Imagine if Henry had a mustache while filming his movie with pe!reader and she made a statement that she liked it, Chris would be pissed
a/n: this actually includes a mini fight between chris and pe!reader!
“The fans-Everybody’s been dying to know,” the interviewer would begin, “How did it feel like kissing Henry with his mustache?”
Both Henry and pe!reader would laugh, Henry turning in his seat to look at her so he could raise an eyebrow at her, humming to urge her to answer.
“He’s such a sweet guy,” pe!reader would begin with a smile, “He made sure to groom it before all kissing scenes so that it wasn’t prickly or irritating, so yeah, it was fine. It wasn’t irritating.”
“Did you like the mustache look?” The interviewer asked.
“He can pull off anything,” she’d joke, waving Henry off.
“Thank you. Thank you, love,” Henry would smile and blush.
Chris would definitely have a moment. She’d be away doing promo in another country, and he’d be at home with their son, and he’d give her the cold shoulder when they’d talk later that night.
“Are you mad at me?” She’d ask him.
“I’m not mad, why would I be mad? What’s there to be mad about?”
“Okay, so you’re mad.”
“Of course I’m mad! You liked that guy’s mustache more than you liked mine! You fucking hated my mustache!” He’d exclaim, veins so clearly prominent in his neck.
She’d have wide eyes at the outburst, “You’re…You’re mad about me liking Henry’s mustache?”
“Should I not? Should I just be okay with my wife finding her costar to be better looking than her actual husband?”
“You can’t be real,” she’d laugh in shock, “Who said anything about better looking? And your mustache and his and two completely different mustaches! Your mustache was made to make you look like a cop, Chris!”
“And his makes him hot, doesn’t it? Makes him look so fucking attractive.”
“I won’t talk to you if you’re going to be so fucking hotheaded like that.”
“I’m not being hotheaded, I’m just saying that I don’t appreciate my wife flirting with another man.”
“Right, because I gave you shit for the shit you pulled during your interviews with Ana for The Grey Man,” she’d roll her eyes, “Whatever. I’ll go sleep. It’s been a long day and I have an early call tomorrow.”
“No, let’s-let’s talk about this, don’t just end it here,” Chris would say, the frown still on his face, “What shit did I pull with Ana?”
“What shi-Chris, are you kidding? You were so fucking flirty with her and even though I was pregnant, and I had my hormones everywhere, I didn’t cry to you about it because I know it was just some friendly, chaste banter that looks good for promo, but now you come at me, telling me that I’m flirting with Henry for saying he can pull off anything. It’s so fucking unfair.”
“Okay, so-so we’re both in the wrong.”
“No, we’re not,” she’d immediately reply, “Since when did we become so immature, Chris? If someone’s good looking, we’re honest about it. You think Angelina Jolie is hot, I think George Clooney is hot. You think Zendaya is beautiful, I think Harry Styles is, too. And we both agree on shit like that,” she’d huff, “Because we’re confident in one another. We’re not just-we’re not just a couple, Chris, and we’re not 16 either. We’re best friends and I know you love me, and I know you only have eyes for me, and it-it doesn’t feel so fucking great that you don’t feel the same way.”
Chris would be quiet, avoiding his phone’s screen as he’d look at his bouncing legs, scrunching his nose when he feels himself get emotional.
“Talk to me, baby,” she’d say softly, “What’s been happening, huh? What have you been reading?”
And Chris would reach one hand up, rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat before sniffling to stop himself from getting any more tearful.
“I’ve been reading stuff,” he’d reply quietly.
His wife would hum.
“The usual stuff,” he’d say, “And-I don’t know, they just fucking fill my mentions and comments with shit like how I don’t deserve you and how you look better with Henry, and there are these threads comparing him and I and-I don’t know, it got to me.”
She’d nod and hum, “Are you going to look at me?”
Chris would sniff again and look at her.
“Hi,” she’d smile softly, “You know I’m happy you told me, right? I know it’s not easy for you to do that,” she’d say and he’d nod, “Can you take some time away from that hell hole? People can be so fucking shitty, I know, baby. But what about me? What about what I think?” She’d point at herself, “Because what I think is that there’s literally no man on this fucking planet who even comes close to you. No one. So you better go to bed tonight knowing that I love you, and that out of all these people talking, I’m the mom to your baby, I’m your wife, and I choose you to spend my life with, not any of them. Can never be any of them. Are you actually hearing me?”
Chris would nod, smiling a little, “I am, honey. I am.”
“Do you think you can fly yourself and bubba out to me?”
“You’re busy as shit, honey, it’s okay. You r-”
“Please?” And she’d give him the face he can never say no to and it’d cause him to groan and her to smirk, because she knows.
“That damn face, Y/N, you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He’d chuckle, “Yeah, fine, okay.”
“I’ll book your tickets, tell me when you’ll be able to get ready and I’ll be on it.”
“Alright,” he’d suck a breath in.
“I love you, okay?”
“I love you, too. I’m sorry about the shit I said.”
“I’m sorry about the shit I said, too, even though I’m always right.”
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