my one thing with ao3 is that i truly wished it had the wattpad commenting system. i haven't use wattpad since i was a teen but istg one thing i remember is how much of a fucking laugh it was on there
Jessica is heavily pregnant when the unfortunate attack occurs.
It is on the evening of a diplomatic banquet, in the middle of a small séjour they are bound by duty to attend, at a prominent House Minor in the wine region, occupying the high-altitude valley of Balfe.
Winemaking being one of the most lucrative oligopolies of the Imperium, especially in the world of fine wines and the caste which enjoys them, House Atreides is proud to be one of the rare fiefdoms to have a very profuse tradition of viticulture, and the vast, favorable land to go with it.
The wine region is tenanted by a dozen lieges who variably share the podium for the quality of their production, as well as the bounty their wineries provide to the Caladanite treasury. On the ducal calendar, such prolific markers of household economy are due a complimentary visit, depending on which carafe is more profitable according to the seasons.
Last fall’s harvest of House Balfe’s Riesling cellar was prosperous, highly requested by foreign sommeliers, and very much appreciated locally. The Treasury was prompt to let the duke in on this prowess, assuring him that congratulatory calls would be in order at Balfe.
And that, despite his generals warning him of foreign infiltration attempts in the recent months; granted, majority of which have been intercepted by surface-level systems, but still a remaining one yet to be commandeered, and that is quite enough to direly alarm his Mentat.
But ever the trusting, self sure, and unperturbed character, the duke had decided to stick with initial plans, assuring his right hands that whatever danger awaited them would be nothing that could not be prevented by their elite security units.
Jessica, swollen with child, is in her third trimester, and emotionally, she is a hurricane. With only two months or so left before the proverbial push, she hovers more than usual, and she worries herself sick, especially with the duke burdened with so many responsibilities, and danger lurking additionally.
Heavy as she is, Jessica was in no mood for trips or celebrations, and she hadn't set out to be anything more than a cocoon of misery for what time she had left like this, when the news of this visit came about. The duke had assured that she would be better off staying back at Castle Caladan, where she would be afforded the best care and every comfort. But weighing her own uncertainties, she had felt compelled to remain at his side and not to stray one bit. Not when his next move felt so imprudent. She clung that night in a rare surge of emotion, irrational at the mere idea of him away, and he had held her and comforted her, promising never to leave. As seldom as it might be for her, tears had sprung from that tender moment.
Now, the joke is on her.
Despite her years of practice, Jessica was never able to grow into a great hostess; though she's managed to achieve qualities that shadow that of a gentlewoman, she's still barely able to socialize, let alone receive guests. If she meddles minimally, but more than her partner would expect, she considers that a pride; and if such were the case before the pregnancy, now, as she is, she might as well flash hazard signs whenever someone even tries to come close.
Anyone except the duke.
For that, she had decided to stay behind during the banquet, enjoying the velvet chaises in her quarters while the duke was being entertained with wine degustations and fine regional cuisine, and not a vice more.
At least, she hoped so.
It would be most improper, no-doubt, to have—what she thinks is—a flock of waiting maidens attend to them bearing decanters. When she was being escorted earlier to more comfortable spaces, she'd caught sight of them, and guessed they'd been picked for this occasion; heaven forbid, for more than mere stewarding; Jessica wouldn't put it past the Balfe dauphin, their host, who was also the man overseeing the household wineries, stepping into the shadow of his father's success, and producing his own buoyancy. He was also closer in age to the duke than Lord Balfe Sr, and a businessman with far more roguish ways.
Jessica loathed the thought of being away, even if she stood out like a thumb in the middle of all the wine-tasting, all withdrawn and keeping away from citrine liquids in curvy crystals. She couldn't enjoy them anyway, and had no desire or proclivity for that whatsoever. She liked to recall she was above such indulgences, even if she would never hold her partner to such standards; he had his own set of weaknesses, and she accepted them; has kept her heart bare of any ego that might jeopardize what they'd nurtured.
But, over all else, she felt deeply unstable emotionally; call it hysteria—and see if she cares—but the young Lord Balfe and his convention of full-bearded blue bloods reeked of trouble; precisely what the duke did not need piled onto the rest of his duties.
And for that, in the middle of the banquet, Jessica decided to wrap herself in a long, trailing robe, and like a silken vision, walked out blending with the overall darkness spreading across the Balfe residency, while the southern wing, where the festivities were held, served as a lighthouse as she made her way to go spy on the source of her worries.
Granted that the guards on the way are quickly neutralized by her Voice, the stroll remains silent, if only the occasional 'Ignore' that comes out fluidly whenever she senses an imminent presence.
When she makes it to the intended hall, she diverts to the balcony overseeing the ballroom and makes it to an arched glass door. She only peeks in enough to catch a glimpse at the duke, who, despite her fears, seems about the same as he did when they separated. Slightly more disheveled, with his collar open and his curls tousled, and slumping laughingly against linen upholstery amidst a cloud of smoke, but nothing more indecent—no one in his arms, and such could not be said about certain guests. She gauges the duke for a little longer and feels a breath of relief wash over her when she finds nothing alarming.
It takes her by surprise when his eyes suddenly find hers, and she's caught, singed by the warmth in his gaze, like flying too close to the Sun, and—
Without warning, Jessica is seized from behind with virulence—so much so, she's shaken, and doesn't register the hands coming to tie her mouth shut with a leather strap. As she tries to fight the hands away, she wishes her reflexes were better at the moment, but—
Calm down, she tells herself, trying not to struggle against the arm that holds her captive when she suddenly feels the other pressing a blade against her belly. With her mouth tied, and her body so compromised, she's helpless against the robust, wandering hands that currently trap her and drag her mercilessly into further darkness.
Helpless against the wave of utter disgust and sickness that overtakes her, when one hand gets to sensitive parts and begins to knead vigorously; then, she wants to shout her indignation, wants to scream her distress, and shatter bones, and tear at skin; wants to get her son away more than anything, and spare him all this sordid horror; but she's rendered so weak, suffocated by the grasp in which she's held captive. She wants to retch with her dishonour and pain. What burden is her shame, even when she's the victim!
Jessica wants to beat herself for her lack of foresight. She knew the dangers painfully well yet had still recklessly followed the duke. She had only herself to blame if tonight, she ruined House Atreides and its head with her martyrdom.
Her eyes fall shut in defeat. She would never give up so soon if it weren't for the current state of her body. She would claw until the very end. But now, she's a fragment of herself, most of her sacrificed to become two, and in such sensible timing, there is no conquering that vulnerability.
But not a second later, just as she's truly giving up on any rescue being on time, Jessica is suddenly cast free from the cruel hold. She doesn’t process what happens behind as she begins to collapse forward, hustled away from danger brusquely. Rattled noise rises to her ears, and she takes in the unexpected frenzy through the grave voices suddenly spitting orders loudly, as she's caught in time by very familiar arms which instantly free her from any restraints.
As soon as she smells his scent, Jessica comes apart in the duke's embrace. She does not hear the immediate capture taking place a few feet away—some torture instantly sentenced upon her aggressor, as he was being taken away with heavy hits raining.
She's a bundle of strained nerves, melting in her partner's arms, trying to hold both onto him and her feelings, trying not to cry, and understandably, the duke handles her like china, like she might break at the merest jolt.
Festivities are halted immediately, and she barely notices the duke throwing orders for cover. Jessica solely focuses on the hand grabbing onto him, careful not to fall, as her other hand circles her belly, and tries to soothe her own agitation and that of their child.
Tears begin to brim as she thinks of their son, and what might've happened, and she's so weakened by the thought her knees give up entirely, and she buries into the duke's chest, suddenly choking on a sob.
Her partner is quick to react, and he catches her once again before she can crumble completely. "Stay back," he hurls, as nearby guards try to move in tandem to help her, and he manœuvres her smoothly, picking up her legs and carrying her wholly. His hold is strong enough for three, and he clutches her close to his chest, aware she has no strength left to hold onto his neck. She's only conscious enough to cry silently into his shoulder.
They make it to his quarters, and the duke has his men search the room thoroughly before he allows himself to step in with such precious cargo.
Jessica feels herself being settled into the softness of a foreign bed, which she understands is the duke's. It seemed unthinkable to Leto that she would be kept any more away from him tonight; not when she needed him so deeply, and to hell with the inevitable scrutiny that will come with such a decision.
First, he removes her mules, then he covers her trembling form with the fur-lined duvets before he comes to sit next to her resting form. "Contact the Margrave at HQ, let him in on of this incident. It is unacceptable that such a thing could occur." The duke barely contains his tone, trying not to yell at every man in this room, including Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck grimacing at each other at the political fiasco.
"I'm on it immediately sire," his Mentat replies, obviously mortified at every administrative misstep that has allowed this scheme to carry out.
"I cannot understand that the guards were not more discerning," Halleck chastises, as he pivots towards the soldiers in proximity, "was there no sign that this man was infiltrated?"
"I don’t care for who gets the blame!" Leto loses it suddenly, "My wife and child were almost killed just minutes ago! I don’t give a damn about this right now, sweep this mansion throughout and find me his base. Thufir will oversee the identification of each staff present; leave no one spared."
Everyone in the room seems to blanch a bit, but Leto is too furious to even notice that he's slipped very dangerously. "Split!" He finishes, washed and overtaxed with the whole ordeal, and rushing to have all this tossed into oblivion, so his partner can start to heal, "I will have more protocol unwind shortly. In the meantime, out with the trash. After due questioning, feed him to the woods, and have a unit stay until his last morsel is lapped up. I want no trace of him left. And no more breeches; otherwise, there will be hell to pay." He stresses that with a grave, glacial look that even his closest men seem to be taken aback by; like they've never seen him so intense, and wrathful.
Supposedly bedridden, and unconcerned by the noise, internally, Jessica is struck by this whole interaction. Seconds pass, and the incriminating word continues to circle in her mind, as a sense of strife begins to grow within her.
Not a word comes in response; the duke is only met with extensive bowing, and Yes Sire's, before his men make their exit, and get to where they’ll be needed to perform their duties.
It is only when the last guards have walked out, and shut the doors of his room definitively, that Jessica breaks the dam open.
"How could you?" She pushes up, despite hurting, despite feeling something erupt inside her chest as she rewinds the forbidden word in her head, despite—
The duke chuckles huskily, turning to her looking all too seething considering he's trying to canalize his emotions while in her presence, "Not anything anyone ignores at this point. Nothing but the truth, and only a fool would dare to question it."
Jessica scoffs breathily, diverting her gaze as she sits up, smoldering with the heat she feels forming in her belly. Heavens, his wife! She's a tempest of contradictions, and the internal strife is suffocating. "You're going to face consequences for this."
"I'd like to see that."
At his heavy tone, her head darts back, and she glares brazenly, "What a reminder to me, how every strike lessened to coddle you is a sharper lashing I receive without regard."
Leto's look doesn't budge, "And I'd like to see that even more."
And she knows he means to openly challenge anyone who might even come close to hurting her, physically or otherwise; see if they come out unscathed; she knows that's the implication here. Yet, at the moment, Jessica feels like she might explode at his flippancy, "Well your wish was almost accomplished tonight!" And the tears uncontrollably rise again, and she feels drained from crying so much, like she'll come out of this event an empty shell, licked clean of any feeling.
The duke is immediately at the foot of the bed, kneeling before her feet, hands first reaching to touch but instead choosing to rest at each sides of her calves against the mattress, "And not a second past that attempt, I sowed death upon your assaillant, without further trial, and he shall meet justice shortly. No one who thinks to even touch you, harm you in any way, will be spared by my hand, Jessica. No one."
And before she can scoff at him, throw a low blow and be difficult, Leto succumbs to his exhaustion, his chagrin, his passion—which burns even more ardently tonight as he processes the near loss of his heart, now cut in two. Still kneeling, he buries into her feet, his hands suddenly lacing around her legs desperately.
"Jessica…My fire." His voice is deep with grief, with the thought of the impossible, the unthinkable, happening, brashly and unprovoked, and his heart strains with the anguish.
Jessica is overwhelmed, bound by his embrace, and cheeks flaming at feeling his lips starting to kiss her feet, and she closes her eyes in defeat before burying into her own shoulder, "Please, my duke—”
"Anything, my duchess," and at that, she silently damns him, and she's silent forever as he kisses the soft skin ignoring her plea, and restricting her legs and feet from further twitching with his arms.
Jessica sighs deeply, and almost wants to fawn at his words. She breathes heavily, her chest heaving, and she feels the pit of her stomach flaring with something; the feeling hangs low and heavy in her belly.
"I almost lost everything tonight;" Leto continues against her calves, "We almost lost our child; I almost lost you. Everything."
"I should have been more prudent," against her shoulder, her tears keep falling, hitting bare skin.
The duke drags his forehead up against her knees, shaking his head vehemently, "No; it is I who has faulted. It is I who wasn’t more prepared to face what I knew lurked behind; I who has failed you, and you almost paid the price for it. There is no worse shortcoming; to our son; to our House; and most importantly, to you."
Jessica exhales deeply, "I shouldn’t have strayed…Shouldn’t be walking unescorted, especially right now, but I…I just never—"
Before she processes, the duke rises on his knee, and his arms wrap around her belly, and he goes there to kiss and rub gently against it, "Do not strain yourself further, my love; you have naught to be feel guilty over. This horrible event has manifested from my own lack of caution; and before long I shall make everything right again. Cast our House from such sordidness. Make Cala and all surrounding regions of my fief a haven of peace and quiet and safety, for you and our child to delight in without fear. I swear it."
Jessica hears the implicit apology, one she knows will remain unspoken, but she does perceive his guilt, and his regret, and for now, that’s enough to make do. "Such promises, my duke," she murmurs, entirely too overwhelmed, and her fingers raking through his locks as he continues to rain kisses upon her naked skin, where he has parted the silk of her robe to reveal her body.
"And I will not rest until every one of them is fulfilled," he insists heatedly. "I will not have you and our son feel unsafe and unprotected on my territory. Not when I have such sway in the matter. Think only of your comfort, my dear; I will take care of the rest. I will take care of you."
With those words, Leto finally straightens up, eyes looking up at her, and expressing so much all at once she feels caught in a whirlwind. His hands continue to stroke over her belly, soothing her unrest, and Jessica wonders if he even knows what that does to her; how weak and dependant it renders her; how much she doesn’t think she can go without it anymore; how much that is now the only tether keeping her from crisis.
Which is why, at the sudden disconnection, she feels a string of panic shoot through her chest. She tries faintly, eyes wide and vulnerable sinking into his, "You can't be thinking of that right now?"
At the inquiring tone, Leto expands his caresses, already sensing her agitation as his hand roams under her robe to reach her lower back, "I've muted my Servo-Receiver, but I'm guessing necessary protocol is unfolding at the moment, under Thufir's direction; I believe it would do good for my troops to sight me on field; have that be a reminder that any more fallibility will be met with consequences. Extra monitoring is due, and only I can fulfill that charge."
Blinking widely, Jessica shakes her head, "I don’t know that I should be left by myself at the moment…" Right now, she wishes she lacked more ego, so she could do what exactly she means to do and beg him to stay. But simultaneously, the very thought of her helplessness threatens to send her down another deep spiral of self-loathing; could she actually be more of a hindrance right now?
"My sweet…I will not leave long, and I'll have our staff stationed nearby, as well as that of the Balfe, to answer to your any request. You shall not be refused anything. And I have a special unit guarding our hall, security doubling as we reach our wing and corridor. I've had Air Cavalry released from Cala, who will be sweeping the region and patrolling the valley—"
Feeling swamped, Jessica looks away still shaking her head, "If this is meant to make me feel safer…"
Leto exhales sharply, "If Hell is what it took, I would unleash it without question."
"And still, it would not calm me. Only when I am out of this estate, with you at my side, will I feel out of harm's way. I cannot stand it here! Let's go back home."
Once again, Leto sighs gravely, already coming to terms with having to break a promise he just made; that of assuring her every desire will be fulfilled, "I'm afraid I cannot leave at the moment. I want nothing more than to take you away from all this torment, and shield you from further danger, but the timing is dire."
"Then you don’t want it enough," she hisses, and later she will blame it on hormones and changes in her body, but even the gnawing feeling of indecency, of burdening, couldn’t stop this surge of selfishness. They’ve almost lost everything tonight! Forgive her if she feels soft like crystal and doesn’t want to be further than in the arms of her hus—
She meets his gaze, and the duke looks back at her pensively, worriedly, dolefully. It makes her want to retract, she thinks suddenly, feeling scrutinized; maybe not fully but just—
"Alright."
Jessica blinks at the sudden reply, like despite wanting it so badly she didn’t expect it not one bit. Her eyes pierce into his, inquiring, and he answers with such a warm, kind smile—the kind only he can muster to fully disarm to her—she feels dizzy with emotion.
"The family has a hunting cabin in the neighbouring woodland, right over the cordillera," he lays out, and Jessica's heart swims in relief at their imminent departure, "we can go spend the rest of our journey over there. Then, I'll be able to properly care for you."
Jessica's chest heaves with gratitude, and she buries into his arms. "Yes, please," she nods fervently against his neck.
Gathering her against him, he rises slowly and ends up sitting next to her on the mattress. He remains there, swallowed up by a heap of long dark hair and black silk now shifting onto his lap, as he begins to arrange their way out with a finger on his Servo-Receiver.
Comfortable against his solidness, Jessica can only focus on the new wave of anxiety brewing under her skin, and she knows intuitively what is suddenly causing her turmoil. At the moment, she does not reckon the boldness of her reactions, but she unceremoniously sheds of her robe as the duke continues to reel off instructions. She does not realize his daze, as she presses herself against him, and grabs his free hand to land it on her belly. "There's no pacifying him," she whispers into his ear, "he only answers to you at the moment."
As of now, she's not feeling fully herself; so of course, she doesn’t see how quickly the duke let go of his device so as to not leak any parcel of this incredibly intimate moment. Instead, he gets to work, and begins to caress her belly again, with all the gentleness and delicacy he can muster through such powerful hands.
Jessica sighs deeply, exhausted, and she drops her head against his shoulder and shuts her eyes trying to keep water from coating her lashes. She thinks about her decisions so far; how damning and illuminating they have proven to be; how real her love is, how nurturing, and blooming, and unapologetic. How truer can it be, when it has now almost come full form; from within her stomach, it grows, and it awaits to shake the world.
And for that, a sword looms over her lover's head; she knows it; she will be their ruin.
Though right now, in his arms, basking in this bliss, she'd rather smother the ugly truth. Right now, in his arms, she'd rather surrender, and believe, as he tries so much to make her, that she deserves all this.
gummygunk
dededos
annaxmalina
pixelskylines
titsay
