Random One Shots

Random one shots with actors, musicians/bands and characters.

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129. Chris Evans 5

~You weren’t really sure what had happened. Things started off great. At the first table read, everything was okay. The first two months of filming were fine. You and your co-star, a certain Chris Evans, hit it off without a hitch. Around month three of filming, though, things took a drastic change.
“Morning, Chris!” you hummed cheerily. He shot you a weak smile and a half-assed wave before turning his eyes back to the script in his lap. He was sitting in his usual chair on the lot, with ‘Evans’ printed across the back. Your chair, however, was slid a good ten feet away from his, with your own copy of the script resting in it.
You extended your arm, his usual Monday morning coffee in your hand. His eyes drifted to your hand, then back to the script. Was it my morning for coffee? The voice in your head sounded almost as confused as the look on your face portrayed.
“Thanks, but I grabbed some on my way out earlier,” he replied curtly. Your brows furrowed in concern. You’d never seen him like this. This wasn’t the Chris you’d come to know. That Chris was full of smiles and laughter, always cracking jokes and maintaining eye contact. Maybe he was just having a bad morning…
“Oh… Well, I guess that’s more coffee for me, then!” you teased, trying to pull at least half a real smile from him. He licked his thumb and flipped the page, stoically. A frown tugged at your lips and an inaudible sigh escaped your throat.
And that was only the first of many unusual encounters with Chris. The second, however, was just a bit more odd than the first.
Silently, you skimmed your lines for the day’s scenes; hoping filming would go better today than it had the last three weeks. You hadn’t seen much of Chris outside of your scenes together, except for his every-other-day routine of bringing you coffee in the morning, though you’d since stopped bringing his.
Chris silently approached you, setting the medium-sized Starbucks cup down on the arm of your chair. Just as quickly and quietly as he’d come, he was gone again. You reached for the cup without looking, but you knew it was there. What did you do? You mentally cursed. Why does he hate you? You shook your head, clearing the thought. He doesn’t hate me. He still brings me coffee. Your argument with yourself seemed sound enough to silence the negativity, even if only for a few minutes.
A short buzz of your phone notified you that you had a new text message. It was from Sam, another of your co-stars.
Set 3B. You’re needed! was all she typed. You shot her back an affirmative message, noting that you’d be there in a minute. With coffee in hand, you set your script back in your chair and hurried off.
Once to the end of the maze of hallways, you stepped into the small studio, decorated to look like a bedroom. Chris stood shirtless on the opposite side of the room, and Sam approached you, a big ol’ shit-eating grin plastered on her face.
“You ready?” she asked, poking your sides with her index fingers. You swatted at her hands, taking a large gulp of your coffee.
“Ready for what? It’s just a kissing scene, Sammi. Done it a few times.” Your tone was short and clipped.
“Christ, kid… You two still not talking?” You shook your head and she groaned your name. “Come on! We need chemistry between you two. Tell him to get his head out of his ass.”
You snorted a bit and rolled you eyes, peering at him over her shoulder. His hands were flailing, most likely in the context of his conversation with Max, his on-screen roommate. Chris crossed his arms as Max dominated the discussion. His face bore a look of contempt, tension built up in his forehead and his jaw clenched.
“Alright, everyone! Places!” the director called. Chris looked away from Max and made brief eye contact with you, breaking it before you’d even realized what happened. Sam and Max rushed off the set, stopping behind the cameras. Chris swallowed hard, watching you carefully hand your coffee to a production assistant with a smile. If you weren’t mistaken, you could’ve sworn that a faint smile inundated his full lips.
It was after that morning that he’d stopped bringing you coffee. The thoughts of what went wrong plagued your mind incessantly since then, though Sam and Max adamantly denied any wrongdoing on your part.
“He’s just trying not to lose focus,” Sam had insisted.
“Chris is probably like this on every movie he works on,” Max had assured.
But none of it seemed to matter. You could feel it in your bones that he really didn’t like you. In the five months you’d been filming with him, he’d never been as receptive to you as he was in the first two months…
*
Your sides ached from all the laughter. Sam was making all sorts of jokes about Max and Chris, and what everyone called their “bro-mance”. Even Chris and Max were cracking up.
A mere hour before, the director had called wrap on the film, demanding that everyone go out and celebrate, which was exactly how you’d ended up in a quaint little bar on the south end of the city, with Sam, Max, a few production members, and Chris.
After the fifth or sixth beer, Max had suggested a game of Truth or Dare. The small group of you had protested, and in turn, had been called a bunch of pussies by Chris.
“Bring it on!” he hollered, slamming his empty bottle of Sam Adams down on the table. Max gave everyone a sadistic leer and rubbed his palms together.
“You’re first,” he chuckled, jabbing you in the ribs with his elbow. You rolled your eyes, muttering dare. He raised a finger, signaling you to wait for a moment. He took off towards the bar. Sam gave you a familiar simper, before chugging the rest of her drink.
Upon Max’s return, he placed a shot on the table in front of you. God only knows what it was, but he dared you to drink it. You tipped your head back, swallowing whatever concoction was in your hand. The burn of bile hit your throat and you held back a cough.
“Jesus Chris, Max… What was that?” He just grinned and looked at Sam.
“Alright, my turn,” she muttered.
This game continued back and forth for a while, until it came time for Chris to choose again. He threw his hands up.
“Truth, since no one’s picked it yet,” his voice sounded apprehensive at first. Max couldn’t hold back from laughing as Sam ran her finger around the rim of her umpteenth Jack and coke.
“Alright, Chris… Tell my girl over here how you really feel about her.” She clapped a hand on your shoulder, and his face paled almost instantly.
“Nevermind, can I have a dare?” he asked, swallowing his third shot of Southern Comfort.
“Okay,” Sam began, swirling her glass in her hand. “I dare you to tell her how you feel.”
Chris was visibly uncomfortable, clearing his throat. He leaned across the table, resting his shaky hands on top of your clammy ones. A chill shot up your spine. His eyes lowered to meet yours, and his voice slurred for a second as he began.
“Okay, sssooo…” he had to stop for a moment and rid his throat of the nervous giggles. Chris cleared his throat, casting a glance to the pair sitting beside the two of you.
“Alright, I guess it’s time I came clean. I am a fucking idiot. I’m a real fuckin’ meatball. I’ve been such an ass this whole time because I… Well, I really like you, and I got scared. I promised myself I wouldn’t date another actress again, and then I met you, and you’re the kinda girl I’d be proud to call mine, but I know how this shit goes, more often than not, and I didn’t think I could risk the hurt that comes with it, and I’m sorry.” He stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath. Chris let his thumbs rub the back of your hands. “Can you forgive me? Let me take you to dinner when we’re not drunk. I mean, we can get drunk after if you wanna, but can I take you on a date first? Like a real one? I promise I’m not the big, dumb idiot I’ve been acting like lately. I really just-“
You’d heard enough. Even inebriated, you knew he’d never concede until you agreed to let him make it up to you. Before your brain could stop you, your body was on the move. Your hip avoided the edge of Sam’s chair as you leaned eagerly down to Chris’ face, putting one hand on his cheek and the other in his hair. The word ‘just’ had just rolled off his lips, and you took it was an invitation to lean down and press your lips hard to his. It took him a second to register what was going on.
As you were about to pull away, his hands both came to rest on the sides of your neck. The fervor of the kiss intensified, and your mind went blank. A faint sound of clapping and hollering came from the pair sitting behind you.
When Chris pulled away, you weren’t ready for the kiss to end. A dejected groan manifested itself from your throat, and his eyes were dead set on yours. A drunken blush crept upon your cheeks.
“So that’s a yes, right?” he recapped, not breaking contact. You nodded.
If I’m gonna fall for him, he’s just gotta say “Geronimo”...

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