#well my thoughts are jumbled and i wasn’t paying attention to get anything more tactical out of this game hut imm thinking of watching

[addc10]

Thoughts on the match?

We really need to find a way to get rid of these spells, whether they last 10 minutes or 45, where we just completely fall asleep. Today, Granada scored two against us at home in the second half and were clearly the better team for a while afterwards, until really James’ last minute goal. I think it is a mentality thing, as so many of these devolutions begin with individual errors.

But onto the good things. Our first half was great today. We should have built the lead through Carvajal twice or even Benzema again. But ultimately, putting this game away any earlier would have been a moot point. Something I was incredibly impressed with was our pressing. On Hazard’s, Modric’s and James’ goal, they all began after a turnover resulting from our press. I love a good well organized press. And I really do mean I love one. A real key to this was Valverde’s energy and I think when Modric shifted in, that midfield duo pressed excellently. In the first half, Granada’s goalkeeer has the most touches, just showing how we really forced them back with no options of playing forward. Valverde was a standout today with some amazing through passes, and he is really proving Zizou’s trust in him well placed.

Areola had a great first half, it was unfortunate that his error not only led to a penalty and a goal, but a change in tide of the game where Granada started to take control. Varane played well, but it was his man who was lost at the back post on the second goal and really, we just need to do better. Hazard seemed to struggle before his goal but after, in addition to bagging an assist, he seemed to come into his own. Hopefully, this is just the start.

Odriozola also had a fantastic game, combining with James who was great energy off the bench, for our fourth goal. He was a terror up the wing the whole game and truly stepped up to the challenge. Bale had a jaw dropping assist for the first goal and something that easily could have been called a penalty, though I don’t have huge issue with it not being called one. There were more good things in this game than bad I think.

A good showing and a great win, but something about this Real Madrid team remains... untrustworthy. As we have seen, better teams punish us in these spells of lax play. With a 4-2 scoreline, it’s easy to think that Real Madrid gave up some of the defensive prowess shown in the last few league games for offensive power. Real Madrid gave up 5 shots on target against Granada at home compared to just 1 against Sevilla away, Osasuna, and Atletico away. But other than this spell after Areola’s mistake, we mostly held good defensively. At this point, it is a matter of consistency, both within a game and between games.

But it’s never a bad thing to go into the international break with a win, and of course it is never a bad thing to be top of the league.

[calleo-bricriu]

work

(( I feel like doing drabbles. Still accepting these despite only having done two of like...five more. ))

Working at the Ministry for several years had, if nothing else, only allowed Calleo to practise an already innate skill at somehow hearing everything being said in a bunch of noise: Ministry meetings often went that way.

Nobody else present found it odd that he was quiet; he often was, especially if they were discussing topics or tactics in which he had no experience and the fact that he wasn't reading something told them he was paying attention and could be asked, at any point, for his input.

The trouble at the moment was that none of them wanted it. It was more familiar and somehow comforting to argue--it had ceased to be a discussion or exchange of ideas and compromise some time go--with each other and they'd fallen back to a very incorrect assumption that when the one at the wheel had had enough of listening to it, he'd simply tell them what they were doing.

Felix typically sat closest to Calleo and he noticed when Calleo reached into that obnoxious bag covered in brightly coloured cartoon parrots. He knew (or at least thought) that Calleo didn't keep wands in there, so it was likely nothing more dangerous than a cigarette or flask of something that was being reached for.

Everyone else noticed, however, what Calleo did was pull out a round, black, plastic ball with a small flat area on the bottom and set it on the table with a loud enough clack to catch their attention. He didn't appear to be angry, or even annoyed, just sort of entertained, somehow.

Felix was close enough to see the white circle and number 8 at the top and buried his face in his hands, muttering something about taking things seriously in Calleo's direction.

"I don't see why I should!" Calleo shrugged lazily and laid a hand on top of the plastic 8 ball. "You all stopped taking it seriously in favour of alternating between arguing and name calling two hours ago, that's hardly taking anything seriously."

"Right!" He picked up the ball. "Since none of you can make a decision, I'm going to ask a completely neutral in the sense that it's not alive and is, in fact, a Muggle toy, what it thinks and go from there."

Ordinarily, someone might have laughed or made a remark or simply asked him what the hell he was talking about but most of them had no idea what had just happening apart from the fact that it wasn't somehow dangerous and that Felix looked like a very tired grandparent of a child with endless energy.

"So!" He tapped the ball, "What do we think of using Felix's intelligence to make inroads in the more remote or difficult to get to Northern Unseen Market routes? Good idea?" After he'd finished the question, he gave the thing a few good shakes then flipped it over so the flat side was facing him before showing it to the group.

"Oh, hm, well, that's unfortunate; is it because there's a higher chance of interference from behind the crumbled remains of that Iron Curtain that still have strong ties to the Russian Unseen Market?" Another shake.

"Figured."

"Calleo--" Felix began, only to be cut off.

"Felix, look, you lot have been all but shouting insults back and forth and I've sat here quietly and listened to it--clearly, I've listened to it--if I had to put up with you acting like overtired children you get to put up with me acting like a garden variety children--child--you know what I mean."

A few glances were exchanged but nothing else was said and now, for however briefly, Calleo had a captive audience courtesy of a Muggle toy.

"So, there are two ways to go with that; could give up on it for now and focus on securing the more southern and central Unseen Markets as Geiss suggested."

"And once we've got a good lock on those, push further East, per Schlei and Zeiger's suggestions, then swing North and push back West to lock the Northern routes."

"Mm, yeah, that probably was a bit ambitious. Push East, per Shlei and Zeiger, then redouble back West to make sure those routes stay secure go due North, only veering slightly east to make sure Finland's chunk of the Unseen Market isn't an easy entry point maybe?"

"Right, yeah--" by now it was Calleo making all the noise in the room with a group staring at him in silence as he discussed tactics with a plastic ball.

"Finland does get a bit too close, doesn't it? Let the dragon handle Finland?"

"Brilliant! So, from all the jumbled mess that was thrown around the last two hours here's what I've got: For now, ignore the North; still too much influence strength there to make any real headway. It'd be a mess right now, so keep focus on the Southern and Central European Unseen Markets and their routes in and out of Europe per Geiss' suggestion, follow Shlei and Zeiger's suggestion to push East--but not too far East, get too close to the Russian boarder and it's likely to cause problems, then redouble back to make sure the lines taken remain secure."

Calleo rolled the plastic 8 ball idly between his hands on the table, "Once those are secure to the point that they don't need constant watching, move out of central Europe--or the central parts of countries who are in Southern, Central, and also possibly in sort-of-Northern Europe--that should net the rest of the continent from roughly Warsaw West and into Norway and Sweden and we'll let Hebridean Black handle getting at least the relevant parts of Finland's Unseen Market into line. Wouldn't look to moving into that area for another two or three years though."

Silence.

Calleo canted his head slightly, "Was that not what you were all almost shouting about, only with a hell of a lot more profanity for the last two hours? And were just arguing about where to start?"

"It was." Felix was, as he usually was, the first to speak when Calleo managed to cause awkward silences. "You could do with being a bit more diplomatic about it in future and perhaps not use Muggle Divination toys."

"Why?"

"It gives the impression," this time it was Zeiger who spoke up, "that you take nothing seriously."

"Results, I think," now he was spinning the ball like a top, "prove that things are being taken seriously, as does the ability I have to listen to two hours of disjointed, insult peppered, argumentative, nearly coming to blows sniping back and forth from a table full of an assortment of strange mustaches with matching accents, take it, and turn it into something coherent and likely to see at least some measure of success within five minutes."

"The fact that you think a silly little water filled toy with what amounts to a dice with words floating in it was any factor--" Calleo laughed and shook his head, "I plan out loud all the time, hearing it outside my own head lets me think more clearly."

"The eight ball is just a bit of fun." (And that entire meeting ended up, hours later, being delivered to Professor Dumbledore ( @messianique ) as a vial to viewed along with a short invitation to recommend any fine tuning or changes to ensure it was still easy for him to do his own work unimpeded.)

[swanandapirate]

A Muted Hue of Grey (2/14) -- CSBB

Summary: Emma Swan liked being a PI in Boston. It was a fun job, she had an okay income and she was a good one at that, so there was no logical reason to try and leave. Except for the fact that she wanted to, so badly. And, when she received a job offer for what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime, she did exactly that. Leave. Run. All the way to London. The job was simple: trailing a man called Killian Jones. Easy enough.

Well, until things get complicated, that is.

Rating: M (later mentions of violence, alcohol abuse, and sex)

Wordcount: 4131

Links: ao3 // ff.net // chapter 1 

A/N: Here's chapter two to finally answer those questions of how Emma is going to handle this very inconvenient situation. Though I do have to say that if this cliffhanger was already difficult to handle (looking at you @sambethe 😉) then oooooh boy have I got some things in store for you.

Eternal gratitude to my two favorite internet people in the world: my betas @acourtoftruelove and @ofshipsandswans who turned this jumble of sometimes incoherent words into an actual fic. 

Also major thanks to @shady-swan-jones for her banner and all of the cool art that she is posting and will post!

----------------------------

Shit, shit, shit.

There went her cover.

Way to go. She definitely deserved the Private Investigator of the Year award. Stellar work.

Emma opened her mouth and filled her chest with air, only to release it again without an answer.

“Can I help you, lass?”

The question still hung in the air. What should she—could she—even answer?

Jones lowered his eyebrows, not content with the lack of response, of explanation.

The heat of his hand on her felt like it was two hundred degrees, his touch burning through her clothes and onto her skin. It was almost painful for how long it remained there, not moving, not leaving, just comfortably—for him at least—wrapped around her upper arm.

Emma shook her head, trying to shake the feeling of fumbling clumsiness. She smiled, flashing her teeth. “I’m sorry for bumping into you. I don’t know where my head is today.”

He tilted his head and Emma internally berated herself for not being more convincing. For not being more prepared. He was not buying it and that put her in big trouble.

His head remained cocked, his messy eyebrows moving into a frown.

“You’ve been walking behind me for a while, I feel.”

She needed to get out of here, to run as fast and as far as she could. But his hands were still on her, locking her into place, preventing her from dashing away. Running would also completely blow her cover; if he saw her following him again, his suspicion would not only grow but be confirmed and she’d be compromised. How on earth was she going to explain that to her boss?

It was out of the question, for both her own pride and reputation, and for the clause she’d signed as part of her contract. There was no room for failure, only for success, which left one option.

She had to lie. Had no other choice than to think of a plausible cover that would explain it all and maybe take Jones’ wary look away. But what would do the trick?

“I’m sorry?” she said, apologizing for the second time in the span of a minute. Emma grimaced as she realized that too. “It’s just that— I—” Anything, just think of anything. “I have this feeling like I know you and I know that doesn’t condone the stalking but I was trying to figure out why I’m having this feeling. You aren’t a movie star, are you? A famous rock star?”

She was about to continue her list of possible—very impossible—professions he could have but it seemed the two options she’d given him had done their job.

He looked at her dazed.

“I’m guessing that’s a no. I don’t know where I could know you from, if that’s the case. I mean, this is my first time in London and I doubt you spent a lot of time in Boston.”

Take the bait, take the bait.

“I did actually.” Every word came out more surprised than the last. Jones seemed surprised himself. If only he knew.

She was acting and it felt like the fakest thing ever, it felt like she was being obvious, like the over-expressive, melodramatic actors in daytime soaps the moment they discovered their wife had had an affair with their twin brother and she was now pregnant with no idea who the real father was. Shocked .

“What?”

He interpreted the question wrong and completed his own statement.

“Spend a lot of time in Boston.”

“You did? Really?”

Of course, she knew this. She’d memorized his biography, up to every trivial fact like which Bostonian coffeehouse he frequented and what his order consisted of. She even knew where he lived. Close to where she used to. An odd thing their paths never crossed.

“Aye.” Killian slowly nodded. “I lived in Boston up until last year. I moved back a couple of months ago.”

“Huh.” She let her lips form a smile that read something in the lines of this person is currently pleasantly surprised. “Guess it’s not that far-fetched I actually know you from somewhere.”

“I suppose not,” he was forced to agree. “But you don’t seem familiar, if I’m being entirely honest,” he then said apologetically, his lips somewhere between a grimace and a smile.

“I don’t really try to stand out.”

She didn’t like to stand out because it made her job easier, a shadow in the night, a flash of movement during the day; it left her subject unsuspecting, unguarded and it was the easiest way to gain information and to get the job done. She didn’t like to stand out because that’s what led to problems back in the foster system. Standing out led to being singled out, being ostracized from the group. It led to bigger kids stealing her dinner, taking away the few dollar bills she managed to save. In short, it led to heartbreak and hurt. Laying low was a tactic, something ingrained into her being, perhaps that’s why she excelled at doing what she did. Maybe that was why she spent most of her life alone. Not lonely, per se, but alone .

And it was finally something that did not taste bitter in her mouth, that resembled the actual truth. This lying to his face, after the short amount of time she’d done it, was a whole different thing from spying on him from afar. She signed up for the latter, the former wasn’t how she liked to do things, how she liked to handle her work.

Jones’ eyes reflected the rays of light emitted by the sun, flecks of grey standing out in the sea of blue.

In an instant, a moment as fast as a fingersnap, she became aware of their unfortunate placement; it was as badly chosen as the place where the tween had picked out to take her selfie earlier. The irritation Emma had then experienced was now endured by other people, people trying to pass but they could not because of the blockage the two of them were creating. Jones seemed to come to the same realization as he apologetically smiled at some angry-looking people, his right hand delving into his hair to scratch the back of his scalp. Emma mentally added it to her list of information. Killian Jones had a tic, a tic which was quite adorable. She wouldn’t add that last bit to her folder, though.

They looked at each other and the clumsiness of the people swerving left and right, the slight embarrassment due to the angry glares caused them both to hesitantly snicker, a connection forming through the shared amusement.

With resolution and completely in sync, they stepped out of the way, much to the content of the passersby. As soon as they did, the cacophony of the city fell away; only a subdued buzz remained as they fled away towards a small alcove of sorts. It wasn’t more than a glorified dirty corner hidden from view, graffiti sprayed on the otherwise grimy walls, puddles of suspicious substances covering the floor. Not that she was paying attention to those, Killian wasn’t either.

They were only watching each other in almost silence.

It brought a kind of intimacy, let the calm slowly descend onto the two of them. Two new lovers might search it, two experienced ones might treasure it, but Emma and Killian were neither. Far from it even.

They barely knew each other.

He barely knew her, they hadn’t even talked for more than a minute.

So the intimacy was odd. Unsought.

“This is going to sound a bit forward of me,” Killian finally broke the silence, “but would you like to continue this conversation in a place that’s slightly more suitable and reeks slightly less of piss?”

There was no other acceptable answer but yes. Declining would mean she’d rather stay in a shady alley than go somewhere with him. Even though she didn’t really owe him anything and she had every right to say no, it was quite an offensive thing to say. And nothing in his conduct or words had warranted such an insult.

“Yes. To the ‘no piss’ thing,” she specified after a beat.

It may have sounded as a joke, a jest to add amusement but in reality, to Emma there was nothing humorous about it. It was Emma trying to backtrack, recede to a place where it was safe and where she could blend into the shadows again.

Killian perceived it as a joke. He rumbled a laugh before looking over his shoulder, scanning the street for any oncoming groups of tourists or traffic, and, after the briefest brush of his fingers against the edge of her hand, he led the way.

It was accidental, nothing more.

It was just to signal that he was leaving, nothing more.

All things she told herself but failed to convince her, did not manage to omit the tingle in her flesh his touch had generated.

There was no use to think about the reasons behind his actions. She didn’t need to think about it, all she needed to do was follow him, continue and maintain a shallow conversation, end it with a friendly smile and an insincere “I hope we see each other again”, and disappear; never to be seen again, never to encounter each other again. It would require a moment to collect her thoughts and strategize, come up with a new tactic to bring this assignment to a fruitful end but those were worries for later.

The thing she needed to worry about now was how to converse with someone she already knew everything about, someone who wasn’t allowed to know anything about her. It didn’t exactly leave a lot of room for a topic of conversation.

Lost in her own thoughts searching for a subject other than how hot the weather was today, she was too busy to pay attention to her surroundings or Jones. Emma’s absent-mindedness resulted in her not seeing he had stopped moving in front of her and almost running into him again. Jeez, a second time would not only be embarrassing but also a testimony of pure clumsiness.

And she didn’t require any additional unnecessary touches and even more tension, she’d had quite enough of that for one day.

He didn’t speak or explain the sudden emergency brake situation that had just taken place, but twisted to face her. He stared at her. Only stared, his gaze scanning her face. It felt like a judgment, as if he was trying to figure out something but Emma hadn’t the slightest idea what that might be.

“What?” she eventually settled for plain out asking, her curiosity and impatience getting the better of her.

It jostled Jones back to reality, his eyelids moving to blink away the hitch.

“Killian,” he said. “That’s my name.” His head softly shook. “I realized I hadn’t introduced myself yet.”

“Oh!” Yeah, she hadn’t thought about asking his name because she already knew. “Nice to meet you.” Lifting her hand, she extended it towards him but as she did, the urge to retract came instantaneously. What if the feeling she’d tried to shake off earlier returned? This time, she couldn’t hold static energy accountable or pretend it was just an itch. It was too late, however, as Killian’s hand enveloped hers, a flood of warmth following.

She could attribute that to body heat, she supposed.

“I’m Emma.”

She stopped there to retain a kind of simplicity, of mystery. It was better for him not to know a lot about her, but Killian thought differently as he raised his eyebrow and nodded at her to continue.                                                                 

“Emma Swan,” she completed begrudgingly.

The name—her name—brought a smile upon his face and Emma wanted to ask why, wanted to smile along before she remembered. No attachments.

“Swan?” he questioned. “Really?

An affirmative nod.

“What’s yours?” she asked, perfectly aware of how she shouldn’t already know it. But it was the normal thing to do when two strangers met for the first time.

“Jones,” he replied. “Couldn’t be more generic than that. Although, I could be named Killian Smith, but that wouldn’t ring quite as good, I think.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Killian Jones is a good name.”

“So is Emma Swan.”

“Thank you.”

They began walking again, a slow pace and now next to each other instead of Emma letting him leading the way.

“I once knew a chap called BJ Dickerson, that wasn’t a good name.”

“No way,” she said in disbelief and when Killian nodded, she frowned. “Whatever his initials stood for, it could not have been worse than BJ Dickerson.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, trying to suppress his smile. “His parents called him Bachelor-Januarius. He wasn’t even born in January. I don’t think his parents were too fond of him, poor lad.”

Emma couldn’t help herself as she burst into laughter, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Killian stopped attempting to not laugh, his chuckle joining her giggle, the two sounds blending perfectly. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, she wiped them away with the pad of her thumb as she tried to compose herself and catch her breath.

Once she did and once they focused on walking again instead of laughing, she came to the pathetic conclusion that this was the first time she’d laughed—really genuinely laughed without any inhibitions—in quite some time. Long enough for her not to remember when or where or why. She should’ve expected that to happen seeing that she left all her friends back in the States.

Coming to a halt before a Pret A Manger establishment, Killian gestured with his head to propose entering to which Emma agreed. It was the afternoon, the peak hours of coffee-craving businessmen and women already gone so they were able to sit in a relatively calm environment. A young man greeted them and they both smiled in return.

The table they chose to sit at carried remnants of its previous occupants, some drops and crumbs scattered across its surface. Before sitting down, Killian reached for the napkin dispenser, grabbing two and swiping them across the table, getting rid of the traces and clearing it for them. His prosthetic motioned towards the chair opposite of him, inviting her to take a seat. Before he did too, he searched for a trashcan and disposed of the napkins.

It gave her some time to prepare, to take a calming breath and wipe her sweaty palms across her jeans as she went over the battle strategy again. It was one she was familiar with but it had been some time since she had utilized it, since she needed to. This resembled one of her bailbonds dates. The ones where she had to drag her words through a process of hemming and hawing, giving an altered, watered-down version of the truth while keeping it believable. The purpose now, however, wasn’t to expose the target but to prevent herself from being outed by them.

“Would you like something?” Killian asked with a friendly smile when he returned.

“Umm,” she thought for a second before answering, “A hot chocolate would be fine.”

“Great, I’ll be right back,” he told her.

Another big difference with her past as a bail bondsperson; back then she acted as seductive as possible, bending her body the right way to sit and show off some cleavage, watching her date the right way by batting her eyelashes, pretending to get tipsy after two glasses of red wine (her alcohol tolerance was better than that). But nothing like that now, a hot chocolate was as far from being seductive as it could be.

When the steaming cups—hers the aforementioned hot chocolate, and his a plain cup of coffee—were placed on their table, Emma wondered for a moment why exactly she chose a warm beverage when it was sweltering hot outside. But she had never been the healthy juice cleanse kind of girl and, once she took a hesitant sip and the chocolaty taste coated her tongue, she forgot all about the outside temperatures and could only think of her tastebuds reveling in the taste. It was okay at best but she couldn’t remember the last time she had taken the time to enjoy some.

God, why was she getting emotional about a cup of mediocre hot chocolate.

Killian drank from his cup as well, flinching. It would appear his cup was mediocre at best too. He grabbed the container of sugar that stood on the table and poured some into the black liquid.

“So what did you do back in Boston, if you don’t mind me asking?” Emma asked, the comfortable silence not sitting well with her. It was too comfortable when it should be anything but.

He looked up from his cup of coffee, his expression open and kind, before he answered, “I did technical writing for an engineering firm.”

“Sounds interesting.”

He took a sip, the sugar clearly helping, before he shook his head with a tiny smile.

“It wasn’t,” Killian said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I quit. I got sick of it all and I needed something new.”

An idea formed in Emma’s thoughts, a lightbulb in the center of her mind that gradually became brighter and brighter until it glowed ever so powerful and made everything so clear. How to respond, what to say, how to proceed.

“What company did you work for?”

She just met the man, some curiosity was allowed, was even expected. Conveniently, that granted her the opportunity to steer the conversation to where she wanted it to go, to subtly guide Killian to a place where her act was believable and unsuspicious. Innocent.

Emma let her head rest on her hand, her chin propped up on her palm and her fingers spreading across the apple of her cheek.

“It was called Spencer Mechanics,” Killian answered.

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose. “I think I just figured out why you seem so familiar.”

Well, she just came up with a story to explain why he seemed so familiar, but semantics. More or less.

“You have? Do share,” he encouraged, slightly leaning closer in intrigue.

“A friend of mine once had a shitty temp job there and I came to her rescue with lunch sometimes. I probably saw you in passing a couple of times. I have a weird memory like that. Don’t ask me what I ate for lunch two days ago, but faces often stick.”

She could see him considering it—her story—for a moment, most likely wondering if it wasn’t too much of a coincidence, but dismissed the matter after having thought about it for a moment of silence.

“I apologize for not remembering yours,” he spoke again. “It’s a face worth remembering.”

Emma suddenly wished she hadn’t ordered a hot beverage but a cool one instead so she could cool her body down, rub the cold condensation against her heated, red cheeks. Why is she getting so flustered over small things and comments? Jesus. She had been flirted with before, so why was Jones different?

The answer wasn’t difficult to find, all she had to do was look up and there it was, visible in the way his eyes exuded sincerity and authenticity and the small smile that followed, as if the comments weren’t made to get something but simply to tell her, to make her aware of how things were from his point of view. A genuine compliment without any ulterior motives. She had to admit that had been rare in her previous experiences.

She didn’t want to be flustered, but she definitely was right this minute and Killian saw it too, a little cocky smirk appearing on his lips and then immediately disappearing again as he widened the distance between them again by leaning against the back of his chair.

“Do you like living in London?”

“I’d say so. Moving here was pretty hectic, however, I’ve been here barely three weeks and there are so many things to take care of.”

Rent, for one; money, her dollars wouldn’t get her far here; transport, she felt the loss of her beloved bug.

“It’s a big transition, isn’t it?” He nodded sympathetically. “I’m from here and it was still quite an adjustment for me.”

“Did you live in the States for long?” she asked before drinking the last of her beverage and placing the cup back on the table.

Seven years.

“About seven years,” he confirmed her information.

“That is a long time.” Her eyebrows shot upwards in something fluctuating between agreement and appreciation.

Killian shrugged before shifting the focus back onto Emma. “How long are you in London for?”

“A couple of months. It all depends on how much my boss likes the work I do.” That was true, Jones just didn’t need to know what exactly it was she did.

“What do you do?”

She should’ve seen that one coming, fuck.

“Oh, I don’t want to bore you with it.”

She waved it away, a fearful smile appearing on her face. It wasn’t more than a slight arch to hide the way she was clenching her jaw.

“You wouldn’t,” he assured her, lowering his head to meet her eyes, a sign he was a good listener, a kind one at that. For once, she wished her date—he wasn’t that but for lack of a better term he was—would only think about himself, talk about himself without asking about her, self-centered and selfish. Killian wasn’t, however. “I’m interested.”

Which was what she needed least, interest. In her and what she did.

“I’m um… what you would call a bail bonds person.”

Killian blinked and shook his head simultaneously, both obvious signs of how he was taken aback by her profession—even though it was her previous one and not her current, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Really?” he asked, yet again confirming his surprise.

Emma couldn’t help that her answer sounded just that little bit prickly. “You sound surprised.”

Her prickliness was justified, though. Because it was getting tedious and monotonous, the misogynistic air that hung around the oh’s and really’s and the you must be joking’s.

Because everyone sounded surprised. Men especially. They thought women weren’t powerful enough, were too emotional to succeed. It was why she was a bailbonds personand not man. She was a woman. And a damn powerful one.

“Only because I’ve never met a bail bonds person before. How on earth could that ever bore me?”

“It all sounds really exciting but in the end it’s more paperwork and boring stake outs than anything else.”

She toyed with the empty cardboard cup of her hot chocolate, her fingernail denting the ridge before letting her hand compress it, until the cup was completely flat.

His eyes fell on the camera now safely stored in its bag and hung across the chair Emma sat on.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you during one.” His features turned worrisome.

“You didn’t,” she reassured.

Lie.

“I was simply exploring a bit.”

Lie.

“I haven’t had the time yet.”

Truth.

“You’d never come to London before moving here?”

“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. “Sometimes it feels like I have absolutely no idea where I’m going. I’m just following the masses.”

Emma assumed that they knew where they were going—at least vaguely. She just let the stream carry her, calmly floating along and she’d see where she would end up. Killian, however, clearly disagreed.

“You shouldn’t! London is better than the masses make it out to be.”

“If you feel inclined to be my personal tour guide, feel free to,” Emma joked.

“Well, there’s an idea.” Killian smirked.

“I was joking,” she explained, the panic rising inside. She was already regretting her words. Why did she have to say that and give him ideas? “I don’t want to claim any more of your time.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured and Emma wished he didn’t. “I was going to go to the library but I wouldn’t mind taking a stroll about the town.”

A creature of extreme habit and he was altering his routine. Changing something almost set in stone. For her.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

They stood up, their chairs scraping against the floor. Killian took Emma’s crushed cup and his own, still in its original state, and threw them into the trash. She smiled to thank him while attempting to get that lightbulb in her head to work again, for it to provide another story she could use to her advantage and get out of this situation. But it stayed completely dark and so she followed him outside.

“Welcome to the real London, Emma Swan.”

In the masses of the crowd, they disappeared together.

----------------------------

Fun fact: I actually know someone who is called Januarius and he wasn’t born in January either. I hope you liked it! See you next Thursday!

[never-shuts-up]

White And Gold

Finished a thing for the first time in months, and finally contributing to Thirst Party Saturday! This came out of nowhere and got away from me really quickly. Was originally just feelings and then it got much, much hotter. Will probably get a round or three of edits before it goes up on AO3.

Title: White and Gold

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins (plus some implied Ambrolleigns)

Rating: M (for oral sex and handjobs - with a lot of feelings, obviously)

Summary: Roman becomes Intercontinental Champion, but that’s not the only thing he feels like celebrating. Seth’s plans pay off in more ways than he expected.

Tag List: @sleeplessandcynical, @rocknrolleigns  (LMK if you want to be added!)

As soon as the locker room door swung shut, Seth found himself pressed against the cinder block wall, a small noise of surprise forced from his lips as Roman leaned into him hard, covering his face and neck with fierce, hungry kisses with more need than precision, twisting one hand roughly into his hair and pressing the other against the small of his back, forcing their hips together. Roman, lightheaded with victory and hot with need, could only let go enough to speak for seconds at a time, his voice a reverent, rough murmur, jagged with emotion. “Holy fuck, baby, we did it,” he mumbled into the side of Seth’s neck, between kisses so hard they verged on bite, “and you - oh, fuck - thank you.”

Recovering the air back into his lungs, Seth managed to make his own arms work again, and wound one hand gently up to the back of Roman’s neck, guiding him to press their foreheads together. “It’s yours. You did that. All I did was say a bunch of stuff, but it was worth it.” Roman blinked, as if in surprise, his eyes looking a little wet. Seth’s other hand drifted up to the strap of the title that hung over Roman’s shoulder, and traced its outline, slowly, against his skin.

Roman still couldn’t quite believe all of this was real, digging his fingertips into Seth’s back as if to remind himself that yes, this was happening, and not a dream, and that he was really holding the man whose actions and schemes had led directly to this moment, warm and half-clothed and responsive to his every touch. That title could just as easily have been Seth’s, if things had gone just a little differently. Roman could imagine a version of Seth who would have seized the opportunity for himself, didn’t have to imagine him because he had fought him for years, but that wasn’t the Seth he held onto so tightly now. This was someone he hadn’t known in a long time, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed him.

The cool metal plates of the title dug into Seth’s chest, but it didn’t matter, it was an extension of Roman in that moment and Seth wanted every inch of him. He’d missed this, oh, God, how he had missed this, and how he wished it would never stop. He could feel the heat and hardness of Roman’s cock against his thigh, and his own responding in kind, but his need didn’t end there - his entire body seemed to ache with longing. He fumbled each of the buckles on Roman’s vest open, slipped it off and tossed it to the side, pulling Roman in even more tightly, as if, with enough skin pressed against skin, they could just melt into each other and never have to pull away again. Somehow, pressed between their bodies, the title didn’t fall to the floor with the vest, and it was Roman who stopped to take it in his hands. For several painfully long moments, he gazed softly, wistfully, at the gold plates and finally fixed his eyes back on Seth.

“You had a plan.” Roman’s words were a statement, not a question. Seth nodded. “And it worked.”“Yeah.” Seth was smiling, his entire face glowing softly with pride, whether of himself or of Roman or both, neither of them could be sure, and for once it didn’t make a difference.“Why?” The question sliced into the silence with rough, jagged edges, which Roman didn’t intend, but Seth’s gaze never lost focus, as he placed a hand firmly on each of Roman’s shoulders.

“Because you deserve this. After all the fucking crap you’ve been through, after all the crap I put you through, you earned this. I didn’t think there was anything I could do that would ever make it up to you, but I had to try.” His words were cut short with another ferocious kiss, long and deep, Roman claiming his mouth as if he could press every single thought that jumbled and bounced through his head directly into Seth, with no need to say anything more. All the gratitude, all the want, all the sweet, absolute relief of having him here, like this, seemed to set every nerve in Roman’s body on fire, and judging from the response, he was sure Seth must be feeling it too.

Seth moaned against Roman’s lips, with a shiver that sent shockwaves straight to his dick. Roman closed a hand over Seth’s own hand, and moved them both - over, down, between their hips, to his own hardness and to the place where he could feel Seth’s pressing warmly against his thigh.

This time, Seth was the first to pull away to speak: “You should put it on.”

“Huh?” Roman wasn’t sure what Seth had in mind, considering that his dick was outpacing his brain by a mile a minute.

“Nobody ever puts it on. I want to see how it looks on you.” And almost before Roman could nod, Seth’s hands were fastening the title around his waist.Seth couldn’t help but sharply inhale as Roman stepped back to let him look. The white leather set off the golden-tan of Roman’s skin perfectly, and the gold plates almost seemed to glow.

“God damn, it’s like it was made for you.”  He turned Roman around to face the mirror on the opposite wall, and watched as his shoulders straightened, as he stood a little taller and a smile spread across his face. “You’re are so fucking beautiful, and I want you so fucking badly right now.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Roman’s neck, and began to wrap both arms around his waist from behind, slowly, tracing a gentle arc to the top button of his pants.

Roman leaned against him, arching and moaning as Seth unbuttoned his pants with one hand, easing the other in to trace a long, teasing stroke down the length of his cock. “Babe, if you start that right now, I’m not gonna last,” he rumbled in a tone that made Seth shiver, sounding more like a promise than a threat.

“Don’t care. You’re my champion, and if you want it, I wanna make you feel like it right now.” Suddenly, a look of uncertainty flickered across Seth’s face. “You, uh, you do want it, right?” Roman’s face softened into a small smile, and he nodded. Seth disengaged himself, nudging Roman the few steps backward to the wall, and with one fluid motion, dropped to his knees. Roman barely stifled a gasp at this - he’d almost forgotten what a pretty sight it was after so long - only to have that same gasp tear its way out of his throat as Seth’s mouth closed around his cock.

Twining one hand lightly into Seth’s hair, Roman tried to guide his pace - knowing him, he’d probably smack his head right into the center plate of the title. But Seth kept the pace more than well enough, easing off to take long, teasing licks that turned Roman’s knees into water, then taking him deep in his throat, reading every movement and every hitch of Roman’s breathing, every push and pull and tightening of his grip. It seemed intuitive, but also deliberate, like reading an old map of someplace that used to be familiar, where the details are hazy but impossible to completely forget, and begin to make sense again in bits and pieces. Seth’s hands clung to the title, using it to pull Roman close to him, and somehow this, combined with the weight and pressure of the leather around his waist, pushed Roman even closer to the edge. Seth was so careful and attentive, taking more of Roman’s cock than he’d even thought possible, and his pace quickened with the same hunger and urgency that pulsed through Roman’s body.

“So close,” he moaned, “god, yes, baby, I’m so close.” Dimly aware that there were still people in the building, Roman used every ounce of will he had left trying to keep quiet as he came, letting out rough, strangled grunts and thrusting hard into the back of Seth’s throat as it twitched convulsively around him.

Hooking an arm around his waist, Roman eased Seth upright and pulled him in close to his chest. Seth’s face was flushed, damp with sweat and spit, his eyes wide as he gasped in deep, ragged breaths. Roman remembered when he had seen him just like this for the first time, and how he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to ravage every inch of Seth’s body or wrap him up like a delicate, precious thing and keep him safe forever, but this time one impulse in particular won out. He raised a hand to cup Seth’s jaw, a gesture that slowed Seth’s breathing and made his eyes grow even wider and softer, and pulled him in for another kiss, hard and slow and searching, tasting himself on the other man’s tongue.

Disengaging, he murmured against Seth’s cheek, “You’re so good to me, baby. So, so fucking good.” He kissed a line from cheekbone to jaw, marveling at how one face could be so rough and yet so soft, how one man could be so strong and yet look so devastatingly vulnerable in his arms. Roman was suddenly thankful for their return to the tactical gear, as he didn’t have to shimmy Seth out of a bunch of tight layers - a belt buckle and a few buttons were all that stood between his hand and Seth’s cock. Seth was wearing his usual light compression shorts underneath, but the choked-off noise he made when Roman cupped his erection through them was still an absolute goddamn treasure, and the smooth fabric was warm to the touch. At any other time, Roman would have happily taken his sweet time with this, would have teased Seth until he begged, but no amount of self-restraint could have canceled out the ache in Roman’s chest, or how badly he wanted to have his hands all over the man he’d missed so much.  Seth ground against Roman’s thigh as he slid the smooth fabric down and took hold of his cock, and began to stroke, slowly, his other arm still wrapped around Seth’s back to hold him close to his chest. Just as Seth had fumbled his way back into remembering all the details of Roman’s body, so did Roman with Seth’s, and judging by how Seth arched and twitched under his touch, it was working.

“That’s my baby boy,” he purred, “So gorgeous, and so sweet for me, with your beautiful fucking mouth.” Whether the small cry that escaped Seth was from his words or the sweep of Roman’s thumb over the head of his cock, Roman couldn’t exactly be sure. He shifted his arm lower, around Seth’s waist, and kissed all the way down the side of his neck, down to his broad chest, gently swirling his tongue around one nipple, then the other, grazing one with his teeth just for the wanton moan that rasped from Seth’s throat. Seth clung to him desperately, as if he was afraid Roman would let go, as if that were even possible. Turning Seth around to lean his back against the wall, Roman kept stroking, kept kissing all the way back up to Seth’s lips, lingering over his collarbones and the hollow of his throat to make him shudder and twitch, and lowered his other hand to stroke his lower back and squeeze the curve of his ass, still impossibly defined through the loose pants. Seth kissed him back hungrily, but broke away from Roman’s lips long to whisper, in a voice that cracked as if it could break into a thousand pieces: “Fuck, Ro… I missed you. I missed you so much it fucking hurt, and I -”

Roman stopped his words with another kiss. The hurt of the past few years had been real, had been devastating, but what had hurt the most had been the absence that was now finally filled again, and that made Roman’s heart feel full to bursting. “Me too, baby, me too. But it’s not gonna hurt anymore. I got you.”

Tears threatened to spill from Seth’s eyes as he buried his face into Roman’s shoulder, his chest pressed so tightly to Roman’s that he could feel his heart pounding, that impossibly huge fucking heart that had made leaving so devastatingly hard in the first place. Nothing could erase how badly he’d hurt Roman, so much and in so many ways, and yet the man still wanted to take him apart and put him back together with this impossible gentleness after everything they’d been through. And as Roman resumed his strokes, increasing the speed until Seth came, spilling into Roman’s hand and down the inside of his own pants, the tears won out, leaving more tracks of wet and salt on his already burning cheeks, and his knees threatened to buckle beneath him with the sheer concentrated overwhelm of it all. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of Roman for a long, long time as the haze subsided, Roman clutching him tightly against his chest, the title digging into his bare stomach as a reminder that yes, things could be so different now.

“Guys? I brought the car around back so you might wanna -“ The door swung open, hitting the wall with a thud, and Dean swept in, making a beeline for the corner where he’d thrown his duffel bag before the sight in front of him completely registered. Seth and Roman half-dressed, soft-eyed and disheveled, smelling like sweat and sex and as fucking gorgeous as sculptures in a museum, Roman with the title around his waist. Dean swallowed the half-chewed bite of his sandwich and closed the door behind him, regarding them with a slow grin and a low chuckle. “Well… ain’t that a pretty sight. Took you long enough.” He took another bite of his sandwich, watching the two men fumble their way apart and start trying to find their respective clean clothes. “Looks good on you, Big Dog. So good I don’t mind you starting without me.”

“It kinda just… happened.” Roman looked a little sheepish, his hands a little shaky as he managed to undo the title from his waist and wipe it down with a clean towel. “We’ll make it up to you, Uce.”

“With a view like this? You already are. But I can’t turn down an offer like that, so I’m gonna hold you to it.” Seth was still blushing bright red, and Dean took the opportunity to wind an arm around his waist and pull him in for a kiss.Seth made a wry face and brushed a crumb from his beard with mock disgust, unable to keep the laugh out of his voice. “Are you seriously eating a Doritos sandwich right now?”

Dean shook his head and motioned with the crust in his hand. “What do you think I am, twelve? It’s turkey. I just put in a couple Cool Ranch for flavor.”

Roman chuckled, wrapping both arms around Dean from behind and leaning his head on one shoulder. “Sorry we got a little ahead of you. But we got our boy back, for real, and it’s gonna be a good night, promise.”

Dean turned his head just enough to kiss Roman on the cheek. “I kinda thought you guys would need to catch up a little, had to happen sometime.” He grabbed a few of his shirts that had spilled haphazardly onto the floor, and stuffed them back into the bag wherever the would fit. “Speaking of catching up, we gotta get a move-on, the PAs are already wondering where y’all are.”

“If they waited this long, they can wait for us to put on some clean clothes.” Roman tossed another towel to Seth, who had already taken off his wet gear and was digging around in his roller bag. “You good to drive, babe?”

Seth nodded, feeling warmth creep into his face again as he absently toweled himself off, watching Roman and Dean gather up their belongings, making a mental note of how right it all felt and a reminder to never, ever take it for granted again. “Never been better.”