#play with him like a barbie doll.. i still wanna write a fic about him being cold blooded and make that silly too lmao

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Oh I need to actually respond to the comments I'm getting on ao3 hgdsfjls

[itsalreadybroken]

Times Passes By

Chris Evans x Reader

This was a request Chris Evans x [Daughter] reader (And I didn't quite get the request, so this was what I thought)

Summary: You both always had a thing for each other, you had known each other your whole lifes but pursuing different life choices, you find yourself at your home town being the manager of the supermarket and Chris... Well he's famous and all that. One night stand changed all your life and Chris oonly ound out about it a bit to late... Or not!

A/N: So I really like this one-shot and it was what I could figure out from the request! Hope you guys enjoy it! I wrote this in 6 hours because I couldn’t just stop! If it helps I wrote a part of this fic whilie listening to “Next to Me” from Imagine Dragons... Oh my feels!!

Word Cont: 7515

PAST

You met Chris when you were three years old and he was five. Some boys were just mocking you for your dress and he was like your knight in shinning armor. Except he had blood on his elbow and  dirt all over his shirt.

- Thank you ! - you hugged him and kissed his cheek. In that moment he no longer felt like a boy, he felt like superman, or spiderman, anything that had "super" or "man" written in it.

- Name's Chris – he smiled, a cute boy's smile that make a little girl blush and think about their parents hugging each other (of course at the age of three, you had to get in the middle of it).

- Y/N – you laghed and ran away, when your friends with pig tails called you.

At the age of 6, Chris was 8 and thought with his friends, girls weren't that cute and they had   a bunch of lice and girls liked to hug and kiss! Who, in their perfect mind would like something like that? Chris only allowed his mother and his grandmother to kiss him, and even though he always hoped they didn't.

You here starting to write your full name and being able to read all the days of the week... Well... Most of them, at least. You were wearing a pink jacket and some white pants. You always had the Barbie feeling and your mom also liked to dress you as if you were a princess. At recess you and your friends were talking about some new Barbie movie and a football just hit one of your friends on her shoulder and she let out a little scream which made you all scream.

- Girls! - Jamie from 4th grade mocked you all while looking at Chris, who was trying no to laugh – All they do is play Barbies and think about kissing boys and their silly sing-a-longs.

- Jamie, I'm  telling mom you're being mean again! - Abigail warned him while looking at her green and pink nails, lacking more polish than anything.

- Y/N, right? - Chris was unsure while all those girlfaces looked him up and he knew that girls only intention was to take the boys away fro their mommies, and he didn't want that. Who would tuck him in bed at night? Dad? That was ridiculous, dads don't tuck in.

- Yeah it's me – you answered and were fixing your unicorny headband.

Some days had passed and near Christmas your parents said a new couple was going to move right next to you and they were excited because they had a boy about the same age as you and a girl a year younger, and they would have a couple to trade expercience with. Young parents always needed to be asured they were doing something right.

The day had came and your mom had even baked... okay she had even bought a pie to welcome the new neighbors. Your dad had made the invite, they should join you for coffee and the pie. The doorbell rang and your mom had put you on one of you finest dresses.

- Hello, come in, come in! I'm Tabitha and this is my husband Freddie, you've met him – she softly laughed, and your mom had one of the most beautiful laughs you had ever heard... Counting you were six.. It was a lot by now. - And this is our precious Y/N!

You smiled nervously and when you looked, there he was, Chris knight in shinning armor when you were three was right there.  He waved as in acknowledge of you and his sister Maggie was right behind him. Except now he was one the boys you were always talking and one of the boys you think it had a severe team of living creatures on his hair, soooooooo as far away as possible.

You and Maggie quickly became friends and were always playing at each others' houses and sleepovers and you spent as much time you could together. In this time Chris was playing with his friends outside or on that stupid playstation all boys seemed to have those days. Maggie and you were inseparable which made yu spend a lot of time around him. About his age of thirteen you were just some silly girls you wanted nothing but to play with dolls and he was "almost a man" , which meant he spent a lot of his time in his room. When you were thirteen, he was one of the most cute guys from school, he was one of the guys your friends wrote theirs last name's after. Your friends envied the way you could be around him that much, even when you didn't spend any time together. Your time was spent with Maggie mostly.

He was in the football team and they had won, so he came home with after trying to be an older guy and drank one beer. He ws drunk, or maybe he was just feeling funny. He came home and his sister was having a shower while her best friend, you, were watching some TV.

- Hey Y/N – he laughed with no apparent reason and sat on the sofa next to you.

- Hey Chris, so I guess you won? - you quirked a brow while looking at him. He nerver behaved like this, so what was wrong? He never made small talk, except at dinner and he never was this giggly.

- We won. Do you know you are very pretty? - he looked serious, but in a matter of seconds he had burst out in laughter. You must have blushed because he grabbed your hand and smiled – No no, sorry! I'm not joking, you are. We just don't talk much.

In fact you didn't but, if this was what you were going to talk about, you'd rather stay quiet, because you felt your cheeks burning and he was just so damn cute smiling and all. His face were coming near and near and near until he had kissed you.

Your first kiss! You kept looking at him and his eyes were closed and his lips were on yours and it was a strange feeling.

- What was that? - you asked and he looked at you smiling.

- A kiss silly, and by the looks of it, I guess your first – After 10 years he got the feel of being a hero again. Not a hero because he would tell everyone, but a here because he had been the only guy to kiss you. You and you pink clothes and princess's ways.

- What's going on?! -  a voice came from behind you and you jumped on the couch while he laughed. He quickly got up, but Maggie was still looking at you too – You were kissing?! I mean, K I S S I N G?

- Yes Maggie, now let me shower because I'm really tired and I'm in need of some full time and much needed sleep.

The next day and some few next weeks were the worst. Maggie had spilled the beans about your kiss and Abigail, who thought would have him was just furious. So... Basically, all your friends were not your friends anymore because you had broken a pact. Maggie was in a different school, so it had all sucked a bit and you felt like crying when he came over to you.

- What's wrong? - Chris asked, concern all over his now deeper voice and his friends were waiting for him.

- Can't be seen talking to you, Abigail would kill me – you said in a cold voice and you bit your bottom lip.

- Seems she already have because you look like crying. - That was it, tears ran all over you face and you tried to hide it when he ran an arm all over your shoulders – Hey don't cry!! - he was whispering trying to avoid others eyes on you and he kissed the top of your head – So we kissed, she's just jealous because she's not that pretty and I didn't kissed her – he laughed.

- But she had a crush on you, you don't get it. And Maggie said you had a beer, so that's why you kissed me, and I didn't understand any of it.

 Oh my, that's why girls had so much dating problems, you thought about everything to the tiniest detail and it wasn't that complicated.

- Well... Maybe it was the beer that gave me the courage to kiss you, but I wanted to do it. It was a cute kiss, it was nice – his friends were looking at him and now he was feeling a lot embarassed – Y/N, I've known you since you were three and I saved you from some boys who were mocking you. John was one of them and he's right there looking at us right now – in that moment he felt anything but embarassement and cleaned the tears in your face with his tumb – And if you don't stop thinking about Abigail, I might kiss you right here just to shut up everyone.

You felt your cheeks go ppink again, and looking at his blue eyes, you could also see and feel his smile.

- Now come, you don't have to be here all of your lunch time alone. You'll hang out with us for a while.

But the while became a day, and a day became a week and a week became a month and, you still couldn't tell how it had happened, when you were fourteen he asked you to be his homecoming date, not his sister like usual and in the middle of your blue dress, his suit and a tie that matched our dress he kissed you, everyone looking and he asked you to be his girlfriend. Sure the kisses were now a regular and a hand going here and there from time to time.

- So you wanna date me? - you needed to be sure of tht and a nervous chuckle left your lips.

- Why not? - he asked caressing your cheek– All I really wanna do is kiss you all the time, so this might even be a bonus to it.

- Well, then you'd be my boyfriend -he looked at you and nodded.

- Yes I would, and your no so friend anymore Abigail would be really jealous – he kissed your forehead and smiled.

Dating a teen Chris was just so easy, nothing ever was hard, and you hardly fight, since he only went out with the boys to play footbal or videogames and you were always around Maggie who felt so sad about your friends being mean to you, she never left your side whenever she could.

- Sooo, have you done it? - she asked while finishing her homework.

- Did what? - your brows made a 'V' shape and you where looking and then... - Oh no! We haven't – Imediate blush – What the hell Maggie!! - you laughed.

- Just wanted to know! I'm thinking about doing it with Travis! And you're almost sixteen now! So you should have done it by now!

- I'm not ready to do it yet! I'm afraid!

- Afraid of what?

- Well, heard our moms talk once and they say it hurts on the first time and besides, what if he doesn't like my body? I mean naked body!!

Maggie had laughed about your concerned and she were just looking directly at you.

- How could he not? He spents most of the days talking about you when you're not around. He didn't even go to Travis' party just because he knew you had an important exam and he didn't want to make you feel lonely. I've also seen the way he looks at you when we're in the beach sooooooooooooooooooo – she took a moment to breathe – There's no way that's ever going to happen.

At your sweet sixteen birthday party you had gone for a family trip and by family it was you, your parents, Chris's parents and Maggie. You had lunch on some fancy restaurant in the middle of the city and your dinner was only you and Chris. Your family liked him and so did his parents like you. It was like it was meant to be. Chris had is own car, and he had picked you up. You dinned at McDonalds, but it was the most romantic you thought you had even seen him go.  After that he took you to a place where you could see all the city in one look. In that moment you were more interested in the make-out session you were both having, rather than th landscape. You were moving your hands nervously around his body and he knew what you were intending to do.

- Are you sure? - he asked between your tradded kisses and you nodded. After his question you were positively sure now.

- I do, I love you Chris! - you were kissing his neck and you felt a nervous chuckle on his throat.

- You know I'm almost as nervous as you don't you? I have never done it too. Even though I told our friends we had.

- You're going all chatty now mate? - you spoke in an accent looking at him and giggled – Because if you are there's a movie I wanna see.

He quickly shut up and gave you one of the most importants moments of your life. You belonged together, and in that moment that was nothing that could ever break you two. You were both sweaty inside the car, hair all messed and trying to catch a breath. It was perfect.

But life's never perfect and your mother died of cancer leaving you and your dad alone. You had 18 years old and you had cried so hard for a week, you don't remember ever crying that hard. You never felt the need to cry that hard, but you felt so lost without your mother and you knew she was never coming back.

Chris never left your side, he was always there, always helping you. He even had to bathe you once and it killed him seeing the sadness in your eyes. It was so hard not being able to make all the pain he knew you were feeling go away. He loved you so much and he just wanted to take you somewhere it didn't hurt, somewhere together, just the two of you and pure happiness.

When Chris turned 21 he wanted to go acting, and he wanted to leave. You knew you could never leave your dad alone, not only after your mother had just died a year before, you didn't think you could ever leave him alone. So that's when the fights with your boyfriend began. He wanted to go, you didn't. You were now dating for 6 years and you never wanted it to end but you knew... Yu didn't wanted to be the reason he didn't followed his dreams. So, on a sunday afternnon you did the unthinkable, the only thing that hurt so much to even think about it. It wasn't even a fight and he was so angry because he loved and he didn't want to let you go but he also understood that you wanted to stay, but you weren't even fighthing for what you both had.

- So you're ending it this way? - he grabbed your hand and you felt the tears wanting to come out and pressed your lips together – We can be together even if I'm away for a while...

- We can't Chris, I don't want to be the reason you don't get to live your full dream you know? I don't want to stop you from ever achieving your goals – you kissed his cheek – I can't leave dad alone, I cannot and you know it.

Fuck, I did it had to hurt so much? You loved him so much. Even now he was looking at you, blue eyes hurt and you felt so guilty. You kissed him and for an instance it was like all the pain had gone away, for a moment nothing hurt anymore, it were just the two of you.

Chris left his home on a thursday and for a very long time you made no way on trying to contact him. You couldn't, if you clled him you were sure you'd ask him to come home, to be with you. A part of you knew he would come, a part of you were sure if he asked you you'd go meet him too. After a lonf period of calls unanswered and texts not being replied your world went pretty dull and vague again.

You started to work on a supermarket as a cashier, Maggie had gone on a trip for a full month and there you were right were you started when you were six.

Alone without any people your age the apartment next to yours. You tried to avoid his parents just because you liked them a lot and you didn't want them to see the face that broke their son's heart.

At the age of 25 you were now the manager of the local supermarket. You were happy, or at least you thought so. You and Maggie went out almost every weekend for dinning and for some local gossiping because a girl has her needs. You avoided being in town when Chris came, luckly it was pretty rare of him to come home.

- Were you invited to John's wedding? - Maggie asked while eating her dessert.

- I was, were you... Was he? - Maggie nodded. Damn it, you couldn't not go because John helped you a lot when Chris had moved out. John had met a girl in college and she was so sweet and kind. She could see what he saw in her.

- He was, and he's coming – Maggie had a devilish smile – Come on Y/N! He's becoming famous now! He did Fantastic Four and now I think he'll be Captain America or something like that.

Maggie knew both of you never asked about eachother, but she knew you both wanted to know stuff. Chris had a girl here and there but he never spoke of her the way he talked about Y/N.

- Jesus! I've seen him on the paper last week! And all he will be seeing is the mess that I am. Maybe I could not go...

- No no no no no! You're going alright, we're going! Together! I'm taking you for dress buying tomorrow, and 'no' is not an answer! If my brother's looking his best, so will you.

Dress buying wasn't the hardest, you always enjoyed putting on some dresses and posing for imagine cameras. You had fun, a real fun and it was all so worth it. It was like a movie scene where the girls try a dozen of dresses but in the end, end up taking one you hadn't even seen.

You decided to go with a green dress, long and it embraced one of your shoulders leaving the other one completely naked. Your hair was lose and you just had to go with it. You felt nice.

Maggie knocked at your door and you had left, she was taking her new car, big brother's birthday present. Damn, he knew how much you had always liked that car and for a second while Maggie was driving, you imagined he was the one driving it, his hands had most certainly touched the car, the seat were you were seated, and it was all too much. Maggie and him even shared the same smile. This was all too much again.

- What's happening? - Maggie's voice brought you out of your thoughts and you looked up.

- Nothing  - you lied and faked a smile..

- Don't lie to me, I've known you since ever. If it makes you feel better, he's almost as afraid of bumping into you as you are of bumping into him.

- He's afraid of bumping into me? - you asked a bit to eager than you'd like.

- Sure he is! He told me girls these days, or girls never tended to ignore him but you crossed all those boundaries when you didn't just reply to him – she shrugged.

- I...

- I know you couldn't do it. I get you Y/N, you're like a sister to me, never judged your actions. If it were my mother... Well, I don't even want to talk about it.

You arrived at John's house for some photos before going to church and to help the guy not be nervous to his gut.

- Come on John, it's going to be okay, you love her don't you? - you asked while his mother was helping him with his tie and Maggie was eating something

- I do, but what if she doesn't show up?

- Why wouldn't she not show up? You have all your friends and fmily there wanting to take pictures with the groom before the wedding, and it was not her dressed you mocked when she was three – he took a small laugh and seemed a bit calmer.

- Hey ma... - a voice had gone much quieter and John's gaze was jumping between you and the owner of that voice

- Chris don't go in there! - but Maggie's voice was a second to late and you turned.

There he was. After seven years of intended avoiding, you were looking at each other. He was breath taking, wearing a tux, and much more older. Your hormones couldn't even think straight when you looked at him like you could just take him there and have sex wherever you wanted, instead you just smiled.

- Chris hi! It's been so long – you chuckled nervously and pressed your lips together.

- Y/N – you had extended you hand for him to shook and he just grabbed you and gave you a hug, kissing your cheek. - How long... John, you're looking good man.

- Thanks – John said and the tension in the air was obvious – So let's go, I have to get married.

For an instance you were glad he had entered the room, this way John stopped having idiot second doubts and it was all much easier to process. John's cousins were all over you two and Maggie, trying to grab Chris attention, he spoke to them a bit but his mind was always ending up on you. He knew you still held some power over him but he never thought it would just be that much.

You three went on Maggie's car, you were on the backseat, the church was still half an hour away and nobody was talking.

- So... How it's like, being famous? - you asked trying to make a lighter air around you. He turned around to answer you and your legs were jelly. You thanked god for being seated the moment he looked at you that way.

- It's nothing much. Somedays you can't even just grab your food without someone trying to ask you a dozen questions first. - he laughed and there were your hormones once again.

The wedding had gone perfect. John and his now wife were so happy. Chris hadn't left your side and Maggie's during the whole thing and for a second during the ceremony he could just bet you were almost grabbing his hand. He knew you were still beautiful, he hsn't just ready for how beautifiul you had become. You were a woman now and all he intended on doing with you, weren't very pure thoughts to a guy on a church.

The food was great and even better, the drinks were amazing. You had both drank so much, Maggie could just hope neither one of you needed to throw up. Her car was in danger

- So, you remember the day you kissed me? -you asked... Better, the alcochol asked.

- I do, I only had one beer. Getting drunk on one beer  - he mocked himself and got closer to you. Most of the guests were mingling or dancing. You were alone on your table.

- It wasn't a very nice kiss – you laughed – I wasn't prepared and I had no idea on what to do. But who would guess my first ever kiss would be famous. Maybe I'd sell that story to the press.

- Baby, the press would buy your story even if you had just said 'hi' to me – he took another sip from his glass.

- Oh... Would they? - you grabbed his hand – Let's go dancing.

- You know I don't like dancing – he said but not letting go of your hand.

- Please? - you smiled and he couldn't ever say no to that. He loved... He liked he thought to himself he liked to see you smile.

Dancing, your head on resting on his left shoulder, one hand the other shoulder and the other hand grabbing his hand. He smelled so good and he felt so good. You couldn't even remember why you fought about, why you broke. It was just perfect the two of you.

Needing to get some air you both went outside, it was dark. Some group was chatting and laughing a lot, you were both alone. The next thing you knew, you pulled him to you and kissed him. He kissed you so eagerly, he wanted to kiss you since the moment he saw you at John's house, but he knew he couldn't. If you wanted to kiss him, fine for him. You lips were soft, needy and tasted like champagne. He didn't want to let you go. His hand on your thigh was going higher and higher and when his kisses reached your jawline you heard someone coughing.

- Maggie, jesus! - you pushed him a bit away removing his hand from near the part of you that wanted him so badly.

- I saw you both coming outside and wanted to check up on how you were. By the looks of it, you're perfect! - you both were not able to say if she was sad or happy. The two of you just didn't care.

You had your dates here and there, but no lips felt like his, no touch felt like his, becuse none were his. You loved this guy, even after all this time. Returning home, Maggie was driving and you were both silent, both wanting to touch each other, but not saying anything. Your dad had gone fishing with some friends and you went to your apartment, felling a chest hurt. You were so alone. Maggie and Chris were in his parents apartament and you heard Maggie arguing with him.

- What you think you're doing? That girl there aches from since you went away! You cannot do that do her! You cannot make her feel like you're here and them bam! You're going away again!

- She kissed me! I didn't! I loved her but she didn't love me enough to go with me!

- Tabitha had died! Her mother had died! Her dad was alone you idiot! I would have done the same.

The tears in your eyes were falling and the moment you noticed you were drunk and sobbing and hating yourself, becuse you didn't go, because you din't make him stay, because he wasn't yours. Things had gone silent and an hour later some knocked at your door. It was him, you knew that, you just knew that. Opening the door he was about to speak when you stopped him with a kiss.

- Don't talk... just, please if you want... - you were so nervous, he knew you'd been crying, he saw it in your eyes. He hated it. Chris pulled you closer and in the next moment you didn't care you saw you, if anyone had ever saw you or if this was just a silly dream.

This was the moment you'd been craving for a moment to long in your dreams, the lips you wanted to kiss and to be kissing you, the touch you wanted to feel on your skin.

You dress was easily removed and he was so hungry looking at you and all you could feel was his body touching yours in ways you'd been dreaming for a bit too long.

- You know, I could never forget you – he mentioned while kissing your neck and leaving it marked. Next morning you'd be killing him for it, but for now you were moaning and he liked the sound of that.

- Chris... - This was the only sound he needed and wanted to hear. Your hands were in his hair and then opening his shirt. His body was even more worked up now. He was like a model or something and all you could do was drool and think about what you'de be getting.

Then yoou both stopped thinking and just followed your instincts. You both knew your bodies what you did or didn't like and in the end you were just cuddling, naked bodies under your sheets and his hand around you. He was still leaving a trail of kisses on your neck you smiled.

- This was very good – you gracefully said or on the way to a hangover added.

- It was more than very good and you know it  - he slightly bit your ear lobe.

- I know I know, who would guess this body right here was capable of doing this kind of stuff – you laughed.

- I firmly believe the sounds you made were the best thing I heard tonight and prove I still got it – Chris kissed your cheek and hold your hand.

You smiled and felt yourself falling asleep on his arms, and for a moment this was the best you could ever hope for.

Present

Your daughter Tabitha was turning one year old today. She is the leaving proof that you shouldn't have sex when you're that drunk, but she is also the reason of your understanding for unconditional love. You still couldn't forget that Chris had left, when you woke up that next morning he wasn't there or at his parents either. He had gone and left you alone, again.

Yoour baby were babling something and you just took her in your arms

- You know mommy loves you don't you? - you kissed her a lot and she was just giggling and drooling a bit.

She was perfect. She was blond, big blue eyes and his smile. If he ever got to see her he would know, you were sure of it. But right now she was all yours and your dad was a proud grandpa. So were his parents and Maggie were always buying her sutff. You told Maggie because you couldn't just lie to he, and after a lot of bargaining you were able to ask her to keep secret, but just like your first kiss, she spilled the beans to her parents. So, his family knew but he didn't... You were so afraid one of them would tell him and he would be so pissed. But a year later you knew he had no idea, or if he did, he didn't care. You could live with the first option.

- Where is my cute pie? - you heard your dad coming near and Tabitha was looking at him and smiling – Not you my little diamond – hetouched her nose – This one right here  - he touched you nose.

- Dad! - you laughed – What was that about?

- Well besides your mother, you are the greatest mom I have ever seen – he smiles softly. I bet your mom is proud. Freddie did not agreed with you not telling Chris because he had always known he loved you and your baby girl Tabitha was the living proof of that.

- You think mom would be proud? - you looked at him while your baby was pulling your hair – Tabitha! -you were rocking her and she stopped.

- Well... You mother would make the world with women only if we weren't needed to create life, so yes, your mother would be very happy! See little Tabby here already acting like her – he laughed.

- I'm going to pick her cake, can you watch her for a while? - you pass her to his arms and he was already drolling all over her cuteness.

You went to the cake shop from the other town near, the whole town knew you were a mother, people just thought it was an affair you had with someone from out town. Some guys where there on vacation, so it was the perfect option because, "Why would Chris Evans want someone who's nothing more than a manager at a supermaket when he could be dating supermodels?" Abigail's voice was in your head the time you heard someone tell her you got knocked up. Maggie was about to punch her and you stopped it "she's just jealous because Chris always like you. We're never going there again" and you sure didn't so that took you a lot more to get a cake for your baby's birthday. But it was worth it, you knew that.

Your phone rang and rang and you picked it up

- Yeah dad, it won't take much long – your dad's voice was nervous and he babbled something about the baby having fever. - What? I'm on my way

You drove up as fast as you can, when you parked your car, there was next to it a brand new land rover and for a moment you thought you'd die and tou remembered yourself you needed to breathe. You climbed up the stairs, trying not to smash the cake and entered at your apartment, it was empty and you heard some baby crying on the other apartment, you precious baby and your dad were there. But that wasn't your problem, he were sure he was there. Of all the days he could come visit... Mostly he asked their parents to go to his house... Why hadn't he asked this time? Maybe he did and maybe they said they couldn't go... Panic was wasing over you.

You rang the bell and he opened it. SHIT!

- Hey, how are you? Didn't know you had a baby! - he added, smiling but you could see the confusion in his eyes.

- Fine – you greeted him – Yes, but my dad said she's sick so ... - you quickyl moved your way around him and his mother was trying to calm her.

- Here's your mother see – her grandmother gave her to you and you pressed her lips to her forehead.

- She's burning – you were humming in order to calm Tabby and she had her tiny hands all around you – I'm going to the hospital.

- I'm going with you – his mother was about to grab her purse.

- No, I can... I can do this – you added. You had for a year always tried to prove to everyone that you could raise her all by yourself.

- You're nervous – Freddie said – Let us go...

- No dad... I can – you where grabbing your stuff when he spoke.

- Let me at least drive you there – he came close and grabbed your stuff – I won't take no for an answer, I'm not your dad, not my mother. You're to nervous to drive anywhere.

- It's not the first time – you were looking at him, who was still showing no expression.

- I bet it's not, and I bet you weren't on any conditions to drive so... Give me your keys. I dont' have a baby chair on my car.

- Chris... - you were looking at your father trying to get some back up, but he wasn't helping, his mother was... Smiling (?) and his dad had went to the balcony for a smoke.

- You know... You're not helping the baby by staying here and looking at me. Keys. Now.

You babbled something in frustration and did as he told you

- Nice girl, now... Let's go.

You were in your car's backseat while he drove, no one was talking , he turned of the music and you arrived to the emergency hospital. He was wearing a hat and a big jacket, so he could pass unnoticed.

The girl there was new, so Mry wasn't working today and you'd have to go all through it again.

- How could a baby not have a father? - Mary the old lady asked.

- Well... IT was a shag you know, nothing much.

Tabby was sleeping on your arms due to the fever and you expected this girl was much quicker and didn't have so much intention in snooping. You gave your baby's info and yours as well. Chris didn't seem to let you go and a part of you was thankful for that.

- Okay, now how's the dad's name? - the girl asked and you rolled your eyes.

- She...

- Me, here – Chris grabbed his wallet and gave her his id card. The girl looked up at him and she smiled, cheeks going all shades of pink and red like yours some years ago.

- Okay right Mr. Evans, you just need to wait a couple minutes and Tabitha will soon be called in.

He helped you get a chair and sat by next to you

- How could you not tell me? - he murmured and looked t the sleeping baby.

- Tell you what? - you were too looking at your baby. Her daddy ws right there... Did she knew? Did she had any idea?

- That you were a mother... That the baby was mine?

- She's not... - you started to add.

- She is. I came into town and saw Abigail, she said you had a baby precisely a year ago – Oh my god, had he done the math? - And a lot of our friends thought it was mine but you had slept with some guy that was in town. I believed her first and then I met John who told me the baby looked like me, even though she wasn't mine.

- So you believed Abigail you always had a major crush on you? - your voice was a pitch higher and you bit your lip when Tabby moved.

- No I didn't believed her. I believed my parents cancelled on me because they had "something" and when I saw my mom looking at the baby, I knew.

You were just so nervous... And he had figured it out.. Would this be the part where...

Your thoughts were stopped by a nurse you called "Tabitha Evans" and you both got up, not talking just going to the pediatrician area and entered a doctors office.

After a quick check up, Chris knew the sleeping baby already had his heart, so did her mother, even thoough he hated you a bit right now. He could not blame her, he was the gone to get away without even saying good bye this time. You were so nervous while the doctor was writing something on his computer he grabbed your hand and you squeezed it a bit.

Little Tabitha had be there for observation at least for the next 8 hours in order to see if the fever could go down. The nurse had to take you both to the waiting room, you could see her every two hours, but you could not be there for a long time.

Why was it that you both stood always alone and in big periods of quiet time?

- Y/N calm down, she's going to be okay, she's strong.

- You don't know her... You can't say that – you laid your hand on his chest and grabbed his waist. - Please don't take her away from me.

- You're right, I don't know her. I'm a bit more angry that I would like because of that, but I do know you, and I know you're strong and so am I. So if she's ours, just wait... It's a fever. - he grabbed you closer to him and you both felt so secure. You were both in different places right now and at the same time you were exactly at the same place – I would never take her away from you – he assured you – But I might want to be around you and her a lot more.

- Yes yes of course – That was all you could ever say and that was all you would ever want to say right now.

Your dad called to know how where things with Tabby and Chris's mother sighed in relieve they both where very eager to turn off the phone. You sat right next to Chris and look at the wall.

- I thought you wouldn't want her... I was so freaked when I found out. My dad had helped me and your sister... I asked her not to tell you... I am deeply sorry. I had no right but... We had the best sex ever and you had just left. The only thing left with me was a major hangover and the thought that we should never had got together that moment.

- Well... i left because I knew you'd be kicking me out the moment you saw me on your bed, you hated the fact that I moved out.

- I hated the fact that I did not had the gut to move out with you, when ou asked. Or that I didn't even tried to make you stay. I never hated you, on the contrary.

- I love you too – he plainly said and pressed his lips to your temper.

- Chris... I'm sorry

- Shh it's okay.

And for the first time in a lot of time it was. You kept waiting and waiting and whenever you could you where seeing Tabby, the fever had been going down and she ate a bit. After those long eight hours you where about to hold her when...

- Want to hold her? - you looked at Chris and you could swear you saw fear on his eyes.

- I don't think I can... - his voice was so whispery and you knew it had nothing to do with the other babies but with the fact he was to scared to let the other dads hear him.

- You can... - you grabbed your daughter and carefully helped Chris on holding her.

- You went to pay for the medical services when he stepped up.

- I've missed a lot of things, this is my turn.

How could you ever let him go? Why would time never agree with you to be together? He called his mother said you'd be getting home soon and Tabby was wide awake, still a bit shaken by the illness but looking at the man who hold her.

- See baby, this is your daddy Chris – you spoke to the baby and about to kiss Chris cheek when your lips met.

- Sorry! - you both speak same time. The baby laughed as if she understood and you both stood shy.

The drive for your house was much slower and not so nervous until...

- Marry me. - Chris said and looked at you from the car mirror.

- What? You're crazy, you don't want to marry me, a woman who's already a mom – you laughed and you saw him smirk.

- Marry me – he said again.

- Tabby I think you father got your fever – you chuckled and looked at him.

- I'm serious, I know we did it a bit backwards but I can't let you get away again, I just cannot! Marry me Y/N.

- But I can't...

- I'll come here again... I'll live here again if that's what get you on to marry me.

- You'd do that – you where not believing it.

- I would. Marry me.

- Yes – you answered without hesitating.

- Would never thought I would get away with this so easily. I love you.

You don't know why you had said yes, but you had. No regrets, you just feel like you could love him even more and more everytime you saw him.

When you arrived home you had your bags at the hall.

-What the hell..? - you were mesmerized by that – Dad? What's going on?

Your dad and his mother came out the living room with proud smiles on their faces.

- Well if you couldn't figure out what was best for you, we could... - Freddie said – You stayed with me when I need you, you gave everything up because of me. Now I have to give you up if I ever want to see you truly happy again. And Chris, Tabitha's your daughter. - Your dad took a breath of air like some huge weight had left his shoulders – And I wont take no for an answer.

You wanted to cry of happiness, smile and roll your eyes because of your dad.

- I figured it out. Mother never loved a baby so much that it stopped her from seeing her favorite son – he smiled and looked at the baby whose grandma already stole her from her dad. - Oh and by the way, she's marrying me – he pointed on to you.

- YOU WHAT? - Maggies voice came running from your bedroom – I was there and I could chill on the "favorite son" thing because mother only has a son but shes marrying you? I get to prepare the whole thing?! - Maggie's arms were around you and all you could do was look at Chris and smile.

You had a perfect daughter, your life was about to change, you were about to be Mrs. Evans and all you could do was smile. And all because a boy saved you from being mocked when you were a princess at the age of three and wore a dress to kindergarden.

[bookstryingtostealyourheart]

Birthday Kiss from the Bag Guy

A/N: Thank you everyone for your patience! I love writing these so much, I have just been so busy, busier than I have ever been! This one is a part of a challenge, that I am so happy to get to be a part of. I thought that it ended today, but I had been mistaken and it ended on the 25th! Thank god that @justauthoring is so understanding! Also; my favorite writer on here, so my friends go have a look at some of their awesome imagines/fics!!!! Funny thing, I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be bad* or if it was really bag but I just went with it so here you go!!! It’s more of a silly and fun / wholesome short imagine. 

Pairing: Carl Gallagher x Reader

Summary: You and Carl have been friends for a while, both of you being there for each other when the other person goes through some stuff, and Carl finds out you have never stayed at a hotel. Even he has done that! So he gets you a reservation for your birthday, to get you away from the stress of home. 

Prompt: “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bag guy” 

        “Did you bring your bathing suit?” Carl asks you, making you come out of your trance to send him a dirty look. Out of all things he could ask you, he asks you if you brought your bikini? Classic Carl...but you still have to love him. He did something so big for you. Frankly, you feel guilty. He is spending quite some money for this obviously, and you aren’t asking how he got it, but you will definitely have to do something big for his birthday. 

        “Did you bring yours?” You ask and he nods enthusiastically. Carl has had this planned out since the day it was somehow brought up that you have never stayed overnight at a hotel. He carries your bag up the steps of the large building. It was not the best looking hotel, but surely was expensive. “I can carry my bag Carl, it’s my birthday but I still have arms.” You push his shoulder slightly, opening the for him to enter. 

        “I am the bag guy from now on. Stop pushing the matter.” Carl sent a smirk your way as you approached the counter. The woman at the counter looked up at the two of you, no emotion recognizable. She must hate her job...

        “Name?” She asks in a monotone voice and Carl gives you a grin. He always had something up his sleeve. He never failed to surprise you, ever. 

        “Y/N Gallagher. I talked to a Brittany on the phone, and she had said my arrangements were settled, I want to make sure that is true before we go in.” Carl says and then leans forward, whispering something into the woman's ear. It must have been something good, because she gave you a light smile. 

        “Yes, that is all set.” She turns to you, eyes soft and blue. “Happy birthday dear. You have a good friend here. Went all out for you.” She gave you a wink, which brings heat to your cheeks. Of course he had to come along and be extra somehow. Just like in the 9th grade, a boy was bullying you. That didn’t end well for that kid, he showed up at your place with Carl, Mickey, Lip, and Ian. That was already surprising, but when the kid started singing his apologies, Mickey and Carl both threateningly close to him, it showed he went all out. He made him write a -song- to apologize to you? Carl Gallagher everybody. You go to pick up your bag before Carl can get to them, but the lady raises an eyebrow. “You’re letting the birthday girl carry her own bags?” She asks and Carl practically rips the heavy bag from your grasp, still gentle enough for Carl. 

        “I keep trying to tell her, I am in charge of manual labor today. Right?” He asks and the lady laughs, handing you the key. You take the card in your hands, thanking her by habit. 

        “Yea, just let him be the bag guy.” She says and you shake your head as Carl gives a satisfied smirk, thanks the nice lady and heads for the elevator. Maybe you can’t judge a book by its cover, because she was nice. You enter the elevator, watching Carl click 6. 6th floor? You have a room on the top floor, but hopefully not a more expensive room. Gosh he needs to stop with this spoiling you. It is not something that any others really do, and you’re going to fall in love with this boy if he’s not careful. Carl has always been your soft spot, even when he was goofy and in love with tearing apart barbie dolls and lighting things on fire. 

        “Can we go to the pool first? I brought my cute bathing suit.” You teased and Carl nodded as the doors opened to reveal the hallway. There seemed to be about 12 rooms on this floor, give or take. That doesn’t seem like a lot, but you don’t think much of it as you find the room and swipe the card into the lock, hearing the satisfying click. You open the door to a room that smells like clean linens. It is dark, but you enter the room and find the switch, turning it on to gasp lightly. 

        “When they said they could do some interesting things for special occasions, they were right.” Carl says setting both yours and his bags on the bed. In front of the bed, on the other side of the room is a large table. It has balloons, a -very- large teddy bear, and a note that says to open the door to the mini fridge and freezer featured in the room. You sigh, overwhelmed but happy. 

        “You shouldn’t have.” You say, turning to look at the grinning idiot. He looked like a kid in a candy store, and he wasn’t even the one getting all the gifts. 

        “I really should have. Open the fridge. I needed Kev’s help for this one. Well I got Kev’s help with the whole thing...But I got it.” Carl orders and you do as you’re told. Thank god it wasn’t something like champagne, but just as good to you. Four Loko...the only alcohol you’d ever had. It knocked you on your ass the first time you’d drank it, but it was something you always preferred for drinking...not that you did it much anyways. You haven’t grown a liking to many other things. In the freezer, there was a little ice cream cake. 

        “Carl...what would I do without you?” You ask with a giggle, turning around with your arms extended for a hug. He took it without a second thought, giving you tight squeeze. He was a bit taller than you, so it was comfortable. 

        “For one, carry your own bags, but two...you’d probably die.” He said with a laugh. You giggled, parting from the hug. “Now go get changed, we have to go swim, then there is cake to eat!” Carl says grabbing his bag and heading into the bathroom, leaving you to change in the room. You grab your y/f/c bikini and look towards the bathroom door before slipping off your clothes, putting the bathing suit on, and slipping your t-shirt back over it. All of this in perfect time because Carl doesn’t give warning before swinging the door open and strutting out in his swim shorts and a tank top. 

        “I brought you a towel, figuring you’d forget one.” You say pulling out a pink towel and tossing it to him. He looks down at the towel before glancing back up to you. 

        “You’re lucky I love you.” He said swinging it over his shoulder, placing the key card in his wallet. “C’mon time is of the essence.” He slipped his hand through yours, pulling you through the door into the bright hallway once more. This time getting on the elevator, others got on with you. It was awkward because they were older, snooty looking. Since the pool was on the third floor, rather than the first, it was a faster trip. 

        “Wow...” You say looking at the large pool. There was no one else at the pool either, which was convenient because you can be as goofy and loud as you want now. 

        “I knew you’d like it.” Carl noted as you both stripped down to your bathing suits. Like clock work, as soon as you’d placed your shirt on a chair, Carl had successfully thrown you both into the water. You let out a slight squeal at the action, plunging into the cold water. Coming up to the surface, you shook your head, playful scowl playing upon your lips. 

        “Mean...” You comment as he shakes the water off his hair. You stood on your tip toes to comfortably be above the water, as you were in the part that went down into the deep end. 

        “Is there anything else that would make this birthday better?” Carl questioned, watching as you shook your head immediately. You did not want him doing -anything- else for you today, or for the next year even. “There isn’t anything else you haven’t done, or want to do? Like go up on the roof and scream random shit off at the city, or like go graffiti something, marking your territory forever?” He asks curiously and you shrug. 

        “I’m content. Hanging out with my best friend at a really nice hotel, swimming, eating cake and maybe watching a movie. You don’t need to get arrested for vandalism because it’s my birthday.” You say pointedly and he rolls his eyes. He is crazy, but the refreshing kind of crazy, and he’d never put you in harms way. 

       You and Carl spent about an hour in the pool, goofing off. You raced, which he of course won...and then you went into the hot tub for a few before heading back up to the room to shower and get situated. You’ve never been so relaxed in your life, and you’re going to miss this when you go home. “What movie do you wanna watch?” Carl asks plopping down onto the bed next to you. You were sharing a bed tonight, but you were happy he didn’t pay for a two bed room. 

        “It let me sign on to my netflix, so I think you should choose the movie. I’d choose something gushy and after all you’ve done, you can decide.” You say handing him the remote. He hates watching romance movies, and would much rather get comfortable with a horror...which is why you were surprised when he puts on one of your favorite comedy, that had quite some romance; American Pie Presents: Band Camp. “You’re kidding. I thought you’d pick something scary.” You poke him and he shrugs, leaning back into the pillows. 

        “It’s not a bad movie. If you wanna watch something scary, I can change it. But I am feeling this more.” He explains and you shake your head, pulling the blankets over yourself. The movie went by, not much moving involved. You got comfortable. When Carl shifts awkwardly during the kissing scene, you give him a raised brow. 

        “You don’t want to watch this, do you?” You pipe up and he is startled slightly, not thinking you’d notice his discomfort. He seemed uncomfortable. Not because he didn’t like the movie, but he was lost in his head. 

        “No! I do. I was just thinking. That’s all...” Carl said honestly, but you weren’t convinced. He is usually an open book, for the most part. 

        “About?” You ask, turning to face him. He thought, hesitantly. 

        “Something Lip said to me this morning. Just stuck in my head.” He shook his head, as if it would leave from the action. Lip is usually always good with his words, so you know it was probably advice. He is the most reasonable at most times with what is realistic. 

        “Then tell me about it, maybe you talking about it will help.” You push and he sighs. When he gets into these situations, it’s easier to just tell you. You will get it out of him at some point, why not get to the chase. 

        “Lip just said that I must care about you a lot to want to do this for you. He said he always thought we’d end up together.” He pauses, wording everything in his head first before continuing. “I don’t know.” You were catching the drift. You have thought about Carl like that before. He’s flirtatious with you, how could you not think about him like that. He was your first valentine, your date to everything, even if he wasn’t your actual ‘date’. You always said you were soulmates, but in a friends way. 

        “Are you trying to tell me something?” You ask jokingly, but there was some real curiosity behind the question. Carl bites his lip, deciding how he wants to answer that question. 

        “Would you ever think like that?” He asks vaguely, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he means. You blush as he turns to look at you, a look in his eye that was vulnerable. It made you nod, because you -have- thought that way. “Wait, really?” 

        “Of course I have, and do. You’re handsome, and flirty, and you do all these sweet things for me. You’re one of a kind Carl Gallagher. What other guy makes a girl’s bully sing his apology, puts laxatives in a teacher’s coffee who was unfair to me, and does all this for just my birthday?” You ask and he smiles. He has always been good to you. He knew that it seemed like he liked you, and he never put that thought out of the question, he just has never brought any light to the possible feelings. Carl scooted closer, close enough for you to feel his breath on your face. 

        “Happy birthday Y/N...” He says before cheekily pressing a kiss to your lips. It wasn’t a hungry or harsh kiss, it was content with being a peck. And when you both pulled away, it wasn’t awkward. You both turned back to the movie, contently coming together to cuddle. You did not need to talk more about that, it could wait until you were not on this getaway. You quickly fell asleep in the puffy pillows, and Carl’s arms.

        “It was fun while it lasted.” You said with a giggle as you gave the room a once over. It was time to leave, but you wish you could just have one more day in paradise. 

        “Yea, but there’s always next year. We can do something bigger-”

        “Or your birthday.” You point out and he gives a half shrug. You take the room key and you turn to the door. 

        “Hey! You forget you have bags?” He teases, but you don’t turn back, just exit the room, holding the door for him. He Trudged through, the teddy bear taking up the majority of the doorway. 

        “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bag guy.” 

[swishandflickwit]

Lucifer — The Simplicity of Weaving 1/1

Summary: Trixie gets herself into a tangle. Good thing her Devil babysitter is no stranger to a bad hair day.

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 3.5k+

Warnings: Established Deckerstar (but no appearance from Chloe). Future fic. Step-Satan shenanigans. Kinda.

AN: Oh look, I wrote another Lucifer & Trixie bonding fic. What a surprise not!

Hahaha, but a little break from The Devil's Lucky Number series for some family fluff, yes? Hope you enjoy this one!

Also on: ff.net | AO3

Other writing

“With your mum in court for the remainder of the day and it being so hot and all—seriously though,” he huffs. “These scorching temperatures could put even Hell to shame. I mean, contrary to popular belief, it isn’t even that hot down there, you know? It’s all dark and ashen and about as ‘fiery’ as a drenched skunk—which sounds and smells as bad as you’re imagining, nay—worse. So if you think beige is a drab color…”

He’s fiddling with his cufflinks, toying with the idea of foregoing aesthetic for once (not that it would ever leave him, not even if he tried; he couldn’t, after all, be faulted for his effortless beauty no matter what vestments he may—or may not—be wearing) and opting for a more casual attire to battle this steady onslaught of a heat wave cresting over Los Angeles with no immediate end in sight.

It’s probably why he isn’t prepared for what greets him when he opens the door to Beatrice’s chamber—

“Anyway, I was thinking we head on down to Lux and grab ourselves some ice—"

—and expels a rather undignified shriek as a result.

“What—!”

“Listen,” she starts, her tone measured and her hands held out in front of her in calm supplication. Like he is some rampant, skittish animal that has somehow wandered from home, and needs to be returned to its natural habitat. “It’s not… that… bad…?”

Lucifer shuts his gaping mouth with an audible click, only to dissolve into spluttering speech instead.

“Beatrice, child—what have you done to your hair?” he exclaims, loftily musing that if there ever is a question between them both of who, in that moment, most resembled a wild animal, it certainly isn’t him.

“I swear I was following the instructions!” she waves towards her phone screen, propped upon the mirror of her dresser and opened on a Youtube tutorial for—

“A French braid?” he cries, voice dripping with incredulity.

“I just wanted to look like Elsa!”

“I do hate to break it to you,” he says, mouth puckered in a grimace. “But it’s looking more Grand Pabbie Troll than Majestic Ice Queen right now.”

He stands corrected. The frost to her glare could restore what little remains of the polar ice caps and freeze him on the spot if she possessed an affinity for such gelid destruction. But she didn’t, and being the sire of a Miracle could not gift her even that.

Small mercies and all.

“I’m in so much trouble,” she wails.

He sighs. It is his turn to appeal to her with more than a modicum of wariness as he meets her eyes in the looking glass and approaches her from behind.

“It can’t be much worse than the chocolate cake incident or the doll debacle.”

With soothing hands, he takes her by the shoulders and eases her back onto her chair, though he needn’t have bothered with the gentleness. As she lists against the wood with all the dejectedness of a usurped sovereign, he surveys the damage. At first glance, it does look quite atrocious—her coffee-colored locks teased and twisted into gnarly knots so they look more bird’s nest than actual, human hair. But further inspection shows it not so unsalvageable, her grubby, ten-year old hands thankfully still inexpert to inflict any lasting harm. At least she didn’t cut anything—then they’d have both suffered the wrath of the detective.

He shudders, before realizing he is the Devil and he cowers before no one that isn’t a slight but tough blonde, blue-eyed, five foot six inches badass cop. He squares his shoulders—a soldier bracing for battle.

“Right.”

From the array of headdress materials spread atop the vanity, he selects his weapon—the sturdiest-looking comb, or as sturdy as plastic can be. He would prefer one of silver or at the very least wood. This pink, sparkling, wide-tooth monstrosity would have to suffice, he laments.

“Now,” he grabs another stool and situates himself to his task, his figure a tower at her back even when seated. “Let’s see if we can’t sort this out, hmm?”

Her eyes widen with desperation.

“Oh Lucifer, you have to fix it,” she practically screams. “You have to!”

“Alright, alright,” he pitches his articulations low to convey his reassurance. It doesn’t erase his bewilderment, however, and at the quizzical brow he directs at her through the mirror she clams up.

Her reticence is an unusual occurrence, but the silence that trails in her wake is no less comforting as it allows him to dedicate his full attention to wrangling her wavy mop into some semblance of order.

He forges a meticulous path from her scalp to her roots, prying tangles apart before smoothing them over with the comb. His hands are light and dexterous as only a skilled piano player can be. Not once does she cry out in pain, of that he makes certain. With every knot unraveled, the panic in her gaze recedes, till every wavy strand is restored and her breathing is even in near repose from his ministrations.

“See?” he murmurs, returning the comb before resting his hands on her shoulders once more. “All better. Nothing a little Devil’s touch couldn’t fix.”

Her relief is palpable in the way she leans into his touch.

“Thanks,” she sighs.

“So what’s this about looking like Elsa?” He rubs kindly at the spot between her shoulder blades when she tenses. “I thought we were on a Moana bender this week.”

Her cheeks blotch with the strain of her blush.

“We are,” she asserts, a little too quickly. “I guess it isn’t really about Elsa. I just… wanted to try a French braid.”

He hums and lets more than a couple of heartbeats pass before replying.

“You know perfectly well Elsa’s from Norway. Do you honestly expect me to believe she’d go for a French braid instead of a Dutch one?”

“But all the Youtubers say—”  

“Oh, yes, because anyone willing enough to saddle themselves with the internet persona of ‘TwinkleTendrils87’ is such an authority on the conversion of animation to reality hairstyle. No,” he rolls his eyes. “Don’t think so.”

Her protest withers on her tongue. He smirks, waiting for her own orbs—which she had averted once he began his inquisition—to meet his.

“So do you want to try that again?”

“You can always tell,” she grumbles, unable to abate the accusation that bleeds through her intonations.

He grins.

“The title of Prince of Lies does hold true to some extent,” he drawls. At her pinched visage, he gives her an encouraging pat. “Well, go on. Tell Lucifer what ails you.” His face suddenly hardens. “Is someone giving you trouble at school again?”

She groans.

“If I tell you, do you promise you won’t get mad?”

“Darling, you know I don’t get mad,” he grins, all teeth and bite. “I get even.”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Okay, so… maybe I do both but if it means all that much to you then yes, I solemnly swear not to get angry at or even with you.”

He raises his hands in surrender, humor returning as the edges of his mouth soften with fondness. She returns it with a radiant one of her own, swiveling on her seat so he receives the full wattage of her smile.

But as quickly as it comes, it dims too.

She lifts her legs and tucks them crisscross beneath her to prop an elbow on her thigh. She rests her cheek on a fist as she tilts her chin up and arrests him with her molten, solemn stare.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

He blinks, slowly… deliberately.

“Is this a trick question?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I!” He shakes his head, baffled. “Aren’t you a little too young to be concerned about this?”

“I’m almost eleven,” she protests.

“Case in point, you haven’t even reached your teen years, for Dad’s sake! You could at least wait till your face is a Jackson Pollock of acne before getting all angsty. Not that you should be worried about such things.” He waves a flippant hand. “You are a Decker woman, hooker name notwithstanding, and all Decker women have clear skin.”

“Pretty sure I only understood half that sentence…”

“What I’m trying to say, rather poorly I suppose, but what’s new, eh?”

He waggles his eyebrows and though slight, it coaxes a smile to curl at the corners of her lips.

“You shouldn’t have to be thinking about this, much more be bothered by it.” He frowns. “What’s brought this on?”

With her free hand, she picks at the laces of her sneakers so intently, he thinks she won’t answer. His heart starts thumping to the beat of anxiety as he realizes that providing comfort to a ten-year old isn’t exactly part of his skillset and he is severely out of his league on this. But just as he’s about to suggest Beatrice speak with her mother once she returns, words trickle out of her mouth with all the ferocity of a broken dam and he is powerless against the onslaught of her unveiled insecurities.

“It didn’t used to, honest. But all my friends…” she sniffs and to his mounting terror, a suspiciously wet gleam fills those chocolate-molten orbs. “It’s all they ever wanna talk about anymore. It’s always make-up this or hairstyle that and all the latest fashion trends and how to get more followers on their Snapchat.” She throws her hands up with such awkward abruptness, Lucifer must lean back to avoid being casualty to her ire. “I just wanna play hopscotch and talk about Barbie Dreamhouse and fangirl over Rapunzel and Eugene! Is that too much to ask?” she blows a stray tendril from her forehead. “Well I guess so, since the only thing that matters to them is who the prettiest one in the group is.” And with that remark, all the vexation drains from her mien, till only a sadness that should have been foreign to her at such a tender age, remains.

“But one thing’s for sure—it’s definitely not me,” she sighs, a couple of teardrops hugging the curve of her cheeks, “which they love to point out.”

At the sight of the droplets coursing her face, he sees red. He has to remind himself that these are children, and the detective will not approve his slaughtering of the youth—no matter how justified it may be.

Squalid miscreants, he inwardly fumes. Vapid, insolent, pediculous, scalawags! Who do those brats think they are? How dare they—

Ensconced as he is in his rising fury on her behalf, his attempt at comfort is thwarted by the growl in his throat as he utters, “Dry your eyes, Beatrice.”

Unperturbed, and most probably used to his mercurial mood swings (and isn’t that a marvel that she doesn’t run away each time?), she does as told—albeit, the gloominess in her countenance remains.

“I take it these are the same birds from your last sleepover? Mary Beth and the two other ones? Bethany with the y and Bethanie with the i-e?”

Ridiculous, he scorns. Just as Lucifer has an abundance of Brittany acquaintances, Beatrice is saddled with multiple companions whose monikers involve some form of ‘Beth’ in it. At least his duplicates’ names had the same spelling!

Her hesitance is a palpable energy in the quiet that follows, but at his prodding scowl she eventually nods her affirmation.

With lightning heat boiling in his blood he doesn’t trust himself to issue any wholesome advice, so he bids her without speaking to face the mirror again.

“What are you doing?” she braves to ask through watery inflections as he begins dividing her hair into three parts.

“I won’t lie to you by feeding you some sentimental drivel like ‘it’s what’s on the inside that matters’ because humans are fickle things and only few have been exempt from such norms—humans such as your mother and yourself.”

He ignores the crease between her brows, his explanation in the way his hands are intent on their unceasing rhythm of weaving her tresses into a proper Dutch braid that starts on one side of her head and continues to hug the curve of her nape.

“Not to say that the idea is totally unfounded, mind. Beauty, true beauty, lies deep within a person’s soul. I should know,” he winks. “I’ve glimpsed into many a repugnant soul in my time, after all.”

She sticks her tongue out in disgust. He returns the gesture till her expression dissolves into chuckles. With a satisfied nod, he clears his throat before resuming.

“But there is a certain… power in making an impression with the use of one’s appearance. Exhibit A,” he smirks, briefly retracting a hand to gesture at himself. She giggles again, but it quickly fades at his considering perusal.

“Those girls,” a generous term, he thinks with a sneer. “Your so-called ‘friends’? Well, you don’t have to be Dr. Martin to discern that those cads are jealous of your beauty—the natural and inherent kind. And let’s not forget your quick wit. Top of the class, are you not?”

She neither confirms or denies, but she blushes and it’s all the answer he needs.

“Course you are!” he heartily praises.

Not that he can take credit, but his grin is smug enough for them both all the same.

“While I would love to march right into your classroom and give those bloody Beths a piece of my mind before decimating those shallow cows on the spot—”

“Lucifer,” she scolds, reminiscent of the detective, right down to the infinitesimal twist to her lips that betrays her mirth.

“I realize it won’t exactly win me any favors with your mother, so—hand me that elastic, would you, love? There’s a good girl—” he binds the end of the braid. “Here’s a lesson from Old Scratch—the greatest revenge is to be the best version of yourself, especially when you don’t even have to change a thing. Well…”

He cannot help the flourish of his hand as he trails it along the length of her hair, a ripple of stardust in his wake. Beatrice gasps.

“Maybe a little one.”

His beam could power the whole of Los Angeles along with the awe in her scrutiny as she spins at all angles to admire his work.

Ah, he always was a prideful one.

“W-where—how?”

“Who do you think Mazikeen got her styling tips from when we first got here?” he claims with hues of incredulity, as if it ought to be common knowledge that Demons, unless taught, had atrocious fashion sense when left to their own devices. “And when you have as many sisters as I do, and they all pester you at any given hour of the day because, and I quote, ‘no one does it better’,” he preens. “You learn a thing or two about coiffure, or rather, they learned and I got a lot of practice.”

“It’s beautiful,” she cries, her twisted russet locks the color of a dusk-ridden sky. The tiny drops of effulgence he had woven wink faintly at first glance but then burn with the resplendence of a thousand suns when they lace with the natural light.

“No, dear heart.”

When she turns to him, he holds her gaze steady so she cannot doubt his sincerity.

“You are.”

“But—”

He shakes his head and leaves no room for argument.

“I only enhanced what was all ready there. Have you ever known me to lie?”

“No,” she states simply, a small smile stealing along the breadth of her lips.

“Besides,” he lets his warmth diffuse into her dainty hands as he engulfs them with his own.

“I was the spark that set this universe and the ones after it ablaze. All that is light—within and without, between now and beyond—once lived, and continues to ignite, through me. So believe me when I say that of all the suns and stars in the whole of Creation.”

His lips find the crown of her head.

“You shine the brightest.”

He vowed not to be angry nor to get even with her, and when it comes to the Devil, his word is his bond.

A new school day dawns and with it, Lucifer styles her a new plait but the artfully streamed rivulets of stardust along the length of her auburn hair are unchanged.

And when he picks her up from school later on, he expects the envy that oozes out of the trio of Beths—the imps glaring longingly with all the subtlety of a stampede, as they first narrow onto the shimmer of Beatrice’s braided mane, then at him and his conspicuous show of wealth.

She kicks into a run when she sees him leaning against the hood of the ‘vette, and it is a testament to his fondness that he no longer flinches upon the collision of her svelte frame into his legs nor does he retract from the winding of her gangly arms around his waist.

With her face buried into his suit and the girls’ stares still trained on them, he takes this opportunity to brandish the sunglasses from his eyes. He purposefully allows the brown to fade to red, as his eyes flare with the fury of the million pyres of Hell, and he meets each dirty look with a glower of his own.

To their merit, they do not scream (he blames the distance), but their blanched faces and quaking limbs are a balm to his petty, petty soul—however temporary or minuscule. They ought to be grateful for their naivety and his leniency. Still.

“Good day?” he inquires sweetly as he returns his sunglasses to their perch on his face before opening the passenger door for her. She waits till he is seated behind the wheel before she answers.

“It was great!”

He passes her another pair of shades that he only ever reserves for her. She puts them on with a flourish.

“Even better now that you’re here!”

Unbeknownst to the detective’s daughter, he shoots one last devilish grin at the cowering trio of caked-faced-trying-too-hard swines. His canines glint with malicious glee beneath the simmering L.A. sun.

He did vow not to be angry nor to get even with Beatrice.

“Excellent.”

Such a shame that the same promise does not extend to her friends.

At her insistence, he tucks her in that night.

They don’t say anything once the evening’s chapter is finished, but it is as he folds her into the blankets that she murmurs, “You are too, you know.”

He quirks an amused brow.

“What are you on about now, child?”

She smiles, delicate fingers cupping at his cheeks when he leans over to unnecessarily fluff her pillows. He freezes at her touch, even when he is tickled by her digits scratching nimbly at his scruff. There is such innocence in the gesture, he is suddenly filled with shame to be at her presence.

“Beatrice,” he whispers, breath tinged with perplexity.

“You’re beautiful, too. Has anyone ever told you that?”

He wants to riposte with an arrogant quip or a jaunty remark, but finds he cannot speak through the lump in his throat nor the leaden weight on his tongue.

“Can’t say that they have,” he tries though it sounds more whine than tease. “But I am a fine specimen in human standards—”

She shakes her head. “I mean, even with your other face.”

He laughs, a tinge of hysteria to the sound. “Now I know you’re pulling my leg.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see what you did to my friends,” her hands tighten around his cheeks in a show of gratitude.

“No one is allowed to hurt you,” he says easily.

“Not that you could control that, but that’s what I mean. You are beautiful, inside and out, and I hope you know it. ‘Kay?”

She lets go, and he inhales greedily at the air like a drowning man who’s broken through the ocean’s surface. It is how he finds the strength to reply, softly, as her eyes droop and her breathing evens into slumber.

“Thank you.”

It is as he reaches the frame of her door that she delivers one final blow that tips him over the edge and straight into this little girl’s heart, obliterating whatever chasm he might have fooled himself into believing he ought to maintain between them.

“I do love you, Lucifer.”

“I know,” he avers, all the while denying the waver to his speech. How wonderful, he muses, swept by the tranquility of her acceptance and awash as he is in the grace that her love reinvigorates in him. It is why he is only a little surprised, when he searches within for the torment and self-loathing and finds himself absent of both in lieu of the hope and faith and incandescence her presence has gradually pervaded him with, to discover—he believes her.

He believes in the veracity of her pronouncement. He believes in the purity of her caress and he believes in the ardor behind his own pledge when he avows, “And I you, Beatrice.”

His voice is the melody that carries her to the land of dreams, the carillon that will henceforth guide her to sanctuary as he intertwines the part of his soul that doesn’t belong to Chloe, to hers.

“And I you.”

AN: HAHAHA. WHAT EVEN.

(It wasn’t supposed to be feels-y at the end but Trix had a mind of her own smh)

Come say hi to me!

[elliyoyo]

Pucker Up, Parker (Peter Parker/Reader)

A double update? In one weekend? Yes, this is really me, I’m okay, I’m just hyped to write about the actual loml after Infinity War. Again, just a reminder, this fic will have NO INFINITY WAR SPOILERS. I repeat THIS IS SPOILER FREE AND SAFE TO READ.

Warnings: Swearing, kind of a makeup tutorial in a fic, lots of description, cliche kind of kissing, blinding highlights, my own head canon for Peter’s skin type, and a make out session

Words: 1879 (I went overboard, I know, I’m not sorry)

“There’s no way I’m letting you touch me with any of that, (Y/N),” Peter says, his eyes suspiciously scanning over the many bottles and compacts of makeup now splayed across his bed. You pick up foundations and take his arm, wanting to start color matching him so you could be done with the look you were doing before Aunt May went to bed, which was lifetimes away, so you weren’t too worried about it. Even so, you told her to come check on the progress in about an hour, even though Peter kept protesting getting his makeup done in the first place.

He tries to pull his arm away, but before he can, you reassure him with, “It’s nothing bad. It’s gonna be like I’m painting on your arm, then when I find the right shade I start painting your face.”

You shoot him a smile and pump a little drop of your foundations out on his arm. The drugstore one you had run out and grabbed earlier today was the one that worked best, probably because you had a keen eye for shade matching and your foundation shades were bound to either not fit his complexion or skin type. So before you came over, you quizzed him and grabbed one you thought would be perfect.

“They look weird. Why are some all gel-ish and some are runny and some—”

“We just know that the different textures and different formulas have different results. I have no clue how they do it, that’s their secret.” You laugh and grab your primers before you put any foundation on him. “Alright, Peter, time to play 20 questions again.”

“What? I thought you already had a foundation for me?”

“I do, but I need to find out what I need for primer. They’re also specialized to skin type and all that. Plus, it’s fun because I get to learn about you.” You pick up the five different ones you had, all drug store, but differently colored and purposed.

“...Alright, then ask me the things,” he sighs, giving in, knowing that if he wanted to look like all the girls on instagram that everyone obsessed about (and get the $5 you promised him for being your personal barbie doll for the night), he had to just answer the questions and let it be over with.

“Do you have a problem with your pores or too much oil on your nose, forehead, or chin?”

“The pores on my nose kinda bug me sometimes. I heard that if you put an ice cube on there, it closes them up a little bit, so I do that every morning when I brush my teeth,” he admits, flushing slightly pink, thinking it was kind of a weird thing to do.

“Alright. Have you done anything else about it? Soaps, treatments, masks— any of that?”

“...” He is silent for a moment, flushing even more, before admitting even more. “I sneak some of Aunt May’s soap every once in awhile to clean the pores and when I have a few extra bucks, I’ll grab a pore tightening mask.”

“I never knew you were so into facial care. Now that I know your secrets, I may one day look as perfect as you,” you joke, but you’re secretly serious. You would do anything to have his perfectly smooth, acne-free skin, even though it’s marred by cuts or bruises sometimes from some of the fights he’ll tell you about now and then. “So you take extremely good care of yourself and are conscious of pores. Any of the oiliness or no?”

“Not unless I’m doing a little workout or in gym class, no.” You nod, putting the mattifying and redness-cancelling primers aside.

“Are you looking for a big glow or a more natural look?”

“I guess natural. I don’t wanna look like a light bulb, you know?”

“Right, right, that’s Mr. Stark’s job.” You snort out a laugh, avoiding Peter’s hand as it goes to slap your shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to offend your dad.”

“He’s not my Dad! He’s just my boss and mentor and all that… And he doesn’t look like a lightbulb. He’s just… shiny.”

“So are lightbulbs, case closed.” You put the extreme illuminating primer aside with the other two as well. “Lastly, is your skin dry at all? Any flaky bits or spots that feel a big rugged when you run your fingers over it?”

“Not dry, but my slight beard coming in is a bit rugged sometimes…”

“Peter, you say that like you’ve got a beard that’s braid worthy or something, calm down there.” You set the hydrating one in the pile of rejects as well, focusing on the poreless primer that was still remaining in front of him. “Then here we go, we’ll use a poreless one on your forehead, nose, and chin, then just use a base moisturizer over everything so you still have a base for the foundation.”

Peter looked at you curiously as you squeezed out the peach-colored gel and started putting it on his nose first. He makes a face and scrunches his nose for a moment, muttering something about how it smelled and he didn’t think he was going to like this.

You then put a little more on his forehead and chin, grabbing a beauty blender that you had wet beforehand, making sure there was no excess water before you start buffing out the primer. You then grab the bottle of moisturizer and pump a little onto his entire face once you’ve given it time to sink in.

“Alright this foundation is going to feel like a weird extra layer of skin that you can’t pull off, but you seriously can’t touch it or feel it because it can and will rub off on your fingers if you do,” you warm him, pumping some of the foundation onto the back of your hand. You take a brush and start applying it liberally, knowing you were going to need to pack on heavy highlighter and contour to make him look like the Instagram model he wanted to be.

“It feels like you’re smearing pancake mix on my face. Half of me loves it and half of me absolutely hates it.”

“Focus on the half that loves it, ‘cause we’ve got a lot more to do.” With that, you grab your beauty blender and start to blend the foundation into his face, neck, and ears, making sure that he didn’t look cakey, but also had a nice, even base. “And now is where you need to stay very still and non-complain-y.”

You pick up the blush compact from beside you and sigh. Oh, how you wanted to make him look like a certain villain that isn’t even present in the marvel universe, but you were a kind significant other, so you restrained yourself from doing so.

Kind of.

—

Forty-five minutes and about fifteen brushes later, Peter Benjamin Parker has perfect smokey eyes, winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut someone, lashes put on perfectly to compliment the rest of his eye look, eyebrows done up to the gods, a blinding highlight, contour that he really didn’t need because he’s already got those good cheekbones, and the perfect Jenner lip look.

“You look… Woah.” You try to keep your mouth shut, or else a lengthy rant about how he looks super hot will come tumbling out, but it doesn’t work. You can’t help but gape at how amazing he looks, hair tousled, highlight shining from the moonlight shining through the window, his eyes only popping more from how you lined his waterline.

“Am I leaving you speechless?” He strikes a pose, puckering his lips with a small laugh, but fails to notice how your eyes bug out for a second at the beautiful sight.

You must have zoned out for a moment staring at him because the next thing you know, he’s way closer than you remembered and he’s calling your name, trying to get your attention back on him, unaware that it never left.

“(Y/N), you alright? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve fallen in l—”

“I fell in love with you a long time ago, Peter.”

“—ove with this look… Oh…”

“Oh, I didn’t… You can just ignore the fact that I said that if you want to, I’m sorry.”

“No, I, uh… I just didn’t, you know, um, expect it! It’s great that you love me, actually, ‘cause surprise! I love me— you— I love you, too!”

There’s an awkward silence for a moment before you two both lean in a little further for what seems like centuries before your lips connect. Neither of you move for a moment, afraid to do something wrong, but once it passes, you place your hand on his cheek and he puts a hand on your waist so he can steadily move towards you.

Soon enough, he’s over you, his fingers intertwined with yours while still keeping him above you and not crushing you into his mattress. You slide your tongue into his mouth at one point, courageously making the first move, but as soon as you do so, his door is opened by Aunt May, who takes a moment to see what’s going on.

“Hey, how’s the look going? I really hope you made him look weird— it would be going straight on my facebo— Peter what are you doing?!”

He jumps off of you, hitting his head on the top bunk with a small gasp. He looks down at you for a moment, both urging you to help him explain and admiring the small bits of glitter that had rubbed from his high points onto your face. It was also in this moment that he got lost looking at your puffy from kissing, lipstick stained, inviting lips.

“Peter, I asked you a question. What. Do. You. Think. You’re. Doing?”

“He was seeing if the lipstick would transfer easy,” you blurt out, not able to think of anything else. “He doesn’t have any celebrity crush posters, so I had to be his subject.”

“...I… I mean, valid point… but why in the bed so… teenager-y?” At this point, May is just teasing Peter, which you catch onto and join in on.

“Well, we are teenagers. We have glands which release…?” You look up at Peter, somehow managing to make you hiding your smile pass as you wiping the lipstick off your lips. “—Pete, this is review for you! What do glands release?”

“Uh, hormones! They release hormones! Wait, no, May, come on, can you give us a second, then I’ll show you how it turned out? Please?”

“...Alright, but that lipstick better be fixed by the time I get back in here in five.” She eyes you two down for a moment, then closing the door.

“...Wow, what a shit show.” He laughs out, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“Tell me about it, that was hilarious.” You grab the lip liner again, just planning to make his lips look a little bigger so you didn’t have to redo any foundation or contour.

“Now, even though it got us into this mess in the first place, I’m gonna need you to pucker up, Parker.”

[gilliansanderson]

If Ever There Is Tomorrow; Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry this took forever, I had to physically beat the words out of the muses mouth for this, I tell you. Next one should be up quicker I swear. Anyway, tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic

[Chapter 1] [AO3]

2. Where The Wild Things Are

Fall 1971

The once green leaves have fallen and turned to rust. They rustle softly in the breeze, accompanying a symphony of cicadas as they mourn the end of summer. Mulder is ten years old today, and in typical Mulder fashion, had decided the only just way to celebrate hitting double digits was a trip to the gloomy forest. Dusk seeps in like the tide; Home-time has long since passed, but Mulder has a flashlight and a story to tell.

“Once,” he begins, voice dramatically hushed. Perched on the rotting trunk of a fallen tree, his young audience leans in, eager to catch his words. “In these very woods, lived a very old, very bad man. He lived in the very tops of the trees and from up there he could the whole world. He lived on rats and owls and, occasionally, lost little girls,”

The mid-October wind picks up forcefully, a chilling wail punctuating his words, the small group shivers and huddles ever closer. “One day there was this girl, she was nearly seven years old and had long brown hair, her parents were worried, because she went away one night and never came home, so they went looking in these woods all night, but when they finally found her she was dead, in a nest of bones on the top of the highest tree and the man had chewed her face right off…”

“Stop it, Fox! You’re scaring Samantha,”

Samantha had grown visibly pale. Scully, snapped out of her trance, puts a comforting arm around her, “Don’t worry,” she whispers in the other girl’s ear, “It’s only pretend,”

Mulder’s inner circle consisted of his sister, his best friend, and his best friend’s sister, who though quite fond of Mulder was even fonder of Samantha, with her braid-able hair and a mutual love for Barbie dolls which Dana, despite her greatest efforts, had never come to share. So it comes as no surprise when Melissa jumps to her defence.

“I think I’ll take her home, Danes,” she tells them, rising to her feet and dusting off her floral skirt.

“Aw, c’mon Missy, don’t be a killjoy,” Scully groans, but Samantha stands and throws her an apologetic smile, “It’s okay Dana, I’m kinda tired anyway,”

“Don’t stay out too late or mom will freak,” Melissa says with the proud authority only an older sibling could possess, before tugging the younger girl gently behind her, until the warm glow of her lantern fades into the distance and plunges the forest into black once again.

“Well, what do we do now?” Scully huffs. “Have I told you the one about the Jersey Devil, Scully?”

She rolls her eyes towards the moon. “Only like a billion times,”

“How about hide and seek?” he concedes, “Or are you afraid of the bad man too?”

They glance up at the twisted treetops concealing the glittering night, no monster in sight. “I’ll play with you, Mulder,” Scully smirks and quickly turns, “But you have to find me first!” she calls behind her as she darts off through the trees.

Mulder shuts his eyes and counts to ten.

Fall 1978

Dana hovers nervously on the fringe of the cafeteria, a plastic tray filled with questionable mac and cheese and neon green Jell-O held in an iron grip, for which she is quickly losing her appetite. This is the part she despises. catching people’s eyes, pretending to be interested, to be interesting, trying in vain to explain where she came from; everywhere and nowhere. She hates feigning a confidence which she so desperately lacked.

Dana’s tendency to overthink was new and overpowering. Somewhere along the way, in some school locker room or some sleepover where she was just a pity invite, she had lost the invulnerability of childhood, and let insecurity seep under her skin with every whisper and sideways glance, at every failed attempt to infiltrate friendships which had already been forged in the fires of early adolescence.

Her code-breaking docs squeak on the linoleum floor, she is painfully aware that she’s beginning to attract attention. She feels too small and too large all at once, somehow taking up too much space, yet not nearly enough.

That’s when she feels the hand on her back.

“Scully,” he all but whispers, “Can we talk?”

She trips over air as she recoils. Macaroni becomes airborne, half the room turns to stare. Dana’s face matches the ketchup splattered on the floor. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” She seethes. She had been avoiding him like the plague since she ran out of the principal’s office, thinking she’d be doing them both a favor by avoiding confrontation.

“Scully, I’m sorry, I just…” Mulder stammers, his gaze intense, mournful, nervous. What right did he have to be nervous? Anger overrides anxiety as years of dormant resentment bubbles to the surface and erupts like a volcano.

“Don’t call me that. You have no right to call me that, you can’t talk to me as if you know me, like we’re still friends. Friends write, Mulder! Friends talk to each other, friends acknowledge each other’s existence! I don’t care what you have to say, it’s too late for this, Mulder, I don’t want to talk to you or Samantha or anyone…”

She’s cut off by someone grabbing her wrist, pulling her roughly away from Mulder’s wounded expression, from the hundreds of eyes trained on the scene before them and into the girl’s dingy bathroom.

“Missy, I was handling it,”

“You weren’t handling shit, Dana. Fuck.” Her sister curses as she bolts the door and cracks open the window. “Why did you have to go and make a scene? It’s been hard enough on him already,”

Dana catches sight of herself in the mirror and quickly looks away. She already hates her features, they’re worse when twisted with rage. “Hard enough on him? What the fuck, Missy, who’s side are you on?”

Melissa sighs and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, putting one shakily to her mouth, “I knew I should have just told you,”

Dana is momentarily stunned. Her mom had made them promise that they would never smoke when her grandfather passed away, after years of sucking on cigars turned his blackened lungs to ash. She’d already broken that promise several times, but she hadn’t thought that her sister ever would, and for some reason, this fills her with unease.

“Told me what?” Her fingers fumble to strike the match, but she finally sparks a flame. After a long moment of silence, she speaks. “Dad made me swear not to tell you” Smoke billows from her lips, curling and dancing under the fluorescent light, poisoning the air with her poison words. “Samantha was taken, Dana. She was kidnapped, I guess, a few months after we left Massachusetts,”

The walls constrict and the world turns on its side. All Dana could focus on was the tears trailing down her sister’s cheeks, leaving track marks in her rouge, as the things she was telling her registered in her brain. “I guess they thought… How do you even explain that shit to an eight-year-old? What if we had stayed a bit longer? you practically lived there and…”

Dana remembers how to breathe around the same time she remembers how to speak. Oxygen feels like fire in her lungs, her fury burns in her throat. “And what?” she rasps, “What? you think it could have been me?”

“Dana, don’t…” her sister pleads.

“How could you even think to keep something like that from me? She was my friend too, Missy. Mulder was my friend and…”

Mulder. Shit.

Dana bursts out of the bathroom, throughout the crowded dining hall, conversations stall. Mulder is already gone.

Fall 1993

As a child, Scully had a recurring dream of being stuck in a museum overnight, the exhibits would come alive and start to speak. The Smithsonian at this moment was dead, as she stares at the Neanderthals behind the darkened glass, Darwin’s apes learning to walk, she wonders what they would say.

Nature had never come naturally to her. While it felt like practically all her friends were getting married, getting pregnant, getting mortgages, all she was getting was older. And then there’s Mulder.

She feels his lingering presence long before his reflection appears the glass.

“You always did have a knack for running away,” his voice echoes throughout the empty room, life amongst the ruins of the ancient and extinct.

“You’re one to talk, Mulder,” she bites back, feels him flinch, and immediately wants to stuff the words back in her mouth

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant,”

This was something they were still getting used to. Their dynamic was all new, yet all too familiar, a battle of wits in an instant turn into a hesitant dance. They compliment and contradict each other to the point that it was maddening. There had always been something about this man, and the boy he used to be, which sparked an insatiable curiosity, a hunger for the extraordinary, one that could never be satisfied by homily divorcees or besotted superiors to her eternal frustration.

“Are you going to let me look at that?” she softly breaks the silence, nodding to the fresh wound on Mulder’s ribs, which he was gingerly palming through his blazer.

“You just wanna see me with my shirt off,” he grunts, “You shouldn’t abuse your medical license for personal reasons, Scully,”

“It only seems fair after Bellefleur,” She allows her self a smirk

“You have some recently un-repressed memories you want to discuss?” He laughs humorlessly, their banter turning dry as it comes back to Samantha, as it would always come back to Samantha. Scully remembers listening to his regression tapes, seeing her picture in that file, how her heart hit the floor. The doe-eyed girl in a nightdress, the girl who had cried when other kids scraped their knees or stepped on ants. Scully can see the Samantha-shaped hole her absence left behind his eyes, and she can’t blame him at all. She gives up the attempt to lighten the mood and cuts to the chase.

“I know you believe she’s out there Mulder, I want to believe she’s alright too, but…“ she chooses her words carefully, “But I don’t want to see you keep getting hurt,”

The silence is deafening, she starts to think that the wax figures might break the silence before Mulder does, but then he hooks his fingers gently around hers and anchoring her gaze to his. “I just… need to find out, Scully,” he murmurs, “Even if that means doing it on my own,”

Scully studies Darwin’s early men and thinks of how far they’ve evolved, how far they still have to go. Maybe subconsciously she feels she owes it to the girl she once was or the girl she once knew, but she feels herself being drawn in deeper down the rabbit hole, drawn back to him. She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hand, answering his unspoken question.

“You won’t be alone,”