Random One Shots

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

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131. Chris Evans 6 Part 2

~That was nearly four months ago.
You hadn’t spoken with Chris since you left. It was purely out of your own wounded pride and stubbornness. He’d tried desperately to get in touch with you, whether it be by mean of texts, calls, or tweets, but to no avail. You weren’t really sure you could handle that yet anyways. You avoided throwing pity parties for one by immersing yourself in filming and spending as much time as possible promoting and staying busy.
Staying busy meant no time to think about Chris, and that’s exactly what you needed. But what you needed and what actually happened are two different stories.
Upon his arrival back in London, Tom kept true to his word. He called almost as soon as he’d left the airport, insisting that you no longer stay in a hotel, but in his guest room.
“More space, more comfort, and it’d save your production team quite a bit of money in the long run.” He had persisted, refusing to take no for an answer. You’d only been in London for a month at that point, and after discussing it through the proper channels, you felt compelled to take him up on it.
Your three new co-stars were quite friendly. You’d really hit it off with all of them, and they all got along famously with Tom, so the pair of you spent a lot of time with the lot of them.
The two male leads, though, had a habit of being overtly flirtatious with you, like it was a competition between the two of them for your attention. As flattering as it was, your thoughts always strayed right back to Chris. No matter how hard you fought it, it always went back to him.
It always went back to his angular face. His defined jaw line, and how when he wasn’t filming, it was obscured by a neatly-trimmed beard. The thought of those bright blue eyes of his, flecked near the center with green, was burned into your mind, and every time you even so much as blinked, they were at the forefront.
And you wanted to hate it.
“Good morning, darling. Hungry?” Tom cooed as you staggered into the kitchen. You nodded slowly, tightening the drawstring on your pajama bottoms in an effort to keep them up. Technically, they were Tom’s pants, but you’d commandeered them from the dryer a week prior, informing him that they were yours until you left. He took no offense, stating you were more than welcome to anything of his, which apparently, as of right now, included his food.
Tom slipped a plate in front of you as you took a seat at the table, commenting that he made you favorite breakfast. You raised an eyebrow, simply asking him what shenanigans he was up to. He shook his head, his famous chuckle rising in his throat.
“I’m not up to anything, dear. Just being hospitable.” You shot him a suspicious glance. He picked up another full plate, and turned towards the hallway. “I’ve got a bit of work to do, so if you need anything, just call for me.”
His smile was mischievous as he bounded down the hall, leaving you with a lingering curiosity.
“Nothing goes better with breakfast than script reading,” you muttered to yourself, sliding your chair back. You followed Tom’s lead down the hall, passing his bedroom door. Opposite the daily norm, it was closed.
You thought. I’ve never actually seen his door shut.
There was a minor hesitation, the temptation to knock, but you suppressed it, continuing to what had temporarily become your room. You darted in, grabbing a pair of socks off the top of your suitcase and your copy of the film’s script off the dresser, and headed back towards to kitchen.
The sudden audible appearance of Tom’s voice caught you off guard, though, and you froze.
“Believe me; you have nothing to worry about.” His voice was hushed and muffled. “She is completely oblivious. There’s a reason I find employment as an actor. We’ve been discussing this for over a month, and she’s none the wiser.” He paused, and you could’ve sworn you’d heard another voice answering him.
Must just be on the phone…
“I assure you, she’ll be ecstatic.” There was a sigh that followed, and you were almost positive that the noise couldn’t have come from Tom. You went to lean in closer, but the floorboard creaked under your bare feet. A breath caught in your chest, and you calmly headed back to the kitchen.
You slipped on your socks to warm up your feet and settled back in the chair with a full mug of coffee and your script. The script was dog-eared on page 42, the scene you were shooting later that night. Curiosity was rampant in your mind, though.
What was Tom talking about? She? Was that me? Who was he talking to?
The sound of Tom calling your name drew you back, and you looked up just in time to see him lean in from the doorway.
“Could you lend me a hand?” he asked, flashing that scintillating smile of his. “I can’t reach something.”
You recoiled with a look of disbelief.
“You? Thomas Hiddleston, the eight-foot-bean-pole? You can’t reach something?” He chuckled, holding his hand out.
“Figure if I give you a little boost, you could grab it. I set it on the top of my bookshelf, but it fell over. Come on, it’ll only take a second,” he pleaded. Your response included a smirk, an eye roll, and you grabbing his outstretched hand.
With glee, he tugged your arm, pulling you eagerly to his bedroom. Once across the threshold, he closed the door behind you, earning a puzzled look.
“Mind out of the gutter, love,” he quipped, pointing to the shelf just to the left of the hinges. A blush crept across your face, and he moved his grip from your hand to your hips, telling you that the book he was after was at the back, pressed against the wall.
“Ready?” You nodded, bracing yourself. He lifted you so effortlessly, and you could see what he meant. Just as you were reaching for it, you heard that same floorboard creak and groan under pressure. Tom let out a nervous cough, asking hurriedly if you got the book. You snatched it quickly, asking Tom to put you down. He obeyed, setting you back on your feet. A quick ‘thank you’ was all he gave before he removed the book from your hands, and yanked the door back open, leaving space for you to exit first.
Cautiously, you stepped out, with Tom close behind you. You moved back towards the kitchen, but what you saw in front of you made you stop dead in your tracks.
There, at the kitchen table, sat none other than Christopher Evans. His elbows rested on his knees, and his hands were folded together. A sharp gasp from you caused him to look up through his thick, lengthy eyelashes and an effervescent grin mounted his lips. His voice came out shaky, but he managed your name, coupled with ‘hey’.
The warmth of Tom standing behind you dissipated quickly, leaving a slight chill in its place, and you felt almost bare. Nervously, your hand hitched to your opposing upper arm. You were too stunned to really say anything back, and Chris took notice.
He stood, and, in less than three strides, crossed to you. Chris was a good head taller than you, at least, so you had to adjust to look up at him. The freckles that peppered his face had never been such a beautiful sight to you.
You pressed your palms against his pecs, almost as if you needed reassurance that he was really there. His hands, rough and warm, enveloped yours.
“I’m guessing this means you don’t hate me as much as I hate myself,” he chuckled as you shook your head. His fingers departed from yours, and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, hugging you to his chest. “I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much.”
His lips pressed to the top of your head, and you finally relaxed into his hold.
“What are you doing here?” you grumbled. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, Chris. I am.” He loosened his grip just enough to make eye contact with you.
“After we finished Ultron, you know, when you told me everything, you really caught me off guard. I was pretty surprised, and I reacted like a fuckin’ meatball.”
“No, Chris, it’s-“
“I’m not done,” was his reply. “After you left, it hit me. What you said. Hit me like a sack of bricks, and I was so pissed that I didn’t say anything.”
“You said ‘thank you’. At least your mom won’t kick your ass for forgetting your manners,” you sniggered. His smile only grew, and he pulled you back in for another round of bone-crushing hugging. This time, his lips moved lower, finding a place on your temple to kiss repeatedly.
“I’m so sorry,” he rumbled in the breaths between. “You’ve been on my mind every day since then. Even my distractions reminded me of you.”
You leaned up, catching his rambling lips with yours. He stilled for a moment, but then one of his hands migrated back to yours, gripping it like he’d never let go. The other arm found the small of your back and closed off any semblance of space between your bodies, not that there really was any. You felt the flutter of his eyelashes against your skin as he closed his eyes. The pressure of his lips to yours increased tenfold as he responded. After what felt like an hour, you pulled back to take a breath.
“I love you too,” he whispered, chasing the taste of your name on his tongue. “Just so you know.”
 

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