s known nothing but sorrow. You know it can’t be karma, for the woman in front of you would never do anything deserving of what she’s received. She’s a punching bag for God’s most evil creations to put their anger towards. You long to put a shield around her, to protect her from the cruelty of those around her. You don’t understand how anyone could look upon such a sweet face and feel anger in their heart.

“He’s… awful.” She echoes, lifting her hands to cover your own, her consciousness seemingly returning to her. She sits upright, sniffling back tears that don’t cease. “Why is he so awful?” She begs, looking into your eyes like you may have the answers to all the questions in the universe. But you don’t. The question she’s asked is impossible to answer. Why could a man be so horrid to his bound woman? To a woman so devoid of love in her life, why would he force her into subservience and never reward her with even the smallest bit of softness?  

You’d never understand the male mind. Though it’s not only men who are wicked, you think, brain returning to days when Jessica would befall a similar fate to this one after a visit from her Bene Gesserit sistren.

“That I cannot answer.” You hum in response, sitting so that you can fully accept Jessica’s frail form in your arms, holding her tight against your chest. “I wish I could take you away from him. You should never have to feel the weight of his wrath again.” Your words were only the ramblings of someone with too much imagination. There would never exist a timeline in which Jessica would leave her child, in which Duke Leto would allow her to disappear.

“If only we could return to Caladan.” She hums, her voice thick from built-up moisture in her throat. A sigh escapes her lips, her body’s weight relying entirely on you now. Jessica holds your hand to her chest, and you feel how slowly it’s beating. She’s calming, but the beat in your own chest is doing quite the opposite. “We’d take the castle for ourselves, and have nothing to do but dance in our rain and count the stars while drinking the oldest wine in the cellar.”

A smile raises to your lips, which then press to your lady’s forehead. You swallow a lump that’s formed in your throat, trying to force back the sadness that creeps out of your tear ducts. You want nothing more than the life she’s laid out for you, and though it is sure to fill your dreams for the rest of your life, your rem cycle is the only place such a wish may exist.

“We’d wear our black dresses and let our skin go pale.” You say in return, a small giggle in your voice. You play with Jessica’s lithe fingers, pressing small kisses to her knuckles. “And we’d never see the duke or his precious desert power ever again. Our only worries would ever be rotten fruit and knots in our hair.” You curl into the woman lying in your lap, sharing her slow breath as you press your head into the crook of her neck, eyes closing. You picture your beloved courtyard on Caladan, where you’d once sat similarly to your current position, deep into the night, not a care towards the warmth of the morning’s sun.

“A perfect life.” Jessica sighs, gently lifting your head so that she may press a deep, longing kiss to your lips. Her lips are salty, a sensation you’ve grown quite used to when kissing your lover. It’s become her flavor, and has taken you over so much that when you eat anything with a high salt concentration, you think of Jessica. “Hayat mith’alia” She translates. You’ve grown so impressed by how little effort it takes Jessica to conjure Chakobsa, how wonderfully familiar it sounds on her lips.

You sit on the floor for another quarter hour, continuing to share your little fantasies about a life on another planet, trying to push away all of your sadness into the pit of your stomach, where it can rest until you can no longer feel the pain. You pet Jessica’s hair, and it’s when you her eyes meet you without shining their magnificent green-blue that you realize how late it has gotten. Your lack of movement must have triggered the suspensor light in the room to dim, leaving only the light from the twin moons to shine into your room.

“You should get changed for bed, my love.” You whisper softly to the woman that’s nearly fallen asleep in your lap, still dressed in her hanging yellow fabric. Jessica huffs a bit, begrudgingly removing herself from your arms to stand, and you quickly follow. She stretches, back bending much like that of a feline. You smile towards her, sneaking another chaste kiss to her cheek before unzipping her robe, letting it fall to the floor.

“I miss our bed.” She hums, voice dejected as she stares at the sad excuse for a bed in front of her. You rummage through her bags, seeking anything you can find, and eventually find what you believe to be a nightgown. At least a very soft stretch material that you hope will suit Jessica in slumber.

“As do I.” You smirk softly, teasing as you help the older woman into her dress, wrapping your arms around her. You inhale, taking in her sent, nose greedy for the smells of Caladan that still cling to the clothes. “It’s a nice canopy, at least.” You try your best to sound genuine, though you’ve already found it hard enough to find anything enjoyable in this place. You can, at the very least, appreciate the architecture, but your initial rose-colored glasses have been swiftly removed from your nose.

“I suppose.” Jessica shrugs before crawling into bed, patting the space beside her so that you may join her. You do so immediately, crawling under the soft fabric and up into Jessica’s arms. You appreciate, at least, that whoever has set this room for you spared no expense when it came to importing the bedspread. Though it doesn’t hold a candle to the large, circular bed of Jessica’s room on Caladan, you imagine it will fit your bodies well enough. It’s not like you take up much space anyway, limbs entangled together as you fall asleep for your first night on the desert planet.

♱

“Wake up, my love.”

The voice is hushed, yet carries a lilt of fervor and eagerness that is unlike your Jessica. You startle awake, your hair tussled, and the corner of your lips wet from heavy slumber. You’re impossibly tired, recovering from your time spent consoling Jessica’s wounded heart.

“Wha…” You mumble, sitting straight up in bed, rubbing the tiredness from your eyes. When they finally blink open, you’re met with Jessica’s freckled face wearing the most elated smile that you’ve ever seen on her lips. It’s very refreshing, considering how miserable you’d seen her earlier this night… it’s still night. Or very early morning, judging by the light green tint to the star-covered sky.

“I’ve found something.” She says, voice low, like she hopes to keep this something hidden from the rest of the members of the house. “It’s… You have to see it.”

Jessica takes your hand, a franticness to her actions that makes you a bit wary about what her found thing is, but if it has caused that most perfect smile that so rarely graces the lady’s lips, you’re sure it must be magical. You sleepily follow the woman, yawning a few times, worrying when she leads you out into the corridor.

“Jessica, I—” You begin, looking down at your nightclothes, the thin fabric of the nightgown clinging to your skin. You stumble in your tracks, constantly looking over your shoulder, fearful for what may happen if a guard, or worse, the duke, were to find you like this. But Jessica is full steam ahead, her steps unwavering as she leads you down the hall, until you reach the end, standing at the bottom of a spiral staircase. “Jessica, I really should change. What if—”

Your hypotheticals do not deter her, and your lady only shoots you another wide grin before she pulls you up the stairs, maneuvering her palm against the oval door at its peak before you’re thrust into a small chamber.

“An airlock?” You question quietly, your heartrate rising as you feel the air secure all around you. You don’t fear what Jessica is leading you towards, you know she’ll always keep you safe. What you do fear, however, is that someone has corrupted your lady in your slumber, that the sealed door in front of you is hiding dozens of Harkonnens. No, that’s the most ridiculous thought any brain could conjure. Your lady would never fall victim to such a silly scheme.

All of your suspicions fall apart when Jessica swings the heavy door open, revealing to you a grand room of jungle leaves and blossoming flowers. A breath escapes your lips as you step through the hatch, the sudden moisture thickness of the air making your already frizzy hair gain more curls.

“I…” You mutter, taking in the room that lays before you in all of its glory. “It’s….” You try again, but your words fail you. Jessica snakes her arms around you from behind, and for the first time since your arrival on Arrakis, you feel like you’re back home.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Jessica hums, holding your body tight against her chest. You quickly nod in response, reaching out a hand to caress a pink rose, grinning at the memories it brings to your mind. On Caladan, you developed a habit of always buying flowers for your lady when you went to market. Though the duke always kept a minimalist, masculine theme to his interior design, Jessica managed to keep a few flower vases around the castle. Though no one else in the house knew their meaning, you did, and that was enough.

Now, just as you once did, you and your lady shared a botanic secret, and it filled your sand-withered heart with glee.

“It’s… wonderful.” You whisper back, stepping away from her to lap around the room. You smile down to the flowering sondagi plants, hands collecting moisture from the leaves of hanging akarso. You giggle softly when a light mist paints your cheeks in water droplets, but your delight in the feeling turns to shock when you register what the mist implies.

“How is this possible?” You ask, turning back to return to Jessica’s arms; you adore the feeling of your shared wetness, the clothes clinging to skin like they once did under your beloved rain. “This much water, to keep such a climate sustained… where does the water come from?”

Jessica smiles, places a kiss to your nose. “That I do not know, hayatii.” She purrs, the petname making your legs turn to jelly, her kisses trailing down to your jaw. “All I know is that it is completely safe. A past lady of the house, the Lady Fenring, left a note. She’s left it here for my eyes alone. For us.” You sense the bitterness in her voice when she says the name of another lady, hear the jealousy she holds that one of her sisters was married to the man she was dedicated to.

You sigh into her, hands wrapping around her head, holding her close. The mist continues to wash over you, the yellow sun filter glass casting a warmth across your intwined bodies. Jessica continues her gentle kisses to your throat, her hands bunching up your soaked-through nightgown.

“I wish I could marry you.” You whisper, the words earnest, yet you wish you hadn’t said them. You don’t want to hurt her heart any more, especially after the night she’s had.

You’d never make a good partner for her. You have nothing to give, she has nothing to gain from your hand. She couldn’t secure your bloodline, not that you came from a mighty line of warriors or genius Mentats in the first place. You could only offer her love, and in the Bene Gesserit mindset, love was worth less that death.

Jessica is silent, her kisses pausing, her head falling to lay against your chest. You feel a sob shake her shoulders, her grasp on you growing tighter. You sigh, head dropping to meet her own, your own hands draping over her back, gently caressing her protruding spine.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” You whisper, voice drowned out by the noise of rhythmic running water and the buzz of a few insects kept to pollinate the flowers. “I... I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

Jessica’s still silent, but she eventually lifts her head to gaze up at you. Her earlier excitement has disappeared, and is replaced by tired eyes and the frown of a woman underloved. She’s always told you not to apologize, especially when you were only using the word sorry to make someone feel better. It was an awfully hard habit to rid yourself of.

“I want nothing more than to be your wife.” She whispers softly, voice laced with tears as she lifts her hands to cradle your face. You lift your own to wipe her cheeks, initially worried about the water she’s losing, but then realizing that lost water has no price while standing in a room such as this one.

“Then, as long as we stand in this room, my wife you shall be.” You smile at her, hating to see her in tears for a second time in a day, though she is so breathtaking when she cries, that you feel a bit guilty in wanting her to continue on.

A smile breaks on her lips, and in less than a beat of your heart they are attached to your own, the saltiness of her tears pressing against your thirsty lips. You tug her in by the heavy fabric of her dress, until she’s pressing you against a tree trunk, the rough bark scratching your back, though you’d never be upset by it. The sensation of live flora against your skin is something to be cherished on this planet so devoid of life.

The word wife has always had a profound effect on Jessica, and while it is so typically a negative one, your use of the term has turned the woman into a mess of desire. She’s so longed to be tied to such a word, that now that she is, even if it’s only between the two of you, it’s kickstarted a tickle at the back of her brain that’s running her body into overdrive.

She’s laying into you with such fervor that you can’t help but chuckle softly between her heavy kisses, and as dearly as you accept the feeling of her warm lips against your own, you have to force her off so that you may breathe for a moment.

“I love you.” You whisper softly, pushing your face forward an inch so that you may teasingly nudge Jessica’s nose with your own. “But this hurts!” You giggle gently, gesturing to the tree behind you.

Jessica only nods, her eyes glassy with lust, and takes a miraculously short time to lead you to the secluded bench that sits at the back of the room, near a small pond of water decorated by lilies. You want to take a moment to ogle the sight of such a mass of liquid, but you have no time to, because Jessica has situated herself at your feet. A far more attractive sign to gaze upon. Her hands swiftly push your dress aside, her sloppy kisses covering your thighs in her tingling warmth. You groan softly, hands rushing to tangle in her hair, tugging in her sleep-tousled locks. You pull her closer, begging her kisses to stray higher on your thighs, but she is steadfast against the soft flesh of your legs.

You’ll not persuade a Bene Gesserit into rushing.

You are growing impatient from Jessica’s relentless teasing, her teeth scaping against the skin that hasn’t ever seen the sun. You growl her name a few times until she finally relents, her nose teasing against your clothed cunt before pulling the fabric to the side.

“Jamil jdan bial’nisbat li, rouhii.” She purrs, the low tone of her voice sending a vibration through your body as she offers a few more delicate kisses to your skin. You adore how she reverts to the battle language while her brain is so drunk on your taste.

The feeling of her tongue against your flesh causes a shake in your weak knees, but when you fling your head back and open your eyes, you notice the shake isn’t solely in your desperate body. The leaves above your head are shaking, and when you look down to the small pond below you, you’re met with ripples in the water.

“Jessica…” You mumble, sitting upright, eliciting an annoyed grunt from the woman on her knees below you. “Jessica, really. Something’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong, my love. Nothing can hurt us.” She hums, but sits up anyway. Jessica licks her glistening lips, and the sight of it makes you want to ignore the signs of ill fate and return to your lovemaking, but you feel something pull at your heart that forces you to cease.

You stand to glance out the window, and a sudden dread fills your being.

Great pillars of fire and smoke fill your limited view, and from what you can see in the night sky, several large ships have begun descending onto Arrakis.

“The shield wall.” You gasp, slapping a hand over your mouth as to not make any louder noises. Jessica runs to your side, sharing in your fright, gripping your hand tightly. “Harkonnens.” You whisper shakily, the horrid name falling from your lips like a curse. You fight back tears for yet another moment in this most hellish night.

Jessica’s begun pacing, moving closer to the door of your sanctuary. You follow after her, panic rising in your heart and causing the tears to begin their flow.

“I must get Paul.” Jessica states grimly, her dedication to the Kwisatz Haderach, to her son, above all others. Above you. “I… I will find him. Bring him back here.”

Your heart stings with the idea of Jessica bringing another human into your secret oasis, but it pains even more at the fact that she’s so determined to leave in the first place, that she’ll surely be killed if she were to step foot out of this room.

“Jessica, no.” You try to carry a conviction in your voice but the hope for strength is far lost. You’re too scared, too desperate to stay by her side, but you know she will not let you. She is headstrong, one of your most favorite traits that Jessica holds, but you know better than to argue with her. All you can muster is a pitiful “Please…”

“I will be back. I promise you this.” Jessica smiles gently, and your brain tries to take a memory of it, knowing too well that this very well may be the last time it sees such a beautiful thing. “You must stay here. You must stay safe.” She shudders, images of Harkonnen torture flooding her brain.

“No. I’ll come with you. Please. Please let me come with you.” You beg, and as Jessica makes her way towards the exit of your most perfect room, you grab her hand, not ever wanting to let go. “Please, my love.”

“Stay here.” Her voice is pitched so that you must do her bidding, so that you’ve done it before your brain will move to disobey her. So that you’ve forcefully forgotten all about wanting to go with her, just long enough for Jessica to plant one last kiss to your lips before she escapes through the door and into the madness of the Governor’s Palace.

You fall to your knees at the door, clinging onto the cool metal. You continue your begging but soon lose your voice, sitting weak and dejected on the moisture-rich mat below you. You pray, pray so hard to whatever God that may be out there to protect your lady in her steps, that she may never face a Harkonnen soldier, and she may return to your side.

When your praying has finished, once you’ve begged for all you can, your force out those words that you so hate to hear.

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.”

♱

When the sun rises over Arrakis, you rise with it. The white sun, filtered through yellow as though to keep your plants alive, stings through your eyelids and forces you awake. You rush to said window, gazing out at the dunes. Damage done to every building, the sand covered in the bodies of soldiers, though for which side they once fought for, you’re unsure.

You’d been rustled by explosions all night, and the remnants of them remain all around you. Orange fires scattered across yellow rock, the heaviest of them burning the trunks of the imported palms in the palace’s courtyard.

Despite her promise, your lady has not returned. You’ve spent the night alone, and though you heard a few grunting noises beyond your airlocked doors, the palm lock of the exterior door is far too advanced for the Harkonnen mind to comprehend. You can now only hope that they do not have a Bene Gesserit in their employ.

You’re in a terrible state, exhausted and starved, and decide to eat a bright orange fruit from a tree in the center of the room. You’re not sure if it’s safe to eat, but decide that if it is truly poisonous, at least you may join your love in a safer death than at the hands of Harkonnen soldiers.

You sit, drowning in grief and in a premature state of mourning, hugging your knees to your chest. You won’t be able to last long in this room. Though the supply of water will last you for probable decades, there’s no source of food. You also can’t stand the feeling of not knowing Jessica’s fate. You can’t stand the endless possibilities, and while you’ve always been so very optimistic, it’s awfully difficult for your brain not to consider the woman dead.

After a considerable time sent sulking, your brain has convinced you to leave the safety of your small jungle. Even if it’s a cold body that you find, you must find your lady. You stand, pacing around for a moment to shake the dizzy fog of your head, before pushing open the heavy door leading to the airlock. You let the air decompress around you, looking down at the state of your clothing. Your feet are dirty, hair dripping water. It’s not a state you’d like any Arrakeen resident to see you in, lest you be attacked for your wealth of water.

You stand in the hushed air of the airlock, ears fine-tuning so that you may hear any rustle of noise outside on the other side of the door. When you’re sure enough there isn’t a Harkonnen beast awaiting your exit, you step out of the door, closing it as quietly as possible, and scurry down the spiral staircase. The corridor is empty, but you hear commotion throughout the palace. They must have done a thorough sweep of the house and deemed this half useless just as the duke and his charge had done upon your arrival.

You return to your shared room, which lays empty. Though you’re so very pleased that you’ve not found Jessica here in a pile of her own blood, you also don’t find any sign that she’s returned to this room. You drop to the floor to rummage through her bags, finding a tunic and a pair of pants, something nondescript and lightweight enough that you may blend in as a lost Arrakeen civilian. You’d remembered that the women on Arrakis often covered their hair, so you wrapped yourself in a veil that smelled so much of Jessica’s perfume it almost brought another sob though your body.

After slipping on a pair of shoes, you frantically search the room for anything that may be used as a weapon. Nothing has been unpacked yet, not even your toiletries, so there’s nothing to grab, nothing to conceal under your sleeves. You’re forced to leave your room with only your wits about you, and you’ve not even really got those. Your brain is still dripping with sorrow, and as you finally exit the room, you enter a state of high alert to find your lady.

You creep down the long hallway, hugging yourself tightly as you do so. At least you’ve grown used to the sneaking around, the walking in shadow. It’s come easy to both you and your lady, and you hope that she’d taken these very steps, at least made it to Paul. You’re sure she has.

“Hey!” You hear from behind you, a loud, deep voice reverberating and echoing through the hall and into your ears. Before you can turn around to see the monster that’s yelled at you, a hand the size of your own head is wrapped around your arm, squeezing so hard you fear the bone may snap.

You don’t speak to the beast, for you can’t decide which character would better aid your escape. Would a bald, black-toothed soldier have more sympathy for a lady’s maid, or a wandering Fremen citizen? It was not like you could portray the latter well, you hadn’t studied the language, nor interacted with the public enough to adopt their mannerisms or accent. So, you walk in silence, stumbling over your feet trying to keep up with the soldier’s long strides.

The man stops for a moment at the tall exterior doors of the palace, speaking to another gross, fat soldier. They speak in that horribly guttural language, and you’re wise enough to know they’re discussing your fate. You take the opportunity to look around, seek your love, but all of the doors in the palace are sealed shut.

You’re suddenly thrust through the doors and out onto sand, and the creature pulls you towards an ornithopter. You force your crying to cease, understanding your coming desert fate, and stumble up the walkway and into the seat you’re thrown into. The Harkonnen doesn’t bother tying you up; he must not see your small frame and fancy clothes as too much of a threat to his life.

The ‘thopter is illuminated by only a few flickering, neon lights, but you can sense the presence of other bodies around you. They must be packing ship after ship with bodies and taking them out to the desert to die under the Arrakeen sun.

“Jessica?” you call out weakly, and though your mind knows that there’s not a single chance that your lady would be on this craft, you take the chance anyway. “Does anyone know what’s become of the royal family?” You beg, sure that the other maids and housekeepers of the palace surely haven’t given a single thought to the rich ones who previously ruled their lives.

“Quiet!” The Harkonnen yells towards you from the front of the ‘thopter, which now flickers to life as its bug wings lift you into the sky. You swallow hard, throat impossibly dry as you lift over what was once the shield wall, and move over the open desert. It’s a terrifying thing, sand upon sand upon sand. The yellow that you had been once so fond of, so mystified by, now brought nothing but fear through your heart. You mumble the litany once again, now finding comfort in its words yet not feeling the full-body calm that it’s supposed to bring. You hold the fabric of your veil close to your nose, the rich vanilla and crinum lily tricking your brain into calm, into believing that you’re back with your lady in the sanctity of your bed.

But you’re not. You’re in the middle of the open desert, ornithopter lowering down once the soldier figures you’re far south enough that you’ll never make it back to the capital city. You land on the sand with a thunk, a graceless landing that’s so very characteristic of the Harkonnen hand.

The ‘thopter’s cargo hold swings open, a sudden heat throwing sand against your skin, instantaneously evaporating all of the moisture that lays on your skin. The sun is impossibly bright when it beats off the sand and into your eyes, pupils dilating as you squint hard to protect yourself from floating grains of the dune.

Your captor forces you, along with five-or-so others who you vaguely recognize as Fremen house workers, into the sand. You fall to your knees in the shifting terrain below you, falling dejected to your fate. While the others around you scream and sob, you keep yourself grounded, preserving your energy as best you can.

The ‘thopter quickly makes its retreat, its pilot not wishing to spend any time under a sun that isn’t black. When the beating of wings disappears from your ears, you climb to your feet, addressing your surroundings. There only exists sand, white mounds waving from the heat of the mid-day. Once you turn, however, you find a tall hunk of rock to your left, perhaps a half-hour’s walk or so away. You can make it, if you start now.

You feel greedy in not alerting the rest of the group of your plan, but you just can’t worry over the survival of people that have lived on this planet their whole lives. They’ve grown with stories of shai-hulud, they’ll know it’s coming. So, you leave them, untrained rhythmless movements heading towards the black jetting of rock, praying that it’s not a mirage that your brain has concocted in a daze of lost love and impending heatstroke.

[ilsaethan]

ilsa grabbing ethan before he goes over :')

or, in the words of mark bristol (storyboard artist): they've had each other's back from the first date.

[madisoncounty]

— the oresteia

[valkubanging]

Didn't she put a price on your head in Paris? She did indeed. We... worked it out.

[femmeetart]

"ye can keep it"

"oh I'd rather keep you than a hat"