Fortunately, Baelor himself was nothing like the court. He was gentle and steady. As well as being patient with your quietness in a way that made your chest ache unexpectedly whenever he smiled at you.

And over the last several nights, he had spent more time grumbling about council meetings than anything remotely scandalous.

“The chairs are made to punish men,” he muttered one evening while unlacing his boots. “I swear my father believes discomfort breeds wisdom.”

You sat brushing out your hair before the fire, glancing at him through the mirror. “They cannot truly be so terrible.”

Baelor looked at you as though you had questioned whether water was wet. “My lady wife,” he said solemnly, “they are carved from stone disguised as wood.”

You laughed softly. That laugh had become one of his favorite sounds. So much so that he crossed the room immediately, pressing a kiss against your temple and looked at you adoringly.

“You mock my suffering.”

“I do,” you admitted.

“And now you wound me further.” He jested.

And then he proceeded to complain for another quarter hour while you unsuccessfully attempted to look sympathetic.

But in the coming days and unfortunately for you both, Baelor had made the mistake of voicing those same complaints publicly. Which was how you found yourself seated quietly at breakfast two mornings later while the entire royal family stared at you.

You nearly dropped your cup from the amount of eyes staring into you. “What?” you asked faintly.

Across the table, your good brother Maekar looked profoundly unimpressed. “Must you cling to him so fiercely?” he asked bluntly.

You blinked unsure of what he was asking you.

Beside him, his son Aerion snorted into his wine. “It has only been days,” Aerion drawled. “at least allow my uncle to walk upright.”

Your face went hot instantly. “I…I am not sure what you mean.”

“Oh, come now,” Valarr said with poorly concealed amusement, “Father has done nothing but complain of his back aching.”

You turned sharply toward Baelor who suddenly looked deeply interested in his breakfast.

“My back does ache,” he muttered.

Aerion barked out a laugh. “Gods, she’s going to kill him before the moon turns.”

“I am not hurting him!” you blurted out, horrified coving your mouth with your hands. That only made it worse. Even the servants nearby lowered their heads to hide their smile.

Baelor pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is the chairs,” he said for perhaps the tenth time in many days, but to no avail no one listened.

“Chairs,” Maekar repeated flatly, “You would have us believe the chairs are what is causing this?”

“Yes,” Baelor replied.

“The council chamber chairs.”

“The very ones,” Baelor answered.

Aerion leaned back lazily. “That is a remarkable coincidence.”

You looked between everyone helplessly. “He told me about them,” you insisted quietly. “They sounded awfully dreadful.”

At that, Valarr finally lost composure and laughed outright. Baelor groaned.

“You, see?” he said, gesturing toward you. “My wife comprehends me.”

“She is trying to defend your dignity,” Maekar said.

“A hopeless cause,” Aerion added. “You married days ago and now walk like some old man.”

Baelor shot him a dark look. You had your face briefly behind your cup, mortified beyond words. “I truly am not the reason his back hurts.” You mumbled.

Aerion grinned wickedly that made you uneasy. “That only convinces me further.

“Leave her be!” Baelor snapped at last, more protective than angry, “You are embarrassing my wife when she has done not a single thing wrong.”

“I think she embarrasses easier than most.” Valarr said kindly, which was unfortunately true.

Your cheeks still burned as Baelor reached over and quietly took your hand beneath the table. A small gesture. It was steady. He rubbed his thumb gently over your knuckles.

“Do not mind them,” he murmured softly only you could hear. “My family delights in torment so you have my apologies.”

“You married into it,” Maekar said dryly from across the table, somehow hearing what Baelor said to you.

Baelor sighed heavily. “You see what I endure?”

“The chairs and the family both it would seem,” you whispered.

That earned another laugh from him. It was warm and proud. The sort of laugh that made you feel less like an outsider at court and more like something precious he meant to keep close. Though Aerion ruined the moment immediately.

“Well,” he said lazily, raising his cup toward you, “whether it is the chairs or the Tyrell bride, our dear Uncle Baelor appears thoroughly conquered.”

For the most part, following these tips kept you out of trouble. Living in Gotham your whole life, it would have been impossible to avoid it completely. It was rare, but not unheard of, that you’d be sitting at the bar, only to hear commotion outside. The crashing sound of cars thrown into a building, maniacal laughter in the distance, only to be followed by the whirring and clank of a grappling hook. 

You never had a direct encounter with The Bat, and that was a good sign. Interacting with him in any way put a target on people’s backs; even worse was actually being saved by him. The best way to survive Gotham if you weren’t some sort of vigilante or criminal was simple: lay low. 

Thus far, you had done a great job at doing just that. Unremarkable best described your movements in the world, and that was a status you were content with. That’s not to say you had no achievements, but the scale in Gotham skewed to more extremes than most places. You got good grades in school and made it through four years at Gotham University. You managed to snag a job right after in the court archives and started a Master's program to stay in the archival field. 

It was good, honest work. And more importantly, it was safe. No one really had an interest in the court archives. Half of your job was digitizing court records for cases that had already passed, making them available and free online. While the archives were open to be accessed to the public, most opted for a quick online search. With that, you typically didn’t work on anything with classified cases. Those jobs were reserved for people who already had those advanced degrees you were working towards. Maybe one day you’d expand your horizons, but for now, you were content. 

Another prominent upside to this job was the hours. Head out when it’s light, leave work when it’s light. You never risked taking public transport after dark, even taking it during the day was risky as it was. You were home by six at the latest on most days, which made it easier to avoid the nightly patrols of Gotham's vigilantes. You had grown up more than well aware of the Bat. He’d been lurking in the shadows for as long as you had formed memories, but he was no longer the sole protector of the city. 

The Red Hood was a name the older generations of Gotham were familiar with. A notorious gang that stalked the streets, committing crimes with that signature red fabric draped over their head to obscure their faces. 

The new generation of Gothamites had a new Red Hood, a single person using the moniker. No one knew exactly what to feel about him. To fear? To venerate? No one was entirely sure; his presence felt gray. You knew the kids tended to like him; they looked for the gleam of crimson from his helmet whenever they’d find themselves on the streets too late. Many wore little charms of his mask; they said it showed he protected them. If it made them feel safe, who were you to judge? 

At the same time, the rumor mill swirled in all directions. Word on the street was that this new Red Hood had single-handedly taken over the underground crime rings. The Prince of Gotham. Some said he had been buried alive and single-handedly clawed his way out of the grave. A Dead Man Walking.

He used guns. He left people dead. He was none of your business. 

But a slow day at the courts meant your mind wandered, and some sick part of you couldn't be content with daydreaming about being a movie star on a talk show like normal people; you were thinking about him. You knew nothing but the rumors, but your mind kept wandering to what this guy was about. Why did he want the Gotham territory? Why hadn't The Bat taken him down? It was almost like he wanted him around. 

The voice of a young man startled you out of your daze. Playing Sherlock would have to wait for now. 

“Excuse me, I sent in a request file with a scan of my passport a few weeks ago about a case, but they said the case didn't exist… but I have all the paperwork from when it happened.” The man rocked back on his heels, sheepishly handing you the paperwork for the prior court proceedings.

You took the paperwork and his passport, typing away at the filing systems to try and find this case: TS-7386-GT. Half the time, it's an incorrectly filed case number or an incorrect form submission. As the page loaded (believe it or not, Gotham’s public records were not the most up-to-date technologically), you took a look at the files he provided you. Civil case, damages to a vehicle post Joker attack… chose not to file charges but wanted compensation for popped tires. This was a simple case, so there should be no problems-

Interesting

In the court records, this case did not exist. Case TS-7386-GT did not exist. But that made no sense; you had the paperwork right here. You had everything that proved this case happened, but in the court records, it was nonexistent. 

“I guess at this point you have to talk to the classified court archives… I don’t… maybe there was a mix-up in filing here, tell them I sent you.”

Rubbing your face tiredly, you scribbled down the case number of his paperwork on the legal pad that had lain dormant on your desk for months. Then, with a similar flick of the pen, you wrote your name and signature on a sticky note, handing it over to the now defeated-looking young man, who takes it and rushes from the room.

“It's the building across the street!”

You called out quickly, sighing in defeat. Fingers skimming across the legal pad, you looked up at the screen again. The case wasn’t in the classified archives; the system would have told you as much. You just couldn't crush his hope like that; it couldn't be in your hands. The case number simply vanished, the only evidence of its existence being the papers he provided you. Official court documents, your eyes had been trained to verify at a moment’s notice. Cases don’t just disappear like that.

But you lived in Gotham. Things like this happen. The most confusing part was the fact that it was a civil case. Who would want a civil case to be scrubbed from the records? The insurance companies? But there were dozens of civil cases with almost identical information. Was it something about the guy? He was so mousey, and the passport looked legitimate. Playing Sherlock was fun when it was about the vigilantes you never saw. Playing Sherlock was not fun when it actually had to do with your job. 

You looked over at the clock: 3:15.

Shit.

It was a perfectly responsible time to start a new task. To get your ass up and look through the physical records. Your hands dragged down your face, and you groaned with frustration. It was less the prospect of actually doing work, and more the knowledge that something weird was wrong and you had to be the one to investigate. 

Tearing the dusty page from the legal pad, you stood up and made your way to the office door, turning the silly sign that read “Out for Lunch.” The stairs down to the physical records were actually quite cozy, the warm lighting in the staircase making it feel like a pleasant dream of hidden libraries. The archives were almost fun to explore. A scavenger hunt for the one right thing, it tickled the detective itch in your head… without life or death stakes.

You looked down the seemingly endless rows of bookshelves, taking a deep breath and preparing for your quest. 

“It’s one file, shouldn't take more than half an hour.”

With that, the search began. You glanced at the folded legal pad paper and started to walk deeper into the shelves, weaving in and out of the forest of files. Fingers reaching up and tracing the bronze placards, identifying which files were where for easy retrieval. The lights flickered, but you were on a mission that couldn't be stopped. This was the fun part, this was the little adventure you got to go on. 

The lights shut off as you approached the shelf it should be on, damned old Gotham structures. Did this place really need historical protection?

Without hesitation, you took out your phone and turned on the flashlight, muttering the file name under your breath like a prayer. You went on your toes as you looked on the highest shelf for the file, but it wasn't there. TS-7386-GT was not there. You saw TS-7385-GT and TS-7387-GT lay right next to it. 

“What the hell is going on here?”

You murmured, looking around at the neighboring files for the case. But it wasn't misfiled, it wasn't there… it didn't exist. 

You felt your heart beating deep in your chest, and your mind raced, thinking of all the possible reasons this file could be gone. It had to exist; you had the proof it existed, but as far as the courts were concerned, it did not. 

In trying to wrap your head around the disappearance of the files, you barely registered the footsteps approaching behind you.

An arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight against an unknown body. Another hand wrapped itself tightly around your mouth, a leather-gloved hand which reeked of gun powder and motor oil. Your eyes widened before straining, trying to see something, anything in the dark room, but your phone had flown across the aisle, tumbling out of sight. All you could make out was a faint glow coming from the body restricting you. In vain, you tried to push your arms out, squirming and trying to budge out of this iron clutch. It was useless, you knew that, but you had to try. 

You felt the person behind you shaking their head, a chiding “tsk tsk tsk” grumbling out from his chest. His voice wasn't natural; it was modulated, robotic, with something inherently human in its teasing.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re being nosy? There are sayings about that, you know.”

The voice teases, squeezing you tighter to emphasize just how helpless you were in his grasp. He knows you can’t respond. The hand over your lips pressed in so hard it was practically in your mouth. Your chest heaved, eyes darting around, trying to find anything to focus on, something to distract from the completely inescapable situation you were in. 

“No one’s been down here in weeks, you know, all that dedication to digital. I’ve always found that there’s nothing better than cool paper in my hands.”He purrs, almost directly in your ear. 

All you could ask yourself is what to do. What do you do in a situation like this? He’s so much stronger than you; he snuck up on you, no one goes down here.

And you didn't tell anyone you were going down. You usually did, just a polite “going to the archives, be back soon,” but this had thrown you for a loop; you had forgotten, and now no one would be looking for you.

“I’m going to let go of your mouth, if you scream… don’t find out what I’ll do if you scream, we both don’t want that to happen. I’m going to let go of your mouth, and then you’re going to tell me why you’re being nosy, understood?”

He asked, and you nodded your head as best as you could. What do I do? You asked yourself again, feeling his hand loosen from your mouth.

In a moment, you went limp. 

You didn't pass out, not for real. But hopefully, if he couldn't get information from you, he would leave you alone. You were just a civilian, you didn't do criminals or kidnapping or real mysteries. Of course, it would be a normal thing to pass out at the shock, right? As your body let out, you noted he still had you snug against him with one arm. Yeah, you weren't fighting your way out of this one, you thought to yourself. 

“Come on…”

The eyeroll was almost audible. He jostled your body a few times, but as stubborn as you were, you remained limp.

“Soft thing, probably has no clue what’s going on.” He scoffed, laying your limp form on the ground with a surprising level of gentleness considering he just had you locked in his arm moments ago. His gaze pierced your limp form. Your eyes closed, breathing soft and slow as you played dead. You heard his footsteps retreat quickly, in the opposite direction of the staircase, and the lights flickered on once more.

You didn't move. Not for a long time. He could still be there, waiting for you to wake up. When you finally did get up, the first thing you did was find and grab your phone. 

4:24 It's been over an hour.

You took a deep breath before jogging back towards the stairs, going up as fast as you could. Your head was on that swivel programmed deep into your soul as you went up, fearing the unknown man could reappear at any moment. Bolting into your office, you shut the door, not bothering to flip the sign. 

You were out of his arms, but the same question kept pounding in your head: What do I do?

You opened your phone, and your heart dropped. When you dropped your phone, it had taken a photo during the tumble. You saw your restricted self with the mysterious form behind you. The mysterious form with two glowing eyes made just enough light to reflect the crimson color of the man’s mask. You slammed your phone down on the desk and stared into the wall. 

“Fuck my life…”

Watch the news, watch your mouth, watch your back.

Stay aware, Stay in your lane

You couldn’t do that anymore. The Red Hood knew who you were.

Read Chapter 2 X

The room, which had been thick with shouting seconds earlier, fell to a deathly silence. So quiet that you thought you'd have been able to hear the drops of blood that were spilling from your face landing on the tatty old linoleum tiles, were your ears not still ringing from the force of the blow.

"Fuck…" muttered Jamie, all his stocky, aggressive bravado evaporating in a heartbeat and when you looked at him, trying to contain the mess pouring from your face with your hand, you caught a glimpse of the little boy he used to be.

"Sorry, Bella," mumbled Riley, looking equally ashen.

Beating the living shit out of another student was bad enough, but they'd all been there at some stage and the fear of the punishment that came with it wasn't always enough to keep their tempers in check. But punching a teacher? They were really in the shit now.

"Will someone get me a tissue, please?" you asked thickly, hot, sticky blood running down your hand to your wrist, probably ruining the sleeve of your jumper.

There was a sudden flurry of movement, mad scrambling and hushed, anxious voices and then a wad of blue roll was pressed into your free hand. Gratefully staunching the flow with it, you inspected your bloody palm.

Yep, yet another jumper ruined by Stanton Wood and you hadn't even made it to the October half-term yet. At this rate you'd have nothing left by June.

"Benny? Will you get Amanda for me please?"

Behind you, the door squealed on its hinges as he shuffled out to do your bidding.

The classroom was unnaturally quiet while you waited for Amanda, the Deputy Head, to arrive. The only time the boys at Stanton were this quiet was when they were sleeping.

And even then, not always.

"I didn't mean to, Bella," Jamie mumbled, still standing next to you, arms hanging limply by his sides, knuckles already showing signs of a bruise. "He started it."

"No I fucking never!" shouted Riley, immediately squaring up to the other boy again, "I'll fucking stab you!"

You pressed a firm hand to his chest, and hissed, "Don't even fucking think about it."

"Aw, Bella! You've got blood on me," he moaned, rubbing at the red streak on his tshirt, only succeeding in making it worse.

The door squeaked open again and you turned, but it wasn't Amanda.

Steve's eyes widened at the sight of you.

"Someone want to tell me what's been going on here then?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"We had an accident," you said before any of the boys could speak. Though they didn't all seem to be rushing to come forward with explanations.

"Riley started it," said Jamie and you rolled your eyes, immediately regretting the shooting ache it sent through your skull.

"No—! I fucking—! NEVER!"

Riley launched himself at Jamie again and you had no choice but to leap aside and let Steve have his turn as ringmaster.

"OI!" he bellowed, shoving them roughly apart, keeping them separated with arms outstretched. "Enough! Let's just take it down, alright? C'mon now, get outta here. Up to your rooms. And if I hear a single peep out of either of you…"

The noise had attracted more attention, Owen appearing in the open doorway, taking in the carnage.

"Owen, will you escort these two to their rooms please and then come back and watch the others?"

"Are you alright, Bella?" asked Ash quietly, as Riley and Jamie filed out, kept apart by Owen's hulking form.

"I'll be fine, don't worry," you tried to reassure him, but the tissue they'd got you was soaked through and you had to admit you were feeling a little dizzy now the adrenaline was beginning to fade.

"Come and sit down," Steve said quietly, apparently reading your mind. But given how he seemed to be everywhere all at once, and know everything about everyone in the school, you could easily believe that mind-reading might actually be one of his skills.

Steering you by the elbow, he helped you to a chair and crouched down in front of you.

"Can I have a look?"

You gently pulled the sodden tissue away, wincing as it pulled where the blood had stuck it to your skin.

Fresh blood dripped down over your lips.

"Yeah, I think we need to get you to A&E."

"No, honestly, I'm fine. I'm sure it'll stop in a minute," you argued, wiping the constant stream from your mouth with the back of your hand.

With a raise of an eyebrow, he gently pressed on the side of your nose and you couldn't prevent the high yelp at the sharp pain that sliced through your face.

"I think it's broken. We're going to A&E."

From somewhere he produced a fresh tissue and you pressed it gingerly to your face.

Climbing to his feet, he turned to address the remnants of your class.

"When Owen gets back he's going to take you lot out for football—"

"But it's raining," complained Nabz, shutting his mouth abruptly at the thunderous look on his Headteacher's face.

"I haven't set homework yet," you said weakly through the tissue, and Steve turned to look at you. "There's sheets on the desk."

With a half smile, he went over to get them, only to look mildly perplexed at the mayhem of your desk. Mayhem to the untrained eye, at least.

"On the left, second pile from the bottom."

As he handed them out in stony silence, Owen finally reappeared.

"Andy's keeping an eye on them upstairs, Steve," he said, glancing worriedly at you. "You alright?" he mouthed and you shrugged with your best attempt at a wry smile, but his eyes only widened further.

"Come on," Steve said gently, offering you his hand to help you stand. "Let's get you looked at."

*****

The wait in A&E was interminable.

"You really don't have to stay, I'm fine," you said, for about the fourteen-thousandth time.

"I've told you already, I'm not going anywhere," he replied, exactly as he had done the previous thirteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine times.

At some point - time had ceased to have meaning by that stage - the bleeding had finally stopped and you'd been able to clean your face a bit in the toilets. And you understood better why Owen had looked so alarmed - you lips, chin, and even your teeth were bloody, like you'd been casually indulging in vampiric urges with your students.

"You're gonna have a helluva shiner," said Steve.

"Just the one? I was hoping for a set."

You looked at him and he chuckled, squinting thoughtfully at your broken face.

"Actually, you might be in luck. He really clocked you, didn't he?"

"He didn't mean to."

"Just because it should be Riley sat here with a smashed up nose and not you, doesn't make it any better."

"What are you going to do?"

He sighed and slid lower in the brutally uncomfortable plastic chair, dragging a palm down his face until his fingers drummed wearily against his lips.

"Please don't kick him out, Steve. He's a good kid. He didn't mean to hurt me."

"He put a teacher in hospital."

"You're making it sound like I'm in intensive care! He broke my nose by mistake. I'm not saying he shouldn't be punished - and I'm curating a list of cruel and unusual English Literature options as we speak - but if you kick him out that's it. He's lost. No where else will take him in, you know that."

"You think I want that? But I've got the Trust to answer to, and he's already on thin ice, Bella," he sighed.

Bella. Sometimes plain Bell or Bells. And on very special occasions, Bellissima or Belladonna. Though those were usually only just from Amanda, because, well, she was Like That. None of them were your actual name, of course, but they were the ones that had stuck at Stanton Wood.

You'd arrived in the early Spring, the eponymous woods around the building carpeted in the jaunty little blue-purple flowers, and on your first day you'd picked a bunch to cheer up your classroom. The boys immediately dubbed you Miss Bluebell. And despite your attempts to convince them otherwise - or probably because of them - they refused to ever use your actual name.

However, 'Miss Bluebell' was too long-winded for kids that were used to calling all the other staff by their first names, so after a week it had already dropped to just Bell. And a few weeks later, everyone in the building was calling you Bella.

You weren't sure anyone even remembered what your actual name was.

"So don't report it," you replied. "Or… I dunno, say I tripped and broke my own nose."

"That sounds dangerously like the sort of thing domestic violence victims are forced to say."

You gave him a hard look and a smile twitched on his lips.

"Please, Steve. It would be different if he'd actually come for me. But you know what they're like - Jamie especially. It escalated out of nowhere and I put myself in the way. It was my own fault really for thinking I could defuse them and not calling for Owen like you told me to."

"Ok, look, I'll do you a deal - I'll talk to Amanda and Jenny about it," he sighed. "But if they think he has to go then you won't fight me on it, ok?"

"Deal," you said, shaking his outstretched hand.

A nurse called your name and you gathered your coat and bag.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, it's fine. Hopefully it won't be long. Sorry about all this."

"It's fine - take your time. I'll be here when you're ready to go home."

"You don't have to wait, I can get a taxi."

He fixed you with a look you had come to know well. "I'll be here when you're ready to go."

*****

There was no way around it, you thought as you surveyed the damage in the bathroom mirror the next morning - you looked like warmed up shit. Half your face was hidden behind thick white bandaging, exhausted eyes barely peeping through. Not being able to breath normally, not to mention the blinding headache, had kept you awake half the night.

"You're not actually going back to that place, are you??" exclaimed Celia, your housemate, when you emerged dressed for work.

"It looks worse than it is," you lied.

"I hope they send the little fucker who did that to you to Borstal."

"Don't say that, I told you last night it was an accident."

"I don't know how you can stand working there," she retorted, passing you a mug of tea.

"I make a difference there."

"You can make a difference in a normal classroom."

"Not like this," you said, wincing as the steam hurt your wounded nose.

"And what happens when one of them really turns on you?"

"They're not like that, Cee. They're messed up kids who need adults who'll show up and be in their corner. They aren't bad people."

"I'll tell you what though," she replied, glossing over your point with a flick of her long pink nails. "That bloke who dropped you home would make me keep going back to school. Yes, sir," she grinned.

You felt heat rush to your face. "I dunno what you mean."

"Uhh...did the blow to your head affect your vision??"

"Come off it, he's my boss. I've never thought about it."

*****

But of course you had.

The eyes, the cheekbones, the slightly rumpled aesthetic. The accent.

Oh god, the accent.

Yeah, you'd definitely thought about it.

When you first joined Stanton Wood, Steve had made you little tapes - recordings of his thoughts about each of the kids in residence and how things worked. On a day to day basis he was always so pulled from pillar to post that there was never any time to do it in person. So each morning and night as you drove to and from work, and sometimes when you cooked in the evenings, you listened to him. Soft, deep, lilting baritone rumbling in your ears.

You'd begun listening to them in bed too, letting your mind drift away until the meaning of the words disappeared and it was just the sound of his voice humming through you.

So, yeah. You'd thought about it.

Sitting on the bus to work - your car still stranded at school from the day before - feeling like someone was drilling into your head, you tried very hard not to think about the soft look of concern in his eyes when he'd dropped you home. Or how his hand had lingered on your shoulder at the door.

Because it just wasn't possible that he'd thought about it too.

Was it?

*****

"Bloody hell, you look like shit."

Dropping your heavy bag onto one of the chairs that were dotted haphazardly around the large conference table that dominated the staff room, you sighed in relief.

"Thanks, Amanda."

Steve came striding in at speed - he always seemed to be rushing about somewhere at speed, like if he stayed still long enough something unpleasant would catch up with him - coffee mug in hand, but one look at you brought him to a sudden halt.

"What the fuck are you doing here today?"

If it hadn't hurt to move anything on your face, you would have raised your eyebrows. Instead you had to make do with speaking.

"My job?"

"Holy shit, Bells…you look like you've been run over," said Andy, wandering in with a stack of exercise books under his arm.

"It looks worse than it is," you lied, for the second time in an hour.

Steve came closer, scrutinising you, and you tried to swallow down the feeling it sparked through you.

"Go home."

"Steve, I'm fine. You need me here."

"I do, but I also need you to not keel over before break. I'll cover your classes for the rest of this week. Go. Home."

A mixture of frustration and intense relief washed over you, forcing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes and you bit the inside of your cheek to try and stop them. Not because you didn't want to cry in front of him - though you didn't, even though it wouldn't have been the first time because Stanton Wood had a habit of pushing you all to your limits - but because if you cried you'd have to blow your nose and it would be excruciating.

"Bella?" he murmured.

"Yeah, ok," you mumbled back. "Thanks."

"Did you drive?"

"No, my car was still here. It's fine, I can drive home now though."

"You sure you're ok to drive?"

Nodding more briskly that you should have, you fought a rush of nausea at the pain it spiked in your head.

"Yeah, that's not happening," he said firmly. "Andy, I'm going to take Bells home. Will you follow me in your car if I drive hers?"

"Sure, boss."

Steve turned back to you and squeezed your shoulder. "Come on, let's get you home."

*****

On the journey home every bump in the pot-hole pitted roads was enough to almost have you losing what little breakfast you'd eaten, the pain so much worse than it had been before.

"I don't know what you were thinking coming in," Steve scolded you in that softly spoken, gentle way of his. The voice you'd heard him use a thousand times a day with the boys.

"I didn't want to let them down," you mumbled, digging your nails into your palms and breathing slowly through the pain as he took a corner a little more sharply than your head would have preferred.

"I know that feeling," he said quietly, taking the next turning at a slightly more sedate speed. "But you have to make sure you're ok first if you're going to be there for them."

You looked at him, the soft curves of his side-profile and his beard almost hiding the sharper angles of his face.

"Is that what you do?"

A wry smile flickered over his features but his knuckles whitened around the steering wheel.

"I try to…" he said, before shaking his head slightly. "Though this is probably one of those 'do as I say and not as I do' things."

"I thought as much."

He glanced at you, smiling properly, and you tried to return it, but it hurt too much and came out as more of a grimace.

"It hurts?"

"Like a motherfucker," you sighed, hearing him chuckle sympathetically as you rested your head back and closed your eyes. "I swear it wasn't this bad when I got up."

"Just get some rest and let it heal a bit before you try and get back in the ring, ok?"

When you opened your eyes again, he was already on your narrow terraced street, idling slowly towards your house, looking for a space.

"Anywhere is fine," you mumbled but he found one just two doors down and parked it carefully.

"Ok, let's get you inside."

A small bolt of alarm shot through you - he was going to come in? What sort of state was the house in?? God, this was going to be mortifying.

"Honestly, Steve, you don't have to do this. I'm fine," you said quickly, hurrying to catch up seeing him already striding towards your house and immediately regretting your speed.

"I can make you a tea? Get you settled?"

"Steve," you said firmly. "You need to go back to school - you didn't have time for everything you actually needed to do today, let alone this."

"You're top of my list today," he replied, waiting as you fumbled in your bag for your keys.

"Yeah? Well you've got English Lit in—" You checked your watch. "Sixteen minutes."

"Fuck," he hissed.

"Go. Please. I promise I'm fine, and I promise to just lie still and do nothing until I feel less shit, ok?"

"You realise what you just said is a contradiction in terms?"

"Fuck off," you laughed and he cracked a smile.

"I'm your boss, you can't just tell me to fuck off."

"This is my house - well, porch - so I fucking well can. Go on, they need you there more than I do."

In any other circumstance where your face wasn't actively trying to explode with pain, this would have been yet another lie. You needed him. Badly.

"Take care of yourself, yeah?" he said softly, squeezing your arm.

"Promise."

His hand lingered, standing almost too close to you. Andy tooted the horn loudly from the street, making you both jump and turning you saw a small queue of traffic beginning to build up behind him.

"Oh fuck," muttered Steve. "I'll see you Monday," he called, shooting off to get into the waiting car.

*****

Back at school the following week, you fumbled your way through the day, the pain in your head reduced from a sharp stabbing to a lower level constant ache. To your relief, Jamie was not only still in residence at school, but he'd left you a hand-written note on your desk. Unfolding it, you saw he'd got one of the other boys - probably Cal, based on how good it was - to add a little bunch of bluebells beneath his questionably-spelled apology.

Your rational brain knew it was probably something he'd been coerced into doing by Steve or Jenny, but it didn't stop you from welling up all the same. Which was bad news for your broken face, the discomfort only making you more teary.

"Crying at your desk again?"

You looked up, hurriedly wiping your face, finding Steve in the doorway, clutching a tennis ball, a knowing smile on his lips.

"Monday ritual, you know how it is," you replied croakily.

"At least you made it to the end of the day."

"I think that's what's called growth." Giving him a watery smile, you cleared your throat. "Did you put him up to this?"

He shook his head. "It was his own idea."

"Sure it was."

"It was! He'll be devastated to learn you think otherwise."

Shaking your head, you folded the little scrap of paper carefully and tucked it into one of the many pockets of your bag.

"You alright?"

"Better for the days on the sofa. Thanks for forcing me to do that. Were they ok?"

Steve blew out a long breath. "Define 'ok'," he said and you laughed.

"Sounds about right."

Shouting emanated from further down the corridor and with a mumbled curse and a slight raise of his hand towards you, he took off, yelling sternly in the direction of the noise.

*****

It seemed to take forever for your face to feel like your face again but as the weeks rolled by and christmas began to dominate the shops, brightly lit-up decorations adorning the local high street, you finally felt like yourself again.

Sitting in your classroom, avoiding the chat of the staff-room, but still able to hear the low-level roar of the boys in the rec room, you were marking homework when a rap on the door-frame caught your attention.

"Yep?" you called out automatically, squinting as you came up from what you'd been reading, the room dark apart from the pool of light from the lamp on your desk, and you saw Steve hovering in the doorway.

"Sorry to disturb you," he said quietly.

"You're not… well, yes, I'm marking, but it's fine, come in."

"I need a favour," he said, coming to lean against the edge of your desk, fidgeting with the mug between his hands, and your heart sank.

"This looks like a bad favour."

He looked up and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, making your stomach swoop.

"That obvious?"

"Don't play poker, boss," you smiled cheekily. "Come on, out with it. You're in charge so we both know I'm going to have to say yes, whatever it is."

He shook his head slightly. "I'm really sorry to ask because I know you did it the other day, but can you cover the night-shift tonight?"

Leaning back in your chair, you pushed a hand through your hair with a low groan.

"Sorry, Bells. Andy's been throwing up since lunch so I've had to send him home."

"It's ok, yeah I can," you said wearily.

"You're a life-saver. Thank you."

"I'll have to go home and get my stuff. Who am I on with?"

He paused for a fraction longer than you expected before he replied.

"Me."

Was it your imagination, or just the light in the room, or was there more colour in his cheeks than there had been a moment earlier?

"Oh, ok, cool," you said quickly, trying to ignore the feeling swirling in your stomach. "Do you need me for anything now, or is it ok if I run home?"

"No, go for it. Amanda's here until seven."

*****

Night shift at Stanton Wood was all about dividing and conquering so, much to your relief, you hardly saw Steve all evening. Most of your time was spent preventing Riley from escalating and wearily asking him to stop calling the other lads cunts.

"But why?"

"Because cunt isn't a word we use at school," you said tiredly, realising your error too late as the boys assembled all started hooting and hollering.

—"MISS! You can't say cunt!"

—"Fuck me!"

—"BELLA!"

"Alright!!" you shouted over the din, face burning. "You're all illustrating my point beautifully. This is why we don't use… that word here."

"Did you hear that, Steve?!? Bella called us cunts!" shouted Riley, beaming from ear to ear.

Turning slowly, you found Steve behind you, his face locked in a rictus that you recognised as him trying his hardest not to laugh.

"It was a teaching moment," you offered weakly.

"I see…" he said slowly and the boys fell silent, hanging on his soft voice, barely contained glee thickening the air as they waited to see if he was going to bollock you in front of them. "Well, seems fair enough. They are a bunch of cunts sometimes."

The room erupted again and you closed your eyes, a silent laugh shaking your shoulders.

"Alright you lot!" he called over the noise, gaining only the faintest lowering of the volume. "It's ten o'clock, beds now please."

With a groans and sighs and a general chuntering of discontent, the boys eventually began to trail towards their rooms.

"Cunts?" Steve said quietly as the last of them left you alone.

"Riley started it," you muttered and he smiled with a shake of his head. Just as he opened his mouth to reply the sound of something crashing echoed down the hall.

"Jesus fuck," he hissed and you both took off to deal with whatever fresh mayhem the boys had unleashed.

*****

It was after eleven by the time you got lights out and quiet reigned within the walls of the crumbling old stately building.

"Alright, I'd better get some sleep," you said, loitering on the landing, Steve already halfway down the stairs. At your voice, he turned.

"Do you want a drink before you do?"

You frowned, coming closer to lean over the bannister.

"Is that allowed?"

He flashed you a smile.

"One small one won't be a problem." He rubbed the back of his neck. "To say thank you for stepping into the breach."

Shrugging slightly you followed him down to the office you all shared and he dug around in the bottom drawer of his desk, producing a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

"This alright?"

"Do you not have any gin in there? Vermouth? We could make martinis?" you replied, already at the sink in the corner, gathering the least grubby looking glasses you could find, giving them a quick wipe with the slowly unravelling tea-towel.

"I'll restock for Christmas," he laughed, plonking the bottle on the table as you sat down, tugging one of the other chairs closer so you could put your feet up too.

"What are you doing here, Bella?" he asked, pouring two glasses, larger than you expected, and sliding one towards you.

"Gosh…ok…" you began, swirling the liquid. "Well you see, you came to my office this afternoon and asked me to work tonight. And we do this thing called 'night shift'… sorry, am I going to fast? Do you need visual aids?"

You met his eye and he shook his head slowly at you in quiet amusement.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself."

"Why are you here?" he asked again, leaning back in his chair, grimacing slightly.

"Have you taken your pills?"

He nodded. "Don't change the subject."

"Steve, you already know all this, you interviewed me."

"Ah, that's not the same. People will say any old shite in an interview."

"If you thought I was talking shite why did you give me the job?" you asked with a raise of your brow and he grinned, sipping his drink.

"You were upright and breathing - we were always going to hire you."

You chuckled into your glass. "Charming, tell me what you really think, why don't you?"

"What I think is that you're a brilliant teacher, Bells. And that you could be being a brilliant teacher somewhere a lot nicer than this, with easier kids, for a lot more money."

You felt heat rush to your face. "I'm not brilliant."

Steve sat up, leaning forward to tap his fingers on the tabletop. "You are. D'you know I saw Shy actually reading A Midsummer Night's Dream earlier?? That's not something you see every day in this place."

"Ah, but that's Shy, he's a clever lad."

"He is, but he doesn't do that in other lessons."

You pondered this for a moment, sipping gently and letting the burn settle on your tongue before you swallowed.

"When I was at school, my English teacher told us that Shakespeare isn't supposed to be read. It's supposed to be performed, to be heard. That there's music in the language if you listen for it. I told Shy to find the music."

Steve nodded slowly and you smiled, embarrassment creeping up the back of your neck and you quickly looked down into your glass.

"I'm here because anyone can teach the academic kids. They're hard work in their own way, of course, but I always preferred the ones who want to fight you, who'll get angry when they realise they've been learning despite their best efforts to thwart you in teaching them. The ones you have to work so much harder to reach, but when you do…"

You looked up, his eyes piercing into you.

"But you get that, right? You love them in all their mayhem and messiness. It's in those tapes you gave me. Just love, spilling out between the facts."

He looked away, smiling quietly, picking at a scuff in the wood.

"I do."

"My grandad called it my 'fix-it duck' mentality. Like I can't stop myself from trying to fix everyone or everything."

"My wife says something similar," he mumbled.

Wife. The word hit you like a kick in the guts. He didn't wear a ring for some reason, and you'd allowed yourself to forget about her existence.

Lucky bitch.

His brow creased slightly and, afraid your thoughts were leeching onto your face, you pasted on a smile.

"I should probably go to bed," you said, downing the end of your glass, which was a poor decision because there was more left than you thought and it went down the wrong way a little, making you cough.

"Mind yourself," he laughed, leaning forward to clap you on the back as you tried to catch your breath, and when you looked up, his face was closer to yours than either of you expected. You could smell the faint sharp sweetness of whiskey on his breath and the woody notes of his aftershave.

He didn't withdraw and his hand didn't move from where it rested on your back.

"You ok?" he asked very quietly.

Not yet trusting yourself to speak, you simply nodded.

It would be so easy to just lean forward and—

"I should get to bed," you mumbled, voice a little raspy from coughing.

Come with me, whined the voice in back of your head.

"Yeah, me too," he replied, finally pulling away, the imprint of his hand still warm against your spine. "I'll do the final round of checks, you go on."

Lingering at the door while he dumped the glasses in the sink, you fumbled with the hem of your top.

"Thanks for the drink."

He looked up and smiled and it took all your willpower not to cross the room and kiss him.

"Don't tell the others - that's a decent bottle and I don't want it to finish it too quickly."

"Promise," you laughed. "Night."

"Night, Bella," he smiled. "Sleep well."

*****

But you didn't. You lay awake for hours wondering about that moment between you. There'd been something in his eyes, in the warmth of your proximity… something that wasn't Strictly Colleagues. Or, if you were being pedantic about it, Boss and Employee.

Married Man and Single Girl.

The following morning it was like nothing had happened, though you could have sworn he avoided being around you, leaving rooms as you arrived. But he was always on the move, so you tried to tell yourself it was just your imagination.

As the year dwindled down towards Christmas everyone seemed to be clinging on for the end of term. You were knackered and looking around the drawn faces of your colleagues, you weren't alone. And the students were tired and fractious - the combination of a long term, dark mornings and the sun disappearing at three in the afternoon, and the building anxiety of having to return to their families for the holidays. There was, after all, a good reason why the boys lived at Stanton Wood.

But you all really needed a break from each other for a few weeks, and from the claustrophobia of the creaky old building.

On the final friday of term, you dressed up more than you usually would for school - a pretty forest green jumper dress you'd been saving that clung and skimmed in all the right places, teamed with a pair of heeled boots. In just a few hours all the boys would be collected, and the staff could finally kick back and relax. And, if you knew them as well as you thought you did by now, get right, royally shitfaced.

"You look nice," commented Celia when you emerged from your room, running late after faffing too long with your hair and make-up, with just enough time to bolt a cup of tea.

"Thanks," you mumbled between gulps.

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Your mug paused halfway to your lips.

"Sorry?"

"Please, you know exactly who I mean," she grinned over her coffee. "Mr handsomely disheveled." She batted her eyelashes theatrically, putting on a high voice. "Please, Sir. Yes, Sir."

Heat rushed over you, prickling up the back of your neck. "Come off it, Cee. He's my boss. And he's married."

"I wish my boss looked like that," she sighed and you drained your mug.

"I think it's probably better for everyone that he doesn't."

"Is your place hiring?"

You snorted as you pulled on your coat, wrapping a scarf around your neck.

"You know I love you, but you wouldn't last half an hour at Stanton Wood."

"Half an hour might be all I need," she smiled darkly. "I'd have him right where I wanted him in five minutes."

Rolling your eyes, you shouldered your bag and said goodbye. Leaving your car at home, given the amount of wine you intended to consume later, you trotted towards the bus stop, heels clicking on the pavement, Celia's comments still spinning around in your head.

As much as you didn't want to admit it to yourself, he really was the reason you'd made such an effort that morning, though you weren't really sure he was the type to even notice something like that.

And would it even matter if he did..?

*****

Shy's mum was late coming to collect him and he was growing visibly more anxious as the hours ticked by, his headphones on, hands constantly fidgeting.

"Shy?"

He didn't hear you, jumping when you tapped his shoulder.

"What?" he mumbled, pulling his headphone down around his neck and you could hear the heavy thump of drum and bass.

"I asked if you wanted a tea?"

He shook his head and moved to pull them up again but you sat down beside him. In the distance you could hear the hum of the rest of the staff setting up for your christmas party.

"She'll be here," you said quietly but he shook his head.

"She doesn't want me at home."

"That's not true, she'll just be running late. Traffic's always a nightmare this close to Christmas."

"You don't know her," he muttered harshly.

"But I know you."

He glanced sideways at you. "They hate me."

"They don't hate you," you said gently. "Hey, no, look at me. They don't. It's just hard, isn't it? But look at this term, you've done such a great job at keeping your temper under control. Just remember that when you get home - think about all the stuff Jenny says, yeah? Your breathing and that?"

He shook his head dismissively and you fought the urge to sigh.

"Even if it's not ok, you've still got us, alright? We'll all still be here after the holidays."

A throat cleared behind you and you twisted to look, smiling when you saw Steve.

"Shy, your mum's here."

"'Bout fucking time," he muttered, pushing himself upright and you followed, taking him gently by the arm before he walked away.

"Give her the benefit of the doubt, yeah? Try not to fall out before you even get home."

He glowered slightly and you fixed him with a sterner look.

"Just try. That's all I'm asking. And remember what I said. You've always got us."

Giving you a non-committal nod he pulled himself away from your light hold on his arm, trudging out of the room. Steve gave you a questioning look but you just shrugged and he disappeared to hand Shy over to his mum.

Heading to join the others in the staff room, Steve appeared a few minutes later, knocking the door to get everyone's attention.

"Alright, that's the last of them - get the fucking wine open."

*****

By nine o'clock everyone was drunk, or at the very least pleasantly tipsy. You weren't a large staff, and whilst that was an issue in the day-to-day running of the school because there were never enough of you to go round, it meant parties like this were intimate and cosy affairs. Though Steve and Amanda seemed to have bought enough booze for a staff four times the size.

You'd spilled out of the staff room long ago, taking over the much larger rec room used by the boys. Owen had hooked up a cd player to some speakers and cheesy pop and Christmas tunes blasted out over a small but raucous group of dancers. You'd taken your boots off an hour ago, your tights helping you spin on the scuffed wooden floor when Sarah from the kitchen team twirled you around, both of you cackling.

"I need a drink!" you called as another song started, disentangling from the little throng, pushing your hair back from your warm face and padding over to the vast array of bottles.

"Red or white?" asked Steve, appearing at your elbow, his cheeks flushed and standing closer to you than usual.

"Red, please," you said, holding out your plastic cup and he sloshed wine into it, accidentally dripping onto your hand.

"Shit, sorry."

"S'fine, I got it" you said, licking it clean without thinking about it. But you caught him following the movement of your tongue and it sent a sharp thrum through you.

Clearing his throat, he met your eye and you gave him a small smile.

"Bells!" yelled Owen, almost careening into you. "We're doing karaoke, what's your tune?"

"Absolutely fucking not," you laughed, only to be drawn into a heated debate about why you were wrong and should take part, and when you looked back, Steve had drifted away, back towards the beaten-up sofa in the corner, talking to Jenny.

*****

It was later than it should have been, and people had been slowly disappearing over the last hour, taxis coming and going, until it was only you, Owen, Amanda and Steve. You were surprised he was still there given he didn't appear to be as hammered as the others, but perhaps he didn't trust the rest of you not to burn the place down when he wasn't looking. For your part, you'd stopped drinking a couple of hours ago, when the karaoke got competitive - of course you'd been roped into it in the end - switching to pints of water instead.

"Taxi's here," called Amanda as you wandered around the rec room with a bin bag, clearing up plastic cups and paper plates from the beige buffet the kitchen staff had rustled up to prevent you all getting alcohol poisoning.

"You go on ahead," said Steve, also clutching a bin bag, "I'll finish this up."

"You can't stay and do it on your own," you chided. "I'll help."

"No, it's fine, honestly."

You gave him a firm shake of your head. "Where abouts do you live?" He told you and you nodded in recognition. "Ok, so you're not too far from me then? We can share a taxi in a bit."

"Are you two sure?" said Amanda, pulling on her coat, swaying slightly. "We can clear it up in the new year."

"It'll be disgusting by then," grimaced Steve. "Go on, all of you. I won't be long."

"And you'll be faster if I help."

He met your stare and a shiver ran through you.

"Alright, if you insist," he sighed.

"Are we going or not?" said Owen, reappearing at the door. "He's threatening to leave if we don't hurry up."

"You and Amanda go on, I'm just gonna help him finish this up," you said and he nodded. With quick hugs and wishes of Merry Christmas, you watched them go, the main door banging behind them.

"And then there were two," you chuckled, getting back to clearing up.

"You really didn't have to stay," he said quietly.

"I know, but the idea of being on my own in this place gives me the creeps, so I don't want to leave you behind. What if the ghosts get you?"

"Ghosts of what?"

"I dunno, teachers who got behind on their lesson planning - doomed to wander the halls for eternity until they can finally fill Period four."

He laughed, packing unopened bottles of wine into a box.

"I'm just going to go and tackle the office - if you hear me scream, don't follow. There's no need for more than one of us to die tonight," he said seriously, doing his best to keep a straight face.

"Don't be a hero, it's alright to run," you warned with a smile, and he gave you a mock-salute before heading off to the other room.

*****

When he came back, you'd dealt with the worst of the carnage - enough that it would be fine for the cleaning team to cope with when they came in before term started - but he didn't come alone.

"Fancy a dram?" he asked, proffering the same bottle of whiskey from the time you'd done night shift together.

Your stomach turned over and you swallowed quickly.

"Sure, it would be rude not to."

Dropping down onto the old sofa, he poured two glasses and handed you one as you sank down beside him. Holding his out toward you, you clinked yours against it.

"Sláinte," he smiled.

"Cheers," you replied quietly, curling up carefully on your half of the sofa, shoulder leaning against the back cushion. He mimicked you, drawing one leg up under him.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" he asked.

"Back to my mum's. I'm kind of dreading it, if I'm honest."

"Why?"

You sighed, sipping on your drink, letting the warmth seep through you.

"I was saying to Shy earlier about how all he needed to do was try the keep going the way he had been here, how he'd been so much better at keeping his temper in check and to try not to fall out with his mum before it even began. And the whole time I was talking, all I could think was how I was probably going to be breaking all my own advice the minute I walk back into her house."

"You don't get on..?"

Shaking your head, you drank again. "It's not even so much that… it's just hard. I dunno how else to describe it. We bring out the worst in each other. And you'd think given this job, and what we do, and what we've had to learn to get to work somewhere like this, that I'd be better at it, wouldn't you? But it's like, the minute I get back to the house I'm fifteen years old again."

Pausing, you laughed dryly into your glass, avoiding his searching stare.

"Why am I like this."

"You never stop being your parents' kid," he said gently and you shrugged, conceding the point.

"Anyway, what are you doing for Christmas? Do you still have family in Ireland?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but I'm staying here this year. It's too much of a faff getting back over with all the shit for the girls. I need a fucking rest."

You leaned your head against the cushion and rolled your glass between your hands.

"What a year, hey? I can't believe I've been here nine months already."

"It feels like a lifetime?"

"Like a life sentence, more like," you smiled and he matched it over the rim of his glass.

"Didn't have your nose broken at your last school though, I reckon."

"I think they save that for your tenth anniversary."

"No one makes it to ten years here, we like to get it in early."

You giggled and something flickered in his eyes.

"It's healed up well though," he said and you frowned, the whiskey drifting to your head even after your attempts at sobering up. "Your nose," he added, pointing at your face, in case you'd also forgotten where your nose might be.

"Oh! Right, yeah it has," you replied, running your fingers over it. "Thank god, I'm not sure I have the face to carry a jauntily angled nose."

"Nothing to worry about, you're still very pretty."

Warmth licked up your neck towards your face.

"Am I now?"

"Ah, c'mon Bella, you know fine well you are, don't give me that. You know all the lads fancy you."

"Only because I'm the only girl here under forty," you snorted, trying to cover your rising embarrassment and the fluttering in your stomach. Was he flirting with you or was it just a joke?

"Nothing wrong with being over forty," he replied, a slow smile creeping across his face and he shifted slightly in his seat, which moved him closer to you, though whether it was intentional or not you couldn't say.

"I never said there was," you said, copying him and trying to make it look casual as you reduced the gap between you further. Watching him, you sank the end of your whiskey and leaned over to set the glass on the floor, and when you sat up again you were somehow even nearer him.

But he didn't pull away.

"And is is just the boys?"

He frowned slightly. "What do you..?"

Taking a breath, the whiskey sending possibly ill-advised courage flowing through your veins, you asked the question that had been on the tip of your tongue since he brought it up.

"It's just that I… that you…" You swallowed and pressed your lips together for a second but you didn't miss the way his eyes darted at the movement. "That you're looking at me the same way you did that night."

He shifted closer, his knee bumping into yours.

"And what way is that?"

You leaned closer, his warmth bleeding into you across the narrow space between you, curious as to when he was going to pull out of this game of chicken you seemed to be playing.

"Like you're trying to decide if you want to kiss me," you whispered, letting your eyes drop to his mouth as you spoke before, meeting his eyes again in challenge.

Something flickered across his features - possibly the last vestiges of his self-control abandoning him - and for a fraction of a second you thought you'd pushed it too far.

"That would be a really terrible idea," he mumbled, his hand coming up to rest on the back of your neck and your heart began to race.

"Really terrible," you agreed in a hoarse whisper.

"Really incredibly unwise," he murmured.

The seat seemed to tilt beneath you, your stomach swooping as he closed the gap, drawing you into a slow, delicate kiss that sent tingles rushing across your skin and up your spine.

As your lips parted, you expected him to come to his senses and pull away. But he didn't, the firm hold on the back of your head keeping you close, his breath coming in rapid bursts that tickled your face. But it was only for a second before he pulled you in again, needier this time, and you moaned into his mouth as his tongue swiped across you lips. Deepening it, he tasted like whiskey and red wine and the cigarette you'd spotted him cadging off Amanda earlier in the evening, his beard softer than you'd imagined against your face.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, heat pooling between your legs and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself in his lap, pushing him back against the cushions, your thighs bracketing his. His hands came up to cup your face, pushing into your hair, before sliding down your back to boldly cup your bum, squeezing gently.

Sitting lower onto him, you felt the telltale hard press of him through his trousers and he groaned, his grip tightening.

"Fuck…" he hissed, head dropping back slightly, looking up at you with puffy, parted lips. "I'm sorry."

You rolled your hips down into him, pressing your core against him, and he let out a broken moan.

"Why are you sorry?"

"This is a really bad idea. I shouldn't be—"

You leaned down, claiming his mouth again and he kissed you hungrily. His hands fell to your thighs where your skirt had ridden up, sliding up beneath the hem, palms hot through the thin material of your tights. You whimpered as they crept higher, thumbs drawing teasing patterns along your inner thigh until they brushed the edge of your underwear.

"Steve," you mumbled needily as his lips began to trail along your jaw and down to your neck, your hips rocking almost of their own volition as you chased friction.

"Such a terrible idea," he muttered, sucking lightly on your skin, your whole body shivering as he ran one thumb up along the seam of your covered cunt, pressing more firmly against your clit.

"Fuck," you whined, pushing down against his hand as sparks flickered through you.

Panting you pulled away from his roving lips, holding his face between your hands to make him look at you as you rocked into every roll of his thumb.

"It would be an even more terrible idea if you touched me properly."

He nodded slightly, eyes hooded, as you slid off his lap to stand before him. Reaching under your dress you pulled down your tights, taking your underwear with them, and did your best to remove both as elegantly as your slightly dizzy brain would allow. Seeing you wobble, he held out his hand, steadying you as you freed one foot and then the other, before guiding you back down astride his lap.

His hands were immediately on your thighs again, burning your skin as he inched your skirt higher.

"Can I..?" you asked, resting your hands on his chest, plucking at one of the buttons of his shirt. He swallowed and nodded briefly, and you went to work, fingers faltering when his warm hands cupped your bare ass beneath your dress. Mastering the final button with shaking hands, you pushed the fabric apart, exposing pale, freckled skin. Lean rather than muscular, you ran your hands across the expanse of his chest, lightly dusted with dark hair, and down towards his toned stomach.

"May I..?" he asked in reply, shuddering as you ran a finger along the line of hair that disappeared enticingly into his waistband. Waiting for your nod, he gripped the hem of your dress and pulled it up over your head, letting you toss it behind you, leaving you almost naked in his still mostly clothed lap.

"Fuck…" he mumbled, hands on your waist.

"Terrible idea..?" you replied, reaching behind to unhook your bra and letting it fall away, throwing it the way of your dress.

His eyes widened, dark pupils so large they pushed his pale irises into fine slivers, and you saw him swallow thickly, his hands creeping up to tentatively cup your breasts.

"Really fucking terrible idea…" he said hoarsely, teasing his thumbs across the stiffening buds, making your breath catch in your throat.

Catching one of his wrists, you guided his hand down your body, urging him where you needed him most.

"Please," you mumbled, leaning down to kiss him and he cupped the back of your head with his free hand, tongue pushing into your mouth and catching the loud moan you made when his fingers swiped through your slick folds, circling your swollen clit.

"Fuck me, you're so wet," he muttered but you barely heard him over the loud pounding of your heart as he slipped and rolled over the little bundle, sending fire licking through your veins.

He'd barely touched you and you were already hurtling towards the edge embarrassingly quickly, forehead dropping into his shoulder as he played with you.

And then two thick fingertips pressed delicately against your cunt.

"Fuck," you wailed, bearing down as he eased them into you, stretching you open.

"You're so close already, aren't you?"

You nodded frantically, gritting your teeth against the slow drag of his digits against your walls.

"I think it would be a really terrible thing if you were to fuck yourself on my hand until you came," he mumbled against your ear and you felt as though the breath had been punched from your lungs. Your hips rocked desperately into his fingers, a thin cry slipping from you when he brushed the sweetest spot that made lights scatter dizzyingly behind your eyelids.

"I need to confess something to you," he mumbled, breath hot against your shoulder.

"What's that?" you panted, not really interested because in speaking, he had slowed the pace between your legs and no amount of grinding your hips down seemed to give you the friction you needed to finally topple over the edge.

"I wasn't thinking about kissing you," he said and you stopped moving, lifting you head to look at him, an unpleasant feeling sliding in your guts.

"Ok…" you replied slowly and he reached up to cup your cheek, running his thumb across your lips.

"I was thinking about how you'd look with my dick in your mouth."

A heavy bolt of arousal shuddered through you, his face breaking into a wicked smile as he undoubtedly felt your cunt react around his fingers.

"Is that a request?" you choked out, gasping when he moved to brush against your gspot again, his thumb sliding across your clit as he stroked across it. Taking advantage of your open-mouthed panting, he pressed his thumb against your tongue and you automatically began to suck.

"Fuck…" he mumbled and you felt his cock twitch heavily beneath you.

You were teetering on the edge now, barely hanging on, pleasure sparking through you like lightning with every shift of his broad fingers, the thought of him in your mouth as you teased his thumb with your tongue making your insides flutter needily.

Leaning forward, the shift in his hand knuckle-deep in your cunt, making you cry out, he swiped his tongue over the stiff bud of your nipple. Taking it into his mouth, his beard tickled against your skin as he sucked, and in the brief moments you were able to force your eyelids open, you saw that his eyes never left your face.

Pulling his hand from your mouth, a trail of salvia dribbling over your lips, he slid his slick thumb over your other nipple and it was the final straw. With a ragged wail you unravelled, soaking his hand with the force of your orgasm, gripping his shoulders as your whole body shuddered.

He pulled back from your breast, his fingers slowing within you as you drifted back down to earth.

"Fuck, you're pretty when you do that," he murmured and you felt your cheeks warm up as you slowly met his eye again.

Gently, he slid his fingers from you, making you whimper slightly as he withdrew. They were glossy with your climax and you shivered slightly, cunt clenching around nothing, as he brought them to his lips and put them in his mouth. He watched you as a cleaned them, groaning softly at your taste on his tongue.

"Even better than I imagined," he said, his usual quiet, lilting baritone cut with a gravel that set flames burning within you again. Sliding off his lap you knelt between his knees, palming the bulge in his trousers until he groaned. He helped you as you struggled with his belt, large hands closing over yours as you eased down his fly.

"This is a really bad idea," he said again, need flickering across his face as you stroked him over his underwear.

"You want me to stop?" you asked, resting your head against his thigh and his jaw ticked heavily against his cheek, presumably his better nature fighting against the desperation he was feeling, if his cock twitching beneath where your fingers still lay was anything to go by.

"I should…" he mumbled, covering your hand with his again, but this time increasing the pressure on his cock and you smiled, sitting up and nudging his hand away so you could free him from his underwear. He sucked in a sharp, shaky breath when your fingers closed around his length, his head falling back against the cushion.

"Fuuuuck…" he muttered, hips bucking slightly into your fist as you pumped him lightly. He was bigger than you'd guessed - or hoped, when you were alone and thinking about such things - and your walls pulsed needily at the thought of sinking down onto him. Leaning further forward you dragged your tongue over the tip and he let out a half-strangled hiss, his hand landing on top of your head. He didn't push, but the heavy pressure of it urged you down, letting his thick cock slide along your tongue and you sucked gently.

You watched him under your lashes as you teased him, tongue flicking across his velvet-soft skin, dragging from root to tip before swallowing him down with bobs of your head, his thighs clenching under your hands. With parted lips and hooded eyes, he looked down to see you watching him and his hips stuttered, pushing him deeper into your throat, making you pull back with a cough, trailing salvia down your chin.

"Shit, sorry!" he immediately apologised, grunting when you replaced you mouth with your hand, sliding easily along his slick skin.

"S'fine," you grinned back, wiping your chin and letting go to climb back into his lap. He quickly shoved his trousers further down and you sat up until they were past his knees and you lowered yourself onto his bare thighs, sliding your wet pussy along his length.

"Do we need..?"

"I'm on the Pill."

He nodded briefly, tongue flicking quickly across his lips, and he gripped your hips, helping you as you shifted and reached down between your bodies to guide his tip between your folds until it pressed bluntly against your leaking core. You sucked in a breath as he pushed up into you, slowly at first, stretching you out as inch by inch filled you.

"Oh my fucking christ," you mumbled through gritted teeth, lights dancing across your vision as at last you were seated fully on him. Cupping your face, he stroked his thumbs across your cheeks until you opened your eyes.

"You ok?"

Nodding urgently, you gripped his shoulders and lifted yourself off him, watching his jaw slacken at the slow drag of your walls around him. His hand drifted to the back of your neck and he pulled you into a messy kiss, all teeth and tongues and swallowing each other's groans and whimpers, as you began to ride him.

Finally pulling away, panting slightly, you leaned back, bracing your hands on his knees behind you. His eyes immediately dropped to where your bodies met and the slow grind of your hips, rutting him against the spot inside you that made your head swim. One hand on your waist, guiding your movements, he let his other loosely rest around your throat, and you whined, cunt fluttering in response.

He made a low sound, a quiet smile tugging at his lips and he squeezed a little harder, your arousal evident in the increased wet sounds that filled the air around you both.

Still holding you, he leaned forward, limiting your movement, and sucked hard on one of your nipples. His tongue slid across one firm bud and then the other until you were keening with need, every small, desperate shift of your hips pressing this thick tip deliciously against your gspot.

Abandoning your grip on his thighs, you curled your fingers into his hair, tugging him back from your breasts, gasping as he scraped his teeth over your sensitive skin. Looking up at you, his lips slightly swollen, pupils blown wide, his hand slipped from your throat, joining the other at your waist and with more freedom of movement, you dragged yourself slowly upwards, shivering at the sensation.

He let you take the lead, rising and falling, your foreheads pressed together, breath mingling. Each time you let him fill you, it robbed the air from your lungs, pushing a high whine from your throat. His hands drifted to your behind, squeezing the generous curve of your flesh, spreading you open widen, guiding your movements.

You were close again already, you could feel it building, the coil tightening in your belly, glimmering up your spine. Ignoring how your thighs burned with the effort, you moved faster, harder, chasing the high with panted breath, your skin slick where you were pressed chest to chest. His lips were on your neck, tongue smoothing the occasional nip of teeth and he began to bounce you faster.

"Fuck… Steve… I'm—"

He groaned against your skin, large hands gripping harder until he was holding you still, driving up into you at a brutal pace.

You were losing your grip, spinning out of control, every rapid stab of his cock a bright bolt of pleasure.

"Would be… a really fucking… terrible idea," he mumbled through gasps, "if you came all over my dick."

Fingers locked in his hair, you hid your face in his shoulder, crying out as you orgasm shattered through you, so hard you could scarcely catch your breath. Vaguely you heard him groan loudly, before you felt the stutter of his hips, slowing to a ragged stop, buried deep inside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the breathless gasps for air and your heart buzzing in your ears. When your head stopped swimming quite so much, you sat up to look at him, murmuring as he shifted inside you, sending a little aftershock skittering through you. His face contorted at the fluttering of your cunt, hands gently stroking up your spine.

"Hi," you mumbled, and as your high receded you were suddenly acutely aware of being naked in your boss's lap, your mingled cum leaking out of you.

"Hi."

"So… that… umm… was a terrible idea?"

He gave you a half-chuckle, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing across your cheeks.

"That was…" he breathed, thumb stroking lightly over your lips, "something that can't happen again," he said quietly and even though you were expecting it, your heart still sank.

"I know," you said as breezily as you could muster, pulling back from his hold and sliding awkwardly off him, the loss of him inside you immediately leaving you feeling hollow. He quickly hauled his pants and trousers back up to cover himself.

"I shouldn't have—"

Grabbing your clothes from the floor, so you could at least hold them as a barrier, you held your head up as high as you could.

"It's fine, Steve. We're both adults. It didn't mean anything." Clearing your throat, you winced as it sent cum sliding down your inner thigh. "But just so we're on the same page - I like my job and I'm not leaving Stanton Wood just because we got drunk and had sex."

His brows immediately knitted together. "What?? No, of course you're not leaving."

"Ok, as long as we're both in agreement." You cuddled your clothes tighter to your body. "I'm just going to go and, umm… clean up… do you want to call us a taxi?"

He nodded and you did your best to shuffle from the room without making a mess or letting him see too much of you.

*****

The taxi stopped at your house first.

"Alright, well I suppose I'll see you in January," you said, forcing a smile.

"Yep, suppose so."

You tried to give him some money but he just waved it away.

"Ok, well have a good Christmas," you said, climbing out of the car, heart in your boots as he mumbled a reply.

You were nearly at your door when you heard a car door slam and footsteps came hurrying towards you. Turning, key in hand, your back collided with the door at the force of him barrelling into you, mouth hungrily on yours. He caught the back of your head to stop you banging it, kissing you with a ferocity that stole your breath.

"Happy Christmas, Bella," he said as he pulled back, smiling at the surprise on your face.

"Do you want to come in?" you mumbled. "My housemate's at her boyfriend's."

"I can't."

You nodded, tugging him by the collar back into another searing kiss and he groaned into your mouth.

"Can't or won't?"

"Shouldn't."

"Because it would be a terrible idea?"

His eyes danced, matching the twitch of your lips.

"Goodnight," he said quietly, kissing you softly before murmuring your real name. You looked up at him, startled, the word sounding alien in his mouth, and clearly he felt the same based on his expression.

"Never call me that again," you laughed.

"Sounds so wrong," he agreed.

Behind him the taxi driver leaned on his horn.

"Fuck," he muttered.

"Stay," you said, running your thumb over his lips, his beard soft against your palm.

"Give me a minute."

He dropped a kiss to your lips and disappeared, and you turned back around to unlock the door, pulse beginning to race at the thought of round two.

You heard the slam of a car door again, but there were no hurrying footsteps this time. Spinning back towards the road, you saw the taxi driving away. In the back window, Steve held up a hand, mouthing an apology as he disappeared down the street.

NEXT

I hope that was worth the wait/build up I've been giving it🙈 If this gets enough interest I would be open to considering other parts (I already have some ideas but let's see if this flops first! 😂). If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear from you - come scream in all the usual ways ♥️ xxx

Masterlists: CILLIAN | SERIES | MAIN

Steve enthusiasts: @peakyscillian @littlepeakydevil @imyourlittlechaos @itsnotthatbad-g @starzpage00 @lavender-haze-01 @cillianinlove @wiseyouthinfluencer @moonbeamott @madlyinlovewithmads @kikimurphys @stevie75 @zablife @stairwayto--hell @emilycookie86

Environmental science is horrifically depressing. The whole world melts at a speed that is too rapid to ignore, but too slow for anyone important to care about. Every new chart or grid or essay you skim over never fails to drop a pound of heavyweight dread onto your heart. That’s how you felt for most- if not all of your freshman year. Constant. Without reprieve. Your morning coffee was often soured with images of polar bears slipping on slushy, grey ice popping into your mind. Nights out with friends are ruined when you remember just how many emissions your car puts out into the air- even when you’re carpooling. New research findings plague your every waking thought. Though mother earth never seems to catch a break, it’s clear that you so desperately need one. 

So you take a gap year. You look for a promise of peace, and you think you've found it in a fire lookout job listing. You’re not sure of it at first, but find a little reassurance in knowing that the location isn’t too far from its neighboring town. Besides, isn’t the whole point of this all to step outside of your comfort zone? Maybe your endless worries could be soothed by being closer to the very thing you’re so desperate to save. To feel like you’re making a difference for once.

So, you pack up your life and disappear up north.You don’t tell anyone, either. You want something fresh. Something you can make yours and only yours. Your parents had always nagged you about your career path, and you hardly doubt your friends would notice you leaving. You’d always felt like a thorn in everyone’s side. Sure, they kept you around, but you can tell that they can’t wait to pluck you out and toss you away before it’s too late. Besides, if you get one more call from your mother or have to hear another voicemail with a major course change suggestion, you feel like you’ll end up on the five o'clock news. 

It feels freeing, anyway. No calls to expect, no anxiety inducing essays to write, and certainly no after class job to slave away at. Just the wind in your face and the faint rustle of your belongings in the bed of your truck. 

The drive into an entirely new state had been a long one. Finding your way into town proved a little bit more difficult than anticipated, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. The area around it is dense with trees, covering miles and miles of land with fresh greenery sprouted from heavy spring showers. 

When you finally roll into town, you find yourself pleasantly surprised. You’re not sure why, but you’d half expected to find the place bare and empty like in all of the movies and tv shows you’d seen. This might be the case for the outskirts, but as you cruise in deeper, it’s quite lively, and pleasantly so. 

The town square is set up for what looks like a late morning farmer’s market. Stalls are lined up in crooked rows, displaying various fruits, vegetables, a few pieces of clothing and what appears to be handmade art pieces. Wooden? You can’t tell from your seat in the cab. The children running around and giggling pause to stare when you put your truck into park, but look away again when another kid pulls them back into whatever game they’re playing. 

You’re tempted to join and poke around the stalls for a bit, but as if on cue, your stomach reminds you that it’s painfully empty. You’ll have to have a look when you get more time.

The diner you find isn’t picturesque by any means, but that appears to be the case for most things around here. It’s not as lively as the town square, but there’s a few people. A couple in a booth, an old man in the back, and another man perched on a stool in the front. He’s tall, almost intimidatingly so, with dark hair and a grey speckled beard. He’s having a polite conversation with a waitress behind the counter, and his low, gravelly voice can be heard above the soft country music playing from a rundown jukebox attached to the wall. 

“Oh, you know I can’t tell you that, Myrna.” He sounds amused as he cradles a cup of coffee, long fingers and a large palm splayed over the white porcelain. 

“Here we go, with the HIPPA bullshit again. I just wanna know if it was him. You know who I’m talking about.” The woman, presumably Myrna, retorts. He takes a long sip of his coffee, but you catch a sly smile behind the rim. He shrugs slowly, deliberately. Myrna seems to get the message. 

“How bad? She give him what he deserves?” Another shrug.

“Needed a lot of bleach to clean up the parking lot.” His answer seems to satisfy her enough for her to realize you’re sitting right there, and you politely give her your order afterwards. The man sitting next to you produces a small book from the breast pocket of his flannel when Myrna disappears into the kitchen, and though you can’t make out the small print from where you’re sitting, you assume it’s some kind of field guide. Either that or a pocket bible. 

You feel drawn to him, maybe even compelled to have a conversation with him, (because let’s be real, who wouldn’t, he’s pretty damn handsome,) until he catches your gaze out of the corner of his eyes. Shit. Abort. Your eyes immediately dart back with a little shame, and thankfully, Myrna returns with your eggs and waffles.

“Never seen you before.” She’s blunt, you’ll give her that. You think that maybe the tall stranger next to you is wondering the same thing, because you can practically feel a pair of eyes boring into the side of your head. But you’re too nervous to look and confirm. 

“Ah, you’re right. Just here for the summer.” You shrug, shoving a piece of egg in your mouth.

“Oh, really? What for?” She seems genuinely interested, and it eases your nervousness.

“Firewatch lookout.” There’s an almost intrigued grunt from beside you, but it’s followed by the clinking of coins and the muffled scuffing of a stool being pushed in. Sounds like he’s leaving. A wave of disappointment washes over you as he waves and shrugs on a carhartt jacket. Your eyebrows furrow at this. It’s like, almost eighty degrees out. On top of a flannel. As if she’d read your mind, Myrna just shrugs and mutters something about him being weird. 

She talks your ears off the rest of the time you’re there after he leaves. You learn that the man’s name is Michael Robinavitch, but he also goes by Robby sometimes. You also learn that he’s a doctor. When you asked her what kind, exactly, she just shrugs and says he works in the emergency room and that’s all she really knows. The rest of the meal is filled with small town gossip she seems extremely excited to share with somebody new for once.  

You tip her for the good company and conversation before you leave. A warm summer breeze brushes against your face as the door jingles shut behind you, and you briefly check your watch to make sure you’ll still be on track for your hike up. It’s not that far, anyway. You think. You’ll be fine.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when something heavy suddenly nudges your thigh, and when you look down, you see an absolute beast of a dog. The pup is huge, with a dark chocolate coat that glows a beautiful light brown in the sunlight. Her tail is wagging a million miles an hour, and she looks like she’s about to leap onto you and knock you out on the ground.

“Oh, hey there,” You croon, crouching down a little bit to give her some pets and pats along her back. 

You don’t realize Robby is standing nearby until an amused chuckle fills the air next to you. When you whip your head over to look at him he’s smiling, holding a little bag of dog treats in his hand. 

“She yours?” 

“Nah,” He shakes his head, “Doesn’t belong to anyone right now. Loves people, though. Started calling her Winn Dixie after a while.” He adds, beckoning the pup with a click of his tongue to toss her a treat- which she catches in the air beautifully. “I’ve tried to set her up with people, but no one’s too keen on taking her in.”

“Why not you?” You ask before you can stop yourself, and he’s quiet before he tosses another treat her way. 

“Long work hours. She’s too big for my trailer, anyway.” Right. Emergency room doctor and all. “She seems to like you, though. Heard you’re headed to the fire tower.” He smiles, almost mischievously. Aw, shit. Is he trying to set you up too? Cold and calculated, this guy. “Maaybe she’d enjoy the hike up with you?" There it is. 

“How do you figure that?” You reply, not too convinced that this dog will just calmly follow you up random terrain- especially with that amount of energy. You don’t want to even imagine what it would be like to hunt her down and wrangle her leash back on. But she doesn’t even seem to have one at the moment.

 “Took her up there with me once. She likes it.” He assures, nodding his head down toward Winn Dixie. She looks absolutely ecstatic at the proposition, like she can understand every word he’s saying. Or maybe she knows this game, too. Either way, the shining of hope in her big eyes is killing every little ounce of spirit you have to resist immediately taking her in. You kind of want to ask what the trouble with her finding a home is, but you think it might have something to do with her high energy and huge size. If she were human, she’d make a pretty good quarterback. 

“...aren’t you worried about, like, bad intentions?” You ask, eyebrows raising slightly when he holds out the treat bag to you.

“Mm, I think she knows how to pick ‘em.” He shakes his head slightly as you take the bag of treats from him. “She practically knocked you over just a minute ago. I think she can hold her own.” He’s right again.

Silence falls over the two of you while you gently feed Winn Dixie a treat, a smile spreading onto your face when she happily gobbles it up- and licks your hand to top it all off. Man, she is really laying it on thick.

With a heavy sigh, you relent. 

“...I’ll see how she likes it.” Robby’s face lights up at this, for some reason, and it almost makes you want to impress him- do something spectacular to see it again. “But I’m takin’ her right back here if she starts actin’ up.” He laughs at this, the sound low and gravelly as he begins to fish through his pocket. You squint a little to see that he’s pulling out his wallet, producing two twenty dollar bills. 

“Here. Can’t spring a kid on you without any financial support.” 

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I can-” He shakes his head, practically pressing the bills into your palm.

“Can’t have you getting her the shitty dog food, now. It’s for my peace of mind.” You sigh a little and tuck the bills into your pocket, and he straightens up with a gentle clap on your shoulder. “I’d give you my number to check in, but there’s no cell reception up there. Find me when you come back in town.” With that, he’s walking off before you can even ask how the hell you’re going to find him in a few weeks. Maybe he has a rigid schedule. You hope so, at least.

“...alright, Winnie. Let’s get you something for the road."