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Fire Emblem Fates: Charlotte’s Case Of The Jitters

It’s okay Charlotte, EVERYONE gets a LITTLE nervous before their wedding day. That’s what the maid of honor’s there for, after all!

This is an idea prompted by @OtoRose, based on her ongoing story Cotillion which I hope I’m not taking too many liberties with! 🙋‍ You can read this on Archive of Our Own where, as always, I appreciate comments more than NO SERIOUSLY LIKE ALL WRITERS I DIE FOR THEM, THEY MAKE MY DAY NO MATTER HOW SMALL. I am available for commissions currently via my Patreon, and you can find me on twitter, tumblr, curious cat. All sorts of places! ❤

And as a reminder, donating even $1 a month to my patreon gets you access to my paid original fiction, like my recently released bathhouse story, Suds!

The maidservants scurried from the changing, fleeing Charlotte’s screams of “Get out, get out, GET OUT!” like rats escaping a sudden tidal flow. Severa, alone on watch outside, was barely able to dodge out of the way of the scrambling, scrabbling human wave before it swept babbling past her, down the hall, and to parts unknown.

“Selena,” the snake-like hiss of the mercenary Charlotte crept from her hiding spot on the other side of the heavy dressing chamber door. “Selena! Get in here!”

Severa cocked her head, inclining an eyebrow at Charlotte from her post beside the door. “I’m right here, gods. You don’t have to scream.”

Charlotte gestured inwards. “If you don’t get in here right now, you midge of a mercenary, I’ll show you what screaming sounds like.”

Severa slumped her shoulders with a sigh. Hooking her thumbs into her sword belt, she followed the hustle of Charlotte’s bustle into the changing room.

Cloying perfumes, oils, and potpourri dizzied her brain as soon as she crossed the threshold. It clashed with the earthy odor of old tomes and the deep-rooted charcoal smell of the fireplace. As Charlotte was a mercenary-turned-princess-consort, this study in a little-used east wing of the palace was repurposed as her changing room. For her special day, Charlotte had commanded she be set as far away from Camilla as possible.

There were traditions about being seen to uphold, weren’t there?

And what a sight. The princess’s consort was resplendent in her wedding dress, taffeta fronds, and lace, big and blooming just like her personality—and off white, too, Severa noted with a smirk. A tremendous, pale blue silken ribbon tied off her hair, matching the one that cinched an overly indulgent feathered frock coat which hugged her waist down to the floor. Charlotte stood by the room’s windows, facing out to the courtyard below. The gigantic bay windows framed the bride-to-be perfectly, sunlight heightening her perfectly blonde hair to the picturesque hue of a wheat field in some dipsy painter’s landscape…

“Shut the door,” Charlotte said.

“I’m not your maidservant.”

“You’re my maid of honor, you dolt!”

“Only because your other options were an assassin who’d reject any dress without an axe holster and a half-man, half-boulder who’d bankrupt the kingdom’s silk budget on his corset alone.”

“Watch your mouth. That half-boulder is my best friend.”

Only friend.”

The wood of the desk splintered beneath Charlotte’s clenching fingers.

Severa cleared her throat, glancing towards the open door.

Summoning a patch of serenity with a measured breath, Charlotte cupped her hands behind her back. “Selena, dear, do shut the door before I’m forced tell your mistress how you’re threatening to ruin her—our—perfect day?”

Severa groaned at the not-so-cloaked threat. A boot kicked out behind her but ended up slamming the door so hard it made her flinch. Covering for her fussy outburst, she stuck her nose in the air and tried to look above it all. “So what’s the problem anyway? Scared the seamstresses away before they could finish sewing that dress around those watermelons you call tits?”

“I don’t know.” Charlotte stepped away from the desk. Her heels clacked on the stone as she turned to face Severa. With both gloved hands, Charlotte framed the inescapable… lump in the dead-center of her dress. “You tell me.”

Severa quirked an eyebrow. “Well someone’s excited.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Charlotte hissed through gritted teeth. “I was in here, bored as a stray kitten in a pillow pile, dying in these heels while those sluggards pinned me into this monstrosity and…” She bit her lip. “Well I got to thinking about Lady Camilla.” Her teeth ground down further. “And how beautiful she’d look in her dress.” She bit herself so hard that a treacle of blood spilled over her plump lips. “Then I got to thinking about how much money that dress must’ve cost and how much money my dress must’ve cost and…” Drawling off in a giddy trance, Charlotte paused for a moment to poke her forefingers together with fiduciary bliss.

Severa lowered her eyebrow, then immediately cocked the other one.

“Look, do you want me to spell it out for you?? I nearly poked that seamstress’s eye out! And now I’ve got six minutes to take care of this or the bride to be is going to be flashing everyone in court more than just her maidenly ankles.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

Charlotte ducked her head, twirling a loose curl of straw-blonde hair around a gloved finger. “C’mon Selena, it’s not like you and I haven’t—”

Her lips tightened into a line. “What I do when Lady Camilla is there is entirely—”

“Look can you please just suck my cock. It’s my gods’ damned wedding day!”

Severa glowered. “Not with that attitude I won’t. Look, why can you just…” She made a vague, half-hearted motion with a closed fist. “Isn’t that what you…” Against her best efforts, tendrils of heat and interest were climbing her cheeks. “D-do with those things?”

“What do I look like, a pervert? I’m a lady, and ladies only get off in the company of others.”

Severa narrowed her eyes. “Right…”

“Look! If you’re not going to suck my cock that’s fine.” Charlotte preened, placing her hands atop her breasts and inclining onto her toes, swaying this way and that as she lost herself to fantasy. “It’s only proper I keep myself pure for my wedding night.”

Severa’s eyes narrowed yet further. “Right…”

“That being said, no way I’m taming this beast by my lonesome.” Hands settled upon Charlotte’s hips with the force of a sonic boom. Severa was immediately at attention, matching Charlotte’s pose as the consort-cum-bride stood upright, proud as a princess herself, and delivered her stately proclamation. “But I am going to need you to eat my ass while I take care of this.”

Her eyes boring twin pinpoints into the slowly growing wet spot at the front of Charlotte’s dress, Severa’s ears were burning before she realized what Charlotte had asked.

“E-eh?!” Her head jerked back as reality hit her like a brick wall. “N-no way! M-m-maid of honor or not, no frickin’ way am I—”

“Listen you… you…” The seams of Charlotte’s gloved shrieked with the clench of her fists. “You pigtailed rugrat! Everyone from here to Hoshido knows you haven’t turned down a command, a request, a suggestion, hell, an offhanded-fucking-remark, to eat a lady’s ass in your whole blighted, sex-starved, bottom-bitch of a life. I’ll be a princess in an hour and you’re the gods-damned help, so get over here, get under my dress, and help me get myself off or so help me gods I’ll—”

Severa stamped her boot and tossed her hair. “Fine I’ll do it!”

Charlotte clasped her hands before her and cooed, a beneficent smile wiping away her scowl. “That’s the spirit! I knew if I simply appealed to your—”

Severa strode across the dressing room with the stamp of boots and the petulant swing of her arms. “Will you shut your yap and lift your skirts?”

Pre-empting her with a press of her palm into Severa’s chest, Charlotte flashed a prizewinning smile. “Not until you lose that pig-sticker, honey.”

Stultified to silent blush, Severa averted her eyes from Charlotte’s arrogant gaze and undid her belt, letting her sword clatter to the floor behind her.

“You really are an inveterate tomboy, but I suppose that’s why Lady Camilla dotes on you so; a real charity case. Well.” Tap-tap-tap of a finger against her lips. “I suppose some girls just aren’t suited for the court…”

Severa wet her lips with her tongue, glancing from side to side like a cornered tomcat. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

A soft, trilling laugh—unlike with Severa, Camilla’s instructions on Charlotte’s manners had not fallen on deaf ears. Charlotte nestled Severa’s cheek in her gloved palm, gracefully molding it to her grip, and tickling strong fingers at the vulnerable spot behind Severa’s ear. “It wouldn’t do to draw comparisons to the size of lady’s sword, after all.”

At Severa’s pliant little gasp, a cavernous grin spread over Charlotte, the look of a panther before a pinned feast. The timid little moan as her fingers left Severa’s neck would feed her soul for a season. All this, and she wasn’t even a princess yet!

Despite the imminence of the situation—to say nothing of the ceremony—Charlotte seemed to be making a show of plucking each silken glove off finger by finger.

“Can we hurry it up?” Severa glanced back at the door, suggesting the urgency Charlotte seemed suddenly unaware of. She spoke a little louder than she intended, tapping her foot with intermittent bursts of energy. Any sound was welcome, to cover the sudden racing of her heart.

“Why?” Innocent as a doe, Charlotte set each glove, carefully folded, down on the desk. With both hands, she lifted her skirt, revealing the seeping monster of her cock, framed by garters—for whatever reason, these were pure white. “Is someone changing her mind about…”

“Guh, no!” Severa quickly retorted. “A-and should you really be…” A gulp. “W-where the heck is your… y’know… your…”

Charlotte tut-tutted, clucking her tongue in dismay at Severa’s woeful lack of understanding. “My underthings? A pointless barrier that would only waste time in the…” Fingers rifling through her many skirts, keeping them lifted, Charlotte cajoled her maid of honor with a sway of her hips. “…consummation of things, if you catch my drift.”

“A blind, deaf dog couldn’t miss your drift.”

“Ohhhhh.” Charlotte swooned. Hand found forehead as a maidenly sigh escaped her. Juicy contrast to how her cock bobbled in the air, a mass of flesh, a tempting offering. “If I had my way, I’d let her take me right there, right upon the altar, right as we said… I…” Plump lip suckled between teeth, a stab of her ready sword. “DO!

“W-what?” Severa swallowed. “In front of all those—”

A flash of insight through Charlotte’s eyes, at the obvious heat of Severa’s face. “That, dear, is how a lady of the court marks her territory.”

Severa’s wrinkled nose was the last tether of her resolve, fraying before this crazed woman and her maddening contrasts. “I’m not sure Lady Camilla would agree.”

“Well, if that’s your opinion then it’s lucky I’m the one marrying her.” With a surprisingly graceful pirouette on high heels, Charlotte turned to face the desk, bent over, and offered herself to her maid of honor.

“Wait but…” Severa swallowed. “What are you going to do about your…”

“Oh now she cares about making a mess. Look bitch, it’s not my first stress relief session and it won’t be my last.” Charlotte splayed her fingers instructively. “I’ll catch it.” Explanation finished stabbed her index finger towards the stone floor. “Now: on your knees, the help.”

Desperate to get things started, Severa obeyed. She dropped to her knees and inched forward as the many skirts of Charlotte’s dress fell around her, cloaking her like a fluffy waterfall.

Darkness enfolded her deeply as the silks did. Despite their closeness, she was somehow alone, like a cave in the wilderness, with only the resplendent heat of Charlotte’s body to stave off the cold.

Muffled orders from Charlotte above. Through the dense curtains of fabric, and the distraction of flesh, Severa couldn’t quite make out the words, but she understood the intent readily enough.

She took a breath, steeling her heart, and drew her nose slowly along Charlotte’s shivering crack.

It was moist, in her private little cavern. Severa realized it was the heat of her breath, dappling Charlotte’s skin. She pulled closer; some flames dare you to touch them, and, especially for fiery little souls with something to prove, some dares are impossible to resist. The pulse of Charlotte’s body met hers, and she kissed the waiting bud before her.

An undulation of flesh. Charlotte acclimated to her presence. A jerk and tightening of muscles. Severa closed her eyes, and in her mind, she pictured the grasp of fist around pulsing cock.

How pleasant and clean it smelled. Charlotte had wasted no effort—or rather, wasted no effort of Camilla’s many, many maidservants—in readying herself. Severa wasn’t the only lady who’d be enjoying this ass tonight, she thought, with a bit of a superior flick of her tongue.

A muffled moan signaled the start of their duet.

Legs shaking, Severa gripped Charlotte’s thick, powerful thighs. Her tongue tested inward with a ripple of muscle, testing the tension of Charlotte’s ringed entrance.

She painted Charlotte with her tongue, tracing mindless patterns, and enjoying the flutters of body and writhes of spirit each careful touch drew out.

Of course they did, an imperious thought spiked through Severa’s mind, one didn’t accept ‘every command, request, suggestion, hell, every offhanded-fucking-remark, to eat a lady’s ass’ from here to Hoshido without becoming rather good at it.


“F-faster… m’dear…” came Charlotte’s quaking voice.

The absolute nerve of her!

At that, a gear shifted in her body. Her hold on Charlotte’s legs grew not pliant, but powerful. She straightened her spine, enjoying the rustle of silks around her hair, knelt upright. The power swelled up from her stomach, limitless. When the outflow became too much, she unleashed it.

She pierced this woman.

“Anh!” Charlotte’s voice pierced the hazy miasma of her being. “That’s the spot!”

Tongue thrust into Charlotte, breaking past the unnecessary, unwanted resistance of her tight little ring with frantic energy. Nails grinding into hips. Yanking her backwards. She wanted to pierce this woman, her mistress’s consort, her mistress’s bride. She could not speak, and yet she yearned to dictate terms. You can’t have her, not without taking a piece of me with you. She penetrated this woman, gripped her by the knees and dove into this sole portal to her absolute core. She fucked her, her mistress’s mistress. Her tongue was a battering ram. Her nails in Charlotte’s knees, belaying pins.

She laid siege to this wanton body.

The thwacking of flesh increased to a fever pace. The stab of Severa’s tongue kept easy pace with the rhythm—indeed, it was because she set it, whatever Charlotte, with her feeble hand gripping an overlarge monster whose power she’d yet to master, even with mistress Camilla’s dutiful, not to mention charitable lessons.

She moaned into Charlotte’s firm-yet-ample flesh. Her hands scrambled, desperate for touch. Severa loved this, the liminal state, the emittance, before a frantic, desperately necessary release, where touch is one’s only tool to remember the borders between bodies. Where she could convince herself that tongue belonged to Charlotte, that cock belonged to her.

That everything, everything, was meant to be shared by everyone.

The heat of Charlotte pumped and rippled around her tongue. The slam of a fist on the desk, like a primal drum. Like the mythic heartbeat of a first soul.

“That’s it…” Charlotte whispered, the silken slit of her crack ran up and down Severa’s nose, as she marked her. “That’s it… that’s it… that’s…!”

A nightingale’s cry, is what Severa likened it to. She didn’t know that women like Charlotte, hardscrabble women beaten by crude fullers out of cast-off brass, could foster such sweetness in them…

It was the first sincere sound she’d ever heard Charlotte make.

“Well, m’dear… I can certainly see why Camilla keeps you around after that display of your… talents…” Charlotte recovered her poise with little more than a pair of rasping breaths. An affectionate tousle of Severa’s hair, beneath the folds of her dress. “Come now, up and out.”

Like a bear exiting her cave after a terrible winter, Severa tumbled out from beneath Charlotte’s skirts, crossing an inch or two of floor on hands and knees before, blinded by exposure to the daylight, she shielded her eyes with a raised forearm.

Which Charlotte then took, and guided Severa to sit atop the writing desk—after clearing away what few books remained atop it with a sweet of her arm, of course.

Severa steadied herself with both hands. Face to face with the bride, the young hero couldn’t help but admit—at least, internally—that Charlotte had an uncommon beauty to her… commonly as it might be. Her smile offered not the threat of fangs, but the beneficent, farmgirl aspect of her broad front teeth and plump lips. Her cheeks were rosy red, a natural rouge better than any cosmetic. Her cleavage shone wonderfully with beaded sweat. And her skirts, though in disarray, were back in their prim and proper position, without a telltale lump to be found. She was chaste and modest again, but for the shimmering pool of spunk that trembled in her cupped hand, encroaching slowly upon Severa’s lips.

Severa wrinkled her nose, looking up at Charlotte with timid uncertainty belied by a flick of her tongue between her lips. She hadn’t… well it’s not like she’d never… but here…? …now? And with… with… with…


“Come, love,” Charlotte whispered, serene. Sweet as a drop of honey on a lover’s nose, her words shivered over bee-stung lips. “Drink up…”

The gently pressure of Charlotte’s hand against the back of her head was all the encouragement Severa needed—and probably not even that much was required, some hidden, inner part of her admitted.

It was like the path of an angel, Charlotte’s gentle downward urging. The bouquet of cum filled her nose. Tang and musk. A dangerous odor. Overwhelming. Utterly suffusing. A plain and peasant girl like her—the help—might drown in such a royal aroma…

With Charlotte’s fingers twining through her hair, Severa lapped at the pool of spunk like a kitten at a saucer.

“Oh~” This husky moan of strange climax rumbled through Charlotte’s chest, drawing Severa’s eyes towards the quaking of her colossal breasts. “My kitten, my sweet kitten…”

A flinch shuddered through Severa’s body. Had she said that aloud? She hadn’t. Surely she hadn’t. How could she, with her tongue running over Charlotte’s palm, slithering through each individual finger, desperate to collect every single, solitary gram of her royal jelly. Oh gods, she would do anything for this woman. The mistress of her mistress would soon be her mistress too. Wasn’t that right? Or was she simply drunk on the taste, the texture, the…

What she wouldn’t give for Charlotte to—

The metal-reinforced windows jittered with impact. With a thrust of her palm, Charlotte pinned Severa against them.

“Hey! W-what the heck!”

“Pants off, now,” Charlotte ordered.

“It’s your wedding day,” Severa hissed.

A brutal grin, in response. The show of fangs. “What better time to demonstrate what a magnanimous queen I’ll be?”

The depravity in those eyes, the danger. It could make a girl like Severa scream. It did make her scream—though it was really more of a simpering, pathetic little moan. Already, her shaking fingers fumbled with her trousers.

The shrieking disintegration of rough fabric, as Charlotte stripped Severa’s trousers apart with a single, effortless tug.


“The clock is ticking, Severa, m’dear. We’ve no time to fuss with laces~”

“B-but… I… n-need… those…” Severa protested, but only as a matter of course. She hardly half a mind to query whether she’d ever revealed her true name to Charlotte. P-perhaps Lady Camilla had, in a moment of indiscretion. But that seemed quite unlike her.

Oh, what did it matter??? She was falling into the raging blues of Charlotte’s eyes, losing herself, floating upwards, and bouncing like a tied balloon against the stone ceiling.

No. Charlotte’s raging blues eyes were dwindling. Plummeting. Dropping away as the bride fell to her knees, wrenched Severa’s shaking legs apart bodily by the knees, and dove face-first, devouring her ready twat like the first bite of wedding cake.

There came a pounding at the door. Oh no, they’d lingered too long. The ceremony had started without its bride. Severa’s legs closed around Charlotte’s ears in shackling bliss. Oh, toss the wedding! She’d elope! She’d toss this beautiful woman over her shoulder like cordwood and—

The door shattered to pieces, and there, deific and beautiful in her rage, single, red eye burning like a cold-fire dawn was…


Beruka was in a combat stance atop her bedcovers before Severa finished her strangled grasp of air.

“W-wuh?” Severa, suddenly awake, asked, numb hands clutching strands of nothing in the empty air.

Noting nothing amiss in their shared bedchambers, Beruka set Severa with a dry look. “Oh, you were dreaming.”

“Guh.” Severa grunted. She blinked at her roommate. Her temples were absolutely throbbing, to say nothing of her… “Buh.”

“Well, I hope it was a good one.”

Beruka crawled back under her blankets without fuss or further inquiry.

Severa tamped down on her chagrin by grinding her teeth, pinching her lips, and waiting until Beruka was soundly snoring before she slunk a hand between her legs and settled her business.



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