Disclaimer: None of the OUAT characters are mine.

A/N: This is the first of a two-parter. I was originally going to keep it all together, but it got to a point where I basically started writing a oneshot within a oneshot and decided to separate them. I've done a variation of this idea before and thought it could work here. This one is from Emma's perspective and features some father/daughter fluff and later, some Captain Swan heat. Because as much as I love writing devoted Daddy Killian, I felt like I've been kind of neglecting CS so I wanted to give them more attention. And I figure a little CS heat doesn't hurt. So ladies and gentlemen, we have a rating change. The end of this part has nothing on part 2, assuming I can work up the nerve to post it. But I still feel like this best falls under the M rating. It seems a little much for T to me. This one took me a bit out of my comfort zone, so keep that in mind. Thanks for reading!

Rating: M

Emma was humming as she tidied up her desk at the Sheriff Station. It didn't matter how neat she might try to keep it, sooner or later her desk would become littered by stacks of papers needing to be sorted. She could live with the mess for a time, but always reached a point where it got to be too much.

She had officially reached that point.

She'd been out on patrol that morning and then had been spending the afternoon at the station while Killian went out on patrol. Mary Margaret was watching the girls for them. Since the afternoon had been such a quiet one, she'd decided she might as well take advantage of it. She'd put on some music to help make the time pass; Clara's love for music had inspired Emma to listen to it more often. Not just to listen to it more, but to listen to more kinds of it.

This habit seemed to come with a few rather interesting side effects. Humming along was one. If the song especially struck her fancy, she'd progress from humming to singing. And if she was really into a song? She'd start dancing along. But only if she was alone.

The song stuck in her head at the moment? "The Shoop Shoop Song (It's In His Kiss)" by Betty Everett. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually heard it before today, but somehow it'd been in her head soon after waking up that morning. It'd been there most of the day and so she'd gone with it and had it playing on repeat.

Now as she hummed to herself as she worked, she found herself thinking about her husband. More specifically, about his kisses. One of the things she loved most about Killian was how he expressed his love in all kinds of different ways. And yes, one of them was in the way he kissed.

For there were a lot of different ways that Killian Jones kissed. Different kinds of kisses for different kinds of situations. Emma smiled as she thought about them all.

Starting with the most innocent.

There were the kisses of greeting and of farewell. These were generally short and accompanied by an exaggerated smacking sound. On this particular morning, Killian had left the house at the crack of dawn to check on some things on the Jolly Roger and had returned home while they were having breakfast.

He'd been in good spirits. It was a beautiful day and his ship was in good working order and now he was back home with his girls for a little while before heading to the Sheriff station. "Good morning, my girls!" he'd said, cheerfully. "My sweet Catalina," he'd added, leaning down to kiss the top of Catalina's head as she was the closest.

"My beautiful wife." He'd kissed Emma at the cheek before heading to the opposite side of the table where Clara was eating her cereal. "And my darling Clara." A kiss to the top of her head. Spotting Jolly laying on the table next to her bowl, he'd even gone as far to pick the duck up and place a kiss on its head as well. "And a good morning to you, Jolly my good duck."

"Daddy, you're silly," Catalina had giggled.

"What, you wouldn't expect me to slight our duck companion, now would you?" He asked, shooting Clara a wink. "Perish the thought."

Next there were the kisses of comfort, the ones given to soothe his girls. These kisses lingered a bit longer and were much softer.

They were the ones given after an injury. Like when Catalina had somehow managed to pinch her finger while closing her closet door a few days ago. She'd come downstairs crying and after taking a minute to examine it, Killian had determined that it wasn't broken. Just a little scraped. He'd cleaned the wound and stuck a bandaid on it, placing a kiss on top of it.

"There," he'd smiled at her. "All patched up."

"Thank you, Daddy," she'd returned the smile as he brushed away the last lingering tears on her cheeks.

"You're welcome, lass." He'd then kissed her forehead. "Just be a little more careful, alright?"

These were also the kinds of kisses that he would give when he had his wife or one of his daughters or any combination thereof cuddled up against his side. Sometimes they were given for no reason other than he just felt like bestowing his affection on the Jones woman in question. Of course, in those instances when he had one on either side, kisses would have to be given to them both.

They were the kisses he gave whenever any of his girls was afraid. The other night Clara'd had a nightmare that had seemed to stick with her all of the next day. When asked if she'd wanted to talk about it, she'd said no. Emma had tried again while working the tangles out of Clara's hair after her bath to no avail.

Though Clara had asked for Killian after Emma had gotten her in bed and Emma had smiled as she said she'd get him. Killian had been sitting with Catalina in her room telling her a story when Emma interrupted them; it'd been time for Catalina's bath anyway. She'd told Killian that his presence had been requested in Clara's room and he'd given her a sad smile as he told her that he'd try to see if he could get her to open up.

When Emma had checked on them after finishing Catalina's bath and getting her tucked into bed, Clara was curled up against his side while Killian finished telling her a story. "Alright, lass, I think it's time for you to get some sleep." He'd kissed the top of her head and started to get up.

"No!" Clara had exclaimed, startling both of her parents. "Don't leave me!" She'd clutched onto the front of his shirt, catching his necklace in the process.

"Hey, hey, look at me," he'd frowned, bringing his hand to her cheek. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"I don't want you to go! And I don't want to go to sleep either," she'd told him.

"Why not? Because of your dream last night?" A sad sigh had escaped his lips when she didn't answer. "Darling, are you sure you don't want to talk about it? You don't have to if you really don't want to, but it might make you feel better."

"My monsters..." She'd begun, but stopped.

"Did they hurt you, sweetheart?" He'd asked, gently.

"Not me." Clara had lowered her gaze from his. "You."

"Me?" He'd been surprised. "You dreamt that your monsters hurt me?" She'd nodded, still refusing to meet his eyes. "Look at me. Come on, love, look at me." She had, slowly, and he'd given her a small smile. "I'm alright. See? Your monsters didn't really hurt me." He'd brushed his thumb over her cheek. "Tell you what. How about I stay here with you until you fall asleep?"

"Would you?" She asked, her voice small.

"Of course I would, lass. Come now." He'd guided her head to his shoulder and started gently stroking her hair. "It'll be alright. I'm right here." He'd pressed his lips to the top of her head. "Rest now. Daddy's here."

Emma had lingered in the doorway watching Clara and Killian for a while. Watched as Clara's eyes began to droop as she slowly fell asleep wrapped safely in her father's arms. He'd placed another kiss against her hair. "I love you, my darling girl," he'd said softly and Emma watched as a faint smile appeared on their daughter's face.

In Emma's opinion, there were few things that felt better than being wrapped up in her husband's arms and feeling him press a gentle kiss to the top of her head or her temple or forehead. Evidently their daughters felt the same way.

She'd lost count of how many times she'd witnessed a scene like this. If any of Killian's girls wanted to be held, he would hold them. Even if they were sick and likely contagious.

Like when a stomach bug had worked its way through the family a couple of months ago. Emma and Clara had been the first to go down. Catalina had been next and for whatever reason, it had seemed to hit her the hardest. Killian had somehow managed to avoid it.

At least until Catalina had been up late one night because she kept getting sick. Killian had offered to stay up with her since Emma, while much better, was still on the mend. When Emma had woken up early the next morning, she'd found Catalina asleep in her exhausted father's arms. It'd been a long night for them both.

There'd mercifully been a point when Catalina had stopped throwing up, but had still felt too yucky to get much sleep. Killian had been rubbing her back soothingly, occasionally kissing the top of her head as he murmured words of comfort to her as Emma had come in.

It hadn't been until later when Emma and Clara had finally felt up to eating a full meal that Killian had ended up rushing to the bathroom to get sick. And so went down the last member of the family, Henry having wisely avoided their house during this time and thus managing to avoid getting sick.

Catalina had felt bad about Killian getting sick, thinking that it'd been her fault since he'd been up with her. He'd told her that if he'd known he was going to end up getting sick, he would've stayed up with her anyway. Because she'd needed him and that made it worth it. And besides, he'd been lucky to avoid it as long as he had.

Of course, not all of Killian's kisses were innocent. Some were quite the opposite. And Emma reveled in the knowledge that these kisses were reserved for her and her alone. Oh, she knew that Killian had kissed several women over the course of his long life. Bedded who knew how many over that time.

Emma hated to admit it, but every once in a while she would find herself start to get jealous whenever she thought about it. Hated admitting it because it always pissed her off. Oh, not because he'd been with those women, but that it would bother her. Even if it was only in the slightest amount.

Because it didn't matter. Killian was hers now, had been ever since that fateful trip up the beanstalk years before. She'd never doubted his faithfulness to her. Not once. He'd never given her a reason to. That had been one of the things that had scared her the most about him in the beginning. The fact that he was so certain that she was who he belonged with. These days she was grateful for that fact. Grateful that he'd never given up on her.

So now his kisses, the ones that were the opposite of innocent, belonged to her and her alone. If anything, she should thank the women he'd been with before because they'd taught him some things. They'd taught him a number of things, in fact.

Suffice it to say, Killian Jones could kiss. The kisses reserved for his wife covered a lot of bases. There were the sweet kisses. The ones that were soft and even delicate. The ones that filled her body with a gentle warmth that made her feel so incredibly loved and cherished and safe and protected.

But her husband could also turn on the heat whenever he felt like it. It could be a slow burn or a raging inferno, depending on what kind of mood he was in. It was tough to say which Emma preferred, especially since a lot of times it depended on her mood too.

There was something to be said for the slow burn. Those long, slow and deep kisses intended purely to seduce. The kinds of kisses that Emma never wanted to end because they felt so good. They were those all-consuming kinds of kisses that were somehow never enough. The kisses that made her melt into him and turned her brain into mush. Until the only thing she could think about was his mouth and the way it moved against hers. The way his body felt against hers.

He would kiss her like they had all the time in the world, like there was nothing else that he'd rather be doing. And when those kisses slowly drifted from her mouth to tease that sensitive spot just under her ear that he knew drove her crazy, well, that could just about drive her to the point of madness. Especially when he lingered right on that spot as he was prone to do.

Lingered there before drifting down her neck and along her collarbone. Those kisses that made his name come out of her lips on a sound that was half sigh and half moan. The slow burn was delicious and maddening at the same time. He would work his way down her body slowly, torturing them both. She'd find herself torn between not wanting him to stop and wanting him to put them both out of their misery.

Of course, this slow torture made that moment when he finally - finally - eased into her that much sweeter. Though, truth be told, it was tough for them to actually keep up the slow pace to get to that point. Easier for him, she thought, since he could be so infuriatingly patient. She was usually the first one to break and she knew that he delighted in those moments.

Those moments when he'd gotten her so worked up and so impatient that she'd roll them over and take him inside her, riding him until they both peaked. But sometimes she'd resist the urge. It took a concentrated effort on her part, but it was always worth it.

Worth it to wait until he slid himself into her inch by tortuous inch until he filled her completely. Worth it to let him keep the pace slow and sensual for as long as possible. Those orgasms were by far the sweetest. These were the moments when she felt the closest to Killian. When it felt like they truly become one in every way possible. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually. Yeah, those moments made all the torture worth it. More than worth it even.

Of course, Emma had absolutely no complaints about the raging inferno either. None whatsoever. Because the truth was that as romantic and beautiful as the slow burn was, sometimes she just got a craving for him that couldn't wait. Sometimes she needed him and she needed him as soon and as fast as possible. And vice versa. A smile crept across Emma's face as she thought about the last time that had happened.