𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. you had been pressing chris’s buttons all day and one time he finally did something about it.
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. can u please write a chris fic where the reader is being kinda bratty and trying to make him mad and well we know what happens from there. please. by anon
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. SMUT ! dom!chris bratty!reader dynamic, begging, overstimulation sort of, rough sex, choking, name calling (bitch, whore, slut, ma, etc.) everything is ofc done with consent!!
𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. sorry it took me so long! i had serious writers block omg.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. to be counted.
at the moment you were driving around with chris to run some errands. him getting his license was a game changer for you guys so you didn’t have to ask matt for a ride everytime you needed to do something.
you didn’t know why today you got irritated by everything. whether it was how chris pressed on the brake or how he was breathing like he was running out of oxygen. everything had you irritated.
“wait till the last minute to brake why don’t you?” you remarked as chris almost gave you a hard attack when you thought he was going to hit the car in front of him.
he shrugged your comment off. “the car in front of me was the one that stopped abruptly, not me baby.” you rolled your eyes keeping your gaze on the view in front of you.
“i have to stop at cvs really quickly to pick up some stuff.” you mentioned. he nodded looking where the closest cvs happened to be. he turned into the parking lot and parked. you got out not saying another word. you didn’t wait for him to turn off the car or get out either.
“what’d you need to— ” he got cut off by the slam of the car door and he watched as you went inside. what the fuck? he thought, feeling himself become annoyed at your dismissive action.
he shook his head taking a deep breath before heading in after you. he saw you grab a few items and head to the register. “can i use your card? i’m not sure how much i have in my debit and i didn’t bring my credit card.”
chris raised his brows. “after you just slammed the door in my face?” he called out, looking at you as you stood in line.
you let out a strained breath. “are you gonna let me use the fucking card or not, i don’t have time for this.” your tone laced with irritation. chris picked up on that and laughed in disbelief.
he poked his tongue with his cheek as he looked down and retrieved his wallet before handing you his card. you took it from him and went to self checkout scanning your items and inserting the card. you grabbed the receipt and left without a word.
he squinted his eyes and clenched his jaw while he observed you walking away. he controlled his temper now but his patience was starting to wear thin. he didn’t want to get into an argument now but he figured when you both got home he’d mention how you were acting.
you both sat in the car, silence louder than usual. you saw the way chris’s temper was slowly starting to rise and you admitted, you liked it. he looked so good with his jaw clenched like he was holding back from putting you in your place.
you smiled at the thought while you looked out the window as street lights passed by.
you guys finally got home and you were quick to grab your stuff and bring it inside closing the door behind you, not leaving it open for him. you knew it was a shit move but the outcome would hopefully be worth it.
you heard the door open and close harshly. oh shit.
you took off your shoes and left them by the door before setting your bags on the counter. you made sure you looked unbothered when in reality you were slightly shitting your pants. you pursed your lips trying not to show any emotion but you couldn’t help it. you smiled tightly as you tried to contain your grin.
“what the fuck you smiling about?” he was pissed. “think that shits funny?” he gestured to the door. you gulped, noticing how the veins in his neck and arms were popping out.
you dismissed him by sighing loudly before getting a soda from the fridge and popping it. “i’m serious what the fuck is up with you and that shit attitude you’ve been wearing all day.” he took off his hat combing his hair back before putting it on once again. God you were already so wet.
you took a sip of your soda and leaned against the counter staring at the kitchen wall. “swear to god you’re gonna make me do some shit to you.” he muttered under his breath trying to calm himself down. you raised your browse at his threat then laughed under your breath before taking another nice drink of the pepsi in your hand.
he crossed his arms together waiting for a response. the black shirt that hugged his body so well had your pussy pulsing. “so you’re just not gonna say shit?”
you set the pepsi down and spoke up turning to look at him. “the fuck you want me to say, kid?” the attitude that was once again laced in your voice pushed his last nerve. you grabbed the can about to bring it up to your lips before you saw it fly to the ground.
he just slapped the pepsi out of your hand.
your jaw was practically on the ground as you also noticed the splashes of soda on your perfect outfit. before you could say a thing he was quick to grab and carry you over his shoulder. “are you a fucking idiot?” you asked in disbelief as you flailed in the air. “chris. put. me. down.” you tried to get out of his grip but he was too strong.
he walked you both to your room and let you go on the bed. he closed and locked the door. “you like seeing me mad and shit?” he stood before you. you propped yourself up on your elbows just staring at him with a smile on your lips. his nostrils flared at how you seemed to enjoy his response.
his final straw was when you muttered under your breath. “like you’ll do anything about it.” one of his brows rose. he nodded slightly at your words before tugging you by your legs to the edge of the bed. he then tugged your shorts down harshly before throwing them to the side. “wanna be a bitch with your bitch ass attitude?” he questioned, not expecting an answer you were sure. “k, then you’ll get treated like one.” he unbuckled his belt, the sight looking heavenly. he through it to the side before taking off his jeans and letting them pool at his feet before pushing those to the side as well. “you know to tell me when to stop, baby.” he nodded to you, earning a nod back.
he looked down at you as you were trying to pull yourself together from being completely manhandled. he then pushed your shoulder down so you were laying on the bed. he pulled down your panties swiftly before feeling your pussy. “this wet just from me taking off your shit, ma?” he laughed humorlessly before shoving his fingers in your mouth. you swirled your tongue over and over his fingers before he pulled them out. he then went back in immediately entering his fingers inside your entrance and thrusting them in and out at a mid pace.
he kept his actions going for a few seconds, earning whimpers and moans from your pretty lips. he then sped up his pace, aggressively pushing his fingers in and out. in and out. your body spasmed as you reached your peak incredibly fast. “h-holy shit, chris! gonna cum.” you grunted feeling your orgasm crash into you. officially the fastest you’ve ever cum.
he didn’t stop his antics. at this point, he was on your side holding you down by your stomach while he continued to finger the living shit out of you. the feeling of your impending orgasm creeping up on you once again. “fucking slut, trying to get me angry just so i could fuck the shit out of you, huh?” he chuckled, the squelching noises of his fingers and your own juices clashing together were echoing through the room as well as your whines.
“please..” you and no idea what you were begging for, him to stop, or him to keep going. it just hurts so good.
he bit his lower lip as he saw his fingers disappearing in and out of you. “please what? begging like a whore already. clarify what the fuck you want?” he continued to press down on your stomach keeping you from flailing around.
all you did was nod aggressively as you felt your second orgasm crash into you without any warning. your staggered moans shot straight to chris’s dick. you could tell when you looked at his boxers and saw his apparent tent.
seconds later, you hadn’t noticed what had happened until you heard chris speak through the fog in your brain. “holy fuck. squirted all over my hand huh.” he licked your release up with a ‘pop’ as he sucked on his fingers. “not done yet. need to fuck this brat attitude out of you.” he mentioned as he saw your limp and exhausted body.
he stood up and dropped his boxers down before climbing on top of you once again. he took his cock in his hand pumping it a little bit before speaking. “mm, i got a better idea to get me ready for this pussy.” he chimed. he leaned forward grabbing you by your throat and pulling you toward him. “come on ma, get my dick wet.” he demanded. you immediately opened up your mouth to take him.
you looked up at him looking for approval as you began to move your mouth over him. you saw his lips open up, agape at the sensation you were giving him. he threaded his hands in your hair straightaway making sure you could take all of him. “mouth of a fucking angel.” he praised quietly. the non-degrading comment had your arousal dripping down your thighs. “m’kay, that’s enough.” he pulled you off before placing a hand on your neck and connecting your lips in a chaste kiss. as quick as your lips connected, they broke apart when he then pushed you down onto the bed and choked you slightly as he lined himself up with you.
he pushed in all at once taking your breath away. he wasted no time before pulling out and slamming back into you; hand still on your throat. your jaw went slack as he was ramming into you over and over again, nudging your g-spot soo good your legs already began to shake. “always take me so fucking good. fuck—” he moaned, before removing his hand from your throat and placing both of his on your waist for more support. he then plowed into you with more force than before.
he hit new angles as he moved your legs all around before resting in the position where one leg was resting over one of his shoulders. “fuck chris. right there!” you wailed trying to get a grip on anything you could but settling for the duvet you were laying on.
he had a lazy grin as his own obtrusive groans and moans made their way to your ears. “fuck— tell me, who this pussy belongs to. come on.” he needed to hear it. he was so incredibly close, he needed that nudge. “come on, baby. come on my cock as you say it. go on.” he clenched his jaw trying to hold back his orgasm.
your legs shook and knuckles turned white as you found the strength to mutter — then scream, “y-yours chris! shit—” as you clenched around his dick, during your third orgasm of the night.
he groaned and let his own orgasm hit him. he painted your walls white as he did his best to continue thrusting himself in and out of you, trying to ride out his orgasm as well as elongate your own. he did his best while his thrusts started to slow. he was sweaty as his movements finally stopped, still buried deep inside you. he took off his hat feeling the air hit his sweaty face. he threw it to the side before combing his hands through. sweaty chris… fuck.
maddie. 21. works at panera bread. iced matcha & cold coffee. fresh and healthy lifestyle. sage green & light blue or just light colors in general. skincare. flowers. artist & writer in her free time. candles. spring & warm weather. loves animals and has a cat. yoga & pilates or just taking care of herself in general.
best paired with…
regularcustomer!matt
matt. 21. maddie’s favorite customer. always gets the same thing & sits at the same booth. burgundy & navy blue or just dark colors in general. fall & cold weather. loves animals. artist & writer in his free time. root beer. goes to the gym sometimes and used to play hockey.
a/n: ayeee been thinking about doing this for a whilee!! this will definitely become a series and an au, but unfortunately i don’t think i will post regarding this until i finish my writing marathon!
back to the general masterlist / writing marathon masterlist
Summary: Of course you'd agreed to look after his bird.
Tags: No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert ·Inspired by season 1 episode 7· Auggie Smith is his own TW· Soft Christopher Smith | Peacemaker ·Sharing a Bed ·Sharing Clothes ·Premature Ejaculation ·Face-Sitting ·lazy hand jobs ·Dance OffFirst Time ·Vaginal Fingering ·Vaginal Sex ·Love Confessions(kind of) ·Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation ·Oral Sex
You're sitting in your livingroom, minding your own goddamned business when you hear a rattle from your bedroom and you let out a sigh, putting your book down.
"Buddy," you call, pushing your hair over your shoulder, "we talked about this! It took me almost an hour to get your shit out of my - Jesus fucking Christ!" You scream, grabbing the first thing at hand to throw at the person climbing into your window - your black ceramic cat strikes the intruder in the head with a dull thunk, and the guy nearly falls back out, clutching his forehead.
"Oh what the fuck!" A familiar voice grunts, and you drop your planter holding your massive cocoon plant back onto your desk.
"Christopher?" He's the last person you expect to be crawling through your bedroom window and you take a step closer.
"No," he grunts, "it's fucking Santa Claus."
You wince as he glances up at you, crimson dripping down his face.
"I know it's been a while, but shit," he huffs, rolling onto your bed.
"I'm sorry," you hurry over, "I thought you were breaking in."
"No shit," Chris sulks, rubbing his right elbow, "your aim's gotten better." You snort, grabbing a black t-shirt to press against the cut on his hairline, and you freeze.
"I didn't know that you were being released."
"Technically I wasn't," he looks up at you, blue eyes bright, and smiles. "Hey, baby."
You frown, slapping the shirt against his face.
"Don't 'baby' me," you mutter.
"Ow - what -?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that I haven't heard from you in three and a half fucking years?"
"Look -" You yank your t shirt back, daring him to try and feed you some bullshit excuse. "Okay, no, that's fair enough."
"Damn right it is," you growl, "'hey, look, I know this is a big ask, but can you look after Eagly for me? Oh? Where am I going? To prison for life'."
"Shit - jeez - yeah, okay, when you put it like that," he grabs your wrist.
"You could've just told me, instead of pretending you were 'up north'."
"I kept writing you," he offers, sounding hopeful in a way that shouldn't make your heart skip the way it does.
"Oh, I know," you had his letters tucked away in the old hope chest your Grandpa had made you - along with every other thing he'd ever given you. "If you're here for your records, you can have them back -" he tightens his grip, and you glance down at his hand that dwarfs yours.
"I'm not here for my records."
"Well, I know you're not here for me -"
"What d'you mean?" He grins easily, in the way that shows he's used to getting what he wants. "Who else would I be here to see?"
"I don't know? Your bald fucking eagle? Your dad came by looking for him, by the way."
"Oh Jesus," Chris deflates. "What did he say?"
"He asked if we were fucking."
"If who was fucking?"
"Me and the eagle," you snap, and Chris swallows.
"Well whatever he said -"
"He laughed." You hear Chris's sharp inhale, "and assured me 'no son of his would ever fuck a fat libt*rd' like me."
"Fuck."
"Is that what you told him?"
"What? No! I'd never say that," he insists, hurt darkening his features, "it was probably your pride flag -"
"Whatever," and this time, when you yank your hand back, he lets you.
"You didn't let him take Eagly did you?"
You snort - as if anyone could just take Eagly anywhere he didn't want to go. "No! I told him he could get the request in writing from you, or he could fuck off." You had watched the shock flick across August Smith's face, before you slammed your door in his face, before fleeing to your bathroom to cry.
"I'll fucking kill him."
"And then what? Go back to prison?"
"It'd be fucking worth it."
You find that you can't argue with that, and you glance at him, "I'll get you a bandaid, hold on."
You slip into your hall, thankful for a chance to breathe, but he's on you almost immediately.
"I'm sorry," his hands fall heavy on your waist, as he follows you into your bathroom. "I'm a real piece of shit," he murmurs, brushing your hair off your neck.
"Yeah," you shrug him off, before opening your medicine cabinet, "at least you know."
"I said I was sorry."
"For what?" you throw back, pulling a bandaid from your little first aid kit - the little red bag had belonged to your parents before they passed it on to you, but you're still pretty sure it'll stick.
Your tone is icy enough that he stands tall. "For, uh, lying to you, and for that shit my dad said." You raise an eyebrow, "and for climbing in your window."
It's only now, when you allow yourself to really look at him, that you notice the dried blood on his shirt and the smell.
"Jesus, the hospital couldn't give you a change of clothes?" You wrinkle your nose before turning to face him.
"No, it's like I said. I wasn't technically released."
"What do you mean?" He bends down slightly so you can press the bandage to his cut.
"Well the doctor said I could go home … so I did," he shrugs, glancing down at you before quickly looking away.
"Have you eaten?" You wonder, before stopping yourself, and you watch the tension drop from his shoulders.
"Not since lunch."
"I've got leftovers in the fridge -"
"Can I grab a shower?"
You sigh, and he braces himself, "yeah fine. Did you want me to wash that?" You gesture at his costume - uniform? Whatever.
"Nah, just toss it." He reaches to pull his shirt from his pants, and you drop the bandaid wrapper into the sink.
"Jesus, at least wait for me to get out first!" You cry, rolling your eyes, closing the door before he has a chance to reply.
Fucking hell.
"Why did you say yes?" You hiss under your breath.
"You're an angel!" Chris calls and you roll your eyes as you head into your kitchenette. You're willing to take the day old mac and cheese from the fridge, but you'll be damned if you make him a plate.
You head back into your livingroom, grinning when you see Eagly preening himself on his perch outside.
His owner might have been an ass, but shit, if you didn't love that bird.
You drop back onto your couch, getting through two chapters before you hear your bathroom door open.
"Hey," Chris calls, striding into your livingroom - stark naked except for the comically small washcloth he's using to cover himself.
"Jesus, Chris!" You yelp, pulling your book in front of your face.
"I'm sorry - it's the only towel you had in there!"
"Did you bother checking the closet?!" You drop the book into your lap, sighing as Chris's brow furrows.
"No, it didn't feel right going through your stuff."
"But climbing into my bedroom window's fine?"
"Uh, no. That was pretty uncool of me."
"It really was," you nod, not allowing you eyes to drop below his neck, but apparently even that was a mistake because the little shit actually flexed. "Go get a towel, Christopher."
"Yep," he replies, scurrying back into your bathroom.
Goddamn, the man did have a nice ass.
"No!" You slap your cheeks, jumping to your feet to grab him something to change into. "Don't be a silly bitch," you stomp back into your bedroom, opening your hope chest to pull out a faded black Cinderella t-shirt, before heading to your closet to grab an ex's pair of sweats - you have no idea if they fit, but they'll have to do.
You couldn't have the man prancing around your trailer half naked.
"I can just wear my uniform," Chris says, peeking into your bedroom, and you're definitely not disappointed to see the maroon towel wrapped around his waist.
"Here," you walk over to him, and the smell of your hibiscus body wash is coming off of his body in waves, and you thrust the change of clothes into his hands.
"Did you really keep my records?"
"Yes," you feel heat flush your cheeks, "I can put them in a bag for you if you want - oh!" You gasp as he grabs your arm, hauling you against his chest.
"I'm sorry for being such an asshole."
"Yeah … well, prison will do that." You grunt, patting his back, and he presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head before letting you go.
"Just because I kept your records doesn't mean we're going to fuck."
"I didn't assume we were," Chris scoffs, and you quirk your head. "But you can't really blame a guy for being hopeful -"
"Oh my god," you mutter, lunging forward like you're going to hit him, but he doesn't even flinch.
"You should have climbed into Jen's window - I'm pretty sure she'd fuck you."
"Really?" Chris wonders, eyes shining as you flip him off. "Seriously, you're the best."
"I know," you crinkle your nose - hating how easy it was to slip back into your old routine.
"Just so we're clear, I'd absolutely fuck you. All you have to do is ask!"
➳ published: 10.12.22
➳ domestic!au || werewolf!au || immortal!au || genre: angst || fluff || rated: t
➳ pairing: werewolf!bangchan x angel!reader (fem)
➳ summary: chris lived a full life, a life better than he thought he would but everything must come to an end for those who are not immortal
➳ word count: 1.3k
➳ warnings: death
➳ author’s note: you need to listen to the song for full effect! if you cry, you have to tell me - cos i did
➳ banner credit: @feelsaesthetic (thank you for also giving this a read)
[NOW PLAYING: Awakening - U137]
"Is this it?" The sound of the falling rain against the window pane, a reflection of what's to come, nearly drowns out his weakened voice.
Your fingers gently touch his cheek, you couldn't look at him, you don’t want that pained expression on his face to be the last thing you see from him. "Hush, my love," you say, thumbs brushing away the tears that fall on his cheek, feeling the stubble underneath. "Save your breath."
Chris' hand caresses the back of your head, holding you closer to him, wanting you to be the last thing he remembers as he closes his eyes for the last time. "This wasn't the way I planned to go," he says with a choked laugh.
He remembers it like it was yesterday, meeting you and how much he fought the feelings you stirred inside him. He never thought he would meet the love of his life that night, he never thought he would call you his queen, his angel - his wife. If Chris believed in mates, you would have been that too but you were better than that, better than anything he could have ever hoped for. You changed the world for him, he lived every day like it was going to be his last because he truly didn't believe he was going to go very far but at the end of each one - good or bad - you were there. You made him realise life was worth living and he started to do everything he could for you because that's the man you made out of him and god, did he love you more for it.
"Dad..." You pull away, Chris' hand dropping as you both turn to see the young woman standing in the doorway. Her short black hair is wet from the rain, dripping onto the floor while she clutches the plushie he had bought her when she was a pup tightly in her hand. "N-no... you can't..."
A broken sob sounds from the back of your throat as you pull away from the wolf to go and hold your daughter who is gritting her teeth and shaking, fighting back tears. Iris grew up to be a spitting image of her father, she took after him in so many ways but she got your immortality - something Chris could never have. She stands there looking at him, his tired smile spreading across his lips as if trying to make her feel better, "come here, pup."
Hand in hand with you, Iris walks over and hugs him, hearing his faint heartbeat growing weaker by the second. "Uncle Chan and Uncle Channie-"
"They'll be here," you say, your eyes meeting Chris’ and you give him a small smile, as if reassuring him that everyone is going to be okay.
"I'll see you right, Dad?" Iris says as she climbs onto the bed, laying next to her dad and hugging him gently. "Mum and I can come see you in heaven and we can be together." Nobody had ever told Iris what happens to wolves when they die, something you had to accept the hard way, nobody really knows where they end up but it's not somewhere you can reach him and you could never fully accept that.
There's a knock at the door, "I'll get it," you break the silence, giving Chris a look before heading to the door. His hearing might have faded but he can hear the way you break down, faintly hearing Chan whispering to you while Channie begins to cry.
Shit, he didn't think this would be so hard.
"Iris," Chris tries to catch her attention as she talks about all the things they could do together and how heaven is so great - he'll love it there. "Hey, my little pup," she looks at him, biting on her bottom lip because he only calls her that when he's being serious about something, "when a wolf dies..."
"No," she cuts him off, pulling away and causing Chris to wince from the sudden movement. "You said..." she shakes her head, "Dad, you said that all dogs go to heaven. You told me that that's where all dogs go. We are wolves, we are kinda like dogs so... so…
He tilts his head back, the tears silently falling as he hears her trying to fight him about something like this. Fuck, he wish he could just let her believe it, that they'd meet again but he can't. He can't give her false hope, not now.
Chan, Channie and you walk back into the room and you pull Iris away for a moment, taking a step back to let the brothers share their moment. They all know it's soon, even Chris does, everything is hurting, his breathing is shallow and god, does he look so tired right now. You can tell he's holding on to say goodbye to everyone, to make sure they can see him one last time but it's now time for him to go to sleep. They know it is, his heart is growing weaker, his voice becoming quieter as he forces himself to stay awake.
"Say goodbye, baby." You whisper to Iris, "tell Daddy you love him."
Their last goodbyes. Everyone telling him they love him, Chris telling them to take care before everyone slowly leaves the room to let his wife say your final goodbyes to the love you had searched for for thousands of years. Laying with him, you rest your head on his chest, listening closely to his once strong and comforting heartbeat fading into the night. "Do you remember the first time we danced in the rain?" You ask, knowing he's too tired to answer so you’re satisfied with the faint smile he wears as he looks at you. "Close your eyes, baby," you lift your hand to guide his eyes shut and shuffle up slightly so you can press your foreheads together. You may not be able to take him to heaven, may not be able to keep him with you but you can make sure his last moments be that of a memory you once shared while his body shuts down and he drifts off to an eternal sleep.
One he's been waiting for for a while now.
"Remember how the rain started to pour without warning, it was too late to save our clothes because either way, we were soaked so we made the most of it. Remember? The music playing from the cafe near us, a slow song." Tears fall together but you don’t care, your memories mixing together as one you tell yourself. "You looked so handsome, dressed up for me. I loved it so much when you made the effort and you always loved the way I looked in red. You complained the night was ruined, grumbled about how it wasn't meant to rain while you spun me around and caught me in your arms." You chuckle softly, hearing him attempt it before his fingers find yours, weakly squeezing them to help you continue. "You-" you feel the lump in your throat and try to push it down. "You told me I looked more beautiful, drenched in the rain and the glow of the moon, then anything you had ever seen before you kissed me." You press a soft kiss to his lips, your own quivering when he doesn't pucker, his hand still in yours and his breath... "Picture it, my wolf, as if we are dancing together now. Let our last dance guide you to where you'll no longer be in pain."
He's limp, unresponsive and you press a final kiss to his forehead as you feel the light in his soul, his desire to hold on for a moment longer, fade.
"Goodbye, my love." You say, holding him safely in your arms, "rest in peace."
summary: when you land a job as the pa for a well known celebrity, you get more than you bargained for
pairing: chris evans x assistant!reader
word count: 5.3k
warnings: meet ugly but it’s kinda cute?, awkward reader, awkward chris, invasion of privacy (fuck paparazzi <3), implied harrassment, explicit language, me making up all kinds of shit about the industry, kind of angsty with a happy ending, dodger ✨
a/n: this was written for my best friend, the love of my life, @pellucid-constellations. happy birthday you old lady, thank you for being my friends <3
also! this is my first venture into rpf so pls be kind :,)
main masterlist ─ i no longer have a tag list, but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on notifications for fic updates!
Your leg was bouncing incessantly as you waited for the interviewer to come in. The view from this office was phenomenal, and something you could only dream of.
The truth of the matter was this: you were freaked the fucked out. Only two months post graduation and you were interviewing to be the personal assistant of a huge celebrity. Granted, you didn’t know who exactly it was, but the level of secrecy pointed in the direction of an A-lister.
Finally, just as you were about to pull your phone out and send a spiraling text message to your best friend, the door clicked open and in walked the interviewer. You scrambled to stand up, flinging your phone from your hands and across the room in the process.
You kept a straight face, even though you wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow you whole, and extended her hand as she introduced herself.
“Simone Wilder, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Her grip was firm, if not a little scary, but her face was warm and pleasant as she bent down to grab your phone that had landed at her feet, handing it to you as she gestured for you to sit down.
You sank into the seat, crossing your legs and waiting while she sifted through a pile of papers on her desk. Finally, she must have found what she was looking for, because she pulled it from the stack and laid it neatly on her desk as she sat down across from you.
“So, a degree from Brown in Business Management 4.0 GPA, graduated summa cum laude, two years on the executive board for your sorority, and a list of extracurriculars the length of my forearm,” she glanced up at you from your resume, one eyebrow arched. “Very impressive. So why are you here?”
The question caught you off guard, her tone of voice more than a little scrutinizing, and you had no real idea how to answer, “Oh, uh, I moved out to LA right after graduation, I didn’t really have -”
“No,” she interrupted. “Why are you here? In this office, right now? What are you wanting out of this?”
You had to hold yourself from blurting the immediate sarcastic answer your brain provided - a job - and dig deeper, knowing that’s what she really wanted.
“When I was growing up, all my grandfather talked about was living in Hollywood, directing movies, playing amongst the stars, and it fascinated me. He would tell me the same stories, over and over, and they never got old. I knew I wanted to be involved in the industry, I could have told you that from the ripe age of six, but it became very apparent as I got older that I didn’t want to be in front of a camera, or even behind it.
“I didn’t do that whole attention thing, you know? Ask my 7th grade theater teacher about my attempt at Seussical.” You knew you were starting to ramble, but that at least got a chuckle out of her, and she urged you to continue. “But what I did do, was people. And organization. Being stage manager - basically imagine a 12 year organizing everything the director really didn’t want to - was a thrill. It gave me a sense of purpose, so I kept that with me, knew what I wanted to do with it, and here I am. Just hoping for a chance.”
You were out of breath by the time you finished, and Simone was looking at you like you had sprouted a third head. Feeling a sudden sense of worry, you started to apologize, but she quickly cut you off.
“Never apologize for your passion. I think it’s amazing, and a hell of a lot better than what half the bozos I’ve interviewed today have said.” She stood up suddenly, shaking your hand again, and you felt the panic rise, that this was her letting you gently, until those magical four words came out of her mouth, The same four you had thought just seconds ago were out of the realm of possibility.
“You’ve got the job.” Her smile was bright, and you were once again dumbstruck, not knowing what to say besides a profuse thank you when the door opened again.
Letting your hand drop to your side, you stood beside Simone to see who it was, and in walked Chris Fucking Evans.
“My middle name is actually Robert, but you’re not the first person to get confused.” His voice paired with that laugh nearly made you miss what he said, then as it registered, you slapped your hand over your mouth at the fact that you had spoken out loud. You could feel your body heat, head to toe, in embarrassment, and you couldn’t even look him in the eye. Not even your first day on the job and you had made a fool of yourself in front of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor.
“Well, you clearly know my name, can I get yours?” Your head snapped up at that, that tone of voice, one you had heard make flirtatious comments to interviewers and co-stars, and now it was wholly directed at you.
Before you could make a further fool of yourself, Simone swooped in, giving him your name. “Our new friend here will be taking my place. Chris, meet your new PA.”
“What?” Your responses came at the same time, and your heart stuttered in your chest as you realized he didn’t exactly look happy at the news.
“Simone, you’re only four months pregnant, I didn’t even know you were looking for your replacement yet.” His voice pitched just a tad higher, as if the entire situation were stressful to him, and Simone had a knowing, if not slightly smug, look on her face.
“I wasn’t, actually. I had her down as a good match for Katherine Langford initially, but she reminds me so much of me. She’s going to be a perfect fit, trust me.” She looked between you as she said this, your jaw still hanging open slightly, completely and utterly baffled by whatever the fuck was going on. You were going to be the personal assistant to Chris Evans.
You, who had walked into this interview with only the bare minimum amount of hope after so many rejections, were going to be around Chris Evans, nearly every day, for the foreseeable future.
Shit.
-
You had one week - one week - to prepare for probably the biggest change of your life.
Once Chris had left Simone’s office and you quit looking dumbfounded, she explained the basic outline of the job to you, and that you would be shadowing her for a couple weeks so you could feel comfortable on your own. She also discussed your initial pay, which nearly made your eyes pop out of your head. That was so many more zeros than you were used to seeing.
Your first day, you stepped out of the Uber in front of Variety magazine, where Simone was already waiting on the steps for you.
“Did you take an Uber?” she asked as she eyed the car driving away. You nodded, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “Next time text me, I’ll send you a car. Well, technically Chris will. He likes to take care of his people.”
That made you even more embarrassed, somehow, so you just smiled timidly and followed her inside. As you walked along the frame filled hallway, she filled you in on the day’s activities - first a quick interview about his upcoming movie, followed by a photoshoot on their rooftop set - as well as handing you a new phone. You looked between the device in your hand and her, racking your brain for a reason she would give it to you.
“Your work phone, honey,” her tone was not condescending at all, instead she seemed more endeared by your complete lack of experience. “It has all the important numbers in there. Mine, the agency, Chris’s. Along with some of our partners. You’ll learn more as you go along. But everything you could ever need should be in the palm of your hand right now.”
Realizing you still hadn’t said a word since you arrived, you finally spoke up, thanking her for being so patient with you. She waved you off, saying it was simply her job, before leading you into a dressing room.
On a chair in the middle of the room sat Chris, getting the finishing touches on his hair. As soon as he saw you, he reached up to run his hands through his hair, a nervous gesture you had noticed before in interviews and red carpet appearances. His stylist smacked his hand in retaliation to him nearly ruining her work, and he apologized under his breath, though he didn’t seem sorry in the slightest.
Simone talked with him about the schedule of the day, though he seemed bored in a way that said this was not the first time she had gone over it. He only spoke to you in a passing greeting, which hurt more than you cared to admit, but you pushed the feeling down.
You followed closely behind Simone all day, even taking a break for lunch with her while Chris disappeared to get changed for the photoshoot.
“You know he’s single, right?” she said around a bite of salad, making you nearly spit out your sip of water all over her. “What? I’m just saying. He won’t admit it, but I know he’s been looking for something. I think he gets lonely with just him and Dodger in that big house.”
“What are you telling me this?” you asked suspiciously, already knowing her affinity for meddling - she just gave off that vibe.
“Oh, you know, just chit chatting. This is stuff you should know as his assistant, anyways.” You didn’t buy it for a second, but you solemnly noted as you took a bite of your own food.
“Duly noted.”
After that, she led you back to the main building, this time through a back stairwell that led directly to the roof.
When you saw Chris, you stopped dead in your tracks, needing a second to gather your emotions. He looked good, ridiculously so, in tight jeans and a chunky white sweater, with his hair gelled and sunglasses to top it all off.
Simone, apparently an all-knowing being, simply patted your shoulder and moved across the roof to talk to him. It took you another second of staring longingly to snap out of it and follow after her.
-
Barely a month later, you sat in your car doing the breathing exercises your therapist had taught you. This wasn’t a big deal, you had been around Chris plenty in the last month. Almost every day, in fact. But this was, well, this was a hell of a lot more stressful. How were you supposed to just walk into his house like it was no big deal?
Sure, in the last few weeks the starstruck-edness had worn off, and it was easier to just see him as the regular person he really was. Still, this was uncharted territory and you were more than a little freaked out.
Finally, when you saw movement by the front window for the third time, you took one last deep breath and headed for the door.
It opened before you had a chance to knock, confirming your theory that Chris has been waiting ever since you pulled up.
“Hey, you’re here!” His voice sounded an octave higher than usual and, funnily enough, it calmed you to know that he was nervous, too. “Come on in. Don’t mind Dodger, he’s excited because he knows we’re about to go to the P-A-R-K.”
As if he could understand what Chris had spelled out, Dodger ran in circles around the two of you, and you dropped to your knees, stretching your hand out to let him sniff you. Once he determined you were a friend, and subsequently realized he was going to get the pets he wanted, he flopped on his back, inviting you to rub his belly.
After you seemed to fulfill his necessary quota, he hopped up and trotted back to his bed by the couch, waiting for Chris’s signal that it was time to go. When you stood up, wiping your hands on your pants, Chris was looking at you with a funny, almost soft, look on his face.
“Okay, so, do you have everything packed? I’ll be here in 6:30 in the morning to take us to the airport, unless you want to take a car, of course, but I figured we could just put everything in my car now and it would save both of us time,” you rambled, letting your nerves spill over, until he finally cut you off.
“Yes, that’s perfect, it’ll give me some extra time to sleep anyways. Nothing could be worse than Simone’s driving, anyways.” You both laughed at that, thinking back to earlier this week when you had learned a brand new string of expletives from her road rage.
Once you had gone over the rest of the plan for the next morning, going through his suitcase to make sure he had everything you thought necessary, you said goodbye to Chris and moved to make your way to the door. It seemed Dodger had other plans, however, because he wove between your legs, essentially stopping you from going anywhere.
You crouched down again to pet him some more, hoping you could pacify him enough to make an escape, when Chris spoke up.
“You could go with us, if you want.” The smile on his face was shy, and it made your heart speed up at just the sight. “The park’s just a couple blocks away. I usually just let him off leash and throw a ball around for an hour or so.” His expression seemed almost.. hopeful, and who were you to deny this man of something so simple? It would definitely help with the tenuous friendship you had begun to build.
Checking your calendar to make sure you didn’t have any pressing matters for the rest of the afternoon, you finally agreed and, as if Dodger could sense it, he let out a yelp of celebration. You silently thanked the heavens that you had come from home instead of the office, so you weren’t wearing your usual business casual.
Chris clipped a leash on Dodger and together the three of you made your trek towards the dog park. The walk was pleasant enough, light conversation being made as Dodger happily led the way. You felt some of your lingering tension melt away in the California sun, and before you knew it you were entering the park.
Dodger was shaking in anticipation, and took off like a bullet as soon as he was free from his lead.
“He’ll take a couple laps before he decides he misses me, we can sit down in the meantime?” He framed the last bit like a question, though he was already scouting for a shaded spot to claim.
When he finally found a spot he deemed fit, the two of you sat, so close that your thighs were pressed together. He didn’t seem to mind, so you told your erratic heart to slow down and just enjoy the time you were spending with him.
It felt a little weird, being with him outside of a professional capacity. For those first couple weeks it felt like he was keeping you at arm’s length, for whatever reason, and Simone had started to make fun of your whining, especially the first meeting you had with him solo.
He’s just like that, she had said. Just give him some time to get his head out of his ass.
She was so casual about it, you had no choice but to take it in stride. And just like she had said, he had started to loosen up, slowly but surely.
Now, it was like that divide of awkwardness had dissipated as you made conversation in the grass.
“So, are you excited for this interview tomorrow?” you asked, because you knew you were.
“God, of course. People have been begging Buzzfeed to bring me in for the puppy interview for like, seven years or something.” He laughed, playing it off, but you could tell he was just as excited to do it as you were to see it.
You continued to chat until Dodger decided he was ready to play, and he came running back to the two of you. He launched himself into your lap, causing you to fall into Chris, the two of you leaning against each other and laughing as Dodger enthusiastically gave each of you kisses.
You were so caught up in the moment neither of you heard the click of a camera shutter behind you.
-
The next morning you pulled into Chris’s driveway with just minutes to spare, having snoozed your alarm one too many times. You silently thanked yourself for laying out everything you needed the night before, otherwise you definitely would have been late.
You were watching Chris talk with his house sitter, waiting for him to get in the car, when the text from Simone came through.
Simone: I knew it, you sly girl. Link to article: CHRIS EVANS SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY GIRL IN THE PARK. IS THERE A NEW ROMANCE BUDDING?
The article had several pictures from the day before, and out of context it really did look like you two could be on a date. In addition to the photos of you pressed against Chris, there were some of you throwing the ball with Dodger, and another well-angled picture that made it look like you and Chris were holding hands as you exited the park. Thankfully, none of the shots showed your face - a small thing to be grateful for, you supposed.
You quickly sent her a text back, telling her it most definitely was not what it looked like. As much as you tried to tame your features into something cool and collected, Chris could sense your sour mood as soon as he slid into your passenger seat.
Rather than drag it out any further - or worse, him see it on his own - you extended your phone in his direction so he could read the article himself.
He was silent as he scanned the screen, gently taking your phone from your hand to inspect the photos, before handing it back without a word, though the look on his face was not that of a man with nothing to say. Instead of pressing the issue, you just put your phone away and pulled your car out of his driveway.
You were about to turn on the radio to kill the growing silence when Chris’s phone rang, Simone’s name flashing across the screen. He picked up quickly, and you were torn between straining your ears to hear both ends of the conversation or pretending not to listen at all.
In the end, you didn’t have much of a choice, the quick phone call was mostly Simone’s rushed jabber and the occasional yeah I figured and I’ll be sure to do that on Chris’s end. When he finally hung up, he still didn’t say a word, so turned up the volume and hummed along to You Are In Love by Taylor Swift.
When you finally parked your car, you couldn’t help but laugh at the sunglasses and baseball cap Chris donned before stepping out of the car.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked as he loaded up both of your bags in his arms - flat out refusing to let you carry your own.
“Do you really think that’s going to keep people from knowing who you are?” You gestured to his “disguise”, and the fact that anyone would know who he was from a mile away.
He didn’t give you any answer beyond a smug you’ll see, and surprisingly, you made your way through security and onto the plane without so much as a second glance from anyone. You hated that he was right.
Once the two of you were settled in your first class seats, an awkward silence settled over you.
“So, should we talk about it?” you asked, hating the way the air felt thick around you. You figured at the very least you could clear the air. Instead, he cut you off with a short no, he put his Airpods in his ears and didn’t say another word the entirety of the five hour flight.
-
You managed to get a few words out of Chris over the course of the few hours you had spent in New York, but it was still tense when the two of you were finally led to the iconic room at Buzzfeed Headquarters - the one full of puppies.
At the very least you could sulk while commandeering a puppy into your lap.
Which is exactly what you did, listening in as he answered mundane questions, gave tidbits about his movie, and joked around with the interviewer. As they were about to wrap up, an intern came, whispering to her co-worker, before tossing a longing glance in Chris’s direction and heading back through the door she came from.
“One last question before we wrap up,” the interviewer - you think you remember him introducing himself as Jonathan - said. Chris nodded, too busy wrangling the pitbull puppy in his arms. Jonathan took his cue to continue, “It seems you were spotted just yesterday with a mystery girlfriend. Care to give any comment on that?”
Chris stopped dead in his movements, giving him an icy glare. “I’m not answering that.”
“So she’s not-”
“She’s nothing to me,” Chris interrupted harshly, his entire demeanor changing, and you could tell the squirming puppy in his lap was trying desperately to make it better. Your breath hitched, and two sets of eyes snapped towards you.
You scrambled to stand, letting the puppy previously occupying your lap rush back to its friends.
Pulling out your phone, you called an Uber to your hotel without a glance back. You at least managed to get into the car before the tears started to fall.
-
Simone was going to kill you. You were getting fired, and blacklisted, and you would have to move back to your hometown where there was nothing left for you but pain and sadness.
Maybe you were being dramatic, but it had been hours and there was no sign of Chris.
Worried after your escape from the Buzzfeed office, you had stationed yourself at the hotel bar, taking a seat that had an unobstructed view of the main door. After an hour of biting at your nails and sipping at a glass of water, you switched to vodka crans. One, then two, then you lost track, but the sun had dipped below the horizon by the time Chris finally came through the lobby, looking worse for wear.
He spotted you almost immediately, and you downed the rest of your drink as he made his way over to you.
“I’m sorry,” were the first words out of his mouth, to your surprise. The next, unsurprisingly, being to order himself a glass of whiskey. You stared each other down and he downed the tumbler in one swig, signaling the bartender for another.
“Why?” Sure, your feelings were crushed for reasons you didn’t care to examine, but you didn’t expect him to necessarily care about that.
“I -” he stopped himself, wiping a hand down his face, before turning to the bartender again. “Can I actually get the whole bottle? Thanks, charge it to room 681.”
He took the bottle in one hand, and gently grabbed yours with the other, leading you towards the service elevator at the back of the bar. Neither of you said a word as it ascended, you awkwardly fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater while he worked on the cap of the bottle.
You were shocked when the door opened to the rooftop, taking in what seemed to be a bar that was closed for the night. You were about to ask why he had brought you here rather than, say, one of your rooms, but he was already talking as he moved closer to the far railing.
“This is one of my favorite views in the city,” he stopped to take a sip of the bottle in his hand before passing it off to you. Feeling like this was a conversation you wouldn’t want to sober up for you, you tilted it back, the burn in your throat not unpleasant. “When I went to school here, my apartment was just down the block. I used to sneak up here on weeknights when the bar was closed. I would always bring my sketchbook with me, I really loved drawing this skyline.”
You stood next to him, handing the bottle back with a slight push.
“Why are you sorry?”
He let out a long breath of air, setting the bottle on the ground before turning to face you.
“Because I didn’t mean it, you’re not nothing to me. I knew it the moment I walked into that office, and I’ve been fighting every moment since then. I figured there’s no way in hell it could work, right?” He ran his hand through his hair, clearly not the first time he had been worked up about this. “But then I got to know you, and it got harder. You’re so fucking amazing, you know that? You’re smart and brilliant and I had half a mind to beg Simone to fire you, pass you off to someone else, so I could be selfish.
“But I couldn’t do that to you, not after hearing you talk about your past and how hard you had worked. So I just shoved it down because I thought that’s what was best. And that article proved me right. This is a crazy life, and I don’t want you to be dragged into it, not like this.” At that point he was pacing, and you finally caught his arm, causing him to look at you.
“Hey,” you kept your voice soft, wanting to calm down the racing thoughts in his head. “Did you ever think about, I don’t know, asking me what I thought about all this? Maybe I wouldn’t even want to date you.” Your joke broke off another piece of the wall that had been crumbling around you two, and he left out a breathy laugh.
“Yeah, that would have been smart of me. Not that I ever claimed to be.” He took your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. “So, what do you think of all this?”
“I think you’re an idiot.” He started to laugh at that, but you squished his cheeks together so you could keep talking. “But I also think that once I got to know you, the real you and not the version 16 year old me had made up in my head, I knew I was in deep shit. Because I thought you hated me and I was putting every bit of effort into pushing my feelings down so I didn’t get, like, blacklisted or something.”
“I could never hate you.” He laughed again, placing a feather light kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose. “Let’s agree to just talk to each other from now on, yeah?”
“I say that’s a great idea,” you wanted to laugh at him, but the sound was swallowed by the press of his lips to yours.
-
The next morning was a rush, you darting back and forth between your room and Chris’s to make sure you had everything before your car arrived. Once you had stopped your internal freak out, and finally had a cup of coffee, you let Chris take the bags downstairs, standing by the door with them while he checked you both out.
When your phone pinged with a notification that your car was outside, you decided you were going to pull one over on him, taking the bags yourself. It was a small thing, but you still felt a brief flash of petty triumph.
But the second you stepped outside, the flash of bright lights and the pull of hands in every direction disoriented you. You couldn’t understand why they would be interested in you, until you heard the shouts of questions, asking if you were Chris’s new mystery woman, and how long you had been together.
You turned around in a panic, shouting for Chris, but you were pushed so far into the crowd you couldn’t even see the door anymore.
Inside, Chris was turning away from the main desk, smiling to himself when he saw you were no longer waiting for him, realizing you must have taken the bags yourself and were already in the car.
Annoyance bubbled inside of him as he stepped outside, figuring someone had leaked the hotel he was staying at, and painstakingly took a few pictures, though he was longing to be next to you again.
It wasn’t until somebody shoved a phone in his face, his eyes focusing on a grainy picture - one of you and him, lips locked on the roof the night before - that he heard the panicked yelling of his name.
He elbowed his way through the mass of people, finally parting to reveal you, on the ground, your t-shirt ripped and mascara streaking your face.
“Hey,” he yelled, pushing at the two men with cameras in your face. “Fuck off!”
They held their hands up in defense, but he paid them no mind as he wrapped one arm around you, the other gathering your bags, and led you to the car.
He ushered you in, putting your bags in the trunk and sliding next to you, wrapping you in his arms again. You had stopped crying, but you were still shaking like a leaf.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m so sorry.”
Instead of heading towards the airport, he leaned forward and gave the driver another address, holding you tightly the rest of the drive.
When you pulled up outside a nice looking brownstone, the confusion was clear all over your face.
“This is my place here, in case I ever need an extended stay. I didn’t think either of us were in a position to go through TSA right now.” You laughed at his attempt at a joke, following him up the stairs and inside.
Once inside, you made your way to the bathroom to wash your face and fix your hair, and came out to find Chris in the kitchen with two cups of coffee already waiting.
“I’m so-” he started to apologize again, but you cut him off.
“Don’t you dare apologize, it’s not your fault.” You gave him a pointed look when he tried to talk again. “I’m no stranger to this industry. Just because this happened doesn’t change how I feel for you. It doesn’t change the fact that I want to be with you.”
“Maybe you should consider working for -”
“Don’t make me throw this cup of coffee at you. I’m not working for anyone else, either. Hate to say it, but you’re kinda stuck with me.”
He smiled at that, walking around the kitchen island to stand toe to toe with you. He took the cup of coffee from your hands, setting it down before lifting you to sit on the counter next to it.
“I think I can handle that,” he said, moving between your legs to wrap you in a sweet kiss.
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My Masterlist can be found HERE, where this will be added.
Part One: It’s All In The Detail
Part Two: Where There’s smoke...
Note: Not sure where I’m going with this but I’ve been a fan of his C.O.D. look since I first saw it. Hopefully, this looks promising but rather than an ongoing series, I see it more as a series of one- or two-shots. Part One is below and Part Two will follow next Sunday following my final spot of editing.
Theme: Enemies to friends to (eventual) lovers. Chris has an ego and believes his own hype, and Martha needs to get a life for herself.
Warnings: Strong language
Word Count: 5.1k
Part One: It’s All In The Detail
“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” came Martha’s exasperated response, hands gripped tightly onto her hips as she did her very best to attempt a more aggressive stance than she was altogether comfortable with. “Months of hard work and now it’s done, just like that?”
She wasn’t sure why she was even questioning it. She could believe it – and expect it – as it had been the case for her on more than one occasion over the last 12 months and she was getting tired of it. She was getting tired of being side-lined.
“I’m sorry. The decision has been made and it’s for your own safety.”
“But what could have possibly changed in the last twenty-four hours?”
It was a valid question and for a brief moment she felt a surge of confidence in her frustration.
Tanner, the shortish, greying intellectual currently sat behind the broad desk that separated them like a protective barrier, appeared resolute in his decision. Even if he had doubts, he wouldn’t let them show. His posture remained relaxed as he leaned back in his leather recliner having barely flinched or moved in the time since she had barged into his office, disappointment etched across her fine features, staring him down like he had just insulted her grandmother. Instead, he regarded her respectfully and with some semblance of understanding of her disappointment at being frozen out yet again from a mission she had worked very hard on. It made her feel a little guilty at her verbal outburst although he had probably heard much, much worse in his forty-plus years with the CIA. He himself had told her as much.
She wasn’t sure if this apparent show of empathy was a good or a bad thing. It certainly didn’t serve to make her feel any better. Deep down, she knew Tanner knew what he was doing. He always gave considered thought to the decisions he made; he wouldn’t be where he was now if he hadn’t. Even deeper down, she knew she wasn’t going to succeed in changing his mind.
“You know as well as I do that intel can change with no notice.” He explained calmly in his soft, Texan drawl. “It’s never ideal to change the format of a mission at any stage of the play but we do what we have to do with what we are given. The team has reason to believe that Haltzar is shifting gear and making a move to exit this Friday night. If we don’t get him then, our chances at ever bringing in Haltzar disappear in the dark, and his little black book goes with him.”
She could appreciate the nuances that went into a plan like this. In just eighteen months, Martha had gone from being a well-liked but rather inconsequential (her words) doctor at Newman & Grey Hospital, working all the shifts she could manage to avoid being home alone with only her thoughts for company, to a valued member of a CIA ‘Special Ops’ Unit that specialised in dealing with situations far beyond the capabilities of ordinary law enforcement. Or so she thought she was.
She listened to Tanner letting her down gently like she was being told she couldn’t have the bike she wanted for Christmas. She also couldn’t shake the feeling this was yet another attempt by Chris Evans to phase her out. She realised she appeared like she was throwing a tantrum because she couldn’t get her own way. It was embarrassing and it made her feel like shit. It wasn’t what she was aiming for when she woke up earlier that morning.
“Listen, Martha, this is in no way a reflection of your work but some people have expressed concern that your being there would draw unwanted attention-”
“-Some people? You mean Chris-”
“-Especially if a member of Haltzar’s crew recognises you from their own intel.” Tanner finished his argument, choosing to ignore hers. “We can’t forget they have been here a long time. They will have scoped the place out for themselves, several times, and if they see you at the hospital, the whole game is up and we’ll have lost nearly eighteen months of work for nothing. I’d like to see you try to explain that to Homeland Security.”
Martha paused in her tracks and tried to avoid Tanner’s careful, sympathetic gaze. Shaking her head in defeat, she loosened her hands from her hips and let them fall limply to her side as she took on board Tanner’s reasoning. Just as she was about to express an apology for her blatant lapse of professionalism in the face of a man who could probably buy and sell what was left of her own family, a lowly whistle came from somewhere close behind her.
Stood still in the corner of Tanner’s office, one boot resting on the panelled wall as though he gave not one care for the probable cost of having his dusty Size 12s scratch the paint off, Chris murmured his disapproval of Martha. She couldn’t quite bring herself to acknowledge his presence, though, preferring to leave him brooding quietly as she attempted to make her way out of the office unscathed.
Even now, after he had sullenly made himself known, she preferred not having to deal with the sight of his smug face at this time of the morning. She could sense him, though. You could always sense when Evans was nearby so it was a complete and utter joke that Tanner was now claiming that she might be the one who would draw attention.
“Well, I would probably call into question the reasons why some people might see me being there as a problem.” She stated matter-of-factly, the words coming out of her mouth before she had the time to edit them. Or stop them altogether as she was quickly wishing she could.
“I’m right here, McLachlan.” Came his bristly tone in response, clearly having had enough of her obstinance.
“Yes, I know, Chris. It’s very hard to miss you.” She snapped, finally conceding to him. All she got in return was a dismissive glare. It only served to wind her up even more.
“Then ask me directly.”
She looked at him again but chose to bite her tongue, not wanting to rise to his bait.
“Why are you pushing for this?” Chris pressed. “You know we make the calls and the call is that your efforts are no longer required. We have everything in place, you’ll just take up space, space that we don’t have. Congratulations, McLachlan, you have the night off. Go out and celebrate.”
Martha could feel herself stiffen from his petulance. It was an all-too-familiar feeling that she was growing tired of.
“Yes, you’ve made that more than clear.” She retorted.
She let out the last of her breath that she’d been holding and gathered herself before she turned back to face Tanner. She struggled to meet his eye for a brief second but no amount of re-focussing herself could take away from the disappointment she was feeling inside.
“I guess there’s nothing left I can say.” She finally acquiesced and nodded once to Tanner, who reciprocated with what she thought was a small hint of regret. She didn’t exactly mean it but nevertheless it seemed like the professional thing to do.
She caught Chris’ eye once again before she fully departed the room but neither was willing to give the other the satisfaction of acknowledgment.
“You could go easier on her. We need someone like her in the team. She’s very good at her job.” Tanner said when he was confident that she was no longer within earshot.
“So are a lot of people but it doesn’t mean they all get to be invited along for the ride.”
“She’s helped this team a lot over the past couple of years.” Said Tanner, pointedly ignoring Chris’ last words.
“Then we’ll have a whip-round and sign a card.” Chris shrugged. He dropped his foot from the wall and casually made the few steps to where he stood in front of Tanner’s desk.
“That’s very grateful of you, Christopher. Remind me, who removed the bullet from your shoulder in Detroit?”
Chris paused at Tanner’s annoying ability for recall. How was he expected to respond to that?
“That’s what she’s paid to do.” Chris conceded. “But we can’t pretend that she has even half the training my guys have. By anyone’s standards, this is a quiet, safe mission. You said so yourself. No one is going to get injured, so…she’s surplus to requirements. End of discussion.”
“And what about next time? What about when you or one of your boys needs medical assistance and you’re hiding out in some cave in Iran? You think Dave or Benji will be able to cope?”
“Benji served two tours in Afghanistan. I think he can deal with a bandage.” Chris attempted to shrug Tanner off once more.
“Or what about when one of your guys trips a wire and threatens to set off a landmine?”
Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think she’s a bomb disposal expert all of a sudden?”
“No, she isn’t, but she could be.” Tanner posed, choosing to ignore the scoff that just emanated from Chris’ direction. “This is my point, Chris. There are very few people left in this country that can do what you and this team does, I get that, but it would be a wise and valuable idea to at least consider the future. Consider protecting this team’s legacy, your legacy, and pay attention to the possibilities of who is available and who can be trained that could handle these same pressures.”
Chris’ hands found their way to his hips and Tanner knew he’d likely pushed his luck. Still, he said what needed to be said. It was common knowledge around these parts that Chris had an ego that needed to be kept in check, and Tanner seemed to be the only person to do it.
“I don’t doubt that an ER is a tough environment but let’s not pretend a medical degree is in any way a viable substitute for the nerve and intuition this team has.”
“She’s a doctor, Chris. I think nerve and intuition are parts of her job specification.”
“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it-”
“-We can’t afford to lose her, Chris,” Tanner interrupts “Or Carl for that matter, so I’d strongly advise you to play nicely with them both from here on out.”
Tanner leaned forward in his recliner and pulled his glasses down from the top of his head. Chris watched as he took the fountain pen from its holder and opened the leather-bound file that had been sat on his desk all morning, awaiting his attention.
It was as clear an indication as possible that their conversation was now over but Chris struggled to accept not having the last word. Regardless, he unclenched his jaw and turned to vacate his office, leaving Tanner to glance at the back of his protégé’s head before getting back to work.
*
Chris waited for the heavy-set door to shut behind him completely before he placed his hands back on his hips and breathed in deeply to steady his nerve. He glanced to either side of him to make sure Claire wasn’t in earshot before he muttered a ‘fuck’ under his breath.
Chris was sure the only reason Tanner kept Claire around was because she had the ears of a bat and could pick up on people’s frustrations from a mile away. It certainly wasn’t for her administrative skills, that was for sure. At the age of 52, she’d all but given up on learning how to use email instead favouring the Victorian-era fax machine they were for forbidden from upgrading.
He didn’t like having his work called into question, and he certainly didn’t like it coming from a junior. Martha wasn’t even a fully-fledged member of the team; she was unofficial and part-time at best and he found himself growing increasingly aggravated by her presence. He wasn’t sure why Tanner expected him to just put up with her. It wasn’t like she offered anything he couldn’t get from someone else. She was a hassle he didn’t need at this time of his life.
As he felt his pulse beat in his ears, he took a few more calming breaths and tried as hard as he could to unclench his jaw again. Somewhere down the corridor to his left, he heard doors shut and he felt his irritation kick in.
“You really need to knock this off, McLachlan.” He announced as he burst into the changing room.
“Excuse me?” Martha turned from where she was perched on the edge of the bench, surprised to see him stood in front of her once again. She was just 5 minutes from leaving the building and getting back to the relative sanctity of the hospital so it was totally unfair that she had to speak to him again.
“This interruption you’ve got going on all the damn time. It’s not helpful. You’re just making things more difficult than they need to be.” He took another step towards her, almost concealing her in his shadow. “I don’t appreciate it.”
Martha wasn’t sure if she had missed a conversation in the few minutes since she had left Tanner’s office. She had walked away in full understanding that it was to be business-as-usual and she wouldn’t be needed until the next time. She didn’t much like it but she accepted it. She thought she’d made that part obvious at least.
“Look, I was merely asking why I was no longer being considered for the mission and I think it was a valid question. I wasn’t trying to be difficult, or-”
“That’s the thing, McLachlan. You don’t try to be anything. You just are. I swear you exist just to piss me off.”
“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” She physically recoiled at his tone. “It wasn’t like I was doing this on purpose.”
She looked away from him and back down to her laced-up plimsolls.
“Sometimes, I think you just want to be annoyed about something. If anyone needs a night off, it’s you.”
“Be careful who you’re talking to, McLachlan.”
“Or what?” She flinched, surprised by her own candour. Yet again, she spoke faster than her brain could catch up with.
Martha watched as he was stopped in his tracks. She felt her shoulders shift, trying to drain herself of this interaction with him. At times, it was an effort to merely exist in the same room as him.
He wasn’t expecting the retort and he certainly wasn’t expecting her to question his authority in this manner.
“It’s not my choice having you here, McLachlan, but it certainly will be having you removed if I have anything to do with it.” He was speaking far quieter this time, a gentle intimidation that she assumed was normally reserved for those he was questioning. Or worse. “Quit crying when you don’t get your own way.”
“I wasn’t crying. Sir.” She spoke again in equally hushed tones.
She swore to whoever was up there that she wasn’t deliberately trying to provoke him, but it seemed to be the only language he understood.
After another silent moment passed, he huffed out something that resembled amusement. “Close enough.”
She kept her feet rooted to the spot and refused to look away. Whether it was some vain attempt at essaying confidence, or she just genuinely couldn’t move, she didn’t know.
“This isn’t personal.” He rationalised. “This is serious stuff. I can’t afford to babysit you.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being patronising on purpose or if it just comes naturally to you.”
“Fuck around and find out.”
“Oh, real mature.” She rolled her eyes at him. She got up from her seat and turned to grab her hoodie hanging on the hook inside her locker.
Carl chose that moment to make his appearance from behind the row of lockers. He coughed a fake cough that was almost comical in its execution, briefly unnerving Chris. Carl wasn’t exactly aiming towards Chris either, rather just making his presence known in case Martha had forgotten about him.
Chris looked quickly between Martha and Carl, unaware he had been there. He hid the surprise from his face quite well, keeping his features as straight as possible. Had she known he was there this entire time? What was her game?
“Get your stuff and go home.” He instructed, standing taller than before, returning his gaze back to her. “I’ll deal with you another time.”
He turned on his heels and strode out of the locker room in such few steps, it was almost impressive. To Carl, anyway. Carl was easily impressed at the best of times but working for someone who had received a medal from the President of the United States nearly tipped him over the edge.
Martha slammed the door of her locker with some force, startling Carl in the process.
“Everything OK?” he asked cautiously when the room fell silent again. He knew the answer.
“Not exactly.” Was all she could give back to him.
He thought better of pushing her again, He watched as she moved to stand in front of the mirror that took up almost one whole side of their small changing room. It was a crowded room on account of various equipment cupboards that had been moved in months earlier because, apparently, there was no room left anywhere in the on-site training facility. Martha was convinced it was yet another attempt by Evans of pushing them aside, though, and you couldn’t tell her otherwise.
She stared at herself in contemplation. “I need to go back to the office before I leave, OK?”
“Um, yeh, sure.” Came Carl’s hesitant reply. “Shall I just meet you by the car, then?” But she had already left.
He wasn’t sure what the purpose of her returning to the office was and he dearly hoped she wasn’t going to rile Evans up any more than he already was.
Layer upon layer of coloured and black-and-white photographs stared back at her. She followed the direction of the white ink that lined them all up, connecting the dots both physically and metaphorically. Prints of the town grid and an image featuring the schematics of the local Newman and Grey Hospital were kept separate on one side. In the centre of it all, was Haltzar.
By anyone’s basic understanding, Alek Haltzar was a dangerous man. He was exceptionally tall, standing at over 6ft 5in, and was just shy of 50 years old. When Haltzar wasn’t indulging in Arms trafficking and attempting to corrupt local politicians in neighbouring countries, he enjoyed playing chess competitively and was a single father to three children. It was this latter role that he took more seriously than that which brought him his billion-dollar fortune.
The children’s mother had died in a freak boating accident when their youngest son had turned just four years’ old. She had been the love of Haltzar’s life and her death had devastated both him and the boys. Ever since, he had vowed to dedicate his life and his many, many millions to charity to honour her memory. It was a fast about-turn that stood ill at ease with his previous profession.
He was also gravely ill.
Some four years before today, he had discovered he had been living with a rare form of cancer following what should have been a routine prostate exam. The best scientists and doctors he could find could provide no clue as to its course of treatment, and could not stop it from spreading further.
He went underground for a short while afterwards, trying his hand with any experimental drug and therapy he could find, but when nothing appeared to work, he did what any other person with the means to do so would do and relocated his family to the US. Washington DC to be exact.
DC had been home to the estimable Newman and Grey, a hospital devoted to advancing medical research and theory around some of the body’s most destructive diseases for nearly sixty years. Originally named after Sir Peter Newman, the hospital could now also claim itself as home to the Nobel Prize-winning mind of Professor Alan Grey, a man responsible for, among other things, his incredible work developing the technique that would later create the MRI machine, an epic scientific breakthrough in the late-Seventies that allowed the diagnosis of patients via non-invasive means.
So, leaving behind his work, his varied and dubious connections to some of the world’s most powerful people, and his entire life it seemed, Haltzar uprooted his family to Washington a little over two years ago. Whatever the likelihood, he moved in an attempt to access the experimental treatments Prof. Taylor had been studying and testing with some degree of success.
His sudden arrival in the US caused as close a thing to a “stir” as Martha reasoned was possible given his identity was genuinely unknown to almost everyone except those who worked inside the CIA. According to them, this move was very much a last-ditch attempt at saving his own life so his beloved children wouldn’t have to grow up without a parent. If he hadn’t been responsible for aiding and abetting several war criminals over the last twenty years, one could be forgiven for feeling just a little bit sorry for him.
Martha supposed she could understand to some degree his reasons for moving to the area. After all, she had done much the same thing as him, just minus the murders and the bribery.
After completing her MD in Boston, she wanted desperately to exist somewhere in Prof. Grey’s orbit if only on the periphery of him and his team. She had lived and breathed his theses and work during her studies, and had arrived at the hospital five years back after she took on a role as an Emergency Doctor in the hospital’s ER. It was a tough baptism of fire for want of a better phrase but Carl had befriended her and the pair of them soon formed an alliance which kept the ER moving at a pace that could hopefully cope with the volume of admissions.
“I’m sure they had their reasons.”
She could hear Carl’s voice in the back of her mind. He was a nice guy, Martha thought, but dear God he could be a push-over at times. Why did he suck up to Evans so much all the time? Tanner, she could understand, but Evans? The guy had an ego the size of the state. He was a jerk. Martha lost count of the people flinging themselves at his feet everywhere he went, Carl notwithstanding, and she could never work it out.
“I’m gonna level with you, Martha,” Carl had said after hearing Martha’s protests earlier that afternoon. “I’ve got zero interest in carrying a gun with me for the next week just in case a goddamn psychopath may or may not turn up to the hospital. That is way above my pay grade. This is why we pay our taxes, so that men like Evans can do the risky work for us.” He turned back to the computer screen in front of him. “And that suits me just fine.”
“But we’re the ones who’ve put this all together.” She argued back at him. “They would never have known about the drug trials if it wasn’t for us and Taylor.”
“Yeh, and the locations and the money and the hospital plans? That’s all them.” He reasoned. “Think of it like anything else we do. We take X-Rays, we take bloods, we make the diagnosis, then we pass the patient over to the right consultant who uses all of that information to make the person better. We still get the credit, we just don’t have to do all of the graft.”
Martha despaired as she stared up at the board. It was all pointless now anyway.
*
Haltzar had been living in the quiet but glossy suburb of Chesapeake Beach. It was one of the wealthiest areas in Maryland and was home to several retired businessmen who liked to keep one eye on the New York Stock Exchange whilst making their way around a golf course.
According to Tanner, Haltzar had been photographed several times visiting his oldest son who had enrolled at Notre Dame almost as soon as they had arrived in the area. He had been seen attending their sports matches, visiting a local library, even mowing the lawn outside his home. One photograph Martha had originally lingered on showed him in a car parked outside a Walmart.
He was quite literally hiding in plain sight.
But, as Tanner had supposed, that was easy to do when your Head of Security was also an ex-Black Ops member. Evans thought he had recognised him from his early days on combat duty but ultimately uncovered nothing they could use to get close to Haltzar from the inside.
Walmart was the one image she found herself fixating on over and over again at random times of the day. It was the thing she was thinking about now as she found herself sat behind the reception desk in the ER that Thursday evening.
The clock was ticking by slowly and the expected onslaught of patients never materialised. The team was grateful for the break but Martha hated sitting around doing nothing. Her admin was up to date as always, she’d triple-checked the stock cupboards, and had grown tired of watching the kettle boil for the fourth time having offered to make yet another round of tea for everyone.
It was a weird evening. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was just because it was a Thursday and Thursday seemed too early in the week for people to find a thrill in the weekend. Thursday proved a weird limbo for a lot of people in this town it would seem.
“You should bring a book, M.” Simone called out from the chair a few feet behind her. “I’m reading Catch-22 at the moment. It’s pretty damn good.”
“Didn’t you read that in high school?” Martha asked, snapped from her momentary daydream.
“Yeh but it was pretty dull back then. This time, I’m really appreciating the critique of authority more than before. I tell ya, it is 100% relatable.”
Martha could share in the joke knowing precisely what she was getting at. Simone was adept at the art of the passive-aggressive remark and was a welcome, contrasting energy to the usual politics that went on underneath this roof.
“Seriously, though,” Simone continued. “You wanna go take a nap or something? It’s gonna be hours before we finish here and I can handle things for a bit.”
Martha contemplated her kind offer. She figured she could be bored here or bored in a quiet room where she could mess about on her phone, maybe plan a holiday she knew she wouldn’t take. It didn’t really matter either way but she would at least feel a bit less guilty about it if she wasn’t fussing on her phone in plain sight of the few patients who had taken up space in a couple of bays.
Looking towards the few patients they had admitted that evening, she clocked them each lying quietly on their respective beds, calm and peaceful. Just what they liked to see. A couple of them had been hooked up to blood pressure machines that took intermittent readings and beeped out accordingly, and the other guy was sat up in his bay and reading a magazine upside down, the drugs perhaps causing him to feel a little drowsy. She wouldn’t hold it against him.
“Thanks. I won’t be too long.”
“Take as long as you need, chick.”
Simone turned back to the paperwork in front of her as Martha vacated the squared-in desk formation that created their excuse for a reception.
Taking the long, quiet walk down the corridors to reach the staff quarters took longer than usual. Her phone was clasped in her hand and she’d picked up a glass of water on the way. She held the doors open for Paul, the porter, as he transported some equipment to another ward a few floors up. He had been too polite to let her help him the rest of the way, despite her offer.
Finding herself at a loose end, she locked the door behind her and chose the single bed closest to the radiator. The heat would help lull her to sleep, she thought, and she could while away a couple of hours before she returns to the main ward to see what might await her. Was it wrong that she hoped something a little more dramatic might break up the monotony of the shift?
He was reading it upside down.
Wait.
On more than one occasion she had spotted him scanning the ER. She had thought he was just waiting for a relative to arrive or perhaps waiting for his SHO to return with some test results, but…he wasn’t confused. The drugs weren’t causing him to feel lethargic or muddled; they weren’t strong enough to do that.
Why had she negated to think that before now?
She held her fingers to the side of her forehead, hastily rolling back through her memories of the last couple of hours.
The three men had each arrived separately but only within about twenty minutes of each other. They all claimed various minor upsets that although were a little uncommon to be accidental, were nevertheless ailments the team had handled thousands of times before. After all, they weren’t there to question anyone; they were there to do their job and fix what was wrong with them.
Martha didn’t pretend to know the intricacies of the Agency’s work but she was still able to note their boots were in fact of the same make and all were clean and shiny, as though they had each just left the shop before they found themselves at Newman’s.
“Jerry?” She called out hurriedly as soon as she heard the other line click on.
“Oh hey Martha! What’s up?” Came the friendly, chirpy response from perhaps the only man in the Unit that maybe didn’t hate her guts.
I loved "Little sister"! Would you consider making it a series or at least writing part two? I'm reading all those Skam fics and I adore them
Hi!
This makes me so happy!
Unfortunately I won't make a series out of it because I have a problem with series which is at some point I lose interest (as soon as I stop hyperfixating on the topic) and I can never finish them, and I won't write a part two either (at least for now) because my hyperfixation on skam og is long gone (it can always come back, I never know) and lately I've been feeling quite dysphoric so writing f!reader would make me feel worse, in addition to all this, I had thought that as a oneshot, so right now I really have no idea how that could continue.
