Regina had always prided herself on maintaining an air of composure and authority. She was the Queen, after all—both in her past life and in Storybrooke. But when it came to you, all that regal demeanor seemed to crack.

You were infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. Always with your witty remarks and clever comebacks that cut through her like a knife but left the tiniest smirk playing on her lips. You didn’t respect boundaries—always pushing, always teasing—and somehow, somehow, you managed to worm your way under her skin in a way no one else ever had.

“Do you ever know when to stop talking?” Regina snapped one afternoon as you leaned casually against the counter in her office. She’d called you in to discuss something mundane, but the conversation had, as usual, taken a turn the moment you opened your mouth.