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hi i saw your post about sflix. if i understood correctly you have a problem that you get redirected every time you click on something.
if you watch this on a browser (like chrome) you can get an extension like add block to stop you from being redirected. I use add block combined with redirect blocker
Omggg thank you so much for telling me this I will surely try it. It’d make my life so much easierrr
Here is the link to season 2. It’s called sflix and I watch pretty much everything here when I can’t find it on hbo or Netflix. I warn you about it changing the sites when you click on stuff
Watch all seasons of Medici: Masters of Florence - Season 2 in full HD online, free Medici: Masters of Florence - Season 2 streaming with En
Hi i hope I don't sound demanding but whenever you get the chance no rush, no pressure can you please write more for Ormund and alayne I’m just in love with them and your writing 🩷🩷🩷 I hope I don’t sound rude
Oh no don’t worry love, it’s completely okay 🫶🫶 I would LOVE to write more about those two, I’ll surely do it when I finally have a chance to! And for you for the compliment 💋💋
──── Francesco Pazzi┆Devour my soul
author’s note: [...] This work contains: secret relationship, Francesco and Novella are not married in this one, a bit of political talk, italian renaissance, basically ep 5 (so be aware of spoilers) but with few changes, unprotected sex, missionary, riding, creampie, them bitches being freaks
Francesco Pazzi x Medici!reader
mdni
The bell rang as you sat quietly in the church, watching over the guests and your own family. You sat by your mother's side sharing the smile she herself and it seems most of people who surrounded you wear. Usual grimace on your face was now replaced by a soft look as you eyes flickered over the face of little Piero, now sleeping soundly in the arms of his mother after his babbling and happy squeaks echoed through the church.
It's been a year — a year from the battle in Volterra, a victory that to some felt like defeat, a year since Lorenzo made peace with Clarice, a years since he stopped seeing Lucrezia, a year since Francesco refused the union between him and Novella Foscari, a year since this union was concluded between Giuliano and her.
A big mess it was — Giuliano tried to refuse to say he will not walk the path someone written for him. That he will love whomever his heart decide it loves and marry whom it beats for. Yet Lorenzo's golden tongue worked harder than Giuliano's golden heart. The marriage came quickly but without much of celebrations. You attended it — of course — saw how reluctant your brother was to become a husband of the Foscari girl, you wore a beautiful gown and smile while guests spoke to you, you held Simonetta's hand while she smiled at you with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
You did everything a good sister would do. You were there to show support for your family, support of the union and the new treaty between Florence and Venice.
Yet the shameful, more sinful part of the evening came later, when you already disappeared in the depths of your family villa, when you gown fell off and you slid quietly under the furs of your bed — candles burning low on your nightstand as the light illuminated in the red wine you brought in your goblet.
You were at last joined by Francesco — a guest invited out of politeness, joining his brother Guillermo that took home in your house, at the side of Bianca. He too escaped the endless celebration where everyone but the bride and groom laughed and danced before showing in your room like a shadow — like a demon tempted by the sound of the thought that ran through your head. It was far from a new thing that he did so — sneaking into your room to have you in his arms.
Sinful, sinful thoughts that would make a maiden blush, redness spilling over her cheeks like a flame of the fireplace over the walls.
And then he slid into your bed, lips pressed to you temple as a knight kissing his princess before going off to battle. Honorable really — except he was not. His hands wandered, skimmed over, gripped and caressed. His lips worshipped you in a way you thought none of the painters ever would worship their muses — pressed to your heated skin, planting needy kisses on your lips as his ragged breath dawned over them.
He always did it — left you breathless and flushed and so so loved.
Because Francesco Pazzi loved you so so much and so so desperately that each time he had to lie to his brother or to his uncle about his whereabouts he wanted nothing more than to say he was with you — loving you, adoring you. He wanted nothing more than to scream from the very top of Palazzo Vecchio that he was the man that loved the Medici lady more than anyone in the entire Florence.
But he didn’t — he never did. You kept it hidden from the curious eyes of merchants and family members that wished you bad. He kept it a secret, even from Guillermo as he couldn’t risk the news of him sneaking to bed a Medici reach his uncle.
And there he was, standing in the red doublet and golden chain around his neck — proud like a peacock when Clarice handed Bianca the newborn.
The ceremony began soft steps of them both echoed through the chair as all of the eyes were focused on the little Piero, laying snuggly in your sister’s arms as she smiled at her own husband — her belly round with their own child that would soon come too.
Then as during every baptism the sleeping bundle was handed to the godfather. Francesco’s warm smile as he leaned with the boy in his arms melted your heart — how focused he was on doing in properly, he said himself that he was never fond of children and doubted he’d ever have ones of his own if not the duty calling. But now, as your eyes scanned over him, seeing how tenderly he was holding your nephew you was tempted to call him a liar — that he seemed almost natural with a babe by his heart.
The priest spilled the holy water on Piero’s forehead and you watched as Francesco’s head turned first towards Lorenzo and his smile widened as he held his son before his gaze flickered to you and something in his eyes warmed — not quite a smile, God knew Francesco shouldn’t be smiling at you, not with everyone’s watching. But still his always stern gaze softened like always when he looked at you.
The sound of the prayer echoed as you lifted your chin slightly to quietly show approval and appreciation. The words ‘you? Bad with children? Yes, I wouldn’t be so sure’ pressed down on your tongue as your eyes followed his brown irises. You could feel your heart swell as Francesco brought the bundle of blankets closer to his chest, holding him securely as the bells rang.
You stepped out of the church alongside your mother as she held your arm, keeping you close to the side among the people Lorenzo and Clarice decided on inviting. Among faces of family you saw Simonetta with her own husband and Giuliano with his longing gaze following them as he walked hand in hand with Sandro with his studying eyes — both trying to mask how their eyes followed her every moves
The music echoed in the room in the Palazzo Medici yet it was the murmurs that were louder than any lute played by the musician.
Clarice stood with Piero wrapped in blankets and listened and thanked to the congratulation of guests that were coming up to her each time someone finally left her alone. Behind her — of course — stood Lorenzo, his hand grazing over his wife’s back in quiet support as a proud grin decorated his face.
“Will you hold him for a moment?” Clarice asked, her hands ready to pass you the infant as her gaze turned pleading. “I must find Novella and I’ll return with her to take him.” She nodded quietly and gaze you a small smile as you reached to take your nephew.
“No trouble at all” you said with you gaze pinned to the little bundle — Piero already eager to look at you with his eyes already so like Lorenzo’s
He was so light — so light and pink wriggling before he settled back into slumber in your arms as you rocked him gently with a smile.
“So strong already, isn’t he?” A voice of Francesco appeared next to you as he reached his hand to graze over Piero’s fist.
You swallowed quietly before nodding in approval “so small yet so strong” you said and watched Francesco’s eyes soften as he looked at his godson. “He’ll grow into a strong Medici” you raised your chin stubbornly as your gaze settled on him
“There is no mistake on that” he nodded yet you had a feeling that was more sarcastic than anything “yet it’s rumored that it’s Pazzi children that grow faster and stronger” he said and gave you a sidelong glance before his eyes swept back to Piero you now rocked gently to help him settle into a deeper slumber. “With coin and sworn already mastered” he added and a corner of his mouth lifted gently.
“Oh I bet” you shook your head resigned get humored “we’ll see soon enough when Bianca beat your brother’s child” you said and fixed the blanket around Piero.
Silence settled between you and him — a comfortable one yet still charged with the tension none of you tried to escape. It was a strange pull between you — caused by night spend in secret and days at pretending none of that was happening. It was strange, how close and distant he was at the same time, how good at hiding what is between you.
With the corner of your eye you saw how he nodded his head at the sight of people lifting their cups to him — silently congratulating him at becoming a godfather to the Medici heir before he leaning in and you felt his breath fawning over your ear.
“I was thinking about us not Bianca and Guillermo” he muttered before straightening and fixing the blanket once more
You eyes widened in surprise before you cleared your throat and looked at him “Francesco—“
“Will you meet me?” He whispered looking at you “later… when they focus on Lorenzo and drinking and scheming new trade routes and all this nonsense” he added and crossed him hands behind his back.
You could hear your heart beating faster and faster in your heart as he awaited your answer with hope in the brown of his irises.
“…I will meet you when Clarice return and take Piero back” you mumbled quietly scanning the crowd to see if anyone was looking in your direction and listening to your words.
“…and where did she went?” He grumbled quietly before straightening.
“She’s looking for Novella” you answered quietly and fixed your grip on the boy “…a girl you were so kind to reject” you added and looked at his profile pointedly.
Francesco’s eyes snapped to you before he shook his head making the curls on his head bounce with each move. “…don’t act like you don’t know I didn’t just for you.” He grumbled out.
You clenched your teeth and inhaled deeply as the meaning of his words hit you — Francesco rejected marriage with Novella because of his love to you, rejected a whole treaty with Venice just to not betray you by having another woman by his side.
“…You wasted a good alliance.” You mumbled before looking back down at Piero with your gaze troubled and a lump in your throat. “A move made out of selfishness.” You said and shook your head gently.
“A move made out of love.” He said after leaning down to whisper the words into your ear like a spy sharing secrets. “…would you really have me married to another while I know that your heart beats for me only?” He added and looked at your profile as you still looked at your nephew deep in your thoughts and troubled feeling in your chest.
“…no” you whispered and shook your head gently before sighing quietly. “But without doubt it was an unfair move towards Novella…”
“I have no care for her.” He said and fixed his doublet straightening. “She got her marriage, your family got the treaty with Venice, what more might you want?” He asked and his eyes narrowed as he gave you a sidelong glance with his head tilted slightly forward.
“A marriage in which she’s miserable and unhappy—“
“You must learn to put your happiness above others.” He said. “…It would do us well.”
Francesco turned a little away to nod to another merchant or aristocrat your brother invited to celebrate the baptism of his firstborn. The smile he put on looked painfully fake, it did not reach the dark of his eyes and there was only coldness on his face — maybe except for the pride he wore like a cloak to hide what is inside.
You inhaled deeply again, rocking Piero gently as he fussed quietly, nearly silent squeaks alarming you as if you were a natural in this major. As if motherhood — if only a momentarily one — came to you easily. A relieved sigh left your lips the moment Clarice walked back in the room, now with Novella by her arm, shifting you leaned towards Francesco the last time.
“…I’ll join you in my rooms the moment I can slip from here.” You whispered before nodding quietly as your eyes spotted the mischievous glint in his own gaze, the dark irises softening to the point where even the color of them seemed lighter.
“…very well.” He swallowed before walking away — mixing with the crowd again as he had it in habit to do.
Your steps were light as you walked over to Clarice with a smile — one that her and Novella reciprocated with softness in their eyes. Clarice immediately reached for her son, now that he qui slept he brought he no trouble whatsoever.
“He fell asleep without problem.” You said, passing her the infant without trying to wake him.
Clarice smiled, taking Piero into her own arms and shushed him as he wriggled from being jostled. “It seems like you have a gift for children.” She joked only before cradling his head in her hand and pressing a light kiss to the pink forehead.
“If you’d excuse me for a moment” you uttered before grabbing the skirts of your gown as you passed them and walked out of the room.
The murmur died out immediately as soon as you stepped out and walked to your wing, trying to appear as composed. Yet your heart bear wildly, you could hear it in your ears as you passed the columns of the hall and doors to the rooms of others you didn’t dare not want to enter.
Your steps were hurried and you tried not run but you could feel the rush inside you as you came closer and closer to the wooden doors of your own bedroom.
They were cold against your palm as you finally pushed them in, your hand on the cold metal of the handle as you inhaled deeply and came in.
And there he was — pacing calmly around your chamber as if he was bored waiting for you, the dark curls looked brushed over and you guessed he probably was running his hands through his hair in impatience. Your eyes met as you tried to catch his breath. It’s been weeks since you last had the chance to be like this — not hiding in the alleys, kissing like some children not wanting to be spotted and scolded by their parents or like Bianca and Guillermo once did. And you felt utterly ridiculous by having to do it so secretly.
The moment you locked the doors and turned the key in them he moved — his steps hurried as he walked to you. One hand — cold long fingers, cupping your face as he pressed his lips to your in rush. Your lips moved against his as your fingers slid onto his torso to grip the velvet of his doublet. You felt his hands slid down — one moving to tangle in your hair and gripped to tilt your head back and deepen the kiss.
You gripped his collar the coldness of the gold chain around his neck was both striking and grounding.
“Francesco—“ you breathed pulling away as he kissed down to the corners of your mouth and then down more to your jaw and neck until you had to tilt your head back.
“Just let me— let me have you.” He murmured against your skin as your eyes flickered closed
He leaned lower, burying his face against the curve of your throat where the pulse hammered wild and frantic. Francesco inhaled deeply in the way a man drinks when he has been dying of thirst and the scent of you flooded him — sweet like honeyed perfumes all the ladies seemed to wear now.
The laces of your gown came out easily under the work of his fingers — each skilled of not from pen or coin flipped between them then from the times when you’ve given yourself to him completely. Again and again and again — each lace came out with a jerk and a sound of the fabric being pulled against the fabric.
“You’ve really denied Foscari?” You breathed and your head turned to him — your eyes glossy and soft with each caress “when he came to your house, asking you to marry his daughter? You denied him for me?” You’ve asked as your knuckles came to caress his jaw and then cheekbone feeling the sharpness of them under your skin.
“For us—“ he said and leaned into your hand with softness in his eyes you saw rarely “…so we may one day be the ones that are wed.” He said and his voice was rough, hoarse “not like Lorenzo and Clarice or Giuliano and Novella… on our terms…” he said and nodded as his hand went up to stroke the apple of your cheekbone with his thumb.
You pressed your cheek to his hand — large one that cupped the whole of profile and was pleasantly cool despite it all.
“…were you serious?” You asked and your eyes flickered up to him. “About wanting child with me?” You added and swallowed with both anxiety and hope in your heart.
Francesco hummed quietly — scanning your face, your eyes, the way your fingers curled into the fabric of his doublet as if afraid he’ll stride out of your room if anything.
“I was… and still am” he said and pulled you closed “…I will have a son of my own from you one day… if you’ll have me” he said and leaned but haven’t kissed yet — simply let his breath graze over your skin as the tension went up.
He didn’t get an answer — not with words but with lips. Your mouth pressed to his again in a rushed manner, lips crashing into lips in a bruising way that would leave your path panting and stumbling towards the bed as soon as you’d part.
And that was it indeed. As soon as you pulled away, a string of drool connected you both before he pulled you into him by the hair again. Stumbling you were guided towards your bed that stood clean and proper — made by maids in the morning when you were getting ready for the mass.
You felt your gown loosen up the moment the back of your knees hit the mattress. The gold chain that was wrapped around his doublet came off and hit the floor with a clink before your hands grasped hurriedly at the fasting of the dark velvet to take it off.
With each kiss planted and each piece of clothing stripped from you your heart beat as if it would beat its way through your bones and skin and fell into his hands. A gore way but oh so tender at the same time.
“I will never tire of the sight of you” Francesco murmured against your lips before laying you down on the softness of your bed and his fingers skillfully pulled the fabric of your small clothes just to toss them carelessly on the floor to lay with the fabric of his doublet and shirt.
His hot lips pressed against your thigh and the followed by planting each little peck closer and closer to your aching core in a teasing manner just to pull himself up and caged you between his arms with a smug smirk on his face while looking at yours covered by blush.
“You speak of loving me yet you treat me so unkindly” you gasped quietly as your fingers moved to wrap around his wrist.
“Do not worry… I shall give you everything you might be in need for” he murmured against your neck as his fingers travelled down to rub you gently and collect the wetness that almost dripped from your core.
“Touch me then—“ you whimpered as you thigh grazed against his hip “please Francesco—… I will perish if you—“
Your words were cut off by his hips slotting their way between your legs, his hardness pressing against your inner thigh and pulsing with need as he claimed your lips into another kiss.
“May I?” He asked as his hands held your hip and waist to ground himself.
“Yes— god please, yes” you whispered as your fingers buried in his dark locks.
You felt his tip grazing over your entrance — teasing you as the first drops of precum collected in the pink flesh. You gasped quietly as the first few inches pressed into you and you could hear Francesco’s quiet grunt as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Your eyes squeezed shut as he bottomed out pressing his hips to your bottom.
“Oh god—“ your head tilted back against the mattress as you felt him filling you completely.
“You don’t want anyone to hear us, do you?” He rasped out before pulling away just to thrust softly into you and wetting his lips at the tightness of you that enveloped him so sweetly. “They will know… but not today… today you’re just mine” he added and pressed his lips to yours.
His pace fastened — soft, little thrust quickly turned into more sensual ones, faster ones as he rocked his hips steadily. Dark eyes scanned your face to watch over every little expression — every grimace of pleasure, every gasp and little frown he learned you made when he hit the right spot with his cock.
Your breath was ragged already — weeks without properly touching each other, nothing more than a kiss or a warm embrace showing themselves with how desperate you both were. How desperate to touch, grip, how desperate for pleasure that was building steadily in your lower belly.
This soft tingling you grew so fond of, the coil in your stomach that you were sure only he could make you feel as his cock worked steadily inside you — wet sound echoing in the room with each thrust, a lewd sound really but oh god how hot it made you all over, you it made you crave more and more until your couldn’t take more.
“What a beauty… Botticelli is a fool for choosing to paint Simonetta and not you.” He said as his fingers pressed into your hip — unmistakably trying to leave a mark no one but him will know it’s there.
“Francesco do not say that—“ you murmured as your eyebrows pulled into a frown and you could feel your eyes water under your eyelids as you felt the warmth spreading.
“It’s true—… he’s either a fool or he’s blind” he mumbled as sped up with a grunt to the point where his hips were snapping against yours.
“You’re cruel for saying that.” You closed your eyes and your chest lifted and fell down with each breath.
“…Mayhaps I am… but God knows my words are truth” he said and his hands slid to grip your waist.
You gasped as he shifted — pulling you against him as turning violently. Your landed on his lap — each knee on other side of his hips and you gripped yours instead. His chest was heaving as he looked up at you with pleading in his eyes that watered themself and you could feel him pulsing inside you desperately.
Your hands wrapped around his arms as you slowly begin to rock his hips against his — a gasp left your mouth as you felt him hitting this sweet, sweet spot that made your toes curl and cheeks to pink up even more.
Your thumbs brushed over the sharpness of his jaw as your head tilted back even more and his nose grazed over your skin — breath hitting over it with each tingle of pleasure you felt.
Your hair sticked to your forehead and bare back as a moan escaped your mouth — not able to keep quiet in the chamber as you moved with desperation.
Francesco’s fingers pressed into your skin as you whimpered as he seemed so settle to mark you in some way — even if painful.
A surprised whine left you as you felt the wave of pleasure crash into you at full force — you wrapped your arms more securely against him hiding your face in his hair as you stepped from the cliff and fell into the abyss as the coil finally snapped.
You clenched on him as he held you — hands gripping you as if he was scared you’d leave, leave him when he was so soon to follow. A mere thrust away he spilled too — deep inside you with a groan and face pressed into the crock of your neck as you felt his eyelashes and hair tingling against your skin.
A soft breath, a caught one and you simply held each other in a quiet embrace before Francesco spoke up — his fingers brushing away the hair that stuck to your forehead.
“You are both my doom and salvation” he rasped out as his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat with the swallow he took — pupils blown wide as he looked at you in awe.
“I love you.” You mumbled cupping his cheeks and stroking over his skin with your thumb.
“I will worship you till day I die.”
Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! I had the luck to publish it on literal steps of Palazzo Pazzi in Florence and oh my god Florence is really as beautiful as they say it is. Literally I’m like… okay I’m in Florence, Francesco Pazzi where are you? 😛 Also I wanna thank you SO MICH for 3k followers you mean the world to me!!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Poor kid!!! They might have used urine to bleach the hair!!!!
you think Ormund smelling salts, armor polished to a mirror finish, clearly shampooed hair, somehow perfectly clean velvet drapery in the woods, crisp tents the exact same distance apart from each other in the exact same shade of blue Hightower was using piss? No, Ormund had every hair dresser in Tyrosh brought to his camp where he then locked their families in a cabin stuffed with hay and held a lit match to it until someone invented 40 vol
The fact is no one actually asked Ormund to bring his army, last season Alicent jumped into a lake in her pristine white shift no soap no shampoo no volumizing conditioner and Ormund immediately sensed it and started marching because under the light of the seven that’s illegal. Hightowers lose 9 servants a day because Ormund has Tessarion on a strict regime of two baths daily (yes they do have to brush her teeth every time) and if anybody gets a single goddamn fingerprint on that dragon’s freshly shined scales he will be making it 10
I think regardless of what you think of hotd you need to agree that it's kind of admirable that they are a UK based production that consistently hires trans actors in both major and minor roles. emma d'arcy is obviously the main example but like how cool is it that they needed a little boy for a small speaking role and they gave that role to a trans kid. when their government is actively trying to make the lives of trans children worse
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
──── Francesco Pazzi┆Devour my soul
author’s note: [...] This work contains: secret relationship, Francesco and Novella are not married in this one, a bit of political talk, italian renaissance, basically ep 5 (so be aware of spoilers) but with few changes, unprotected sex, missionary, riding, creampie, them bitches being freaks
Francesco Pazzi x Medici!reader
mdni
The bell rang as you sat quietly in the church, watching over the guests and your own family. You sat by your mother's side sharing the smile she herself and it seems most of people who surrounded you wear. Usual grimace on your face was now replaced by a soft look as you eyes flickered over the face of little Piero, now sleeping soundly in the arms of his mother after his babbling and happy squeaks echoed through the church.
It's been a year — a year from the battle in Volterra, a victory that to some felt like defeat, a year since Lorenzo made peace with Clarice, a years since he stopped seeing Lucrezia, a year since Francesco refused the union between him and Novella Foscari, a year since this union was concluded between Giuliano and her.
A big mess it was — Giuliano tried to refuse to say he will not walk the path someone written for him. That he will love whomever his heart decide it loves and marry whom it beats for. Yet Lorenzo's golden tongue worked harder than Giuliano's golden heart. The marriage came quickly but without much of celebrations. You attended it — of course — saw how reluctant your brother was to become a husband of the Foscari girl, you wore a beautiful gown and smile while guests spoke to you, you held Simonetta's hand while she smiled at you with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
You did everything a good sister would do. You were there to show support for your family, support of the union and the new treaty between Florence and Venice.
Yet the shameful, more sinful part of the evening came later, when you already disappeared in the depths of your family villa, when you gown fell off and you slid quietly under the furs of your bed — candles burning low on your nightstand as the light illuminated in the red wine you brought in your goblet.
You were at last joined by Francesco — a guest invited out of politeness, joining his brother Guillermo that took home in your house, at the side of Bianca. He too escaped the endless celebration where everyone but the bride and groom laughed and danced before showing in your room like a shadow — like a demon tempted by the sound of the thought that ran through your head. It was far from a new thing that he did so — sneaking into your room to have you in his arms.
Sinful, sinful thoughts that would make a maiden blush, redness spilling over her cheeks like a flame of the fireplace over the walls.
And then he slid into your bed, lips pressed to you temple as a knight kissing his princess before going off to battle. Honorable really — except he was not. His hands wandered, skimmed over, gripped and caressed. His lips worshipped you in a way you thought none of the painters ever would worship their muses — pressed to your heated skin, planting needy kisses on your lips as his ragged breath dawned over them.
He always did it — left you breathless and flushed and so so loved.
Because Francesco Pazzi loved you so so much and so so desperately that each time he had to lie to his brother or to his uncle about his whereabouts he wanted nothing more than to say he was with you — loving you, adoring you. He wanted nothing more than to scream from the very top of Palazzo Vecchio that he was the man that loved the Medici lady more than anyone in the entire Florence.
But he didn’t — he never did. You kept it hidden from the curious eyes of merchants and family members that wished you bad. He kept it a secret, even from Guillermo as he couldn’t risk the news of him sneaking to bed a Medici reach his uncle.
And there he was, standing in the red doublet and golden chain around his neck — proud like a peacock when Clarice handed Bianca the newborn.
The ceremony began soft steps of them both echoed through the chair as all of the eyes were focused on the little Piero, laying snuggly in your sister’s arms as she smiled at her own husband — her belly round with their own child that would soon come too.
Then as during every baptism the sleeping bundle was handed to the godfather. Francesco’s warm smile as he leaned with the boy in his arms melted your heart — how focused he was on doing in properly, he said himself that he was never fond of children and doubted he’d ever have ones of his own if not the duty calling. But now, as your eyes scanned over him, seeing how tenderly he was holding your nephew you was tempted to call him a liar — that he seemed almost natural with a babe by his heart.
The priest spilled the holy water on Piero’s forehead and you watched as Francesco’s head turned first towards Lorenzo and his smile widened as he held his son before his gaze flickered to you and something in his eyes warmed — not quite a smile, God knew Francesco shouldn’t be smiling at you, not with everyone’s watching. But still his always stern gaze softened like always when he looked at you.
The sound of the prayer echoed as you lifted your chin slightly to quietly show approval and appreciation. The words ‘you? Bad with children? Yes, I wouldn’t be so sure’ pressed down on your tongue as your eyes followed his brown irises. You could feel your heart swell as Francesco brought the bundle of blankets closer to his chest, holding him securely as the bells rang.
You stepped out of the church alongside your mother as she held your arm, keeping you close to the side among the people Lorenzo and Clarice decided on inviting. Among faces of family you saw Simonetta with her own husband and Giuliano with his longing gaze following them as he walked hand in hand with Sandro with his studying eyes — both trying to mask how their eyes followed her every moves
The music echoed in the room in the Palazzo Medici yet it was the murmurs that were louder than any lute played by the musician.
Clarice stood with Piero wrapped in blankets and listened and thanked to the congratulation of guests that were coming up to her each time someone finally left her alone. Behind her — of course — stood Lorenzo, his hand grazing over his wife’s back in quiet support as a proud grin decorated his face.
“Will you hold him for a moment?” Clarice asked, her hands ready to pass you the infant as her gaze turned pleading. “I must find Novella and I’ll return with her to take him.” She nodded quietly and gaze you a small smile as you reached to take your nephew.
“No trouble at all” you said with you gaze pinned to the little bundle — Piero already eager to look at you with his eyes already so like Lorenzo’s
He was so light — so light and pink wriggling before he settled back into slumber in your arms as you rocked him gently with a smile.
“So strong already, isn’t he?” A voice of Francesco appeared next to you as he reached his hand to graze over Piero’s fist.
You swallowed quietly before nodding in approval “so small yet so strong” you said and watched Francesco’s eyes soften as he looked at his godson. “He’ll grow into a strong Medici” you raised your chin stubbornly as your gaze settled on him
“There is no mistake on that” he nodded yet you had a feeling that was more sarcastic than anything “yet it’s rumored that it’s Pazzi children that grow faster and stronger” he said and gave you a sidelong glance before his eyes swept back to Piero you now rocked gently to help him settle into a deeper slumber. “With coin and sworn already mastered” he added and a corner of his mouth lifted gently.
“Oh I bet” you shook your head resigned get humored “we’ll see soon enough when Bianca beat your brother’s child” you said and fixed the blanket around Piero.
Silence settled between you and him — a comfortable one yet still charged with the tension none of you tried to escape. It was a strange pull between you — caused by night spend in secret and days at pretending none of that was happening. It was strange, how close and distant he was at the same time, how good at hiding what is between you.
With the corner of your eye you saw how he nodded his head at the sight of people lifting their cups to him — silently congratulating him at becoming a godfather to the Medici heir before he leaning in and you felt his breath fawning over your ear.
“I was thinking about us not Bianca and Guillermo” he muttered before straightening and fixing the blanket once more
You eyes widened in surprise before you cleared your throat and looked at him “Francesco—“
“Will you meet me?” He whispered looking at you “later… when they focus on Lorenzo and drinking and scheming new trade routes and all this nonsense” he added and crossed him hands behind his back.
You could hear your heart beating faster and faster in your heart as he awaited your answer with hope in the brown of his irises.
“…I will meet you when Clarice return and take Piero back” you mumbled quietly scanning the crowd to see if anyone was looking in your direction and listening to your words.
“…and where did she went?” He grumbled quietly before straightening.
“She’s looking for Novella” you answered quietly and fixed your grip on the boy “…a girl you were so kind to reject” you added and looked at his profile pointedly.
Francesco’s eyes snapped to you before he shook his head making the curls on his head bounce with each move. “…don’t act like you don’t know I didn’t just for you.” He grumbled out.
You clenched your teeth and inhaled deeply as the meaning of his words hit you — Francesco rejected marriage with Novella because of his love to you, rejected a whole treaty with Venice just to not betray you by having another woman by his side.
“…You wasted a good alliance.” You mumbled before looking back down at Piero with your gaze troubled and a lump in your throat. “A move made out of selfishness.” You said and shook your head gently.
“A move made out of love.” He said after leaning down to whisper the words into your ear like a spy sharing secrets. “…would you really have me married to another while I know that your heart beats for me only?” He added and looked at your profile as you still looked at your nephew deep in your thoughts and troubled feeling in your chest.
“…no” you whispered and shook your head gently before sighing quietly. “But without doubt it was an unfair move towards Novella…”
“I have no care for her.” He said and fixed his doublet straightening. “She got her marriage, your family got the treaty with Venice, what more might you want?” He asked and his eyes narrowed as he gave you a sidelong glance with his head tilted slightly forward.
“A marriage in which she’s miserable and unhappy—“
“You must learn to put your happiness above others.” He said. “…It would do us well.”
Francesco turned a little away to nod to another merchant or aristocrat your brother invited to celebrate the baptism of his firstborn. The smile he put on looked painfully fake, it did not reach the dark of his eyes and there was only coldness on his face — maybe except for the pride he wore like a cloak to hide what is inside.
You inhaled deeply again, rocking Piero gently as he fussed quietly, nearly silent squeaks alarming you as if you were a natural in this major. As if motherhood — if only a momentarily one — came to you easily. A relieved sigh left your lips the moment Clarice walked back in the room, now with Novella by her arm, shifting you leaned towards Francesco the last time.
“…I’ll join you in my rooms the moment I can slip from here.” You whispered before nodding quietly as your eyes spotted the mischievous glint in his own gaze, the dark irises softening to the point where even the color of them seemed lighter.
“…very well.” He swallowed before walking away — mixing with the crowd again as he had it in habit to do.
Your steps were light as you walked over to Clarice with a smile — one that her and Novella reciprocated with softness in their eyes. Clarice immediately reached for her son, now that he qui slept he brought he no trouble whatsoever.
“He fell asleep without problem.” You said, passing her the infant without trying to wake him.
Clarice smiled, taking Piero into her own arms and shushed him as he wriggled from being jostled. “It seems like you have a gift for children.” She joked only before cradling his head in her hand and pressing a light kiss to the pink forehead.
“If you’d excuse me for a moment” you uttered before grabbing the skirts of your gown as you passed them and walked out of the room.
The murmur died out immediately as soon as you stepped out and walked to your wing, trying to appear as composed. Yet your heart bear wildly, you could hear it in your ears as you passed the columns of the hall and doors to the rooms of others you didn’t dare not want to enter.
Your steps were hurried and you tried not run but you could feel the rush inside you as you came closer and closer to the wooden doors of your own bedroom.
They were cold against your palm as you finally pushed them in, your hand on the cold metal of the handle as you inhaled deeply and came in.
And there he was — pacing calmly around your chamber as if he was bored waiting for you, the dark curls looked brushed over and you guessed he probably was running his hands through his hair in impatience. Your eyes met as you tried to catch his breath. It’s been weeks since you last had the chance to be like this — not hiding in the alleys, kissing like some children not wanting to be spotted and scolded by their parents or like Bianca and Guillermo once did. And you felt utterly ridiculous by having to do it so secretly.
The moment you locked the doors and turned the key in them he moved — his steps hurried as he walked to you. One hand — cold long fingers, cupping your face as he pressed his lips to your in rush. Your lips moved against his as your fingers slid onto his torso to grip the velvet of his doublet. You felt his hands slid down — one moving to tangle in your hair and gripped to tilt your head back and deepen the kiss.
You gripped his collar the coldness of the gold chain around his neck was both striking and grounding.
“Francesco—“ you breathed pulling away as he kissed down to the corners of your mouth and then down more to your jaw and neck until you had to tilt your head back.
“Just let me— let me have you.” He murmured against your skin as your eyes flickered closed
He leaned lower, burying his face against the curve of your throat where the pulse hammered wild and frantic. Francesco inhaled deeply in the way a man drinks when he has been dying of thirst and the scent of you flooded him — sweet like honeyed perfumes all the ladies seemed to wear now.
The laces of your gown came out easily under the work of his fingers — each skilled of not from pen or coin flipped between them then from the times when you’ve given yourself to him completely. Again and again and again — each lace came out with a jerk and a sound of the fabric being pulled against the fabric.
“You’ve really denied Foscari?” You breathed and your head turned to him — your eyes glossy and soft with each caress “when he came to your house, asking you to marry his daughter? You denied him for me?” You’ve asked as your knuckles came to caress his jaw and then cheekbone feeling the sharpness of them under your skin.
“For us—“ he said and leaned into your hand with softness in his eyes you saw rarely “…so we may one day be the ones that are wed.” He said and his voice was rough, hoarse “not like Lorenzo and Clarice or Giuliano and Novella… on our terms…” he said and nodded as his hand went up to stroke the apple of your cheekbone with his thumb.
You pressed your cheek to his hand — large one that cupped the whole of profile and was pleasantly cool despite it all.
“…were you serious?” You asked and your eyes flickered up to him. “About wanting child with me?” You added and swallowed with both anxiety and hope in your heart.
Francesco hummed quietly — scanning your face, your eyes, the way your fingers curled into the fabric of his doublet as if afraid he’ll stride out of your room if anything.
“I was… and still am” he said and pulled you closed “…I will have a son of my own from you one day… if you’ll have me” he said and leaned but haven’t kissed yet — simply let his breath graze over your skin as the tension went up.
He didn’t get an answer — not with words but with lips. Your mouth pressed to his again in a rushed manner, lips crashing into lips in a bruising way that would leave your path panting and stumbling towards the bed as soon as you’d part.
And that was it indeed. As soon as you pulled away, a string of drool connected you both before he pulled you into him by the hair again. Stumbling you were guided towards your bed that stood clean and proper — made by maids in the morning when you were getting ready for the mass.
You felt your gown loosen up the moment the back of your knees hit the mattress. The gold chain that was wrapped around his doublet came off and hit the floor with a clink before your hands grasped hurriedly at the fasting of the dark velvet to take it off.
With each kiss planted and each piece of clothing stripped from you your heart beat as if it would beat its way through your bones and skin and fell into his hands. A gore way but oh so tender at the same time.
“I will never tire of the sight of you” Francesco murmured against your lips before laying you down on the softness of your bed and his fingers skillfully pulled the fabric of your small clothes just to toss them carelessly on the floor to lay with the fabric of his doublet and shirt.
His hot lips pressed against your thigh and the followed by planting each little peck closer and closer to your aching core in a teasing manner just to pull himself up and caged you between his arms with a smug smirk on his face while looking at yours covered by blush.
“You speak of loving me yet you treat me so unkindly” you gasped quietly as your fingers moved to wrap around his wrist.
“Do not worry… I shall give you everything you might be in need for” he murmured against your neck as his fingers travelled down to rub you gently and collect the wetness that almost dripped from your core.
“Touch me then—“ you whimpered as you thigh grazed against his hip “please Francesco—… I will perish if you—“
Your words were cut off by his hips slotting their way between your legs, his hardness pressing against your inner thigh and pulsing with need as he claimed your lips into another kiss.
“May I?” He asked as his hands held your hip and waist to ground himself.
“Yes— god please, yes” you whispered as your fingers buried in his dark locks.
You felt his tip grazing over your entrance — teasing you as the first drops of precum collected in the pink flesh. You gasped quietly as the first few inches pressed into you and you could hear Francesco’s quiet grunt as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Your eyes squeezed shut as he bottomed out pressing his hips to your bottom.
“Oh god—“ your head tilted back against the mattress as you felt him filling you completely.
“You don’t want anyone to hear us, do you?” He rasped out before pulling away just to thrust softly into you and wetting his lips at the tightness of you that enveloped him so sweetly. “They will know… but not today… today you’re just mine” he added and pressed his lips to yours.
His pace fastened — soft, little thrust quickly turned into more sensual ones, faster ones as he rocked his hips steadily. Dark eyes scanned your face to watch over every little expression — every grimace of pleasure, every gasp and little frown he learned you made when he hit the right spot with his cock.
Your breath was ragged already — weeks without properly touching each other, nothing more than a kiss or a warm embrace showing themselves with how desperate you both were. How desperate to touch, grip, how desperate for pleasure that was building steadily in your lower belly.
This soft tingling you grew so fond of, the coil in your stomach that you were sure only he could make you feel as his cock worked steadily inside you — wet sound echoing in the room with each thrust, a lewd sound really but oh god how hot it made you all over, you it made you crave more and more until your couldn’t take more.
“What a beauty… Botticelli is a fool for choosing to paint Simonetta and not you.” He said as his fingers pressed into your hip — unmistakably trying to leave a mark no one but him will know it’s there.
“Francesco do not say that—“ you murmured as your eyebrows pulled into a frown and you could feel your eyes water under your eyelids as you felt the warmth spreading.
“It’s true—… he’s either a fool or he’s blind” he mumbled as sped up with a grunt to the point where his hips were snapping against yours.
“You’re cruel for saying that.” You closed your eyes and your chest lifted and fell down with each breath.
“…Mayhaps I am… but God knows my words are truth” he said and his hands slid to grip your waist.
You gasped as he shifted — pulling you against him as turning violently. Your landed on his lap — each knee on other side of his hips and you gripped yours instead. His chest was heaving as he looked up at you with pleading in his eyes that watered themself and you could feel him pulsing inside you desperately.
Your hands wrapped around his arms as you slowly begin to rock his hips against his — a gasp left your mouth as you felt him hitting this sweet, sweet spot that made your toes curl and cheeks to pink up even more.
Your thumbs brushed over the sharpness of his jaw as your head tilted back even more and his nose grazed over your skin — breath hitting over it with each tingle of pleasure you felt.
Your hair sticked to your forehead and bare back as a moan escaped your mouth — not able to keep quiet in the chamber as you moved with desperation.
Francesco’s fingers pressed into your skin as you whimpered as he seemed so settle to mark you in some way — even if painful.
A surprised whine left you as you felt the wave of pleasure crash into you at full force — you wrapped your arms more securely against him hiding your face in his hair as you stepped from the cliff and fell into the abyss as the coil finally snapped.
You clenched on him as he held you — hands gripping you as if he was scared you’d leave, leave him when he was so soon to follow. A mere thrust away he spilled too — deep inside you with a groan and face pressed into the crock of your neck as you felt his eyelashes and hair tingling against your skin.
A soft breath, a caught one and you simply held each other in a quiet embrace before Francesco spoke up — his fingers brushing away the hair that stuck to your forehead.
“You are both my doom and salvation” he rasped out as his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his throat with the swallow he took — pupils blown wide as he looked at you in awe.
“I love you.” You mumbled cupping his cheeks and stroking over his skin with your thumb.
“I will worship you till day I die.”
Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it! I had the luck to publish it on literal steps of Palazzo Pazzi in Florence and oh my god Florence is really as beautiful as they say it is. Literally I’m like… okay I’m in Florence, Francesco Pazzi where are you? 😛 Also I wanna thank you SO MICH for 3k followers you mean the world to me!!!
Alicent watching Helaena and Jaehaera in the godswood, connecting with her child in a way Alicent never could. Just stabbing me would hurt less than whatever the writers surely have in store for this 😭
