A/N: Here's some more of the thing. Enjoy.
Disclaimers: remains the same.
Chapter 3
Once upon a time there was a dear young woman. She was loved by everyone who looked at her. But she was loved most of all by her grandmother.
That unconditional kind of love. The kind that could only ever exist between the different generations of kin. Granny had given her granddaughter everything. And Red had taken it. All the good. All the bad. A full moon curse. And a Red Velvet cloak to counter it.
And nothing in this world would ever suit her more.
She was a child of the moon. A changeling that regularly took the form of a large black wolf. It was a part of her. So much so, that even after 28 years of living without it under a dark witch's curse, it still managed to manifest in parts of her false identity. She had her own past. Her own curse. Her own story. That ended with her eating the only person she'd ever loved. Because no matter how much you feed the wolf, it always hungered. And no cloak or life-altering dark curse could ever change that.
She was Ruby Lucas. But she was also Little Red Riding Hood. And still to this day, the lines between those two remained categorically blurred.
Wait. Why am I doing this again? Why am I wasting so much time describing someone who is not – and will never be – the main character of this story?
I mean, yeah, she has a really cool red hood.
And sure, she has an unbelievably tragic backstory.
And ok. She even has the whole "transforms into a powerful magical creature whenever she wants to" thing going for her like this was one of those trashy teen romance novels we all like to pretend that we don't enjoy reading.
All of which, combined, create quite the compelling tale. But this isn't one of those trashy teen romance novels. And this story isn't about Little Red Riding Hood.
So why was this even written? Why did you read it?
You do realize that by doing so, we've opened up this entire chapter to a plague of smarmy gimmicks.
I mean, Ew!
(*flicks the pages around wildly as if it might get rid of the disease)
(*but ends up flicking that shit everywhere around me – including on the rest of my story – instead)
This really is a disaster. How am I supposed to make the entirety of this story make any cohesive sense?
How am I supposed to make "Ruby being at the harbor at the exact moment Regina had been cast away from death after having tried to kill herself" make sense?
Because they aren't friends. They've never been even remotely close. It's not like I can say something convenient like "oh, Red's always been super fond of water" or "the harbor was on her way to or from work." Because then?
I'd be lying to you.
And if I said something as obviously false as "Regina asked her to be there," you'd probably just close out of this story entirely. Because you and I both know that there is no way in hell Regina Mills would ever ask anyone to partake in a moment as vulnerable as this, much less ask Ruby fucking Lucas.
So why is she here? Who sent her? What is happening?
Ruby plops down next to Regina on the dock to stare up at the late evening sky in — I don't know, a show of solidarity?
The uninvited joint torment between the two is a dangerous swirl of violet and red. And it happens inside Regina. But also outside of her, on the horizon, where the water meets the sky. An innermost line separating one celestial body from a physical one that has long since happened. Things make sense from that angle. With the blackness of the early evening sky watching over them through a billion twinkling eyes.
There's a local trawler tied to the dock next to them. And they both ignore the shadow of the rope swinging back and forth over Regina's head like the second hand on a clock.
20 minutes pass.
Regina hasn't said a word. The air is thick with salt and animosity. As the wind from the ocean pushes at her with a gentle encouragement, smoothing the baby fine hairs at her temples.
"What are you doing?" She tries to keep her voice casual and businesslike – something familiar. But it trembles ever so slightly. In the way that Ruby's wolf hearing could easily pick up. So strangely unfamiliar to her that she would do anything she could to bring some piece of the old Regina back.
"Funny. I thought that would be pretty clear. Same as you, I guess."
If it was so funny, then why wasn't she laughing?
Regina turns her head towards the other woman to ask. A "but why, Ms. Lucas" on the very tip of her tongue. But the words never leave her lips.
Because at the place where Ruby's hood meets the top of her head, there is a halo of fog. Like a thick crown of darkness pointing upwards towards the very heavens that had willed its existence. And this startles Regina. Even though it's faint enough in the haze of the oceanside evening air that she has to squint to be sure it's really there.
It is.
She doesn't know what it is. Has never seen anything like it before. But what she did know is that whatever it was, it was none of her business.
She had enough of her own problems to worry about without adding those of a person who isn't even considered an acquaintance. So she does what anyone in her position would do. She turns her head back towards the sky and ignores it entirely. Ignores Ruby entirely. Caving in on herself once again with the weight of an unwanted life on her shoulders.
And for the next hour they just lie there. Nothing but 6 inches of cool salty air between them. On the dock. Without another word.
But something had changed between them.
Oh.
Now I see why Little Red Riding Hood is here.
She had passed the harbor on her way to Emma's apartment. In a way that is purely coincidental, but funny nonetheless, it should be noted that she was, in fact, bringing a "basket of goodies" to cheer the woman up. Though it should also be mentioned that by "goodies" she meant alcohol. And various other items of a debauched nature much too inappropriate for a children's fairy tale.
As she passed the harbor she saw what she thought was a dead person lying on the docks. So, she did what any good citizen would do and turned around. Unsure whether or not her eyes had deceived her. But sensible enough to know that if there was actually a dead body in Storybrooke, she owed it to the person and their family to investigate and notify the appropriate sources. She couldn't just leave a dead body lying around after all.
Only as she got closer, she discovered that there was, in fact, a person there. But they weren't dead at all – at least, not in the physical sense.
And for the very first time, Ruby saw a sort of kindred spirit in someone else. A person who was no longer the darkness of their past but who hadn't quite figured out where exactly they fit in outside of that and how to deal with it. And she related to that. More than most things. So you can only imagine the conflict that arose inside her when she identified that "dead but not really dead" person to be Regina. One part of her wanted to leave. But the other part of her, much like the one that couldn't just leave a dead body lying around, couldn't.
Now, she wouldn't exactly call what she'd been doing up until now "good" coping. But at least she had people that were there for her. Even if they didn't understand or really help in any meaningful way. At least they were there. And sometimes that's all a person really needed. Is for someone to just be there. With them. So they don't have to be alone with themselves. Because she knew better than most that the worst person to be with when you had the kind of dark history that they did was yourself.
She didn't know if she could be that for Regina. But life had taught her that even the worst of souls deserved to have someone at least try.
So she did. And to her surprise, Regina let her.
We often times like to forget that villains are not born, they are made. The only thing that can unmake them is the same thing that drove them to become a monster in the first place. And no matter how much they change, no matter how much they try to grow and do better, they keep that thing locked away in the deepest underground vaults of their mind. Keep it entombed like a shameful secret. As they feed it through the cracks in the door out of some grievous sense of penance. Just enough to keep it alive. And yet it still comes to them in moments of weakness. Like an instinct. Their one true source of shame and panic.
This was a terrible allegory for whatever is on the other side. Regina wished with everything in her that she could go down to that vault, conjure up a fireball, throw it at the head of whatever the hell is down there, and then walk away, never looking back.
But that would never happen. Because the thing in that vault? It's just thoughts. A million little lights in the dark. Memories. Of all those faces and all those names, all that laughter and screaming and scheming. Recorded in her. Forever. On videotape. Spinning. And spinning.
It replays so often now that she just has to ask, am I dreaming?
No. She's not dreaming.
She's a rewind girl at the video rental store. Spending her summer resetting all those returned tapes back to the beginning. At the great, never ending Blockbuster in her head. The click. The scratching. The endless replay experience. Spinning until it's on empty. On and on it goes, even hours after there's nothing left to rewind. The first time she kissed him. The last time. A betrayal. The heart in her mother's hand, the crown being placed on her head, her father's heart in her own hand, the casting of the dark curse, the breaking, all the faces: turning, changing, accusing.
It's the world, my darling. And she is made of it. Every day she spends out there living, she makes more of herself from it. So as much as she may want to, she can't be unmade now. Because she has been sentenced to live by death itself. And as long as she does, she will never forget all that shit.
The wind picks up. The silence on the water is broken all around them, with little drifts of waves breaking through.
She will never forget.
It's closing in on 8:30 pm when she arrives home.
Empty wine bottle in hand, she heads to the kitchen to place it in recycling with another empty liquor bottle and various cardboard egg cartons. Good choice. Empty wine bottle and various cardboard egg cartons welcome her back, invitingly.
She looks around and sees a large mixing bowl with remnants of yeast stuck to it and a cutting board with dozens of broken egg shells clustered around. Large mixing bowl with remnants of yeast and cutting board with dozens of broken egg shells welcome her back, uninvitingly. And as much as it bothered her to stare at it now, she couldn't find the energy in her to actually clean any of it up. Already this smells like the wrong choice.
So, despite not having the energy to do so, she picks up the cutting board and disposes of the eggshells in the trashcan. Then places the cutting board and the mixing bowl in the empty sink, running some water over them to provide at least the illusion of cleanliness.
"That will have to do until tomorrow," she says quietly to no one.
Only, when she turns around, it's not no one there.
A strange entity sits atop her counter, running it's finger through the dusting of flour that had gathered from her earlier baking spree.
"What the hell are you?" She says. And there's real anguish in her voice. A drunken sadness suddenly engulfing her once more.
A wide smile spreads across the entity's face. So wide that the ends of its mouth almost touch the start of its red horns. A snake-like tongue darting out to lick at the blue grey skin of its chin.
Though, before it says anything, there's a long pause. As if it's taking the time to really think through it's answer to that question.
Is this woman really able to handle the truth? Because the narrative she's spent her entire life building for herself. It's in dire need of dismantling. And most people – when someone this drastically different appears – would typically react a little stronger to its presence and the unknown. They would scream. They would run. But Regina? She's just standing there blankly. Squeezing on a pendant around her neck too tight. So tight that the entity can smell a drop of blood forming in her palm.
That was not the tell of someone who could handle the truth. But maybe she was one of those women that needed to hear it anyway.
"I am Asmodeus," it replies, long sharp fingernails glistening in the light as they tap against the glaucous skin of its bare chest, "Let's see, what realm are we in again? Ah, yes. Earth. I believe here I am most commonly referred to as the 'demon prince' or one of the 'kings of hell.'"
The way the soft 'c' in the word "prince" draws from its mouth with an unhurried ease has a forked tongue flicking out as if it were trying to taste her reaction in the air.
She's so tense it's a miracle she hasn't snapped in half yet. But that wasn't anything new. And therefore had nothing to do with the demon sitting before her.
"Though the afterlife is not even remotely close to what you creatures have made it out to be. What is it? My looks? Would you prefer an angel? Because I can go put in a request if you'd like. But just know, they are far more terrifying than me. All those eyes. And the rings."
Asmodeus cringes.
Regina's eyes narrow.
"Why are you here?" She asks.
"Well, how to put this…When you died, the Gods didn't take too kindly to the fact that you had taken it upon yourself to bring about your own end."
It's talking about suicide. About how she had tried to kill herself. There is no way to say it that would be putting it more delicately than this.
"It makes them feel like they aren't in control, you see. And you know how Gods can be. Standard protocol for situations like these is to send a guide to assist said being through what we like to call 'the second chance process.'"
"So I attempt to kill myself. And in the court of death am sentenced to live instead. And they what? Send me a fairy-god-demon?"
"We're actually called D.I Specialists or Divine Intervention Specialists. But if it helps you to use a more outdated and frankly rather offensive term, that's fine too. It's not like I spent the last 5 centuries obtaining a graduate level degree in Human Interests as a way to earn this title, but whatever. I'm a self-righteous fly who thinks only I know what's best for you. I throw glitter dirt in your face and delude you into believing all your wishes have come true. That's just fine."
"Mr. Asmodeus–"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. First off, I am a genderless entity. Do not subjugate me to the icky sticky poo poo of your nonsense gender identities. They are childish and silly and I want no part in them. Though, I've come to understand that your little human brains tend to struggle with this. So, if you must refer to me – and only if you absolutely must – there will be no titles. And you may only do so in they/them appropriate terms. Second of all, you and me? We're a team. A synchronous unit. Which means we're practically family now. So please, you have to call me Az."
"Mr. Asmod–"
"Ah, Ah!" They cut her off.
She tries again.
"Mr. –"
"Nope."
Realizing that the demon won't let her speak until she cooperates with the rules put in place, she arches an eyebrow and sighs, "Az…" They allow her to continue with a merciful smile, "I appreciate a good employee who follows protocol as much as the next person. But I assure you, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and am in no need of your assistance. Or possession? Whatever it is you plan on doing to – as you so put it – 'guide' me."
"Oh, 'Gina, 'Gina, 'Gina – can I call you 'Gina?"
"No."
"Look, 'Gina. I'm aware that you currently reside in America. Land of the 'free' and whatnot. And before then you were the queen of your own realm. So this might be somewhat difficult for you to understand, but this isn't really one of those 'you get a say in whether or not this goes down' kind of consultations. I'm here as your D.I Specialist. I do not take that title lightly. And I will not rest until my job here has been completed."
Just like everything else in her life so far. This, she realizes, is a losing battle.
"I've lost my mind."
She leans into her palm that's resting heavily on the kitchen counter next to the Demon's tail.
"Oh, come now," Az croons, "there there, little darkling duck. All will work out as it should. No need to self-consciously wallow in your own angst."
The spaded tip of the demon's tail taps at her shoulder haphazardly. The entity clearly uncomfortable with human displays of emotion.
DING DONG!
The doorbell rings.
Regina snaps around with surprising speed. Frustration buzzing beneath her skin as she releases the loudest and longest groan. She was in the middle of going crazy and the last thing she needed right now was company. But whoever is on the other end of that doorbell doesn't care.
DING DONG!
When she finally gets up and trudges to her entryway, she pulls the front door open — not on the third but, the fourth ring.
The first thing she sees is Ruby Lucas sporting a big friendly smile and a large bottle of Johnnie Walker blue. Because of course she does. Because for whatever reason Little Red Riding Hood thinks she's the hero of this story. Just because she didn't leave Regina for dead on the docks. And really? Why does Ruby have an almost $300 bottle of whiskey anyways? To what lengths did she go to even get that?
Okay. Pause for a sec.
Let me just clarify, so that this is not misunderstood or misinterpreted. I have nothing against Ruby. I like Ruby. As a person and a main character. I even think Little Red Riding Hood deserves to be explored in far more depth and with more attention to detail than anyone else has given her thus far.
I mean, duh. She has a certain level of importance here. Clearly. Since this is the third time she's been thrown right into the middle of the big bad wolf's den. No pun intended.
I lied to you. Pun very much intended.
You may laugh now.
Okay. That's enough. Stop laughing.
This is the part where we get serious again.
This here? This is me expressing my disapproval of the woman's blatant interjection into my story without my permission. A story, might I add, that is not even about her. But that she keeps trying to turn into Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Evil Queen.
Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be telling a story. A story you've planned and mapped and thought through thoroughly. Fully prepared to tell that tale. Only to then go off on a tangent about some unrelated side character—
Oh. I see what I've done here.
I apologize. I'm digressing again. Letting the gimmick spread like the disease that it is. No more. This ends here and now. Consider this the cure.
(*presses play)
The second thing Regina sees is Emma Swan. With some form of apology lingering in her eyes and a six pack of bud light.
"Wow. Now she is a looker, huh?" Az praises from her shoulder, the words buzzing in the former Evil Queen's ear, "With those arms. And those shoulders? Sculpted like a god hidden under that leather jacket. I bet she could hold a girl up against the wall and show her a thing or two or three or four. Several, several times in a row."
The words tickle at something inside Regina. Something that makes her squirm. Something, she thinks, that has to be stopped immediately before it has the opportunity to spread.
"Could you not!?" She shrieks. Hoping no one had heard the demon.
Her guests had not. They just stare back at her through the open doorway as if the Evil Queen had just sentenced them all to death.
Az whispers behind one of their clawed little hands. Keeping the words private. From a group of people that didn't seem like they'd heard them to begin with, "Yeah. Forgot to mention. They can't see or hear me."
Regina demonstratively suppresses a world-weary sigh. Because of course she would have an imaginary fairy-god-demon that no one else could see or hear sitting on her shoulder and telling her how to run her life. That was probably the most on brand thing that had happened to her yet. The only thing that could make it even more on brand at this point would be if the demon ended up actually being her mother. Which she hasn't ruled out entirely yet.
"Um…okay," Emma says, trying to cut through the tension, "We didn't mean to stop by without notice. Ruby said she saw you at the docks earlier and you were all alone. And you seemed like maybe you could use some company. And I just thought – well I don't really know what I thought –"
"Oh you should definitely let her in," Az interrupts. Clapping with an overall enthusiasm that is completely lost on Regina, but that had successfully distracted her from whatever else the blonde continued to say.
She wants to tell the demon no. That letting these people in is the opposite of what she will be doing. But then she remembers that they can't see the little entity on her shoulder. Which means that she can't actually say anything. Not to Az. Who more than likely doesn't even really exist and is only a figment of her wildly active imagination. Or her mother playing another horrible mind game with her. She says nothing. But her tightly closed lips betray the effort keeping silent takes her.
"Come on, then. Let them in," Az repeats as they extend their wings and jump into the air with an uncharacteristically fairy-like flourish.
Regina's face sours into a grimace. Her eye twitching as the demon starts pulling at her shoulder. Tugging her further out of the way of the door.
"There you go," they say with a grunt, "just a little more."
Before Regina even fully realizes it, the doorway is cleared. And her visitors take this as an invitation to enter her home. But it's not just Emma and Ruby that enter. It's also Ashley and Aurora tailing behind them. Who she had failed to notice because of how infuriating it was to have to deal with the presence of the first two. She closes her eyes and rubs at her temples as they each walk by her. But she doesn't stop them.
Which, to the D.I Specialist who had granted them entry in the first place, was a very good sign indeed. They close the front door with a self-satisfied smirk. Proud of themselves for doing the right thing.
Regina bends just to that point where she's about to snap. But remembering present company, waits until they all disappear into the living room before confronting the pesky little beast.
"What are you doing!?" She hisses.
"Um. Excuse me. I'm doing what any good D.I Specialist would do and letting those nice ladies in," Az responds as if the answer were as clear as day, "I mean, just look at you! You obviously can't be trusted alone with yourself. Even they can see that you shouldn't be alone and they have brains the size of a peanut shell. Collectively. My little darkling duck, trust me when I say, this is EXACTLY what you need right now."
The demon disappears much in the way that non-magical entities don't. Leaving Regina to herself in the entryway.
There's a mirror hanging on the wall in front of her. Where she sees herself for the first time since coming back from the dead. She looks awful. Having had no time to fix her make-up, her face is hollowed and devoid of color. Her hair is disheveled. The mascara is smudged around her eyes making them look far smokier than normal. She certainly looked like she was still dead.
She gazes questioningly into the depths of her own eyes. With the abundant redness, they look like a cardiovascular system, split into a large array of veins and capillaries. The anatomy of a curse. Her curse.
Dilated blood vessels open wide into many grins back at her. A mess of mouths ready to swallow her up. Interwoven and interflowing, impermeable. She's been staring too hard. Her eyes start to water.
"Come on, then. We don't want to miss out on the festivities," Az says, popping back in only to then pop back out to the living room.
Every time something bad happened to her, she would think, "this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me." And still every time there was something else that would come along and prove much worse.
This was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. And if there was one thing she absolutely had to do…
It was to go after that demon before it ruined everything.
An hour and several glasses of top shelf whiskey later had Regina much more numbed to the idea of guests.
They had spent the time sitting on the various surfaces of her living room — in fact, she was the only one who was still sitting on her couch with her legs crossed like the refined lady she was — drinking and talking about various exploits.
"So…be honest, Ruby. Do you have a thing for Lacey?" Emma says as she takes another swig of her beer, "I mean, you sure do spend a lot of time down at the strip club at night and the public library during the day."
This bores Asmodeus to tears. Where was the conflict? Where was the drama? When humans drank, the alcohol was supposed to send them spiraling through a funhouse of irrational emotion. Not keep them calm and collected as they discuss their latest teen vogue crush.
The demon stretches out on the sofa next to Regina, hands over their face groaning loudly, "What the hell is this? A middle school slumber party?! No offense, 'Gina. But I kinda wish you had successfully killed yourself earlier today just so I wouldn't have to sit through this school girl nonsense."
"You and me both," she thinks as she smirks down at the little demon. She takes another sip of her whiskey. It had already been a long night. But between the whiskey warming her insides and dulling all her senses and her demon friend's blatant display of discomfort, she was finally starting to feel pretty okay. Which was exactly one step up from "I'm alive after I tried to be dead." Which she finds is quite the improvement.
Ruby's voice pulls them both back into the conversation happening around them, "First of all, she prefers the name Belle. Second of all, what are you, stalking me now? Why does where I am and what I'm doing matter to you? Which brings me to third of all, What about you? Little miss 'I'm gonna do a super sexy dance on a stripper stage.' What was that all about — or should I say, who was that all about? And be. Honest."
A long pointy ear flicks in the direction of their conversation. Something in what the young wolf says suddenly drawing Az deeply into their "school girl nonsense."
"Now we're getting somewhere," they say, digging their claws lightly into the spot right above Regina's knee, "I can work with this. Would you like to have a little fun, darkling?"
Fun? The last time she had any fun, she had cast a curse to take away everyone's happy endings. And just look at what good that had done her. A mirthless little laugh escapes from her mouth, the noise echoing into the whiskey glass that was still held to her lips.
But this was the absolute wrong thing to do in front of Emma Swan.
"What?" She says, having reached the entirely false conclusion that this had been in response to her, "You suddenly have something to say, your majesty?"
And even though Emma is completely wrong. Even though she is a complete and total self-involved idiot like her ill-bred parents before her who have the prepossessed tendency to assume that anything and everything that occurs is about them.
This was the absolute right way to say something to Regina Mills.
Because the tone of her voice holds that slightest hint of a challenge. Which jabs at that thing inside Regina that makes her feel like she's tripping in a hallway and has to figure out the perfect way to recover. That could also be done in a way that is as graceful as possible. Because everyone is watching her. Meaning, that everyone here is a witness to her vulnerabilities. And she would not – could not allow them to see her so weak. So flawed. And human. So she falls right into her default. Scorn. As sweet as apple pie but with a bite like a cougar.
"It was hardly sexy," she throws back without any thought at all.
And this was the absolute wrong thing to say to Emma Swan. Because this woman knows when someone's lying. And her biggest weakness, if she catches you in one, is pushing that person to do something outside of their comfort zone. Challenging you with whatever it takes to get you to tell the truth.
"What. And you think you could do better?"
Of course she fucking can.
How do you think she became queen of a deeply misogynistic realm? It certainly wasn't her brains. Or at least, not according to the King. Or her mother. Or Rumpelstiltskin. One of the strongest magics and greatest weapons she had ever possessed was the power of seduction. And she damn well wielded it a hell of a lot better than even Prince fucking Charming and his beloved sword.
"I don't think I can do better. I know I can do better," She ends up saying. But she doesn't know why. Or how. Her entire face dropping in surprise at herself.
While their famed combative banter might come as no surprise to literally everyone else in the entire world, this was not how Regina saw this conversation playing out.
"Oh yeah? Then go right ahead then, my liege. Do better. Show us what you got."
"Yes! This is so much better," Az squeals excitedly with a nimble jump to Regina's shoulder, "Tell her she can't handle you," they implore.
Regina gasps. The look on her face both appalled and burning bright like a firefly caught in a jar. In a way that everyone else reads as insulted. But that feels a lot more like a shy nervousness.
There was no way she was saying that to Emma Swan. That would be borderline flirting. And she did not flirt. Not unless she was out to get something. Or out to prove something. And she most certainly has nothing to prove or gain to or from the savior.
So she says nothing. An almost imperceptible snap inside the former Evil Queen. The tension in her shoulders slackens, her eyebrow descending artfully as she tries her best to look relaxed, apathetic even. A graceful retreat. So courtly you'd never know there had been a war raging inside her.
Oh but did she ever wish that the demon on her shoulder would just disappear already.
Because Az won't stop whispering smooth encouragements into her ear. And it's tearing at her resolve like a knife cutting through flesh.
"Come on, 'Gina. She honestly thinks she's better than you. She thinks she affected you. But you can show her, Regina. You could easily put her in her place. Look at her. She's already sweating. She wouldn't last the first three bars of a song. Show her that she doesn't affect you. Show her that she's not better than you."
They know exactly what buttons to press and how hard to press them. Her mind is a foggy mess. The demon's words in her ear like honey, sticking to every last fiber of her brain. She can't let it go.
Her eyes snap shut. And she's shaking her head as if that might dislodge the crazy thoughts being placed there. But when they open, she only sees Emma. Staring back at her with not even an ounce of expectation.
"Show her, 'Gina. Show her. She can't handle you," Az keeps chanting on repeat in her ear. The words almost fusing with her blood that starts to feel thick and pulsing in her veins.
And then she says it.
"Oh, Ms. Swan. You couldn't handle me."
And it's whispered with such predatory hunger it borders on longing.
If anyone else in the room noticed the change in tone, they don't show it. And Emma. Well, Emma does the one thing that was practically guaranteed to get under Regina Mills' skin every single time.
She laughs.
In a way that has Regina's eyes bulging with a fiery intensity. A single vein on her forehead protruding as she quickly stands up from the couch. This was a purely reactional response. As if Emma Swan had physically hit her, and it was encoded somewhere in her very genes to hit the infuriating woman back.
Her eyes stay fixed on Emma. But from the corner of them, she sees Ruby rushing by with one of her dining room chairs.
Regina looks from Emma to the chair. And from the chair back to Emma. Who is now moving to where Ruby had placed it in the center of the room. She stands there. Staring at Regina. With light laughter still on her lips. Nodding her head back and forth like she's not taking this seriously at all. Like she's not taking Regina seriously at all.
But what is "this" exactly?
And why does it matter whether or not Emma is taking it seriously?
It's not like Regina is either. Like, she's not really about to do this. She can't do this.
"You can definitely do this. And I have the perfect song," Az cheers from her shoulder with more confidence than she felt in her gut.
There was no way she could actually do this. This is insane.
But the little demon snaps their pointy fingers. And in an instant, the opening bars of a song starts playing all throughout the room.
Where is that even coming from?
No one asks. No one even notices. Because they've all had far too much to drink. They'll be lucky if one of them remembers this even happened come morning.
This includes the once "solid as a shit brick wall" Evil Queen. Who stumbles gracelessly into Emma the moment Az gives her shoulder a little push. And Gods, Regina just stares at the woman with something a lot like unease flashing in her eyes. How is she even supposed to move right now?
And then there's Emma. Who's picking up on everything she's feeling as if their emotions were tied together with a pretty pink ribbon.
"Regina," She looks her in the eyes with an intensity that communicates just how serious she's being right now, "I was just messing with you. You really don't have to do this."
And that was the absolutely right thing to say to Regina Mills.
It practically made her decision for her.
A matte black Louboutin clad foot is lifted with the agility and ease of a dancer. Emma watching intently as the 3 inch heel moves upwards to dig into the skin right above the top line of her tank top. Then, in perfect time with the music, she's being pushed down roughly. All breath ripped away from her lungs as she lands in the chair behind her.
Bow down, take a seat
You're in the presence of a real queen bee
Regina is stalking around the chair. Her hips swaying to the beat. She can feel the woman's eyes in the darkness of the room and they're mapping her out. She drapes herself onto Emma's shoulders from behind. Her hands running down the woman's chest like a wave crashing on the beach.
What you get is what you see
I'm a goddess and a beast
A nightmare and a dream
She grabs the blonde by the hair. Pulling her head back with a sharp tug. And rubs the tip of her nose slowly from Emma's cheek to her ear until she's breathing softly into it. Hovering there. Dangerously.
Yeah, I'm the real thing
Ain't nobody can compare to me
So you'll call me majesty, boy you better bend the knee
'Cause you're lucky if you mess with me
Then she pushes Emma's head away. With enough force to almost send her falling forward.
I'm fuckin' royalty
The roughness is a shock to her system. But as Regina straddles her, it feels like stepping into a warm summer lake – the silky warmth engulfing them both. Her hips grind. Her fingers dig into strong shoulders like a lifeline. One second she's pulling their bodies together just right. And it takes everything in her to remain silent. The next minute she's pushing their bodies apart. Not far enough to break the spell her hips are casting, but enough to make every last nerve in both their bodies ache for something more.
Then those spellbound hips stop working their magic. And the tip of a nose brushes lightly down the column of Emma's neck. Where it smells like pine and oakmoss and freedom. Regina's helpless. She fills her lungs with it.
And maybe she's imagining things, but it seems as if she's suddenly figured out how to pull apart the very fibers of this olfactory husk. Because there's one strand in particular, one that smells so human. So Emma. She wants to touch it. Feel it on her skin like a bodily oil. Her hands fall light like autumn leaves down from the woman's shoulders until they land across the bare skin of prominent collar bones.
And there's an urge there. As she breathes Emma in. She wants to sink her nails deep into pale skin. Leave behind marks, little moons. Maybe even break some skin. Draw out patterns in whatever blood she might draw to the surface across all the dips and valleys. Ruin anything she can about this perfectly imperfect human being beneath her. And the way the woman's heart beats against the tips of her fingers, a wild symphony of flutters and jumps, feels like she wouldn't face much opposition.
But instead, she pushes herself away. Using Emma's chest as a spring board. So roughly that another breath of air whooshes out from her in a rush.
She moves in front of her. Standing so that their knees brush together lightly. And she's never once in her life done this before, but her back arches and her hips move like she's done it a thousand times. Which maybe she had. In another life. Another time.
If you think I can be beat
Go and live your fantasy
She leans over, hands on Emma's knees. Just a tease of cleavage peeking out through the 'v' of her lowcut blouse. She lowers herself. Until she's eye level with a pair of jean-clad legs. And she snaps them wide open.
Yeah, I'm the real thing
Ain't nobody can compare to me
Her body rolls back to standing as if it were persuading someone to devote themselves to its service. Moving into the space she created between Emma's legs. The object of her seduction staring back with nothing but devotion in her eyes.
Regina can't bear to look. Frightened by what it inaudibly says. But also utterly enchanted with what it doesn't.
She grabs a fistful of blonde hair. Tugging hard so that the attached head is now looking up at her from her stomach. Watching her just the way she is.
I'm fuckin' royalty
Emma was and had remained a complete gentleman. Keeping her hands to herself. Even when that look in her eyes told the story of just how badly she wanted to touch. They were both uncomfortably aware of it.
The bold brash woman had always presented herself as very much the "take what I want when I want it" kind of girl. While Regina had always been more of the "give it to me the moment I ask for it" kind of girl.
And seeing how badly the other woman wants to touch. But not being given that satisfaction. It's almost agonizing. Because she wants Emma to touch her.
So why was it that they couldn't? She forgets.
Small but strong demon claws push down on her shoulders to remind her. So that she slowly drops to sit in Emma's lap again. And she settles instinctually. As if her body were made to be wrapped around the savior's.
Claws grab her hands and lead them down to Emma's. Guiding them all to Regina's waist.
Their faces are so close. They're sharing each other's air. Gasping for breath as if the room around them were depriving them of it. Eyes flickering back and forth from eyes to lips.
And as Regina leans that much closer, their foreheads touch. Supporting the weight of each other's heads that have become heavy with some kind of animal magnetism.
Because that's all this is. Animal magnetism. Carnal desire.
Regina tips her head. Wanting. She's acting on pure feeling now. As their lips become that much closer.
But then there's a pressure on her sternum. And Emma's pushing there. Her other hand clutching – pulling – firmly at Regina's stomach. Like she's conflicted. Like she wants to stop her from coming closer. But wants to go so much further than they already have.
The song is playing out the last few refrains before it ends. But they don't notice. There is only them there. And this closeness they had forged that neither one knows exactly how to act on. How exactly this is supposed to end.
Though they've forgotten that there's still someone there with them who does.
"Oh come now, children. Don't be shy," Az says. The demon embodying the courage needed to push them together that last bit of remaining distance.
For all of Regina's life she had been nothing more than a bargaining chip. A form of payment for one transaction or another made not on her own, but always on her behalf. Her mother had sold her to the king for power. Snow White had told her secret to gain a new mother. Daniel had paid with his life to love her. Rumpelstiltskin had nurtured the dark magic and anger inside her so that she would cast the dark curse and send them to this world. Henry had stopped loving her the moment he found out who she really was and what she'd done. But Emma…
Emma never wanted anything from her. Emma never expected anything of her. She'd never expected her to turn good. Or to remain evil. To Emma she wasn't something owed. There were no agreements between them about what should come next. They didn't agree on anything really.
So as they kiss, and the flood gates burst open. She finds herself willingly giving herself to this woman. Because for the first time in her life, someone finally sees her for what she is. She's not a bargaining chip. She's not some condition to be agreed upon. She's not something to be owned. And she's not fucking royalty. Not anymore.
And she finds that she likes that. A lot. And she thinks Emma does too.
Because when their mouths open and their tongues meet. One moan is swallowed by the cavern of the other's mouth. And the hands pressing on Regina's chest and stomach get warmer somehow. Almost burning through the fabric of her shirt. She can feel it through the fog of arousal and what can only be described as a needy greed.
She knows this feeling. She's felt it many times before. Once upon a time, a long time ago.
This is magic.
Cool Dangerbear fact:
If you enjoy my writing style, then you might also like my music. As if I didn't already have enough creative outlets already. I am also a musician. And have written/performed/produced a number of different songs that are available on streaming services everywhere (spotify, apple music, iTunes, etc.). You can find me under the name Ash Huey. So if you're interested check it out. If not, that's cool too. I still hope you continue to read and enjoy the story.