Chris Evans Imagines and One-Shots (Smut, Fluff, Angst)

The Actor and The Photographer Part 1

You were sat on the couch, your laptop nestled gently on your lap as you scrolled through your most recent photoshoot photos, trying to pick the best ones. The curtains were drawn letting in the warm New England sun on this bright Sunday late morning. The hum of the announcers for the New England Patriots swept through your apartment as birds sang happily outside.

Your phone rang making you quickly swipe it open and answer. "This is Y/N."

"Hi Y/N, this is Zach from GQ magazine. I was hoping to book you for a shoot this Wednesday if you are available," Zach said from the other line as you smiled to yourself. Zach was always a pleasure to work with and you never had any problems with him.

"Let me just check my schedule real quick, hold on" you remarked, setting your phone down before hastily grabbing your planner from your purse. "Nope, I'm all free. What are the details?"

"Our office in New York, Wednesday at 2pm, Chris Evans" Zach replied, his voice smooth as he gave you all the details you needed on whether you would approve or deny this opportunity.

You had never photographed Chris before, and he was definitely one of your top people you always wanted to work with. "Yeah, I can make that happen."

"Great, see you Wednesday morning."

Ending the phone call, you sat back down on the couch, letting out a sigh as you got back to work.

~~~

Wednesday morning came as your alarm woke you from your slumber; the hotel pillows not as comfortable as your own as you massaged the kink from your neck. The drive from Boston to New York City was a little over four hours so you decided to make the drive last night, and stay at a hotel rather than get up at five in the morning and go through traffic.

Taking a quick shower, you bow dried your hair and put on some mascara. You were never one for makeup; really only wearing it for special occasions. You threw on a pair of black skinny jeans, combat boots and a torn Nirvana shirt. This was one of the best things about being a freelance photographer; you made your own rules. You didn't have to go out to buy a whole new 'professional' wardrobe. Being in the business for a little over five years now, you made a name for yourself and people knew what to expect from you.

You decided taxi would be much less daunting than driving through New York City. The drive was effortless for the taxi driver as you went through Zach's email on your phone; your trust camera bag hugging your hip. Your phone vibrated in your hand; a text from your brother coming through.

Tom: Hey little sis, what are you up to today?

Y/N: I'm actually in NYC, about to do a photoshoot.

Tom: Coincidentally, I'm also in NYC. Give me your location and I'll drop off some lunch for you.

You snorted at his last text, rolling your eyes. He was always looking out for you as your big brother; taking care of you even though you were 31 years old.

Y/N: Really Tom, you don't have to do that. They will have food there like they always do.

Tom: Quit crying and give me the address.

This time you laughed, the taxi driving looking at you from the mirror before his eyes went back to the road. You gave Tom the address of where your photoshoot was being held.

Tom: Great. I won't have time to sit and chat but I'll at least bring you some good food. I'll see you later

Pulling up to the GQ offices, you paid and tipped the driver before letting yourself out of the car. Zach greeted you as you walked in; the two of you easily making chit chat as he showed you to the space where the photoshoot would be held.