#judri

after the team is finished, you can hear him saying 'yeah I like that, like that as well'.

thank you ☺️❤️

I DO. and I totally get that desire hihi

so first of all you need to check out @fedrifan78 her ao3 profile is a gold chest full of fedri mpreg, AND she has a super cute ongoing fic that has 3 Barca ships each of them going through a pregnancy 🥹🥹

then you need to check out @keyu712 (here's her profile) whose abo mpreg fics are my absolute guilty pleasure, made me read a ship I don't usually like (judri) so that means something 🤭

and then @hangsterly just posted a new fedri abo mpreg fic which is also very angsty but very good 👀

A Royal Decree - Chapter 1, Ceasefire

“We cannot maintain this armistice indefinitely,” Lord Ashcombe said. “There must be some permanent arrangement with the Crown of Spain.” 

Jude's father had called the council to discuss the continuation of the situation with the Spanish as it stands. The war with Spain hadn’t been long enough to be referred to as a great war, and yet the brutality of it had a lot of people calling it that regardless. It had begun as most wars did. A dispute over minor naval territories, crucial to control trade routes, but it quickly escalated beyond what either crown had anticipated. 

The war had truly begun when a fleet of Spanish naval ships established a blockade along one of England's trade routes, claiming the waters as Spanish. Days followed of failed negotiations and English merchants refusing to recognise the blockade and pay the extremely high toll. It is said that it was one man who fired first, and he was English. Of course, no one who saw the first shot of the war had lived to tell the tale with any certainty. 

What followed was the bloodiest day in the recent history of both kingdoms. Ships were set aflame, and cannons thundered from dusk to dawn. Hundreds were lost from both sides. Sailors still claimed they saw the blood of the fallen in the water, leading the trade route to become known as the Bloody Straight. 

Neither England nor Spain had admitted responsibility for what happened that day. England maintained the illegitimate Spanish blockade had been the first act of aggression. Spain insisted that the English fired first. 

Two years of war followed. On both land and at sea, the conflict was felt all throughout Europe. And the longer the war continued, the less its original cause seemed to matter. They never engaged in peace talks, just fought until both kingdoms were forced to face that there was nothing left to gain. 

A ceasefire had been signed six months ago, but it was temporary. All it could take was one singular shot of a gun to shatter the fragile peace between the two countries. 

“We shall draft a treaty.” One of the councillors suggested.

The king shook his head. “We have had treaties with Spain before, and they have failed us.” 

“Then perhaps a trade agreement.”

“They would never accept terms that favourable to England.”

The room went back and forth for another half hour, discussing possible solutions that were all met with objections.

Jude found these council meetings a bore. His father had insisted he start attending them regularly now that he was old enough to take a role in the affairs of diplomacy. As the Crown Prince and heir to the throne, Jude would have to be able to command a room just like his father did in a few years. 

Jude had spent years learning how to conduct himself as the future King. He had studied his military strategy, history, law, and economics, but none of these lessons made sitting through these meetings over the Spanish ceasefire any more interesting. 

Jude’s attention finally heightened when he heard the next suggestion, from the Duke of Woodstock, “There must be something tangible that binds the Spanish and English thrones together. So neither can simply walk away from peace when it becomes inconvenient.” 

His father raised a brow, “What are you suggesting?” 

“A union…between the two royal houses,” he says, gesturing to Jude. 

Jude looked to his father, to try and gauge if he was seriously considering the suggestion, and unfortunately for him, it looked like he was.

He leaned back in his chair, “Hmm, a royal marriage.” 

Lord Cary nodded in agreement with the plan, “A royal marriage would make the interests of England and Spain inseparable. If the two crowns are joined by blood, neither kingdom can return so easily to war.” 

Jude sat straighter, leaning into the table. For the first  time that afternoon, the council had his full attention. Because they were no longer discussing Spanish trade routes or military agreements. 

They were discussing his future. There was no way they would bear it on Jobe. Jobe was the spare. His future had always had a degree of freedom that Jude never knew. While Jude was always aware he would marry for England, Jobe was allotted the privilege of marrying for affection. 

The Spanish royal family would hardly consider anyone else without being offended, considering England's crown prince himself was still an eligible bachelor. He knew this day would come eventually. Actually realising the implications terrified him, but he wouldn’t show it.

Lord Ashcomble chirped in, “The Crown Prince of Spain, Prince Fernando, is the clear option.” 

Of course. 

He had met Fernando several times over the years, before the war when they were both younger. Usually at balls or formal occasions. Jude remembered he was charming enough, somewhat revered. They had exchanged polite conversation. Jude had never thought that he would marry him. But sometimes life worked in ways he didn’t understand. 

“It won’t do.” Another councillor interrupted his thoughts. “The Crown Prince is a Beta. His Majesty cannot be bound to a marriage that will not produce an heir.” 

Jude felt a sense of sudden relief, for a moment, he really thought he would be forced to marry this soon. 

“Perhaps one of their noble houses could provide a suitable match then?” The Duke of Woodstock suggested. 

“A noble house would not carry the same weight.” His father declined, shaking his head. “The King of Spain would not consider the marriage of a distant niece or nephew to the English heir a sufficient reason to preserve peace.” 

“Then someone of greater standing.” 

The council went back and forth for a moment, suggesting any Spanish nobleman they could recall who had an eligible omega or daughter. 

His father dismissed them all. 

“It is hopeless. Let us move on to other resolutions.” The King ordered. 

There was a pause as the councillors tried to think of a pivot, but from the far end of the table came a hesitant voice. 

“What of the King's other son?”

All heads turned to the councillor, who looked unsure of what he was saying himself. Jude couldn’t even remember his name, he never spoke much at these meetings. 

“Other son?” Jude's father asked. 

The councillor nodded, “If I recall correctly, there is a spare.” 

Silence filled the room. Jude looked around to see everyone in confusion, trying to search their memories of this so-called “spare”

“I was not aware the Spanish King had another son.” 

“Nor was I.” 

“Are you positive?” 

The comments and questions kept coming in without giving the councillor the chance to answer. 

“I’m fairly certain, yes. I stayed with the Spanish royal family for a few weeks when I was a child. It was many years ago, of course, and the boy was still a baby then, but I remember quite clearly that the King had two sons. Pedro was his name, and he would be the same age as Prince Jude today.”

“Why have none of us been made aware of this before?” Lord Ashcombe said.

One of the king's hands was rifling through the documents in front of him, trying to find a record of him. 

“You are certain?” Jude's father asks. 

“Certain he exists, yes, but I am not sure why so little is known of him now.” The councillor responds, lowering his gaze. 

“His designation?” The King asks instantly, like he was seriously considering this Pedro who they weren’t even sure existed. 

“He is an Omega.” 

Jude watched his father's expression change as the implications settled in. A prince, the son of the King of Spain himself, and most importantly, an omega. He would be capable of providing an heir. 

“Then perhaps we have our answer.” Lord Ashcombe says. 

Jude huffs, “You cannot seriously suggest-” he tries to speak up. It was his right, they were deciding his consort after all. 

But his father interrupted him, “We shall send word to Spain.”

Jude blinked in disbelief, just like that? They were going to decide his fate based on the potentially flawed memory of a mere councillor he didn’t even know the title of.

“Father, you are serious?” He asked, his voice a little shaky. 

His fathers sighed, “I understand this is not how you imagined your marriage would be arranged.”

“That is putting it mildly.” Jude butts in. 

“Jude, I would not ask this of you if I believed there was another course that would serve the Crown as well,” he explains. 

“B-but I- I haven’t even laid my eyes on him, none of you have,” he says. “Besides you, and that was when he was an infant,” he mocks, pointing at the councilmen. 

The king ponders for a second before nodding, “If this prince truly exists, and if he is of an appropriate age and remains eligible for marriage, we shall invite the Spanish royal family to England. We shall settle our diplomatic negotiations, and you and the prince will have the opportunity to court one another before any formal betrothal is made.” 

Jude thinks about this plan for a moment, deciding it was juvenile at best, failing to consider all the things that could go wrong, the biggest being, “And if I do not like him?”

The king's expression softened a little, and Jude already knew what his father would say next. 

“If the prince proves suitable, and if the Spanish Crown agrees to the arrangement, then there will be an expectation that you accept the match.”

Jude’s jaw tightened. “And if I refuse.” 

His father held his gaze as he spoke, “You are the Crown Prince of England.”

There was nothing more to say. Jude understood from those six words, he always understood that his life never entirely belonged to him, it belonged to England. 

Jude would have to marry this Prince Pedro if he existed, whether he wanted to or not. Decisions like this had been made for him long before he was even born, since the moment it was announced his mother was with child and that England would have an heir. 

-

Pedri closed the book he had been reading, wedging a bookmark in between the pages. He sighed as he left his study and made his way through the winding halls of the castle to the dining room. 

His parents had requested his presence at dinner that evening. It was a rarity, usually they would accept him if he wanted to sit and eat with them, but they never asked of him, only Fer. 

Pedri had grown accustomed to it. He knew there wasn’t any malice behind it. His parents simply had more important things to concern themselves with. The important thing being his brother. As Fernando was to inherit the throne, his lessons and appearances were matters that his parents considered worth knowing. 

Pedri had never been. He had been given his own rooms, his own tutors, and every book he could possibly want but very little of his parent’s attention. They didn't demand much from him because they never expected much back. 

As a child, Pedri had considered it a blessing to be born as the spare. Fernando would complain about his lessons and diplomatic affairs while Pedri had spent the whole day behind a book. Fernando was corrected whenever he spoke out of turn, while no one seemed to notice when Pedri did not speak at all.

But it took him years to understand that he had not been given freedom, but he was just left alone because his parents had other things to prioritise. 

He would never inherit the Crown, so there was little reason to prepare him for it.

Pedri didn’t mind, at least that's what he told himself. He had found peace in being able to disappear for an entire day without anyone wondering where he had gone. There were worse things than being forgotten.

He reached the dining room and paused outside the doors, taking a breath before entering. He had no idea why his parents had requested his presence tonight. Perhaps they simply wanted the family together. It was rare enough that Pedri could not think of the last time the four of them had sat down to dinner like this. 

His parents were already seated. 

His mother looked up first, offering him a smile, “There you are, dear.”

Pedri lowered his head to his parents, “Good evening.” 

His father gestured towards the empty chair beside Fernando, “Sit, Pedro.”

“Pedri,” he corrected like it was a muscle memory. 

His father’s lips fell into a line, but he didn't say anything. 

Pedri was named after a former King of Spain his father wanted to honour. He was a monarch whose reign had been remembered heroically for the military victories. At least that was what he was taught from a young age before he learned the truth when he was fifteen, in one of his history books. 

The king had been ruthless. He ordered brutal punishments for those who opposed him, and ruled with fear. He was a horrible man by all accounts. 

When Pedri had learned the full history behind his name, he had decided he wanted nothing to do with it. He had marched to his parents and told them he would change it. They laughed at him when he said that he would no longer answer to Pedro and that everyone was to call him Pedri instead.

His parents refused back then, and even now, as all their servants and friends knew the omega as Pedri, his parents still called him Pedro as though nothing had changed. Pedri still corrected them every time without fail, even though he knew they would mistake it the next time as well. 

His father cleared his throat as their plates were put in front of them, “How was your day?” 

Pedri didn’t respond, too focused on cutting his venison. He assumed his father was talking to Fer or his mother. It was only when silence settled over the table, and he looked up to see his family's faces all on him. 

“Mine?” he asks, genuinely bewildered. 

His father frowned at his response, “Yes, yours.” 

“Oh,” he says, taken aback. The omega shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “It was fine." 

His parents both nod, their eyes still not leaving him. 

“And what did you do?” His mother asks. 

Pedri’s brows furrow, his eyes going back and forth between his parents and brother, trying to read the expression they all seemed to have. 

“I went to the observatory. I read. I had garments fitted,” he explains plainly. It was nothing interesting after all. 

They all nodded slowly. “Anything of particular interest?” Fer asked. 

Pedri was really weirded out now. Something was clearly very wrong. His father barely touched his wine, when usually he would have been on his second glass by now. And his mother, she kept sending him these small, almost guilty smiles. 

“Uhm-” he stutters, “A book on the history of the northern provinces.” 

They all collectively nod, glancing at each other, raising brows and widening eyes like they were speaking in a language pedri did not understand.

He breaks the tense silence, setting his cutlery down suddenly. “Is there a reason you asked me to dine with you?” he says, not wanting to beat around the bush any longer. 

His father cleared his throat. “Yes, we have something we need to discuss with you. A matter of great importance.” 

Pedri’s stomach sank, he could not even begin to imagine what it could mean. He hadn’t done anything wrong recently, at least nothing he could recall. 

“You have a suitor,” his mother finally says. 

Pedri was even more confused now. “Okay?” he asked slowly. 

The announcement didn’t explain the strange atmosphere at the table. Suitors weren’t new to Pedri. As the second son of the King of Spain, he had considerable interest in him from the moment he became eligible. His designation made him very desirable to high-ranking nobility around Spain. Not to mention the fact that there were opportunists who saw Pedri as a way to gain a connection to the Crown. 

Pedri was also somewhat of a mystery during the season. He rarely went to balls, other than the ones his parents requested him to attend. He avoided diplomatic functions at all costs. Most people knew of him only by his reputation as the King's second son who was quiet and preferred books to humans. 

But a prince who did not seek attention was bound to attract it. The thought of an omega prince who was so notoriously difficult to approach was even more tempting to ambitious families.

So proposals were a very typical part of his life, as was declining them. The castle would receive them, Pedri would be informed, and his parents would allow him to decline. He usually wouldn’t even bother reading the man’s name or title before doing so either. 

So he was curious why this was being treated so differently 

“Is that all?” He asks. 

His father finally took a sip of his wine before speaking again, “The suitor, he is from England.”

Pedri’s confusion only deepened. Of course the fighting between the two kingdoms had halted, but they were still in a ceasefire. Their political differences were still not settled. An English nobleman had never been considered a suitable suitor for him. 

“W-why would you even consider an Englishman?” He stutters. 

His father was quiet for a moment. “It is not simply an Englishman,” He pauses to look at Fer before turning back to the omega, “It is the Crown Prince.” 

Pedri’s eyes widened. He wasn’t even sure if he had heard right because what he heard was so ridiculous. “The Crown Prince?” 

His father nodded once. 

Pedri’s mind raced, everything hitting him all at once. 

The Crown Prince of England, Jude. 

He had never met him, but Pedri knew enough of the name. Everyone did. As the heir to the English throne, his name appeared so often that even someone as uninterested in politics as Pedri had heard it. 

He knew he was around Pedri’s age, as Fernando had told him he was younger than him. His brother had met him several times before the war and always spoke rather highly of him. He was apparently quite charming and confident, impossible to dislike. 

And handsome, very notoriously handsome. 

Pedri had never spared him a second thought because he never expected Prince Jude to be relevant to him. But now he certainly was, the heir to the very kingdom Spain had spent the last two years fighting wanted to marry him. 

“I- but- why?” he stuttered out. 

His father set his wine glass down, “It is a political arrangement. The ceasefire cannot last forever. The relationship between our kingdoms is still fragile.” He explained, his tone abrasive like he was annoyed he even had to explain. 

His mother reached out and squeezed her husband's arm, telling him to calm down. She spoke more gently, “A marriage between the two royal families would change that.”

“If you marry the Crown Prince, England and Spain become family. Any future conflict would no longer just concern two foreign entities but Prince Jude, you, and your children as well.” Fer adds. 

Pedri’s eyes bulge out, “Children?!” he says before he can stop himself. 

He had been so distracted by the fact he was being asked to marry a stranger and leave Spain that he had forgotten the prospect of children, an heir he would have to birth, that belonged to both kingdoms. 

“You expect me to have children with him?” he asked, his stomach churning. 

His father's face hardened even more. “Pedro, what do you think the purpose of an Omega consort is in a royal marriage?” 

“No,” he said instantly. “I won’t do it.” 

He knew he was speaking out of order, but this was all too much. Marriage, children, being Consort to the King of England. 

“No?” His father echoed, his voice low and threatening. 

“I- I don’t want to,” Pedri said, his voice getting small suddenly. 

“We have allowed you your way for too long, Pedro,” his father said, raising his voice.

“Pedri,” the omega corrected on instinct before immediately regretting it. 

 His mother and Fer were now looking down at their plates, clearly uncomfortable. 

“Do not correct me now.” His father said, slamming his hand down on the table, causing Pedri to flinch. “You have been given every freedom as prince. We have permitted you to refuse every proposal that you have received. You have been excused from duties your brother has fulfilled.” 

“I never asked him to-” Pedri tried to get a sentence in, but his father wasn't quite done. 

“And now, when your family finally asks something of you, you think you can say no?” 

Pedri bit his lip, attempting to stop his face from showing how hurt he was by the statements. 

it genuinely feels like a one-sided “try not to look” challenge and he is fighting for his life every clásico

it’s like looking or even acknowledging pedri exists, might actually throw off his entire game

im keya she/her

im inlove with lamine yamal

i support barcelona

i LOVE paumine like those are my sons u can tell by my user and pfp and how much il post abt them

ive got no clue how this app works

i love ao3