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andydrysdalerogers · 2 years

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Where is Home? (Chris Evans)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Words: 3.7K ish

Songs: Bring Me Love - John Legend

Summary: Its Christmas Eve and you are just trying to make your flight home to Boston. And of course nothing goes right. Especially when you accidentally insult a fellow Bostonian… one of its more famous ones…

Warnings: smut, drinking, minor angst,

Banner made by @firefly-graphics

A/N: I wrote this for a Christmas 2021 prompt however this tweet inspired me to share it now. Read on, it’ll make sense…

RIP iPhone 6.

It’s like a scene from a damn Christmas movie. You are running though the concord of the airport in Chicago, desperate to make it to the gate of your flight. Boston, your final destination, in sight.

“Excuse me, pardon me,” you say as you weave in and out of the crowd. “64B,” you chant as you look for the right gate. Of course, it’s the one farthest from you but you haul ass, not wanting to miss this flight.

Which you do because the universe just likes to fuck with you.

You see the plane roll back from the window and you let the lone tear roll down your check.

“Is it gone?” You hear from behind you. You wipe the tear, ignore the question and start to talk to the gate attendant to see what you can do to get home. Hoping there is a flight in the next few hours. And there is nothing. You would have to wait until the morning to get onto another flight to Boston. The other attendant is explaining the same things to a man in a cap standing next to you. A Boston boy from the looks of it, with his Sox cap low on his brow and a Patriots hoodie underneath a leather jacket.

“That’s brave,” you say under your breath as you wait for the attendant to book your seat and give you a replacement ticket.

“What is?”

Shit, he heard you. But you put on a brave face.

“Wearing all that Boston shit in a town that loves its team and hates ours.” You offer a smirk at your words. You’re a Boston girl through and through and while you work in Chicago, home is where your family is, in Boston.

“Every city hates our teams, that’s just facts,” he replies, still looking down at what you assume is his phone. Small thing, as you look at it and realized…

“Are you still rocking an iPhone 6?”

You look away and try to not slam your head into the counter. Your filter was usually better but that one slipped. The attendant slides you your ticket and an offer for a hotel, which you accept. You thank them and start to move towards the front of the airport to catch a cab. You have 18 hours before your 6 am flight and you might as well rest in said hotel room.

You moved through the crowd, not as fast this time. Just walking away from your disappointment at the flight and your awkward interaction with a fellow Bostonian. Lost in thought, make a mental note to call your mom, you feel a hand at your elbow, stopping you. “Is there a problem with my iPhone 6?”

You look at the hand holding you and look up and are hit with what has to be the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. You stumble back and realize you had insulted not just a Bostonian but one of the more famous ones. “There’s nothin’ wrong with it. Just didn’t realize people held on to old tech for so long anymore.”

Chris Evans stared at you longer than you knew was appropriate. He knew you from somewhere but couldn’t place it. The curve of your face, your hair, the lips that really captured his attention were all just so familiar. He was finally able to formulate a response. “I don’t want to lose the pictures I have. And why change something when it ain’t broke? Is that good enough for ya, sweetheart?”

The one thing you missed about Boston was that accent. That damn drawl that always made you weak in the knees. How every word had its own pronunciation that, as the reporter that you were, had to lose so that the good people of Chicago could understand you. But it slipped out of you to reply. “Yea, its good enough. Sorry.” You shrugged out of his grasp. Or tried to as he held you tighter.

“I know you.”

What a statement. From a stranger.

“No, you don’t. Let me go please.” You tried to pull away. “I’m a nobody.”

But he held you tighter. And then realization hits him. And he lets go. “You’re a reporter.”

“One in the same. Its YN. See you around Mr. Evans.” And you take off. But he’s hot on your heels. And grabs you again. Obviously not learning from the mistake. You stop and look at his hand again. He lets go but stammers, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t report this.”

You laugh. “You obviously don’t know what I report. It ain’t Hollywood news.”

He smiles. “I know that. I mean I know what you do. You’re good. Really good. Been watching Hawks games just to listen to your broadcasting.”

You flush. Being the rink reporter for the Blackhawks was your dream job. Getting to talk to the players, giving insight to the game, showing off your knowledge for the sport that you love, it was almost perfect. It would be perfect in Boston. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles that radiant smile that truly made every girl swoon. “You’re from Boston?”

“Yea, trying to go home for Christmas.”

“So you aren’t going be on for the next few games.” He is enamored with you although you feel like he’s just interrogating you at this point.

“Ahh, no. Missing the Kings and Knights but I will be on for the Boston game.”

“At home? You are?”

You flush again. He was genuinely interested. In the middle of an airport. You look around and he can sense the problem. Too open, too public. “Right. Drink?”

You shook your head. “I was headed to my hotel. Can’t fly home until tomorrow.”

“The Hilton?” He gave the name of the hotel with a tilt of his head.

“Yeah, take advantage of the free room.”

“Me too. So, drink at the hotel bar?” He looked hopeful. “Share a cab there and back in the morning?”

Chris Evans is asking you to go out for a drink.

Who are you to be impolite? “Sure,” you said hesitantly.

Chris smiled big again. He offered his arm this time. You looped it through, and he guided you out to the private car that was waiting.

“I thought you said cab,” you said accusingly, eyes narrowing.

“C’mon, would you have said yes if I said I had a private car?”

He wasn’t wrong. You shook your head, and he opened the door. You slid into the town car and all the way over. He got in right behind you and asked the driver to take you to the airport Hilton. 10 minutes later, you climbed out and headed in, removing your heavy coat.

Chris hung back as you checked into your room. Dressed in black and gray, he admired how your black turtleneck was tight around the curves of your torso, your grey pencil skirt wrapped your ass perfectly, stopping just above your knees. Your legs covered in what he assumed were stockings that tucked into the black boots you wore. He observed your necklace, a watch, and earrings but no rings. He saw you turn back to him, room key sliding into your pocket. He took in your face again. Simple, classic, hair up in a ponytail, beautiful.

He moved to check in and asked for a room right next to yours. But you were too busy looking down, fiddling with your watch, a nervous habit, to overhear the request.

“Ready?”

You looked up to his crystal blue eyes. “Yeah, what floor?”

“10.”

“Same.” You roll your eyes at the coincidence.

You headed into the elevator, trying to maintain some space. Because the man is intoxicating all by himself. He had shed himself of his leather jacket, staying in the Boston hoodie and hat. The beard was neat and trimmed. He let go of his rollaway to stretch for a moment, his sweater raising slowing along with his shirt. She could see a flash of taut skin right above his jeans and a red belt standing out. You looked away and tried not to blush. A flash of desire ran through your body when thoughts of what he could do with that belt ran in your mind. Jesus, had it really been that long?

Chris knew what he was doing. You were sexy as hell, a little Aphrodite, drawing him in. She was a pistol, he thought. Perfect, Boston bound, into sports and sassy.

They made it to their individual rooms and went into. The room was simple, just the necessities. Bed, TV, towels and an extra door. Odd, you thought, but whatever. You went to the bathroom and washed your face, reapplied some of the makeup and went to lay down. The bed was comfortable at least. You almost dozed until you heard a knock. You went to the door but found no one there. But the knock came again. You looked at the extra door. And again, there was a knock. You opened and there stood Chris, void of his sweater this time, just a black t-shirt, jeans, the red belt, hat and boots. He smiled when you answered. “Ready for that drink?”

“Sure,” you grabbed your purse as he entered your room. You made sure you had your room key and headed downstairs. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Chris placed his hand on the small of your back and guided you to the hotel bar. Seated at a table in the corner, a waiter came by. You ordered a gin martini and Chris ordered a beer.

“How long have you been in Chicago?”

“Three years. Being a commentator for a hockey club had been my dream for years. Its almost perfect.”

“How is it not perfect?” Chris leaned in to hear you.

“Because it’s not Boston.” The drinks made it to the table, and you took a sip, needing the liquid courage.

“I mean I get why Boston is so awesome. But why?”

“Home is where my family is. My home is in Boston. I wouldn’t have to travel so much. Maybe I could settle down and have my own family.” He opened his mouth to speak but you stopped him. “I get it, I could do that in Chicago but,” you sigh, “it’s not Boston.”

He stared at you again. You really were perfect. “So, you are commentating in Boston?”

“Yeah, for a try out. If I can nail it, I can move for the next season.” You stare off in the distance, watching the highlights for last nights game.

“So why wait until Christmas Eve to travel?”

“Why did ya wait?” Your accent showing though.

Chris laughed hard. “Yea, I guess I earned that one. I had a meeting with a producer and a shoot for an ad. Guess I just didn’t plan it correctly.”

“At least you’re honest. A headline for a story during my next broadcast. Captain America is bad at planning.” You waived your hand like seeing a banner. “Breaking News at 11.” You giggle and Chris laughs with you.

“Sweetheart, you know you will blow all the fans out of the water with that. He is the man with a plan.”

“A badly executed plan but whatever.” You take another sip. Chris watches as your cheeks become rosier with the alcohol, just adding to the beauty of your face.

“You didn’t answer my question, sweetheart. Why wait until Christmas Eve?”

“I had the game last night and then I figured I just fly in like Santa. It wasn’t a bad plan until my ex decided to show up at my apartment. Six months later and you would think he would get it in his thick skull we were done.” This statement caused you to down your martini.

“Its what you get for dating a Chicago boy.” Chris tsked at you.

“That’s fair.”

The drinks kept going, Chris insisting next that you should eat. You got to know Chris better over a Christmas Eve dinner of pretzels and mozzarella sticks.

“If you could have one wish for Christmas that would absolutely come true, what would it be?” you ask.

He sat back and looked at you. He took a long swallow of beer. “I would like to find a girl and have her raise a family with me in Sudbury. I’ve been lookin’ and I can’t seem to find the right one.”

You could see the regret in his eyes, of not having the dream. But you understood, its what you wanted. You didn’t say anything, knowing anything you said would just be taken as either sympathetic or made him feel like shit.

Chris cleared his throat. “How about you? Any wish?”

“It’s the same as you. Wish I could find that too. My problem is that most guys can’t handle a woman who would be the bread winner. They would want me to change my career or be a stay at home. I worked really hard to get here. I wouldn’t want to change it for the world.”

“I can see that. Sucks because there is nothing sexier than a woman in charge.” He sent you a smirk that had you been standing, would have made you weak in the knees.

He continued to get to know you. But when you looked at it said 9PM on your watch, you decided to call it a night. He walked you back to your room and rubbed his neck as you tried to open the door. Finally successful, you turned to look at him. The Adonis in front of you. “Thank you for making this Christmas Eve ok, since we couldn’t be with our families.”

“It was my pleasure, YN. See you in the morning for that ride?”

“Yes, of course.” And you slid into your room. You checked your phone, and you had a video message from your mom.

We miss you tonight, but we can’t see you tomorrow, your family said together. All of them jammed into the video.

You felt the tear fall. You missed your family but you knew, 12 more hours and you would be home. You changed into your silk pajama top and shorts and got ready to climb into bed, setting an alarm to get you up. You let the emotions wash over you, your pillow now wet with your tears. A knock startled you and you knew it was Chris. Without thinking, you opened the door.

And he was standing there like before. Except there were only abs that you could see, the jeans hanging low with that damn red belt still looped around. You swallowed and looked up at Chris.

“Are you ok?”

You nod. “I just miss home,” you say. “Its been a long year and I’m feeling more alone.” You wipe your tears away. “Did you need something Chris?”

“I needed to do this before I lost my nerve,” he said. He put his hand on your neck and pulled you in for a kiss that should have set you on fire. His lips moved perfectly against yours, and he ran his tongue on your lips, asking for entrance. You let him in, and you could taste the beer he was drinking. You moaned and pressed yourself against him. He wrapped his arms around you, needing you closer. Finally, you came up for air. He pressed his forehead to yours, not wanting to let go.

“Chris,” you whispered, “what are you doing?”

“You’re perfect, YN. And you are everything I have been looking for.” He kissed you again gently.

Your mind swirled, still slightly inebriated from the martinis but now drunk on Chris. “I…”

“Spend the night with me sweetheart. I wanna wake up on Christmas with you.”

Fourteen words. Fourteen indications that this wasn’t a dream. He was perfect, everything about him was perfect.

“Yes.”

Its all he needed. He grabbed the key card you left on the dresser, picked you up behind your thighs and took you into his room. He sat while you straddled him and kissed him again.

This has to be the craziest thing you ever done.

A one-night stand with Chris Evans.

You let it go, not wanting to dwell on the fact you would only get this man for one night. And he can sense that you are getting nervous or worried. He pulled back, to look at your eyes, lust blown, void of makeup, even more beautiful than he can imagine.

“Be with me.”

It’s a ghost of a whisper you think you can hear before he attacks your neck with kisses and gentle bites. You relish in the attention, never wanting it to end. You grind down into his lap and his growls, feeling your heat on his cock. He stands, lifting you at the same time and turning to lay you down on his bed. The silk top slides slightly, giving him a peek at your hardening nipple. He groaned and bit the nub through the silk, enjoying the moan he pulled from you.

“Be with me.”

You can’t focus on the words as he plays with your body, knowing exactly how to make you squirm and moan, as if he has known it for your entire life. You are his guitar, playing the notes to bring you out. When he skated over your shorts on your clit, you cry out in ecstasy, the sensation already building in your core.

Chris kneels down at the edge of the bed and let’s his fingers play with the top of your shorts, looking up at you, waiting. You nod, no words needed to give permission. He kisses your belly button and then around your hip bones, softly, feather like as he slowly pulls down your shorts. His mouth moves to kiss your thighs, skipping where you now needed him. "Chris," you whisper.

“So fakin’ beautiful,” you hear as he places the first kiss, you want to cry out again but you cover your mouth. “Don’t hold back,” he says, “I want to hear you.” His tongue licked up your slit, taking no mercy. He needed taste you, feel you, make you his.

“Oh god, please.” You squirmed and Chris laid a heavy arm over your abdomen, pinning you to the mattress. “Chris, please.”

“Tell me what you want, gorgeous.” He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t want to.

“I need you.” You just had to be honest. You wanted him. But was it just for the night or forever? Suddenly Boston was even more important. Because Boston was home. And he was at home.

He slipped up to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. And you feel like you are hearing things.

“Be with me.”

No, its still a dream. Until…

“Come home with me.”

It’s the siren’s call you needed. And then Chris thrusted into you, and you cried, tears of joy at the fullness, the pure, raw power he used to make you feel like you were on cloud nine. He waited for you to be comfortable before you tilted your hips up and he moved. Slowly at first and then harder, with more passion than you have ever felt. He hid his face in your neck, listening to you sigh in his ear, you listen to the little grunts he gave.

He could feel you tighten around him. Heaven, pure heaven. You fit together like puzzle pieces. He never wanted to leave. “Baby, tell me you’re close?”

“So close, oh, so close.”

“Good.” He sped up and nibbled on your neck. That was your undoing. You came with a long moan, quivering and pulsing around him. It took two, three more thrusts before he came as well. He slowed his movements, riding out the high. He lifted up to see your blissful expression, matching his own. And he says it louder…

“Be with me.”

You know you heard it this time. What was he doing? “Chris?”

“I found you and I don’t want to let go. Come home with me.” He gave little Eskimo kisses, causing you to giggle. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Logic comes to your brain. “I live in Chicago.”

“And I have a feeling you’ll nail your audition for Boston. If not,” he sighed, “I guess I need a better coat for Chicago.”

“Chicago?”

“Because you’re right. Home is where your family is. But right now, home is also where you are. I don’t want you to change who you are. Because I’m falling for the girl who is who she is.”

You start to get up; the sudden declaration makes you nervous. How could someone fall so hard so fast? You reach for your clothes. But it hits you. He’s everything you ever wanted. He didn’t want to change you, just adapt with you. And it makes you ache. Because home is where he is. You turn to face him, seeing his face look sad at the thought of you leaving. But you lean in and press a kiss to his nose, causing him to smile. “I’m not saying that I would change my world for you, I’m just changing my perspective. But maybe we could give us a chance.”

He smiles and kisses you, bring you back down to the bed. The clock hits midnight. Its still like a Christmas movie, finding love on Christmas.

The morning comes too quickly, waking in each other’s arms. You and Chris head back to the airport, holding hands.

What a difference 18 hours makes.

Chris talks to the attendant and gets you seated together in first class. It’s a quick flight, just over two hours. But he never let’s go, afraid you’ll disappear. As the plane begins to land at snowy Logan International, he turns to you. “Please don’t leave me.”

You cup his cheek and smile. “Home… is wherever you are.” You kiss him gently. “Ready to meet my dad?”

He leans into your warmth. “Ready to meet Scott?” He kisses your palm as you nod. And he looks into your eyes. “I finally found my home… with you.”

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