#the all white birthday suit is another top tier look

[youandtom2]

Praise You Like I Should (CEO!Tom Holland) 18+

Summary: You were always a people-pleaser, desperate to do right by everybody no matter what they asked. Being an intern, your boss Jackson exploited your people-pleaser tendencies in a very unprofessional manner, and CEO Mr Holland wasn't happy about it... Themes: smut! little bit of fluff and angst, dom!tom and sub!reader, oral (m+f), major praise kink, sir kink, overstimulation, masturbation (alone) , slight jewelry kink w/c: 10k+

MASTERLIST

You look over the dimly lit hall before you, tables decorated to the nines with hand-folded serviettes, silver-ware suited for royalty, gleaming as they sit on a fresh white linen table cloth, surrounded by tall plum-coloured cushioned chairs. There’s about twelve tables dotted around the hall identical to one another, waiting to be filled by guests in about an hour or so. The room sparkles with the metallic colouring of birthday banners and balloons floating around the room, illuminated by the dancing, multicoloured disco lights. 

The surprise birthday party you were instructed to organise is for Mr Holland’s business partner, Taylor. They’re each other's yin and yang, mixing together like oil on water but somehow they make it work. The informal Taylor bases his relationship with his employees on friendship and a sense of mutual equality, where the formal Mr Holland prefers professionalism and respect on top of trust. Nevertheless, both are equally respected as bosses and businessmen in their own right. It doesn’t necessarily mean you all prefer one over the other, but if you had to make a choice as to who you would rather hang out with, the answer is an obvious one.

As an intern, it isn’t exactly part of your remit to organise and host birthday events, but your boss, Jackson, ordered you to do it. Jackson’s notable within the workforce for several reasons; he’s outgoing, social, ambitious, confident, and is unofficially Taylor’s kiss ass. He appointed himself (ahem, you) with the responsibility of organising Taylor’s surprise party, not because he thinks he’s capable, but because he’s looking for recognition. What people don’t know is that he’s actually a lazy guy who has gotten himself drunk with the taste of superiority, abusing you as his own personal slave for favours both big (entirely consequential and out of your depth) and small (worthless and petty). Unfortunate to be his first intern, you’ve realised how gluttonous he’s become with you at his disposal how and whenever he pleases. However, being placed at the bottom of the pecking order, you’re not at liberty to say no. 

Jackson’s not your favourite boss by any means, but by God he keeps you busy. It tooks weeks for you to organise the venue, the catering, the entertainment, the decorations, the invitations, most importantly the cake, and the little oddities that everyone forgets about like hand-written name tags and having straws at the bar. You’ve been working relentlessly and after weeks of stress, late and often sleepless nights, numerous phone calls and emails, cancellations and rebookings, tonight is the night that all of that can end. The curse of being a perfectionist and a people-pleaser can finally release its hold on you.

Just as you finish clarifying the itinerary with the hotel’s bar staff, you notice a dark figure walking through the entrance. Your eyes trail nervously from the black patent shoes to the white shirt peeking beneath the black suit of which belongs to Mr Holland. He has his tortoise shell glasses perched perfectly on his nose, reflecting the colours of the disco lights as he walks towards you, stoic and poised. A silent ‘fuck’ crosses your mind. 

Being the CEO eight floors above you, Mr Holland’s face isn’t one that you see as consistently as Jackson’s. He’s at least 6 tiers above you in the pecking order, one of two to take superiority over a long line of directors, specialists, managers, supervisors and assistants before you. So you can hardly blame yourself when you start to feel nerves gathering in your chest, despite how well-respected he is amongst the workforce. 

His eyes finally find yours and he clarifies your name. You can appreciate that he’s at least taken the time to learn your face. “You're Jackson’s intern, right?” 

Wow. He knows you more than you thought. “Yes sir. Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“No, thank you. I was just coming to take a look around. I’m normally part of organising the celebrations but this year I’ve been too busy.” He wordlessly waves a hand before weaving in and out the tables, reading each name tag as he passes by. You watch nervously as he inspects the room until finding himself in front of what you call The Shrine with folded arms, almost bursting at the seams. More simply, it’s a collage of photos of Taylor taken over the years pieced together in a mosaic standing on an easel, gathered and no less arranged by you, of course. Next to it stands an empty corkboard, waiting to be filled with pictures from tonight's celebration, provided by the pop-up photobooth beside it. 

“Whose idea was this?” There’s a warm smile on Mr Holland’s face.

“Mine, sir.”

“And the handcrafted name tags?”

“Also me, sir.”

“I love it. It’s very creative.” You exhale loudly, relieved. The people-pleaser inside you starts to buzz, fluttering wildly at Mr Holland’s praise. “Did you…” His eyes squint narrowly, honing in on you. “Did you organise all of this?” 

“Yes, I did. The venue and catering took some negotiating but once that was planned, the rest came with time.”

“Impressive.”

You’re about to thank him but you're interrupted by the obnoxious calling of your name in a voice that booms from the entrance of the hall. Jackson marches towards you and you stand a little straighter. He doesn’t notice Mr Holland standing in the corner of the room next to the shrine. Instead of Mr Holland announcing himself, which is what you expected him to do, he sinks his hands into his pockets and quietly observes from afar. 

“I need a rundown--” Please, that would be great. “--and for the love of God where is the present I was supposed to get Taylor?” Thanks for getting me a present for him, I’ll pay you back.

Your answer is succinct and to the point. “I’ve left it in your hotel room; it’s a dinner reservation at Keens Steakhouse in New York. As for tonight, the bar will be open for guests when they arrive at 6:30pm, Taylor will arrive between 7:00pm and 7:15pm for his surprise, the buffet will open at 7:30pm and cake will be served at 8:30pm. Last orders are at 11:30pm and the curfew is midnight. Everyone has checked in and has their hotel room key, although Kelsey couldn’t make it tonight, so her room is spare.”

Jackson gives a gruff nod, mumbling something intelligible under his breath. He cautiously looks to the bar, then narrows his eyes at you with a pointed finger wavering in your face. “I need tonight to be perfect so I need you to be sober. No alcohol. Got it?” In other words, I can’t be bothered making sure everything goes smoothly so I need you to stay sober while I get shit-faced. You nod, pursing your lips angrily as he walks away from you without a final word.

With Jackson no longer in sight, the tension finally deflates and your shoulders relax. You hate that every interaction with Jackson is a test of your skill and knowledge, caught in a vicious cycle of having to prove yourself worthy time and time again. 

As Mr Holland emerges from the corner of the room, it’s an observation he also confronts having finally witnessed Jackson’s true authoritarian nature. His eyes are fixated on the golden doors in a stare so firm it could burn holes through the metal, and just when he steps into the brighter lights of the bar, his overall demeanour changes. 

His jaw ticks when he finally faces you. “Jackson’s keeping you on your toes tonight it seems.” 

“He always does, sir.” You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, recounting the numerous occasions his brutal demands have worked you to the bone.

“I don’t think I appreciate the way he talks to you.” 

“Oh I’m used to it by now.”

“So he talks to you like that all the time?” Shit. In truth, Jackson would never have spoken so harshly to you had he known anyone was in the room let alone Mr Holland, but that was his mistake. One you’re not sorry for. “Well, if he isn’t going to tell you what an amazing job you have done, I will. You should be proud of organising all of this by yourself, it’s not easy. Well done.” 

Your chest swells with pride as Mr Holland pats a gentle hand against your upper arm. Finally, your first taste of positive reinforcement. “Thank you, sir.” 

Mr Holland’s smirk quirks at the edges. His hands find themselves deep within his pockets once again as he coolly and oh-so-calmly exits through the doors. 

~~~~

You are insomnia personified. As relieved as you are that the night is going exactly to plan, with the nervous anticipation over, you just cannot wait to get to your bed knowing that the stress is over. You have hours of sleep to catch up on, a stone of weight to put back on and friends and family to respond to, and without a single alcoholic drink to lift your spirits, you’re finding it harder and harder to keep the exhaustion at bay. Beyond the exhaustion, however, there’s a sadness hidden deep within your conscience and while you glance over the decorations you hung up as the melodic singing of ‘happy birthday’ rings in the air, it spreads. It’s clear that people are oblivious to what makes you so downcast on a celebratory night as they pass nothing more than a glance your way, but in all honesty, you much prefer it to be that way. You wouldn’t want anyone to see the tear building in the corner of your eye. 

For now, you thrive on the compliments you’ve heard about the venue, the decorations, the drinks and the food, each and every one of them satisfying your perfectionist mindset. Okay, so what no-one knows you organised the party, and sure, you can oversee the fact that none of the compliments are directed to you in particular, because in the end, you’ve gained Mr Holland’s approval and that’s enough for you.

Well, it was enough until Taylor took to the stage for a speech.

“...and a special shout-out to Jackson for putting this all together for me. This is absolutely amazing, I couldn’t have asked for more.” 

Your heart sinks in your chest and your ears instinctively drown out the clapping and cheering of the crowd around you, eyes set in stone as they watch Jackson accept the dedication so graciously that it makes you sick to your stomach. It takes every ounce of energy you have left in you to suppress the wobble in your lip at the sight of Jackson soaking up the glory like a sponge. Jackson taking the credit for your hard work was something you should’ve expected from him. After all, he is lazy and will never be willing to admit it, definitely not in front of Taylor. Still, the chase for recognition was always going to be a losing battle for you; you’re an intern for fuck’s sake, you are merely just a name and a face for most, unfulfiling of the protagonistic arc the people here want in their stories. Jackson, the kiss ass, makes much more sense being the hero than an underdog intern. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, accepting defeat. 

You claim an empty seat at an empty table in a dark corner of the room, far from the crowd mingling on the dance floor and you remain there as the party continues into the night. The glass of tepid water looks pitiful in your hands, its lack of taste offering no respite from your sorrow. 

With fifteen minutes until last orders, you begin counting down to the moment you can retire to your bed which you know won’t arrive until after you’ve cleaned up the hall. You’re jealous of some of the guests who have already decided to leave the party.

The chair to your right suddenly scrapes across the floor and you’re slightly taken aback when Mr Holland sits close beside you and abruptly rests an elbow upon the table, blocking your view of the crowd and demanding your attention. A cedarwood scent silently announces itself and you inhale it deeply, finding sanctuary in its presence despite how startled you are by it. Your breath is simply taken from you when he shuffles himself closer. He isn’t wearing his usual attire; something a little less formal, but likely to be just as expensive. With that expensive taste comes his expensive appearance: clean, styled, decorated admirably and booming with authority. A warmth starts to take a hold of you. 

His movements are harsh and his body moves with brute intention, but behind those curls, his eyes hold sympathy, knowing what is upsetting you before it even spills from your lips. You try to fake a smile but he can see right through it. 

“I thought it was you that organised the party,” he calmly states. 

“I did. But because Jackson instructed me to plan a party means he takes responsibility for it.” 

Mr Holland doesn’t waste a single second. “It isn’t right. It’s one thing to speak to you so rudely, but it’s another to take credit for your hard work, and I’m starting to believe that Jackson doesn’t value you as an intern as much as he values the superiority that comes with it, am I right?” 

Anxiously, your eyes catch Jackson lazily hanging over the bar and demanding another drink. If Mr Holland were to know the truth, it would get Jackson in a lot of trouble and the people-pleaser inside you is screaming at you to just deny it all. Your skewed perception of professionalism means skipping over these things, something about snitching just seems so petty and childish, and that’s not the impression you want to give Mr Holland of all people.

Mr Holland’s stern voice brings you back. “You’re not answering to him now, you’re answering to me. Am. I. Right?” 

You gulp. “Yes, sir.” 

“I intend to have a word with Jackson--” 

“Mr Holland, it’s okay, really--” You try to protest but he quickly rests his hand on top of yours, his warmth enveloping it completely, and your mind halts. Your heart flutters the moment his fingers curl just the little bit tighter, a compassion that says more than words could. It’s genuine, caring, but firm in a way that’s supportive, pledging to do right by you. 

“He will apologise to you and let everyone know the truth.” 

“Please, I don’t want to cause a hassle or stir anything in the office, I just want to do well. And what would it change if people knew the truth? It doesn’t bother me that much, honestly. Besides, you know the truth. That’s all that matters to me.” Desperately and without thinking, you twist your hand and your fingers interlock, returning the squeeze with a soft smile. Mr Holland tries his best to return the sentiment but you can tell the whole ordeal still troubles him and sits discontented by your side, a regretful sigh heaving through his lips. Soon, after a silent plea to let it go, he eventually sits level with you with a brighter sparkle to his eyes and instantly, the mood is lifted. You notice how his hand doesn’t leave yours. 

“You at least deserve a drink.” 

“I shouldn’t, I’m closing up tonight and I’m working early tomorrow.” 

He scowls for what seems like the hundredth time tonight, facing issue after issue the more you expose Jackson’s true nature. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, you should be having a day off.” 

“It’s laughable you think I get a day off,” you chuckle. The sad thing is, he thinks you’re joking. Jackson often sends you his overdraft of reports to complete over the weekend and has the cheek to deem you lucky that he gives you so much wisdom and experience. You can’t imagine Mr Holland being aware of this…

“Don’t be silly darling, everyone is entitled to days off. Even Taylor took a day off today for his birthday.” 

Again, your scathing laughter meets his ears and he tilts his head, that skewed eyebrow lifting high into his forehead. “No offence sir, but with his position, he can afford to. I don’t think interns have that same benefit--”

“Of course you do, it’s company policy that everyone is entitled to a day off on their birthday.” Before you get a word in, he’s already pulling out his phone from his suit pocket. “Tell me when your birthday is so I can make sure you get it off, and I know when to get you a birthday present. Taylor too--”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.”

“We do it for all our employees, regardless if you’re an intern or not.” His calendar flashes to life before his eyes. “So when is it? June? July?” 

Your mouth suddenly goes dry and it gawps like a fish, not a usual response to such an easy question. Your fingers knead together on your lap as the sadness once again materialises and Mr Holland quickly senses something is amiss.

“It’s…it’s today. My birthday is…was today.” 

Mr Holland’s eyes widen with horror. It’s no less than a minute later that he finally replies. “And Jackson has you working?” 

“Since 7am this morning. I had asked for my birthday off two months ago because I did actually read the company policies, but he said interns can’t request holidays because they’re not permanent. I didn’t think anything of it.” 

“What?! For fuck’s sake…” Mr Holland twists his chair violently, its legs colliding with the table as he tries to face you more directly and leans forward, your knees slotting into the space between his. The wave of his anger has rolled back even higher in its tide and now, unlike before, there’s a vein popping at his temple. “Let me just make this clear, okay? Correct me if I’m wrong. You’re telling me that Jackson has knowingly denied you of your birthday holiday entitlement and instead had you plan someone else’s birthday just so that he can take credit for it, make you work through it and clean up after it as well?”

God. In his words it sounds so desperately sad. Up until this point, you were able to distract yourself from getting caught up in the tragedy of it all, but now there’s nothing stopping the gates from opening and wallowing in self-pity. Although your blurring eyes tell of your true emotions, the forced smile on your lips does everything it can to convince both you and Mr Holland that you’re not bothered by it. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

Mr Holland’s heart inevitably sinks. In that moment, he thinks of the cruelty behind Jackson ordering you to buy and wrap his present for Taylor when you have none to open. He thinks of you, alone, buying the candles of the birthday cake you wouldn’t be blowing out. He thinks of you, just hours ago as the crowd sings happy birthday to another person, blissfully ignorant of your sorrow. He thinks of the hours you spent working when you should have been with your friends and family. It’s all of the things you truly deserve, but have been robbed from you. 

He reaches once again for your hand, now resting on your lap, and the tips of his fingers graze your thigh. You would be a fool to miss it. “Darling,” he sincerely murmurs, almost as quiet as a whisper. “I’m so sorry.” 

The fake smile takes lead and the rebel tear is wiped away. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault--”

“But it’s not okay. You…you didn’t even get to have a drink.” Damnit, your cheeks are wet again. “Did you at least get a break today?” Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO.

In fact, you spend so much time failing to not cry that Mr Holland assumes the worst. He takes in a long, deep breath and lures you into his embrace with a hand creeping up to the back of your head, and the second your forehead hits his shoulder, the dams break.  

“I’m just so tired,” you sniff. 

“You’ve been overworked, darling, that’s why.” His hand passes over your hair, gently cupping the curve of your head as he takes in every hiccup. His breath flows past your ears smoothly, broken up every few seconds with whispers of comfort. You feel horribly embarrassed, crying into the expensive suit of your CEO at the party you organised on your birthday: definitely not the definition of professionalism you are chasing. 

“I’m sorry. I promise I’m not usually like this.” You retreat from his shoulder but the hand cupping the back of your head prevents you from travelling too far and you’re stuck, just inches from Mr Holland’s pitying eyes. He keeps you concealed from the crowd, but it’s not enough to hide from the burning glare of Jackson, his eyes drawing daggers at you from over Mr Holland’s shoulder. He’s somewhat frozen in a stupor, scarily steady for a man who was flailing over the bar minutes ago, but anger is a quick cure for intoxication. 

Mr Holland’s voice sidles quietly into your ear. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Get yourself up to bed, I’ll deal with Jackson.” 

“But--”

“I will not take no for an answer. Now go.” You shiver at the stern tone, appearing only as he turns to lock eyes with Jackson who’s faring a guilty look upon his face. As Mr Holland brings you both to a stand, he gently encourages you towards the golden doors and although you should be indulging in the relief of finally being let off, you can’t pull your focus away from Mr Holland’s cold stare that refuses to stray from Jackson. In the few seconds that it takes to walk from your chair to the doors, a clear, obvious shift in mood transpires, one that is felt by the entire room because now it isn’t just you that notices Mr Holland’s sudden decline in temperament. Evidently, everyone is quick to sense the tension. The crowd’s lively dancing now settles into an awkward shuffle and the singing dulls into hushed whispers because they know to never underestimate the seriousness of Mr Holland’s anger. It’s uncomfortable and intimidating, even more so if you’re the reason for his vexation and if that’s the case, you should be on your knees begging for his forgiveness. It’s the one power Mr Holland holds that Taylor, his business partner, his equal, doesn't possess. This is your first time seeing him exercise this power and it’s incredibly daunting. 

The beat of your heels clicking their way up the staircase is a quick one, not daring to hang around the unease any longer. The fresh smell of washed cotton that greets you in your room winds you down and you don’t spare a second of reflection before you strip yourself of your stiff dress, blister-inducing heels, thick make-up and the heavy stress. You slip right between the sheets, ready to drift asleep. 

The lights are switched off, your eyes are closed and your body properly relaxes. Yet inexplicably you can’t settle into your bed no matter how much you toss and turn. Rationale convinces you that it’s because you’re in a bed different from your own, that the mattress doesn’t have the mould of your body imprinted on it, and although it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, your inner conscience is telling you something else…

Flashes of memories made just half an hour prior spring to the surface and suddenly you’re watching yourself converse with Mr Holland again. But it isn’t exactly how you remember it.

For example, his hand is on your lap, gripping the curve of your thigh with his heat scorching through your skin when you know that, in reality, it was nothing more than a soft sweep. And when you both stood, you know he guided you with a gentlemanly hand, yet your dream sees his hand curving down the slope of your ass and squeezing the flesh. You have to refuse the idea of you shivering with arousal from hearing Mr Holland’s stern growl because truthfully, it was nerves. 

Or…was it both? 

You try to ignore it, but the seed has already been planted. Now all you can visualise is his fleeting touches, his soft voice praising you and calling you darling, the twinkle in his eyes as he sympathised for you, the caress of his hand through your hair as he comforted you, the way he cared for you, and fucking hell, the exhilaration of seeing him protect you so defensively when no one else did. His taut jaw, his clenched fists, his dark eyes, the pulsing vein at his temple, his eminence that commanded the room, the list is endless. 

“F-fuck,” you stutter, succumbing to the pleasure of your own fingers toying with your clit. You don’t quite remember the exact moment your hand slipped beneath your underwear, too caught up in your fantasy of Mr Holland to realise. Regardless, the movie in your mind continues to play out and by now, none of it reflects any real events from tonight - it’s all purely fictional.

His hand slides up between your thighs. He dons a devilish grin because he knows there’s a whole crowd blissfully unaware behind him. An innocent gasp slips from your lips and it lures his eyes to your mouth, panting as he traces the letters of his name over your covered cunt as a sign as to who it belongs to. Overrun with anticipation, you bite your lip, feeling the pad of his finger slip beneath your thong and…

“Oh my god! Shit!” Your body seizes, curling into itself as your fingers dull to a small twitch between your clenched thighs. There’s a blissful moment where you ravish the hot rush of blood pulsing at your pussy, letting it bubble until it slows to a simmer, and only when you come down from your high minutes later do you fully realise what has just happened. Eyes split wide open, you rise from your bed.

You just masturbated fantasising over your CEO. 

What in the hell have you gotten yourself into? 

~~~~

The morning comes surprisingly quickly and the hotel's thin curtains don't fully shield you from the sun's glare. It’s bright, directly in your face and if you didn’t know any better, you would think that it’s spotlighting you because it knows what you did last night. As if you forgot…

The guilt still ruins your conscience and you feel nothing but regret; fantasising and sexualising Mr Holland’s kindness is just the pinnacle of everything you disagree with and it doesn’t exactly define the sort of professionalism you strive for. 

Shaking it off as best you can, you refresh yourself with a shower and a harsh splash of cold water to your face, and by the time you open your laptop it’s 9am. There hasn’t been any emails from Jackson so far which you’re not too sure if you’re shocked by. It’s typical on a Saturday morning for Jackson to send you multiple reports with deliberately vague instructions that you would somehow have to decode and translate for yourself. But regarding last night’s events, perhaps he’s heeded Mr Holland’s words and decided to honour your weekend entitlements. 

The white screen stares back at you, watching you nervously bite your nails as if you’re expecting a red notification to pop up, attached to an email from Jackson with hungover words. A minute or two passes by and alas, nothing. Not a word. In all honesty, you don’t have an issue with it, not at all, but it means that your routine is completely disrupted and you’re struggling to decide what to do with yourself. And without work, you have nothing to distract you from last night’s sin while it plagues your mind. 

A new sweat arises and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, and that’s the part you think is the worst. Why did it feel so fucking good?

What brings you out of your self-loathing is three quick, quiet knocks echoing from your door in quick succession. Curious, you open the door and when you see who stands there in all his formal glory, you wish you hadn’t. Your heart immediately jumps to your mouth. 

“Oh, Mr Holland--hi. I wasn’t expecting you…” Your words fade into a soft whisper when your eyes spot a small pink bag, its ribbon handles hooked daintily onto his fingers. Surely that can’t be what you think it is…?

He’s painfully quiet, a small smile painting his lips at what he sees; he’s never seen you dress so casually before and he wants to take a good long look at you, unsure of when he’ll see such a sight again. The weight of his stare burns holes through you, heating you from within.

Not a second later, he holds out the pink bag towards you and you forget to breathe. 

“Happy belated birthday,” he gently voices. Your fingertips graze each other as you take it from him. For such a small, delicate bag, it’s certainly weighty and your stomach drops thinking about how much money he’s stupidly wasted on you…

“Thank you sir, really. You didn’t have to do that.” A nervous chuckle escapes your dry mouth. “How…how did you get this so quickly? It’s barely past 9 in the morning.”

“I have a few contacts who owe me a few favours. And I just felt so guilty about you missing your birthday. Sorry you couldn’t celebrate it like you should’ve.”

 “Like I said, it’s okay--” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly but surely, a taunting smirk begins to form. “Am I going to have to give you the same ‘talking to’ I gave Jackson last night to make you realise that it is definitely not okay?”

Yes, yes, yes, fucking yes. “No, no, of course not. Sorry, I suppose that’s just the people-pleaser in me.” 

Mr Holland stands stoic before you, his head slightly tilted and his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes are watching you endearingly, drawing you into him, but everything else about him oozes something that makes you want to swallow a little harder. His confidence in himself is mildly intimidating and you wish you could feel the same. Just his being here creates a dizzying effect on you that you just can’t shake. 

“You can think of this as a congratulations of sorts too.” 

You tilt your head. “Congratulations?” 

“Mh-hm,” his eyes flit over your confusion, a devilish, haunting smirk gracing his wet lips. “Congratulations on becoming a permanent member of Taylor and I’s company.” 

Mr Holland admiring you be damned, you find yourself taking a step back in shock. “Are you…are you serious?” 

“Of course I’m serious, do you think I would lie to you?” 

“Not at all, I just, I thought it was going to be Jackson’s decision. I am his intern.” 

You aren’t a fool to miss the way his jaw ticks at the mention of Jackson’s name and all too quickly, a ferocious fire consumes his eyes. A small shiver cuts through your skin. “You don’t work for Jackson anymore because Jackson no longer works for me.” 

“What?!” 

“What did you think when I said I was going to deal with Jackson? That he was going to continue working for me even after finding out he was treating you badly? Or finding out that he orders you to do his work over the weekends? Or even when he blackmails you into doing jobs beyond your remit? How could you possibly think that I would let that sleazy bastard feed off my pay when I know he isn’t capable of the job? You’re far more deserving of the position than he is, far more deserving of the appreciation and beyond capable.”

“Sir, I…I can’t thank you enough. I’m very grateful. I won’t let you down, I promise.” 

“I know you won’t. Although I do sometimes wish you would’ve told me or Taylor about Jackson’s behaviour sooner. I don’t tolerate that kind of exploitation, not even for a second and you shouldn’t have either.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was just so caught up in wanting to do well that I would’ve done anything to please the company.”

“Maybe you should stop spending your time trying to please other people, and focus on pleasing yourself.” His face gravitates just a hairsbreadth towards yours and in quieter, darker words, he whispers… “You were certainly capable of pleasing yourself last night.” 

You take a timid step back, mouth agape. You can’t think of anything to say, not when the ringing in your ears starts to resonate louder and louder. Shame swells like a disease and you can feel the bile rising in your throat. You are almost certain you didn’t hear anyone outside your room last night, how could he have possibly known? 

“I…um…I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

He smoothly leans against the door frame, his wicked grin tells you that he doesn’t believe a word you say. Nevertheless, he explains, not to worsen how mortified he knows you already feel, but to reminisce of the surge of adrenaline and lust that coursed through him last night. 

“I came by late last night to drop off your present. I didn’t think you would still be awake so I planned on leaving it at your door, and just as I bent down to place it there, I heard just the softest of moans—“

“I think you must be mistaken—“ An uneasy chuckle barely covers your tracks, leaving you just as compromised as before. 

“I thought you might’ve been with someone, but I then didn’t hear any other voices, so I assumed you were by yourself.” 

“Sir,” you squeak, intending to finish your sentence but you just don’t have the words nor the confidence to deny him of what he already knows. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights, exposed and vulnerable without the faintest idea of how to get yourself out of his commanding presence. 

A million and one emotions rage through you and drown you in a fluster. Your feet shuffle nervously beneath you, slowly inching your way back into your hotel room as you sense yourself losing control over the conversation. With a mouth drier than the Sahara desert, there’s not much else you can do or say to avoid falling victim to both Mr Holland’s taunting and your own taunting; last night’s images playing out before you more vividly now that he resurrects them. 

The subject finally diverges, but it doesn’t mean you're any more comfortable with it. “Do you know you’re the only one that addresses me as ‘sir’?” 

You shake your head, eyes inevitably averted. You didn’t know that, you just thought it was professional. 

“You never corrected me.” 

“I didn’t want to.” 

“Why not?” 

“I liked hearing it. Just as much as I liked what I heard last night. But I need to know,” he takes a step to cross the threshold of your hotel room. “Was there anything…anyone in particular crossing your mind?” 

“There was…” His jaw ticks furiously and you instantly get the notion that denying him is simply not a choice here. 

“Who?” He demands in that stern voice you’ve heard only once before. 

One word sits on your tongue and you know that as soon as it breaks the silence, the professionalism you worked so hard to build up will crumble before you. But the risk is entirely worth it. 

“You.” 

Mr Holland’s lips part and releases a snicker as if he knew, and the curl of his smirk becomes dangerous. He lets the singular word ring out into the air, and the tension envelopes you both in a suffocating bubble until he finally speaks. “You…what?” 

“You, sir.” 

His chest rumbles with approval and you even feel its vibrations fluttering low in your stomach. Desire consumes you; a desire to know what he’s thinking, to know what he’s planning to do with that compromising information, to figure out whether he’ll respond to it in a way that satiates your more promiscuous desires like the ones that distracted you last night. You would give anything to see what’s going on inside his head. 

Inexplicably, he nods towards your pink bag, easily brushing over your last conversation like it was nothing to him and it completely throws you off. “You should open it.” 

It takes a second to drag your eyes away from him. You actually forgot you’re still holding it in your hands. The tissue paper rustles loudly as you reach in-- “Inside.” Mr Holland urges. With a short nod, you lead the way, allowing him to slowly close the door behind you with a gut-wrenching squeak and a thunderous boom.

The second the door shuts, the air becomes taut, strained and harder to breathe and you dedicate all your efforts into ignoring your last conversation just as easily as he had, but he’s standing right behind you and the warmth of his breath skates past your ear and it’s all you can think about. Even without disclosing what he now knows, the presence of Mr Holland alone would bring about such unnerving effects, so you don’t find yourself at fault for struggling to keep it together. 

From the pink bag you pull out a small white and gold box, wrapped with yet another ribbon. Inside is a silver chain, light and dainty, but the pendant it carries is nothing alike. The reflection of the sun hits the circular-cut diamond, becoming iridescent as it hits your eyes. The stone is slightly on the larger side, bigger than any other necklace you own, but it sits perfectly in the balance of being flashy yet classy. Expensive yet tasteful. It’s a piece that you can’t price and that exact thought scares you. 

“It’s beautiful,” you softly murmur. The chain cascades elegantly across your fingers, almost mesmerising to watch. 

Your eyes catch his movement in the mirror in front of you and steals your attention away from the necklace. He holds out his hand by your side, soft but firm. 

“May I?” You almost flinch as his words hit your ear, the ripple of your shiver continues for long after. As the chain pools in his hand, he is equally gentle, handling it with expertise while he lifts it carefully over head and rests the pendant tenderly in the dip between your clavicles. Its icy cold touch seers your skin, heat radiating with each grazing touch of his fingers as they clasp the chain together behind your neck. Once secure, you admire the way it shines brightly against your skin tone, eyes momentarily lost in your image until you realise that yours are the only pair looking back at you. Mr Holland remains engrossed with the curve of your neck, his proximity close enough to be counting the beats of your pulse as it thumps beneath your skin and for all you know, it’s elevating, thrashing harder and harder while you watch with wide eyes as Mr Holland presses his lips against it. 

The second his lips meet your skin, his hands find your hips, holding you steady to prevent you from buckling. A numbing tingle shoots through your nervous system at the feeling of Mr Holland swiping his tongue across the reddening bruise he’s leaving behind. Every kiss is with purpose, targeting each and every sweet spot as if he had a map to each of their location: the peak of your neck that connects to your jaw, the sensitive spot just millimetres below your ear, the slight curve of your shoulder that sits beneath the chain. He instantly claims you, and you show no sign of resistance when you find yourself voluntarily tilting your neck, begging for more.

You finally meet his eyes in the mirror, realising how cavernous his blown-out pupils are; that if you search too far you’ll become trapped. “This…” he whispers, planting another kiss to your ear, his hands beckoning to the chain, “is the only thing I’ll allow you to wear while I fuck you.” 

A shameless, breathless mewl whines from your throat and a rampage of endorphins consumes you. As the first piece of insight to his mind, you don’t get nearly enough time to let it process in your head before his clawing hands are tugging at the drawstrings of your joggers. 

The small nip to your neck is a wake-up call. This is real and this isn’t a fantasy of yours, only that it will be a recreation of what had you orgasming last night. 

“You know, I can be a people pleaser too.” His hand slips beneath your joggers, but refrains from slipping beneath your underwear. “I can please you in so many ways.” As a testimony to his words, his fingers trace over the silk of your underwear, catching your bud in its travels and a silent gasp bursts from your lips. “But not without earning it. Do as you’re told, and I’ll do exactly that.” 

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, words vacant, eyes rolling. 

“Are you listening to me?” The hand on your hip squeezes harshly and you jerk in his arms. You have never agreed to something quicker in your life.

“Yes, sir! Oh—” 

“Good. Then you can start by closing those curtains over there.” 

His hand slips fluidly out of your joggers when you force yourself away from the subtle torment. The light dims a little, however you think it’s more for privacy than for light. When your back turns once again, Mr Holland sits himself on the edge of the bed, legs spread and leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Whatever it is about him in that single second triggers something in you; attraction, lust, sex appeal, or all of the above. Whatever it is, it compels you to give yourself in to him.

A messy mixture of want, need and unrelenting desire brings you to your knees before him. His eyes sweep over your face, examining, analysing, translating every desperate twitch. He can even see your lips parting where he spots the remnants of teeth marks from when you had nervously bitten them in hidden moments. Smoothly, the pad of his thumb brushes over your lip, tugging it into a pout because that’s what he wants to see; you, desperate, pouting, begging for him. It soon pops back into place, his hand now curling around your chin and pulling you closer. His own lips are nothing more than a breath away from yours and you think he’s going to finally kiss you, but annoyingly, he only allows you to feel the shape of the words as he whispers them to you. 

“So what is it about me then, hm? What do I do that turns you on?” 

“It’s…it’s stupid.” 

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Let me rephrase.” The grip on your chin tightens and your noses collide. “Tell me what it is about me that turns you on.” 

“Last night at the party, you were the only one that…cared. You made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.” 

“What else?” 

“You stood up to Jackson for me - you just looked so determined like you were unstoppable.” 

He tilts his head in the other direction now, leaning in just as close, your breaths mingling together. You’re so desperate to feel his lips on yours. “And?” 

“When…when you touched my thigh--”

“You were burning.”

“I was nervous--” 

“Because of me.” 

“Of course because of you. I was scared of disappointing you.” 

A small snicker escapes him and leaves behind a wicked smirk. Two hands now firmly cradle your jawline and you think the moment has finally come. Why else would your heart be thumping in your chest? 

“Not possible. I always knew you were a good girl. And I think you like being told that, don’t you? You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it. I saw that coy little look on your face the first time I told you how impressed I was. It was obvious that no one else had praised you like I did - you couldn’t keep yourself together. And I bet if I kept telling you how fucking sweet you are, and how much of an perfect angel I know you are for me, the second I slip my fingers into your tight little pussy, you’d be an absolute mess.” 

Well, he’s not wrong. You’re already soaked. 

“Please, sir,” you whimper. “Please just kiss me.” 

Finally, finally, he pulls you in for a long, languid kiss, his tongue takes lead to taste every part of your bitten lips as they slot perfectly in between his, lingering longer with each time he captures them. The blood rushes so quickly through your veins you think you might implode, overwhelmed by just how good it feels that your hands suddenly grapple onto the cuffs of his shirt. 

A satisfied hum buzzes against your lips, twisting your own into a small grin that unbeknown to you, Mr Holland could actually feel. 

“Let me see you,” he demands, his hands plucking at the hem of your sweatshirt. When you don’t do it right away, a tight grip coils around your neck and stops the gasp leaving your mouth. “Do. As. You’re. Told.” 

You’re baring your all for him (all except a diamond necklace) in a matter of seconds, standing before him as he leisurely leans back against the bed, resting on his elbows. Those predatory eyes roam your body, mapping out the shape and details, and imprinting them to memory. 

“So fucking pretty…” He deliberately watches for your reaction and you crumble under the praise resulting in a mirthful laughter to shake his chest. His arms reach for your waist, luring you in with the tight grab of your hips until his lips sit just below your ribs. The heat from his breath hitting your skin makes you involuntarily wriggle, but he doesn’t allow for any movement from you, not unless he permits it. You feel his lips suddenly, trailing across your ribs and up your chest. “Do you know what good girls like you do for me?”

“What?” You breathlessly murmur.

“They get on their knees,” Mr Holland pauses to let you act on it. Now you’re looking up at him as his knuckle ghosts over your cheeks and he mingles closer. “They look at me right in the eyes and they beg me to give them a taste, to let them suck me off because they’ll do anything for a reward, even if it is just a few words of praise. So let’s hear you, pretty girl. I want to hear you beg me with that sweet, innocent voice of yours.” 

You take a cautious breath. “I want to taste you so badly, sir. Please. Will you let me?” 

“Hmm.” He purses his lips. Shit. It isn’t good enough for him and he spots the panic in your eyes. All of a sudden, you begin pleading in such a desperate, childish tone you didn’t know you were capable of. Even your lip begins pouting as the need to please him becomes so overwhelming that, unexpectedly, your eyes water, like you’re facing life or death. And he is the decider. 

“Wait, wait, no, please, I want to make you feel so good, so, so, so good. I can do it, I promise, and I can be good for you if you let me. Please sir, I really need it. I’ll do anything.” 

Mr Holland smiles and gently kisses you with approval, just the shortest of pecks of reassurance before he leans back and nods towards the zipper of his suit trousers, tented with the erection that’s pleading to be satisfied. You waste no time in unbuttoning, unzipping and pulling free his hard cock that almost dwarfs your hand and you stare at him with such bewilderment, a stare that is returned by a certain smugness, a confidence that has you licking your lips. 

There’s a surge of instinct coursing through you and your brain convinces you that there’s nothing else you should be doing, that your whole purpose at this very moment is to do as you promise; to please him, to make him feel good, so when you hear his moans the second you wrap your lips around him, your heart flutters with fulfilment. It’s a sensation you keep chasing, growing stronger the longer you bob your head up and down his cock, every time his praise seeps from his lips, and you just about lose it when his fingers comb through your hair. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. Not too little, not too much. Consistency is key. 

You’re not sure how much of an idea he has about just how dedicated you are in your mission to prove yourself to him, that you’re desperate to show how capable you are by what you’re willing to do; perhaps a horrible side-effect of having to constantly prove yourself to Jackson with each conversation, but with Mr Holland, there’s an element of belief and confidence: a contradiction between Jackson’s ‘I don’t believe you until you prove it’ versus Mr Holland’s ‘do it because I know you can’. 

Mr Holland’s head falls back, his eyes closed, and falls into an eerie silence. If it wasn’t for his hand still combing through your roots, you would’ve thought he wasn’t satisfied with you. Still, you keep going, running your lips and tongue down his shaft and returning slowly back up again where you get a teaser of the bitter-sweet taste you’re vying for. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you’re undecided of whether you’re doing so well that he’s speechless, or you’re not doing enough that’s worthy of his praise. It’s hard to tell with his head tilted back, and you begin to lose faith. You’ve become so drawn into his voice and words that you feel lost without them.

‘You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it.’

“Sir,” you meekly voice, leaving a beat to suck on the head of his cock. “Am I making you feel good?” 

The depth of his growl sends a spike of arousal straight to your clit. He spits out his words in a manner that’s uncontrollable. “Fucking incredible.”

His head finally lifts and his eyes pin on you, fully blown and dilated. “Look at you - oh fuck - taking me so well. Knew you’d be a good girl but f-fuck, I don’t know if I can hold it in any longer.” 

You reply with a wanton mewl, your dopey, tear-stained eyes saying the words your mouth can’t. You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto the carpet, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens. 

Mr Holland swings forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath. It's slightly tense and panic-inducing but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you have proved yourself. 

“Fucking hell,” Mr Holland pants. His grip loosens around you and your lips release him with a pop. The instant your lips are free, he claims them, humming into them with adoration. “That was…” A soft, tender kiss. “The best goddamn…” Then another. “Blow job I’ve ever had.” He kisses you for a final time with a smile laced through it, and rests his forehead on yours to give himself some time to catch his breath. “So good…” he breathes. “So, so, so good. Sweet angel. My sweet angel.”

There isn’t anything to describe the burst of achievement that swarms your chest when you hear those words and your cheeks inevitably heat under his hands. You’re smiling, obviously smiling and no matter how hard you bite your lips to hide it, the pull is too strong. You make yourself far too goddamn easy to read so when Mr Holland catches a glimpse of your reaction, he smirks, clearly amused, and simultaneously reaches down the length of your body until his hand finds sanctum between your thighs. 

“Hmm, you’re soaked, darling. Don’t you think we should do something about it? After all, you’re earned your reward, and I’m dying for a taste of that messy, little pussy of yours.” 

You release a shaky breath when his fingers start exploring. “Yes, oh god, yes.” 

“Yes…what?” 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Better. Let’s not make that mistake again.” 

“No, sir.” 

“Good. Now--”  In a vice-like grip, Mr Holland encircles your waist and your body burns against the rough cashmere of his suit. It’s surprisingly stimulating as he casually hauls you off your feet, but you would much rather the heat of his skin. Nevertheless, your back soon meets the soft cotton of your sheets as he lays you to rest on the bed, remaining shadowing above you basking in the sight of your naked, wanting body. The diamond that nestles deep into the base of your throat twinkles obnoxiously in his eyes and he almost grows jealous of the way it hugs your neck. However, it's a jealousy he can overlook as his eyes wander over the peak of your breasts and your glistening cunt, because he knows that they are all for him. 

Mr Holland promptly sinks to his knees, placing his head in between your thighs, his eyes never straying from your cunt. There isn’t a moment of hesitation when he swings his arms to cross over your hips, dragging your legs effortlessly over his shoulders and diving, tongue first, into your cunt. It’s a complete invasion of his touch, his tongue immediately swirling around your clit with a careful, consistent pressure that deep down, you know will end you in minutes. The gasp is telling of your struggle to keep composed, gradually crescendoing into a moan as that amorous tongue descends down your slit, licking you up in long, fat strips. An urge in your hips begs for attention, wanting to raise higher to ease the tension building deep in your stomach, but you're trapped, locked in place with no routes of escape and you have to tell yourself that you just have to tough it out. 

But it’s harder said than done when he begins slotting his tongue into your hole, tasting and caressing every inch of you he’s capable of reaching. Digging deeper and deeper, his mouth consumes the entirety of your cunt, humming into it to push you further over the edge. He knows you’re hanging on by a thread, but it doesn’t mean he’s willing to slow down. And just then, an evil, malicious thought spawns in his mind which he voices immediately. 

“You’re not cumming until I say so. Understood?” 

The feeling of you clenching to stop the impending orgasm has him chuckling. He knew you were close. 

“Such a sweet, little angel. So obedient too, right?” He blows a gentle breeze onto your clit and you simply whimper in response. “Right?”

“Y-yes, sir.” 

Satisfied, Mr Holland has your cunt in his mouth again, salivating over its taste as he suckles on your clit, your folds, your skin, anything to lure out what he knows he’s going to get eventually, but it makes it twice as appetising when he knows your orgasm is only at his command. 

Meanwhile, your heart stammers in your chest with each tug of his lips. Whatever sanity you have left to cling onto, you claw at it with desperate hands, fighting to hold up the wall that blocks the blood rushing to your cunt, holding your breath to stop the bubble from bursting, because fuck, you are ready to snap. You can’t help but notice how he’s taken a page from your book, pleasuring you at a steady consistent pace, not too much but not too little. Unsurprisingly, the result is the same but the conditions are far worse.

“Oh my god, please let me cum, I can’t hold it anymore.” 

His grip only tightens, his tongue moves faster and his mouth gets hotter. 

Your hands, of a mind of their own, decide to condemn your obedience and push at his arms around your hips in an attempt to get away. Despite his obvious strength, you somehow manage to get a microsecond of respite, but his mouth only sucks you back in again, murmuring only one word that runs laps around your head.

“Obedience.” 

“I can’t, sir, please, I can’t h-hold on. Fuck!” 

“Oh dear.” 

“NO! No, no, no, no, okay, okay, I’ll do it, I can hold on. Just…please go slower.” 

His dark cavernous eyes meet yours from behind his arms, unmoving even as he relishes the taste of your slick, challenging you for only a second before he thankfully listens to your wishes. Weakened, your head flops back onto the bed with a small bounce, eyes drifting shut as the feeling in your stomach calms and a small relief hugs your heart. It’s a small price to pay to lose the feeling of euphoria that was going to course through you…only if Mr Holland had let it or if your people-pleasing traits had failed you, none of which had actually happened. 

The feeling deflates but the pleasure still lingers.

“You taste so delicious, darling. I could eat you all day.” Arousal jumps to your clit like a flash of electricity. “And you’re doing so well for me, how could I ever stop?” This time, it’s his tongue, soft and caressing. “And this pussy; so pretty, so fucking pretty, I could just play with it for days.” His finger begins circling your clit not too long after he spits into it. By now, you realise what he’s doing. He’s feeding into your need for praise that, along with the small touches and sweeping licks, builds you up just as quickly and suddenly as before, and once again you’re struggling to cope. “I know you can be such a good girl for me, I know you can do as I say, and you have no idea how much it turns me on when you do.” 

“Sir…” You warn. He instantly recognises the desperation. 

“I’ve got one last instruction for you, angel.” He sucks on your clit for just a couple of seconds, just to get you closer and closer to falling apart. “Cum for me. Cum in my mouth.” 

“Fuck!” You scream as an endless stream of euphoria consumes you, hitting you in a sudden white wash of heat that riddles your entire body top to toe. You can feel your cunt clenching erratically, between homing an orgasm and suffering under Mr Holland's continuous lashings, it can't, not for one second, rest until either relent. You feel your own slick, hot and bothered, trickling down your ass but before it gets the chance to meet with the white sheets beneath you, Mr Holland sweeps it up expertly with his tongue, partnered with a primal growl of pleasure.

By the time Mr Holland has finished cleaning up every inch of your cunt and ass with his tongue, he proceeds to kiss his way gently up your body, not forgetting to leave your tits untouched and pinches your buds between his lips. You have just enough energy to cradle his head, allowing yourself the pleasure to run your fingers through his hair, moving with him while he leaves sharp kisses to your chest, your collar bone, your neck, ear and jaw, until once again, those hungry lips claim yours.

Still somewhat recovering, you purr quietly, content with the overall sense of pleasure, both of your sexual and people-pleasing needs.

Your lips slowly part. The kiss ceases but your noses brush off one another gently, still basking in the blissful, intimate aftermath of what's just happened. Your CEO above you remains, hovering over you with admiration in his eyes, running over your features as if it is the first time he's seeing them, adoring them all over again.

There's two words sitting on the tip of his tongue, hidden behind a smirk because he knows what he'll see when he speaks them.

"You're beautiful."

Of course, his prediction comes true. Your cheeks redden, your eyes roll away and your teeth sink into your swollen lips, muttering incoherently about it not being true but thanks him incessantly, but Mr Holland is too caught up in your coy modesty to rebuttal. It's just like the first time he complimented you, and he realises then and there that he's addicted to being the person that makes you shy, blushed, diffident.

Being a CEO, he does indeed posses significant power in the palm of his hand, obtained by hard work, dedication, commitment and sacrifice, but for him, there isn't a power stronger than the one he has over you and all it takes is a few, simple, praising words.

"We still have another three hours until check out."

Your eyes and ears perk up. "Sir?"

Cautiously, he shuffles above you, innocent until you feel his cock sliding into you and he relishes the catch in the back of your throat at the sudden pressure forcing its way fluidly into you. You're simply speechless, questioning if it'll ever end as he pushes every inch of him inside you, breaching and stretching the boundaries of your walls. Mr Holland snags your bottom lip between his teeth, harshly biting as a relief for the tight grip that surrounds his cock.

When your ass eventually meet his hips, you both release a groan in unison, breaths mixing and mingling until Mr Holland breaks the silence.

"You're gonna look even more beautiful when you're all fucked out and dumb for my cock, all with a diamond wrapped round your neck."

His hips snap back at a frighteningly fast pace and thrusts in even more aggressively. The pain is immeasurably exhilarating. Your thighs squeeze his waist, mouth agape without a single breath escaping.

"Think of this as a second birthday gift." Like before, he draws back and slams into you without mercy. "Do as you're told and you'll get your third on Monday in my office."

Somehow, your gut tells you that you won't have a problem with that. Not at all.

[xinging-unicorn]

Thyme + suits

[mandoalorian]

People Can See [Maxwell Lord x F! Reader] SMUT

Request by @luvzoria​: hey sweetpea! i have a req! you obviously don't have to do this but it's my birthday today and it gave me the idea of surprise sex? with any pedro character (personal favs tho : max lord, pero tovar, frankie, marcus moreno, and javier peña)surprise birthday sex 👀 in a risky public place maybe? public teasing? if you're okay with that!! again thanks hun!!

Rating: 18+

Warnings: SMUT— unprotected p in v, public sex, exhibitionism, creampie, Max has a daddy kink, a lot of teasing, fingering, and also mention of food.

Word count: 2.6k words

Authors note: Happy birthday lovey!​ Michelle, I'm sorry this is a few days late but this is for you angel! I hope it's okay and I hope you had a fab day all things considered. I send you all my love. Xx 

Masterlist

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," the guests at your annual birthday gala hummed in unison as your favourite chef brought over your cake. Courtesy of your boyfriend Maxwell, it was a three tier chocolate cake with vanilla frosting and your name delicately placed on top in intricately detailed fondant.

"Maxie," you whispered, tears pooling in your eyes. You placed your hand on your boyfriend's thigh, rubbing it under the table. "This is too much. You shouldn't have." 

"Anything for you, my princess," he whispered, his warm breath fanning over the shell of your ear. Leaning in further, he pressed a kiss into your lobe, before giving it a small and teasing kitten lick. You grabbed his thigh even harder, your fingernails digging into his skin and giggled at your gesture. When he pulled away, he quirked an inquisitive eyebrow, as if to ask why are you giggling? He knew fine well. "Make a wish." he mumbled as he interlocked his fingers with yours.

There was no way you could possibly wish for anything. Dating Maxwell Lord meant that you could never want for nothing. He provided you with a beautiful home, lavish and luxurious clothes and jewellery, but most importantly he provided you with his love and warmth. You closed your eyes and wished that this happiness would last forever. There was no place you'd rather be, surrounded by your family and friends on your birthday— but most importantly, with Maxwell, the love of your life.

"You kept teasing me at the table." you muttered with a joking roll of your eyes. You and Maxwell were walking along the table filled with little bites to eat. Picking at the finger food, you both filled up your plates.

"Now sweetheart, you know that wasn't teasing," he chastised with a smirk. You nodded, knowing that he could do much worse. "Teasing could be you rubbing my thigh all night, huh? Did you think about that?"

As a matter of fact you had. Maxwell looked so handsome in his three piece tuxedo. The black pants and matching Armani jacket with the white button down suited him so well, but it didn't change the fact you desperately wanted to peel off that bow tie and have him gag you with it. You supposed it could wait until you got back to your hotel suite. You didn't answer, picking up a small item of food and shoving it into his mouth. He took it willingly, but stopped to wrap his lips around your finger, sucking teasingly.

"Maxie," you groaned wantonly. "People might see." He pulled off you with a pop.

"Let them watch." he shrugged casually before picking up another piece of food to go onto his plate.

Your birthday gala was a massive success, but you had no doubt it would be. Maxwell was always the best at hosting events. Your favourite part of the night was when he held you in your arms and you slow-danced to Can't Help Falling In Love by Elvis, which was one of Max's all time favourites. You rested your head into your boyfriend's chest as his arms held your waist, swinging your hips in time with the music.

"You look absolutely stunning in that dress," Maxwell growled in your ear. You recognised that lilt in his voice immediately. Leaning back, you caught a glimpse of that primal look on his face, as well as a glint of lust in his already darkened eyes. "So glad to call you mine."

His hand maneuvered round to the curve of your ass and you felt your cheeks begin to heat up as you slowly looked around the ballroom, hoping nobody had noticed Maxwell's sudden onset affection. Thankfully, they hadn't. Other couples were too busy gazing into one another's eyes, or feasting upon the buffet on the other side of the room. In a crowded room, all Maxwell could focus on was you, his drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend.

"I love you." you confessed with a happy hum.

"I love you too darling." 

The night was still young but it seemed most people had taken a break from dancing, filing back to their tables to chat some more. You were making your way around all the different tables, wanting to make sure to speak to everyone and thank them for coming and bringing gifts. You slid into an unoccupied seat at the Black Gold Cooperative table, a huge smile on your face as you began talking to your old colleagues, and Max's employees.

Max approached you, holding a tired Alistair in his arms. Alistair, his son, was hugging one of your balloons tight to his chest as he fell in and out of sleep. "I'm gonna take Alistair back to our hotel room, he's exhausted," Maxwell announced and you nodded in affirmation before gently pressing a kiss into Alistair's forehead. "I won't be long." he promised before walking away.

"Mr Lord is so sweet for doing all of this for you," Raquel, Maxwell's assistant gushed.

"You know you can call him Max when he's not here." you giggled and Raquel blushed.

"Well I remember when Mr Lor- I mean Max first met you. He changed almost instantaneously. Less miserable, more polite. We all think you made him into a better person." Raquel revealed.

"Really?" you questioned, your eyes going wide at her revelation. The rest of the table nodded their heads in unison, confirming your question.

When Maxwell returned, his bow tie was slightly wonky and his hair had fallen out of it's style. You tucked a loose strand back into place. "You okay?" you pouted, letting your fingers trace the buttons on his shirt. You pulled out a chair next to you so he could sit down at the table.

"Yeah, Alistair couldn't settle so I had to sing to him," he frowned. "You should've been there," he chastised you teasingly. "You're usually the one who sings him lullabies."

You giggled, resting your head on Maxwell's shoulder. "You're such a good daddy."

Daddy— it was the word that set a fire in Maxwell's stomach and you knew it. Everytime you said it, you said it deliberately. You said it to gain a reaction out of him. You felt his body stiffen up and you watched as his hand slowly glide over his crotch, covering his hardening cock. It was crazy how just one word spoken by you could get him going. The rest of the table cooed and awed in delight at how sweet you both were, but even Max knew that your intentions were far beyond sweet. He'd been teasing you all night at your own birthday party, but two can play at that game.

Maxwell stayed silent for the next few minutes as you laughed and joked with your friends, telling them about how brilliant your birthday had been. He fidgeted awkwardly, his dark eyes watching you intently as you took small sips of your champagne and fumbled with the gold rings adorning your fingers. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He didn't know how he had gotten so lucky.

When you were deep enough into conversation with Raquel about the brand new 1984 Polaroid camera Maxwell had gotten you, he took his chance to slide his hand up the hem of your dress. He peeled back the thin glittering sheath and drew small circles into the inside of your thigh. His actions almost took your breath away but you kept your cool, acting unfazed, like it wasn't even bothering you.

It would be okay. His hand was under the table cloth and nobody could see anyway. If he just wanted to stroke the soft skin of your legs, that was fine too. As long as you acted normal, pretending like your boyfriend wasn't touching you in front of all these people. You were doing a good job of seeming unbothered, it actually irked Max. He was doing all of this to see your reaction. He maneuvered his large, ring clad hand to the apex of your thigh, rolling the pads of his middle finger and index finger along your slick wet folds. You were evil for not wearing panties tonight. He couldn't believe how soaked you already were from just the slightest of touches, but, to be fair, you two had been teasing each other all night. His finger inched up to your clit and he began to swirl it around in tight circles.

The gasp you let out was almost inhumane and you felt your cheeks heat up. Maxwell kept working at you, trying to hide the smirk that graced his lips.

"Are you okay?" Raquel asked inquisitively.

Before you could even reply, Maxwell slid one thick finger into your aching core, doubling down until you felt his knuckles against your skin. "Y-yes," you choked out, reaching for your glass of champagne. "Think I just need a drink."

Your boyfriend continued to pump his finger in and out of you whilst sitting at the same table as his own employees. You kept taking sips of your drink to try and hide the longing moans that escaped your lips as he stretched you out. You felt wonderful around him, and he couldn't help but slip a second finger in. You made a fist, bunching up the material of your dress in your hand. When you began to feel your walls flutter around him, you knew your orgasm was approaching and that you wouldn't be able to stay quiet for him. You grabbed his wrist and shot him a knowing look. Slowly, he removed his finger from your core and you groaned at the loss of his fullness.

"Want more?" he whispered into your ear. You nodded quickly and he took your hand, whisking you away from the table and into a dark corner.

You began to palm at him through his pants, already eagerly trying to tug off his tuxedo jacket and pull off his bow tie. "C-can we go to the hotel room?" you asked, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. You pushed your body against his as his hands stroked your bare arms, relishing the moment.

"Oh honey, but Alistair's up there sleeping," Max cooed, shaking his head. You furrowed your eyebrows together in disdain.

"Maxieee," you groaned, pressing your thighs together. "But I need you."

The three words made Maxwell's cock twitch. He needed you too. He could already feel his precum begin to leak out from the tip of his manhood, staining his underwear. He looked around the ballroom. Everyone was too busy dancing and talking to notice you and Max had even left the scene. "Do you think they can see us?" he asked quizzically, his voice low as he brought his hand to your breast. He began to massage it through the thin material of your dress, giving it the occasional squeeze.

You contemplated his words. You were under a canopy, in the shadows. They probably wouldn't be able to see you from where they were standing, but if anyone approached this area, you'd soon become visible. "Right now? No, I don't think so." you hummed, weighing the scenario out in your mind. Max nodded his head in agreement before bringing his hand to your face. Under the dim light, his fingers still shone with your arousal, from when he had fingered you under the table earlier.

He brought his index finger to your lips, tracing them gently before pushing it into your mouth. You whimpered, sucking on his finger (just like he'd done to you earlier), and lapping up all your juices. Your bodies were pressed together and you began to run your knee over his erection, earning a few strangled moans from Max. "Now now Maxie, what are we going to do about this?" you hummed around his finger before he eventually pulled it away from you.

He looked around the ballroom once more, astonished that it had been a few minutes and no one had yet to see you both. He placed his hands on your hips and pressed you against the wall, unzipping his pants and pulling them down to his knees, along with his black pair of boxers. Your eyes widened when you saw how hard he already was for you, how desperate his thick cock was for your pretty little cunt. You dropped your hands to the base of his manhood and gave it a small stroke.

"Ngh— no," Max shook his head as he choked out a groan. "Just need to be inside of you." he confessed.

He pulled up your dress so it was bunched around your waist and propped up one of your legs, wrapping it around him. He pressed the blunt head of his cock against your entrance and you gasped wantonly, spreading yourself as open as you could and running your fingers through his hair.

"People might see." you whispered, grinding your pussy along his cock in desperation. He kept nudging himself against you, teasing, as always.

"You're so fucking hot," Maxwell whispered, gently pushing himself into you. His hand snapped up to your mouth, trying to silence your moans of pleasure as his thickness stretched you open. "You're so tight for me, aren't you princess?"

You couldn't even reply, and instead just nodded as the lust clouded your every thought. He doubled back before pushing himself completely into you, enjoying the way felt around his manhood. He couldn't believe how lucky he was, having you all to himself, not having to share you with anyway. He couldn't believe was fucking you in front of hundreds of guests at your own birthday gala— and you were letting him. "You- fuck, you take me so well." he praised.

"Oh Max, I don't think I'm gonna last long." you admitted, digging your fingernails into his dress shirt as he increased his speed. He was hitting that sweet spot inside of you everytime. 

"I'm gonna make you cum at your own birthday party," he announced with a low, gravely chuckle. "Gonna cum around daddy's cock, aren't you princess?"

"Mm, yes daddy. Please let me cum on your cock— ah!"

You bit down on his shoulder as his hips snapped into yours and you felt your climax undo, nothing but pure satisfaction washing over you. As Max felt you quiver around him, it spurred him over the edge and he spilt ropes of his seed inside of you, painting your pretty walls.

You stayed there for a few moments, against the wall, both heaving and panting, until Max's cock eventually softened and fell out of you. He sighed, carefully dropping you back to the ground and tucking himself back into his pants. You smoothed out his hair and he used his thumb to swipe away any of your smudged makeup.

"Happy birthday princess," he mumbled, pressing a sweet kiss into your lips. "Are you ready to go back to the party?"

You nodded happily, kissing him back. "I am. I love you so much."

Maxwell took your hand and held you close, the both of you heading back into the light and walking over to the dance floor. "I love you too." he revealed as he wrapped his hands around your waist and began to slow dance with you again.

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Max Lord: @mrschiltoncat​

[misssophiachase]

All You Never Say - Part 4a

Mr Mikael and Mrs Esther Mikaelson and Dr Grayson and Mrs Miranda Pierce request the pleasure of your presence at the wedding of their children:

The Hon Elijah Edward Mikaelson and Dr Katherine Elena Pierce

On the twenty-third of June, twenty-twenty one, 1400h at Ely Cathedral followed by a reception at Mikaelson Manor, Ely Cambridgeshire

Dress: White Tie

23rd June 2021, Mikaelson Manor, Ely Cambridgeshire - 8:47am

“What do you mean the beagle ate the wedding cake?” Caroline hissed, shutting the door behind her so as not to alarm the bride on her big day.

“Well, I can detail the stages of destruction, but yes, the Mikaelson's beloved pet dog decided to taste test the cake early, long story short.” Caroline was certain that the housekeeper’s use of “the Mikaelson’s beloved pet dog” was clearly by design.

Caroline was all for adorable dogs, especially those that were photogenic for the wedding album like Tully, but not those who scoffed the cake before the ceremony had even begun. Especially given that extra amount of fondant and extra tier which cost the earth.

But given the way Tully looked at her with those imploring, brown eyes and the telling evidence of frosting smeared across her chops, she was close to calling it a day.

Who needed cake anyway? It was worth way too many calories and most people would be so drunk that far into the festivities it wouldn’t even matter, right?

“So, I see you’ve met our cute but pressing problem.”

Caroline turned to see the best man in all his glory. And by that she meant those unkempt curls, sly grin and a fitted, tank top that should be illegal given those arms on display. 

Was this their thing? Just running into each other partially clothed. She looked down at her ensemble self-consciously glad for the shorts, t-shirt and the Maid of Honour monogrammed robe that she greedily pulled across her chest.

“Our problem?”

“Because a problem shared is a problem halved right, wedding buddy?”

“Wedding buddy? Oh, you mean the same guy who wanted to document the lost ring for speech fodder?”

“It was a joke but clearly you don’t know what that means, grouchy.”

“Oh, like that time you let your dog, albeit cute, eat the wedding cake before the ceremony. I only hope the Bride and Groom figurines are still firmly intact at least?”

“Well, their passing was most definitely mourned,” Klaus noted. Caroline was trying to be mad, but he was doing that thing where he looked cute so as to avoid her wrath. Bastard.

“So, what you’re telling me is that we have no cake or cake topper and the wedding is due to start in 5 hours?"

“I mean there’s some cake left, albeit a mess, but if the guests want to eat it off the floor...”

“Yeah, I can see the Prime Minister doing that. You are not helping, Mikaelson. Look, I’ll call the baker, they must have a back-up cake on hand, otherwise why are we paying them such an exorbitant amount? I mean it’s a cake, like it’s hard to bake one of those,” she rambled, the reality of the situation making a sudden and ugly appearance.

“Okay, I didn’t want to tell you this because you are clearly already upset but the baker has no wedding themed alternatives,” Klaus explained, shooing away both the guilty canine and her loyal housekeeper in the process, no doubt by design. This was not the news Caroline wanted to hear and clearly he knew it.

“What?"

“You are not going to lose it, not on my watch, Forbes.”

“I am not losing it,” she hissed, finally finding her voice. “But she is your dog and that makes you responsible for my mood.”

“She is a Mikaelson, I mean expensive taste comes with the territory,” Klaus replied. Caroline, meanwhile, felt the brief spell he had over her lift.

“Can you please stop offering up annoying commentary? We have an emergency, one that needs to be rectified STAT.”

“What I didn’t get to say was that the baker has two other cakes on hand.” Caroline’s ears pricked up, maybe all wasn’t lost.

“I’m listening,” she murmured.

Klaus pulled his cell from his pocket and swiped through his phone. “These are the options.”

He leaned in closer so she could see the photos but in the process his arm grazed hers and she was momentarily blindsided and not focused on the pressing emergency. It reminded her so much of two years ago, when she’d felt his arm encircle her waist and pull her towards him. 

Caroline told herself he must have been dreaming at the time but that didn’t take away from how it had felt. It felt good, really good.

“Alright, love?” She looked up into his blue eyes, only deciding too late that it was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

“I’m just shocked by...” she paused, her eyes hurriedly flickering to his cell screen. “Congratulations on your Retirement, Bernie?”

“I’m sure we can change a few letters around or something,” she gave him a look which plainly said it wasn’t going to happen. “Right, here’s the other one."

“Happy 6th Birthday to our Unicorn Princess? Don’t think Kat would mind being called a unicorn princess at all but not sure about Elijah...”

“Well, what suggestions do you have, Forbes?”

He had a point, there were none that forthcoming but then it hit her.

“The bomboniere.” Caroline was surprised she thought of it given she was so caught off guard by his close proximity and the unfolding situation.

“The what?”

“I don’t have time to explain wedding terminology right now, I have a bride to reassure that everything is peachy. Just meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes and put some clothes on while you’re at it.”

“Only if you do,” he smirked. Caroline didn’t wait before slamming the door in his smug face.

There were so many things to reconcile with Klaus Mikaleson and not just her feelings. Last night they’d shared more than a sandwich in the kitchen and two years ago...well that was another story.

Perch, Los Angeles CA - 14 February (two and a bit years earlier)

Caroline felt like she’d finally hit rock bottom.

Not because it was Valentine’s Day.

Or that she was single.

That wasn’t the worst part of her predicament. She was currently...well, before she could lament her situation a bell rang out, breaking Caroline from her regretful thoughts. She didn’t have time to bid Phil the Chiropractor farewell because a burly looking brunette appeared immediately in his place.

“Tyler.” Apparently there was no need for an actual greeting or for Caroline to ask his name in the first place. I suppose they only had two minutes so he was getting straight to the point. Caroline couldn’t blame him given how painful this whole thing was.

Caroline was going to kill them. First Bonnie, who wanted their apartment to herself tonight so she could cook a romantic dinner for current boyfriend Jeremy. Clearly he hadn’t been present at her most horrific of food failures given they were still dating.

They’d been living together since Bonnie relocated to Los Angeles nine months earlier and Caroline was enjoying rooming with her best friend again after so long. Then she got a boyfriend, even if he looked twelve, and Caroline was relegated back to her usual existence. It wasn’t like Caroline wanted or needed a boyfriend because her schedule was busy enough.

Which took her to the second person she had to blame. Lexi. Her colleague and friend, who decided they should spend the evening speed dating so Bonnie could “get it on with her boyfriend” as she put it. Caroline figured the fact she’d already signed them up weeks earlier and only asked right before a deposition hearing were the main reasons why she had no choice but to agree.

Now, here she was, pretending to be interested in Tyler and shooting deliberate looks in Lexi’s direction who seemed unaffected given the way she was attempting to read her guy’s palm. Smooth.

“I don’t think I got your name?”

“Huh?” She looked into his warm, brown eyes feeling guilty she’d been blatantly ignoring him.

“Your name?” Before she could reply, she heard a very familiar voice call out her name.

Then he appeared in all his gorgeous goodness, his ability to wear a suit had not waned since they’d seen each other last at a mutual friend’s engagement party. Why he was here of all places, she had no idea.

“Caroline, sweetheart.” Sweetheart?

“Do you know this guy?” Tyler asked, the confusion obvious. She didn’t blame him.

“Of course she knows me, I’m only her boyfriend.”

Her what now? Caroline was too shocked to speak let alone reprimand him for being a presumptuous idiot.

“You have a boyfriend? Then why are you here?”

“I’d like to know the same thing, mate,” Klaus agreed, his hands crossed over his chest. Caroline was madly trying to crawl under the table just so everyone would stop looking at her like she was some two-timing girlfriend.

Lexi meanwhile seemed to be enjoying the entertainment from afar, raising her champagne glass in salute, even if she had no idea what was happening. Caroline wasn’t enjoying it at all. She wanted to scream at him for being such an ass but at the same time a rescue from this situation was an equally enticing prospect.

“I…”

Before she could find the words, he found them for her.

“It’s my fault, sweet cheeks,” he implored, pushing past Tyler and placing his hands in hers. Caroline was trying to ignore the electricity it generated but also the horrible pet name he’d bestowed. Like he couldn’t have come up with something normal? “I neglected you and for that I am so sorry but just know that I will love you, always and forever.”

Was he kidding? Next thing he’d be pulling out a cracker jack bracelet or resembling any one of the romantic leads in a Nicholas Sparks adaptation. Caroline made a note to tease him about his taste in movies and television later.

However it seemed their audience didn’t mind one bit. Women and men nearby were more interested in fawning over the scene playing out than resuming speed dating. Even their organiser seemed transfixed.

She hated him, especially for interrupting her night and being the smug pain-in-the-ass she knew so well but she needed to get out of there fast and he was her ticket.

“Honey bear,” she cooed, noting the slight twitch in his jaw. Caroline knew he was trying to withhold his signature smirk. But why did he have to smell so good withholding it? His hands were still firmly intertwined with hers too. “You took me for granted, so why should I forgive you?”

Now he was trying to contain an eye roll, only someone who’d known him for that long could tell. And she was loving every moment especially if he was going to crash her speed date and embarrass her in the process.

“And for that I am eternally sorry, baby cakes.” Caroline had to really try not to dry reach. “But you are the one for me. We are destined to be together forever, like soulmates.”

As much as she wanted to draw this out and force him to eat those horrible and predictable platitudes, this show needed to end. Now. Given Tyler’s defeated expression she knew it wouldn’t be too difficult to transition to the bar and to a much-needed straight vodka on the rocks.

“You were an imbecile, Mario, but I’m willing to consider a reconciliation if you stop being an asshat and promise to worship me forever.”

Before she could relish in her response and the slight tugging at the edges of his crimson lips, he’d pulled her up and moved them towards the direction of the bar. No doubt because her demands were slightly out of the question and he was starting to feel embarrassed himself. Served him right really. Given half of the people were entranced by their conversation and the rest were clearly dubious she decided it was good timing to high tail it out of there.

“Worship you forever, someone clearly has tickets on themselves,” he muttered, gesturing to the barman. “And who is Mario? I so do not look like a Mario.”

“Says the man child named Mario who called me sweet cheeks and baby cakes."

“I was clearly being sarcastic,” he shot back, gesturing for a shot. “What was honey bear all about then?”

“You barrelled into my life uninvited, and last time I checked you don’t live here.”

“I'm in town for business and was having dinner with colleagues. Had I known it was going to be dinner and a show I might have arrived sooner.” Caroline chose not to respond immediately, just drank her vodka in one, long gulp. “Someone is thirsty.”

“I need to drink to deal with you.”

“Says the girl speed dating,” he whistled. “I mean you can be difficult and kind of abrasive, Forbes, but I never thought you’d speed date in a million years.”

“I am only doing this for Bonnie because she wanted the apartment to herself to cook for her date and then my friend Lexi signed me up without telling me,” she rambled.

“She’ll have another vodka,” he gestured to the barman. “So, I take it this boyfriend hasn’t sampled Bennett’s cooking yet? I just hope you left the fire extinguisher in plain view.”

“That’s what you took from all of this?’"

“I feel like if I delve too deeply I’ll be too immersed in all the Rebekah type drama and we both know that is not my thing.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on your best wishes to your sister,” she growled. “So, why involve yourself and embarrass me like that in front of total strangers? Let me guess, you’ve got no one to play with and were bored?”

“Don’t underestimate my ability to find a playmate, love.” The way he drawled “playmate” was making places below feel like they hadn’t in a long time. So much so that she didn’t even try to bite back. “Anyway, I thought it would be fun,” he teased, his left dimple making an unwanted appearance at that exact moment. “And I could tell you you needed rescuing.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress you need to save, Mikaelson,” she argued.

“Says the girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere but here,” he shot back. “So, you’re welcome.”

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!” The patrons began to chant and tap their glasses, Caroline only just realising they seemed to have an audience of very interested speed daters watching their every move.

“I’m going to need more vodka,” she muttered, “But not here.”

Roosevelt Hotel, Beverly Hills - 2 hours later

“So, this is where you bring all your playmates?” It was the first thing that came to mind when Caroline spied the king size bed taking pride of place in his suite. They’d spent an hour at 25 degrees, the hotel’s poolside bar and were now in his suite.

Inexplicably.

Okay, maybe not so inexplicably.

Caroline wasn’t one to go to a guy’s hotel room - especially this particular one - but between the vodka buzz and the fact Lexi had picked up and Bonnie was enjoying her night in their apartment there wasn’t much choice about where to go.

The vodka had helped loosen her usual inhibitions and, although she’d never say it aloud, Caroline was enjoying his company. Although, if anyone asked about this temporary bout of insanity she’d blame the alcohol.

“ Says the woman who was questioning the existence of said playmates only a few hours earlier.”

“So, you won’t mind if I do this?” She stated, not bothering to ask his permission as she discarded her heels and jumped onto the perfectly made bed. He stopped what he was doing momentarily, his eyes transfixed on her short, black dress and bouncing, blonde waves.

“I’m going to have to tip the maid extra now,” his voice was low, husky almost.

“Maybe she deserves it,” Caroline shot back.

He didn’t respond immediately, just shrugged off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. She was watching him do it like it was in slow motion. Then he rolled up his shirt sleeves. Who knew forearms could be so...appealing?

Caroline was starting to think that she was entering some sort of alternate universe she needed to escape, if only just to keep her sanity and self respect. I mean he was Klaus Mikaelson and she wasn’t one of his “playmates.” Not by a long shot.

“Drink?”

“Water, please,” she replied immediately, he cocked an eyebrow as if to say she was no fun. “I’m a cheap drunk, what can I say? And who knows what else I might trash in this place under the influence?”

He seemed to accept her response, busying himself with drink preparation. “So, why exactly did you go speed dating in the first place?” He asked, filling a tall glass with ice cubes.

“I told you,” she panted, finally tiring of the activity and making herself comfortable on the expansive bed. “Bonnie…”

“I heard that version,” he pressed. “But I want the real one.”

He passed her the water and made himself comfortable on the bed, his aftershave combining with the dizziness and messing with her overall composure.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, and maybe you don’t understand, but spending it alone can kind of suck,” she confessed. “Especially when your roomie kicks you out of the house.”

“I just hope you kick Bennett out on Halloween as payback.”

“You like Halloween?”

“You have no idea, love,” he chuckled. “No rose petals or corny ballads, just blood, guts and general mayhem.”

“Noted.”

“It’s just this ridiculous Hallmark Holiday,” Klaus offered, stretching out further and grazing her legs in the process. “It creates unrealistic expectations.”

“So, it’s Hallmark’s fault?”

“Hallmark is the tip of the iceberg,” he explained. “Every candy company, every florist, every jeweller and don’t even get me started on those terrible things they call romantic comedies.”

“You don’t like romantic comedies?”

“I try to steer clear for my own sanity, Caroline.”

“Not tonight,” she murmured, an idea suddenly coming to mind. “If I’m forced to stay in this mediocre hotel with you then...”

It was a lie and they both knew it but suddenly the less tipsy version of herself felt like she needed an excuse to stay the night with her best friend’s brother in such close quarters.

“I demand a movie marathon.”

“Terminator, Rambo, Rocky?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Mikaelson,” she shot back. “And I happen to know there is a marathon on television tonight.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“I’m deathly serious,” she answered. “But before we start, I’m going to need some popcorn and a shirt.”

“You want my shirt?”

“Not the shirt you’re wearing, lover boy, don’t get so excited. But I can’t sleep in this dress.”

His eyes seemed to linger a little too long on her body and Caroline was trying to do everything in her power to remain calm. Luckily he broke the silence not too long after.

“I’ll get you a shirt, but I’m not going to enjoy these movies at all, understand? I am only watching these ridiculous excuses of cinema because you’ve taken my television hostage?”

2 hours later…

“So, the apparent “virgin who can’t drive” ends up with the step brother? I mean I’m not surprised given the poor and predictable plot but is this kind of union legal in the state of California?”

“For the fiftieth time, he’s not related,” she growled, throwing a few popcorn kernels in his direction. This is about Cher realising that material things in life aren’t everything.”

"Whatever you say, Forbes. Although, tell me after this movie ended she ditched the mansion, the jeep, the designer plaid and knee sock combination outfits and moved to the Valley?”

He was annoying but also eerily observant.

“Yes, I mean maybe? People with money can change.”

“They’ve clearly never met Mikael or Esther.”

He said it quietly but Caroline couldn’t mistake the pain in his voice. She knew about his difficult past but they’d never been close enough to discuss it and given they were lying in the same bed it didn’t seem like the best time to open that pandora’s box.

“Do I have a great choice for you next,” she promised, her eyes sparkling, hoping to lift the mood.

2 hours later…

“Are you crying?”

“No, for the last time I have allergies, Caroline.”

“Inside?”

“The pollen level was high today and the doors in these rooms are forever opening and closing. Maybe the maid doesn’t deserve such a big tip after all.”

Maybe it was cruel, but it was on television and there was no stopping the effects of the Notebook on even the most emotionless male.

2 hours later…

“I thought I’d seen everything,” he scoffed, stretching out tiredly. “She paid a guy to be her wedding date?”

“Not just anyone, he’s hot.”

“He’s an escort.”

“I think it adds to his overall appeal. He knows how to treat a woman because of his experience.”

“And how many escorts have you met?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Wow, if you ever show up to a wedding with a stranger, I’ll be asking for their credentials,” he joked. “Wait, you think he’s attractive?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“Each to their own I suppose, but that aside, the whole premise is just unrealistic.”

“It is a movie.”

“Yeah, a romantic comedy,” he shot back. “Case closed. Now, can we please sleep already? I think I deserve it after that marathon effort.”

“Fine,” she conceded, leaning across to turn off the lamp. “I have to say your shirt is very comfortable.”

“It should be," he replied, snuggling into the covers. “That’s my lucky Ramones t-shirt.”

As her head hit the pillow, Caroline was wondering why he gave her that particular shirt to wear. She couldn’t deny just how good the worn fabric felt against her bare skin and how the faint hint of his aftershave consumed her senses.

Sleep was immediate.

When she woke up the next morning and felt his arm encircle her waist and pull her towards him Caroline relished in the feeling. She assumed life would go back to normal but for now she was happy to live in the moment. It was probably better that way.

Read on AO3 HERE 

[forevercaroline]

The nine lives of Caroline Forbes chapter 1

For @austennerdita2533, @caritobear, @misssophiachase, @babeyouareenough, @joceysstuff

Xxx

“Come on Rebekah hurry up.”

“You try running in heels.”

Klaus and his younger sister Rebekah and younger brother Kol are running into the tall and open coit tower but these three are not here to see the panoramic views of the city and bay. They followed the man dressed in black and has scars on his face who is sent to kill their kind but at the moment he is after Caroline Forbes who doesn’t know who she is or how to protect herself.

“No please.” The man with scars has cornered Caroline to the edge of the tower she looks down at the ground the people look like ants they are so high up.

The trio hear her cries and Rebekah reaches down and takes her heels off and catches up to her brothers. They are to late they get to the top of the tower as Caroline is pushed off. The man with the scars watches as Caroline’s body hits the pavement.

Klaus reaches out and takes his siblings hands and they turn around quickly and quietly.

The bald guy with scars turns around and watches as the two blondes and brunette siblings are running down the stairs he gets an evil grin on his lips and he chases them down the stairs.

As they get down to the ground. Klaus being older pulls his siblings behind him Rebekah is putting her heels back on behind him and Kol is in front of his sister. Klaus address the man that just killed Caroline. “You would really kill us here out in the open. Knowing who and what we are?”

As the older man with scars saunters towards them drawing a knife pointing it at them. “One way or another you will die if not from my hands it will be from someone’s. The order has declared it.”

Xxx

That morning:

Blonde perky Caroline Forbes wakes up excited for the day to begin today is her sixteenth birthday. All she wants is a convertible bug doesn’t matter what color anything except green or orange.

Her bedroom is as bright and perky as she is and everyone has a dark side too all of that is reflected in her room. With tea dye walls the back wall behind her bed is a black piece of wood with white mandalas over it. As she is getting out of bed with a baby blue padded headboard with her pink striped comfortable and pink and black pillows. She puts on some music and dances as she picks out of her clothes for the day. The sun is shining through the windows of her little nook she has a window seat of red cushions, she has a chair, a footstool and a beanbag in the nook seating area. With her desk one one side and her mirror on the other.

While in her en-suite bathroom taking a shower her mind wonders to the color of car she wants a convertible bug maybe red, or pink, yellow could be cool but maybe blinding they do live in San Francisco, baby blue or regular blue could be pretty.

When she finishes her shower she puts on a pair of denim capris, pink spaghetti strapped tiered cami and a navy textured jacket if she gets cold she also has on black wedges and a silver heart necklace.

She goes down to the kitchen which her mom gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning sweetie.” She hands her a bag which when she unwraps it, its a bag of Reese’s, a new black sweater and two new necklaces one is a gold tear drop with gold balls along the inside surrounding a crescent moon and the other is a tube necklace with three lines hanging down but connected to the other side of the necklace.

Caroline hugs her mom. “Thank you I love them.”

“Your welcome there is one more gift but you can’t see it until tonight.”

She nods and as she is picking up a banana. “Did dad send anything?”

“I’m sorry honey he didn’t we don’t even know where he is its likely he forgot.”

After swallowing some of the banana she looks up at her mom and puts on a fake smile. “It’s ok, I know that he left years ago but I just thought that he would send me at least a card on my birthday its not everyday your adoptive daughter turns sixteen.”

Liz pulls her daughter into another hug, even though she is not the biological parent of Caroline she loves Caroline no different.

Xxx

Before school starts Caroline and her two best friends brunettes Davina Claire and her cousin Enzo Claire are talking by one of the stairwells. “I keep having this strange feeling to visit coit tower I don’t know why. I’m going to try to ignore it.” Caroline rubs the side of her temple ever since, Davina and Enzo picked her up in Enzo’ black Jeep everything has been incredible loud every little noise is amplified she swears she could hear he inner workings of the Jeep it’s giving her a headache.

Enzo’s parents died when he was five and a half, and he was sent from Southampton England to San Francisco to live with his cousin so he has a British accent. “Don’t look now cuz London is coming.”

Davina peaks over her shoulder and bites her lip and just like that Kol and Klaus Mikaelson a devilish duo on a good day are coming down the hallway. Kol has a basketball he is bouncing off the walls and catching it. Klaus and Kol stop in front of the staircase and Kol hands his ball to Klaus so he can flirt with Davina, while Klaus is waiting for them to finish he throws the ball above Caroline’s head and catches it so he throws it again above Caroline’s head who is not thrilled and just waiting for the ball to hit her in the head she reaches up and grabs the ball.

Both Caroline and Klaus walk towards each other with different ideas in mind, Klaus wants the ball back and Caroline wants to give him a piece of her mind. “Listen just because your attractive and British and have dimples and look really good in a Henley.”

Enzo pinches her to stay on topic. “Right doesn’t mean you can throw a ball above my head and I’ll be totally fine with it.”

With one hand Caroline throws the basketball down the crowded hallway and it swooshes into a garbage can near the exit of the school. Students in the hallway are amazed and mummer did you see that, Klaus is speechless and looking down at Caroline but Klaus is not the only one speechless so is Caroline and that whole group.

It’s Enzo’s voice that breaks the silence. “How did you do that?”

Caroline swallows and still shocked. “I don’t know lets go.”

Her and Enzo grab Davina’s wrist and drag her off she yells back to Kol “Talk to you later.”

As Caroline is rushing down the opposite hallway she threw the ball in with Enzo and Davina right behind her Klaus and Kol share a look and watch them flee with amazement.

Xxx

Caroline comes out of science and has to go down the stairs to history when Klaus who is coming up the stairs stops her by putting his arm on the wall and backs her up until her back is against the wall. “ That was impressive earlier. You’ll have to show me your moves.”

Caroline nervous she knows his sister Rebekah better they are friends since the Mikaelsons moved here three years ago she can count on one hand the number of conversations she and Klaus have had one when Rebekah introduced Caroline to her brothers Kol and Klaus she said hi he said hello that was it. “ Moves I dont have any moves. That earlier was a freak of nature.”

“I wasn’t talking about basketball.”

Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Subtle.”

Klaus puts a hand on her waist. “Oh I’m not trying to be.”

Caroline has never been this close to Klaus it’s like she can hear his heart beating. She always thought he was Rebekah’s jerky older brother. “ Why are you talking me?”

He leans in and smells her neck. “You smell nice.”

Caroline now a little uncomfortable but when he smelt her his heartbeat jumped. “ Ok its called taking a shower and perfume.”

If it was even possible Klaus gets even closer to her. “Why are you giving me such a hard time Caroline Forbes.”

“We’ve never had a conversation.”

“Looks like we’ll have to change that. I feel like we are going to be great friends.”

Klaus leans down to give Caroline a kiss as his lips hover over hers they both hear. “Klaus!”

They both look at the stairs going upstairs and Rebekah is coming down. With Klaus distracted Caroline makes her escape as she is going around Klaus she smiles at Rebekah. “Hey beks.”

Rebekah smiles at her.

Xxx

Klaus, Rebekah and Kol are sitting in the library and Rebekah hits Klaus in the arm. “Really klaus.”

“We need to know there is only one explanation for the basketball trick this morning.”

“And if she wasn’t she would be dead. And you would be prime suspect number one.”

Kol chimes in with “The basketball stunt is all over school everyone is talking about it.”

“If Rebekah would of not interrupted my test we would know.”

“She’s my friend plus Nik you were coming off creepy. Seriously smelling her neck we don’t have a specific smell making us different then everyone else.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “I don’t see you coming up with any better ideas.”

Kol asks. “You’ve been friends with her for three years and you’ve never noticed anything.”

Rebekah side eyes her older brothers. “Its not like we are doing ritual sacrifices and I can see if she heals quickly or lazer tag to see if she has night vision, we’re not doing cheerleading or gymnastics to see if she can jump high. Am I supposed to pretend to want to paint her nails and see if claws extend.”

“We need to find out before they find her that is if she is one of us.”

Xxx

Caroline works at a clothing store/bookstore with a cafe. She doesn’t understand the merge of the two but the clothing store goes into the little cafe off the bookstore. There’s no middle wall between the two. While at the counter of the clothing store a brunette teenager comes to her. “ I’m new to this town, do you know cool spots to check out?”

Caroline turns around and comes face to face with the new student at her school Stefan salvatore she had heard there was a new student. “There is a nice cafe over there. It’s California so people like to hang outside.”

Since it’s a slow day at the shop Caroline and Stefan sit in cafe and talk. “How do you like San Francisco so far?”

“Its nice my dad moves us around a lot. Its just the three of us my dad my older brother and me my mom died years ago.”

“I’m sorry, my dad left years ago its like he’s dead we never hear from him.”

As Stefan is leaving Caroline watches him leave he’s cute.

Xxx

All day Caroline has had this lingering feeling to visit coil tower, she doesn’t know why she visited this place when she was younger before her dad left. As she is walking up the stairs to the building she notices a man in all black and has scars on his face. Three claw marks down the right side of his cheek and neck. The man is watching her go into the tower. As she is looking around at the base of the tower she notices the guy is following her. She figures she’ll lose him going up to the tower since there are thirteen levels of stairs.

Xxx

Present:

Rebekah and Kol had snuck away to find Caroline’s body which people have started to surround around. As Kol and Rebekah are trying to get through Kol announces. “Nothing to see here folks just a prank.”

They hear a women say. “A prank I saw her fall from the tower.”

As Kol is lifting Caroline up Rebekah goes over to the women. “Are you sure your feeling ok your saying a lot of crazy stuff.”

Xxx

Klaus opens the door to the penthouse as Kol brings Caroline in, Rebekah rushes over to the couch to make room for Caroline’s body. Their older brother Finn who is on the phone with his wife Sage while looking out the window sees their reflections in the window and pulls the phone away from his ear. “Did you get to her before they did?”

“No but we did bring her here. When she wakes we will explain everything.”

Finn turns around to see Caroline’s lifeless body laying on the couch. “And how do you know this girl is one of us?”

Kol looks up at him. “She one handed tossed my basketball down a crowded hallway and made a perfect basket in a garage can.”

Finn puts the phone back to his ear to tell Sage he loves her and he’ll call her back. “How long has she been like this?”

All three of his younger siblings look at each other. “An hour.”

“The first death and the loss of innocence is always the longest to come back from.”

Xxx

As Kol’s popcorn is finishing in the microwave Caroline’s eyes open and she looks around at the dark penthouse she is in. Moonlight shining in from a wall of windows, she’s laying on a black couch and there two black chairs on each side of the couch. The last thing she remembers is being at coil tower and that creepy guy following her.

Rebekah is in her bedroom and Klaus is in his studio, Kol went to go make popcorn and Finn was in charge of watching Caroline’s body to see if it did something. While waiting Finn called Sage back he wasn’t paying attention to the couch and the now awake blonde.

Caroline looks around and sees Kol in the kitchen pouring popcorn into a bowl and a man she does not know talking on the phone she gets up and is a little lightheaded really confused on how she got here and her headache is still hurting. As she is going towards the elevator Kol comes out of the kitchen and puts an arm around her waist and picks her up.

“You can’t leave yet.”

She kicks him but it does nothing, she never know Kol was this strong. “What is happening and why are you holding me hostage?”

Kol carries her back over to the couch. “I know it looks like that but this is for you own good. Finn you had one job watch her. Can you get Klaus and Rebekah.”

Finn puts his phone back in his pocket. “I’m in charge here you go get Klaus and Rebekah I’ll watch her.”

“No offense Finn but you didn’t do a good job the last time and I think she could take you.”

Finn flicks his hand and claws comes out of his nails. “I think I can handle one teenage girl.”

Kol rolls his eyes and leaves the living room to get his brother and sister. Caroline looks at the elevator and Finn who is looking at his claws. “ I wouldn’t if I were you. Like my brother said I know this looks bad but we are trying to help you.”

“Help me by keeping me in this dark fortress.”

Finn looks over at her and raises an eyebrow. “Fortress, please this a penthouse.”

Kol re enters with Klaus and Rebekah and Caroline rushes for Rebekah and hugs her finally a friendly familiar face.

Rebekah gets her back on the couch and Klaus sits on the arm of the couch next to Caroline his feet on the couch and arms resting on his knees while Kol sits in a chair off to the side and Finn leans up against the window. Caroline looks at them and they are all looking at her. “Will someone tell me what is going on and how I got here?”

All the siblings look at each other none of them want to explain this it’s hard to explain. Klaus begins. “Kol picked you up after you fell and brought you here.”

Kol adds. “To your death you fell and died.”

Caroline shoots up and exclaims. “What I died. I’m dead, the afterlife is full of Mikaelsons. I can’t die it’s my sixteenth birthday I still have not got a car yet.”

Kol looks over at his siblings. “I don’t know whether to be insulted by that.”

Finn sighs. “How did I end up with this?”

“Freya is busy, Elijah is on a date and Sage is out of town on business.” Finn glares at his sister.

Klaus looks up at Kol while Rebekah tries to get Caroline to sit back down. “I was going to ease her into that tidbit.”

Rebekah gets Caroline to sit back down and is rubbing her arm up and down. “Your not dead... anymore. Look you are like us your Mai.”

Caroline looks over at Klaus and raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me I’m not yours.”

Rebekah tries this time. “No Mai are a group of people who have amazing abilities were not all human but not all god we are descendants of a powerful goddess Bestet we were once protectors of humans and used to help Pharaohs but we got sick of taking orders and the mai and humans had a falling out, for centuries now we’ve been hunted. That man earlier with the scars he was sent to kill you and if we didn’t intervene he would of kept killing you.”

“Kept killing me how many lives do I have?”

Finn from the windows tells her. “Nine we all have nine some refer to us as Demigods, our abilities manifest when we are teenagers.”

Caroline looks at Rebekah. “Is this a joke?”

Rebekah shakes her head no.

“I have claws like him.” She points at Finn.

Rebekah lifts Caroline’s hands up and her finger nails are longer and look like claws. Caroline’s eyes widen. “How do they go away?”

“Relax.”

“That’s easy for you to say you didn’t just learn you died and came back with claws and have had a headache all day.” She glares at Kol for telling her to relax.

Finn leans off the window taking charge. “I know you’ve just been told a lot of things and processing but maybe you would like to go home, you said it was your birthday why don’t you go home and celebrate.”

His three siblings look up at him Finn sometimes can be so insensitive. Caroline nods and Finn flicks a finger to Klaus to take her home.

In the elevator down to the lobby Caroline is pacing and Klaus stops her and puts both hands on her shoulders. “You need to relax did you forget that part where we are being hunted if someone sees claws they will try to kill us.”

Caroline nods and tries to make them go away by closing her eyes tightly but nothing. “Breath with me.”

As the elevator doors open the claws disappear.

Xxx

Klaus drives them to her house, as he drives he asks her, “You were born in the Ukraine right?”

Caroline nods. “How did you know?”

“Mai are not born in America, we come from Europe, Ukraine, Russia that’s where my family was born we moved to London later. Since Mai and humans have had a falling out we can never have a intimate relationship with them. You can not date a human I saw you earlier at that clothing store flirting with that new guy at school that’s all it can be Caroline if you kiss him something bad will happen.”

“Bad how bad?”

“If a Mai kisses a human the human dies best case scenario paralyze before death.”

Caroline turns towards him as he pulls up to her house. “Mai can only kiss mai.”

Klaus nods. “Want to practice.”

Caroline rolls her eyes. “Any more changes?”

“Claws, enhanced hearing, faster reflexes, hyper awareness, accelerated healing, night vision, your stronger now and what am I forgetting oh yeah a tail.”

“What?”

Klaus laughs “Just kidding. About the tail everything else you do get.”

As she is opening the car door. She tells him. “Not funny.”

“Don’t worry one of us will always be there for you, watching out for you.”

Xxx

As Caroline is coming up the front stairs of the two story home she shares with her mom. When she opens the door Davina and Enzo jump out and yell “Surprise!”

Caroline screams and in seconds Klaus is right behind her he places a hand on her shoulder and she jumps they both can hear how fast Caroline’s heart is beating. Klaus leans down and whispers in her ear. His breath tickling as she hears. “Breath.”

She looks up at him surprised he’s here, she thought he left how did he get there so fast. “You forgot this in the car.” He hands her a long black velvet jewelry box. “Happy birthday.”

Xxx

After he leaves Davina and Enzo surround her. “What was Klaus Mikaelson doing here? And what did he give you.”

“You two have had quite the journey today from where you two were this morning.”

Caroline rubs her temple she can hears heartbeats, car’s driving past, clocks ticking, conversations in other homes their TVs. People going for nightly jogs she can hear their music. “Its been an interesting day.” She opens the jewelry box and her eyes widen at the beautiful diamond infinity bracelet.

Liz comes home and sees her daughter and two best friends on the couch. “Your present is here.”

Caroline’s eyes widen and Liz puts her hands over her daughters and guides her outside and there in front of the house on the street is a powder baby blue convertible bug. “Ahhh thank you so much mom.” Caroline flings her arms around her mom’s neck.

Xxx

Later that night after Davina and Enzo went home Liz pulls out a small cinnamon crumb cake for two she gives Caroline and fork and they sit at the island and eat it. After they finish Liz tucks a piece of hair behind Caroline’s ear. “Did you have a good birthday sweetie.”

“It’s definitely one for the books.”

Liz pulls out a card and hands it to her daughter. “This was in the mailbox.”

The envelope does not have a return address it’s addressed to her. She opens the card and all it says is Happy Birthday H.R.

Every year she gets a card from H.R. she doesn’t know who they are and there is never a return address. She has all of them in a shoebox under her bed. One day she hopes to find out who H.R. is.

Xxx

As Caroline is drifting off to sleep Klaus is sitting on her roof watching to see if any harm will come to her. Also her email dings and it’s a email from her father that says happy birthday.

[tragicallywicked]

bella asks alice about the time before she and jasper joined the cullens

Happy birthday to Bella!!!!

So here's a fun little family time. This turned out a bit different, though they do talk about Alice and Jasper’s two years together it’s more of Bella and the fam try to embarrass Alice and then be nice to her cause Esme said so. Very cute Bella and Alice sister-in-law/best friends bonding too. And obvs Jalice cuteness PS.: It's set in 2017 for timing purposes.

Birthdays were my favorite. Even if we couldn't eat cake, we could still celebrate and party. On previous occasions, Bella's birthday had been the cause of commotions in the family. But since we had an eternity of those now, I wanted the impressions to be new about the date. Bella was my best friend and now that she wasn't human or aging anymore, I hoped that she would be glad with a party. Of course, it was just our family. 

She spent lunch at Charlie's while I had the rest of the family organize the house with me.

"Are you sure she wants this?" Rosalie eyed me as she passed on with a pile of present.

"Over on the round table, Rose," I said simply as she rolled her eyes amusedly. "We celebrate everyone's birthday here."

"Yeah, but it's not like she likes it, Alice." Rosalie mocked lightly and I sighed. Of course, they were comparing it to the previous times.

"Sure as hell it's always eventful!" Emmett came in saying it, poking Jasper on the ribs. I rolled my eyes dramatically and waltzed to my love, pecking his cheek.

"Don't mind him, it's in the past," I whispered against his ear. 

Jasper planted a hand on my lower back and nodded, "I know. Thank you." We exchanged a brief kiss and were off to finish up the decorations.

There was a cake that would be mainly for Renesmee, but it was three tiers tall, light pink with petals around it. Some appetizer plates around it as well. Anyone could easily think we were all going to eat and Edward made a remark about that.

"Ness doesn't eat that much food." He mumbled and helped Jasper place some of the helium balloons around the birthday table.

She can have it throughout the week; I thought knowing Edward would catch that, Jacob can have it too whenever he visits.

"Well, Bella hates birthday parties, so you're setting yourself to lose." He murmured with an amused smirk. Irritating, really. That thought only made him smile further, obviously.

"Get out of my head and get to work, Edward."

I joined my niece into wrapping the presents and heard as Emmett made yet another joke to Jasper. I was glad he didn't take it to heart, nor Edward. That's just how family was. It would take them some time to let go of the incident on Bella's birthday a few years ago.

Bella obviously was appalled at the party, but she gave in seeing how Renesmee was happy about the entire celebration. That much I had predicted way ahead when I first decided to plan it, so I was very excited with the outcome.

We sang her happy birthday and opened the presents with no incidents. Bella joined me on the couch as I finally sat back to relax and watch the family.

"Thanks." She mumbled, snuggling to my side for a moment. I smiled and poked her ribcage.

"I knew you would like it in the end." Honestly, sometimes her lack of faith in me bothered me a little.

"I don't like parties." She insisted, making me roll my eyes.

"When you married Edward, I told you that you would have to live with it." I loved throwing parties, so that was something Bella would have to accept.

"How come you never have parties celebrating you?"

"Yes I do, we celebrated my birthday."

"We gave you gifts and you went on a trip with Jasper."

"Believe me, we celebrated me," I smirked and my eyes quickly moved around the room until they landed on Jasper. He wasn't looking at me, but I knew he had heard it when I gazed at the side grin across his lips. When my eyes landed back on Bella, she was rolling hers amusedly, having witnessed the exchange. "I guess my sisters are not as excited as party planning, that's all."

My tone was merely teasing, but Bella seemed to take it to heart. "Oh, Alice. I'm sorry."

"Bella, I was just messing with you." I laughed heartedly, giving her a side hug.

"Ah, right." She gasped and sighed in relief, leaning into my hug. "Hey, when is yours and Jasper's anniversary?"

"You don't have to throw us anything." I clarified after the vision invaded my mind. Bella frowned, clearly distressed.

"Maybe I want to."

"I don't need to be a psychic to know you most certainly don't."

Bella seemed convinced of that much but then added, "Well, when is it? I don't think you ever told me."

"October 16th," I told her, and the date now made Jasper look at me. I gazed at him briefly and beamed. "Of nineteen fifty-two."

"Oh! You'll be married for 65 years this year!" I nodded excitedly, eyeing Bella with joy. They had been the best sixty-five years getting to share it with the love of my life. "I thought you were already married when you joined the family."

I shook my head, "Jasper and I were living in sin." At the time, that was what people thought about a woman and a man living together without being married. "We met in forty-eight and then came to the family in nineteen-fifty. It was Carlisle that suggested we get married because of what people would think."

Bella nodded; it was a no brainer that people's marital habits had changed a lot. "But you didn't think of marrying before?" I shrugged.

"We were enjoying our time together before we met the family in Calgary. You know how it is when you first do it as a vampire." I smirked, and even if my tone was a little lower, I was aware all the vampires in the room had heard it. "But not just that, we had found each other recently, we were madly in love, but Jasper had gone through a hell lot. I wanted to take my time."

I noticed the presence behind me and smiled. "That's no accurate," Jasper said it, taking the seat next to mine, talking directly to Bella now. "Alice was worried I would desert her if she pressed too hard, even if she didn't ever see it happening." Jasper's hand rested on my knee, and I placed mine on top of his, briefly looking at him.

"Like I said, you had been going through a lot." My eyes trailed back to Bella. "You know that part. I just didn't want to have him think I was trying to manipulate him or push my agenda."

"Did she tell you she got the jitters?" Rosalie said from afar, siting with Renesmee as they organized the gits. I rolled my eyes as everyone was suddenly attempting to make me the embarrassed one. Bella looked extremely surprised at Rosalie's reveal.

"She was worried I could be hiding the decision to leave her at the altar," Jasper added and I groaned.

"I like this, making Alice embarrassed. Go on." Bella chuckled. It was Edward who began approaching us with a smirk.

Don't you dare, I told him mentally, but he couldn't resist.

"She went on rambling that this was a mistake, and it was too soon to marry," Edward told them. I was appalled about this turn of events with my family, brow furrowed in annoyance.

Emmett jumped in too. He was carrying a helium balloon and I saw it happening before he did it.

"Emmett, do not." He inhaled a fair amount of helium and blasted out words that I had said on that occasion. 

"He's the one, you know. I can really ruin it. There won't be anyone else, ever." They all cracked into laughter more at Emmett's voice than the actual words. I had to admit it myself that it was indeed a little funny.

"Oh, you lot, leave Alice be," Esme said as she was with Carlisle by the kitchen counter, organizing the party's leftovers. "She's always throwing all of you memorable events, be kind. Besides, it's completely normal to get anxious at your wedding. We all had it."

"She's right, sorry, Alice." Bella pinched my elbow with an apologetically grin. Emmett passed by me and brushed, more like messed though, my hair.

"It was still funny." He said it and I rolled my eyes.

"It's fine," I assured as Jasper's hand brushed my knee, making me look up at him.

"For what's worth, I was worried you would realize I wasn't worth all that dedication and trouble." Jasper leaned to peck my cheek as I felt the entire room get filled with tenderness, love.

"Never."

"Get a room, you two." Emmett squealed out, his voice still slightly pitched. It made us both crack up in laughter again.

"It's decided," Bella said. I looked at her, puzzled that I hadn't seen what it was."

"What?"

"Ah, I like this. Jasper distracts you, and I can actually decide things privately." Her tone only made it more challenging for me. I searched for recent events, choices she was making for the near futures and landed on October 16th.

A beautiful gazebo in our backyard, our family gathered together and some of our friends as well. Not a big party, no. A small ceremony, a celebration very modest and beautiful, like something Bella would plan. She was by the gazebo's steps, in a pale mauve dress that cascaded from bellow her bust all the way to the floor. Next to her was Rosalie in the same dress, both stunning, holding a white bouquet of wild followers. On the other side were Emmett and Edward, dressed in suits and smiling. But my heart raced fast on my eyes fell on Jasper standing inside the structure, my stunning groom.

I walked down the aisle with Carlisle holding me by the arm. And joined my love on the renewal of our wedding vows. Or the making of them for those who didn't know our relationship had been sealed already, long ago.

Bella was clearly frustrated when I came back to my senses.

"Well, so much for gloating."

Jasper, who seemed a little lost, asked, "What's going on?"

"Seems like we'll be having a wedding soon." Edward chuckled.

"It's too closeby to send out invites, Bella."

"No, no, no. You let me handle that." She protested and then eyed Rosalie over her shoulder as if asking for her aid. The blonde joined us quickly now.

"It'll be great, Alice!"

"I have to agree." Carlisle echoed and Esme too was beaming.

"Am I too big to be a flower girl?" Renesmee asked, standing up to come sit with the rest of the family around the couch.

"Of course not, sweetie," I told her and then looked at Jasper. "Are you on board with that? We could always just skip and elope in Alaska, or Vegas again."

Sharing a smile at the memory that got everyone but Edward, with his intrusive thoughts, with a confused gaze at us.

"Tale for another time." Jasper clarified, as a wave of relaxation hit us all. "There's nothing I'd like more than marrying you again."

Bella grinned, and for a second, she looked too much like me, happy and excited. "It's going to be great, you guys. I promise."

I leaned into her, giving her a tight hug, "You're just happy you're not the center of attention anymore."

"You're damn right."

We all laughed.

"I just want to do something nice for yet another birthday celebration." Bella sighed contentedly into our hug.

"Alright, alright..." We were silent for a moment before eyeing Bella. "I always knew we'd be best friends. Happy birthday, Bella."

Send me a Jalice prompt

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter nineteen: black heart drawings

The lake effect snow fell over the cabin and the entire area for the whole day and thus, Sam and Belinda couldn't hardly do anything in honor of Joey's birthday, even though he swore that it would be fine if neither of them got him anything. There wasn't much of anything about the cabin to make something with, either.

“I wanna do something for you, though,” Sam told him at one point, after he got out of bed at about nine thirty: he was one of the last ones up and he explained to her that he had had a bit of a rough night. He awoke three times given his feet kept getting cold from the blankets moving off of him.

“It's okay, I swear,” he assured her. “I'm just glad you guys are all here right now with me. I promise.” And he threw his arms around her and held her close to his slim little body. That same little body that she caressed and then she drew without his knowing. However, she still wished for him to remove his clothes for her so she could see his true colors for herself. She still wished to take off his clothes for him.

That evening, they dug into the first of the two cakes, a two tier vanilla cake with a creamy frosting all around the top and the middle, courtesy of Lars and Kirk.

“It was actually Lars who picked it out, though,” Kirk insisted as he took a little plate for himself. Belinda and Charlie both took two slices for themselves, but Sam was excited for the other one on the actual day of Joey's birthday. Once she and him climbed into bed together again, she wondered how and when they would return home for the next day for school, especially when she, Marla, and Belinda started class early in the day. For all she knew, they would have to stay up all night long following the trip home.

Joey lay flat on his back and rested his arms on either side of his body. He tilted his head back a little bit so she could better see his Adam's apple and his fine collar bones. He rolled his head over the pillow and he gazed up at Sam with his eyes so big and liquid.

“What's on your mind?” she asked him as she climbed onto the side of the mattress next to him. Once again, she lay a few inches away from him. She thought of Cliff as he had turned in early that evening and she wondered how he was doing over there with Lars.

“Just thinkin' about tomorrow,” Joey replied with a clearing of his throat. Sam shivered a little bit from the day long tenure of no jacket over her short sleeved shirt: at least she hadn't brought shorts along with her. She lay her head atop the pillow and sighed through her nose.

“Are you sure you don't want anything for your birthday?” she asked him.

“Positive. Really, it's been a while since I had a good birthday, to be honest.”

She raised her eyebrows at that.

“Really?”

“Yeah. The last time I had a good birthday was when I was fifteen. It was right before I started playing hockey semi professional.”

She thought about Alex and if he had a good birthday back on the twenty ninth. A good seventeenth birthday. And yet she wouldn't know what would suit for a seventeen year old boy who played guitar.

“So when you started playing hockey,” she started, “your birthdays just kind of went down in quality?”

He shook his head. “Nah,” he replied. “My sixteenth birthday was just rushed given I was playing so much at that point. Playing hockey and drumming at the same time. I couldn't hardly focus on it at that point.”

“Aw.” She propped up her head with her right hand so she could better see into his face and his big brown eyes. “I want you to have a good birthday tomorrow, though.”

“We will, though,” he assured her. “I promise. Like I said, we're all here. Everyone is here with me.”

He sighed through his nose and his eyes pointed up to the ceiling. Sam brought her head back down to the pillow. She gazed on at his side profile, the same side profile she had sketched down in her journal. The same side profile that got her into art school.

He closed his eyes and that was her cue. She inched closer to him and she put her arm around his chest. Joey dropped his gaze to her arm as it hung right there underneath his face. His dark lips curled up into a sweet little smile.

“I did tell you to hold me last night after all,” he recalled. Sam kept her arm there for a few more minutes but then she moved her fingers and she realized her forearm was already feeling tired.

“I'd like to have a fat doobie right here right now,” he confessed.

“Why would you want a fat doobie?” she chuckled.

“So you and I could get baked together and then eat a bunch of cakes.”

“A bunch of that same cake that we had had earlier?” she asked him.

“Yeah, kinda. You know those little personal cakes you see at like a bakery or some place?” He brought his fingers together to form a little ring shape.

“Oh, yeah!”

“Yeah, a bunch of those. Just eat up a whole bunch of those and fill ourselves up with them.” He set his hands on his slender belly and Sam raised an eyebrow at him.

“This is new to me,” she declared.

“I guess it's from my being Italian, but I like to eat, and I like to eat a lot to boot. And there's a part of me that just wants to go nuts with it. Go nuts with it and get kinda big to protect myself from the cold here in upstate New York.”

“So I guess you must really like pizza,” she told him in a singsong voice, and she thought back to the little lunch party they had had back at the rehearsal space.

“I love pizza. Pizza, pasta, cannoli, all of it. All the cooking from my dad's side of the family should'a made me fat by now but—” He shook his head across the pillow. “—it's from my being a hockey player, I s'pose.”

“There's a part of me that wants to feed you a bunch of cannoli,” she confessed, “just feed you a bunch of cannoli and then make you take off your clothes so I can draw you.”

Joey rolled his head across the pillow and he looked at her with his eyebrows raised high up into his bangs.

“Do you have anything on hand so you can draw?” he asked her.

“I'm afraid not.”

He pursed his lips together and he rolled his head in the opposite direction. He then sat upright and he swung his legs around over the edge of the bed. She couldn't see what he was doing but the drawer on the nightstand slid open and he took out a pen from the bottom. He stooped over and took something out of the drawer beneath it.

“What you got there?” she asked him as she moved one hand out and lifted herself up from the mattress.

“I thought I saw something in the drawers when I got up this morning,” he confessed to her. “Just kinda out of curiosity...” He turned around and handed her a plain white pen and a narrow pad of plain paper.

“This is almost like the pen and paper you'd see at a hotel,” she remarked.

“Exactly! And—I think I saw another slice of cake in the kitchen, too.” He showed her a little grin.

“I think there was,” she admitted. “Just one more for the birthday boy.”

Joey climbed out of bed and, careful not to wake anyone in the cabin, he ducked out of there and into the darkness. Lars' snore floated into the room. When she listened closely, she could hear a slow, steady ebb and flow underneath it. Cliff was sound asleep.

She pictured him laying there on his side with a piece of his hair spread over his face. She had no idea if they slept in the same bed and from head to toe, and yet she pictured his body, rested on the side right next to Lars, and he dwarfed him all the while. Sam sighed through her nose and she lay the pad of paper upon her lap. It was happening a little too fast at that point, but she had hope that Joey knew where he was going with it.

Indeed, he returned to the room with a couple of paper plates, each with a slice of that vanilla white cake and matching frosting.

“There were actually three slices of cake left,” he told her, and he shut the door with his hip. He handed her the plate in his right hand. “I'm taking the one with the two slices 'cause I'm gonna be the one being drawn.”

Joey set the plate down on the foot of the bed and he peeled off his shirt, and in turn he revealed his slender little body. He then picked up the plate and dug into the slice of cake closest to him.

“Where did this come from?” she asked him, befuddled.

“Where did what come from?” he asked her, taken aback.

“This—” She gestured to his body and the plate in his hand. “—especially since you were so reticent to do so a few times before when I asked you.”

“Well,” he started as he brought a bite of cake up to his dark lips, “it's kinda you and me here right now. And I noticed you didn't bring your journal along with you, too.”

Sam squinted her eyes at him.

“I don't know about you, Joey Belladonna,” she confessed to him as he dug into the first slice of cake.

“Why?”

“You're so—all over the place.”

“Because,” he swallowed the bite of cake down, “—I gotta admit. I want to feel safe in the presence of someone else.”

“So you didn't feel safe or comfortable when I was feeling your body down at the lake?”

“With you, I did. But I didn't feel comfortable with the fact that we were out in the open and I believed someone would catch us.”

“Well, why didn't you say anything?”

“Well, like I said, I felt comfortable with you out there.”

Sam knitted her eyebrows together at that. He dug more into the cake, and she remembered he had already eaten a rather large slice after dinner earlier. This was the first time she actually saw him indulging in something that wasn't alcohol, and yet there was something about this sight right before her. He downed the first slice and then the next one within time, and he brought a hand to his flat stomach.

“Had enough?” she asked him.

“Oh, yes. You want me to pose?”

“At least lemme see your belly from an angle. I'm gonna need you to sit still, too.”

He shifted in his spot there on the side of the bed and he showed off the side of his body, and he lay his right knee on the mattress. His black curls sprawled over his left shoulder and onto his chest: given he was so full of cake, he could sit upright. He set his right hand on his knee and his left hand on the edge. His body was slim and gorgeous to her.

Sam put the pen to the paper and she was quick to sketch his head and shoulders first with the black ink, followed by his lanky arms and his body: she noticed that his belly had an ever so slight curve to it from all the cake and dinner of the evening.

“I like the way you look,” she remarked as she ran the pen along the outline of his body. “And I wish we had something more than this little pad of paper and this cheap pen, though.”

She showed Joey the paper and he raised his eyebrows at the sight before him.

“You sure about that?” he asked her. “That looks so amazing.”

“I don't really wanna show it off, though,” she confessed.

“Why?” He looked hurt at that.

“Because this is just between me and you.”

“Would you show off a full body drawing of me to everyone if it was done with paint or sump'n?” he asked her.

She nibbled on her bottom lip.

“Would you?”

“If—I was asked,” she replied in a soft voice; she brought the pad closer to her so she could sign her initials.

“If you were asked. Would you do it on your own whim, though?”

“I don't really know, to be honest.”

“Well, if you ramp up a whole drawing with me and make such a huge deal about it, why keep it a secret? This is also why I haven't really been so up front with you before. Because you won't be that way with me with your own career.”

“I have been up front with you!” she scoffed.

“Yeah, with my drinking! I may be a damn hick, but I ain't dumb, though. So you've been honest with me, but not with yourself, though. So tell me.” He turned around all the way and he placed his large hands on the mattress right in front of her. His bare chest hung right in front of her and he brought his face close to hers.

“Tell me,” he started again, that time in a lower, more curt tone of voice, “would you—share a full drawing of me in the nude with everyone? Not just Anthrax and the girls, I mean everyone. Have it up on display for the whole entire world to see. Would you do that? And before you ask—” He closed his eyes and held his breath for a few seconds. “—yes. I would be comfortable with it. The question is would you be comfortable with it.”

Sam kept her lips pursed together and thus she never said anything back to him. Those big brown eyes stared back at her so hard that it felt as though it went straight into her soul. The room was silent, and she tried to listen for Cliff's soft steady breathing across the hall, but Joey's presence took her attention. For a few seconds, he glanced down at the pad on the bed between them.

“Take as much time as you need,” he whispered to her. “I'm a patient man, I can assure you that.”

She let out a long low whistle and his face softened at that.

“You okay?”

“That was—intense.”

“What, me asking you that?”

“Yeah. I'm just—kind of not really used to digging deep like that.” He shook his head at that.

“It's okay. It's happened to me before. In fact, I'll have you know something.” He peered past her to the door to ensure they were alone. “I'm bit of a late bloomer,” he whispered to her.

“Really?” She lowered her head a little bit. “You—really?”

“Oh yeah. I've been a work horse for several years, so it's not really something I focus on that much.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. So—” He shook his head. “—like I said, don't sweat it. Take as much time as you need. Literally, take as much time as you possibly need before you feel comfortable to do it.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she couldn't resist the smile on her face. “And happy birthday.” She handed him the pad of paper.

“And thank you,” he replied as he brought the rough ink sketch close to his chest. He stifled a belch in his throat and he brought his free hand to his stomach. “I think that was a bad idea.”

“What, eat all that cake?”

“Yeah. Oh, well. It was good cake, after all.”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Anyways, let's go to bed—I dunno if anyone can hear us in here.”

Indeed, they turned in within mere minutes, and she continued to lay within a few inches of clearance between them. And they awoke to a new round of lake effect snow and some homemade waffles courtesy of Marsha. The whole morning was dedicated to Joey and his big stack of waffles and a plate of the second cake, a devil's food cake accompanied with chocolate frosting on top.

He was perfectly content with the single ink drawing that Sam had made for him as well as all the food. He was happy without any gifts from anyone there. Sam, Marla, and Aurora stood on the side of the room with their attention fixed on him. He took large bites of devil's food cake and drank from a big cup of coffee all the while, and Frank, Charlie, Lars, and James all made him laugh all the while.

“He looks so good without all the booze,” Aurora remarked as she brought her cup of coffee to her lips.

“I know,” Sam answered as she inched closer to the heater vent, and she wondered if this was the end of his drinking. She folded her arms across her chest to keep the warmth in her body. The very sight of him there in the kitchen made her feel even warmer. There was something sweet about the way in which his face lit up and his cheekbones rounded out like ripe little cherries. Something sweet and even kissable. She had rested her arm on his chest and she wished to do it some more, some more before she made a full body drawing of him. Perhaps if she did that again, she could feel more comfortable with the idea of putting it on display for the whole public to see for themselves.

Before noon, they all filed out of the cabin and into the snow. Sam and Belinda huddled close together like a couple of penguins.

Cliff and Jon stepped out of there first; the latter locked the front door and turned to them with a big goofy grin on his face.

“Be free and get warm, ladies!” he declared.

Even though Charlie's car stood at the curb, it felt as though it was a mile away. Belinda reached it first after she darted straight across the snow covered lawn.

“Sam?” Cliff's voice carried across the snowy lawn. Sam turned back towards him with her eyebrows raised, and he gestured for her to move in closer to him. He bowed his head closer to her ear: the cold of the lake effect snow around them only accentuated the warmth of his body and his neck. She shivered and shook but he looked as though he wanted to tell her something important.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he whispered to her, and she gasped. He stared right into her face with his eyebrows raised in question. She had been wandering around for months and yet she wound up coming back to Cliff. It felt so far away and yet so obvious at the same time. Those eyes gazed firm into her.

It was all right there, right in front of her. The yellow tulips, the books, and of course, the kiss in her apartment. It was so obvious. It was so obvious and she had to do something about it in turn.

“Yes,” she said with a soft tone of voice.

“Don't tell anyone, though,” he whispered into her ear.

“I won't,” she vowed in a whisper herself.

“Sam!” Belinda called out from Charlie's car.

“I'll catch you later,” Sam told Cliff, and he flashed a wink at her. She doubled back to the car and she ducked into the back seat next to Belinda. Charlie was quick to turn the heat all the way up by the time he had started it back up.

Four hours and they returned to the Bronx by the middle of the afternoon. Sam all but stumbled into her place: she was dizzy from the long drive as well as what Cliff had told her. She had a boyfriend. She had a boyfriend and she had her first big client with Joey. It was dizzying. It was euphoric. It was unexpected.

She picked up her journal from the couch cushion. The euphoric feeling within her. She could pick up the pens and get right to work until she fell asleep.

And indeed, she did. She put the ink to paper and she kept going. Every so often, she stood to her feet for a bite to eat, to stretch, and to use the bathroom, but she drew the ink drawings until she fell asleep at one in the morning, much to her initial chagrin.

But she awoke at six thirty in the exact same clothes. A few hours time, but not enough rest to go on the day with. She was quick to change out of her clothes and she put the papers that Legacy had sent her: if and when she caught a moment, she figured she could fill those out and then send them off by the time school let out. Indeed, it was Monday, and they would receive it by the middle of the week.

The pieces seemed to fit together perfectly, even with only a few hours of sleep, and thus, as she strode into Bill's classroom, she kept her head held high. The man in her dreams was right: the clock served as a friend to her!

He had cut the class short by twenty minutes and thus, she could finish the remainder of the ink drawings. She knew about those final three at last: the dream boy was in fact Cliff, complete with a clock in his hand, while Joey was the muse and then the friend was the man from her dreams, also with a clock in hand.

She completed that drawing by the time Marla offered to take her to lunch. Marla caught a table for them on the far side of the cafeteria right underneath the window and she volunteered to take plates of Swedish meatballs for them. Sam sat there alone for a few seconds when Belinda stepped in through the glass front doors right then. She looked, despite her heavy sweater and long dark overcoat, still too cold from the lake effect snow over the weekend.

“They're all done now,” Sam told her once she entered within earshot; Belinda paused, and then her face lit up at the sound of that.

“All of them!” she proclaimed.

“All thirty one. I can't believe I actually did it, either.”

“What's all done?” Marla asked as she returned with a pair of white plates of Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes and gravy.

Sam glanced over at Belinda.

“Should I tell her?” Sam asked her.

“Might as well.”

Sam turned her attention to Marla right as she took her seat before her with her eyebrows raised.

“Bel offered me to draw thirty one ink drawings for the month of October,” she explained, “well, no. It was to represent each day in October, but I was so engrossed by it that I wound up making all thirty one in a couple of weeks instead. I came up with a prompt on the spot and I just ran with it.” She took the journal out of her bag and lay it on the table in between them. Marla gaped at her.

“Wow!” She lifted her left arm. “I'm getting chills, Sam.”

“I actually did it in honor of the boys' new album,” she continued, nonplussed, “that was what brought the suggestion out of her and what drove me to do it. But I want it to be between us, though. At least for the time being.”

“A little something special for the release party!” Marla followed along as she handed Sam a fork.

“Exactly! I'll let you look through it for yourself—I've got something important to fill out...”

“Oh? A grant?”

“Nah. Something better.” Sam took out the fan club papers from her binder. “Legacy's fan club.”

“Shut up!” Marla's eyes twinkled at that.

“Yeah! Would you believe they actually sent this to me?”

She and Belinda glanced at each other with stars in their eyes.

“Get on it,” Marla told her; Sam opened the journal to the first of the ink drawings and Marla gasped at it.

As she ate up her meatballs and potatoes, Sam filled out those papers within a few minutes. It was all really happening, and she figured having the full body drawing of Joey on display would be a genuine possibility as Marla and Belinda fawned over the ink drawings in the journal for their entire lunch break.

And by the day's end, she slipped the papers into the little envelope they had given her, and she slipped that into the mailbox and she strode away from there with her head in the clouds, and her heart within the paper, through the ink. On the subway ride home, she decided to call the ink drawings “black heart drawings” for that very reason.

Black ink from the heart.

[lilith-lovett]

Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Nineteen

New Chapter. Thank you for your support xx

Masterlist

Summary: Party preparations go underway and Logan begins to ask the question. ‘Do I really belong here?’

Word Count: 7320

Warnings: Past child abuse, food mention (literally half of this chapter is just me talking about food), anxiety, self-deprecation, implied depression, injury mention, past physical abuse, past psychological abuse, implied nightmares, implied panic attack, disordered eating (if there is anything I have missed please let me know).

The following days were devoted almost entirely to Roman’s birthday preparations. From the presents Logan and Virgil had chosen arriving, which they hid in Virgil’s wardrobe. To Patton spending almost the entire of the day, whilst Roman and Virgil were attending school, preparing all of the food necessary for Roman’s birthday party; miniature cupcakes, a selection of fruits and vegetables, prepared sandwiches with a variety of fillings each suited to the preferences of each child and what Patton believed to be the most important element…the birthday cake.

Logan struggled to comprehend the purpose of a specific birthday cake, decorated in candles - which also seemed to be a fire hazard - but Patton informed him of its significance, especially within the Hart household. Patton would make a special personalised birthday cake for each of his family members on their birthday and this time was no different so whilst Patton prepared the ingredients and baked the cake, Logan read to him the recipe. A red velvet cake as it was Roman’s favourite flavour. The found the recipe much easier to decipher now he was wearing his new glasses but had to keep Declan occupied and out of the kitchen to prevent him from disturbing the process and potentially injuring himself. Baking appeared to be a relatively simple science, with clear instructions to follow and specific apparatus to ensure the correct measurements in order to produce the desired flavour profiles, but given his limited experience with baking he chose to instead defer to Patton’s expertise and read to him the recipe to avoid any potential mistakes. However, keeping Declan engaged in anything for longer than a few moments was proving to be incredibly difficult. The toddler had an extremely limited attention span and it was consistently being drawn to Patton’s actions in the kitchen, presumably also due to the heavenly smell now being emitted from the oven where the cake was currently baking.

“Oh, Dee-Dee, how about you help me decorate the cupcakes?” Patton said lifting Declan from the floor, balancing the toddler on his hip as he brought him over to the dining room table where several piping bags of different coloured frosting where laid out, among various other edible decorations. “Do you want to decorate a couple too Logan?”.

“Okay,” Logan responded taking a seat at the dining room table, studying each of the individual decorations and vibrant colours of the icing - presumably created by the addition of various food colourings - considering potential combinations of colours and flavours that Roman would enjoy.  

“Alright kiddo, go for it,” Patton said also taking a seat, balancing Declan on his lap so he could properly reach the table. “Now Dee-Dee, what colour do you want to make your cupcake?”.

“Lellow!” Declan exclaimed bouncing in Patton’s laps, slapping his mitten-cladded hands onto the table’s surface as Patton chuckled.

“That’s a great choice, Dee,” Patton responded picking up the piping bag containing the brightly coloured frosting, allowing Declan to squeeze it haphazardly onto the chocolate cake base, much of it splattering onto the table.

Logan looked to his own collection of undecorated miniature cakes, a selection of both chocolate and vanilla flavours. Initially, he thought of Roman - as it was for his birthday celebration - he decided on a vanilla base and the vivid crimson red frosting as from the vast amount of red he wore and decorated his room with, Logan made an educated guess that it was a colour he enjoyed. Logan found that controlling a piping bag was far more difficult than he expected, Patton had made it look simple, yet his first attempt was a sloppy mess. However, the more he practised and studied Patton’s technique the better his piping became and once he perfected the icing he ventured onto the decoration. Patton had provided a range of smaller confectionery to act as embellishments atop the cupcakes and Logan decided to continue with the ‘ornate’ motif for his cupcake - inspired by Roman - choosing a handful of multi-coloured circular candies and arranged them delicately atop the frosting, in addition to a strawberry slice acting as the centre piece. For Virgil’s specific cupcake, he selected a plain chocolate cake base and settled for the lilac coloured frosting as it was the closest in appearance to Virgil’s favourite shade of purple, evident from the frequent presence of it in his room and in his hoodie which he wore seemingly at all times. Logan’s spiral patterned piping work had significantly improved from his initial first attempt of ‘Roman themed’ cupcakes. The decorations he used were miniature pieces of different flavours of chocolate and topped with a single chocolate orange slice. He continued the process with Declan’s, using the limited amount of yellow coloured frosting remaining, topped with a significant quantity of multicoloured sprinkles, reminiscent of Declan’s own cupcakes he had decorated with Patton. Oh Patton. Logan had almost forget to make a cupcake for Patton. He considered his options very carefully. He desperately wanted Patton to like it. He chose a vanilla base and the lightest of the shades of blue frosting Patton had prepared, a pleasing sky blue. The piping work on the ‘Patton inspired’ cupcakes turned out the best in comparison to the rest of them, perhaps it was because of the particular care he put into making them perfect, as Patton was an avid baker he would surely notice any substandard work. Once the piping had been perfected, Logan selected simple tiny white chocolate stars as a decoration. As a finishing touch, he arranged each of the designs into their specific colour category, he had decorated three of each variety, giving him twelve cupcakes in total.  

“Wow, kiddo, those look amazing!” Patton exclaimed in the process of decorating his own batch of cupcakes. Logan’s face flushed at the compliment 

“Thank you, I took inspiration from Roman, Virgil, Declan…and you Patton, using your preferred colours and flavours in attempt to cater them to your specific tastes,” Logan explained his cheeks still coloured red from the praise.

“Aw Logan, that is precious. I’m sure everyone will love them,” Patton responded a blindingly bright smile stretched across his face. “How about you do one for yourself?”. He set the final chocolate cupcake down in front of Logan.

“That is unnecessary,” Logan stated quickly, this was an event for Roman and his family, he should be respectful and stay separate from the celebrations as much as possible. After all he didn’t wish to spoil Roman’s enjoyment. Logan got up and prepared to make his way over to the sink, where a pile of dirty dishes were building up.

“Why’s that?” Patton questioned and Logan found he didn’t have an answer. If he told Patton what he truly thought, he would immediately counter it, assuring him of his place within the family dynamic despite his short time spent with them. As that was the type of the person Patton was but Logan struggled to comprehend why so instead he chose to return to his seat. Perhaps one cupcake would be acceptable? And if it made Patton happy, he would do it.  

Logan’s design was the most simple out of the lot. The same chocolate cake base as Virgil and Declan’s, atop of which was a simple, neat frosting swirl, in the darkest shade of blue icing Patton had prepared as it was the most akin to his favourite colour. He added no additional decorations as he did not wish to waste any of what Patton had prepared on himself so decided the plain design was satisfactory. Next, the cupcakes were placed into containers and properly stored in the refrigerator along with the rest of the food, to protect them from the early Summer heat and the two cake layers had just come out of the oven. A marvellous smell was emitted as the oven doors opened, faints notes of chocolate and a pleasant sweetness reached his nostrils. After allowing the cake tiers to cool enough where the frosting and decorations wouldn’t melt from the heat. Logan again attempted to entertain Declan with a child-friendly book whilst Patton iced and decorated Roman’s cake.    

Preparations continued that night. Once Roman and Virgil had returned from school, they had all eaten dinner, ticked another Disney film off the list and Declan had gone to sleep, it was approaching nine in the evening. Roman had left for his room and just as Logan was planning to do do the same. Patton stopped him.

“Hey, Logan, I was wondering if you could distract Roman for a little while?” Patton asked in a hushed tone.

“Why is that necessary?” Logan questioned.

“Me and Virgil are going to decorate the living room and the kitchen for tomorrow and I want it to be a surprise for Roman,” Patton explained, that was when Logan noticed the container of brightly coloured streamers and a various other items, presumably for the purpose of decorating. He failed to comprehend why it was compulsory to embellish your surroundings dependant on the occasion, Maggie used to decorate her office for holidays such as Christmas or Halloween but birthdays were not considered to be national celebrations yet the same conditions seemed to apply.

“Alright, though how do you wish me to…distract him?” Logan inquired as far as he was aware he and Roman had very little in common, shared very few interests and had significantly conflicting personalities. How was he expected to entertain Roman for any length of time? Logan had rarely encountered Roman alone, unlike his several conversations with Virgil and Roman’s feelings towards Logan and his arrival remained undetermined.

“Get him to talk about himself, he loves that,” Virgil stated as he began to unpack his own box of decorations. Logan considered the suggestion, he would have to think of particular questions to pose but perhaps this task could be an opportunity to gain Roman’s favour and acquire more informations in regards to his specific likes and dislikes so too strengthen their bond.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Logan declared determined to assist in Patton and Virgil’s scheme wherever possible.

Logan found himself waiting outside Roman’s bedroom door. An all white door, embellished with a variety of brightly coloured stickers, depicting and referencing scenes and individuals he did not recognise, he noticed Virgil and Declan’s bedroom door contained similar appearing stickers which comparatively made his door appear far less interesting. He raised a fist to knock, questions prepared in his mind but the door burst open before he could, causing him to flinch back in surprise.

“Oh hey, specs,” Roman exclaimed as he opened the door, dressed rather strangely in what appeared to be a costume of sorts with a red sash draped across his chest. Perhaps this is what Virgil was referring to when he mentioned Roman liked to believe or pretend he was a prince? Logan noted the nickname Roman used, which appeared to be a common occurrence for both Roman and Virgil. He recognised the word used. ‘Specs’. It was an abbreviation of the word spectacles. So it may have been a reference to the fact he wore glasses. “Come in, welcome to mi habitación. That is Spanish for my room,”.

“You know Spanish?” Logan asked his surprise present in his tone as he entered.

“Yup, I want to become fluent,” Roman stated with a proud smirk. Foreign languages was a subject which has always interested Logan but due to the lack of resources available to him at the Orphanage, he never had the opportunity to learn, though he was surprised to discover Roman had a passion for the subject. “Now, I know you are here to distract me,”.

“Wh…I…I,” Logan stammered. Had he really been so obvious? Would Patton be disappointed? Was he so uninteresting that Roman couldn’t bare to be in his presence?

“I bet they are decorating for my birthday right now,” Roman stated collapsing onto his bed, laying on his back, glancing up towards the red fabric which hung over the dark wood bed frame as he spoke.

“How did you figure it out?” Logan questioned unsure of what else to say as he stood somewhat awkwardly in the centre of Roman’s bedroom.

“Last year, this was Virgil’s job. He was already mad at me for using some of his books to hold up my easel, so he just told me. He got really stressed out after, thinking I was going to tell on him,” Roman explained wildly gesturing to the air as he told his story. Logan certainly understood why Virgil would be upset by a complete violation of his personal property but thought it better not to voice this, allowing Roman to finish his tale. “But I didn’t, besides dad likes it to be a surprise so I let him think that I don’t know what he is doing,”.

So, Roman pretended to act surprised for Patton’s benefit. It was a kind sentiment. Patton evidently enjoyed the birthday preparations, as Logan noted from this heightened mood these past few days though particularly when doing an activity associated with the event of Roman’s birthday and perhaps Roman’s awareness or involvement would remove the joy from it?

“Now, as much as I enjoy your company microsoft nerd, you may leave now. I-I mean, if you wish,” Roman said sitting up and directing yet another dramatic arm movement towards his door but Logan did not failed to note the swift retraction of his previous statement.

“May I stay? It would help with the illusion, would it not?” Logan suggested after a moment of consideration. This was an opportunity for Logan and Roman to communicate and maybe it could lead to them having a better relationship.

“An excellent idea, if you left padre would surely notice,” Roman announced leaping up from his sitting position. “Now what can we do?”.

Roman continued to pace around his untidy room, experting weaving through the piles of his belongings which littered the floor, mumbling potential ideas for activities to do to maintain their façade. Logan watched him for a moment before focusing his attention onto the walls of the room. The majority of them were plastered with artwork, photographs, posters, pamphlets and tickets, some appeared to be well-worn and much loved while others were pristine in their condition, clearly only recently obtained. Logan suspected he could learn a lot about Roman’s identity and interests through studying his surrounding yet his limited knowledge of the world of the arts prevented him from gaining much.

“Roman, might I inquire about your posters?” Logan asked gesturing to the wall behind Roman’s desk which appeared to hold the largest quantity of them.

“Of course!” Roman exclaimed bounding over to where Logan was stood and immediately delved into an in depth and detailed explanation of the history of each individual piece. “They are mostly from shows I have been in or gone to see. That is the program of the first ever performance I did with my theatre group, it was Hairspray and I, of course, played the male lead. That is the poster for Wicked, that one is Les Miserables, Rent, Annie, The Lion King. I’ve also kept all of the signed programs of all the shows I have ever been in and the tickets too. Oh, here are the ones from when me and Elliott went to see Sister Act. It was incredible,”.

Roman’s rambling continued. Logan struggled to get a word in edgewise so he remained quiet, attempting to follow Roman’s constant stream of conciousness which he was finding incredibly difficult. He would jump from subject to subject, begin one sentence, then recall sometimes else and quickly switch to explaining that instead of the previous thought but Logan persisted. One musical in particular caught his attention. It was called Hamilton and tells the epic tale of one of America’s Founding Fathers Alexander Hamilton, in an unconventional manner and style. However, he did note the historical accuracy which surprised him as he expected it to be a work of over-dramatised fiction but Roman informed him otherwise. Roman also told him it was the musical he most wanted to see - among others - but the tickets were absurdly expensive and notorious for quickly selling out so he hadn’t gotten the opportunity too. So, he instead continuously played the musicals soundtrack, having listened to it so much he knew most of the lyrics of by heart and was able to perform them to a high-standard. Roman began to play the first couple of songs from the soundtrack and explained the different stylistic choices of the lyrics and and how they related to events which would occur later in the story. Logan was pleasantly surprised by Roman’s expansive knowledge of the history and story-telling tactics of the musicals he greatly enjoyed, he had yet to witness Roman so enamoured by anything but his enthusiasm when it came to his passions was admirable. He also noticed some distinct similarities between himself and Roman, particularly in the way he obsessed over certain topics. For Logan, it was science and literature and for Roman, it seemed it was his beloved musicals. Eventually Roman seemed to either run out of information to share or run out of air - which seemed to be the case considering the impressive speed of which he was talking - as he stopped talking to take several deep breaths before collapsing into the chair which sat by his desk.

“Sorry, I can talk a lot,” Roman said sheepishly as if embarrassed by his passion-fuelled outburst.

“It is quite alright, your passion it certainly commendable,” Logan said hoping to ease Roman’s worries somewhat but he only received a confused expression in response. “I-I mean…it is good you enjoy it so much,”.

“Oh, thanks. I know stuff like dancing and singing and acting are kind of girly but I really love it,” Roman admitted glancing towards the array of posters and memories upon his wall. The statement perplexed him, as far as Logan was aware specific activities were not gendered but perhaps it was a societal normality? He could recall several insentiences during his time spent in Orphanages were he and the other boys around him were expected to play and enjoy outdoor sports but he found he had no interest in doing so and was as such labelled as abnormal. Maybe, Roman had experienced something similar in the past which led to this thought-process?

“I do not believe specific activities are related to any one gender and if you find enjoyment in such a activity you should be allowed to participate despite your gender identity,” Logan stated as Roman stared at him for a moment before bursting into a fit of laughter, so much so he nearly fell out of his chair. However, Logan could not conceive how what he had said would cause such a reaction.

“You’re such a nerd,” Roman responded after managing to compose himself, a small smile on his lips so Logan assumed the comment was not meant to be perceived as a insult and was perhaps a term of endearment? He did not know. “Dad and Virge will be done with decorating by now,”

“Yes, I should be returning to the…my own room now. Goodbye Roman,” Logan said before turning to leave but he was interrupted by Roman.

“Hey specs, thanks,” Roman said quietly, in a tone he hadn’t heard Roman use until now. Logan didn’t know exactly why Roman was thanking him, maybe for the company but he nodded nonetheless and exited, returning to his room for a much required break from the constant activities and stimulation.

Logan was exhausted but he didn’t receive any more than a minute of silence before he was disturbed once again. This time by Virgil, asking him if he wished to join himself and Patton downstairs to wrap Roman’s presents for tomorrow. Despite his desperate desire to refuse, he accepted, not wishing to appear ungrateful of their acceptance and treatment of him so far. Logan was terrified of doing anything wrong. What if he refused a request and Patton realised the mistake he made in allowing Logan into his home and family, just like the couple before him? So Logan followed Virgil downstairs, to see the living room and kitchen decorated in bright red balloons and streamers dangling from the ceiling. A large red banner decorated with small golden crowns, reading ‘Happy 13th Birthday Prince Roman’ stretched across the archway, separating the living room and kitchen and an elaborate centrepiece display on the dining room table. Patton sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by boxes, a variety of brightly coloured and patterned wrapping paper - the majority of which were in Roman’s favoured colour red, a couple pairs of scissors and cello tape. Patton face broke into a grin the moment he set his eyes on Logan.

“Hey kiddo, how was your talk with Roman?” Patton asked with a bright smile stretched across his face as Logan and Virgil also sat on the floor.

“It was very informative,” Logan responded unsure of how else to describe it while also maintaining the illusion that Roman was unaware of the work being done downstairs.

“Aw, I’m glad. Now, let’s wrap these presents!” Patton announced with a giggle.

They created efficient system, in which they each had their own job for optimum productivity. Logan, cut the paper - a shiny red one free of any patterns or designs -  as he could most accurately guess the amount of wrapping paper that would be required for each item and would produce the least amount of waste. The paper was a very satisfying texture, however, the potential danger surrounding the incredibly sharp scissors did made him feel uneasy but Patton demonstrated such a way in which the risk of Logan accidentally harming himself was greatly limited. Patton was responsible for the wrapping the presents as he was evidently superior at it compared to himself - who had never physically wrapped a present before - and Virgil - who was far to scared of possibly ruining it - Patton’s expert wrapping produced clean edges and smooth finish. Finally, Virgil added the finishing touches such as the addition of a gold ribbon securing each of the gifts and a personalised message detailing who the present was from. A short while later, they were completely finished and the pile of presents were added to the display on the table.

“All done, we are now completely ready for Roman’s birthday. Now, all that is left to do is wait,” Patton proclaimed raising his arms in a stretch. “Oh, I forgot to tell you Logan. Emile’s parents Dot and Larry are coming over for Roman’s party tomorrow. Do you think you will be okay to meet them?”.

Logan considered this for a moment. He was aware Patton had purposefully kept Roman, Virgil and Declan’s ‘grandparents’ from visiting to allow Logan time to adjust but he felt conflicted by the action. On my hand, he appreciated the act as moving into Patton’s house was an enormous change and the whole process had been extremely overwhelming so far, also he knew very little about them and as such could not speculate how they would react to him. What if they hated him? What if they wanted Patton to return him? Would he? But on the other hand, Patton had kept them from visiting their ‘grandchildren’ for Logan’s benefit and comfort. Would they resent him for that? Logan certainly wouldn’t blame them but his future in Patton’s family entirely depended on their opinion of him which depended on their first meeting tomorrow and the thought of that terrified him.              

“Yes, I-I would like to meet them,” Logan said a slight stutter to his word which if Patton noticed he did not mention it.

“Okay, I will let them know,” Patton said standing from the seated position on the floor and walking just out of ear-shot.

“You’ll get to meet Elliott tomorrow too,” Virgil stated he had moved to lean against the couch, whilst remaining sat on the floor, looking at something on his cellular device. “He’s Roman’s best friend but Roman also has a super obvious crush on him,”.

“A crush?” Logan repeated confusion present in his tone, having never have heard of the term being used in that particular context which seemed to be becoming a frequent theme when communicating with either Roman or Virgil.

“Yeah, you know, like he likes him,” Virgil said waving a hand absently for emphasis. “Like, like likes him,”.

“Oh, I think I understand,” Logan said. He didn’t. But perhaps, he could ask Patton later?

“Cool, so yeah, he keeps on denying it but I know he is lying,” Virgil said returning his attention once again to his phone. While Logan did not understand what exactly a ‘crush’ was, he knew it must trouble Roman and could perhaps be a risk to his friendship with Elliott, maybe it was for the best he didn’t press the subject to Roman himself.

Following their brief conversation Logan and Virgil fell into a comfortable silence. Logan discarded the minimal amount of scrap wrapping paper whilst Virgil put away the cello-tape and scissors in their correct location before Virgil decided to return to his room for the night. Logan was just about to do the same until Patton returned from his phone-call, sitting next to where Logan was sat on the couch.

“That is everything ready for tomorrow, Dot and Larry are so excited to finally meet you,” Patton said with a bright smile but Logan could not return it, the pit of anxiety developing in his abdomen only grew more impossible to ignore and a dangerous swirl of thoughts caused carnage within his head. He was going mess up. He was going to to ruin everything 

Why was Logan like this? Nothing was objectively wrong. Everything had been going fine but his treacherous brain immediately made him feel like he was going to die. But he couldn’t let Patton see. Tomorrow was supposed to a celebration for Roman. Logan would only ruin things with his complaints. Patton had already given him so much and he was so grateful, him acting selfishly would only lead to Patton witnessing his true self. The broken one. The unlovable one. Perhaps he could hold on a little longer? Remain quiet, avoid disturbing Patton’s family while he searched for a way to repay Patton for his kindness. And then…well he didn’t know. Logan hated not knowing.

“Hey Logan, are you alright? You look like you are million miles away,” Patton asked wearing an expression of concern across his face.

“I am quite alright, I am merely tired. I think I may retire for the night,” Logan responded hoping Patton wouldn’t press him any further.

“Okay kiddo, sleep well,” Patton said all manner of concern melting from his expression and forming into a smile.

“Goodnight,” Logan said before disappearing to his room, swiftly before all of the stress and anxiety burst out of him.

Logan, the second he entered his room, scoured his drawers for his jumper. He tore of his constrictive shirt replacing it with the soft material. He lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, digging his nails into his thighs, revelling in the pain this brought. Why? Why was Logan like this? He should be better. He should be over this. His mother and father were no longer watching over him and criticising his every move, denying him the most basic of necessities for failing to be any less than perfect. Madame Claire was no longer tormenting him mentally and physically for her own sick, twisted enjoyment. Patton had saved him from that yet the fear which gripped him was unyielding. The intrusive what ifs burrowed deep into his mind and grew like a parasite, torturing him, destroying all trust he had in those around him and even in himself. Logan was so terrified of Patton realising the colossal mistake he had made in ever choosing to approach Logan that day. He wondered where would he be now if Patton hadn’t been there? Another Orphanage likely or perhaps Madame Claire would have gotten tired of him and thrown him out on the search for being such a burden. It was moments like these where he desperately desired the sharp sting of his father knife or the dull ache of the bruises Madame Claire left behind, to drown out the racing of his mind, to remind him of his place.

Maybe he shouldn’t attend Roman’s celebration tomorrow. Logan’s absence surely wouldn’t be noted and it would probably please Roman. Why would he want a someone who was virtually a stranger to attend his personal celebration? 

Logan lay down on his side, reaching pitifully for the soft toy resting on his pillow and clutched it tight to his chest as if it could mend the hurt inside. He used its paw to wipe away the tears he had failed to hold in before slipping into a disturbed and restless slumber.  

Patton awoke bright and early. It was the day of Roman’s 13th birthday and he was determined to make it the best one yet, it was also Logan’s first official celebration with them as a family and despite it being Roman’s birthday, he wanted to make a special experience for Logan too. Emile would be arriving along with his parents Dot and Larry at around ten and then Thomas told him he would be dropping off Elliott at eleven just before the super awesome birthday lunch he had prepared, the reveal of the birthday cake and the various activities he had planned. It was also the day for Logan to meet Dot and Larry, the honorary grandparents as they dubbed themselves, Patton had wanted to allow Logan time to settle in before he was bombarded with more new faces but Logan agreed that he was finally ready to meet them and they were ecstatic. They had already heard all about Logan from their frequent phone calls and had fallen in love with him just as Patton had when he first met him. Speaking of Logan, he would surely already be awake and waiting for Patton at the breakfast table

Patton dressed quickly and made his way downstairs careful not to wake Roman, Virgil or Declan who were all still sleeping soundly. Patton journeyed downstairs but instead of Logan waiting at the dining table, book in hand, he was met with an empty kitchen. Logan didn’t appear to be up yet which took him a bit by surprise as he knew Logan adhered to a strict schedule no matter the day or occasion. Perhaps, all of the late nights had finally wore him down and he was sleeping in? Or maybe, he was waiting for Roman to awakened, Patton hadn’t told him of the scheduling for the day so he might have thought the days events wouldn’t begin until Roman awoke. They were all suitable explanations for Logan’s unusual absence, so he continued on as usual, preparing the mornings extra special breakfast specifically for Roman’s birthday. Super fluffy pancakes and every potential topping you could think of, it was Roman’s favourite food and he would always request it every birthday or special occasion. It was only a short while later when Roman, Virgil and Dee came bounding down the stairs to the heavenly smell of pancakes wafting throughout the house.

“Happy birthday, my darling prince,” Patton exclaimed wrapping Roman in the biggest and warmest dad hug he could muster, pressing kisses into his fluffy bed-head, evidently too excited for the days events ahead to do his daily hair care routine. “You are so big now, you are growing up too fast,”.

“Thank you, padre,” Roman responded allowing himself to melt into Patton’s arms, even though he was officially a teenager, dad hugs were never off limits. Roman, Virgil and Dee sat at the table, preparing to tuck into their extra special birthday breakfast but something or rather someone was missing.

“Where is Logan?” Patton asked attempting to mask the concern in his voice.

“I knocked on his door but he didn’t answer, think he might be still asleep,” Virgil answered his voice his still heavy from sleep as he yawned.

“Oh okay, well, let’s let him sleep for a little longer,” Patton said taking his own seat at the table. “I’ll wake him after breakfast,”.

The boys seemed to accept that answer as they quickly tucked into their pancake buffet. Patton selected a couple of smaller ones for Dee, allowing him complete reign of the decorations and jars of crofters jam. Usually he didn’t allow them to have this much sugar and encouraged a healthy and balanced diet but today was a special occasion so sweet treats were mandatory. Dee’s picky eating had certainly been a challenge in the beginning, as he refused nearly everything that was put in front of him but pancakes were a favourite of all of the Hart children. Virgil had gone simple with his pancake, a small drizzling of golden syrup, Patton knew he struggled to eat large quantities of food in the morning but was just happy he was eating, recalling a time when Virgil was considerably underweight and though he was still only the skinny side they had made a lot of progress. Roman’s pancake was the most elaborate; chopped strawberries, drizzled with syrup and decorated with spirals of whipped cream, while eyeing the pile of presents at the end of the table. Patton smiled at his children’s antics but couldn’t help but feel somewhat saddened by the fact that Logan was missing out but a healthy sleep schedule was more important. Once breakfast had been finished, Patton had managed to keep a few pancakes for Logan and the dishes were all cleaned and put away. Roman, Virgil and Dee had all settled on the couch to watch some cartoons while Patton went to fetch Logan.

Patton arrived at Logan’s door, a strange sense of nervousness washed over him. What if Logan wasn’t feeling well? What if Patton was pushing him too much and he recoiled into his shell again? He couldn’t hear any noise from behind the door so perhaps Logan really was still asleep and he was simply exhausted from yesterdays preparations. He knocked once and then once more. After a moment of silence, Patton tried the handle but the door was locked. Why was the door locked? When Patton had checked on Logan last night the door was unlocked, so he had to have purposefully locked it when he woke up this morning. But why would Logan do that? Unless something had happened and he was deliberately hiding.

“Logan, I know you’re awake. Can you let me in please?” Patton pleaded while debating how he could feasibly break down the door without alarming Logan, if he refused. After yet another moment of silence, Patton prepared to speak again but the locked clicked open before he could yet the door remained closed. “Oh thank god, okay kiddo, I am going to come in now,”.

Patton gingerly opened the door into the darkened room, the only light source being the desk lamp. He saw Logan sat at his desk, hunched over a stack of thick textbooks and was writing notes into one of his notebooks. Patton knew Maggie had given him a variety of textbooks to keep up with his studies while he wasn’t in school or regularly attending lessons, it was also evident that he enjoyed learning and working on new projects, Patton was happy Logan had something to do to keep himself occupied while Roman and Virgil were at school and Patton was working from home. But, he was surprised to find Logan studying this early and on Roman’s birthday, today was supposed to be a day of fun and celebration yet Logan was working. Clearly something was wrong.

“Are you alright kiddo, you weren’t at breakfast this morning?” Patton asked taking a seat on the edge of Logan’s bed so he could finally see his face. Logan’s unkempt hair was slick with sweat, his fringe almost entirely obscured his eyes but from the small section Patton could see it was evident he hadn’t slept well at all. A dark shadow played beneath his eyes which were swollen and bloodshot as if he had been crying. The sight made Patton’s heart cry out in pain.

“I am satisfactory, I also seem to not have much of an appetite this morning that is why I chose not to attend breakfast,” Logan answered nonchalantly, without removing his attention from his work in front of him but he was betrayed by his own stomach as it let out a well-timed growl, proving the contrary but it only worsened the pain Patton felt. Why was Logan purposefully hurting himself? He was clearly hungry so why was he pretending?

“You need to eat something Logan, I’m going to bring you something to eat. I promise I’ll be quick,” Patton said standing and leaning over to Logan to place a gentle kiss on his forehead before leaving and returning with a plate of two slices of bread with crofters - as he knew it was something Logan liked - to find Logan had moved from his desk to sitting on the edge of his bed, all of his books and notes neatly put away. “Here, now eat up,”.

They spent the next few minutes in silence while Logan ate, meticulously tearing the bread into smaller pieces before eating. Patton hoped Logan’s evident hunger would encourage him to eat the entire sandwich but that was not the case as he set the plate aside with an entire slice remaining on his plate - albeit torn into tiny sections - Patton knew at some point they would need to have a discussion regarding Logan’s strange and at time worrisome eating habits but he decided to leave that conversation for another day.

“Will you be joining the party today?” Patton asked hoping to draw Logan out slowly.

“No, I wont,” Logan responded bluntly and without a moment of hesitation. Patton was confounded. Why? Logan had participated and shown in enjoyment in the entire preparation process but now he was choosing not to join? Had Patton perhaps missed something, some sign Logan had been uncomfortable at whole time and Patton had been simply to stupid and wrapped up in his own fantasy to notice?

“Can you tell me why?” Patton pressed.

“I-I…I do not wish to spoil Roman’s or anyone else’s enjoyment of the celebrations, I am still a stranger and I do not wish to be a disturbance to your family on this occasion so I decided to instead keep to myself though it appears my efforts have had the opposite affect and I am taking attention away from Roman,” Logan explained his voice barely audible but once Patton heard his reasoning his heart sank. Logan was purposefully isolating himself because he thought it would be for their benefit. He still believed himself to be an outsider or an intruder on their family and they wouldn’t want him to be apart of family events and celebrations. Tears stung Patton’s eyes but he refused to allow them to fall, he needed to remain strong for Longer right now.

“Can you look at me please Logan?” Patton pleaded which Logan did so willingly. He looked so exhausted. Patton cupped his cheeks gently while also giving him space to withdraw if he wished but he didn’t. “Logan, you are not a stranger, you are apart of this family. It doesn’t matter that you have only been here a couple of weeks, you are still my son and that won’t ever change. You aren’t spoiling or disturbing anything and you certainly aren’t taking away attention from anyone, it isn’t bad or wrong if you need a little reassurance sometimes and I promise I want you here and I know everyone else does too,”.

“B-but…,” Logan began preparing to attempt to counter Patton argument.

“Nope, no buts. You are my apart of my famILY, kiddo,” Patton said his serious tone washing away bursting into his fit of giggles, when Logan’s prior anxious expression changed into one of confusion at Patton’s statement. “How are you feeling now?”.

“Better, I am still experiencing some levels of anxiety but it has lessened somewhat,” Logan admitted raising a tentative hand to his chest and Patton noticed he was wearing the constellation sweater he had picked out on their shopping trip a few days prior and Patton felt his heart swell with pride.

“I’m glad kiddo, now everyone is waiting for you downstairs,” Patton said lowering his hands from Logan’s face and instead taking his hands into his own, giving them a light squeeze as Logan nodded allowing Patton to pull him up and lead him downstairs where the party could finally begin.

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The Next Best Thing Chapter 12

In which Anne’s parents are Awful Nouveau-Riche and Cathy realises her skill at Scary Stories.

There’s pizza and birthday cake for supper when they’re called downstairs, flushed and ruffled from much entombing and raining down of curses. 

(They even managed to include Anne’s birthday present: the doll became the sacrifice, like in the story of Abraham and Isaac that they learned in R.E, except that no one replaces the doll with a sheep at the last minute.

It’s ok. The doll doesn’t seem to mind being a sacrifice. It doesn’t mess up her dress or her ringlets anyway.)

At home and at Catalina’s house at her old house, it’s tea but at Anne’s house, it’s supper. She knows not to call it tea because Anne’s Mum and Dad like to pretend that they don’t understand when people call it tea.

(Once, Anne says, Jane asked what time she should bring Anne and Kitty home for tea and Anne’s Mum made a big show of looking confused and told Jane that Of course they didn’t let the children drink TEA, Jane, oh goodness no…. Oh I’m so sorry, do you mean supper? and Jane had just sighed really big.)

Cathy wonders if she or Anne should have warned Anna about the tea/supper thing in case she gets it wrong and has to listen to Anne’s Mum doing her I’m Very Confused face...but it turns out to be ok because Anna calls it abendessen, and Anne’s Mum gets a funny look on her face, like she isn’t sure whether or not to correct her, and ends up not saying anything at all.

The pizza is delicious- real, proper pizza ordered from a pizza delivery place- not the frozen pizza that Catalina buys or the homemade pizza that they have as a treat sometimes, when she gets to help knead the dough herself and choose her own toppings. 

(She always makes her pizza into a face- with olives for eyes and a red pepper smiley mouth and pepperoni cheeks and a button mushroom nose, even though she doesn’t like peppers very much and she doesn’t like olives at all. 

She picks those parts off before she eats it. 

The very first time, she’d wondered for a moment in Catalina would be cross at the waste but when she’d asked to check, Catalina had just laughed and said that they could probably just about afford it and that if Cathy valued The Aesthetic that much, who was she to stand in the way of art? 

Which turned out to be a fancy way of saying that she didn’t mind.)

The birthday cake is even more exciting than the pizza: it has two tiers like a wedding cake, except it’s pink rather than white and there are little pink and white roses on the top rather than a bride and groom and Happy Birthday Ann written around the side.

Mary laughs and asks Anne’s Dad if he noticed that they missed off an E and Anne’s Dad tells her not to look at him, he didn’t order the bloody thing and Anne’s Mum goes pink and quickly says that it must have been a typo and then snaps at them both that it doesn’t matter, isn’t it still a beautiful cake?

(Anne whispers to Cathy that it doesn’t seem fair that grown ups can make all the spelling mistakes they want: why doesn’t it matter that the cake maker spelt her name wrong when she gets told off if she forgets about the secret E in Boleyn?

But she only says it quietly, so no one thinks she’s being Ungrateful.)

She and Anna and Anne’s Mum (who is holding her magazine open with her finger so she doesn’t lose her place) and Anne’s Dad (who is still wearing his suit and is drinking something dark brown from a fancy glass) and Mary (who is home from Group) and Baby Catherine (who is enthusiastically gumming a rusk) sing Happy Birthday to Anne while she blows out her candles and cuts the cake to make a wish.

(She doesn’t get to do more than the first cut though because Anne’s Mum is fussed about mess.)

Cathy makes sure to hold her cake fork in her left rather than her right hand when she’s eating her slice of birthday cake (she’s getting quite good at it now) and feels pleased with herself when she doesn’t drop even a single crumb. 

Anne is….less careful, but it’s her birthday, so her Mum only frowns at her a little bit and her Dad doesn’t notice at all because he’s looking at his phone.

Baby Catherine is a lot less careful and drops bits of rusk and crumbs of cake all over the carpet and Anne’s Mum sighs and frowns and then scolds Mary for letting the baby have CAKE and what were you thinking?

 Mary tells her it was only a tiny taste and to lay off her, it’s HER daughter, and Anne’s Mum snaps back that if it’s her daughter, maybe Mary should pay for her clothes and toys and nappies and food from her own pocket and how would she like that?  and they snap back and forth until Mary crossly whisks Baby Catherine away to clean her up.

Then Anne’s Dad says he needs to make a phone call and Anne’s Mum turns to them and asks if they wouldn’t like to go back upstairs to play now so that the grownups can have some peace and quiet even though they haven’t been downstairs all that long, and that’s it, the cake bit of the party is clearly over.

Anna looks a tiny bit surprised, and Anne looks a tiny bit disappointed (Cathy just feels relieved) …….but it’s alright really.

The pillow fort isn’t going to build itself, after all.

*

Making the fort is fun.

Climbing into the fort and playing that they’re Arctic Explorers in a blizzard is even more fun (especially when Anna’s Captain Oates decides he wants to come back into the tent after he’s left and she and Anne have to fight really hard to keep him outside in the snow)......and then Anne says they should do scary ghost stories.

Because it’s her sleepover and her birthday and everyone in sleepovers on tv tells ghost stories and so they should too.

This is….sort of a good idea.

It’s a good idea because it’s true that a proper sleepover needs ghost stories- they all agree on that.

It’s less of a good idea because… well, at first she thinks it’s a less-good idea because she doesn’t really know any proper ghost stories.

(Both her parents and Catalina have been very clear in letting her know that Ghosts- and monsters-under-the-bed and Vampires and Witches are all Just In Stories…..but they haven’t supplied her many of the stories themselves. Not ones that are scary enough to make them worthy of a sleepover anyway.)

Not only does she not know any real scary stories though, neither does Anne (as far as she knows) and so it’ll be just boring.

However it soon turns out- once the lights are turned off and they’re sitting in the pillow fort with their torches under their chins to make their faces all spooky- that actually Anne DOES know quite a few ghost stories.

At least, they’re not exactly ghost stories, more plots-of-horror-films-that-Mary-watches-and-Anne-Isn’t-Supposed-To-See….. but they work perfectly well even if they ARE more about zombies and men with chainsaws and big sharks than ghosts (and even though Anne has to make some of it up because she- unluckily for her- never gets to see more than a minute or two before Mary tells her to go and play.)

Anna knows stories too- stories that are old, stories that her Omi learnt from her Omi when she was a little, little girl. 

There’s the story of the maid who tricks a princess into being a goose girl and who gets rolled around the city in a spiked barrel as her punishment and now haunts the town every night- which makes them all wince- and the story of the peddler who is given a gun with seven bullets in by a man in a cloak who turns out to be the devil and who ends up shooting his wife by mistake and now haunts the forest- which makes them all sad.

And then Anne says it’s time for Cathy to tell a ghost story and she wonders what she could possibly say.

She has no idea how she’ll be able to match Anna’s devil-with-a-gun story, and certain she won’t be able to top Anne’s man-who-cuts-off-peoples-skin-and-wears-it anecdote.

She hasn’t seen any scary films herself at all- not even a bit of one because Catalina doesn’t watch those sorts of films, just old, old films that are all black and white, or serious grown up films where people do lots of looking out of rainy windows while sad music plays in the background.

Once or twice, out of curiosity, she’s tried picking something that looks scary and grown up from the dvd section of the library to see if she’ll be allowed it but Catalina just makes her put it back and choose something else.

(‘You wouldn’t like it, querida.’

Catalina has barely even looked at the dvd case and it makes her cross. 

‘I might. You don’t know I won’t like it.’

Catalina raises her eyebrows. ‘I can make a pretty good guess. Remember the detective program that you didn’t like because of the scary music? Well this would be even scarier than that. It would give you nightmares for sure.’

‘Maybe I LIKE having nightmares.’

‘Maybe you do but I don’t. Just choose something else please.’

‘Well I ONLY want this one.’ It’s a challenge but Catalina looks unimpressed.

‘Well I am more than ok with you getting nothing at all mija if that’s what you’d like.’ Catalina nonchalantly examines the case with a picture of a tiger in a sailboat on the front and puts it back. 

Annoyingly, Cathy knows she means it. ‘Now shall I pick out another dvd for myself or would you like to choose a different one?’

‘......A different one.’

‘Ah, I thought so.’

Grudgingly, she lets Catalina put the dvd case back on the shelf but it’s still frustrating.

It’s too hard to explain that what really made her hide her eyes and cover her ears from the detective program wasn’t really the scariness but how normal it was. 

Scary films, she thinks, should be Scary. And she doesn’t think she’d mind Scary Scary.

 What she doesn’t like are normal things that turn scary and remind you of all the bad things that could happen to you at any time at all.

But explaining that is too hard so she doesn’t even try.)

She wonders if Catalina would have changed her mind about the dvd if she knew she was leaving Cathy in such a position as she is now, the only person at the sleepover without a scary story to tell. 

(Maybe she’ll tell her tomorrow. She hopes Catalina feels bad about it when she tells her.)

Anna and Anne are starting to look a bit impatient now so she decides she’s just going to have to make something up.

She takes a deep breath.

‘Once upon a time-’

Anne giggles a bit- maybe because she’s using the fairy story beginning, maybe because she’s making her voice all spooky and different, maybe just from sheer nerves, but Cathy can’t tell which so she throws a stray cushion at Anne to make her be quiet and listen properly.

‘Once upon a time….there was a little girl. She lived with her Godmother in a big, big house. It had hundreds of rooms and ten floors and a big big garden….’

‘Was there a swimming pool?’

She wants to be annoyed at Anne for interrupting but she supposes it’s only fair considering that she interrupted Anne’s story about The Scary Murder Hotel to say that it was really the ladies fault she got stabbed in the shower and why didn’t she lock the door like a normal person?

‘No- Yes.’ She changes her mind. ‘She DID have a pool, and she could do the backstroke and dive and hold her breath underwater-’

Anne scowls (it’s still a point of contention between them that Cathy learned how to do the backstroke in swimming lessons first even though Anne has a nicer swimming costume.)

‘Bet she couldn’t really. Bet the dive was only once and she couldn’t do it again.’

Cathy is on the verge of asking Anne just whose story it is (and possibly adding that maybe the little girl could only manage to dive once but at least she didn’t cry when she got pushed fell off the floaty raft even though all that happened was getting a little bit of water up her nose like some people she could name…) but then Anna interrupts because she wants to hear what happens next.

‘Go on Cathy!’

‘Well, she lived in a big big house, anyway. She was allowed to play in every room except the attic. Every day she asked her Godmother if she could go into the attic and every day, her Godmother would say, maybe when you’re a bit older. 

And she would come up with reasons about why the little girl couldn’t go up there, like one day she’d say that the roof was leaking or that there were some presents she wasn’t allowed to see or that it was too cold. 

But the little girl didn’t really think that was really why. And every night when she was in bed, she could hear noises coming from the attic. And if she ever asked about it, her Godmother would say that it was the wind. 

But it didn’t sound like the wind. It sounded like-’ Cathy drums with the heel of her hand on the carpeted floor a few times and then makes her fingers all witchy and scratches them along the side of the fort.

‘One night, she decided that she couldn’t wait any longer to find out so she got out of bed really quietly and snuck up the stairs to the attic. On the first step, she heard a little voice in her head telling her to go back but she ignored it. When she was half way up, she heard a little voice telling her to go back to bed RIGHT NOW...but she ignored it. And when she got to the top step, she opened the door really slowly….’

Cathy pauses dramatically- she’s not really been paying attention to the other two while she’s been talking but they’re both staring at her, eyes wide. Anna is holding a pillow to her chest and Anne is biting the nail of her littlest finger.

I did that, she thinks. My story did that….

It feels exciting. It feels powerful.

‘She opened the door and saw...nothing.’ She lets her voice drop back to normal and Anna and Anna both relax. ‘It was just an ordinary boring attic….and she thought maybe her Godmother had been telling the truth the whole time, and she was just turning around to go back to bed when she felt….a hand….close around…..her wrist…’

She lets her words fall slowly until she gets to the last part, and then she grabs Anne’s bare wrist as she says it. 

Anne gasps and pushes her away and takes back her arm like she’s afraid of what Cathy might do to it; Anna puts the pillow over her face so only her eyes are peeking out.

‘The hand was all cold and thin….and the little girl was too scared to turn around. She heard a voice- just a little girl's voice- in her ear, and it said…’ 

She makes her voice all scratchy. ‘It’s my turn now. You’ve lived downstairs for all these years and your Godmother promised that one day, we were going to get to swap places and now you’re here so we will. 

The little girl tried to run but before she could, the other little girl had pulled off her dressing gown and put it on over her own raggedy dress, and she pushed the little girl down and she took a big needle and she sewed up the little girls mouth so she couldn’t even scream-’

Anne presses her lips together tightly.

 ‘The little girl lay there with her mouth all sewn up, and she watched as the attic girl escaped out of the door and shut it hard…. 

And then the little girl heard her go downstairs. And she tried and tried to open the door but she couldn’t, no matter how hard because it was locked up tight.

And after a while, she heard her Godmother coming into the hall and so she banged as hard as she could on the door, hoping she would hear her and come and rescue her and let her out…’

‘And then?’ Anna’s voice is nearly a whisper.

‘And then…’ Cathy took a deep breath. ‘Then she heard the other little attic girl saying What’s that funny noise? Can I go up to the attic today? 

And she heard her Godmother say That’s just the wind, come and have breakfast. Maybe you can go to the attic when you’re a little bit older. 

And it made her wonder if she’d be able to escape when the attic girl came up to see her….

But then she heard the little girl reply That’s ok. I don’t really want to go up there. I don’t ever want to go up there, not ever!

 And the attic girl and her Godmother walked away, and the little girl was left all alone. Forever. The end.’

There’s a long quiet after she finishes and she wonders if maybe she was wrong, if Anne and Anna don’t like her story after all….but then Anna lets out a shaky breath.

‘Wow Cathy, you’re really good at scary stories!’

‘Thank you.’

‘Did Catalina tell you that one?’ Anne asks and Cathy shakes her head. ‘No. I just….made it up.’

‘How? How? Teach me!’ 

‘I don’t know how-’

‘Please Cathy!’ Anne grips her arm like she wants to shake the stories out of Cathy for herself and Cathy pushes her off, giggling.

‘I don’t know how to!’

Anne subsides reluctantly. ‘It was SO scary! What happened to the little girl?’

‘Yes!’ Anna joins in. ‘What happened to her?’

They’re looking at her expectantly- it’s so strange to think that now, this little girl exists not just in her head but in Anna and Anne’s heads too, she exists now when five minutes ago she was just nothing at all.

She’s made something out of nothing- and although she’s written stories before, in school and just for fun, this feels different. This feels real.

It occurs to her that she could say anything- anything- and that would be The End….so she has to think for a minute before she asks (and this is quite clever she thinks really) if they want a Scary Ending or a Happy Ending.

(It’s like when Catalina asks if she wants truth or lies when she asks what Catalina did at work that day, and sometimes she says lies and sometimes she says truth.

When she says she wants lies, Catalina will tell her about the tiger that got in through the office window and how everybody but her ran away and how she had to fight it off with just the contents of her handbag until it fled, never to be seen again. 

Or she’ll talk about how she got lost on the way to work and as she walked and walked, the buildings around her got bigger and bigger and it was only when she came across a dandelion the size of an umbrella that she decided she should maybe turn back….

When she says she wants truth, Catalina will tell her about the new person who made a mistake and tried to blame it on her, and the annoying woman who talks about being on a diet and then goes and takes the last biscuit anyway, and the annoying man who listens to what she says and then repeats it and pretends it’s his idea and how much she’d like to throw something at him but of course I wouldn’t really querida because that would be very bad.

Whether she chooses truth or lies, it’s usually a good story anyway.)

Anne says Happy Ending just as Anna says Scary Ending, which is no help at all.

‘Tell us both!’

‘Yes, tell us both!’

She gives in, and tells them all about how the little girls Godmother noticed that the attic girl wasn’t wearing the same pajamas as her real daughter and went up and rescued her and unstitched her mouth and made the little attic girl say sorry and go and live with her neighbour who was going to have a baby the normal way but then decided that babies were too much trouble but that she’d still quite like a daughter anyway.

‘-and they all lived happily ever after.’

‘Was the little attic girl her sister?’ asks Anna and Cathy shakes her head.

‘She came with the house.’

‘Ohhhh.’ Anna nods understandingly. ‘Yes. The new house has some furniture Mutti didn’t like because it was ugly and Vati said that it came with the house and that we had to put up with it.’ She pauses. ‘I’m glad we didn’t get a creepy little girl too.’

‘You MIGHT have done!’ Anne bursts out. ‘Maybe you did and she’s in the attic and she’s waiting for you to go up-’

Anna shakes her head. ‘We don’t have an attic.’

‘Maybe she’s in the cellar!’

‘We don’t have a cellar either. Vati said houses with cellars and attics were too much trouble and if Mutti wanted either, she could be in charge of sorting them out when something went wrong and Mutti said there was no way she was doing that, so we just got a normal house.’

‘Oh.’ Anne looks stumped. ‘That’s a shame. Nowhere for the little attic girl to live just because your Daddy didn’t want a cellar.’

Anna says if Anne is so sorry for the little attic girl, maybe she can come and live in Anne’s attic instead and Anne squeals and says she better not even try, it’s not her fault Anna doesn’t have an attic.

‘Can we have the scary ending now Cathy?’ Anna asks (possibly to distract Anne from further scrutiny of her father’s potential disregard for the welfare for little attic girls) and Cathy nods.

‘The scary ending…..is that the little girl stayed up in the attic forever. She got hungrier and hungrier but she couldn’t eat anything because her mouth was all sewn up and no one was bringing her food anyway. So she died. All by herself and she never saw her Godmother again and no one noticed or was sad about it because they didn’t know.’

It’s not a very long ending but it’s the saddest, scariest ending Cathy can think of, and the others must agree because they just nod, like it makes sense that of course you can’t eat with a mouth all sewn up.

They’re thinking about it so hard that when there’s knock on the door, they all jump and Anne gives a little scream and Cathy grabs tight onto her hand….but it’s only Mary, telling them that Anne’s Mum says it’s time they went to bed.

Coming out of the pillow fort feels funny after all the stories- especially as the big light is still off and they have to shine their torches so Anne can find the switch by the door.

(She makes it across the room ok, no scary hands reach out to grab her or anything.)

(Not that they can see, anyway.)

At least things feel a bit more normal when the light is on- and finding pajamas and toothbrushes is at least a reassuringly prosaic distraction.

It also helps that she’s excited to show off the new pajamas Catalina brought her as a special treat- her old ones were just pink and purple plaid but her new ones are very cool and blue and have little otters and ‘Otterly Exhausted’ on them.

(Catalina says that’s a pun, which means getting words wrong on purpose to be funny. Cathy decides she likes puns but from the way Catalina rolls her eyes when she’s explaining it, she thinks Catalina might not feel the same way.)

(But it’s ok because Anne says that Jane likes puns a LOT.)

Anne’s pajamas are just plain green (although they’re made of special silky stuff) but Anna has pajamas patterned with little skulls and crossbones like a pirate.

 (Anna says they’re from the boys section because why should boys get the cool pajamas and Cathy and Anne agree that’s a very good point.)

The fort gets a bit demolished when they’re getting into bed to sleep because they need the pillows and blankets back, and Anna goes back to her bag for a minute and fishes out a slightly worn grey and white toy fluffy thing.

She tells them her Vati brought one for her and one for her sister when their old dog, Albrecht got put to sleep, even though Amelia was too little at the time to know what Put To Sleep meant. So her dog is Albrecht The Second.

Albrecht The Second barks and lollops around the remains of the fort until Anne’s stuffed dragon blows a plume of smoke and fire and scares him away… and then Anne turns to Cathy and says they need Tarka (who is important enough to have a whole book written about him) to throw water on the fire…

It makes her wish very much that she hadn’t left Tarka under her pillow at home for fear of looking like a baby. When Anne asks why she didn’t bring him, she just shrugs.

‘I forgot.’

‘Oh.’ Anne loses interest and makes Rothko dragon burrow under the duvet.

(Rothko dragon got his name from the big red painting on Anne’s living room wall because Anne’s Mum and Dad were having a fight about it the same day that Anne was trying to think of a name for him: Anne’s Dad kept shouting that it was a completely ridiculous waste of money and Anne’s Mum kept shouting back that it was an original Rothko Thomas, an original Rothko! Anne doesn’t care much about the Rothko painting- she says it’s looks like something someone even younger than Kitty could paint- but she does like Rothko dragon very, very much.)

Cathy tries to remind herself that not bringing Tarkar means she’s obviously very grown up and that’s a good thing….but it’s quite hard to do.

Anne says that one of them can have Kitty’s bed and one of them can have the camp bed and one of them can have Anne’s bed and that her Mum said it was up to them to decide, so she thinks they should draw straws for it like in Oliver Twist.

(This is, Cathy thinks, more that Anne likes the idea of drawing straws than really caring where anyone sleeps.)

In the end, Cathy ends up on the fold up bed, Anne has her own bed and Anna has Kitty’s. 

Anna asks, while they’re waiting for their turns in the bathroom, whether Cathy really minds being on the camp bed and does she want to swap and Cathy says it’s ok.

She feels a bit bad when Anna smiles at her like she’s being nice.

She isn’t sure if she should tell her that the real reason she doesn’t mind having the fold-up is because she knows from Anne that Kitty has started wetting her bed again after her visit to Edmund.

(Jane says that it’s nothing to worry about, it’s easily fixed, and it doesn’t matter in the slightest so please don’t cry Kitty-Kat, which is pretty much the opposite of what Anne’s Mum has to say on the subject. But then again, she and Jane often say opposite things and Anne and Kitty are mostly used to it by now.)

She decides not to tell Anna because Anna seems happy to have the proper bed anyway, but she also feels a tiny bit guilty that Anna thinks she’s being more nice than she is, so she lets Anna clean her teeth next.

Which sort of makes it fair.

They get into bed and turn off all the lights, apart from Anne’s lava lamp and their torches. It’s sort of exciting- to be somewhere new, for the real sleepover part to begin….but it’s also, for some reason, suddenly really quite easy to imagine little attic girls and scary hands grabbing at their wrists and people wearing skin and what it must feel like to be rolled around in a spiky barrel…..

When there’s another knock on the door, it makes them all jump….but it’s only Anne’s Mum, checking that they’re really in bed and reminding them to not touch the special soap in the bathroom.

There’s a little uncomfortable silence after she goes: Cathy can still feel her heart beating a bit faster under her pajama top and she can tell that Anne and Anna are feeling the same way (although they at least have a dragon and a dog for protection while Cathy has nothing at all.)

After a bit, Anna says that attic girls probably can’t knock on doors to make it less scary- and they all feel better for a moment.

Then Anne says that little attic girls probably don’t knock because they can just come straight in whenever they want to…...

And they go right back to being scared again.

[hyphypmic]

Happy Birthday Hifumi!

Just a little something for our very special party boy :))) — It’s Hifumi’s birthday, but he wasn’t going to skip work. Doppo had greeted him happy birthday (well, tried to, the salaryman left a sweet post-it in the bedside table) that morning. Apologising over and over again because the office wanted him early, like, really early. The blonde smiled at that, his boyfriend, always the worry wart. Jakurai had called him, greeting Hifumi happy birthday, though he also called to apologise that he wouldn’t be able to meet up with him, the hospital needed him around and he couldn’t find a way. Though disheartened, Hifumi just replied in his usual puppy-like way, a smile plastered on his face and joy laced in his tone. He told the doctor that it was okay and texted Doppo saying that he would hopefully be able to spend time with him on Sunday, when Doppo was off work. With a sigh, Hifumi got out of bed and just spent the day lounging around at home, cooking food and working out, a bit sad that he was spending it alone. It was different when it was a regular day because it was a regular day, not his birthday. He even made himself a small cake, which is kind of... well. It came with a glass of bourbon though, and had orange liqueur in the icing and the cake itself so, one could say that he was satisfied. In other words, he had a lot of time to do things, but he couldn’t exactly bring himself to go out. He just wasn’t in the mood and would want nothing more than to spend it with his friends. He wasn’t angry of course, but he couldn’t help wishing that they had tried a little harder to spend time with him, even just for a lunch or something. Before leaving for work, he put on his suit, switching into his other persona, though part of him wished he wasn’t spending the night like this, especially on his birthday. He sighed, forcing himself to give himself a charming smile as he looked in the mirror, looking dapper as ever wearing his floral suit and eyes glittering. He walked to work, winking at every passerby that gave him a look and savoured the sounds of the street, the neon lights flashing like a public disco party. Hifumi tried his best to walk confidently to work, his head held up high, even if he felt a little out of it. Oddly enough though, when he stood in front of his club, it was quiet. Usually there was a long line of girls waiting outside, extending even over to the next block. There was also supposed to be a party already going on inside, lights flashing and laughed coming out of the doors. But there was none of that, it was just quiet, the lights off, the interior completely dark. So Hifumi took out his hypnosis mic, turned it on and walked inside, his nerves slightly on edge. The suit helped him remain calm and even a little brave. He opened the door, silence and darkness greeting him. He crept in quietly, his leather shoes barely making any sound on the wooden floor. The door swung shut behind him and he forced himself not to yelp in surprise and tried not to feel like he was the one being trapped in his own place. Hifumi knew the layout of his club, memorised it like the back of his hand, so it was no problem to navigate even in the complete darkness. His mind raced with the possibilities of what could be going on, maybe a prank, or another crazed stalker... or maybe everyone decided to go somewhere else, even his waiters and his bartenders... which wouldn’t make any sense because he was a good boss and he never treated his employees wrongly. He made his way to the center of the club, a few meters away from where the bar should be. He stopped, holding his breath so he could hear whatever was going on. He swore he heard someone’s voice and he turned his head around, hoping his eyes would adjust to the inky blackness. Suddenly, arms wrapped around him and shoved him into a chair. Hifumi almost shouted, if it weren’t for the hand covering his mouth. He tried to wriggle free, but the arms held firm. He tried licking the hand, but it didn’t budge even as he started to find it disgusting. Though he did taste the alcohol on the palm, and not the kind of liquor he liked or knew of, but rubbing alcohol... The white ceiling lights suddenly turned on and the arms let go of him. Hifumi’s eyes adjusted and he whirled around, his fists balled and positioned to hit, looking at who got him. Only to find the doctor away from him, Jakurai smiling and out of reach. “Happy Birthday.” Another voice said from behind him. Hifumi turned around slowly and saw his boyfriend, hands outstretched and holding a two-tier cake, with a spilled glass of champagne as the topper, spilling out glittering golden fondant over the tiers, artfully done by whatever baker. It was complete with Hifumi’s favourite chocolates and some flowers to adorn it. The blonde’s heart soared, shocked by what he beheld before him, his jaw open. The two of them must have... well, he didn’t care. Doppo smiled at him, wearing the party outfit Hifumi bought him, a green silk button down shirt and ripped jeans, the top unbuttoned halfway down the chest, drawing Hifumi’s attention to the necklace he wore. Doppo’s face looked beautiful illuminated by the faint candlelight. “Sorry we lied.” He said softly. “We just wanted to surprise you.” He smiled again. “Give you a day off.” Jakurai came behind Hifumi, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps you would like to take off the suit.” Hifumi didn’t even realize he was still wearing it, his persona switched without even taking it off, but he slid off the blazer anyway, placing it on the chair where Jakurai held him hostage. He turned around and bowed slightly to sensei, remembering what he did. “Sensei! I’m sorry about your hand!” He blushed, realizing that it was alcohol from the hospital that he was tasting. Jakurai chuckled. “I’m the one that held you hostage.” He put his hands in his pockets, Jakurai looking graceful as usual in a black button down and black slacks, his black coat nowhere to be seen. “It’s my fault.” Doppo put the cake down on the bar table. “If you were scared I’m sorry-“ He was interrupted by Hifumi crashing into him, hugging him tight. “Thank you thank you thank you!” Hifumi said and kissed Doppo with every thank you. He pulled away from Doppo and did the same to Jakurai, without the kissing of course. Hifumi was grinning from ear to ear, but then frowned when he thought about his club. “What about-“ Jakurai held up a hand. “I took care of it. Your employees were more than happy to clear out for the night.” Jakurai’s eyes glittered. “They said they might have something for you as well.” Hifumi smiled again, the sad feeling in his chest completely gone. He was so happy that his friends bothered, that he wasn’t going to just go to work that night. “Aren’t you going to blow the candles?” Doppo asked quietly as he took his place behind the bar. “And I’m not that good at drinks, but I thought I should... try the stuff you taught me.” He paused. “If that’s alright with you.” Hifumi nodded, his blonde hair bouncing. “I love you!” Doppo blushed at that. “Blow your cake.” He asked softly. Hifumi stepped up to the cake and closed his eyes, wishing that there would be more nights like this and blew the candles out. Jakurai clapped, suddenly handing Hifumi a long box. “I didn’t know what to get you.” Jakurai said as Hifumi brought it close to his ear, shaking it like a little kid. The blonde opened the lid and gasped at what he found inside. He pulled out a shot glass out of the five that was inside. Etched in the glass was his MC name, GIGOLO and on the other side was the Matenrou logo. The other glasses had different designs on them, one had a rose on it, another had crystals arranged in swirls, another had gold glitters all over, and the last was covered in etched flowers. “I hope you like them.” Jakurai said as Hifumi examined them with wide eyes. “I had them made for you.” Hifumi put them down on the bar gingerly, not quite believing that he got them. He then wiped his eyes. “Thank you, Sensei.” Jakurai smiled at Hifumi. “Not a problem.” Doppo cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him. He then handed Hifumi his gift, sliding it across the bar, it was a small box. The blonde smiled and opened it immediately, gasping at the contents. The salaryman’s heart warmed at the expression, memorising it. Hifumi lifted out a golden bracelet, seeing that it was laser-etched with flowers on the outside, and on the inside, a message from Doppo. “More precious than gold.” Doppo muttered as Hifumi read it. The host put it on immediately, smiling as he did so, then grabbed Doppo and kissed him, expressing his gratitude enthusiastically. Jakurai chuckled. “Well.” He looked at Doppo as Hifumi pulled away. “Doppo-kun, weren’t you going to make drinks?” “Y-Yes sensei!” Doppo turned away from the birthday boy, blushing as he picked alcohol from the bar. Hifumi giggled, beyond happy with what was happening right at that moment. And it was one of the best birthdays he ever had, even if he drank himself to sleep that night.

[tastytweetscakes-blog]

Different kinds of cake for different people!

Listening to the word cake itself brings the thoughts of joy and celebrations in both young and old. Cake have become an integral part of our civilization. It has been there since eternity and will continue to top the chart of being favourite party and celebration dessert forever. According to experts of birthday cakes in Gurgaon, no birthday party or for that matter any other celebration can declared to be complete without a cake. Whether it is celebrating any small or big success or marking a day or an event as important, it is someone’s special welcome or you have to bid farewell to someone close, nothing can sweeten and brighten the occasion better than a cake.

According to Tasty Tweets, an online bakery in Gurgaon, cake is one of the most versatile dessert capable of fitting into any party and occasion. An otherwise ordinary menu can be up lifted by many folds with addition of a good looking and delicious tasting cake. When there is so much versatility in use of cake, it is but obvious that there will be higher versatility in the kind of cakes. No one shape and flavor of cake can fit all occasions. Though there are some classic favorites such as a chocolate cake or a plain vanilla cake with white cream and cherry, but different people in the world have different choice and expectations for the cake and from the baker.

According to Tasty Tweets, who takes orders for online cakes delivery in Gurgaon it is a big responsibility on a bakers shoulder to bake a cake which is as per the likes and taste of his or her clients. Each client have different expectations, demands and specifications. No one kind of solution will work for two clients and baker will have to come up with unique baking idea for each client. In the following content we have come up with different kinds of cakes that are usually demanded by different people.

1. Designer cakes!

According to a bakery taking online cake order in Gurgaon, most in thing of the town is designer cakes. It is something which is very much in trend and majority of the clients are demanding nothing but designer cakes. Bakers across the globe have let their creative juices flow freely and they are coming up with designer cakes to suit all occasions. If it is a wedding then the cake can either be depiction of some special moment or a caricature of the couple or something more romantic depending on the demand of the client. Hand bag, makeup kit, jewellery box and similar fashion oriented things works well with girls of all ages.

2. Tiered Cakes!

There will be no exaggeration if tiered cakes are put in the category of vintage cakes. These cakes not only look royal and exquisite but are perfect choice for parties with more guests. Tiered cakes decorated with beautiful roses, ribbons, silver balls are considered to be a perfect wedding cake. Though these days couples prefer to be sassier and select something exciting and fun as their wedding cakes. According to a baker in cake shop in Gurgaon, tiered cakes are not limited to roses and ribbons but many other decorations can be used based on the theme of the party.

3. Rich cream cakes!

Another wonderful cake option for cake lovers is rich cream cake. Rich cream cake is usually ordered in chocolate flavor and it is nothing less than heaven for chocolate lovers. That cake is crafted to be melted in mouth on very first bite. It is called as rich cream cake mainly because of the fact that it has a thick layer of cream and very less amount of cake. If you are a chocolate lover and looking for a dessert to indulge in then all you need to do is order a rich cream for yourself.

4. The cake brownie!

Just opposite of rich cream cake is a cake brownie. It is a combo which is unique and prepared for people who wish to do something different in their party. As the name suggests cake brownie has less focus on icing and major part is cake. It gives you fair room to indulge in pure and blissful cake baked with love and care by the baker. Cake brownie can be the best choice in a party where main desert in the menu is cake. It is kind of cake which does full justice to the baking skills of the baker rather than his icing and decoration skills.

5. Ice cream cake!

Another option if you wish to do something different in your party is ice cream cake. It is again mouth-watering combo usually loved by guests of all age groups. It not only makes the cake fancy but you can prepare the cake using various ice-cream flavors.

If you are looking for some theme cake in Gurgaon, checkout www.tastytweets.in and order your choice of cake online.

[topimagines]

Inferno

Violence

Summary:  Where do people go when they die? Well, for the least lucky people in the world, hell is waiting. But what happens when these people do go to hell? And how did you end up there?    

Warning: death, hell, mentions of religion, language, smut ish, its fucking long lol, i love brendon urie

A/N: do not repost any work on this blog without explicit permission from me or Alissa. also, in case anyone is curious, I’m an atheist. I also gave a birthday for y/n because it already had a lot of insert shit. and note my not so subtle allusion to tom holland and harrison osterfield.

Part 1// Part 2//Part 3// Part 4// Part 5// Part 6// Part 7// Part 8// Part 9// Part 10

You and Tyler finally reached the floor you were staying on, the penthouse of the apartment building. The living room was very large and open, the carpet almost too white to be possible. All of the furniture was golden yellow, including the appliances in the open plan kitchen. There were two giant doors on either side of the living room, and on the farthest side from the door, there was an entire wall of glass. There was an extravagant chandelier hanging overhead, casting a yellow light on the room.  

"Wow," you muttered, looking around the apartment.  

"Pete definitely helped fix up the place," Tyler said in awe, he had never seen such a beautiful room in Hell. You walked further into the room before taking a seat on the lavish gold couch. “He always was good at interior design.”

"I guess we should get comfortable, we could stay for a while," you said, "and you can fill me in on some of that 'need to know' crap."

"What do you mean?" Tyler asked, taking a spot on the couch across from where you sat. He obviously knew what you were talking about, he wasn't stupid. He knew you wanted history, and possibly an explanation of everything that had happened in the last three days.  

"Where is Josh, and what was he?" You asked, after a beat of silence.  

Tyler's eyes widened and he looked at you in disbelief. How the fuck does she know that? He thought to himself. He took a small breath before formulating a response, "I’m not answering that.”

“So you’re back to keeping secrets?” you asked, “bullshit, Tyler! You know so much about me, tell me what the fuck happened!”

Tyler took a deep breath before sighing, “okay, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. It started after that car accident I told you about, and after I made it through every circle.”

-

Tyler walked back into the club, the music only adding to his head ache. He had to cut through the dance floor to reach Brendon, the man sitting alone at the far end of the room. His white shoes and coat were covered in blood, but somehow that wasn’t the worst thing in the dance floor of the club.

“Ah! Tyler, my boy, it’s so nice to see you! Did you do as I asked?” Brendon greeted when he reached the table.  

“And then some,” Tyler answered, taking a seat across from the man in a plush, red booth.  

“I knew you could do it, I fucking hate politicians,” he said, sly smirk on his face, “now, I have one more job for you, then you’re home free for a few weeks.”  

“Yeah?”

“Your partner already knows all the details, he should be getting here about now,” Brendon said, “oh, look! There he is! Over here!” Brendon waved a man with yellow hair poking out from a hoodie walked over, the hood covering most of his face, but it was obvious he had a sly smile on his face, and a blade sticking out from under the waistband of the hoodie. He sat down next to Tyler and he took his hood off of the top of his head and showed his face.

“Josh?”

“Hi, Tyler,” Josh greeted. His smile wasn't the same as it used to be. Brendon seemed to be doting on Josh, bragging about his reinstatement and his natural skill that Tyler could tell was definitely not as natural as they were making it seem.  

A woman walked up to Brendon, a smile on her face, “Hey, baby. Is this them?”  

Brendon nodded, holding his arm out to lead the woman into his lap, “Gentlemen, this is my wife, Azrael.” Josh nodded in her direction and didn’t look her in the eyes, and Tyler said a small hi. “Azrael, this is Josh and Tyler.”  

“Ah, we’ve been waiting for you both.”

-

“Can I finish tomorrow, I’m tired,” Tyler interrupted his own story and scratched his head, not bothering to hide his yawn, “I promise, I’ll finish it in the morning.”

“It’s only seven o’clock, Tyler,” you complained, “at least tell me what the job was.”

“Then I can go to sleep?”

“yes,” you whine.  

“To take care of the overcrowding in Libitina.” You looked at him expectedly, waiting for him to further explain. But he was already laying back on the couch and pulling his hood over his head.  

Cool, leave me hanging... again.  

So you left the room, and went to bed.

-

You knew you were asleep, but you weren’t in the same spot Brendon first visited you at. You were at the entrance of a cemetery that you recognized as a very famous one in LA. You had visited it once or twice to see some famous graves.

“This is where I was buried,” a voice said. You turned and saw Brendon standing next to you with a blunt in his mouth and a black suit, as opposed to the red one you saw last time.  

“Really?”

“No, I was actually buried in Las Vegas,” he stated with a chuckle. Suddenly the scene in front of you was blurry and you were in front of another cemetery, not recognizing the entrance. “oh, I’m right over here.”

“So you’re basically the ghost of Christmas past?  

He chuckled, but didn’t say anything, only led you down a small trail and in front of a shiny, granite headstone. He took a long drag from his blunt and blew it toward the grave, somehow it felt like a sign of respect.

Brendon Boyd Urie

April 12, 1973- October 28, 1994

Loving Husband, Son, and Singer  

“My wife, well his wife, changes my headstone if it ever erodes too much,” he stated, “she is on the fast track to heaven, so I won’t get to see her. She’s the one that found me, after I dropped like a fly.”  

“Are all couples like that?” you asked, “one gets sent to hell and the other somehow never goes?”

“No, only the people you’ve met so far, sometimes both get sent to hell and they live out torture together, or they go to heaven,” Brendon explained, “And then there are the people who both go to purgatory and have a blast trying to get to heaven together. It’s like the ultimate team building exercise.” Brendon sat down at the feet of his grave, knowing that his body was decayed right under him.  

“How did you die?”

“Rock star lifestyle,” he sighed, “I was a bit of a partier, and one day I got involved in the wrong shit and my body couldn’t take it.” He turned to a random stone and put out the blunt, leaving it still sort of smoldering as he backed away.

The scenery changed once again, Brendon sat in front of you this time on a headstone, “You probably don’t recognize this place, but we’re in Ohio.” Brendon moved from the headstone and showed you the name on it.

Tyler Robert Joseph

December 1, 1987- June 5, 2007

Gone too soon. God bless his soul.

“He was never blessed,” Brendon laughed, “it’s a sick irony of dying, these people don’t know we’re down there, don’t know that most of the people don’t stand a chance.”

You looked at Brendon, his eyes clouded in something you hadn’t thought would be there, ever.  

Regret.  

“Brendon,” you started, “what happens when hell gets too crowded?” He whipped his head to look at you, surprised by the question. “And please be honest, I’m tired of people fucking lying to me down here.”

“If they have improved over time, they have a shot to get into purgatory,” he stated, “and if they do something horrible, even for Hell, the get sent to a place called Libitina. It’s like a prison for the damned to stay and rot.”

“What qualifies as that bad?”  

“Not a lot, sweetheart,” he said shortly, “we have one more stop, then you can ask all the questions you want.”

The scenery changed for a final time and you recognized immediately where you were. You wrote in your will that you wanted to be buried in a cemetery in London next to Tom. Brendon led you to the two fresh grave, grass not even grown on the patch of dirt the headstones were on.  

(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N)

October 5, 1997- January 22, 2023

Forever resting with the love of her life

Thomas James Hosterfeld

June 1, 1996- January 22, 2023

Forever resting with the love of his life

“You got your wishes,” Brendon said, “you didn’t end up with him as your families had hoped, but I’ll tell you that he is on the third tier of Purgatory.”

“I’m glad, if anything, he deserves it,” you sighed. There was a silence between you and Brendon, and you took the moment to sit sown in the grass of the cemetery. Brendon let out a quiet chuckle and sat next to you, playing with the grass below his fingers. He took out another blunt and lit it up before inhaling the smoke.  

“Want a hit?” he asked. You shook your head, waving it away.

“Is this all? You’re gonna leave me to talk to Tyler?” you asked, lowly, “all he ever does is lie to me. He never tells me anything.”  

“Well, Tyler lies about a lot of things,” Brendon sighed, “he doesn’t like letting people in. But that’s his story to tell. It hasn’t always been in his favour.”

“Do you let people in?”

“If they let me in,” he answered. You looked over at him and saw him looking back at you. He leans forward and catches your lips in his, giving you a sweet yet hungry kiss. He was more tender than Tyler, taking his time to savour everything about your lips.  

He trailed his kisses down your neck, quickly finding your sweet spot on your neck. You let out a moan as he nibbled on your neck, rolling your head to the side to give him more access.  

“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he said in your ear before biting lightly on your ear lobe.  

“How so?” you asked, cutting it off slightly with a moan as he attacked the collar bone peaking out from under your shirt.  

“I see everything, you and Tyler, the kissing, cuddling, and I hate seeing him touch you,” he said, moving his head to look you in the eye, “not when we keep having these times together at night, and he’s got you all to himself every day.”

“Then I’ll stop,” you said, “now touch me before I have to wake up and look him in the eye.” He laughed lowly, a cocky smirk appearing on his face.

“Sweetheart, you know I control these dreams. I can make them as long as I need,” he said. He reached for your hips and guided you to sit in his lap, his bulge evident as you ground down on him, “I can feel you soaking through those jeans, darling.”

“Then do something about it,” you groaned. You leaned in and nibbled just under his jawline, “do hickeys show when we wake up?”

“If you want them to, kitten,” he answered, rolling his head to the side to show more real estate as you sucked a hickey into his neck.  

“Good, wanna show everyone what I did,” you moan, grinding down harder on his dress pant clad cock. Brendon’s hand wandered down into your pants, and moved your underwear out of the way to feel your wetness. You moaned when his fingers brushed over your clit.

“So wet, from just kissing your pretty neck,” he said cockily, sliding his fingers into you and pumping slowly, watching you writhe on top of him. You groaned, and reached down to unbutton your pants and pushed them down as far as you could. Brendon noticed your struggle and pushed you down so you were laying on the ground under him.  

“be patient, my sweet girl, we have all the time in the world.”  

-

You laid with Brendon in the grass, your head laying in his chest. He put back on his pants and boxers, but let you have his shirt and jacket to cover yourself after he ripped your shirt.  

“Now I have to wake up without you there,” you said, tracing circles on his chest lightly, “what am I gonna say to Tyler?”

“You don’t have to say shit to him, sweetheart,” his chest rumbled as he spoke, “sure, you’ll wake up with my suit jacket and shirt on, but I set up that penthouse just for you. Say you found it in one of the drawers.”

“I’m covered in hickeys, Brendon,” you giggled.  

“you fell off the bed, you’re clumsy,” he laughed. You giggled and poked his chest with your nail.  

“Is it always gonna be like this when we reach you? Is that why you want me?” you asked.  

“It can be whatever you want and more, baby,” he said. He started sit up, holding you so you didn’t get hurt somehow. “It’s time to wake up now, babe.”

“But I want to stay here, with you,” you whined.  

“I know, but the sooner you wake up, the sooner you head out and you can see me at my club,” he said. He leaned down to kiss you before he stood up. Everything around you dissipated as he stretched his limbs.

“Will I see you again, next time?” you ask him as the wind picks up.  

“Of course, baby,” he said, turning around and kneeling to meet your eyes, “and remember, Tyler doesn’t touch you anymore, my lips are the only ones that can be on you.”  

“Bye, Brendon.”

-

You woke up in the big soft bed of the penthouse apartment, having a new appreciation for the soft sheets under your body and bunched in your hands.  

You swung your feet over the edge of the bed and stood to look at yourself in the mirror that was on the closet of the room. You were, indeed, in Brendon’s suit jacket and red button up, but it didn’t look too bad on you.  

In fact, you thought it was kind of cute.  

You made your way out of the room and saw Tyler sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. You walked over and poked him in the face, “Tyler, wake up.” You attempted one more time before turning on your heel and taking the first big thing near you, a metal abstract sculpture of a human, and dropping it on the floor. Tyler jumped awake and you looked at him innocently.  

“What the fuck?”

“Finish the story, no breakfast until then,” you stated. You sat on one of the couches and looked at him expectantly.  

“Alright, well, Azrael told us they were expecting us.”

-

“You two are going to Libitina to eradicate these people,” Brendon stopped paying attention to Azrael long enough to slide a manila folder over to the boys across from him, “then do what you want. But I want my blades back when you’re done.” Brendon went back to brushing his fingers through her hair lovingly, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and kissing her neck.

“Obviously,” Tyler said, but Josh had a look on his face that made him uncomfortable. Something told him that he would be getting into trouble like he used to when they were alive and Josh wanted to go do something crazy.

-

“Then one thing led to another, and Josh started a rebellion that lasted half of a decade,” Tyler explained, “he was a hell hound in a humans body. The pure personification of evil, worse than that of the devil. He wanted to overthrow Satan and free all of the Damned into earth, heaven, and purgatory.”

“Is that all?” you asked, “Where is he now?”

“Libitina.”

“The place all the bad, bad people go?” Tyler never answered. He got up and went to take a shower, not before turning to you.  

“Want to come with me?” He held a hand out for you to take.

You thought for a second, knowing you promised Brendon that you would not start anything with Tyler. But it was Tyler, the man who was leading you through hell for nothing but pride, and had suffered so much. He opened up to you, even if it was poco a poco. So, you nodded with a broad smile and took his hand, letting him lead you to the big shower.  

-

You hardly expected to be reaching the most beautiful circle of hell. You didn’t know that there was such a thing. But, you and Tyler walked down a long gravel path with green grass on either side, a large creek came into view with a man leaning against the post of a magnificent bridge of dark wood and golden railings on either side. The man was shorter than the bridge and had a black hoodie that you swore was Thrasher brand.  

Hm, didn’t know they had brands in hell.

When you approached the man, you noticed that his body was covered from head to toe, including his hands, which were tucked comfortably into his pockets, and he had two feathered wings on his back, tucked so close together and compact, it was almost like he was hiding them from you.  

"That's Pete, he's a harpy," Tyler explained, looking toward the man expectantly, "He's probably here to help us through the rings of Violence."

He didn’t seem to be paying attention to you as you and Tyler walked up, his head parallel with the ground, not letting you see his face. When he finally heard your footsteps, he looked up, sending shivers down your spine with his yellow eyes. When he saw you, he stood up taller and rolled his shoulders out before putting his hands together and dropping them in front of him. A stark contrast from the red-scale eyes you had seen so far. When you took a closer look, you saw small tufts of feathers poking out of the bottom of the hood.  

"Hey," he greeted, looking between you and Tyler, and after a beat of silence, stuck his hand out to introduce himself, "I'm Pete, guardian of Violence. It's nice to finally meet you, my lady."

Tyler's eyes widened and he cleared his throat, hoping you wouldn’t notice his formality, "This is (Y/N), Pete. She's the girl Brendon wants."

Pete's expression matched Tyler's as he realized his mistake, "Oh, my bad. Thought you were someone else." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly and waited for Tyler to reprimand him like he used to, but nothing ever came.  

"We should get walking now, we have three rings to get through at one time," Tyler said. Pete nodded and turned on his heel, leading you across the bridge. The bridge was way longer than you expected, but it the shortest ring of Violence, so you couldn’t complain about the creaking below your feet as you walked. One you had looked down, you saw creatures swimming up and down, and a large one that looked very scary. "That's Leviathan, he doesn’t like Acheron, so he stays here," Tyler explained.

"Oh cool, another hell creature I have to know about," you said, sarcastically, "what next, are there hellhounds?"

"Oh, they're in the circle Brendon occupies," Pete answered from ahead of you two, "He made them cuter."

-

You all walked in silence for what seemed like ages, walking across this bridge seemed easier than going through the other rings, but you knew it was too good to last. It was hell, after all. Tyler seemed to be walking on eggshells, any splashing spooked him, he refused to look up at Pete or at you and walked so cautiously that it seemed like he wasn’t even on the bridge with you. He seemed to be off in his own world.

Your mind, however, had started to wander. You thought about your life, trying to figure out what you did that sent you down here on this... adventure?

-

"You really shouldn’t do this, (Y/N)," Harrison said, "You love Tom, how do you think he'll react when he finds out?"

"It's just a girl, he won't care," you reasoned, looking up at Harrison with glassy eyes, your speech slightly slurred, "He has a girlfriend, if anything he should be thrilled! I'm finally getting some and forgetting about him!"

"There's a difference between forgetting about him and moving on,” Harrison muttered, “come on, (Y/N), let’s just go home and watch x-files.” He reached for your hand, but you pulled it away from him quickly and blew him off, claiming you were a big girl and you could take care of yourself.  

“I’ll be fine, Harrison,” you slurred, giggling at something in your head as a girl reached for you, equally as drunk, and started to drag you away, “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby! Don’t wait up! Get some while you’re here.”  

-

“(y/n), stop daydreaming,” Tyler said, breaking you out of your trance like state. You didn’t realize you were at the end of the bridge, and, in addition, the end of the first ring in violence. You looked ahead and saw, finally, the true reason the ring was called violence. There were people, the damned, running around picking raspberries as harpies flew over their heads, talons out, picking people up, clawing at their faces and hands.  

Pete didn’t stop, he continued to lead you toward a ginormous building, completely ignoring the pleads of mercy all around you. You kept your eyes down, looking at the path under your feet.  

When you looked up, finally, you saw the entrance to the building.  

“Libitina, in all her glory,” Pete said, his voice bored. The doors were already open, and it looked like someone forced it open.  

“Is it… supposed to look like that?” you asked. Tyler nodded, looking reminiscent.  

“A long time ago, someone broke out through the doors and Brendon never bothered to fix them,” he said. Suddenly, sirens rang through the air and both Pete and Tyler stood up straight, “now, that isn’t supposed to happen.”  

The boys charged in, leaving you at the door with a shocked expression. You had a feeling that you’d need to use Eveningstar. You ran in after them, but the place was far too big and you found yourself at the wrong place at the wrong time. You got lost in the winding halls, listening out for voices, but they were all drowned out by the piercing siren.

You were pulled into someone’s chest and a knife was held to your throat. A silver handle was held by a tan hand and you knew. Morningstar.  

“I suggest you keep that pretty little mouth shut, unless you want to disappear,” a gravelly voice said in your ear. He turned you toward two forms, Pete and Tyler. They writhed in their spots, trying to move but they couldn’t.

“How did this happen so fast?” Pete groaned.  

“revenge makes the damned powerful, Peter,” the man behind you laughed, “especially when the bitch that put me here is near.”

“What?” you asked.  

“Shut up, Muriel!” the man spoke.  

“That’s not Muriel, Joshua!” Tyler yelled, “Muriel would know better than to come back.”  

“Then why are you guarding her, who is she?” Josh said, ending with a laugh. He truly thought you were this Muriel person.

Angel. Demon. Whatever.  

Your mind reeled. Why would he thing you’re Muriel? Joshua held the blade harder against your throat, leaving you to gasp for breath without letting it cut into the skin. Joshua looked down at you, his gaze clouded with pain and loss, and when you locked eyes, he seemed thrown off. The sharpness of the blade eased up as he was sent into a whirlwind of old emotions.  

"(y/n)! Do you remember the view? Remember what you said when we looked out of Joe's window together?" Tyler said from his spot, locked in place. He couldn’t move his legs to reach you. Josh must have been practicing his biokinesis after all these years. You knew exactly what he was talking about. Azrael's blade was digging into your side in this compromising position.

"I said that you almost forget we're in hell for all eternity," you answered in a weak voice. You slid one of your hands away from the hand holding a knife to your throat and down your side to the shadow-casted blade. You unsheathed it and moved it from your side to slightly poke Josh's, "We were so enthralled, we didn’t hear Joe enter the room."

How did you know how to stab Josh with this blade without killing him?

You stabbed the knife into his side and felt the blade on your neck ease up. But, you moved too quickly and the blade dug into your neck and cut you. You fell on your side, landing next to Josh, facing him.  

Both you and Josh passed out. Tyler finally broke free and ran to you, pulling your body into his lap.

“No!”

-

“Hello, Gabriel,” you greeted the angel, smiling gently at him as he brought you in for a hug, “I missed you.” Brendon had crossed arms, watching you and his brother interact with each other. He never knew he could be the jealous type.

“I missed you too, Azrael,” Gabriel squeezed you tight before the hug ended and pulled away.  

“What’s this about you not taking the mistakes from limbo to purgatory?”  

“I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that,” he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “Dad is being a pain lately, and forcing us to kill off forgotten souls.” Brendon rolled his eyes, of course his father would do that, he was never the most considerate ruler.  

You shook your head. Of course, he was trying to do that. Hell was starting to get crowded, you could only imagine what it looked like in purgatory and heaven.  

“More people are going to hell than ever, heaven isn’t even that full,” Gabriel explained, “We’re filtering all the people we can into heaven from purgatory but they’re moving slower than ever.”  

“I suppose this is means for revolution again?” you sighed. The last time there was a revolution in hell and purgatory, your son had died in the hands of your brother, Muriel. You could never be really mad at Muriel, he was doing what he thought was right, but now more than ever, you missed your dear Josh.  

“How? Last time I took care of all the revolutionists last time,” Brendon spoke up, taking your hand after he saw your face fall. Gabriel shrugged.

“There are two new souls coming, and one of them is going to start a revolution,” Gabriel looked you in the eyes, his golden orbs reassuring. However, it wasn’t reassuring enough, “One of them is Joshua.”

-

You groaned at the red light shining above your head.  

“What the fuck happened?” you asked. Tyler and Pete were sitting, having just seen exactly what happened. You looked down at your body, you were wearing the same red dress you saw in your dream.  

Nightmare? No, definitely not a nightmare.  

Memory.  

Josh came too soon after, looking at you with a hopeful sparkle in his eyes. It was quickly gone, however, when he realized it was no longer a dream.  

“Lady Azrael,” Pete said, moving to kneel.  

“I didn’t believe Brendon when he said it was you,” Tyler muttered.  

You stood up, a little unsteady on your bare feet, as opposed to shoes you were wearing, on the rough concrete. You stepped toward Josh, who was holding his side with on hand, and holding Morningstar in the other. You reached down and took your blade.  

Huh, maybe it did belong to you.

“You never know who you’re threatening,” you said. This act was coming so natural.  

“Go ahead. Finish me off, wipe me from existence,” Josh said, barely able to speak now, “you have to know that these wounds don’t heal.”  

You did know. Somehow. Maybe Azrael was telling you, deep down. But she was also begging you to not take her son, your son, away again. The pain was too much.

“I’m not going to finish you off, Joshua,” you said, squatting down to take both blades, the one in his hand and the one in his side, away from him, “I’m going to take this blade out of your side, and I'll heal you.”

“Why?”  

“What kind of mother would I be to leave my son lying, in pain.”

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[the-redhead-who-writes]

Out of a Hat

"Picture Marvin performing a classic: pulling a rabbit out of a hat. He's done it a thousand times, but you've never been in the audience before..." A sweet, fluffy fic staring you and our magic boy!

It’s story time again, dorks! This fic is a birthday gift for @freckled-words! I know she has a soft spot for our magic boy, so I wrote a story based on a prompt I sent to her blog ages ago. I hope you guys enjoy!

Links: AO3

Your hair blew gently around your shoulders as you strolled aimlessly along the gravel pathways, the sun warm on your bare arms. You took a deep breath, smiling contentedly in the fresh air.

It really was the perfect day to be outside.

When you woke up that morning to the gorgeous summer sunshine streaming in through your window, you’d immediately jumped on the chance to take advantage of the weather. Throwing on your favourite blue sundress, you packed a picnic lunch and chose to head to the park a few blocks from your house.

You arrived around midday, and initially, it seemed pretty quiet; some parents were out with their kids by the play equipment, a few elderly couples were sitting by the fountain, and the ice cream vendor had just opened her pop-up stand. On a Saturday like this, you’d expected there to be more people around.

So where was everyone?

You got your answer as the sounds of distant applause and cheering floated up from the nearby grandstand at the bottom of the hill. Intrigued, you decided to put your picnic on hold and take a look.

Reaching the top, you peered down and saw a decent-sized crowd had gathered around a makeshift stage, an accented voice echoing over the mass of spectators.

“-nd that, kids, is why we only let a trained professional light a deck of cards on fire.” Laughter rang out, though you struggled to see from your distant vantage point.

From what you could tell, there was a man on stage. Standing next to a small table and wearing a long black cape, a blue shirt, and dark pants, he interacted animatedly with the audience in front of him. He also had a top hat, and what looked like… a mask?

Your brain worked to connect the dots, and a wide grin spread across your face.

A Magician!

Filled with sudden, childlike excitement, you ran the rest of the way down the hill only to hit the immovable wall of the crowd.

You huffed, cursing your height as your craned your neck to try and see.

“Alrighty, onto my next trick!” Whoops were met as the man addressed the captivated audience, and he motioned to a velvet drawstring bag sitting on the fold-out table.

“I sure hope no here is allergic to feathers,” he called out with a waggle of his eyebrows, and the crowd held its breath in anticipation. He reached his hand down into the bag, bizarrely sinking to his shoulder as he seemed to feel around for something. Then, with a flourish, he yanked his hand back out.

“Ta-da!”

... A beat of silence, then more laughter. Clutched in the Magician’s fist was a large white pillow.

At this, the man blinked before bringing the pillow to eye-level and staring at it perplexedly. “Um… pretty sure this is supposed to be a bird.”

He quickly turned back to the bag and grabbed it with his free hand. “I know I brought them!” he muttered to “himself” as he gave it a furious shake, even going as far as to stick his face into the mouth of the bag while the audience roared with laughter.

With a dumbfounded look, he dropped the bag back on the table.

“Sorry everybody, it looks like I done goofed!”

He shrugged helplessly amid playful shouts of disappointment, and you giggled at the hurt-puppy expression on his partially concealed face.

“Now now, don't worry folks; there’s plenty more magic to be seen!” the showman hurriedly assured his fans. “Let’s just move on, shall we?”

Scattered applause, then he looked dejectedly at the pillow he was still holding.

“Guess I won’t be needing this!” he said dismissively and turned his back on the crowd. Throwing the pillow carelessly over his shoulder, it arced high in the air, and just before it looked like it would fall into the audience, there was a tremendous bang! and a puff of thick smoke.

People screamed in surprise, and you flinched at the sudden loud sound. Then the smoke cleared, and you blinked up at the sky, your eyes growing wide with delight.

An entire flock of white doves swirled overhead, dipping and gliding in the wind. The crowd went wild, people young and old reaching up to try and touch the birds as they flew past and disappeared over the horizon.

The Magician happily bowed to deafening applause, and his show carried on for another 20 minutes, during which he made a selection of colourful scarves tie and untie themselves in a series of complicated looking knots; built a very impressive, multi-tiered house of cards, only to slip and knock the entire structure over amidst laughter; and performed an enthralling show with shadow hand puppets, ranging from your basic cat to an entire moose!

Once he finished putting away the projector and screen used for the shadow puppets, the Magician raised his hands, and silence fell over the crowd.

“Thank you so much, you've been an absolutely fantastic audience! But, I'm afraid all things must come to an end.”

You ‘aww’d’ along with everyone else, and the man held his fist to his mouth dramatically, pretending to hold back a sob.

“No, please, no tears. For this, my final trick, is both a classic and my personal favourite!” He swiped his top hat off his head and threw it towards the card table, where it landed smoothly with the brim facing up.

Your heart leapt at the declaration, but of course, you weren't the only one excited to see what would happen. The entire mob swarmed forward, trying to get even an inch closer to the stage.

That's when you saw it; a narrow space in the throng of people.

You hesitated, biting your lip and weighing your options. It was probably the only opening you were going to get, but there was a real possibility you could get crushed in the impending stampede… Was it worth the risk?

“Now I can't do this trick alone. Allow me to introduce a friend of mine!”

At that, The Magician reached into the folds of his satin cape and from somewhere within its depths produced just about the cutest rabbit you'd ever seen.

“This is Bunny! Say hello, Bunny!” The animal blinked lazily, twitching its soft pink nose while the audience cooed at the small creature.

Well, that was easy.

Steeling your resolve, you clutched your picnic basket to your chest and dove forward.

It was mass hysteria; people everywhere bumping into each other and elbows flying. It was also nearly impossible to see, but luckily you could still hear as the Magician carried on with his act.

“Now watch as I place Bunny inside my trusty hat, hiding her under this handkerchief. And with a wave of my hands…”

You could only assume his next few actions. There was a rustle of fabric and then-

“Behold!!” More applause as the crowd ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘ahh-ed’ in excitement. “Have no fear; bringing her back is a simple task for a skilled Magician! First, I re-cover the hat, like so-”

Worried you were going to miss the end of the performance, you redoubled your efforts to wiggle through. And while it took some maneuvering that would've made a gymnast blush, you managed to squeeze into the heart of the crowd unscathed.

Brushing off your dress, you looked up to a perfect view of the stage and the Magician as he laid a deep purple cloth over his empty top hat.

His mask caught your eye first; definitely catlike, with the four card suit emblems painted on the forehead. Pointy green ears and whiskers completed the look, though the ears weren’t the only green feature. Up close and without his hat, you realized the front of his brown hair was dyed a bright shade of green. Unusual, but you found that it suited him handsomely.

“Is everyone ready?”

You were pulled from your thoughts at his Irish-tinged voice, now louder that you were near the front.

“How about on the count of 3?”

Explosive cheers as he took a step back, bracing himself as he lifted his hands towards his hat. “Ok, here we go!”

“1!”

The audience chimed in with his count, yourself included. The look of giddy joy on the man’s face was infectious, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“2!!”

The crowd was on the edge of its seat, practically vibrating with energy. You gripped your picnic basket tighter, eagerly awaiting the climax of his trick as your heart drummed in your chest.

“3!!!”

Just as he reached the end of the countdown, the Magician turned his head towards the crowd. His eyes swept over the audience, positively beaming, before coming to rest… on you.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It should’ve been impossible to tell; there were dozens of other people crowded around you, and the mask he wore obscured his face. But for some reason you just knew: he was looking at you.

The realization hit you suddenly, and the effect was immediate: a blush heated your cheeks, an uncontrollable smile stretching across your face as the roar of the crowd faded. You thought you saw his eyes widen behind his mask, and you couldn’t help but wonder what colour they were…

A flash of shimmering green light. A cool, tingling sensation that prickled your skin.

You didn’t even have the chance to be shocked as the weight of your picnic basket and the feeling of the uneven grass beneath your feet suddenly melted away.

Sound filled your ears, growing from a soft hum to a high-pitched whistling. The world became a blur and your eyes were forced shut. Your body lurched, rushing up, forward, somewhere and then-

Your shoes slammed back down to earth on a much more solid surface. You groaned, the air punched from your lungs and head spinning from vertigo. Squinting at the too-bright sunshine, you slowly opened your eyes.

Hundreds of eyes stared back at you; dozens of faces you didn’t recognize shouting and waving in a frenzy.

You froze.

...You were standing on stage.

The same stage you were fairly certain you’d just been watching from a few dozen feet away.

A strange, hysterical urge to laugh rose up in you.

This-this wasn’t happening. It was impossible. How?!

Trying and failing to understand what was going on, you were about two seconds from bolting when something soft fell in front of your face. Startled, you made to brush whatever it was aside and noticed a weight in your arms.

You glanced down.

There was a rabbit cradled soundly against your chest, soaking in the warmth of your body.

A very familiar rabbit.

The Magicians-

Your eyes widened as your thoughts caught up with you. Shaking away whatever was hanging in your eyes, you turned your head.

The man standing across from you was no longer the playful, composed performer you’d been watching mere moments ago. Now he was completely red in the face, flushing from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck. His mouth hung open in embarrassed horror, hands raised in shock.

Now that you were this close to him, you distantly realized his eyes were a breathtaking blue.

“THAT WAS INCREDIBLE!!”

“Is she his assistant or something?”

“Must be, they totally match!!”

“Aww, they’re so cute together!”

“Where did the ears come from, though?”

...Ears?

The snippets of conversation drew your attention away from the shell-shocked man, and your face turned a shade of scarlet that rivaled his own.

You… you had bunny ears on. The new feeling and weight of a headband confirmed it.

What. The. Hell.

As for the two of you matching, well... Your sundress… did compliment the blue of his shirt... But that was just a coincidence!

A small voice in the back of your mind whispered something else entirely.

Fate.

The blood pounded in your ears, a combination of shock and self-consciousness coursing through you. But as you turned to look at the Magician again, his face marred with apologetic humiliation, you felt a twinge of sympathy.

Sure, you had no idea how this happened, but apparently, neither did he. And he certainly looked like he felt sorry - if “sorry” meant about to pass out cold.

You looked back at the screaming audience, took a deep breath, and came to a decision.

Moving to deposit Bunny into the awaiting hat on the card table, you then walked to the edge of the stage, where you started clapping. Smiling as brightly as you could manage, you exclaimed, “Another round of applause, everyone! Wasn’t that incredible?”

You hurried to wave the Magician out of his stupor and to your side. He watched you incredulously, but cautiously took center stage.

The crowd’s cheers grew tenfold, and a hesitant smile tugged at the showman's lips.

He was still a little stunned, so you ever-so-slightly elbowed him in the ribs. He yelped, but after your pointed head jerk towards the audience seemed to take the hint.

Clearing his throat, he called over the crowd in a wavering voice, “T-thank you, you’re too kind…”

He fidgeted with the hem of his cape before adding, “And of course, I couldn’t have done it without the help of my-” he shot you a side glance, “-lovely a-assistant.”

Shyly taking one of your hands in his, he brought it up to his lips and brushed a feather-light kiss over your knuckles.

You had no hope of containing the fresh blush his words and actions caused, so instead, you embraced it, turning back to the audience. “He’s truly amazing, isn’t he? Really, how does he do it?”

Then, as a little payback, you leaned down to eye-level, lowering your voice to a teasing whisper. “I sure wish I knew…”

The Magician gulped, and you smothered a laugh as he released your hand.

You both stood basking in the adoration of the audience when you thought of something.

“Bow.”

“W-what?”

“Go on, take a bow!” You stepped back to give him the floor, no longer needing to fake your smile.

He nodded jerkily, turning to face his adoring fans. With a show of grandeur, he swept his cape back and bowed low to overwhelming applause.

You grinned despite the absurdity of the situation; he made it easy.

“Marvin the Magnificent thanks you one and all! Until next time, folks!”

His encompassing stage presence seemingly back in full swing, he swiftly turned to offer you his arm. You sheepishly accepted and together you headed backstage, waving goodbye to the crowd.

But as soon as you’d gotten behind the curtain and out of sight, the man - Marvin - whirled around, guilt written all over his features.

“Miss, I am so, so, sorry. I-I didn’t mean to - I swear I know that trick like the back of my hand and I’ve done it just fine all the other times!! But then I saw you and I got distracted and I guess I just... ”

He trailed off, looking utterly lost, and while you had to admit it was a little cute, you didn’t like seeing him so upset.

“Marvin- um, is that your real name?” you asked softly, and he nodded. Happy to finally know his name, you continued, “Marvin, it’s alright.”

You dropped your gaze to your sandals, shuffling your feet.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not usually so good in front of crowds, but whatever that was back there…” You looked up, gazing into his ocean-blue eyes, “It was amazing. Or-” you chuckled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear- “should I say “magnificent?”

Another blush crawled up his face, disappearing behind his mask. He opened his mouth to say something - probably another stuttered apology - when a figure barrelled out of nowhere, tackling Marvin in a fierce hug.

“Bro, that was awesome!!” the stranger cried, enthusiastically noogie-ing Marvin while he spluttered in protest.

“Ch-Chase, dammit, cut it out!”

Marvin quickly twisted himself out of the headlock, blushing even harder than before.

The new man, who was excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet, bore a striking resemblance to Marvin, green hair and all. “How'd you do it, huh?” he prodded eagerly, “And why didn’t ya tell us you got an assistant?”

“He didn’t. Ol’ Marvin here just can’t seem to keep it in his pants,” a grating, high-pitched voice said in your ear, and you whirled around to see a man resembling the first two with black gauges in his ears.

His smirk was sharp, as were his teeth, and you let out an involuntary shriek at the deep, crude gashes in his neck.

He cackled at the clear horror on your face. “Aw, don’t worry about these, girlie. Not all of Marvin’s tricks can go as well as this one, ya know?”

You paled, and his giggles only grew louder.

Marvin choked, horrified. “He’s just kidding, I swear!!”

The manic grin on the scarred man’s face did little to calm the frantic beating of your heart, but you chose to believe Marvin rather than dwell on the alternatives.

Swallowing, you tentatively asked, “Wh-who are you guys? More performers?”

The three men exchanged bemused looks, and Scars started laughing again.

Marvin hurriedly shushed him. “Not quite,” he explained. “These are my uh… brothers: Chase-“ A quick nod to the man now fiddling with a Nerf gun he’d pulled from the waistband of his jeans. “-and Anti.“ Another sinister smirk from Scars. “They come to watch my shows sometimes, that’s all.”

“And this one was totally rad!” Chase chimed in excitedly, “Way cooler than his usual stuff - especially that last part!”

Anti leered at you, grinning. “Yeah, Marvie sure can pick ‘em.”

Marvin bristled, moving to stand just a little closer to you. You didn’t notice, though, your curiosity piqued.

“Wait, what was ‘cooler’?”

Chase shrugged. “Normally his “big finish” is just making his rabbit disappear and reappear. Totally lame.”

You blinked. “I thought you had, like, an actual assistant waiting in the wings or something.”

Marvin flinched, rubbing the back of his neck. “No… Like I said, it was an accident.“

“Oh, so were these an accident too then?” You reached up to pointedly tug on your newest accessory, rubbing the silky material of one ear between your fingers.

Marvin’s face went crimson once more as he stammered, refusing to meet your gaze.

Anti’s giggles were back, seemingly unfazed by Marvin’s red-faced glare.

“He really likes bunnies.”

The emphasis behind his words didn’t go unnoticed. The silence was suffocating with Marvin looking anywhere but at you and Anti grinning like a cat who found the birdcage open.

Thankfully, Chase spoke up, blissfully unaware of the lingering tension. “So… you aren’t his new assistant?”

You blanked. “I-I don't think so?” you answered, unsure.

Chase cocked his head, crestfallen. “Why not? It looked like you had fun, and you guys were so cool.”

His reasoning was simple, but you realized that Chase was right nonetheless. As crazy as the show had been, the thrill of performing was something you could definitely get used to. Coupled with the chance to work (and maybe even grow closer) with Marvin? It was a no-brainer!

“I mean… I could be convinced to do another show or two.”

Marvin’s face lit up, and he turned to gape at you again. “R-really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Sure, so long as you don’t mind training me a bit first.”

Marvin beamed. “Of course! I’ll teach you everything I know!”

“That’ll be a quick class,” Anti muttered snidely.

You frowned at the jab and took Marvin by the hand, who was still grinning brilliantly.

“Wanna go chat for a bit?” he asked, and you smiled, nodding.

His dark cape swung in a blur as he suddenly enveloped you in its folds. You heard Chase and Anti shout, then that cool, tingling feeling returned.

“Hold on!” Marvin instructed, and you wrenched your eyes shut as your body melted and shifted once more. It was much less jarring this time, and when you rematerialized again, you found yourself back at the picnic tables on top of the hill.

Marvin straightened his wind-tousled outfit, grinning.

“I will never get used to that,” you laughed breathlessly, finger combing your hair.

He chuckled, and you glanced over at the wooden tables with a sigh. “It’s too bad. The lunch I packed earlier has probably been trampled to pieces by now.”

Marvin grinned slyly. “Oh contrére!”

The Magician brought his palms together in a single, resounding clap, and as he pulled them apart, your picnic basket appeared, undamaged, and fell into his waiting grasp.

Wide-eyed, you gratefully received your basket and smiled. “I’m not even gonna ask how you did that.”

Marvin shrugged. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

“Care to join me?” you offered, holding up the basket and gesturing to one of the tables. “After all, I think you still owe me some answers. Especially if I’m going to stick around and be your assistant.”

The ecstatic grin on Marvin’s face was adorable. “Absolutely! But, uh, do you mind if we make it a meal for three?”

At your puzzled expression, Marvin reached into his cape and once again pulled out Bunny.

“She’s not used to being upstaged; she might be a little grumpy with me.”

You laughed, no longer questioning the man’s strange abilities as you reached to stroke the velvety-soft rabbit behind the ears. “I think we can manage that.”

[meshugana1]

A business executive who prides in her fitness and intelligence suddenly turns into a 500 lb bimbo whore.

All the employees in the office looked up as they saw their new boss enter the building. Her name was Gertrude Roberts, and she was a real knockout. Black hair that kept in a tight ponytail, impeccably applied makeup. Her business suit was always in immaculate condition and she always wore the same Italian silk outfit. It was a thinking technique made up by Einstein, not having to think of what she was going to wear freed up even more of her savvy mind.

And every bit of her sizable brainpower went to improving the company and furthering her own business goals. She aimed for nothing less than the top of the company, and she’d get there no matter how many people she’d have to step over to get there. Her sharp mind and professional style were tools she’d cultivated to help achieve this goal. She had dreaded coming in today though, she didn’t much care for her employees being involved with her life but someone found out that today was her birthday.

She was met with the usual birthday greetings and questions. They annoyed Gertrude to no end, she absolutely hated idle chit chat. But the big “reveal” had happened at lunch when everyone piled into her corner office, bringing in a bright pink three tiered cake with 4 candles. Gertrude appreciated the effort they’d apparently gone through, she knew she could be a real slave driver and that she wasn’t the easiest to get along with. Chuckling at the “opportunity” she had she decided to blow out her candles and wished that she was more fun to be around.

Gertrude felt a pang of hunger suddenly hit her and thanked everyone for the cake and quickly ushered her confused workers out of her office. Slamming the door closed and pressed her back against it, letting her eyes fall upon the suddenly irresistible looking cake. Still trying to maintain her composure she excitedly cut a fairly large piece of cake and dig into it with a plastic fork. When the sweet confection hit her lips she buckled as a wave of pleasure washed over her. Oh god, she thought, that was better than sex!

Too overwhelmed by the explosive taste in her mouth, Gertrude couldn’t notice that her clothes began to reform on her body. Her shoes became pink and white stilettos with a six inch heel. Her dark stockings became white and ended with pink piping. Her sensible dark cotton panties shrank and changed into a tight pink thong that wedgied itself into her wet pussy lips. Her pants then morphed into a skirt so short it didn’t even cover her exposed pussy. Her jacket and shirt nearly totally dissolved and left only a pin tube top in their place that was around a size too small to contain her large breasts.

Gertrude continued to eat the cake oblivious to her new wardrobe when her mind began to feel all funny and cloudy. “Mmm, this cake is like soooooo yummmy!” She said aloud as she felt her coochie twitch into a lovely orgasm at another bite of her b-day cake. Her hair then turned a shade of platinum blonde and split into two high pigtails. She had at last finished her orgasmically good piece of cake. Trudy was really sad that her piece was gone, it was so good! Then she realized she was being a total ditz again, she had the whole rest of the cake she could eat. God she was such a dummy.

She was so excited yo be eating her cake again that she failed to notice that with every bite she was gaining weight. With each piece she was ballooning out, but her clothes seemed to grow with her. Her huge rotund belly getting insanely large and spilling down in front of her. Her ass was almost absurdly large, most definitely needing more than a single seat to sit from now on. Her legs and arms grew flabby and chunky. A double chin quickly formed as she finally finished the last piece.

“Oh god, that was so fuckin’ good!” She said licking her fingers and reaching under her belly to finger her empty snatch. “Man I’m like super horny right now. I should ask one these office dudes for a birthday fuck! I’ll even give them a discount off my usual price since it’s my special day!” Trudy said as she waddled over to the door.

The End. Hope you like it!

[deniscollins]

The Short Tenure and Abrupt Ouster of Banking’s Sole Black C.E.O.

Credit Suisse bank in Switzerland had no black employees when it hired Tidjane Thiam as its CEO in 2014. He would make the firm profitable while enduring racist comments and activities at work. Originally from the Ivory Coast, at a shareholders meeting, his background was denigrated as “third world. If you were an upper level manager what actions, if any, would you take to create a more welcoming environment? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decisions?

Last November, Urs Rohner, the chairman of the board of Credit Suisse, had a party at a Zurich restaurant to celebrate his 60th birthday. Among the scores of friends, family and business associates who gathered, attendees say, there was a single Black guest: Tidjane Thiam, the bank’s chief executive.

The festivities had a Studio 54 theme, with 1970s costumes and hired entertainers. Mr. Thiam watched as a Black performer came onstage dressed as a janitor, and began to dance to music while sweeping the floor. Mr. Thiam excused himself and left the room. His partner and another couple at his table, including the chief executive of the British drug company GSK, followed.

Eventually they returned to the party, only to be astonished again. A group of Mr. Rohner’s friends took the stage to perform their own musical number, all wearing Afro wigs. (Mr. Rohner declined to comment on the events, which were described by three guests.)

For Mr. Thiam, now 58, the party was just one in a series of painful incidents that shaped his five years atop Credit Suisse, when he was the only Black chief executive in the top tier of banking. Some moments were shocking, others disturbing; most had to do with tensions around being Black in a predominantly white industry and an overwhelmingly white city.

A tall, reserved, bespectacled polyglot, Mr. Thiam did the job he was hired to do: He made Credit Suisse profitable again after a long decline. But he never had to stop fighting for acceptance and respect, both within the bank and in Switzerland generally. At a shareholders meeting, his background was denigrated as “third world.” A subordinate purchased the home next to his, which was taller and looked directly into Mr. Thiam’s windows. The Zurich press rode him for not appearing sufficiently Swiss.

Now the number of Black chief executives at the highest level of banking is back to zero. In February, Credit Suisse’s board forced Mr. Thiam’s resignation, after a deeply embarrassing surveillance scandal erupted on his watch. When Mr. Thiam’s No. 2 admitted he had ordered investigators to spy on employees, the chief executive found himself with few allies and no leverage to survive.

His ouster attracted remarkably little notice outside Zurich, coming as it did months before a global reckoning with systemic bias, and occurring 4,000 miles from Wall Street. But interviews with 11 people who worked closely with Mr. Thiam at Credit Suisse, and five other close contacts — including clients, friends, family and investors — suggest that race was an ever-present factor throughout his tenure, and that it helped create the conditions for his startlingly swift departure.

Whether it’s labeled racism, xenophobia or some other form of intolerance, what’s clear is that Mr. Thiam never stopped being seen in Switzerland as someone who didn’t belong.

After Mr. Thiam’s resignation, he gave a news conference at the bank’s headquarters. “Every second, I’ve done the best I could,” he said. “I am who I am. I cannot change who I am.” He added: “It’s the essence of injustice to hold against somebody what they are.”

‘The most important thing in life is not to die’

Tidjane Thiam (pronounced tee-JOHN tee-YAHM) was born in Ivory Coast to an elite family active in politics. One relative led the country’s successful bid for independence from France in 1960 and became its first president. Another became the prime minister of Senegal.

The youngest of seven, Mr. Thiam was raised Muslim. His mother, Marietou, could not write but parented with perfectionist standards. “Be gallant, respect the staff that worked for us — on this, she was ruthless — do not lie, be punctual, do not say bad words, show solidarity,” said Yamousso Thiam, Mr. Thiam’s youngest sister, in an interview.

Their father, Amadou, was a journalist, a cabinet minister and an ambassador to Morocco. When Mr. Thiam was an infant, Amadou was incarcerated for three years on charges of plotting against the Ivorian government. The allegations were later invalidated, and the Thiam children would long remember the injustice — as they did the lesson their father took from narrowly surviving a coup attempt in 1971, with a gunshot wound to the hand. “The most important thing in life,” Amadou would joke, “is not to die.”

When Mr. Thiam was 6, and conspicuously uninterested in school, one of his brothers asked the Ivorian president to intervene. He summoned Mr. Thiam and his parents and reamed them out. “I remember it as if it were yesterday,” Mr. Thiam recalled in a 2015 interview. “There was a kind of family court, where there was an indictment: ‘He must go to school. The era of illiterate African princes and lazy kings, it is over.’”

Mr. Thiam quickly excelled, and in 1984 he became the first Ivorian to graduate from Paris’s prestigious École Polytechnique. After earning a degree in engineering and a master’s in business, Mr. Thiam worked at the World Bank, then in the Paris office of McKinsey.

In 1994, Mr. Thiam returned to Ivory Coast to work in public service. A few years later, he was promoted to minister of planning and development — but when a military coup deposed the president, he refused a role in the new government, and, fearing for his life, he returned to Europe and the private sector.

He ran the European operations of Aviva, a British insurer, and in 2009 was named chief executive of the British financial services firm Prudential — the first Black person to run one of the London Stock Exchange’s hundred largest companies. During his tenure, Prudential’s profits doubled and its stock price tripled, and a BBC host described Mr. Thiam as having “soared through top-flight institutions with a heady cocktail of crystal-clear intellect, fizzing ambition, and a healthy dash of charm.”

Mr. Rohner, the chairman of Credit Suisse, approached Mr. Thiam about the possibility of running the bank in 2014. Mr. Thiam was skeptical, he later told Euromoney magazine: It was a daunting role, and he wasn’t sure the bank was serious about hiring him. (Earlier in his career, he’d told a headhunter that he wouldn’t travel for a job interview unless the prospective employer knew he was “Black, African, Francophone and 6 foot 4.”) He insisted on lengthy discussions with Mr. Rohner before agreeing to take the job.

“The chairman tells me we had 19 meetings,” Mr. Thiam said in the Euromoney interview, adding: “I actually said no twice.”

‘Sink down to the third world’

At the time, Credit Suisse was in a deep funk. Years after the financial crisis, it was still heavily dependent on costly trading strategies, and its wealth management unit trailed UBS, the bank’s archrival in Zurich. Investors were impatient with its languishing stock price. On the March 2015 day when Mr. Thiam’s hiring was announced, Credit Suisse shares rose 7 percent.

His restructuring plan involved thousand of layoffs and paring back sales and trading, making many employees nervous for their jobs. It was an executive he promoted, however, who gave Mr. Thiam one of his first unsettling experiences in Switzerland.

To bolster Credit Suisse’s private wealth management business, he had tapped Iqbal Khan, 39, who had been born in Pakistan but moved to Switzerland as a child. The two were discussing strategy one day late in 2015, according to people familiar with the incident, when Mr. Khan announced that he’d bought the house next door to Mr. Thiam’s in Herrliberg, a suburb with lofty prices and views of Lake Zurich. Mr. Thiam asked Mr. Khan if he was serious. Mr. Khan said yes.

Later, Mr. Thiam told friends and colleagues that the news disturbed him. Fiercely private, he was going through a divorce, and he was leery of a subordinate having a view of his low-slung property. As a C.E.O., he didn’t relish the idea of being literally looked down upon.

Mr. Thiam made an effort to embrace Zurich society. He visited Swiss business leaders, spoke on panels convened by Swiss media and attended an annual spring festival in traditional Swiss garb: a Napoleon-style hat and matching navy cloak. But before long, aspects of his lifestyle began to irritate the locals. With Credit Suisse making a show of cutting costs, the Swiss press began to catalog Mr. Thiam’s first-class air travel and stays in presidential suites. One column accused him of taking helicopters to events and traveling with an entourage, calling him “King Thiam.”

In a country nearly synonymous with wealth — the home of the Swiss bank account and six-figure wristwatches — such anti-elitism is a little difficult to parse. Expatriates who have long worked in Switzerland say the Swiss have a fine-grained aversion to public displays of wealth, and regard those who flaunt it as outsiders. One foreign billionaire in the country, who did not want to be named discussing the issue, said he had banned luxury cars from his company garage.

Others were more direct about labeling Mr. Thiam an outsider. At Credit Suisse’s annual investor meeting in 2016, a shareholder named Ingeborg Ginsberg, a 94-year-old Holocaust survivor, questioned Mr. Thiam’s background.

“The bank is called Suisse — Credit Suisse,” Ms. Ginsberg said in German. Referencing Brady Dougan, Mr. Thiam’s American predecessor, she added: “I asked him last year if he doesn’t have a conflict of interest. I ask the same question of Mr. Thiam, if he can understand me: Does he not have a conflict of interest? I heard him mention the third world — is that really what we want? That a good, solid, Swiss bank sinks to the level of the third world?”

On the dais, where Mr. Thiam sat next to Mr. Rohner, their shock was evident.

Mr. Rohner interrupted. “You should not make such accusations, without declaration, into the room,” he said, adding: “We do not always take foreigners, we always choose the best man for the job, and we have found that man.”

A feeling of: You cleaned up the mess; now leave

By 2018, Credit Suisse’s business had improved substantially. The bank was again solidly profitable, and the wealth division had overtaken UBS in some areas. Mr. Thiam had resolved legal issues that preceded his tenure, settling a major U.S. case for an amount less than Credit Suisse had expected. Euromoney named him banker of the year.

Mr. Thiam was by now well-known in Zurich, where pedestrians on the Bahnhofstrasse would sometimes shake his hand or ask for selfies. Much of the attention was innocuous, but people who worked with him at the time say the constant exposure wore him down.

In predominantly white Zurich, a city of just 400,000, his powerful role and his skin color made him stand out. Mr. Thiam stopped driving his Porsche Cayenne to work, fearing that any run-in with another motorist, even over a parking spot, would turn into a media incident. On the tram, his adult sons were often the only Black riders — and the first to be asked for their tickets. Merely by appearing at a local nightclub, they could trigger gossip. Mr. Thiam felt that he was under a microscope; when his sister planned a surprise visit, an overeager Zurich hotel worker noticed her booking and shared the details with Mr. Thiam’s office, ruining the occasion.

At another point, during a business trip from Zurich to Geneva, he was held up by a customs worker who demanded to see his passport, even after Mr. Thiam protested that he was traveling within Switzerland. He produced the document and was permitted to leave the airport, but instructed a staffer to lodge a formal complaint about the experience. (Each of these incidents was described by multiple people.)

Things were beginning to sour inside Credit Suisse, too. Despite an improved balance sheet, Credit Suisse’s shares were down, hurt by stock offerings Mr. Thiam had deemed necessary to strengthen capital reserves. He told associates he felt underappreciated by board members, some of whom faulted him for Credit Suisse’s lack of growth in China.

In August 2018, a local financial publication wrote that Mr. Thiam was “feted abroad, unloved in Switzerland,” adding: “Prone to imperious behavior and prickly to criticism, Thiam has lost grasp of the Swiss sense of proportionality.” News articles often drew belittling comments. One reader of an especially critical Zurich blog called him a “fruit salesman” and added, “Go home, fool!” Another wrote: “I hope he sends his money home. Then we can classify it as development aid.”

Mr. Thiam would often say that given his family’s brushes with military insurrections, he wasn’t bothered by bad press and corporate drama. But as the year wore on, Mr. Thiam confided to associates his fear that the board wanted him out. Their unspoken message, he said, was: You cleaned up the mess. Now leave. It’s a pattern known as the “glass cliff” — the tendency of institutions to install women and minorities as leaders only when there’s big trouble, and then shunt them aside.

Mr. Thiam was closer to the precipice than he knew. In early 2019, he hosted a holiday party at his home. Mr. Khan had by then moved in next door, and Mr. Thiam had planted trees to obstruct the view. At the party, Mr. Khan got into a heated discussion with Mr. Thiam’s partner about the landscaping, upsetting her, and the two men stepped downstairs for a private word. Mr. Khan quickly left the scene.

Neither executive will say exactly what transpired. But later that year, Mr. Khan shocked Zurich by decamping to UBS. Wealth management had been the most successful aspect of Mr. Thiam’s tenure, and now his star executive would be working for the bank’s biggest competitor.

Spy games

That September, Mr. Khan and his wife were driving to lunch at a Zurich restaurant when they noticed they were being followed. Mr. Khan parked and confronted the man, who turned out to be a detective from a Swiss firm called Investigo. An argument ensued, during which each party has since accused the other of becoming physically aggressive. Mr. Khan filed a police report, and both Credit Suisse and the canton opened investigations.

“Spygate,” as the Swiss media called it, was a sensation. At Credit Suisse, the chief operating officer, Pierre-Olivier Bouée, admitted to ordering the surveillance, saying he had suspected Mr. Khan of trying to poach employees. He resigned. Mr. Thiam, who denied any knowledge of the spy games, was cleared. But Mr. Bouée was not just his No. 2; he had followed Mr. Thiam to the bank from Prudential, and the chief executive’s name was deeply tarnished by association.

The incident was a debacle for all of Credit Suisse, an institution that was a source of great national pride. A contract worker who had been involved in hiring Investigo died by suicide. Mr. Rohner felt obliged to publicly apologize to the Khans and the Swiss public.

Soon, more accusations surfaced, including that Credit Suisse’s H.R. chief had also been surveilled. Late in December, the Swiss Financial Market Supervisory Authority — known as Finma — started an inquiry into Credit Suisse’s use of investigators to monitor employees.

The repercussions of the scandal progressed with remarkable speed. On Jan. 31, 2020, Bloomberg reported that Mr. Rohner was looking for a new chief executive.

Three large shareholders — two American, one British — publicly came to Mr. Thiam’s defense. David Herro, a top executive at Harris Associates, a Chicago fund, suggested that the opposition to Mr. Thiam was racially motivated. Appearing on Bloomberg Television, Mr. Herro attributed the strife to “envy from competitors — or perhaps something else, given that Mr. Thiam looks a little bit different than the typical Swiss banker. Either one of these two rationales behind these attacks against him, to me, are extremely distasteful.”

But Mr. Thiam had too little support in his corner. On Feb. 7, he resigned. A Swiss member of his executive team was named his successor.

As chief executive, Mr. Thiam was responsible for everything at Credit Suisse, and the surveillance activity was widely viewed as despicable. But it’s an open question whether a C.E.O. from a different background might have survived. Other bank leaders have dodged far greater scandals.

In 2012, Jamie Dimon, the chief executive of JPMorgan Chase, failed to rein in a trader, nicknamed the London Whale, who lost the bank more than $6 billion and triggered more than $1 billion in fines. Last week, in a different matter, the bank agreed to pay nearly $1 billion in fines for illegally manipulating the markets for precious metals and Treasury products. Mr. Dimon remains Wall Street’s longest-serving C.E.O.

In 2016, in a case with striking similarities to what transpired at Credit Suisse, the chief executive of Barclays tried to unmask a whistle-blower, at one point asking an internal security team to intervene. British regulators fined the C.E.O., James E. Staley, with little fanfare. Separately, in 2019, Mr. Staley was revealed to have had ties to Jeffrey Epstein, the financier accused of sex trafficking young girls, including a visit to Mr. Epstein while he was incarcerated. Mr. Staley is still at the top of Barclays.

Before he departed Credit Suisse, Mr. Thiam had a chance to present his final set of earnings results to the press. Toward the end of the question-and-answer session, a local reporter spoke up.

“The strategy was good,” the reporter said, but the style “did not speak to Swiss mentality. This is my question: Would it be different in England or another —”

“I am who I am,” Mr. Thiam interrupted. “The same way I was born with a right hand, I cannot change being right-handed.” He added, “If people don’t like right-handed people, then I’m in trouble. That’s all I can say, because I can’t become left-handed.”

Colleagues sitting near him swore they saw Mr. Thiam’s eyes glistening.

The investigation continues

Mr. Thiam remained in Zurich, awaiting a formal interview with Finma. It was a time of anguish, say close associates, because he urgently wanted to visit his son, Bilal, who was suffering from cancer in a Los Angeles hospital. Late in April, he flew to Bilal’s bedside. He died in early May, at 24.

Since then, Mr. Thiam has been consulting on virus relief efforts in Africa, where he serves as special envoy of the African Union on Covid-19. He has also re-engaged with politics in Ivory Coast. In August, Mr. Thiam stoked rumors that he was considering a presidential bid with a video message commemorating the country’s 60th year of independence, in which he urged Ivorians to embrace a “reconciled and fraternal” spirit.

On Sept. 2, having concluded that Credit Suisse’s surveillance activities may have violated Swiss “supervisory law,” Finma announced that its inquiry had been escalated from an investigation to an enforcement matter. An agency spokesman said that the focus was on the bank itself, not individuals.

For his sister Yamousso, one question about the Swiss still lingers. “I would be curious to know,” she said, “if today they’d finally have the honesty to recognize that seeing a Black man at the top of one of their most prestigious companies was unbearable.”