A C T O R S || OS 02

92. Chris Evans | Who the F is Chris Evans?

By : your-highnessmarvel

Requested by Anonymous: Reader meets Evans when no cameras are around and he's had a bad day and is just over everything, reader is unaware and when they meet things do not go well at all. Chris comes off as the biggest a-hole imaginable. Reader is like "I knew that Disney loving shit was bull", Chris realizes he's coming off as an entitled prick, catches himself and opens up to reader, who in return opens up to him about her many moods. They bond, friendship, relationship and you can add smut if you want. 😎😬 Thank u

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The road wound endlessly before you; a long stretch of grey ribbon, interrupted by the occasional glance at the fields or the forest. It was torture, really, because you were not one to be able to hold your seat for more than a few minutes, and now you were stuck in the driver's throne for the next six. Traveling for work used to sound amazing. It really isn't.

There's a half empty water bottle in the cup holder. Various wrappings from the food you stopped to get: Wendy's, Taco Bell, Tim Hortons. The sun was beating down through the windshield, the hot air billowing in through the open window.

You saw in the distance a stopped car. Squinting, you could make out someone there, on the phone, the hood of the car wrenched open.

You hadn't left your seat in a few hours, so this was your opportunity to wiggle your legs. And you knew a thing or two about cars. Dad taught you well.

You pulled up behind the car, watching as the person - a man - stopped talking on the phone to glance at you. He was tall and well built, a young man no older than his mid-thirties. He had a beard and dark sunglasses under a baseball cap.

You got out, marching to him. "Hey, car trouble?" Wow, that was a classic thing to say. A Dad thing to say.

He waved his hand around as if to say, "Duh." And turned back to talk into the phone. You rolled your eyes, venturing to the side of the car. You felt like an imbecile looking through the window, but you did anyway and saw the entire car was shut off.

"Car just stopped working," came the voice of the man. You turned with a smile, and saw him dipping his phone into his coat pocket.

"What happened?" you asked.

Again, that smug hand wave. That frustrated-I'm-going-to-be-an-asshole-to-you-because-i'm-mad hand wave. "I don't know?" he grumbled. "Radio shut off. Lights shut off. Steering wheel became hard to turn."

"Battery," you said, walking backwards to where the hood was propped open.

"Whatever, I'm calling my agent," he grumbled, turning his back to you.

Wow, you thought. This is how he was treating a woman trying to give him a hand? This is how he was being thankful?

"Wait a minute," you mumbled, realizing what he said. "Agent? Are you in like the CIA?"

He scoffed, dialing on his phone. "I'm an actor."

You were looking into the hood of the car, and when he said that, you looked up with a frown. He didn't look familiar. He talked to his "agent" on the phone and gave them his location and said, "My car's being a fucking bitch again."

He was driving a fucking Porsche. You, with you '99 Civic, made a weird face.

When he hung up, he came to you with a heavy sigh and hands in his pockets. "I don't need your help," he sighed. "I'm good. Go home."

"It's your battery," you said, ignoring him and his vicious tone. "Or the alternator is dead and can't provide for the battery."

"Whatever." He turned and leaned on the car. "It's a rental anyway."