#dark!paul atreides

[perlelune]

Oblivion | Paul Atreides

There used to be beginnings and ends, nights and days, dream and reality, before the haze took over, swallowing every thought, every memory, every whisper of free will.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fremen Reader, Kynes!Reader, Mind Control, Memory Manipulation, Padishah Emperor Paul, Loss of Identity, Brainwashing, Mentions of war and religious fanaticism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Muad’Dib leads the way. 

It is what the prophecy dictates. That he is the voice from the Outer World. The one who will lead your people to paradise. The one who will turn Dune’s arid desert lands into bountiful, endless green fields. 

But as your eyes rest on him, you do not see the chosen one. You do not see the Lisan Al-Ghaib. You see your friend Paul, broken, lost, his heart shattered into a million pieces due to your cousin’s absence. 

He sits at the head of his bed, shadows fluttering across his delicate features from the glowglobes’ dull orange light. Wide black rings surround his sunken blue eyes, the result of his daily consumption of spice melange. Lank, greasy brown curls hang around his handsome face. A pang twists your chest. He hasn’t slept in days, has barely gotten a full night of replenishing sleep since she left on a maker’s back.

You cannot blame your cousin. Paul’s ascendency to the Golden Lion throne came at a cost. A hefty one. Promises were broken. Trust was destroyed. Only time will repair the damage that was done. Though you carry faith the two of them will find their way back to each other. 

You stir the spice-coffee in the pot, straining the shimmering dark powder before pouring some in a cup. A spicy cinnamon smell coats the cool night air. 

You rise and bring the cup to him.

“For you, Usul.”

A soft smile blooms on his lips as he takes a slow, weary sip.

“You make it so well,” he praises.

You glow at the compliment, returning his smile. Your grandmother used to show you and Chani how to blend coffee beans with spice and herbs. The knowledge never left you. Now, every time you feel troubled or upset, you make a fresh kettleful. A single sip of the familiar brew is enough to alleviate your frazzled nerves. Especially here, so far away from Sietch Tabr, between the strange stone walls of the Arrakeen Keep, you have craved little reminders of home more than ever before.

Fremen belong in the desert, not in peculiar tents made of marble and stone.

Paul’s brows crumple as he studies you. 

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he says.

“I can get another Fremen-”

His fingers latch around your wrist, desperation sizzling under his touch. 

“I prefer it to be you.” He sighs. A bone deep fatigue radiates from the sound. You halt in your tracks. You suppose you could stay a while longer. “Please, stay, your presence soothes me.”

You nod. “I’ll stay, Muad’Dib.”

Relief falls over his features. 

The doors suddenly open, the guards stepping aside to let Stilgar in. He bows to Paul.

“Lisan Al-Ghaib…”

Your friend’s mouth flattens into a thin line. 

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

Stilgar acquiesces. He will never stop addressing Paul with reverence and admiration. None of his followers believes in him more. At times, it scares you a little. While you share the same faith, the fervor with which every Fedaykin is willing to lay their swords in his name can be frightening. Sometimes you wonder if Chani was right. How much will it take to liberate your world? How much blood will require spilling? You’re not completely naive. No war was ever won without a few casualties. Still, part of you hopes the war will end soon and peaceful times will come.

“No sign of her?” Paul asks. 

A contrite expression tugs the older man’s face.

“Apologies, my liege. We scouted the Southern regions this time. We couldn’t find her. She knows the desert well. It is home to us Fremen. She will not be found…”

“...Unless she wants to be found,” you finish, grabbing the empty cup from Paul’s hands and placing it back on the table.

The faint embers of hope in Paul’s cobalt gaze flicker out. Your heart sinks, for both you and him. Though you do not wish to burden him, you miss your cousin too. Her practicality and common sense. Her strength. Without her, a piece of you is missing. A crucial one. Your mother died in childbirth and your father in battle, so both of you grew up together, close enough in age to share secrets and play together for most of your childhood. 

It was Chani who taught you how to summon a worm and ride upon its back for the first time. She is the sister tragic circumstances blessed you with.

Stilgar apologizes profusely once more before taking his leave.

As soon as he’s gone, Paul’s shoulders slump.

“She hates me.” 

You crouch beside him.

“She doesn’t hate you. She never could. She is your quiet in the storm, and you are hers. She will return when she is ready.”

A wry laugh escapes his lips. 

“I have Irulan, my beloved wife, who is likely plotting my demise as we speak. Qizarate missionaries pressing me to take action and purge the non-believers on Aldinor. I am surrounded by foes, everywhere I look.” That distant expression he gets whenever his visions haunt him touches his face. “Blades pointed at my neck at all times, waiting for a sign of weakness to strike.”

You grab his hand, reassuring him, “You also have friends, Usul, who believe in your cause.”

“Fanatics,” he corrects bitterly. 

Your chest swells with worry. You don’t like it when he questions himself as such. His cause is right. He freed Arrakis from the Harkonnen’s iron-fisted rule. He will bring peace to every world in the universe. It is written. It’s the only path forward.

“You are not alone.” His fingers squeeze around yours. Warmth rushes to your face, the realization that you’re awfully close to the Emperor striking you. You adjust the nezhoni scarf covering your hair and rise. “I shall let you rest, my Lord.”

“Stay, please.”

His tone is beseeching. Your gaze swings to the window. There, moon beams pierce through the colorful glass, scattering rainbow splashes of light across the floor. Vibrant stars pepper the dark sky, pearls lost in a sea of ink. It’s pitch black outside. You should be in your own room. Not his.

“Muad’Dib, it’s late…”

His grip on your hand tightens. When he speaks again, his tone is different. Disembodied. Powerful. Its tantalizing echo drips inside your head like honey. 

“Stay,” he mumbles. You plop down on the bed, your body moving on its own, driven by the strange, irresistible thrall of Paul’s voice.

“Usul…” 

He cups your cheeks. 

“Sleep beside me tonight.”

“I’m not her.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“She should be with me and she isn’t. But you are.” His inflection becomes soft and inviting as he drinks you in. As if he were lumbering through the desert, parched and desperate, and you were a well overflowing with fresh water. “You are beautiful. I never noticed before.” He pauses, tracing your bottom lip. “Perhaps I should have.”

You blink, dazed. When did Paul’s face get so close to yours? You can outline each of his long lashes, the speckles of green lingering in his blue eyes. 

“Paul-”

His mouth grazes yours, his thumb stroking your cheeks. It only lasts a few seconds. The warm plushness of his lips on yours yanks you back to reality. You gasp and flinch back. When you recoil, his silky tone fills your ears once more.

“Don’t fight it. You love me, remember?”

A confused whisper slips through your lips. Two parts of your mind wrestle with Paul’s words. 

“I do?”

His eyes dive into yours.

“Of course, you do.”

“Of course I do,” you repeat, his tone nudging aside the doubts lurking inside your mind. 

A bright smile unfurls on his lips, his lids sagging to half-mast.

“It’s like you said before. You are my quiet in the storm and I am yours.”

Right. You uttered those very same words. How could you forget?

You are Paul’s quiet in the storm. He is yours.

His mouth covers yours. It moves slowly against your own. He explores your mouth as he cradles your face. His long lashes fall over his cheekbones as he loses himself in your taste. He hums against your lips, gentle fingers touching your face. You don’t move, eyes half-open as you let it happen. It’s foreign, the sensation of Paul’s lips on yours. Foreign and strange yet you can’t help but numbly accept it. 

Once he frees your lips, he rests his forehead against yours. 

“Come into my arms, my love,” he says.

You don’t resist as he pulls you into his embrace, nudging you onto the bed. Soft strands of Paul’s brown mane brush against your cheek as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your spice-coated scent. 

His arms circle your waist. Your back melds against his chest, the warmth of your bodies mingling through the thin layers of your clothes. 

“You smell so good,” he mutters. Your scarf shifts when he rubs his face against it. “Don’t ever leave me.”

When you don’t reply, his tone gets firmer. “Promise it.”

The words roll off your tongue easily.

“I won’t ever leave you, Paul.”

Tension leaks out of his tightly coiled muscles. 

“Good,” he says, drifting off to sleep quickly with you nestled in his snug embrace. 

You fall asleep too, no thoughts in your head, Paul’s soft snores lulling you into peaceful slumber. 

You awake with a start, the stark unfamiliarity of the palatial chambers you find yourself in causing your pulse to soar. Your eyes dart about the room. Recognition hits you. These are the Emperor’s apartments.

Your eyes grow wide. You’re not supposed to be here. Panic sets in.

“W-What am I doing here?”

Paul’s quiet voice flows across your back.

“Calm down.”

“No. I shouldn’t be here…”

You start crawling off the bed but Paul’s fingers around your wrist impede your departure. 

He holds your face, vibrant blue eyes locking with yours. You find yourself incapable of looking away, ensnared by his unflinching focus.

“I said, Calm down.”

The alarms ringing inside your head fall quiet. You lean into Paul’s touch. What were you doing? What were you thinking? Every thought you attempt to grasp at evaporates in the heat of Muad’Dib’s stare. 

“There. Much better,” he coos, satisfaction hovering on his handsome face. His voice sinks into a sensual whisper. “Why don’t you kneel for me?”

You do as he instructs. Then all fades to black as quicksands of confusion engulf your thoughts. 

When you return to yourself, you aren’t on the bed anymore, but on your knees on the carpeted floor. 

Paul is looming over you, grunting, his throat bobbing. One of his hands is curled around your nape while the other is under your jaw. 

You note the saltiness coating your tongue, the drool on your chin, the soreness in the back of your throat. 

You choke on his length, air wavering inside your lungs. 

Paul’s cock is in your mouth. 

The sick, awful realization tumbles over you like a bag of stones. 

Muffled moans leave you as you lift pleading eyes towards him.

You place your hands on his thighs, shoving with all your strength. 

Paul doesn’t let you move. He cradles your face and thrusts inside your mouth until his balls are pressed into your chin. 

Clouds of lust obscure his gaze as it falls upon you. 

He caresses your face, dragging his cock out before pushing it inside your mouth again. Gurgled sounds leave your throat. Tears skip down your cheeks and you wonder when you’ve started crying. 

Fremen do not cry. Ever. Even for the dead. It is a rare, sacred act.

Paul wipes them off your face with his thumbs. 

“You love me. It is what lovers do,” he says matter-of-factly.

Your body relaxes. 

Right. Of course. You love him. It is what lovers do. 

You hollow your cheeks and suck him off. He unleashes a throaty sigh of delight as you pleasure him with your mouth. 

When his seed drips down your tongue, he coaxes you not to waste a single drop. You swallow all of it, showing no resistance when he nudges a stray drop between your wet lips. 

Several days in a row, you awake in the emperor’s chambers. At first, you experience great confusion. However, Paul’s soothing words always quell your rising panic. It becomes all you know. The Emperor’s mesmerizing voice. His large, soft bed. His ceaseless, ravenous touch. 

Sweaty, tangled limbs melting in lewd harmony.

You stop questioning it. Even the strange lapses of time when you are in one room and mysteriously wind up in another. It isn’t rare for you to wake up with the Emperor’s head bobbing between your thighs, greedily lapping at your folds, or with your hips grinding into his as he impales you on his cock. 

It is where you belong. And you believe him when he says that, mumbling loving promises into your ear in the dead of night.

“If we do not strike fast and hard, they will not accept your rule,” Stilgar says. 

“They worship a false god. We are doing them a favor,” another man sitting at the table interjects. 

A shaky exhale flows from your tongue. You look around, dismay filling you when you realize you’re in Paul’s war room amidst a council meeting. Your head throbs. How did you get here?

You rise from your chair. Bemused gazes land on you. 

Princess Irulan snickers from her seat.

“Husband, your concubine is acting strange,” she sneers.

Concubine? You step away from the table.

You blink several times as you stumble outside. You grip your temples, your forehead scrunching. That cannot be right. Is it? 

You are no one’s concubine. 

You are…

You are…

Adrenaline pumps through your blood as your head buzzes. 

The answer will not come, your mind keeping it under firm lock and key.

Frustration mounts within you. You blindly waddle around.

You end up in a room that bears vague familiarity. You lean against a basin full of water. Water…just lying around. That seems strange.

Your eyes land on a mirror on the opposite wall. The reflection in the glass has your heart rate spiking. Who is this?

You bolt to your feet, the water in the basin splashing around your feet. 

Your tremulous fingers rise to your face, horror filling you when the woman in the mirror mimicks your exact motions. 

Your gaze travels across the wide, open space. Quick breaths rush from your throat. The Emperor’s room. Why did you think it was your room? 

You stagger backwards. You gasp as you bump into a solid form.

You whirl, eyes widening.

“Paul.”

He gauges you, slight concern etched in his blue eyes. Relief fills you as you soak in his boyish, slender features, much more familiar than those of the stranger in the mirror. 

You know Paul. Muad’Dib. Paul is familiar, safe. You trust him. He will tell you who you are.

“Yes, my love?”

“Paul, who am I?”

A displeased frown settles on his brow. He approaches you and grabs your face. His expression hardens.

“You are mine. Nothing else matters.”

“But Paul-”

Your protests are stifled by the feverish press of his lips on yours. A fog surrounds your thoughts as his kiss grows more passionate, his hands sweeping over your curves. You place your hand on his chest, pushing feebly.  

“Forget it. Forget it all, beloved,” he mumbles against your lips. You sag against him. You drown in Paul’s blue eyes, time stretching beyond eternity. 

When you gain a semblance of awareness, your naked form is writhing above Paul’s. Your palms are spread over his lithe muscles, your hips moving as he slams his cock into your cunt repetitively. Paul bites his lip, his gaze glued to the sight of his length disappearing between your wet folds. 

When did you get on the bed? When did you shed your clothes?

Every inquiry melts in the heat swirling across your damp flesh. 

Your lashes flutter as you unleash a broken whimper, Paul’s hard length touching you in places that send electricity rippling through your spine.

You tighten around him and he purrs. 

“Remember nothing but my name,” he rasps, clutching your hips possessively. He impales you on his length, thrusting faster. You choke on your breath, his quickening pace driving you wild.

You brace yourself on his chest and lose yourself in the pleasure, your breath hitching each time he pounds into you.

The filthy sounds of your coupling fill the room, bouncing off the stone walls. Paul’s deep, animalistic moans. Your soft, desperate whimpers. The blunt, wet sounds your cunt makes as he buries himself inside you. The bed rattling and squeaking under your writhing forms.

“Paul, Paul…” you pant as you bounce on his cock. An intensity ignites his eyes as his name falls from your tongue like a prayer. You toss your head back, voice dying in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your toes flex. You tremble, your body jolting as your slick walls flutter around his length. A husky moan leaves him. He twitches inside you. His back lifts from the sheets, his body tensing as he hits his peak too. Slick warmth spills from his tip, glazing your walls. 

An errant sliver of panic lurks inside your brain. Your eyes bulge as you glance down at where your body and Paul’s are conjoined. Rapid breaths burst from your chest.

Seeming to sense your distress, he shoves your hips back down when you try to squirm away.

His authoritative voice booms across the room, unnatural, multiplied. Everywhere at once. 

“Do not move, beloved. Let me fill you up. Make you mine in every way.”

Your breaths settle down. Your worries disappear. You look into Paul’s loving gaze. A smile unfans on his lips as you ride him with abandon again.

“What are you doing?”

You pivot at the abrupt sound of Paul’s voice. You pause above the bag you’re packing. You peer at him, mulling over an appropriate answer to his question. You do not find one. You only know that you stirred awake that morning, feeling strange, sore…Lost. The urge to collect your meager belongings and leave the Arrakeen Keep seared inside you since then. A hollow, distant voice rings inside your head.

Return to Sietch Tabr.

“I have to go. Something…Something isn’t feeling right.”

The muscles of Paul’s jaw flare, his tone as ice as he states, “You want to leave me.”

Discarding your bag, you rush to him. You take his hands in yours.

“No. I made you a promise. I just need time to think…I can’t think anymore, Paul.”

It’s true. Every day feels like trudging through a Coriolis storm, your thoughts scattering as dust in the wind the minute they form.

Everything that was solid before is now sand slipping through your fingers.

Paul’s gaze corrals yours.

“You don’t need to,” he says, gripping your face. His tone dips to a soft lilt that penetrates your senses. “Who are you?”

You search his eyes. A breeze blows away every single doubt you had.

The answer to every inquiry you had is right there. In Paul’s fond stare.

The persistent little voice in your head, that pesky plea begging to be heard suddenly falls quiet. The truth echoes in your head, Paul’s powerful voice filling your mind.

You are right where you belong. 

“I’m yours,” you utter with certainty.

His face softens. “That is correct, my love,” he says, stroking your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you settle down, beloved?” You let him escort you to the bed, coaxing you to take a seat on the sheets. “Agitating yourself as such isn’t good for you.”

He sinks to the floor and drops a gentle kiss over your round belly.

“And it’s not good for the baby either.”

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Gone Maid

Pairing: Dark Paul Atreides x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: Your jealous husband will only stop when you’re completely lonely. 

WARNINGS: Toxic Marriage. 

AN: Also thanks to the anon that sent methose 3 ideas, the credit goes to you for this amazing idea. Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

“Where is she?” you storm inside the room, anger bubbling inside you. 

Paul looks up, a neutral expression on his face. He slowly chews his food, impassive about your outburst.

Your anger quickly declines as the uncomfortable silence grows, the imbalance of the situation making you grow nervous. Paul doesn’t like you to argue back. 

“I want her back, Paul. Y-You can’t keep doing this.” your words cause Paul to narrow his eyes at you, a muscle contracting in his jaw. Your breath gets caught on your throat, a nervous feeling rising. 

“I can’t? Is that so?” he repeats, fork dropping to the plate with a loud crash that makes you jump a bit. 

Paul lets out a dark chuckle, shaking his head as he grabs a napkin, cleaning the sides of his mouth before joining his hands, his eyes staring into you. 

“I make the decisions I see fit for me, you and this Empire. You don’t need to be happy about them, but yes accept them.” he declares and you swallow back a snappy comment.

Stay calm and take a deep breath. Don’t let him get to you, you repeat to yourself. 

“She did nothing wrong. She never uttered a single ill word against the Empire, if that’s what you mean.” you defend your maid, who also shares your home planet.

All the rest of the maids that initially came with you now gone, sent away from you. All because of your husband’s need to isolate you, to leave you completely alone unless for his suffocating company. 

His lips curl into a malicious smile as Paul gives you a knowing look, sensing your desperation. 

“Your maid was a menace. She poisoned your mind against me and don’t you dare lie to me about that. I know the conversations you two often shared about me.” he takes a sharp breath, his blue eyes sending shivers down your body.

He can’t possibly know about that. But he does. He always does. You bite your lip, your throat constricting as the tears rise to your eyes. 

It’s more than predictable how this is going to end and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. You’re defenseless, powerless, as you always are against him. 

Paul rises from his seat, approaching you until he can cup your cheeks, his eyes tracing your features. 

“Don’t cry, my love. I’m the only one you need.”

-----

If you liked it, then please reblog.

[get-your-fics]

Dark Angel

Summary: Paul has dreams about the new student his mother is training.

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Bene Gesserit!reader

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Non-con, loss of virginity, breeding kink, dacryphilia, religious guilt, mention of blood, degradation, corruption kink, innocence kink

Note: i've only seen the movies, so this is really loose canon compliancy-wise. title is from a song on my paul playlist sami introduced me to.

“Pass me the sugar.”

Lady Jessica stared at you, unmoving.

“Pass me the sugar,” you tried again.

She blinked at you.

“Pass me the sugar,” you said. “Pass me the sugar, pass me the sugar, pass me the sugar.”

“Repeating it over and over isn’t going to make me do it,” she said.

You exhaled through your nose a barely imperceptible huff of frustration. The members of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood you grew up with had made using the Voice look so easy. They did it so effortlessly, without a second thought. But no matter how hard you concentrated, you couldn’t seem to wield it the same way they did.

“You have to be strong, commanding. You’re not asking them a question, hoping they’ll do what you say. You’re telling them an order.” Jessica sat up straighter at the dining table, folding her hands in front of her. “Let me show you.”

She tilted her chin down, staring you dead in the eye. “Pass me the sugar,” she croaked, her voice low and raspy.

Her words sent you into a trance, echoing over and over in your head. One second, the sugar was in the middle of the table, and the next, you were pulling away back into your seat, the little bowl set down in front of her.

You jolted when you came back to. She gave you a small smile. “See?” She pushed the sugar back to where it had been. “Now, try again.”

You cleared your throat and shifted in your seat. You tried to mimic her, sitting up straighter and tilting your chin to stare her in the eye. “Pass me the sugar,” you said in a clear, resounding voice.

You watched as Jessica’s eyes glazed over. She reached for the sugar slowly, almost as if in hesitation. You held your breath as she lifted it, passing it over to you. Before she could set it down, a voice sliced through the silence like a knife.

“Mother?”

Jessica blinked, her eyes back in focus. The bowl slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor, exploding in a burst of ceramic pieces and grains of sugar scattered across the tile with an ear-splitting screech.

Both of your heads whipped around to see a young man standing in the doorway. He was tall and lanky, with fine features and a mess of dark, curly hair. He was only wearing silk boxers and a loose robe that hung off of his frame, his long legs and pale chest on full display.

“Paul!” Jessica exclaimed. “We have a guest in our presence.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” He leaned in the doorway, unashamed of his unsightly appearance. “You didn’t warn me we would have company.”

He caught your eye, and you averted your gaze, ducking your head in embarrassment. Born into the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, you had seen maybe a handful of men in your life, and you’d for sure never seen that much of one before.

“It didn’t come to my attention until recently.” Jessica flashed him a tight-lipped smile. “Now, please do us the decency of tying your robe at the least.”

He stared at her long and hard for a moment. Then, he pushed off of the doorway and tugged his robe closed, tying the sash into place.

“Thank you.” She turned to you. “Please, forgive my son’s intrusion.” She gestured to you and introduced you to Paul. “She is a member of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood I have been put in charge of training.”

You rose from your chair, the legs scraping against the floor as it was pushed back. “My lord.” You lifted the skirt of your frock as you curtsied, bowing your head.

The look in his eyes was indecipherable. “You made a mess.”

You looked down at the pile of ceramic shards and sugar on the floor. “Forgive me, my lord.” You bowed again.

“That’s quite alright, sister,” Jessica addressed you. “We were only practicing, Paul.”

“Must have been some lesson then,” he muttered, the corners of his lips curling into the slightest hint of a smirk.

They exchanged a look, almost like they were communicating telepathically. The expression on Jessica’s face was scalding, while Paul merely appeared apathetic to whatever it was she was trying to tell him.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose that concludes our lesson this morning.” She offered you a smile. “Please, sister, take a seat. Have breakfast with us.”

“Actually, I wish to retire to my chambers, if that is alright with you, Lady.” You looked to her for approval. You thought you heard a stifled snicker behind you.

“Of course, sister, you are excused. I shall send for you later.”

You curtsied to her before turning to Paul. “My lord.” You curtsied once more before scurrying from the room as fast as you could without seeming eager.

Once you were out of sight, you glued yourself to the wall, releasing the breath you’d been holding in. You listened as Paul pulled a chair out fromthe table and sat down.

“I wasn’t aware that you adopted a pet, Lady,” he mocked.

“She is my student, and you will treat her with respect,” she snapped. “Now, shall we see if your lesson fairs any better than hers?”

Your brow furrowed. You wondered what Jessica could possibly be teaching him that any of the Duke’s aides couldn’t.

Paul groaned. “I just woke up. I’m tired.”

“Really? Have any more dreams?”

There was a long pause before he answered. “Yes.”

“What did you see?” she asked.

Pause. “A girl.”

“Was she someone you know?”

“No, I didn’t recognize her.” He didn’t seem to be very forthcoming. Either that, or he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“Now if you’d stop interrogating me, could you call one of your servants to clean up this mess?” he sneered. “Unless you want your young pupil to come back and do it.”

You hurried down the hall before you could hear a word more.

Caladan was a beautiful planet. It was lush and green, with towering mountains and deep, cerulean oceans. Out of all planets you could’ve been sent to on assignment, you were thankful it was this one. That was, if it hadn’t been for him.

That morning may have been the first time you’d met him, but you’d heard talk of him long before that.

The Mother Reverend thought that by having you in a separate room, you wouldn’t be able to hear her brief Lady Jessica on your assignment. But she shouldn’t have underestimated the Bene Gesserit’s enhanced senses.

“You were meant to give birth to a daughter, but you defied the wishes of the Sisterhood and bore a son instead.” Mother Reverend spoke in hushed, fervent whispers. “Were you really so arrogant as to think you could birth the Kwisatz Haderach yourself?”

“Forgive me, Mother,” Jessica pleaded, “but a son meant so much to him—”

“Silence!” she cut her off. “I will hear none of your excuses. You valued your relationship with a man over your bond with the Sisterhood. You were my greatest student, and in turn, my greatest disappointment.”

A long pause followed. Even you held your breath, too afraid to disturb it. Finally, Mother Reverend broke the silence.

“Now, I charge you with training the sister who shall one day marry a Harkonnen and give birth to the Kwisatz Haderach. You cannot afford to fail, do you understand?”

“I understand, Mother,” Jessica said meekly. “I will not let you down.”

Their conversation had sent your mind reeling. Was Paul truly meant to be the Kwisatz Haderach? And if he wasn’t, then what was he?

“What are you doing up here?”

The voice startled you from your retrospection. You glanced over your shoulder to see Paul standing behind you. He was dressed in his ceremonial military wear, the House Atreides crest emblazoned on each side of his collar.

You quickly jumped to your feet, dusting off your frock. “Forgive me, my lord.” You curtsied. “I only wished to admire more of your illustrious planet. Where I come from, we didn’t have views half as breathtaking as this.”

You’d found a perch upon a hilltop beyond Castle Caladan that overlooked the ocean and Mount Syubi. The periwinkle sky was endless, stretching on and on in every direction. You wondered if you’d ever get used to the majesty of it all after spending some time on this planet.

His expression remained blank. “I would think you’d be focusing on your training rather than tourism, sister,” he said. “I’d prefer to keep the rest of our tableware intact.”

You hung your head in embarrassment, lowering your gaze to the grass at your feet. “My apologies, my lord.”

“How are you supposed to raise the Kwisatz Haderach when you can’t even get someone to pass you the sugar?” he sneered.

Your head shot up to look at him, your eyes wide. Your mouth fell agape. How could he possibly know about that?

A smirk spread across his face at your reaction. “Tell me, why do you think they chose you for such an important task?” He circled you like a shark that smelled blood in the water. “It couldn’t be because of your perceived natural ability. You’ve already proved your incompetence in that area.”

He stopped in front of you. You looked up at him, and this close, you could see the color of his eyes: green like the valleys of his home planet. “Or do you think it’s because you’re easy to control?” he whispered in a low voice.

You didn’t know what to say, paralyzed in shock. With every breath you took, you inhaled more of his scent, fresh like the breeze drifting off of the ocean. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, though due to the chill in the air or his proximity to you, you weren’t sure.

He took a step back, and your chest hollowed out as you released the breath you’d been holding. “I came to tell you that House Atreides is taking over the spice production.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “We leave for Arrakis soon.”

Without giving you time to process, he spun on his heel and marched down the hillside. You watched as he retreated, his figure growing smaller and smaller until he was just a small, black speck in the distance. It seemed that you wouldn’t have the time to start taking Caladan for granted after all. Your life would be uprooted once again.

Arrakis was the complete antithesis to everything Caladan was. It was hot and dry and destitute, the never-ending desert only broken up by the occasional outcrop of rock. Compared to Caladan which was rich with oceans and rivers and lakes, Arrakis hadn’t seen a single drop of rain in centuries.

The second you stepped off of the ship, the heat hit you like a slap in the face. Your mouth went dry, and you started to sweat instantly. The black fabric of your veil seemed to absorb all the heat, making it feel ten times worse. The temperature inside the Grand Palace wasn’t much better, but you were thankful for whatever relief you could get.

Lady Jessica continued to train you in the Voice and the Weirding Way while House Atreides went about resuming the spice production, though you hardly saw any improvement as the days went on. You started to wonder if Paul knew more than he let on.

You only caught glimpses of the heir of House Atreides here and there: in the hall, at the dining table, leaving his chambers. He never failed to make a jest at your expense in the short amount of time you saw him. You didn’t understand where his animosity towards you came from. You supposed his needless hostility might stem from being transported from the only home he’d ever known to the planet previously ruled by his enemies.

But every time your eyes met, a chill went down your spine. You thought it better to keep as much distance from the Duke’s son as possible. Fortunately, your run-ins remained few and far between.

That changed after he returned from a spice harvesting gone awry.

“Spice is a psychoactive chemical.” Dr. Yueh closed his eyes as he felt along the back of Paul’s neck. “You seem to be sensitive.”

You hid behind Lady Jessica, watching the pensive expression on Dr. Yueh’s face. He lifted his hands and opened his eyes. “You’ll be fine,” he said to Paul.

“Thank you, Dr. Yueh,” Jessica said.

He nodded to her and left. She kneeled in front of Paul, looking up at him with concern. He kept his head low, his brows drawn together.

“That wasn’t an allergic reaction,” he said. “I had a vision. My eyes were wide open.”

“What did you see?” Jessica asked.

“It’s confusing.” He looked up for the first time since he’d returned, and his eyes immediately locked with yours. “Some things, though, are crystal clear.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. He didn’t say anything more, but the look in his eyes said it all.

You retired to your chambers, prepared to get ready for bed. When you stepped inside, the room was completely dark, only illuminated by the slats of moonlight peeking through the window. It was so silent, you could hear a pin drop. There wasn’t anything outright off, but something didn’t feel right.

You stood frozen in the middle of the room. You felt like you could feel eyes on the back of your head. Your blood ran cold through your veins. You weren’t alone.

Someone was watching you.

You eyed the nightstand next to your bed. If you could just grab the blade hidden in the drawer, you could defend yourself. You lunged towards the nightstand, reaching for the handle. Before you could grasp it, an arm snaked around your waist and pulled you back against a solid chest, a hand coming up to clamp down over your mouth.

You writhed against your assailant’s hold, clawing at the hand covering your mouth. Their grip on you remained strong. You tried to scream, but your voice came out muffled.

“Be still, sister,” Paul whispered, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear. “It’s only me.”

You stopped struggling, but your body remained tense. He didn’t let go of you, his hand still on your mouth. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

He chuckled, and the sound sent a shiver through your body. “Always so obedient, aren’t you?” he taunted. “I wonder, if the Bene Gesserit married you off to a Harkonnen, would you go along with it?”

You furrowed your brow, confused as to why he was asking you this, but you nodded anyway. “You would share a marital bed with the enemy of my people just because they told you to?” There was a sharp edge to his voice. “That won’t do.”

You focused on your breathing, on the rise and fall of your chest. The warmth emanating from his body behind you felt like it was burning you alive. You maintained a firm grip on his wrist, but the hand over your mouth didn’t move, as if it was glued to your face.

“I’m going to take my hand off of your mouth now,” he whispered, “but you are not to speak unless spoken to, understand?”

You nodded vehemently. He pried his hand from your mouth. You gasped for air, sucking in sharp inhales of breath and relishing in the full expansion of your lungs. But you didn’t dare scream.

He rested his face against your veil-covered head. “Now tell me,” he purred, a deep rumble low in his chest, “are you afraid of me?”

You knew Bene Gesserit weren’t supposed to be afraid of anything. They were supposed to be stoic and unfeeling, impenetrable pillars of strength. Nothing could shake them. But you couldn’t deny the way you trembled in his arms. You nodded.

“Why is that?” he cooed almost mockingly. “Is it because you believe me to be the Kwisatz Haderach?”

You shook your head. “But if I’m not the Kwisatz Haderach,” he asked, his voice low, “then what does that make me?”

“Something worse,” you breathed, your voice barely audible. “A false prophet. A deceiver. A devil wearing a man’s face.”

“A dark angel?” he finished for you.

You didn’t respond. The rush of blood filled your ears. You thought his hold on your waist tightened to the point of pain.

The world spun as he whirled you around and pushed you up against the wall. “You were in my vision.” His face was inches away from yours. “You do give birth to the Kwisatz Haderach. I’ve seen it.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. It was hard to believe if what he saw was real or merely a hallucination.

“But that wasn’t all. The vision told me something else, too.” His eyes raked over you, long and slow. “I must be the one to give it to you.”

It took a second for his words to sink in, but when they did, your breath caught in your throat. A fresh wave of fear washed over you like ice settling deep in your bones.

Your skin crawled as his hand ran up your side. “I wonder what it is you’re hiding under this frock, sister.” He reached up and groped your breast.

You let out a little yelp. You grabbed his hand and tried to wrench it away from your chest. “Stop it.” You tried to sound intimidating, but the words came out more as a pitiful squeak.

He snickered in amusement. “What a shame.” He faked a pout, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’ve been so good for me up until this point. Why so defiant now?”

He kicked your legs apart, stepping in between them. He bunched the skirt of your frock around your hips, exposing your undergarments. You tried to pull down your skirt and push at his shoulders. He easily apprehended your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Look at you. Can't use the Voice, can't use the Weirding Way.” The smirk on his face was malicious. “You’d be more useful to my family as one of our servants.”

There was no mistaking the feel of his hard length pressed against you. He rocked, grinding his crotch against yours. You knew he was right. He was stronger than you, and you were defenseless. He could do anything he wanted to you, and you’d be powerless to stop it from happening.

He shifted to hold your wrists in one hand, the other slipping in between your bodies to mess with the front of his pants. “You’re fortunate you’ll have me to teach the child.”

He pulled out his cock, stroking up and down his shaft. He pushed your undergarments to the side and lined himself up with your entrance. “This is going to hurt,” he stared right into your eyes, “but duty is sacrifice, isn’t it?”

You went stiff as he pushed into you. You had to bite your lips to keep in the screams that threatened to spill out. It felt like he was tearing you apart from the inside out.

“Relax, sister. You’re only making it worse for yourself.” His voice sounded strained as he continued to sink into you. You wondered if this was painful for him as well. “Almost there.”

He paused once his hips were flush against yours. He was panting already, his face shining with a thin sheen of sweat. You thought maybe you were through the worst of it, but he proved you wrong when he pulled back only to thrust into you hard.

You couldn’t hold back the yelp that escaped you as a jolt of pain shot down your spine. He leaned closer until there wasn’t enough room to slide a sheet of paper between your bodies. “You were unknown to man before me, weren’t you, sister?” he hissed.

Your eyes stung with tears, and your chin started to wobble. You turned your head away from him, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from sobbing, and the copper taste of blood flooded your mouth.

Now that he’d sullied you, the Sisterhood had no use for you. You’d let them down, and now you’d be his forever. There was no escaping him.

He grabbed your chin and forced you to face him. “This is what you were meant for, sister. This is where you belong.” His eyes were trained on you with rapt attention. “You were made for this, to cry on my cock.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to expel his words from your head. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and he dipped down to taste them. He hummed, licking his lips. He must be a devil to relish in something that was causing you such agony.

You retreated into your mind, remembering the mantra you’d been taught since you knew how to speak. I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. You focused on the words, seeking solace in them. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. When the fear has gone, there shall be nothing. Only I will remain.

You started to relax against him as the pain ebbed away, easing the way for his intrusion. The head of his cock brushed against a spot inside you that sparked an unfamiliar tingle in your core. Your back arched, and the wails you’d been stifling came out as wanton moans.

“That’s it. I knew you would come around.” He growled. “You’re so pure, so chaste. I can’t wait to make you my bitch, have you screaming my name for everyone to hear.”

You hated the way his cruel words only made that craving in your core grow even more. He gripped your hip as he fucked into you at a brutal, relentless pace. He had you spread wide for him with your thighs over his. His wild curls bounced with every thrust, and you were sure you’d be sore from the way your back repeatedly slammed against the wall over and over.

The spark started to grow into an unquenchable fire, like you were being consumed by flame. “Please,” you managed to whimper between the unintelligible string of mewls that left your lips, though you weren’t sure what you were pleading for. “Please.”

“It’s alright, sister. I’ll give you what you need.” He moved the hand on your hip to the little nub above where he split you open. “Let go. I want you to come for me.”

His deft fingers worked your bud, sending you over the edge. You clenched down around him, your thighs quivering around his hips. You felt like you were drowning in the ocean back on Caladan, thrown about by the churning waves before they pulled you asunder.

You went limp against him, and if it weren’t for his hold on your hands, you would’ve sank to the floor. He let go, and your arms dropped to your sides like dead weight. He grabbed your hips and hoisted you up, jackhammering into you at an inhuman pace. He cursed under his breath, grunts and groans falling from his lips.

“I’m gonna come inside you.” His blunt fingernails dug into your skin, leaving crescent-shaped marks behind. “I want you to take every last drop, okay, sister? Can’t have any of it going to waste.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, staring blankly at a spot on the wall behind him. You wanted to fight him, but you knew it’d be useless. This was your destiny, the fate that had been chosen for you. He’d seen it himself.

He went still against you, and you felt warmth flood your insides. He wrapped his arms around you, nearly crushing you with how close he was holding you. His seed dribbled out of where you were still connected, smearing down your thighs.

He pulled out of you slowly, gently setting you down on your feet. You slumped back against the wall, your eyes barely open. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he gathered his spend dripping out of you, pushing it back into your abused hole with his fingers.

He wiped his fingers clean on your thigh and stepped back from you. “Clean yourself up.” He tucked himself back into his pants. “They’re here. They’ll be coming for us soon.”

Your eyes shot open. What did he mean? Who was he talking about?

Then, the world erupted in flames.

[waywardsummoner46]

You think you can make an alternative ending to wedding from hell of Paul’s kids being unsuccessful in killing their dad and being killed by him?

Hellfire - Alternate Ending

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader

Word Count: 372

______________________________________________________________

“You know, I killed your grandmother and Prince Nikolai with this very blade? Now, you’ll die by it too, you ungrateful waste of space.” He raised the blade and angled it just so it would slit Sam’s throat in a perfect line.

Gwen couldn't do much more than stand in silent horror. Her father regarded Sam with a cold, calculating look that sent tremors through her body.

Movement behind Paul caught her eye and her eyes widened almost imperceptibly at you, eyes raging and a blade held tightly between your hands. Gwen knew what you intended to do... and she wouldn't stop you.

Gwen's lips parted as you gained distance on Paul. He was still occupied with Sam but otherwise remained oblivious to you.

The hope that filled her, filled Sam and you as you readied yourself to strike was nigh overwhelming. Indescribable. Years of manipulation and lies would end right here, right now, and you'd all be free! It was almost unbelievable, unfathomable, but it was going to happen.

You raised the blade and-

"Don't, (Y/N)."

There was nothing you could do but sob.

Paul shook his head, "I expected better from you." He turned back to Sam and you pictured him smiling cruelly, knowingly and without even the faintest hint of regret.

Oh no, he was going to...

"SAM!"

The lifeless corpse of your son fell to the ground; the echo furthering your grief and spilling more tears. Immobile, you pleaded with him to spare your daughter, you'd do anything, anything, anything, anything...

Overcome with the urge to close your eyes, you barely registered when another thud echoed in the room. The only thing on your mind was the overwhelming loss of your children, your own flesh and blood, dead because of their insane father.

Paul crawled back into the bed and lay you down with him, discarding the blades to the floor. "Hey now, don't cry. We can always make more tomorrow..."

His hand that had been stroking your hair now trailed up your bare thigh.

"...or, I have a better idea, why not today?"

The screams that were heard throughout the palace were rumoured to be heard in Hell. They say they fuelled the fire... the Hellfire.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

So Paul has that black cloak that he wears for the end of the movie, right? We all know the one.

The first time he has it on is after he wakes up from drinking the Water of Life, in the "we're Harkonnens" conversation with Jessica. He wears it for the rest of the movie.

I never particularly questioned how this cloak showed up on the scene cause like, we get it. It came from the Symbolism Closet. Black is associated with the Harkonnens, sure, but it's also the color of the Atreides formal dress Paul wears in Part One and the color the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother wears. Black is the color of power.

But then I was looking at this production photo from the Part Two art book:

and now I'm obsessed with the idea of the cloak being one of the layers of Jessica's costume--either the dark layer that we can see under the white/gray and brownish fabric, or the layer under that.

Just imagine her wrapping him up in it at some point, as he's recovering from being mostly dead. It's motherly and intimate and it might seem like comfort. But also she's claiming him, because she won. Giving him one layer of the many many layers of fabric that she's wearing by the end, isolating her from everyone else. Literally putting the mantle of power on his shoulders and making it look like love.

[timotheecontent]

DUNE: PART 2 (2024) dir. Denis Villeneuve

[faetreides]

summary: the discovery of a long hidden planet operating outside of the emperor’s rule threatens to upend the balance between the great houses and shift the tides of war. (ongoing series)

pairings: paul atreides x reader , chani x reader, leto atreides x reader, lady jessica x reader, irulan x reader, feyd rautha x reader (AFAB crown heir!reader)

cw: reverse harem type crack treated seriously, cosmic horror elements, undecided/possibly ambiguous endgame, dark/yandere behavior & themes, comedic undertones, dark & nsfw content, canon compliant as much as possible but there will be gaps in my memory, past leto & jessica (they split after she became a reverend mother)/past paul & chani, each character pursues reader separately, oc planet & oc house for reader, pretend like it still makes sense for leto to be there, don’t think too hard about the logistics of this in general, vintage sci fi inspired, i just wanted to have a silly unrealistic series where it’s all about the reader lmao

series masterlist:

coming soon !

1. stardust fallout

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

tag list (ask to be added or removed, NO MINORS):

youngestxhearts, tian-monique, angel-gabriella, isnt-itstrange, flower-frog, aerangi, saturnhas82moons, ch0co1atech1p, mcmisbehaving, zoeaxrodriguez22, hellomadamebutterfly, sh4d0w69he4rt, moonsoulk, skythighs, laennetargaryenskywalker, nexilismirus, howibecameabadassbitch, hoely-maria, aubs444, timhalamet, allison-119, your-favorite-god, homopheli, droopycoquette

- faetreides 2024

[motherofdogs1010]

Of Messiahs and Seeds I (Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: Emperor Paul of House Atreides has set forth with expansion of his empire on the planets that have resisted and has now come across the last stronghold that resists him: Terra Millennium...

Warnings: eventual 18+, dark!fic, eventual forced marriage, eventual NONCON, eventual pregnancy, dark!Paul Atreides, more to come as story progresses

A/N: Reader is inspired by Daenarys Targaryen with dragons and Sailor Moon's Silver Crystal lol, so I hope you all enjoy!! Terra is similar to Earth, I imagined Lord York to be Tyrion Lannister so please picture that

😈 Dividers by @firefly-graphics 😈 Banner by @vase-of-lilies

Part II

"Terra Millennium stands as a enomely in the universe for their rejection against the Empire", the hologram records said. "A two-century long battle was waged for the planet through the Great Houses yet the people won through the help of someone they have since called 'The Conqueror'."

Paul had heard of the Terra Millennium, their planet one of lush greenery, vast oceans and an abundance of resources that the previous Emperor had tried countless times to harvest just as House Harkonnen had done with the Spice on Arrakis, but alas, no one had ever been successful in mining Terra Millennium. He had heard that they experience something called 'seasons', he wondered what that was.

Just as he had done with Arrakis, Paul sat in his private room, watching hologram clips of Terra Millennium as his fleet flew to the planet to finally land conquest through the help of the Fremen.

"Anthropologists have never been able to stay long on the planet or among the people, but what has been gathered is the people have rejected the teachings of the Bene Gesserit, labeling it as hertic literature."

Terra Millennium was an odd planet with an odd people who had unusually long live spans, being able to live into their thousands without a single wrinkle or grey, they repented against the Bene Gesserit, the use of the Spice; he had heard of the people of that land believing solely in the ruling Queens because of a crystal, one of immense power that was sought after.

"Characterized by their white hair, the ruling House of L/N have upheld the traditional values of the planet, which has a population of over 1 billion. Only female heirs have been able to inherit the throne and it is rumored that a single crystal that is worn by every ruling Queen is said to hold immense power that has granted its people longevity, peace and prosperity."

A knock interrupted his research, Paul seeing Stilgar walk in followed by Gurney.

"Muad'Dib, we have touched land on Terra Millennium", Stilgar said, "they have responded to our communication message."

"What did they say?" he asked, Gurney chuckled.

"They said if we proceed with our mission, they will see it as an act of war", Gurney said, "they're real hard asses here."

"You've been, Gurney?" Paul asked, curious.

"Once", Gurney replied, "I came with your father on a diplomatic assignment, but that was with their previous Queen Helene. This one is new, just coronated a few months ago."

He thought back to the new dreams he had been having of a woman whose hair was the color of white that hung down near the ground in large curls, whose eyes were hard and the color of lilac with the roar of a great beast that rung in his ears when he would awaken from his dreams.

Unlike his dreams with Chani, these felt different now that he had drunken the Water of Life. His visions of the woman consisted of a gentle breeze sweeping through her hair, it curling around her as she was dressed in a long, white silk dress that clung to her body and trailed in a long train behind her with woven golden in the upper bodice. She stood on a tall pillar of crystal, a tall scepter in her hands that she was raising above her head as the breeze picked up.

Soon, the dreams melted in a great war as crystals encapsulating him, a bright light that blinded him yet filled him with warmth and security.

"Show them the full might of the Empire", Paul said, "after all, they are in the presence of the Muad'Dib."

And it was those eyes that greeted him when he finally set foot on the pavement of Terra Millennium with its tall structures that were made of variously colored crystals.

Neo-Queen Amaris was the regal name Y/N had chosen to go by when she took the throne a mere few months ago. Of course, she went by her name, Y/N in private with those closets to her and only by her regal name with others.

Y/N had heard the rumors of the new Emperor wanting to claim her home, her people; he wanted to bring her planet into the vastly growing empire that he ruled under as a supposed Messiah to the Fremen and Bene Gesserit: Muad'Dib. Everyone had heard of how he supposedly liberated Arrakis and the Fremen people, marrying Princess Irulan as a political move to secure his position as the new Emperor.

Only a few days ago did a message come into their Communication's Hub from the Emperor about finally claiming Terra Millennium for not only himself but for the Fremen as it would be their 'Green Paradise'.

War will come to Terra Millennium if you refuse to submit, the message read.

"My Queen", her advisor, Lord York, said as she sat on her throne. "Reports have come in that the Atreides fleet has made contact on the landing pad near the Capital. Scouts have seen the Atreides Army beginning to get ready."

Lord York was a man of small stature with a head full of bronze curls and dark brown eyes that always looked calculated as if he was already ten steps ahead.

Y/N looked over at Lord York before bringing a hand to the crystal that hung around her neck on a chain that could never be removed from her neck before slowly standing up from her throne that was encrusted in gemstones.

"I believe it is time we greet them", she said, looking over her court. "After all, hospitality is what our people are known for."

And it is not like they have any chance of having their weapons working; outside weaponry not from Terra M had no chance of working and she wondered what their reactions would be once they realized this.

"But before we go", Lord York said, "may I make a suggestion?"

Y/N made a motion to the man, who gave a nod and said, "I believe it is our Queen's best interest to wear your ancestor, The Conqueror's crown and scepter to greet our guests. It would show the great strength you possess, a message to not only the Great Houses but the Emperor as well."

"That sounds like a great idea."

"You are the presence of our Neo-Queen", a man said with a thick facial beard, "first of her name, descendant of our goddess Selene and The Conqueror, wielder of the great Silver Crystal, Mother of all, Neo-Queen Amaris."

Paul watched as the man motioned to the woman he had been dreaming about, he could see that as the breeze came that she wore no shoes; all the Terrians didn't despite their silken clothes as they stood amongst the tall crystal structures. They had landed as close to the Capital, finding that there was a landing pad despite the relatively isolated nature of the planet.

"I welcome you, Paul of House Atreides", she said with a stoic expression. "But now you must leave."

The woman, their Queen Amaris, looked upon them with a hint of annoyance as she held a large scepter in one hand that was as tall as Duncan Idaho had been with gold and gem embellishments, but what was curious was that at the top of the scepter where it looked as if a missing piece was needed. The crown she wore on her head was large, glittering in diamonds and curved up into a point as she stood there, her hair having a few small braids that pulled the framing hair away with kiss curls on her forehead.

"Leave?" Paul said with some amusement.

Irulan stood next to him dressed in a silver mesh outfit, a metal hair net that connected over into her dress that held down her short blonde hair. Paul was glad that he Voiced the woman to stop talking, she would not stop and frankly, he had no desire to try and pursue a romantic relationship with the woman after Chani chose to leave further into Arrakis.

His mother stood amongst them, holding the bundled form of his sister, Alia.

"I did not realize a Emperor could have poor hearing", Amaris said, "you are not welcome on Terra Millennium nor do we plan on allowing for you to colonize us. Terra M remains alone."

Paul took in the way she spoke, her accent one he had never heard before and the formal way of speaking. He noticed the large gem that hung around her neck, it sparkled in the sunlight as she stood there and looked to be the size of a her palm.

"Also, we did not apperciate your Bene Gesserit coming", she continued, "spreading their heretic language, you will find them in the Prisoner's Bay."

"You don't believe in the Muad'Dib, the Kwisatz Haderach?" Paul asked.

"We believe in our Queen, may her reign be as prosperous as Selene", the bearded man said.

The Queen just looked at him with contempt, he saw her lip curl a little in annoyance.

And it was that look that made something stir deep in Paul and made him feel something that he never felt before. She looked at him as if he was a bug ready to be squashed underneath her foot

He wanted to possess the woman in front of him, at all costs and he didn't care who he had to kill... he was going to.

[buzzkillers]

The Deer Was Tired 1/3

synopsis: As a guard for the Atreides family, it's your job to make sure their precious offspring was satisfied. Even if doing so got in the way of your true mission.

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Reader

Trigger Warnings | Content: Manipulative Behavior, Dubious Consent, Abuse of Power, Stalking, Sexual Coercion, Corruption Kink, Assassination Au.

By his fourth night of no sleep, the Archduke was restless, prickly and completely fucking annoying.

If you could kill him you would, but you couldn't. You could just barely grab for your knife and after an hour, even moving had become an impossible task. Call that the 'completely fucking annoying' part.

What a pity. 

Now at this hour, the Palace was a sleeping beast with soldiers that stood bleary eyed in the hallways. The inner workings of the court, nothing more than a shallow husk.

 It reminded you of the cities on Tano, a planet so lively during the day but nothing but a husk at night. But this was not that, this planet was a graveyard. 

An open cemetery filled with the walking dead and the beast that fed on them. Bad actors filled every corner of this world, death licked at your feet and famine yipped at your lungs. You've never been so thirsty. But you were sure that even they were rested now. The disease, the pestilence and the worms. Everything rested at this hour. Everyone but him. 

It was an odd thought. You felt as if you were even breaking some rule, that even the dunes moon hated the fact that the two of you were awake as it shined it's light through the Lords window, successfully lighting up the dark room and giving you a front row seat to the Lord that stared at you like a bug, like something to step on. 

Maybe you were. 

If not a bug than a snake. Something slimy and slick that cleaned up the pest in your walls silently, efficiently. Something meant to be invisible. It was partly true. Just as much as you were partly impressed. 

You never knew such a delicate man could look so demeaning. It reminded you of those old war paintings, the kind filled with vengeful women with burning eyes and gnashing teeth. He wanted to kill you. 

It didn’t help that at this hour, the young man was dressed like his mother. His body decorated in a deep oceanic blue fabric that crashed into waves at the ankles of his calloused feet. Each cross stitch covered in jewels and beads that glimmered in the moonlight while he laid stiff on his cot. 

 He was beautiful like this. And if you were being nice you’d say that he looked like one of those deadly beauties you heard of on the radio-if you were being nice. The look of death on his face kind of ruined it. 

With a face engraved with dark circles and sallow cheeks. The lord looked more sickly than anything. A walking famine. Before he turned towards his window, a frown etched into his regal features. 

Then with a beleaguered sigh, the Lord pinched the bridge of his nose. "Be blunt, soldier," 

"Are you saying it all came up negative?"

You rolled your armored shoulders. It sounded like a machinery of parts. "Yes, m'lord," 

"And what about this room, the walls I touch, the air I breathe?,"

"Checked and cleared, m'lord"

His frown only deepened. "Check it again,"

"But-"

He slammed his fist on the window sill. 

"Must I repeat myself?" You straighten your posture.

"Must I?"  

You shook your head till your helmet let out a creak and the brat unballed his fist. "Good," 

"This sickness has already gotten in the way of the more important things, it can't make me ignore my father's request too," 

You blinked and lied: "The Duke may be lenient," 

He laughed till his cheeks went sickly red but no humor was on his face. "You know him then?" He asked, even though that wasn't at all what you said. 

Still, still he did not wait for your response. He simply groaned, low and hard like an injured animal too stubborn to die. You wished he'd just die. 

"In a weeks time my father will need me at peak condition, and yet I haven't slept in days,"

"I haven't dreamt in days," 

"I have not known rest in days, I can barely hold my dagger any more but you say nothings wrong,"

"It is the truth," you lied again. "I pray for your health everyday m'lord" 

And for a moment there was silence before he cut his eyes towards you. "Don't lie, you are irritated with me and would readily slit my wrist for disrespect if I wasn't a highborn," You've never been more grateful that your armor came with a face shield. 

The stupid prince just had a flare for the dramatics, that was all. 

"My lord," you continued, your voice unnaturally timid because that's what books told you to sound like when speaking to royalty. "May I make a suggestion,"

"You may," But he barely looked at you when he responded, his eyes now locked firmly on the expanse of sand outside his window. His own little view of this hell scape planet. For a moment you wondered what he saw.

"Well as you know, the Duke brought many of the servants on your home planet to the Dunes," you waited for him to interrupt but he did not, you sighed with relief. "Everyone with loyalty to the throne is on this planet" 

The young man scoffed. "Are you suggesting that I make friends with servants" 

"In a way," you lied and before the scowl on the mans face could deepen (fuck it) you continued: "I'm suggesting that you get a whore," You said bluntly and not at all regal or uptight, shit. 

You're barely finished your sentence before the Atreides lord went as stiff as a board. His eyes no longer focused nor his breathing noticeable. For a moment, you mistook him for an apparition until a rush of red bloomed from under his cheeks and his eyes went beady like a bug.

Nonetheless, silence draped over the room like sand, the only thing you could hear being the sound of mice that scurried through the walls and the dancing of desert sand. 

 It would be distracting if you weren't anticipating his answer. The poor man, you must've shocked him. Politicians were rarely known for directness and you've begun to contemplate if you ran into this too abruptly then you thought before you felt it.

The soft tremor of your muscles and the swelling in the back of your head that felt like a banging drum, like a whistled beat. As something red-hot and scorching (fear,fear, dread) seeped from your veins and onto cold white bone. 

The urge to run bursted in every cell of your brain but you could not move. The sense of doom forced you still. For a horrifying second, instinct fought against instinct. You needed to run, you needed to stay. You needed to scream, you needed to choke it all down. You didn't realize it was over until you collapsed to your knees and sticky drool sloshed from your lips while your nails dug painfully into the floor. 

 Atreides hadn't moved an inch. He simply looked at you from the reflection of the glass window. His eyes replaced with black opaques that made you wonder where his irises ended and pupils began. 

Shakily, you stood back to your feet. 

"My-"

"How dare you," he hissed. 

"Please-"

"Get out," And as if space and time were at his beck and call. You blinked, the universe ceased to exist and just like that you were at his door with your armored hand on the handle. 

"And soldier," he whispered, voice now hoarse. The room now thick, muddy and impossible to think through with this heavy cloud that swelled heavy in your head. 

"Check it again,"

__

The next day, the Dune sun sunk into every pore of your skin. 

You could barely hear yourself think as you leaned against the cemented pillars of the palace. Each moment passed by with a drip of sweat made the tree gardener eventually stop and glare before grimly handing you a cup. 'A waste of water' he grumbled before he got back to work, his own skin drier than the dirt itself. 

Oh the thrills of guarding the Palm Trees.

For a moment, you wondered if this was a punishment. Something suggested by the Lord himself before quickly you burned the thought away, the Archduke was not that cruel. No, he was efficient. If he truly wanted you to hurt, a quick walk in the desert would be more his style. You doubt that you would’ve made it to morning if you had truly hurt the Lord. But that was the problem wasn’t it? He wasn’t supposed to want to hurt you. He wasn’t even supposed to know you. And now you were here, so now what? 

Now what?

Your head had begun to hurt as you thought of the possibilities. You could run, you could change your appearance, you could simply die. Did it matter? The end result stayed the same; they would not be happy. They might just bring her back just to kill her again. Oh the horror. They were going to find out and you were going to die and, 

Something like terror had begun to lick at your bones. Fear lapping at your soles. Suddenly it felt like eyes were on you everywhere. That the sky was watching and the walls were listening, they were everywhere and what were you to say? How would you plead your case? Everything watched as you stood there, your entire body damp with sweat and in your delusion even the gardener kept his gaze on you. His deep set skin dragging with his eyes at your form. Did he know what you were too? Did he know what you did? 

What were you to say if they asked? If your stupidity breached the walls of the Lords chamber?

 It was one thing to be the brats guard, it was another for him to remember that you were his guard. Just like that, you gripped the cup painfully. 

If the Brat remembered you...no you couldn't have that. It would ruin everything.It maybe already had. But the man was teased of sleep, of rest. Day and night he screamed and shouted at the guards, at his parents. At this moment, he was no different than a drunken fool. Yes, that was it. Your stupidity could be put down to that. The ramblings of a sleep deprived idiot. Even if he wasn't around, you suspected that the brat would tell your commander about the perverted soldier who attempted to tempt him into depravity, but who would believe him?

Everyone. 

Everyone would believe him. Because he was a prince before he was a fool. And you were going to die. Either by his hand or something far, far worse. It was as simple as that. A fact set in stone. The revelation caused your heart to ram into your ribs. For it was a simple answer for a simple question. All that you had left to do was warn the others, to prepare them.

Or maybe you didn’t as your shift ended with a buzz on the wrist and an overarching shadow that stretched into a soldier with armor like yours appeared in your line of vision. Under the sunlight he stood like death's hand. His metallic armor catching a gleam in your eyes. 

“The commander needs to speak to you,” the man said gruffly. 

“He says it’s urgent,” and that was that. 

You could only jerk your head in acknowledgement and with a nod towards the Gardener, you swiftly made your final exit; but not before looking at the cup of liquid in your hand and throwing it to the ground.

[thesmuttyduchess]

[kingoftheu]

Dune takes the bold position that fetuses are people, but suggests abortion is ok if they do war crimes. Much to ponder.

[perlelune]

Oblivion | There used to be beginnings and ends, nights and days, dream and reality, before the haze took over, swallowing every thought, every memory, every whisper of free will.

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Sick

Pairing: Dark Paul Atreides x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

SUMMARY: You can’t travel if you’re sick - that’s what Paul is counting on.

WARNINGS: Intentional (light) Food Poisoning.

AN: I feel like it's not as dark as usual, but well. Please, reblog and give me feedback.

–

Paul drags his hand through your forehead, a wrinkle appearing on his own.

“You don’t look any better, my love.” he says and you hold back a grimace. Truth be told, he’s right - you don’t feel any better. You’re burning with a horrible fever, feeling your stomach ache. 

But you need to get better. You have to. 

“I feel much better, Paul. I swear.” you lie, your voice hoarse and Paul only lifts his brows. 

“Love…I know how much being in your brother’s wedding meant to you, but I can’t allow you to go if you’re in this condition.” Paul drops his hand to your cheek, caressing it with the pad of his thumb.

You close your eyes, desolated. All those troublesome weeks of convincing Paul to let you attend your little brother’s wedding now proven useless, but it hurts less than the fact that you won’t see him on his happy day. 

“Love, don’t cry.” you don’t even realize tears started to roll down your face until Paul starts cleaning them with his fingers. 

“I really wanted to go.” You sniffle, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I’m gonna miss it.”

Paul only looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face and you feel uneasy.

As much as you love your husband, there are occasions where you sometimes feel something is wrong with him. Not that you’d ever publicly express that thought. 

“Maybe it’s for the best.” he speaks, his voice low but you still catch it.

Your mouth drops with shock, how can he say that? His eyes are focused on some distant point, a strange expression taking over his face.

“What do you mean? Paul?” your question seems to wake him from his trance, his face shifting back to normal. 

“The Harkonnens would be there and that would be a liability.” he explains and although his explanation makes sense, it doesn’t fully convince you. But you can’t do anything about it either. You’re stuck here. 

[get-your-fics]

You think you could do a part 2 of Paul showing readers dad the sheets because I’m curious

A Rash and Bloody Deed

Summary: "Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell. I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune. Thou find’st to be too busy is some danger." —Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 4

Pairing: Dark!Paul Atreides x fem!reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Past non-con, mention of blood, forced marriage

Note: this is a continuation of "The Steep and Thorny Way to Heaven."

You blinked against the harsh rays of morning light streaming in through the window. You lifted your hand to shield your eyes, squinting against the searing sunshine. You groaned as you slowly sat up, your muscles and joints screaming out at you to stop. You looked down to see that you were lying naked on a mattress, your bed stripped bare of any sheets or covers.

Your brow furrowed, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. Then, the fog of sleep lifted from your mind, and all the events of last night came rushing back. Your heart sank to your stomach.

You perked up when you heard thundering footsteps drawing closer to your bed chambers, the cadence only consistent with that of your father’s. His familiar voice bellowed your name in an overly cheerful tone. “Time to wake up!”

You scrambled, frantically searching your chambers for something to conceal your indecent form with. You spotted your discarded nightgown on the floor and snatched it up. You threw it over your head and just managed to pull it down into place when the doors to your chambers flew open.

Your father’s large frame filled the doorway. “Oh, good, you’re awake. I was afraid I’d have to wake you up, and I know how you can be in the morning.” He chuckled, beaming at you from ear to ear. “You have to start getting ready. Today’s the day!”

“I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans.”

Both of your heads whipped around to where the voice came from the corner of your chambers. Paul stood from the chair he was sitting in and stepped out of the shadows cloaking him into the light spilling in from the window. His appearance was considerably much more put together than yours. His hair was parted and slicked back, and he was dressed in his ceremonial military wear.

The grin on your father’s face vanished. “What’s going on?"

“This should tell you all you need to know.” Paul tossed a bundled up sheet at his feet.

Your father stooped down and picked it up. The wrinkles on his face only deepened as he unfolded the sheet and held it out in front of him. A pit formed in your stomach as you saw dark stains standing out against the otherwise white fabric. It was your blood.

“What is this?” Your father lowered the sheets to look at him, his eyes sharp. “What have you done?”

Paul sighed, like he’d been expecting him to put the pieces together by now. “Your daughter won’t be able to marry Duncan today. I’ve already claimed her as my own.”

The tension in the room was nearly palpable in the long silence that followed. They both stood completely still, staring at each other like they were waiting for the other to blink. You felt like they’d forgotten your presence entirely, too caught up in whatever pissing match they were having.

“I was right about you.” Your father pointed a stern finger at him, his voice shaking with anger. “You defiled my daughter.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d given her over to me in the first place.” Paul took a threatening step forward. “How dare you try and keep her from me?”

“Clearly, I was right to do so.” He didn’t back down, stepping forward until their chests were almost touching.

You shrank in on yourself, cowering in fear as their loud voices bounced off your chamber walls. They were talking about you like you weren’t even there, like you were just an object to them, something to be possessed and owned and fought over in a game of tug of war.

“I wonder what your father will think when he hears about all this.” Your father stared down the slope of his nose at Paul.

That made Paul’s jaw tick. “You forget your place. You may be one of the Duke’s aides, but I am his son, and therefore, you serve under me as well,” he snapped. The look in his eyes was something fierce. “You are to do my bidding.”

Your father gritted his teeth together, but remained silent. There was no denying that what he said was fact. Paul outranked your father by leaps and bonds. The most he could incur for his indiscretion was a slap on the wrist, meanwhile the means of your family's own very livelihood were on the line.

The corners of Paul’s lips curved into a smirk. He knew he'd won.

“What do you want me to do?” Your father sounded exasperated. “Call off the wedding? Our family will be disgraced."

“Now, now. There’s no reason to jeopardize your family’s reputation any further. You know how rampant the rumor mill would run with a canceled wedding.” Paul clasped his hands behind his back as he paced. “But if I were to take the groom’s place…”

Your mouth fell agape as you stared at him. He intended to marry you today? You’d thought when he showed up on your balcony last night, it was all on a whim, acting on pure instinct. But he’d had it all planned out long before he had come to see you.

“Father!” you blurted, drawing his attention to you. “You can’t seriously be considering this.” You had dreaded marrying Duncan enough, but your world had been turned upside down over the course of a night. Now, it felt like everything was happening too fast. You couldn’t keep up with it all.

You stared up at him with pleading eyes. He considered you, clenching his jaw. Then, he let out a long sigh as he lowered his gaze to the floor, his shoulders slumping. He couldn’t meet your eye. “The wedding shall go on.”

Your heart seized in your chest. You'd hoped he’d be resolute, that he’d do something, anything, to stand up for you. But he never had your best interest at heart. He had only ever been looking out for himself from the beginning.

“And the public shall never know that your daughter won’t be a chaste virgin when she is laid upon her marital bed.” Paul extended a hand to your father, a wide smirk fixed on his face.

Your father hesitated before shaking his hand. “I must go inform Duncan that he is being replaced.” He pulled away quickly, spinning on his heel and marching towards the door.

You chased after him. “Father!” you cried. You latched onto the sleeve of his coat and tugged him back. “You can’t let him do this!”

He turned around and shook you off of him. You stumbled, barely managing to catch your footing before you could trip and fall. “You’ve dug yourself into this hole. Now, you have to lie in it,” he hissed. “I told you to stay away from him, and you wouldn’t listen to me. You’ve gotten what you wanted.”

He left before you could say another word. You winced as the door slammed shut behind him with a resounding bang. You were left standing there, gripped by a hopeless sense of despair.

When you turned around, Paul was standing behind you, a satisfied smirk spread across his face. You barely recognized him anymore. He wasn’t at all like the boy you’d known since your youth, who you’d chased around the castle and snuck away from adult parties with. Now, his eyes were dark, like he was hollow and empty inside. You wondered where he’d been hiding this side of himself all along.

You’d fantasized about getting married to Paul more times than you could count, but now that your wedding day was here, it all felt hazy and twisted and warped, like you were stuck in a bad dream you couldn’t wake yourself up from. None of it felt real.

Your father was right: you had gotten what you wanted. But it wasn’t at all like you thought it would be.

“I’ll call your servants to help make you presentable.” Paul closed the distance between you and kissed you, singeing your lips with his. When he pulled away, the look in his eyes was ravenous. “The next time I see you, it will be at the altar."

[youjustdontunderstandmymusic]

just watched dune part 2

i will never be the same after this tbh

[baelontargaryen]

daenerys isn’t the “paul atreides of asoiaf” grrm was never inspired by dune nor has he ever stated it was an influence on his writing for the series

when asked for opinion on frank herbert’s dune books he respected it as “classic work” but clearly wasn’t the biggest fan of them