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johannstutt413 · 4 years

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“Ugh.” Ambriel felt the back of her head. “Doctor, could you help me with my braid? I think it’s crooked.”

“Bring the chair over and I’ll fix it for you,” he agreed, pushing away from his desk. He’d just gotten finished with a batch of combat reports, and he really could use a break…

She sat down in the empty assistant’s chair, pushed it to him with her feet, and turned so he could get to it more easily. “Thanks. It always feels weird when I do it.”

“Really?” He shrugged. “I think it always looks fine.”

“Well, that’s weird. Usually, I don’t do anything with it because, well, it’s not like I’m very busy normally. Even back at my old job, I didn’t have a lot to do.”

The Doctor hadn’t heard much about her old job...hell, he didn’t really know much about her in general. Apparently, she just naturally felt comfortable enough with him to ask for help with her hair. “What’d you do back in Laterano?”

“I patrolled the city, making sure kids weren’t skipping school.” She sighed. “Wasn’t even a fricken’ beat cop, just a glorified hall monitor.”

“Wow. Seems like such a waste, knowing what you’re capable of. There, all done.”

Ambriel checked her pocket. “Damn it, left my mirror in my room. Why don’t you have one in your office?”

“Funny story.” He smirked. “I don’t do a lot outside of work.”

“You don’t? Well that sucks. Don’t have any friends to take you out and do stuff?”

The Doctor shook his head. “It’s not like I have that much work to do, and most of the people here seem to like me well enough, they just don’t come around and ask me to do things.”

“Wow.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Hmm...I’ve gotta go to the store and get a few things. I’ll see you around, Doctor.”

“I’ll be here.” He watched her leave his office, more than a little envious. If he could walk out like that, even just once in a while...

A few weeks later, Ambriel walked in with a tupperware container and a somewhat brighter look on her face. “Hey, Doctor. Brought you something today.”

“Really?” He hadn’t expected any gifts, but if anyone was going to bring him one, it would be her. “What is it?”

“Cake. Made it yesterday, thought you might like some.” She set it on his desk, and sure enough, inside was a thickly-frosted slice of double chocolate cake.

The Doctor reached into his drawer and retrieved a plastic spoon from a box. “You don’t mind if I mess this up a little, do you?”

“Mess it up?” She watched him heat it in a microwave under his desk, then reach into his fridge and pull out a quart container of vanilla ice cream to top it with. “If you’d told me you had ice cream, I would’ve brought the whole thing and eaten it with you.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time,” he smiled.

Ambriel took a seat in her usual spot; at this point, the extra chair was parked next to the Doctor’s out of habit. “You really should. Hey, when you’re done, you wanna take a break? You didn’t leave for lunch, so you must be getting sick of this office.”

“Sounds great,” he admitted, “but how am I gonna do that? This cake is pretty good, by the way.”

“Thanks. Followed the instructions on a box. Anyway, what do you mean, ‘how?’ You’re the Doctor, aren’t you? Just grab an Operator who can watch your back and keep you company and go for a walk. We- I mean, you- ah, damn it.”

The Doctor smiled. “If you wanted to go walking around the city with me, you could’ve just asked, Ambriel.”

“...Well, you wanna go window-shopping with me, then?”

“Of course.” He grabbed a spoonful of cake and ice cream. “Here, want some?”

She leaned forward and took the bite without taking the spoon from, licking her lips afterwards. “Yeah, that’s the stuff right there. Really should’ve bought some ice cream on that shopping trip...”

“Heh. Alright, let’s go.” The Doctor finished the slice and scoop, closed the spoon in the container, and set it in his fridge before throwing on his jacket. Once that was done, they were off.

They took a shuttle down to Lungmen, which was starting to feel like another extension of Rhodes with how long they’d been hovering over it, and walked through the shopping district making small talk. As casual as they’d been about it in the office, down on the ground, the atmosphere was different; the streets were tight with other customers and couples doing what they were doing, the lanterns were lit even while the sun was casting a warm glow over everything, and the stores seemed to be offering substantially higher discounts on 2-for-1 specials than usual. The Doctor bought a few DVDs and a cake mix, Ambriel got a new phone case and a pair of headphones to match it, and after a couple of hours, they drifted into an ice cream shop and ordered a pair of cones to sit down with. If there was a time to acknowledge what this had turned out to be, well...this was it.

“For windowshopping, we got a pretty good haul, wouldn’t you say?” He began after trimming down the scoop atop his cone to a conversational level.

“Yeah, I’d say so.” She, on the other hand, had simply bitten the whole thing into submission and was taking her time with the cone, eating it with a chiral motion all the way down. After a short lull, she sighed. “I wonder if the Operators really see me as some kind of killing machine.”

The Doctor furrowed his brow. “Why would they think that?”

“I was bored - you know how I get when I’m not doing a mission - and I went out to the balcony to watch the clouds pass under us, and you would’ve thought I brought my rifle with me and was eyeing some birds that were passing overhead. That sort of thing’s way too messy for me. All that blood raining down on me? No thank you.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He shook his head. “You take care of targets out in the field, but that’s sniping work, not stabbing a guy with your gun barrel like...some people.”

Ambriel smirked. “You mean Executor? That guy’s got it out for me, and I have no idea why! I pay my fricken’ taxes on time, and he still gets on me, asking if I’m ‘fulfilling my obligations’ like I’m some post-grad who crawled in off the street! I swear, it’s things like that that made me leave Laterano in the first place...not that I’d ever leave RI.”

“Really? Even if there were twenty more people like him crawling up and down your neck?”

“Okay, maybe then, but another five or ten I’d probably put up with.” She smiled. “You guys have given me a lot of practical benefits, working for you, and I don’t want to give up my pay grade or my other privileges.”

The Doctor smiled back. “Other privileges, huh? Is that what you call it?”

“I’m just saying, you treat me like I wanna be treated.” Ambriel was down to a nub, so she sucked the remaining ice cream out before popping it into her mouth. “Hope I’m returning the favor, Doctor.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t know how I’d get through the day without you talking to me. The cake was a really nice touch. ‘s why I want to return the favor tomorrow.”

That genuinely surprised her. “What, you’re gonna make that cake?”

“I was thinking you and I could watch some movies at my place. We’ll have cake, ice cream, and this bottle of amaretto I got a while back from my welcome-back party.”

“Huh...I mean, that sounds awesome, but...heh, I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She touched the braid on the back of her head, reminding herself who this was to her. “Yeah, I’ll come over tomorrow after work. Call me if I’m not there by 5, alright?”

He nodded. “That’s a promise, then.”

“Yeah...It’s a date.” Perhaps without meaning to, that comment reminded them that, in fact, this had also been a date that neither of them had acknowledged; as the Doctor finished his ice cream cone, Ambriel pretended to check her mirror, and the two of them temporarily disassociated from what was happening...because while neither party would openly admit it, they wouldn’t mind spending more time together like this, and hopefully tomorrow would make things more clear. Or, at least, less awkward.

The next day, Ambriel didn’t stop by the Doctor’s office, which worried him; she’d been in his office at least twice a day since he’d braided her hair the first time, so...He called her to check in, and once that was solved, he relaxed. She’d finally had something to do today, she said, so she hadn’t had a chance to come in, but she said she’d be at his place by 5, and a promise was a promise. Or, he supposed, a date was a date. This was a date, no doubt about that. Wait, was his place even clean?

If anyone needed the Doctor for the rest of that work day, the note on his door told them he was busy elsewhere, which...wasn’t entirely a lie. Several hours of cleaning left his place looking good enough for guests, and by the time that was done, he needed to freshen up before starting the cake. Once he was put together, and the cake was baking, the Doctor settled down to catch his breath...and the next thing he knew, there was a knock on his door. He walked with a nervousness he’d never felt but had certainly scene portrayed on TV, and with one more hapless breath, he opened the door. “Good eveni- holy shit.”

“What?” Ambriel gave him a rather tsun glare as he marveled at her attire - hoodie half-zipped with a thin T-shirt underneath, skirt coming halfway down her thighs, long socks capped with a pair of sneakers. “You’re looking at me like you don’t see me every day, Doctor.”

“I don’t see you dressed like this everyday,” he managed as the capacity for communication left his brain along with a sizable fraction of his blood.

She blushed fiercely at that. “I guess not, but...let me inside, will you? It’s cold out here, and I can smell that cake.”

“Right, the cake! Come on in, it should be just about-” Ding! “-it’s done. Make yourself comfortable on the couch. Can I get you anything?”

“Maybe some of that amaretto when your hands are free...Wow, you keep a tight ship, huh? A lot cleaner than my place right now.”

The Doctor chuckled to himself as he pulled the cake out of the oven. “Normally it’s more lived-in, I promise. You don’t mind if it’s not frosted, do you? I have a tub of the stuff, but it’ll just melt into the cake right now.”

“Hell, just bring it all in here together and we’ll mix it ourselves. Boy, it’s hot in here.” By this point, she’d claimed the middle cushion and slipped off her hoodie entirely, watching him with her sniper’s eyes.

“Well, the oven has been on for a while now.” He brought the entire cake, a tub of frosting, a half-gallon of ice cream, two bowls and spoons, the bottle of amaretto and two cups (no wine glasses) into the room on a tray and set everything down on a coffee table in front of them. Everything in place, he grabbed the remote, turned on the TV, and grabbed the stack of DVDs he’d gotten the other day. “Alright, what do we want to watch first?”

Ambriel vaguely remembered the movies he’d bought. “How about the one about the princess and the wanderer from a far-away land? That sounds like the right way to start.”

“Alright, He Came to Victoria, now playing.”

“‘Now playing?’ We’re not in a theatre, are we?” Once the Doctor sat down, she pulled the coffee table closer with her feet and dished each of them a slice of cake with frosting and ice cream, and he poured them each a cup of wine. “You know, somehow, the fact you don’t have wine glasses makes me appreciate this more.”

He swirled his absurdly sweet serving together before taking his first bite. “Really?”

“I dunno, I guess it makes me feel more special; it’s like, you put in the effort to do all of this for me, but since I’m the only one you treat like this, it’s not all polished like you host for people all the time. That make any sense?”

“I think so.” As the Doctor looked over at her, a crucial question came to mind. “Hey, talking during movies - dealbreaker or expected way to enjoy them?”

She smiled. “In a theatre it’s bad, but at home it’s necessary.”

“Good, because I’m not going to be able to watch this seriously.”

“Oh, me neither,” she agreed. “That’s part of the fun with these movies - they’re so unrealistic. I mean, it’s not like the man of your dreams is just going to show up in your life magically one day, you know?”

He thought back to the first day he realized he was falling for her. “Really?”

“No way. Doctor, do you believe in love at first sight and all that?”

“I don’t,” he replied, “but I do think sometimes the right person does just kind of...show up, you know?”

Ambriel looked at him. “From my experience, it takes time to figure that sort of thing out, though. The crazy part is that the couples always seem to know when they see someone that they’re the one, but that’s not how it works...even if it only takes a couple of weeks, you still have to lay the groundwork, you know?”

“Definitely...” The Doctor looked back at her before pausing the movie. “Do we mind if I just skip to the good part?”

“Eh, go ahead.” She turned back to the TV, but he didn’t press ‘play...’ and then she realized he hadn’t meant the movie, and she turned back to look at him.

He smiled nervously. “Ambriel, when was the first time you fell in love? I’d tell you my story, but frankly, I don’t remember it.”

“Um...well, stop me if you’ve heard this before, but it started when I finally passed the last of this stupid series of tests they had me do to prove I know how to use my rifle.” Ambriel shook her head. “I mean, honestly, you’d think I’d just gotten her yesterday, the way they treated me.”

“Heh.” They both knew who she was talking about, but he wanted to hear it all anyway.

She set her bowl on the coffee table and finished the rest of her cup before scooting closer - not next to him, just closer. “The pay was better than in Laterano, and they said I’d have plenty of chances to go into the field, but even then, I had a lot of downtime on my hands, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I heard there was a spot on base with this guy who had a free chair in his office and wouldn’t mind the company, so I dropped by his office and, I mean, I’d never tell him this, but it felt more like home than Laterano had.”

“...That’s sweeter than anything in front of us right now.” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Where do you find someone that lucky?”

“He’s sitting next to me right now, obviously.” Ambriel closed the rest of the distance between them and set her head on his shoulder and an arm around his back, looking up at him with what’d be best described as a serene expression.

The Doctor looked back at her. “You’ve got some chocolate on your lips, Amy.”

“Oh, do I?” She broke into a mischievous grin. “I know what to do about that.”

“So do I.” So saying, he leaned in for a kiss, and after a split second’s thought about messing with him, Ambriel returned the favor.

With their love now ratified with a fudge-sealed kiss, the Doctor turned the movie back on, and over the course of two and a half movies, they finished the cake, the ice cream, the frosting, and the wine before falling into sugar comas on the couch. The next morning, he called in sick for the both of them, and they spent the day in the same spot, finishing the rest of the movies he’d bought and suffering from their poor impulse control together. All in all, for a second date, both of them could imagine better…but neither of them could picture it with anyone else.

#arknights #ambriel (arknights)#man this was a good banner #i mean we only got three new characters #but they're all nice and waifuable #which as you know is the only metric that exists for banners #arknights fic

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buckitybarnes · 6 years

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Midnight Train - Bucky x Reader

Summary: Two strangers catch a late-night train. One runs away from life while the other is simply coming home. The two confide in each other, because sometimes, two stray dogs can relate better than anyone else.

Warnings/Themes: Profanity, fluff, angst (if you squint), reader is technically married.

Author’s Note: This is kind of a “wow I woke up at 2am because of a dream. I should turn this into a story or something.” Enjoy? Has not been checked for fluency/errors.

Y/N = Your Name

Buy Me a Ko-fi?

“If you could describe your life in one word, what would it be?”

Ah, Jacie, ever the party-goer. It is a good thing that you took French in high school.

“C’est ennuyeux,” you reply, holding your half-emptied wine glass.

She smiles politely. “I’m sorry?”

Knowing full well that she (nor ninety percent of the party) spoke French, you give a guarded smirk. “I’m doing absolutely fantastic. So one word? Fantastic.” What was one lie to this materialistic dame? She didn't give two shits about you. None of them did. They only spoke to you because you were the wife of some philanthropist.

How boring.

Staying here in Chicago was becoming a chore -- a hell, even. Your marriage? Dying.

Some nights when your husband stayed downstairs and you went to bed alone, you’d weep yourself to sleep. It was no way to live a life. In fact, you didn’t even know the first thing about philanthropy or being rich.

You’d come from a small town, bumping into your husband by accident while running errands. He’d won you over with his good looks and charming demeanor. When you moved in with him, however, you soon realized how little he cared about you. Of course, he never hurt you -- not physically or verbally. However, his haughty personality and his need to show you around like some trophy-wife were becoming too much.

He expected too much from you.

Whenever you’d fought with him, he’d buy you expensive jewelry or dresses to ease the tension. It never worked.

You feel that slowly, the spark behind your eyes died out. Sooner or later, you’ll join these stuck-up, emotionless robots. All you would care about is money and fame.

“Darling,” you husband calls, snapping his fingers to wake you out of your trance.

Like his lapdog, you turn when beckoned.

“Sorry, what?”

He laughs charmingly.

Oh, how you hated that stupid laugh. It was fake. It didn’t hold any real emotion.

“You seem tired, get some rest for tomorrow.”

One last chance, you think. Tomorrow was the fourth charity event he’d drag you to this week.

“Actually, babe. I was thinking...maybe we could skip tomorrow? Just tomorrow. I was hoping to spend some time with you, you know?” You smile hopefully, setting your wine glass down to hold his arm. “I missed you.”

“I’ve been by your side every day,” he sneers, clearly unhappy about your suggestion.

“And yet you barely even talk to me.” You sigh, screwing your eyes shut to avoid crying in frustration. All you wanted was to revive that initial spark you had with him. “Could you at least come to bed with me tonight?”

Your husband smooths out the sleeve of his white suit. He looks around, noticing that there were a few stragglers tonight. Well, their host certainly couldn’t just leave them.

“Get some rest,” he repeats more sternly. “I’ll be up in a few.”

But of course, you know that he’ll be down here for another three hours.

You’ve prepared for this day.

At first, selling whatever jewelry or clothes you didn’t need was just a way to keep money in your savings account. Eventually, putting so much up for sale gave you enough to buy a small house if you really wanted to. Add that up with whatever you had before meeting your husband and you had enough to travel the damn world.

You place an envelope on the nightstand and throw on your backpack. There was a letter for your husband stating you needed some time away -- that everything in Chicago was draining the life out of you. He couldn’t make you stay, not that you think he would try to. Perhaps he’ll pick someone else up on the streets. Maybe they could live this life. But not you.

You don’t know where you’re headed off to, but you don’t care.

Even stepping foot out of the mansion gave you a sense of utter joy. You felt so free out here. The people outside give you odd looks, wondering what is up with your attire and travel pack, but you pay them no mind. You plug in your earbuds to listen to one of your favorite songs and walk down the driveway. You were sick and tired of the classical music your husband put on 24/7, not that you minded it. It was just repetitive.

It was a cold night in Chicago and you’re well-prepared for it. After stepping out of the cab, you pull your tight-knit cap over your head, laughing mirthfully at the sight of your breath. Others may think that you had gone mad, but there weren't many out tonight anyway. Besides, You haven’t felt cold since you were back home. Your husband always made sure you were warm, keeping you in the car or in the house when it got chilly. He insisted that a sick wife would be a horrible hostess.

To hell with him.

You decide to buy a ticket all the way to Philadelphia, thanking the exhausted seller along the way. It was a random choice. You’d just chosen whatever you first saw on the screen and ran with it. You wonder if it’ll be nicer farther east. Surely, it was at least more lively than that lonely mansion in Chicago.

You choose a seat in a nearly empty car, wedging your pack between yourself and the window to deter thieves. Sitting in the same car was an elderly couple and a family of five. It was better to be safe than sorry anyway.

The ride is six hours.

Six hours full of thinking and checking your phone that blows up with angry text messages. Some were from your family members, worrying and wondering if you needed therapy for running off. You ignore them, however, and dismiss their worries with an aloof ‘goodbye.’

Pulling out your laptop, you create a word document with a loose plan.

You compile a list of places you could go and where jobs were hiring. You pick out anything and everything that catches your eye.

And then the clearing of a throat startles you.

You realize that the train has stopped so people could get on and off.

A man with shoulder-length brunette hair and a boyish smile looks down at you.

“Mind if I sit?”

You close your laptop warily, taking a quick survey of the car.

The elderly couple was still here, but the family had left. Only one or two people, excluding this man, had gotten on.

“Uhm -- why?” you ask sheepishly, clearly suspicious of his intent.

“You’re in my regular seat,” he teases, a lopsided smirk on his face.

One quick scan sends a shock of recognition in your mind. This guy was an Avenger.

What the hell is he doing here?

Shaking the thought away, you gesture to the seat beside you. Who were you to tell off a national icon? He was a hero to many, including yourself. Back when you were a researcher, you followed his case once or twice, not that you would tell him. “Sit then, you big baby.” You smile a bit to show him that you were joking.

Once he’s beside you, you immediately tense up.

He smells like charcoal and sweat. With a quick glance, you realize that the shirt peeking out from underneath his hoodie is stained in red.

You’re too occupied that you don’t notice him staring back. He wonders if you recognize him, and if so, as the Winter Soldier or as Bucky Barnes?

“You could’ve at least gotten cleaned up before joining me,” you mutter, tearing your gaze away. “I get that you’re a superhero and all, but jeez, you smell like crap.”

Bucky lets out a surprised laugh, running a hand through his hair. “So you do know me,” he murmurs. “Well, you sound like my biggest fan.”

“Are all superheroes this arrogant...or?”

The skin around his eyes wrinkle and he grins in amusement. “Fame gets to our heads sometimes. Don’t be afraid to knock me down a peg or two.”

You open back up your laptop and roll your eyes.

Why he chose to bother you, you’re not sure.

“Trust me, I will.”

An hour passes and Bucky slowly coaxes you out of your shell. You’ve long since put your laptop away.

Thankful for the lack of people, you prop your feet against the back of another seat, turning only slightly to talk to him.

By now, you’ve told him where you came from and why you left.

He neither agreed nor disagreed to your plan (or lack thereof), which you were grateful for. He simply wished you luck and told you that he’s glad you left such a shitty situation.

“You know,” you start, plopping a potato-chip into your mouth. Bucky raises an eyebrow, waiting patiently for you. Once you’ve swallowed, you rest your chin on your hand, propping your elbow onto the armrest. “I met Tony Stark once at a gala last year.”

“Really?” He’s genuinely curious. “Was he as horrible to you as he is to the rest of my team?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, no. In fact, he tried to save my ass before I even realized I hated my life.” You remember the night so clearly. You remember Tony and how awestruck you were about meeting such an important figure. If there was one thing you were grateful for, it was for that event and encounter. “He offered me his card when my husband wasn’t looking. Told me to find him if I ever got tired of the prissy life and wanted to use my brain for more important things.”

“Like?”

Your mentally slap yourself. “Oh man, I totally forgot to mention.” Never had people in your life actually cared about your interests or your background. The attention always revolved around your husband. It was only natural you left out details when talking about yourself. “I graduated with a biotech degree. I researched under Doctor Helen Cho when I was in grad school.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Bucky says. You were impressive and full of surprises, he’ll give you that. “That’s awesome! Why didn’t you call him up?”

“Well, first off, I threw away the card.” You shrug. “I kind of took it as a joke. I also didn’t wanna bother him. He’s a busy man.”

“Very,” Bucky agrees. He accepts your answer for now, and instead, pulls your attention over to another topic.

After a while of exchanging stories and memories (good or bad), Bucky stops talking and instead stares at you in contemplation.

“Yes?”

He jolts in surprise, apologizing for spacing out. “I was just wondering…”

“About…?”

“Cho did say that she could use another assistant in the lab…” he draws out, a smirk on his lips.

“False advertising will get you nowhere. I know the security risks of being anywhere near the Avengers.”

“A life of danger is way more exciting than keeping a routine.”

Well, now he was just using your plan against yourself.

“And how do I know you're not just some freak from a comic convention, cosplaying as one of America’s finest heroes?” You point to your backpack. “And that you’re not just trynna capture me for ransom or somethin?’”

“I’m gonna set aside that you think of me as a ‘fine’ hero, and ask: you really think people could look as tough as me?” he huffs “you wanna smell the blood on my jacket? I guarantee it’s authentic"

“Oh, dude, I’ve been smelling it since you came up to me.” Your nose scrunches up in disgust and he copies you, feigning irritation.

He self-consciously pulls his hoodie down to cover his blood-stained shirt.

He was the real deal, and you knew it.

“trust me, in New York, you can start fresh. It's not like anyone gives a shit about you there.”

“How reassuring,” you smirk.

Your eyes peer over to the screen as the train screeches to a halt.

“That’s our stop,” you announce, nudging him over.

He gets up and offers you a hand, nodding his head. “Yeah, I guess so.” If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he’s disappointed to leave you.

He wonders if he should get your number. No, that was probably weird. You’d just met him. He was a stranger, even if you knew about his title. Still, when your smile drops, he can’t help but think that you’re disappointed in leaving him.

The stop in Philly is hot and humid and Bucky urges you to take off your hat. You do so and he helps stuff it into your backpack. For a moment, he lingers in front of you, unsure of what to say.

It was strange, really. After spending six hours, you knew more about him than you knew of your husband. He leads an interesting life, one that you’d be down for if you weren’t so chicken.

“This is it,” he chuckles nervously, jerking his thumb toward the ticket booth. “I should go buy my ticket. I really hope you find what you’re looking for.” He smiles wholeheartedly, his metal hand around your arm feels warm, despite its usual temperature. “Please stay safe, okay?”

Still in a daze, you remain silent, nodding your head. When he waits awkwardly, you can only say what comes to mind, which isn’t much to start with.

“You too. Stay safe out there.”

The embarrassed look of realization on your face causes him to bark out a laugh. He turns on his heels, starting for the booth.

He really hopes to see you again someday. Maybe he’ll ask Stark to try to reach out to you.

The wait for the next train is awfully long, so Bucky decides to grab coffee first.

It was back to the grind, it seems. Tomorrow, he’ll probably be sent out for another mission.

He sighs in exhaustion, taking a sip of the bitter liquid.

“I should’ve gotten her number,” he grumbles to himself.

He feels someone poke the back of his jacket and he feels sorry for whoever touched it. It was probably riddled with disease. He had to pull it out of a stranger’s car after the mission to cover up the crimson on his shirt.

“About this job opportunity,” a familiar voice calls out.

Bucky turns in shock, eyebrows raised.

You’re somewhat of a mess, most likely from running around and looking for him. You pant slightly, trying to catch your breath as you look up in nervousness.

“How late do you think is too late to apply?” you ask, juggling your weight from one foot to the other.

He sees a ticket to Manhattan in one of your hands and tries to ignore the burst of excitement in his chest.

Without asking, he pulls your backpack and hauls it over his shoulder, nodding towards the platform. Come with me. It doesn’t matter, he wants to say. Instead, he breathes out a content sigh and chuckles.

“Never too late so long as you show ‘em how badly you want it.”

When a look of confidence flashes across your face, he guides you along. For once in his life, he’s thrilled about a new change.

This could be good.

For the both of you.

#Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #reader insert #x reader #captain america #The Avengers #the winter soldier #white wolf #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #mcu #marvel #wolf writes #oneshot

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peacefulwriter88 · 6 years

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Space in Between - Part 6

A/N: This is a slow burn but I promise you the next part will be worth it ;)

Catch up with the series here

Monday comes too soon. After partying way too much over the weekend, you’re woken up to your head pounding heavily and your stomach mildly churning. you felt terrible. And on top of it all, Mara is stomping around the apartment, making it impossible to fall back asleep. Its only minutes later that she’s knocking on your door, before she opens it and mutters,

“We gotta go to Beck’s class.”

You moan in response, hiding your head deeper in your pillow and you hide your face deeper as you hear her near.

You didn’t want to see Beck. No way. Not after you had shamefully flirted with him. Almost got him in trouble with his guy friends – in front of another professor and two well-known astronauts. So you did what any grad student shouldn’t do. You drank the distraction away. In return, you didn’t get around to your paper and that stress compounded with the idea of facing Beck made you want to stay in bed forever.

“Listen,” Mara flops beside you, pulling the pillow from your face. “Beck got all weird cause his friend called him out but he’s into you girl. Just like, be cool and chill about it. Act like it was nothing. You only both just flirted.”

“He asked me out on a date.” You mumble and her eyes widen, before she slams you in the face with your pillow.

“Ow! What the hell was that for.” You wince, rolling away from her and she huffs, crossing her arms.

“This whole weekend we were together and you don’t mention once that he asked you out!?”

“It was before we ran into his friends and it got weird and I was confused because he got cold all of a sudden…..”

Mara scoffs,

“He got cold to cover for you both. Technically, its super bad to be dating a student, grad or not.”

“I know! I just wanted to forget for a while. Now I have to go to class and confront him.” you turn to her and she gives a slow nod.

“Indeed, young grasshopper. Indeed. So get dressed and head over. We didn’t do shit for that paper so we gotta be on our A game. Which means, cry it out or whatever then get ready to focus. And afterwards we can get eat all the ice-cream and fries while you lament over your almost lover.”

You hated Mara when she got this way. Her left brained, compartmentalized brain was telling her that despite all the other emotions, you had to get it together to move forward in your life. It was easy for her to separate school and her personal life. She was willing to empathize but only to a degree because Beck wasn’t the end game you had laid out for her. Graduating and NASA was.

You tried to remind yourself of that as you followed her into the classroom thirty minutes later, hoping to God that you both were late enough for you to quickly find your seat and jump into the lecture.

You weren’t.

You weren’t because standing in the front of the class, laughing casually with Chris as he scribbled on the board was Mark Watney.

Mark motherfucking Watney.

You stopped in the doorway, mouth agape, unable to move. Unable to think or breath.

You’re idol was breathing the same air as you.

Mara had only noticed your weird behavior when Hector looked behind her, throwing her an eye and she sighs, stomping toward you and grabbing your hand.

“Grow up Y/N. I mean….I will go back to empathetically being your girlfriend tonight but right now, please don’t embarrass yourself.”

“It’s not that,” you say, your eyes fluttering as you make eye contact with Mark. He smiles at you and you can’t help but give a goofy one back, your eyes in what you are sure are full Japanese heart fan girl mode.

“You…You’re Mark Watney. You’re like…..you’re like my hero.”

“You sound like Ferris Bu- wait! That’s Mark Watney!?” Hector says, loud enough for the room to stop their chit chat to look down at him. He’s standing there, his face flushing over red as Chris turns, automatically eyes burning into yours.

You blush. Awkwardly hovering over your seat, unable to find it without the assistance of Mara. She’s blushing out of embarrassment. His face goes soft for a second, taking in your body before Mark nudges him. Then he’s shaking his head, darting his eyes away too quickly before clearing his throat and saying,

“Looks like Ms. Y/N has a knack for calling people out. That’s right everyone, I was able to convince my good friend Mark Watney down for a Q and A for your paper. This whole hour is dedicated to him.”

You felt your heart swirl again. So what it was weird with Chris. You could worry about that later. Right now your brain was pistoned with all the questions you had for Mr. Watney himself.

You were going to be the death of him. He knew it. Had spent all Sunday night and Monday morning lecturing to himself about how and why he was going to move forward with you. Had been able to crack his grumpy disposition when he made breakfast for him and Mark, driving him to campus and laying out what he had already taught for students.

He was ready for you. Could handle you.

Or so he thought.

You truly always caught him by surprise. Hadn’t realized you had even walked in, too busy writing out some topics while he briefly chatted with Mark, letting everyone get settled.

It was your breathy statement that had caught him as he turned around. The way you adoringly were looking at Mark. Of course you knew who he was. You had always briefly mentioned how much you adored Mark Watney and his crew, the true reason you were able to call him out on his first day. He thought it was cute how you delved into a fangirly hole about the Space X Station and the mission – his mission that he lived – and how that had shaped your investment in space engineering. He liked the ethereal way your eyes glazed over as you spoke of it, usually sipping on tea or coffee, your voice soft and low as if you were embarrassed to bring it up with him

You were like this now, except you were giving Mark those eyes, your large doe eyes taking him in. If he wasn��t so distracted by your outfit, the tight leggings that sinfully stuck to you like your jeans but so much better paired with your cropped space shirt (why were you doing this to him) he would be jealous.

When you smiled at Mark, an innocent kind of smile that held admiration in awe, he kind of was. And then your eyes flickered to him and that gnawing ache that tore at his stomach every time he looked at you spread throughout his body. Because Mark may have your respect but he was the one that had your heart.

He bit back the internal groan as he looked away, gaining the attention of everyone else who had caught on with the celebrity in the room.

The class went on surprisingly well. Everyone was engaged and seemed to be enjoying the conversation. A lot of students, at this point, were set on taking notes and listening in on the questions that were being thrown out.

Correction. The questions you were throwing out.

You were on fire. The minute a student had asked a question – a question everyone knew was in the books he had assigned you had been a cat with your claws out. Had countered each statement with a more complicated, built up question on your own. Never focused on what had happened to Mark like most people were throwing out. No, not you. You were concerned about the future of space travel and what that meant for this new generation. How you could build on the science Mark and his crew had created to make a long lasting life for a new generation of scientist in Mars and beyond.

Everyone was impressed. Even after he had called time, a lot of students waited patiently, listening in on the conversation/argument (he’d expect nothing less from you) between you and Mark. Until he cleared his throat, stating he had to clear the room.

You resigned yourself in your seat, falling back in a frustrated huff, the small tiff you always had when he had to stop time in the middle of a good discussion.

He had to get a hold of himself.

“I get it,” Mark says lowly under his breath, shaking the hands of students as they head out. He’s standing close enough to hear the next part clearly. “I get why you’re into her. She’s a piston. And she’s really cute. More your type than mine but hey, I’d totally take her out to drinks if she asked.”

The glare Chris throws him causes Mark to laugh shaking his head.

“Just kidding. Just reminding you that it’s not about your future anymore. You had that. Now you have a son and are on the road of building something else. Its her turn to figure out her path.”

Chris blinks at him as Mark shuffles away, walking up to you and engaging in a conversation. You give a nervous laugh, jumping from foot to foot before nodding enthusiastically, happily pulling out your phone to take a photo with him. Then taking one with Mara and Hector. It’s when they all start in on a conversation, that you flash your eyes toward Chris.

He could tell you had worked not to look at him the whole time. Probably because he had done the same thing. You both give sheepish smiles as you slowly walk up to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“Hey.” You say casually. And he smiles back, digging his hands in his pockets.

“Hiya back. You know, you don’t have to argue with every person I bring into class.”

You blush, looking down at your feet before looking back up at him.

“I mean, Mark Watney or not, I’ve read the Theories of Ecological Space Living. His science doesn’t add up.”

Chris smiles, leaning back on his desk.

“True. But then again, he did survive on that bad science so who are we to argue otherwise.”

You give a thoughtful nod, smiling and shaking your head. Then silence. Its hit you both at the same time and you clear your throat uncomfortably. The hall is empty minus the two of you. So they abandoned you both to deal with the tension.

The perfect solution.

“You recover from the game on Saturday? Because if you can’t tell from my attire, I have not.”

You give a nervous laugh and he smiles, shaking his head as he leans in to push a strand of your hair back. You freeze but don’t move, instead blankly look at him and he curses himself internally, trying to ignore the way his stomach knots. He had to get it together.

“Nah why do you think I bought in Mark. Needed a fill in while I got over this hangover.”

You smile falling into his touch and he knows he has to stop. Has to ignore the way his heart increases from feeling the warmth of your skin under his hand, the way your eyes are hooded and look at him, your bottom lip plump and puffy from the way you’ve been nervously biting down on it.

This was dangerous. He had to end this.

You were exactly the kind of women he had always dreamed of falling in love with. And he couldn’t do this – not to you. He could handle the consequences when you were on the verge of greatness. No matter how annoyed he was at the circumstances, you deserved whatever life was going to throw your way

How could he have allowed his heart to get broken in the span of two year? He really was a fucking mess.

“Chris? Did you hear me?” He blinks a few times and you laugh, nuzzling into his hand and his heart breaks because he doesn’t want to do this.

You pull away from his embrace and he feels empty.

“I was asking if you wanted to grab a beer later today. You could totally bring Mark, or not, or we could reschedule for another time or….”

Your voice drops an octave, lingering and he sighs and looks away.

“Y/N…we can’t do this.”

You blink at him innocently, those big doe eyes watching him curiously as he crosses his arms.

“We can’t…..I can’t…..if you were anyone else in this class I could take you out to drinks. Buy you dinner while we argued over space theories. But I can’t with you. Can’t with you because we both know its not innocent drinks with your professor. We both know we want it to be….”

He can’t finish the sentence, his jaw set as he looks behind you. You give a weak nod, biting your lip. He continues, unable to stop

“I mean you’re attractive Y/N, intelligent, funny, kind. But at the end of the day you’re a student – my student – and it would look unprofessional if people thought I was favoring you over everyone else. I have to be able to unbiasedly grade you, and your peers, on the same level and hanging out on the side, that skews that. You know that.”

Silence. He has to look away, has to will his heart to understand why he can’t go through with this.

“You’re right – I’m being very unprofessional with you.” Your voice is cracking, husky and shaky and he closes his eyes because he feels the pain.

“I shouldn’t have even put you in this position. I have classes and that NASA application and midterms are coming up and you are – you and I shouldn’t…I’m sorry…”

His eyes snap at the way you turn quickly, the quick way your brushing your face away and his heart has snapped, filling with daggers because he just wants to reach out and comfort you and beg you to forgive him. But he can’t. He has to save you from him.

“Y/N……” his voice is raw as he bites back the pain and you shake your head in denial,

“Don’t worry about it.”

And then you’re gone, leaving him to wonder if he made the right choice.

#Sebastian Stan #chris beck #chris beck x reader

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