The Sweetest Treat [Part 1]
((A/N: As a Boston native, I can speak to much of this. But as me, holy crap another celebrity x reader! Most folks wanted Chris Evans and frankly, so do I. He’s a sweety and I hope folks like this series. I’m nervous. Always am with celebrity x reader. Be gentle with me! I hope it’s ok! First fic after surgery so I’m nervous!!
Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader
Warnings: Cursing, lots of cursing
Word Count: 2050 ))
Glancing down at your phone for the fifth time in two minutes, you had felt it buzz this time. The picture that came up, a text from your best friend, showed a picture of you photoshopped surrounded by cats. You rolled your eyes hard and turned off the phone, shoving it back in your pocket.
It had been a week since you broke up with your most recent boyfriend, another dude who just reinforced that the world was made up of assholes. This one had been good. He’d been sweet. But you were a bit prickly, some sarcasm and cynicism in there, but he’d been accepting. Six months later you found out not so much. During an argument he’d admitted how depressing you were, how truly a downer you were. It had hurt and stung. And when someone suggested going back online for dating? Well. Online dating was a cesspool of ‘show me ur tits’ and ‘fuck you anyway’ when you didn’t answer. It felt useless.
And you weren’t exactly dressed to impress today, wearing your old Captain America t-shirt with a couple rips and some paint stains. He’d always been a favorite but this was your comfort shirt, whether it looked that way or not. And hell, you needed comfort.
The joke of course, the one your friend had texted you, was that you were destined to be the crazy cat lady. And wasn’t it perfect that you were in line for ice cream at Bedford Farms, one of the more famous ice cream shops in the greater Boston area. It was mostly dead, Wednesday at 2pm not really a time of day most kids or adults flooded the shop in Concord. But you’d wanted comfort food and had insisted on only the best.
Standing at the counter, ignoring your phone now, you smiled at the teen likely working some money to save for college, “Small Mississippi Mud please, and a pint of it to go as well,” you lifted the stay-cold bag onto the counter, watching as the woman went to work. You’d noticed a man standing behind you but hadn’t thought much of it. Probably another one of the many either out of your league or taken. His head was low with sunglasses on, and he’d looked weirdly familiar.
Whatever.
You ignored the judgey kind of looks as they scooped the ice cream, hearing the man behind you, “Rough day?”
You rolled your eyes, of course he’d ask. You half-turned your head at the again weirdly familiar voice, “Aren’t they all?”
Ah, there was that dark humor, the one the man had left you because of. Sighing at yourself you frowned internally and took the ice cream as it was overloaded, as always, the delicious benefit of Bedford Farms. Turning, you hadn’t realized the man was trying to pass you on your left and you had turned sharply, bumping into the white t-shirt and creating a full-on spill with your cup.
“Jesus christ mother fucker!” You yelled, cursing as the ice cream hit the floor, watching as the man scrambled for napkins. But he didn’t seem mad.
No, this man was weirdly apologetic, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry! That’s on me!” He wiped at your shirt, handing you the napkins as the woman behind the counter appeared to grin, handing water as well, “Let me get that, please, I’m sorry. Least it’s on an old shirt?”
“It’s my favorite!” You snapped, not realizing your tone, though pausing to see he’d spilled the chocolate on his white shirt as well, “Fuck, I’m so sorry, you got it on your white shirt… it’s just, this is my favorite shirt. Not your fault, I’m sorry, too,” you looked at him, probably for the first time, before realizing you had crashed straight into Chris Evans.
It was like a lightbulb. And not a total shocker, either. It shouldn’t have been. He lived in the area and this was a popular spot. The girls behind the counter had seen him before and gotten over their ooing and awwing. Now you were frozen as he smiled, “Favorite shirt? Yeah, Cap’s my favorite too.” He had pushed up his sunglasses by now and was smiling, a soft smile that made you melt more than the ice cream on the floor.
Now you were flustered as fuck, “Oh, oh my god, of course I’d spill ice cream on Chris Evans,” you winced, tossing out the napkins as the last was cleaned up.
He grinned, nodding his head, “Could be worse. Could have been RDJ. He’s a stickler about his clothes,” he winked playfully, “Now let me be a gentleman and buy you a new ice cream. Can’t have you leaving without it. Wouldn’t be very superhero-ish of me not to. Especially not even knowing your name.” His smile froze you, and you nodded, watching in a weird stupor as Chris Evans bought you a new ice cream, this time in a waffle cone.
He bought his own, White River Junction, and insisted you sit with him, “Yours won’t melt. C’mon, you look like you need someone to sit with. No offense, but a response of saying all your days are rough deserves an ear.”
The man was a real-life superhero, you thought to yourself as you got seated at a table near the back, closer to where the train tracks were. You’d already begun to dig into the ice cream when he came over, speaking through a stuffed mouth, “I’m Y/N. And thanks for the ice cream. And the company. You didn’t have to do that,” you were somewhat muffled.
I wonder if she knows how cute she is, Chris thought to himself as he smiled, taking a bite of his own favorite flavor and savoring the little indulgence he was allowed through all his training, “But I wanted to. Plus now your favorite Captain America shirt can have a Captain America story to go with it,” he laughed a little.
You couldn’t help but smile, one of the first real smiles you’d had and felt in some time. This sweet man was sitting with you eating ice cream like it was the most casual thing in the world, “Well, I doubt most people would believe I actually bumped into Chris Evans to have ice cream,” you smirked.
Without hesitation he reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone, making a motion for you to lean across the table, “I’d tell you to make a cute face, but I have a feeling they’re all cute,” he smirked.
You laughed nervously, leaning in with a spoon and holding it up with a smile as he used his spare hand to playfully dig into your ice cream, taking a shot. When he was done, he actually did take a bite, grinning, “Peanut butter is my favorite. And now they’ll believe you.” Eating the spoonful, you followed his lead and took a bite of his, feeling weirdly natural about doing this was someone so… astounding as Chris Evans.
When he turned back, smirking as you went back to your food he nodded, “You follow me on Instagram?”
You shrugged, pausing the eating of your ice cream, “I’m not huge on social media. I see some of my favorite folks from time to time, you included,” you blushed, “but it’s hard to keep up. Didn’t even know you were in the area,” you shrugged, taking another bite.
He laughed, “Well, you may want to check my Instagram. Feel free to tag yourself. Clearly I don’t know yours,” he grinned.
Taking out your phone (and quickly closing the crazy cat lady image) you brought up the social media app, one of many, and found his. It was a cute shot, to be sure, with a caption, “Saving the day with ice cream and a ‘sweet’ Bostonian! Can’t ever miss Bedford Farms on a trip home!” The caption made you smile, though the fact that he hadn’t called you a ‘fan’ made you smile harder. He was being coy, you knew that, and so you liked it and tagged yourself, commenting, ”Least I don’t stain my white shirts. Just my Cap ones.” You realized he still had the chocolate on his shirt, something he’d likely given up on. Besides, the man could afford a new shirt.
He chuckled, clearly reading your comment, shaking his head, “Well, now your friends will believe you sat and had ice cream with Captain America. Happy?”
God, you have no fucking idea you’d thought to yourself as he smiled, that brown stain on his shirt making you feel a little bad, but not even noticing the giggling girls behind the counter that had never seen Chris like this in his minor indulgences into the ice cream. Normally he was in and out, but you never knew. No, this man, this sweet, kind man, had pulled you from another one of your funks just by being himself.
“Yeah, more than before. Thinking I may not need the ice cream in my bag,” you said, almost flirtatiously, finishing off the one you had eaten.
Were you not so absorbed in the moment you would have realized you’d made Chris blush. He had blushed at the idea that he had made your day better so much so that you didn’t even need to mope and watch Avengers for the fifteenth time. Your own favorite hero, the man who acted in movies you’d loved beyond just Marvel ones, the man who had seemed so kind and genuine, had made your entire day. And just by sitting with you eating ice cream.
But he had places to go, right? They always did. These famous types didn’t have time for you and your miserable life becoming the crazy cat lady. Even if he had just made your day in ways you couldn’t really describe. Chris had stepped in and swept you off your feet, just briefly.
Collecting your things, you smiled, “Thanks so much for this, Chris. It really meant a lot to me. I know you’ve probably got a lot going on.” You stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder and carrying the ice bag that was keeping your delicious treat cold until you could get home, which wasn’t too far.
He looked nervous, quickly getting up as well, “Hey uh, listen. I’m in town for a while, nice break and all that, and if you’re OK with it, I’d really like to take you out, maybe for dinner? Get to know the real Y/N and not just the one having a bad day in an ice cream shop,” he smiled warmly.
It was disarming, hearing him ask, and for a moment you were stuttering, trying to think of what to say and how to respond, GIVE HIM YOUR DAMN NUMBER, Y/N! your inner voice cried hysterically, stomping as you managed to put on a small smile, “Dinner would be nice. I’ve got the day off, so whenever works. I should give you my number,” you reached out for his phone.
Surprisingly, Chris was just as flustered, stumbling as he withdrew his phone and unlocked it, opening it to the phonebook section and adding your name, taking a ridiculous quick selfie as you saved it and handed it back, “It’s under Y/F/N in there, so just text me when you’re ready and I can give you my address. Just change your shirt before then,” you smiled and winked, shocked at your sudden bravery.
Turning, you moved out the door to your car, leaving a lovestruck Chris Evans behind to absorb what had happened. A true Boston girl had just caught him by surprise and she was the cutest, most gorgeous thing around without even knowing it. How could you? If you could have heard the overwhelming voice in Chris’ head, you might have been shocked.
As it was, you were getting yourself together to head home, suddenly more aware than ever of the texts coming in on your phone and hoping that Chris wouldn’t be far behind.
Guess the ice cream wouldn’t be necessary at all. Now to be ready for Chris.
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