love today, love tomorrow
requested: -angsty fic idea incoming! chris and reader have their first big fight and they don’t talk for days
-Chris & y/n fighting and giving eachother the silent treatment then their kids will notice and will plan to make them talk again...s’cute 😭😭
-Hiii, can you do a imagine like if you have a fight and go to work mad and then have a terrible day and when you come home your like “ I know you are mad at me but I had a really bad day so can we pause the fight for 5 minutes I need a hug “ with chris evans plss thank youuu!💗
-omg how would you think chris and y/n would try to hide if their fighting and don’t want their two little kids to know?
warnings: angst, possibly some swearing, dad!chris and mom!reader, they get pretty angry with each other, lol i always write futile!chris x reader with that angsty dynamic because that’s just their personalities clashing ig
a/n: i hope it’s alright i combined these! general angst to fluff is kinda my fave thing to write lolz. also, don’t mind me completely in love with the imaginary kids i created :’) divider by @firefly-graphics !!!!
no beta/loosely proofread so please excuse errors!
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“Mama, come get me!” Ayla shouts, running up the stairs and down the hallway with her little brother closely following behind her.
“I’m gonna get you!” you call back, chasing after both your kids.
Ayla is much faster and more coordinated than Ezra, but watching them both run down the hall, dark curls bouncing with every stride they take, makes you smile more than anything.
“Mam!” Ezra calls next, taking his thumb out of his mouth only to utter the single word, then popping it back in again as he laughs even harder than before.
Soon enough, you do reach them, halfway down the hall past the kids‘ rooms and yours and Chris’ bedroom. You grab them both around their tummies and start to tickle them. They fall to the ground and giggle uncontrollably, and it’s arguably the single greatest sound you could ever hear. Ezra looks like Chris when he laughs: eyes squeezed shut and little chubby hands thrown across his chest.
But the fun comes to an abrupt halt when Chris’ office door clicks open. You look up and see him popping his head out, and he doesn’t look too happy.
“Darlin’, could you three please keep it down out here? I’m trying to get stuff done,” Chris requests, and the look on his face is pure frustration.
“Dada!” Ezra runs to his father, and Chris gladly takes him into his arms.
“Hey, Bubba,” he says with a tired sigh but smiles all the same. Ayla follows, going over and hugging Chris around the legs. “Hi, Peanut,” he whispers as he reaches a hand down to lovingly rub her cheek.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Honey,” you apologize. “I didn’t realize you were in the middle of something.”
“It’s alright. I should be done soon,” he says rather shortly, but places a kiss atop the dark curly hair of his son’s head and leans down to kiss Ayla’s forehead as she gazes up at him.
“Dada play?” his boy asks, barely pulling his thumb out of his mouth to mutter the question.
“No, I’m sorry. I gotta work, Bubs,” Chris apologizes to his son, whose smile quickly turns into a shy, heartbreaking frown as he pushes his thumb back into his mouth again.
You know the kids miss him and it’s a hard concept for them to understand that he’s at home, within grasp to hug and kiss, but stuck working on ASP or other contracts or scripts for future projects.
You can sense Chris is extremely stressed and you wish you could help. But as much as you feel bad for him, you also wish he’d be able to take off, since it is a Saturday that you’re all home together, finally.
“When can you play, Dad?” his daughter asks sweetly, eyes never leaving Chris’ face.
“Not until later today, Peanut,” he sighs apologetically. “Got lots‘a grownup work to do.”
“Is there anything I can do for you, Lovie?” you then ask, your tone light and loving, hoping he can reciprocate despite his irritation. You stand up and rub his shoulder comfortingly.
“Just… keep the kids occupied? And quietly? And maybe in a different part of the house. I love ‘em to death but I’m going to be on a call soon and I really can’t have any interruptions,” he says, handing the toddler off to you and kissing your cheek while doing so.
“Sorry, Honey,” you repeat with a sigh, grabbing Ezra from his father, taking ahold of Ayla’s hand, and quickly turning on your heels to head back downstairs to the kids’ play room. You hear Chris’ door shut quickly and quietly, signaling he’s already back to work.
“Mama?” Ayla asks quietly.
“Yes, Bug?” you answer as you enter the play room, setting Ezra down to let him run to his favorite toy.
“Is Daddy mad at us?” She asks as you both sit down on the rug in the middle of the room.
“No,” you sigh. “Daddy’s just… busy. And frustrated.”
But your explanation doesn’t exactly soothe your daughter’s mind. Your stomach churns when you see the worried look on her face.
“Ayla, C’mere,” you invite, taking her into your lap to reassure her. “Daddy is not mad at us.”
“Is he mad at me?” she then asks while fiddling with her own little fingers, and your heart breaks a little bit.
“Oh, Bug, of course not,” you coo, kissing her cheek. “He’s just got a lot of work to do and he’s very frustrated and very tired. We’ll just have to play quietly so he can focus and get his work done. He’ll spend time with us later today, okay?”
“Okay,” she sighs in return.
“Now go play nicely and quietly with your brother and Dodger,” you say, helping her up and softly patting her little bum. “I’ll go make lunch.”
You finish up lunch for the kids and for yourself and you also make up a plate for Chris, leaving the kids to finish their apple slices so you can take it to his office. Before opening the door, you listen into the room and you don’t hear anyone talking on the phone, so you hope for the best.
“Chris? Hungry?” you ask quietly, rapping your knuckles against the door of his office before quietly opening the door.
“Oh, thank you so much, Honey,” he murmurs as you set the plate down beside him on his desk. His tone is genuinely thankful but also genuinely exhausted, and he never takes his eyes off of the laptop screen in front of him.
“Ayla’s asking about you,” you say gently before you leave the room.
But he doesn’t even answer. You don’t know if it’s because he didn’t hear you or if he’s just blatantly blocking you out. You sigh and leave, returning back to the kitchen to the kids eating lunch.
The rest of the day passes quickly, but you’re getting exhausted from having to entertain two hyper kids all on your own. They keep asking about Chris and you can’t give them the answer they want. You try to keep them both occupied and quiet, but at one point, Ayla sneaks away to check on her father in his office. But he’s less than thrilled about yet another interruption.
“Daddy, are you finished yet?” she asks quietly.
“No, Ayla, I’m not,” he sighs, spinning around in his desk chair to see his daughter standing in the doorway, peeking her head just enough to see through the crack. “And the more you guys interrupt me, the longer it will take before I can spend time with you all.”
“So you can’t play yet?” she asks sadly.
“Not yet. Now, please, Ayla, go back down to Mama and Ez,” Chris instructs, perhaps a tad too firmly for the situation.
“Sorry, Daddy,” she mopes, hanging her head.
“It’s okay, Bug,” he says, blowing her a kiss. “Maybe you three can take Dodge for a walk. I love you.”
“Okay. I love you, too,” she murmurs, leaving the room.
Thankfully, although he’s missed practically the entire day, by the time you heat up leftovers for dinner, Chris finally emerges from his office.
“Dadadada!” Ezra exclaims, running over to Chris. Dodger is quick to follow, feeding off the energy of the two kids.
“Hi, Ezzie,” Chris sighs, swooping his son up in his arms.
“Dada all done?” the toddler in his arms asks.
“Yup. Work is all done, bubba,” he answers, and Ezra squirms out of his father’s arms just in time for Chris to set him in his booster seat at the kitchen table.
“Finally,” you mumble under your breath, bringing the food over to the table. Chris hears your comment but chooses to ignore it, blowing a raspberry on his son’s belly.
“Dad, do you work tomorrow, too?” Ayla asks shyly, worried about upsetting Chris again.
“Only a little bit,” he smiles, opening his arms for her to come to him. But she sighs quietly before walking over to sit in her chair at the table beside Ezra.
Chris brushes off the diss from his daughter, thinking she’s probably just tired, and he quickly starts to chatter away with both kiddos while you all start to eat dinner. He’s finally giving them the attention they longed for all day. You keep quiet for a while, though. You’re almost too upset about the situation with Chris to start a conversation with him.
“Can we do the puzzle, Mama?” Ayla asks, grabbing your attention.
“We already did it while Daddy was locked away in his office, remember?” you say with a quiet scoff.
“Um… well we can do it again, Bug,” Chris answers. He shares a glance with both kids, and Ayla smiles happily. When his gaze pans to your frowning face though, his smile drops, also.
“What’s wrong?” he wonders.
“Nothing, Chris,” you sigh.
“It’s obviously something,” he prods, wiping some food off of Ezra’s face with a napkin.
“Just wish you could’ve been with us today,” you state simply, taking a sip of water.
“(Y/n), are you mad at me for having to work?” Chris then asks you with a certain tension in his voice.
“All day on a Saturday, yes, a little bit,” you answer as calmly as you can, wiping off the mess that’s on your son’s face.
“I’m sorry, Honey, but you know that’s what happens sometimes,”
“I know that. But Chris, come on,” you sigh, throwing your napkin on the plate in front of you before crossing your arms. “You said you were going to try to take a week off.”
Chris sighs seeing Ayla and Ezra sitting right there, watching and listening to their parents intently. He doesn’t want them to hear an argument break out.
“Hey, are you two all done?” he asks, and both of them nod. “How about you guys go play upstairs?” Chris suggests, helping Ezra out of his chair. Ayla also wiggles out of her seat and the two run off to the play room.
“I told you I would try to get a week off, (Y/n). I never said it was for certain,” Chris then explains.
“Alright,” you say, standing up from the table.
“I don’t know what you want me to say (Y/n). I can’t control my job. You know that,” he states, throwing his hands out at his side and watching as you walk away.
“I just wish you could make some more time for the kids,” you say from the kitchen.
“And I just wish you could understand that we have different jobs on weekends. Unfortunately, I have to work sometimes. That’s just how it is. You have most weekends off so you’re the one to--”
“No,” you stop him right there. “You are not putting this on me.”
“I’m not! I get it that kids were just hard to manage today--”
“Okay, this is not my fault and you also better not be blaming our four and two year old children.”
“(Y/n), I’m not blaming anyone. All I’m saying is that if it could’ve been quieter--”
“Chris, that’s just what happens when you have kids! It gets chaotic; kids will be kids! They play, they want to have fun, and they want to do that with you!”
“Your kids miss you, Chris. They hardly see you because you’re hardly home, and even when you are home, you’re still working!” you say, subconsciously raising your voice.
“I know!” he says back in the same, elevated volume you’re using.
“And you were the one that wanted the big Boston family. So now you have to realize that this is what that looks like,” you state plainly.
“Don’t guilt trip me, (Y/n). I know what I wanted and we talked at great length that starting a family was something we both wanted,” he recalls.
“Then act like you want it, Chris!”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means our daughter thinks you’re mad at her and our son is too young to understand that you’re home but can’t spend time with him. Be present for them, Chris. They need us both. They just want you to love them. And you can’t do that when you’re locked in your office all day!”
“You’re acting like this in my control, (Y/n)! Like I choose to be too busy for you guys! Do you think I like being away from you and our kids for so long? Do you think I like that I have to live with the fact that I missed my daughter’s first soccer game or that it takes a whole two days for my son to get used to me after I come home from filming? You think I like it when you tell me Ayla cries at bedtime when I’m away or that I nearly missed Ezra’s first steps? If I could, I would give it all up for you three. But I can’t. So while I’m doing my job, can’t you just do your weekend job and be a mom?” he practically hisses, veins prominent in his neck and face flushed scarlet from raising his voice.
You’re absolutely taken aback by his words. Your jaw drops and so does your stomach, because although you understand where he’s coming from and you know he’s hurting, he also just hurt you.
“You are such a dick sometimes, Chris,” you seethe.
You try to swallow, but your throat is dry. You grab a stack of dirty plates and walk over to the kitchen. Then, you hear him stand up from the dining room chair and walk upstairs. The clicking of Dodger’s paws against the floor lets you know that the pup is also following after his dad. You sniffle, trying to hold back angry tears as you wash off the dishes.
But it’s not long before you hear Ezra and Ayla start yelling at each other and you fight the instinct to go up and see what’s wrong; it’s Chris’ turn to do this. The shouting stops, but then you hear Ayla crying just a few seconds after and as much as you’d like to go up and see what’s happening, you know Chris is dealing with it.
“Daddy,” Ayla cries, running into yours and Chris’ bedroom. He’s just changed out of a nicer zoom meeting outfit and into some sweats and a tee shirt before going to play with the kids. Dodger, lounging on your shared bed and clearly tired out from the kids’ antics, lifts his head to the sound of his little human crying.
“What’s wrong, Bug?” Chris asks, seeing his teary-eyed daughter, dropping his nice pants on the side table and quickly hanging up his shirt in the closet to tend to her.
“I fell,” she cries, and with a tsk of his tongue, Chris effortlessly sweeps up his little girl and sits down on the loveseat in front of the expansive bedroom windows with her in his lap.
“How’d that happen, huh?” he hums, moving her dark, curly hair out of her face and leaving a kiss on her cheek.
“Was runnin’ from Ezzie. He was tryin’ to scribble on my picture,” she complains, falling into his chest and showing him the minor purple bump already forming on the soft skin of her knee.
“Aw,” he sighs. “I’m sorry, Peanut. Do you want me to kiss it better?”
She nods her head and sniffles.
“Alright,” Chris whispers, leaning down to her bruised knee and kissing it. “Mwah. There you go. That feel better?”
She shrugs her little shoulders and sniffles again.
“You’ll be okay, Bug. You just sit here with me for a little,” he coddles her, rubbing her knee gently and leaving little kisses on her head. “Daddy’s gotcha.”
“I want Mama,” she whimpers again after a few moments.
“You... want Mama?” he asks quietly and she utters a sad little, “mhm,” in response.
“Then why didn’t you go to her first, Peanut?” Chris asks softly, clearly confused.
He knows it’s wrong of him to get defensive against his four year old daughter but he can’t help the way his heart sinks. Of course, he also knows you’re their mother and no one can ever replace you, but he misses the times when he was enough for his kids: enough for their falls and tantrums and upset tummies. Now, sometimes it’s like they don’t even know him.
“ ‘Cause I want you to get Mama,” Ayla explains simply and with another sniffle.
“Ayla,” Chris sighs, standing up and setting her down to stand on her own feet. Now he understands. “Bug, please not right now.”
“Please, Daddy,” his little girl begs as her eyes well up with tears again.
“You can go get Mama. Your knee’s just fine, Bug, I promise,” Chris says as he shakes out the pants he had left before, hangs them up, then busies himself with putting away his other clean clothes stacked on the dresser.
“No, I want you to talk to Mama so that you and her don’t stay mad at each others and get a dead horse,” she explains through sniffles, causing a short silence to fall over the room.
“A dead horse--” Chris stammers, beyond confused at what his little girl is saying. He crouches down to be at her level, gazing into her teary eyes. “Ayla, what in the world are you talkin’ about?”
“Macy said her parents were shouting at each other too much so they got a dead horse ‘cause they were too mad and they don’t live together ‘cause they don’t love each other an’more,” Ayla says, now full on crying again.
“A dead--” he mumbles, and then it clicks. “Oh, Bug,” he sighs. “I think the word you mean is divorce,” Chris whispers sweetly, rubbing his daughter’s back, but his stomach drops when he thinks about what must be going through his poor little girl’s head.
“Div-horse?” Ayla repeats slowly and quietly, her cries coming to a halt.
“Yes, but… Ayla Jane, your Mama and I are not gettin’ a divorce,” he says firmly but yet so lovingly.
“You’re not?” she asks with wide eyes.
“No, my love,” he assures her, scooping her back up and sitting at the foot of the bed with her.
“But you were shouting. And you and Mama always say it’s not good to shout and that we should use kind words to tell how we feel,” her little voice quivers.
“Yeah, you’re right. Mama and I were shouting,” Chris says softly, then he recalls just what he had said to you. “And we weren’t using very kind words.”
“Why were you shouting, Daddy?” she asks innocently, and her little voice just breaks Chris’ heart.
“Well, Bug,” he starts, “because sometimes, even grownups - even Mama and Daddy - have a hard time telling their feelings, too.”
“But Macy said when grownups shout at each other, they don’t love each other anymore,” she frowns as a few tears escape when she blinks. “Do you and Mama still love each other?”
“Oh, Ayla,” Chris coos. “Your Mama and I love each other so so much. In fact, I can’t even tell you how much we love each other. We’re... just… not being very kind to each other right now.”
“Oh,” Ayla sniffles.
“Yeah,” Chris whispers, swiping away the tear from her cheek as he continues. “It’s like you and Ezzie. Sometimes you don’t get along, like today. But you still love him right?”
“And why’s that?”
“ ‘Cause he’s my baby brother,” she answers quietly, nuzzling further into her father’s chest.
“That’s right, Bug. ‘Cause he’s your baby brother. And he always will be your baby brother. And that’s just how it is today. Mama and I aren’t getting along very well right now, but we will talk it out using nice words when we both feel ready to. We will always love each other, though. And we will always, always love you and Ezra, too. ‘Cause we’re a family.”
“And Dodger, too?” Ayla wonders sweetly, gazing at the sleeping dog on the bed behind them.
“Oh of course, Dodger, too,” Chris chuckles.
“Promise?” she asks bashfully.
“Pinky promise,” he states confidently, holding out his pinky for her to wrap her own around. Ayla giggles and curls her little finger around her father’s, tears no longer present and a smile finally starts to crack on her face.
“There’s that smile,” Chris says happily, bouncing her on his knee and kissing her cheeks as she giggles even more. “I love you so much, Bug,” he then says, holding her tiny face in his spacious hands and pressing his forehead against hers.
“I love you, Daddy,” she smiles, leaning up to give him a dainty kiss on his lips.
“Go play with Ezra. I’ll go talk with Mama,” he says with a wink. She slides off his lap and runs out the door after Chris pats her on the bum. Clearly, it was more than her knee that he fixed.
Chris sighs, then wanders down to find you still in the kitchen; you’ve just finished putting the dishes away and now you’re cutting up some fresh fruit for the week.
You hear a pair of heavy footsteps slide over the wood of the floor and your stomach churns at the thought of another wave of an argument arising. But instead, Chris stops before reaching the kitchen and just gazes at you, building up the courage to say something.
“Hi,” comes Chris’ rough voice from behind you, finally.
“Hi,” you murmur back, not turning to look at him. You’re still thoroughly upset with him, not only for how he spoke to you but also for upsetting his daughter.
You don’t know that he’s worked it all out with her, though, or that he’s come down here to work it out with you, too. You hear him take a few steps closer and in a couple of seconds, he’s standing right beside you at the counter where you try to pay him no mind, continuing slicing the fruit.
“(Y/n),” he whispers, splaying his large hand on the small of your back and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. In return, you sigh and lean into his side, fighting back tears and trying to swallow the lump forming in your throat.
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles into your hair.
You turn to look at him and his cheeks are flushed, his eyes are glazed over, and his lips are pulled into an apologetic, guilty frown.
“I know how much I hurt you and I know how upset I made Ayla,” he starts, rubbing your back gently. “I’m sorry for not being present today. You’ve been nothing but supportive of me in everything I do, you do so much for this family, and I don’t thank you nearly enough. You’re an exceptional woman, mother, and wife and you’re my very best friend. And I’m so sorry for what I said. I love you, Honey.”
You grab a towel to wipe your hands clean so you can wrap your hands around his torso. He holds you tight, kissing the top of your head.
“I love you, too, Chris. And I’m sorry, too,” you say, resting your chin on his chest to look up at him.
“It’s okay, Honey,” he says, caressing your cheek before leaning down to kiss you lovingly.
“No, it’s not okay. I know you’re busy and your job is stressful, and your crazy schedule on top of making time for two kids must be hard. And I know it also must be brutal for you to deal with being away from us, too. But you are absolutely the best father and the best husband. I love you, too,” you whisper.
He leans down and kisses you again, softly, sweetly, and slowly. A single tear finally escapes your eye and down your cheek. Chris pulls away just enough to swipe it away before continuing kissing you. You almost get lost in his touch but your attention is soon caught by something else: two little giggling voices from behind the counter.
“Mm. Seems like we have some undercover spies watching us,” Chris says just loud enough for the kids to hear, causing them to giggle again. “You can come on out, secret agents,” he rolls his eyes, still holding you close by the waist, connecting the front of your hips to his.
“Mission ‘complished!” Ayla exclaims, causing you and Chris to laugh as the two kiddos come running around the counter and to where you and Chris are standing.
“Mission accomplished, Peanut,” Chris chuckles, lifting up both Ayla and Ezra, one in each arm, and blowing raspberries on each of their cheeks.
“Say it again, Daddy!” Ayla exclaims.
“Say what again?” Chris asks.
“That you love Mama,” she giggles bashfully.
“Oh, always,” he agrees, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “I love you,” he says. Then, kissing Ayla’s head and Ezra’s head each while punctuating his confession: “And I love you, and I love you.”
Both kiddos start to giggle uncontrollably, and the sound of laughter radiates off the walls of your home. You and Chris share a smile. With a family love like this, problems never persist for long in the Evans household.
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