startswithhope:

Working through my creative block by writing some fix-it fics for things that bugged me in 6B. This is set right after Killian’s conversation with Nemo on the docks after the first proposal. I also pulled two of my kiss prompts into this “surprise kiss” and “I’m sorry kiss”. 

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“Seek forgiveness. Because whatever happened, it will always stay with you.”

Nemo’s words churn wildly in his gut long after he’s gone, the man’s friendly advice, while what he knows he needed to hear, putting voice to the only choice he has left. He’s been through too much with Emma to hide from her. She deserves to hear the truth, her entire family does.

Lifting his flask to his lips he takes another long drag of the strong rum, remembering when it had once given him solace, or at least an escape. Now, it just tastes like his past. A past he’s worked hard to forgive himself for.

“There you are.”

Startled by Emma’s voice, fingers numb from the cold lose grip on the flask and it clatters to the wood of the dock at his feet. His reflexes are a bit dulled by the alcohol and she’s moved to pick it up before he’s even thought about bending to retrieve it. Her eyebrows narrow as she obviously notes how empty it is, but she still smiles before taking a sip of her own. Cold muscles beneath his skin tighten slightly at the sight of her as thoughts of Neverland and tasting the same rum on her lips for the first time come rushing back.

When she steps forward to place her free hand on his chest and press her lips softly against his, he’s all at once reminded of how far they’ve come. He feels like a thief in the night when he leans in for more, his hand at her back stealing her warmth and grasping for her love before it’s potentially ripped away.

“Sorry, didn’t meant to startle you,” she whispers, her breath warm against his numb lips.

“Happy surprise, love.” He nuzzles her nose with his in hopes of selling the half truth, despite knowing he won’t be leaving these docks without relieving himself from this guilt that’s threatening to devour everything he holds dear.

Her hands are warm as she burrows them around his back beneath his jacket, but the green of her eyes look a bit icey as she pulls back from his lips to lock him in her gaze.

“So, wanna tell me why you’re hiding out here all by yourself? I knew something was wrong when you didn’t want to come to the loft and now I find you half drunk and freezing your ass off.”

Keep reading

initiala:

@couldnthandleit called for some CS smut based on Jen’s outfit and I can’t be the only one who was like “is that… dress… kind of see through?” right?? just a little baby bit, i’m out of practice

He glances up, alerted to her presence by the exaggerated way she clears her throat. All rational thought flies out of his head; his mouth falls open; he drinks her in like a man dying of thirst, this ethereal goddess he’s so blessed to call his wife. Her golden hair falls in loose waves down her back and over the pale shift hanging loosely over her lithe form. It does little to conceal the scraps of fabric she calls underthings, something she’s very aware of if her sly little smile is anything to go on.

She’s crossing the study in slow, sure steps, then she plucks the book from his hands with a murmured remark about climbing aboard. He barely has time to say “Yes” before her mouth covers his, swallowing the word as she straddles his legs and braces herself on his shoulders.

He loves her in the mornings, when she’s sleepy and soft, curling into him and pressing her cold toes against his shins, convincing him (with very little effort) to stay in bed just a while longer. He loves her at lunchtime, when she steals him away to the one blind spot in the sheriff’s office to kiss him breathless, to untuck his shirt and unzip his trousers, to beg him to take her hard and fast against the wall before anyone can see. He loves her in the middle of the night, when they wake each other up after nightmares, when they hold one another and whisper words of comfort until the blanket of sleep claims them once more.

But this, he loves this almost most of all, when she’s seductive and demanding – when her lips are hard against his, when she’s biting and sucking at every inch of skin she can reach – when she dresses in her most scandalous outfits – he could rip this shift as if it were made of tissue paper if he wanted – when Emma Swan just wants and takes and he’s oh so very willing to give her all he has and more.

When they join, a hurried thing that has them both whimpering with need, he does tear the shift a bit, the seam snapping when he tugs too hard. The sound of fabric tearing does something to her, urges her to ride him faster and kiss him harder. She never gives him a chance to reciprocate, her kisses fast and wet on his lips, cheeks, neck, wherever she can reach. He is caught in the cyclone of Emma, Emma, Emma, whisked away to overwhelming pleasure as she convulses around him and he spills himself deep into her womb.