A/N: writing style is a conscious choice, based on the story ughhh robin by Hoovahhoopah.
there is a love in me raging
they've been fucking and fucking and fucking some more. it's been going on for months now. sometimes they shout at each other and other times Regina throws things that fly around her and never really hit her. but mostly they just fuck until they forget they're Emma and Regina and of all the things they should be doing, this isn't one of them.
then there was that one time they didn't fuck or shout. Regina had been tired so the frenzy had turned into something that felt like slow-motion to Emma. it was too much, every single scent and every single touch and Emma was bursting and bursting like her body was no longer enough to contain what lies within. afterwards Regina had been sleepy or perhaps she'd just been so utterly, thoroughly well-fucked that she'd kissed Emma once, twice, with a sweetness so unlike her that time had stood still until Regina had got up and left like she always did.
that was the exact moment Emma Swan fell in love.
after that, everything had gone to hell.
not to Storybrooke. not to Regina and Henry and her parents. not even to Robin and Hook, ignorant bystanders of a story that wasn't theirs to star in.
to Emma. everything had gone to hell to Emma. she's cried more in the past three months than she has in her entire life. she didn't cry this much when she was in prison or after prison, after giving up Henry. she doesn't remember loving Neal hurting this bad. she doesn't remember anything ever hurting this bad because she represses and represses and she tells herself that she's forgotten the pain of never being enough.
but she hasn't because look at her now, fucking Regina almost every night and still not being enough.
sometimes they stop. sometimes Regina is stricken by a flash of common sense and whispers, "we need to end this", Emma's wetness still dripping down her chin, and Emma nods and they stop.
they stop until they stare at each other from across a room for one reason or another and Regina is knocking on her door again, ripping out her clothes and biting her jaw, her fingers fidgeting to find their rightful place between her folds.
(it's Regina who comes back every time. Emma doesn't dare need more than she already does.)
Emma always cries after Regina leaves because this is not what she wants. she doesn't want orgasms and dirty words, she wants orgasms and sweet nothings whispered in her ear. she wants to be able to look at Regina with the love she feels inside instead of having to pretend she feels nothing but annoyance.
Emma wants and wants and wants but she can't have any of it and losing Regina is not an option.
so she cries, her heart breaking into pieces so small she's not sure how she's still able to breathe, her sobs crushing her in the silence of the night.
(it's always at night, a secret so shameful Emma climbs in and out of Regina's bedroom window, or Regina walks in and out of Emma's front door when only them are awake in Storybrooke)
Emma is still jealous of Robin even though he's now together with Marian and they're happy. but she sees the way Regina looks at him, with dreams and longing so clear across her features, and it burns her and slays her.
how can she compete with a soulmate in a world where fairytales are real?
how can Emma ever be enough?
she can't, she can't, she will never be enough.
Henry has Regina and her parents have the baby and Regina has the dream of Robin.
Emma has Hook. or she had, for a while. he'd gazed at her with stars in his eyes and flattering words on his lips and Emma had fallen fast and hard.
it had taken her a little too long to realize she'd fallen for the idea of being enough for someone rather than Hook himself. and then she'd started seeing him, truly seeing him, and it had ached somewhere hidden in the depths of her soul because it wasn't Emma that was enough for Hook - it was the idea of Emma.
this ideal of a blonde, good-hearted Savior, with a kind spirit and villain-taming superpowers.
Emma had let it drag on for some time, because why not? Regina wanted to fuck her and Hook wanted to love her and Emma was inadequate for both.
she'd only put an end to it when she'd noticed that fucking Regina felt like poems read aloud under the spring sun and fucking Hook felt like that song that makes you change the radio station.
Emma wishes she had talent for writing because the mere sight of Regina fills her with all these things she can't explain and she wants to, she so desperately wants to let it out and put words to all this life-changing, over-adoring, all-encompassing, never-ending love she has for Regina.
but Emma's talent might just be fucking so Emma keeps on giving and giving, drowning in the sensation of Regina beneath her and of Regina's hot tongue swirling around her nipple and of the muffled sounds their bodies make together.
Emma simply loves and cries and it doesn't hurt any less, it just keeps on hurting until she doesn't remember a time when she wasn't made of pain and pining and empty fragments of a love unrequited.
it becomes harder to conceal as time goes by. Emma doesn't have it in her anymore so Ruby catches her staring more than once and Henry creases his forehead at the way she blushes when near his mom and Regina tells her, "this is just sex."
not to Emma. to Emma it's so much more than sex she can't quite measure what more means anymore.
that's why these days there's almost as much shouting as there is fucking. Emma shouts of pixie lies and evil deeds and hearts that don't feel and Regina shouts of pirates and running and walls too high.
they shout until they kiss greedily, hungrily, and they're naked again, in tune with one another in the only thing they do that it's theirs.
it's always over too soon and Regina's nudity is as fickle as a memory, a present that is given but taken away.
whatever it is they're doing, it's bound to end in catastrophe. or maybe Emma is just craving for the catastrophe to come because she can't take it anymore.
she doesn't know. and it isn't conscious on her part when she's the one to bring about the disaster.
it's Regina's fault really, for being so good at fucking and so fucking easy to love. Emma comes and hugs Regina tight and the whisper is out on a whim, a ragged breath of hope and despair.
"I love you"
Regina jumps out of bed, a shirt covering her chest, and Emma would find it funny if it didn't hurt so much, like she's drowning in Regina's panic and burning in her rejection.
her heart is half the size it used to be and she's so damn tired that she gives up.
she gives up on herself and on Regina. most of all, she gives up on her feelings. she gets up and she's naked and she doesn't care.
she just screams and screams and throws every single object she finds, not even bothering to aim at Regina because that's not the point.
she has too much inside and it never comes out. it never did. this is years and years of everything exploding and Emma can't even see that her room is a mess and that she finally hit Regina with something and that Regina looks terrified.
she screams and shouts until she loses her voice and she starts crying.
Regina doesn't leave. Regina gets dressed and sits next to her, holds her until the sobs ebb away. it's embarrassing and humiliating and Emma feels so heavy in her arms.
she was always able to bear anything but pity so she asks Regina to go and she flinches when Regina seems hesitant, something clinking in her hand.
"you hit me with your keys"
"take them"
Emma thinks Regina would have preferred to fight her and insult her, a flashing show of rage and indignation, but there's no fight left in Emma, she just lies down and stares at the ceiling.
Regina leaves and the front door closing sounds like the end of the world.
"you already took everything else"
A/N: title from the song alegria, by cirque du soleil (ironic, I know)