Toxic Taicho

It had become a habit to front when the body was in severe enough discomfort, pushing Steven and Marc back so that they didn’t have to feel it.

That was why both of them had never told you that they suffered from migraines, because they didn’t. Jake suffered for them. 

You watched him move around the kitchen, trying to get himself something to drink. The harsh afternoon sun was streaming through the window, cutting like glass into his skull. He kept pausing, moving out of the light and screwing up his eyes. Trying his best to navigate the space with his eyes closed or his hand shielding them from the sun. 

“Jake,” you started, trying to keep your voice quiet as you could but loud enough so that he could hear you. It wasn’t the first time in the last twenty minutes you had tried to talk to him.

“Honey, I’m fine.” He stressed the last word. Putting an edge on it that you knew what meant to be playful, but just came across as irritated. “Fine.” 

If he repeated it enough times you would believe it. If he repeated it enough times he would be. 

He took a glass from the cupboard and put it on the counter. The sound of it, the smallest clink as it landed was horrendous. A wave of nausea ran through him as pain seared along his temple, pulling at his skin like claws scraping across his skull. 

“Jake-”

“You go, I know you’ve been looking forward to seeing your friends all week. You’ll be late if you don’t go now.” His voice was weak, a waver in it as he gripped the countertop, eyes closed. He tried, and failed to will off the nausea, the slight distortion in the corner of his sight that was warping reality inwards. He just needed some tablets. Then to try to sleep holding the bin praying he wouldn’t throw the pain relief right up again.

You’d had enough. You couldn’t stand seeing him like this. 

He didn’t hear you move closer to him, too preoccupied with the sound of his heart and blood rushing through his ears.

“Jake Lockley.” You kept your voice quiet but lowered it, trying your utmost best at a Khonshu impression. 

Jake paused, and turned his head towards you, squinting. 

“I’m not going out, not with you like this.” You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to coax him to lean on you for support. 

“Hone-”

"I'm staying.  End of discussion.  You gotta learn to let people take care of you." 

Jake groaned, a low rumble of a sound. But he shifted back and leat his head on your shoulder, keeping his eyes closed. 

You wrapped your arms around him, just holding for a minute as he breathed heavily through the pain. 

“Was that a Khonshu impression?” He mumbled against your neck. You could hear the small smile in his voice. 

“Did you like it?” 

“It’s disturbingly accurate. How did you?...” He railed off as another fresh wave of agony washed over him.

“Steven,” you whispered, pressing a light kiss to his head. “He does an excellent impersonation of ‘that old bird’.”

Jake snorted and then winced. 

“Sorry,” you kissed his forehead again. “I shouldn’t be making you laugh.”

He shook his head lightly against you and then breathed heavily again. “So it’s an impression of Steven’s impression.”

“Yes it is.” You rubbed his back in soothing circles as he relaxed more into your arms. 

“Good, for a minute I was…”

“Did you think I had heard him.”

Jake nodded weakly.

You leaned close to his ear and whispered. “Luckily I haven’t had the displeasure.” 

Jake laughed again before scowling in distress.

“Okay, come on,” you slowly guided him to bed. “I know you’re in a bad way because you never laugh this much at my stupid comments.”

“That’s not true.”

You tutted, but said nothing as you helped him lay down. Pressing a light kiss to his temple before you went back to the kitchen to fetch some water and painkillers. You were in half a mind to try to find something to use as a makeshift curtain over the kitchen window. But the light from there didn’t reach the bed and you didn’t want to make too much noise. 

There was a moment when you walked back to him that you thought he might have fallen asleep, curled up on himself and clutching a pillow to his chest. 

“You could go out now, you know.” He muttered. 

“I’m staying, stupid. Here.” You held out the water and tablets.

“That’s not very nice,” he teased. “Calling me names, I’m sick.” He took the tablets and water, swallowing quickly. 

“Hmmm.” You tried to bite back your smile as you put the half full glass on the side table, using your pinky finger underneath the bottom to cushion the sound it made. “Do you need anything else?” 

“You can still make it.” He mumbled. There was a slight pinch to his features that was easy to miss. A well covered distress. He wanted you to stay. 

“Well I’m not going to, I’ve already messaged.” You climbed into bed next to him, taking great care not to rock the bed or jostle him too much. 

Jake let out a soft sound, a low wine of content as you shifted close and wrapped your arms around him; hugging him tightly, but not too tight, as the big spoon.

The steady rise and fall of his chest was soothing and even thought it was only early afternoon you found sleep starting to call to you. 

You had almost nodded off when Jake spoke suddenly, his voice heavy and far away. 

“I know what would help.”

“What?” You answered quickly, suddenly feeling very awake and ready to do whatever you could to make him feel better. 

“Well, I’ve heard that coming really helps with a headache so…” The grin in his voice was undeniable. 

You laughed, gently butting your forehead against his back. “That’s not for migraines Jake.” 

“Couldn’t hurt to try?”

“With our luck you’ll get motion sick.”

He chuckled and sleepily squeezed your hand. “I guess you’re right.” There was a pause before he spoke again. “Maybe later?” 

You weren't sure whose giggles were louder, yours or his.

____________________________________

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It was like Marc had a sixth sense about these things, it was like he knew what you were about to do. 

Anxiety twisted your stomach. The urge was there, the need to pick at your skin, your face, at all those imperfections and impurities. The unevenness. It just had to be corrected, fixed, smoothed out.

With a deep breath you forced yourself to look down at the sink and away from your face.

“Can you come in please?” You whispered, but he heard you. 

Marc carefully opened the door. You knew he was looking at you, could sense the weight of his gaze even as you continued to stare at the sink, your jaw tense. 

“Baby,” he breathed out softly, his tone was so gentle, so caring. You didn’t deserve that. You never deserved that. 

Your eyes began to well with tears, frustration itching along your veins. You needed to pick, you needed to get the poison out. 

“Hey, hey, come here,” Marc slowly pulled you into his arms, giving you plenty of time to move away if you needed to. 

You sank into the embrace, resting your head on his shoulder as he rubbed your back. 

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Marc-” your voice cracked, hot tears flowing no matter how much you tried to stop them. 

“So proud baby for asking for me to come in.” He kissed the side of your face once, twice, and then stepped back so he could gently kiss your cheeks, cupping your face with his hands. “So beautiful.” 

You screwed up your face, but couldn’t help the weak smile that spread across your face. 

Even if you didn’t believe that you were beautiful, you knew he meant what he said

He smiled at you, eyes soft and warm. “Come on,” he quickly opened the bathroom cupboard and grabbed something before he took your hand and led you to bed. Coaxing you into laying down with your head in his lap. 

“Comfy?” 

You nodded, looking up at him.

“Good.” He held up your benzoyl peroxide acne face cream that he had taken from the bathroom cupboard. 

“You don’t have to,” you began, tears welling up again, but Marc should his head.

“I want to, okay?” He bent down and kissed your forehead before he opened the cream and squeezed a small amount onto his fingers before he began to massage it into your skin, paying particular attention to be gentle to the sore areas. 

You watched him as he worked, the small line of concentration that formed on his forehead. You didn’t know what you’d do without him. 

____________________________________

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Steven nods. “All of it, like,” he motions with his hands. “Gone.”

“Bald?” 

“No, not bald Marc, it wouldn’t be bald, our, our-”

“Our balds would be bald.” 

“I was thinking more like, we just shave the top… bit?” 

“And nothing else?” Marc frowns in thought. “Wouldn’t that look-”

“Weird, yeah.” Steven sighs defeatedly. “It would. Like we just stopped halfway, and if we do it like a really neat line that will look like, ‘woah, too much effort here’, and if we don’t it’ll look a mess.” 

Marc nods. “Look, I know this isn’t helpful, but I don’t want to shave it all off. Because, one,” he holds up his forefinger. “I think it’ll look weird, you know like in porn, hairless balls just make me think of turkey wattles.” 

Steven pauses. “Wattles?” 

“Like the turkey red neck flappy thing.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know that it was called that.” He nods a little, then shakes his head, trying to stay focused. “You think shaved balls look like that?” 

“Kinda.”

“Kinda?” He says, unimpressed.

“Yeah, look, I’m not the vegan who gets freaked out by certain types of mushrooms-”

“We’ve been over this, I heard Michael say in the break room that mushrooms on pizza looked like slugs, and I can’t unsee it, it’s not fair to-”

Marc holds up his hands. “I’m sorry, okay, sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that all up again like that.” 

Steven nods. 

“They just look weird to me.” 

Steven’s lip twitches in a smile and Marc braces himself for whatever is about to come. “Is that what you say to yourself to justify only watching lesbian porn?” 

“Don’t.”

“Is it?” Steven grins. 

“I don’t just watch lesiban porn.” 

Steven scoffs. “Firstly, you do. Second, what’s wrong with watching lesbian porn?” 

Marc gives him a glare. “You’re the one that brought this up!”

Steven grins, enjoying seeing Marc squirm a little. “I did. So, why do you only watch lesibian porn?” 

“Fuck off.” 

Steven chuckles. “Spoil sport.” 

“You’re a bully.” Marc smiles. 

“What was your second point anyway?” 

“What?” 

“You’re second point? First was our balls would look like a turkey if we shave them, what was the other?” 

“Oh, I think it’ll itch like hell when the hair starts to grow back if we use the razor.” 

Steven nods, thinking. “Yeah, I bet you’re right on that one.” He sighs again, his shoulders slumping. “But what are we gonna do?” 

“We could glue it back on?” Marc says, only half joking.

“Marc.” He gives him the disappointed teacher voice. “We are not glueing hair back onto our.. Our… area.” 

“Area?” 

“You’re worried about it itching growing back, what the fuck do you think it’s gonna feel like with glue?” 

“Area? Steven, are we fucking three?” 

Steven puts his hands on his hips. “Is that what you’re focusing on right now?” 

“Well, yeah? Area?” 

“What would you call it then? Hmm?” 

Marc opens his mouth and then pauses.

“See, see?” Steven gestures at Marc, “What the fuck is it?”

“It’s the bit above the dick.” 

“Yeah, but what is that called? Like the actual name?” 

Marc thinks and then frowns. “Steven, I don’t fucking know, why is this important?”

“You made it important.” Steven grabs his phone from the side.

“What are you doing?” Marc sighs.

“I’m looking it up.”

“Steven.” 

“I want to know.” 

“Steven.” 

“All I can think of is pubic mound, but is that like, the word for everyone?” 

Marc shakes his head slightly as he pulls a face. “For everyone? What do you mean?”

“Like for all genders.”

“Oh…” Marc thinks again. “Maybe…” He leans forward as if he could see Steven’s phone from his angle. 

“See? You’re interested now.” 

He nods. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t get too excited about it.” He huffs.

Steven rolls his eyes, and then quickly reads. “Okay, it is the pubic mound for everyone.” 

“Okay.” 

“We’ve learnt something.” 

“Doesn’t really help with our current situation, does it?” 

Steven puts his phone down and rubs his eyes, “Ugggghhhh, what if we just say, ‘Love, I tried to shave a heart into my pubic hair because I thought it would be funny and sweet and now I’m like what the fuck have I done?’” 

You knock on the bathroom door and both Steven and Marc jump at the same time. 

“Erm,” Steven scrambles with the towel around his waist before he opens the door with a flourish. “I-”

“I got back about ten minutes ago.” You give him a soft smile. “I’ve been listening to your side of the conversion, with rapt attention.” You tease playfully. 

Steven closes his eyes and chuckles bashfully. 

“If it’s any help,” you give his cheek a quick kiss. “I think the heart sounds lovely.” 

“Show them!”

Steven rolls his eyes, turning his head to pull a face at Marc’s reflection. “You wanted to glue it back on a second ago.” 

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Hastily, you scribbled on a scrap piece of paper and left it to the side of the stain. While it was unlikely that Nathan was going to crawl out of his office at any point today, stranger things had happened. And it would be just your luck if he did.

Getting to your room was fine, but the pain started shortly after you stepped into the shower. A deep twisting just below your belly button, like someone was slowly trying to rip your insides out. And, in a way, that was exactly what was happening. 

You managed to get out of the shower and changed with a fresh pad, your vision swimming slightly as the pain began to overwhelm the simplest actions. You just needed to find your meds, lay down and try to sleep through the next- 

Knock, knock, knock. 

Of course. 

You swung your bedroom door open with a little more force than necessary. Your tone clipped and strained. “Yeah?”

Nathan raised his eyebrows at you. He had your tone in his left hand. ‘I’ll fix it.’ scrawled in your rushed handwriting. 

You were surprised he wasn’t holding an itemised bill. 

He paused for a moment, looking you over with a level of scrutiny you weren’t used to. “You okay?”

That wasn’t the question you’d expected. 

You hummed an answer and nodded once. “Fine.” A cramp sunk its claws into you as you spoke, giving your voice a shuddered edge. 

“There’s blood on the couch...” He said it slowly, the slight raise in his cadence towards the end turning the statement into a question. 

Your stomach clenched as another cramp seized your muscles. It took all your willpower not to double over. 

“I’ll pay for it.” You spoke at the exact same moment Nathan said, “what happened?”

The cramp was not easing up, all you wanted was to lay down and possibly hit yourself over the head with a hammer so you could stay unconscious for a few hours. 

“Wha-”

“I bled through okay?” You snapped, displaying the first signs of true annoyance Nathan had seen since you got here. His mouth audibly snapped shut.

“My period came early,” you stared at his chest as you let the words just fall out, it was always easier not to look at his stupidly beautiful face, “and I fucking bled through and didn’t realise it, and I’ll pay for the fucking damage.” You breathed out heavily, regretting your tone instantly. Fuck, you were going to have to-

“Oh. Okay.” 

“What?” You frowned, looking quickly to his face. 

“I said okay. Though you don’t have to pay anything, that’s fucking stupid.” 

You made a sound, words starting to form but then said nothing. 

“It’s an accident.” Nathan pulled a face, “you can’t help bleeding. Do you know how many times I’ve bled on the furniture?” 

Your mind wasn’t quite catching up quick enough. “You, wait, you’ve bled on the furniture?” 

“Yeah?” He looked at you like you’d asked the stupidest question in the world, and walked past you into your room. (Without an invitation.)

“Wait, you can't just not expla-”

“What meds have you got?”  Nathan looked at your desk, on top of your bedside table. His hand going to open the drawers. 

“Did I say you could come in here?” 

He looked at you over the top of his glasses. “It’s my house.”

“Natha-”

“What painkillers have you got?” He continued when you didn’t answer quickly enough for his liking. “Periods hurt right? You’re in pain, it’s obvious. And I bet you only have shitty over the counter stuff.” He sighed. “Lay down.” He gestured to your bed as he walked out of the room. “I’ll be back.”

You were too flabbergasted (and preoccupied with the searing pain in your stomach) to argue. 

Slowly you sat on the edge of the bed, a little annoyed at yourself for following his instructions. 

The pain was getting worse, swelling with every breath and you carefully doubled over, pressing your hands to your stomach as if the pressure could stop the cramps. 

You sat up quickly as Nathan came back into the room. 

He tutted. “I said lay down.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

A small smirk pulled at his lips. “Technically, I am. Here,” he held out two pills and a glass of water. “Take these.”

You frowned. “What are they?”

“Pain killers.”

“What kind?” 

“The good kind.”

“Nathan-”

“They’re not going to hurt you. They’ll help you sleep for a bit.”

You conceded and took the pills and the water. “I don’t think much of your bedside manner.” You muttered just before you swallowed. 

“Well, you’re a very irritating patient.” He said with the widest smile you had ever seen on his face. 

He took the glass from your hand and put it on the side, purposefully not using the coaster that was obviously there, and took a small hot water bottle from where he had been holding it under his arm. “Sorry, it’s the only size I’ve got.” 

You barely got the chance to stammer out, “thank you,” before Nathan took hold of your legs and lifted them up onto the bed. 

Then, to your utmost surprise, he climbed into bed next to you. 

“Nathan, what-”

“Trust me, okay?” 

You paused, staring at his eyes for an impossibly long second before you swallowed and nodded. 

He carefully guided you to move onto your side before laying down behind you and moving close so that his chest was flush with your back. 

“Comfortable?” He whispered. A shiver ran up your spine in spite of his body heat. 

You nodded.

“Good.” Slowly he reached down to the hot water bottle and slipped his hand over yours to hold it firmly against your stomach. 

“This okay?” His voice was barely audible. 

You nodded, not trusting your voice. 

The pressure of his hand, his arm wrapped around you, the warmth of him against your back was comforting. Soothing. Everything. 

Sleep had nearly overtaken you when you jolted. 

“Hey, hey,” the gentleness of his tone seemed wrong, unnatural almost to becoming from between his lips, “it’s alright-”

“I might bleed on you,” the words came out in a rush, an old fear rearing its head, despite the pad you could still leak, “I might-”

“I don’t give a fuck if you bleed on me.” That same tone, soft and kind, barely a breath. “It doesn’t matter. Come on,” he pressed a feather light kiss against your shoulder. “Relax, try to sleep.”

____________________________________

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You have been curled up in the bed wincing in pain without moving, while your sweet boyfriends have been doing everything on their power to help you with the stupid cramps, they know you always go through hell while on your period and it breaks their heart to see you crying and whimpering in pain.

———

For the past hour the boys have been searching on the internet methods to get your cramps go away, Steven whom was the last one that was trying to help you with your cramps, has been searching for information on every web page and blog he can click on, he’s really getting tired of reading and trying endless remedies that haven’t been helping you, alongside the ones that Jake has tried with you. He’s very concentrated while looking online, but he doesn’t find anything, he is about to give up and close the 100th article he has read about periods when suddenly something on the article in front of him catches his eye, he starts reading it and his face starts getting all shades of red while he does it, he finally has the information of a good way to make your cramps go away, according to the blog “empowered women” the most efficient way to help you have a slight relief of pain it’s is by giving you an orgasm…

Steven gets too nervous about it, his mind runs a thousand miles per hour on the thought of maybe hurting you even more by trying to have sex with you while you are in so much pain already, so he chickens out and gives Jake control of the body again, when Jake gets aware of the situation he starts discussing with the other two saying it’s too messy for him (even though Jake tends to be the messiest of them all) and that even though he’s not grossed by it, that blood reminds him of bad things and that he would be much more comfortable by stepping off from this one, he promises to them that he’ll help you later in a different way with the after care.

So that leaves Marc with control of the body and with the task in hand, he doesn’t know how to approach things, he’s usually not that sensitive like Steven with words or direct with them like Jake is, his mind keeps on running a thousand miles per hour while he tries to think about how he would approach the topic, he truly wants to help you, he decides to go to your shared bedroom and knock softly on the door.

———

“Hey baby, just came to see how you’re doin’, How you are feeling?”

He sees your curled up figure, you are hissing in pain and tears are falling from your eyes, you don’t even answer him, you just keep on crying.

Marc approaches you and sits down on the edge of the bed keeping some awkward distance between the two of you, as he still doesn’t know how to approach the topic.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” Marc asks caressing your hair softly trying to ease you up and his nerves.

“There’s nothing, Steven and Jake have already tried everything, meds, massages, teas… you name it, but nothing helps, these stupid cramps won’t go away” You hiss in pain again and clutch your stomach. “I hate this, I hate it so much, wish there was a magical cure or something.”

Marc stares at you and fiddles with his fingers, he feels his mouth dry, and it’s like his mouth just decides to just say the thing that has been going inside his head.

“Orgasm” He blurts out, his cheeks redden and looks away from you.

You look up at him with a confused expression “What?”

“Orgasm” Marc clears his throat that feels like the fucking Sahara Desert at this point and directs his gaze back at you “Steven read that… if you…if a woman experiences an orgasm the pain goes away, I mean for a short period of time, it’s not a magical cure but…yeah it helps to ease the pain.”

You have to blink twice to progress what he is saying “I- I don’t know Marc, I’m on my period that’s just too messy, besides, I get very sensitive around there, I don’t think I could even, uh— take you guys fully inside, I’ll be too—-overstimulated” You blush at the thought of it and Marc chuckles nervously.

“Well, you know, there are other ways I can help you with that without you know… actual penetration” Marc just keeps on rambling still feeling nervous about the subject.

Your cheeks get even redder at Marc’s proposition.

“You’re not actually suggesting that-”

“Only if you want me to help you, I mean you know I’ll do anything to help you my love” Marc interrupts you but smiles at you, the blush keeps on creeping up from his neck to his cheeks.

“Well, I don’t know Marc I….” You want to say no, you really want to, but a sharp pain of another cramp comes your way, the feeling of a thousand needles piercing your uterus, makes you hiss and clutch to your stomach again, you just want to try to get rid of the pain, you’ll do anything at this point, so you suck up your pride and accept. “Okay, let’s do this.”

———————————

Marc spread out a towel on the bed below you by your request just to prevent staining the bed sheets, he thinks it’s silly cause he knows the mess is only probably getting only getting on his face and maybe his fingers, but he’s willing to comply to your requests.

He notices you are kind of nervous and hesitant about it, but he wants to ease you, so he starts kissing you and touching you in a soothing but still sexy kind of way, he’s trying to get rid also of his own nerves of doing this, trying to not think much about it, he starts trailing kisses down your body, he sneaks his hand below your oversized t-shirt and starts massaging your breasts, he knows you get sensitive there too, he knows you get a lot of pain and swallow on your breasts so he of course wants to help you get rid away of that pain too.

Your moans and whimpers when you feel the sudden relief of pain from your breasts being masterfully massaged by Marc start to melt his nervous and worries away, he is doing this for you right? He doesn’t need to get nervous about it, if it means taking care of you, he’ll do anything for you, besides its just… fluids, he has tasted blood before, of course it was his own… but it still counts right?

He slowly starts making his way down your body until he reaches the hem of your night shorts and pulls them down, along with your period panties, his breath hitches and he stares at your core for a moment, getting himself ready and trying to process what he is about to do.

You notice a certain hesitation on his gaze as you crook your neck up to see him between your thighs.

“You don’t have to really do this Marc I’ll be fine… I’ll just take another pill and—”

You were about to start a nonsense rambling when it gets interrupted when Marc without a warning starts to eat your pussy.

“S-s-shit” You shiver feeling the immediate overwhelming sensation of his mouth on you.

He presses the flat of his tongue against your clit, and starts eating you up slowly, he is taking his time, making sure you feel good, making sure he takes care of you properly, he starts with small circles and soft licks that have you squirming and dropping your head back on the pillows, when he notices your eagerness he hesitates but he decides to slip one finger into your cunt, just one only for good measure, cause he knows that you love to clench around something, he doesn’t want you to get to overwhelmed by it, cause he knows how sensitive you get when you are on your period, but he just knows that you can take one of his fingers slowly moving deep inside you, it’ll help him get you to your release faster.

You squirm and moan feeling the pleasure of it all, you take Marc’s hair on your hands and pull it softly earning a groan from him, you are starting to feel good, but there’s still something in the back of your head that doesn’t let you enjoy it fully, you look down at Marc and he feels your gaze on him, so that makes him looking up at you while he keeps on working deliciously on you, you moan but when you really look at him a really small smear of blood covering up his nose catches your glimpse, it totally distracts you, you lose concentration, feeling self-conscious and embarrassed about it, even though your wonderful boyfriend it’s willing to take this extends to help you, you start to feel a bit uncomfortable looking at him like that.

“Marc, stop. I can’t I just….”You sigh letting go of his head and resting your own back on the pillows defeated “It’s too messy, and I don’t know, I’m sorry but it’s not getting me anywhere.”

Marc stops what he is doing, he looks up at you, with a frown in his face, he quickly wipes his mouth with the towel that’s on the bed before moving his body up to face you again he cradles the side of your head, he knows you more than he knows himself and he is sure that you are probably getting nervous about it and the redness of your cheeks also tells him that, he chuckles and speaks softly to you.

“Baby, you don’t have to don’t feel self conscious about it, I really want to help you, I promise to you, it’s not that bad, in fact was actually… kind of enjoying it.”

You get shivers down your spine and now your mouth is the one that is fucking dry.

“You… you were?”

Marc chuckles and leads your small hand to touch his crotch, you immediately feel the big bulge on his pants, you let an involuntary moan when you feel the outline of his hard cock, the thought of him getting aroused by you even in that state, makes your head dizzy and filled with desire, you have to press your thighs against each other to not start squirming again.

Marc notices your reaction to him and chuckles, he gives you a kiss on your forehead.

“Will it help if you don’t see me?” Marc gives you a smirk and bites his lip mischievously.

“What do you mean?” You act like you don’t know what he means, but you are so embarrassed about it that you just don’t want to say it.

“Just sit on my face baby, just enjoy it, don’t have to look at the mess, don’t have to get self-conscious about it” He starts to trail down wet kisses along your neck. “Besides, you know how much I like you like to sit on me, the thought of your thighs squeezing my face makes me more excited, please, baby, want you to suffocate me with those thighs, want that pussy all over my face.” He lets out a low growl next to your ear that sends shivers down your spine.

You let out a pathetic moan and before you know it or even have the time to think about it, Marc grabs your body and lifts it up as if you weighed nothing, he pulls you up on top of him, and he positions himself better in bed so his face would be right between your thighs. He licks his lips in anticipation.

You look down at him, you are still hesitant so you lower yourself slowly over his face, your breath feeling even heavier with each passing second, but he can’t have non of it, his protective side tbh at wants to help you along with his lust has filled his senses, so he wraps his hands around your thighs and pulls you down rough into him, a feral groan vibrates through his body as his tongue finds your clit again and starts eating you out. You grab the made up headboard the guys have made out of books to try to balance yourself, while you start to rock your hips shyly against him, feeling the pleasure bulging up inside you again.

He starts licking you up again, this time a bit more feverish about it, he flats his tongue again over your clit and then starts to lick your folds up and down, this time he slips two thick fingers into your cunt, smiling and growling low as he hears you gasp for air. He curls his fingers upwards finding easily that sweet spongy spot that makes you whine and shake.

“Always making pretty noises for me” he murmurs. “That’s it let me help you sweetheart,”

You look down for a moment and see how lost he is while eating you out, he is so concentrated, his curls are a mess now, his brows are furrowed but you can see the satisfaction he has on doing this, it melts all your worries about doing this in a second, his eyes are closed he is ravishing on you, he feels that your movements are stuttering while you look at him, so he opens his eyes for a second to look at you.

And God… he looks perfect.

The look he gives you could almost make you confuse him with Steven, it’s the same lost look he gives you when he has you on the same position above him, you love how Steven always gets pussy drunk while you are riding his face, but to see the same look on Marc? the sight of him being in that state, it almost sends you over the edge.

Marc’s digs his digits further into your skin, wanting to press you even harder against his face, his hard grip on your hips is for sure are gonna leaving marks, but you don’t care. He keeps on letting out low growls and moans ,while his tongue is deep inside you, tasting you and enjoying himself, his pronounced nose catches your clit as you grind on his face, making your moans and legs shiver as the pleasure keeps on building inside you, you swear you are about to break when you let out the biggest and most pathetic moan you think you’ve ever let out.

“That’s my girl,” his low voice resonates deep inside you. “Use me beautiful,let me help you get the pain away.”

His words make you feel more aroused, you buckle your hips and start grinding harder against his face, your movements are sloppy, but he helps you a little by guiding you with the tight grip he has on your hips.

His mouth starts sucking hard your clit as he takes his two fingers again starts fucking you faster with them, the particular tension of your imminent release builds up more and more.

A low growl that sends vibrations to your core accompanied with his masterful fingers send you over the edge, panting hard while your vision turns white for a second, you keep on sloppy grinding on his face, while you feel the pain of your cramps melting away as your orgasm flushes over you, your legs shiver and you almost give in and crush him. Marc it’s quick to catch you with the help of the tight grip he has on your hips, he smiles in satisfaction and guides you down from him, and help you to lean on your side on the bed. Marc sits up quickly and goes to the bathroom to wipes the mess around his mouth before entering the room again with a warm towel to clean up the mess between your thighs and helping you put your underwear back along with your sleeping shorts.

When he is satisfied with his job he leans on the bed behind you and holds you into a tight embrace, he starts rubbing soothing circles over your tummy.

After a couple of moments of silence, you feel Marc’s smile on your neck while he nuzzles his head there.

“Better?” He asks you while leaving a soft kiss on your neck.

“Much Better”

Jake was in a calm mood when he walked through the door. Steven and Marc had stopped being a fly on the wall and went to sleep when they knew Jake was safe, not that he couldnt take care of himself but they all looked out for eachother no matter what.

He threw his cap on the counter and ran his rough fingers through his hair, groaning and muttering a small fuck before turning around and heading for the shower. He stopped midway when he heard a small whimper come out of you. He walked over to your side of the bed and knelt down examining your face “oh cariño” he whispers as he watches your face twist in discomfort. He assumed you were having a nightmare as he didnt yet know you were on your period.

He pulled the blanket off you to crawl in beside you but froze when he saw a patch of blood beneath you.

“Jake it’s okay” Steven suddenly says from the headspace, Jake shakes his head and is about to rip off your pajamas and look for where the blood is coming from, to see where you were ‘injured’.

Steven groans at Jake “she’s started her period. It’s her cramps” he tells him and Jake backs away confused “i-i dont know what to do hermano” he almost pouts. Steven told him to wake you and change the sheets so you could sleep comfortably but for some reason Jake really didnt want to wake you, knowing your cramps would only worsen when you wake up.

Jake shook his head “it’s okay i’ll handle it” he tells Steven and Steven nods, going back to sleep.

You suddenly jolt and let out a small cry “Jake”.

Jake rushes to your side once more and strokes the side of your face “shhh mi amor, i’ve got you” he whispers and allows you to settle down again before carefully lifting you into his arms, carrying you over to the couch and laying you down. He kisses your forehead and quickly tore off the bed sheets, shoving them in the washing machine then reaching into one of the cupboards and getting new bedding.

He was quiet when he put the bedding on. Walking back over to you and frowning at your ruined pajama pants, he went into the bathroom and grabbed a few towels and a warm damp cloth. He placed the towels over the bed and folded the cloth on the nightstand then making his way back over to you.

He picked you back up and layed you down on the towels, reaching into your waistband and gently pulling down your bottoms then throwing them onto the floor. He took off his shirt and kicked off his jeans before crawling in beside you and rolling you on your side so your back was against his chest “i’m gonna make the pain go away princesa” he murmurs against your ear and reaches down to pull off your panties.

Blood never fazed lockley, it fazed none of them. But you would always tell them you’re too insecure to do it on your period because of the smell, Jake would laugh and tell you “mi vida i’ve had to lay under dead bodies, im very certain your period will not put me off” and then you’d murmur sarcastically“ok but my pussy could smell like dead bodies jake”. Marc would be howling with laughter in the headspace and steven is simply wide eyed.

His lips trailed against your neck and you squirmed slightly with a groan, Jake stroked his cock a few times before lining it up with your entrance. Part of him felt awful but he was truly doing this for you.

He clenched his jaw as he sunk himself inside you, immediately feeling your blood leak around his dick and onto his balls but it didnt bother him. In fact it even turned him on. He kept his eyes on your face slowly relaxing and occasionally twitching when Jake hit your g-spot. If it wasn’t obvious already, you’re a very heavy sleeper but when you involuntarily squeezed his cock, he doubled over and whimpered right against your ear causing you to stir awake.

Jake lifted your leg and pushed deeper, if that whimper didnt wake you up then that definitely did. Your hand immediately grabbed his and you whined “f-fuck” your head rolling back and your eyes meeting Jakes “hola cariño” he smirks at you and you only whimper at him, desperately trying to kiss him. He chuckled and leaned down, kissing you passionately “were you hurting bebe? is papi making it all better?” he teases against your lips, stroking his hand over stomach “y-yes!” you moan with your pussy clenching around him again.

His jaw was tight and he was completely oblivious that Marc and Steven had woken up and came to watch him fuck you.

You suddenly turned around making his cock slip out of you. “You okay?” he asks concerned but then his jaw goes slack when you push him down, climbing onto him and wasting no time to sink down onto his cock. He’d never admit it but watching your blood smear onto his lower stomach made him feral. Jake always said blood is blood, he didnt care where it came from it all looked the same to him. He grabbed your hips and pulled you down “Grind on me” he demanded and you mewled “papi i can’t i’ll get-“ you were got off by your own cry as he pulled your hips back and forth. You collapsed onto his chest and followed his movements, his dick rubbing deliciously against your spot that had you seeing white.

He rolled his head back and you took it as your chance to suck onto his neck, leaving him a nice hickey “shit mi amor! cum for me” he reached down and started rubbing at your clit. The combination of his dick hitting your g spot and his fingers rubbing your clit sent you into a hard orgasm “papi!” you screamed and dug your nails into his chest. He growled and calmed with a whimper, thrusting his hips into you before freezing as his cum spilled into you

After a minute of calming down, he rolled you off of him and got on top of you “there there mi vida, all better now si?” he asks as he strokes your tired face. Your eyes fluttering from exhaustion while he stared down at you “keep your legs open for me babygirl” and you spread them a little. You hissed when you felt the cloth he had folded up, wipe across your core and clean you up, Jake whispered praises and grabbed you a new set of panties, putting a night pad on them and sliding them onto you.

Blood was, almost quite literally, everywhere when you woke up. Steven had just washed the sheets, too, and you’d spent yesterday evening giggling and tickling each other in a cuddle-fest as you made the bed. Goddamn Mother Nature. Why couldn’t humans be, maybe, like ducks, who re-absorb the unused pillow in the uterus? But. No. It’s gotta fucking shred off painfully in a mini-birth with mini-contractions once a month for the rest of your life.

Crippling cramps seized up in your lower stomach, running into your back and up into your chest and down your legs like a bitch. You were crying, but, also very pissed off. Steven just changed those fucking sheets.

You managed to slowly make your way to the bathroom. You washed off, changed clothes, and put on a pad before changing the sheets again achingly slowly and in tears. When it was finally over— not very neatly at all— you climbed into bed with the heating pad after taking some painkillers, wrapped up in one of Steven’s jackets in an effort to feel comforted. In your arms you squeezed a unicorn stuffed animal (you weren’t sure where the fuck your BB-8 one had gotten to) to death as you turned on the tv, hurriedly getting to Disney+ and turning on the Mandalorian. Mercifully, the combination of comfort did its job, and you fell into a deep, if restless, sleep.

Steven had knocked a few times in an effort to get your help opening the door. A long day at work and then a trip to the store? Absolutely horrible. Not to mention he was worried. You hadn’t responded to any of his texts or calls today when you were the one who usually texted him. He tried not to worry too much— after all, there were plenty of explanations as to why you might not be communicative today.

But what if there was a bad reason, and him not hurrying home had only sealed your fate?

And now you weren’t even answering the door.

Steven set the bags down and unlocked the door, opening it a bit before scooping up the groceries again. “Y/N? Love?” He called into the seemingly empty flat. “I’m home!” When you didn’t respond, Steven set the bags on the kitchen counter. He heard talking from the bedroom and froze, the worst possible scenarios filling his head.

“Pendejo. That’s the tv.”

Jake’s observation made him jump— his alters had been mostly quiet for today. Maybe he’d have been less anxious with them around, or maybe more so. After all, he did hear relief in Jake’s voice.

Steven hurried to the bedroom, stopping short when he realized what was wrong.

The tv was playing the Mandalorian, although the end credits of the last episode were playing. Hell, did you binge the whole series today? You just might have. You, yourself, were curled up in a tight ball on the bed, face twisted and little soft grunts of pain coming from you in your sleep. You had one of his jackets wrapped around you and a cold heating pad pressed to your stomach, your unicorn plushie squeezed all to hell. The stains of blood on your pants and the sheets confirmed to Steven that your condition was just the first day of an unfair monthly cycle. “Bloody hell…”

Steven sighed, grabbing the tv remote and flipping to Boba Fett. You always needed a distraction on your period, and if the Mandalorian had put you to sleep, maybe another Star Wars show would help you relax. He very nearly put on Rise of Skywalker, but then stopped short. Every time you watched that you gushed over Poe Dameron, and maybe that was just the distraction you needed— but, in the end, Boba Fett was longer. And cooler. He definitely wasn’t jealous of a Star Wars character.

With another sigh, he dug your BB-8 plushie out from under the bed and set it beside the unicorn one for you before going to the bathroom and running a hot bath. The temperature was far too hot for his liking, but you preferred it this way. He snuck around the bedroom to get you a pair of clean and comfy clothes, setting them on the bathroom sink with a pad— had you even changed today? Had you eaten? Drank any water? He knew you probably hadn’t. He spent the next five minutes trying to be as quiet as possible by bringing snacks and water to the side of the tub and collecting the special red fluffy towels before even thinking of waking you up.

Carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed, laying a hand on your shoulder. “Love… hey…”

You stirred immediately, choking out a pained sob and a very pissed off huff. Steven gently shushed you, and you all but burst into relieved tears as your blurry eyes settled on your boyfriend. The sight of you in such pain broke Steven’s heart. “Steven,” You squeaked, reaching for him; he was already leaning down to hug you. You really did start crying when he put his arms around you, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Hey, sh sh sh, I’m here now love, I’m here, sh…”

“It hurts,” you croaked out.

“I know, darling,” Steven whispered, kissing your temple. “Let’s get you cleaned up now, yeah?”

“I-I fixed the— oh no—“

When your face screwed up like that, Steven realized you’d probably already changed the sheets this morning, and he started carding his fingers through your hair. “No, sh. It’s okay. It happens, love. They can be washed. I’ll change them.”

“But you just did yesterday,” You whined pitifully.

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one profusely bleeding from my privates ‘cause of an organ ripping itself to pieces, am I?” Steven didn’t find it funny at all, but your little weak giggle made him smile. He peppered kisses all over your face, making you hum. “I’ll take care of everything, alright? Let’s get you to the bath. Have you changed at all today?” You made a face. Steven hoped and prayed you didn’t get some kind of infection. “What about eating?” Meekly, you shook your head. Steven frowned. “Not a good day for it, huh? I’ll pause your show for you, love, and you can wash off while I clean up the bed, yeah?”

He scooped you up bridal style against his chest, carefully, feeling guilty when you winced. He helped you strip off your ruined clothes and step into the tub, easing you down and pointing out where he’d set everything. He left you with a kiss on your forehead. Too exhausted to actually rub yourself down much, you poured some soap into the water and let it do its thing.

You were pleasantly surprised a few minutes later when Steven returned, having changed into his own pajamas, and grabbed your loofah from the hook on the shower wall. “What are you—“

“Taking care of you,” Steven said softly, sudsing up the fluffy object. He stripped off his shirt and washed you off gently, occasionally kissing your temple.

At one point, you hummed blissfully into his chest. “You smell like the museum.”

Steven chuckled. “S’that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

“A very good thing,” You breathed into his skin. It was only after several beats of silence— and Steven not moving— that you opened your eyes to find him staring at you with sad puppy eyes and a furrowed brow. “What?”

“A bit unfair, innit?” Steven caressed your cheek. “You being in so much pain every month just ‘cause I didn’t get you pregnant.” His wording shouldn’t send a shiver down your spine. But it does. “I mean, I don’t have my prostate tryin’ to kill me every month when my body realizes I didn’t make a baby with you. It’s bloody unfair and it shouldn’t be happening.”

Your eyebrow shot up, words spilling out of your mouth before you could stop them. Maybe it was prompted by him kissing your forehead and holding your face with one hand and gently massaging your stomach with the other. “You offering to amend that?” Steven froze. There was silence. Flushing, you shook your head. “Sorry, I don’t know why I—“

Steven wrapped his arms around you gently, biting his lip. “No, maybe I am.”

He smiled at you, pressing his forehead to yours. You beamed, nudging your nose against his. “R… Really?”

“Yeah.” When you started to cry again, Steven kissed each space under your eyes. “Why are you crying, love?”

“You… You want to have kids with me? Are all of you on board with this?”

Your question warmed his heart. Jake and Marc had often wondered about what it would be like— except they were both scared. Steven wasn’t. “I’m pretty sure. We’ll need to talk first, but… yeah. I want that. A little person that’s half me, half you… You’re beautiful. You’re amazing. You’re kind and brave and strong and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I want my child to be a part of you, darling… please don’t cry when I say nice things about you—“

Your sobs broke into a relieved laugh, one that made Steven smile as he cradled you to his chest. “There’s that smile, gorgeous.”

“I love you,” You said as you kissed him. Steven hummed into your mouth before pulling away to answer, “I love you too. Very much.”

Steven helped you out of the bath, dry off, and get dressed, then carried you to the bed— you giggled when he laid you down, making him raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just a dream.”

“No, I’m quite real,” He smiled when he kissed you, but it soon became distracted. “Oh, bugger. I forgot to put the groceries away.”

“Do you need any help?”

Steven looked at you as if you’d just suggested something unheard of. “Oh, of course. My girl is currently bleeding out and in severe pain, but by all means, come walk to the kitchen and help me put two bags of food in the cabinets. Like I don’t have hands of my own to do it. Geez, darling. I can put the groceries away on my own. You just stay here and relax, yeah?” At your smile, Steven kissed your cheek and pressed BB-8 into your hands, pressing play on Boba Fett for you; he even returned before putting the groceries away with a heating pad, Gatorade, and nutrient bars. “I know you don’t want to eat, love, but please try, okay?”

You nodded, glancing up in nothing short of mild amazement when he effortlessly snapped the lid of the Gatorade open while you adjusted the heating pad. Sometimes you forgot that Steven had the same strength as Marc and Jake hidden under his comfy sweaters. He kissed your forehead again before leaving. “I’ll be right back.”

And he was. But by the time he returned to your side, tears were silently streaming down your face once more. “Love, I think you’re strangling poor Beebs,” Steven tried to joke as he pressed himself against your side and took you into his arms. You only sniffled and hiccuped in response, nestling into him and hugging your plushie tight. Steven reached around you and squeezed it in order to make it elicit a stream of excited beeping. “See? He doesn’t want you to cry. Or to strangle him. I mean, if you have to, yeah, but…” He trailed off as you managed a weak laugh at that before more tears, and he held you close. “C’mere, love; I’ve got you. Want me to put on Rise of Skywalker? I’ll even let you sigh dreamily over Poe. With his pornographic pants.” His jibe didn’t make you laugh like it usually did; you must have been in severe pain now.

“Just hold me?” You asked in a small voice, and Steven felt very violent toward whatever divine entity had decided to make females bleed once a month.

“Sure. Yeah, okay. I can do that.” Steven held you close to him, spooning you and shushing you and petting your hair in an effort to calm you down.

Steven.

“What?”

Give her an orgasm.

Of all the things Marc could have possibly said, Steven certainly didn’t expect that. “W-what?”

Give her an orgasm, Marc repeated. It’ll get rid of her cramps instantly.

“...S’this you just tryin’ to get some? Really, bruv, when she’s in this much pain?”

“Who is it?” You squeaked out, knowing that he was talking to one of his alters.

“Marc,” Steven huffed into the nape of your neck. When you shivered against him, he reluctantly added, “...He says an orgasm can make your cramps go away.”

You twisted your head to look at him. Almost hopefully. Steven was used to the few days before your period being filled of sex— you practically jump the boys daily. But on your period? You’d never really shown any sign of wanting that, and no matter how horny they were, none of the boys were going to force you. But that look in your eye now was the very same one you get whenever you’re in the mood.

Bloody hell.

Steven moved his hand to your stomach, nuzzling the spot behind your ear that made you weak in the knees. His lips grazed your skin and he nipped playfully at the shell of your ear, making you whimper. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yes but— Steven, I’m bleeding. I’ll make a mess. It’ll get everywhere and all over you and it’ll be disgusting for you—“

“Shhh,” Steven said against your pulse point. He was eager now, biting and sucking and licking all up and down your neck and jaw. “Let me make you feel better, dove.” After a beat of hesitation, he added, “I’m Mr. Knight, darling. Blood doesn’t bother me. It’s okay.”

Only when you relaxed in his arms did he make a move. He licked two of his fingers before he slipped his hand down the front of your sweatpants. You gasped when his fingertips nudged through your tender folds, Steven never taking his eyes off your face to judge your reactions. When he found your clit, you cried out, making him freeze. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-no,” You whimpered, closing your eyes, “It’s just sore. Please keep going.”

Gently, Steven obliged, kissing your neck gently as he drew slow circles around your clit. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, your body twisting against him. “Shh, that’s it, sweet girl. So pretty, dove, you’re such a pretty girl. This feel good?”

He tentatively slid one finger into your aching core. You moaned and gasped and writhed in his arms, hips bucking against his hand. Steven held you against his chest with his free arm, whispering praises in your ear. “I’m gonna make you feel good, dove. Yeah, that’s it, move your hips, there you go…”

“S-Steven,” You whimpered brokenly as he inserted another finger and curled them against that spongy spot that always made you scream for him. “Agh— Steven—“

He wondered if it might injure you, doing this; but Marc only told him briefly that it was okay, seconded by Jake. Still… “Does it hurt at all?”

“A-a little,” You whined, riding his hand desperately, “But don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“I’m not gonna stop, dove,” He breathed into your neck, “Cum whenever you’re ready, sweetheart, I’m right here.” Steven didn’t even realize he was grinding into you until you reached back to grab his hip with a high pitched whine. His thumb swept up to rub against your clit, nearly making you scream. Your hand moved from his waist to the back of his head, tangling and tugging on his curls in an almost painful manner that only made Steven move his hand and hips faster. Your neck twisted in an effort to kiss him, and he met you halfway, hungrily devouring your mouth with a moan and a clash of teeth and tongues.

Your grinding movements against his hand stuttered, so he increased the speed and pressure of his hand; you came with a cry all over him, tearing your mouth away from his as your threw your head back into the pillows. Steven turned his open-mouthed kisses to your bared neck, growling into your skin as he came against you from behind.

Panting heavily, Steven reached up with his clean hand to wipe your sweaty hair off your forehead, kissing you softly. “How’s that, love? Feel better?”

You let out the most obscene gasp of relief. “Y-yeah, much better… Steven…” You lifted your head, frowning when you saw your ruined pants, the sheets, his hand and sleeve…

Steven made you lay back down, nudging your head with his to push you back. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’ll only take me a second to clean up, yeah?”

Repeating the process from earlier, he soon had you nestled against his side once more, watching tv. The heating pad was discarded, but you still clung to BB-8 as you nibbled on the snacks Steven had brought you and sipped the Gatorade. Exhaustion hung off you now, bone deep from a restless night and day— and then your mind-numbing orgasm. “I hate days like this…” You mumbled dejectedly. “I hate it when you have to do so much—“

Steven kissed the top of your head. “Hush. I don’t mind it, not at all. Neither do Marc or Jake, I promise.”

“Yeah, but… it’s stupid,” You scoffed, more to yourself, “It’s supposed to just be a period.”

“Well, it isn’t.” Steven leaned down to kiss you, speaking between the soft presses of his lips to yours. “And we’re gonna take care of you every. Single. Time.” He hummed thoughtfully into a particularly long and tender kiss, making you smile a little as you pulled away in silent question. Steven’s eyes scanned over your face, a mischievous glint in your eye. “...You know what this means, right?” You cocked an eyebrow, and he caged you underneath of him as he peppered kisses all over your face and neck. “I’m gonna have to get you pregnant before your next period.”

You shoved BB-8 at his face, blocking him from seeing your blush. “Steven!”

He tore the plushie away to attack you with kisses and playful nips and growls, making you squeal with laughter. Satisfied at having finally made you laugh, Steven flopped over and laid on his back beside you, beaming as he pulled you flush against him.

“Love you,” He hummed, to which you responded by giving him a peck on the corner of his mouth.

“Love you too.” Only a few minutes passed before you said, very softly, “Hey, baby? Can we switch to Rise of Skywalker?”

Steven rolled over, away from you, with a dramatic groan, burying his face in a pillow. “I had to say it, didn’t I?! I had to bloody say it! Now I have to sit through two and half hours of you ogling some plonker in ridiculous pants!”

“I do not ogle,” you scoffed, “I look. Respectfully.”

Steven lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at you. “How the hell can you ‘respectfully’ stare at somebody’s crotch?!”

“You look just like him!”

“Bloody— yeah, sure. Whatever. Just put it on. Begin my suffering without further ado.”

Giggling, you leaned over to say in his ear. “You’re hotter.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have sexier pants.”

“Sure.”

“No no, you have a sexier suit. The black one?”

Steven groaned. “Am I gonna have to wear it just so I don’t lose my girlfriend to a fictional character?”

“Nooooooo,” You drawled out, tracing a pattern down his shoulder. “Though I wouldn’t exactly be opposed to you wearing it…” Steven grunted into the pillow, and you shifted closer to him. “Tell you what: if Poe Dameron came out of that tv right now—“

“More like crashed the bloody ship. The fella can’t fly for shit without wrecking his planes.”

“—starfighters. They’re starfighters or ships, Steven. And he’s the best pilot in the galaxy.” You continued hurriedly with (descending into giggles as Steven kept interrupting you), “If Poe—“

“First name basis now? Real bloody nice—“

“Came through the tv—“

“With intergalactic powers, lovely. I’m screwed over here.”

“And asked me on a date—“

“Bit bold, isn’t he? I mean, he doesn’t even know you?”

Steven twisted into his back, pulling you against his chest and smiling into your cheek. “I would say no.”

Steven stared at you for several seconds with a completely straight face, before bursting into deep laughter. “No you would not!”

You scoffed, offended. “Yes I would!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Y—“ You interrupted yourself with a high-pitched squeal as Steven tickled your waist, any protests you may have had cut into gibberish as you tried to speak past Steven’s ruthless attack. He settled down after a moment, allowing you to breathe as he pulled you close to cuddle you and grab the remote.

“Bloody hell…” He looked at your BB plushie. “What do you think, mate?” You squeezed the stuffed animal, prompting little beeps and whistles to come from the stuffed droid. Steven reluctantly nodded as he switched from Boba Fett to the main Star Wars hub. “Yeah, yeah. Just what I thought.”

“Steven?” You chirped as the main song burst to life from the tv. He hummed in question, rapt despite his protests. “I love you.”

Steven smiled at you, pressing a loving kiss to your lips as he hugged you close. “I love you, too, darling.”

Thanks for reading!

Erotic- I will always and forever treasure the completely imaginary collection of modern and historic erotic literature that I think Anselm has. Like, a section for monsters and aliens and tentacles, a section for ancient same-sex stuff, references for knot tying and positions, modern smut, dirty versions of classic stories. 

Favorite- One of his fondest sexual memories- Picture it: New Year’s Eve 2000, the dawn of the new millennium. Anselm, having just moved back to America from university in Europe, goes to a party hosted by a previous fling of his that he’s hoping to rekindle with. And he does, high as a kite, with about eight other guys and gals. It really set the tone for how he spent the first decade of the 21st century.

Hair- This is so out of pocket, but I think Anselm is one of those guys who doesn’t like a completely waxed, smooth down there on his partner. He likes it groomed, but a little more natural.

Genitals- A gigantic anaconda and his two boulder friends.

Honesty- Too honest sometimes. I know you’re mad they made you wait ten minutes for your table at the restaurant, Anselm, but who tells the maître d' that you hope his mother is an animal lover b/c you have a cock like a horse and the sex drive of a gorilla in heat and you hope his mother takes cash because you just found a dollar on the floor, which should cover her fee. Who does that???

Intimacy- This is the one. Of all the nuts-o things I’ve written about this man… intimacy is, for the Anselm and Birdie fics, his strongest trait. It’s natural to him b/c he’s never loved like this, he doesn’t take it for granted, and more importantly, he never questions it. He just lets that connection and closeness guide him. 

Jealousy- Not jealous. He’s just too sure of himself and sure of the love and trust you have. Buuuut if someone tries to be more than friends with you, touches your arm even though you don’t want it, looks at you like… you know how sometimes you can just tell someone’s a fucking creep? That person disappears.

Kinks- Hilarious. Have you met this deviant? Why don’t YOU tell me a kink you think he’d have and then I’ll write a blurb about it.

Love & Money- The only two things he cares about, and can never have enough of.

No-no’s- Literally pains him to say no to you. Gives him a tummy ache. But likes it when you say no to him. No, you can’t come yet. No, you don’t get to touch me yet. No, you can use your hand and I’ll just watch.

Orientation- three-dimensional and multi-faceted

PDA- Likes to sit in booths at restaurants and have you sit on his lap before the food arrives. Sex optional. He just likes to share the menu and cop a feel.

Quickie- If he *has to, but wouldn’t you rather he take his time? It’s all so much more intense if he has the chance to wet every bit of your skin with his tongue first.

Risk- The word ‘risky’ to Anselm is kind of meaningless at this point. Who, in their right mind, would try to stop him from going down on you in a movie theater?

Somno- His favorite way to wake up, your mouth around him. Giddy like Christmas morning when you’re his personal alarm clock.

Toys- Extensive. Like, warehouse at the end of Ark of the Covenant extensive.

Unit- (see, Genitalia above)

Voyeur- Gets off on watching you masturbate, or naked in the shower. You both pretend that you don’t know he’s there watching.

Wild card- tw: yandere- alternate Anselm? Keeps you in his basement. Just wants you to be safe. He’s the only one who can. And it’s just a friendship… at first, but you start to grow fond of him. Like, if he wasn’t all stalker-crazy maybe you’d be into him. But he won’t let you out. And so, you can never be anything other than captor/protector and victim. He begs for more. You beg to leave. It's a stalemate, until one night when the lines get all blurry and you sleep with him. Is it because you want your freedom? Or is it because you're starting to feel something real for him?

X-ray under clothes- I would buy him novelty boxer shorts and very much enjoy seeing him wear them with his sock garters.

Ypsilon- In German ‘Y’ is pronounced “upsilon” but it has a freakin’ y at the beginning and sometimes, it still makes me double-clutch when I’m spelling things out loud in German. Not really Anselm-related, just something that trips me up as I learn.

Zzz- Once in awhile, he gets in a clingy, cuddly mood after sex. Murmurs how he’s never felt more relaxed, more at peace, and it would be a dream come true to wake up inside of you still. And let’s be honest, you’re gonna let him do just that.

**Anselm Vogelweide masterlist**

"I'm not going to bite you, Anselm, not this time." You close your book.

You set his hand down. Anselm lifts it and caresses your cheek.

"Don't be embarrassed. Whatever it is, you can tell me," he says.

"It's nothing, just a tic I have. Sorry."

You open your book again, but he gently takes it out of your hands and sets it aside.

"Tell me," he says firmly, with a bit of a grin. "My tic is shooting people to death. I'm sure yours is more socially acceptable."

You smile, but cover your face anyway. "I like the feel of your scars."

There's a beat of silence. "I did sleep with someone once who found them to be a sexual fetish."

"It's not a sex thing. I don't know what it is. Please leave me alone about it. I know it's weird. People tell me it's weird. I'm gross." You ramble.

You hear him chuckle quietly. You drop your hands.

Anselm isn't looking at you like you're strange. He looks amused.

"You could ask me for a Bentley, or a solid gold writing desk. An estate in France. Instead, you want to sit here with me in bed, and run your soft lips over a part of my skin that, honestly, most would consider unappealing."

He leans over and kisses you.

"You're not gross at all. You're wonderful. You know that, yes?" He asks, running the pad of his thumb over your lips.

Weird and gross and strange are words that don't actually have any meaning. It's like saying a food is 'delicious.' It's nondescriptive because it's all relative to the person who is making the judgement.

So, to Anselm, literally nothing is weird or gross or strange.

Because he says so.

I wouldn't argue with him.

Observant brown eyes watch you, flicking between your face and the phone you hold.

“I gotta go,” you say, almost dumbstruck. He looks… a lot like Anselm.

“I’ll see you soon. Kisses to you.” Anselm hangs up.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Leto Atreides.” At least he doesn’t have Anselm's accent.

Usually, when a man shakes your hand all soft and gentle, you hate him immediately for treating you like the weaker sex. But when Leto does it, he turns your hand in his and kisses the back. Zero complaints there.

It's something Anselm does often, his mustache and beard tickling your skin. It tickles all over, wherever he kisses.

His hair isn’t nearly as curly and wild as Anselm’s, but you see how it could be, if he let it. Leto has the kind of steadfast control that could command an army with a mere nod.

His steady gaze takes you in. “Not that I mind us staring at each other all day, but we’re both busy people. We should talk business.”

And yet, he makes no move to sit down or stop looking.

“Maybe we could have our meeting over lunch. Dinner. I hope you’re free,” he says. His face is serious, but his eyes are warm and inviting.

You swallow, mouth dry.

Leto's like a stern prince charming. Every one of your weaknesses.

His hand comes up and settles over his beard, an Anselm-like gesture. It snaps you back to reality.

“Sorry, I’m not. Free. Or, I’m not interested. Maybe I’m interested. But only because I’m married, and he looks like you. Or you look like him. Holy shit, I need to get ahold of myself.” You rub your forehead with your fingers.

Leto smiles. He doesn’t look like Anselm so much anymore when he does that. It lets you breathe easier.

“It’s okay. Let’s sit down,” Leto pulls your chair back and takes your arm to help you sit.

Leto licks his lips, letting you gawk at him. “Are your husband and I really that alike?”

You nod so hard you almost snap your neck. You take out your phone and show him your lock screen.

Leto cocks a dark eyebrow, the corners of his mouth a faint smile.

It’s a picture of Anselm making a kissy face at your camera.

You look at it. Then at Leto. “Maybe this photo isn’t a good example, but trust me, the resemblance is uncanny.”

He pours two glasses of water from the carafe on the table. “Will that make these negotiations easier for me?”

You shrug. “Probably. He's distractingly handsome. Sometimes I just like to watch sunlight hit his hair and face.”

Leto takes a sip of water. His hand rests on the table, just barely touching yours. “I’ll go stand by a window, then. I have a beautiful view of the city from my office. It’s more private. Why don’t we…”

The conference room door opens and Anselm walks in, alone. He has a big smile and an outstretched hand.

You jump up out of the chair. “Hi, honey.”

“Cousin Leto,” Anselm says.

“Of course he is,” you mutter.

Leto shakes Anselm’s hand and nods.

Anselm kisses your cheek, his beard lingering over your skin. He scrutinizes your face. “How are the negotiations going, my dear?”

“Um, we were just talking. We didn’t start. Nothing’s happened.” You shut your lips tightly.

Leto looks infinitely amused. “I’m sorry, Anselm. Your wife is captivating and I couldn’t help myself. Had to try my luck.”

“No need to worry. If anyone understands my Birdie’s appeal, it’s me.” He brushes his knuckles over your jaw. “And I’ve always said, whatever she wants, she’s very welcome to have. Or, whomever she wants.”

Your head swivels slowly to look directly at Anselm. Your face feels so hot you think it might be melting off your skull.

Anselm winks at you from behind the cloudy lens of his glasses.

“Stop,” you whisper to him, knowing he’s embarrassing you on purpose. Even though he has actually said that. But surely Anselm wouldn’t be giving you the go-ahead so blatantly like this. Right?

“Interesting,” Leto says. “In that case, my opening offer has changed.”

The back of your neck starts to sweat at the way he says “opening offer.”

You pick up your purse. “You know what? Anselm, let’s give Leto his asking price for the special guards we need to hire. Just, let him have whatever he wants.” You push aside the chair. “Or not, like, whatever he wants. The contract, I mean. Not other things. Just money.”

You take Anselm’s arm. You’re seriously losing it. Why are they both standing so close to you? It’s turning your brain into melted ice cream. All that brown eyes and curly hair and- and-

Anselm’s chuckling at you, his eyes absolutely wicked. Leto’s deep laugh follows.

Anselm squeezes his arm around you. “Forgive me, my dear. Leto and I have been mistaken for each other, on occasion. I knew he was your type. I asked him to flirt with you. You’re very adorable when you’re flustered.”

You give Anselm a sharp look, then Leto. You shake your head. Your face is still burning.

"I'll wait in the car." You mutter to yourself on the way out. "Unbelievable. Stupid handsome, bearded rich guys on a power trip.”

*****

Anselm is still laughing on the way to the airport. You’re still trying to restart your brain.

“And you,” Anselm laughs, “you looked at me like I’d caught you on your knees with your mouth around him. But you were just talking. Almost stuttering.”

You fold your arms and look out the window.

“Like a schoolgirl at a strip club.” Anselm heaves one, final laugh, and swipes his fingers under his glasses.

The car stops in front of the stairs to the plane. You get out of the car quickly, needing a change of scenery. And you definitely get one.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not a bodyguard. And he’s too menacing to be part of the flight crew. He holds a black briefcase with both hands, a flat cap low over his brow.

“How ya doing?” He asks, a glint in his eyes. “I have some business with your husband, but if he’s not around, I wouldn’t be disappointed. Give us time to get to know one another.”

You hear Anselm’s door open, the squeak of his brace as he walks around the car.

“My dear, meet an associate of mine, Jake Lockley,” Anselm says.

Jake touches the brim of his cap to you. “Ma’am.”

You almost roll your eyes. “Ugh. You’re the guy who brings back artifacts from God knows where. I wish you wouldn’t encourage him. I don’t know how you sneak half of that shit into the country.”

Jake grins. “Let’s just say, I fly myself from place to place. Mr. Vogelweide, the rare books you requested.”

Anselm takes the case and hands it off to one of the staff, who walks it onto the plane. He doesn’t even bother looking inside. Usually, Anselm trusts no one.

Jake’s eyes harden as he looks at Anselm. “And you have what we agreed on?”

“Yes, the statues. Of course,” Anselm says.

He gestures to his bodyguards and they open the trunk of the car. They’re two huge guys, but they strain under the weight of the crate. It lands on the ground with a thunk.

“You won’t be offended if we take a look?” Jake says, sauntering over to the case.

“Not at all.” Anselm says.

Jake waves away the guard with the crowbar and uses his leather-gloved hands to pry up the top himself. Given that it’s nailed shut, he must be stronger than he looks.

He carefully takes the gloves off and tucks them in the back pocket of his jeans. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

“Cheers,” he says. He crouches down and paws through the padding. He picks up a bronze statue, Egyptian looking.

“Oh, she is a beauty. Look at that, my word. The craftsmanship's gorgeous, even after thousands of years.” Jake says. He smiles with wonder, and…

“Anselm, is he British? He didn’t sound like that before,” you whisper.

“He’s among the very strangest of my contacts, but he always gets the job done,” Anselm says.

Jake’s eyes rest on you. He smiles. “Hi there. I’m Steven. Very nice to make your acquaintance.”

You smile back, completely confused. He sets the statue back in the box and puts the top back on.

“I hear you and I have similar taste in books,” he says, thumping his fist on the box to secure the lid.

“I just started collecting. Anselm’s library is almost all sexual and sometimes, I’d like to know about history without the orgies,” you say.

Steven laughs and rubs his hands together. “Well, have Anselm give me a ring the next time you need something. I threw in an extra volume or two that you might enjoy.”

“Very kind,” Anselm says. “And tell Marc that his passport shouldn’t draw attention at the Canadian border. I’ve taken care of it.”

“You can tell him yourself,” Steven says with a smile. His eyes go wide as his body language stiffens. His eyes look you up and down, assessing you.

“Jake?” You ask.

“Marc,” he says, grimly. His eyes stay on you, but he speaks to Anselm. “Thanks, A. I’m driving over the border tonight. I’ll let you know when I arrive.”

Anselm starts to turn away, but you stay, looking at Marc.

“You look familiar,” you say to him.

Anselm’s head tilts toward you. “He didn’t look familiar before now?”

You shake your head. “No, he didn’t. Marc… Spector?”

“Shit,” Marc grimaces and looks away. He takes off the cap and runs a hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Yeah, how’ve you been?”

“You mean since you left halfway through our blind date like, a hundred years ago?” You ask.

“What?” Anselm says, his voice dropping.

“He left without a word. A friend of a friend set us up.” You point your thumb toward Marc, who looks darkly at you. “He’d just gotten out of the military. My friend said he was a little odd, but bananas hot. Both true.”

Anselm gives Marc a cold look.

“I’m sorry,” Marc says. He holds his hands up and does a bad job of trying to look harmless. “Obviously, you two weren’t together then. There’s no reason to be jealous.”

“Jealous?” Anselm says, his voice dripping with anger. “Certainly not. I’m insulted. Enraged. You had the opportunity to romance this woman, this perfection, this beauty? You didn’t try sleep with her? Didn’t even say goodbye? Left her alone in a restaurant? You’re a fucking imbecile.”

You back a few steps away and put your fingers in your ears.

Anselm takes out his gun. Marc just stands there.

Your body jumps out of instinct as Anselm shoots Marc twice in the chest. You close your eyes.

By the time you open them, Marc’s standing back up. Brushing himself off.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” You say, staring at Marc’s bizarre, gauzy outfit and cape. Not at all like the jeans and shirt he had on before.

You rush over to him, your hand on his chest. He should be bleeding out. Instead, there’s a shiny, metallic crescent moon where there should be entrance wounds.

“Long story,” he says. He looks at Anselm. “You done throwing a tantrum?”

Anselm nods.

Marc puts a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay. I get shot all the time.”

You look back and forth between them, but neither offers an explanation.

Marc’s knuckles under your chin draw your face back toward his.

“You were perfect that night. Easy to talk to. You made me laugh,” Marc smiles. “You deserved something better than me. A normal life.”

You cover his hand with yours, rubbing your fingers over the fabric of his glove.

“I’m married to Anselm Vogelweide and run his family’s criminal empire,” you say.

The softness in Marc’s eyes turns almost playful. “Yeah, I guess ‘normal’ is a relative term. But it looks like it all worked out for you.”

You look back at Anselm, who’s wiping down his gun with his handkerchief. He reholsters it in a practiced movement.

“It did,” you say. “It was good to see you, Marc.”

He nods. He lets you go and bends to pick up the crate.

“Do you need help with that?” You ask, looking around for his car.

“I got it.” He looks up at you with a smile, a hood appearing out of nowhere over his face. His eyes glow white and he picks up the crate like it weighs nothing.

And then, he flies away with it.

*****

A few hours later, you and Anselm land (in a plane, like regular people), outside of Los Angeles.

You’d been reading the books Anselm had hired Steven to get for you. But you hadn’t absorbed a word. Strange kind of day.

You trade your coat for a pair of sunglasses and walk down the plane steps. California sunshine will do you good.

The pilots nod to you, having done their checks and just waiting to say goodbye. You pause and push your sunglasses up.

“Not your usual co-pilot, Frankie,” you say.

They smile.

“No, ma’am,” the taller one says. “This is Poe Dameron. Fresh out of the Navy. He just started working with us. He’s the best pilot on Earth. No joke.”

“I’d be the best pilot in the universe, if they gave me something I could fly through space,” Poe says with a charming smile.

You shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” You look at Frankie. “I hope you’ve warned Poe not to piss of Anselm.”

Frankie half-shrugs. “You know pilots, Birdie. We’re always pissing somebody off.”

Anselm walks down the stairs. “You know as well as I do, Francisco, there are recommended limits to the aircraft, and there are the actual limits.”

“I don’t like to take chances, sir,” Frankie says, smiling at you from under his mustache. “Your wife told me not to. She’s the boss.”

Anselm looks over Poe. His perfectly coiffed hair and open-necked button-down. “I hope you take orders as well as your friend, here.”

“Yes, sir,” Poe says, looking Anselm in the eye. “Unless they’re dumb-ass orders.”

Frankie elbows him hard. “He’ll be fine, Anselm. A little cocky, but we’re used to that around here.”

Poe insists on opening your door for you. He helps you in. Anselm rolls down his window and gives Frankie and Poe a wave as the car drives away.

“They’re very handsome,” he says, his eyes sweeping back toward you. “I think we should make them wear uniforms. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“They're fine in their regular clothes. If you drop it, I promise to play slutty stewardess for you on the way home.”

Anselm closes the window. “What do you call road head if you’re blowing a pilot at altitude?”

You snuggle closer to him in the car. “Let’s never find out, okay?”

But Poe Dameron is kind of cute. And Frankie always stares at your ass when he thinks you aren’t looking.

“Actually, maybe the uniforms aren’t such a bad idea,” you say.

*****

When you arrive at the L.A. house, to your great surprise, someone is already there.

He’s sunning himself by the pool. Pink speedo and a drink with a little umbrella.

“The lady of the house,” he calls out to you as you down look at him from the balcony above. He stands up and bows to you with a flourish. “I hope you don’t mind my making myself at home. I’ve just come in from the desert, and I was parched. Please, call me Jack.”

Anselm walks over to stand next to you. You try to place Jack’s accent, but it’s probably from some holler in Tennessee you have no hope of ever locating.

“Brother,” Jack says enthusiastically, walking up the stairs to join you two, “you are a sight for sorry eyes.”

Anselm shakes his hand. “How the devil have you been?”

“I have been the devil, yes, as well we both know,” Jack says with a laugh.

It all sounds friendly enough, but there’s a tension you don’t like. The way Anselm’s positioned himself almost between you and Jack, his hand curled around your waist.

Jack reaches out and touches Anselm’s beard. "Wonder how I'd look with one of these."

Anselm swats his hand away.

Jack grins. “I was disappointed in your message. You know I can’t be bought, brother. Your money is the one thing of no use to you here.”

Anselm makes a tut-tut sound with his tongue. “That’s not true. You shouldn’t let petty feelings keep you from reaching your full potential. Our different circumstances are mere accidents of birth.”

Jack scratches his fingers over his shaved head. “Good with words, brother, you always were. Always were.”

He smiles at you. It makes you uncomfortable.

“How do you two know each other?” You ask them.

“Brother,” Jack says.

“Half,” Anselm corrects.

Jack smirks. “Brother, it looks like your lady didn’t know about our father’s wandering hips. I’m almost hurt.” He lays a hand on his chest, a sarcastic, theatrical frown on his face. “No, my dear Frau Vogelweide, my father provided for all of his illegitimate offspring until the age of 25. Except me. My mother, in her infinite crack-pot wisdom, stole me away to these parts when I was a boy. I never knew I was of such noble lineage until my brother here tracked me down some years ago.”

“I’ve been trying to rectify things ever since,” Anselm says, frowning.

Jack looks up and blinks at the sunshine and blue sky. He smiles at you. “I hear you’re the one who sits on the throne these days. Sister.”

Anselm’s hand very subtly inches closer to the gun you know he has beneath his jacket. Jack doesn't seem dangerous to you, though. He just likes to push people's buttons. Get a reaction.

“If you don’t want money, then what do you want?” You ask Jack.

He rubs the stubble on his chin. His nails are bitten short, and still dirty from the desert sand.

“I don’t think we share many common interests, sister. You see,” Jack says, “I’m, to put it very humbly, what you might call, a serial killer.”

He smiles at you, his eyes narrowing.

You wait, but he doesn’t say more. “Oh. Is that all?”

His smile falters.

You look at Anselm, but he only shrugs. He puts his hands in his pockets, more relaxed now.

“You’ve inherited the Vogelweide flair for the dramatic,” he says to Jack, “and our moral ambiguity.”

Jack seems off balance, probably a new feeling for him. You lay a hand on his forearm.

“How many people have you killed, sweetie?” You ask him.

He pauses for a moment, looking at you. He grins. “Seven.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank God. I thought it was going to seven hundred.”

Anselm looks pleased. “That’s fine, then. No problem at all,” he says.

“Brother, what exactly is going on here?” Jack says, his eyes are so narrow they’re just slits on his tanned face.

You put your arm around Jack’s shoulders, his skin warm from the sun.

“If you don’t want our money,” you tell him, “maybe you’d let us hire you for your skills.”

Jack almost laughs. “As much as I would love to breathe in your delicious scent, be crushed under your designer heel, and make myself available to you in every way, I’m a certified genius with a chip on my shoulder and dead aim. I don’t think your privileged world has room for anyone like me.”

You smile reassuringly. “You sound a lot like my husband. And if there’s room for one in the family, then there’s room for two. Let’s go inside the office here, get you a robe, and we’ll talk.”

Anselm walks beside you as you lead Jack inside.

“You have such a good heart, Birdie,” Anselm says. He kisses your cheek lovingly.

“He’s family,” you say. “Earlier today, I met Leto Atreides, also family. You’re right, sometimes people are victims of their circumstances. You and Leto had opportunities that Jack didn’t.”

Jack sits his pink swimsuited bottom on the desk, watching the exchange.

“Atreides?” He growls. “Brother, that stick-up-his-ass has been fighting over the very stretch of desert that I call home. Been trying to run me off for years. Even deigned to come out there himself once and almost shot my head off.”

Jack grins at you. “You’re prettier than a picture. No offense, brother, but now that I’ve met my sister-in-law, I believe that it’s time to come back to the fold. So to speak.”

Anselm gives you a wry look, his beard twitching in his effort to hide a smile. He holds his hand out toward Jack, like he's an exhibit in a museum. “Sometimes, my dear, bloodlines are stronger than circumstance. In this case, a genetic a fondness for gunfire and an attraction to you.”

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Tears threaten your lower eyelashes.

Your teeth hurt from how hard you hold your jaw.

The ache in your heart, the one your father had left when he died, blooms once again into a fire that seems to knot your stomach into a tortured lump.

He would’ve loved to have seen you in such a thing. He’d known King Paulus Atreides a little.

Your father had promised when you were of age, he’d present you at the palace.

He’d promised a lot of things, though. Wishing things were different does no good.

You try to make your happiness where you can. In the little animals who've become friends, and the workers who stop by the house.

Even if your muscles ache from the chores and work, up here in the attic, at least you can pretend to be in your own world. You're free to dream.

Your fairy godfather takes your hands and turns them palm-up. They’re dry and cracked, but he waves his star-tipped wand over them and voila! they don’t sting and itch anymore. They’re as soft as the silk of the dress.

You rub your hands together, marveling. The hands of a lady.

“Thank you,” you say.

Your fairy godfather pushes up his glasses and nods. “If I can do that in half a second, imagine how little time it will take me to get you ready for the ball.”

You look wistfully at the dress, then at the door to your attic bedroom.

Your stepmother, or Lady Tremaine as she makes you call her, had pushed you to the ground and locked you in before she and your stepsisters had left.

He wheezes out a laugh. “You don’t think a locked door is a problem for me, do you?”

You can only smile. This magical, ancient being who had said the goodness in your soul had drawn him in and made him want to help you. He said he was on a journey of atonement, and that you were his biggest step forward.

Your fairy godfather is a mystery to you, but a wonderful one.

“Of course you can unlock a door. It’s just that... dreams aren't reality, fairy godfather, and when Lady Tremaine sees me at the ball,” you hesitate, thinking of the way she grabs your wrists too harshly, or how she’ll push you aside in the hallways, “she’ll be enraged.”

He sets aside his wand and gathers you into a warm hug. “Oh my dear girl. Trust me, she’ll look at you with envy, maybe with hate, but she won’t think that her ‘Cinderella’ would be able to wear a dress so gorgeous, or look so beautiful. No, she’s never really seen you here in your own home, and she won’t see you out there either. She’s a blind fool and a common bitch.”

“Anselm!” You pull back from him in shock.

His cheeks go red. You never use his name. It’s an intensely private thing for creatures like him, but the love and trust between you is so strong, he’d felt compelled to tell you. You only use it in the most serious of circumstances.

“My apologies.” He clears his throat, making sure his tie is straight and brushing his hand down his jacket. Not that there’s ever a hair out of place on him. “I didn’t mean to insult dogs by insinuating she’s one of them. Your stepmother is more like the little dried poopy that hangs off of a dog’s butt after it does its business.”

You cover your face with your hands, giggling.

“I hope that’s a ‘yes’ to my little scheme,” your fairy godfather says, his wand already waving in the air. “I’m afraid the magic will only last until the last stroke of midnight, so we’ll have to work quickly. You’ll be late, but you’ll be stunning.”

Lines of pretty sparkles flit this way and that, beautifying not just your personage, but your entire room.

It's the sort of thing you've daydreamed about, and just for tonight, it's all very real.

*****

“If you can’t find a wife tonight, I’m going to have to arrange one for you,” King Paulus Atreides admonishes his son.

“Father, I just got back to the city yesterday,” Leto says. He’s a man of more than 40, but still feels like a boy beneath his father’s gaze.

As much as Leto hates to admit it, his father’s right. Leto’s had a few women catch his eyes over the years, but no one has stuck to his heart.

He’s always found more of a thrill in traveling his father’s lands, meeting with local leaders and commonfolk, and soldiering under his father’s banner if the need arose.

More than that, though, Leto knows that as soon as he marries, his father will abdicate.

Leto feels ready to be king, but his father’s ruled for decades. Even if their people welcome the change, it's precarious at first. It would be helpful not only for his people, but also for Leto himself, to have someone by his side.

King Paulus deserves a quiet old age, and Leto would welcome his father’s counsel in his own first years of rule.

The king’s favorite lesson was always the burden of duty, but Leto knows it would be much easier with someone whom he can trust and love.

Finding that woman seems impossible, though, especially tonight.

All of these women complimenting the medals on Leto’s uniform, or his handsome face, or fancy titles. All they want is to wear a crown.

Perhaps that’s not fair. A fair few of them have also tried to entice him to be alone with them. So, they want a crown and his attention. Leto sighs, cutting the thought off before his impatience shows.

Leto looks to one side of the room. A group of vicious gossips wave flirtatiously. He looks away, but the other side of the room holds a group of women even worse.

“It’s a good thing you’ve a stern face,” King Paulus says under his breath, shifting in the throne. “But my son, please try not to terrify the ladies too much. You look as if you’d rather fight them with a sword than speak to them.”

“Not a bad idea,” Leto says under his breath.

“Get up off your throne and go chat to them. You do love to converse with our subjects.”

Leto gives his father a dry look. “I like to speak to local businessmen and farmers, soldiers and sailors. Not useless nobles wearing too much perfume.”

Paulus almost smiles, but remembers to maintain his stoic, kingly facade.

“You’re the Duke Leto Atreides, Prince Atreides, and heir to the throne of this House,” Paulus reminds his son. “At least try to look like you’re interested in continuing our bloodline. You’ve more prospects here than you have gray in your beard.”

Leto runs a hand over his hair. It’s true, he’s gone quite gray of late. Just like his father before him.

Even his beard, at the corners of his lips, is turning white.

It doesn’t seem deter the women, though.

He has to almost run through the center of the ballroom to keep them from getting their talons into him.

It’s suffocating.

Maybe there are one or two women that Leto could have a decent conversation with, but he wants so much more than that.

The guards have opened the doors at the top of the staircase. It’s all the way on the other end of the huge ballroom, but if Leto can get there, perhaps he can smell the fresh air.

He wants to get away from this stuffy ordeal. He can handle the pressures of his privilege, but enduring this society is torment.

The mirrored walls reflect only people he tires of. The rich food and loud music. False laughter. False smiles.

He wants fresh air more than anything.

As he gets to the base of the stairs, the fresh air greets him; but in the form of the most perfect woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

Leto feels crisp clean air fill his lungs, as if he's standing on a mountain top in the morning. Seeing her is just as thrilling to him.

She shines. It’s like he can see the beauty in her soul, as well as her face. His heart beats strangely, like it wants to burst out of his chest and offer itself.

He rushes forward to meet her. She smiles, not shyly, but unsure perhaps.

He holds out his hand and she lays hers gloved fingers on his. She drops a graceful curtsy.

“Prince Atreides,” she says as she rises.

Her voice is as sweet and clear as a moonlit night.

Leto feels unsteady, an unfamiliar state for him.

He doesn’t let her hand go. Instead he pulls her a few steps forward onto the dance floor. It’s natural for his other hand to find her waist, to dance with her as the music swells.

“We’ve never met,” Leto says with certainty. “If we had, I would never have let you go.”

He swoops her closer to the center of the room, the sea of dancing partners parting for them.

Leto’s hands itch to touch her face. His lips tingle to kiss her.

He’s a man who knows people, and he knows in his heart and soul she feels the same way. Her eyes are like diamonds. Her smile has more power than the sun.

He pulls her closer, wanting the warmth of her body.

With all of his riches and power, nothing has ever felt as good as the way she looks at him. He feels almost dizzy.

The waltz draws to a close and Leto pauses on the dance floor.

“Let me introduce you to my father,” he says, “King Paulus.”

Her eyes widen. The big clock at the top of the castle starts to chime midnight.

One-Two-Three

Leto starts to lead her to the head of the room, where his father is already beckoning them forward.

Her hands slips away.

In a millisecond, Leto realizes his miscalculation.

There was love in her eyes when they danced, but when he mentioned an introduction, her look wasn’t one of surprise or nervousness. It was fear.

Leto turns to reassure her, only to see her running away.

“No,” he whispers, taking off after her.

Four-Five-Six

A few at the ball try to stop him, to ask who she is, or where he’s been hiding her.

All they do is hinder his progress.

Every second, the woman runs further away with his heart. Skirt lifted to run up the stairs, she spares a glance backward.

Their eyes lock.

Seven-Eight-Nine

His are filled with love, pleading for her not to leave.

Her eyes return the love, but the tears in them betray her refusal.

She runs out through the doors. Gone.

Leto, halfway up the stairs, feels his heart break in his chest.

Ten-Eleven-Twelve

He has to compose himself. If not for everyone watching, then for his father. He can’t lose his temper or cry or rage. He has to look down at his fists to get them to unclench.

And there on the grand staircase, he sees one shoe.

It’s hers.

Leto picks up her shoe carefully. It looks new. Delicate and sparkling in his hand, he realizes he doesn’t even know her name.

This is all he has of her.

The size of the shoe, and the unique shape, must be special to her, though. The way she danced, it must have fit her perfectly.

The weight of his father’s hand lands lightly on his shoulder.

“Quite a dance,” King Paulus says.

Leto can’t tear his eyes away from the doors, replaying his last glimpse of her over and over in his head. He wonders what she was afraid of, and how he can fix it.

“I’m going to marry that woman,” Leto says.

“Who was she?”

Leto swallows thickly. “I don’t know yet.”

He holds the shoe in his father’s eyeline. It shines in the light of the ballroom.

Although he hates the thought of it touching anyone’s skin but hers, Leto knows this shoe would only fit the woman he’s just given his heart to. It’s the only way to find her, and if it takes the rest of his life, find her he will.

*****

“You’re my fairy godfather, but you’re not omnipotent. You can’t know that Prince Leto even remembers me,” you say as you hang the household laundry behind the house.

Anselm is sitting under a tree, a few little mice, birds, and squirrels perched like an audience in its branches. They titter and chirp.

He wags his wand at you. “As if either of you could forget. It’s all anyone in the kingdom talks about these days. He’s tearing the entire country apart searching for you.”

“He is not,” you mutter, shaking out your step-mother’s underclothes to hang them. “He’s on a grand tour of the noble estates. That’s what the town crier said.”

Your fairy godfather rolls his eyes. “Delusion. An excuse to traipse around chasing your skirt.”

“A prince doesn't have to chase women. Women go to him,” you say with a frown. “It was one dance, among a thousand he’s had in his life. It was special to me, but not to him.”

At least you'll always have the memory. How Leto's hands held you as you danced. How his attention made you feel like the only person in the world. The warm, musky scent of him, and how safe it made you feel.

The back door slams open and you wince, bracing yourself. Anselm disappears in a wisp of white smoke.

“Cinderella!” Your step-mother stomps out into the yard. Her bony fingers grasp at the still-wet laundry. She rips them down and sends them flying onto the yard. “You’ll have to re-wash all of this. You stupid, stupid girl. We can’t have our clothes out for the prince to see.”

You blink at her, uncomprehending.

Prince Leto is coming here? If what your fairy godfather says is true, then he’s bringing your shoe with him. Your heart beats faster.

“The prince?” you ask.

Her eyes narrow. “The prince is coming to marry one of your stepsisters.”

“Which one?” you ask, your hands shaky as you kneel to gather the laundry back into the basket.

She sniffs. “Who cares? The only concern you have is to make sure the house is presentable in an hour, and then go up to your room and do not come out until I retrieve you.”

Your heart sinks.

“I can tell you have designs on seeing him,” your stepmother sneers. “As if he’d want a poor, ugly thing like you. Although, perhaps I could sell you to the palace. Maybe they need someone to wash the kitchen floors.”

Tears sting your eyes as you pick up the laundry basket. You hurry past her, trying to block her words out of your mind.

She grabs your arm as you walk by, her fingernails pinching into your skin.

“If I see your face at the window, I’ll turn you out into the street,” she spits into your ear before shoving you toward the house. “Make the house ready, Cinderella.”

It’s an easy enough list of chores, one you’ve done a thousand times. Make sure there are fresh flowers, straighten the curtains, put out the tea service.

You do it all by mindless rote.

He’ll be here, at the house, but so far out of your grasp he might as well be on the moon.

It’s just as well, you think as you take off your apron and hang it in the kitchen. Your stepmother is right.

Your dress is no better than rags. You’ve been a servant for years now. You wouldn’t even know how to behave with someone like him. One dance doesn’t change anything.

As you pass through the hallway, you push against the wall, out of your stepsisters’ way as they laugh and talk, walking by you excitedly.

Mostly, they ignore you. They always have.

Your father, before he’d died, had been so excited that you would have sisters. Girls to grow up with. A little older than you, to protect you in society, and one day, your children could all play together.

You’d believed his promise, until you’d met the girls and their mother.

The three of them were so different around your father than they were around you.

The very day he’d died, your stepmother had moved you into the attic. It hadn’t even had a proper bed.

Standing in front of the mirror before the doorway to the stairs up to your room, you take in your appearance. Your face is dirty and drab. You look tired. Sad.

Not at all a princess.

Especially not for a prince as handsome and wise as Prince Leto of House Atreides.

You trudge up the attic steps, hearing the lock click behind you.

You hurl yourself onto your little bed, burying your face in the pillow, wishing it would suffocate you.

The crisp steps of horses on the laneway make you perk up. Yet at the same time, you want to cover your ears with your hands and hold them there until he goes away.

You’re weak though, and tentatively, you get up and peek out your tiny window to the carriage below.

The royal crest is emblazoned proudly on all sides. A footman opens the door and Prince Leto steps out.

He’s in a different uniform from what he wore at the ball. This one is more of a dark green, though it still has medals and cords. He has a streak of white at the top of his head, nestled among the dark curls.

In his hand, he holds a small pillow. On the pillow, a lone shoe that you recognize instantly as the one you’d worn to the ball.

He straightens his shoulders and pushes forward to the door.

Behind him, another man, who looks rough from battle, but wears the regalia of a trusted royal advisor. Perhaps a fellow soldier or friend of Leto’s.

It’s as if the man can feel your gaze because his head turns sharply up to look at you.

You duck down, heart racing.

*****

“I think not,” Leto says, his patience wearing thin as the second of these unbearable women tries to shove her foot into the shoe.

“Oh, it’ll fit. Let me keep trying,” she laughs thinly. “I’ve been looking for this shoe everywhere. I think my foot’s swelled in the heat.”

Leto pulls the shoe back. “Madame, please. This shoe doesn’t fit you.”

The first woman shoves forward past her mother. “Let me try again. I’m sure it will fit this time.”

Leto tucks the shoe safely inside his pocket before their grabby hands can get to it.

“If you had worn this shoe at the ball,” he says politely, “then it wouldn’t be a trial for you to wear it today. I thank you for your time ladies, but I must be going.”

The older woman, whose eyes remind Leto of a witch with ice for a heart, holds out her hand for Leto to take. Reluctantly, he gives it a brief touch.

“It’s midday,” she says, “you must stay for a bit of food and drink. I insist.”

Leto glances at his friend and key advisor, Lord Gurney Halleck. It’s true, they’ve been traveling for days now, to three or four houses a day. They’re exhausted.

“Girls,” the mother barks, “please show the prince what gracious hostesses you can be. Off with you.”

The older woman smiles, but it looks so jagged and misused that Leto’s surprised her face doesn’t split in half.

The younger women run off toward the dining room, squabbling about seating.

Leto hands the empty pillow to the footman. His other hand slides into his pocket to touch the shoe. His heart feels leaden. There aren’t many houses left. The shoe fits no one, and he’s not seen a woman who’s even a shadow to the one he’d danced with.

Gurney consults the book he’s been carrying on the journey. “We can make this our last stop of the day, sire.”

Leto pretends to smile. “Yes, then we’ll take tea here. Thank you for invitation, Lady Tremaine.”

The old woman’s eyes sharpen like knives. “It’s no trouble, Prince Leto. We’re glad to have you.”

“Wait.” Gurney’s word is crisp and confident. His finger taps a line in his book. “There are three young ladies in this house.”

The old woman laughs. It’s as fake as her smile had been. “That’s flattering, but no. There are three ladies in this house. My two daughters and myself.”

She turns to call her daughters back to the room and Gurney gestures subtly to Leto. He looks upward, pointing one finger to the attic.

Leto nods once.

“I did say I wanted to see every lady who resides here,” Leto says, letting his voice carry weight.

“And so you have,” the old woman says.

The sisters laugh.

“Yes, your grace,” one of them says jokingly, “unless you want to see Cinderella. She’s hardly a lady, though. More like one of the fat, lazy mice that runs around the yard.”

They laugh as if it’s the funniest thing they’ve heard in years. Their mother looks at them sharply, her hand snapping out to slap at them.

“Shut up, you foolish girls,” she shouts.

Leto’s jaw twitches at her behavior.

He knows then that his love is here, in this house. Living with these monsters. His feet shift, as if to search for her. The thought of his beautiful angel, his future wife, being subjected to these people is more than Leto can bear.

“When I said you were to present every lady of marriageable age, I meant it.” Leto’s voice is steel and frost. “Did you disobey your prince?”

Lady Tremaine’s posture falters. “No, sire-“

Leto leans in toward her. “And now you lie? You know the punishment for such a thing.”

Gurney steps forward to try and be the voice of reason.

“The late Lord had a daughter with his late wife, did he not?” Gurney asks the women.

The girls fold their arms, avoiding his gaze. Lady Tremaine’s face tightens.

“She’s around somewhere. The girl is wild,” she says. “I can’t keep track of her.”

Instinctively, Leto’s hand rests on the sword at his side, the threat clear. “I’ll ask you politely one more time. If you make me ask again, there will be consequences. Where is she?”

*****

Your face still buried in your pillow, you feel a warm hand on your back and know your fairy godfather is here to comfort you.

You rest your cheek on the downy softness, looking up at him with a sniffle. Your attic room is stuffy and hot on afternoons like this.

He smiles kindly.

“The royal ball feels like a dream, but it wasn’t,” you say.

“It wasn’t,” he agrees.

“The memory alone should be enough for me, but Prince Leto is all I think about, all I dream about.” You chew on your lip a moment, then sit up in bed. “I do love him, fairy godfather. I don’t want him to be only a memory in my life.”

“He is your true love,” your fairy godfather says sagely. “Although, such an important thing can’t be had without a cost.”

“What cost? I have nothing,” you say, looking around the jumble of stored things you share your space with.

It’s cozy enough. Colorful scraps of fabric you’d sewn into little decorations. Dried flowers and bits of ribbon. Nothing of value to a prince, though.

He chuckles quietly, touching his magic wand to your chest. “You have this. Your heart is what he wants, and you have the means to give it to him… if you’re brave enough to do so.”

Your fairy godfather’s wand swipes down to the attic door. It Clicks! open.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

There’s no telling what Lady Tremaine will do. You’ve never disobeyed her like this, always tried to do as she says. You’ve tried to keep yourself safe.

Prince Leto is worth some risk, though. He’s worth everything.

You give Anselm a hug and practically leap off the bed.

“Would you change my dress? I look horrible,” you say, looking at your ragged clothes with regret. “He might not recognize me like this.”

Your fairy godfather taps his wand on his beard. “Hmmmm, I think he’ll see you just fine, my dear. He’ll love you just as you are, trust me.”

It's somehow fitting for the prince to see you like this. He should know what you really are. Although, if he loves you, then perhaps you're not as lowly as you've been told.

Nervously, you descend the stairs and creep out of your room.

Even up here, you can hear one of your stepsisters making some excuse about the shoe not fitting.

You hear an unfamiliar man speak. Then, Prince Leto raises his voice, but you can’t make out what he’s saying.

You tip-toe down to the main floor.

The air in the sitting room is tense as you peek around the corner. Your stepsisters cower behind their mother, but Lady Tremaine doesn’t look so formidable in this moment.

At first, you only see Prince Leto’s handsome profile. His nose and his beard, the curl of hair away from his forehead. Then, his head turns.

His dark brown eyes meet yours and there’s a flash of joy. His smile doesn’t waiver, even when he looks you over and sees the state of you, so different from when you’d met.

Prince Leto remembers his manners before anyone else and he gives you a polite bow of his head. His hand drops from his sword. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

You have to bite back happy tears. “Good afternoon, your grace.”

“You look lovely,” he says.

“You look- um, lovely also.”

Prince Leto laughs quietly and you join him.

Another man steps forward, the one who’d seen you looking through your attic window. “I’m Lord Halleck, my lady, aide and advisor to Prince Leto. Please, sit. Let’s put your shoe back where it belongs.”

Lady Tremaine storms in between you and the chair. “Absolutely not. That girl is worthless. Look at her. She’s not a lady, not like my daughters. Your grace, have some self respect.”

Leto’s nostrils flare with anger. In the blink of an eye the softness in him disappears and he stands straight and formidable, commanding respect. It’s thrilling to behold.

“Your late husband knew my father,” Prince Leto says, “and therefore, I knew him a bit. I know that he must have loved his daughter very much because he bought her a horse from our very own stable, and a puppy, and made sure to bring her treats that would please her. I find it very difficult to believe a loving father would leave his daughter destitute.”

Lady Tremaine tries to sound strong, but even you can hear the desperation in her voice. “My late husband didn’t leave a will. In such cases, everything is given to the wife. To me.”

Prince Leto glances at Lord Halleck. “Gurney, when we return to the palace, remind me to check with Lord Hawat to see if, perhaps, the late lord left his will in our possession. It’s common enough for nobles to do.”

You watch the color drain from Lady Tremaine’s face.

“No, there was nothing in his papers. He kept them in his desk,” she says weakly.

“Nobles often consult with my father or his council on such things, and usually, a copy is retained in the royal records,” Leto informs her.

You watch the exchange with trepidation, even when Lord Halleck helps you to sit.

It’s all more than you can absorb. Is it possible your father hadn’t forgotten you after all? That your stepmother had lied for years, to cover her own greed?

Smoothly, Leto turns and kneels deftly in front of you. Your stepmother and stepsisters gasp.

His brown eyes look up at you seriously.

He takes your hands. “You think people as good and honest as you are, but that woman has made your life miserable. When we’re married, her fate is yours.”

You glance at Lady Tremaine, who’s looking steadfastly at the wall, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“Prince Leto,” you say softly, “let her alone, please. If we are as happy as I hope we’ll be, then she’ll be nothing to us. How she lives wouldn’t bother me.”

Leto’s eyes shine with the love you’d seen at the ball.

“You’re as kind as you are beautiful. Yet, if you would permit me to act with justice,” he says, his bearing regal and clearly not used to asking permission for things.

Although you’ve heard stories of how fiercely his justice can extend, you know he wouldn’t do anything to distress you too badly.

A prince, on bended knee, asking permission from you of all people. It’s beyond imagination; but love does unbelievable things, you suppose.

“Yes, Prince Leto,” you say.

“Then, she and your stepsisters may keep the house and lands, but they’ll be stripped of their titles. They’re not welcome at any noble court. By royal decree, they’ll not be related to you at all. Your family’s history will record your father and mother and you.”

It’s fair, but harsh to your ears.

Justice dispensed, Prince Leto takes the shoe from his pocket, holding it in one hand.

“I would like now, to put your sorrows behind us. Only wonderful things are in your future. I promise. May I?” he asks.

He’s more handsome than you’d thought a man could be. His eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile. His teeth and nose and cheekbones are fascinating to you. You want to spend a lifetime studying his face. You realize that you can do just that. All you have to do is say yes.

You lift the tattered hem of your dress just enough to slip off your worn, old work shoes. Leto holds your foot reverently, sliding the beautiful shoe on.

It fits perfectly, as you’d both known it would.

You and Leto exhale in sync, smiles touching your lips.

His hand cradles your foot and ankle.

“Will you marry me?” he asks.

“Yes,” you answer, “of course I will.”

*****

You hadn’t thought anyone had as much gravitas or seriousness as Leto, until you meet King Paulus.

You worried that such a great man would forbid his only heir from marrying you. Yes, your father was noble and an acquaintance, but you’re not anywhere near Leto’s rank.

Instead, King Paulus is welcoming. Glad that his son will finally marry.

The wedding preparations are overwhelming, but Leto makes it very clear that no matter how big the wedding or how many people, it’s a day for you and him alone.

King Paulus assigns you a helpful attendant. She’s from a far-off land, with a strange name, Mapes, but she’s very loyal and best of all, practical. She’s like a mother lioness, keeping people from bothering you too much, making sure you eat, helping you pick out new clothes.

She also ensures you and Leto have plenty of time to sit together and know each other more. He shows you the garden and library. The laboratory full of inventions. The armory and blacksmith. The kitchen, the tailors, on and on and on, until you’ve met more people in a few days than you have in your whole life.

Your favorite times are, of course, when you and Leto talk about everything and nothing. Sometimes for hours.

Mapes sits just outside of earshot, but it’s obvious she’s acting as chaperone until the wedding.

You’ve been so busy, you’ve hardly had a moment to yourself. One night though, you sneak out into the garden alone.

Mapes’ ears and eyes are as keen as a freshly honed blade, but there’s a shimmer in the air that you’d recognize anywhere. Your fairy godfather.

The garden behind the royal palace is a wash of deep greens and bright flowers. The pathway is cool under your bare feet, but the air is warm enough that your silk nightgown keeps you comfortable.

The moon lights the way through the dark night. Little bright green fireflies line the path through to where Anselm slouches in the gazebo, huffing on a pipe. You’ve never seen him with anything but his fairy wand in hand.

“Fairy godfather, I’m so glad to see you, but what are you doing?” you ask with a grin.

He smiles happily. “Well, you see, I wasn’t exactly honest with you all along. Fairies are a strict lot, and I’d run somewhat afoul of my people. I have a habit of making trouble.”

“That, I can believe,” you say as you sit next to him.

“Well, I was given the task of helping human kind. It was meant as punishment, but my dear, you made it a joy,” Anselm smiles, patting your shoulder. “My lesson is learned, and I’m back to all of my normal powers.”

“Are they so different?” you ask, waving your hand in front of your face to blow the smoke away.

“I have less restrictions,” he says. “For example, I could kill your stepmother.”

You gasp. “Fairy godfather, no!”

He grumbles to himself. “Yes, I suppose it doesn’t really fit with your story. If you change your mind, though, just call out my true name and I’ll be there in a flash.”

You look around the palace grounds. Even shrouded in moonlight, they look lush and perfect. Then, you look down at the beautiful ring Leto had placed on your finger. It marks your betrothal, and his love for you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want for anything again,” you tell Anselm, “but maybe you could visit sometimes? If you would like to.”

His eyes soften. “Very much so. Definitely. I cannot wait to see your progress in life. The handsome prince and the fair princess.”

He gets up and straightens his jacket, pipe disappearing magically into nothingness.

“I’ll visit whenever I need a break from torturing that horrible old woman and her daughters,” he says.

“Anselm!”

But he’s gone in a puff of smoke.

You laugh quietly to yourself. You can only imagine the trouble he’ll make for them. Nothing too dangerous, you hope, but whenever bad luck befalls them, you know Anselm will be to blame.

You’re still laughing when you hear a rustle.

“What are you doing, laughing out here all alone?” Leto asks as he walks into the secluded gazebo.

Your eyes linger over him. You’ve never seen him out of uniform.

He’s in his sleeping clothes. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone and you can’t look away.

His dark hair and eyes are meant to be seen like this, you think, in gauzy moonlight and night. Even his skin looks different to you.

Leto, though, is only concerned with you. You can tell from the frown on his forehead.

“You have bare feet and no coat. Here.” Leto quickly sits by you and wraps his arms around you. He kisses the side of your head. “Now, tell me why you’re in the garden in the middle of the night.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him everything. Maybe one day, you will.

For now, you only say, “I’m having trouble sleeping. I think it’s because I have nothing left to dream about. All of my dreams came true.”

Leto tips your face closer to his.

This is the first time you’ve been without a chaperone.

Leto’s kiss is soft at first. The hair of his beard and mustache is scratchy, but good. His lips are like warm pillows. The tip of his tongue traces your mouth lightly. Then, he deepens the kiss, parting your lips with his and sinking in. He hums in his throat, his big hands pulling you closer.

“My princess,” he whispers, kissing you again and again, “my love.”

The fireflies gather in the gazebo, like stars suspended in the air. They don’t mind that you and Leto kiss and touch.

The clock in the palace starts to chime midnight.

This time, you don’t run.

Leto gives you a kiss for every hour. Twelve. And many more after that.

Enough for a lifetime of happily ever after.

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