Labor of Love


Labor of Love

*an Emery&Chris fan fiction*

By avenger-nerd-mom

Word Count:  2363

Summary: Chris and Emery finally welcome their new little one into the world.

April 2019

Walking back to his trailer, Chris fumbles for his phone, nearly dropping it in the bright sun. He squints at the screen, wishing he had his sunglasses with him. The sunlight is deceiving- it’s not as warm as it appears. But since the weekend is supposed to be warmer, he promised his nephews a day at the park Saturday. Watching them play soccer. He chuckles, remembering all the “hot soccer Dad” comments Emery told him about after the weekend press conference.

“Call Emery,” he speaks softly into the phone, waving at a group of fans standing across the street. His handler opens the trailer and he steps inside, flopping in the seat closest to the door. He waits to see her face, surprised when she simply answers as a call, rather than a video chat.

“Hey, Jellybean!” Emery weakly exclaims. “You about done on set today?”

Chris reaches for the call sheet on the other end of the couch. Glancing over it, he replies, “Yeah, about another hour or two. They wanna reshoot one scene, but it shouldn’t take long-”
“Was that an actual ice cream shop, or a set? You know I want ice cream.”

“Fuckin’ internet… You’ve already seen fan photos, haven’t you?” Chris chuckles. “Yes, it was a real store.” Ice cream has been one of her pregnancy cravings, along with steak and Capn’ Crunch Peanut Butter cereal.  He can’t keep track of her favorites from week to week. Hell, it’s probably changed in the few days while I was gone to LA for Endgame promo. “What do you want me to bring home?”

“Something with toffee, and pecans.” She says the word in her funny little Southern drawl, ‘pea-CANS.’ “Buttery, vanilla, not chocolate. But, babe, don’t bring it home.” She clears her throat. Stronger, she tells him, “I need you to bring it to the hospital.”

Chris sits up tall, dropping both feet to the floor, ready to jump up in action. “Hospital! Emery, are you in labor? Why didn’t you call me!”

“You’re a nervous Nelly. And I knew you were looking forward to today’s shoot. Labor’s gonna take forever. The only thing you’ve missed so far is me throwing up, more than once, and sleeping.” She yawns, making a little puffing sound. “Real exciting stuff.”

Dammit, she would keep it to herself, not to worry me… Throwing open the trailer door, he waves the closest staffer over. Holding the phone between his ear and shoulder, he grabs the man’s clipboard and scribbles, ‘Labor. Leaving. Top Secret.’ Pushing the board back to the shocked man, he lunges for his keys on the counter, exiting the trailer in two large steps and slamming the door behind him. “Tell me everything,” he growls into the phone.

There’s a pause, and he can’t hear her over the sound of the crowd yelling at him. “Chris, relax. If you rush outta there like a mad man, it’ll be all over the Internet before you can even get here. I don’t want fans or press showing up here. We talked about that. Call me back when you get to the car. I promise, you’re not gonna miss the birth of our baby.”

She sounds tired, worn out. “Em? Is everything okay?”

“Just get here.”

The phone line goes silent. Staring at the phone, he can’t believe she hung up on him. Or called him a ‘nervous Nelly.’ What even is that Southernism? He shakes his head, and makes a beeline to another staffer, trying to remember his plan of attack if this situation came about this way. Quickly explaining his predicament, he asks the man to get the ice cream, telling him to come find the unmarked sedan on the back of the lot. Chris smiles wryly at the man’s confused expression as he turns towards the car that’s been provided to get him to and from set with little recognition.

As the man jogs away, one of the executive producers walks up to Chris, pointing him in the opposite direction. “I heard. Congratulations,” he offers, clapping his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Tabby’s gonna drive you. That’ll help you pull yourself together. I’ll send John over with the ice cream.” He speaks into his walkie talkie, relaying a new delivery point for the pint. “You can get outta here in just a few minutes. She doin’ okay?”

Chris shrugs his shoulders, his face expressing his unease. “No clue. She hung up. I’m guessing Ma is with her, but no one told me anything. That’s pretty fucked up,” he mumbles.

“Man, relax, women been havin’ babies for centuries. At least it’s early, and you’re not on another continent…” Chris bows his head, realizing how lucky he is for this small favor. “Call me with the news, and we can shift some schedules around. Take the family time you need.” He pats Chris on the back, passing him off to Tabby, the set intern.

“Family,” Chris sighs, his heart swelling with pride.


Settled in the back of the car, ice cream rested next to his thigh, Chris calls Emery again.

His mother in law answers the call. “She’s sleeping, Chris. The medicines make her fall asleep at the drop of a hat, mid-sentence. Want me to wake her?”

“Anita, just tell me. What’s wrong? I’m trying to get there as fast as I can.” He calculates quickly. “Traffic, this time of day, I can make it over there in about thirty minutes.”

“Believe me, son. You’ve got time. This little one is gonna be just as stubborn as it’s Daddy. Baby E doesn’t wanna say hello just yet.”

He nervously wipes his beard, watching out the front window as the driver maneuvers around traffic.

“Chris, she’s okay. Her amniotic fluid started to leak while we were on our morning walk. She wasn’t really having contractions or anything, but we decided to call Dr. Puckett. She was already at the hospital and told us to come in.” She breathes out slowly. “Emery’s having contractions, small but not enough to move the delivery along. Because of all the troubles she’s had, the medical team decided to give her Pitocin to speed things up, not put any more stress on her body.” His mother in law sighs. “She’s strong, honey. She’s gonna be okay. The medicines made her sick, but she’s walked around some-

“Why didn’t anyone call?” He swallows hard, trying to hold back his irritation.

“You know her, she wouldn’t let us. Said you were working, and Dr. Puckett said things were going to be slow. She begged your mom and I not to call you-

“Let me talk to Ma,” he barks, hitting his head back against the seat.

His mom’s soothing voice immediately calms him. “Chris, sweetheart. Everyone’s fine. She wanted you to work. The doc agreed it was gonna be several hours. You’re gonna be here. Baby E will be a week or two early, but healthy, and it’ll give you something to talk about on the the press tour besides spilling Marvel secrets.” There’s noise and a low moaning, almost a whimper. He taps the back of the driver’s seat and motions to drive faster. When his mother speaks again, she tells him. “The doc just came in here now, and it looks like they’re gonna attach a monitor around her belly. She’s waking up and you’ll be able to see her when you get here.”


With only the sack of ice cream in his hand, he jogs down the long hallway. He tips his hat low to avoid recognition. Other new fathers carry flowers or stuffed animals, and somewhere down the hallway, a small baby cries. Normally the activity in the maternity wing would make him smile, but today he can only focus on one thing. His wife.

His love. His life. His whole world.

Nearing the room, he spies Dr. Puckett ahead, looking over a patient chart with another nurse. He stands back, leaning against the wall, clearing his throat and waiting for her attention. She lifts her head at the sound, smiling. With a small, delicate motion of her hand, she waves him over. “Chris, good to see you.” She shakes his hand, and nods to the nurse at her side. “This is Amber, she’s the best. She’s been with Emery all day, and plans to stay through, all right?” He nods. “Have you seen her yet?”

Crumpling the bag tighter in his hand, he shakes his head no.

“She looks a little pale, but she’s tough. Her body isn’t responding to the Pitocin, and she’s only dilated about four centimeters. With the amniotic fluid leaking, she does run a risk of infection-”

“Doc, is she going to be okay? I don’t wanna be an ass, but we can make another baby or adopt, but God help me, if anything happens to her-”

Placing her hand on Chris’s arm, Dr. Jamie Puckett’s exhaustion shows on her face. “Emery is fine, I promise, but the baby’s heart rate is dropping. The nurses are going to come in soon, and prep her for a C-section. I know that wasn’t really the plan, but in order to keep baby and Mom safe, I think it’s best.”

“Does she know yet?” Chris asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

The doctor shakes her head. “No, I was waiting till you arrived. Why don’t you go see her for a few minutes, and then I’ll be in and we’ll go get Baby E. You’ll be holding your baby within the next few hours.”


Chris stirs from his chair as the nurse comes in, the morning rounds just beginning.

“Sorry to wake you,” she whispers.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he stands, his old bones creaking. Shit, maybe I’m too old for this Dad stuff, he thinks. “Didn’t get much rest.” The gravel in his voice is proof. He’d spent the night watching his wife and their tiny little one sleeping.

He needs coffee, in an IV, stat.

Memories of the night before flash through his mind, like a movie montage, nothing settled in place to seem real yet. The quiet afternoon, watching her sleep. Her strength and string of expletives when the epidural was administered. The rush to the operating room as both Emery’s and baby’s heart rates dropped. Suiting up in his new favorite uniform. Standing helpless, not wanting to see on the other side of the curtain. Holding their baby for the first time. Calling the mothers in for their first peek. The first attempt at breastfeeding.

The nurse checks some readings on the monitors, making notes in her charts. She quietly addresses Chris. “The pediatrician will be in soon, to check over the baby, and the lactation specialist. When your wife wakes-”

“I’m up,” says a sleepy voice. “Bring me my baby. And coffee. Can I have coffee? Like in an IV. Just inject it into my veins.”

Chris’s laughter draws her attention. He can see her struggle to turn to him. The drugs are still in her system, making all her movements sluggish.

“Hey, sexy Daddy. You thought the same thing, didn’t you?”

With tears in his eyes, he leans over and caresses his lips over her forehead. “You are mine, you know that, right?” The strong actor chuckles, weak in the knees. “You were made for me.”


Grabbing the collar of his t-shirt, she pulls him close, tenderly kissing his plump, inviting mouth. “Yeah, and together we made something special, a baby. Ours-” She kisses him again. “I want it, and I want coffee.”

The nurse giggles, “Now, Miss Emery,” she says calmly, like talking to a petulant child. “We talked about that yesterday. No coffee yet, not if you’re going to breastfeed.” She smirks at Emery’s huffing. “But you can take a sip or two of his.” She tilts her head to Chris, as he gently climbs into the hospital bed next to his wife.

“Fine. Bring him one. A big one. Thank you,” she says as a second thought, remembering her manners. The nurse drops the chart in the holder by the door. “Oh, can you get me a cheeseburger?” Emery calls out as the nurse leaves the room.

“Babe, it’s barely eight am.” Chris teases, cautiously lifting her upper body from the bed to tuck her to his side, his arm resting gently around her shoulders.

“Don’t care.” She scratches her cheek absently. The skin is swollen and red from an allergic reaction to the mask placed over her face during her surgery. “I had a baby last night. I want what I want.”

Sitting on the bed next to her, his exhausted, amazing wife settles against his chest. He breathes deeply, inhaling her scent, and he feels his world fall into place.

“I’m gonna be hearing about that for months, years, aren’t I?”

She pokes him in the ribs. “Big enough they had to cut it out. You made a tiny monster.” She giggles, loopy from medications. She rubs low across her belly, wincing as her hands near the bandages covering the incision. “Almost seven pounds. How was that even inside me? How is that even possible? No wonder complete strangers stopped to ask if I was having twins!”

“You know,” he says, twisting her fingers into his hand and raising them to kiss the back of her fingertips, careful not to bump her IV, “it’s not an ‘it’ now.”

baby E in hosp

“‘It’ has Daddy’s eyelashes.”

He chuckles, kissing the top of her head. “‘It’ has Mommy’s red hair.”

Before they can finish their verbal tease, she falls back to sleep peacefully. He continues to sooth his fingers through her hair, enjoying their last few minutes alone.

“Love you, forever, Em.” Squeezing her tightly, he lays back against the pillow, hoping to get some more rest of his own.

after baby cuddle

With the little bundle snuggled in his arms, wrapped tightly in a Captain America blanket, Chris steps into the lounge, full of family and friends. “Hey, everyone,” he says with enough authority to garner everyone’s attention, but not to wake the baby. “Thought you’d wanna meet Kaileigh Grace Evans.”




Author’s Note: Remember in Surprises Ahead? Emery tells Chris, “Read it with a Southern accent. The first syllable? Rhymes with ‘thai.”

**Images found on Pinterest**

Story will update when Muse strikes. I actually wrote a baby story 3+ years ago, but in the vision I wrote from, I didn’t know the baby’s name or gender. In February 2019, the name just popped in my head one morning while I was in the shower! Until that moment, I had no idea if it was going to be a little boy or girl for the Evans’!

If you want to know more about Emery and Chris, read the novella Georgia on My Mind, and their additional stories

Copyright © 2019 avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom


Snow Fun

snow fun jan 14 2019

Snow Fun

An Emery&Chris story

By avenger-nerd-mom

*Since I’m home sick with strep throat, how about a little Emery drabble?*

Word Count: 1726

Summary: Pregnant Emery can’t enjoy the slopes during the New Year holiday, so she keeps busy with online shopping and cocoa with Scott

Previous Chapter, Bun in the Oven

January 2019

“What are we looking at?” Scott asks, rounding the corner of the couch with two mugs of hot chocolate in his hands.

Emery doesn’t even look up from her phone screen as he eases down on the couch next to her. “That smells like heaven.” She smiles, holding out her hand for the mug.

“Careful, don’t burn yourself,” he advises, leaning onto his side to pull a box of cookies from the large front pocket of his hoodie.

She flicks her thumb over the pile of whipped cream atop the steamy mug and quickly licks it away. “He assigned you to babysitting duty?” she teases.

Scott rolls his eyes, peeling back the sleeve of cookies and offering her one. “I volunteered. I had enough of their testosterone on the slopes yesterday.” He shoves the whole cookie in his mouth and moans in delight. “I swear they were ready to start a pissing contest to see who could write their name best in the snow.”

Laughing, Emery pats his arm. “No contest, the Evans boys are the biggest dicks I know.”

“Hey! I’m not a dick, I have a big d-,” he boasts, tugging down on his jeans. He edits himself, withering under her heated glare. “Jeesuz, you put up with a lot of shit from us,” he laughs, resting his head against her shoulder.

She kisses the top of his head. “Cuz I love you both.” Emery turns the phone to him. “I’m looking at stuff for the baby’s room. Tracking orders.”

“You don’t have the new house yet. Where’s it going to?” Scott takes her phone and flips through the pictures.

She points to the rocking chair she adores. “Chris picked that out. He says it’s like the one he remembers at Nonna Capuano’s when he was little.” Scott looks closer at the phone. “All the stuff so far is in your mom’s garage.”

Scott nods. “It does look like the one she had, that’s pretty amazing.” He continues to look at the pictures while she breathes down his neck. “That crib is beautiful. It converts when the baby’s older?”

Finishing a sip of the hot chocolate, she dips her head. She points to the back of the crib. “Yea, this part detaches and becomes a headboard for a toddler bed. But the baby won’t be using that for awhile. Carly is giving us the baby bassinet back with all the proper bedding, so the baby will sleep in our room for awhile.”

“Every Evans baby has slept in it,” Scott says quietly.

She brushes his arm tenderly. “Don’t be that way. Your life is no different, you can surrogate, or adopt. We’ll keep the bassinet in use for a few years, and then you can have it.”

He raises his eyebrow before popping another cookie in his mouth. “And just how many little Evans babies do you plan to make, Miss Emery?”

Patting her belly and smoothing her hand over the stretched out Pats jersey, she sighs warmly. “Two or three? I don’t know. Depends on how much trouble this one is, and what Chris really decides to do with his career after hanging up the shield.”

Scott offers the lovely pregnant woman another cookie. “You still upset he took all the jobs this winter and spring?”

She furrows her brow and twists on the couch to get comfortable. At 26 weeks along, she can’t ever seem to be comfortable anymore. She remembers their small tiffs over taking extra jobs. The Greenland job was supposed to film in October, and kept getting pushed back. She shakes her head, straightening out her leg in front of her.  “Your brother had a typical ‘I’m gonna be a dad’ freak out moment, and started worrying about how to pay for a kid. No, I’m not mad he took extra work. And I can still travel some, to go be with him. And I have family in Birmingham, so that’s a plus.” She taps a quick note on a memo pad feature on her phone. “I just don’t wanna be in the new house without him. That’s where we’re really supposed to start our life together, it’s truly ours.”

“He’s a cheapskate and you still clip coupons. How can he freak out about money?”

She laughs, throwing her hands to her thighs, barely reaching over her belly. “Because your brother can be a troublesome worry wart. I told him if all else fails, he can be a stay at home dad, and I’ll go back to teaching full time.” She begins to rock forward on the couch, trying to get leverage.

Scott laughs and pushes her ass up. “God, that could be reality TV gold. Chris trying to Mr. Mom all day.” He chuckles, his eyes glazed over as he pictures it. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

She brushes the cookie crumbs away that landed on her little belly shelf. “I’m supposed to walk and get some fresh air.” She holds out her hand. “Come with me.” He rises from the couch. “I discovered yesterday if I go out the basement garage door, it’s a straight walk to the little ski shop. The path is clear and it’s been treated so it doesn’t ice over.”

Scott follows her to the mud room, stepping aside so she can rest on the bench and pull on her boots. “Need help?”

She swats his hand away. “I’m perfectly fine.” She huffs for air, reaching forward for her new snow boots. “Chris was irritated I went alone yesterday and didn’t tell anyone. So today, you’re keeping me out of trouble.”

“Em, those are the most ridiculous snow boots I’ve ever seen. They look like they came from the kids’ department,” Scott laughs, stepping into his own boots.

She tugs on the other boot, and reaches down to pull the velcro strap tight. “Because they did. And they were on sale.” She laughs. “I’m a cheapskate too. No worries about us filing for bankruptcy, ever.”

He shakes his head. “You’re both certifiable. It’s a miracle you found each other.”

She grabs his forearm and hoists herself to a standing position. “You go down the stairs in front of me, that way if I fall, you can catch me.” He laughs again, and she plods down the steps slowly, holding on to the rail tighter than necessary. “Did I ever thank you for that?”

Already bundled up with a scarf wrapped around his mouth, Chris’s younger brother mumbles, “For what?”

The tiny pregnant woman places her free hand on his shoulder, squeezing through the layers of his thick winter coat as best as she can. “Thank you for getting him to sign up for online dating. I can’t remember my life before, and can’t imagine where I’d be without him.”

At the bottom of the steps, Scott turns to her, wrapping his arms around her as she begins an emotional cry. Patting her flaming red hair, his gloves create static and flyaways pop all over her head. “It’s okay, Em, you don’t have to worry about those things.”

The pair jump apart when the side door opens and they’re momentarily blinded by the bright sun bouncing off the snow.

“Scott! I didn’t tell you to make her cry!” Chris rushes in, stepping between his wife and his brother.

Emery sniffles, smiling up at her husband’s handsome face. “Oh, he didn’t do anything. You know that. I cry at commercials and torn pantyhose these days.” She reaches up to caress his beard, his coat of scruffy ‘fur’ wet from a morning run down the slopes. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Well, I can see that,” he fusses, looking over his shoulder to his brother. “Catch you two, canoodling in the garage.” She playfully pushes on his chest. “Shame, shame. I expect if of you, but not from him.”

“Christopher Robert Evans! You take that back! No jokes about cheating. You know I hate that.”

The anger flashes in her eyes and he knows she’s truthful. He bows his head sheepishly. Her pregnancy dreams have been awful, fearful he’ll stray while he’s away working. He silently vows to himself to stop teasing her about it. Silly girl should know better. There’s no one else like her anywhere. “I’m sorry, kitten. I was just teasing. I won’t let it happen again.” He brushes his thumb over her tear stained cheek and his eyes are solemn. “Scott, Adam’s waiting for you up at the ski shop. Why don’t you go on? I’ve got plans with my girl this afternoon.” He kisses the top of her head as she waves bye to Scott, thanking him for the hot cocoa and company. “Come on, I wanna show you something.”

In the driveway, he proudly presents a snowmobile to her. “Come on. Our guide told me if I just travel this sidewalk, about a mile past the ski shop is an empty parking lot. Smooth and flat. We can ride in circles for hours. The fresh air will be good for you.”

The set up is something she’d never seen before. It looked like a modern golf cart with skis on the front where tires should be, and treads on the back, like a tiny tank. The seats had belts and a roll bar over top, with a high shield of plexiglass to protect them from snow hitting them in the face. She walks over and runs her gloved hands over the shiny finish. “You sure it’s safe?”

“Would I do anything to put you or Baby E in danger?” He walks over and opens the small door. “We’ll go down to the ski shop and turn back if you don’t like it.” Settled in, he helps her adjust the harness strap over her shoulders and pulls tight to make sure the buckle is secure. Kissing the tip of her nose, already turning red from the cold, he hands her a helmet from the back, “Just to be sure.”

“You better get a picture. The mothers will never believe this,” she laughs, smiling for a quick pose alone and a selfie of the two of them before she dons the helmet.

Strapped in himself, he turns to her with the helmet shield up, so she can hear him. “Ready?”

“Always ready for any adventure with you, Jellybean!”

Next in the series, Christmas Presents

Read more about Emery and Chris in their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and their story collections

Copyright © 2019  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom


ch 1 jan 2 2019


Chapter 1

Being Thalia

Collaboration by @avenger-nerd-mom &  @devikafernando


It’s TRUE! @devikafernando and @avenger-nerd-mom are posting a SEQUEL for Educating Thalia, involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans! In Being Thalia, the two rivals are still vying for their right to claim the lovely Thalia Bareo. The sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago is all grown up now, holding down a job, continuing her studies and freelancing as a consultant for museums around the world. Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Warning: As a whole, this work contains adult content. If you proceed you have agreed that you are willing to see such content. Each chapter will not be coded with individual warnings. The overall story contains no hidden triggers.

Summary: Thalia has an off-day, feeling out of sorts, and retreats to her office to let her mind wander.

Word count: 970

This opening chapter follows the events in the one-shot story, The Bet, originally posted in August 2018.

If you are new to the series and characters, click here to the beginning of Educating Thalia.

“Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons:

They never truly loved each other, or they love each other still.”

Whitney Otto- How to Make an American Quilt

2020, Early Spring

Trouncing down the stairs, Thalia momentarily stops. Two students leaning against the window ledge are arguing points for class, one clutching a copy of Coriolanus to her chest.

A cold ache fills her heart, as it always does when her former professor and former lover, Tom Hiddleston, crosses her mind. “Fuck him,” she mumbles under her breath, hitting her fist on the bannister. She waves it off when the young woman asks if she’s okay. She sighs and continues her path down the hallway. Unlocking the door to her small office, she slams it behind her. Her love of languages and Shakespeare lost their shine when her light left. Tom took it away when he walked out of her life, nearly two years ago.

Plopping in the chair, she props her dusty boots up on the desk, swiveling the chair to face the windows, looking out across campus. The trees are beginning to bud, and soon things will be green again. Moving a file, the tennis ball she keeps on her desk rolls towards her and she picks it up and begins bouncing it against the wall. Methodically her thoughts drift as she gets lost in the repetition.


Slamming around their small apartment in Paris, Tom throws his clothes into the two large suitcases on the bed, the sheets still rumpled from their lovemaking the day before.

“Tom! It’s not like that! Dammit, why you gotta be such a hard ass?” She shouts back at him.

“America, Thalia? I thought we were done with that? I thought you let it go?” Tom’s voice is tight and controlled, his accent clipped. He opens the top drawer, reaching in and scooping out all the clean socks and underwear. Slamming it shut, the clock he hung just days before rattles against the stucco wall. “That we had a life here, together.”

“It’s just for a few months, a semester.” She replies, stepping in front of him.

He pushes around her. “And right back in Evans’ bed, no doubt. Of all the Ivy League schools that want you, offer you teaching positions, why do you think they keep calling you? It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Tom, I haven’t seen him in months. I’ve been here with you, you fool.” She rests on the end of the bed, trying to make light of his anger. She shuts out her thoughts and feelings about Chris cancelling their Spring Break plans at the last possible minute because he’d met someone new…

“Don’t bloody lie to me, woman. I know you still talk. I hear you on the phone with him, and his little girl. I know you still send her cards and gifts.”

Thalia nods. She can’t deny it. She made one promise ages ago, and that was to never abandon Avery. And she held true to her word. The relationship with her other former lover and professor, Chris Evans, had cooled, but they had still remained friends. She says so out loud, but it falls on deaf ears while Tom roots around in the closet, pulling out shirts and dress clothes, tossing them haphazardly on the bed.

“So you’ve taken a job at our old school, where he still works? Where he still pines for you? And you want to keep me?”

“He’s moved on, Tom. If you’ll stop for one damn minute-”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about him. I care about you and how you let him get to you after all this time, Thalia. It’s too much.” He stands in the doorway, seething with a frightful energy she’s never seen before. Another moment of his rage passes through her thoughts, when he found out she had been seeing Evans. But this fury is unmatched; there’s a finality in it. He throws his hands up in the air. “You know what? I’m done. I’m fucking done. I’ll be back to get the rest of my things tonight, when I know you’re teaching your class. I’ll change my flight, and head back to London early.”

“Tom, you’re being ridiculous. My dad is sick, you gotta understand that,” she pleads. “I have to be back in the States, closer to home. Field Museum wouldn’t hire me, and I can’t just quit working and go home. I have college debt and bills to pay. It’s just a damn job,” Thalia says, throwing a pillow to the ground. “It puts me closer to home, closer to my dad. You don’t have to leave,” she says, anguish choking her throat.

“I do. I can’t fucking stay here a moment longer, be in your presence, knowing you still love him. I won’t do it anymore, Thalia. I can’t. Since you’re not ready to grow up and give up your other toys, I’ll take one away. I’m gone.”


She catches the ball in her hand, gripping it tightly. He’d meant what he said. Other than the occasional professional email, Tom Hiddleston was no longer in her life. He wasn’t even someone she could call a friend anymore. He had totally cut her out. The wounds had been deep.

When she’d first accepted the teaching position at their former place of employment, to cover another professor’s maternity leave, returning to the arms of Professor Chris Evans had not been her plan. She had made a point to stand on her own and it had worked well, for the first few months. Chris had moved on, a new girlfriend taking up space in his bed. But he and Thalia had been able to resume their friendship, and Thalia enjoyed spending time with his young daughter. The girl was so inquisitive, beautiful eyes and a sharp wit, like her father. When she was offered a more permanent teaching job at the university, she had nothing in Paris to return to, so she’d gladly accepted.

Next Chapter, Collection

Copyright © 2019  avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Sunday with Grandad


Sunday with Grandad

By avenger-nerd-mom

Chris and Emery visit her ailing grandfather. The old man gives them marital advice.

Warnings: language, fluff

Word Count: 2292

Get to know Emery and Chris in their novella Georgia on My Mind

July 2018


Chris smiles down into the car, helping her get settled and handing her the tray of cupcakes to hold. She reaches up and pulls down on his tie. “This will make him happy.”

“I sure as hell hope so, cuz if Ilaria saw me now, she’d totally give up, thinking I’m a lost cause,” he says, smoothing down the striped tie from the mid-eighties.

Emery rolls her eyes, moving her feet into position on the floorboard. “She’s seen you in the track suits you still wear. Fratboy wanna-be. She gave up hope a long time ago. Why do you think Seb gets all the modeling gigs?”

“Because he’s a pretty boy,” he chuckles, slamming the door closed and tapping the hood as he walks around the front. Loosening the tie, he crawls into the driver’s seat, already sweating in the hot Georgia, early morning sun. “I’m sweatin’ like a sinner in church.”

“Oh honey, bless your heart! You’re pickin’ up some of these Southern phrases!” She praises, stretching out her own drawl.

Turning the car out of the the little drive, he angles onto the empty road. “Dear God, our children will have the most fucked up accents one day,” he laughs, clapping his hand to his chest.

She swats his arm. “Shut up. They’ll be adorable.” Watching in the rearview mirror, she shifts in her seat. “Did I ever tell you about the student I had that spoke with a British accent the first five weeks of school? When I met his parents, I was so shocked to find out they were American!”

Chris chuckles, turning left at the stop sign. “So what? He was just fakin’ it?”

“Yea, he thought it would be cool.” She explains, pointing out a pothole in the road. “He’d been to a study thing at the Harry Potter theme park for a week, and came back with a British accent.” Emery shrugs. “Girls at school fell for it.”

“Smart kid,” he mutters, “why didn’t I think of that?”

“You were a little shit in class, weren’t you?” She asks, peering at him over the top of her sunglasses.

He smirks. “You know those old pictures, with my long floppy hair? It hid my eyes. I slept in class. A lot. Tara would lend me her notes, and Carly helped me figure out stuff I didn’t get. I wasn’t what you’d call an ‘exemplary student.’” He wiggles his eyebrows at her, leaving just one up, in a high arch. “None of my teachers looked as hot as you.” He pats her thigh, squeezing above the knee, exposed in her summer sundress.

She purses her lip and raises her brow in return. “Turn left up here,” she says, with a tilt of her chin. She squints. “You’d have been a kid I would convince to stay after school. You’d avoid it for weeks, and then once you came, and saw the atmosphere, you’d stay. You’d come whenever you didn’t have play practice.” Emery rests her head back against the seat.

He squeezes her leg again, before returning both hands to the wheel to make the turn. “You miss it, don’t you?”

“They had teacher stuff in the dollar bins at Target yesterday,” she pouts. “I bought a few things, but lecturing at conferences and helping to set up after school programs isn’t the same as having my own class, my own kids.”

He cocks his head. “Kitten, if you really want back in the classroom, just say so. You don’t have to go to Toronto with me this fall. I’ll be back for Christmas. I don’t know how much Marvel needs me for the press tour next Spring.” He sighs, pulling into a parking space in front of the old Southern brick home. “I feel like for the first time, we can breathe. Make our own plans. Have a little freedom.”

She bites her lip, removing her seat belt. “I know. I feel it too. No, I love what I do, advocating for good teachers and consulting with districts to make things better.” She sits still when he motions her to stay. He dashes quickly around the front of the car, straightening his tie, and she picks up the conversation where it left off when he opens the door. “I’m always gonna miss the classroom.” She winks, handing him the tray of cupcakes. “Maybe I’ll go back someday, but for now, this is the right thing.”

He balances the treats in one hand, reaching for her purse as she swivels around in the seat, putting one sandaled foot and one braced foot down on the ground. Grabbing the door frame above the window, she pulls herself up. “Stupid boot,” she mutters, balancing and pushing away, stepping awkwardly around the door. She glares at the front steps.

“I can go inside and get a wheelchair?” Chris offers, jumping out of her reach when she swings out to hit him.

“Fuckin’ hate you,” she giggles. “This is your fault, you know? I wouldn’t be in this boot, have tendonitis if it wasn’t for you.”

He laughs, smiling at a nurse who comes out to to greet them. Emery makes small talk with the young woman, passing off the sugary treats to her. Chris takes his wife’s arm and gently guides her up the steps. “Tap dance lessons to impress me didn’t have to turn into some imaginary, wild audition for ‘Dancing with the Stars.’” He reminds her.

“But I was having so much fun,” she stops on the step, pouting. “That would be something, to be on that show.” She shrugs. “I was just having fun dancing for you, and the family talent show. Besides,” she runs her hands down over her waist, smoothing out her sundress. “I lost all that weight that had been bugging me. It was addicting!”

“It was an expensive emergency room visit.”

She hits his chest. “Cheapskate,” she teases.


Pausing in front of the big, heavy wooden doors, she sighs. “I used to hate this place. When I was little, I had a great aunt here, and it always seemed so scary.” She scratches under her nose as Chris pulls up the door and a blast of air conditioning greets them. “It makes me sad he’s here.”

Chris squeezes her arm, “It’s better here for him, Em. He started a fire; someone could have been hurt.”

“I know, I know,” she whispers as he crosses to reception and announces they are there to visit Grant Thomas, her paternal grandfather. Chris and the nurse chat briefly, before he turns to her, pointing the way down the hall.

“They said he’s had his nap today, and should be awake, reading,” he explains quietly as they pass through the hallways. Some residents sit in their doorways, calling out as they pass by, or sit and play games in little alcoves. Before reaching the room, a nurse stops them, handing them a small plate with three of the cupcakes Emery made. She nods her thanks as Chris reaches his hand up to knock on the door.

“What? What’s that? Who’s there?” an old, tired voice calls out.

Emery caresses the side of Chris’s bearded cheek and pushes the door open. Loudly she announces, “It’s me, Emery, Grandad. I brought Chris today; we wanted to visit awhile.”

The couple step into the crowded space, smelling of tobacco, menthol and vanilla. Chris smiles at the plug-in in the outlet and fights the urge to loosen his tie in the heated room. The old man, weathered and tanned, his skin aged from the sun, is wrapped in a crocheted quilt with a sweatshirt resting around his shoulders.

“Who? Who is it? Turn up the light,” the man commands.

Emery steps forward, resting the cupcakes on the table beside the chair, turning on the lamp. “Grandad, it’s me, Emery. You’ve got it too dark in here.” She leans down and kisses the man on his cheek, feeling the slight stubble. “Can I open the shades? I wanna see you better.”

“The big bad wolf come to visit, eh?” He chuckles, crooking his finger and pointing at Chris. “You’re too damn tall.” He motions his hand for Chris to lower himself.

Chris squats by his chair, reaching out his hand for a shake. “Good to see you again, sir. Emery’s talked all week about coming out to see you!”

Mr. Thomas drops his hand, looking back at Emery, patting the arm of his chair. “Sit, sit.” He looks up at her, caressing back her long hair, running his aged and weak fingers through the ends. “Just like your grandmother’s,” he chokes. “Who’s the fella? It’s not that bloke from the bank is it?”

Emery blushes. “No, Grandaddy, it’s Chris. My husband. The actor? Captain America?”

“Captain, you say?” He points at the photos on the shelf, and Chris stands to retrieve one. “I was in World War II, son. You don’t look old enough to have been a Captain. What’s your unit?”

Chris sighs, having had this conversation with the old man before. He and Emery decided it was easiest for him to answer as Cap might, and the two trade war stories, real and fake, for a good part of the afternoon. After sharing the cupcakes, the man dozes off for a few minutes, jumping awake when he snores too loudly, scaring himself. Emery and Chris have a good laugh, and he joins in with them. “Son, what’s your last name again?”

“Evans, sir,” Chris offers.

“Grant Evans, has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” He kicks out his foot, tapping the side of Emery’s boot. “So when’s that gonna be? I wanna be alive to hold my great- grandson. And you aren’t getting any younger, peanut!” He guffaws.

“Granddad!” Emery scoffs, blushing again and smoothing down her dress.


He turns his attention to Chris. “What’s wrong, soldier? Shooting blanks?” He glowers over his glasses. “Quit wasting your testosterone growing that damn beard and tell your swimmers to do their job, dammit.”

Chris bites back a laugh as Emery hides behind the photo album she was looking through. He salutes the older man. “Yes, sir. I’ll take her right home, and we’ll get right on that after we study scriptures tonight.”

“Good. Good Christian man. Nothing funny about that, no sir.” Mr. Thomas sits up proud. “All my babies been baptized. Raised by good Christian parents. You’ll be no different.” He points at both of them. “None of this nonsense about spoiling a child. You lead by example. Live the Golden Rule. Save your money. Visit Vegas once a year. Nothing too fancy,” he advises. “Simple. Like that tie. Good lookin’ tie, son.”

Emery smiles as Chris runs his hand proudly over the tie her grandfather had given him for his Broadway premiere.

“Sounds like a good life, Granddad,” Emery says wistfully, nodding at the nurse when she quietly enters the room. “It looks like it’s time for you to get down to dinner, so it’s time for us to go.”

He scowls at the nurse. “Trying to escape, are ya? Next time you come back, bring me something fried in lard. None of this food has flavor.” He pulls his walker around in front, rocking a few times in his seat, before pulling himself up to an upright position. He chuckles as Emery does the same, tottering in her boot and grabbing the front of the walker. “Looks like you need this thing more than me.” He smirks at Chris. “She get hurt chasin’ you around the bedroom?”

“All redheads. They’re all alike,” Chris laughs. “Can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“Yep, boy, that’s right,” the old man chuckles, leading them down to the dining room before saying their goodbyes.

Emery kisses the old man on his cheek, whispering, “I’ll visit again soon.”

He pats her back, playing with the ends of her hair again. “Captain America, huh? You picked a good one, peanut. Don’t let him get away. You have pretty grandbabies to play at my feet, ya hear?”

“Yes, sir,” she smiles, holding the tears at bay.

Chris turns to salute the old man, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist as the nurse leads Mr. Thomas to dinner.


“Come on, Mrs. Evans. Sounds like we’re trying to make a baby again tonight. Can’t disappoint the old man,” he laughs as Emery leans on his side, walking down the stairs and out to the car. “Don’t want him thinking I’ve got faulty swimmers.”

Emery lifts her long hair off her neck allowing a cool breeze to caress her skin. “Mr. Evans, I’m feeling adventurous. Instead of driving home, let’s just drive out to the campground!”

He stops in his tracks. “We don’t have any of our stuff with us.”

“So?” She taunts. “If we go now, we can have the place to ourselves for two whole days, before the reunion. We can get some stuff at Target, necessities, and you can come back later and get the rest of our stuff while I help Mom get things unpacked before everyone else arrives.”

Chris lifts her foot and boot, swinging them around and placing them in the car before closing the door. Walking around quickly, he climbs in the hot car, and starts the air and the ignition. “Emery Thomas Evans! I can’t figure out if this is a ploy for two days of uninterrupted baby making, or another trip to Target for teacher supplies?”

“Both,” she giggles as she rolls down her window, feeling the breeze in her hair as Chris heads for the highway leading out of town.

Watching the traffic in the rearview mirror, Chris asks point blank. “Emery, who’s the ‘bloke’ from the bank?”

click here to read the next Emery&Chris story, Grease Monkey

Read more about Emery and Chris in their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and their story collections

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Late Night

Late Night april 25

Late Night

an Emery&Chris fan fic

By avenger-nerd-mom

Emery sits in with Chris during his promotional appearance on the Seth Meyers’ show

Warnings: None, fluff, language

Word Count: 1834

April 2018

“Chris, really? You should know this!’

He chuckles, even his laugh sounding like Boston, and she giggles, her feet bouncing nervously, watching him squirm in his seat.  He tosses his hand up in the air. “No. I try to forget some other guy before me had his tongue in your mouth.” He looks, around distressed, as she dissolves into more laughter. “Can I say that on national television? Did that sound dirty?’  He looks to the audience sheepishly.

“It wasn’t just one,” she mumbles under her breath. Louder, she turns to their host, “Seth, don’t give him my answer yet. Ask me. There’s a prize involved, right?”

“What? A prize? What kind of late night show do you think this is?!” He looks around his desk. “Um, you can have this cool mug?”

“Deal.” Emery nods emphatically. “Is it the same question? ‘Cause I know his first kiss was Maggie Sullivan.” She hits him in the arm. “Show your card.”

He rubs his arm. “Ow, you hit hard. Seth, tell her ‘no hitting.’” He turns his card over and taps it against his leg. “Poor Maggie Sullivan, if she’s watching this…”

Seth shakes his finger at the little red head. “Well done, and it doesn’t bother you to know that?”

She tilts her head, looking to Seth. “No,I won.  I’m the one married to Captain Frickin America. I mean look at him.  He’s so handsome- ‘ She swirls her hands around in front of Chris’s face. “Caterpillar and all…”

He leans back against the seat, “I can’t wait to shave it,” he laughs, rubbing his hand over the questionable facial hair.  “Shit! ” He covers his mouth, with a surprised expression, embarrassed he cursed on television. “Sorry- it was David, wasn’t it?  He was your first kiss?” She happily flips over her card, showing the name of her high school sweetheart. “You danced with him at our wedding! I knew I hated that guy!”

Emery chuckles and pats his leg. “It’s okay, honey. You know we’re just old family friends. You have nothing to worry about.”

Seth makes a funny face to the crowd and the audience laughs. “Yea…” he stretches the word out. “You are Captain Frickin’ America. I think you’re pretty safe, dude.”  

late night 6

Chris mumbles, “I hope, man, I hope.”

Seth laughs, “Ok, next question- Chris, what’s Emery’s favorite movie that’s not Marvel?”

The famous actor looks to his wife, raising an eyebrow. “Wait? Is this a trick question? Seth, are we talking all time favorite, science fiction or holiday?

Emery leans over and covers the microphone on the desk and consults privately with the host. After a brief moment, he turns to Chris and announces. “All time favorite…”

Screwing up his face in thought, his mustache wiggles on his lip.

late night 5

“Oh god, I know it’s an 80s movie,  with that redhead. Crap, what is it? Sixteen Candles!”

Emery’s cheeks turn a shade of red under the bright lights. She holds up the card, ‘Pretty in Pink.’  “That redhead? You worked with Molly once!” She reminds him. “Remember,  we cancelled brunch just the other day because it was on TV and I didn’t wanna leave till the end?”

Leaning in close to her, Chris chuckles. “I thought we stayed home because it was raining, and that’s why we ordered in Chinese?”

Emery hides her laughter behind her card, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Ok, Emery, this one is for you.  What is Chris’s favorite Disney movie?”

Her smile freezes on her face. Shit. It could be anything. The wheels begin to turn, and he jumps in. “This could be any number of- this was a tough,” he waves his hand, “it was a tough call.”

Emery tugs on the end of her pony tail and drops it to her chest when she settles on an answer. “Well, his favorite old-school Disney movie would have to be Robin Hood-”

“Show it to us, you don’t have to go on. That was amazing.” Turning to the audience, Seth teases, “Why do I feel like I’m causing marital discourse between them?” Turning to the couple, he leans in.  “Please don’t send me any therapy bills resulting from this…” He looks at the next question on his card. “What’s Emery’s favorite sweet indulgence?

His face lights up. “Besides me? Oh I got this. Milky Way, I bring them home from the corner shop all the time.”

“Man, do you even know me? You always end up eating those! My favorite candy bar is Heath.” She flips the card over and bops him on the head.

Intervening, Seth holds out his hand. “Chris, have you met this lovely woman sitting by your side? Her name is Emery. She likes 80s teen movies and toffee covered in chocolate.”

Chris shifts in his seat and reaches out for her hand. Shaking it, he introduces himself and says, “Hi. I’m Chris. I’m a dork. I’m in movies, but not porn, as the ‘stache might imply, and I like Starburst jelly beans, and long walks on the beach.”

emery NYC 3

She throws her head back in laughter. “You hate the beach.”

He turns to the audience, nodding. “She’s right. I do.” Turning to the host, he says, “This game is awful. I feel like a chimp could do better at this than I am!”

Seth looks at his watch, “Well, man, it’s only an hour show, so we don’t have time for a counseling session, but I think you need to talk to your wife more, and listen.”  He taps the cards on the table. “We’ve got time for one last question. Chris,” he nods to the actor. “What’s the one thing you do that annoys her the most?”

Chris rocks forward, laughing and shaking his head. Straightening out his pants leg, he says, “Seth, you obviously don’t know me very well. One thing? Listen here. This woman is perfect. She cooks, cleans, does craft projects, exercises, volunteers with kids and has a full time job. And she puts up with me, and deals with the fans, and press. There’s so many things about me that annoy her,” he chuckles. He quits fidgeting with the cards in his lap and reaches for her hand. Looking in her eyes, he says, “I’m just so thankful every day she puts up with me, and I have no frickin’ idea what is my most annoying habit to her.”

She squeezes his hand, silently encouraging him to remember their conversation just before leaving the apartment that morning. She purses her lips, willing him to remember.

“Oh, man!” He exclaims. “I know! She really hates it when I take things out of the dryer and just kinda dump them on the floor instead of folding them, or hanging them up.”

The look on his face is pure pride, when she turns her card over and throws her arm around his neck, kissing his check. “I hate that!” she whispers.

Seth applauds and says over the crowd’s laughter, “He does that? You do deserve some kind of prize for being married to him! If I did that, my wife would kick my-”

“Oh, she does, she does… then she yells at me to go clean it up.”

She nods. “He’s getting better. It’s a twelve step program,” she giggles. “A slow process.”

“Well, Chris, you have a lovely bride, and a wonderful movie coming out later this week, and congratulations on your Broadway debut.” Turning to the cameras, Seth turns it out to a commercial break.

In a rush, crew members come over to unhook their mikes and Seth stands to give Emery a kiss on the cheek. “Again, Seth, congratulations on the birth of your new baby! Thank you for showing me pictures!”

“Thank you for the lovely gift, you didn’t have to do that,” Seth says, reaching out to shake Chris’s hand. “Really, man, the play is great.” He nods. “Best of luck.”

A crew member begins to lead her away, and she waves to the audience as Chris and Seth chat for a few minutes. She watches from the sidelines as the configuration on the stage changes slightly, and one of the Marvel assistants comes to lead her away.

Back stage are a few fans, waiting to meet Chris, and she stops to talk to them. She kneels down next to a young girl dressed as Suri. “Miss Emery!” The young girl sighs. “You’re so beautiful. You came and taught at my school last week, and I got an A on my test.” She holds up the paper to show her achievement, and Emery gives her a high five.

“That’s amazing! Wow, you did great and used that fraction trick, didn’t you?” Emery smiles. When Chris comes up behind her, he places his hand on the small of her back. She turns to him and shows him the math paper. “Chris, this is my friend, Lashaya,” she says, reading from the test, “and she was in my class and got an A.”

He squats down next to the girl, and an assistant places a small bag at his feet. “Lashaya, that’s pretty amazing. I’m really proud of you.” He smiles up to Emery and winks. “She’s a great teacher, but what’s even better is, you remembered what she taught you and now you can help your friends, cause that’s important right?”

She nods and smiles at the photos her mother is taking. He reaches in the bag, and hands the girl a signed Funko Pop and poses for a selfie before moving on to talk to other people waiting for him. Emery stands back and watches, not a part of the limelight, when the girl’s mother asks for a photo of her as well. “Please, Miss Emery? My daughter has never done good in school before, but you really helped her. She works so hard now, and I thank you for that.”

Emery chokes on her tears, and catches Chris watching her. He winks as she bends down to take a photo with the child. “You tag me in that, alright? I wanna make sure I see it! You hang that test on the fridge and earn more like it, okay?”

“Okay,” Lashaya says before her mother leads her away.

Another Marvel handler comes to her, and suggests they go on down to the car. In the quiet hallway behind the stage, the young man says, “That was really cool. I’ve never thought about it, but you’re kind of a superhero, too, Mrs. Evans. Teaching kids all day, especially math, must be hard. That was pretty amazing!”

Chris’s voice echoes down the hall, rushing to join them. “Damn right, my wife’s a superhero! And I’m taking her to dinner!  Where you wanna go, baby? Seth’s right. It’s been a while since we’ve had time to just sit and talk.”

“Just you, me and the mustache? Ok,” she laughs, looping her arm through his as they walk out to the car.

Click here to read the next Emery&Chris story, Birthday Sweets

Read more about Emery and Chris in their novella, Georgia on My Mind, and their story collections

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom


Wet Sand



Wet Sand

a Tom Hiddleston drabble

by avenger-nerd-mom

Word Count 676

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Nudity

Tom and his new secret love enjoy an evening walk on the beach…

April 2017

Walking along the shore, Tom and his lovely fair-haired companion gaze out over the horizon, watching the birds dip and swoop for their evening meal.  Tom carries his shoes and wonders if she left hers on the terrace after dinner. Her long flowing dress trails in the water and the blue and purple swirls of fabric at her tiny feet remind him of a mermaid.  “Isn’t that the dress you bought in Milan a few weeks ago? It’s quite lovely,” he compliments.

She side-eyes him, bumping her elbow into his arm.  “Are you afraid I’m ruining it in the water?”

He chuckles quietly.  “Well… far be it from me to tell you what to do; it’s your vacation home- but yes, won’t the water cause damage?  It was rather expensive, as I recall.”

Stepping ahead, she turns on her heels to face him.  Gathering the fabric up to her hips, she kicks and splashes him playfully.   With his long legs, he kicks back and water and sand spot across the front of her dress.  “So sorry! I was only-” Tom begins his famous apologies before she cuts him off.

“Ruined now.  It’s ruined.” Reaching up, she feels the globs of sand on top of her head.  “And sand in my hair?” She tsk-tsks, looking down at her chest, the wet sand clinging to the tanned globes peeking out from the deep v-neck cut of the summer gown.  “Well, that’s that, I guess.” Her eyes locked on his, she pulls the dress over her head, revealing herself to be totally nude under the flimsy gauzy fabric. She tosses the dress to him and backs slowly into the water.  “You’ve made me dirty, Tom.  That wasn’t very nice.”

Dropping his eyes, he looks away, embarrassed not by her natural display but by the instant need it creates in him.  Hearing a splash as she twists and dives away, he turns with a smile to watch her swim from the shore.

“Aren’t you worried the ships on the horizon have paparazzi with telephoto lens?” He asks, thinking back to another time he once played on the beach with a woman and how it did not end well.

“It wouldn’t be the first time my breasts have graced the tabloids, dear,” she mocks before diving under again, her sweet little ass rising above the water’s surface before disappearing.  Springing up, she pushes the wet hair back from her face. “Are you too afraid to have your cock on display? It’s very beautiful… You should strip down and join me. The water’s perfect.”

“And have the press finally catch us together, as a couple?”  He asks, wondering if this might truly be her plan.

She giggles, swirling in dizzying circles, creating her own current around her.  It reminds him of their life together, always spinning in circles, waiting for one wave to crash into the other.

“I’m your fashion designer, Tom.  They already caught me with my hands down your pants a few weeks ago. Purely of a business nature, of course.”   She winks. “What’s the point of keeping it secret any longer?”

“Darling, I’m more than happy to step out in the press with you, if that’s what you want; if you think we’re ready, but…” he shields his eyes from the setting sun, again eyeing the ships with wary. “Dropping my trousers in daylight to skinny dip with you isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Oh, really.  Then tell me, Mr. Hiddleston.  What do you have in mind?” She asks, her voice throaty and full of lust and desire.

Clutching the designer dress tighter in his hands, he begins to slowly back away.  “I think I’d rather steal your clothes and watch you run along the path, naked, back up to the cottage.”

“TOM!  You wouldn’t!” Thrashing through the water, she tries to reach him, but she’s too late, as she watches him sprint down the shore to the path leading to her secluded beach home.  “That British fucker,” she complains, taking off after him, water dripping down her shapely body.

Copyright © 2018  avenger-nerd-mom. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Beautiful Design

beautiful design.png

Beautiful Design

by avenger-nerd-mom

*a Chris Evans Fan Fiction*

Chris x OFC (First Person)

Chris Evans develops a crush on his interior designer, a sassy plus sized woman with an eye for details

Warnings: Language, Adult Situations, Oral Sex, Penetration, fingering, NSFW

Word Count 4727

“How did you know I like soft, fluffy things on my bed?”  Chris’s laughter and sultry tone causes me to jump out of my skin, releasing a squeal of surprise.

“Oh, Christopher! You scared me!” I turn my attention from the decorator pillows I’ve been fluffing on the giant bed, and start to blush, realizing how this must look to him.  The meaning behind his words is not lost on me.  He leans against the doorframe so casually, my heart skips a beat and I can feel my blush deepen.  “I wasn’t expecting you till after the shoot.  What are you doing here?”

He ignores my question, moaning quietly.  Fuck, why must he do that!  “Unf… And you’re already kneeling on my bed?”

“Stop, teasing, please,” my voice pleads with him, reaching to straighten and fluff the rest of the pillows, becoming self-conscious, knowing he is watching me.  He’s been flirting for weeks, but he doesn’t really mean it.  That’s just who he is.  He’s just a flirt.

“Why?” Chris moves across the room, emptying his pockets onto the dresser.  Seeing the expression on my face, he opens the drawer and slides the items off and hides them away.  “What is it going to take to convince you to go out with me?  Why won’t you say yes?”

Pivoting carefully on the bed so to not disrupt the décor, I catch my reflection in the mirror on the wall behind him.  Nearly a size sixteen… That’s why I don’t say yes.   Chris doesn’t really want me he just wants the challenge because I keep turning him down.  Having worked with the household staff for weeks getting ready for this house design photo shoot, I am totally aware “no” isn’t a word he hears often.

As I finish fussing with the blanket at the foot of the bed I realize Chris is watching me closely.  “You haven’t answered my question…” he says quietly.  My heart cries at the sound in his voice.  This flirting is different.  He truly seems hurt by my rejections…

Crawling to the edge, I shake my head, getting ready to climb down from the higher bed he requested.  As I move across the surface, I realize my dress isn’t holding me in and my two best features are slowly popping out over the top of the neckline.  I look up and Chris notices too.  That goddamn smirk of his… “Christopher, isn’t the answer obvious?” I turn again and begin to crawl away from him.  At least the length of my skirt will keep my ass covered until I can get off the ridiculously high bed.  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at all the jokes the design team had while creating the room’s main feature.

“Either direction is a good view,” he chuckles, kicking off his shoes.

“Goddamn it,” I mumble under my breath.  “There is no graceful way to get off this bed.”  I spin my legs around to a seated position, preparing to slide off to the floor.

“Then don’t.  Stay on the bed,” Chris says as he steps in front of me.  “You look good there,” he purrs, just as my feet hit the floor and I stand up, nearly bumping into him.

“Damn, you’re tall.  I don’t think I’ve really noticed that before,” Chris says, reaching beside me and straightening the edge of the blanket I kicked.  As he moves past me, I can feel his warmth radiating from his body, and catch the smell that is him- the outdoors, clean, fresh, manly.

I try to side step him, but he blocks my path.  “Christopher, don’t you have something else to do, I have work to finish here.” I put my hand on his arm to push him away and encounter his rock hard bicep.  My fingers linger there and I can’t deny the attraction I feel for him.

“I love that you call me ‘Christopher,’” he says, dropping his eyes to my manicured hand on his arm.  “And I think you’re amazing.  Don’t give me that “low self-esteem” bullshit.  I’ve known you for months.  You are the most vibrant, out-going, carefree person I know.  You’re funny and opinionated and you don’t take any shit… That’s my kind of girl.  Why won’t you go out with me?”

I freeze when the back of his hand caresses the watercolor hummingbird tattoo on my collar bone as he brushes my fair colored hair over my shoulder.  His eyes plead for an answer.  He touched me.  I can’t think.  Quietly, I say the honest truth, the first thing that comes to my mind.  “The funny, fat girl is always great to hang out with until you have to be seen in public with her.”

He leans in and kisses my tat, his lips a bare brush against my skin. I can feel the slight exhale of his warmth breath as he puffs out his next words. “That’s bullshit.  I don’t see you like that.  I need a better reason.”  Goosebumps form across my pale surface as he continues to caress my shoulder, his fingertips running under the strap of my favorite yellow sundress.

Unable to control my breathing, trying to keep steady from the effect he has over me, I choke out the words “I work for you.”

His long nose nuzzles against my neck, his beard trailing behind, ticklish.  “Not any more.  You’re fired.”

Giggling, I grasp the back of his hair and lift his head even to mine.  My stomach turns somersaults.  I don’t want him to stop.  “The camera crew will be here in two hours.”

“Plenty of time,” he answers, diving towards my lips and meeting them with a wanting heat.  Both hands now continue to tug at the straps of my summer attire.  His tongue flits across my plump bottom lip inviting me to open and accept him.  My breathing accelerates and I run my fingers through his hair, holding him tighter to me, knowing it’s a bad idea but feels so good.  His hands run along the sweetheart neckline, dragging his fingers just under the edge of the dress covering my ample chest.  A delicious moan escapes my lips, aching for more of his touch.  “And we can go for round two later,” he growls seductively.

His mouth continues to tease.  Damn, can that boy kiss!  My lips slowly part at his temptations, his lips soft against my own.  His tongue eases in slowly, gently touching my tongue before sliding back out and running across my bottom lip.  A slight chill runs through me and my knees weaken so I tighten my grasp on his arm.  He repeats this move again, venturing his skilled tongue deeper inside, tangling with mine.

His hands snake down the corset style front of my dress, stopping to squeeze under my breasts, grabbing at my ribcage and pulling me into him.  I can feel his erection through the layers of my skirt, pushing warmly against my thigh.  I open my eyes to remind myself this is really happening and he is watching me with his pupils dilated, lost in the black of desire.  He really wants me?  If this is an act, he should win in an Oscar.

A million thoughts cross my mind.  If I go through with this, I don’t want it to change the friendship I’ve developed with this charming man.  I love stopping by with a new find for the design layout and finding him watching Disney movies alone, collapsing in a nearby chair to join his movie marathon.  I love catching him eating fries and a burger, leaning against the counter, exhausted from his day with a cold beer near his hand.  I adore overhearing him on the phone with his niece and nephews.   I love all the little things he does that has captured my attention in the time I have known him. I love the easy banter we have and the way he makes me laugh even when I don’t want to. But damn, I want him bad.  “You can’t fire me.  I have bills to pay and the job isn’t done.”

Winding his large, strong hands around my sides to my back, he grips me tighter.  Again I can feel him, even stiffer than before and he teases, “I can offer you a nice severance package.  You won’t be complaining.”

His kissing becomes more fervent and I match him lick for lick, nipping at his bottom lip.  His hands roam across my back side, gripping and tugging.  I bring both hands up to his forearms, grasping his biceps and running my fingers under the sleeves of his t-shirt.  His lips pull away and drag along my jawline, moving to tickle my ear with his breath.  “I love that you always smell like springtime and lilacs… and Gucci?”

Giggling back, I answer, “You left it on the counter.  I couldn’t resist.”  Tilting my head back elongates my neck to give him more space to play with his lips, his beautiful scratchy beard against my delicate skin. He obliges, running his nose along the exposed flesh, taking my ear lobe between his full lips and playfully biting down.  I can’t stop the moan of pleasure that threatens to escape.  “Ah, fuck,” I confess.  “I’ve always loved that when you hug me goodbye, I go home smelling like you.”

“So you admit, you like me?”  His breath is hot and damp in my ear and my insides melt like lava.  I want this man; I’ve needed him for weeks now, wishing he’d see me as more than his decorator, more than a friend.

He licks his tongue around the outer edge of my ear, sending chills down my spine, tenderly nibbling back down towards my chest.  He places a slow, wet open mouthed kiss on the side of my neck and I grasp at him tighter, wrapping my arms around his neck, playing with the hair touching the collar of his shirt.  “Damn, that feels good,” I sigh. “Christopher, me liking you has never been the issue.”

He scoffs at this, but he doesn’t say anything.  Besides, his lips are too busy slowly biting and kissing around the front of my neck to the other side.  His hands wander down my back, pulling at the curve of my generous hips. His tenacious fingers drift farther down, under the curve of my ass, pinching together the fabric and pulling up the skirt, exposing my legs, gently brushing against my body.  The impact of his desire causes a surge of warmth and wetness to my most intimate spaces.  His kisses are igniting a flame only he can control and I struggle to keep my breathing under control.  Impossible.

My feelings for Christopher have been simmering for weeks, but I wasn’t sure until just now he actually meant any of his flirtations. The bright lights of Hollywood aren’t easy on a girl built like me, but I’m no wallflower.  Sure, he’s Captain America, with biceps to die for, but how do I know he’s strong enough for me. It’s his anxiety, his desire for a private life that’s kept me holding back.  I know the looks I get when I’m out and about.  Add in the additional attention of being on his arm?  I can take it, but I’ve wondered if he can?  Has he even thought about what the press or the fans would say?  On a good day, in my favorite heels, I stand taller than he does.  I’m definitely more than a handful and nothing like the little starlets he is often photographed with…

Pulling back from my neck, Chris’s eyes search my face, placing a hand on my cheek, pushing my red matte lips with his wonderfully curved thumb.  My lips part under their own volition and my tongue teases between them, licking the tip of his appendage as it glides across my ready mouth.  I can feel his other hand splayed across the top of my back, his fingertips finding the zipper of my dress. “Honey, if you don’t want this, you need to stop me now.”

Taking a deep breath, a smile forms on my face and is reflected in his eyes.  “I’m not gonna stop you, but wait one moment…”  Quickly, I run my hands down the front of his black t-shirt, feeling his hard chest and ripples of muscle along the way and grasp the bottom hem.  With a quick tug up, his shirt is removed and his hair is disheveled. How is he so fucking adorable and sexy at the same time?  Winking at him, I grab his hair, winding my hands in it tightly, pulling him back to my mouth.  My tongue explores his sweet cavity much as he did to me moments ago.  I don’t know what he wants but at this point I don’t fucking care.  I just know right now I need him to quell the fire he started.

His hand skates down the zipper, his second hand caressing each inch of skin as it is exposed.  I reach between the two of us and unfasten the buckle on his jeans, pulling the belt slowly from each loop.  Easing open the buttons on the fly, I hear his breath catch and gently caress his happy trail, following to dip my fingers in the waistband of his Calvins.  His skin feels exquisitely soft and he slightly tenses at my touch.  As he pulls the dress over my head, I try to maintain a sense of composure.  It’s now or never; please, Lord, don’t let him be sorry.

I can’t breathe as Chris steps away from the bed.  “Christopher?  What are you thinking?” I ask quietly.  The summer sun filters into the room and there is no hiding.  Feeling so exposed in this moment, I hope he feels the same way I feel about him.  If he truly likes me, cares for me, he’s not going to care what I look like with extra pounds on my large frame. Exhaling, my heart skips a beat.

The grin on his face shows he isn’t having any second thoughts as I stand before him in my pink strapless bra and boycut shorts.  Every inch, every curve is on display for him.  He either needs to take it now, or leave it.  “I’m not one of your stick thin models…  You can’t break me.”

His laughter is true and rocks through his body.  “No, no you aren’t.”  He cocks that famous eyebrow of his at me, grinning like he just won a prize.  He moves towards me, wrapping one arm around my back and grasping my other shoulder and bending to bring the other arm behind my knees and scoops me up off the floor, tossing me onto the bed.  Holy shit!  Landing off- center, I watch as he climbs over the top of me. “You’re beautiful,” hovering above me, he kisses the swell of my breasts, devoting a moment of attention to them before seducing my lips again.  “You have more of everything I like, and I’m just trying to decide where to start with you…”

“What did you decide?”  I tease him, already knowing the answer to the question as he crawls down between my legs, pulling down the lacy pink shorts as he slides off the bed onto his knees.  He scoops his hands under my ass and I gasp as he lifts and pulls me to the edge.  Marry this man.  He can pick you up and move you around like it’s nothing. Giggling, I push it away when he asks what’s so funny.  “Nothing, oh my god, you…”  I’m unable to finish my thought as he lifts my shapely leg and places my foot up unto the edge of the bed and his beard begins to scratch my inner thigh as he moves into place.

His breath is hot against my bare, shaved mound, his face moving side to side.  He taunts and teases me with his beard, leaving stinging marks.  His plump lips kiss their way down my wet slit as he runs a hand up my thigh and drags his finger through the juice, smearing it. I tilt my ass down into the bed, placing myself right where I want him to be, spreading my legs wider for him.  Looking between the V I have created, he is watching me and I can see the warmth and laughter in his darkened eyes.  Such a mischievous one!  I reflect the smile back to him and groan in pleasure when his tongue tickles over my center.  “So wet,” he offers, taking another lap with his wide tongue. “So sweet.”

His long licks paint over me as I rock my hips against his face.  I place my hands at my sides, grasping the thin air.  He moans his satisfaction and adds additional pressure by slowly penetrating me with one of his beautiful fingers, “Oh, Christopher, I like that, please,” I sigh with relief.

His other hand reaches for mine and he twines our fingers together, bringing our hands to rest on my rounded belly, pushing me down to hold me in place from rising off the bed. A true orator, he licks down my side walls slowly and back up the center, as he turns and twists his finger with each extraction.  His tongue teases me as he penetrates deeper with his finger, each time.  My body begins to tense and he slowly changes his motions, not bringing me to my much needed release.  His tongue rudely flicks over my swollen clit, before rising to his feet, wiping his beard on his discarded t-shirt.  I rise up on my elbows, watching as he quickly removes his jeans and his boxer briefs in one swift move.  His lovely cock is already swollen, veins pumping blood through the red tip.  Without hesitation I lick my lips at the thoughts of all he can do to me with that plentiful piece of equipment.

He moves to the dresser, and stops.  “Where? I have no fucking idea where you put stuff?”

I laugh, “Second drawer, either side.”

“Full service decorator.  Love it,” Chris laughs, turning to reach in the drawer.

“Nice ass,” I tell him, enjoying the flex in his Adonis and the way his ass cheek concaves for a brief moment as he bends to look in the drawer.

Upon rising to his full height, his cock also stands at attention as laughter wracks his body again, “Shit! You found these?” He chokes out, placing a pair of metal handcuffs on top of the dresser.

Motioning for him to join me on the bed, I hold out my hand for the condom packet.  “I found shit hidden everywhere.  The drawer on the other side has even more goodies,” I laugh, peeling open the package and climbing up on my knees.

“God, what you must have thought…” Chris laughs, sitting across from me in a similar fashion as close as he can be, moving his right knee between my open legs.  “How did you keep a straight face and watch Disney movies with me?” My tummy brushes against his, tickled by his happy trail as I gently slide the condom over his shaft.  His head falls back and he moans at the touch, lightly jerking in my hand.  His hands are on my hips, tugging and pulling at my flesh as his mouth finds mine again while I snap the protection in place.  Moving to favor attention on my breasts, he quickly releases them from their pink prison.  As they fall to their natural position he can see they are even more than his large superhero hands can hold. Attempting to hold them one handed anyway, he admires them closely and inquires, “Or did it peak your interest?”

Pulling at the hair on his neck when he bites a little too hard on my nipple, “Ease up,” I tell him quietly.  “Nothing I hadn’t seen before.”  I grin and cock my own eyebrow at his look of surprise and interest.  I begin to push into his thigh and he sits back on his heels allowing me to straddle his leg as he begins to nuzzle between my breasts, occasionally pulling my tight buds between his teeth.  Keeping his grabby hands free, he roams them over my body, caressing every inch.  I believe him when he whispers, “You’re so beautiful. I want all of you.”  His hands are under my ass and he somehow lifts me again, bringing my legs from under me and laying me onto my back.  I smile into his eyes, lost in their depths of blue.

“I want to feel you on me,” I tell him.  “Give me all of you, all of your weight.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, “Yea, I don’t hear that often… It’s usually, ‘you’re crushing me, get off.’”

“Big girls don’t break,” I confide in him.  “We’re more fun that way.”

He chuckles, “Why do I feel like you have many things you’ll teach me that I didn’t know before?”

Raising my leg up and pinning my knee to his side under his arm, Chris sinks himself into me.  He isn’t gentle, but there is a consideration to his force.  It’s as if he knows he can be rough, but doesn’t take the liberty yet. He remains above me as he slides in and out as we find our rhythm together. I reach for the pillows bumping me in the head and throw them on the floor.  I really fucking hate decorator pillows. “I hate those things,” he laughs.  I chuckle too, grabbing his tight ass and pulling him closer to me.

“You could have told me that before I bought two hundred dollars’ worth,” I tease.

“Shit,” he curses, shaking his head as I rise up under him, matching his thrusts.  I’m not sure if that was meant for me or the expense of the pillows.

I shift slightly, pulling my leg free from his arm, allowing for deeper penetration from his loaded cock. I run my hands down his sides, smiling when he shivers from my touch.  His eyes are on mine, occasionally looking down between us, watching my breasts rub against his solid chest.  His strength is an added bonus in the bedroom, his weight welcomed by me.  As requested he lays on me, cradling his arms around my face like a cage, holding my hands together above my head as he plows into me.  Each new bounce is more forceful, pushing moans and cries from my lips.  My walls start to tighten as my need to come burns me.  “Chris… Christopher… Oh, honey, I’m coming.”

His additional weight pushes me harder into the bed, a good pain as the orgasm rocks my body, but doesn’t quit finish the job.  “Roll me over?” I ask, knowing his certain proclivity for a rounded female form.  My pussy still clenches, seeking more, knowing he can fulfill its’ need.

He pulls out holding the condom in place as I rollover onto my knees for him.  I know he’s going to laugh at my tat, and he does. “Shit, that’s awesome,” he snickers, grabbing my curvy hips and sliding me onto his cock. My moan echoes through the room, high pitched and repeated as he bounces me on and off his stiff figure.  “So tight,” he groans as he pinches at my flesh, pulling me closer. I love the feel of him inside me, deep and full.  The wet he creates allows him to fuck me effortlessly and I can push against his hard body with the force I crave. He takes the hint and slams into me harder, slapping his solid thighs against my ass, his hands roaming over my expansive back, “So beautiful,” he whispers again.

His driving force brings me to a second climax, riding the pleasure out differently from this angle, my nipples brushing against the soft down comforter.  Fevered cries diminish to quiet whimpers as I continue to take his firm intrusions, his own vocals matching mine and building.  He picks up his pace incredibly fast as he parts my ass cheeks, pulling and tugging on my silky skin.  His determination takes my breath away, “Oh, Christopher, fuck me, come for me,” I chant breathlessly.  My mouth remains open, gasping for air as the tremors of his release rock through my body.

“Oh, fuck, that was so good,” he mumbles as he leans over my back, covering my shoulder blades with butterfly kisses and the occasional touch of his lips.  As the ripple effects die down, he slowly pulls out, knotting the condom and tossing it on his pile of clothes, collapsing on the bed beside me.  I’ve rolled to my side and he throws his arm over me to maintain his connection.

Laying in the afterglow as he struggles to catch his breath, I giggle and grumble, “Shit, this room is a disaster and those photographers will be here soon.”

He rolls on his side to watch me. “Are they photographing you too, or just the house?  Cause you look a little wrecked too.  Why don’t you go freshen up and I can put the room back together? And after the photographers leave, we can go get dinner.”

“Christopher, you don’t have anything to prove to me.  You don’t have to take me to dinner,” I tell him, running my fingers across the “Loyalty” tattoo on his right shoulder.

He shudders at my touch.  “Woman, that’s not for you.  I’m starved.  And we’ll need sustenance for the rest of the evening.”  He leans forward for a gentle kiss and runs his hand over the curve of my hip, sliding his fingers back and caressing the tattoo on my back side.  “The tat?  What’s that about?”

“Pretty much says it all, don’t you think?”

“Yea, but how did YOU get it?” he asks, still rubbing my hip.

“Not many have seen it, just so you know.” I smile fondly, thinking of the four leaf clover on my ass, with the message ‘You got LUCKY!’ written around it in a circle.  I take a deep sigh, “It’s a lot like this one here,” I say as I run my fingers over his Bardsley tattoo, gently caressing the tiny hairs on his torso.  “My roommate in college always said she was gonna have that done, but she never got the chance…”

He picks up my hand, squeezing it and bringing it to his lips, kissing the semicolon tattoo on the inside of my left pinkie.  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, lingering on the spot with his lips, the unspoken questions settled on his tongue.

I shrug my shoulders. “Life isn’t always easy.  That’s why I make my living searching for beautiful things to make people happy.”

He sighs deeply, maybe lost in his own thoughts. “Your eye is a gift.  Half this stuff I never would have picked on my own, but it’s all me.  I love it; it’s all perfect. You did a great job…”  Together we lay in the quiet ‘after sex’ bliss, knowing we should be moving and getting ready for the rest of the afternoon.  “Hey, what’s with the wooden box thing under the bed?”

Chuckling, I roll onto my back, pulling the sheet up over me.  My confidence is only so much, and I know lying on my back is not the most flattering view of my breasts.  Looking at him, I wait to see the reaction on his face.  “Well, it didn’t take a genius to know why you wanted a raised bed.  It’s a platform to pull out for shorter… bed guests.”

His laughter explodes and rocks the bed and I laugh along with him.  Moments pass before he can regain himself.  “And the mirror?  So I can see even when I’m behind?  Nice…  You designed me a sex room and I didn’t even know it?”

Climbing out of bed on the other side, I pull the sheet around me and laugh.  “That’s why you can’t fire me.  There are other features to this room only I know about.”

I pick up my clothes and pad barefooted into the bathroom.  Before the door closes, he calls out, “Wait! Did you design this room for YOU too?”

Without a word, I blow him a kiss before closing the door.  “Shit, sneaky girl,” I hear him say as I get ready for a quick shower.

No, but I sure as hell was hoping, and he did not disappoint…

“Hey!” he calls out, yelling through the door.  “And the chaise lounge in the sunroom? Can we try that too?”  Smiling at my reflection, I climb into the steamy shower, eager to get the photography of the house finished and dinner over with, ready to start round two.

Click here for part 2 “Let Them Watch”

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