Imagine having play fights with Chris.
A/N: Thought of this after seeing Chris bantering with Octavia Spencer (who is just an amazing actress that I love so much) Enjoy!
You tried not to giggle as you stood behind your husband in the kitchen; you were wearing the Atlanta Falcons jersey Octavia Spencer- a close friend of Chris’ and yours- had sent over as an attempt to mess with him after their banter on Twitter about whose team was going to win at the Super Bowl. She had texted you about it the day before, and of course you were more than happy to mess with your husband; it was payback considering he made fun of your favorite TV show ‘Arrow’ because it was DC.
Now everyone knew what Chris was like when it came to football, Tom Brady, and The Patriots; passionate was an understatement, that boy was obsessed. His inner fan girl was so well known that every interview you had leading up to the Super Bowl involved that particular topic. You knew nothing about sports, but you knew a lot about how adorable your husband got when it came to his team. He was about as adorable as you were when you met your favorite superhero, Captain America at the Vanity Fair after party four years ago.
You tapped your socked foot on the hardwood floor as you waited for Chris- who was clearly too busy stocking the fridge with beer- to turn around. You sighed quietly then cleared your throat to catch his attention because at the rate he was going, he wasn’t going to notice you for another ten minutes and you had other things to attend to.
“Do you think I bought too-” He began as he turned around, cutting himself off when he saw what you were wearing. You pressed your lips together to suppress your smile which was forming at the sight of his facials. “How dare you?” He tried not to smile himself as he pretended to scold you, closing the fridge door behind him. “And in my house, Y/N?” He quizzed, trying to hide his amusement.
“Oh,” you scoffed and chuckled simultaneously; his lips quirked into a more visible smile. “All of a sudden this is your house?” You crossed your arms over your chest as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Didn’t you say what’s yours is mine, Evans?”
“Yeah, yours as in- Y/N Evans,” he retorted playfully. “I um-” he pointed at you then crossed his arms again, “I don’t know who you are 'cause my beautiful wife whose best quality is her loyalty would never betray me and my team like that.” You giggled and he bit back his smile, “that’s just disrespectful, really.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrugged with an innocent smile on your lips. “I’m just standing here doing nothing.” Chris scoffed as he lowered his gaze onto your jersey. “Oh, you’re talking about my shirt?” You looked down and pulled at the material. “I just put the first thing I saw in my closet, no biggie.”
“First of all,” he laughed as he pushed himself off the counter so he could make his way over to you. “That is a jersey. Secondly,” he gently pinched your chin between his fingers, “we have never, nor will we ever- have a Falcon jersey in this house.” You pressed your lips together, suppressing laughter. “Take it off before I do it for you, okay?” He released your chin and booped your nose before turning his back on you to return to the fridge.
“No,” you bit playfully; Chris stopped and smiled while his back was turned to you.
“I’m sorry,” he turned around, raising an eyebrow; the amusement in his tone audible. “What was that?” He challenged in a playful tone with his hands on his hips. You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Take it off, that jersey has no place in this household.” He told you, trying not to laugh. “I mean it, Y/N.” He warned when you shook your head.
“What are you going to do, hm?” You challenged and he smirked, taking a step closer to you. “How are you going to make me take off the jersey of the most amazing team ever?” You said and his lips parted, feigning shock whilst hiding his amusement. “Yup, I said it. The Patriots suck compared to The Falcons,” you egged him on.
“You take that back,” he tried not to laugh as he pointed at you. As much as he loved his team, he loved you a lot more so you could say anything you wanted and nothing bad would happen; it also helped that he knew you were just joking. “Take it back and take that jersey off, or I’m going to throw you into the pool.”
“Yeah, right,” you laughed then immediately regretted it when you saw the playful gleam in your husband’s pretty blue eyes. “Chris, don’t you- No!” You shrieked with laughter and ran when he started for you. “Oh my God, no!” You ran for the stairs so you could hide in the safety of your bedroom but Chris caught you before you hit the first step. “Chris, no!” You laughed as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, lifting you off the ground.
“Do you want to take it back?” He whispered into your ear, his beard tickling your neck.
“Take your Patriots jersey back to the store because it’s a sucky team?” You quipped, giggling.
“You did not just say that,” he tickled your sides and you squirmed, laughing. “You’re so dead, Y/N. I hope you don’t have your phone in your pocket because I am tossing you into the pool.” Your laughter grew louder as he threw you over his shoulder. “You have about thirty seconds to take it back, unless you want to end up in the pool, of course.”
“I know you, Evans.” You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “You wouldn’t, so no- I’m not taking it back.” He shrugged and continued walking towards the pool in the backyard. “You’re all bark and no bite,” you poked his side and he chuckled.
“If you say so, Y/N.”
You giggled because you were so sure your husband was just joking, after all- it wasn’t the first time a play fight had ended with him threatening to throw you into the pool. He had never done it before and you doubt he’d start now. He usually walked out to the pool with you over his shoulder or in his arms bridal style, threaten to toss you in, almost toss/push you in only to pull you back into his arms to kiss you. It was the same every time, so you were sure you were safe this time too.
“Last chance,” he warned as he stopped at the edge of the pool with his back towards the water and you over the blue surface. “All you have to say is 'I’m sorry, Chris. The Patriots is the best team ever.’ And you’ll be free to go. After you take of the jersey, of course.”
“I’m sorry, Chris,” you began, biting back your smile as you continued, “I’m sorry I married a man with such poor judg- Chris, no!” You screamed when he pretended to drop you. “Don’t do that,” you smacked his butt, giggling. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Put me down,” you poked his side.
“Say the words,” he sang song.
“Fine,” you rolled your eyes. “I’m sorry, Chris. The Patriots is the best team ever,” you recited monotonously. “Now can you put me down? All my blood is rushing to my head.” You told him as he pulled you back over his shoulder and lowered you onto your feet in front of him.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He teased.
“Nope,” you smiled and pressed your palm to his chest. “Do you want to know what else isn’t hard?” You whispered as you leaned in, your lips inches away from his. “Tricking my big dumb dumb of a husband.” You giggled then pushed him into the pool before he could comprehend the situation. He fell into the water, cussing, and left you laughing on the sidelines. “You got a bit of water on-” you gestured to his cheek when he rose to the surface, drenched from head to toe. “Yeah,” you giggled when he wiped his cheek, “I think you got it.”
“You’re going to regret that, Y/N.”
“Perhaps,” you shrugged, smiling.
“Want to know what else isn’t hard?”
“You, 'cause it’s freezing in the water?” You teased.
“Yes, but-” he chuckled, swimming to the edge. “I was thinking more along the lines of, pulling my mischievous wife into the water because she’s not fast enough to out run Captain America!” He pushed himself off the edge and launched himself out of the pool, grabbing you before you could run back into the house. “Gotcha!”
“Chris!” You shrieked with laughter as the two of you fell into the water together. “I hate you,” you splashed him when you rose to the surface after him. “It’s f-f-fucking freezing.” You felt your teeth chatter when your body actually realized the temperature of the water.
“Don’t be such a baby.” He chuckled, swimming closer to you. “C'mere, baby.” He grabbed your hand, pulling you close and wrapping an arm around you. You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck as he leaned in and kissed you. “Just so you know,” he whispered when he broke the kiss, “I’ve got a very dry and very warm Patriots sweatshirt waiting inside for you.”