Magical apple

You were working as a professor at the local university. You always knew, that forcing students to attend your classes was no way to make them like you and actually listen. No, you had to engage with them outside of the class too. So, you focused not only on the lectures, but on the out-of-school activities as well. That meant organizing some charity work, workshops, debates with interesting people and so on.

To say you were shocked when you booked Chris Evans for one of the debates, would be an understatement. You were even more nervous than your students, but you couldn't let it show. Being the ever-supporting professor, you reassured them that they will do just fine, because they were your smart students after all. They seemed to relax a bit at that.

Encouraged, you all went to greet Mr. Evans and you offered him a coffee, which he was quick to accept. You could sense he was upset about something, but it wasn't your place to ask him what's wrong. Soon after your interaction, he was ushered on the stage by another professor, who shoved a microphone in his hand, wishing him good luck.

The lecture went splendidly, now it was time for an autograph session, where students could get their own three minutes with Mr. Evans. One of your colleagues announced it and students were quick to form a line.

It seemed like it went on and on for hours, but Mr. Evans was somehow still polite to every single person. Even if the questions were repetitive, he answered them with patience. You were near him, just in case he needed something. However, you were a single woman as well, so from time to time your eyes may or may not have lingered on him longer, than they should've.

You mentally scolded yourself and focused on the actual questions he was being asked. You were proud of your students for coming up with the interesting, difficult, philosophical and even some weird questions. Thankfully, they hadn't asked about personal things, until they did. The line was coming to an end and now it was mostly students from other classes, even other schools. You could tell those questions were bothering Mr. Evans and it was only adding to his frustration.

"Next!" you called. There was only one person left, a young girl.

"Finally!" she huffed as she came up to Mr. Evans. "So, I don't have time for you, I only want you to give my number to Tom Holland." With that she dropped a piece of paper on the table in front of him, turned on her heels and left. Without saying hi, please or bye. He looked almost frozen as he tried to take in what had just happened. You wanted to comfort him somehow, but his manager had already asked to follow him. You watched them leave next door, where you had previously set up a kind of a break room for him.

An idea popped up in your mind. You went to your cabinet and made him a fresh coffee. You were impatient and excited to have only as much as five minutes alone with him. You poured the coffee in the take-it-to-go cup and hurried to the next room. Just as you neared the door, they opened and you saw his manager leave, meaning you would, indeed, be alone with him. Perfect, you thought as you entered.

He was leaning back in the chair, with his hair all fluffy. Your eyes ran over his face, finding his brows adorably scrunched above his closed eyes, his beard trimmed neatly. A cozy looking blue sweater hid his muscled torso and the dark jeans hugged his thighs, rushing bunch of sinful thoughts through your mind.

"Are you going to say something or just keep staring?" his deep voice startled you from your daydream. You mumbled a quick apology and tried to hide the creeping blush on your face.

"Mr. Evans, I noticed your first coffee went cold, so I thought I'd make you a fresh one." You offered him a warm smile along with the cup.

"Y/N, right? Thanks, that's very considerate of you. And, please, call me Chris." You swore he winked at you just before bringing the cup to his mouth, taking a sip of the steamy beverage. You felt your face heating up again and you squirmed under his gaze.