#it's long but it went pretty quick while i read aloud and the players responded

[words-writ-in-starlight]

would read the intensive level-up scenes, because I too DM with a ton of backstory and not enough actual session prep, also my current party is lacking in marketable/reusable details AND I'M NOT CREATIVE ENOUGH TO COME UP WITH MORE IDEAS

HERE, THEY LONG, THEY DETAILED, THEY UNDER A CUT

MY PLAYERS BETTER NOT BE READING THIS

(Technically I wrote these all as choose-your-own-adventure style things, and they have breaks for people to choose an outcome, but, A, I only included the path they took in this post, and, B, I knew my players pretty well and was fairly capable of scripting what they were going to do.  They were all going up to Level 3, so the last thing noted is what they were choosing in-game--their class specialization.)

AZARA (SCOURGE AASIMAR, WARLOCK OF THE RAVEN QUEEN, PACT OF THE CHAIN)

You fall asleep, and it’s strange—you can feel time passingin the black of unconsciousness, leaving you to linger there for a long, darknight without any sign of dawn.  Just asit begins to be too much, you feel something in the endless black for the firsttime.  It’s cold, and hard, and touchingyour feet—no.  You’re standing, barefoot,on stone.

Realizing this is like opening a dam.  Sensation comes back to you in a blindingrush, all at once, and it hurts.

That’s what tips you off. You spent years being tortured. You know that dreams can’t make you hurt, but this—this hurts, light and sound and touch soharsh and immediate that they burn. You’ve had this happen before. Just once.  You cover your earsand close your eyes like a child afraid of the dark, and wait to adjust.

You open your eyes, and this time the light is bright butnot blinding, and you uncover your ears slowly and discover that you can hearclearly, and you straighten up.

You are barefoot, unarmed, wearing a plain prisoner’stunic.  You recognize the clothes fromprison, but now they’re starless black, so dark you can’t even seeshadows.  You do not recognize the heavyiron collar around your neck, but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t chafe at your skin,it’s just…heavy.  Your skin is crackedlike porcelain held together with glue, and golden radiance pours forth likeyou’ve been traced with molten metal, casting a circle of light around yourfeet.  Your face feels hot, like someoneis holding a torch directly to the height of your cheekbones, and your eyesdrip something thick and burning down your face.  

You look around and see that you’re standing on abattlefield like none you’ve ever seen.  Theroar of noise is the bellow of warcries, broken here and there by the sharp andviolent crash of weapons on armor as the posturing armies meet in smallskirmishes.

The armies are small. You are one of sixteen in black, facing sixteen in white.  The battlefield is silver and sickly green,alternating squares five feet on all sides, and the armies don’t wear uniformspast their shared colors.

You are still on the back line, with two empty squares toyour left.  You can see a black paladincoming under heavy attack from a white sorcerer with fire wreathing her handsto the furthest right side of the fight, and a black rogue with two knivestrying to rip through the white line, there and gone too fast to catch as theychart a jagged course across the battle.  

To your right is a towering throne—empty and carved out of asingle piece of black stone, the seat level with your shoulder.  You can’t get a good look at the rest of theback line, on the other side of the throne, but you can see that there’ssomeone else still hanging back.  Justahead is a tall woman wearing a veil over her eyes, dressed in a priest’s blackrobes and holding her staff of office high with a battlecry.  Defending the throne.  There is an empty square beside her, in frontof the throne, and a clear line stretching away up and to your left, into theclash ahead.  

As you look over the battlefield, trying to get a sense ofwhat’s happening, a soldier on a white horse swings a mace with a roar oflaughter, and sends a black-clad boy no older than twelve to the ground with acrunch and a spray of blood.  He stayswhere he’s fallen, and the white horse steps over him to take his square.

You are a strategist. You’ve played chess before.  Youknow that this is skirmish is just the beginning of the midgame, and it’s timeto develop the queen.

What do you want todo?

You take a step forward to leave your square, and you can’tmove your feet.  Instead, a massivehand—long-fingered and slender—reaches down and scoops you up.  Gently, but the fingers are hard and cold anddon’t give any more than the marble chessboard when you scramble to get yourfeet under you.

You’re lifted up and away from the chessboard, toward theinvisible player, and all you can think is that once you touch a piece inchess, by the strict rules, you have no choice but to play it.

The golden light pouring from your skin illuminates a vast porcelainmask with painted-on black eyes without sclera or pupil, a plain almond of inkthat you can feel staring at you.  Theonly color on the mask is the bloody red slash of lips, which don’t move when theplayer speaks.

“Here you are,” the voice says.  It’s soft and smooth and feminine, butthere’s a note of strain there that makes all the hair on the back of your neckbristle.  “You have run for long enough,my warlock.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

“You are not a soldier anymore,” the voice says.  It’s harder, now, almost impatient.  “You wanted freedom—I gave it.  You walked out of your cage without a mark onyou.  Why do you still hide in theshadows?  I have given you freedom, andpower, enough of both to be my agent in the world.  But you cower in the back line, waiting fororders.”  

The voice pauses, and you find that you cannot speak toanswer.  Something you haven’t felt in along time is settling over you: panic. You know fear, fear keeps you alive. You even know the feeling of knowing that you are about to die.  This is deeper, more honest.  Primal. You are faced with something more powerful than any mortal could hope todefeat, something that could sweep worlds clean without breathing hard, and asthe cool porcelain mask stares down at you, surrounded by the quiet whisper offeathers rustling in the wind, you truly understand what it means to feelsmall.

There is a long sigh, and the wind rushes around you withthe force of a gale, laden with the sweet, warm scent of fresh earth.

“You have agreed to a hard thing, my warlock,” the voicegoes on, a touch softer.  “But we are allgoing to be faced with hard things, I am afraid.”

What do you want todo?

“You will seek imbalance,” the voice says.  It’s not a request, nor is it even really anorder.  It is a statement ofreality.  “You will fight to restore whatyou can, and you will destroy what you cannot. You will be a scourge on those who betray the balance of the world.  You will do these things, and you will dothem alone.  I cannot interfere.  I am perilously close to breaking my own lawsas we stand now.  You are an agent of thegods now, my warlock, not a soldier waiting for a messenger to bring you orderswith a royal seal.”  The player pausesfor a moment, and the mask tilts thoughtfully, like a moon consideringyou.  

“I will send a guide,” the voice says at last.  “To help you. But you must make your own moves now.”

The hand closes over you, so swift and powerful you can’teven think of resisting, and you’re on the chessboard again.  The empty throne is on your left.  In front of you is the priestess with herstaff.  The game is on again.

What do you want todo?

You step forward, down the diagonal, and step into thesquare occupied by a ranger wrapped in white scarves, carrying a recurvedbow.  The golden light spilling from thecracks in your skin burns the white ranger where you touch, and she cowers awayfrom you, hitting her knees.  You kickher aside, out of the square, and look down the diagonal to the white throne.

You say, “Check.”

The world explodes, and you wake up.

HEINOUS (TIEFLING, BARBARIAN, PATH OF THE ZEALOT)

You are standing in your home—in the kitchen, with a castiron wood stove in one corner and a narrow staircase twisting upward in theother.  Your back is to the door to themain room, the door closed firmly behind you, caging you in the kitchen.  It’s simple, but big and broad.  You paid for this place with money you earnedwith your own hands, as a mercenary, and you cut down trees for the windowsillsand floorboards with your own hatchet. Your wife Yevelda did the real carpentry, sanded things smooth and fit thejoints together, and the two of you together decided on how to furnish it.

Over the years you lived here, the floors grew scuffed andthe walls gained bumps and marks.  Youcan see the window in the kitchen, the one that broke during a storm that senta tree branch through the glass, the one with the sill that never quite lookedright again.

None of those marks of life are here now.  Your home looks as fine and warm andbeautiful as the day you finished building it, but untouched.  The wood glows in the sunlight that spillsthrough the windows, but you can’t see outside, past the light, and when youtry, it makes you feel dizzy and sick, the smell of smoke strong in yournostrils.  You’re standing in the kitchenand you know every inch, but none of your things are here—there is no sign ofthe maple table Yevelda made, and no knives or cooking implements on thecounter.  The stove is dark and cold, theiron flawless, as if it’s never been touched. There are no pots or pans, no food stored on the shelves.  The pantry door stands ajar, without evendust inside.  

You are home, and youare alone.  What do you want to do?

You ascend the stairs—they’re narrow, twisting sharply ontop of themselves, and you duck your head automatically to keep the rise ofyour horns from thudding into the wood as you take the first three steps.

At the top of the stairs is a small room.  It’s empty of furniture, but you can picturewhere the bed should be pushed into the corner, under the window spillingimpenetrable golden light onto the floor, and where the dresser should stretchalong one wall.

There is a figure standing in the light of the window, withher back to you.  It’s a half-orc, astall as you are and even broader in the shoulders, wild black curls twistedinto a complicated pattern of plaits along both sides of the skull and spillingloose down the crown and back of her head. She’s dressed in a blue tunic that flatters the green shade of her skin,and trousers, and she has her hands folded behind her back like she’s waiting.

You know her, of course.

Your foot lands on the creaky floorboard at the top of thestairs, the one she kept saying she was going to fix and never did, and Yeveldaturns around.

What do you want todo?

Yevelda doesn’t respond. She looks at you clinically, like you’re a mystery to solve, a finetrick of carving to unravel, and takes a step back from you, leaving you alonein the light falling through the window. Yevelda spreads her hands to either side of her, and you look down.

There are two greataxes lying on the wood.  They’re both yours, or at least unnaturallyperfect copies—you recognize the lines of the haft and the curve of the blade,the place where the head fits to the shaft, the marks of use on the butt.  But the axes aren’t wood and steel.

On Yevelda’s left, there is an axe made of whiteporcelain.  It shines in the light,glazed and polished.  You know just fromlooking at it that the porcelain is cold to the touch where the leather gripshave been transformed into ceramic, smooth and slick as water, the bladerefined to a razor-edge.  It looks as lightand lethal as a clear winter night.

On Yevelda’s right, there is an axe made of stone—greygranite.  There’s no glossy shine to it,but rather a matte finish to the rock where it’s been ground down smooth,interspersed with glints reflected from whatever minerals make up thegrey.  The glints dance like sparks oflightning in your vision.  Looking, youcan feel the heft of the stone, the way it pulls at your shoulders, the powerbehind each blow, like holding a mountain in your hands—or like breaking one.

You look back to Yevelda, and she is still standing therebetween the axes, expressionless, hands outstretched to display them.

“Choose,” she says.

What do you do? 

You bend down and pick up the stone axe, as strong andpowerful as you imagined, and as you straighten up, the light outside goes greyas wind roars against the walls and,in one sudden burst, the window explodes inwards.  The glass tears into your skin, leavingbloody cuts behind.   Lightning flashes,so close that you’re blind for a moment as thunder booms, and when your visionclears, you are alone, standing in mist so thick you cannot see Yeveldaanymore.  You cannot even see thewalls.  There is only the axe in your hands.

What do you do?

You try to drop the axe and you can’t make your fingersmove, can’t force your arms to throw the thing away from you.

Slowly, the blade comes up to rest at your throat.

Do you fight the axe?

A voice that rollslike thunder down a mountain whispers, Fightfor me.

And in one swift motion, the axe slashes yourthroat, and you wake up.

(Note: actually this player failed her Religion roll and therefore does not realize that choosing the stone axe means she’s bound to the Stormlord, not her original god, the Raven Queen.  That should be fun.)

NYMERIA (HALFLING, RANGER, MONSTER HUNTER)

You are standing in the square of a small village—the housesaround you are brick, not the river stone and lumber you’ve seen lately, andthe cobbled stones underfoot are red-brown with a dusting of fine goldengrit.  You close your eyes and take adeep breath, and you smile, just a touch, as the familiar dry scent of thedesert rushes into your lungs, soothes something in your soul.  It’s hard to define the smell of this place,the southern desert of Creshen where the mountains have dried out the ground,stretching all the way to the river delta that cages the desert on the easternedge, but it means home to you.

Opening your eyes, you turn, sure-footed, to look up at thestatue at the center of the square.  Thetrinkets in your hair click together, but the sound doesn’t worry you, not now,not when you’re safe in your home and you have no need to hide.  You tip your head up, toward the brilliantsun overhead, looking for the face of the statue, the draconic head turningintelligent eyes toward the council hall, each stone scale fletched withprecious silver—one claw on a pile of books and scrolls, and the other raised passant, dexterous talons held out inwarning.  You have seen the statue everyday of your life here, it was crafted long before your birth and will finallycrumble long after your death.

You smile, and salute the Platinum Dragon, and blink.

You open your eyes.

The statue is not there.

Something cold twists in your chest, and, Nymeria, standingthere over the smashed rubble of your god’s icon, you know what’s about tohappen.

The village is empty as you rush through the streets,silent.  You pass the signs of ruin—bloodand other things splashed against brick, doors battered down and stones clawedout of their moorings—but there are no bodies rotting under the harsh sun.  It’s not right, not whatever right is supposed to be, but you can’tthink about that right now.  You’rerunning, sprinting flat out, and you know, with strange certainty, that you’reolder now by far than you ever were in this village, but it doesn’t make youany faster to reach your own door.

It’s when you reach the door, splintered in its frame fromthe night your mother died, that you know you are dreaming.

You still step inside, because you have had this nightmarebefore, and you cannot help but see it through.

You know what you will see inside.  Your little sister, Hama, sprawled on thefloor of your kitchen, a scant few feet from the safety of the cupboard whereyou told her to hide.  A vampire,drinking from her arm, and her blood staining her shirt as red as the ribbon inher hair.

The ribbon in yourhair.

You know that you will blindly grab the nearest thing tohand, and that it will be a fragment of a chair, and that you will drive thefragment through the vampire’s back and into its heart before it can drop Hamaand turn to you.  You know that it willlie there, paralyzed, and do nothing to stop you when you cut off its head withyour mother’s cleaver, and that your sister will, somehow, still be clinging tolife when you kneel down beside her.

You know that she will die with blood in her mouth, frombroken ribs and punctured lungs, and suffocate before she can bleed todeath.  You know that the stench of deathover the village, of your mother and sister’s bodies in this heat, will saveyour life while you sit here in shock and clutch her to your chest untilsundown.

You step through the door anyway.

And you see your sister holding a tin cup in both hands,filled with water, creeping back to the cabinet.

“Ny!” she blurts. She’s only eight, and the last three days have ben brutal, but she stillsounds defensive when her older sister catches her doing something wrong.  “I—I swear I was hiding, I just got so thirsty, it’s so hot in there--”

What do you do?

You’re trying to reassure her, arms around her shoulders, when you hear the voice behind you.

“And here I thought the village was finally empty,” thevoice drawls, and it makes your gut twist and your spine tingle, because itsounds—wrong.  Flat, like the vocal cordsaren’t moving enough to imitate human speech.

You turn around, already sure of what you’ll see—the vampireyou killed, in vengeance for your sister’s life.

It’s there, dressed in tatters, skin waxy but flushed withthree days of easy prey.  It’s easilythree or four times taller than you, and in the dream you can’t quite make outits face.  You never looked at it, whileyou killed it, and now your memory can’t call up its likeness.

Then you glance over its shoulder, and your heartsinks.  

It’s not alone.

There are five creatures there, two vampires and three deadthralls—you think you recognize the thralls from your own village.  Isn’t that the butcher who always gave yourmother a discount, because she always thought you and Hama were so charming?

You realize, quick and sudden, that you have a choice.  You can get Hama to the cupboard and lock herin, or you can bull rush the pack and snatch up the bow you can see on thefloor where the stake should have been, if the chairs had been broken.  

Do you save yoursister, or fight the monsters?

You sprint forward before the vampire can stop laughing, andyour hands find the bow—your bow, theone you oil every day, the one you took over the Winter Pass to Desca.  You grab blind and an arrow meets yourfingers, and you nock it and fire.  Yourfirst shot takes the lead vampire in the throat, and it goes down. You spin, grabbing another arrow, and fire again.  And again. And again.

You’re on another level, one you’ve never touchedbefore.  The bow feels like an extensionof your body, your arrows hitting truer, your reflexes just a touch faster,your arm strong and unshaken by the work of it.

When you stop firing, the horde is dead all around you—andso is your sister.

You wake up.

[woah-were-halfway-there]

Along For The Ride: How it Started

Word Count: 2.4k

October 12th, 2016

"Carse?"

Although Carson was aware someone was talking to her, she didn't respond since she was a little distracted by the direct message she had just received on Instagram.

She was in her seat on the VIA Rail train she and her friend Stephanie were taking from Toronto to Ottawa. It was the first Maple Leafs game of the season, so they were making the commute to watch since it also happened to be Mitchell Marner's, Carson's cousin and Steph's boyfriend's very first NHL game ever.

"Carson?"

"Yeah?" She asked, jumping slightly as she was suddenly brought back to reality.

"I was asking how your class was this morning," Steph chuckled while shaking her head.

"Oh, uh, it was fine," Carson tried to play off her distracted state. "Lexie and I did our law presentation. I think it went alright."

"Law? Aren't you in journalism?"

"Yeah, we took intro law as an elective," she explained before looking down at her phone screen again and biting down on her bottom lip.

Steph observed as she did this and knew well enough that Carson would not mention whatever was happening on her phone unless it was brought up. "What's got you so flustered?"

"Nothing!" Carson insisted but only received a pointed glance in return from the girl sitting across from her. Thanks to Steph's relationship with Mitch and just how close Carson was with her cousin, the two girls formed a great friendship which led to them being able to read each other like books. It tended to be a blessing and a curse. "Ok fine, maybe not nothing."

"Explain, please."

Carson sighed.

"Well, you know Auston, right? Like, Matthews?"

"I've heard of him," Steph teased, knowing that Auston started following Carson on Instagram entirely out of the blue a little over a month prior. "Kidding. Yes, of course, I do. He and Mitch have gotten pretty close since he moved to Toronto."

"Right, 'cause he's not from here, is he?" Carson asked, genuinely curious.

"No, Scottsdale, I think. Why?"

"Uh, no reason," she replied. "It's not that important, I guess. He just messaged me on Instagram, though."

"Did he!? Let me see," Steph gasped before snatching the phone right out of her friend's hand.

Carson watched as Steph effortlessly typed in the passcode and opened Instagram. She was still kind of surprised that she'd gotten a message from Auston at all, but it did make sense.

When the two girls first got on the train, Carson took a selfie of her and Steph in their Maple Leafs gear with a Go Leafs Go hashtag. They were sporting matching Marner jerseys and had received a few compliments from other fans getting on the same train.

The brunette thought nothing of the post she made, so when she received a DM from Auston replying to her story and saying "wish us luck," she was very caught off guard.

"Well, are you going to reply?" Steph asked while handing the phone back.

"I guess," Carson told her and looked back to the screen. "It's just a little weird that he messaged me, don't you think?"

"Not really. People message people on Instagram all the time."

"Yeah, but like, he's this huge hockey prospect, is he not? So why message me, of all people? Let alone follow me in the first place..."

"Ok, I will admit that Mitch and I have hyped you up a bit," Steph said while sinking back into her seat.

"Why?"

"He's new to the city," she explained with a shrug. "When he first got here, he didn't really know anyone other than the guys on the team and some of their girlfriends. So we were telling him about people he'd probably meet eventually, and you were one of them."

"I see," Carson responded and looked back down at the cellphone screen. She typed back a quick response to Auston's message saying "good luck" before tucking the device back into her bag and glancing up at her friend again. "I guess it's not that weird; I have made friends with a few of the guys on the team."

"Yeah, I know. Mitch told me how you ran into Willy and Kappy a couple of weeks ago while you were out."

"Mhmm, what started as a date night with myself ended up being a night of hanging out with those two... Oh, shit, we're like 20 minutes away from the station. Any word from the fam in Ottawa yet?"

"Your aunt texted me saying that she, Paul and Chris were almost there. Is anyone else coming?"

"No, just me," she said. "Dad and Nate are watching from home, but they'll be at the game in Toronto on Saturday. Mya said she'd watch the game as soon as she was done class too. She wasn't sure what channel the game would be on in Vancouver."

"Is it not the same there as it would be here?"

"That's what I said!"

"Fair," Steph replied with a smile. "Anyways, guess we better make sure we have all our things. It's going to be a long night."

And it was a long night... but it was also insanely fun.

The two girls were picked up by Carson's aunt Bonnie, uncle Paul and cousin Chris at the VIA station in Ottawa before going with them to grab something to eat and eventually making way to the Canadian Tire Centre to watch the game against the Senators. They definitely weren't the only Leafs fans in the building, but the Ottawa fans kind of outnumbered them. However, that didn't dampen their mood, and they were more than ready for the game to start.

It was the most surreal feeling for Carson to not only witness her cousin and lifelong best friend skate out onto the ice wearing the jersey of their home team but also just to see that he was finally living out his dream. She couldn't have been more proud and was convinced that she and Steph alone were two of the loudest cheerers in the entire arena as they began yelling along with the crowd.

Not only did she think it was cool seeing Mitch out there, but she also loved seeing all the other players that she'd gotten to know over the past couple of months. Carson quickly spotted Willy and Marty. She then chuckled when Steph sent a zoomed-in Snapchat video of number 17 skating around to his girlfriend, Sydney. However, it didn't take long for Carson's gaze to fall on number 34.

Leading up to the beginning of the season, all Carson heard about how good this Auston Matthews guy was; she would've been lying if she said she wasn't a little excited to see him in action. And boy did he put on a show.

With less than 12 minutes left of the first period, Auston scored the first goal of the game and the first goal of his NHL career. The Leafs fans went wild, as did Carson and her family while they watched the other guys skate up to congratulate their teammate. That was pretty cool to see, but Carson was not prepared for what the rest of the game held.

The Senators pulled ahead by scoring two goals, but that didn't last too long because Auston scored another goal before the period was even over.

"Oh my god," Carson said aloud as everyone went nuts again. "He's really good."

"I know," Steph replied, looking just as shocked as Carson felt. "I mean, Mitch said he was good but... wow."

A couple of minutes into the second period, he scored again, and Carson was speechless. It took her a second to register that this kid had just gotten a hat-trick in his first NHL game, but she was quickly brought back to reality when a ton of ballcaps started flying past her as they were thrown onto the ice. She looked down at where Mitch was on the bench and smiled as she observed him cheering along with his teammates about what had just happened. The energy in the arena was just insane.

After watching her cousin for a few seconds, Carson moved her gaze to the people in her section and saw a couple cheering so loudly a few rows behind them. The woman then started crying and was pulled into the embrace of the man next to her.

"That's Auston's parents," Steph explained, and Carson could basically feel herself melt after witnessing the genuine reaction of two very proud parents, sending Auston's mom a soft smile when they briefly made eye contact before looking back to the ice.

Then, just before the second period ended, he scored a fourth goal, and none of it seemed real anymore.

The Leafs ended up losing 5-4 in overtime, but that still didn't prevent a buzz in the crowd after everything that happened in that game. Once everyone began clearing out of the area, Carson and her family made their way down to the wings, so they could congratulate Mitchell on his first game as a Maple Leaf before eventually having to head back to Toronto.

The five of them knew they'd have to wait for a little bit, seeing as Mitch would have to change out of his equipment and possibly do a post-game interview. Still, soon enough, the NHLer made his way to his family and Carson couldn't help but laugh when she heard her cousin approaching before actually seeing him.

She stood to the side as she let her aunt, uncle and cousin greet their superstar, but as soon as Mitch was done talking with them briefly, he looked in Carson's direction, shaking his head before taking a few short strides and engulfing her in a hug.

"Congratulations! You killed it out there."

"Thanks, Carse," Mitch replied before moving away. "It would've been nice to score a goal, but it still feels amazing regardless. Thanks for being here."

"You know I wouldn't miss it," she told him with a smile. "And it looks like you'll just have to score in Toronto on Saturday to redeem yourself."

"I'll try," he told her with a pointed gaze before moving on to Steph and pulling her into a tight hug next.

Carson watched with a grin as the two lovebirds interacted for a second before going to step away and stand with her family. However, when she went to step back, she came in contact with what felt like a brick wall and completely lost her balance.

"Oh, shit," she muttered as she blindly reached out to grab onto something so she could steady herself, all while bracing herself for impact. However, the impact never came. Instead, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and was able to prevent her from falling on her ass. With a sigh of relief and embarrassment, she straightened herself out and stood back up straight before finally turning around to look up at the person she had just collided with. "I'm so sorry..."

Before she could say anything else, Carson felt her breath hitch as she realized she was face to face with none other than Auston Matthews.

"It's alright," he told her with a slight smile, giving a look as if to say that he definitely recognized her. "I wasn't watching where I was going either."

"I-." Before she could say anything else, an arm wrapped around her shoulders and Mitch's voice sounded from beside her.

"Auston, I see you've officially met my baby cousin Carson."

"Baby?" Carson scoffed and looked up at her cousin with a mortified expression. "Mitch, you're literally 12 days older than I am."

"Older and wiser."

"I don't think so," she told him before elbowing him in the gut so that he'd take his arm off her.

He groaned and hunched over in pain, making sure to send her a death glare as he tried to recollect himself.

"Uh oh, the twins are at it again," a voice spoke as someone else approached from down the hallway, and Carson looked up to see William Nylander approaching.

"Twins?" Auston asked and looked between Mitch and Carson with an amused expression.

"The more you see them together, the more you'll see how true that statement is," Steph said as she wedged herself between the two cousins to keep them from annoying each other any further. She then looked at Carson and nodded. "We have to get back to the station real soon if we want to catch our train back to Toronto."

"Right," Carson responded. "I'm good to go whenever you are."

"Ok, cool, let's just say our goodbyes, and then we can split on a cab there? Deal?"

"Deal."

The small group that had formed dispersed as new conversations formed, and Steph started saying bye to everyone seeing as Mitch was driving back to Toronto with some teammates, he was going to visit with his family. They were in no hurry to leave. 

Unfortunately, though, Carson had class at noon the next day, and Steph had to return to London for her classes as well, so they really did need to get going.

Before moving to say goodbye to Mitch and the rest of her family, Carson looked back to Auston once more to see him still smiling at her.

"You played a really great game tonight," she complimented and smiled back. "Congrats."

"Thanks," he chuckled. "It's all pretty crazy to let sink in. I definitely think your good luck message helped, though."

"Oh, I'm sure it did."

The two laughed before becoming quiet again. Unsure of what else to say, Carson, glanced at her family and figured she should start making her escape. She looked back to Auston, and surprisingly enough, he was the first to speak up again.

"I, uh, I guess I won't keep you from catching your train back to Toronto," he started and looked away slightly. "It was nice... officially meeting you, Carson."

"Yeah, I should probably get going before Steph comes back over here and starts dragging me out," she replied, causing him to laugh. "It was nice meeting you too, Auston. Congrats again, maybe I'll see you around."

"I'd like that. Get home safe."

"You too, well, to wherever you're going," she mumbled and sent him one last smile before walking away, trying to keep a straight face at the look Steph was giving her as she approached everyone else and said her goodbyes.

What she didn't notice, though, was how Auston watched her for a second as she walked away, intrigued by the entire interaction he just had with her and couldn't help smiling to himself as he shook his head and went his own way.

[peakyxtommy]

The First Two Years - Wedding Series AU

Summary: Tommy reflecting back on his first two years of his relationship with the reader as he prepares to ask your father for his blessing to marry you. (Modern AU , Bit OOC) | 3.3K | 

Warnings: Slight Violence, Death , Mostly Fluff

He knew he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. While he sat in his main office, taking a rare break, he was staring at the engagement ring he brought a month ago. Nobody knew except for him, despite Polly having some suspicion. It made him feel giddy on the inside, lovesick, but it was the one thing he was sure of, that he truly wanted. You. 

He was sure and trusted you more than anyone. He knew you loved him, but there was always that fear in the back of his head that he wasn’t good enough for you. He’d enjoyed you for this long in his life that any second it could be taken away. His heart was the one thing he was willing to take a risk on because he only found solace with you. It was all the little moments that added up and floated to his mind, that ended up making him come to the conclusion. 

The night he first met you, you were having drinks in the Scarfes bar in London with Ada and mutual acquaintances. The group of you talking about an upcoming weekend trip you were planning to take and the woes of university life a second time through. You were yourself the whole evening, even when he came to disrupt the conversation stealing Ada away to talk quick business. As he watched you interact with his sister and your group of friends for the remainder of the evening, he noticed the confidence that rolled off your shoulders, the laughter that left your mouth, and the way you said a simple goodnight to him on the way out the building. 

He knew he had to meet you again. It wasn’t hard when he would drop by Ada’s unexpectedly or find a way to sit next to you when the lot of them went out to drink at the Garrison or Bars in London. He learned little things about you observing you through those conversations. How sometimes you would sit quiet and observe the conversation from time to time. When you spoke, you spoke with purpose. You weren’t afraid to speak your mind either. 

You played hard to get, like a game of cat and mouse. You were stubborn and strong-willed. When he first asked out you, you were shocked to say the least. You knew about the legitimate parts of his business, only hearing tall tales of the rest, but it didn’t make you not believe the underground side, but cautioned it. You heard rumors of his reputation of him screwing women over just to get what he wanted and the hotel he would go to get his sexual desires met. 

Those should have been red flags, but on the other side he was a high esteem family business man and OBE. You couldn’t deny how good looking he was and the chemistry you felt between your small encounters. You denied him the first two times as you were a busy graduate student and worked part time. You were also still heartbroken from your last long-term relationship, not looking to start up something new. Tommy Shelby was relentless, never taking no for an answer. It was on the third try that you said yes to him, promising him one date. To not mess it up. 

The first date was smooth. He invited you to his cozy London apartment. Where you were served Spaghetti Bolognese and warm toasted garlic bread. He drank Whiskey, you red wine. Frank Sinatra playing through his record player. You shared tidbits about your childhood and university years. He shared about the hard questions you asked him about his business, wanting to hear what you thought you knew. He shared appropriately (not dishing family business or current dealings), finding it amusing. You asked what he did for fun, to which he responded with work. Both you letting out a chuckle. The conversation flowed so easily between the two of you. He drove you home a quarter to midnight and kissed you goodnight. 

He was hooked by the third date, things taking off slow as you were both busy people. Both working hard to achieve the goals you wanted to accomplish in this life. Both struggling with trust issues and hang-ups from past relationships or lack thereof on his end. Those first couple of months was blissful, being in the depths of the honeymoon phase. 

At six months you had officially met all his family and closest mates. They adored you and were fond of your relationship with him, noticing the small change in him, that they hadn’t seen since he’d been back from the war. He would make space for you in his office to complete your studies and you’d make room in your apartment for him to relax on the odd weekend off with reading in your living room, breakfast in bed, or cuddling in the morning after a passionate night together. 

You were nervous for him to meet your family as they were more traditional than his. He charms your mother as soon as he steps foot in your house. Feeding in charmingly to her mannerisms and jokes. Your father was harder to crack. You knew your father would give him a hard time. Your father played up to the best of his ability in front of your mother, but your father asked to speak to him in private. Where they discussed his business, your safety, and the seriousness of the relationship because if it was to be a waste of time, he should just cut the losses now. Thomas reassured your father well. When you asked what the two of them discussed, he simply said, “Nothing for your pretty little head to worry about.” You left it at that.   

He knew deep down for a long time, that he loved you, afraid to say those words, even though he knew five months in. 

It was eight months in on a quiet afternoon spent in your apartment. He was doing book-work at the table, collecting a stock pile of smokes in his ashtray, letting out stressful grumbles of frustration, every now and again. You were reading on the couch, sometimes sneaking small glances at him but eventually becoming restless from the silence and being indoors all day. You decided to make both of you a tea and as you sipped your tea across from him at the kitchen table, you spoke those words out into the open. You watched as his pen stopped writing, his eyes coming to meet yours. You could see the smirk on his lips and the light blush that caught his cheeks. 

“Cat got your tongue, Mr.Shelby.” You teased, as you both finished the rest of your teas in silence. He lit another cigarette, knowing that you didn’t need him to voice it aloud, as you knew in your heart through the little things he did. As you stood to get up to clean the empty dishes and empty his tray, he rose to stand in front of you. Hands grabbing your biceps, warm breath coming to your ear. 

“I love you too, (Y/N).” He whispered, removing his right hand to clasp against the back of your head, deciding to connect his warm lips to yours. Moving slow, delicate, and in sync. He pulls apart, the small smack of wet lips, leaving you both panting. He goes to his seat at the table to finish the final paperwork, not missing the tint in your cheeks and the lasting grin for the remainder of the evening. 

After a year together you still had to watch out for Lizzie, which at first did turn into a heated argument between you and him. Due to your jealousy and slight insecurity that would feed off her jealousy toward you. They had a past together, one neither of you could deny, evening knowing he didn’t treat her the greatest in that regard. The way she would sometimes pine after him, would make your blood boil, knowing it kinda fed his ego. He would love to get you ramped up to have hot heated sex. Where he would remind you you were the only one he loved and was sleeping with. 

This was an underlying “game” of the relationship, one you both fed on. Tommy being possessive of what was his and being silently jealous of men who would be fixated or try to flirt with you, some even right in front of his face. He would use his words to defend you or if you were oblivious, he would give you the silent treatment, which would annoy you to no end. If you started it which on occasion you did, (he could tell), you would enjoy being at his mercy as soon as you walked through the doors him fucking you hard until the early morning hours.

Other times, with other women, who were enamored by him, he would wash those fears away by reminding you, you were the one he would seek in the middle of the night to hold him close to sleep, the only thing on his mind during a long day, and the one he loved. 

You started helping him once a week at the company, with the books as you had an eye for crunching numbers and were detail oriented a bit more than a few others in the office. It made some of his work go faster when you were in the office, only handling the legal side of things, not wanting to involve you with the other half that came with it. That didn’t last much longer. 

Year and half you were slowly beginning to see more of the other side of the business. You knew he was in the middle of something, when you started to notice him coming home more often in bloody clothing, late mid-morning hours. He would sneak inside quietly as possible, thinking you were asleep, but you weren’t. You’d hear the shower running for a while for him to slip in next to you in bed. One night you would ask, if things were getting bad in his dealings. He would answer truthfully but not about whom he was dealing with. You started finishing up university with a security guard that would escort you wherever you went. He taught you how to shoot a gun which you only encased in your bedside table, for emergency use. You learned to only ask questions when need be and to try to worry less, enough though you both knew it wasn’t possible. 

On that unexpected day, everything almost came to a screeching halt. He was in the middle of a battle with Sabini. He told you to make sure you were with security at all times and that he made sure there was someone outside your place at all times. It was in the middle of the night that you heard the scuffle and then a bang, but it was too late as another person came breaking into your bedroom, screaming for you to get out of the bed. You didn’t have time to react before he was shoving a gun in your face, telling you to be quiet, as they rushed out to the getaway car. Your eyes not missing the pool of blood you found your security guard in. They blind folded you and you remained silent the whole way as they made a call to their boss, who organized this whole ordeal, letting him know you were in transport. 

When you got to the basement where they were holding you, they tied your legs and arms to a chair. It smelt musky down below and it was loud. They spit on, mocked, and slapped you around, all to send a message. You tried your best to stay calm, knowing Tommy would find you.

“He’s here, get ready.” You heard one of the men say. The next you knew they were moving you to another room, leaving you in the dark. Then there were gunshots firing off and loads of yelling. Then to be met with silence. It felt like forever until you heard that familiar voice again. 

“I’m right here (Y/N), I’m right here.” He reassures as he frees your arms and legs from the chair, to then take the blindfold off. You collapse into his arms sobbing, as he carries you to the back seat of his car, making sure you don’t see any of the bloodshed. 

When you arrive at his home, you’re in a state of shock and silent. He has the maids begin a bath and after your bath, he has the doctor check you out. The doctor bandages you and gives you something to help you fall asleep. 

The next couple of weeks were rough, not only for you but for your relationship. You told Tommy everything that happened when you woke up the next day, while he held you in his arms. Both of you teary together. You stayed at his place for a couple of days, as he made sure to do damage control in the media and town, and clean your apartment back to normal. 

During the night you were plagued with nightmares about your security guard and the men roughing you up, with Tommy never actually coming to save you or ending with you dying. A week after the incident you went to the security guard’s funeral. After that, you were beginning to push Tommy away, telling him you needed space. 

Your mind trying to make sense of the madness, grappling with those hard questions, while trying to stay on top of your coursework. You didn’t want to see anyone really, even avoiding your own parents for weeks on end. The only place you would willingly go would be to uni and a few counseling sessions, just to get yourself back on track, which did end up helping you. 

The only Shelby you spoke to during this time was Ada, periodically. You two were friends from the start and grew even closer due to your relationship with Tommy. She wouldn’t talk about him unless you brought him up, which wasn’t much. You both knew he was just as much a mess as you were, but both dealing with it in different manners. She helped you in a different way of opening up your frustrations, worries, and fears. 

Tommy tried his hardest not to be a mess during this time but it was hard. He drove himself harder into his company and would spend his nights drinking. He knew you were okay, as could be, as he still kept tabs on you. For the first month he would leave you voicemails, some sober, some drunk of the inner workings of his mind and heart, but he really did miss you. You listened to them, wanting nothing more than to pick up the phone and call him. 

Then the next month, you left him a voicemail, asking him for more time. You knew it wasn’t fair, but you told him at the end of the month, you would give him a final answer. You loved him, missed him, and wanted to see him just as bad.  

There was this small voice in your head that was telling you cut your losses, to go your separate ways. You knew you had to make a hard decision and a decision you would have to live with for the rest of your life. 

It was on the third month, when you both met again, at a little cafe by the Thames river. When you saw him, it almost felt like it was the first time all over again. You sat down taking in his appearance. He was wearing his glasses and was in casual clothing. He looked good for the most part, expect for the bags under his eyes, knowing you were part of the reason for them. 

“Thank you for meeting me here.” You sent a small smile his way, as the waiter arrived with tea and your favorite pastry. Heart warming that he still cared to remember. 

“So, what are we doing here (Y/N)?” His voice is cold, as he lights his smoke. 

“I.. um, I just wanted to talk, to explain myself, as i’ve made a decision.”  You plead, staring into his hard eyes. 

“You had these past two months to talk, to explain yourself. Now we’re here having tea waiting for you to share this decision you have come to. So let’s just get on with it eh!” You just sip your tea, not allowing his harshness to roll over you, knowing you slightly deserved it, but also he was masking his hurt on the one person that really did hurt his heart. 

“Gosh, Tommy you’re such a dick!” You growl, before continuing. “At the end of the day I still want to be with you. I still love you.” You stare at his face, watching how his demeanor changes. He slightly softens out, but is still a bit in this guardish state.

“Are you sure you know about this? What about if something happens to you again?”

“Yes, I promise. These past two months haven't been easy. I’ve missed you and there wasn’t a day I didn't think about you. I needed to take care of myself and get my mind straight, to really think about if this life that you live is what I wanted. I don’t know what to do with the what if’s, but I know you will do anything to protect me. You saved me, that day.” You reach your hand into his calloused one, missing his touch. 

“I know they haven’t been easy. I’m sorry you had to go through all this. I’ve missed you just as much. I know I did save you love. I would do it a thousand times again.” He squeezes your hand gently before going to finish his second cup of tea. The both you sitting in silence enjoying the moment and looking out over the river.  

“Okay.” He speaks out of the blue, catching your attention, from the children running around on the sidewalk. 

“Okay what, Mr.Shelby.” You tease gently, as he pulls your chair out for you, helping you put on your winter coat and beanie. 

“I love you (Y/N). Thank you.” His warm hands cup your soft cheeks, the pads of his thumbs, rubbing tiny circles on the skin under your eyes. His blue eyes gazing lovingly into yours as he seals your lips together, that somehow mends all the broken pieces together in the both of you. This was a chance to move forward. You ended up spending the night at his house, waking up with him by your side in the morning. Things weren’t magically better but were still things to work on, but it was worth it. 

Two years in you bought your first house together out in the country in Birmingham. You graduate college yet again with your master’s, getting a full time job in your field. Your job also helps in building connections with the company. The company was on a bit of a slow period, as Tommy was working on new ventures. 

After attending a few engagement parties, weddings, baby showers, and listening to yet another marriage conversation you were having with your mum, unintentionally, he knew you were slowly becoming antsy. Even though you tried not to show it, but once in a while would drop subtle hints about the subject. He already knew that morning he woke up after the Thames River day, that he wanted to marry you because he couldn’t  think of the thought of you slipping through his fingers again. 

He knew it was finally time to ask for your hand in marriage, but first he had to speak with your father, who was still trying to forgive him, from the incident that occurred. Your father had also grown to see him, like a son. Though neither would say or admit it aloud.

[katefiction]

Cora, Chapter 5: Revelations

by katefiction (Maria) / 2013

Westminster Hall, London

The coffin lies still, elevated on a platform in the middle of the hall. Surrounded by six long candles, it is draped in the royal standard, the crown glistening on top. The stone walls and ornate wooden beamed roof make the vast space more chilling than it already is and I shiver slightly on the balcony where I’m standing.

Granddad has been lying in state for two days at Westminster Hall, but soon, like monarchs before him, he will be taken to Windsor Castle for the funeral ceremony and to be buried. Three hundred thousand people have passed through these doors to pay their respects to the King that was undeniably the loved by the country, but now, as the guards prepare to take his coffin to the gun carriage, it is time for the capital to say goodbye.

Behind the balcony, out of the view of prying eyes, I take Dad’s cold hand and squeeze it tightly. He keeps his eyes forward stoically, but I feel him squeeze back briefly.  When I had got back to London, Dad had been in a state of shock. As well as grieving for his beloved father, he had decisions to make – when to release the information, what to write in the statement- and I could see him flinch every time someone called him ‘your majesty’.

As the coffin is prepared to be taken down, we are ushered away to join the procession.

I have never seen London so quiet. The roads are closed and along them stand thousands of people, their heads bowed as the gun carriage drives past. You can almost hear the flutter of the occasional flag in the bitter February wind. But other than that, it is silence, and sorrow.

I sit behind the gun carriage in a carriage holding my grandmother and other ladies of the family. I bow my head, trying to ignore the masses of people and cameras that surround my family. Behind us, Dad stands tall, processing on foot, showing no sign of breaking down.

I resent the fact that this moment has to be shared with the world. When I want to curl into a ball and cry, I know that I will have to be talking to dignitaries from around the world. And when I want to hug Dad tightly, I know the camera flashes will put a stop to it.

The eighty one bell tolls from Big Ben become more distant as we approach Marble Arch and I struggle to keep it together, glad of the black veil covering my face. I know that the next time we have a procession, my face covered in a veil; it will likely be for my wedding. A wedding that Granddad won’t be there for.

*

St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle

Staring into space, I pretend to listen to one of Granddad’s old university friends tell me old stories about him.

‘And then James filled the shower head with tea bags so she was drenched in tea!…’, he laughs.

I laugh along politely, wondering when I’ll be allowed to be alone for a while.

The funeral service had been filled with sadness and plenty of tears. From the massive show that was the procession through the streets of London, the funeral was in stark contrast, an intimate family event. But as soon as we’d thrown the dirt into his grave, it was back to duties, with the family playing host to the Granddad’s closest friends and many a dignitary at the wake.

I feel a buzzing in my bag as the friend continues his story.

‘Please excuse me’, I interrupt, ‘I must go speak to my father briefly’

‘Yes yes’, he waves me away and continues speaking to someone else.

I scuttle away into a neighbouring room and pull my phone out of my bag.

‘How are you doing?’, the text says.

I tap my reply in quickly, ‘Ok, I wish you were here though’

He replies almost immediately, ‘So do I, but I’ll see you in a couple of days’

‘I miss you’

I had only seen Ben once since Granddad had died. He had texted and called me constantly, acting as a pillar of support. I wish I could’ve seen him more often, but the attention our family was getting meant that I wanted to protect our relationship more than ever.

‘Well who wouldn’t?’, he replies.

I giggle out loud, grateful for the distraction.

‘Something funny?’, a voice from behind me makes me jump.

I turn around to find a tall, handsome figure, hid hair flicked perfectly to one side.

‘Nicholas…’, I kiss him on each cheek. ‘I didn’t know you were going to be here’

Our grandfathers were close friends. Of course he was going to be here.

‘Would you rather I wasn’t?’, he says seriously.

I laugh awkwardly, ‘of course not, it’s been too long’

I hadn’t seen Nicholas since the Highland Fling. Call me a coward, but I was too chicken to face up to him after ending things with him that night.

He nods in agreement. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Cora’

‘Thank you, it was a big shock’, I cast my eyes downwards. I never know how to respond to sympathy.

‘It must be a big change for you, becoming Princess of Wales’, he leans against the mantelpiece.

‘Oh no, that’s not happening yet!’, I protest.

‘So you’ll still be working up in Scotland for a while?’

‘For as long as I can’

‘I guess all the focus needs to be on your dad right now anyway?’, he says kindly.

‘Exactly, the less I stay out of the papers, the better’

We make small talk for the next ten minutes, until, inevitably, the conversation dries up and we’re left standing awkwardly in silence.

‘Look Cora, can we just forget about what happened between us last summer and be friends’

Thank God.

I breathe a sigh of relief, ‘I would love that, I really would’

‘I’m having a dinner in a couple of days, would you like to come?’, he asks hopefully.

‘Oh Nick, I’d love to, but I’m busy’, I don’t quite meet his eye.

Because I’ll be with Ben.

He shrugs it off. ‘Another time then’

‘Definitely’. And I mean it.

* * *

Curled up on the couch a couple of days later, Ben hands me a cup of peppermint tea. I’d suddenly developed a cold the day after the funeral.

He pushes the hair back from my face, ‘your face is pretty hot’, he says, resting the back of his hand on my cheek.

‘Why thank you’, I snigger.

He rolls his eyes, ‘that was a crap joke’

‘No better than yours’.

I had been in his London flat since the afternoon. Now that that the funeral was over, all the attention was tuned onto Dad. Despite asking him if he needed me to stick around, he insisted that I get back to life as normal.

‘Normal’ now included spending lazy afternoons with my boyfriend.

Ben props my legs up onto his lap and begins massaging my feet. I notice him smile at the sight of my birthday socks.

‘I’m not surprised you’re ill with the week you’ve had. All that adrenalin keeping you going and then your body just crashes’, he mimics a plane crashing with his hand.

I blow my nose into a bedraggled tissue, ‘urgh I feel like hell’

‘You need a break’. He looks at me conspiratorially, ‘I’ve been thinking…’

‘Yes…’

‘Maybe this summer, I could take you on holiday, give you a proper birthday present’

‘You gave me a proper birthday present’, I wriggle my toes in his hands.

‘I mean it’

‘I would love that, you know I would, it’s just how would we do it without people finding out?’, I nibble at my bottom lip.

‘We could just tell people’. He looks me dead in the eye, forcing me to face the conversation. ‘By the summer, we’ll have been together a year, don’t you think it’s time?’

I shuffle closer to him, leaning my chin on his shoulder, ‘I just want our relationship to be ours and when we tell people, it won’t be anymore’

I think back to my discovery a couple of years back. The lengths William and Catherine went to, to keep their relationship to themselves.

His jaw tenses and his voice deepens, ‘the world will find out eventually, I’m sick of sneaking around’

I pull back, sensing his tension, ‘so am I’, I say quietly.

Just when I think he’s going to start an argument, his dark eyes soften, ‘I know’, he sighs. ‘It’s frustrating, that’s all’

I test the waters and lean towards him again. He plants a quick kiss on my lips.

‘You’ll catch a cold’, I grin.

‘I’ll risk it’, he says, pulling me into the warmth of his body.

*

The next morning, I’m woken by my phone going off non-stop. After ignoring Dad’s call on the day Granddad died, I now always pick up my phone first time.

I reach over to it, my eyes half open. To my surprise, Ben is doing the same, his phone going off at the same rate as mine.

‘Hello’, I say croakily.

‘Good morning Your Royal Highness’, Maggie’s voice says; her voice much too bright for 6am.

6am. Something’s wrong.

I bolt upright, ‘what is it? Is it Dad? Or Grandma, or Mum?’, I say, panicked.

Next to me, Ben in growling into his phone; all the while looking at me.

‘Everyone is fine, Ma’am. But it seems the press have caught wind of your relationship’

I feel bile rise to my throat.

Maggie continues when I don’t respond, ‘I’ve sent you a link of the article, you’ll have to decide if you want to make a statement, please get back to me ASAP’

Maggie has a way of making the biggest problems seem manageable, but even as I put the phone down, I feel my face paling.

‘Shit’, I say.

‘Let’s just see what it says’. Ben is already finding the article on his phone. That was presumably his agent calling to tell him.

I sit staring at the wall as he reads the story aloud.

‘Exclusive: Princess Cora dating tennis ace.

Princess Cora is in a secret relationship with Britain’s number one tennis player Ben Evans, the Mail on Sunday can exclusively reveal.

Sources reveal to us that the pair began dating last year after Cora began working with Evans’ charitable trust, the Marion and James Evans Tennis Trust.

The couple are said to be ‘serious’, with friends stating a royal wedding could come as early as next year.’

At that point, Ben throws the phone onto the bed, ‘what a load of bollocks’

‘Only a few people know, who’s leaked this?’, I jump out of bed and begin pulling on my clothes.

‘God knows’, Ben runs his hands through his hair and rubs his head. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Where do you think, I need to get out of here before the paparazzi turn up’, I say, struggling to button up my jeans.

Ben comes over to me, stroking my arms, ‘everyone knows now, what’s the point of running away?’

Why isn’t he more upset about this?

My phone rings again as I’m about to retort. I grab it. Dad.

‘Don’t say it Daddy’, I say before he has a chance to speak.

‘Were you planning to tell me Cora?’, he says it like he’s speaking to a small child.

‘Of course’, I button up my jeans with my free hand.

‘How long has it been going on, or shall I wait for tomorrow’s story to find that out?’

I’m embarrassed to tell him how long it’s been now that I have to say it out loud. ‘Since last July’

I hear him breathe in sharply, ‘we’ll talk about this when you get home, you’re with him, I assume?’

‘Yes’

God this is horrible.

‘I’ll see you later then’. He hangs up before I can try to back out. I don’t have a choice but to go and face him.

‘I need to send for a car’, I say, more to myself than Ben as I text Maggie quickly.

Ben sits at the end of the bed in just his boxers, watching me rush around the room. ‘Can we talk about this?’

‘About what?’ I say distractedly.

‘You can’t just run off, anyone would think you’re ashamed’

I stop in my tracks, ‘don’t be stupid’

He grabs my waist and pulls me on to his lap, ‘we can go places together now; go on that holiday without having to worry’

I clench my teeth at the thought of a hundred photographers following us around some sunny island as we attempt to have a romantic holiday.

‘It’s not the right time’, I say pushing off his lap.

‘Then when will be?’, his voice begins to rise in annoyance.

Why does he have to be so stubborn?  Why can’t he just accept that I know what I’m talking about?

‘Granddad has just died’, I snap. ‘My dad needs my support, not for me to be on the cover of the fucking Mail on Sunday!’

‘Calm down’, he says slowly.

‘I sorry, but it’s like Nicholas said, the focus needs to be on Dad’

‘When did you see Nicholas?’, I can tell he’s trying to sound casual.

‘At the wake’, I don’t have time for this. ‘He was being a friend’

‘I bet he was’, he sneers.

A text from Maggie comes through; telling me a car should be outside. I pull on my coat and grab my bag. I can’t stay here and argue with him.

‘I’ll call you’, I say, as he follows me down the hall.

‘Fine’.

I turn around and attempt to peck him on the mouth as a small peace offering. He turns his head a fraction so I catch his bristly cheek.

‘Right, see you then’

‘See you’, he says. 

I open the door and jump into my waiting car just as two photographers pull into Ben’s road. My car speeds away, the feel of Ben’s missing kiss hollow on my lips. 

[misssophiachase]

Finally! Chapter 2 is up! Due partly to the awesome and gorgeous cover the extremely talented Nicole - @romanoffsbite - made for this fic and also because of the fact it was her birthday recently! Happy belated birthday, lovely lady. I wish you all of the good things (whiskey, cake etc).

Someone asked me which band I'm basing the Originals on and I would say Kings of Leon, probably more so because of the Lily Aldridge/Caleb Followill connection. Plus I do love the Kings of Leon so why not? Plus I might steal some of their songs in future (look out Sex on Fire)...

Beauty and the Beat

Part 2: It's Only Rock 'n' Roll

Miami, Florida - Present Day - December 2017

Klaus wasn't one to revisit the past, in fact he avoided it at all possible costs but here he was in Miami of all places and about to sing with his ex-girlfriend flaunting her delectable curves in skimpy underwear. His ex-girlfriend that could make anyone melt in her presence and he was no different. Not only for the fact that she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen but also because of her adorable stubborness, quick wit, intelligence and frustrating ability to render him completely useless.

He was quick to refuse the offer to play the Victoria Secret Fashion Show all those months ago but he'd been outnumbered by his band mates, publicist and manager who all insisted it was too good an opportunity. Yes, the show was telecast to millions world-wide and it was the kind of publicity you couldn't buy but that didn't mean he wanted Caroline thrown back in his path and on such a public stage.

"Hello, Niklaus!" A voice interrupted. He focused his gaze on his annoying, younger brother in the reflection of the mirror. For some reason fans found that annoying smirk gorgeous but all Klaus wanted to do was wipe it off his face most of the time. Unfortunately Kol was an extremely talented drummer and he knew it. "We've got to get to make-up."

"Maybe you might need a touch up little Mikaelson but this face is perfect just the way it is," Enzo boasted, preening in front of the mirror next to Klaus.

"I'm surprised I can fit in this room with all these egos depriving me of oxygen," Lucien joked from the sofa, tuning his bass as he said it.

"Yours is bigger than ours combined," Kol shot back childishly.

"That's not what your sister was saying the other day," he offered, employing his usual tactic of teasing the Mikaelson brothers mercilessly by mentioning Freya.

"She was probably too starved of oxygen to bloody respond," Klaus commented tersley before standing up and taking one last look in the mirror. "Let's just get this over and done with." He strode purposefully from their dressing room without even a backwards glance, the silence from his bandmates enough to know he'd made his point and not to mess with him in a bad mood.

Prince Regent Hotel, Brixton, London - 5 years ago - October

"When are we going to get out of this shithole and start playing better venues," Kol whined. "Its been three months here already, Niklaus."

"When we finally get some professional interest," he replied, rolling his eyes in the process. Kol had always been too impatient for his own good and this situation was no different. If he could have a record deal today Klaus would but everyone in the industry knew that it took time and a lot of patience. He wouldn't admit it aloud but Klaus knew his was wearing very thin.

They'd been playing pubs around England and Europe for three years now and even though patrons apparently liked their music it didn't mean much in their hopes of being discovered. Klaus didn't know much else besides moving around questionable establishments and going through multiple rejections. But if anything it made him even more determined for fame and success. His dream was all he really had.

He'd grown up in Tottenham with his drunken father and three siblings in a tiny, two bedroom, housing trust home. He didn't have many happy memories from his childhood. They didn't celebrate birthdays or Christmas, mainly because their father drank all the money away and as soon as Klaus was old enough he left home, taking his younger brother with him on the playing circuit while Rebekah went to stay with Elijah off campus as he studied on scholarship at Cambridge. Klaus was thankful that at least one of the Mikaelsons would have a university degree.

"You didn't seem to be complaining when you were mauling that redhead last night," Enzo scoffed.

"You're just jealous that I get to have fun while you pathetically pine away for my sister over the Atlantic."

Rebekah had made a promising (and unexpected) career in public relations and was currently overseas with her latest client on a press tour. Although they hadn't acted on their simmering attraction it was obvious to all concerned that it wasn't just a passing phase. They fought like cat and dog but they all put that down to the fact that it was just foreplay before they finally gave into their feelings. The Mikaelson men were extremely protective of their sister but given Enzo was practically part of the family they preferred him as opposed to any other guys.

"For the last time..." Enzo argued before Lucien interrupted.

"It's about time you admitted it, mate. I've only been around for two years and even I know about your pathetic crush."

The brothers had known Enzo since they were teenagers but their bass player had only come onto the scene recently after an expletive riddled tirade about their performance in a little bar in Manchester. Granted he was drunk when he said it but after giving him an impromptu audition, Lucien had proven without a doubt that he was a much needed addition to their band.

Before Enzo could interrupt Kol spoke excitedly. He was peering through a crack in the curtains and looking at that night's audience. "What the hell?"

"Stop spying on the audience, they generally don't like that sort of thing," Klaus growled.

"It's kind of difficult when they are models, Niklaus."

"Models? Really Kol?" Lucien asked surprisingly. “In this dodgy establishment in Brixton?”

"Haven't you seen the latest Cosmopolitan?"

"I don't generally go around reading women's magazines, little brother," Klaus replied, dryly.

"Well, maybe you should," he quipped. "We don't just have one cover model here tonight but two."

"Whatever," Klaus said gruffly. He wasn't one to turn down a pretty face but from what he knew models weren't really his type. Kol on the other hand was a different story. "Let's just do this." They walked on stage, given the lighting it was difficult to see the audience but Klaus kind of liked it that way. He would never admit it but he was a little self conscious about what people thought even though he knew just how good they were.

He lost himself in the music, something he did every night as he sang. It was the only time that Klaus actually felt comfortable. He noticed a figure swaying in the crowd making him peer closer. There was no doubting she was stunningly beautiful in a pair of light, denim jeans and fitted black, Rolling Stone's t-shirt and long, golden waves cascading over her shoulders. After the first few songs he did an impromptu speech insisting they raise the house lights. As he spoke about the importance of rock 'n' roll his eyes found the mystery blonde. Although on further inspection Klaus knew he'd seen her before. He wracked his mind trying to work out why she was so familiar. Then it came to him.

"In celebration of the upcoming visit of President Obama, I thought this next song might be fitting." His brother, Enzo and Lucien regarded him curiously before catching on and playing the opening strains. The blonde looked up at him from the crowd, her eyebrows cocked. "I remember singing this one night in a hostel in Dubrovnik. We'd been loudly singing about saving our Queen when someone complained about the noise and probably rightfully so. She was American and I thought the only way to appease her was to play this instead. Let's just say I never received another complaint then so I figure it's a safe choice tonight."

As he sang the Star Spangled Banner again, Klaus was becoming increasingly impatient because all he wanted to do was speak with the woman he'd been thinking about the past two years. When she'd complained about their singing he'd reacted cheekily but upon waking the next morning Klaus had gone to the reception desk asking after her only to find out she'd already checked out three hours earlier. They wouldn't tell him her name and Klaus had always wondered just who she was, until now.

Their set eventually finished and he found himself stepping off stage and walking towards her suddenly a little nervous which was so unlike Klaus. Before he could speak, Kol interrupted, placing himself between them and the two girls.

"Ladies, so wonderful to have you here tonight," he smiled, his gaze focused on the dark skinned, brunette beside her. It was obvious to Klaus her friend wasn't overly impressed by his interruption.

"You remembered," she said, more like a statement than a question.

"When someone yells at you, it's kind of hard to forget, love," he chuckled. "So, what did you think of the show?" She faltered slightly, Klaus was trying not to lose himself in those penetrating blue eyes as he waited for her response. If he was being honest her opinion meant a lot more than it should.

"Well, you know, 'it's only rock 'n' roll' right?" She shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

"Given that Rolling Stones t-shirt you're wearing, I'm figuring the rest of that sentence goes..'but I like it' right?" He quoted.

"Well, that's your interpretation," she shot back, her gaze never faltering. It was just how he remembered her from all those years ago and Klaus still couldn't get enough. "I'm still getting over that sleep deprived night in Croatia."

"Actually, we need to get going," her brunette friend interrupted. "Early morning photo shoot, so this is goodnight guys."

"Oh come on darling, stay a little bit longer," Kol pleaded to her friend. Klaus wanted to beg too but he had too much pride to do that even if he was extremely interested in the mystery blonde, model or not. She sent him a small smile before sauntering away, Klaus trying to ignore the rythmic sway of her hips as she did.

TBC: Coachella, CA

[seriouslyhooked]

Just a Taste (A CS AU) Part 9/10

AU where Emma and Killian are contestants on the Great American Baking Show and all twelve contestants hail from Storybrooke Maine. In this AU Emma is a book editor by day, while Killian is an architect who just moved to town a few months prior. Expect baked goods, flirtatious interactions, a little drama and a whole lot of fluff with a guaranteed HEA for Captain Swan. Rated M.

Part One Here, Part Two Here, Part Three Here, Part Four Here, Part Five Here, Part Six Here, Part Seven Here, Part Eight Here

A/N: Here we are with chapter nine on the Great Storybrooke Baking Show. This installment we’ll see Emma and Killian helping Liam and Tink get their shot at being together and celebrating their own love in the only way I know how – fluffy as all get out. It’s the second to last chapter and all the big happy endings will come next week, but this chapter still has it’s own unique brand of cuteness. Hope you guys enjoy, and thank you for reading!

Friday nights had become largely solitary affairs for Killian and Emma in the past few months. It was the last night of sanity they had before things picked up again with the competition, and both Emma and Killian had an unspoken agreement that they preferred to spend the time together. This week though, that plan had largely gone to shit, and all in the name of securing true love.

After Emma had told Liam that he needed to find a way to make things up to Tink, Killian’s brother had searched for days for the right way to let the woman know of his feelings for her. Finally, he’d managed to stumble upon a viable idea earlier in the week.

“It’ll be perfect!” Liam had said when he came to dinner with Emma and Killian. “But I’ll be needing just a bit more help...”

Emma probably shouldn’t have been surprised when the main person needed for such assistance was herself, but any thoughts she’d had of turning Liam down were completely eradicated when she heard his idea. It was really incredibly sweet, and to Emma’s estimation, might actually be impossible for Tink not to love.

Emma’s role to play this evening was one of friendly liaison and distracter. So far, her job had gone seamlessly. She had invited Tink to a showing of You’ve Got Mail (one of Tink’s favorite movies) that was screening at the local theater in town, and was on her way to meet her completely unsuspecting friend now. Emma couldn’t help but think that it really had to be her to help this way. None of her friends, not Mary Margaret, Ruby, or Belle could have ever pulled this kind of con off. They’d have given something away, but not Emma. No, if Tink’s excited but still at ease manner when she came inside the theater was anything to go off of, she was completely oblivious.

“Emma! Thanks so much for calling, I love this movie,” the smaller woman professed and Emma smiled.

“Me too. It’s always been one of my favorites. Shall we?”

The two of them moved from the ticket bay to grab snacks and drinks, even though Emma realized that very little if any of this would be consumed. She happily chatted with Tink while her friend went on and on about how much better work had been this week, and how things were really changing. But just as they were about to walk into the theater, Tink stopped, looking at Emma with sincerity.

“Do you think it’s possible that Liam’s been making the changes he has for me?” Emma was just about to respond that of course she did when Tink continued on, her words coming faster, meaning Emma had to strain to hear them. “Or is that like incredibly big headed of me to think that I would be the person who could change a guy like that? There’s no reason to think that I would be. I mean he’s kind of a player and he doesn’t do serious and-,”

Emma placed her hand on Tink’s arm, trying to calm her and help pull her from the mire of her worrying.

“I think the best thing you can do is keep an open mind, and maybe, if he shows you that you can really trust him, an open heart. Until then, let’s go see this movie.” Tink smiled and nodded, allowing Emma to lead them into the screening room.

“Wow, there’s no one here. I would have thought this would kind of be a big draw. I mean it’s a classic.”

Emma bit her lip, trying to keep from smiling. Instead she shrugged and found them their seats right in the middle of the theater, so they’d have a perfect view. There was still some time before the movie was technically supposed to start, but the house lights went down and the screen crackled to life in front of them.

“That’s weird,” Tink said aloud, but when she saw what video was actually playing she gasped. This was the moment. Liam’s grand gesture was here.

Damn he really outdid himself, Emma thought as she watched the surprisingly high quality cut of images together. It was a video, one Emma knew was roughly five or six minutes long, of Tink and Liam through the years they’d known each other. Thanks to a bevy of backlogged film that was taken on varying sets they’d worked on together, Liam had managed to make a master cut of moments for the two of them that were interspersed with personal videos and pictures that other members of the crew happened to have. All the while Tink sat beside her, completely silent, her hand covering her mouth as tears formed in her eyes. Emma hoped that her staying meant they were happy ones.

Eventually Liam’s face came on the screen and it was a strange moment for Emma, to see the man who was almost always behind the camera before one giving his own sort of testimonial. He didn’t look particularly comfortable, but there was no doubting his sincerity.

“Listen, Tink, I know I’ve been a fool, worse than that I’ve been blinded to the only thing that actually matters. The truth is I love you. I think I always have, and I know I’ve made the biggest mess of things, but if you’ll forgive me, I’d like to ask the chance to try again, to do things right this time.”

Emma heard Tink’s muffled cry escape at that, and Emma reached out to take her hand which Tink squeezed tight, her eyes never wavering from the screen in front of them.

“If you think that maybe you could forgive me, Emma will tell you where I am so you can find me. I hope that you will, love, because I will never make the same mistake again. You have my word on that.”

“You should say it again.” Emma could hear Killian’s voice in the background of the testimonial and watched as Liam ran a hand through his hair nodding.

“Right, my brother makes a good point. Just to clarify, I am in love with you and I want to be with you more than anything else.”

“That’s your send off? No ‘good bye’ or ‘I promise we can watch your favorite movie that I’ve somewhat tricked you into thinking you could see, a thousand times?’” Liam shook his head.

“No, just I love you. The rest was a given.” With that the screen went black and a beat passed where Emma waited for Tink’s response.

“He did this for me?” Emma smiled at her friend, whose face though tear stricken, was so filled with hope it warmed her heart.

“Yeah, he did.” Tink smiled, a laugh bubbling out from her as she stood, wiping away her tears.

“Where is he, Emma?”

Emma told her that he was waiting at Granny’s and Tink gave her a quick hug before rushing out the door, presumably into the night to find her man. At the same moment that the door closed behind Tink, Emma felt strong arms wrap around her waist and Killian’s voice whisper in her ear.

“Well come on, Swan, there’s no time to waste if we want to see the ending.” Rushing just behind Tink, Emma and Killian managed to get out and to the diner right in time to see the moment where Tink and Liam locked eyes.

Waiting for them at the window outside of Granny’s were Mary Margaret, David, Belle, and Ruby along with lots of the other crewmembers from the show. None of this unofficial crowd could hear the words the couple shared, but Emma could see they were both truly happy with whatever passed between them. When Liam and Tink finally shared a kiss, a round of cheers broke out along the street outside. Tink ducked her head in a bit of embarrassment but even through the windows they could hear Liam.

“Get lost!” They all dispersed, a cloud of happiness for her friend clinging to Emma as she and Killian walked back home together, his arm slung around her, holding her close.

“You did good, love,” Killian whispered as he kissed her temple when they reached the front porch of their house.

“So did you,” Emma replied, pulling him closer by the collar of his jacket.

“I think we’ve earned ourselves quite the reward for all of our hard work.” Emma licked her lips at the thought and the undeniable innuendo in his voice.

“What did you have in mind?”

Killian’s mischievous grin should have been enough warning, but she didn’t see his next move coming, which was to sweep her up in his arms and get them inside to their bedroom with more coordination than she herself could have ever mustered.

“Oh so that’s how it is?” Emma asked purposely baiting him, as if this wasn’t what she wanted too.

“That’s exactly how it is, Swan.”

From there, words were harder to find, for Emma was pretty consumed with Killian stripping every last piece of clothing off of her and her own need to strip everything off of him. His hands running across her skin had her already growing desire sharply spiking, and Emma arched against him trying to get this slow perusal sped up a bit.

“If it’s really a reward you won’t tease me,” Emma argued and Killian seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, but ultimately caved to her logic.

“Perhaps a negotiation then, love. I’ll give you what you want now, if you surrender to my desires later.” This wasn’t a negotiation as all; this was Emma getting exactly what she wanted.

“Deal.”

The word had no sooner left her lips than Killian was boxing her in against the wall, the hardness of his body molding along hers. She expected him to take her then, but he had another idea, kneeling down before her and angling her body so he had access to her aching sex.

“Christ, Emma, you’re already ready for me.”

She nodded, seeking a way to hang on to him as her fingers dug into his shoulders. His mouth was on her in a moment’s time and the way he took her with his tongue, half fucking and half minding her clit brought her ecstasy. He devoured her, and hell if she didn’t love every second of it. Finally with his fingers, he brought her to completion, but he was hardly done with her. Standing once more, he simultaneously held her up and silently praised her body with roaming hands.

Before she could say anything about how good it was, or how much she loved him, Killian lifted her up, urging her to wrap her legs around him and with a solid thrust set Emma crazy. From this angle, she felt so open to him, so sensitive to every move he made, it was indescribable. The feeling that they were made for each other, and that the two of them together were the most perfect thing in the world washed over her as he continued to move inside her.  Where he’d promised hard and fast, Killian certainly delivered, driving them both to their release so much sooner than Emma had even thought possible given how strongly she’d just come from his mouth. Then again, there was something about crazy romantic moments that Killian played a part in that always had her feeling this way.

Resting their foreheads against each other as they caught their breath, Emma smiled, loving that they had helped two other people get their shot at having what she and Killian had together. She was in love with a man with a beautiful heart, who knew exactly how to love her, and that was the most incredible gift. She hadn’t noticed there were tears in her eyes until Killian pulled back and kissed her gently.

“Everything all right, love?” She nodded.

“Yeah, everything’s perfect.”

………………

The next afternoon while under the baking tent once more, Emma berated herself for not being a bit more suspicious when the first bake of their weekend was a cute little 3D model made of cookies. In the aftermath of all of last night’s adorableness, Emma hadn’t been on the defensive. She’d still been riding a deliciously sappy, love-infused high that made the world seem brighter and warmer and better.

Boy had that been a mistake, because now the technical task at hand was far less accessible, and was something she didn’t have nearly as much experience in. It was enough to have Emma’s excitement for Liam and Tink wilting a bit since they were the ones throwing said toughness her way.

“Bakers, today’s challenge is one of Regina’s most famous recipes. This dark chocolate dome dessert not only requires the perfect bake of the interior soufflé, but a mastery of chocolate working. It’s up to you, our contestants to decide how you’d most like to address that challenge since this week, we’ve given you no instructions.”

Graham’s statement for once didn’t carry the weight of what actually needed to happen right now. Now was the time to be dramatic because he wasn’t kidding, there was no real description on the most critical part of the bake, creating the chocolate dome. Even after the buzzer had sounded to begin, Emma stood there for a minute just contemplating what the heck she should do now. The soufflé itself needed pretty limited cooking, and Emma was certain she could handle that, as she had some experience with it, but her biggest question was what to do with the chocolate. In the end she followed her instincts, which brought her towards the tempering process.

“Can’t say I’m surprised that you’re the first baker starting the process,” Ruby said cordially as she sidled up to Emma. Emma exhaled the breath she’d been unconsciously holding and attempted a smile to her friend.

“Don’t take my momentum as a sign that I have any idea what I’m doing.” Ruby laughed lightly before putting her arm around Emma’s shoulder.

“Well, I’m sure you have some idea,” Ruby offered and Emma could only shrug.

“Let me rephrase – don’t take it as a sign that I’m moving in the right direction. I’ve never made chocolate stand up like this before.”

Ruby nodded her understanding, shifting her attention instead to how she’d make the chocolate at all, and Emma went through the melting process and then her plan to do a rapid cool down after. It might not look as shiny or pristine as Regina’s did, but Emma didn’t have any other idea about how the chocolate would stay without the assistance of the cold.

“At least it’s not a Gold challenge,” Emma added. “Because he’d probably take this delicate work of art and insist on gold dust and a higher tower.”

The laugh that pulled not just from Ruby but from the camera crew trained on her made Emma feel better, and with a glance over to Killian who was smiling at her words and giving her a look that said she could do this, Emma felt herself steady. For better or worse, she would complete the challenge, and she would just hope that she’d be deemed good enough to get to next week’s final.

The time they had to complete the challenge ran down quickly, and as soon as Ruby left, Emma was immersed in the thick of trying out her chocolate domes. It would be one thing to only have to present one of these little creations, but each baker needed six at the end of the day’s bake and they were all supposed to be identical.

“Damn this is hard!” Mary Margaret practically yelled out at one point, only to gain a chorus of agreement from Emma, Tiana and Killian. At least she wasn’t alone in her frustration with this challenge. None of them had much time to linger on the complications though, for soon enough, time was up, and the judges were returning to the tent.

All three judges looked at the anonymously submitted displays, going down the line of four selections with critical eyes. No one had made a flawless bake, not even Tiana, who Emma had been amazed by with her chocolate work. Unfortunately, her soufflé was slightly over baked, but she did receive high praise from Regina on the quality of her dome. Emma had the opposite problem, with a great soufflé but chocolate that wasn’t shiny enough, while Mary Margaret and Killian had both presented less than stellar bakes. Mary Margaret out edged Killian slightly though, for one of Killian’s domes had wilted considerably and he was docked for lack of uniformity.

“Can you imagine if they’d had that challenge when there were more of us?” Mary Margaret said later, as all four contestants were taking off their microphones and retiring for the day. “It would have been a horror show. I can’t even imagine David’s attempt.” Killian laughed at that.

“Forget Dave, love. Picture Leroy or Lance having to face such a task.” They all laughed at that before Emma and Killian bid the others farewell until tomorrow. The two walked hand in hand from the tent back home.

“I guess it was naïve to think that it would all be smooth sailing. The rest of my life is just going so well, I thought this would be the same.” Killian brought Emma’s hand up to his lips and kissed it lightly.

“You’ll forgive me if I find comfort in your words, love. My only real concern in life is seeing you happy, and if things are going well aside from this competition, I’ll feel very blessed.”

Emma stopped, pulling him towards her for a demanding kiss, not caring that at this point they were in the middle of a busy sidewalk. She wanted to make sure that he hadn’t taken her words as complaining, because she absolutely agreed, the most important thing was them. There was absolutely no questioning that fact.

“That clear up whether I’m happy with us or not?” Emma asked as she pulled back slightly from the kiss, reveling in Killian’s dazed look and still lust-filled gaze.

“Just a couple more points I want to clarify, though those are probably best studied with a bit more privacy.” A delicious shiver moved down Emma’s spine at Killian’s heated promise.

“So take me home then.” Emma couldn’t imagine how they managed to get back to the house so quickly, but once there, she decided to take a different approach to the rest of their evening. When Killian’s hands came around her body, and his lips bent down for another kiss, Emma stopped him. “Do you trust me?”

“Without any doubts or stipulations, love.” Emma smiled before placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Then humor me with this next part. I have an idea on how we should spend the evening.”

Leading him to the kitchen, Emma surprised her sexy as sin boyfriend by insisting he sit while she make dinner. He didn’t argue, but did inform her that it wasn’t necessary. She must be tired after all the happenings of the day, but she wasn’t. That was the beautiful part of being with Killian, he breathed a new sense of energy and life into her. With said energy, she made them one of the dishes Emma knew Killian liked best, three-cheese risotto with grilled chicken and greens.

At some point in her efforts, Killian flipped on some music and seemed to know exactly when she could take a breather from the cooking portion of the evening.

“Care for a dance, Swan?”

Emma smiled and silently accepted, stepping into his arms as the song he’d chosen swam through the speakers. She had about four minutes before she’d have to do something else, just enough time for a song together. Her hands came around his neck, and her fingers intertwined with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Damn, I should get thrown off of baking shows every week if this is what I can expect.” Emma rolled her eyes.

“We have all of tomorrow, you could come back from today.” Killian shook his head.

“No, I’ve had quite enough of this. I’ve no intention of going to the finals in any capacity but Emma Swan’s biggest cheerleader.” Emma couldn’t keep the smile from her lips at his words.

“You’re kind of problematically sweet. Have I told you that recently?” Emma watched as Killian’s eyes filled with heat, and in an instant she realized the error of her words. “And like crazy hot, undeniably hot.”

“That’s a good girl.”

Emma gulped audibly as Killan’s hands moved to trace the line where her shirt met pants and moved beneath to touch bare skin. His mouth refocused on her neck, bestowing strategically placed kisses designed to drive her crazy. It wasn’t lost on her that after begging him for instant gratification yesterday she was the one who’d now ask for them to slow things down.

“Killian, dinner!” The last word was squeaked out as he pulled her earlobe into his mouth and nipped lightly. She felt him growl against her but pull back all the same.

“We’ll be picking up here as soon as it’s done, love.” Damn, she certainly hoped so.

……………………

What made the town they all lived in so wonderful? That was the motivating question Emma held onto as she worked to complete the weekend’s last event. Their showstopper in this semifinal round was a three-tiered birthday cake for the town of Storybrooke, which this year was celebrating it’s 325th birthday. There were so many different things to choose from, but mostly, Emma knew that the best part about this town was the people. She’d thought it foolish to try and design a cake that had the faces of the hundreds of residents this seaside community was home to, so instead she’d gone for events that mattered most here.

Every year the town held big celebrations for a whole host of things. Some holidays were those that every run of the mill American town heralded, like the fourth of July and Memorial Day, while others were Storybrooke originals. Their founder’s festival, for instance, celebrated the settlers who’d made their way here first and discovered the coast’s rich abundance of resources. To celebrate nearly everyone in town got dressed up in colonial garb and pretended at least for a day that they lived in the same time as their town’s founders. Meanwhile each spring the library made a big spectacle celebrating all sorts of stories. It was a great excuse for kids to essentially have second Halloween, and adults to join in on the fun dressed as their favorite characters from books. These events and more were included on Emma’s Storybrooke cake, along with immaculate stenciling and design that brought everything together.

“Damn, Emma, you’ve really outdone yourself this time. That’s some final’s worthy detail there.”

Emma looked up from where she was adding her fondant pieces to her already frosted cake and smiled at both Graham and Ruby who were gazing upon what she’d made with fascination.

“It does look pretty good, doesn’t it?” Emma took a step back and admired her handy work. It was kind of a shame that this was being made for TV and not to be consumed by the town. “Wait a second.”

Emma held up a finger to Graham and Ruby and moved from behind her section over to where Liam and Tink were more flirting than working at one of the other prompters trained on Killian.

“Hey love birds, what’s the plan for these cakes?” Liam and Tink looked between each other and then back to Emma.

“Same as always, split it all up amongst ourselves and throw the rest away,” Liam replied.

“What would you say to the town actually getting to celebrate with us?” Emma asked and Liam looked at Emma quizzically.

“What did you have in mind?” Emma told them her plan, which was that after filming wrapped, they could transport the cakes over to Granny’s where way more people could appreciate the art and the cakes themselves.

“No offense, it’s just these cakes are going to mean so much more to the town than it will to you guys. They should see the town how we see it, and it would be a nice way for you guys to thank everyone for their acceptance and patience during filming.”

“You’re absolutely right. I can get on planning that all out right now, if I just have the boss’ go ahead,” Tink replied.

There was absolutely no question now that Tink was on board that Liam would be too, but they deferred to him all the same. When he gave the quick nod of approval, Emma returned to her station and told the other contestants the news. When she’d returned to focusing on her own cake, Emma felt Killian come up to stand beside her.

“That was very good of you, Emma, to think of the town like that.” She looked into his blue eyes and smiled, happy to have even a brief interlude with him like this.

“Well it’s our home, and these are our neighbors. It only seems right.” Not giving a damn about the cameras Killian moved closer, kissing her fiercely before he finally pulled back, whispering in her ear.

“Apologies love, my control slips away when you say things like that.” Emma knew what he meant, that her bringing them together and calling things ‘ours’ was meaningful to him. It was big to her too.

“I know you tried your very hardest to resist my charms,” Emma teased. Shaking his head while he smiled at her, Killian replied.

“A battle not easily won I assure you. I love you, Emma.”

“I love you too.”

With that, Killian returned to his own cake, and the rest of the day slipped by in a flurry of movement and making sure the crew had the right shots for another week’s episode. The judges came in, speaking their peace and in the end, Killian was relieved of his time on the show while Tiana won star baker.

Despite what others might construe as a painful day, Emma couldn’t tamper down her smile all through the rest of the evening and into the night. This show, this crazy little competition had become so much more than that. It was a vehicle that brought her new friends and new experiences. It had shown her that she actually was a skilled baker, who could rise to the challenges that industry professionals set forth. And most importantly, it had brought her to love. Whatever happened next week, Killian was the only prize that mattered in Emma’s book, and luckily for her, his heart was already won.

Post-Note: I hope that you guys enjoyed, and that you’re all doing well with the hiatus ending tonight. I feel like we’ve been waiting forever to get this show back and finally the time is now! Let’s just hope we get something great for all our waiting. Anyway, thank you all for reading, and I hope you are having a good start to your week!