Alright, because I seem to have "attacked" a lot of feels and "killed" a lot of souls, here's some fluff. Well, as fluff as this can get. I've written this when I first got into Outlaw Queen which was months ago, so yeah.

Unbeta-ed, pardon my mistakes. Enjoy.

I now present you Jealous!Robin.

for OQSeason3B


He watches them like a hawk, and has in fact watched them all night. He tells himself that it is okay, tries to think that this is indeed okay with him. Only, it isn't, and he can't keep telling himself that it is.

He really should not mind. Regina Mills is not a possession, and she will never agree to being one, even if there is nothing in this world he wants more in this world than to be able to have her, fully, to make her belong with him as he does with her. He doesn't want to own her, he just wants her to be his (and it isn't like he doesn't realize how conflicting his thoughts are), mind, body and soul like he is hers.

No matter what he feels about her and about it, however, he doesn't do anything. He never wants to smother her, doesn't want to make her feel like she has when she's still married to the King. He doesn't want to take away her freedom (from herself, her scruples, and all her pain), not when she has struggled so much to attain it, not when she's only still getting used to this freedom. But damn it, he isn't made of stone, and he isn't particularly okay with this.

What this is, though, he doesn't really know, can't really say.

Her laughter rings from across the room and reaches his ears. This particular laugh does not settle with him very well. Granny's is practically full tonight, the townspeople have gathered there to celebrate another victory, and she is far away from him. She is sitting on one of the stools by the bar and he is there, sitting on a booth—they are at different sides of the room, yet he hears her laughter. And it annoys him. Granted, there is nothing more beautiful to him than her laughter (except perhaps, the sound of his name tumbling from her lips in a short, breathy gasp while in the throes of passion, but that is an entirely different story), but at the moment, this laughter annoys him. He hates the sound of it, and he drowns in ill concealed fury as he hears it.

That laugh, god damn it, is his. From the moment they have started seeing one another, through all the muddles, he is the only one she has ever granted that laugh.

He shifts his eyes to Little John who is sitting beside him, telling him and some of the merry men (Friar Tuck, Will, and George) about his adventures in the Storybrooke Forest. He tries to focus on Little John, on his friends—he needs to look away from Regina for a moment. He needs to distract himself from her, as she distracts herself with that man…that mad fucking hatter.

Who is he anyway? He wonders. He has not set sights on that man since he is brought over by the second curse. Regina surely has not brought him up, has not told his name, has not even mentioned it (though he knows, and it's: Jefferson, his brain supplies acidly).

But more importantly, who is that man to her?

He sighs. Surely, she won't appreciate the way he is behaving now, and his thoughts. He has nothing to be worried about, he knows. But he can't help it. He can't help but think that after everything he's done, everything that's happened, maybe one day she will come to her senses and realize that she does deserve and can do better.

It is a gross injustice to her and her feelings, but he can't help it. He knows it to be the truth.

He hears her beautiful laughter again, and he inhales sharply while his hands ball into fists. He tries to quell the anger, tries not get too jealous, and lifts his eyes to their son instead. He is over to the Charmings booth, playing with Henry, who is now patiently explaining to the squirming Roland how to play the game on his PSP (something that Robin thinks is wonderful in helping keep Roland quiet). He watches as his son and the teenage boy he came to love as a son laugh loudly before giving each other hi-fives.

It seems as though everyone around him is having a good time but him. But he tries not to be the party pooper, the Debbie downer, and he tries really hard. He lets his eyes roam around, lets his eyes shift to Emma and Killian, his sons, even to Leroy who is having some kind of drinking game with the Prince. He lets his eyes roam anywhere, everywhere but her. His hands are itching to touch her, his eyes wanting only to stare at her, but he refrains; tells himself that a bit of space won't kill him.

But, God, it does. It is.

His attachment to her makes even him nauseated.

Ultimately though, he knows he is fighting a losing battle anyway, so he lets his eyes fall back to her, settle on her. He takes her in, quite content at just looking for now, but wishing nothing more than to slide his arms around her waist and pull her close, tell every man who has ogled her for the past hour (and he could honestly say that there are only a few men who had not checked her out since they arrived) to fuck off. The queen, Regina Mills, is his.

But by, God, she is gorgeous, he thinks. And he wills his mind to stay focused on her, on how breathtaking she looks in her red dress, instead of the man to whom she flashes her dazzling smile to.

Why on earth are they on different sides of the diner anyway? They have indeed arrived together, have even taken a booth for their own, but she has spotted that mad hatter talking to Tinkerbell, (and that damned fairy has waved her over and left not even five minutes after Regina reached them, leaving his girlfriend with that stupid hatter) and she's left him with a quick kiss. The kids left him too, and the merry men took over the seats, but all the while, all he's wanted was to be right next to her.

So why, why, why is he even in that damned booth anyway?

Right, he thinks, freedom, space… she needs those, and he respects her so he'll give her that. Even if she is smothering him, ten feet away from him, filling his thoughts and making him so goddamn jealous that at this point he wants nothing more than to bloody Jefferson's lip.

But he knows she won't want him to make a scene. And in all honesty, he doesn't want to either.

He succeeds, marginally, until he sees the mad hatter place his hand on Regina's cheek, letting his thumb graze her skin, before pinching it slightly and softly that makes Regina smile so widely he can practically count her teeth from where he is sitting.

How dare he? He thinks. How dare he touch his Regina like that?

His vision turns from green to red in a matter of seconds, and before he can think better, he is already up, his chair making a soft scraping noise against the tiles. He marches towards them, his ears red with anger, his nose flaring. He feels Friar Tuck and Little John's eyes on him as he walks, even knows that Emma and her pirate has turned to look as well. But he doesn't bloody well care. He doesn't give a fuck, not when she isn't looking at him or paying him any mind. And he wants her to pay him attention. He is her boyfriend for god's sake, not this damned hatter.

"It's bad form to flirt with other people's fiancé," he growls to the both of them, though his words are directed to the hatter. He slides his arm around her waist the way he's wanted to since they arrived. "Especially if that fiancé is mine," he adds, glaring at the hatter for good measure.

"Fiancé?" the hatter asks, barely able to hide the confusion from his voice. Then he smiles (the damned hatter actually smiles) at him in a very amused manner.

Regina turns in his arms to look at him, her eyebrow shooting up so high, it almost as good as touching her hairline.

Well, okay, granted that they aren't really engaged, and he most definitely should not have said that, but he doesn't really want to retract that. Not because he wants the hatter to back off (well, he wants that too, but it isn't the main reason), but because he has wanted to ask her that now for months. The only reason he hasn't is because he still fears rejection. He's been waiting for the right time to ask, and given the chance he probably would not have asked this way, but well, he's already claimed it, hasn't he?

He meets Regina's gaze head on, and he tells himself not to quiver. Yes, the woman he loves is the former Evil Queen, but he isn't intimidated by Regina. He never has been. And he won't start now, either.

They just look at each other for a long time, oblivious to everyone around them who seems to be doing their own thing anyway, oblivious to the mad hatter (mercifully and finally, he thinks). It is a struggle of some sort. A power struggle. And both of them waits for the other to snap, to break, to put an end to this and initiate the kind of celebration they both know they both want.

He can't read her eyes, and so he can't tell if she is mad, but at least she isn't frying his balls on the spot. That is always a good thing.

"Perhaps, I should get going," the hatter says awkwardly when neither one of them makes a move.

"That's for the best," he growls angrily, not once taking his eyes off Regina.

"Robin," Regina hisses, her eyes flashing quickly with anger.

He shrugs, but doesn't say anything.

Once the hatter has left, he all but drags her to the back of the diner, near the staircase, where they are out of everyone's earshot but everyone is within theirs. It is secluded, barely lit by the streams of light from the diner. He places his hands on her shoulder and squeezes once, twice before dropping them again at his side.

"Fiancé?" she asks, sounding a little incredulous, but her face never betrays it. It doesn't betray any emotion at all.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—," he begins but he quickly stops himself. Why on earth was he apologizing? She's goaded him, made him jealous, damn it. Besides, he isn't even sorry. "No, wait, I'm not apologizing."

"You're not?" she asks, and now he finally hears the anger in her voice. She practically hisses at him.

"No, I'm not," he says firmly. And the look that flashes in her eyes should be enough to scare any men, but not him. He's seen her in her worst, her best, seen her come alive and come apart in his arms. He is not going to be intimidated by her. "I'm not sorry for—I was being perfectly serious."

"What?" she asks, again. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I meant it, Regina," he explains. "With the fiancé thing? I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine." He backs her into a wall and then cups her cheeks in his hand, leaning down to kiss her. His mouth moves over hers softly, convincing, pleading, wanting. He wants her to accept, say yes, but he doesn't want to bully her to it. He wants her to say yes because she wants to be with him, to belong with him.

She pulls away and pushes on his chest slightly, to put a little bit of distance between them. "Are you—," she pauses there as if afraid to say the words.

"Yes," he says, plaintively, "yes, I am Regina. Please say yes. Marry me." He sounds pathetic, that he knows, but isn't this a time of desperation?

Her eyes water, and she looks up at him with a watery smile. "Yes," she whispers as she pulls him to her once again, kissing him. When she pulls away, they are both panting, and she rests her forehead against his as they struggle to calm their breathing.

"You're sure?" he asks, sounding a little unsure.

She grins, the teasing light in her eyes alight. "Well, since you practically claimed it," she says, laughing.

But this is no laughing matter. "Regina," he says seriously, and she stops chuckling long enough to give him a questioning glance. "Regina, I don't want you to be forced to marry me. When I told that to the hatter," and he spats the word bitterly, "I wanted him to back off. I was so jealous. But that isn't the only reason, I have wanted to ask you, anyway, for the longest time…however, I am not going to force you…I don't want to be another Leopold."

"Robin," she says, as her hand runs up his chest, the heat of her skin seeping through the fabric. "First of all, you have nothing to be jealous of about Jefferson. He is just a friend, barely even one at times. He was offering me advice about well, you! Second, I want to marry you. I want this. You didn't force me, and you certainly aren't going to be another Leopold to me." The words soothe him as much as her voice has. "I love you, Robin of Locksley."

He smiles, finally, letting his irrational fears settle down. He isn't going to doubt her, or her love for him, or his for her, or their happiness.

"And I you, milady," he whispers as he places a ghost of a kiss on her lips. "I, you."

Fin


a/n: Thoughts are appreciated and prompts are welcomed (it might take a while). :D