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♯ ❝ YOU DIE LIKE AN ANIMAL. ❞
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR ✧･ﾟ: *✧
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ACT TWO ── destiny calls 🪐

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warning: * MATURE CONTENT *

( HOURS BEFORE THE WAR )

THE WIND HOWLED BEYOND THE STONES WALLS OF THE SIETCH. FAR ABOVE THEM, WHERE THE DESERT STRETCHED ENDLESSY IN EVERY direction, sandstorms brewed beneath a bruised sky, preparing to swallow all that stood in defiance. The war was coming-closer with every heartbeat-and the air inside the quiet chamber felt thick with it, heavy with all the things left unsaid.

But down here, in the dim glow of the alcove firelight, time stilled.

(Y/N) stood at the edge of the woven sleeping mats, her back to the room, fingers twitching as she wrapped a strip of blue-dyed cloth around her wrist from her Quarterstaff-more out of habit than purpose.

The silk ribbon was stained at the ends, frayed and softened from countless nights spent clutching it during sleep. Duncan had given it to her when she was a child-she still tied it on before battles.

Paul watched her from the threshold, shoulder leaning against the carved stone. His green eyes, sharp as ever, softened when they settled on her. She was dressed in a thin desert-shift, loose over her frame, the fabric clinging faintly with the heat from the sietch air.

It fluttered around her calves, catching in the subtle sway of her body as she adjusted the ribbon. Her hair was a little wild from earlier training-braids partially loosened, strands clinging to her temples.

He didn't think she knew how often she looked like fire, how often she looked like something that could set the whole universe ablaze just by breathing.

She didn't turn when she spoke, tone soft and quiet, "You're staring."

"I always stare," Paul replied in a low, dry, and impossibly tender voice, as he pushed himself off where he was leaning, "It's only fair, you're my wife. You haunt me every second I'm not."

She paused mid-knot, her breath catching. She turned slowly, lifting her eyes to him, and whatever had cracked in the air between them, it broke wider. Her voice faltered into something soft, "Don't say things like that. Not now."

"Why not now?" He stepped forward, the sound of his boots against stone swallowed by the hush around them, "There may not be a later."

There was silence-thick and magnetic. Not the silence of absence, but of pressure. Of all the emotions swirling beneath their skin like underground rivers: longing, grief, terror, want.

He stood before her now, close enough that her breath ghosted over his chest. His hands lifted-not with urgency, but reverence-and brushed the edge of her jaw.

She leaned into it like instinct, and nuzzled her mouth into his palm, "I don't want to lose you," She whispered, eyes bright but burning with something she wouldn't name.

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." His thumb traced the slope of her cheekbone, a tender smile breaking out across his face that he only flashed to her always, "Because I'll burn the universe before I let it happen."

There it was. The truth that had been simmering between them since they were children. Not just love, but devotion. Something deeper. Something rooted in the marrow.

Paul had always been distant with others, even when kind. But with her, there was no veil, no mask of prophecy or politicking. Only the boy-now a man-who would kill a god for her.

Her fingers closed around the front of his stillsuit tunic, pulling him into her orbit. Her forehead touched his, lips parted like she wanted to say something else but didn't know how.

Instead, her voice came out barely a whisper, "Kiss me."

He didn't hesitate. Their mouths met with the rawness of a need long denied. It wasn't gentle-it was trembling, desperate, breathless. His lips moved over hers like he'd been waiting lifetimes, and maybe he had.

He kissed her until she melted into him, hands curling behind his neck, nails skimming skin as she clung tighter.

Paul pulled back only enough to breathe, his eyes full of yearning and desperate need that made her whimper seeing it, "Tell me to stop."

Her reply came instantly, breath ragged, voice shaking with sincerity, "Don't you dare."

The heat between them spiked. Paul's hands dropped to the backs of her thighs and in one swift motion, he lifted her, carrying her across the room and laying her down gently among the woven bedding mats. Her fingers curled into the collar of his tunic again, trembling now-not with fear, but with anticipation.

They were quiet as he knelt between her legs, the shift riding up to reveal the soft bend of her thighs. His hands slid beneath the fabric, up the length of her legs, reverent and patient, until he found the hem and pushed it further up.

She gasped softly when the cool air kissed her inner thighs, and her eyes fluttered as his mouth followed suit-trailing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. Her fingers gripped the bedding, knuckles pale.

"Paul," She breathed, voice catching like a tremor beneath her ribs, as his burning touch left goosebumps over her skin, "What are you-?"

"I want to see you," He murmured against her skin, kissing higher now, toward her core, "Every part, baby. Let me learn you. Let me worship you like you deserve."

Her breath caught violently. He'd never spoken like that-not with such raw vulnerability. She nodded, nearly sobbing out the motion, chest rising and falling in staggered rhythm, "Please," She whispered, legs falling open for him, "I want-please."

He buried his face between her thighs like he was dying of thirst and she was the only water left in the desert.

The first touch of his tongue was featherlight, experimental. A flick against her most sensitive spot-her breath hitched, hips twitching in response. Encouraged, he deepened the pressure, mouth opening wider, tongue moving in firm, slow strokes that drew a helpless sound from her throat.

Her hands flew down, fingers tangling in his curly hair, anchoring him closer. She writhed beneath him, thighs tightening around his head. Paul didn't let up.

He learned her with every motion, testing what made her tremble, what made her moan, what made her nearly sob his name into the stone walls.

The pace was unrelenting but focused-deliberate. He licked slow, from the base of her folds up to the swollen clit, then circled it with his tongue until her whole body arched like a drawn bow.

He drew back just enough to speak, his voice gravel and heat, as his lower face was covered in her slick that he groaned when licking, "You taste so fucking good, everything I could never deserve baby."

"Paul-" Her voice broke. She was shaking, thighs trembling against his shoulders, as she buckled her hips needily into his crotch for more, "Please, don't stop--"

"I've dreamed of this since last time I had you." He murmured huskily against her, tongue flicking back to her center, "Of you like this beneath me. Falling apart for me. No one else. Just me."

Her answer was a broken, sobbing gasp as he sucked gently on her clit, his hands gripping her thighs to steady her bucking hips. She was already soaked for him, dripping with arousal he eagerly lapped up like nectar, like salvation. Her cries echoed in the chamber, unashamed, raw.

(Y/N) came with his name on her tongue like a prayer. A long, shaking moan spilled from her as her whole body seized and shattered, thighs clamping around his face, back arching off the bedding in a wave of white-hot pleasure.

Paul didn't stop until she'd ridden every last wave of it, his mouth softening, strokes slowing, lips peppering gentle kisses over her trembling flesh.

She pulled back to look at him. He would remember that look until the end of his days.

There were tears in her eyes, unshed but there. Her mouth was swollen from kissing, her cheeks flushed from climax, but her gaze-her gaze was endless. Like the deep of the desert. Like she saw through every part of him, even the pieces he tried to keep buried under prophecy and politics and burden.

Paul's jaw flexed as he sat up, one arm looping around her waist and guiding her down flat gently again onto the bedrolls.

She went willingly, pupils blown wide, hair fanned across the woven mats like strands of sunlit copper. The firelight etched her curves in gold and shadow, her skin radiant against the earth-tone bedding.

He moved down her body with practiced care now, his kisses slow, reverent, leaving trails of warmth along the rise of her ribs, the curve of her hip, the dip of her navel. When he reached her thighs again, he looked up once more, asking-not with words, but with eyes, "My love..."

She answered by parting her legs. Completely. Paul exhaled like he was witnessing something divine.

Her folds were glistening already, still swollen from before, the soft sheen of her arousal catching the light. He bent forward, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh, then the other, slowly closing in on her center. She whimpered softly, hips twitching as his breath ghosted over her.

This time, he didn't tease.

He licked a slow, deliberate stripe through her folds, tongue flat and purposeful, then circled her clit again with practiced patience. She gasped-sharp and breathless-and clutched the bedding, but he wasn't done. Not even close.

His mouth latched onto the sensitive nub, sucking gently, then harder, tongue flicking with precision as his hand came up-slowly, carefully-and one long finger slid between her folds, groaning "Fuck, you're so sweet baby. Taste like heaven."

She cried out, back arching as he pushed the digit inside, slowly, letting her feel the stretch. She was hot and slick and tight around him, her muscles clenching in response.

His mouth didn't stop moving on her clit as he thrust his finger shallowly at first, then deeper, curling it upward to press into that spongy, sensitive spot that made her whole body jolt.

"Oh-Paul," She gasped, voice cracking around the sound, "Please-don't stop, please-"

"I wouldn't dream of it, don't ever wanna stop." He moaned against her, the vibration making her cry out again. He added a second finger, easing it inside her slowly, watching her reaction the whole time.

She took him so well-so sweetly, so helplessly-her hips moving to meet his thrusts now, her thighs trembling on either side of his head.

He worked her with mouth and fingers in perfect tandem. In and out. Curl. Suck. Flick. Again and again, along with his praises of groans, "Doing so well for me, sweetheart. Give me one more, I know you can. That's it, baby. That's it."

(Y/N) was undone.

Her body writhed under him, hands fisting in his curly hair, her moans growing louder, less restrained. Her voice was nothing but broken sobs of his name, of pleading and praise, as the pressure built in her again-faster this time, sharper.

She shattered again with a strangled cry, body bowing as her walls clenched around his fingers, her thighs squeezing tight around his head. He didn't pull away-didn't stop until she was trembling violently, gasping, her body jerking from oversensitivity.

Only then did he slowly ease his fingers from her soaked core, kissing her thigh tenderly, reverently, before she collapsed against his chest with a whimper, fingers clutching at him as though afraid he'd vanish.

When he finally looked up, her cheeks were damp-whether from sweat or tears, he couldn't tell. Her chest heaved as she reached for him properly.

He crawled up beside her, gathering her into his arms like something fragile, like she was more precious than all the spice in Arrakis. She curled into his chest, face tucked beneath his jaw, and he held her close enough that not even the war could come between them.

"Are you real?" She whispered against his throat.

His lips brushed her temple, "Only when I'm with you."

──── ⋆◖◍◗⋆ ────

THE SCREAMS OF WAR ECHOED ACROSS THE CANYONS AND SANDS OF ARRAKIS.

Explosions bloomed like fireflowers in the distance, sending plumes of golden sand and bloodied dust swirling into the orange sky.

The sound was a relentless symphony-crackling rifles, the animalistic war cries of Fremen fighters, Sardaukar grunts, and the low, thunderous hum of the planet itself trembling beneath the weight of uprising.

But all of that faded in the narrow corridor carved into the rock-a corridor that led to the thick, ancient vault doors of the Emperor's stronghold.

Here, the only sound was metal groaning. (Y/N) stood at the front, unmoving.

Her feet were grounded in the warm sand like she was part of the desert itself, her loose fighting robes whipping violently around her in the wind, as though they were alive. Her fingers were outstretched toward the enormous steel doors. Palms open. Fingertips trembling.

Paul stood to her left, the light of the twin moons gleaming off his armor and the curved crysknife sheathed at his waist. He said nothing. His expression was unreadable to most-except her. He watched her with pride. With reverence. As though the universe itself had manifested in her figure. His Empress, his oracle, his weapon.

Fremen warriors-cloaked, robed, eyes glowing with spice stood behind them in organized ranks, quiet, waiting. And then-she struck.

The air changed with a crack.

(Y/N)'s mouth opened, but no sound came from her lips. Her eyes glowed with an unnatural intensity, light bleeding from them like heat mirages.

The sand around her feet lifted in spirals. The steel door groaned, deep and echoing like a wounded beast. Her hands curled into claws, muscles in her arms trembling with strain.

Inside the vault, the Emperor's guards-the Sardaukar-stood at attention, surrounding him, Baron Harkonnen, and the scattering of surviving nobles. The Sardaukar were statues in grey, still as death.

Then it began.

BANG.

The first dent came like a meteor strike. The entire wall trembled. Dust cascaded from the ceiling.

BANG.

A second, deeper dent crushed inward-shaped like an invisible fist. Something, someone, was forcing the door from the outside.

A warping screech echoed through the room like steel being dragged against itself. Then a final scream-inhuman, pained, full of release-tore through the outside, followed by the sound of metal giving way.

And then- the door exploded inward.

Not shattered, not breached-but slammed into the chamber like a missile, disintegrating in a thunderous impact. Dust and sand surged in behind it like a tidal wave, swallowing the entire room in blinding gold.

The nobles screamed, stumbling back. Even the Emperor flinched, turning away with a grimace.

The Sardaukar sprang into position, surrounding the Emperor and Harkonnen in a perimeter of steel. Nothing, only dust. Silence. Then movement.

A single figure began to take shape through the cloud-slow, deliberate, a silhouette. Slim but unshakable. Holding a weapon in one arm, cloak billowing. The firelight glinted off her staff. The other hand twitched at her side, fingers still tingling with the residual aftermath of her power.

They moved forward. Two, then four Sardaukar, blades drawn, advanced into the golden storm. They vanished almost immediately-swallowed whole by the dust.

No sound. Then-THUD. A body flew from the dust and slammed into the far wall, crumpling with a wet crack. Another smashed against the high arch, dragging blood down as it slumped to the floor. And then a third. Then a fourth.

From within the dust, more shadows moved. Dozens.

Silent and unified, walking with the stride of sand-lions. The outline of still-robed Fremen warriors emerged-eyes blazing, steps soundless, weapons poised.

Then-two figures came forward. First: (Y/N).

She stepped through the veil of smoke and dust like a goddess of death. Her expression was unreadable, the light from the burning sconces catching the flecks of gold dust that clung to her sweat-damp face.

Her robes were torn at the sleeve, her weapon still wet with blood from the earlier assault. But she was radiant. Glorious. A fury incarnate.

Then-Paul. He walked beside her with quiet authority, eyes never leaving the man in the middle of the protection circle. The Emperor.

The Fremen filed in behind them, spreading across the chamber like a rising tide. The sand crunched under their boots. No one said a word.

From her side, she could feel the eyes of someone staring at her. From under her jabba hoodie, she turned to meet the blue eyes of Feyd Rautha, the heir to the Baron Harkonnen, the one who was watching her with curiosity.

(Y/N)'s face scrunched up at this, and her reaction gained a feline smirk from him, one that made a feral noise get caught in Paul's threat who saw the entire interaction, and he made sure to walk closer to her, in a way to warn the latter off.

The couple walked right past the Emperor and his guards, Paul taking the lead now as she lurked behind him to keep an eye on the enemies around them. They stepped up the stairs leading to the throne, and were Baron's weak figure was laying.

Paul got to him first, and bent down a bit to him, his face covered by the cloth wrapped around him to protect him from the environment.

"Grandfather." His whisper was rough, and raspy, before he grabbed Baron's head and stabbed him straight through his neck, instantly killing him, "You die like an animal."

(Y/N) came up beside her husband, her face not being covered by anything which gave them all a view of who it was standing there. She placed her non gloved hand onto his back, making Paul leaning up from the dead Baron, "It's done..." She whispered to him only.

He stood up to his full height, and pressed his forehead to hers, noses bumping for a few seconds to savour the feeling, before they broke apart to turn to their next issue. The Emperor and his guard surrounding him and the princess, his daughter.

She trailed off first that time, her staff gripped in her hand tightly with Paul coming up beside her, and the Sardaukar now reacted, placing up their swords in a defense position at them being so close. Yet, it didn't stop her nor him.

"Shai-Hulud. Muad'Dib." The Emperor muttered knowingly, acknowledging who was standing before him now, the two he was fearing the day he would have to face personally. The whispers were true, he knew that now.

Her (E/C) eyes narrowed down at the man she and Paul were meant to overthrow, before her gaze moved to the princess, who cowered back at her sudden stare. She titled her head, shocked to see how ethereal the princess actually looked, and turned away when her husband began to speak in Fremen.

"Bring the prisoners to the Residency." The way the words rolled off his tongue sent a pleased shiver down her spine, as he spoke in a hiss to the Fremen beside them waiting for orders, "Kill the Sardaukar. Give the Baron's body to the desert."

He grabbed his wife's free hand in his gloved one, the both of them giving the Emperor a cold look as they went to walk, causing the weapons to follow their movements. They passed the Fremen, and she squeezed the one's shoulder of whom Paul gave the orders to.

A strong nod was shared between them, before Paul lead her away from the fight and they heard the Fredaykin leader yell something out in their launage as they walked away. They were chanting their names, like they always did as they departed .

Chaos only followed after that event, and the war raged on outside, every where someone looked. One side would win, the side of freedom, and (Y/N) would make sure of that -- for good this time.

❪ ✏️ ❫ 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂 : 3342
─►☆ AUTHOR'S NOTE :
uhhh.... hey guysss... long time no see.... 🫥
i have no excuses other then my motivation for this fic went downhill like it usually does when i get close to the end of a fic, something that curses me and i cannot break. but there's a smut scene in this chapter and double update to make up for my lack of updates and radio silence from me 😭

this is the second last chapter because i wrote
too many words so i split this chap in
half so i hope you guys enjoy this
update and the other one <33