#chris evansxyou

[your-highnessmarvel]

Always, Forever, Eternally

Requested by Anonymous: Hi! Can you do one where the reader gets an Oscar and mentions Chris Evans in her speech? Chris Evans x reader. Lots of fluff!

AN: how many times have i pretended to receive an oscar in my shower and in my acceptance speech i mention the light of my life, my husband, chris evans? too many

Warnings: none

*gif not mine

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MASTERLIST

You sat beside your boyfriend, anxiously playing with his fingers, as the Oscar stage suddenly lit up with dazzling lights and grandiose music. Your head snapped up and you made eye contact with Chris, those baby blues calming the storm trying to spill through your ribs. 

“You’ll be okay,” he muttered, bending over and placing a kiss on your temple. 

He stroked the side of your face with his thumb. 

The animator strode on stage and announced the pair that would deliver the nominees for best actress for a drama. 

Your heart squeezed uncontrollably, your tongue thick and dry in your mouth. Your heart felt as if it was settled in your throat, throbbing painfully, pushing against the confines of your ribs.

The only comfort, the only anchor holding you to reality was Chris’s hand on your knee, rubbing slow circles through the fabric of your dark blue dress. 

They nominated the actresses and when they said your name, the camera panning to your face, you put on a great show of smiling and pretending to be numb. 

Inside you were a storm.

“And the Oscar goes to...” the announcer said, their voice echoing strangely in your ears. You breathed out, your knee bouncing. 

“Y/N!”

The room erupted in applause, lights, and grandiose music. Your heart ripped out of your chest as you stood mechanically, Chris congratulating you. His hand was on the small of your back, and when you looked up, your lips spread in a grin, recognizing Chris’s genuine happiness. His eyes were lit up by the lights above, as if a million chandeliers had been crammed into those blue irises. 

He gave you a quick, chaste kiss for the cameras and hugged you. “Go get ‘em, baby,” he whispered in your ear. 

With trembling hands and knees made of Jell-o, you walked towards the stage, feeling the eyes of an entire world at your back. You kept telling yourself not to trip, not to embarrass yourself in front of the elite of Hollywood, but when you turned back for reassurance, Chris was the only one still standing, his face split in a grin, eyes sparkling with love and tears. 

You smiled, regaining some sort of confidence, as you strode on stage and accepted your Oscar. It was cold in your hand as you made your way to the mic. 

You took a shaking breath in, zeroing in on Chris, who had sat down but was staring up at you endearingly. There was a camera pointed right at him, and you knew the billboards would go crazy with Chris tomorrow as he looked up at you like his world stood on that stage.

You giggled and waved at him. 

“I won’t comment on how heavy this thing is,” you said, holding up the award as the crowd gave a polite laugh. You gulped, breathing in. “Um, I’ve been dreaming about this moment for ever, but not only about winning an Oscar in an expensive dress. This was about making movies that touched me. That moved me. I wanted to make movies that spoke to my values and what future I want to leave to my children.”

The crowd went into humble applause. 

“I have so many people to thank for this opportunity, notably my agent and my mom. You know who you are, out there, for this wonderful movie. But I want to thank a specific person who is here tonight.” You took a breath in, pointing to Chris, feeling your heart swell. “Chris, my love, thank you so much for giving me the time and space to become the actress and woman I wanted to be. You are the best partner there could ever be. You never stopped me, you never mansplained, and you never told me I could not do something. You’ve accepted all facets of me. You’ve heard me and you’ve loved me and encouraged me to go further. I love you so much.” 

The crowd erupted in earsplitting hoots, applause, and whistles. You saw Chris bend his head to wipe the corner of his left eye.

“Thank you and good night!”

You hurried off stage, searching the darkness as you were guided by people to the photo session. Your heart was beating relentlessly in your rib cage as you stood there beneath the flashes of cameras, giving a few “hot takes” to journalists on your win.

Someone said your name, pointing to a distant corner beyond the cameras. You smiled, opening your arms, and Chris came running to you, swooping you in his arms and twirling. You laughed, throwing your head back, feeling Chris plant a kiss on your throat. 

“My girl,” he whispered in your ear, lowering you to your feet. “I love you always, forever, eternally.”

You blushed when you realized so many cameras had captured this moment. But you only had eyes for your boyfriend. Even if you were holding your very first Oscar for Best fucking Actress. Even if there were cameras and journalists that would die for a picture. 

All you had eyes for was Chris. Chris and Chris and always Chris.

[your-highnessmarvel]

Always You

Requested by Anonymous: Do you think you could do a prompt where the reader is 20 years younger than Chris and of course happy ending, but he thinks he’s taking away her prime years when he really isn’t and there’s a temporary break before they get back together. (Non famous reader, met at a bar?) please and thank you!

AN: i was watching a star is born when i made this ahahaha so meeting in a bar is thematic here.

Warnings: language

*gif not mine

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MASTERLIST

The door of the cab banged shut and you walked away without a last glance, your boots scuffing the gravel. You’d ended in some shit butt town off the border of Boston, and now you needed a drink. The guy you’d been seeing had just dumped you because “things were moving too fast”, and now you needed to drown your anger in some gin. 

The said bar - Jack’s Watering Hole - had a sign hanging off one hinge at the door that read “WE CARD ALL MINORS” and a LED sign flashing ladies night. Well, just your luck. 

This was not how you planned to spend your twentieth birthday night. 

The door opened and out came a draft of cigarette smoke and bad breath. You could barely see when you walked in, what with the low lighting and cloud of smoke curling around your leather jacket. Some guy at the bar turned on his rusty stool to stare at you, belly jutted out under a crumby grey wife-beater. 

There were two women in their thirties standing on six-inch heels by a shitty arcade game, giggling, swaying to the intrinsic music. A few lonely birds had flocked on the other side of the bar, staring into their beers. And a fellow with a Red Sox cap sitting alone in a booth, trying really hard not to stare at you but ultimately failing. 

You walked to the bar and ordered straight fucking gin because this was a shit night. 

“And give me whatever that guy sitting in the booth is having,” you added, watching as the bartender - who wore a sleeveless plaid - looked over your shoulder and shrugged. 

You clicked your nails on the bar as you waited, considering if what you were about to do was a good idea or the dumbest. Who knows? Serial killers are just about around every corner these days.

You took your gin and the stranger’s Budweiser - really? - and handed the bartender his money. You took a breath of good luck and twirled on your heel, headed towards the stranger.

He stared at you with open astonishment as you sat down right in front of him, smiling awkwardly, offering him his beer.

“Rough night?” you opened, mentally stabbing yourself for choosing such a cliche line. 

He smiled. Huffed. He had a full, brown beard that shadowed the bottom half of his jaw. A straight nose. Blue eyes. Handsome. What the hell was a J-Krew model doing in this asscrack of a town, in this bum fuck bar?

“Trying to be unnoticeable,” he said, grabbing the beer you offered him. 

You took of sip of gin. “Can’t really go unnoticed when you look like that,” you confessed. Maybe it was your ex’s betrayal or the lonely one hundred dollars sitting in your bank account or your left tire blowing out, but whatever it was that was giving you this much confidence, you loved it. 

“Look like what?” he asked. He tugged, nervously, at the seam of his black sweater sleeve. 

“Like a god,” you mumbled, dipping your lips into your drink.

“Well,” he laughed, “that’s officially the first time I’ve heard someone refer to me as a god.”

His smile was addicting. His laugh was close to dying over. 

You felt the pinch of attraction in your belly. “What do they refer to you as, then?”

He mimicked being in deep thought. “Hunk,” he said, pointing the tip of his beer at you. “Hollywood’s hottest single.”

Your face went hot. Flames were literally burning under your flesh. 

Hollywood?

“What?”

He smiled knowingly. 

“What?”

You scanned him briefly. He had the military-cut-out body type. The clear as a baby’s butt skin. The clothes with tags like Lacoste and Levi. 

Oh. 

Oh God.

“You’re...” you breathed out, finally putting two and two together. “My God. Chris fucking Evans.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s a hell of an introduction,” he laughed. Holy Christ in Heaven, his laugh was like a waterfall of gold. 

Your face was hot. “I’m so sorry,” you said. “It barely registered. I’ve been having the shittiest week of my life.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Ex,” you corrected. “But also my boss smells like hotdog water. Oh, and my ex left a bunch of skidmarked underwear in my room. My left tire blew out. I can’t seem to save up any money. And I’m being kicked out of my apartment if I can’t get rid of my cat.”

Chris frowned, shaking his head. “Animals before anything,” he said, taking a sip. “I get that.”

“Yeah, as if I’d give away Looney Tunes for a three and a half with barely any hot water.”

“I know a few apartment blocks near my house that allow animals,” he said, slowly taking a sip. 

Your brow rose. “Am I about to know the super secret location of a celebrity’s house?”

Chris laughed. “If you want, you could come over for tea,” he suggested, cheeks pink.

Your mouth fell open. “You drink tea?”

“Of course.”

“We need to get married right away,” you deadpanned.

Chris roared with laughter, left-boob-grabbing and all. 

By the time the night ended, your number was in Chris’s phone and you were on your way to his house

TWO YEARS LATER

You took your bags from the bed, trying to keep the feeling of dread from crawling up and out of your throat.

“You’re okay?” he asked, sitting in the corner, elbows on his knees. 

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t comprehend the idea that he was letting you go, that you would never see him again. The hurt crawled through your ribs and bled into your lungs. 

“No,” you said, keeping a sob in your throat. “I just don’t...” you trailed off, sighing. 

Chris got up, smoothing his hands on his pants. “I just think it’s better this way,” he whispered.

Your eyes snapped to his, teary-eyed, cheeks blotchy. “Better?” you gritted. “Better!?”

“Y/N,” he said, calmly. “You’re twenty-two. I’m forty. Do you not see that I’m doing this for you?”

“Oh, right, the righteous older man,” you grumbled.

“No,” he sighed. “I’m just trying to not take away the best years of your life.”

“These were the best years of my life because of you!” you exclaimed, tears spilling hot over your cheeks. 

You saw the strain in his face, the strain to remain stoic. “You should be out with your friends, in bars, in clubs, staying out late and eating takeout half-asleep, drunk as hell. Not here at nine in the evening, curling up in a face mask with me. Not here, every night, reading.”

“God,” you groaned, throwing your hands up. “You really can’t see that this is what I want. You are what I want. I don’t care that I’m missing out. I don’t want to go out until 4 am, drunk off my ass, every night.”

Chris shook his head. 

You blew out a breath. “I see,” you whispered. “You’ve made up your mind.”

You picked up your bags, not letting him have the last word, and stormed out of his room, of his house, not even saying goodbye to Dodger.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“Ericka!” you called. No answer. “Ericka! Do you have my hair straightener!?”

You stormed across the flat, coming to your roommate’s door, knocking. 

“No! Go away!”

She wasn’t just your roommate, but also your best friend.

After Chris had all but broken your heart, she’d offered a place in her apartment. She’d also held you every night as you cried, stroking your hair. She’d also talked you out of calling Chris, or texting him, or sending him some cryptic letter with a bunch of cut-out magazine letters. 

“Oh my God, you have it!?” you yelled, storming into her room. She was running across her bed, the said item in her left hand. 

“NO, LEAVE!”

You ran across the room, trying to tackle her.

“GIVE IT BACK!”

Someone yelled. Ericka fell off the bed. She kicked you by accident in the ribs and you fell off the bed, knocking your head harshly against the floor. It made a sickening thud and you momentarily went blind.

Ericka yelled. “Oh my God!”

When you came too, you were strapped to stretcher, a paramedic telling you not to fall asleep. But you did. 

You don’t know how long you were out, but when you awaoke, there was a doctor there.

“Hello Miss,” she said, smiling broadly. “I’m just going to shine a light in your eyes, okay?” 

You nodded, groggy, looking around. 

She shone the light in your eyes, humming, seeming content and unalarmed by what she saw. 

“So looks like you had a little concussion from your fall,” she said. “We’ll keep you here overnight, just to make sure you’re all right.”

“Um, okay,” you muttered. “Can I get water?”

“Of course, I’ll send a nurse.” She got up. “Someone is here to see you. Are you willing?”

You frowned. It was probably Ericka. “Sure.”

But it wasn’t your best friend to walk into your room. 

And it’s at that moment, when Chris walked in, that you realized you were in a private room. You didn’t have that kind of money....

“Y/N,” Chris sighed, rushing to your bedside, his voice laced with worry. 

Your mouth moved, a rising tide of something coming up in your throat. God, even after six months, you were still so in love with him. 

His warm fingers grazed your cheek and you flinched, realizing you probably had a bruise. 

“God, I was so worried,” he said, eyes searching yours. “Does your head hurt?”

You sat up, straightening your neck. “Chris,” you said, tone harsh. You saw the way he inched away, hands going into his pockets. “You... you broke up with me. What are you doing here?”

The question hit. He put his hand to his mouth, sighing, sitting on the edge of the bed and hanging his head. 

“I didn’t... I didn’t break up with you. I just... set you free.” He sighed heavily, shaking his head slowly. “And I regret it. I wish I could take it back, Y/N.”

You frowned. “You... you set me free?”

Tears gathered behind your lashes.

When he rose his head and saw the tears, he reached out and wiped his thumb under your eye, stopping the fresh tears from staining your skin. 

“No,” he whispered, his own blue eyes glinting. “I was a complete idiot. I shouldn’t...” He didn’t dare finish that sentence.

“But you did,” you said, biting your lip. 

He looked up, breathing in, looking around the room. “So, how did you get in here?” he asked. “Did you forget how to walk down the stairs or something?”

You laughed. The surprised yourself and giggled. Then you thought twice and covered your mouth with your hand. 

Chris smiled softly. “Missed that,” he rasped. 

“I ran after Ericka cause she stole my hair straightener, then she kicked me in the ribs and I fell.”

Chris chuckled. “I remember how savage you get when your things are misplaced.”

You smiled, reminiscing on that time Chris did some cleaning and put your elastics in another drawer and you lost it. 

Chris reached out and tentatively took your hand. “Y/N, I just... I’ll leave right after, but I want you back.”

The admission was so raw, so honest and cold, that you just stared at him. 

“If that’s not what you want, I promise, I will walk out and you will never see me again.”

You nodded, biting your lip, eyes cast down to avoid shedding more tears. 

The bed dipped as Chris got to his feet, the smell of him lingering long after he’d left.

You dropped your head into your hands, sigh turning into a sob. 

A few minutes passed, your heart beating erratically in your chest. 

“Dammit,” you mumbled, grabbing your phone. 

You pressed on the contact info you still kept despite Ericka telling you to delete it. 

He picked up on the first ring. 

“Get back in here and help me get my hair done,” you ordered.

There was a soft chuckle. “Anything for you, baby,” Chris said, and you heard him laughing in the hallway.  

[your-highnessmarvel]

Once

Requested by Anonymous: can I get some chris angst where he is hurt for some reason and is crying and when reader comes to find him he gets angry and snaps at her. she gets scared and it right away make chris sane again. Thanks! Love your writing and blog your highness!

AN: interesting request. i did my best to make chris the scary big dude that’s mad even though in my head he’s a cinnamon roll

Warnings: angst, chris being rude and loud

*gif not mine, i got it off google because tumblr gifs are too slow to load today sorry

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MASTERLIST

You got home from work earlier than you normally did, a smile on your face as you crossed the threshold. Chris was home and you’d surprise him and then the evening would just get better than it would have been. Giddy, you walked through the house, searching for your boyfriend. 

There was a noise in the study; like a quick, crashing noise, and your heart lept in your chest. Had someone broken in? Sweat broke out along your spine, like cold sweats, and you inched towards the study. Chris would tell you that doing that was the worst idea you could ever have, and that it was typical stupid horror movie character, but you had to see what it was. 

The study door was ajar and through the slim opening, you saw Chris’s broad back and relief washed through you. And yet, the relief took an abrupt turn to hurt when you saw just how tense he was. Back muscles coiling, clenched hands holding the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles were turning white. Head bowed. 

You walked in slowly. “Chris?”

To the sound of your voice, Chris sniffed and stood straight, back still to you. “Y/N, you should leave.”

You frowned, taken aback by the harsh tone of his voice. Chris was usually soft and even when he was angry, he tried his best to remain gentle with you. 

“Hey, no, tell me what’s wrong.” You took a step forward, heart hurting for him, hands reaching to smooth the tension from his shoulders.

“I said leave.”

“Chris, come on I - “

And then he punched the wall, piercing the wood straight through, leaving a gaping hole. 

You jumped, wincing, inching away from him as he turned on his heels, heaving. His cheeks were pink, eyes red from crying, but his expression was wide; scared, sorry, empathetic. He reached out, but you backed away, hairs rising on your neck. His sudden outburst, the loud noise his fist had made as it went right through the wall, had driven adrenaline straight through your body and woken your fight or flight system. And you wanted to flee. 

“Oh my God, Y/N, I’m so sorry.” He reached out tentatively, eyes glistening. 

You stared at him, mouth agape, fighting the instincts in your body. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, please don’t leave.”

You slipped your trembling hand in his, slowly walking into his open arms. He was so gentle, so tentative, as he pressed your cheek against his chest. “It’s okay,” you whispered, still not coming to terms with his sudden outburst that was so unlike him. 

You could feel him shuddering, feel his tense body. He let out a quiet sob and hugged you harder to him. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. “I was just so mad. I shouldn’t have told you to leave.”

“Just tell me what happened,” you mumbled against him. “Don’t shut me out like that.”

His cheek pressed against the top of your head and you could feel the cold tears on his face. “I don’t ever want you to leave, understood?”

“Yes.”

He sighed, shaking. “I love you so much, Y/N.”

You squeezed him around the waist with your arms, inhaling the scent of him, pressing your face further into his chest. “I love you too, Chris.”

[your-highnessmarvel]

HCs for Chris Evans

AN: no one asked for this but i’m bored in class so here we go

HCs of Chris when his S/O goes into labor

- stands there for a few seconds in shock, can’t believe it’s real

- "are you sure?"

- as soon as he sees you in an inch of pain, it confirms everything and he is a mess trying to get everything in order

- runs around with garbage bags

- is having a fit in the kitchen because you want to shave your legs before leaving for the hospital

- has your suitcase already in the car

- sneaks a suitcase full of toys and teddy bears in the trunk

- calls his mom to panic with her

- when you’re finally ready, he’s biting his nails and urging you to the car, all while giggling that he’s gonna be a dad

- stop signs are for pussies

- but then you tell him to drive like a human being and he tries his VERY best to drive properly

- as soon as you wince, he’s pressing on the gas again

- is a huge mess when y’all get to the hospital

- leaves the keys in the car and locks you in

- his mom arrives and assures him she’ll park the car so chris can take you to the emergency

- as soon as the doors slide open he’s yelling for a nurse and a wheelchair

- in your room, can’t believe you have to wait in pain for your dialation to finish

- bites his nails

- puffs your pillows

- walks you around the room

- rubs your back and plays with your hair

- feeds you ice chips

- when you’re in so much pain that you can’t speak properly, he has to take comfort in his mom telling him it’s alright

- you have to tell him to stop harassing the doctor because your time hasn’t yet come to push

- "why we gotta wait around so much!"

- then YOU have to rub his back and calm his nerves down

- when the time has come to push, chris is so happy to be minutes away from meeting his child

- holds your hand and is there to whisper encouraging words to you

- helps you with breathing methods

- when you say you can’t do it he shakes his head and says he’s seen you do plenty and that you’re stronger than anyone he knows

- is almost as scared as you

- promises himself he won’t faint

- when the doctor announces that the baby is coming, chris can’t stop smiling and encouraging you and telling you how much he loves you

- when the first cries of the baby are heard, he kisses your head

- cries

- can’t stop looking at the baby

- can’t stop petting the head of the baby with his pinky finger

- calls her/him perfect

[your-highnessmarvel]

My Little Warrior

Requested by Anon: Hey lovely,I’m a wrestler in training , so could I have a one shot where Chris comes to a show to support them, it’s okay if not. Thank you xx

AN: wow that is so cool! i wish you’d tell me more about what it’s like to be a wrestler in training!? I did my best with a bit of research to makes this as credible as i could for you and the readers!

Warnings: none

*gif not mine

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MASTERLIST

When you’d told Chris that you were training to become a wrestler, his first reaction was to smile so proudly and call you his little warrior. What he wasn’t aware of was that you were savage in the ring. You went in there for the win, to beat your opponent, and there was a certain viciousness with which you fought.

Chris had been adamant to come see one of your fights. At first, you hesitated. You weren’t sure you’d be concentrated enough knowing your boyfriend was in the crowd, cheering you on. But Chris assured you he wouldn’t bother you; he just wanted to support his girlfriend. 

You were facing off a rather ruthless opponent the first time Chris came to your show. Already, you were nerve-wrecked to win this, and now you knew Chris would be there.

As always, before a fight, you took a few minutes to yourself in the locker room. You had your gloves on, sports bra, and shorts, wearing your anxiety clear in the tension of your neck and shoulders. 

Chris knocked on the door, insisting to come and see you. When he walked in, taking you in and all your wrestling gear with the double braids in your hair, he gave you a wide grin. 

“You look kick ass,” he said.

You smiled nervously. “I’m fighting this like - really good opponent, and I’m just - uh - oh damn.”

Chris shushed you, bringing you into the warmth of his embrace. Pressed up against his chest, you could hear his breathing and heartbeat. Safe. Secure. Grounded. Your own speeding pulse seemed to slow. 

“You got this,” he mumbled, mouth pressed to the top of your head. “I know you do. What I’ve seen of your practices, you’re a solid fighter.”

“Thanks, babe,” you mumbled, smiling wide. 

In the ring, Chris’s words kept replaying in your mind in a loop. Replay. The crowd was roaring and the ring leader was speaking and the ref was circling the boundaries of the ring. Yet all you heard was your breathing and the soothing words of Chris. He believed in you so much. He believed in your strength and will, and now so should you. 

“Let’s go Y/N!” 

You swore you heard Chris over the crowd, and just that thought, that he was here, supporting you, believing in you, was enough to give you that last kick you needed. 

You were ruthless in the ring. You’d never fought this hard and this professionally, but you were knocking down your adversary with every chance you got. Admittedly, you suffered a few good punches across your jaw, bruises already forming. Left eyebrow bleeding. Ribs aching. Lungs burning. But by the end, when she law beneath you, and the ref whistled and pronounced her down, you got up with the fiercest smile in the world. You ripped out your mouthpiece, climbed onto the side of the ring, and searched the crowd. 

You found him quite easily; jumping up and down, yelling, waving a flag with your colors on it. You grinned, blowing him a kiss, and went back into the ring to let the ref put your hand up in glory. 

You couldn’t care less about the price. As soon as you’d snatched it, you all but ran off the ring. Standing by the ring was Chris, grinning wide, arms open, and you jumped into his arms. Happiness filled you like a balloon. The crowd roared. Your name fell of their lips, but all you cared about was the win and the fierceness of Chris’s arms around you. 

“You did it, babe!”

“Oh my God!”

He all but carried you out of the crowd, down the hall, into the safety and dimness of the locker room. Outside, the roaring crowd was but an echo, a dull boom of music beginning over the calamity. 

Chris took your face in his hands gingerly, careful not to harm you, and kissed you harshly. 

You winced. “Busted lip.”

Chris pulled away. “Shit.” But then he smiled and kissed your nose. “You were so awesome! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! I’m so proud of you.”

You laughed, coiling your arms around his neck and jumping into his arms. “Oh, Chris!” He held you to him, despite your sweat and blood and wounds, he held onto you. “Thank you so much for coming.”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating against your chest. “Thank you for inviting me, little warrior.”

[your-highnessmarvel]

Lemonade ~ Chapter One

SUMMARY: Hailee, Boston born and raised, leaves in the dead of the night on a state train. Tears in her eyes, hurt in her heart, she ends up in a small town off the coast of Southern California that she knows only through her recently deceased father. She only finds shelter with a woman she barely knows; her grandmother. Hailee tries to rebuild herself despite the ruins she left behind in her other life. And then she meets Chris and finds herself, for the first time in her life, afraid.

RATING: MATURE (FOR FUTURE CHAPTERS)

WARNINGS: None for now. Maybe just language

Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC

WORD COUNT: 4199

TAG LIST IS OPEN (tags are at the end of the cut)

Banner made by me. Pictures are not mine.

A/N: I know this took forever to post. I know I haven’t finished my other things, but this needed to be brought to life. My first multi part Chris Evans fic and I am soooooooo excited! As always, feedback is appreciated. OBVIOUSLY, this is AU. I KNOW Chris is from Boston and such, but for the sake of the story, he’s Californian. Also, yes, the OFC is way younger than him. But she is legal and in all cases, mature enough. I still haven’t decided if Chris is his current age or not. Will figure it out later. 

Chapter One: There’s Lemonade on the Floor like there’s Blood in our Veins

              The sun pierced through the windows of the bus, brining me back to sunny California. I tried to focus my eyes on the outside world, but the burning glare of the sun made me squint, even through my sunglasses.

              I had a terrible headache. My stomach was roaring with hunger. My mouth was dryer than the Sahara, and the lady next to me kept snoring and drooling on my shoulder.

              I held the letter in my hand, clutching it between sweaty fingers. Scrabbled across the back of the crusty white envelop was the address I was going for; a small, crap town by the name of Heaven’s Cove right off the Southern coast of California. Population around six hundred. Founded in the beginning of the twentieth century.

              I had traveled across the country to get to where I needed to be. I spent the night huddled up against the window with my overnight bag as a pillow to finally pull up at the terminal; an abandoned Deli with a sign that read Everything You Need! hanging off its hinges on the roof.

              “This is the end folks!” the driver yelled as he got out of his seat. “There’s a community bus in a half hour that goes to Heaven’s Cove, and another one in ten minutes that leaves for Hentington.”

              I grabbed onto my bag with one hand and the old letter with the other. The entirety of the bus got on its feet, shuffling out as if we were inmates arriving at our prison. My head was still stuffy from lack of sleep and proper nutrition, but I kept telling myself I would arrive at my destination in less than an hour.

              Stepping off the bus and into the Californian heat made me realize maybe my leather jacket was a bit too much. It had served its purpose in the AC of the bus, but now, barely a few seconds outside, and I was sweating.

              The rest of the passengers of the bus wandered off to the benches, waiting for their buses. I was not in the mood to sit around again. My butt was numb from the bus and my legs needed to be stretched. Besides, all I had to carry around was my backpack.

              I wandered off onto the road. The yellow sign indicated that I was walking in the right direction anyway, but I would probably walk the same amount of time it would take if I waited for the bus. So I hitched my bag tighter onto my shoulders, adjusted my sunglasses, and began walking on the dirt path beside the road.

              At one point, the bus that I should have waited for drove right passed me and that is when I realized I should have taken the bus and not walked.

              “Fuck.” I mumbled. I was beyond thirsty, more like parched, and my stomach was rumbling so loud, I’m sure my folks back at home could hear it.

              And just as I cleared the bushes and trees, a small and not abandoned deli appeared. It was more of an auto-repair, general store, gas station kind of place, but I could see snacks through the window. The building had a huge, rusty sign over the door which read Evans Everything Store. I shrugged, thinking maybe they had everything I needed, like a hot shower, Netflix, and five days of nap time.

              The interior was AC cooled, which made my burning skin feel like literal paradise, and there was a cashier at the front desk. She looked in her mid to late thirties with a head of curly blonde locks and bright blue eyes. When she smiled at me, her face lit up like a Christmas tree and she showed me a rack of shining pearly whites.

              “I’ve never seen you ‘round here,” she piped. I smiled awkwardly, looking around for an excuse to not have small talk.

              “I’m just passing through,” I mumbled. She made a sound between a grunt and a sigh.

              “You’re on foot,” she blurted out, readjusting her array of shiny necklaces around her neck. When I frowned at her and still didn’t take off my sunglasses, she giggled. “Saw you standing around out there like you’re lost. You look like the kind of girl who hasn’t seen the west coast.”

              I didn’t answer. All I wanted was a Gatorade and some chips. But that woman was too quick for her own good. “What you holding there?” she asked, gesturing to the envelop I was still carefully carrying.

              “It’s an address.” I don’t even know why I answered her. It was such a bad idea. She hopped off the stool she was sitting on, revealing she was much smaller than I expected her to be, and walked right up to me. She snatched the letter from my fingers, making me almost growl. Ignoring my obvious discomfort at her easy-going behavior, she read the address out loud.

              “That’s like a twenty-minute drive, but on foot?” she squealed. “You’re in for at least a couple hours.”

              “Thanks for the info,” I grumbled, snatching the envelop back, walking right passed her.

              “Hold on,” she grunted, rolling her eyes. She took a good look at me; unruly curls that obviously needed a wash, sunglasses to cover a massive hangover, ripped black jeans, holed chucks. “East coast,” she announced, crossing her arms over her chest.

              “Bingo,” I mumbled back, reaching into the refrigerators to fetch a blue Gatorade. “Got any chips?”

              “I’ll drive you to Nana Smitty’s,” she grumbled, but I could hear a tint of joy in her voice. I frowned, feeling the upcoming discomfort in my stomach.

              “No,” I answered sourly.

              “Uh, yes,” she said, running back behind the counter to fetch her keys. “Your shoes have holes and I have no clients.”

              “What about your boss?” I asked, but who would say no to a ride? “And what about my Gatorade?”

              She shrugged, walking behind the counter to fetch her keys. She came back grinning, her sunny blonde hair catching the light from outside. She was truly a gorgeous woman, and if I wasn’t a total bitch, maybe I would have told her. “My boss is my father, so I can deal with him later,” she grumbled, opened the front door, “and the Gatorade is on the house.” She held the door opened for me and when she saw my hesitation, she sighed, “we don’t get many visitors.”

              I decided to follow her. Not the best of ideas considering I was raised to believe strangers were psychopaths, but she looked way too nice to be hiding a knife in her car. And yet, that’s what all murder victims think.

              Her car was a beat-up Volvo that sprung to life with a metallic sound. The inside smelled like cigars and car oil but was otherwise clean and clear of any murder weapons.

              “I’m Carly, by the way,” she said, flashing me a wayward smile before slamming onto the gas. I smiled shyly, adjusting my sunglasses.

              Friends. Those were the things I shouldn’t be making.

              “Hailee,” I answered, sipping on my drink, watching the world outside pass from forest green to suburban beige.

              We drove in silence for a while. I could feel Carly wanted to know things; she kept giving me side looks and fidgeting with the wheel. What pissed me off even more was the fact that the radio stayed closed.

              “So Nana Smith, huh?” she mumbled, smirk playing on her lips. I nodded. “Related?”

              “Yes.”

              “Grand mother?”

              “Bingo.”

              Before she could ask any more, I pressed harshly on the power button of the radio and put it loud enough to assert the fact that I was not in the mood to share secrets. Carly resolved to driving in silence again.

              We passed through what seemed to be the town square. Stores lined the main lane, pubs and restaurants spewing soft music as we rolled by. It was Friday, and the weekend vibe could be felt with all the townspeople crowding the sidewalks, and the lights sprung about. The air smiled like the ocean and faintly of cigarette smoke. It was strangely comforting.

              Carly drove us off the main lane into a part of Heaven’s Cove that seemed to be the older side of town. Houses were farther apart until an entire football field could be placed between them. They were more classic versions; front porch, gated lawn, oak tree in the back.

              The Volvo came to a stop at the address indicated on the envelop I was still clutching. For a reason I still ignore, my heart burst to flames within my chest. My mouth felt crusty, even after downing an entire Gatorade. I stepped out, frowning when Carly stepped out as well.

              The house was slanted on one side, which led me to believe it had been here for at least half a century. The porch went all around the house, the gate crusty with the white paint falling to pieces. There were chairs sprawled here and there on the porch. The front door was a screen that had a hole on the bottom half, and all the windows were more milky-white than see-through.

              “Are you sure this is the right place?” I asked Carly.

              She turned to me with a smile and nodded almost frantically. “Yeah,” she chirped, “this is Liza’s place.” How many names did my grandmother have?

              The porch steps creaked under our feet as we made our way up. “Liza!” Carly hollered, the sound of her voice echoing within the house. “You’ve got a visitor!”

              “Coming!”

              I went from one foot to the other, holding my bag, feeling the nervousness seep deep inside my tummy. My bottom lip was trapped between my teeth, my fingers curled in tightly against my palms. When I saw a shadow emerge from the hallway and into the light of day, my heart lurched forward.

              “Carly, baby, what you doing out here?” Liza asked. She was a woman who should have looked way older than she did, yet her hair was still the fiery red as I last remember, and her green eyes were still alight and vigilant. Her mouth was pulled into a sincere smile. The only evidence of her age was the wrinkled webbing in the corners of her eyes and the brown splotches on her skin. Yet she didn’t look a day over fifty. “And who might this be?” she asked, turning to me while wedging the door opened enough to see me better.

              Carly gave me a sideways glance.

              “Hailee,” I mumbled, awkwardly smirking at my grandmother.

              Liza’s eyes grew big and her brows climbed onto her forehead. “As I live and breathe,” she grumbled under her breath. Her hand came to her chest were a pendant hung from her neck. She twirled the necklace between her fingers, her mouth opened, eyes drinking me in. “Last time I saw you,” she said with a trembling voice, “you could barely walk.”

              “I know.” What a dumb response. “I’m sorry.” Even worse.

              Liza looked between me and Carly, giving the blonde a quick smile before sighing and holding the door wide opened. “Carly, have a nice drive back,” she said sternly, “and tell your brother he needs to bring himself over here tomorrow. The pool’s been acting up again.”

              “Sure will, ma’am,” Carly chirped, jiggling her keys as she waved and stepped down the porch. I watched her spring back to her Volvo, nervousness and fear in my heart.

              “Come in,” Liza ordered, her voice strained yet hard. “And take those sunglasses off!”

              I walked in after her, taking the glasses off as asked, and drinking in the house. I barely had time to register the pictures framed on the walls and the yellow wallpaper that Liza was bombarding me. “What brings you all the way down here?” Her eyes were hard, not the calm and easy-going glance she had given me when she didn’t know who I was.

              “I need…” I trailed off, glancing up the stairs where I could see and opened door. This was where my father grew up. “I need help.” I looked away shyly, feeling the blush creep onto my cheeks.

              “Just like your mother,” Liza grumbled, throwing her hands in the air and brushing passed me and into the hallway, headed for what seemed to be the kitchen. “That woman had an ego bigger than the ocean, and she took your father away. Made sure I never saw him or you ever again.”

              I frowned. “I was born here?” I asked, timidly following her. That woman was more intimidating than any boy I had a crush on.

              “Bet she told you that you were Boston born and raised,” she grumbled back, rummaging on the counter, her back to me. The kitchen was small and, yes you guessed it, yellow. The refrigerator made a weird sound and the tap kept running, but everything else seemed cozy; round kitchen table, cushioned seats, windows that let in an impossible amount of light. To my right, an arch way led to a small living room, from which I could see more pictures on the walls.

              “I didn’t know I was born here,” I said, feeling like my head was going to implode. “My mother-“

              “-Was a bitch,” Liza interrupted. She turned back to me with a plate full of cookies and motioned for me to sit down. I did, leaving my bag on the floor, awkwardly staring up at my grandmother. “Now tell me what you need. Money? A car?”

              I sighed, scratching my head. “I needed to leave Boston,” I mumbled, staring at the rusty edge of the table. “I did…something and my mother won’t speak to me again. I needed to leave, and I found this in dad’s drawer.” I slid the envelop across the table to her, watching her eyes turn from angry to nostalgic. She swallowed hard, taking the envelop gently between her fingers.

              “He never read it,” she whispered, sliding her index along the intact edges.

              “I needed to leave,” I started, my breath coming out in puffs, eyes watering. “I didn’t know where to go. I was looking for money, anywhere I could, and then I came across it. I looked at the return address and…”

              Liza nodded, putting the envelop face down onto the table. “I sent this to him when he left,” she said quietly. The room got suddenly heavy and I wished in that moment that I could have found the words to comfort her. “You know, she didn’t even invite me to his funeral.”

              “I left everything behind in Boston,” I said slowly. “I just need a place to stay.”

              She nodded, still staring at the envelop. “Alright,” she agreed, “you can stay here as long as you need to get back on your feet.”

              “Thank you,” I sighed. She got to her feet and walked right out, leaving me awkwardly sitting there with a plate of cookies.

              “The room on top of the stairs is yours!” she hollered. “Don’t mess it up!”

                                                           ***

              After a good night’s sleep in what must have been my dad’s old room but was now converted into the guest room, I was fully recovered. I had place the few clothing items I had brought into the drawer, along with the letter. The bed was a double, sheets yellow and thin to survive the raging heat. After I spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling, I decided I needed to come down for breakfast.

              The heat was scorching and heavy. Even within the house. The AC must have been broken.

              I managed to take a shower without breaking anything and changed into a red tank top and black shorts. I left my dark hair wet and untamed, pushing it behind my ears. The heat would surely dry it off in minutes.

              I came downstairs to a quiet house. The screen door let in a pool of light, the windows all opened to the sound of birds chirping. “Liza?”

              The house echoed with the sound of my voice, yet no one answered. The back door was opened, and weird sounds were coming from the yard.

              As I walked into the living room to stare out the door, I spotted a jug of lemonade on the nightstand beside the television. It was freshly made, ice still floating despite the horrible heat. My hair was already curling!

              The sound of hammering brought me back to the world outside the back screen door. Beside the glistening inground pool was a man, hunched over the mechanisms, hammering like his life depended on it.

              Was he trying to steal Liza’s pool mechanism?

              “Hey!” It was stronger than me; the need to tell someone off. With a bang, I had slid the screen door wide open and I was marching bare foot on the back porch. The metal slants were hot under my feet, the air heavy over my shoulders.

              The man jumped slightly before turning with a smile on his face. He was gently and strangely good looking. I was startled by how beautiful he was that I stopped mid-way from asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

              Standing on all his six-foot glory, he smiled again, flashing me his pearly whites. His light brown hair was messily pushed over his head, exposing those blue blue eyes and that little button nose that would make any woman swoon. The beard that shadowed his cheeks and chin made him look tougher than the soft expression in his gentle eyes.

              I was still shocked by how good looking this man was that I hadn’t noticed the way his shoulders strained against his black t-shirt nor the way his legs went on for ages under those light jeans he was adorning. He was truly a work of art.

              “Hailee, right?” he said, and my brows furrowed, feeling the familiar pinch of anger and suspicion in my tummy.

              “You must be the pool mechanism stealer, right?” I returned with sarcasm. He chuckled, the smile on his lips starting to feel more and more permanent.

              “You met my sister yesterday,” he stated, fanning his tee because of how hot he probably was under that. “Carly?”

              I nodded, still frowning harder than I ever did before. Then I remembered what Liza had asked Carly before the latter had left in her rundown Volvo.

              Tell your brother he needs to bring himself over here tomorrow. The pool’s been acting up again.

              “You’re Carly’s brother?” I asked, my voice sounding way too harsh for the entire ordeal.

              His smile got even bigger, if that was even possible. “Yes,” he said. “I’m Chris.” He stuck his hand out, but he was still slightly too far away for me to shake it, so I stood there and nodded again.

              “Nice to meet you,” I answered. I swirled on my heels and headed for inside.

              “I’ll be inside in a minute!” he called after me, and when I turned to him with yet another frown, he added, “I’ve got to fix the AC, and Liza’s probably got lemonade out for me.”

              I didn’t answer. This town was getting more and more weird by the minute, and I didn’t want to have to deal with any more of it. I had to find a place of my own, a job, and a car. I didn’t have time to dwell here, especially with Liza, who seemed to hate me and my mother.

              I went into the kitchen to prepare my breakfast. I had eggs in a plate and coffee in my mug by the time Chris waltzed in, forehead sweaty, biceps glistening. I could see him through the arch way between the kitchen and the living room, where he stood with his back to me and sipped on a cup of cold lemonade.

              “If you’re gonna stare,” he said after a sip, “might as well come in here and talk with me.”

              I rolled my eyes, yet nonetheless waddled my way back into the living room. I held my plate of eggs in one hand and my coffee in the other, settling it all on the table in the room and sitting comfortably on the couch.

              “Breakfast at this time?” he asked sarcastically before he knelt in front of the AC machine.

              “It was a long night,” I answered between bites. He smirked, unscrewing the machine, revealing the network of wires and cables underneath.

              “Heard you’re from the east coast,” he blurted absentmindedly.

              “Boston.”

              “And Liza’s your grandmother?” he asked, inspecting the wire, pulling some and unplugging more. I made a sound that agreed with him. “Carly told me your dad was Harold Smith. Apparently he owned a pawn shop here and when he met-“

              “-my mother, he ran off with her to Boston,” I interrupted. “I’ve heard the story from Liza.”

              Chris paused to analyze some wires that he held along the length of his palm. “Liza’s son has been dead for years,” he announced. “I’m sorry.”

              “Whatever,” I grumbled, sipping harshly on my coffee, trying to ignore the familiar wave of anger that always surged whenever someone mentioned the death of my father.

              “If you don’t mind me asking,” Chris said in a gentle tone, “how did he pass?”

              I rolled my eyes. Why did everyone want to know that? Why couldn’t people just be content with the fact that he’s six feet under? They always had to know why and how. “It was a disease,” I growled, “called none of your business.”

              The sigh that left his lips was heavier than the heat outside.

              My forehead had beaded with sweat and my hair was now a mess of dark curls. Chris needed to fix that AC fast.

              “And why’d you come all the way down here?” he asked.

              “You ask a lot of questions,” I grumbled, grating my fork on my plate loud enough to send the message.

              “Just making sure you’re not taking advantage of Liza,” he grumbled back, plugging in the wires he had been holding.

              The tips of my fingers twitched over the warm mug I was holding. “Excuse me?”

              He sighed again, hitching his elbow on his knee, turning a soft yet stern look towards me. Even like that, stern and sullen, he still looked good. “Look,” he said, “I’ve known Elizabeth for my entire life. She’s a good woman, but her heart is too big. And you, I’ve never even heard of you. And then you just waltz in and settle in under her roof, eating her food, living in a house she’s worked blood and sweat for. I’m just looking out for her.”

              I stood abruptly, almost knocking over my empty plate. “If you think I’m just a smoocher,” I grunted, “you can leave.”

              He stood as well, brows turned upwards, a look of remorse on his features. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he tried to apologize.

              “Yes you did,” I growled back. “Now you can leave.”

              He gestured to the AC. “I haven’t finished with it yet,” he protested.

              “Well I’m finished with you.”

              He went from foot to foot, twirling the screwdriver between his fingers. A look of guilt crossed his eyes and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

              I was fuming. Already I felt so bad for coming here unannounced and demanding help from a woman I didn’t know, and now this guy was rubbing it in my face. I didn’t need that. I didn’t need a total stranger telling me I was taking my big-hearted grandma for granted.

              “What about the lemonade?” he mumbled. I scoffed, walking roughly to where the jug was and snatching it against my chest. Droplets of the juice splashed on my bare feet as I turned and stomped back into the kitchen.

              “You don’t deserve lemonade!” I growled, feeling childish and stupid, but I was too angry to contemplate my behavior. I wondered, after, what it must have looked like for him; a twenty-two-year-old grown woman throwing a tantrum and splashing lemonade everywhere.

              “Hailee,” he started.

              “Leave!”

              I threw the lemonade into the sink, slamming the empty jug on the counter. I stared out the window, eyes strained on the now functioning pool, while I heard Chris shuffle quietly behind me. I stayed there, stupidly standing in front of the sink, clutching the edge of the counter, until I heard the sound of an engine in the front yard. I turned to face the sound. From the edge of the hall, I could see through the front door as a black pick up truck rolled out onto the street.

              A few hours later, when I had locked myself in my new and temporary room, I heard Liza come in. The front door clanged on its hinges and I listened to her waddle in, whistling and mumbling to herself. A few silent moments passed until I heard her calling my name.

              Popping my head out of my door, I hollered back, “yeah?”

              A beat passed. “Why is there lemonade all over the living room floor?”

tags: @iamthemaskhewears @void-imaginations @poerebel @ironmanlover24 @fluasch @thatcrazybookwormgeek @papi-chulo-bucky 

[your-highnessmarvel]

Lemonade ~ chapter two

SUMMARY: Hailee, Boston born and raised, leaves in the dead of the night on a state train. Tears in her eyes, hurt in her heart, she ends up in a small town off the coast of Southern California that she knows only through her recently deceased father. She only finds shelter with a woman she barely knows; her grandmother. Hailee tries to rebuild herself despite the ruins she left behind in her other life. And then she meets Chris and finds herself, for the first time in her life, afraid.

LEMONADE MASTERLIST

RATING: MATURE (FOR FUTURE CHAPTERS)

WARNINGS: None for now. Maybe just language

Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC

WORD COUNT: 3705

TAG LIST IS OPEN (tags are at the end of the cut)

Banner made by me. Pictures are not mine.

A/N: LMAOOO ok so i finally posted part two! Still haven’t established Chris’ age... still figuring it out. Please leave feedback.

Chapter Two: I Ruin Everything Good; It’s What I Do

There are a few reasons as to why I choose to act the way I do. As others would call it; a bitch. Living in the high-class Boston citizenship had more downs than ups; more disadvantages than its counterpart. From the outside, yes, the high-end cars and the endless flow of cash seemed as delicious as it sounds, but there were dark corners to everything.

              The high-end Boston life required an armor thicker than the ones they put on our soldiers. Everyone was out to get you, even if they seemed to be your most trusted friend. If they could find a way to take you down from your throne, trust me, they would. Loyalty did not exist in that kind of world.

              Hence, my trust issues.

              I had been in the town of Heaven’s Cove for well over a week, and I was still locking my room behind me and making sure all my stuff was still there when I got back. Despite the neighbors being literally miles away and my grandma deserving no distrust, I was cautious.

              I hadn’t found a job yet, but my hopes were up after distributing a few resumés. I had an interview tomorrow. I could start gathering enough money to buy a car and move to LA, possibly find a better job and a place to stay. All of this, in the hopes of leaving this town.

              The people were typical small-town folks. There were no proper hair salons, and the clothing stores sold last seasons magazine. I hated the town more than the life I led back in Boston.

              Even now, as I watched Liza fry some eggs, made me hate it. Who even fries eggs like that?

              “Are you going to the party tonight?” she asked, looking at me sideways because she could probably feel my glare on her.

              “No,” I answered, shrugging, sipping on the coffee mug I held in my hands.

              She frowned, dark red brows knitting together. “Everyone in town is going,” she added, as if that would totally convince me to go. “It’s an annual thing. Happens every June to welcome summer.”

              I rolled my eyes with a quiet sigh. “Summer doesn’t need welcoming,” I grumbled, “it just comes whether we want to or not.”

              The spatula clanged on the counter as she turned to face me, red hair a fiery mess. Hands on her hips, she gave me a glacial look from under her brows. “It would actually really please me if you went,” she said, fighting to stay steadily grave and not completely angry. “If you’re going to stay here and have a job, you’re going to have to get along with the people. That’s how it works around here.”

              I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling the typical mix of guilt and anger for feeling so weak. I didn’t normally feel guilt, or any type of weakening emotion, but when I did, it got me angry. I hated feeling that way, and more importantly, I hated when others knew I was feeling that way.

              Liza was still staring. I shrugged. “I’ll probably go,” I answered under my breath.

              Going back to her eggs, she said, “we’re leaving at seven.” I rolled my eyes, trying not to grunt, but alas, she heard me.

              At seven I was ready to jump out the window and pretend I had been kidnapped. I had planned to stage a fight in my room, but when Liza came knocking, I abandoned all my plans of excavation. I had gotten dressed in a red tank top with blue jeans and my Vans shoes. I didn’t really know how people got dressed in Heaven’s Cove, but I was sure it was not cowboy boots and stuff.

              When I came outside to meet Liza, she was sitting in her Jeep, wearing a black blouse, her fiery hair a knot atop her head.

              We rode in silence, the scenery going from forest green to the light pastels of the city. I could smell the salt from the sea in the air. The wind was gentle and warm, and as the sun fell beyond the horizon, the climate slowly descended to a very comfortable temperature.

              By the time we’d arrived at the parking lot, the weather was kind and the wind was low, and the smell of sea salt still hung in the air. Liza got out of the car, whistling under her breath, and I followed behind her.

As we walked down the main lane of the town, I could hear the soft booming of music and the chitter chatter of a crowd. We rounded the corner to what was known as the “town square” by the common folk. All the stores had their interior and exterior lights opened, creating a intricate cacophony of light against the town amassed in the center. Music was playing from the ice cream store, soft and gentle tunes. Merchants had their stock displayed on wooden tables here and there, the smell of food invading the square.

Truthfully, the view was adorable. Folk who’d known each other since birth were gathered, laughing, dancing, tasting the foods, and enjoying the company of each other. Old and young, teens and adults, all were gathered in the dim lights of the square.

I was honestly awed.

Liza’s hand found my shoulder, bringing my closer against her body. The intimacy made my mouth dry, my hands twitching, wanting to avoid all kinds of vulnerability. “This is where your father grew up,” she said, her voice low. “He had friends like them,” she added, pointing to a group of teenagers laughing beside a small fire. “He had ambitions and dreams for this town. He was going to go to school and come back to help us.”

I stood there, feeling the insides of my palms itching. “What about my mom?” I asked, feeling salty. Liza always talked about my father like he was a god and my mother was the goddess of hell. But I knew them both, and yes, my mother was a bitch, but to me she had had those fleeting moments of pure motherhood.

Liza sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”

I rolled my eyes, swiftly stepping aside. “My mom was not as horrible as you think,” I growled, feeling venom on the top of my tongue.

My grandmother shrugged, a sad smile on her lips. “It’s hard to see the good in someone who took away the only thing you had.”

She left me on that, walking towards a group of women and men that appeared to be in her age range. She just left me standing there, a sour taste in my mouth, overthinking every moment spent with my mother. Was she really as bad as everyone said she was? If she was bad, was I? I had her looks and her temper, maybe a hint of her anger and snapping character. But was I as bad as everyone said she was?

“Hailee!”

The sound of my name brought me back from my reverie. A curly-haired blonde was barreling down the path from the parking lot. A huge smile on her lips, splaying those pearly whites, her big blue eyes round and joyful. Behind her, a tall young man with shaggy blonde hair and a beard, looking strangely familiar.

“Hailee,” she breathed, “I’m glad you could make it.” She was wearing a beige sweater and bright blue jeans, her hair tousled to one side of her head. She had on dazzling earrings and shining lip-gloss.

“Hey Carly,” I muttered, smiling slowly. The man behind her gave me a huge grin, hugging his blue cardigan around his torso.

“This is my brother Scott,” Carly continued, introducing us. “Scott, this is Hailee, the girl that lives with Nanny.”

His grin turned into a full-on smile and he gave me his hand. “It’s really nice to meet you, Hailee.”

“You need a nickname,” Carly laughed, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. “How about, Haze?”

“That’s actually really not necessary,” I tried, but now even Scott was into it. He was strangely familiar; his height, his light brown coloring, the way he smiled made his eyes turn in a very familiar manner.

“Mom!” Carly exclaimed suddenly, waving to a couple walking in through the same path. “Mom, dad!”

They seemed endearing, hand-in-hand, soft and kind with their gentle features. The man was tall with the same auburn colors as his son. The woman was shorter, of tough build, and wore the same smile as the blonde fire-ball before me.

“This is Hailee Smith,” Carly said matter-of-fact. “Haze, this is my mother, Lisa, and my dad, Bob.”

I smiled shyly, waving at them awkwardly as if I was a teenage girl meeting her boyfriend’s parents. The woman, Lisa, looked me over with a kind smile.

“You look like your mother, doesn’t she, Bob?” she said, looking up to her husband. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“You knew her too?” I mumbled. Lisa nodded.

“She moved in here she was, what, maybe seven or eight,” she said, and it was the first time I heard someone talking about my mother with not a hint of hatred. “She had a drive, that young woman. Whatever she wanted, she got it.”

Just like my dad.

I didn’t say anything more. I decided hearing about the past meant nothing for my future. I needed to move on; move away from this toxic town.

“Have you met my two others?” Lisa asked, making me frown. “Carly go find Shanna, would you?” As if she was a child, Carly playful ran off to find her sister, I presumed, while I stayed back.

“I assume you’ve met Chris?” Lisa asked me.

I froze. That name rang a bell. A bad bell. The guy who was at Liza’s place and treated me like a smoocher? That Chris? The man I deliberately insulted? I had totally forgotten Carly and him were related. Well, that was going to go bananas later.

Lisa was oblivious. “He said he went by Nanny’s place last week to fix her pool and her AC,” she went on. “He didn’t have time to fix the AC, but I’m sure he’ll be back some time this week.” She looked truly concerned, so I doubted that Chris told her about our whole dilemma.

I had deliberately tried to ignore and avoid Chris the entire week. I had seen glimpses of him here and there, always with his tool box, a bright smile on his lips. I caught him at the resto I had an interview at tomorrow, helping out with the industrial fridges. I saw a bit of him repairing someone’s car. But I had avoided him at all costs. He made my ego hurt.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” I said, smiling awkwardly, stepping back.

“I’ll go ahead with you,” Scott added quickly, waving to his parents as we headed for the table with free beer.

Scott was tall and had such a warm smile that it evoked zero ounce of hatred in me. I felt completely at ease with him. Walking in silence, despite his awkward throat-clearing, wasn’t as bad as I had thought.

“My parents are quite talkative,” he said shyly, hands in his jean pockets. I waved it off.

“Mine never really talked to me so,” I answered, shrugging.

I didn’t know why I had said that, but that moment of clarity, of openness, didn’t taste as bad as I had envisioned.

“My brother is the real talkative guy,” he continued. “He’s older than me, so he’s always looked out for me. Do you have any siblings?”

“I’m the only one,” I answered with a grimace.

“Oh boy, you’re lucky,” he said. I grabbed a beer from the table, thanking the woman sitting there with a smile. She was short and stocky, grey hair a tangled mess on her head.

Scott continued. “My brother and my sisters, man, they were so much trouble,” he giggled. “Chris was into sports and my sisters tried to follow, and that made the household such a mess!”

I laughed with him, finding it in me to put aside the awful feeling I had since I had left Boston. “Carly is the spitfire,” he added, his tone softening, “and Shanna is the brilliant one. And then Chris is the big-hearted bro, you know.”

“What about you?” I asked, sipping on the cool beer, walking back towards the center of the square.

“I’m just the little brother,” he answered.

“You’re more than that, for sure,” I said, laughing, enjoying the feel of simple company.

However, the feeling didn’t last long. A broad-shouldered hunk of a man came into my line of vision, accompanied by a bustling blonde. I felt the wave of bile at the back of my throat; anger and pride rising to meet the knowledge that I might have overreacted the other day by the pool.

Scott turned to his brother with wide arms, embracing him. “Chris, good to see you,” he said. I rolled my eyes shyly, looking away from the siblings.

Even though Chris made me fume, I couldn’t deny how good he looked. Even though he wore a simple blue blouse and dark jeans, he looked better than anyone at the gathering. His hair was messy and gathered behind his ears, while those baby blues matched his attire. Of course.

“You met Hailee, right?” Carly piped in. I turned, feigning surprise, and nodded. I met Chris’ eyes for a brief instant, ignoring the sly smile on his endearing mouth.

“I’ve gotta go find my grandmother,” I spat, turning on my heels, feeling my chest squeezing with both hatred and awkwardness.

“I’ll go along with you.”

I resisted the urge to growl. He really wanted me to throw another tantrum in the middle of town?

He slid in beside me, matching step, smiling like he won the lottery. “So, did the lemonade come off easily on the carpet?” he asked sarcastically.

“Do you really want me to tell you to fuck off?” I asked, gritting the words between my teeth. I held my cup of beer tightly. He shrugged.

“I’m still waiting for an apology,” he said. He smelled like cars and salt and man, and even though I wanted nothing more than to rid my mind of him, just his presence made me want to rip his clothes off.

When I looked up at him from under a deep frown, I saw the good in those bay blues. The never-ending sweetness and goodhearted intentions. He was not a bad man. He was not the man I wanted him to be, because it was much easier to see him as bad than to come to terms with the only true fact being that I was the worst thing that could ever happen to him.

“Fuck off.”

He laughed, following my steps again. “Would you like ice cream?” he asked, his voice laced with laughter as we made our way through the tough crowd in the center. “I’m sure you’re not really looking for Nanny, right?”

I turned to him, staring daggers, fuming. I wanted nothing more than to scream at him, but I also didn’t want to cause a scene.

“Or maybe you’re just trying to find a way to get rid of me?” he asked feigning innocence. I huffed, really, huffed, and turned on my heels. “So chocolate or vanilla?”

I didn’t really know where Liza was or anybody else in this town, so I sighed and stopped. “Chocolate,” I answered, watching as he slid ahead of me, shooting me a heart-stopping grin.

He went up to the clerk, elbows on the counter and all, grinning from ear to ear. I watched, standing a few feet away, as the light from inside the ice cream canteen reflected off his face. Even his smile, so sweet and good, was more angelic than anything I’d ever encountered.

Thinking back, that is the moment I realized I would destroy him.

He came back holding two cups of chocolate ice cream, an even bigger grin on his face. “Don’t you think vanilla is just overrated?” he joked, handing me the cup.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t really care.”

“Hailee, look,” he said as we stepped aside, his tone going from joking to serious. “I think we started on the wrong foot, you and I, right?”

“Right,” I grunted, finishing my beer and starting on my ice cream.

“Whatever it was, I’m willing to put it behind us,” he said with a slow smile. I looked up at him, dark eyes meeting light blue. He was serious. He stuck out his hand dramatically. “Friends?”

I hesitated. Then I brought my hand into the warmth of his, letting him engulf it and shake it gently. “Friends,” I muttered.

He smiled. He let his hand stay in mine a little longer, my skin beginning to tingle, my mouth watering. Quickly, I wrenched my hand from his and wiped it on my jeans.

“So what are your plans now?” he asked. He motioned to a bench that was sitting just outside the square borders. It was in the shadows, conveniently away from the crowd.

“I have a job interview tomorrow,” I admitted, following Chris to the bench and sitting down. His thigh brushed mine, and I had to fight the tingles crawling up my thighs.

“Where?” he asked, and he did that classic boy thing where he lay his arm on the back of the bench, his fingers skimming my shoulder.

“The diner that overlooks the sea?” I squeaked. He chuckled, his laugh rumbling through his chest.

“The fish ‘n’ chips?” he asked. “Good luck with that.” I laughed with him.

I enjoyed his company for the entire night. Maybe Chris was not as bad. He made me laugh. He made me forget there were things out there that tore me apart. He made forgot the pain that was wedged deep within my soul. I was hurt. I was broken. But in those moments, sitting in the shadows, ice cream freezing my lips, with Chris by my side, I was content and whole.

“I should drive you back,” he said. “I saw Nanny leaving and I’m sure she wouldn’t want you walking all the way back.”

I stood, giggling, feeling the one beer and the ice cream sloshing in my tummy. I felt good. “What, is this town full of serial killers and stuff?” I asked sarcastically. An expression, dark and fleeting, passed quickly across Chris’ face. As soon as it had been there, it was gone. I was left questioning it as I followed him back to the parking lot.

He had been chatty and smiling the entire night, and now, his face had turned somber. Even if I couldn’t properly see his face in the fading lights and the darkness of the path, I could tell he was triggered.

“It’s just not safe at night,” he answered as we got to his black pick up truck. I shrugged.

“Boston was never safe,” I grumbled, “day or night.”

We rode in silence. Chris was lost in thought and I was lost in the scenery of the forest green with the glinting sea beyond. Inside his car it smelled like boy and oil, soft music playing in the speakers. When we arrived at Liza’s, he got out.

“You don’t have to,” I grumbled, shutting the door behind me. Liza’s place was all dark, but the porch door was swinging opened, blocked from closing by a rock, probably placed there by my grandmother.

Chris chuckled. “Good luck for your interview,” he said.

I laughed. “You’re only saying that to be nice.”

He shrugged, walking onto the porch, the steps creaking under our weight. Under the moonlight, he looked soft and pale. His eyes kept finding mine, his mouth twitching. “Can I take you out to dinner Friday?” he asked calmly, no inch of anxiety in his tone.

Oh, I wanted to refuse, really, I did. But even despite his good looks, there was a certain magnetism to him, a certain calm that drove me to him. I barely knew him, and I wanted nothing more than to stay with him. Yet I was dangerous and destructive, elusive and spontaneous. I was like my mother. Him and I, we were not meant to be. He was the type of boy that I used and disposed of back home. And I didn’t want to be that girl anymore.

I was so lost in thought, my brows pulled, that I didn’t feel his hands on my biceps until he shook me slightly. His fingers were warm, caressing my skin, and I didn’t want him to stop one bit. “Am I being too forward?” he whispered. He was leaning in slightly, his much larger frame almost cupping around me.

“I just… um…” How could I say it without sounding stupid?

He chuckled, rubbing my arms again, making me sway slightly. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. If I did accept to go out with him, nothing would stop me from ruining the good in him.

“Hey, look, um,” he took out his phone, his hands leaving my skin, a cold trail following the lack of his warm palms. “I could leave you my number and whenever you want, you can text me?” he said.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I breathed. I handed him my phone, watching the electronic light up on his face.

“We don’t have to go out,” he added, just to be sure I got the message. “We can go surfing or hiking, you know, anything you want.”

I took my phone back, unsure of what to answer. He stood there, tall and almost intimidating, watching me with intent in his eyes. Then, quickly, almost so quick I thought I had dreamt it, he kissed my cheek tenderly, his hand cupping shoulder. I closed my eyes slightly, enjoying the innocence of that fleeting moment. And then he was slowly walking down the steps.

“I’ll see you around, Haze,” he chuckled, back to his boastful and energetic self. I waved at him, feeling broken and complete all at once.

tags:  @iamthemaskhewears @void-imaginations @poerebel @ironmanlover24@fluasch @thatcrazybookwormgeek @papi-chulo-bucky @patzammit @wildefire 

[your-highnessmarvel]

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Lemonade ~ Chapter One

SUMMARY: Hailee, Boston born and raised, leaves in the dead of the night on a state train. Tears in her eyes, hurt in her heart, she ends up in a small town off the coast of Southern California that she knows only through her recently deceased father. She only finds shelter with a woman she barely knows; her grandmother. Hailee tries to rebuild herself despite the ruins she left behind in her other life. And then she meets Chris and finds herself, for the first time in her life, afraid.

RATING: MATURE (FOR FUTURE CHAPTERS)

WARNINGS: None for now. Maybe just language

Pairing: Chris Evans x OFC

WORD COUNT: 4199

TAG LIST IS OPEN (tags are at the end of the cut)

Banner made by me. Pictures are not mine.

A/N: I know this took forever to post. I know I haven’t finished my other things, but this needed to be brought to life. My first multi part Chris Evans fic and I am soooooooo excited! As always, feedback is appreciated. OBVIOUSLY, this is AU. I KNOW Chris is from Boston and such, but for the sake of the story, he’s Californian. Also, yes, the OFC is way younger than him. But she is legal and in all cases, mature enough. I still haven’t decided if Chris is his current age or not. Will figure it out later. 

Chapter One: There’s Lemonade on the Floor like there’s Blood in our Veins

              The sun pierced through the windows of the bus, brining me back to sunny California. I tried to focus my eyes on the outside world, but the burning glare of the sun made me squint, even through my sunglasses.

              I had a terrible headache. My stomach was roaring with hunger. My mouth was dryer than the Sahara, and the lady next to me kept snoring and drooling on my shoulder.

              I held the letter in my hand, clutching it between sweaty fingers. Scrabbled across the back of the crusty white envelop was the address I was going for; a small, crap town by the name of Heaven’s Cove right off the Southern coast of California. Population around six hundred. Founded in the beginning of the twentieth century.

              I had traveled across the country to get to where I needed to be. I spent the night huddled up against the window with my overnight bag as a pillow to finally pull up at the terminal; an abandoned Deli with a sign that read Everything You Need! hanging off its hinges on the roof.

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