Emma sighed in contentment as she stepped beneath the shower head and let the warm, steamy water wash over her. It was cold in Storybrooke. Winter would be here before they knew it. (Just regular, ordinary winter this time, rather than the artificial kind brought on by snow queens).
What a strange life she led, she thought to herself with a chuckle as she began lathering her hair. Up until the final battle two weeks ago, it felt like they never had a dull moment-or really any kind of moment to just be without a new crisis staring them in the face.
The fact was, the last two weeks had just been ordinary, the residents of her town simply going about their everyday lives, living and pursuing their happy endings. In years past, when she'd craved the adrenaline rush of catching and taking down a mark, such a life-a life where the most excitement she normally got at work was dealing with the dwarves pranking each other-would have sounded unbearably dull and boring, but now... Well, now she wouldn't give up her life for anything in this world or any other.
She could hear Killian puttering around the kitchen downstairs, no doubt still trying to make sense of their quick heating box (aka the microwave), and she smiled, feeling the quick rush of love and desire she always felt when she thought of him. She knew they were still in their honeymoon phase (quite literally, as they were only two weeks out from their wedding), and their relationship would inevitably settle into something more comfortable and less fiery, but she was determined to enjoy every last moment of the honeymoon while it lasted. (And truthfully, she couldn't imagine the fire ever truly going out between them.)
After the final battle, when the dust settled and everyone began looking forward to whatever came next, Henry had opted to take his stuff and stay with Regina and Zelena for a few weeks-partly because he wanted to be there for his other mom as she finally had the time to properly grieve Robin, and partly because Emma and Killian's PDA was too much for him to handle.
They'd talked about taking a proper honeymoon-maybe boarding the Jolly Roger and taking her somewhere warm and tropical-but in the end, they decided they'd rather simply stay home and enjoy some peace and quiet-not to mention some sizzling hot alone time.
Thoughts of their latest bout of said sizzling hot alone time filled her mind, and it was enough to make her blush. The things her husband could do with his one hand and hook…
Suddenly, Emma felt a distinctly unpleasant prickling at her neck, a premonition. Something was off. Slowly, she turned around in the shower, the dread pooling in her stomach as she realized what was wrong.
She was not alone.
Killian exclaimed in triumph as he pulled the perfectly heated omelette from the miniature quick heating box. It had taken quite a bit of trial and error-and no small amount of cursing-to get the hang of the modern "convenience", but now that he had, he was more than willing to admit the device's usefulness.
He was just on the point of doing battle with his next kitchen appliance-the toaster-when he heard it: his wife's frantic scream from the direction of their bathroom.
Heart in his throat, Killian clicked on his hook and took the stairs three at a time, adrenaline surging as he tried to guess what horror he might walk in on.
What manner of villain was it who'd made the unutterably stupid decision to attack his wife in their very home? It didn't matter; if that villain had touched a hair on Emma's head, Killian would take great pleasure in forgetting his redemption and sending the bastard to hell where he belonged.
Killian slammed the bathroom door open, taking a fighting stance and looking around for the threat he faced.
His brow furrowed. All he saw was his wife standing just outside the spray of the shower, soapy water dripping from her delectable body onto the linoleum of the bathroom floor.
"Don't just stand there!" she said, voice tight and high pitched. "Kill it!"
Killian followed the direction of her pointing finger, and barked out a laugh. She'd been joined in the shower by a villain, no doubt-but this one was of the eight-legged variety. A spider dangled by a single, delicate string, blinking back at them in apparent confusion.
Still laughing, Killian made quick work of the intruder, smashing the creature with his hook and then sending him to a most noxious, watery grave down the toilet.
"Has my fair maiden any other dragons about who need slaying?" he asked, wiping away tears of laughter.
"Shut up," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at him ferociously. "I've never been a fan of spiders, alright? Anything with that many legs creeps me out."
"Always happy to be of assistance, darling," he chuckled.
"Killian, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll divorce you," she said fiercely.
He leaned in, one arm on the wall on the other side of her head. Slowly he grinned again-sinfully-before closing the distance between them and kissing her senseless. "No, I don't believe you will, love. If you divorce me, who will be around to kill the spiders for you?"
She laughed then, swatting at him playfully. "Would you shut up and let me give you your reward for coming to my rescue?"
His eyebrow quirked in sudden interest. "Aye? And just what might that reward be?"
She leaned in and whispered something in his ear that had him grinning, piquing both his interest and other parts of his anatomy. "You have my word, love. Not a word of this to anyone."
Notes:
-Hi everyone and happy Friday! The muse has been very uncooperative lately, and it seems like I've barely been able to write anything over the last month or two, but then I had a truly terrifying experience and decided it needed to be turned into CS fluff (as nearly everything can be). Yes, that's right. This very scenario happened to me. I was minding my own business one morning while showering, and all of the sudden, I turn around to find myself joined by a spider. Unlike the story, however, I had no handsome one-handed pirate to come to my aid, so naturally, I did the only reasonable thing. I noped out of the shower as quickly as humanly possible, praying the 8-legged menace would be gone the next time I ventured into the bathroom. (What? You didn't think I'd willingly get close enough to the beast to actually kill it, did you?)
-I've long ago learned my lesson not to promise any "up next". I've missed writing fluff, though, and maybe if the muse cooperates I'll write something Thanksgiving related next week to mark the holiday. No promises! (But if you have any holiday related fluffy ideas you'd particularly like to see feel free to send them my way.)