Happy Valentine's Day! Have some White House OQ feels =)


Regina has always hated Valentine's Day. Always. Finds it annoying and mushy and absolutely pathetic.

Thankfully, so does Robin. You wouldn't expect it from someone so romantic, but he does, he despises it, and she could not be more glad.

It's really a non-event for them, just another day, where they both roll their eyes at each other in camaraderie whenever someone nearby has that lovesick look, exuding that Valentine's glow that they both find so annoying.

But she's the president now, and is expected to be gracious and wish her nation a happy Valentine's Day on a television segment Gold has booked for her ("we have to show the people you're not a bitter widow, Madam President," he'd told her casually, his candor making Ursula spit out a warning), and so she becomes the object of Robin's mockery the night after, when he nags her about the cheesy, fluffy message of love she gave during her interview in the oval office balcony the day before.

"Stop it," she admonishes when he bursts out laughing at her annoyed frown, "Gold wrote it, not me."

"Ah, but you delivered it so convincingly, Hallmark will put it on all their cards from now on, I'm sure of it," he taunts, and she swats at his shoulder in retaliation, crossing her arms petulantly where she sits on the bed, legs dangling and mouth pouting as she turns away from his mirthful stare.

"Hey," he says from where he stands, grabbing her hand and bringing it up to his lips, placing kiss after kiss on it, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"Was it really that bad?" she asks, but she knows the answer, of course it was bad. The statement was ridiculous, all rainbow kisses and unicorn stickers, she still doesn't know how she was able to stomach it.

Robin tries so hard to contain his laughter when he goes to answer her question, because he knows she's not in the best of moods after his teasing, but he can't stop it, the guffaw bubbles out of him as he nods and wheezes out another I'm sorry that makes the corner of her mouth turn up slightly.

"You said, and I quote, 'this is a day where we must all share in the beauty of love and the happiness we give to each other', for a moment there I thought it was David's wife speaking."

Oh, god. No. She likes Mary Margaret well enough, but the woman is the walking definition of a Disney princess, all starry eyed and hopeful, smiling like she's about to burst into song or speak to forest animals, to the point where Regina sometimes wishes poison apples were a thing. Ugh, she's going to kill Gold.

"I don't think anyone will mind, though, Ruby said it was beautiful, so did Belle, even Chef Lucas was moved by it. It was only funny to me because I know how much you abhor the day," he explains as she crosses her legs up on the mattress, and her anxiety eases somewhat.

"I'm sorry I made fun of you," he says yet again, moving around the bed to the other side and climbing on it, lying flat on his stomach across the covers, staring up at her with his head propped up on his hand, elbow digging into the soft surface. His free hand finds hers, thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

"It's fine, I knew it was ridiculous, I told Gold that it was, but it was part of his whole campaign to make me look like something other than a widow." She doesn't tell him of the colorful way the Press Secretary had voiced the very same statement, because Robin would probably kill him if he knew Gold spoke to her that way. And anyway, it's been handled, Ursula gave the man a very stern talking-to after the interviewer had left the premises.

"I have something for you," he says then, getting up from the bed and walking out to the living area of the suite, coming back in not a minute later with four bags of different types of Reese's chocolate, none of them are in any sort of special, pink Valentine's Day packaging, thank god, just good old peanut butter cups.

"Aw, you love me," she says, smiling fondly as he dumps the bags on the bed, and holds up a finger as a signal for her to wait, disappearing once again to the living room. When he returns this time, he's carrying things again, two lowballs balanced in one hand, a bottle of bourbon in the other.

"You really love me," she amends, beaming at him as he pours, hands one of the glasses to her and clinks it with his after he sets the bottle on her night table.

They drink quietly, put their empty glasses away when they're done and then dig into the sweets, laughing together as they share stories of disastrous Valentine's Day celebrations long past, watching crappy romance movies on TV and making out during commercials, the chocolaty, boozy taste of him becoming addictive in mere seconds, her hands roaming his body. They're both still in their work clothes, too lazy to change at the moment, and she loves nights like this, when they're just snuggled into each other on the bed, having a fun time and eating candy, loves the random kisses he can't help but drop on her hair, her temple, her cheeks, loves the way those kisses trigger some of her own against his chest and neck and jaw, the quiet rumble of satisfaction he gives at the feel of her lips on him making her shiver pleasantly in his hold.

She loves this man, loves him so much it hurts and heals and makes her fly all at once.

"Robin, I..." she starts, and then nothing else comes out, her voice trailing off and making him stiffen slightly, breaking their embrace so he can look at her proper.

"You what?" he begs, because of course he knows what she'd been about to tell him, knows she wants to say it, and then his face falls when she doesn't.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, guilt ripping her apart as she buries her face in his chest and holds on tight, afraid he'll leave.

"Oh, my love. Don't be, it's alright," he comforts, hugging her closer and planting a kiss on her brow.

"I just... I know how much it hurts you, and I hate hurting you."

"I'm fine, Regina. And I would never want to pressure you, least of all into telling me that you love me."

I do, though, she thinks but doesn't say. She's tried, so many times, she's tried, knowing it's ridiculous for her to still be so tight-lipped about her feelings, but for some reason, every time she decides to get the words out, they get stuck in her throat, a near-panic building inside her, making her chicken out at the last minute, and Regina wonders when the hell she'll be able to get over this nonsensical fear and finally tell him what he means to her.

"You'll say it when you're ready," he tells her with a tender smile, showcasing those dimples that she's so drawn to, "I don't mind waiting."

"You don't?" she asks, unsure. He's told her this a million times before, but her own insecurities get the best of her, have her doubting everything, and his voice is the only thing that seems to soothe her, his reassurances the only ones that ring true in her ears.

"Of course not," he promises, knowing her all too well, "I love you, I'm not going anywhere."

She smiles at him, then kisses him, mouth soft and sweet against his, her tongue darting out just slightly to lick at his top lip, her teeth then grazing the bottom one when he squirms at the action, and his breath grows heavy, his eyes fluttering closed as he sinks back into the pillows and drags her atop him, but they don't seek more, simply enjoy each other, delight in the little moans and the wet pop of their mouths as they separate to take a breath, and he smiles at her, his finger trailing a path down the center of her face, stopping at the tip of her nose to tap it lightly before continuing to her lips, that same finger touching them reverently, tracing their shape, the thin line of the scar that rests there, his eyes open and loving as she hovers above him.

And it's here, in his arms and with her mouth now peppering kisses down his jaw, to his collarbone, hand unbuttoning his shirt slowly, that Regina revels in the best of alternatives, injecting all the love she has for him not into words, but into every press of her lips and tongue on his skin.

She can't tell him yet, but she can show him.