Chris Evans: Short Stories and Imagines

i moustache you a question but i'll shave it for later

summary: chris surprises you with his best appraised look 

warnings: swearing, a bit of sexual innuendos 

-:-

"Hey babe. Baby, babe, can you come here for a second?" Chris calls out to you from the ensuite bathroom, he's been in there for some time now — probably yet indefinitely having another mid-life crisis. So you assumed.

"I'm not analyzing your shit again, Chris." You say while laying up in bed, staunchly reminiscent of the time you had to inspect the girth and abnormality of your boyfriends stool. He's been frugally curious like that, having you take onus of his hypochondriac tendencies. And even though you're faithful, you try not to be that forgiving, at least not this time around.

"Just come here will you?" Chris is rushing you. There is no urgency, it's not life or death, he could very well mossy on out and show you himself but he's petulant, an overgrown child who has himself wrought in the needs of your direct attention. You finally hop off the giant California king and amble your way over, not expecting some debacle to unfold.

"If it's the way your penis looks, I think it's absolutely fine even if it does— holy mother of terribly scripted porn." Your words fall short. There was Chris and now there's the candy van man, who dons a retro and perversely dense moustache, all for you to expressively recoil and treacherously take in. "Your face."

"Whaddya think?" He sing songs his happy tune of likeness and hope.

"I— do you want me to be sweet or honest with you?" You pause to ask and Chris sneers you a 'take it easy' look as his arm braces the doorframe while you struggle to look away, blinking like a video game simulation as your brain has a hard time registering this glitch.

"I'd appreciate your truce, baby cakes." He gets into a vapid buddy cop character while his pinchers stroke his little upper lip duster. Don't do that. You think to yourself, enthrallingly mortified.

"You look like a publisher from the Daily Bugle." You reply sardonically, your eyes narrowing by the second.

"J. Jonah Jameson, that's right. My girl knows." Chris has a slight sexual keeping in his tone as he bites his bottom lip and tries to flirtatiously lure you in with a shimmy. He's trying to be funny, coy and cute. You, on the other hand, were astronomically close to loosing your shit crackers.

"What your girl knows is not what your girl likes - that's for sure." You state with clear malice and warning. "Jesus Chris, why the fuck do you have chevron dude?"

Your face says it all which stops Chris swaying in his humbug of motion. He's truly gutted now.

"What! Babe no, it's not that bad. Oh cah'mon!" He boisterously claims, glancing in the bathroom mirror, stroking and flattening down his upper lip some more before turning to look at you. It makes no resolute difference. But seemingly enough, he likes it, clearly well impressed by his doings as he quirked a suggestive brow that riles you up to reconsider. "I bet you it would feel real nice in between those thighs."

"Not at all. Not one bit." You refute his insistence.

"Why not? We can certainly attest to that theory?" Chris wiggles his brows at you and you don't have any of it even with the niceness of his thick hands gripping and groping the curve of your waist. You can't be entrapped Y/N. Those whiskers are blasphemous.

"Nope, nuh-uh, that's -you point to his moustache- unsettling as fuck and so it's settled, you're in the doghouse—" Chris grouses theatrically, exploding a slew of 'oh cah'mons' and 'get outta here.' He tries to kiss you, coddle you, ween you into feeling the thick bristles of the ginger brown moustache he dons. But you're perilously strong willed after squirming around in his grasp.

"Daddy just wants a kiss. C'mon one smooch." He crows close to the side of your face, making you squeal. He's smacking and mooching onto you, being a dick out of disguise.

"Fucking hell... you either grow out your beard or shave that anchorman off. Otherwise, you stay away from this pussy. En garde!" You finally break free from his iron hold, causing Chris to whimper like a lost dog in heat. You exhale with a gust relief after pulling together the draw strings of your robe and shuffling around the room to prelude your escape. Being in the same room as him with his sights on you and that unmoving lip rug, sent an involuntary chill down your spin. You were done.

"Fine! I guess it's more appropriate for me to say this then..." Chris huffs, both hands on his hips as he stands his high ruly ground. "I moustache you a question but I'm definitely going to shave it for later. When you beg for it."

"We'll see about that Eduardo!" You stomp out of the room while accepting a challenge that you never agreed to make in the first place. You both knew your competitive spirit would eventually wear on because there is something damning about Christopher Evans that seamlessly gets your panties wet. But, for the sake of upholding some self control and determination, you solemnly stood by the fielding notions of Moustache Gate 2021.