an Emery&Chris story
*a Chris Evans fan fic*
Chris and Emery wind down for the evening and Chris is amused by his bride to be
Warnings: Fluff; Every day life
This is my 100th story! Yea, me!
“Hurry up,” Emery’s loud southern drawl carries through the downstairs of the house. “Some of us have to work for a living? I need sleep. And I need snuggles. Get in here and turn out the lights!”
Her plea is met with silence, but she smiles at the sound of the back door being locked shut and West’s nails clicking across the hardwood floors; Chris muttering, “No girl, go to your spot.”
She knows if he had his way the dog would be sleeping in the room with them, possibly even their bed, but she isn’t willing to relent on that training. Maybe she’ll change her mind with the next dog. But it is highly unlikely.
Chris surveys the living room and smiles at the little changes to the space that was once solely hers. A Patriots throw blanket graces the back of the couch and his hand weights are in the corner. New photos and frames of their vacations together fill the shelves and his guitar hangs on the wall.
The cat jumps out of her favorite hiding place and nips at his ankles and he leans down and playfully swoops her up, resting her on the back of the loveseat by the window, where she seems to like watching the car lights pass by during the night.
Checking the lock on the front door, he kicks his shoes closer to the wall, knowing Emery’s need for order early in the week. With the house full of guests over the weekend, it’s not as clean as she likes it, but he plans to remedy that tomorrow while she is at school. By Thursday night, she won’t care if things are out of place; she’ll be so tired from work, but on Monday night, cleanliness is still important. He shakes his head at this little quirk of his bride to be, smiling to himself.
“I’m hurrying,” he chuckles, stepping into their shared room, recently redecorated to match their collective tastes. He takes in the warm glow of the lights against the freshly painted carmel colored walls, the earth tones more masculine than her previous color pallet. Papers are spread across the floor but Emery is nearly passed out on the bed, not fully rested from a weekend of visitors from the North, members of his family.
“Done grading?” he asks as he flicks off the switch.
As soon as the room goes dark, he pauses mid-stride. “Wicked? What the hell is that?”
“Wha-?” she sleepily asks, her voice dropping off.
“Your ass says ‘Wicked’ in neon-green, kitten,” he laughs, climbing in bed besides her.
In the moonlight through the window, he sees her lift up, looking over her shoulder and she giggles.
“Oh, that! It’s my Halloween underwear! It glows in the dark.” She explains like it it’s nothing and shifts her body to snuggle next to his side, staying on her stomach, but throwing her arm across his waist and her thigh over his, rock solid and ready to go back to work on set soon.
He laughs, the movement jostling her while he wraps his hand around her toned thigh, pulling it up higher against is body. “Excuse me? Halloween underwear?” He kisses her temple gently. “Why have I never seen it before?”
“I don’t know. It was with all my other holiday clothes? I have no idea…” she fights sleep, inhaling his scent and wanting as much time with her fiance as possible before he is away again on business.
“But we were dating last October?” He smiles at the thought of their one year anniversary coming up soon and it fills him with a sense of pride; accomplishment. Like he did something so right to find her…
“Oh, but a year ago, we weren’t at the stage in our relationship when you I let you see my underwear.” She reminds him as she runs her fingers through the fine hairs on his belly.
He pauses in thought, gently furrowing his fingers through the strands of her silky red hair. “Seeing it- no. But I do recall last Halloween you did let me have some tricks and treats… and I still enjoyed your sweets, even if I didn’t see your ‘Wicked’ underwear.”
“Babe, I’m pretty sure in that tight Black Widow costume I wore, I wasn’t wearing underwear.”
“Oh, my god! That’s right! Damn… How could I forget? What are you planning for us this year?”
“If I don’t get sleep, I’m going to be a zombie. Can we figure it out later?” she stifles a yawn and snuggles closer.
He sighs, pulling her tight to his side. “Sure thing, kitten,” he whispers against the top of her head. “Have sweet dreams… and wicked ones… I know I will…”
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