makeitagood0neao3 - Tumblr blog

makeitagood0neao3 · 5 days

Text

I wish I would have thought of that before now haha! I do have a Feyd idea swirling around in my head.

Weather Me To Nothing (2/4)

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,770

Summary: Reader is the heir to the throne with an impossible choice to make. Torn between protecting her sisters and finding her way in the universe, will she make the right choice?

Warnings: Dark!Paul Atreides. 18+ only! Explicit sexual content. Arranged Marriage. Non con. See tags for more.

A/N: Wither me to nothing, wash away the blood from my hands. Thank you so much for stopping by my little fic. May the fic burn slowly.

That evening, you entered the dimly lit dining hall without your guard. Opting for a lighter dress with a breathable material, you kept your shawl around your shoulders. The table is ridiculously long and the commander at the head of it positioned so his power wouldn’t be questioned. You are on Arrakis and, for the time being, that belonged to Vladimir Harkonnen. He didn’t rise when you entered, but opened his arms wide as you approached his left.

“The Princess returns. A visit from you has been long overdue!”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Vladimir.” You offer him a bow of your head as you approach. Unable to stand, he remains in his chair. Vladimir is like your father, often speaking indirectly and in political avoidance. Feyd-Rautha requires a firmer hand, a more direct approach, while this adversary is a longer play. “You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble.”

A large section of the table is full of large platters, filled with food. Too much for two people, even with his appetite. Most of it will go to waste, while the rest of the inhabitants on this planet starve. The distinction between wealth and poverty in this Empire has become staggeringly large. The divide is growing larger everyday. That has to be creating an unrest amongst the Fremen. How long can they continue to live like this?

“For the beloved daughter of the Emperor, we would spare no expense. And if it’s wealth you’re concerned about, we have an endless supply.” His greedy smile is enough for you to lose your appetite. Was that the last look Duke Leto saw?

You take your seat and as a pale, hairless girl fills your glass. Her onyx eyes are so large you can’t see anything surrounding them. You don’t want to drink, but her hand shakes as she pours so you offer her a reassuring smile, not interested in adding to whatever abuse she already receives. Your appetite has not returned from your first wave of spice ingestion.

“Your nephew explained that spice production has never been higher.”

“Yes, made possible with your father’s generous gifts. To House Carrino,” he says, raising his glass to cheers yours. Before you can reply, the doors open once more, Vladimir’s attention stolen from you.

“Uncle, we have secured the location for tomorrow.”

“This is a dinner without business. Sit, you’re late.” Vladimir’s command to his loyal dog is instant. Feyd-Rautha takes his seat across from you, in his rightful place as Vladimir’s right hand man. He’s had access to you much more than you’re comfortable with.

“Where?” You ask Feyd the moment he sits. He looks to Vladimir for permission to proceed and gets it.

“At the top of some rock formation an hour south.”

“You don’t sound familiar with this location. How do you know it isn’t swarming with Fremen?” You asking, tilting your head in disbelief.

“We have killed hundreds of Fremen since re-taking Arrakis, my lady. There aren’t many left.” Vladimir’s tone shifts on lady, as if he soothing a child.

“Why can’t he come here? Arraken is the safest place.”

Feyd looks to his uncle in an ‘I told you she’d make this difficult’ way that makes you want to throw something at him. They are offering you up to the desert like a lamb to the slaughter.

“We will have Sardaukar on the ground the entire time. It’s best to let the young Duke believe he is in control. Your safety is our priority.” Vladimir offers what he probably thinks is a smile, but comes across as cold. You open your mouth to retort, to show him this is flawed when the impatient Feyd cuts you off.

“We need him to die in the desert.” Feyd’s expression is a sneer. His deep set black eyes hold no remorse, no compassion for the soon to be death of Paul. You feel that he has given you a clue. Something obvious you’re missing in the puzzle.

“The disposal of the Atreides family was… sloppy.” Vladimir’s sneer toward Feyd-Rautha is unmistakable, no doubt regretting putting Rabban in charge of that. “It drew attention from the surrounding Houses. Houses that favored the Duke and didn’t take his removal lightly. They have been talking, asking questions.”

“What sort of questions?”

Vladimir ignores you and keeps one forearm resting on the table while the other moves, gathering more food for his large plate. It’s clear the effort it takes for him to move just one arm. In the years it’s been since you’ve dined with him, he has also aged. The weight of his enormous body catching up to him.

“Will the Emperor kill their families if they answer his call, too? Or are the Harkonnen’s assassins for hire now? What’s stopping any one of them from taking over Arrakis and reaping the rewards?” Vladimir doesn’t seem bothered with this questioning.

“They could never be successful here. We have been here for generations,” Feyd-Rautha’s lip curls at the audacity that any other family could rule here.

“And finishing off the remaining family will stop the chatter?”

“It will show them what we do to those who try to come between us and the dune,” Feyd spits out. His uncle has programmed his rage expertly. “It will show them how savage the Fremen really are.”

Your eyes narrow, fork placed back onto the plate as you realize what you should have seen all along. The final piece falling into place.

“You want the other Houses to think the Fremen killed Paul.” If the Fremen are willing to kill their savior, the one they’ve waited generations for, then they have no loyalty. It’d be a betrayal equal to what your father did to the loyalty of Duke Leto. It shows the galaxy they do not answer to anyone and if they don’t stand for good, then they will not gain the support of any House to rise up against the Harkonnens. It isolates them in their seitches. It makes them vulnerable. The only thing stopping him from blowing up parts of the planet is the humanitarians in the galaxy who forbid it.

“Perhaps you have the gift of sight, after all.” Vladimir sees your mind churning over this information, running the data, evaluating the casualties. You don’t even dare to consider the death toll.

You must give credit where it is due. Feyd-Rautha may be the one coordinating this plan, but the conception is all Vladimir. Feyd has never been the face of the family, only the next in line to inherit it. He’s still too primal, too unpredictable without the direction of his uncle. He is a pawn in this game, as are you, under the thumb of Vladimir. The lengths he will go to grow his wealth is staggering. Left unchecked, he could become more fierce, gaining followers to hunt down the Fremen simply by instilling fear.

“And what happens after?” You keep your tone unbothered, as if the thought of killing someone wouldn’t tear you apart, wouldn’t ignite the extinction of an entire people. This bargain you have made is suddenly much more complicated than originally predicted.

“The plan is for you to leave for your father’s ship immediately following Paul’s death. It will be too dangerous for you once the Fremen find their savior dead,” Vladimir says between chews. “As the new widow to the last heir of Atreides, who barely escaped with her life and saved by the Baron, the safest place for you while we subdue the Fremen is with your father.”

“Your evacuation is my responsibility.” Feyd’s voice is low, his eyes watching you like the griffin of his family crest. Eyes of a hawk, patience of a lion, and the claws to keep you in his clutches. You won’t let that happen.

“I think that’s best. My father will want to settle his side of this arrangement with me once I return.” You keep your voice casual, trying to gage how determined Feyd is to keep you close. If you leave for another planet, it will take him too long to gain access to it and in turn, you.

Feyd smiles at this, gazing at his uncle. Vladimir’s eyes are set upon you, the finality in his stare tells you everything you need to know that this will not be leaving your father’s Flagship. He leans over towards you, his imposing size too close for your comfort. He is intimidating, but you are the daughter of the Emperor and will be damned if this man sees your fear.

“House Harkonnen is risking intergalactic war against the Empire for not only the execution of Duke Leto, but also his son. Do you think your father would just reward us with new harvesters and a permanent residence on Arrakis?”

“He would let me pick any one of his daughters. And Rabban, too.” You stare Feyd down, noticing the twitch in his eye. He isn’t used to verbal combat and he’s met his match. He showed his hand too quickly, but it still catches you off guard.

“The youngest two aren’t old enough.” Your sisters will never be married to anyone in House Harkonnen. They are vile, cruel. Your sisters are soft, kind and too young. They will always be too inexperienced for men more than a decade older than yourself.

“We can wait. A long term payment plan.” He thinks he’s clever, but he has you in a corner. “Rabban is unaware of this possibility.” So there’s time. You may not have much of it, but your sisters have their whole lives and you will ensure they get it.

As much as you hate him, you could never allow your sweet sisters to be subjected to this family. Your father's leash on you has only tightened since your first sentence here, but you would take the choke chain around your throat instead of your sisters.

“What is the price of clearing my father’s debt to you for this… act of loyalty?”

“Feyd-Rautha has been very patient, Y/N. Your father and I believe the match will not disappoint.” It’s the first time either of them have said your name or really acknowledged you as a woman independent of the Emperor. Vladimir is a master manipulator, waiting until this moment to appeal to you in the way you’ve always wanted to be. To be the one to have a decision in your fate.

You nod your head, nausea burning through your stomach. They are unaware of your infertility, or at least Feyd is. He will be rewarded for being a good dog, but won’t get the chance to become out of control if he has children. Children of Feyd would destroy an entire planet.

In turn, your father transfers his ownership of you to the one person with a heavier hand than himself. Marrying you off the man who ‘saved’ you after your husband was murdered is exactly the way he would gain the positivity of the Empire. The Harkonnen maniac who instills fear in all, the savior of a daughter to the people’s most beloved Empress. May she rest in peace.

You won’t get away with sending anonymous messages to other Houses. You will end up on one of two of your most hated planets in the known universe. The Geidi Prime or Arrakis. And who knows what his reaction will be when you he realizes you are infertile. But if it protects your sisters, if it pleases your father and buys them time, maybe they can choose their own path, too.

The whole plot is diabolical and you bought into it for the reward of peace. Of being left alone on a planet far away. You should have known that would never be allowed to happen.

“I accept the debt,” your voice is a rasp, your throat burning as you try to suppress the scream you want to release. The decision is heavy, but you feel numb. It must still be the effects of the spice. Vladimir raises his glass between you and Feyd-Rautha. He’s beat you, the studious strategist.

“Your father will be pleased!” It’s the most enthusiasm you’ve ever heard from Vladimir. Your assumption that past strategies translated over into the present was wrong. The rules are different when it’s man vs woman. You won’t be tricked again.

You summon your fiercest predator gaze and raise your glass to meet theirs in the air, the spread of food rotting before you.The air in your bedroom is warm, even though the sun set hours ago. You watched it set beyond the horizon before your guard ushered you inside, insisting that being out in the wind with your sensitivity to spice was not safe.

Unbearably warm, you’ve removed your dinner dress and are in a night slip that stops mid thigh, the satin doing little to cool your skin. The strap slithers off your shoulder, loose and tickles your skin. This is the heightened awareness you’ve always felt on Arrakis. The paranoia of the future preventing you from sleeping.

The bed you lie on rests inside the alcove carved into the dense stone. Its sharp angles and clean modern lines add to the sterile room too large for its purpose. Everything built by the Harkonnens is grand, taking up as much space as possible. For someone with your condition, you don’t mind how open it is.

Above your head, the plate of gold spanning the wall has elegant coy fish carved into it. If you unfocus your eyes, they appear to move. The light from the wall lamp catches the scales and reflects off it as if it were truly an image in water. Meticulously crafted, ornate and unique.

You’ve slept in this room before, when you stayed on this planet for an entire standard year. The bed is familiar, yet sleep will not take you. Not when you know this the bed your future husband spent his nights in before the attack. Your body is heavy, but your mind is relentless.

Mulling over the details of tomorrow brings you no peace. There isn’t a way out of this, at least not one you can see. If Paul doesn’t kill you on sight in revenge for his father, what will you say to him? From what you’ve been told about Paul, he is honorable, like the Atredies men before him. He’s observant and rumor has it he sensed a Hunter-seeker and destroyed it before he killed him. A rare feat.

Yesterday, you would have considered yourself honorable. There is honor in saving your sisters, but will there be any humanity left when you achieve it by means of murder? After the death of your mother, your life became your sisters and protected them from your father’s harsh expectations. You swore to never let any harm fall upon them and would rather drink what’s in the vial than subject them to knowledge of this arrangement you’ve agreed to.

Once Paul is dead, you could leverage the remainder of your soul to Vladimir to prevent unnecessary bloodshed of the Fremen. What he will want, you do not know. Perhaps he wants to elevate himself from a businessman to a political position. You could help him achieve a seat in the court.

Perhaps you are more similar to your father than you thought. Playing into this game, going all in with the risk of losing it all, is exactly what he would do. Allowing the death of one to get what you want, even if the intentions are not purely for you.

Your life as the wife of a Harkonnen will be greatly different. And a shudder runs through you at the thought of sharing a bed with the most detested creature. In this moment, you are grateful for your infertility, perhaps it will gain you sympathy. Harkonnen women are bred to be mothers and healers. If you cannot conceive, you have no doubt you will have the pity of the majority, seeing you as less than worthy of children. Being the daughter of the Emperor, you have never received the pity of anyone. You’re almost disgusted with yourself, stooping so low to manipulate people into feeling sorry for you after you murder one of the last innocent men in the galaxy.

There is a knock so faint you think you imagined it, until it comes again. Rolling over to face the door, it opens without waiting for your response. You are not in power here. You sit up, pulling the strap of the slip over your shoulder again.

The same hairless girl with large, black eyes stands in the doorway with a small metal tray in her hand. Her eyes are cast at the floor in fear and you know why. Behind her, Feyd-Rautha casts a shadow over her as he moves around her and enters your private room. At the sight of him, you pull the sheet higher up to cover your front.

Casual, he’s removed his bulky black armor and wears a matte black tunic over loose pants. He’s barefoot, which shocks you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him out of his armor. It’s unnerving to think the barriers between you both are crumbling, that one day soon you will see him this casual often. In your room, in your bed. He doesn’t even appear to have a single weapon on him, though he could tear a man apart with his bare hands.

“Your light is on,” he says, straight to the point. “I’ve brought you a sedative.” His eyes never leave you, but he motions for the girl to approach you with the tray. A small glass of water rests next to a single pill.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” you do your best to sound firm, but he knows there will be no punishment for this. This is his uncle’s home. You are in debt to them. Your guards, however, are not and you don't understand why they let him enter.

His eyes survey you, taking in every inch of the skin on your arms and across your chest. In the warm glow of the lamp, you must look ethereal to him, because he seems to be struggling for a retort. Finally, with the droop of his chin, he finds it.

“Superstition is for the groom the night before, but you are not my bride tomorrow.”

The girl reaches you and you note she is careful to not stand directly in front of you, but off to the side so he doesn’t lose sight of you. You don’t fault her for it, noticing the way her hand shakes slightly as she holds the water out to you. She may be more afraid of him than you are.

“Thank you for your concern, but I don’t take substances like that.” Not since your mother swallowed a handful of them.

“I can sit with you then, until you fall asleep.” You hold his stare, knowing he has the high ground as he towers in height just feet from your bed as he inches closer. You don’t miss the implication and disgusted, grab the pill from the tray before he can take another step closer. You swallow it without the water and nod in acknowledgment to the girl.

She bows and nearly runs past him before he tells her to leave the water in his native language. It comes out like a grunt, harsh and commanding. She places the water on the nightstand before shuffling out, the sound of her plastic dress swishing as she goes. Your eyes never leave him in a challenge, but cautious to push him when your guards are clearly confused about who they protect.

Slowly, he creeps closer to the bed, calmer than you’ve ever seen him.

“I know the last day has been a shock for you, but you will adjust. You’re resilient.” He reaches the bed and places one knee on it, leaning closer to you. “You’ll adjust to the effects of spice, too.” His hand reaches up and you’re too scared to pull back more than an inch or two. His finger traces the line of your strap hanging over your shoulder. He is so warm, hot even. “Please me in completing your task, and I’ll buy you the Atreides’ planet.” He means please him in murdering Paul and inciting a war against the Fremen.

“Caladan?” Your voice snaps him out of his trance over the plains of your exposed skin and he pulls his hand back.

“Consider it a gift to my bride.” He smirks then, cruel and knowingly, before he gets off the bed entirely. “You are soft and not made for Geidi Prime. It’s too harsh, industrial. I will ease you into life there when you are with child, but perhaps the oceans of Caladan will help you rest when I’m away.”

“Away?” You ask.

“I haven’t been named, but the Baron will make me his heir. That will require me to tend to business in his place.”

With that he bows slightly to you and leaves the room, closing the door behind you.

You’re not sure what to make of that, but agree that his home planet is less than appealing. Though he can’t be that oblivious to know that sending you the planet of the man you’re about to murder it a cruel form of torture. Every hall reminding you of the life you stole. Perhaps there are worse places than originally thought.

Enraged at the thought of continued torture over this crime against humanity you’re about to commit, you rip the covers off and storm to the door. Yanking the heavy thing open, your tormentor is gone and your guards are nowhere to be found. The halls are quiet and still, dimly lit in warm lamp light. Unable to hunt down your guards in a skimpy slip, you abandon the idea. If Feyd was going to do anything to you without them present, he would have. He’s toeing the line again, testing when you’ll act out.

You must refrain from impulsively reacting to him. Anything that displeases him now will be paid back to you when you are married. No longer can you hide behind your father’s power. Your safety. and the safety of your sisters, is in his hands.

Re-entering your room, you close the door and get back into the warm bed. Unable to keep your eyes open longer than a few moments you allow them to close, the light on the wall is still shining upon the fish mural behind your bed.

(Part 3 posting the 29th)

36 notes · View notes

makeitagood0neao3 · 5 days

Text

Weather Me To Nothing Masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Female!Reader

Summary: Reader is the heir to the throne with an impossible choice to make. Torn between protecting her sisters and finding her way in the universe, will she make the right choice?

Warnings: Dark!Paul Atreides. 18+ only! Explicit sexual content. Arranged Marriage. Non con. See tags for more.

Status: COMPLETE 4/4

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

3 notes · View notes

makeitagood0neao3 · 5 days

Text

Weather Me To Nothing (4/4)

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Female!Reader

Word Count: 4,597

Summary: Reader is the heir to the throne with an impossible choice to make. Torn between protecting her sisters and finding her way in the universe, will she make the right choice?

Warnings: Dark!Paul Atreides. 18+ only! Explicit sexual content. Arranged Marriage. Non con. See tags for more.

A/N: The last chapter. This fic has been in process for 2+ years. Thank you for reading. Shout out to Sleep Token for the lyrics <3 So flood me like Atlantic, weather me to nothing. Wash away the blood on my hands.

You follow Dr. Kynes down the expansive halls, the walls lined with people on either side. They touch your arms and shoulders as you pass by, their hands are warm and gentle as they whisper after you. Praying, maybe. So many bright blue eyes in a sea of brown sand and shadows. You can barely feel the soles of your shoes touch the ground as you follow. It’s not nearly as hot down here as on the dune. You wonder if these people were driven down here from the invasions or if this was always part of their lives.

Why are you here, again? The memories are fuzzy, the dry air on Arrakis has worn through you. The air is heavy with spice and you feel like it’s eroding you away.

Oh. The ceremony. That’s right. To the prophet who promised to bring the Freman to paradise. The vial. The dreaded vial.

Fingertips streak over your arms as you follow behind Dr. Kynes in the shadows. Light touches grazing your skin like you are something precious. You are deep beneath the surface, with thousands of Paul Atreides’ devoted followers. There is no way you could poison him and escape with your life.

Rounding a corner, the hall opens up to a larger one. More people line the walls, children too. Their tiny hands reaching out for you, smiles on their faces.

Shaking your head, your neck feels stiff as you take deep breaths to calm yourself. It’s just the spice and the stress of the task before you. You can do this. You must do this. Galactic chaos would erupt if you were to fail. No, you’ve been tasked to keep the balance, to ensure the unity of the great houses under Padishah Emperor Shaddam Corrino.

Unity.

Paul.

You still feel heavy, the sand carving into you, but for the first time since landing on Arrakis, you can think clearly. The fog around your head has lifted and you wonder if your eyes are finally spice blue.

What if Paul’s death didn’t satisfy the Emperor? Would he have you executed? You hadn’t considered that before. As your father’s least favorite child, the first time he sent you to Arrakis under the supervision of the Harkonnen, he told you to enjoy your time here, that it would be the last planet you ever saw. You thought he sent you here to banish you, believed Vladimir himself would throw you out into worm territory. Is this plan to tie up a loose end?

You cannot allow yourself to think that. Cannot allow yourself to give into the unknown. The spice and heat have made you paranoid. The goosebumps on your flesh rise, peaking your attention. You look into eyes of those praying and suddenly wonder if they are praying over you as Paul’s wife or praying he kills you. How many Freman have died due to your father’s command? Do you detect deceit in their faces?

The Emperor is all knowing. How? The Bene Gesserit, of course. The Reverend Mother has been in his ear his entire life. Did they see this future? Why were you tasked with this and not Irulan?

She’s too valuable.

The thought rocks into you from your back, causing you to stumble forward, missing a step. You right yourself quickly, but feel the dread pressing down around you. What if you were never meant to succeed? If this plan were to fail the Freman, or Paul himself, would kill you. This version of the future unfolds in front of you.

The Emperor would lose a beloved daughter, distraught, he would order the execution of the Freman and the great houses would give their support. Feyd, the grieving lover, would be free to use whatever force necessary to eradicate every sietch. He’d have Sardaukar at his disposal and the hand of any sister, including Irulan. Worse still, he’d one day inherit the throne.

Had you been set up to fail? Is that why Feyd let you go with Paul so easily? Feyd is vicious, but he is not playing the same game as the Emperor. No, he would be protected against a Truthsayer’s questioning. He is impulsive and the possibility of having you is too close to jeopardize. He is incapable of playing the long game. His uncle, however, is what you would expect this from as well.

Your chest constricts, throat suddenly dry. There is no way out of this. Perhaps you can bargain with Paul, appeal to him to help you. Help you... What? Overthrow your father? Endanger your sister’s lives? The Freman don’t have anything to appeal to the great houses. They all depend on spice for their own addictions. The elite do not give up their freedoms easily.

Two doors dozens of feet high open as you approach, leading you out into the sands as the sun finally sets in the distance. You continue to make your way through the crowd as it opens up for you. Hands no longer grazing your skin, but held out in front of you in prayer, in offering. It takes a while to reach the middle, but when you do, Paul is standing there, waiting for you.

His dark curly hair on full display though brushed back from his face, wearing loose cream colored pants and tunic. His bright eyes find yours and you can’t help but think he looks ethereal, pure even. He trusted the Emperor to give him a fair deal and instead welcomed betrayal into his world.

Paul’s mother appears out of nowhere, emerging like a ghost before you, shocking you that she is alive. Her face is tattooed, her eyes strikingly blue. What catches your breath in your throat, is her pregnant belly. A second Atreides child?

Your Freman escorts flank off, becoming one with the crowd. Dr. Kynes leaves you in the center. You look up to see Paul reaching an outstretched hand towards you. He looks so much like his father and you are reminded again that you were too late. Too late to save the Duke and too late see this plan for what it was.

A stray tear falls down your cheek as you take his hand. You look around, the world spinning as every follower drops to their knees. Every person in this group showing so much devotion to him, you’re surprised when you feel his thumb wipe the tear from your cheek.

“Do not waste something so valuable, even for me.” He says, voice light. You hold both his hands in yours, steadying yourself. This young Duke has a gentleness you’ve never experienced before. He has shown you nothing but trust and kindness. You, on the other hand, have done nothing but plot his demise. You’re undeserving especially after the Freman have had every chance to harm you today and they haven’t been anything but welcoming.

Your final decision attaches itself to your bones, to the very morals you stand on.

You will not do it. You can’t do it.

Paul may not have much power outside of the Freman, but you do. Perhaps you and Paul have the same enemy. You can message the other houses and tell them of the Emperor’s plot. The Harkonnen’s involvement. Arrakis could be free.

The thought makes you smile, lifts your spirits and weight off of your shoulders. You will tell Paul everything after the ceremony and come up with a new plan.

You look into his eyes and feel the warmth of belonging. Could you belong here? Paul’s gaze on you is assessing, he’s reading you. Can he see your thoughts, the quality of your soul? There is goodness in you, you’ve proven that by not going through with this murder plot.

Lady Jessica steps closer and begins to speak in Chakobsa. The hand of the moon is high, bathing the desert in moonlight. She looks to you, slowly repeating the phrases you need to say before turning to Paul to do the same, his eyes locked on yours. His Chakobsa is much smoother than yours, something you’ll need to learn.

After his final words echo off the group, he pulls you in, his lips connecting with yours. The moment surprises you, the dread from the days leading up to this are gone and replaced with an airiness and future alight with possibility.

Suddenly, dozens of women begin dancing and chanting. The dune comes alive with their voices, echoing in the breeze. You and Paul stay in the circle as the followers sing and mingle. His mother disappears into the crowd, Paul reassures you that you will see her tomorrow. You have so many questions for her and it seems that maybe, just maybe, there is hope for the Atreides family.

After a time, Paul secures his hand on yours and pulls you through the crowd back towards the doors. Hands are still grazing your arms and shoulders as you pass, Paul leading the way forward. Once inside, you are pulled in the direction of the room you first entered earlier that day. Were you a different person then? Perhaps the same, merely lost.

He opens the door and pulls you inside, closing it swiftly. He surprises you by pushing you against the door. He’s firm, but relatively gentle as he pulls your headdress off and lets it drop to the floor. He’s leaning over you, his eyes intent on yours. There’s a prism of spice in the air around you both, you can see it glittering off of his hair, his tan skin. He brings his nose and mouth to the curve of your neck. Your breath hitches every so softly.

“The Emperor has blessed me with a beautiful woman.” He says it like a relief. His hand caresses your hip, giving it a light squeeze before it travels upward to carve out the shape of your body so softly you can barely feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of the dress.

“A beautiful bride,” he says, his voice low and deeper than it was moments ago. Paul let’s his hand rise to caress your throat. Your breath is shallow, a fainter than the ringing in your ears. He pulls his head back up from your neck and lowers himself just a fraction closer, his eyes drawing yours in.

“A beautiful assassin,” he says, his voice heavy with grief. The slow nod of his head makes you gasp. You’re snapped out of the moment.

“Paul-“ You begin to defend yourself before his hand at your throat constricts, his fingers digging in. You attempt to grab his hand before his voice bangs through you, a rattling Stop that forces you to drop your hands to your sides. Paul is fuming, his face red, his eyes ablaze.

He used the Voice on you. It was like hearing a distant voice draw you in before a louder, stronger voice echoes through your body. Your mind didn’t even realize it had happened until it was over. Only Bene Gesserit were trained to do that. How could a man, regardless of prophecy, obtain such power? Power that could threaten the empire.

You manage to squeak out ‘please’ before he releases your neck. He steps back, flexing his hand, before looking at the palm like he may find a branding there. You cough and try to breathe deep through the wheezing.

“Paul, you don’t understand,” you say, your voice doesn’t really sound like your own. “I decided not to do it.”

“Not until the very last moment. I saw it in your eyes.” He sneers, but seems to be trying to keep his distance from you. You thought a marriage to Feyd would be vicious. Paul, however, seems to be more volatile. For all of his shows of violence towards servants and slaves, Feyd has never shown you aggression like this. It permeates the air and for the first time since entering the sietch, you wish for your guards. “It must have been an easy choice, to murder a Duke and go back to your life as a Princess.” He makes it sound like you’re looking down on him, but you’ve never thought of it like that.

“I was trying to protect my sisters,” you say, attempting to defuse.

“That makes it acceptable?” He counters. “You hardly fought your decision to finish me off. Feyd’s offer of Caladan nearly sealed your decision.” He accuses, his voice lethal.

You’re stunned, your hands dropping from your neck on their own accord. How does he know about that? Surely he must know you didn’t desire that. It was a rouse to entice you to kill Paul, but it didn’t sway you any further.

Paul stands mere feet from you, he’s already regained his breathing and is so still. He’s poised and ready for your next move, waiting to see what you’ll do. But how did he know?

I saw it in your eyes.

“What are you?” You whisper, unsure of what power he possesses. It’s nothing you’ve ever encountered before. Paul beings to stalk towards you, his eyes focused on you.

“I see dreams and the past. I see nightmares and the future.” His words don’t register with you, in too deep of disbelief for them to really impact you. He closing the distance between you like a predator. “I saw you take the vial and have seen you succeed. I’ve seen you die at the hands of the Freman for it. I’ve seen you survive the Freman and die with the Harkonnens.” You can’t look away from him and somehow understand that he’s telling you the truth. Your eyes sting, eyes filling with tears.

“I am the Kwisatz Haderach. And I see a single path. I saw it even before I met you.” He sounds resolute in a moment that was a pivotal build up to this turn of events. “There is much for you to learn.”

“Paul-“ You begin, afraid and still unclear on much of he’s revealed to you. He has seen everything you’ve done. Has felt your anxiety, your hesitation, in making this decision. He must now see your fear as the tears spill over. Paul closes to the small space to you, his thumbs wipe away your tears again. He places his thumbs to his mouth, tasting you. He savors it before cupping your face with his hands.

“You must not fear,” he says, soothing you with how soft his voice is. “I will teach you.”

“What?”

“How to serve.” He says, voice husky and heavy. The weight of the words have you trying to shove him away, fight back if you have a chance. Paul turns you around, pushing you so your chest is against the door. His hands pull at the fabric in the back, tearing open the buttons and stitching. He roughly shoves it down your body, yanking the fabric over your hips.

“Paul, stop!” Your voice is raised as you frantically push away from the door, trying to shift your weight to throw him off balance.

“Silence!” He commands, the Voice bellowing around you. Your mouth snaps shut, tongue relaxed. “Get on the bed,” his volume lower this time, but still commanding. Your body complies, stepping out of the dress. You turn, completely bare before him, his eyes roaming your body. You feel nothing, only fixated on crossing to the bed and climbing on. You kneel and sit back on your heels.

Paul stands before you, his eyes on your breasts. What are you doing? The sheet is cool and light beneath your shins and you’re reminded of the situation you’re in. Exposed, posing for this man who tried to kill you a moment prior. He could tell you to drown yourself and you’d do it. Ultimate control is something to be feared.

“Here with the Freman, you are not above anyone else. You are their equal. In here with me, you are a Princess and I, your Emperor.” You aren’t sure what to do, but you’re frozen. Your mind seems disconnected with your body, nothing willing it to move.

“Undress me,” His voice is direct, but without power behind it. It wasn’t a command so you don’t even flinch. When you don’t make any motion, he says, “Undress me on your own or I’ll command you to do worse.”

Hands shaking, you grab the bottom of his tunic and slowly pull on the fabric. You have trouble getting it over his broad shoulders, so he helps you. He has a warrior’s physique, lean enough to move in battle, strong enough to be a threat. You drop the tunic on the floor, staring at the waistband of his pants. You hesitate before hooking your thumbs on the inside of hem and pull down. He’s hard and you have to maneuver over his bulge.

You risk a peek up at him through your lashes only to find him watching you. Not your chest or your hands, but you. Has he seen this scene play out yet? Can he sense your inexperience and hesitation? The chill of fear is so tight in your chest you’re afraid to even breathe.

His eyes drop from yours to your hands hovering over his thighs and you tentatively take hold of him in your hand. The moment your palm connects with his length, his hand wraps around your head, yanking you up into a searing kiss. It’s punishing and wet as his tongue pries your mouth open and forces his inside. It’s teeth scrapping and nails lacerating your nape as he drives forward. The arch in your back is painful as you rise to meet him, determined to show him your strength. Your hold on him hardens as does his on your hair, a battle of strength ignites from you.

You have to get to the vial. Is it still under the mattress?

He could command you to drink it yourself, but you’d rather that be your ending than be a pawn in another man’s game.

His arm coils around your back pulling your bodies closer until your breasts connect with his chest. He’s warm, so warm it ignites your own exposed skin. Your thumb circles around his tip and he shoves you to the mattress behind you. Before you can open your eyes, he’s on you, pulling your head to one side to bit your exposed neck. You grunt in pain, hands attempting to shove him off.

He easily grabs both of your wrists in his hands and pins them by your head. You push, but he’s stronger. He wedges himself between your thighs before settling himself between them.

“Paul- no,“ You rasp out, unable to catch your breath. He shushes you against your ear, likely too preoccupied to use the Voice. You buck your hips and that only helps him line himself up against your slit. The room seems so much smaller than it did before, its caving in around you in your fear.

To your horror you find that you’re already wet, so wet that his cock easily slides between your folds as he teases you.

“There is only one path that leads to this moment. I wondered if I would be cruel or forgiving.” He’s breathless, almost hoping you’ll give him the answer. He continues to rock into you before he lines himself up with your hole. Even the slightest pressure is too much and has you tensing even more than you were before. He has seemingly decided when his grip on your wrists tightens. “I think cruel,” he says, before thrusting into you so fast it knocks the fight out of your limbs.

He’s big, too big for you and you can’t help the immediate whine that erupts from your chest. It’s pained and echoes off the walls of the seitch. The walls that seem so much closer than before.

Paul doesn’t give you any time to adjust as he rears back the tip and spears you again.

And again.

He’s crushing his body against yours, hot and sweaty. Limbs heavy against yours, you’re unable to feel anything except him. His heat, his heavy grunts, his skin slick with sweat becomes yours. All at once, the pain inside you subsides and something blooms from it. A pulsing snakes its way up from your womb through your chest before it settles in your throat and breaks through your lips as a moan. The sound is familiar though you’ve only ever let it slip when alone in your room, the rest of the world quiet.

The sound spurs him on to rut into you with more force and punishing pace. Punishment. That’s what this is. Everything in your training has taught you to fight back against this, embody the predators on your family crest. Instead, you’ve become prey. Maybe you’ve always been prey. Perhaps that’s what the guards have been for. What Feyd saw in you.

Lacking the reaction he hoped for, he releases one of your arms to wrap his hand around your throat. Each thrust delivers a constriction of his hand, choking the breath from you. Your free arm reaches for his forearm in a feeble attempt to break free from him, but he’s undeterred and squeezes tighter. Your eyes start to close when he releases you.

Paul pulls himself from you and pushes your shoulder and hip over until you’re flipped on your belly. Before you can think, he yanks you up by your hips and pushes himself back inside your heat. His pace is relentless, not taking a moment to ease up. The desert has given him renewed endurance he wouldn’t have had in a Caladan court.

The pressure in your abdomen grows and soon, the coil of pleasure tightens within the walls of your body. Too much, it’s already too much, but you need more. Arching your back and ass on full display you push back into him. Your shameless moan is muffled by the mattress, but very clearly audible to Paul.

A smack over your ass pulls your focus to the location of the sting.

“You’re not supposed to enjoy this,” he says, as if you don’t know that. The thought wrestles its way into your mind, but the shame doesn’t come. Instead you feel unabashed. “Do you think Feyd could make you sound like this?” He asks, his tone is condescending.

You don’t react, knowing he’s already seen the answer in one of his visions. He’s baiting you for a reaction, for anger. You don’t give in to adding fuel to this growing pyre. You’re so wet that the sound of him pushing into you is all you can think about.

His palm connects with your skin again as he says, “I asked you a question.” His voice is so gruff, so deep that he wouldn’t need to use Bene Gesserit magic to pull the answer from you.

“No,” you whine out, hands clawing at the fabric beneath you.

“Tell me who can,” he baits.

When you don’t speak, he pulls out to the tip and stops. His hips still and his grip on the flesh of your hips tightens. You try to catch your breath, realizing he’s wants you to deny him. Wants you to prove to him how aligned you are with Feyd, with his enemies. You can’t give him a reason to think you’re a threat. To defend the fiend would be a death sentence. To submit to him might buy you the opportunity to survive another day.

“You,” your voice is a rasp. He smacks you again, this time on the other side. You squeal and try to inch away, but get nowhere with his hands on your hips. “Only you,” you correct.

His hips slam into you as a wailing moan escapes you. His fingers reach around for your clit and when he finds it, you feel every delicious inch of him as he splits you open. The pressure of fingers has you clawing at the fabric beneath you. The fast ministrations has your toes curling and eyes roll back into your head before a moan erupts from your throat as you come apart on his cock.

You’re a pile of hollow bones and barely hold you up as he continues to pound into you, never faltering despite the jerking of your hips. His hand returns to your hip as he picks up the pace, grunting behind you like a warrior in battle. He curses before filing your womb with his seed, his pace faltering until the thrusts are shallow and slow. They stop all together and he’s pressing his sweaty chest against your back.

Still coming down from your orgasm, you flinch when he pulls himself out of you and reaches over the side of the bed and grabs something. When he turns back to you, he roughly turns you around so you’re on your back, wincing at the force. The vial and it’s blue poison glisten in the light as he hovers it over your face. It takes you a moment to focus on it, but when you do, you’re reminded of the reason you’re here in the first place. Paul quickly unties the cord that creates the loop and slides it beneath your neck before tying it once more. The glass is so cold it makes you flinch.

“You will wear this for the rest of your life,” He says, his fingers gripping your chin. “You will wear it when I take the throne from your father, when you give birth to our children, and when all the water has left your body. Let it be a reminder that I could command you drink it should you attempt to betray me again.”

Still breathless, you can’t form words. This man is no longer the son of Duke Leto, a noble and honorable man. This man who carries he last line of the Atreides feels more like a Harkonnen than anything else.

He rolls off you and onto his back, panting. Without him hovering over you, the ceiling seems to rise and the walls feel stable. Paul raises his arm to the ceiling, rotating his palm until it’s on it’s side. You stare at him, wondering what he sees, what he knows of the future. He closes his fingers into his palm, leaving his thumb out. Closing one eye, it’s like he can see his destination just beyond it.

“The Baron has reported your deviation of the plan to the Emperor. He’s readying the other houses to come here.”

“What?”

Paul turns his head toward you, his bright blue eyes harden. You can’t read his expression as he says, “They’re going to try to kill me, but with you by my side, they won’t touch me. The Great Houses can support a man whose daughter was stolen, but not a man who put his own heir in the middle of war.”

“You must not know my father.”

“I know him very well,” he says absentmindedly. “I’ve seen his death a hundred different ways. I’ve seen his cowardice and I’ve seen his bravery. This is one is his few acts of bravery.”

“What is?” Your voice is a whisper, your eyes swelling.

“Naming the only son of Duke Leto the Emperor of the Imperium. It’s what starts the holy war.” His confession is heavy. You wonder if he can see your father’s death. Or any of your sister’s. Beads of tears fall like waves down your cheeks, cascading one over the other. It reminds you of the sea on Caladan.

#dark!paul atreides #x reader #dark!paul atreides x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rauth harkonnen #manipulation #inappropriate use of the voice

41 notes · View notes

makeitagood0neao3 · 5 days

Text

Weather Me To Nothing (3/4)

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,881

Summary: Reader is the heir to the throne with an impossible choice to make. Torn between protecting her sisters and finding her way in the universe, will she make the right choice?

Warnings: Dark!Paul Atreides. 18+ only! Explicit sexual content. Arranged Marriage. Non con. See tags for more.

A/N: Thank you for sticking with this fic! Comment and reblogs make me smile. Sobbing as they turn to statues at the bedside, I'm trying not to crush into sand.

Read Part 4

The sun isn’t high yet, but it’s hot anyway. The sun is low on the horizon, the spice on top of the sand shimmers like a sunset over water. You stumbled slightly stepping onto the ramp, prompting your guard to plant you in a chair far from the pilot’s. Feyd-Rautha sits next to you, your Sardaukar pilot flying to the neutral place agreed upon. The vial of poison between your breasts is cool, reminding you of its presence.

You are in a Stillsuit, though you aren’t sure you’ve put it on right. If only your father saw you now, dressed like a local in cling tight material. No beaded bodice, hairline sweaty and already sunburnt.

Here in the desert you will not get a traditional ceremony, no frills or details for you to fuss over. No family in attendance as the both are feuding. Your father had offered to bring Paul to his Flagship to meet you, but he refused, wanting you to be brought to him until the alliance was secured. You are confident that your father is elated at this form of punishment; no fair bride before the empire. Just dumped on a planet at the axis of war.

The pressure of the day is upon you, burning you from inside out. If done correctly, you’ll be back at the Capital by morning and with your sisters for your second wedding ceremony whenever Vladimir deems it to occur.

The Thropper flies over two harvesters and their security detail, spice kicking up from the sand, iridescent in the breeze. The fan blowing toward you from inside glistens in the streams of light. You cough, knowing most of it is in your lungs. Feyd spares you a glance, but you don’t look at him.

It is only when you approach the valley that rests between two large rock formations do you begin to feel the physical effects. Hyper aware of the temperature, the sweat on your brow and all the open space that will make it nearly impossible for you to run from the Fremen. You’re still drowsy from the sleeping pill and try to blind the horizon into focus. How will you escape past the sandworms, the great creatures who will devour you and the sand around?

The Thropper approaches a flat ledge against the rock formation and lands. The propellers shut off and the ramp releases behind you. Feyd reaches over to touch the vial that hangs from your neck before speaking.

Tucking in the vial beneath your suit, you stand. You feel eyes on you, but can’t make anyone out in the shadow. Your guard exits first and you trail behind, the shawl curled around your crown to stop your hair from flying. As you round off the ramp, you catch sight of movement.

By the time you lift your head, there are half a dozen that have joined, out from the shadows. Paul stands at attention in the center, secured in his Stillsuit. The dark curls of his hair swirl in the wind as he watches you. Your movements are stopped when you see the Fremen behind him. The shadows of the rock don’t conceal his age. He’s older than you expect, maybe early twenties.

“You were only supposed to bring one,” Feyd-Rautha’s voice is gruff next to you.

“As was she.” Paul’s voice is confident. About to defend yourself, your mouth gasps before Feyd continues.

“She is a Princess. Her guard does not leave her side.”

“Then why are you here?” Paul’s head tilts to the side, examining.

“To report the success of this ceremony to the Emperor and House Harkonnen who is the govenor over this planet.”

“You won’t be present for it.” This catches you off guard, and surprised, you look to Feyd for explanation. “Only Fremen and those accepted by them are welcome in the seiches. She enters alone.” Your guards remove their swords from their sheaths. The sound of metal swiping against the leather has your spine upright. The Fremen remain relaxed, hands free of any weapons.

“That wasn’t the agreement,” Feyd states as if it will change their minds.

Impatient and light headed, you decide to try and regain control of the situation and step forward. You pull your scarf down off of your head to reveal yourself.

Paul’s face is impassive, not a finch of his lips or clench of his hands to indicate whether he is pleased or not. Perhaps he expected Irulan. Tired of the informalities, you speak, hoping to gain the upper hand again.

“Paul Atreides. I am pleased to see you again. Though I wish it were for better circumstances.”

“Is a marriage ceremony not a joyful occasion?” He half smiles. You know you can’t apologize for this father’s death or the death of his people. That will further implicate your father, though you’re sure he already knows this. You give him a smile instead of a direct reply.

“There must be a place for us to hold this ceremony that accommodates both of us. I have come all this way to wed you, without sisters or my father to give me away. Could we perform the ceremony up here?” You offer, trying to sound like the idea just arrived to you.

“We will be wed in the seitch or not at all.” Paul’s eyes are impossibly blue, his voice is firm, but not cold or lifeless.

You’ve never been in a position where you did not have the upper hand. It is clear none of them are intimidated by these men who could destroy anyone else with a swing of their blades. You are tempted to say no, to refuse this change in the plan. It would mean imminent war, resulting in the extinction of the Fremen and whoever decided to join the war against your father. Your sisters would be caught in the middle. That is too much bloodshed for your soul. You will do what you must.

“Who will communicate the completion of the ceremony to the Empire?” You ask, keeping your tone light.

A woman steps forward from behind two tall, imposing Fremen warriors, her black hair long and pulled away from her face.

“I am Dr. Liet Kynes. The Judge of the Change. The Emperor knows me personally. I will inform your guard once the ceremony is complete.”

She sounds sincere enough and you’ve heard her name before.

“Do you swear my safety?” You ask Paul.

“I swear it with my life,” He gives you a slight smile and you can see the youth in it. He’s only a few years younger than yourself, the violence on Arrakis hasn’t completely stolen his boyish grin.

“I will go with them,” you say, eager to dismiss the tension between the two groups. Your guard makes no move to sheath their weapons or stand at ease. It’s clear to you now, that these two may not be loyal to you, but to Harkonnen command. Feyd turns to face you before dropping his voice so it does not carry over the gusts of wind.

“No-” He begins in Galach, but Paul can probably understand it.

“The union must be valid. We must do this their way. Allow me to go rogue once more. My father will expect this of me.”

Feyd looks down at you, his skull wet from the heat, though the pigments of his skin still a bright white. He is hesitating, you can see the calculations he is running through in his head, weighing the options of just killing Paul here. But that would be sloppy and there are too many witnesses. The Fremen in the shadows could disappear before they were attacked and report this information back. He cannot have any more loose ends.

“Their seitches aren’t big. Memorize your way in and how many Fremen you see. We will meet you here at sunrise.”

“Sundown,” you try to correct.

“No, the Fremen leave their seitches at night when it’s cooler. Sunrise.” He says again.

“The sun is high, Princess, and your Stillsuit is not fitted. You’re losing moisture every moment you spend out here.” Paul’s voice echoes off the rock. You glance down at your suit, it is unbearably hot and dying from dehydration is not what you had in mind for today.

You step around Feyd before turning to him completely, your back to the Fremen. You can’t risk them hearing you in your native tongue, so you speak softly to Feyd in his. His eyes narrow, probably shocked to hear you speaking it, but it’s one of the few words you know. He nods, repeating the word.

Refusing to show these people any fear or doubt, you keep your chin level and walk with purpose. Paul is slightly taller than you remember him, though it’s been years since you’ve seen him.

Paul gestures to your suit before asking, “May I?”

You nod and his eyes float over your body, inspecting the suit. You hold your breath, praying he doesn’t feel the flat vial that hangs from your neck. Paul places his hands on your shoulders before grabbing a strap and tightening it. His hands float to your wrists before pulling each sleeve lower and securing them. His hand grasps your hip, giving the fabric a yank, making you shift on your feet. His attention is briefly over your shoulder, gloating at Feyd-Rautha and your guard. Finally, he kneels and makes a few adjustments at your ankles before standing once again.

“Let’s get moving.” Extending an arm, he gestures for you to follow the warriors that have already begun to enter the narrow opening between the rock.

It takes several steps before you realize the path is declining, the light from the sun only reaching tips of the opening. Senses heightened from the spice in the wind, you try to maintain a steady breath to not overwhelm yourself. You don’t miss how the opening of the path becomes tighter, the warriors in front of you descending in a single line rather than two at a time. Confirmation that you are alone sets in when you hear the Thropper buzz from overhead as it departs, though you expect it will remain close.

Unable to remember when your fear of small enclosures began, you are familiar with the sense of foreboding that spikes your adrenaline. Every step forward towards the shadows is an internal fight to not turn and run out into the open expanse of the Dune.

“I didn’t realize the daughter of the great Shaddam took orders from Harkonnens.” Paul’s voice is low and close behind you. The only sound is of feet shuffling against the dirt and his voice.

“She doesn’t,” You say, haughty. Your next step has your foot sliding, but you recover quickly.

“Feyd-Rautha didn’t seem to respect your decision to come alone.”

You slow and whip your head around at him. “Can you blame him? He is my escort on this planet and has been entrusted by the Emperor himself to see to my safety.” You don’t know why you’re defending the heathen, but you won’t allow anyone to speak to you so brazenly.

“After the ceremony, I will be solely responsible for your safety. You will be an Atreides and the wife of the Mahdi. My people will look after you.”

You believe he’s just saying that, because that’s the expectation. The mutual understanding between wedding houses. You don’t actually expect him or the Fremen to protect you when they’re in the middle of a war against the Harkonnens. If they can offer you up as a pig to slaughter to make them leave, then they’ll do it. Which is why you have to leave before they understand how valuable it is to have you here, in their world.

“How did you know my suit wasn’t fitted?” You call behind you to ease the tension.

“The Fremen will tell you it is because I am the Mahdi. I can sense it’s off.”

“His Stillsuit was perfect the very first time I met him. That’s when I knew he was the Messiah.” Dr. Kynes calls up to you from the back, her tone light and reminiscent.

“Dr. Kynes is Fremen, she was raised in the way,” Paul offers. You didn’t realize she was raised here. Only that she conducted countless research. “You’ll learn soon enough.” It would be impertinent to learn how to fit your suit before leaving before sunrise.

“The Harkonnens have been here for generations and still can’t fit a Stillsuit. A mistake like that could have killed you. It just goes to show that no matter how long you’ve spent in the Dune, not everyone belongs here,” says Dr. Kynes. You can’t tell if its a dig at the Harkonnens or a warning, but she’s not wrong either way. You don’t belong here.

You continue to walk down the path, following Paul now. His companions have gone ahead, disappearing in the turns ahead. It’s become noticeably darker the deeper you descend, the tips of the rock cliffs above casting shadows that cover you. How much deeper will you go?

Paul seems at ease and oddly trusting of you. You are the daughter of the man who ordered his family murdered and yet, he seems to treat you with respect. You can’t unpack this while bordering on a panic attack, you’re just thankful for the distraction.

There’s so much Spice that’s blown in here from gusts of wind hundreds of feet high. It feels like the shimmer in the air is trapped in the alleyway, boxing you in. It hits you harder than you expect. You begin to press your hand to the walls as you pass to stop from swaying. Eyes watering and scratchy, every tear fallen is a loss in moisture to be recirculated by the Stillsuit. You come up to an almost pitch black entrance that must lead underground. The sight has you stumble, clutching the wall still touched with sunlight.

Paul turns around to face you before approaching.

“Princess,” he begins, “breathe. I reacted to the Spice too. It will pass.”

You shake your head, the Spice isn’t the problem, but it is amplifying your panic. You’ve been running on adrenaline since you boarded the Thropper and can’t possibly go into that cave. Is there even a way out? It’s too tight of a space.

Unable to take your eyes off the dark cave, Paul sees your distress and asks what’s wrong.

“I can’t- I can’t go in there,” You force out.

Paul glances behind him as if entering a small, dark space is normal.

“You’re afraid,” he says, but sounds like he’s unsure of what exactly.

“It’s too-” you shake your head, eyes watering now from the fear. You don’t think you can actually say it. It’s been your secret since you were a child. He squares his shoulders, but it’s when his throat bobs that concerns you. You’re unsure if he’s training in using The Voice or not, but don’t want to test his patience. “It’s too small. I can’t go into small spaces. It’s too dark.”

He assess you, leaning back on a heel, more relaxed than he was.

“The path inside is not as narrow as this one. It’s well lit and I will guide you.”

“The ceiling is too low, I know it. What if it collapses?!”

“I have the memories of all Fremen who have lived on Arrakis throughout time. Not a single seitch has ever collapsed. What if I told you there was sunlight inside?”

You look up at him, pure disbelief and distrust on your face.

Paul sighs, the boyish smirk returning. “You must not fear. Fear is the mind killer.” He doesn’t say it to condescend, it’s more in understanding. He extends his hand to yours, closing it over the rock, adding just enough pressure to show you that he’s there. He grabs it and slides it off the wall. You look at him as he pulls you forward, just an inch at a time. He moves slowly, afraid he’ll spook you like the frightened animal you are.

He releases one of your hands and turns forward, but leaves himself open to you behind him. Giving your hand a firm squeeze, he urges you to keep walking. Paul disappears in the darkness until only his hand is left. He gives you another squeeze and you breathe deep, your opposite hand on the wall. You push into it, needing to feel something sturdy.

The praises of his voice are just loud enough for you to hear, encouraging you forward. You’re blinded for a moment in complete darkness, before trusting Paul, trusting the man you have to kill, to lead you deeper. Your eyes adjust quickly and can make out a light above. There is a stone hallway, perfectly lit, thousands of words in the Fremen language written on the walls, the ceiling. You look around, unable to take it all in at once.

Continuing down the hall, it opens into what can only be described as a mountain beneath the sand. The walls and your lungs simultaneously open up, making you you dizzy with how vast and tall the walls are. There are hundreds of people milling about, some pulling carts with the greenest plants you’ve ever seen and others mingle in small groups. In the center of entrance is a vast pool of water, man made, running dozens of feet ahead. Vines wrap around the wide pillars that stretch to the ceiling. As promised, sunlight streams in from above on the vines and water.

No one has noticed to two of you yet, but Paul’s guard waits just ahead.

“Our seiches make the manor in Arrakeen seem small. Does it meet your standards?” He smirks at you, but you know it isn’t a dig at your nobility, but your claustrophobia.

You sheepishly nod, embarrassed to have been so afraid of something so beautiful. And no one knows about this place. This sacred secret only shared by the Fremen and now you, few have witnessed it’s expanse. On the wall behind the pool of water is a mural of a Sand Worm so long it twists down the corridor so large, your father would be envious. How old is this hall? How many generations has it survived?

You continue walking with Paul leading the way. His guard follows, but they seem more at ease down here than they did above. Fremen are beginning to notice you now, heads turning and conversations pause as you walk by. When they see Paul, he all repeat ‘Lisen al Gaib’ and bow before him. To you, they spare no greetings. This would be offensive on the surface, but you aren’t in your world now, but theirs. If they let you pass unnoticed, it will make it easier to escape later.

Paul leads you past the pool of clear water to the other end of the hall. The opening is carved to look like an open mouth with eyes carved into the stone above. Long hair flows out from the sides of the head of the face.

Through this opening is a winding of halls that open into coves with seating all carved into the rock. Artificial light looms from above, creating dim and cozy atmosphere. Some coves have people speaking together in hushed conversation while others are empty. Paul’s pace picks up and soon you arrive at the first of many staircases.

You arrive at a bedroom, a round bed against the far wall. Paul leave you there, striding away with the posture of Duke. The Atreides are known for being proud and his confidence radiates out of him. The door opens and Dr. Kynes enters with a garment in her hand. She lays it on the bed then steps back, allowing you to evaluate it.

It’s a beautiful beaded dress, champagne colored with swirls of gold metallic. The neckline is high with sleeves that trumpet at the wrists. It’s stunning and shines in the warm light above. The beads of the fabric and the swirls of the metallic seem to move like spice on the top layer of sand. Either the sleeping sedative and the spice are muddling your mind or the stress is making you imagine things.

“This dress is ceremonial. Every bride of the Naib in this community has worn this gown. It goes back generations.”

You aren’t sure what to do with that information, but you don’t ask, already overwhelmed.

“The ceremony will take place under the moon. Most of Sietch Tabr will be in attendance.”

“How many is that?” You ask.

“Nearly ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand people?” You ask, still breathless. The estimates from the Harkonnen’s for the entire planet were barely above that.

“Don’t believe everything the Harkonnen’s tell you, Princess.” Dr. Kynes says with a smirk.

She calls to someone outside the door. It opens and a woman enters holding a plate of food followed by another woman with folding linens. “These women are Sayyadina. They’re here to prepare you for the ceremony. You must allow them to follow every step, as tradition dictates.”

You nod and offer a greeting. They raise their heads to look at you, their eyes bright blue and skin covered in Fremen writing. Extremely uneasy at the prospect of being bathed and fed. Like a virgin for sacrifice. Do the Fremen sacrifice? You don’t know, but can’t let your guard down. After picking at the food, you politely ask the women to turn around while you undress before being bathed in the adjoining bathhouse. Quickly, you take off the vial and slip it beneath the mattress, resolving to get it later.

Hours later, you are bathed and dressed in the swirling spice dress, the women with delicate hands and soothing voices pin your hair up before placing the beaded headdress over you. They whisper to each other and seem to be praying over you, but you can’t be sure. You ask them what they’re saying and they tell you as much. Are they lying?

You’re losing energy as the day wears on. Constantly alternating between alert and fatigue when the adrenaline drops. As you sit and wait for the final steps of preparation to be complete, you swear you can see the swirls of metallic on the dress moving. The design over the thighs has you reaching out to touch the fabric. Suspicious, you follow the lines with your fingertip and find a thin layer of spice on your fingertips when you pull your hand away. Rubbing it between your fingers, you feel the smoothness and smell cinnamon as it dissolves into your skin.

You jolt, suddenly alone in your room, but still sitting in the chair. How long have you been alone? Moments before, you recall feeling calm, at peace and still. Now, your heart beats so hard you can feel it pulsing into the soles of your feet, pounding in your ears. So much pounding. Or is that the door?

The door opens and Dr. Kynes stands in a traditional Freman attire, free of her Stillsuit.

“It’s time,” she says, her voice light as she smiles slightly. Surprising yourself, you stand steady on your feet and float to the door.

Read Part 4

#dark!paul atreides #x reader #dark!paul atreides x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rauth harkonnen #manipulation #inappropriate use of the voice

8 notes · View notes

makeitagood0neao3 · 7 days

Text

Weather Me To Nothing (2/4)

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,770

Summary: Reader is the heir to the throne with an impossible choice to make. Torn between protecting her sisters and finding her way in the universe, will she make the right choice?

Warnings: Dark!Paul Atreides. 18+ only! Explicit sexual content. Arranged Marriage. Non con. See tags for more.

A/N: Thank you for still being here! Marry in the morning, earn your bitter father, It's easier to try not to eat.

Read Part 3