If You [ B L A C K ] Reblog This.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

When the chaos erupted, Daemon did not let the opportunity slip from his grasp and abducted you, the daughter of the Sea Snake.

A/N: Thank you for 100 followers!

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

One may know the Rogue Prince to be a persistent man. He is a Targaryen Prince, a Dragon, what he desires will be his regardless of the cost. When he sought your hand, your father, Lord Corlys, opposed it and forbade him to wed you. The refusal left him embittered and wrathful, incensed by his audacity. Before his departure, he spoke one sentence that would unsettle Rhaenys and Corlys; a vow to seize you from their grasp should they prove unwilling. Your mother clutched you tighter, and your father silently dreaded the vow.

During the royal wedding of Laenor and Rhaenyra, Rhaenys and Corlys remained vigilant throughout the entire ceremony, unable to shake off the sense of foreboding, especially when Daemon appeared at the ceremony uninvited, smiling proudly like a child. Your mother's grip on your hand tightened resolutely as she observed the prince smirking at her and her husband before taking his seat.

Corlys shifted in his seat as he leaned towards you, whispering firmly and sternly, "You must not engage with him even if he asks you to dance, do not accept anything from him. Maintain your distance." Your eyes met his, nodding in understanding. You had no desire to provoke your father or disappoint your mother, so you complied with their wishes.

Throughout the dinner, Daemon never ceased gazing at you. His eyes held mischief and potential peril. You swallowed nervously as you speared the meat on your plate. Your parents glanced at you cautiously, and you could even see Corlys glaring at the prince from a distance with admonishing eyes, yet the prince merely smiled and winked at you when you glanced at him.

Choosing to disregard his flirtatious advances, you turned towards Rhaenyra and your brother. They did not appear truly happy, more solemn, with silent discontent evident. The atmosphere was tense, lacking in joy.

As the dancing commenced, you remained seated. Then you turned to your father, "May I?" You inquired, and Corlys promptly responded, "You mustn't. The Prince is always waiting for you to slip up." Naturally, he was concerned; he could not bear to lose his daughter. It was Laena who interjected with a smile. "Father, do not worry, she will be with me. I will keep a watchful eye on her." Despite this reassurance, Corlys remained wary and reluctantly allowed you to go with your sister.

Descending the stairs and joining the others in the dance, they glided across the floor like graceful swans. You recognized a few of them: Harwin Strong, Jason Lannister, and a few others. It was then that you felt an arm encircle your waist, none other than Daemon Targaryen. You swallowed nervously.

He smirked at you. Despite having aged, he remained strikingly handsome, prompting both men and women to kneel before him. "You are as beautiful as ever," he complimented as he twirled you. A faint smile graced your lips, though your eyes revealed caution. "Thank you, Prince Daemon." The way his name rolled off your tongue made his smirk widen. You prayed for your parents to come and whisk you away.

However, Daemon had other intentions as his hand ventured lower. "Your parents are fools for denying us the chance to wed. I could adorn you in ways no lord ever could. I could indulge in you endlessly without boredom," he whispered seductively. His silver-tongue was renowned. You could sense your parents' watchful gaze.

"You are gracious, my prince. Unfortunately, I must return to my parents," you informed him, fabricating an excuse swiftly as you attempted to flee but were hindered by the chaos erupting around you. Screams pierced the air as panic ensued, and amidst the commotion, you heard bones shatter and recognized the cries of a familiar man, Ser Joffrey. Searching for your brother amidst the chaos, you heard his shouts and a loud crash. The cacophony of voices melded into one, and Daemon seized the opportunity by hoisting you over his shoulder and navigating through the tumultuous crowd.

Amidst the throng of people pushing and jostling in their attempt to flee the scene, it was challenging to spot you. Daemon capitalized on the confusion and departed from the Red Keep with you. Despite your struggles and resistance, he carried you atop his dragon. And on dragonback, he spirited you away to Essos swiftly when there were no witnesses.

While your parents scanned the crowd anxiously in search of you, Rhaenys fretted and feared that harm had befallen you. Corlys turned towards Viserys, his voice thunderous with anger. "My daughter—find my daughter!" he bellowed as Viserys finally grasped that his brother had likely abducted you amidst the chaos. The color drained from Corlys and Rhaenys's faces, consumed by dread.

this was amazing 😫😫😫

like an act of god

warnings/tags: 18+, dark themes, DUBCON/NONCON, woc!reader, emperor!lucius, dark!lucius, possessive behavior, forced engagement, implied forced marriage, ignoring a lot of logistics for the sake of the plot so rip, these tags are not exhaustive

wc: 5.4k

summary: An emperor’s favor is no favor at all.

believe it or not this was a writing warm up 😗 next up is hopefully childhood friends to lovers but let’s see where the plot bunnies go 🙂‍↔️

please let me know your thoughts and happy reading!!!

This is the fourth time in a mere week the emperor has called you to his chambers.

The guard looks vaguely uncomfortable as he stands outside your room. The flickering flames cast shadows underneath his helmet, making the sympathetic curl of his lip all the more severe.

Ink smudges the paper as you place down your pen. The letter to your brother will have to wait it seems.

“My lady.” The guard dips his head as he motions for you to step ahead of him.

The strained smile on your face wavers as soon as his eyes are on the back of your head. It is tough to keep your back straight as you make the short trek to the emperor’s room. Too short one can say but you keep those words tucked under the roof of your mouth.

You are a favorite of his, garnering his favor through virtue of your family or so they say. Your status allows you many liberties but these constant calls have crossed the line of propriety and rumors you may not recover from have begun to spread.

It is a fool’s wish to hope his eyes may stray but you cling to it despite his doglike loyalty.

The man of the hour sits with his back turned and a glass of wine balanced on his lips. His head twists when he hears your quiet footsteps enter his domain, softening when he catches a glimpse of you.

Your stomach twists.

You do not miss how the servants scurry out of sight and out earshot when he turns his formidable gaze towards them. You wish you could grab onto the frail wrist of the girl nearest to you. Your fingers flex as she hurriedly walks past you.

“It is late,” you say when the room is cleared.

“It is,” he agrees, a small smile on his handsome face. “Sit.”

Movements stiff, you take the seat across from him. He’s stretched out on his seat, robes rucking upwards to expose the strength hidden beneath his royal garb. Scars pucker the meat of his legs and there are faint white lines crisscrossing the skin as if depicting a linear story.

You swallow.

You have heard the tales and have determined what is far-fetched and what is truth.

And Lucius is made up almost entirely of truths.

The moment you cross your legs, he is upright and leaned over the minuscule table separating the two of you. Rather than reach for the half-full bottle of wine, he aims for the water, sharing a secretive smirk with you.

Your attempt at mirroring his playfulness is weak. A vague nausea begins to brew in your gut and you fear even water may be too heavy for you.

“Whispers will begin to spread.”

Lucius pauses. His features harden before he forcibly relaxes his face. “I do not see why that matters,” he says. His smile dims and the jug of water in his hand is quickly abandoned.

Sweat dampens your palms. You smooth them over your dress, wincing as the fabric catches on your peeled skin. A few months in Rome and you still have not adjusted to the weather.

“Lucius.”

His name is unnatural and stiff on your tongue. You long to revert back to his formal title but he refuses the honorific.

“It matters because you must marry wisely,” you say gently. “You know this. Let us not waste our breaths on the obvious.”

“Is it obvious?” he parrots back.

His voice takes on a cool tone. He’s not quite combative but you sense you must tread carefully lest his ice be thinner than it looks. But your brother was not made General because your bloodline bowed at the first sign of danger.

You tip your chin up. “It will not do for your senators to suspect you are looking inwards rather than outwards for your alliances.”

It is quiet for a moment before Lucius huffs out a laugh. He shifts his weight, balancing an elbow on his thigh to better cup his chin. Amusement lightens the blues of his eyes. “And if I am?”

You are not nearly as oblivious as your reputation suggests nor are you as great an actress as you believe yourself to be. You know when it admit defeat. There is only one way this conversation will go after all.

But this understanding does not mean you have to go quietly.

“Then I recommend Decima,” you say dryly.

He nods slowly, hiding his mouth behind his palm for a heartbeat before fixing you with a blandly curious look. “The daughter of the richest man in Rome,” he drawls. “Clever.”

He pops a grape into his mouth and chews it thoughtfully. “But not as clever as marrying the sister of my most loyal general.”

No one refuses the emperor. Try as he may to be benevolent and fair and kind, his status means there are certain words he has not been accustomed to since his rise to power.

“I suppose not,” you say finally.

Tilting your head, you fix the way your dress hangs over your legs. His eyes follow the ripple of the fabric but you pretend not to notice how he searches beyond what he can see.

“Is that why you have called me to your chambers so often? To flaunt your cleverness?” you ask, a touch sharply.

Lucius can’t help his grin. He ducks his head and it’s such a genuine display of the boyishness your brother feared his emperor lost, your stomach rolls at the sight.

“Do I not seem to enjoy your company?" he asks with faux surprise.

To your surprise, he slides down onto the ground and shuffles forward until his hands rest upon your knees. The cloth is so thin it feels as if his bare hands are against you. You suck in a breath at the warmth pooling underneath his palms.

“What are you—get up!” you hiss, casting a furtive glance behind you.

He blinks up at you innocently. “I am apologizing for misleading my betrothed. I have done a disservice if you think I call for you for the sake of a ploy.”

“And you will be doing me further disservice if you think I will believe this to mean anything.”

He moves his hands upwards until they lay upon your thighs. His fingers dimple your skin as he squeezes you. “I do not do things I do not mean,” he says firmly.

You lean down, placing your hands over his. “You want a family,” you say.

The words are shards in your mouth. It is not a simple matter of children. Lucius wants a home. The losses that haunt him have made his longing a physical thing. And your stubborn devotion lead you across an ocean you had no business crossing. What is a greater showing of love than that?

“I want you,” he corrects softly.

You almost wish he’d tell you he loves you. That would take rationality out of this equation.

But he wants you.

How do you reason with someone who knows exactly what they’re doing?

-

It was not meant to go this way.

The new ruler of Rome should have been of no personal concern of yours. He existed as a potential threat to your homeland, a story to fear, but not as a real person in your mind.

This remained true until a letter found its way to your family’s home.

It was written in your brother’s familiar scrawl and voice. He regaled to your family how he found himself across the world, omitting the worst of his ordeal, while promising his present safety.

With palpable regret, Kahlil declared himself unable to leave Rome, not while she remained under such uncertainty. The new emperor, Lucius Verus, had earned his loyalty having freed him from the clutches of the tyrannical twins and pushing him towards a path of glory.

And you knew at once what you must do.

You had to leave.

You had to feel his heartbeat underneath your hands and see that his blood was the same shade as yours. You refused to move on with your life as it was only knowing your brother existed. You would never be at peace without confirming that mortality ran through his veins.

The journey was brutal. It veered into the territory of being something you could not handle but you had no other choice than to handle it. Days stretched into weeks and weeks stretched into months but soon, you were touching down onto Roman soil.

The months at sea had been beneficial however as the language, while unfriendly to your ears, was familiar enough for you to navigate your way to the city. Hope permeated the air of the reborn city and whispers echoed the streets about a new age of peace.

Frankly, you didn’t care.

You asked around for your brother, eyebrows grazing your hairline as you learned of his newfound fame amongst the people. It took less than a week for you to scrounge around for a way to informally meet the beloved general.

It was rather anticlimactic.

There were a handful of places the general frequented with his men and none were easily accessible. Luckily, the innkeeper’s daughter took a liking to you and directed you to whose pockets were light. And so, you found yourself ducking underneath a curtain and into a plume of opioid smoke.

Your nose wrinkled at the acidic scent but paid it no mind as you searched the back room. Feigning confusion as some soldiers called to you, you darted around as each man you ran into did not resemble the one you knew.

On the cusp of marching back to the inn and declaring Caelia a liar, you found him. He was leaning over the balcony, melancholy stretching across his side profile.

His name left you as a breath, carried away by the slight breeze. But somehow, he heard you.

Kahlil lifted his head, a painful sort of resignation weighing down his shoulders, until he made eye contact with you.

In a matter of seconds, he stood before you. And he was okay.

He hugged you. His arms, muscled beyond your imagination, crushed you against his chest but it was a welcome pain, cracking your chest open and burrowing straight into the fragile meat of your heart.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he muttered against your hair. The admonishment is nonexistent, more a reflex to say rather than something from the heart. “But I am glad to see you.”

You pushed against him. He allowed you to pull back just enough so you could look up at him, vision blurred from your tears.

He was nothing like you remembered and you mourned this. Scars decorated his skin and callouses roughened his hands. But it was him.

His smile was still slightly awkward and the shape of his brows framed his eyes as perfectly as they always did. The kindness you feared was taken from him in his years of fighting remained in the crinkles of his eyes and the softness of his features.

“I missed you,” you said, voice catching in your throat. A fresh set of tears burned at your waterline. “I am so sorry we could not find you.”

His expression crumpled and Kahlil shook his head. “There is no one to blame but those who took me,” he said firmly.

You shut your eyes, swallowing down the sob that threatened to break free at his forgiveness.

He wiped the stray tears dripping from your face, laughing as if he did not look as foolish as you did. “You are still a crybaby.”

You laughed, more a hiccup than anything.

Kahlil was kept from saying more when someone uttered his name from behind.

“Highness,” Kahlil said, standing tall.

He wiped your remaining tears and his own before turning the both of you towards the voice.

A handsome man stood in front of you. His hair was dark and his beard thick. His arms were corded with muscle, similar to your brother’s, but there was a predator type of strength lurking underneath the surface in which Kahlil lacked.

The title registered in your mind as you stared and with an embarrassed look towards Kahlil, you dropped your head in deference.

The man quickly dismissed the formality and motioned for you to lift your head.

“I am Lucius,” he introduced. His gaze flicked to your brother in question.

You gave him your name, voice raw from your tears. He asked you to repeat it and you did so, watching as he rounded his mouth over the syllables.

“My sister,” Kahlil interjected. “The one who thinks no consequence too severe to keep her from making reckless decisions.”

At this, he pinched your ear lobe.

“You talked about me?” you asked, blinking up at him. So many years had passed. It was a wonder he remembered any stories of you to tell.

“Yes,” Lucius said, drawing your attention back to him. He stared at you, an unreadable look in his too blue eyes. “Quite favorably too.”

He took in the circles staining your under eyes and how you clutched at your brother as if he were an apparition brought to life. Your hand ached with how tightly you held the fabric of Kahlil’s clothes between your fingers but you could not make yourself relax. You worried you would wake and find yourself back on the boat and under the throes of that fever once more if you let go.

“You traveled far.”

The observation managed to sound impressive off of Lucius’ tongue as if he found you admirable. It made you squirm.

Memories of the journey flashed through your mind, bringing forth echoes of the anxiety you suffered for months on end. But you shrugged as if it was easy. Because in a way, it was.

Kahlil was at the end of the journey. There was no easier path to take.

“And I would have gone further had it been necessary,” you said. “Luckily, it was not. I might have thrown up my stomach if I was stuck on that ship any longer.”

Kahlil made a face. “The waves are a punishment,” he said sympathetically.

“You must be tired,” Lucius said. He had not taken his eyes off of you. “Come.”

And that was how it began.

You had a few uninterrupted weeks with your brother before he departed in search of allies for Rome. Kahlil promised you a home wherever he was and Lucius was all too happy to uphold such a promise.

Your quarters were moved to be closer to Lucius’ in Kahlil’s absence. It did not take long before you replaced time spent with him with Lucius.

In the instances you were alone with him, you forgot he was the emperor. His smile was infectious and he had a clever wit about him that kept you on your toes. The stories sprung from his lips kept you enthralled and you found yourself prolonging these moments with him.

Charisma was a necessity for leaders and Lucius had it in abundance.

Slowly, he began encroaching into your space. A hand on your lower back, a brush his fingers against your waist, lingering hugs that involved him burying his face in the hollows of your throat.

He was too close too often.

People began to take notice and sly comments were whispered under breath.

Once the rumors circulated close enough for you to hear, you began to pull back. You ignored the informal requests to see him and found reasons to decline the formal requests to his chambers.

Lucius did not take well to your sudden reticence and the rumors worsened as his demand for you grew.

If you knew being friendly with Lucius would lead to this, you would have made your room a jail in Kahlil’s absence instead.

-

Lucius becomes bold in the days after your engagement is announced.

He pens a letter to your brother of the news. You sign it without reading it. Lucius purses his lips but sends the letter without much complaint.

You write your own letter, minimally mentioning the engagement, and praying Kahlil reads in between the lines and slows his journey back. As your father resided an ocean away, your brother will have to make do and you fear his loyalty for Lucius will override his love for you.

Congratulations are heartfelt and plentiful from the people and ring insincere from the upper echelon. But the pushback is minimal and so, Lucius gleefully goes forward with the wedding planning.

It will be a grand affair, one you know he does not care for in the slightest. If it not for the fact that it would be the greatest showing of ownership, you believe Lucius would have dragged you in front of seven witnesses to declare the union.

The first time he presses a kiss against your temple in front of the most gossipy of his senate, you nearly buck your head back into his nose. His hand rests against your side and he murmurs something against your skin, sealing whatever it is he has said with a gentle kiss.

The sound of your blood rushing is all that fills your ears so you do not know if Lucius requested something of you. It does not matter.

He has made his point.

His affection worsens after that.

The engagement permits him to seek you out as he wishes. His men roll their eyes lightheartedly when he stops what he’s saying to call you over during training. He is quick to leave meetings or lunches if he senses they have turned into leisure rather than productive discussion to make his way back to your quarters now that you rebuff his.

No matter where you are, he finds you.

In the rare moments you are left to your own devices, you find yourself with no friends nor hobbies to keep you occupied.

You notice men do not raise their heads when they see you. Any conversation you try to hold with one ends with excuses as to why they suddenly find themselves too busy to speak to you.

A guard follows you around the clock. You manage to wrangle his name out of him—Scipio—but it is for nothing as a fortnight later, you do not see him again. From then, you have a new guard every day.

The women, few and far between in the palace, are sweet. But it is clear whatever comes out of your mouth goes directly to Lucius’ ear. So you busy yourself with fictional hopes of your future and dabble in petty gossip when you find yourself in their presence.

It is suffocating.

“There you are.”

The corner of the garden you’ve taken a liking to darkens as Lucius blocks the sunlight seeping in through a window.

He’s angelic under the golden cast of the sun. A man more than worthy of his position.

“Ah, Highness,” you greet, offering him a nod.

There is a pinch between his brows.

“We are to be married,” he reminds you, crouching down. He runs a gentle hand through the flowers you are observing. “You are my equal.”

“But we are not husband and wife quite yet, Highness.”

His hand leaves the flowers to cup your cheek. He turns you to face him, thumb brushing against the softness of your lips. Unconsciously, you swipe your tongue over the trail of warmth left behind. A slightly salty taste permeates your mouth.

“You are my equal,” he repeats. “And I expect you to treat me as such.”

The skin around his eyes is dark. Exhaustion makes him look pallid. Your avoidance is the last thing he wishes to deal with, this you are sure, and it tugs at your heart to see him so tired.

“You should go to bed,” you say.

“Will you join me?” he asks.

You jerk back. His hands falls off your cheek.

Lucius laughs at the stunned look on your face. He moves closer into your space, looking down at you.

“You are annoying,” you say hotly. “And I am busy. Obviously.”

He hums. “With thinking of ways to delay our wedding, yes?”

“Please. I have better uses of my time.”

Besides, he has made it nigh impossible to find a loophole. An emperor’s word is law and he has used his to shackle you to him.

“So you do not conspire to find a way to break our engagement?” he surmises mildly.

A fissure of fear opens within you. Hadrian had promised you discretion but clearly, a bit of luck is needed to escape the ever watchful eye of Lucius. But you have not been informed of any ports closures and so, you choose to hold your cards tightly to your chest.

You twist a petal between your fingers. “How can I conspire when all I know are these walls,” you motion towards said walls, “And the people you install in my circle.”

He watches you for a too long moment, scrutinizing the unnatural stillness of your expression. “The sense you hope your brother will impart on me will not change anything,” he says eventually.

It takes considerable effort for you to not show any sort of relief at his warning. The more pleading your letters became, the more Lucius clung to your side so you had eased up in the past few weeks. It does not come as a surprise he is actively reading whatever it is you write.

“Is he a confidant in name only, then?” you retort.

“He loves me,” Lucius says instead. He’s softened, bearing the weight of a man who knows it takes only a word for blood to be spilled in his name and for it to be spilled gladly. “But he loves you more.”

Pursing his lips, he fingers a stem. He doesn’t flinch when a thorn splits his skin. A droplet of blood runs from his finger and drips into the soil.

“But he loves Rome more?” you guess, peeking at him from under your lashes.

He watches the blood continue to spill into the soil. Just when you think he won’t answer you, to give weight to the truth you fear more than anything, he says, “Kahlil thinks I am a good man.”

And that is a sentencing all on its own, you suppose.

-

The bath water practically scalds your skin as you sink into the tub.

It is refreshing in a way. The slight sting keeps your thoughts from straying.

Kahlil’s recent letter leaves you with no choice but to hasten your escape. Any ship will do for you need to leave before the week’s end if Kahlil’s timeline is to be trusted.

You allow yourself a few more minutes in the bath, a few more minutes to act as if you are as any other, before you drain the tub and dry off.

You exit the bathroom, towel tucked loosely around yourself. Smoothing the left over oil onto your lips, you pause when you notice a shape out of the corner of your eye.

Lucius lays atop your sheets.

A strangled scream leaves your throat and you’re throwing a candle at him before you recognize it is him in your bed and not some stranger come to make true of your worst nightmares. Though, this is not a much better sight.

He catches the candle with one hand and deposits it on the floor, eyes wide in bemusement.

You hitch the towel higher, fisted fabric at your throat as you take him in. He’s stretched out lazily, hair wet and skin shiny with cream. The sheet covers his lower half and you force your eyes to rip away from the dark trail of hair on his lower abdomen. For all intents and purposes, he looks ready for bed.

“I brought you a gift,” he says, sitting up. He gestures to the box on top of your vanity. “Come here. Let’s look at it together.”

While said lightly, this is clearly an order.

You stand, shifting your weight. You are hyper aware of how naked you are underneath this flimsy towel. “I need to change, Highness.”

Annoyance flickers across his face. “Come here.”

Shuffling to your vanity, you heft the box as best you can with one arm and make your way to Lucius. The second you are within arm’s reach, he shoots out his hand and wraps it around you. He drags you forward and forces you to sit nestled between his thighs.

His cock is a heavy weight at the base of your spine.

You immediately straighten up and try to scoot forward but he doesn’t allow for this. He settles the box on your legs and brackets you with his arms.

“Open it,” he murmurs against your ear, resting his chin atop your shoulder.

Your fingers shake as you pry open the lid. All you can focus on is how the room feels as if it ends and begins with Lucius.

When you get the box open, you don’t know what you are looking at. And then Lucius pushes a finger against the object until a set of familiar brown eyes stare back at you, unfeeling and condemning all at once.

You shove the box away from you, turning into Lucius before you can see Hadrian’s head roll onto the floor.

He allows the change in position, letting your weight guide him back down to the bed before he hooks an arm around you and reverses your position. The towel slips and he follows the line of your throat and downwards.

He brings his hand down to push away the towel pooling at your hips. Instinctively, you grab at his wrist, tears beginning to line your eyes.

Lucius stills.

“Did you think I would let you leave?” he wonders.

He sounds genuinely confused and somehow, that little slip of sincerity allows a frigid wave of fear to crash over you. Rationally, you know your skin to still be warm to the touch but you shiver, ice replacing the blood flowing in you.

“I thought you would find me more work than I am worth,” you say quietly. Your heart strains against your rib cage.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Did you now?”

He easily breaks free of your hold and you can do nothing as he makes quick work of your towel. Lucius slowly runs his thumb along the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth.

“Lucius.” His name is torn from your throat, a plea wrapped up in a warning. “Don’t. We are not married yet.”

He laughs, dropping his head down until his forehead lies flat against your collarbone. His breath is hot against you, sending the chill inwards.

"But we will be,” Lucius promises easily. “And I will wait no longer.”

He’s kissing you before you can make an attempt at delaying what is seemingly the inevitable.

His lips are hard against yours, impatiently slipping his tongue into your mouth and finding purchase against your teeth. Lucius is uncharacteristically sloppy, betraying the desperation he’s kept so carefully hidden.

You put your hands against his chest and curl them into fists when pushing only results in him tightening his hold on you.

Recalling what the other women said about their first time, you push down your fear until it settles underneath the acceptance you forcibly yank over yourself like a veneer.

His fingers caress your soft, bare skin as he trails his hands up your thigh. The coarseness of his chest hair against your overly sensitive skin sends static skittering across your nerves.

You stifle a whine when he pulls away from you just enough to let you pant against his mouth. Your stomach gives a sickening lurch when there’s pressure between your bodies, a dull ache at the apex of your thighs.

He slips his finger into you inch by inch and tears wet your cheeks when he adds a second one. Experimentally, he stretches you out until you’re left with no choice but to let your legs fall open, inviting him in.

The longer he presses into you, the more you feel yourself relax, noting your loosening muscles as if happening from an outsider’s perspective. Wetness drips down his wrist, pooling in the crease of his elbow and he grins, eyes pointedly going down. You refuse to follow him.

“Not as shy as you like to come off, hm?” he murmurs, circling his thumb over you and drawing out a high pitched moan.

You bite your lip immediately, a harsh breath ricocheting in your chest. You try to stamp down the pleasure beginning to curl into a coil in your belly. It tightens when he digs his teeth into your fluttering pulse.

It is when you are on the brink of something that he eases up, slipping his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth. You almost clamp down on his hand when he pulls out but resist the urge by the skin of your teeth.

You shift, drawing your legs closer in the hopes of chasing that mounting high he’s taken from you. A dizzying sort of heat has set your blood aflame, akin to a fever.

You must be sick, you decide. It must be a sickness that has not yet been discovered that plagues you and leaves you feeling empty where Lucius does not touch you.

He cants his hips up, lining himself up. Your eyes widen when you feel him prod your entrance. The sheer size of him terrifies you because it won’t matter if he doesn’t fit as you hysterically believe he won’t.

He’ll find a way.

“Lucius, wait,” you hiccup, swallowing down the anxiety thrumming alongside your arousal.

He grinds himself between your thighs, slicking himself with you. He doesn’t bother acknowledging your mindless babble and instead, licks away a wayward tear on your cheek.

Lucius sinks in an inch, your name a wrecked sound. He sounds different from what you’re used to, strained and roughened around the edges.

“Please kiss me,” you beg, curling a hand around the base of his neck. His curls are wet, the space between them almost humid from the heat emanating from him.

His hips stutter and he braces himself against the mattress.

“Kiss you?” Lucius repeats hoarsely, peering down at you with his pupils blown wide with a haunting desire.

You nod weakly, urging his face closer. The stretch of him burns and while not entirely unpleasant, it makes your heart quicken and your belly flutter.

He sinks in deeper and catches your gasp in his mouth. You part your lips instantly as he bears down on you, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s seated inside you. Numbly, you wonder if you’ll ever be whole again, if Lucius has carved out a space in you only he can fill.

Lucius lets you adjust to him, running a soothing hand underneath your chest. He traces circles around your nipple and it’s a searing heat that takes the edge off.

He kisses you gently. It’s almost too sweet to bear but you respond in earnest, angling your hips upwards to give the okay. The discomfort has loosened into something you handle and the knot noosed around your heart untangles to leave a bloodied heap in its wake.

He thrusts into you as if to test your resolve. You whimper as pleasure seeps into your core. You break away from his greedy mouth and soothe yourself with pressing kisses against his strong jaw. You nip at the bone as you catch your literal and metaphorical breath. It’s hard to tell if it’s the lack of air or Lucius himself making you lightheaded.

The thread of restraint he’s meticulously maintained snaps at the strung out noise. Lucius fucks you hard and deep, perhaps a little deeper than intended if the guttural noise that leaves him is any indication.

The pleasure in your belly ratchets up and a strangled moan is gutted from you when his cock brushes against some part of you that sends sparks right up your spine.

Immediately, he’s thrusting into that spot over and over again and doesn’t stop until he stiffens with a groan.

He spills into you, cock twitching as you milk him for what he’s worth.

Your name is on the tip of his tongue and branded across his heart.

Lucius chants it, peppering kisses all over your face as he collapses carefully on top of you. Fatigue wears at you and you close your eyes, hating yourself for finding comfort in how he immediately presses a kiss against your swollen eyelids.

“I love you,” Lucius whispers.

It is the worst thing you have ever heard.

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

‘23.

If you black and still active, reblog this.

literally, it’s so frustrating cause it’s already rare to find a oc who is black in the hotd or got universe so for people to put the velaryon!oc when they are pale or a bastard is just annoying asf

BLACK HOTD FANS

So as someone who loves to write and read(and my writing being ass) I was wondering and putting this off for a while if y’all want me to continue to write for Aemond and/ or start writing for any other characters?

And to my black authors writing for HOTD I love and appreciate y’all so much, like as a black girl who grew up loving fantasy and not seeing girls who look like me I love y’all so much and this makes me so happy seeing us being written in this genre. 🤎

Ps. For is this comes across any other side of the HOTD fandom STOP CALLING YALL OCS VELARYON IF THEY AREN’T DAEMON AND LAENA CHILDREN OR RHAENYRA AND LAENOR CHILDREN!!!

— Thanks Management 🤎

me when I see “black” in an author’s bio knowing i’m finna read and reblog their whole account 💀😭

# 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ✶ 𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝘢𝑠𝘵𝑒𝘳𝑙𝘪𝑠𝘵 !

イ 𝑟e𝑎d 𝘛ℎ𝘦 𝘋𝑎𝘮𝑠𝘦𝑙 𝑆𝘦𝑟𝘪𝑒𝘴 𝑜n a𝑜3 i𝑛s𝑡e𝑎d, 𝑖f y𝑜u’d r𝑎tℎe𝑟.

𝙑𝑶𝙇𝑼𝙈𝑬 𝑶𝙉𝑬:

✶ chapter one. | find it here on ao3!

✶ chapter two. | find it here on ao3!

✶ chapter three

✶ chapter four / (coming soon.)

✶ chapter five

✶ chapter six

✶ chapter seven

✶ chapter eight

𝙑𝑶𝙇𝑼𝙈𝑬 𝑻𝙒𝑶:

✶ 𝑐𝘰𝑚𝘪𝑛𝘨 𝘵𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝘴 𝘣𝑙𝘰𝑔 𝑑𝘦𝑐𝘦𝑚𝘣𝑒𝘳 2025…

𝙑𝑶𝙇𝑼𝙈𝑬 𝑻𝙃𝑹𝙀𝑬:

✶ 𝑐𝘰𝑚𝘪𝑛𝘨 𝘵𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝘴 𝘣𝑙𝘰𝑔 𝑑𝘦𝑐𝘦𝑚𝘣𝑒𝘳 2029…

ೃ࿐ 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡: 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

summary : you are the youngest daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Aemma Arryn. Outlived your mother and your older twin brother, Baelon, in childbirth. You were titled as (Y/n) “The Undying” Targaryen.

pairing : jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

warnings : incest, tension, sexual content, age gap (reader is about 3-4 years older), jace is about a year older in this fic, misogyny, self-harm, violence, angst, teen pregnancy, birth, meraxes is alive and thriving with vhagar :D

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! reader

summary: it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband.this will be a multi chapter work and 18+only. note: hello! this takes place after the events of dune part two and Paul is about to become emperor. Irulan and her father are in exile and Chani is gone. thank you for reading! if you wish to see the story continue on beyond this chapter, please comment or reblog!

@drunkennunicornn

@fanfiction-addict22

@wonderpals02

@qveendiorsworld

@turn-thy-paige

@hoyoooo

@oscarissac2099

@inesven

@blahzaiblahsheep

CHAPTER ONE

THE MUAD'DIB CHOOSES A BRIDE.

Blood and roses.

     “I told you to be careful.” Your sister chided in a motherly tone, despite being only one year older than you, handing you a small handkerchief. With a mouthful of pins, you uttered a small sound of gratitude and used your non-injured hand to finish the task of placing metal rose hair pins in her braided crown. You’d be Arrakis in less than an hour but your sister wanted her last precious moments alone to be with you.

    “There, done.  My sister, the jewel of the outer world and now Arrakis, I still can’t believe this is happening. Do you think he will be kind?” You asked, straightening up to face your sister in the mirror.

 You shared the same deep brown skin and nose of your father but that was where the similarities ended. Both of your mothers had been models of the Bene Gesserit order but only one of your mothers had been made wife of a Duke, and the other a concubine, no less loved.

Until your mother passed, leaving you alone to face rumors of her madness. As you grew so did the stories of the concubine who lost her way and denied herself spice and in turn, denied you of a mother and the protection of the order that trained her and your sister.

     “Paul Atreides is an abomination, a tainted nova and your sister will make him anew, his kindness is of no importance. You may go, your sister and I need to speak.”  Reverend Mother Mohiam said from her place in the doorway.

    “I only need a few more minutes with my sister Reverend Mother, we’re nearly ready.” Your sister said, hand in yours.

GO.

A thousand and one tiny cuts into your brain, you found yourself outside of your sister’s room frozen in place.

  You still remember the day Reverend Mother came to take your sister away to train under the sisterhood.You made the mistake asking why, why could you not go together.

    “You carry your mother’s agony. You are not sufficient, there is no bite within you, human child. My order has no need of sentient infirmity.”

The Reverend Mother was correct.

What was to be your life after your sister was gone?

Where would your path lead?

There was no place for agony among the stars.

The heat of Arrakis resembled a distraught lover, sloppy kisses of sweat covered your body, the breeze that accompanied the opening of your ship doors held no comfort. 

You stood behind your sister, poised to pick up the train of her gown the moment your house would disembark the ship but for some reason, no one could leave yet.

Over her shoulder, your sister smiled, stretching her hand behind her back for you one last time. Yet before you could take it, your sister froze, a sudden faraway look in her eyes. Through your veil you watched her eyes widen, her hands clenched into fists. 

    “He’s coming here! The Muad'Dib is boarding the ship!”  A guard whispered fiercely to another.

No one seemed to notice what was happening but before you took a step towards your sister, her gaze was fixed on you. Despite the heat, you were freezing beneath her stare, unsure if it was your sister or the Bene Gesserit acolyte looking upon you.

The sound of marching feet and chanting distracted you both and all aboard the ship including fell to their knees, the Reverend Mother the only exception. You stood with the others, eyes to the floor, hands shaking as someone made their way down the line, your father making introductions as an attempt at conversation but there was only silence in return.

 You waited for the footsteps to end at your sister but they continued on, barely masked gasps filled the now crowded ship and a pair of boots entered your line of vision.

REMOVE YOUR VEIL. 

The trembling in your fingers instantly vanished and with otherworldly precision, you removed the veil from your face, the silk sliding down the back of your braids and to the floor.

The Muad’Dib was looking at you. 

      “Her.”

One by one, every Feydakin behind him took a knee and your house got over their confusion quickly, copying the motion, your sister, eyes wet, included. 

Paul Atreides bowed before you, blue within blue eyes never leaving yours.

      “Welcome to Arrakis.”

That’s our first chapter, I hope you like it! If you would like to see chapter two, please interact with this chapter, comment or reblog! Thank you for reading. 

yess I love this

The Golden Heir Ch. 1

Being Rhaenyra’s first born child, a lot of eyes were always on you. Mainly the Queen and her children as you were the perfect blend between your parents Ser Laenor and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. You shared your fathers complexion of a golden brown and your mothers light violet eyes. Your hair was a mix of silver waves and curls with density coming from your fathers side

Simply by having these qualities you were living proof that your parents held their duties through the Valyrian traditions. It gave your mother hope that she would gain more support from the Velaryons as they were always somewhat cautious of her from the very beginning.

You were the golden child, especially being their first daughter, loved by all, your parents, your grandsire the king, and the rest of the realm as you never failed to make the people at court laugh with your cuteness. You knew what you were doing though, all it took was one look to have the servants and other staff look at you in awe and you had their control.

It helped you get away with so much, if you were caught in the dragon pit or taking a handful of sweets right off the tray all you had to do was play the part of a cute little innocent girl who had no clue as to how those sweets got into your hands, it also helped that you were a princess and your grandsire’s favorite

Perhaps it was from wearing Rhaenyra’s clothes from when she was your age, although they were altered to fit your physique more, you still looked somewhat identical. When she gave them to you her excuse was “I kept these in high hopes that I would have a daughter one day. I’m sure you will look much more beautiful and ravishing in these than me when I was your age”

The compliment made you shy away a bit as you chuckled and hugged your mother thanking her for the gifts. Life was going wonderful, but as you started to grow, you had grown to be more aware of what was going on around you.

~~~~~~~

You were always accustomed to rumors as it was expected for being in the royal family and had never thought anything of it. It wasn’t until after your mother birthed both your brothers that you began to actually pay attention to the rumors that spread whenever they were present.

You may have been a bit young but you were no fool when it came to the distinct features you did not share with your other siblings or to a certain knight. You would have agreed with some of the words that were being said about them, but seeing as your parents were enforcing the teachings of protecting family with your life you had to bite your tongue on certain occasions when they made you upset.

Whenever new rumors were spread within your vicinity you tried your best to shut it down but you figured that eventually the rumors would die out. There was rarely any talk that involved you, but when it did it was mainly about who you were to be betrothed to or if you were to be named the next heir like your mother. Not as serious compared to your brothers.

One day you confronted your mother about it as she brushed your ruly hair putting some pins in to hold its shape, “Mother”, You started as she stopped her humming to listen. “Yes daughter?” She questioned. “If my brother’s were bastards, then would the realm hate us?” You tried to ask in the most sincerest way but couldn’t find the words and decided to just say it

 She paused with a shocked expression that was mostly seen in her eyes. Choosing her next words wisely. 

 She sighed while turning you around to face her. She reassured you through her motherly tone while cupping your face “Y/N  my sweet, sweet girl. Do not worry my child for they are as much of a true Targaryen as you`` “Yet my brothers barely hold any resemblance to me. Why is that?” 

True curiosity burned away at you as you asked the question. “They may not look like your father, but that doesn’t mean they do not have his character. You all have such good hearts, exactly like him. Now that is a true Velaryon trait”

Looking down a bit ashamed that you asked your own mother such a thing she only brushed a strand of a loose curl behind your ear as she smiled lightly. Her dimples showing.

But the truth was that she was worried about your observation skills and always lurking around when the family drama was getting a bit out of control. She knew you were too smart for your age and started to understand the ways of past kings and their habits. But, she knew that if you stuck your nose in the wrong business that it could possibly cost you your life.

As she held you close with your foreheads touching she whispered “Y/n you must listen to me very carefully when I say this. No matter what the gossip or rumors are about us…our family. Never believe them, unless they come directly from me. There are people who will try to break your spirit through nasty words but you mustn’t let them win.

Keep your head held high and show everyone how proud the Targaryen house is. Show them what it means to be the three headed dragon and why we are closer to the gods of old Valyria`’

Since that day you never questioned yours or your siblings birthright from your mother. Letting go of any worry for yourself, you devoted yourself to being a good big sister to your young siblings

It was both fun and frustrating at times as they continued to grow. Thankfully though they started to find interest in other things that didn’t involve you around your 10th name day.

So you took the time to retreat in the gardens of the red keep with Helaena as she collected insects.

You didn’t mind, she was a quiet and reserved person, occasionally speaking in a twisting tongue. The exact opposite from your chaotic brothers which was rather refreshing at times. When she first started to speak in riddles 

You tried your best to solve them but grew tired with the extra activity and instead chose to occupy the silence with observing your uncles and brothers swinging their swords at one another. You knew the customs of being a noble lady. Swords weren’t even supposed to be in your vocabulary or anything of that sort. 

~~~~~~~~

Your father would see you eyeing the boys whenever you were near the area and stood beside you striking conversation. “ladies shouldn’t be alone in the courtyard” he said, “I’m aware father, but I am only here to support my brothers through their training” 

You let out a quick sigh, “are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he asked, Looking up at him you never could lie to your father or trick him like the others “You can always speak your mind with me” He said as he leaned forward on the stone railing to be more at your height. “it’s just…it isn’t fair that my brothers can train and do all they want while I’m stuck with embroidery classes and a septa that watches me all the time” 

You started fidgeting with your nails as you complained, hearing the swords clash against one another from a distance. Almost lost in thought until your fathers voice brought you back.

 “Well, you’re right. A lady shouldn’t be doing those things…However, if you were to take private lessons for dancing then maybe you could do just that” Looking up at him in surprise. You understood his tone and what his words meant. This wasn’t the first time you had suggested something like this.

You had almost convinced him shortly after your baby brother Lucerys was born until your mother overheard and shut it down as she thought you were still too young.

You smiled, scanning across the area in search of your mother. Not seeing her anywhere you knew this was your chance. “That is a splendid idea, father. May I pleasee?” You begged him, making a face and clasping your hands together. “Well your name day already did pass….So, I suppose you are of age now”

As he made a face before nodding and you hugged his waist thanking him. He held your hair as he chuckled and whispered, “If your mother hears of this. I’ll try my best to have her see eye to eye with us” You couldn’t think of your mothers reaction at the moment as you were in too much bliss from the news that you would finally learn what your brothers and uncles had been training for.

(A/N): apologies for being gone so long, too much has happened to explain on here but now that i’m back I will try to get back into the groove of writing again…wish me luck

😩🫣

"We'll meet Again." Feyd-Rautha

Summary: As the twin or eldest child of the Atreides, numerous responsibilities came with the territory. Among them was the obligation to navigate diplomatic relations with various houses, particularly evident as your father finalized the contract for Arrakis and oversaw the spice harvest. During a meeting with the Harkonnens, Feyd-Rautha found himself captivated by the presence of the second pair of twins, unable to shake off his fascination.

Ps: English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any small grammar errors!

XOXO

Being the Atreides eldest child meant responsibilities. Some suggested getting married and yet the Duke Leto’s most profound plan was more than that. In fact, training his most prestige and intelligent children was yet to become a fruitful generation of the Atreides family itself. With how the Duke was just establishing his agreement for Arrakis. Things were just getting started. 

In the early hours of the morning, Duke received messages first from Harkonnen, then from the Bene Gesserit, expressing their desires to put Paul through the long-awaited test. And potentially discussing a marriage proposal for the daughter. A sister of the Bene Gesserit, Helen, sought Paul’s testimony, the agreement for which was expected that same evening. Despite the unspoken bond within the family, evident in his brother's gentle gaze and the shared understanding, the weight of his father's gaze lingered heavily. ‘Will my children endure this infernal place?’ he pondered, resolved to safeguard their legacy. 

You, on the other hand, couldn't help but dwell on your own outcome. Your brother's training sessions had just commenced, while Duncan had departed for the day as usual. You remained in your study as your mother fetched your brother's attire for his test, that same morning. Despite her attempts to mask it, her eyes betrayed her worry and sorrow at witnessing her second child assuming the mantle of their House. Being descended from the Bene Gesserit, you understood her emotions intimately, benefiting greatly from the shared similarities. A sense of satisfaction washed over you as you caught your mother's gaze, exchanging a knowing smile. Her subtle nod reassured you that everything would be alright. ‘Yes, everything will be okay. Paul is strong,’ you reassured her, the words lingering in your memory. 

As the Atreides tended to their familial matters, the Baron of Harkonnen, accompanied by his nephew Feyd-Rautah, received an unexpected but rather fruitful invitation to today's council from Duke Leto. Paul's inclusion in the invitation was urged strongly by your father, whose beseeching eyes left no room for refusal. With Paul's future as the Duke in mind, you felt compelled to comply. "Will father object?" you queried during breakfast, noticing your mother's absence as she assisted Dr. Yueh in preparing Paul for his impending test. Initially hesitant, you cited the traditional exclusion of women from male-dominated spaces and political affairs. However, your brother's persistence, coupled with his revelation of your father's endorsement, swayed your decision. "Father’s orders," he disclosed, highlighting the potential impact of your presence, particularly concerning the Harkonnen. With reluctance, you acquiesced, stating, "Very well, but understand that I do this for you." Paul's satisfied expression betrayed a hint of amusement. 

The following day dawned with Paul's early hours consumed by Helen's final test. The Bene Gesserit sister arrived unexpectedly early, not only focusing on your brother's training but also involving you both. Despite the Bene Gesserit's usual bore for daughters, Paul's exceptionalism as the heir and you being twins altered the dynamic. Helen took matters into her own hands, prioritizing Paul's training just as she had done with yours, although you were included as part of the package deal, inseparable twins as you were. 

Contrarily, you were well aware that today involved attending your father's council and orchestrating a proper reception for the Harkonnen. With a portion of their fleet bound for Arrakis, the Baron saw fit to bring his nephew along, a gesture of goodwill as they preferred to present it. While your mother urged you to accompany your brother, it was during breakfast that the next generation of Atreides convened. "Y/N," your mother's voice echoed in your mind. The test had concluded, your brother standing beside her, his expression inscrutable. This time, he exuded more confidence, yet there was a noticeable change from days past. His gaze barely left you as he silently confirmed his test's success. The trial had instilled apprehension in Helen, for both her daughter and now her son. Jessica had undoubtedly made an impression on her Reverend Mother, as expected. But something felt off–

"Father is awaiting your presence; the Council convenes shortly. Come, dress quickly," Jessica urged, her concern evident in her voice as she ushered both of you towards your father's chambers. "Of course, mother," You affirmed, Paul opting to fetch by your side as you readied yourself. His unease at the prospect of you encountering the Harkonnen was unmistakable, yet as you rose with assurance, adhering to your mother's instruction to dress appropriately, your brother remained silently supportive within the confines of the family abode. "Father will be pleased to see you alongside our new guests," he remarked, though the term 'guest' felt inadequate for the Harkonnens, known for their relentless pursuit of perfection within their domain—a trait reminiscent of the Bene Gesserit's own household.

"Ah, don't even get me started," you chuckled in response to his cynical remark, finishing your final adjustments in front of the mirror before approaching your brother. "You’re beautiful, Dunken would be damned not to see you right now." Paul admitted, though he was just as sparing with compliments as your father, if not more so. You chuckled again and tousled his hair affectionately. "Shame for him, indeed. Let's go then, Father must be waiting for us." 

Duke Leto awaited his children to join him as he heard approaching footsteps, realizing they belonged to you and your brother. It was evident from their tardiness that they would likely be teased by Halleck. Paul, with a subtle smirk, leaned towards the man, who promptly assigned you to sit beside him as your father entered the room. "Paul, Y/N," Duke Leto acknowledged, and both of you nodded, maintaining impeccable etiquette. A moment of silence hung in the air as your father took his seat next to Halleck, acknowledging the arrival of the guests, unmistakably the Harkonnen. "Bring them in," he instructed.

Feyd-Rautha, accompanied by the Baron and Glossu, made their entrance. You couldn't help but notice the Harkonnens' air of perfection and similarity, a trait you had been warned about during your training sessions with Halleck, who delighted in describing them as ruthless monsters. It was surreal to see Halleck now sitting beside your father without so much as a flinch, as if their inevitable downfall was already evident and he felt no fear in displaying his disdain for their kind. Meanwhile, both Paul and you were filled with curiosity, and you caught sight of someone observing you from a distance. Just as introductions were about to be made, your gaze met that of Feyd-Rautha. His name was revealed by the Baron in a manner that attempted to convey affection but came across as somewhat grotesque. 

Feyd-Rautha's gaze seemed fixed on yours, but thankfully, your father's voice signaled the beginning of the council, prompting everyone to take their seats for further discussion. Paul noticed, as he always did. He observed you clumsily attempting to handle a cup of water in a manner befitting of civilization, all the while sensing Feyd's unwavering focus on you. To him, you were his prey, much like how the Baron sought amusement during his stay on Arrakis. If it weren't for his insistence on accompanying the group, he might have missed the opportunity to encounter a face as captivating as yours. His smirk became more pronounced when the topic of your potential betrothal to a House chosen by your father was broached. You couldn't help but cough in surprise, prompting Paul to lean towards you and whispered, "Are you alright?" You nodded quickly, and you could have sworn you heard him chuckle. 

"Yes—" You started, but your coughing grew more pronounced as all attention turned towards you. Your father expressed immediate concern and moved to summon medical assistance, but you objected, requesting a moment alone. Rising from your seat, you were just moments away from agreeing to the medical aid. You couldn't shake the feeling of Feyd-Rautha's penetrating gaze, and perhaps Paul's knowing glance. To Feyd-Rautha's evident amusement, this seemed only the beginning. "Farewell, you may depart," your father concluded, dismissing the attention focused on you. 

"I suppose she's quite spirited, discussing marriage at such a young age, Poor thing." Hallek's voice remarked. It was something you had come to understand during your time in the opulent halls and corridors of House forces—that even the venerable Halleck, with all his gravity, possessed a degree of perceptiveness uncommon among men. However, this observation didn't sit well with Feyd. In fact, he couldn't resist making a remark, perhaps ill-timed and ill-phrased, which prompted Paul to rise from his seat, ready to confront him. "Surprising for an Atreides, she's not much for entertainment," he quipped, just before being cut off by Leto, redirecting the conversation towards political matters. But Feyd had other intentions. Aware that you had likely stepped out for some fresh air, he seized the excuse to excuse himself to the bathroom.  

Fortunately, you arrived just in time as Dunken returned from his visit with the Fremen. Upon hearing of his return, you also learned about the impending arrival of the Harkonnens. Sensing your presence as their ships prepared to land, Dunken swiftly removed his mask and embraced you. "Is Paul not here?" he pondered, surprised as Paul typically greeted Dunken first, followed by a later rendezvous in your study for practice. "In council, with father. Father insisted we both attend, and guess who's here," you replied, making it clear with your eyes that you were referring to the Harkonnens. You were cautious not to reveal too much, knowing that any hint would only provide more amusement for Feyd to torment you with. 

"Harkonnen. I'm aware," Duncan affirmed, sharing your sentiment, until his gaze shifted from yours to someone in the distance. It was someone who perhaps wasn't welcome if intruding but was expected at today's event. Duncan leaned in carefully, recognizing that whoever the man was seeking out, it was likely you. "I suggest you go speak to that man. If there's one thing my mother taught me, it's to never ignore your own apprehension," he advised, tousling your hair gently as you tried your best not to pout in response, before he hurried off to join your father. 

On the other hand, Feyd couldn't tear his gaze away from the man's eyes. Was he someone he'd eventually have to confront? Such thoughts were irrelevant. All he craved was you, completely. As the pilot room emptied, a haunting silence filled the air. Dunkan's words echoed in your mind, reminding you of the inevitable encounter with Feyd-Rautha as part of collaborating with the Harkonnens. As he approached cautiously, you flinched, muscles tensing. His nearness seemed to radiate warmth, almost as if your skin would brush against his. "So... It's you," his voice pierced the silence. It wasn't the tone you anticipated or sought. It was soft, yet carried a comforting warmth reminiscent of Arrakis's weather. “Atreides’s very own princess.” 

Your eyes never leaving his gaze. You could’ve sworn yourself that if you even tried to escape you couldn’t. In fact, your eyes even tried to sorrow for comfort elsewhere, but the darkness and contrast beneath his skin felt cold, slowly loosing yourself entirely within him all together. As his hand drawing near you, his fingers brushing around your waist… 

"Y/N. They're leaving." Paul's voice echoed in your mind, interrupting any chance of leaning closer and feeling the faint touch of Feyd's lips. You pondered: was this love, or merely a trap ensnaring a woman's blind eye? Oddly, your brother's voice now felt distant, but you quickly regained your senses as Feyd realized the moment couldn't last. He must resist, for now. His smirk grew more pronounced upon hearing the Baron's voice calling out his name, one of the most memorable yet unsettling utterances you'd ever heard. As Feyd cast one final admiring glance your way, he whispered, "We'll meet again, my Queen..."