so, this one is nearly over now, and i hope to have it all completed in the next couple of weeks of so. it wasn't supposed to be a long one and i did hope to get it finished quickly, but school got in the way, a lot!
anyways, i hope you all like this chapter! a flashback to emma's 'drunken night', so to speak.
- shauna! xo
Honestly, Emma's not all too sure why she still lets Ruby drag her out to nightclubs all the time.
She is an adult, for christ sake, and she really needs to learn to put her foot down.
Nonetheless, she's almost completely hammered by the time she sees Ruby leaving with a guy she's never seen before and she rolls her eyes at the typical Ruby like behaviour, and with Mary Margaret long since retired home to David, she's left to catch a taxi back to her apartment.
She stumbles inside the yellow car, her instructions to where she lives and she hums as the taxi driver finally pulls outside of the building.
"$8," he tells her, and she's taken off guard by his accent.
He's British she realises with a start, and it's so similar to Killian's, and it's that realisation that makes her decision when she stumbles up the stairs that she avoids her room completely, and goes knocking on Killian's door instead.
It takes him a few minutes to answer, and she hears him grumbling under his breath.
By the time he makes it to the door, she's swaying unsteadily against the wall, the multiple shots catching up to her.
His eyes are wide when he opens the door and she stares, her own eyes wide, as he wipes the sleep from his eyes (he was obviously asleep) but that it isn't the main thing that she notices.
He's wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, that hang loose on his hips and she bites her lip, even in her drink induced state at the lack of his shirt.
His eyebrows furrow as he registers her appearance.
"Emma?"
She's too busy ogling him (and she will deny that later) to respond to him.
He repeats himself, "Emma?"
She snaps her head up and she goes towards him with a lazy smile on her lips but she's full of alcohol and the six-inch heels she'd decided on wearing that night weren't exactly helping, either, and so, she goes crashing straight into him.
Killian lets out a loud huff as his arms automatically curl around her.
"Easy there, love," he murmurs, though she hears the confusion laced in his tone.
She sighs into the skin of his neck and she catches the goosebumps that it raises.
"Killian," she mumbles, but it comes out far more slurred than she intended it to.
She can almost feel the frown before it appears on his face and Killian takes an unsteady step backward, keeping her at arms length with his grip on her shoulders.
She blinks as she looks up at him, and she finds his features scrunched up slightly, his eyebrows furrowed.
"You're drunk," he concludes, but she sees humor in the way his lips quirk up softly.
She rolls her eyes as she shrugs.
"Just a little."
He sighs dramatically, and he goes to take a step towards her again, "Is that so, love?"
She nods, a silly grin on her lips.
He raises his left eyebrow, and gestures into his apartment.
"Then, why don't you walk in a straight line and sit on the sofa?" he requests, as though he knows she'll fall over and he probably does, from the smell of alcohol on her breath.
Emma merely huffs, and rolls her eyes once more before she goes to follow his instructions.
"Fine," she glares at him briefly, but it's mostly playful.
And, she takes two steps before she almost falls flat on her face.
Killian's already running to her before she manages that, however, but she hears him chuckle at her predicament and she suddenly wants to punch him. His arms wrap around her before her face can hit the floor, and he pulls her back against him.
His laugh vibrates against the soft skin of her neck and she feels his lips quirk upwards.
"I thought you weren't drunk?"
She glares in front of her, though she knows he can't see it.
"Shut up," she mumbles.
He laughs again and shakes his head.
His left arm wraps around her waist as he guides her arm around his neck, and he steps towards her.
"Come on then, drunky," he tells her, his accent thick and he helps her towards the living room, until she can drop onto the black sofa.
She plops down and he takes a step back, to find her staring up at him.
"I'm not drunk," she still protests.
He grins.
"Still protesting, love?"
Her lips twist mockingly.
"'M not drunk," she mumbles as she relaxes back into his cushions. "Just a little tipsy."
He shakes his head in a way that tells her he doesn't believe her for a second, and she glares at him for a moment before he shoots her a charming smile.
"Stay here," he instructs her, before he goes missing, but then he's back in a second, with a glass of water in his hand.
She takes it when he offers her it.
She beams up at him.
"Thanks," she tells him, quietly.
He nods.
"You're going to have a killer hangover in the morning," he tells her, as he takes her in, and the way she seems to smiling goofily up at him.
He was under no illusions that sober Emma was never this happy and smily.
She glares at him again, though it's lessened by the way her lips seem to want to turn into a smile.
"Told you, Jones," she grumbles. "'M not drunk."
He smirks.
"Sure, love."
He plops down next to her, and reaches for the remote. When he turns back around, however, she's much closer than before, and her eyes are narrowed.
"You're an ass," she tells him.
He grins.
"So you've said. On multiple occasions, actually."
"I apologised for that," she reminds him.
"Yet, here you are, still calling me names," he teases.
He can't help it, she's so outgoing and not as closed off as she usually is. He plans on taking advantage and getting to know her a little bit more, if she will so allow him to.
She huffs, and her arms cross over her chest.
"I can't help it if you're being an assnole."
He chuckles, again, his eyebrows pushing together.
"What was that, love?"
"An assn-, ass-. Ugh," she throws her arms up in the air. "You're that, you know what I mean. I just said it."
His smile widens, deepening his dimples. He can't help it, she's so endearing this way.
Her head turns to the side slightly and she leans forward.
"Oo, Netflix."
She's got a big grin on her face and Killian shakes his head at how quickly she seemingly gets distracted.
He hands the remote to her and he smiles, a genuine one, when she snuggles into him, her head nestling against his neck. He gulps, however, when her other hand drops down to his lap, and she curls her fingers around his thigh.
"Orange Is The New Black," she grins, humming happily. "I haven't seen this one."
He chuckles, shaking his head, as she hits play, and he waits a few minutes until he speaks again.
"Why did you come here?" he asks, innocently enough he thinks because she did decide to drop by his apartment and she did wake him up.
Not that he minds, however. He'd never mind spending time with Emma.
Emma's fingers freeze on the patterns she was drawing on his thigh, before she shrugs and continues.
"Yours is closer than mine," she tells him, and her head twists to look at him. "Mine seems forever away."
He smiles at her answer and hums.
His arm stretches over the sofa at the back of her head and watches Emma as she watches the television programme. He catches the way her eyelids seem to droop and knows it won't be long before she falls asleep.
Killian, however, is quite wrong, because she suddenly bounces on the sofa, her eyes bright as she stares up at him.
He raises an eyebrow.
"Yes, love?"
She licks her bottom lip and he catches the way her eyes flicker to his red lips and he suddenly has a bad feeling about this.
"That's not the only reason," she tells him.
His eyebrows furrow.
"Then, what is?"
And instead of answering, she surges forward and locks her lips with his in a searing kiss, leaving him speechless once again.