toot.
Summary: your three=year-old joins Chris in his workout
Warnings: none!
Pairings: husband/dad!chris evans x reader
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The pitter-patter of tiny feet against the extortionate floor hits your ears before the sound of a soft, cherub voice.
“Mommy?” Evelyn calls out.
“I’m in here, honey.” You answer from the living-room, placing your book on your lap.
She walks through, clad in a boxy patriot baby tee, her pampers, and pink socks. Evidently, it’s a very chill day in the Evans household. Beside her, her Mickey Mouse stuffie drags along the floor.
“Hi mommy,” she waves her little hand as she comes closer.
“Hi sweet pea. Is your cartoon all finished?”
She nods a yes.
You go to respond, but she speaks first. You can tell a thought has popped into her mind with the way her eyes widen.
“Where daddy?” She looks around the room as she asks. His snuggly, strong figure is nowhere in sight, only his mug from earlier.
“He’s working out in the gym downstairs.”
“Okay!” She turns swiftly, making her way to the basement.
Evelyn makes her way to the basement, down the steps carefully, with one hand clasped around the railing at all times. She walks into the expansive room filled with everything you need to exercise. It always makes it easier for days like this, where you or Chris can workout at home. Or have his personal trainer meet him there.
“Daddy?” Evelyn calls out.
Chris is in a prone position, his body supported on his palms and toes of his shoes. His chain clinks against the mat. With his biceps bulging and face glossed with sweat; Chris doesn’t hear the sound of his name until two pink socks stand in his view.
Chris sits up and pulls his earbuds out.
“You alright, honey?”
“Hi daddy,” she waves.
“Hi honey” he smiles and chuckles.
“What are you doing?” She asks and slightly tilts her head to the side.
Chris tilts his head too, as a quip. “Working out, so I'm all healthy, and can fight all the bad guys.”
“Me too!”
“You want to be healthy too?”
“No, fight bad guys.”
Of course, Chris thinks to himself.
“C’mere my brave girl.” Chris grasps her by her sides, tickling her protruding tummy as she squirms in his hold. “We’re gonna start with pushups. So you gotta get on the floor like this..”
She listens intently, but struggles, of course. But that was what her father’s support was for. In the end, she ends up with her butt in the air, unable to get her body flat like her father. But she pushes up and down on her arm, smiling up at Chris.
“I do it!” She laughs.
“Look at you, you’re gonna beat all the bad guys’ butts.”
He pats her diaper bottom before getting into position so he can continue. They workout side-by-side. A toddler and her father, the imagery almost ridiculous in the juxtaposition between the two.
It only takes one set of ten push-ups, before he feels small hands on his back and a little grunt of her trying to lift her body onto him. So he drops his body into a plank, on his knuckles. And she plops herself on her father’s back, gleefully and giggly.
“Ready?”
“Ready!” But it’s all muddled since her filled cheek is flat against his back. Her arms hanging against the side of his body, feet laid out straight, and her Mickey Mouse stuffy is left behind on the floor.
He pushes up and down, slowly, cautious as not to disrupt her too much. But she could care less as she laughs, at some point wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Daddy strong!”
“He has to be,” he answers with a laugh. “How else am I gonna protect you and mom, hm?”
“Dodger.” She answers seriously.
“That’s true,” he rasps, his breath picking up as he continues to chat and workout.
Some time passes before he gets close to the ground again. “Ride over.” He jokes.
His toddler slides off his back to stand next to him
“Are you ready for the next part?” He asks.
“Yeah!” She claps her hands together and jumps in excitement.
Chris walks over to the rack of dumbbells. He picks up the set of fifty and one five pound dumbbells. He sets the smallest in front of her and holds his in each hand.
“We’re just gonna lift some weights.”
Chris knows there’s no way his three-year-old would be able to lift the dumbbell, but she’s as stubborn as a mule and wants to be involved in every shape and form of her parents’ lives. While Chris does his bicep curls, he cherishes the way his little one stares at the dumbbell for a little too long, then peeks up at him in question.
“You got it,” he encourages, a lopsided smile on his lips.
So she goes for it.
She uses both her small hands to grasp the handle. She tries with all her little might, a small squeak past her lips represents her efforts…
Toot.
“Oops.” She stands to her full height, an innocent look masking her face accompanied by an embarrassed grin.
“You toot?” Chris asks in hysterics.
“Wasn’t me,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “Dodger!”
Chris can’t help but lean back as laughter takes over his body. She’s precious, he thinks to himself. Taking in her distraught face, puffed out cheeks, and furrowed eyebrows.
“Not me, daddy!”
“Okay, okay,” he drops the dumbbells to pick up her upset figure. “You don’t gotta be embarrassed,” he dotes and kisses her cheek.
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It’s three in the afternoon before you know it. Chris always finishes his workout by three, so by this time you go to the gym with a strawberry coconut protein milkshake— and a strawberry shake in your other hand, since presumably Eve had joined her father.
You walk into the sound of a familiar, deep laugh which brings an immediate smile to your face. And heat on your cheeks at the sight of a post-workout Chris.
“Hi,” You greet the two as you walk in.
“Look who’s here,” Chris turns towards you and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Hi,” his eyes brighten at the sight of you and he pulls you in for a chaste kiss.
“Hi, mommy,” Evelyn recovers quickly, a bright smile on her face as she waves.
“Hi, honey.” You kiss her cheek. “Did you have fun working out with dad?”
“Yes.”
You hold up both cups (one smaller and decorated with Bluey). Chris grabs Eve’s cup and hands it to her before grabbing his. He takes a sip, always looking forward to his wife’s smoothies. They’re always the perfect consistency and garnished with whatever fruit she has used.
With your hand free, it naturally falls to the nape of Chris’ neck. Your fingers running through his soft locks.
Eve is quick to take a sip, a milk mustache left behind her in haste.
“What do we say?” Chris reminds her.
“Thanks, mommy!”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Of course. Anything for my babies,” you squish their cheeks in jest.
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