Paul X Reader - Blog Posts

Protectors~

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

🃜 pairing : Poly! Lost Boys × Vamp! Female! Reader

🃜 fandom: the lost boys × reader

🃜 summary: Reader is a newly turned vampire and mated toThe Lost Boys. She was turned a few months before Micheal arrived. And the day that Frog Brothers come with the Emerson’s the Reader decided to sleep with her mates. And in their haste to rid Santa Carla of the Vampires they make a grave mistake. (No use of Y/n)

🃜 Word Count:2.7k

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

𓉸ྀི ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

The cave was quiet, the only sound being the waves hitting the rocks outside. All of the inhabitants of the cave peacefully sleeping, well almost all of them. Something instinctual, deep in your gut and the back of your mind is telling you somethings not right. Slipping through the dark fog in the faint chime of hushed whispers. Voices exchanging softly, all dim and low like they were sharing secrets.

It has you pushing your face deeper into David’s neck in an attempt to muffle out the sounds, desperate to escape fully back into the comfort of a deep sleep.

You usually slept in a bed that wasn’t far from where the boys slept, while Star and Laddie slept in the more open part of the cave. Something in your mind told you to sleep with the boys, so you listened to it.

When you arrived back at the cave after feeding, you were brought to where they slept. There was a little arguing over who you slept with,but something was telling you to sleep with David. So you stopped them from arguing,and they all climbed up to the bar they hang from. Dwanye stayed on the ground with you, so you had help getting to David. Once David is settled he opens his arms for you, and with a kiss to your head Dwanye helps you wrap yourself around David. Once you’re settled David wrapped his arms around your waist, letting you tuck yourself into his hold.

It’s still daytime. Something deep in your gut and the back of your mind assures that the sun is still high up in the sky, scorching and hot. An intuition that you still don't quite understand, but it has your limbs turning heavy and lax, muscles relaxing in David’s hold Your exhaustion has you numb to the world, the delicate rhythm of the waves crashing outside the cave muting down into nothing, the sound of the quiet voices vanishing.It must be two of the boys. Awake already. It would strike you as odd on any other circumstance, and to a degree it does, but your sluggish brain is quick to let go of that train of thought.

The insistence that something is wrong fading into an ignorable afterthought. The scuffle of shoes along dust and stone ignites a tremble down the notches of your spine, as though your body is begging for you to wake up and investigate while it simultaneously sinks further into David’s tight hold.

Something isn't right, something isn't right.

It's like a chant. A primal whisper that coils through your bones and sinew. Leftovers from your ancestors, remnants of the instincts that had kept them alive long ago, but it all seems null and void against the fatigue that seems to press you down like a physical weight. Even while hidden away from the sun it seems to sap you of all your strength.

It's impossible to even try to rouse yourself. Its as though you're held under water. The strength of that debilitating exhaustion sweeps back over you, making the sound of the angry, masculine voice that rises up high within the cave, reverberating from the dust covered stone, dim and distant. As though it's miles away.

“I feel a draft. I think there’s something up here.” You hear from far-away, murky and vague.

“Let’s check it out Sam.” Another voice.

“I’ll be right back Mike.” A third voice. Mike. Mike. That sounds familiar from somewhere - someone. A name mentioned in passing. Mike. Michael. A discussion carried on by the boys while they were all encircled around one of the burn barrels one night. So casual while they considered the fate of a complete stranger as though they were discussing dinner and not the destiny of a man's soul. Some sap that had apparently caught the eye of Star. She hadn't wanted it to go far, but then again, it's never supposed to go that far. But David wanted the guy dead. He was meant to be her first, she hadn't been able to do it. 

A wave of muddled scents breaks past the barrier of the rotting wood. Unfamiliar and thick, coated with cologne and shampoo that you don't recognize. All of it twisting with something even more out of place here. Something alive. Heat and life and blood. Iron, warmth, and salt. It's distinctly human. Living. The alarms go off in your head. Raging and flashing red in a way that's violent. And a bright light flashes behind your eyelids.

“JESUS.” One of the voices yells, another one screams before being cut off. Your eyes blink, lashes fluttering as you try to fight the sleep weighing your lids down. Your vision blurs a little, straining through the exhaustion, but then you notice the three figures standing below. They're children. Looking lost, dressed in camo and gear as though they've prepared to fight a war. One has his hand wrapped around the mouth of the blonde child muffling his scream. Wide blue eyes reflecting a visible panic while he stumbles back away from the other two. Another swears, cursing sharply under his breath while he flinches. But it's the one closest to you that moves. His dog tags glinting and chiming from a movement so sharp that it had to be a reflex, but the determination burning in his eyes is purposeful. 

“I thought they were supposed to be in coffins.”

“That’s what this cave is. One giant coffin.” The one with the bandanna says as he moved with the other one dressed in camo. They begin to climb up the wood beside your group.

“They’re at their most vulnerable. Easy pickings.”

“You just have to kill the leader huh.”

“We don’t know which on he is. We’ll kill them all.”

“We’ll start with her. She’s already seen us.” They say as the climb closer to where you’re hanging with David. An animal kind of panic tears through you, lighting up your nerves like lives wires, electricity and adrenaline burning through your veins with the white heat of fire. You try to move and wake up David, but your limbs struggle, sleep thawing in your tired arms and legs.

"Kill her, kill her!" One shouts all while the blonde in the background yells at them to stop, but it falls on deaf ears. The boy wielding the stake lunges forward with a war cry. You manage to wiggle slightly in David’s hold.

“David wake up!” A panicked shout rips from your throat, but David remains sleeping.

"The bitch is trying to wake them, you gotta get her before they wake up," someone shouts in a panicked rush. You continue to squirm in David’s hold trying to get the two of you away from the teenagers. Poised in the air, high above the boy's head in an arch. There's hardly any time to act and fear sinks in your gut, chilled and frozen as he drives it down with all the strength he has in his body; his lips curled in a hateful snarl. He's going to kill you. This is it. This is how you die. Your mind screams it over and over again on a broken loop, but your body acts all on its own. It twists so David’s unconscious body turns away from the stake,and your heart is away from the point.

There's no time to rejoice when the stake is already piercing your skin. It sinks in deep, parting flesh and muscle beneath its lethal point. The boy collapses and tips over the side of the ledge that they were standing on. You don't initially realize that you're screaming. You feel it first. The strength of your agonized wail shreds up your throat as though you've swallowed nails, but that pain is secondary to the fire and anguish pulsing through your shoulder. The stake is still wedged inside of your back, burrowing past skin and meat, prying at your shoulder blade like it means to rip it free from the sinew keeping it intact with the other bones. You're bleeding. You can smell it, sharp and distinct in the panicked air. The pain is crippling. Ripping and engulfing, eating up your spine.

The boy with the blue bandana wrapped around his head is stepping forward, already clasping a stake in a white-knuckled hold. The resolve in his eyes is haunting. The desire to kill you fervent and glaring in his stare. That's all it takes to have your voice spilling from you, rising up in another terrified shout.

“BOYS WAKE UP!”

"Say your prayers bloodsucker." He practically spits it out, lips twisting in a grimace as he moves forward preparing to stake you again. And then combined hissing and snarling fills the pit as the boys awaken. They finally awoke to your shouts and the smell of your blood. Four sets of yellow eyes focus in on the three humans in front of them as snarls fill the air.

"Guys, guys, we gotta go." It's the blonde that's repeating it over and over as he sees the vampires awaks, stumbling over his words while he jerks on the other's arms. They give in without any resistance. Fear alive and bright in their eyes, even while the kid with the bandana points his stake in your direction and tosses a quick "This isn't over" at you as the three of them take off in a brisk jumble in the direction that they came from.

The growls from within the cavern raise up higher as the boys realize what happened and it has the kids in a full-blown panic. Tripping over their feet in an ungraceful run as they try and reach the opening of the cave. Your body trembles and your head rolls forward onto the snarling David’s chest.

“YOU’RE DEAD MEAT.”

You can feel your lung snag and pinch as though it's being burned from the inside out, catching on the point of the stake when you inhale. It has you crying, a tear managing to trickle free as your ribcage shudders violently as you gasp. 

You don't want to take your eyes off of them, desperate to track their panicked flee, but your eyes cloud over. Stars dot your vision, spotting and flickering in shifting colors as a vignette blurs around the corners of your sight. You feel the world spin as David jumps down from the bar and lands on his feet. You still cradled against his chest. Three more thumps follow as the rest of the boys land behind. Iron coats your tongue. Thick and wet. Bursting up from the back of your throat while you try to breathe, spitting up with each labored inhale. You can feel your life waning. The strength diminishing, shrinking under your skin. Dying out like a flame that's being smothered. Whimpers spill from your lips as your carefully laid on your bed. You can hear the sound of claws ripping across the earth as two of the vampires tear their way out of the chasm like creatures pouring out of hell.

You hear muffled screams and shouts. The dull thud of hysterical footsteps as they rush to escape before death can seize them. You hear David's bellow roll throughout the cave, crashing over the screams from the horrified children. The loud chaos of it all grows dim - distant as they're no doubt running up the mouth of the cave while Paul's laugh rings out from somewhere far away. 

It makes you jump when a pair of hands smooth over your shoulders, light like a caress, but you can still feel a heavy tremble run through the fingers. A voice hums out, cooing softly to hush you when a strangled sob wrangles out from your body. The way they handle you is delicate, softly turning you over onto your hip and lifting you up to cradle you against their chest as though you might shatter into a million pieces otherwise. Breathing past the wet iron to try and notice the traces of spice and earth and musk. 

It was Dwanye. You try to say his name, but your throat tightens, choking on blood. You can feel his fingers grip your bicep, holding you still and you know that he's looking at the stake punctured deep in your flesh. His hold is nowhere close to the to the wound and yet it flares pain across your nerves, making you twist in his arms while a gutted sob wracks from your body. 

"I know, I know, love. I know,but I have to take it out" he says into your hair. It's difficult to hear his voice past the roaring in your ears, but once the words make it past the hum. It's like you can feel the agony already, simmering and slicing across your fried nerves like the edge of razor blades.

“Marko! I’m gonna need your help. ” He calls and you can hear another person coming. And then a gloved hand is cradling your face. The glove was cold against your skin as the hand tilts your head back from where it was tucked against Dwayne’s shoulder. It makes your lashes flutter, and you have to force yourself to keep your eyes open with how heavy they've grown, weighing heavy and threatening to slip closed.

“If we don’t remove it. You’ll die baby.” Marko says. There's a protest lodged somewhere in your mouth, slick from the blood and caught on a broken gasp, but you don't have time try and voice it.

“I’m gonna hold her still you pull it out.” Dwanye says as his grip around you tightens. Marko nods, gripping the stake in his hand and pulls. You want to scream, but there's no air left in your lungs for you to do so, and all that makes it out is a ragged, splintered gasp. 

Scorching hot pain pours in your veins as he rips the wood from your shoulder. It slices ribbons up your spine, feeling bone deep and white-hot, acid lashing up your muscles.You thrash in Dwayne’s lap, the grip around you tightening and pinning you against his chest. Marko continues to pull the stake from your shoulder, and there’s hardly any relief once its out. The damage it's done is still agonizing, coiling through your muscles. It's as though the flesh on your back has been flayed.

You can faintly hear the clatter of the stake hitting the stone walls. As the two fuss over you, David and Paul rush back into the area where your bed is.

“How is she?” There's a rawness to his voice, a breathless edge despite the non-necessity of breathing.

“She needs to feed.” Dwanye says. “She won’t make it to sundown.”

David stalks forward while dragging his nail across his wrist. He kneels beside your bed and presses his wrist against your lips. You clasp your fingers around his arm, digging into the aged leather of his jacket. Your teeth bury themselves into his arm as his blood pours down your throat. You feel a hand stroking your head as you feed on his blood. Life floods back into you with each gulp, syrupy and warm. The hole made in the split meat and torn flesh of your back begins to mend in a sluggish process, stunted. You’re cradled protectively between Dwayne and David as Paul and Marko hover around the two.

Paul leans over and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Did you get them?"  Dwayne asks.

The thick silence that follows gives Marko and Dwayne their answer. And twin snarls rip out of their throats.

“They’re dead.”

“And they will be. They will be.” David says with a snarl.

“Marko when nightfall hits I want you and Dwayne to go hunt. She’ll need an actual feeding and we’ll need our full strength.” David says as he continues to stroke your hair, letting you have your fill of his blood. He wanted to make sure your wound was healed.

“Paul you’ll be staying here with her while we go take care of the little pests.” Paul nods as he sits on the edge of your bed by your head.

“They’ll regret touching our mate.” They all say as your wound completely healed and you pulled away from David’s wrist sagging against Dwayne as exhaustion took over. The boys continued to plan their attack as you fell into a deep sleep.

Promise pt. 3

PAUL ATREIDES X READER

You were to remain on Arrakis to aid in destroying the Atreides family: a Bene Gesserit trained assassin working for the Harkonnen House. It shouldn't have been hard to kill The Duke Leto's son with your Crysknife, however, love can be messier than blood.

You were unsure when it hit you as to what Paul was truly trying to accomplish. Was it when you were ready to draw your blade or when he looked you dead in the eyes with that godforsaken beautiful expression on his face? It was just unfair how he was able to halt your motions by looking at you; his grey-blue pupils looking brighter than the Arrakian sun as the moons shone down from above. It would've been an easy kill, really. But something told you that your plan wasn't going to work out.

In hesitation, you removed your hand from the hilt of your knife and allowed yourself to be lost in his gaze. Suddenly, he placed his lips on yours. You had heard of kissing before, but only in the books on the old worlds that the Harkonnens had within their library. Never thinking to experience it, you hadn't prepared yourself to combat it. In a way, it was more difficult than going over battle strategies or studying the history of The Imperium.

But to your surprise....you enjoyed kissing Paul.

He slowly moved himself away from you, looking into your eyes to try and get a glimpse of an emotion from you; any emotion at all would suffice. He felt warm as he enveloped himself into the embrace that was your kiss; thinking over and over his actions and pondering the potential consequences of them. Your eyes glimmered with something that he was unable to make out in the dark but he knew it was a ferocity equivalent to anger. But then, everything changed. Your face had softened and your eyes grew slightly wet. To say he was astonished by the fact that you could have any other emotion than coldness was an understatement. But he did know that he wanted to capture that look into his memory for as long as he lived.

And then- the impossible happened. You smiled.

"Paul..." Before you could get another word out, his lips were upon yours again, this time more feverishly. Your fingers intertwined in his hair as you forgot completely about the mission you were forced to pursue. The only thing your mind was capable of thinking was the boy in front of you.

Pulling away once more, he rested his head to yours. There was a softness that had entered the room now that all formalities had come to an end; the sound of heavy breathing was the only thing to be heard as you allowed the gap between the two of you to proceed once more.

"I've thought about doing that for a while now. I didn't think I would ever be granted the chance." He smiled.

"Paul." You said.

"Hm?"

"You just made my job a lot easier."

Suddenly a large boom could be heard from the outside. Before he had time to ask you what you meant, a brilliant orange light filled the window above and covered the dark night littered with stars. Something was burning.

He jumped up from where he was laying and immediately ran to the hallway, in hopes of glancing at some of the guards who would tell him what was going on. For the second time that night Paul was astonished. There were no guards anywhere in the vicinity. In fact, everything seemed dead besides from the war that raged outside.

You exited the room right after Paul. Heading for the stairs, you ran to make your way outside. This was it. Vladimir must've finally engaged in his plans. The coolness of the slab floor beneath your feet and the crisp air of the hallway was oddly enough like a slap in the face; a universal gesture saying, "This is it. Run for it."

Taking in harsh breaths as he watched your descent, Paul pushed back his hair and beelined towards his room. Throwing open the door in his haste, he quickly threw on a pair of training clothes and started to search for his shield. Once he found it, he would be able to slip it on and use it to withhold enemy attacks. Hopefully, they weren't familiar with technology from Caladan, whomever these attackers were. He quickly remembered the Hunter-Seeker from earlier. That wasn't a typical gadget known to Arrakis. Yet they had known.

Throwing a cape over his shoulders, he made his way to the commotion.

⌛⌛⌛

Jessica threw water over her still features as she glanced at herself in the mirror. There was something odd about the way her face had taken shape over the past couple of days, and she wondered if it could be sinking in due to her stress from the move. Arrakis wasn't her ideal home, but she was learning to make do with what she had considering she didn't have a choice in the matter. If Paul was really proven to be the Muad'Dib, then he wouldn't have been able to fulfill his prophecy on Caladan. Not that that was her reason for moving, but it was definitely an image that plagued her mind. Her son, all grown up. Constantly living in danger.

It was every parent's dream.

Sighing to herself, she fixed the straps on her nightgown and opened the door to her shared bedroom with the Duke Leto. The room itself was a dark brass color with ancient inscriptions on the walls and ceilings and an abundance of space. It was intimate with the way the room was dimly lit with candles; something again that she didn't see a lot of on Caladan. Her home used to be dark and gothic, with a clear view of grey skies and rain through every window. It was beautiful and perfect. And now she was stuck in a summery wasteland.

Sighing to herself, she slipped into the silky sheets that adorned the top of her mattress. The Duke's side of the bed was cold, as usual, meaning that there was something keeping him in the office; he would probably just sleep among the books again if given the change. The truth was, Jessica didn't like being alone, no. It was a type of loneliness that festered within the very being of her soul when it came to the nights she would find herself with only her thoughts to keep her company. Bene Gesserit, Muad'Dib, the Crysknife. Anything and everything that would pull on her heartstrings until awaking the next morning became a feat in itself.

And that mischievous son of hers. There was no way that he was staying out of trouble, not with you around. Jessica saw every glance in your direction that you didn't; Paul had quickly become infatuated with you. Whether it was because of the close proximity in age or if it was the brief conversations beforehand, she was surprised that her son had taken interest in a servant girl. No matter, he would eventually come to his senses.

One thing was for certain though. Jessica did not like you.

She tried to place her finger on exactly what it might be, but she just couldn't figure out why she found you so detestable. It had nothing to do with her son's intentions and everything to do with your demeanor. You were strong and held a face of power that all the servants she had met in her life didn't have. Almost like...almost like a Bene Gesserit.

As Jessica threw back her covers in realization, the house shook with the first blast of the enemy attack.

⌛⌛⌛

"Ataraxia!" Paul huffed after you once he caught a glimpse of your frame on the desert sands below. Cloak whipping around you, you held something close to your chest as you ran across the cool sands and towards the ships that started to invade the sky. With the fire burning behind you and the blaring of the bombs above, it was truly a sight to be seen as chunks of sand and ship debris flew around the night sky. The stars twinkling overhead managed to look so innocent compared to the rest of the setting; Paul being similar. The innocence that filled his eyes upon catching your gaze once you turned around at the sound of your name. His hair flying about and his nervous stance added to his confusion as you started to walk towards him.

"I promised to take your head. But if you wish to go with me entirely, I can't complain. My uncle desires your death more than the Fremens desire that cursed spice." You tried to voice your words with anger; getting closer and closer to the boy who had it coming from the start. It wasn't fair for him to do this to you, not now that you were so far into the game already. This kiss had really set you off and now you didn't know what to make of yourself. It wasn't fair. What compelled you to act like this?

Paul reached for the shield in his pocket and then- it hit him. Why you acted the way you did. What drew him in. You were never an ally to him or his family. The name Harkonnen filled his mind like a violent poison, reaching every crevice of his soul and leaving a dark empty void within him. It polluted the very veins within him, ripping out his heart and leaving a vile taste in his mouth. You were a traitor.

"O-oh." Was all he managed to say as he placed his hand on his chest in hopes to still his breathing. A dark and solemn look suddenly appearing on his face; he composed himself and gathered every ounce of strength within him as he prepared for a fight, remembering back to everything that Hawat had taught him. Turning on his shield, he furrowed his eyebrows and tried to change the image in his mind of you to become the enemy and not a lover, but to no avail. He couldn't hate you even if he tried to.

"Seriously, how dense do you have to be?" You said, expecting to be reveling off the fact that he had fallen directly into your trap. Yet something in you felt off. Paul was hurt and for some reason, it hurt you too.

"Ataraxia -"

"It's (Y/N)." You corrected him, now finally being able to give away your true name instead of going undercover with that stupid alias your uncle had made. "(Y/N) Harkonnen." Another blast of light was seen in the sky with a loud boom that followed. A piece of one of the Harkonnen ships flew overhead and landed about forty feet behind Paul, giving you the distraction you needed to attack. Without giving it too much thought, you ran forward and made a quick motion with your knife to try and slit Paul's throat. He must've anticipated this, for in a second his hands gripped both your wrists to try and hold you down. With surprise, you knee him in the stomach and drop down to grab your knife, placing it up to his throat once more. The shield around him started to burn with the color red as you held the knife in close contact, trying to break the device with the longer you held it there.

"Atara-(Y/N)! You don't have to do this!" Paul managed to get out between huffs. He used his previous training to break out of your grasp and to pin your arms behind your back, both of you falling to the sand. He holds you in place as you squirm in his grip, staring at him from above.

"You know, I might've actually enjoyed this under different circumstances." You kicked him in the face and waited for his natural retaliation before jumping up and pushing him back down, kicking him in the face and spraying blood from his nose onto the brown earth below. He had a gash along the underside of his chin and most definitely a broken nose. However; you hated to admit that he was still beautiful, even all bashed up and bruised.

"Oh fuck off." He spat and swerved out of the way before you could kick him again.

Just then the ground started to shake but in a way that was both familiar....and alarming. Your heart fell into the pit of your stomach as your brain put two and two together, knowing that the imminent threat of danger was Paul no longer. It was the Shai Hulud that buried itself deep within the sands.

⌛⌛⌛

(AN: Part four coming soon! Thank you all for being so patient with the third installment! 💛🦐)

Tags: @die-collective @xoxoloverb @totallynotkaibiased

Promise pt.2

PAUL ATREIDES X READER

You were to remain on Arrakis to aid in destroying the Atreides family: a Bene Gesserit trained assassin working for the Harkonnen House. It shouldn't have been hard to kill The Duke Leto's son with your Crysknife, however, love can be messier than blood.

The summery orange sky cast long shadows against the wooden floor, the sun illuminating the sands and everything within the castle as it set across the Arrakis sky. It was warm and comforting, but a reminder of the scorching heat of the outside. Looking out to the distance from the corridor window, one could see the crevices left by the sandworms in their wake; the earth caving in where they had dug through.

Walking Paul through what was once the Harkonnen House, you noticed things about the place that you hadn't before now that you had time to walk around for yourself. For instance, the way the stained glass windows of the downstairs cathedral style rooms created patterns against the ceilings and made everything a rainbow color. Or the way your shoes made noises against the freshly polished wood of certain areas within the home whereas they didn't on the smooth stone. There was a slight breeze that filled the hallways and flew strands of Paul's hair out of his eyes and all around his face. His eyes were a piercing grey-blue with an intensity in them today that you haven't seen in a while. His chiseled features were set in a frown as he glanced about the hallway, looking in any direction other than the one you were in. It was irritating.

"Something on your mind, sir?" You asked the tall boy next to you, awaiting a response.

"I thought I mentioned that we could drop the formalities between us?" He said in a short and curt tone. What was with him today? What had put him in such an agitated mood since leaving the dining hall?

"Forgive me Paul." You said obviously starting to get firey with every word that managed to escape your lips. Why is he being such a..... What did he call it the other day again? Bitchass?

He let out a puff of air and the expression on his face calmed a little. "I apologize for the abruptness, I just came back from an interesting conversation with my father."

His father! You hadn't caught a glimpse of him since the Atreides family had moved in. Always busying himself with the plans to harvest the spice and to keep the Fremens at bay, he was almost invisible.

It was getting harder and harder to accomplish your mission.

"Your father..?" You asked, leaving the conversation open for him to add his own input. If he could give any clues as to where he was or something in regards to strategies the Duke Leto shared with him in private, you might just be able to carry through with the attack before anyone got suspicious.

He pushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes and stopped dead center of the hallway, giving you a clear notion that he wanted you to pause your tour. His fingers twitched at his side and his anxiousness was evident, even through the facade he put on in front of you. You wondered why he would be carefree and heartfelt one moment and then tense and stoic the next. Was he struggling with his duty of becoming heir to the throne? Had his father mentioned something so troubling that things had gone haywire?

"I found a Hunter-Seeker today. It was in my room this morning."

The air around you suddenly felt cold. The comfort of the sunlight was no longer within the corridor as a chill ran down your spine. That wasn't a part of the plan.

"A-a Hunter-Seeker? Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty sure since I was almost killed." He said with a matter-of-fact tone. So this is what was stressing him.

"Did you contact anyone outside of your intermediate family? Did you talk to the guards? What did Hawat have to say about the ordeal? Is your mother-"

"Ataraxia." He held you down in place sensing your worry. Something about the way he held his palms against your shoulders calmed you down. It was a comforting touch but it could also be deadly if anyone is to see the two of you like this. You are, after all, just supposed to be a servant.

He paused a moment before you looked up at him with fury in your eyes. This isn't how things were supposed to go. You weren't told of there being another assassination attempt for the Atreides family since this was supposed to be your reconciliation with the Harkonnens. This was your ultimate approval of trust.

Maybe you were taking too long.

"Ataraxia? Why do you look angrier than me? I was the one who almost died." He pondered aloud.

Your hand went to caress the hilt of your Crysknife within your pocket to calm yourself. You were letting too much information slip through the cracks by allowing yourself to be upset over this. Paul was right.

"Forgive me. I lost my sense of place."

"It's quite alright. There's no harm in delving into one's own thoughts." He smiled with a pained expression and made a movement to carry on towards the end of the hall. You followed suit.

⏳⏳⏳

You pushed your face down into your pillow that night with an angry scowl and a menacing gaze. This was uncalled for. There was no one within the Harkonnen House that would be fit enough for your position; how could your uncle exile you to your home planet and force you to do his bidding without keeping promise of his reward? It made no sense as you were favored over Feyd-Rautha.

You turn over and stare at the ceiling above you. The maids quarters didn't have the skylight that your old room did; a place where you often found solace. It was impossible trying to sleep in the dingy and unkept room that you were expected to and instead you decided that you were angry enough to break the rules and be less cautious.

You were going to sneak back to your old room tonight.

The Atreides family hadn't used it yet to your knowledge. They had busied themselves with the other floors, being quick to set up offices and bedrooms and not having the time for much else. Hawat chose his own room and his training room on the far side of the House which left the upstairs basically uncharted. You would have to be quick throughout the halls as to not be seen, but once you had made it to the skylight room atop the roof, you would be fine for the night.

Slipping past the other sleeping maids, you made your way to the hall and slipped out the door. The night sky shone in through the many windows of the ancient building; the Arrakian moons almost as luminous as the sun. This moonlight allowed you to see as you slipped through the shadows and made your way to the staircase across from the Dining Hall. Being cautious of each step, you silently compiled yourself and your anxieties with sneaking out as you found the room with the only silver handle in the house. It had to be pushed inwards, not turned. You took a deep breath and allowed yourself to enter.

The skylight was the same as you remembered and as you'd figured, there was not a box in sight. The glass dome showed the stars and the moons of your beloved planet and the galaxies far beyond which were sure to be home to many other living creatures out there. You wondered what the extraterrestrials would be like and you shivered at the thought. Slimy and green you muttered to yourself and you laid on the floor, tilting your vision up to the sky.

"Slimy and green?"

You jolted backwards upon hearing another voice within the room. Twisting your body at a weird angle, you instinctively grab at the knife in it's holster and prepare yourself for a battle.

His brown hair was all curled in awkward places; a difference than it's usual contempt state. His lounge wear hugged his body in ways that were meant to provide utmost comfort, but it was clear that the set was too big for him. His eyes shone through the dark with their familiar friendly yet motivated gaze.

"Paul," you said, lowering your guard, "you scared me."

"My apologies, I promise you that it wasn't my intention." He smiled and positioned himself to lay next to you.

"What brings you up here? I figured everyone would be asleep." You asked. It was slightly annoying having to see him everywhere and never having any time to yourself. You always had to put up a front so that you would be able to carry out your duty in the end. It gets exhausting after a while.

"Should I be asking you the same thing?" He grins again and for a split second you could've sworn that he had made a suggestive look downwards. Just as quickly as his gaze was on you, it was back to the stars ahead and his eyes shone with the luminosity of it all.

"Right. I just- found this place the other day. Thought it would look cooler if I went to see it when the sun wasn't up." You lied straight to his face for what seemed like the millionth time that day. How many more lies would you have to tell?

"I come up here occasionally to watch the stars." He said, patting the space next to him to motion you towards the spot you were originally sitting in.

You calmed down and lowered yourself towards the ground next to the boy you were meant to kill. It felt odd knowing that you were playing a nice conversation with someone who would be bloody by your hands within the next couple of days if you played your cards right. You thought about carrying his beautiful head severed from his petite frame to Vladimir and receiving your reward for pleasing him. You thought about the way he would look next to both Jessica and Leto in the horrible graves of the bodies your uncle dumped when he was done profiting off of their murders. You thought about the smell of his ashes as he burned within the ground and joined the night sky that he looked at now.

And Paul thought of you. He'd hate to admit it, but you had taken over his mind lately. Fierce and opinionated, you were a force to be reckoned with. He hadn't met anyone his age nearly as interesting as they had all been too busy with that cursed Bene-Gesserit crap that he'd been forced to learn at such a young age. You were different.

And while you thought of his blood he thought of your lips. The way they would taste against his own and if you'd even like that. He thought of the way you outshone the stars and your intelligence of the cruelties of the world. Two kids forced to grow up too fast. He felt his chest make crazy palpitations; only something that happened when he was around the erratic Ataraxia. The mysterious girl who shrouded herself in the only darkness this planet had to offer. For once, Paul was thankful they had left Caladan.

You looked so beautiful with your hair sprawled out around you and your face tilted towards the glass above. The light brought out the angles of your face so that Paul could see you in a different way; he was used to seeing your skin kissed with the orange glow of the sun and now he could see the same you but with the silver of the moon. Paul wondered if the Fremen's spice dreams were of things just as beautiful.

The timing was almost so perfect you could feel it on your tongue. One hand on your knife, your mind ran crazy with the thoughts of finally being able to kill him. With a quick stab under the ribcage, he would be gone in moments. It would be too difficult of a wound to heal medically, and while he was gasping for air you could slit his throat. He was leaning into you and you were leaning into him. Two strikes would be all it took.

The timing was almost so perfect Paul could feel it on his tongue. One hand inching closer to yours, his mind ran crazy with the thoughts of finally being able to kiss you after thinking about it for so long. With a quick shift to his side, he could execute it fast and meaningfully as he hoped you would feel the same passion as him. It would be difficult to convince his parents to let you be with him and he knew he could be facing a lifetime of troubles if he really decided to be with you. There was just something so alluring about it that he couldn't help himself. You were leaning into him and he was leaning into you. One kiss would be all it took for him to know the truth. Was he in love?

One of you with the intent to kill and the other with the intent to love. Either way, it was a dance with death and the game the two of you were playing was dangerous.

Who's heart was going to break first?

⏳⏳⏳

(AN: Part Three coming soon!!! This was a short chapter, but I've been busy with a lot of things and haven't had as much time to write. I didn't want to keep you guys waiting for the second part!! Thank you for reading 💛🦐)

Tags: @die-collective

DUNE

Paul Atreides:

Promise: (Part One) You've made a promise to the Harkonnens to end the Atreides bloodline once and for all, working on the inside to take them down. It really sucks that your sworn enemy is hot.

Promise: (Part Two)

(Romance/Slight Angst/Enemies to Lovers)

Promise: (Part Three)

(Romance/Slight Angst/ Enemies to Lovers)

Promise

PAUL ATREIDES X READER

You were to remain on Arrakis to aid in destroying the Atreides family: a Bene Gesserit trained assassin working for the Harkonnen House. It shouldn't have been hard to kill The Duke Leto's son with your Crysknife, however, love can be messier than blood.

The Bene Gesserit way had always been to look out for your loved ones, but stay behind the scenes. It has always been to fulfill the duty assigned to you since birth; to continue a lineage but never to create your own legacy. It was a way of life and it was collapsible. Not only did it bring down those that followed, but it also destroyed the lives of many. The closest to its creation would be that of religion, something that died years before the Great Houses were moved from the Earth and to the galaxy.

This was the life you were forced to conform to.

Day in and day out, you were taught the Bene Gesserit age since birth; your family hoping to continue their lineage and create a legacy that would rule the galaxy once the Padishah Emperor was removed from the Imperial House. Which, of course, was what your House had been planning on since the beginning of everything. The world was supposed to burn and everyone was to go with it. The downfall of humanity.

You belonged to the House Harkonnen.

Leaving your prized planet of Arrakis- home to you since the year 10174. Going into 10191, your Uncle, The Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, had planned to wipe out the cursed Atreides family by sending them to Arrakis with the false promise of the Spice Harvest. It was a trap to convince them of a growing economy, which would lead to their deaths as they figured a spy was among them. Dr. Yueh, their prized professor was working behind the scenes and helping your family to kill The Duke Leto Atreides.

And thus, your Bene Gesserit training had come to an end and a new one began. You were to stay on Arrakis and continue the ploy under the alias "Ataraxia." You were to kill Paul in his sleep the same night Dr. Yueh betrayed his best friend's trust. It shouldn't be an issue considering your training, and you were to use one of the fabled Crysknifes known to reside on your home planet. They were made with the tooth of the mighty sandworm and needed human flesh. It had to be close to the holder's side for the duration of its use or it would disintegrate into the very sands that swept the grounds. It was a highly valuable object; the holder could not leave the planet alive with one of these. One stab to the sternum would be all it took to deal a deathly blow and end the Atreides bloodline once and for all.

The Harkonnens were nasty and prided themselves on war. You would do anything to keep the pride your Uncle had in you and to keep your beloved planet, the only place you truly found solace.

And it would've been so easy.

But Paul Atreides was nothing short of beautiful.

Tall, slender, and an angular face that of which would make many look as though they're dying, but on him it made him look like the most beautiful chiseled statues. His long and soft dark hair that glistened in the morning sun of Arrakis that anyone would be jealous of and his beautiful blue grey eyes that struck fear into the hearts of many. Always a proper aura and his drive to study the laws of the land radiated that of Bene Gesserit training. You weren't sure if it was his intelligence, his looks, or the fact that he was the known enemy that captivated you first. But what you did know was that his softness was that unlike any other.

Your first meeting day had been when their household objects had moved into your familiar but drab home. They made it seem royal and warm at the same time, a contrast of the particularly cold and clean feel that the Harkonnens left on the place. You noticed the Duke Leto painted into an ornate frame above the mantel piece dressed as a matador. Across from it above the fireplace on the opposite wall was the head of the bull, frozen in time with the blood of the Duke's father upon its horns.

Your hand grazed the edges of the table that filled this room. The Harkonnens had used it for seating and the Atreides family used it as dining. The table was mahogany and must've been hand carved due to the intricate patters that looked like whittling. You pondered the thought of some servant who specialized in fine arts sitting at this seat and working the edges of the table into a flower.

Next, you noticed that the halls were empty. Your Uncle used as many servants as he needed and they all ran around the dark and dreary hallways looking for orders to take and messages to deliver. Before you had your heart set on helping your Uncle, you had continued your Bene Gesserit training under one of the servant women. But what was her name? You tried to recall, but noticed you had been joined by someone within the house.

"Ataraxia." He said.

Turning around, you came face to face with the most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes upon. Actually, his eyes were what you saw first; boring into your soul with those piercing icy pupils of his. His entire demeanor was that of wealth, he stood tall and stoic and had an aura of elegance. You expected him to be of royal relation to the family Atreides, but what you weren't expecting was his kindness.

"Sorry for startling you." he said, softly smiling and moving his gaze to the wooden surface below your fingertips. Something about him seemed off, however, like there was something missing that he was refusing to show you. It was cold and dark but it was hidden away in the crevices of his mind.

"You're forgiven." You stated, raising your chin to meet his gaze once more, remembering your training.

"Ah, another Bene Gesserit." He stated, running his fingers through his hair. At first, you wanted to laugh. After such a royal introduction he decided to do something so boyish!

You suppressed your giggles as you fully grasped his assumption. He was intelligent.

His intellect drew you closer to where he was standing. "How'd you figure?"

He turned away from you and walked to the fireplace that was adorned with the gold flaking your Uncle had specially imported from Castle Caladan. The home planet of Atreides. The mystery man stopped with his hands behind his back (beautiful hands, you might add) and his hair falling at his shoulders.

"No one stands with such excruciatingly painful posture on their own accord."

Now you did laugh. The man was startled at first, but he then smiled with that same expression he had once he'd entered the room.

"Now it is my turn to apologize for startling you," you said, containing yourself once more. What power did he have over you that made you feel so easy. Did he posses The Voice?

"You're forgiven." He mimicked your response.

"I thought the Bene Gesserit were women?" You asked, motioning for him to continue, "At least that is what the Reverend Mother claims."

"The Reverend Mother is a bitchass." He said.

You froze. Did he...did he just insult her Majesty Gaius Helen Mohaim? With such vulgar language?

"I- forgive me... What defines a bitchass?" You asked.

He looked frightened after his last comment until you asked him a question pertaining to his language. Instantly calm once again now that he knows he needn't be so proper around you, he drops his guard. "It's a combination of curse words." He laughs and it's like music filled your eardrums. "I'm not entirely sure of the meaning, I read it in a book on old worlds."

After the both of you laugh, you decide to ask him.

"You know my name, of course. But might I know yours?"

He stops laughing and looks at you with a quizzical expression. "You don't recognize me?" He asks.

You instantly felt your cheeks get hot. He was pleasant and intelligent, and here you were standing like a blubbering idiot.

"I'm afraid I don't, sir."

He smiles at you once again. "I believe we are the same age, no need to keep the formalities. Please, refer to me as Paul."

He was kind and beautiful and smart.

And he was the boy you had to kill.

That was your first meeting with the young royal Paul Atreides and since then you couldn't get your mind off of his angelic features and determined gaze. There was something about him that was more captivating than the Spice itself; something that tempted you to get closer to him in ways you couldn't understand. But you wouldn't fail your Uncle, no. You had a mission as a Bene Gesserit and a Harkonnen. You were going to stab him with your Crysknife and end the bloodline. Once and for all.

⏳⏳⏳

You awoke in your cold bedroom on the day that would mark your second month living with the Atreides family. Continuing under the alias, you were rising up quickly above the other servants, no doubt about that. However, you were careful with your movements. If Paul was able to gather information off you so easily it would ruin everything. And not to mention his conniving mother, Jessica. She was always giving you the side eye as though she knew there was something off about you.

Glancing around the room, you see the blank and dry walls of the server's quarters. Your previous bedroom was taken by Paul himself; you now learning how to reside in a place less familiar. Nevertheless, you made it work. Hoisting on your dark pants and plain top you made your way to the common area where the Atreides family was to be having breakfast.

"Ataraxia!" A gust of wind blew past as Paul made his way towards you in the hallway. Walking with fast strides, you slow down to allow him to catch up. Why was he taking such an interest in conversing with you? Instinctively, your hand goes to your side to feel for the comforting coolness of the Crysknife.

"Sir." You said, now giving him your full attention. He was wearing the same uniform dark pants and a dust grey colored long sleeve adorned with the Atreides crest; a red hawk emblem. Even with the dull colors he still managed to show his beauty.

"I thought I requested to drop the formalities?" He smiled and you felt your face go hot. Right, of course.

"My apologies Si- uh Paul." You managed to get out, removing your hand from your side.

He looked towards your hands and then back to your face with a quizzical expression. He was about to open his mouth and ask what it was you were hiding, but instead he smiled and took your caution as just being startled. He might've been going against his instinct, but there was something about you that put him at ease.

Little did he know you were his own personal femme fatale.

"Nothing to worry over." He said and the two of you continued your procession to the downstairs. The rest of the walk was silent except for the occasional passerby. Paul said nothing else so neither did you.

⏳⏳⏳

The room was lit with the orange sky from the outside, the sun shining down on the window panes and creating a yellowish glow on the elegant dining room you had first met Paul in. The wooden arches gave the entirety of the room an elegant feel, they contrasted against the bare walls in a way that felt both comforting and regal. This had always been one of your favorite rooms in the house, as it had been the brightest.

Paul made his way over to one of the spots at the table, fixing the hem of his shirt and pushing his hair away from his eyes. You caught a glimpse of the ring on his left hand, an Atreides crest present there as well. Even though he was just wearing simple house clothes, he looked elegant as ever.

You made your way to the other end of the room, standing against the wall to take any orders Lady Jessica or Duke Leto had asked of you. It was a servant's duty, after all. It was odd to be on the other side of the spectrum since you were usually the one to be waited on.

"Ataraxia." You heard your alias coming from the mouth of Paul's mother, Lady Jessica. Your feet were taking you in her direction before your mind had time to wonder what it was she was about to ask of you. Stopping just a few feet from her chair, you waited for her to speak.

"I'm aware you have a knowledge of this place that surpasses the knowledge of the other servants?" She asked you with dark eyes. She knew you had been a servant in the Harkonnen House since before they moved, but to her knowledge that's where all your information of the place came from. There was no way she could've figured out that a servant isn't actually what you were?

You looked at her to see if there was any sign of knowing, but there was none. She seemed genuinely disinterested in your background.

"Yes, that is correct ma'am." You replied.

"I expect you to show Paul around the place, as we are still new and he has a break from his studies this afternoon." She said, going back to scooping up her breakfast with her fork. Elegant. Poised. Royal.

It made you sick.

"Of course."

Slinking away back to your original position against the wall, you smiled to yourself.

You and Paul would be alone, you could finally make your first strike.

Little did you realize, your smile didn't go unnoticed.

⏳⏳⏳

( AN: Part Two coming soon!! Thank you to everyone who reads my fics! It means the world to me! 💛🦐)

ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀʏɢɪʀʟ

Summary: Paul might just have developed an obsession with the camera that you let him have.

Warnings: 18+ MDI

(just a quick little blurb. this is just filth honestly)

You hadn't thought much of it when you had lifted the camera - one of those instant ones that spits out a laminated card of film that you have to shake.

It had caught your attention, because, in a certain way, it seemed important. The man who you had stolen it from, slipping the dark strap from around his limp, bloodied neck and over his head, had come all the way out in the middle of the night to take pictures. Trekking up the high hills that crest high along the ocean just to be able to stand on the edge.

All so he'd be able to take picture after picture of the town glittering in the close distance; the shimmer of the amusement park rides glimmering on the reflection of the water. Not that you could blame him, the view from up there is stunning.

You took the camera fully with the intention of using it, but somewhere along the span of a few weeks, it had wound up forgotten on the old dresser beside your bed. Hidden away amongst all the other tchotchkes and random trinkets that you've stolen throughout the last couple of years.

You didn't think much of it when Paul had asked if he could have it one night, nosily browsing through your stuff like he usually does. Always sticking his fingers where they don't belong.

You had hardly bothered looking up at him from your hand, carefully focusing as you glided a brush, damp with cherry red polish over your nails.

You remember giving a light hum of affirmation, nodding your chin stiffly from where you had it pressed against your knee.

You had hardly heard the delighted, "Hell, yeah," that he had whispered. But even while you idlily flipped through a dated issue of Vogue in between the application of the polish, you could hear the way his voice had gone all somewhere between husky but also light. Pitched with something downright sleazy. You could practically hear all the perverted thoughts rolling around in his head as he plucked up the camera from the dresser.

In hindsight, you should have expected the monster that you had unintentionally created. He's always been a pervert and giving him access to this type of thing was bound to unless a completely new side.

He has a whole stash of photos now. They're all of you, naturally. Sweet candid's that catch you in all the ways he'd like to remember. Immortalizations of your smile; sincere moments that he can tuck inside the inner pocket of his coat and keep held to his chest.

One in particular is always kept there. Hidden and safe like a cherished icon tucked away from unworthy, prying eyes. It's somewhat blurred. Distorted from when the lens had caught you in motion. It smeared around the edges of your hair; the lights of the carousel behind you create a sort of halo effect.

But he likes the carefree expression on your face the most. Bright and free, eyes glittering from when he had caught you in the middle of a fit of laughter. Courtesy of some joke he said - one that he can't really remember now, vague and miles away.

As much as he loves that little candid in his pocket - how casual and content it is, with you clutching onto a half-eaten funnel cake and laughing - he'd be a liar if he didn't love all his other pictures just as much.

He's become a bit of a photographer in the past month, and his portfolio is already packed. Filled to the brim with images that all focus around you in all the best ways possible.

He'd probably be able to make an entire magazine at this point. One that would put Playgirl to shame. All with you on each and every page, centerfold and cover.

God, he'd actually pay money to see that.

The pictures he has are all crammed into rusted toolbox that he keeps hidden away in a narrow crevice split inside one of the cave walls. It's close enough to the floor that he's able to block it from sight with a wooden pallet.

Maybe it's sort of overkill, but the last thing he needs is for someone to go snooping and find something that they don't need to see.

Yeah, he'd either die on the spot or kill someone if that happened, but he's pretty sure that you'd be more than happy to do the killing. You'd probably just end up wringing his neck though, and he'd be more than willing to let you.

The collection that he's got going on is easily one of his most prized possessions, and he's not guilty to admit it. Even if it is a little shameful how many times he's found himself looking back over them.

Shuffling back through the stack of pictures as though they're a deck of cards. But he swears that he notices something new about them each time. They somehow manage to look better and better when that probably shouldn't be possible.

He's jacked off more times that he should admit to the one that he has of you bent over his bike but fuck it's hot.

Between the dark cover of the night and flash of the camera, the background is a void of black. It makes you look as though you've been encased in satin.

There's a glimpse of the bike's handlebars peeking into the shot, a peek of chrome reflecting bright in the image. And yeah, he's not really paying attention to all of that, but he can't pretend that the sight of you bent over his bike doesn't do something for him.

Your skirt is all rucked up in the image, the tight slip of dark fabric bunched over the shape of your hips to shamelessly brandish the flash of your panties. The noticeable wet spot between your thighs, dark against the white material gets him hard every time, and his hand always manages to slip inside of his pants whenever he comes across it in the pile.

Just a small glance at the photo is able to take him back to that night, immersing him in that specific moment, with the warm air brushing over his skin and the sound of your cries melodic and mindless in his ears. You sounded like a pornstar.

His hand is pathetic in comparison to how you had gripped him. It's too rough, too cool. Nowhere close to the way your cunt had clenched around his cock like it was trying to keep him locked inside, stretched and wet and tight on him.

It makes it difficult to narrow down a possible favorite from the pile. There's somehow too many and not enough, and each specific photo has something that he loves, no matter how simple the subject matter might be.

Like the picture he has of your tits. Your bra isn't even completely off in the photo, just slipped down around your ribs just enough to free your breasts. The red lace cupped beneath them, nearly brushing over your nipples. They're perky in the photo, hard from the chill of the cave, glittering softly from the spit he had left behind with his mouth.

He can't count how many times he's fucked his fist to that one. Tracing over the marks he had left behind, the blotches of cherry and plum he'd made with his teeth and tongue; sucked into your skin.

He's held that very picture in his left hand, satiating himself as best as he could while you went off with Star to have a night out on the town - 'girl's night.'

They happen every week and he looks forward to them with all the enthusiasm of someone who's scheduled to get teeth pulled. The pictures almost make it tolerable. Like chasing tequila with a swig of Coke.

But the image of you all splayed out on your bed is a close contender for the number one spot. It was one of those lucky nights where everyone else was out in town, giving the both of you the freedom to actually indulge in each other on an actual bed for the few hours you were afforded.

There's a dreamy quality that had been caught in your eyes while you watched the camera. That dazed, fucked out look that makes him feel just as ruined.

You were completely naked, flat on your back with the sheets and blankets all messy around you; rumpled in a way that seems like a current shifting over water. Your spine was a little arched, pushing your breasts out, making them more pronounced.

You were all kiss swollen lips and ruined hair. He can practically hear the soft little moans that you had been letting out, bouncing off of the stone and back over onto his skin.

But the best thing about it might be how your legs were held wide open, fingers between your thighs to spread yourself open for the camera. For him.

He remembers kneeling down at the foot of the bed and aiming the camera directly at you. It had taken everything to speak, mumbling out a husky, "Smile for the camera, baby." But just that had taken a effort to say, his throat tight, words snagging like he'd been punched in the chest.

Despite it being more of a joke, a mindless ramble really - because he can't think straight whenever he's got you like that - you did as he asked. Your lips had perked up in a smile, just as dazed as the clouded glint in your eyes. Looking all gentle and angelic while you showed him your pussy, so wet and soaked that it caught the fucking reflection of the fires burning around inside the cave.

It was filthy. Depraved. He's never seen anything more beautiful. It almost feels religious sometimes, as crude as it is, to touch himself to all the pictures he has - photos that you trusted him enough to take.

He doesn't think that he's ever going to be able to stop. He has twenty-one of them already (but who's counting), and it's lead him to become a regular at one of the shops downtown. Visiting as soon as the sun will allow. Just narrowly making it through the door just as it's light safely settles past the horizon around 8:30, always giving him about half an hour to punch it before the store can close.

The owner recognizes him by now. Some innocent looking old man, with a gentle, wrinkled smile who always offers him a Tootsie Roll from the tiny candy dish on the front counter while he rings up the total.

The old man - Ron? Robert? - would probably have a stroke if he knew just why Paul is constantly coming in to purchase film. But then again, there's a lot of things about Paul that would give him a stroke if he knew.

The fact that he's become a regular should be a little telling. Some might call it an obsession, but that's pretty much what a hobby is anyway, right?

He thinks that shitty little camera might be one of the best gifts he's ever received. It's nearly painful how stunning you are in each picture. How hot you always are.

So honestly, he can't pick a favorite at all. Because somehow, it's not the photo of you sucking his cock. Lips glossy with spit and precum, stretched wide in a mouthful with your nose nuzzled all the way down to his pelvis, the point of it pressed into the thatch of hair at the base. Not even with the wide-eyed way you gaze up at the camera, watching him like you were greedy; unshed tears threatening to spill.

He can still practically feel that way your throat had flexed around him then. The soft warmth of your palms massaging his balls while you sucked and licked up the length of his cock until he had cum in your mouth with a ragged groan.

But it's not that one.

And it's not the picture of your riding him, bare chested with your face slightly scrunched, jaw dropped in pleasure from the thumb that he had on your clit. His hand was in frame, just barely visible, but the clumsy grip he had on the camera was just secure enough for him to snap the shot, and it caught the curl of his knuckle on your stuffed cunt.

That still wasn't his favorite either.

It's a shame that he doesn't have one yet. But he guesses that you'll both just have to keep trying until he does. Until he gets that perfect shot. He'd maybe feel bad, but you don't seem to mind in the slightest.

There's something knowing and hungry in your gaze when notice him from where he's sitting off on the couch. He's already holding the old Kodiak in his hands, tracing his fingertips over the corners of the cold plastic while he watches from your place across the cave.

The fire catches in your eyes. It makes you wild looking, like you could eat him alive. Fire lights up in his veins because damn, he really wants you to until he's only bones. He knows that he doesn't even need to ask, but he does it anyway:

"In the mood for a photoshoot?"

Your smile is answer enough.

Bad moon rising master list

A/n: This will be the main page link for this story, and I will try to upload each chapter as frequently as possible. Enjoy ;)

Chapter one

After a nasty divorce, you and your family are forced to live with your Grandpa in the lovely notorious Santa Carla, California. Filled with punks, geeks, surfer nazis and apparently all kinds of creatures of the night.

Chapter two

The first night in a new town is always weird but exhilarating, and thankfully the boardwalk is there to welcome you and your family. Though, even with all the bright lights and loud music that surrounds you, you some how attract the attention of four bikers.

Chapter three

It’s been a week since you’d last seen the lost boys, and the only thing that you really know about them is their names. But, the boys seem drawn to you in a way that no one can explain why. And after an incident on the beach, the boys are eager to help get payback for you.