Feb 23, 2023
CHRIS EVANS CHARACTER MASTERLIST
read warnings as i am not responsible for your media consumption. do not copy, translate or repost any of my work.
⤷. ⟡ ˙ STEVE ROGERS⠀⭒⠀⠀˘˘⠀
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Israel
seen from Israel
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Belarus
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
CHRIS EVANS CHARACTER MASTERLIST
read warnings as i am not responsible for your media consumption. do not copy, translate or repost any of my work.
⤷. ⟡ ˙ STEVE ROGERS⠀⭒⠀⠀˘˘⠀
make a wish
it's steve's birthday so you give him a present or two… maybe three ➳ angst / fluff / smut
my house of stone, your ivy grows
you were already promised to another but that doesn’t stop steve from putting roots in your dreamland ➳ angst
no place like home
a sweet moment with steve when you come home tired and sleepy ➳ fluff
ᰍ .⋆ LLOYD HANSEN ⊹˚.⋆
you call it love but all i’m left with is this pain
after running away from lloyd, he finds you and reminds you that where you belong was with him, always ➳ dark / angst
໋֢ ETC 𖥻 ⋆
steve and reader goes to the movies ➳ smut
Sweet as Strawberries
About: First-person pov narrator and her husband, Chris Evans, go berry picking with their daughter and chat about having another. Probably the sweetest, sappiest thing I’ve ever written.
Word Count: 2,343
Requested By: Anon! Thanks for submitting this, I genuinely had the best time writing it. Fluff is so soul-cleansing sometimes. Hope you enjoy!
Chris’s mouth was stained the faintest shade of pink between sneaking bites from juicy strawberries to the transfer of my lipstick every time he pressed his lips to mine. The apples of his cheeks and the top of his nose were rosy too, but that was from the morning chill. He pulled me into his chest and I looked up at him, admiring the way the noon sun glinted around him like a halo. Reveling in the bliss, I snuggled into the soft fabric of his worn flannel.
He smiled down at me, rubbing his hand along my arm. “I told you it’s still too cold for this,” he said, chuckling as I shivered.
“I know it’s only April,” I responded, rolling my eyes. “But she wanted to pick berries with you all winter.”
Our eyes landed on the little girl running between the rows of bushes, wildly swinging her wicker basket. Occasionally, she’d bend down and pluck a good strawberry once a ripe one caught her eye, but the red ones were few and far between this early in the season.
“You remember when she was born?” I asked, pressing my cheek to Chris’s chest. He was a human radiator, but it still didn’t rid the cold from my bones. Really, I wanted to see if I could feel his heartbeat thudding through his layers of clothing.
Chris’s laughter rumbled like thunder. “Never gonna forget it,” he proclaimed, enveloping me in his strong arms.
“You said there wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for her,” I reminded him with a tsk. Although I was sure my teasing grin would’ve given me away, I buried my face into the crook of Chris’s neck to hide it. “I feel like strawberry picking before you go film for the next few months isn’t a lot of her to ask.”
“Oh, just wait until the day she figures that out,” he chuckled. “You of all people should know she’s had me wrapped around her little finger the second she grabbed my pinky in that tiny fist.” Then Chris snorted as he started swaying with me, even though there wasn’t any music. “I never would’ve guessed it’d mean driving an hour and a half to the only farm opened this early in the season and freezing our asses off in the middle of a field.”
But then our daughter jumped up from the middle of a green patch. She raised her arm in the air, proudly waving the bright red berry squished between her small, chubby fingers. “Got a really good one!” she called to us, jumping up and down so hard her dress went flying. Despite the cold and our protests, she’d insisted on wearing a nice checkered red dress so she could match her favorite fruit. It looked awfully funny under the down coat and layers of leggings I’d wrestled her into anyway.
As quickly as she’d ran through the rows of berry bushes, unbearably eager to get her hands on whatever she could manage to conjure up in spite of the frost, she sprinted as fast as her five-year-old legs could carry her in our direction.
“C’mon,” she pleaded once she’d reached us. Her pint-sized hand grabbed mine while the other wrapped around Chris’s fingers, dwarfed by their size. “You guys gotta help look,” she insisted as she tugged us through the field. “‘Cause I’m not gonna find all of ‘em for you to eat all of ‘em. S’not Halloween.”
I gave Chris a pointed look as I tried to stifle my laugh, telling him without saying it that this was his attitude coming through. He was already grinning at me with eyebrows through the roof, trying to convey the same.
“You,” I mouthed, jutting my chin out to reference our little girl. As often as Chris liked to claim he didn’t know where she got it from, I had an idea. She inherited every last ounce of her father’s sass.
Chris’s lips drew into a tight line as his eyes crinkled shut and his head shook once in a defined ‘no.’ I raised my eyebrows, but before I could challenge his assumption, Chris said, “I didn’t touch a piece of her candy last year.”
I scowled as he blamed this on last Halloween. Our daughter finally talked him into wearing the old Captain America costume he snatched on the last set after her whole lifetime of begging to be brought around the neighborhood by Steve Rogers. He begrudgingly stepped into the old thing, bragging about how it still fit like a glove.
By the time they returned, our household had run dry, before I could even sneak any chocolate for myself. So when she collapsed in her bed, leaving her plastic pumpkin on the counter, I ate all of her Reese’s. Although she never liked peanut butter before, she decided the next morning that was her favorite candy and I’d committed an unforgivable crime. Chris, who was preparing for a role, refrained from pigging out with me and escaped punishment.
“I know, Daddy,” she said innocently, sending her dark pigtails bouncing with every step. She did too, he made sure she knew exactly who to blame.
“See?” Chris said between incredulous laughter. “At least someone in this family has a good head on their shoulders.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s important to learn to share,” I grumbled in artificial annoyance. Chris only laughed, but soon stopped as our daughter drew his attention.
She slowed down as she focused on looking more intently among the green vines and thick layer of leaves for the patch of particularly ripe berries she’d managed to find. Chris and I started swinging her between us almost absentmindedly. She squealed as she protested half-heartedly, screeching about needing to focus.
Chris glanced down at our little girl, watching her giggle and leap into the air as we carried her momentum further. His smile grew impossibly wider and carved a dimple into his cheek and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. Chris took a deep breath, like he was trying to breathe in the bliss of this moment and replace all of his air as to never forget it.
He looked at me, with the same smile that said so much more than that, his eyes searching for mine. Wanting to share the moment, to marvel at our little joy together. I grinned back, hoping it conveyed half the amount of pride and even just a fraction of the love that his expression did.
Then her little hands started wriggling more furiously from our grip. She ran between the rows, diving under a bush. She rose with two more bright red berries in her hands and an infectious grin on her face, the same smile that had me falling for her father in the first place.
Chris took only a couple strides to meet her before hoisting our daughter up onto his shoulders. She laughed in that lilting way her dad always seemed to squeeze out of her. It made me remember a time, entire years ago now if that’s even possible, that Chris and I would lay awake, staring at me moving stomach as she pushed and stretched underneath the skin. We would wonder what her laugh would sound like, what she would be like.
Too much like her father for her own good, if you ask me.
She popped the berry into her father’s mouth and scolded him for finishing it in one bite instead of saving some for her. They must’ve seemed giant in her tiny palm. Chris apologized anyway and reminded her what I’d said about sharing. As his hands quickly rubbed up and down her legs in an attempt to generate some warmth, he asked, “Can you see any more from all the way up there, darling?”
She rested an elbow atop Chris’s head to support her own. Our daughter peered over the field, a hand shielding her eyes from the high sun like a sailor spotting land. Her legs started to thrash with excitement, kicking Chris square in the chest. He couldn’t put her down fast enough. With her engine already revving, she took off once again to chase whatever berry she’d spotted.
Chris laughed as he caught the breath she’d knocked out of him. “She’s something else,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me to his side. He looked at me dreamily, in a way I always wanted someone to but wasn’t naive enough to hope for before I met him, as he said, “Just like her mama.”
“Now that’s something I’ll take credit for,” I grinned as I bumped my hip against his. Chris wasn’t listening though, he was too preoccupied watching our daughter dart between the bushes. She’d occasionally turn back to see that we were still there and, upon realizing we were already looking at her, she’d try to show us the trophies sitting comfortably in her basket, only for a few to topple out.
“I want another,” Chris said, so sure of himself. Without a doubt in the world.
“Yeah?” I asked, trying to hide the hope in my voice. Truth was, I’d been wanting to have another baby for a while now. She was getting so big, after all. I knew our daughter would always be our baby, but I missed having a little one that fit so well in the crook of my arm.
“I mean, as long as you do,” he started to backtrack. Chris shifted uncomfortably, retracting his arm and shoving his hands into his pockets. I tried to catch his eye, but his gaze was on the sky.
“Hey,” I said softly, looping my arm through his, “I want another too.” I leaned my cheek against his shoulder.
Chris’s chest collapsed with a sigh of relief. His head rested on mine, neither of us taking our eyes off our little girl. “Scared me,” Chris chuckled dryly as he pressed a kiss on top of my head.
“We’ve been talking about it for years,” I reminded him of the long, late-night conversations we had. Chris always told me he loved being a part of a big family and wanted the same for his kids, to have the built-in best friends he did.
I wasn’t entirely convinced at first, but our daughter changed my mind. The second she opened those bright, blue eyes, I remember thinking that I’d like to relive that moment a million times over. And when she really laughed for the first time, properly from the bottom of her stomach, she threw her head back the same way her father did. And, one morning, she saw Chris meditating in the living room. Without a word, she climbed into his lap and folded her legs in the same way and watched him with one eye open, trying to sync her breathing with his. Every time little bits of Chris popped out of her, when she furrowed her eyebrows just he did or said something with the same inflection he would, I realized I wanted to watch our children grow up over and over and over again.
“I feel like the timing’s finally right,” Chris sighed. “She’s so much more independent and I’m not signed to any more projects after this one wraps filming. Just saying, you know, I think it’s a good time to start trying again,” he reasoned, tucking his hand into the back pocket of my jeans.
In the past few years, it had never been. She was too little, demanding too much of us to even consider having another any time soon as far as I was concerned. And then Chris started working again. He was always dashing off to some other state to film or another country for promotional press, gone so long he’d miss our baby growing up and I’d miss his help.
“When you get back, though,” I asserted. “No shot in hell am I gonna be able to make breakfast as early as she wants with that god-awful morning sickness.”
Chris laughed again, resting his chin on top of my head. “So you’ve been thinking this through?” he teased. I pressed my lips together and narrowed my eyes at him, unsatisfied. “Kidding,” Chris retracted. “Of course we’ll wait another couple of months. I wouldn’t want to miss a second of it.”
“You say that now,” I warned, raising my eyebrows. “And then it’s three in the morning and I’m waking you up to send you to get some pickles because I’m craving that juice so badly I can’t sleep.”
“God,” Chris chuckled dryly. “Somehow, I’m still going to miss you.” He enveloped me in a hug. I pressed my forehead to the curve of his neck, trying to drown myself in his scent. Treasure the feeling of being in his arms while I still could feel his warmth. Tomorrow morning, his flight would come far too soon.
“It’s because you love me,” I mumbled against his skin, pressing my lips to his neck. I kissed up his jaw until I had to stand on my tip-toes to peck the tip of his nose.
Chris’s warm hands found their way to my cheeks, numbed by the cold. He squished my cheeks together before placing a kiss on my puckered lips. “How’d you know?” Chris asked, looking at me with a crooked smile.
I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Had a feeling,” I shrugged into our hug.
Then another little body squirmed its way in between our legs, tucking herself between our knees. “You guys are not good at berry picking,” she insisted. “I found all of ‘em.”
“You did work really hard,” Chris said, placing a hand on her head. He ruffled her hair as the little girl’s features scrunched up with earnest annoyance. Chris pulled away from our hug to scoop her up into his arms. He peered into her small basket as his eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped with mock shock. “That’s so many. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”
Tags: @patzammit , @thegetawaywriter , @coffeebooksandfandom , @captainsteveevans , @intrepidandabitcrazy , @super100012 , @spilledinkindumpster , @torntaltos , @amiquette , @peach-acid , @southerngracela , @kelbabyblue , @artisticrogers1972 , @bval-1
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The epitome of get you a man who can do both
Slipped
About: On a press run for Defending Jacob, Chris’s mind drifts to every other thing he’d rather be doing than answering questions, causing him to subconsciously reveal his relationship status which sparks a slew of probing questions and potential problems for the newly public couple
Word Count: 3,153
Requested By: Anon. Thanks for the submission! I’m always happy to accept inspiration, especially when it’s a concept I get excited over before I even start the story. Hope it’s everything you thought it’d crack up to be :)
It’d be an understatement to say Chris was tired of doing press for Defending Jacob. Usually, he didn’t mind the tours too much anymore. Sure, it was his least favorite part of the job, but a few years working for Marvel and he’s learned how to cope with it. That being said, it’s gotten harder knowing he’s got someone waiting for him at home.
The uncomfortable director’s chair he’d been stuck in for hours while interviewers cycled in and out had him longing for the time he’d get to spend tucked underneath the covers, curled up next to you on the couch with a bowl of popcorn in his lap and Dodger at your feet. As per usual, you’d take handfuls if his snack after asking for a piece or two when he’d offered to get you your own in the first place. You’d say it tasted better when it was his and he’d roll his eyes but laugh from his belly anyway. Eventually, you’d get up and return with a bottle of wine that somehow paired perfectly with Doritos and left you two feeling warm inside and out. You’d fill up on so much junk food that dinner would slip your minds so you’d just keep watching some Netflix shows you’d already seen while Chris was away until it got dark enough that you’d beg him to come to bed. He’d just hold you closer to his chest and ask for five more minutes, relishing in your combined warmth and the comfort of how the couch cushions molded themselves to your bodies already, until you both fell asleep there instead without realizing until the early morning. He’d be woken up by you stirring, climbing off of his chest to slink back to bed with a pillow instead of his pec and his ribs would feel empty without your weight so he’d follow you.
Neither of you would fall back asleep though. Instead, Chris would brush your hair out of your face and tell you about how he was thinking of making pancakes for breakfast even though it’d only be three or four in the morning and really the only thing on his mind would be that you had the loveliest eyes. You’d say you’d rather have waffles just to put up a fight about something since the peace of laying in his arms was too good on its own, but given time, you’d doze off and wake up to ready blueberry pancakes since he knows you’d prefer them anyway. Then he’d peck your purple-stained lips until you kissed him so hard the color transferred like lipstick.
Yeah, that sounded a hell of a lot better than answering nearly identical questions so many times in a row he’d lost count. Chris greeted the new interviewer with a tight-lipped smile and a firm handshake. “Before we start, I just want to say I love your work,” she said with a polite smile. Chris brushed the compliment off with a wave of his hand as he thanked her, but he wasn’t too fond of pleasantries at the moment. He didn’t want to be rude, but they were time-takers as far as he was concerned.
She launched into the usual questions. How this role was different for him, any funny memories from the set, what he thought about the story. Nothing he hadn’t already gone over and, frankly, he’d already lost his enthusiasm for being interrogated. Soon they both grew rather bored as his answers ran dry and her questions became weak and they were both just killing time, probably so they could sell more advertising space on the video.
“So starring in an Apple TV series has got to be a lot different than waiting maybe years for fans to see the next installment of a movie series,” she said, sitting back comfortably as she referenced his old role as Captain America without saying it. That’s all anyone ever wanted to talk about. “Are you looking forward to a different kind of response with that in mind?”
“Yeah,” Chris paused to clear his throat, shaking his head a little to try to rid his head of the curve of your lips. “I am. I mean, I love a good night in binging something so I hope the audience will enjoy that as well.” His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to think a little deeper, maybe find something tucked in the corner of his mind he hadn’t said yet, but he came back empty-handed. Chris shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he tugged at his blue t-shirt, itching to be anywhere but there.
“Oh, yeah?” she inquired, trying to keep the conversation casual. Don’t get him wrong, Chris thought she was friendly enough, but the thing was that nothing about these things ever are. It was all so contrived and uncomfortable, saying things preprinted on a cue card, but they always tried to pass it off as an easygoing conversation between people who actually knew more about each other than just their first names. In fact, Chris hadn’t even caught that. “I’m sure everyone would love to know, what’ve you been watching lately?” She ruffled a hand through her hair as her eyes drifted away, clearly losing interest in the conversation as well.
He contemplated the question for a moment, scratching his beard as he answered with a shrug, “Stranger Things mostly. The acting is phenomenal, especially those kids.” The woman across from him started picking at her nails as she hummed in acknowledgment. “I like that, too. Thoughts on the third season?”
Chris’s eyes grew wide and a sudden burst of energy jolted through his posture as he shushed her. “I’m still catching up so, please, no spoilers. My girlfriend is bad enough,” he laughed at his own half-joke. Chris thought of how you couldn’t even get through an episode without squeezing his hand too hard when something gory was about to happen or gasping with the shock of realization a second before the twist actually transpired. The suspense was always ruined for him, but the way you balled his shirt in your fist while letting out a cute little squeak and turning into the crook of his neck, where you fit so perfectly, made it easy not to mind.
Chris didn’t need much of an excuse to wrap a strong arm around your shoulders and pull you into his lap, relishing in being your comfort blanket. He’d hum as he rubbed your back so gently it sent more goosebumps up your spine than the scary scene. Even if it wasn’t so bad and long after it was over if it was, you’d stay curled up in the pit between his crossed legs, pressing your front to his until you were convinced Chris could never be unstuck from you. He was always so warm and he smelled more like home than your apartment did while he was away. He could tell by the way your body relaxed as his hands roamed over every muscle taught with anxiety when you were finally at peace again, eliciting a self-satisfied smirk that was probably plastered on his face right now just thinking about it.
“I’m sorry,” the reporter bolted up straight in her chair, leaning forward as she caught the bit of new goss like a gold nugget finally discovered stuck in silt. “Your what now?” She tucked her tight curls behind her ears, making sure she heard him correctly this time around, although Chris was sure the camera caught his slip of the tongue the first time around.
Chris’s eyes dropped to the floor as he scratched his upper lip with his thumb in an attempt to suppress his shit-eating grin. He’d managed to keep the secret for nearly a year now. So many exits through back doors of restaurants or clubs to avoid paparazzi, countless sunglasses collected to make sure you both had somewhat of a disguise on you at all time, seemingly endless trips traveled apart as to not raise suspicion about the girl with a jacket over her head at his side. All to keep a little piece of paradise to himself without the prying fingers of rumor-happy gossip reporters typing clickbait to churn out articles and the harsh spotlight of a gaze the judgmental, beady public eye had to offer. All to save you from getting burned in the limelight that accompanied his career, a life he didn’t want to subject you to since you never asked to be the topic of global outcry over taking a famous bachelor off the market. All for Chris to blow it in the last five minutes of what was so close to being any other interview.
“Uh... fuck,” he slipped in under a sigh of defeat. “Yeah,” he stretched to scratch the back of his head, trying to make a smooth recovery in front of the cameras. “My, um, my girlfriend likes that- she’s a big fan of Stranger Things, but, I mean... you know, who isn’t?” Chris laughed in an attempt to pass off the comment as casual instead of life-altering though he wasn’t confident it managed to mask his stutter. Nothing about the pit in his stomach was normal, though. Or the onslaught of questions thrown his way, prolonging the q&a session with a newfound source of torture. Moreover, how he couldn’t stop his mouth from moving, speaking with an eagerness from his heart that didn’t quite connect with his mind.
Like a bottle that’d been shaken, Chris’s cork finally blew and he just couldn’t shut up about you. She asked what he liked about you. He said it was the way that you could pop his bubble when his head was getting a little too big, keeping him grounded instead of in the clouds with the other L.A. stars. She asked how you two met and he told her he’d been head over heels from the moment you stole his taxi in New York and tried to fight him when he climbed in right behind you anyway. Then she wanted to know what he loved about you and Chris couldn’t stop himself from going on about the way you’re so ordinary in the best way, but still so inherently extraordinary just by your nature, managing to always keep him on his toes as well. She didn’t inquire anything about how Dodger took to you, but Chris told her about how the first time he took you home his dog barreled into you so hard he knocked you over and licked your cheeks maybe even more times than Chris kissed you that night. With raised eyebrows and a poorly suppressed grin, she asked if he thought you were the one. Chris insisted he was sure of it.
At the moment, he was elated to finally have the freedom to talk about the best part of his life so openly, even if it was to a reporter whose point was to exploit whatever he shared. And, boy, was he like a kindergarten kid with a cold. He told her everything short of your social security number and credit card information. It felt like the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders, but the gravity of what he’d done started to make him ache on the car ride home and grew to be all but oppressive by the time he swung open your front door.
“So,” he started with a long sigh. Chris’s lips sucked into a whistle, like the sound of a bomb about to drop. “I may or may not have accidentally let it slip that I’m in a committed relationship.” He stood in the open doorway, kicking off his shoes in an attempt to pass off an air of nonchalance.
“Oh, really?” Your eyebrows perched at the top of your forehead as your eyes rose to meet his over the edge of the book you were curled up reading only for a split second. “And who exactly might your secret mistress be?” You turned the page with a smirk, much to Chris’s chagrin.
Yeah, his annoyance surprised him too. Still, his hands fell to his sides as he stared at you with a suspicious incredulousness. “Haha, very funny.” He rolled his eyes as he found it safe enough to close the door behind him without much of a reaction from you. “I thought you’d be more... upset?” He suggested, unsure of why he couldn’t just be grateful she wasn’t screaming over him spoiling their secret love life. But there was a nagging in his stomach that he couldn’t ignore. Why go through all the trouble of seeming single when she evidently didn’t mind being a public couple? After all, he did it for your sake, right?
You caught on to the tinge of disappointment in his tone and dropped your novel on the coffee table, slinking up from the sofa like a stretching cat. Chris stayed planted in the doorway, watching every move of yours intently with a bitten lip and bated breath. After all this time, at least you still managed to surprise him.
“Don’t be upset that I’m not, darling,” you said despite an inkling that it was about much more. Arms snuck around his waist as Chris’s shoulder sagged even more than they already were, trying to compensate for your height difference as he melted into your touch.
“I’m proud of you,” you said, crawling behind him and stretching to your tiptoes to rest your head on his shoulder. Your nose brushed his bearded cheek as you whispered, “I’m grateful for you.” You placed a long kiss on his shoulder before moving your lips up his neck and stopping at his cheek, kissing every inch of Chris you could reach. “I’m in love with you.” Still, from behind, you brushed his hair behind his ear, something so intimate he couldn’t help the way it made his heart flutter. “Why wouldn’t I want the world to know it?”
Chris resisted his urge to shrug out of fear that you’d take it to mean he was trying to be dismissive. In all honesty, as much as he liked wrapping his arms around you like a present, being in your embrace instead might just beat it out. “Because... I don’t know. We’ve done so much to keep this between us, maybe we aren’t ready for the whole world to have a say,” Chris craned his neck to peck the top of your head as he places his hands over yours on his stomach, lacing your fingers together. “Sorry I said something about us in the first place. It just kind of... slipped.”
You shook your head as you tried to reassure him. “Chris, baby, you really don’t have to be. I’ve known who you were from the start. I’m the one who spent months convincing you that I’d be alright if news got out before we began dating, right? God, that feels like forever ago,” you paused to sigh, getting lost in a memory of only for a moment.
Chris insisted on exchanging information so you two could share the taxi and send whoever got out last part of the fare since he claimed rides seemed to be in such high demand it’d be near impossible to find another. Honestly, he just wanted to spend more time with you, it’d been so long since someone screamed at Chris Evans the Famous Actor on a street like that you intrigued him. You two ended up hitting it off, each asking the driver to continue to a different address whenever the one previously requested approached until you both decided on a bar. The sheer amount of digits on that bill was something you’d never forget, but you’d managed to snag something even more memorable.
You and Chris were fast friends and, once you finally mustered the guts to admit that you liked him a little bit more than that, he realized how much couldn’t stand the idea of dragging down a red carpet with him. Not because of you, but because of the way he knew you’d be treated. The unkind comparisons they’d make. The lewd questions they’d ask. The accusations they’d throw your way. But you didn’t care about that. All you paid a mind to was what Chris thought, which you were eventually able to convince him of, and he’d agreed to put his heart before his head under the condition that you’d keep it low profile at the beginning. The first few weeks turned into months which melded into almost a year. It seemed like yesterday and centuries simultaneously. Now seemed as good a time as any to remind Chris of that same sentiment again.
“Point being, I’m here to stay no matter what the DailyMail has to say about it. You don’t need to worry about them driving me away. You know I don’t scare easily.” You turned Chris in your arms so he was facing you and reached fasten his shirt a button or two, causing him to smile softly as the apples of his cheeks gained a rosy hue. The balmy look of love in his blue eyes didn’t come close to matching your intensity, trying to pour every ounce of sincerity into your expression so Chris would take it to heart. “I think it’s past time we got to walk in the same entrance anyway,” you finished with a crooked smile, causing Chris to chuckle at the absurdity of it all.
Your hands met in the middle, swinging back and forth ever so slightly as Chris watched your interlocked fingers intently. “I guess you’re right. It’ll be nice to do this in public,” he sighed, drawing circles on the backs of your hands with his thumbs. “You know what I really want to do right now though?” Chris inquired, earning a low hum as you pressed an ear to his chest. “All damn day I just wanted to plant our asses on that couch, watch some Stranger Things, and not move until the morning.”
You laughed and said you’d grab his snacks, to which Chris couldn’t help but point out your acknowledgment that they are in fact his. When you returned from the kitchen with a bottle of wine, a bag of popcorn, and all the candy you could find, you plopped down next to your boyfriend and pulled a blanket over your laps. Leaning against his side, you shoved a handful of M&M’s into your mouth while waiting for Netflix to load.
“I thought you’d be better at keeping secrets given the whole Captain America thing,” you joked, poking his ribs lightly. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to tell my boss to shove off before I made my boyfriend break out his shield, but you just get to spill for funsies? So unfair.”
As much as Chris feared things would change once that interview was released, staring down at you as you perched your chin on his shoulder and locked your arms together, absentmindedly scrolling through your recently watched shows, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the two of you would stay like this forever, inside of your apartment or out and about in the rest of the world. Now that was something he could get used to.
Tags: @patzammit , @thegetawaywriter , @coffeebooksandfandom , @captainsteveevans , @intrepidandabitcrazy , @super100012 , @spilledinkindumpster
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Why Not?
About: Loosely inspired by Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams,” in which Chris Evans and the first-person pov narrator try to escape L.A. in search of some ocean air, planning to spend the night snuggling up on a secluded beach somewhere. At a crossroads in their lives, when there are so many choices regarding their careers and their future as a family, tensions rise as the couple suspects they may want different things after all.
Word Count: 5,855
Requested By: Anon! Thanks for giving me a chance to write this. I hope you don’t mind I changed the point of contention a bit from the original work, but I had this conflict somewhere in me instead and found that the song was a perfect foundation for it. Totally not an excuse to use one of these hot new beach gifs. x
“Let’s get out of this city,” Chris shouted suddenly, fast footsteps pounding down the hallway. Soon he was standing between me and the television with a hand on his hip as he dropped a packed duffle bag onto the coffee table with a clatter.
Chris looked tired, worn in a way only a day of stressful work with the press made him. His hair was messy, like his anxious fingers had been raking through it and tugging at the long strands with nothing else to let out the nervous energy. I knew he’d had a rough day by the way he stormed into our L.A. apartment late and locked himself in our bedroom since he didn’t want to talk about it, but this crisis was surprising even me.
“Oh?” I asked with a playful smile, liking this spontaneous outburst of his. Usually Chris was rather disciplined, strict with his schedule because he had to be. Thousands if not millions of other people’s dollars usually rode on it. But he did have the occasional break in routine, more often than not when the flashing bulbs of Tinseltown became a little too blinding.
“I want to drive out of here, out of the crowds you know? I mean,” Chris shook his head in exasperation before throwing his hands into the air. “It’s not normal, this place- God, this place isn’t normal. The grass is all AstroTurf and the water tastes weird. There aren’t even any stars in the sky!” He gestured wildly to the ceiling as he looked up. As if he was disappointed not to see the Milky Way swirling above our living room, his shoulders sagged as his arms fell back down and he looked at me dejectedly.
“That’s because they’re all in Malibu, babe,” I joked, earning a sarcastic laugh from my husband as he rolled his tired eyes. “Where do you want to go anyway?” I asked more seriously, genuinely entertaining the idea. I sat up from my lounging position on the couch to give him my full attention.
Chris smirked like the devil, sure he had me hooked. “The ocean,” he said and, before I could make a snide comment about how he’s able to see it from our backyard, he continued. “A beach without anybody else.”
I leaned back onto the couch, stretching my legs until my toes pressed against the other side’s arm. “Please, leave me and my DiCaprio movie at peace then.” I pointed to the screen behind him, where Rose was just about to ask Jack to draw her like one of his French girls.
Chris peeked over his shoulder before turning back to me, his upper lip curled underneath his beard’s mustache as he smiled. “Don’t be a smartass. You know you don’t count. Now come on,” he insisted, walking around the table in only a few of his long strides and extending his hand to me. I looked between his palm and his gaze, biting my lip before flicking the tv off and taking his in mine. Chris not only hoisted me off the couch but pulled me into his chest while peppering the top of my head with kisses.
“I’m not ready, though,” I said, wriggling out of his grip and holding my arms out as if he hadn’t seen me yet. I’d done rounds of auditions that day and I hadn’t bothered to change out of my nice dress, one with a floating fabric I saved for readings since my agent called it “age-appropriate,” let alone take off any of my makeup or unpin my hair. It was so exhausting, trying to keep up with Hollywood’s standard of idealized young women as I aged out of many roles, that I just collapsed on the couch when I came home. It seemed the longer I sat in the waiting rooms, the younger, prettier the girls who joined me on the couches were. The more roles I was rejected for.
My protest didn’t dampen Chris’s grin, I don’t think anything could’ve rained on his parade. “I packed your things. The tent is still in your trunk. Dodger’s got tons of sitters I can text on the way. And you don’t have a good enough reason as to why we can’t drive until this godforsaken place is nothing more than a twinkle in the rear-view mirror,” he said without his eye-pinching smile ever wavering once. Chris must’ve recognized the hesitation in my eyes as he gave it a last-ditch effort with, “We won’t be able to just pick up and leave for the weekend forever.”
I squeezed his hand a little harder, a meager but earnest smile creeping onto my face. “Guess you’re right,” I admitted, trying to feign absent-mindedness. I pressed a quick kiss to his lips, leaving behind a ghost of the cherry red color I wore on mine. Then I crept around him toward the front door. I grabbed the keys to my convertible, which housed our camping supplies from our last we-can’t-survive-in-this-city-for-another-second trip. Now that I thought about it, they were becoming more often than not. “Race you!” I shouted as I tried to push that thought and its implications out of my mind. Instead, I took off running out the door as Chris’s shouts about foul play and heavy footsteps trailed behind me.
The drive, however, offered too much time to think. Over the quiet hum of the engine and Chris’s low voice whispering along to the oldies on the radio as I drove, the wind whistling filling my ears as I sped down the curving roads carved into the side of the coast, I was left with little more than my own thoughts and Chris’s fingers tapping along to Elton John’s beat on my thigh. I realized this was the third weekend in a row Chris and I needed some sort of escape. Even before this last month, we jetted off to the Cape even though it was freezing or hopped in the car to drive until the lung-coating smog turned to salty ocean air or climbed mountains so high we could barely see the skyscrapers below. I was suffocating. I never thought I was trying to escape something until I realized how fast I was going, as if I desperately wanted nothing more than to put that city behind me.
Once we arrived at our usual spot, there were only a few hours of sunlight to prepare for the night. It was a small cove a bit of a hike from the beach’s parking, but it was private. The perfect place to set up camp without being bothered. Chris started propping up the tent while I got cracking on the portable grill and some hotdogs that would be inevitably undercooked for dinner. Neither of us minded too much, having become accustomed to worse food on our travels.
While we sat together in the tent, picking apart granola bars and waiting for the sun to start setting, I found myself playing with my wedding ring. Turning it around my finger, mulling over my thoughts. For better or for worse, we’d promised we’d be there for each other for as long as we could, but that was a hell of a lot different than asking him to give up this life he’d worked so hard to build. With a stiff resoluteness, I decided I couldn’t ask Chris to leave. I’d pick him and his happiness over and over and over again.
“Hey,” he said softly, placing a hand on my knee tentatively, like he was casting a line and praying I’d take the bait so he could reel me back into reality. “Look, the sky’s turning already. Why don’t we take a walk?” Chris prompted as he stood, tugging me along with him. I glanced out the tent’s entrance to see the sun was barely even grazing the water’s edge and the sky was still daylight blue, but I guess he thought a change in scenery might ease the creases in between my furrowed brow and at the corners of my frowning mouth.
We didn’t get far, only to where the last of the waves spluttered into foamy white bubbles along the sand as the water dragged away. It was cold between my toes and the whipping wind didn’t help, but Chris pulled me into his side to block some of the breeze. He was always hot, with skin like a radiator that was warm to the touch. I fit against his shirtless chest so perfectly since Chris was so much taller, curling up to his side like a cat hiding under the heater. He tugged the elastic out of my hair with a goofy smile, claiming he liked watching it whip around in the wind, but I managed to subdue the strands by tucking them behind my ears.
“Nothing lasts forever, you know. The way you’re feeling, it’ll pass,” I said quietly, partly hoping he wouldn’t hear me over the crashing waves and seagull squaks. I wasn’t sure if it was more for Chris’s sake or mine, but it felt like a rationalization even as the words left me lips. Of course Chris would get over these weekend-long sprints away, he just wanted a small break from the hectic celebrity life. I couldn’t blame him for craving an escape from all the paparazzi cameras, wanting for once to be able to leave the house in pajamas without worrying about getting recognized and looking your worst. It was all for work he loved, though. Ultimately that would overcome his frustration and, when it didn’t, we’d be here.
But I knew, deep down, I needed to hear those words out loud just as badly, even if they were coming from me. My yearning to leave the L.A. lifestyle behind, to find something that fulfilled me in the same way acting used to before it became little more than an age-shame game. To ask Chris to pack a few suitcases a lot bigger than his duffel bag and join me. It would pass, it had to.
Unaware of the tornado my thought-spirals were sucking me into, Chris’s arm fell from my shoulder as his hand reached for mine. “I want us to,” he said with a firm purpose. “Last forever, I mean.” He played with my fingers, running the tips of his over the length of mine before finally intertwining them.
I paused, too busy with my mind to adjust to Chris’s calm declaration of familiar love. “What a relief,” I laughed through the unease in my shaky breath, wagging my diamond-clad ring finger in his face.
We hadn’t been married for long. The ink was barely dry on our license, even calling each other husband and wife still felt a little funny on the tongue, but it meant our promises were still fresh. We’d known each other forever though, having lived in the same complex when we first moved to the city fresh out of high school, and we dated for years before he put this ring on my finger. If I had any insecurities when it came to our relationship, he would’ve known about them a long time ago, but Chris still looked past my hand, right into my eyes and through to my soul with nothing more than one eyebrow hanging slightly lower than the other.
“Are you having any, uh, doubts?” My eyes snapped to Chris, the worry lacing his voice as fresh as the preemptive hurt. He avoided my stare, instead watching the seashell he kicked back into the ocean. “About us?” Chris added like an afterthought, as if I could’ve thought he meant anything else with the dejected way he tore his hand from mine to shove it deep into his pocket.
“Why would you say that?” I spit out the words like poison. I didn’t realize I stomped my foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum until I felt the water’s splash. It was the very last thing to cross my mind, even amidst thinking about our drastically different wants right now, so it must be on his.
“Only because you said it like that,” Chris defended indignantly, crossing strong arms over his chest. He shot me one hard look, steely eyes looking ablaze with the setting sky’s reflection, before reverting his gaze back to the ground. “And you’ve been... I don’t know. You’ve been distant,” he concluded, rushing the words out of his mouth while he still had the courage to confront me. Chris shrugged, trying to pass himself off as blasé about it, but I could tell by the way he clenched his jaw tight that he was trying to bottle it up.
“Baby, the only thing I want is for us to be happy,” I asserted, choosing my words carefully. It was the truth, evident enough in my voice to quell any of his suspicions. More than I wanted to get away from L.A. and all of its pressures, I wanted to be with Chris. “Old and grey,” I continued with a wistful smile, “holding hands in creaky rocking chairs on a wrap-around porch somewhere in Massachusetts wouldn’t hurt either.”
It was quiet while Chris thought it over. Too quiet, in fact. I imagined it’s what it felt like to be on the other side of the moon, the dark one where there wasn’t any sound and anyone who could hear you if there was any was hundreds of thousands of miles away. So I stretched to reach a hand to his shoulder, only for Chris to shrug me off as he sucked a breath in between his gritted teeth.
Chris started walking along the foamy wet line drawn by crashing waves as they pulled out to meet the rest of the sea. I stood there, watching him walk away, feeling utterly useless. As I debated whether or not to follow the indents his feet left in the sand, Chris peeked over his shoulder. Seeing me still planted where he left me, he jerked his head forward, encouraging me to chase after him. We walked silently, the only sounds being rolling water, the squishiness of our feet hitting wet sand, and seagulls chirping overhead. After a moment, I couldn’t stand it.
“I just...” I released a defeated sigh, sputtering like a deflating balloon as I tried to find the words to explain myself. “I want you to remember this, though. You know how work’s been. Chris, I want you to remember me like this... not the way Hollywood makes me feel,” I divulged, hands wringing in the fabric of my billowing dress just searching for something to hold onto.
“Darling,” he said, admonished. Chris turned to face me, placing one firm hand on each of my shoulders as he dipped to be at my eye-level, imploring me to believe him. “That’s what this is about? You do know I’ll still love you even when you’re not. I mean, I can’t wait to grow old with you. Comparing our crow’s feet and arguing over whose hair is grayer.”
I met his eyes, their sincerity coupled with my desperate need to believe him, made me feel enveloped in his love. I cracked a smile, feeling awfully silly for even questioning it in the first place, as I joked, “Oh, I can already guarantee it’ll be mine with all the stress you and your antics put me through.”
Chris smiled too, although his was crooked and haphazard in a lazy sort of way, lips upturning with tired relief. “Just wait until it’s me and three or four mini Evans’s running around. We’ll be in for it then,” he said, eyebrows raising as he begged me to believe him, a smug smirk playing on his rosy lips.
Chris turned back to the ocean, tugging me to his chest with a new comfort. I thought I could last for a little longer in L.A. if it meant I still got to be held like this, his mountainy musk nearly drowning out the salty smell of the water. “Three or four?” I asked incredulously, wrapping my arms around his waist. Of course I thought about having kids with him before, but never that many. Although now that he said it...
He bumped my hip with his. “Mhm...” Chris hummed as he laid his chin on top of my head. He didn’t take his eyes off the horizon, where the sun was sinking below the water and turning the sky a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors as warm as the feeling in my chest, as he said, “A conservative guess, if you ask me. In rapid succession, too.” Chris laughed hard, but I had a feeling he was only partly joking. Suddenly, he sobered up. “I’m looking forward to starting a family with you, darling.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you won’t be the only one I’m calling baby for much longer. Enjoy it while you can,” I teased with wriggling eyebrows, leaning impossible deeper into his shoulder and slipping a hand in the back pocket of Chris’s jeans.
“You know what I’m really going to enjoy right now?” Chris asked, a rascal’s grin growing from ear to ear. Before I could even ask, one of his arms hooked around my knees while the other supported my back as he lifted me close to his chest. Carrying me bridal-style despite my squirming and shrieking giggles, he darted further into the cold water until he decided to drop me. Even submerged, I could hear Chris cackling. When I broke the water’s surface, I pushed down on his doubled-over shoulders suddenly with all the force I could muster, sending Chris tumbling head-first into the sea.
He stood up quickly, shaking his head like a wet dog before pushing his hair back and wading toward me. “So that’s how we’re playing this, huh?” he said in a low voice, looking at me in a way that made me feel all too much like he was a lion stalking its prey. Looking around for a way out, I realized I was the exposed gazelle. When Chris lunged, he missed, but I was drenched by his splash anyway.
Soon we left the water, not wanting to be caught with anything lurking under the surface at dusk. Somehow, even in the dim moonlight, Chris’s wet torso managed to twinkle and I was tempted to make my very own constellations out of the water dripping down the curve of his back. I hung back, watching as he pushed the long dark strands of hair matted from the ocean out of his face, the silhouette of his flexing bicep and the rippling muscles of his back driving me mad.
By the time I reached the tent, Chris had already traded his soaked shorts for checkered pajama bottoms. I turned to face the wall, as to avoid Chris’s wandering eyes and the inevitable, burning blush they’d ignite in my cheeks. I don’t know why, the clingy fabric of my wet dress left little to the imagination and my body wasn’t anything he’d have to dream up in the first place, but I tried to maintain an inkling of modesty as I kneeled so my head wouldn’t hit the ceiling, slowly peeling the dress away until I was left in nothing more than my underwear.
It was dark, with just the faint glow of a lantern filling the tent with an orange hue and exaggerated shadows. I saw Chris’s hand reaching for me, spindly shadow fingers projected onto the wall in front of me before he made contact, his warm palm pressing into the curve of my hip as he held me.
Chris’s chest melded with my back as he moved closer, our hearts pounding hard enough we could feel each other’s being somehow in sync. Our bent legs rested between one another, bringing us as near to each other as we could be. He gathered my hair in one hand, moving it all out of his way as he rested his scratchy beard on my shoulder’s bare skin, nuzzling into the crook of my neck. He placed gentle kisses along the exposed skin, trailing up my collarbone. I reached around, tangling my hand into the long hair at the nape of his neck as I urged him to continue. My neck craned, trying to give him more surface area to suck on while I released breathy, fluttering gasps that elicited a deep moan from the very bottom of his throat.
Chris reached my ear, nibbling on the sensitive skin. Instinctively, my head moved toward his until our noses were brushing. Every breath was borrowed. “It’s not good for you to stay in wet clothes, you know,” he growled instead of kissing me as I anticipated. Instead, he went back to marking me neck, always such a tease. His hand on my hip reached across my stomach, dragging his fingernails across my cold skin until he held me, pressing my impossibly closer toward his torso. His fingers didn’t make themselves at home, choosing instead to travel up the other side of my torso’s curve until he reached my chest. Over my wet bra, Chris kneaded my breast, already tender from the cold. His warmth was a welcome contrast.
“Wouldn’t want you catching a cold, darling.” Chris’s lips left my neck suddenly, leaving me feeling a rush of the night’s frigid air in the wake of his absence. My hand fell to his chest, the back of it landing just over his heart as my fingers curled with anticipation. I felt him pressing against the back of my thigh, hard through the thin fabric of his pants. It continued to fall until I found the hem of his pants. My fingers hooked below the flannel, beginning to tug it down the subtle curve of Chris’s hip. Then his teeth grazed my shoulder as he gripped my bra’s strap, tugging until it slipped. My breath hitched in my throat as his hand traveled up my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and I froze.
He started to unclasp my bra as my lips, trembling like there was an earthquake, spit out a word I wasn’t even anticipating. “Stop,” I whispered earnestly before I even registered that I’d thought the word. My hand dropped to my bare thigh, tightening into a fist with frustration at myself.
If Chris wasn’t so attentive, he may have mistaken it for a lustful sigh. But in a second, with no questions asked, he untangled himself from my body and sat back on his heels so there was a foot or so of space between us. It wasn’t much, but considering the size of our small tent, it was all the room I could have to breathe.
I sighed, snapping my bra strap back into place with my thumb. “I just-“ I tried to say, only for my voice to betray me and break. “Damnit, I’m really sorry.” I buried my face in my hands, too afraid of the hurt Chris’s eyes would inevitably hold.
“No, no, darling,” his measured voice reassured me, just barely above a whisper. His hands wrapped loosely around my wrists, tugging me out of my hiding spot. Despite my trepidation, Chris’s whole being only held concern. Between his low shoulders and soft eyes, all he had was repentance. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you weren’t feeling-“
“Don’t you start saying sorry then either, Evans,” I responded with a sudden insistent flare. “It wasn’t anything you did. God, it never is.” I reached for Chris’s hands, where they sat wringing in his lap, and enveloped them in my own. “I-I don’t know... I’ve just got too much on my mind to enjoy this... To enjoy how great you make me feel, baby,” I disclosed, looking at him longingly through my eyelashes. In all honesty, I did want to make the most of our alone-time together. To make Chris feel that bliss he came here craving, to allow him to return the favor, but I couldn’t pull myself out of my own head enough.
“You don’t have to explain yourself. No worries there, Evans,” he responded with a giddy grin, still not used to calling me by his last name. He tucked some of my hair behind my ear so I couldn’t hide my blush. It was infectious, coupled with his kind words, I couldn’t stop from breaking out into a smile myself. “Why don’t we go look for some shooting stars then? I think NASA tweeted something about Jupiter and Saturn lining up with the moon this week.” Chris stood as tall as he could, though it wasn’t much more than a painful-looking crouch. He extended a hand to me, a peace offering I accepted with open arms. Or, rather, by taking his hand and allowing him to lead me back toward the sand.
“Oh, babe,” I giggled, a mischievous smirk of my own making its home on my lips. I stumbled a little, having difficulty finding my footing in the sand when I could hardly see in front of my face. “You know I love it when you talk nerdy to me.” Chris laughed while shook his head at the sky as he searched it, deciding this spot was nice until he thought the view would be better another couple side-steps to the left.
Finally he dropped, making a quiet thud against the sand as he dragged me down with him by our joined hands. Chris intertwined our fingers before nodding with satisfaction and laying down. He stretched his other arm, resting his head on his bicep as he jutted his chin out to the spot next to him.
As I snuggled into the soft sand, Chris pointed up to the sky with a lazily extended finger. “You see the Big Dipper?” he asked, a childlike amazement evident in his voice. I said I did, although I was too busy being overwhelmed by all the other dazzling lights twinkling in the sky as well. Feeling awfully small and insignificant in an inexplicably liberating sort of way. I curled up close to Chris, trying to catch every bit of his body heat I could.
“It’s actually called Ursa Major, Latin for the Great Bear,” he continued. Instead of staring at the sky, I turned to Chris. I watched his blue eyes light up, although I wasn’t sure if it was the moon’s bright reflection or a burning passion inside of him. “The Greeks had a story for it, tons of them actually. But I like the version where this nymph named Callisto swore a vow of celibacy to Artemis, although Zeus had a bit of a thing for her,” Chris turned to me with wagging eyebrows.
“They end up having this son…” he trailed off, turning back to the sky as his face tightened with concentration. “Sorry, I can’t remember his name now. Anyway, Zeus’s wife, Hera, gets super pissed and turns the poor nymph into a bear. She spends years like that until, one day, her son happens to find her.” Chris squeezed my hand, his eyes flickering between watching me in their corners to staring at the constellation again. “It’s not the happiest family reunion though. He’s a hunter now so, without knowing the bear he’s afraid might attack him is really his mom, he goes to kill her.”
Chris pulled our laced-together hands to his lips, pressing gentle kisses to my knuckles as he tried to prolong my suspense. “Zeus takes pity on them, but if you ask me, he was trying to make up for being the dick that got them in this situation. Ease a guilty conscience, if gods even have those,” he paused to scoff. “He ends up carrying Callisto and her son to the heavens and turns them both into constellations so they couldn’t be hurt anymore,” Chris finished, his voice growing quieter until he reached the end, barely above a whisper.
“Is the moral supposed to be that kids ruin everything?” I said sorely, offering a bitter laugh to try to pass it off as a joke, but Chris could tell my heart wasn’t in it. In fact, I’d been thinking the opposite all night. A lot longer than that, actually, now that I think about it. Too nervous to see the confirmation I suspected may be in his eyes, I kept mine glued to the sky. Feeling an awful lot of the vulnerability I imagined Callisto may have, if only in a fraction.
“Nope,” he said, popping the word on his lips. “I just think it’s comforting to know that we won’t be able to fuck up that badly. I mean, as far as I know, neither of us are deities so, unless you’ve got some secret jealous ex with that potion from Brave, we’ll be alright parents. Sure, we’ve got crazy lives, but I don’t think we’ll suddenly wake up tomorrow with all the answers, so I don’t see why we’re still waiting.” His voice was as level and laid-back as if he was talking about the weather, not actually starting a family someday soon.
My neck nearly snapped with its velocity when I turned to Chris, flabbergasted in every sense of the word. Of course I knew he wanted kids, I don’t think there’s a person that’s ever watched a minute of a Chris Evans interview who didn’t. But we were always too busy working. Too focused on each other. Too far from a good school district. Too not-living-the-lives-we-want-to-lately.
“That is what you’ve been thinking about, right? Kids?” Chris asked, his whole face contorting with confusion, screwing up as he thought he did. “I figured, you’ve been worrying about getting older a lot lately. Plus, it seems like you’re tired of the whole L.A. lifestyle, lord knows I am, and like you’re ready to do something else career-wise. So I thought… I don’t know. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if-” he rambled, trying to put words to his thoughts in an attempt to make me understand them as well.
“Chris,” I said. It came out more sternly than I intended. “What do you want?”
He flipped over to his side so we were facing each other completely now. “Well, of course, I want you to be happy-”
“No, Chris. What do you want?” I repeated, unrelenting. Our eyes bore into each other, playing the world’s worst staring game with a poignant intensity. Chris’s eyes narrowed, his thick lashes nearly brushing his cheeks, until he lost.
“Honestly?” he said, liberating a heavy sigh from his lungs. I turned on my side to face him completely, curling up against his ribs which nearly rattled with every one of his stalling, shaky breaths. “I want kids,” Chris admitted in a breath. “If you aren’t ready yet, if I misunderstood whatever you’ve been going through lately, I’m really sorry, but I’m ready to settle down a little more. Move out of the city, find a nice home in some suburb with a yard for Dodge and a few empty bedrooms to fill.” Chris spoke with longing for a life we weren’t quite living, not dissimilar to the one that’d been plaguing my thoughts ever since I figured out the words for it. Although he was hesitant at first, once he started rolling, Chris couldn’t help confessing this residential life he’d planned down to the picket fence.
“Do you- Chris, don’t fuck with me like this. Do you really mean that?” I asked, utterly unable to hide my desperation. More than anything, I wanted that picket fenced front yard and a dozen little feet pitter-pattering down the hall. All I needed was for Chris to want it, too.
“Absolutely,” he said with confidence and a slow nod to boot. “I mean, we’re both tired of L.A. anyway, right? We aren’t getting any younger. I figure, why not, you know? I’d rather raise our kids where they can see the stars and walk down the street without getting papped. What do you think?” Chris inquired, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. He’d gone out on a limb, hoping I’d be there to catch him when he fell.
I couldn’t stop the tears brimming in my eyes at just the thought of packing school lunches. Shutting the fridge, littered with finger-paintings of our family and tacky magnets we’d collect on every vacation, before handing a bag to each little kid. Kissing the tops of their heads as they rushed out the door, ready to board the big yellow school bus waiting out front.
“If that’s not what you want, that’s okay,” Chris rushed. His eyebrows dipped, heavy with concern that tugged down on the corners of his lips as well. “Really, it’s okay. No pressure. Please don’t cry about it.” Chris reached an arm around me, pulling me close to his chest to comfort me until my quiet cries erupted into laughter. “Wait, wh-what?” he stuttered.
“You meatball,” I teased, trying to catch my breath. “God, you don’t know how badly I’ve been wanting to hear you say that. Would it be wild if I told you I think that’s exactly what I want, too?” I laughed again, relishing in every bit of the relief.
“Not at all, darling,” Chris reassured me quickly. “I think it sounds like a dream, waking up with one arm around you and our baby snuggled in the other.” His eyes turned glossy, like he was remembering something that hadn’t even happened yet.
“In that case,” I said with a smirk that grew into a devilish grin. I placed my palm on Chris’s chest and pushed him back, flat against the sand, as I rolled over to straddle his waist. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as an incredulous laugh left his rosy lips. I flipped my hair to one side, biting my bottom lip with an excited suspense, as I looked down at Chris, balancing myself with a hand on his stomach. I swear I could feel his diaphragm halt as he forgot to breathe. “Why don’t we get started?”
Chris’s hands found their place on either side of my hips. His eyes watched his finger as it slipped under my underwear’s waistband, tracing the horizontal line dangerously low on my skin. As his gaze rose slowly, trying to soak up every last drop of this moment. “Are you proposing we make a baby right here, right now?” Chris asked when his eyes met mine, a soft smile carving crow’s feet next to his blue eyes.
“Well, in your very own words,” I purred, laying my chest to his so our faces were only inches from each other. I ran my fingers through his dark hair, trying to engrave the way he was looking at me now into my memory, as if I was the moon and the stars and the whole, entire sky. His grip tightened on my hips with anticipation as I leaned in to press a longing kiss to his lips, only a tease of what was to come. “Why not?”
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Call It Even
About: First-person pov narrator is one of those doctors that consults on medical shows/movies for the sake of accuracy (God forbid I find the actual word for it anywhere on Google…) but it happens to be a project starring the one and only Chris Evans. After a little sexist slip up, he spends the fic trying to make it up to her. With absolutely not a single ulterior motive, mind you.
Word Count: 2,351
Requested By: Anon! Thanks for submitting this and being patient with me. Hope it’s everything you’ve been waiting for. x
P.S. This is so unabashedly and unapologetically inspired by Code Black, my favorite medical drama based on an eye-opening documentary. Totally check out the show and the doc if you haven’t, it’s had my heart since I was like 16. Neal Hudson in the first season, at least. And please forgive any inaccuracies, I did a bit of research for this one, but there’s not a ton available for this sort of thing.
“It’s weird having you here, not gonna lie,” Jack remarked with a smirk. He crossed his arms and looked me up and down, taking in the sight of me standing on his movie set.
He was right, it was weird for me to be here too, but I just told him to shut up and focus. I took aim and tossed the next grape into the air between us, which my friend ducked and nearly dove for and somehow failed to catch it in his mouth anyway.
“It’s weird that you’re still so bad at this,” I said with a snort. Playing catch with our food was a way we’d been killing time since our high school study hall, which he was just as bad at even back then.
Jack climbed off the floor with a pout. “This isn’t in my job description,” he argued, rolling his eyes. Since our first food-catching contest, my type-A, detail-oriented best friend had managed to land a job as a script supervisor.
Lord knows he wouldn’t have made a good pitcher. He wound up and tossed a grape into the air way higher than he meant to, but I caught it between my teeth easily.
“Mine either,” I remarked, smiling smugly. Truth was, a movie set was way out of my wheelhouse. Typically, by now I’d be scrubbing in for surgery or sifting through mountains of paperwork, but today was different. This morning I was making the most of my M.D. by filling in for the medical consultant on Jack’s latest project. It was a movie following a guy’s residency experience in an inner-city ER more like a war zone, based on some documentary, but I didn’t know much other than that. The perks of being hired last minute.
While I didn’t think Jack would find my snide remark all that funny, I certainly didn’t expect the way he stood up straighter and stiffened his upper lip. My face contorted with confusion as I tried to ask what was up with him, but his attention was focused over my shoulder.
There was a man I think I’d recognize anywhere. Even with his grown scruff and dark hair, the gentle curve of his torso transitioning from his wide shoulders to small waist was familiar. He was smiling so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes, something I wasn’t used to seeing on screen, as he shook everyone’s hand. It was early in the morning, but he seemed peppy enough that he’d already been awake for hours. He was trailing behind the director, who was introducing the actor to everyone on set, but he stopped to laugh at something I couldn’t hear the cameraman say. His hand rose and touched his pec as he threw his head back with laughter I’d recognize a mile away.
“You didn’t tell me Chris fucking Evans was going to be here,” I hissed to Jack between the gritted teeth of my smile. I would’ve tried to hide the dark-circles that came with a night on call behind some concealer.
“And this is the script supervisor and medical consultant,” the director said, although his attention was more devoted to the clipboard in his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor…?” Chris asked, reaching for a last name as he extended his hand to Jack.
My friend looked between the hand and me with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw, taking offense on my behalf. I stretched to meet his hand and gave it a firm shake as I said, “That’d be me, actually.”
“Oh…” Chris sighed, processing his mistake. His face contorted with embarrassment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing as he kicked himself internally. “I didn’t- Well, I mean, I’m really sorry,” he said with wide eyes like a plea for forgiveness.
“Happens,” I shrugged him off, although it still felt his words land in the bottom of my stomach. After years of people hearing “doctor” and assuming “man,” the impact of the punch starts to dull. At first, I would grimace and snap back, but now I could smile through the wince. “I’ve gotten used to it. Nothing personal.”
“That’s a shame,” Chris answered with more sincerity than I anticipated.
I nodded and chewed on my bottom lip, a little taken aback. I nervously retracted my hand as I realized, somehow, he was still holding it and tucked my hair behind my ear. Every bit of the excitement I’d felt for meeting Captain America was replaced with a terrible awkwardness that filled the space between us like air.
“Well,” Chris said, clearing his throat. He ran the hand I’d shook through his hair as he smirked. “It’s nothing compared to saving lives, but I hope you enjoy working on our set. We’re lucky to have you.” He smiled, genuinely and in recovery, this magnetic charisma washing over him and rolling off his aura like waves.
“I just hope I never have to see another tv doctor break seizure protocol by pinning a patient down,” I snorted, rolling my eyes at my own bad joke.
Chris laughed, probably just to be nice, as he straightened his white lab coat by the lapels. “I won’t let you down,” he promised. Chris stood there looking at me with his undivided attention, as if he didn’t have a filming schedule to keep or dozens of more crew members to meet. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the fiery blush of my cheeks spreading with every second until the director cleared his throat and kept tugging Chris along.
I turned to Jack, my mouth opening and shutting just like the fish out of water I felt I was, as I tried to put words to the feelings in my chest or the thoughts in my head. He didn’t have any to offer either though, only wide, shocked eyes.
“I can’t believe he thought you’d be a man,” Jack said incredulously, almost breathlessly.
“Please,” I retorted, brushing him off with a wave of my hand. “I’m used to that. What I can’t believe is that anyone could think you were a doctor.”
Jack shoved my shoulder as he rolled his eyes, their playful glint giving him away.
The next time I saw Chris, he was knelt on a gurney, straddling the dummy “patient” he was meant to be treating in his grand entrance. He was put in scrubs and spritzed with faux sweat to make it look as though he’d been working on saving people with every last ounce of himself, totally not because it made him glisten like the heavens under the fluorescent hospital lights. He seemed focused though, with the tip of his tongue peeking out between his chapped lips and his thick brows knitted together in mock concentration, as he was wheeled to the Trauma Bay.
But it didn’t take an expert’s eyes to see that Chris’s hands were far too low, so the only thing he’d be giving anyone was a sick stomach instead of CPR, and his rhythm was completely off.
And then his shoulders started shaking as he chuckled, dropping his head in a dry laugh. Through the camera’s screen, I watched Chris look at the lens’s operator with this shit-eating grin as he scoffed and said, “I bet this looks pathetic, huh?”
Then he turned to me, this spark in his eye that caught fire in my stomach. “Mind showing me how to do this? I thought I could fake it ‘til I made it, but evidently…” Chris trailed off as he sat up, leaning back on his heels invitingly.
I crossed my arms and leaned back in my folding chair. “Isn’t that your job?” I teased with raised eyebrows at Chris, whose smile only grew.
“I thought this was yours?” he volleyed back, one of his eyebrows reaching its peak.
“At least for today,” I rolled my eyes, albeit more playfully than I’d intended. I hopped up and met him at the side of the gurney, trying to ignore all the eyes on us.
I instructed Chris to resume the position he’d had before, leaning over the dummy. I tucked myself between his arm and ribs. “You want to have your hands like this,” I said, showing him how I tucked the fingers of my left hand between that of my right and placed my palm over the chest’s sternum.
We were impossibly close, every breath borrowed from the other, and suddenly I was kicking myself for the third cup of coffee. It was funny, seeing someone covered in “sweat” but smelling so much like a fresh shower.
“Push about two inches deep thirty times,” I said. Chris put his hands over mine, guiding his hands with mine as I placed pressure on the sternum, making it hard to focus. I definitely miscounted by at least a dozen, but Chris didn’t mention it. I had a feeling he wasn’t being the most attentive either. All I could feel was his chest pressed against my back and my heart pounding so hard it felt like ready to break a rib.
“Before you pinch the nose, lean the head back, and breathe,” I demonstrated, moving Chris’s hand to the stomach so he could feel it inflate. Once I pulled away, he followed my lead.
“I think I get it now,” he said as he sat up, tongue tracing his bottom lip. He blinked slowly, blue eyes growing glazed.
“You’re welcome,” I responded, clearing my throat and stepping away from Chris without another beat passing between us, as quick as you’d drop a pan after getting burned.
Chris frowned slightly and only for a second, though I still caught the deep creases that carved themselves into the corners of his lips and in between his furrowed brow. “Thanks,” he said, almost disappointed, if I didn’t know any better.
I tried to keep my distance after that. Mostly because there were way too many minor, infuriating inaccuracies I couldn’t give any input on for the sake of the storyline so I figured I might as well take a step back. But, if I’m honest, it was partly because I was trying to avoid a certain star as well.
I stood at the snack table, staring at a bowl of apples and trying to figure out exactly what happened earlier. Make some sort of sense of the butterfly wings fluttering so furiously in my stomach I was starting to feel ill.
Then, almost like I was speaking of the devil, Chris appeared out of thin air. He leaned against the table, saying something about how sitting on the sidelines between takes he wasn’t in was the worst part. “But I’ve been looking for a chance to really apologize to you since this morning,” he said dejectedly, that goosebump-inducing gaze flitting from my eyes.
“It’s really alright,” I insisted, running out of patience for it. I was growing tired of all these guys around me trying to right their wrongs against me for their own sake instead of just moving on as I intended to.
“No, it isn’t” Chris responded anyway, leaning an elbow against the table as he relaxed. My eyes outlined his broad shoulders, watching how their muscles contracted as he stretched.
I smiled, trying to be polite. “All’s been forgiven,” I promised. Silently, I begged him not to bring it up again. I took a shot at changing the subject, as I said, “I was thinking of getting lunch soon. Anywhere you recommend?”
Chris’s head glanced to the set, going along just fine without him. “I’ve got a little over an hour until my next scene,” he thought out loud, almost absentmindedly. He turned back to me, the corner of his mouth lifting up in this smirk that made me painfully aware of my racing pulse. “And a craving for some tacos,” Chris continued as he moved even closer to me, oblivious to how soon his CPR crash course might come in handy.
I took a few deep breaths and stared at our shoes. Those ocean eyes were about to be the death of me if I couldn’t figure out how to keep my head above water around Chris. I hoped I would be, for at least a little while longer.
“I would really like to take you out to this place around the corner,” Chris posed, staring at me with these pleading eyes through his dark lashes. He cleared his throat before adding, “I mean, if you want to of course.”
“Look,” I sighed as Chris’s shoulders dropped. “I appreciate it, really, but you don’t need to try to keep making up for your slip up earlier. It’s fine, I’m fine, I don’t need you to take me to lunch to make me feel better,” I snapped. Maybe every feeling mixing in my chest finally boiled over, but it wasn’t worth the way Chris looked at me.
“No, I…” he trailed off, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I mean, yeah, I still feel like shit for my sexist assumption, but that has nothing to do with this,” Chris maintained in exasperation. “Well, to be totally honest, I was trying to ask you out on a date.”
For a split second, I swear I flat-lined. “What is that supposed to mean?” I spit out, unable to believe it.
Chris only laughed before he said, “I was gonna buy, try to talk to you some more. Make up for being an idiot earlier, sure, but maybe get your number if I was lucky.”
“Hell,” I said, breaking out into a flustered grin. “I’m the lucky one in that case.” Chris chuckled again, but I didn’t give him a chance at another wise-crack. “I suppose I could accept that offer,” I teased, playfully biting my bottom lip as I pretended to think it over. “If only to atone for snapping at you.”
Chris nodded as he laughed, holding his hand over his heart. “I see how it is,” he crossed his arms, playing stiff. He sucked his teeth as he thought it over. “I guess we could call it even then.”
Tags: @patzammit , @thegetawaywriter , @coffeebooksandfandom , @captainsteveevans , @intrepidandabitcrazy , @super100012 , @spilledinkindumpster , @torntaltos , @amiquette , @peach-acid , @southerngracela , @kelbabyblue , @artisticrogers1972 , @bval-1 , @elatedmarvel
If you’d like to be tagged in my future fics, please reply to this post, or if you’re looking for more of my writing you can find that here :)
Out of Fenway Park
About: A SoCal born-and-raised reader relocated to Boston, where the very last thing she expects is to run into Chris Evans at a Red Sox game with beer dripping down her head and his hotdog plastered to her shirt. Literally, running into him, and then somehow still getting a date out of it.
Word Count: 3,365
Requested By: Anon. Thanks so much for sending this in! Absolutely love this story, thanks for giving me the opportunity to write it. Feel free to send in any other reqs!
P.S. I’m sorry but, as deeply as I love Boston, I’m just a New Yorker, posting a fanfic on the internet, asking you to forgive me for my inability to give the Red Sox the dignity of winning- feat. the best gif I could find of him repping the team
The sun was the only reason I agreed to go to this baseball game anyway and even that had failed me. I was looking forward to sitting back with its warmth washing over my skin so I could close my eyes and try to pretend like I was back on a beach in Southern California. Instead, it was borderline freezing rain and all I could think about was the ground being even muddier with the still melting snow and how I couldn’t tell if there really was rumbling thunder or if it was just the shouts of countless Bostonians surrounding me, cheering on the Red Sox. They were up against the Yankees and even I could tell it wasn’t looking good, but that didn’t dampen their home-team spirits.
My coworkers were maybe the worst of the bunch, drunkenly yelling profanities at the players while they sloshed their beers in agreement with one another’s profane criticisms of the pitcher. I was almost regretting giving up SoCal for a job offer I could hardly dream of fresh out of college with the only downside being that it was on the east coast. Anyone could’ve told you I despised the cold, being too far from the ocean, and the Patriots, maybe not in that order. But even more than that I knew I’d hate myself if I passed up this opportunity. So, without giving more thought than I maybe should’ve, I packed everything I could into three suitcases and a carry-on and moved across the country, hopes probably higher than the plane.
Winter, however, brought me crashing back down to reality. Everything in nature either died or got the right idea to chase the sun south. I was stuck with snowbanks higher than my knees and a proper coat was nowhere in sight. Not that it mattered much anyway, the weather felt like it was freezing my bones to their core no matter what I wore. Initially, I had this glamorous idea of curling up by the window with a blanket on my lap as the fire crackled, holding a book in one hand and a hot chocolate in the other. Hitting the pavement after slipping on ice knocked the ignorantly blissful can-do attitude right out of me the first time. And the second and the third and I lost count after that.
Which is exactly why I agreed to come to this baseball game in the first place. Back home, spring meant warmer days and blooming flowers and short sleeve t-shirts. I thought I’d get to enjoy a little bit of sunlight at the very least, maybe get to finally connect with my coworkers in a meaningful way outside of asking for help to unjam the copy machine. However, the start of the season in this hell hole apparently included a lot more of the lion than the lamb and a rowdy crowd of Red Sox fans who thought it was good enough for shorts anyway and drank like alcoholic fish to top it all off.
A girl I shared the wall of my cubicle with, Alex, wrapped a lazy arm around my shoulders, pulling me too close into her Heineken haze than I was comfortable given the fact that I barely knew her. Plus, being the only sober one was never any fun. I had a feeling they only invited me under the guise of getting to know each other better considering all I’d become familiar with was the smell of their beer burps. After all, being barely of-age and the new kid made me their permanently designated driver, even though we’d taken the T here.
“Know the difference between a Yankee and uh,” Alex paused to laugh at her own joke and let out a hiccup, “a pothole?” She was hanging onto me for support, speaking close enough to my ear that it could’ve been a secret though she was saying it loud enough for the rest of our group to hear over the boom of other fans. “I’d swerve for the hole!”
I chuckled a little to be nice, although I didn’t think it was very funny. Our coworkers to Alex’s right, on the other hand, guffawed as if it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. Preferring their reaction and acting almost in slow motion, she raised her cup in cheers of herself and simultaneously turned to the others, sloshing the frothy drink until it rained down on me.
I shot up out of my seat as the cold beer trickled down my back. Everyone paused, eyes glued to me for my reaction as I tried to maintain my temper. I used my hands like windshield wipers, tossing the liquid on my face to the floor with an angry snap of my wrists. Alex started to profess a slurred apology, but I held up my hand for an extra second or two to compose myself. “It’s...” I paused to suck in another deep breath. “It’s okay. Accidents happen. I’m gonna go clean up.” Before she could offer to help, I whipped around and jumped down the stadium’s stairs two at a time.
My cheeks were hot with embarrassment as I scanned the hall, looking for something resembling a bathroom sign frantically. People were probably busy enough with their own agendas, be it getting back to the game or buying a baseball hat, but I still felt every set of eyes boring into me. So I tried to put my head down and run to the closest restroom until I hit a wall instead.
Literally, it sent me tumbling to the floor until I landed on my ass, melting into a messy puddle of beer mixed with my former self. Contrary to my belief, someone said, “I didn’t see you there.”
My eyes left my hands, where I’d tried to bury my face like an ostrich in the sand, to see a broad man bending down on his knees before me. He had a Red Sox cap pulled low over his face, a thick beard, and a light grey t-shirt with a dark wet patch in the middle of his chest. Must’ve been where we collided. “I’m so sorry,” he continued with the exaggerated o’s and r’s that sound like ah’s, still so wrong to my west coast ears. I spotted an empty disposable food tray in his hand and looked down to see the hotdog it’d previously housed glued to my stomach by its condiments. Exactly what I needed.
“Are you alright?” He extended a hand to help me up, but I couldn’t move. Instead, I just sat sprawled on my butt at Fenway Park, reeking of somebody else’s alcohol, staring at this beautiful stranger. His concerned look turned a little suspicious the longer I sat there without grabbing his hand, my mouth moving like a fish out of water. All I had to say was yes or I am or something, anything really, but I couldn’t even manage a three-letter sentence.
Instead, I peeled his hotdog off of my shirt and returned it to its little white boat. “Oh, uh, thanks I guess. Or sorry, I mean.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat before extending his hand again. “Is there anything I could do to… help?” His eyes scanned me again as if he were sizing me up, making me even more self-aware of the awful state I was in.
“Bathroom,” I blurted out as my mind caught up, barely able to rip my eyes from his biceps. He stitched his eyebrows together, back to confusion again, though I didn’t give him any time to ask questions before I all but snatched his hand and he hoisted me up.
“Nice to meet you, Bathroom. I’m Chris,” he said with a smirk, teasingly shaking my hand. “You didn’t hit your head, right?” He tried to subdue a laugh, but the playful look in his deep blue eyes betrayed him as he reached to brush off my shoulder.
“Very funny,” I shot back with an exaggerated roll of my eyes, betting my smile gave me away. “As in Evans, right? You look too much alike for it to be a coincidence.”
He played with the sunglasses tucked into his shirt’s collar, probably wishing he’d kept them on for the sake of a disguise. Chris only shrugged, claiming he would neither confirm nor deny. I didn’t need him to though, I’d been stuck watching Marvel movies with my brothers long enough to recognize those cheekbones anywhere. “I’m more of an Iron Man fan anyway,” I tried to emphasize my nonchalance in the hopes that I wouldn’t scare him off. “What I meant was I need help finding the bathroom.”
“Oh, yeah. Just passed one over there I think…” Chris trailed off as his eyes swept over the stadium, looking with much more of a level-head than I could. He found one almost immediately and laced his fingers between mine so it was more like we were holding hands. In a silly school-girl kind of way it made my cheeks flush, which was awfully embarrassing that, given my condition, holding hands with a cute boy was what had turned me into a tomato. Then he tugged me in the direction he came from and I wasn’t in the position to protest.
There was only so much I could do with thin paper towels, lukewarm water, empty soap dispensers, and a tide stick from a kind woman who took pity on me. Still, I spent a while scrubbing at the mustard and ketchup stains and wringing my stringy hair over the sink. It was long enough that I was more than surprised to see Chris leaning against the wall coolly. One foot was pressed against the wall and his arms were crossed over his chest while he whistled a tune.
“Is that The Little Mermaid?” I asked with a wrinkled nose, sounding more dumbfounded to hear this burly, bearded, lumberjack-looking man all but belting out Under the Sea than I was to see he’d been waiting for me.
Chris only shrugged, a crooked grin softening his features.
“Is that a problem?” He cocked an eyebrow and flexed his arms as he crossed them as if to challenge me. But there was this twinkle in his eye that betrayed his demeanor so all I did was shake my head. I tucked some hair behind my ear as I glanced back at Chris, who looked far too satisfied with himself as he said, “Good thing since I owe you some ice cream.”
Chris started walking away, taking quick steps so long I had to take two for each of his to keep up. I called his name but he ignored me until I grabbed his hand to get his attention, which it certainly did as he squeaked to a halt. He squeezed mine before letting it go, looking at me curiously.
I wasn’t quite sure exactly what I was going to say until it was already tumbling out of my mouth. “If anything I owe you a hotdog,” I muttered, avoiding his stare. Not that I was uncomfortable waltzing off with a stranger in the limelight, which I totally was. Not that my coworkers were waiting for me and would never believe I’d been getting ice cream with Chris Evans, which was also true. Not any of the totally valid reasons to feel a little funny about this whole thing. Instead, I insisted on buying a hotdog for a guy I was sure had more cash sitting in his bank account than I’d ever see.
“Don’t be ridiculous, my lunch had it coming,” Chris insisted with a swipe of his hand, playfully brushing me off. “Your shirt, however, did not deserve that stain.” His pointed finger dropped to the orangey Rorschach test permanently painted just below my chest, getting a laugh from me.
“Here,” Chris said as he untied the hoodie around his waist. I tried to keep my eyes from wandering to his stomach, where his shirt lifted a little higher than it should’ve been allowed, revealing the curve of his chiseled hips and the beginnings of a fuzzy trail dipping below his belt. “Take this to cover that up.” He handed me his sweater covered in pet hair and I slipped it on immediately, hoping it would hide my wild blush for a few seconds at least until I popped out the other side. It smelled like a dog had been curled up to it coupled with an intoxicating cologne I didn’t recognize and crisp air right before it rained.
I thanked him but Chris shrugged and puffed out his bottom lip before resuming his long strides to the concession stand, tugging me behind like luggage. “Plus, the game is already over. I don’t have to watch my boys actually lose. Maybe if you’d been a Yankees fan, I could’ve excused the whole sweeping you off your feet thing... but come to think of it you aren’t repping the Red Sox either.” He side-eyed me suspiciously without pausing until he nearly hit someone else’s back.
“That’s an awfully nice way to put sending me tumbling to the concrete,” I scoffed, skidding to a stop at Chris’s side in line. “And sports culture is just misplaced nationalism if you ask me.” I crossed my arms to emphasize my point when I was met with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw.
“Then what are you doing here exactly?” He asked, keeping one eyebrow perched a little higher than the other. There was something about the way he smiled at me, all genuine and gentle, and this look in his wide eyes. Whatever it was, I felt like I could tell him everything. So I did.
“All I wanted to do was sit in the sun,” I started, completely aware of how much I sounded like a toddler who missed her nap as I launched off into everything as if he’d been the one pulling up to watch my origin story with popcorn in hand. I told him about how much I missed California and how I felt like I hadn’t met anyone here who got me the way my friends did back home. And how much I loved the work I was doing, the way the end of every day left me feeling complete until I left the office, and how I didn’t think I could survive another Nor’easter for it. I spilled my guts along with the can of worms Chris didn’t mean to open as the concession line grew shorter until we were at the front.
He ordered chocolate and vanilla cones, giving me the choice between the two once they were handed over so I thanked him. We walked around the stadium for a while, bumping hips on occasion and crunching on our cones while we chatted about anything and everything except what I’d said earlier. That was until Chris suddenly stopped to sit on a bench, grabbing my hand to take me down with him. He cleared his throat before speaking with more of a serious air to him so I knew to brace myself for what was coming.
“You’re young, yeah?” he asked, shoving his napkins into a nearby bin. I nodded as I sucked what I could out of the bottom of my cone, though I felt like I’d done a lot of growing up lately. “You’ve got a lot of time to figure these things out. Trust me, I know California is nice, but there’s a reason why I keep coming back to Boston.”
I thought about what he’d said for a beat or two, but I’ll be honest, it was difficult sitting next to him. It was awfully cold with the sun tucked far behind the clouds all day so I was grateful that Chris was so warm. Even his hoodie retained his heat, although I still curled up a little deeper into his side than I might’ve if he wasn’t a human radiator. “Mind telling me why?” I asked, popping the last of my ice cream into my mouth.
He shook his head as he said, “Sure, oh man. So many reasons…” I watched as his blue eyes rose as if he could see the sky through the stadium ceiling, the corner of his jaw flexing as it clenched and relaxed as he thought about it. “Other than my family being in Mass, there’s always something to do. We’ve got the best museums and such a rich history, if that’s your sort of thing,” he paused to scratch his beard as he thought a little more.
His blue eyes nearly popped out of his head as another thing occurred to him. “The culture is something else. There’s something really special about a middle finger being a sign of affection to some poor sap giving tours in colonial clothing and everyone joining in to sing Sweet Caroline on the T on the way home from a game,” Chris continued with animated, sweeping waves of his arms, talking with a kind of passion for a town I couldn’t imagine having in my heart. He shook his head as he added, “And the food is great, too. I mean, where else do they have a whole word for cod that isn’t really cod?”
I laughed from the bottom of my stomach, where I expected a heavy pit of anxiety to be sitting at the beginning of a conversation like this. My homesickness and unhappiness here wasn’t something that I told anyone before out of fear of disappointing someone or being unable to admit my failure out loud. Chris was easy to talk to, more than a stranger usually was. Their judgment never really mattered to me, knowing that I’d probably never see them again. It wasn’t like that with him though, it was easier than that. I felt like he didn’t really judge me at all. He only tried to understand, help, and make me smile while he was at it. And I couldn’t deny a part of my heart that hoped I’d see Chris again. Not only again, but a lot.
“The people aren’t too bad either,” he smiled sheepishly, bumping our shoulders together and looking at me through his dark eyelashes in a way that made me feel like the only person here. As if I was the only one he was talking about. Chris took a deep breath that puffed up his chest, one he didn’t release until after his arm was comfortably slung over my shoulders. “Just give the city a shot, I think it’ll surprise you.”
I wanted to tell him it already had, really he had, but instead, I laughed dryly and said, “Hell, this city makes me feel like I need a shot.” I leaned my head on Chris’s shoulder as it shook with his chuckle, looking up at him to see how he rolled his eyes even though they were scrunched by his smile.
“Know what?” he said like he was asking himself with a deep, shaky breath. He shot up from the bench as if he’d been shocked. I obviously didn’t know Chris well, but even I could tell he was nervous as he rubbed his palms dry on his jeans. “Let’s go get a drink then, instill a little Boston pride in you. There’s this great pub down a couple blocks with live music and everything. I mean, if you want to…?” He scratched the back of his head with one hand and extended the other to me with his offer.
When I grabbed it, Chris broke out into a grin that made my stomach feel like I was on a rollercoaster. “I’d love to,” I said with a smile that barely held a flame to his. Neither of us made an effort to let go so Chris tugged me toward Fenway’s exit. As we left, I heard tens of thousands of Red Sox fans sigh like deflated balloons before the screams of just as many obscenities broke out. Probably another point for their opponents, but it certainly didn’t make me feel like I’d hit anything short of a home run.
Tags: @patzammit , @thegetawaywriter , @coffeebooksandfandom , @captainsteveevans , @intrepidandabitcrazy , @super100012 , @spilledinkindumpster
If you’d like to be tagged in my future fics, please reply to this post :)
Let’s talk about a tag list
Hey! So I know I haven’t been the most attentive to including a tag list on my fics, but I really want to going forward if it’s something you guys would be interested in? I’m sorry if you’ve asked before when I’ve forgotten, but I’ll be sure to include you from now on. If you haven’t reached out already but you’d like to be tagged in my new fics, please feel free to reply to this post or shoot me a message!! Thanks for even enjoying my writing/being interested enough to follow along, all the support has really got me feeling like this Chris gif @ y’all lately