Prompt: Emma and Killian hiding in her bug while it starts to snow - based off a manip by bashful-killian on tumblr
"Swan, it's snowing outside, do we have to go?" He says, tugging on the Christmas sweater that Emma forced on him ten minutes ago.
They both look up, snow flakes falling on their noses. She smiles as it sticks to her beanie. "Do you want David to come over again and force the reindeer antlers on your head like last year? And the year before. And the year before that."
He pouts because that picture is brought out every Christmas and every Christmas he gets flustered about something in it. Generally the angle - "It's not my good side, Swan!" - or the fact that he's almost blushing as David throws a red hat on his own head and poses with him. "No."
"Thought so, get in the the car," she replies, unlocking the bug and shoving him into the passenger seat. He grumbles about it, but by the time she comes around the other side, he's buckled up and flicking snow off his hook.
...
David makes a beeline to him the moment they get inside, antlers in hand, but when Killian throws off his heavy jacket, revealing the festive sweater underneath, he actually pouts. Mary Margaret laughs and Killian puts the antler on his head instead. "Oh, how the tables turn," he says as Mary Margaret takes a picture on her new looking camera.
"Stop it and help with the gifts," Emma says, snorting as David takes the gifts from her hands and puts them under the tree. A tree decorated in a string of popcorn, mismatched ornaments, and decorated largely at the height for a four year old boy. "Neal help with the decorating?" She thinks fondly of her younger (way younger) brother who has an obsessive love for this holiday.
Mary Margaret's face lights up and they spend the next twenty minutes looking through the pictures on her camera ("Regina gave it to me last week," she explains when Emma asks) of Neal. Neal standing next to a snow man. Neal bundled up so much that only his eyes peek out from beneath a knitted beanie. Neal sitting on Henry's shoulders.
They don't tear up anymore that Mary Margaret doesn't have any pictures of Emma at this age. She imagines later that's why Mary Margaret takes so many pictures that night, ones where Emma and David are laughing, where Killian kisses her forehead as they watch Henry and Neal open presents, where said boys take turns sticking wrapping paper to some part of their face. In the end, she has everyone pose as they take a group picture.
A lot of group pictures.
...
Later, Emma is kissing Henry good-bye as he sits in plaid pajamas that match Neal's and David's and Killian's (though he doesn't wear his). He spends tonight with his grandparents then goes to Regina on Christmas Eve and back to Emma's for Christmas day. It's routine now.
Killian laughs at David who tries to wrestle the antler off. Mary Margaret orders them to stay on until bedtime and he reluctantly complies as Killian laughs more. Until Mary Margaret forces him to put the Christmas sweater back on. He pouts, sets the presents back onto the couch, and yanks it on, careful not to rip the fabric with his hook and Emma walks slowly to watch his shirt ride up his back as he listens his arms.
When he turns and winks at her, she knows that she's caught, but only grins back. They say their goodbyes, take their presents, and head back to the bug sitting innocently on the street, covered in a fair bit of white snow. She grimaces, fingers already cold as she reaches for the handle before he cuts in front and grabs it instead.
"After you, milady," he says, holding it open with a flourish despite the fact that he's, barely, holding the gifts under his other arm. She rolls her eyes and shifts the seat forward so they can toss their presents in the back, but smiles when she realizes he's still standing by her door, waiting for her to climb in before he shuts it.
She does so and he runs around the other side, throwing himself inside, and she laughs at the snow that clings to his face and melts in his dark hair.
"What?"
She pushes snow out of his hair, smiling fondly. "You look old with that much snow in your hair," she teases and he catches her hand, rolling his eyes at her.
"I am not old."
"You're like 300 years old."
"I am not old."
"Yes, you are."
"Swan!"
She kisses him because he always kisses her when she's arguing, however playfully with him, and she has no qualms with turning the tables on him. It's like a shock when they kiss, all warmth and passion even in gentle touches, and she pulls back as he begins to respond, grinning so wide that her face should probably hurt. It doesn't.
He makes a face and, before she can retreat, pulls her forward into his lap, his hook a cool weight against her back, pulling her back in for a kiss that makes her forget, for a moment, that they are inside her bug right outside her parent's home. His tongue slides along her bottom lip, asking for entrance, and she complies, opening her mouth, her tongue brushing along his. For how heated it gets, she controls herself enough to retreat back into the gentleness of their first, only the soft press of her lips against his.
Reluctantly, she breaks from his kiss and climbs back into her own seat. He pouts again and takes her hand.
...
Two days later, Henry gives her a stack of pictures from Mary Margaret and a present they had forgotten. A picture of them inside the bug is at the very front and, behind that, is one of Mary Margaret winking at her.
She tries not to blush, Killian laughs loudly and kisses her, and the next night, it's framed in the living room.