Summary: Horace convinced you to smuggle another thing for him yet again, and after a couple of hits of spice, things get hot and heavy.
Word count: 1.7k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, vaginal fingering, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, spice use, porn without plot, plot what plot, dubcon, first draft yolo, no beta
Notes: This is based on the Dune: Prophecy TV series. I’ve never read any of the books. Some things I write about might be dubcon and/or out of character, but I’m down bad for Sam Spruell, so please forgive any inaccuracies. And if Sam ever reads this, I am so, so sorry.
You took a deep breath, your ears ringing from the noise of the city. Mikaela let you in through the back entry, trying to make chit-chat along the way, but she quickly scurried off to tend to the bar, leaving you alone with him. Horace.
You liked Horace, not only because he was easy on the eyes. Charming and determined, with his blue eyes and nice hair, he was older than you, but you still felt butterflies in your stomach every time you met. Butterflies that you always had to suffocate to fight the flush creeping up your neck. This time was no different.
“Got something for me, darling?” Horace smiled, his hair ruffled. The backroom was always full of random crates, containers, and tech, music creeping in from the club. You had to admit, it was a really good hiding place for their little rebel alliance, people constantly coming and going, high on spice.
You put a small container on the table, Horace immediately reaching for it, his fingers brushing against yours. He smiled again, but you looked away, feeling the heat in your cheeks.
“Do you know what this is?” He asked, and you heard whirring and clicking, but still avoided looking in his direction.
“No,” you answered a little more quickly than intended. “I don’t want to know. It’s better I don’t know,” you whispered.
You had a point, and Horace knew it. The fewer people who knew about their plans, the more chances they had of success. You figured pretty early on what he was planning on doing, but the payment was too good, and when the smuggling became too dangerous, you still kept on. For the spice, you told yourself initially, for those sweet, free hits Horace always gave you.
Righteous, but not pure, is what he’s always said, what he initially said to sway you into picking up spice again.
“I would never put you in danger,” his voice was coming directly from behind you now, and you trembled at how close he was to you. It felt like your whole body was burning; you wanted to take half a step backwards, just half a step, and press yourself against his body, but you knew Horace wasn’t really into you. He talked a good game, and sometimes you would catch him looking at you for a moment too long, but that was your Horace, flirty and persuasive.
“Come on,” he finally said after you didn’t respond. “You need to relax a little, have fun.” You followed him into the club, to one of the tables, and accepted the spice pump he gave you. The first hit felt nice, making you feel like you were floating. Horace’s arm was extended on the backrest behind you, and you wished so badly it was instead draped over your shoulders, drawing you closer.
He smelled so fucking good, looking at you with those big blues, his eyes half-lidded as he took another hit. It almost felt like he did scoot closer. Your ears started ringing again, music and voices becoming louder, and your whole body started to shiver. You pressed your thighs together, heat pooling between them, as you embarrassingly glanced at him, your face burning. You needed to put a stop to this, right this instant, get up and walk away, and possibly never look back.
Just as you finally gathered enough courage to stand up, one of Horace’s long fingers brushed your shoulder, once, twice, and then one more time before you realised he was drawing lazy circles on it, finally resting his whole hand between your shoulder and your neck, his thumb now reaching your exposed skin at the nape, sending shivers down your spine.
You took another hit, and your vision went all blurry, aided by the smoke and dim lights around you.
“You’re so pretty, you know that?” Horace whispered in your ear, sending another wave of heat and need through you, his nose tracing your cheek. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he continued, and you swore you never wanted to be fucked this badly in your life.
His other hand found a way under your skirt, soothing your burning thigh with his touch, as he worked his way higher. No one was paying attention to you two, but there were still people around who could notice. Still, you allowed him to brush his fingers against your wet panties, although he had to work for it a little, as you were reflexively pressing your thighs together.
“You want to be mine that badly?” he whispered, his eyes focused on your parted lips.
“Yeah,” you finally moaned, your breath mixing with his. “Yeah, I do,” you leaned in, but instead of kissing you, Horace pushed one of his long fingers into your achy pussy, drawing a startled gasp out of you.
He took you to his apartment, a tiny hole really, and kept apologising for the state of it, but you were just happy to be somewhere private and quiet. The spice was still coursing through your body, making you so much more responsive to his touch. He pressed himself against your back, pulling you into himself, his huge hands engulfing yours, pressing gentle kisses to your neck; you could feel how hard he was against your ass.
“Horace, please,” you moaned, and he immediately turned you, walking you backwards until he could corner you against a table.
“Please, what?” he teased, but leaned in close, taking your scent in, playing with your hair a little. You didn’t really pay attention; your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, pressing yourself against him even more. His hands were now grabbing at your waist, then at your hips, before finally settling on your ass. “You are so pretty when you beg,” Horace whispered against your lips, before finally succumbing. The kiss was rough and needy, and quite sloppy, which you attributed to the influence of spice.
You desperately ground against him, looking for a little tension and relief, before palming his cock through his trousers, drawing a long moan out of him.
“Who’s begging now?” you tease, pulling him back in.
With ease, Horace picked you up and plopped you on the table before you even had a chance to wrap your legs around him. He undressed you quickly, tugging and pulling, and soon you were sitting in front of him in nothing but a bra and really wet panties.
Horace took no time sinking his teeth into the crook of your neck, leaving tiny bruises sucking all over. You both moaned loudly, he at one point more than you; he pushed his hand inside your panties, dragging his fingers through your slick.
“All this for me?” he asked, teasing your nipple with his tongue. He didn’t wait for your answer, however, and pushed his finger back in, his thumb lightly circling your clit, drawing more needy moans out of you.
“Horace,” you moaned out, the knot in your stomach getting tighter. He worked another finger in, a burning stretch at first; you can’t stop moaning and panting, and Horace takes it all in, pushing his tongue into your mouth, his other hand pushing your hips into the table, grounding you. He looked down to where his fingers were pumping in and out of you, his hand almost completely covered by your slick, and he could feel his cock twitch in excitement.
“Are you close?” Horace could feel your walls starting to flutter and tighten around his fingers. “Are you going to come for me, darling?”
Your head fell back as the pleasure washed over you, your arms still hopelessly clinging around Horace’s neck.
“Good girl,” he whispered in your ear, already sending a new wave of heat through you before you even came down from your high. He gave you another sloppy kiss before his grip on you tightened. “Are you going to continue to be a good girl for me?”
“Yes, Horace,” you breathed out, your hands fumbling with his zipper so hard he had to help you get him naked. Then, he lifted you up, chasing your mouth again.
His bed was old and not that comfortable, but you couldn’t care one bit. Horace rested his thick cock between your folds, his mouth licking and sucking on your exposed tits, his broad shoulders engulfing you, caging you under him. You finally wrapped your legs around him, and Horace grunted, lining up his already leaking tip with your entrance after literally ripping your undies off, before slowly pushing in. The stretch was initially not only painful but also not pleasant at all, and you could feel your brows furrowing in response.
“You’re doing so well,” Horace grunted in response, aware of the issue at hand, but too lost between your walls to actually properly slow down. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” he mumbles again, still keeping at shallow thrusts.
You were so overwhelmed by the sensation that it took you a little while to get used to the stretch, but it was slowly turning into undeniable pleasure. Horace’s hands and mouth were everywhere: your mouth, your neck, your tits, your waist, and of course, your cunt. He sped up, the obscene sound of his cock fucking into you filling the room, pulling almost completely out before burying himself to the hilt over and over again, both of you moaning loudly.
When it all became too much for you, you dug your nails into his shoulders, your body shivering in pleasure from Horace’s cock rhythmically hitting that one spot, bringing you closer to the edge again. You looked down at where he was splitting you open, where his fat cock was mercilessly pushing in and out of you, realising he was so big he couldn’t even fit all the way. You felt so full of him, and yet you couldn’t believe that you couldn’t fully take it.
Horace’s face was buried in the crook of your neck, his weight completely on one of his arms, the other holding you up by your hips, so he could fuck even deeper into you. He couldn’t stop moaning, his breath hot on your skin, praising you constantly.
“You feel so good, darling,” he breathes out, feeling that familiar feeling of you coming soon. “Come on my cock. Be a good girl.”
His words are enough to unravel you, and you come again, harder, so hard in fact that you start whimpering senselessly, the fluttering of your cunt enough to tip Horace over as well, and he came with a long grunt, spilling deep inside you.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
warning: drug use - spice, smut, afab, p in v, oral f reciving, teasing, unspecified age gap, drinking alcohol, body worship, fluff, hurt/comfort, no use of Y/n
Summary: As the second-born, the burden of the throne did not rest upon her; she mostly stayed in the palace, keeping herself busy with her own duties, until her siblings decided to do her a favour and took her to a bar. Contrary to expectations, amongst all the customers was a man who noticed exactly who the young woman was, all alone, and Horace takes care of her in a way she had never known before.
Word count: 4587
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What use was it to have the royal blood of an emperor and an empress running through one’s veins if one was not the firstborn?
When the firstborn sister received all the attention she needed to fulfil her role as heiress, and the half-brother—a bastard—carried more weight than she did.
She was the second princess of the House of Corrino and nothing more than a forgotten safety net that would one day become relevant should a political alliance need to be forged – a fact she had come to terms with within her own circle.
Whilst her beloved siblings were being trained in swordplay, she usually found herself in the open palace grounds, reading, playing music, and learning the skills one was permitted to master within this gilded cage.
“It is important that we all uphold our bloodline” her mother’s words were full of ambition, yet they were not directed at her younger daughter; they never had been.
At least whilst reading, she was occasionally joined by Ynez, who lost herself in the works of the sisterhood, and whilst playing music, Constantine helped her, his nimble fingers coaxing the most beautiful tones from the instruments.
So it seemed day in and day out; even in the face of the engagement, not much changed-everyone in the palace seemed only to become a little more hectic.
The engagement that would only become a wedding years later.
“You’re smiling, sister. What’s the matter?” her elder sister’s question snapped her out of her thoughts; the open pages of her book long forgotten as her mind had wandered.
“In my absent-minded state, I’m actually quite glad I don’t have to take a rascal for a husband” she admitted, and both could hear Constantine chuckling as he listened to the whole exchange. Ynez herself let out a knowing sigh.
“Once the engagement is over, I can finally join the Sisterhood” the heiress declared, for everyone knew how much she was looking forward to her new training and life within the prestigious organisation.
It was an honour to join it and learn from the women…something she herself would never be entitled to.
The siblings spent a little more time together; a bond existed between them that would see them through the engagement.
A gathering of the House of Richese and other noble houses, families with lordly children, sons and daughters, all had come to witness this historic event.
A celebration in which she moved between Constantine’s side, her mother’s, and alone amongst the guests.
Few conversations and formal congratulations, yet her gaze still wandered with a hint of hope towards the sons of the houses, even a few lords themselves.
A marriage would free me from this existence she thought to herself, knowing that she too could finally leave Salusa Secundus…yet in the wake of the engagement, no one spoke of another possible union.
Her conversations, too, remained fruitless; after an opening dance, it seemed perfectly proper to dance with the second princess, yet in the men’s gaze lay none of the charm found in those who looked upon Constantine.
They did not desire her.
A celebration that, despite the brief excitement caused by the thinking machine, came to a quiet end; alcohol and a feast seemed, as ever, to be the glue of society.
Alcohol numbed the senses and the food brought satisfaction; in truth, the princess would have joined in this too had she not returned to her own chambers late in the evening.
She slipped out of the formal gown, which was somewhat impractical in combination with the court shoes; all the jewellery and embellishments gave the impression that comfort was not the priority.
She felt liberated as the dim light fell upon her body, and she changed into a lighter, airier gown made of more comfortable fabric before retiring to her bed.
It should have been a peaceful end to the evening as she tried to persuade herself to read a little more, whilst the subdued light gradually faded and even the last conversations in the palace seemed to die away.
She could easily have fallen asleep, leaving a day of excitement behind her, and indeed her eyes were already closed, the book laid aside.
Her mind had slowly settled into rest when the soft knock at her door, followed by footsteps, roused her from her peaceful slumber just moments later.
Just as she was about to jump up, a gentle hand on her shoulder held her back.
“You’re such a scaredy-cat, little sister…I thought a little outing before I leave would do you good” Ynez winked; the broad smile told her this wasn’t the first time for her and Constantine.
It might not have been the first time for her siblings, but it certainly was for her; a sense of unease that Ynez seemed to sense, pulling her sister out of bed.
“What if it gets out?” her question was more out of concern for her parents; so soon after the engagement, further excitement would be unwelcome.
When her older sister simply gave her a wink and Constantine stood in the doorway, she knew such a worry would be unfounded.
“Don’t worry, sister, it’s time you got outside too” the dark-haired man said to her, and the three of them hurried through the palace’s corridors and hallways.
Truly, with every step in the darkness, waiting for the guards to pass by, the cool night air between the siblings, she too was gradually filled with a sense of excitement.
An excitement at finally experiencing something for herself…at discovering something of her own.
~~~~~~~~~~
A slight chill had set in during the night as the shuttle flew through the air, away from the palace, from the safety of home into the city with its millions of inhabitants.
A place teeming with life, home to both the rich and the poorest, a dark expanse dotted with millions of lights that kept the city itself awake.
Yet whenever she looked out, it seemed only to be more alive than during the day; the leather of the seat was soft as Ynez stretched out beside her.
“Just stay close to us for a bit; no one will suspect we’re there” she said casually, wanting to reassure her younger sister.
A nod in reply as she tore her gaze away from the glass and looked at her siblings; there was a lightness about them both.
An outing was nothing new for the two of them; they’d done it almost every evening.
She’d seen the shuttle take off, knowing that Ynez and Constantine were on board whilst she stayed behind.
Now that she was here, however, she intended to make the most of her freedom.
“Everyone’s partying; no one will notice” Constantine agreed, pulling a small black vial from his trouser pocket; his smile confirmed to her what he intended to do.
Tapping the small vessel released its contents: spice, a bluish-shimmering powder that he drew into his body by snorting it through his nose. Passing the small vial to Ynez, she did the same before holding it out to her sister.
“No-I’m fine” she refused, remembering all too well her parents’ warnings: once you’d taken it, you’d almost certainly become addicted.
Perhaps it was just exaggerated talk to keep the inexperienced away from the drug, but she still didn’t want to risk it.
“Our inexperienced sister” Ynez simply said, pulling her close, not teasingly, but gently reassuring her that it was all right.
“At least let yourself get a bit tipsy” her half-brother added as the shuttle landed with a slight jolt and the door opened so the three of them could step out.
The night was cool, a pleasant change; the light rain gave the air a certain heaviness as she followed her siblings along the country road towards the town.
The place where Ynez and Constantine always seemed to disappear.
A place that seemed quite unremarkable from the outside, a large building stretching out towards the rear, a dark interior where she could hear music and chatter, the smell of metal mingling with a faint yet recognisable scent of cinnamon – Spice.
“Do you always go to a bar?” she asked, dodging the people who grew more numerous the further they went inside.
“Not just any bar” Constantine remarked, and as a final metal sliding door opened and they turned completely inside, they were in the large main room.
The large bar counter at the end, where a few customers were milling about; the room full of people sitting at the benches on the left and right, talking, drinking and, as she realised, smoking Spice.
Constantine took her with him, helped her navigate through the crowd, and sat her down at one of the free tables.
“You two wait here, I’ll get us something!” he said loudly enough for his sisters to hear him over the chatter and music before he disappeared into the crowd.
“So, what’s it like? This forbidden liberty?” Ynez asked, a smile on her lips as the princess let her gaze wander, seeming to recognise a few more or less familiar faces; wordless nods, and she wondered just how far her sister and brother’s connections really extended.
“It’s loud and crowded…but it’s freedom, isn’t it?” she leaned towards Ynez, glad to have come along to see this completely different side—raw and natural, not formal and full of fake smiles.
Was this the freedom she was seeking?
Was this what liberation looked like?
She couldn’t say; instead, her gaze fell on Constantine, who returned with three drinks—colourful, lightly scented and sparkling—and they clinked their glasses together, taking a sip of the sweetish alcohol.
A sense of contentment washed over her as the three of them chatted and drank; as another song began, they joined the dancing crowd, becoming one with the throng as memories of the palace slowly faded and only the present seemed to matter.
More and more time passed, and as another song played in the club, she let herself sink back onto the floor, her drink almost empty.
A pleasant feeling of relief washing over her as she let her gaze wander.
She half-noticed that Constantine was still dancing in the crowd and that Ynez had disappeared with someone down one of the corridors; she remained sitting alone, sipping her drink, a moment of calm amidst the chaos of freedom.
The moment was interrupted when someone sat down beside her.
“What brings such distinguished company here, Princess?” it was a man’s voice; as she turned towards him, she paused when she saw someone she didn’t recognise.
Light brown hair, a smile on his lips and an almost staring gaze from his light eyes as he looked at her; there was something in his eyes – something she couldn’t quite place.
“You must have me mistaken” she waved him away, looking around for her siblings, when he suddenly took her drink from her hand and, without hesitation, downed it in one gulp.
“You shine like a star; don’t take me for a fool” the stranger continued, his gaze moving from her down to her dress - the fabric too fine, with too much silk, adorned with symbols far too magnificent for ordinary folk.
It was true; she seemed like a star in contrast to his simple, dark clothing-clothing that suited him, a certain ruggedness as the older man leaned slightly towards her.
Despite the stifling atmosphere in the bar, he too smelled like spice of cinnamon with a hint of leather.
“What do you want? I might take offence at you approaching me like this” a vague threat; the hint of insecurity turning to shame as he laughed, clearly amused by her inexperienced attempt to intimidate him.
Instead, he took her hand; his skin was surprisingly rough, cold as he held her gently and placed a kiss on the back of her hand.
“I show you more respect than your father deserves” his voice losing that hint of amusement, though the interest in his gaze did not wane.
The question of his words, the aversion towards her father, faded, however, as an arm wrapped around her; waiting a moment, he seemed to want to see what she would do.
“I am not my father” her words made him smile again; she felt his fingers stroke her shoulder-a touch that sent another shiver down her body.
“No, you truly are not…you are the innocent princess” for him, it was clear as his eyes took amusement in her ignorance.
What was she supposed to say to that?
Was she really innocent?
An innocent body and mind, perhaps; there was no blood on her hands; she hadn’t assumed her political role.
So what did he want from her? She didn’t know, couldn’t say, as he continued to hold her, and only after a few moments did he shake his head.
“You have no idea, do you?” his question only confused her further; she had no idea what he was getting at when his hand suddenly rested on her cheek; she couldn’t pull away as he held her with his other hand.
His gaze seemed to pierce right through her, and his serious expression softened again.
“Consider me one of the common folk, Horace at your service” his introduction was tinged with bitterness, and he gave a hint of a smile as he finally let go of her.
Horace.
The stranger now had a name, and a distaste for her family…yet it was he himself who had somehow piqued her interest.
He was, after all, the opposite of everything she knew; he was harsh, rough, and held views that did not align with what her father preached – he seemed to be his own man.
“Horace, so what are you doing here?” her question, her whole self, seemed amusing to him as he pulled a device from his pocket, one like she’d seen everywhere here in the bar.
“Having a drink, relaxing, talking to a princess” his answer as simple as it was unsatisfying as she watched him tip some of the bluish powder into the inhaler.
A faint whirring sound could be heard as he inhaled it and blew the cloud towards her; the smoke was thin, the smell of cinnamon so strong it was as if she were standing right next to fresh spice, and a slight cough escaped her.
A reaction he dismissed with a smirk.
“I knew it, you’ve never taken Spice before, have you, princess?” Horaces question was actually long overdue; hardly anyone had ever given such a direct, dismissive reaction, and for a moment there was something like shame in her chest.
Somehow she wanted to be like him, so carefree, following a line of thought freely; her gaze moved from him to his hands, which were holding the device.
“As you can see, an inexperienced star” she replied, slowly reaching out her hand towards the black device.
Horace paused for a moment, as if considering whether he should really give the drug to the princess, the Emperor’s daughter.
“I’m right here” he reassured her instead and handed her the device, “just take a deep breath” hearing him as she put the mouthpiece to her lips.
Following his words, she inhaled the smoke.
Instantly, the taste of cinnamon lingered on her tongue, a slight tingling sensation coursed through her body as Horace gently guided her back against the soft cushioned seat and she exhaled the smoke.
For a moment, the bar became completely irrelevant; everything seemed wrapped in a dull, cotton-wool haze as the drug coursed through her body, taking effect, affecting the princess for the first time.
Before her slightly dazed gaze settled on Horace, she could still see him exhaling the smoke, relaxing with obvious pleasure for a moment as he leaned back and his hand brushed against her shoulder.
A touch that, she felt, seemed far too close, too distinct because of the drug; his warmth seemed to pass directly into her as her gaze amused him once more - the realization and confusion.
Lips that smiled, a mind that slowly began to calm down, “An innocently shining star, how is it?” Horace asked.
The words took a moment before she could focus on him again; her fingers, instead of resting on her dress, sought out his hand, as if he meant so much more than just a familiar face.
“Incredible…intense yet calm…you seem so close,” she replied, trying to describe this feeling somehow as her fingers absentmindedly brushed over his skin, a touch that felt pleasant.
Apparently not just to her.
Horace’s gaze didn’t let her go as they looked at each other, as both seemed to realize something…as perhaps a fleeting encounter seemed to be turning into something more.
He moved a little closer, as if to simply shield them from the rest of the bar, his voice so close to her ear that it sent a shiver down her spine.
“I can be even closer” words that, despite everything, left a space, a gap - something from which she could and should have distanced herself as a princess.
Yet something her heart would not let go of as a nod followed her gaze, subtle as his hand brushed her cheek, Horace playfully, almost amused, mirroring her reaction.
Before the older man rose and held out his hand to her, “Let us be one” words swallowed up by the surroundings.
The bar too much as she took his hand; the room seemed to spin, too much, too little, everything there as she simply followed Horace.
He led her through the dancing crowd, past the guests, and she still noticed how iron bars opened as the dark corridor seemed to merge into one, and the dark-haired man led her into a larger, quieter room.
No other guests here, the music like a pleasant background noise, only there if you really listened…yet what mattered was Horace as he let go of her hand.
“Peace amid all the intensity, just you and me” she began as her fingers glided over the embroidery on her dress; for a moment, her gaze shamelessly lingered on his body as he slipped off his dark top and revealed more of himself.
“Just me and you, an innocent, lovely princess” he replied slowly, making his way onto the large, cushioned expanse of pillows, towels, and blankets as her own fingers found their way into her dress and pulled it over her head.
Horaces bright eyes gazed at her, the sight having a distinct effect on both of them as his dilated pupils took in more and more; she slid toward him and ran her hands over his upper body.
His skin was soft and warm, like her own body as he held her; pleasantly firm, she didn’t want to let go of him.
His touch on her side as he gently pulled her down with him, her body caught by the soft floor as Horace finally drew her into the kiss that was so long overdue.
Finally a connection, something more intimate than her fingers running over his skin, the sensation more intense than anything she’d ever felt from the drug.
A gasp escaped Horace himself as a simple scratch on his skin seemed to send a shiver through him just as she shifted slightly beneath him.
“I’m not that innocent” her words made him smile again as they broke the kiss and he kissed his way down her neck, his little nibbles and bites leaving their mark.
Even in her state, it was clear to her that this was his way of expressing his aversion - who else in the universe would be allowed to treat the Emperor’s princess this way?
With every small, harsh yet sweet bite, the colorful caresses on her skin as she ran her hands over his body, she could feel the strength within him as he simply held her, pressing her lightly into the softness beneath him. “
“The blood of the throne, what have I done?” she could hear his amused murmur as he kissed his way down her upper body, Horaces gaze just as deep in lust as her own.
As Horace’s fingers massaged her breasts. The rebel couldn’t resist squeezing her nipples a little, but the painful tug was immediately soothed by a kiss.
“Are you sure you’re not innocent?” the question brought a flush of shame to her ears and cheeks; both knew full well that the drug made everything so much more intense, and yet…Horace meant so much more to her than just lust.
The mix of aversion for something she couldn’t control and affection.
She knew Horace could have used her, just like most of the scum in the shadows of the streets.
No, despite his distaste, he treated her with such devotion.
It filled her heart with even more affection.
Her own hands, moving over his body, wanted more of him; her fingers slid down to the waistband of his pants as Horace’s fingers traced up her thighs, leaving light strokes on the soft skin that seemed so much more intense because of the drug.
“So needy, or just so lustful? What’s the trouble, my lady? Am I being too forward?” the older man remarked as he leaned back slightly, away from her grasp; she was forced to look at him as she lost contact with him - a chill washed over her as his body was no longer against hers.
Her words, a reply not yet uttered, as he shifted slightly on the white bed and a gasp escaped her when his rough hands suddenly spread her thighs slightly.
“I could tell the Emperor about this” a hollow threat came breathlessly from her lips as she looked at him, but the amused snore let her know that Horace didn’t think so.
If she had truly rejected him, he would have been in prison long ago.
Words that faded into a gasp, a moan, as he settled between her thighs; the licking and sucking at that nerve-wracking spot seemed to send waves of arousal coursing through her entire body.
A tingling in every fiber of her being that seemed to mingle with the spice as her body arched, a slight tremor as her fingers tangled in his hair.
With each of Horace’s licks, she tugged lightly at his hair; his muffled groan was lost in her moans, and he seemed to react just as much to the sweet pain.
Perhaps she could endure it after all, as his hands held her hips tighter, pressing her back into the soft sea again and again so she couldn’t escape him.
So she would submit to his caresses with every flick of his tongue.
She accepted what he gave her - what was due to a princess, the emperor’s daughter.
A feeling of ecstasy that could have lasted forever, a union in which they felt at ease with one another in the wave of excitement.
The taste of spice a nearly faded note, the music floating in the background as their hearts beat faster together with each passing movement and the couple’s blissful surrender.
The intoxicating sensation only ceased when Horace pulled away from her, stepping back slightly; even with her eyes half-closed, she could see him licking his lips - proof of what he’d been doing.
The look in his bright eyes made it clear to her why he’d stopped, for she could clearly see the bulge in his pants, his own desire just as urgent as her own.
“Help your princess, I say” she commanded breathlessly as she sat up slightly to pull him into a kiss, to taste him again, her own taste on her tongue as Horace shifted his position slightly.
“Nothing would please me more” the older man replied, his body sinking back into the softness, his hands returning to her hips as both seemed to lose themselves in each other’s dilated pupils.
Spice enhanced everything; her moans echoed through the room, his own gasps as they felt each other, more intimate, more unifying than the drug ever could.
He was wide, a filling sensation, a dull, familiar pressure as his grip on her hips always reminded her that he had her, that they were together, that with every thrust his lips traced her body.
Her submissive was so loyal to her that he destroyed every hint of unease...yet the strength of his hold was a distant reminder that he stood for something.
Something that, unknowingly, could soon mean ruin.
In the kiss he pulled her into, the sounds grew muffled; she felt his rough fingers grip her skin, squeeze it, her own fingers clinging to him, seeking support against his warm body, scraping along as he hit that spot inside her, a rhythm in which both bodies moved.
As each of her sounds spurred him on to elicit more, Horace’s bites and caresses on her skin created colorful patterns of pleasure.
Her fingernails raked across his body, leaving red, warm streaks, the princess leaving her own mark on him.
Neither of them could have imagined that the evening would unfold in such a way that they could grow so close, even though they were on opposite sides.
Two sides that became one here, as their gazes met again and again, sensual sounds seemed to form their own music, and their bodies moved even closer together as he pulled her tighter to him, her legs wrapped around his hips.
The moan that escaped him, the shudder that ran through Horace as he felt her tighter against him, a triumph in lust.
They were both lost in this endless height, yet after a few more moments they slowly reached their limits, as Spice seemed to fade away.
She could no longer move with him with such intensity, and his own thrusts grew more jerky and uncoordinated as everything seemed to blur.
They became one as they took his; she let out a final, slight arch of her body as he pulled her close, burying his head in her neck and letting out a grunt as the orgasm swept over them both.
It seemed to last an eternity—a wonderful eternity—as movement gradually returned to their bodies; looks of exhaustion mixed with satisfaction crossed their faces as Horace slowly withdrew from her as he gradually became soft again.
He lay down beside her in a sea of soft blankets and pillows; the blanket was a blessing as the warmth lay pleasantly between them.
“I have surely fulfilled my duty to the universe” he murmured, this time she couldn’t help but laugh as she turned toward him.
“You truly have, my subject” she replied, and he shared her smile. It was just an encounter with a stranger, yet this stranger, Horace, already meant so much more to her than the throne ever had.
As she snuggled up to him and he gently wrapped an arm around her, she would have given up her inheritance for the sweet taste of the drug of being united with Horace forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
info: I’m a bit torn; I quite don't like the beginning and have rewritten it several times, but I love the interactio between Horace and the reader. I hope Horace hasn’t gone too ooc – thanks for reading, I didn't think that it would be this long but I'm happy I finished it. Oh and by the way the series was good!
Summary: A night of dancing turns heavy when you meet Horace, who unknowingly makes one of your fantasies real.
Word count: 1.5k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, vaginal fingering, spice use, porn without plot, plot what plot, dubcon, first draft yolo, no beta
Notes: This is based on the Dune: Prophecy TV series. I’ve never read any of the books. Some things I write about might be dubcon and/or out of character.
You were feeling yourself tonight, choosing a flowy skirt and a cute top, deciding to continue with your plans even after your girl friend cancelled.
You were a little nervous in the club, but it was quite freeing to dance on your own, simply feeling the atmosphere. A man approached you, spinning you around, and you giggled a little, taking his hand, before feeling a huge hand belonging to someone else splayed across your waist, guiding you further into the crowd.
The faint scent of pine and cedar overwhelmed your senses, two hands on your swaying hips pressing your back against him.
“I’m a little hurt, darling,” he whispered in your ear, his deep voice going directly to the warmth of your cunt.
Darling, sweetheart, baby, sugar, Horace loved to give you every nickname under the sun. “I thought we had a good thing going,” his head dipped lower, his hot breath trailing the curve of your neck.
You always suspected that Horace was a little possessive over you, even though nothing ever happened between you two, except for some harmless flirting and charged dancing. Well, you were dancing, and Horace was doing something.
And now, he was close, closer than ever before. Your breath hitched as you put your hands over his, long fingers pressing into your skin over layers of fabric. His hair was tickling the skin of your shoulder as he was ghosting over it, teasing you, refusing his lips to kiss it.
You swayed together to music, beads of sweat sliding down your neck, bodies pressing against both of you, but your mind was only reacting to Horace and his intoxicating touch.
You dreamed of this, often. Horace touching you, his lips leaving sloppy kisses on your burning skin, his voice whispering sweet and dirty things in your ear…
Your head fell backwards, onto his shoulder, his fingers tracing small circles, struggling to reach you beneath flimsy fabric.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Horace whispered, his lips grazing the shell of your ear; you moaned, pressing yourself harder against his body. “Mhm,” he hummed against your skin, wriggling one hand from your gentle grasp.
He moved your slightly wet hair from your neck, his lone finger pressing into your skin, tracing all the way to the strap of your top and then pressing one open-mouth kiss there, pulling your strap up by his teeth, before playfully letting it snap against your skin.
“Horace,” you moaned into the air, unsure if he could even hear you.
His other hand was still glued to your hip, grounding you, reminding you, holding you. The heat radiating from his body was making you dizzy, especially in the combination of dim yellowish light peaking through the smoke around you. His hand now trailed higher, to your waist, pressing your back flush against his hard, muscular chest; with his other hand, he brought one of those pipes to your face, and you pressed in, taking a long inhale of spice.
Horace’s face was directly above yours now, as you corded your neck, the hand that was still holding the pipe gently perched under your chin, guiding your head up; you finally gazed upon his face and those mesmerising blue eyes as you exhaled directly in his mouth.
You always had an unhealthy fascination with his fingers, so long and nimble. You couldn’t figure out why, because other people also had similarly long fingers, but the way he moved them, so elegantly, skillfully, had your breath hitching every time.
And you stared, always, when he would pour you drinks or when he would smoke, your eyes always trailing after his hands, your cheeks burning, imagining them all over you, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
Both of his hands back on your hips, you closed your eyes, focusing on Horace’s touch and smell, wondering how it would feel if he slid his hands lower, his fingers sliding under your skirt, playing with your panties, parting your folds, before plunging into your needy pussy.
You fantasised about it often, trying to imagine the feeling with your own fingers, but it never felt satisfying enough. You bit your lip trying to suppress a moan, his arms enveloping you. And then, they slid a little lower on your thigh, and you could feel heat throbbing in your cunt as one of his fingers sneaked under your skirt and touched the hem of your panties.
Horace slid his finger over the hem, his heavy breath on part of your face and back of your neck, before his other fingers joined in, ghosting over the fabric. You wanted him to touch you right there so badly you couldn’t even concentrate on moving, your body almost limp, desperately leaning against his.
“I saw how you were looking at me,” he whispered, and your cunt clenched around nothing, more slick pooling in your panties.
You panicked a little, fearing Horace would make fun of how desperate you were for his touch, his fingers. He could strip you naked in the middle of the dance floor, and you would still beg for just one finger more.
Finally, he moved two of his fingers, gently touching you through the soaked fabric, trailing over your folds all the way up to your clit, applying a slight pressure there, drawing small circles.
“You are completely soaked, darling,” his whisper was so clear in your ear, so enticing, a light chuckle in his voice causing your walls to clench again. “I’d never think a sweet thing like you would be down this bad for me.”
Slowly teasing you, he pushed those same fingers under your panties, a little greedily, immediately soaking his fingertips, but cautious not to penetrate.
You moaned his name, loudly, feeling a twitch of his hard cock against your ass.
He repeatedly trailed his fingers up and down, not letting you quite settle into his touch, before abruptly withdrawing them, drawing out a surprised whine out of you.
You turned, only to watch Horace lick his fingers, his eyes fixed on your face.
“You look so pretty like this,” he told you, his other hand now firmly pressing into your ass, drawing you closer to him.
You put your hands on his chest and then his neck, your breathing ragged, looking at how calm and composed he was, and so determined.
“Open,” he brought his fingers to your mouth, and you readily obeyed, tasting yourself on his fingers that he pushed down your tongue all the way to the knuckles.
“We don’t need too much, do we?” he whispered, implying your slick was more than enough, drawing another moan out of you.
You were faintly aware of other people around you, as Horace was slowly pushing one of his fingers into you, his thumb now circling your clit, his other finger already fingering you, dragging between your walls. He soon added another, a slight but welcome burn, his thumb slowly finding a rhythm that you responded to well.
Neither of you were moving nor paying attention to the dancers around you. You were completely taken over by the pleasure, and Horace was determined to make you come on his hand. You involuntarily clenched around his fingers, and he chuckled in astonishment, adding a third finger, stretching you completely.
You scratched the skin on his neck, clutching at him, not sure if you could handle it.
“You’re so tight,” he cooed in your ear. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”
You clenched around all three of his fingers, that knot you kept ignoring in your stomach threatening to break, soon. He kept applying pressure with his thumb over your sensitive clit, circling tighter.
“Oh, darling,” he chuckled again. “I want to feel you soak my entire hand. And then later, soak my cock as well.”
You looked up through your lashes, his face in that slightly creepy grin, as he continued plunging his fingers in and out of you, before curling them, hitting that sweet spot and you knew you were going to unravel quickly, especially if he continued rubbing your clit and talking like that.
Embarassingly, you were too fucked out to form any words, desperately clinging onto Horace, tiny gasps and moans escaping your mouth.
He could feel you spasming around his fingers, getting close. You suddenly felt warm, too warm, heat suffocating you.
“I can’t wait to hear those pretty sounds when I fuck you. Can you feel that?” he asked about his cock that was pressing against your thigh, leaking so heavily through his trousers and your skirt that you could feel it on your skin.
“Horace,” you desperately mustered, your nails digging deep into his skin. You were begging to come, and then for him to fuck you.
“I will fuck you so long and so hard you’ll forget your name,” his head dipped lower, his other hand holding you at the nape, trying to ground you. “Fuck, I want to feel you so badly,” he admitted, in such a needy tone that it was enough to tip you over.
The pleasure washed over you, Horace’s lips crashing onto yours as he lustfully stole every one of your moans, his fingers fucking you through it, your slick leaking all over his hand and your thighs.
“Come on,” he whispered, his calloused hand holding firmly onto yours as he guided you through the crowd.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Summary: Desperate for spice, you go back to Horace, but he doesn’t accept money as payment from you.
Word count: 2.7k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, coercion, non-con, implied addiction, dead dove do not eat, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, oral (m receiving), some fingering, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, spice use, porn without plot, plot what plot, dubcon, first draft yolo, no beta we die like leto atreides
DO NOT READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE WITH WARNINGS
Notes: This is based on the Dune: Prophecy TV series. I’ve never read any of the books. Some things I write about might be dubcon and/or out of character, but I’m still down bad for Sam, so please forgive any inaccuracies. And if Sam ever reads this… sowy<3
You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this again, and then tried to convince yourself it was just for the dancing. Your outfit was all flowy, partially see-through, hugging your body perfectly, and you liked how you looked in the mirror.
You could almost feel his huge hands on your waist, one sliding down to your hip, the other up to your breasts, his long, nimble fingers greedily touching you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, tracing your skin with his mouth and his nose, grunting, groaning, moaning.
No, you shook your head to yourself. Dancing and some fun, that’s all it was about, you reminded yourself, your lip trembling. Your whole body was shaking a little as you walked through the club, scanning faces and voices. You suddenly felt so insecure on your feet, so unstable, you almost fell. Your fingers played with the hem of your top, and you chewed on your lip. Fuck, you thought to yourself again, ruined my makeup.
“He’s in the back!” Mikaela yelled from behind the bar, her unnatural blue eyes glimmering sweetly. She looked you up and down and winked at you, smirking. You had no idea if it was a good or a bad sign, but you suddenly felt small. Still, your legs walked directly to the room you were all too familiar with.
Horace’s eyes immediately snapped to you, face stern, before his expression softened, and he flashed a big smile. You never noticed before how the muddy green of his shirt made those big blue eyes of his bigger, and just more blue.
“I thought you would never come back,” he teased, echoing your words to you.
“Shut up, Horace,” you quipped, but your voice broke, and you were trying to will away the tears already welling up in your eyes.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Horace continued sweet-talking as always, but there was some concern visible on his face, although he was pretty sure you hadn't noticed. You never noticed, no matter what Horace said or did. His jaw reflexively tensed, but he just pushed his hair back a little. He cockily waited for you to approach him, his eyes darting up and down, checking you out in an almost creepy way.
Horace knew very well why you were here, why you kept coming back, and he never missed an opportunity to point out how dependent you were on his product, and more importantly, him. You couldn’t really remember how exactly it started, but it has become a routine since, and you complied like a good girl every single time, with minimal pouting.
You did eventually approach him, your steps still a little unsure. It was only a couple of steps, but your palms were sweaty, mostly because you couldn’t decipher the expression on Horace’s face. Your breath was uneven, heart drumming in your chest so loud you couldn’t hear the music creeping into the room anymore.
“I knew you were coming back,” Horace whispered in your ear, his tongue momentarily darting out to lick it, his fingers gently caressing stray strands of your hair.
“You just can’t stay away from me, can you, sweetheart?” He took a deep breath, inhaling your scent, which went directly to his cock, and moaned.
“Don’t flatter yourself too much, Horace,” you replied as calmly as possible, a cold chill going down your spine.
“I’m only here for the spice.” He was playing with a hem of your skirt now, his fingers occasionally brushing against the skin of your thigh. You suddenly felt exposed and bare, blaming yourself for your questionable choice of clothing. Horace licked his lips once before grinning again, his eyes permanently fixed on your gaping mouth.
“Well then, sweetheart, you know what you have to do.” He leaned against one of his mysterious crates.
You nodded quickly, hating yourself already. You still had time to leave, to just walk away, find a different club, different fucking dealer, you thought to yourself, sinking to your knees.
“Good girl,” Horace whispered, both of his hands already tangled in your hair, his thumbs rubbing absent-minded circles into your skull.
“Such a good girl,” he moaned again as you slid the zipper of his trousers down and pressed one gentle kiss to his hard cock through the fabric. He always smelled so clean, with a faint scent of pine, which always made it so much easier to trade your mouth for whatever you needed, spice or otherwise.
By now, you knew how Horace liked it; you looked up, locking eyes with him for a moment, before palming him slightly and leaning your head against his muscular thigh. Then, you slowly pulled down his boxer shorts, and his cock sprang out, already rock hard. Another moan slipped from his mouth, sending another shudder through you.
You licked it up and then down again, following the prominent veins, positioning your hands on each of Horace’s thighs, looking up to him again. His eyes were half-lidded, his hands stilling in your hair, his mouth agape, and he looked like he would break fast, although you knew that may be just wishful thinking on your part. Based on your previous experiences, Horace’s fat cock is going to make your jaw ache and your throat bruised for days.
Still, deep inside you, you liked being his undoing. A couple of times, you drew it out a little, and he was literally begging to cum, his fingers pulling at your hair a little harder, his throat making those weird, desperate sounds. You couldn’t admit it to yourself even now, but it turned you on a little, arousal overshadowed by intense feelings of guilt and shame of enjoying something you were low-key coerced into.
You leaned your whole head on him, his cock resting against your face, just like you knew he liked it. He never asked you to do it, but one time, when he was really high, he pushed your head against himself in such a manner, and you were doing it ever since.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Horace mumbled, snapping you from your thoughts, but you could feel a faint heat pooling in you.
Your fingers found their way to his cock, stroking him a little; shallow, exploratory jerks that were meant to entice rather than satisfy. Horace was so big you couldn’t fully grab it solely with one hand, nor could you swallow him all the way, but he always made you suck him off, for whatever reason. You used to wonder how many customers were servicing him on the regular, before he let slip that you were the only one.
What an honour, you thought then, and you thought it now, a desperate little girl falling so low. Except you weren’t little, and sometimes you also wondered if you were truly that desperate. You still kept going back.
You licked him again, drawing another loud moan out of Horace. Loud and a little pathetic, you thought, before noticing little beads of precum gathering on the top of his raging cockhead.
Your head dipped lower, licking his balls now, and you grabbed his cock to spread the precum over his tip with your thumb. Here comes the symphony, another thought popped up in your foggy mind, and like on cue, Horace started grunting and moaning.
“Such pretty fucking lips,” he groaned as you continued licking.
“I love fucking your mouth, it hits harder than spice.”
“Admit it, sweetheart, you love it when I spurt down your throat.”
“One of these days, I’ll paint your face, doll.”
“You like it, don’t you? You like being on your knees for me. That’s why you keep coming back, right, love?”
“You’re so good at this, I trained you well.”
Most men would get this talkative when close, but Horace would run his mouth for the whole duration, just constantly moaning about these fantasies where you were into him. You found it repulsive at first, but you got used to it, taking in Horace’s glistening tip. You opened your mouth wide, your lips brushing against his hot, red, sensitive skin, your tongue swirling around it.
You started bobbing your head, hollowing out your cheeks, taking him in deeper with every move, your hands gripping as hard as you could at the base of his cock, continuing to move up and down in rhythm. Horace’s moans started to sound awfully like whimpers; you’ve never heard him unravelling like that before.
Just a little more, you thought, his cock hitting deep in your throat, making you gag. Horace told you numerous times already that he loved the sound of you choking on him, so you continued, gagging and struggling, more and more spit gathering in your mouth, but it was never enough to protect your throat from his continued thrusts. It was almost therapeutic at times, making your head clear, empty, and completely focused on nothing else but satisfying him. Once, only once, you wondered if that’s why you kept coming back, that blowing Horace was making you calmer and more detached than any drug ever could. You shuddered again, but it was that unpleasant cold feeling mixed with an embarrassing amount of excitement.
Some of your saliva mixed with his precum was dripping down your chin, but Horace hated it when you wiped it, so you let it drip, fall over your chest and roll down your top, wetting your tits. Horace’s eyes were fixed on your face, your battered lips that were taking him so well, your throat that he knew wouldn’t be able to produce sounds for the next couple of days.
“Up, get up,” he suddenly spoke, his hands letting go of your head and grabbing your upper arms, pulling you to your feet. Your knees buckled as Horace dragged you further into the dark of the room, before pushing you on your elbows on yet another crate.
He kicked your legs wider, his cock pressed against your ass.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he moaned, his fingers finding a way into your panties.
“Neither can you, sweetheart. Were you getting this wet every fucking time?” His fingers caressed your folds, superficially pushing between, rubbing your clit. The whole time, his hot breath was on your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin, his smirking lips dragging against any exposed parts of your shoulder he could find.
“Horace,” you pleaded, your voice strained and breathy, as you were trembling against him.
You were frozen, unable to move a muscle, a stray tear rolling down your face.
“Horace,” you begged again, your cunt involuntarily spasming around nothing. You felt such shame at being aroused at the prospect of Horace’s big cock battering your needy pussy. What if he’s right, you thought, listening to Horace’s grunts as he lined himself up against your opening. You couldn’t deny being wet or aroused and weirdly relaxed; you took a deep breath, trying to… What? You had no idea, as another wave of shame spilt over you, and if Horace’s hands weren’t firmly holding you by your hips, you would have collapsed.
You chewed on your lips again, feeling exposed again; anyone could have walked in or seen inside, as you couldn’t tell how shielded the two of you actually were. Was it truly so wrong to enjoy it, perhaps even seek out pleasure in this way, you wondered, pressing your cheek against the cold surface.
He started pushing in, stretching you violently, too impatient to prepare you at all, determined to fuck you and chase his pleasure without even dipping a tip of his finger in you. It burned in a familiar, but unpleasant way, and yet, your cunt continued to suck him in. Your heart was beating so hard you could hear it in your ears, tuning out all the sounds, including Horace’s warning.
He pushed all the way in, drawing a scream out of you, his hand instinctively covering your mouth before easing, his other hand splayed over the small of your back.
“You are so tight,” his voice was breaking, the stretch of his cock merciless, burning. It was still somewhat of an uncomfortable feeling, but Horace slowed down. You could feel his cock twitching, his tip dragging slowly through your walls, kissing that one spot you knew was eventually going to tip you over.
You have never had a cock this big and thick inside you, hitting the entrance of your womb. Your legs were already tired and your elbows burned, but to your horror, you noticed that your hips were swaying, following Horace’s thrusts.
“Guess how you’ll be paying me from now on,” he chuckled, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, and you could feel his mouth forming that pervy, toothy grin.
His hands slipped back to your hips, holding, enveloping, steadying you as he continued to slowly fuck in and out of you, his moans filling your ears.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” Horace continued, praising you, before he grabbed your face and slipped his tongue inside your mouth, his fingers pressing at your chin. He never kissed you before. No one ever kissed you like that before, passionate and needy, desperate to taste himself on you, desperate to taste you.
A horrible thought suddenly occurred to you; no one has ever wanted you as much as Horace wanted you. All of your previous romantic and sexual interactions faded under the ferocity and possessiveness of Horace’s touch and his need for you. Your cunt started fluttering, and Horace grinned against your face again. His hand snaked around you, stroking your clit, touching where your bodies merged, and it made him go feral.
Holding your hips firmly with both hands again, he started fucking you so hard you had to brace against the crate, and it still wasn’t enough to keep him from slamming your hips against it. The loose belt buckle of his pants was pressed against your thigh so violently that you knew it was going to leave a nasty bruise, and yet in this moment you shamefully couldn’t care less. You knew you were going to feel horrible the moment Horace spills and you would be forced to go home with his seed leaking out of you, feeling all sorts of used and discarded. And yet, a small, almost incomprehensible moan slipped from your mouth.
Horace was relentless, thrusting deep and hard, and you couldn’t help but wonder exactly how bruised you would be when he was done. He eased a little, his fingers on your clit again. His breathing was ragged, and you felt small droplets of sweat dripping from his forehead onto your back.
“Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart?” his voice was laced with that sleaziness you despised.
“Are you going to cum on my cock?” Horace continued chuckling, his fingers circling just right, the coil in your stomach threatening to blow.
“I know you want to,” he teased between his moans. “Your pussy feels so good, and I bet it’s going to feel even better when I fill it to the brim.”
His words, his fingers, his cock; they made you unravel in such an aggressive way that your whole body jerked as your vision went black and a feeling of sweet ecstasy washed over you. Horace followed immediately, and you could feel his hot, sticky seed deep inside you, and then spilling out, dripping down your legs as he slowly pulled out. You were still shaking when your awareness came back to you; you were standing up, Horace’s hands wrapped around your waist, and you were leaning against him.
His head was buried in the crook of your neck, his hot breath sending some sort of feeling down your spine. Your gaze fell to your ripped panties on the floor, the only thing you had to clean yourself up. Horace’s hands were still on you, going up and down your arms, pressing scarily gentle open-mouth kisses to your shoulder. You expected him to mock, to insult, but even after his breathing returned to normal, he was still being all cuddly. When he tried to interlace his fingers with yours, you finally lost it.
“Stop fucking touching me!” Your voice broke again, and you sobbed, loudly, to your utter embarrassment, not even able to turn around and face him.
Storming out, your make-up ruined, and smelling of him, you realised you didn’t even take the spice you came for, bile rising in your stomach. Doesn’t matter, you just wanted to get home, wash your humiliation off yourself, and sleep for days. Luckily, you still had enough pills for that.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
warning: fluff, kissing, comfort, age gap, no use of Y/N
Summary: While her family attends a diplomatic meeting with the great houses, the princess stays behind in the palace. A quiet task turns into a lovely moment with the arrival of her beloved, and she can finally show him the beauty of her garden.
Word count: 1854
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The palace of House Corrino on Salusa Secundus was in a flurry of activity. Servants, guards, and everyone under the Emperor’s command was bustling about to complete the preparations in time.
The spaceships, manned by pilots and filled with crates of spice, currency, and treasures.
Just a glimpse of the whole, were enough to ensure her family would once again receive praise.
“If there’s anything, don’t hesitate to call me” her father’s voice, always so hesitant with her, his gaze fixed on her, a mix of worry and hope.
Her mother, on the other hand, was confident, offering reassurance, “The responsibility will do you good, you’ll see” the Empress stepped in, her hand resting on her daughter’s as Javvico stroked the princess’s shoulder.
The second princess, a spare heir as they said in the shadows—truth, bitter, and yet she had come to terms with her existence.
Knowing that Ynez was more important, which was why her older sister was going on the mission.
Before she met him, she would have sought her own happiness, but now...now she was glad to say goodbye to her parents and pull Ynez into one last embrace.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do myself” Ynez winked, the older sister’s gaze holding a knowing look, aware that her sister had surely planned something.
A fact she would tell Ynez later.
As she turned away from her, she wished the last member of her family good luck in politics and watched for a few more moments as the spaceship lifted off from the dock, eventually disappearing into the clouds to devote itself to higher duties.
Higher duties—she herself had duties: minor administrative tasks, rallies, selecting documents requiring her approval during the time she watched over the palace.
Duties that took away her boredom, that gave her a moment of power when she sat on the throne, alone in the hall, knowing that there was only her, the staff, and the guards... and soon a guest.
Her special guest, who would be there soon.
~~~~~~~~~~
The first few days after the Emperor’s departure were always hectic, when everyone had to readjust, and deliveries, meetings, and plans had to be rearranged to ensure everything would be ready when he returned.
In her chambers, already at her desk, she was skimming the next document - a request from a great house asking Javvico to hear their case in the Council regarding trade and alliances.
One of many demands - but would House Corrino give in so easily?
The pen in her hand stirred the dark ink in the small vial slightly as she dipped it in, just as she was about to begin writing, when a knock at her door tore her from the moment.
“What is it?” she asked, loud enough for her irritation at the surprise to be heard; the shock had nearly caused the ink to drip from the pen tip.
“Forgive the disturbance, Princess; a man is at the gate and says he must speak with you” the reply immediately changed her mind.
Annoyance gave way to joy as she set the pen aside and made her way out of her chamber as quickly as her dignity would allow.
The servant walking half a step behind her was quiet; she was not her father, nor was she the Emperor.
“Prepare a small table in my gardens; I wish to dine there” her command was acknowledged with a nod, and he disappeared at the next turn in one of the corridors as she continued on her way.
Through the palace that had seemed so vast to her as a child and now felt almost too small, though she knew every corner.
Through corridors and hallways, up the floors, until the large double doors opened for her and she made her way toward the golden main gate.
The two guards standing watch at the gate saluted, always ready to give their lives for her in danger.
“What do you want from your Princess of the House of Corrino, from the Emperor’s daughter?” she asked with as much seriousness as she could muster as she recognized the man standing behind the gold all too well.
Seeing Horace gaze shift to the guards for a moment, she could tell the dark-haired man was considering whether to insult her house as he made a bow that was more of a nod than a proper bow.
“Are the people not allowed to admire your beauty?” his counter-question brought a smile to her lips, always charming as she gave the order for him to enter.
Horace behaved himself - at least he didn’t charge at the guards - as he cheekily ignored all court etiquette as usual and walked beside her.
His gaze fixed on her, and only allowed himself the freedom to pull her into his arms once the palace doors closed.
“My princess” Horace held her close - rough, tall, older, harder - yet he was everything she was not, everything she would never be by birth.
As he looked at her, his eyes, behind all that hardness, held so much tenderness and affection for her as she slowly took his hand and guided it to her cheek.
“My subject…my dearest Horace” she replied. The kiss was finally a reward for her patience, the time of waiting rewarded with the love they had finally found.
Feeling his hold as he pulled her a little closer to him, she gladly yielded, knowing that he experienced so much more in the city, that he was exposed to greater danger.
She, after all, was in a golden cage, and he was her freedom - something she herself had chosen.
Their hearts longed for one another.
Only when the two parted did she take his hand; they walked through the palace, a place she could barely notice anymore, yet she could see how Horace’s gaze lingered on every little detail.
A mix of fascination and aversion, “Such golden luxury should be forbidden, but not you, my love” he murmured.
She knew of his aversion to the throne, his aversion to her father...all this hatred and anger, however, was not directed at her; Horace did not judge her for the title she bore, nor for what she was born into - he herself had had no choice.
“If I were to be banned, you’d have no reason to come here” she replied, returning his smile as the two continued through the palace; she was glad when he truly wanted to know something and was just as content with his aversion.
The path was a short tour; even though he was slowly getting to know the place, it was still new to Horace.
His hand never left hers; his grip on her was gentle, always a balance between protection and freedom as they stepped out of the palace into the open rear area.
Not her father’s area by the water—they had already been there last time.
“Do you remember how I told you I’d prepared something?” she asked, seeing how well he still remembered her words; his gaze, moving from her dress to her eyes, told her more than she needed to know.
The last time must have stayed with him particularly well - bathed in golden sunlight, they’d had the entire palace to themselves.
“You always wanted to see the beauty of my birthright” she said as the doors opened, revealing the slightly secluded area - a 'gift' from her father for her coming-of-age celebration a few years ago.
Her own place, her garden filled with flowers from all manner of planets - gifts the great houses had made for her, varieties she had cultivated herself - and pretty little butterflies flitting about.
All the pride she shared with Horace as she walked with him through the greenery; she could see how, for the first time, he was overwhelmed by something he barely knew.
Having no connection to nature or greenery - in the city, there was nothing like this; he was surrounded by metal and darkness.
“Your birthright is just as impressive and beautiful as you are” he replied as he walked over to one of the pointed grasses, small delicate blossoms forming a flower.
“A cold beauty from the planet Lankiveil” she explained.
She couldn’t tell if he had a picture in his mind, but the smile on his lips, the fascinated look in his bright eyes as he listened to her, his rough fingers stroking the soft petals.
“It smells sweet, with a hint of cold” Horace said, pointing to the blossoms as she encouraged him to look at the other flowers.
Amid all this beauty, he didn’t let go of her hand; it seemed, even though he knew her well, he wanted to experience this beauty with her.
Only when they continued down the path and reached the pavilion in the middle did he stop by the roses; with a steady, gentle touch, he pressed lightly on the thorns.
“Do you like them?” her question went unanswered as he broke off the bloom with a simple gesture, unconcerned that he was destroying its beauty, knowing she would get new ones, that as a princess she would get everything she wanted, before he placed the bloom in her hair.
“Now I like them” Horace replied, pulling her into another kiss, intimate, holding her in the sea of flowers, his rough scent mingling with the sweetness of the blossoms.
They sighed as she leaned against him, that moment of peace, of love - as it should always have been.
The moment he wasn’t noble, didn’t come from a great house, was forgotten.
As she led him to the pavilion and sat down with him at the stone table where more food than necessary was already laid out.
“That’s the only good thing about all this” Horace gestured toward the food and reached for one of the tartlets.
Her mischievous laugh as she sipped the expensive alcohol and also reached for a tartlet - neither of them was picky when it came to taste.
The contented sigh that escaped him caught her attention as he leaned back slightly in his chair, visibly satisfied with the moment, with life, with their existence, with love.
“Horace Corrino, that sounds wonderful to me” her comment made him laugh; a dream, yet likely reality, as he pulled a small vial from his jacket.
Her gaze seemed a bit too eager as he held it before her, “Spice Princess sounded better” his voice just as confident.
Playful as Horace pressed a kiss to her cheek before mixing the Spice into the alcohol, and they both clinked their glasses together and tasted the drug.
Even if her father continued on his political path, even though she shared his blood, her life and her love for Horace lay far away from all of that.
She would build her own kingdom no matter what lay ahead...and now all that mattered were the two of them, lovers in a sea of flowers of love.
warning: character death, hurt/comfort, kissing, emotional, fluff, age gap, injurys, no use of Y/N
Summary: For her father, the Emperor, it was the crushing of a rebellion; but for her, the Princess, it was the loss of her love. A final visit to prison, the realisation that she could not save him, as Horace and she had to accept that there was no future for them together.
Word count: 1747
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When she first saw him, the city around her was crowded, dark, and dirty, yet honest - the honest side of humanity.
Of her planet.
The music in the bar was loud, drowning out her thoughts as she made her way through the crowd, leaving her sister and half-brother behind for a moment, forgetting the throne and her bloodline as she spoke to him.
The look in his bright eyes, at first almost incredulous, then dismissive...yet by the end of the night, he was captivated.
Not by the princess, but by the woman she was beneath her title.
For him, for Horace, she should have rejected him simply because he was against her father, yet how could she have turned away someone like him?
Someone so different, so liberating compared to all those at the court of the throne, all the others who were only out for themselves.
Horace was there for someone who truly needed to benefit.
The people—the people who were so disregarded by the great houses that hardly anyone bothered to think of them.
“If Father listens to me, he’ll change; he’ll see you as part of the whole” her words had sounded naive back then.
On that night when she stood with Horace on one of the rooftops, his arm holding her, the drink in both their hands nearly empty as she gazed up at the star-filled sky.
Perhaps it was drunken court fun, perhaps lies - but what the truth was, she didn’t even know herself.
She wanted to help Horace, to share his perspective; she wanted to escape her golden life...the life filled with lies, the more she herself gazed into the shadows.
That kiss back then under the stars on that cool night, not the last by any means, not the last time they were together.
“If you are in the Landsraad, there need be no bloodshed...I wouldn’t endanger you” his words were calm, yet even then there was vulnerability in his body language, in the moment of his sigh.
The princess and a member of the rebellion, two completely different lives and sides.
Perhaps in another time, under another star, she and Horace would have had a future.
Encounters that lasted longer than just a few hours together, when they could slip away unseen before having to return to their respective lives at sunrise.
The longing for a longer touch, for being together - his hand larger than hers, rough, a life she’d never known as she lay in his arms, the scent of cinnamon and spice surrounding them, and simply forgetting everything.
Until one day.
It seemed Horace had forgotten her for one night...because one day, when she came back with Ynez and Constantine, Horace wasn’t there.
Horace didn’t show up at all anymore; no matter how much she asked around, no matter how much money she spent to get answers, she got no insight.
Even when she asked the new Bashar of the Emperor’s Guard if he had taken any measures, she received only a sly look from Desmond.
She had no idea that behind his bright eyes lay a knowledge that the near-stranger was watching the princess from afar...she had no idea that just a few hours later, she would know exactly where her Horace was.
The afternoon had already been a disappointment, her search another failure, as she got ready to go out for dinner, glad to have her siblings with her, hoping that her family would bring her some relief.
He must be on a smuggling run to another planet she thought to herself as she walked out through the open garden, down the stairs to the spot by the water.
Ynez and Constantine greeted the princess; it was a brief exchange, yet she could see that even Ynez seemed somewhat uneasy, she knew something, they all seemed to know something.
How could she have known otherwise?
Neither food nor drink appealed to her; they couldn’t, not when her conscience wouldn’t leave her alone.
“You’d do well to go to bed early” her mother suddenly instructed; the dark-haired woman’s gaze fell on the three younger ones.
It was therefore no request.
She took a sip of wine and tried to read something in the Empress, but there was nothing there but secrecy.
“That’s right, tomorrow at the Landsraad there will be a suppression of the rebellion” her father simply stated, and she nearly dropped the glass from her fingers when she looked at him.
Now everything was clear to her - why no one had any information, why she couldn’t find Horace.
“You’ve imprisoned the rebels? What if they try to flee?” she asked, feigning concern for her own safety, but Javicco reached across the table and held his daughter’s hand for a moment, giving her a reassuring look.
The father didn’t want to panic his children.
“I believe nothing will happen, my dear daughter” and with that, everyone seemed to continue eating, for that was what they were supposed to do.
The Emperor’s family continued to live in peace and tranquility; the rebels would be crushed.
After all, Horace stood on one side, the side that wanted to destroy the golden throne.
Yet it was on precisely this hopelessly doomed side that her love was to be found.
~~~~~~~~~~
How could she possibly sleep knowing that Horace was just a few floors below her room?
That she had had him so close to her all this time, and yet so far away from him. It would be a scandal if it ever came out.
After tossing and turning restlessly, sleep still eluded her; her heart was filled with guilt, and her mind was screaming for her to see him.
A desperate attempt to save him... even though deep down she knew it was hopeless.
How could she ever have saved him without betraying her own father, without betraying an entire universe?
The princess’s footsteps moved quietly, hurriedly through the dark corridors, knowing where the guards stood; when the patrols passed by, it was so easy to slip past them.
Even if they saw her, they let her be, the Emperor’s blood flowed through her veins; you didn’t tell a princess she didn’t belong here.
It was, after all, easy to reach the lower levels - the prison levels, dark and secluded, with endless corridors.
Her unease only grew as she passed the final doors and stepped lightly into the prison.
The floating outlines hovered above her, prisoners held aloft, unable to escape the gravitational field.
But in the shadows she could clearly make out Horace; assuring herself one last time that the guards wouldn’t come, she pressed the buttons and he slowly floated down toward her.
The closer the older man came to her, the more stunned she became; for a moment, she seemed to lose her breath, for the Horace before her did not have a confident expression.
Slumped before her was a broken man.
"Horace, please forgive me-I’m so sorry...what have they done to you?” it burst out of her as she immediately supported him when gravity left him and he would otherwise have simply fallen to the ground.
A dull groan, painful as he could barely open his eyes, his skin swollen, crusted with blood where they had beaten him all over until he had likely nearly suffocated on his own internal bleeding.
“My princess...you-you found me” his reply brought tears to her eyes, which clouded over as she placed her fingers as gently as possible on his cheek.
The tenderness seemed to pain him as well when she could see that beneath his torn sweater there were only more cuts and wounds.
“I-I should have been faster; I thought you were gone” her words tumbled out the more she saw his suffering, the more he tried to pretend for her sake that there was hope.
In his eyes, which were still full of love, there was not a shred of doubt.
“The Bashar seizes every opportunity,” he began, wheezing as he coughed, curling slightly in her arms.
She could feel the trembling of his muscles, the pain within him.
Yet she would not be able to help him. Instead, she stroked his hair, trembling slightly.
“An ambush, I-I didn’t stand a chance” Horace continued, letting out a suppressed groan as he lifted himself slightly from her arms and sat up.
His breath shallow, pained as he looked at her, the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Unfortunately, the stars weren’t in our favor…but you alone were” he began, knowing where he was going with this, what he was implying.
What Horace meant…though she knew it deep down inside.
His fingers brushed away her tears, the trace of blood on her cheek staining him as she kissed the back of his hand, and Horace pulled her slightly toward him.
“Don’t say it, don’t dare,” she warned him, yet her broken voice moved her beloved to pull her into an embrace.
The moment seemed too short, too little, as if they had never truly had each other.
Only when he let go of her and she saw the pain in his eyes did she know he was right.
The realization hit them both as she was the first to rise and helped Horace up as best she could.
“I’m afraid I must break my promise to stay with you” he began, a breathless laugh escaping him as she tried to wipe away her tears as best she could.
His gaze lingered on her for a moment; Horace looked at her and, for a moment, truly smiled.
“In return, I’ll see you again in the stars, my love” he said as he gently drew her face toward him, the kiss deep and binding.
A farewell forever.
For when they parted, Horace released her, and as she pressed the button that sent him floating back to his position, she knew that in the coming hours.
With the rising sun and the gathering of the Landsraad that kiss would be the last living warmth from him before his death would serve as an example never to go against the golden throne of Emperor Carrino.
No matter how much they loved each other—there was no mercy among the stars.
warning: sexual assault, age gap, use of a knife, forced kiss, they both hate each other but are intrigued, blood, no use of Y/n
Summary: Within the palace walls, surrounded by guards and always under the protective wing of her father, the Emperor, a princess had no worries—how could she possibly have any? Yet one man had a goal: Horace would invade the throne, her home, and if he found a princess there, so be it. Who knows how kind a rebel really could be to the golden Corrino blood.
Word count: 2119
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From birth she was wrapped in gold, the golden threads of the cloth in which her body had been swaddled before her mother presented her to the Emperor and then to the people.
It had been the same with her sister; the golden blood of Corrino was revered and honoured, and as she grew older, talk of potential suitors increased with every passing year.
Apart from that, why should she lower her gaze to the people, those with whom she would never have anything to do?
The rabble so far beneath her that it seemed dark and repulsive when she imagined the city.
“Even such eccentricities have their advantages-a freedom we can buy whenever we want” Ynez had once told her as she took her older sister out of the palace almost every time there was a celebration.
Ynez had found pleasure in the city, in the chaos where she remained unnoticed…her sister, on the other hand, did not.
She would never have set foot outside of her own accord; leaving her gilded world was so much more pleasant, surrounded by the houses, her parents and the comforts of life.
Until one day, a day marking the turning of the asteroids circling the planet.
“A public appearance” her father told her at breakfast, “to underline our image as eternal, to remind people of our imminent engagement” words that made her listen, words that made her realise everything had to be perfect.
Ynez’s engagement to Pruwet Richese was already known throughout the system…it seemed the people wanted to be part of it too.
Her mother’s hand, warm and caring, rested briefly on that of her youngest daughter.
“Your safety is assured, my dear, for all of us. It will only be for a short while” she assured her, the gaze of her entire family fixed upon her. It was an appearance that had to be made—something from which she could not hide behind her gold.
For the sake of her family, of the Emperor, she had to play the perfect princess. It should be easy, shouldn’t it?
It should be easy: stepping into the shuttle, the glass surrounding them all would surely keep out bullets and explosions to a certain extent.
In front of and behind them were soldiers, all ready to fire should anyone try anything – after all, assassination attempts on the ruler and his family were not uncommon.
Her father stood with Ynez on one side, she with her mother on the other, a smile on all their lips – light, friendly, trustworthy. Yet her gaze, which had finally shifted downwards, had to remain composed.
“We’re stopping in front of your grandfather’s statue” Natalya said to her daughter, words she knew well, having visited the statue on her own.
Yet the thought of staying down here for long whilst the crowds, a mass pressing against the shuttle, wanted a share of the glory.
The fear of what might happen if all those hands reached for her, for the crown, the throne, the power – would they be merciful or merciless?
Thoughts that swirled round in her head as the shuttle came to a halt with a slight jolt in front of the statue, a man she had never met.
Yet that was not what made her look up, her gaze directed upwards rather than downwards; she was compelled to look up when, upon the rooftops and terraces, she saw someone standing.
A man, as far as she could see; he was smiling, not wavering, not even pretending that her presence pleased him. He simply stared down at her – for the first time, the roles seemed reversed.
She had to look up as the dark-haired man gazed at her, fixing her with his eyes; the only thing he gave her was a single smirk, not a happy one, but a self-assured one, as if he had seen exactly what he wanted to see.
As if a shadow were beginning to fall over the gold of those whom the Emperor’s family had never believed would experience such a rebellion.
~~~~~~~~~~
A man, an ordinary citizen she shouldn’t have wasted another thought on once the shuttle had finished its journey and they were flying back to the palace.
The rest of her family were surely already busy with their next duties or having dinner...yet she wondered how she could have escaped that fateful encounter.
He was a nobody, to put it mildly, and yet-and yet he had managed to make her look up.
Is he really just one of millions? she asked herself as she walked through the corridors, oblivious to her surroundings, hoping to find some peace in her chambers.
She herself wasn’t quite sure whether her family had even noticed him; probably not, otherwise there would have been arrests by now.
Closing the door to her room behind her, a sigh escaped her; the luxury surrounding her, the evening gown made of heavy, warm, dark fabric adorned with gold thread, was a pleasant change from her formal dress as she changed into it.
The glow globe followed her path to the bed, shining as she had already extinguished the remaining lights.
She wrapped the duvet around herself as she lay down, reaching for the book on her bedside table.
“He is of no blood, stop it” she muttered, rubbing her eyes and trying to concentrate on the ancient texts and writings, to let the gold envelop her, to take her place once more in the bubble of a princess.
Just as her mind slipped into sleep, his smile remained in her head.
The stranger was closer to her than she could have imagined.
She was unaware of the death unfolding at her door; the men standing guard were caught off guard, unprepared for the surprise, as Horace’s knife simply pierced the shield and one by one they fell to the ground.
It was only when the door opened that a faint creak, loud enough for her mind to register it, caused her body to slowly begin to stir from its sleep, still dazed.
The soft, hurried footsteps; a whisper of caution. Although he had memorised the palace’s layout, there could still be exceptions.
Something the rebels hadn’t planned for, such as ending up in the princess’s room instead of the Emperor’s.
Her eyes opened slightly, confused in the darkness, trying to make out something; a moment like so many others – a brief awakening, usually followed by a roll over and a return to sleep.
Now, now that her gaze fell precisely upon something that did not belong in her room, fear set in amidst a rush of panic and adrenaline.
“Guards! Intruder!” she cried out, sitting up and reaching for her book, the first thing she could get her hands on, as she stared at the figure shrouded in a dark shadow.
Yet her scream, her cries went unanswered; her attempt to ward him off failed, for he had simply dodged the book just as the glow globe activated and the room was dimly lit.
The shadow receded from the figure, revealing that it was no one she knew; the knife in his hand was stained with blood, and his pale eyes betrayed his excitement.
When she saw that very same smile again, a shiver ran down her spine.
“Now you remember, you see us…and only because you had to look up” Horace began, his smile never fading; his voice was cool and dismissive, at odds with his expression.
As her hand reached for something else from her nightstand, she grasped at thin air. Her book lay on the floor of the room; she had nothing with which to defend herself.
A cry of fear escaped her as she tried to leap from the bed, but the older man was quicker. With a jerk, her blanket was gone; the cold took hold of her body, which was still wrapped in the dark nightgown.
The golden threads stood in sharp contrast to his silver, bloodstained blade as he pressed the knife against her throat; her scream fell silent.
Horace hadn’t hesitated for a second and had thrown himself upon her - the last thing he needed in the chaos was a princess running about.
“Shhh, not so formal, Princess” his words mocking as his weight pinned her to the bed, her fingers trying to push him away.
Clinging to his jacket to push him off, feeling his tense muscles as it seemed to barely bother him.
Moreover, it amused him to see the fear that crossed the princess’s gaze, the perfect image fading.
“Don’t you dare, the-the Emperor will have you executed” threats left her lips, groundless yet just as helpless as when he placed the blade against her throat.
She whimpered as the cold metal, stained with blood, touched her warm skin; his fingers, rough and warm, stroked her cheek before playing with a strand of her hair.
As he drew closer, she turned her head away; he smelled of cold, of the shadowy alleys where she had never set foot, and of cinnamon – of spice.
“Let your father dare to do it, but then the throne will already lie in ruins” his words were frighteningly real; his lips brushed her neck with terrifying closeness.
Horace had not lost his smile as he licked her pulse.
The older man was revelling in her fear, her unease, the reality he had had to face since birth.
“Stop…I-I can give you everything” her attempt to turn a threat into a concession worked; after all, it was better to lose jewels and riches than to lose her own life.
Words that only drove him on further, spurred him on in his quest, as his fingers gripped her jaw and he slit open her robe with the tip of the knife.
The kiss he took was not loving; he took what he wanted, wondering if it would answer him, if he had enjoyed her life.
The bite he gave her—a pain so slight she barely felt it beneath her gold-made her gasp; his thumb ran over her lip, licking away the little blood.
“You’re not even used to pain, how pitiful you are” and for a moment she truly believed him, as it dawned on both of them what truly lay between them.
How different her power was from his mercy.
A twitch as he ran his hand over her body; the open robe, with its scant fabric, covered her body just enough for his gaze to travel down her body.
Her struggle to break free only spurred him on; her attempt to fight back brought a gleam to his eyes, whilst her resistance achieved nothing except to cause her clothes to slip down even further.
The strength he possessed was both frightening and fascinating.
The greed did not escape her-the same greed every rich man felt when he bought something...or when she got her way; perhaps they were more alike after all.
Just as his hand rested on her side, reaching up towards her breasts, her tension, ready to use her strength one last time, was shaken by something that rattled the palace.
At least, it was something neither Horace nor the princess recognised, for his smile faltered, and she too knew that the ordinary guards could not cause such explosions or tremors.
“Looks like we’re getting a visitor, what a pity” the older one muttered, suddenly pulling away from her with a jolt; the knife vanished from her throat as he leapt away from the bed.
Even though neither of them knew the source of the noise, she could tell from the way he was looking around, trying to contact his men, that it wasn’t the rebels.
“Uninvited guests, my lords, they will hunt you down!” she retorted, finding her courage again as Horace gave her one last look, a knowing glance that told them both they now knew of each other’s existence, and the princess was certain, just as the rebels were certain, that they would meet again.
She remained alone in her chamber as Horace rushed out, and moments later Desmond’s men stormed in, with the new Bashar himself entering, wearing a displeased expression.
“Forgive me, Princess, for my delay…a surprise attack by the rebels” he explained, though she could already guess as much once she had covered herself with her robe again.
Should her guard dog go looking for the rebels, deep down she knew that next time she would press the knife to his throat.
She would show no mercy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
masterlist
info: I've written something about Horace again; I'm slowly getting back into writing. Even though I didn't feel like writing anything smutty, I'm quite happy with it.
Ooo a great one! Here is my sloppy take on this one. Tell me what you think 😋 (a lil extra snack for you guys at the end)
summary: Horace has been awaiting your return to your home-loop since the day you left. However your reunion is nothing like what he expected, and his responsibility in your pain is eating him up.
TW! No use of y/n, no peculiarity specified, mention of past trauma, guilt
prompt number 7: “I will always be here for you”
—————————————————————
Quick Confessions
When you came back to Miss Peregrine's Loop, Horace felt a mixture of different emotions - happiness, excitement, and fear.
He had awaited your return for over a year, wishing to have his closest companion back from your trip to a neighboring loop. He would have been much more prideful of your return, hadn't it been for the circumstances under which you came.
You were distressed, shaking, your lungs burning from running. Even if the headmistress tried to hide you behind the closed doors of her office, it did not take a genius to understand that the loop you stayed in was raided.
After two days, Miss Peregrine allowed you to interact with your old friends, much to Horace's relief. However, he refrained from interacting with you.
He would watch from afar as you giggled with Bronwyn on the hottest gossip and played 'The Foor is Lava' with the others. He did not dare interact.
Whenever your eyes met he would avert his gaze or leave the room. During dinner time he would ignore the conversations around him, however, his ears would perk up when he heard your voice.
During the day he would stay out of your attention, but when night fell he would pester his roommate Enoch with questions about you, making the boy grumble and leave to sleep in the basement.
This routine of his was going smoothly until that faithful dinner. Everyone sat around the table as usual. You were engulfed in a conversation with Millard about the function of blimps, that you saw in your raided loop.
Horace was pretending not to listen in on your dialogue, until Miss Peregrine's voice cut the discussion short, announcing that you would be paired with him for dish duty.
Your heartbeat picked up as you snapped your attention to the boy who was sitting in front of you. His face was flushed, eyes glued to the broccoli on his plate.
Dinner passed in the blink of an eye and soon enough you were the only two standing in the dining hall surrounded by dirty dishes. Horace started collecting the dishes to prevent the awkward silence that would torture the both of you.
He was about to exit into the kitchen when you blocked his path, standing in the doorway with your hands on your hips, "We need to talk."
"I do not think so," he tried to snake past you but you stood your ground.
You have spotted your friend's weird behavior from the moment that you had recovered from your escape. Every time you tried to start a conversation he would disappear or ignore you. And now you wanted answers, "Talk to me, Horace. Ever since my return, you have been acting strange. If it's something that I did, I am truly sorry for it."
"no, it is none of that-"
"then want is it?"
He sighed in exasperation and set the pile of dishes on the desk. There was nowhere to run from this confrontation now, "I am the one that should be saying sorry."
You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.
"I feel responsible for the... atrocity that you went through."
Your gaze softened as you took a step closer to him. The memories of that day were still fresh, but you tried your best to get over the situation, "you couldn't have known."
"I could!" He exclaimed, running a hand through his hair, "If only a vision came to me the night before, o could have warned you, or told your ymbryne, or..." his breathing became heavy as his mind coursed through different possibilities, "I could have prevented all that trauma that you’d experienced! I could have protected you…”
Your hand rested on his shoulder. Something that he always liked about you was how gentle you were with everyone, how you could comfort the most distraught person with a simple touch, “Horace, it’s not your fault. There is no point to ponder on the past.”
“But-“
“The best thing you can do is not shut me out. I need you by my side like the old times.”
He chuckled, easing up to your presence. Before you knew it, the two of you were sharing a warm embrace, one that you longed for ever since your arrival.
“I will always be here for you,” his voice was soft against your hair but firm in its statement, “no matter what.”
“And I for you.”
“Oi! The dishes aren’t gonna clean ‘emself,” Enoch appeared in the doorway, munching on a carrot.
The two of you pulled apart, faces red. You rolled your eyes at the boy, “did you at least wish that thing?”
He took another bite of the vegetable, “I’m not an animal.”
The look that you and Horace shared put that statement under question, making Enoch flip you both off before disappearing in the hallway.
