Okay, but I just saw that tide commercial where dad says his daughter pretty much lives in the princess dress, but once a week, she plays sheriff so he can wash, and just picture Killian and Hope.
Everyday, Hope loves to wear the pirate costume Grandpa David bought her (much to her father’s dismay) and refuses to take it off.
“I’m a pirate, just like you, daddy!”
So, once a week, in order to allow Emma to wash it, Killian holds a grand ball in their living room where Hope dresses like a princess and dances with her father.
A/N: Happy (Belated) Father’s Day to my favorite pirate daddy, Killian Jones!
—–
There’s a card with his name on it leaning against a gift bag on the nightstand when Killian wakes. It makes his brows knit together, makes him blink in sleepy confusion when he suddenly notes the sunlight just beginning to creep in through the thin curtains over the window on the adjacent wall. It’s early yet, but his internal clock knows that Hope will be up and fussing very soon. He sits up, turning his head to glance at Emma’s side of the bed. It’s habit, really, but that Emma’s side is devoid of her dreaming form is not.
She’s rarely been up before him since Hope began sleeping through the night, and he wonders briefly if perhaps their little one had simply been early to rise that morning and he’d just slept straight through her cries for attention, thus drawing Emma from their bed to see to her in his place. His eyes flit over to the baby monitor on the dresser, but Hope’s grumbling and Emma’s soft, soothing tone is nowhere to be heard over the speaker. There’s nothing out of sorts with the device from what he can see, the tiny green bulb in the corner is still lit up just as it was when he and Emma went to bed last night.
The sound in the doorway draws his attention then — floorboards creaking noisily beneath bare feet — and he is greeted by a sight that tugs on the corners of his lips as deeply as it does the strings of his heart: his wife, shuffling in through the threshold of their room with a baby on her hip and a tray of food carefully balanced on her arm.
“Happy Father’s Day,” she says in a singsong voice, eyes full of mirth and smile warm.
Happy birthday, @xemmaloveskillianx!! A couple weeks ago, we were discussing this very topic and I realized what better way to celebrate your birthday than writing it for you! It’s fluffy and of course has a bit of a dramatic moment from our favorite pirate, and I hope you love it (also, the timing of it is pure coincidence because I had planned to write it for you before you went and did it yourself yesterday!).
This is unbeta’d, so I apologize for any mistakes!
Summary: Killian’s always been artistically inclined and is something he has passed on to Hope.
He’d had an artistic sort of inclination for as long as he could remember. He could still recall the scraps of paper and bits of charcoal his mother would let him use while she would try and figure out something for supper for him and his brother. That same brother, a handful of years later, stowing away as much parchment as he could so Killian could have something to do besides drink between the grueling hours of slave labor.
It was a small measure to pass the time in Neverland, what little he could actually gauge of time in a place where it didn’t really exist. It even got to a point where almost every inch of his cabin was covered in sketches of all manner of things and people he couldn’t seem to get out of his thoughts during the many sleepless nights only an orphan could know in that accursed land. They’d eventually ended up destroyed in a drunken rage, his hook shredding everything from the likenesses of Liam, Milah, and Bae, to the dark depictions of severed hands and blood-thirsty crocodiles. Still, no amount of rum or anger could keep the itch to sketch it all over again as the centuries trickled by.
Even in the chaos that been much of his life since returning from Neverland for what he had then considered the final time, Killian still had found time here and there to keep the habit alive. Emma had come to cherish the portraits he had done of her before they’d gotten together, and after, as well as the ones of her family and their friends and their not-so-sleepy town in Maine. She stoked his passion in every part of his life, and his art was no exception.
And it was becoming more evident that said passion and inclination for art had passed onto the next in the Jones line. Hope Swan-Jones gravitated towards pencils and paper in much the same way he had as a lad. Her young life was a far cry from the hard one he had managed to scrape his through all those centuries before, but it seemed her desire to get things down in sketches was just as prevalent.
Emma wakes to soft whimpers, little sounds that are precursors to one of Hope’s middle-of-the-night crying jags. A sigh escapes her lips but before she can throw the covers off her legs to climb out of bed, a soft whisper fills the room. “Hush now, little love. Let’s not wake your mother.”
A reach behind Emma proves that her wonderful husband had gotten up at the first sign of Hope’s fussiness. Her heart bursting with love, she blinks her eyes open. Killian lifts Hope out of the bassinet and settles in the rocking chair with her, tenderly singing her a lullaby. To Emma’s surprise, he’s not singing his usual Enchanted Forest tune. No, this time, it’s The Beatles’ “Penny Lane,” a song Emma isn’t even aware he knew.
Little Hope soon drifts back to sleep, comforted by her father’s soft voice. And though Hope has stopped fussing, Killian continues to sing and continues to hold her, smiling down at her perfect little face with all the love he has in his heart.
He runs through the song twice. Only then does he chance standing up and settling Hope back in the bassinet. He stands at the bassinet for a long moment before swiping his fingers across Hope’s little forehead. “Sleep well, little love,” he murmurs.
Only when he turns around does he realize Emma has been watching him. He scratches at his ear, turning a sheepish smile on his wife. “Apologies if we woke you, love. I was trying to let you sleep.”
“It’s perfectly all right,” Emma assures him, her heart lighter than air. God, how did she get so lucky? “You’re wonderful with her. Though, I do have one bone to pick with you.”
“Aye?”
“When the hell did you learn a Beatles song?”
Killian chuckles, climbs back into bed and wraps his arm around her, settling her down with him. “I believe the gentleman on the radio in the Bug called it an ‘oldie.’“
That doesn’t exactly answer her question but it’s oh-dark-hundred and Emma’s too tired to belabor the point. “Mmm. Know any more secret lullabies?”
“Perhaps one or two.”
And know them he does, for Emma drifts back to sleep with the strains of Elvis’ “Can’t Help Falling In Love” murmured into her ear in a soft, accented voice.
Killian let
his body sink into the fluffy cushions of the brown couch. He was a reformed
pirate, but spending an entire day spoiling his five-year-old daughter always
drained the energy out of him. Hope had grown to be a little spitfire, just
like her mother (who was also keen on draining the energy out of him, albeit in
rather different ways). They had spent most of the morning on a treasure hunt
on the docks that he had prepared for her. His little love could have mommy’s
restlessness, but her aptness to find hidden treasure? That was all his.
Lunch had been
the usual hurried affair, with Hope barely chewing the food in her mouth so as
not to waste more of her playing time. Killian and Emma always demanded she sit
and stood still during meals, but the way she occasionally swallowed her food
whole was something they had little control over.
The minute
Killian started doing the dishes, Hope rushed out the door and went straight to
the shed to get her wooden sword. Her sweet request for daddy to join her put a
smile on Killian’s lips as he placed the clean dishes on the dish rack. His
legs were beginning to ache from the treasure hunt, but he ignored the faint tinge
of pain and joined her outside. Everything for his little love. Sword fighting
with him had always been one of Hope’s favorite hobbies, he wouldn’t disappoint
her by telling her daddy was too tired. Perhaps he should be stricter with her
and not spoil her so much. His frequent inability to say ‘no’ to his daughter had
been the source of some arguments between him and Emma over the years, but he
was getting better at it. He was starting to realize that, in order to be a
good father, he couldn’t let Hope do everything she wished all the time. But not
with sword fighting. That would always be the one thing he would never be able
to say “no” to. If Emma was there, she would probably laugh and shake
her head, but it wasn’t like Hope didn’t have his wife wrapped around her little
finger either.
He’s read that skin-to-skin contact with the baby has many positive effects, not just for baby and mom, but for baby and dad as well, so the first day back home, with Emma’s assistance, Killian carefully tucks Hope underneath his t-shirt after she’s been fed and burped properly, her little head cradled comfortably below his chin, and her heart steadying with the rhythm of his. They fall asleep sprawled out on the couch — the three of them — with his arm around Emma and his hand resting against Hope’s back.
cshappybeginning 