#regina

“No—wait—” It slips out of you without permission, breathy and soft, ending in this tiny, wounded whine when your character falls off the screen.

You don’t even notice it.

You just groan and mash the restart button, already muttering to yourself.

Regina’s thumb stills on her phone.

She glances over. Just once. Like it’s nothing.

The next round lasts longer. Long enough for you to get hopeful. Long enough for your knee to start bouncing.

Then—another loss.

This time the sound you make is quieter. More frustrated than upset. A small, airy whimper that you try to swallow halfway through, like you’re embarrassed even though it’s just the two of you.

“…that’s not fair,” you mumble.

Regina’s jaw tightens. She tells herself it’s annoying. Tells herself you’re being dramatic. Tells herself she absolutely does not need to be paying attention to the way your voice goes all soft when you lose.

You keep playing. Every mistake pulls something new out of you— a breathy little “mm—” when you almost make it, a sharp inhale when you don’t, a low, defeated whine when the screen flashes GAME OVER again. You sink back against the couch, head tipping back, controller still clutched in both hands like you might try again if you just rest for a second. A tiny sound escapes you. Not loud. Barely there. Just… tired. Whiny. Pathetic in the sweetest way. Regina stares. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Her phone’s forgotten on her thigh, screen dimming as she watches your chest rise and fall, the way you pout without realizing it, the way you let out one last quiet whimper when the game resets itself without you touching anything. “…Jesus,” she mutters under her breath, mostly to herself because she feels that her clit is now illegally pulsing in her definitely not very soaked underwear.

You don’t hear her.You’re too busy sighing, limbs going loose, controller heavy in your hands as you finally give up and go limp against the cushions—completely unaware that, at some point, this stopped being about a video game at all.

Regina finally snorts, breaking the silence.

“Wow,” she says, dragging the word out as she turns toward you, one eyebrow lifting. “You just… gave up, huh?”

You don’t answer.

You’re still sprawled there, controller loose in your hands, eyes on the ceiling. Breathing slow. Like you’ve accepted your fate. Like the game personally wronged you and you’re processing the grief.

She nudges your knee with her foot.

“C’mon,” she adds, smug creeping into her voice. “That’s, what—six losses in a row? Should I start keeping track or is that gonna hurt your feelings?”

Still nothing.

You don’t even look at her.

Regina frowns, just a little. The teasing was supposed to get a reaction. A huff. A whine. Something.

“…Babe?” she says, softer now, then immediately clears her throat and sharpens it again. “What, you finally lose your voice too?”

That’s when you speak.

Calm. Casual. Completely out of nowhere.

“Y’know,” you say, still staring at the ceiling, “I feel like you’d have a really big mommy kink.”

Silence.

Actual, real silence.

Regina’s brain short-circuits so hard she forgets how to blink.

“…What?” Then, louder, defensive, a little panicked, “No. What the hell? No I don’t.”

You turn your head just enough to look at her.

There’s a smile on your face. Small. Innocent. Dangerous.

“I’m just saying,” you shrug, giggling a little, “you’re being really intense about me losing.”

“I’m not intense,” she snaps immediately. “You’re just bad at the game.”

You hum, thoughtful.

“And you like taking care of me,” you add lightly. “And you get all bossy. And you’re kinda hovering.”

Regina sits up straighter. Arms crossed. Walls up.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she says. “You’re reading way too much into it.”

You laugh again—soft, breathy, still not moving from where you’re sprawled. Still holding the controller like it’s part of you.

“Okay, mommy,” you tease, barely above a whisper.

Regina’s head snaps toward you.

“Don’t,” she warns.

You grin wider, clearly delighted now. Giggly, but not stupid. You know exactly what you’re doing.

“You’re getting really flustered for someone who totally doesn’t—”

In one smooth motion, Regina leans over you, bracing herself on the couch so she’s hovering just enough to make the air feel different.

Her voice drops. Low. Steady. Dangerous in that calm way.

“Keep saying I have a mommy kink,” she murmurs, eyes locked on yours, “and I’ll make you scream it.”

You go quiet.

Not because you’re scared.

Because suddenly you’re very, very aware of how close she is—and how she hasn’t touched you at all.

Regina holds your gaze for a beat longer, then pulls back like nothing happened, reclaiming her composure with a satisfied little smirk.

“…Now,” she adds lightly, “you gonna play again? Or are you done embarrassing yourself for the night?”

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