TO BE IN THE HANDS OF A VILLAIN IS ONE THING ; to be in the hands of a woman who has done so much damage to the savior & her family is another ; but to know those same hands —— the ones that can so easily slip poison & rip out beating hearts & cast curses that destroy lives —— also belong to the woman who holds some long deserted part of the saviors heart ? DANGER DANGER DANGER ! irreparable danger. the kind that either leads to death or things emma can’t even begin to dream up.
A LIFE WITH REGINA MILLS. the evil queen. her lover , in this hypothetical future. what would that look like ? cuddling on the sofa while henry does his homework on the ground ; cooking dinner together , sharing recipes & tips ; slipping into a bed no longer kept cold on one side. PEACEFUL. loving. so far out of reach.
the hand wrapped around her jaw does bring some rigidity to the savior ——– but there’s also TRUST in her judgement to not dislodge her. if regina wanted her dead , would it really be through choking her out on a beach ? no , no , it would be a spectacle of torture. this was a show of intimacy. in regina’s own way , at least. all claws & fangs hiding the girl she’d once been.
the hand goes to emma’s throat & something STIRS in her ——— something entirely unholy. fear should be there , but emerald eyes can do nothing but look upon the brunette with perhaps a bit too much eagerness , lips parting in anticipation for the cut off of air. her gaze dares her ———– dig your claws in ; who really needs to breathe ?
when a kiss comes instead , emma’s caught off guard. she’s not unused to kisses like this —– the were possessive & demanding & clearly a fight for dominance. not the fairy sweet , true love kisses storybrooke sang about. WHAT WAS THIS EXACTLY ?
her footing is quickly regained as she leans into the witches hand , neutral lips moving easily with the pace the queen sets. emma goes as far as to nibble on the queens lower lip & pull it out in a pout. & in a swift movement , she’s rolled herself on top of the queen as they both fall back , thighs straddling her waist. sitting up , she grins , proud of herself as she arranges her hair over one shoulder ; then just swiftly , shes dipped down , catching regina’s lips in a deep kiss. to remind her of the compromise made between them , she finds one of regina’s hands & moves to pin it beside regina’s head , emma’s fingers intertwined with regina’s so she can hold her hand tightly. one hand on the leash , one hand free.
emerald eyes meet chocolate , studying her there in the sand. a wry smile curves her lips. she won’t hold any upper ground for long. ❛ you look nice from this angle. ❜ a playful grin , nose nudging the queen’s. ❛ i look better on top. ❜ to accentuate her point , she sheds her jacket , leaving her in a tank top and jeans ; her muscular arms are on full display as she stretches her arms above her head to crack her back. one they’re back down , she leans back over the queen , one hand planting in the sand by her head while the other rests , palm down , over regina’s heart. ❛ THAT OLD THING BACK IN THERE YET ? ❜ she leans down , pressing her ear over the spot instead.
Regina doesn’t know how to feel. Emma kisses her back, makes a show of it. Leaves Regina breathless, powerless ——— too AFRAID to put Emma in her place, to tell her to: stop, THIS IS MY SHOW.
But she’s not the evil queen here; she’s only a mother trying to hold onto her son, kissing a woman she doesn’t deserve. That conscious again, ticking on the end of her nerves, making her remember the horrible things she’s done, the way the cursed scroll had crumbled to ash in her hand as she sacrificed & sacrificed & gave everything she had. Now she’s got it back— one stradling her waist and the other playing video games in Snow’s loft, but it doesn't feel right, doesn't feel like how she left it.
Play nice, Regina thinks. Play nice, she begs herself as her back meets the ground, her perfectly set hair mingling with loose sand. BE NICE, BE OPEN, BE LOVING. Be anything but the woman who wants to shove Emma Swan off her, plunge her hand in that hollow chest and steal that pure heart away. This isn’t who Regina sold herself to be, and God be damned she won’t be returned because she’s a little damaged just as the saviour starts kissing her.
An ear to her chest, her heart thumping against her ribcage. A heart, so personal and tragic. So weak when it wants to be. ❝ It’s there, ❞ she says. Doesn’t elaborate on when she took it out, doesn’t ask when Emma came to know. Regina lies there in the sand, her lips tingling, a weight on her chest. Something within her stills, BECOMES MATERNAL. Emma smells like Henry ( not her perfume, not her shampoo, not the sea breeze sticking to her skin), it’s in their blood. In the way they both settle atop her, seeking somethng more than she can give.
What a sobering, pathetic thought. To feel more comforable mothering the saviour than kissing her. Regina wraps her arms around Emma’s back, tugs her closer, presses their bodies so tightly together that Emma wouldn’t be able to leave if she wanted to. She’d stay here in the sand, embraced by Regina, any thought of New York squashed between them. ( But she was invited, summonded to be a family. And how much power would she lose then ? How much of Just Regina can she handle before everything begins to fail ? )
❝ The next time you attempt to tackle me in public, the consequences will be so dire, Henry will have only one parent. ❞ Now there’s a thought. MURDER. An old friend ——— wake me up! ——— Regina releases Emma, pulls her hands away as if burnt. ❝ Now get. off. me. ❞