Cas

Getting into a secret relationship with your brother’s best friend was definitely not the best idea that you ever had in your life. And neither was getting accidentally pregnant with his baby before you even told your brother Maverick that you were together in the first place.

But in your defense, if Maverick wanted keep you two apart, he should have stopped leaving you two alone together while he chased after whoever caught his eye. Goose and you spent a lot of time together over the years because of Maverick’s horndog tendencies and you weren’t going to apologize for that.

And, well, Goose was a good man. He was sweet to you. He bought you flowers for your birthday even before you ever dated. He always supported you and never spoke over you or made you feel like you weren’t important. He sent you love letters that made you swoon even though he knew that you couldn’t do the same for him for fear of Maverick finding them.

You loved him. And he loved you. And that was all that mattered.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself down. It wouldn’t do you or anyone else any good if you showed up stressed. Maverick would get suspicious and hover around you and then you wouldn’t be able to tell Goose the news. And you needed to tell him. Soon. Before your bump was actually noticeable and everyone found out.

You just hit seventeen weeks and your bump was growing every day. You managed to hide it from everyone for now, but soon, it wasn’t going to be possible. So, you really needed to tell Goose. Tonight. Immediately. You were lucky enough that he got called home when he did, instead of in another seven months like originally planned.

So, you had to tell Goose about the little gosling. Tonight.

“What do you think, huh?” you asked, running a hand down your bump. “I’m just freaking out over nothing, aren’t I?” You rubbed your hand up and down your bump and sighed, placing your hands on your hips. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to have to kick for me.”

But not today, apparently.

Smiling softly, you grabbed your purse and keys and headed out to Goose’s car—his blue 1972 Ford Bronco. Goose called the car ‘his baby’ and left you specific instructions on how to take care of it while he was away. Ironically, Goose’s actual baby was more than likely conceived in the backseat.

Frantic goodbye sex minus a condom because Goose never restocked his stash plus your now very ironic ‘just pull out, we’ll be fine’ comment equaled one little gosling.

And you hadn’t told Goose. You were worried about his reaction—mostly about the high possibility that he would open the letter in front of Maverick, your brother, pass out from the new information, Maverick would read the letter, and it would all blow up from there. And, well, if Maverick was going to freak out, then Goose didn’t deserve to go through that alone.

Not if you could help it, anyway.

Pulling up to base, you showed the guard your ID and signed in before you were directed to the proper parking lot. Adjusting the straps of your dress, you made your way over to the airstrip. On your way over, however, you were surprised to see Cougar’s wife Eileen and her son.

“Eileen?” you called, causing her to turn around. “Cougar’s coming home too?”

“Yes, he is,” Eileen replied, adjusting her hold on her son. “I just got the message last night. Maverick and Goose are coming home as well?”

“Yeah, I got a message last night too,” you explained, trying to not stare at the baby boy.

You were the second-grade teacher at the on-base elementary school, so you had spent quite a lot of time around children. But there was just something about finding out that you were expecting one of your own that made your eyes latch onto any baby within a ten-meter radius of you.

“Where’s Kathy then?” you added, referring to Merlin’s wife.

“I called her last night and she said that she never got any message. Merlin isn’t coming home.”

“That’s strange,” you trailed off, trying to not assume the worst. You quickly forced your usual teacher smile when dealing with a concerned parent and gestured to Eileen’s son. “But at least Cougar finally gets to meet this little cutie.”

 “I know,” Eileen sighed, hugging her son closer. “He was so upset that he missed his birth.”

“That’s the Navy, unfortunately,” you mumbled, grimacing to yourself.

The thought of giving birth alone crossed your mind more than you would have liked to admit already. Goose and Maverick could be redeployed at the drop of a hat and sent to the complete opposite side of the world, leaving you all by yourself. You tried to not dwell on that fact, though. There were a lot of other steps that had to be taken first before you even got there.

“Come on, I’m sure that they’re just about to land,” you urged, redirecting the conversation.

You made your way over to the airstrip to see the three aviators already walking over. Cougar started sprinting as soon as he spotted his wife and son. You smiled and squeezed Eileen’s shoulder reassuringly before breaking away to greet your own boys. Maverick reached your first, but Goose was impatiently right on his tail.

“Ah, there you are,” Maverick jokingly called to you. “You weren’t going to make us walk home?”

“Not this time,” you mused, letting your brother pull you into a hug. “I missed you, Pete.”

“Missed you too, Sis.”

You released your brother, who instead stared over at the exchange between Cougar and Eileen. You quickly turned to Goose and fought the significant urge to leap into his arms and kiss him breathless. Instead, you stepped over and got up on your tiptoes to give him a proper hug.

“Hey, Goosie,” you stated, burying your face in his chest.

“Hey, honey,” he returned, resting his head on top your own.

Goose quickly wrapped his arms around your and pressed a discreet kiss to the top of your head. One that you knew meant that he was excited to see you and that he was barely holding onto his sanity at the fact that he couldn’t kiss your like he wanted to right then and there.

But you both knew that you just had to wait a little longer before you could reunite properly.

“What happened with Cougar?” you asked, reluctantly breaking away from Goose.

“He turned in his wings,” Goose replied bluntly, causing your eyes to widen.

“He did what?”

“He got all freaked out on one of our patrols,” Maverick supplied, turning to you. “He thought that he was going to die and never meet his son.”

“Poor man,” you sighed, shaking your head. You turned back to Maverick and Goose and straightened up, studying their gazes. “But why are the two of you home then?”

“We’re going to TOP GUN,” Maverick stated proudly, high-fiving Goose before turning back to you. “And you should come with us.”

“Really? You want me to come with you guys?” you asked, trying to not reach out to Goose.

“Yeah, unless you’re doing summer school,” Maverick replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“No, I’m not,” you replied, shaking your head a bit. Sharing an intensely longing look with Goose, you eventually turned back to Maverick. “I mean, if you don’t mind me coming along, I could.”

“I think that you should,” Goose all but blurted out immediately. “Come along, I mean.”

“Well, then I guess I should get packing,” you agreed, unable to help your wide smile.

As Maverick turned to start walking over to greet Cougar and his wife, Goose reached for your hand and gave it a quick squeeze. You grabbed his hand in return, wanting to openly show the world that you loved Goose and that he loved you.

“Tonight,” Goose whispered in your ear, causing you to sneak a quick peck to his cheek.

“Tonight,” you agreed quietly.

And, like clockwork, Maverick’s horndog tendencies gave the two of you some space to talk.

Goose threw open the door to your bedroom and kicked it closed with his heel. Carrying you over to your bed, Goose gently laid you down before crawling on top. You cupped Goose’s cheeks with your hands and wrapped your legs around his waist. You rolled your hips up to grind against his own, which caused Goose to tighten his hold on you.

“Did you miss me, Goosie?” you asked, running your hands down his back.

“Every day, honey. Every. Goddamn. Day,” Goose groaned, rolling his hips in time with your own.

He sat up and quickly removed his Hawaiian shirt. You helped him pull off his white undershirt before pulling him back down to your lips once more. Goose rolled you two over and reached for your zipper without ever taking his lips off of your own.

But when you felt your dress start to loosen, you pulled back. Goose dropped his hands immediately and stared up at you with concern.

“What is it, honey? What’s wrong?” Goose asked softly.

You pressed your lips together and rested your hand against Goose’s chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath your fingers.

“Before we go any further, there’s something that I need to tell you.”

You climbed off of Goose and sat up on your bed. Goose straightened up and turned to you with a worried expression. He reached for your hand and brought it up to his lips, earning a small smile in return from you.

“What is it? You can tell me, honey.”

“Do you remember the night before you shipped out?” you started off with, staring down at your lap.

“Very well,” Goose assured you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Why?”

“Well . . .”

You trailed off, trying to figure out how to deliver the news. You released Goose’s hand and slowly stood up. Reaching back, you finished pulling down the zipper of your dress. Turning back to Goose, you put up a brave face and pulled the straps of your dress down. You let the fabric pool around your feet and stepped out of it.

Goose stared up at you, clearly confused, before he spotted the now visible bump. You slowly cupped your small bump, which became infinitely more noticeable when you curved your back a bit and turned to the side. Goose’s breath left his body. His eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his skull and his lips parted in shock.

“Well, um, I got a souvenir from that night,” you quipped nervously, waiting for Goose’s reaction.

He blinked rapidly, glancing between your face and your small bump. You pursed your lips together anxiously, trying to remain calm. You reminded yourself that you just dropped a bomb on Goose. This was definitely a surprise for him, so you just needed to be patient.

“You’re pregnant?” Goose breathed out, staring up at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah, Goosie.”

Goose nodded slowly, still processing the information before he slowly got up from his spot. You watched him closely, worried that he was going to get up and leave. But then he carefully pulled you to his chest and gently tilted your chin up so that he could rest his forehead against your own.

“You’re pregnant?” he repeated, his tone softer than before.

“I’m pregnant,” you confirmed, causing Goose to nod.

“And you’re okay with that?” he asked you softly, searching your eyes for concern.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Goosie.”

“And everything’s healthy? With both of you?”

“Clean bills of health.”

“I’m going to be a dad?” he asked, his voice picking up a lighter tone.

“Yes, Goosie,” you mused, rubbing your noses together. “You’re going to be a dad.”

“Holy shit,” Goose breathed out, causing you to chuckle. “I’m going to be a dad.”

He quickly pressed a set of kisses all over your face, which made you giggle due to the tickle of his mustache. You tried to return the kisses, but he was too fast for you. Pulling you into a deep kiss that stole your breath away, Goose slowly rested his hand on the swell of your bump. He spread his fingers, feeling the curve on his own properly for the first time.

“Holy shit, I’m going to be a dad!” Goose exclaimed, causing you to frantically shush him.

“Goose, the neighbors!”

“I’m going to be a dad!” Goose yelled out instead.

“Nick,” you laughed, trying to get him to quiet down. “You’ll alert the whole town yelling like that. Including Mav.”

“Right, sorry,” Goose whispered back. “Holy shit, I’m going to be a dad.”

Goose pulled you in for another soft kiss before dropping down to his knees to kiss your small bump. Nuzzling against your skin, Goose pressed a series of kisses that brought happy tears to your eyes. You ran a hand through his hair as Goose whispered to your little gosling.

“Hey, I’m your dad,” Goose informed your bump, causing you to smile. “I’m sorry that I was away for a bit, but I’m here now and I can’t wait to meet you in . . .”

“About five months,” you supplied for Goose.

“About five months,” he echoed back to your bump.

Goose pressed another kiss to your bump before standing up and gathering you in his arms again. But just as you started to return his loving kiss, Goose pulled back with a sudden realization.

“Wait right here.”

“What? Goose, what are you—”

You didn’t even get to finish your question before Goose bolted out of the room. Sighing to yourself, you shook your head. Running a hand down your bump, you managed a small smile when you heard Goose cursing at himself as he rummaged through his drawers.

“Your dad’s a bit of a nutcase,” you informed your baby, shaking your head. “But we like our nutcase.”

Goose nearly tripped as he ran back into your bedroom. You were about to ask him what the fuss was all about when he dramatically dropped onto one knee and held up a small box. And this time, it was your turn to comedically widen your eyes and drop your mouth open.

“Nick . . . are you serious?” you asked him softly, holding a hand to your chest. 

“Of course, I’m serious,” Goose replied, popping open the case.

“How long have you had the ring?”

“About a year.”

“Nick, we’ve only been dating for a year,” you pointed out, like he was the crazy one.

“I know, honey,” Goose replied, causing your eyes to widen again.

“Holy shit.”

Goose laughed and held up the ring for you to see it. The ring was simple with a gold band and a circular diamond in the center. It wasn’t that large and Goose knew that some of the men who routinely flirted with you on base could probably afford a bigger and grander ring. But you didn’t seem to mind when you held your hands to your mouth, happy tears in your eyes.

“Will you marry me and make me the happiest guy in the whole world?” Goose asked, smiling softly.

“Of course, I’ll marry you, Goose,” you gushed, urging him to his feet.

You pulled him in for an emotional kiss and Goose managed to somehow slide the ring onto your finger despite the distraction. After you broke away from the kiss, you rested your head against his chest and admired your new ring.

“It’s perfect, Goosie.”

“You’re perfect, honey,” Goose returned, causing you to shoot him a playful glare.

“You’re a sap, Nick Bradshaw.”

“But I’m your sap, honey.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you warned him jokingly.

You pulled him down for another kiss, running your hands through his short hair. Goose trailed his hands up and down your sides, mapping out every inch of your subtle curve where your baby was growing. Your baby. A little human that you made together.

Holy shit you were going to be parents.

You shared soft kiss and caresses for a few moments, communicating all of the love that you shared for each other. But then you both remembered that you hadn’t seen each other in months and hell, you were both running high on adrenaline. Pulling away from the kiss, you rested your hands on Goose’s chest and tilted your chin up.

“Make love to me, Goosie,” you whispered against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, grinning as he pressed another kiss to your lips.  

Goose gently lowering you back onto your bed. He stood up, shoved his pants down, and hurried back to you. Carefully hovering over you, mindful of your little bump, Goose trailed kissed down your face and down to your chest. Nuzzling the sensitive valley between your breasts and pressing a kiss to the top of both of them, Goose paused for a moment.

“I’ll be back for you two soon,” he stated, referring to your breasts.

“Goosie, stop personifying my breasts!”

“I don’t think they mind it, honey!”

Despite your playful scoff, Goose went back to task and trailed kisses down your stomach. Kissing over your small baby bump, Goose paused again and sat up a bit.

“Gosling, I’m going to need you to close your eyes and plug your ears for a bit. It’s nothing personal, but I just think that you’re a little young to—”

“—Goose!”

“What?” he laughed, causing you to shake your head at him and buck your hips. “Don’t worry, honey, I’m getting there. Be patient with me.” He grabbed the waistband of your underwear and shot you the smile that got you into this whole mess in the first place. “Now, you just sit back, relax, and enjoy the moment, sweetheart.”

After becoming very well acquainted with each other again, you snuggled up together on your bed.

“When did you want to get married?” Goose asked you softly, wrapping an arm around your bump.

“Well, we should tell Pete about what’s going on before we sign the papers,” you mumbled, rubbing a pattern into Goose’s chest. You sighed, snuggling further into Goose’s side. “I just hope that he doesn’t freak out about it.”

“You’ll be fine,” Goose replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Me, on the other hand, he might strangle with his bare hands.”

“No, he won’t,” you told Goose. “He loves you like a brother. He’d never hurt you like that.”

“But he’s your actual brother,” Goose pointed out. “And he’s hated all of your boyfriends.”

“None of them hold a candle to you, Goosie,” you told him honestly.

“I know that you’re just telling me that to make me feel better, but it’s actually working,” Goose stated, causing you to laugh softly.

“I’m serious,” you assured him, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I love you, Goosie. Like I’ve never loved another man before. He’ll see that.”

“I love you too,” Goose returned softly, rubbing his fingers over your bump. “You and our little gosling . . . there’s nothing else that I care more about in the whole world.”

You hummed contentedly and snuggled further into Goose’s touch. Goose leaned down and pulled the thin blanket over your bodies as you slowly started to drift off to sleep. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, your nose, and then finally your lips.

“Goodnight, honey.”

“Goodnight, Goosie.”

Your breathing evened out and you quickly fell asleep against Goose’s chest like you always did after your reunions. Goose kept a careful hold on you, making sure that you stayed warm and secure. Rubbing your back and your bump, Goose couldn’t help but let his mind wander as the afterglow of your reunion faded and reality started to set back in.

You were pregnant with his baby. And that changed everything.

Hell, you needed to get married. Quickly. And before you got married, you really should tell Maverick about the whole situation. And then deal with the fallout of that because even if Goose and Maverick were like brothers, Maverick was still an overprotective older brother when it came to you.

And Goose wasn’t just dating you. He knocked you up. And he was marrying you.

Maverick was going to put his head on a pike when he found out.

And, then, of course, there was the whole issue of money and a house and everything else that went into having a baby. The benefits would be good and he wouldn’t have to worry about healthcare for you, but hell, he needed to buy a house. Not just a cheap rundown one, like the one that you all shared now. But a real one.

With a fenced in backyard so that the gosling could run around. And with an actual driveway so that the gosling could learn how to ride his or her bike without worrying about someone hitting them with a car. And without a rickety staircase out front that would definitely give them a splinter. One that didn’t have too many projects in case he got sent out soon after the baby was born.

Hell, would he even get to be there when the baby was born? Cougar didn’t.

Goose paused in his worrying when he felt pressure against his hand. Confused, he looked over at you to see you still asleep. Pulling back the covers a bit, Goose sucked in a breath when he realized that the pressure against his hand was coming from your bump. From your little gosling.

The baby was kicking. Your baby was kicking.

Goose pressed against the kick gently, just to tell the gosling that he was there and grinned when the pressure returned. Resting his head on top of your own, Goose pressed a kiss to your forehead as he cupped your small bump again.

He knew that he had to figure things out. He had a lot of things to figure out. But for right now, he just wanted to hold you and your baby.

And so, he did.

Paul when reader rather cuddled a stack of pillows than him every night because he's too, 'warm':

Hands too warm, too large and shapely rub the scarred skin of your back— for a moment, it's nothing but comforting and you let out a pleasant hum. But then, your husband is drawing closer, his body heat drowning you under the blankets that were already too hot.

“Move, Paul.”

“You are very mean to me.” He protests, not moving— he instead, cuddles closer, a hand over the mound of your belly. His voice drops into a whisper as he rubs a small circle into your flesh, “Your mother is very mean to me, my starlight.”

“Your starlight says you're suffocating us.” You shrug out of his grasp, ignoring his annoyed— almost pained whine. “It's hot, Paul.”

“It's not.” He denies but allows you your space as you pull the long body pillow gifted to you from Jessica. “But if you say so...”

There's a silence, a brief pause where your eyes are simply closed and where Paul shifts and sighs. Then sighs, and shifts again. Then turns and sighs and—

“Will you stop your turning If I let you hold my hand?”

Paul turns toward you almost instantly, his warm hand extended, “I’m so glad you offered, My Star.”

Paul in general when reader is just hornier than ever:

"Now-?”

“Pants. Off. Now.”

Paul lets out a breathless laugh against your lips as both of your hands fumble with the many buttons and bands of his trousers. He'll curse his tailor another day, when his mind is more focus on that instead of your impatient hand shoving it's way into his pants and gripping his cock. He moans against your lips, pressing himself backwards instead of forward like he'd usually would— the roundness of your stomach a constant but pleasant reminder of your fragility and what the thrill of sex usually ends in.

Paul couldn't get you pregnant again— well, no he could. After you had fallen pregnant, he had did a countless amount of research, he had learned horror stories, oddities and void forsaken miracles. Double uterus and quadruplets haunt both his dreams and nightmares.

Your hand grips his cock tightly, ripping him from his thoughts as he lets out a pleasure filled hiss. “ Focus on me.” You order, your eyes a light with a passion he's never seen before, “As your wife and as the acting lady of the Atreides house, I command you to focus on me.”

“But only when you're here.” He remembers telling you. You were both too young to understand what that truly meant, baby fat still lingering on your bones and limbs too short. “When you're gone I don't like it here.” He whispered to you like it was some type of world-ending secret. “When you're gone, everything that's yours is mine again. I don't like it.”

“I could take it with me.” You had giggled, the thought of packing a whole room up when you left was funny. Where would another bed fit when you had one at home? Where would the dressers or desk fit? What use would you have of all the greens, blacks, and red hawks?

“No.” He had turned to face you then, pink lips drawn into a pout. “If you take it then I'd have nothing to remember you by.”

You giggled again and it made a smile pull at his lips. “Then what should I do?”

“You should stay.”

Paul has snuck into your room countless times when you were both younger, children wishing to be children– clinging to their childhood before it's pried away from them and they're forced to be Grand Dukes and Pretty ladies in pretty, stuffy gowns. But the two of you are no longer children– you are no longer clinging, you'd loosen your grip and let yourself fall gracefully into gowns that left him speechless and tickled his cheeks pink.

Yet, he is left behind, still a boy, still sneaking.

“Wake up.”

You groan, swatting at the hand that prods at your cheek. “Go away, Paul.”

The boy sucks his teeth loudly, poking your cheek again– he pinches your skin with his knuckle and thumb, not hard enough to hurt, only enough pressure to make your eyes pop up in an annoyed glare. “You promised.” He starts loftily, his nose turned upwards in the gentle light that floats in through your open window. It's still night, you can tell by the sleep that still clings to your eyelids and the chill in the salted air. Paul doesn't seem to care that it's night though, “You promised you'd watch the meteor shower with me.”

“You promised me you'd be less annoying.” You mutter turning away from him and his too white pajamas. The moonlight casts a hauntingly blue-white glow against your skin and its light can be seen even behind your closed eyelids– still, you make no move to get up and close the curtains or turn back towards Paul and his pestering. You simply pull your blanket up till it touches your nose and clench your eyes tighter.

The bed behind you dips and the Atreides boy whines– it's a mess of your name, and maybe a curse and he pulls at the blanket. “You swore on it, promised on the brightest star.”

“The star will still shine if I don't go out with you tonight.” You muse, you let your blanket go and he thumps against the bed lamely. His back hits the mattress as you turn, staring at him with a small wisp of a smile. “There will always be another meteor shower.”

In the glow of the moonlight, you look otherworldly. A beauty he's only ever seen in painting or heard in songs– but even then, it doesn't truly compare. A silk hair wrap keeps the hair free from your face, allowing him to trace the slope of your nose with his eyes. The moonlight blesses him with light, gentle enough to hide the sight of his face from you but bright enough for him to trace the curves of your lips when you smile sleepily. It sends a strange pain through his chest and he realizes all too quickly that he wants to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you as if it would take the pain in his chest away, he wants to kiss you because for the lack of better words– you've never been more beautiful than in this moment. He wants to pull your face close and press his lips to yours but then what?

He's never kissed a girl before, hell, he's never truly kissed before. There were pecks shared between mother and son– a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, or nose. There were kisses pressed to hands out of respect and loyalty– There was a kiss back a few summers ago, he was only fourteen when he kissed the first son of Rhylme house. A pretty boy with mismatched eyes and a fanged smile. It was only a peck, a brief brush of lips and he held his breath the whole time in fear he still smelt and tasted like the garlic bread he had at dinner.

It hadn't meant anything, they were just children– boys clinging to childhood and petty little ways they could disappoint their fathers if they ever found out. A kiss that was barely a kiss is all Paul knew and if he kissed you now what would happen? Would you kiss him back? Would you see him as a man and not as he is, a boy?

Paul wants to kiss you– his lips pout and hand twitches at his side but he can't. He won't.

“There will never be another tonight.” He finally says. “There will always be a tomorrow but never another now.”

You only hum, soft and airy– Paul can tell you're already falling back to sleep and he lets you. That strange pain in his chest stopped him from bothering you any more than he already had. “Look out the window, Paul.” When he doesn't move from your side, only gazing at you with the oddest look, you muster a smile. “The stars are falling, Atreides. Don't miss it because of me.”

He blinks, once, twice then he lifts himself just enough to peer out through your window from your bed. Falling meteors streak the sky in a colorful hue of light– they vary from the brightest reds to pearly blues, they fall like danger stuck in an everlasting waltz, some twist and turn around each other in colorful coils, nearly touching but just out of reach from each other. He opens his mouth to speak, to gasp maybe– he's never seen something so, so…

You shift in your bed curling towards the warmth that pours off him and you yawn when he looks down. “Happy birthday, Paul. May the stars always shine upon you.”

Beautiful. The pain in his chest quadruples and he swallows harshly as he tries to blink it away. Paul can not kiss you, not when he was still a boy clinging to his past, a boy clinging to a childish hope that the girl– now a young woman could ever like him back.

Paul can't kiss you but one day, he hopes he can.

***

“Master Atreides.” You curtsy.

“Lady Zalmunna.” He bows.

The two of you make eye contact from your bent positions and you can't help it – he looks truly odd bent at the waist staring up at you– you giggle. A giggle that turns into a deep belly laugh when he raises a brow and dips even lower, his brown curls sweeping across the floor. “I see how it is.” His voice is pinched, a bit nasally but he doesn't move from his bow. He simply turns his head and throws you a grin, “A man bares his honor on his neck when he bows before a lady and you laugh.”

“Only because you look so silly.” You promise mirthfully, your eyes glinting as you wave a hand and he stands straight as a board. “One would think I am the one with a higher position with the way you peacock for my attention.”

Paul's face tints pink under the golden light of the ballroom and he opens his mouth to protest but both your parents had enough of your little song and dance.

“I want you both to mingle.” Your mother sighs. Dressed in a pretty pale pink gown with white accessories, she looks like the odd one out in the sea of Atreides that surround you both. Even you had gone with a neutral gray gown paired with even paler green hair clips and earrings to both honor your host and fit in. “No standing in the corner all night.”

“No gossiping,” Lady Jessica adds softly, though she's smiling at the two of you and there's an inkling in you that she doesn't truly care if you do. “No gambling on your peers. Do not drink too much but–”

“Do not drink too little.” Paul finishes then he groans. “We must look like we enjoy ourselves even if we want crows to peck out our eyes. Must we go through this every time?”

Your mother tuts at him but doesn't answer, taking a step forward to fix the pins in your hair and pinch your cheeks. To add color, she once said. She had found if she pinched hard enough even the darkest skin bloomed a pretty red. “Remember what I told you, dear.”

Right. You try to smile but it's only a pale imitation of your real one. “Of course.” Paul shoots you both a curious look as his father murmurs something to him that makes him smile. “I won't let you down, Ma. I promise.”

“I know you won't.” She says simply. “Do enjoy yourself, now; Shoo, shoo.”

You tuck yourself onto Paul's arm, instantly pulling his attention from his parents. He quickly bids them goodbye before you pull him into the stream of people– you are both greeted as you walk, some bow only to Paul. Pretty girls with their pretty mothers' curtsy deep and low, their eyes searching through thick lashes as they hold a fan over their face. Some bow only to you– a few are girls, the ones you've spent time with within school or weekends at their house. They don't curtsy fully, only half-hearted before the launch to their feet again and pull you into hugs. Some giggle at the sight of Paul and you glare– you know childish songs and taunts hang on their tongue when they wiggle their brows at the both of you and you quickly pull him in a different direction.

Some who bow to you, are boys– men, really. The chubby-cheeked boys who once pulled ponytails and chased girls around with little dead things are now sharp-jawed and tall. They bend at their waist and kiss your hand– they spin tales of your beauty and their admiration for your family in a span of one breath as their stone-faced fathers and bright-eyed mothers watch from behind them. You think you handle it well– you are used to it, already considered a woman and an available one, boys have been bowing to you since you were sixteen, hoping to get in your good books before your mother opened your metaphorical marriage doors.

Now they are blown open and men come and go, some see you as a challenge. A girl raised under a single mother but in the company of some of the universe's strongest soldiers– they enjoy the chase you could offer but you are seldom to run and face them head-on. They were the ones that usually did the running.

Paul Atreides, freshly eighteen and freshly recognized as a man is not used to this. When the ladies curtsied, he had cringed into your side– muttering something about seeing down their dresses as he pulled you away, when the boys kissed your hands and sang to you about your beauty, he didn't try to hide his snort. He met their glares head-on, raising a disinterested brow when he leered at him. Paul Atreides may be a man in age but parts of him still cling to the boy you grew up with and that thrills a hidden part of you.

“Tell me, Paul.” You begin as you both settle in the very corner your mothers told you to stay away from. “What is a woman without her pretty gown?”

Paul blinks. “Nude.”

The look you give him sends him into a fit of chuckles, you wait a moment before speaking again. “I am serious, you know. Outside of the pretty gowns, we are people– with hopes and dreams. Look there, at the girl in the orange–” You point a gloved finger towards a huddle of girls, focusing on the one you've met in passing. “Her name is Basma, her house doesn't matter, not truly when all she wants to do is study medicine and help children.”

“She’s pretty.” He comments and you scoff.

“Of course she's pretty, we are all pretty. We are bred for it, like show ponies. Look, that there is Delora, do you remember her? She used to cry over the littlest things growing up, do you know what she wants to be?”

Paul follows your gaze and frowns at the sight of the girl. She's pretty in a ghostly way– too pale skin, paired with charcoal hair and ruby red lips, she looks like a creature of the night. She moves across the ballroom floor gracefully, bowing her head when spoken to and smiling softly when needed. All of it is very practiced and a far cry from the girl who cried when he looked at her funny all those years ago– she, like you, had seemingly blossomed into a woman overnight. It sparks that strange feeling in his chest, a tight squeeze at his heart– he feels as if he's being left behind again, forced to follow in the shadow of your steps.

“Well?” You draw his attention back to you. “Any guesses?”

“A dancer.” He tries. “She moves like one.”

“Close.” You smile, dipping your head in greeting when Delora turns her head and spots the two of you. Paul rushes to do the same. Your voice drops into a weedy whisper as she draws closer, “She wants to be a singer. Her voice is heavenly.”

And you're right but it's not a surprise, you're rarely wrong– Delora’s voice is a pleasant hum when she says your name, deep, soft, and drawn out. She leans forward and kisses your cheek and it lingers for only a second too long and it hits Paul like a train.

Paul's right-hand twitches as it always does– it twitches when he's overwhelmed, it twitches when he doesn't know what to do, it twitches when he's annoyed. This time, it twitches as he fights the urge to push the girl away from you. There's a look on her face, a look he's familiar with when it comes to you, a look that usually dances across his own– She likes you. Delora with a pretty voice, a pretty face, and high standing in society– she likes you and if she pitched a fit about it she could have you if you wanted her.

She greets Paul dully. It's almost disrespectful seeing as she was standing in his home, in his ballroom talking to his best friend. And he greets her with the same lackluster tone.

“Atreides.”

Crybaby. He wants to greet, but he doesn't. He tilts his head and gives her a once-over that doesn't linger. How could he ever think she was pretty when she was the competition? “Yasu.”

You blink only once, studying the situation with raised brows before you plaster another smile on your face and step in between them. You let your back fall against Paul's chest and hold your hands out– for a moment it looks like you were going to surrender on his behalf but you don't, you grasp the other girl's hands instead. “You look beautiful, Delora. I'm happy you took time out of your night to greet us.”

“Only you, My dear comet–” Paul's hand twitches but the girl continues uninterrupted. “I was sent to ask if you were going to Orbit.”

“Oh!” Your voice jumps an octave and you cast an uneasy glance to Paul for just a moment before facing your friend again. “I would love to, truly but I can't – I already promised Paul I would spend the night with him.”

Huh. Paul shifts behind you and you let more of your weight fall against his chest – it forces his hands to shoot up and steady you at your waist and Delora's eyes are drawn to the movement. She frowns.

“I see…” Her eyes linger on his hands before they slide back to your face with a tight smile. “Well, if you need better company tonight– you know where to find me, Comet.” She nods once and turns so sharply, the ends of dresses snap like two fingers.

“What is Orbit?” Paul questions once the other girl is far enough.

You tense in his arms and try to pull away but he only holds you steady against him. “Paul…” You whine and he only chuckles.

“Are you going to tell me?”

“It’s nothing really.” You start awkwardly, “Orbit or orbiting is a group of us… available people mingling, seeing if we get along without the watchful eye of our parents.” You pause only for a moment to spare him a look from the corner of your eye. “Since this is taking place at your home, we would orbit near the ocean. When it happens at mine, it takes place deep in our garden maze. You should have been invited but I don't think…”

“Delora doesn't like me.” He finishes and you nod uneasily.

“She doesn't like anyone, honestly. But we've been buddies since we started orbiting at the same time. She's soft on me.”

Paul squeezes your hips, drawing you closer to him for several moments to laugh – his nose brushing against the cusp of your ear and a shiver runs up your spine just as he lets you go.“It's because she likes you.”

“Don’t be silly–”

“I’m serious,” Paul says. “She looked like she was going to bite me just because I was holding you.”

“You were holding me rather tight.” You joke, snickering when Paul rolls his eyes. “And I saw the way you were looking at her.”

“You weren't even facing me.”

“But I have eyes on the back of my head, Master Atreides.” You say poshly, grinning as he huffs. He goes to turn away from you and probably to grab a drink off a passing waiter's tray but you step in front of him with a shit-eating grin. “Tell me, Paul, were you jealous?”

Who in their right mind would admit to jealousy, it's a sickly emotion. One that creeps in on you and before you could blink– it swallows you whole, drawing you in its waves of green stomach fluid. Jealousy was something he would never admit to, not to you at least. So he huffs, rolling his eyes instead. “What was your mother talking about?”

You freeze for just a second, your pretty face going blank in the blink of an eye– it's gone as fast he blinks. “What?”

“Your mother told you to remember something.” Paul says, “Don’t tell me it's nothing and don't lie to me. I can tell when you're lying.”

“What? No, you can't.”

“Yes I can– We are not doing this, you aren't changing the subject either. What do you need to remember?”

You have to find a husband. Your mother's voice is a hushed whisper in your ear. Or at least entertain the idea of one. I won't be here forever, I can't protect you forever. You had to find a husband because your mother thinks you're doomed without one– you had to find a husband because when your mother lost your father it had weakened her heart and spirit so greatly that she was ill. You had to find a husband because one day you will wake up and find yourself an orphan with nothing but a title to lean on and your mother thinks a husband would be able to guide you through her loss– to allow you a grace period she didn't get to have.

The thought of it makes you ill– marrying for security rather than love, marrying because your mother said so. She did not care for love if it meant keeping you safe and you had tried to understand it when you were young. You had slipped into dresses too tight, stuffed socks into the heels of your shoe till they fit, you had become a diamond under her pressure but it still wasn't enough. It will never be enough till you have a husband.

“My mother…” You search for the right words, wetting your lips as you do. “My mother's wish is for me to find a husband before my nineteenth birthday– or at least, secure suitors before I take her place as an advisor.”

“But you have suitors– you– a husband? Doesn't she think you are too young to sign your life away to someone who–” Words fail the Atreides boy, his eyes blown wide as he takes a step back and cards a hand through his hair. Flirting, courting was one thing– it was nothing but shy smiles and trading flowers, necklaces, and treats, it was something that you could take a step away from, something to hold off overbearing parents for the season. But marriage? Marriage was a death trap where you each put a foot into a boiling pool of water and wait for the other to jerk away first. One gets away with minor injuries, one gets to heal while the other is left behind with their foot in the water– skin peeling, raw, and falling off the bone.

He has seen the scars his father's first marriage has left him– even if he hides it well, shielding his fear of remarrying under the guise of keeping it open for political reasons, Paul could still see the pink that clings to his dark skin. He can still see the bone. He's seen what marriage did to your mother– your father hadn't jerked away but he had slipped and fell into that pool of water, gone before you truly had the chance to meet him and your mother still keeps her foot in that water because she can't move on.

Paul can't see you like that– he refuses to bear witness to the destruction of you before you are even built. If you crumble because of a weight on your ring finger, he'd follow– he'd always follow because he was your friend, because he loves you even if he can't bring himself to utter the words.

“My life was signed away from me the moment I was born under the Zalmunna name. My mother says my father left me an empire and endless riches but what he truly left me was… a curse. A curse that I must deal with to keep my mother happy– after all she has done for me, I can at least do this for her.” You finally shrug when he couldn't find the words to continue, “I don't mind, not really.”

You lied. Paul can see it in your face, in the way you're starting to hug yourself and shy away from his gaze. He wonders how he's looking at you for you to pull away from him– he wonders if you know how sad you look. How the sadness in your eyes suddenly added age to your face, no longer eighteen, no younger a child but a woman surrendering to her fate.

That strange pain in his chest is back, a pain he only ever gets around you and Paul thinks he wants to steal you away. Steal you away from both your responsibility, from your fates and loveless marriages. He'd take you anywhere you'd ask, he'd do anything you asked at that moment if it meant you would be forever happy. It pinches and steals his breath– the urge to kiss you is back, though it never truly leaves. Void swallow the ball, he wants to scream, to pitch a Delora Yasu-size fit until he gets his way. He wants the void to swallow your fears, your responsibilities, he wants the void to take everything that would ever harm you. Void consume them all if it means he could have you.

“If I could save you from this…” He starts but you wave a weak hand.

“I do not need saving, Paul.”

“Pretend you do. If only for a moment– if only to humor me,” He takes a step forward, his hand pulling yours toward him to lace fingers. “If I could save you– would you let me?”

“This is hardly a proper conversation to be having in the open.” You whisper, you cast an uneasy glance around the room– hoping, willing for someone to be watching the both of you. Basma, Delora, hell– you'd even talk your mother coming over to scold you both to escape his gaze.

But alas, for once, no one even glanced in your direction.

Paul squeezes your hand and draws your attention back to him, his face set in a neutral frown, not angry, not happy. He's thinking, waiting. “If we had this conversation alone, you would hold your breath to make yourself faint.”

Your heart flutters at the memory. “I haven't done that since I was eight.”

His lips twitch, almost a smile–then he squeezes your hand again, pulling you close. “Would you let me save you, Lady Zalmunna?”

He's staring at you again. With that odd look that makes your heart skip several beats, he's staring at you like the world could disappear around him and he'd never notice. You squeeze his hand in return, speaking before you could think yourself out of it.

“Maybe but in a perfect world Master Atreides, I wouldn't need saving. In a perfect world it'd only be me and you and I think we'd be happy.”

Paul pauses for just a moment, his heart thundering. “Are we not happy now?”

“I think we are comfortable. Happiness doesn't feel like a leash and collar.”

You pull away then, clearing your throat. You say something to him but it's lost in his hazy thoughts. You say something about being thirsty, a small whisper about lemonade and he hears himself reply– you nod and stumble away from him with a frown that he's sure he's copying.

In that moment, Paul swears he'd make this world perfect for you.

***

Paul Atreides is toeing a fine line between being annoying or cute.

The day after the ball and the following week– you appreciated the doting, the whispered words of kindness and him checking up on you every few hours through holo-call— something you both hid from your parents, not because you couldn't talk to each other but the fact that they would take the devices away. Fear built on top of old superstition– certain technology just shouldn't exist. We do not need another war.

So, the first week was spent in your rooms in stolen moments, talking, complaining, gossiping. For the first week it was fun, refreshing but as time bleeds into the second week Paul Atreides has become something of a thorn in your side. A cute hazel eyed thorn but a thorn nonetheless.

“Let me help you.”

“No, Paul. I am perfectly capable of going through the archives on my own."

There's a pause and you think, finally, he's given up– he'd slink off back to his room or to bother his father but as long as it was in a different direction from you and preferably two hallways away, you didn't care. But luck was rarely kind to you and almost never on your side because as you reach for the scanner, done with the conversation– done with Paul, he perks up with a smile.

“Allow me to keep you company then.”

Your eye twitches as the door slides upward. “I would be horrible company, Master Atreides. My time here is solely for the information in the scrolls, I fear I can't spare a moment to engage in conversation with you.”

Paul shrugs as if he doesn't care– and he doesn't, his lips seemingly stuck in that impish smile he always has when he is around you. “Your presence will be enough. I know you need to work and I'll be as silent as a mouse until you are done.”

You cast your friend a very wary look, your lips pulled into a deep frown but his smile only widens and he sweeps his arm towards the door. “After you, My Lady.”

Your frown slips just a smidge as you walk past him. You try to remind yourself that he means well, that he taking your feelings into action with most things now and you shouldn't be mad but–

Paul steps on the back of your dress and it nearly makes you fall on your ass if not for his hands shooting out. Your head jerks over your shoulder – ready to spit some type of mild poison at him but you turn your head too fast and it dies on your tongue. Your noses smush together– you both are mere inches apart, breathes mixing and eyes wide. For a moment, your eyes dart to his parted lips without meaning to and his breath hitches– eyes widening, his tongue darts over his lips to wet them.

It's enough to break whatever spell that was casted over you because you tear your gaze anyway, completely missing the hurt that dances across his face as you clear your throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No I… it was my fault.” He whispers. “I’m sorry, just.. pretend I'm not here. Quiet as a mouse, remember?”

You thin your lips with a sharp nod and just like that, the both of you fall into a tense silence. You busy yourself with the scrolls– reading, translating dead languages and making note of what needed to be trashed and what could be saved. In the corner of the room, dimly lit by the glowglobe that floats around the room, Paul Atreides sat pretty– a book he managed to find in the mess of scrolls sits on his lap and he thumbs through the pages quietly but you know he's not reading. You know because every time you looked up, he looked down.

It was almost a game, almost cute. How he avoided your gaze but had no problem gazing at you when you weren't looking– it almost bearable if his gaze didn't feel like he was looking through you. It was as if you were nude with the way he was staring at you and you knew you weren't– you had sneakily checked when he wasn't looking, you still had two layers of dresses on, still had your coat and all your buttons were buttoned up. There was nothing for him to stare at– to… to... what's the word?

Your eyes dart up just in time to lock with Paul's admiring ones. Yes, admire. There was nothing to admire about you in your clothes meant for home and comfort but he sat there as loyal as a painter committing an image to memory so they could remember it when they were alone. It unnerved you. But a lot of things he did nowadays unnerved you– he was always staring, always questioning– always touching you in a way that made your heart pound and your throat dry and when he pins you with that look– the look he has now, it makes your head spin.

“Is there something on my face?”

Paul blinks twice at the harshness in your tone then drops his gaze with a sigh. “No.”

“Then why do you stare at it as if something were?” You press. Your pen twirls between your fingers– if he stopped looking at you when you looked at him, fine. You would simply stare at him for the rest of the time, you got more done than you expected anyways.

Paul looks up for only a moment, his lips twitching. “Has it ever occurred to you that you happen to be pretty?”

Your mouth drops open– then when he snorts after catching a glance of you, you snap your lips shut and twist them into a scowl despite your fluttering pulse. “You jest.”

“I’m not.” He says. “You are very pretty and when you are pretty, people will stare. People stare at you all the time and you never snap at them.”

“I did not snap–!” You stop yourself as he raises a brow at you. Instead, you take a breath and plaster on a smile, “Thank you. For calling me pretty but it is different when we are in a room full of people, I can never pinpoint the person staring at me. When we are alone I can look up and catch you staring at me.”

Paul lets out a long hum as he closes the book on his lap and stretches, long legs thrown over countless scrolls that are probably important. You couldn't bring yourself to care, not when your eyes soak in his bulking form. You curse him in your head, for actually taking training seriously, for becoming a man before your eyes.

“Does it bother you when I stare at you?”

“Pardon?”

The Atreides man crosses his arms over his chest and it's almost cute– the words from earlier haunting you, almost cute if it didn't put his arms on full display as he frowns. “When I look at you does it make you uncomfortable?” A pause, then he mumbles. “I could look at you less…?”

You blink and wow, now you feel bad. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you spin your pen between your fingers as you decide how to answer that– truthfully, you didn't mind that he stared, that he followed after you like some type of puppy or that he hung off your every word. Weeks ago, you think him giving you this much attention would have sent you to an early grave but after the night of the ball it all felt like he was doing it out of necessity more than anything else. That your friendship suddenly became a chore, another responsibility for him as the Future Duke of Caladan– he couldn't have his future advisor be miserable.

If Paul wanted to be around you, fine. If he wanted to pester you and drive you up the wall with his nonsense– also fine, you were okay with that as long as it came from him on his own and not because he feels bad for you.

You hated when people felt bad for you.

“It doesn't bother me.” You finally answer, your pen stilling in your hands. “I don't… I don't mind you staring at me but this look is different from all the looks you gave me before and–” Your eyes dart up and there's a faint taste of copper on your drying tongue as he meets your eyes. “– I don't know what it means. Are you angry at me?”

“Never.” is his whisper of a reply and you scoff, shaking your head. Your heart is thudding in your chest and it feels like it might explode but you might as well lay all your cards on the table while you still have the courage– so you push away from the desk and round it. Paul scrambles to stand as you stop in front of him– his mouth opens but you don't give him the chance to speak.

“It feels like you're angry with me, you've been giving me that look and it burns me, Paul! You say it's not anger but it steals my breath, it makes me ill– my heart aches for something I must have done but can't remember, so you must remind– tell me what I did to–”

A warm hand clamps over your mouth and you flinch, a tear falling from your eye. Trying to take a step away from Paul but his other hand hooks on the crook of your elbow. You try to speak but he squeezes your face just a bit with a shake of his head. “Don’t speak– just let me think for a second.”

You let a second pass, then you frown against his palm. Then, he breathes:

“You drive me utterly insane–”

Your heart plummets and again, you try to pull away but he keeps you in place.

“For every night I laid awake thinking of what I would say in this situation– for all my planning to go out the window the moment you shed a tear, I don't know whether to be angry at you or to kiss you.” He takes a loud, shuddering breath, “So I will say this as plainly as my heart will let me: I'm in love with you. Truly those words don't do what I feel for you justice– I stare at you because I am angry for you. I am angry at the universe we live in and how it's tearing us apart, it angers me you think you need to prove yourself to anyone but yourself–”

He blinks hard then, shaking his head. “I am in love with you, I can't tell you when it happened because I think it was always there and I know you're angry at me and this is not going to help but I can't watch you destroy yourself thinking you did something wrong. I could never be angry at you, you could never do wrong in my heart and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for this.”

Over his hand clamped on your mouth, Paul presses a kiss against his skin. He holds it there for only a moment before pulling back to meet your wide eyed bewilderment. “I wish I could kiss you but I will not force my feelings on you.”

He pulls his hand away. “Paul–”

And all at once, there are more voices than his, all sounding pained– some are hushed, barely a whisper and others are loud, clambering– falling over each other to be heard as your limbs lock. “Don’t speak.”

You want to scream at him. Damn him and his ability to use the voice– you try to break the grip on you but it digs, clawing into your very soul with one command: obey.

“You are going to let me leave… You won't chase me, you'll sit here and finish the rest of your work then you will go home and that's when you'll remember what I said to you.”

No, you want to wail. It isn't fair, none of this is fair! But the fight is slowly leaving your body. You try to blink it away but all that leaves you are tears as he gives you a sorrowful smile.

You blink again and you're at your desk, pen in hand with a distant pinch of heartbreak in your chest. Your brows dips as you cast an uneasy glance around the room– the door is shut but there's a slight breeze in a room that makes your bones ache. With a sigh, you place your pen down as the glowglobe floats its way towards your face– dimming as it does.

Huh. Your hand touches your face as the glowglobe shows you your reflection. Why did you start crying?

***

The memories flood you the moment you kicked off your shoes. It overwhelms you– hits you so hard you stumble back grasping at your chest because with the memory comes the emotion you were forced to forget.

I'm in love with you.

Anger is the strongest emotion– especially when it's directed at someone you love– and you do love Paul, you don't let your mind or your doubts talk you out it–you are more angry than you are sad, more sad than you are happy and it spills from your face in fat tears and pours from you in sobs as your body tries to manage the sudden flood of emotions.

You'll kill him for making you feel this way but not before you kiss him– you wish he had less honor for a moment, you wish he had simply kissed you when he had the chance and the ability to make you forget. You ignore the part of you that sings that he didn't.

You're out your door faster than you ever ran, still shoeless– still sobbing. You might punch the Atreides boy before you tell him you return his feelings– friendship and love dance along the same line and you've grown so used to what you had, it never occurred to you that you might lose what you had once you got older.

Fuck getting older, you want to scream. Your feet thunder against your estate floor as you race to the ships made for personal trips. Your mother calls out for you but you ignore her– you could make it to the Caladan Castle in ten minutes if you speed.

***

Paul Atreides is barely holding together while he's talking to his father when there is suddenly a great big crash. It seemingly shakes the castle and for a moment, both Atreides men think they're under attack then after a beat of silence before—

“PAUL ATREIDES!”

The man of the hour pales. “Oh no.”

Duke Leto spares his son a curious look as shouting fills the halls– he hears his mother, he hears your mother frantically questioning you, begging you to slow down. He hears the opening and slamming of doors as you draw closer to his father's study. It's just his luck you'd start on this side of the castle– if he tries to run, you'd surely see him and chase him down and if he were to hide, his father would tell you he's just under the desk.

He's doomed but he doesn't regret telling you he loved you.

“What did you do?” The Duke asks in an almost amused tone, Paul clears his throat.

“I told her I love her.”

The Duke blinks. “Oh?”

“Then I made her forget until she reached home.”

The Duke closes his eyes for a very long moment, not jumping as the door next door slams open. “Stars above, Paul.”

He doesn't try to defend himself as the doors slam open. There you stand, wild eyed and a mess– hair whipped by wind, clothes askew and shoeless. Your eyes lock and you take a step forward, Paul stumbles three steps back.

“I’m sorry–”

“I should hang you by your balls!”

Duke Leto winces, casting an uneasy glance to the two mothers who now linger by the door unsure of what to do.

You take another step forward and Paul darts behind the desk. “You have to understand why I did it–”

“No I don't! You used the voice on me! You made me leave!” You snap, you try to close the distance between the two of you but he only darts to the other side of the desk. “You do not say you love someone and then force them to leave! What is wrong with you?!”

Your mother slaps a hand over her mouth while Lady Jessica's brow shoots up.

“I couldn't bear the thought of you rejecting me– not right then, not right now– stop getting closer to me–” He jerks away from the desk and nearly trips trying to escape you but you catch the ends of his shirt and yank him towards you and do the one thing you wished he did.

You kiss him.

You kiss him and try to push everything you feel for him into the action–your fears, your doubts,your love all put into one action, one moment you will never regret even if it doesn't end well for the both of you. His hand just barely touches your face before a voice clears and the moment breaks– suddenly, the two of you are reminded that you are in a room with your parents with nosy guards and workers passing by. Still, Paul is the first to pull away from you, his cheeks pink as he addresses your parents while you make sure to keep your back to them in pure mortification.

“Well,” Lady Jessica begins, her tone is light as it always is, her hidden amusement now laying bare for all to hear, “I suppose… This will be a first for both our houses. A Duke and his advisor.” She seems to make a hand movement you can't see because the blush on Paul's face darkens and there's a chuckle from Duke Leto and a breath of amusement from your mother.

“At least the wedding will be local.” Your mother jokes and the tension melts from your body. She isn't mad at you, she isn't disappointed with you. “That is if you intend to make an honest woman out of her, Paul.”

“Of course I am.”

A pause, a beat of silence of you staring wide eyed at your best friend then you hear a shift of fabric, she nods.

“Good. We’ll leave you two to talk… No more shouting about hanging someone from their balls, no more running. Just talk.”

Another beat of silence before they shuffle out of the room, and it's only the two of each other. You speak first.

“You want to marry me?”

“I want to do everything with you.” Paul admits, “But marriage is one of them, it doesn't have to be now, it doesn't even have to be five years from now– I can wait for you.”

You shake your head breathlessly, “But you hate the idea of marriage.”

“I hate the thought of losing you more.” He says, “I’ve thought about it, I couldn't stop thinking about it– If you give me the chance, I could make a happy wife out of you. A happy woman.” He takes a step forward, his hands falling on your arms almost unsure of the action like you'd still lash at him. “You return my feelings?”

“Of course I do, Paul.” You relax under his touch, “I think I've always had but our situation– with our positions in life… I think I always put it last, always brushed it off as friendship because if it was anything else we'd get hurt.” You take another step closer, eliminating the space between the two of you as you rest your forehead against his collarbone. “What are we going to do, Paul?”

“I don't know.” He whispers,his hand disappears from your arm and fingers dip under your chin, bringing your face up as he smiles at you. “We’ll take it one day at a time.” His eyes dart to your lips, a silent question your heart skips a beat at– your tongue darts across your lips as you nod.