Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’s coming by later to pick up his things.

The message has sat on Emma’s phone for exactly forty-three minutes. And in those forty-three minutes, she has yet to come up with a good excuse as to why she shouldn't just drop her phone out the window.

Emma sighs from her bed.

It's the day after Thanksgiving, and staring at Regina’s name only seems to serve as a punch to the gut.

The night before had been long and strenuous. After leaving Regina’s, Emma had sat in her Bug well into the night, until even the sight of her steering wheel made her nauseous. She’d walked into her apartment on autopilot after that. And like every other self-pitying party she’s had in her lifetime, this one went through a series of essential to-dos.

The list goes like this.

1. Drink
2. Break a few things
3. Drink some more
4. Cry

Now, as Emma stares aimlessly at a wall, she’s beginning to realize the drinking part probably wasn’t a good idea. Because not only is she hungover and heartbroken, but she’s about to puke her broken heart out along with it.

It’s a shit feeling. The shittiest Emma’s felt in years.

God, even that ’s an understatement.

“Way to go, Swan,” Emma mumbles, words half muffled by her pillow. “You idiot sandwich.”

“Now I know you must be feeling bad if you’re quoting Gordon Ramsay memes,” Henry says in stunned greeting from the doorway.

Emma hadn’t even heard him come in. She can’t say she’s taken by surprise - Regina did warn her.

And just thinking about Regina kickstarts that awful pain in her chest again. She groans into her pillow.

Fuck.

“Mom?” Henry prompts hesitantly, stepping into the room. He’s carrying a bottle of vodka in one hand. Emma recognizes it from her drinking escapades last night. “Why does it smell like burning roses in here?”

“Because I set them on fire,” Emma says blandly.

“ Okay ,” he says very slowly, and skids to a stop at her bedside. He puts the bottle down on her nightstand and squints at her. “Are you hungover?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m an idiot.”

That earns her a quiet scoff and more brooding silence on Emma’s part, which seems to irritate Henry even more . Not that Emma cares.

She’s not in the mood to deal with her son’s antics right now.

“Okay. I give,” he replies, taking a seat on Emma’s edge of the bed. It sags with his weight.

Jesus Christ.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Emma grumbles and flops to the other side, away from Henry’s prying gaze. “Don’t you have things to pack up? And, I don’t know. Places to be?”

“Not when my mom’s sulking in bed at three in the afternoon.”

Emma narrows her eyes at her alarm clock. Is it really that late?

“I appreciate the concern, Hen,” Emma says genuinely. She scrubs a hand down her face. “But I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t sound at all convinced. “Is that why Mom made breakfast this morning looking like she spent the whole night crying?”

That catches Emma’s attention. She flops back over to face him, eyes scanning his expression for any indication of a lie or… something. But her lie detector remains idle, and the resulting pang in her chest urges her to probe further.

“What?” she asks quietly.

“She’s just as bad at hiding her emotions as you are.” Henry shrugs, as if that answers the fucking question. Tapping his finger over his chin thoughtfully, he adds, “Actually she’s way worst. For someone who used to be evil, Mom’s soft as hell -”

“Woah. Back up there, kid. What do you mean she’s been crying ?”

“I don’t know!” he exclaims and prods her with his finger. Emma swats it away. “You tell me. Something obviously happened last night.”

Emma clenches her jaw in response. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why are you here moping?”

“I’m not -” Emma begins to say, frustrated now. “Because I - it’s just complicated, okay? Regina doesn’t - she doesn’t feel the same way. We’re friends. That’s the bottom line. And I’m not going to ruin our friendship just because I’m - I think I’m -”

Emma exhales roughly through her nose. Is she really going to say it out loud?

“Oh,” Henry breathes in realization.

Emma stiffens. “What?”

“Oh shit.”

“ What ?”

“You’re in love with her.”

It’s a statement, one that hangs heavily in the air between them.

“You love my mom,” Henry affirms softly.

Emma sucks in a sharp breath.

“Yeah,” she admits after a long stretch of silence. “Yeah, kid. I do.”

Acknowledging it out loud to another person should be a relief, should have loosened the pressure dwelling in Emma’s chest. Instead the space between her ribs tightens further.

It’s a whole lot scarier when you say it out loud.

“Are you going to tell her?”

Emma wants to laugh, but there's something about the mixture of dread and adrenaline spiraling inside her that thinks this isn't so funny.

“I don't do feelings, Henry. Neither does Regina,” Emma points out, digging the heels of her palms against her eyelids. “And even if she did, it's not like they’re mutual.”

Henry wrinkles his nose. “Jeeze. Seriously? Have you seen the way she looks at you?”

“Like she wants to jump my bones?" 

“Ew. No .” Henry recoils. At least the disgust on his face is priceless. “Why would you say that? Now I'm never going to get that out of my head.” 

“Good. How does she look at me then?”

“The same way she looks at me.” At that, Henry gives a small shrug. “Like you're her world.”

A weighted pause. And then -

“Like you're… everything.”

If Emma was having trouble breathing a second ago, it doesn't compare to the way the air rushes right out of her lungs. Her stomach is in knots - it has been all day. But it twists and coils at Henry’s words. Makes her breathless with the possibility of what if .

“You're reading too much into this, Henry.”

“And what if I'm not?” he counters, unthwarted. “What if she feels the same?”

“What if she doesn't ?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “And you think I'm reading too much into it. I mean, isn't that what happy endings are all about? Taking chances?”

Emma’s only response is a weak groan. She's going to be haunted by fairytales for the rest of her miserable life.

“What do you want me to say? That I'm scared?” Emma asks and shoves her face into her pillow 

She's never fucking drinking again.

“Because I am. Whether your mom does or doesn't -” she trails off. “There's no win for me here. I'm fucking terrified.”

There’s a short lull in the conversation where Henry remains silent and Emma is too busy sinking her whole head into the comfort of her mattress to wonder why.

A cereal bar smacks her square on the back of her head.

“ Ow ! What the hell?”

Henry stands up. “If you’re going to sulk the rest of the day, there’s your nutrition. So you can get up now.”

“What I need is an advil. And a side of I’m about to kick your little behind ,” Emma grumbles and rubs her head. “What for?”

“Christmas tree shopping.”

“It’s November .”

“And this is America,” Henry replies without missing a beat. “Nothing makes sense.”

He yanks at the covers then, wrenching them back until her ass slides halfway off the bed.

The other half collides with the floor.

“ Henry .”

He promptly scrambles out of the room. “Just looking out for you, Mom!”

Emma’s head hits the floor with a resounding thud. She takes it back.

She's going to need a shot to get through the rest of the day.

.

.

Later that afternoon, she types Regina a message. It looks like this.

I miss you.

And then she hastily deletes it because Emma is not going to be the sentimental dumbass in this case, even if she technically is . Instead she sends the following.

How are you?

Henry said you were having a rough morning.

Emma doesn't have to wait too long. Between Henry insisting on buying a large tree and Emma impatiently waiting by her phone for exactly eleven and a half minutes, she gets a text back.

I'm fine, Miss Swan.

Emma blinks. That's it.

That's all it says.

Dread sinks into Emma’s stomach, raw and uncontained.

“Mom, what about this one?”

Emma peers up from her phone. It’s Henry, pointing at the largest Christmas tree in the entire lot. It’s bulky and massive and extends well past eight feet. Taller than her fucking apartment.

It’s absolutely grotesque .

“It’s perfect,” Emma says numbly and slips her phone away. Tries to find some solitude in the way Henry beams and scampers off for assistance.

Standing alone now in the otherwise deserted lot, Emma sighs into the frosty air.

Perfect.

.

.

You know that feeling you get, when time passes by and you’re forever stuck on an endless crossroad? Wondering which direction to go. Like you’re there. Existing, but not quite living .

Yeah. Emma hates that feeling.

A week passes, and in that week Emma has come to the conclusion that she hates the feeling almost as much as she hates what’s causing it. There’s a hollow carved out in her chest. And if this is what it’s like to fall head over heels, then Emma doesn’t want it.

She doesn’t want to miss Regina as hard as she does. Doesn’t want to feel like she’s homesick, knowing that she’ll never be able to go back home.

That isn't even the worst of it.

What’s worst are the lonely nights spent wondering what if things were different. Wondering how the hell she's going to spend an entire lifetime getting over Regina when all she sees when she closes her eyes is Regina.

Even in her dreams, Emma can’t escape. She’s either left wanting, writhing through a lust-filled haze, or succumbing to the constant nightmares. Wondering what if .

What Emma needs is to get a fucking grip.

“Mom, come on. Stop sulking,” Henry says. “You might as well tape that to your forehead.”

He gestures to the little grinch ornament in her hands.

It’s the beginning of December and they’re only now decorating their tree. It had taken a bit of magic and shapeshifting to get the thing into the living room, nonetheless through the door. But if it means getting to do it over a mug of hot cocoa and some seriously ugly ornaments, then Emma can’t complain.

Much.

“I’m not sulking,” Emma grumbles before hanging her Grinch, ignoring Henry’s incredulous eyeroll.

“Yeah. You are.”

“No. I’m not .”

“Then why do you keep staring at Mom’s picture like you’re about to sing a Whitney Houston song?”

“I’m not -” Emma’s nostrils flare.

She has her phone out again, despondently gazing at her lock screen, where she just so happens to have a photo of him and Regina set as the background. It’s not like she’s lovesick trash or anything.

“You’re in it, too,” Emma defends and clicks her phone off. It’ll probably cause her less grief to flush it down the toilet at this point.

“You cropped half my face out.”

“It’s not my fault you have a big head, kid.”

At that, Henry snorts and shakes his head, brushing off the comment altogether as he goes to gather the next ornament from the pile.

He pauses. “Oh. Before I forget.” Digging into his pocket, he retrieves what looks to be another ornament and holds it up for Emma to take.

“Mom asked me to give this to you.”

“ What ?”

It doesn’t fail to make Emma’s stomach swoop. She practically lunges for his hand, suspending the ornament in front of her face so she can get a better look.

It’s a swan.

A pretty crystal swan with delicate gold markings on top of its head. Markings that look suspiciously like a crown.

Emma blinks in realization.

“This is a swan queen,” she says bluntly.

“Yup.” Henry pops out the ‘p’ in a knowing manner. “Nice, right?”

Emma shifts her gaze from the swan in her hand to Henry’s calculating expression, totally and utterly confused. What the fuck?

“You should call her,” he urges shrewdly. “And thank her.”

Oh.

Emma’s face crumples. The hope that was once blossoming in her chest plummets into anger.

“Oh, you are not about to parent trap me, kid,” Emma says and drops the ornament to her side. “Room. Now. You’re so grounded.”

“But Zelena’s picking me up in twenty minutes to go shopping.”

“Do you not get how this grounding thing works?”

Twenty-five minutes later, Emma opens the door to Zelena’s obnoxiously smug face. She has half a mind to toss the rest of the ornaments in the trash after Henry scampers off to grab his things.

Apparently neither of them knows how this grounding thing works.

Zelena takes one look at her from the doorway and immediately recoils.

“My gods. You look like decomposed shite.”

“Thanks,” Emma says in a sarcastic drawl.

“Regina truly did a number on you, didn't she?” Zelena declares, thoughtfully observing her, before releasing a dramatic sigh. “Bloody idiots, the both of you. Here.”

She shoves a baby into Emma's arms.

Emma nearly falls over from the surprise. She struggles to adjust Robyn over her hip as she stutters -

“I - what -”

“Bedtime is at 7. Nappies are in the bag. And she prefers organic milk. None of that putrid slime you have in your fridge. And for Merlin’s sake, do not feed her any carrots this time or the rest of the night will be a bloody nightmare.”

Before Emma can so much as utter another word, Henry comes rushing in. He pecks Emma’s cheek with a quick ‘see ya later, Mom!’ and bolts out the door.

Zelena wiggles her fingers in farewell. “Toodles!”

“Wait, you're not seriously leaving your kid here with -”

The door slams shut. The silence that follows after that is only broken by Robyn’s amused gurgle.

Alright. So it's kind of cute.

“Yeah? Think that's funny?” Emma gripes in resignation and tickles her foot. “Wait until I feed you my putrid slime.”

.

.

Thankfully she has some organic milk in the fridge, courtesy of Henry. And by default, Regina. It takes some adjusting and figuring out how to properly change a diaper (as the only experience she has are the fake memories Regina gave her during her time in New York), but by seven thirty she has Robyn tucked in and passed out.

With nothing planned for the rest of the evening, Emma wanders back into the living room and slumps into an armchair. She fetches her phone from her sweater pocket and stares gloomily at the screen.

No new calls or messages.

She hasn’t heard back from Regina all week.

Granted, Emma hasn’t tried to contact Regina either, not since I’m fine, Miss Swan. It didn’t warrant a response then, and it certainly doesn’t now. Although if Emma were truly honest with herself, the reply had stung enough to drop communication altogether.

If Regina wanted to talk to her, then she can take the initiative herself.

And yet Emma’s fingers itch with the need to go through past messages, maybe make an exception just this once and see how Regina is doing. But what can she say?

Hi Regina. Just checking up on you. And seeing if you miss me as much as I miss you. Please say yes for my own pathetic sake.

Ugh.

She needs a distraction. One that doesn’t involve gazing at the background photo on her lock screen again. It was snapped one lazy morning during the summer, when Henry had snatched her phone off the table at Granny’s and made a silly face, practically cramming his head into Regina’s cheek. Regina had smiled into the camera despite herself, bright-eyed and soft.

And Emma was long gone ever since.

Emma sucks absently on her lip and groans. Fuck .

This is not what she had in mind when finding a distraction.

She’s swiping at the unlock key and preparing for a mindless round of Candy Crush when she gets an incoming call.

The resulting contact photo causes Emma’s stomach to plunge. It’s Regina, chin propped up on her palm, staring directly into the lens in indifference. The barest hint of a smile is curled over her mouth. Emma had forgotten she’d had it saved. Looking at it now makes the tiny palpitations in her chest go crazy.

She nearly drops her phone in her haste to answer it.

“ Regina ,” Emma breathes, squeaky and pitiful. She clears her throat. “Hey.”

“Emma.”

That voice, low and raspy in her ear, sounds faintly relieved. It also makes Emma melt further into her chair.

“You’re… okay ,” Regina says a second later, the apprehension clear now that Emma can think.

“I… am?” Emma replies dubiously. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Zelena called and said something might’ve happened to you. That you were hurt and so I -”

Regina trails off, and while Emma has to quell the butterflies in her stomach because apparently Regina was worried about her, she tilts her head back against the armchair instead and huffs out a sigh. If it isn’t bad enough that her own son is trying to parent trap her, the Wicked Witch of the West is, too.

“So you believed her,” Emma finishes with a droll, “And you called me.”

“Well I certainly wasn’t just going to show up to your apartment uninvited,” Regina says defensively.

Something about that defensiveness sparks the anger inside Emma. She doesn't need Regina to check up on her. She doesn't need Regina.

“Well I'm fine,” Emma snaps. “I'm sitting here on babysitting duty while I put ugly ornaments on a tree. Happy now?”

The silence on the other line only infuriates Emma even more.

“Look, I have to go.”

Regina’s voice cuts in, uneven and desperate.

“Emma. Wait.”

Emma does; she cradles the phone close to her ear, waits with bated breath while Regina seems to be collecting her thoughts.

“I'm sorry I haven't called,” Regina says finally. Genuinely. Emma loosens the grip on her phone. “I've wanted to. I wanted to see how you were doing so I could -”

Regina pauses. There's a lump lodged so far up Emma’s throat, she doesn't think she could speak even if she wanted to.

“I miss talking to you,” Regina says.

Emma can't help it. She breaks out into a toothy smile.

“Yeah?” she presses.

Emma bites her lip at Regina’s breathy laugh. “Yes.”

“I miss talking to you, too,” Emma admits softly and switches the phone to her other ear.

I miss you .

Emma doesn't say it out loud, though, as badly as the words want to tumble out of her mouth. She fiddles with a loose thread on her pajama pants and carefully considers her next words.

Regina beats her to it. “You said you were babysitting?”

“Yeah. Robyn. Zelena kinda dumped her on me when our son decided he’d rather go shopping than help decorate this stupid tree.”

Shopping my ass, Emma thinks pettily.

“That explains why I’ve managed to get some peace and quiet all day,” Regina murmurs, and in a more pensive tone, “Then why did Zelena tell me you fell off a tree?”

“No idea,” Emma lies through her teeth. A fucking tree ? “Maybe she’s batshit crazy?”

“Indeed she is,” Regina agrees amicably.

And it’s nice . This, being able to talk to Regina again. Hear her husky voice in Emma’s hear. Knowing things are going relatively back to normal.

Nice.

But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

Emma hears a rustle on the other line, momentarily distracting her from the dull pang in her chest. Curiosity gets the better of her.

“What’re you doing?”

A pause.

“I’m getting dressed,” Regina answers with deliberate slowness. There’s something low and almost… sensual about Regina’s voice then. “I’d just gotten out of the shower when I called.”

Emma sits up in her chair. She can’t avoid the way her stomach flips as she mumbles a quiet, “Oh.”

The line is eerily silent for a moment. Emma wonders if this is the part where Regina admits she can read Emma’s pervy thoughts.

At least until Regina quietly asks, “And you?”

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

Emma brings her knees up to her chest, weighs out the pros and cons to brutal honesty.

Somehow picturing you naked doesn’t sound like an appropriate option.

“Just… sitting,” Emma says lamely.

“Just sitting?” Regina echoes with a throaty chuckle. Emma’s breath snags at the sound.

Shit.

“Are you just breathing, as well?”

Emma is torn between groaning at the slight jab and playing along. She settles for mumbling beneath her breath instead.

“What was that?”

“I said do you have to be so damn snarky all the time?” Emma repeats in a firmer tone, rolling her eyes.

Regina hums in response. “When the moment calls for it.”

“You’re the one who asked me what I was doing.”

“After you asked first,” Regina points out.

“Well what else should I be asking?” Emma says petulantly. “How’s work? What did you cook last week? What’re you wearing?”

Emma’s eyes widen.

She doesn’t mean to voice that final question out loud, no matter how many times it’s entered her mind. Emma feels herself ice up. Waits out the long lull that occurs after that with the distinct urge to throw up.

Shit shit fuck .

This can’t be happening.

Finally Regina does speak. And when she does, her voice has dropped down an octave or two.

“Blue silk. With lace at the top.”

Oh my god.

Emma’s heart rate kicks up a notch. The pressure that was building at the base of her spine for the past few minutes nearly splits her in two. She imagines Regina in a silky negligee, all legs and skin, and suddenly Emma’s pajama bottoms feel too warm. She’s entirely too aware of the burning ache settling between her thighs.

“Emma?” Regina whispers.

The raspiness of it is what pulls Emma from her clouded thoughts as she gulps.

“Are you describing your clothes or what you're wearing underneath?” Emma asks, strained.

“I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

Holy shit.

This is actually happening.

Emma sits up so quickly, she nearly nose-dives onto the floor in her haste to find a more comfortable position. But her palms are clammy and god, she thinks she might just ruin her underwear from that visual alone.

It’s also been a while since she’s had phone sex. Emma never saw the appeal. But hearing Regina’s voice in her ear, low and husky and dripping with sex - It’s -

“Emma?” Regina says again.

Emma sucks in a tremulous breath. Relax. Breathe. “Yeah?”

“What are you thinking?”

And Emma could honestly laugh at that moment, but she’s beyond turned on right now to care.

“I'm thinking about the other night, when you were in my bed. Dressed in that little nightgown,” Emma manages to croak. “And I can't stop thinking about how much I wish I’d ripped it right off you.”

Emma listens to the way Regina’s breathing changes through the phone, the tiny hitch in the back of her throat that spurs Emma to continue.

“No barriers. Just you riding me bare,” Emma says. Her heart is racing. She doesn't realize her fingers are creeping under the hem of her pajama pants as she goes on -

“And afterwards it wouldn't have mattered how thin my walls are. Everyone would've been able to hear every breath.”

Emma swallows.

“Every moan you'd make as I fucked you.”

She hears Regina make a noise, a sort of bitten back groan. And Emma has to shut her eyes and concentrate on her own breathing before she barrels through the point of no return.

“Is Robyn asleep?” Regina exhales after a moment, sounding noticeably less put together now. Emma wishes more than anything that Regina was right there beside her.

“Y-yeah.”

“Good.”

There’s another rustle, followed by a soft creak, and Emma’s mouth dries with the images that tear through the haze in her head.

“Regina. Are you…?”

“I'm in my bed now,” Regina answers before Emma can finish.

Emma bites her lip. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” A pause. “I'd rather be lying down for this.”

“For this -”

“Take a wild guess where my hand is right now, Emma.”

There's a breathiness to the words that stops Emma dead in her tracks, soars through her stomach in the way it’s followed by a shaky sigh and then a soft moan. Emma’s imagination is running rampant - she imagines Regina biting her lip, hips arching against the hand she has slipped between her thighs, and Emma just about loses her mind.

It's the final straw in her unraveling self-control before her hand finally finds solace beneath her pajama pants. She runs a finger down the slit of her underwear, unsurprised to find it soaked. Unsurprised to find herself even more sensitive than usual as Emma glides a finger through her folds, hips immediately bucking at the contact.

“Me too,” Emma acknowledges in a strangled whisper.

For a moment she doesn’t hear anything on Regina’s part, not a sound to indicate she’s still on the other line. It unnerves Emma until she hears the demanding husk of Regina’s voice deepen with her next words.

“Are you wet?”

Emma doesn’t respond. She’s too busy replaying Regina’s tone in her head. The fact that Regina just used her Evil Queen voice on her is seriously one of the hottest things Emma’s ever -

“Are you wet for me, Emma?” Regina asks again, deep and gravelly and Emma might as well be signing her death wish right now.

“Very,” Emma says.

The shudder that ripples through Emma’s body has her bucking her hips, sinking further into the firm press of fingers circling against her clit. She imagines them being Regina’s fingers, spreading Emma open and mercilessly teasing her. She imagines Regina’s smile - slow and alluring as she draws up the length of Emma’s body and fucks her on this dingy armchair.

“Regina, I -” Emma cuts herself off with a gasp. There’s something about this situation that is both exhilarating and faintly sadistic. Emma finds she can’t help herself when she says - “Regina. What the hell are we doing?”

The silence that drags on the other line is almost enough to sober Emma up completely. At least until she hits a sensitive spot, Emma’s next words straining on a whimper.

“Not that I mind . This definitely beats rubbing one out after all the dreams.”

A beat passes. Emma winces.

She hadn’t meant to say that.

“Dreams?” Regina echoes slowly. Beneath the sliver of amusement in her tone, she sounds surprised. “You’ve had dreams about me?”

Emma huffs out a breath.

“Maybe.”

“What kind of dreams?” Regina asks, in a manner that does nothing to relieve Emma’s libido.

“Isn't that kind of obvious?”

“Humor me.”

And Emma shouldn't , knows without a doubt that she’d be feeding into a fire she has no business feeding into. But it’s the curiosity in Regina’s voice, the subtle plea that Emma has rarely heard before that undoes everything.

“The kind that wakes me up every night,” Emma states honestly. “So I can get the full effect when I come around my fingers.”

“Oh?”

The flirty tone makes heat prickle up the back of Emma’s neck.

“Did you wish they were my fingers?” Regina’s voice drops to a raspier pitch. The sound of it makes Emma squeeze her thighs together.

“Sometimes,” Emma answers and pulls in a breath through her teeth. “Sometimes it’d be… other things.”

“Such as?”

“Your mouth. Your tongue.” Emma’s eyelids shut at this. “Sometimes even a strap-on.”

Emma hears the hitch in Regina’s throat as clearly as she can feel it simmering beneath her skin. She feels hot and shivery all over, more so now that she has a hand crammed between her legs and Regina whispering naughty things into her ear.

“You’ve thought about me using…”

“I thought about a lot of things. I think I - god . I'd think about you on your hands and knees, Regina. Naked and ready. I'd see you arching your ass into me when I take you from behind. Or on your back. When you're gasping and panting and scraping your fingernails down my back -”

“On top,” Regina says abruptly.

Emma’s brow furrows. “What?”

“I'd be on top,” Regina clarifies with certainty. “As if I would allow anyone to think I'm some sort of… pillow princess.”

“Honestly I'm surprised you even know what that means. Power bottom, then?”

Regina ignores her.

“I want to make sure you see my face when I’m straddling you, Emma.” At that, Regina releases a drawn-out little groan that ricochets down Emma’s body. “I want to be able to fist your hair, drag your mouth back to mine. Swallow those tiny whimpers you make when you lose control. Map out every inch of your skin. I want you to feel me shudder when I take you in slowly. Inch. By. Inch. I want your eyes focused solely on me when you buck your hips as if you want more. Until you’re buried all the way inside me and the noise you’ll hear me make - that breath of anticipation. Only then will I give you permission to fuck me, Emma .”

Slack-jawed, Emma doesn't realize she’d stopped breathing until she lets out a quiet, “holy shit.”

The chuckle she receives in reply should be illegal. “Should I go on?”

Yes . Emma’s flustered, and close . So close, in fact, that her fingers seem to be functioning on their own accord even when her emotions are in turmoil. There’s the part of her that knows this is all wrong, knows there’s something missing . But a larger part, the part that is dominating every last one of Emma’s senses, is beyond the point of caring.

“Emma?”

Just hearing Regina say her name is enough to stir something in Emma. Something hot and primal as she flattens her palm against her clit, rolling her hips down to ride her own fingers. Emma’s thighs tremble, phone nearly slipping past her shoulder as all attempts to respond fall short.

“Emma,” Regina says again. Her voice is strangely soft now. “Tell me what you want.”

“I -”

An answering judder ripples through Emma’s body. She wants to say you .

She wants to tell Regina exactly how badly she wants her here , on Emma’s lap, so she can graze her lips against Regina’s skin. So she can say how badly she wants to sink her fingers through Regina’s hair and bring their mouths together.

She wants Regina so badly it physically hurts .

“I -” Emma tries again.

“You what?” Regina asks. “What is it, darling? Say it.”

Emma’s heart lurches.

“Fuck, Regina -”

Her breath staggers as her eyes slam shut and she buckles forward. Emma tenses, slick and tight around her fingers, before letting her body go limp against the armchair. In the aftermath of her orgasm, Emma turns a sweaty cheek against her shoulder, mouths a silent ‘ I love you’ into the phone.

She hears a slight hitch on the other line, the whispered, barely audible ‘ Emma ’ that makes her think Regina had heard. Emma goes rigid.

Instead Regina offers a shaky exhale that doesn’t quite relieve Emma’s anxiety, but it’s better than what comes afterward.

“That shouldn’t have happened.”

A part of Emma wants to feel angry. At herself. At Regina . It’s not like Emma was the one who started it.

But it’s not like Emma wasn’t expecting it either. Play with fire and you’ll get burned, or however the saying goes. She just wishes it didn’t hurt as much as it did the first time.

Emma could live a thousand lives and nothing could prepare her for this type of rejection.

“Emma,” Regina says, letting out a tremulous sigh. “Emma, I’m so -”

“I know.”

Emma’s voice is unusually calm despite the block of lead jackhammering in her chest. She hears the apology in Regina’s tone and she can’t fucking stand to hear it .

“I know,” Emma repeats and clutches the phone tighter in her hand. “Me too.”

She swallows, stares at a fixed point on the wall that keeps her grounded enough to say -

“I wish we’d had more time.”

A weighted pause. Regina doesn’t question what she means by that, and Emma is grateful for the momentary reprieve.

“I should go. I think Henry’s home,” Regina whispers.

Emma nods, realizing she's still on the line.

“Yeah.”

There’s no immediate response to that. Regina allows the muted tension to settle between them before breaking it.

“Goodnight, Emma.”

“Night.”

Emma hangs up before she manages to humiliate herself even further, dropping her phone to the floor. It lands with a clank somewhere underneath the coffee table. Emma doesn't pay any mind to it, though. The echo of Regina’s goodnight is still beating in her ears. Dull and taunting.

If she listens closely, she can also hear that same whisper ringing against the heavy drum of her heartbeat. It takes Emma a moment to recognize what it is.

Darling.

It sounds a whole lot like Regina calling her darling.

.

.

It’s nearing midnight by the time Emma finishes decorating the rest of the tree.

It sits by the window in all of its bulky glory, lit up now that Emma wrapped it up in more Christmas lights than she’d known what to do with. But it’s her Christmas tree. Hers and Henry’s.

And if she wants to light the stupid thing up like a firework, then Emma will damn well light it up.

Finally she picks up the swan ornament from earlier. Emma stares at it for a long, wistful minute, taking in the intricacies of the feathers and crown. It really is beautiful. Whether it was pulled out of Henry’s little scheming ass or not, Emma can’t bear to part with it.

In the end she pulls up a chair and deposits it right at the top of the tree, where the star would normally be. She steps back and admires her work.

It's the fifth of December, and as Emma curls up in her chair and lets that achy feeling in her chest settle in, she realizes this is the closest she's going to get to loving Regina from afar. All wrapped up in a pretty swan queen ornament.

And Emma is okay with that. She is.

She has to be.

.

.

“What do you think, Emma? The pink or the yellow?”

Snow holds up a blouse in either hand, both looking like they’ve been puked out by a unicorn and thrown into a firepit. Emma has to stare for a second.

“Neither. Mom, if you give that to Zelena, I’m pretty sure she’ll turn you into a toad. Literally.”

“Too much?”

“More like too ugly.”

Snow gawks at her briefly, clearly offended, before placing the hangers back in a huff. “I have those shirts in my closet.”

“ No . I couldn’t tell.”

Shooting her a droll look, Snow wordlessly makes her way through the store, leaving Emma behind in all of her sarcastic misery. She doesn’t even bother following.

It’s days following the friendly bout of phone sex - not that Emma would dare call it that out loud, so she settles for The Incident instead - when Snow drags her out to go Christmas shopping. It’s the last thing Emma wants to do on her day off, but considering she’s been bedridden for the better part of two weeks, Emma’s surprised it’s taken Snow this long to do something about it.

Then there’s Regina.

Of course it always comes down to Regina.

In the last week alone she had called Emma at least four times. She should feel grateful that Regina kept her promise, but more often than not their conversations are… awkward. Strained.

Almost like they had phone sex not too long after ending their pseudo friends-with-benefits relationship and Emma’s stuck lamenting the fact that she’s painfully and irrevocably in love with her.

So yeah. It’s fucking complicated.

Now Emma is lamenting agreeing to this shopping spree while Snow pummels through every aisle. As the town prepares for its annual Christmas festival, everything is booming with holiday festivity and cheeriness and Emma… is not a fan.

“What about this?” Snow asks and holds up a surprisingly beautiful blue dress. “Do you think Regina will like it?”

Hearing Regina’s name twists up Emma’s insides. She tries to play it cool.

“Yeah. It’s nice,” Emma says in a high-pitched voice. She winces.

Snow eyes her suspiciously. “Just nice?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Snow drawls, smoothing out the dress in a manner that has Emma wondering if this is a trap. “You didn’t used to have any issue showing your interest in Regina in a blue dress.”

Snow then does this thing with her eyebrow that kind of creeps Emma out.

“Or out of one.”

Emma actually blanches . “Oh my god. Nope. No . How can you - we are not going there.”

“And why not?” Snow has the gall to look insulted as she plops the dress into the cart. “I’ve had time to adjust. I can be hip, you know.”

“That’s great and all. Doesn’t mean we have to talk about it,” Emma declares.

“I’m your mother. It’s my job to talk about it,” Snow retorts. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you two avoiding each other. Does this have to do with what happened at Thanksgiving?”

Just the mention of it takes Emma back to that night, to the memory of Regina’s soft thighs pressed against Emma’s cheeks, to the look of sheer bliss on Regina’s face while riding Emma’s mouth. It’s an image only distorted by what came afterward.

“There’s nothing going on between Regina and I,” Emma finds herself saying. “Not anymore. She ended it before one of us got hurt. But I guess -”

Emma trails off, the ‘it was too late’ left unsaid. Snow observes her knowingly.

“But you were hurt anyway,” Snow finishes for her.

All Emma can do is nod.

“It’s my fault,” Emma says, collecting herself. “I never should’ve bought that potion from you. She thinks I was using it to - to - you know what? It was bound to end badly anyway. I let my own feelings get in the way when she doesn’t… maybe it was for the best.”

“Emma. Sweetheart,” Snow soothes while a hand moves to Emma’s cheek. “I love you. But you can be entirely dimwitted like your father sometimes.”

That is… definitely not the response Emma is expecting.

“Did you just call me stupid?”

“That is what dimwitted means,” Snow offers and casually roams through the clothing rack as if Emma hadn’t just poured her heart out a second ago. “You forget that I’ve known Regina longer than anyone. I’ve seen her in love. Granted she’s a bit more bitter now than she was back then. But more like a cup of flavorful coffee. Smokey and hard around the edges -”

“Mom.”

“The point is she still has that same look when she loves something - or someone - with her whole heart,” Snow says at once and turns to Emma.

“So believe me when I say that woman loves you.”

Emma’s knees suddenly feel weak. It’s the second time someone has assured her of that, and now Emma doesn’t know what to believe.

“Just give her time,” Snow encourages. “Things always have a way of working out in the end.”

Weirdly enough the bright smile Snow offers her is calming despite the worry knotting in Emma’s stomach. “Sometimes I wish I inherited your optimism.”

“It’s a gift.” Snow waves it off, though is obviously pleased. “I take it then it’s too soon for you to give her these for Christmas?”

She pulls out several items from the colossal pile in her cart. Emma has no idea what to make of them until she takes the plastic packaging from Snow and sees the description.

Fairytale Fantasy Nipple Clamps.

They’re nipple clamps.

“Mom. Where the hell did you get these?”

The shock is overwhelming enough to cover up the mortification rising up Emma’s spine. But then she sees the ball gag in Snow’s other hand and Emma takes it back. She’s beyond mortified.

“Aisle six. Next to the candles.”

“What happened to Baby Jesus? I mean - this place is like the fairytale version of Marshalls . What -”

“I told you I can be hip,” is all Snow says.

Emma doesn’t dare question her after that.

By three Emma is all shopped out. She manages to escape Snow’s clutches for the most part, but not before grabbing a few things for Henry on the way to Granny’s. She figures he’d like a few new Marvel comics to add to his collection. Maybe the latest Game of Thrones season.

She’s considering buying Regina an elegant-looking antique box when her phone buzzes with a text. Seeing Regina’s name on the screen causes Emma’s heart to jolt.

Fancy joining me for a drink tonight? xx

Emma’s forehead creases in confusion. Fancy ? Never mind the fact that Regina just invited her over for a drink.

What the hell does xx mean?

Sure?

A solid minute passes. Emma is starting to get antsy waiting for a response when -

It’s a yes or a no, Swan. 7 o clock.

Emma nearly drops her phone in her haste to type back.

I’ll be there.

Excellent.

See you then ;)

A winky face.

Emma is left staring at it in total bewilderment. She has no recollection of how much time passes while she stands there, gaping like a moron. It’s only when the cashier guy clears his throat that Emma becomes aware of the antique jewelry box still being clutched in her hand.

“You gonna buy that or what?”

.

.

And that’s how Emma ends up on Regina Mills’ doorstep on this wintery night.

It’s snowing heavily, blanketing the walkway in fields of white. Emma is both freezing her ass off and brimming with nerves, so she doesn’t quite know whether she should feel relieved or terrified when Regina opens the door, takes one look at her, and -

“Emma?” A frown pinches her features. “What’re you doing here?”

Terrified it is, then.

“You, uh… invited me?” Emma drags it out as a question.

Regina is visibly perplexed and it’s not doing anything to calm Emma’s nerves.

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah. You kind of did.” And Emma quickly flaunts her phone as proof, revealing their earlier conversation. “See?”

This only seems to further Regina’s bewilderment. Her eyes narrow at the screen in vague acknowledgement. “I didn’t send that. And… fancy ? Did I somehow die and wake up British?”

“I -”

Movement catches Emma’s eye from inside. She spots a flash of brown hair before Henry’s head disappears behind the stairwell.

It’s easy enough to connect the dots after that.

“Oh,” Emma breathes over the lump lodged in her throat. She clenches her jaw. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. I'm sorry.”

“Are those Forget-Me-Nots?”

Regina’s frown melts away first at Emma’s apology, turning into something else entirely when her eyes fall upon the simple bouquet of flowers in Emma’s hand.

Emma almost forgot about them. It had been a last minute decision spurred on by the roses she never made use of. She figured these were a little less cliché.

“Yeah… they are. They’re for you.”

She holds the flowers out to Regina in offering.

“Emma,” Regina says on an exhale, seemingly at a loss for words. She's regarding Emma with the most tender expression, though. The sight of it literally takes Emma’s breath away.

“Henry and I were just decorating our stockings,” Regina says after a moment’s pause, eyes soft and wondering as she takes the flowers. She motions inside. “Would you care to join us?”

.

.

So Emma does.

Of course she does. Because she is and will always be a pining disaster.

It’s worth it even if it’s to spend the first ten minutes glaring her son down from across the coffee table. Henry, of course, remains undeterred. He offers her a self-satisfied grin instead.

Cocky little shit.

“You should’ve called, Mom. I would’ve saved you some decorations if I knew you were coming,” he tells her and holds up his own bedazzled stocking.

Emma can’t contain her snort.

“And ruin your master plan of stealing your Mom’s phone so you can trick me into coming here? Never,” Emma says flatly.

“I didn’t steal Mom’s phone.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But your wicked aunty sure had something to do with it.”

Henry doesn’t confirm or deny the accusation, so Emma takes the opportunity to observe Regina from her corner of the couch. She’s standing by the kitchen island, adjusting the flowers into a vase with so much reverence. Emma tries her best to be discreet about it, but it’s difficult when she’d spent two weeks missing Regina and her heart aches like nothing else.

Eventually Emma doesn’t care that she’s flat out staring when Regina brings the flowers to her nose. A soft, fond smile curves Regina’s mouth. And then she’s dragging her gaze back up, eyes locking with Emma’s.

Emma hastily looks away.

“Let me guess. You’re calling it Operation Parent-Trap?” Emma adds as an afterthought, mostly to hide the fact that she’d been caught staring.

“Operation Swan Queen, actually.”

He says it with conviction, not an ounce of humor in his voice.

He’s actually serious.

Emma doesn’t have time to awkwardly laugh it off before Regina is striding back in with two mugs of cocoa. Perking up at the sight, Emma gratefully accepts hers, her stomach doing a little flip when she catches Regina’s gaze again.

Fuck. This is going to be a long night.

“Thanks, Mom,” Henry says and smiles sweetly. It’s all a ruse, undoubtedly. Emma knows a demonic smile when she sees one. “What do you think? Can we take a picture?”

He holds up his stocking again, the word Henry stitched at the top in extravagant letters.

“It’s beautiful,” Regina croons gently. “And of course. Let me grab my phone.”

“I was actually thinking of getting the camera from upstairs. You know, the nice one.”

Regina falters. “Henry. That’s in the attic.”

“Yeah,” Henry says, nonchalant, already making his way upstairs. “I’ll probably be a few minutes. You guys can start filling up the stockings without me.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to -”

“Champagne’s under the tree!” he shouts out of the blue as he vanishes upstairs. It’s so random and definitely screams staged that Emma shouldn’t be surprised when she peers over their Christmas tree to discover that he’s right.

There’s a bottle of champagne casually sitting there, perched alongside two wine glasses and an entire array of decorative candles, all of which are lit up.

Well that’s a fire hazard.

But it’s also shamelessly romantic. Maybe even tasteful. Emma isn’t sure whether to be enraged or impressed.

Regina tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“I assure you that wasn’t there before,” she says, obviously embarrassed. Emma can’t help but find the pink tinge on her cheeks captivating. “Henry’s been… I suppose it doesn't matter. Just give me a minute to clean this up.”

“Do you have to?” Emma stands, swooping down to pick up the bottle. “I mean, why waste out on a good bottle of…”

She squints. She has no idea how to pronounce the fucking label.

“Veve klick-kwot?”

Regina’s mouth tips up in amusement. “It’s pronounced Verve Klee-Koh.”

“I took Spanish in high school.”

“I hope it’s not as bad as your French.”

There’s no animosity in Regina’s tone. Her eyes are still gleaming with mirth, and Emma feels daring enough to pop open the bottle.

“Puedo hablar un poco.” Emma shrugs. “See? Not bad for ninth grade Spanish.”

It’s hard to miss the eyeroll Regina gives her. Emma fills up both glasses, hesitating only slightly when she notices Regina contemplating her. She doesn’t know what the look is supposed to mean. But Snow’s words continue to echo in Emma’s head.

The urge to know becomes stronger with each passing minute.

“So.” Emma says. The tension is creeping back in.

Regina stares expectantly at her over the rim of her glass.

“So.”

“What was that about filling up our stockings?”

That seems to do the trick. Regina practically beams as if only now remembering the stockings. No doubt she’d chuck a fireball at Emma for thinking it’s really fucking adorable.

Emma desperately wants to close the distance and kiss her.

“It’s a tradition we’ve had for years,” Regina explains. “When Henry was younger, he’d fill up a stocking with his old toys, for the children who didn’t have any. Along with a letter for Santa. He’d wake up on Christmas day excited to see what new things Santa put in his stocking.”

Emma’s heart clenches a little. “That sounds nice.”

Regina hums in response. “As he got older and discovered Santa wasn’t real, we would exchange stockings instead. Fill them up with candy. Pictures. Memories, really. So instead of writing a letter to Santa each year, he would write one to me.”

“That's…” Stupidly sweet. “What would he write?”

“What any eight year old boy would write about,” Regina drawls. “How much he wanted that cool toy race car he saw in a movie. Up until he was ten, when he -”

Regina’s words come to a measured halt. Emma doesn't question it, silently showcasing her understanding.

“After the curse broke,” Regina continues and draws in a steady breath. “He made sure to write down that he loved me from then on.”

Emma swallows. Her throat feels annoyingly tight.

“Smooth kid.”

“Yes. I guess your family can live up to its Charming name occasionally,” Regina says wryly.

“That almost sounds like a compliment.”

“Not in your lifetime, Swan.”

That pulls a laugh from Emma, who stops short once she becomes aware of the meager distance between them. She had edged closer at some point, drawn by Regina’s story. Or maybe Regina herself.

Either way Regina doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

But Emma? Emma can count every eyelash, take in every detail of Regina’s features and everything inside her just yearns.

The admiration must be written clear across her face because Regina smiles a little.

“What?”

Emma blinks. “What?”

“You’re staring,” Regina says, mouth ticking up. “Again.”

Emma is unable to contain her own smile at the familiarity of all this. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Regina fiddles with the stem of her champagne glass, eyes searching Emma’s face. They hold her gaze for a long, suspended moment, darting to Emma’s mouth and back up. Emma can’t figure out if she imagined Regina taking that small step forward - she might never know.

Because before long Henry is charging back down the stairwell.

“Found it!” he exclaims, holding up a vintage looking polaroid camera.

Regina immediately steps back, much to Emma’s chagrin. At this rate their son is either a master schemer or a total cockblock.

“Huddle up, you guys,” he says. “Picture time.”

Regina spares him a bemused glance, before asking, “Picture? Of what?”

“Just the two of you. It's for a scrapbook I'm working on.”

“I think I'll pass, kid. You know I don't do pictures,” Emma says cautiously.

“Come on, Moms,” he pleads, and pins them with the biggest doe eyes Emma has ever seen. “ Please? ”

The second Regina turns to her with a Queenly glare, Emma’s royal ass is a goner.

“I can’t get out of this, can I?”

Regina lifts her eyebrow in challenge. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”

It’s as good of a threat as any. Emma sighs.

“Where do you want us?”

“In that corner over there,” Henry replies cheerfully.

Staggering her way over beside Regina, Emma does her best to keep the grumbling to a minimum. She does stand stiffly in her designated corner, up until Henry chirps in -

“Closer.”

Emma tosses him a dirty look, but nonetheless shuffles closer to Regina, feeling her insides jump when she accidentally grazes Regina’s hand.

“ Closer ,” Henry demands.

“Kid, what the hell -”

“Oh, wow. Look at that,” he cuts in and gestures to the ceiling. To the small cluster of twigs and berries incidentally hanging above them. “Mistletoe. I wonder how that got there.”

His face is a picture perfect mask of innocence, voice devoid of inflection. Emma wants to throw a sock at his head. But she doesn’t trust herself to have functioning use of her hands when there’s something cold dipping between her ribs.

“I guess it’s tradition to kiss, right?” he urges.

“Henry…” Regina stands frozen next to her, obviously taking it about as well as Emma was expecting. Her voice is audibly strained as she says, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“Why not? It’s just a kiss.”

“ Henry .”

“And you’re friends , aren’t you -”

“Oh, for the love of - just shut up . Both of you,” Emma snaps, irritated now. She ignores Regina’s look of outrage and points a finger at Henry.

“ You . This is the last straw. You’re in so much trouble, kid. It’s not even funny.”

For once, Henry’s stare is somewhat remorseful. “But -”

“ No buts . Your room. Now .” It must be this whole stern parent thing that is giving her an extra bout of courage, because she’s pivoting back to face Regina. “Regi -”

Emma freezes.

She’s struck speechless by Regina’s eyes, which are roaming Emma’s face, gauging her reaction. There’s something dark and heavy about them, and it’s making every cell in Emma’s body light up like firecrackers. She has no idea what to do.

Fuck it.

She reaches out to run a hand across Regina’s jawline, listens to the slight intake of breath Regina sucks in as soon as she does. Emma’s final thought before she steps in is a flat -

I’m so dead.

She doesn’t go for a kiss. As much as she craves being able to kiss Regina again, Emma shifts forward and wraps her arms around Regina’s waist instead. Lets her body mold into Regina’s and her head dip into the crest between Regina’s neck and shoulder.

It’s a new feeling. Different, especially when hugging isn’t something they’ve done before. Emma can sense Regina’s hesitation, the tension coiled in her body, but a second later she’s draping her arms over Emma’s shoulders, pulling her in closer. Tighter. She slips a hand gently into Emma’s hair, pressing her nose against it, and Emma’s chest swells .

“You’re getting a little sentimental there, Miss Swan,” Regina murmurs into her hair, and Emma lets out a small puff of laughter against Regina’s neck.

There’s no way of knowing how much time passes when the click of a camera breaks the silence.

Emma doesn’t have it in her to scold Henry this time around.

.

.

Instead Emma fills his stocking with coal.

It’s a petty thing to do. But she refuses to be that type of bitchy mom no matter how pissed off she might be. So she adds in some of his favorite candy bars for good measure. A picture of the two of them that she’s kept in her wallet for some time now.

Maybe Regina’s right. Maybe she is getting too sentimental.

As for Regina’s stocking - that was a far more difficult endeavor.

By the end of the night, Emma decides on two things. One is a glassy swan ornament with a golden crown on its head, not dissimilar to the one Henry had given her. She’d found it tucked away on top of their tree, and Emma had stolen it with the intention of gifting it back because why not .

The second thing is a letter.

It takes Emma multiple attempts to flesh it out word for word. It’s intimate and sappy and hella sentimental . Emma tosses it away in agitation and promptly scribbles on a scrap of paper before she changes her mind.

The words on the page stare back at her with simplicity.

.

.

I love you.

.

.

.

.

.

As the days pass by, Emma begins to see Regina more and more.

Whether it’s to pitch in ideas for the upcoming festival, run into each other at Granny’s, or inadvertently storm through the Mayor’s office, not a day goes by that Emma somehow… stumbles into her. Literally.

None of it is intentional, or remotely coincidental. In fact, if Emma had to guess, she'd wager it has everything to do with Dipwads One and Two.

AKA her son and Zelena.

AKA the two demon spawns from the deepest fiery pits of hell.

“Why are you even in on this?” Emma gripes at Zelena. She’s not even going to attempt niceties this time when she’s shoveling snow off Regina’s driveway and it just so happens to have been yet another trap.

“Don’t you have citizens to torture? Tea to drink?”

Zelena scrunches her face. “Why would I be drinking tea?”

“You’re British .”

Emma drops the shovel on the ground harder than necessary and wipes down her gloves. It had been storming the last two days, leaving the town covered in sheets of snow. The last thing Emma needs to see is Zelena’s face leering at her from the porch.

“Need I remind you that I’m a fairytale character from Oz?” Zelena drones over her mug, perched comfortably on her rocking chair.

Emma has no idea where it came from.

She scowls and folds her arms. “Whatever. You didn’t have to fake a burglary to get me to come here, you know. You could’ve just asked.”

“And miss out on all the fun? My. You really are naive.”

“Fun?” Emma mimics. “You think it was fun trying to sneak in through a two story window? I fell on my ass . And Regina nearly castrated it.”

Zelena waves a hand. “Dramatics. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been the burglar then.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And the two of you are stubborn twats. How hard is it for you to shag my sister? She’s related to me . She’s bloody beautiful.”

Well. Emma can’t argue with that.

Whipping off her gloves, Emma sighs into the frigid air and vows to never attempt another break-in again. Her ass is still soggy from falling out the window, and so she trudges her way back to the front door.

“I’m going in to dry off.”

“Any dryer and you’ll be spitting dust out of your cunt,” Zelena snickers.

Emma ignores her.

She sweeps into the laundry room to change into a pair of sweats she finds laying around. At first she thinks they belong to Henry, though judging by the slimmer fit, Emma is enjoying the thought of them belonging to Regina a little too much.

Regina is already there when Emma enters the kitchen. Emma stops and hangs back for a moment, watching as Regina crosses over to the counter, preparing lunch.

As soon as Regina sees her, she pauses, her gaze dropping to Emma’s new attire.

“I see you’re back to stealing my clothes again.”

Emma peers down. “These are yours? You wear sweatpants?”

“I had a moment of weakness,” Regina says in lieu of a real answer and takes off her apron. Because of course she wears an apron while making sandwiches.

“You call it weakness. I say it's -”

Unreasonably cute.

Emma pushes the thought away. “Convenient?”

Regina doesn't seem too impressed by that response, so Emma changes the subject.

“My jeans were wet. I didn't exactly fall into a field of flowers.”

“True,” Regina agrees, vaguely amused. “You could’ve also used magic. Though I suppose you can’t ‘magic’ common sense into existence, can you?”

“Har har.”

When Regina simply observes her, Emma fidgets under the weighted stare that she can only describe as concerned.

“You’re bleeding,” Regina points out, gesturing to Emma’s head. “Right… there.”

Pressing a palm to her forehead, Emma immediately winces.

“Oh. Yeah. Must've caught a branch on the way down.”

Regina’s eye roll is somehow both annoyed and affectionate. “I honestly don’t know how you've managed to survive this long. Sit. I have a first aid kit here somewhere.”

Emma frowns. “Can't you just, I don’t know. Poof it away?”

“Unless you want to risk me ‘poofing’ a scar onto your face, we should clean it up the old fashioned way.”

“Look, it’s fine. You don’t have to -”

“Emma,” Regina sighs. “Just sit. Please.”

It's the quiet please that brings Emma’s next argument to a complete halt.

“...Okay.”

Emma reluctantly plops down on top of the counter as she waits for Regina to come back. It doesn't take long. She has a first aid kit clutched in her hands as she settles by Emma’s side and sorts through its contents.

“You’re overreacting, you know. It’s just a cut,” Emma gripes.

“Forgive me for caring about your wellbeing.”

“Am I hearing this right? Is Regina Mills going soft ?”

Regina shoots her a pointed look.

“Hold still,” she says and holds up a cotton swab, presumably doused in alcohol. “This is going to hurt.”

“Can’t hurt as bad as everything else we’ve been through,” Emma attempts to joke.

Attempts , but it comes out more pained and slightly accusatory, and Regina’s eyes pin her with a rueful stare. One that communicates.

Just as the air between them grows thick, Regina presses the gauze to Emma’s head.

Emma hisses.

“You were saying, mighty Savior?” Regina deadpans over a faint smile, holding the gauze more firmly.

“Touché.”

The pain is more manageable after a few more swabs, at which point Emma begins to focus on the pinched look of concentration on Regina’s face. As corny as it sounds, the sight of it is fucking charming. Unfortunately it also makes Emma’s heart twinge in her chest.

“There,” Regina mutters as she finishes up. She fishes out a bandage from the box. “I haven’t had to use these since Henry was younger.”

“Are those Scooby Doo bandaids?”

“Much younger,” Regina clarifies, smiling fully now.

Emma feels ridiculous. But Regina could plaster fifty Scooby Doo bandaids onto Emma’s face, and Emma would without a doubt get down on her knees and let her. If that doesn’t prove how far gone she is, nothing would.

Once she’s all wrapped up, Emma doesn’t care how stupid she must look when her gaze finds Regina’s again. Her eyes flit between Emma’s, searching. Much to Emma’s surprise, it’s Regina who brings a hand between them and runs her fingers along the side of Emma’s head, just over the bandaid.

She brushes a thumb across Emma’s cheekbone. Emma feels as if her heart is going to burst right out of her chest any minute.

“Thanks,” Emma mumbles, throat tight.

Regina opens her mouth to respond, but pauses, her expression turning confused over the sound of music faintly playing from the parlor.

Emma has to strain her ears to hear the cheery Christmas music.

But she’s pretty sure Baby, it’s Cold Outside isn’t supposed to play during questionably romantic moments like this.

“Henry must have left the record player on last night,” Regina mutters, her warm hand still resting delicately over Emma’s cheek. Emma has to resist the urge to lean into it.

“Henry. Right.”

She’s going to kill Zelena.

“I’ll go turn it off,” Regina offers, much to Emma’s disappointment.

Except when she draws back, Emma spots the mistletoe over the kitchen archway as swiftly as it takes to mystically appear there.

Emma panics, grabs onto Regina’s forearm. “Wait.”

“Emma, what -”

“I’ll go,” she insists. There's no telling what fiasco awaits outside and Emma is so not going to risk it.

Just as she's scooting off the counter, though, Emma sees them - an entire bundle of mistletoe sprigs dangling in mid air above them.

“You've got to be kidding me.”

Regina follows her gaze. “What’re you -”

She doesn't get to finish.

A chair jolts against the floor, shoving Emma forward and straight into Regina. The force of it is enough to knock them both over. Emma wishes she could say she took the brunt of the impact.

But like any cheesy romcom, she faceplants right on top of Regina instead, cushioning the fall.

Regina peers up at her, flushed and surprised and most definitely livid .

At least Regina’s boobs are really nice.

“ Emma! ”

Emma struggles to get up. “That wasn’t me .”

“Oh, and I suppose you were magically pushed ?”

“Now that you mention it - yes ,” Emma grits out.

Zelena comes sashaying in a second later, takes one look at Emma's sprawled ass from over the rim of the mug she has cradled in her hands.

And then cackles.

“I could be shagging a dwarf and it would be less excruciating than this travesty,” she motions to them, perching herself on the chair beside Emma. She raises her mug in delight.

“Tea, anyone?”

.

.

As it turns out, there really isn’t anything more excruciating than Emma’s current travesty.

Or her ‘homosexual debacle’ as Zelena likes to call it.

She’s fallen into this sinking hole of self-awareness and now all she can do is play the waiting game. After stupidly putting a love note inside Regina’s stocking, there’s not a whole lot of waiting left to do. Emma guesses it’s a start - clear the air without having to face the rejection head on.

Maybe then things can finally go back to normal.

Emma snorts. “As if we were ever normal.”

As if.

It’s two days after the fiasco at Regina’s. Christmas Eve.

And the town is brimming with holiday celebration now that the festival is up and running. Emma hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the aesthetic over the last few years - what, with the constant monsters and curses and fairytale bullshit that always seems to plague Storybrooke.

But now there are lights that trace each peaked roof of every shop, lining every tree and fence. Harp music fills the air over all the charoling. Aside from Happy, who was charged with multiple counts of sexual harassment and shunned into a different realm several months ago (though not without Regina setting his ass on fire. Literally), the dwarves are all singing.

Emma thought that might be the strangest thing she’d see all night, but then she’d spotted Granny over by the Town Hall tree, dressed as Santa. Beard and all.

It’s honestly so fucking surreal.

The park is no less festive, but a lot quieter, Emma notices. Which is why when Snow eventually makes her way to Emma’s place on the park bench, Emma silently groans.

“Is there a reason why you’re out here all by yourself?” Snow asks and takes the empty seat beside her. “Henry’s been looking for you.”

“I know,” Emma grumbles. “Hence why I’m here.”

‘Operation Swan Queen,’ as it’s been clearly dubbed, has not been put on the backburner these last few days. He’d thrown a mistletoe at her head earlier today.

If Emma has to experience one more Parent Trap-esque moment via her son, she can officially say her life is one big fucking joke.

“Back in the Enchanted Forest, we used to celebrate the Winter Solstice,” Snow tells her, unnecessarily.

Emma bites her tongue. “Why celebrate Christmas then?”

“After twenty-eight years of living under a curse, all these modern customs become ingrained in your head. This isn’t too different from the festivals we had in our realm, though. At least we can say there’s plumbing.”

“Yeah.” Emma nods. “Plumbing’s pretty great.”

“Mhmm.”

Emma heaves out a sigh. “No offense, Mom. But why are you here?”

Snow stands up. “I thought we could go for a walk.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I insist.”

That’s definitely reassuring.

Emma warily follows her off the bench. The sun had long since disappeared, painting the sky pitch black with shades of lighting in between. For a while she’s content to stroll by Snow’s side in silence, not straying too far from the lake, where there are people skating along the frozen edges. Emma can almost say it’s relaxing.

It doesn’t last long, of course. Snow decides to open her mouth.

“So how are things between you and Regina?”

Emma crosses her arms, tucks her chin into her scarf. “You can’t even pretend to be subtle, can you?”

“Honey, subtlety doesn’t work with you. There’s not a jackhammer on this realm that can drill into that thick head of yours,” Snow points out nonchalantly.

Emma isn’t sure whether to be offended by that or not.

“I want you to be happy,” Snow says after a long pause, giving Emma’s hand a light squeeze. “ Both of you.”

“Not everyone can have a happy ending like you and Dad.”

“Maybe not. But you can’t lose out on a chance for one just because you’re too scared to try. The first step is admitting it.”

They come to a gradual stop, soothing music drifting in from the distance as Emma turns around to face her.

“Admit what?”

“How you feel,” Snow elaborates, not that that helps clarify things. “Admit that you love her, Emma.”

Emma’s frown deepens as she fixes Snow with a reproachful stare. “Don’t. I’m not doing this.”

“At some point you have to stop being afraid.”

“I’m not… afraid ,” Emma lies through her teeth. “There’s just no point! I put a note in her stocking, Mom. A note that says… it doesn’t matter. Either way she’s going to find out by tomorrow morning. We’ll get through an awkward conversation so she can tell me that this will never work. So she can reject me a second time. Then maybe we can all. Move. On .”

Snow had been calmly watching her through her rant, eyes soft and understanding. Emma briefly simmers down.

Very briefly.

“I’m still waiting,” Snow says.

“God - fine. I love her , okay?” Emma snaps. “I’m in love with her. I’m in love with Regina. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?”

“Very,” Snow says, visibly pleased with herself, before motioning behind them. “Now go ask her to dance.”

“What?”

Emma whips around so quickly she strains her neck. There, sitting a good forty feet away, is Regina. Emma doesn’t think she’s noticed them yet through the crowd, but just the sight of her is enough to make Emma’s breath snag.

“You plotted this, didn’t you?” Emma accuses. “You, too ?”

Snow remains undeterred. “Coincidence. Here, take this for good luck.”

She pulls out a small figurine from fuck-knows-where and drops it into Emma’s unsuspecting hands.

Emma gawks at it. “ This is for good luck? Your baby Jesus statue? Are you insane ?”

Snow waves both her hands in a ‘shoo’ motion. “Go.”

“There’s no way in hell -”

Snow gives her a little shove. “Oh, gosh darn it. Go .”

“Will you stop saying that?”

Eventually Emma does go. She forces herself to walk forward even though her knees feel weak, and she’s pretty sure Snow is watching her every move. By some miracle, she doesn’t faceplant into the snow.

Regina is typing a message into her phone as Emma nears, doesn’t so much as glance up.

Emma clears her throat.

“Madame Mayor.”

If Regina is startled by the interruption, she doesn’t show it. She peers up to regard Emma, a smile forming on her lips, before trailing her gaze down to the baby Jesus statue still cradled in her hands.

She raises her eyebrows. “Are you about to gift me with one of your mother’s ugly statues?”

“I, um…” Emma hastily sets it down on the ground. “Ignore that. It’s for safekeeping.”

“I see.”

Emma doesn’t think so. Regina offers a highly dubious look, one that Emma meets with hesitation.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, Emma. But was there something you wanted?” Regina asks.

“Just seeing if you needed any help once the festival’s over.”

“Henry’s already offered to take care of the cleanup. Surprisingly Zelena did as well,” Regina states, unaware of Emma’s current emotional distress. “Although you can tell Snow that her nuns are running rampant again. One of them threatened Granny with a spatula. Something about tarnishing the masculine image of Saint Nicholas. I’m sure it would’ve turned into a bloodbath if I hadn’t -”

“Dance with me.”

The words spew out of Emma’s mouth so quickly, for a second she isn’t sure if she’d said them. But Regina’s wide eyes are darting between Emma’s, face wrinkled in wonder, and Emma knows she had heard.

“What?”

Emma swallows. Go big or go home, right?

She holds out her hand.

“Dance with me,” Emma says again, more boldly this time.

Regina stares at the offered hand over a mixture of shock and uncertainty, as if Emma is going to attack any minute. It disheartens Emma just enough that she nearly pulls her hand back.

But then Regina reaches for it, clasping it between her own. Her eyes gleam with something Emma can’t name when she stands up, her gaze meeting Emma’s.

“Okay.”

.

.

Okay.

There’s a small courtyard further down the trail that is more secluded, a white terrace propped up high above the ground, extending into a bridge. Emma leads them there, stopping temporarily to listen to the music filtering in from the distance.

Right. Emma is starting to regret this.

This is terrifying.

“I didn’t leave my bench just so we can stand here, Swan,” Regina says sardonically.

There’s an edge to her voice that almost sounds nervous . It’s that small display of vulnerability that catches Emma off guard.

“I know. I’m waiting for the right moment.”

Regina purses her lips. “Right moment for what?”

Rather than replying, Emma does a stupid little bow that makes her feel absurd, but she’s extending out her hand again.

“First, you escort your partner to the dance floor.”

It’s a recall to their moment in the kitchen all those weeks ago, when things were fine and uncomplicated and Emma didn’t spend every waking moment wishing it had all gone differently. Regina seems to know it, too, because her lips turn up into a more genuine smile.

There’s no hesitation when she slides her hand into Emma’s.

“And?” Regina says, coy.

Emma grins. “Then we position our arms like so.”

She demonstrates by guiding Regina’s arms around Emma’s shoulders, beckoning her in close.

“And then we -”

“Sway?” Regina interjects.

Emma huffs. “You’re ruining my game.”

Regina’s soft laughter wraps around Emma like silk. Her smile never fails to set Emma’s heart racing.

It doesn’t disappear even as Regina draws nearer, relaxes against her and and lets her forehead tilt into Emma’s. The gesture sends a warm tingle down Emma’s spine.

“And then we sway,” Emma confirms quietly.

The music has changed. While there was some awful variation of Jingle Bell Rock playing in the background a minute ago, a slower tempo plays from afar.

Something in the air shifts with it - Emma senses it in the way Regina melts into her, fingers threaded limply in Emma’s hair. In the press of Regina’s body that is making Emma's lungs implode beneath her ribs. It's thick . Electrifying.

It's also fucking stupid. They're dancing like two pubescent middle schoolers, but Emma wouldn't give up a second of it for the world.

“It's snowing again,” Regina says, her voice dropping to a low murmur into Emma’s hairline.

Emma shivers. She knows damn well it has nothing to do with the cold.

“Yeah,” Emma notes. She watches the thin cascade of snowfall around them before grinning.

“You’ve got some… in your hair.”

“How unfortunate,” Regina says dryly.

“Wanna borrow my beanie?”

“Emma. Does it look like I can pull off something that ridiculous?”

Emma ignores the jab. “Actually, yeah. I think you’d look -”

She trails off abruptly. Doesn’t bother hiding her reaction when Emma spots the mistletoe this time, dangling above them like this is a sure sign that her life is meant to go to utter shit.

Regina follows her gaze wordlessly. Her face remains carefully neutral while Emma struggles to come up with something to say.

She doesn’t quite know how to say that everyone in this family is a meddling asshole.

“Well?” Regina says after a long stretch of silence. She’s staring back at Emma intently. “I’m waiting.”

Emma blinks.

“You… want me to kiss you?”

“What I want is for our son and my dimwit sister to stop spying on us from that bush over there,” Regina retorts, not that Emma had any idea that they’re being watched anyhow. “But it wouldn’t be a terrible idea. Would it?”

There’s that same flash of vulnerability again. Emma’s face creases in confusion. Even when the thought of kissing Regina makes Emma’s knees wobble, she has to clarify -

“So… you don’t want me to kiss you?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Regina’s expression sours, going from unguarded to irritated.

“You can be a real idiot sometimes, you know,” Regina sighs. She steps away from Emma’s hold. “We should head back. It’s getting late.”

And god no . That’s the complete opposite of what Emma wants.

Everything was going so well, and she’s already managed to fuck it all up. Again . The panic Emma feels is downright crippling.

She reaches for Regina’s hand. “Wait.”

If there’s a word to describe Regina’s face right then, it would definitely be scary . She has her scary face on. Emma flinches.

“Miss Swan. Let me go or so help m- mmf .”

Mmf. The sound will forever be ingrained in Emma’s head.

It’s the sound of potentially life threatening ideas - the firm press of Emma’s mouth against Regina’s prevents her from finishing that sentence.

And then -

“About fucking time! You dumb prats.”

The foggy part of Emma’s mind doesn’t even take into account that there’s someone in the background shrieking.

A hand dives to Regina’s waist, the other coming up to cup Regina’s cheek. The kiss is clumsy at first. A hard clash of lips that Emma desperately clings on to.

Regina exhales into it, lets out a soft, wanting noise that makes Emma soar.

It takes several sluggish seconds for Regina to react. She sinks into the contact, letting her arms settle back around Emma’s shoulders, mouth opening under Emma’s. The husky groan Regina releases into her mouth sets Emma on fire.

Fuck.

She can’t remember the last time she’s felt this alive.

Emma’s senses are overwhelmed by everything Regina. Her perfume. The soft, sticky touch of her lipstick. The heat of her body. Emma swears she can feel the thump of Regina’s heartbeat through their layers of clothes.

She missed this. It’s beyond comprehension, how badly she’d missed being able to kiss Regina again.

“I really fucking missed this,” Emma pants into the space between their lips.

The I missed you goes left unsaid, but Emma sees the recognition for what it is in Regina’s eyes. Eyes that are wide and unimaginably dark. Emma dips her head in to plant kisses along Regina’s jaw.

Regina’s response is a raspy burst of laughter. The sound of it warms Emma to her core.

Regina’s fingers absently scratch at the shorter hairs at the nape of Emma’s neck, and Emma has the burning need to lean in and kiss her all over again

She doesn't have to. Regina palms her cheek, tugs Emma back in to bring their mouths together once more.

There’s a ferocity to the kiss now. Deep and urgent. She doesn’t - can’t stop kissing Regina, even when Emma’s hands are roaming and she’s being reduced to heavy panting. Regina hums into her and the vibrations ripple through Emma, spurring her to swipe her tongue along the seal of Regina’s lips. Regina sinks right into the wet slide of Emma’s tongue, sucks on Emma’s bottom lip.

Bites it.

A jolt shoots through Emma’s stomach.

And it’s through the soft groan Regina emits, the not-at-all subtle roll of her hips that Emma decides that she is thoroughly, shamelessly turned on.

Eventually Emma drags her mouth away. Her breath is coming in quickened puffs, and the heated glaze in Regina’s eyes is doing nothing to quell the throbbing between Emma’s legs.

“We should go,” Regina says. Her heavy-lidded stare moves from Emma’s eyes to her mouth.

As if that isn’t enough, she draws in closer, lips brushing Emma’s earlobe.

“Come home with me.”

Home.

The suggestive, throaty edge of the words puts a stop to Emma’s breathing altogether.

“Okay.”

.

.

Emma isn’t normally the type of jackass to assume things like when she’s going to get laid. She's always been a stickler for consent, not to mention there are too many variables to consider that can change through the course of a night. But she’s fairly confident tonight is the night that she is.

Getting laid, that is.

There's no room for doubt when Regina magically poofs them both to the mansion, silently hangs up her coat in the calmest fashion possible -

And then presses a hand into Emma’s sternum, shoving her into the nearest wall and kissing her so hard, Emma actually sees stars.

Emma gasps into Regina’s mouth, feels her knees tremble when Regina licks into her at first, tongue flicking towards the roof of her mouth. Fingers tug off Emma’s beanie and tangle in her hair. And then her scarf.

Emma doesn’t hesitate to press forward. She molds her body into Regina’s, the pliant warmth of her drawing a shaky moan from Emma.

The kiss is dirty . Deep and obscene. Emma doesn’t think she’s ever been kissed like this before. Like the only way for Regina to get through this exchange is to outright fuck her mouth.

They kiss until Emma’s jaw aches and her lungs burn. And when Regina pulls away, it’s with a filthy chuckle hitting Emma’s mouth in a gust.

Emma has to put a hand on the wall behind her to brace herself because Jesus.

That sound definitely soaked right through her underwear.

“Upstairs,” Regina mutters, dipping inside the opening of Emma’s coat to shrug it off.

Emma is too light-headed to respond. She edges forward to capture Regina’s lips again, but her hand remains on Emma’s sternum, holding her back.

“Regina -”

“I know you’re wet for me,” Regina says, half under her breath. She snares Emma’s bottom lip with her teeth. “I can smell you.”

“ Fuck . Regina.”

Emma has to stop herself from arching fully off the wall, instead curling her hand over the back of Regina’s neck and crushing their mouths together in another bruising kiss. Her other hand finds Regina’s in the space between them, guiding it underneath Emma’s unfastened jeans. Under the low-rise waistband of Emma’s thong.

Emma feels the sharp breath Regina sucks in when she presses herself into Regina’s fingers; letting them slide into the slickness gathered there, pooling between her thighs.

There’s no denying it. Emma’s drenched .

“Satisfied?” Emma whispers. Her groan is muffled by the seal of their lips as Regina dips her fingers further between Emma’s folds. They skid just over her clit.

Emma’s head thuds against the wall.

“Very,” Regina replies, peering up to observe Emma with the darkest set of eyes Emma has seen to this day.

She feels the sudden, frustrating absence of Regina’s heat when Regina withdraws. The frustration is short-lived as Regina grabs for Emma’s hand, motioning her to follow.

“Upstairs.”

Emma doesn't need to be told a third time.

Somehow they fumble their way to Regina’s bedroom, hands clambering and mouths seeking skin the entire way up. At one point Emma has to stop them in the middle of the stairwell to hike Regina up against the railing, Emma’s lips latching onto her throat. Her palms dig into Regina’s ass - in time for Regina to meet it with a deliberate grind of her hips.

Regina yanks her back up into a kiss that Emma meets with equal fervor. They topple over on the next step, causing Regina to laugh hoarsely into Emma's mouth. Something about that makes Emma’s chest bloom with uncontained emotion.

“There's no way in hell I’m letting you fuck me on this staircase when there's a bed,” Regina murmurs.

Emma’s breath snags in her throat.

She can agree to that.

Once in the bedroom, Emma realizes she had long been stripped of her shirt, leaving her in a simple green, cotton bra. Regina doesn’t hesitate in closing the gap between them again. She slips a hand inside Emma’s unfastened jeans, drags them down as far they will go, and then nuzzles her lips to Emma’s earlobe. Nips it.

“Undress me,” she says softly.

Emma thinks she might come from hearing those words alone.

She seeks out the hem of Regina’s dress first - because only Regina Mills would wear a fucking dress during a winter in Maine - and tugs it up. Tugs until it’s bunched at Regina’s waist, until Emma’s hands turn clammy from hooking her thumbs over the sheer stockings and lacy panties. Pulls them down.

Emma isn’t entirely conscious of her own movements until Regina is standing before her, completely naked. It’s a vision she recognizes as a total blessing. The last time Emma has seen her this bare, it was by accident. Bathtub incident.

Now it’s on purpose and Emma’s insides are rolling over.

“You’re so beautiful,” Emma finds herself saying, short of a whisper.

The dazzling little smile Regina sends her makes Emma’s heart clutch.

“It’s your turn, you know,” Regina states, and Emma readily interprets that to mean it’s her turn to undress.

She’s partly right. Except instead of ridding Emma of her last few garments, Regina shoves her.

Literally.

Emma is caught so off guard, she yelps when her back collides with the mattress, and Regina is right there at the edge of the bed, on her knees , peeling off Emma’s remaining clothes. Her jeans are immediately discarded, followed by her underwear. The sight of it, of Regina kneeling on the floor before her, is unfathomably hot; it makes Emma forget how exposed she is in this position.

It only occurs to her when Regina wastes no time in dropping warm, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of Emma’s thighs, sucks and nips at the tender skin there as Regina puts a hand on each of Emma’s knees, pushing them apart. Spreading her open.

A small, wanton noise alerts Emma to the fact that Regina’s eyes are now settled on her, gaze latched on to Emma’s cunt.

There’s no time to feel self-conscious before Regina leans in, mouth fastening on Emma, hot and firm and so, so -

Regina licks at the length of her in one stroke.

Emma gasps - loudly - her head slamming back into the mattress.

“ Oh .”

She doesn't quite hear Regina’s answering chuckle so much as she can feel it, sending vibrations all the way down Emma’s groin. She has to clasp the bed sheets between her fists to keep herself from bucking into Regina’s face, but then Regina's mouth is on her again, using her lips at first to deposit gentle kisses down her slit. Runs her tongue back and forth between Emma’s folds, licking into her, lapping at her entrance. Working her tongue deep .

Emma doesn’t recognize her own strangled moan, or the jerk of her own hips when Regina uses her thumbs to spread her open, the feeling of Regina’s tongue inside her wet and perfect .

And Regina hums - god, she actually hums, as if savoring Emma’s taste.

“Regina , ” Emma says, voice high and feeble. She doesn’t care if she sounds like she’s begging.

Emma will gladly beg.

Soon Emma’s hips are circling, grinding into Regina’s face and the tension at the base of Emma’s spine is coiling. Arms wrap around Emma’s thighs, anchoring her down, and Emma thinks she might cry when Regina flicks her tongue over her clit.

Once. Twice.

“ God , I’m -”

The words are lodged in Emma’s throat. She arches into Regina, tries to find some pressure against Regina’s tongue. She rakes her nails against Regina’s scalp, urging her to do something. Anything .

Their eyes meet over the expanse of Emma’s torso through the no-so-subtle gesture. The heat of Regina’s stare is almost enough to unravel Emma altogether. It sears through Emma, leaving her panting and trembling.

Begging .

“Regina, please. Just - fuck .”

She’s so close . She’s -

As soon as Regina’s lips wrap around Emma’s clit, she gives it a slow suction, rubbing tight circles over it with her tongue. And Emma is gone.

Her hands tangle in Regina’s hair, body seizing, walls clenching around nothing. All it takes is for Emma to find Regina’s dark eyes boring into her before she’s coming, shuddering over the wave of pleasure with a broken cry.

Regina doesn’t relent. Her tongue continues to run lazy circles over Emma’s clit, lapping at the slick mess Emma is sure is pooled between her thighs. When even that becomes too much, Emma pushes lightly at Regina’s shoulders.

“I just need a minute,” Emma explains. She feels like she’d just run a marathon when all she did was fucking lay there. “Just - how are you so good at that?”

Regina laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes Emma surge with affection. The heavy feeling in her chest only seems to grow as she watches Regina crawl up her body, hair in disarray, lips and chin glistening with Emma’s arousal.

“I have my ways,” Regina says, wasting no time in straddling Emma’s thighs. “I simply think of you. Losing control.”

At that, she brings Emma’s mouth to hers, lips parting over the sweep of her tongue and Emma shivers. She can taste herself in it.

“Biting back your screams,” Regina continues and starts nibbling along the edge of Emma’s jaw.

She reaches out to sweep a thumb over Emma’s nipple, outlines it with just the tip of her finger in one slow, torturous motion before replacing it with her palm. She gives Emma’s breast a firm squeeze.

“Tasting you until you unravel.”

Emma expels a ragged breath, one she doesn’t bother holding in when the ache between her thighs intensifies. At this rate she’s going to come a second time.

A total disgrace when she knows Regina deserves three times that many.

It’s like coming up for her first breath of air - Emma leans in to slant their mouths together. One hand slides over the nape of Regina’s neck, the other growing restless at her hip. It follows a path down to Regina’s ass before Emma pulls her flush against her body.

At the press of skin against skin, Regina moans, licks into the hot space of Emma’s mouth.

Emma takes the opportunity to explore, hands following the notches of Regina’s spine, over her hip bones, down the backs of her thighs.

Regina releases a shaky exhale against Emma’s mouth. Emma sucks on Regina’s bottom lip between her own, letting it go with a little nip.

As the kiss deepens, moving slower, more obscene , Emma fits her palms around Regina’s breasts. Regina moans again, heavy into her mouth as Emma thumbs over her nipples, and Emma feels the goosebumps on her skin rise up when Regina grinds into her.

The wet slide of Regina’s cunt against her skin makes Emma dizzy with want.

Her hands go still. Emma can feel the protest in the way Regina sucks on her bottom lip, rolls her hips against Emma’s thigh at a frenzied pace.

“Emma,” Regina sighs in frustration. Or maybe it’s total delirium.

Both?

Emma thinks it’s definitely a combination of the two when Regina takes Emma’s hands to put them firmly on her ass.

“Touch me. Now.”

Emma is all too willing to oblige.

“Should’ve known you’d be bossy in bed, too,” she snickers, ducking to take Regina’s nipple into her mouth.

The startled little gasp Regina lets out has heat flooding Emma’s body. She laps at the hardened tip of her nipple, runs her tongue around the edge. Lightly scrapes it with her teeth.

“I’m also open to suggestions,” Emma offers.

Because Regina is shuddering now, rocking jerkily into Emma’s lap and Emma has little to no restraint left. Regina’s chest is rising and falling rapidly by the time Emma’s mouth closes around her other nipple, sucking and licking and kissing - Emma almost doesn’t notice the whiff of magic in the air.

It’s hard not to notice. She topples backward in surprise, casting a glance at the harness now surrounding her hips.

Emma blinks.

“Did you just… magic a strap-on into existence?” Emma blurts, unable to tear her eyes away from the purple, phallus-looking thing protruding from her crotch.

She has to remind herself that it’s a dildo. Regina magicked a dildo of all things.

On her .

“Of course not. It was already in my dresser,” Regina states, staring at Emma as if her idiocy knows no bounds. “You said you were open to suggestions.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean -” Emma trails off.

She remembers then, their phone conversation just weeks prior, after Emma had gone on a rampage over the dirty dreams she’s had. She never thought they’d be anything more than a fantasy, some sort of sick mind game that showed her everything she could never have.

Now Emma is living in it. There’s an expression on Regina’s face that is unreadable. Her eyes are dark and engorged with desire, but there’s something else there that knocks the wind out of Emma. Makes the prickling heat beneath her skin go up in flames.

“Well?” Regina says, impatient now. “Emma.”

It’s the way Regina’s voice cracks at her name, the desperate, wanting edge to it that causes something in Emma to snap.

She flips them over and pushes Regina on her back, flat against the mattress, pinning her arms above her head.

Regina huffs in surprise.

She looks up at Emma, astonished, fingers coming up to rest over Emma’s shoulder. Emma figures she’s done something right when Regina immediately wraps her legs around her waist.

“Oh,” Regina says on a shaky exhalation. She drives her hips upward, sealing the distance between them, and Emma can practically feel the tip grazing against Regina’s entrance.

Emma swallows. “Does that feel good?”

“I think it would feel better if you put it inside.”

The reply is no less snarky than what Emma would expect. She bites back a smile, ducks low to brush her lips over Regina’s temple (which feels scarily romantic, but Emma’s fucked up one too many times to care at this point) and wraps her hand around the dildo. Lines it up with Regina’s opening.

The first push has Regina arching into it, sinking against Emma with a choked sound. Slowly, Emma edges in deeper, relishing in the smooth glide it takes until their pelvises meet. By the time Emma is sure she’s buried fully inside, Regina is panting beneath her.

A soft growl of “Emma” has her smothering another smile against Regina’s skin.

“Is this okay?”

“ Yes ,” Regina insists, reaching out to tuck Emma’s hair behind her ears. “I like it rough.”

Yeah. No kidding.

And she’s yanking Emma back in for a fierce kiss.

The press of her nipples against Regina’s, the crush of their breasts, has Emma stifling a groan into Regina’s mouth. She plants a hand on the mattress just above Regina’s head, withdrawing almost fully before thrusting back in.

Regina hisses into the swell of Emma’s lips. The headboard slams into the wall, and for a second Emma thinks she might’ve broken it.

“Go on,” Regina urges in a scratchy whisper, dragging her mouth over the curve of Emma’s jaw. “Fuck me.”

That’s all the incentive Emma needs. By the third pump, Regina digs her nails into Emma’s shoulder blades, slides them all the way down to her backside, urging her in deeper, her moan muffled by the fuse of their mouths. Emma settles for a quicker pace after that, savoring every little sound Regina makes over the slick noises of their bodies connecting. It’s an easy glide in and out that makes Emma feel hot and tingly all over.

Regina spreads her thighs even wider, rocks her hips up in time to meet Emma’s thrusts. Their mouths remain locked, kisses becoming more heated, urgent, while the bed creaks beneath them and Emma wants to thank whatever holy entity there is that Henry isn’t home to witness this.

It’s when Emma reaches between their bodies, pressing her fingertips against Regina’s clit that Regina breaks their kiss.

She does it by arching into the touch, gasping. Her head tips back. Emma trails her lips down Regina’s throat, mouths at her jaw, her chin. She keeps a steady rhythm, working her fingers in tight circles around Regina’s clit.

Clamping a hand over the back of Emma’s neck, Regina tugs her in closer, breaking out into a near sob.

“ Emma .” Regina bucks her pelvis up, up . Rolls into her. “Emma, please .”

And everything inside Emma just… bursts.

It erupts in an overpowering wave of affection . The warmth of Regina’s skin, the rapid thud of her heartbeat, the way she holds onto Emma, unguarded and pleading and so fucking beautiful.

It doesn’t register at first that Emma’s mumbled something into the crook of Regina’s neck, not until she says it a second time, more clearly now: “I love you.”

Emma’s heart seizes violently, but she runs with it. There’s no going back now.

She scrapes her teeth over Regina’s pulse point, feeling it accelerate against her tongue.

“I love you.”

She mouths the words again into Regina’s sweat-slick skin. Nuzzles the spot behind Regina’s earlobe.

“I thought you should know.”

It’s with a final jut of her pelvis, a firm brush of her thumb against Regina’s clit - and Regina is bucking her hips, her whole body tensing as she smothers her cry into Emma’s shoulder. Her hands remain clenched around Emma’s hair, holding her still. She can still feel Regina’s heartbeat racing against her skin.

Emma moves to slip out, but then Regina sits up abruptly, draws Emma’s head up and cradles it gently between her hands. She latches onto Emma’s gaze in quiet wonder.

“What did you just say?” Regina whispers.

Emma doesn’t dare to breathe, especially when she’s pretty sure she’s having respiratory issues right now. Her eyes begin to mist over and she wills herself to hold it together.

“I love you,” Emma says. Exhales it out in a sort of choked whisper. “I think I have for a long time. I’m sorry for making you think I was using a potion to do any of this. I never meant -”

She stops short when Regina reaches out with her thumb, swipes a tear from Emma’s cheek.

The gesture itself is so tender, Emma has to hold in a sob. But it breaks free anyway when she lifts her gaze up.

Because Regina’s looking at Emma like she’s everything.  

Emma doesn’t bother suppressing the flow of tears now. “Regina…”

“Say it again,” Regina tells her, her own red-rimmed eyes following the wet streaks as she cups Emma’s face.

There’s no hesitation this time around.

“I love you.”

The slow, radiant smile that spreads across Regina’s face surges through Emma, and Regina responds with a watery laugh.

“Again.”

“Okay, now I’m confused. What does this even -”

Emma’s cut off by the crush of Regina’s mouth against hers. The ferocity of it has Emma staggering back into the bed, but she props a hand onto the mattress, sliding her fingers around Regina’s nape and angling in deeper.

There’s something different about this kiss. Whether it’s the post-orgasm aspect of it, or because saying her feelings out loud is so fucking liberating, either way Regina is kissing her like it’s something magical.

Regina pulls away to dot kisses along Emma’s cheek, along her tear tracks, before sinking back into Emma’s mouth. Brushes her tongue over Emma’s parted lips. The salty aftertaste has Emma melting into her.

“Lie back,” Regina murmurs and begins untying the straps around Emma’s hips. “I’d rather be tasting all of you.”

In light of Emma’s speechlessness, the rush of happiness dwindles a little.

“Do you…” Emma’s throat constricts. She hates the vulnerability building inside her, but she has to know. Her voice is small and unsure when she asks -

“I mean. Do you love me, too?”

Regina halts her movement to stare at her, and Emma can’t pinpoint exactly what she’s seeing, but there’s more warmth and fondness in that gaze than she knew was possible.

“Emma,” Regina breathes out and guides Emma onto her back, leaning in to plant kisses across her jaw, down her neckline. “You’re an idiot.”

There’s an underlying tone of affection in the words, but it still leaves Emma confused. “What -”

“I loved you from the start.”

Before Emma can respond, two of Regina’s fingers are sliding between her thighs, pressing into the wetness pooled at her opening. Emma arches into them, releases a guttural moan -

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night.

.

.

“You know what’s another good one?” Emma suggests, pushing aside a strand of dark hair from Regina’s shoulder. She lets the touch linger and leans over to kiss the skin there, because apparently an entire night of mindblowing sex makes her more of a lovesick moron.

“Darling. You should call me that more often. It’s nice,” Emma admits and smiles when Regina’s only response is a silent chuckle that vibrates through the bedsheets.

Sunlight filters in through the window, over the thick sheet of snow that had piled on from the night before. Snowflakes continue to trickle in from over the tops of the trees outside. A glance at the alarm clock by Regina’s side indicates that they don’t have much time before they have to get up. But Emma’s reluctant to leave this bubble of contentment, with Regina glued to her side and drawing senseless patterns over Emma’s stomach.

“I don’t remember ever calling you that,” Regina murmurs and stills her fingers.

“You did. Once,” Emma says, flushing at the memory. “Not that it can ever replace Miss Swan. Or idiot.”

“Oh shut up,” Regina says and swats at her lightheartedly. “I suppose I can make some adjustments.”

Emma pauses, uncertain.

“You don’t have to. It was just a thought.”

But Regina is already leaning on one elbow, her fingers skirting across Emma’s jawline, coaxing her to look up. Emma does, and it’s insane how quickly her body comes alive when Regina connects their lips for a leisurely kiss.

“Darling,” Regina says over their parted lips, scarcely more than a whisper. The sound of it sends a bolt of electricity down Emma’s spine.

Emma kisses her again, slowly. Deeply. But it goes on and on until Emma has to break away for air.

“Say it again.”

Regina laughs huskily into her mouth, focuses on the brush of her thumb over Emma’s cheekbone. “Darling.”

“One more time?”

Emma doesn’t think she could ever get tired of hearing Regina’s laughter, of the way it warms her to her bone. Rather than the sarcastic remark Emma half expects, Regina’s laughter gradually fades, the smile on her face ebbing into something more serious.

“I love you,” she says quietly, her hand framing Emma’s face as she studies her. “How is that for a repeat?”

Honestly?

Emma stares, heart pounding in her throat.

“I think… I really like that.”

Emma could melt on the spot when Regina smiles at her, the sort of soft, heartfelt smile that makes the world around them stop. As fucking sappy as it sounds, the world may as well have.

Before Emma can utter another word, the door slams open downstairs and Henry’s voice echoes over the walls -

“Moms, get up! IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

Well. There goes the bubble of contentment.

“How the hell did we raise such a little cockblock?” Emma mutters.

Regina gives her a stern look. “Don't call him that.”

“Well it's true. I -” Emma hesitates, eyes zeroing in on the door with growing dread. “We didn't lock the door.”

“What?”

Emma hurriedly scrambles to get off the bed. “We didn't -”

But it's too late. The bedroom door swings open - revealing Zelena, who’s hoisting Robyn in one arm while dressed in the raunchiest-looking Mrs. Claus outfit.

Emma doesn't have the presence of mind to cover her bare ass. She yelps, grapples for the comforter.

And then topples right off the bed.

Zelena stops dead at the threshold.

“I see you fucked my sister.”

To her credit, Regina looks only mildly annoyed. She holds the sheets up to her chest (now Emma realizes why she couldn’t get a grasp on the covers. Regina’s a fucking sheet-hogger) and sighs.

“Zelena. Do you mind?”

“I do, actually. I didn’t come all this way to look at your girlfriend’s naked arse,” Zelena sniffs, but nonetheless offers them some version of a self-satisfied smirk. “Robyn wants a flatcake.”

“A what?”

“A flatcake. The thing you serve on a pan.”

Regina rubs her temple. “It’s called a - you know what? Never mind. We’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine. In the meantime.” Out of nowhere, Zelena tosses a bottle of Febreze at the bed with a chipper, “Merry Christmas. It smells like a bloody brothel in here.”

With that, she shuts the door.

Emma has no idea what to do with herself in the several seconds of silence that follow afterward.

Eventually Regina has to tell her, “You know you can come out now.”

Reluctantly, Emma clambers back onto the bed. Regina is watching her with a strange expression on her face, before slowly stating -

“Don't tell me she's finally scared you off after walking in on us.”

“It's not that,” Emma says. And it's true, though she'd rather have to never suffer through another Zelena moment ever again. “It's just…”

Regina waits, eyes patient as she silently wills Emma to finish.

Fuck it. Clearly communication’s the key.

“She called me your girlfriend.”

Regina seems taken aback, and she pushes forward with a casual, “Yes… And?”

The relief that floods through Emma is palpable. She scoots in close, sucks in a laugh when Regina’s gaze drops down to her chest in blatant appraisal.

“I don't know,” Emma murmurs over a fleeting brush of their lips. She feels Regina's breath of anticipation. “I figured girlfriend would be too juvenile for your tastes. Maybe partner? Or ‘beautiful beloved’?”

A huff of laughter. “Don’t push it,” Regina says. “We’re not turning into your parents.”

Emma snorts. “What? No happy ending then? Happy beginnings?”

Regina brings a hand to Emma’s cheek, her eyes slowly tracing Emma’s face in what looks to be total adoration. And maybe it is making Emma a sentimental dumbass, but sitting here now, in the wake of godawful Christmas music seeping through the walls and more potential family catastrophes, she wouldn’t trade the moment for anything.

Regina noses along Emma’s jaw, hovers over her mouth for a second and right before surging in for another kiss -

“I like to call it a second chance,” she says.

And Emma, you ask?

Emma’s more than okay with that.