captainstudmuffin:

Hope has had him wrapped around her tiny, perfect finger from the moment she came screeching into the world, but the first time he hears her laugh — so unbridled and full of glee — Killian is overcome by the swell of emotion in his chest, and he swears he would move heaven and earth just to hear the sweet sound again. He damn near does, between playing peek-a-boo and making some of the most absurd noises a three hundred plus year-old man can make. He wears things on his head and puts food on his face and blows raspberry kisses to her rounded belly and the bottoms of her chubby feet, all to Hope’s endless delight.

“She adores you, you know,” Emma comments one day, watching them play while she finishes folding their laundry.

He’s sprawled out on his belly on the floor of the living room, Hope giggling and grabbing at his nose.

“Well, the feeling is quite mutual,” he smiles, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes before releasing the air trapped in his mouth and making their daughter squeal at the noise it creates.

Emma places the last bib on the top of the pile and hefts the basket against her hip. She crouches down low when she passes by them to kiss at the top of his head. “I adore you too.”

Killian tilts his face up to hers. “That feeling is also mutual.”

That earns him a soft peck against his lips and a grin as pretty as Hope’s. Eager for another kiss, he catches her ankle with his hook before she can fully stand, and all it takes is one sharp tug to send her off balance and tumbling into his arms. The basket tips in the process and, to Emma’s dismay, all of their clean laundry winds up on the floor.

“Killian!” It’s part cry, part annoyance but mostly laughter as she lands in his lap with a solid ‘oof.’

Hope bursts into another fit of giggles and Killian glances over at her curiously, his brow arched high. He digs his fingers into Emma’s ribs, at the precise spot he knows she’s ticklish, and she jerks against him, her laugh even louder this time while she attempts to scramble away, and as he suspected it might, Hope loves the sound and responds in kind, her own grin gummy and wide, and her chortling boisterous enough to rival Emma’s.

The slow smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth is dangerous with the newfound knowledge he’s aquired. It takes Emma a beat to catch on, her gaze flitting back and forth between he and Hope, but by the time she does, it’s too late, and before she can even protest, he’s tickling her again and blowing raspberries against the curve of her neck.

Their home, already filled with love and messy, perfect bits of life — newly washed clothes on the floor, Hope’s toys in every nook and cranny, leather jackets strewn over the backs of chairs and couches, boots mismatched and misaligned by the front door, keys in the fruit bowl in the kitchen, stacks of unopened mail on the counter and unwashed dishes in the sink — fills with wild, exuberant laughter, too, and Killian wouldn’t have it any other way.