Welp. I’m trapped in a winter wonderland, so how about we see a bit of CS snowed in?

nowforruin:

Ugh, there is SO MUCH SNOW here too. But I still love snowed in. Hello, my tropey friend. 

I combined this with an anon request: “Prompt: My favorite trope! ‘Enemies’ who secretly love each other forced to come to terms with their feelings. Smooching fluff ensues. Bonus if their friends had a bet on when they’d finally get together”

It also got pretty long, so mostly under a cut. Sorrynotsorry. 

-x- 

“No.”

“Listen, darling, I’m not tickled by the idea either, but you’ve promised, and I’ve promised, so let’s just make the best of it, aye?”

“Just… you deal with upstairs. I’ll deal with down here. Then we get the hell out of here.” Emma gestures toward the staircase, her hands forming sharp shooing motions. “Let’s get this over with.”

“No need to get your knickers in a twist.” Killian frowns at her, scrubbing the back of his neck with his palm, brows knit in irritation. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and he looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he sighs, resigned. “Just shout if you need anything.”

Emma nods, turning her back on the world’s most irritating man and making her way into the kitchen, debating if she should plot her best friend’s murder first or Killian’s.

It’s a hard choice. She despises Killian, he of the stupid leather coats that slide over his shoulder like melting butter, and the stupidly messy hair that perpetually screams he’s been freshly fucked, and the jeans that cling to his ass… and the irritating arrogance and certainty he’s always right.

Yeah, he dies first.

But then there’s also Emma’s supposed best friend who got her into this mess.

Come to the lake house for a long weekend. It’ll be fun. Relaxing. We might even get some snow. David’s invited a friend so you can’t even say you’ll just be a third wheel.

Mary Margaret left out that the friend was none other than Killian Jones, perpetual pain in the ass. Not only that, but before even twenty four hours had gone by, all of a sudden David had some emergency back in Storybrooke that required them to leave immediately.

Immediately, as in he had his coat on before the burner on the stove was even off with one foot halfway out the door. Her friends are bad liars to start, but then Mary Margaret had smiled as she pulled on her own coat. “I’m so sorry, Emma, but I’m sure Killian won’t mind giving you a ride home. You guys are welcome to stay up here tonight.”

“I’ll come with you,” Emma replied instantly.

“I’ll give the lass a ride home after we clean up,” Killian said at the same time, and damn him, but in that moment, his usual obnoxious good humor made Emma feel like a terrible human being for wanting to leave him alone with the responsibility of cleaning up their afternoon’s mess and waiting alone for the fire David had insisted on building up to die out.

Her friends didn’t wait for her to agree before they left, and now here she is, stuck with Jones, alone, in the middle of nowhere, Maine. It’s not fair. The lake house is beautiful, the iced over water shimmering in the muted winter light, the cheerful scent of woodsmoke on the air. It should be relaxing.

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