Chris Evans: Short Stories and Imagines

the love we have

summary: you and chris have been divorced for some time now and right up until the day you decide to get remarried is when things start feel resentfully indifferent

pairing: chris evans x ex wife!reader

warnings: angst, mentions of divorce, some course language and alcohol consumption - there'll definitely be a light at the end of the tunnel

a/n: hello all! This was a request I got on Tumblr awhile back and I thought I'd share it here as well throughout the span of my hiatus. Pls let me know what you guys think of my first unprovoked attempt at writing one shots/imagines.

-:-

One shot.

Two shot.

Three shot.

Door?

It's the night of your Bachelorette, a wedding tradition that you've certainly grown out especially after encountering it the first time around. But that doesn't stop you. There's a lot to life that you've let up on and not having a good time wasn't one of them.

But after fruitfully knocking back a couple Kamikazes and a shot of tequila; no salt, no lime and no chaser, you find it in you to wander away from the group, going on an uncalled adventure.

Your dancing feet dawdle out of the club to hail a cab. You get in and then hop out of said cab when the meter reaches an undesirable rate. In the conundrum of your actions, you get adroitly yelled at by the cabbie who realizes you are lost cause and another nuisance that'll have him working a long night. He suffers with you and it's unlikely that you'll feel any sort of remorse for your actions. And you don't.

"Oh go to hell!" You tell off the sputtering cabbie who says something in his native language before accelerating down Broadview, a narrowing strip in downtown L.A that you'd frequent on your worst behavior, tonight being of them.

You aimlessly amble through the wet side streets, your lead legs atrophy while being restricted in the confines of your slutty little sequins dress, the top of the line pick that would have many men ogling you as you stagger by.

It's a drag but you're on a unfettering mission, snapping at a few disorderly teenagers on the wrong side of town. They try to catcall, whistle and rally a rouse out of you. You get prissy and mother-like, telling each of them to euphorically choke on a dick.

"Only if you'll choke on ours." One of them snickers and you loose your shit crackers. You fight them, they're harmless little punks testing their bravado.

"You think your father would appreciate that?" You brickbat and that's when a onlooking cop directs them away and retributively waits by you so there's no further ensuing trouble,

"I swear to you officer that I'm up to no good," You mean well, you really do but then the older, defilade man cringes. There's no falling back on your defenses, you were dumb drunk. "Wait. That's not it. I'm fine, I am, look it."

You twirl around in your four inch heels, putting on your own silly version of the sobriety strut, testing him by all means.

"Alright, how about we get you home yeah?" It's like your own father is talking down to you with that harrowing displeasure. "Do you know where home is?"

You're appalled. Of course you knew where you laid your head at night. What did he know?

"I do!" You profess and then snicker while remembering your stupid vows. "I do."