Chapter 1: Seeing Regina

The brunette. The mayor. The Queen.

But really she's just Regina.

She's angry.

Rigid shoulders tense.

Hands dig into her hips.

She tilts her chin upwards so that she can look down on you.

The corners of her eyes tighten until she's practically squinting in her rage.

Her voice dropping until it's just a growl deep within her throat.

The dominatingly regal command of a Queen.

Her lips snarl and the corner of her mouth twitches up ever-so-slightly.

It should look like a grimace.

But instead it's almost like she's suppressing some kind of sick and twisted smile.

Because she's actually enjoying this.

This yelling at you.

This making you feel like you're beneath her.

She likes being this angry.

It gives her somewhere to put her passion.

And it infuriates you to no end.

That she gets off on this kind of thing.

And the fact that she looks terrifyingly gorgeous when she's this pissed off doesn't help either.

It's not fair.

The arrogant glint in her eyes makes you want to kiss her until she can't even remember her own name.

But that's what she wants.

So you don't.

She's sad.

She's crying in the corner of the shower again because she thinks you won't notice over the noise of the water beating against her naked skin.

But you can hear the sobbing through the door.

You've caught her here before and decide not to intervene.

It'd just embarrass her.

But you also just can't stand the sight of seeing her so broken again.

Wilted and crumpled up into the smallest possible ball she can manage.

As if she would do anything just to make herself disappear entirely.

The image makes your heart twist.

Mascara running down her palms as she covers her face with her hands.

Chest heaving as she knocks her head rhythmically against the tile.

Fingernails pulling at her hair.

Her tears mixing with the shower water until everything is wet, wet, wet.

Sad and dripping.

Helpless.

You know she doesn't want you to see and so you sit outside the bathroom door and wait in silence.

Listening to her pain.

You hope that your presence will be enough.

She's scared.

Terrified really.

Her mask is up.

Jaw clenched and tight.

Eyebrows pulled together.

Arms folded over her stomach like she is physically keeping her organs from spilling out onto the ground in front of her.

Her voice is resilient but her breath hitches slightly as she waves excuses at the surrounding crowd.

The politician's curse.

Her watery eyes are glistening.

Threatening to spill over.

And then suddenly she encroaches on your personal space and just stares at you.

Beseeching.

Begging you to help her.

To save her.

But she doesn't know what she needs.

Except that you're the one to do it.

You say yes without speaking the words.

Yes to anything she wants.

But your mouth twitches up in a dejected smile to show her that you don't know what to do either.

But you're here for her.

Whatever she decides.

She nods curtly and marches away.

Pretending to be strong again.

She'll tell you when she chooses.

She's happy.

You've lost count of how many hours she's been sitting on the floor.

Helping Henry with that school project.

She couldn't care less about the copious amount of glue stuck to her hands.

Or the miniscule paint flecks now decorating her shirt.

She's beaming.

Glowing.

If eyes could actually sparkle you'd swear that hers would be doing that right now.

Or maybe they'd be dancing.

And then there's that heart-breaking smile that nearly splits her face in two.

Starkly red lips pulling back over crisp white teeth.

You always seem to forget just how wide it is.

How much joy her face can actually hold when it's allowed to.

She's breathtaking.

And when she smiles…

The faint scar above her lip practically disappears.

She's underneath you.

Scratching her fingernails into your back to make angry red lines.

Biting her plump bottom lip so hard that you think she might draw blood.

She's trying not to moan.

Her control issues just make her that much more fun to unravel.

She throws her head back in rapture and you kiss the column of her throat.

It's still purple from when you marked her before.

A breathy noise escapes her anyway.

Her leg snakes around your hip and pulls you closer.

You plunge into her again and again and again.

Whispering that she's beautiful.

Filling her with your light.

Until she's shaking.

Quaking.

And stars explode inside her brain.

Hooded eyelids glaze over and she cums quietly in your arms.

A silent implosion that only you get to see.

Teeth sunk into your shoulder.

Death grip in your hair.

And then the lazy smile that warms your heart on the coldest of days.

She knows.

She's loved.