overview: a marriage with feyd rautha, a strangely peaceful one for being betrothed to such a seemingly monstrous man.
warnings: arranged marriage (happened prior to when the story is set), pregnancy
the story is entirely in the third person, the reader is referred to as various terms of endearment or 'mrs (missus) harkonnen'—not y/n.
His Missus
she sat awake in bed, clad in merely a silk robe. a book was opened before her, her hands and the book propped on her protruding stomach. the silk sheets and fur comforter covered her legs. the room was illuminated by the faint orange glow of flickering candles, filling the room with the scent of melting wax that mixed with the lingering scent of her betrothed.
she never slept until he too was in bed, as his hostility and impulsivity brought her great paranoia. not that he would harm her, but that he would harm others in a fit of rage that she wasn't there to calm. she was the sole being—at the moment—that could calm the na-baron.
as she flipped the page to her book, one of the large wooden doors opened and feyd stepped into the room. clad in just an article that hung from his hips, he approached the bed. setting his blade on the nightstand, he slid into bed, laying close beside his wife.
she closed her book, looking over and down at her husband.
"how is the child?" he inquired, his large hand coming to rest on her stomach.
"he has behaved better than an angel," she replied calmly, setting her book aside.
"he is not inheriting violent traits, then," feyd whispered.
his wife shifted, moving to lay beside him.
"i suppose not, darling," she replied, "we mustn't tell the baron such."
feyd's lips barely quirked in a smirk.
she smiled softly at her husband's small smirk. she had yet to make him let out a chuckle—a genuine one, not one of those sardonic ones he let out during altercations of any degree. but, she was determined to do so. maybe the birth of the heir—that was due to happen in mere weeks—would further soften his stone heart with the molten lava of paternal love.
"you mustn't lose your temper with the infant," missus harkonnen murmured, peering up at her husband through her thick eyelashes.
"do not doubt my control so severely," he breathed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his dull eyes.
she gave a slight nod, sliding across the silk just an inch. her head lay on his bicep, her nose just barely brushing against his shoulder. her protruding stomach pressed against his side, and her hand lay on his chest.
the first time she had done this—after their marriage consummation—she had expected him to shove her away, maybe even harm her for attempting to do such. but he had not. he simply laid there tensely, attempting to keep his breathing even to not disrupt her.
just by the way his behavior had changed, she could tell that she—and likely the child she was baring—had some effect on feyd. an effect that was molding the broken, monstrous man into a man—still violent and broken—who was only calmed by two creatures. his wife and his child.
his hand barely brushed against the back of her thigh, his fingers trailing up the side of her thigh and resting on her hip.
"i should blow out the candles," she whispered, the realization that leaving candles to burn all night was unwise. she slid out of bed, his hand falling from her body and onto the silk sheets.
going around the room, she blew out candles one by one.
feyd watched her closely. his chest rose and fell slightly, his abdomen and thighs lexing each time she bent over slightly, the flame of a candle nearing her delicate face too close for his comfort.
after blowing out the last candle, the room was dark. his eyes quickly adapted, still zeroed in on his missus.
she walked towards the bed, one hand out in front of her and the other at her side, feeling for the nightstand as she walked slowly. she had never been good in the dark. and, truthfully, being in absolute darkness scared her.
nobody knew what hid within the darkness. anything could be there, watching, waiting. waiting for—
she was ripped from her paranoid thoughts by soft rustling.
feyd had sat up, his hand gently taking hers. he led her closer, his other hand coming to rest on her hips to lead her the rest of the way.
"thank you, darling," she whispered softly, her hands resting on his shoulders.
"you behave like a frail fawn in the dark," he muttered roughly, assisting her into bed.
"if i am a frail fawn, what does that make you?" she inquired as she laid down.
he let out a heavy breath, his hand resting on her swollen stomach. most would have immediately shouted "the hunter," but she knew far better. he'd never harm her, or their own little fawn that would arrive in mere weeks—if not days.
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He’s so perfect
Piercings P. 2
pt. 1
warnings: swearing, shitty flirting
again, i will continue the story if someone (literally if one person) wants me to
written in third person; no use of "y/n." reader is referred to with female pronouns and terms of endearment.
after getting eddie's number from rick, she returned to her trailer, setting her bag on the counter and grabbing the phone off the receiver on the wall. she dialed his number, shifting her weight from foot to foot as the phone rang. after a minute, the phone was answered.
"hello?"
it wasn't eddie's voice.
"oh, hello," she began, a bit embarrassed. had she dialed the wrong number?
"you need somethin'?" the voice asked.
"uh, do you know an eddie munson? i—i was told this was his number..."
"oh," the man huffed a laugh, "yeah, he's my nephew, lives with me. you jus' missed him, actually. jus' left for a campaign or whatever the hell he calls 'em. he should be back tomorrow mornin' if you wanna call back then."
"okay, thank you so much," she replied.
"i'll tell him you called if i see him, leave your number on the counter if you can give it to me."
she gave him her number then the two said their goodbyes. she returned the phone to the receiver and began making herself dinner.
the following morning, she woke up to the phone ringing. she contemplated ignoring it, but when she remembered the phone call from last night, she scrambled out of bed. she rushed to the phone, grabbing it off the receiver.
"hello?" she questioned, sounding quite excited.
a familiar chuckle came from the phone.
"you called last night, sweetheart?" eddie asked.
her face flushed.
"yeah."
"how'd you get my number?"
"rick gave it to me."
"of course he did..." he sighed. she could practically hear the smirk on his face.
"sorry if i'm bothering you, i just..."
"wanted to go out with me?" he guessed.
"yeah," she admitted.
"you free tonight?"
"yeah, do you have somewhere we can go?"
"you like swimming, sweetheart?"
"yeah?"
she felt embarrassed saying "yeah" for a third time, but it was too late for her to say something different.
"i'll come get you tonight, wear a swimsuit and bring extra clothes."
"okay."
"bye, princess."
"bye, eddie."
she hung the phone back on the receiver, face flushed.
did she spend the whole day picking a bikini to wear, extra clothes, styling her hair, and doing her makeup? yes.
when eddie pulled up to her house at 5:30, she was sitting on the porch. she stood, walking down the steps and rushing to the passenger side of his van. she wore a pair of denim shorts over her bikini bottoms and just a bikini top, her extra clothes in her backpack.
"you ready, baby?" he asked, grinning.
"yeah," she stated, smiling in return.
ten minutes later, they pulled up to lover's lake.
"really?" she giggled.
"what?" he retorted, grinning.
"lover's lake?" she pressed.
"there's no other lakes nearby."
"uh huh. right."
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Black Magic Woman
overview: people joked about her being a witch. billy—believing that the supernatural or magic was all bullshit—still started messing around with her. and he managed to prove himself wrong, for once.
warnings: use of magic, mentions of violence/death, swearing, smoking, aftermath of sexual encounters described
this is short and i may continue it, i will add the link to the second part here if i do
written in third person, no use of "y/n." reader is referred to using female pronouns and terms of endearment.
people insisted that she was a witch, for whatever reason. it sounded as if they were grabbing at straws.
"she wears crystals all the time!"
"she knows latin!"
"she has all these satanic tattoos!"
and there were the rumors.
"the last guy who cheated on her died in a car accident a few days later..."
"her old friends say she used to do rituals at sleepovers..."
"apparently she's always shopping for herbs and candles, seems pretty witchy to me..."
all that crazy bullshit. but, billy never believed a word of it. magic was bullshit to him. nobody could do shit like that. he knew, because he'd be one of the bastards who could use magic if it was possible.
he managed to weasel his way into her heart; flirty smiles, eye contact, sneaky touches, and soft whispers.
"you get sexier each time we do this," she giggled from beneath him, both having just come down from a crazy high. her bare chest heaved, breasts bouncing softly. her hands gripped his biceps, her hair tousled heavily.
"i could say the same to you, princess," he purred, kissing her forehead as he pulled out of her.
"surprised you keep coming back and sleeping with 'the witch'," she teased as he laid beside her.
"c'mon, baby, we both know you ain't one," he whispered, kissing her neck, rubbing her thigh gently.
she hummed softly, scooting closer to him.
half an hour later, she was fast asleep. maneuvering out of bed, billy pulled his discarded boxers on and began looking around her room. one of his buddies had encouraged him to do it next time they slept together, saying it'd prove who was right.
sliding open her closet door, he noticed a box on the floor. he knelt down, pulled the box out, and opened it.
candles, crystals, herbs, statues, papers with sigils written on them, wood with carvings in them, and a spell book sat within it. he grabbed the book and opened it, flicking through the pages. he had expected it to be one of those stupid joke ones with spells like "how to make your crush like you" and potion ingredients like "griffin's beak," "dragon wing," or "a vampire's fang." but, no. everything in it was hand written, some words smudged or damaged by droplets of some sort of liquid on them. the ingredients in 'potions'? all mundane things, things that could be found in any town, almost any store. the 'spells'? written in old english, some even in latin.
her bed creaked as she shifted, causing him to jump slightly. he threw a glance over his shoulder, checking that she was still asleep. he closed the book and returned it to its place in the box. he closed it and shoved the box back into her closet. as he stood, he closed the door.
surely, it was all just jokes. all bought to play into the mockery. she had set it up, knowing he'd probably look around, right?
"fucking weirdo," he muttered as he walked back towards the bed. he didn't mean it, never meant anything mean he said about her.
he climbed back into bed, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close. he buried his face into her neck, pressing a kiss to her flesh.
"my fucking weirdo, though," he sighed.
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Midnight Car Ride
overview: she and elvis were cast as leads in a small, upcoming horror romance film and are making the trip to set together, for convenience.
warnings: smoking
this is a more horror type piece because i love horror and this seems like the perfect idea to write about.
written in third person; no use of "y/n." reader is referred to with female pronouns and terms of endearment.
the road was illuminated by the soft glow of the headlights, the sound of crickets chirping coming in through the open windows. she sat quietly in the passenger seat, smoking a cigarette as she gazed out of the window and into the thicket of trees. elvis sat beside her, driving with a cigar between his lips.
they had been on the road since noon, heading to the set of the horror film they were to star in. she would play a lake monster and he'd play the man who owned the inherited property the lake lay on. the characters were set to fall in love, in a bit of a morbid way. but, with the rising love of horror, colonel parker insisted he take the chance. so, elvis did.
elvis, who had been lost in a tired haze, was abruptly brought out of it when a deer ran into the road. slamming on the brake pedal, his hand flew over to keep her from being violently jerked forward. they sat in silence for a moment after that, his forearm still across her chest. she let out a faint breath and sat back while elvis retracted his arm. as he continued down the road, a tad slower now, he spoke.
"y'alright, darlin'?" he questioned, flicking the ash of his cigar out the window.
she nodded, "are you?"
he chuckled, the sound warm and calming in the eerie night.
"'m jus' fine, darlin'."
and the silence returned. they had spoken quite a bit when the trip began, but now they were simply exhausted and the startle of nearly hitting a deer had put them both on edge. she became more paranoid, watching the tree line more closely. she put her cigarette in the ashtray and rolled up her window, continuing to stare out of it. she adjusted her fur coat on her shoulders, hiding the once exposed body parts, hoping to rid her skin of the goosebumps that had risen.
he glanced over, noticing her sudden change. he couldn't blame her. he too put his cigar in the ashtray, driving with both hands on the wheel, yet he kept his window down. he enjoyed the cool breeze. but, just as he was about to speak once more, the chirping of the crickets ceased. the night fell quiet, the sound of the car running and the wind blowing being heard.
she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. she glanced over at him, then at his hands on the wheel. she noticed the goosebumps on his skin.
she wasn't the only one unsettled.
"put up your window," she insisted. most people weren't so insistent to him, as he was the king, but she did not care about such a title. she was too scared to be incredibly polite.
but, he did as told.
just a moment later, the headlights flickered. once, twice, three times. then out they went. they were enveloped in darkness, the full moon barely illuminating the tree-lined road.
knowing it was unsafe to continue without working headlights, elvis pulled over. once off the road, he reached for the door handle, planning to get out to see what was wrong. but, she suddenly grabbed his arm, a silent command for him to stay still. her eyes were trained on something in the woods.
just before he went to question what she saw, a man emerged from the treeline. the man approached the car, peering into her window, meeting eyes with both of them. the man then walked across the road and back into the woods on the opposing side. then, the headlights flickered back to life.
she and elvis shared a glance, both disturbed. but, without another moment of hesitation, elvis continued down the road.
the crickets began chirping again and the heavy tension ceased.
they reached the set by morning and began filming. the two never spoke of the encounter, keeping to different topics when conversing between takes.
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brunettes with blue eyes 🤍🤍
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