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twdeadfanfic · 2 years

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Fanfic Advent Calendar 2021-Day 3/24 - Murphy MacManus x Reader - Melted Sugar

Prompt: Character A doesn’t feel the Christmas spirit but Character B, who lives above them, keeps playing Christmas carols really loud. - “Why does the house smell like Santa threw up?”

Summary: Reader is the MacManus downstairs neighbor, who, exhausted after a long day working, is not in the mood to deal with their neighbor loud christmas carols. When she goes to complain, though, she wasn’t expecting that a handsome irish lad would open the door... Fluff, MacManus twins bickering, mild angsty mid-communication, happy endings, charming irish Murphy MacManus lad...

You dropped onto the bed, face first and letting out an exhausted sigh, after coming back from work. For a couple of minutes you just lied there, face buried on the pillow, before you turned onto your back and began kicking off your boots.

Looking around your tiny, old apartment, if you could call that place that, just depressed you more, but it was all you could afford, and barely. It was illegal lofting, that for starters, an apartment consisting of one single, small room. The kitchen was to one side, your bed at the other, with a tiny nightstand table and an old shelf next to it, a small coffee table and an old tv in front of the bed, a small circular table with four mismatched chairs, and pretty much that was it…and it still felt like too many things for the size of the place.

There was no room for the bathroom, with the shower, toilet and sink at the back of the place, but you had hung some curtains and placed a folding screen…now you wondered why had you bothered expending your scarce money on that, since you had no friends or no one to come visit you, and you were by yourself there always.

So much for the awesome life that you were going to have in Boston…

You had left your small town, quit your part-time job as a waitress at your uncle’s café, and went to the big city full of hopes and dreams about how your life there was going to be, finding an amazing job, friends, living your best life…just to be harshly slapped by reality pretty soon.

Meeting people, let alone friends, in that busy, cold big city had proven to be difficult, but not as much as finding a job. You had been unemployed for so long that you had run out of savings, growing desperate and not wanting to go back home with your tail between your legs, until finally you had found something small and part-time, but that would stop you from starving and allowed you to paint the rent of your crappy apartment.

It hadn’t lasted long, though, and since then, you had jumped from one small job to the next, growing desperate again on the moments between jobs, wondering if maybe you should have never left town, if you should go back, your dreams and hopes shattered…right now you had a job, but you knew they’d kick you out once Christmas was over, and you weren’t very sure of what might you find next, if something at all…

You were still on the bed, feeling sorry for yourself, tired and bitter, hating the world, when you began to hear Christmas carols coming from the apartment above you, loud. You had heard noise from that apartment from time to time, but never like this. You tried to ignore it, but with how tired and bitter you were, feeling done with Christmas already, soon the music pissed you off.

You got up with an annoyed huff, putting on your boots again, leaving your apartment and stomping up the stairs, stopping in front of your neighbor's door and pressingthe doorbell, not lifting your finger from it until the door was opening.

You didn’t know what you had been expecting to find, who might open the door, but you certainly didn’t expect it to be some guy with blue eyes and nice cheekbones, probably the prettiest guy you had ever seen…and also, he was not wearing a shirt, and he was hot as hell. Well, then…

“Hi?” The man blinked at you, while you were silent, pretty much checking him out without being able to stop yourself.

The Christmas carols sounded even louder now, with the door open, and so you snapped out of your hot-shirtless-neighbor bewilderment and remembered why you were there, getting annoyed again, enough to stop staring at that guy and at how handsome he was.

“I live downstairs, I can hear your music as if it were in my own apartment, lower it,” you demanded more than asked.

“Murph, who’s the grumpy lass?”

Another voice asked from inside, and you caught a glance of another guy who was pretty handsome too, who wasn’t wearing a shirt either, and was damn hot too…had you fallen asleep and were having some sort of perverted dream in which suddenly you had two hot guys who didn’t wear shirts in winter living on top of you? Nah, you weren’t, the annoying Christmas carols brought you back to reality again.

“Downstairs neighbor, says we’re botherin’ her with the music,” the guy who had opened the door said.

“Yes, you are!” A guy calling you grumpy lass hadn’t helped you to be less grumpy, whether he was hot or not. “It’s not even Christmas yet!”

“It’s the 3 of December!” The guy at the door retorted.

“Yes, not Christmas!” You snapped back, and suddenly, a smell hit your nose, something like burned sugar…melted Christmas sweets, almost. “And why does your house smells like Santa threw up?” Sure, what a rude way to ask, but you were tired, sad, bitter at life, and now too at those guys who were that hot and had their music so loud, stupid Christmas carols the 3 of December no less.

“We, uh…tried to make Christmas cookies…” The guy at the door said.

“Didn’t work that well…” The other added before disappearing from your view.

“Some burned…the others melted or some shit?” The guy at the door frowned. “I don’t know what happened…”

So, besides the Christmas carols, maybe the smell of melted sugar and burned cookies was going to reach your apartment soon too. Delightful.

“Look, I don’t care if you and your boyfriend want to start celebrating Christmas even in November, but keep the stupid carols down!” You snapped.

“We, uh…we’re twins, lass,” the guy at the door said, seemed puzzled and mild offended…great, wonderful…this was so awkward and embarrassing…even more when the other guy showed up again, seeming outraged too.

“I, uh…I’m sorry…” You muttered. “Just..yeah, keep the damn, weird carols down.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah…I can’t recognize half of those…”

“That’s ‘cause those are Irish lass,” the guy at the door said, seeming proud. “Like my brother and I.”

“Well…keep your Irish carols down, then,” you said, turning to leave, but the Irish, handsome guy called after you.

“Hey! Ye got a name besides downstairs neighbor?”

You turned around to look at him again. “I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet ye, Y/N,” the guy smiled at you and…how could that smile be so pretty? It seemed to light his face in such a way, somehow making him look even more handsome… You almost snorted at his words, though. Had it been nice to meet you? All you had done was snap at him, at his Irish carols and at his burned cookies, and call his twin his boyfriend, which again…could the earth swallow you… “I’m Murphy MacManus, and my brother’s Connor.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you both,” you said awkwardly. “Just…just watch the volume of your music.”

“Sure, lass!” You heard the voice of the guy while you were already walking down the stairs.

Once at your place, you kicked off your boots and dropped onto your bed again, thinking about the encounter you just had.

You really hadn’t been expecting that your upstairs neighbors, the ones blasting Christmas carols, were going to be two hot Irish twins…Murphy, the one who had opened the door, he must be one of the prettiest guys you’d ever seen, one of those you think are only real in magazines, not that his brother wasn’t attractive, it was like the both of them had jumped off a models catalog.

Maybe you had been kind of a bit rude…but you had felt so angry, so bitter, so done with your stupid shattered dreams, with Christmas and carols…

You didn’t think that complaining about music being too loud was something impolite…but probably you could have done it without snapping and without the rude remarks…maybe the ex back in your hometown who said you were a rude bitch hadn’t been that wrong…also, probably you could have asked them without saying that their placed smelled like Santa’s puke…and without calling two twins boyfriends…

You groaned aloud, dying of embarrassment again, and you rolled over to bury your face in the pillow.

You could still hear the Christmas carols from upstairs, but faintly, not making your roof vibrate and not sounding like you were the one blasting Christmas music anymore. However, as you had feared, the smell of burning cookies and melted sugar was getting into your apartment too…how could someone mess cookies so bad…then again, if their oven was like the one that came with your apartment, it wasn’t the best thing in the world.

For a while, you lied on the bed, staring at the ugly ceiling, alternating between feeling sorry for yourself and your life, and calling yourself rude bitch…you were still at it, feeling like doing nothing, when your doorbell rang.

Frowning, you went to open the door, finding the pretty guy from upstairs, Murphy, there, although he was wearing a shirt now, and was holding a small paper bag.

“Hello?” You greeted, confused.

“Hey, lass.” He smiled at you and…seriously why and how was he so pretty, who in the world had such a smile. “Carols don’t bother ye now, aye?”

“No…no, thanks for lowering the volume…” You were a bit embarrassed at how you’d snapped at him before, taking out on him your frustration at life.

“Sorry, lass, I guess we didn’t care ‘bout the volume while tryin’ to make that oven work,” Murphy said with that breathtaking green of him and how could you be mad when he looked cute like that. “But…finally we got a batch of cookies that didn’t die so…” He lifted the paper bag. “Peace offerin’?”

“Oh, no, there’s no need, thank you,” you said, feeling bad that this guy was bringing you homemade cookies after the way you’d behaved towards him and his brother before.

“Come on, lass, take them, please?” Murphy blinked those pretty eyes at you… refusing the cookies would be ruder than taking them, right? Even if you didn’t feel like you deserved those.

“Okay, okay, thanks.” You took the bag and reached inside, picking one of the cookies and frowning at it…it had a form and it was painted with colored sugar, but the thing was, you couldn’t guess what was its form. “What, uh…what’s this supposed to be?” You asked, hoping you sounded curious as you were, and not dismissive of the cookie.

“It was supposed to be an angel but…” Murphy reached inside the bag too, taking another cookie and looking at it sadly. “I don’t know what happened…they all look weird like this…”

“It’s not easy to give cookies a form, I’m sure.” You shrugged. “Besides, what matters is the taste, right?” You bit the cookie and…you tried to put on your best face while you tried to munch on that thing.

“So? It’s good?” Murphy asked expectantly.

“Mmmh mhmm…” You nodded, still trying to munch and swallow the cookie.

“Lass…”

“It’s rock hard,” you finally admitted and so Murphy took a bite of his too, seeming defeated.

“Yeah…Connor was right, should have tried them before givin’ them to ye…”

“Don’t worry, I appreciate the gesture, really, it was very kind of you,” you assured him. “I’m sorry that I was kind of rude before, and how I snapped, apologies.”

“It’s okay, lass.” Murphy was back at smiling. “So…ye don’t like Christmas carols?”

“I, uh…it’s just…those were really loud…but…yeah, not a fan, I guess…besides, right now I have to listen to Christmas carols all the time at work so…I’m kind of sick of them,” you explained.

“Where do ye work then?” Murphy asked you.

“In a mall, I give samples of Christmas sweets,” you said and you saw Murphy’s eyes lighting up.

“That has to be the best job in the world, lass!” He said and you snorted.

“Not really…” You felt ridiculous in your Christmas uniform, you were done with Christmas and carols since November, and more importantly, you knew that after Christmas, you were out of work once again… “Anyway…it sounded like your brother and you really like Christmas carols, with how you were blasting those at full volume,” you tried to joke, not wanting to think about being jobless once more.

“Aye!” Murphy nodded and you couldn’t help your smile.

“Are you really that much into Christmas?” You asked.

“Of course, love! There are holidays, and parties, and sweets, and food, and drinks, and presents,” Murphy listed and your smile grew, he was kind of adorable. “And, it’s when Christ was born! It’s kind of in the name.”

“Oh…” You blinked at him. “So are you catholic then?”

“Aye! I’m Irish, love, of course I’m catholic!” Murphy said and you snorted.

“Okay, then…”

“Don’t tell me that ye don’t like Christmas, love.”

“Well…” You shrugged. “I guess it’s not really my thing…”

“How can someone not like Christmas?!” Murphy looked so bewildered that you couldn’t help your smile again.

“I’m a grumpy lass, what were you expecting,” you said, and Murphy snorted.

“Aye…”

“Anyway…thank you for coming to bring me cookies and for lowering the carols,” you said, unsure of how to make conversation even though you kind of not wanted that pretty guy to leave your doorstep. “I guess I’ll see you around.” You hadn’t bumped into your handsome neighbors before, though, but you hoped you’d get luckier now.

“Aye…and, if ye need somethin’, ye know were my brother and I are,” Murphy said, gesturing towards the ceiling, “and if yer bored someday and wanna go have a drink or hang with us or somethin’.”

“Really?”

“Aye, lass.” Murphy gave you that stupidly beautiful smile that made you feel so flustered. Was this handsome guy really telling you that you both could go have a drink? Well, him and his brother…he was just being friendly, you should stop your thoughts from getting out of hand.

“Okay…okay, thanks…bye.”

“Bye, love.”

The next day, at work, your mind kept wandering to the handsome men that you had found your neighbors were, to Murphy and his cute smile and pretty blue eyes, to the cookies he’d brought you, and his offer to hang out with you…

Hoping that he’d not only said it to be polite, you decided to repay the peace offering cookies with a peace offering of Christmas sweets that could smuggle from work. You threw a random bunch of Christmas sweets and chocolates into a bag, but then you saw something perfect: Chocolate angel figures, wrapped in colorful, bright paper that also resembled the angel and their cute little face…for sure, two catholic guys who had tried and failed to make angel cookies would like those. You took two chocolate angels and put them in the bag carefully, making sure that those wouldn’t break.

Once at your building, you headed to the MacManus’ and rang the doorbell. Like the day before, Murphy opened the door, and again, shirtless…was their apartment better heated than yours, or what…this time, though, he was wearing a bathrobe…maybe he had been showering or something…you better ended that train of thoughts.

You had been thinking that, perhaps, Murphy wasn’t as handsome as you’d thought he was, that it’d been your head, but…no, he really was..and when he grinned at you as he saw you there at the door, somehow he was even more pretty.

“Hey, lass!”

“Hello, Murphy.” You couldn’t stop your smile at his, it was contagious, even if you were a bit shy at how intimidatingly pretty your neighbor was. “Peace offering,” you said, lifting the bag of sweets.

“Thanks, love, ye didn’t have to,” Murphy said, reaching for it. “Ye managed to cook better cookies than us? Not that it was hard…”

“No, it’s not that, I smuggled some Christmas chocolates and sweets from work,” you explained and Murphy looked at you with bright, happy eyes…damn cute.

“Best job in the world, told ye,” he said and you snorted. “Come in, love, eat those with us!”

“No, it’s fine, really, it’s a gift,” you began, but Murphy ignored you, reaching out to grab your arm and tug you inside, taking you by surprise.

“Hey, the grumpy lass,” Connor greeted you, but the look in his eyes and his smirk told you that he was joking. He was sat down on a mattress, shirtless except for a bathrobe too.

Neither of the twins seemed in any rush to reach for a shirt, as if they didn’t mind at all to be shirtless with you around…not that you minded either, even if it made you feel a bit flustered.

“I come bringing peace offering sweets, so you can’t call me grumpy lass,” you joked before you looked around their place. “And I thought my place looked bad,” you muttered before catching yourself, but their twin's place looked even worse than yours. Yours looked even a tiny bit more like a real apartment, theirs almost looked like a warehouse room, and how messy the twins kept the place didn’t help.

“It’s not that bad,” Connor said, but he didn’t seem offended, he was chuckling and seeming amused.

“Aye, it’s enough…and it’s not bad!” Murphy agreed.

“Sorry, guys…I don’t know why I keep being rude with you both all the time…” You almost face palmed yourself. “I didn’t mean…I just…sorry.”

“It’s okay, love,” Murphy told you, smiling and looking amused. “Besides ye brought us sweets, so we can’t be mad,” he said, waving the bag before placing it on a table which surface was almost covered with empty containers of food and empty bottles.

“Yeah…be careful with those, some can break,” you said, worried about the angels.

Murphy seemed intrigued at that, and he peeked into the bag, taking out the two chocolate figures. “You brought us angels!” He looked at the chocolate figures as if they were the best thing in the world and then at you, grinning...how could he be so adorable… “Thank ye, love!”

“Aye, thanks, lass,” Connor said too, approaching you both to check the chocolate angels. “Really nice, thanks.”

“And they’re chocolate, so even better,” you joked, glad that they had liked them.

“We aren’t eatin’ them…” Connor said, frowning as he looked at one, and you worried that something was wrong.

“No?” Murphy seemed confused to.

“No, we’re puttin’ them on the tree,” Connor explained, nodding towards the Christmas tree, next to the tv…it was so tiny that you hadn’t noticed it before.

“Aye, aye, nice idea!” Murphy said.

“They got this string thing to hang them,” Connor said, tugging a little string that had been pressed against the top of the angel wrapping.

“They do! I hadn’t seen it!” You said.

In a second, the brothers were sat down on the floor next to the tree, discussing where to place the chocolate angels, and you didn’t know how something so innocent escalated in a few seconds into the brothers arguing and shoving each other as if forgetting that you were there.

“Love, come here,” Murphy called for you. “Tell my brother where the angel looks better, will ye?”

You went to sit down next to them, feeling a bit out of place and a bit surprised at the familiarity with which the MacManus seemed to treat you without knowing you. You liked it, though, it was not awkward like those other times when you had tried to make friends.

“See, love, I say that an angel should go on top of the tree, aye?” Murphy asked, hovering his angel over the top of the small tree, and you nodded. “But he says no.”

“What I say is, the ornament at the top of the three has to be somethin’ unique,” Connor said and you nodded at it too. “But we got two angels, that’s not unique, one can’t go at the top and another on any branch.”

“So…what ye say, love?”

Both twins looked at you expectantly but you just shrugged. “Both of you are right.”

“That’s not an answer!” The brothers complained before they went back to bickering, slapping each other hands while they tried to point as to where the angels should go.

“Guys…careful with the angels…” You could see them dropping and breaking at any moment. “Okay, okay, I got an idea.”

“Aye?” Both brothers looked at you expectantly again.

“So…you are twins,” you began and the brothers nodded, “and those angels look almost the same, those can be twins too, so I say, what if they share the top of the tree?” The brothers blinked at you, then looked at each other, and shrugged.

“Could work,” Connor said, and both brothers turned back to look at the tree.

When they tried to hang both angels from the top, though, they made the tiny tree topple, and the twins had to hold it so it wouldn’t fall.

“I’m not sure this is going to work…” You said, eyeing carefully the tree and the ornaments hanging precariously from it.

“Aye… we should hang only one angel from the top,” Murphy said, and if a second ago he’d looked like a cute kid excited from Christmas, the mischieve in his eyes now would send him to Santa’s naughty list. “We hang mine and it’ll be unique like Connor wants ‘cause we can eat his.” Murphy gave his brother a shit-eating grin, while Connor reached to hit his twin’s head.

“Shut up, I’m thinkin’,” Connor said, eyes on the tree. “I know we can make this work and hang both, we just gotta think…there’s gotta be a way…some counterweight…we could…maybe…” Connor kept talking to himself, frowning at the tree, turning it around and moving the angels here and there, and Murphy snorted.

“There he go, to make one of his grand plans,” Murphy told you as he faced you again, still looking like a mischievous boy and somehow looking cute nonetheless, while Connor flipped him off without looking away from the three as he kept muttering to himself. “It’s gonna take long so…do ye want a drink, lass?” He gestured towards the kitchen cabinets, where you could see a bunch of booze bottles, some more empty than others.

“Okay…” You were still a bit surprised at the twins treating you like you were friends already, but you were not going to complain. “You certainly have a big selection,” you commented.

“And all Irish, love!”

“Not really,” Connor snorted.

“Irish enough,” Murphy said before getting up from the ground and heading to the cabinet. He took two bottles of beer and went back to sit down next you, passing you one of the beers.

“Thanks.”

“Ye didn’t get me one?” Connor complained. “Yer a shit brother…”

“Shut up and go back to yer tree engineerin’,” Murphy laughed, shoving his brother away when Connor tried to snap the bottle from his hand. “Stop it!” Murphy snapped when Connor didn’t stop trying take the bottle from his grasp.

“Didn’t ma’ tell ye enough times to share yer things with me,” Connor said while he kept trying to take the bottle from Murphy’s grasp. “Yer so selfish!”

“And yer so annoyin’!”

You looked at them in silence…they were kind of endearing.

“Give it back!” Murphy reached for the bottle when Connor finally managed to take it from his hand, keeping it away from Murphy’s grabby hands. “Ye know what…ye can keep that one if the lass shares hers with me.” Murphy looked at you at that, smirking with those mischievous eyes, and you wondered if he was messing with you or what…if he was, you weren’t going to let him.

“Okay,” you shrugged before taking a long sip from your bottle, and then offered it to him. “As long as you don’t mind sharing my germs,” you joked, waiting for his reaction, and he took the bottle, taking another long sip.

“I certainly don’t mind…do ye?” He challenged, passing you the bottle again, and no, you weren’t going to let him win, and so you took another sip. Murphy’s smirk grew at that and he glanced at his brother, who seemed to have been watching you two. “Ves, hermano, voy a ganar,” Murphy said to his brother, in Spanish for some reason.

“A ganar qué?” You asked in Spanish too, puzzled, and Murphy looked at you wide-eyed, like a deer in headlights, while Connor just laughed.

“Tu devrais voir ton visage en ce momento, frére,” Connor said, still laughing.

“I know that’s French,” you said. “But I don’t know what that means.”

Murphy was ignoring his brother, though, eyes still on you. “Ye speak Spanish too?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Only English and Spanish…how many languages do you both speak?”

“English, Spanish, French…”

“Irish, Russian, Italian…”

They listed and you blinked at them. “That’s very impressive,” you said and you meant it, but the brothers just shrugged. “So…what did you say you’re going to win?”

“I, uh, I mean that I’m winin’ here, ‘cause I’m drinkin’ both bottles, see.” Murphy reached to take his original bottle from his brother’s hand, chugging from it.

“Okay…” You had the feeling he was making it up but you decided to roll with it, confused.

“Let’s help my brother hang those angels or else he’s gonna be annoyin’ me about it all the time…”

You stayed there with the MacManus for a little bit longer, eating sweets, drinking beer, and managing to hang the angels from the tree in a way that wouldn’t topple it. You had fun, more than in a long while, the brothers were fun and they made you feel as if you were already friends, instead of having just met, something that you really appreciated. They seemed open to keep hanging with you, Murphy seemed to look forward to it, making you feel things in your belly.

You decided that you’d wait a couple of days, since you didn’t want to seem clingy or annoying, and then visit with some excuse again, but the next evening, you were sat down against the headboard of your bed, when your doorbell rang, and when you opened, you found Murphy there.

“Hi, Murphy,” you greeted, a bit surprised but more than delighted.

“Hey, lass,” Murphy greeted and then waved a bottle of whiskey in front of him. “So, ye gave us Christmas sweets yesterday, but the cookies we gave ye were shit, isn’t fair, aye? So I’ve brought ye Irish whiskey.”

“Thanks…but…you really don’t need to…”

“Come on, love,” Murphy smiled at you. “Drink it with me.”

You didn’t want to say no…and why should you, he was the one offering to share the bottle with you. “Okay, come in.”

“Ye were right, this place looks better than ours,” Murphy commented as he walked in.

“Still no worth the rent I pay for this,” you sighed, taking two glasses and placing them on the small table, sitting down on a chair, and Murphys sat down too. Was he scooting his chair closer to you or were you imagining it…

“I bet ye pay more than us, yer not Irish,” Murphy said while he poured whiskey into your glasses, and at first you were confused but then you remembered that this was an Irish neighborhood. “I know the owner of the place, I’ll talk to them for ye.”

You were about to refuse, self-conscious, but you knew you’d be losing your job after Christmas, didn’t know when you’d get another, and how were you going to afford rent meanwhile.

“Okay…okay, thanks, Murphy,” you said, giving him a grateful smile.

“It’s nothin’, love.” Murphy smiled at you in a way that made you feel…things. You looked away, sipping the whiskey.

“When I imagined living in Boston I didn’t imagine it’d be in such a crappy place,” you sighed, taking another sip from your drink.

“Come on, love, it’s not that bad.” Murphy reached to squeeze your arm, making you feel all sort of things again. “And we live right in front of the pub, isn’t that grand?”

“That old place?” You frowned.

“Old place?! I can’t believe ye just say that!” Murphy said, pretending to be offended. “It’s a great place, love! My brother and I go almost every night, ye should come…we’re goin’ this night, ye wanna join?”

You considered but finally shook your head. “Sorry, I have to work early, someone has to try and feed people Christmas sweets first thing in the morning,” you said. “But…this weekend, maybe”?

“Sure, lass, we’ll love to have ye there.” Murphy grinned in that beautiful way of his. “So…ye aren’t from here?”

“No…small town near here…I moved here thinking that I was going to have a great life, with lots of friends, a nice job, a nice place…I was such an idiot.” You chuckled bitterly. “But here I am, alone, living in this crappy place, jumping from small, crappy job to the next, and losing this one by the end of Christmas…wonderful.” You were feeling bitter at life and at yourself again, and you drowned your glass of whiskey.

“I’m sorry, love…” Murphy reached to squeeze your hand and that feeling in your belly was back. “But, come on, told ye, this place isn’t that bad…and a smart lass like ye? Ye’ll find another job soon, a better one,” Murphy said, making that feeling in your belly go worse, while his smile made you feel less bitter somehow. “And yer not alone, aye? Ye got me now, me and my brother, okay?”

“Okay…okay, thanks.” You nodded, smiling shyly. “I guess I’m glad you were blasting your Irish carols so I had to go to complain.”

“Aye!” Murphy laughed. “If I had known, I’d have done it earlier.”

“Well…the 3 of December is early enough for that,” you chuckled.

You and Murphy drank the whole bottle, talking and laughing together.

He told you stories about his life with his brother in Boston, and also from his life back in Ireland, before coming there. He told you about her ma, about Christmas with her and his brother, since their father seemed to be missing, how they hadn’t been able to go back home to see their ma, not even for Christmas, since they moved to Boston, because they couldn’t afford it. He seemed to feel down about it, and it saddened you. When Murphy smiled, it was like it lighted the room and you couldn’t help your smile, and when he looked sad, it was a stab to the heart. You regretted even more to have snapped at him about his Irish carols and his burned cookies.

You told him things about yourself too, your life before moving, then moving to Boston, your stupid crushed dreams, your crappy jobs, the hopelessness that you felt more often than not. You told him about Christmas too, your lack of interest in it and on those big meetings with all your extended family, overwhelming, that you never looked forward to, even if Murphy seemed to believe that he’d love going to those.

Somehow, you felt as if in an evening with Murphy, he knew you even better than some friends from your town. You really enjoyed the evening, speaking and laughing with him. He was fun, smart, charming, kind of sweet…he was not only a pretty face, no matter how pretty his face was too, and you knew that you could end up falling for him, if you weren’t careful.

Time had fled, and so Murphy had to leave to meet with his brother and a friend called Rocco at the pub, he was already late, and you should start getting dinner ready.

You really looked forward to the next time that you could see him, though.

The next time you saw Murphy, it was because he came to deliver you a letter that the postman had placed wrongly in the MacManus’ mailbox. Those were bills, and so you threw it to the bin without even opening it, much to Murphy’s amusement.

On the next day, it was you who knocked on their door, asking to borrow some eggs for the omelet that you were planning on making for dinner and that you may or may not have forgotten to buy on purpose so you had that excuse. It was a miracle that they had eggs in that almost empty fridge of them.

You offered to pay for the eggs, but they didn’t allow it, and you three argued for a little bit until it was settled that you’d cook omelets for them too and you’d dine together, and that way you’d be square.

You were more than happy to dine with them, it was fun, and it’d been so long since the last time that you shared a meal with someone, not to mention someone who complimented your cooking the way the MacManus did, even if it were simple omelets. Where had those guys come from and how had you gotten so lucky that they were your upstairs neighbors.

“Hey, lass,” Murphy told you when they were leaving. “What if tomorrow we invite ye for dinner? It’s Friday so we can have some pizza and then go to the pub? Ye say ye were comin’ with us at the weekend, aye?”

“Yes, I’d love it!” You nodded, smiling. “But I’d pay my part of the pizza.”

“We’ll see…”

From being lonely, bitter and sad, so hopeless, now you had two friends who were fun and nice, to make plans with, have dinner, go out…maybe your dreams weren’t so shattered after all? You knew better now than to get high hopes in life, less they were crushed again, and yet, you couldn’t help your big grin as you went to sleep that night.

You dined at the MacManu’s place the next day, pizza as they had told you, and they didn’t let you pay. You didn’t complain much, that way you had an excuse to invite them to dine at your place any other day to repay them.

It was fun, like the other times you hung with the MacManus, with their amusing stories and their endearing bickering, with that way of them to make you feel at ease, as if you three were old friends, and that you appreciated so much.

After dining, somehow you three ended up drinking a bottle of whiskey while you talked, even though you were planning on going to the pub, so by the time you three were already walking into the place, you weren’t drunk, but you were definitely feeling the buzz of the alcohol in you.

The pub looked as old inside as it did outside, although there were more people than you had imagined, all of them seeming to know the MacManus, and to really like them, considering how they’re greeting them as you walked in. You felt a bit out of place, but the grins of the brothers as they tugged at you, walking you with them towards the counter, made you feel better. The barman was kind of weird…very weird, but the MacManus talked to him like he were a friend, and he didn’t seem like a bad person, all things considered.

You settled for beer, knowing that you couldn’t handle anything stronger, but anyway, when the twin’s friend, Rocco, arrived, you were more drunk than tipsy.

“Rocco!” Both twins greeted.

“Hey!” Rocco looked at you. “Is that the grumpy lass you were talking about? The one who thought you were boyfriends?” He laughed and you groaned aloud, wanting the earth to swallow you again, you had hoped the twins had forgotten about it.

“Aye!” Connor laughed as if he weren’t annoyed by it anymore. “How could ye, lass? Ye think if I wanted a boyfriend and he weren’t my twin, I’d settle for him? I’m out of his league, lass,” he joked, and you were glad that he wasn’t offended.

“Oh, screw ye!” Murphy snapped, clipping his brother on the head. “I’m the one who’s out of yer league! I’m the most handsome of us two!”

“Aye, sure ye are, in yer dreams,” Connor snorted.

“Aye? Okay, let’s ask the lass!” Murphy snapped. “Okay, love, what ye think, who’s the most handsome, uh?” He said as he winked at you, making you feel those twirls in your belly.

“I, uh…” You looked at the brothers and their pretty, pretty faces, and your drunken brain talked before you could stop it. Sure, you were attracted to Murphy in a way that you weren’t to Connor, but you had eyes and knew that he was a very handsome man too. “To be fair I think you both are pretty hot.”

Had you said that aloud, for real? Could you embarrass yourself even more? You wanted to run and hide in the bathroom, but for that, you’d have to push your way through the middle of the MacManus, and it’d be even more embarrassing.

The twins were laughing, though, and at first you thought it might be at you, feeling even worse, but soon you realized it wasn’t that, they just seemed amused but they were grinning at you.

“Thank ye, lass!” Connor said, still laughing, but his smile was nice and friendly, making you feel a bit better.

Murphy, though, his smile was nice but his eyes showed that mischieve that you sometimes could see in them “Aye…good to know ye think we’re hot,” he said and you thought your face was going to start burning at that point. “But…ye think I’m hotter than my brother, aye?” He winked at you again. “Ye just don’t want Connor to be sad…”

“Sure, brother, if thinkin’ like that makes ye feel better…” Connor snorted, giving his brother a condescending pat on the back, but Murphy slapped his hand.

“Are you guys going to start arguing about that like you do about who’s the older?” Rocco said, rolling his eyes and sounding done, and you frowned.

“The older? But you’re twins, there’s not an older brother…” You said, looking from one twin to the other…yet, why would you have said that Connor was the older if you didn’t know they were twins…

“Of course there is, love!” Murphy said.

“The one who was born the first!” Connor agreed.

“I don’t think that being born a few minutes before the other makes you an older brother…” You shrugged. “Although…yeah, technically I guess that whoever was born first is the older…”

“Aye!” Both twins agreed.

“And I’m the older!” Connor gave his brother a shit-eating grin and you bit your tongue so your drunken brain wouldn’t agree, you weren’t going to get in the middle of this twin argument.

“Like shit ye are!” Murphy snapped. “Yer just callin’ yerself that all the time!” He turned to look at you then. “What ye say, lass? Whose the older?”

“No…this is an argument I’m not getting into…not even drunk.”

For the next week, you kept seeing the MacManus almost every single day. You loved their company, it made you feel less sad, bitter, and lonely, it made you happy, but you hadn’t wanted to seem overwhelming or clingy…however, it was the brothers who went looking for you, knocking at your door.

Some days, you both just had a drink either at their place or yours, others, you’d go to the pub for a bit, while others you three would have dinner together…in just a week, you felt like you three had been friends since forever, and you loved it.

You didn’t know what to make of Murphy, though. You knew you liked him, but you were not sure of what he felt about you…sometimes, quite often, you thought he might be flirting with you…he’d look at you in a certain way, he always sat down next to you and scooted closer, when you both were speaking, he’d lean closer, touch your arm, your hand, your leg…making you feel all sort of things.

Still, you weren’t sure that it wasn’t just the way the twins were and behaved. They were easygoing and treated you with that familiarity that you liked, so it might be only that, Connor also touched your arm sometimes when telling you some story with his brother, though it was kind of not the same as when Murphy did it…

You didn’t know what to think.

That weekend, though, when you were at the pub with Murphy and Connor, and also Rocco, who you didn’t like but you had to put up with because he was the twins' best friend, you were pretty sure that Murphy was flirting with you, a lot.

You were a bit more than tipsy after drowning shots with him. You were sat down next to each other, and as always Murphy had scooted his chair even closer to you. You were facing each other, chatting and laughing, and he kept placing his hand on your thigh, which combined with the way he was looking at you, those cute yet mischievous eyes, it was making you feel all kind of things, and it seemed as if you both, or at least you, had forgotten that Connor and Rocco were there too.

He was leaning so close to you…you were sure he was flirting with you and whenever you flirted back he didn’t seem to mind…so even if you weren’t sure, you couldn’t hold it back any longer, you were going to find out if he was into you too or not.

Murphy had his hand on your thigh, and you placed yours on top. “I’m gonna get some air, I feel my head is buzzing after all those shots,” you said, and it was not only an excuse to try and get Murphy and you alone out of there. “Will you come with me, Murphy?” You asked as you got up, keeping his hand on yours.

“Aye!”

You half realized that Murphy was turning to look at his brother, but you had only him in mind at that moment, and you tugged at him until you were outside of the pub. Once there, you took a breath of fresh air, trying to clear the humming in your head, while Murphy reached into his coat’s pocket, taking out a cigarette.

“That’s a pity…” You commented as he took a drag.

“What?”

“I don’t like the taste of cigarette,” you said before leaning in and kissing Murphy’s lips.

Much to your relief, Murphy kissed you back, placing the hand that wasn’t holding the cigarette at the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, and you placed your hands on his waist, pulling him closer.

Murphy stopped kissing you for a moment, but it was just to look back and stub his cigarette on the wall of the pub, dropping it to the ground so he could cup your face with his other hand too, but it reminded you to where you were, and this time it was you who pulled back when he kissed you again.

“Wait, let’s go to my place.”

“Look at this, takin’ me to yer place already,” Murphy joked, giving you that mischievous look, as if you two hadn’t been flirting for days, and you snorted, nudging him and smiling against his lips when he kissed you again.

“What, too quick for a good catholic boy like you?” You joked back and Murphy’s smirk grew bigger as he shook his head. “Come on, I don’t want to make out at the outside of a pub with people coming and going.” Much less when those people could very well be Connor and Rocco, you could already hear their teasing. “Especially when my place is literally right there.”

You tugged at Murphy’s hand and he walked with you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

Once at your place, you pushed Murphy so he’d sit down at the edge of your bed, and you straddled him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing him again, moaning softly against his lips when he placed his hands on your waist, pulling you even closer.

“Should have kissed you sooner…” You murmured between kisses and Murphy snorted, nodding.

“Aye…yer really dense when someone tries flirtin’ with ye,” Murphy joked…or you hoped he joked. “I was startin’ to lose hope.”

“Maybe you’re just really bad at flirting?” You joked back, snorting when Murphy bit your lip at that. “You could have been the one kissing me first.”

“I wanted to,” Murphy said before kissing you again. “But I wanted to beat my brother too.”

You frowned at that, confused. “What?”

“Nothin’, love, just a stupid bet,” he murmured against your lips.

“A bet?” His lips on you were almost distracting enough, but you couldn’t let it go, confused.

“Forget it,” Murphy said, trying to kiss you again, but you pulled back, frowning as you look at him.

“No, what are you talking about?” You asked and Murphy let out a frustrated sigh but he stopped trying to kiss you.

“When ye came to our place that first time, to complain, and ye were so angry,” he began. “Connor said ye were one of the grumpiest lasses he’d ever seen but I told him ye looked sad too.” He shrugged and you wondered how he could have noticed that with just one glance at you when you were being so rude.

“He laughed but I told him we could give ye some of the unburned cookies as a peace offerin’ so ye’d stop bein’ mad at us,” Murphy kept going. “But Connor kept laughin’ at me sayin’ that ye were gonna throw them to my face and kick me on the nuts…so I got mad, told him that ye were not only not gonna kick me on the nuts but that I could get ye to even kiss me…so we bet on it, ye had to kiss me before tomorrow and if ye didn’t then Connor would try to get ye to kiss him instead,” Murphy explained and you didn’t even know what to say. “So I’m glad ye kissed me today, love.”

Murphy tried to kiss you again as if nothing, and you pulled away from him...a bet…Connor and Murphy had made a bet about you…you’d been too shocked to say anything, but soon it turned into rage.

“A bet…you made a bet with your brother…” You said as you got up, looking at Murphy in disbelieve. “This was a bet…all this…”

He’d flirted with you and kissed you just to win a bet over his brother…while you had let yourself fall for him the way you did. You knew you shouldn’t have trusted guys that handsome, you were an idiot. You really liked Murphy…and you liked all the time that you had spent with him and his brother, having fun, you had been so comfortable and happy with them, you had thought they were your friends…but they were just trying to win a bet…

Was this just like when they bickered about who was the older? You were just a bet in their stupid competitive twin game…

“No, love, it’s not that.” Murphy tried to reach for your hand but you moved it away.

“Don’t touch me and don’t call me that!” You snapped, feeling your heart breaking…you were so stupid…you had thought you had friends now, good friends…that maybe Murphy liked you too…that your life was going to get better…you should have known better, you should have never let yourself have hope again.

“Y/N-”

“Leave me alone,” you hissed at Murphy, glaring at him, hating the tears that could feel in your eyes.

You didn’t know how could Murphy give you those sad, puppy eyes, that almost made you give up your words and go back to him…but no, you had let him use those eyes and his charm on you to play you, to win his stupid bet with this brother…Connor, he was on this too, he’d played you too…an idea came to your mind, fueled by rage and heartbreak, and by that need to retaliate on Murphy and Connor...you welcomed the anger, though, it was better than feeling heartbroken.

Turning around, you rushed out of your place and down the stairs, ignoring Murphy when he called for you again, running back to the bar.

Connor and Rocco seemed surprised to see you back, you guessed they’d imagined why Murphy and you had left together, but you were about to surprise them way more, when without a word, you grabbed Connor’s head and kissed him.

“What the hell, lass,” he said before you shut him up by angrily kissing him again.

“What did Murphy do to disappoint a girl so soon?” Rocco laughed. “Talking about the devil…”

You stopped kissing Connor at that, looking back, and you saw that Murphy had followed you into the bar, and so you kissed Connor again, making sure that Murphy saw you ruining his stupid bet.

“Lass, stop it!” Connor pushed you away from him, looking at you in shock, and you looked back but Murphy seemed to have left. “What are ye doin’?!”

“Helping you, so your brother doesn’t win the bet, you should be grateful, uh?” You snapped. “Sure, I was an idiot and kissed your brother so you’re not winning, but now it’s a tie, like good twins, uh?”

“Shit…” Connor said, closing his eyes tight for a second before looking at you.

“Yes, shit!” You leered at him. “Your brother is a prick and you’re an asshole too! I thought we were friends!”

With that, you turned around and rushed out of the bar, hoping that Murphy wasn’t outside, you didn’t want any of the twins seeing you cry, it would be even more humiliating, you just wanted to hide at home.

“Lass, wait!” Connor followed you outside and you glared at him.

“I told your brother and I’m telling you too, leave me alone!” You pretty much yelled.

“Lass, come on…” Connor didn’t give up, his brother had seemed frozen when you had snapped at him, but Connor walked to stop in front of your building door, so you couldn’t walk in, unless you pushed him…which you’d do.

“Get out of my way,” you warned him.

“Let me speak to you,” Connor insisted.

“I’m done listening to yours and your twin bullshit,” you snapped and you went ahead and pushed him, not hard, just trying to make him move, but he didn’t relent.

“Lass…walk with me around the block, just once, aye?” Connor told you. “Just walk we with me and listen to me, and after that, ye can punch me twice, one for me and another for my brother, and if it’s what ye wanna, ye won’t see any of us again.”

You didn’t know what to do, you were mad, hurt… but Connor seemed genuine and Murphy’s sad puppy eyes kept coming to your head. You were an idiot, you knew it, but you nodded.

“Thanks, lass…but ye gotta promise to let me speak without snappin’,” Connor asked…that was going to be hard.

“Speak,” you just said as you began walking.

“I know what yer thinkin’, but it’s not that…sure, aye, we made a bet but that was just a joke, we kept hangin’ with ye not ‘cause a bet, but ‘cause we like it, ‘cause we’re friends, lass, the bet was just a stupid thing, we like to be friends with ye for real,” Connor told you and you scoffed but you let Connor speak.

“My brother? This isn’t a bet for him…I mean, sure he’s gonna be bragin’ that he was right,” Connor chuckled but stopped when you glared at him, ready to punch him right there. “Sorry, lass, but I mean it, Murphy talked ‘bout ye for an hour that first day already, after he gave ye those disgustin’ cookies,” he told you but you didn’t know if you could trust him. “And after that second day, when ye brought us the chocolate angels? After that, he wouldn’t shut up about ye. My brother likes yefor real, Y/N, he really does.”

“I wish I could believe you…” You said, trying hard not to cry.

“I’m not lying, lass,” Connor told you but you shook your head.

“You say that, but Murphy? He was waiting for me to kiss him to win the bet,” you said bitterly and Connor let out a sigh.

“My brother’s an idiot, lass, aye, I agree…but that he wanted to win the bet too doesn’t mean he doesn’t like ye,” Connor said. “I know that if ye hadn’t kissed him now, he was gonna kiss ye or tell ye that he likes ye before I could flirt with ye.”

“Yes, so you wouldn’t win the damn bet either,” you scoffed.

“No, lass, ‘cause he likes ye!” Connor insisted. “I wasn’t gonna flirt with ye anyway,” he said and you shrugged, half wondering if he liked you so little that he wouldn’t have even tried flirting with you to win a bet. “I know my brother likes ye, even if ye don’t believe me, so I’m not gonna flirt with a lass that my brother likes…and yer a nice lass, sure, but yer my friend, and I’m not gonna mess that just for a stupid bet.”

“I really wish I could believe that…” You swallowed hard.

“It’s the truth, lass, I mean it,” Connor told you, sounding so genuine, you didn’t know what to think. “Look, if this is just a bet, why would I want to keep hangin’ with ye? It was not a bet to be your friends but to have us kissin’ one of us…we’re tied already, so?” He shrugged. “I’m not lying, I’m sorry we hurt ye, lass, I really am, but we’re yer friends for real, I promise, this is not about a stupid bet.”

You considered his words as you walked…you wanted to believe them so bad... “Okay,” you said weakly, nodding. If you ended up hurt, if the MacManus were just messing with you, laughing at you, it was going to be your fault, you knew it, and yet…

“Okay?” Connor looked at you as if wanting to make sure, and he smiled when you nodded again. “Thanks lass, I know we messed up, but I really like that yer my friend,” he said, still sounding so genuine that it was hard not to trust him. “And Murph really likes ye, lass, it’s not a bet or a game for him, you gotta believe that.”

You chewed on your lip and then let out a sigh. “Look Connor… I like your brother, I do,” you said. “But I can’t let someone play with me, I can’t afford to have my heart broken right now.” Your life had you feeling hopeless enough to add heartbreak, you didn’t think you could take it.

“Lass…” Connor stopped in front of you. “I can’t swear on a bible that my brother’s not gonna break yer heart one day because I can’t know that, or if yer gonna break his,” he said, “but I can promise ye that the last thing he wants is to break yer heart, that was not just a bet or a stupid joke for him, and that he likes ye for real.”

You looked at him but only nodded in silence, and you both kept walking. Connor didn’t say anything else, and you didn’t talk either, thinking, until you both reached the door of your building again.

“Connor,” you said as he opened the door. “If Murphy is at home can you tell him to go to my place?”

“Yer gonna punch my brother?” He joked but he looked worried and you snorted weakly.

“No, I don’t intend to.

“Okay…are ye, uh…are ye gonna break my brother’s heart?” If Connor was trying to joke, he didn’t manage to sound like that, and you let out a sigh.

“I don’t intend to do that either.”

Connor just nodded, and you both walked up the stairs, you to your place and him to his.

You waited for Murphy, you could hear voices from upstairs, and after a while, you wondered if Murphy wasn’t going to come, but then there was a knock on your door, and you opened it, Murphy was there.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I want to believe that,” you sighed, walking in, and Murphy followed you inside.

“I like ye, Y/N, this wasn’t just a stupid bet, I like ye for real,” he said, standing in front of you when you sat down on your bed.

“I really want to believe that too,” you said quietly.

“What can I do so ye believe me?” Murphy asked you and those damn, sad puppy eyes were going to be the death of you.

“I don’t know…” You shrugged. “But… you’re going to take me out on a date, a real one, and then I’m going to decide if I can trust you or not.” You guessed it was a bit stupid, but it was the only thing you had in mind.

“A date?” Murphy asked you, seeming puzzled

“Yes…unless you don’t want to,” you said, defensive…wasn’t he saying that he liked you for real? At least he could take you on a date, then…

“Of course I want to, love.” Murphy smiled. “I just thought…dunno, a million things way worse than takin’ ye out on a date.”

“It has to be a good date.” You shrugged, but you couldn’t deny that you were glad that Murphy wasn’t looking like a sad puppy anymore…you liked his smile so much. “A real one, like, not to the pub…like, I don’t know, have dinner somewhere and go to the cinema or whatever people do for dates.”

“Okay.” Murphy nodded.

“And…and you have to prove that I can still trust you…that you weren’t just playing with me for a stupid bet-”

“I’m not, love, I promise,” Murphy interrupted you.

“Okay…” Maybe you shouldn’t believe that so easy, but you did, couldn’t help it. “But…listen, Murphy, I really like you, okay?” You admitted, looking down. “So if you only want to mess around…I can’t do that.”

“I’m not messin’ around with ye,” Murphy told you, sounding genuine, and no matter you tried to shield your heart, it was difficult. “And this wasn’t about a stupid bet, I like ye too.”

“Just…juts let’s go on a date and we’ll see,” you said, trying to stay strong, Murphy had hurt you and you didn’t want to let it go because he was cute.

“Okay…” Murphy nodded. “Y/N…I didn’t mean to hurt ye and I’m sorry I did, ye gotta believe me.”

“I guess I do…” You sighed, even if you might end up regretting it. “I have to talk to your brother too,” you said as you got up from the bed.

“What for?” Murphy looked at you, seeming wary.

“He was part of the bet too so I want to talk with him too,” you said. “Let’s go.”

“Okay…” Murphy murmured, and followed you back to his place.

When he opened the door and you walked inside, Connor was sat down on his mattress, bathrobe on as if the first thing the MacManus did when they walked into their place was strip off their shirts, which by now you knew wasn’t far from the truth. Connor had a bruise on his cheek, though, and you gasped when you saw it.

“What happened?!”

“The idiot of my brother punched me because ye kissed me,” Connor said, though he didn’t sound pissed…you were, though and you turned to look at Murphy, who was looking down like a kid ready to be chastised.

“What?! Why did you do that?! If this was for that stupid bet…”

“Wasn’ that,” Murphy muttered.

“Still…he did nothing! I was the one who kissed him!” You scolded, hating how Murphy had perfected the look of a chastised kid that you want to forgive, and you let out a sigh. “That date better be perfect.”

“So, things are good between ye two?” Connor asked tentatively.

“Aye,” Murphy answered before you could.

“Maybe,” you corrected. “He has to take me on a date, and then we’ll see.”

“Could be worse…” Connor looked at his brother, shrugging, and he nodded.

“Don’t think that you’re on the clear already,” you told Connor. “You too were part of this stupid bet, so you too have to prove that I can trust that you’re my friend for real,” you kept going and Connor nodded, serious. “So…you and I? We’re going to play monopoly, Murphy can join, and you’re not only going to let me win, you’re going to be winning and then let me take over all your properties and ruin you... you better get planning how.”

“What!?” Connor looked at you, seeming outraged. You had to try your hardest not to smile, trying to look serious… you’d felt like asking this to Connor, even if it was silly, was going to outrage him, and judging by his reaction and Murphy’s laugh, you’d been right. “That’s not fair! I’ve never let anyone win at any game!”

“If you’re my friend, you’re going to do it…” You shrugged, still trying to look serious.

“Okay…” Connor grumbled.

“So…you and I, monopoly tomorrow afternoon,” you said and then turned to look at Murphy. “And in the evening, you’ll take me out on a date.”

“Sure, love.” Murphy nodded eagerly, and damned was that adorable look of him that made you want to hold him and kiss him already without any date needed.

“Okay…I’m going to sleep, see you both tomorrow.”

“Night, lass.”

You had known that you were going to forgive Murphy…you wanted to, even if you were scared of ending up hurt and brokenhearted, you liked him, and you believed him when he’d said that this thing between you and him hadn’t been just for the bet.

Still, you wanted him to take you out on a date, it’d be fun, but also, he’d hurt you even without meaning to, you were pissed that he hadn't come clear to you about the bet and had still wanted to brag about winning, and so you wanted him to at least try and show you again that he was sorry for that and that he didn’t want only to mess around with you, that he liked you the way you had admitted you liked him.

And so, you hadn’t wanted to give in to him easily, not until the date was done, at least…so you hadn’t expected that, after having dinner together in a Chinese restaurant and then going to the cinema, you’d end up in the back row of said cinema making out with him already…damned were his cute face, his pretty eyes, and his Irish charm, how he could be so hard to resist.

“So…” Murphy began once you two were out of the cinema, walking hand in hand. “You forgive me for the bet then?”

“Yeah, I do…I was planning on making it harder but…” You glanced at Murphy and rolled your eyes. “Oh, don’t go looking so smug…” You said and Murphy’s smirk grew even more. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and he kissed your lips again. “Do you want to go to the pub with Connor and Rocco?” You asked, knowing that they’d be there.

“Nah…let’s go watch the Christmas lights and the tree at Boston Common!” Murphy said, grinning at you. “I’m going to make a Christmas lover out of you.”

“We’ll see.” You snorted, but you had the feeling he might manage to do that too. “Okay, let’s go see your Christmas lights.”

You snuggled to his side, Murphy’s arm firmly wrapped around you, a content smile spreading across your face as you both began walking together.

N/A

Well...this was a long one-shot, but I loved writing it and I loved re-reading it, and I hope you could enjoy it. I wrote it a couple of months ago and I was so excited to post it!

Please, if you enjoyed this, let me know your thoughts in a comment, and as always, reblogs are more than welcome.

As always, excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

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snowbellewells · 4 years

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“For Once, Don’t Let Go”

Okay, so I failed at posting this by early evening, and am instead squeaking it in just under the wire. All the same, I hope you will enjoy my little attempt at a ghost story for the @cssns2020. Thank you so much for the breathtakingly lovely and perfect story art by @hollyethecurious! Thanks to her for forgiving me getting my posting date mixed up, and to Krystal for keeping me on track and calming me down when I started to stress.

Summary: In some ways, Emma Swan has always been a ghost - alone and floating through life without much to tie her to anyone or any place. However, when she wakes up in an unfamiliar old house and realizes she is stuck haunting the last place she went while alive, it takes a while to reconcile the fact that she is a ghost and that there must be something keeping her in the world after all. Then she learns she isn’t the only lost soul in the house. And that changes everything.

Also on AO3

Without further explanations and apologies, here’s the fic!

“For Once, Don’t Let Go”

By: @snowbellewells

In some ways, she has always been a ghost. Never fitting in, never belonging anywhere. Abandoned, and so closing her heart on the need to be accepted before she could be denied. It was for that reason, on the first morning of her afterlife, as she blinked awake in a chilled grey dawn that seemed just like any other, Emma Swan did not at first realize she was no longer part of the living world.

There was a strange quiet surrounding her, as she sat up from the bed, which strangely felt much softer, plusher than hers usually did at the end of an exhausting day or the morning after when her bones still ached and her mind never felt quite rested. It was those two things combined - the unaccustomed silence and depth and comfort of the sleep she’d emerged from - that put Emma off balance. It was never that still in the heart of the city, no matter how early in the morning. There was a constant humming undercurrent, a long-accepted background noise accompanying her life in Boston: sirens, horns, the grating and beeping of constant construction, the hubbub of voices, sounds unending. If she were deeply honest with herself (which she didn’t often allow) it was part of what she loved most about the large city on the eastern seaboard; there was so much noise that she could ignore her own thoughts. She didn’t like to dwell on or analyze her motivations for choosing a job where she tracked and found deadbeats who skipped out on those they should have stayed to support. She didn’t acknowledge - not even to herself - that each skip she hauled into the nearest precinct and collected her reward for gave her a sense of satisfaction that almost dulled her unanswered questions about the runners she hadn’t ever found - the parents who left her just after she was born.

So, she was already on edge as she found her feet and moved through the room she was increasingly aware did not look at all like the one in the loft apartment she currently rented, nor were any of her things scattered around as she usually left them. Moving from the room into the hall beyond, and then down a staircase into an entry hall that she knew her small apartment didn’t possess, Emma’s mind struggled to fully wake and understand where she was and how she came to be there.

It wasn’t until she reached the front door - tall, solid wood, but nondescript and standard, nothing too out-of-the-ordinary - that two more revelations struck her almost at once. Reaching out her hand to turn the doorknob, step outside and see if the outside of the house or its surroundings jogged her memory, Emma was shocked to find that her hand wouldn’t grip the metal knob at all, instead passing straight through both doorknob and door itself, sending her sprawling forward with a yelp of startled disbelief. No matter how impossible it seemed, the rest of her followed her outstretched hand, passing through the wooden door as if it simply didn’t exist.

Blinking and stunned from where she had landed on the top step up to the porch outside the strange house she’d woken up in, it was more than a bit hard for Emma to put together what had just happened. She knew her mouth was hanging open, “catching flies” as one of her more affectionate foster moms along the way had playfully called it, but somehow her surprise only increased when she took in the place’s exterior. She did know where she was, despite being at a loss for why she would have woken up there. This was the place where she had tracked her most recent skip last night.

Furrowing her brow in concentration - and admittedly trying not to consider how she had just slipped past a solid barrier and what that might mean - Emma attempted to pull up more from her memory than that. This newest skip had proven pretty slippery; both Ruby and her seductive honey trap skills which Emma didn’t even try to match, and Mulan with her fighting ability and clever moves worthy of her Disney namesake, had failed in previous attempts to bring the guy in and moved on to more productive marks before Emma took on the case. However, she was just stubborn and competitive enough to have wanted to bring in the skip who had become a thorn in the agency’s side; plus, as he kept evading them and the court date grew closer, the price for bringing him in kept climbing. Emma had been thinking just how she might enjoy the whole week off she could afford to take once she caught this scumbag as she’d sidled up next to him at the seedy bar’s pool table and batted her eyes. She’d still been thinking it even as the jerk brushed her off and left soon after, and so she’d followed him - quite stealthily, she believed - to this place later that night. Fine, if he wanted to play hard to get, she wouldn’t play gently either. She welcomed a challenge, and this avoided the awkwardness she had to extricate herself from once honey traps were sprung anyway.

Emma was realizing now, however, that maybe she had been a little too obvious, a little too preoccupied to see that her skip might have been onto her. Had he been suspicious of her from the start, and that was why he didn’t take the bait? Or, had he known what she was truly after the whole time?

The evening dark had been falling in that strange hour where one could still see outside but surroundings were obscured, shadows lengthened and a person sometimes had to squint to find her goal. She had almost hung back, after watching her mark slip in through the unmarked door of the abandoned house at the end of a rather quiet and rundown street in an outskirt suburb. But she’d spent too long tracking the loser - and she wasn’t about to admit any hesitance or unease. Clearly the guy now had either breaking and entering or squatting in his extensive repertoire, and he needed bringing in before he expanded to something more dangerous.

That was what she was telling herself after waiting an interminable twenty minutes and then climbing the rickety steps as she’d watched her perp do. She wasn’t trespassing anymore than he was, the house wasn’t in his name, and if anyone asked… here she tried the door to find it unlocked and opening as she quietly tried it - yep, she could say it was open.

Emma had just taken a steadying breath and inched the door open enough to enter, when she caught movement in her periphery. She tried to duck, wondering wildly if the culprit had been lurking behind the door, when something long and solid swung towards her head too fast for her to avoid. It felt as though the air cracked, then crumbled around her, and everything went black…

That was all she could bring up, no matter how doggedly she tried to remember what came next. After that shattering impact was simply… nothing. And with that sickening fact, Emma knew. She was dead. Some lowlife bail jumper killed her to keep himself from getting caught. Whatever she was hit with, it was done viciously enough to mean her end.

Feeling a tremble begin throughout her legs and arms, up into all her extremities, Emma tried to fight back the swell of emotion - anger, injustice, hurt, loss that clamored to the surface. If there were any justice at all, she ought to at least be free of feeling all the painful emotion she had spent her entire adult life roughly tamping down. But really, she shouldn’t even be surprised. This wasn’t the first time she’d paid the price for someone else’s wrongs - though apparently it would be the last. The blank unfairness of it was what truly got under her skin. Was she always doomed to end up this way? Sprawled out with a cracked skull in the entryway of some old, empty house, punished just for trying to make a living and her own way in the world while exacting a little much-needed justice? No one would even miss her or know she was gone until she didn’t show up to work Monday morning, ready to gloat and collect congratulatory muffins for bringing in the mark her colleagues lost.

As she passed back through the door (and no, that weird sensation of sliding without feeling past a solid barrier did not become any less upsetting or disconcerting) Emma saw the rough wooden board on the floor where her killer must have tossed it afterward and the dried blood - her own, she recognized with a shiver - that she had missed before. She didn’t want to stay there, but she felt pulled back to the upper floor where she had awakened. As if she was not meant to leave yet. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she just had nowhere else to go…

Head bowed in resignation, she mounted the stairs, but instead of going back into what had seemed a nondescript bedroom on her first glance, she moved on to the end of the hall. She seemed to have all the time in the world to rattle around this place, reflect on her loneliness and why she was still there. It couldn’t hurt to put off that depressing train of thought and find out what else was there.

Bypassing the room she’d exited earlier that morning, Emma moved toward the end of the second floor hall. Clearly the place had been empty awhile, dust tickled her nose more the more she moved throughout the house, but the color of the rich, deep wood floors, the tall ceilings and eye-catching nautical knick-knacks and framed pictures on the walls showed her the place was once well-loved and lived in with care and pride. By the time she reached the furthest door on the left, almost tucked into a corner of the house, Emma was curious in sprite of her strange situation and uncertainty.

Upon stepping in the room, Emma felt her mouth drop open once again, immediately captured by the sight of four walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, interrupted only by the large, cushioned windowseat under a huge picture window in the wall facing the door. There were books piled on the floor near the windowseat as well, as if to be in easy reach of whomever had sat there to read. Heavy, larger leatherbound tomes that appeared to be atlases or maps also rested on the impressive cherry wood desk in the room’s center. While all of this was stunning, with an air of warm invitation that had Emma blindly inching forward, none of the furnishings were what truly stunned her one more time in a past hour full of riveting surprises. Standing behind the desk, with back turned to the door and studying the wall of books with concentration was a tall, quite formally dressed, man.

At Emma’s rather stunned noise, the figure turned to look over his shoulder, looking at her with dark arched brow. The gasp that had just escaped her was sucked rather inelegantly back up her throat. The man - well, fellow ghost apparently, as she could hazily see the spines of books lined up through his broad-shouldered form - was the most handsome specimen she had ever seen. His stunning bright blue eyes threatened to again steal the breath the she supposed she shouldn’t possess to begin with.

Wow, that changed things.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

Surprised in the large library that had stood silent and empty for so many long, uncounted days, Killian Jones couldn’t help scrutinizing the fair haired lass standing on his carpet. The strange haze around her let him know she was a spirit, much as he had been forced to accept he was himself. Still, some nearly forgotten and rusty echo of his former flirtatious nature rose to the surface and her surprised gaze clearly studied him up and down.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he murmured, a crooked smile crossing his face as he drank in her blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and generous curves in equal measure. “You aren’t some marvelous hallucination are you?”

Those sharp eyes rolled in exasperation, the stunned look finally leaving them as she shook her head and shrugged off the compliment. “Hardly,” she snorted, taking a few steps closer to him. “Apparently, I’m a ghost.”

Her words startled a huff of laughter from him with their droll humor. Reaching up to scratch behind his ear, he managed, “Not quite what you’d pictured, I wager?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she allowed, seeming to understand her welcome and meandering over to sit facing him on the cluttered windowseat’s edge.

Killian allowed a wry grin of his own and nod of agreement. There wasn’t much else to say, but he did understand where she was coming from. It had been rightfully upsetting, earth-shattering, and confusing when he realized he was no longer living and breathing but still wandering the rooms of his house. He was sure there had been a lot of ranting, questioning, and items thrown against the walls before he had accepted his new reality. By that measure, this lovely woman before him was handling her sudden entrance to the afterlife quite well in comparison.

She looked up to capture his eyes with her own and he found he couldn’t look away again. Her face was open, searching, almost as though she were trying to take his measure and decide if he were trustworthy. When she seemed to make a decision and smile warmly at him, Killian found himself swaying closer to her almost unconsciously, rounding the desk to stand before her as though pulled by a magnet. Dipping his head in a sort of playful bow, he offered, “Forgive me, where are my manners? I’m Killian Jones. And you are?”

She reached out her hand to shake, unaccountably grateful that she was able to feel his larger fingers clasp hers without passing through, that she somehow still felt warmth and a zing of awareness at the contact, even if none of it made any sense. “Emma…” she replied, her voice going lighter and more thready than she’d like, “Emma Swan.”

“Hmm…” he murmured lowly, a rumbling hum that she felt along her arm as he brought her hand up to place a kiss on the back of it. “And just who are you, Swan?” he mused.

Swallowing hard, she dove in with the plain truth. “Just a stubborn bail bondswoman who went after the wrong skip this time,” she sighed.

His eyes registered the sadness, the disappointment and melancholy, the resignation to this fate slowly settling over her. He wanted to say it would get better with time, but time was now a funny, nonexistent sort of thing that was impossible to measure and not much help. Instead, he took in her features with understanding and tried to offer what comfort or cheer was possible against the self-doubt, blame, and ‘what-ifs’ beginning to hover. Not only that, they zeroed in on the broken skin, dried red and the purpled bruising at her temple, clearly the killing blow that had been dealt her. His hand reached up of its own volition to touch the soft hair above the wound, a tender brush of fingertips that Emma closed her eyes and leaned into with a relieved sigh. Almost as if he knew how very rare such concern had been in her life - maybe because it had been the same for him. Whatever the reason, they lingered there, two ghosts in the golden morning light through the picture window, drinking in the first real contact either had felt in far too long.

Something linked within them in that very moment - and everything changed again.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It would have been funny; in fact, Emma would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested - even a week before - that she would be killed on an assignment, end up a ghost, and then meet another ghost who would soon know her better than anyone had in life. And yet, within days she and Killian had shared more than she had ever allowed with co-workers, her handful of casual friends, even foster siblings when she’d still been a kid. Granted, she didn’t have much to lose, but it was more than that. She came to learn that Killian was more like her than she could have thought possible; orphaned as a child except for an adored older brother, that brother then killed in service of the British Navy just as Killian had been preparing to finish secondary school and join his elder sibling in service. Apparently the death had been some sort of accident during a routine exercise, and Killian had been awarded a healthy settlement as his brother’s only living relative, but naturally he hadn’t wanted the payout, just his only family back. Since that wasn’t the choice before him, he had taken the money, gotten out of England, and vowed to do something with it that would honor Liam and help someone else - even if it could do nothing for his own shattered heart.

That was how he’d come to befriend a frightened young mother and her infant son not long after he reached Boston. He’d been renting a motel room on a weekly basis until he figured out what he planned to do in the long run. He took a lot of long, aimless walks in the sharp, chill wind off the Atlantic, and one late afternoon he had stumbled into the public library, hoping to warm up, maybe distract himself a bit, and instead had found Belle sniffling as she attempted to read to a fussy Gideon where they were huddled in the children’s section. It hadn’t taken long for them to become friends; easily one of the best friendships he’d ever had. And in short order, Killian had known this was how he could use Liam’s money for good. He’d found a house, invited, then wheedled and cajoled, her to move them into one of the unoccupied wings and stay with him there. It was much too big for him alone he’d argued, and he needed the company, noise and bustle of even the smallest bit of family in his life. Belle had been hesitant, feeling it was too much, too good to be true, but trying to find a living and make a good, safe home for herself and her boy, while also staying unnoticed and under the radar of her wealthy and well-connected ex-husband was becoming more and more impossible. She’d assured Killian that the man had never been physically abusive, but emotionally and mentally he had left his mark. He had been a master of manipulation, had known the law and its loopholes, could afford the best attorneys money could buy and Kilian had not needed psychic abilities to see the woman was terrified he would come to haul her back - or at the very least take her little lad away from her.

That last admission had been uttered some weeks on in their acquaintance - or at least Emma thought it had been weeks, time was hard to measure when one was no longer on a clock and the days flowed from one to another in a similar stream - one night as they sat by a crackling fire in the hearth of the long unused den. Emma had shared a fair amount of her own scars by then. She had been curled up on the opposite end of the sofa, thinking that this would be the perfect occasion for a hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon, what had been her favorite way to unwind in the evening, and marveling at the good heart this man before her possessed, be it beating still or no. Not just anyone would have done so much, given so much of himself, to help a person he barely knew. Nor kindly helped a complete stranger like her adjust to her new reality beyond the pale either.

Suddenly it seemed like there was nothing else to do but to scoot across the sofa to the other end where Killian Jones sat still as a statue. The pain in his eyes, and blame she could see that he carried, broadcast over every line and shifting shadow of his face. Emma couldn’t help but bring her hand up to touch his cheek, to trace along his tightly clenched jaw as his eyes slowly dropped to follow the path of her fingertips, watching her intently as they continued to brush softly over his skin. Emma had wondered numerous times why she couldn’t physically make contact or grasp other objects but she could touch him. Why could they feel each other so strongly? Was it because they were both ghosts? On some other plane together? Or was it something else, something a less jaded person might call Fate or magic?

Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it as she held her breath, catching her lower lip between her teeth awaiting Killian’s reaction. She found every nerve alive and anxious as she watched him, caring more than she ever had about what someone else thought. Was that the key? For so many years in group homes, with foster families, even for a time homeless on the city streets, Emma had shut the world out. She had been born and grown up without the unconditional love and care all people should know, and the natural childish illusions about people’s selfishness or the world’s indifference had been stripped away far too early. Life had turned its back on her, and she had done the same in return. She had closed herself off from emotion and learned all too well that putting her trust in others made it easy to get hurt.

But now, in this old house, with this wonderful, vulnerable spirit before her - all the feelings she had shut off for so long were breaking free. She couldn’t hold them back, and she didn’t want to. She couldn’t really be harmed, wasn’t hustling to get by, and maybe that allowed the fear to recede enough to peak over the top of her walls. Maybe it was just that - despite only knowing him for a short time - she had never met anyone like Killian Jones when she was living. If only she had, she wouldn’t have been lost for so long.

He was blinking away a tear when her focus turned back to his face in that moment. Smiling back with a tiny, empathetic quirk to her lips, Emma brushed the escaped droplet from his skin, whispering, “He found them, didn’t he? Her ex? Even though you tried to keep them hidden…”

Killian’s head of thick, dark hair bowed, his eyes falling to their laps instead of holding hers. Running her fingers through the coarse strands, Emma ached to comfort him, to somehow lessen the weight he had lost hope of lightening. Whatever had occurred, it couldn’t have been his fault. He had only tried to give them shelter.

His voice was muffled when his forehead had come to rest on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, cradling him closer in an embrace more binding and intimate than any she had ever experienced. “I don’t know for certain, Swan,” he sighed, his words rough and coming forth in choppy fragments. “It has always seemed so… Both being expats, Belle and I came to enjoy tea… in the afternoons… I had come home early that day...had a new toy for her Gideon...and I - I couldn’t wait to show it to him. ...When I walked through the front door… I knew immediately….something was wrong… too quiet.. I walked into the kitchen… and the table was all set for tea. But the plate of biscuits was… strewn across the table… broken crumbs everywhere… and her - her favorite teacup was shattered on the floor…”

Emma tried to take in the devastation he must have felt, the panic and helplessness, all while making soothing noises, almost sorry she’d asked him as the story was wrung from his lips bit by bit. She kept holding him, hoping that her hand stroking over his back and her fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck could give some solace. She had never longed to fix someone else’s hurt more than her own. It was frightening in the desire’s intensity, but all she could do was hang on.

“I failed them both…” Killian husked, his voice even more soft and ragged than before. “Of course… I reported them missing… but the case came to nothing… no leads turned up. He got to them… just as she feared... “

She wished she could tell him otherwise. Her own unshed tears stung in her throat - both for the poor woman and little boy she felt as if she knew through Killian’s stories, and for his pain. Her chest ached with the anguish he had harbored for so long, feeling it as if it were her own. If she could take his pain onto herself and give him peace at last, she would do it without hesitation.

As if in response to her thought and the desire to lend her strength, Emma saw a starling light, nearly blinding her as it appeared over Killian’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away, but she squinted trying to understand what had materialized from thin air right in front of her. It looked like...yes, it was a door. There, where an archway normally lead from the den to the kitchen, was a simple grey door, but for the brilliant white light emanating from around its edges. It couldn’t be ignored for all its radiance, and it almost seemed to beckon her near, drawing her in.

Her eyes widening, Emma forced herself to turn away, breathing in Killian’s scent from against his neck, hoping that the masculine, spicy aroma he somehow still carried, even in his ethereal state, would reel her in as it had before. She knew what must be making itself known before her, and she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge what it meant.

Up until that very second, she would have sworn she wanted that door to appear, to pass through it and leave the cold bitterness of Earth behind. She wanted that door opening up for her to move on, but she just as surely wouldn’t leave Killian as she had been left so many times. She couldn’t abandon him.

For the first time Emma could remember, she didn’t want to change the way things were.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

She shouldn’t have thought the open door would escape Killian’s attention. The man was ridiculously intuitive and seemed to read her like the pages of a favorite book. She had not said a word, had turned back to him, focused on the muscle in his jaw working as he brought his emotions back under control, and managed to ignore the blatant signal beckoning to her until the glow dimmed and the door faded back out of existence. The archway between kitchen and den was just a curve of plaster and paint once more.

But as days passed, Emma coudn’t help worrying occasionally in unguarded moments if a person only got one door. Had she missed her only chance to move on? It wasn’t that she never wanted her peace and rest, or to know what was waiting on the other side. Yet, she couldn’t truly regret her decision either if the alternative had been leaving Killian alone, even if the consequences did trouble her mind.

So she wasn’t sure how Killian had figured it out the morning she came down the stairs to find him already in the kitchen gazing out the window over the sink and bathed in the rising sunshine. Maybe the man was genuinely able to read her mind. He was always able to tell when she entered a room, she conceded as he turned to face her, even before she stepped from the last stair. She felt him the moment he drew near her as well: an awareness, a prickling along her skin, the buzzing sensation of need and desire she had always resisted in life electrified by his presence. Maybe there was no hiding when someone was that close.

With the window and the sunrise at his back, Killian seemed almost outlined by a halo of gold. He came to stand at the counter facing her, and Emma moved to meet him, smiling easily. “Morning,” she offered in greeting, still fighting years’ worth of habitual impulses to start brewing coffee and digging throught he cupboards for cereal - sustenance that she no longer needed.

“Swan,” he’d spoken gently, calmly, but in a way that drew her up and demanded her focus. Reaching out his own larger hand to cover hers where it rested on the countertop, he went right to the heart of the matter. “Emma… what were you thinking?”

She shrugged, trying not to meet his eyes fully as she pretended she didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. “What do you mean?” she asked blankly.

He sighed, that apologetic depth of sorrow in his eyes making her swallow hard when he spoke again. “You saw the light at the end of the tunnel, didn’t you? Your door appeared… The evening we spoke of Belle and Gideon’s disappearance…” He paused, spearing her with the intense blue of his gaze and not allowing her to look away. He cupped her chin between his thumbe and forefinger, stroking along her cheek as he did so, the expression on his face begging her to help him understand. “Why didn’t you step through, Love… and go on to your reward?”

The worry and fear on his unfairly beautiful face showed that he already new exactly why she hadn’t, but he deserved the truth. Emma couldn’t give him anything less. Placing her hands over his, squeezing tightly with feeling, she leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “Killian, don’t ask question you already know the answers to,” she breathed shakily, trying to keep the tremble from her voice long enough to speak. “You must know, surely… it was you.”

His head back as he heaved a deep, rattling breath - breaking away from her as he did so. “I hoped I was wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want to the reason. You shouldn’t be held back from your paradise because of me.”

For a moment his eyes wouldn’t meet hers as he struggled to regain control of himself. Then, he reached out to wipe the pad of his thumb over her cheek and brush the solitary tear she’d shed away. Not letting him have an out, Emma caught his eye once more. “Paradise, huh?” she tried to tease weakly, desperate to make him smile. He was breaking her heart. “You think an awful lot of me, Buddy. We both know I was no saint.”

A huff of air escaped him that might have been a disgruntled laugh in spite of himself, but he pulled her into him, almost clinging to her for several long minutes before finally breathing in her ear, “Nonsense, Emma. You were meant to be an angel. Don’t give up your peace on account of me.”

She hugged him back, but made no such promise. They would have to disagree on that, and he knew it too. They were both too stubborn to change their minds, so days went on and they went back to almost-normal without speaking of it again. Emma simply had to hope he understood. She didn’t want to argue with Killian, or to ignore his wishes. And she did want to go through her door as well, but when the time was right. She realized now that would have to be when they could both go throught it together.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It had been March when she’d met her fate in the quiet old house, and she and Killian had drifted through the spring and summer and early autumn, growing ever closer to each other. They had sat on the porch for long hours talking without getting too hot or worrying about bug bites or sunburn; spent evenings curled together under one quilt in the large windowseat of the library watching lightning flash across the sky and thunder roll on August nights. As September came, they snuggled under the comforter on the bed, her head resting on his chest, her ear over his heart as though she could still heart its beat. If she had thought before that she couldn’t leave him, there was no way she could even imagine it again.

There was a chill in the air the September afternoon a thick, cream-colored envelope landed on the front porch, addressed with Killian’s name and a Ms. Belle French scrawled in top left corner. Emma heard the soft sound of the thick paper landing on the proch slats, and didn stop to question how it had gotten there, why the ghost resident of an supposed abandoned house was receiving mail again, but had hurried to where Killian reading in the library, letter in hand.

A more lovely autumn day had never been than when a slant of later afternoon sun lit Killian’s face as he scanned the letter’s contents, a smile dawning over his countenance as if he coudn’t believe the words before him on the page. “They’re alright,” he murmured, half to himself and half to her. “They got away… thought I should know.” His eyes continued to skim over the handwritten lines quickly, but his beckoned her close, and stunned smile on his face and light in his eyes that did Emma’s heart good. She could see the guilt and the hurt he had carried lifting from his shoulders with each passing second as she came to perch on the corner of the desk at his elbow. “They didn’t want me to have to harbor a secret… just missed the people who trashed the house that day, and didn’t want to continue putting me in danger…”

He shook his head in disbelief and then stood to sweep her up in his arms, spinning her around as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe, finally, he didn’t.

It was only as Killian set her back on her feet again, as he picked up her hand to kiss the back of it tenderly, and she hummed in contentment, swaying closer to him that a warm inviting light touched the side of both their faces. Turning as one, Emma recognized the sight that had graced her vision once before, but Kiliian’s eyes widened before turning to hers. “Is that…?” he breathed, hope and uncertainty and awe blending in the question as it trailed off on his lips.

She nodded, no words coming to her that she could speak past the lump in her throat.

“Well, then, Swan,” he smiled with the beauty and joy of a man whose heart was free at last. “What do you say we embark on a new adventure?”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” she said with a certainty she felt to the bottom of her soul. Clutching his fingers in her own tightly, she walked with him toward the door wreathed in light that had appeared in middle of the bookshelf. As long as she didn’t have to let go of Killian’s hand.

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jamesashtonisbae · 4 years

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She Sets the City on Fire Part 2

Word Count: 2033

Pairing: Logan x MC; Colt x MC

Book: Ride or Die

Rating: M

Warnings: Sexy times, but not actual lemon content. Yet.

Summary: Aleigha is a good girl gone bad. She’s going to try to keep both parts of herself.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, Pixelberry studios does!

Author’s Note: This flew off my fingers and is one of my favorite ideas I’ve had. I love good girl gone bad Aleigha. Probably because I see a lot of myself in her.

Tagging: @desiree-0816 because she is my ROD encourager. Also @brightpinkpeppercorn and @princessstellaris because 100 years ago (June or July) when I wrote a Logan x MC fic they were so kind to comment and ask to be put on a tag list! And @mskaneko! And my best reader @burnsoslow!

She took the outstretched hand extended to her. Her heart was not beating and she was not breathing. The last person she expected to see in Boston was Logan St. James.

“Great race Lennon St. James,” he winked as he helped her up.

“So, you’re the Troublemaker, huh?” she brushed the dirt off of her pants as she gained her footing. “I see I’m not the only one who changed my name.”

Logan leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I didn’t want to forget you, Troublemaker.”

“Shouldn’t I be calling you that?” she asked, slipping her hand around his waist to steady herself, because she had not caught her breath yet and being so close to him was not giving her chance to catch her breath.

She hadn’t known if she would ever see him again, and now, there he was, standing right in front of her, his hands slipping up her back and toying with the bottom of her bandeau. It was dizzying to be next to him. It was dizzying simply to be next to a man who she found attractive.

In the time she had been in Boston, she had gone home with a few guys. It was very stupid in the moment, but each one played a role on the street-racing circuit and sleeping with them had gotten her a step closer to getting in. When she arrived at the sideshow that night, she saw at least three of them and didn’t even glance at them twice. It was in the past, and she was looking forward.

Right now, looking forward was looking at Logan. She was so shocked he was there in Boston.

“Lo, you cannot be here. You’ll get caught.”

He tugged her out of the main area with all the cars and down an alley. She stumbled after him, avoiding puddles with her Yeezy’s.

“I know,” he growled, pushing her up against the bricks. “But I missed you.”

“Lo, I missed you too, but I know I cannot be seen with you,” she said as he leaned in and trailed kisses down her neck. In the moment, all she wanted to think about was Logan’s mouth on her throat, but she had to think about the fact that he was being hunted down and she was being watched. She had noticed that lately the people ‘following’ and ‘watching’ her had backed off, but if they came around her today, it would be very bad for Logan.

“Aleigha, I couldn’t stay away. Tell me you’re not happy to see me,” he kissed up to her earlobe and grasped it between his teeth.

“Of course I’m happy to see you, Lo. Don’t take it like that,” she moaned as he continued to work on her with his lips.

“Then let’s go. Get in your car and let’s go somewhere people can’t see us and let’s stop missing each other.”

Aleigha looked up at him with tears in her eyes. She had been cold and closed off all summer, not allowing herself to dwell on her life in LA. It was all coming crashing back. Seeing him was jolting her back to the thoughts of Jason using her, her dad throwing her out, Kaneko dying, Colt at prom, Colt coming up with a plan to murder people and falling in love with her, Logan lying to her and falling in love with her. Her falling in love with Colt and Logan.

“Lo…” her lower lip trembled, and she grabbed him in a big hug. “God, I missed you so much.”

“I can’t stay long, not past tonight, but I want tonight Aleigha. I need you.”

She leaned into his chest and sobbed, “Let’s go. Now.”

He took her hand and tugged her away as she was crying. There were men all around looking at her and following her with Logan once they saw her tears.

“Hey, baby, this guy bothering you?”

“Hey, what did he do to you, baby girl?”

“Are you okay, baby doll?”

She groaned through the tears. Those men were almost laughable. If she weren’t a crying mess, she would have cracked a few jokes.

Logan growled at the men as he took her over to her car, “Don’t worry about her.”

The men decided she was not worth it when Logan asserted himself. They knew he was the Troublemaker and to not mess with him.

He helped her into the driver’s seat, then got in on his side. Aleigha glanced over at him and took his hand quickly, “Hey what about your car?”

“I’ll just leave it. The Devore is stashed somewhere. I don’t need this one anymore.”

“But, your fingerprints are all over it, Lo. What are you going to do about that if they find it? You’re not going to be able to leave before it’s found and linked to you.”

Logan laughed and took a pair of leather gloves out of his pocket, “Good thing I never touched it.”

“And where did you get it?”

He shrugged, “I borrowed it. Don’t worry about it.”

Aleigha raised an eyebrow but didn’t continue pressing. It wasn’t like she didn’t know he’d stolen it. Why he thought he needed to keep secrets about his lifestyle was beyond her. He probably just thought he was protecting her.

“Hey, can we ask the real question here? What the fuck are you wearing, Aleigha?”

“What, you don’t think I look hot?” Aleigha turned and looked at Logan with a pout on her lips. She felt his eyes roam over her body and linger on her chest, then hips, then on down her legs which were miles long in her orange pants. He moved back up her body, even slower, before finally gazing into her eyes.

She reached over and squeezed his hand, and Logan groaned, “Of course you look hot, but Aleigha what are you wearing?”

“Would you underestimate a girl dressed like this on the track?”

“I would never underestimate an opponent and you know that.”

“Well, if you were a shitty dude would you underestimate me?” Logan took her phone and plugged in an address before handing it back to her.

“I pity the dude who underestimates you, Troublemaker.”

Aleigha grinned at him, dropped his hand, and threw her car into drive. She rushed off, following the GPS directions Logan had set up.

Him showing up had thrown her for a loop. She could not afford to get knocked off course. Every minute of every day for the rest of her semester was planned. Logan was not part of the plan. If she was going to get her automotive engineering degree, join a local crew, get Mona out of jail, and return to LA to build up the crew with Colt in the next four years, she was going to need every moment to be precisely planned. He was supposed to be long gone. Long, long gone.

Logan sensed something was going on, so when she turned onto the interstate, he took her hand. She grinned over at him, not wanting him to know what her plans were. The less people involved, the better off she would be. She would spend the night with Logan at whatever shady hotel he had gotten and then go back to work.

She pulled into the motel parking lot in front of his room. He ran around to her door and helped her out, taking her hands and pulling her to him. They looked at each other for a moment, and Aleigha felt a host of memories come flooding back. Suddenly, she was leaning against the first O of the Hollywood sign. She was transported to the floor of the loft over Kaneko Auto, flash cards and Logan’s clothes strewn around her. She was in front of her house, between Logan and her father, tears in her eyes, fear in Logan’s, anger in her father’s, as Logan moved toward his car slowly. His eyes drew her back from her memory, grateful that he was standing in front of her.

A beat passed and she knew he was remembering everything too. He would forever be her boy with the car. Logan was always going to be her first kiss. The first senses of freedom and independence, she had felt with this boy. This boy watched her finally uncover her fierce and confident side, and he hadn’t been scared away. Regardless of what she felt for Colt, Logan was always going to be there.

She wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. He had short dreadlocks now, and the suited him. With a moan, he reached over and took her hips in his hands. They leaned toward each other, tears barely held in their eyes. For the first time in months, they kissed.

His lips devoured hers in a way that was unlike any of their other kisses. She could not remember feeling someone kiss her like they needed her. Not like they wanted her, or wanted to get in her pants. He was kissing her like he needed her. The lifeline he had been for her when she was finding herself, she now felt like she was for him.

She felt him press her against her car. Often, she felt like she was one with her car, but now she was molded into it with the pressure of Logan’s body on her. He ran his hands over her body, reaching into her cut out in her pants and gripping her hips with his calloused fingers. As his hands ran down her hips and thighs, she hitched her leg up around him, pulling him closer to her.

“Lo… take me inside,” she breathed, pleading him with her deep brown eyes.

He picked her up, grabbed her keys, and locked the door before carrying her into his room. There was a split second they were apart when she let him unlock the door, but once inside, she pounced on him again.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her towards the bed. She had her lips pressed to the juncture of his jaw and throat, and he was very distracted.

“Throw me on the bed, Lo. Don’t be gentle. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

For the umpteenth time since she’d seen him, Logan growled, then threw her onto the bed, crawling over her body. He leaned down and started to suck on her neck as she gripped his short dreads and pulled him in even closer. His lips were tugging on her soft skin, eliciting yelps and moans from her. As he mouthed her, she slipped her hands down his jeans and squeezed his ass.

“Lo,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with need, “I need you, Lo. Fuck me, now, please.”

He moved up the column of her neck and tugged on her earlobe. His voice got very low as he said, “Aleigha Nachole Meyers, I never thought I would get to do this. I don’t want it to just be a quick fuck.”

When she took his face in her hands and moved him up to look in her eyes, his own eyes were wet with tears. He had a look Aleigha had seen one time before, when her father had pointed a gun at him. He looked scared.

“Lo,” she croaked, trying to overcome her desperate need for him. All she wanted was to feel his powerful body over her, or underneath her, she didn’t care where he was exactly, so long as he was inside her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve loved you since the moment I met you. I know you love Colt and he loves you, too. But I’d take whatever you have to give me.”

“Lo, we cannot get too attached. We could die, or never see each other again, so let’s just take tonight and be together and not think about it.”

He nodded, leaning his head against hers gently. They pressed their lips together, and when he pulled away, he said, “Okay. Let’s take tonight.”

She met his intense gaze and held it for a moment, “Okay. So will you please fuck me now?”

#rod fanfiction #choices rod #choices ride or die #logan x mc #pixelberry choices #ride or die #ride or die a bad boy romance #ride or die au

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gripmusic94 · 2 years

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emma-swan · 6 years

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kiss me (on this cold december night)

maybe asking your best friend to pretend to be your boyfriend as you make a trip back home isn’t the smartest idea emma’s had in a while. then again, how smart is killian for actually saying yes?

a super very delayed #cssecretsanta gift for my wonderful giftee @laschatzi! i cannot thank you enough for your patience, not only while my muse and motivation got the best of me, but while life threw me a huge curveball with my accident. happy belated holidays! it’s been wonderful talking to you all this time and i truly hope you enjoy this!

+++

“I need your help.”

If you were to ask Emma the four little words that would change her world, she never thought those would be it. She wasn’t a romantic, not by any means, but a part of her always thought those words would be “Will you marry me?”

(At one point in time, she almost thought those words would be “You’re home now, Emma,” but that wasn’t the case. That’s neither here nor there right now.)

“You need my help?”

She looks into the blue eyes of her neighbor, one Killian Jones, sitting at the diner booth already sipping at his cup of coffee, sporting a confused look on his face.

Emma slips off her jacket as she slips into the booth across from him, nodding. Seconds after her butt touches the cushion, there’s a cup of hot cocoa placed in front of her and a wink from the waitress as she walks away.

“My brother and his soon-to-be wife are hosting Christmas this year up in Maine and I’m heading up,” she tells him, picking up the cup to take a slow sip. “Something about big news they want to share and they want me up there for the holidays.”

“I’m failing to see how you need my help, love,” he tells her. “I’ve yet to have the honor of meeting them, nor am I a psychic to know what this big news is.”

“No,” Emma says. She sets her cup down as she sends him a glare. “Let me finish.”

He nods for her to continue, folding his hands atop the table.

“They’re hosting Christmas and I know she’s going to use this as an opportunity to set me up with someone. Especially since they've made sure everyone they’re close with stays in town for this big news.”

“I’m still failing to see how you need my help with this, Swan….”

“She’s going to try to set me up with someone,” she spells out. “And…”

“And…?”

Emma sighs. So much for hoping he’d get the hint. “Will you come with me to Maine and pretend to be my boyfriend so she doesn’t set me up with someone?”

He laughs. Outright laughs, almost infectious if it wasn’t for the fact that she was freaking out about this.

There’s a slim chance she’s jumping the gun with all of this, that her nerves about going back to a place she left in her rear view mirror years ago are getting the best of her, but she’d rather not take that chance.

She’s about to tell him to forget it, that it was a stupid idea, that she’ll manage on her own and shouldn’t have tried to rope him into this as some type of buffer for her issues of the past.

She’s about to open her mouth, then he says, “Swan, I’d love to.”

Okay, so it turns out those are the four little words that truly solidify the start of her life changing trip. Then again, it’s not something she’d realize until she’s looking back at this.

///

If you were to ask her if Killian would be her go-to person when they first met, she’d laugh at you. Well, first she’d stare at you as if you had two heads, then she’d laugh at you.

When they first met, things were never like this between them. Hate would be too strong of a word but dislike? Oh, Emma disliked her neighbor Killian Jones immensely. He had no set schedule, no sense of time, and there was just an air about him that always seemed to rub her the wrong way.

She made it a habit of avoiding him at all costs, and the plethora of people he had around.

(There were usually only ever two, but that’s two more than Emma had around, barring David and Mary Margaret and their visits.)

Except fate had decided other things for her one night.

She was holding way too much take out for one person and he was standing in front of his door, frustrated beyond all belief because he had locked himself out of his apartment.

“Don’t bother calling this in,” she had told him. “You won’t get anyone at this hour. Anyone who cares, that is.”

She doesn’t know why she felt compelled to talk to him then, why she felt the need to tell him information he must have already known, being her neighbor for months now, and yet, she felt compelled to at least warn him.

Maybe it was the crappy night she had; maybe it was the skip who got away, leaving her with a throbbing bump on the back of her head that she just had to cure with takeout because there was no way she could afford a trip to the emergency room right now.

“Well that’d be just my luck,” he had muttered. “My mates are sure to get a good laugh out of this.”

She had handed him her bag of takeout before disappearing into her own apartment, coming back out moments later with a small kit in hand. A crouch, some tools, a few jiggles here, and his door had been opened in no time.

“You’re bloody brilliant, love,” he had whispered in awe.

“It comes with the turf,” she had told him.

He had handed her the bag back before she turned back to her own door. It had only taken her a few seconds to decide that she wasn’t going to ignore that little voice in her head, urging her forward.

That could have been a little voice urging her to seek medical attention, but she wasn’t about to distinguish them now.

“I’ve got enough food for two,” she had turned back and announced. “You a fan of General Tso’s and lo mein?”

“Actually...I think I’m more of a fan of getting that cut above your eye checked out. I’ve got a kit in here, love. Would you allow me…?”

///

Maybe those were the four words that started it all. She’s unsure why her thoughts are on the first night they actually started talking instead of on the road and the almost two hour drive up to Maine from Boston.

She’s thankful the ride isn’t longer than that. She’s already having a hard enough time trying to think of something to say—which is hard considering they never run out of things to talk about when they’re together.

(Which now happens more often than they’re apart, but that’s a topic for another time.)

“Is there anything I should know before we arrive, Swan?” Killian asks. She glances over at him briefly, seeing him rub the juncture where his prosthetic and arm meet.

Is that nervousness she’s noticing or something else?

She planned on telling him exactly why she hadn’t been back to Maine in such a long time or giving him the rundown on just how nosy everyone could be in the small town.

Instead, she just shakes her head. “Just...be prepared for my brother to go into overly protective brother mode,” she tells him. “It’s the first time I bring anyone home since...well, since a long while.”

It’s better this way, she keeps reminding herself, knowing this will be the only way to truly avoid anyone bringing up why she left all those years ago.

“We’ll stick as close to the truth as possible,” she tells him. “Nothing to worry about then, right?”

///

While the rest of the drive should be spent going over any information he should know about her, Emma realizes it’s a moot point. Killian already knows more about her than any of her other friends.

(Hell, if she’s honest, he’s pretty much her only friend outside of work, and even then, she’s only hung out with them a handful of times.)

It’s a somber feeling when they pull up to her brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law’s place, streets quiet around them.

“Would you like me to accompany you or—”

“I didn’t bring you all this way to stay in the car, Jones. Come on, let’s go. I promise, none of them bite,” she tells him.

She hears a faint mumbling coming from him as he steps out of the bug, but she can’t quite make it out.

With their bags in hand soon after, they head up the stairs to the loft. She knocks on the door, glancing behind her as she shoots Killian a sympathetic smile.

Her attention swings back to the door opening, revealing an enthusiastic Mary Margaret with a smile on her face.

“Emma!”

Arms swing around her almost instantly, enveloping her in a warm embrace. David appears behind the woman soon after, the look on his face a cross between happiness at seeing his sister and confusion at the man she’s brought with her, the day before Christmas Eve.

“It’s so good to see you, both of you,” Emma says. “Do you mind if we take this reunion inside? I’m still kind of cold.”

David ushers them inside, grabbing the bags in Emma’s hand to place them by the foot of the stairs.

“I should probably introduce you guys. This is—,”

“Killian Jones,” he says, extending his hand out to Mary Margaret. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“We’re just finally glad to meet you,” she says, smile still on her face as David forces one on his. “Emma mentions you all the time, we were starting to wonder if we’d actually ever meet this mysterious man.”

“Has she, now?” he asks. She doesn’t need to turn around to see the raised brow on his face, or to look in a mirror to see the redness growing in her cheeks.

“David, why don’t you help Killian put their bags upstairs,” Mary Margaret instructs. “Emma and I are going to start catching up.”

She shoots Killian an apologetic look, knowing her brother will definitely seize the opportunity to ask him any and all questions that come to mind.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally come back to town,” Mary Margaret says. Emma offers her a tight-lipped smile as she sits down at the breakfast bar, watching as she walks around the area. “I know a lot of people are going to be happy to see you.”

“I don’t know,” she says, looking down at the placemat in front of her. “I didn’t exactly leave on the best terms with a lot of people. And then after it all, I didn’t really make an effort to come back.”

Mary Margaret reaches across the counter, resting her hand on Emma’s arm. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I always told you—no one blames you for what happened all those years ago. He was a jerk, and what he did was unforgivable. But none of it was your fault.”

She lets out a slow breath, nodding. “Can we just avoid talking about that tonight?” she asks. “Killian doesn’t know and—”

“Killian doesn’t know what, love?” she hears from the foot of the stairs behind her.

Her arm tenses as she glances back over at him, but Mary Margaret seems to take over the situation just as quickly. “About the best breakfast and lasagna in town. Which you’ll have to try before you both leave.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea,” he says, taking a seat down beside her. “If that’s all right with you, Swan.”

“Of course,” she says with a nod, and before she even realizes what she’s doing she leans over and presses a kiss dangerously close to his lips. She immediately turns her attention back to Mary Margaret. “So, about that dinner you said would be waiting for us…”

///

Dinner, along with the rest of the night, pass by in a blur. Emma knows she should be paying attention to the questions David and Mary Margaret are asking Killian—she should at least be attentive to the third degree they’re giving him if she’s gonna have his back—but instead her mind dwells on the the town and the reasons she never came back.

She doesn’t really start paying attention to what Killian’s saying until she’s upstairs, unpacking her pajamas from her bag.

“Swan,” he says, arm on hers snapping her out of her trance. She slowly turns to look at him, brows furrowed. “Where have you been all night?”

She shakes her head. “Sorry. Mind’s just on a million things at once. What did you ask?”

He takes a step closer, voice barely above a whisper as he asks, “I asked what side of the bed you’d prefer…”

Bed. Oh. Right. Because they’ll be sleeping together.

She really should have thought about what it’d all entail when she asked him to pretend to be her boyfriend on this trip. Like sharing a bed and having to hold hands and...oh God, they’d probably have to kiss at some point in front of everyone to sell it, right?

“Swan…”

“Whatever side’s fine,” she quickly says, grabbing her bag. “I...need to go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. I’ll be back.”

It’s a lame excuse but it’s the one she leaves him with as she all but flies down the stairs to hide in the bathroom and compose herself.

Of course it’s just her luck that when she heads back upstairs, she finds him having settled in bed, the side she usually sleeps on left open for her.

(If she wakes up the next morning wrapped around him, it’s only because they have to sell this, not because of anything else.)

///

To say she spends Christmas Eve morning dreading the small stroll around town would be oversimplifying how she feels. Dread would be an easy emotion for her to deal with today. Instead, she feels like she’s walking around in a nightmare, paranoid that she’ll spot someone who’ll be itching to bring up her past at any turn.

Granny’s the only one that catches her off guard, enveloping her in a hug once they step foot into the diner. It takes her back so much that David’s the one who ends up introducing Killian to her, albeit begrudgingly.

She all but runs out of the diner once they’re done with breakfast, Mary Margaret reminding Granny to bring her lasagna tonight to Christmas Eve dinner before following Emma out. She loops her arm through hers as they head back to the loft, Killian and David following close behind.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret says. She offers her a warm smile. “You don’t have to think about that anymore. He’s long gone. His dad might own most of this town but I promise you, he hasn’t stepped foot back here since he left. No one cares about that anymore, either.”

Those words should be comforting to hear, and yet….

Emma glances back at Killian, instead finding comfort in the small smile he gives her.

///

It’s like all her fears come true the moment guests start pouring into David and Mary Margaret’s place. While they all express their excitement over the gathering, all bringing something to contribute to the potluck dinner, they all can’t help but notice the little sister come back to town after so many years.

They don’t bring it up directly, but they do make hints at it. Bless Killian for all of this, she thinks, watching as he seamlessly falls into the role of boyfriend and helps steer one too many conversations away from topics of the past.

She’s fine, really, up until Mary Margaret and David ask everyone to gather around so they can make their announcement.

“We’re pregnant!” Mary Margaret exclaims, smile on her face mirroring the one on David’s face.

“We just wanted to thank you all for being here while we shared this news, since you all aren’t just friends, but you’re family,” David continues.

The rest falls into a blur as the ringing in Emma’s ears begins. She remembers pushing past a group of people before she finds herself outside, the cold winter air a refreshing slap to the face. She’s not too sure how long she’s standing alone outside before she feels a familiar weight on her arm, before a coat gets thrown over her shoulders.

“You okay?” Killian asks.

She wants to nod and say yes, head back upstairs, and pretend she hadn’t just run outside because the news of her brother having a baby brought her back to a horrible place. She wants to pretend that everything’s okay, but instead finds herself shaking her head, tugging the coat tighter around her.

“I asked you here because I was afraid I’d see my ex,” she admits. “Which, I know, not the best reason to ask you to fake a relationship with me, but if you haven’t noticed by now, I haven’t been back here in years. He…”

Killian shakes his head. “Swan, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of bad relationships in the past. I get the wounds those can leave you.”

“Not many of them send you to juvie and disappear without a trace,” she mutters. His eyebrows shoot up just as she shakes her head. “You mind if we just get out of here for a while, instead?”

///

They end up by the docks, sides pressed against one another as they stare out at the reflection of the moon on the water. The air’s bitter enough that she knows there’ll be snow soon, but they’ll worry about that later.

“I have to ask, love, why me?”

She glances over at him with furrowed brows. Is he asking her why he trusted her with all of this information about her past or....?

“Why did you ask me to come here with you and pretend when you could have just...asked someone else?”

Emma crosses her arms, holding back the chill that runs up her spine at the sudden gust of wind. “Because you’re my friend,” she tells him.

“Oh, come now, Swan, you have plenty of friends,” he retorts.

A quick shake of her head shoots that down. “You’re the only one I’d trust with this. Bringing you back here, helping me, telling you about my past...I don’t feel like you’re going to stop being my friend now that you know how fucked up my life has been,” she says.

“Hey.” He reaches out for her hand, pulling it away from her chest. Lacing their fingers together, he says, “I’d never stop being your friend, love. I’ll always be here for you. Even when you ask me to do silly things like pretend to be your boyfriend to deflect people’s inquiries into your past.”

She can’t help but roll her eyes at the small smirk that begins to form on Killian’s face. “We can stop that,” she says. “Just head back there and tell them the truth.”

“Now, I never said we should do that,” Killian tells her. “This could be good practice for when we head back home to Boston.”

“Practice?” she repeats with a raise of her brow. “For what?”

“An actual date. Unless I’ve been misreading the signals all along,” he’s quick to say, prosthetic reaching up to scratch behind his ear. “You know, I must have been. There probably weren’t any signals at all. I apologize, love, I shouldn’t have assumed that you felt for me the way I’ve felt for you all this time and—”

Emma leans over then, pressing her lips against his to stop the words from continuing to spill out of his mouth. They’re warm against hers, a stark contrast to the winter chill around them.

“Anyone ever tell you that you can talk too much, Jones?” she says, slowly pulling away from him.

He looks surprised, all but speechless as he opens his eyes, shakes his head, and he realizes what she’s just done.

“An actual date, huh?” she says, smile on her face. “That can be arranged.”

///

So maybe those four words might be the starting point of a new chapter in her life—one she’s very eager to see how it goes. First, they just have to get through Christmas.

#cs ff #cssecretsanta #cs secret santa 2k17 #captain swan #cs fanfic #my fics #laschatzi

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