Hi! So C_SpanishOncer tweeted me a prompt from ImagineOQ on twitter, and asked if I could write one, and I took the bait. I'm weak, what can I say?

I hope you like it. It's supposed to be a one-shot but i'm definite that it's a two-parter (smut next chapter ladies and gents(?)). So yeah, enjoy!

Officially off hiatus, by the way.

My many many thanks and love for Miles who has been so incredibly patient with me, not just with this fic but for the past few weeks. Thanks for the beta, I love you forever and ever, Tramp or Trump, it's the same thing. Thank you.


Chapter One

He's running late.

It isn't in his plan to be, and he knows it is bad form to be, but there are things in life that he just cannot control—his son throwing a tantrum just before he's about to leave is certainly one of those. Even worse is that he couldn't seem to find his designated classroom, had actually been in a different one, burst in (thankfully the lecturer hadn't been there) and embarrassed himself because that had not been his Literature class.

Well, isn't that just bloody great.

And now he makes a mad dash down the corridor to get to the room on time, and he has less than a minute to go before he is absolutely late while the hall seems to get even longer by the second. Robin huffs and puffs and takes about two seconds to regroup and to breathe when he makes it outside the door, before he pushes in, panting and all—only to be met with the raised eyebrow of the woman on the front of the class.

Her hands still as she stares him down, making him feel heat rise up his body to his face out of sheer embarrassment. He's not even sure what to say or do, because he's left speechless.

She's gorgeous, absolutely, positively, sinfully so and his brain short circuits. Had he been under different circumstances he would have…well there had been things he would have tried to do that are strictly prohibited here in this reality, and the thoughts make him berate himself silently because apparently, she is also his professor—and she is most definitely not pleased.

"Is there a reason you're interrupting my class?" She asks, her voice deep and sounding terribly put off at his little stunt.

Of course there is no reason, only that he's a colossal fool and he's stupid enough not to have used the back door, instead he bursts into the room through the front door and now he's put in the spot, managing to increase the professor's ire by the second.

"I'm sorry, milady, I just—" He stammers, grapples for a valid excuse but coming up with nothing because how is he supposed to explain that his son isn't having any of his I'm-going-to-school-today-just-like-you-you-see thing, or that he's stupid enough to have wound up in the wrong classroom before he'd realized that it hadn't been for his Literature class but for whatever class it had been supposed to be?

Yeah, no such luck there.

Robin watches as her lips thin and she frowns, gives a hard look before she shifts on her feet and raises an eyebrow. "It's Professor Mills to you," she tells him, and he bites his lip—it's a force of habit to have called her milady, chivalry isn't dead after all. And then she continues with an irritated, "Well, you're in the wrong classroom. This is my schedule, I have this room for this time."

That makes him stop, makes him take a few steps back to subtly glance at the sign on the door and yes, he is in the right room—303, it says, and he has the room 303 for his Literature class, he's sure of that, until it hits him that she must have mistaken him for a professor like herself, and well, he probably would have been if things hadn't happened the way they had.

Robin reaches up, scratches the back of his head and sighs, feels heat rise up in his cheek, though he tells himself that it is nothing to be embarrassed about. He hears her sigh and turn with irritation as she gives him a look.

"Well, you aren't in the right room, and that's sad for you, but I do have a lecture to get on to," she tells him dismissively.

"I do believe I am, mi-erm-Professor Mills," he says then, looking at her and trying to ignore the fact that there must be a hundred other students watching this very display. "I have Literature 101 in room 303."

Her features change and she looks curious now rather than annoyed, and that's better, he thinks. "What?" she asks, and he detects a hint of wonder in her voice and he swallows, nods, and looks away. He isn't sure if he can look at her and watch her eyes change into something—pity, judgment—whatever it is, he isn't interested to see it. But her voice is neutral when she speaks again and it makes him whip his head up when she says, "So you're a student in my class."

He nods, though she needs no answers, and mutters a barely audible yes.

"What's your name?" she asks looking down at her class list.

"Locksley," he says, "Robin Locksley."

She huffs then and crosses her arms across her chest. "You're late," she accuses and he only gulps, he knows he is. "And you've just wasted ten minutes of my time. Now get to your seat and try not to get in my way of teaching."[MF1]

He mutters an "I wouldn't dream of it," under his breath, hoping she hasn't heard, but by the look she throws at him as he passes, he's sure that she has.

The subtle smirk that she sends his way doesn't escape his notice either.

He sees her again, a few days later, and though he realizes that he is bound to see her a lot considering she's his teacher, right now he sees her in a different setting. He sees her outside of school, and he's surprised, thought pleasantly so, because he's never thought that she would be the type to come into such a regular off-campus diner for coffee or anything else, really, but she does just that.

It had been early on a Friday and he had begged his friend Will to babysit his son for him so he could try and cram for an exam happening that day as well and he'd camped up at Granny's to do just that. Robin had been there for quite a few hours, had downed a lot of cup of coffee and had understood nothing in his reading materials when she came in. He'd looked up when bell above the door jiggles and she walks in, hair all blown out by the wind outside, her cheeks tinged with a soft pink from the cold.

He finds her stunning, in every way, finds her face so fair the evil queen from that fairy tale snow white would have envied her and she distracts him, but he cannot let that happen, she's his professor above all else, and that's forbidden, but even if she hadn't been, even if they would have had found themselves in a different scenario or lifetime, he still won't have entertained those thoughts, still won't, because she's a thousand flights of stairs too high out of his reach. So he tries to concentrate on his work, tries to study about the history test he has coming up (it's only a few weeks in and yes he has a test because his professor in his history class is wicked and she's absolutely hell bent on making everybody's lives miserable), tries not to think of his stunning professor who is more off limits than he could possibly even begin to narrate.

He's mildly successful (he's not at all, she's within his radius, walking in the diner in her black coat and impossibly high heels), but focus dissipates to nothing when she hovers over the stool where she is seated and crosses her arms across her chest impatiently.

"You're in my seat," she tells him flatly, booking no argument.

He looks up and grimaces, "I didn't know it's taken," he can't help but say because it's terribly childish, really, and so incredibly adorable of her—no, no, stop it Robin.

"Well, it is, and it's mine. You merely stole it," she says, and Robin could almost swear she's flirting with him. And then she peers into his eyes and narrows hers. Recognition hovers over her brown orbs, though it is hazy and unsure. "Wait, have we met before?"

Well, this is awkward, isn't it?

She's his professor, he her student and though he only has one of her, she has hundreds of students, and he understands her confusion, so he smiles.

"I doubt I would ever forget that meeting," he tells her, teasing her though he really shouldn't, how dare he. "My name's Robin Locksley, I am in your Literature 101 class, Professor Mills."

"Ah, the late comer," she says when recognition finally dawns with certainty. "I actually prefer Regina. Well, when we're outside campus, that is." She smiles before she looks down at the handouts scattered in front of him, looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "You really think you can bring down Zelena's history test with a few hours of cramming, coffee and some trusty old garlic sticks?"

There is a hint of teasing in her voice, and if he's dreaming he really, really doesn't want to wake up.

"Well, I can certainly try," he counters and bites down on his lip. He looks up at her with a amusement and wonder, and she stares back at him with a badly contained smirk.

"Good luck with that," she tells him with a shrug, before she turns her attention to Ruby, the waitress, and orders. When Ruby comes back with a coffee to go, she accepts and pays before turning to him. "Best of luck with your history test, and for now, you can keep my seat, thief."

He smirks at her, though his mind is reeling. Is this even normal behavior, surely it isn't? Teachers don't flirt with their students no matter how close in age they are (and he could tell that they are, actually he knows that they are), and he should not be flirting back.

But there is a pull between them, and really he cannot stop himself.

"You're going to trust something valuable to a common thief like me?" he asks with a hint of amusement.

She chuckles and shakes her head, turning back and walking away.

"You can't steal what's been given to you," is all she says.

It is a turn, a confusing one, because after that meeting they have started becoming friendly with one another. Even though she's still the stuffy professor in class, which he totally understands, she's a professional, his professor at that and it's only right—she is still cordial to him outside of class, has even at inadvertently had coffee with him at Granny's a few (a lot) times through the semester—they had accidentally been there at the same time and had sat next to each other on the counter and shared coffee and some stories.

It seems innocent enough, and it is, they aren't doing anything wrong, they're just sharing stories and drinking coffee (she doesn't daytime drink, she says), and he believes it, he does, if he says enough. They are just two friends hanging out, it just so happens that she's his teacher and he's her student—something is wrong in that, he knows but chooses to ignore it because it's all innocent and not wrong at all (his attraction to her be damned).

Only it feels more intimate than that.

He'd told her stories about himself that he doesn't usually share because it's so easy with her, everything seems to just flow naturally. There is an ease between them that he cannot name or place, but he's not questioning it. He tells her about his five year old son, Roland, and how he's become the light of his life. He tells her about his late girlfriend, Roland's mother, who had passed while giving birth to their child, and how much toll it had taken him. He tells her about his decision to come back to University so he could give his son a better life, and also to fulfill the dreams he put on hold for Roland.

He doesn't usually open up, not like this, but she makes it seem so easy.

She gives him advice about his classes or how to handle her colleagues, gives him studying tips. She tells him of her classes, makes funny anecdotes about some of colleagues and students, talks to him in depth about books she loves or even hates. She's even told him of they are the same, of how she'd had to deal with the loss of a man she's loved—Daniel, she says his name is—and how devastated she's been. She's been saved by her nephew who's been left to her care when his mother has passed.

"His name is Henry," she says, beaming, "He's seven. I actually had the same experience, but I had him three years ago when his mother had passed, she'd left in her will that I take care of his son—we were good friends, lived together as roommates in college and sometime after that—and she doesn't trust anyone with her son, not that she can, she's had no other relatives, and when she'd told me about that clause in her will—well, after a few misgivings, I realized I couldn't really resist my godson."

Her godson that she treats and loves like her own son.

She talks about the first time the boy had called her mama, and how that had broken her heart and confused her, but she's adored it so much, loved hearing it from him, and she'd confessed that maybe it makes her selfish and weak but even if she wanted to (she doesn't), she cannot have told Henry not to call her that. She had long since promised herself and her son that she'd never make him forget about his birth mother and when Henry is old enough, she'll explain everything.

"It must be hard for you," he empathizes, touching her hand, and he feels electricity run through them, feels his veins pulse and hears his heart thunder. It isn't the first time he's touched her certainly, but it has never been a direct contact, always just a touch of her sleeve or just his arm casually slung at the back of her chair.

Touching her skin is different—it feels…he feels the static, feels the tingling, and feels every nerve-ending raging.

She pulls her hands away as if burned and she looks up at him with eyes that tell a lot more than words can say and he's not sure what to do at the moment, only knows what he wants to, and that is to kiss her which is the very textbook definition of what not to do.

She doesn't even say a word, and it barely registers to him until she's gone, but she flees away from him, half runs out of the diner without another word or another backward glance.

And he sits there in his stool, alone and confused.

Not just by her actions but with his own feelings.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that she is his teacher, except when the week begins and he has to attend her lectures and he is jolted by the reality that she is his teacher and he is her student and whatever might have gone between them during those times at granny's don't hold much water (and that they aren't very right though they have done nothing wrong).

But now, now it's not that hard to remember anymore. She reminds him every chance she gets with that stoicism and coldness that leaves no hint of the woman he's come to know over the months. She's all professional and her mask is back in place.

She ignores him, and he has tried, tried so hard, to catch her attention. He's tried to engage her in a conversation that does not involve Austen or Conan Doyle or Poe, or any of the people she discusses in class that has nothing to do with the two of them, or what has happened. But she's not responding to him, steadfastly ignores him when they meet at the hallway, has even changed the time she comes to Granny's to avoid him (damned stubborn woman).

He shouldn't pursue this, he knows that, should leave things enough alone, but he cannot. It's hard to when he feels things for her that he shouldn't, when the sight of her has his heart jumping, when that elusive smile satisfies him to no bounds when it appears, especially if he's the one who has made it to. It's hard to just ignore everything when his mind tells him that this a bad idea, she's a dangerous woman to be trifling with, but his heart keeps taking him to her.

He's fucked up of course, he realizes that. He shouldn't even entertain thoughts that would lead them to the path of broken hearts, but he cannot help himself, cannot stop himself when there is a pull between them stronger than him and his resolve.

She is stronger than him, it seems, because he cannot stay away from her—even if he knows that it is the best thing to do. He knows the repercussions, knows the danger of this even though he hasn't realized how quickly he's fallen into this, until he's hit the ground, and not—now he's just not sure.

Though he's sure that he cannot continue this way, can't live a life where he's hanging on a limbo because he likes her and feels something for her that scares her. She's got much more to lose, he realizes that, but…but nothing, really, it's just that at the very least, they deserve closure. They can't go on like this.

So with a determination in his step that does not at all match his feelings, he marches up to her office (thank god for individual offices in this university). All he wants is to talk, that is all, nothing else, and he at least deserves a little explanation after she's run out on him like that.

"We need to talk," he spews in lieu of a greeting when he opens the door to her office.

She gives him a look, deathly if he ever saw one, and huffs, tells him shortly that she's busy and has no time. but he stands his ground, she's not pushing him away again.

"Robin, I really don't have time," she tells him, irritated. "I have midterms to grade and a class to attend in ten minutes."

"Then come and talk to me somewhere after your classes end," he almost begs, because really, there is some truth to 'ain't too proud to beg' for the right woman.

She sighs and looks at him with exhaustion. "Fine," she tells him. "Meet me at the edge of the woods just off campus at four."

He raises an eyebrow but nods.

Before four o'clock even comes, he's already anxious and fidgeting, waiting at the edge of said 'woods' for her to appear. She does so, promptly at the time she's set, and gives him a curious stare before sighing and gesturing for him to follow. She leads them to the middle of the woods and finds an empty log where the take seats beside each other.

There is silence that hangs between them until he's sighs and shakes his head.

"So?" he begins, trailing off to silence when he realizes that of all the words he's practiced to tell her this moment, none has come out, and there is none that he remembers.

"This isn't right," she tells him point blank, and she's right of course, but he's stubborn and he doesn't like to admit that she is.

"We aren't doing anything wrong," he defends though he knows that it's not exactly true—because isn't it wrong to fall in love with your teacher?

She chuckles, dry and ironic, and casts him a side glance that has him shrugging with the innocence he does not possess.

"I wish that were true," she tells him with a sigh. "But don't you see that we're doing everything wrong?"

"No, Regina…" he says, and it isn't the first time he's said her name, he's done it a hundred times since that incident at granny's, but it makes her flinch and it makes him feel as though his heart is being squeezed. "We…we're many things but this isn't wrong. It certainly doesn't feel wrong."

He's right, he knows it, she knows it and it's pointless to argue.

"I'm your teacher," she points out, and that is something, he concedes. "I can't—if anyone finds out and they misconstrue this as something else…I'm going to lose my job Robin and what about my son? Not to mention you could get kicked out and what then of yours?" She sighs and looks at him with watery eyes, her lips trembling, and god in heaven he just wants to hug her and take the misgivings away. "We have so much to lose, and…I can't. I just cannot do this."

"Do you feel for me what I feel for you?" he asks, looking deep into her eyes. He wants to be able to see and know the truth.

She swallows and shakes her head, opens her mouth, no doubt to protest, but he doesn't let her, only asks her the same question, which makes her breathe out a soft, breathy, yes, yes I suppose I do, and it has him dropping his forehead against hers, hauling him to her and hugging her tight, wanting never to let her go.

She pulls him closer and breathes him in, closing her eyes. She breathes out, her breath coming out harsh and ragged, and he's unsure about what is going on in her head, though he really, really, really wants to know.

She pushes him away and stands, gathers her strength around her like a cape, squaring her shoulder and jutting her chin.

"You need to forget about me," she whispers, "And start thinking about your future."

And then she's out of there, walking away from him and taking his heart with her.


A/N2: Let me know what you think!